- Pronouns
- Mr
Is it general knowledge that tinker tech require regular maintenance? Or it is like the Unwritten Rules? You only know of it if you are part of the Masquerade/the Crowd.
Story of an industrious Tinker
- Thread starter Haaret
- Start date
Is it general knowledge that tinker tech require regular maintenance? Or it is like the Unwritten Rules? You only know of it if you are part of the Masquerade/the Crowd.
- Location
- New Zealand
People know that tinkertech can't be replicated by non-tinkers, so after 30 years I would imagine that there is some general awareness of the need for maintenance. Tinkers don't just stockpile a massive armoury, so I would assume that people do know why.
- Location
- Israel
Probably also some tinker tried passing off his tinker tech as regular tech and it backfired massively as it failed due to lack of maintenance that cannot be performed by anyone other than him even if they do exactly as he does\tells them to. I can see one of the first tinkers thinking "Oh boy! Super cheap electricity for everyone!" But after a while of continiously working on it their shard gets annoyed and bored and either Leet's them or makes them do something stupid so they'll get into fights.
Me, remembering the tale of the Golem of Prague and that D&D has Golems of it's own: Oh shit. The Nazies are in for a whole wide world of hurt, aren't they?An army? Probably not
- Pronouns
- Mr
I do hope it will happen. I mean Jewish story about a golem protecting the community and DND golems.. it has to happen!
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Everyone's all like, "Golems! Bag of Holding! Fireball!"
And I'm just sitting here like, "A wand of Mending would solve time constraints on the vast majority of Tinkertech and Tinkers." Mending is legit the most broken cantrip in any technological setting.
And I'm just sitting here like, "A wand of Mending would solve time constraints on the vast majority of Tinkertech and Tinkers." Mending is legit the most broken cantrip in any technological setting.
- Location
- Israel
Right, a Tinker Tech Mending Device... Think of the efficiency! Though honestly, if she stays apart from the PRT and realizes how valuable that is she should just lease them the things. A modest monthly fee to use it and she'll be reimbursed with money if it's broken.
"So how many of those can you maintain at once and how often will you need to maintain it?" Armsmaster asked me to my confusion, they're magic items I don't need to maintain them. "Well, I don't really need to maintain them, they're all upfront costs you know? Sacrifice of monetary value some mambojambo carvings and it just works.."
Accidentally outing of no-maintenance tinker tech while not being self aware enough to realize what it means.
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Or repairing old stuff, like Hero's old equipment.
Interlude - Kaleidoscope
PHQ ENE was huge. The repurposed facility built out in the bay on top of an old oil rig was a labyrinthine mess of twisting corridors, the heavy duty steel walls occasionally marked with letters and numbers that presumably made sense to somebody, lent an oppressive air to the place as Dean walked through the halls. He was used to imposing spaces, his father's office was designed to make anyone not sitting behind the large mahogany desk feel as small as possible, with giant windows and a huge leather chair surrounded by expensive books and a large drinks cabinet. But there was something about the Rig that just made him feel nervous.
Maybe it was the military air to it? The frequent checkpoints where he had to stop and speak to PRT officers to confirm his identity and the reason for his visit was certainly a little off putting. But Dean was at least used to armed guards around him, as his father never went anywhere without a security detail. Too many people out to get him apparently, for him to feel safe without three or four bodyguards. So, he didn't think it was the guns or the strangely blank faceplates on the PRT body armour.
It could have been the cameras, every hallway had at least one or two, and he could sometimes hear them twisting in their recessed sockets as he passed, following his movements as he followed the directions on his phone to where he was supposed to be going. He didn't think so though, he was used to cameras by now. The paparazzi that hounded him his whole life had inured him by now to the strange feeling of being constantly observed.
No, the thing that bothered Dean, as the sound of his boots on the metal floor echoed around the narrow corridor, was how mundane everything was. This was the Protectorate's seat of power, their base, their castle. It loomed over the city like a watchful guardian with its shining forcefield acting like a beacon so that everyone knew the heroes were here. He was a little embarrassed to admit that he had expected something more… Heroic. Maybe a grand hall with circular table where the Heroes could sit and discuss how to the save the city. Perhaps complete with a voice activated super-computer built by Armsmaster. He kept expecting to walk past an armoury filled with strange and exotic weapons for tackling supervillains, or a trophy room with the captured masks of each criminal brought to justice.
Which was childish. Real heroes have backup from ordinary people, they have rules and oversight and they don't give in to their base impulses for grand displays of their accomplishments. His short stint in the Wards so far had taught him that the illusion of super-heroes, was just that. A fiction, a lie told to the masses to make them feel safer.
That wasn't to tear down the accomplishments they achieved. While it was disappointing to have his pre-conceived notions shattered, his respect for what the Protectorate accomplished in the face of impossible expectations had grown considerably since he gained his powers.
A swirl of colour in the outline of a person coalesced through the walls next to him as he carried on walking. The subtle hints of grey and green indicating tiredness and boredom. He studied it as he went past. As always, the aura hugged closely to the body of whoever projected it. Remembering what Miss Militia had told him he tried to pick out details of the person based on what he saw. They were taller than him, maybe 6 foot or so, that combined with the body shape made him think they were male. The aura was stable, sometimes he saw it flicker quickly between colours, but the lack of any swirls, eddies or temperamental movement, made him think this was another PRT officer.
The colours were uniform, spread evenly across the whole body, he wasn't sure yet what that meant, he had been trying to puzzle out what different colours in different places signified for a little while now, but hadn't had much luck. It could just be something unique to the individuals he looked at. Most people he looked at had fairly even Auras. Some of the heroes' were a bit wilder, like Assault or Velocity. The former's was almost energetic, protruding a little further from his body than most people, the colours would swirl around him like a lava lamp. The speedster's was different again, in that it was patchy, certain areas seemed blank, the colour only occasionally bleeding into those dimmer areas.
It was a strange conundrum, one he was keeping to himself for the moment. He wasn't sure what it signified, especially as not all of the heroes were like that. Most of them had some strange aspect to their aura, but Triumph and Battery looked the same as any of the officers did to his power. Not for the first time Dean wished to be able to see what his own aura looked like. After first gaining his powers he had stared in the mirror for hours, trying to get some glimpse at his own emotional topography. Unfortunately, his power didn't work like that and without that baseline, interpreting other people became so much harder.
He walked past an intersection and glanced down it at the large officer in full armour standing guard outside of a heavy door. Stopping only to quietly congratulate himself for getting things right Dean continued on his way, further into the heart of the Rig.
*** *** ***
After another 15 minutes of searching through the building, he eventually came to the place he was looking for. The entrance to Armsmaster's lab wasn't that extra-ordinary, the metal on the door was slightly thicker, the lock a bit heavier duty, but overall, it seemed relatively normal. Well, aside from the host of carefully placed warning stickers and signs indicating the presence of heavy machinery, lasers, explosives, high energy systems and nuclear material in the rooms beyond.
As he approached, Dean noticed a small red light shine from the camera above the arch, and the door slid open noiselessly at his approach. Stepping into the brightly lit room he felt a smile cross his face unbidden as he looked around.
This was definitely more of what he expected from the headquarters of the Protectorate, the sleek machinery set into place at the walls, the racks of impossible looking tools above empty workbenches, the neatly organised finished projects in glass cases, carefully labelled of course. Despite the level of detail and work done to make it as practical a space as possible, there was an air of mystery to it that could not be denied. Not even by the fastidious placement of neatly written and laminated index cards, or the heavy user manuals for the more mundane pieces of equipment.
Standing to the side of one of the doors leading further into the laboratory was the reason Dean was here. Walking over until he was opposite the case, he examined it carefully. Standing ever so slightly taller than he was, the grey-silver power armour rested on a special stand, its heavy metal plates hiding rows of recessed lights that would light up like stars. The helmet was designed to cover his entire face, the long horizontal slit across his eyes reminiscent of a renaissance era closed helmet, though instead of an empty space it was filled with cameras and more lights, creating a sealed environment that recycled his own breath for up to half an hour, according to the technical documentation he had been sent the night before.
It was a beautiful piece of work, even if it was far simpler than Armsmaster's usual creations, that streamlined sense of purpose was still present, heightened even, given that so many of the bells and whistles were missing. Dean felt a little conflicted over receiving the armour; on the one hand, he desperately wanted it, he had worn it once before, for the photoshoots before his announcement as a Ward and he had loved the feeling of strength and security it gave him, even when it was still partially unfinished. It was designed to keep him safe, but it would also give him the strength to help, and that was an intoxicating feeling. But, it had also been paid for by his father, a 'gift' to Armsmaster, a generous donation to increase his tinkering budget in return for keeping his son safe, creating and maintaining his armour, showing favouritism.
That had always made Dean uncomfortable, he hated being singled out by his family's wealth. It always forced a distance between him and his peers, as if they thought he considered himself better than them for coming from money. He didn't want the other Wards to feel left out or overlooked on account of his father. Rory understood of course, his father wasn't as rich as Dean's but political connections could have the same chilling effect on friendships. He got it in a way that Dean didn't think the others did, especially Carlos, who would ripple with purple frustration whenever the topic of family and money came up. He hid it well, laughing and joking and swapping stories, but it was there under the surface.
He had tried to talk to him about it, a couple of weeks ago. Tried to clear the air, explain the situation, and reach common ground, anything really. He had been met with a stony silence, an impassive Carlos staring at him as his roiling emotions flickered deeper and deeper with that rich purple, before the older boy had rested a hand on his shoulder and told him to drop it, before drifting away.
The sound of voices from the room next door drew Dean's attention away from the silver power armour and his repressed guilt over it. The slight gap in the open doorway allowed him to catch drifts of conversation from down the hallway. Pushing further in he started to see the familiar unsteady outline of sky-blue focus that meant Armsmaster was present. Heading further in, the aura becoming clearer as he drew closer until he was just outside the door, his curiosity got the better of him and he stopped to listen.
"… Sample 13 is an interesting one, representing an interesting solution to the possibility of fighting capes that manipulate metal." A female voice with a slight accent that Dean couldn't place came through the door, confusing him for a moment, as there was no second aura.
"The chemical reaction it creates is fast yes, but I don't see anything too unusual about it that would warrant further attention. Not compared to the heat resistant ice formed by sample 11." Came the gruff response from Armsmaster, the outline of his aura showed him stood over a bench, his arms resting on something that Dean could not see, his attention focused in front of him.
"I take it you haven't tested the sample yet?" The woman's voice replied "The reaction appears mundane at first glance, but when you expose iron to the sample, then test the result you find that it hasn't rusted."
"What do you mean?" the outline of Armsmaster had shifted now, looking away from the table and standing up straight to look at the wall across from the door.
"The metal is weakened and corroded similar to rusting, but an entirely different chemical process has taken place. Instead of forming any of the typical iron-hydroxide molecules you would expect, it forms complex bonds with atmospheric nitrogen and carbon, rapidly creating stable crystalline flakes of material that look like rust."
"Fascinating." The response from Armsmaster corresponded with a subtle shift in his aura, a gentle gold tinge that spread slowly through it from his head downwards. "Where you able to get any good data as to how the sample was originally formed?"
"Better." The voice came again, this time Dean recognised the accent as Canadian, "I've replicated it."
There was a pause that stretched out for a moment, the gold in Armsmaster's aura seemed to diminish for a moment, before resurging brightly, now surrounded by bright silver determination. "Congratulations, even for you, that is extraordinarily fast to reverse engineer another's tinker tech."
"Thank you, but I don't know that is merited in this situation," came the demure response, Dean shuffled a little closer to the door and was able to spot a computer monitor through the gap, the monitor displayed a brown haired woman's face smiling gently at Armsmaster, who was wearing a dark blue exercise outfit and a simple domino mask.
