Apparently, eight hours of sleep is critical to my power's abilities.
I knew this because I woke up exactly eight hours later, going from deep, dreamless sleep to fully awake in an instant. Beyond that, I felt great.
No, not just great, amazing, fantastic, incredible. I felt like getting out one of Mom's old thesauruses and looking up the word 'great' to find every other word that would apply.
Ironically, this made me worried. My new powers were doing something seriously strange to my body. Beyond the strange thinker powers, I had a sense of my body I'd never felt before. Balance, posture, accuracy, flexibility, they were all completely wrong by just how good they were now. I'd never been a graceful swan, but today I felt like I could probably give an amateur gymnast a run for their money.
I stopped and listened for noise, and as I did I paid attention to my senses. It was a little after nine o'clock, and I could hear Dad downstairs listening to the TV. After a minute of focus, I could even make out the individual words being spoken on the program. My hearing was far too sharp to be normal.
Then I reached for my glasses, and any thoughts of my hearing fled, because I could see them.
My vision had always been terrible. Without my glasses, I was as good as blind. Yet now, by the light of the desk lamp I'd forgotten to turn off before crashing into bed, I was able to clearly make out the contents of the room.
No, I realized as I picked them up. It's not that I can see them with my eyes. It's that I have them within my awareness.
My eyes were still just as bad. It's simply that I wasn't using them. I'd been ignoring the input from my physical eyes in favor of my power's capacity to simply feed my senses everything within my potential line of sight. Effortless, three hundred and sixty degree awareness of my surroundings.
That, more than anything, drove home how different I was now. These were just the surface changes I'd noticed. How much more would I find if I looked deeper?
Standing, I walked over to my wardrobe, staring at myself in the mirror. Nothing immediately jumped out at me. Still too tall, too pale, with gangly limbs, a pot-belly and wide lips that made me look like an upright frog. Yet, there was also something in my posture. If I wasn't thinking about it consciously, I was standing differently, not hunching into myself. Like I was projecting confidence, perhaps, now that I had powers. Was that change from my powers, or from me?
Stupid question, I supposed. I was my powers, and my powers were me. Curious, I pinched the skin of my belly, feeling it compress between my fingers.
Uninjured.
I blinked. Right. New feature of thinker powers: super lawyer and super doctor skills, together with whatever my handshake ability was. At least that was one question answered. The cops had said we needed to go have a blood test tomorrow, since there'd been a risk of infection from the stuff I'd been exposed to, despite my lack of injuries. Nice to know it apparently wasn't needed, though I'd still probably have to get cleared by a real doctor.
Letting out a sigh, I sat down on my bed. Curious, I tried bending my legs into a lotus position. It came easily, like I'd been practicing for years. Since I was in the appropriate position anyway, I decided to attempt turning my thinker powers inward. After all, if they can figure out other people, perhaps they can figure me out too? Clearing my mind, I tried meditating.
The instant I thought about it, I was suddenly in two places.
I felt my body, my awareness still spread around my room at home. However, my mind was somewhere I'd never been. It was a small stone church or temple, like something from a picture out of a middle-ages village in Europe. The design was simple, with mortared stone blocks for walls, a high beamed ceiling, and in place of the pulpit where a priest would stand, there was a lectern with a large scroll. Displayed on the wall behind the scroll was an image carved into stone of an eye with wings behind it, and I somehow knew that symbol was important. It was Aroden's symbol, my symbol. I recognized it instantly despite never having seen it before.
It was a strange experience. If I simply willed it I could move about inside the temple, but I had no body to move. I was nothing but a consciousness, and a cursory examination revealed no exits. The obvious choice was to examine the scroll, and sensing no trap or danger, I did.
Okay, thinker power. You win. Holy hell.
The text on the scroll was a beautiful illuminated script, something which seemed like it should be difficult to read, yet I found it perfectly legible. I didn't have just one thinker power, but dozens of powers, some of which could be changed each day. I had powers I could use repeatedly, powers that could only be used a few times a day, powers I had to prepare in advance.
Many of my powers seemed to be striker abilities, but some of them appeared to be similar to blaster powers, with a range measured in feet of distance. My awareness powers suddenly clicked, how necessary the ability would be if I was using these powers. In fact, as I thought back to yesterday, at how I'd spotted the trio, I'd unconsciously known they were exactly a hundred and eighty feet away from me at the time. My awareness must have some sort of component that let me instantly measure distances.
Transfixed, I spent what must have been the entire night poring over the contents of that scroll. Synergies, abilities that could build on other uses of my power, a million creative uses sprung to mind. Dawn was creeping in through my window as I finally wound down, feeling my choices settle as my power accepted my selections.
One thing seemed clear, however. Nearly all my powers needed an object to focus them through, besides my thinker abilities. A likeness of the symbol on the wall, usually as an amulet or necklace.
Well, I wasn't due back to school for the rest of the week. Dad had the morning off to take me to the doctor, but after that he'd be going back to work and I'd be home for the rest of the day.
Time to see if my powers included some tinkering too.
-=-=-=-
I wasn't a tinker.
