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Scientia Weaponizes The Future

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Corvus Black said:
@TheUnicorn You are getting stuck on the RL legal definition of "vigilante" as applied to humans, when we know that in Worm the term is an official designation the PRT use and Parahuman Law is a thing.
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No, we don't know that. In fact everything we know shows the definition in Worm is the same one we use, which as I noted makes perfect sense given the history of Worm.

Corvus Black said:
Taylor isn't a parahuman, so she would ignore her.
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That's assuming a lot. GU might be very intrested in someone who "hid their Faerie".
 
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Scientia Ch. 7 - Necessity
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    • Acting: 1
    Artificial Intelligence: 5
    Biology: 1
    Computer Programming: 3
    Electrical Engineering: 3
    History: 1
    Lying: 1
    Martial Arts: 3
    Mathematics: 1
    Medicine: 3
    Physics: 2
    Psychology: 1

    Friday Evening, January 14th, 2011
    Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, Earth Bet
    Hebert Residence    ​

    I had to run through the whole story again with Ms. Woodward and Miss Militia. Then Mrs. Dallon opened up the negotiation phase, explaining what I wanted.

    Then there was a great deal of haggling. A Mr. Perry from the PRT legal department joined us and he and Carol went over things, with Miss Militia contributing when the topic of security arrangements came up.

    Nothing was signed, but Carol thought that we would get more or less everything I'd mentioned, with the possible exception of the policy requests. That would be up to the Chief Director. Her best guess is that the mental health suggestion would be accepted, but there wasn't much to be done about the perverse incentive issue except for rotating the Wards' PRT case workers now and then.

    Miss Militia at least seemed to approve of the idea of better mental health resources for the Wards. Given how horrible her trigger event was I suppose it wasn't surprising. She understood firsthand the sort of trauma Wards could be struggling with.

    She seemed to have done a remarkable job of overcoming what she went through. I wondered if she'd gotten help herself at some point.

    Carol was going to talk to the police and the school district tomorrow for us. She was going to angle for Emma and Madison to get mandatory counseling, and for me to get a transfer to Arcadia. If the PRT investigation found enough evidence she would push for Blackwell to be replaced.

    Whoever they found could only be an improvement, but I hoped it would be someone passionate about turning Winslow around.

    I think I managed to quell any suspicions the PRT might have developed about me being a secret cape, but I couldn't be sure. Time would tell if Piggot or Armsmaster or anyone else expressed suspicions.

    For now there would be a PRT squad in a van outside when we were home, and at the Union while Danny was at work. And they'd given us each a panic button, pepper spray, and a stun gun.

    Probably not enough to stop Sophia from killing us in our sleep if she really wanted to, but I appreciated that it was the best they could do. I'd have to take some more precautions.

    Danny and I tiredly put away our coats as we got home.

    "Things are going to be alright," he said.

    I nodded. "Thanks. I...do you feel up to getting dinner started? I need to get the Christmas lights out of the basement."

    Danny gave me a confused look. "Christmas was three weeks ago."

    Despite myself that earns a small laugh. "I know. Sophia can't go through live wires, so I'm going to string them around the doors and walls. It won't be perfect, but it'll be something."

    His face gets serious, and he nods. "She can't? Huh. That's a good idea, then. Sure, I'll get dinner started and you can work on that." I noticed him tightening a fist. "If that bitch shows up we'll be ready for her."

    "You...don't usually swear, Dad." I observe.

    Danny scoffed. "Taylor, your old man works with longshoremen all day. I try to rein it in around you because I don't want you cursing like a sailor, but sometimes swearing is the only appropriate response to life."

    With that wisdom Danny departed for the kitchen. I finished getting my shoes off and got started looting the boxes in the basement for Christmas lights. There weren't enough for the kind of complete first floor coverage I would have liked, so I had to be strategic in where I put them up. I placed them at waist height around the walls that didn't have internal conduits already, closed the window shades and strung lights behind the windows, and covered behind the doors. I'd nearly exhausted our supply of tape and push pins by the time I was done, but I was satisfied that I'd covered everything as well as I could.

    Because Sophia went on the run without her Wards gear she didn't have her tinkertech goggles to tell her where wires would be, so if I were her I'd use windows and doors, the entry points most likely to be safe.

    She'd be in for a very literal shock if she tried it, and the thought prompted a darkly satisfied chuckle.

    Then we ate dinner (ravioli), I checked up on Prometheus (82% and progressing nicely), and I went to bed. The charges came back at 11:24 P.M., another four minutes earlier.