Dean missed the next part of the conversation, as he pulled back when he realised, he had been eavesdropping on a conversation between Armsmaster and Dragon. Dragon was perhaps the world's greatest tinker, responsible for the creation of the containment foam used by PRT agents to subdue villains and entrusted with the computer systems across the PRT and Protectorate bases without tinkers of their own. She was reclusive, apparently never leaving her home in Canada.
He mentally kicked himself for snooping, his curiosity had gotten the better of him again and now here he was sneaking around PHQ, listening in on heroes' private conversations. He was supposed to be better than this, he had promised himself he would be better than this. What if he had overheard someone's identity? Or some other important secret he wasn't cleared for. It was a stupid mistake that could kill his hero career before he got started, and if he didn't have that then it was straight back to his dad's company just like the man had clearly intended when he bought Dean's power.
Dean stared at the door for a moment in indecision. He could knock and reveal he was there, accept the punishment for listening in, or he could sneak back to the main room and wait for Armsmaster to join him, like he should have done in the first place. He wanted to slink away, to hide, avoid punishment, but no. He had decided to be better, there was no hiding behind his father's wealth and position this time. This wasn't like Mrs. Agaton's window, or when Jason took him for a joyride in his dad's car. He was going to own up to his mistakes and start being a better person.
He raised his hand to knock on the door, hesitating for just a second before steeling himself. From inside he could just make out more of the conversation he was about to interrupt.
"… Which is why I think it's more likely a novel approach to chemistry, from a different developmental perspective, rather than highly advanced technology using the same basic principles, like most tinker tech. But we can discuss this later, as Gallant has been waiting patiently outside the lab for us to finish for some time now."
Dean startled a little, as the door in front of him slid open before he could knock on it. He looked up slightly at the impassive face of the leader of the local Protectorate who was looking down at him, his expression blank but his aura a muted green. Dean thought that was maybe disgruntlement, but he hadn't seen it often enough to be sure.
"Gallant, you should have waited in the main chamber." He said levelly, his voice not betraying any of the emotion that surrounded him in Dean's vision.
"Sorry, sir." He managed to say a little weakly. There was a presence to the man, even outside of his midnight blue power armour. It was an aura of its own, different to the emotional one Dean could see, that just seemed to say 'I am in control'. Dean wasn't sure if it was the way he carried himself, or something about how he spoke with little inflection or wasted niceties, but no matter what he saw in the man's emotional spectrum, his iron self-control never wavered. "I came to pick up the power armour. You told me it would be ready today and Triumph wants to run a patrol with me tonight."
There was a slight frown from Armsmaster at that, his head turned slightly as his eyes flickered behind him to the screen where Dragon was looking on, slightly amused. "Go ahead" she told him, "You can call me back afterwards."
With a grunt of acknowledgment, he nodded and gestured for Dean to head back the way he came, towards the main laboratory. Taking that cue, the teenager turned on his heel and retreated, followed closely by the older hero.
"What is the reason for running a patrol tonight, I did not believe you were assigned one until Tuesday?" he asked Dean as he begun the process of removing the armour from the stand so it could be donned.
"It's my first non-PR patrol sir, Triumph thought it would be best for me to learn the ropes on a quieter shift, Sunday night typically sees a lower crime rate, coupled with the fact that school is out tomorrow for teacher training it seemed the best time sir."
Armsmaster nodded, his muted green aura fading away to a patchy lavender, which meant he was satisfied with the answer. They spent the next 30 minutes putting on and taking off the armour multiple times, until the tinker was satisfied that Dean could do it properly and by himself. When the man finally authorised the equipment to be left in his care, he almost tripped over himself in his haste to make an exit.
*** *** ***
The Wards common room was a large, semi-circular space with a domed roof set in one of the subterranean layers of the PRT building downtown. It was set up on one side with comfortable couches, a large TV and speakers, with a door to a small kitchenette containing a range, fridge, freezer and microwave.
The other side of the room was dominated by the console used for monitoring Ward patrols. Dean had only been on that duty once so far. Carlos had shadowed him while he manned the phones for Triumph and Clockblocker, and he appreciated the complexity of the role. The other boys on the team seemed to view it with some distaste, but Dean could see how it was an important tool for learning how to communicate as a team. Though he did struggle with being unable to see people's aura's on the body cameras.
The middle of the room was mostly clear, save for a couple of desks with comfy chairs set out so they could finish up homework, one of the tables had a map of the city printed onto it, to make it easier to plot out patrol routes. Though that was just an exercise for Rory, as all of their routes had to be approved by the PRT.
It was a little weird moving around this space in his power armour, Armsmaster had told him to wear it for the rest of the day, to get fully used to it before taking it on patrol. So, he was practicing walking around the space and interacting with things with his increased weight and slightly enhanced strength. He felt clumsy, like a new-born foal at his father's stables. Dennis wasn't helping, he had taken it upon himself to make sure Dean was truly able to manoeuvre nimbly, and had turned every part of the common room into a makeshift obstacle course.
Time-locked items hung at awkward positions, or rested on the ground underfoot, ready to trip him or make him fumble his movements. He had been mostly able to keep his feet, but the few times he had stacked it into the floor he had been met with Dennis's high pitched, slightly mocking laughter.
Dean bit back another curse as he his feet slipped on another time-stopped marble, a glance to the side revealed Dennis, his emergency domino mask hanging around his neck for easy access, but otherwise not in costume, sitting on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn watching him. The red-head waved cheerily at him, and Dean struggled to resist giving him the middle finger in response.
Dennis was a difficult one, about Dean's age more or less, he had been on the team for maybe a month when Dean joined up. If the other two's reactions were anything to go by, they were grateful that the two of them were not anything alike. Dennis was a jokester, he liked to prank the others and tell jokes. Which would have been fine if his sense of humour didn't have a cruel streak to it that sometimes turned ugly.
Still, Dean tried his best to look past it, as the other boy was clearly struggling with something. His aura rarely showed any lilac mirth, instead it was frequently a mottled mess of dark black despair and ochre worry. Even when his tricks turned cruel, Dean could never sense any crimson malice from him. Usually it just variations on grey confusion.
Even though he was determined not to lash out at him, that didn't mean that he wanted to stay here and endure more of Dennis's mockery. Slowly and carefully, only slipping a few times on frictionless sheets of paper, he made his way over to the hallway near the console machine. This took him deeper into the area set aside for the Wards, up ahead he could see the changing rooms that would take him to the sparring chamber and exercise room. He could just about make out the faint outline of Rory, lifting weights in the gym, his aura a royal purple of happiness.
Turning, being careful not to scratch the paint of the reinforced concrete walls with his armour, Dean headed past the changing rooms, and towards his personal room. There was one for each of the Wards, and about 5 extra ones in case they ever received more members. Carefully grabbing the handle (he had already accidentally deformed two today with his improved grip and was determined not to make this one the third) he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Reaching up to release the catches on his helmet, he pulled it off and shook his head free. The thing was surprisingly comfortable, but it still took a lot of getting used to. He enjoyed the moment of feeling fresher air on his face, before carefully setting down the helmet on the small table next to the bed.
He looked around the space, the bright LED bulb in the ceiling a poor substitute for natural sunlight. There was a narrow bed tucked up alongside one wall, its hard mattress covered in plain white sheets and bedding. Above it was a poster, a gift from Vicky before they started dating. It was one of the few promotional shots of New Wave from a couple of years ago, before things started going downhill for the independent hero team.
On the right stood Lady Photon and Manpower, his girlfriend's Aunt and Uncle struck traditionally heroic poses, their bodies angled slightly away from each other as they looked down at the camera. Next to them, in the centre was Brandish and Flashbang. Vicky's parents looked a little less polished, Flashbang was a little stooped, a little dour, and Brandish was too stiff. Though he may have been projecting that based on what he knew having met them. Next to them, standing with bright smiles on their faces, were Fleur and Lightstar.
He had taken the poster down from his bedroom wall only a couple of months after Vicky gave it to him. The night he heard about Fleur's murder by that Empire wannabe. It had hit Vicky hard, straining their friendship and he didn't want the reminder of what she had lost hanging over her. But when he joined the Wards, he dug it out again. He put it up here as something to aspire to, but far away from where his girlfriend was likely to see it. Even two years later he knew those wounds were still raw.
The rest of his walls were still bare, having not had much time to decorate them yet. Opposite the bed was a large wardrobe with a full-length mirror on the outside door. The wardrobe was built into the walls, and his included a secure place to store his armour safely between patrols.
The bright light reflected off the mirror, lending a strange depth to the room and making it feel larger as he slowly sat down on the bed. The springs creaked and groaned underneath the bulk of his suit, but the structure held. He sat for a moment staring at himself in the mirror, his eyes moving instinctively to look for the edges, the first bleeding of colour that came off a person that told him how they were feeling. Off course there was nothing, there never was when he looked at himself, but it was still an automatic reaction.
It was kind of unnerving just how quickly he had come to rely upon his power. Just 6 weeks since he acquired it and already it had turned everything upside down. His friends from school were worried about him, how he had drawn away from them as he tried to get to grips with everything he saw. It was part of why he insisted on joining the Wards, despite his father's protests, he needed someone, anyone who he could talk to about what he was seeing. He couldn't turn his powers off, and even now, sat in this room he could see vague shapes and outlines of his fellow wards through the walls.
Vicky tried to help him with it, but her family didn't have any thinker powers, and she herself hadn't triggered yet. Understanding having a power and what it entailed was one thing, but there was a big difference between what he did and what her family was capable of. He had tried opening up to her, but it was difficult. There were things he couldn't say, things he wasn't allowed to share and secrets he couldn't spill as to how he gained his powers. While he could obfuscate the exact nature of his trigger, she knew him well enough to know when he was hiding something. The pale pink disappointment she projected whenever he lied about his origin, however, was nothing to the dark brown jealousy she tried to smother whenever they talked about it.
It was an awful thing, to know that you had the one thing your partner really wanted, the thing that would make them feel complete, whole or valuable, and you couldn't give it to them.
Dean was unable to stay wallowing in his thoughts. Before long he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Servos moved seamlessly and springs groaned as he rose to his feet, there was a familiar dark aura standing outside his room so he swung the door open and stood face to face with Dennis.
"Boss called all hands to the common room." The red-head told him, as he took a casual glance inside Dean's room. He shifted his weight slightly in order to block his team-mates view and frowned slightly.
"What's going on? I didn't think we had anything scheduled this afternoon."
"Meet and greet with a potential recruit." Dennis replied, pushing off the door and spinning around to head back the way he came. Dean moved to head after him, then remembered he wasn't wearing his helmet, so quickly dashed back inside to grab it off the small table. Exiting the room, he grabbed the door handle and tried to swing it shut, but found it stuck. He gripped the handle harder and pulled, using the full strength of his armour. There was a creaking sound, but still no movement. Running his fingers carefully across the surface of the door he found it strangely frictionless.
Looking over his shoulder Dean caught a small flash of red, Dennis was standing at the end of the corridor smirking at him while he fiddled with his domino mask. The dark boiling clouds of depression that spun around his aura brightened slightly with a forest green amusement, causing Dean to pause. Slowly he let go of the deformed door handle, as well as the anger that had been mounting at his teammate.
"Nice one." Was all he said, with a slight nod, leaving the door open in its stuck position. There was nothing important in there at the moment, and if this was helping Dennis forget his problems then he could afford to be the butt of the joke for a little while.
*** *** ***
The only thing Dean could think of while looking at the green-eyed, blue aura-ed girl standing in the Wards common room was how young she looked. She was short, with wavy blonde hair that tinged brown under the harsh lights of the room, and she was staring up at the assembled Wards with a strange combination of hesitance and hero-worship on her face.
