Paternum: A Superhero Story

theVoidWatches · Jun 24, 2019

Paternum, by J. C. Weston

When Quinn finds an experimental superpower-granting costume in their parents' attic, they didn't expect to be drawn into a web of superhuman intrigue, but their discovery serves as the catalyst for that conspiracy to slowly unravel.
Read on its own page to follow weekly at thevoidwrites.com:

Sufficient Velocity Publication Dates:

1.1. Scenes 1-3 (June 22)
1.1. Scenes 4-5 (June 23)
1.1. Scenes 6-10 (June 24)
1.1. Scenes 11-14 (June 25)
1.1. Scenes 15-16 (June 26)
1.1. Scenes 17-20 (June 27)
1.1. Scene 21 (June 28)
1.1. Scenes 22-23 (June 29)
1.1. Intermission Scenes 1-2 (June 30)

1.2. Scenes 1-2 (Oct 14)
1.2. Scene 3 (Oct 15)
1.2. Scenes 4-7 (Oct 16)
1.2. Scenes 8-10 (Oct 17)
1.2. Scenes 11-12 (Oct 18)
1.2. Scenes 13-14 (Oct 19)
1.2. Scenes 15-16 (Oct 20)
1.2. Scene 17 (Oct 21)
1.2. Scenes 18-20 (Oct 22)
1.2. Scenes 21-22 (Oct 23)
1.2. Scenes 23-24 (Oct 24)
1.2. Scenes 25-27 (Oct 25)
1.2. Scenes 28-29 (Oct 26)
1.2. Scenes 30-31 (Oct 27)
1.2. Scenes 32-25 (Oct 28)
1.2. Scenes 36-37 (Oct 29)
1.2. Intermission Scenes 1-5 (Oct 30)

1.3. Scenes 1-3 (Dec 20)
1.3. Scenes 4-6 (Dec 21)
1.3. Scenes 7-8 (Dec 22)
1.3. Scenes 9-10 (Dec 23)
1.3. Scenes 11-12 (Dec 24)
1.3. Scenes 13-14 (Dec 25)
1.3. Scenes 15-18 (Dec 26)
1.3. Scenes 19-22 (Dec 27)
1.3. Intermission Scenes 1-5 (Dec 28)

Donor Exclusive, Arc 1.5: Drawing Hands

2.1. Scenes 1-4 (Feb 21)
2.1. Scene 5 (Feb 22)
2.1. Scenes 6-8 (Feb 23)
2.1. Scenes 9-12 (Feb 24)
2.1. Scenes 13-15 (Feb 25)
2.1. Scenes 16-18 (Feb 26)
2.1. Scenes 19-21 (Feb 27)
2.1. Scenes 22-24 (Feb 28)
2.1. Intermission Scenes 1-4 (Feb 29)

2. Act 2: Walk With Kings
2. Act 3: The Truth You've Spoken

Donor Exclusive, Arc 2.5: In Letters Bold
Arc 3: That Bright Crown

A college student named Quinn with a chronically ill father and a 15-years-missing mother discovers an experimental supersuit in a collection of their mother's old belongings, and it awakens powers they never knew they had. Finding new friends and a home in the superhero community, Quinn grows as a person as they slowly learn about what really happened to their mother, and a conspiracy with a grip on the heart of the superheroic community.

At it's heart, Paternum is an extended coming-of-age story for the main character as they become a superhero, in a world with more reasonable stakes and less powerful heroes than many superheroic worlds. Themes include what art means to different people, and what it means to be a patron, whether as a sponsor, a parent, or a supporter.

I consider Paternum's primary influences to be the various versions of Spider-Man, J. C. McCrae's own superhero story Worm, and Drew Hayes' story SuperPowereds. I hope that fans of such stories can find something to enjoy in mine as well.

theVoidWatches · Jun 24, 2019

Arc 1: The Swift Uplifting Rush

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

theVoidWatches · Jun 24, 2019

Act 1: The Morning's Hush

When you awaken in the morning's hush
-Mary Elizabeth Frye

Scene 1 - October 14th
Interior Classroom, Late Afternoon
Quinn Kaufman

"...Aaron Atwick proposed a single metagene," said Professor Marigold, "but we now know that there are over a hundred genes that can grant superpowers. Some of them activate during puberty, triggered by changing hormones, as Ms. Kennethson's did," She gestured to Nellie Kennethson, our class's representative of the 15 percent of the population who had superpowers - Nellie's hair and eyes could change color at her whim. "Many others activate during adrenaline rushes. Some are activated by radiation. A few are even active from birth. It's part of why powers are unlikely to ever reach past 15 percent of the population - only around 15 percent of people are ever in a position where their metagene is activated, even though almost 85 percent of people now possess at least one metagene. Does anyone know if they have a metagene?"
I dutifully raised my hand. "I was tested once," I said. "I'm one of the 15 percent that don't have any documented metagenes." Learning that when I had had the opportunity to take a test that detected them a few years ago had been a bit of a blow - like most people, I had harbored a childhood dream of having incredible superpowers and becoming a great hero. My drive to become a doctor was, perhaps, borne of that childish desire to help, now with a goal I could actually attain.
"I have one that can activate from adrenaline!" volunteered Todd Brickler. "That's why I got into skydiving - I hoped it would give me powers. No luck yet though."
"I have three!" Sarah Finely said proudly. "One of them is from radiation, but no one knows what would trigger the other two for sure!"
Professor Marigold held up a hand to forestall anyone else from volunteering. "I hope I've made my point - dormant metagenes are more common than active ones. Not to mention the relative scarcity of magical and cosmic powers, which aren't granted by metagenes.
"Now, like most things relating to superpowers, these categories are approximate. There are those who argue that metagenes simply allow one to instinctually channel magic, thus breaking the laws of physics. There are those who suggest that cosmic sources actually just activate dormant metagenes - perhaps unidentified ones, but still the same type of power. There are even arguments that magic is simply sufficiently advanced technology, and that magic should therefore fall under cosmic - or that all three sources should be merged, as there's little meaningful distinction between them. After all, there are magical metahumans with no need for chants or signs, natural metahumans who must interface with technology, and cosmic metahumans who use hand gestures or mantras to help focus their power.
"Your homework, then..." Marigold paused to let us all groan, grinning, then continued, "your homework is to write a short paper - three to five pages, due next week - explaining why you believe two of the three sources are the same or why you believe they're different. Everyone got that?"
That shouldn't be too hard, thankfully. My mother had studied metahumans, after all - I was sure I could find something in her old papers that would help.
The professor glanced at her watch as we wrote our homework down. "And that's four o'clock, so I'll see you all next week. Make sure you write those papers!" Typically she strode out of the room at that point, but this time she stayed, allowing the students to vacate instead. "Mx. Kaufman, would you mind staying behind a moment?"
I furrowed my brow as the rest of the class began to leave. What did she want to talk to me about? I didn't think I had screwed up during the class. I had spoke up once before being called on, but she had asked for input from the class and I hadn't been the only one. I had even been engrossed enough in today's lecture that I hadn't doodled in my notebook today, although I usually did. We hadn't had any homework due to her today, and -
"Quinn," Marigold said to me with a somewhat sad smile. "I heard about your father. I just wanted to express my sympathies."
"Oh," I blinked up at her, then laughed, running a hand through my hair. "Thank you, professor, but he's fine."
She raised an eyebrow. "He's in the hospital again, isn't he? I know I'm not incredibly close to David," she said with perhaps a slight pang of bitterness in her voice, "but he is a co-worker, and I don't think the inter-departmental gossip is that inaccurate. We do work in the same building, after all"
I shrugged dismissively, starting to pack up my things. "I mean, yeah, he's in the hospital again, but, well... it happens from time to time. Chronic illnesses will do that to you."
"You're not worried?"
"Not especially," I told her. "Dad's beaten it back before and he'll do it again. It's not even the worst relapse he's had. He'll be out in a few days, I'm sure."
She examined my face, obviously still concerned, so I made sure to smile reassuringly. I didn't know what she was so worried about - Dad had been in and out of the hospital for years, and his current relapse wasn't anything new. "Well, if you're sure," she finally said. "Still, please pass on my sympathies to him. If you need an extension on that paper, just ask."
I rolled my eyes. "I've got it covered, professor. I was able to keep up in your class during midterms for Organic Chemistry and Abnormal Anatomy, I think I can handle one week without my dad to interrupt me when I'm doing homework," I joked. "I'll be fine." I gave her a smile and left. As I went, I gave a nod to Todd Brickler, who had been standing by the door.

Scene 2 - October 14th
Interior Vituccio Hall, Continuous
Quinn Kaufmann

"What was that about?" Todd asked we left the room - he seemed to have been waiting for me, as he fell into step with me when I passed through the door.
I wasn't sure why - we had worked together on a group project the previous day, it was true, but I didn't exactly consider him a friend. Maybe my nod had given him the wrong idea. Still, I didn't see any reason to be rude, so I answered, "She was asking about my dad - he's in the hospital."
"Oh damn, I'm sorry about that. Is he gonna be okay?"
I sighed. Honestly. "Yeah, he'll be fine. It's just a chronic thing that flares up every now and then."
"Still. How did she know, though?" he asked.
"He's a professor here as well," I said. "He teaches poetry and literary analysis, most years. I think he started around the same time as Marigold?"
"Oh, neat," Todd said, although from his tone I didn't think he actually thought poetry was cool. "I guess you must be from around here, then?"
"Yeah, we've lived in New Venice since I was... seven, I think? We moved not long after mom..." I paused, unsure how to explain that my mother had been missing for most of my life. "Well, dad couldn't support us just by raising me," I eventually said.
"I guess you're probably not staying in a dorm, then?" Todd asked. He tactfully didn't press on the subject of my mother, for which I was grateful.
"Yeah, I'm still living at home. No sense spending money on a dorm when you don't have to, after all." It might have contributed to me not having many close friends at college, I supposed, but on the other hand it wasn't as though I had a huge amount of time on my hands. I was handling it fine, but biology was a demanding major, particularly as I was planning to get a medical degree as well.
"Must be a bummer to have your old man around all the time, huh?"
"Nah, dad's cool. We get along pretty well."
"He doesn't get upset when you bring guys home?" Todd joked.
"I'm single right now, actually. But no, he's never minded me bringing boyfriends or girlfriends home. He likes to try and embarrass me when I do, though." What was Todd getting at?
"What, you're single? How could a girl as gorgeous as you be single?" he asked.
I blinked in surprise, then narrowed my eyes at him. So that was what he was getting at. "I'm not a girl, Todd," I informed him - I was very open about the fact that I was nonbinary, and while it wasn't always worth correcting the assumptions people made in one direction or the other, in this case I thought it was. "And yes, I'm single, but that doesn't mean I'm interested in you."
It was blunt, but sometimes that was the only way.
Todd grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Quinn. Can't blame me for trying, right?"
"I suppose not," I admitted, "but the answer is no."

Scene 3 - October 14th
Exterior City, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

Metahuman History was my last class of the day, so after that awkward conversation I was able to head home. Normally I would hitch a ride back from the university with my dad, but with him in the hospital it was public transportation. The busses in New Venice weren't what I would call fast or reliable, but I should still get back home in time to check on the stew that I had set up before going to college for the day.
In the meantime, I decided to start sketching. My notes for today had only taken up three quarters of the page, so I had lots of room in the margins, and, glancing up on occasion for reference, I began sketching the city's skyline. After a few minutes, I noticed a figure bounding between the rooftops - bright white costume against the sky, with a billowing red cape - and I couldn't help but smile. Canaveral, my favorite hero of the New Champions, was on patrol today.
I added him to my sketch.

Not long after that, the bus arrived, and I had to return the notebook to my bag - no point sketching in a jerky bus. Instead I retrieved my notes from the morning's Abnormal Anatomy class and began rereading them while I waited for the bus to take me home.

theVoidWatches · Jun 24, 2019

Scene 4 - October 14th

Interior Townhouse, Early Evening

Quinn Kaufman

I checked on the stew as soon as I got home and found that it wasn't quite ready. It needed another hour or so, so I texted Dad to let him know that I wouldn't be over with dinner until a little later.

In the meantime, I was already finished with most of my homework. All I had was the essay that Professor Marigold had assigned, and I wasn't ready to start on that yet - I was still turning the question over in my head and hadn't decided what to write. So until the stew was done, I decided to continue the years-long project of cleaning up the attic.

After mom vanished, Dad had packed away all of her stuff and left it up there. It hurt him too much to see it, he always said, and for much the same reason he rarely spoke of her. In the last few years, however, the wound had finally healed enough that the two of us would occasionally go into the attic and go through some of her things.

We had found some interesting stuff, as well as a lot of pictures and mementos that would invariably make Dad stare into the middle distance for a while before ending our cleaning for the day. Books on genetics (some of them written by Mom, others heavily annotated in pencil), pictures of the two of them on dates early in their relationship (it was interesting to look at the two of them together and catalog which of my features came from which parent - I had my fathers curly hair, wide nose, and olive skin, but my mother had given me my pale blue eyes, sharp chin, and, interestingly, her smile. We had the same crookedness to our smiles, making us seem mischievous even when we were sincere), and even a collection of fantasy novels that she had enjoyed (Dad had suggesting donating them to the library, but I had snuck them into my own room to read in my sparse free time). It was where we had found the poster of Aaron Atwick.

Tonight, it seemed, would be a somewhat boring one in that slow process. The wardrobe containing her clothes that I was looking through surely held stories, but without Dad here to share them, they were just clothes. I went about sorting them into three piles - one for clothes that had held up well enough to be donated, one for clothes that would need to be thrown out, and a small pile for intact clothes that I wanted to keep for myself.

Well, my stork of a father couldn't wear them. I, on the other hand, was around the right size, and a single college professor's income only stretched so far. No sense wasting perfectly good clothes, especially ones as nice as these. I couldn't help pulling on a t-shirt that I particularly liked (both "Mr" and "Mrs" crossed out, with "Dr" circled) before continuing.

As I pulled out the lowest drawer, I resolved to head downstairs after finishing the wardrobe. I should check on the stew again soon, I thought, then stopped.

This drawer didn't hold clothes. Instead, it was occupied by a wide, black box, with no adornment other than a white label reading 'Psychic Augmenter Mark 4'. That wasn't something I could just ignore.

Inside the box, I found a sheaf of papers which seemed to describe a series of experiments that had led up to the creation of the PA4. The way it worked was far above my level - I was pretty bright for a college student, and I certainly intended to go into the field of metahuman medicine, which this kind of thing probably fell under, but I was only a premed student - I wouldn't graduate college for another few months! I hadn't even heard of half of these terms.

I turned my attention to what lay beneath the papers, the PA4 itself. It wasn't what I would have assumed a 'psychic augmenter' would look like - rather than a futuristic helmet, it looked like a relatively standard superhero costume. A dark purplish-blue fabric, almost black, which contrasted strongly with a pair of knee-high armored boots and elbow-length armored gauntlets, both in white, with a transparent, plastic-like material making up the soles and palms, respectively.

...was this what had happened to my mother? Had she been a superhero who had run afoul of something beyond her? Wouldn't Dad have told me about something like that? He had been tight-lipped about her for years, yes, but he had opened up since we started going through the attic. And something this big...

Well, maybe he wouldn't have told me. But on the other hand, now that I thought about it, it seemed unlikely. Mom would surely have been an incredible superhero, but she was a metahuman researcher - creating something which would augment at least certain kinds of metahuman powers would probably be right up her alley.

I started to pack up the PA4, then stopped. It was probably a bad idea, I admitted to myself, but I couldn't help it. It was a genuine superhero costume, or at least, the closest I was likely to ever get to one. I had to try it on!

It was a little loose on me, which comes with the territory when you're trying to wear what was a probably standardized outfit while being only 5'4" on a good day, but I found a button on the belt which seemed to bring the thing to life. My entire body tingled as it contracted to fit me perfectly - a little too perfectly, in my opinion. I wasn't particularly body-shy, but I wasn't eager to show off my figure in this much detail. Fortunately, the 'fit me!' button was inset into a dial, which I fiddled with and caused the suit to loosen slightly. Instead of showing every outline of my muscles, it was now about as form fitting as a typical piece of tight clothing. Interestingly, the transparent plastic had also lit up a bright blue, as did the buckle of the belt and the eyes of the full-face mask.

It was itchy, though. I stripped out of it as soon as I could.

Well, after taking some selfies.

Scene 5 - October 14th

Interior Hospital Room, Evening

Quinn Kaufman

"Your son is here to see you, Mr. Kaufman," the nurse called to my father as she opened the door to his room. "Just remember, visiting hours are over in forty five minutes, okay?" she said to me.

I nodded politely, waiting until she had left and closed the door behind her to walk over to dad, grumbling, "One day, when I run this hospital, everyone will know what being nonbinary means."

Dad smiled up at me from the bed where he lay. "You'll change the world for sure, kiddo," he agreed. "But in the meantime, you just have to struggle through. It's not worth it to fight every little battle, not with people you'll never see again."

"I know, I know."

"So..." he glanced around and lowered his voice as though about to discuss something illicit. "You got the goods?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I got the goods." I produced a container of stew and handed it to him along with a spoon. "I don't know why you always have me smuggle this in. I mean, surely you're used to hospital food by now, right?"

"It's the principal of the thing," he declared, popping it open. "Like the man says, 'Tell me not, in mournful numbers, / Life is but an empty dream!— / For the soul is dead that slumbers, / And things are not what they seem.' In other words," he explained, taking a sip, "you have to take pleasure in the little things. Like good food, even when you're in the hospital. And on that note, yum! How much garlic did you use?"

"I just threw in all the cloves I could find in the cupboard," I joked.

He frowned at me. "You didn't buy extra? I know I've taught you better than that."

"I thought about it," I explained, "but any more wouldn't have fit in the pot."

"That's no excuse," he scolded, "we have a bathtub."

"But the bathtub is full of eels."

"Why is the bathtub full of eels?"

"Couldn't fit any more in the hovercraft."

Dad broke down at that point, and that set me off. It was an occasional game of ours - to respond with more and more ridiculous statements until we couldn't handle it anymore.

Eventually the laughter died down and we just grinned at each other for a moment. "Which man was that, anyway?" I asked after the moment past, scratching at the back of the neck.

"Hmm?"

"The poem you quoted."

"Ah. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He wrote Paul Revere's Ride, among other things," Dad told me when I didn't immediately recognize the name. He taught poetry at the University of New Venice, and was a world-renowned scholar in poetic circles. "That was the opening stanza of A Psalm of Life. You ought to recognize it - or at least the line 'footprints on the sands of time'."

"A good line," I agreed.

"Indeed."

I scratched at my wrist as I began telling Dad about my day. Whatever had made the suit so itchy had been left behind after I took it off, and I couldn't wait to take a shower later tonight.

"You okay, kiddo?" Dad asked a few minutes later. "You've been scratching a lot. Do you have a rash? I could call the nurse back..."

"I'm fine," I assured him. "It's from... well..." I paused. "I was going through some of the attic stuff earlier, and I found something in the wardrobe while I was sorting through clothes."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it was this weird thing that Mom made. A suit - like, a superhero suit."

Dad went still. "Was it labeled?" he asked after a moment. "Psychic Augmenter?"

"Mark 4, yeah." I told him.

He sighed. "That was the project which consumed your mother's life for three years," he told me. "You know Laura was trying to research cosmic-powered metahumans, right?"

"Yeah."

"She had a theory that a commonality between a lot of cosmic-powered heroes was that their powers were psychic," Dad explained. "Some kind of difference in the their nerves and brain tissue that broke the laws of physics in a different way than magically-powered heroes. She wanted to find a way to grant that to everyone - 'to awaken the latent psychic powers in all of us'."

"Sounds like a cool idea. What went wrong?" I asked. After all, if it had worked, the thing wouldn't have been packed away in our attic - it would have revolutionized the world. "Funding dry up?"

He nodded. "The first version didn't do much to the rats it was being tested on. The second seemed to do something, but it wasn't clear what, so the third version was made for people. As I recall, results suggested that the nerves were being enhanced - faster reaction times and the like while wearing it - but people got incredible migraines after only a few minutes, and the results wore off. Laura was certain that the fourth model worked, and that it would awaken dormant powers, but..." He sighed. "Turns out that people don't actually have dormant psychic powers. The migraines of the third model were precursors to people's neural systems melting, which happened in only a minute or so with the fourth. Funding failed pretty quickly after that," he said, dryly. "...you didn't wear it, did you?"

I met his worried eyes. "Um..." He began to look panicked. "Just for a few minutes!" I tried to defend myself. "And I'm fine! Just itchy from whatever the thing was made of!"

"Itchy!" he demanded. "Quinn, you could be hurt! What if the itching is a sign of nerve damage!?"

"I don't think that's how nerve damage works," I said, trying to placate him.

"You may be a med student, but I was married to a neurologist for eleven years," He insisted, pressing a button on the side of his hospital bed to call a nurse. "I'm getting you an MRI."

"We can't afford that, Dad!" I protested.

He glared at me. "We'll find a way. I need to know you're okay, kid."

"Is something wrong?" asked a nurse - not the same one who had led me here - opening the door to see me and my father glaring at each other.

"My idiot child exposed themself to a substance that may have damaged their nerves or brain," he told her, still glaring at me. "I'd like them to get an MRI."

"I'm fine!" I said again. "I'm fine," I told the nurse.

"Sure," he said placatingly. "I'll just get a doctor about those tests for your daughter, alright Mr. Kaufman?" he told my dad, then left before I could protest that I wasn't his daughter any more than I was his son.

"Let it go, Quinn," Dad told me as I sank into a seat. "And you're getting that scan."

theVoidWatches · Jun 24, 2019

Scene 6 - October 15th
Exterior Park, Noon
Quinn Kaufman

I got the scan.

The doctor, on hearing an abbreviated version of the story, agreed that it was probably best to check on my nervous system, and had even offered a discount 'because David is such a good customer,' he joked. But it didn't show any irregularities.

Oddly enough, my itching cleared up around that time as well. I had developed a killer headache on the way home, but that cleared up after I got inside.

It was now the next day, and after outlining my Metahuman History paper I was going for a walk in a nearby park. I couldn't stop thinking about the suit.

It was dangerous, Dad's story had made that clear. It had killed whoever it was tested on, way back when. Or horribly injured them, at least. But all it had done to me was make me itchy, or so it seemed.

Reluctantly, I admitted to myself that Dad had been right - itching can be a sign of nerve damage. But since I had none, it clearly hadn't been.

The suit was supposed to awaken psychic powers, and Mom had been convinced that it did - but the people it had been tested on simply didn't have dormant psychic power. But what if that just meant they didn't have the right metagene? There was, after all, the theory that cosmic metahumans actually just had undetected metagenes - not everyone who came into contact with alien technology gained powers, after all. Many of them died, perhaps because they didn't have the right kind of metagene.
I didn't have any known metagene, but if I did have one... would it have granted me psychic powers? I hadn't noticed any changes, though. Maybe the PA4 had just stopped working, over the fourteen or more years it had been left in the attic.

I absentmindedly stuck a hand out and caught a frisbee that had been whirring towards my head from the side, then snapped it back at the guy who had tossed it for his dog. "SORRY!" he called, and I gave him a wave to let him know it was fine.

Yeah, the thing had probably just stopped working. And I should head home - while outlining my history paper was enough work on that for today, I wanted to go over my notes for the afternoon's Organic Chemistry class.

Besides, I was starting to get a headache again.

Scene 7 - October 15th
Interior Townhouse, Afternoon
Quinn Kaufman

A little later that day, I was sitting in a small circle in the regular after-class Orgo study group, when Susan Redhorn dropped her eraser, which bounced high over all our heads before coming down and rolling under a massive desk that took up most of the room we met in. "Shit," she swore, "That's a nice eraser. Anyone see where that went?"

"No idea," came the resounding chorus from everyone - I supposed they had lost track when it bounced.

"It bounced into the ether," Peter Smith said in his typical deadpan manner.

"Yeah, Pete's right," agreed Chris Timon. "That thing's gone. Sorry, Sue."

I rolled my eyes. "It ended up under the monster desk after it landed," I told them, pointing.

She slid out of her seat and knee-walked over to the desk, leaning over to peer under it. "Quinn's right, it's down here," she reported, "but I can't reach it. My arms are too short."