I looked down at my creation, brushing some stray wood chips aside, and packed away Dad's tools. The amulet was crude and ugly, little more than an offcut of wood I'd used a hammer and chisel to carve with my symbol. The edges were still jagged with splinters, but my power recognized it as a valid focus, and that was the most important part.
No, I wasn't a tinker. Apparently, however, I was a brute.
An accident with the hammer and chisel proved this conclusively when I ended up driving three inches of metal through my own hand. Some part of myself registered the injury, but it was with more of a detached disinterest, like hearing a description rather than feeling it myself.
That didn't leave me any less horrified when I'd pulled the chisel back out, wondering if we'd have to go back to the hospital after being given a clean bill of health less than two hours ago.
It came out easily, almost as if my body provided no resistance. The wound it left behind didn't bleed either, the edges of my skin simply lining back up together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Morbidly curious now, I used my thumb to pull back the edge, which opened and revealed layers of skin, muscle and fat beneath. How this worked, I had no idea. I'd successfully given the hospital blood samples earlier today. I gave up trying to explain it and put it all down to power bullshit.
Minor nonlethal injuries.
Sure, thinker power. A chisel through the hand was a minor, nonlethal injury.
If this was nonlethal, what would a lethal injury look like?
I found myself lacking the enthusiasm to find out.
After my impromptu power testing, however, I now had the means of fixing my mistake. A cheap set of children's costume jewelry Emma had given me for Christmas many years ago provided the plastic cord for a necklace. I'd debated against using anything that would remind me of her, but it was either that or a shoelace, and I was already down one pair of shoes this year.
Threading the cord through the hole I'd drilled in the symbol, I put it over my neck, letting it hang above my heart. It wasn't stylish in the least, and if Emma or her clique could see me now they'd have ammunition for the rest of the year, but to hell with them. I was the one with powers, not them. Even if my powers made me wave around a cruddy piece of wood and speak gibberish, it still beat being a nobody.
I waved around my cruddy piece of wood and spoke gibberish.
"Cure light wounds."
Wow, okay. Maybe not gibberish. I remembered the sounds I made. It wasn't anything remotely like proper language. I tried them again, speaking out the sounds slowly without drawing on my power, and predictably nothing happened.
Yet, in the moment I used my power, I felt the meaning. Not the words themselves, or not just the words, but a layer deeper than that, like it was bending a fundamental rule in the universe around the concept I uttered. I'd told the laws of reality to go take a break for five minutes while I did my thing.
Except I didn't, not really. I'd been in denial for awhile, I think. I'd been talking about them as my powers, my parahuman abilities, but they weren't. I couldn't lie any more.
I rubbed my hand where the wound it once had was gone, and reflected on what I'd felt. It wasn't me wielding that symbol and speaking the incantation. Not just me. Aroden had been there. His hand was on mine as I moved, his words on my lips. It was his voice that told the universe to sit down and shut up. I might have been the trigger, the conduit, but it was his power. And he'd given it to me, his friend. His only friend in existence, if I believed him.
"Thanks Aroden," I said softly, because how could I not? Apparently, Taylor Hebert was worth someone's time. Someone who had enough power to alter reality at will.
I had the power of a god at my fingertips.
Well, a fraction of the power, if I remembered correctly. He'd told me it would grow.
All I had to do was fight.
Conflict, he'd said, was central to improving my power's abilities. I'd need to act like a hero (I immediately discarded the second part, because that wasn't who I was) and use my powers in battle. Simple enough, right?
It was odd how my powers worked. Almost like they were tailored for use in combat. Was this Aroden's normal style? Was he a war-like god, reveling in the defeat of his enemies, the wails of their women, et cetera?
No, I didn't believe that. I remembered back to that time when he was showing me his city. It was, for all the glitz and magic, incredibly mundane. It was just people, living their lives, going about in society and existing in stability and peace. If I believed anything about him, that was his ideal. A place where people could be themselves, feel safe, and thrive.
Was that what I was meant to do?
I'd grown up in Brockton Bay. I knew what this city held, deep in my bones. The white supremacists, preaching their message of hatred against anything different than them. How easy it would have been to fall into their grasp, had I lacked the barest shreds of morals.
The ABB, peddling in vice and enforcing it with fear. Did I really have it so bad? How much weight could I give my own suffering, when faced with the realities of their flesh trade. Did the bullying of one girl at school match the fate of the Asian girl who suddenly stopped coming? The families who were forced to choose between death or selling their own daughter, then forced to live with the choice?
We simply turned a blind eye. The problems this city faced were too much, too big for any one person to solve. We hailed our heroes as the answer, yet year after year watched nothing change. The rot was too deep, the problems too systemic, to solve with a well aimed punch.
How could I hope to solve them alone?
Well, that was a lie. I looked down at my crude symbol, squeezing it in a white-knuckled grip. I wasn't alone, was I? I was the conduit of god-like power, just waiting to be unleashed.
