Chapter 30: I'm free! No more puns!

Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Type: Ice

I stepped inside the Egg House and hung up my coat. The orphanage was a relatively large building that used to be a daycare and kindergarten. Including us older kids, there were twelve children who lived here in total, though that number fluctuated every year or so as people came and went.

Upstairs, there were four rooms that used to be office and storage space for the daycare. That space was divided amongst Mrs. Wells, Leah, Derek, Mark, and I, with Mark and I sharing a room. The downstairs area included a kitchen, small cafeteria, living room, and four smaller rooms for the eight little ones.

The Egg House was as lively as ever, more so, actually. I suspected that a part of this was due to the danger having come and passed. With several of us orphans obviously not white, none of us were friends of the Empire. Even Derek, for all his usual douchebaggery, never tried to sell out one of the younger kids to any skinheads.

The bigger reason might have been our new guest however. I'd known we had a new assistant caretaker, but I'd yet to meet her. She showed up Friday after I'd gone to school and I hadn't eaten at the orphanage since then, what with the Empire committing to their bout of suicidal stupidity.

Derek and Mark, and some of the old-ish younger kids, were practically fawning over her, not that I blamed them. She was absolutely gorgeous, maybe as pretty as Victoria or Crystal. I would have had no trouble believing her had she said she'd modeled for magazine covers in the past.

She had pale, flawless skin and a smile that formed charming dimples on the corners of her mouth. Her chestnut-brown hair fell in gentle waves down one shoulder, giving her an elegant look that contrasted with her simple, beige sweater. A lock of crimson bangs framed her face, emphasizing her bright, blue eyes.

"Blake!" one of the little ones, an eight year old boy named Logan said. He was seated closest to the door, and so the first to notice me walk in.

"Hey, Logan, how's it going?" I greeted, ruffling his hair. Kid had a mound of big, bushy hair that made him look a little bit like a mushroom.

"Aww, don't do that!"

"Then cut your hair, mushroom-boy."

"But I like my hair."

"Yeah, it is pretty fluffy," I agreed. "You beat Kaiber yet?"

"No. Why is he so strong? He's dumb," he pouted. Logan and some of the boys had taken over the orphanage computer, trying to beat Legacy of Steel.

What no one told them was that they were playing on New Game+. Mark beat the game a while back and overwrote the save file with the challenge mode. Now, the entire thing was an exercise in frustration for them, and a running joke for us older kids.

I could see Mark choking down a laugh on the other end of the table. I'd help the kids out if they couldn't beat Kaiber by the end of the week.

"Yo, over here, Blake," my roommate called, his dyed hair standing out in a sea of browns and yellows.

"Hey, Mark, what's up?" I asked as I sat down.

"Not much. Where were you?"

"A friend of mine had family that didn't make it on Saturday," I lied, hopefully convincingly. "Mrs. Wells let me stay with him for the weekend. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Oh, it's no problem, Blake. Is he doing alright?" the matron asked.

"Yeah, he's fine. I mean, not fine fine, but well enough. His uncle's taking care of him now."

"That's good to hear. Have you met Cherie?"

The brunette took that as her cue to shoot me a sunny smile. "Hi, I'm Cherie Lecroix, the new assistant caretaker here. I've heard a lot about you, Blake."

"All good things, I hope," I replied with a nervous chuckle. Now that I was looking at her, she was really pretty. It wasn't any single thing I could point to either. Nose. Eyes. Lips. Every part of her blended together into a visage as close to flawless as I'd ever seen.

"Mrs. Wells trusts you a lot. I know you must be busy, but don't stay out so late all the time. It's important to share meals together, you know."

"Don't worry. I doubt I'll be out every weekend." I accepted a plate of food from Mrs. Wells with a grateful nod. Grilled chicken, broccoli, and rice wasn't the most flavorful meal, but it was filling. "How've you been liking the orphanage so far? You're sharing a room with Leah, right? Have you gotten used to her snoring yet?"

"Oi, fuck you," Leah said, flipping me off through a mouthful of rice. "I don't snore."

"Language, Leah," Mrs. Wells chided.

Cherie giggled demurely, hiding her mouth behind a dainty hand. "She's not that bad. I grew up with lots of younger siblings so I can honestly say I've slept through much worse."

The rest of dinner passed pleasantly enough. A pair of the younger kids got into trouble for throwing food. Another tried to stop them, only to get sucked into their bickering when a stray broccoli hit her in the eye, making her tear up. It was chaotic, and maybe paradoxically, peaceful.

Us older kids were largely in our own world. As far as I could tell, Cherie had all three of my peers wrapped around her finger already. Even Leah jockeyed for her attention in her own way, inviting her along to a party with her friends, something she'd never done for any of us boys.

My entertainment for the night was watching Derek and Mark make fools of themselves to try to impress our hot, older caretaker.