"Here, let me," Peter offered, coming over to the desk. He lay down in Susan's place and struggled. "No, my arms are too thick. I can't reach far enough under either."

"Maybe if you and I lift the thing up, Sue can grab it?" Chris suggested, wandering over as well.

"Let me have a go," I said, knee-walking over like Sue had done. "I'm a few inches taller than Sue, at least." Peter stood to allow me access, and I made my attempt. Unfortunately it was just out of my reach as well.

"Too far for you too?" Susan asked sympathetically.

"No, I think I can..." I shifted, turning my head to look away from the crack in the hopes that I could stretch that little bit farther. A moment later, I had my hand on the troublesome thing, and withdrew to present it to Susan. I went up to one knee and held it up to her like a knight making an offering to a princess. "Your trinket, my lady," I joked.

"How kind of you, gentle knight," she teased back, miming a curtsy despite her jeans before taking her eraser back. She cast a baleful eye over our study mates. "And what help were you two, I might ask? Two big strong men, unable to do such a simple thing for me?" She held the glare for a few seconds before we all collapsed into laughter.

Spending too much time on Orgo does strange things to the brain.

Scene 8 - October 15th
Exterior Hospital, Evening
Quinn Kaufman

When I went to visit Dad again the following day, I ran into a friend on the steps outside. Devon Durandel was one of the doctors at New Venice General Hospital, where dad checked in for his occasional relapses. During their residency, Devon had often been Dad's attending doctor. We ran into them less often now that they had finished their residency and were specializing in Neurology, but it was always nice to see them.

"Hey, Quinn!" they called as I approached from the nearby bus station, dropping the apple they had been eating into a nearby bin. "Good to see you, dude. How've you been?"

"Premed is kicking my ass as usual," I complained, hugging them. "You know how it is. What about you?"

"Same old, same old," they said. "What brings you here? Don't tell me David had another relapse!"

"I won't tell you, then," I said with a smirk.

Devon laughed. "I should drop in on whoever's overseeing his care and make sure they're doing it right."

"It's Mark Yaffe."

"Ah, he'll be fine then. Yaffe is a good guy." They smiled at me, then jerked their head towards the basketball hoop a little ways away. "Fancy a game?"

"You know I suck at sports, Devon," I reminded them.

"So do I. It's nice to play someone at my level once in a while."

I laughed. "Okay, one game."

We grabbed a basketball from a nearby bin and squared off. Devon and I had tussled before on occasion - along with neither of us being very athletic, we were also around the same height, so it was a pretty even match. Or at least, they usually were.

Today, however, I was having an incredible streak of luck - I was handling the ball with grace and ease. It almost floated into my hands, always went where I wanted it to go, and on the rare occasions that Devon got ahold of it I could almost snatch it out of the air without looking. Within a few minutes I had spelled out H-O-R-S-E and won, without them getting a single letter.

"You've been holding out on me, Kaufman!" they complained. "Did you get bitten by a radioactive spider or something?

"No, although..." I paused. Weird things had been happening all day, ever since I had worn the PA4 the previous evening - the frisbee that I caught without looking or even paying attention, the eraser that I had tracked also without looking, and which had leap into my hand despite my reach not being enough, this game... "Listen, I'm sorry to dunk on you and run, but I gotta go. I just remembered something important I need to talk to my Dad about."

"Alright," Devon said agreeably, returning the ball to its bin. "Tell David that I wish him a speedy recovery."

"I will," I called over my shoulder as I rushed into the hospital.

Scene 9 - October 15th
Interior Hospital, Evening
Quinn Kaufman

"...and that's why I think it might have actually worked," I finished. "But if it did, I don't really know what it gave me."

"Hmmm..." Dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hard to say. The theory was that everyone's abilities would have been somewhat different, because everyone's mind is somewhat different, but the thing was meant to grant psychic abilities. Telepathy, telekinesis, extrasensory perception, that sort of thing."

"Some combination of those could certainly explain today," I mused. "Mostly the perception thing... but I haven't noticed any new senses. Wouldn't I have?"

He shrugged. "Could still be settling in, could be that your brain just folded whatever new thing its picking up into the senses you've already got. That seems more likely, to be honest."

"I guess so. Neural plasticity and all, I'd probably be more likely to get induced synesthesia. But again, I haven't noticed anything different about my senses. Haven't seen anything weird, I didn't hear anything special when the frisbee was coming..."

He flicked me in the middle of the forehead. "Use those bio classes I'm paying for, kiddo. You have more senses than the five obvious ones."

I frowned. "Equilibrioception, thermoception, proprioception, nociception..."

Dad raised an eyebrow. "I didn't take those classes. Which are those?"

"Sorry... equilibrioception is your sense of balance. Thermoception is temperature. Proprioception is the position of your body parts. Nociception is pain."

"Well, I sure hope it's not plugged into your pain sensors."

I shook my head. "Definitely not. That I would have noticed. But..." I considered. "It might be plugged into my proprioception. That's a pretty subtle sense to start with."

Dad cocked his head. "What would that mean, exactly? To sense the world around you as though it was part of your own body?"

I blinked at him, and suddenly realized that that was exactly what it felt like. "That's it..." I said slowly. "That's... Dad, you're a genius!"

"That's what it says on my business cards," he agreed. "Why am I a genius?"

I jumped out of my seat. "Now that I'm paying attention, I can actually feel it!" I explained. "Everything around me... I know exactly where it is! How it's moving!" I focused, closing my eyes. "I can kind of sense other stuff, too... their temperature, pressure..."

"How sharp is it?" Dad asked curiously. "Could you read a book from across the room?"

"No, it's not like seeing." I told him. "I'm not getting color at all. If it was braille, maybe... well, if I knew braille. But... there might be something else." If I was feeling the world around me as though it was a part of me, then... could I move it as though it was? I thought I had done something of the sort with the eraser earlier, so...

I stared at my dad's glasses, little half moons perched on the tip of a wide nose, and tried to imagine them moving. No, wait, that was wrong. You don't move your arms by just imagining them moving, you just move them. I tried again, and he wrinkled his nose.

"Kid?" he asked.

I didn't answer, and instead tried a slightly different tact. I was certain that I could do it without moving, but it seemed like it would take practice. For now, perhaps... I made a kind of 'come hither' gesture, and his glasses flew towards me. Before they struck me, I held my hand in a 'stop' motion and they halted in midair.

"Dad!" I shouted, ecstatic.

"Whoa!" He stared at his glasses hanging in mid-air. "I guess that settles it - you're a metahuman, Quinn."

"Yeah." I couldn't stop grinning. "I guess I am."

Scene 10 - October 15th
Interior Hospital, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

Dad didn't let me celebrate for long, though. "So what are you going to do with these powers? Hero work? Construction? The theater?" He gave a wicked grin. "Villainy?" he teased.

"Give me a second, Dad!" I complained. "I've only had them for like, a day. I don't even know what I can really do with them yet. How am I supposed to know what to use them for?"

"You have to register with the DMO regardless," he reminded me.

"I know, I know," I agreed. "But there's a one-month grace period, right?"

"Right," he said. "After that, well... we can't afford those fines."

"I know, dad." I said again. "I'll register, I promise, I just want to figure out what I can really do first. ESP and telekinesis could be great or crappy, depending on what the limits are. I want to find those out before I share this with anyone."

He watched me for a moment, then leaned forward to take his glasses back from where they still hung it midair. "I suppose I can't argue with that," he said, a little reluctantly. "Just be careful when you're experimenting. There are dangerous people out there. The Buff Boys, the Crows..."

"Why do you automatically assume I'm about to go out and roam the streets at night, playing with my new powers?" I complained.

Dad raised an eyebrow. "Probably because you're about the go out and roam the streets at night, playing with your new powers."

I shrugged. "It's a fair cop."

He chuckled. "I've known you your whole life, Quinn. You're not going to surprise me." Then he sighed. "I know I can't convince you otherwise, and you're an adult anyway. It's not my decision, just... promise me you'll be careful?"

I leaned over his bed and hugged him, then gave him a peck on the forehead. "I promise. I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, kiddo." He smiled at me as I turned to go. "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"I think that the psychic suit was meant to be armored as well - you should probably wear it if you're going to go playing with your powers. And if it hasn't killed you yet, it probably won't."

I nodded. "Good idea. It has a full face mask, too - I don't know if I'll want to keep my identity to myself, but you can't untell a secret."

theVoidWatches · Jun 25, 2019

Scene 11 - October 15th
Interior Townhouse, Evening
Quinn Kaufman

As promised, I returned home to change into the PA4 before venturing into the night to find somewhere I could practice with my powers. When I stepped out into the night air, however, I had discovered that the thin material of the suit wasn't strong enough to stand up to the chill of the sea breeze, and that a temperature I considered quite pleasant in a full set of clothes was kind of cold in what, I bitterly considered, was the next best thing to long gloves, knee-high boots, and body paint.

I had gone back inside and grabbed the plaid shirt that I had been wearing that day, pulling it on over the PA4. Like most young queer adults, I had a large collection of plaid shirts of varying colors - today's had matched the colors of the trans flag. I grinned as I stepped out again, this time ready to face the chill of the night.

Scene 12 - October 15th
Exterior Junkyard, Late Evening
Quinn Kaufman

My practice session, I thought an hour or two later, had been pretty productive. I had figured out the limits of my powers, at least to some degree.

My ESP seemed to extend in all directions from my body, and was blocked by the first solid enough object it encountered. The farther something was from me the harder it was to sense - I couldn't feel the moon at all, which was simultaneously disappointing and a relief, but I could vaguely sense a cluster of skyscrapers that touched the sky on the other side of the city.

It was hard to tell quite how precise it was - it certainly felt pretty precise, but I didn't really have a good way to measure that - but I had figured out that if I focused, I could get a more clear picture of things - in the sense that I could kind of feel things out with other senses, not just proprioception. Doing so both limited all my other senses (including the expanded proprioception that the ESP normally manifested as) and gave me a headache, so I figured it wasn't something I would do often if at all. But it had been interesting to see everything in my radius at once - if only I hadn't gone mostly deaf while I was doing it. Similarly, the incredible fidelity and directionality my sense of hearing had when my ears were effectively spread over the entire junkyard had been incredible, except that I was the next best thing to blind.

So my ESP wasn't bad. My telekinesis, though... well, it had its ups and downs.

On the up side was that as far as I could tell, I had no limit on how much force I could exert. At least, nothing in the junkyard had been too heavy for me to lift and toss - it was probably more likely that my limit was simply above the weight of anything here.

On the downside... when I started shifting things with more mass than a pair of glasses, I had quickly realized that unlike any other telekinetic I had ever heard of, I had to abide my Newton's laws. Everything I moved with my TK moved me as well - lifting a pair of glasses had meant nothing, but when I began to lift an old car I had been driven to my knees. A fridge had been about my speed, though.

Back to upsides, it seemed that there was another bonus to the PA4. I wasn't sure if it was because I was actively wearing it, or if this change would stick around, like my ESP and TK, but I was definitely considerably tougher than I had been. There was no way that slender, 5'4" Quinn Kaufman could have handled the force it took to lift a full-sized fridge two days ago, and a car would have completely flattened me.

Scene 13 - October 15th
Exterior City, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

I was just heading home when I was interrupted by a deep voice calling out.

"Hello there!" came the call from a nearby rooftop, a smile clear in the speaker's tone, and I immediately zeroed in on him with my ESP. Tall, muscular (very muscular, I noticed with a little embarrassment - I hadn't meant to look that closely), crouching with one knee on the edge of the building and a billowing cape behind him. "What brings you out so late on this fine evening?

I only knew of one person in New Venice who wore a cape like that. "Canaveral?" I cried, not sure if I believed what was happening.

The superhero gave me a cheeky salute, then launched himself off the building, doing an acrobatic flip before plummeting two stories to the ground and landing in front of me with a perfect three point landing that didn't even damage the pavement. He straightened up and grinned down at me. His cowl revealed chocolate-covered skin and a wide grin. "That's me," he confirmed.

What I wanted to say was that I had admired him since I was 10. What I wanted to say was that he was one of my personal heroes. What I wanted to say was that it was an honor to meet him.

What I actually said was, "I have a poster of you in my bedroom!"

Canaveral's grin cracked a little and my heart leapt into my chest - I had made it weird, I just knew it - then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed...

It felt like he laughed at me for hours, but it was only a few seconds before he was just chuckling - if it had ever been laughter, and not just anxiety telling me that he was laughing at me - and tapping one of the fins on the side of his head. "I don't think she's a threat, Console," he said, clearly speaking into an earpiece, then focused on me again. "What's your name, young lady? And what were you doing in the junkyard? Powers testing, right?"

I... hadn't picked a costumed name yet, and however much I admired him I didn't think I wanted to give my personal details to a super-powered cop, not if I didn't have to. Also, "I'm not a lady," I heard myself say. "They/them pronouns." Fuck, what if he's a bigot? I had just outed myself to the leader of the New Champions!

But Canaveral nodded in acceptance immediately, and I felt my racing heart settle, just a little. "Apologies. My questions still stand, though. What's your name, kid?"

ESP was lame and probably taken, Psychic Augmenter was terrible and so were its derivatives, but... "Call me Newton for now, sir," I said. "I don't really have a name yet..."

He chuckled. "I'm no sir. Just Canaveral is fine. Or Navi, if you're feeling up to it - it's what most of the Champions call me, since four syllables is a bit long."

I stared. I couldn't believe anyone would call him that. "I think I'll stick with Canaveral."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." After a moment, he prompted me, "Junkyard?"

I jumped. "Oh! Sorry. Yeah, it was powers testing, like you thought."

"Mind if I ask what you found out?" he said, sounding genuinely curious.

I nervously scratched the back of my neck. "Nothing too exciting," I muttered. "ESP and telekinesis, sort of."

"Hey, me too!" Canaveral held a gloved hand out for a high five. I stared at it for a moment before remembering how to work my arms and tentatively gave him five. He grinned as though this was a normal interaction - and, I supposed, perhaps it was for him.

"I thought you had some kind of super strength?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nah. I control the kinetic energy of the things I touch," he said. "Lets me pull off some tricks that usually require super strength, sure, but its a bit more versatile in some ways. Less in others, admittedly." He grinned again - I wondered how often he brushed to get a smile that white. "I sometimes have to ask Vulcan to help open the pickle jar," he joked in a stage whisper.

Without really thinking about it, I found myself replying as though it was part of the game with Dad, "I usually go for the table saw when I have that issue." Then I clapped my hands over my mouth - well, where my mouth was, given that the PA4 had a full face mask - I couldn't believe I had just said that to Canaveral!

He stared at me for a moment, mouth a little open in disbelieve, and I was about to continue berating myself for revealing what a weirdo I was to the foremost hero in the city, when suddenly he laughed. A big, booming, belly laugh that seemed more genuine than his previous friendly chuckles. "I like you, Newton!" he said, slowly calming down. "That kind of sense of humor is rare." He smiled at me, pleased. "Want to join me in the next leg of my patrol?"

My jaw dropped. "Really?"

Canaveral nodded. "Experience is the best teacher," he assured me, "particularly when you have someone to help guide you. Besides, I'm just off to bust a drug deal - shouldn't be any trouble for two heroes like us!"
"I..." my head was spinning - I couldn't believe he would put me on the same level as him! "I don't even know if I want to be a hero!"

"Really?" He tilted his head as though confused. "That costume looks pretty professional."

I blushed under the mask as I looked away. "I kind of... found this costume. It activated my powers."

"Where?" Canaveral immediately asked, and my eyes were dragged back to his face. He had, very suddenly, become completely serious as he had not been before.

"My parent's attic," I confessed. "My mom made it."

Canaveral studied me for a moment. "Alright then." He smiled once more. "And hey, if you're not sure, no better way to find out than to try, right? How about it?"

Scene 14 - October 15th
Exterior City, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

I had to think about it. I had promised Dad that I would be careful, but I would be with Canaveral, who was a hero and could surely keep me safe, right? "I'm still learning my powers," I reminded him.

"I'm sure I can give you some suggestions," he promised. "Can you give me a few more details? ESP and TK, you said? What's the ESP like?"

I nodded. "I can sense the positions of everything in a pretty wide radius around me, and it's more precise the closer it is to me. I can also spread any of my senses over the same radius, but the senses I'm not spreading get drained to almost nothing."

The hero scratched his chin. "Alright. Stick to your default mode for now, assuming that doesn't mess with your other senses." I shook my head, and he continued. "What about the TK? You said it was only sort of telekinesis? What do you mean by that - can you affect yourself?"

"If only I could not affect myself," I complained, and quickly explained to him how the TK pulled at me when I used it.

"Interesting," Canaveral commented. "I certainly understand your choice of name." He scratched again, deep in thought. "What's the largest thing you tried to move?"

"A car. Almost knocked me flat on my ass," I confessed, a little embarrassed by how limited I was.

"Hmm. Come over here, Newton," he said, and led me to the building he had jumped off of. "Alright, I want you to put your hands on this wall. Now... try pulling the building towards you."

I saw what he meant immediately, and took a step forward. I pulled, and felt everything shift as the force of my TK quickly outweighed gravity's hold on me. A moment later, I was standing on the wall, my head now level with Canaveral's - albeit at a 90 degree angle from him. I grinned at the hero, although I knew he couldn't see it.

He grinned back, "Clever kid, aren't you?" he complimented. "That's what I was leading to, yeah. Most telekinetics can't affect themselves - some can't even affect things that would move them - but your version can actually boost your mobility." He paused briefly, then asked, "are you negating gravity entirely, or...?"

I shook my head. "I still feel it pulling that way, a little," I told him, gesturing to the ground, "but my TK is strong enough to outweigh it." I paused, then added, "and I think I instinctively pulled at a slight angle, not head-on, so that's helping to cancel it out. Definitely not negated though."

He nodded. "That'll be useful for you. Come down a moment?"

I stepped off. "Another idea for me?"

"Exactly. This is mobility too - try pushing on the ground, see if you can get a boost to your own jumps."

"There's a problem with that," I pointed out. "Coming down safely. I feel like that would take more practice than launching into the air."

The hero shrugged. "Just keep another soft push to slow you down when you're falling. I'll be right here to catch you if you need."

I couldn't argue with that - he was right that training next to a hero was pretty safe.

I was right that landing would take practice, though.

theVoidWatches · Jun 26, 2019

Scene 15 - October 15th
Exterior City, Night
Quinn Kaufman

Canaveral led me across the city, helping me practice using my telekinetic power to move until I began to grow confident. As I learned, I found that maintaining a loose hold on the most solid parts of the world around me - buildings and the ground itself - I was able to guide my trajectory with relative ease and an almost instinctive grace. True flight seemed to be beyond me, sadly, but I was bounding around much as Canaveral did.

It was some time later that the hero paused me as we landing softly on a rooftop near the docks, at the end of Brockton Street. "Alright, time for details," he said, his voice low. "The drug deal I mentioned earlier should be going down in about..." he glanced at his wrist as though looking at a watch, but it was bare. "...ten minutes or so. That means I have just enough time to brief you. Basically, it's supposed to be a pretty large purchase of brawn from the Buff Boys," he said.

I raised an eyebrow, then remembered that he couldn't see it and tipped my head to the side instead. "Buying brawn from the Buff Boys?" I asked. "But boss, bodybuilders bamboozle and befuddle me. Those brutish bastards are barbaric, and there are billions of them in the barnyard below! Can't we build a barrier to barricade the brawl before we're beaten brainless?"

I couldn't see his eyes, but Canaveral rocked back on his heels for a moment. "You done?" he asked.

I thought for a moment longer, but couldn't think of any other B words that fit the situation. "Yeah, I'm done."

"So like I said, the Buff Boys are selling a few cases of brawn to an out-of-town buyer. The tip-off said that none of their metahumans would be here, but with a sale like this one I expect that one of them will be here - probably Ridealong." He paused. "Any questions?"

"Yeah, what's brawn actually?" I asked. "I mean sure, I've seen movies where it makes people huge and super-strong, but I assume that in real life it's not quite like that. And can you tell me a little bit about the Buff Boys? I don't know much about them."

He shrugged. "Well, you're right that it's not as dramatic as the movies like to make it, but it's not far off. You do become stronger, but also faster and tougher. It's..." he glanced at his wrist, then at the street. "Ah, we got time.

"So brawn, basically, is a mixture of three older power-granting drugs. I don't know their actual names, just the street names," he warned me, "but they do actually have legitimate uses. But they're also used by gangs, because, well..." he spread his arms in a sort of 'what can you do?' gesture. "They give you superpowers.

"The first is gorilla juice, or just gor. Gor makes you stronger - it's what the movie version of brawn is based on, mostly. Inject it into your muscles and they become way more powerful. It's used in microdoses to help people with atrophied or otherwise weakened muscles. In larger doses, though..." he winced. "To put it simply, gor makes you very strong. But it doesn't make you tough. You'll bruise yourself just moving, and if you take too much of it you can shatter your bones by breathing. Not a pretty sight."

"I can imagine," I commented. It was a little gross, but I'd read about worse in various premed classes.

"Next up is diamond dust," Canaveral continued. "Also known as mond. Mond is a powder that you snort, usually, and it makes you tougher, but also slows down your biological processes. You end up very slow. Again, it's used in microdoses in a medical context." He scratched at his chin, clearly trying to remember the details, and continued, "as I recall, it helps alleviate seizure symptoms and reduces the risk of heart attacks - or maybe just their severity? I forget. Anyway, it's also found as skin patches in really high-end first aid kits, because in high enough doses it basically locks people into total immobility and invulnerability. It'll basically put the person on hold, give them more time before they need medical help. Expensive, though.
"Last is acceleration, or axel." He paused. "This is the nasty one, in my opinion," he warned. "Drink it, or take it as a patch on your skin, and it speeds you up in time - your perception of it too, not just your movement. It tends to cause pretty nasty mental issues in people who use it for too long - you move so fast that you can't interact with anyone else, and a lot of people get isolation-related trauma from it. And it's addictive as all hell. But again, it's got legitimate medial uses," he allowed. "Microdoses of axel can help speed up healing and fade scars."

"So..." I said, putting it together. "Brawn is a mixture of all three, covering for the downsides of the others. Gor doesn't make you tough, so you add in the mond. But then you're too slow to do anything, so you add in axel."

The acrobatic hero nodded. "Exactly. For best effect it needs to be mixed specifically for each individual person, because the effects of each piece vary based on different factors. Gor is more powerful on people with more muscle mass to start with, but mond varies depending on bone density. Axel varies depending on the purity of the formula more than the person taking it."

"Got it," I said. "What about the Buff Boys? Based on their name, I guess they trade in brawn a lot?"

"Exactly right. They used to just do smuggling and a little bit of drug trade - power drugs included. But after brawn cropped up across the country about seven years ago - the three component drugs had never been mixed successfully before - and they were one of the main sources," Canaveral elaborated. "We still don't know exactly where it comes from, but almost all brawn in the Middle Atlantic comes through the one way or another."

"Should I expect these thugs to be on brawn, then?" I asked.

"The Buff Boys, yes," he confirmed. "They'll be the ones in red headbands. The buyers, probably not." He glanced over the edge. "Looks like the BB are there already, but we're still waiting on the buyers." I began to rise, but he caught me by the wrist and pulled me back down into a crouch. "Slow down there, kid! We can't arrest them just for wearing gang colors. We have to wait and catch them in the act."

"Aren't they in possession of illegal drugs?" I pointed out.

He shook his head. "Like I said, all three components of brawn have medical uses," he reminded me. "It's not illegal to own any of them, or brawn itself for that matter. Buying any of it from outside a pharmacy, however, is. That's why we have to wait for the sale."

"I understand," I promised. "...so you said that you expect there to be metas? Are you sure that I should still join in?"

He shrugged. "You don't have to if you're uncomfortable," he promised me, "but I think you should give it a shot. I mean, technically being a vigilante is illegal," the hero admitted, "but no one pays attention to that as long as you don't go around crippling people. And I'm here, so you'll be fine."

I wasn't as sure, but I wasn't about to argue with Canaveral. "What metas can we expect?"

"The BB have two confirmed metas," he told me. "The leader goes by Ridealong, and the MLED[Metahuman Law-Enforcement Division] believes him to be an uncontrolled shapeshifter - Self Buff, technically, but..." he shrugged. "He generally looks different every time he appears, which is why we think he's a shapeshifter, but he always identifies himself by wearing a blue scarf. That's why we think it's uncontrolled, he wouldn't need to wear something for identification if he could control his appearance."

