2.4 Wave
2010, October 2: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
It was three in the morning when I finally finished putting together the clasp that contained both the shield and cloaking modules in Labyrinth's shawl. I pressed down and the final magnets locked into place with a satisfying click. It turned out a bit bigger than the prototype shell I'd used for the fitting. The extra bits came from trying to stabilize both the invisibility and texturing effects in the midst of rain, tear gas, or similar environmental disruptions. "Cloaking" was a much broader catch-all term I used.
The final product was a prismatic green hexagon about six inches in diameter with an embossed maze pattern similar to Labyrinth's old mask. I linked it to the helmet and shawl and made sure the whole ensemble was working before setting it aside for my own project. Hopefully, if Elle ever encountered the Slaughterhouse, this would keep her safe.
Over the past few days, I'd spent much of my time after school designing new suit. My focus was on the best way to combine my current Expansion Suit with the raid suits of the Germa 66. It was just about the only thing I could do at home that wouldn't burn down the house or invite suspicious questions.
The result of my scribblings was a combination of Essentia's suit and Sanji's version of the raid suit. It would be matte black with Sanji's high-collared cape and my current helmet. Head protection and PokéNav connectivity were just about the only benefits the Expansion Suit had over the raid suits so I'd have to replace everything with the reinforced Kevlar thread I'd named Germa fibers.
Instead of something skin-tight like a power ranger suit, I'd decided to settle for a roomier blazer modeled after an admiral's jacket. The gloves, buttons, and boots would be gray and accented in burnt orange, with the jacket itself a matte black.
I looked over the model and whistled. It had poise. It had character. It was intimidating. It was downright inspiring. It was… totally not suited for someone who barely stood at five-two.
I groaned. "I'm going to look like a wannabe power ranger… Sentai Elite… whatever," I muttered into my hands. I'd been so focused on the phenomenal defensive and offensive buffs that having a raid suit would grant that I completely overlooked the impact it would have on my image.
"Pory?" My porygon floated by my side, wondering if there was some mistake in the design.
"It's nothing, SAINT. I can't be assed to change this now. I guess Creed is going to be one hammy son of a bitch."
"Reee," he trilled skeptically.
"Nothing's wrong with it from a defensive perspective. Hell, I could probably take a few hits from Victoria in this thing even without the shield."
With one last sigh, I loaded the schematics into the sewing machine and set it to fabricate the new body of my outfit. I hoped to return from my chat with Amy to find a mostly finished suit. From there, all I'd need to do would be to migrate the electronic components of the Expansion Suit over to my new costume.
X
Amy Dallon sat in front of a fountain, browsing something or other on her phone. In front of her was the Devil's Bakery, famed for interesting flavor combinations and deliciously greasy donuts. I was mildly surprised to find her alone. I half figured Victoria would muscle her way into our "date." My gaze flickered to the rooftops.
'No, no Victoria today,' I thought with relief. Either she hadn't told her sister or Vicky was waiting out of sight somewhere.
"Morning, donuts?" I greeted as I made my way to the bakery.
I was dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but only on the outside. In truth, I'd worn my Germa suit and textured it to look like I was dressed normally. I'd taken care to remove the gloves, just in case she'd ask for my hand again. Trust, but verify. If shit hit the fan, I wanted the additional agility to run away.
She finished typing something on her phone and stood with a soft smile that was at odds with her normal scowl. "Sure, I could use something sweet."
She ended up with a bacon-maple drizzle with extra cinnamon and I picked up a clotted cream scone. The Devil's Bakery was the only place I'd found that actually made clotted cream, one of the few not-shitty parts of British cuisine in my humble opinion. Saddled with enough fat to make even a Charlotte cringe, we wandered around the mall for a while before Amy ushered me into a quiet café. The smooth jazz drowned out any conversation. We grabbed a corner table and ordered a glass of chai latte for myself and an Americano for Amy.
She took a sip and grimaced, the slightest pink of her tongue poking out. "God, that's bitter."
I slid over my latte. "Want some? They make good chai here. You could have ordered something sweet."
"I could, but the bitterness offsets the donut."
"Look at you, since when are you a connoisseur?"
"Since last year when I got powers and started working at the hospital. I can't drink so coffee's my poison alright?"
"Oof, yeah, that's fair. You doing alright?"
She sighed and took a large, angry bite of her donut. "Fine. It's fine. Let's not talk about the hospital."
"Okay, then what's this about?"