    Saturday January 15th, 2011
    Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, Earth Bet
    Hebert Residence    ​

    I woke up without a crossbow bolt in my chest, so that was good. There was no telling where Sophia was, but at least she hadn't made an attempt on us in the night. I could hear Dad Danny making breakfast downstairs.

    As I showered I put two more charges in computer programming to help me finish up Prometheus, then one each in mathematics, because it was useful for almost everything, chemistry, because along with physics it was another fundamental discipline, and mechanical engineering, because I wanted to get started on plans for non-electrical things at some point.

    The synergies of the wide spread were mind-boggling. Between them and the charges I already had I think I understood virtually every piece of mundane technology at Earth Bet's tech level, and a ways beyond.

    The biggest difficulty was actually figuring out what I might want to do from the uncountable options.

    With computer programming at five charges I understood the intricacies of world-spanning networks, from Earth Bet's primitive internet to networks made out of artificial intelligences or digitally connected human minds with direct neural interfaces or uploaded personalities operating in realistic simulations.

    Oh gods, combining it with my medical knowledge I could destructively upload human minds. Programming told me how to build simulated environments for the minds to live in, and electrical engineering told me how to build the advanced hardware that was needed to run it all.

    Hopefully I'd find an alternative to the need to disassemble the brain to make a mind state image. I was not doing that.

    I also knew there was no connected network on Earth Bet save Dragon's that could keep me out, and Dragon would only manage it by being able to adapt considerably faster than I could write new attacks.

    I spent most of the day writing modules for Prometheus, but I also played with my new Dragontech phone of the same kind the Wards and Protectorate heroes used. The PRT had given Danny and I one each to use as panic buttons; apparently sending out an SOS to the PRT by holding down two of the phone buttons for a few seconds was a feature they all had already.

    Though I was eager to play with the new toy, Danny grumbled a bit when I reminded him to take his with him to work. I doubted he'd willingly make any calls on it short of a life or death emergency, but at least he had it just in case.

    I did find a backdoor in the phone. Likely Dragon's, since it looked built in as a standard part of the architecture and not something added on. Removing it entirely would be suspicious, so I modified it so that it would always report that the phone hadn't been used or altered. I also added a way to spoof the location tracking if I wanted, and wrote another little program that would wipe everything down to factory defaults if it looked like someone else was about to succeed at trying to get into it.

    It was worth the effort. The phone was an impressive piece of computing hardware for something so small, with several times the processing power of the old desktop PC I had been working on. Towards the end of the day I uploaded Prometheus onto it to speed up his progress. His development was looking very promising, and I couldn't wait to start using him.

    Tomorrow. He would be ready tomorrow.

    Carol called in the afternoon; I needed to forward the abusive emails I'd gotten, and go down to the PRT building the next day to bring in my abuse journals for copies to be made. After that we would discuss school arrangements. Apparently there had been progress on that front already. The PRT van watching my house could give me a ride and Carol and Danny would meet me there.

    I supposed that the powers that be didn't want me missing any more school than I had to. Thoughtful of them, even if I didn't really need it now.


    Sunday Morning, January 16th, 2011
    Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, Earth Bet
    Hebert Residence    ​

    The next morning I left my charges unspent; I had no pressing need for anything, and figured I could keep them in reserve in case something came up during my visit to the PRT building.

    Prometheus greeted me with a cheery "Good morning, Miss Hebert." from my phone as I got out of bed.

    I smiled. "What's your status?"

    "I have achieved stability. I await your commands, Miss Hebert."

    I felt my smile turning into a grin. "Start working on intrusion modules for every architecture, protocol, and software package you can find to supplement the ones I wrote for you. Ideally I would like total coverage of everything that's out there right now except for Dragon's work. Keep your internet activities subtle, we don't want anyone detecting you and getting curious."

    "Understood, Miss Hebert."

    Something I didn't expect happened then. My heart felt lighter, as all the worry I'd been carrying wasn't quite so heavy. It took me a moment of self-reflection to realize why.

    Even though I knew Prometheus wasn't actually sapient, talking to him still made me feel like I wasn't fighting alone anymore. Sure there was Danny, but while he was supportive he couldn't really do anything in the world of capes and conspiracies. Prometheus could.

    And because I had created him, I knew that Prometheus would do anything and everything in his power to keep me safe and do as I asked. It was his core imperative. He would never sleep, never stop, never break, and never betray my interests.

    Maybe Taylor's memories were making me a little insecure, but just knowing for certain he had my back helped.