"What are his combat capabilities like?" I asked.

"Good question, but unfortunately they're unclear. It seems to vary depending on his current body. Nothing beyond human, though, unless he's on brawn at the time. Then, generally enhanced physical abilities.
"Ridealong is likely to be present - or I thought so, but I don't see his scarf down there - but he's not the only meta in the BB," Canaveral continued. "The other is called Rube. A little under six feet tall, blonde hair, usually wears green. Again, their power isn't 100% confirmed, but it's believed to be an Area Control effect that makes them incredibly lucky. If they're around, you get out," he told me sternly.

"...lucky?" I asked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Really. It may not sound like much, but they've gone toe-to-toe with la Borda and - well, they didn't win, obviously, but they escaped."

I almost whistled, impressed, but remembered just in time to stop myself. I may not have known a much about the gangs in New Venice, but you'd have to live under a rock not to know about la Borda.

"Those are the only two confirmed metas that the BB has," he said as he checked the street below again, "but there are rumors of a third. Remember how I mentioned that brawn is best when mixed individually for the taker?" I nodded. "Well, at first the Buff Boys were just selling generic mixes that weren't balanced. You tended to end up bruised from not enough mond to balance out the gor, slow from not enough axel, whatever. In the last year, however, they've not only started to sell individually mixed brawn, their members have also been getting custom mixes."

"They have someone who can mix it individually," I concluded. "Does that person have to be a metahuman?"

"They don't have to be," he admitted. "But I have a hunch. They wouldn't be here though, whoever they are - too valuable to risk sending out." He glanced over the edge of the building once more, and tensed.
"This is it - the buyers are here. 11 Buff Boys, assume all juiced or with brawn on them - 7 buyers, all in civilian clothing. No apparent metas," he summarized in a practiced manner. "Leap to the other side of the road to flank them, on my mark..." He fell silent, presumably waiting for the sale to actually take place. "...three, two, one, mark!"

Scene 16 - October 16th
Exterior Docks, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

Canaveral flipped himself over the edge of the building and plummeted to the ground, landing lightly on his feet. A moment later, I jumped myself, pushing against the building while pulling on one of the ones on the opposite side to launch myself across the street as he had directed me. With a momentary grip on the world around me, I twisted in midair and adjusted my trajectory. One more push slowed me as I approached the ground, and my landing was only a little bit jarring.

On the other hand, even with the greater toughness that had come either along with my other powers or from the PA4, the backlash of my TK was starting to make me incredibly sore. It wasn't exactly debilitating, but it certainly wasn't fun.

"Bit late for a walk, isn't it?" Canaveral asked the assembled gangsters as though they had just bumped into each other in the park. His hands were casually hooked in his belt as he began to stroll towards them.

"Canaveral," growled one of the Buff Boys who seemed to be in charge, snapping shut a briefcase that my ESP told me was filled with cash. "You'll forget what you saw here if you know what's good for you."

The hero responded with a cheeky grin. "I'm afraid that reliable sources tell me I don't know what's good for me."

"You really don't know what you're stepping in the middle of here," said one of the buyers, who also carried a briefcase - presumably the brawn they had just bought. "Walk away."

Canaveral sighed. "You criminal types never come up with anything new," he bemoaned as I hesitated. "It's always either 'leave if you know what's good for you,' 'you don't understand the full picture', 'I'll give you a cut if you keep your mouth shut,' or 'hey, it's that hero guy! Get him!' Just once, once, I'd like it if you did something new. I don't really care what." He shook his head as though disappointed. "I guess I'll keep up my end of the script. You're all under arrest."

"Get him!" roared the Buff leader.

That seemed to be the cue for the fight to begin, as the gangsters all rushed for Canaveral. He casually flicked a hand, something he had pulled from his belt spreading out and striking the vast majority of them, knocking most of them over. "Oh, and just so you know," he called, "It's 'bring your sidekick to work day' today, so I've brought a friend. Feel free to join in any time, Newton!"

I shook off my hesitation and flicked my fingers at one of the thugs who remained on her feet, pulling her legs out from under her and causing her to fall as well. The sudden feedback from my TK almost knocked me off my feet too, though - I would need to figure out how to compensate. "Your sidekick?" I asked Canaveral. "Doesn't that imply a preexisting relationship? We met barely three hours ago!"

He somehow shrugged while handcuffing a groaning gangster. "Well, I'm taking it on myself to mentor you, at least for tonight. You're not experienced enough to qualify as a partner. You're not a civilian. If the shoe fits, wear it." He smirked at me.

There was a guttural growl as two of the Buff Boys were rising to their feet and pulling vials of golden fluid from within their jackets. Canaveral turned towards them as they uncorked and drank the vials - brawn, I had to assume. Steam rose from their skin, which turned a vaguely golden color, and they visibly grew at least an inch in height.

"I've got this, Newton," he assured me, producing a thin length of chain from within his belt. "Make sure none of the others get up."

Without looking, I pushed at any who seemed to be getting to their feet, strongly enough to prevent them from making any headway. I could feel it nearly knocking me into the air, so I pulled at the ground, locking myself there as well. The forces canceled out, but it felt like being squeezed in a giant vise. I really needed to figure out a better way to do this.

I watched as Canaveral manhandled the two boosted thugs, using his control of kinetic force to manipulate the chain in impossible ways. It was impressive to watch. I was so wrapped up that I forgot to pay attention to the downed gangsters, and almost missed it when one of the buyers who had fallen on her back managed to produce another vial from within her jacket.

I whirled, and tried to pull it out of her hand towards mine, while pushing at her fingers to make her lose her grip. But I was already splitting my attention and power so many ways that she managed to hold onto it just long enough. She squeezed, and the vial shattered.

There was a moment of silence as all eyes were drawn to the prismatic cloud that briefly hovered around her hand before expanding to encompass all of us, and she grinned from her position on the ground. Suddenly, my ESP cut out, as did my TK.

"Fuck," the hero spat. "Where did you get equality, lady?"

"I told you," she said as she rose, glaring at him, "you don't know what you're stepping into. Leave, Canaveral." She brushed a few shards of glass off of her gloves hands, then reached into her jacket again and produced a pistol, aiming it squarely at me. "Or I'll have to do something to your sidekick that I'd rather not."

Canaveral raised his hands, as did I. "Let's not be hasty," he said, his voice low, as he stepped over towards me.

"Ah ah ah!" she tutted. "Stay away from the boy."

"They're nonbinary, actually -"

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Stay away from them. I know that your powers are magical and equality doesn't do shit to you - you're not stepping in front of this gun."

"...how the hell did you know that."

She smirked. "The same way I got a vial of equality. Now then. You're going to turn around and leave. These boys and I are going to go our separate ways. And your new friend is going to live. Sound good?"

There was silence for a moment, then I narrowed my eyes towards Canaveral. "What were you saying about how it would be perfectly safe for me to join you?"

"I don't think I ever put it in quite those words," he said. "I think I said something along the lines of 'experience is the best teacher'."

"And what am I supposed to be learning from having a gun pointed at my head?"

He shrugged. "What's it's like to have a gun pointed at your head, I guess."

"It won't be the last time, if you continue on this path," the buyer commented. "So, heroes? What will it be?"

theVoidWatches · Jun 27, 2019

Scene 17 - October 15th
Interior MLED Compound, Evening
Abraham Armstrong

"Ready to go, Canaveral?" came the warm voice of Miriam Wright over his earpiece as I changed into my costume.

I pulled on my other glove, flexing my fingers to get it settled properly before I answered. "I'm ready, Anima," I responded. "What have we got tonight?"

"Anything you see on patrol, as usual," she told me. "We also have two things for you to check out in particular. One is that tip-off about the Buff Boys making a large sale around midnight - the other just came in, a security guard reporting a metahuman making a ruckus in the junkyard that he's patrolling. Sending both locations to your heads-up display now."

"Thanks," I said, glancing at the miniature map of the city that hovered at one corner of my vision - the lenses of my mask added a number of useful details to my field of view. "Any details on the junkyard meta?"

"They've been mostly tossing around the junk, apparently. No hostile actions towards the security guard - although he said that he hiding in the booth, so he may not have been noticed. His description doesn't match any metas we currently know of, though. Shortish, full-body costume, wearing a flannel shirt over it."

"Probably a new meta testing out their powers. That description sounds like a homemade costume."

"Probably, but don't take any chances," she warned.

I grinned. "What's life without taking a few chances?" he asked.

The response that came through the commlink was a sigh. "You don't know what's good for you, Abe."

"Hey! I'm in costume," I scolded. "You never know when someone might be hacking the comms lines, right?" I struggled to hold back a laugh as I continued, "no sense taking chances!" Another sigh from the motherly woman. "Seriously though, I'm sure it'll be fine. Powers testing in a junkyard at night? This is not a person who wants to hurt people."

"Probably."

"And, just to confirm, I'm not waiting on one of the Journeymen tonight?"

"Not tonight," Anima agreed. "Its Hypnos' night for patrol, but since he's excused from patrols where combat is expected, I have him on console with me. Say hello, Nic."

"Hello, Nic," a deep, tired voice commented.

"Hey kid," I said. "How you doing?"

"..."

"Great to hear it." I stretched, pulling my arms behind my back and bending backwards until my palms touched the floor, then rose again. "Alright, no sense in waiting for Starling and Loki to get back when we don't know how long junkyard kid will be there. I'm heading out a few minutes early."

"Understood."

Scene 18 - October 15th
Exterior Junkyard, Late Evening
Abraham Armstrong

I had to pause briefly to stop a mugging on my way to the junkyard, but I still arrived in good time. "Doesn't look like they're here anymore," I commented. "I'm going to check in with the security guard." I focused my power as I hopped off the edge and fell towards the ground, leeching away my energy at the last moment to slow my fall so that I landed silently. Unlike most telekinetics, I could affect myself, which allowed me to do fun tricks like... well, like that.

"Canaveral!" cried the guard as he landed. A middle-aged man, somewhat overweight and beginning to go bald - no wonder he hadn't challenged the intruding meta, I thought, then immediately felt guilty for thinking.
"Thank god you're here! She just left." He pointed eastward. "That way," he added, unnecessarily.

"Of course," I assured him. "We of the New Champions take these kinds of reports very seriously. I'll follow the meta in just a moment, but first, can you give any more details about what you saw?"

A few minutes later, I returned to the skyline. The guard had described the meta moving erratically and throwing things around without touching them - some sort of telekinesis, likely not entirely under control, I concluded, and Anima agreed over console.

"I just hope I'm able to catch up with her," I muttered to myself more than her. "I know getting these briefings from the witnesses helps, but it's so slow."

"Fortunately," came Nic's voice in his ear, "I projected out there to find the meta while you were talking to the guard." After an experimental magical operation to cure his degenerating hearing when he was younger, Niccolo Mellas's senses had been spatially disconnected from his body. He could project the point that he saw and heard from at high speeds, and still report back from his own body. "As of about thirty seconds ago, she was at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Grossman Street, heading east."

I grinned. "Thanks, Hypnos," I said, and launched myself onwards.

Scene 19 - October 15th
Exterior City, Continuous
Abraham Armstrong

It was only a few moments later that I caught up to her, and I paused briefly on a rooftop to get a good look before dropping in. "I can confirm the guard's description," I said. "Looks like she's somewhere between 5' and 5'6", maybe on the taller end of that range, dark-colored bodysuit including a full face mask, wearing a plaid shirt. I'm going to go say hello." I stood and called, "Hello there!" as I spoke - in my experience, people could tell when you smiled while speaking to them, and responded better to it. I had chosen to leave my chin exposed in my costume for much the same reason.

The costumed figure below froze the moment I stood, almost before I had spoken. "What brings you out so late on this fine evening?"

"Canaveral?!?" came the incredulous response. A deeper voice than I would have expected from a shortish woman, I couldn't help but note.

I saluted, again deliberately projecting a friendly, irreverent demeanor - not that I wasn't friendly and irreverent, of course - and leapt down to land in front of her. "That's me," I confirmed, smiling.

From up close, I could see more details of the meta's costume. It clearly wasn't homemade, as I had guessed at first - a pair of white boots were clearly crafted of some sort of tough, armor-like plastic, as were the gauntlets that were mostly covered by the plaid. The darkness of the bodysuit wasn't completely black, from up close - it bore an faint, irregular pattern in purple, although I wasn't sure of what. It definitely wasn't just painted on, though - it almost looked like it was floating within the fabric.

"I have a poster of you in my bedroom!" she cried.

I chuckled. Yeah, this was no villain in the making. Villains didn't idolize heroes. Well, they usually didn't. I lifted a hand to one of my cowl's fins as though touching a button, to signal to the kid that I was speaking to Anima, and said, "I don't think she's a threat, console."

"Understood," my fellow hero confirmed.

"What's your name, young lady?" I asked the young meta, dropping my hand back to where it had been resting on my hip. "And what were you doing in the junkyard? Powers testing, right?"

"I'm not a lady. They/them pronouns," the kid said.

"Apologies," I told them, guild writhing in my chest for a moment. I screwed up Loki's pronouns on occasion too, and it always left me feeling like a shit, accident or not - I hoped that they would let it pass. Best to just continue, I decided. "My questions still stand, though. What's your name, kid?"

It was a few seconds before they answered - probably trying to think of a name. I remembered that giddy time just after getting his powers, and not being able to come up with a name for a while. "Call me Newton for now, sir," she said after a moment.

I decided to chuckle again. "I'm no sir," I told her. "Just Canaveral is fine. Or Navi, if you're feeling up to it," I offered. "It's what most of the Champions call me, since four syllables is a bit long."

"Since when?" asked Nic. Wasn't he supposed to be learning comms discipline?

"I think I'll stick with Canaveral."

"Suit yourself," I said, shrugging. "Junkyard?"

"Oh! Sorry," she - fuck, they said. "Yeah, it was powers testing, like you thought."

"Mind if I ask what you found out?" Standard protocol - learn everything you can about the powers of other metas, hostile or not.

Newton scratched at the back of their neck. Probably nervous - maybe embarrassed? "Nothing too exciting," they said quietly. "ESP and telekinesis, sort of."

They seemed a little down, and I could never bear to see that. Well, I usually tried to keep the exact details of my power secret, but... "Hey, me too!" I told them, offering a high five.

It took them a moment before they responded. "I thought you had some kind of superstrength?"

"Nah. I control the kinetic energy of the things I touch," I said. "Lets me pull off some tricks that usually require super strength, sure, but its a bit more versatile in some ways. Less in others, admittedly." That was a pretty big oversimplification - my power was fueled by magic, so was shaped by my instinctive understanding of how kinetic energy worked. I should have been able to use it to do things like silence noises, freeze objects, or set them aflame, but I had trouble wrapping my head around kinetic energy on scales that small. "I sometimes have to ask Vulcan to help open the pickle jar," I joked.

Newton nodded knowingly. "I usually go for the table saw when I have that issue," they commented, then suddenly clapped their hands over their mouth.

It took me a moment to decipher that, then I couldn't help but laugh - a real, genuine, belly laugh this time, not my usual act. "I like you, Newton!" I decided. "That kind of sense of humor is rare."

"Not rare enough," Miriam muttered into my ear. No wonder Nic was learning bad habits.

I ignored her. "Want to join me in the next leg of my patrol?"

"Really?" Newton asked.

"Experience is the best teacher," I explained, "particularly when you have someone to help guide you. Besides, I'm just off to bust a drug deal - shouldn't be any trouble for two heroes like us!"

"No," Anima told me sternly. "That drug deal is too dangerous for someone with no training, no metas there or not!" I continued to ignore her. I was the leader of the New Champions, not her, and I wanted to take a chance on this kid.

"I... I don't even know if I want to be a hero!"

"Really?" That was a surprise. "That costume looks pretty professional."

They looked away a little. "I kind of... found this costume. It activated my powers."

That... was suspicious. Not the idea of a special costume triggering powers, necessarily - there were metagenes that could be triggered by almost anything - but just finding a suit like that? "Where?" I asked.

"My patent's attic. My mom made it." the kid claimed.

"On second thought," Anima murmured into my ear, "you ought to stick with them for a bit. It's still possible that this is all above-board, but it seems unlikely. And try to find out their capabilities."

Scene 20 - October 15th
Exterior City, Continuous
Abraham Kaufman

Learning the details of Newton's powers wasn't very difficult - the kid was happy to share what details they had learned about their ESP/TK combo. Not an uncommon set of psychic powers, although ESP paired with telepathy more often than telekinesis, but the specific manifestation of the telekinesis in particular was a little unusual. I gave them a suggestion or two to increase their mobility so that they'd be able to keep up with me, then simply watched.

Miriam made occasional comments over my earpiece, although I didn't bother to respond to most of them as I watched Newton practicing using her - their, dammit - TK to move. I was more interested in making sure they didn't hurt themself as they learned how to land safely than listening to Anima quietly inform me that Newton now had a preliminary MLED file giving them rankings of Self Buff 1 (Sensory) and Area Control 2 (Kinetic)* - I had never thought it was a very useful system for sorting powers anway, spreading some kinds of powers too thinly and packing too many others into one rating. Self Buff in particular covered so many different kinds of powers, from enhanced strength to extra senses to super-speed, that it was barely useful.

As Newton started to grow more confident in landings, I began to lead them across the city and toward the site that the drug deal was meant to be going down. "Any more details on that deal, Console?" I quietly asked Anima.

"Yes, actually," she said. "The same anonymous source called in to say that none of the Buff Boys' metas would be there."

I furrowed my brow. "That doesn't seem likely, not with a sale as big as this one is meant to be."

"Agreed, but that's the word."

I couldn't help but grin when Newton let out a joyous whoop as they leapt across 3rd Street. It was nice to see young metahumans take joy in their powers, as a surprising number seemed to view them as a curse. Take young Nic - he had only joined the Journeymen to get help training his sensory projection ability, which even now occasionally sent his senses to random locations when he was asleep. He had no intention of becoming a hero, which was why he was excused from combat patrols - in fact, to the best of my knowledge he had no intention of using his powers in his future career at all. Last I had heard, Nic was hoping to get a law degree and become a lawyer.

It seemed strange to me, as I had never wanted to be anything but a hero. But to each their own, I supposed.

"So, what do you think of Newton?" Miriam asked.

"They seem like a good kid," I responded. "I intend to offer to introduce them to the Champions and the Journeymen whenever they come in to register their powers. Hopefully that will entice them to join."

"You just want another flippant telekinetic on the team," she teased. "They even move a lot like you!"

"I won't deny that," I admitted with an unashamed grin, "it would be fun to have a mini-me running around. But I do also think they would make a great hero."

"Their powers would be incredible for search-and-rescue," Anima agreed. "ESP to locate people, TK to extract them..."

"Exactly. But also, I just think that they seem like a good kid," I reiterated. "I know first impressions can be deceiving and all, you don't need to give me the lecture again, Mom-"

"Abe, Nic is right here!" Miriam protested. She didn't hate being known as the team mom, but she preferred for her role not to be bandied about in public.

"What, you think we kids don't know how much of a mom you are?" the kid in question asked. "When I came in tonight, you asked me if I had remembered to bring a lunch!"

"The cafeteria food in the overnight shifts is just so unhealthy!" she said before she could stop herself, and both Nic and I laughed.

"My point is," I continued, getting back on track, "that I think Newton is a good person, and will be a fine hero. They just have to recognize that in themself."

"What do you mean?" Nic asked.

"I mean that I think they have self-confidence issues. Did you notice how they downplayed their powers when they first mentioned them? Plus, a hell of a lot of people use humor as a way to cover up insecurities."

"I... didn't realize, but you're right," Miriam admitted, seeming a bit abashed at having missed it. "How did you spot that?"

"Not important," I said, brushing it away and trying to move the conversation along before they realized - the reason I had spotted Newton's insecurities so easily was that I had been exactly the same when I was that age. "Anyway, the other reason is that, while I don't think that they stole the suit, it would be good to have it in an MLED facility where it can be studied. Not to mention that if they did steal it, I doubt it came from a morally-upright institution. They might need protection."

theVoidWatches · Jun 28, 2019

Scene 21 - October 15th

Exterior City, Night

Abraham Kaufman

It wasn't too long before the two metahumans reached the dock where the sale was meant to be going down, and I took a moment to brief Newton on the situation. After a moment of levity that I had to struggle not to laugh at - I was a jokester too, yes, but I knew when to be serious, and briefings were one of those times - Newton asked good questions and, in my opinion, continued to show themself to be insightful and a prime prospect for heroism.

As they waited and I continued to share information with the kid, I kept an eye on the street below. It was dark, sure - all the streetlights in this area of the docks were "mysteriously" dark - but my mask included night vision. It was a necessity for anyone who wanted to leap between buildings at night, as streetlights didn't send much light in that direction - I idly wondered whether Newton's suit included night vision, or if their ESP was serving that role. Either way, it clearly worked.

Eventually the buyers arrived, and I sent Newton to flank them - it would serve the dual purpose of keeping the kid out of the fight initially and making people think twice about running away. Personally, I simply flipped over the edge of the building and, with a simple twist of kinetic force, landed softly on my feet.

"Bit late for a walk, isn't it?" I asked, calling everyone's attention to him while Newton propelled themself over the oblivious gangsters' heads. As I approached the mob, I casually rested my hands on my belt - it had been designed by Starling, the New Champions' resident gadgeteer, and the expanded space within its hidden pockets contained a wide variety of tricks that I wanted close at hand, depending on how the BB responded.

"Canaveral," the apparent leader of the Buff Boys said in a tone that sounded halfway between anger and exhaustion. "You'll forget what you saw here if you know what's good for you."

"I'm afraid that reliable sources tell me I don't know what's good for me!" I said, quoting Miriam. Regulations said to keep off the comm line during combat situations, but I knew she would be gritting her teeth. I grinned at the thought.

"You really don't know what you're stepping into the middle of here," said the lead buyer, a 30-something woman in a tailored suit. I glanced at her, making sure to hold my gaze long enough that Anima would be able to snag an image of the woman from the camera feed in the fin atop my head. "Walk away."

I sighed. "You criminal types never come up with anything new," I commented, palming a handful of ball bearings from my belt in preparation. "It's always either 'leave if you know what's good for you,' 'you don't understand the full picture', 'I'll give you a cut if you keep your mouth shut,' or 'hey, it's that hero guy! Get him!' Just once, once, I'd like it if you did something new. I don't really care what." I was stalling, making sure that Newton was ready for what was about to happen, which, from what I could see through the crowd of angry thugs, they seemed to be. It was hard to tell, though - sure, I was probably an inch or two taller than most of the the thugs, but the kid was almost half a foot shorter then any of them. "I guess I'll keep up my end of the script," I continued. "You're all under arrest."

"Get him!" roared the same Buff Boy who had spoken earlier, and most of the thugs rushed me. The rest, Canaveral was glad to note, weren't going for Newton, who remained unnoticed - rather, they were simply hanging back so as not to get in each other's way. With the exception of the leader of the buyers, at least - she was hanging back, but clearly wasn't looking to join in the melee, simply observing.

A flick of the wrist and a mental twist, and the ball bearings I had palmed accelerated to several hundred miles per hour, cracking into gangsters' shins, knees, and stomachs. All of the ones who had rushed me were sent to their knees, whether by the force or the pain - I had gotten quite good at that trick, and it was really amazing that so many thugs still fell for it every time.

With so many of them on the ground I now had a better view of Newton, who hadn't moved yet - combat could be startling if you'd never been in it before, I admitted to myself. "Oh, and just so you know, it's 'bring your sidekick to work day' today!" I called, trying to jolt them out of their paralyzed state before they were noticed and attacked. "Feel free to join in any time, Newton!"

They started moving at that, and with a flick of their fingers and a momentary stumble to the side, knocked the leader of the buyers off of her feet. "Your sidekick? Doesn't that imply a preexisting relationship? We met barely three hours ago!"

"Well, I'm taking it on myself to mentor you," I pointed out, "at least for tonight. You're not experienced enough to quality as a partner. You're not a civilian. If the shoe fits, wear it." As I spoke, I knelt and began cuffing groaning thugs - it would be a few seconds before those that were still up to a fight would be able to catch their breath and stand, and those who hadn't rushed him were running - again, minus the leader of the buyers - so I had a moment. Over my earpiece he heard Anima calmly warning the police forces who had the area surrounded about the runners - typically they would have handled the bust too, but with the BB there was always the possibility of metahumans and power drugs being used, so the MLED had been called in and Canaveral sent in to handle the situation.

