I vaguely recall it also being the name of an anime or manga... Now sure what it was about, but it exists...
Edit: Bubblegum Crisis 2032
Plan? What Plan? (Worm/ToF)
- Thread starter Fabled Webs
- Start date
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- Tags
- worm oc insert reincarnation tinker
Edit: Bubblegum Crisis 2032
3.7 Surge
Fabled Webs
Lord Weaver, Glorious and Wise
- Location
- Arlington, VA
Surge 3.7
2010, November 4: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I arrived at the usual lunch table to find only Stephanie and Chelsea there before me. The two were already lost in a conversation about a new movie premier, the latest in the Maggie Holt series. I didn't follow it much, but from what I could understand, it was the equivalent of Harry Potter back in my old world crossed with the Dresden Files. Darker, as though Grimlord Wildbow had a hand in writing that too. It was quite the thriller according to Sisi.
I set my tray next to Chelsea and gave them a nod. "Hey, how's it going?"
"Hi, Bryce!" Chelsea chirped, as sunny as ever. "Guess what?"
I glanced at Stephanie and back at her. "You're really looking forward to the new Maggie Holt film?"
"Nope," she said, popping the "p." "Well, yep, but not that."
"You're seeing that runningback guy again?"
"No, and his name is Brian. You really should remember, Bryce. He's a good guy, just not what I'm looking for. "
"In my defense, I've met him once during Homecoming, Chels. I'm sure if he sat with us, I'd learn his name."
Stephanie let out an unladylike snort. "Fat chance of that. She dumped him in two weeks."
"Steph! We mutually agreed to walk away. We're cool now."
"Does he think that? Because I still see him pining your way."
"Ugh… Anyway, no, not Brian."
I pat the blonde's shoulder consolingly before unwrapping a brownie. It wasn't as good as mom's and had a processed, artificial flavor that reminded me a bit of plastic, but sugar was sugar. Sometimes, you just had to start with dessert first. I chewed and gave her a conceding bow. "Then you have me bamboozled, madam."
Chelsea perked up as she thought about the original reason for this little game of twenty questions. "The cheer team is going to regionals!"
I tried to give her my sincerest smile. It obviously didn't fool Stephanie because she let out a soft snort. "Yeah, Chels, I don't think Bryce cares about the cheer team."
"Boo! He should. It's about school spirit!"
"I care," I defended, but quickly caved when even the sunny blonde looked skeptical. "Okay, not about the team per se, but I care that it matters to you. You're my friend and I'm happy that it makes you happy. Go, Arcadia…"
Stephanie shot me a shark-like grin. "You forgot our mascot, didn't you?"
"I didn't! It's the Arcadia… Aardvarks?"
"Not even close, Bryce."
"Boo! You suck, Bryce," Chelsea lightly punched my shoulder.
"Alligators?" I tried again.
"Nope."
"Nu-uh"
"Third time's the charm. Arcadia… Armadillos. Sounds right."
"Wrong again."
"Third strike. You're out!"
I sighed and decided to just shut up and accept my shame. "Alright, oh great cheerful ones, what is our totem animal?"
Stephanie chuckled as she popped a berry tomato in her mouth. "Totem animal? Really?"
"Yeah, Bryce, you're really bad at this, huh?" Chelsea added. She'd packed a turkey sandwich from home from the looks of it.
"What's Bryce bad at?" I heard behind me. Dennis, Dean, and Carlos had arrived to sit at my right. "Making fun of Bryce is always great."
"Shut up, Dennis," I grumbled goodnaturedly.
"Bryce doesn't know what our mascot is~" Chelsea sang, in the exact same singsong tone Sierra used to use when tattling to mom.
"Dean, what's our mascot?"
"Albatross," he said simply. "The birds are good omens for sailors, back when that was important to the town. It's kind of a holdover like the Foghorn radio channel."
"Wait, seriously?"
"Yup. What'd you guess?"
"Aardvarks. Then alligators. And armadillos."
"Haha, you weren't even close, huh?"
"Whatever, I would've gotten to albatross eventually. Only so many animals that start with 'a.' Point is," I stressed, turning back to the girls. "I'm happy that the Arcadia Albatrosses have made it to the regional cheer competition. Just because I don't care about the team as a whole doesn't mean I can't be happy that you two are happy."
"Fine," Chelsea said with a mouthful of turkey sandwich. "We forgive you, Bryce."
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "We're just giving the freshie a hard time. Don't stress, shorty."
"Oi! I'm not short," I complained. Five-two wasn't short… for my age… probably…
"You are. But we forgive you for that too," the sporty brunette shot back with a teasing grin.
I sighed and turned my attention back to my lunch. It seemed I was destined to be the butt of the joke today. Eventually, Vicky and Amy arrived, earning me a knowing look from Amy as far as just why I knew so little about the school's sports scene. I shook my head ruefully. I'd never cared even before powers, but I could hardly correct her assumptions currently.
Still, all things must end and the conversation shifted to encompass the double date Victoria and Dean were planning with Stephanie and Carlos. I looked on in amusement as a mixture of relief and exasperation danced across Amy's face. Relief because Stephanie and Carlos gave Vicky another couple to focus her attention on, sparing Amy from another date with some jock she could barely bother to learn the name of. Exasperation because… because Amy was Amy and Dean existed.
'Nope,' I thought with a snort. 'Not touching that with a ten foot pole.'
Thursdays were great. Thursdays were wonderful. I got out of school at two and wasn't expected home until six for dinner. I also had no work-study obligations on Thursdays, which meant I had a whopping four hours to my own devices.
That was how I found myself on the Gullrest. I hopped across the ocean on my hover boots while completely invisible before sneaking into the main lab. Uncloaking, I tossed my backpack onto a stolen loveseat and greeted SAINT.
"Yo, how's it going, little buddy?"
"Pory-gon," he trilled a welcome. My favorite cyber-duck gestured to a rack where a Gregor-sized suit of Germa fibers was ready and waiting. Next to it were a few extra spools of the miracle thread, tightly wrapped in cable reels I'd stolen from the hardware store. Cable reels, those drum-shaped wooden things you used to wrap wires around, made for excellent spools after the wires had been removed.
"You've done a lot of work haven't you? Thank you for that," I nodded to him. I gave him a good scratch below the chin to show my appreciation as I looked over his work. The weaving process was mostly automatic, he was here to make sure no glitches popped up, and that left him enough time to get to work on other things, like the wires.
The wires were precious commodities and actually some of the most important things I'd stolen from the Hillside Heist. Most were made of copper, steel, and aluminum, but I'd even managed to nick several reels of silver wire. They were excellent sources of raw metal and it wasn't uncommon for people at construction sites to strip the casings off leftover wires to recycle for a sizable amount of cash.
SAINT trilled happily as he showed off the crates full of naked metal, sorted by type. He then lifted the laptop I got for him and played something. It was a song with loud, heavy bass and a cello in the background. It was accompanied by a full orchestral blend of violins, flutes, and piano. It reminded me a bit of boss music in video games like Final Fantasy or God of War. Was electronic-orchestra a thing in this world? Because if not, SAINT might have just invented it.
"Pory?"
"It's good," I told him. I wasn't lying. I only knew guitar and a bit of piano so I couldn't really judge, but SAINT had no preconceptions about the "right" instrument to play or the "best" style of music so he often pulled melodies from many different songs to use as he fancied. Not quite my jam, but if he liked it, he liked it. "Interesting blend of instruments. Electronic drums. Cello. Is that a sax? Huh, it works. Do you want to play that in the background while we work?"
"Gon!"
"Yeah, sounds good. Keep it on loop, maybe a bit quieter."
SAINT nodded and the music subsided somewhat. He switched the tabs on screen to show me my to-do list. Well, it wasn't a list of priorities as much as it was a list of things I wanted to build: a hybrid regalia I'd yet to name, data sticks for Key Mother, and hybrid soda engines to send over to Big Rig and Uppercrust.
"First things first, the hybrid engines. SAINT, think you can build them?"
"Reee," he chirped, stubby, blue feet waving erratically. It was one part affirmation and one part mock offense that I'd doubt him.
"Of course, of course. You can build anything I can build," I chuckled. It was true, for the most part. There were some things he wasn't good at, such assembling small, precise mechanical parts, but that was mostly because he hadn't mastered Psychic quite yet and the little fella didn't have opposable thumbs. SAINT was perfectly capable of following a blueprint left to him otherwise.
"Porygon. Por," he huffed. I didn't quite speak pokémon, but the "and don't you forget it" couldn't be taken any other way.
My duck was developing sass and I couldn't be prouder.
"Alright, you work on the two hybrid engines. I'll get started on Key Mother. Then the data sticks and the Inorganic Net. And then we can work on a custom regalia."
"Gon."
"Good, let's see how much work we can get done in four hours."
Turned out, four hours was a lot of time. We worked quietly side by side while SAINT's first pop orchestra track played in the background.
SAINT wasn't perfect. He didn't have my power to keep him from making mistakes. But, he was an AI capable of constantly learning. He'd also observed the experimentation process I'd undergone to create the hybrid engine. All told, he made only a handful of mistakes with the first and even fewer with the second, saving me a lot of time. The two engines needed only minimal fine-tuning, mostly quality of life changes that didn't occur to an AI.
For example, SAINT lacked hands, and thumbs. He didn't really have a grasp of ergonomics, or human factor engineering as it was often called. For him, so long as everything functioned, it was fine. It was up to me to place handlebars for easy transportation, make the cases more conveniently collapsible, and make handles with swells that fit the human palm more comfortably.
There were other flaws too, mechanical ones that could impact the shelf life of these engines, but they were quickly fixed when I pointed them out.
I loved my duck. SAINT was best duck.
On my side of things, I'd built Key Mother as originally worn by Spitfire, the very first Flame King. It was a set of four roller blade wheels, each decorated with a crimson, nine-tailed fox that wrapped around the bearing. Every tail ended with little flames that caught the light and four pairs of eyes seemed to stare back at me, judging my worth.
"Flame is the creator of all things," he'd said. That was the foundation of Heaven's Door. As the rider who represented the origin of all creation, it was the prerogative of the Flame King to replicate every road and trick to perfection.
Or at least, that was Kazu's explanation before schooling Nike.
Shonen logic… shit was wild.
And I couldn't use it as it stood. The Inorganic Net didn't exist yet, nor were there any storm riders to contribute their tricks to the database. But that didn't mean it was worthless; it'd be one of the three components for my custom regalia after all.
No, what I did have was a set of three data sticks, each the size of a USB thumb drive. They were built into the soles of ATs and contained a powerful scanner that could observe and record the full body motions of whoever wore the skates before uploading this information to the Inorganic Net.
I tucked Gregor's new suit, the two hybrid engines, and the data sticks into the DSS and smiled. I had a busy night ahead of me.
I arrived home at a bit past six to find a text from my mom telling me that an old friend visited the clinic and she got distracted catching up so she'd be a bit late. Sierra had yet to arrive either so I decided to get started on dinner on my own. I rummaged through the pantry for something simple to make, wishing that I'd dabbled more in the exotic cookery of the Pokémon and One Piece specializations.
I shook my head. 'No, that'd probably be a bad thing. It's not like I can suddenly explain how I became a five-star chef overnight. The honey was already pushing it…'
To be fair, I didn't think the Enchanted Honey itself would be much of an issue. I'd only realized that I'd given Sierra and her friends tinkertech after the catalog went up, but it was admittedly an extremely subtle piece of tinkertech. A focused sugar high, but without the inevitable crash of something like coffee. Noticeable, but not incriminating by itself.
'That was more than a month ago in September,' I mused. 'I don't think she'll connect the dots, but Sisi's always been a huge cape nerd… I really need to be more careful.'
I was an idiot; there was no denying that. I was so hyper-fixated on ensuring that my catalog wouldn't be abused that I completely ignored the potential risk to my identity. It wasn't something that'd damn me right off the bat, but it was one way Sisi could discover my secret.
Then again, that raised another question: Did I care if Sierra knew?
On the most basic level, Sierra was trustworthy. Not just because she was my sister either. She had been Skitter's faithful lieutenant and I knew she very much had a flexible moral compass, albeit one pointing firmly north. When pushed into a corner, she followed three priorities: First, her brother, me. The other-me that was a spoiled, hedonistic shit-heel of a baby bro who sold himself to the Merchants of all people. Who, even now, I could feel looming over my shoulder, a shade of who I could have been. Second, the orphans she chose to shelter.
So long as Skitter provided a means to help her help others, Sierra had been willing to work with a warlord. It was incredibly utilitarian of her, "greatest good for the greatest number," even if said "good" came from a villain.
True, this was in an alternate universe where I wasn't who I was, but I couldn't help but feel that she'd proven herself to me a thousandfold. Sierra Kiley was as trustworthy as they came. I couldn't ask for a more loyal, earnest lieutenant, even more so considering I was Bryce Kiley. There was no doubt in my mind that she would ensure my safety and well-being.
Pragmatically speaking, there wasn't any real reason to fear discovery by her. I was reasonably certain I could keep Sisi from outing me to the Wards or mom; I'd proven I could handle myself after all. If all else failed, I could even promise her the powers needed to stand by my side and protect me with her own hands.
And yet, I hesitated. The thought of telling her filled me with dread. There was of course the question of Michelle and Sabah, but that wasn't my main concern.
The Sierra of canon-Worm had been a young woman hardened by myriad tragedies. Bakuda. The Unmasking of the Empire. Leviathan. Slaughterhouse. Echidna. Yes, she was a steadfast lieutenant and a force for good in the war-torn city, but she was also a young woman who clung to those morals like a lifeline, a young woman who'd lost almost everything and desperately tried to build herself up by building up others.
I cracked open a few cans of tomato sauce and picked out a bag of frozen meatballs before tossing them all into a saucepan to heat through. Spaghetti it was.
I feared for her, I realized. Not me, her.
I worried that things would escalate, that it'd begin with covering for me to mom so I could tinker more and ramp up until she wasn't the lovable, dorky sis I had now. I worried that being involved in Brockton's cape scene would change her. Given Brockton Bay being Brockton Bay, I felt my concerns were valid.
Even as I salted a pot of boiling water for the noodles, the hypocrisy wasn't lost on me.
I, Creed, was a cape who valued freedom above practically everything else. I declared for all to hear that I would respond with violence to any who tried to deprive me of my choices, hero or villain. And yet, here I was taking advice from Panacea and willfully denying that same choice to Sierra.
My own cape name was starting to sound a little sarcastic.
But in the end, I was the one who woke up with powers. I was the (mentally) older one. I was the one who knew what Amy could become and what it'd mean to bring Sisi into this world.
No, I wouldn't tell Sierra. If she discovered my identity, I'd cross that bridge when I got to it. But otherwise, I intended to keep her and mom in the dark.
Dinner had been a mostly quiet affair, my own thoughts putting me in an introspective mood.
I went upstairs afterwards to rush through my homework. Reincarnated soul or not, there was plenty of busywork that I couldn't just ignore, not if I wanted my mom to continue taking a loose stance on parenting.
I was almost done with my AP biology homework when I received a call. Unexpectedly, it was from Victoria. I picked up with a curious frown. "Yello, what's up?"
"Bryce?"
"Yeah, what can I do for you, V?"
"Nothing. Did you know Dean's birthday is in two weeks?"
I glanced at the calendar: the eighteenth. "Isn't that a week before Thanksgiving?"
"Mhmm. Anyway, we're having a party on the twentieth at his house. Got permission from his mom and everything."
"Wait, why are you arranging it then?"
"Because it's a surprise party, duh. Keep up, Bryce," I heard her huff. "Well… I mean, it's supposed to be a surprise party but Dean always figures it out anyway and pretends to be surprised. It's a whole thing we do."
I rolled my eyes. To be fair to her, surprising an empath with a birthday party was probably a doomed cause. "Right. Fair enough. What do you need from me?"
"Nothing, I'm just letting you know so you can come. I'll text you his address. Party starts at four then we can hang out until dinner."
"Thanks, Vicky. Any gift ideas? You know him best."
"Well… Don't bring a gag gift. Dennis does that every year so we've got that taken care of already."
"Okay. No gag gift…" I repeated. Then, I got a devious idea. It wasn't a gag gift… technically… Schooling my voice, I asked innocently, "Say, Vicky, isn't there a Wards thing this Saturday at the mall?"
"Yeah…?"
"Who's his favorite Ward? Probably not Vista… Clockblocker's probably too clownish… Shadow Stalker seems a bit moody for him… Maybe Aegis? He's the leader, like, Dean takes the whole student council president stuff seriously so he'd probably find Aegis relatable, right? Or Triumph because he was Wards Leader before Aegis?"
"His favorite Ward? Gallant. Definitely Gallant," she said. I could hear the grin in her voice. She thought she was the one playing a prank on her boyfriend and it was adorable. "So, gonna get him Gallant merch?"
"Yeah, if that's his favorite Ward. I'm thinking if I show up early, I can get it signed by the man himself. Think he'd like that?"
"Hehehehe, totally. He'll love it."
"Alright, cool. I have Saturday plans now. See you tomorrow, Vicky."
"Yup! It's going to be great, Bryce. You have a good night!" she chirped before the line went dead.
I chuckled to myself as I returned to my homework. If I could help Vicky play a harmless prank, then why wouldn't I?
I finished up my homework and grabbed a quick shower before shooting Faultline and Strider texts to let them know that I'd be paying a visit to the Palanquin. I didn't expect to pull another all-nighter, I did need my sleep, but I figured it'd be a good chance to knock out three birds with one stone. Deliver the hybrid engines to Uppercrust and Big Rig. Give Gregor his new suit. Then, when I had that sorted, I planned to visit a few gyms and dojos to insert my data sticks.
The handoff went well enough. With Strider and Faultline already in my corner, it was a simple matter of giving Gregor his suit and Strider the two hybrid engine samples. I even threw in a single nugget of wapometal and seastone each for Big Rig; I needed him to test the materials for himself before deciding he wanted them for his own projects after all.
Following that, I hopped all over town while cloaked to visit every gym I'd made a note of. A grand total of fourteen. They ranged from traditional martial arts dojos like kendo and taekwondo to more modern krav maga and Brazilian jujutsu. I wanted them all. I wanted to be a master of every mundane style of combat, so that should I ever go toe to toe against Krieg, I wouldn't be found wanting, so that I could demonstrate my inventions to their fullest potential. I was lacking, not my creations, and that stuck in my craw something fierce even now.
Alas, I'd have to stick to three for now.
I wandered from gym to gym, examining the equipment. Those, I felt, ought to be well-worn but cared for; I didn't want the moves from any "master" who only ever used them for fancy tricks and demonstrations. I also looked for a gym with a well-stocked first-aid kit that looked like it'd been used recently. I had no way of telling just from the equipment which gym taught "practical" self-defense, but I could at least eliminate the biggest posers.
Another qualification I had was that I ought to be able to use the martial art immediately. Unfortunately, that eliminated both the kendo and ninjutsu dojos. The anime nerd in me died a little inside, but I lacked a sword and could turn invisible at will. If I ever forged myself a zanpakuto or something, I'd definitely reconsider.
Finally, I had to consider my inventions. The hover boots and regalia easily made me the most mobile cape in the city. I eliminated Brazilian jujutsu and traditional judo for this reason. Grappling was amazingly useful against a single opponent, but on a battlefield where I'd almost certainly be outnumbered? Staying still to wrestle someone to the ground seemed directly counter to my greatest strength.
I settled on three schools at last: muay thai, aikido, and capoeira. Of these, muay thai was the only one useful for normal people in a typical street fight, but I wasn't normal anymore. I wanted muay thai to be my foundation, as it was for so many of the best fighters in the world, but the other two were chosen specifically to round out skillsets I expected I'd need shortly.
Aikido was taken for two reasons: First, its philosophy of "do no harm." It was what made aikido so ineffective in a street fight; that kind of ideal of not harming even the attacker was a lofty, hilariously arrogant mentality. And yet, it was one I arguably should have when dealing with normal people. Aikido taught restraining locks, throws, and takedowns that were far kinder on the attacker than anything in Brazilian jujutsu. Considering my suit's strength augmentation and omnidirectional leverage from my boots, I didn't doubt I could use even those to great effect.
Second, aikido offered me familiarity with escaping grapples. Sure, I could out-muscle normal people, but someone like Glory Girl? If she ever caught me by surprise, I wanted to be familiar enough with grapples to escape without harming her. I figured a combination of Thunder Wave, Psychic, and aikido would be good enough to get me distance and let me choose my engagements.
As for capoeira, it was between that and taekwondo. Both were seen as almost performative martial arts, but not because they lacked power. Kicking was incredibly risky in a fight because it gambled your own footing.
As a gravity child, I literally couldn't lose my footing. The ground beneath me could be launched at the speed of a fighter jet and it wouldn't matter. Those kicks that were so risky for everyone else were practically made with storm riders in mind.
Ultimately, I chose capoeira over taekwondo for one reason: the dance. The twisting motions that heavily relied on the core was exactly what I wanted. It had striking similarities with one of the primary roads in Air Gear, the Sonia Road.
The Sonia Road belonged to the Thorn Queen, a woman who could spin so quickly that she created "thorns" made of sonic booms, sonic booms she could somehow direct to perform individual attacks against isolated targets without harming the surroundings. However, the technique was just as dangerous for the user as it was for the opponent, potentially crippling in fact, which explained why there were so few Sonia Road practitioners.
That kind of torque generated by the core placed immense strain on the spine of the user, so much so that there had only ever been a single Thorn Queen who wasn't a gravity child. Rika. Save for her, both Gazelle and Ringo were gravity children with unique adaptions that allowed them to take in extra nitrogen with their lungs. This nitrogen created bubble-like cushions along the spine to absorb some of the impact of their roads.
I'd never be able to master the Sonia Road to that extent, but I didn't need to. Lind, the Fang King, and son of Gazelle, was able to combine the Sonia Road with his Bloody Road. He used the flexibility and whiplike spins of the Sonia Road as a foundation to improve the "sharpness" of his own air blades.
Capoeira wasn't the Sonia Road, but seeing how I had no tutors nor a frame of reference I could study, it was the closest analog with its revolving kicks and emphasis on core strength. Out of all the martial arts I could find, it was the only one that had a comparable style to one of the roads so I hoped learning it could help me decode some of the tricks of the Thorn Queens before me. If not, then perhaps I could do as Lind did and use that increased flexibility as a foundation for my own road.
Author's Note
Ergonomics is fascinating, both simple and a lot more complicated than you'd initially expect. For example, did you know that most doors which are meant to be pushed open have horizontal bars while doors that are meant to be pulled have vertical handles? It has to do with the way your muscles are structured in your arms. It sounds super simple in application, but thinking about it can be really difficult for an AI.
Higher morality is easy until it suddenly isn't, eh?
Is Bryce fucking with the empath? Of course!
Aikido? Capoeira? Useless. If you're thinking about self-defense, just pick up BJJ and kickboxing. But if your goal is to have a "kind" martial art and a fantastic set of abs, they're for you.
As always, many thanks to my patrons. You guys give me the weirdest ideas sometimes...
2010, November 4: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I arrived at the usual lunch table to find only Stephanie and Chelsea there before me. The two were already lost in a conversation about a new movie premier, the latest in the Maggie Holt series. I didn't follow it much, but from what I could understand, it was the equivalent of Harry Potter back in my old world crossed with the Dresden Files. Darker, as though Grimlord Wildbow had a hand in writing that too. It was quite the thriller according to Sisi.
I set my tray next to Chelsea and gave them a nod. "Hey, how's it going?"
"Hi, Bryce!" Chelsea chirped, as sunny as ever. "Guess what?"
I glanced at Stephanie and back at her. "You're really looking forward to the new Maggie Holt film?"
"Nope," she said, popping the "p." "Well, yep, but not that."
"You're seeing that runningback guy again?"
"No, and his name is Brian. You really should remember, Bryce. He's a good guy, just not what I'm looking for. "
"In my defense, I've met him once during Homecoming, Chels. I'm sure if he sat with us, I'd learn his name."
Stephanie let out an unladylike snort. "Fat chance of that. She dumped him in two weeks."
"Steph! We mutually agreed to walk away. We're cool now."
"Does he think that? Because I still see him pining your way."
"Ugh… Anyway, no, not Brian."
I pat the blonde's shoulder consolingly before unwrapping a brownie. It wasn't as good as mom's and had a processed, artificial flavor that reminded me a bit of plastic, but sugar was sugar. Sometimes, you just had to start with dessert first. I chewed and gave her a conceding bow. "Then you have me bamboozled, madam."
Chelsea perked up as she thought about the original reason for this little game of twenty questions. "The cheer team is going to regionals!"
I tried to give her my sincerest smile. It obviously didn't fool Stephanie because she let out a soft snort. "Yeah, Chels, I don't think Bryce cares about the cheer team."
"Boo! He should. It's about school spirit!"
"I care," I defended, but quickly caved when even the sunny blonde looked skeptical. "Okay, not about the team per se, but I care that it matters to you. You're my friend and I'm happy that it makes you happy. Go, Arcadia…"
Stephanie shot me a shark-like grin. "You forgot our mascot, didn't you?"
"I didn't! It's the Arcadia… Aardvarks?"
"Not even close, Bryce."
"Boo! You suck, Bryce," Chelsea lightly punched my shoulder.
"Alligators?" I tried again.
"Nope."
"Nu-uh"
"Third time's the charm. Arcadia… Armadillos. Sounds right."
"Wrong again."
"Third strike. You're out!"
I sighed and decided to just shut up and accept my shame. "Alright, oh great cheerful ones, what is our totem animal?"
Stephanie chuckled as she popped a berry tomato in her mouth. "Totem animal? Really?"
"Yeah, Bryce, you're really bad at this, huh?" Chelsea added. She'd packed a turkey sandwich from home from the looks of it.
"What's Bryce bad at?" I heard behind me. Dennis, Dean, and Carlos had arrived to sit at my right. "Making fun of Bryce is always great."
"Shut up, Dennis," I grumbled goodnaturedly.
"Bryce doesn't know what our mascot is~" Chelsea sang, in the exact same singsong tone Sierra used to use when tattling to mom.
"Dean, what's our mascot?"
"Albatross," he said simply. "The birds are good omens for sailors, back when that was important to the town. It's kind of a holdover like the Foghorn radio channel."
"Wait, seriously?"
