Plan? What Plan? (Worm/ToF)

[Fabled Webs]

Scale 5.1

Bryce Kiley
2010, November 30: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Tuesdays were great. I had the entire afternoon to myself, whether to tinker or to skate around as Creed. I found myself forgoing my usual activities in favor of visiting the hospital. I had promises to keep.

Which wasn't to say I strolled in through the front door. I'd already gotten a taste of what was waiting for me over PHO: Why aren't you healing more? You should distribute your technology with doctors. People's lives are on the line and you're holding a raffle? Why aren't you more like Panacea?

Rather than improve my public image, the reality was that any PHO thread about me was flooded with the sick, desperate, and those who were happy to throw oil onto the fire. I was a greedy, self-serving mercenary whose technology could have done so much more good had it been in someone else's hands.

I should have expected it. Holding a raffle of just ten winners must have made people feel like the lives of their loved ones were hanging on a lottery ticket. Of course they'd be pissed.

No, whether ten or a thousand, the number didn't matter. There would always be people who lost out, people who were ultimately unlucky. It wasn't as though Brockton Bay wasn't already straining from a flood of medical tourists anyway. In that sense, it was almost better that I kept my services exclusive.

Perhaps, if I ever got a spare month without worthwhile things to build or learn, I'd travel the country and make spontaneous visits to hospitals.

"Patricia Murray?" I asked rhetorically as I glanced at the medical chart near her wall. Malignant intradural tumor. Which was to say, spine cancer. Terminal, paralyzed from the waist down.

"W-Who's there?" Patricia was an obese woman with Eastern European features despite her Gaelic last name. She had a thin, sharp jawline and wispy hair that had begun to gray prematurely.

I gently closed the door and emerged out of stealth, my gloved hand outstretched in an offered handshake. "Apologies. I am Creed, a small-time independent in the city. Don't worry if you've never heard of me. You were one of the winners of my little raffle."

"I-I didn't enter anything like that. Who are you?"

I brought up my pokenav and showed her the DM thread. After picking out the winners, I'd messaged them privately to acquire details about the patients, their ailments, and locations. Fortunately, none of the ten were beyond my ability to treat. "Someone by the screen name of ChocoFuzz entered on your behalf then. Does the name sound familiar?"

"I-It must have been my daughter. Choco's our cat. No one else in my family uses PHO like her."

"Then I recommend calling her. This past weekend, I was in Damascus following the Behemoth attack. I recently developed some healing tech and used the endbringer response as my chance to test, refine, and validate the technology," I explained. I suspected I'd be going through this spiel more than once today. "During that time, I met Panacea and she confirmed that my tech works. Out of gratitude to Panacea, I offered to treat ten people at random. Your daughter must have entered on your behalf."

"I-You can heal me?" She asked with naked disbelief. She shook her head with a resigned sigh. "I'm sorry, what I've got is spine cancer. It's malignant. Go find someone else, Creed. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"I've fixed cancer before. I am capable of converting biological tissue into simple sugars and other harmless chemicals. I can't edit your genome so the cancer doesn't come back but I can easily remove it from your system if you'll let me. Call your daughter. Confirm what I've told you. And then, if you still feel like you don't trust a rogue like me, then I will move on."

"I… Alright, I'll do that. Thank you, Creed."

X

"You have no idea what this means to me," a familiar, ginger boy said as he shook my hand. Dennis Murphy, Clockblocker, and more importantly, my friend.

I had to be careful. I double-checked to make sure my voice modulator was on. "Don't mind it. You're simply fortunate is all."

It must have been quite the struggle for him. By showing up in-person like this, he was all but confirming that he was Clockblocker. I knew of course, but he didn't know I knew, which made this a significant risk in his eyes. He'd quite literally outed himself to a cape who was, as far as he knew, a villain, all for a simple promise that I'd help his father.

I doubted the PRT knew. They'd never allow such a thing. Hell, when they found nout, he'd probably be censured until he graduated before being quietly transferred to a different city to close the potential security leak. And he did it anyway, knowing this locked in his future.

What would I have done, had I been presented with this choice? What wouldn't I have done for my dad?

My estimation of Dennis shot up several notches.

His father's cancer wasn't any harder to treat than that of my first patient's. Really, for such an important moment for Dennis, it was over in just a few minutes. I also had the Pledge Regalia on top of all the medical charts near the door since there was no rubble to clear so diagnosis was even easier than it was in Damascus.

"You're not so bad, for a mercenary," Dennis said with a watery smile.

"What can I say? I've done a lot of soul-searching in Damascus," I said with a shrug. The PRT would find out about his little indiscretion one way or another; I may as well use my friend to send them a message. "I would have loved to be just another comic villain, but I can't deny that my tech is too good, too powerful, to ignore. The impact it can have on people's lives…"

"So be a hero then. Join the Wards. I mean, they'd be happy to have you, right?"

"The Wards? No, no way in hell. I want to make a difference, not shackle myself to the feds."

"So what will you do now if you're not joining the Wards?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "Say, Dennis?"

"Yeah?"

"Pretend for a moment that you had powers."

"Uh-huh…"

"Let me turn the question on you then. What does it mean to do good?"

He blinked owlishly at that. I was, after all, a villain asking a hero about morality, no matter the facade of his civilian life. This probably wasn't the conversation he expected to have after school. "Do good? I guess… be a hero?"

"And what if you can't trust the heroes? What if you have significant reason to believe you can do better independently than as part of an organization?"

"You're part of an organization though, right?"

I coughed awkwardly. "Let's pretend."

"I don't know, man. I just want to make people laugh. I-I mean, if I had powers…"

"So you'd be a comic hero like Mouse Protector? Or Clockblocker?"

"Y-Yeah, guess he's pretty cool. I don't know anything about all that complicated stuff, sorry."

I didn't know what I was expecting. Maybe some kind of sagely wisdom? Dennis was a good person, far more mature than his normal attitude suggested. He was the one who took charge following the deaths of Aegis and Gallant against Leviathan.

But in the end, he was still a teenager. I had to remember, this Dennis wasn't that Dennis, the one who was forced to step up.

"No, it's fine. Your answer is fine the way it is," I told him. In a way, I was envious. A part of me wished I could be as carefree as my friend.

The look of relief on his face after I fixed his dad was the face of a man who finally found water in the desert. And, though he claimed he didn't know much about morality, he did good work in an uncomplicated way. Alas, the sheer, continuous growth potential of the Tinker of Fiction didn't allow me to have such a narrow perspective.

X

Sabah's father was the last patient I visited today. She was waiting for me with puffy eyes that stood out even against her darker skin. Her backpack had been tossed aside carelessly on a nearby stool, telling me she'd rushed here as soon as her university classes let out. She sat at her father's side, hands clasped tightly over his own.

"Sabah Azimi," I said softly, once again locking the door behind me. More than one nurse had tried to get me to speak with the hospital director but I'd ignored them all in favor of finishing up my contract. It wasn't like they could stop an invisible, hyper-mobile cape anyway.

"Creed, you're here," she said thickly. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "You really came…"

I didn't like seeing her like this. At first, I'd enjoyed her company as one of the few truly good people in Worm canon. Then, as she began to hang out more with Sierra, I started to see her as more than a character I'd read about. She became more fleshed out to me, a person rather than a caricature. It wasn't just that I owed her for helping me pick out a suit for Homecoming.

Really, the crux of the matter was that Sabah was Sierra's friend. The way Sabah's life gradually fell apart around her hurt my sister. I saw Sierra share in Sabah's depression. I saw her get angry at the pushy lab assistant on her behalf. Sisi had always been an empathetic person and the fact that Sabah's misfortunes bothered her bothered me in turn.