I had to stop subduing downed thugs when two of them managed to simultaneously get to their feet and produce vials of brawn. "I've got this, Newton," I warned, producing a length of chain from another expanded pocket in his belt and advancing on the thugs. "Make sure none of the others get up." Their telekinesis should be able to handle that without any trouble.

I twisted the kinetic force within the chain as I struck out at one of the thugs, causing it to shift at the last moment to wrap around the man's feeble attempt at a guard. His mistake - the touch-range of my kinetic manipulation abilities extended partially through connected objects, and the wrapped chain counted enough that it took only a tug and a slight magnifying twist of energies to send the thug to his knees despite his currently-enhanced strength.

I didn't have time to gloat though, as the other was boosted too, and the speed-boosting effect of brawn was already allowing them to respond to the swift takedown. It wasn't a complicated response, just a quick punch, but the Buff Boys weren't exactly known for their creativity. On the other hand, it would be too strong to block or even parry safely. Simple wasn't bad, necessarily.

A twist of power and the chain unwrapped from around the first thug's arms as I dodged to the side, instead looping around the second gangster's waist. I then twisted once more, shifting the man's kinetic energy so that the punch overextended and he had to step forward to avoid falling.

In the moment before the thug's foot landed, I tugged on the chain, another twist causing none of the energy to transfer to the thug but all to me, pulling myself off my feet and towards the man at high speed. I body-slammed the boosted gangster with the force of a car, knocking him to the ground just like the other. I myself rolled over the gangster and landed on my feet.

Both thugs were now on the ground, but even now the first was beginning to rise - it was tough to put down someone on brawn, at least for more than a moment. The combination of toughness from mond and speed from axel was dangerous.

I released my chain with a flick of my wrist, twisting its energy as I did so to cause it to wrap around my target's legs and arms as well as his waist. I then kicked the fallen thug, launching him a few feet into the legs of the rising one to knock him over once more.

It was at that moment that I heard the sharp sound of glass breaking. I turned to see the buyer lying on her back with one hand in the air, an iridescent rainbow cloud of mist hovering around that hand. She grinned from where she lay, and the mist swiftly expanded across the street until all that could be seen of it was a faint tinge to the air - an extra rainbow reflection to the world.

"Fuck," I swore, my eyes flicking to Newton, unsure how she - they - would be affected. "Where did you get equality, lady?" Equality was one of the oldest, rarest, and most dangerous power drugs. It could be absorbed through the skin, penetrated through cloth, and took effect almost immediately. Anyone with a metahuman power that had any basis in their own biology would be unable to use it for as long as the drug lasted, their nervous system no longer able to handle nonstandard signals. Those whose powers were based in magic, such as mine were, would be unaffected, and so were some of those whose powers were cosmic, but not all.

"I told you you don't know what you're stepping into," the buyer sneered as she rose, brushing shards of glass that must have come from the shattered vial of equality off of her gloves. She then produced a sizable handgun and pointed it at Newton. "Leave, Canaveral. Or I'll have to do something to your sidekick that I'd rather not."

Both Newton and I raised our hands, and I began moving towards the kid. My kinetic power could let me deflect bullets that struck him, if I was ready for it, and if she didn't know that my power was still available then she might allow me to step in front - a gun like that gun would easily punch through me and into Newton, if not for my power. "Let's not be hasty," I said, trying to stall until I could get in front of the kid.

"Ah ah ah! Stay away from the boy," she warned.

"They're nonbinary, actually," I started.

"Whatever. Stay away from them. I know that your powers are magical and equality doesn't do shit to you - you're not stepping in front of this gun."

"...how the hell did you know that." Only one group knew that my powers were magical, as far as I knew.

"The same way I got a vial of equality," she teased. "Now then. You're going to turn around and leave. These boys and I are going to go our separate ways. And your new friend is going to live. Sound good?"

That was a very bad sign, I thought, as unfortunately her claim added up. The Ambrosia Company was definitely able to procure equality.

"Do it," Anima hissed in my ear. "The police can pick them up as they try to leave. Do not endanger that kid's life any more than you already have!" I had to concur - it pained me to let someone like this woman walk even for a moment, but I had no choice.

Newton tilted their head towards me. "What were you saying about how it would be perfectly safe for me to join you?"

"I don't think I ever put it in quite those words," I protested. "I think I said something along the lines of 'experience is the best teacher'."

"And what am I supposed to be learning from having a gun pointed at my head?"

I shrugged. "What's it's like to have a gun pointed at your head, I guess."

"It won't be the last time, if you continue on this path," the buyer commented. "So, heroes? What will it be?"

ptbptb · Jun 28, 2019

theVoidWatches said:
That was a very bad sign, I thought, as unfortunately her claim added up. Ambrosia Co, the organization that had secretly sold me my powers in return for three favors, was definitely able to procure equality.

Wildbow: *ahem*

theVoidWatches · Jun 28, 2019

Worm was an influence in a lot of ways as I planned this story. My version of the power broker archetype is, I hope, distinct from his in both motivation and method, but it would be crazy to deny that Wildbow's Cauldron was one of my inspirations for it. (Particularly when my Influences page is already thanking him!)

theVoidWatches · Jun 29, 2019

Scene 22 - October 16th
Exterior Docks, Night
Quinn Kaufman

After an instant that felt like weeks, the world holding its breath as I stared down the barrel of a gun, a sigh came from behind the buyer.

"You know," said a new voice, "I really thought you guys could handle this." The sound of snapping fingers, and the woman's gun vanished in a twist of smoke. "I'm glad I kept an eye out after all. You should be ashamed of yourself, Canaveral, bringing an untrained Journeyman into something like this."

The buyer whirled on the newcomer as Canaveral and I turned our attention his way. He was a slender man in a well-tailored tuxedo, blood red and shining white. A white domino mask hid his identity without hiding his good looks, and he was toying with a top hat in one hand.

"Of course it's you," the buyer sneered. "What is it with our patrons getting in the way tonight? Is Starling going to show up next? Has Brewer sabotaged our purchase?"

The magician-looking man shrugged. "If you don't want me interfering, you could offer me something in return. Or simply not conduct your business on my doorstep." He smiled at Canaveral. "Hey Navi."

The hero grinned back. "Max. Does this mean that you were the one who called in with that anonymous tip?"

I recognized the newcomer now, after Canaveral called him by his name. It was the Magnificent Maxwell, a local villain who themed himself after a stage magician, performing magically-enhanced tricks of prestidigitation and misdirection to commit his crimes - mostly theft, mostly from museums. Why was he helping us?

"Yeah, that was me," Maxwell agreed. "These assholes were literally setting up a drug deal right outside my current hideout. I really don't know what they expected."

"Excuse me," said the buyer in an icy voice, "I'm still here." She reached into her jacket and pulled out another pistol, even larger than the other one, and pointed it at Max. How the hell had that fit in there?

He just snapped his fingers again and the second gun vanished as easily as the first. "Why did you think it would work the second time if it didn't work the first?" he asked. "I mean, it's not like equality does anything to me."

"It's a bit of an inconvenience for my friend here, though," Canaveral said, inclining his head towards me. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all." The magician made a wide, sweeping gesture, and the faint rainbow tint that the mist had added to the world vanished - I felt my ESP return with a momentary lance of pain to the back of my skull, as my brain readjusted to having an extra sensory input. "And since I'm feeling generous..." He swept his arm the other way, and all the fallen thugs were suddenly bound up in chains that coalesced out of thin air, as was the woman who had led the buyers.

"You'll pay for this, Maxwell Copperfield," she warned, glaring at the man. "Ambrosia won't take this kind of interference lying down. You-" She was cut off by the sudden appearance of a gag across her mouth. Who was Ambrosia? I made a note to look it up later.

"Thank you, Max," Canaveral said, walking over to the man. "It's always nice to have you helping instead of hindering. Have you reconsidered joining the good guys?"

"Have the MLED expanded their library of magical knowledge?"

"Well..."

"Then no." He gave an apologetic shrug. "You gotta do what you gotta do."

"Um..." They both turned to face me.

"Ah yes. Max, this is a recently-empowered metahuman, currently using the nomme-de-plume of Newton," Canaveral introduced. "They're considering their options for when they register with the MLED, and are currently taking advantage of the vigilante rules to get a taste of heroing." I hadn't realized there were such rules, actually - I had just trusted that Canaveral knew what he was doing. "Newton, this is Maxwell-"

"The Magnificent Maxwell," the Magnificent Maxwell interjected.

"-the Magnificent Maxwell, a petty thief."

He crossed his arms. "A petty thief? I take offense, Navi."

The hero shrugged. "If the shoe fits, wear it. You're a thief, Max. Accept it."

"I'm an artist," he insisted. "Thievery is simply a necessity in my line of work."

"Arthur Peregrine doesn't need to steal."

"Men like Arthur Peregrine hoarding all the magical texts is exactly the problem-"

"I hate to interrupt," I said sarcastically, "but shouldn't we be arresting you right now?"

"Ah, my sidekick brings up a good point."

"Not your sidekick," I muttered.

He flapped a hand dismissively. "Have you done anything tonight that I need to arrest you for?"

"Not in your sight, at least."

"I didn't think so."

"Then I'll be off, while you explain to the new kid what's what." He tipped his hat to Canaveral respectfully.

"Hold on! The keys to those chains?" the hero requested.

"Ah yes." Maxwell dropped a keyring into his hand. "Terribly sorry, completely slipped my mind." He then produced a large black sheet from within the jacket of his tuxedo and tossed it into the air. It obscured him from view as it fell, and when it hit the ground he was gone. A moment later, the sheet simply evaporated as well.

Scene 23 - October 16th
Exterior Docks, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

"Well, that could have gone better," Canaveral sighed.

"Yeah, I got a gun pointed at my head," I complained. "And you just let a supervillain get away!"

He shrugged. "That bit wasn't as bad as you think, really. If Max hadn't shown up, I would have let them leave and they'd just get picked up by the police that are surrounding this area. Speaking of which..." He pressed a hand to one of his cowl's fins. "Send them in, please. As for Max, well... there are parts of this whole thing that a lot of people don't realize."

"Such as?"

"First off, there are supervillains and then there are supervillains," he said. "Not everyone is an insane murderer like Cobalt Red or Graviton. Hell, not everyone is an incidental killer like Motael or Voltage. In fact, most villains try to avoid killing - particularly in New Venice, where the Mountain King redefined the rules of engagement back when he was active.

"Second has to do with secret identities. See, the MLED knows a decent number of villains' identities," the hero explained, "but we don't make use of that information. Because there are also villains who know heroes' identities - DMO servers aren't as secure as they like to pretend, unfortunately - and there's a truce of sorts to lave those secret identities out of the whole hero-villain business. If we go after them in their identities, they'll come after us and our families, and vice versa."

"Mutually assured destruction," I commented as police officers began appearing and arresting various chained up thugs. One of them approached Canaveral and took custody of the keys that Maxwell had left.

"Exactly."

"I guess I can see why Max might not be a high priority, if he's no killer," I ventured, "but he was right there!"

"I was getting to that. See, the other reason that identities are off limits is that there are so many shapeshifters, illusionists, roboticists, cloners, and the like out there." He sighed. "And while it's not exactly likely, it's happened enough that someone thought to be committing a crime was actually being impersonated that any competent lawyer can get a case thrown out, if the arrest is only based on identity. Even between different appearances of the same costumed persona."

"So..." I considered this for a moment. "Are you saying that you can't arrest Maxwell because you didn't actually see him commit a crime?" I asked. "And if you arrested him for previous crimes, his lawyer would argue that they were the work of an imposter?"

"That's essentially it, yeah," the hero confirmed. "It's a pain, I know, but it's the way it works. It's pretty much impossible to connect different appearances of a costumed person in a way that stands up legally without using their actual identity. So even though I know that, say, Max stole a book on ancient English magical artifacts last month - even though I was there and saw him do it," he complained, "I can't arrest Max for it tonight, because it could have been an imposter back then."

"...that seems kind of stupid and contrived."

Canaveral sighed heavily. "Tell me about it, kid. I don't mind all that much for Max - he's not actually a bad person even if he's a thief - but for some people..." he shook his head. "Anyway. The point of all that is that the MLED - which loves ranking people in fours, by some reason - has created a four-tiered system for how to respond to supervillains. Basically, it ranks people by threat level - low, medium, high, plus a null ranking for vigilantes - and gives guidelines on how to respond to people on each level.
"Max is ranked as a low threat despite his power and skill, because he makes an effort to be non-lethal - more than that, to not even really harm anyone. Since he's ranked low, I ignore what I know of his identity and let him go, unless he's committing a crime in front of me or I have reason to believe that he's about to."

"So he didn't break the law tonight," I said, working it out, "and he's obviously about to go and move his hideout, so you don't try to take him in."

Canaveral stared at me. "Yeah, basically. Move his hideout?"

"He mentioned that the drug deal was happening right outside his hideout, and that's why he sent in an anonymous tip," I defended my reasoning. "That narrows his location down to just these four buildings here. He knows you know that now, so he's probably going to move - it's not like it'll be much of a problem for him if he can teleport like that."

"Well reasoned, kid," the hero said after a moment. "Mazel tov." I blushed at the praise, and found myself grateful for the mask that hid my face from my hero. "But honestly, I know Max pretty well. He's probably not going to bother to move."

"What would move Maxwell up the threat ranking?" I smirked. "If he started to act intelligently, and moved his hideout?"

Canaveral chuckled for a moment, before telling me, "If he started to kill or seriously injure heroes or civilians, that would automatically take him up to mid threat. His hammerspace magic is potentially very dangerous, especially since he's recently expanded into teleportation, so he might even be bumped to high threat."

"Is the only difference between mid and high how actively dangerous they are?" I asked, "with low being people who stick to non-lethal regardless of potential danger?"

"It's all about expected danger, at least theoretically," he said. "In low, serious injury or death is considered unlikely, whether because of a lack of power on their part or because of a lack of intent. In mid, it's considered a strong possibility. In high, it's considered nearly a guarantee."

"That's... not a lot of gradation."

Canaveral shrugged. "Take it up with Director Shepard. I didn't design the system - I complain about it for the same reason, actually. Same for the power classification system."

"What's that like?"

He glanced at his wrist for a moment, then at the police officers - they had finished carting away the subdued gangsters, and now seemed to be waiting for us to finish talking. "You know what? My patrol is nearly finished, and the officers here need to get our statements on this fight down before you can head home and I can head back to the MLED Compound for another debrief there. Why don't you come around to the Compound in a few days, when I'm on-call instead of patrolling, and I can answer more questions then? I'll introduce you to the Journeymen and any other members of the Champions that are around. That way you can see who you might be working with if you decide to register as a hero, and get more testimonials than just mine."

I tilted my head at him. "You really think I'm still considering being a hero after having a gun pointed at me the first time I ever go out in costume?"

He gazed at me appraisingly. "Yes, I think you are. Are you?"

"... enough that I'm tempted to take you up on the offer of introductions for more reasons than just fangirling over Anima," I admitted.

Canaveral wore an odd expression in response to my joke, but after a moment he said, "Then come on out. Worst case scenario, you don't like what you hear, and you decide to register with either the MED or MMD. Or just the DMO generally, I suppose, if you're not going to use your powers in your career."

I thought about it for a moment. It wasn't a difficult decision, though, as it wasn't exactly final. It shouldn't even require me to make my decision when I came in, since I still had almost the entire one-month grace period. "I'll have to check my schedule," and talk to my dad about this crazy night, "but I should be able to. What would be the best time?"

"Well..."

theVoidWatches · Jun 30, 2019

Scene 1 - June 27th
Interior High Stakes Bar, Evening
Miriam Wright

Abe stared at the Magnificent Maxwell, matching gazes, refusing to back down. He wouldn't lose this time, not again.

Max smirked. "Scared, Abe?"

"Not even a little," he said, matching the magician smirk for smirk. "Let's do this."

They simultaneously picked up their glasses and downed them.

"How long has this been going on?" I asked, having only just arrived.

"Hey Miriam," Ben said with a sigh. "It's been almost ten minutes. They just keep staring each other down and flirting with each other between the drinks, it's kind of nauseating."

"Who got them started?"

Ben pointed at Emilia. She shrugged, clearly unrepentant. "Max downed his whole beer after he sat down, and I asked if they broke up because Abe couldn't keep up with his drinking. Then..." She laughed, the statuesque woman's voice like silver bells tinkling. "Ben may find it nauseating, but I think it's adorable."

"I think it's great that they're still friends even after breaking up," commented Allesandra from where she sat in her girlfriend's lap. She smiled up at me. "How are you, Miri?"

"You think everything is great," I teased her as I took a seat. "I'm doing well, thanks for asking. How about you two?"

"I'm great!" came the immediate response, and everyone laughed. Except for Max and Abe, of course, who were still engrossed in what passed for a drinking contest between the two competitive men.

"And you, Maria?"

Maria, simply shrugged. She was a lot quieter than Essa, usually speaking up only to offer the occasional snarky comment.

I couldn't help but smile, seeing all my friends gathered together. It was an odd little circle, considering that half of them were supervillains and the other half were superheroes, and she knew that Director Shepard had never understood it - on the other end of things, Essa often complained about other villains who didn't get it either.

But it was good to have contacts on the other side, as I always said in defense. Not only was it possible to pick up useful information from them, it helped keep things less lethal when they had to come to blows.

Besides, I had known Essa since college, and I wasn't going to lose the friendship of a ray of sunshine like her just because she broke the law on a regular basis. And hey, I had gotten into the hero business to help people, not to enforce the law, and it was undeniable that things had gotten better for sex workers in New Venice since the Crows had taken over the entire market and taken strict measures to ensure their safety. Not to mention how much regulation they'd brought to gambling houses.

"Do you think they know that they're both cheating?" I quietly asked Maria.

The slim woman nodded. "I think that's half the point," she murmured. "They should really just get back together again, we all know they want to."

"Oh no they shouldn't!" Emilia objected. "You know I have my eye on..." she trailed off, glancing between the two men as they chugged yet another set of glasses, and bit her lip. "On one of them, at least. I don't really care which."

"Why not both?" Essa suggested.

The shape-shifting heroine smiled. "You might have the right idea there..."

Scene 2 - September 2nd
Bellini Archives, Late Evening
Maxwell Copperfield

I was inconspicuously clad in simply a hoodie and sweatpants tonight, and for once I wasn't wearing the usual facial glamour that showed my true beauty to the world, instead reluctantly showing the bland face that I was born with. No one would associate the average-looking man hiding his shape with the glory that was The Magnificent Maxwell.

It wasn't something I liked doing - I normally kept up the glamour even when I was in civilian guise, and I had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to my body. But tonight I was trying to be stealthy. You might think that stealth goes against my nature as a magician, but you'd be wrong. After all, slight of hand is the cornerstone of everything we do - and that's what tonight was all about.

I had hired an old friend of mine from my stage days to pose as me for the night, applying the glamour to him instead of me and lending him one of my suits so that he was indistinguishable from me. Dave was currently performing his usual act downtown, very visibly. The MLED would be bound to have their eyes on him, worrying about what I was intending, and wouldn't be paying attention to the Archives at all. Classic misdirection.

It would most likely reveal that I had command of some illusion magic as well as the dimensional pockets I was known to use, but in truth it wasn't much of a loss. The only illusion spell I knew was the one which produced my true appearance, and I hadn't yet been lucky enough to have come across texts on further illusory magic. The dimensional pockets I tapped into came much more easily to me - in fact, I was on the trail of how to add kinetic energy to objects when I summoned them back into the world, and I had high hopes that that discovery could lead in the direction of manipulating kinetic energy without pulling things into a pocket dimension. If I could do that, I would have nothing to worry about from my stupidly handsome boyfriend -

But I digress.

I was inconspicuously clad as I approached the Archives. They were closed at this time, but the front windows were glass, which meant that the lock was no obstacle to me despite counting as part of the building to my dimensional magic and thus being out of the mass range of my pockets.

For now. I was working on it - the limitation that kept me from pocketing only parts of objects was a stubborn one, and I had made no progress yet on breaking it. I was sure I would at some point, but so far it had been far easier to improve the range of mass that I could store. In the last year alone I had gone from being able to pocket anything less than a metric ton, to up to two and a half tons at once, with my total mass limit across all pockets being the same, and I saw no reason to expect the improvement not to continue.

In any case, it was good that the windows were glass. I could have picked the lock, obviously, but while my lockpicking skill was excellent, as all my abilities were, it was perhaps a little less excellent. And besides, there could be an alarm on it. But since the windows were glass, I could simply peer through and teleport inside.

Well, it's not teleportation, exactly - I open a dimensional pocket where I'm standing while opening it where I'm looking, and am immediately spit out on the other end. Proper teleportation wouldn't require me to see the target, would be instantaneous instead of taking about a second, and would be able to cover any distance instead of being limiting to the range that I can open pockets, which is still only about 45 feet. My range is improving, of course, but it's good enough for theater.

I found myself inside, and with a sigh of relief, I pocketed my current outfit while simultaneously releasing my suit, and was dressed as I should be. I took a deep breath in preparation for the illusion - as I said, it doesn't come to me quite as naturally as dimensional magic does - and apply my glamour.

Finally, myself again.

I opened a few pockets around me and allowed a faint tracing of stage haze to leak through as I began to make my way through the building. The information I had received on my target indicated that there were laser wires in the lower levels, and contrary to what Hollywood would have you believe, lasers are not visible to the naked eye. Stage haze would show them without blocking their receivers, and being forewarned, I could simply teleport through. The security cameras, meanwhile, would...

Damn it, I always forgot about something!

Well, it would take some time for Vulcan, who should be on patrol tonight, to get to the Archives from where he was likely watching my decoy - he didn't have great speed. Plus, he had only graduated from the Journeymen to the New Champions a few weeks ago - he should be no trouble to evade even after he arrived.

It only took me a few minutes to get to where I was going. After all, I wasn't going to the boring layers of the Archive that were deeper down, where they stored the things that were too valuable to display openly in the Higgins Museum - I was just going to the first sub-basement, which held books that were of little interest to any but the most avid researchers.
Which, for this particular book, included me.

My target was a thesis called Ancient English Magicians: Tracking Their Artifacts Through History, which had been written a few decades ago by some historian called Mark H. Dallas. It did exactly what it claimed to - tracked magical artifacts created by ancient English magicians like Merlin and the Raven King to discover where they had ended up in the modern day. The particular artifact that I was interested in was a book that had supposedly been written by Merlin as an introductory text to magic of all kinds. I was quite skilled with my dimensional pockets, but there were so many types of magic and ways to cast it that it would take a century to expand my knowledge if that was my only starting point, even if my hopes of learning kinetic manipulation bore fruit. Something as simple as a broad introductory text could jump my studies ahead by decades.

I hate Arthur Peregrine above all other men in the world. He had been lucky enough to start with healing magic when he began learning, and had stumbled upon a type of ageless immortality early on in his career. Over the last two centuries he's amassed enough magical knowledge to make him the greatest mage since Merlin himself, or so the man claims. But did he shared his magical knowledge as Merlin did? No.

He did share his healing power, I had to admit, and the man is without a doubt the greatest healer in the world. The one day a week that he appears in Peregrine Hospital and heals every man, woman, and child within its walls of all that ails them has saved countless lives since he began the practice, almost fifty years ago now. But how many more might have been saved if he spent another one day a week teaching his mastery of healing magic?

But I digress.

I had pocketed the thesis with little difficulty - I had ended up having to pick a lock after all, as it was locked in a cabinet, but it had been a rather simple lock - and made my way back upstairs to an unpleasant surprise.

"Words cannot possibly express how disappointed I am in you, Max," said my boyfriend. "Not only are you stealing, not only did you seem to expect me to be fooled by such a transparent ruse as simply placing a doppelganger on the other side of the city, but you missed your date with Emilia last night!"

I sighed. "What are you doing here, Abe? I thought Vulcan was supposed to be patrolling tonight."

"I'm covering his shift, obviously - he has a date that he isn't missing. And you have a date too - with Chief Harrison."

