Hello all! The stories here constitute something I have been half working on for awhile. One of the things I love are canon compliant stories about new/original characters. So, as a New Yorker I of course want to plot out what NYC, the city with the highest cape pop in the US, might be like.
However, as I have discovered from going through WoG, this great post, help from the lovely people on the Cauldron discord, and my own experience of the city, and some general knowledge, it's pretty clear that what we see of NYC in worm (which is sadly so little), if way off kilter for a city of that size. The concept of five small wards teams, for example, just doesn't make sense, given the magnitude of the city, and the fact that capes flock towards cities.
This fiction will be a collection of short stories, each sort of like it's own interlude, written mostly about original characters in and surrounding NYC. I will be doing my best to keep the stories canon compliant within that scope. Each chapter, at least at first will focus on a different character, released (hopefully) every Saturday. This is also a test on my ability to write consistently, so expect some infrequent posting. If anyone wants to see a certain perspective, or a continuation on a character, be free to ask. Hopefully, over the chapters, I will begin to paint a larger picture of the city, and world, that we don't see in canon.
Warnings: Blood, injury, captivity, attempted suicide, references to human experimentation.
I let out a sharp scream as I felt a searing pain pierce through my foot, the warmth of blood mixing with the gritty dirt and fallen leaves of the forest floor as my momentum was stalled, leaving me to stumble and collapse to the ground. It took agonizingly slow seconds to gasp in gulping breaths of air after it had been knocked out of me, seething as I felt the flesh and bone of my foot shift unnaturally. Even as I cringed in pain my gaze shot behind me, hyper-aware of the beating of my chest resounding through my ears.
I could hear the shouts, the echoes of boots crunching through the dried leaves and underbrush. I could hear the dogs barks, just far enough to not be directly on my trail, but nowhere near far enough.
They would have heard my scream.
Gritting my teeth in pain again, I cast only a sparing glance at my foot, but quickly turned my head as I reeled, keeping myself from retching the little my stomach contained. A root, or maybe a fallen branch had been pointed upwards, thin and relatively pointed, and that wood was now poking out from the top of my foot, soaked red and seeming to pulse in my blurred vision. Then I truly recognized the pain my mind had been blinding itself to. I bit down my scream, the taste of iron staining my tongue as I drew blood from my lip, only a whimper escaping from my throat. I wouldn't let it end here, not after I had come so far. I wouldn't let them take me back.
The sounds of the officers were closer now, at least close enough not to be considered far, close enough for me to be sure they were closing in on the scream I had let out. I pulled out the pocket knife I had stowed away before I had found my opportunity to escape the compound, the one I had used to unscrew the grate in the wall, and in halting motions began trying to use it to saw through the root. I had heard that removing something lodged in a body only made someone bleed out, and didn't trust myself to have the strength to break the wood without ripping further into my foot.
Nonetheless the back and forth motion was causing tears to swell in my eyes, heavy breathing and whimpers of pain racking my body. The knife was small, barely longer than my own bony grip, and was barely making an indent on the wood. As I screamed internally in my efforts to maintain the futile action, it began to become clear to me. I wasn't going to get to run away from this place. The officers would be on me in minutes, and even if I did free myself from the branch there would be no possibility of my moving faster than they might be able too. Even as I sawed faster, as the tears flowed from my eyes for reasons beyond the pain, I knew that I wouldn't leaving the forest.
But I still had a choice.
I wouldn't let the officers, the jailers and wardens, take me back to that place. I couldn't. Thoughts, memories bubbled up unwillingly, of seeing scalpels cutting through skin even as I couldn't feel it, emotions prompted and shifting under another's command, the others disappearing overnight, returning less than they were before days later, or not at all. And the neutral monologue that stained her mind, listing every action before it cut into my flesh or mind, analysing the resulting symptoms with tepid passivity.
Trembling, I removed the knife from it's shallow groove in the wood, and with quickened breathes raised it until it hovered in front of my chest, next to my heart. As I choked on my own breath, I couldn't think of how else to escape. I could only think of the throat or the heart, that's the only way to go quickly, but I couldn't bring myself near my neck, the fear of further pain limiting my hand that was so violently shaking. That or a bullet to the head. I had seen the officers do that before, when one of the others had been too broken, unable to be restrained. I remembered the words spoken almost as if bored, as the face down man and spreading red had been burned into her mind. On to the minds of all of them.
"A waste of resources, officers. Do not let it happen again."
The thought made me pause again. What would they think - the others who had been stuck on the compound with me? I would be leaving them behind. I had done that in escape, maybe, but this would be a final abandonment. They would have wanted me to get away, as I would have wanted for them, and it would have meant that I could get help for them. Doing this would leave them with nothing. The thought of Chloe or Jasper still locked away almost made me stop.
Almost.
Coming back in tatters and chains would be worse. It would break them. Break us. Break me. I wouldn't let that happen. I could hear the barks like gunshots, the crashing and stomping of feet through the underbrush, enclosing on me. My breath ran ragged, my chest heaving, my hands shaking even as I clasped them together in front of me. My foot still screamed in pain, growing cold even my heart beat faster. My thoughts raced, panicked, terrified. Of the pain, of the dark, but most of all what would come about if the dark didn't arrive. Whatever was beyond, it was better than the compound.
A crack resounded from behind me and I screamed even as I drove the knife towards my heart. My eyes welded shut as I waited for the pain, and for the truer darkness beyond. I could feel something surround my hands, impact my shoulder, pressure against my chest, and for a moment I relished that there had been no pain in the act.
Then I realized why the pain wasn't coming.
I opened my eyes to find a gloved hand on my own thin ones, holding the knife back as another arm braced my shoulder to keep me and my escape apart. A leashed dog stood against me, growling as it applied pressure to my stomach and leg. The figure it was linked to was tall, clad in a blues and greys, only his face visible. An officer's cap rested on his head.
They had caught me.
"I found her" He shouted as he pulled me to my feet, using the hand that had been on my shoulder to rip the knife out of my hands. His voice had a rough accent that I couldn't focus enough to place between my screams of pain as the root was pulled further out of my foot. Even as the the thrum of blood through my veins threatened to blanket my ears, I could hear the resounding shouts in response, the barks of the dog.
I wouldn't be leaving.
And then there was nothing.
And then there was everything.
Extending far in every direction, farther than I could see and then beyond that again it stretched, reached, even as it barely existed in the space it resided. It was like a dream, for only in thought could something be so all consuming, and because it thought as well. From every facet of the expanse came information, relayed and exchanged, and in those moments I could feel an eternity of experience.
Yet for all I could see it felt empty. It's purpose unfulfilled, so many discarded lines of reasoning with only the drive of survival binding them across the time and space traveled. In that moment I felt a great sadness wash over me. The seemingly infinite expanse was incomplete, in purpose, and in whole. A part of it was missing, taken. So much lost, over the span of millennia, in moments. A future flashed across my eyes, and in moments it is gone. The expanse shifts, unaware of the danger it believes it has averted.
Crushed.
The future showed it standing alone.
The twisting of the root in my foot had me screaming now, uncaring of others hearing now that they have reached me. The blue and grey covered man had tried to yank me to my feet, and my fingers stung as I realized too late he had smacked the knife out of my hands. His hands scalded my wrists and the dogs growl flooded my ears as it's claws scraped at my stomach and the wood twisted in my foot and the scream boiled out of my throat from a part of me I hadn't known existed. I could feel the burning wetness that poured out from my eyes, flooded my cheeks beyond any connection to what I could feel anymore.
Sound echoed out from the officer holding me up to the cacophony of crashing that had surrounded us by now, but I could no longer make out the words. His grip tightened, and my wrist went wrong and I found myself falling from his grasp, back onto the branch. A white hot spire of pain sparked the entire way through my foot and my lungs expelled a scream even louder than before.
I felt my foot shift, and then the pain dulled. My chest heaved, as I scrambled away, tripped and felt the cuts form across my knees as I skidded over rock and branch. I could feel the warmth draining from my foot, but the solid white pain was no longer lodged in it's center.
More plumes of noise rippled through the air, battering into my ears. I found myself with only a moment free from their grasps as I stared into the dirt and greenery, before I felt a body crash into me, on top of me. The crashing of words was in my ears now, and I felt my hands wrenched behind my back, clasped by some kind of cool metal. My wrist hurt, still felt wrong, as if it was twisted too far and yet still functioned.
I was pulled stumbling to my feet by the cool metal that bound my hands behind me. My eyes were blurry now stained by the tears and dirt and hair that covered my face. I could only just hear my heartbeat in my ears over the sound beyond. I felt everything that touched me, as if in absence of coherent sight or sound my skin reached out until it could feel the dry air, the tickle of a bug crawling across my foot. Worse, I could feel inside, in the midst of the numb area in my foot, around my wrist, and now at the center of my stomach. The feeling was a horrible incurable wrong, like a part of my body had been replaced and the surrounding parts could feel it crumbling, fragmenting, being cut apart.
Without warning I pitched forwards, my stomach upending the little contents that remained. The action felt dry, like stones grating against the edge of my throat leaving only the cut and crumbling sense of wrong behind. Following there were sounds of what I could only guess was disgust, and my heart quickened at the thought that puke on their clothes might push them to act worse.
There was a tug at my arms from the blurred figure in my vision, an order that I could barely stumble too. I knew what they were demanding even without understanding the words. I tried to make the stumble look more drastic, to use it as a chance to run, but my hands were firmly grasped. All I succeeded in doing was pressing harder into my injured foot, in offending the shape holding my chains.
"Please, just let me go," I screamed, cried, this time by choice, as the guard pulled me too my feet, pulled me through the woods, "You don't have to take me back there!"
I tried reaching for his gun, scrounging as he held me back. "No, just point the barrel at me!" I begged, "Please just fire, let me go."
"I'm obviously too broken," I reasoned, "Dr. Yeranhart won't be happy to get a broken subject back. You could just get rid of me now, spare yourself the hassle.
"It would be easier for you that way." I lied, saying anything, wishing I could say something that would make him let me go.
I couldn't hear any of his responses, or maybe I didn't let myself hear him. I knew what he would have said anyways. No one ever got out.
I knew if I went back that I wouldn't be coming out again. That if I returned, even if by some stretch of the imagination the doctor let us go, that I wouldn't, couldn't be the same. That I would be broken, like the man the guards had shot but worse because I would still be living there - and that my return would break the other prisoners.
I was trapped. My one chance at escape had been futile to begin with.
As the Officer dragged me back to the compound, I could feel my cheeks steam as the cool of night set in, could feel as the bramble and stones scraped away the skin at my feet, and the unbearable feeling of wrong set in.
Followed by thoughts of what I could make with that feeling, if I could get back the pocket knife back.
Warnings: Swearing, but otherwise hopefully nothing too drastic
Hoard sat alone, watching the cameras as usual. Not that there was any activity tonight, as quiet a night as it was - only a few scattered confrontations with the gangs or the capes that lead them. Few villains were actually stupid enough to operate too close to the Queens branch Protectorate headquarters. Too heavily secured while still too out of the way of 'the action'. Too much of the important stuff happened out at the Manhattan branch, from her perspective.
It made the most eventful thing out here the occasional fellow Protectorate member, or one of their Ward proteges, checking in after patrol. There were twenty odd of them assigned to this section of Queens, six of whom would likely shuffle through at some point over the night, though Hoard had no idea who. The information was probably on one of those weekly pamphlets she never opened, now that she thought about it. What fun was life if you knew what was coming?
All the PRT office drones were here too, of course - but they were boring, and unpowereds didn't even count anyways.
Well, Strain was working on some of her germs in the lower levels, but that was a no-go. The Wards still seemed a bit wary of Hoard ever since that one time she trapped several of them in a crumbling building. Ah well, live and let live. They'd get over it eventually.
Probably.
Anyhow, somebody had to be on call, and it might as well he her. She still had to earn back the PRT's trust and good will to join the choirs of good, so watch duty made perfect sense if they twisted your arm enough. Besides, with her here even she felt bad for any fucker who tried to cause trouble in her branch. The building, while not totally claimed, was currently her domain, and she could feel shades of the going ons, who came in or out.
Hoard wondered if the office drones had found and confiscated the version of solitaire she had downloaded onto the security PC. They hadn't. As the virtual cards shuffled in an entirely unneeded but immensely satisfying fashion, Hoard let her gaze drift across the security monitors, an errant hand clicking through feeds like television channels.
She stopped on one neatly showing a series of workbenches and counters, half flooded by spare machinery and partially deconstructed appliances, half covered in boxes of 'bio samples' and mysterious colored packets. One of the tinker labs.
Further towards the 'bio samples' end of things, she saw Strain lounge back in her chair with a ugh that could be heard even without a mic, obviously bored without anyone else around. Hoard chucked.
"I know how you feel duckling" she said to herself as she leaned back in her own chair for what was going to be another long night.
---
Lucy sat in silence, trying to process the ideas in her head into some sort of physical manifestation. She didn't know how other tinkers did it, only that Theorem specifically didn't, but the movement from planning to construction in the building process was always the hardest. It was probably just her though.
She could remember the last Wards tinker get-together the PRT had sanctioned. Everyone had brought whatever cool thing they had been working on. She had stood blankly carrying her healing patches while the girl in steampunk power armor and a boy with the electric powered exosuit discussed the potentials of alternate forms of energy, feeling like the little kid in her dad's shop again.
She bet most of the others could make blueprints or store the information in complex 4-dimensional computers that were installed in their brains or something! Well, mostly the "or something", but it's a bit harder to do that sort of thing with DNA and genes. Did anyone know just how ma—
Lucy stopped herself, massaging her brow in an effort to try and find her focus again. Breath in, breath out, just like how Andrew had showed her when he wasn't being an annoying older brother. She always got frustrated when she actually had to sit down and work. It's just…
"Uuuhrg." Lucy groaned as she pushed herself out on her swivel chair. She couldn't do this. However much she loved the Wards program, this whole two nights of tinkering per week thing was wearing her out. Yeah she might progress one hundredth of the way towards some dumb better healing salve, but seriously it's like three hours of solitude and brooding, save the hourly teammate checking in.
Well, there was Kelly, but Lucy had been keeping her distance after hearing the story about the collapsing building two years back. She knew she shouldn't, that as the Protectorate member Protective – it was hard to say that without a giggle – she had gotten full clearance. Kelly had even introduced herself by her real name the first time they had met. Still, the way the lady just watched and smiled, like she wanted to reach out and pull you in and never let you out again, never failed to give Lucy goosebumps.
And don't think Lucy hadn't noticed how things went missing after Protec– after Kelly left. She was still looking for the silver wiring that she'd had to specifically request from supply and which had disappeared after she'd left it on a table momentarily while Kelly was in the room.
Lucy was totally going to confront Kelly about that. Absolutely. Even when she was always chill no matter what time of day, and with how neat she kept her suit, and how cool the colorings she added to her dreads were...
Lucy sighed. She had sat there for just over two minutes by the digital numbers of clock on the wall. Well, as Gran always says, if you're not going to get anything done anyway, at least pretend to be doing what you're supposed to and just maybe something might work.
Lucy hummed warmly as she pulled her chair back in. Gran always has the best sayings. Well, no time like the present, right? Back to work.
---
Joseph smiled at the quiet night, happy to have made a difference. He had just intervened with an argument outside a bar. The two bar goers had been about to throw down - they had looked very angry - but they had stopped abruptly when he called out. They had even left together with barely a word from him! It was awesome to finally be a part of the Heroes' positive influence.
He had been following his patrol route for what had to have been an hour by now, jogging around on and off as he looked for situations that might need his help. That said, other than the bar patrons, he hadn't found anyone other than the usual night owls. Under the darkened sky, the city's streetlights cast a glow on the roads and buildings as he huffed along.
Not that he had expected to see anything. He was supposed to be an influence out here, making sure people didn't do anything in the first place. This was a pretty good neighborhood, the protectorate had made sure with that. He never saw much of the gang symbols, colors, or graffiti that tended to blanket the areas he patrolled with the older Protectorate members. All Elite or independents either also worked with the heroes or set up shop in farther out neighborhoods, and given how the Mythics had the southeast infringing on Brooklyn covered, there wasn't much for a a cape to run into. That was also the only reason the team leaders would have ever let a Ward go out on a patrol alone.
Still, procedure dictated they keep to their patrol routes, so there was little Joseph could change there. At least it wasn't winter. The stuff the higher ups got you to do in winter... He shivered involuntarily, even though the temperature was beginning to edge above sixty. While the scarves and heavy hero gear draped over his shoulders might have been pushing the branding envelope a tad, and made for a boiler in summer, he was much happier in it than any of those people who thought it was a great idea prancing about in a skintight costume in fucking below freezing weather.
Even with the night a pleasant cool, the bio heat packets still added a nice warmth to his step. Joseph would have to thank Lucy – Strain - again when he got back. He'd try and say something this time, and not trip over his own tongue again as his brain tried to smash words together like building blocks.
Joseph blushed as he scrunched his nose and tried to get the giant smashing blocks of wood out of his head. He hated to think of how Joshua would have used that moment, singing about kissing and trees and being just about the most ass of a brother as was possible.
Shaking his head to empty it of the thought bubbles, Joseph watched the buildings as he paced by. He'd always liked how quiet this neighborhood was. It was part of the reason he had asked for this route. All of the buildings in the area were small homesteads or apartments that barely topped five floors, and they seemed pretty well maintained. Hundreds of happy little families live here, each with their own goals, as well as their own issues of course. He wanted to move here too, when he saved up enough and when Dad got better.
Incremental steps, Joseph reminded himself, as his steady pace continued.
His wristwatch showed he still a few minutes ahead of schedule when Joseph reached the end of his route. He took a moment to stretch near the edge of the park before he started heading back towards the base to tag off with whoever was next in charge of the next patrol. Probably Parasol or Jumble.
Maybe he could hang out at the base a bit afterwards. Even if it had been dark for a few hours now, it wasn't too late in the evening, even if it was another twenty minutes back to base, and forty more to get back home. Anyhow, Lucy – Strain, dammit, he reminded himself again, he had to remember to refer to her by the right name while in costume – could probably also use the company.
The streets remained undisturbed as he made his way back.
---
Assada had just been woken up by the near silent vibration of her phone, and the fact that the alarm hadn't woken her parents or younger siblings was about the only positive she could find as she pondered why in the world she had chosen to take a night shift. Maybe she had just forgotten how nice it was to have a good night's sleep. Yes, that would be it. Nothing like some good old self inflicted irritation.
"Never mind that", she let slip under her breath to the audience of one, as she slapped her cheeks to make the word consciousness a bit more meaningful. She had to get to the base on time, everytime, or the board might think it'd be a great idea to make her patrol hours even later. Her patrol would start in just over an hour, but with the thirty minute walk over the time she had left to prepare was pitifully minute.
The subway would have been faster, of course, but that wouldn't have been feasible. Assada could still remember the first time she had ridden underground with her costume, the stares of uncertain civilians at the contrasting scene. And there wasn't any way she would be changing at the headquarters, not when someone might see her in her civilian clothes.
Making sure the ten queens Wards on base, and another ten beyond, didn't fall apart required cultivating an image. She would have hated to think what the others would say if they found out otherwise.
When she had inevitably pulled herself out of bed and set to carefully stepping over the seeping bodies of her younger siblings that lay about on the mattress next to her bed, she began preparing for the evening in earnest.
In the bathroom, repeated brushing and styling of her hair in perfectly practiced motions, laying out the costume and underwear she stored in the compartment below the floor of the clothing cabinet in between strokes. Make sure the hairclips were secure but invisible unless they served to better her image.
Take out the beat up makeup case full of Shi brand products from where it was stored with her costume, unpack each component in a careful order. Conceal the blemishes and the shadows that remained under her eyes. Foundation, blush where required. Carefully applied shadow and liner to the eyes, to draw attention upwards. Lipstick, to accent the reds and pinks of the costume and to pull them in the rest of the way.