There would come a day when I'd be forced to tell Sierra everything. And, to know that I could have helped her friend and stayed my hand… I didn't want to face my sister as that person.

I wanted to take off my helmet, to tell her that she could trust me. I wanted to give her a hug and reassure her that everything would be fine. If I couldn't fix her dad, I'd get Amy to do it, one way or another.

Instead, I forced myself to adopt my trademark irreverent attitude. "My word is my bond. It's in the name, Sabah."

"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"Don't mind it. You're right to be suspicious. I would be too." I made a show of looking over her father's medical chart, a facade for her sake, if only to imply that I did in fact know what I was doing. "Easily fixable. For all its importance, a heart is not in itself a complicated organ. At its most basic, it is a muscle, a four-chambered pump with some regulatory nerves."

"That's what the doctors said, that if we could only see Panacea for a few minutes, this could all be over."

"But her time is precious."

"Yeah… Thank you, Creed."

I placed a hand on her sleeping father's chest. The seal on my glove began to glow as I began to channel the tectonic forces beneath our feet.

Despite my words to her, it wasn't quite that simple. Shaper granted Amy an intuitive ability to mold flesh. I didn't have that. What I could do, I learned through studying the research notes of men far more accomplished than I.

This was the one operation I couldn't afford to fail. Failing here would invalidate everything; she was a big part of why I'd gone to Damascus in the first place.

I worked with a single-minded focus. First, I flooded his body with an anesthetic to keep him under. He hadn't woken during our conversation, but that was no reason to get sloppy. The last thing I needed was him waking up in a panic mid-procedure.

Second, I steadily reconstructed his heart, molding each chamber separately. I felt almost like a tailor, weaving muscle fibers into a strong, cohesive whole while purging any damaged tissue. As I worked, I had to transmute trace amounts of fat into oxygen and circulate it through his bloodstream, taking up the function of the organ that was currently out of commission.

Lastly, I finished by reconnecting his heart to the sympathetic nervous system. The two hormones, epinephrine and norepinephrine, were chiefly responsible for regulating heart rate. I ran a final check to ensure the newly formed heart responded well.

I stood back with a sigh. "I'm finished. When he wakes up, he'll be as healthy as an ox."

"H-He won't ever have to come here again?"

"Heart failure is its inability to meet the oxygen demands of the body. The muscle fibers were starting to deteriorate. I can assure you that barring exceptional circumstances, he'll never have to return for that specific condition. I also checked over his coronary arteries to ensure they were not being clogged. I still recommend he eat healthier. His diet wasn't the sole cause of his condition, or even the primary cause, but it's the easiest factor he can control in his life."

"I'll make sure of it," Sabah said. She looked so earnest, like a puppy gearing up for war, that I couldn't help but smile beneath my helmet. I almost felt bad for the man; Sisi did say Sabah could be quite forceful when she had a mind to be. "He won't touch a burger for the rest of his life."

"Please keep in mind that I am unable to manipulate the genome," I said. It wasn't entirely a lie. Alchemy didn't deal with it much and I hadn't gotten to the point where I felt comfortable integrating One Piece's Lineage Factor research with organic alchemy, at least on humans. "If your family has a history of heart conditions, I still strongly recommend seeing Panacea. I'm sorry, Sabah, but the best I can do is to buy you time in that case."

"N-No, this is good. Great. I can't thank you enough, Creed. I… I might know someone who knows Panacea…"

"Then I suppose my work is done here." I turned to leave, only for Sabah to grab my cape. "Was there anything else?"

"I… I want to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"If… You work for The GOAT."

I turned to face her. That wasn't exactly confidential information, but it was the last thing I'd expected her to ask. Sabah wasn't someone who cared for "cape drama."

A sinking pit formed in my stomach. "W-What of it?"

"H-How would someone, hypothetically, get in contact with The GOAT?" she asked. She looked at me, eyes still puffy but with a steel that hadn't been there before. "I need to tell them something."

She triggered. That was the only reason someone like her would seek out a powerful, heroically inclined thinker, one who specifically wasn't aligned with the PRT at that.

I was too late.

I took a deep breath. The world swam around me. Did Sierra know? Did Michelle? What was her power? The circumstances ought to be similar but I thought I had more time, that it'd be fine so long as I kept her father from dying.

But I was wrong. And now, Sabah would get sucked into this life, a cape with a brain parasite she didn't ask for.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. No, this wasn't all bad. Her dad was alive. That alone… That alone should have changed her power. Her power manifested as a master power out of her desire for control in her life. The dead skin thing probably came from her father's passing. Now that he was alive…

I didn't know. I was drawing blanks.

"This seems urgent," I spoke with a calmness I didn't feel.

"It… It is…"

"Very well, I'll pass the message along. The GOAT will contact you at their convenience. However, you must keep all that is discussed private."

"I know. That's… That's fine."

I nodded once and flickered from view. I needed more information and this would be a good start. Perhaps, perhaps it was time for her to meet me again, without secrets this time.

X

2010, December 3: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

"Hey, Creed!" Dodge said as he popped out of his wormhole.

"Hey, Dodge," I greeted back. It was an otherwise quiet Friday night, perfect for a deal. "I almost didn't recognize you. I didn't know you were a blonde."

"Ehehe, yep. Why? My normal costume doesn't look that bad, right?"

I made a show of looking him over. I knew him to be a huge fan of the Sentai Elite. The last time I saw the younger tinker, he was dressed as Hisuiryu, the Jade Dragon who led their Tokyo team. He'd even dyed his hair green to match.

Now, he was dressed in an oversized lab coat, so big that he practically swam in it. Beneath that, he wore a gray jumpsuit with circuit-like patterns.

"I don't think it's bad, but I liked your Hisuiryu costume better. It had more personality, you know? What you have now just looks like a generic mad scientist getup."

"I know, right? But Toy Soldier says I should dress more respectably, 'like a proper tinker, not a fanboy,'" Dodge pouted.

"Well he's got terrible taste then. So, got all my stuff?"

"Yup. Three of Big Rig's fabricators and twelve construction drones, right?"

"That's right. Tell Big Rig I really appreciate this. His tech's a lot more robust than the stuff built by other tinkers. I'll be able to kick up my production rate by a ton."

I reached into my expanded hip pouch and produced three binders. Each contained the same contract. I slid one copy over to Dodge so he could present it to Toybox as a whole. A second copy went to the third person in the room, Faultline.

I'd promised, after all. She was to be my primary link to other factions, someone whose neutrality could be respected by all sides. Though, considering Toybox saw fit to send only Dodge for this, I had to assume I'd earned a measure of trust with them as well.

At first, I hadn't wanted to deal with Toybox as a collective. I thought that, if I made deals with individuals, I could earn more money and concessions from them.

Then I received Fullmetal Alchemist as a specialization and my material concerns flew out the window. More, even if I acquired tinkertech samples, I'd already figured out from Big Rig's drones that I wouldn't be able to reverse engineer them. In that sense, it made more sense to focus on production rate rather than material wealth, hence this deal.

Faultline looked over the document with a weather eye. Digital records could be altered all too easily when both sides were tinkers. Paper copies were also suspect. So, Faultline acted as our guarantor and witness, our literal keeper of contracts.

"Three fabricators thrown in as a sign of goodwill. Twelve construction drones, one per month. In exchange, for the duration of one calendar year, Creed will answer any summons for medical assistance within twenty-four hours of issuance," she summarized. "Exceptions shall be made in times of crises, towards which S and A-class threats all qualify. Should Creed be unavailable, he shall inform Toybox at least three days prior."

"That's right. I think it's a fair trade," I nodded.