"Yup. What'd you guess?"
"Aardvarks. Then alligators. And armadillos."
"Haha, you weren't even close, huh?"
"Whatever, I would've gotten to albatross eventually. Only so many animals that start with 'a.' Point is," I stressed, turning back to the girls. "I'm happy that the Arcadia Albatrosses have made it to the regional cheer competition. Just because I don't care about the team as a whole doesn't mean I can't be happy that you two are happy."
"Fine," Chelsea said with a mouthful of turkey sandwich. "We forgive you, Bryce."
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "We're just giving the freshie a hard time. Don't stress, shorty."
"Oi! I'm not short," I complained. Five-two wasn't short… for my age… probably…
"You are. But we forgive you for that too," the sporty brunette shot back with a teasing grin.
I sighed and turned my attention back to my lunch. It seemed I was destined to be the butt of the joke today. Eventually, Vicky and Amy arrived, earning me a knowing look from Amy as far as just why I knew so little about the school's sports scene. I shook my head ruefully. I'd never cared even before powers, but I could hardly correct her assumptions currently.
Still, all things must end and the conversation shifted to encompass the double date Victoria and Dean were planning with Stephanie and Carlos. I looked on in amusement as a mixture of relief and exasperation danced across Amy's face. Relief because Stephanie and Carlos gave Vicky another couple to focus her attention on, sparing Amy from another date with some jock she could barely bother to learn the name of. Exasperation because… because Amy was Amy and Dean existed.
'Nope,' I thought with a snort. 'Not touching that with a ten foot pole.'
X
Thursdays were great. Thursdays were wonderful. I got out of school at two and wasn't expected home until six for dinner. I also had no work-study obligations on Thursdays, which meant I had a whopping four hours to my own devices.
That was how I found myself on the Gullrest. I hopped across the ocean on my hover boots while completely invisible before sneaking into the main lab. Uncloaking, I tossed my backpack onto a stolen loveseat and greeted SAINT.
"Yo, how's it going, little buddy?"
"Pory-gon," he trilled a welcome. My favorite cyber-duck gestured to a rack where a Gregor-sized suit of Germa fibers was ready and waiting. Next to it were a few extra spools of the miracle thread, tightly wrapped in cable reels I'd stolen from the hardware store. Cable reels, those drum-shaped wooden things you used to wrap wires around, made for excellent spools after the wires had been removed.
"You've done a lot of work haven't you? Thank you for that," I nodded to him. I gave him a good scratch below the chin to show my appreciation as I looked over his work. The weaving process was mostly automatic, he was here to make sure no glitches popped up, and that left him enough time to get to work on other things, like the wires.
The wires were precious commodities and actually some of the most important things I'd stolen from the Hillside Heist. Most were made of copper, steel, and aluminum, but I'd even managed to nick several reels of silver wire. They were excellent sources of raw metal and it wasn't uncommon for people at construction sites to strip the casings off leftover wires to recycle for a sizable amount of cash.
SAINT trilled happily as he showed off the crates full of naked metal, sorted by type. He then lifted the laptop I got for him and played something. It was a song with loud, heavy bass and a cello in the background. It was accompanied by a full orchestral blend of violins, flutes, and piano. It reminded me a bit of boss music in video games like Final Fantasy or God of War. Was electronic-orchestra a thing in this world? Because if not, SAINT might have just invented it.
"Pory?"
"It's good," I told him. I wasn't lying. I only knew guitar and a bit of piano so I couldn't really judge, but SAINT had no preconceptions about the "right" instrument to play or the "best" style of music so he often pulled melodies from many different songs to use as he fancied. Not quite my jam, but if he liked it, he liked it. "Interesting blend of instruments. Electronic drums. Cello. Is that a sax? Huh, it works. Do you want to play that in the background while we work?"
"Gon!"
"Yeah, sounds good. Keep it on loop, maybe a bit quieter."
SAINT nodded and the music subsided somewhat. He switched the tabs on screen to show me my to-do list. Well, it wasn't a list of priorities as much as it was a list of things I wanted to build: a hybrid regalia I'd yet to name, data sticks for Key Mother, and hybrid soda engines to send over to Big Rig and Uppercrust.
"First things first, the hybrid engines. SAINT, think you can build them?"
"Reee," he chirped, stubby, blue feet waving erratically. It was one part affirmation and one part mock offense that I'd doubt him.
"Of course, of course. You can build anything I can build," I chuckled. It was true, for the most part. There were some things he wasn't good at, such assembling small, precise mechanical parts, but that was mostly because he hadn't mastered Psychic quite yet and the little fella didn't have opposable thumbs. SAINT was perfectly capable of following a blueprint left to him otherwise.
"Porygon. Por," he huffed. I didn't quite speak pokémon, but the "and don't you forget it" couldn't be taken any other way.
My duck was developing sass and I couldn't be prouder.
"Alright, you work on the two hybrid engines. I'll get started on Key Mother. Then the data sticks and the Inorganic Net. And then we can work on a custom regalia."
"Gon."
"Good, let's see how much work we can get done in four hours."
X
Turned out, four hours was a lot of time. We worked quietly side by side while SAINT's first pop orchestra track played in the background.
SAINT wasn't perfect. He didn't have my power to keep him from making mistakes. But, he was an AI capable of constantly learning. He'd also observed the experimentation process I'd undergone to create the hybrid engine. All told, he made only a handful of mistakes with the first and even fewer with the second, saving me a lot of time. The two engines needed only minimal fine-tuning, mostly quality of life changes that didn't occur to an AI.
For example, SAINT lacked hands, and thumbs. He didn't really have a grasp of ergonomics, or human factor engineering as it was often called. For him, so long as everything functioned, it was fine. It was up to me to place handlebars for easy transportation, make the cases more conveniently collapsible, and make handles with swells that fit the human palm more comfortably.
There were other flaws too, mechanical ones that could impact the shelf life of these engines, but they were quickly fixed when I pointed them out.
I loved my duck. SAINT was best duck.
On my side of things, I'd built Key Mother as originally worn by Spitfire, the very first Flame King. It was a set of four roller blade wheels, each decorated with a crimson, nine-tailed fox that wrapped around the bearing. Every tail ended with little flames that caught the light and four pairs of eyes seemed to stare back at me, judging my worth.
"Flame is the creator of all things," he'd said. That was the foundation of Heaven's Door. As the rider who represented the origin of all creation, it was the prerogative of the Flame King to replicate every road and trick to perfection.
Or at least, that was Kazu's explanation before schooling Nike.
Shonen logic… shit was wild.
And I couldn't use it as it stood. The Inorganic Net didn't exist yet, nor were there any storm riders to contribute their tricks to the database. But that didn't mean it was worthless; it'd be one of the three components for my custom regalia after all.
No, what I did have was a set of three data sticks, each the size of a USB thumb drive. They were built into the soles of ATs and contained a powerful scanner that could observe and record the full body motions of whoever wore the skates before uploading this information to the Inorganic Net.
I tucked Gregor's new suit, the two hybrid engines, and the data sticks into the DSS and smiled. I had a busy night ahead of me.
X
I arrived home at a bit past six to find a text from my mom telling me that an old friend visited the clinic and she got distracted catching up so she'd be a bit late. Sierra had yet to arrive either so I decided to get started on dinner on my own. I rummaged through the pantry for something simple to make, wishing that I'd dabbled more in the exotic cookery of the Pokémon and One Piece specializations.
I shook my head. 'No, that'd probably be a bad thing. It's not like I can suddenly explain how I became a five-star chef overnight. The honey was already pushing it…'
To be fair, I didn't think the Enchanted Honey itself would be much of an issue. I'd only realized that I'd given Sierra and her friends tinkertech after the catalog went up, but it was admittedly an extremely subtle piece of tinkertech. A focused sugar high, but without the inevitable crash of something like coffee. Noticeable, but not incriminating by itself.
'That was more than a month ago in September,' I mused. 'I don't think she'll connect the dots, but Sisi's always been a huge cape nerd… I really need to be more careful.'
I was an idiot; there was no denying that. I was so hyper-fixated on ensuring that my catalog wouldn't be abused that I completely ignored the potential risk to my identity. It wasn't something that'd damn me right off the bat, but it was one way Sisi could discover my secret.
Then again, that raised another question: Did I care if Sierra knew?
On the most basic level, Sierra was trustworthy. Not just because she was my sister either. She had been Skitter's faithful lieutenant and I knew she very much had a flexible moral compass, albeit one pointing firmly north. When pushed into a corner, she followed three priorities: First, her brother, me. The other-me that was a spoiled, hedonistic shit-heel of a baby bro who sold himself to the Merchants of all people. Who, even now, I could feel looming over my shoulder, a shade of who I could have been. Second, the orphans she chose to shelter.
So long as Skitter provided a means to help her help others, Sierra had been willing to work with a warlord. It was incredibly utilitarian of her, "greatest good for the greatest number," even if said "good" came from a villain.
True, this was in an alternate universe where I wasn't who I was, but I couldn't help but feel that she'd proven herself to me a thousandfold. Sierra Kiley was as trustworthy as they came. I couldn't ask for a more loyal, earnest lieutenant, even more so considering I was Bryce Kiley. There was no doubt in my mind that she would ensure my safety and well-being.
Pragmatically speaking, there wasn't any real reason to fear discovery by her. I was reasonably certain I could keep Sisi from outing me to the Wards or mom; I'd proven I could handle myself after all. If all else failed, I could even promise her the powers needed to stand by my side and protect me with her own hands.
And yet, I hesitated. The thought of telling her filled me with dread. There was of course the question of Michelle and Sabah, but that wasn't my main concern.
The Sierra of canon-Worm had been a young woman hardened by myriad tragedies. Bakuda. The Unmasking of the Empire. Leviathan. Slaughterhouse. Echidna. Yes, she was a steadfast lieutenant and a force for good in the war-torn city, but she was also a young woman who clung to those morals like a lifeline, a young woman who'd lost almost everything and desperately tried to build herself up by building up others.
I cracked open a few cans of tomato sauce and picked out a bag of frozen meatballs before tossing them all into a saucepan to heat through. Spaghetti it was.
I feared for her, I realized. Not me, her.
I worried that things would escalate, that it'd begin with covering for me to mom so I could tinker more and ramp up until she wasn't the lovable, dorky sis I had now. I worried that being involved in Brockton's cape scene would change her. Given Brockton Bay being Brockton Bay, I felt my concerns were valid.
Even as I salted a pot of boiling water for the noodles, the hypocrisy wasn't lost on me.
I, Creed, was a cape who valued freedom above practically everything else. I declared for all to hear that I would respond with violence to any who tried to deprive me of my choices, hero or villain. And yet, here I was taking advice from Panacea and willfully denying that same choice to Sierra.
My own cape name was starting to sound a little sarcastic.
But in the end, I was the one who woke up with powers. I was the (mentally) older one. I was the one who knew what Amy could become and what it'd mean to bring Sisi into this world.
No, I wouldn't tell Sierra. If she discovered my identity, I'd cross that bridge when I got to it. But otherwise, I intended to keep her and mom in the dark.
X
Dinner had been a mostly quiet affair, my own thoughts putting me in an introspective mood.
I went upstairs afterwards to rush through my homework. Reincarnated soul or not, there was plenty of busywork that I couldn't just ignore, not if I wanted my mom to continue taking a loose stance on parenting.
I was almost done with my AP biology homework when I received a call. Unexpectedly, it was from Victoria. I picked up with a curious frown. "Yello, what's up?"
"Bryce?"
"Yeah, what can I do for you, V?"
"Nothing. Did you know Dean's birthday is in two weeks?"
I glanced at the calendar: the eighteenth. "Isn't that a week before Thanksgiving?"
"Mhmm. Anyway, we're having a party on the twentieth at his house. Got permission from his mom and everything."
"Wait, why are you arranging it then?"
"Because it's a surprise party, duh. Keep up, Bryce," I heard her huff. "Well… I mean, it's supposed to be a surprise party but Dean always figures it out anyway and pretends to be surprised. It's a whole thing we do."
I rolled my eyes. To be fair to her, surprising an empath with a birthday party was probably a doomed cause. "Right. Fair enough. What do you need from me?"
"Nothing, I'm just letting you know so you can come. I'll text you his address. Party starts at four then we can hang out until dinner."
"Thanks, Vicky. Any gift ideas? You know him best."
"Well… Don't bring a gag gift. Dennis does that every year so we've got that taken care of already."
"Okay. No gag gift…" I repeated. Then, I got a devious idea. It wasn't a gag gift… technically… Schooling my voice, I asked innocently, "Say, Vicky, isn't there a Wards thing this Saturday at the mall?"
"Yeah…?"
"Who's his favorite Ward? Probably not Vista… Clockblocker's probably too clownish… Shadow Stalker seems a bit moody for him… Maybe Aegis? He's the leader, like, Dean takes the whole student council president stuff seriously so he'd probably find Aegis relatable, right? Or Triumph because he was Wards Leader before Aegis?"
"His favorite Ward? Gallant. Definitely Gallant," she said. I could hear the grin in her voice. She thought she was the one playing a prank on her boyfriend and it was adorable. "So, gonna get him Gallant merch?"
"Yeah, if that's his favorite Ward. I'm thinking if I show up early, I can get it signed by the man himself. Think he'd like that?"
"Hehehehe, totally. He'll love it."
"Alright, cool. I have Saturday plans now. See you tomorrow, Vicky."
"Yup! It's going to be great, Bryce. You have a good night!" she chirped before the line went dead.
I chuckled to myself as I returned to my homework. If I could help Vicky play a harmless prank, then why wouldn't I?
I finished up my homework and grabbed a quick shower before shooting Faultline and Strider texts to let them know that I'd be paying a visit to the Palanquin. I didn't expect to pull another all-nighter, I did need my sleep, but I figured it'd be a good chance to knock out three birds with one stone. Deliver the hybrid engines to Uppercrust and Big Rig. Give Gregor his new suit. Then, when I had that sorted, I planned to visit a few gyms and dojos to insert my data sticks.
X
The handoff went well enough. With Strider and Faultline already in my corner, it was a simple matter of giving Gregor his suit and Strider the two hybrid engine samples. I even threw in a single nugget of wapometal and seastone each for Big Rig; I needed him to test the materials for himself before deciding he wanted them for his own projects after all.
Following that, I hopped all over town while cloaked to visit every gym I'd made a note of. A grand total of fourteen. They ranged from traditional martial arts dojos like kendo and taekwondo to more modern krav maga and Brazilian jujutsu. I wanted them all. I wanted to be a master of every mundane style of combat, so that should I ever go toe to toe against Krieg, I wouldn't be found wanting, so that I could demonstrate my inventions to their fullest potential. I was lacking, not my creations, and that stuck in my craw something fierce even now.
Alas, I'd have to stick to three for now.
I wandered from gym to gym, examining the equipment. Those, I felt, ought to be well-worn but cared for; I didn't want the moves from any "master" who only ever used them for fancy tricks and demonstrations. I also looked for a gym with a well-stocked first-aid kit that looked like it'd been used recently. I had no way of telling just from the equipment which gym taught "practical" self-defense, but I could at least eliminate the biggest posers.
Another qualification I had was that I ought to be able to use the martial art immediately. Unfortunately, that eliminated both the kendo and ninjutsu dojos. The anime nerd in me died a little inside, but I lacked a sword and could turn invisible at will. If I ever forged myself a zanpakuto or something, I'd definitely reconsider.
Finally, I had to consider my inventions. The hover boots and regalia easily made me the most mobile cape in the city. I eliminated Brazilian jujutsu and traditional judo for this reason. Grappling was amazingly useful against a single opponent, but on a battlefield where I'd almost certainly be outnumbered? Staying still to wrestle someone to the ground seemed directly counter to my greatest strength.
I settled on three schools at last: muay thai, aikido, and capoeira. Of these, muay thai was the only one useful for normal people in a typical street fight, but I wasn't normal anymore. I wanted muay thai to be my foundation, as it was for so many of the best fighters in the world, but the other two were chosen specifically to round out skillsets I expected I'd need shortly.
Aikido was taken for two reasons: First, its philosophy of "do no harm." It was what made aikido so ineffective in a street fight; that kind of ideal of not harming even the attacker was a lofty, hilariously arrogant mentality. And yet, it was one I arguably should have when dealing with normal people. Aikido taught restraining locks, throws, and takedowns that were far kinder on the attacker than anything in Brazilian jujutsu. Considering my suit's strength augmentation and omnidirectional leverage from my boots, I didn't doubt I could use even those to great effect.
Second, aikido offered me familiarity with escaping grapples. Sure, I could out-muscle normal people, but someone like Glory Girl? If she ever caught me by surprise, I wanted to be familiar enough with grapples to escape without harming her. I figured a combination of Thunder Wave, Psychic, and aikido would be good enough to get me distance and let me choose my engagements.
As for capoeira, it was between that and taekwondo. Both were seen as almost performative martial arts, but not because they lacked power. Kicking was incredibly risky in a fight because it gambled your own footing.
As a gravity child, I literally couldn't lose my footing. The ground beneath me could be launched at the speed of a fighter jet and it wouldn't matter. Those kicks that were so risky for everyone else were practically made with storm riders in mind.
Ultimately, I chose capoeira over taekwondo for one reason: the dance. The twisting motions that heavily relied on the core was exactly what I wanted. It had striking similarities with one of the primary roads in Air Gear, the Sonia Road.
The Sonia Road belonged to the Thorn Queen, a woman who could spin so quickly that she created "thorns" made of sonic booms, sonic booms she could somehow direct to perform individual attacks against isolated targets without harming the surroundings. However, the technique was just as dangerous for the user as it was for the opponent, potentially crippling in fact, which explained why there were so few Sonia Road practitioners.
That kind of torque generated by the core placed immense strain on the spine of the user, so much so that there had only ever been a single Thorn Queen who wasn't a gravity child. Rika. Save for her, both Gazelle and Ringo were gravity children with unique adaptions that allowed them to take in extra nitrogen with their lungs. This nitrogen created bubble-like cushions along the spine to absorb some of the impact of their roads.
I'd never be able to master the Sonia Road to that extent, but I didn't need to. Lind, the Fang King, and son of Gazelle, was able to combine the Sonia Road with his Bloody Road. He used the flexibility and whiplike spins of the Sonia Road as a foundation to improve the "sharpness" of his own air blades.
Capoeira wasn't the Sonia Road, but seeing how I had no tutors nor a frame of reference I could study, it was the closest analog with its revolving kicks and emphasis on core strength. Out of all the martial arts I could find, it was the only one that had a comparable style to one of the roads so I hoped learning it could help me decode some of the tricks of the Thorn Queens before me. If not, then perhaps I could do as Lind did and use that increased flexibility as a foundation for my own road.
Author's Note
Ergonomics is fascinating, both simple and a lot more complicated than you'd initially expect. For example, did you know that most doors which are meant to be pushed open have horizontal bars while doors that are meant to be pulled have vertical handles? It has to do with the way your muscles are structured in your arms. It sounds super simple in application, but thinking about it can be really difficult for an AI.
Higher morality is easy until it suddenly isn't, eh?
Is Bryce fucking with the empath? Of course!
Aikido? Capoeira? Useless. If you're thinking about self-defense, just pick up BJJ and kickboxing. But if your goal is to have a "kind" martial art and a fantastic set of abs, they're for you.
As always, many thanks to my patrons. You guys give me the weirdest ideas sometimes...
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N0Way
2.71 8281 8284 5904 5235 3602 8747 1352 6624 9775
It's bits like these that make me love your writing.
- Location
- spain
Eh. I mean... fighting for freedom doesn't mean making everyone have the same choices. Even if it sounds... uncaring, fighting purely for freedom of choice doesn't mean you ah e to help anybody. Not even give them all the options. Giving people to choice to do whatever doesn't mean it has to be an informed choice, if I'm making sense. Also, if he's read worm, Bryce knows how fucked up every cape is. I don't think it's wrong to want to keep his family safe, even if there is something to be said about the dangers of ignorance.
More selfishly, I they could try and restrict Bryce. I think that may be the main reason he's not coming clear to his mom.
Well-written protagonists are fun!
Fellow Human
Verified Roado Rolla
Animal trivia, this is totally thread related.
We have our answer to What does the fox say? I see Japanese use "kon", and as usual for their onamatopoeia foxes don't make any kon like sounds lol... I thought they yiped though...
Damn vixen's scream sounds like a woman getting stabbed. Otherwise fox sounds pretty much like a teen dog with a cracked voice.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6NuhlibHsM
We have our answer to What does the fox say? I see Japanese use "kon", and as usual for their onamatopoeia foxes don't make any kon like sounds lol... I thought they yiped though...
Damn vixen's scream sounds like a woman getting stabbed. Otherwise fox sounds pretty much like a teen dog with a cracked voice.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6NuhlibHsM
3.8 Surge
Fabled Webs
Lord Weaver, Glorious and Wise
- Location
- Arlington, VA
Surge 3.8
2010, November 6: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I finished up my Saturday morning jog before checking on the Inorganic Net. I wasn't sure what I was expecting in just two days, of course there wasn't much. The equipment I'd seeded with the data sticks did scan a few exercises, but nothing I'd consider combat-viable. Still, I dutifully followed along as the capoeira instructor went through her stretches and core exercises. It was good to have a routine I could follow beyond "jog for health." After all, having access to all these techniques wouldn't mean shit if my body lacked the muscle definition needed to perform them adequately.
After a few hours of exhausting physical conditioning, I took a shower and ate a small dollop of enchanted honey to give myself a quick pick-me-up before heading out to the Hillside Mall. I had to make good on my promise to Vicky.
Besides, Dean was a pretty swell dude and I did have a nice fat wallet now thanks to Accord.
I was glad I arrived early; I'd almost forgotten how crowded these meet-and-greet events could be, especially one where all the Wards were participating. Even twenty minutes early, the main plaza at the center of Hillside's donut-shaped layout was filling up rapidly.
I hadn't been to one of these since Sierra was in high school and I was in middle school. It was a New Wave thing if I remembered right, one of the last they held as a group before Fleur was murdered and Lightstar moved out of state.
Shortly following the Boston Games and New Wave's strong showing there, they held a public town hall meeting so people could ask questions about the movement. Dad found out somehow that Sisi had an interest in Crystal and extrapolated the burgeoning crush to an interest in New Wave as a whole. Nothing came of it, but Sisi was mortified all the same.
Smiling at the bittersweet memories of my second life's father, I wandered the plaza, looking over a handful of booths that sprang up to take advantage of the event. The owners of the maw knew their audience; virtually everything on the ground floor had been converted to showcase the Wards. I saw a Vista-themed sundress, which I knew she'd hate, Aegis-print bike helmets, replicas of Kid Win's hoverboard, with wheels obviously, and even Shadow Stalker-brand tacti-cool night vision goggles, which she probably threw a fit about.
I giggled as I tried one on. Everything about it screamed edgy teenager obsessed with airsoft or middle-aged mall ninja going through a midlife crisis. I'd never met Sophia Hess in this life, but I could practically feel her seething.
"Interested, young man?" the vendor asked, a balding, Hispanic man with a Dauntless-themed shirt.
"No thank you, sir. Stalker's fine and all, but I'm looking for something Gallant-related. My friend's birthday's coming up and he's his favorite hero," I told him honestly.
"Ohoho, the knightly tinker himself, eh? Well, I got just the thing for your buddy," he said as he leaned forward. He was in full salesman-mode now that I'd confirmed I planned to buy something. He brought out a heavily modified rifle used in laser tag. It was spray painted neon-blue and silver, Gallant's colors. "How 'bout a nice gun?"
"Gallant doesn't use a gun," I told him flatly. "You just spray painted a rifle in his colors."
"He does shoot energy blasts though."
"Ehh, no thanks, mister."
I left him grumbling as I walked away. There were a few ripoffs like that, but just as many with goods of surprising quality. Eventually, I settled on a scale model of Gallant's helmet. It had some heft to it, which made me think the plastic encased a metal frame. It wasn't protective by any measure, but any LARPer would have loved something like this in my past life. It even had LED lights built into the visor.
At $150, it was probably overpriced, but I had to give it to the maker, it did look pretty cool.
Gift shopping done, I grabbed myself a warm pretzel from a nearby snack stand before lining up. Not five minutes later, the Wards arrived with some PR rep who acted as the coordinator for the event. She said something about justice, being a pillar of the community, and something else that I tuned out before yielding the floor to Aegis.
I knew Carlos. He was a kind, mature boy who acted like a big brother figure to a lot of younger kids in school. Even knowing who was under the mask, I almost didn't recognize him. Just like at homecoming, the Aegis who stood in front of me stood with an almost domineering confidence that he lacked in his civilian life.
Credit where it was due, the PRT's public speaking coach knew what they were doing.
"Thank you for that, Miss Teller," he began, looking every bit the capable hero, "and thank you all for joining us here this morning. I'm sure you have a lot else you could be doing so it means a lot to have you with us. I'd try for a joke to kick things off, but that's more Clock's thing, and let's be honest, he's not that funny anyway."
That got a smattering of chuckles from the crowd along with good-natured grumbling from the resident clown.
"So, getting right to it, we're fortunate to be joined by the chief events officer of this mall. He has agreed to donate a portion of the proceeds of this weekend's revenue to the Brockton Bay Youth Centers, a nonprofit dedicated to providing for children in light of the upcoming holiday season. Because being a hero isn't about fighting; being a hero is about helping the community and giving back to the city we all love."
'I take it back, their PR guy needs to be fired immediately,' I thought, cringing a little at how corny it all sounded. To be fair to Aegis, he did well enough, but there just weren't many people who could make a speech like that sound genuine.
Being one of the first in line, it didn't take long for me to be shuffled in front of the Wards. The setup was such that each guest could meet a Ward for a minute or so, with them being lined up in order of seniority, much like a K-pop idol's handshake event. I shook my head and put on a smile for Carlos.
"Hey there, how's it going?" he asked in a friendly voice. "What's your name?"
"Bryce Kily. Sorry, but I'm just here to have Gallant sign this," I told him, holding up my shiny helmet.
I could feel him studying me with a gimlet eye. I'd portrayed myself as a cape nerd in school, but not the sort who collected merch. "Oh? Are you a fan?"
"Nah, it's for my friend, Dean Stansfield. His birthday's coming up and someone told me Gallant was his favorite Ward, no offense."