In her hands she was clutching the plain white domino mask she had removed just a few moments ago when she introduced herself as Missy Biron. She had entered the room accompanied by Battery, who had encouraged her to introduce herself to the team, before retreating to stand guard just outside of the main entrance. Dean could see the faint outline of wary cyan intermingling with hopeful tan as she waited outside in case of an emergency.
He gave a quick glance at the rest of his teammates, Carlos and Rory had already unmasked and introduced themselves, the former was floating a little stiffly a couple of inches of the ground, one hand still clutching the towel he had grabbed before leaving the gym. His aura was the usual patchy mix of greys and browns a palate of quiet despair. Dean tied not to look too closely, he didn't want to repeat the last conversation they had about his colleague's emotional state.
Rory on the other hand looked relaxed, his aura was a gentle gold, shining with steady confidence. He stood with his body loose, hands held comfortably at his side, giving the girl an easy smile in an attempt to not look intimidating. It probably wasn't working given that Rory stood close to a foot and a half taller than Missy and was built like a line-backer.
Hoping to help with some of his new teammate's nervousness, Dean slowly sank down onto one knee in front of her, the servos in his suit whirring slightly as they fought to keep him balanced. With slow and careful movements he reached up to his helmet and pulled it off, instinctively shaking his head a little and blinking at the slight change in light.
"Hi," he said, offering her a smile "I'm Dean Stansfield, it's nice to meet you Missy." There was a faint bleed of pink embarrassment into the girl's aura as he met her gaze. She stared at him for a second before thrusting her hand out awkwardly, gently he took it and carefully shook her hand. When he took it back and stood up the pink had spread until it dominated her aura.
Dennis made his own introduction with far less ceremony, and after that the 5 of them were stood awkwardly in silence as each person struggled in turn to find something to say. Dean was saved from struggling to make small talk with a pre-teen by the sudden buzzing of his phone, the vibrations rattled against his armour taking him by surprise.
The continued sound echoed around the space as he struggled with his armour to access the recessed pocket he had placed it in. The clumsy fumbling elicited a couple of nervous chuckles from the group before he was finally able to extricate it. Looking down at the screen he saw a picture of his girlfriend blowing him a kiss.
"I should probably take this guys, its Vicky," he said apologetically to the others. Dennis made a whipping motion with one hand mockingly, but Rory just waved him off with a sympathetic look. Hurrying away towards the kitchenette and the refuge of solitude he picked up the call.
"Finally, I thought you were ignoring me!" came the dulcet tones of his girlfriend through the receiver.
"Now isn't a great time Vic." He tried to explain to her as he pushed open the door to the tiny cooking space. But before he could get any further, he was interrupted.
"You will not believe what my mom just said to me, it was so insensitive." Her voice was raspy as if she had recently been shouting at someone, as she started ranting on the other end of the phone. Dean stifled a groan, he loved Vicky, he really did, but for some reason she decided that since they were dating, she had to tell him about every single aspect of her day. Sometimes in real time.
"…and I said she should just tell me about it, because what if I need something similar to get my own powers, do you know what she said to that?" Vicky said, breathless with indignation. "She told me if that was the case, she would rather I never got powers! Can you believe it?"
"Vicky!" He finally managed to interject.
"What?" was her confused response. He hated this, talking on the phone. Trying to talk to her when she was like this was akin to moving through a minefield wearing a blindfold, and that was when he could see her emotions. On the phone it was 10 times worse.
"I'm sure she didn't mean to upset you, but can we please talk about this later, it's really not a good time right now… fuck." The dial tone ringing in his ear told him that she had hung up on him, never a good sign. Briefly he considered calling her back, despite just saying that he couldn't talk right now, but he didn't want to send mixed signals. Running an armoured hand through his hair in frustration, the cold metal a soothing balm against his scalp, he stood still for a second and tried to think.
After some further indecision, he eventually sighed, placed his phone away and made his way back out into the common room. This was his team and he needed to be present and in the moment to try and make sure everyone got along, and that Dennis didn't stick his foot in his mouth too badly. First impressions were important after all.
*** *** ***
"I'm just saying, it feels like a strange decision, I don't think Tinkers are necessarily less scary or threatening than Masters."
Dean was silent as he strode carefully yet confidently down the street. The bottom of his metal boots were carefully muffled, meaning there was only the smallest sound as his feet hit tarmac. He kept his head moving, like he had been shown by the PRT agents who trained him, making sure to cover as much of the street as possible, whilst trying to make the movement look natural. Occasionally he would see a vague outline of a person, huddled in the dark alleyways between old buildings. Some were curled up under makeshift blankets while others gathered together in small circles.
Beside him stood Rory, resplendent in his white and gold Triumph costume, the lion headed pauldrons polished to a bright sheen that was almost as dazzling as the tight bodysuit that was cunningly armoured to enhance his already muscular frame. The older Ward walked with a confident ease, unperturbed by the broken windows and flickering street lights that surrounded them.
"I mean, sure Masters can be scary, but most can't affect humans, and those that can usually aren't Heartbreaker, or anything near his level." The team leader continued, his voice deepened artificially by his power compared to how he normally spoke. "Tinkers though, they are scary because they could be anything. Their versatility means they can mimic any other threat category. And the ones that chose to be Masters, those are usually the worst. I mean did you hear about Tryllebinde?"
Dean looked over at his friend, noting the silver curiosity in his stable aura, tinged only with orange alertness. "He was the guy who escaped from the Bergen containment zone right?" He asked after a moment wracking his memories for where he had heard the name before. He wasn't very aware of the cape scene outside of the United States and Canada, but he was vaguely aware that this individual had been in the news recently.
Triumph nodded at him, the heavy mane attached to his lion headed helmet shook and bristled in an almost life-like motion. "He was killed 2 days ago by a strike team of Israeli military capes."
"Why were the Israeli military involved? I thought Tryllebinde was from Holland?" Dean replied, a small frown marring his face, invisible under his heavy armour.
"Norway actually." Triumph corrected him, "and that area has a lot going on right now, with the Simurgh containment zone around Bergen and those 2 assassin capes that have shown up, the emergency government asked for foreign aid in hunting down S class threats in the region. It's been all over the news."
"Ok, so what made this guy scary enough that he was hunted down before the pale ladies?"
"He took over the entire town of Molde, about 40,000 people." This made Gallant stop for a moment, there was slight screeching sound of metal on asphalt as his feet caught on the ground. He tried to contemplate how one person could manage such a thing and he just kept coming up blank.
"But the truly weird part about it, is that no-one, inside the town or out, realised he was in charge." Triumph continued, in the tone of voice usually reserved for telling ghost stories around a campfire. "People just went around their daily business, while also following his orders to fortify the position."
"Wait, how is that even possible?" Dean asked.
"It's being kept pretty hush, probably the only people who actually know are the one that took him down." Triumph said, leaning in a bit closer to Dean, conspiratorially. "But the current theory is that he had some kind of subliminal messaging technology, and that he specialised in hijacking communications."
Dean felt a shiver go down his spine as the implications wormed through his brain. Triumph had straightened up again to his full height and was still talking quietly. "Which is why I think it's weird they are having you pretend to be a Tinker, you still alter people's emotions with your blasts, it's just going to lead to online speculation about what you could do, if you stopped holding back."
"I think it's just being used as a justification as to why I have power armour and the other Wards don't. So that it doesn't look unfair on the others." Dean replied, feeling a little awkward, like he usually did whenever the topic strayed towards his family's wealth or status.
Triumph just waved away that explanation, his hands making an expansive, dismissive gesture as he said "It's not like Aegis or I actually need it though, and Clockblocker has already shown how good he is at protecting himself with his power, it could easily be spun as just something you have to do to protect the thinker."
"And what about the new girl? Shaker 9 should probably have some power armour under those criteria, right?"
"Come on, it's not like an 11-year-old is going to do active patrols or see combat, even in Brockton Bay I can't see the PRT okaying that."
The two of them settled into an easy silence after that, their patrol taking them further away from the brightly lit, secure parts of downtown and deeper into contested territory. The buildings without the scars of cape combat, or bullet holes in the brick work came fewer and further between. The empty looking warehouses stood ominously, their dark bulk obscuring the night sky as they towered over the streets, their shadows growing deeper the further they ventured in.
What few shops were still operating, were heavily protected by dull metal shutters and heavy bars over the windows in an attempt to dissuade looters. The occasional flashing red light revealed heavy duty CCTV cameras bolted to walls, and the flashlight built into Dean's helmet occasionally illuminated empty brackets where cameras had ripped out of their sockets, the trailing wires left behind, dangling forlornly.
It was an unusual patrol route, taking them through the very outskirts of the docks and brushing up against Empire territory on the far side. The Wards usually limited themselves to the more photo-friendly areas of the city, but Rory had insisted that he at least be familiar with the more dangerous areas. They weren't out here alone of course. A couple of streets over a van full of PRT agents was trailing their position, and Armsmaster was also patrolling in this area, criss-crossing their route as he moved through the city on his motorbike so that they would occasionally catch a glimpse of his midnight blue armour.
Still, it was hard not to feel alone amongst the oppressive architecture, the occasional sounds nearby but beyond the range of his power, just served to heighten the feeling of paranoia, that there was something out there coiling in the darkness waiting to pounce. It was always a relief when blurry and indistinct auras did emerge from the shadows, letting him see that there were no nightmares here, just people.
"Wait" Dean looked over as his companion lifted up a hand and stopped walking, "do you hear that?"
Dean tilted his head, listening intently, the street was still and quiet like a graveyard but off in the distance he could hear the occasional bark of gunfire splitting the night sky. "I think it's coming from that direction." He said, pointing down a dimly lit street away from the docks and closer to Empire territory.
"Console, this is Triumph. We are hearing sustained gunfire coming from southwest of our position, requesting permission to deviate from route and investigate." Dean heard Rory speaking into the radio built into his mask. There were a couple of second of static before the response.
"Triumph this is console, you are clear to investigate, but do not engage. Your escort will join you shortly. If attacked retreat to the position I am marking for you now." Dean was momentarily startled by the ping that updated the small map of the streets on his Heads Up Display. Still not used to the function he struggled for a moment to minimise it again before hurrying to catch up with Rory, who had taken off down the street.
Dean wasn't in bad shape, he worked out semi-regularly before gaining his powers and since joining the Wards he had been taking that more seriously. However, there is a key difference between running normally, and running wearing a full suit of power armour. Even with the cunning distribution of weight and powerful electronic motors aiding his movement, his steps felt laboured and clumsy, like he could topple at any moment. This meant that he was forced to concentrate heavily in just staying upright, losing track of his surroundings for a time as he put one foot in front of the other.
When Triumph stopped, Dean almost ran into his back. Both of them would have been sent both tumbling if the older Ward hadn't put his hand out and caught him with his enhanced strength. His arm bulged with effort as he stopped Dean's momentum dead, and he murmured a thankyou as he looked around to get his bearings.
They had run far enough in just a few minutes to get clear of the most dilapidated areas of the city. They now stood in a well-lit street, the humble houses standing side by side with a defiant air to them. The region was still poor, but the residents clearly took some pride in their upkeep, the paint was fresh, and the gutters kept clean. The gunshots seemed to be coming from a grocery store at the end of the street, the large flat building's lights were out, but the occasional spark of a muzzle would have seared over his retinas were they not protected by his helmet.
As Dean focused his power to try and get a better view of what was inside he started murmuring to his colleague under his breath what he was seeing. The store seemed to his power to be a veritable hive of activity, strange figures with oddly muted auras of ivory frustration floated around the space, well above head height. Below them, 4 or 5 people showed normal intensity auras, mostly a mixture of magenta nervousness and olive green fear. The ones standing on the floor seemed to be looking around and at the ceiling, holding their hands out as if armed with guns, occasionally jumping slightly as something spooked them, their auras flickering mustard yellow as they fired.