In the end, Toybox had seven members. They went out of their way to avoid violent conflict. The odds of one of them actually requiring my assistance were small, at least until Jack found a reason to chase after them in 2013. If, by that point, the Tinker of Fiction still struggled against the Slaughterhouse, I'd do Jack a favor and off myself in shame.

Toybox wasn't buying medical care, not really, they were buying insurance. Glace, their cryogenics tinker, could easily keep someone on ice until I got there, meaning damn near anything short of instant death was fixable. In that light, though twelve drones and three fabricators were a significant majority of Big Rig's current loadout, it was a more than worthy trade.

"Excellent. If both parties are satisfied," Faultline said. She waited until both Dodge and I nodded. "Then I consider this deal concluded."

"Awesome! Creed, wanna come play some games with me?" Newter called. He'd been hiding behind the bar, halfway between napping and following the conversation.

"Ooh, can I join?" Dodge asked with an eager smile. "What games do you have?"

"Sure, little man. Come on, Faultline, don't look at me like that. This is bonding. Bonding between allies, yeah?"

"That's right. Toy Soldier says making connections is important."

Faultline shook her head with a rueful chuckle. "Fine, do what you want. Just know the club will be opening in half an hour."

"Sweet! Creed, you in?"

I laughed. "You know what? Sure, why not?"

I could be doing a lot of things tonight. Today was Friday evening, which meant no school tomorrow. I ought to be studying more alchemy, maybe putting together some automail prototypes so I could get a better understanding of how mechanics and neuroscience melded.

There was also that report from SAINT about Coil's holdings I wanted to read over. And I'd be showing Amy around my lab tomorrow so preparing for that conversation couldn't hurt either. Not to mention, Sabah triggered, which probably meant I ought to have a chat with her as The GOAT.

And yet, Dodge was right too: Connections were important, especially with friends. Truth be told, I missed being a kid. Given the chance to hang out with Newter and Dodge for a few hours, I couldn't help but allow myself to be sucked into their pace.

Let tomorrow come with its worries; for tonight, it was good to unwind.

X

Bryce Kiley
2010, December 4: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Saturday morning found me at the Gullrest as soon as I could get away from mom and Sierra. A part of me wanted to check in on Sabah but that would have to wait while I got my own house in order. Combined with what I'd already purchased from Big Rig, I had sixteen construction drones and five fabricators, more than enough to scale up my production.

This was good, because Dragon contacted me the other day. I'd loosely been keeping an eye on Syria, out of morbid curiosity if nothing else, but what got reported on the news paled in comparison to the information she had access to.

She wasn't at liberty to tell me everything given my tenuous status, but I could read between the lines: Syria was a powderkeg kept from blowing to kingdom come only by the military might and economic leverage the Guild held over local actors. That she and Narwhal saw fit to contact me at all was telling.

And, truth be told, I felt a little bad about it. Not guilty per se, just because I'd decided on becoming a worthy hero didn't mean I'd also developed a messiah complex, but bad nonetheless.

I was the one who executed Arsalan and crippled the Lionguard. I was the one who healed the rebels and left them with an incredibly favorable position. I'd done what I felt was right at the time, and I was under no delusion that everything would be solved with Arsalan's death, but I hadn't exactly taken into account the consequences of my actions for the delicate balance of power that had persisted in the country's capital until my departure.

In short, given my generally high regard for her and Narwhal and my thoughts concerning Damascus, Dragon's message did an excellent job of coaxing my cooperation. What that really meant was that I'd agreed to build hybrid soda engines at heavily discounted prices, not far above the cost of materials and Strider's delivery commissions.

It wasn't as though I got nothing from it. In exchange for my cooperation, Dragon sent me a copy of the video footage she'd spliced together. I didn't need it for anything, I was there for the whole thing, but I wanted to gauge my actions from an external perspective.

She also agreed to put me in contact with several industrial suppliers for various metals and plastics. I was slowly getting to the point where that would no longer be necessary, but the promise of materials I wouldn't have to transmute was nice, like not having to take out the trash one week.

Beyond any material concerns, both her offer and my cooperation was about signaling. Like with the post-endbringer cleanup, sending a message was an unfortunately large part of cape life. I showed that I could and would work with others during truce conditions; now I was being asked to establish myself in a broader context.

All that to say, Saturday morning was largely spent redecorating my lab.

It wasn't like there was much here. My lab was the old tanker's mess hall. There was a loom I used to spin Germa fibers, a sheathing machine that coated the individual fibers in a special solution to make them as durable as they were, and a sewing machine that wove it all into bolts of cloth. There was a clothing rack for new garments that I'd pilfered from the Hillside Mall all those months ago.

Next to that setup was a metal bookshelf that was largely empty; most of my notes were online anyway. Most of its contents were sketches of ship designs that looked like a cross between an architect's blueprints and a teenager's bored doodles. On top of the bookshelf stood one of the few decorations in my lab, a scale model, working replica of the Thousand Sunny. I'd made it not only as an homage to the Pirate King, but in the hopes of retaining some of Franky's genius shipbuilding skills.

On the other side of the bookshelf was a storage unit that SAINT kept organized on my behalf. Most of it was dedicated to storing seastone, wapometal, and bolts of Germa fiber cloth, but a decent chunk of that space was dedicated to raw materials I'd managed to source from Strider up to this point.

Further away was a long, metal desk fitted with a hefty lamp I could club a baby seal with. Other than my computer, I mostly used that desk to tinker with my air treks. A toolbox sat against the wall, filled with everything I could conceivably need and then some. To the side, where a small bookshelf used to be, was a bullet filling machine that made the special, Muggy Ball rounds for my Walker pistol.

The third workstation contained my biochem lab. It had a homemade electrolysis machine, centrifuge, and the rest of what I needed for my Lineage Factor experimentations. This area had also contained several dozen cages filled with rats and mice from the Boat Graveyard, evidence of the more gruesome aspects of my biotinkering I'd thoroughly disposed of and sanitized.

There was a much larger mockup of the seal embroidered onto my gloves still, engraved into sheet metal. I didn't need it anymore, but it looked suitably impressive, all mystical and occult-y, so I opted to hang it on a wall like a poster.

The fourth and final section of my lab was the production area. Here, I hooked up the three new fabricators alongside the two I already had. They were big, bulky things; carrying them to the lab would have been a pain in the ass without Pokemon's digital storage features. For the most part, I'd been using them to manufacture the frames for more soda engines and Black Rhino bikes, two of my best-selling items in the catalog.

I shut down any bikes in the queue in favor of more soda engines. I had a feeling I wouldn't be needing my civilian catalog for money anyway and I might as well get started on Dragon's request. The power output of three more fabricators was immense but hooking up two more soda engines fixed that issue.

Really, at this rate, I saw myself using alchemy to turn seawater into Coca-Cola in the near future.

Which left the drones. I now had a fleet of them, sixteen strong. I set them all to scavenge the ship, cannibalizing practically everything but the outer hull and the mess hall I occupied. The Gullrest was a tanker, with literally tens of thousands of tons of metal available. The plan was to take that metal and transmute it into iron, copper, and whatever else I needed. As tireless as the drones were, they'd be busy for quite a while.

That said, the drones' usefulness to me had a definitive shelf life. They were construction drones, meaning they weren't made to operate underwater. Once I harvested the Gullrest, their usefulness would diminish a great deal until I started building my own ship in earnest. And, by that point, I hoped to have the capability to manufacture my own drones.

Author's Note

Still not great with emotions. I've got a vague idea of what I want to do with Sabah, but you're welcome to chime in.

Random fact? Sure. I found out I like Skrewball whiskey. It tastes like peanut butter and honey and goes great with a milkshake.