I chuckled, then giggled, then broke into hysterical laughter at the thought. God-like power. The power to know a person's secrets by shaking their hand. To make someone slightly better at something for six seconds. To heal a small cut, fix a ripped costume. This was my power, and I was going to use it to take down an organization that had existed for longer than I was alive, or a man who could match an Endbringer blow for blow.
Well, Aroden, I hope you're ready with your end of the deal.
If I was going to have the power of a god, fitting enough that I would need to embark on a crusade to achieve it.Last edited: Aug 20, 2024797J D LarsonAug 17, 2024View discussionThreadmarks Beggar 1.4 View contentJ D LarsonAug 18, 2024#21Natasha Waverley. Humanoid (human). Brockton Bay General Hospital. Registered Nurse. Opioid addiction.
Kye Won Kim. Humanoid (human). Brockton University. Post-Grad Student. Academic plagiarism.
Don Vallance. Humanoid (human). A1 Security Services. Night Guard. Rapist.
June Harwin. Humanoid (human). Retiree. Chronic pain.
I'd been practicing my thinker power's limits on the bus trip to the library, seeing how flexible the power was. I kept my eyes pointed down at the floor as we pulled up to another stop, one hand gripping the railing while the other hung at my side, letting it brush against people as they boarded and moved past.
Lenore Markus. Humanoid (human). Boardwalk Bubbles Bottle Mart. Retail Worker. Eating disorder.
Pretty flexible, as it turns out. No handshake required, not even skin contact. Simply touching my hand to any part of their clothing or possessions was enough to read them. So long as I had some sort of excuse for getting in their space, it was unlikely they'd even notice my power. Together with my awareness, it was fairly simple to keep my actions out of their line of sight.
My trip today was an information gathering exercise. If I was going to be a hero, I needed to know how to do it properly. I wasn't about to simply raid my closet for a costume, grab a baseball bat, and start patrolling the streets hoping for trouble. My powers gave me far better options, but only if I had the right information to feed them.
Last night had been spent in awkward silence between me and Dad. He'd come home late, around seven or eight, and we'd just sat at the dinner table and eaten reheated leftovers. The spectre of the events at school seemed to hang over both of us, but I could sense he knew I didn't want to talk about it, and so the meal passed quickly. He retreated to the living room, I retreated to my bedroom, and we both maintained the fragile peace we'd built between us.
As the bus pulled up to my stop, I slipped my backpack over one shoulder and jogged down the steps onto the street. I only had three days left of my time away from school, plus the weekend, before we'd have to decide what we were doing. As much as I didn't want to think about it, I knew I would probably have to talk to Dad tonight about how we were planning to deal with the school's actions. Did we take the risk of a lawsuit against them? My power told me our odds were good, but I could hardly use that as a convincing argument.
Did I want to tell Dad about my powers?
Not yet. That was part of my reason for this trip, I told myself, to get an idea of my options as a parahuman. I was doing my due diligence in researching how my powers would affect my future opportunities. I knew the basic outlines of the Protectorate and PRT from Gladly's class, and that there were also independent superhero groups out there too, but that was hardly comprehensive enough to serve as the foundation of my choice for the future. Once I'd given up my identity to the government, there was no going back from that.
The smell of books as I entered the library calmed me, loosening a tension in my shoulders I'd felt along the whole trip here. I was safe here, cocooned by shelves of literature and references, my natural habitat where Mom and I had spent many weekends together. Some of my earliest memories were of sitting with her in one of the reading nooks, a pile of books stacked to the side, while she indulged me in letting me read one or two of my choices before we left since I'd exceeded my borrowing limit. The fact my choices were well outside my typical age range didn't bother either of us. Reading didn't have age restrictions; the only wrong choice was the book you didn't enjoy reading.
However, as much as I wanted to do nothing more than curl up with a novel in a quiet corner and escape reality for a few hours, I had a goal. Instead of the stacks of fiction, I walked over to the public computers, picking an empty seat well away from the only other occupant, a woman looking at celebrity gossip pages. There were few other people this early in the middle of the week, as I'd suspected would be the case.
Logging on was fairly simple, and I'd soon navigated to the PHO website. While I had a computer at home, the ancient dial-up modem connection it used would take minutes at a time to load a single web page. For my plan to work, I needed a much faster connection speed.
Checking to make sure I hadn't attracted any weird looks was fairly simple with my awareness. Nobody was staring at me, content to let the tall girl in the hoodie browse in privacy. Taking a breath to prepare myself for the riskiest part of my plan, I carefully pulled my wooden symbol out and incanted.
"Skim."
The incantation was short, but I'd had to use a fairly strong voice. Loud enough to be audible in the quiet of the library, though the words would have been nonsense to anyone else's ears but mine. I'd already concealed my symbol before anyone could potentially notice it, but nobody bothered paying me any attention. Perhaps people assumed I was speaking a foreign language, or maybe they just thought I was mentally ill. People in Brockton Bay tended to ignore most things unless they were right in front of them.