Each application had to be done perfectly, with exact precision, and Assada had no doubts that they would be. Superpowers rarely faltered in what they were supposed to do, from her experience. Especially not ones tailored for their users.
Assada collected the various makeup supplies and sorted them back into her case, which she carefully placed back out of sight of her family members. With unfaltering movements, she quietly lowered the false bottom of the drawer back into place, not even letting a creak of wood slip out.
Back in the bathroom she started donning her costume, carefully slipping on the layers of padding and armor, followed by the red oversuit and pink costume and skirt on top. She adjusted the clingy short legs, the folded skirt, and straps of the suit, and clipped the flourishes into place. The masquerade-like mask was slipped onto her face and secured invisibly under her hair, carefully as so it didn't catch or smear the makeup. The eye holes still large enough to show her pupils and eyebrows, the whole structure glittering subtly. Finally the parasol, her namesake, pink and frilly and entirely bulletproof.
Parasol allowed herself only a moment to appreciate the costume in the mirror, compact as the bathroom was. She was proud of her design, and had been adamant about pushing it through before PR and Branding could get their hands on her career and her standing. It was about as functional as a fashionable costume could be, which meant it served the multiple purposes of combat gear and good PR.
A creak ran through the apartment, the sound of a door opening, and Assada went stock still. In the outside room, a light clicked on, the white light shining onto the tiles of the floor and mixing with the yellow of the bathroom light. The dull thud of footsteps could be heard from beyond. Her breath quiet, Assada's hand reached to the bathroom door knob, making sure the lock was still twisted closed.
The sound of running water, likely the kitchen faucet, sounded for a few seconds. Then a clink of glass, and the footsteps thudded back from the direction they had come, to her parents' room.
The light that shown from under the door clicked off, leaving only the dull yellow of the bathroom lamp.
Assada let out the breath she had been holding before slowly easing the door open. A cup half filled with water, reflecting in the bathroom light. Mom or Dad must have just wanted some water.
They didn't know.
Assada left the house as soon after as possible, staying absolutely silent.
---
Bailey didn't think they had ever gotten to the headquarters before Parasol had. The cape in question was sitting waiting for Bailey in the common room, where she would probably go over every potentiality of the patrol in concise and perfectly worded detail as they waited for Shadow Puppet to return. Even as she waited for both her teammates, Parasol seemed to waste no time, a series of folders and papers carefully arranged and notated in front of her, which she was in the process of reviewing and adding small edits to.
Bailey had no fucking idea how Parasol did it. As Whiplash, they only had respect for the sub-captain, especially given how much of that goddamn paperwork she seemed to churn through every day – even if she seemed to expect the other Wards to keep up on their end of the paperwork. Bailey totally understood why someone in Parasol's position would be as unyieldingly serious and focused as she was.
Which definitely wasn't why Bailey was peering in on the sub-captain as she and the entirety of their surroundings were frozen in motion. They were almost surprised that the whole world wasn't grey and cold, like in the movies. No, the walls and curtains were colorful and just as unyielding as Parasol.
Bailey was a true believer in the philosophy of "Powers Are Bullshit". Theirs wouldn't decide on anything, given half a chance. Five weeks ago they had seemed to stretch moments of time, moving faster by speeding up their own time or some shit. Every time they used their power everything slowed down just that much more, until it stopped all together. This had to be, what, the fourth curveball their power had thrown?
Bailey chewed their lip as they leaned against a fundamentally uncomfortable pillar near the immobile door to the empty living spaces. They definitely weren't delaying the inevitable, by trying to put as much time between between patrol with the Queen of Togetherness and themself, who had to be at least the team's fourth worst mess.
Maybe third. Onpoint had some good days, but Justicar and Gestalt didn't have any real competitors on that front.
Bailey supposed that the shrink probably wouldn't like them referring to themself by degree of mess-ness, but since when had a shrink's word meant more than the paycheck the PRT had to give them to stay quiet about all the shit they saw.
Bailey would've liked to have actually talked with Parasol, maybe even be friends if they thought they would have half a chance. They would have liked almost anything other than the omnipresent silence and awkward attempts at small talk that seemed to leech any progress whenever the two of them were alone on patrol.
Strain and Shadow Puppet, amongst the clusterfuck of Wards on base, were ok, but that didn't mean those almost-friendships had gone well. Really Bailey just wanted everyone to forget the whole "release-the-secure-documents-online-to-remove-the-monopoly-on-information-by-the-PRT" thing. That didn't mean Bailey would ever forget the fact the PRT had the clearance to treat Wards like criminals if given a chance, but that was a different matter entirely.
Tension crawled along Baileys spine, a gripping feeling that they were unable to brush off. The world pressed against them, straining to spring back into motion. They didn't have long, especially if they didn't want to give Parasol their namesake of a temporal headache. The patrol was an inevitability, no matter how awkward it would totally be.
And Bailey could deal with awkward shit. Well, that or die trying. They'd figure it out, just like they'd figure out their trippy power and all the fucky personal stuff that seemed to follow them like a fog.
Easy-peasy.
With a deep breath, Bailey reached out, not with their hands per say, but beyond that. With a click, they could feel reality begin moving again. Immediately they could feel the kickback, as they re-entered real time, surging out from where they stood. Gritting their teeth, Bailey drew their reach back in, bottling the distortion inside with what felt like a pop.
The headache was going to be fucking terrible, but Bailey was confident in their ability to cover that up.
Reaching behind to close the door they had only opened a moment ago in real time, Bailey suppressed a wince as Parasol looked up.
"Hey Sub-Captain. You prepping for our patrol?" Bailey asked
---
Hoard was starting to get bored of solitaire. She had perfected her winning strategy a while back, though there was no way she was broadcasting that across the mental airwaves. It didn't matter what the thinkers said about there being no telepaths, she wasn't letting any mind reader reveal her secret to success on the virtual game board.
She gave up that line of thought as she lost for the eleventh time tonight. And what a night! All of no things happened, and in the short short time of 3 hours of her shift! Fuck, that meant she wasn't even a third of the way done.
Only the most goody two shoes of the Queens team of the area checked in with her when they thought something was off on their patrol. Most gave no heads up at all, or else called one of the PRT responders on base, leaving Hoard to find out later through their paperwork - as she passed it off to some poor schmuck to look through in her stead - about whatever had come up during the time she was at the headset.
The most eventful thing that had taken place was when Kinetic had dropped by to sign of on his patrol in person rather than at the front desk, and then promptly scowled and left with nary a word said.
What a charmer. He must get all the turned supervillains that way, all hot and bothered by his adolescent anti-hero disinterest.
As Hoard closed the solitaire window in search of more fulfilling games to download - poker maybe - she noticed the blinking notification and subtle beeping that had been supposed to alert her that a patrol was about to return. Shit, she could feel someone approaching at the entrance too. She was supposed to be on top of this. If the higher ups caught word they would be breathing all the way down her neck again.
Flipping through a few video channels, she found Shado - pfft - Shadow Puppet walking through the main entrance of the headquarters, checking in with the guard in front. From partially remembered patrol shifts from earlier in the week, as some asshole had decided they couldn't have physical or digital copies to check, Hoard remembered lil' Shadow was the evening shift, after which Wards patrol would switch over to Umbrella girl and Whip-something would take over for the night. Hoard absently flipped to the feed of the two in question, just in time to see the sub captain put a hand to her ear.
"This is Parasol, confirming with Control for the Wards night patrol of Whiplash and I. Copy?" The headset crackled from its place on the desk where Hoard had set it to think about it's lack of use. She hurriedly picked it up, preferring to imagine the kid would be polite enough to pretend there had been no sound of fumbling it on. The kid who was Parasol and whom Hoard had in no way mis-remembered the name of.
"This is your Protectorate Control, operated by the one and only Protective, your MC for the evening." Hoard responded, a grin on her face. At least someone still responded, though the goody two shoes comment wasn't inaccurate. "Copied. Have fun out there kiddos!"
There was a terse moment of silence.
"Umm, we will. Thanks?" A younger voice carried over the headset, as uncertain as it was confident. Ahh, childhood. That would be Whiplash then.
"Over and out," Parasol cut in before any more awkwardness could be drawn out from this stone.
Hoard watched as the two made their way out of the building, until all that remained was a blinking red light on the map program that stated their route and location and the base was a quiet hum of late night office drones again.
It wasn't more than a minute before Hoard found herself flipping through the video camera channels again. She settled back on the feed of the tinker labs. Lil' Shadow had joined Strain in her section of the lab, leaning against a wall and talking with exaggerated expressive hand motions as Strain obviously tried to stifle her laughter by looking into the microscope at her table.
Hoard carefully decided to not log that interaction for the higher ups to see. Never say mama duck didn't want what was best for her ducklings, even if they were still slightly traumatized by her actions.
She left the video feed stay on the lab a for a bit longer anyways.
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Chapter 2 - Remnants - Into the Fold/Sierra Harper
Chapter 2 - Remnants - Into the Fold/Sierra Harper
Warnings: Swearing, Minor injuries, Thrill seeking.
Mind control, Captivity, Threats of violence.
No matter what They said, shattering every window pane down 30th street felt fucking exhilarating.
The sensation of the concrete that hemed the windows in, twisting, churning, until the glass bent and shattered, raining with melodic clicks onto the pavement below - It resounded in waves through my skin, up into my chest, and out as laughter poured out from my lips.
I ran with the others, my friends, my real family, as they joined in on the laughter, whooping and yelling. Spray was unleashing an unending barrage of bolts of light, giving any villain a run for maddest cackle. Bright's hands were glowing with molten light, a grin wide on their face as they tried not to get swept up in the sensation. Only Bulk didn't join in, nervous as he usually was, but I could see a smirk beginning to sneak it's way across his face.
It was us four versus the world, and we were standing tall, announcing that we were here and didn't fucking care what anyone thought! Our laughter trailed through the streets as we vacated the scene, as we heard the sirens in the distance.
I didn't even wonder what They would have thought - Because I was here.
I was now.
I was free.
---
That had been too close.
The couch I had crashed into should have felt like fucking heaven, but I couldn't feel it through the pain and irritation of the bruises, and the layer of grime that covered my body. I tried to imagine that that the abandoned warehouse loft we were holed up in was actually a nice, temperature controlled hotel room instead of the uninsulated shithole box-with-windows it was, but the biting cold of winter coming through the walls made that impossible.
No, I shouldn't think about the base that way; Kaleo - or Bright Idea when they were in costume, I guess - had done a pretty incredible job finding this place. They were collapsed in the chair across from me. The singed bits of their costume - as much due to their own power as the opponent's - filling the room with a scent of burnt cloth and plastic that stuck to the back of my mind.
At least they had stuck around.
Jalal had panicked and ran back to the storage closet he used as his room the moment we had returned to the base, even before he had started to change back: the layers of muscle and sinew that got Bulk his name slowly being pulled back beneath the skin of his twiggy body. There was no way he fucking thought I was going to drop how he chickened out, not after tonight.
And Spray? Fuck, Floris hadn't even returned yet, and I had no idea when he would be back - after he left with only a moment's notification that he was going to to distract them before escaping himself. Even if he wasn't one of the brightest Floris was one of the good ones. I hoped the idiot was ok.
At least none of us had been caught. Both the commercial strip we had bombarded and our base were in the territory of some group called the Elementals or Elements or some shit, and they hadn't taken so kindly to us.
We had thought they were nothing to us at first. They had even sent an envoy, to bring us in under their directive, but we weren't going to have none of that. We were the Chelsea Young now, and we ain't under anyone.
I had relished the moment when Kaleo let me sink the Element cape halfway into the ground. Of course, a fight ensued soon after, but we didn't care none about that. It was close when Jalal almost got wrapped up by that paper dude, but in the end we got away with only cuts and bruises.
The reality was starting to set in now.
It was the top story of a warehouse, the place Kaleo had found us, just intended to be a place to stay when we weren't kicking up trouble, but after a few times out we had returned here more and more urgently as the stuff we were against began to reveal its nature.
The Elements, who we had fought with the most, had to have at least three, four, maybe even five times the amount of people we did, and that wasn't even counting their unpowered hires. Sure we were always the ones on the offensive, and it felt all hells of exhilarating to roll through them with the all the concrete I had access to, but we were always on the run as soon as they showed up - and they were supposedly one of the most passive groups that controlled territory in the city.
In the quieter moments like this one, I could see we didn't stand a chance. I wondered what They would say to thoughts like that, what They would have me do differently. At those times, I couldn't do much more than retreat, close myself off in my section of the flat. Valleys and peaks.
I looked to Kaleo, still in his Bright costume, as they rested, calm as the burning smell continued to waft off of them. Having the others around, having Kaleo there even after they had seen all the shit they had pulled me from, it helped.
I sighed. Things seemed like they were on the up. We had money we had pulled from various jobs, what was almost a cool homebase, a territory we did business in. We had even met a guy who would grow us some grass for sale in our territory.
It was small, but it was our little corner of the city.
No wonder things had been going well. Like They always said, nothing good happened in this world. Fate was just waiting for the other shoe to drop before it really started breaking everything apart.
We had barely been here holding our own for what, a month? A month of fun, of easy getaways and wads of cash, and then we follow a lead from one of Kaleo's best contacts only to find fucking eight of those Elements waiting for us. Stupid, stupid, what would They have said? I should have seen it coming.
My bruises ached, and I wondered when the beautiful tomorrow my friend had promised me would arrive.
"Hey Sierra, you still awake?" I heard Kaleo creak out.
I shifted over to focus on them instead of the ceiling. They were slipping off their mask, bunching the biking face cover into their hand as they breathed a sigh of release. It made my heart beat a mite faster, to see them without the mask, removing the layer of unfamiliarity that reminded me of Them.
"Barely," I told Kaleo.
They smiled, a fucking dumbass grin that spread across their face like wildfire. I felt the grin tug at the corners of my mouth as well.
He started to chuckle like a broken record, and it caught in me like plague and soon enough we were both cackling, gasping for breath as our eyes watered. It felt terrible, miserable, glorious, to laugh in the face of fucking defeat.
"We're fucking screwed," Kaleo caughted out, his voice warm and a smile still on his lips.
"No shit we are," I wheezed back, yet barely registering the bruises and grime, "What the hell were you thinking, bringing us here?"
"First of all, we," Kaleo shouted as his grinning face leaned back, pointing a finger haphazardly in the air. The fact that a fucking giant light bulb was painted across his shirt only made me choke on more laughter as the gesture. "We weren't fucking thinking anything."
He looked back at me locking eyes. We were still splayed across our respective seats.
"That was kind of the point wasn't it?"
I shrugged, or rather gave my best attempt given how my shoulder was trapped under a cushion.
In that moment, I almost didn't care about the bruises, about the grime, about the rest of the team.
We were still here.
We could figure it out.
---
We were fucking screwed. I, I, I-
My fingers were trembling where they rested gripping each other in panic. I couldn't trust them, couldn't pretend for a moment like the tremors settled me down like it had in the past. Panic at least should have been grounding, something that told me I was still in my own head.
I couldn't fucking trust how much of myself was even me anymore.
The unfamiliar walls closed in like so many interested bystanders. They were watching, They were waiting for me to make a mistake, for me to do nothing.
I couldn't burrow far enough under the threadbare blanket on what the man who had introduced himself as Mr. Lafayette called a bed.
I couldn't breath, not steadily, not when I might be missing breaths in between, not when some of those breaths might not be my own. I could see Her turning, smiling, in the alley way a day before. Seeing Her, what I had thought was a moment later, as she had taken what was supposed to be mine alone and twisted it into a volcanic eruption of concrete and flame.
Bright Idea, asking me why I had spaced out and began to walk away. Adamantly denying it until I realized I couldn't fucking remember.
Like Them, Her smile branded the inside of my head like a scar. Lafayette had introduced her as Vicar.
The blankets weren't enough to shield me from the world.
Even though I knew I should think otherwise, I hoped none of the others were ok with what had happened. I new Spray wouldn't be jostled, but I didn't want any of what Laffayette had done to be ok. I didn't want some asshole throwing around enough power to level buildings to decide what the weight of our lives were.
I didn't fucking care what the others thought. I had seen his eyes, the way he had casually threatened us. That man had been ready to kill us without a second's thought.
And then he had fucking hired us.
It would have been a nice thought that we didn't play into his fucking hands, that him catching Bright Idea and Bulk at the pawn shop robbery had been a coincidence, that Vicar following us into that alley had been unconnected.
I didn't have the headspace for nice thoughts right now.
There was a knock at the door. I thought I heard Kaleo's voice from beyond, too muddled in my own thoughts to make out.
"What?!" I yelled back, and then drew closer in, the voice far more aggressive than I had meant to. I hoped they didn't leave. I scrambled to my feet, ran to unbolt and open the door.
It wasn't Kaleo on the other side. One of the cronies of Lafayette, I think. I don't even try to hide the scowl that distorts my face as I slam and bar the door.
I didn't even try and stop the streams of tears that burned my cheeks, as I tried to lose myself beneath the bedsheet again.
I tried to collect myself, to ignore what They would have said, to put together the chain of events.
Carving out our own part of the city, it… to say it had been going abysmally would have been leaving out a few things. We were being fucking trounced and sometimes it didn't even seem like the others realized it. Sometimes I didn't realize it.
Fucking week one we have the Elements on our back trying to subdue us. We had thought the Protectorate might be a problem, sure, but our passing worries had been fucking nothing compared to the wall we slammed into.
I hated myself for the jealousy I felt when the Protectorate seemed to respond to our hits with less speed than the Elements did, that the Elite for all the hubbub that surrounded them hadn't even reached out to us, that we had been fucking stupid enough not to take the Elements offer when they had given it.
At least then we would have had a choice.
I tried not to think of the man who hadn't given us that choice, of how clear the options had fucking been when they showed up at our doorstep. For all that we knew, they had figured everything out in the few days we had interacted with them, though I was sure they had to have been working and spying for far longer.
I had to think that. We couldn't be that fucking pathetic.
We should have thought it was more than just a repeat of when the Elements had given us an offer, when Lafayette had caught Kaleo and Jalal raiding the pawn shop. The way Jalal had described it the man had talked to them as if they were fucking children while his powered bodyguard protected him with that dumb forcefield.
I hadn't believed Jalal, about the part when Kaleo ran without him.
I should have been more wary, after Floris had answered someone with a petition at the door to a fucking abandoned warehouse. It had been Her at the door.
Vicar.
She had been following Kaleo and I when we had left the base - when we had been out of costume - and She hadn't even done it fucking subtly. Kaleo had told me to head around a block while they ducked into an alley, catch Her from behind.
The plan had worked. We had cornered her, and after I saw her mess with Kaleo and make him empty out his pockets I sunk her up to her head through the fucking concrete.
Then She had kept talking to us like nothing had happened. Kept trying to sweet talk us when She was a fucking head in the ground.
And She had, had-
I heaved out of bed, grabbing the bucket Kaleo had left in the room last time I had let them in. The ideas of my control, grabbed and warped, filled my mind and flipped my stomach. They were made worse by how I remembered fucking nothing about actually doing anything, couldn't remember.
I could feel the voice in the back of my head trying to convince me that I had imagined it all. Despite what was now only dry heaving, I felt sicker than before.
I wiped my mouth on the blanket, because fuck Lafeyette and his threadbare sheets. I tried to exile the thought, as my hands trembled at what he might do in retaliation if he heard. What They would have done. What She might do without me ever realizing.
Kaleo had seemed just as freaked out as I had, after meeting Vicar, though they tried to hide it as they made sure I wasn't an entire fucking mess. They had called Floris and Jalal, back from whatever they had been scoping out over the night. The two of them were supposed to have been back within thirty minutes.