"Haha, no worries, Bryce, none taken. Gallant's a really great guy. I'm sure this Dean fellow will love his gift."
"I hope so! This bucket wasn't cheap!" I chirped happily as one of the workers ushered me onward.
Dean, Gallant, stood waiting. He looked every bit the knight and though I couldn't see his eyes through his helmet, I knew he was surprised to see me here. Still, he nodded affably and held out his hand. "Hello, I'm Gallant, how are you today?"
"I'm doing great, Gallant," I said with a fat smile, not even bothering to hide my amusement. I knew Dean saw emotions as colored aura around people, but he wasn't always great at interpreting them or identifying their source. I figured he'd probably pass off my aura as someone excited to get a gift for a friend. I hefted my helmet, a mirror copy of the one worn by my friend, and held it out. "Mind signing this? Got this for a friend's birthday coming up because his girlfriend said you were his favorite Ward."
"Y-Yeah? What's his name?"
"Dean Stansfield. Could you write a little message? Maybe, 'For Dean, your favorite Ward, Gallant?' Or something cheesy and appropriately heroic-sounding?"
"Y-Yeah… Give me a minute…" he replied woodenly. "Heard it from his girlfriend, huh?"
"Yup! Vicky's a great girl, being super considerate and all. I hope the two are happy together."
"Right… I hear she likes to play pranks sometimes."
"Not this time. I haven't known Dean long. Like, I didn't even know you were his favorite. Good thing she told me, or my gift to him probably would've been a pencil case or something equally lame," I said with a smile that wouldn't melt butter.
"Great. Here you go. I'm sorry, but that's all the time we have," he said, handing the helmet back. The text on it simply read, "Happy birthday, Dean. From Gallant." As I walked to Clockblocker, my enhanced hearing picked up his muttering under his breath. "Would've rather taken the pencil case…"
I bowed out of line after that. As interesting as a meeting with the rest of the Wards could be, I wanted to get on with my day. I was tempted to let Dennis in on Vicky's little prank, but Carlos would likely make Dean the butt of the joke as soon as they went back to PRT HQ anyway.
X
Social obligations met, I returned back home to put the model helmet away before skipping out again, this time to the Gullrest.
Having a rotating specialization of some of the greatest technical marvels in the multiverse sounded phenomenal, until I realized I couldn't master half the shit I made before being saddled with yet another tech tree that I felt obligated to explore because doing otherwise would be a massive waste of potential.
Even now, just three months in, I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed with all the different branches available to me. I had to master riding ATs; practice my marksmanship with the walker pistol; make more Muggy Ball bullets so I could have an emergency stockpile; develop my burgeoning aura by practicing with Magnet Rise, Psychic, and Protect; cultivate a client base so I could have the funds needed to tinker; begin planning out my ship; think about what I wanted to do with my new artificial devil fruit that'd just begun to flower; and build new tech, including my hybrid regalia. That was of course on top of school, maintaining relationships, and picking up martial arts.
Even for a (mostly) competent adult with a genetically enhanced physiology, that was a lot of things pulling me in different directions.
Which was why I decided to dedicate the rest of the weekend to tinkering and training in the hopes of getting caught up with my extensive to-do list, or at least make some headway.
After a morning of jogging, capoeira, and the Wards event, I didn't feel like doing any more physical practice at the moment so I began the session by unfolding the Pledge Regalia and strumming my guitar. By tuning the regalia's cross-shaped nodes to the sound waves produced by my guitar, I was able to use said waves like extensions of my own hands. I wasn't quite confident enough to start properly tinkering with sonokinesis yet, the internal components could be especially tricky when building with no hands, but I had graduated from picking apart a vacuum cleaner and could now start putting together the frames for more hybrid engines, Black Rhino motorcycles, and rudimentary ATs.
While I did that, I had SAINT mix more powders and distill the chemicals necessary for Buggy's special brand of explosive. The powder formula was ingenious, Buggy likely could have had a successful career as a weapon maker for the Marines if he so felt inclined, but also simple. It could be crafted even in the resource-starved East Blue, on a wooden ship, with only roughly nineteenth century towns to plunder.
SAINT had no trouble following along with the recipe.
After a few hours playing different types of music, I came to the conclusion that the Pledge Regalia was easier to use when I had an instrument in hand. When I first built it, I didn't use a guitar to practice, just whistling and using my voice to try and dismantle a toy Hero figure I had. After all, Kururu didn't need an external source of sound so I shouldn't either.
I wasn't wrong per se, but having the guitar in hand made things so much smoother. That was the difference between a master and a novice. I wondered briefly if it'd be worthwhile to build the sonic guitar that Kanon fellow had in the manga. He was Kururu's cousin and the only one who rode the Ring Road with offensive abilities. He incorporated multiple AT mechanisms into his guitar, allowing him to release destructive pulses of sound that could shatter glass or focus said pulses into blades that could compete with a king.
I shook my head. 'Nah, I have enough on my plate.' Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted my primary weapon to be a guitar of all things. As cool as such unorthodox weapons were in anime, most people stuck to a sword or something for good reasons. Giving up the use of both my hands, being forced to bring the pledge Regalia into battle when it could be better used in production…
There were better primary weapons.
After the music session, I moved on to making something for myself… kinda… Lunch came first, which meant tinkering with lineage factors, splicing qualities from different foodstuffs into other, more improbable foodstuffs to get the wackiest meal I could that was still technically edible.
It was fun… and the fact that this was what I did for fun probably said some things about me… But! It was fun so I didn't care. I was entitled to play Frankenstein with my groceries, damn it.
I quickly texted mom and Sisi that I'd be out with friends until dinner and got to work prepping my lunch. I couldn't eat cherry-flavored garlic or watermelon-flavored leeks, as funny as those were. Good nutrition was critical now that I was forcing myself through hellish conditioning.
That gave me an idea. It wasn't from my specializations, neither Pokemon nor One Piece nor Air Gear. Digimon… They grew meat. As in from the dirt. It was a constant through so many games and anime that "meat-apples" were something of a meme with the franchise.
Could I do that…?
And thus began the next step in my descent to biotinkering degeneracy.
I made a quick dash to the local Hannaford, the largest supermarket chain in New Hampshire, and picked up a bushel of apples, a package of ciabatta rolls, skirt steak, provolone cheese, onions, pickles, arugula, and a bottle of chipotle mayo. Then, then the madness began. After all, why stop at meat-apples?
The next two hours passed in a blur as I isolated different flavors and spliced them into individual apples. By the end of it, I had a ciabatta-apple, steak-apple, cheese-apple, onion-apple, pickle-apple, arugula-apple, and chipotle-apple. I carefully sliced them into thin strips before grilling the steak-apple and topping it with a cheese-apple. Then, I layered the rest of the slices into a standard sandwich configuration, capped on either end by two bread-apple slices.
I stared down at six of what looked for all the world like deconstructed then reconstructed apples.
"This is the single most idiotic thing I've ever done," I told SAINT, "and might be the most unreasonable way to make a sandwich in fiction."
"Poreee," he trilled beside me. He dusted off his powder-laden bill and hovered over a tablet, one of the few I'd not dismantled yet from the Hillside Heist. He quickly googled something and held the screen up to me.
"'Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn't stop to think if they shou-' Really? You're quoting Jurassic Park at me?"
"Porygon. Gon."
"Oh, you smug fuck."
"Por."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure it tastes fine." So saying, I grabbed one apple sandwich and took a big bite. The exterior layers were crisp, which translated somewhat well to what I expected of a sandwich, crisp onions, arugula, and the crunchy crust of a well-made ciabatta roll. Then the cheese-apple and steak-apple hit. I'd grilled the two in the hopes of giving them a more authentic flavor.
I froze.
"Pory?"
"N-No, it's fine," I told him, forcing myself to take another bite. I chewed thoroughly before swallowing. "Okay, definitely up there on the weirdness factor. To be fair, all the flavors are there. Skirt steak tastes like skirt steak and the provolone cheese is nice and mild, but they're also really juicy like an apple and it's kinda weird. Want one?"
"Reee," he trilled before a vacuum-like hole made up of pixels, zeroes, and ones opened up on his mouth. One of my "sandwiches" vanished into it.
"Did you even taste it?"
"Pory."
"Fine, whatever. I've had my fun so let's get back to work."
"Gon?"
"Are you done making the extra Muggy Ball powder?"
"Gon."
"Great job, bud. I really appreciate your help," I told him sincerely. Having him around was basically like having a second tinker and I couldn't be prouder of his growth. Best of all? He accepted crusted almonds as payment.
"Pory-gon? Pory?" he asked. Our connection twanged as he plucked on it like a guitar string, sending impressions laden with curiosity.
"Why do I keep making weird food?"
"Gon."
"Two reasons: First, it's fun. Like I said, SAINT, it's not enough to have a purpose, having a way to wind down is important too. Second, the lineage factors are not some unique invention by Vegapunk. They are a field of study, a subset of biology as understood by the scientists of One Piece. Sure, I made the Lineage Factor Extractor and Splicer, but I need to keep working if I want to better understand the process. Devil fruits don't just incorporate vegetables; they're part lion, dragon, eagle, or whatever else. I don't just want to be good, I want to be flawless. Get me?"
"Porygon."
"Yeah, so I'm going to make weird foods as a way to experiment from now on. That steak-apple had the flavor but the texture and aroma wasn't quite right for example. Being able to eat my experiments is just my way of having fun with the learning process."
We hopped right back to it after lunch. To give myself some time to digest, SAINT and I practiced our aim, me with my pistol and regular bullets and SAINT with telekinetically lifted projectiles.
I wasn't bad, I did hit my targets, but without SAINT hovering in my suit to act as my personal aimbot, my aim was only marginally better than average. Increased proprioception did mean I had better posture, but a natural deadeye, I was not.
"Say, SAINT," I called, making him pause. I had been taking a small break and watching him "shoot." "Why do you do that?"
"Pory?"
"That," I gestured to the little bolts he'd been using as ammunition. "Why throw that instead of using Psybeam?"
"Gon. Pory-gon," he chirped. He pressed a shared memory into my mind, of me telling him to practice this way. "Porygon."
"Well, yeah, I know I told you to, but that was initially to teach you better control over Psychic. You can hit the target as accurately as you want now and I think you understand psychic type aura so it should be fine to do something different."
"Gon?" he asked with a curious trill.
"Psybeam. It's supposed to be a beam of raw psychic power and a staple of the porygon line. I don't remember everything you can learn naturally, but I do remember Tri Attack and Psybeam were on that list."
"Gon," he said. I had the distinct feeling he was shrugging helplessly at me. It was more of a bob considering the little fella didn't actually have shoulders, but the message was clear enough.
"Try treating it like Thunder Wave," I advised. In a way, this too was an experiment. Just how much could SAINT learn on his own? I lacked a specialization to guide him and Earth-Bet lacked psychic powers altogether to act as a frame of reference. There was telekinesis which he copied from Rune and other capes, but this kind of raw expression of energy was a foreign concept to the capes of Earth-Bet. For the first time ever, I intended to leave SAINT on his own. I sent over a memory, a hazy scene from an anime of an alakazam crossing its spoons and a beam of rainbow color lancing out. "This is what it's supposed to look like. Want to try it?"
"Gon," he nodded. He turned back to the target. A corona of violet light surrounded him as he focused his psychic energy. And then… nothing. "Gon?"
"I don't know either, bud. This is going to be your personal project, to use what you have now and adapt it into a new technique of your own making. That's what inventing is. How 'bout it? Still think you can do it?"
"Porygon!" he chirped enthusiastically. I was counting on that. No matter how artificial, SAINT was a pokemon. He didn't mind being a tinker-lite and working alongside me, but as a pokemon, growing stronger was an inbuilt need. A competitive spirit was a natural part of who he was. I'd presented him with a challenge, one he should be able to overcome. And so, he would.
"Then I'll leave it to you. When you're not helping me, I want you to practice on your own. I know you've only been out fighting once when we raided the Merchants, but that's because I'm not as strong without you in the suit with me. Sooner or later, I'm going to be able to fight without a guided assist. I want you to be right by my side then."
"Pory-gon," he promised.
"We're going to kick so much ass."
"Gon!"
After another half hour of that, I transitioned back to tinkering, specifically, my new regalia. The heels of the Germa-tech hover boots contained unique compressors that compressed water vapor using a compound derived from pyrobloin to allow me to run on air. I simply refitted that into Ōm's Water Regalia, adding something to shape the compressed vapor into constantly spinning bubbles.
"I can stop right now and I'd still shoot rasengan water balloons from my heels," I mused. As funny as that was, I wasn't satisfied. Perhaps it was the result of being inundated with three months of shonen nonsense, but just as running Spitfire and Kazu's road wasn't enough for me, wearing Ōm's skates wasn't enough either.
I wanted my own regalia, my own road.
Trouble was, incorporating the Water Regalia into my hover boots was the easy part. Getting it all to play nice with Key Mother? I knew that'd be the real challenge, even with seastone frames to contain the immense friction.
And that was why I had to tear up the hover boots completely so I could build the entire body out of seastone. Leather, as comfy as it was, just wasn't good enough. Gold wire for conductivity. Wapometal for internal components that needed to be flexible and strong. But seastone for the skeletal frame of the boots as well as any component coming into contact with the rapidly rotating vapor-bubbles. In the end, what I'd designed was basically a set of grieves to go over a padded interior.
Unfortunately, molding all of that seastone used up almost everything in my stockpile. It took long enough that I barely made it home in time for dinner, earning myself a small scolding from mom.
X
I retired to my room for the night to find a message from a potential business partner. Surprisingly, it was not from Uppercrust, but from Big Rig. I thought Uppercrust would be faster in responding though I didn't know why. Maybe he gave off a more professional air than Toybox as a whole? Then again, he was likely the busiest tinker alive, Dragon excluded, thanks to his municipal defense systems.
Or maybe, Big Rig had relatively fewer resources than the head of an Elite cell and was more likely to jump on any opportunity to build connections, especially if said connection came with hyper-efficient engines fueled by easily acquired carbonated sugar-water. In any case, I had a note from the construction-tinker waiting in my pokenav.
Creed,
No worries, man, we're tinkers, being too busy to answer email is part of the experience. I took a gander at the Brockton Bay side of PHO and gotta say, you made quite the entrance. That's not necessarily a good thing, mind, keep that in mind and be careful. Wouldn't want to lose a business partner just after getting one because he was careless.
Now, I'll be honest with you. I wasn't impressed with your message. Keep in mind that a ramjet is a type of engine, not a measure of the engine's output. Yeah, I know what you meant, saying it's a small thing that rivals one found on a plane, fine, but it still read mighty unprofessional, like you didn't know what you were talking about.
Then I saw the specs on that engine and tested it myself. You build a lot better than you talk, that's for sure. Hell, even Pyrotechnical was impressed, said he wouldn't mind a collaboration. You can expect a letter from him sometime soon, whenever he's done with his current commission. Or he might forget, who knows? Guy's worryingly spacey for someone who handles so much explosives.
Look, I'm not really good at this whole negotiating thing, I leave most of that to Toy Soldier normally, but I want more. I make drones that build buildings and I can see how your tech synergizes with mine. I plugged the sample engine you gave me onto one of my drones and it was amazing how simple that was. Normally, tinkers have to jump through a bunch of hoops to get their tech to play nice with other tinkertech. You got something real valuable here is what I'm saying.
And that seastone stuff. I ain't sure about the name, but you do you. What I am sure of is that I like the gray, granite look it's got and I've never seen any stone anywhere near as durable. Looks are real important for some of my construction jobs, you see. I've got a job coming up to build a private emergency bunker for some fat cat up in Chicago and I want to make the walls and foundations out of this seastone stuff.
As for the wapometal, I'm interested, but it's not a priority. Pyro's got a knack for forging too, got some kind of tinkertech forge in his lab, and shape-memory alloys aren't new. It's stronger than most things Pyro can readily make, but I'm not willing to shell out a lot of cash over it. Maybe that'll change if I come across a specific job, but not right now. Toy Soldier seemed interested for his power armor if you want to take it up with him.
Lastly, that Germa fabric? It's not nearly as useful in construction as the other stuff you sent me. I wouldn't mind having a costume made of it for protection of course, but that's about it.
So here's the gist: I want the engines and seastone. You want a CAD, fabricators, and drones. Alright, let's make it happen. I'm going to keep an eye on my chatbox for the next few days. Get back to me when you can and we can hash this out properly.
-Big Rig
I grinned as I finished reading. It was happening, person whose cooperation I wanted most had bitten the bait. Others might keep him waiting as some kind of power play, but I saw no point. He had something I wanted, I had something he wanted, so we'd trade.
I sent him a private message on PHO. Not four minutes later, I had a reply to a video link. After having SAINT check it out to make sure the line was secure, I put on my helmet and accepted the call.
Big Rig was a corpulent man who wore a hard hat and gas mask, the sort you'd find on a construction site. He had on a neon-orange vest over comfortable work clothes. Everything was stylized of course, more blocky and angular to give him broader shoulders.
"Big Rig, a pleasure to put a face to the name," I greeted.
"Likewise, Creed. I gotta ask, for Dodge's sake, are you another Sentai Elite fan?" he asked with a chuckle and the hint of a southern drawl. "Kiddo was real excited when he saw the outfit."
"God, if I had a quarter for every time I heard that… There are things I like and don't like about them. It's more the old school Super Sentai, Kamen Rider, and Ultraman aesthetic I like. I think we both drew inspiration from the same place."
"Fair enough. Now, let's talk business, Creed."
I allowed myself a quiet sigh that didn't carry through my helmet. This would be a long night, but I hoped it'd pay off.
Author's Note
Thanks to Lincolnator on SB for correcting my nonexistent engineering knowledge. A "ramjet" is a type of engine, not a scale for how powerful an engine is. Though most are found on planes, he's since told me that you can have a "ramjet" fuel a tricycle if an engineer felt so inclined. Big Rig's reaction is a bit of a dig on that.
Why does he sound southern? I have no idea either.
Not much to say. Have an animal fact: The ocean sunfish, or mola mola, is the largest bony fish in the world, which is distinct from a cartilaginous fish (sharks, rays, etc.). It is also one of the few fish that lack scales, instead having small, tooth-like projections on its skin called denticles and mucus. Because it's relatively slow and lacks scales, it often suffers from parasites. It also has only four teeth in its mouth, though its throat is lined with teeth that help grind up food.
Admit it, you though I'd make a joke about fish, didn't you? Well, it's good to have a purely educational A/N once in a while. Gotta keep you on your toes.
Anyway, thanks to my patrons; I'm flattered you think my stuff is worth your money.
2010, November 6: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I finished up my Saturday morning jog before checking on the Inorganic Net. I wasn't sure what I was expecting in just two days, of course there wasn't much. The equipment I'd seeded with the data sticks did scan a few exercises, but nothing I'd consider combat-viable. Still, I dutifully followed along as the capoeira instructor went through her stretches and core exercises. It was good to have a routine I could follow beyond "jog for health." After all, having access to all these techniques wouldn't mean shit if my body lacked the muscle definition needed to perform them adequately.
After a few hours of exhausting physical conditioning, I took a shower and ate a small dollop of enchanted honey to give myself a quick pick-me-up before heading out to the Hillside Mall. I had to make good on my promise to Vicky.
Besides, Dean was a pretty swell dude and I did have a nice fat wallet now thanks to Accord.
I was glad I arrived early; I'd almost forgotten how crowded these meet-and-greet events could be, especially one where all the Wards were participating. Even twenty minutes early, the main plaza at the center of Hillside's donut-shaped layout was filling up rapidly.
I hadn't been to one of these since Sierra was in high school and I was in middle school. It was a New Wave thing if I remembered right, one of the last they held as a group before Fleur was murdered and Lightstar moved out of state.
Shortly following the Boston Games and New Wave's strong showing there, they held a public town hall meeting so people could ask questions about the movement. Dad found out somehow that Sisi had an interest in Crystal and extrapolated the burgeoning crush to an interest in New Wave as a whole. Nothing came of it, but Sisi was mortified all the same.
Smiling at the bittersweet memories of my second life's father, I wandered the plaza, looking over a handful of booths that sprang up to take advantage of the event. The owners of the maw knew their audience; virtually everything on the ground floor had been converted to showcase the Wards. I saw a Vista-themed sundress, which I knew she'd hate, Aegis-print bike helmets, replicas of Kid Win's hoverboard, with wheels obviously, and even Shadow Stalker-brand tacti-cool night vision goggles, which she probably threw a fit about.
I giggled as I tried one on. Everything about it screamed edgy teenager obsessed with airsoft or middle-aged mall ninja going through a midlife crisis. I'd never met Sophia Hess in this life, but I could practically feel her seething.
"Interested, young man?" the vendor asked, a balding, Hispanic man with a Dauntless-themed shirt.
"No thank you, sir. Stalker's fine and all, but I'm looking for something Gallant-related. My friend's birthday's coming up and he's his favorite hero," I told him honestly.
"Ohoho, the knightly tinker himself, eh? Well, I got just the thing for your buddy," he said as he leaned forward. He was in full salesman-mode now that I'd confirmed I planned to buy something. He brought out a heavily modified rifle used in laser tag. It was spray painted neon-blue and silver, Gallant's colors. "How 'bout a nice gun?"
"Gallant doesn't use a gun," I told him flatly. "You just spray painted a rifle in his colors."
"He does shoot energy blasts though."
"Ehh, no thanks, mister."
I left him grumbling as I walked away. There were a few ripoffs like that, but just as many with goods of surprising quality. Eventually, I settled on a scale model of Gallant's helmet. It had some heft to it, which made me think the plastic encased a metal frame. It wasn't protective by any measure, but any LARPer would have loved something like this in my past life. It even had LED lights built into the visor.
At $150, it was probably overpriced, but I had to give it to the maker, it did look pretty cool.
Gift shopping done, I grabbed myself a warm pretzel from a nearby snack stand before lining up. Not five minutes later, the Wards arrived with some PR rep who acted as the coordinator for the event. She said something about justice, being a pillar of the community, and something else that I tuned out before yielding the floor to Aegis.
I knew Carlos. He was a kind, mature boy who acted like a big brother figure to a lot of younger kids in school. Even knowing who was under the mask, I almost didn't recognize him. Just like at homecoming, the Aegis who stood in front of me stood with an almost domineering confidence that he lacked in his civilian life.
Credit where it was due, the PRT's public speaking coach knew what they were doing.
"Thank you for that, Miss Teller," he began, looking every bit the capable hero, "and thank you all for joining us here this morning. I'm sure you have a lot else you could be doing so it means a lot to have you with us. I'd try for a joke to kick things off, but that's more Clock's thing, and let's be honest, he's not that funny anyway."
That got a smattering of chuckles from the crowd along with good-natured grumbling from the resident clown.
"So, getting right to it, we're fortunate to be joined by the chief events officer of this mall. He has agreed to donate a portion of the proceeds of this weekend's revenue to the Brockton Bay Youth Centers, a nonprofit dedicated to providing for children in light of the upcoming holiday season. Because being a hero isn't about fighting; being a hero is about helping the community and giving back to the city we all love."
'I take it back, their PR guy needs to be fired immediately,' I thought, cringing a little at how corny it all sounded. To be fair to Aegis, he did well enough, but there just weren't many people who could make a speech like that sound genuine.
Being one of the first in line, it didn't take long for me to be shuffled in front of the Wards. The setup was such that each guest could meet a Ward for a minute or so, with them being lined up in order of seniority, much like a K-pop idol's handshake event. I shook my head and put on a smile for Carlos.
"Hey there, how's it going?" he asked in a friendly voice. "What's your name?"
"Bryce Kily. Sorry, but I'm just here to have Gallant sign this," I told him, holding up my shiny helmet.
I could feel him studying me with a gimlet eye. I'd portrayed myself as a cape nerd in school, but not the sort who collected merch. "Oh? Are you a fan?"
"Nah, it's for my friend, Dean Stansfield. His birthday's coming up and someone told me Gallant was his favorite Ward, no offense."
"Haha, no worries, Bryce, none taken. Gallant's a really great guy. I'm sure this Dean fellow will love his gift."
"I hope so! This bucket wasn't cheap!" I chirped happily as one of the workers ushered me onward.
Dean, Gallant, stood waiting. He looked every bit the knight and though I couldn't see his eyes through his helmet, I knew he was surprised to see me here. Still, he nodded affably and held out his hand. "Hello, I'm Gallant, how are you today?"
"I'm doing great, Gallant," I said with a fat smile, not even bothering to hide my amusement. I knew Dean saw emotions as colored aura around people, but he wasn't always great at interpreting them or identifying their source. I figured he'd probably pass off my aura as someone excited to get a gift for a friend. I hefted my helmet, a mirror copy of the one worn by my friend, and held it out. "Mind signing this? Got this for a friend's birthday coming up because his girlfriend said you were his favorite Ward."
"Y-Yeah? What's his name?"
"Dean Stansfield. Could you write a little message? Maybe, 'For Dean, your favorite Ward, Gallant?' Or something cheesy and appropriately heroic-sounding?"
"Y-Yeah… Give me a minute…" he replied woodenly. "Heard it from his girlfriend, huh?"
"Yup! Vicky's a great girl, being super considerate and all. I hope the two are happy together."
"Right… I hear she likes to play pranks sometimes."
"Not this time. I haven't known Dean long. Like, I didn't even know you were his favorite. Good thing she told me, or my gift to him probably would've been a pencil case or something equally lame," I said with a smile that wouldn't melt butter.
"Great. Here you go. I'm sorry, but that's all the time we have," he said, handing the helmet back. The text on it simply read, "Happy birthday, Dean. From Gallant." As I walked to Clockblocker, my enhanced hearing picked up his muttering under his breath. "Would've rather taken the pencil case…"
I bowed out of line after that. As interesting as a meeting with the rest of the Wards could be, I wanted to get on with my day. I was tempted to let Dennis in on Vicky's little prank, but Carlos would likely make Dean the butt of the joke as soon as they went back to PRT HQ anyway.
X
Social obligations met, I returned back home to put the model helmet away before skipping out again, this time to the Gullrest.
Having a rotating specialization of some of the greatest technical marvels in the multiverse sounded phenomenal, until I realized I couldn't master half the shit I made before being saddled with yet another tech tree that I felt obligated to explore because doing otherwise would be a massive waste of potential.
