Completely Unoriginal :: Yet Another CYOA/SI/MC in Brockton Bay [COMPLETE]

[theonewhowas]

Art courtesy of babylonsheep :: lonsheep on DeviantArt​

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Completely Unoriginal

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In retrospect, maybe Brockton Bay wasn't the best city to be bald in.

I mean, you'd think the beard, the blue plaid pearl-snap shirt, and the fact that my tattoos had fictional monsters instead of alt-reich imagery would be contraindication enough to let people know I had a shaved head because I was prematurely balding in my late 20s, not because I was a bigot.

Apparently the ABB thugs chasing me down the alleyway didn't get the memo.

"Shit shit shit shit shit," I muttered to myself as I raced down the narrow concrete deathtrap, hurtling past overflowing dumpsters and one rather surprised-looking homeless person. Poetry, I know. Shakespeare's got nothing on me, really.

I thought I'd have a LITTLE time to get used to my powers, but noooo. That "Wanted: ABB" drawback (and its accompanying points) were too damn tempting. What an auspicious start to my career in the Wormverse. God help me if the other "Wanted" drawbacks came into play this quickly.

Great, more alleyways. I swear, this city was 90% dark alleyways and abandoned warehouses. Could I even smell the ocean? The sun was completely hidden by grey clouds, no help there. And my internal search wasn't any more successful. No metaphorical lights, orbs, switches, diagrams, ANY sort of clue how I turned my damn powers on.

I turned corners at a skid, marking my passage with overturned trash cans and startled alley cats. I had no idea where I was going and those teenage fucks were gaining on me, hollering and taunting what they'd do to me when they caught me. I could maybe fight my way past one, two if I was being generous, but they had knives and numbers and youthful enthusiasm on their side.

FUCK. The alleyway was a dead end, and if I doubled back they'd catch me for sure. There had to be - a door, almost a cellar entrance. I prayed it was unlocked as I slammed into it with my shoulder with a CRACK I felt as much as heard and the door gave way, revealing a dingy, dimly-lit hallway. Storage closet on my right, bathroom on my left, I staggered to keep my footing and barreled onward, half-blind from the change in lighting.

The hallway gave way to a bar, smelling of beer and piss and decorated with scratched-up pool tables and recycled couches. A few of the locals turned to stare at me, a few older men at the bar, a couple in the corner, a handful of kids around the pool table definitely too young to drink. I hesitated a moment, trying to adjust my eyes to find the exit, there! A narrow staircase in the corner. I pivoted to start running again and-

Something hard tackled me in the back, sending me sprawling and upending one of the small tables littering the room. Stunned, my attacker recovered from the tangle of limbs faster than I did and started swinging at my head, shoulder, anything he could get his fists on as I tried to protect myself. He was laughing, breathless gasps punctuated by the painful smacks of fist against flesh.

"Got you, cocksucker."

"Fuck OFF!" I shouted back, voice (embarrassingly) cracking mid-shout from the exertion. And, strangely enough, he did. In fact, he scrambled off me so fast it seemed like he was thrown.

I looked up between hands desperately trying to protect my head and face only to make eye contact with a very surprised Asian thug. His eyes fell to look at-

The fuck was that on my leg? A stain from running through trash? It was a dim purple, almost glowing. For a moment I was afraid I'd ran through radioactive waste. Brockton Bay was kind of a shithole - I wouldn't have been entirely surprised.

I hauled myself to my feet, body aching, leaning on a much-suffering sofa for support. Before I could say anything, two more (apparently less athletic) ABB thugs ran into the bar from the entrance we came in, and one of the people in the corner stood up and shouted "THE FUCK YOU CUMSTAINS THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE!?"

While everyone in the room turned to look at him, I grabbed the nearest table, threw it with unexpected force at the fucker who tackled me, and bolted for the stairs. I heard it smash and the thug give a shout of pain and surprise behind me as I took the steps three at a time, breath ragged and adrenaline giving one last desperate burst. A quick glance around and THERE! An exit!

I barreled through it, sending it smashing into the wall opposite as I made my way back into the street. And it WAS a street, not an alleyway; evening commuters sat in gridlock, the sound of idling engines a comforting roar. After leaning against the wall for a second, trying to catch my breath and glancing behind me to see if I was still pursued - no sign yet - I took a second to calm myself down and tried to blend in with the crowd herding past.

People were giving me looks - quick, act casual! A hand through my beard, smoothing my shirt, a smile I hoped was more winning than unhinged, and they quickly looked away. Hopefully mollified and not terrified.

I spared a glance down at my legs and saw the purple stain. Shit, that was kind of noticeable. Could I wipe it off?

Surprisingly, as soon as I passed my hand over it to try, it vanished.

I could think about what the hell that was later. First, find somewhere quiet to think for ten uninterrupted seconds without someone trying to mug me, beat me and/or kill me. I tried not to show my paranoia too much, only glancing around for further pursuit every few seconds instead of keeping my head on a swivel until something caught my eye.

Oh thank fuck was that a Starbucks?

I didn't even like coffee, but at the moment I was just relieved to see something so familiar, so mundane, as a goddamn corner cafe just like back home. The door dinged as I opened it and - quick situational awareness check came back clean - immediately collapsed into the nearest overstuffed pleather chair.

I was sweaty, I was liberally stained with foul-smelling unnameable filth, my shoes were caked with mud and I desperately needed a shower... but at the moment, I could at least stop, and breathe, and think.

And that's when I noticed the tattoos on my right arm had changed.

Where Khepri was poised to push the sun across the sky, just on the inside of my wrist - look, I was a fan of mythology before I read Worm, not everything has to be related - the sun had been replaced with a pattern in a circle. Stacked arrows, like a boost mark in racing games, inside a purple ring with one notch on it, bare flesh peering through a narrow gap in the ink. That... had not been not there when I had arrived.

I didn't know how long I stared at it, mind spinning in circles, before someone got my attention. I looked up at the pimple-faced, green-haired, rather androgynous teenage barista trying to both shy away from me and seem assertive at the same time. "Sir? I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

I gaped at him - her? - them, mind still trying to change gears and failing. I glanced around to see the tables and chairs around me had cleared out, and some of the other customers were eying me suspiciously. A protest died in my throat - I looked like shit and I hadn't even bought anything. And since I didn't want to buy anything a Starbucks would sell...

Standing up, slowly as to not scare the barista, I tried to give them a reassuring smile. "No problem." They didn't exactly sigh in relief, but they did stare at me until I walked out through the door, where I officially became Someone Else's Problem.

Time to take stock of my resources. I had fifty dollars, a driver's license to - New Hampshire, knew it! - a bus pass, and someone else's copied powers. I needed a shower, new clothes, and a place to sleep and plan.

Which just left me two questions.

Did Brockton Bay have a YMCA?

And why the fuck did it have to be Skidmark?

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Author's Notes:

Completely Unoriginal is both true and a play on words, considering the OC's powerset. Skitter Mode's a bitch, though. Let's see how well he does, and if his choices can make the most cliche fanfic story ever any more exciting than usual.

As per the unwritten rules, I've hit five chapters for this fic and therefore must post it in its own thread. You can see them in the Wormverse thread here.

Timeline, Powers and CYOA Choices post, for reference.

 

[theonewhowas]

I had a list of places I wanted to sight-see, should I ever end up in Worm.

The Boardwalk, with its view of the Protectorate's floating base. The Rig itself. Fugly Bob's, to see how bad the Challenger was. The Forsberg Gallery, to see if it was the architectural nightmare Accord thought it was. A few villainous lairs, just for curiosity's sake. A house with a broken front step.

A ratty YMCA shower room was not on the list. And between my limited starting funds, the day pass to the Y and the two dollars for a padlock (that I got to keep, sweet!), I didn't think I was going to be able to afford a real hotel for the night. And I was going to have to spend money on some more clothes, because mild winters didn't mean I didn't need a jacket, especially if I was going to have to sleep outside. Judging from all the homeless on the streets and alleys, I figured Brockton Bay's homeless shelters were either at capacity or nonexistent.

On the plus side, Skidmark's powers were surprisingly handy for getting mud off of my pants and shoes. Not enough to remove the stains left behind, but at least I just looked dirty instead of like I just completed a 5k mud run and obstacle course.

What was more uncomfortable, however, was the feeling that I was being watched.

It started at the Y and followed me to the Goodwill, but no matter what I did or where I looked - I even tried that "pretend to window shop but actually check your reflection" thing you see in movies - I couldn't actually see who was responsible. The bums spanging on the corner? The teenagers huddled around their cell phones, giggling conspiratorially? I even checked the skies, but no flying cape rewarded my genre awareness.

I shrugged my new-to-me, fifth-hand messenger bag over my shoulder, pulled the navy-style gray peacoat closer around me against the chill, and just let my feet wander. At least this time I avoided alleyways. And kept my bald head covered by a beanie; no need to get mistaken for a Nazi again.