I'd debated whether to activate my power somewhere less public, but took the risk of doing it in the open anyway. I wasn't sure how it worked yet, whether I'd need to have the research materials I'd be using directly in front of me when I used it. I only had a few limited uses of these types of powers each day, and didn't want to waste them in discovering I was limited to studying the inside of a public library's restroom.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I glanced at the screen in front of me, returning back to normal when I looked away. I was thankful my hunch worked out correct. The power seemed to assume someone would be researching books, not web pages, but it seemed it worked on any kind of written information. With this power, I could cram four times as much research into the one hour it gave me, letting me power through my goals as quickly as possible.
Wasting no time, I dug into the public pages for the PRT, Protectorate, and their Wards program. It was full of lists of benefits, how they'd provide me with a trust fund, payment, support, a network of peers, and above all, a safe place to practice my powers.
I pictured that. Me, a parahuman whose power needed conflict to grow, spending three years inside an organization dedicated to keeping me safe.
Yeah, no. The Wards wasn't for me. Sure, they had plenty of statistics about the survival rate of independent parahumans, but that was probably for capes that weren't brutes with a frankly ridiculous variety of ways of healing.
I mean, seriously Aroden. Did I really need a way of healing a single person's lethal injuries, plus a separate way to heal a group's lethal injuries, plus a separate way to heal non-lethal injuries which apparently helped with upset stomachs, feeling tired, and feeling afraid for some reason? On top of yet another separate way to stop people dying which apparently didn't heal them? Why were these all separate things?
The PRT site had interesting information on the system of parahuman classifications they used. I was familiar with the basics, since anyone who had to put up with Greg Veder eventually got an impromptu education in cape powers via endless versus debates pulled from his frequent internet-fueled rants. Still, I'd never actually studied it before now, which helped me put my own powers in context.
I was probably a Thinker/Brute/Trump, according to their system, with sub-classifications in Striker and Blaster for the most part, although some of my Trump abilities could fall into nearly any other category. They had a term for my type of power, a 'grab-bag cape' as they called it. Lots of smaller powers combined to make up a parahuman package.
As useful as this information was, it didn't advance my goal. I knew I wasn't powerful enough to threaten anyone but the basic rank and file of the criminal elements of this city. Even then, my brute rating didn't give me superhuman strength, just an impressive capacity for punishment and the ability to keep fighting long after others would have run out of stamina. No, my edge in this conflict was my ability to use information to my advantage. If the enemy knew I was fighting them, I'd probably already lost.
With that in mind, I turned to the wiki pages on the criminal elements of the city.
The Empire 88 was the most comprehensive list, with by far the largest roster of capes. They even had links to the individual members' fan pages, likely in hopes of attracting people to their cause. It was obvious they were trying to present themselves as a legitimate alternative to the government, as if having enough power made their crimes any less heinous.
By comparison, the ABB was sparse on details. Just the two capes were mentioned, nothing in the way of the Empire's recruitment attempts made. Looks like Lung didn't care about PR or legitimacy, which tracked with their methods of simply strong-arming anyone in their territory.
The third gang mentioned was even more light on details. Coil's organization apparently was centered around downtown, but with just a few reports of his mercenaries with tinkertech rifles, and nothing of note on the cape's own profile, it wasn't even clear if his organization was interested in grabbing territory or building their power base. There'd been a few times his people had appeared out of nowhere, attacked a target, usually a rival gang's holdings, then disappeared. They seemed strong, secretive, and suspiciously well funded, but relatively a minor player in comparison to the other two gangs.
There were a few other minor gangs mentioned, the biggest being a loose association of drug dealers in the north of the city called the Merchants. They had a few capes on their roster, but mostly stuck to selling and pushing their products in the docks and around the borderlands between other territories. Some other minor parahuman villains and solo players were mentioned, but nothing in the way of organized groups. Comedy villains like Uber and Leet, small-time thieves like Circus, sightings of a girl called Hellhound who could make monster dogs, and such.
I did a deep dive into each of the capes anyway, more to prepare against escaping them than to try and develop a plan to fight each one, running out the clock on my power. Beating villains in combat was fun to watch on Saturday morning cartoons, but not my goal in real life. If anything, I'd be very happy to never meet a villain during my future activities.
There wasn't an easy reference guide to each major gang's territory online, more a hazy idea that relied on the frequency of gang sign graffiti and ratio of skinheads to ABB colors, or lack thereof. For my purpose, it didn't matter. My goal wasn't to draw out their leadership for a high-noon style shootout in the street. Instead, I wanted to hit them in their underbelly, the support network they used to prop up their legitimacy. In short, I was going after their money.
I ruled out Coil's gang immediately. Too little information, too many question marks on their goals. I had plenty of juicer targets.
So, Empire or ABB?
On the one hand, the Empire had a bigger roster of capes, so more risk of encountering one.
On the other hand, the ABB had a reputation for brutality in their conflicts with their enemies.
Unless I ended up catching someone like Hookwolf on a bad day, the Empire was the safer option. They might even try a recruitment pitch rather than murder me, given their preferences. In short, they offered the best target for least risk, with the largest choice of ways I could weaken them.