Thank you to all of my patrons. As many of you know, I update at least once a week. That said, I update much more frequently on Pat-re-on. If you would like to drop a tip, read my stories early, or vote in monthly polls, come and visit.

As of now, this is how far along each story is:

- A Colorful Life: Same as public. *This will change as I build a backlog.
- A Life Worth Living: 5
- Homeless Bunny: 27
- Legendary Tinker: 8.9
- Plan? What Plan?: 5.4.5
- Pokemon: Apocalypse: 1.17
- The Holy Grill: 3.1
- Troll in the Dungeon!: 24
- When is a Spoon a Sword?: 4.16
- Let There be War: 9 (Complete)
- Snippets & Omake Exclusives: 11

Total Chapter Difference (Pat-re-on - Public): 39

 

[famfrit]

at least until Jack found a reason to chase after them in 2013

Click to shrink...

That's inaccurate Jack atks them in 2011 and is already holed up in their base when Taylor surrenders to the prt which is before the India Behemoth fight that's in August 2011. That said I don't think it overly matters because that only happened due to the nine's roster getting gutted in the bay then Defiant and Dragon chasing them doing further damage such as reducing Bonesaw to a head and spine. It also only happened because Bonesaw got access to the lab Accord made for Blasto and so managed to see how he did cloning allowing her to do so herself, she managed to get away with the provided dna samples of the nine's past members all the way back to King and of course Blasto himself who Bonesaw was somehow able to puppet around by shoving her spine down his throat.

Re Sabah I would honestly say he shouldn't unmask to her he doesn't really know her well enough to justify it, we know from canon she's not really into violence and cape stuff so pulling her into his isn't something she'd appreciate. If he's willing to unmask to her he should also really do so to his sister and probably his mum first or at least consider doing so and think up good reasons not to.

Frankly I also don't see it going well considering this is the control freak who as someone at least 21 years old was only willing to date the 17 year old Fletchette when approached by her about it if Parian were to have absolute full 100 % control over each and every decision plus the age gap is just skeevy especially when Sabah didn't know how old Lily was but the fact she was a ward meant she was under 18 so didn't even check she wasn't going to be dating a 14-16 year old.

It also bears somewhat of a problem where your worm fics tend to run on similar tracks such as Amy and colourful life already has Sabah as a cape associate.

 

[CrossHope]

It's pretty cool to see taking Creed getting more proactive instead of just trying to ride the line. I'm always more of a fan of the hero types instead of "villain protagonists" and "morally Grey POV" characters.

 

[Fabled Webs]

Scale 5.2

Bryce Kiley

2010, December 4: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I finished cleaning my lab by lunch and headed out to a coffee and sandwich place near the Boardwalk called the Bayou Bakery. It claimed to bring a bit of Louisiana charm to the northeast and was something of a local favorite.

I found Amy waiting for me next to the counter. She had on a frumpy, oversized sweater rooting for the Arcadia Albatrosses, specifically our junior varsity basketball team. It was probably something she was forced to buy to placate Victoria back when her sister was a part of the school team. Now, she wore it to awho'svoid standing out. Without her trademark white robes, Amy Dallon was about as plain as could be.

I ordered myself some beignets with peanut butter sauce to go and leaned against the wall next to her.

"Bryce."

"Hey, Amy. You order yet?"

"Yeah… You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't though? We had lunch together yesterday."

"You know what I mean," she huffed.

And, I did. She wasn't wrong. I'd avoided being alone with her all week and strived to redirect every conversation back to inane topics. Chelsea and Stephanie's cheer practice. Dean's new watch his dad got him. Dennis' upcoming hiking trip with his now non-cancerous dad.

I'd agonized over how I wanted to approach this conversation. Truthfully, I still wasn't sure. It stressed me out, to think that, if I fucked up, this could blow up not just my friendship with Amy, but also my cape life as I knew it. This conversation needed to happen, our arrangement was never meant to be permanent. And yet, I couldn't help but feel nervous. I was afraid, plain and simple.

I opened my mouth to say something; I didn't know what. I was granted a few more seconds by the barista calling my name.

"Come on," I said after grabbing my bag of greasy, fried dough, gently tugging her aside. "Not here. It's… complicated."

"I… Fine…"

We waited for Amy's order, a BLT that took longer to make than my beignets, and headed outside. We walked in awkward silence for several blocks. Then, once SAINT gave me the green light that we weren't being followed or recorded on any nearby cameras, I allowed the textured disguise to fall away, revealing my full costume.

That was the beauty of my costume. Sanji's raid suit gave me invisibility, but Essentia, the superheroine guardian of Lumiose City, had a textured disguise that could mimic civilian garb perfectly. Having both seemed redundant but it allowed me to preserve the illusion that I could teleport. Or, in this case, simply wrap Amy up in my cape and carry her like an invisible sack of potatoes to my lab under the cover of thick fog.

"This is humiliating," Amy grumbled in my arms.

"Would you prefer to swim?"

"You just had to build your lab in the middle of the Graveyard. You know this makes it seem like an evil lair?"

"So you've said. The tanker being off the coast makes it so I can be as loud as I want while training or building things. It's also highly defensible and comes with literal tons of scrap metal for me to use."

"You don't have your own dungeon in there, do you?"

"No, I don't have my own dungeon. Sorry, I keep the fuzzy cuffs somewhere else."

Her elbow thumped into my chest as she let out a strangled laugh. "Ass. Stop joking; I'm supposed to be mad at you."

"For what?"

"For… For avoiding this."

"Because I was nervous," I said with a sigh. Honesty was better than nothing. "A lot of things happened in Damascus, okay?"

"I… I know… Hey, Bryce?"

"Yes, Ames?"

"Do you… Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Being a healer. Working with me." She let out a humorless chuckle. "It's not as glamorous as people say, huh?"

That made me pause. I thought she was talking about Arsalan. But then again, how would she know? It'd been a week and though there were rumors, Dragon suppressed the exact details. As much as New Wave were local celebrities, they weren't PRT. I doubted even Lady Photon merited a full briefing from Dragon, especially since New Wave wasn't involved in the mess.

Amy wasn't here to chew me out about Arsalan, though I planned to tell her anyway. No, she was a seventeen year old girl in the end, with a teenager's worries.

She was afraid she was about to lose her best friend. She'd found someone who could heal like her. She found someone who practically bathed in blood by her side. For once in her life, someone her age understood, in a way even Victoria could never manage. And she was terrified that the brutal aftermath of Behemoth's rampage had disillusioned me, had convinced me to never take up the healer's mantle again.

I chuckled alongside her. "No, I don't suppose it's very glamorous. But no, Amy, I don't regret it."

"Then… Then why?"

"Why was I avoiding you?"

"Yeah… A-Are you mad at me?"

"No, why would I be?"

"I… You're a healer now. And…"

"And it kinda sucks."

"Yeah…"

"But why would I be mad at you? I wouldn't take it out on you. If anything, I respect you more now that I've been to one of these. Even without ever fighting an endbringer, just the cleanup is overwhelming in a way that is hard to explain."

"I don't know. I just…" She let out an explosive sigh of relief. That turned into a huffy demand. Annoyance to mask nervousness, that was typical Amy. I chose not to take offense; I'd been much worse at her age. "Then why were you avoiding me?"

"Long story. Like I said, a lot happened in Damascus. I needed some time to decompress on my own, to get some things in order. Promise you won't judge me until you hear the whole truth?"

"Bryce… Okay, I can do that."

We arrived. I alighted gently on the deck of the tanker and skated inside. The winding corridors of the tanker abruptly opened itself to the mess hall, and my lab.

"Welcome, Amy Dallon, both the first and second person ever to visit," I said with a flourish, setting her down so she could look around.