Derek bragged about his "part-time job" and how much he could make over a weekend. Judging by the unimpressed stare in Cherie's eyes, I had a feeling Leah filled her in on just what he did for "work."

On the flip side, Mark was like a socially awkward puppy. My friend was impressively athletic, as expected of a breakdancer, but dancing with his crew took up the bulk of his free time. I didn't think he'd ever seriously thought about a girl until Cherie.

Sure, he'd tell me about the hottest girls in Winslow and whatnot, but that was more him shooting the shit with a dude. Now that he was actually trying to impress a girl, he was utterly tongue-tied.

As I was helping Mrs. Wells clear the table, I felt my phone vibrate against my thigh. Given everyone who knew my number in my civilian life had just finished eating with me, I could only guess it was one of my cape contacts. It was probably Amy, texting to bitch about her work at the hospital while on a smoke break.

I finished cleaning up and headed upstairs to text back. To my surprise, it wasn't Amy; it was Newter sending me a message over PHO.

Newter: Yo, you there? Wanna drop by the Palanquin?

Menagerie: Tonight? I just got home.

Newter: Yeah? Can you? The boss-lady wants to talk to you.

Menagerie: Is it about yesterday's mess? Because I really don't want to.

Newter: Nah, man. You know we don't get involved in stuff like that. I mean, Lab totally would if you asked her, but please don't.

Menagerie: Agreed. I don't want her anywhere near that kind of thing.

Newter: Yeah, anyway, boss-lady says she's got intel for you. Urgent-ish.

Menagerie: Alright, I'll be there.

I waited until Mark was asleep before heading out. I was tired, I still couldn't say I'd fully recovered from yesterday, but Faultline wasn't the type to call me over without a good reason.

"Shift, kirlia," I whispered.

I felt my body shrink, turning into the skinny, waifish form of Hoenn's most popular psychic. I still wasn't sure why I could switch into kirlia and lampent regardless of my typing for the day, but I wasn't complaining. Whatever the reason, the strain on my aura wasn't as bad this way.

I silently shuffled out of bed before climbing the ladder to find Mark dozing gently. He wasn't a particularly light sleeper, but just to be safe, I wove a layer of Hypnosis around him that would keep him in dreamland for at least the next several hours.

I marveled at how easily the move came to me, but perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. Hypnosis was one of the first moves a newborn ralts learned. Though a true master like Titania could write a dissertation on the subtle nuances of a perfect mesmer, practically all members of the ralts line instinctively knew the fundamentals. Keeping Mark asleep was as simple as following those newfound instincts.

Instincts I'd yet to fully explore.

Why hadn't I done that yet? I had two pokemon I could shift into regardless of Arceus' gift, Victini excluded. And both the ralts and litwick lines were absolute powerhouses, some of the strongest and most versatile pokemon around.

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Why hadn't I delved deeper into their techniques? Why had I contented myself with using lampent like a taxi? Why hadn't I ever tried to master teleportation as kirlia? Or learned some of Titania's favorite tricks for myself?

It was yet one more reminder of my negligence.

Saturday showed me that I could in fact run dry. I'd allowed myself to get arrogant, secure in the knowledge that I was the only one with Arceus' blessing. I'd felt that because I was the only one with aura, I had no equals. Maybe I hadn't thought those exact words, but the sentiment rang uncomfortably familiar.

In my old world, I'd never had the opportunity to get this cocky. For most of my journey, my family and I weren't the best. There were gym leaders who each taught us valuable lessons. When we overtook them in skill, there were the elite four and the champions. And when we finally surpassed the champions, the Legends were quick to remind us of the gap between mortals and gods.

Yes, we were mighty, but we were only as great as the obstacles we'd overcome. Maybe that was the problem: In this life, power was simply thrust upon me.

I walked, on my own, human feet. I strolled to the ferry station to pick up my costume before dressing myself in full scale mail. Then, I headed to the Palanquin, taking my time to contemplate and reflect.

I used to love doing this sort of thing. I could remember countless nights when Luca, Titania, and I would stare up at the moon.

Sometimes, we went over past battles, analyzing our successes and failures. At other times, we brainstormed new ideas for combination moves or training regimens. But my favorite times were when we said nothing and simply allowed our emotions to enrich the silence.

Luca. Titania. Marsh. Blitz. Regis. Eos. They were the best of me. Even with Arceus' boon, with more personal power than a human had ever wielded before, I was a lesser man without them.

I breathed in the cool, night air. Slowly, I exhaled and watched the vapors form in the winter chill.

I had to be better. Making people happy made me happy. Making the city better was fulfilling. But I couldn't neglect my own training any longer. Power attracted power. One day, greater challenges would find me, whether I looked for them or not.