My power's duration spent, I cleared my browsing history, closed the window, and stretched back. I'd been at it for an hour so far, though it felt more like four hours from my perspective. Still, it had been a productive use of time, and reaffirmed my confidence in my choice to be an independent cape.
Part one complete. Time for part two.
I picked up my backpack and stepped outside the library, walking over to a bench in an alcove no doubt provided for people to use to have a smoke, if the butts scattered around were any indication. It was still a bit early for lunch, but I'd had a light breakfast and the time difference between my mind and body using my power was fooling my brain into thinking it was time to eat, even if I wasn't hungry. I'd probably save my sandwich for later, and just have the apple and some water.
Finishing my snack and tossing the core in a bin, I'd seen nobody else nearby for the last five minutes. I had the alcove to myself, barring someone desperate for a cigarette arriving in the next few seconds.
This was another risk I'd be taking, although fairly low stakes. In the few days I'd had it, my awareness had become like a new limb for me, something I'd become accustomed to using so naturally I couldn't imagine being without it now. The thought of giving it up, even momentarily, filled me with a low level of anxiety, but the effect would be temporary, and the trade-off worth it, I told myself. While I could have waited until I got home, that would have simply meant I'd need to go back out afterwards, and compared to the bus routes close to home, the library had far more options for getting around the city.
There was nobody within a hundred and eighty feet of me. It was as good as I was going to get.
"Ears of the City," I incanted, and felt my awareness shrink down into myself, even as I observed my eyes take on a white, milky haze from my power's outside perspective.
Then my awareness exploded outwards.
"...be advised to be on look out for para…" "...Mom, Mom, lollipop, Mom…" "...quarterly reports are due by…" "...the wallet, nice and slow, or…" "...telling you man, it was as big as a fuckin…"
Everything. I could see everything, hear everything, the entire city. Noise, sights, a million conversations, my awareness stretched from one end of Brockton Bay to another.
It was too much. An ocean of information, forcing itself into my brain, unfiltered, unsorted. I was drowning.
'Empire 88. Money. Drugs.' I tried to take the reins of my power, direct the chaotic flow of information, peel away the incomprehensible wall of noise and blurring kaleidoscope of images into something useful.
A text message. 'Shipment tonight @ 10.'
Hands counting cash. Swastika tattoo.
Slashed open boxes, pieces of furniture.
Rooftop, chair, guard with rifle.
Clipboard, shipping manifest.
Date. Address.
I gasped, sucking down air as if I'd been submerged beneath frozen water as my power ended. My awareness expanded out once more, showing nobody within my radius. Despite my hoodie, I shivered.
Still, it had been worth it. Warehouse, intersection of West Munroe and Mill. At ten o'clock tonight, the Empire would be receiving a shipment of mattresses stuffed with drugs. The driver would be unloading the cargo, then returning with flat-packed furniture padded with wads of cash.
It wasn't unguarded, but the main force of the Empire wouldn't arrive for hours. Even if I didn't interfere with the drug delivery, I could still hit them and remove the cash they were using to pay for it, weakening them and their relationship with whoever was supplying their drugs.
As far as I was concerned, it was perfect.
Now all I needed was a costume.Last edited: Aug 18, 2024723J D LarsonAug 18, 2024View discussionThreadmarks Beggar 1.5 View contentJ D LarsonAug 19, 2024#27My costume budget was close to nonexistent.
I had about a hundred dollars I'd scrounged together over the last few months, mostly from Christmas and birthdays. Dad didn't really do an allowance, given our financial situation, and gifts were mostly in the form of new clothes and school supplies, which I'd been going through fairly frequently thanks to the trio.
It would have to be enough, I decided, stepping off the bus at the Lord Street Market.
Because it was a Wednesday afternoon, the more profitable stalls were empty. Normally, there'd be a fudge stand right here at the bus stop, selling overpriced confectionary to tourists and locals with a sweet tooth and too much money. However, the stalls that sold more bulky goods rented by the week, and their stock was what I was hunting.
Even in January the weather was fairly mild in Brockton Bay. I even saw one old guy walking around in shorts, which made me shake my head in despair. Probably some male machismo display, I decided, as if showing off his indifference to the cold somehow made up for his beer gut and complete lack of muscle mass.
Still, this reminded me of my costume choices. I could rely on my powers to protect me from the cold in a pinch, but this would eat into my limited pool of resources. Alternatively, I could pick something more insulating, but I didn't have high hopes my budget would stretch to that.
Did I even need to worry about the cold? I was a brute, able to shrug off injuries without pause. Did that translate into ignoring extreme weather too?
Given that my powers provided me with options to resist the effects of bad weather, I suspected not. Maybe there was a range I'd be fine with, but I'd rather hedge my bets if possible.
The patrolling enforcers didn't hassle me as I navigated the rows of stalls, content to let me browse. I could feel their eyes on me, but unlike if I was on the Boardwalk proper, the market was where people like me were allowed to spend their money. Still, I expected that if I didn't buy something soon, I'd probably get one or two of them looming over me, demanding to inspect the contents of my backpack.