In the end my feet led me to the Boardwalk after all. After quickly purchasing a moleskin notebook and a pen - it cost even more of my dwindling funds, but the Enforcers don't bother paying customers and as far as camouflage went, the difference between "struggling author" and "actual bum" was surprisingly thin - I perched myself on a sea-facing bench and tried to plan.

The Protectorate was an option. Coil was shady as shit, the Merchants were assholes, Nazis were Nazis (and it was amazing how you actually had to add anything to that, these days), I wasn't Asian, New Wave was pretty much just family, and Faultline's crew...

Well, I could give them the answers they sought. And with Blank, I wouldn't have to worry about a fedorable interrupt. But considering how they were brutally "discouraged" in that one interlude, and how my perk wouldn't cover them, and how little good the information would do them in the end... nah, they were too good of people to let them get hurt like that. I certainly couldn't afford to hire them, and with how smart Faultline was supposed to be, she would be too suspicious to actually let me join them for support. There was always the independent route, but if my run-in with the ABB had taught me nothing else, I didn't think I'd be safe for very long.

If I was even safe at all.

Seeking distraction from gloomy thoughts, I looked out over the water at the glittering force-field surrounding the Protectorate base. Even with gray skies reflected in gray waters, it was a little beacon of hope in a city slowly dying.

The clouds parted, just a fraction, and I felt the sunshine on my face. I stopped thinking for a moment and just let myself breathe, the salt-fish sea scent filling my nostrils. I always liked being near the water; even with the smell of decay, it had a certain purity to it, a wholesomeness and promise of adventure. And this was an adventure. I was actually here, in Worm, in Brockton Bay, and I had a power, with the promise of more to come. I could make changes, I could throw canon right off the rails, I could right wrongs and-

Then the moment was spoiled by a child squealing not ten feet away, the high-pitched sound grating, ear-piercing. I glanced that direction to see an infant, squalling and flailing its tiny arms, its mother shushing it and bouncing it in her arms. I grimaced, but it was in public. Not like she'd brought her crotch-spawn to a movie theater or restaurant. I turned back to the sea, trying to regain the feeling.

Failing at that, instead I complained in my head; it's like I was a magnet for annoyances. First the ABB, then Skidmark, then the mousy-looking woman and her broodling...

...Wait.

I pulled up the sleeve of my slightly-too-large coat and stared at the new tattoo that had formed. Where the serpent coiled around my forearm ended, mouth poised to swallow the world, the earth had been replaced with a new symbol. A double helix in white, faintly contrasted in gray, in a white circle and one notch in the ring.

Before I could even process what that meant, a voice spoke up to my side. "Nice ink."

"Thanks," I answered by reflex before looking up at the speaker. A tall man - easily a head taller than me, but that wasn't as hard as I'd have liked - with a relaxed expression and unremarkable clothing. He gave the faintest hint of a grin and made to sit on the other end of the bench I was admittedly hogging. I begrudgingly scooted over, covering my tattoos with my sleeve and trying not to be too obvious about glancing at him in the corner of my eyes.

He didn't react, just stared out at the sea. He didn't match the profile of any of the capes I was aware of, but admittedly some of the descriptions were rather sparse. He could be Velocity for all I knew. I glanced at my covered arm, but resisted the urge to check for any new tattoos until I had some privacy.

"First time seeing the rig?"

I glanced at him, openly then, but he still wasn't looking my way. Nobody else was close - the woman and child had left a bit earlier - so I assumed he was talking to me.

"Yeah." There. As noncommittal as possible. Maybe he'd take the hint and-

"New in town?"

Damnit. He was either a persistent stranger or wanted something from me. I could have just left, but... Hell, I was in an adventure, I may as well listen to possible plot hooks. Worst case scenario, it was a waste of time.

Well, no, there were far worse worst case scenarios, but the silence had stretched out long enough it was getting awkward.

"Yeah."

Truly, I was a wordsmith for the ages.

He took long enough before replying I was starting to wonder if he really was just a talkative stranger.

"Looking for work?"

Ah, there it was. He was just off-white enough not to fit into the Empire, and the blend was Hispanic enough to imply he wasn't from the ABB. Could be Coil - maybe Tattletale had spotted me? Or the PRT, with him peering over their shoulders? He was too decently-dressed to be Merchants, but then again, I was technically homeless and I was blending in on the Boardwalk too...

"Who?"

He paused, choosing his words.

"Just someone you ran into."

Fuck. That WAS Skidmark in the bar, wasn't it. Saw my face and everything. Thanks, "Wanted". Fucking regretting that now, wasn't I?

Still, not the type of recruitment - or recruiter, for that matter - I would have expected.

Some of that must have shown on my expression, because he cracked a ghost of a smile. "Not asking for life. But we can help you get started. A place to stay, support. You don't join, then hey, we made a friend."

'And someone who owes the Merchants favors', went the unspoken add-on. Not to mention a rap sheet from whatever I did to earn my keep - probably wouldn't be legal, after all.

I didn't answer right away, and he didn't push me. Fact of the matter was, though, they knew my face, they demonstrated they could find me without me spotting them, and I was fucking homeless for the moment.

There was a much more appealing option, of course. It would come with its own complications, though, the closing off of numerous paths and opportunities forever. I realized I wasn't quite ready to commit to that yet.

"Their offer comes with strings attached," he said, and I realized I had been looking at the Rig. That, or he was psychic. His voice was even, calm, almost bored. He could have been talking about the weather for all the emotion that came across.

"And yours doesn't."

He shrugged, the gesture expressive despite its subtle movement, and made a weighing motion with his hands, palms up as if balancing options.

"Hungry?"

My stomach didn't audibly growl, despite what being in a narrative would have lead me to believe. It did clench, though, at his suggestion. It had been cramping something awful since the adrenaline of the chase a few hours before, and I hadn't wanted to spend my dwindling funds quite so quickly before I found a place to stay the night.

I blew out a sigh. "Yeah."

He just stood up, the motion as relaxed as the rest of him, tilted his head back towards the Boardwalk shops and restaurants, and walked away.

After a moment, I stood up and followed.

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Author's Notes:

He really doesn't want to join the Merchants.

 

[theonewhowas]

"I was expecting more..."

"Unmarked van, black hood, needles?"

I took another bite of my Italian sub rather than answer. The other guy - Steve, apparently - did the same with his tuna on rye. The streets were slowly clearing out of rush hour traffic, and this close to the Boardwalk they were still wide and relatively well-kept. For Brockton Bay, anyway. We strode past cigarette-choked planters holding scraggly ornamental bushes, Steve walking slightly ahead, leading the way. I wasn't sure how long I'd follow him, but a free sandwich was worth listening for a few minutes, and I could always run away if things started getting shady. Maybe even try out Purity's powers, who up to that point had just made the occasional flashes of sunlight peeking between thick cloud cover feel really nice.

"Doesn't inspire much loyalty."

I imagined it wouldn't. Although dependency and blackmail would serve almost as well, if you didn't have much of a moral code. Which, you know, Merchants...

"You new?"

I tensed for a moment, wondering if he was somehow aware of my true nature. Then I realized he was probably asking if I was new to my powers, and nodded.

"Not gonna ask details. But you travel light and don't act homeless. Either you're fresh or your circumstances have recently changed. You got any heat?"

At my puzzled look he elaborated. "Protectorate, warrants out for your arrest, bounties. Anybody hunting you." Presumably he didn't want to bring any more attention to his own organization by bringing me into the fold. Not that he would.

I noticed he didn't say "looking for me" or "waiting for me", because answering that would tell him if I had anyone who would notice if I disappeared. Polite way of dancing around that particular red flag.

"Some pissed off ABB kids, maybe."

He nodded. After less time than I expected - but long enough to finish the sandwiches - he stopped in front of a brownstone, one of several identical townhomes stacked like books on a shelf. It was far closer to the Boardwalk than what I assumed a Merchant safehouse would be comfortable being, but maybe it was his apartment. It was effective camouflage - nobody would suspect it of being anything but upper-middle-class housing.

"Coffee?"

"I don't drink it."

"I don't either."

I glanced at him, and he was ever-so-faintly smirking. Strangely, I didn't feel like he was making fun of me, so much as he was... sharing an inside joke, perhaps. He spared me from having to come up with an answer by reaching for the panel by the front door, a keypad where a lock might have been. "1-2-2-1, then pound," he said quietly. The door unlocked at the final keypress with a light thunk.

Inside was a narrow, sparsely furnished apartment. The faint trace of cigarettes (and what I hoped wasn't sex) hung in the air, but otherwise it was unexpectedly clean. I stepped in after him, giving the place a once-over. It was clear nobody lived there; temporary housing for gang members, perhaps? A place to stash things where nobody would think to look?