Her head rotated on a swivel, taking it all in. "Woah… A lot changed, huh?"

"Yeah. I've had a few specializations since."

"A what now?"

I dismissed my suit, collapsing it all back into the quick-change canister. "There's a lot you need to catch up on, Ames. Where do you want to start?"

"I guess from the beginning…"

I coughed lightly to clear my throat. "In the beginning there was God and the Word was with God…"

"Shut the fuck up, Bryce."

"Fine, fine. Spoilsport." I pulled open the back of one soda engine and pulled out two bottles of coke. There wasn't much in the way of furniture in my lab, but it at least had some basic comforts. We set down our food at my desk.

I slid a bottle her way. Everything. I promised. Everything except my reincarnation. "Okay, so… from the beginning…"

X

"So let me get this straight," Amy said, picking at her sandwich. Amy Dallon was the only person I knew who deconstructed her BLT before eating it. She was currently picking away at a strip of bacon like it insulted her family. "Your power is even more bullshit than I thought it was."

"Yup."

"You not only have thinker powers-"

"More like dossiers of important people that provide details about their powers and occasionally reference certain events, but sure."

"-and you also get a different specialization every month."

"Yup."

"Your current one revolves around alchemy, turning one material into another, as well as biotinkering and metallic limbs that are perfectly synced to the wearer's nervous system. You spent a week to master something called organic alchemy so you could heal someone's dad."

"That's right."

"And you made The GOAT persona so you could present the illusion that you represent some super-powerful organization, not just to fuck with me."

"Why not both?"

"Bryce!"

"Okay, fine. Yes, I've mostly used it to keep other factions off my back. Honestly, I expected you to shitpost with it more."

"What kind of person do you think I am? I know how to keep business and personal lives separate, thank you," she huffed. She took a deep breath. "Okay, that's… That's good. My friend is crazy powerful and getting stronger every day. What else? You've had your powers since September right? That's three specializations, or four maybe. What have you had so far?"

"My power doesn't have a typical 'specialization' like 'lasers' or 'cars' like most tinkers. Instead, I have access to a hypothetical setting's technological advancements."

"So, like the Maggie Holt series?"

"Kinda…? Think more sci-fi. Space operas, super-soldier war stories, mecha slugfests, digital sagas, that sort of thing. Or not. One of the settings was a fictional world dominated by pirates and wooden boats during the Age of Sail."

"What the fuck? Your power is so weird."

"Yeah, trust me, I know." What else could I say to that? The tinker of fiction was bullshit among bullshit.

"Is that why your costume looks like a naval officer's dress shirt?"

"Yup, that's the inspiration."

"And another was, what? Sci-fi roller blades?"

"In a nutshell."

"And alchemy makes the third."

"Yup." It was the fourth considering Pokemon was my first. Then again, I had no idea how to explain "cockfighting with the power of friendship" without sounding like a nutcase. I didn't even want to try.

"Fine, this all doesn't seem so bad. It's the weirdest expression of powers I've ever heard of, but it's not like I'm an expert. I can see why you're so damn versatile now."

"Right? I am pretty impressive," I preened.

"And also a smug bastard."

"Yup. If you're done with your BLT, would you care for some coffee?"

"Is it more of your biotinkering?"

"Yes. You already confirmed that it's safe, remember?"

"Bryce… How many other things have you made?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Have you done anything to yourself?"

"Ah…"

"Bryce!"

"It's really not that bad," I tried.

"Hand."

"Amy, you can't treat me like a puppy."

"I can and I will. Now, hand."

"Just… Remember, you said you'd wait on the judging until you heard everything."

"This wasn't everything?"

"Not… Not even close. This was the bird's eye view of things. We haven't really gotten to the detailed stuff yet."

"Bryce, please let me check you over. I promise I won't turn your blood into lemonade."

"That's a very specific promise. You know how suspicious that sounds?" I asked incredulously. Amy glared at me with a mix of worry and exasperation, hand outstretched insistently. I took a deep breath. Honesty kinda sucked. "Alright, but I really want you to take a close look, okay? Nothing terrible is going to happen to me."

"Fine. I just… I need to know, Bryce."

This was something I'd been avoiding ever since the gravity child serum. The fall and winter months allowed me to wear long sleeves without drawing suspicion and Amy wasn't exactly the huggy kind of person so I'd managed to avoid discovery.

And now, I was throwing away my caution and exposing myself voluntarily. I reminded myself that this wasn't the Red Queen. And she never would be. Gently, I placed my hand in hers.

Her eyes closed as she focused on what her power was telling her. Then they shot open wide with shock. "Bryce, what the fuck is that in your brain?"

"A biomass gyroscope," I explained tiredly. "It augments my otolithic system to give me perfect balance and coordination. I need that to perform tricks on my ATs."

"You put something in your brain! And why are your eyes cross-shaped?"

"Check again, Amy. There's nothing wrong with my brain. I didn't cut my frontal lobe in half to make it or anything. And the eyes give me perfect vision at any distance and speed. Again, necessary to use my ATs."

"Wait, these came from your roller blades specialization?"

"Yeah. A normal human can't run at supersonic speeds and have anything resembling a functional reaction time."

She looked at me, appalled at what I'd done. This was everything she hated about biotinkering, her greatest fears.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?" she yelled. "What if something went wrong? How the hell did you even manage to split your own head open?"

"I didn't. I have a serum that took care of it for me."

"A serum? You drugged yourself for this? You made a whole new section in your brain!"

"Yes, one dedicated to proprioception. It's not any different than a part of the brain that handles your sense of taste, sight, or smell. It's not harmful; we've established this."

She wasn't having it. She held my hand with an iron grip and refused to release. Her brows knitted in a heavy frown as she stared intently at me. I had no doubt that she was checking over every cell, digging through every strand of DNA and protein chain, all to make sure there wasn't a hint of danger.

I was of two minds. On one hand, she was infuriating. Wasn't I trustworthy? Hadn't I done enough to prove that my biotinkering was functional? I studied Dr. Vegapunk's wacky biology to craft an artificial devil fruit. I melded this with Dr. Minami's gravity child project to form a serum that worked on my body with minimal adjustments. I quite literally studied the best in their respective worlds and here she was, acting like she was the sole conceivable authority on the subject.

On the other hand, she was the sole conceivable authority on the subject, at least on Earth-Bet. Her concern was almost sweet, in that prickly, obsessive, traumatized way that all parahumans seemed to share in this world.

I forced myself to relax. Amy's attitude was incredibly arrogant, conceited even. But it wasn't her fault. She wasn't the one with a multiversal power. In any other circumstance, any other cape, she'd be right to her arrogance.

"Well? Are you satisfied?" I asked after a minute.

"Why? Why would you do this to yourself?"

"I need this, Amy. The balance? Enhanced vision? I need it to use my tech to its full potential."

"You biotinkered yourself so you could be a better skater?" Amy asked, sounding a little hysterical now.

I squeezed her hand in mine, willing her to understand. "Amy, these augments saved my life. Hell, I almost died in Damascus even with all the advantages I had."

Her mouth opened and shut but no words came out. I could feel her trembling with worry in my hand. She cared. As abrasive as she was, she cared in her own, prickly way.

"Bryce, w-what happened in Damascus?"

"I… A lot… Do you remember treating a man with a majority of his nervous system missing?"

"I do. He was the only interesting case I-No… Bryce, d-did you do that?"

"Yes, but to save his life," I said hurriedly. The last thing I needed was her thinking I did that as some cruel torture. "Long story short, there was… a riot… Lots of people got hurt. Powers were involved. One was a corruptive master effect that took over someone's nervous system. I couldn't treat it in the middle of a fight so…"

"So you turned the victim's nervous system to sugar water and left him for me to fix," she finished for me. "Bryce, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you stay?"