Even now, just three months in, I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed with all the different branches available to me. I had to master riding ATs; practice my marksmanship with the walker pistol; make more Muggy Ball bullets so I could have an emergency stockpile; develop my burgeoning aura by practicing with Magnet Rise, Psychic, and Protect; cultivate a client base so I could have the funds needed to tinker; begin planning out my ship; think about what I wanted to do with my new artificial devil fruit that'd just begun to flower; and build new tech, including my hybrid regalia. That was of course on top of school, maintaining relationships, and picking up martial arts.
Even for a (mostly) competent adult with a genetically enhanced physiology, that was a lot of things pulling me in different directions.
Which was why I decided to dedicate the rest of the weekend to tinkering and training in the hopes of getting caught up with my extensive to-do list, or at least make some headway.
After a morning of jogging, capoeira, and the Wards event, I didn't feel like doing any more physical practice at the moment so I began the session by unfolding the Pledge Regalia and strumming my guitar. By tuning the regalia's cross-shaped nodes to the sound waves produced by my guitar, I was able to use said waves like extensions of my own hands. I wasn't quite confident enough to start properly tinkering with sonokinesis yet, the internal components could be especially tricky when building with no hands, but I had graduated from picking apart a vacuum cleaner and could now start putting together the frames for more hybrid engines, Black Rhino motorcycles, and rudimentary ATs.
While I did that, I had SAINT mix more powders and distill the chemicals necessary for Buggy's special brand of explosive. The powder formula was ingenious, Buggy likely could have had a successful career as a weapon maker for the Marines if he so felt inclined, but also simple. It could be crafted even in the resource-starved East Blue, on a wooden ship, with only roughly nineteenth century towns to plunder.
SAINT had no trouble following along with the recipe.
After a few hours playing different types of music, I came to the conclusion that the Pledge Regalia was easier to use when I had an instrument in hand. When I first built it, I didn't use a guitar to practice, just whistling and using my voice to try and dismantle a toy Hero figure I had. After all, Kururu didn't need an external source of sound so I shouldn't either.
I wasn't wrong per se, but having the guitar in hand made things so much smoother. That was the difference between a master and a novice. I wondered briefly if it'd be worthwhile to build the sonic guitar that Kanon fellow had in the manga. He was Kururu's cousin and the only one who rode the Ring Road with offensive abilities. He incorporated multiple AT mechanisms into his guitar, allowing him to release destructive pulses of sound that could shatter glass or focus said pulses into blades that could compete with a king.
I shook my head. 'Nah, I have enough on my plate.' Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted my primary weapon to be a guitar of all things. As cool as such unorthodox weapons were in anime, most people stuck to a sword or something for good reasons. Giving up the use of both my hands, being forced to bring the pledge Regalia into battle when it could be better used in production…
There were better primary weapons.
After the music session, I moved on to making something for myself… kinda… Lunch came first, which meant tinkering with lineage factors, splicing qualities from different foodstuffs into other, more improbable foodstuffs to get the wackiest meal I could that was still technically edible.
It was fun… and the fact that this was what I did for fun probably said some things about me… But! It was fun so I didn't care. I was entitled to play Frankenstein with my groceries, damn it.
I quickly texted mom and Sisi that I'd be out with friends until dinner and got to work prepping my lunch. I couldn't eat cherry-flavored garlic or watermelon-flavored leeks, as funny as those were. Good nutrition was critical now that I was forcing myself through hellish conditioning.
That gave me an idea. It wasn't from my specializations, neither Pokemon nor One Piece nor Air Gear. Digimon… They grew meat. As in from the dirt. It was a constant through so many games and anime that "meat-apples" were something of a meme with the franchise.
Could I do that…?
And thus began the next step in my descent to biotinkering degeneracy.
I made a quick dash to the local Hannaford, the largest supermarket chain in New Hampshire, and picked up a bushel of apples, a package of ciabatta rolls, skirt steak, provolone cheese, onions, pickles, arugula, and a bottle of chipotle mayo. Then, then the madness began. After all, why stop at meat-apples?
The next two hours passed in a blur as I isolated different flavors and spliced them into individual apples. By the end of it, I had a ciabatta-apple, steak-apple, cheese-apple, onion-apple, pickle-apple, arugula-apple, and chipotle-apple. I carefully sliced them into thin strips before grilling the steak-apple and topping it with a cheese-apple. Then, I layered the rest of the slices into a standard sandwich configuration, capped on either end by two bread-apple slices.
I stared down at six of what looked for all the world like deconstructed then reconstructed apples.
"This is the single most idiotic thing I've ever done," I told SAINT, "and might be the most unreasonable way to make a sandwich in fiction."
"Poreee," he trilled beside me. He dusted off his powder-laden bill and hovered over a tablet, one of the few I'd not dismantled yet from the Hillside Heist. He quickly googled something and held the screen up to me.
"'Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn't stop to think if they shou-' Really? You're quoting Jurassic Park at me?"
"Porygon. Gon."
"Oh, you smug fuck."
"Por."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure it tastes fine." So saying, I grabbed one apple sandwich and took a big bite. The exterior layers were crisp, which translated somewhat well to what I expected of a sandwich, crisp onions, arugula, and the crunchy crust of a well-made ciabatta roll. Then the cheese-apple and steak-apple hit. I'd grilled the two in the hopes of giving them a more authentic flavor.
I froze.
"Pory?"
"N-No, it's fine," I told him, forcing myself to take another bite. I chewed thoroughly before swallowing. "Okay, definitely up there on the weirdness factor. To be fair, all the flavors are there. Skirt steak tastes like skirt steak and the provolone cheese is nice and mild, but they're also really juicy like an apple and it's kinda weird. Want one?"
"Reee," he trilled before a vacuum-like hole made up of pixels, zeroes, and ones opened up on his mouth. One of my "sandwiches" vanished into it.
"Did you even taste it?"
"Pory."
"Fine, whatever. I've had my fun so let's get back to work."
"Gon?"
"Are you done making the extra Muggy Ball powder?"
"Gon."
"Great job, bud. I really appreciate your help," I told him sincerely. Having him around was basically like having a second tinker and I couldn't be prouder of his growth. Best of all? He accepted crusted almonds as payment.
"Pory-gon? Pory?" he asked. Our connection twanged as he plucked on it like a guitar string, sending impressions laden with curiosity.
"Why do I keep making weird food?"
"Gon."
"Two reasons: First, it's fun. Like I said, SAINT, it's not enough to have a purpose, having a way to wind down is important too. Second, the lineage factors are not some unique invention by Vegapunk. They are a field of study, a subset of biology as understood by the scientists of One Piece. Sure, I made the Lineage Factor Extractor and Splicer, but I need to keep working if I want to better understand the process. Devil fruits don't just incorporate vegetables; they're part lion, dragon, eagle, or whatever else. I don't just want to be good, I want to be flawless. Get me?"
"Porygon."
"Yeah, so I'm going to make weird foods as a way to experiment from now on. That steak-apple had the flavor but the texture and aroma wasn't quite right for example. Being able to eat my experiments is just my way of having fun with the learning process."
We hopped right back to it after lunch. To give myself some time to digest, SAINT and I practiced our aim, me with my pistol and regular bullets and SAINT with telekinetically lifted projectiles.
I wasn't bad, I did hit my targets, but without SAINT hovering in my suit to act as my personal aimbot, my aim was only marginally better than average. Increased proprioception did mean I had better posture, but a natural deadeye, I was not.
"Say, SAINT," I called, making him pause. I had been taking a small break and watching him "shoot." "Why do you do that?"
"Pory?"
"That," I gestured to the little bolts he'd been using as ammunition. "Why throw that instead of using Psybeam?"
"Gon. Pory-gon," he chirped. He pressed a shared memory into my mind, of me telling him to practice this way. "Porygon."
"Well, yeah, I know I told you to, but that was initially to teach you better control over Psychic. You can hit the target as accurately as you want now and I think you understand psychic type aura so it should be fine to do something different."
"Gon?" he asked with a curious trill.
"Psybeam. It's supposed to be a beam of raw psychic power and a staple of the porygon line. I don't remember everything you can learn naturally, but I do remember Tri Attack and Psybeam were on that list."
"Gon," he said. I had the distinct feeling he was shrugging helplessly at me. It was more of a bob considering the little fella didn't actually have shoulders, but the message was clear enough.
"Try treating it like Thunder Wave," I advised. In a way, this too was an experiment. Just how much could SAINT learn on his own? I lacked a specialization to guide him and Earth-Bet lacked psychic powers altogether to act as a frame of reference. There was telekinesis which he copied from Rune and other capes, but this kind of raw expression of energy was a foreign concept to the capes of Earth-Bet. For the first time ever, I intended to leave SAINT on his own. I sent over a memory, a hazy scene from an anime of an alakazam crossing its spoons and a beam of rainbow color lancing out. "This is what it's supposed to look like. Want to try it?"
"Gon," he nodded. He turned back to the target. A corona of violet light surrounded him as he focused his psychic energy. And then… nothing. "Gon?"
"I don't know either, bud. This is going to be your personal project, to use what you have now and adapt it into a new technique of your own making. That's what inventing is. How 'bout it? Still think you can do it?"
"Porygon!" he chirped enthusiastically. I was counting on that. No matter how artificial, SAINT was a pokemon. He didn't mind being a tinker-lite and working alongside me, but as a pokemon, growing stronger was an inbuilt need. A competitive spirit was a natural part of who he was. I'd presented him with a challenge, one he should be able to overcome. And so, he would.
"Then I'll leave it to you. When you're not helping me, I want you to practice on your own. I know you've only been out fighting once when we raided the Merchants, but that's because I'm not as strong without you in the suit with me. Sooner or later, I'm going to be able to fight without a guided assist. I want you to be right by my side then."
"Pory-gon," he promised.
"We're going to kick so much ass."
"Gon!"
After another half hour of that, I transitioned back to tinkering, specifically, my new regalia. The heels of the Germa-tech hover boots contained unique compressors that compressed water vapor using a compound derived from pyrobloin to allow me to run on air. I simply refitted that into Ōm's Water Regalia, adding something to shape the compressed vapor into constantly spinning bubbles.
"I can stop right now and I'd still shoot rasengan water balloons from my heels," I mused. As funny as that was, I wasn't satisfied. Perhaps it was the result of being inundated with three months of shonen nonsense, but just as running Spitfire and Kazu's road wasn't enough for me, wearing Ōm's skates wasn't enough either.
I wanted my own regalia, my own road.
Trouble was, incorporating the Water Regalia into my hover boots was the easy part. Getting it all to play nice with Key Mother? I knew that'd be the real challenge, even with seastone frames to contain the immense friction.
And that was why I had to tear up the hover boots completely so I could build the entire body out of seastone. Leather, as comfy as it was, just wasn't good enough. Gold wire for conductivity. Wapometal for internal components that needed to be flexible and strong. But seastone for the skeletal frame of the boots as well as any component coming into contact with the rapidly rotating vapor-bubbles. In the end, what I'd designed was basically a set of grieves to go over a padded interior.
Unfortunately, molding all of that seastone used up almost everything in my stockpile. It took long enough that I barely made it home in time for dinner, earning myself a small scolding from mom.
X
I retired to my room for the night to find a message from a potential business partner. Surprisingly, it was not from Uppercrust, but from Big Rig. I thought Uppercrust would be faster in responding though I didn't know why. Maybe he gave off a more professional air than Toybox as a whole? Then again, he was likely the busiest tinker alive, Dragon excluded, thanks to his municipal defense systems.
Or maybe, Big Rig had relatively fewer resources than the head of an Elite cell and was more likely to jump on any opportunity to build connections, especially if said connection came with hyper-efficient engines fueled by easily acquired carbonated sugar-water. In any case, I had a note from the construction-tinker waiting in my pokenav.
Creed,
No worries, man, we're tinkers, being too busy to answer email is part of the experience. I took a gander at the Brockton Bay side of PHO and gotta say, you made quite the entrance. That's not necessarily a good thing, mind, keep that in mind and be careful. Wouldn't want to lose a business partner just after getting one because he was careless.
Now, I'll be honest with you. I wasn't impressed with your message. Keep in mind that a ramjet is a type of engine, not a measure of the engine's output. Yeah, I know what you meant, saying it's a small thing that rivals one found on a plane, fine, but it still read mighty unprofessional, like you didn't know what you were talking about.
Then I saw the specs on that engine and tested it myself. You build a lot better than you talk, that's for sure. Hell, even Pyrotechnical was impressed, said he wouldn't mind a collaboration. You can expect a letter from him sometime soon, whenever he's done with his current commission. Or he might forget, who knows? Guy's worryingly spacey for someone who handles so much explosives.
Look, I'm not really good at this whole negotiating thing, I leave most of that to Toy Soldier normally, but I want more. I make drones that build buildings and I can see how your tech synergizes with mine. I plugged the sample engine you gave me onto one of my drones and it was amazing how simple that was. Normally, tinkers have to jump through a bunch of hoops to get their tech to play nice with other tinkertech. You got something real valuable here is what I'm saying.
And that seastone stuff. I ain't sure about the name, but you do you. What I am sure of is that I like the gray, granite look it's got and I've never seen any stone anywhere near as durable. Looks are real important for some of my construction jobs, you see. I've got a job coming up to build a private emergency bunker for some fat cat up in Chicago and I want to make the walls and foundations out of this seastone stuff.
As for the wapometal, I'm interested, but it's not a priority. Pyro's got a knack for forging too, got some kind of tinkertech forge in his lab, and shape-memory alloys aren't new. It's stronger than most things Pyro can readily make, but I'm not willing to shell out a lot of cash over it. Maybe that'll change if I come across a specific job, but not right now. Toy Soldier seemed interested for his power armor if you want to take it up with him.
Lastly, that Germa fabric? It's not nearly as useful in construction as the other stuff you sent me. I wouldn't mind having a costume made of it for protection of course, but that's about it.
So here's the gist: I want the engines and seastone. You want a CAD, fabricators, and drones. Alright, let's make it happen. I'm going to keep an eye on my chatbox for the next few days. Get back to me when you can and we can hash this out properly.
-Big Rig
I grinned as I finished reading. It was happening, person whose cooperation I wanted most had bitten the bait. Others might keep him waiting as some kind of power play, but I saw no point. He had something I wanted, I had something he wanted, so we'd trade.
I sent him a private message on PHO. Not four minutes later, I had a reply to a video link. After having SAINT check it out to make sure the line was secure, I put on my helmet and accepted the call.
Big Rig was a corpulent man who wore a hard hat and gas mask, the sort you'd find on a construction site. He had on a neon-orange vest over comfortable work clothes. Everything was stylized of course, more blocky and angular to give him broader shoulders.
"Big Rig, a pleasure to put a face to the name," I greeted.
"Likewise, Creed. I gotta ask, for Dodge's sake, are you another Sentai Elite fan?" he asked with a chuckle and the hint of a southern drawl. "Kiddo was real excited when he saw the outfit."
"God, if I had a quarter for every time I heard that… There are things I like and don't like about them. It's more the old school Super Sentai, Kamen Rider, and Ultraman aesthetic I like. I think we both drew inspiration from the same place."
"Fair enough. Now, let's talk business, Creed."
I allowed myself a quiet sigh that didn't carry through my helmet. This would be a long night, but I hoped it'd pay off.
Author's Note
Thanks to Lincolnator on SB for correcting my nonexistent engineering knowledge. A "ramjet" is a type of engine, not a scale for how powerful an engine is. Though most are found on planes, he's since told me that you can have a "ramjet" fuel a tricycle if an engineer felt so inclined. Big Rig's reaction is a bit of a dig on that.
Why does he sound southern? I have no idea either.
Not much to say. Have an animal fact: The ocean sunfish, or mola mola, is the largest bony fish in the world, which is distinct from a cartilaginous fish (sharks, rays, etc.). It is also one of the few fish that lack scales, instead having small, tooth-like projections on its skin called denticles and mucus. Because it's relatively slow and lacks scales, it often suffers from parasites. It also has only four teeth in its mouth, though its throat is lined with teeth that help grind up food.
Admit it, you though I'd make a joke about fish, didn't you? Well, it's good to have a purely educational A/N once in a while. Gotta keep you on your toes.
Anyway, thanks to my patrons; I'm flattered you think my stuff is worth your money.
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Shaper is going to be so jealous. Amy go hang out with Bryce more so he can corrupt you.
Dean just got pranked. It's only starting though. He knows that it's coming and won't be able to dodge it at his party either.
Dean just got pranked. It's only starting though. He knows that it's coming and won't be able to dodge it at his party either.
If he could copy handwriting I'm sure he would have addressed a gifted Pencil Case to Dean from Gallant
Fellow Human
Verified Roado Rolla
How 'bout every flavour beans and gourmet food to sell? There would be a bit of bio-tinker paranoia but GMO food is not tinkertech.
For gourmet food he could take custom orders and charge 1000$/kg.
For gourmet food he could take custom orders and charge 1000$/kg.
3.9 Surge
Fabled Webs
Lord Weaver, Glorious and Wise
- Location
- Arlington, VA
Surge 3.9
2010, November 7: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I was pleasantly surprised; negotiations the night prior didn't end up taking all that long. Neither Big Rig nor I were the sort to pinch pennies and it showed. Face to face, Big Rig was every bit as gruff as his construction foreman costume implied. He had a rough but not unkind demeanor to him that bashed directly to the point like a bulldozer. He was a man who knew what he wanted and didn't tolerate fools and "snake oil salesmen" as he'd called them.
Unfortunate that I couldn't fleece him for extra cash, but great in that he wasn't the sort to cheap out on me either.
In the end, we settled on a simple system: For every construction drone I wanted, he'd get a hybrid soda engine out of me, and vice versa. Should one of us have our fill of the other's product, we'd default to cash, or in his case, a set weight of either seastone or wapometal. The CAD and fabricator, which I'd only need one of for the immediate future, we agreed to purchase for a set weight of seastone, to be delivered as soon as I could get the fabricator working.
He'd begun by trying to demand more for the fabricator, but I pointed out that me being able to mass-produce was just another way for him to secure his own supply chain, especially if he wanted to cover an entire private emergency bunker out of seastone. The fabricator wasn't as much a part of negotiations as it was the bare minimum that I needed to have for any trade to even be feasible in the long run. He grumbled, but in the end gave me a steep discount on the first. If I ever needed a second fabricator, he warned that he fully expected me to pay the full amount.
Lastly, we agreed that any trade between us would remain independent of market considerations. As in, neither he nor I would change the price of our goods just because another tinker hiked up demand elsewhere. It was a promise I made for his sake, I strongly expected demand for my time to skyrocket as I acquired different specializations. Still, he'd been straight with me and I felt obligated to be fair in turn.
I accepted the deal and thanked him for his generosity. I suspected that at least part of it was Toybox's stated mission of propping up independent tinkers. Regardless of the reason, negotiations came to an end far more expediently than I'd initially expected.
I received a notice from Big Rig shortly after informing me that Dodge of Toybox would be delivering my new CAD and fabricator to the Palanquin at 3 AM, Monday.
I scratched my stomach and got up with a lazy grumble. I wanted to spend Sunday morning relaxing, but as much as I appreciated Big Rig's speedy delivery, it meant I'd be busy tinkering again today to prepare for the influx of supplies.
To be fair, it was something I should have done a long time ago, as soon as I realized Strider would be coming in with almost a literal ton of volcanic ash on a regular basis. Now that I expected the deliveries to be even bigger, in volume and likely in mass, simple expanded bags wouldn't cut it anymore. I needed a way to carry things that wouldn't fit in the mouth of a large suitcase.
I needed another DSS port, one that I could carry around.
I groaned pitifully. Trying to get that to work with a laptop was going to be a nightmare.
I stepped into the shower and allowed the cold water to wake me fully. Then I froze before promptly running my forehead into the ceramic tile. Then one more time, because I deserved it. "Holy fuck I'm stupid… Why does it need to be a laptop? I can just carry a desktop in an expanded bag, piggyback off the Palanquin's network, digitize the deliveries, then pack up the desktop again."
I sighed. Now that I was thinking properly, I remembered having similar thoughts when I first built the DSS in th Gullrest. Then I got distracted tinkering and shelved any plans to tinker in the future. I slumped, resting my forehead against the cool ceramic. I thought I took a lot of notes where my power was concerned, but I clearly wasn't nearly meticulous enough if I forgot about such an obvious exploit. What else had I missed while chasing the hot new thing?
Getting out of the shower, I toweled myself off and replaced my contacts. I'd just have to take the loss on this one and learn from it. Just because I built something once didn't mean I couldn't find different applications or workarounds.
Thus resolved, I headed down to join mom and Sisi for a delicious breakfast of sausage, pepper, and onion hash with a side of fruit. I reached into the fridge to grab my hot sauce and settled down next to my sister.
"Morning, mom, Sierra," I greeted as I sprinkled a generous helping of hot sauce onto my breakfast. It was a chipotle-lime blend this time; mom bought it just for me.
"Good morning, dear," mom greeted back. "Either of you want to come to church with me?"
"Nope," we chorused as one, completing our Sunday morning routine. I didn't know why Sierra wasn't religious, but I personally found it hard to believe considering the reincarnation I knew to be fact.
Perhaps I was unique? Was I some kind of abomination or abnormality, overlooked by both Heaven and Hell?
No matter the answer, it was at least clear to me that the God I grew up with no longer had a claim on me, if he existed at all. It was a disquieting feeling, one I did not enjoy being reminded of. Still, church gave mom peace of mind and that was good enough for me.
"Well what are you two going to be doing then?"
Sierra shrugged and ripped open a Pop-Tart. Why she'd come to the conclusion that a strawberry Pop-Tart would go well with a sausage hash was beyond me, but I decided to be a merciful little brother and cut out the snark. "Michelle and Sabah are coming over."
"Another project? Semester finals should be around the corner, no?"
"Mom, relax, finals are after Thanksgiving. We're just going to hang out."
I snorted and shot her a teasing grin. "You three aren't even going to pretend to be working this time?"
"Hey, we did have lab. We just finished and watched TV together afterwards. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, sis, just saying, I'm surprised you haven't found a better place to hang out than our living room by now."
"Their house is always crowded because their roommates are slobs," Sierra said with a shrug. "Besides, don't act like you don't enjoy having cute older girls around, Bryce. They've basically adopted you at this point."
"True," I hummed, "no point denying it. Michelle and Sabah are really pretty."
"I liked you better when you were easier to embarrass."
I rolled my eyes. "Did such a time exist? When?"
"Selective memory much?"
"Absolutely. I ignore everything I don't like. That's the key to a happy, fulfilling life."
"Mom, Bryce is becoming an idiot," Sierra said in that tattling tone all sisters seemed to master instinctually.
"Mom, Sierra is already an idiot," I chimed back. We glared at each other for a second before we broke into chuckles.
"What about you, Bryce? Are you going to hang around the house all day?" mom asked with a fond smile. She didn't even try to pretend to admonish us.
"Nah, I'm thinking I'll wander around the Boardwalk. Maybe visit one of the music stores."
"You know they're mostly tourist-traps, right?"
"Yeah, mom, I know. But that's not always bad. They're good for killing time."
"Why don't you invite your friends out? You went to the arcade with the boys from school, right?"
I considered it, then snorted. "No thanks, mom. Not everything needs to be a social activity."
"You should enjoy the time you have with friends," she chided gently. "You won't get so much free time when you're an adult."
That took me back. My parents used to tell me the same thing when I was a teenager the first time around. I scoffed and ignored the advice then as just some inane "wisdom" adults liked to dish out on unsuspecting youth, but they weren't wrong.
As I grew older, attended college, and started a job, I found myself busier and busier, and before I knew it, the friends I thought would stay with me forever had all drifted away. I remembered thinking once over a glass of whiskey how it'd be cool to reconnect; then I drowned the thought in liquor and dismissed it as too awkward or needy. After all, they all had their own lives, right? Who was I to barge in after years of radio silence?
I smiled sardonically at the bittersweet memories. Would I feel the same way about Chelsea? Stephanie? The Wards? Vicky? Amy?
No, of course I wouldn't. I wasn't delusional. I was only loosely tied to that friend group by virtue of Chelsea's overenthusiasm and my identity being known to Amy. We all had very few shared interests beyond being a cape, which I obviously had no intention of sharing. The things they enjoyed, I couldn't find it in me to take much interest in, especially now that I was busy building and launching my probably illicit business. It was the magic of high school, where you could consider someone a "friend" simply by eating lunch with them for a bit.
'How ironic,' I mused, 'that I can only really appreciate the worth of that advice when I can no longer take advantage of it.'
"I know, mom, I know," I said finally.
X
Contrary to what I'd told mom, I wasn't at the Boardwalk proper. I was instead several blocks inland, roughly ten minutes from the college. I stood atop a telephone pole, invisible to everyone else. I wore the incomplete hybrid regalia, currently just the Water Regalia and Germa boots, and spent an hour skating through the Boat Graveyard to acclimate myself to the new skates.
I looked down at the shopping center. It was a large, square warehouse that had been converted into a joint Target and Best Buy. Smirking to myself, I hopped down to the ground and waited by the automatic door for someone else to enter before following them inside.
Still invisible, I made small bubbles of air beneath my feet to cushion my footsteps. I wandered around the Best Buy until I found one of their "geek squad." He was a short but bulky man with clearly defined muscles that strained against his blue polo, very much the antithesis of a stereotypical geek. He was also helping a teenage girl and her father who were shopping for a new laptop for her birthday. At their side, a young boy shuffled aimlessly, looking around for anything that might distract him.
I stood off to the side a ways, hands clasped in front of me politely, and signaled for the invisibility to fade away. I waited there patiently, mostly just to see how long it'd take for someone to notice me.
Two minutes later, the boy, who had been halfheartedly browsing through some graphic mousepads, turned and incidentally caught me out of the corner of his vision. For all intents and purposes, I'd teleported directly into the store, right before his eyes. His eyes widened comically but before he could say anything, I leaned forward and placed a finger in front of my face in the universal sign for "Be quiet."
"D-Dad?" he stammered, his hand grasping his father's sleeve.
"Not now, Connor," the man said distractedly, he was asking about the RAM on a Dell laptop versus a Lenovo, "we can look at the games after we pick out a computer for your sister."
"Dad? I think you should see this."