Steve ambled - it was the only word to describe his lazy stride - to the second-hand loveseat, leaving me the pleather couch with a scratched-up coffee table between us.

"Help yourself to some beer. Grab me one if you do."

I mean, he wouldn't risk poisoning himself too. I figured it was safe. I waited til I saw him crack the offered can open and take a big swallow before doing the same. The beer was cheap, but tasted no different than I expected, and was reassuringly familiar. Cheap beer, tastes the same no matter what world you're in.

"You want to talk for a bit or get straight to it?"

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

The edge of his lip curled the tiniest bit, but he waited for me to answer, taking another healthy swig of beer.

"Come on then, lay it on me."

It wasn't til he gave me an amused look over the edge of his beer can that I realized the "that's what she said" potential of what I had just said. Well played, sir, well played. I may have grinned, despite myself.

The conversation that followed covered the unwritten rules, the general dynamics of the city's gangs, and broad strokes of what the Merchants had to offer, all of it fairly direct. He didn't shy away from any questions or sugarcoat the gang's reputation, prostitution, drug sales, any of it. Throughout, we killed a six pack and were halfway through a second; apparently the fridge had nothing but frozen pizzas and cheap beer.

In the end, the offer was surprisingly mild. Stay at the safehouse for a few days to get my bearings, tell him if I needed anything within reason - clothes, food, medical attention, drugs, women (or men, or someone from the range between the two, he wasn't about to judge - it did make some of the stains on the couch more suspicious, though) - and if I was willing to meet someone higher up in the gang, I'd be welcome to. If not, I'd get a care package (I didn't ask what that entailed) and be allowed to go on my merry way. He even handed me a cheap Nokia phone with his number pre-programmed.

"This was..."

"Not what you expected?"

"What do you get out of all of this? What if I just take advantage of your generosity and bail? Or tell people what you've told me?"

"Haven't told you anything important. Haven't shown you anything we can't replace. And if we help ten people like this and get even one new cape out of it, it pays for itself."

"Huh."

"Anyway, I'm off. Call or text if you need anything. Try not to burn the place down; if you want to test your powers we have places for that."

"Boat Graveyard?"

"Nah, everybody watches for new capes there. We have some places outside city limits for that."

Seeing I had no other questions - none I could put into words, anyway - he nodded and left, leaving me in the apartment alone with my thoughts.

These were the Merchants?

What, did the Empire have hot tubs and strippers?

Speaking of which...

I removed the coat, revealing my relatively-clean undershirt and bare arms. Nothing new, nothing unfamiliar, aside from the two additions.

I raised a hand to try Purity's powers...

And then remembered what Steve said. Probably be rude to accidentally blast a hole in the wall right after he warned me not to.

I could have called him back, do some testing. I could have explored the city more. I could have gone sight-seeing - with the essentials covered, a full stomach and a comfortable buzz, I was in good shape to go wandering, see where my treacherous feet took me next time.

Instead I passed out on the couch watching nature documentaries on the old tube TV.

Because I was the best adventurer.

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Author's Notes:

Makes you wonder how most gangs do their recruiting. Strong-arming people can't account for all their members, for all that it's mentioned in canon. I mean, it happened to Bakuda, and Tattletale, but everyone else mentioned joined because they needed something the gang had to offer, whether personal or pay or safety.

 

[theonewhowas]

I wouldn't say super-jumping was more fun than flying would be, but it certainly was a fucking lot of fun.

After a few hours, I'd woken up to the TV off and a duffel bag of clothes on the couch next to me where I'd sprawled. It was a little disconcerting that someone (I could only assume Steve) had been able to catch me completely defenseless like that, but it wouldn't have made sense for them to make that offer only to jump me in my sleep immediately after. At least the clothes weren't exactly my size - it meant nobody was measuring me in my sleep.

In the end I decided to pass on his offer of power testing. I don't know what the Merchants had gleaned of my powers from what they'd seen so far, but no point in just handing them that information.

Instead I went out roof-hopping over and through the sleeping city.

It took everything in me not to shout "Parkour!" with every power-assisted leap. Turns out my copy of Purity's powers were too weak for actual flight, and I didn't want to try glowing or blasting quite yet. It was still plenty to give me a twenty foot standing leap, though, which was a fucking blast.

Kinda rough on the landings, though. I tried rolling, to spread the impact, but mostly just succeeded in bruising my everything and wearing holes in my replacement jeans.

I wiped my brow; beating the streets was hard work, even if I was just traveling and not actively looking for trouble, and I was starting to regret the hoodie and bandanna combo Steve had given me in the duffel. I was sweating despite the chill, and didn't want to pull the hood down to air out some sweat because my shaved head might be recognizable. Or give the wrong impression.

As I leapt from rooftop to rooftop, dodging air conditioning units and trying not to eat shit on gravel roofs, I did wish my powers were a bit more transparent. A radar would be nice, and some sort of mental list of powers both nearby and acquired. The tattoos were a nice touch, but I had no means of finding new abilities other than picking a random direction and trusting in probably-subconscious nudges to take me somewhere interesting.

Speaking of which, as I skidded to a stop on a high rooftop with a good view of the neighboring streets, I realized it was already occupied.

"Well, one of us is going to have to change."

The other man spun in place, fists clenched in surprise. "What?" Their tone was sharp, unamused, a tiny bit angry, probably that I'd snuck up on them. Not my fault, I didn't know he'd claimed dibs on the rooftop.

"How will people tell us apart if we're wearing the same outfit?"

They were also wearing the unofficial uniform of new capes everywhere, the loose-hoodie-and-bandanna combo I was currently sporting. On the other hand, they filled out their much more impressively, a veritable wall of muscle where I was... well, let's be generous and say "wiry".

He glanced at me, almost a foot shorter and clearly a quarter his bulk, then back down at his costume, and seemed to deflate a little as the tension eased. Check that - he literally deflated, muscles shrinking to fit the hoodie a bit better, without so much bulging at the seams.

"New hero too?"

"Yeah. Couldn't find anything better to wear either?"

He shook his head slightly, and I got the impression he was grinning. Maybe a little embarrassed.

I took a few steps forward, posture nonthreatening, and held out my hand. "I'm Fax."

He took it after an admirably short pause, hand dwarfing mine. "Browbeat." He gave a firm shake, then let me go.

I took a step back, giving him his space. After a moment, he tilted his head a bit. "Facts, as in factual?"

I shook my head. "Like 'fax machine'." He was giving me a look, so I grinned behind my bandanna and explained. "I chose it for the puns, mostly."

To my sincere regret, he didn't ask me for examples.

I did resist the urge to check my tattoos, though. Definitely don't want to get into that habit; it may tell people too much about my power.

I could not resist trying out his power a bit. Aww yeah, scrapes and bruises gone, muscles bumped up a bit, height-

Motherfucker! I couldn't make myself taller?

I scowled, but Browbeat didn't say anything, just half-turned to look back over the street. Being a proper hero, rather than being distracted by the shinies. Good lad.

"So what can you do?"

"Still figuring that out, to be honest. I'm a bit of a grab-bag."

He nodded, not pressing me for details. Just being polite. "I can make myself tougher, stronger, bit of healing."

"Nice." I didn't begrudge him for not mentioning the other aspect of his power; I wasn't exactly spilling my guts myself.

He shrugged. "Not all that special, in this town."

"Being forgettable is probably safer, in a town this dangerous."

He looked pensive, eyes still scanning the streets below. "I was thinking of joining... joining the Protectorate."

I glanced at what I could see of his face. He could probably pass for an adult, with that build. Again, with the misdirection. I supposed you couldn't be too careful, even with people who seemed to have no ill intent.

I wondered if that was applicable to my situation?

...nah.

"Not a bad choice. Backup, training, good pay. Considered it myself."

"Keeping your options open?"

"Yeah."

"Motherfucker!" That wasn't him, that was a distant scream from down below. His head snapped to that direction, and I struggled to see what was going on. Was that a scuffle in an alley?

Fucking alleys and Brockton Bay, I swear...

I looked back at Browbeat and-

He had already leapt off the side of the building, one hand dragging over the rough brick wall, slowing his descent.

I shrugged and followed suit.

Adventuring, ho!

-----

Author's Notes:

Hooray for puns!

 

[theonewhowas]

I was fucking exhausted.

Hanging out with Browbeat was fine; beat up a few muggers (ABB - Lung must be loving me), stick around to babysit the seriously whiny thugs (boohoo, I got maced, well maybe you shouldn't be jumping girls in the street, asshole), give a brief statement to the most jaded, nonplussed cops on the planet, exchange numbers in case we ever decide to patrol together, and I was on my way.

Once in privacy, I did check my tattoos. Right arm was unchanged, but my left, where the Wendigo snarled, one of its eyes had been replaced with a white bar and red stripes on either side - muscle and bone, I assumed - in a red circle, again with one notch. I really needed to figure out what all that meant. I did get the feeling I was tapped out for the day, though.