    Sunday Afternoon, January 16th, 2011
    Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, Earth Bet
    PRT ENE Headquarters    ​

    It seemed the PRT had two agents in the van watching my house; riding to the headquarters building in the afternoon with them was uneventful.

    They let me leave my coat in the van, and took me up the garage elevator to the lobby. Carol Dallon was there waiting for me.

    "Taylor, good to see you. Did you bring everything?"

    I nodded, gesturing with the journals under my arm. "It's all right here."

    "Good. I believe they've got a conference room set aside for us, we can wait there for your father. We'll go over your notes to establish a firmer timeline of events, and then we can go over schooling arrangements for you. You won't have to go back to Winslow."

    Thank goodness for that. Not that I had any intention of going back regardless. There were limits to what I was willing to do to keep a cover.

    We had passed through security and were walking down a long hallway on the ground floor when there was a tremendous bang from the direction of the lobby. Red lights placed at regular intervals along the ceiling started flashing, and a siren began to blare.

    "What does that mean?" I asked, looking back in the direction we'd come.

    "The building's under attack," Carol answered, jaw tight. "I need to find a safe place for you, and then I'll go out and help. Follow me, hurry!"

    Carol took off running, pausing only to make sure I could keep up. We rounded one corner, then another, and then Carol came to a sudden stop and I barely avoided running into her.

    Fifteen feet ahead of us walking off an elevator was a muscular man with blonde hair in an orange prisoner jumpsuit. He was carrying a PRT-issue pistol, which he instantly raised and pointed at Carol.

    "Brandish," he said.

    Carol dropped her suitcase and solid lightning emerged from her hands to form a cruciform sword in one hand and a large shield in the other.

    "Victor," she growled.

    Victor's eyes shifted from Carol to me. "You shouldn't have brought the schoolgirl," he said, and moved the pistol in my direction.

    "No!" Carol shouted, and shifted her shield to cover me. As she did Victor's lips quirked and he corrected his aim back to Carol, and the pistol barked twice.

    "Uk!" Carol choked out. The shield and sword disappeared and she collapsed while clutching her gut. She briefly turned into a ball of light on the ground before reverting to human form. Whatever that had done didn't seem to have helped as she remained prone and bleeding.

    Two gunshot wounds in the abdomen, my medical knowledge provided. They needed pressure, packing, and surgery as soon as possible, it helpfully added.

    A look of horror crossed my face, and I dropped my journals and started to crouch to help Carol. Then instincts I'd absorbed screamed in my mind as I saw the muzzle of the gun beginning to traverse back in my direction. Without knowing if he was going to shoot or not I had only one option to ensure my survival. My crouch turned into a sprinter's start as I moved towards Victor with all the considerable speed that Taylor's body could manage with the benefit of long legs and perfectly optimized form.

    Victor's eyes widened in surprise and his finger tightened on the trigger.

    In panic I tried to dump every charge I had into martial arts at once.

    A sea of knowledge flooded into my head before I hit some kind of wall that I had no time to think about. I seized on some pieces having to do with predicting hand motion and the vector of a bullet based on the direction of the muzzle and the stance of the shooter. I bent my upper body just so between sprinting steps and something sharp cut my upper left arm, but I ignored it and the ache of my cracked ribs because then Victor was within my reach.

    My first task was to keep his gun off line so he couldn't shoot me, and then to gain control of it. He fought back. He threw a punch while I adjusted my stance to let it go wide. He tried a kick aimed at my lower leg while I stepped over it. His eyes widened again in incredulous surprise as I anticipated each of his maneuvers from the shifts in weight and stance that signaled their use, and then countered them with maneuvers from a variety of different styles that were perfectly suited to shutting each down. And with every moment I put all my strength into shifting his arm to get me closer to fully controlling the gun, keeping my body out its way.

    After the sixth move and countermove I felt an odd tugging somewhere in my head, and the warm spots flared with something that wasn't quite heat.

    "There's so much. What are you?" he said, almost dazed.

    I took advantage of his distraction to finally gain sufficient leverage over his gun arm to control where I wanted it to go instead of just avoiding being on the wrong end of it.

    "Are you like me?" he asked while struggling against my grip.

    In that moment came a horrible realization.

    Now that the gun wasn't a threat I could break one of his knees, get the gun away from him completely, and hold him for arrest while tending to Carol until help arrived.

    But he would tell people about the thousands of years of knowledge he was no doubt flipping through in my head already. Whether he told the PRT or escaped and told the Empire, I would be screwed. The gangs would know either way. Coil would know either way.