Lucky for me, I had no intention of shoplifting. My first stop had me standing in front of a table laid out with 'collector's pieces, display items, and self defense tools.' In short, weapons. Mostly knives, with a suspicious amount of eagles on the handles that hinted to where the biker-looking stall owner's allegiances lay. Not looking to get a reputation as the next coming of Jack Slash, I instead turned to the smaller range of personal defense equipment, eventually deciding on a collapsible baton. The satisfying 'click' as it extended and concealable size both convinced me it was worth the ticket price, and I didn't even get a second glance as I paid for it, despite being obviously underage. Only in the Bay.
The clothing stalls ran the gamut from kitschy organic hemp blends to factory surplus made in sweatshops, with the onus on the buyer to find their own way through the mess. I started with the charity stalls, where second-hand clothing had been recycled from donations to fund whatever cause they supported. Drug rehab, I think this one was, based on all the pamphlets on the counter. I assumed they got plenty of work in Brockton Bay.
Over the next few hours, I sifted through the racks. I wasn't sure what theme I wanted to go with, and honestly I didn't think I could afford to be too choosy. I'd found some thermal wear that could serve as a good base for the costume, black and stretchy enough that it would fit me. However, I wasn't going out in a skin-tight costume, and continued searching for something less form fitting.
I knew I'd found the next piece by the color, the same green that I remembered Aroden wearing. It was a stall with a distinctly middle-eastern flair, a bold and probably fool-hardy business choice in a city populated with neo-nazis. Perhaps that's why the prices were so low, since it looked like they were doing poorly. The clothes themselves were a set of flowing pants called a şalvar, together with a loose overcoat called an entari. They were definitely baggy enough to allow full range of movement, and seemed tailored for women who didn't possess much in the way of impressive attributes to display.
Paying for my purchase, I noticed they had a separate stand for shawls, or şals. I quickly added one to my stack, wincing as the total consumed virtually all my remaining funds. Still, I had obtained the basics for my hero costume, so mission accomplished.
Stuffing my backpack with my costume and retreating to the bus stop, I contemplated my plan of attack. Dad would be home late, probably around the same as last night, so I had the choice of either heading straight to the warehouse now, or trying to sneak out tonight.
Given my options, I decided not to wait. There was no guarantee I wouldn't end up arriving too late to prevent the exchange, meaning if I wanted to strike the Empire today, it should be as soon as possible. The bus routes on the small map near the market were actually free of vandalism, so it didn't take me too long to figure out the best route for my trip. Course set, all I had to do now was execute my plan.
-=-=-=-
As I watched the warehouse, I wondered whether I'd be more or less conspicuous if I'd avoided changing into my costume.
The şal wrapped around my face and neck, letting my hair flow free at the back and leaving a small gap for my eyes. It obviously wasn't how it was supposed to be worn, but served well enough for a mask. The rest of the clothing worked to complete the look, hopefully selling the idea that I was a dangerous cape, and not simply a kid late for halloween.
The less said about changing into thermal wear in a door's alcove off a filthy alleyway, the better.
Night was rapidly approaching, and twilight wouldn't last long in January. My awareness didn't give me any special ability to see through darkness that I'd noticed, so if I was going to do this, I'd need to act while I still had the advantage on my enemies.
My approach plan was straightforward: Move between cover, stop and sense for enemies, and repeat until I reached my goal. At the first sign of ambush, flee as fast as I could run.
I also had another power I was abusing for all it was worth.
If I concentrated, I could enhance myself with my powers. There seemed to be lots of different ways it could affect me, but the one I was most grateful for was the boost it gave me to my senses. After using it, the edge of my awareness seemed to extend just a little further out, a full two hundred feet, and it also helped me keep a lower profile, made my footsteps softer, and generally made me harder to spot.
A pity it only lasted six seconds, even if I could renew it by stopping to concentrate on my power.
Thus, my plan. I'd made it to the shadow of a parked van that let me conceal myself between the road and a sturdy concrete fence, but now I was this close to my goal, I could see I wouldn't get there uncontested. A man was loitering in the lee of the warehouse rear I was targeting, and from his tattoos and hairstyle choice, he was obviously not here for just a quick smoke break.
This was it, I thought, pulling out my baton and extending it with a flick of my wrist. The point of no return. Forward from here was a commitment to violence, taking justice into my own hands. I was preparing to hurt, injure, possibly even kill others.
I thought about what I knew of the Empire, their 'initiation rituals.' How they'd make hopeful members perform violent crimes on minorities to prove their commitment to the cause. Chances were, the man in front of me was already guilty of hate crimes several times over if we was being trusted to guard something as valuable as this location.
Still, was it right for me to act as judge, jury, and executioner?
If not me, then who?
The authorities had already failed us. I thought back to the cop I'd shaken hands with, already on the Empire's payroll. The government heroes who spent their time on photo ops and merchandise instead of fighting crime. The law wasn't prepared to do anything to step in here.
I remembered one of Mom's favorite quotes: 'If a law is unjust a man is not only right to disobey it, he is obligated to do so.'