Again, that part was fine.

But that 'wandering' trick I did, where I simply show up where I need to be? Apparently that tapped out for the day too, because I had absolutely no fucking clue how to get home. I didn't have an address, only a vague recollection of a distance and direction from the Boardwalk, which I also couldn't find. Apparently the coast was a lot fucking longer than I anticipated.

Three fucking hours wandering around in the middle of the night before I thought to text and ask Steve.

Who sent a cab to get me a few minutes later to take me the five blocks it took to get back to the apartment.

I hated Brockton Bay.

So much.

Granted, Browbeat's powers helped with the leg cramps and tiredness, even after I gave up roof-hopping, but apparently that energy had to come from somewhere, because I slept like the dead once I got back to the couch.

And it was the couch, because the bed was king-sized and incredibly lumpy, uncomfortable in more ways than one.

---

I woke up when the sun was setting, feeling surprisingly good - thanks Browbeat! - but ravenously hungry.

Two frozen pizzas later, one burnt to carbon and the other still half-frozen, I was sated and ready to be a human again.

I felt my power had recharged, too. Not sure exactly when, or how I knew it, but eh. Powers. I'd hoped my powers would... improve, in some way, thanks to the recharge, but apparently they required some other sort of trigger. Knowing Worm, it was probably CONFLICT.

Wandering around was an option, of course, but I hadn't exactly been choosing what powers I got. Maybe I should be more proactive? More picky? Maybe I could just go sight-seeing again? Maybe I should start to think how I was planning on derailing canon, and the safest ways of doing so?

Or maybe I would just obsessively read my new thread on PHO for a few hours.

Yeah, that one.

I was impressed how quickly the internet got hold of my picture from my first public appearance with Browbeat. Thank god they reported my name right, because some of the suggestions were truly awful. Especially considering how little of a powerset I actually revealed!

At least the puns were exactly what I'd hoped for. I may have made a 'squee' noise entirely unbecoming of a man of my age and maturity when Clockblocker himself (Clockblocker!) made an off-color pun about my name that was almost immediately redacted. Probably got written up by PR for it, no doubt. Apparently it's unbecoming of a child soldier to make a joke about "not giving a Fax", despite its literal innocence.

Still, I couldn't spend the whole night on PHO, as tempting as it was. Maybe it was the CONFLICT! drive, maybe it was the knowledge that my powers built slowly and so demanded constant effort to scale properly, maybe it was the look Steve gave me when he showed up and saw me giggling at my phone, but I finally got off my ass and put on my "costume" once again. Steve didn't say anything about it; perhaps he just expected as much. It did make me wonder how many times he'd done this particular gambit, and if it had resulted in any familiar villains. Or heroes, for that matter.

That thought gave me pause, and I stopped by him before I left. "Hey, Steve."

"Hmm?"

"Any issue with me being a hero?"

"As long as you're not busting Merchants, no, not really."

"...and if I stop a mugger or rapist who happens to be a Merchant?"

He shrugged microscopically again. "Self-policing. Happens all the time. Don't target them specifically and there's no problem."

Somehow I doubted Skidmark would be quite so chill about that sort of thing, but I wasn't about to call him out on it. Not like I was actually planning on joining. That said, I really should figure out something more long-term. Couldn't keep mooching off Merchant generosity forever (now if that's not a phrase I never thought I'd say).

But first, more roof-hopping!

(After sending a taunting message to AllSeeingEye first, though. I was only human.)

---

I may have 'wandered' over ABB territory again. I mean, it wasn't like they'd be any less pissed at me. And I may have wanted to get a shot at Lung or Oni Lee, because damn would those be useful powers.

Instead I was suddenly blinded by a brilliant spotlight from the sky. One with an unexpectedly warm, refreshing undertone as Purity's power basked in the brightness like a flower following the sun.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I lowered the hand I'd instinctively raised in front of my face and took in the sight of the racist glowbug herself as she descended to float over my rooftop. Perhaps it was her power interacting with itself, but I could see her face clearly despite her actinic glare. Definitely that mousy woman with the fussy child at the Boardwalk. She was looking at me with hesitant expectation, as if she expected me to attack her on sight; her posture was halfway between prepared to attack and prepared to flee.

She visibly relaxed when I just waved, but didn't completely lower her guard. "You're a new face."

"Yeah."

"Hero?"

"Yeah."

"Me too."

"So I've heard."

At that she did settle down, clearly pleased I was aware of her intention to be an independent hero. Probably didn't get that reaction a lot, considering she hadn't changed her MO from when she was actively a part of the Empire. I got the feeling she was used to people not being to look directly at her, though, because she had a terrible poker face. In fact, she seemed a bit concerned when she noticed I was making direct eye contact, so I quickly glanced aside.

Seriously, though, her glowing was really nice. Like stepping into a warm bath.

"It's nice to meet another independent hero. I'm... I'm Purity." Aww, she was actually biting her lip in nervousness, like hearing her name would remind me she was actually a Nazi.

I mean, she was, but she kind of meant well. I wasn't about to join her, but I didn't see a point in needlessly starting fights I couldn't win. Plus, you know, that glow.

"Fax. Like the machine. Nice to meet you, too." We shook hands. Made a little small talk. I may have basked a bit too much in her radiance, because she asked me if it was too bright, and I realized I had closed my eyes.

"Nah. Kinda nice, actually."

"Oh! Really?" She looked at me with some curiosity. "What are your powers? If you don't mind me asking, anyway."

"Not quite sure. Bit of a grab-bag," I lied again. She seemed more skeptical than Browbeat did, so I added "A bit adaptive. Like Aegis, kinda?" At that she gave a thoughtful nod, looking at me appraisingly.

"I was planning on patrolling a bit longer..."

"Ah, I was planning on heading back, actually..."

On the one hand, she was a Nazi. On the other, she looked so disappointed, just a bit heartbroken, realizing I still didn't want to be associated with her even though I'd said I knew she wanted to be a hero.

...Damnit. "I... suppose I could hop a few more roofs tonight."

Sheltered by Merchants, seen patrolling with a black hero and a white supremacist former-ish villain on two consecutive nights. The fuck was my life?

The way her glow brightened - literally - with happiness helped, though. I matched her smile with my own (albeit behind the bandanna) and-

-immediately overshot the next roof by twenty feet, tumbling and smashing into the brick wall.

Once she was sure I was fine - thanks again, Browbeat! - she had a bit of a hard time stifling her laughter. Couldn't blame her, to be honest. That would take some getting used to. What changed?

I surreptitiously checked my tattoos and... oh, hey. The ring around Purity's symbol now had TWO notches through it, on opposite sides.

Neat.

And then, as I watched, a new symbol joined the others. This one, held in the clutches of the Eastern-style dragon spiraling opposite the world-serpent, looked like a... a weird, red face? With squashed, angry features and what looked like little tusks...

And that was my only warning before Purity and I were both shanked from behind.

-----

Author's Notes:

The best part about his powers is I don't have to even try to justify why he keeps getting involved in shit like this. Space whale magic! *waves hands*

 

[theonewhowas]

I'd like to say I immediately reacted calmly and rationally, sealing my wound, grabbing Purity and making a fighting withdrawal.

Instead I flailed, staggered, made a strangled cry, and only then turned around to blast the clone behind me into ash. The wall behind it was cracked, but even that left me feeling strangely drained.

Purity, on the other hand, immediately shot into the sky. Oni Lee blinked behind her, landing on her back even up in the air, but she spun and blasted him off her before the grenades he triggered exploded.

And HOLY SHIT do grenades make a lot of noise!

I tried to fly up after her, but I was a bit too stunned by the STAB WOUND IN MY BACK to concentrate on using powers. Seriously! Pain is way more distracting than action heroes make it out to be!

Thankfully it only took me a few seconds to remember I had a power for that. I sagged in relief as the wound closed-

Only to get a faceful of Oni Lee, who is surprisingly grabby for an emotionless assassin. Thankfully, between my lower-power Purity blast and a flare of Skidmark's fields, he was pushed back enough to give me enough distance to leap into the sky before he exploded, jumping fifty feet straight up with a slow, drifting descent at the top of my arc. Seeing my flight powers inadequate to the task of keeping me airborne, Purity swiftly grabbed my by the back of my pants and hauled me skyward, occasionally jinking and twisting to throw off Oni Lee's aim.

Then there was a heavy weight on my legs, and the three of us - me, Purity and the Oni Lee clone desperately clinging to me - started dropping. Purity couldn't get an angle on him and still try to keep me from falling, so she disengaged, only to spin and blast away another clone attempting to do the same to her.

Skidmark's field was too weak to loosen his grip on my legs as we started plummeting another attempt at Purity's beams fizzled in my hand I was running out of time I reached out and-

-was suddenly ten feet away, free of the clone's clutches, but still falling.