Off to the side of the building, near the wall was a strange group that seemed out of place. Huddling down in the alley he saw several figures whose auras shone bright red with fear and pain. Motioning Triumph to follow, Dean moved cautiously over and stopped at the mouth of the alley. He raised his arms hesitantly, ready to blast someone with his power at a moment's notice. Next to him, Triumph took a deep breath in, readying his power as well. With a nod, Dean dove round the corner, only to stop in his tracks as he saw an impossible sight.
Floating about a foot off the ground in front of him, where 4 people wearing blindfolds with their hands and feet tied together behind their backs. They looked like they were being carried by a small group of people, but those people weren't there. From what little he could see of the captives their skin was dark and mottled with cuts and bruises from where they had been manhandled, and they had been pulled out of the grocery store through an impossibly smooth hole cut directly into the brickwork.
As he watched in amazement, the prisoners set down on the pavement, and the blindfolds pulled off by invisible hands that seemed not to have registered his presence. Triumph chose to come round the corner, just as the ropes that bound their hands started to unravel as well.
"What the fuck…" he said quietly, stepping up next to Dean, before snapping out of his confusion. Quickly radioing the situation to their back-up he rushed forwards to start helping people out of the bonds and moving them out of the alleyway, away from the fighting.
Dean sluggishly started moving to help, but as he came level with the strange hole in the wall, his attention was captured by something else. A new figure blazed into his vision. Their aura was like the sunrise, dominating his focus and demanding his recognition.
He had never, in all his short time with his power, seen anything like it. The person it belonged to was clearly small, perhaps 5 feet tall (it was difficult to tell as they were standing upside down on the ceiling somehow), but the aura gave no heed to their actual size. It expanded from them like a physical thing, stretching out at the edges at least 10 feet from her body before it finally faded away. The colours themselves were like a tapestry, a scintillating weave of passion and power that cloaked its owner in a gown fit for royalty. He stood transfixed as delicate spiral patterns gave way to smooth crystalline structures, before fading into strange fractal motifs.
The aura wasn't uniform in strength, he realised upon closer inspection. As the figure crept carefully across the ceiling, he noticed there was a stronger pulse of colours around their hands, a sort of helical spiral of warm oranges and loving burgundy, ringed with a protective bottle green. They looped into each, feeding back into each other in a never-ending spiral.
He felt himself falling deeper into the pattern, revelling in its rich complexity's and deep mysteries. He wanted to understand it, it was something so new and alien. He raised his foot to step into the dark of the store when suddenly and without warning, the aura disappeared.
He stumbled slightly as his thoughts cleared and panic took over. What the hell was that, some kind of insidious master effect? His mind was drawn back to Triumph's talk of subliminal messaging from earlier in the patrol, would he have to sit in isolation after debriefing when he explained what he saw?
"Hey!" he turned as Triumph's furious whisper carried across the night "Get your head out of your ass and help me move these people."
With a start, Dean lurched forward and grabbed a silently sobbing young woman under the arm, hauling her to her feet. The woman grabbed onto him around the waist, and he had to use all of his enhanced strength not to topple over as he helped another person find their footing. With his arms full, Dean struggled to carry them away from the alley, making his way through the floating ropes and blindfolds that just seemed to hang their from invisible hands, no longer moving now their purpose was met. Following in Triumph's footsteps he made his way back onto the main street, out of the corner of his eye he caught a bright flash as the impossibly bright aura reignited in a new position. Gritting his teeth, he did his best to ignore it, walking out into the road as their PRT escort skidded down the road, tyres screeching as the brakes hit the rubber.
The back of the van opened and 4 men in tactical gear rushed out, two were carrying rifles, while the other two held containment foam launchers. The heavy tanks attached to their backs peaked out over the top of their helmets had always struck Dean as slightly comical, a position he was revising as they moved, carefully and competently with an aura of red menace to cover the two Wards' retreat. Once behind the van, a fifth member of the team joined them.
"Armsmaster is 2 minutes out, orders are to stay put here and protect the civilians while we secure the scene." She said curtly as she began moving with practiced ease, checking each person over for life-threatening injuries, a flashlight held steady in one hand.
The sound of gunfire from inside the building had stopped now, and with a quick glance in that direction Dean saw that each of the shooters now lay on the floor, scattered and calm. He presumed they were unconscious, he had no idea if his power worked on the dead or dying, so he just hoped whatever they had been fighting was trying to be non-lethal.
Now the only people left in the fight appeared to be the strange floating figures and the disappearing sun. The floating figures moved through the warehouse methodically, sweeping around them with some kind of heavy weapon, clearly moving in some kind of search pattern. The sun, still shining brightly to his vision, but easier to avoid getting lost in it now he had some distance, was running all over the place to avoid the flying men. It dashed at incredible speeds, sometimes running straight up walls, often disappearing suddenly, only to reappear a moment later.
The stalemate continued for about thirty seconds before things changed. One of the floating figures tagged its opponent, seemingly by accident. All of the figures stopped where they were, before rushing to converge on the injured party. Dean stood up suddenly afraid for them, darting out of cover, ignoring the cry from the PRT agent and just managing to dodge triumph's hand as he reached out to grab him, he dashed into the road, heading for the door.
Without warning, there was a flash of white light so intense it faded blue at the edge, burning across his vision so bright that the cameras in his helmet struggled to compensate for it. There was a sudden sensation of heat that passed in front of him and the strong smell of ozone in the air. A figure was launched out of the shop, shattering the glass in the display window, its armoured bulk scorched black from whatever power that had just been unleashed.
It crashed into the floor about 20 feet from Dean, dropping a ten-foot-long barbed spear to the ground as it rolled and spun to a stop. He watched with horror as the man's aura flickered with turquoise shock and maroon pain. There was a new smell of melted flesh and seared skin that mingled with the heady scent of the storm in the air, tinged slightly with a hint of burned hair. The body was limp and unmoving, the heavy metal plates of its armour meant he couldn't tell whether it was still breathing.
The stillness of the moment was broken when a horde of ghostly apparitions streamed out of the shop window. They looked identical to the figure on the ground, though the armour was unblemished, and the spear was still clutched tightly in hand. Crusader he realised, remembering the dossier on the Empire cape. The man's spirit-like projections swooped down towards the street to grab the barely conscious cape and lifted him up into the night sky, narrowly avoiding a thick stream of containment foam that was sprayed by a nearby PRT agent.
There was a flurry of white, as spectral shapes took to the air carrying their load limply between them. Dean watched them float off into the darkness for a moment before turning back to face the shop. The aura inside was moving again, pulling itself slowly to its feet as golden… something spread through it. He frowned, wishing he could study it further, try and understand exactly what it meant, before it faded from the tapestry.
He stood in the entranceway, torchlight spilling over the broken shelves and pitted walls. The lights set into the ceiling flickered occasionally, though most were broken, their glass scattered around the space underfoot. The unconscious forms of several young men and women, probably not much older than himself were visible underneath the rubble of scattered cereal boxes and milk cartons.
Making her way through the damaged aisle was a girl. She was short, perhaps just over 5 feet tall, though the silver antlers attached to her metal helmet made her look several inches taller. She was wearing a tightly woven costume dyed a bright, cheerful pink, with black strips running through it. Over this were several metal armoured plates, seemingly attached directly to the costume and painted black. She was struggling to place something long and thin into a small pocket attached to her calf, cunningly hidden among the natural curves of her outfit. When she looked up at him, he saw twin reflections of himself mirrored in the metal of her mask, a mask that was beautifully decorated with fanciful whorls and swirls, woven together in a complex pattern and dotted with tiny gems.
She was so small and innocuous, it was impossible to reconcile her appearance with the fearsome tapestry of light that wove around her, its weave tortuously complex and eye-wateringly strange. He struggled to focus on her, the girl at the centre of this maelstrom as she waved a gloved hand and gave a little wave before speaking in a high-pitched voice.
"Hi, uhm, sorry about the mess."
Early chapter for you all this week, iv'e been isolating from Covid (tested negative so i'm fine) so I had a bit more writing time than usual, hence why this chapter is so much longer than usual.
Again, many thanks to ccstat for Beta reading this chapter, I struggled to edit it myself, just because it is so long, so you have them to thank for it not being riddled with punctuation errors.
hope you all enjoyed a little peak into Gallant's head and what is happening with the heroes. I actually wanted to cover more ground with this but it was already turning into a monster of a chapter so we will find out more about what's going on with New Wave in a Vicky interlude later on.
let me know what you think of this one, and hopefully I will have another chapter for you next week.
Maybe it was the military air to it? The frequent checkpoints where he had to stop and speak to PRT officers to confirm his identity and the reason for his visit was certainly a little off putting. But Dean was at least used to armed guards around him, as his father never went anywhere without a security detail. Too many people out to get him apparently, for him to feel safe without three or four bodyguards. So, he didn't think it was the guns or the strangely blank faceplates on the PRT body armour.
It could have been the cameras, every hallway had at least one or two, and he could sometimes hear them twisting in their recessed sockets as he passed, following his movements as he followed the directions on his phone to where he was supposed to be going. He didn't think so though, he was used to cameras by now. The paparazzi that hounded him his whole life had inured him by now to the strange feeling of being constantly observed.
No, the thing that bothered Dean, as the sound of his boots on the metal floor echoed around the narrow corridor, was how mundane everything was. This was the Protectorate's seat of power, their base, their castle. It loomed over the city like a watchful guardian with its shining forcefield acting like a beacon so that everyone knew the heroes were here. He was a little embarrassed to admit that he had expected something more… Heroic. Maybe a grand hall with circular table where the Heroes could sit and discuss how to the save the city. Perhaps complete with a voice activated super-computer built by Armsmaster. He kept expecting to walk past an armoury filled with strange and exotic weapons for tackling supervillains, or a trophy room with the captured masks of each criminal brought to justice.
Which was childish. Real heroes have backup from ordinary people, they have rules and oversight and they don't give in to their base impulses for grand displays of their accomplishments. His short stint in the Wards so far had taught him that the illusion of super-heroes, was just that. A fiction, a lie told to the masses to make them feel safer.
That wasn't to tear down the accomplishments they achieved. While it was disappointing to have his pre-conceived notions shattered, his respect for what the Protectorate accomplished in the face of impossible expectations had grown considerably since he gained his powers.
A swirl of colour in the outline of a person coalesced through the walls next to him as he carried on walking. The subtle hints of grey and green indicating tiredness and boredom. He studied it as he went past. As always, the aura hugged closely to the body of whoever projected it. Remembering what Miss Militia had told him he tried to pick out details of the person based on what he saw. They were taller than him, maybe 6 foot or so, that combined with the body shape made him think they were male. The aura was stable, sometimes he saw it flicker quickly between colours, but the lack of any swirls, eddies or temperamental movement, made him think this was another PRT officer.
The colours were uniform, spread evenly across the whole body, he wasn't sure yet what that meant, he had been trying to puzzle out what different colours in different places signified for a little while now, but hadn't had much luck. It could just be something unique to the individuals he looked at. Most people he looked at had fairly even Auras. Some of the heroes' were a bit wilder, like Assault or Velocity. The former's was almost energetic, protruding a little further from his body than most people, the colours would swirl around him like a lava lamp. The speedster's was different again, in that it was patchy, certain areas seemed blank, the colour only occasionally bleeding into those dimmer areas.
