Build 6.3

  Bryce Kiley

  2011, January 5: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

  I looked over the car’s chassis. Building the skeleton of the car was the easy part. There was no finicky tech to integrate, just plain, sturdy bullshit-metal from a superspy setting. Sabah and I finished between classes in just a few days. Or really, a day of bickering about designs and one all-nighter.

  Dru’s was a gaudy, golden racecar, but we agreed that ours should be as nondescript as possible. To that end, the chassis was an exact replica of ones found inside a Ford Fusion. Sturdy, reliable, and most importantly, American-made.

  That was a bit of an oddity about Earth-Bet that I noticed. Foreign cars were rare, and almost exclusively marketed towards the wealthier customer. It made sense upon consideration.

  Global trade was risky, for obvious reasons. That meant it was also very expensive. Which in turn meant that foreign cars, even cheaper brands like Hyundai and Volkswagen, weren’t really competitive with Ford, Chevy, and other American manufacturers.

  That was how everyone at school really knew Dean Stansfield was loaded. It wasn’t his family name, it was his Lexus that really drove the point home in a tangible way kids could understand. Toyota wasn’t the supergiant it was in my old world, what with Kyushu and all, but it wasn’t like it didn’t exist. The company had pivoted more heavily into “budget luxury” cars.

  So for Sabah and I, having our supercar look like a Ford was important for blending in. It was so important in fact, that I’d decided to make incorporating Essentia’s texture suite a priority. Since that came from the Pokemon specialization, Sabah couldn’t work on it so I left her to handle the weapons systems.

  Division of labor was what made man truly great.

  As for SAINT, he was a busy duck. He was the one who managed my pipeline, both additional soda engines for Damascus and the very first orders that came in from various PRT branches. When the word went out that The GOAT was a hero, and that Creed in turn followed, heroes from across the nation began to reach out.

  It had started as a trickle. There was still a great deal of suspicion regarding my motives. But even so, the possibility of a heroic tinker who was willing and able to share his tech was too tempting. I'd had to establish separate pipelines for expanded bags, bolts of Germa fiber cloth, and shield modules. Once I had a good flow going, I planned to send them off in batches via Strider.

  And when SAINT wasn't doing that, he spent a few hours researching the Taylor situation. Admittedly, sending an immensely potent AI with bullshit aura powers to dig up dirt on a group of teen girls was laughably overkill. He found more about Taylor and her bullies in his off hours than their parents probably knew about them. Honestly? I felt a little like a stalker.

  SAINT also investigated the school, Principal Blackwell, and Sophia’s handler. He picked apart every one of their misdeeds, along with their correspondence proving their awareness of Sophia’s many behavioral issues. Compared to the convoluted web of false leads and shell companies that had been Coil’s network, it was all very basic.

  Once we had everything we needed, I commandeered a mimic and left a flash drive on Piggot’s desk. With it was a note from The GOAT. Not a threat, a simple request that she be more mindful of those under her command and a series of recommended actions for her to forward to relevant parties. Given who she was, I had no doubt she’d imagine far more implied threats and consequences than I could ever put to words.

  That was several days ago. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Maybe the fire and brimstone that Piggot supposedly had as “Lady.” Or a public apology in which Sophia was crucified for Taylor to get some closure.

  That wasn’t what happened. Like any organization, their first reaction was to cover their own ass. Which wasn’t to say they didn’t take the evidence seriously.

  As I understood it, there was something called the “exclusionary rule.” It stated that law enforcement officers were not allowed to obtain evidence illegally, and that evidence obtained in such fashion was not admissible for prosecution purposes. This was supposed to remove an officer’s incentive to go “off the books.”

  That said, the exclusionary rule did not apply to all evidence. A third party could provide illegally obtained evidence and law enforcement could act on it. It just so happened that said third party wasn’t immune to prosecution from this, either.

  Lucky for me, I was not law enforcement, nor was I someone they could take into custody for prosecution. And seeing how I provided evidence, and they wanted to maintain a good relationship with The GOAT, they had no reason not to act upon it. Things moved swiftly, at least on their end.