The clone then exploded, sending me reeling and on a ballistic arc towards the ground, my flight powers overwhelmed and leaving me too stunned to try to figure out a way of softening my landing. There was a flash of light, and Purity swooped down to grab me before I hit the rooftops, grunting with effort as she hauled me skyward, arms wrapped around my chest. It was only a tiny bit emasculating, and more than a tiny bit - is there a word between arousing and impressive? Improusing? I may have a thing for stronger women, and for all Purity being kind of a pushover when it came to Kaiser, she had it where it counted.

But that may just have been her warm radiance speaking.

Up until it abruptly dimmed, as once we were high enough she stopped being as much of a beacon for Oni Lee to teleport to. I glanced back. Nope, still cute. Damn.

"Hold on," she grunted, and I may have made a bit of a squawk of surprise as she poured on the speed, hauling ass away from the teleporting serial suicide bomber. For all Browbeat's power gave me added bulk, I was never the biggest guy - for once, it worked to my advantage, as I doubted Purity would have been able to manhandle me otherwise.

Regardless, after a minute or two we were home free, angling towards Empire territory. I assumed, anyway. Fuck if I could tell anything about the city from this height.

"You alright?"

It took me a second to realize I was the one who spoke. Purity grunted a bit. "I'm fine. Got him off me before he could stab me too deep. You?"

"I heal." Speaking of which, I had some nasty shrapnel wounds from the grenades that needed patching up. Glancing down, the hoodie was riddled with holes and deeply stained with blood. Good thing it was cheap.

"Good."

We descended the rest of the way in silence, save for the rushing wind and the pounding of my heart from leftover adrenaline.

Cape fights were way more intense than fiction would lead you to believe. I felt like a wet noodle, muscles clenching and unclenching on their own as my body came to terms with the end of combat. I was shaking by the time Purity released me onto the rooftop of a five story building near what I assumed was downtown. As soon as my feet hit the cement, I sagged to my knees, trying to regain my breath.

Purity, to her credit, gave me some space while I processed what had happened.

"First cape fight?" Her voice was gentle, understanding. I could only nod.

"Oni Lee is a pain," she complained, and I barked out a laugh at the long-standing frustration in her voice.

For a solid minute she said nothing while I used Browbeat's powers to manually slow down my heartrate and breathing. Handy, having that sort of biofeedback. Not enough fine control to keep the adrenaline crash from hitting me like a ton of bricks, though.

"I couldn't help but notice those beams you shot looked like mine." I froze.

Her tone wasn't accusing, wasn't confrontational. When I didn't answer, mind racing to come up with an excuse, she continued "And I'm pretty sure you teleported away from that clone."

Damnit, she wasn't supposed to be that observant. She was waiting for a reply...

"Like I said, adaptive. Which is why it's hard to get a handle on my powers."

She nodded, apparently buying it. After a thoughtful pause, she said "Your powers would be a lot better on a team, I'm guessing."

I stood up, legs finally solid enough to support me, and leaned back, spine popping as I stretched. I delayed facing her as long as I could, because I knew what was coming next...

"Don't get caught up in the Empire, Fax."

Or not.

I blinked, looking her way. Our eyes met, height almost matching without flight to give either of us an advantage. On second thought, it made sense. She was ex-Empire, after all. When I didn't reply, she continued.

"Kaiser has a way of getting under your skin. Finding exactly what you want and dangling it in front of you without ever letting you get it. He's dangerous."

When I nodded, she blew out a sigh, relieved.

"I'm too gay for the Empire, anyway."

She suddenly tensed, eyes wide. I swore she was half a second from blasting me in shock. Before she could make up her mind to, I added "Just kidding."

"Ah." She breathed out a half-laugh, half-sigh. Glancing away, she seemed at least a little embarrassed by her immediate reaction. Still not a fan of "the gays", but at least aware she shouldn't be a bigot. At least a little. Or maybe that was me reading too much into it.

"Can I get your number?"

Her gaze snapped back to me, half-shocked again, but with suspicion for the other half this time. Cognitive whiplash.

"To patrol again. Or for backup."

"Y-yes. Of course."

I grinned and we exchanged numbers. Hers ended up next to Browbeat, to my amusement. Before she went on her way, she paused. "Thanks. For giving me a shot."

"Hell, thanks for saving my life."

She nodded, a small grin on her face, then flared once more from dim to brilliant light before taking to the sky in a streak of white.

I watched her fly away, lost in my thoughts.

Things were moving way quicker than I had expected. On the one hand, I needed to be active on the cape scene to build my powers. On the other hand, I needed to survive long enough to build my powers. That fight with Oni Lee, as brief as it was, nearly killed me twice. I wasn't fast enough, strong enough, maneuverable enough, or versatile enough. My smattering of powers made for a decent grab-bag, but I wasn't even using those effectively.

I scoffed at the direction my thoughts were headed. When did things get so serious? I was just planning on faffing about in the Wormverse.

When did it start feeling... real?

-----

Author's Notes:

Dun dun DUN

Interesting story. But what exactly are his powers?

Click to shrink...

I'm trying to figure out his powers.

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: MAJOR SPOILERS

Simpler than that, actually.
Skitter Mode: 0 points, weaker everything
Marked: ABB, Merchants, Empire, +3 points
Power Manipulator: -2 points
Blank: -1 point

Minimalist. And I'm choosing to interpret Marked (misremembered as "Wanted" in this fic) as including both marked for recruitment and marked for death.

 

[theonewhowas]

This time I wandered around the city on purpose, and not because I was lost.

I mean, I was lost. New city, unfamiliar landmarks, damn near identical buildings, endless alleyways... it was easy to lose track. Especially at night.

But for the moment it was nice to just let my body move and my mind wander.

I ran towards the edge of a rooftop, laid down a field and jump just before I hit it, pumping flight as I launched myself like a bullet. Spot my landing site, aim myself there with my flight and easing my descent, then hit the ground running. Repeat.

Simple, mindless, heart pounding and lungs pumping like a bellows. Subtle uses of biokinesis kept my oxygen distributed and muscles patched even as they tore, strands snapping like over-tightened bowstrings only to creep back together under my powers' guidance. Part of my attention finished patching up the wounds Oni Lee graced me with, power still too weak to heal them outright.

Meanwhile, my thoughts bounced around my head like a bean in an empty tin can.

Purity was kind of cute, but that whole Ubermensch thing she still sort of believed in really didn't do her any favors. And the whole 'mom' thing was kinda hot, except when you had to actually deal with the little monsters. They don't even have personalities of their own til they're, like, eight. And don't even develop decent personalities until their early twenties, if ever. Let's just say I hadn't exactly shed a tear when Skitter made her hard choice, chasing the Slaughterhouse Nine.

God, wasn't that a horrible thought. Thank god I didn't choose "Slaughterhouse is Hiring". Everybody hated S9 arcs, even when I was writing them.

I angled my body just right to clear a barbed-wire fence on top of an otherwise unremarkable warehouse somewhere in the shittier part of town. Not that you could really tell. Maybe it was the practice, but I was getting noticeably better at the whole "Parkour!" thing. Even started nailing the rolling dismount, transitioning smoothly into a run the second my body was oriented properly. With a subdued "Woop!" I did a flip as I cleared the other side of the fence, grinning all the while.

Seriously, super-jumping was a hell of a lot of fun. Even if I was starting to flag; enhanced endurance only helped me so much, and I was feeling spent. On the plus side, it was a nice reminder of how awesome having superpowers was, and how things weren't as bad as they seemed once the holes Oni Lee blew in me healed up.

Finding one of the million unoccupied, dark alleyways, I slipped off the bandanna, wrapped it in my holy hoodie, and quietly thanked Steve for getting me dark clothes that didn't show bloodstains as clearly as my white shirt would have.

Speaking of Steve, he was waiting for me when I made it home shortly after the sun rose, taxi rumbling off into the building rush-hour traffic.

"Have fun?"

I just grinned and threw my shirt at him, along with the bloody remains of my costume, heading towards the bathroom.

After a much-needed, entirely-too-long shower, leaving me feeling significantly refreshed, I was surprised to see him still waiting for me when I got out, toweling my beard dry. I raised one questioning eyebrow his way.

"Skidmark wants to meet you."

"...Fuck."

He held his hands up placatingly. "Your time isn't up. You don't have to make any decisions yet. You've just been making waves and he wants to know who he's helping out."

Seeing my displeased expression, he shifted tack slightly, gesturing at my arms. "Those different than yesterday?"

I froze. I really needed to get more long-sleeve shirts. Despite my impulse to play it off, I glanced at my arms. Skidmark, Oni Lee and Purity (with two notches!) on one side, Browbeat and-

Huh.

My mind raced. When did I...?

Must have 'wandered' over their lair on my rooftop tour of Brockton Bay's seedy underbelly. In the arms of the Dullahan, where its head should be, a yellow square with a white question mark lay, encircled in yellow.