"Conner, stop being a pest," his sister scolded. She turned around to say something but caught me leaning against a stand of headphones. "Why can't you be quie-"
Seeing the gig was up, I raised a hand and waved. "Yo."
That did it. The Best Buy employee and the father turned as one to look at me. Amusingly enough, they had two very different reactions. The employee, Carl, his nametag said, was wholly resigned. He'd clearly heard of my visit to Toys R Us. He was so jaded that he stared at my orange-visored helm for only a handful of seconds before going right back to explaining how RAM and HDD memories differed.
"Okay, I know this is slightly beyond the budget you said you had sir, but if your daughter is really into digital art, you're going to want the extra RAM-"
"Wait, hold on, that's Creed!" the father exclaimed, pointing at me.
"Yes, it is, sir," Carl drawled. He turned back to me with the most "done with this shit" expression I'd ever seen. "Should I open up the register or are you here for something else?"
I held a palm to my chest in mock offense. "Excuse me? I'll have you know I am a villain class and culture." I leaned down conspiratorially to whisper to Conner. "Besides, it's not a good idea to rob people who supply me with tech."
"Right…"
Conner looked like Christmas had come early while his father waffled between pulling him away or not doing anything that might offend me. The kid, being a kid, practically vibrated in place. He took out a notebook and thrust it towards me. It had a graphic design on the cover, Legend, I noticed.
"Sign this," he demanded.
Before I could respond, the father finally decided on a course of action and yanked the child back by the scruff of his neck. "Nope. This isn't happening. Come on, Penny, we'll try Fry's."
"But daaddd~" Conner whined. "He's not even that bad!"
"Conner, I swear to god…" I heard him trial off as he whispered harshly to his kid.
Penny, presumably his daughter, looked at me, at her family, back at me, then sighed before flipping me off. "Thanks, my shopping trip just got longer."
"In my defense, I literally did nothing but stand here."
"Whatever. I hope Armsmaster kicks your ass."
"I hope so too," I replied honestly, "not getting my ass kicked, more fighting him, tinker to tinker. Could be fun. Ooh, I should pick that fight at some point… Now how to do it in a way that doesn't get The GOAT on my ass…"
"Whatever," she grunted before stalking away.
Carl the Geek stared at me. "That was my commission, you know."
I winced internally. That actually did make me feel bad. Retail workers didn't deserve that shit. "Sorry. If it's any consolation, I'll spend more than enough to cover it."
"Fine, whatever. What do you want?"
"Several hard drives. Highest HDD and RAM you've got. Money isn't a concern."
"Can't you just build a supercomputer?"
"Maybe," I hummed. He wasn't wrong, strictly speaking. I had all of anime-earth's tech tree in my head, which included more than just ATs. I understood the ins and outs of everything from automotive construction to vaccine development, even the basics of things like quantum computing, which the Chinese government had begun to play with. "But just because I can doesn't mean it's productive to build everything myself. That's like asking why every architect doesn't build his own dream home instead of taking out a mortgage on something already standing. Sometimes, good enough is good enough."
He grunted unintelligibly before taking me over to the desktops. He started to explain the nuances of different computers, realized he was talking to a tinker, then promptly shut up in a way that reminded me of goldfish.
"You know what you want?" he settled.
"Yup. If you have anything better in the back, bring it nout, but otherwise, yeah. I'll browse on my own, thanks."
He grunted something and moved off to the side but didn't leave. I assumed he wanted to at least jot it down for his manager if I actually did steal something, not that I planned on it.
I browsed through the computers on display and frowned. They were all awful and I couldn't believe that these were the best they had. And then I remembered, 'Oh, right… 2011…'
I couldn't remember off the top of my head, I wasn't paying much attention at the time, but the computer I'd fitted with a DSS back home wasn't too advanced either, certainly not up to my 2022 standards. They also didn't sell individual hard drives, just fully assembled computers.
In the end, I purchased six desktop computers with large memories, advertised as providing a "flawless movie-watching experience." According to Carl, they were most often bought by gamers with rich parents or graduate students in architecture or engineering back at the college.
His eyes widened as he rang me up. "That's $9,923."
I nodded, having expected that. All things considered, a little over $1,600 per computer wasn't bad for a high-performance model. I handed him my card. "I did say I'd pay you back for that commission I cost you, no?"
"R-Right."
"I'm a villain of my word. Besides," I leaned in and spoke in a mock-whisper, "crime does pay."
"And what crimes are those?" I heard behind me.
My heart leapt to my throat and I forcibly stilled my hand to keep from reaching for my walker pistol. If I was going to be attacked, it would have happened already. I turned to find Kid Win and Aegis, both aloft, which explained why I hadn't heard them coming.
The two Wards looked amused, or at least non-combative for the moment. That they were the ones here instead of the Protectorate told me much of how the PRT viewed me at the moment. More, since the Wards patrolled in pairs, I could assume this was a coincidental encounter. Another employee likely reported my presence here and these two happened to be the nearest capes on patrol.
That bit of rationalizing calmed me down and I forced myself to speak nonchalantly, thanking the voice modulator in my helmet for doing much of the heavy lifting. Shrugging ambivalently, I swiped the card back from Carl and said, "Oh, you know, a contract here, a commission there. Really, I haven't even made a dent in my inbox."
"Selling unregulated tinkertech is illegal," Aegis said sternly.
"Unregulated? By you, you mean. I'll have you know that both catalogs were looked over and approved by The GOAT and 'quality' is their middle name."
"Is it really?" Kid Win asked sarcastically. "The Quality GOAT?"
"Well, no. It's 'The Mighty GOAT actually, but you get the point," I shot back as I stuffed the six computers into the expanded bag beneath my cape. "Anyway, it's been real, but I actually have plans for these things so I'm gonna scram. Later, Meatlug, Mini-V."
Despite what I said, they followed me out.
"Care to share what you plan on making? Tinker to tinker," Kid Win probed unsubtly.
"A kitty-laser."
"A kitt-laser? You can't buy a laser pointer to mess with cats like everyone else? They're five bucks at Target."
"Yup. Laser weapon that turns everything it hits into a cat. I need more kittens to drown to keep my villain cred and the local shelters won't sell them to me so I figure I'll just manufacture my own."
"I… What?"
"Exactly."
"Kid, I don't think he's going to tell us," Aegis drawled, though I could hear an undercurrent of amusement. "You realize we're going to have to stop you the moment you try anything illegal?"
I turned to him and made an excited face but realized he couldn't actually see my expression. Instead, I did a little thrilled hop and pumped my fist. Really, half the hammy act I put on was so I could express myself in a fully covering helmet. "Y-You mean it? You'll be my testing dummy and all I have to do is… do something evil? YES!"
So saying, I promptly ran off to the closest person with a car.
"No! Nonononono, that's not what I meant!" Aegis yelped as he flew after me. "Creed, that wasn't an excuse to commit a crime, damn it!"
I didn't listen. The nearest person happened to be a young woman with dusky skin and teased hair just about to get in her car. "Hey, you! Lady! Give me your car!"
She stared at me like I was something scraped from the bottom of her shoe. "Fuck off, asshole. I have shit to do today."
She slammed the door of her car and drove away, probably going past the posted 15 miles per hour sign and breaking a few statutes of her own. A part of me was tempted to race her but I ultimately saw no point in it. It wasn't bad to cultivate an image like this.
I stepped back, bewildered. "Well… That was a thing. Maybe I need a better plan… The GOAT did say no grand larceny and I suppose the car was a bit much… Say, Meatloaf, what's the limit on larceny before it becomes grand larceny in New Hampshire again?"
"No, no crime is acceptable, Creed. As nice as it is to know that this goat-person is keeping a leash on you, I'm not going to tell you how much you can get away with," he said with an audible frown.
I wanted to bust out laughing, almost did, but caught myself. Messing with Carlos was unexpectedly fun. I resolved to seek him out more often, the guy could probably morph away his own migraines anyway. Then, I remembered: the Legos.
I dug in my bag to reveal the Lego set I bought from Toys R Us. I hopped into the air and held it out to Kid Win. "Here, Iron Lad."
He stared at me in confusion, his half-uncovered face far more expressive than my own. "What? You didn't steal this, did you?"
"No, I bought it, remember?"
"Okay, why are you giving me a Lego set?"
"Take it. I really want to fight you, especially you and Beardmaster, but I can't. Right now, the way you are, you're… Umm… Let's say you're not at your best…" I trailed off. Then, with more pep, "So! I decided I'm going to help you out a bit, tinker to tinker. Seriously, take the damn Legos."
He took the box, mostly because I shoved them into his chest. "What am I supposed to do with these?"
"You're a tinker, aren't you? Build."
Aegis cut in. "Is this what you do? Build models of your tech with Legos before you start making something for real?"
"Hah! No way, but he should," I said with a bark of laughter. I hopped further into the air before activating my regalia. The skates came alive with the satisfying whir of impractically powerful motors. A faint shimmer of mist that wasn't strictly from the condensed pyrobloin began to enshroud my feet in a pale haze. "I'm giving you a freebie here. Trust me, little Stark, and work with the Legos for a bit. It's what you're good for anyway."
"Hey, screw you," Kid Win said.
"Wasn't an insult. Use. The. Damn. Legos. Or don't. Lead a horse to water and all that. Anyway, Ciao~"
With that, I kicked the Water Regalia into motion. I didn't bother with invisibility this time; they'd hear the regalia purr anyway and I wanted to maintain the illusion of teleportation for a while longer. No, I'd go back to the Gullrest to work on a DSS and prepare for Big Rig's delivery in an hour or two, but for now, this was all me-time.
I whooped as I raced across the sky on vapor trails of my own making. Was there a cape in the city who could catch me? I wasn't sure; Ōm's regalia wasn't built for raw speed like Key Mother, more internal stability and agility in enclosed spaces such as Trophaeum Tower. Could the better flyers like Laserdream, Purity, or Glory Girl keep pace with me if they went all out?
I didn't know but the idea of an aerial dogfight against them made my stomach flutter pleasantly with butterflies.
Besides, me outflying the Wards was bound to be great advertisement for my ATs, whenever I decided to put them on the catalog.
Author's Note
Honestly? The first part of this chapter is my bad. I tend to zero-in on one aspect of a story and neglect others, which is a bigger problem with tinker fics than most. I'm still learning to juggle. Then again, Bryce is one of those characters whose WIS would definitely be his dump stat so it kinda works for him, I think.
As for the Best Buy scene, it mostly just kinda came out. I'm considering it practice for when I finally have to write Andy waking up in Legendary Tinker because if Bryce is a minor (villainous) celebrity, Andy's going to be whole different can of worms. To be fair, I have pretty good examples of fame culture both IRL and in different series like The Boys.
Also, if any of you are into RWBY fanfiction, try Raise by Coeur. Yeah, it's a Coeur fic and they tend to be tossups, but this one's pretty standard canon worldbuilding except one major difference: Jaune discovers his Semblance early and it can raise the dead. It's about Jaune struggling with fame. I don't think I'm going to get that edgy with Andy, but it's definitely something to consider.
As always, thank you all to people who fund my tea addiction:
2010, November 7: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I was pleasantly surprised; negotiations the night prior didn't end up taking all that long. Neither Big Rig nor I were the sort to pinch pennies and it showed. Face to face, Big Rig was every bit as gruff as his construction foreman costume implied. He had a rough but not unkind demeanor to him that bashed directly to the point like a bulldozer. He was a man who knew what he wanted and didn't tolerate fools and "snake oil salesmen" as he'd called them.
Unfortunate that I couldn't fleece him for extra cash, but great in that he wasn't the sort to cheap out on me either.
In the end, we settled on a simple system: For every construction drone I wanted, he'd get a hybrid soda engine out of me, and vice versa. Should one of us have our fill of the other's product, we'd default to cash, or in his case, a set weight of either seastone or wapometal. The CAD and fabricator, which I'd only need one of for the immediate future, we agreed to purchase for a set weight of seastone, to be delivered as soon as I could get the fabricator working.
He'd begun by trying to demand more for the fabricator, but I pointed out that me being able to mass-produce was just another way for him to secure his own supply chain, especially if he wanted to cover an entire private emergency bunker out of seastone. The fabricator wasn't as much a part of negotiations as it was the bare minimum that I needed to have for any trade to even be feasible in the long run. He grumbled, but in the end gave me a steep discount on the first. If I ever needed a second fabricator, he warned that he fully expected me to pay the full amount.
Lastly, we agreed that any trade between us would remain independent of market considerations. As in, neither he nor I would change the price of our goods just because another tinker hiked up demand elsewhere. It was a promise I made for his sake, I strongly expected demand for my time to skyrocket as I acquired different specializations. Still, he'd been straight with me and I felt obligated to be fair in turn.
I accepted the deal and thanked him for his generosity. I suspected that at least part of it was Toybox's stated mission of propping up independent tinkers. Regardless of the reason, negotiations came to an end far more expediently than I'd initially expected.
I received a notice from Big Rig shortly after informing me that Dodge of Toybox would be delivering my new CAD and fabricator to the Palanquin at 3 AM, Monday.
I scratched my stomach and got up with a lazy grumble. I wanted to spend Sunday morning relaxing, but as much as I appreciated Big Rig's speedy delivery, it meant I'd be busy tinkering again today to prepare for the influx of supplies.
To be fair, it was something I should have done a long time ago, as soon as I realized Strider would be coming in with almost a literal ton of volcanic ash on a regular basis. Now that I expected the deliveries to be even bigger, in volume and likely in mass, simple expanded bags wouldn't cut it anymore. I needed a way to carry things that wouldn't fit in the mouth of a large suitcase.
I needed another DSS port, one that I could carry around.
I groaned pitifully. Trying to get that to work with a laptop was going to be a nightmare.
I stepped into the shower and allowed the cold water to wake me fully. Then I froze before promptly running my forehead into the ceramic tile. Then one more time, because I deserved it. "Holy fuck I'm stupid… Why does it need to be a laptop? I can just carry a desktop in an expanded bag, piggyback off the Palanquin's network, digitize the deliveries, then pack up the desktop again."
I sighed. Now that I was thinking properly, I remembered having similar thoughts when I first built the DSS in th Gullrest. Then I got distracted tinkering and shelved any plans to tinker in the future. I slumped, resting my forehead against the cool ceramic. I thought I took a lot of notes where my power was concerned, but I clearly wasn't nearly meticulous enough if I forgot about such an obvious exploit. What else had I missed while chasing the hot new thing?
Getting out of the shower, I toweled myself off and replaced my contacts. I'd just have to take the loss on this one and learn from it. Just because I built something once didn't mean I couldn't find different applications or workarounds.
Thus resolved, I headed down to join mom and Sisi for a delicious breakfast of sausage, pepper, and onion hash with a side of fruit. I reached into the fridge to grab my hot sauce and settled down next to my sister.
"Morning, mom, Sierra," I greeted as I sprinkled a generous helping of hot sauce onto my breakfast. It was a chipotle-lime blend this time; mom bought it just for me.
"Good morning, dear," mom greeted back. "Either of you want to come to church with me?"
"Nope," we chorused as one, completing our Sunday morning routine. I didn't know why Sierra wasn't religious, but I personally found it hard to believe considering the reincarnation I knew to be fact.
Perhaps I was unique? Was I some kind of abomination or abnormality, overlooked by both Heaven and Hell?
No matter the answer, it was at least clear to me that the God I grew up with no longer had a claim on me, if he existed at all. It was a disquieting feeling, one I did not enjoy being reminded of. Still, church gave mom peace of mind and that was good enough for me.
"Well what are you two going to be doing then?"
Sierra shrugged and ripped open a Pop-Tart. Why she'd come to the conclusion that a strawberry Pop-Tart would go well with a sausage hash was beyond me, but I decided to be a merciful little brother and cut out the snark. "Michelle and Sabah are coming over."
"Another project? Semester finals should be around the corner, no?"
"Mom, relax, finals are after Thanksgiving. We're just going to hang out."
I snorted and shot her a teasing grin. "You three aren't even going to pretend to be working this time?"
"Hey, we did have lab. We just finished and watched TV together afterwards. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, sis, just saying, I'm surprised you haven't found a better place to hang out than our living room by now."
"Their house is always crowded because their roommates are slobs," Sierra said with a shrug. "Besides, don't act like you don't enjoy having cute older girls around, Bryce. They've basically adopted you at this point."
"True," I hummed, "no point denying it. Michelle and Sabah are really pretty."
"I liked you better when you were easier to embarrass."
I rolled my eyes. "Did such a time exist? When?"
"Selective memory much?"
"Absolutely. I ignore everything I don't like. That's the key to a happy, fulfilling life."
"Mom, Bryce is becoming an idiot," Sierra said in that tattling tone all sisters seemed to master instinctually.
"Mom, Sierra is already an idiot," I chimed back. We glared at each other for a second before we broke into chuckles.
"What about you, Bryce? Are you going to hang around the house all day?" mom asked with a fond smile. She didn't even try to pretend to admonish us.
"Nah, I'm thinking I'll wander around the Boardwalk. Maybe visit one of the music stores."
"You know they're mostly tourist-traps, right?"
"Yeah, mom, I know. But that's not always bad. They're good for killing time."
"Why don't you invite your friends out? You went to the arcade with the boys from school, right?"
I considered it, then snorted. "No thanks, mom. Not everything needs to be a social activity."
"You should enjoy the time you have with friends," she chided gently. "You won't get so much free time when you're an adult."
That took me back. My parents used to tell me the same thing when I was a teenager the first time around. I scoffed and ignored the advice then as just some inane "wisdom" adults liked to dish out on unsuspecting youth, but they weren't wrong.
As I grew older, attended college, and started a job, I found myself busier and busier, and before I knew it, the friends I thought would stay with me forever had all drifted away. I remembered thinking once over a glass of whiskey how it'd be cool to reconnect; then I drowned the thought in liquor and dismissed it as too awkward or needy. After all, they all had their own lives, right? Who was I to barge in after years of radio silence?
I smiled sardonically at the bittersweet memories. Would I feel the same way about Chelsea? Stephanie? The Wards? Vicky? Amy?
No, of course I wouldn't. I wasn't delusional. I was only loosely tied to that friend group by virtue of Chelsea's overenthusiasm and my identity being known to Amy. We all had very few shared interests beyond being a cape, which I obviously had no intention of sharing. The things they enjoyed, I couldn't find it in me to take much interest in, especially now that I was busy building and launching my probably illicit business. It was the magic of high school, where you could consider someone a "friend" simply by eating lunch with them for a bit.
'How ironic,' I mused, 'that I can only really appreciate the worth of that advice when I can no longer take advantage of it.'
"I know, mom, I know," I said finally.
X
Contrary to what I'd told mom, I wasn't at the Boardwalk proper. I was instead several blocks inland, roughly ten minutes from the college. I stood atop a telephone pole, invisible to everyone else. I wore the incomplete hybrid regalia, currently just the Water Regalia and Germa boots, and spent an hour skating through the Boat Graveyard to acclimate myself to the new skates.
I looked down at the shopping center. It was a large, square warehouse that had been converted into a joint Target and Best Buy. Smirking to myself, I hopped down to the ground and waited by the automatic door for someone else to enter before following them inside.
Still invisible, I made small bubbles of air beneath my feet to cushion my footsteps. I wandered around the Best Buy until I found one of their "geek squad." He was a short but bulky man with clearly defined muscles that strained against his blue polo, very much the antithesis of a stereotypical geek. He was also helping a teenage girl and her father who were shopping for a new laptop for her birthday. At their side, a young boy shuffled aimlessly, looking around for anything that might distract him.
I stood off to the side a ways, hands clasped in front of me politely, and signaled for the invisibility to fade away. I waited there patiently, mostly just to see how long it'd take for someone to notice me.
Two minutes later, the boy, who had been halfheartedly browsing through some graphic mousepads, turned and incidentally caught me out of the corner of his vision. For all intents and purposes, I'd teleported directly into the store, right before his eyes. His eyes widened comically but before he could say anything, I leaned forward and placed a finger in front of my face in the universal sign for "Be quiet."
"D-Dad?" he stammered, his hand grasping his father's sleeve.
"Not now, Connor," the man said distractedly, he was asking about the RAM on a Dell laptop versus a Lenovo, "we can look at the games after we pick out a computer for your sister."
"Dad? I think you should see this."
"Conner, stop being a pest," his sister scolded. She turned around to say something but caught me leaning against a stand of headphones. "Why can't you be quie-"
Seeing the gig was up, I raised a hand and waved. "Yo."
That did it. The Best Buy employee and the father turned as one to look at me. Amusingly enough, they had two very different reactions. The employee, Carl, his nametag said, was wholly resigned. He'd clearly heard of my visit to Toys R Us. He was so jaded that he stared at my orange-visored helm for only a handful of seconds before going right back to explaining how RAM and HDD memories differed.
"Okay, I know this is slightly beyond the budget you said you had sir, but if your daughter is really into digital art, you're going to want the extra RAM-"
"Wait, hold on, that's Creed!" the father exclaimed, pointing at me.
"Yes, it is, sir," Carl drawled. He turned back to me with the most "done with this shit" expression I'd ever seen. "Should I open up the register or are you here for something else?"
I held a palm to my chest in mock offense. "Excuse me? I'll have you know I am a villain class and culture." I leaned down conspiratorially to whisper to Conner. "Besides, it's not a good idea to rob people who supply me with tech."
"Right…"
Conner looked like Christmas had come early while his father waffled between pulling him away or not doing anything that might offend me. The kid, being a kid, practically vibrated in place. He took out a notebook and thrust it towards me. It had a graphic design on the cover, Legend, I noticed.
"Sign this," he demanded.
Before I could respond, the father finally decided on a course of action and yanked the child back by the scruff of his neck. "Nope. This isn't happening. Come on, Penny, we'll try Fry's."
"But daaddd~" Conner whined. "He's not even that bad!"
"Conner, I swear to god…" I heard him trial off as he whispered harshly to his kid.
Penny, presumably his daughter, looked at me, at her family, back at me, then sighed before flipping me off. "Thanks, my shopping trip just got longer."
"In my defense, I literally did nothing but stand here."
"Whatever. I hope Armsmaster kicks your ass."
"I hope so too," I replied honestly, "not getting my ass kicked, more fighting him, tinker to tinker. Could be fun. Ooh, I should pick that fight at some point… Now how to do it in a way that doesn't get The GOAT on my ass…"
"Whatever," she grunted before stalking away.
Carl the Geek stared at me. "That was my commission, you know."
I winced internally. That actually did make me feel bad. Retail workers didn't deserve that shit. "Sorry. If it's any consolation, I'll spend more than enough to cover it."
"Fine, whatever. What do you want?"
"Several hard drives. Highest HDD and RAM you've got. Money isn't a concern."
"Can't you just build a supercomputer?"
"Maybe," I hummed. He wasn't wrong, strictly speaking. I had all of anime-earth's tech tree in my head, which included more than just ATs. I understood the ins and outs of everything from automotive construction to vaccine development, even the basics of things like quantum computing, which the Chinese government had begun to play with. "But just because I can doesn't mean it's productive to build everything myself. That's like asking why every architect doesn't build his own dream home instead of taking out a mortgage on something already standing. Sometimes, good enough is good enough."
He grunted unintelligibly before taking me over to the desktops. He started to explain the nuances of different computers, realized he was talking to a tinker, then promptly shut up in a way that reminded me of goldfish.
"You know what you want?" he settled.
"Yup. If you have anything better in the back, bring it nout, but otherwise, yeah. I'll browse on my own, thanks."
He grunted something and moved off to the side but didn't leave. I assumed he wanted to at least jot it down for his manager if I actually did steal something, not that I planned on it.
I browsed through the computers on display and frowned. They were all awful and I couldn't believe that these were the best they had. And then I remembered, 'Oh, right… 2011…'
I couldn't remember off the top of my head, I wasn't paying much attention at the time, but the computer I'd fitted with a DSS back home wasn't too advanced either, certainly not up to my 2022 standards. They also didn't sell individual hard drives, just fully assembled computers.
In the end, I purchased six desktop computers with large memories, advertised as providing a "flawless movie-watching experience." According to Carl, they were most often bought by gamers with rich parents or graduate students in architecture or engineering back at the college.
His eyes widened as he rang me up. "That's $9,923."
I nodded, having expected that. All things considered, a little over $1,600 per computer wasn't bad for a high-performance model. I handed him my card. "I did say I'd pay you back for that commission I cost you, no?"
"R-Right."
"I'm a villain of my word. Besides," I leaned in and spoke in a mock-whisper, "crime does pay."
"And what crimes are those?" I heard behind me.
My heart leapt to my throat and I forcibly stilled my hand to keep from reaching for my walker pistol. If I was going to be attacked, it would have happened already. I turned to find Kid Win and Aegis, both aloft, which explained why I hadn't heard them coming.
The two Wards looked amused, or at least non-combative for the moment. That they were the ones here instead of the Protectorate told me much of how the PRT viewed me at the moment. More, since the Wards patrolled in pairs, I could assume this was a coincidental encounter. Another employee likely reported my presence here and these two happened to be the nearest capes on patrol.
That bit of rationalizing calmed me down and I forced myself to speak nonchalantly, thanking the voice modulator in my helmet for doing much of the heavy lifting. Shrugging ambivalently, I swiped the card back from Carl and said, "Oh, you know, a contract here, a commission there. Really, I haven't even made a dent in my inbox."
"Selling unregulated tinkertech is illegal," Aegis said sternly.
"Unregulated? By you, you mean. I'll have you know that both catalogs were looked over and approved by The GOAT and 'quality' is their middle name."
"Is it really?" Kid Win asked sarcastically. "The Quality GOAT?"
"Well, no. It's 'The Mighty GOAT actually, but you get the point," I shot back as I stuffed the six computers into the expanded bag beneath my cape. "Anyway, it's been real, but I actually have plans for these things so I'm gonna scram. Later, Meatlug, Mini-V."
Despite what I said, they followed me out.
"Care to share what you plan on making? Tinker to tinker," Kid Win probed unsubtly.
"A kitty-laser."
"A kitt-laser? You can't buy a laser pointer to mess with cats like everyone else? They're five bucks at Target."
"Yup. Laser weapon that turns everything it hits into a cat. I need more kittens to drown to keep my villain cred and the local shelters won't sell them to me so I figure I'll just manufacture my own."