I rolled my eyes. "Hugo Harrison couldn't get a date with me if he offered me Arthur Peregrine's head on a platter. I'm way out of his league."

Abe shrugged. "You're the one who decided to break into the Archives."

"They're the ones who set up a system that kept me from accessing this thesis legitimately! Just because I don't have a degree they consider connected to the damn thing -" I started.

He sighed. "I'm not in the mood for this right now, Max, and I've heard all your spiels before. Just put it back, and come back home to us. To me."

"...this is the same thing that broke us up last time, Abe. And you know that I haven't changed."

"...maybe it was a bad idea to try again."

"...maybe. At least we had another three months of bliss."

Abe laughed. "Bliss might be understating it!" We both grinned at each other, thinking of nights out, with and without Emilia. And, of course, of nights in, with and without Emilia...

And then I summoned a sandbag over his head and he launched himself at me with the force of an oncoming car.

Relationships are hard.

theVoidWatches · Jun 30, 2019

With that, Act 1 of the first arc is complete, and this Suffficient Velocity thread will be going on hiatus until mid-October, when Act 2 will begin to be posted here. In the meantime, Paternum is updated weekly on its own site, and if you follow there you'll get to read Act 2 as it goes up instead of waiting until October.

theVoidWatches · Oct 14, 2019

Act 2: In Circling Flight

Of quiet birds in circling flight

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

Scene 1 - October 18th
Interior Townhouse, Early Evening
Quinn Kaufman

I didn't get a chance to visit Dad for a day or two, too busy with schoolwork - my night out as a hero had left me exhausted, and my tiredness had made me slower than usual as I plodded through schoolwork - but before long he had recovered from his most recent relapse and was on the way home. I was making him dinner to welcome him home, but hadn't had time to shop for anything special. That meant it was Italian food - New Venice was heavily populated by Italian immigrants, and ingredients for their favorite dishes were always in ready supply.

I had timed it well - he stepped in through the door just as I was straining the spaghetti. "Home agin, an' home to stay— / Yes, it's nice to be away. / Plenty things to do an' see, / But the old place seems to me / Jest about the proper thing," he declared. "Are those meatballs I smell, Quinn?"

"They sure are!" I called back. "Come get something to drink, dinner's just about ready!"

"Excellent!" My father stepped into the room, beaming at me, and took a glass from the cupboard. "Just water tonight, I think." As I filled his glass, he said, "Paul Lawrence Dunbar, by the way. One of the first influential black poets in America."

I went to hug him. "Welcome home, dad."

He hugged me back, then released me and took a plate. "So how did the power testing go? Defeat any supervillains?"

"Ran into a one and was rescued by Aegis, who offered to give me his power," I joked.

"Now that doesn't seem very likely. Are you sure you're not just offering him the credit for what you did, to stay out of the gang's eyes?"

"You caught me - it was a giant dragon that I defeated by throwing a spider into his mouth."

"Not surprised. Dragons notoriously hate spiders. Ancient enemies."

"I thought spiders hated octopi? 8-legged rivals, you know."

"Well, sort of. Really the octopusses just wish they were spiders."

"Well, who wouldn't want to be a spider?"

We laughed as we served each other - I spooned spaghetti onto two plates while Dad scooped out the meatballs. "But seriously, kiddo, what happened?"

"Well," I said, taking a bite, "it did actually go pretty well. I went to a junkyard about ten minutes away and played around with my powers - pretty much what we thought they were, ESP and telekinesis. The telekinesis has a weird backlash effect where the same force gets applied to me, but that actually turned out to be pretty useful for moving around. I can walk on walls if I do it right, and jump pretty crazy distances by pushing against the ground."

"How much force can you exert?" Dad asked. "Is it possible for you to hurt yourself with the backlash? You should be careful."

"It is," I said, wincing. "I've been super sore for the last two days. It wasn't as bad the first day, but I tried a moon hop out of costume yesterday and, well, turns out that the PA4 reduces the backlash some. Or maybe makes me physically tougher, I'm not sure. Either way, it's not something that applies when I'm not wearing it." I poked at my food for a moment. "Similar thing with the ESP, actually, just a little more low-key. When I can feel too much with it - while I'm outside, really - it starts to build up a headache over time. Again, the suit seems to help reduce that."

"Maybe you'll get better at that over time," Dad offered. "The TK backlash sounds like it's inherent to the force, but the headache might just be your brain having trouble dealing with so much extra information."

"I hope so." I took another bite, then continued. "And then on the way home..." I told Dad about how the night had become the best of my life - how I had met my personal hero, Canaveral, and he had taken me under his wing!

"...and you know, he seemed pretty exasperated with Maxwell, but they also seemed to be pretty... I dunno, intimate with each other? I was getting some kind of relationship vibe there. If they were exes they seemed pretty friendly. Oh, and then we worked out that I can visit the MLED Compound on Sunday, and he'll introduce me to the other heroes!" I finished, excitedly.

Dad was silent for a moment. "Can we go back to the part where you had a gun pointed at your head, and you completely glossed over it?"

"Oh yeah. That."

"Yes, that, Quinn!" he snapped. "I told you to be careful, didn't I? I told you to steer clear of the gangs! And you ran right into danger!"

"I was with Canaveral!" I defended myself. "He wouldn't let me get hurt! And I have superpowers now, anyway!"

"Oy gavalt, You didn't have superpowers when that woman was threatening you!" Dad ran his fingers through his hair, a habit we shared when we were angry or stressed. "Why isn't this phasing you, kid?"

"Because..." I thought back, trying to decipher my feelings. "Well," I began, "it certainly frightened me at the time. It was only aimed at me for probably 30 seconds at most, but it felt like weeks. But afterward, it seems... I dunno, less important?

"I guess I knew that Canaveral wouldn't let me be hurt," I continued. "I mean, he mentioned afterward that if Maxwell hadn't stepped in he would have let them go, and the police would have grabbed them since the area was surrounded. But even in the moment, his first instinct when I was seriously threatened was to step towards me. I think he probably would have even if the equality had taken away his powers too. He's a real hero, you know?" I smiled to myself a little. "If I can be half the man he is, I'll have reason to be proud."

Dad spent a few minutes digesting this, and I took our finished plates into the kitchen. When I came back, he finally responded. "What would you have done if Canaveral wasn't there? You won't always have a partner as a superhero."

"For one thing, I wouldn't have gone into that situation without training, if he wasn't there," I said. "And anyway, I don't even know if I want to be a hero yet. I'm hoping that I'll be able to decide on Sunday."

He sighed. "I know you've always wanted to change the world, Quinn, to make a positive difference. You're really telling me that you don't want to be a hero?"

"...yeah, well... childhood dreams aren't always realistic," I said, quietly. "I'm just one person, and I know how rare it is for individual people to affect much. If I can contribute a little... that's why I want to be a metahuman doctor, you know? If I can save the real heroes, the ones who actually can change things..."

"You can change things too, Quinn," Dad insisted.

"Sure," I said, not really believing him. "Seems fake, but okay."

Dad shook his head, seeming a little sad. "I can't believe that thing holding you back isn't the gun, it's that you don't think you can be a hero." He looked at me again. "You should take Canaveral up on his invitation," he said. "Just be careful. And please, whatever they may say, don't go on patrol or anything without getting training."

"I won't, I promise," I assured him. "And again, I really don't think I'm going to register as a hero anyway. Being a doctor is already aiming high enough."

Scene 2 - October 20th
Interior MLED Compound, Late Afternoon
Quinn Kaufman

The MLED Compound was a huge building, stretching out over a full block. Rumors said that it held everything from teleporters to other compounds in other cities, to underground shooting ranges, to a full-sized baseball diamond.

I didn't really believe those rumors - the size of the building was, in my opinion, simply necessitated by the fact that it served such a vast organization. After all, it was not only the headquarters of the New Champions and their Journeymen, it was the only building used by the MLED in New Venice. And with the MLED being nearly the size of the police force, that meant almost 400 agents operating out of it, not to mention secretaries, janitors, management, and so on... and, of course, it almost certainly held things like cafeterias, medical wings, and more. But a baseball diamond?

All that was to say that while it was an impressively sprawling building, I didn't really pause to marvel at its size.

I entered and met the receptionist, giving him a codeword that Canaveral had given me, and he nodded and directed me to where I would be meeting superheroes! I had entered in the wrong wing of the building, as it turned out, so I spent a few minutes walking, following an orange line that eventually led me to an elevator. I stepped inside it and gave my passphrase again to a microphone in the wall, and it began moving.

A moment after it started up, a panel on the side of the wall popped open, revealing a tray of masks. They were in a few different styles, but all in plain white, as well as a nametag that said 'VISITOR: NEWTON'. Clever - allowing people to maintain a secret identity, or at least the pretense of one, even without a costume. I selected a domino mask, which self-adhered easily after I pressed a tiny button on its edge, and I found that it came off just as easily when I pressed the button again. I stuck the nametag to my shirt just in time, as the doors slid open just afterwards.

"Welcome!" said a tall, muscular black man wearing a mask that was the same blank white as the one I had taken from the elevator. "It's good to see you again, Newton."

After a moment, I recognized his voice as that of Canaveral. "It's good to see you too," I said, shaking his hand. "I guess we're not meeting up in costume? I did wear mine underneath these clothes, but there were masks in the elevator, so..."

"Everyone's suited up as much as they care to be already," he told me. "We can take a moment for you to change if you'd like?" I shrugged. "Follow me, then - we're all in the main common room."

He pointed me down a short hallway, and briefly explained how their wing of the compound was laid out. One hallway was where the New Champions were located - a common area with couches, a TV, a small kitchen, and so on, with rooms branching out from it. This was mirrored on the other side of the elevator, with a similar setup for the Journeymen - he noted that their side of the wing had been set up for minors and so lacked adult entertainments - like alcohol, he quickly clarified when I began to blush. Adults weren't allowed in the Journeymen's area, while the reverse was true of the Champions' - technically, he noted, they were divided by age rather than team, but they didn't currently have any adults on the Journeymen so it was a moot point.

"Although that might be changing soon?" he asked me hopefully, and I shrugged, still undecided.

Meanwhile, the central hallway that we were currently meandering down led to shared spaces. A larger common room for the teams to use together, training areas like the gym and the pool, the console room, and the exit that they left through for patrols.

"Are you over or under 21?" he asked me.

"Over," I answered. "I turned 21 about three months ago."

"You'd graduate from the Journeymen pretty quickly, then. People think the team is just for minors, but it's actually more of a training thing - six months minimum on the junior team for anyone registering as a hero," he explained, "then they're moved to a main team somewhere in the country. Or not, if they're still under 21."

"Makes sense," I agreed, "but how long is this corridor, anyway?"

"That's a good question," he said. "Not this long, typically. Holly, is this your doing?"

theVoidWatches · Oct 15, 2019

Scene 3 - October 20th
Interior MLED Compound, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

Suddenly, the world changed. No longer were we slowly walking down a hallway towards a surprisingly distant light - instead, we were walking on a treadmill that stood in the middle of a comfortable looking lounge area, while a small group of teenagers and adults watched. One of them, a muscular young woman with dark skin and an impressively-poofy afro, was chuckling. "We were wondering how long it would take you to notice," she teased. "And you just won me my bet by noticing first, new guy! Thanks! And pay up, sucker!" She jabbed the woman standing next to her in the ribs, shorter and thinner with pale skin and long blonde hair. Both were wearing the same white masks as me and Canaveral.

"Introductions first, I think," Canaveral said, chuckling as the blonde girl, grumbling, passed a bill to the other. "Superhero name, civilian if you're willing to give it, and one interesting thing about you. Oh, and pronouns," he added. "I'll start."

He turned back to me and took off his mask what was happening. "Abraham Armstrong, aka Canaveral," he told me, seeming quite amused at the flabbergasted look that was surely plastered on my face despite the mask I was wearing. "Hey, don't look like that! I don't actually have a secret identity, you know, I just don't really spread it around like some people do," he said with a mocking glance at an attractive Hispanic woman who was taking up an entire couch.

"Love you too, babe," she shot back, unbothered.

"Anyway, I'm he/him, and I used to date a supervillain."

"Was it Maxwell?" He nodded. "I thought so."

"I'll go next. I'm Holly Koval, aka Loki." said the handsome blonde girl who had lost money, and her mask simply faded from existence. "Sorry about the prank, by the way - it was all in good fun - and it was Journey here's idea anyway." She jerked a finger at the black girl.

"It's all right," I assured her.

"I use she/her as a civilian, but he/him in costume. My interesting fact is that I'm the only one on this team who actually learned magic, instead of just relying on an innate knack."

"I'm Simone Destrey," said her Amazonian neighbor, "aka Journey. She/her, and Holly is lying."

"That's neither interesting nor a fact!" Holly protested.

Simone crossed her arms. "Fine. My interesting fact is that the Journeymen are named after me."

"No we're not," said a young man in a hoodie who was leaning against one wall. "You've only been part of the group for two years. It's been the Journeymen for what, six?"

"Yeah, it was shortly after I joined," Holly agreed. "Before that it was the Young Champions. Try another fact, Simone."

"I'm relentlessly bullied," she complained with a sigh, but she smiled as she said it. "Is that good enough?"

"Yeah, that works," said the hoodied kid. "And I'll break the trend by not revealing my identity, I mean come on. I'm Hypnos." He didn't seem to be wearing a costume, really, just the comfy-looking hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, with a domino mask under the raised hood. "He/him, and my fact is that I don't want to be here. Also, I'm deaf. I wear hearing aids, but I might not be able to understand you if you don't speak clearly. Don't make a big deal of it."

"And I'm Emilia Alvarez," said the Hispanic woman, sitting up from where she had been lying on the couch. "Better known as Zookeeper - she/her. My fact is that I have an eidetic memory. That's everyone who could be here today - Anima is on patrol with Sequoia, Vulcan is on console duty, and Referee is out of town this weekend."

"What about Ben?" Canaveral asked.

She shrugged. "Starling just said no. You know he's not exactly social."

There was a moment of silence before I realized that everyone else had introduced themselves and was now watching me expectantly. I nervously ran a hand through my hair, then decided to pull off my mask. They had trusted me, after all, and if I didn't become a hero I wouldn't have a secret identity anyway. "I'm Quinn Kaufman - they/them," I introduced myself. "My fact is that I got my powers less than a week ago."

"And Abe is already trying to recruit you? They must be pretty strong," Emilia commented. "What can you do?"

"Well, I can open pickle jars, and I can draw pretty well," I began.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I'm not much of a singer, but I can whistle."

"Quinn-"

"My classmates tell me that I'm a good tutor, and with all humility I can say that I'm a beast at air hockey."

"Can you play the piano?" Holly asked.

"How about parkour?" said Simone.

"Poetry," was Hypnos's contribution.

"Yes but not for years, yes, and no but my dad is a professor of poetry."

"How are you at cooking?" asked Canaveral - Abraham, I supposed.

"Frisbee?"

"Dungeons and Dragons?"

"Fishing?"

"Speaking other languages?" Emilia asked, apparently having decided to go with the flow.

"Pretty decent, not great, not since high school, no, and a little Spanish."

"Ever wrestled an eel?" asked Simone.

"Or gone white-water rafting?"

"Acted in a play?"

"Kissed a boy?"

"Kissed a girl?"

"No, no, yes, and gentlemen don't kiss and tell and neither do I." I said with a grin.

The impromptu quiz continued for a few minutes more before the group seemed to get bored with coming up with increasingly ridiculous questions, and the topic turned back to my powers. "Seriously though, what can you do?" Emilia asked again.

"I have a sort of omnidirectional sense paired with a kind of telekinesis that includes a backlash. Think of it like..." I paused for a moment, trying to decide how to describe it. "I have telekinetic arms that extend like an aura around my body. Anything within line of sight of me, I can feel and move as though I held it - which means, when I try to move massive things, that I'm moved instead."

"Self Buff (Sensory) and Area Control (Kinetic)," Emilia guessed. "Am I right, babe?"

"You've got it," Abraham agreed.

"What is that? Some kind of power rating?" I asked.

"Pretty much," the heroine confirmed. "The MLED rates powers in four ways, each with one of four ratings."

"You weren't kidding about them liking fours," I said to Abraham, who nodded sadly.

"Each power is labeled by area of effect, type of effect, power level, and general effect," she continued. "The idea is that it's the order of information you need to know in the field - area of affect tells you if you need to stay out of their touch range, sight range, or just away, with self range powers not being dodgeable for obvious reasons."

"Meanwhile, type of effect tells you what it'll do to you if you don't steer clear," Canaveral said, taking up the thread. "Buffs make the target better at something, debuffs make you worse, damage will just hurt you, and control is kind of a catch-all but is theoretically about things that'll control the target. Everything from mind control to telekinesis." He glanced at the three younger heroes. "Which of you wants to take the next one?"

"Oh shit, is this a quiz?" asked Simone.

"Well, it is now," Emilia agreed. "And I think you just volunteered."

Holly laughed. "Sorry, Simone!"

"It's fine, I know it anyway. Third is a numerical danger rating, 0-3. 0 is for stuff that's barely or not at all dangerous, like this kid at my martial arts dojo who can walk on water but nothing else. 1 is stuff that's dangerous but can be dealt with by a normal human. 2 is stuff that you can't deal with without powers, but which is limited in scope, and 3 is powers that can do almost anything."

"As you can imagine," Emilia commented, "ratings of 3 are very rare. Most metahumans have ratings of 0 or 1, with even most superheroes and villains only having ratings of 1 or 2."

"So like... Graviton, or Cobalt Red?"

Abraham nodded. "They're two who have 3 ratings, yes," he said. "Legion is another, as was the Mountain King back in the day. The only ones in New Venice right now are Rube and La Borda."
I thought about this for a moment. "How is this different from the threat level rankings you told me about?"

"Threat level covers people as a whole, which means it takes their personality and goals into account," he said. "Power rankings are strictly for powers. So Max, for example, has a low threat rating, but his hammerspace power is ranked at 2."

"That makes sense."

"Don't think I've forgotten about you two!" Abraham suddenly cried, pointing at Holly and Hypnos, one with each arm. "There's still one category left in the power rankings!"

"Sure, but it's the silliest one," Holly said. "It's just a brief descriptor of the power. I don't see why they can't condense it all a bit. Like, why not just give you 'touch kinesis 2" instead of 'touch control 2 (kinetic)'? Seems like an over complication."

"I dunno, I can see the rational for both," I put in. "But then, I'm coming from the outside. Maybe it makes less sense in practice."

"Honestly, it works pretty well in practice," said Emilia. "These two just like complaining."

"You say I like complaining, but I have actual issues with the system," Abraham insisted, and Holly nodded. "I mean, just think of how many different kinds of powers are all grouped together in Self Buff!"

"So..." I said, trying to move on from the argument, "if I'm Self Buff and Area Control..."

"At ranks 1 and 2 respectively," Abraham added, "although those ratings are provisional depending on what power testing shows when you register and go through it."

"What are the rest of you guys?"

"I'm Touch Control 2 (Kinetic)," the hero said. "Powerful and versatile, but I can't do everything.

"I'm Self Control 2 (Animal Shifting)," Emilia told me. "Any animal I know the form of, I can transform into. I have to put in the work to learn their form, but thanks to my eidetic memory, my roster only ever expands."

"The magic I've learned lets me control light and sound," said Holly. "The MLED gives me an Area Control 2 (Illusion) rating, but that misses so much. I mean, I'm not making magical illusions - those are mental constructs placed into the psychic landscape. I'm actually controlling photons and sonic energy. I can make lasers and concussive blasts when I need to. See, this is why the current rating system is -"

"I have Self Control 1 (Teleportation)," Simone interrupted. "Myself and anything I can lift. I have a distance limit that rises as I move physically, and falls whenever I teleport. That's why I have to work out so much, and that's why I'm called Journey."

"I thought you were just a fan of the band," I joked.

"Well obviously I love their stuff, but I'm not gonna name myself after some middle-aged white dudes," she retorted.

"Fair point."

We glanced at Hypnos. "Self Buff 0 (Sensory Projection)," he reluctantly said. "My senses can fly around disconnected from my body." I winced, and he shrugged. "Sure, the MLED thinks it's useless, but I don't want to be a hero anyway. I'm just here for training, because I can't always control it - I often end up projecting randomly as I sleep."

"Well, I'm sorry that your powers aren't always under your control," I told him. "But they do sound really useful, for recon work and the like. I assume that you can't be hurt when you're projecting them?"

He waggled a hand. "Sort of. Things like flashbangs that target the senses will fuck me up something fierce - no actual damage, but I get a terrible migraine and can't keep projecting until it goes away. But stuff like fire or electricity are dulled enough that I feel it without feeling pain."

"So are you thinking about joining the Journeymen?" Holly asked. "We'd be glad to have you, and I'm sure Sequoia and Referee would agree. I know she'd love to have another trans person on the team, and so would I."

"Between the three of you, we poor cis kids would be almost outnumbered," Simone commented with a chuckle.

"At least we'd keep up our all-queer streak."

"I'm... considering it. I admit, I'm leaning towards 'no' right now, but it's got nothing to do with you guys, you all seem lovely."

"Well, do you have any questions?" Holly asked. "Anything we can do to try and convince you?"

"Anything?" said Simone, leaning forward, clasping her hands behind her back, and waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Holly sprayed her in the face with a bottle of water that materialized from thin air. I assumed it was an illusion, but it seemed to be real enough to make Simone splutter. "There's a time and a place, Simone, and this isn't it," she scolded, surprisingly sternly given her earlier prank. "Leave the flirting for another time."

"Or at least be a little more subtle about it," Emilia advised.

"Well, one question I have is -" I began, but was interrupted by a blaring alarm and a red light that began sweeping the room.

"Console to stand-by," came a quiet voice through speakers in the ceiling. "We have reports that Legion is in the city. Repeat, we have reliable information suggesting that Legion is in New Venice."

theVoidWatches · Oct 16, 2019

Scene 4 - October 20th
Interior MLED Compound, Continuous
Holly Koval

I had been having such a nice night, up until that moment. Sure, I would have had a good time at home, practicing my magical abilities and trying to get my parents to tear themselves away from their own magical research to help me - well, I would have had a good time with my research, trying to get my parents to pay attention to mine instead of theirs was like pulling teeth - but I tried not to get so wrapped up in research that I forgot about my friends. Coming in and spending some time with Simone was no hardship.

And the new kid that Armstrong was trying to recruit seemed like a good guy - not to mention that they were nonbinary too, even if they probably weren't genderfluid as they only had one set of pronouns. Plus they were pretty cute - their eyes were a pleasant blue that stood out marvelously against the darkness of their hair, which was a curly mess of a jewfro that I wished I could just sink my fingers into. But, alas, I had just met them, and such things weren't socially acceptable. Maybe if they joined the Journeymen.

...an amusing thought struck me: since my 21st birthday was in just six months, Kaufman's graduation to the ranks of the New Champions - or whichever MLED team somewhere in America needed them most - would occur at the same time as mine, if they joined within the next month.

"Who's Legion?" they asked, raising their voice to be heard over the alarm, and I refocused. "You mentioned them earlier, right Abe? But I don't think I've heard of whoever they are. A supervillain, I assume?" I absently raised a hand, thinking a mind-bending thought and making an impossible gesture with the ease of long practice, and reduced the volume of the alarm to something less headache-inducing.

Armstrong nodded seriously, his demeanor visibly shifting. He was pretty light-hearted out of costume, not taking anything too seriously despite his status as the leader of the Champions. But when he donned the mantle of Canaveral, he took things far more seriously, became more intense. He was undergoing that shift now, a rare sight out of costume. "Legion is an extremely powerful shapeshifter, with no real limits aside from the amount of mass she has to work with. And she can consume organic matter to increase her mass."

"That's pretty scary to start with," Kaufman noted, "but I somehow feel like there's more."

"There is," Alvarez said, rising from her couch. "When she consumes something, she stores its pattern down to the atomic level, and can recreate it. Or mix and match as she desires. She can eat people and take their forms, and it's impossible to detect without a brain scan." Kaufman was going pale now, clearly imagining all sorts of horrible things.

"Even that's not the worst part," I couldn't help but add. "She can duplicate herself, too. Spawn an extra body patterned after her own, and then there are two of her - both with the same shapeshifting abilities."

"I don't know much about her, to be honest," Simone admitted. "When she splits like that, is it a hivemind?"