It was a strange conundrum, one he was keeping to himself for the moment. He wasn't sure what it signified, especially as not all of the heroes were like that. Most of them had some strange aspect to their aura, but Triumph and Battery looked the same as any of the officers did to his power. Not for the first time Dean wished to be able to see what his own aura looked like. After first gaining his powers he had stared in the mirror for hours, trying to get some glimpse at his own emotional topography. Unfortunately, his power didn't work like that and without that baseline, interpreting other people became so much harder.
He walked past an intersection and glanced down it at the large officer in full armour standing guard outside of a heavy door. Stopping only to quietly congratulate himself for getting things right Dean continued on his way, further into the heart of the Rig.
*** *** ***
After another 15 minutes of searching through the building, he eventually came to the place he was looking for. The entrance to Armsmaster's lab wasn't that extra-ordinary, the metal on the door was slightly thicker, the lock a bit heavier duty, but overall, it seemed relatively normal. Well, aside from the host of carefully placed warning stickers and signs indicating the presence of heavy machinery, lasers, explosives, high energy systems and nuclear material in the rooms beyond.
As he approached, Dean noticed a small red light shine from the camera above the arch, and the door slid open noiselessly at his approach. Stepping into the brightly lit room he felt a smile cross his face unbidden as he looked around.
This was definitely more of what he expected from the headquarters of the Protectorate, the sleek machinery set into place at the walls, the racks of impossible looking tools above empty workbenches, the neatly organised finished projects in glass cases, carefully labelled of course. Despite the level of detail and work done to make it as practical a space as possible, there was an air of mystery to it that could not be denied. Not even by the fastidious placement of neatly written and laminated index cards, or the heavy user manuals for the more mundane pieces of equipment.
Standing to the side of one of the doors leading further into the laboratory was the reason Dean was here. Walking over until he was opposite the case, he examined it carefully. Standing ever so slightly taller than he was, the grey-silver power armour rested on a special stand, its heavy metal plates hiding rows of recessed lights that would light up like stars. The helmet was designed to cover his entire face, the long horizontal slit across his eyes reminiscent of a renaissance era closed helmet, though instead of an empty space it was filled with cameras and more lights, creating a sealed environment that recycled his own breath for up to half an hour, according to the technical documentation he had been sent the night before.
It was a beautiful piece of work, even if it was far simpler than Armsmaster's usual creations, that streamlined sense of purpose was still present, heightened even, given that so many of the bells and whistles were missing. Dean felt a little conflicted over receiving the armour; on the one hand, he desperately wanted it, he had worn it once before, for the photoshoots before his announcement as a Ward and he had loved the feeling of strength and security it gave him, even when it was still partially unfinished. It was designed to keep him safe, but it would also give him the strength to help, and that was an intoxicating feeling. But, it had also been paid for by his father, a 'gift' to Armsmaster, a generous donation to increase his tinkering budget in return for keeping his son safe, creating and maintaining his armour, showing favouritism.
That had always made Dean uncomfortable, he hated being singled out by his family's wealth. It always forced a distance between him and his peers, as if they thought he considered himself better than them for coming from money. He didn't want the other Wards to feel left out or overlooked on account of his father. Rory understood of course, his father wasn't as rich as Dean's but political connections could have the same chilling effect on friendships. He got it in a way that Dean didn't think the others did, especially Carlos, who would ripple with purple frustration whenever the topic of family and money came up. He hid it well, laughing and joking and swapping stories, but it was there under the surface.
He had tried to talk to him about it, a couple of weeks ago. Tried to clear the air, explain the situation, and reach common ground, anything really. He had been met with a stony silence, an impassive Carlos staring at him as his roiling emotions flickered deeper and deeper with that rich purple, before the older boy had rested a hand on his shoulder and told him to drop it, before drifting away.
The sound of voices from the room next door drew Dean's attention away from the silver power armour and his repressed guilt over it. The slight gap in the open doorway allowed him to catch drifts of conversation from down the hallway. Pushing further in he started to see the familiar unsteady outline of sky-blue focus that meant Armsmaster was present. Heading further in, the aura becoming clearer as he drew closer until he was just outside the door, his curiosity got the better of him and he stopped to listen.
"… Sample 13 is an interesting one, representing an interesting solution to the possibility of fighting capes that manipulate metal." A female voice with a slight accent that Dean couldn't place came through the door, confusing him for a moment, as there was no second aura.
"The chemical reaction it creates is fast yes, but I don't see anything too unusual about it that would warrant further attention. Not compared to the heat resistant ice formed by sample 11." Came the gruff response from Armsmaster, the outline of his aura showed him stood over a bench, his arms resting on something that Dean could not see, his attention focused in front of him.
"I take it you haven't tested the sample yet?" The woman's voice replied "The reaction appears mundane at first glance, but when you expose iron to the sample, then test the result you find that it hasn't rusted."
"What do you mean?" the outline of Armsmaster had shifted now, looking away from the table and standing up straight to look at the wall across from the door.
"The metal is weakened and corroded similar to rusting, but an entirely different chemical process has taken place. Instead of forming any of the typical iron-hydroxide molecules you would expect, it forms complex bonds with atmospheric nitrogen and carbon, rapidly creating stable crystalline flakes of material that look like rust."
"Fascinating." The response from Armsmaster corresponded with a subtle shift in his aura, a gentle gold tinge that spread slowly through it from his head downwards. "Where you able to get any good data as to how the sample was originally formed?"
"Better." The voice came again, this time Dean recognised the accent as Canadian, "I've replicated it."
There was a pause that stretched out for a moment, the gold in Armsmaster's aura seemed to diminish for a moment, before resurging brightly, now surrounded by bright silver determination. "Congratulations, even for you, that is extraordinarily fast to reverse engineer another's tinker tech."
"Thank you, but I don't know that is merited in this situation," came the demure response, Dean shuffled a little closer to the door and was able to spot a computer monitor through the gap, the monitor displayed a brown haired woman's face smiling gently at Armsmaster, who was wearing a dark blue exercise outfit and a simple domino mask.
Dean missed the next part of the conversation, as he pulled back when he realised, he had been eavesdropping on a conversation between Armsmaster and Dragon. Dragon was perhaps the world's greatest tinker, responsible for the creation of the containment foam used by PRT agents to subdue villains and entrusted with the computer systems across the PRT and Protectorate bases without tinkers of their own. She was reclusive, apparently never leaving her home in Canada.
He mentally kicked himself for snooping, his curiosity had gotten the better of him again and now here he was sneaking around PHQ, listening in on heroes' private conversations. He was supposed to be better than this, he had promised himself he would be better than this. What if he had overheard someone's identity? Or some other important secret he wasn't cleared for. It was a stupid mistake that could kill his hero career before he got started, and if he didn't have that then it was straight back to his dad's company just like the man had clearly intended when he bought Dean's power.
Dean stared at the door for a moment in indecision. He could knock and reveal he was there, accept the punishment for listening in, or he could sneak back to the main room and wait for Armsmaster to join him, like he should have done in the first place. He wanted to slink away, to hide, avoid punishment, but no. He had decided to be better, there was no hiding behind his father's wealth and position this time. This wasn't like Mrs. Agaton's window, or when Jason took him for a joyride in his dad's car. He was going to own up to his mistakes and start being a better person.
He raised his hand to knock on the door, hesitating for just a second before steeling himself. From inside he could just make out more of the conversation he was about to interrupt.
"… Which is why I think it's more likely a novel approach to chemistry, from a different developmental perspective, rather than highly advanced technology using the same basic principles, like most tinker tech. But we can discuss this later, as Gallant has been waiting patiently outside the lab for us to finish for some time now."
Dean startled a little, as the door in front of him slid open before he could knock on it. He looked up slightly at the impassive face of the leader of the local Protectorate who was looking down at him, his expression blank but his aura a muted green. Dean thought that was maybe disgruntlement, but he hadn't seen it often enough to be sure.
"Gallant, you should have waited in the main chamber." He said levelly, his voice not betraying any of the emotion that surrounded him in Dean's vision.
"Sorry, sir." He managed to say a little weakly. There was a presence to the man, even outside of his midnight blue power armour. It was an aura of its own, different to the emotional one Dean could see, that just seemed to say 'I am in control'. Dean wasn't sure if it was the way he carried himself, or something about how he spoke with little inflection or wasted niceties, but no matter what he saw in the man's emotional spectrum, his iron self-control never wavered. "I came to pick up the power armour. You told me it would be ready today and Triumph wants to run a patrol with me tonight."
There was a slight frown from Armsmaster at that, his head turned slightly as his eyes flickered behind him to the screen where Dragon was looking on, slightly amused. "Go ahead" she told him, "You can call me back afterwards."
With a grunt of acknowledgment, he nodded and gestured for Dean to head back the way he came, towards the main laboratory. Taking that cue, the teenager turned on his heel and retreated, followed closely by the older hero.
"What is the reason for running a patrol tonight, I did not believe you were assigned one until Tuesday?" he asked Dean as he begun the process of removing the armour from the stand so it could be donned.
"It's my first non-PR patrol sir, Triumph thought it would be best for me to learn the ropes on a quieter shift, Sunday night typically sees a lower crime rate, coupled with the fact that school is out tomorrow for teacher training it seemed the best time sir."
Armsmaster nodded, his muted green aura fading away to a patchy lavender, which meant he was satisfied with the answer. They spent the next 30 minutes putting on and taking off the armour multiple times, until the tinker was satisfied that Dean could do it properly and by himself. When the man finally authorised the equipment to be left in his care, he almost tripped over himself in his haste to make an exit.
*** *** ***
The Wards common room was a large, semi-circular space with a domed roof set in one of the subterranean layers of the PRT building downtown. It was set up on one side with comfortable couches, a large TV and speakers, with a door to a small kitchenette containing a range, fridge, freezer and microwave.
The other side of the room was dominated by the console used for monitoring Ward patrols. Dean had only been on that duty once so far. Carlos had shadowed him while he manned the phones for Triumph and Clockblocker, and he appreciated the complexity of the role. The other boys on the team seemed to view it with some distaste, but Dean could see how it was an important tool for learning how to communicate as a team. Though he did struggle with being unable to see people's aura's on the body cameras.
The middle of the room was mostly clear, save for a couple of desks with comfy chairs set out so they could finish up homework, one of the tables had a map of the city printed onto it, to make it easier to plot out patrol routes. Though that was just an exercise for Rory, as all of their routes had to be approved by the PRT.
It was a little weird moving around this space in his power armour, Armsmaster had told him to wear it for the rest of the day, to get fully used to it before taking it on patrol. So, he was practicing walking around the space and interacting with things with his increased weight and slightly enhanced strength. He felt clumsy, like a new-born foal at his father's stables. Dennis wasn't helping, he had taken it upon himself to make sure Dean was truly able to manoeuvre nimbly, and had turned every part of the common room into a makeshift obstacle course.
Time-locked items hung at awkward positions, or rested on the ground underfoot, ready to trip him or make him fumble his movements. He had been mostly able to keep his feet, but the few times he had stacked it into the floor he had been met with Dennis's high pitched, slightly mocking laughter.
Dean bit back another curse as he his feet slipped on another time-stopped marble, a glance to the side revealed Dennis, his emergency domino mask hanging around his neck for easy access, but otherwise not in costume, sitting on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn watching him. The red-head waved cheerily at him, and Dean struggled to resist giving him the middle finger in response.
Dennis was a difficult one, about Dean's age more or less, he had been on the team for maybe a month when Dean joined up. If the other two's reactions were anything to go by, they were grateful that the two of them were not anything alike. Dennis was a jokester, he liked to prank the others and tell jokes. Which would have been fine if his sense of humour didn't have a cruel streak to it that sometimes turned ugly.
Still, Dean tried his best to look past it, as the other boy was clearly struggling with something. His aura rarely showed any lilac mirth, instead it was frequently a mottled mess of dark black despair and ochre worry. Even when his tricks turned cruel, Dean could never sense any crimson malice from him. Usually it just variations on grey confusion.