"I… What?"
"Exactly."
"Kid, I don't think he's going to tell us," Aegis drawled, though I could hear an undercurrent of amusement. "You realize we're going to have to stop you the moment you try anything illegal?"
I turned to him and made an excited face but realized he couldn't actually see my expression. Instead, I did a little thrilled hop and pumped my fist. Really, half the hammy act I put on was so I could express myself in a fully covering helmet. "Y-You mean it? You'll be my testing dummy and all I have to do is… do something evil? YES!"
So saying, I promptly ran off to the closest person with a car.
"No! Nonononono, that's not what I meant!" Aegis yelped as he flew after me. "Creed, that wasn't an excuse to commit a crime, damn it!"
I didn't listen. The nearest person happened to be a young woman with dusky skin and teased hair just about to get in her car. "Hey, you! Lady! Give me your car!"
She stared at me like I was something scraped from the bottom of her shoe. "Fuck off, asshole. I have shit to do today."
She slammed the door of her car and drove away, probably going past the posted 15 miles per hour sign and breaking a few statutes of her own. A part of me was tempted to race her but I ultimately saw no point in it. It wasn't bad to cultivate an image like this.
I stepped back, bewildered. "Well… That was a thing. Maybe I need a better plan… The GOAT did say no grand larceny and I suppose the car was a bit much… Say, Meatloaf, what's the limit on larceny before it becomes grand larceny in New Hampshire again?"
"No, no crime is acceptable, Creed. As nice as it is to know that this goat-person is keeping a leash on you, I'm not going to tell you how much you can get away with," he said with an audible frown.
I wanted to bust out laughing, almost did, but caught myself. Messing with Carlos was unexpectedly fun. I resolved to seek him out more often, the guy could probably morph away his own migraines anyway. Then, I remembered: the Legos.
I dug in my bag to reveal the Lego set I bought from Toys R Us. I hopped into the air and held it out to Kid Win. "Here, Iron Lad."
He stared at me in confusion, his half-uncovered face far more expressive than my own. "What? You didn't steal this, did you?"
"No, I bought it, remember?"
"Okay, why are you giving me a Lego set?"
"Take it. I really want to fight you, especially you and Beardmaster, but I can't. Right now, the way you are, you're… Umm… Let's say you're not at your best…" I trailed off. Then, with more pep, "So! I decided I'm going to help you out a bit, tinker to tinker. Seriously, take the damn Legos."
He took the box, mostly because I shoved them into his chest. "What am I supposed to do with these?"
"You're a tinker, aren't you? Build."
Aegis cut in. "Is this what you do? Build models of your tech with Legos before you start making something for real?"
"Hah! No way, but he should," I said with a bark of laughter. I hopped further into the air before activating my regalia. The skates came alive with the satisfying whir of impractically powerful motors. A faint shimmer of mist that wasn't strictly from the condensed pyrobloin began to enshroud my feet in a pale haze. "I'm giving you a freebie here. Trust me, little Stark, and work with the Legos for a bit. It's what you're good for anyway."
"Hey, screw you," Kid Win said.
"Wasn't an insult. Use. The. Damn. Legos. Or don't. Lead a horse to water and all that. Anyway, Ciao~"
With that, I kicked the Water Regalia into motion. I didn't bother with invisibility this time; they'd hear the regalia purr anyway and I wanted to maintain the illusion of teleportation for a while longer. No, I'd go back to the Gullrest to work on a DSS and prepare for Big Rig's delivery in an hour or two, but for now, this was all me-time.
I whooped as I raced across the sky on vapor trails of my own making. Was there a cape in the city who could catch me? I wasn't sure; Ōm's regalia wasn't built for raw speed like Key Mother, more internal stability and agility in enclosed spaces such as Trophaeum Tower. Could the better flyers like Laserdream, Purity, or Glory Girl keep pace with me if they went all out?
I didn't know but the idea of an aerial dogfight against them made my stomach flutter pleasantly with butterflies.
Besides, me outflying the Wards was bound to be great advertisement for my ATs, whenever I decided to put them on the catalog.
Author's Note
Honestly? The first part of this chapter is my bad. I tend to zero-in on one aspect of a story and neglect others, which is a bigger problem with tinker fics than most. I'm still learning to juggle. Then again, Bryce is one of those characters whose WIS would definitely be his dump stat so it kinda works for him, I think.
As for the Best Buy scene, it mostly just kinda came out. I'm considering it practice for when I finally have to write Andy waking up in Legendary Tinker because if Bryce is a minor (villainous) celebrity, Andy's going to be whole different can of worms. To be fair, I have pretty good examples of fame culture both IRL and in different series like The Boys.
Also, if any of you are into RWBY fanfiction, try Raise by Coeur. Yeah, it's a Coeur fic and they tend to be tossups, but this one's pretty standard canon worldbuilding except one major difference: Jaune discovers his Semblance early and it can raise the dead. It's about Jaune struggling with fame. I don't think I'm going to get that edgy with Andy, but it's definitely something to consider.
As always, thank you all to people who fund my tea addiction:
Chynya S, Will Graham, Haley Bennett, Definitely not Dio, Noctus Tagaris, Just Some Guy With A Mustage, AbenSur, FrostyNips, Ryan Teschke, Jeff Fischer, Cwade, Yousif Mustafa, That one fish guy, Tera, Michael W, Michael Hendley, Michael Hill, Richard, Seadrake, P0lyn1c3s, Echan Clinch Apa-ap, Michael Friede, Brenden Wright, Jmatt890, David Zimmerle, Celestial_Drago, 0xFFF1, Darth Bayes, Sam Slade, Andrew, Ryan Roberts, Glader, Pluviam, Liam, Zer0 forhire, SupremeRuler17, Casper Bielders, DraconianGreed, Shattered97, MethodinMayhem, Magic Pajac, Faultlesselm16, BG, Alex, Nikhil More, whateverlol, Fireblade, Patrick, Mike, Ishmu, Creature of Grimm, Felix S, PoG, Daniel Aasa, Jaykay2307, Angel, AjiTae, Anon, Archaicx1, Ash, caleb boggs, Aspect of Chaos, Ramzawing04, Arakhil, darien page, Austin, Keith Miller, Adam Albright, Shirou0emiya, Stephon Harris, TC, Heraclitus, JchuckS, Fred-Ole Nyborg, Ahmet Koçak, Michael og, Harry Williams, Matthew McRoyall, Hazza Vanderbyl, ReadingOverSleeping, Alsb, Jonathan Seah, Meda, Griffin J, JustaLurker, NatureKills, Softee, My name is Klondike, random_debuff, Gloxinia, Tyler, Drew Kerstens, Taire, Garrett Conley, Sparkz, Christopher Magrath, Nick McKelvey, MochiLeaf, Raptor, obviousPenname, T4ndoris, Tactical Paladin, Mrsnuuggles88, Adam parker, tien, Martin Franco, Incraze, Barry Zimmerman, Streetwise, Vexdt, Frank, Marco, Shurukkah, Bapping, Manowargs, Temmie, Xisaro, Legion_13, Alex Black, AnonymousJohn, AJ, Cc, Ore0man, Ab9999, Flipflop, Dicky wongsonegoro, Kcx1, Master Kuma, Brian, Jorge Benedicto, NorthMountain, AblazedNightmare, Mp Gaming, Baron_Dio, Dan B, dark helmet9, Abdulla, KDN, Drake_Azathoth, Dang Tran, Dull Pen, Nick Gabbard, Julian Rivera, Amon, Thobitor, Paul Becker, CrusaderElmo, Non Non, Sam Richardson, Retexks, abdd, M, Jakob Lefevre, , Alexander Beers, mouad maataoui, Yuri Latten, SpeX, Ramon Diaz, Spencer seidel, Deteriator, Johnworm, ilovebullets, Narasan, Tavernlandlord, Sean Feeney, Evelyn Antoinette, Primordi, Adam Bell, Jake Hand, Oddfall, r3d3v3, AbyssalMage, Daniel I Beer, Coalman95, Blyth Septimus, PbookR, Drake, JayK, Amadi238, Helios, Starfall20, Anh Duy Ly, Matthew Powell, oliman, Bookmaggot, Paul Mouttet, Uriel Torres, Atoll, victor a lopez-barron, Empty Shelf, DeValve, Skrubstar, jack kreutner, Savagesmiley, Andreyebidu, Apallo Berryman, Big ToFu, John Dale, Noctis117, costochondritis, Sage Berthelsen, Zerak, Kraxus, fluffybutt, Euth, Phong Truong, Night Drifter, NazNar21, Khetsun XD, abdullah khan, Hunter Rhoades, Hector Gregorio, Rairarku, and Chrishenk.
Fellow Human
Verified Roado Rolla
Being too handsome.
- Location
- spain
"Why do you think I wear the mask?"
- Location
- Earth
"Because no one cared who you were until you did?"
3.9.5 Chris Williams
Fabled Webs
Lord Weaver, Glorious and Wise
- Location
- Arlington, VA
Interlude 3.9.5: Christopher Williams
2010, November 7: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Creed led us on a merry chase through the shopping district. His skates seemed to be able to change direction in midair just as quickly as Aegis. He made it look natural, like running on air was something humans were all born to do. I really wanted to take it apart to see what kind of gyroscope he used, but that looked more and more like a pipe dream the longer the chase went on.
It was clear he was toying with us, and not just from that terrible attempt at a carjacking console used as pretext to let us give chase. My hoverboard had a higher top speed than Aegis' flight, but I couldn't turn very well while going so fast. Aegis on the other hand just wasn't fast enough. We tried working together to corral him but every time we got close, he vanished from sight, only to appear a block away with one taunting joke or another. One time, he even teleported onto Aegis' back and rode him like a cowboy.
Until finally, he stopped popping up, leaving us in the middle of the Boardwalk feeling like fools.
We signed a few autographs, posed for pictures with tourists, and finished up our scheduled route before heading back to HQ. All the while, we tried to figure out what he could be up to.
"I don't get the guy," I told Aegis as we flew back. "He does a terrible job of trying to steal a car to get us to chase him and then just… leaves…? Why?"
Aegis shrugged. "I don't know, Kid. Maybe he was trying to distract us from something? Console, any word on crimes in the area?"
Officer James, I wasn't sure if that was his first or last name, spoke over the comms unit. "No, nothing that 'd warrant a cape response from us, Aegis. We'll have you write an AAR when you get back. The director also wants both your helmet cams."
"Do we have to?" I noticed that even my normally responsible leader couldn't quite hide the whine. "I wouldn't say there was much action."
"Yeah, you just let the newest villain skate literal rings around you," came Shadow Stalker's biting remark. It was protocol to have both one Ward and one PRT officer on console, the former to gain experience and familiarity with protocol and the latter to actually handle any emergencies. Just my luck, Stalker was our gal in the chair today. As far as I could tell, she was once again being punished for something or other. It happened so often that I barely paid attention anymore.
"Don't start, Stalker," Officer James said warningly, "you're already on thin ice."
"Yeah, whatever."
"And yes, Aegis. You do have to write that AAR. The director wants any and all information we can gather on Creed. She's especially interested in hearing your thoughts as a fellow tinker, Kid Win."
I groaned. It made sense, I knew it did, but that didn't mean I had to like it. What did she want me to say? That Creed was a better flyer than me? That he built better tech? It wasn't as though I had the chance to take his gear apart.
"Yes, sir," Aegis and I chorused.
"For what it's worth, you two did well," Officer James told us. "Our current policy is to gather intelligence more than anything so him getting away isn't a huge loss."
"Aren't you worried about what he could be making with all those computers, sir?" I tried.
"We are, but it's not as though they were specialized materials he couldn't get elsewhere. If he really wants some computers, we can't stop him from getting them, especially since he actually did pay for them. Even if we caught him, we can't really confiscate them indefinitely. For the moment, we're putting Creed on the same threat level as Uber and Leet; he's more of a professional comic than a villain, and one who seems interested in preserving the stability of the city as a whole."
"So you're saying he's not a priority," Aegis said. "I can see that. I just wish we could have asked him some questions."
"That's right. As far as we can tell, he seems unlikely to commit overt crimes despite his self-designation as a villain."
"What? Carjacking isn't a crime?" Stalker laughed derisively.
"It would be if he succeeded, or he wasn't so blatantly trying to fail. At most, it's harassment or disturbing the peace as things stand and even that'd be a stretch. It's clear that he never intended to take that woman's car. He's intentionally making himself look less competent, something we've seen from other comics."
"Yeah, Leet's trying to be a fuckup."
I let the rest of the conversation wash over me. It wasn't like me to contribute much anyway. Gallant, Dean, said I was the type to "keep my own counsel," but that probably made me out to be wiser than I was. For fuck's sake, I could barely count. What wisdom? What expertise?
I sighed. That was him in a nutshell. Dean was a cool dude, but he sometimes got so caught up in gauging our feelings that he didn't say what was plain for everyone else to see.
I did wonder though: Creed seemed superhumanly capable at times, even more than other capes, but he also behaved in ridiculous, possibly even short-sighted ways. That was one of the big arguments for him being a new cape: He was too unprofessional despite his obvious connections and wealth of resources.
On the other hand, I'd heard off duty officers talk about how it could all be an act. If he really was a veteran immigrant from out of the city just looking to rebrand, if he really did have connections to some mysterious sponsor, it'd explain his advanced tech and near impossible growth. In that scenario, his admission of being Wards-age could be a white lie to get us to treat him with kid gloves; his publicity stunts at the bank, Toys R Us, and now Best Buy could be just that, stunts.
There could only be one conclusion in that case: He wanted to look less competent than he really was. For whatever reason, he wanted to blunt his own image despite having interfered against the Empire and Merchants in such a spectacular fashion.
Why? To convince the PRT that he's not a priority? If so, he succeeded. Was it all just an advertisement campaign for his catalogs? It was a comforting thought in a way, to believe that he was purely motivated by money. At least then, that'd be something we could all understand.
I wasn't sure what to think. The box of Legos, I wasn't sure why I kept them, weighed on me. I'd have to get it screened, have it opened by an officer to make sure there were no bugs or anything. That was obvious, right? Even he wouldn't try to sneak something by us in such an obvious way?
Which meant he blew five hundred bucks just to give me a Lego set so he could… what? Insult me?
"It's what you're good for," I heard his voice echo in my mind.
No, that didn't seem right. If he was really as mercenary as he claimed, if he was motivated by money, why would he go so far just to mock me? Parting with that much money just to insult someone he'd never met before wasn't the kind of thing a mercenary would do, right? If he wanted a tinker rival to show off his catalog in forced confrontations, he'd probably have gone for Armsmaster.
If there was one thing I never suffered from, it was an over-inflated sense of self-importance. Creed didn't do this to mock me, at least not entirely, which meant there was some meaning in the Lego set. He'd said something similar in his introductory PHO post too, along with a shoutout to Miss Militia about Moby Dick of all things.
I shook my head, baffled and frustrated. I had no idea what that guy could be thinking.
I felt Aegis tap me on the shoulder. "Kid, you alright? You've been spacing out."
I looked around to find that we'd arrived. I'd just been following Aegis and hadn't even noticed where we were going. "Yeah, sorry, just thinking."
"Penny for your thoughts?"
"Just thinking about Creed."
"Isn't everyone?"
"Yeah."
After opening the Lego set in public and checking over the pieces, they gave it back to me with minimal fuss. It wasn't stolen, it wasn't a bribe, so it could stay. Maybe he did build Lego models of inventions during the brainstorming phase and he was trying to give me a leg up?
I snorted. I wasn't that lucky and villains weren't that nice.
The two of us headed back to the Wards section of the PRT base to get out of our costumes. Aegis would probably go text his girlfriend or something and I wanted to get some tinkering done. Aegis swiped his thumbprint to override the alarm, there was no need to wait the customary thirty seconds when it was just the three of us.
"Hey, Stalker," he said cordially. He always did, he was a cool leader like that, always trying to reach out in his own way. He lacked Dean's emotion-vision or whatever, but Carlos made up for it with a steadfastness that none of us had. I'd miss him when he graduated.
"Sup, losers," she shot back in true Stalker fashion.
"No need for that."
"Yeah, not like you let a villain fly circles around you or anything."
"You heard Officer James, Stalker, policy is to gather intel. He didn't actually commit a crime today."
"Today," she stressed. "We all know he's responsible for the Hillside Heist. The only reason he's 'wanted for questioning' instead of an arrest warrant is 'cause Piggy wants to soft-sell the Wards to him and the rest of you are too pussy to do anything about it."
"No, it's because he's really wanted for questioning, Stalker," Aegis said, tiredly but firmly. He ran a hand through his hair and slumped onto the sofa. "We went over this. We don't actually know who committed the Heist."
She threw her hands up in frustration. "For fuck's sake, Aegis, he admitted to selling illegal tinkertech! On live camera!"
"He did, and we'll deal with that, but I think The GOAT being heroic is messing with Piggot. They're not quite sure what to do, or if leaving him alone is actually the best policy. Personally? I think she's giving him enough rope to hang himself with."
"Well it's fuckign stupid."
"No arguments from me, but pressing him with just the two of us could mean dealing with his full arsenal. We don't know enough about what he can do and we want him playing with kid gloves until we know more," Aegis said, but it was pretty clear that he was just parroting what someone else told him. The guy wasn't the sort to back down from a fight and I wondered how much of what he said he actually agreed with. He let out a tired sigh and pulled out his phone, probably to text Stephanie.
Stalker fumed. Seeing she wasn't going to get more engagement out of our leader, she turned her angry eyes to me. "Ugh, so what? 'Unknown tinkertech?' Your shit should be equally unknown to him too, but you're too much of a pussy to take a shot at him, huh?" she said venomously.
"Not true," I tried defending myself. "I'm not about to start shooting in the middle of Best Buy, genius."
"So what's your excuse for when you were outside?"
"I was foll-"
"'Following orders?' Really? You're pathetic, Kid." She stood with a disgusted snort and tapped the backpack. I heard the jostling of Lego pieces. "Maybe Creed's right. Maybe this is all you're good for."
"Stalker, that's uncalled for," Aegis called, but she was already halfway in her room. We heard the door slam shut a moment later. He turned to me. "Kid-"
"She's right, you know," I said, taking off my visor with a watery smile. "I'm a failure as a tinker. I don't even know my own specialization and Creed shows up and forces the gangs to play nice over an afternoon."
"No you're not, Chris. Creed's an abnormality. If he wasn't, we wouldn't be talking about him at all."
"That doesn't change that I can't finish a single one of my projects. I still take my board apart and put it back together, you know. Same with my pistol. I keep trying. There's always something that tells me that they can be more, and then… and then… they get assembled right back into what I had before."
"You'll figure it out," Carlos said. He tried to be comforting, to act like he had faith in me, but he wasn't the tinker here. He didn't understand. The only one who could was Armsmaster, and one of the top ten heroes in America had better things to do than tutor the failure. "You'll get it one day. That's what the Wards are for, to learn."
"Yeah, sure," I replied morosely. "I'm going to my lab."
"Yeah… Okay… Have a good one, man."
"You too…"
X
My lab honestly looked a lot like a mix between a high school science class for one and a mechanic's shop. One half of the room was clean and pristine, or it would be without my crap all over it. It had slate-gray countertops, nice wooden furniture, and cabinets filled with tools I needed for detail work.
The other half had the larger, noisier tools such as a lathe, drop hammer, and bandsaw for shaping the chassis of my creations. Just sitting through the training course for those had been a pain and a half. I didn't need the course, no tinker did, but the PRT apparently liked to cross their "i"s, just in case. I'd mostly used them to form the plates of my armor and the body of my hoverboard.
I let out another dejected sigh and laid out my gear on the counter. I had a depressingly small catalog.
The tech I was proudest of was without question my hoverboard. I ran my fingers along its edge. It was actually several distinct pieces that I kept trying to configure in new ways for better speed and handling. There was an anti-grav module on the bottom, magnetic clamps for my feet, two repulsors for thrust, and a hard drive that interfaced with my helmet along with a gyroscope to keep me balanced. It was a great piece of tech, even Armsmaster said so, but I felt it could do more, be more.
What did it say about me when the best thing I'd ever made felt so incomplete?
Next was my spark pistol. I had two of them because I once thought guns were my specialization. Stupid in hindsight considering my hoverboard, but I'd been desperate to cling to any success. It had good range and lobbed condensed orbs of electricity that could be adjusted to fit the scenario. Most of the time, it was just a nasty shock, enough to snap people out of doing something stupid so we could talk them down, but it did have higher settings that could potentially be lethal to normal people. "Brute-rated," the analysts called it, though I doubted it'd do anything to a real brute like Glory Girl or Lung.
I looked it over and seriously reconsidered its design. Creed had something similar but had imbedded it into his suit. I had to admit, however grudgingly, that it was a neat idea. It gave him an almost mage-like aesthetic that was more PR-friendly than carrying a gun around. It also made him impossible to disarm.
Why hadn't I considered that? There was enough room in my gauntlets, surely. I banged my head against the table and let the cool surface soothe me. It felt like he was just plain better at designing things, even discounting how his tech outperformed mine.
I looked at my breastplate and visor. I'd modeled them after Hero's own. The greatest tinker ever wore blue and gold; I wore red and gold. He insisted on a visor instead of a full helmet because it made him more approachable so I'd done the same. From the smooth curves to the sharp angles around the shoulders that broadened my silhouette, I'd done my best to pay homage to the greatest tinker ever.
Once upon a time, I wanted to be just like him. Now, as I looked at my armor, that dream was starting to sound pretty damn sarcastic even in my own head.
I spent the next half hour performing maintenance on my tech. I didn't need to, our encounter could hardly be called a fight, but this was what Armsmaster recommended: Check over everything as often as you use it. Don't put off maintenance, however minor. The man was meticulous and I could see why he was considered one of the best in the world. I already failed at building, far be it for me to take what I did make for granted.
After routine maintenance, I took my gear apart to try and make improvements. If I rerouted energy in a different way, could I improve the output from my repulsors so I could go faster? If I reprogrammed the software connecting my visor to my hoverboard, could I make myself more agile?
Armsmaster told me once that necessity was the mother of invention, that the greatest works of man were made in times of great need. He also said that we stood on the shoulders of giants, that by looking to others for inspiration, we could progress further than we'd ever considered.
I turned on my computer to the video that had been immortalized on the Internet. It was the tail end of the fight between the Empire and Merchants, Creed's debut. I must have watched it a hundred times by now.
"GIGA IMPACT!" he roared as he crashed down onto Squealer's latest monstrosity in a corona of yellow and green energies. Truck exploded in a truly spectacular fashion and Creed was launched into a building by Skidmark's fields. He emerged a few seconds later to force the battle to a standstill.
His ridiculous need to give his finisher a name like a cartoon character aside, the clip was now being used by at least one mod as the unofficial PHO banhammer.
'Could my armor take that kind of punishment?' I asked myself for the thousandth time. I didn't like the answer.
I watched it again and again, asking myself, "What could I learn from this?"
That Creed was a Sentai Elite wannabe? That he made "signature attacks?" That his armor might be voice-activated to perform those finishing moves like some kind of pro wrestler? That my armor wasn't anywhere near durable enough? That I should stack forcefields? I didn't even know how to build one forcefield, never mind two!
"Fuck!" I swore. I kicked the backpack lying beside my desk in frustration. It rolled and I must have forgotten to zip it up again after I came back from patrol because the Lego set clattered out onto my floor.
"That's what you're good for," I heard. I could see his face in my mind, that black-orange suit and smug posture, always with some wiseass quip for us as he skated just out of reach.
Before he came along, I still wasn't the best tinker, far from it, but I at least had the distinction of being the only flying tinker. Aerial support was a big thing, I'd been told. My hoverboard let me do something even Armsmaster couldn't. It made me the most mobile Ward after Vista and Vista was a shaker-nine.
And then Creed made his debut. He could fly. He had enough firepower to make two gangs stop fighting. He was versatile enough to copy my spark pistol while making some sort of telekinetic gun that could choke out Krieg. He could teleport. He could make forcefields strong enough to rival Dauntless.
He was me, but better in every way.
Creed's dark helmet was replaced by Shadow Stalker's stoic faceplate. "It's all you're good for."
Some teammate she was.
In that moment, I hated them. Creed, for being everything I wished I could be. Stalker for being a fucking bitch.
I grabbed the box of Legos and hurled it against the wall with a frustrated yell. "Ahhhh!"
The box burst like a water balloon. The plastic trays that held individually sized pieces must have broken too, because dozens of little Legos scattered all over my floor.
"Shit."
I breathed heavily, thanking God that my lab was soundproofed.
I looked around and felt ashamed. There were Lego blocks strewn all over, like a child had thrown a tantrum. That was exactly what happened, I reminded myself sardonically. Assault liked to say that we should let ourselves be kids, but that didn't make me feel any better.
Even so, there was a small part of myself that I was afraid to acknowledge that was happier now. Not happy, but at least content, refreshed. They did say I needed to express myself more…
"I'm jealous," I admitted aloud. It felt good to get it out there in the privacy of my lab. "I feel like a failure."
I stood there and allowed the air to absorb my words. Then, I felt awkward, like I was one of those weirdos at school who talked to themselves.
Sighing, I bent down to pick up the pieces. The anger faded, replaced by a resigned acceptance. I wasn't being fair to myself or Creed. It wasn't his fault that he won the power lottery. It wasn't his fault that Stalker was a raging bitch.
"That's all you're good for," I heard her voice again.
Was that what he really meant? I-I didn't think so. He said something similar on PHO, too. I waffled back and forth between being pissed and trying to figure out what he could have possibly meant. Miss Militia was evasive when I asked her about it, though she suggested he or The GOAT might have some thinker elements to their powers, something about personality profiling that was beyond me.
That was one more reason the director was cautious: We legitimately didn't know how many people he had on his side, or who they could be.
Whoever the thinker analysis came from, it was a hard miss on me because I didn't grow up playing with Legos. Or maybe he wasn't trying to offer any form of thinker advice. Maybe he was just fucking with me. That was seeming increasingly likely.
I picked up one of the pieces and absentmindedly began to fiddle with it. It was a miniature satellite dish, the main laser gun of the Death Star that focused several beams into a single focal point before blowing up some poor schmuck's planet from lightyears away.
Ridiculous of course, but I couldn't help but like the classics.