  For starters, the handler was fired, forfeiting many of the benefits due a federal employee, pension included. As I understood it, federal employees couldn’t normally lose their pensions, even after being discharged, with a few exceptions. Criminal misconduct, perjury, or similar acts qualified, including misrepresenting the status of a national asset, which parahumans were.

  Pending the results of an internal investigation, she would likely be prosecuted on top of her current woes. I didn’t know what the charges would be, but that was beyond my purview. All I knew was that if the PRT had been looking for someone to hold the bag, they’d found her.

  Then there was Sophia Hess; there was no question she’d violated her probation. According to email traffic, the reaming she got from Piggot had been the stuff of legends. There was a public notice that she would be transferred, but not where, when, or why. There was a bit of paperwork to go through due to her minor status, so the actual transfer wouldn’t happen for a week or so.

  A bit of digging on my part let me know that she was slated for Quarantine Site 3, better known as Eagleton, Tennessee, the home of the Machine Army. That gave me a good chuckle. Guarding the country from a potential S-class threat sounded exciting and all, but I knew better. It was as close to the military’s “Go out in the rain and mop it til the ground is dry,” kind of punishments as a Ward could receive.

  The Machine Army liked to take over and copy buildings, furniture, traffic lights, and other fixtures. Eagleton looked exactly like any other small town, sans people. She’d be shooting at literal toasters, if she got to do anything resembling combat at all. More likely, she’d be given a remote-triggered electronic anklet and told to walk in endless circles around the perimeter.

  Good. I hoped she died of boredom there. For a cape who fancied herself a “survivor,” and something of an action hero, I couldn’t think of a more fitting punishment than mind-numbing, soul-crushing tedium. The most exciting thing she’d get to do there was make a left turn. There was a joke in there somewhere about the South and NASCAR but I was too lazy to make it.

  That was the PRT side. They buzzed like an angry hornet’s nest, and that in turn got the school district moving. Admittedly, I wasn’t nearly as invested in their affairs, but I decided to keep a finger on the pulse anyway. It couldn’t hurt to be informed.

  Blackwell was still principal, mostly because the information was being kept on the down-low for now. I doubted this would last, though. A state prosecutor had been notified and the district was sent scrambling. Several other administrators and teachers would likely go down with her when the news officially broke.

  Emma and Madison were… fine.

  Truth be told, I doubted they’d face criminal prosecution for their bullying thus far. Some of it could be called assault, some battery, but it’d probably be downplayed as “kids being kids.”

  That wasn’t to say they would escape punishment, but detentions, suspension, and maybe a few dozen hours of community service were likely to be it. Because when the bullies were pretty, white girls, the school district would never “ruin the futures of promising youth.”

  Even so, without Sophia’s Ward status to shield them and greater scrutiny on the school as a whole, their actions would have real consequences now. If Alan really loved his daughter, he’d take my recommendation seriously and seek out psychiatric help.

  But those were all things the regular authorities could solve on their own. Nor did I have any desire to be the responsible adult Alan clearly hadn’t been for Emma. Danny too, for that matter. Unless they gave me a reason to step in again, or she found a way to trigger despite this, I considered my involvement in Taylor’s life to be over.

  I turned my focus now to more conventional heroics. Going out on patrol wasn’t fun, but it needed to be done.

  Most people didn’t know much about The GOAT or Creed. They had no reason to be aware of Damascus, which meant they had only my statement on PHO to trust that I was a hero now. If I wanted the public to really know that I’d switched sides, I needed to be consistently seen stopping crimes.

  Besides, with pre-programmed drones, Sabah, and SAINT’s expanded bandwidth, it wasn’t as though I was losing much in the way of productivity.

  I swooped down on a group of teens hanging around in a parking lot. One of them acted as the lookout while the other three surrounded a lifted truck. Carjackers, though maybe not associated with any gang in particular.

  I had to give it to them; they were efficient. They’d already stripped the wheels off the car and set the body atop a few bricks for clearance to its underside. One of them was beneath the car on a skateboard, no doubt halfway through ripping out the catalytic converter.