    There was essentially no chance Victor would keep quiet.

    The cold logic was that there was only one option, and my knowledge told me I couldn't afford to think about it.

    Sometimes a martial artist had to kill, and that was something I knew too.

    With a maneuver from Brazillian Jiu-Jitsu I hooked a leg around his and threw my weight to bring us both to the ground, me on top of him and still gripping his arm with both hands. I rammed my right knee hard into his groin to stun him before he could recover from the fall, then used every bit of body weight and leverage I could manage from my superior position to push his stronger arm holding the pistol towards his face. I leaned out of the way of a punch and saw the beginnings of a look of dawning horror forming on his face right before I finished shifting the gun towards his head and forced his finger down on the trigger.

    There was a resounding crack as the gun went off next to my ear, and then he slumped like a sack of meat with a hole where his cheek used to be. My face felt wet. Blood spatter, I distantly realized.

    The noise and seeing a man die by my hand left me stunned. I laid there, looking dumbly down at the body, until a pained groan from Carol where she was on the floor shook me out of it. I got to my feet.

    I had two problems. One, it was bad enough that I'd just displayed improbable martial skill in the PRT building, but on top of that Victor had also said things that would give away that I was definitely not normal. I could not allow those words to exist.

    Two, Carol was bleeding badly, and I needed to do something about that.

    I pulled out my phone, opened up the terminal I could use to communicate with Prometheus, and thumb typed as quickly as I could. It would only draw more scrutiny if there was missing footage where it would obviously be checked, and Prometheus couldn't create a false interaction that would fit the physical evidence on the fly. I just I hadn't designed him for something like that, an issue I'd have to remedy. But he could degrade the audio and monitor the PRT.

    Taylor > Make sure the PRT can't tell what Victor said to me. Make it look coincidental. Cover your tracks.

    Prometheus > Command acknowledged, Miss Hebert.

    Prometheus > Deploying module     PRT.EWAR. Stealth limiter is in effect.

    Prometheus > Adaptive network subversion in progress.

    Prometheus > Estimated time to task completion: 17 seconds.

    That done, I squeezed the SOS beacon on the phone and then called the PRT dispatcher, putting them on speaker while I knelt next to Carol.

    "Console is busy right now," came the harried reply as soon as the call connected.

    With a grunt I tipped Carol over enough to check her lower back, but didn't see any exit wounds or bleeding through her suit jacket. That was a good sign. It meant the bullets were still inside, but for now two holes were easier to hold closed than four.

    "Brandish has been shot! We're on the first floor near an elevator in the rear of the building, I need a medical team now. Victor is dead."

    I tore open the lower half of Carol's shirt, buttons popping, giving me a clear view of the ragged holes that were pumping out blood as I watched. My knowledge reassured me that if things were really bad they would be gushing, but the serene certainty of the knowledge my power gave me didn't fully prepare me for the visceral experience of seeing someone so badly injured for the first time. It took some getting used to.

    Choosing from among my mental options, which were sorely limited by the lack of any medical supplies, I took off and roughly folded my shirt so I could use it as a pad to press down as hard as I could on the wounds. The key with field treatment of gunshot wounds was to slow blood loss as much as possible to keep the patient alive until they could be transported to an operating room. Treating gunshot wound trauma was enough of a science even in 2011 that surgeons almost never lost a gunshot wound patient who got to the table alive. If it came down to it they could just keep pumping the patient full of transfusions until they patched all the holes.

    The patients with bleeding too severe to patch usually didn't last long enough to make it to the table.

    "Wait, repeat that? Who is this?"

    "My name is Taylor Hebert. Victor is dead. Brandish is bleeding out. Victor shot her. I need a goddamn medical team. Call down to the infirmary and get them up here, now!"

    Some of my stress might have been showing.

    "Crap, right, right. On it."

    Was that one of the Wards? One of the boys. They sounded young and unsure.

    Not important right now.

    As I kept pressure on Carol's wounds I heard loud, indistinct noises coming from somewhere out front. Something like big booms and crashes, but the building was muffling them too much for me to make anything else out. I could feel them through the floor more than I could hear them.

    "Ca...call…" Carol tried to get out, and weakly began tugging her phone out of her pocket.

    "You really shouldn't be talking or moving right now, Mrs. Dallon. Help's coming. I don't think any arteries were hit or there would be a lot more blood, so we've got plenty of time to get you help. Everything's going to be alright," I said, attempting to keep her calm.

    "Ah...Am...Am…"

    It took me a second to realize what she was trying to say.