I set it aside. If nothing else, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to kill some time with. Besides maintaining what I had and tuning Dean's armor whenever he needed it, I didn't have too much in my pipeline anyway. Contrary to popular belief, tinkers weren't all workaholics like Armsmaster.
I picked up one of the few swiveling pieces in the set. It was basically a plastic nub that formed a socket so some other piece could rotate. From a cursory glance, it probably went with the auxiliary turrets on the Death Star, the ones that did such a piss-poor job of defending against Han and the rebels.
'It'd look cooler as the center of a minigun,' I thought. And before I knew it, I was reaching for the scattered pieces to build it a bigger mount for the barrels.
I didn't know how long I kept at it. It wasn't quite a fugue, not even tinker-bullshit could let me make a new piece of invention out of Legos, but it was close, closer than even a pen and paper drafting session. Something about the act of building with Legos soothed me; it felt right, like all the metaphorical pieces were falling into place. There was no math, none of my iniquities, none of the constant comparisons that found me wanting.
By the time I returned to myself, three hours had passed. In front of me was some sort of sci-fi spider-tank. I used every last piece of the Death Star and the new creation looked good enough to have been a box set of its own. The best part of it all was that it was still recognizably from the Death Star set. I could recognize individual parts of the whole: the main laser that stood on a towering mount, the turrets that became miniguns, the hinged plates of plastic that acted now as wing-like thrusters. It wouldn't have been out of place in a custom building contest.
I admired my creation for a minute and allowed myself to feel proud of my work. I even snapped a picture to show mom.
Then the bitterness washed away the pride. "Why can't I build like this when I'm actually trying to make something? Was Carlos right? Should I build models out of Legos before trying to machine them? Do I just need to stop thinking and have fun?"
Now that I looked, there was so much more I could do. I could see it now: The spider legs could be tucked in to form treads. The thrusters could be expanded into fully functional wings. The main laser could be converted into a thruster. My spider-tank could be reconfigured into a space-fighter. Or a submarine. Or a subterranean drill-bot.
There were so many possibilities, so many different ways I could take this. In fact, if I wanted, I could probably make scale models that actually worked. I'd need Armsmaster's help miniaturizing the anti-gav module in my hoverboard, but I could machine most of the parts myself, right here in my lab.
Why hadn't I ever played with Legos? It was awesome how interchangeable they were. Everything was variable, limited only by my own imagination. Everything was…
"It's what you're good for," I heard Creed's voice in my mind. That same smug, self-satisfied voice that said he knew something no one else did.
Then it hit me.
It struck like a bolt from the blue. Creed wasn't mocking me; he wasn't Stalker. He was…
"Oh, that son of a bitch!"
Author's Note
Sophia's honestly kinda fun to write. She joined the Wards in the summer of 2010 as far as I can tell and she is every bit the angry pitbull. It's hard to imagine, but I wonder if she actually mellowed out a bit by April 2011. This is still November, so the bruised ego from the press-ganging is still kinda tender.
"That's what you're good for," was Creed's hint at Chris's specialization, but it was admittedly a poor choice of words. Bryce wanted to play on the rule of cool and be the man of mysteries, but Stalker turned that into "This is all you're good for." Subtle but major difference there.
I feel bad for Chris, but I believe in letting my characters be themselves. Have you ever had an older sibling or friend everyone compared you to? He was more athletic, taller and better looking, did better in school, had an easier time making friends, never had any trouble finding a girl? Have you ever told yourself that it didn't matter because you were your own person, but knew deep inside that it did matter because you cared?
Chris is like that. He's a young tinker with dyscalculia and zero knowledge of his own specialization, something most tinkers figure out pretty quickly. Throw in the regular teenage self-esteem issues and it shouldn't be a surprise he constantly compares himself to Creed, the other young tinker. Problem is of course that Creed isn't a tinker in the normal sense, he's the tinker of fiction, a walking embodiment of all the bullshit in the multiverse.
Random fact of the week? Sure. The beaver has a gland in its rectum called a castor sac that secretes castoreum, a mix of anal juices and urine. It's by beavers to mark territory, and by humans as additives... in ice cream and perfume among other things.
Yup. It has a musky/fruity note that brings out the flavor of vanilla, gives cigarettes a nice aftertaste, and adds depth to perfume. It's rare so it's not in everything, but some luxury brands still use castoreum in their products. You may go about your day knowing that at some point in American history, the number of people who made a living off of picking through a beaver's anus was greater than zero.
As always, thank you to all my patrons. As of posting this chapter, my patrons can read up to LT 7.6, PWP 3.13, and Spoon 3.8 as well as two more stories (one in Harry Potter, another in Pokemon) and one one-shot (that'll probably end up being a bit longer than a one-shot).
2010, November 7: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Creed led us on a merry chase through the shopping district. His skates seemed to be able to change direction in midair just as quickly as Aegis. He made it look natural, like running on air was something humans were all born to do. I really wanted to take it apart to see what kind of gyroscope he used, but that looked more and more like a pipe dream the longer the chase went on.
It was clear he was toying with us, and not just from that terrible attempt at a carjacking console used as pretext to let us give chase. My hoverboard had a higher top speed than Aegis' flight, but I couldn't turn very well while going so fast. Aegis on the other hand just wasn't fast enough. We tried working together to corral him but every time we got close, he vanished from sight, only to appear a block away with one taunting joke or another. One time, he even teleported onto Aegis' back and rode him like a cowboy.
Until finally, he stopped popping up, leaving us in the middle of the Boardwalk feeling like fools.
We signed a few autographs, posed for pictures with tourists, and finished up our scheduled route before heading back to HQ. All the while, we tried to figure out what he could be up to.
"I don't get the guy," I told Aegis as we flew back. "He does a terrible job of trying to steal a car to get us to chase him and then just… leaves…? Why?"
Aegis shrugged. "I don't know, Kid. Maybe he was trying to distract us from something? Console, any word on crimes in the area?"
Officer James, I wasn't sure if that was his first or last name, spoke over the comms unit. "No, nothing that 'd warrant a cape response from us, Aegis. We'll have you write an AAR when you get back. The director also wants both your helmet cams."
"Do we have to?" I noticed that even my normally responsible leader couldn't quite hide the whine. "I wouldn't say there was much action."
"Yeah, you just let the newest villain skate literal rings around you," came Shadow Stalker's biting remark. It was protocol to have both one Ward and one PRT officer on console, the former to gain experience and familiarity with protocol and the latter to actually handle any emergencies. Just my luck, Stalker was our gal in the chair today. As far as I could tell, she was once again being punished for something or other. It happened so often that I barely paid attention anymore.
"Don't start, Stalker," Officer James said warningly, "you're already on thin ice."
"Yeah, whatever."
"And yes, Aegis. You do have to write that AAR. The director wants any and all information we can gather on Creed. She's especially interested in hearing your thoughts as a fellow tinker, Kid Win."
I groaned. It made sense, I knew it did, but that didn't mean I had to like it. What did she want me to say? That Creed was a better flyer than me? That he built better tech? It wasn't as though I had the chance to take his gear apart.
"Yes, sir," Aegis and I chorused.
"For what it's worth, you two did well," Officer James told us. "Our current policy is to gather intelligence more than anything so him getting away isn't a huge loss."
"Aren't you worried about what he could be making with all those computers, sir?" I tried.
"We are, but it's not as though they were specialized materials he couldn't get elsewhere. If he really wants some computers, we can't stop him from getting them, especially since he actually did pay for them. Even if we caught him, we can't really confiscate them indefinitely. For the moment, we're putting Creed on the same threat level as Uber and Leet; he's more of a professional comic than a villain, and one who seems interested in preserving the stability of the city as a whole."
"So you're saying he's not a priority," Aegis said. "I can see that. I just wish we could have asked him some questions."
"That's right. As far as we can tell, he seems unlikely to commit overt crimes despite his self-designation as a villain."
"What? Carjacking isn't a crime?" Stalker laughed derisively.
"It would be if he succeeded, or he wasn't so blatantly trying to fail. At most, it's harassment or disturbing the peace as things stand and even that'd be a stretch. It's clear that he never intended to take that woman's car. He's intentionally making himself look less competent, something we've seen from other comics."
"Yeah, Leet's trying to be a fuckup."
I let the rest of the conversation wash over me. It wasn't like me to contribute much anyway. Gallant, Dean, said I was the type to "keep my own counsel," but that probably made me out to be wiser than I was. For fuck's sake, I could barely count. What wisdom? What expertise?
I sighed. That was him in a nutshell. Dean was a cool dude, but he sometimes got so caught up in gauging our feelings that he didn't say what was plain for everyone else to see.
I did wonder though: Creed seemed superhumanly capable at times, even more than other capes, but he also behaved in ridiculous, possibly even short-sighted ways. That was one of the big arguments for him being a new cape: He was too unprofessional despite his obvious connections and wealth of resources.
On the other hand, I'd heard off duty officers talk about how it could all be an act. If he really was a veteran immigrant from out of the city just looking to rebrand, if he really did have connections to some mysterious sponsor, it'd explain his advanced tech and near impossible growth. In that scenario, his admission of being Wards-age could be a white lie to get us to treat him with kid gloves; his publicity stunts at the bank, Toys R Us, and now Best Buy could be just that, stunts.
There could only be one conclusion in that case: He wanted to look less competent than he really was. For whatever reason, he wanted to blunt his own image despite having interfered against the Empire and Merchants in such a spectacular fashion.
Why? To convince the PRT that he's not a priority? If so, he succeeded. Was it all just an advertisement campaign for his catalogs? It was a comforting thought in a way, to believe that he was purely motivated by money. At least then, that'd be something we could all understand.
I wasn't sure what to think. The box of Legos, I wasn't sure why I kept them, weighed on me. I'd have to get it screened, have it opened by an officer to make sure there were no bugs or anything. That was obvious, right? Even he wouldn't try to sneak something by us in such an obvious way?
Which meant he blew five hundred bucks just to give me a Lego set so he could… what? Insult me?
"It's what you're good for," I heard his voice echo in my mind.
No, that didn't seem right. If he was really as mercenary as he claimed, if he was motivated by money, why would he go so far just to mock me? Parting with that much money just to insult someone he'd never met before wasn't the kind of thing a mercenary would do, right? If he wanted a tinker rival to show off his catalog in forced confrontations, he'd probably have gone for Armsmaster.
If there was one thing I never suffered from, it was an over-inflated sense of self-importance. Creed didn't do this to mock me, at least not entirely, which meant there was some meaning in the Lego set. He'd said something similar in his introductory PHO post too, along with a shoutout to Miss Militia about Moby Dick of all things.
I shook my head, baffled and frustrated. I had no idea what that guy could be thinking.
I felt Aegis tap me on the shoulder. "Kid, you alright? You've been spacing out."
I looked around to find that we'd arrived. I'd just been following Aegis and hadn't even noticed where we were going. "Yeah, sorry, just thinking."
"Penny for your thoughts?"
"Just thinking about Creed."
"Isn't everyone?"
"Yeah."
After opening the Lego set in public and checking over the pieces, they gave it back to me with minimal fuss. It wasn't stolen, it wasn't a bribe, so it could stay. Maybe he did build Lego models of inventions during the brainstorming phase and he was trying to give me a leg up?
I snorted. I wasn't that lucky and villains weren't that nice.
The two of us headed back to the Wards section of the PRT base to get out of our costumes. Aegis would probably go text his girlfriend or something and I wanted to get some tinkering done. Aegis swiped his thumbprint to override the alarm, there was no need to wait the customary thirty seconds when it was just the three of us.
"Hey, Stalker," he said cordially. He always did, he was a cool leader like that, always trying to reach out in his own way. He lacked Dean's emotion-vision or whatever, but Carlos made up for it with a steadfastness that none of us had. I'd miss him when he graduated.
"Sup, losers," she shot back in true Stalker fashion.
"No need for that."
"Yeah, not like you let a villain fly circles around you or anything."
"You heard Officer James, Stalker, policy is to gather intel. He didn't actually commit a crime today."
"Today," she stressed. "We all know he's responsible for the Hillside Heist. The only reason he's 'wanted for questioning' instead of an arrest warrant is 'cause Piggy wants to soft-sell the Wards to him and the rest of you are too pussy to do anything about it."
"No, it's because he's really wanted for questioning, Stalker," Aegis said, tiredly but firmly. He ran a hand through his hair and slumped onto the sofa. "We went over this. We don't actually know who committed the Heist."
She threw her hands up in frustration. "For fuck's sake, Aegis, he admitted to selling illegal tinkertech! On live camera!"
"He did, and we'll deal with that, but I think The GOAT being heroic is messing with Piggot. They're not quite sure what to do, or if leaving him alone is actually the best policy. Personally? I think she's giving him enough rope to hang himself with."
"Well it's fuckign stupid."
"No arguments from me, but pressing him with just the two of us could mean dealing with his full arsenal. We don't know enough about what he can do and we want him playing with kid gloves until we know more," Aegis said, but it was pretty clear that he was just parroting what someone else told him. The guy wasn't the sort to back down from a fight and I wondered how much of what he said he actually agreed with. He let out a tired sigh and pulled out his phone, probably to text Stephanie.
Stalker fumed. Seeing she wasn't going to get more engagement out of our leader, she turned her angry eyes to me. "Ugh, so what? 'Unknown tinkertech?' Your shit should be equally unknown to him too, but you're too much of a pussy to take a shot at him, huh?" she said venomously.
"Not true," I tried defending myself. "I'm not about to start shooting in the middle of Best Buy, genius."
"So what's your excuse for when you were outside?"
"I was foll-"
"'Following orders?' Really? You're pathetic, Kid." She stood with a disgusted snort and tapped the backpack. I heard the jostling of Lego pieces. "Maybe Creed's right. Maybe this is all you're good for."
"Stalker, that's uncalled for," Aegis called, but she was already halfway in her room. We heard the door slam shut a moment later. He turned to me. "Kid-"
"She's right, you know," I said, taking off my visor with a watery smile. "I'm a failure as a tinker. I don't even know my own specialization and Creed shows up and forces the gangs to play nice over an afternoon."
"No you're not, Chris. Creed's an abnormality. If he wasn't, we wouldn't be talking about him at all."
"That doesn't change that I can't finish a single one of my projects. I still take my board apart and put it back together, you know. Same with my pistol. I keep trying. There's always something that tells me that they can be more, and then… and then… they get assembled right back into what I had before."
"You'll figure it out," Carlos said. He tried to be comforting, to act like he had faith in me, but he wasn't the tinker here. He didn't understand. The only one who could was Armsmaster, and one of the top ten heroes in America had better things to do than tutor the failure. "You'll get it one day. That's what the Wards are for, to learn."
"Yeah, sure," I replied morosely. "I'm going to my lab."
"Yeah… Okay… Have a good one, man."
"You too…"
X
My lab honestly looked a lot like a mix between a high school science class for one and a mechanic's shop. One half of the room was clean and pristine, or it would be without my crap all over it. It had slate-gray countertops, nice wooden furniture, and cabinets filled with tools I needed for detail work.
The other half had the larger, noisier tools such as a lathe, drop hammer, and bandsaw for shaping the chassis of my creations. Just sitting through the training course for those had been a pain and a half. I didn't need the course, no tinker did, but the PRT apparently liked to cross their "i"s, just in case. I'd mostly used them to form the plates of my armor and the body of my hoverboard.
I let out another dejected sigh and laid out my gear on the counter. I had a depressingly small catalog.
The tech I was proudest of was without question my hoverboard. I ran my fingers along its edge. It was actually several distinct pieces that I kept trying to configure in new ways for better speed and handling. There was an anti-grav module on the bottom, magnetic clamps for my feet, two repulsors for thrust, and a hard drive that interfaced with my helmet along with a gyroscope to keep me balanced. It was a great piece of tech, even Armsmaster said so, but I felt it could do more, be more.
What did it say about me when the best thing I'd ever made felt so incomplete?
Next was my spark pistol. I had two of them because I once thought guns were my specialization. Stupid in hindsight considering my hoverboard, but I'd been desperate to cling to any success. It had good range and lobbed condensed orbs of electricity that could be adjusted to fit the scenario. Most of the time, it was just a nasty shock, enough to snap people out of doing something stupid so we could talk them down, but it did have higher settings that could potentially be lethal to normal people. "Brute-rated," the analysts called it, though I doubted it'd do anything to a real brute like Glory Girl or Lung.
I looked it over and seriously reconsidered its design. Creed had something similar but had imbedded it into his suit. I had to admit, however grudgingly, that it was a neat idea. It gave him an almost mage-like aesthetic that was more PR-friendly than carrying a gun around. It also made him impossible to disarm.
Why hadn't I considered that? There was enough room in my gauntlets, surely. I banged my head against the table and let the cool surface soothe me. It felt like he was just plain better at designing things, even discounting how his tech outperformed mine.
I looked at my breastplate and visor. I'd modeled them after Hero's own. The greatest tinker ever wore blue and gold; I wore red and gold. He insisted on a visor instead of a full helmet because it made him more approachable so I'd done the same. From the smooth curves to the sharp angles around the shoulders that broadened my silhouette, I'd done my best to pay homage to the greatest tinker ever.
Once upon a time, I wanted to be just like him. Now, as I looked at my armor, that dream was starting to sound pretty damn sarcastic even in my own head.
I spent the next half hour performing maintenance on my tech. I didn't need to, our encounter could hardly be called a fight, but this was what Armsmaster recommended: Check over everything as often as you use it. Don't put off maintenance, however minor. The man was meticulous and I could see why he was considered one of the best in the world. I already failed at building, far be it for me to take what I did make for granted.
After routine maintenance, I took my gear apart to try and make improvements. If I rerouted energy in a different way, could I improve the output from my repulsors so I could go faster? If I reprogrammed the software connecting my visor to my hoverboard, could I make myself more agile?
Armsmaster told me once that necessity was the mother of invention, that the greatest works of man were made in times of great need. He also said that we stood on the shoulders of giants, that by looking to others for inspiration, we could progress further than we'd ever considered.
I turned on my computer to the video that had been immortalized on the Internet. It was the tail end of the fight between the Empire and Merchants, Creed's debut. I must have watched it a hundred times by now.
"GIGA IMPACT!" he roared as he crashed down onto Squealer's latest monstrosity in a corona of yellow and green energies. Truck exploded in a truly spectacular fashion and Creed was launched into a building by Skidmark's fields. He emerged a few seconds later to force the battle to a standstill.
His ridiculous need to give his finisher a name like a cartoon character aside, the clip was now being used by at least one mod as the unofficial PHO banhammer.
'Could my armor take that kind of punishment?' I asked myself for the thousandth time. I didn't like the answer.
I watched it again and again, asking myself, "What could I learn from this?"
That Creed was a Sentai Elite wannabe? That he made "signature attacks?" That his armor might be voice-activated to perform those finishing moves like some kind of pro wrestler? That my armor wasn't anywhere near durable enough? That I should stack forcefields? I didn't even know how to build one forcefield, never mind two!
"Fuck!" I swore. I kicked the backpack lying beside my desk in frustration. It rolled and I must have forgotten to zip it up again after I came back from patrol because the Lego set clattered out onto my floor.
"That's what you're good for," I heard. I could see his face in my mind, that black-orange suit and smug posture, always with some wiseass quip for us as he skated just out of reach.
Before he came along, I still wasn't the best tinker, far from it, but I at least had the distinction of being the only flying tinker. Aerial support was a big thing, I'd been told. My hoverboard let me do something even Armsmaster couldn't. It made me the most mobile Ward after Vista and Vista was a shaker-nine.
And then Creed made his debut. He could fly. He had enough firepower to make two gangs stop fighting. He was versatile enough to copy my spark pistol while making some sort of telekinetic gun that could choke out Krieg. He could teleport. He could make forcefields strong enough to rival Dauntless.
He was me, but better in every way.
Creed's dark helmet was replaced by Shadow Stalker's stoic faceplate. "It's all you're good for."
Some teammate she was.
In that moment, I hated them. Creed, for being everything I wished I could be. Stalker for being a fucking bitch.
I grabbed the box of Legos and hurled it against the wall with a frustrated yell. "Ahhhh!"
The box burst like a water balloon. The plastic trays that held individually sized pieces must have broken too, because dozens of little Legos scattered all over my floor.
"Shit."
I breathed heavily, thanking God that my lab was soundproofed.
I looked around and felt ashamed. There were Lego blocks strewn all over, like a child had thrown a tantrum. That was exactly what happened, I reminded myself sardonically. Assault liked to say that we should let ourselves be kids, but that didn't make me feel any better.
Even so, there was a small part of myself that I was afraid to acknowledge that was happier now. Not happy, but at least content, refreshed. They did say I needed to express myself more…
"I'm jealous," I admitted aloud. It felt good to get it out there in the privacy of my lab. "I feel like a failure."
I stood there and allowed the air to absorb my words. Then, I felt awkward, like I was one of those weirdos at school who talked to themselves.
Sighing, I bent down to pick up the pieces. The anger faded, replaced by a resigned acceptance. I wasn't being fair to myself or Creed. It wasn't his fault that he won the power lottery. It wasn't his fault that Stalker was a raging bitch.
"That's all you're good for," I heard her voice again.
Was that what he really meant? I-I didn't think so. He said something similar on PHO, too. I waffled back and forth between being pissed and trying to figure out what he could have possibly meant. Miss Militia was evasive when I asked her about it, though she suggested he or The GOAT might have some thinker elements to their powers, something about personality profiling that was beyond me.
That was one more reason the director was cautious: We legitimately didn't know how many people he had on his side, or who they could be.
Whoever the thinker analysis came from, it was a hard miss on me because I didn't grow up playing with Legos. Or maybe he wasn't trying to offer any form of thinker advice. Maybe he was just fucking with me. That was seeming increasingly likely.
I picked up one of the pieces and absentmindedly began to fiddle with it. It was a miniature satellite dish, the main laser gun of the Death Star that focused several beams into a single focal point before blowing up some poor schmuck's planet from lightyears away.
Ridiculous of course, but I couldn't help but like the classics.
I set it aside. If nothing else, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to kill some time with. Besides maintaining what I had and tuning Dean's armor whenever he needed it, I didn't have too much in my pipeline anyway. Contrary to popular belief, tinkers weren't all workaholics like Armsmaster.
I picked up one of the few swiveling pieces in the set. It was basically a plastic nub that formed a socket so some other piece could rotate. From a cursory glance, it probably went with the auxiliary turrets on the Death Star, the ones that did such a piss-poor job of defending against Han and the rebels.
'It'd look cooler as the center of a minigun,' I thought. And before I knew it, I was reaching for the scattered pieces to build it a bigger mount for the barrels.
I didn't know how long I kept at it. It wasn't quite a fugue, not even tinker-bullshit could let me make a new piece of invention out of Legos, but it was close, closer than even a pen and paper drafting session. Something about the act of building with Legos soothed me; it felt right, like all the metaphorical pieces were falling into place. There was no math, none of my iniquities, none of the constant comparisons that found me wanting.
By the time I returned to myself, three hours had passed. In front of me was some sort of sci-fi spider-tank. I used every last piece of the Death Star and the new creation looked good enough to have been a box set of its own. The best part of it all was that it was still recognizably from the Death Star set. I could recognize individual parts of the whole: the main laser that stood on a towering mount, the turrets that became miniguns, the hinged plates of plastic that acted now as wing-like thrusters. It wouldn't have been out of place in a custom building contest.
I admired my creation for a minute and allowed myself to feel proud of my work. I even snapped a picture to show mom.
Then the bitterness washed away the pride. "Why can't I build like this when I'm actually trying to make something? Was Carlos right? Should I build models out of Legos before trying to machine them? Do I just need to stop thinking and have fun?"
Now that I looked, there was so much more I could do. I could see it now: The spider legs could be tucked in to form treads. The thrusters could be expanded into fully functional wings. The main laser could be converted into a thruster. My spider-tank could be reconfigured into a space-fighter. Or a submarine. Or a subterranean drill-bot.
There were so many possibilities, so many different ways I could take this. In fact, if I wanted, I could probably make scale models that actually worked. I'd need Armsmaster's help miniaturizing the anti-gav module in my hoverboard, but I could machine most of the parts myself, right here in my lab.
Why hadn't I ever played with Legos? It was awesome how interchangeable they were. Everything was variable, limited only by my own imagination. Everything was…
"It's what you're good for," I heard Creed's voice in my mind. That same smug, self-satisfied voice that said he knew something no one else did.
Then it hit me.
It struck like a bolt from the blue. Creed wasn't mocking me; he wasn't Stalker. He was…
"Oh, that son of a bitch!"
Author's Note
Sophia's honestly kinda fun to write. She joined the Wards in the summer of 2010 as far as I can tell and she is every bit the angry pitbull. It's hard to imagine, but I wonder if she actually mellowed out a bit by April 2011. This is still November, so the bruised ego from the press-ganging is still kinda tender.
"That's what you're good for," was Creed's hint at Chris's specialization, but it was admittedly a poor choice of words. Bryce wanted to play on the rule of cool and be the man of mysteries, but Stalker turned that into "This is all you're good for." Subtle but major difference there.
I feel bad for Chris, but I believe in letting my characters be themselves. Have you ever had an older sibling or friend everyone compared you to? He was more athletic, taller and better looking, did better in school, had an easier time making friends, never had any trouble finding a girl? Have you ever told yourself that it didn't matter because you were your own person, but knew deep inside that it did matter because you cared?
Chris is like that. He's a young tinker with dyscalculia and zero knowledge of his own specialization, something most tinkers figure out pretty quickly. Throw in the regular teenage self-esteem issues and it shouldn't be a surprise he constantly compares himself to Creed, the other young tinker. Problem is of course that Creed isn't a tinker in the normal sense, he's the tinker of fiction, a walking embodiment of all the bullshit in the multiverse.
Random fact of the week? Sure. The beaver has a gland in its rectum called a castor sac that secretes castoreum, a mix of anal juices and urine. It's by beavers to mark territory, and by humans as additives... in ice cream and perfume among other things.
Yup. It has a musky/fruity note that brings out the flavor of vanilla, gives cigarettes a nice aftertaste, and adds depth to perfume. It's rare so it's not in everything, but some luxury brands still use castoreum in their products. You may go about your day knowing that at some point in American history, the number of people who made a living off of picking through a beaver's anus was greater than zero.