Steve was still waiting, one eyebrow quirked slightly.

I just grabbed a shirt (long-sleeved!) from the duffel in lieu of answering.

He was pretty good at waiting in silence, I had to give him that.

Finally, new clothes acquired, I asked "We have time for breakfast?"

"Pick something up on the way."

"Any good breakfast tacos?"

"...What?"

Damnit.

Even in fiction, you couldn't get a decent breakfast north of the Mason-Dixie line.

---

Maybe I was a bit slow on the uptake, but it wasn't until we'd received our glorious bounty of McDonalds breakfast sandwiches (McDonalds! An acceptable substitute for food!) and continued our cab ride that I realized Steve never actually paid for anything. Cab drivers didn't ask, the cashier took one look at him and hit a button on the register... Was this a "made man" situation? Were the Merchants the mafia on Bet?

He didn't pay any attention to me as we dug into our breakfasts, an extra pair of McMuffins slowly cooling and/or congealing in a greasy bag nestled between us in the backseat of the cab, instead choosing to spend the whole time texting quietly.

I decided it was as good a time as any to check PHO, and was completely unsurprised to see a reply waiting in my inbox.

AReasonableFacsimile: I know something you don't know~

AllSeeingEye: And what do you want?​

A little disappointing, to be honest. I was hoping for more of a battle of wits, not a to-the-point retort. And it wasn't even clear if it was a "ugh, what do you want random weirdo" reply or a "I know your blood type, mother's maiden name and GPS coordinates and I'm asking you an armor-piercing question about your goals on Bet" reply.

Which, in retrospect, did kind of suit what I knew of her. Well played, Tats.

Before I'd decided on how best to answer, the cab pulled onto a gravel parking lot near the outskirts of town. Steve handed me a bandanna - more symbolic than anything - and after slipping it on I followed him out of the car to find myself approaching the side door of a dirty-looking strip club, the kind that had "BYOB" and "Totally Nude!" proudly emblazoned out front in flickering neon. I felt like I was at risk for Hepatitis just walking inside, but Steve strode on through with grace and purpose, not even slowing down to let his eyes adjust to the abrupt relative darkness. Blinking, I followed more hesitantly as he slipped between cheap tables and ratty sofas, passing the two small stages and heading straight towards the curtain labeled VIP.

Glancing around I saw a handful of people sitting and drinking, despite it being 9am on a Sunday, and one unhealthily-skinny girl smoothly gyrating on stage, unwieldy heels swinging like medieval maces through the air and a pair of old men staring hungrily at her from the rail.

Steve held the curtain to VIP open for me, then led me to another curtain, this one leading to a U-shaped booth with one occupant.

"You're a bit flat to be a stripper."

Skidmark grinned at me with shelled-pistachio teeth, more of a sneer really, and grabbed the breakfast sandwiches from Steve's outstretched hands. "Cute. But my male strip club is a few miles down the road, if that's your kink, sweetcheeks."

Touche. I slid into the booth opposite the gang leader and Steve leaned against the wall just inside of the curtain, keeping an eye out through a gap in the cheap suede every few seconds.

Skidmark devoured his breakfast messily, eyeballing me the whole time. I stared back, not wanting to be the first to break eye contact.

"You thinkin' bout joinin' the Empire?"

"Hell no."

"Good."

A brief pause while he reached for the second sandwich, hastily unwrapping it with practiced motions.

"You pickin' fights with the ABB?"

"They started it." At his renewed examination, I added "Thought I was a Nazi just because I'm bald."

He chuckled. "Profilin's a bitch, aint' it? Try being black."

I nodded, giving him the point. Especially in Brockton Bay.

We looked at each other, him leaning back, arms behind his head. To be honest, I had been expecting a lot more swearing. Then again, the Merchants had continued to surprise me the last few days.

"Honestly? I don't trust your fucking intentions."

I raised an eyebrow, and he narrowed his eyes. "Yer ID is fake-" I glanced at Steve accusingly, but he was looking out at the corridor again. "-you've clearly never been homeless or hungry, you act like a fresh trigger but know shit you shouldn't, coincidences follow you like stank on a bitch and you've been playing the field like a two dollar slut between independents, Empire, ABB and us. If you sucked Armsmaster's halberd I wouldn't be fucking surprised, neither. Screams setup."

I opened my mouth to interject but he talked over me, leaning forward now, clearly on a roll. "Not to mention your motherfucking powers." He abruptly lunged at me, catching me by surprise, but he just grabbed my wrist and yanked back my sleeve, revealing the arrows-in-a-circle, now with two notches. "Weirdest shit I've ever seen but even a goddamn junkie can see patterns."

My eyes darted back to Steve, anger starting to overwhelm my shock, but movement out of the corner of my eye brought me face to face with-

-When the fuck did Skidmark even grab a gun?

I froze. Its barrel seemed massive, a yawning darkness an inch from my left eye. It clicked, the sound loud in the small booth, as he pulled back the hammer.

"Best tell me something good, bitch. Elite? China? Gesselschaft? Fuckin' Red Gauntlet? Whose dick you swallowin?"

Well, fuck.

-----

Author's Notes:

How's your suspension of disbelief on this one, folks? Tried to have a canny, well-informed Skidmark without him pulling a fanon!Tattletale and drawing conclusions out his ass.

Also, thanks for your support and kind words! Helps quite a bit

 

[theonewhowas]

Time seemed to slow down as I stared down the barrel of that amusingly-in-any-other-context large gun.

Biokinesis wouldn't let me survive a headshot, especially not point-blank. Skidmark's fields, Purity's blasts, a vague inkling of Krav Maga I assumed was Uber's or even a Solar Flare would be just as likely to get me killed as it would throw off his aim. I was in an enclosed space with no room to maneuver, and a flicker of my eyes towards the curtain revealed it was closed, giving me no opportunity or space to teleport.

Damnit, I hated this Skidmark.

Gun was still inches from my eye and he was waiting impatiently for an answer quick think of something anything-

"...Yours?"

Oh goddamnit please don't

"You're definitely too flat to be a hooker."

Joking is good right? You don't joke with people you're about to kill oh fuck you totally do fuck fuck fuck

His eyes flickered towards Steve and I sensed the faintest hint of motion out of the corner of my eye was this my chance or was I just going to end up getting myself shot

"Ten kay."

"W-what?" I didn't squeak shut up

"Ten big ones to leave me and mine alone." His eyes were laser-focused on me again, and I felt like a frog on a dissection plate. His hands weren't even shaking, damnit, wasn't he supposed to be a junkie? Focus! He was offering me money now? He had me dead to rights!

"O-ok?"

"We meet on the street we go opposite ways. Anything else, supplies, connections, we negotiate then. We got a deal?"

I almost nodded before realizing I'd just end up headbutting his revolver. Instead I hissed out a "Yes. Deal."

For a moment I thought he was going to pull the trigger anyway - just fucking with me before killing me - and then it lowered and I breathed for the first time in what felt like hours.

I did NOT squeal in surprise when Steve dropped a briefcase on the table. Anyone saying otherwise was a dirty goddamn liar.

Skidmark chuckled, leaning back, all tension vanishing from his posture.

"Relax, sugartits, it wasn't even loaded." He did something quick and complicated with the revolver and it was suddenly faced away from me in his hands, cylinder out and the table visible through six holes in the metal.

I wanted off this rollercoaster of emotion.

"I almost blasted you!"

Skidmark gestured with his chin at Steve. "His is loaded."

His-

Jesus christ are these people wizards? When did a gun get in Steve's hand!?

Skidmark laughed at my wide-eyed expression, the sound harsh and unkind. I was too shocked to be properly offended.

"Why?" It took me a second to realize I was the one who spoke, betraying my own common sense screaming at me to leave well enough alone.

"Steve says you have 'growth potential'. Wanna see what you'll do with it. Bribery just gets us off your shit list. And if your bosses were payin' you more than that, you wouldn't've been surprised by the amount."

At the stunned look on my face, he laughed again. "That look never gets old."

Funny, I felt like I aged ten goddamn years.

"Now go on, get. Unless your offer was for real..." He gestured at his crotch with a leer and I got the fuck out of the booth.

Steve met me outside the club where I was noisily emptying my stomach into the scraggly bushes by the parking lot. McDonalds looked even less appetizing on the way out. Also, it looked like several people had beaten me to it.

I eyeballed Steve as I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve. The gun had magicked away again, I noticed. On the one hand, fucker sold me out to Skidmark. I should blast him and fuck right off.

On the other hand, he apparently helped persuade Skidmark to pay me off rather than kill me. That earned him points. That, and he was holding the briefcase towards me, as I'd left it behind on the table. Perhaps I could give him the benefit of the doubt.

"He always that intense?" I asked him as I took the briefcase in weak hands, legs trembling, voice shaky.