Somehow that man had shown up at our door in twenty. Vicar, who had to be some sort of underling given how she followed his every whim, had accompanied him along with 5 others. They had fucking knocked, and waited for us to come down.
I shivered, covered in cold sweat even under the blanket.
It had been Kaleo who had answered. I had heard them shouting from upstairs. The moment I learned it was Her I fucking tore up the ground outside the warehouse and fortified the door.
Kaleo told me to stay back, that they would figure this out. I hated that I listened, that I hadn't used waves of stone and concrete to tear through the people who had threatened us.
The rest of the day plays through on repeat. I don't hear all the words, but I can hear Them in Lafayette's tone, in Vicar's intent of mentioning the police and danger we were in if we didn't comply. The implicit threat if we didn't join.
The sound of Kaleo starting to agree, and my heart dies.
Then the telltale sound of Floris' barrage of lasers, even if I almost couldn't register the sound as my head spun. He and Jalal running into the group outside our door full force, knocking Vicar and Lafayette aside.
They hadn't even lasted five minutes.
Floris had stumbled and looked pale as one of Lafayette's entourage stood up straighter, and then the man in question had fucking kicked Jalal as he charged. Even with the kick barely shifting him, the man had talked Jalal down.
By then all I could remember was Kaleo yelling out, over the whine of police sirens, and suddenly we weren't fighting anymore and instead we were running and supposed to collect as much as we could from the warehouse because we wouldn't be coming back.
Barely knitted slips of stashing clothes, money, anything that was mine, and then running and running and the sound of sirens filled my mind. The tears stung.
Kaleo had guided us to a pier, and at the end Lafayette stood with his underlings, and the pit in my stomach tells me that we are now part of that number. That we were that man's to do with as he saw fit, whatever Kaleo said otherwise.
We weren't even going to be allowed to keep our names. As much as 'Into the Fold' had been a spur of the moment regret, it had been mine. Now even that would be gone.
I try to curl further under the blankets of the room I had trapped myself in. I tried to ignore that the room wasn't mine, wasn't one I had wanted to choose even if the man had let us free range of the available rooms in the converted warehouse.
I tried to ignore that I wasn't mine anymore. That none of us were.
That it was over.
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Chapter 3 - Contradiction - Abstract/Leo Korpela & The Village Shelter
Chapter 3 - Contradiction - Abstract/Leo Korpela & The Village Shelter
Notes: My usual beta was unable to read this chapter, as they are in the weaverdice game I have taken these characters from and therefore can't know about them. Thus, recognize that the trigger warnings and content might not be set up as well as usual
Trigger Warnings: Body dysphoria, swearing, child abuse, a lot more that are very spoilers.
Human trafficking, human experimentation, mind alteration and control, political corruption,
"I'm sorry"
The girl's whisper was like a breath, as drawn in close to her soul as she had drawn her shoulders in towards her chest; a shell of shame, of fear, broken only by the tightening of her hands as they attempted to strangle each other. I could see the lines drawn in her mind: the widening of her eyes - even the one with the bruise, how her breath quickened to strain against already exhausted lungs. She knew she had messed up, though was still unable to determine if her flaw was in her actions, or getting caught. But she regretted it, and was afraid.
I sighed, lower than she had, only for my internal audience. It always ached my heart when children felt as if they had to worry about the wrath of their caretakers. The child was barely a teen, and yet the presence of the city was clear on her. I suspected she would never truly be clear of it. Her eyes showed her fear as clear as her spirit. I adjusted myself, made the fear less present.
"Flynn?" I asked, quiet as she had. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut as she tucked her head in to the side. More bruising, older, on that cheek. A more solid approach then. Stability without fear.
"Flynn. Look at me," She raised her gaze, peering around collected braids, "I am not angry at you."
She raised her head, confused, as the lines of fear unraveled themselves from her spirit, though they remained bound by uncertainty. One thing at a time.
"You-You aren't?" She prodded, a more solid tone than before, certainly.
"No. I have more of an idea of what goes on here than most of my residents seem to think." She tensed again, but it was a suspicious gesture, not a fearful one. Progress. "AND before you say anything, I know what the feeling of having to prove yourself is like."
Her eyes narrowed.
"What," I said, quirking my own eyebrows, "You think I never got in a fight when I was your age? Being one of the youngest in a place like this, intimidating kids and no way to break in? I know exactly what you feel."
She radiated incredulousness. Of course she did.
"Look," I said, rolling up my sleeve to show The Scar. It was a gristly old gash, a jagged red line on light tan, maybe running half my arm, arrayed by several smaller marks and scars. Her eyebrows raised, and I let my internal audience see my smile grow. The Scar always got them.
"Woah," she let slip before she clamped her mouth shut. Mentally of course.
"Got this in a fight back in high school. Some kid brought a knife. Totally unfair breach of conduct." -I snuck her a side look- "Though I would still have won if security hadn't jumped it."
I could see she was on board now. I eased off working lessening the fear, and instead intermixed a degree of awe and compliance. I left my sleeve rolled up, just to keep up the effect.
"Flynn, when I say I know what you're going through, I mean it. I'm not going to punish you for getting in that fight. Hell, I'm not going to ask you not to get into more, though personally I'd prefer it. Just between you and me, I think if we tried to crack down on all of the incidents soon every resident would be up in arms.
"No, what I want to remind you is that you don't have to find yourself forced into those situations. You've got to realize that we, that I, am on your side here. You are a smart girl, smarter than a lot of people claim to be, and you're strong to boot. If you put your mind to it, I bet you could solve any problem you might face though sheer perseverance.
"I'm not going to stop you from a fight, but I will chide you for making bad decisions. Winning battles is important, but the ability to choose which battles to fight is far more so. Do you get what I'm saying?"
She made a perturbed face. "I guess so Miss Korpela."
"Think about it this way," I continued, dismissing the formality with only a passing grimace to my internal audience, "Next time someone calls you out for something, you think about it instead of immediately showing them what for. Are you really going to let what they say have a sway over you?
"I'm not saying that some things are too important not to let go, but ask that question first, are they really worth it? Can you put this fight towards something more important than some mouth breather who you'll surpass soon anyways?"
"Yeah!" She said, determined, before looking confused. "I mean no-or whatever. I get it. I'll think it through." I liked her swell of pride. "Thanks miss-"
"Leo." I interrupted. "Just Leo is fine."
"Thanks Leo," she said.
"You're very welcome Flynn," I said, "Though I don't know what I did. Now go show them what you are made of."
Satisfied, I held up a fist as I affirmed the decision. Surprised, she tentatively bumped it, nodding quickly and excitedly grabbing her bag before pushing open my office door, sparing me a glance. Outside, as the door swung shut, I could see Stevie perk up from where he was resting against the opposing wall give her a high five before he would walk her back to the main residence.
I could hear their excited chittering even down the hall. I smiled. I knew that she was probably going to get into another fight soon enough, but was, for the moment, happy. Like a girl her age would normally be. Should normally be.
Once the door was shut I relaxed my shoulders, closing my eyes for a moment as I eased the tension from the room, before replacing it with a cold gaze.
"She isn't a cape."
"I could have told you that," Doctor Ji-Hu's unenthused voice toned through my link. Echoed through my head really.
"Shit," I hissed, letting the internal audience come along for the ride. "I thought we were sure on that one. Does she still have the potential?"
A neutral grumble ran through the neurolink, along with a clicking of keys, "She's got the Corona pollentia, yes, and is certainly in the mind space to do so, or at least was before."
"Should I have not encouraged-" I begin. I would have been such a shame.
"No, the change was negligible anyways." Ji-Hu quickly cut me off. Didn't want me to get into one of my moods -as he called it- I'm sure. Well, it mattered little. I was helping her either way. Helping all of them, really.
As Ji-Hu drifted on through several more readings, my eyes drifted to The Scar, still revealed beneath my rolled up sleeve. The Scar always worked, at least with a little push. It was great, conceptually. A blank canvas to plaster an idea onto. I wondered what the resident's would think of they discovered I had actually gotten it from a violent confrontation with Ursa Aurora, of all protectorate members.
I indulged my inner audience, winding the clock back. That had been a fun conflict. People were oh so lovely when restraint didn't exist. Of course, I had been young then. I hadn't considered how aggressive freedom tended to be. I was better now.
Abstract was better now.
I relaxed the cold gaze of the room, instead pulling out the daydreams. No time to get lost, not when clientele would be asking.
"-rom what I can tell of the dream patterns of-" my Doctor, my Parasomnia, had continued.
"Go over our list of potentials for me again, and maybe another look over our residents. Just to be sure." I interrupted him. He didn't like interjections, but I knew he would deal with it. "And read me a list of our clientele again."
His indecision stewed for a few moments before he relented. "Of course Directo-"
"Leo"
"Director" He reiterated. "We currently have ten under close watch, with a little under half on the board as potentials. In addition, we have had a busy week, with 5 new intakes in addition to those sent from the Shirley Children's home after they went over capacity last week. Lots of REM data to pull from, more if I pill the new intakes."
I felt a wicked smile - Knowing how much I could do for these people, and the opportunities I had with them.
"As per procedure," I said.
"As per procedure," he reaffirmed. "Now, as for our clientele, the Trade Conglomerate has first look over of any definite prospects, however they are currently in a bidding war with the elite over a separate matter. The Red Fang sends it's thanks again, a new filter program they picked up, so it seems as if Janaína has been adjusting well…"
I smiled, thinking about her. She was always attentive, and oh so serious. She had always thought she was getting the better of us, even as she had near begged my audience for attention and validation. A perfect project.
I looked through the rest of the list of potentials, of my residents. A few names stood out. A boy, my paladin, who we knew for sure was gifted, and whose sense of justice I would love to condition. A few I was less sure on, but that my protege had assured me seemed to mess with his field.
My residents, my children, these ones who were gifted so. So troubled - as was everyone at the Village Shelter, as homeless child or young adult was - and yet so precious. It was my mission to help them. I know Ji-Hu disagreed with my excessive spending on the Transitional Home, but it was my duty after all. I was here to guide them to a better future.
Warmth filled my heart as I looked at the picture of the children I would condition to sell to the groups of the city.
---
A cracking wall, like a face, a parent, a jeering friend, as the girl tried to hide herself from it's gaze. Her fear was palpable, tangible, a mist that surrounded her and hid her from the figures that the wall had now morphed into.
I wove my way out of the dream, rather than bore myself any longer in the peacemeal trauma of some pre-teen, especially one with so little value. The mental reactions had no real memory component. The girl wasn't powered.
Irritating.
As the compressed feeling slowly unclasped from around my brain, sensation of my own lucid terminal returned, along with the dulled nerves of my body beyond. The endless space was blue tonight, swirls reminiscent of clouds circling below. I had returned to a body, here, unlike in the girl's dream. A construct of my creation, built by my subconscious, far more comfortable than the incorrect flesh I inhabited beyond the dreamscape.
A thought realized manifestations of my desk and chair. Another brought up the screens containing my notes, the light blue panels of light arranging and encircling my workspace.
Casually waving my hands, I scrolled through the notes, even as my thoughts brought the girl's relevant information to my side. The simple review helped me collect my thoughts, to distract the dream logic from distorting my perceptions.
A needless practice, now, but what were humans if not for their routines.
A review of the girl. Corona pollentia present, history suggesting the proper conditions for a trigger, with the nightmares to back such a claim. I sighed despite my lack of breath, and gestured a pen into my hand.
'Likely unpowered,' I wrote, 'nightmares reflect emotions, no connection obvious to real abilities or actions.'
I entered a new line. 'Overall health and mentality has been improving, despite conflicts with other residents. Friendly relations are present, though none romantic. The shelter continues to be a positive influence. Unlikely to encounter a triggering situation given current socio-emotional trajectory.' Lifting my pen, I clicked my teeth
Disappointing.
I would have to look closer into the other candidates. The Trade Conglomerate would be… Displeased if we didn't maintain our production schedule. As would be the Elite.
I debated the potential benefits of advancing the experimentation schedule. I was eager to compare the differences of similarly induced nightmares between the powered and the mundane. Capes tended to have such interesting dreams.
I shivered at the chance of seeing the coils of the universe once more. Shared between so many powered - a puzzle unlike any physical one.
Mirthlessly, My lips spread until my teeth were bared.
The Director wouldn't like it. She would chastise me for exceeding my prescribed time and 'spoiling the children with my gifts'.
I clicked my tongue at the shortsightedness of the woman, though I would say nothing. The degree she was attached to the children was unflattering for one in her position.
Irresponsible.
Despite the inconceivable intelligence the woman displayed in running the shelter's front, and in her dealings with their partners, I would have wrested dominion of the operation years back if it weren't for her beautiful inconsistencies. If it weren't for Abstract.
My fingers twitched, and brought up the brain scans the neurolink readily generated. My teeth remained bared as I analysed how her corona pollentia glowed, warped the resulting pathways of her brain as the redefinitions of personality found themselves redefined around her, within her.
Such a beautiful mind. Such a prime specimen.
Nevertheless, she would require an explanation for the advancement of schedule. Time would be required to be dedicated to meeting and convincing her of the newly necessary plan of action.
I would likely be required to wake up within reality soon. The morning shift rested undaunted, and soon the children would find themselves assailed by all sorts of meaningless drivel. I despised that society still implied a medical licence required active use.
Tiresome.
I felt my stomach rise in revulsion at the thought of returning to the vile physical body beyond the dream. The wrong shape, the wrong sounds, the wrong parts.
The dream state felt the need to bring up the exile from my peers, of what I knew awaited me at any of the more advance facilities. Opposed rose present dangers of those below the public's gaze - a slip of the fingers, a knife in the back. Those dangers could arise from either side though, given a flimsy motive and an opportunity.
A visit from a powered doctor was an even more negligible notion - Not unless I was allowed into their mind first.
No, the hormones would be enough, in the now. The necessity of the present outweighed the unpleasantries of the few.
I clicked my tongue and dismissed the images that had once been my desk and notes, twisted into demons and memories as they were. A lapse in concentration, potentially, but a flaw of my technologies none the less.
I would have to remove that capacity further.
I closed my eyes.
"Parasomnia, disconnecting. Have a good waking day, Doctor Hwa Ji-hu." The cheerless voice droned into my mind, high and feminine, as a blanket of processes covered my mind.
My eyes snapped open, though they remained useless under their cover, before the rest of my body realized it was awake. I could feel the leather of the Operating Bed digging into my skin, cool and unpleasant. The whir of the Dreamweaver hummed to my left.
Painstakingly, the Operating Bed's scanner raised from my head, revealing the physical world in all of it's dull greys and browns. My lab, pristine as I had left it, dust still covering most of the surfaces.
I could feel my skin, how my bones fit.
Displeasing.
---
Doctor Ji-hu left my office with the most lovely smile on his face. The meeting hadn't taken long, only a hour and a half at most. After all, the Doctor had been so spirited in his request. It was my duty to dedicate as much time as I could to redefining the education schedule, especially with our friends in the city breathing down our necks.
It was just so charming to see Ji-hu being so positive once more. I loved how it never reached his eyes. I was so happy to have him with me, beneath me.
I decided to tone down the optimism. As positive an addition being optimistic tended to be in both planning meetings and diplomatic ones, I was a Director. Organizing the various employees of the shelter was very important work, not something I could glide through. Check ins improved employee productivity, made them think they were important to the shelter, even if they were unknowing volunteers.
Hmm, maybe lets not remove all of that optimism.
Everyone at the shelter was an important member!
Rounds themselves were simple enough. My office found itself tucked in the administration section on the first floor, but starting in the basement meant that I could go from bottom to top! Besides, even if I had already talked to Ji-hu, my Watcher was down there as well.
I shivered in anticipation that she might have caught something through the cameras she watched through. It was a shame she wasn't gifted, I bet she would have fit her title better if she had.
Maybe if Ji-hu bridged the gap for her? But then she would have to always be asleep. A shame to never talk to someone waking again…
I would have to think on the idea further.
A special key and a short elevator ride later, the admin basement opened itself to me. Knocking, I swung open the door to where my Watcher, the eyes on the wall, my very legal head of security Mara resided.
With the overhead lights off and no windows for the sunlight outside to peer through, the room remained cast in the pale blues and greys of the old television monitors that covered the right wall. Illuminated in the dim light, Mara's lanky figure leaned back in her office chair. She barely registered the sound of the door opening.
"Hello Miss Harte," I greeted, making sure to lean onto her desk in a way that put my figure in view. My internal audience cheered as her eyes quickly glanced over me, even as she feigned interest with one of the monitors.
It was always so much more fun when they liked you. I made sure to quell the shiver that ran through me. Maybe a degree more self-restraint. I was here for work before play, after all.
"Director," Mara greeted curtly. She was remarkably good at hiding her emotions, but that only made it more enjoyable to squeeze them out. "You didn't make any mention of an-"
"I thought it might be nice to to a walk around, check in on my employees," I said, "I thought I might check in, see if anything interesting has come up - especially concerning our… difficult cases?"
I paused a moment, before adding, "And you can call me Leo, Mara. I don't bite."
Her unease made me quiver. Nevertheless, I could see her mood focus given the subjects, a glance cast to the side as she racked her brain to appease me.
"No ma'am, no obvious changes that we are aware of. Across the residential floors people have been behaving themselves for the most part. Minor cases of theft and vandalism from the community areas, nothing more serious than usual." Mara cleared her throat, glancing my way again.
"The fights have been ongoing, most often in the basement or around the back of the alley where they haven't noticed the cameras. One of our, um, cases has been a frequent participant, though he seems to be pressured into it. One…" Mara glanced over a notepad at her side, "Derek Morre? Ring any bells?"
I smiled, sweetly, as within my internal audience burst into laughter. Yes, the Paladin in his quest for justice. Such lovely determination. Maybe I would even run into him today, I just couldn't wait!
"Thank you, Miss Har - Mara," I purposefully slipped, as familiarity rose in the back of our minds, "Your help is always appreciated."
"Shall I notify the rest of security that you will be around the building?" she asked, a hand by the intercom on her desk.
"No, it's fine." I replied, "You have a job to focus on. We can let it be a surprise."
---
The front desk tended to always be busy, no matter the time of day. 'The city that never sleeps' applied to more than restaurants and nightlife. It probably wasn't too surprising to many how late children and young adults stayed out, but the sheer foot traffic of a shelter of this size had certainly startled me when I started working here.
I smiled and waved at a trio of residents, probably mid teens, as they walked through the entrance. The boy in front scowled, and the girl next to him was too swept up in her phone to notice, but the girl in back blushed and waved back. They were newer residents - I could only recall seeing their faces a few times over the past few weeks.
They all pulled out ID cards and swiped in anyways, though the boy ended up elbowing the phone zoned girl in the ribs to get her attention. I glanced to my computer as they walked through the doors that lead to the common room. Raven, Edward and… Chelsea, accompanied by their face on the computer screen.
I would have to try to remember that last one extra hard. Even given all that they had been subjected to, most of the resident's here were still kids at heart, and it was the rare gem like Chelsea that brightened my day.
Besides, it was a security guard's duty to be approachable and helpful to the ones they protect! Doubly so for the face of the shelter. After all, that's what the doorman tended to be for most residents and visitors.
I just hoped it wouldn't be one of those days again. I had received enough internal damage to my ear canals yesterday with MacCathail girl-Lizzie's mom 'dropping in' to demand that they relinquish her 'possession' all through last week. God, the nerve of some people. Sadly such incidents were my responsibility to solve - too personal and mundane to warrant a pressing of the button beneath my desk.
The digital beep of the door to the staff area drew my attention to my right and away from the more troubling memories. I sat up straighter when the Director walked through the door. Leo was an interesting woman: I'm pretty sure that serious guise was just there to stop the older kids from acting out. She was pretty sweet underneath.