Really, wasn't that what being a hero was about? Cutting through the layers of bullshit and bureaucracy, going out, and doing what needed to be done?
I focused on my power, dashed forward, and attacked.
First strike, back of the head. He hadn't seen me approach, caught completely off guard.
Second strike, to the temple. His head cracked violently sideways, and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Stabilize," I incanted, pressing my hand to the man's injury.
Charlie Upton. Forklift Driver. Empire 88. Grievous bodily harm. Assault with a deadly weapon.
Severe lethal injuries. Unconscious. Stable.
I quickly moved past his body, pressing up to the door of the warehouse. No time to reflect on my actions, no second-guessing now. I'd made my choice, it was time to see it through.
Nobody emerged from the door after a minute, so I took the risk of opening it and peeking inside. A bare concrete hallway, no signs of other guards, with stairs leading up on one side and a door on the ground floor level at the other.
Stairs, I decided. I remembered the visions I'd had, the sniper nest on the roof. My approach had been from the rear of the building, since I'd assumed the main defenses would be focused on the front.
Drawing on my power again, I crept carefully up the stairs, pausing at the corner to listen for a reaction before moving. I got to the rooftop door, easing it open, and dashed out to crouch behind the bulk of a metal roof vent.
Back to me, rifle at his side, the lookout had a folding deck chair and a pair of binoculars on the ground next to him. It appeared he was more preoccupied fiddling with his phone than keeping guard. Occasionally he'd glance away, scan the streets, then go right back to his phone.
That worked for me. A lazy ganger was a gift I wasn't going to ignore. Again, I focused on my power before creeping forward, another strike to the back of the head to open my attack.
The ganger's reflexive reaction to raise his arms towards the injury threw off my second strike, forcing me to swing for his arm. I hit his forearm with full force, the impact striking with a meaty crunch that sent a shriek of pain from my target.
He toppled forward, hitting the ground and curling around his broken arm. I slammed my baton down on his head again, and he went limp.
Stabilizing him only took a few seconds, and gave the opportunity to check the scene below from my vantage point. There was nobody else I could spot guarding the exterior of the building. The few parked vehicles on the street below didn't have any occupants, so unless there were more Empire thugs hiding in the nearby buildings, all I'd have to worry about would be the rest of the warehouse interior.
I'd been keeping an eye on the door downstairs, ready to break for it if anyone responded to the shout of pain earlier. So far it had been a minute, and there was no sign of any investigation from below.
There were skylights on the roof with me, but they were made of opaque plastic, not clear glass. Unless I planned on smashing one, I didn't have the tools required to unfix them and use it as a vantage point to see into the warehouse.
Creeping up to the door, I carefully descended, moving down the concrete hallway to the ground floor entry. Now I was closer, I could hear what seemed to be the sound of a sports game being played by a TV, and could smell a faint scent of cigarette smoke ahead.
Ever so slowly, I inched the door open, using the crack to let my awareness peek inside the room. As the sliver of my senses widened, I caught the layout of the interior. Floor to ceiling metal shelves formed corridors within, mostly empty save for some flat cardboard boxes on the lower areas. Opposite my position on the far end of the warehouse were large roller doors, no doubt the loading bays for trucks to back up and empty or fill their cargo.
One corner of the far end of the warehouse next to the loading bays had a section squared off by walls, likely the office. There were large windows that let the office view the warehouse floor, and through them I could see three more Empire. Two were on a couch, watching the TV set up in front of the windows, giving them a clear view past it into the warehouse. The last one was facing away from the windows, but I could see him facing a set of security monitors.
I froze. Had he already seen me?
No, I realized, watching him closely. I could see him rubbing his eyes and yawning, the cigarette smoldering on his lips drooping. He was just tired and bored, probably from watching nothing for hours. One of the monitors was pointed directly at the back door entrance I'd used, and it was only blind luck he hadn't spotted me entering.
Confirming my suspicions, he spun in his chair, turning to watch the sports game. Reaching over to the table, he grabbed a beer bottle and took a swig, then spun back to the monitors after a drag on his smoke.
Still, three on one was risky odds, even with the element of surprise. I doubted my luck at avoiding the security cameras would hold up a second time if I tried circling around the front, and I didn't even know if the door would be locked when I got there. Should I retreat?
The cover inside the warehouse was sparse. I could possibly get half the distance to the office unseen, but that still left around 60 feet of open ground between me and the office afterwards, with only bare metal shelves in the way. It would probably be safer to simply run as fast as possible, rather than risk getting seen and giving the enemy time to react.
A risk, but I felt confident enough in taking it. I had one last trick left up my sleeve to even the odds as well. Drawing out my symbol and gesturing, I used the final charge of my single use powers for the day.
"Shield of Faith," I incanted.
The air around me briefly bent, distorted like a funhouse mirror, before snapping back to reality.
Then I charged.
I'd crossed the warehouse floor before the two thugs on the couch even got off their asses. Grabbing the door to the office, I yanked it open and burst through, raising my baton with an inarticulate yell. It served to surprise my target, who instinctively raised his hands to protect his face, while I brought my weapon down at an angle to knock his guard aside.