  “Fuck, cape! Run!” The lookout saw me first. He looked to be the oldest of the bunch. With a baggy, white shirt and jean shorts hanging halfway down his asscrack, he couldn’t look more generically “gangsta” if he tried.

  He also didn’t bother waiting for the rest. The moment he saw me, he turned tail and bolted for a nearby alley. For that matter, neither did the others. Two of them, one digging through the hood and another looking in the trunk, ditched their buddy on the skateboard.

  To their credit, they all scattered in different directions. That told me they’d done this before. Maybe not run from a cape, but probably cops or members of other gangs.

  They didn’t make it. My revolver, modified for variable rounds, snapped to my hand. My aim wasn’t the mathematical perfection that was SAINT’s, but it wasn’t terrible, either.

  Three squelching pops filled the air, followed by three, gummy-sized pellets that struck their feet with unerring accuracy. The pellets exploded, expanding into green blobs that reminded me of boogers. The three teens collapsed on their faces. I’d probably have to fix a chipped tooth or two.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “So much for honor among thieves,” I muttered as I pointed my gun at the final thief.

  “Ow! Fuck!” the one who’d been under the car yelped. He’d tried to get out too fast and hit his head on the chassis. He slowly scooted himself out from under the car. His eyes went wide with panic when he saw me chilling on the roof. “Oh… shit… A-Aren’t guns against cape rules or some shit?”

  I gooped his hand to the ground. “Not that kind of gun. Besides, Miss Militia exists.”

  “Aw, come on, man… Can’t you give us a break?”

  “Nope. I’m a hero now, and that means doing heroic things to test my inventions. How’s the booger gun? It’s not eating through your hand, is it?”

  “What the fuck? It’s going to eat my hand?” he yelped. He tried to yank his hand away, to zero effect.

  “Nah, I’m just fucking with you. Just sit still until the cops get here.”

  “Man, fuck you, dude.”

  “Come on, don’t be like that. It’s not every day I get to entertain a captive audience… Get it?”

  I could see the life draining from his face. “Fucking piece of shit… Just kill me…”

  X

  We sat around until the cops arrived. Eight minutes, which was probably about average in this part of town.

  They looked surprised to find that I’d stuck around. Usually, independents didn’t bother, leaving the cops to collect what circumstantial evidence they could. Sometimes, if the perps already had a history, that was enough to make a conviction stick. Other times, the criminals had to be let go with only a note on their record, especially in the case of minors.

  I left them my phone number so they could ask for my helmet cam footage if they wanted it. Doing that for every crime stopped would quickly overwhelm any other indie hero, but I didn’t see any reason to avoid sharing, especially since I had an AI to manage that sort of digital clutter for me. SAINT truly was the best duck.

  The last thing I needed to do was to get the perps properly into police custody. That proved to be a bit trickier than I’d expected because the goo-balls didn’t dissolve fast enough.

  In the end, I had to pull out my freeze ray to harden then shatter them. It was faster than transmuting complex polymers via inorganic alchemy. I also got around to fixing one guy’s teeth where he’d cracked them against the sidewalk. He’d probably thank me in twenty years.

  That was more or less how my patrols went: I dropped in, used the criminals to test an invention, made some field notes about potential improvements, then stuck around to introduce myself to the cops. Once in a while, I’d entertain a little kid here and there by transmuting the nearby concrete into simple shapes like ducks, flowers, and the like.

  X

  Sabah Azimi

  2011, January 7: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

  I looked a lot more put-together than I felt inside. That was just how fashion should be; a good outfit exudes an aura, even when the wearer was nervous or was two steps from a panic attack. And my outfit was the best I’d ever owned or designed.

  I was bulletproof, knifeproof, fireproof, shockproof, and about five other kinds of “-proof.” Even radiation, I was pretty sure. Bryce was thorough. The kind of thing that would hurt me would blow up a good chunk of this hospital.

  I appreciated it. Really, I did. My costume and all the other gizmos I had on hand were the only reason I wasn’t having a nervous fit right now. My heart hammered in my chest. Cold sweat ran down my back.