Canaveral - because he was Canaveral now, to such a degree that I could easily imagine his costume in place of the loose button-down and jeans that he was actually wearing - shook his head. "No, which is one of her few weaknesses. If she's separated from herself they have no connection to each other." He looked back to Kaufman, completely serious. "You need to go."

"What? No! I can help!" they protested.

He shook his head. "You're still untrained and you haven't joined yet. And yes," he raised a hand, "I know I took you against gangsters under vigilante laws. This is a different situation - Legion is one of the most dangerous women in the world."

"Legion is who-knows-how-many of the most dangerous women in the world," Kaufman corrected. "You'll probably be outnumbered! You need all the help you can get! Besides," they added slyly, "would it be safer for me to be out there alone, where she is, or with you guys?"

"Legion is dangerous, but she's not mindless," said Alvarez. "She usually sticks to stealth and doesn't engage unless she has to, and she always has some target in mind wherever she goes. She's not going to attack someone who seems like a random civilian. But regulations say that you can't remain when we're about to go into lockdown."

Kaufman sighed, defeated. "Alright, alright. I'll go." They raised a hand and gave a dejected wave. "It was nice to meet all of you."

Scene 5 - October 20th
MLED Compound, Continuous
Holly Koval

After they left, Canaveral pushed a button on the wall, activating a microphone to the console room. "Vulcan, call Anima and Sequoia in from patrol, if you haven't already."

"They're on their way," came the quiet voice of the metal man. "Do we have a plan, sir?"

He rubbed his temples. "I'm working on one, Adam. Give me some time."

"You'll need our help," Simone said. "New Venice isn't exactly a one-horse town - you need us to help you cover it."

"I hate to admit it, but you're right," Alvarez agreed.

"Hey!"

"It's dangerous," Canaveral protested.

The shapeshifter shook her head. "Nic works at a distance, and Legion doesn't have anything that will hurt him when he's projecting - we need him to help scout the city. Simone can be transport only, that won't be too dangerous either."

"I can work from a distance too," I offered. "I know my hand-to-hand skills aren't going to be worth much against Legion, but I bet I can use lasers to cut off parts of her body mass."

He sighed. "Fine. But only from a distance. And only because you're all over 18 - Sequoia will have to go home too, once he and Miriam get back."

"Jack can help too!" said Hypnos. "He turns 18 in only a few weeks!"

"He's still under 18 until then," Canaveral shot back. "You're just going to have to live with your boyfriend staying a safe distance from the dangerous supervilain."

"Well, when you put it that way..."

With my involvement approved, I took a moment to shift into Loki. It was an adjustment I had made a probably a thousand times in the years since I joined the Journeymen - I had been a member since I was 15, and at this point I have more experience than many full-fledged heroes. With all that practice, the change is quick, and a moment later the appearance of loose, flowing clothes that I had worn over the kevlar body suit I actually wore whenever I went to the Compound was gone, and replaced by Loki's costume. My long blonde hair was gone too, covered by stylishly-unkempt black hair - a style that PR spent hours designing, since I never need to let it actually get ruined. Of course, my hair wasn't actually that short, but no one would notice me pinning it up when the actual movement of my body wasn't what my illusory self is doing. I've always thought that it was an excellent disguise - as Loki I'm six inches taller than I am as Holly, with short black hair rather than long blonde curls and dark eyes rather than baby blues, plus a more muscular (and more masculine) build. Not to mention that I used different pronouns - I don't think that anyone could guess my secret identity.

"Alright, I think I have the beginnings of a plan," Canaveral said, and I refocused myself yet again.

Scene 6 - October 20th
Exterior City, Early Evening
Quinn Kaufman

It took me a few minutes to make my way out of the MLED building, but it wasn't long before I was on my way back home. It was probably for the best, I told myself - after all, I had class tomorrow, and it wouldn't hurt to spend the evening reviewing notes instead of socializing. I certainly wasn't going to be stewing over not being able to hang out with superheroes, or drowning my sorrows that I didn't have any close friends at school to hang out with. No, not me.

...Did we even have any beer left at the house? Maybe I should swing by the store on the way back.

I found my bus station and began a new sketch of the three members of the Journeymen I had just met. The dark-skinned Amazon, Simone - the slim Nordic woman, Holly - and the young man hiding in his hoodie, Hypnos. They would be my teammates, if I decided to join. There were two others, if I remembered right - Sequoia, who had been on patrol along with Anima, and Referee, who had been out of town.

They had seemed nice enough. Simone struck me as rather bubbly and cheerful, taking the good-natured ribbing that the others gave her with good grace. Hypnos didn't seem to be too enthused about being a hero in general, but he hadn't seemed like a bad person. And Holly had seemed cool - sure, she had pulled a prank on me, but it hadn't been a particularly mean one. And after all, her heroic identity was named after the god of mischief. Honestly, I was surprised that she didn't screw around even more.

I felt like I could probably getting along with them fine. The question was really if I could actually be a hero at all. Regardless of what my dad said, I knew that I was never going to change the world. I was just one kid, not particularly bright, barely funny, and definitely more out of shape than I should be if I was going heroing. Could I really be a superhero?

Hm, the bus was pretty late. And, I remembered, I still had my costume on under my clothes...

Why not?

Scene 7 - October 20th
Exterior City, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

Traveling over the rooftops was way better than taking the bus. After finding a convenient alleyway where I could strip down to my costume, stuffing the light clothing I had worn over it into my bag and using TK to make sure I wouldn't drop it, I simply walked up the side of the wall and began moving.

It was much faster, too - New Venice had notoriously winding roads that made driving much slower than it was in cities that had actually been planned, rather than designed by horse tracks. On the rooftops, however, I could travel in something approaching a straight line, and despite my top speed probably being only 30 or 40 mph, I was on track to arrive home before the bus would have gotten me there.

And, of course, it was more fun.

It was as I was leaping over Shiketsu Street that I noticed something strange - as I had crossed the street my ESP had felt one person standing in the mouth on an alley, but when I landed there were two people.

I leaned over the edge curiously and saw a pair of muscular woman, both with long blue hair. They could have been twins for all the difference they had - but even as I watched, one of them began to change. The hair shortened and turned purple, and the clothes changed into a different outfit entirely. Even her facial features - those that my ESP was picking up - were subtly changing.

The blue-haired one glanced up, and I ducked back, hoping she hadn't noticed me. This had to be Legion! What kind of terrible luck do I have, that I just stumbled onto her?

Well, I supposed it technically didn't have to be Legion - as Canaveral had pointed out to me the night that we had encountered Maxwell, there were enough shapeshifters of various kinds out there to make anyone's identity questionable. But it seemed like too much of a coincidence for me to stumble on a possibly-multiplying shapeshifter the same night that one arrived in New Venice. I had to follow her, and to let the New Champions know where she was.

theVoidWatches · Oct 17, 2019

Scene 8 - October 20th
Interior MLED Compound, Early Evening
Abraham Armstrong

"So," I began, "the normal procedure when Legion is in town is to call in Aegis. He's immune to everything she does - obviously," I added, trying to bring a bit of levity into the situation. "Problem is that absolute invulnerability is in high demand, and he's a very busy man. As of this morning's commander briefing, he was dealing with an incursion from a parallel universe in California, and not expected to be available for another three days."

"A parallel universe?" Simone asked. "Are those a thing?"

"Apparently," I said with a shrug. "I'll put in a request, but don't expect him until then. Fortunately," I said to the microphone in the wall, "we have an invulnerable man of our own. Isn't that right, Vulcan?"

"Sir," Adam protested, sounding embarrassed. "I'm nothing like tough as Aegis."

"You're probably tougher than any organic constructs she can put together, though," Emilia pointed out. "And since you're not organic yourself, in metal form, she won't be able to absorb you."

"Exactly," I said, walking past her to the center of the room. I briefly touched her side as I passed, and she put a hand over mine - we exchanged a smile, then I continued. "So Zookeeper, I want you to relieve Vulcan of console duty. He's going to be on stand-by to go up against any instances of Legion that we have a location on. You, Journey," I said, turning to the young teleporter, "will be his transport." Emilia nodded and began jogging to the console.

"I'm mostly out of distance," Journey warned. "Depending on where in the city she's found, I've probably only got one there-and-back trip left in me. I've been meaning to mention it, but..."

"Then that will have to do," I said. "If necessary, I'll head out as well, since I'm the fastest person here beside you." I sighed. "We need to get you another cross country trip soon," I noted, and the young heroine nodded.

At that moment, Vulcan stepped in from the console room. Adam Abelard didn't have much a distinction between his civilian and superhero identities - the main difference was how formal his clothes were. The young man tended to wear button-downs and sweaters when he could, trying to reduce the intimidating effect of being a six-foot-four black man built like a truck by putting on a nerdy exterior, or so I had always assumed. Of course, my own goofy persona was at least partially for the same reason, so who was I to judge? The young hero entered the room halfway through pulling off today's sweater vest, leaving him in khaki pants and a white button down. "Do we have any idea where she is?" he asked.

"Not yet," I said. "But hopefully we will soon. Nic? She was reported about ten minutes south of the Compound."

"Give me a moment," the young man said, leaning against the wall. "I'm going to try to only send my vision so that I can still talk with you guys..." He closed his eyes and slumped a moment later. "... no, sorry, I can't hear you," he murmured. "But I'll give you updates as I go. Right now I'm at the corner of Lander and Evans and continuing south. No sign of her yet."

Adam walked over to Simone, giving her a shy smile. "How's Megan?" he asked.

She sighed. "We're on a break right now, unfortunately. How's Tyrone?"

"Us to," he said, gloomily. "At least the boss's love-life is doing fine."

Loki glanced at them. "Didn't you hear? He and Emilia broke up with Max last month," he said.

"Enough chatter," I said, shooting the cluster of young heroes a glare, then winked to show that I wasn't actually mad. "I don't mind you gossiping about me, but seriously, eyes on the prize. Pay attention to Nic and keep an ear out for anything Zookeeper calls in with. Simone, Adam, you two in particular need to be ready to move at a moment's notice."

Nic continued feeding reports over the next few minutes, but Legion hadn't made another appearance yet and without actually spotting her transforming, it was impossible to actually know who she was. It was shaping up to be a long night already.

I had to wonder what had brought Legion to New Venice. Her motivations tended to be a mystery - she sometimes mentioned having a boss, but other times insisted that she worked alone. And her actual actions held little pattern as well - in one city she would target one specific person and devour them, while in another she would steal an item from a museum. Here she would appear in public and fend off all attackers before leaving empty-handed, there she would quietly surrender to the MLED. It could be anything.

Anima and Sequoia had just returned to the Compound when I got a call on my cell phone. A quick glance at the screen said that it was Newton - I made a mental note to change the contact info now that I knew the kid's name as I answered. "What is it? Don't tell me that you've stumbled right into Legion," I joked.

There was silence. "Kid?" I asked, starting to get worried. Had something happened? Was it just an accidental call? "Come on, talk to me."

"You said not to tell you," came the whispered reply.

"What!" I face-palmed, and put them on speakerphone. "You have the worst luck, kid."

"Tell me about it. I'm on Shiketsu Street, between Hebert Avenue and Elm Street. There are two of her here right now - one with blue hair, one with purple."

"Alright, someone will be there in a minute." I glanced at Simone. "Journey, how many round trips could you make to Shiketsu Street?"

"Hm... only one, I think," she said apologetically. "I could get there, back, and halfway there again, but then I'd be out."

I glanced at Vulcan contemplatively. I could send the metal man in first and have Simone bring Quinn back to safety, and take the halfway trip myself. That was probably the best -

"Wait, shit, they're both gone!" Quinn swore. "I don't know where they went, I'm sorry!"

...or maybe I should go myself to check in on the kid. Plus I was better at pursuit and tracking than Vulcan - I had nothing against Adam, the man was a fast learner, but I had been doing this for seven years to Vulcan's three. "One moment, Quinn," I said, and hung up. "Journey, take me there. Then come back and bring Vulcan as close as you can. I'll track down at least one of the Legions - once we capture her, hopefully she can tell us what the other one is up to."

Scene 9 - October 20th
Exterior City, Continuous
Abraham Armstrong

A few seconds after I had pulled my cowl back on - there wasn't time to done the rest of the Canaveral suit, but I'd manage - I was standing next to Newton, who had apparently changed into their costume at some point in the last half hour. Simone dropped my hand, gave Newton an encouraging smile, then vanished in a swirl of spacetime.

"...wait, why didn't she take me back with her?" Quinn asked. "I figured you wouldn't want me in Legion's vicinity."

I sighed. "Because I didn't actually say for her to, and she apparently didn't think of it herself. And it's too late now - she's used up too much of her built-up distance and can't get all the way back here, let alone teleport anywhere once she arrived. I'm going to have to escort you to safety myself."

Quinn nodded. "Still being trained?" they said sympathetically.

"She's through the six-month training period, this is just an experience thing. But anyway, you said that you saw Legion?"

"Pretty sure," they said with a firm nod. "My ESP picked up one person here, then two people a moment later, who might as well have been twins. Then one of them changed shape."

"That seems pretty definitive," I agreed. "Any other details?"

They shook their head. "Sorry. I tried to stay quiet and back from the edge, so I wouldn't be noticed, and just called immediately. I peeked over again with my ESP - just stuck a finger over - and they were gone. Sorry for losing them."

"No, you did the right thing. Legion is dangerous as hell." I took a minute to poke around, but didn't find much. Not that I particularly expected to, if I was being honest with myself. "Alright, let's start moving. Where were you off to?"

"Just home - in Keystone Heights."

"That's closer than the Compound at this point, so lead the way."

Scene 10 - October 20th
Exterior City, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

"Can you tell me a little about Legion?" I asked as we began moving. "I find myself kind of curious about the villain I nearly ran into."

"Sure, what do you want to know?"

"She's high threat level, I'm guessing?" Canaveral nods. "What's the usual response to people like that?"

"At high threat level, we stop ignoring identities, for one thing," he said. "Unfortunately it doesn't much matter, in this case - Legion's real name is Penelope Page, but we can't exactly track her out of costume when she's such a powerful shapeshifter."

"I see the problem."

"We try to only send in people that are immune to their most dangerous abilities," he continued. "Aegis is the ideal, of course, but he's not available right now - in New Venice, the closest we get is Vulcan."

"She absorbs organic matter, right?" I ask. "He turns into metal, she can't do anything to him."

"She can't devour him, no. Although to be honest..." he sighed. "Alright, this is a complicated thing and I have to back up a moment. Remember how she can recreate biological structures?"

"Yeah?"

"There are a lot of really scary possibilities with that. See, brains are also biological structures..."

I went pale. "Are you saying that she can read people's minds after eating them?"

"No, reading information out of a brain isn't so simple. But she can recreate a person's head later, and interrogate them as much as she likes."

"That's somehow even worse," I decided. "Being devoured and just dying forever is one thing, even if she knows everything you did. But if she can bring you back only to torture you?"

"Yeah, it's not pretty to think about," he agreed with a wince. "On the other hand, it also means that the people she eats aren't necessarily gone forever. After one of Legion's bodies is captured, she's usually willing to bring back one or more of her victims in exchange for something."

I considered this. "What kinds of things?"

"It varies a lot," the hero told me. "Sometimes she wants to talk to someone in particular and deliver a message, other times she wants to have another prisoner released. It's hard to predict. But that's what we're hoping for every time she shows up." He sighed. "There are always more victims, unfortunately."

"How can you know that it's the person she brought back, and not just a sleeper agent?"

"Brain scans, like I said, and power testing. If it's Legion's brain - and we do have scans of her - then it's her, and will have her shapeshifting power. If it's not, then it's the actual person, and they'll be able to use their own power."

"Is there a procedure for that?" I couldn't help but ask. "People coming back from the dead?"

"For Legion in particular, you're listed as missing-in-action rather than deceased, so you get back pay for the time you were taken," he said. "If you're a hero, at least - civilians have to make their own arrangements. People have come back from other things on occasion, but as far as I know she's the only one that's regular enough for a specific rule to have been made."

"So she's beatable then," I optimistically said. "If people capture her and bring back her victims so regularly."

"I wonder, sometimes," Canaveral mused. "Her patterns since she first appeared around five years ago have been so irregular, no one really knows what she's after. It feels like she's playing a different game than the rest of us are. I've fought her three times - not here, this was before I was transferred to New Venice - and I can't help but think that she let us win the one time we captured her."

We fell silent until we reached my home.

theVoidWatches · Oct 18, 2019

Scene 11 - October 20th
Exterior Townhouse, Evening
Quinn Kaufman

"Well, this is my stop," I told Canaveral. "Thanks for escorting me home."

"Don't mention it," he told me. "Seriously - don't. Director Shepard would have preferred me to stay hot on Legion's heels." He shrugged. "She was gone anyway, and with the kind of luck you apparently have..."

I chuckled. "Yeah, I'm half surprised she isn't waiting for us here."

"Hey - don't jinx it!" We share a laugh. "Did tonight help you come to a decision, at least?"

"It..." I sighed. "Not really. This crisis kind of interrupted my thinking, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do. Don't feel bad about it."

"Why would I feel bad about it?"

"Well, I feel kind of bad about it, so..." We laugh again. "If you'd like to come hang out on a night that we're not trying to track down an unpredictable shapeshifter, give me another call. I'll let you know if we're available."

"I will." I turned to enter the townhouse my father and I shared and started digging in my bag for my keys - I had foolishly left them in my pocket when I had changed into my costume, and as dad was visiting a friend tonight the door was locked - but was interrupted by a strange noise behind me. When I glanced back, I saw Canaveral's face covered by a long, grotesque hand that lifted him off the ground, claws digging into the white fabric of his temporary cowl as he struggled. A moment later it tossed him aside and its far-too-long arm retracted, revealing his attacker.

She was a little shorter than the previous versions I saw, but more heavily built. This one seemed to have settled on green as a color scheme - a green skirt so dark it was nearly black, a pale green sleeveless shirt, and green hair that obscured her face. And she was staring right at me.
"Who are you, child?" Legion asked. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" I couldn't prevent myself from shooting back. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question? I mean, I'm the one who lives in this city!" I felt something moving from the direction Canaveral had been thrown, and hoped I wouldn't give away what he was doing.

She sighed. "Of course you do. Well then, young -" Her head suddenly exploded as a manhole cover traveling at the speed of a freight train flew through it like a frisbee.

"Run, Newton!" Canaveral called, landing from a flying leap in between me and the supervillain, who had crossed her arms as though annoyed.

"I can't just leave you!" I protested as Legion's head grew back. Tendrils crawled out of her back towards various bits of gore, which melted and reformed into her body. "...besides, I think I'd vomit if I tried to move too fast right now," I joked. "I mean, ew."

"Newton," he growled. "Go."

Instead, I dodged - I felt the ground cracking beneath our feet, and an explosion of spines and bones erupted under Canaveral. I pushed him, flinging him to the side and away from it and simultaneously sending me to the other side. Before I could touch the ground, I pushed against the earth, sending myself higher into the air.

It took me a moment to reorient myself - I closed my eyes for a moment to track the world with ESP, which didn't seem to care what my inner ear was screaming about - then I pulled at the supervillain, launching myself towards her. Legion was rooted into the ground, having shifted herself through the asphalt to create that burst of spines. I came at her fist-first, not sure what I could do against her but knowing that I couldn't do anything else.

She caught my fist in one hand, which extended to hold me above her head as I tried to grab at her. "Give me a moment, child," she chided. "Let me just deal with this pest, and then we can talk."

"Leave the kid alone!" Canaveral barked as he rushed in. He stopped on a dime as she swiped at him, staying just out of her reach - her reach at that moment, anyway - then bounced into the air to dodge her second swipe. His chain drove itself into one of her eyes and out the other - this was pretty gruesome, and I found myself thankful that I had never been squeamish.

"I just regrew my head, do you really think I put my brain back in it?" Legion asked. "Come now, Mr. Armstrong."

She was clearly storing more mass than she ought to be able to in a body that size - I could tell from my ESP that she weighed far more than she should, not to mention how dense her fingers around my fist were - like rocks. And there was little reason for her to bother with fat when she had such complete control over herself - she was probably nothing but muscle and bone, given her incredible strength. If she even had to bother with such things when she could just shapeshift bones into whatever shape she wanted - on the other hand, she certainly moved like she had joints.

If she had joints, then she had weak spots, too.

I had never tried grabbing a specific location on an object before, but... I took hold of her forearm and bicep on the arm that held me with my TK, and pulled and pushed and twisted in opposite directions, as hard as I thought I could handle.

...ow. That was gonna bruise.

It had worked, though - with a stomach-churning squelch and pop, I had dislocated her elbow, and her hand and arm dropped, instinctively releasing me as muscles reflexively failed.

Again, I pushed at the ground before I could strike it, and found myself high in the air.

She glanced up at me, apparently unconcerned with Canaveral's attempts to find her brain. "You're not going to stop, are you?" she asked.

"Nope!" I said as cheerfully as I could manage, beginning to fall back to earth. "Not until I've put at least one of you behind bars, and preferably all three!" I was doing my best to channel the nonchalance and irreverence that Canaveral had had against the drug dealers, although with only limited success.

"At least one of three, hm? Well, I'm a little busy tonight. Places to be, people to see..."

"People to see or people to be?" I quipped, and Canaveral snorted from where he struggled in her grip.

Legion laughed - the bright, tinkling laugh of someone enjoying themselves - and her hair parted itself to expose a pleased smile, curling up and tucking behind her ears. Was Canaveral really that low of a threat to her, that she had the mental capacity to not only banter with me but also mess with her own appearance, while still holding him off? "Just to see, tonight. No impersonations on the menu this time."

I landed lightly on the roof of my house. I had to keep her talking as long as I could - not only would it give other heroes a chance to get here and help me and Canaveral, but any information on what she was doing was bound to be helpful. "Are you sure? Because you're doing a great impression of someone's older sister right now."

She glanced down a Canaveral, who had mostly escaped her grasp but was now attempting to force his way closer to her despite one hand being firmly planted on the top of his head. "You know, you're not wrong."

"Newton!" Canaveral yelled. "Get the hell out of here!"

"Is that what you're going by?" Legion asked. "Newton?"

"Dunno if I'll keep it, but yeah," I confirmed. I flipped off the roof and aimed for her elbow again. I didn't really expect to hit, especially given how telegraphed this would be, so I prepared to alter my trajectory and strike her in the chest instead.

...well, I didn't hit her elbow. I also didn't hit her torso, as she expanded into a wide ring and allowed me to pass directly through her. I rolled and bounced off my feet, barely avoiding the tentacle that her unoccupied arm had turned into by dodging back around her - it came close enough that it tore my flannel, but it didn't cut through the suit. "Speaking of people who don't stop..."

Legion sighed. "This is getting very irritating. I hoped it would be the simplest stop, but no," she complained. "You just have to make this difficult, don't you?" Suddenly, the asphalt below me wrapped around my feet. I struggled, but it bound me too tightly to allow me to move, and it was creeping up my legs.

"How the hell?"

"Asphalt is made up organic compounds," she told me, then turned to face Canaveral, who had backed away from her and was staring at me in horror. "Why don't you settle down some, Canaveral?"

He balled up his fists. "Leave the kid out of this, Legion," he ordered. "They've got nothing to do with whatever brought you here!"

She chuckled. "You think so, hmm? Well, I suppose so... but..." She gave him a sly grin. "You'll have to give me a chance to speak, instead of launching things through my appendages. Deal?"

He gritted his teeth, but nodded. "Deal. Newton..." He glared at me. "Go." The asphalt, which had by that point reached my waist, peeled away, splitting into a pair of large, dark birds, both of which flew off.

I glanced helplessly between the two of them, but after a moment I finally went.

Scene 12 - October 20th
Exterior City, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

It was painful, leaving Canaveral alone. On one level, obviously I knew that he was an experienced hero and had fought Legion before. But... he had clearly been struggling, and he had little backup. Her ability to consume organic matter was clearly far more dangerous than I had initially thought, with her having absorbed and controlled asphalt of all things, and that meant that the mass of the entire street was at her command (in retrospect, no wonder she hadn't shifted even a little when I used her as an anchor for my TK).

As I moved, I couldn't help but think... what had I just done? I had leapt into a super-powered battle without even thinking. Was I meant to be a hero after all?