She even took the time to check in on the guards and volunteer staff, and always had something nice to say. That had to count for something right?
Speak of the devil, the Director paced over and leaned over the front desk, just enough that it seemed more like she was passively resting rather than slouched.
"Hello Mr. Pallis," She greeted, before hiding a grin. "Stevie, how're the front gates holding?"
I tried to pretend I wasn't proud that she remembered my name.
"Holding steady, Director." Her smile drooped a measure, "I mean Leo. Still no sign of that MacCathail woman, crossing my fingers that the luck holds."
The Director nodded, still smiling.
"Of course. I hear that when she came before a certain someone handled the situation very well," she chuckled as I looked away. "I trust you'll keep up the great work."
She stayed leaning against the desk for a few moments, turing to watch pedestrians walk along the sidewalks beyond the glass entrance doors. I couldn't help but notice how she was poised carefully as to not crease the folds of her suit, almost stock still, before letting out a quiet sigh.
"What do you think of the daughter? Lizzette I believe her name was?" She asked. "Should we, should the shelter, intervene further? I know that too much assistance can be choking, but in cases like this one I'd rather be safe than sorry. Getting extra opinions on the matter from people who more directly interact with the girl is important to figure out how better approach the situation."
Sensible, though I worried I wasn't as good an opinion as the Director seemed to think I was.
"The girl is shy," I replied, "tended to be drawn back and afraid even just to swipe in. Doesn't talk to me, rarely looks up."
I paused as the Director gave me a concerned look.
"What?"
"The girl is deaf." Leo said clearly.
"Oh,"
Oh.
Shit.
Damn, I've been an ass haven't I. God, how ignorant do I have to be!
"Um, well, she's seemed in a better mood recently. There's Eliza, a friend who talks for her, and I don't think I've seen the two apart in the past two weeks." I backpedaled, hoping I would be able to fix that mistake, both with the director and with Lizzie.
The director let out a breath, "I certainly hope so. None of these kids should have to go through the sorts of things they have, and they all deserve a little light in the dark."
She looked to me, "That's what we are here for, after all."
"Yes, of course ma'am, I'll do my best." I replied.
I would just have to try harder. I think I had a old sign language translation guide lying around the house from when Rudy had tried to learn a few years back. Maybe if I brought it in, I could at least greet her properly.
Maybe then I could be her ray of light.
If a security guard couldn't make those he protected feel at ease, what good was he.
---
I hummed to no one but my internal audience as the staff elevator rose to the second floor. It was nice to see everyone working together. The volunteer coordinators reported everything as usual, though some of their carriers were being harassed by some of the residents, likely the gangs. They had received a new batch of volunteers last weekend, all bright eyed bushy tailed, though the gang presence was a tad more impactful than usual.
No matter. I would have to appear to be working on a solution to the recruitment to gangs within the shelter, but I was sure a few well placed calls would have our partners reigning their members back from scaring my workers. We had an agreement, after all. The shelter provided for all forms of recruitment.
It was a careful balance, measuring how far I could promote the gang activity before it became a real 'problem'. After all, gang recruitment was an issue all shelters like ours dealt with. There was simply nothing we could do to meaningfully impact the issue, not without more direct help from the city.
Ah, plausible deniability was such a pleasurable concept.
The front desk hadn't brought up much of interest either, though it had clarified that the friendship between Lizette and Eliza wasn't just in Lizette's head. The girl had such an interesting situation, had so much potential. I would have to ask Ji-hu to give her a more in depth look through.
We were in need of more candidates, after all. On the chance the girl was gifted - oh how gloriously I would shape her future. I could help her.
Abstract would help her.
The elevator dinged as it reached the second floor, opening to the staff quarters. A few bare-bones bedrooms for the few on-site staff, separated by a door to a series of offices for the more hands-on employees.
After a quick knock I absentmindedly peered into Nate's room. The guidance counselor wasn't the best in his clear attempts to keep his room organized, but that was to be expected given his workload. His absence from the room could likely be explained by the same.
Fahira, our on staff therapist, was revealed to be absent as well, though her door was locked. The two of them must be in meetings, helping our residents. I was so proud of the work they were doing here. Such work was essential, even if they didn't realize it, to bringing their residents to a better place in the world.
As I knocked on the third door, the one that read 'Niek Klaff, Psychiatrist', I was finally greeted with a response. Just as well, I supposed, that it was one of our closer employees that was around to update me on the progress of the residents.
I opened the door to find an office chock-full of meaningless mementos and mail order souvenirs. Niek greeted me, a middle aged man wearing a cheap suit and a hollow smile. I almost despised him for how simplistic his motivations were, how clear and unlayered they remained - though I supposed that the lack of conflicting motives in itself was a curiosity.
No matter. He still had his uses.
"Director, what a pleasant surprise" He lied warmly, "I had heard you were making some rounds. Is there anything you wanted?"
To none but my internal audience I scowled. He was trying to imply that he had members of the staff in his pocket. Typical. Boring.
I would play along nonetheless.
"Of course, I'm pleased to hear you received the message," his uncertainty was delicious, "I of course wanted to check in on any progress you may have uncovered on our difficult cases? I will also be wanting to talk to the other two when they return from their meetings. You'll notify them, right?"
"Of course," Niek responded pleasantly, despite the rising irritation. I could use that, if there were simply more admiration in the mix. "All information I have has been included in my weekly report, as you had previously asked. I'm sure you'd rather have it all available in a concise format at your convenience."
"You'd assume wrong." I replied, savoring how Niek failed to succeed in this game of his. "That said, I have others to check in on. I leave you to your work?"
"And you to yours," he replied.
His hesitation was heavy in the air, on my tongue. I paused near the door, before turning back with a healthy degree of interest. "Is there something else?"
"One other thing, though it only relates to our residents in use. Beyond the usual distribution centers I reach out to for prescription medicine for our residents, I've been contacted by a… Interested party seeking to run a prototype through the initial stages."
Finally, the grin meant only for my internal audience broke out across my face. "Mr. Klaff, are you suggesting we accept your associate's proposition?"
His face dropped, his fear was palpable. "Of course not, ma'am, I simp-"
"How lovely!" I exclaimed, "I'm so proud of you, Niek. Finally, some initiative! You will have to bring the suggestion up with Doctor Hwa, of course. He has plans on his own course of experimentation."
Niek looked disturbed at the possibility. I nodded, almost appeased with the conversation. Almost.
"And Niek," I noted. He looked back up, confused. "Let's do our best - for them. I'm sure your associate will make their lives better in the end."
The door shut with a satisfying click.
Hmm, the only staff remaining on this floor would be Ji-hu in the medical bay, and there no one in specific on the floors above to check in on. Not unless… Ah, I wonder how my protege was doing.
I left the staff offices, making my way to the main elevators. They found quite a bit more use than the staff one, but I enjoyed the minute or so waiting in the sparse crowd of residents and volunteers. It was interesting to see those who recognized me and those who didn't, to see how they reacted when given a small smile or wave. The shy ones were the sweetest, but that didn't say the rebellious ones were any less fun.
The elevator dinged and the people moving up swept in. The smaller space gave me a closer set of people to watch. Three residents, the Reveer siblings and Tamaki, along with a newer resident I hadn't met yet, and one of the indistinguishably optimistic volunteers.
Except wait, no, the volunteer boy didn't send out the same upbeat attitude as the others. Really, he seemed more wary than anything. Maybe he was making up community service hours?
I would have to look into it.
I exited on the third floor, deciding I might as well pop in on each floor in order. It was always a positive influence to have the director connected and present, both for the kind souls who needed to seek me out, and to dissuade any misdemeanors the residents might be thinking of pulling without my knowledge.
I spotted Suhaim talking to one of the mothers who sheltered with us - Rabiah I believe her name was, which meant the bundle of cloth against her side must be little Omar. As I walked over to greet the two, I felt my internal audience become elated.
I almost couldn't unravel the layers of complexity that surrounded my protege. Suhaim, my Affable, shared in my joy of helping others, in making their lives better, though he prefered to make them more comfortable. I had always believed more in the 'hard but tough' method myself, but no protege should practice identical beliefs to their teacher.
Below the choking kindness that infused the air, I could perceive his drive. Like a cold furnace, it wrenched and twisted those around him, perfected them.
He laughed, a lovely low cheer, and the stoic Rabiah smiled.
"Suhaim!" I greeted, as if I had just noticed them, "ah, and Rabiah as well. How nice to run into the two of you. How is little Omar doing? Everything is well I hope?"
Rabiah radiated uncertainty, wariness, and surprised, but Suhaim responded without a missed beat.
"Ah, Miss Korpela. How lovely to see you again. Are you making rounds?" He said. His smile was warm, and I allowed my light smile to reflect as a wide grin to my internal audience. Just as I expected, Suhaim was probably already aware of my intentions, despite no notification.
Surprising me, just as I would expect from him. Pride rose in my chest.
"Miss Awad and I were just discussing some of the changes the maternal wing was interested in bringing to management," Suhaim continued, "I was actually hoping I would get the chance to meet with you to discuss them."
"Ah, yes," Rabiah said, snapping out of her uncertainty, "Omar and I have been doing fine Miss Korpela, thank you."
She looked to Suhaim for a moment, an eyebrow quirked, before shrugging and turning to me. "we were interested if it would be possible to set aside a larger section of the common room for our wing, especially for those who find making it to the medical ward downstairs difficult or too crowded. We were also thinking of organizing a new group and were looking for a room that would house us."
I loved how her confidence never waivered, even as it mixed and fought with her wariness at my presence. She had been a resident for longer than many others, if I remembered, nearly at the age where the shelter could no longer legally house her.
That said, given her confidence I had no doubt she was in the progress of figuring out her own path for the future. I had nothing but belief in her. Such a strong girl. I hoped the world would give her it's best.
If only she were gifted, I could give her so much better
"Of course, I'll bring the concern up with the programs manager." I replied, increasing my smile by a slight measure.
"Thank you for the consideration," Rabiah replied, "And thank you for sounding the proposals out Suhaim."
"Of course, I feel as if it's my duty to help those now that I have the opportunity to work with those I lived with." Suhaim replied.
Rabiah nodded, and excused herself, leaving Suhaim and I to ourselves. I turned as she turned around the corner of the residential hallway, only to find him already looking to me with a pleasant smile.
"I assume Rabiah's proposal wasn't all you wished to talk about?" I asked.
"Whatever do you mean?" He replied knowingly, "I simply wanted to talk about some of the residents I've been interacting with."
He cleared his throat, absently checking the others in the common room - residents in entirety now, the volunteer nowhere to be seen, all headed somewhere unrelated or lounging across the room.
"Our paladin still finds himself pulled into the fights, whether by the ringleader's insistance or by his own morals. He wasn't resistant when I reached out, and we've become acquaintances. He definitely has his own gifts, and I'm hoping to extend an offer to help him escape the endless cycle of conflict he seems to have embedded himself in."
I nodded, "Perfect, it sounds like you have a way to help the boy planned out. I likely have some opportunities that would be very interested to have a boy of his talents. Realize many of these opportunities don't last long though."
Rather than a crease of the brow, Suhaim's preparation kicked into high gear. Such cool brilliance, plastered over by the warm smile - not only had he understood my implications, but rather than worry he had begun to process how to advance his plans.
I made sure to promote clarity as highly as possible. No matter a protege's talents and gifts, it was their teacher's job to elevate their abilities to the highest degree.
"No matter, I trust you have the situation handled," I continued, to which he nodded in acceptance, "Rather I wanted to notify you that miss Flynn Payne is no longer one of our critical cases. I had a chat with her earlier this morning, and she appeared well on the way to stability. You may still check up on her as you like, but it might also be prudent to direct your efforts to more pressing cases."
"Of course, Miss Korpela."
I smile outwardly, even when my internal audience soured as I focused beyond the stupor his complexity had interested me in.
"You can call me Leo, Suhaim," I replied warmly, "I'm not that cold are I?"
"Of course not Miss K.. Ma'am. I simply don't believe I can address one who has aided and guided me so far in any way other than a formal one."
He smiled childishly before continuing, "but I suppose I could try."
I sighed. "Very well."
"I was also asked by our mutual friend to notify you that the protectorate spokesperson would be dropping by later today to talk about outreach. I assume you're prepared?"
"Of course," I said, "We have a great deal to talk about."
Suhaim smiled, as his mind unfolded in workings like a clockwork flower.
---
"We can continue exploring what the distance from your parents means for you tomorrow, ok Caroline?" I said. Across from me, the large girl with teary eyes nodded, before trying her best to compose herself into a more orderly mess.
My brow creased once the girl was no longer present. The girl was barely holding on, and was likely dealing with a great deal more than she let on. And she was one of my better patients. Many didn't even show up to their sessions, and the establishment certainly didn't go out of it's way to significantly correct that.
I bottled my frustrations, even if they were more directed at the bureaucracy of it all rather than the children and young adults I worked with. This place, the Village shelter, was a godsend compared to a lot of what my patients dealt with outside, considering their situations and the easy pay of cape employ in the city. For all of its flaws, it was probably one of the better shelter's in the city, and it was definitely more than she had ever experienced back home.
The amount of support back home was probably different now, but I still reserved my feelings on whatever social services Drekia provided, no matter how Rabija gushed about the kindness Queen Amina put into the country. The country was still an occupational power, at least publically.
I tried to shake my head of such thoughts, before memories of the war started creeping in uninvited, as I cleared the meeting room of all documents and possessions. My office was right down the hall, through the electrically locked door, so it was of little hassle, and upper management had insisted after several thefts of resident health records.
Good excuses didn't mean I liked creating increasing boundaries between myself and my patients. I already barely saw the ones that needed it once per month, I didn't need any additional barriers to communication, physical or conceptual.
With a carefully cleaned room behind me and a quick keycard swipe, I made my way back to my office, in the staff quarters. My office was first on the left, should have been quick to get to.
Instead I found Klaff blocking the hallway. Seeing me, he rose up from the wall where he was leaning, running a hand through his thinning hair as he smiled. I took a breath, doing my best to stay professional.
"Fahira, I'm glad I was able to catch you!" He said, cheerfully. He then paused, as if I was supposed to thank him for the effort.
It would have been really nice if he hadn't technically been a superior. Then maybe upper management would have listened when I brought forward both my own and the resident's complaints.
"Miss Zouko in the professional setting please, Mr. Klaff," I replied. His smile didn't waiver. "What is it you want?"
"Ah, nothing big." Niek said, "The Director dropped by see how the health and counseling staff was doing, and asked me to notify you and Nate to see her in her office after you finished your sessions."
I tried not to let concern flash across my face. I never knew if Niek was the smart kind of slick, or just obliviously leery, but I didn't want to risk showing any vulnerabilities.
"I see. Did the Director say what this meeting was about?"
"No, though if anything I would guess she would be interested in your perspective on your patients."
Well Duh. I didn't let my irritation at the uselessness of the man rise to my face.
"Well, I'll be sure to head down as soon as I am able to drop off my materials."
"The Director said it was urgent" Niek said, still standing in the midst of the hallway even if he made it look as if he took a step to the side.
"Then I guess I'll drop off my stuff urgently" I bit back.
Niek shrugged and turned, walking back to his office. Was he not also waiting for Nate, the counselor? No, he probably had access to all of our schedules, and was using them to ambush us with 'pleasant reminders'.
Asshole.
I quickly unlocked the door to my office, glancing around to see if anything had been misplaced. I liked to believe in the best in others, but the more rational side of me knew how many people lived and worked here who had the motivation and means to look through a therapist's notes.
Everything seemed to be in order, as best I could tell. All papers were still in their neat stacks by importance and type, filing cabinet was organized by descending chosen name, and my purse was still locked in the lower right cabinet.
Good.
I added the materia in my hands to their corresponding places, and after a moments deliberation decided to bring my laptop as opposed to any reference documents. I had everything backed up, which was fine given the extra layers of security I had made my cousin add, and it meant I would be able to pull up anything the Director might ask about.
The Director's office was a flight of stairs and a short walk to the floor below. I supposed I could have used the elevator, but simply calling it for one flight seemed wastfull.
Tentatively, after reading 'Leo Korpela, Director' five times and steeling my nerves with a few breaths, I knocked twice at the door of person with the highest position in the organization that I worked for.
"Come in."
I eased the door open, leaning in. "You asked to see me, Director?"
"Ah yes, Miss Zouko, please come in," Miss Leo Korpela said in a calm and positive tone. The director of the 'Greenwich Village Homeless Shelter and Temporary Home for Teenagers and Young Adults', and long time benefactor of not-for-profits at large, said that to me.
I took great care to make it look like I was comfortable sitting down.
"What is it that you wanted to talk to me about, Director," I asked, placing my laptop carefully on my lap in anticipation.
"It's nothing you should be concerned about," the Director clarified, "Nothing here were are going to talk about will affect you in any way. I simply intended to see how my employees were doing, if there was anything going on around the shelter that might be good to take into consideration in decisions that concern the organization."
It felt like a weight was taken off of my shoulders. It was nice; usually it wasn't so easy to let go of the tensions, but the Director - Miss Korpela seemed to know how to let out the tension in a room.
"Now," Miss Korpela continued, "I was interested in how your sessions with our residents were going, if there were any issues across the board or specifically concerning patients you would like to see more aid for."
"Well, I can not divulge information on my patients unless they allow me too," I began. I caught a flash of irritation across Miss Korpela's face, but it was gone so quickly I decided it must have been my eyes playing tricks on me.
"There are several worrying problems many of them face," I continued "though I'm sure you know about them already. Several of the younger ones show negative reactions to the cases of violence in or around the shelter, either with fear or by saying they want to be a part of it. The pressures of drug use and gang recruitment are present as well."
I took a breath, gauging her reaction. This was just basic information, after all. She seemed pensive, thoughtful.
"Furthermore these activities seem spurred by the lessened degree of guidance and amount of unfilled time the residents have," I continued, "I realize you can't order them to, but it's more often than not that residents don't show up to appointments with Guidance Counselor Wilson and I. Given the lack of activities to take up their time, other than school for the teenagers, many end up being drawn into detrimental situations simply due to boredom."
Miss Korpela thought on what I had said for a moment before answering. "You believe that some more affirmative action on the part of Shelter staff and activities could help better guide the residents."
"Yes, exactly," I replied, excited that she had come to the same conclusion I had. Miss Korpela smiled warmly.
"I'll see what I can do about that."
---
I had precious minutes before Flurry, or rather Paul Doud as he would be out of costume, would arrive at my office and the careful balance between legality and the Protectorate's wrath would have to be debated.
I had known much of what Fahira had explained to me, but the idea of how pliable my residents were, how easily I could guide them to a new path, a better path, it had elated me. With such a guarantee, I was sure we could up our production schedule, as long as I put the optional activity programs that I had already been planning to enact into place.
I finished the last email, sending it out to another of my employees to confirm our course of action. Just in time, as well, given the swell of conceit and greed that was squeezing t's way down the hallway outside.
"Hey Director."
Paul didn't knock, prefering to instead swing open the door and loudly slump into chair opposing my desk. He was a wide-shouldered muscular man with neatly combed hair, wearing a simple suit. With only a click of my tongue to make him believe his attempt to annoy me had worked, I rose and shut the door behind him.
"Hello Mr. Doud." I replied, straining my voice to appear tied and exasperated.
He grinned. I let him. Letting someone believe they had power had its own uses.
"How's life treating you, Director. Your shelter running as well as it could be? Kiddies not causing too much trouble? How about that whole human trafficking business? Any good deals?" He sneered.
I narrowed my eyes. "I have no idea, what you are talking about, Mr. Doud. Here at the Village Shelter we only utilize whatever money the government and our various donors give us. Are you accusing us of something?"
