7.8
Wednesday, 11th May
Fitting together the last few pieces of your scanner was one of the more gratifying experiences of the last few days, and did a lot to wipe away any lingering turmoil that was laying around in the back of your head.
Between everything else, you'd been spending time tinkering away in the workshop. Flashdrive had, at times, been alongside you, but you'd also experienced working alone for the first time, in true isolation, whenever he left to report to Cinereal, update Shrugg on the returns of his scouting, or even go on a rare patrol; perhaps it was because you began your tinkering career alongside Kid Win in his own workshop, but there was something uncomfortably silent about being in such a room on your own.
Every sound either came as a surprise, or – more often – at your own hands, and it lend an additional sense of purpose to every motion you made. It was hard to work with your mind fully locked in when you sometimes surprised yourself with the intensity of a buzz or the sharpness of a clink.
You had noticed, though, that with time, your work was getting quieter and quieter. A few moments thoughts made sense of it; you were always going smaller, working more delicately, with more minute measurements, and as a result over time you were disturbing the air less and less. You wondered how quiet it would get; whether one day, you'd be working on a scale so small that the air's molecules themselves were larger than the fruits of your labour.
Impossible? Almost certainly, but it as an attractive sentiment, and pushed you to work ever more carefully as you put the finishing touches on the scanner.
With only Flashdrive's notoriously impenetrable work to compare it to, you were hard pressed to make a judgment on how effective it would be, but based on everything you had read in the PRT's limited archives, you were sure that you'd be able to pick up at least some of the differences between normal biological readings and those put off by a parahuman.
It turned out that, upon receiving clearance for the data, there wasn't much to go on. Of course there were reams and reams of paper speculating, and innumerable experiments that threw around scientific terminology like cannon fire in the Napoleonic Wars, each launched piece of specialist language determined to put a hole in someone else's argument and sink it for good, but at the end of the day the more you read the more you realised that nobody had a firm grasp of what they were talking about, and you had to combine the concepts you read about with your own sense of tinker's intuition to get anywhere.
Yet, through such struggles, you were confident in your scanners – or as confident as you were in anything you had built. Expanding the size of the scanners by less than a millimetre total on each side, you hadn't had to even carve out space for them to fit inside the old enclosures, and before you knew it they were mounted in your gloves, belt, and helmet just as before.
Without a volunteer to test it on, you couldn't produce results yet, but you were confident that when you did, you'd get something usable. Then, maybe, you'd be able to approach Tritium again.
Your conversation with the independent hero had circulated around your mind a few times since you had spoken. Her tone abrasive, it hadn't been the sort of callous social misunderstanding that sometimes came up when talking to Rachel; there had been something altogether more bitter about it, distrusting rather than simply disliking, and figuring out the best way to talk to her seemed like a Gordian knot.
Even running questions through Percentile hadn't fully illuminated the situation; you'd clarified that she didn't have any particular personal history with the PRT that would cause her to hold a grudge, but there had been a strong positive result – over eighty percent – when just asking whether or not she had a reason to dislike the PRT, and that was interesting on its own terms.
Imagining a situation where she could have developed a distaste without there being a personal experience was difficult. You'd had a small degree of distrust towards the Brockton Bay Protectorate before joining up, mostly born out of their inability or unwillingness to actually deal with the major crime facing the city, but once you'd got involved they'd taken action and major changes had come swiftly. It wasn't so much that they had been unwilling, but more that they had been unable to make a real change without overturning the beehive; you'd simply been the tool they needed to crack things open.
Atlanta was nothing like that. Sure, the city had problems in the past, but it was on a road to recovery over the last few years and for precisely the opposite reasons to Brockton Bay; Cinereal had been uprooting criminals with regularity, and there were actual deaths to her name. Whatever criticism Tritium had of the PRT or Protectorate, it couldn't be that they were operating with too soft a touch or too little in the way of results.
Without that to fall back on, though, you had nothing; if Tritium had something that you'd consider a good reason, you wanted to hear it, but figuring out a way to get her to tell you – a member of that self-same organisation she disliked – without getting a superpowered punch sent into your jaw was another issue.