X

Given Faultline's general aversion to anything she classified as "noisy," I assumed she didn't want me to barge in through the front door, especially not after yesterday's mess. I felt the same; the last thing I wanted was a spectacle.

I shifted into sneasel and used my hooked claws to climb up the brick wall. My glossy, black pelt blended into the shadows, allowing me to sneak in through their third floor window with ease.

"Oh, hello, Menagerie," Gregor said, barely looking up from his book. The slug-like man was relaxing on a massive beanbag chair that could easily fit two of me. The chair was covered in one of those easy-wash, synthetic fabrics, probably because Gregor occasionally leaked slime.

"Huh. Hi, Gregor, it's been a while," I greeted. I looked around to find two beds, one extra large for the gentle giant. "I guess this isn't your living room?"

"No, you missed it by a window."

"Damn, sorry for barging into your room then."

"Pay no mind. I'm sorry it's a little cluttered."

I glanced at the pile of dirty laundry shoved into a haphazard pile behind the door. They definitely wouldn't fit the big guy. "I have a feeling most of the mess is Newt's."

"It is," he said, sighing with some frustration. "He could stand to be a bit tidier."

"I live in an orphanage. I get it. So, Faultline?"

"She was going over the details of our next job in her office. Don't worry, we'll take our affairs out of state."

"I wouldn't mind seeing your crew active around Brockton, so long as you keep your jobs largely nonviolent of course."

"Of course. We are of like mind. A professional avoids all conflict he is not being paid for."

"How mercenary of you."

"That is indeed our occupation," he replied with a glib chuckle.

"Alright, thanks, Gregor. I'll go find Faultline then."

"You do that. If she's busy, I think Newter and Elle are in the lounge watching a movie."

X

I found Faultline, Melanie without her mask, eating a bowl of cup noodles at her desk. I'd never been a big fan of those, but Mark was the kind of person who "tricked out" his noodles with things like American cheese, egg, and diced hot dogs. How he remained so athletic was a mystery to me.

Melanie looked up, slurped up the last of her noodles, and set her papers aside. "Good, you're here, Menagerie."

I plopped down onto a couch in front of her desk. There were two of those framing a central coffee table, probably so she could brief her team all serious-like. "Yup. Is this your lunch?"

"It is. I wake up in the afternoon to open the club so I have lunch around midnight. You wouldn't believe how much work it takes to run two businesses."

"Can't you just give the club to someone else to manage?"

"I'm doing that already. Someone else handles kitchen supplies, cleaning, personnel shifts, and other daily tasks. I mostly sign off on expense reports, pay taxes, and ensure the company account has money to do all those things. Still, it's a lot to keep track of."

"Sounds rough. Have you considered getting your crew to help? I mean, maybe not Newter, but Gregor seems mature enough."

"Yesh, he is. I'm just complaining for the sake of it, Menagerie, don't mind me. Actually now that you're here, I have some information for you."

"Newter said it was 'urgent-ish,' whatever that means."

"That boy… He's not wrong, I suppose. I said it could impact your approach to the city moving forward."

"Is this about the predictions I gave you last time?"

"Yes, that's right. One of my past clients has a branch office in Quebec so I asked if he's heard any news coming from there regarding Heartbreaker," she began. "Keep in mind, he's not a cape. The guy runs a shipping company and I helped him set up a smuggling route a few years ago."

"That sounds shady as fuck, Mel," I said dryly. "Should you really be telling a hero that?"

"Do you care?"

"Fair enough. Carry on."

"Anyway, he's not involved in cape business so I can't say how reliable this is, but Montreal's been very dangerous lately, and not just for young women. It seems like your prediction was right. Something's set Heartbreaker off, enough that some of his guys refuse to deliver to the city at all."

"That sounds bad. Do you think it's because two of his kids ran away? A brother and sister, though I don't know what they look like."

"That could be it. Anyway, that started about two weeks ago. It's only a five hour drive from Montreal to Brockton Bay, but if the kids were on foot and trying to avoid detection, that could be why it's taken so long for them to arrive."

"Nothing says Brockton has to be their first choice," I pointed out. "It sure as hell wouldn't be mine. They might have wandered around for a bit before coming to our attention."

"True. In any case, I've asked him to get me a list of his known children."

"That's great! If we know who they are and what they look like–"

"It'd make our lives a lot easier. Unfortunately, we don't. Truth is, even the local PRT doesn't know exactly how many children Heartbreaker has in his compound. And, even though some have turned out to be as degenerate as their father, Canada doesn't make the identities of underage criminals public. In this case, it's probably so no one starts a lynch mob against children and provokes a response form Heartbreaker."

I frowned at that. It was understandable, but highly inconvenient for us now. "So what do you have for me?"