  “Breathe, Sabs,” Bryce’s voice came over the line, soothing and warm. “This is no big deal. Just introduce yourself. We rehearsed this.”

  I said nothing. The last thing I wanted was to be known as the cape who talked to herself. He was so much younger than me, but right now, it felt like I was the child who needed coaching.

  I took slow, measured steps to the entrance of the emergency room. Just about everyone noticed me. Of course they did, my mask was featureless, white porcelain, with a red orchid painted onto the glaze, not exactly normal wear even if the rest of my suit could pass for business formal.

  The security guards, a pair of big, bulky men who probably played football in high school, spoke rapidly into a walkie-talkie. Knowing they weren’t allowed to carry guns made me feel better.

  I stopped four steps away from them. Left foot forward, I dipped into an elaborate bow and swept my Panama hat over my heart. “Hello, my name is Maven, a recently triggered independent. Might I go in?”

  The two men eyed one another. I could practically hear their unspoken conversation, daring the other to handle this. Finally, one spoke, “Uh… Hero or villain?”

  “I am independent,” I repeated. They looked as nervous as I felt. Of course they did. It wasn’t often that villains attacked the hospital, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. “I have some minor healing abilities and would like to ask Panacea to validate my power. I was told she was in today.”

  “One-One sec, Maven. Let me get someone for you.” He grabbed the walkie-talkie and rushed inside, leaving me with his partner, who eyed the disappearing man with utter betrayal in his eyes.

  “Huh, that might be the most tactical way to pussy out of talking to a cape I’ve ever seen,” Bryce remarked glibly.

  I couldn’t respond. I’d never been good at social situations, so I just put my hat back on and stood in front of the security guard, gloved hands awkwardly clasped over my waist. Polite and unobtrusive, with an air of elegant professionalism, precisely the kind of cape I imagined Maven being.

  My unofficial little brother and mentor snickered, “You look like you need to pee.”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks. My hands fell to my sides. I was as stiff as a board. With how mature Bryce was normally, I sometimes forgot that he was fifteen and had yet to outgrow bathroom humor.

  I loved Bryce. He was cute and nice and funny and made tons of cool things. Maybe if I told myself that enough times, I wouldn’t feel the need to kick him in the shins. I had little brothers; I could get scrappy.

  Finally, I saw Amy rush out alongside the security guard from earlier.

  This was the plan. I would introduce myself as a new cape and a member of The GOAT’s unnamed faction. Amy would validate my healing ability, or really, her healing ability, allowing me to come and help out at the hospital on occasion. This would give me a nice, safe power while masking my status as a trump.

  Additionally, tying myself to The GOAT allowed Bryce to protect me more directly. The tinkertech I had? Obviously from Creed, though more literally than most would know. As someone without a family of capes to watch my back, I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding: Messing with me would mean Creed would fight without pulling punches.

  Third, this gave Amy a reason to meet Bryce as capes. The GOAT turned over a new leaf. Creed would visit the hospital more often alongside Maven. And, if Creed decided to kit Panacea out with some tinkertech, everyone could point to this meeting as where that relationship began.

  A fourth reason had been considered but ultimately discarded: Shielder, the greatest defensive cape in the Bay. He’d been a top contender for my third power. And why not? Unlike Bryce, I didn’t have magic powers on top of the shield module in my belt buckle.

  But then I figured, why limit ourselves to the Bay? Amy’s cousin was trustworthy, but he wasn’t the only person with a great power who could probably be convinced to wear a bracelet.

  No, I had defense. Offense, too. And once I incorporated Scarlet Overkill’s jetpack to my jacket, I would have pretty great mobility as well. Maybe it was a little selfish, but I wanted something that was my own, something that not even Bryce could do yet.

  I wanted Strider. Even if my power only gave me a restricted version of his, he was a man who could make cross-continental jumps on a whim. Bryce and I felt that if we offered him more tinkertech, made on my time, not his, and a guarantee of future business, then he’d be willing to negotiate. Besides, I’d always wanted to travel.