Taking the punch wasn't the issue. You were pretty sure that even with her radiation working at maximum, you could subdue an angry Tritium in moments and your helmet was probably hard enough to take a blow from her head on, if it had handled Hookwolf's explosion as easily as it did, but you still didn't exactly feel like getting punched was the kind of thing you should allow too often. Regent would probably get suspicious and make a comment about it.
Briefly, you wondered whether looking into more parahuman theory would help you understand the mysteries of your own powers, but you weren't really sure where to go. After plunging hours into research dedicated to honing your scanners, you were fairly sure you knew more than most people did about parahumans, and the things that were more advanced were probably either beyond you or pure speculation. You didn't even understand how people could study it at the highest level without pulling their own hair out.
Even getting confirmation that the strange things going on with your corona weren't entirely unheard of hadn't made you feel any better; stuck between being annoyed that it didn't serve as an explanation and the suggestion that it usually occurred in younger triggers due to a less developed brain, you weren't sure whether to be frustrated or offended. You settled for both, and decided to move on.
The only solution left for you was to ask someone who might actually have an idea. Vicky was your best idea, given her college classes on parahuman studies, but she hadn't had any kind of solution months ago when you had first broached the subject to her. There was a chance that the extra time spent in classes since might have given a solution, but you doubted it. Nevertheless, you fired off a message asking; it couldn't hurt to try, and even if she didn't know herself she may know someone who you could look up or even contact to try and figure out things in more detail. A professor or a researcher she had come across in her college life.
Enthused by the success of your scanners, you packed up and headed through to crisis management. Shrugg had managed to get some volunteer officers from the local police, veterans of any number of crises both parahuman and otherwise, who were willing to give a talk, and all of the Wards were due to attend. You were excited at the prospect of it. After everything that had gone wrong at the concert, you were looking forward to finding out some tried and tested methods for keeping things under control; without the bodies that a police department could put on the ground there was a little less you could do, but Shadow Snare had already gone some way into making the situation more secure and you were willing to take any additional ideas.
Unwilling to leave the streets unsupervised, the Protectorate members had left in force that morning on their own patrols; Flashdrive had even been roped in, and so you made sure to lock up the workshop when you left. The likelihood of anyone entering without permission was small, and the likelihood that anyone who did could cause major damage even smaller, but when dealing with things like tinkertech it was always best to take the safest route available.
Experimental technology possessed a number of risks at the best of times. When that experimental technology began to see that laws of physics as suggestions rather than commands, the risk escalated further; it was best to just take an extra thirty seconds to lock things up.
Unfortunately, your enthusiasm wasn't rewarded.
Certainly, there were insights. The idea of relying on your communications devices even more than you had in the past to ensure passwords on a secure network – essentially just adding a layer of security to the existent M/S protocol system – was a good one, and you diligently made notes as the officer slowly clicked through his PowerPoint. You appreciated the note of making some way to be heard to a crowd even in situations of extreme chaos; even if you had yelled at the concert, you didn't think that most of the attendees would have heard you, and seeing Interlocutor with a megaphone should have sparked some kind of recognition.
Modifying your helmet to include a loudspeaker module seemed almost trivial in comparison to the tasks you had been undertaking recently; a good project that could take up an hour or two without becoming overly arduous.
Aside from that, though, you were shocked and disappointed to be told that your actions at the concert had been, for such a small group of two people undercover, exemplary.
It was a contradictory sensation. On the one hand, you wanted the praise – knowing that you did the best you could have done in an awkward situation was something that you were appreciative of, and even if it didn't make you feel better about things it could at least take some of the more piercing stings out of your own thoughts. On the other hand, it was a sign of a failure somewhere; sure, you couldn't emulate most police strategies in isolation or even in groups as large as three, but frankly you didn't even want to emulate the kind of tactics they were giving you anyway.
If a crowd was running due to a parahuman attack, you didn't see the value in kettling them in, and riot shields seemed like an easy way to turn confusion into fear and therefore escalate a situation rather than improve it.