She smirked and slid over a manilla folder. "I said the PRT doesn't generally make that information public. That, and my lack of meaningful contacts in Montreal, makes the search difficult, not impossible. The older children are a little more well-known, especially since a few of them are young adults by now."

I opened the folder to reveal a host of blurry pictures. Some were more recognizable than others. Disappointing, but I supposed I couldn't expect much better than the odd CCTV image. It wasn't like Heartbreaker's children were going to sit around so the cameras could get their good sides.

Many of these pictures contained a pair of young men, both with wavy, brown hair. They were dressed in quasi-historical outfits, one in some kind of military uniform and the other in a twin-tailed suit and tophat. Besides their outfits, they looked fairly forgettable, though that might have been the camera failing to capture much detail.

There were other people in the pictures too, mostly women. Some were obviously capes while others dressed in civilian garb.

"Those are Heartbreaker's victims," Melanie informed me. "Several of them were heroes in Canada before he mastered them. He doesn't like having his toys being too far away from him though, so he's more likely to send his children."

"Got it. Anything specific on these guys? I doubt they'll wear their costumes if they're trying to stay quiet."

"The one with the tophat dressed like an oil tycoon from the nineteen-twenties? He's thought to be the second oldest of Heartbreaker's children. He often accompanies some of his father's thralls around the city and might be one way Heartbreaker scopes out his next victims. I couldn't get any details about his powers except that it's one that allows him to perceive a large area."

"And the military reject?"

"His older brother. We know his name is Nicholas Vasil. He's the only one of Heartbreaker's children that the public has concrete information on."

"There's a story there," I said, a little afraid to ask.

"There is. He's probably the fear inducer that future-me told you about in your precog session. He once confronted a corporate hero team on top of a skyscraper. He made every hero jump off, screaming in terror."

"Sounds like a piece of work."

"He might be able to induce more emotions than just fear, keep that in mind."

"I will," I said solemnly. I'd like to see him try that against Victini. "Anyone else we have intel on?"

"No. He likes to keep his children's powers close to the chest. We can assume that the oldest daughter is the runner, but that doesn't tell us much. Most of Heartbreaker's brood have wavy, black or brown hair. They're all generally on the shorter side of average."

"Got it. This isn't as much information as I'd like."

"It's not," she agreed. She sliced the empty noodle cup in half and stacked the pieces before slipping them into a garbage bin beneath her desk. "I wanted to tell you all this before I took my team outside the city for a month. I'm sorry, but I'm not taking any chances with Elle's mental health."

"I agree completely. You keep your team safe. Where are you headed?"

"Las Vegas. There's a lead I want to follow up on and the PRT there is a little more flexible when it comes to mercenaries."

"Thanks, Mel. It's not much, but it might come in handy anyway."

"It's nothing. Just one more warning, Menagerie."

"What is it?"

"The two runners, brother and sister."

"Yeah?"

"Just because they're running from a shitty situation doesn't mean they're not potentially enemies," she cautioned. "If anything, desperate people do desperate things. They could potentially be worse than the siblings chasing them."

She was right. I'd like to think that the two ran because they had a shred of morality in their souls, but that wasn't necessarily the case. I somehow doubted Heartbreaker was Father of the Year material. I'd eat my helmet if he taught them anything resembling human decency.

"I'll keep that in mind," I promised.

"Good. Now, with the added information, is it possible for you to do another precog session?"

"No, it's not. I… I strained my power more yesterday. And even if I could, my focus today is ice. The forms capable of it aren't available to me right now," I told her. It was a shame, and one more reason for me to learn more about my kirlia transformation.

"That's a pity. You'll have to handle things on your own then."

"I know. When do you leave?"

"Now that I've given you what intelligence I had? Tomorrow. We'll be gone by lunch."

"Good. Get out of the city. Keep an eye on Elle, okay?"

"You know, I didn't think you'd get so attached to her so quickly," she observed.

"What can I say? She's adorable, like a little sister I've never had."

"How old are you again?"

"Seventeen, why?"

"Depending on your birthday, she might be a little older than you. She turns eighteen in a few months."

"Hey, age is just a number. I'll have you know, I'm secretly in my fifties, young'un."

She snorted a laugh. "Of course you are. Happy hunting, Menagerie. Give me a call when you get this mess settled."

"I will. Try not to get into too much trouble in Vegas," I shot back. "I'm afraid you'll make me arrest you one of these days."

"Heh, you wish."

Author's Note

To celebrate me no longer having to make day/type-specific chapter titles, please have some truly terrible jokes:

What do you call an alligator in a vest?

An investigator.

I'm addicted to brake fluid.

But it's okay because I can stop at any time.

Where did the pirate get his hook?

I don't know. He says he got it second-hand.

I once hurt myself digging for gold.

Don't worry, it's just a miner injury.

Do you want to kill me yet?

Good. Suffer as I have.

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