"You. I know you have powers."
I blinked in surprise. I'd come expecting this conversation but I didn't think she'd be so forward. "Huh… What gave me away?"
"So you do. I wasn't sure but your corona was really well-developed. I saw when you held my hand at the dance."
"Oh, well… That confirms that…"
"You knew I could out you?"
"I wasn't really thinking about me back then," I admitted. "I just wanted you to know I meant every word I said. Then you started talking about how I should come to you if anything 'weird' happened to me, I figured powers were probably what you were talking about."
"Oh… Guess neither of us were being too careful, huh?"
"Definitely not. I thought it was against the unwritten rules to approach a cape like this though," I told her with a hint of recrimination in my voice. I wasn't mad, if anything, I was somewhat thankful. Without her, I wouldn't have reflected on myself nearly as much. Even so, her forcing me out like this was a major breach of courtesy.
She winced and took a long sip of her coffee to gather her thoughts. "It is. It is and I'm sorry for that. It's just… I thought you didn't know anything about the rules so I wanted to talk to you, explain them, you know?"
"I do. I'm not mad," I assured her. "I already know the rules though, so I'd appreciate it if you pretended you didn't see anything. Have you told anyone else?"
"No, you're safe there. I haven't even told Vicky yet."
That took me by surprise. "Why? I mean, I'm grateful, but you tell her everything."
"I do, except cape identities. At this point, I can probably make a solid guess as to the civilian identities of most of the Protectorate just from healing them so much. The Wards chose to unmask to Vicky. You didn't." She looked at me seriously. "I have to pay closer attention to the unwritten rules than most capes because I'm a parahuman healer."
"That makes sense. I appreciate it. If she does suspect it's me, will she try to make you tell her?"
"No. She's not the vapid gossip queen you think she is, Bryce. She can seem like that at school, but she knows when to stop asking questions."
"Alright, I'll take your word for it; you know her best."
We both took a sip of our drinks and let the soothing jazz wash over us. With my cape status out on the table, the air felt lighter. "So… powers?"
"Curious?"
"I think I'll die of anticipation," she replied flatly. "It's probably something lame like the power to make someone quote poetry, isn't it?"
"There are no lame powers, only idiots too stupid to use them well," I said sagely, stroking an imaginary beard.
"You've obviously never met Chubster," she snorted, "or Scapegoat."
"I've heard of Chubster. He sounds like the kind of guy I want to be like," I said honestly. His power wasn't particularly great, the slower he moved, the tougher he became, but he was the kind of person who could poke fun at himself. He named himself Chubster after all. "I can respect a man who willingly calls himself Chubster and owns the name."
"Yeah, well, imagine having a power that lets you heal others by transferring their injuries to yourself. That's Scapegoat. I see him on duty after endbringer fights. Honestly? I respect him a lot. Everyone points to his as the power they'd never want to have, but to show up to an endbringer fight full well knowing he's going to take on all those injuries for himself…"
"No lame powers, just lame people. Those are some awesome people."
"Yeah." We remained silently in thought before Amy's eyes snapped to meet mine. "So, powers."
I sighed. SAINT and I had gone back and forth on this. The truth was, SAINT was right: I scared myself with how quickly I'd come to disregarding laws and morals. There was something about the anonymity of the mask that brought out the worst in me. In the end, I stood by my decision; the Hillside Heist was a great start as a tinker and I'd do it again, but my growing apathy worried me. "Tinker," I admitted.
"You don't sound happy about it."
"I just realized I'm not as good a person as I thought I was, that's all."
She mulled over my words before her eyes sharpened. "Hand," she said.
"Amy…"
"Hand," she held hers out insistently. I hesitantly placed my hand in hers. To any outsider, we probably looked like a shy, teen couple. I was all too aware of the worst possible scenario and I had to consciously remind myself that this Amy wasn't that person.
"I trust you," I said simply.
"Are you a villain?"
I tried to keep my heartbeat stable but it was impossible under the circumstances. I wasn't some hardened criminal mastermind or superspy; I was just some guy who lucked out with a phenomenal power. "Yes."
"Bryce, why? What the fuck?" It hurt, seeing the accusation in her eyes. "Why?" she repeated.
"Well, at least you're letting me explain," I said wryly. Not jumping to fleshcrafting and body horror was always a good sign. "I didn't hurt anyone or break the unwritten rules: no unmasking, no murder, no sexual crimes, no excessive force, et cetera. I didn't even get into a fight. I just really hate the PRT restrictions on tinkers."