  Amy made a show of looking me up and down. “So, you’re Maiden? Isn’t that a little generic? Maiden of what?”

  “Maven. A maven is something else,” I explained patiently. “It means someone who is an expert on a given subject.”

  “Fair enough. Is that what you are? An expert healer?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

  “Good. This city could always use more healers. Come on. You’ll spend the shift with me. We’ll get permission from patients, see if any of them are willing to let you try healing them first.”

  “I understand. The GOAT told me what I should expect,” I said… to The GOAT. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry. Was being a cape always this silly?

  “The GOAT, huh?” Amy hummed with a knowing smirk. “You joined Creed’s team then?”

  “Yes. They offered me protection, tinkertech, and a few other things on the side. Can’t really beat the benefits.”

  “Fair enough. Alright, our first patient was in a motorcycle accident. His leg’s kinda fucked so brace yourself…”

  X

  The shift went by quickly. Bryce had checked out once Amy took me inside, saying he needed to go work out.

  I’d never thought of Amy as especially strong, but I changed my mind. Walking in her shoes, I couldn’t help but shiver at the things she saw on the daily.

  We found that the best use of my time was not healing, but triage. Though I had a copy of Amy’s power, the biokinesis aspect was diminished enough that healing took more time than any of us would like. What Amy could fix in seconds or minutes took me several times that. Potentially still useful, but a distant third place to Panacea and Creed.

  Meanwhile, I could rattle off the patient’s condition in seconds. The amount of insight Amy’s power gave me was insane, far more thorough than an MRI or CT scan. It wasn’t unusual for me to spot potential complications in medical treatments before they began. So for the latter half of the shift, I sat in a small office in urgent care, touching every patient that came in before they were wheeled off to the appropriate wing.

  I only stopped when Amy dropped by to let me know that we were done for the evening. Enforcing clear work hours was important.

  “Thanks for this,” I told her quietly. I took a sip from a thermos filled with Bryce’s magic coffee. It was one of the better perks of this whole cape thing.

  “Don’t sweat it,” she replied with a shrug. “This helps me, too. You wanted to be introduced to my family, right?”

  “Right. Bryce thinks this is a good way to ‘open dialogue.’ God, what kind of freshman talks like that?”

  “The kind that’s a pain in the ass.”

  “True. He’s got a point though. I do want to meet your mom.”

  “Cool. Wanna join me for dinner then?”

  “That… Today? Would your parents mind?”

  “Mom can’t cook for shit anyway. We just have a binder full of takeout menus in the kitchen so we’ll just order an extra serving.”

  “Well, if that’s okay.”

  She tapped away on her phone. “Dietary restrictions?”

  “No pork, please.”

  “You don’t like pork? Is it because you’re Muslim?”

  “No, not really. I’m not very religious and neither is my family. But dad’s kept to haram restrictions for as long as I can remember, especially back when we lived in Iraq. He’s loosened up but it’s just habit now, you know?”

  “Huh… Beef is fine, right? Does Italian work?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Author’s Note

  There’s a piece of Worm fanon that says Alexandria runs a boot camp for misbehaving Wards out west somewhere. I’m not sure where this came from because it’s silly if you think about it. She’s already busy being the chief director, a Triumvirate in charge of her own city, and a Cauldron executive. I know I said I’d like to lean into fanon tropes, but there is stupid-funny, and just plain stupid. This is definitely the latter.

  Anyway, Taylor does not trigger, at least for now. Like people pointed out, It’s not like QA is taken off the field. I’m leaving the option open just in case I come up with an interesting alt-power that’s still distinctly QA. Some of you will be disappointed, but I feel like we’ve got a pretty big character roster as it is.

  Animal Fact: A termite queen lays an egg once every…

  Go on, guess. How often does she pop one out?

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  Three seconds. That’s 20-30k eggs per day and 140-210k eggs per week. For comparison, there are 700k people in DC, meaning she can repopulate the US capitol each month.

  And, as I mentioned in a previous AN, termite queens have the longest lifespan of any insect, some claiming over a century. These fuckers really are IRL Zerg.

  Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: .