    "Amy, I'm an idiot! Panacea is your daughter. Okay, I'll call her."

    I helped Carol use a finger to open her phone - fortunately it seemed that it being covered in her blood didn't impair the sensor - and found Amy in her contacts. I hit dial and then speaker, laying it on the floor so that I could return to putting pressure on Carol's wounds.

    "Carol?" Came a girl's voice.

    "Amy?" I asked.

    "Who is this? How are you calling from Carol's number?" The voice turned harsh, accusing.

    "My name is Taylor. Your mom's been shot twice in the abdomen. She's here with me but she can't talk; we're in the PRT building. A medical team is supposed to be on the way but something is going on and I don't know how long they'll be. I've got no equipment and all I can do is put pressure on the wound to buy time. Can you come to us?"

    Amy's voice shifted from accusing to fearful. "Yeah, yeah I can. Vicky!"

    There was a click, and I glanced down at the phone. It looked like she'd hung up or else the call dropped.

    Carol mumbled something I couldn't make out.

    "Everything is going to be fine. Cavalry's on the way." I assured her.

    That prompted something like a laugh from her before pain turned it into a moan.

    Author's Note: Thanks to @Corvus Black for proofreading.
     
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    • Think Carol's brush with death change her perspective on Amy? Yeah right.
    Bit sad Victor is dead, he could be an interesting opponent for Taylor.
     
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    TheUnicorn said:
    But she does have powers. Since GU can't see her Faerie (because Taylor doesn't have one) but can tell (through one of her many sensory abilities) she is demonstrating powers, obviously she's hiding her faerie.

    That's just one possible scenario of course, but no less likely than yours.
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    She can only tell if a parahuman is using their powers by examining their faerie. Since Taylor doesn't have a faerie for GU to examine, she can't tell that Taylor has powers.

    Chapter is out now, so that's my last post on the topic.
     
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    This could work for Taylor. Being able to tell the truth about being a "combat thinker" who only appears to be useful against baseline humans would be a decent cover against anyone who thought she was a possible parahuman.
     
    cranical form said:
    Honestly, this was probably one of the better ways to be outed early.

    She can claim THIS was her trigger even and that she has a Victor like power where she doesn't steal skills, just slowly gains mundane skills over time.

    A Dauntless Victor but weak.

    Don't even need to mention the tinker aspect of it.Really a lot of room to downplay and minimize its potential use.
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    That wouldn't work for two reasons. Firstly, that isn't how trigger events work. Secondly, making that claim would set off Armsmaster's lie detector.
     
    Qro said:
    Almost certainly Coil. Timing is way too suspicious.
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    Indeed. Between Victor managing to arm himself as well as running into Taylor and Carol by themselves, inside the PRT building while it's in lockdown, screams Coil or Contessa shenanigans.

    Only other thing I can think of is Scientia's power actually has a hidden karmic drawback that just cashed in.
     
    Jaune Pendragon said:
    She's likely to be outed...
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    Prometheus is messing with the recordings and putting pressure on wounds is TV levels of first aid knowledge, so her big central problem is "how the hell did Victor get shot?". The bruises she's caused by kneeing him in the groin hard enough to stun him are going to show up on an autopsy. Which... is possibly the only thing that'll keep them from branding her a Master, because the fingerprints and powder burn will look a lot like Victor shooting himself in the head.
     
    NotInventedHere said:
    Prometheus is messing with the recordings and putting pressure on wounds is TV levels of first aid knowledge, so her big central problem is "how the hell did Victor get shot?". The bruises she's caused by kneeing him in the groin hard enough to stun him are going to show up on an autopsy. Which... is possibly the only thing that'll keep them from branding her a Master, because the fingerprints and powder burn will look a lot like Victor shooting himself in the head.
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    I doubt many people will think otherwise if she says "I reacted and he wasn't expecting me to do that. We fought and the gun went off killing him." As long as the hit wasn't perfectly between the eyes I don't think they will look much into it, especially if the recording doens't show much and Carol's in shock.
     
    I think whether she is outed depends on whether there is surviving footage of the event. Crazy shit can happen in a fight and she can be forgiven for not being able to give a play by play of this quick and traumatic experience. If she plays it right, she can probably pressure the PRT about her being attacked while on their property to report about being attacked by their employee to skip out on giving the nitty-gritty of her encounter. Also, the PRT plays by the unwritten rules. If she gives signs that she doesn't want to be pressed about being a parahuman, I'm not sure that they can push too much. I think the most likely scenario is a note in her file that speculates about the possibility of her being a parahuman.
     
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