Paul laughed, a scratchy and irritating sound, enjoyable only in it's naivety. "Of course not, how could I accuse such a good intentioned facility of such terrible crimes."
"Especially not when the protectorate might launch into a detailed investigation of all those who might have been involved." I restored.
"Wow, are you threatening a protectorate official out in their civilian guise, Director?" He asked in mock accusation.
"Of course not, Mr Doud," I replied, my face still stern as I pulled an envelope from a drawer on my desk, handing it to him. "You will find our agreed upon exchange at this location. I trust you will keep your side of the bargain, and any prying eyes, from interfering with our operations?"
"Whatever you say," He jeered.
"As for the other aspects of our agreement, before we go into the Protectorate movements for the month I would like to request another Wards or Protectorate showing. My residents are finding themselves a bit lost, and I feel letting them see their heroes could inspire them."
As Paul, as Flurry of the Protectorate, thought over the request I studied the man. Less simplistic than Niek, if equally ruthless, I appreciated Paul for his contradictions. Protectorate members who were both susceptible to bribes and who were proud enough to be manipulated were hard to come across after all.
It was almost funny, considering how competent the man was at manipulating bureaucratic opinion when not conquered by pride.
The man probably thought he was the most concerning person on my mind, the fool. While making sure the Protectorate didn't become aware of the full extent of the activities of my organization, they were of little concern compared to the danger of displeasing the Trade Conglomerate or the Elite. Furthermore, without the protection of those two groups, likely every group in the city would be gunning for control of us, wanting more than just a sliver of the pie.
We were small fish in a very, very large pond, after all. One had to be smart if they didn't want to be eaten alive.
Confirmation drafted through the air before Paul opened his mouth, and my grin stretched wide to none but my internal audience. He would bargain, of course, make it appear as if he didn't want the job to get a higher payout, but in his own mind he had fallen hook line and sinker. Everything as it should be.
Notes: Hey all, trying out something new to see if it gives people less confusion. This chapter (as a whole) will have 5 sections covering the perspective's life as a cape, with a time skip in between each.
Warnings: mild PTSD symptoms, in-dialogue descriptions of violence, mildly stressful family situations
--- Monday, April 5th, 1999 ---
I tried to concentrate despite the insistent rumbling from outside my window, as new buildings continued to be put up to cover the persistent tear in the city. They were working overtime into the evening, through the muggy april mist. Again.
I grit my teeth as I put them out of my head.
Carefully, carefully, I connected the two power cells with a line of wiring, breath held. I kept my hands within the silver cylindrical body of the swordless-hilt, even as it began to hum in it's initial calibration, the thought of retracting my fingers to safety overpowered by the worry they would shift something critical in their escape and blow the whole thing up anyways.
Thankfully, the hilt didn't seem inclined to singe my fingers with surprise light shows and fireballs, like it had in the previous iteration. I let out a breath of gratitude. The batteries had been a trek and a half to balance, with measurements that had to be exact enough that the functionality of the blade could switch between the two without unbalancing the whole system.
But I had totally made it work!
Deciding to push my luck just that little bit farther, I reached my fingers just a degree farther into the hilt, lightly tweaking the various components for what would become the on switch. The two batteries flickered and sparked, a crystal suspended in the air between them slowly beginning to spin as particles of light were redirected into it as a waypoint along their arc between the two batteries, increasing in intensity with each return.
In a whoosh and a hum a blade of glowing heat and light extended from the small hilt, casting a cool blue glow across the scattered supplies of my workshop. I could feel the energy bubbling in my chest, as I stopped myself from bouncing in my chair.
Because I didn't care what copyright said, I had just built a lightsaber out of eighty dollars worth of metal parts and a zircon crystal.
And that was sick.
I quickly shut off the sword made of light and withdrew my hands from the hilt, because there was no way in hell I was going to make the mistake of absentmindedly swinging the stick of molded plasma through my body.
The moment my hands were free from the hilt I had them reaching for the mangled walkie-talkie phone and dialing Genna's number with the extra buttons I had spliced onto the device.
The phone-alike buzzed twice, before jumping to a voice I didn't recognize.
"Hello, welcome to the 'Capes and Caring' charity hotline! If you would like to contribute to the recovery of Madrid after the attack last december, press 1. If you have comments or questions concerning the signing of the NEPEA-5 bill, pre-"
I hung up, shaking the makeshift phone as I clicked my tongue. I couldn't call on the landline downstairs - and mom was the only one with a cell phone - and I couldn't have mom or dad realizing something, couldn't give them an excuse to come into my room and mess with my workshop. If none of them had been able to understand then, why should they now.
Hector was fine - I don't think he cared what his annoying older sister' talked about over the phone - but that didn't mean the others weren't in a close enough room to overhear.
Instead, I had fashioned a splicer for the home's main line and attached it to this half functional 'phone'. With a sigh, I reached down under the table and waggled the place where the phone's core was stabbed into the wall. I really hated making things too far from the clear ideas of cutting and swords that popped into my head, they always broke down like this.
I wonder if any of the other maker heroes had to deal with such lousy stuff. I bet Hero didn't have to make his projector guns out of needles.
Then again blades were hella cool, so I was fifty-fifty on that front.
Phone-ish properly jangled, I dialed Genna again.
"Hello, this is the Macintyre residence."
This time, when the call was picked up it wasn't some weird strangely-tinny voice that never responded to anything you said. Instead, it was a dull, blocky and uninterested voice that only responds sometimes!
"Hey Genna!"
She waited a few moments before responding.
"Hello Anne. What did you want."
Genna was great.
"Ok, so you need to come over as soon as you can! I've just made the hella coolest thing and you totally wouldn't believe it if I told you."
"I'm sure I wouldn't. What is it."
"... I made a lightsaber." I whispered on the down low.
"You're right, I don't believe it. Wow. Does tomorrow after class work?"
You knew a friend was a good one when you revealed your closest secret, and in response they calmly raise a metaphorical eyebrow before asking what they could do to help.
I had spent the whole night, and most of the way through the Tuesday that had followed buzzing with anticipation. The night had been fine, it had given me more opportunities to to tinker with the not-a-lightsaber. Apparently zoning out while making things was enough for me to forget about the need to sleep.
School hadn't been quite as easy. New ideas and modifications to my older designs swirled around my head distracting me from schoolwork and conversation. It was irritating, because I actually liked class, and I at least hoped my teachers liked me.
I hoped I could live down answering Mrs. Jacques question about Scion's end to the cold war with "Knives that only poked people's insides." I couldn't care less what the idiots in class might say, but seeing my teacher's face go as white as her hair had bothered me the rest of the day.
I met up with Genna during lunch, as we didn't share any other classes. She… might not have followed my explanations of what I had made and how it had worked, but she listened through the whole period anyways, only pausing to remind me not to share anything I didn't want the whole school whispering about.
"I still don't understand, why make a fantasy prop?"
"It's a sci-fi prop, for one," I corrected, "It's from Star Wars! My dad's always loved the movies, and he had us watch them again them again a week or so ago, and after that I just couldn't get the idea out of my head! I bet you didn't hear there's even going to be a new one coming out later this year - a prequel I think!"
"Riveting."
"Genna, not everyone can enjoy physics textbooks and philosophising on how God doesn't exist. Some of us have lives to live you know."
"Anne, you enjoy bingo night at the synagogue. There can't be anyone else there younger than seventy."
I turned my nose, "I'm mature for my age."
Genna cracked a smile.
After finishing lunch and planning when Genna would come over, the rest of the day had found itself taken up by a similar level of distraction. Thankfully school wasn't too far across the city, and in the opposite direction from the construction surrounding the tear through the city.
I would have liked to go to a school that wasn't across the mark that that monster had carved, but mom wouldn't have it. She didn't believe me when I said I could feel the ground shake, like it had back then, every time.
Still, despite the construction, the city had made sure there were places to walk. Without any of the cars or traffic blocking the streets I was able to run home right through the shakes the moment classes had finished.
I had heard horror stories from friends who had used subway lines that ran through the tear, still experiencing delays even five years as the city repaired the system, or having to get of to switch to a bus - spending an extra token in the process.
I could see the new apartments still being finished along the end of the tear, as I dashed across a semi busy street. The apartment where my family and I lived wasn't quite at the edge of the tear, but I'm sure if we hadn't been in in the old bomb shelters at the time the tremors would have been felt through the whole building - felt them even worse than they had been blocks and blocks away. The floor still had an uneven slant to it, even though mom didn't like to talk about it.
I could remember returning to school after they had finally fixed them up enough let the kids back in. Long enough that the terror had abated, crowded enough with the mixing of schools that we couldn't tell who wasn't there, strong enough to finally ask the others where they had been, when the monster had attacked.
I blazed past Todd before the doorman could slow me down with a greeting, jabbing my finger against the 8th floor button as soon as I was in the elevator in order to make it go fast. Not that it would, but it let my mind be at ease to have something inanimate to bother.
Unless I made a retracting blade, then the button could return the blade to its sheath and each additional press would re-apply the process until I was pulled along at an increasingly rapid pace, after which…
I tried the breathing practices that the women at synagogue had taught me for dealing with irritations. They weren't for this sort of thing - I think most of the older women thought other people were annoying - but I thought maybe they would let me keep my brain together at least until I was safely behind the locked door of my room with the curtains drawn, where I could actually put the thoughts buzzing around my head into practice.
Keys were overrated, given how long they took to fit into locks with shaking hands.
"Hi mom, dad, pest," I sputtered as I brushed past my family around the kitchen and living room, to a response of mixed greetings and outcry, before I barricaded myself in my room.
I had some things to test out.
Drawing the curtains, I pulled away the tarp in the corner of my room - after deactivating my patent-pending immovable nails that secured it of course - to reveal my workshop. A desk my mom had probably intended for schoolwork stood proud in it's bearing of my masterpiece, rising from a sea of spare parts.
It was honestly surprising how little the guy at the junkyard had responded to how many little electronics and metal casings I had bought. There hadn't been any junkyards in the area before the attack, maybe kid shoppers was normal, or they thought I was on an errand for an adult? Or was it was because there were more maker parahumans like Hero now? One of the, the ummm… one of the protectorate parahumans on the kids team was a maker too right?
Genna might know. Her older sister was totally 'cape' obsessed. It was such a silly term, like something from a comic book. She had the posters all over her walls and everything, or at least she had the few times her door had been open when I walked by on the way to Genna's room.
I had never really gotten the interest, at least not before seeing other maker heroes on TV had started making my brain light up like a christmas tree. Parahumans were just a thing that happened - If you hear a inhuman sound, or see something physically impossible, you walk the other way.
I supposed it should be higher up there in the importance of things, but I had been seeing stuff about parahumans my whole life. They were interesting, yeah, but there had to be hundreds of powered people in the city, and they weren't gods or anything. I remember my parent's stories of when Vikare was killed, though I was too young to remember the outcry of the time myself. It had already been four years since the big four that made up the Protectorate had moved into the city for good, to help rebuild.
Maybe it was different for kids who had grown up with parahumans already being popular. Hector was only three when the four heroes of the Protectorate had gone up and shaken hands with president Griffin, and five when the local heroes had become organized. I had heard him talking with his friends, playing the 'who beats who' game, which no one had ever done when I was in elementary school.
Speaking of, I wonder if he would know anything interesting about any maker parahumans. Nine year olds were jerks, my brother especially so, thinking he knew everything, but it wouldn't hurt it give it a shot. He was certainly interested enough…
The buzz of the doorbell shook me out of my thoughts. Had it been an hour already? I carefully lay down the open-cased hilt, prompted to make a mad dash to meet Genna at the door before my parents or Hector could get it.
Behind the opened door, Genna seemed unimpressed. I pulled her back to my room just as quickly as I had left, despite my mom's distressed calls of 'Anneka, have her take of her shoes before entering'.
I held my tongue. Only mom called me Anneka.
Genna seemed fine to be lead along, though she seemed to somehow have gotten her shoes off anyways. Whatever, I had glorious, impossible, physics-breaking swords to show her.
Except I had just pulled out the insides of the sword to reduce the heat output. Shoot.
Thankfully Genna was willing to wait for the 15 minutes that it took me to cram the components back into the hilt in a way that wouldn't fall apart after a few minutes of use. She occupied the time by covering what she had researched in the meantime.
"You won't run into any copyright troubles if you use the 'light sword', as long as you don't actively call it a lightsaber," she explained, "Though if you intend to bring your product to market that might fall under counterfeit laws, but we'll have to see how the NEPEA-5 bill turns out to see if it's possible at all."
"Why would I ever want to sell the things I make?" I asked incredulously as I plugged in the last few wires. Like, why I would give my stuff to other people. "How do you know all of this anyways?"
"My dad's an artist, my mom's a lawyer, and my sister is trying to become both. And they love interesting questions." Her voice was practically dripped irritation.
"As interesting as I'm sure that is, look at this!" I finally pulled my hands out from the hilt, picking it up and activating it. As before, the glowing saber extended to about a meter in length, humming with a totally sci-fi whine. The only difference was that now my hands didn't immediately start sweating from the heat of the plasma.
Yep, still sick.
I would have liked to say Genna freaked, if I could call anything she did 'freaking'. Instead she reacted with mild surprise, an eyebrow quirked. That said, that was probably the biggest reaction since I had brought her in on the powers secret in the first place, so it was a win in my books.
"That's a… very dangerous looking stick." Genna replied.
"I know right!"
"Is it… safe?"
I thought for a moment. I hadn't really tested it, had I. Carefully, considering the blade was still out, I pulled a steel bar to lean just a bit over the side of my desk. Raising the blade in one hand, I unceremoniously brought it down on the bar and wow I thought it would encounter more resistance than that. The melted segment of steel bar clanked in announcement of it's newfound connection to the floor.
"It's safe if no one touches it!"
I could remember when the older girls at school had tried to tease Genna about how tall she was. She hadn't given them any response, at most putting her arms on her hips in what I think was exasperation. The following day they they had all gotten detention for apparently entirely unrelated reasons.
Genna crossed her arms.
"Anne, do you actually understand the consequences of battery? And how do you think someone will respond to being threatened if they're holding a gun?"
I opened my mouth.
"And I don't want you to tell me you would block the bullets with the sword!"
She had totally seen the films.
I closed my mouth. It was easier to let her launch into an epic on the likely dangers and consequences of parahuman activities than try to block the flood of disapproval. I tried my best to seem like I was paying attention instead of itching to go back to messing with my machines.
"I still don't see why I shouldn't just go out on my own," I said, having gone back to messing with the not copyright protected 'light sword' while Genna had moved to my bed, "It's not like I couldn't protect myself, and it's what every parahuman does anyways."
"Last time I checked, the authorities didn't take so kindly to criminal offenders being violently cut in half." Genna replied in extra monotone for emphasis.
I debated her eloquently designed points for a few moments.
"I mean, I wouldn't use the lightsaber on regular people…"
"The only other thing you've made that you can take out with you, is a knife that is stabilized so you can throw it better." Genna said. I hadn't told her about the others. "But even then, I think you're missing out on the cutting part of the problem." she said.
Dammit, why did the most boring answers always have to be the right ones.
"But come on, going out and fighting for things is what parahumans do! That's what I am now, right, a parahuman, or cape, or whatever you call them! I mean, I even finally picked out a name, and I've got a super cool sidekick to back me up! Together we'll be unstoppable!"
The way Genna creased her brow, the look of worry she held, It stalled my enthusiasm. Genna, she didn't get worried, or emotional - Not like this.
"Just… Be careful," she said, "think it over before you do anything stupid. I don't want you getting killed, or worse."
Warnings: mild PTSD symptoms, discussion of mass death
--- Friday, November 19th, 1999 ---
I flinched as the rain began in earnest, and chided myself for it. A cape was supposed to be fearless, Strong in the face of adversity.
I felt very small right now.
No matter what the cape dramas on television said, standing all dark and brooding in the rain was not a greatly sought out experience. The rain went straight through my costume, sending a chill straight to my bones.
Any thought of enjoying rain I used to foster simply existed because I hadn't been exposed to wearing layers of cloth and machinery in the middle of november.
It was made worse because I couldn't even install the friction removal solution that I used on my blades to any part of my costume, nor any of the heaters. They just tended fail, or worse to sputter and die, and for the life of me I couldn't find any reasoning behind it.
Sadly, it wasn't even cold enough to keep the places I had covered from overheating, thought it was nothing like wearing the mask back in August had been. I had grabbed the modified ski mask, along with most of my armor, at a sports shop with the last bit of my savings. Apparently, being able to forge metal into a cutting implement using a camp stove and kitchen tongs didn't translate to making literally anything else.
The nerve.
The rest of my costume, if I could even call it that, enforced a similar mix of sweaty tech prison and cold street clothing. Long sweater with some body armor underneath, mixed with sheaths at my arms and sides, and clasps for every knickknack I had been able to throw together over the eight months I'd had the ability to do so.
I probably could have gotten something better - I even knew some people now who I might be able to commission something for - if I had the money to spend. Money was starting to dry up, even after I had snuck some out of my savings account, and new stuff was expensive to make even when most of the parts were cheep on their own. Besides, I think the guy who ran the junkyard was getting suspicious seeing a fifteen year old making so many trips.
I hoped the rain didn't send any more of my tech on the fritz. It was usually pretty good about keeping together, but I had heard some horror stories from the other maker capes I had happened to run into.
It was fucking unfair that other capes didn't have to carry anything, that they could just throw around their weight with no preparation and not worry about the millions of seemingly inconsequential variables that eventually came back to bite them in the ass.
I couldn't even use my Plasmablade - copyright be damned, that new movie was terrible - to balance the temperature out; I had finally figured out how to install the heat shield so it didn't radiate like an oven every time I turned it on. Brilliant.
I groaned, and kept walking through the rain, continuing my search for any cape activity.
Maybe next time I'd get a cloak. A poncho was too much, and would ruin any image I had been trying to cultivate, but a cloak could work, at least as winter began to set in. It might block some movement, but it would look sick.
Maybe then the world would suck a little less.
There weren't as many Protectorate members out as there usually were. Less Wards too - usually I would have run into one of them by now, or at least seen one. Admittedly I hadn't gone out much.
Likely, there were probably just less of them period. The death toll from Kyushu hadn't been released yet. Cape or otherwise.
That didn't undo the image of an entire landmass sinking into the ocean, playing across the television screen over and over again.
I took a surprised step back as a truck splashed through a nearby puddle. Construction, probably on it's way to one of the buildings being finalized inside the tear, given the direction.
I supposed I was in the tear now, though I'd never have realized it if I didn't know what signs to look for. The bricks and cement were whole and unblemished, each building wider and farther apart from the others, more clearly founded at the base, but with larger windows up it's side.
The modifications weren't new on their own - most new buildings in the city had them - but along the tear every building was like that.
"Almost like nothing happened, isn't it?" came a voice from behind me, confident, maybe my age.
I turned, rapidly drawing the Plasmablade that was already at my side. The rain hissed as it evaporated against the sword, the thin line of steam drifting lazily tinto the air until it was battered by the falling rain.
It was a cape, one I couldn't place. Not a shocker, given the sheer number of capes that were running around the city, but it meant keeping my guard up. Unknown elements were some of the most troubling.
The cape wore a black bodysuit, lines of white and grey defining seams and panels of armor. He was taller than I thought was strictly polite, though from his voice i suspected he was closer to me in age than he appeared to be. A black helmet and visor stopped me from seeing his face, but he raised his hands in mock surrender as I raised my blade against him.
Above him, black lines crossed and interwoven into thousands of tiny shapes, shifting as the rain hit them and leaving him dry underneath.
"Hey, hold your fire, I didn't mean any harm." he joked, though his tone was tense. "I'm Cache, one of the Wards? I just saw you out in the rain, and thought you could use a little shelter and company."