As always, thank you to all my patrons. As of posting this chapter, my patrons can read up to LT 7.6, PWP 3.13, and Spoon 3.8 as well as two more stories (one in Harry Potter, another in Pokemon) and one one-shot (that'll probably end up being a bit longer than a one-shot).
- Location
- Finland
Now I really really really want to read the circus act that follows Chris dropping this bomb.
Foxy Boxes
[Verified Box]
- Location
- England
It let's you get away before they can ask how you acquired said knowledge.
One-Shot: Spontaneous Duck
Fabled Webs
Lord Weaver, Glorious and Wise
- Location
- Arlington, VA
Preface
So… I wanted to make another PWP PHO interlude and got sucked into making it. Somewhere along the line, I forgot that SAINT was a secret and wondered how he'd reveal himself. This doesn't line up well with the conversations Bryce and Amy had, and those are genuinely too important to go back and edit, so this is getting stuffed into an omake.
Enjoy the free laughs.
PHO: Spontaneous Duck
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Topic: Creed and His Catalog
In: Boards ► United States ► New England ► Brockton Bay
Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Posted On Oct 18th 2010:
Hey, guys. I know Creed's a popular topic of conversation right now, but in order to prevent clutter, I'm making this the official Creed thread. Any other threads will be deleted unless we mods feel it serves a specific purpose, or I suppose if Creed decides to do another AMA.
For those curious, Creed recently appeared with a hell of a bang, levying an ultimatum on the Empire, Merchants, AND Protectorate [here]. He then made [this] PHO post advertising his gear, both for [civilians] and [heroes].
Since he didn't see fit to consolidate his catalogs into a singular thread, this is it. Talk about his wares, how you can reach him, reviews of any purchases, etc.
As usual, keep it civil. Additional rule for the thread: If you review something from his catalog, we expect photo verification of your purchase. A photo of your username on a slip of paper with the object in question will suffice.
(Showing page 1 of 15)
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
FIRST! And for new tinker content!
Hey, isn't it illegal to sell tinkertech though?
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Actually, no... though admittedly IANAL and it's a very fuzzy line. It's illegal to sell "dangerous" tech but the definition is understandably murky. As I understand it, there isn't an official law against the selling of tinkertech, though tinkertech can fall under a lot of different regulations, such as ones for hazardous chemicals for example. If selling tinkertech or tinker-derived-tech was blanketly illegal, Dragon wouldn't have a company either.
Not that I expect Creed to care. I mean, come on, he's a self-professed villain.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Fair point. I'm just surprised that the mods are allowing a thread like this.
►Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
It was a subject of some debate. As Procto said, it's not illegal. Creed's put us in a bit of a spot because by selling his best tech only to heroes, he's established a bit of legitimacy for himself.
The way we see it, he's going to be flooded in requests whether we crack down on it or not. The best thing we can do is to contain the tide to this one thread.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Ah, gotcha. So, anyone actually have something made by him?
►Narco_Gecko
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
*Waves hands frantically*
I do! I have an expanded bag! It's like a bag of holding from Dungeons and Dragons. Or a videogame inventory. It's bigger on the inside and I can hold so much random crap here.
Edit: Mod-mandated photo [here].
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Huh. That was fast. I'm guessing you're an old customer before Creed made the catalogs? How much does it hold? And does it come in different colors? What'd it cost you?
►Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Gecko, photo or video proof please.
►Narco_Gecko
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Yes, oh, mighty one. And it holds a few hundred pounds. How much was it... Ehh, I forgot? Or was I told in the first place? I dunno, my boss gave it to me.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Temp-Banned)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Gecko's definitely a cape. Guys, look what I [made].
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
*sighs* Risky click of the day...
Edit: Safe, guys. That's just Creed screaming "GIGA IMPACT" turned into a meme.
►Narco_Gecko
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Me? A cape? nah. I'm a gecko, not clothing.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Neat. Off topic as usual, but not as bad as a typical Void-special I guess. Why is it imposed over a banhammer? Why would the mods use that?
►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Temp-Banned)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Because it's funny.
Say, anyone who can see the heroic catalog wanna buy something for me? I can't see what's on it.
Mod Edit: Don't blatantly try to commit fraud on the internet, you idiot.
►Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
[Banned].
Huh... I like it. Thanks. Enjoy your ban.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
lmao that happened. This has to be a new record.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Oh the irony…
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 13, 14, 15
Topic: The GOAT might live up to the name...
In: Boards ► United States ► New England ► Brockton Bay
Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Posted On Nov 8th 2010:
Hey guys, Bagrat here with another spicy new take fresh off the PRT grapevine. Get ready for this because this one's got some hefty implications
So, a bit of background: Tinkers aren't sci-fi mad scientists, no matter how many of them go for the aesthetic. They aren't good at EVERYTHING; most of them have a very narrow specialization that they need to stick to, or else. Usually, this specialization is something a tinker finds out in a month or two of their trigger. The broader the specialization, the more versatile, and powerful, a tinker can be.
It's part of why Armsmaster's specialization, efficiency or miniaturization (not sure which it is), is so great. It's what makes him such a brilliant tinker and why he's got the right tool for every job in that halberd of his.
Now, see Kid Win. KW didn't know his specialization, at least until yesterday when he had a eureka moment while messing about with some LEGOs.
If that sounds familiar to you, bravo. And maybe go out and get some sun sometime because you're tuned way too deep into PHO. Then again, who am I to talk?
For the rest of you, Creed made a post last month [here], in which he says several seemingly offhand comments. In it, he offers Kid Win, or "Minnie-V," a box of LEGOs. A lot of us thought he was making a dig at a rival tinker but yesterday, people caught [this] video of him literally giving KW a box before bolting.
The GOAT apparently stands for The Greatest of All Time and they honestly might live up to the name.
(Showing page 1 of 31)
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Umm, can someone please tell me why this is important? Like, yay for KW, right?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
We really need to have that chat, Bagrat. Seriously, who are you?
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Probably a PRT analyst. Or their spouse or something. And to answer your question, Procto, it's important because this would make it the very first time a thinker has successfully predicted a tinker's specialization, at least where it wasn't immediately obvious. It implies a lot of things about The GOAT's power and might explain why Creed is willing to restrain himself to a heroic catalog in exchange for their assistance, whatever that might be.
Honestly? What's scary about The GOAT is that we have no idea if they're a man or woman, or even anywhere in the city. We have Creed's word and the heroic catalog that implies they're a hero, but virtually nothing else. For all we know, they could be an organization like WEDGDG.
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I mean, yeah, I get that, but why does it matter?
The GOAT did a huge favor for KW, right? Gave him his specialization? So it's one more thing that proves they're a hero? I'm not seeing any reason for me to be worried.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
You're not a Brockton native, are you?
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No? How could you tell?
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
You don't have our in-built paranoia.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Yup. It's kind of refreshing. You do you, Procto, but the rest of us feel a little nervous about having such a powerful thinker with unknown designs on the city.
I mean, I'm like 90% sure Creed is from Brockton, too young not to be, but he had to have received material support form The GOAT or whatever organization they're part of to rise up this fast. And you don't invest this much in a tinker unless you have plans here.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Exactly. I'm hoping for the best, but I wouldn't be surprised if the whole "mysterious heroic thinker" schtick is just a way to soften us up for a territory grab.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Oof, sad part is that I can see that being the case. Question is though, why? Why Brockton? And why go out of your way to strengthen a rival? Knowing your specialization isn't just a small thing. Depending on what it is, it can be game-changing.
Bagrat, do we know what it is?
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Maybe they felt the spec wasn't important.
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Hooh, we do know. KW's specialization is modularity, or modular systems, which in hindsight makes the LEGOs seem a little on the nose.
It's... It's a VERY versatile specialization. At least as good as Armsmaster's. If The GOAT is a villain, it'd be the kind of information they'd have taken to the grave. I'm tentatively on Procto's side based on the magnitude of that info drop. I think The GOAT is genuinely heroic, or at least can be considered benevolent.
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Hah! Guy in the know says I'm right.
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Tentative. My vote is tentative. We still know too little about them. Hell, we don't even know what their organization is called.
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I can answer that.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Holy shit!
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Welcome... I think…
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
So, what are you guys called? How many of you are there? What do you want for this city?
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
We are here to prepare for trouble!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
And make it double!
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
To protect the world from devastation!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
To unite all peoples within our nation!
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
To denounce the evils of truth and love!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
To extend our reach to the stars above!
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 29, 30, 31
(Showing page 2 of 31)
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
The GOAT!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Creed!
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Copyright infringement blast off at the speed of light!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Surrender now, or prepare to fight!
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Pory-That's right!
►AllSeeingEye
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Fuck, there's more of you... I was so hoping there were just the two. I mean, didn't get my hopes up, but a gal's gotta dream.
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Mallards have pneumatic, corkscrew-shaped penises that inflate in less than a second.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
What?
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I believe he's saying he's going to screw AllSeeingEye, lol.
►AllSeeingEye
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Oh, fuck off.
►Brilliger (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Infraction. Both of you. Language.
Edit: Why can't I give you infractions?
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Hahahahahahahahahahaha!
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Mallards secrete a special oil from the uropygial gland located at the base of their tail, which is then coated onto their feathers to make them waterproof.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Ooh! I think he means he's repelling your mod-authority?
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Malware_SAINT, are you going to keep speaking in duck-facts?
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
There are over 167 species of mallards in the world.
►Aloha
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Heh, guess that's a yes.
Just got caught up on this special brand of nonsense. You guys still haven't told us what you're called though.
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
We are the official Panpan Fan Club, of which I am president and chairman.
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I am the executive director of the Brockton chapter, which, as you might guess, is the most important one.
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Mallards are found on every continent except for Antarctica.
►Aloha
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Umm... Translation please?
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I think he means that they're a widespread organization…
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Congratulations, I name you Duck Whisperer. Mallard! Make it so!
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Ducks make for excellent and agreeable companions, unlike swans, who are pompous, self-righteous assholes.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Kek. I have the title. And he retroactively applied it too. Guys? I think Malware_SAINT might be another tinker.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 29, 30, 31
(Showing page 3 of 31)
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Yeah, that seems like a fair guess.
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Who? Him? No, he's the Mallard Supreme. We've established this.
►Brilliger (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
*sighs* I'm going to go edit the tags in. Can I please have the controls back?
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Ducks assert dominance by pecking at others but are capable of sharing large swathes of territory when prey is abundant.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
That means yes.
►Brilliger (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Yeah, I got that. Fine, I can take a hint. I won't change the tags.
►Chaosfaith
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Heh, that's hilarious. Can I join the Panpan Fan Club?
►Glitzglam (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Hahahahaha, Panacea_Official! You're popular!
►Panacea_Official (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
WHAT THE FUCK?!
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Guys? I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that this fan club isn't officially sanctioned.
►Panacea_Official (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No fucking shit! Creed_Official, I'm going to kill you!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Oh noes... I'm too sexy to die. Can I offer you a custom-made set of ATs in exchange for my life?
►Glitzglam (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
lol, take it, Amy. You may as well get a sick ride out of this.
►Panacea_Official (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No!
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Oh very well. Unfortunately, the Panpan Fan Club hereby disbands.
But fear not! For in its ashes rises a new organization: The Warfare Against Rabid Deities Syndicate!
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
lol The WARDS? I think the PRT might have some concerns.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
We do indeed have concerns, White Fairy.
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I don't think we're going to get a straight answer, guys.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No, really? You don't say?
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Welp. It's going to get confusing as hell, but until we have a proper name for you guys, I'm okay with WARDS. Heh, just realized Creed is officially a Ward now, lol.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No. This is not okay. Why are you like this? The_GOAT?
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Because I am the Greatest Of All Time.
I am unassuming, like the humble goat. I am ever-climbing, like the brave goat. I am true to myself, like the resolute goat. As the one who dons the mantle of The GOAT, I must exemplify all the virtues embodied in this, most sacred and noble of all animals.
►AllSeeingEye
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
*slow claps*
Bravo. I didn't think anyone could troll an entire city this well. So, how 'bout a consultation?
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
The red-breasted merganser is the fastest duck ever recorded at over 100 miles per hour.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
lol I think that means they're out. Hahahaha, sorry, AllSeeingEye.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... 29, 30, 31
Author's Note
Ehh, I got nothing. Just skip to facts. Everyone likes learning, right?
Random fact of the day: Dr. Curt Richter conducted a study on rats in the 1950s titled "On the Phenomenon of Sudden Death in Animals and Man." He took a few dozen rats, some wild and some domesticated, and put them in a jar to record how long they lasted before drowning. Surprisingly, domesticated rats did better while wild rats, after fighting for a short while, simply gave up.
He defined this trait in domesticated rats as hope. The domesticated rats had the familiarity with human masters to expect salvation, and so some swam for days.
To prove this point further, he briefly rescued and held the rats in his hands before they were about to drown, then set them in the water again. That brief interlude to their suffering made a huge difference in the length of their survival.
Moral of the story? Sometimes, we all just need a reason to keep our heads above water... Or you know, don't be a dick to rats.
Anyway, thanks for reading. Patrons can read a total of 20 chapters of content. LT at 7.6, PWP at 3.14, Spoon at 3.8 and ten more chapters from three stories that are coming up on rotation.
So… I wanted to make another PWP PHO interlude and got sucked into making it. Somewhere along the line, I forgot that SAINT was a secret and wondered how he'd reveal himself. This doesn't line up well with the conversations Bryce and Amy had, and those are genuinely too important to go back and edit, so this is getting stuffed into an omake.
Enjoy the free laughs.
PHO: Spontaneous Duck
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Topic: Creed and His Catalog
In: Boards ► United States ► New England ► Brockton Bay
Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Posted On Oct 18th 2010:
Hey, guys. I know Creed's a popular topic of conversation right now, but in order to prevent clutter, I'm making this the official Creed thread. Any other threads will be deleted unless we mods feel it serves a specific purpose, or I suppose if Creed decides to do another AMA.
For those curious, Creed recently appeared with a hell of a bang, levying an ultimatum on the Empire, Merchants, AND Protectorate [here]. He then made [this] PHO post advertising his gear, both for [civilians] and [heroes].
Since he didn't see fit to consolidate his catalogs into a singular thread, this is it. Talk about his wares, how you can reach him, reviews of any purchases, etc.
As usual, keep it civil. Additional rule for the thread: If you review something from his catalog, we expect photo verification of your purchase. A photo of your username on a slip of paper with the object in question will suffice.
(Showing page 1 of 15)
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
FIRST! And for new tinker content!
Hey, isn't it illegal to sell tinkertech though?
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Actually, no... though admittedly IANAL and it's a very fuzzy line. It's illegal to sell "dangerous" tech but the definition is understandably murky. As I understand it, there isn't an official law against the selling of tinkertech, though tinkertech can fall under a lot of different regulations, such as ones for hazardous chemicals for example. If selling tinkertech or tinker-derived-tech was blanketly illegal, Dragon wouldn't have a company either.
Not that I expect Creed to care. I mean, come on, he's a self-professed villain.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Fair point. I'm just surprised that the mods are allowing a thread like this.
►Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
It was a subject of some debate. As Procto said, it's not illegal. Creed's put us in a bit of a spot because by selling his best tech only to heroes, he's established a bit of legitimacy for himself.
The way we see it, he's going to be flooded in requests whether we crack down on it or not. The best thing we can do is to contain the tide to this one thread.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Ah, gotcha. So, anyone actually have something made by him?
►Narco_Gecko
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
*Waves hands frantically*
I do! I have an expanded bag! It's like a bag of holding from Dungeons and Dragons. Or a videogame inventory. It's bigger on the inside and I can hold so much random crap here.
Edit: Mod-mandated photo [here].
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Huh. That was fast. I'm guessing you're an old customer before Creed made the catalogs? How much does it hold? And does it come in different colors? What'd it cost you?
►Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Gecko, photo or video proof please.
►Narco_Gecko
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Yes, oh, mighty one. And it holds a few hundred pounds. How much was it... Ehh, I forgot? Or was I told in the first place? I dunno, my boss gave it to me.
►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Temp-Banned)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Gecko's definitely a cape. Guys, look what I [made].
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
*sighs* Risky click of the day...
Edit: Safe, guys. That's just Creed screaming "GIGA IMPACT" turned into a meme.
►Narco_Gecko
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Me? A cape? nah. I'm a gecko, not clothing.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Neat. Off topic as usual, but not as bad as a typical Void-special I guess. Why is it imposed over a banhammer? Why would the mods use that?
►XxVoid_CowboyxX (Temp-Banned)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Because it's funny.
Say, anyone who can see the heroic catalog wanna buy something for me? I can't see what's on it.
Mod Edit: Don't blatantly try to commit fraud on the internet, you idiot.
►Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
[Banned].
Huh... I like it. Thanks. Enjoy your ban.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
lmao that happened. This has to be a new record.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Oct 18th 2010:
Oh the irony…
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 13, 14, 15
Topic: The GOAT might live up to the name...
In: Boards ► United States ► New England ► Brockton Bay
Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Posted On Nov 8th 2010:
Hey guys, Bagrat here with another spicy new take fresh off the PRT grapevine. Get ready for this because this one's got some hefty implications
So, a bit of background: Tinkers aren't sci-fi mad scientists, no matter how many of them go for the aesthetic. They aren't good at EVERYTHING; most of them have a very narrow specialization that they need to stick to, or else. Usually, this specialization is something a tinker finds out in a month or two of their trigger. The broader the specialization, the more versatile, and powerful, a tinker can be.
It's part of why Armsmaster's specialization, efficiency or miniaturization (not sure which it is), is so great. It's what makes him such a brilliant tinker and why he's got the right tool for every job in that halberd of his.
Now, see Kid Win. KW didn't know his specialization, at least until yesterday when he had a eureka moment while messing about with some LEGOs.
If that sounds familiar to you, bravo. And maybe go out and get some sun sometime because you're tuned way too deep into PHO. Then again, who am I to talk?
For the rest of you, Creed made a post last month [here], in which he says several seemingly offhand comments. In it, he offers Kid Win, or "Minnie-V," a box of LEGOs. A lot of us thought he was making a dig at a rival tinker but yesterday, people caught [this] video of him literally giving KW a box before bolting.
The GOAT apparently stands for The Greatest of All Time and they honestly might live up to the name.
(Showing page 1 of 31)
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Umm, can someone please tell me why this is important? Like, yay for KW, right?
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
We really need to have that chat, Bagrat. Seriously, who are you?
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Probably a PRT analyst. Or their spouse or something. And to answer your question, Procto, it's important because this would make it the very first time a thinker has successfully predicted a tinker's specialization, at least where it wasn't immediately obvious. It implies a lot of things about The GOAT's power and might explain why Creed is willing to restrain himself to a heroic catalog in exchange for their assistance, whatever that might be.
Honestly? What's scary about The GOAT is that we have no idea if they're a man or woman, or even anywhere in the city. We have Creed's word and the heroic catalog that implies they're a hero, but virtually nothing else. For all we know, they could be an organization like WEDGDG.
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I mean, yeah, I get that, but why does it matter?
The GOAT did a huge favor for KW, right? Gave him his specialization? So it's one more thing that proves they're a hero? I'm not seeing any reason for me to be worried.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
You're not a Brockton native, are you?
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No? How could you tell?
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
You don't have our in-built paranoia.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Yup. It's kind of refreshing. You do you, Procto, but the rest of us feel a little nervous about having such a powerful thinker with unknown designs on the city.
I mean, I'm like 90% sure Creed is from Brockton, too young not to be, but he had to have received material support form The GOAT or whatever organization they're part of to rise up this fast. And you don't invest this much in a tinker unless you have plans here.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Exactly. I'm hoping for the best, but I wouldn't be surprised if the whole "mysterious heroic thinker" schtick is just a way to soften us up for a territory grab.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Oof, sad part is that I can see that being the case. Question is though, why? Why Brockton? And why go out of your way to strengthen a rival? Knowing your specialization isn't just a small thing. Depending on what it is, it can be game-changing.
Bagrat, do we know what it is?
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Maybe they felt the spec wasn't important.
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Hooh, we do know. KW's specialization is modularity, or modular systems, which in hindsight makes the LEGOs seem a little on the nose.
It's... It's a VERY versatile specialization. At least as good as Armsmaster's. If The GOAT is a villain, it'd be the kind of information they'd have taken to the grave. I'm tentatively on Procto's side based on the magnitude of that info drop. I think The GOAT is genuinely heroic, or at least can be considered benevolent.
►Procto the Unfortunate Tinker (Not a tinker)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Hah! Guy in the know says I'm right.
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Tentative. My vote is tentative. We still know too little about them. Hell, we don't even know what their organization is called.
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I can answer that.
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Holy shit!
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Welcome... I think…
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
So, what are you guys called? How many of you are there? What do you want for this city?
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
We are here to prepare for trouble!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
And make it double!
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
To protect the world from devastation!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
To unite all peoples within our nation!
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
To denounce the evils of truth and love!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
To extend our reach to the stars above!
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 29, 30, 31
(Showing page 2 of 31)
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
The GOAT!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Creed!
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Copyright infringement blast off at the speed of light!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Surrender now, or prepare to fight!
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Pory-That's right!
►AllSeeingEye
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Fuck, there's more of you... I was so hoping there were just the two. I mean, didn't get my hopes up, but a gal's gotta dream.
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Mallards have pneumatic, corkscrew-shaped penises that inflate in less than a second.
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
What?
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I believe he's saying he's going to screw AllSeeingEye, lol.
►AllSeeingEye
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Oh, fuck off.
►Brilliger (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Infraction. Both of you. Language.
Edit: Why can't I give you infractions?
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Hahahahahahahahahahaha!
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Mallards secrete a special oil from the uropygial gland located at the base of their tail, which is then coated onto their feathers to make them waterproof.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Ooh! I think he means he's repelling your mod-authority?
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Malware_SAINT, are you going to keep speaking in duck-facts?
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
There are over 167 species of mallards in the world.
►Aloha
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Heh, guess that's a yes.
Just got caught up on this special brand of nonsense. You guys still haven't told us what you're called though.
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
We are the official Panpan Fan Club, of which I am president and chairman.
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I am the executive director of the Brockton chapter, which, as you might guess, is the most important one.
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Mallards are found on every continent except for Antarctica.
►Aloha
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Umm... Translation please?
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I think he means that they're a widespread organization…
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Congratulations, I name you Duck Whisperer. Mallard! Make it so!
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Ducks make for excellent and agreeable companions, unlike swans, who are pompous, self-righteous assholes.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Kek. I have the title. And he retroactively applied it too. Guys? I think Malware_SAINT might be another tinker.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 29, 30, 31
(Showing page 3 of 31)
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Yeah, that seems like a fair guess.
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Who? Him? No, he's the Mallard Supreme. We've established this.
►Brilliger (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
*sighs* I'm going to go edit the tags in. Can I please have the controls back?
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Ducks assert dominance by pecking at others but are capable of sharing large swathes of territory when prey is abundant.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
That means yes.
►Brilliger (Moderator: Protectorate Main)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Yeah, I got that. Fine, I can take a hint. I won't change the tags.
►Chaosfaith
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Heh, that's hilarious. Can I join the Panpan Fan Club?
►Glitzglam (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Hahahahaha, Panacea_Official! You're popular!
►Panacea_Official (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
WHAT THE FUCK?!
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Guys? I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that this fan club isn't officially sanctioned.
►Panacea_Official (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No fucking shit! Creed_Official, I'm going to kill you!
►Creed_Official (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Oh noes... I'm too sexy to die. Can I offer you a custom-made set of ATs in exchange for my life?
►Glitzglam (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
lol, take it, Amy. You may as well get a sick ride out of this.
►Panacea_Official (Verified Cape) (New Wave)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No!
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Oh very well. Unfortunately, the Panpan Fan Club hereby disbands.
But fear not! For in its ashes rises a new organization: The Warfare Against Rabid Deities Syndicate!
►White Fairy (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
lol The WARDS? I think the PRT might have some concerns.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
We do indeed have concerns, White Fairy.
►Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
I don't think we're going to get a straight answer, guys.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No, really? You don't say?
►Brocktonite03 (Veteran Member)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Welp. It's going to get confusing as hell, but until we have a proper name for you guys, I'm okay with WARDS. Heh, just realized Creed is officially a Ward now, lol.
►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
No. This is not okay. Why are you like this? The_GOAT?
►The_GOAT (The Guy in the Know) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
Because I am the Greatest Of All Time.
I am unassuming, like the humble goat. I am ever-climbing, like the brave goat. I am true to myself, like the resolute goat. As the one who dons the mantle of The GOAT, I must exemplify all the virtues embodied in this, most sacred and noble of all animals.
►AllSeeingEye
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
*slow claps*
Bravo. I didn't think anyone could troll an entire city this well. So, how 'bout a consultation?
►Malware_SAINT (Mallard Supreme) (Verified Cape)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
The red-breasted merganser is the fastest duck ever recorded at over 100 miles per hour.
►Answer Key (Duck Whisperer)
Replied On Nov 8th 2010:
lol I think that means they're out. Hahahaha, sorry, AllSeeingEye.
End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ... 29, 30, 31
Author's Note
Ehh, I got nothing. Just skip to facts. Everyone likes learning, right?
Random fact of the day: Dr. Curt Richter conducted a study on rats in the 1950s titled "On the Phenomenon of Sudden Death in Animals and Man." He took a few dozen rats, some wild and some domesticated, and put them in a jar to record how long they lasted before drowning. Surprisingly, domesticated rats did better while wild rats, after fighting for a short while, simply gave up.
He defined this trait in domesticated rats as hope. The domesticated rats had the familiarity with human masters to expect salvation, and so some swam for days.
To prove this point further, he briefly rescued and held the rats in his hands before they were about to drown, then set them in the water again. That brief interlude to their suffering made a huge difference in the length of their survival.
Moral of the story? Sometimes, we all just need a reason to keep our heads above water... Or you know, don't be a dick to rats.
Anyway, thanks for reading. Patrons can read a total of 20 chapters of content. LT at 7.6, PWP at 3.14, Spoon at 3.8 and ten more chapters from three stories that are coming up on rotation.
- Location
- England
You know, generally I think that [Redacted] are a bunch of [Censored] [Super Censored] but every now and again some idiot tries to make their case for them. *smh*
- Pronouns
- He, his, him, they
Ayo, Asahina Mikuru? 'That you?