"Those restrictions are for your safety," she snapped.
"Some of them are," I agreed and took a sip of my latte, "but there are just as many that are just there for PR reasons." My eyes hardened. "I refuse to limit myself because some asshat in PR thinks it's 'bad for my image.' Besides, tinkers go into fugue, you know that, right? That's the part of our power making sure what we build works the way it's supposed to.
"Go on, find me a case of a tinker's invention malfunctioning that isn't Leet," I challenged. "You won't, and Leet's a special case. You'll find tinkers who've misused their inventions, but not inventions that spontaneously break down so long as they've been properly maintained and used for their intended purpose."
"They're still important."
I let out an exasperated sigh. "Can you trust me to not go around murdering people?"
"You really haven't gotten into any fights?"
I took that as a good sign. She was concerned about my safety as opposed to my moral fiber. "No, and I don't plan to. I like to create. I can handle myself, but that's not my priority."
"It's dangerous."
"It can be, but so is being a Ward. As a Ward, I'm guaranteed to get into cape fights, whereas as an independent, I can pick my battles."
"Not true, Wards aren't supposed to be in cape fights."
"Yes, well, the ideal and reality are very different things. This is Brockton, Ames, and you're not delusional. Hell, didn't Vista tangle with Hookwolf a few months back?"
She palmed her face. She was running out of arguments, I could tell. "You'd have backup. No one targets Wards because they know that it can mean a kill order. You don't get that kind of protection as an independent."
'I have SAINT,' I wanted to say, a pokémon unquestionably loyal to me with enough power and versatility to make any other cape in the city weep. Add in the eviolite and Upgrade and I had one of the greatest walls in Pokémon at my side. Instead, I said, "I'm not looking for a team, Ames. I'm more interested in building, remember? That protection goes both ways. I don't want the obligation of backing someone in a fight I have no stake in."
"Oh, so you'll do nothing when you see someone in trouble?"
"No! Don't put words into my mouth. I'm saying if I get into a fight, I want it to be because it's my choice. Not because someone's paying me, not because someone has something over my head, but because I've taken stock and decided to fight. Is that really too much to ask?"
"It's still dangerous," she hissed out. She was quickly running out of patience. Her hand clenched mine painfully. "Do you have any idea what the survival rate for a new tinker is?"
"A lot higher than advertised by the PRT. The statistic they throw around is something like eighty-five percent no longer being independent in three months, but that's including those who join the Wards, another independent team, receive a corporate sponsorship, or simply move out of town."
"Fine, so don't join the Wards. But you're crazy if you think I'm going to let my friend be a villain."
"Again, haven't even been in a fight yet. I'm a villain on a technicality."
"Don't give me that shit. The Hillside Heist was you, right?"
"Yeah, but that was a one-time deal," I protested. "I'm done with the rampant robbery."
"And you think that makes it okay? All you're telling me is that you have no idea if you can handle yourself in a fight, you've drawn all sorts of attention to yourself, and you're still somehow insane enough to go out alone!"
I placed another hand atop hers and squeezed gently. "Breathe, Ames. I appreciate that you're concerned, really, but you're getting a tad loud. I think we're going in circles at this point. You think it's too dangerous to be alone. You also hate that I've been stealing materials. If I can make you feel better about those, then will you let me be an independent without raising a fuss?"
She took a deep breath and knocked back her Americano. She slammed her paper cup down like a beer mug. It'd almost be cute if she wasn't so terrifying. "And how're you going to do that?"
I thought about my current project pipeline. The suit should be finished by tonight. The shield module should be added by then too. "Tuesday after school, we're going to go to my lab," I promised. I'm going to show you that I am already one of the most powerful capes in the city, strong enough to stand on my own and pick my battles. That takes care of your first worry, right?"
"You're still a villain."
'Man, she's really hung up on that. I mean, I know why, but it's still super inconvenient.' I groaned and tossed my own drink back. "So I'll be a different type of villain. What if I become the villain equivalent of Mouse Protector? A comic?"
"That requires that you be funny."
"Har-de-har-har. You know what I mean."
"You think that makes it better?"
"Look, I need money to tinker, but I promise that I won't sell to any gangs in Brockton. Hell, I'll even occasionally provide aid to heroes if that's what you want. All I want is my independence, my neutrality."
"You want to be Uppercrust."