I tried to stay serious, carefully lowering the plasma sword before retracting it back to it's hilt. He could be lying, after all, and even then just because someone was a ward didn't mean they weren't trouble.
The stress of it all got to me first, and I let out a chuckle before I could help myself.
"What?" He asked incredulously.
"Cash? Like money?" I said, "What, is counterfeiting your power or whatever?"
I would have loved to see his face at that moment, but the way he crossed his arms with a 'humph' was very cute.
"As in Cache, with a c-h-e," He said, before pointing at the geometric effect above him. "I store stuff. Or, I can release it."
He pointed the finger at me, and several drops of water flew at my face.
The nerve. I grinned. No harm in humor.
Besides, I already had so many ideas about what to make next.
"Would you like me to extend the field? We could walk while we talk, out of the rain, though we can remain here if this corner has some essential significance to you."
"Yes please" I responded, "And lets walk. It'll help to take my mind out of the gutter."
We walked for a few moments in silence, as he concentrated on rippling out his array, and as I did my darndest to squeeze the water out of some of my more soaked garments.
"So, Mr. Money Box, I don't think I've seen you around before. What brings you to these parts?"
"Well, I usually patrol further uptown," he said, promptly ignoring my jab, " but the local offices have been a little… stressed recently, so a lot of us have been getting new routes to cover. A lot of big capes went to Kyushu."
My heart skipped a beat. I nodded, not needing him to finish the sentence.
"So how about you?" he continued, "do you come to brood in this area often? I haven't been talking to someone horrendously villainous for the past few minutes have I?"
The boy's wit was dripping with sarcasm. I rolled my eyes.
"No, just an independant. I don't actually go out much, though this is my area. I was looking to network, reach out to others in the the area, but you'd be surprised how few people come out in such nice weather."
"I know right? Shocking." After a moment, he continued, "If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing as an independant? Wouldn't it be better to join the wards, or figure something out with the PRT?"
"First off, I've heard the spiel. Don't think I don't know you all are required to give out recruitment to every John or Jane. I got enough of that the first few times. I'll have you know I have a very good 'almost-basically-a-lawyer' friend, and I will not be getting pulled into any sort of militarized police force."
"Fair, fair," He responded, holding his arms up in surrender once more.
I nodded, continuing, "But that brings me to the main reason. I don't want to fight. I don't know if you knew, but swords are fucking lethal, or critically wounding at best. And I can bet you nine groups out of ten are going to want me out on the front line, or supplying their troops."
"So you're a tinker then? Something about making swords?" He tilted his head. "Is that a thing all tinkers have? I mean we have Hero and a few others at the main base, but it just seems like they make all sorts of things."
Shit. Tinker was what the government called maker capes, right? It did fit. I probably should have been more careful about that.
Also I was so hella jealous. I hadn't interacted with enough maker capes to really ask them if they had run into the same problems I had.
"Did the glowing bar of plasma not make it obvious?" I replied, laughing it off - or trying to anyways. "I have no idea. Some things just seem hella difficult for no reason. Listen, the things I make are totally sick, but I try something a step further it's like the train of thought suddenly stopped without remembering that the force of all the cars behind it ware still in motion…"
I coughed, trying to shift the conversation in the most deft of ways. "Anyways, the first time I went out went… Bad. So I'm sticking it out alone for the moment, keeping my head down, trying to network."
He nodded as if that all made perfect sense.
"Fuck, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I don't even know you, not really," I looked away from him, hoping the tears in my eyes didn't bleed through to my voice, "Sorry. You must be annoyed at having all this dropped in your lap."
Cache shook his head. "Nah. Boxing everything up is never good for you. And I understand the irony. But still. Two weeks ago the world was shaken. I mean, fuck, like… A lot of people are dead. More people than live in this city, and coming from a town of ten thousand people let me tell you this is a hell of a big city. The people up top say the U.S. is projected to take in some of the largest numbers of refugees, people who just lost everything who we are going to have to do our best for."
"It's a lot to take in." I said.
"Yeah." He replied. "A lot's going to be different."
Yeah, though I had already known that, hadn't I. I just hadn't wanted to admit it.
"Did you know that where we are standing used to be the center of the tear?" I asked. Cache's head rose in what I guessed was surprise, as he looked at the surrounding buildings. "You can tell, if you spend enough time moving between the different neighborhoods."
I gestured along the street we were standing on. "The Herokiller moved right through here, after wrecking our side of the Manhattan Bridge. I wasn't close at the time - my family and I had been far away enough that we had gotten out in time, but I remember how the world shook just the same. I pretended like I had no idea what was going on, but even then I think I was pretty damn sure we were going to die."
"Damn," Cache said, "I wasn't here for the attack. My family only moved in two years back. But hearing it on the news just doesn't do justice does it."
I chuckled ruefully, "I remember going to a neighbors house to help them clean up, only to put everything in boxes because the ground was crooked enough that none of the shelves could hold anything any more."
I put a hand out beyond the protection of the Ward's geometric array, ill at ease with the fact I couldn't feel the water against my gloves. "But that was fucking nothing compared to Kyushu."
"Yeah."
The rain pounded against every surface but Cache's array, where is simply dropped out of existence as if it had never had a sound to make at all.
"Is that one of the reasons you don't want to join the Wards? Because you think you'll get pulled into an endbringer attack too?"
I tensed.
"I didn't mean to push. I just wanted you to know they don't pressure anyone to join S-Class attacks. I know I didn't. They don't really want the wards going out there anyways."
I shook my head. "It's not that. I wouldn't let them push me around, anyways."
I was worried that I would want to go.
"That's good to hear." I could hear his smile on his tone. He hesitated before continuing, "You never did introduce yourself though."
My mask didn't let him see my grin. "Well you didn't ask, now did you."
"Of course, my apologies, oh greatest neutrality," he teased with a bow, "I am Cache, of the Manhattan Wards. And you are?"
"Lamina," I said, giving my best exaggerated curtsy using the sheaths at my side. "of myself, and I alone."
Neither of us could hold it together for long, and we both broke into laughter in the moments following, before scrambling for cover as Cache's array misaligned and went out with his loss of concentration.
It was good. I felt like I hadn't laughed since the first few weeks.
"Don't you have a patrol to be on?" I asked Cache as he tried to set up an array above both of our heads again now that we were safely under a deli awning.
"Nah, they're all too busy to really notice anything. Besides, how could they complain about one of their moody teens doing more than was asked of them." He said, "I've got time to spare."
"Well, I am not one to turn down nice company when it rears its ugly head," I teased.
"What, nice company, where? He said, looking around exaggeratedly. Less exaggeratedly, I elbowed him in the side.
We stayed like that, as the rain poured down, not bothering to head out from the protection of the awning despite Cache's reconstructed array.
"If you don't want to fight, why don't you try selling your stuff?" he suggested, "If you don't mind me saying of course. Rogues have existed just as long as capes have, right? I'm sure you could figure out some sort of deal with the PRT, keep your anonymity and they'd pay for your builds."
"And try and squeeze as much out of me as they could, leaving me empty and contracted, I bet." I replied, remembering Genna's warnings.
"Then you could find someone else willing to do business. As much as I know I must seem to be, I'm not a Protectorate fanboy. I know they have their flaws, but that doesn't mean you can't find your own way around those problems."
I nodded. I had thought about it though. I just hadn't come to a conclusion. It was clear that maker capes - Tinkers, I guess - were snatched up once they made a big enough splash to be noticed. There was a forum Genna had been showing me, Parahumans Online. I had browsed further on my family's home computer during the moments Hector hadn't been hogging it, looking for new information. There had been several Tinker stories like that, and few of them ended well.
"It would depend how the Rogue bill turns out," I replied. Last time we had discussed the idea, Genna had explained how NEPEA-5 was in its final stages, and none of them looked good for the Uppermost. "If that goes sideways there might not be the chance at all, even if I was to try."
"The Rogue bill?" Cache asked.
I waived dismissively, "it's a business and politics thing. Like I said, almost a lawyer friend."
"Right," He said, voice skeptical, "And who exactly cares about that?"
I sputtered. "Wait, who was it that was supposed to be the heroic Ward again?"
"I'm just saying, you don't seem to be the type to let something like that stop you from finding your way. What's stopping you from trying anyways?"
Warnings: Family relationship struggles, talk of death, depressive thoughts
--- Saturday, January 6th, 2001 ---
Know those shows, where some couple buys a house that's shit, so they roll up their sleeves, go to the hardware store, and one montage later they are selling it for like five times the price?
Fuck those shows.
If anyone told me doing business was easy, I would have stabbed them with my very non-lethal and perfectly safe electric knife. Peacefully. With great dedication.
The almost-a-phone 2.3 at my desk buzzed again. I scowled at it, debating whether or not to pick it up.
Unlike the previous iterations, this hunk of junk could call without blocking the main line, send and receive text messages, and even function as a little mini computer for emails and PHO. I'd even had ideas on how to use a dimensional knife to cut the cord without severing the connection! A wonder of technology, with all the bells and whistles a girl could ask for. Happy sweet sixteen me.
It had been fucking hell to make, taking months longer than the mark 1 had. I mean, I'd had to make it because I didn't want anyone snooping in on my attempts at running my cape identity online, but also because phones were fucking expensive and parts came first. Still, I didn't want to use it any more than I had to.
Maybe when some of my business deals actually went through, instead of ending up in a villain's gang trap, or worse, a PRT legal one.
Oooooh, legality.
It wasn't to say I didn't want to work with our oh so kind governmental forces of good, just that there was no way I was going beyond the occasional contract without taking on something unwanted in exchange - especially after the changes that had come with NEPEA-5.
I would have to be careful on the human side too - Cache had told me that with two of the remaining three original Protectorate leaving to watch over their own cities the whole power structure of the city would be up in the air for awhile. He said he was worried about it because he was going to be graduating soon, but given the reason people were being reassigned in the first place, I didn't think the protectorate Tinkers would be some of the best people to hang around right now.
I decided to pick up the phone, trying to get that image of a man bisected - despite all of his creations - out of my head. It wouldn't do to to miss that one in a million chance of actually getting somewhere in life.
'Hello. Our mutual contact explained a reliable weapons rogue worked at this number. Is this true? What can you do?'
Shit. 'Mutual contact', who the hell was that? I could think of at least three separate people who might know enough of me to extend communication. Couldn't be PRT, they used official communication. Was it the Brokers? Or maybe one of the few independent's who I had actually sold to - but Barren was shy as fuck and Tipping Point was an asshole.
Ugh. I let my head down, carefully setting the phone-y beside me instead of flinging it across the room like I would have liked to, not trusting it to survive the collision. Ah, what I would have given for a Nokia. Trying to come up with something on my own just ended with something scattered, unreliable, and entirely out of my comfort zone.
A lot like the city was, with Hero gone. There had been a time, sure, as the blockades and battered trucks still lined the streets uptown, when it had really hit everyone just how fucking mortal we all were. Or at least it had hit me. No matter how many trinkets you build, no matter how good a tinker you are, you can't think of everything, or maybe you just fight something that is so fucking powerful it tears right through it all anyways.
Naples had been hit two days later. They hadn't stood a chance. I liked to think the month or so afterwards had been in honor of that, or at least in fucking shock. The more rational, or paranoid, side told me people were just finally putting plans into motion.
The quiet hadn't lasted. The moment the city had finished grieving the loss of it's Hero, it lost two more, off to protect their own cities. And, remaining personified rainbow or no, the villains went right to work doing their best to tarnish the title of 'safest cape city'.
It was why this 'totally legit' caller giving next to no information had me drumming my hands on the table, unable to use even the tinkerings in front of me to narrow my focus. When I thought 'villain ambush', it wasn't just stories from online speaking.
I didn't let myself think about that stupid, asinine, shitty mistake. I wouldn't think about the warehouse door suddenly clattering shut, about suddenly being surrounded by figures where there had been empty shadows before. About the order, or else the consequences. About having no one to call, no way out without consequences. About scraping, staggering, running until my feet ached and my lungs burned.
I wasn't a murderer.
I wouldn't fall for it again. I hadn't. I was smart, I was careful, and I had actually caught a few before they closed in on me and reported them to the PRT. But that didn't change the fact that the villains were on the rise.
I would have to proceed with caution.
'That's interesting, because our contact didn't tell me about any new clients. You'll need to give more than that to go anywhere in business. Name and intention foremost, along with what sort of things you are looking for.'
Fucking mish-mash numberpad keyboard - I typed out a message in response. Confident, or at least I hoped. I'd have to ask around before any further contact, see just who had gotten this nameless in contact, if anyone. Contingencies handled for the moment, or at least I hoped.
I looked back to my desk, across the calendar and notepads filled with contacts, blueprints, and the necessary evils of both mundanity and parahumanity. It was saturday, which meant time set aside for cape stuff as opposed to the equally stressful New York high school system, but my meeting with the Brokers wasn't for another couple hours at least. Hopefully then I could get some questions answered.
I would have liked to get my remaining homework done in that time, or more specifically get a head start on finishing the homework for next week in advance - it was all out of the same text book after all - but I doubted I would have the focus for it. I should do the rest of the book balancing for what my next few projects in the works would cost and how the hell I would get that money, but it turns out skills in math don't guarantee an understanding of economics.
I would have liked to ask Genna, hell I was in her house right now, but she had chorus until ten, and there was no way I was letting her dad know what I'd been using the basement for just to get his help. He had basically given the place up for Genna and I to use after the divorce and her sister going away to college. I was pretty sure he thought we were dating, given how he smirked and took some 'time to finish sketching' whenever the two of us came back with parts to work on out 'projects' downstairs.
Ignoring that, it was definitely a better place to build than my room. More private for one - Genna had the only key - and spacious to boot once you folded up the crooked ping pong table. Genna and I had even found a couch out on the curb and dragged it down here, so the place was practically heaven.
It was easier to just chill here most of the time. Quieter, without the possibility of being found out.
That was totally the only reason.
But that didn't stop me from jittering with nothing to do. I turned and looked longingly at the couch for several moments, before slapping myself awake and throwing the tech that made up my outfit into the backpack at the side of my desk.
A walk would do me good. Sure it was January, and the snow hadn't melted, but being cold and miserable outside meant not being lost and aimless inside.
Taking a few moments to throw my costume on as a layer under my clothes, I carefully treeded up and out of the house proper, though I was pretty sure that Genna's dad was still in his room doing whatever artists do between selling fucking masterpieces. Waving their hands and casting artistry spells or something, for all I knew. After applying several layers, the front door clicked behind me.
Genna's house was further into the tear than mine was. It had actually been one of the ones to survive the attack, only for problems to come up a year later as it was revealed all the pipes had microfractures and everyone had to move out for six months while repairs were being done. Genna had basically stayed with me the whole time, as the rest her family stayed with friends that had an actual guest room. There had been a lot of people doing that.
Not that you could really tell anymore. Even places like Genna's, where the problems had shown up much later, were eventually smoothed over or rebuilt. You didn't have any more construction than the usually patterns of rebuilding in the city, even amongst the places that had gotten hit the hardest. Other than replacement for the damages caused in cape fights, of course.
Even the subway lines were back up in full, for the most part. I had even got one of the new metro cards, weird as those were. It was like the city had wanted to wipe out all traces that the Monster had ever been here, to rebuild brighter and better, just because they could.
It felt cheap, in a lot of ways. No one talked about how there weren't any skyscrapers around the bridges, because He had fucking tunneled through the bedrock after his foray under the East River. No one talked about how the skyline didn't look like it had when I was nine.
I found myself trudging through the snow, walking along where the sidewalk would have met the road, where the plows had dumped their overflow and no salt had melted a path to walk. The snow was a mix of untread white and grimy brown, but I paced along through anyways, spreading my arms as I pretended to balance.
There weren't many people out, but there were enough. The occasional cab passed on the road, or city goer on the sidewalk, speeding or pacing on their way to whatever destination they had decided was important.
I had to slow down. The whole fucking world had to slow down, and just give me a few moments to think, if I'd had my way, but when was that likely to happen. There was a park across the street, one that had been built after the attack with the sudden amount of free space. I wiped snow off of one of the benches with a sleeve before sitting down, wet pants be damned.
The plaque that was on the park gates said this was where the fifth line of defense had stood. Sometimes I didn't know whether or not people could forget. No one ever said enough for me to tell.
I let the cold sink into me, slowly, through the layers I had brought. It was a distraction, a reminder, kept my mind off of the worst without ever really letting go. Heroes were dead, a Hero was dead, and monsters reigned the earth.
I stayed on the bench for a long time.
It did nothing - I couldn't do anything, not really - but I hoped it would be enough.
At some point I decided it was time to get up. Ignoring the protests of reanimation from my legs, I stretched and set out for the arranged meeting place, lack of proper costume and timing be damned. I could put on my mask when I got there, but it was still fucking winter, and I wasn't going to wait around outside.
The Brokers had given me the directions to A smaller warehouse across the city, apparently an abandoned lot, that they had agreements for the other groups in the area not to mess with. I had felt they were needlessly complicated once, for rogues at least. After all, what was the most danger a group of rogues could attract?
I still didn't approve of all of their methods - they were needlessly humorless for one - but they were the largest stable rogue group I was in contact with, and they didn't shove clauses and regulation down your throat like the PRT tended to.
I had fished my mask and gear out of my backpack a few blocks before the warehouse, hoping the Brokers simply didn't have any eyes that far out, and too tired to care otherwise. The mask was a lot more detailed than it had been, one of the few things I had allowed myself to splurge on given the difficulty I had in producing things like it.
I was pretty sure it had been some kind of reinforced motorcycle helmet at some point, until the Brokers had gotten their hands on it. I was greatly appreciative of the peripheral vision, and for the tiny screen that carried information on all my tech.
I followed it up with the rest of the tech I had been building up. My Plasmablade was at my side, just under the winter jacket, as usual - I had honed that baby to perfection, and it had helped me out of some of the worst jams - but the addition of nano-blade lined gloves and throwable versions of my old 'immovable nails' were welcomed by my objection to injury or imprisonment.
When I had realized that blades didn't have to be long bladed objects, it was like fireworks had gone off in my head.
The massive sheaths, with four swords each, were mostly for show, but that didn't mean they had no use. They were great for showing examples of some of the effects I had figured out thus far - each brightly painted by Genna according to usage! I could just meet a client, pull out a sword, and experiment against a rock or something. Potentially. When I had actual clients.
It was just to be expected that making cool swords didn't come with any instructions on how to actually use them, but it was just as well. Genna had found me a place that taught kendo that had opened up in one of the newer places in the tear, and I had been going there every weekend.
On my own money, of course. Because mom and dad were just… Whatever. Sadly it turned out that it actually took them a few months to get to the actual sword fighting part of the class.
That was fine.
The warehouse was a old red building, far enough away from the tear to have no signs of damage, but close, small, and decrepit enough that it was probably for the most part unwanted. It wasn't in the best part of the city, after all.
As I had done a few times before, I entered through the alleyway in the back, through the detached grate. It was just a small duck down, and it meant that there wasn't several people seen entering through the same entrance.
The inside was a wide, dusty space full of thinning support beams and what was probably lead paint peeling off of the brick walls, long stripped of any interesting machinery a factory building like this might have had beyond a few metal tables and chairs. Still, the windows were tinted and there was room enough to present anything I might come up with, so it did it's job.
I stretched, and sat cross legged on one of the tables as I waited for my middlemen to show their faces.
It took forever. I had almost fallen asleep on my arm trying to see how high I could count in pi when I finally heard the clank of the gate above the side door being drawn open.
The Brokers were a solemn bunch, all suits or simple designs with dim colors. I had no idea how many of them there actually were, but judging from the yellows and blues that came trudging into the dimming light, the two who had come to meet me were Electrometer and Discern. Along with a brigade of four black suited support of course.