He replied with that stupid almost-not-there grin of his and a hint of a shrug.

"Need a lift?"

"To where?"

"Apartment's still yours til you find your own place." He paused as I gave him an incredulous look. "Told you your time wasn't up."

He appeared to be completely impervious to my hate-lasers. Damn. Clearly I needed to start hanging out with Gallant.

A thought struck me - we'd taken several different brands of cabs the last few days. "Are any of the cab companies not owned by Skidmark?"

He just gave me a certain look in response.

Somewhere out there Tattletale's smug-sense must have been going haywire.

-----

Author's Notes:

FUCKING HELL, SKIDMARK

 

[theonewhowas]

"I can't handle this shit."

Steve just stood there, hands in pockets, waiting for the cab to come back. I was sitting - still not trusting my legs to be steady - with the briefcase tucked close next to my legs. He offered no comment in response to my (only slightly whiny) statement.

"Capes take days off, right?"

Somehow he managed to convey silent agreement without changing his body language in the slightest. Or maybe I was just projecting again.

"...I need a drink."

He glanced at the strip club behind me.

"Somewhere not owned, run, or sponsored by Skidmark. Or the Empire. And definitely not the ABB."

He looked thoughtful for a second. Or maybe he'd stopped paying attention.

When he did suggest a place, I facepalmed. Of course.

"...Fine, but we need to make a stop first."

"Plus it's Sunday morning."

"Also that."

I pulled up the address I was looking for on my phone, gave it to the driver once we got in the cab. It was kind of a long drive, and I found myself drumming my fingers nervously on the briefcase.

...Did banks normally accept fat stacks of cash? One would think that would raise some flags. On the other hand, in Brockton Bay, they'd probably have a teller lane just for that.

"Should I be just be... walking around with this much cash?" I half-whispered to Steve, who gave me a bemused expression, one eyebrow quirked up.

"...Cash?"

I looked at the briefcase, then popped the tabs and flipped it open.

Instead of stacks of non-sequential, unmarked bills, I found...

A bit of foam padding, a black debit card with no name on it, and a single business-card-sized piece of paper. On it were printed what looked like an account number and then a string of numbers and letters that I assumed was the password.

"...Number Man?"

"Of course."

"...Then why the fucking briefcase!?"

"Presentation."

ARGH

---

I stood awkwardly in front of a fancy gate and fancy stone fence, looking through the gaps in the wrought iron down the long, tree-lined driveway.

I felt ridiculous. Not to mention hilariously out of place. Note to self - get on that fucking new costume, seriously. It was way too nice a part of town for a bum in a hoodie and bandanna. Granted, I could have just done a flyover, but that might have been misconstrued...

I looked at the "No Soliciting" sign - right above the "Press Contact" sign with a phone number and email address - and pressed the intercom button right above that. Steve had elected to give me some privacy, and was taking the cab around the block.

"Pelham residence, Shielder speaking."

"Morning! I'm Fax, independent hero." I resisted the urge to follow that up with 'have you heard the good news?', but only just barely. "You got a minute to talk about, uh... hero things?" Ok, probably should have planned out what I was going to say better. Or at all.

A pause. "Sorry, we get a lot of fakers. Can you prove your power in a non-destructive way?"

I stood there thinking for a moment - made sense, considering how generic my "costume" was - then shrugged and leapt twenty feet in the air. At the top of my leap I gave the distant house a friendly wave, then drifted back to the ground.

"Alrighty then. Give me a few minutes? My mom probably wants to meet you too."

Perfect. "Sure, no problem."

Three minutes later, the gate buzzed.

Despite the size of the estate and the nice part of town, one of New Wave's two headquarters wasn't nearly as ostentatious as I expected. It was a large, nice home, but it definitely felt lived in. Comfortable, even.

The two heroes meeting me at the door in full costume definitely stood out, though. Lady Photon and Shielder shook my hand, all professional warm smiles and PR-approved handshakes. She invited me in, and he immediately greeted me with "I looked you up on PHO. People are going nuts trying to figure you out."

Of course he did. "My allegiances or my powers?"

"Both, dude."

"Don't be rude, Eric. Please, come on in." Photon Mom to the rescue. I suddenly realized they probably had to put on their costumes this early on a Sunday because of me, and felt an irrational spike of guilt. They wore them well, though.

I picked up the conversation as they led me to a comfortable living room, tastefully decorated, with an absolutely massive flatscreen on one side. "I haven't checked my thread in a bit. What's the latest guess?"

He shrugged. "Some sort of Trump, but everybody keeps debating what kind."

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Some water, please?" Lady Photon nodded and slipped away to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of earshot Shielder leaned in conspiratorially.

"What's the deal with you and Purity, man? You've gotta know she's bad for your rep as a hero."

"Hey, she split off from the Empire months ago. Been trying to go hero."

He gave me a skeptical look.

"Plus she's a MILF."

"Dude!"

Lady Photon returned with a glass for me, one eyebrow raised at Shielder's half-amused, half-shocked expression. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing important." Shielder snorted.

She glanced between us, then decided not to ask. "So you wanted to talk to us about being an independent hero?"

The conversation that followed was light and nonspecific, which was good, because I was in no state of mind for intrigue or plotting after my run-in with Skidmark. They discussed some of the difficulties they had establishing themselves - carefully sidestepping any mention of Fleur - and encouraged cooperation with the Protectorate, assuming I didn't want to join them. They did not suggest I unmask. They did recommend a good shop for costumes, with mix-and-match and custom designs available. I chose to take that in the kindest light, and not as criticism, since my costume was kinda shit.

Most importantly, I didn't alienate them, leaving on friendly terms with a team contact number in hand, and when I checked my tattoos back in the cab with Steve, I had... huh. Only one addition, with two notches.

On the chest of the Harpy on my left arm was a yellow starburst symbol in a blue ring. I bet Laserdream would add to that stack, instead of getting her own ring. Related powers, I supposed.

Either way, I had something I needed to do. (Not like most bars were open on a Sunday morning, anyway.) I had Steve drop me off between the nicer part of town and the bulk of Brockton Bay with a promise that I'd call him later.

Then, taking a deep breath, I kicked off from the ground and didn't come back down.

FUCK YES

Shooting upwards - ok, it was only about as fast as I could run, but still, it felt fast - I saw the city shrink below me, streets becoming thin lines, tall buildings becoming miniature models, trees becoming green blurs, and oh the bay. Even with gray skies and that stupid Boat Graveyard, from this height it was beautiful, the Protectorate Headquarters shining like a jewel in a field of blueish-gray.

And then I was splashed in the face by the cloud cover, but when I stopped sputtering and wiping my eyes...

I looked up and saw the sun in all its glory.

Maybe it was Purity's powers turning me into a discount Kryptonian; maybe it was the first steady sunlight I'd seen in days; maybe it was just the quiet, broken only by the occasional distant bird cry, the rush of wind, and the distant rumble of the city far, far below; but for the first time since I'd arrived in this crummy little city I felt at peace.

I wasn't sure how long I floated there, just above the clouds. A touch of biokinesis let the thin atmosphere sustain my breathing, kept me warm from the brisk breeze, and four different charges of borrowed flight powers held me aloft with the merest effort of will. All throughout, the sun filled me with energy and light, warm and all-encompassing, banking a fire in my belly.

With the city below me concealed by fluffy banks of grey, dirty water, I could have been anywhere on Earth. Just me and the sky, a beautiful solitude.

As good a time as any to finally test out my blaster powers, right?

The blue-white beams actually looked pretty awesome with the double-helix spiraling around them, and unlike Purity's beams (constantly recharged by that glorious day-star) I felt no drain in their use. The shield was thin, almost invisible, an eight-foot bubble centered around me, its effectiveness unknown. My beams just passed right through it, which made sense.

Whatever, details. I COULD FLY!

And fly I did, swooping between banks of clouds, diving down through the wet and - oh, hey, I'd drifted quite a bit, ok there's the city - doing spins and barrel rolls, whooping and laughing all the while. I half-expected one of the city's few heroic flyers to stop and say hello, but I supposed a cape-heavy city like Brockton Bay was pretty jaded about superpowered flight by this point.

It was with a lighter heart and grumbling stomach that I finally descended into the city, letting gravity do most of the work (and almost eating pavement when my flight powers weren't as good at sudden stops as I expected). I didn't know if it was my rough morning and thrown-up McDonalds or if flying just made a man hungry, but I knew where I wanted to go.

It was time to check out that Fugly Bob's Challenger!

---

I regretted everything.

It was delicious, but I regretted everything.

Motherfucker came with a goddamn milkshake and half-pound of fries, just in case your bottomless gullet wasn't satisfied with half a cow's worth of grilled beef on a bun the size of your head. I wondered if even Aegis could finish one.

Hell, I wondered if finishing one was an unofficial way of identifying parahumans.