Filling out the questionnaire at the end and giving feedback – even on a form with an assurance of anonymity – did little to resolve your sense of dissatisfaction.
It all just seemed overly aggressive. Sure, sometimes you had to be forceful, but you would rather apply that force to the villains instead of the civilians. Even if you had to occasionally push things with them – you'd rather a civilian be scared or annoyed than dead, after all – the idea that the first port of call was to pull rank as an employee of the Wards and then start issuing orders just sounded dumb. Sounded like accidents waiting to happen.
You'd take what you could from the training session, sure. A focus on communications was something you could use, and after minutes of contemplation, the loudspeaker idea had developed even further. Beyond that, the seminar was probably not worth the time it took, and when you left the room you could tell that you weren't the only one feeling that way.
They didn't voice it, but you could tell from posture alone; perhaps only Melder had any interest in half of the stuff you had just been forced to listen to, and even then his usual professional demeanour seemed at least slightly weighed down by boredom.
Split between the entire group of Wards, you weren't sure if there was enough energy left to charge a mobile phone; lethargy seemed the rule of the day, and when confirmation came that the Protectorate was still out on patrol the entire group headed as a unit to the Ward's room, whereupon couches became places of honour and the small refrigerator in the corner of the room was pulled into service.
All of you were feeling, very clearly, disenchanted.
Conversation began slowly, but built up well enough over time. Scrivener and Regent had a particular interplay that prompted interruptions from others and there was some cheerfulness to things. Rachel, who otherwise didn't engage in conversation much, seemed happy enough to trade a few words with you and Phyton from time to time, otherwise remaining quiet. You got the feeling that she was probably more of a fan of smaller gatherings, and would rather be working at the shelter than hanging out with anyone else. You'd have to visit her there soon, and see how things were going.
'So you just vanished the rocks, by touching them?'
'Pretty much. It's a time based power, I think. It's hard to work out exactly how it works.'
The topic of your Monday lava-banishment had arisen, and you weren't sure how to brush it off without being rude. While you didn't mind talking about it, there was an impressed tone in the air that made you feel distinctly uncomfortable; like there were too many eyes on you and too much adulation being aimed at you for something anyone in the room might have done if they had the ability.
Perhaps not anyone; Regent would probably have just tried to make it larger for the sake of comedy, and if a driver yelled at Rachel the way he had yelled at you, she probably would have fed him the rock dust instead of just hoping that it did some damage to his engine.
'That's pretty cool though, are you going to do more stuff like that?'
'Like what?'
'Using your powers to give back, stuff like that.'
'Well, I tried to come up with some ideas,' you said, clearing things up for the crowd. 'I asked Scrivener for some ideas on what I could do before even moving here, and he just suggested getting Miss Freedom back.'
A murmur went around the group, and you could tell that it was an idea with some support. Anchor and Melder seemed perhaps more enthused than anyone else, though you weren't certain as to why.
'And have you had any luck?'
Scrivener seemed the revel in the attention that his suggestion had brought you, and was happy to prod you into going further, as though to prolong the suffering.
Having thought about it, you had made some enquiries using Percentile, but nothing major had come back. Of course, you had already learned that Inheritance was behind it, and you had been able to confirm that it was still in their possession and still in a condition that most people would consider at least salvageable, though the question as to whether it had been damaged at all had come back with a pretty strong affirmation. What kind of damage was difficult to work out – the range of possibilities so huge you would have to sacrifice several day's worth of questions just to get anywhere close.
Communicating that much to the group seemed more than enough to impress them though; while suspicions had existed about Inheritance's potential role in things, largely for the same reasons you had initially been inspired to ask about their possible involvement, they hadn't had concrete confirmation. Shutting down other avenues of possibility focused a lot of their attentions on it, and there were conspiracy theories flying through the air as soon as you said it.
'No,' Melder interrupted after a short while, 'I don't think that they're using it as a glorified hood ornament.'
Alec's suggestion that one of Crumplezone's more dramatic creations might have made use of Miss Freedom did not receive a warm welcome.
Eventually, the speculation died down and the subject of conversation turned again to the possible uses of your power.