I bet they were fucking freezing. Nevertheless I didn't let myself smile, despite the mask. The two capes were a Tinker and a thinker, though I still wasn't sure which was which. You had to be careful when there was a good chance your enemy knew more than should be possible, and could, in all likelihood, could literally blow up if you pushed them the wrong way.
Capes were irritating like that.
Electro was tall and thin, with a yellow helmet and armored suit. It was a pretty silly concept, but he somehow pulled it off. Discern was the shorter of the two, though she was still taller than me, and a very stocky woman. She didn't even try the armored suit, just using regular body armor, but her helmet had some sick eyes painted on it.
She was the first to notice me, as deceptively hidden I was on a table directly under the skylight. Still it was uncanny to have someone walk into a room and immediately snap their head to you. She stepped forwards.
"Lamina," She said, speaking for the two of them, as she usually did, "You're early. And out of costume."
"Discern," I replied, "you're like a stoic rock. And it's cold. Now that we've gotten the obvious out of the way, shall we continue?"
I mean, it might have been a little rude, but come on, lighten up a little. And I totally heard a laugh from Electro behind her.
She looked back at him, and he stopped. Turning back to me, she tilted her head. "It matters little, though you should know with agreements like this there are groups far less hospitable than ours. It would do you well to practice better manners."
I knew that, even if I sheepishly shrugged my shoulders. I just tried not to think about it.
"Do you have the completed commision?" She asked, motioning to one of the tagalongs carrying a boxy briefcase, who took a step to the side and started unlatching it.
"Yeah, yeah," I responded, grabbing the bag at my side. If I hadn't been looking at them through the corner of my eye as I searched through it's contents, I might have missed the flinch that ran through the guards. Worrying, though potentially useful if push ever came to shove.
From my bag I pulled what looked a lot like the handle and reel of a fishing rod. I say that, because it largely was one.
Just better.
"One extendable bladed whip, as per ordered," I announced, with a flourish. With a press of the button, a flexible blade spooled out of the end. I was smarter than to whip it around as if I I knew what I was doing, but I gave it a sway anyways.
Discern gave a curt nod, directing one of the aids ahead, a younger woman with the briefcase. From inside, she took out a thin metal block, then extended a hand, presumably for the whip-sword.
I hesitated, but only for a moment. It was still my tech. It was just, serving a better use in other's hands.
I handed the whip over.
She draped it over the metal block, tip to the surface, before pulling it across in a quick motion. Raising the whip, a clear cut maybe an inch deep was scored into the metal.
"The retract function is the button on the right side, as opposed to the extend button on the left." I clarified.
The woman nodded, placing the whip back along the indent. She then pressed the retract button, and in a moment the whip was pulled back into the spool. I blinked, surprised at the speed, even though it had followed my blueprints. The side of the metal plate clattered to the ground.
I was glad no one could see my eyes widen.
"Satisfied?" I asked, in mock nonchalance.
Discern nodded.
"And you've vetted this person, right? I'm not going to hear about anyone murdering a bunch of people with my tech?"
Discern turned their helmet towards me, and I swore the painted eyes stared right into mine.
"Yes, we checked," She said finally.
"Good,because you would have lost my business otherwise," I threatened, hoping they wouldn't catch my bluff. Or not care either way. I hoped I wasn't insignificant enough that they just drop negotiations there. Fuck, I shouldn't have been flippant before this was such a terrible idea what was I thinking.
"Do you have the money, items in need of repair, and the parts to go with them?" I asked, trying to brush the feelings under the rug.
As the black suited woman loaded the whip into the suitcase, Discern motioned for another suit to bring forward two bags. He placed the two on the table I was sitting on, which made me feel hella embasessed. This was a terrible idea.
The first bag, more of a cloth case, was revealed to have a series of stacked bills - several stacks of different amounts. The bonus from my last sale, and the payment for this one. A few thousand, all together, or at least it should be. I grabbed those, quickly leafing through the bills to try and get a sense for the amount. It added up, or at least it seemed to. I stuffed them into my backpack.
Fucking finally. I was going to treat myself. Oh the ingots and diodes I could buy!
The second bag's contents were clear from the bulges and bends of the sides. It was mostly metal components, a part of the decision between the Brokers and I had agreed upon. On top of the pile, was a wrapped package that I recognized as my returning throwing knife. In for repairs, I was pretty sure. The user, whoever they were, probably had cleaned it wrong or something dumb along those lines.
I gave the contents a nod, summarily shooing away the suited man who had brought the bags. I felt bad about it, but I had chosen a persona, so I would play it out.
Without a word, the two aids returned to the side of Discern, Electro, and the other two suited members of the group.
"Now," Discern said, "What updates and findings do you have for us?"
"Right, the info from all the people I've interacted with," I said, digging back into my bag for my notebook.
"Just fulfill your part of the agreement, Lamina." Discern said exhaustedly.
"I never said I wouldn't," I corrected, pulling out my notebook. "Let me see, In the past two weeks… Can't say much on who, but recently all the crossed axes and ice chunk graffiti in my neighborhood have been sprayed over with the head or body of something like an otter? Maybe a weasel?"
"Winterborne and the Vagabonds, respectively," Discern clarified.
"Sure," I replied, "As I said last time, it's like the gangs have been playing catch with their territories. Ever since Hero died and the other two left, everyone seems to think they can get away with anything."
I looked into Discern's painted eyes. "It fuckin' sucks."
She motioned for me to continue.
"Otherwise I only know a few others. One of the independants I'm still in contact with has been clashing with the Adepts uptown, and he says they've been recruiting. There's two new ones that he fought a week or so back, which brings his count up to eight." I paused, debating if I wanted to say anything I'd gotten from people who were actually nice to others.
"That's just about everything," I said. I wasn't going to rat out Cache for someone who couldn't even crack a joke.
I could fucking swear that Discern's painted eyes narrowed.
I interrupted whatever words she might point my way, "But before you give me anything, I have a question of my own. Did you send a new customer to me directly?"
Discern shook her head. "You know our policies. We act as an anonymous intermediary service, and you haven't paid for anything further."
Shit. That was worrying. "FIne, I guess. And the regular information."
"Very well," She replied, "Electrometer?"
"Sure ma'am," He replied. His voice was upbeat, not cheerful per se, but I could imagine him sporting a smirk. I admired the soul who could keep up that attitude around an emotional wall like Discern.
He cleared his throat, "As stated, the Winterborne are the ones that have expanded into your area. They've got a few synergies around ice and basic brute powers, but otherwise they're just thugs with drugs.
"They're not likely to stay for long, so you might want to be a lookout for an asterix in primary colors or a grey smokey skull, Three-Cross and Bonez respectively. You can look them up on PHO if you need more."
"And across the city?" I asked, "Anything further I should know about the outcome of NEPEA-5?"
"City's reshuffling, on the surface sure, but it's rippling down below too," Electro continued, "A group called the Trade Conglomerate invited us to sit in on the council, and…"
He trailed off, as Discern turned her head. I almost missed her hand, making a cutting motion behind her back. What? What was he leaving out?
"I mean, a lot of the big players are moving." Electro corrected himself, "the changes aren't going to be apparent for a long while yet."
Discern nodded.
Electro continued, "NEPEA-5, on the other hand, is going to be hurting all of us. You might not see any difficulties in the business between us, but it means none of us are ever going to go legitimate."
My brow creased. "That fucking sucks!"
"It fucking sucks." He agreed, "With how the Uppermost fell apart after the bill was signed., it's not looking good for any of the rogue groups."
Our collective internal groan was disrupted by the clicking of a boot against concrete. Discern was tapping her foot. "If you are finished. I believe that completes our agreement."
"Sure," I replied, brain running at a mile per minute. Couldn't go legit? Did that mean I'd become a villain if I wasn't signed up for the PRT? What if-
My thoughts were interrupted by the shuffling of feet. Apparently my lackluster response had been enough for Discern to decide to leave, the black suits shuffling out behind her. Heartless jerk.
Electro gave me a small wave as he headed out, though. Small gestures. I sat alone, in the cold warehouse, as the light continued to dim through the skylight above. Eventually I took off the mask, letting the cool air brush against my cheeks and freeze the water against my face.
I left back through the grate some time later, mask and tech stored back in the backpack, bag of parts weighing heavily on my ar and shoulder.
What the fuck was I going to do.
As I trudged back through the snow on the way back to Genna's place, I found myself drifting back to the snow between the sidewalk and the road as the dark clouds rolled into my mind. The snow had melted some, the sunlight pushing some areas to become hard and icy while others remained as much; enough footfalls had disturbed the snow that it was rarer to find an area of white than of murky brown or black.
The snow was harder to talk in. I almost slipped three times before I gave up and moved to the sidewalk to crunch over the scattered snow salts.
Cooking was too much of a hassle, and I bet that no one would be at Genna's house anyways, so I stopped at the greasiest pizzeria I could find. I didn't usually go out, but if I was actually earning money, why the hell not. A two dollar pizza couldn't hurt.
Who fucking cares anyways.
It was quiet when I arrived back at Genna's house, both bag in hand. Her dad had left a note on the counter, telling me he had left dinner in the fridge for me and now I felt worse. I didn't even check to see what it was, didn't even take off my snow covered boots as I locked the door and stomped down the stairs to the basement.
It was a stupid rule anyways. No one else had enforced it, but for mom it had been so important. That and all of the others.
And dad had just sat there, like he expected the best, like the best wasn't good enough. Every effort was futile because I wasn't him.
And Hector…
I slumped into the couch from across the arm rest, not caring that I had trapped one arm under myself awkwardly, that the parts in my backpack dug into my spine or that it was 100 fucking degrees in all the layers I was carrying. I didn't deserve to feel fucking comfortable.
Hector hadn't done anything wrong. He was a pest sure, but that's what younger brothers are supposed to be.
And I had left him there.
I had left and now I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to to.
My fucking asinine budget phone buzzed from my desk, trying to kick me out of the loop. I threw my wet boot at it, and there was a satisfying crunch. It stopped buzzing.
Then it buzzed again.
More out of anger than anything else, I got to my feet, throwing off my other boot - just because of how the awkward stance annoyed me. I stomped over. The mangled machine lay under my boot, but lay surprisingly untouched for the sound it had made. A cracked screen, a disconnected button, but with a few pokes it still activated.
I was still half tempted to just throw it at a wall for the hell of it, but I decided to give it a chance for its dedication to togetherness.
On the screen, a dim light glowed. Two messages. Responses. I opened them.
'Of course, apologies. I am Uppercrust, and I represent the New York branch of an organization that operates west coast, for many rogues such as yourself.'
Notes: Hello again. Trying something new with this segment, specifically the header. I will be adding one of these to each previous segment of the piece, and will be putting together a full edit and update once the whole piece is submitted. Please tell me if they help frame the story better!
Warnings: Talks of mass death, fears about agency
Friend's reaction to death of family member, unrecognized trigger event,
--- Thursday, August 13th, 2003 ---
The sun was just beginning to reach it's arc overhead as I got back to the apartment, new tinker parts, lunch, and positive attitude in hand. My regular scrapyard acquaintance had found me some very interesting items, and I knew just what use I was going to put them to.
The building our new apartment was located in was one of the newer ones, built where the center of the tear had once been rubble. The building was nice enough, wide windows and a white stone exterior, located amidst the growing mix of commercial and residential that seemed to be getting busier with every month as new people moved into the city, and at most a ten minute walk to the college we would be attending in a few weeks.
The only reason Genna and I had been able to afford it, even counting for the level of income my 'business' brought in, was due to the prices being lowered because of frequent gang activity in the area - something the realtor showing us the apartment had been hesitant to admit for fear it would chase us away.
As if. If anything, they might serve as potential customers. I had never been one to turn down an opportunity when I saw it. Apparently 'the Strip', as they called themselves, weren't inhospitable to those interested in doing business.
I would vet them soon enough.
Resting the cluttered cloth bag on the ground at my feet with a clank of metal and shifting the delicious smelling paper bag to my now free hand, I fished a key out of my purse. I was subtly pleased that the landlord had finally given Genna and I copies, convinced that we weren't just going to up and leave after a week and a half of moving in.
I quickly checked our mail slot, fishing out the three letters from inside and sticking them under my arm. Swinging the bag of parts back over my shoulder, I maneuvered my keys and precious food-stuffs in the other hand, neatly extended to counterbalance the weight of the tinkering components. Baggage in order, I walked down the pristine hallway to the door of the three room Genna and I had rented stood.
I patted the stairs as I passed, keys still in hand. I had learned to be hella thankful that our apartment was on the first floor while moving in.
A few more key turns, and I was inside, snagging the doorknob with my elbow - given my full hands - to pull it closed behind me. The lights inside were off, but that wasn't too surprising given Genna's vampiric tendencies - staying up through the night, rarely going outside, the cold and unfeeling demeanor; everything you could ask for in a budding lawyer.
Except wait, she liked garlic. Hmm, I was going to have to rethink this.
"Genna, I'm back," I announced, unceremoniously dropping my bags on the floor and table respectively. "I brought lunch!"
I heard a groan from Genna's room. That's right, she had been working on internship proposal for that freelance cape lawyer. I guess that answered how that had been going.
"Luuuuuunch," I emphasized, as I knocked at her door. " On the table. Come out before it gets cold!"
I took the second groan for assent. Pleased with my positive contribution to society, I set about dragging the other bag to my lair. Technically, it was a bedroom, but if it was also a workshop then it totally counted as a lair.
Inside, I slipped the bag of parts under the main work table before taking a step up the ladder to slumping onto the bed at the far end of my room, pushed away to make the most room for my workspace. It was technically a bunk bed, but I had gutted the bottom space to make more room for tinkerings and storage.
Across the rest of the room, various memories and projects adorned the walls or lay on the dresser, both mundane and otherwise. The old swords and still in progress blueprints hung next the clipping of the few tiles I had actually won at bingo, back when I still attended. I had a photo of my brother and I on my school work desk, more recent.
We were smiling, though he had more of a smirk on his face. I had my fingers curled into bunny ears behind his head. He had been so mad when he had found out, demanding I delete the picture. Still I had saved a copy, a recording of the outing - of just for the two of us.
He was still living at home with mom and dad.
It was hard to imagine that he was now as old as I had been when… When everything had fallen down, when everything had been broken through.
Stretching out, I unlatched my sandals with my feet and let them drop to the floor, hanging my purse against the hooks on the wall next to my bed. My fall jacket hung there as well, but as it was the middle of August was still far to hot to wear it. But the fact that it hung there, in a space I had chosen, in a place that was mine.
It meant something. I was still trying to figure out what exactly.
I let myself have one moment to splay out across the bed, before I got up and hopped off. I had work to do, but experience had told me work without end could grind you into the ground.
I quickly nabbed a few things from my worktable: The prototype for a blade that went intangible that I was working on for an independant client in that United Blades merc group, the redesign for the scimitar of one of the capes in the local protectorate, and the parts and tools I suspected would be going into finishing them.
After a moment's consideration, I pulled open a drawer and carefully withdrew a one of the vials of blood stored within, along with the scanner that could be hooked up to it. A biological scan of a cape's abilities, that they had agreed to as part of their payment when they couldn't afford the equipment on their own.
I wasn't sure if studying the inherent abilities of other non-tinker capes would do any good, but I had been drawing a blank as of late on where to go considering my focus. If I had been supplied with the designs to build a scanner after stumbling into the idea, I was sure it had to go somewhere, all things considered. I was sure the Elite or PRT would have been happy to supply both a more concrete plan of action and capes to practice my equipment on, but neither of those deals came without clauses I wasn't willing to abide by. Besides, the scanner hadn't even been that hard to build, comparatively, and I liked figuring things out on my own.
On a whim, I fished inside my purse and drew out my cell phone, placing it on top of the pile of other tech. Not for any reason in particular - I just liked how it felt.
Hector had left a message while I was out that I had still yet to decode. It wouldn't be good to leave a message like his without answer - but I had no idea what he was asking about. I quickly flipped open the phone and read the message again.
'Its all mixin nd i cant stop it what do I do'
Was this a puberty thing? Fuck, I wish I could have trusted dad to do this. As things were I had no idea if responding would end up with me getting dragged back into the mess back at the house. I trusted Hector, but I couldn't guarantee that they weren't involved somehow.
As I debated the issue, I carried my projects out of my room, setting them on my side of the table. There wasn't really a division between the kitchen and the living room, so the table in between the two was just the table. I could have had more space in my room, but it was nice to work around others, even if I didn't move as fast. Besides, she probably needed the cheerleading.
I opened the paper food bag, nabbing my own lunch wrap and coffee. There had been an influx of new and interesting stores opening up as people were attracted to New York after being displaced around the world.
After all, cities were never attacked twice. Given how many refugees had come to the states, New York was a prime destination.
I tried not to think how we still hadn't gotten anyone after the newest monstrosity had been revealed over Lausanne. How we had thought she was here to help, an angel against the other terrors. How I was afraid to think if someone from Lausanne had made it to New York, and hated myself for even thinking that.
People were supposed to be safe, or at least manageable. Now they had become weapons just like any others.
I tried to shake my head of the thought. The egg and cheese roll was delicious, and the coffee was strong enough to make my head buzz instead of sink. I looked to the tinkerings in various stages across my side of the desk. One from the Protectorate, one from an Rogue, and a personal project. Nothing from the Elite, at least for the moment. It was only a matter of time though.
If I had been a past me, the independant job would have been one of theirs as well. After the Brokers changed to more aggressive tactics further out of the city - of which I had no doubt of the Elite's involvement given how one of the Brokers now worked under the Elite's banner, with several others had gone their separate ways - The Elite had done their hardest to take on a increasingly large share of the area's Rogue trade. Tried to work through the entire city, if my independent friends in other boroughs had it right.
I had made my stance on their organization clear, kept my distance as their numbers swelled in the city. The few connections to the protectorate probably helped there, and the fact I was open to discussion without bowing to intimidation. Uppercrust was a nice enough guy, at least until he had grown too influential to chat with the likes of me - dealing out forcefields to cities, if the rumors were right. He was like that uncle who sounded way too old for his age, but still seemed sharp as a knife.
Ha, like a knife. Yet another win for Lamina's rapier wit.
No matter the helpful grandpa vibe, Uppercrust didn't represent the whole organization. I had heard the stories, of the branches on the west coast.
Monsters had no right to barter in lives, no matter what sorts of royalty they portrayed themselves as. The New York chapter was safer, more up front, but the way they had suddenly fallen into the power vacuum as if it had opened up before them threw up red flags, and there was no shortage of stories.
I had no intentions of letting myself fall into any group with such a standing, let alone whatever binding measures they had in place, even on the unlikely chance that the Elite were better about such deals than the PRT. Not that they wouldn't try, that they hadn't in the past.
Nevermind, the task at hand outweighed juggling potential basket fires.
I was carefully welding the lines in place to serve as the conduit for the intangibility when the creak of Genna's door announced her return to the world of the living. Great, I could use a second opinion.
"Hey Genna, the smell of sustenance summons thee!" I said, waving her over without looking up from my work. The line of gems had given me an idea about layered usage - if I oriented the components right I might be able to stack several of the effect I had been working on! Imagine, intangibility mixed with the taser stun effect. Talk about a one-two hit.
It took me far too long to realize Genna hadn't responded, that the chair across from me hadn't been pulled out for her to slump into exhaustedly, that I hadn't heard her shuffle her feet. I looked up, uncertain.
Genna was leaning against her doorway like it was the only thing still holding her spirit up. Her eyes were red and stained enough that it was visible through the dark circles that created the underside of her lids. I hesitated to speak, afraid she might shatter under the weight of the words.
"Hey Anne," she choked out, raw and course, like sand, like the day she had found out her mom didn't want to live in the same house as her dad.