I laughed mirthlessly. "You say that like I had a choice. Amy, when did you get back?"

"Sunday evening, why?"

"Because New Wave isn't Protectorate. All Protectorate members got kicked out of Syria sometime Saturday. Remember that?"

"Aunt Sarah said something like that but she said the Guild took over. Bryce, what happened?"

"Well, that's partially mine and Ursa's fault. Ursa Aurora, Legend's deputy from the New York branch. She intervened in a riot, the Syrian Republican Guard's capes were called, and I chose to fight with the Protectorate. I put myself under Ursa's command and… and a lot of people died, Amy, people I couldn't save," I said tiredly. "In the end, we weren't welcome in Syria anymore and authority passed to Narwhal and Dragon."

"That's…"

"Unbelievable?"

"A little…"

"Would it help if I showed you Dragon's text asking me to make more soda engines for Damascus?" I said, sliding my pokenav over.

"This just… Bryce, I thought you didn't want to get involved in things like this."

"I didn't. And still don't if I'm being honest. And then I came to realize that I have too much power to be the quirky, fun comedian anymore."

"And you almost died for it."

"I did. It… I want to say it wasn't even close, but it was. I still have no idea what the SRG flyer's name was but I would have died for sure if I didn't have these augments."

She was silent for a long minute. And then, "Show me."

"Amy?"

"You have a camera in that helmet, right? I can't imagine a tinker who doesn't keep something like that. Show me; I want to see."

"You really don't trust me, do you?" I accused. That stung more than I cared to admit.

"No! I do! I just… I want to understand," she whispered. She took a shuddering breath. "I want to see what you saw… please…"

"It's not something you should want to see, Amy."

"I want to anyway. You… You're my best friend, Bryce. If… If you're going to be a biotinker, I want to know you're safe. Please, I need to know."

"It's violent and messy."

"Really? I spent all weekend looking like I worked at a slaughterhouse. You said you'd show me everything, that I should hold off any judgments until I really saw it all. Well? Show me."

I sighed. "You know, throwing my own words in my face really isn't cool."

"Fuck being cool. I want to know what my friend's been through. I… I know I'm a little… rigid… about biotinkering. I still think it's super dangerous. So much could go wrong with so little warning. But… But what you did to yourself seems… safe…"

That was huge. Amy Dallon was walking back her stance, if only ever so slightly. "It's something I need to survive. I'm not going to just retire, Amy. And that means I'm going to keep getting into fights, maybe with people even stronger than the SRG guys."

"I know… And Dragon seems to think you did a great job, enough to call you, right? So show me. Help me to understand."

"Okay… Just… Just don't say I didn't warn you…" I brought out my helmet. SAINT could use it to see what I saw, which naturally meant I also had a recording function for later review. "Put it on. SAINT will do the rest."

"Who's SAINT?"

"Another long story."

Amy placed my charcoal-gray helmet over her head. It felt strange, looking into the bronze-orange visor.. "Woah, is this how you see the world? Doesn't look all that special."

"Because the HUD isn't on, dingus," I said, giving the helmet a rap on the forehead. "SAINT, please replay the Damascus mission, starting from my arrival in medic station C-1."

"Wait, did you build a virtual assistant or something?"

"Shh. Just watch for now, Ames. You'll… This won't be pleasant."

I was hesitant to show her something like this. She was a seventeen year old girl, one who lacked the benefit of a past life's memories to act as a buffer. No one her age ought to see a warzone.

And yet, she was so much more. She was a heroine, someone who worked in more than one disaster area. She wasn't wrong; she'd probably seen worse, or at least the aftermath of worse.

But this would be the first time she saw something from a first person point of view. From her perspective, it would be like watching a movie or video game cutscene, my recorded conversations included. She was walking a mile in my shoes, as literally as possible.

Damascus taught me a great deal. It taught me viscerally what an absolute shithole Earth-Bet could be. It taught me that the great saviors of this story were so, so young, too young to bear the burdens on their shoulders. It taught me to act decisively, to swallow my doubts and strike with deadly intent, because when push came to shove, I had people worth protecting.

What would my memories teach Amy?

I waited in silence. I still had to tell her about SAINT and the devil fruit. And how I went about that would depend on how she reacted to all of this. It was nerve-wracking, more than even my PA certifications.

Until finally, Amy pulled off my helmet. She was sweating and her hair clung in soggy clumps to her face. Tears streamed down her face, racing for her chin along with a dribble of snot she hastily wiped off.

"You…"

"Amy…"

"You colossal idiot!" she yelled, taking me by surprise. She tossed my helmet aside and decked me.

"Amy, what the hell?" I yelped. Sure, she didn't know how to throw a punch, but it still hurt.

"YOU ALMOST DIED! Why the fuck didn't you just leave?" She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me, more from the weight of her own rocking than what strength her noodly arms could muster. "You can fly, you fucking idiot! You could have left with the medics!"

"Then who would have saved the patients left behind?" I said reasonably, but she wasn't in the mood to be reasonable.

"YOU! You saved them! You turned them into fucking Jenga blocks and flew off! Why the hell did you go back?"

For so many reasons. Truth be told, I'd asked myself that question dozens of times this past week. The answers were myriad and seemed to change each time I asked the question. I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to stop lying to myself, stop pretending I didn't care. I wanted to test my gear, show how amazing my tech could be.

Or maybe I'd gone a little insane after my chat with Faultline. Maybe I just got sick and tired of toeing this imaginary line between good and evil, heroics and villainy. Maybe I just wanted to say "fuck it all" and lash out.

Maybe I needed to prove myself, though "to who" or "prove what" was a mystery.

"I needed to, Amy. They needed me."

"Fuck them! Fuck Ursa and fuck the rebels! They're not worth you!" she cried. She had me by the collar of my shirt now. Angry tears ran down her cheeks. "You almost died for people you've never fucking met!"

"I'm told that's what heroes do," I said with a rueful grin.

"You're not a hero! You're a fucking villain!"

The irony of Amy motherfucking Dallon arguing that I should be more villainous wasn't lost on me. I couldn't laugh, not now.

After I got involved, I couldn't just turn back. Even dismissing every other reason, even if I abandoned my morality, I would have stayed to keep Lily safe. On a purely pragmatic scale, she was worth it, one hundred percent.

I shrugged helplessly. "I guess I've had a change of heart. They're worth it, Ames. I still believe that."

"THEY"RE NOT WORTH YOUR LIFE!" she roared, slamming her open palm against my chest. It stung. She trembled and shivered as her legs seemed to lose all strength. She whispered, "You almost died… I… I don't want to lose you…"

"But I survived, Amy. No, I won," I reminded her gently. I pulled her into a hug. She was taller than me by an inch or so, a full two years did that, but she felt so frail in my arms. "I struggled, but I ultimately came out on top. And I'll need to do it again. No one's going to think I'm just a joke villain anymore. I need to get stronger."

"It's not fair," she said, choking back sobs. It hurt to see the normally sassy, bitchy girl like this. It hurt knowing that she was so emotionally starved for affection that the thought of losing a friend she'd only known for months made her panic like this. "Why can't you just stay a goofball?"

What could I say to that? Because I needed to kill Scion? Because Lily was my contingency? Because power attracted power and I'd never be left alone?

All objective truths, but objective truths weren't what Amy needed to hear right now.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into her ear. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

She took a quiet, sniffling breath. Her eyes were clenched shut, as if she could put a wall between herself and reality. Then, with a final exhale, she looked at me with a hardened gaze. Her eyes were like cold chips of ice, yet filled with a burning resolve that I'd never seen in her before.