Even though he was determined not to lash out at him, that didn't mean that he wanted to stay here and endure more of Dennis's mockery. Slowly and carefully, only slipping a few times on frictionless sheets of paper, he made his way over to the hallway near the console machine. This took him deeper into the area set aside for the Wards, up ahead he could see the changing rooms that would take him to the sparring chamber and exercise room. He could just about make out the faint outline of Rory, lifting weights in the gym, his aura a royal purple of happiness.
Turning, being careful not to scratch the paint of the reinforced concrete walls with his armour, Dean headed past the changing rooms, and towards his personal room. There was one for each of the Wards, and about 5 extra ones in case they ever received more members. Carefully grabbing the handle (he had already accidentally deformed two today with his improved grip and was determined not to make this one the third) he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Reaching up to release the catches on his helmet, he pulled it off and shook his head free. The thing was surprisingly comfortable, but it still took a lot of getting used to. He enjoyed the moment of feeling fresher air on his face, before carefully setting down the helmet on the small table next to the bed.
He looked around the space, the bright LED bulb in the ceiling a poor substitute for natural sunlight. There was a narrow bed tucked up alongside one wall, its hard mattress covered in plain white sheets and bedding. Above it was a poster, a gift from Vicky before they started dating. It was one of the few promotional shots of New Wave from a couple of years ago, before things started going downhill for the independent hero team.
On the right stood Lady Photon and Manpower, his girlfriend's Aunt and Uncle struck traditionally heroic poses, their bodies angled slightly away from each other as they looked down at the camera. Next to them, in the centre was Brandish and Flashbang. Vicky's parents looked a little less polished, Flashbang was a little stooped, a little dour, and Brandish was too stiff. Though he may have been projecting that based on what he knew having met them. Next to them, standing with bright smiles on their faces, were Fleur and Lightstar.
He had taken the poster down from his bedroom wall only a couple of months after Vicky gave it to him. The night he heard about Fleur's murder by that Empire wannabe. It had hit Vicky hard, straining their friendship and he didn't want the reminder of what she had lost hanging over her. But when he joined the Wards, he dug it out again. He put it up here as something to aspire to, but far away from where his girlfriend was likely to see it. Even two years later he knew those wounds were still raw.
The rest of his walls were still bare, having not had much time to decorate them yet. Opposite the bed was a large wardrobe with a full-length mirror on the outside door. The wardrobe was built into the walls, and his included a secure place to store his armour safely between patrols.
The bright light reflected off the mirror, lending a strange depth to the room and making it feel larger as he slowly sat down on the bed. The springs creaked and groaned underneath the bulk of his suit, but the structure held. He sat for a moment staring at himself in the mirror, his eyes moving instinctively to look for the edges, the first bleeding of colour that came off a person that told him how they were feeling. Off course there was nothing, there never was when he looked at himself, but it was still an automatic reaction.
It was kind of unnerving just how quickly he had come to rely upon his power. Just 6 weeks since he acquired it and already it had turned everything upside down. His friends from school were worried about him, how he had drawn away from them as he tried to get to grips with everything he saw. It was part of why he insisted on joining the Wards, despite his father's protests, he needed someone, anyone who he could talk to about what he was seeing. He couldn't turn his powers off, and even now, sat in this room he could see vague shapes and outlines of his fellow wards through the walls.
Vicky tried to help him with it, but her family didn't have any thinker powers, and she herself hadn't triggered yet. Understanding having a power and what it entailed was one thing, but there was a big difference between what he did and what her family was capable of. He had tried opening up to her, but it was difficult. There were things he couldn't say, things he wasn't allowed to share and secrets he couldn't spill as to how he gained his powers. While he could obfuscate the exact nature of his trigger, she knew him well enough to know when he was hiding something. The pale pink disappointment she projected whenever he lied about his origin, however, was nothing to the dark brown jealousy she tried to smother whenever they talked about it.
It was an awful thing, to know that you had the one thing your partner really wanted, the thing that would make them feel complete, whole or valuable, and you couldn't give it to them.
Dean was unable to stay wallowing in his thoughts. Before long he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Servos moved seamlessly and springs groaned as he rose to his feet, there was a familiar dark aura standing outside his room so he swung the door open and stood face to face with Dennis.
"Boss called all hands to the common room." The red-head told him, as he took a casual glance inside Dean's room. He shifted his weight slightly in order to block his team-mates view and frowned slightly.
"What's going on? I didn't think we had anything scheduled this afternoon."
"Meet and greet with a potential recruit." Dennis replied, pushing off the door and spinning around to head back the way he came. Dean moved to head after him, then remembered he wasn't wearing his helmet, so quickly dashed back inside to grab it off the small table. Exiting the room, he grabbed the door handle and tried to swing it shut, but found it stuck. He gripped the handle harder and pulled, using the full strength of his armour. There was a creaking sound, but still no movement. Running his fingers carefully across the surface of the door he found it strangely frictionless.
Looking over his shoulder Dean caught a small flash of red, Dennis was standing at the end of the corridor smirking at him while he fiddled with his domino mask. The dark boiling clouds of depression that spun around his aura brightened slightly with a forest green amusement, causing Dean to pause. Slowly he let go of the deformed door handle, as well as the anger that had been mounting at his teammate.
"Nice one." Was all he said, with a slight nod, leaving the door open in its stuck position. There was nothing important in there at the moment, and if this was helping Dennis forget his problems then he could afford to be the butt of the joke for a little while.
*** *** ***
The only thing Dean could think of while looking at the green-eyed, blue aura-ed girl standing in the Wards common room was how young she looked. She was short, with wavy blonde hair that tinged brown under the harsh lights of the room, and she was staring up at the assembled Wards with a strange combination of hesitance and hero-worship on her face.
In her hands she was clutching the plain white domino mask she had removed just a few moments ago when she introduced herself as Missy Biron. She had entered the room accompanied by Battery, who had encouraged her to introduce herself to the team, before retreating to stand guard just outside of the main entrance. Dean could see the faint outline of wary cyan intermingling with hopeful tan as she waited outside in case of an emergency.
He gave a quick glance at the rest of his teammates, Carlos and Rory had already unmasked and introduced themselves, the former was floating a little stiffly a couple of inches of the ground, one hand still clutching the towel he had grabbed before leaving the gym. His aura was the usual patchy mix of greys and browns a palate of quiet despair. Dean tied not to look too closely, he didn't want to repeat the last conversation they had about his colleague's emotional state.
Rory on the other hand looked relaxed, his aura was a gentle gold, shining with steady confidence. He stood with his body loose, hands held comfortably at his side, giving the girl an easy smile in an attempt to not look intimidating. It probably wasn't working given that Rory stood close to a foot and a half taller than Missy and was built like a line-backer.
Hoping to help with some of his new teammate's nervousness, Dean slowly sank down onto one knee in front of her, the servos in his suit whirring slightly as they fought to keep him balanced. With slow and careful movements he reached up to his helmet and pulled it off, instinctively shaking his head a little and blinking at the slight change in light.
"Hi," he said, offering her a smile "I'm Dean Stansfield, it's nice to meet you Missy." There was a faint bleed of pink embarrassment into the girl's aura as he met her gaze. She stared at him for a second before thrusting her hand out awkwardly, gently he took it and carefully shook her hand. When he took it back and stood up the pink had spread until it dominated her aura.
Dennis made his own introduction with far less ceremony, and after that the 5 of them were stood awkwardly in silence as each person struggled in turn to find something to say. Dean was saved from struggling to make small talk with a pre-teen by the sudden buzzing of his phone, the vibrations rattled against his armour taking him by surprise.
The continued sound echoed around the space as he struggled with his armour to access the recessed pocket he had placed it in. The clumsy fumbling elicited a couple of nervous chuckles from the group before he was finally able to extricate it. Looking down at the screen he saw a picture of his girlfriend blowing him a kiss.
"I should probably take this guys, its Vicky," he said apologetically to the others. Dennis made a whipping motion with one hand mockingly, but Rory just waved him off with a sympathetic look. Hurrying away towards the kitchenette and the refuge of solitude he picked up the call.
"Finally, I thought you were ignoring me!" came the dulcet tones of his girlfriend through the receiver.
"Now isn't a great time Vic." He tried to explain to her as he pushed open the door to the tiny cooking space. But before he could get any further, he was interrupted.
"You will not believe what my mom just said to me, it was so insensitive." Her voice was raspy as if she had recently been shouting at someone, as she started ranting on the other end of the phone. Dean stifled a groan, he loved Vicky, he really did, but for some reason she decided that since they were dating, she had to tell him about every single aspect of her day. Sometimes in real time.
"…and I said she should just tell me about it, because what if I need something similar to get my own powers, do you know what she said to that?" Vicky said, breathless with indignation. "She told me if that was the case, she would rather I never got powers! Can you believe it?"
"Vicky!" He finally managed to interject.
"What?" was her confused response. He hated this, talking on the phone. Trying to talk to her when she was like this was akin to moving through a minefield wearing a blindfold, and that was when he could see her emotions. On the phone it was 10 times worse.
"I'm sure she didn't mean to upset you, but can we please talk about this later, it's really not a good time right now… fuck." The dial tone ringing in his ear told him that she had hung up on him, never a good sign. Briefly he considered calling her back, despite just saying that he couldn't talk right now, but he didn't want to send mixed signals. Running an armoured hand through his hair in frustration, the cold metal a soothing balm against his scalp, he stood still for a second and tried to think.
After some further indecision, he eventually sighed, placed his phone away and made his way back out into the common room. This was his team and he needed to be present and in the moment to try and make sure everyone got along, and that Dennis didn't stick his foot in his mouth too badly. First impressions were important after all.
*** *** ***
"I'm just saying, it feels like a strange decision, I don't think Tinkers are necessarily less scary or threatening than Masters."
Dean was silent as he strode carefully yet confidently down the street. The bottom of his metal boots were carefully muffled, meaning there was only the smallest sound as his feet hit tarmac. He kept his head moving, like he had been shown by the PRT agents who trained him, making sure to cover as much of the street as possible, whilst trying to make the movement look natural. Occasionally he would see a vague outline of a person, huddled in the dark alleyways between old buildings. Some were curled up under makeshift blankets while others gathered together in small circles.
Beside him stood Rory, resplendent in his white and gold Triumph costume, the lion headed pauldrons polished to a bright sheen that was almost as dazzling as the tight bodysuit that was cunningly armoured to enhance his already muscular frame. The older Ward walked with a confident ease, unperturbed by the broken windows and flickering street lights that surrounded them.
"I mean, sure Masters can be scary, but most can't affect humans, and those that can usually aren't Heartbreaker, or anything near his level." The team leader continued, his voice deepened artificially by his power compared to how he normally spoke. "Tinkers though, they are scary because they could be anything. Their versatility means they can mimic any other threat category. And the ones that chose to be Masters, those are usually the worst. I mean did you hear about Tryllebinde?"
Dean looked over at his friend, noting the silver curiosity in his stable aura, tinged only with orange alertness. "He was the guy who escaped from the Bergen containment zone right?" He asked after a moment wracking his memories for where he had heard the name before. He wasn't very aware of the cape scene outside of the United States and Canada, but he was vaguely aware that this individual had been in the news recently.
Triumph nodded at him, the heavy mane attached to his lion headed helmet shook and bristled in an almost life-like motion. "He was killed 2 days ago by a strike team of Israeli military capes."
"Why were the Israeli military involved? I thought Tryllebinde was from Holland?" Dean replied, a small frown marring his face, invisible under his heavy armour.