"Yes!" I exclaimed. "He's the head of New York's Elite cell, but he's not a villain. He's had a stabilizing influence on the city and lowered crime rates in his territory to virtually nothing. That's the kind of independent I want to be. I genuinely believe I can do more good by flying solo than joining the Wards."
She let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, that's… not as bad as I expected."
"What? You thought I'd turn into Mannequin?"
"No, but new capes tend to do really stupid things, okay?"
"I know," I said softly. "I appreciate you caring. I mean it."
"You have one shot to prove to me that you can handle yourself." Before I could cheer, she held out a finger. She hadn't stopped frowning. If anything, she looked like she swallowed a lemon. "But! If you do insist on being a criminal, you have to run your heists by me. I get veto power if I think they're more harmful than funny. Got it?"
I nodded eagerly. This was far better than I'd imagined. "That's fine. I've acknowledged that I can be a bit excessive if I don't have someone to rein me in."
As we walked out of the shop, she pulled on my sleeve. She looked at me with unsure eyes. "Bryce? Please don't make me regret this."
"You won't," I promised. I tugged her into a back alley, shadowed and away from cameras. I pulled out a pair of charcoal-gray gloves and slid them on. "You might even say it's my creed."
With that, I vanished, blending perfectly with the background. I giggled silently as Amy freaked out for a bit before finally stomping away in a huff. After she left, I made a beeline for my lab. I had work to do.
X
Amy: What the fuck was that?
Amy: You can teleport?
Amy: ?
Amy: Bryce?
Amy: Don't ignore me!
'Heh, that picture's definitely going in my blackmail folder,' I thought as I flipped through the pictures I'd taken of her flabbergasted face.
Her texts petered off as I looked around my lab. Twelve thousand square feet of space, yet I only had the soda engine and machines used to make the shawl. It looked remarkably empty. 'I'm going to need to decorate,' I thought. I needed my lab to send a message. I needed Amy to see that I was not in danger, nor was I a danger to others, competence without coming off as one of those mad scientist types.
On one hand, furbishing my lab was something I'd always planned on doing. Expanding and upgrading my base was a big part of why I wanted the volcanic ash. On the other hand, I hadn't really thought about what I wanted my lab to look like. It was a bullet on my to-do list; I knew it was there, it just wasn't a priority until now.
With my sewing machine making my outfit, the only thing in my pipeline at the moment was my own shield module and that was mostly just a copy of what I'd already made for Labyrinth.
It did need some customization for my personal use though. I found that the easiest way to synergize the technology of Pokémon with that of One Piece was to use my porygon as a medium. By tuning the shield to my PokéNav, I could grant SAINT access to the raid suit's systems. That way, should SAINT notice an incoming attack, he could activate it on his own even without prompting, much like he could activate the call functions in my phone. It was Protect, but stronger and without need for my personal attention.
With that finished, the rest of my weekend was filled with furnishing the lab and surrounding parts of the ship. I dragged the tables I'd stolen from the mall and started setting up a proper work station. With the soda engine, burners, chemical pot, and sewing machine that looked like a demented pasta maker, the furnished corner of my lab ended up looking like a madman's kitchen no matter how I tried to arrange it. Hell, it even had a microwave and hot plate for snacks.
Seeing no other options, I left that as is and started to improvise with the other furniture. All but one of the metal bedframes that lined one of the berthing rooms of the ship got dismantled for parts. Most of them became a series of shelves and racks nailed to the wall that could, if one squinted, be called postmodern.
With Franky's shipbuilding knowledge, I built several drawers that would not jostle or come loose even in the waves of the Grand Line. SAINT especially liked playing with bits of dismantled furniture like a set of Lego blocks.
I also took the time to install a rudimentary drainage system for any fluid spills. I'd have to include plumbing, heating, and electrical at some point in the near future, before I lost One Piece as a specialization, but that could wait.
When all was said and done, approximately one third of the lab's floorspace was squared away as a shooting range and miniature gym. There was a whole lot of empty space, but the structure for a stable, durable, and organized workshop was there.
I also left the last bed in the berthing room as is, with the addition of a single fresh mattress. Faultline had her safe house above Harvey's; now I had my own.
Author's Note
I'm not satisfied with the chat with Amy, but it is what it is.
Have an animal fact: Columbus crabs ride around on sea turtles. They live full-time in the space between a sea turtle's tail and shell, eating turtle excrement. They even mate and breed there before their young float off.
At least your neighbor isn't an asshole, eh?