This wasn't the Amy Dallon I knew. She was sarcastic and snarky, a little bitchy even. She loathed the hospital even while resigning herself to her socially mandated task. Her eyes had been filled with self-doubt, beaten down by expectations and burdens she never asked to bear.

"You're going to be a hero. Did… Did you mean it?"

"I did and do."

"Then you're not doing this alone. You… You don't get to make shit like this and not have me check you over."

"It's safe, Amy."

"And you'll be twice as safe, asshole!" she raged. "How dare you! You did the chemical equivalent of brain surgery on yourself! And didn't even ask me about it!"

I couldn't help it. I laughed. It came from deep within, a bellyful of air that surged past my lips. "Hahahahaha!"

"Shut up! Stop laughing, you fucking dumbass!"

"I-I'm sorry," I said, wheezing. I dodged a swat to the back of my head. "You just… I'm relieved. I thought you'd be pissed."

"I am!"

"At me biotinkering."

"I am! Do… Don't you trust me?" she said. I could see the hurt in her eyes.

"I do, but I know how much biotinkering scares you. I know how much you hold back your own power. How can I ask you for help then?"

She wavered. "I do… I hate it. I hate biotinkering. But… But it also saved your life. It saved so many lives. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Bryce. I can trust you, right?"

"Always."

"Then trust me too."

I sighed. I had very good reasons for my caution. Hearing her words was like a weight off my shoulders. I held out a hand. "Together?"

"You're cheesy as fuck, Bryce," she said with a watery laugh.

"Hey, I'm not the one dribbling snot onto my shirt."

"Fuck you. And we're going to set some ground rules."

"Oh?"

"No selling the serum. Not even to heroes," she said sternly. The aforementioned snot bubble rather ruined the look, but she tried. "And that goes for any biotinkered product."

"Agreed," I said easily. "In fact, I'm hereby abolishing the civilian-grade catalog. I don't need it anymore. And you can fully take control of the heroic catalog too."

"What? Why?"

"You want to be my full partner in this, right? Well, you can start by having your say in what I sell to the Guild."

"You just want me to be your glorified secretary."

"Nope. I have SAINT for that."

"Seriously, who's SAINT? If you've made a teammate, I feel like I should know about him."

"Funny turn of phrase, 'made a teammate,'" I said with a chuckle.

"Bryce, did you… make a minion?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. SAINT, come on out."

"Who are you talki-Woah!" Amy yelped as a corona of light burst from the helmet she left on my desk. Or, more specifically, from the camera lens that had been placed over the visor like a bindi.

SAINT, the recently evolved porygon-2, erupted in a shower of sparks before letting out a happy trill. "Amy, meet SAINT, one of two fully sentient AIs in the world. SAINT, meet Amy Dallon, also known as the illustrious Panacea, The GOAT, and occasionally, that raging bitch."

I dodged out of the way as she tried to kick my shin. Grabbing a tissue box from my desk, I tossed it to her so she could stop dripping all over my lab.

"Fuck you, Bryce," she sniffled. "And you know Saint is a villain's name, right? It's taken already."

I grinned like a shark. "I know; I'm looking forward to it. To be clear, SAINT is an acronym. He is the Sophisticated Artificially Intelligent Numerative Technopath., aka SAINT."

"Why would you name your AI after a villain mercenary?"

"Don't worry about it. It'll be hilarious."

"Ugh, whatever. Wait, you said there were two AIs. Where's the other one?"

"I didn't build that one."

"Bryce! We need to tell someone! It's a huge fucking deal!"

"The PRT brass know about her already. Really, Ames, she's done nothing but good work and there are a lot of limitations on her actions," I explained. I left out the part where I wanted to remove those limitations someday. Maybe when she got used to SAINT and realized what a delight he was. "Trust me on this, okay?"

"Where is the AI?"

"Nope. Not my secret to tell. You know how I work by now, Ames."

She sighed. "You mean it? We're not going to have a Skynet apocalypse?"

"I do. She's really not a threat."

"Fine, I'll trust you." She looked at SAINT curiously. She raised a finger and poked him, kind of like a child poking at a hotplate. When she didn't get burned, she reached out and took hold of my partner. "Woah… It's really an AI, huh? It's completely inorganic."

"SAINT's male, or identifies as such anyway. Or he doesn't care? I don't know, I've been referring to him as male for convenience."

"Huh… He's pretty cute."

"Pory-gon," he trilled. He nudged his head into her hand, looking like the cutest balloon animal possible. The little guy knew his mission. The charm offensive was already off to a great start.

"Aww… So, what can he do?"

"Well, for starters, he can't fork. That means he can't make copies of himself," I said, cutting off the obvious protest before it could arise. "And as for what he does, you saw the video. He floats, makes barriers, shoots lightning, and is also telekinetic."

She let out an impressed whistle. "He has more powers than I do. Than most capes do actually."

"Yup. He's a badass. He can also dive in and out of cyberspace, pretty much treating the internet like his own pond."

"Huh… So… What now?"

"Now? Now I make a shitton of soda engines for Damascus. SAINT can oversee production. I work out, keep training, and figure out inorganic alchemy."

"Inorgani-Wait, healing isn't all you can do?"

"This specialization is about alchemy; I already told you. I focused on organic alchemy because I wanted to heal but inorganic alchemy is also really important."

"Because you can turn scrap metal into whatever you want. And we're literally sitting on an entire fleet's worth of scrap."

"Exactly. Which is why I don't care what you do with the catalog. Soon, any concerns about money or materials will be irrelevant, or so I hope."

"That's it then. You're so fucking overpowered that you literally don't need money anymore."

I nodded smugly. "Damn straight."

"You… Bryce, you realize you're the fat cat who retires and donates his wealth, right? The guy who basically was a huge dick all his life but decides that he's gotten his fun out of life?"

"That's unfair, Ames. I'm a lot better looking than some old monopoly man."

"Says you. Ugh, you're such bullshit."

"Why are you even upset about this? This is objectively a good thing."

"I'm not upset. I'm just… bewildered…"

"Well, nothing changes between us. I mean, besides you looking over more of my biotinkered projects."

"Bryce, more?"

I chuckled. This, I was looking forward to. Rather than answer, I opened up my desk drawer and pulled out a bulb of garlic. It was one of my many foodie experiments, this one flavored like cherry bubblegum. Why? Because I could, that's why.

I pinched off a clove of mutated garlic and tossed it her way. "Remember when I'd eat raw onions on video calls with you?"

"What? I thought you were being funny. Bryce, is this… Is this a cherry?"

"Cherry bubblegum-flavored garlic, but close enough. Try it."

"You're fucking with me," she deadpanned. "You're using your biotinkering to make… weird snacks?"

"It's harmless, easily biodegradable, has zero chance of reproducing without my oversight, and a great way to practice. Plus, some of my creations are really tasty."

"Bryce…"

"Just eat it, Ames. I know you like cherries," I coaxed. It was said that Hades once fed Persephone pomegranates, binding her to the Underworld. I imagined he felt a little like I did right now.

She eyed it with suspicion, then looked at me before deciding that it was safe enough. She popped the clove into her mouth and gave it a tentative chew. "Wow, this is weird."

"Right?"

"It's hard, like garlic, but not crunchy. It's not juicy like a cherry either but the flavor's definitely there. This is so weird…"

"It's a novel experience," I agreed, peeling one for myself. "So? Like it?"

"Not terrible."

"You're impossible to please, you grump."

"Give me another. I think it'll grow on me."

"Wanna try a baconion?"

"Bacon-ion? Like bacon and onion?"

"Got it in one."

"How many of these things did you make?"

"A lot. I started as a way to practice but it got a little out of hand. It's fun coming up with new flavors."