"Norway actually." Triumph corrected him, "and that area has a lot going on right now, with the Simurgh containment zone around Bergen and those 2 assassin capes that have shown up, the emergency government asked for foreign aid in hunting down S class threats in the region. It's been all over the news."
"Ok, so what made this guy scary enough that he was hunted down before the pale ladies?"
"He took over the entire town of Molde, about 40,000 people." This made Gallant stop for a moment, there was slight screeching sound of metal on asphalt as his feet caught on the ground. He tried to contemplate how one person could manage such a thing and he just kept coming up blank.
"But the truly weird part about it, is that no-one, inside the town or out, realised he was in charge." Triumph continued, in the tone of voice usually reserved for telling ghost stories around a campfire. "People just went around their daily business, while also following his orders to fortify the position."
"Wait, how is that even possible?" Dean asked.
"It's being kept pretty hush, probably the only people who actually know are the one that took him down." Triumph said, leaning in a bit closer to Dean, conspiratorially. "But the current theory is that he had some kind of subliminal messaging technology, and that he specialised in hijacking communications."
Dean felt a shiver go down his spine as the implications wormed through his brain. Triumph had straightened up again to his full height and was still talking quietly. "Which is why I think it's weird they are having you pretend to be a Tinker, you still alter people's emotions with your blasts, it's just going to lead to online speculation about what you could do, if you stopped holding back."
"I think it's just being used as a justification as to why I have power armour and the other Wards don't. So that it doesn't look unfair on the others." Dean replied, feeling a little awkward, like he usually did whenever the topic strayed towards his family's wealth or status.
Triumph just waved away that explanation, his hands making an expansive, dismissive gesture as he said "It's not like Aegis or I actually need it though, and Clockblocker has already shown how good he is at protecting himself with his power, it could easily be spun as just something you have to do to protect the thinker."
"And what about the new girl? Shaker 9 should probably have some power armour under those criteria, right?"
"Come on, it's not like an 11-year-old is going to do active patrols or see combat, even in Brockton Bay I can't see the PRT okaying that."
The two of them settled into an easy silence after that, their patrol taking them further away from the brightly lit, secure parts of downtown and deeper into contested territory. The buildings without the scars of cape combat, or bullet holes in the brick work came fewer and further between. The empty looking warehouses stood ominously, their dark bulk obscuring the night sky as they towered over the streets, their shadows growing deeper the further they ventured in.
What few shops were still operating, were heavily protected by dull metal shutters and heavy bars over the windows in an attempt to dissuade looters. The occasional flashing red light revealed heavy duty CCTV cameras bolted to walls, and the flashlight built into Dean's helmet occasionally illuminated empty brackets where cameras had ripped out of their sockets, the trailing wires left behind, dangling forlornly.
It was an unusual patrol route, taking them through the very outskirts of the docks and brushing up against Empire territory on the far side. The Wards usually limited themselves to the more photo-friendly areas of the city, but Rory had insisted that he at least be familiar with the more dangerous areas. They weren't out here alone of course. A couple of streets over a van full of PRT agents was trailing their position, and Armsmaster was also patrolling in this area, criss-crossing their route as he moved through the city on his motorbike so that they would occasionally catch a glimpse of his midnight blue armour.
Still, it was hard not to feel alone amongst the oppressive architecture, the occasional sounds nearby but beyond the range of his power, just served to heighten the feeling of paranoia, that there was something out there coiling in the darkness waiting to pounce. It was always a relief when blurry and indistinct auras did emerge from the shadows, letting him see that there were no nightmares here, just people.
"Wait" Dean looked over as his companion lifted up a hand and stopped walking, "do you hear that?"
Dean tilted his head, listening intently, the street was still and quiet like a graveyard but off in the distance he could hear the occasional bark of gunfire splitting the night sky. "I think it's coming from that direction." He said, pointing down a dimly lit street away from the docks and closer to Empire territory.
"Console, this is Triumph. We are hearing sustained gunfire coming from southwest of our position, requesting permission to deviate from route and investigate." Dean heard Rory speaking into the radio built into his mask. There were a couple of second of static before the response.
"Triumph this is console, you are clear to investigate, but do not engage. Your escort will join you shortly. If attacked retreat to the position I am marking for you now." Dean was momentarily startled by the ping that updated the small map of the streets on his Heads Up Display. Still not used to the function he struggled for a moment to minimise it again before hurrying to catch up with Rory, who had taken off down the street.
Dean wasn't in bad shape, he worked out semi-regularly before gaining his powers and since joining the Wards he had been taking that more seriously. However, there is a key difference between running normally, and running wearing a full suit of power armour. Even with the cunning distribution of weight and powerful electronic motors aiding his movement, his steps felt laboured and clumsy, like he could topple at any moment. This meant that he was forced to concentrate heavily in just staying upright, losing track of his surroundings for a time as he put one foot in front of the other.
When Triumph stopped, Dean almost ran into his back. Both of them would have been sent both tumbling if the older Ward hadn't put his hand out and caught him with his enhanced strength. His arm bulged with effort as he stopped Dean's momentum dead, and he murmured a thankyou as he looked around to get his bearings.
They had run far enough in just a few minutes to get clear of the most dilapidated areas of the city. They now stood in a well-lit street, the humble houses standing side by side with a defiant air to them. The region was still poor, but the residents clearly took some pride in their upkeep, the paint was fresh, and the gutters kept clean. The gunshots seemed to be coming from a grocery store at the end of the street, the large flat building's lights were out, but the occasional spark of a muzzle would have seared over his retinas were they not protected by his helmet.
As Dean focused his power to try and get a better view of what was inside he started murmuring to his colleague under his breath what he was seeing. The store seemed to his power to be a veritable hive of activity, strange figures with oddly muted auras of ivory frustration floated around the space, well above head height. Below them, 4 or 5 people showed normal intensity auras, mostly a mixture of magenta nervousness and olive green fear. The ones standing on the floor seemed to be looking around and at the ceiling, holding their hands out as if armed with guns, occasionally jumping slightly as something spooked them, their auras flickering mustard yellow as they fired.
Off to the side of the building, near the wall was a strange group that seemed out of place. Huddling down in the alley he saw several figures whose auras shone bright red with fear and pain. Motioning Triumph to follow, Dean moved cautiously over and stopped at the mouth of the alley. He raised his arms hesitantly, ready to blast someone with his power at a moment's notice. Next to him, Triumph took a deep breath in, readying his power as well. With a nod, Dean dove round the corner, only to stop in his tracks as he saw an impossible sight.
Floating about a foot off the ground in front of him, where 4 people wearing blindfolds with their hands and feet tied together behind their backs. They looked like they were being carried by a small group of people, but those people weren't there. From what little he could see of the captives their skin was dark and mottled with cuts and bruises from where they had been manhandled, and they had been pulled out of the grocery store through an impossibly smooth hole cut directly into the brickwork.
As he watched in amazement, the prisoners set down on the pavement, and the blindfolds pulled off by invisible hands that seemed not to have registered his presence. Triumph chose to come round the corner, just as the ropes that bound their hands started to unravel as well.
"What the fuck…" he said quietly, stepping up next to Dean, before snapping out of his confusion. Quickly radioing the situation to their back-up he rushed forwards to start helping people out of the bonds and moving them out of the alleyway, away from the fighting.
Dean sluggishly started moving to help, but as he came level with the strange hole in the wall, his attention was captured by something else. A new figure blazed into his vision. Their aura was like the sunrise, dominating his focus and demanding his recognition.
He had never, in all his short time with his power, seen anything like it. The person it belonged to was clearly small, perhaps 5 feet tall (it was difficult to tell as they were standing upside down on the ceiling somehow), but the aura gave no heed to their actual size. It expanded from them like a physical thing, stretching out at the edges at least 10 feet from her body before it finally faded away. The colours themselves were like a tapestry, a scintillating weave of passion and power that cloaked its owner in a gown fit for royalty. He stood transfixed as delicate spiral patterns gave way to smooth crystalline structures, before fading into strange fractal motifs.
The aura wasn't uniform in strength, he realised upon closer inspection. As the figure crept carefully across the ceiling, he noticed there was a stronger pulse of colours around their hands, a sort of helical spiral of warm oranges and loving burgundy, ringed with a protective bottle green. They looped into each, feeding back into each other in a never-ending spiral.
He felt himself falling deeper into the pattern, revelling in its rich complexity's and deep mysteries. He wanted to understand it, it was something so new and alien. He raised his foot to step into the dark of the store when suddenly and without warning, the aura disappeared.
He stumbled slightly as his thoughts cleared and panic took over. What the hell was that, some kind of insidious master effect? His mind was drawn back to Triumph's talk of subliminal messaging from earlier in the patrol, would he have to sit in isolation after debriefing when he explained what he saw?
"Hey!" he turned as Triumph's furious whisper carried across the night "Get your head out of your ass and help me move these people."
With a start, Dean lurched forward and grabbed a silently sobbing young woman under the arm, hauling her to her feet. The woman grabbed onto him around the waist, and he had to use all of his enhanced strength not to topple over as he helped another person find their footing. With his arms full, Dean struggled to carry them away from the alley, making his way through the floating ropes and blindfolds that just seemed to hang their from invisible hands, no longer moving now their purpose was met. Following in Triumph's footsteps he made his way back onto the main street, out of the corner of his eye he caught a bright flash as the impossibly bright aura reignited in a new position. Gritting his teeth, he did his best to ignore it, walking out into the road as their PRT escort skidded down the road, tyres screeching as the brakes hit the rubber.
The back of the van opened and 4 men in tactical gear rushed out, two were carrying rifles, while the other two held containment foam launchers. The heavy tanks attached to their backs peaked out over the top of their helmets had always struck Dean as slightly comical, a position he was revising as they moved, carefully and competently with an aura of red menace to cover the two Wards' retreat. Once behind the van, a fifth member of the team joined them.
"Armsmaster is 2 minutes out, orders are to stay put here and protect the civilians while we secure the scene." She said curtly as she began moving with practiced ease, checking each person over for life-threatening injuries, a flashlight held steady in one hand.
The sound of gunfire from inside the building had stopped now, and with a quick glance in that direction Dean saw that each of the shooters now lay on the floor, scattered and calm. He presumed they were unconscious, he had no idea if his power worked on the dead or dying, so he just hoped whatever they had been fighting was trying to be non-lethal.
Now the only people left in the fight appeared to be the strange floating figures and the disappearing sun. The floating figures moved through the warehouse methodically, sweeping around them with some kind of heavy weapon, clearly moving in some kind of search pattern. The sun, still shining brightly to his vision, but easier to avoid getting lost in it now he had some distance, was running all over the place to avoid the flying men. It dashed at incredible speeds, sometimes running straight up walls, often disappearing suddenly, only to reappear a moment later.
The stalemate continued for about thirty seconds before things changed. One of the floating figures tagged its opponent, seemingly by accident. All of the figures stopped where they were, before rushing to converge on the injured party. Dean stood up suddenly afraid for them, darting out of cover, ignoring the cry from the PRT agent and just managing to dodge triumph's hand as he reached out to grab him, he dashed into the road, heading for the door.
Without warning, there was a flash of white light so intense it faded blue at the edge, burning across his vision so bright that the cameras in his helmet struggled to compensate for it. There was a sudden sensation of heat that passed in front of him and the strong smell of ozone in the air. A figure was launched out of the shop, shattering the glass in the display window, its armoured bulk scorched black from whatever power that had just been unleashed.
It crashed into the floor about 20 feet from Dean, dropping a ten-foot-long barbed spear to the ground as it rolled and spun to a stop. He watched with horror as the man's aura flickered with turquoise shock and maroon pain. There was a new smell of melted flesh and seared skin that mingled with the heady scent of the storm in the air, tinged slightly with a hint of burned hair. The body was limp and unmoving, the heavy metal plates of its armour meant he couldn't tell whether it was still breathing.