...no, I had been useless, I realized. Worse than useless, in fact - I had probably been distracting Canaveral, and that was why he was having difficulty. He had been trying to get me to run the entire time, and what did I do? I stuck around and made things harder for him. What kind of shitty hero would I be?

Hell, Legion had clearly not been taking the fight seriously. She had barely paid attention to Canaveral and seemed to be trying to stay deliberately nonlethal with me. She had caught me twice, both without apparent effort, and could have almost definitely absorbed me then and there if she wanted to.

Unless the PA4 that I was wearing wasn't organic? I had no idea what it was actually made of.

Still, I doubted it would have actually stopped Legion if she had been really trying. It was just a costume, psychic awakening or not, and it wasn't even armored except from the knees and elbows onward (which, I had to say, is a weird place for it to be armored). If she could mimic asphalt, I was sure that she could mimic some kind of carbon-fiber blade and cut ribbons through me.

I had to pause on a rooftop as it suddenly hit me - I really had been close to death! The gun hadn't seemed real and still didn't, somehow - maybe it was because, like I had told my dad, I had never felt in danger with Canaveral there - he hadn't been challenged at all by the gangsters. But Legion... she had been holding him off all on her own, with no difficulty at all. And she didn't have to be on her own. Any time she wanted...

I suddenly felt the need to be closer to the ground. I needed a few moments to just... not be in this context. Not be in this costume, not be in this rooftop world, to not be Newton and to be Quinn instead.

I took a moment to leap off the roof, landing in Vivaldi Park, and sat down on a bench. I glanced around briefly with my eyes and ESP and, seeing no-one around, reached for the tiny button on the clasp of my belt that would loosen the PA4 and allow me to pull the mask off.

Before I could, however, a tree behind me warped and shifted and, bird in its branches and all, became a woman. I sighed, and put my nervous breakdown on hold for a moment.

theVoidWatches · Oct 19, 2019

Scene 13 - October 20th
Exterior Vivaldi Park, Continuous
Quinn Kaufman

"I've got to tell you, Legion, I'm a little fed up with this right now," I said without turning around, instead tracking her with ESP as she approached. "I mean, I literally just ran into you a second ago, and here you are again!"

"Yes, I know," she said. This Legion's voice was a little deeper than the one Canaveral and I had just been fighting. She was taller and more broadly built, too - I supposed that there was a limit to how far she could compress the mass of the tree she had just been pretending to be. "She was meant to be speaking to - well, the important thing is that the two of us have swapped roles in this visit to your lovely city."

"How did you do that?" I asked, trying to keep her talking and not attacking. "I thought you didn't have a hivemind. Did she take a moment to give you a ring?"

"We don't, and no - phones are too easy to trace. But we can communicate information by merging our nervous systems, so..." A bird sprouted from her finger and flew around me, then returned to her hand and was reabsorbed. "A little bird told me."

"...and the other one went to your third incarnation."

She was close enough now that even with my ESP not being incredibly precise I was able to feel her tilt her head a little in acknowledgment. "Exactly - although I don't know what she was told."

I turned to look at her. "You seem chattier than the green one. A little less murdery." Her face was a little different too, I thought - or maybe it was just that her hair was a little shorter, it was hard to tell.

Legion shrugged. "We're all a little different," she said. "Our powers let us perfectly replicate any biological structure that we've absorbed, yes, but they're a little less precise when we're following a template that we haven't absorbed - although at least we can do it more than once."

"Your brain," I realized.

The shapeshifter nodded. "Each time we create a duplicate, the brain is a little different. Not much, but enough - particularly as we immediately begin having different experiences. We call it drift, and we try to keep the number of duplications since the original down - for example, I'm a third generation, so I won't be duplicating myself at all unless absolutely necessary. I suppose the me you met may have drifted a little more aggressive, and perhaps I drifted a little less so."

"Since you're feeling so talkative, why are you here?"

"I drifted less aggressive, not more naive," she said with a chuckle. "I'm here to talk to someone - so is she, actually - but I'm not about to tell you who, or about what." The woman eyed me. "Unless... no, best to be sure. I'll do it another way."

"...sure about what?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll just say this. That suit you're wearing? It granted you your powers, didn't it?"

"How did you-"

"Not important. What is important is that my boss would be very interested in getting their hands on it. They never thought that it worked at all. I would consider very carefully who you tell about it, and try to stay out of the public eye."

She gave me a surprisingly gentle smile. "And the best way to keep away from publicity is to not become a hero. Do something else with your life. Something safer." The shapeshifter patted me on the shoulder, and I tried not to tense up to much. "Good luck, Newton. I truly wish you well."

She walked back to where she had been hiding as a tree and extended a hand. Her arm stretched and bent and warped until the tree stood there once more and she separated from it, a good foot shorter and considerably slimmer as well. She then spread both arms and they extended into wings, and with one giant flap she was in the air and gone.

"We now return you to your regularly scheduled nervous breakdown," I muttered, pulling off my mask and staring it. "...what the hell was that all about?"

Scene 14 - October 20th
Exterior Townhouse, Evening
Abraham Armstrong

"Alright, say your piece," I spat at the shapeshifter. "What is it?"

"Ah ah ah," Legion said, waggling a finger at me. "Not until we're in a more secure location than, well..." she gestured to the townhouses around her. "And besides, I'm sure you have an earpiece, don't you?"

I gestured to my uncostumed state. "Sure don't. I was kind of in the middle of something when you showed up."

Legion smiled - at least, she showed teeth. "Oh I see! You're all alone then, aren't you? You just sent away your only help. No back-up, no costume... poor little lost hero..."

"If you have something to say, then say it, before I go back to ripping you to shreds," I growled. "I'm not in the mood for banter right now. You've kind of ruined what was supposed to be a nice night."

"Oh? I didn't interrupt anything private, did I?"

"I'm going to give you a count of ten. One..."

She rolled her eyes. "Just give me your assurance that you won't put this little chat in your report, and I'll say what I have to say."

"Then give me a reason not to. Five..."

Legion produced a badge that read Ambrosia Co. "Is this good enough?"

"...talk." I had had no idea she was part of Ambrosia. This... could explain a lot about her unpredictable activities.

She reabsorbed the badge and began examining her nails, as though they could be anything less than perfect given her shapeshifting abilities. "Madam Thornhill is a trifle annoyed with your recent drug bust," she informed me. "She had plans for that brawn."

I crossed my arms. "And? It's my job. A job your company is responsible for me having, by the way."

"Oh, she's not annoyed at you," Legion assured me. "As you say, it's your job. No, her ire is directed at a friend of yours. One Maxwell Copperfield."

My blood froze. "You're here for Max," I heard myself say, my voice thick with sudden worry.

"Oh yes. He's had dealings with our company in the past, you see, and Thornhill isn't happy that he decided to go against us."

"What are you going to do to him."

"Me? Nothing," Legion chuckled. "And no, I don't mean that a different me is going to kill him. I just want to talk to the man. He's being given a second chance, you see." She paused for a moment, but I said nothing. "It won't even be a hardship for him - I understand that he's already chosen his next target, and it's exactly what we would have had him steal. All we want is to borrow it, a little."

"So what are you doing here," I stressed.

"Here? Nothing, anymore - I've passed that task on to a different me. I just need to know Max's location," Legion said. "After all, he gave away his hideout's rough location to you a few days ago - he's bound to have moved by now."

"...I..." I rubbed my temples. Really. "What makes you think I'll tell you?" I finally asked.

She shifted her hand into the badge again. "You still have two favors left, Abraham Armstrong," she said. "...come now, surely you knew this was coming eventually?"

"So what, just tell you where you can find him, and, I assume, don't stop you from doing so?"

"Precisely."

I thought about it. It was certainly simpler than the last favor I had done for the Ambrosia Company. Less dangerous, too. And, I hoped, maybe less evil? ...on the other hand, I had thought that I was rescuing someone, back then. Ambrosia had a way of making things more complicated - they told you only what you needed to know, and more than that, only what would be palatable to you. But, as I had learned from that favor, there was always more beneath the surface. What was Max planning on going after, and what would be the result of Ambrosia borrowing it?

"Fine, I'll tell you," I said after a few minutes as she patiently waited. "But you have to tell me what you intend on borrowing from Max."

She shrugged. "There's no harm in it, I suppose. He's after an instructional book written by Merlin. Mr. Mercer would also very much like to see that book, which I don't think will come as a surprise to you. So..."

"...fine. He'll still be in his building on the docks," I told her. "The man's too lazy to move."

"...he has magical powers that can literally pack up everything he owns in the snap."

"And he won't have used them," I assured her. "He gets hyperfocused on things and forgets about everything else, unless something drags him out of his tunnel vision - and he doesn't have anyone to do that for him right now."

Legion facepalmed. "That's what I get for assuming the best of people." She turned to go.

"Wait," I called before I could stop myself. "Why did you waste one of my favors on something so simple?"

She gave me a smile over her shoulder. "One good turn deserves another. You helped save my life, Canaveral - the least I can do is help you get out from under Ambrosia's thumb." Then she was gone in a flurry of black wings, rising up and away as a flock of crows.

I stared. When - how - what?

theVoidWatches · Oct 20, 2019

Scene 15 - October 21st
Interior Townhouse, Early Afternoon
Quinn Kaufman

"...and after I was done crying, I walked back home and went to bed," I said, wrapping up the tale of what had happened while my dad was out last night. "You weren't home just yet, I don't think, but both Legion and Canaveral were gone when I got back here."

Dad was silent for a bit as he digested this. "I'm not exactly happy that such a dangerous villain was right outside our house," he said eventually. "It doesn't seem like there was anything you could do about that, though, and you did everything you could - more than you should have maybe, but you did great."

I stared in surprise.

"What?" he asked. "Did you think I was going to be mad at you?"

"Well... you seemed upset about the gun thing," I ventured.

He shook his head. "I wasn't angry that you were in danger. Worried, sure, but if you're considering being a hero, then you're going to be in danger a lot, and that's just something I need to get used to. I was upset because it seemed like you hadn't noticed the danger, which is another thing entirely."

Dad tapped his fingers impatiently for a moment. "I'm certain there's a quote that's applicable here, but for the life of me I can't think of it," he complained. "The point I'm trying to make, though, is that I don't want you to rush into danger without being aware of it. That's how you get hurt. And I don't want you to forget when you are in danger. But what you did last night?" He took my hand and squeezed it encouragingly. "You knew that you were in danger, but you didn't fall apart until afterward. And then, when the danger wasn't actually over, you held together until it was.

"I admit that I probably don't know much about what it takes to be a hero, but I would think that being able to put things aside when you have to is important."

I blinked at him. "Why did I think you didn't want me to be a hero?"

"I have no idea, kid," he said with a chuckle. "I would love for you to be a hero. I think you would do amazing. And I don't want you to give up on that just because you don't think you can - if you really don't want to, that's one thing, but..."

I sighed. "I honestly don't know at this point, Dad. That fight was..." I drummed my fingers on the table beneath his hand, and he released me. "Exhilarating," I finally said. "I know that probably sounds weird, but..."

"Not at all, a lot of people think adrenaline feels great."

I ignored him.

"I enjoyed it as I was doing it. But I was so useless. All I did was get in the way."

"You'll be trained," Dad said, trying to comfort me.

"Training? What good will that do when my powers couldn't do anything? I couldn't protect myself, I couldn't help Canaveral, all I could do was..." I sighed, looking away. "All I could do was run away."

"Quinn. Kiddo." Dad gently took my chin and turned my head so he could look into my eyes. "You're letting your anxieties get the better of you," he told me, seriously. "You're a beginner at the hero thing - less than that, you haven't even really started. You can't compare yourself to people who've been doing this five, ten years, and expect to match up perfectly."

"But I'll have to, no one is going to slow down to match me -"

"How long have you been training to be a doctor?"

I blinked. "A little over three years, I guess?"

"Does that match up to actual doctors?"

"Of course not, they have another five years of schooling over me, not to mention years of residency before they're proper doctors on their own-"

"Would you expect yourself to match up to a doctor, then?"

"Well, no, not until I'm through with school-"

"So why are you comparing yourself to heroes when you haven't even had six months of training?"

I closed my eyes and leaned forward, resting my head on the table. "I guess you're right."

"I usually am, kiddo," Dad said, and even though I wasn't looking at him I could hear the smile in his voice. "And here's another secret for you - if someone was injured, and the only other person to help them was some random guy without even your three years of premed, which do you think they would want to help them?"

"...me."

"There you are then."

I raised my head. "Maybe it's just... I feel like I'd be throwing my medical career away, if I went into hero work. It's not exactly a part-time job, once you're through the Journeymen. It feels like I'd be losing the progress I've made towards one long and difficult career just to start all over in another."

Dad patted me on the shoulder. "You'd be helping people either way, and either way I'll be proud of you. And Quinn..." he paused, as though unsure he should say what came next. "Your mother would be too."

Scene 16 - October 22nd
Interior Thrift Shop, Afternoon
Quinn Kaufman

Instead of going home with Dad after school the next day, I decided to head over to the Waterfront district - I had some shopping that I wanted to do. While I still hadn't made a decision about being a hero, I definitely didn't want to stop going out and about as Newton - if nothing else, it made commutes much easier. And if I was going to go out in costume and plaid and get it destroyed as I had last night, I was going to need more shirts.

I mean, I wasn't exactly planning on getting into more fights, but apparently wearing a costume made them inevitable - I was two for two so far. As such, I was out to find all the cheap flannel I could get in the thrift stores that filled the area.

It was going pretty well when I spotted a familiar-looking face - the blonde girl from the Compound, the one who had introduced herself as Loki's secret identity. She was browsing a little farther down the aisle, with some finds of her own in a bag. What had her name been? Hollis? Sally? No, Holly!

"Hey, Holly!" I called, walking toward her.

She turned to face me, blinking in surprise. "Quinn?"

"It's nice to see you again," I said with a smile. "I didn't expect to run into you!"

Holly smiled back, "It's good to see you too," she said, and glanced down at the bag I was holding. "Wow, that's a lot of flannel."

I shrugged. "One of mine got kind of destroyed by, well," I took a moment to peer around with ESP to make sure no one was paying us any attention - it didn't seem like it. "By Legion - the bossman probably mentioned what happened."

"Only briefly. Are you alright?"

"Fine," I assured her. "Tore through the shirt, but I think my suit must be tougher than it looks. I've got nothing worse than bruises."

"That's a relief." Her eyes flickered up and down me for a moment. "Heh. I like your shirt."

I glanced down to see what I had pulled out of my dresser today - it was the shirt I had found the same night as the PA4, the ~~Mr.~~ ~~Mrs.~~ Dr. shirt that had belonged to my mother. "Thanks! Seems fitting, you know? Anyway, I figure if I'm going to be wearing plaid shirts over my costume, I should probably have some extras. What are you looking for?"

She shrugged. "Nothing in particular, really, I just enjoy looking for deals, you know? I like browsing for stuff and then finding the same stuff, or similar, for less in other places."

"I see." I paused, then asked, "do you know if Legion's been caught yet?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. She hasn't been seen since that night, actually - the conversation you had with her after retreated from the battle was the last reported sighting."

We stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither of us seeming to be quite sure where to take the conversation, before she shifted a little and spoke again. "You said the shirt was fitting - do you want to be a doctor, then?" I nodded. "What kind? Medical, scientific, magical?"

"Medical. I'm planning on specializing in metahuman medicine - right now it's just bio, of course. What about you, are you in college?"

"Yeah, I'm a senior at UNV."

"Oh hey, me too!" I offered a high five, which she returned.

"Nice! I'd say it's weird we've never run into each other, but it's a big campus and we're not exactly in the same department."

"I think we might have been in the same art history course sophomore year, actually," I said, trying to think. "Big circular hall with a giant holoprojector in the middle?"

"Maybe," she said thoughtfully. "I definitely took an art history course in that room - Pardee Hall, right? But it had so many people that I really have no clue."

"Hm. Anyway, I think I interrupted you - what were you saying?"

"You're good," Holly assured me. "I was just saying that we're in completely different departments - you're bio, I'm magical studies and art."

"Oh, you're an artist too?" I asked. "What kind? I do a lot of sketching, myself."

"Sculpture, mostly, although I dabble in all sorts. It helps with the..." she made a gesture which my eyes and ESP both insisted wasn't possible - her fingers seemed to pass through each other, and she suddenly had too many of them, and also too few, and even though it took less than a second my head was starting to ache. When she was done blatantly breaking the laws of physics with one hand, she was holding a rose.

I tried to ignore the headache, and reached out. "May I?" She nodded, so I took the rose. I felt nothing, but it moved as though I was actually holding it. When I pressed my fingers together, it actually seemed to be depressing my flesh as though there was actually a stem in the way, even though I could feel that there wasn't.

It was very, very cool, even if it wasn't helping my headache to have my senses arguing about the truth.

"I don't actually use illusions, I manually control photons and sound waves," she told me, "so I need to understand what makes art realistic. All my work is in hyper-realistic styles to help me get that understanding, even though I'd prefer to work in a more cartoony style." She sighed. "It would nice to be able to make a portrait in less than 20 hours, you know?"

I nodded. "I kind of get what you mean. I'd like to draw more realistically, myself, but I rarely have time for more than cartoony sketches between all my classes. Hell, I have to do most of that in class."

"I'd love to take a look sometime, if you don't mind," Holly offered. "I can probably give you advice on making your drawings a little more realistic."

"Would you? That would be great. Art classes just don't fit into my schedule anymore."

"Ugh, scheduling is the worst," she complained. "Magical studies is easy, but like I said, hyper-realism is so time-consuming. Not to mention my, ah, part-time job, and my independent magical research. And just imagine trying to schedule dungeons and dragons around all of that!"

"How do you find time to sleep?" I asked. "Really, I'm genuinely curious."

"I don't," she deadpanned, "I just cover my eye-bags with magic. Who needs makeup?"

We laughed. After a moment, though, I mentally backtracked. "Hold on, did you say that magical studies is easy? I heard that was one of the hardest majors?"

She shrugged. "Eh. It's more frustrating than hard. So many mages hoarded - and still hoard - magical lore that there's just not enough information out there. And there's no practical magic at all, which is part of my frustration. I mean, how can you call yourself a magician without actually being able to use magic?"

"Or at least wearing a top hat."

theVoidWatches · Oct 21, 2019

Scene 17 - October 22nd
Interior Restaurant, Early Evening
Holly Koval

I ended up continuing to shop with Kaufman - they had a decent chunk of budget left, and I took it upon myself to help them get the best deals. Plus, they had terrible taste in plaid patterns, and someone had to save them from their own fashion sense. It's my duty as a hero, I joked when they tried to decline the offer.

After finishing a round of the thrift shops in the waterfront district, we decided to get dinner together at the Shrieking Eel, a cheap seafood place that was a lot better than its name suggested. Somehow, the topic of conversation - which had gone surprisingly smoothly after its initial awkward start - had returned to magic.

"Say, since you're probably the best magician I actually know," Kaufman asked as the plate of salmon we were going to share arrived, "do you mind explaining some things? I don't know much about magic myself, so I'm a little confused about... most of it."

"Of course!" I said happily. I loved talking about magic - it was my chief passion in life. Sure, heroism was important too, and art was great, but if I was honest with myself, magic was what I really got up in the morning for. "Just tell me if I start to get too long-winded - I know most people aren't as into it as I am."

"I'll stop you if you forget to breath," they assured me, and I chuckled. "I guess my first question is... how exactly does it work?"

"Quite well, thank you."

"No no, I mean how does it actually work? Like, even on a basic level, are you manipulating gravitons or plucking on fundamental strings or what?"

I nodded understandingly. "I know what you mean, Quinn, and I'm sorry to tell you that no one really knows. Magic is a mystery - if it wasn't, we probably wouldn't call it magic anymore. We'd call it... I don't know... thaumaturgy, probably. Finding the thaum, a fundamental particle of magic, is the life's work of a hell of a lot of magicians, including Arthur Peregrine himself, but no one has ever been able to.

"The most commonly accepted theory is that... well, have you heard about string theory? Lots of tiny dimensions beyond the three spatial dimensions and one for time?"

"Yeah," they confirmed.

"Well, the theory is that magic somehow taps into those dimensions. Whether they're so small that they're impossible to notice or they're so large that they're impossible to notice, it's possible, by arranging your mind right, to pull energy from them. Or use them to manipulate your surroundings. Like a two-dimensional creature picking up a pair of scissors and rearranging their paper however they want."

Kaufman seems to consider this for a moment. "I may not be a physicist," they admitted, "but I don't think that actually makes much sense."

"Agreed," I said with a nod. "But that's the most common theory."

"What's yours?"

"I think it's a bit more fundamental than that."

"More fundamental that string theory? Don't tell the string theorists that," they joked.

I gave them a playful shove, and stole the piece of salmon that they had been going for. "Har har. No, really. I think there's some kind of fundamental law of the universe that makes it respond to thoughts, as long as they're the right ones."

"Why would that be?"

"Well, you've heard about Arthur Peregrine's proof of the existence of the soul, right?" I asked.

"I don't think I'm subscribed to that periodical. Tell me?"

"This was 1962. He was able to prove that soul energy existed, on a third level of reality. It's like..." I paused to gesture, arranging my mind to create an image hovering in midair. "Imagine that this sheet is the universe."

Kaufman nodded. "Okay. Is this like the sheet that gravity distorts?"

"Sort of. This sheet is an empty universe," I clarified. "No particles, no energy. Now..." With a thought, a few places on the sheet were pulled downward and twisted a little. "These are particles - they distort the universe around them, which affects nearby particles."

"I'm with you so far."

"Imagine an arrangement of these particles which warped space in a way that created a similar, self-sustaining warp - a new particle, where one hadn't been before."

"Don't the laws of thermodynamics object to that?" they asked.

I shrugged. "It's not actually new matter or energy - it just looks like it. Let me show you." I set my illusory teaching aid so that the original particles were in a circle, all pulling the sheet down - in the middle, it rose up above the normal level of the sheet. "You see, particles are on a level below spacetime, in this metaphor. But the energy that makes up the soul lies above."

Kaufman hummed to themself as they digested the idea. "So certain arrangements of particles - which, I assume, include brains?" I nodded in confirmation, and they continued, "will create soul energy. And I'm guessing that soul energy can similarly interact to affect real particles?"

"Essentially," I agreed. "It's a lot more complicated than that, really, but you've basically got it. Everyone has soul energy naturally, but magical training involves training your brain to generate more or it, as well as to get more control over it. It's been accepted magical theory for centuries that souls were real, but because they're on a different level of reality, it was difficult to prove."

"How did he do it?"

"I'd need a lot more than one dinner to get you to the level you'd need to be to understand that," I said apologetically.

"Is that an invitation?" they asked, and I found myself blushing, especially as they continued, "because you're a great teacher, and I'd love to keep learning about this stuff."

"Um," I stammered, having never been as thankful for the illusions that constantly replaced my actual appearance as I was then - it made hiding my red cheeks easy. "Maybe? Like I said, I'm very busy."

"Of course," they said, accepting my non-answer easily. "That all makes sense to me, I have to say. Although of course I don't really know anything about magic." Kaufman - no, Quinn, I decided - was a lifesaver, having effortlessly steered the conversation back to magic. "I do have another question, though."

"Shoot," I said, still trying to get my heartrate back under control.

"Canaveral and I met the Magnificent Maxwell last week."

"He mentioned something of the sort."

"Well," Quinn continued, "when he did magic, he did it by snapping his fingers, or waving his arm. But when I've seen you do it, you kind of..." they tried to brush their fingers together, presumably trying to replicate one of the gestures I used for my own magic and failing. "...it's different, is the point," they said, giving up trying to copy me.

"Well, we're different people," I agreed.

They groaned and leaned forward, resting their forehead on the table. I resisted the urge to run my fingers through their hair as they complained, "Holly, come on!"

"It's the real answer though!" I protested. "Look, souls are created by brains, which are unique, or the next best thing to it - only a few people can duplicate them flawlessly. That means that souls are unique too. So the methods of manipulating yourself to cause your soul to manipulate the world to do magic will vary from person to person!"

"Is that how Canaveral does it without even a gesture?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, never mind." Quinn sat back up. "So wait, how much do souls have to do with consciousness?"