"Still so trippy."

"Enjoy it, Ames. Just be glad I'm not growing super-weed. Actually, can I-"

"No growing super-weed," she cut me off with a frown.

"You're no fun."

"One of us has to be responsible."

"You know marijuana isn't-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, maybe better than me, I've heard all the arguments. It's not worth the legal hassle, especially if mom finds out."

"Fair point," I shuddered. Carol Dallon was as inflexible as they came. I didn't know her exact stance on recreational drugs, but I'd imagine her response to me convincing Amy to make super-weed with me would involve lightsabers.

That was fine. Truthfully, I'd pushed enough. Amy knew as much as I was willing to tell her about my power. She was still conflicted, but cautiously tolerant of my biotinkering. Hell, she'd even agreed to monitor my work. She'd met SAINT and hadn't thrown a fit.

I could feel it. The day was coming when I could leave the artificial zoan in her hands. Could she remove that pesky seawater allergy? Or maybe even leverage the fruit somehow to make a cure for Case-53s? I didn't know but I was excited to find out.

Really, this went about as well as I could have imagined.

Author's Note

The Bayou Bakery exists, but in Arlington, VA. It's one of my favorite coffee shops and sells fresh beignets daily.

I still suck at emotions. Imagine being this emotionally mature in high school. That sure as shit wasn't me, which is how you can tell this isn't an SI lol.

One of porygon's dex entries states, "A pokemon that consists entirely of programming code. Capable of moving freely in cyberspace." For the purposes of this story, SAINT is a completely dismissible existence to Shaper.

Marijuana, all strains and uses, were illegal in New Hampshire until 2013, when they legalized medical marijuana. Since then, they've decriminalized recreational use, which just means they won't prosecute for personal use. This being 2010, marijuana of all sorts is illegal in NH, which I'd imagine gives the Merchants some decent revenue.

Something lighter to drain the emotional tension… Oh, President Roosevelt had a whole menagerie of pets, including a snake named Emily Spinach and a bear named Jonathan Edwards.

Thank you to all of my patrons. As many of you know, I update at least once a week. That said, I update much more frequently on Pat-re-on. If you would like to drop a tip, read my stories early, or vote in monthly polls, come and visit.

As of now, this is how far along each story is:

- A Colorful Life: Same as public. *This will change as I build a backlog.
- A Life Worth Living: 6
- Homeless Bunny: 27.5
- Legendary Tinker: 8.9
- Plan? What Plan?: 5.5
- Pokemon: Apocalypse: 1.17
- The Holy Grill: 3.2
- Troll in the Dungeon!: 26
- When is a Spoon a Sword?: 4.16
- Let There be War: 9 (Complete)
- Snippets & Omake Exclusives: 11

Total Chapter Difference (Pat-re-on - Public): 3

 

[Ferrite]

she wore it to awho'svoid standing out.

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I think that a "who's" slipped in by accident.

Great chapter.

 

[Bloodalchemy]

awho'svoid

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How the hell did this happen? Did you sneeze while using speech to text?

 

[famfrit]

she wore it to awho'svoid

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Others have mentioned this probable dropped something on the keyboard but I think it's meant to be avoid.

"You don't have your own dungeon in there, do you?"

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He's on a ship how could he?

. "I struggled, but I ultimately came out on top. And I'll need to do it again. No one's going to think I'm just a joke villain anymore. I need to get stronger."

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Another one that's how it was in a foreign country who probably won't be spreading the footage cause it makes them look bad leaving only the New York Protectorate who wouldn't get most of it if they even all wore bodycams because of the flying and even if they did again how could it effect the likes of the Merchants or ABB when they fight him?

"Fuck being cool. I want to know what my friend's been through. I… I know I'm a little… rigid… about biotinkering. I still think it's super dangerous. So much could go wrong with so little warning. But… But what you did to yourself seems… safe…"

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Pushy is the word you mean and about everything especially cape stuff.

"No selling the serum. Not even to heroes," she said sternly. The aforementioned snot bubble rather ruined the look, but she tried. "And that goes for any biotinkered product."

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Case in point but also duh he's not been selling anything he personally uses in general there's no reason that would change, if any less cause of alchemy and he hardly wants to be known to be a biotinker or power giver.

"Ugh, whatever. Wait, you said there were two AIs. Where's the other one?"

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Technically not a big deal since apparently it's common for tinkers to make ai tho from the description I believe they don't actually mean fully sapient ai and more stuff like Siri.

 

[BigsDragon]

"Bryce, what the fuck is that in your brain?"

"A biomass gyroscope," I explained tiredly. "It augments my otolithic system to give me perfect balance and coordination. I need that to perform tricks on my ATs."

"You put something in your brain! And why are your eyes cross-shaped?"

"Check again, Amy. There's nothing wrong with my brain. I didn't cut my frontal lobe in half to make it or anything. And the eyes give me perfect vision at any distance and speed. Again, necessary to use my ATs."

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You made a whole new section in your brain!"

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That's where you're wrong Amy. He didn't just make one new section in his brain he made two. There's the Biomass Gyroscope and the Solid Sense Type. These two new sections are added to the cerebral cortex and the Twinkle Eyes replace the normal eyes. If you want a refresher on what the Solid Sense Type does just check out the quote below.

Or rather, I was hyper-aware of every single movement of my fingers across the strings, every vibration. I belatedly realized that this was the result of what Dr. Minami had called the solid sense type, one of the two modifications to a gravity child's cerebral cortex.

It wasn't expounded on much in canon, but as I understood it, this new section of my brain helped me make sense of vibrations. It, in an almost literal way, allowed me to paint a "solid picture" of sound waves, an instinctive understanding of a sense I'd never had before. It was echolocation, but tuned up with anime-logic. With it, I could feel each wavelength from peak to peak caused by the oscillating strings. I tweaked one tuning peg then another, marveling at my newfound perfect pitch.

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Also here's a diagram of the physiological changes that happened to Bryce when he took the Gravity Child Serum. Link

She held my hand with an iron grip and refused to release. Her brows knitted in a heavy frown as she stared intently at me. I had no doubt that she was checking over every cell, digging through every strand of DNA and protein chain, all to make sure there wasn't a hint of danger.

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I wonder how Shaper is reacting right now? Since Amy never really gets the chance to look at unique biologies it's probably having a field day. I also realized that now that Amy has a template she can just make people Gravity Children now. Any living creation Amy could make in the future could now potentially have a Biomass Gyroscope, Twinkle Eyes, and the Solid Sense Type.

"No selling the serum. Not even to heroes," she said sternly. The aforementioned snot bubble rather ruined the look, but she tried. "And that goes for any biotinkered product."

"Agreed," I said easily.

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This I'm a little bummed about. Hopefully this loosens in the future. I can see Bryce being pragmatic toward the end and give people he wants to keep alive some enhancements. Flechette has a Gravity Child would probably be crazy to have to deal with in a fight considering her powers. I can also see him possibly giving enhancements to his family and friends if things really start going to shit.

And you can fully take control of the heroic catalog too."

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"You want to be my full partner in this, right? Well, you can start by having your say in what I sell to the Guild."

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"Exactly. Which is why I don't care what you do with the catalog. Soon, any concerns about money or materials will be irrelevant, or so I hope."

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It's cool that Bryce is essentially giving Amy a proper position in his budding organization. She'll get to decide what heroes can potentially get access to Creed's tech and now that Bryce doesn't have to worry about money they can make the prices much more affordable for heroes. Maybe Manpower could finally get those Hover Boots he wanted with some AT upgrades.

 

[SanguisAnima]

awho'svoid

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I'm thinking the Muse sneaked it in. I mean, a - who's Void?