The stillness of the moment was broken when a horde of ghostly apparitions streamed out of the shop window. They looked identical to the figure on the ground, though the armour was unblemished, and the spear was still clutched tightly in hand. Crusader he realised, remembering the dossier on the Empire cape. The man's spirit-like projections swooped down towards the street to grab the barely conscious cape and lifted him up into the night sky, narrowly avoiding a thick stream of containment foam that was sprayed by a nearby PRT agent.
There was a flurry of white, as spectral shapes took to the air carrying their load limply between them. Dean watched them float off into the darkness for a moment before turning back to face the shop. The aura inside was moving again, pulling itself slowly to its feet as golden… something spread through it. He frowned, wishing he could study it further, try and understand exactly what it meant, before it faded from the tapestry.
He stood in the entranceway, torchlight spilling over the broken shelves and pitted walls. The lights set into the ceiling flickered occasionally, though most were broken, their glass scattered around the space underfoot. The unconscious forms of several young men and women, probably not much older than himself were visible underneath the rubble of scattered cereal boxes and milk cartons.
Making her way through the damaged aisle was a girl. She was short, perhaps just over 5 feet tall, though the silver antlers attached to her metal helmet made her look several inches taller. She was wearing a tightly woven costume dyed a bright, cheerful pink, with black strips running through it. Over this were several metal armoured plates, seemingly attached directly to the costume and painted black. She was struggling to place something long and thin into a small pocket attached to her calf, cunningly hidden among the natural curves of her outfit. When she looked up at him, he saw twin reflections of himself mirrored in the metal of her mask, a mask that was beautifully decorated with fanciful whorls and swirls, woven together in a complex pattern and dotted with tiny gems.
She was so small and innocuous, it was impossible to reconcile her appearance with the fearsome tapestry of light that wove around her, its weave tortuously complex and eye-wateringly strange. He struggled to focus on her, the girl at the centre of this maelstrom as she waved a gloved hand and gave a little wave before speaking in a high-pitched voice.
"Hi, uhm, sorry about the mess."
Early chapter for you all this week, iv'e been isolating from Covid (tested negative so i'm fine) so I had a bit more writing time than usual, hence why this chapter is so much longer than usual.
Again, many thanks to ccstat for Beta reading this chapter, I struggled to edit it myself, just because it is so long, so you have them to thank for it not being riddled with punctuation errors.
hope you all enjoyed a little peak into Gallant's head and what is happening with the heroes. I actually wanted to cover more ground with this but it was already turning into a monster of a chapter so we will find out more about what's going on with New Wave in a Vicky interlude later on.
let me know what you think of this one, and hopefully I will have another chapter for you next week.
- Pronouns
- Mr
I am not sure what is going on with the lights, colors and all, but thanks for the new chapter.
I'll be honest and freely admit the chapter is a bit long but the second half where they are on patrol is much better. I like your descriptions for Dean's aura sight a lot, the idea of the colours cloaking their owner 'in a gown fit for royalty' really got me as far as descriptions go. However its fair to admit that I fundamentally dont know which characters are gonna be relevant to the story going forward, if Dean and Victoria are expected to play major roles in the future this chapter will make a lot more sense retroactively. If its a one-off to help give some context to the PRT, that convo with Dragon and Armsmaster was very deliberately placed, then I think it might have ran a bit too long.
In an ideal world the story would start moving forward a bit faster at this point but given I've previously praised this story's slow pacing its safe to say I have no idea about what I really want XD. Either way so far I've been very happy with this story so I am going to trust that the author knows best.
In an ideal world the story would start moving forward a bit faster at this point but given I've previously praised this story's slow pacing its safe to say I have no idea about what I really want XD. Either way so far I've been very happy with this story so I am going to trust that the author knows best.
That was a fun chapter. I have no idea what's going on with the massive aura but it was cool to see, along with that peak in on Dragon and Armsmaster. I do have one quibble though:
Is Dean supposed to be from out of the United States or is there an actual honest to God burning torch in this scene? I'd expect him to use the term flashlight.
- Pronouns
- They/Their/Them
More Brit terminology, presumably. Americans use flashlight, yes.
I have to say again, excellent descriptions and mood setting. I didn't expect Gallant being able to see Becky's enchantments. That's a interesting twist, but I'm not sure what the implications of it will be. Maybe Vista being jealous of Becky for garnering Gallant's attention, and Becky being completely clueless about why Vista is always so sour with her?
Scribbling in my notes for a conspiracy Tinker story.
The author isn't American, so that sort of stuff shows up in the story. Like with the lemonade being fizzy (European style) vs flat (American style). Honestly I like it when it shows up.
- Location
- Not here. Maybe on SB.
Thanks for update.
So, it's AU, huh. Because canonically Dean was in Wards earlier than Dennis and Chris, and supposedly longer than Missy too (edit: i.e. order is either Dean>Missy> Dennis>Chris, or Missy>Dean>Dennis>Chris), since Vicky canonically got her aura from him, i.e. she triggered when he already had powers.In your AU you need another explanation for it, btw... Though, you can just leave it unexplained, of course.
edit: Wait, "Vicky tried to help him with it, but her family didn't have any thinker powers, and she herself hadn't triggered yet", that covered... Weird, I'm sure Glory Girl was mentioned in story.
So, it's AU, huh. Because canonically Dean was in Wards earlier than Dennis and Chris, and supposedly longer than Missy too (edit: i.e. order is either Dean>Missy> Dennis>Chris, or Missy>Dean>Dennis>Chris), since Vicky canonically got her aura from him, i.e. she triggered when he already had powers.
edit: Wait, "Vicky tried to help him with it, but her family didn't have any thinker powers, and she herself hadn't triggered yet", that covered... Weird, I'm sure Glory Girl was mentioned in story.
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- Pronouns
- Mr
Either Dean can see the emotions imbued in the items or his Passenger is so curious about magic that it has developed magic sight.
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Dean has been in the Wards for a while, but he's only now getting the Power Armor. So a bunch of the other Wards have joined up and started patrols, etc, while Dean was waiting for the armor. That's the easy explanation. Of course there's also the fact that these timelines are convoluted and difficult to keep track of and stop trying to nitpick: it's close enough.
Im confused. Wasnt missy a ward before most ofbthe team? I seem to remember that she was the longest serving ward behind triumph but she was just too young to be in a leadership role since they base that on age. Or is that all just fannon and im remembering poorly? Also vicky...could have sworn she was already triggered from her basketball game by now. Course im also running on like 7 hours sleep for the last few days so i could just be too tired to remember things correctly. Still. Good entry. Kinda fun honestly. Interesting that dean can apparently see magic. Kinda neat.
I did enjoy the chapter, even if it was a slower one. Like with your Assault chapter, it does a good job of digging more into who Gallant is, rather than just focusing on the events he experienced in the chapter.
It is interesting that he can spot cauldron capes based on their auras being much more similar to non capes, though this does make sense because I'm pretty sure that canonically cauldron capes are less mentally affected by their powers.
It is interesting that Rebecca's alchemy appears easier for other tinkers to replicate, because I strongly suspect her enchanting is going to be much harder to replicate (unless the other tinker's shards go "Hey magic, cool, gimme"). In some ways that might indicate that her alchemical products would initially be the most valuable thing for her to give to the protectorate, because they can replicate and use it more widely.
It sounds like she used a wand of lightning or some such on Crusader based on the flash and smell of ozone. It is a bit sad that he was able to get rescued by his clones, but it is still good he got lightning struck. This is definitely going to be moving Rebecca up higher in the empires shit list though.
And a final minor canon nitpick about one of my favorite rarely remembered facts: Dragon does not have a faint Canadian accent. She has a strong Newfoundland accent (Interlude 6), which is kind of hilarious because a Newfoundland accent sounds kind of like a cross between an Irish accent and a Canadian accent. I strongly suspect that a lot of people just ignore this because imagining Dragon with that accent is a bit jarring.
It is interesting that he can spot cauldron capes based on their auras being much more similar to non capes, though this does make sense because I'm pretty sure that canonically cauldron capes are less mentally affected by their powers.
It is interesting that Rebecca's alchemy appears easier for other tinkers to replicate, because I strongly suspect her enchanting is going to be much harder to replicate (unless the other tinker's shards go "Hey magic, cool, gimme"). In some ways that might indicate that her alchemical products would initially be the most valuable thing for her to give to the protectorate, because they can replicate and use it more widely.
It sounds like she used a wand of lightning or some such on Crusader based on the flash and smell of ozone. It is a bit sad that he was able to get rescued by his clones, but it is still good he got lightning struck. This is definitely going to be moving Rebecca up higher in the empires shit list though.
And a final minor canon nitpick about one of my favorite rarely remembered facts: Dragon does not have a faint Canadian accent. She has a strong Newfoundland accent (Interlude 6), which is kind of hilarious because a Newfoundland accent sounds kind of like a cross between an Irish accent and a Canadian accent. I strongly suspect that a lot of people just ignore this because imagining Dragon with that accent is a bit jarring.
- Location
- Not here. Maybe on SB.
No, it's not, because Dennis already in Wards, and Missy yet to join.
Or what?
Nah, you remember it right, she joined before Dennis (and Chris), at least. Dean was dead when she complained about it, so we don't know who joined first. Carlos definitely joined before her, though. He just was dead too when she talked about being the most experienced Ward in the team.
If you mean in that story: I checked earlier chapter and didn't find anything about Glory Girl.
If you mean canonically: iirc we don't have exact date, but most likely she triggered around now. Because Amy triggered from one to two years before the start of the canon, and not too long after Vicky (couple of months, I think, but don't so sure about that).
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Or nothing. It's not like there are any real consequences for being a pedant.
- Location
- Not here. Maybe on SB.
To be clear, I mostly just was surprised. Especially by Missy, since that's the very first fic I've read that changes her to join later rather than earlier.
Also (at least in my experience), when story have AU-element(s), it's rarely only one. So I'm wondering what other surprises are in store for us.
So Missy is joining here pretty much on time for Cannon, timeline puts her joining in late April, i couldnt find an exact date for Dennis, only early 2009, which implied before April.
The research i did seemed to indicate that Missy being the most experienced Ward is fannon, but I may have made some mistakes in that.
Her trigger hasnt been affected by butterflies, nor has Dennis's so they stay the same.
Vicky doesnt trigger until May, so she doesn't have powers yet.
It was a wand of lightning bolts, she said she was going to make something extra...
And i didnt know that about Dragon! Must have missed it when i read Worm
This is earlier in her relationship with Armsmaster, so im going to say she is dialing it back on purpose to be more easily understood.
- Location
- England
If I remember last time this came up, the quote from canon about her being the most experienced is post-Leviathan, when Gallant and Aegis are already gone and Triumph isn't a Ward, so there's plenty of slack even there in who she is 'the most experienced' of, though I must admit I can't remember how it lines up with Dennis.
It's always best to read Worm with the proper accents; Dragon with a strong Newfoundland accent and everyone in Brockton Bay with Boston accents.
Canon has a lot of leeway in the order of events, and honestly I wouldn't worry too much about sticking to it. Wildbow went back and revised things, some dates were never consistent, and plenty was never clarified because it wasn't vital or relevant to the plot.
Although I still have weird misconception about what is canon. When I read Worm, I always read Crusader as Crusa-deer and thought he had a deer theme.
Canon has a lot of leeway in the order of events, and honestly I wouldn't worry too much about sticking to it. Wildbow went back and revised things, some dates were never consistent, and plenty was never clarified because it wasn't vital or relevant to the plot.
Although I still have weird misconception about what is canon. When I read Worm, I always read Crusader as Crusa-deer and thought he had a deer theme.