Some of them were mundane enough that you would never do them, no matter how insistent Anchor was that Disney Princess was a recipe for a successful career as an animal trainer should you ever decide to give up hero work. A few other possibilities seemed more on the level, though; Melder's suggestion of using your striker power almost like a pre-determined shaker ability to tailor a landscape for combat or to prepare it for building work seemed to have some merit, and while you were pretty sure it might violate a law here and there, the possibility of using Shadow Snare in industrial abrasion cases might have had legs too – something to look into if you were ever short on money.
'You can cool things off too, right?' Rachel spoke up after a little while, her voice quiet but clear and strong, and more attention grabbing for its lack of projection.
'I can, sure,' you offered back, 'but I haven't had a good use for it yet.'
Your friend gestured around the shaded room, as though speaking to the obvious, and you realised instantly that she was right.
Peak Summer had not quite made it to Atlanta yet, but the warmth was creeping up and already it was as hot as you might have expected for the peak of August in Brockton Bay. There was a close, almost sticky warmth to the air at times that made you find sleep difficult to come by and air just that little further from reach when you went to inhale.
In a room heavily shaded by bright central lights and ample furniture, the solution seemed obvious, and after relocating to place yourself at the side of the room in such a way as to get everyone within your line of sight, the subsequent exaltations as you dropped the temperature down easily half a dozen degrees were clear enough in the collective opinions of the Wards.
Being used as a glorified air conditioner may not have been the most noble way to make a living, but you were willing to accept it – after all, you could easily go much colder, and you may well have just worked out another way to potentially get Anchor back for her cake mess-up.
Though, you'd have to find out whether she preferred the cold or not first. It would be just your luck to try and plunge her into Arctic conditions just to find out that she loved the cold and held Glacial in the highest of esteem.
Conversation petered out after that, the revelation of a cooling shade in Georgia's warmth doing enough to temper the heat of the chat as much as it did the climbing of the mercury, but most of the group stuck together for a little longer in the room, occasionally commenting on something on their minds or making a suggestion for other things that could be done with powers; once someone suggested Scrivener could use his power to become an effective strikebreaker, you put your foot down.
Taylor Hebert, daughter of Danny Hebert, proud union man, wouldn't allow such blasphemies to be spoken in her presence. Not even for comedy.
Thursday, 12th May
Finally having received a message from Alec about his own bird, you reflected on what you had learned about your own master power thus far.
Firstly, Alec knew what he was doing when it came to constructing tests for mastery. If ever you had another power of that type manifest, you knew exactly who to speak to in order to get instruction.
Secondly, there was mixed news. With less than a week having passed, you couldn't yet confirm anything about the third bird, but there had been results on the first two. Before heading home the previous day you had stopped by the courtyard and collected your feather, affirming what you had already suspected: just giving a simple instruction to go somewhere, do something relatively simple, and return at a set point resulted in a success.
Alec's feather had been slightly less successful. He'd received it, and had even sent you a photograph of confirmation; you recognised the bird pretty well, and while you didn't really trust yourself as an authority on the subject the fact that it had performed the task you asked it to narrowed down the possibilities most of the way.
On the other hand, it hadn't been able to do things properly. Alec had received the feather, but only near his apartment; you'd been lucky that he had spotted the bird out of the window, flying around with a feather clutched in its beak, because it hadn't come to his window specifically and when he had gone outside, it hadn't found him of it's own accord.
Based on the warnings that Alec had given when you set that task, it told you something pretty clear: animals could use some basic thought processes, and maybe even follow people if you told them to – it was the only clear reason why the bird would have been even close to the target at all – but unless you knew things with precision, there was only so much detective work you could expect out of a wild bird.
Well, out of that particular type of bird. Maybe you would have had more success trying with a smarter species – a corvid, perhaps – but there weren't that many around and you thought that part of the point of inconspicuous animal spies got lost if you started sourcing uncommon, advantageous breeds for the job.