"Shit, cape!" he shouted, scrambling back as my baton shoved his arms down.
The delay he caused me was enough to give the other two time to react, each pulling handguns. I kept track of them as I followed through my swing, timing my blow to crack down on the thug's collarbone hard enough to leave him unable to use his right arm. I side-stepped five feet to put him between me and his friend on the couch, using the sofa as meagre cover against the third.
The formerly sleepy monitor watcher was awake now, eyes wide with panic as he drew aim on me. One, two, three shots rang out, impressively noisy inside the enclosed space of the office. The first went wide, not even close to hitting. The second was on target, but inches from my skin its path deflected away, bent off course by my power. The third struck true, ripping through my abdomen, which immediately closed behind, only a ragged hole in my costume left to show its passage.
In the time of the three shots, I'd not been idle. My first target was down, his inability to raise his right arm offering him no protection against a series of brutal head blows.
He'd barely had time to keel over before I pounced on his ally behind, smacking my baton down on his gun arm. A sound like wet wood breaking from its impact with his wrist left him defenseless against my follow-through.
With two down, I vaulted the sofa.
Thug three must have put in some time at the firing range. His stance was steady now, arms held in a bracing grip as he put a bullet right through my face.
I think I was as surprised as he was about how little it did to stop me.
My baton made short work of him once he was in my reach, although I felt guilty about the kick I gave him in the ribs at the end.
With the office clear, I stabilized the thugs and checked the security cameras. Nobody else in view, I took stock of my injuries.
Severe lethal injuries.
I'd been shot. Twice. One of those going right through my head, and I felt just as ready to fight as I had been five minutes ago. Powers were bullshit.
The only healing powers I had left affected a circle around me. Deciding not to revive the thugs for round two, I stepped out of the office until I was far enough away, then lifted my symbol and channeled my power through it four times, keeping my last use in reserve in case of emergency.
Uninjured.
Good as new.
Time to see if my thinker abilities were right, I suppose.
A box cutter and some wrestling with packed furniture later, and I was looking at wads of cash wrapped in brown paper mixed with assorted chair legs, seat cushions, plastic bags of screws and assembly diagrams that barely matched the box's contents.
Evidence. Fucking. Acquired.
Okay, thinker power. Now what?
Crime: Money laundering. Crime: Intent to distribute narcotics. Penalty: Civil forfeiture. Vigilante Bounty: 50% asset seizure.
Right, time to call the cops.
"911, police, fire or ambulance?"
"Police, please," I said, speaking into the phone in the office. I'd left the boxes I'd opened on the floor outside, figuring it best not to interfere any further with the potential evidence.
"Okay, and what's the address of the emergency?"
"It's fifteen Mill Street, a warehouse on the intersection between Mill and West Munroe."
"Thanks, can you repeat that for verification?"
"Fifteen Mill Street, intersection of Mill and West Munroe."
"What's the phone number you're calling from?"
"I'm not sure, it's the phone in the office, I don't know the number."
"Okay, do you have a number we can call?"
I grimaced. I'd need to get a burner cell phone if I was going to keep doing this.
"No, sorry, I don't have a phone."
"Okay, tell me what's happened."
"I've got a bunch of Empire guys here all unconscious, oh, I guess I'll need ambulances too. This place is full of cash, they were going to use it to pay for drugs that were getting shipped here tonight."
"Okay, dispatching police, ambulance and PRT. Please confirm, are you currently in danger?"
"No, I've got the place secure."
"And are you a cape?"
"Uh, yes, I am. I'm new, this is my first time doing this."
"Okay, I'm patching in the PRT operators now, please remain on the line and await further instructions," said the woman on the opposite end, just as one of the thug's mobiles started to ring.
"Just a sec," I said, putting down the handset and grabbing the mobile. I tapped the phone button, then realized I had to slide it when nothing happened. The call connected and I put it up to my ear.
"Paul, cops are incoming, what's your status?" said the voice on the other end.
I paused, trying to figure out what to say back. I must have taken too long, since the voice on the other end spoke again.
"Whoever you are, you just fucked up, you hear?" the voice said again. "You got about two minutes left to live before we come and end you."
Lying.
Huh. Looks like my thinker power also comes with a lie detector.
"You're bluffing," I said. "Nobody's coming. The cops and PRT are already en route, and you're not risking more people or capes over a bit of cash."
"Pretty sure of that, are you girlie? You sound young. You new? You would be if you think you can cross the Empire and get away with it. Got a name yet, dead girl?"
I could just hang up. This wasn't a productive conversation. I'd been hoping to get something for my thinker power, maybe feed it more intel for future raids, but it wasn't giving me anything besides the fact the charming nazi on the other side of the phone was lying through his teeth.
However, I wanted them to know. I was pretty sure they'd have my name anyway, given I'd probably need to give it to the police when they showed up, and it was pretty clear anything the cops knew, the Empire knew too. I'd been thinking on my cape name for awhile, on the nature of my powers, the potential for growth. I was never much good at names, but I was certain about this one.
"Ascendant."