"Oh, you want consciousness," I said dismissively. "That's psionic territory, that's completely different. Well, mostly," I admitted after a moment,

They rubbed their forehead. "I feel like I've stumbled into a vast new world that makes absolutely no sense, even though I know all the words. Is this how people feel when I talk about biology?"

"Probably." We shared a laugh. "Any other questions?"

"Well..." They took a moment to pay for their half of the meal, and I did the same. "You mentioned that you're not making magical illusions, right? What are you doing, if it's not an illusion?"

I dismissed my teaching aide as we rose and begin meandering. "This is the bit where magic and psionics overlap," I told them. "Imagine a dog."

"Okay."

"What kind is it?"

"Golden retriever."

I nodded. "I was thinking of a beagle, myself."

"Good choice, but what does that have to do with...?"

"The point is, that we both had the same prompt - a dog," I said, "but we were thinking of different kinds of dog. Which is the weakness of an illusion."

"I think I'm missing something here."

"See, an illusion isn't real," I explained.

"Well I get that, but..."

"It's not even interacting with particles. Light and sound? They go right through."

"Hold on," Quinn protested, "how do you see it? Does it make its own photons?"

I shook my head. "Remember how I said this was the overlap with psionics? Illusions are just slapped down on the psychic landscape."

"...I'm missing something again."

"Alright, imagine that we both look at that telephone pole there," I said.

"Why do I have to imagine that instead of actually looking?" they asked.

I ignored their meaningless interjection. "We both look at it and think telephone pole. Our thoughts leave pressure on the psychic landscape - which is basically just the residue of everything everyone has ever thought about something - so now that telephone pole has a slightly stronger impression."

"I think I'm with you," Quinn said with a smirk.

"Most thoughts just blur out, but the ones that people keep having merge and become stronger," I said. "That's how things like tulpas and religions get started - lots of people all thinking the same thing. That's how even blind psychics can get around - they can sense that something is thought of as a telephone pole, even without seeing it. Hell, it's how a person can just seem like a Michael or a John or whatever. Even without being psychically sensitive, most people can pick up on a strong enough psychic impression."

"So an illusion..."

"There are no shortcuts, with psionics," I told them. "If you want to make lasting a psychic impression, it takes a lot of thought, a lot of people, or both. But magic can give you that shortcut. Just punch a strong enough impression of a dog somewhere, and people will actually see that dog - their brain picks up on the dog in the psychic landscape and will add one into your vision even though your eyes don't see anything."

"Ah!" they said in realization. "But I see a golden retriever, and you see a beagle!"

"Exactly!" I said approvingly, clapping them on the shoulder. "A real dog would have some golden retriever in its impression too, or whatever its breed is. And its behavior, and so on. Your brain will fill in anything that's not there, yes, but each brain is different, so everyone will see those parts of an illusion differently. Remember Max? What did he look like?"

"Handsome. Short brown hair, sharp cheekbones. Strong jawline."

I nodded. "Probably not."

"No?"

"No," I said again. "Because I see him with curly black hair down to his shoulders and bright green eyes."

"He wears an illusion?" they asked.

"Yeah, it's just an impression of a handsome man," I explained. "Whatever you think of as handsome is what you'll see."

Quinn thought about this for a while as we continued walking together. "Illusions sound pretty easy to see through, if you just have a partner," they said after a while.

"Harder than you think," I told them. "After all, how often do you compare what you think you see with other people?"

"Fair point."

"But yeah, that's a definite weakness. You can put more into your impression if you want to make them more consistent - say, specify the dog as being a golden retriever, and then I wouldn't see a beagle. But the more details you give to the mental construct yourself, the more likely it will be inconsistent with what the viewers think, and then it'll act in obviously fake ways. Plus, the more detail you use the more difficult it is."

"I understand, mostly," Quinn decided. "And what do you do, instead?"

"One of two methods, both of which are the hard way," I complained. "One is that I make a mental construct and place it into the actual world as soul energy, not into the psychic landscape. It actually does affect reality as it's supposed to - at least, for the interactions that I've managed to model properly, which is just photons and sound waves for now - but people's brains don't cover for imperfections like with illusions, so I need to really really understand how everything works in order to make it realistic. That's what I have to do for anything that's going to last when I'm not paying attention to it."

"And the other?"

"I manually control whatever photons or sound waves I'm working with," I said. "Also immensely complicated - even more so, if I'm doing anything that needs to be realistic. On the other hand, without the start-up time of creating the mental construct, it's way faster. That way is good for lasers and shock waves and other offensive uses."

"I can't even imagine how much concentration and effort it must take to control individual photons like that," Quinn said, awed. "How on earth do you do it?"

I gave them a proud smile. "I'm very good."

theVoidWatches · Oct 22, 2019

Scene 18 - October 21st
Interior Hideout, Morning
Maxwell Copperfield

I yawned as I stepped out of the shower, already clad in the illusion of my true appearance, but not bothering to wear my suit. After all, I wasn't planning on going anywhere as the Magnificent Maxwell, today. Well, I'm always magnificent, but I wasn't going to be Magnificent. It was just another day of internet research, along with the usual daily routine.

After my successful theft of Dallas's thesis, I had read through it to learn where Merlin's introductory guide had been when the thesis was written in 1964. I had hoped that I would be able to take a brief jaunt to wherever it was and steal it immediately, but had run into a problem.

The book had been in storage in a London museum - the fools had no idea what they had had - but when I took a moment to check that museum's files, I discovered that it had been transferred to a different branch of the museum for display in 1971. Then in 1976 it was put back into storage, until 1984 when it was gifted to a different museum...

It was tricky enough to track it, given how few of the museums kept their records online, that I completely understood why it had gotten Dallas his thesis. I had spent the last two months tracking the damn thing, and was still only up to 2009!

The latest problem that had risen in my tracking was that the book, along with a number of other artifacts, had wound up back in London in what was apparently the site of the original Camelot, for a cultural heritage festival or some such thing. The festival had been attacked by a magical supervillain and defended by a magical superhero and, with all the magic flying about, most of the relics had somehow managed to fall into the foundation stones of Camelot!

The hero had been very apologetic, of course, but it had been a huge blunder - particularly since she had been unable to recover the items from the stones. Apparently there had been a preexisting enchantment which had probably been laid by Merlin to use the stones as storage, and it was that enchantment which had malfunctioned from the various energies being thrown around. She said that the extradimensional space had been thoroughly locked to her, and there was no way to bring them out.

Well, maybe Murphy Fox was so easily stymied, but extra-dimensional pockets were exactly my area of expertise. I was confident that I would have no trouble extracting the book when I got my hands on the right stone.

The trouble was, no one had made note of which relic had fallen into which stone. From one book, I suddenly had to track 14 large stones, each of which was displayed in different museums across the globe. And when I figured out where they were, I would have to check each one for its contents!

Supervillainy didn't pay enough for this, I mused as I picked up a phone to dial today's museum, and put on a British accent. "Hello, Carnegie History Museum? This is Wynne Jones, from the British Museum. No, the one in Denver. I'm calling about an item that our museum donated to yours in 2009, a stone from the foundations of Camelot..."

Scene 19 - October 21st
Exterior Restaurant, Noon
Maxwell Copperfield

I took a break from calling museums and occasionally hacking databases around lunchtime to, well, get lunch. I had forgotten to go grocery shopping last week and a man cannot live on cereal alone, so I had to venture into the world and acquire food.

I picked a rather nice place downtown that Emilia had introduced me to last year - some truly excellent steak, although the potatoes I had ordered with it today weren't the best. I spent a pleasant lunch flirting with the corporate-looking woman eating a solitary lunch of her own at the table next to me, and had just asked for the check and a doggie bag when an acquaintance showed up.

"Maxwell Copperfield," said the hero Starling, as he stared down at me disdainfully. "What are you doing here?"

I raised an eyebrow at the man. "Lunch," I told him.

He rolled his eyes. "I can see that. Why?"

"...I need to eat, Brant," I reminded him. "Magic can do a lot of things, but I still need food."

He glared, leaning over the table at me. I refused to give him the satisfaction of leaning back. "I'm watching you, Copperfield. Keep your nose out of trouble. Don't do anything you'll regret."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already walking away, swirling his green cape around him as though he looked cool doing it. The man absolutely had to have the last word. "Asshole," I muttered to myself.

"Sorry about him," apologized his partner for the day, Referee. She was the youngest of the Journeymen, and in my opinion the most powerful. She emitted a magical aura around her that averaged out people's abilities, putting everyone on an fair footing. The weak became stronger, the fast became slower... even the effects of chance were neutralized, supposedly. Everyone was equal in whatever contest took place in her aura, whether it be a fight or a game of football. All that remained was skill. "He's in a bad mood because Legion isn't in custody yet."

I blinked in surprise. "Legion is in town?" She nodded. "How many?"

"Three," she told me. "Apparently she arrived last night, a few hours before my flight touched down. Canaveral had a run-in with her so we know that she's only here to talk to people, but..." she sighed. "I'm worried that he'll want me along next time she shows up. He didn't have much success against her, so..."

Referee was in high demand for the effects of her aura, I knew - along with civilians who wanted her overseeing tournaments and the like, every MLED director in the country wanted her to help with whatever overpowered menace was threatening their city that day. With her along, anyone was able to take on threats like Legion or Graviton, while without her there were only a few who could do so and have any hope of succeeding.

"How can they justify having you on patrol with her out there?" I asked.

The kid shrugged. "Danger ratings don't really apply to me," she pointed out. "Legion isn't any more or less dangerous to me than anyone else, so..."

"Point." I glanced at where Starling was sulking a little ways down the street, signing an autograph for someone. "Do you know why he confronted me? Usually he just pretends I don't exist. Even when we're out with friends, actually. Very rude." I idly opened up a pocket and snatched the ink out from the pen he was using for the autograph, and the hero muttered as it stopped writing in the middle of his signature.

"We're supposed to give you a message," Referee told me. "Apparently one of the things that Legion is in town for is to talk to you, specifically."

I turned my attention away from Starling. "What? Why would she want to talk to me?"

The junior heroine shrugged. "I wasn't told the reason - all I know is that she's looking for you."

"Hmm." No one really understood what Legion was up to or what her motives were - she had been a mystery since she appeared. "Well, I'll keep an eye out. Thanks for the warning, Molly."

"Hey!" She jabbed me in the shoulder. "It's Referee when I'm in costume, Max."

I smirked at her. "Well then, it's Magnificent to you."

"You're not in costume-" she began, but stopped when I snapped my fingers and instantly donned my suit. "Touche."

Scene 20 - October 21st
Interior Hideout, Early Evening
Maxwell Copperfield

I was grateful for Referee's warning, but to be honest, I didn't change my plans at all. It wasn't as though Legion could do any harm to me, after all - few could, when I could dump anyone without magical resistance into a pocket dimension and dispose of them however I chose. Legion, to the best of my knowledge, had nothing to do with magic whatsoever, so there was no reason she would have any magical resilience.

I saw no reason to fear the woman - however many of her there were, I could dump up to three tons into my pocket dimensions. And yes, the various tools and tricks I currently kept in them took up probably half a ton - I kept a lot on hand, just in case - but that was still two and a half tons of space if I needed it. If she showed up, I'd simply drop her into a pocket dimension and deal with her later.

So after lunch, I returned to my hideout and continued my work. Not the drudgery of tracking stones through museums - that I left relegated to the morning. No, the afternoons were reserved for my real work, my passion, my one true love - magic.

It was a constant struggle to advance my magical knowledge and skill. Oh, it was a struggle I was up to, yes, but magic was so esoteric and complex that it was extraordinarily difficult and time-consuming to expand your knowledge at all. Every type of magic seemed to differ from every other kind - the one illusion spell I had managed to learn required a completely different mindset than my dimensional pockets did. Everyone who used magic, whether magician, wizard, or conjurer, had a particular type of magic that they excelled at, something which came naturally to them. When they sought to learn something new, it was far more difficult. But the closer it was to something they had already mastered - or better yet, to their particular specialty - the easier it was. That was why, as I sought to expand my magical repertoire, I was beginning with a modification of the dimensional pockets I had, at this point, mastered.

Typically, when I opened a pocket and dumped something in, it lost all kinetic energy - no matter how fast it had been going, the energy was lost when I reopened its pocket and deposited it back into the world. I had high hopes that I could do the opposite as well - release things from their extra-dimensional storage with more speed. That alone would vastly increase my prowess, but even more than that, it could be my gateway from dimensional manipulation into kinetic manipulation, and from kinetic energy it should be a short step into thermal energy, sound energy, and more...

But first, I had to crack the secret of adding kinetic energy back.

I had tried a number of modifications to my mental state as I cast, most of them simply causing the spell to fail. One, that I had filed under 'never try this again,' had apparently released the matter that I had dumped from its pocket as energy instead - a complete matter-to-energy conversion. It had been an enormous explosion, which I only barely managed to contain by pocketing all the air in my test chamber - the shockwave had been unable to travel, and while the incredible heat had scorched the walls, they were made from sturdy enough stuff that it had survived. It was a good thing that I was doing my experimentation on such small objects, too - individual granules of flour, typically.

My current line of experimentation was based on that failure, though - if I could release the things I pocketed as energy instead of matter, perhaps I could release only some of it. Certainly, I could release only a part of an object - that had been easy. But releasing most of it normally while selecting only a few atoms to convert to energy, and attempting to limit it to kinetic energy? That was more of a mental balancing act.

Part of the reason that magical experimentation is so slow is that when you're creating a new spell, it takes a long time to fix it in your mind. The ways you have to bend your thinking to cast magic at all are as twisted as a hose after a winter in the garage, but it becomes easy with practice. Trying to tie your mind in an entirely new knot? You're lucky if you can make more than one attempt an hour, between the lengthy meditation and the struggle to figure out what went wrong in the previous experiment.

All of that to say that I made only a few attempts that afternoon. My latest failure had nearly worked, but the energy had come out as thermal rather than kinetic, causing a brief spark as the single grain of flour burst into flame and then burned out. As it was nearly dinnertime, I was about ready to call it a day, when a voice came from behind me.

"Ah, Max," it said, in a pleasant soprano. "So good to see you."

I whirled on the intruder who had dared to enter into my hideout. "Who the hell are you?" I demanded, producing one of the guns that the woman from Ambrosia had lost to me last week. I usually didn't keep guns, returning them to the NVPD for the bounty they paid on criminals' guns, but I hadn't had a chance to bring the latest batch over yet.

The intruder, a woman in green who was built like an Amazon, ignored my question. "Silly of you not to move after last week, but I suppose you never were a smart one." She smiled at me. "And don't bother trying to drop me into your hammerspace," she warned me as I tried to do just that without success. "I ate a tree before I came in - I'm a little beyond your weight limit right now."

I blanched. "Legion."

"The one and only," she said with a smirk, giving a brief bow. "...well, I suppose that's not quite accurate." The villain laughed. "But you have no need to worry, Max. I'm not here to fight - in fact..." She grinned fiendishly at me again. "I'm here to help."

theVoidWatches · Oct 23, 2019

Scene 21 - October 22nd
Interior Warehouse, Evening
"Penelope Page" (Blue)

I met with my other selves in the backup rendezvous. While my mission had gone off without a hitch, the periodic updates we had passed on by bird mail told me that both of them had run into superheroes. Patron of Ambrosia Co. or not, Canaveral was altogether too good of a person to trust, and too good of a tracker to use the primary safehouse that the company kept in New Venice.

As a result, instead of a nice office space we had to meet in a warehouse. It wasn't that much of a hardship, I supposed, but still. I - or at least, this iteration of me, one step away from the original Penelope Page, - preferred a little more comfort, if I was given the choice. Ah well.

The third gen iterations arrived shortly after me - one of them slipping in wearing the face of a dockworker, then shrinking down into a butch-looking woman in a waistcoat and a purple undercut. The other came in through the roof after landing there as a flock of birds, showing herself in a green-colored women's school uniform of some sort. Very few iterations of me had any strong preferences towards any particular look, but we tended to settle on a single aesthetic simply to help distinguish ourselves from each other.

I nodded to them as they arrived. "Student. Butch." Names, on the other hand, had been trickier, at least for the first year. After that, we all agreed that we simply had to go by whatever name was suggested by our chosen aesthetic, or things got confusing.

They both nodded to me. "How did things go for you, Blue?" asked Butch.

I shrugged. "No trouble on my end - none of the guards had any suspicions, and our imprisoned friend had been rescued by us before. I chose an IT girl for the infiltration and ensured that the cell's cameras suffered a malfunction when I slipped down there. Thornhill's best purchaser is free once more, albeit in the IT girl's body, and a body with signs of a heart attack has been left behind. I thought it would be a fun challenge, after I let them spot me, but the fools apparently didn't expect me to be sneaking into their base - I can't imagine why not."

It was a simple trick, and one that I had done several times before - I could perfectly replicate anyone if I absorbed them, but I didn't have to limit myself to pure recreation. I was fully capable of mixing and matching as I chose. By leaving behind a copy of the IT girl's body with Thornhill's agent's brain, the agent would be able to cover for the unfortunate that I had used to slip through the MLED's security. In a week or two she would submit a letter of resignation, and no one would connect it to the sudden death of who they thought the agent had been - the body that had been left behind, of course, was another copy of me, one who sometime today would have arranged herself to appear as though she was having massive cardiac arrest, then replace her own brain with that of the IT girl, who would die before even really waking.

Student rolled her eyes. "Yes, we've all done the trick before. We know how it works."

I glared at her. "You're one to talk, Student, when you messed up a mission as simple as 'pass on Laura's last messages to her family.'"

"It's not my fault that there were superheroes knocking at the family door! I decided not to potentially screw things up, and took on a different mission!" she defended herself.

I turned to Butch. "And did you finish the mission, after you two decided to swap?"

She fidgeted a little. "Well... after getting the message I had a hunch that the younger of the two heroes, the one who was wearing Laura's invention, might be her child. I was going to deliver her message to them, but... I decided that it was better to be safe, since I didn't actually know their identity."

I frowned at her. "Come on, Butch. Who else was it going to be? They had a key to the house for gods' sake!"

"Boyfriend? Girlfriend? I don't know! I realize that it was probably the kid, yes, but you know we're supposed to respect identity stuff! The heroic patrons get pissy if Ambrosia is sketchy where anyone can see!"

I rolled my eyes. "That's more of a guideline. Besides, no one knows that Legion is associated with Ambrosia."

"Um..." Student scratched at the back of her head. "I kind of spent Canaveral's second favor."

"...on what." I growled. "Please, enlighten me what was so important that you had to spend one of the very valuable favors that Ambrosia Co. is owed by such a respected figure."

"Look, he brought Laura back when she was kidnapped!" she cried. "And Laura saved us, remember? We owe him!"

"He didn't do it for us, Student," Butch snarled. "He's a hero, it's just what he does. And besides, that was his first favor. We don't owe him anything - we owe Laura."

"Don't think I've forgotten about your fuckup," I snapped at Butch, then turned back to Student. "She is right, though. That's not a good enough reason."

Student crossed her arms defiantly. "I think we owe him."

I rubbed my temples - I shouldn't be able to get headaches, and yet I could feel one coming on. "Fine, I guess. it's too late to do anything about now. You spent it on?"

"Maxwell Copperfield's location. We're on a time limit, I didn't have time to look," she said, glancing away from me.

"Fine. And did that mission go alright, at least?"

She nodded, looking back at me. "I just came from it. He's amenable to lending Miles the book, once he has it - he said that he expects to be able to lay his hands on it in the next month or two."

"Good." I returned my attention to Butch. "Now then. We have to be out of the city by tonight, or else Aegis will be on our tail, and you remember how that went for us last time, right?" All three of us shuddered in unison. "How do you expect to fix this?"

"I'll do the usual resurrection trick," Butch suggested. "I can even use it to cover for the two of you leaving New Venice."

"Who are you resurrecting, exactly?" Student asked. A lesser known aspect of our powers was that when we used a template to recreate something, we lost the template, or at least the part of it that had been used. Newly created iterations of us didn't start with any templates at all, requiring a quick infusion of basic forms like birds that we used for communication. And while bird forms could be done with the imprecise copying that we used to create additional Legions, which didn't lose the form, resurrecting a person required a perfect recreation of the brain at a minimum. As the oldest Legion here, I was the only one of the three of us to have any people in my memory - or I should be, at least. "You didn't forget to mention eating one of the New Champions, did you?"

"I was thinking Ventus?" she said, and I thought I heard a sly undertone to her question. "If you just pass him to me..."

I thought for a moment, trying to remember if he was one of the people that Madam Thornhill or one of her vice presidents had noted not to be resurrected. He had been a friend of Canaveral's early on, as I recalled, and the two of them had fought me together early on, before Canaveral had become the New Champions' team leader. He had survived then, hadn't he? So when did I... "Don't you remember why we took him in the first place?" I asked Butch after a moment.

She nodded. "But it's been years since then, and no one would believe him if he tried to reveal it at this point. And I bet that Canaveral can convince him to keep quiet. I know it's always a pain," she added, "but..."

"And if he can't, then Ventus will be out of the request list for resurrection." I considered her request. Ventus wouldn't have been my first choice to resurrect - he had been taken for a reason, and on the occasions I remembered bringing his brain out to speak to him he had given no sign that he had changed. I found it hard to believe that Butch actually thought he was a good prospect. How had she drifted, to come up with the idea?

Perhaps it had little to do with Ventus. Thinking back a minute to when Student had confessed to wasting one of Canaveral's favors, Butch had seemed even angrier than me - I was mad about the waste, but she seemed personally offended. Did she expect that dangling Ventus's resurrection in front of his best friend would be some kind of punishment?

I couldn't help but to be curious about how she expected it to work, so I responded simply by offering my hand. She took it, and we merged briefly, our nervous systems combining. There was a moment of disorientation as I felt through two bodies and saw through four eyes and heard through four ears, then we separated once more with a shudder. The animal messengers that we used had simple brains, only enough to hold the instructions and message we programmed them with. A direct exchange with another human brain, however, was a hell of a lot to handle - worse than recombining from a group of small animals. We had never even tried recombining full human bodies, suspecting that it would be essentially impossible.

Butch and I took a moment to recollect ourselves, then nodded to each other and to Student. "Alright, Student and I will slip out to the south," I told her. "You make your distraction to the north. And be sure to do it tonight - I like having a whole continent between me and Aegis."

Scene 22 - October 22nd
Exterior City, Late Evening
"Penelope Page" (Butch)

I had made my way across the city with little difficulty, choosing to travel in the form of a flock of seagulls. I could, of course, leave the city without anyone noticing, and the thought crossed my mind after they recombined into me a little ways south of the Buff Boys' territory on the edge of New Venice. After all, the resurrection trick that I was going to pull would mean the end of my brief existence as an individual.

While I had 25 years of Penelope Page's memories to draw on, I hadn't been the one to make those memories - with a different brain, I diverged farther from the original Penny every moment I was alive, every breath I took. Blue was one of the longest surviving splits even at only two years old, and at this point no one would mistake her for being the same person as Penny if they spoke to both, although they would probably still guess some relation. How far might I diverge, as a third-generation incarnation of Legion, if I had the time?

But, like spawning fourth-generations, it had long ago been decided that third-generations risked drifting too far from the original if they lived too long. I wouldn't have been allowed to live longer than three months anyway. I completely understood why, too - the first third-generation to live past four months had gone off the reservation and left, after all, and I had Blue's memory of voting in favor of a time limit of third-generations like me. How could I blame the other mes when I knew exactly why they had voted that way, and would have made the same choice myself?

So it was without much bitterness that I took the form of an overweight man wearing an expensive-looking suit and some flashy jewelry. There was no way the BB wouldn't notice me and demand some kind of toll for passing through their territory. I would choose to take offense and reveal myself as Legion. A brawl would break out, and if I held back enough, a hero or three was bound to show up to take me on. Then it was a simply matter of allowing myself to be captured without making it look like I was faking the battle, and I would be exactly where I wanted to be.

"Hey, tubby!" called a voice from behind me, and I couldn't help a grin. "You're in Buff Boy territory! Either pay up or go to the gym!" I heard some snickering at what the gang members who had surrounded me no doubt thought was a hilarious gag.

Right on time.

frozenchicken · Oct 23, 2019

I really do like just how competent Legion is as a whole, even as her replicas display signs of personal poor decision-making. It really shows the strengths and weaknesses of the powerset.

Paternum: A Superhero Story

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