While you didn't credit most villains with much, you knew that stupidity was far from a uniform trait, and it would take someone of peculiar density to completely miss that a blue jay had started hanging around all of their bases just as half of their activities had begun to be thwarted. If you were going to use birds as a basis for a spy network, you were going to have to figure out which type had the best combination of utility and obscurity that it wouldn't blow your cover.
Good to know.
There wasn't much room to draw further conclusions yet; once the final bird either returned or didn't the following week, you'd know for sure whether you could set longer term simple tasks or not, and from there you could return to Flashdrive with an eye towards rigging up at least a handful of the things with monitoring equipment. Until then, you just had to sit on your hands.
Well, sitting on your hands wasn't fair.
Instead, you were looking through some of the PRT's classified files on the known villains of the city to try and figure out more ways to avoid being mastered.
Call it paranoia, but as confident as you were that the training from Monday had paid off, you weren't about to put anyone's life at risk by assuming you would always have someone to bail you out. The worst case scenario was being caught alone – on the way to PRT headquarters or perhaps on the way home, or even within your home itself in the very worst cases imaginable – and in those cases you wouldn't have Rachel shaking you to your senses or Phyton to pull you behind cover.
Instead, you had to figure out a way to resist things as a matter of personal pride.
The first step on that journey was figuring out how they were all doing it.
Some of them were obvious enough. Alienate spoke, and things happened; deafening yourself seemed like an obvious solution, though it contained some even more obvious drawbacks; a moment's distraction in Brockton Bay had seen the Empire's Twins launch you through a building or two, and soundproofing your helmet sounded like a sure-fire way to guarantee similar events happening in the future. It just wasn't feasible.
Alienate wasn't the only one who seemed to operate by sound, though. Interlocutor, even though he'd now been brought in, had been another example of the kind, and while there wasn't much information on some of the other masters in the city, at least one other master – Cavalry – seemed like a likely candidate for verbal manipulation.
The Count, interestingly enough, didn't seem to have a known vector. While there was a lot of options listed in his file, nobody had seen him work with enough confidence to know for sure how his power worked – at least, not anybody who would speak. You were going with the worst case scenario then, and assuming he fell into the same category of master as Regent and Scrivener: those who didn't even need to give themselves away through speech, and who could just hit you.
Prepare for the worst and hope for the best; it seemed like a good rule of thumb for a cape to live by.
The initial idea of a soundproofed helmet moved quickly, and you were hit by the idea of potentially developing some kind of software that could identify known voices and immediately filter those out, perhaps through some kind of inverted frequency band that cancelled out the incoming network of sounds. Sufficiently different from your normal tinkering process, you could barely hold on to the idea with both hands, and you knew that you were going to need to do at least some of the work manually, but there was something in it that seemed promising and in lieu of actually just developing a spontaneous resistance to masters, it was a challenge that you were more than willing to face head on.
As you sat puzzling at your desk, your phone buzzed with an alert and you picked it up, checking the screen.
Glory Girl: I'm not really sure that we studied anything that could help tbh. The only people who seem to say anything certain about how powers work are pretty much just considered mad by everyone
Glory Girl: that or just trying to get grant money ig
Glory Girl: one of them is in the Birdcage, so that tells you all you need to know ig
Click to shrink...
Actions Remaining:
- Try out the following hobbies: reading, cooking, woodworking, swimming, puzzles
- Work on designing some kind of restraint method with your tinkertech
- Work on your tinkertech in this order: bots, suits (1, 10)
- Hold a Q&A with the Atlanta community, preventing Regent and Scrivener from 'helping'
- Work on the selective soundproofing module for your helmet
- Suggest testing Overcharge on Triumvirate members
- Ask Percentile if any parahuman you know, excluding blindspots, would be able to kill or permanently cripple an Endbringer if Overcharged; if so, narrow it down?
Relatively dense chapter here, we got quite a lot done. Some crisis management training, which we did not find too thrilling, some usages of powers in non-combat applications, spending some time with the Wards, spitballing idea potential, browsing some PRT files, looking into Tritium's relationship with the PRT, identifying some more stuff about Miss Freedom and of course, finishing our scanners which are now up and running - next update, we will finish our first draft of the construction aid bots, which will speed further builds up as well.