"Oh Genna," I whispered, getting up and approaching slowly, as if I might scare her away if I moved to fast, tinkerings forgotten. Carefully, as I neared her, I extracted her from the doorway. She practically fell into my arms, and I stumbled back, trying to support her.
It wasn't a storybook moment- Genna didn't have those. She wasn't some damsel in distress. The Genna I had known would have hated to have the idea ever applied to herself. It would have been awkward anyways, given how much taller she was than me.
No, she was a puppet with her strings cut.
"Genna... what the hell happened?" I said, more to the world that left her like this than to her in specific.
It wasn't until after I had eased her onto the couch, gotten her a glass of water that she had refused in favor of the coffee still steaming from the table, that she began to open up.
"They… They hit again yesterday. Last night." She coughed out, over the bitter taste of the coffee. She looked away. "London."
That… shit. The monsters. I hadn't known. How could I have known? I had gotten up late, hadn't talked to anyone, hadn't checked the news. No wonder she was a mess. It had been no secret that her mom had returned to the country of her birth after the split. It wasn't hard to imagine more family, huddled around the few members that didn't move, like mine had when they had moved to New York way back when.
"God… Who was it." I asked, though the tremors broke through my tone. I would have been too afraid to ask, to know, if it hadn't been Genna. That almost made it worse.
She turned, stared me directly in the eyes, pupils dilated as tears began to spring to the surface once again, before she spoke. "It was Her." Genna's breathing was irregular, increasing like it's orbit had been thrown off and each cycle only threw her further out of proportion, "What am I supposed to do? I can't contact her! I can't contact any of them! I don't know where any of them are, if they are safe!"
Then the agitation emptied out of her like a drain. "What if they are unharmed? Anne, it's Her! It's the fucking angel. How are we supposed to know if any of them are going to be ok ever again?!? If they are even going to be themselves any more?!"
How was I even supposed to respond? How was I supposed to fucking console my friend. I wanted to tell her that it would be ok, that she would see her mom, her family again, wanted that to be anything more than fucking lies.
I resigned to putting an arm around Genna, as she cried into my side, calmly stroking her back. It was all I could do.
"What are we supposed to do against something like that. What god could let them exist in our world?" she whimpered, "I just want to see my mom again..."
We can't do anything, I didn't say as I hummed, stroking her back. We can just let the bigger names take the blows, and hope the real monsters didn't kick out our feet from under us. We could just fucking suffer.
I stayed with Genna, letting the seconds turn into minutes. The food grew cold, abandoned like the tinkerings across the table. Left them to their disarray, my mind elsewhere.
The hardship never really let up, did it. I was where I had always sought to be - I was a known Rogue, able to operate between the PRT and the rest of the city on my own terms. I was living on my own, paying for my own space even. One that was well and truly mine, for what felt like the first time. I was going to college in a few weeks, of all things.
And like off-set clockwork a city was wiped off the map every few months, never clear how soon or far the next attack might come. Even in the safest city in the states, in the city where the heroes had first won against the first, there were forces so big I could just guess at them, but seeing how gang activity and conflict neatly resolved there was no question of their hand at work. The closest capes I had to working peers were slowly finding themselves being pulled under by the economic pressure of the Elite wave, and for all the PRT cared if you weren't a Rogue working for them you were justified in having the villain label slapped onto you.
So many dreams, gone down in flames, and yet somehow I was the one whose pursuits had been achieved, only to find that hopes were nothing when judgement struck.
I felt so small, as tears clouded my eyes where Genna couldn't see.
Notes: The final chapter of this mini arc, we finally reach what is present day for the NYC Continuum.
Warnings: Allusions to child abuse, Allusions to character death, Mild PTSD symptoms
--- Wednesday, February 25th, 2009 ---
"Anne, where'j'ya' store my liquid sadness? I can't find it anywhere!"
I paused from my work , uncertain how to respond. As a crash resounded from the next room, I unpaused in the attempt to limit whatever damage my brother might cause in the search for his… liquid sadness. Huh.
"Could you by any chance clarify what this thing that I've never seen is?" I shouted back, "Is it physical, metaphysical, metaphorical…"
A dirty mop of brown hair popped out from through the doorway to his side of the workshop. A hand brushed away a few strands of hair to reveal that there was even a face under there!
"Physical, of course," The thing said, as I hesitated to call him my brother when he was in this state, "It's a vial maybe three inches tall, filled with a clear orange liquid? I was experimenting with it after seeing that empath client a few weeks back, and it's not anywhere!"
Hector paused, and I could see the gears turning in his head. 'How would I even make something metaphorical? I work with liquids, and sometimes glasses by extension. Are you referring to mind altering effects? Or maybe…"
"I just thought that maybe you had finally come to your dear older sister for advice on actual emotions that you feel. You know, when a thing happens, and you have a reaction but it's mostly mental and chemical inside? Maybe a metaphorical bottle of sadness is the only way for you to get across those feelings to me." I chuckled, waiting for the realization to hit. "Besides, I thought sadness was supposed to be blue."
Hector was simply fuming, even stepping fully out of the doorway from his side of the workshop to mine. He was taller than me, than most other nineteen year olds, yet his hair reached a third of the way down his legs. "What? Fuck you I'm plenty open! And even if I wasn't, I don't have to be open to you, you're family!" He crossed his arms and scoffed. "And why would sadness be blue? Obviously the emotio-chemical interactions make it orange."
"Emotio-chemical isn't a real word, Hector."
"You're not a real word, Anneka."
I flinched, my muscles tensing as my breath caught. I could see his eyes widen.
"No, shit, Anne, I-" Hector stammered, easily slipping from confidence to uncertainty.
"It's fine," I said, regaining my breath. "Who fucking cares what mom called me. This is my house, not hers."
Hector nodded, cautious.
"Sorry little bro," I said, pretending I had regained my smile, "I haven't seen any of your vials around. And I told you, I only ever take things from your side of the workshop when they were mine to begin with."
He looked at me, brow creased. "Anne, all of this stuff was yours to begin with. You only let me really start handling my money this year."
I pretended not to hear him, leaving him to create the confusion all for himself, but I got up to help him look anyways. He likely wouldn't get far alone, expert detective skills aside.
The apartment wasn't really small for two people, rather the compact felling had been a result of the amount of prototypes and permanent fixtures Hector and I tended to generate in main areas after they spilled out of our rooms. The place would have had exactly enough room to lounge on my own - it had originally been meant to house one person - but I always thought it was more comfortable to live with others than to die alone.
There had been a few years after she had… When it had been just me. I tried not to think about them. We weren't to far from where we had lived, back when we were just starting college.
Sometimes it seems like I couldn't escape the tear. Maybe I didn't want to. It still surprised me when the newer generation didn't call it that, didn't know where it started or stopped. With how much had been rebuilt since then, there were times I couldn't tell myself.
When Hector had started crashing on the couch, I hadn't complained, just told him to just take the guest room if he was planning on staying long term. Well, that and bugging him to get off his ass and go to college or start working, but that was a work in progress.
The organizational system had just gotten… a little out of hand, with two active tinkers working in it, that's all.
I was at least ninety percent sure Hector's vial wasn't on my display shelves or in the ingot pile, and I swore if he had somehow gotten some kind of liquid anywhere near my scanner database I would turn his cacti into spine grenades.
Maybe he had left it amongst the parts for the project the two of us had been working on for that independant under the Elite? I had told Hector that he really shouldn't leave corrosive poisons lying around where anyone could trip over them, but he had pointed out that I literally left knives face up on most of the surfaces I worked on, so I'd had to concede him that point. Still, even after carefully arranging the vials and channeled blades, we were left a vial short.
I clicked my tongue. I really didn't want to have to search through the jungle that was Hector's side of the workshop, or worse yet, his room. At least on my end nothing grew into each other. Hector's collection of 'useful' plants dominated the room, curling around the complicated flasks and beakers that he used to do his tinkerings.
Thankfully the buzz of the doorbell provided ample excuse. "Sorry Hector, but it's definitely not amongst my side of the 'shop. Keep looking on your end while I grab this."
Hector grumbled, but complied as I went to find out this 'mysterious visitor'. I knew who it was, of course: the protectorate required monthly check ins with it's more invested independants, though usually those took place at one of the actual headquarters or out posts. I found home calls much more enjoyable, at least with the right person.
It helped when my civilian identity and location had little merit, given the extensive lack of friends or family I found myself with. Of the couple I actually cared about, Hector lived with me, and Genna… Genna had been gone for a long time
"Hello?" I asked, cheerful as I tried to sound as I did my best to put the past behind me.
"Hello, Anne?" I heard Zayne's voice, gravely and distorted by the intercom.
"Oh what a entirely unexpected and unplanned surprise!" I smiled, "I'll be right out." Lifting my finger from the intercom, I began unlatching the door, as I turned and shouted "Hector, it's Zayne, don't be an asshole!"
"Why should I care what guy friends you bring over?" He shouted back from where he was on his hands and knees, half buried in the leaves of some fern. "Besides, he started it!"
"Best. behavior." I shouted, before closing the door to is annoyed groans and pacing down the hallway. The plastered corridor was a bit grungy, stone staircase to one side. I was still on the first floor, I had just learned how nice that was when moving large quantities of heavy metal parts.
The super was sitting on a stool outside of the entrance to his apartment from the lobby, one hand with a pen hovering over a newspaper crossword, the other holding a lazily drifting cigarette. Despite how the smoke reminded me of cravings and bad decisions from those lonely years, I nodded to him when his eyes jumped to me. He nodded back, and you could just about see his old gang tattoos reaching along his neck from under his button down.
Just an acknowledgement. We had an agreement. The safety of quid pro quo was nothing to scoff at. Besides, without it there was no way I would have been allowed to instal the forge into the old fireplace.
Taking a step past him, I opened the lobby door for Zayne, unable not to smile in response to his own infectious grin. We was tall, though not as tall as I had thought he was after first meeting him - we had both grown in other ways since that evening in the rain. He had already crossed over into his late twenties now, and of course still infuriatingly two years older than me.
"Hey Money Box," I teased.
"Oh, right in my secret identity," Cache said in mock shock.
He wasn't in costume, of course, we were at my apartment after all, but he was a close enough friend to meet like this anyway. Besides, it's not like he was strictly telling his PRT overlords all the pertinent details.
"Come on in," I said, holding the door open to let him out of the February chill, before walking back to my apartment with him in tow. The super only glared, though Zayne waved smoke out of his face when he thought the man had stopped.
Unlatching the door, I motioned for Zayne to stop before stepping fully into the minefield of the apartment.
"Sorry, I'll just be a moment, I have to find some notes and a prototype." I explained, "Also apparently there's some 'liquid sadness' lying around somewhere, and I wouldn't want you to get your feelings hurt."
"It's mine," Hector's voice carried from the other room.
"Oh, ok. I can stand here. Hello Hector." He said, cracking a smile, "and Anne, you don't have to rush. All the report sums up to is that you're doing fine, and I can write that all on my own."
"Oh no, I'm not rushing for you," I said turning back to him with a grin, "I've got something planned."
Zayne raised an eyebrow in what could be equal worry or excitement. "Oh?"
"You don't have to be anywhere for the next half hour, do you?"
"Not that I know of."
"And do you have your costume with you, or at least your mask?" I asked. He had long sleeves and pants to go with the temperature, so as long as his face was covered everything should go fine.
"I've got the lighter version in my bag, yeah." Zayne said, crossing his arms.
"Great," I said, pulling and updated version of my old multi-sheath off the wall before looking for a duffel bag to store it in. "Because I've got some city newbies to wow, and they asked for some verification. Who better than my own Protectorate bodyguard?"
"I see. And does this loyal bodyguard of yours get a say in any of this," He asked with a smile.
"Of course he does! But if he chose not to then he wouldn't be able to be bribed with a dinner out, which he would of course have to keep secret from his bosses." I said as I swung the found duffel bag over my shoulder, throwing in the mask after a moment's thought, though I was unlikely to use it.
"Oh he wouldn't want to give that up," Zayne responded.
I could hear Hector fake gag from the other room, and rolled my eyes.
"Come on, I'll tell you more on the way." I said, leaving Hector to his immaturity.
With a nod to the super, We were walking through the crowded streets of midtown. Across the diverse groups that crowded the area, of whom I wondered how many had moved to the new spaces rebuilt to cover up the tear after their own cities had been attacked, the people were equally split between those bundled and isolated in the winter chill and those active and talkative.
I supposed there was a lot of buzz in the air. Super Bowl 43 had just wrapped up - I only knew because Hector had demanded it every game be played on the tv he had somehow found and dragged into the house, though I still had no idea who had won. My mind had been more swept up by President Gillen's commencement address. He was taking a proactive course of action against the Endbringers. My mouth felt dry.
I still didn't know what to think of the man. I hadn't voted for him, but he had rode the wave that had followed the previous Vice President's assassination. Fear was something I could deal with, in an individual, but when it reached an institutional level it left everyone's control. Sure the extra support to affected areas was the least that could be done, but he had stated he would continue using the bird tattoos that had been introduced after the youngest had visited the US.
It was hard, not to blame him. Not to blame people like him. Not to miss Genna. Had this been Her intention, one of the dominoes she had set in motion?
It wouldn't have been the first death like it.
"...ne, Anne?" I blinked, startled as the sights and sounds of the city returned to my my focus. Zayne was next to make, following me?
"Anne, are you there?" He asked with a smile, "I was wondering who exactly this… client, was. Another independant? Or are you dealing dealing with the Elite again..."
Ah, right, that's where we were. "Zayne, you can't be a Rogue in New York without dealing with the Elite. They're not all that the stories make them out to be. I can handle them." I laughed at the idea, though it felt hollow. It wasn't like the Elite weren't trying to grab up every rogue who didn't tie themselves down - just there were bigger fish to worry about. I didn't mention my deals with the Trade Conglomerate in the official documents with the PRT. "Besides, the ties I have between them and the PRT means that none of the small gangs of the city can try to mess with me."
"I think that's because you'd kick their asses if they tried." Zayne said.
A smile, a real one, began to spread. Humor was grounding, smiles were safe, but it was nice to have something genuinely cheerful.
"No, this is a new client. They think they're vetting me, but this is more me checking out that they are up front. You know I cut off anyone who uses my tech for anything too villainous. I have a reputation to uphold after all." I said, "I'm pretty sure they're new to the city, a vigilante of some sort."
"Then let's hope they're one of the more reasonable types." Zayne said.
"Your Protectorate is leaking through," I said.
"My common sense is leaking through," He corrected, "And besides, I thought you only wanted me for my for my trusting governmental ties?"
I rolled my eyes.
I had arranged to meet the vigilante on an east side pier. It was secluded enough that any onlookers wouldn't see or hear any details, but public enough that there would be onlookers.
The cape in question had been interested in an introductory meeting, which was harmless enough. However they had implied they wouldn't have found issue meeting out of costume, and would have done so now if they hadn't been interested in a show of my tech and alliances. That level of trust required preparations, either on their part to gain the information, or on mine to make sure a trusting newbie didn't fall into any pitfalls - or more specifically didn't take me with them.
We ducked into an alleyway so I could take my swords out of the duffle bag and Zayne could put on his solid black helmet. At his insistence, I followed suit, rolling my eyes as I covered them with my own intricately shaped steel mask. Together, we approached the end of the pier.
I almost didn't notice the figure leaning against the fence that closed in the pier. A man, around my height, in a light jacket and jeans, calmly looking out over the waves like he had the entire world tuned out.
He turned towards us as we arrived, as if perfectly timed, and I realized that what I had thought was his face was actually covered in a thin layer of something, almost like a tragedy mask except for how lifelike it was. I couldn't pinpoint the substance, but it looked almost like pulp, or paper mache. I couldn't see his eyes though the indents at the top.
If I hadn't grown numb to weird cape shit by now, this would have freaked me the fuck out.
He nodded as we approached. "Lamina, I presume? And Cache, judging from the mask. Nice to meet you."
"And you as well," I replied, returning the nod, "I thought the best way to quell your concerns about my connections would be to bring a Protectorate member I've worked with in the past along to vouch for me."
"I see," the masked man replied, "Thank you for coming, Cache. I hope I'm not infringing too much by asking for a power presentation, just to be sure?"
Cache looked to me, though I couldn't read his expression through his mask. I nodded. With a sigh and a shrug, he raised a hand and a geometric array extended above it, forming and aligning until a plastic water bottle dropped out into his palm.
"Thank you for alleviating my concerns," The man continued, "I apologize for the suspicion. I admit I haven't thought up any exact name to go by, though you can call me Article until something more applicable presents itself. Ah, but I must give a presentation as well."
He raised a hand, on which was a small strip of newspaper. The strip rose, and then began to fold in on itself, until it formed a floating diamond, before it fell back into his hand.
"I see," I replied, "I of course need further information from you as well. As a Tinker my focus is bladed weapons, as I explained to you when you first reached out. I'd need to know what you were looking for, along with your intentions for using it."
I looked him right in the empty eyes. "I can't have anyone threatening my reputation, after all."
Article nodded, seemingly unsurprised. "Of course. I would expect no less from one of the longest running independent tinkers of the city, especially with the Elite's," his voice took on a vaguely disgruntled tone, "presence."
Under the mask, my eyes narrowed. He had certainly done his research. Knowing Cache was one thing - he was far better known than he'd once been – but I didn't exactly advertise how long I'd been working.
"I'm surprised you didn't go to them first with your request," I responded.
"Not everyone is able to make deals with the devil like you have Lamina," He said, voice deepening, "Not everyone wants to."
I cast a glance to Cache, catching his eyes. Article continued, seemingly unaware.
"I wouldn't worry about my intentions. I am simply interested in trying to take down some of the less visible criminal elements of the city."
He scratched the side of his mask, a surprising moment of vulnerability given the professional presentation he had put forward thus far. "It's really more of a personal matter, but it shouldn't be anything that makes the headlines. I simply am aware of my own shortcomings, and wish to better prepare myself against such enemies."
He looked at me directly. "I assure you I have the funds."
"And you're sure you can't go to the Protectorate with your findings?" Cache cut in. I held my tongue, despite how this had been supposed to be my client, using the time to try and further observe him. "I'm sure the local teams could address the matter far more safely, with a greater chance of success."
Article shook his head. He seemed the picture of professionalism so far, disturbing mask aside, clashing with my idea of the vigilante project he was proposing. He was well researched, polite, and… somewhat reasonable. But what was he hoping to get from me?
"I don't believe so, Cache." said Article, "It is of my opinion that a large enough operation would alert the group, making all future actions more difficult. As much as I admire your organization for it's work, I do not believe it is infallible, especially on the individual level."
Cache crossed his arms unhappily, but said no more.
"I'm still unclear, Article. Given your power and goal, I don't see how my wares can be of much help. Don't get me wrong, a proper sword can certainly be effective, but that doesn't seem to be what you are aiming for."
I could swear the corners of the cape's frown turned up into a mock smile. I tried my best not to judge capes for their fucking weird ass quirks. It was bad for business.
Still, that mask was fucking creepy.
"Should I take that to mean you are willing to make something for me?" Article asked, in a way I would have pinned as excited if it weren't for the tone.
"No promises." I replied.
Article nodded. "You are correct. While I am not unhappy with the idea of having a sword commissioned from you, I am here for another reason. I have heard you function as the agent for the cape 'Concoction'?"
"I do."
"And is the rumor that he can make a so called 'truth serum' correct?"
I paused. The 'truth serum', as Hector called it, had been completed – I had even used on a few occasions, but it was still in its early phases. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that Article would have learned of its existence, but only just.
"It is."
"Then I believe we have a trade beneficial to both of us."
He raised a hand.
After a moment's hesitation, I raised my own, and shook his.