I handed the waiter my new debit card with a weary, slightly-greasy smile. Fuckers earned those fifty bucks fair and square; I could accept defeat with grace.

And I had the most amazing nap once I got back to the apartment.

---

Alright. I had almost put enough distance between myself and the goddamn terror-fest of the morning to consider myself human again.

For that final step, it was time to get some fucking drinks.

-----

Author's Notes:

Three guesses as to where he's going.

 

[theonewhowas]

Palanquin was fucking nice.

Pretty empty, but was barely six on a Sunday. Which meant the drinks were cheap and wow I didn't have to worry about that anymore, did I?

Of all my superpowers, having disposable income was probably gonna be the hardest to get used to.

The doorman had looked down at me with suspicion, but between the relatively nice clothes, lack of jackboots or red suspenders, and the three days of stubble showing I was balding, not a skinhead, thank you, he let me in the club without comment.

Two bars, a stage, a big, slightly-raised dancefloor, raised platforms that weren't quite cages hanging from the ceiling, booths and a second, smaller stage in the back, and a chill house DJ spinning low-key tunes at a reasonable volume? A man could get used to this sort of luxury.

I wasn't sure whether to invite Steve - the jury was out on whether I could trust him or not, his general helpfulness aside - but it was a moot point. He said he wasn't exactly banned, but was discouraged from plying his trade there as a sign of respect to the hosts. Which made sense - letting in some drug dealers but not others would show favoritism, and Faultline's Crew was notoriously impartial.

So I sat alone at the bar, knocking back gin and tonics, enjoying the mellow tunes and browsing my thread on PHO. Shielder was right, they were going nuts on there. Some people were completely convinced I was a Tinker, with a variety of tools covering my different publically noted powers (and there was a surprising amount of video of me, considering how brief my engagements were - even one of me just parkouring around the city and eating shit from miss-timing a landing, which of course had the most views, the bastards). Others claimed me as the second coming of Eidolon, but they were pretty far in the minority. A good amount assumed I was a mercenary after being spotted with both Browbeat and Purity, and of course there was an entire shipping contingent deciding which (or both!) I was inevitably sleeping with.

"Rough day?"

I was buzzed enough that it took me a second to realize I was being spoken to, and another to figure out who was asking. "Hmm?"

The bartender, a sharp-featured woman in her twenties, gestured at the fourth gin and tonic nearly empty in my hands. I drained it, then gave her a small smile. "You could say that, yeah."

"Another?"

"Please."

She mixed another drink quickly, movements efficient and long-practiced. When it was in my hands, she went back to setting up the bar, always moving, never sitting idle. Time to lean, time to clean, I supposed, even if it was a bit much for a nightclub on a Sunday evening. Faultline ran a tight ship, it seemed.

"You must see a lot of capes."

She arched one eyebrow, gave me a polite, completely fake smile. Yeah, right, like Faultline running the club wasn't an open secret. Still, I imagined they had pretty good discretion, what with being mercenaries and all.

"In Brockton Bay, I mean."

Flawless recovery.

She fixed me with that plastic smile for another second, then continued wiping down the bar. "Less than you'd think. Most people go their whole lives without seeing capes except on TV, or maybe flying high overhead."

"Heh. Sometimes it seems like capes're the only actual people that matter in the city, and everyone else are just... background characters."

She snorted slightly. "Some capes certainly act that way, for sure."

I chuckled, a little louder than necessary. Maybe I should slow things down a bit.

Oooooor maybe I could biokinesis my way into processing alcohol better!

...

On the other hand, messing with my biochemistry while buzzed sounded like a spectacularly bad idea.

She was actually leaning against the bar now, elbows on the polished wood. Near enough to talk quietly, still not in my personal space. "Sounds like you've got experience, there. You a cape-chaser?"

The way she said that was just neutral enough I couldn't tell from context if that term was used locally in the same sense as "storm-chaser" or "chubby-chaser", and I was afraid to guess wrong and make an idiot of myself. Better play it safe.

"I mean, a little."

She nods, expression still impassive, vaguely friendly. Damn, she had a good poker face. Then she leaned in conspiratorially and said, in a lower voice, "Armsmaster buzzed me on his bike last month. Passed six inches away, scared the shit out of me."

I grinned. "Niiiice. I always wanted to see that bike of his. Sounds like a bad ass piece of machinery."

She shrugged. "It's alright."

Pffft. Brocktonites and their jaded view of the world.

"So that's my big cape story."

Pushing off from the bar, she fixed me another gin and tonic without me asking. Actually, I didn't even realize I'd already drank the one in my hands. They were pretty damn good.

"That's it?"

"Like I said, most people don't see a cape in person at all." She seemed a little defensive, a little challenging. "What, you got anything better?"

Oh boy did I. "Skidmark had a gun to my head..." I glanced at my watch. "Eight hours ago."

"Uh huh." Not even pretending to believe me. "And why did he do that?"

"Thought I was a Russian spy."

"Mmhmm. And why didn't he just shoot you?"

"Because I'm not a Russian spy."

"Ah. That makes sense."

"I'm a Chinese spy."

She didn't quite laugh, but she did blow a little air out her nose and her lips twisted into an almost-smile, which I counted as a success. Not like Steve's almost-smile, which was that sort of knowing, man-of-the-world, seen-it-all-and-done-it-all-twice thing. More like someone who wasn't used to smiling, too used to hiding their emotions. Had an ex like that. Murder for taking cute pictures together. I'd mention it, but I wasn't about to be that asshole who told a woman to smile more.

"So what other capes have you seen, secret agent man?"

"I'd tell you, but-"

"-then you'd have to kill me?" Definitely an eye roll for that one. "Uh huh."

"Alright, fine. Purity gave me a wedgie once."

"And then asked you for your lunch money?"

"Nah, my phone number."

She got up off the bar after that, muttering something something "chaser" under her breath. Didn't walk away, though.

...Oh, right. I was at her bar. Maybe I was overstaying my welcome?

I knew drunk me enough (and boy was he showing up tonight) to err on the side of caution from long experience. With a polite smile I tried to push myself off the bar with the intent of climbing to my feet.

I was interrupted by another gin and tonic placed on the bar in front of me with a thunk. I looked up from the drink to the bartender, about to say I didn't want to keep her from her work, but she interrupted me.

"So did you?"

"Huh?"

"Give Purity your number?"

I smiled. She pressed her lips together in something approximating a smile, if I didn't know better.

---

I awoke to the sound of the shower running, a pounding headache, and a mouth that tasted like Skidmark looked.

Could... could Browbeat's power defeat a hangover?

Survey says... not without drinking some water first.

Clearly I needed to hang out with the guy some more. I bet he could defeat a hangover on his own.

That mystery resolved, I tried to figure out where I was and who was in the shower.

Through my bleary eyes, I could determine a few key facts.

One, I was naked.

Two, this bed was very lumpy.

Three, I thought I recognized that lamp in the corner.

Conclusion: I had successfully made it back to my apartment, and possibly got lucky.

My phone! Phones had evidence, didn't they? But where was phone?

I fumbled, squinting, at the nightstand, nearly knocking over a glass of water. Further searching found no phone, but did discover two clearly labeled advil.

Conclusion: I may have been robbed, but at least whoever I took home was considerate.

On a whim, I checked - yeap, still had both my kidneys.

Possibly a candidate for sainthood, then.

I drank the water and downed the advil, sensing the fluid move through my body with my limited biokinesis. It didn't help the headache, but it took my mind off of it at least.

At some point after that, the water shut off, and after the sound of shuffling feet in the bathroom, someone emerged, towel around their waist.

Either the bed was lower than I remembered, or they were very tall.

Also, no breasts to speak of.

Conclusion: not a stripper.

"Morning," said Steve.

"Heughgh," I replied.

"Uh huh."

I swallowed, working my sandpaper tongue a bit, trying to English. "How bad?"

He paused. He was probably giving me one of those looks of his, but the joke was on him - he was too blurry for me to get it. Ha!

"Long or short version?"

"Short."

"You got trashed, struck out with the bartender, drunk-dialed Purity, then called me to take you home."

"Uuuuuuugh." Body too weak to flip myself over to hide my face in shame. Wait! I could fly!

My body lifted off the bed, spun, and dropped back down with a muffled WHUMP until my face was mashed into the pillow.

It was at that point I remembered I was, in fact, still naked, as the blankets did not survive the transition.

Meh. If he had taken my clothes off, I had probably been covered in vomit; we were a little past the point of embarrassment. Plus the breeze kinda felt nice. Goosebumps on my back.

"Sorry if I made a mess," I mumbled into the pillow.

"Heh. That's part of the job."

I managed to control my body enough to raise an arm slightly, giving him a thumbs up in gratitude, before collapsing back on myself.

When I woke up again, there was still-warm pizza within arm's reach, along with more water.

Definitely a saint.

-----

Author's Notes:

TAKE THAT, SHIPPERS!