The air in the small office room was rather stifling, and not just because of the warmth of the morning sun trying to make its way through the closed blinds. It was a minor relief when we were finally dismissed with a coy smile and wave of the manager’s hand - able to exit the door into cooler air.
Benny held a confused expression. “Did I hear giggling?” he whispered, diamond eyes looking between each of us as we made our leave.
Silence greeted him as we continued out of the building fully, without saying a word.
I wondered if they’d give me five minutes head-start.
Clara stopped and turned to me. “Here.” In her hand were the van keys. “I’ll get a cab to the doctors and message you when I need to be picked up, Gunquake. We’ll need to prepare for tonight.”
I gave her a nod and watched her walk off. Roxy had already started off towards the vehicle, so I caught up. Around the corner, across the now-dewless grass, and into the van. Much higher and heavier than I was used to driving, and I had to put the seat back as the techie had short legs.
The super was looking out the side window, elbow on the door, chin in her hand. Van started up and I put my single hand on the wheel.
[I’m sorry, Roxy.]
She gave me a glance and deflated. “I figured that this would happen. Can’t really help it, can you?”
My right eye twitched as I took the van down from the curb and circled it around on the road to head back home. An awkward task as my gun-arm wasn’t really the right length or shape to prod at the necessary van-controlling parts.
[That’s not really an excuse, though. I can understand that you’re mad.]
Roxy sighed again. “Not sure if I am really mad. Like, I am pissed at you, but I expected this, and you’ve actually got Stacy on our side. She was always such a stick in the mud for me, and now she’s going to see what she can do about getting me better missions. I’m thankful, as much as I want to kick you in the balls.”
[I seem to be hard-coded to want to win people over.]
We sat in silence for a few moments before she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, though. ‘I’ve never had a manager before’? Can’t believe she ate that basic shit up.”
I shrugged, which was difficult while trying not to run us off the road accidentally.
[You know it was just to get us a more beneficial position, though?]
“Dubs. I trust Clara to not do anything to hurt me, but I don’t trust other people with you. But it’s… not really that…”
Although I raised an eyebrow, I couldn’t turn to her due to being focused on keeping our vehicle on the right tracks. I still didn’t have a driving license, so didn’t want to get pulled over either. Clara would literally murder me if anything happened to the van. Unsure as to what to say, I sat in concentrated silence while waiting for her to expand on her statement.
Eventually, she sat up straighter and move her hands to her lap.
“Seeing how easily you twist people into doing what you want… sometimes I worry that I’ve just been duped as well.” Her fingertips tapped together. “That I was just an easy mark for you to benefit from.”
Another awkward silence filled the vehicle. The residual heat radiating from her had all but cooled now.
[I realize there is nothing I could say right now that would reassure you, with my every word being suspect. I hope in time my actions would tell you what my mouth cannot.]
In my peripheral, I could see her nodding slowly. How could you trust the words of a liar? It didn’t matter if I poured my heart out to her now. My feelings toward both her and the techie were genuine, and not part of my need to become anything other than someone worthy of having love and friendship. Given that she had been hurt in the past, I could understand her trepidation about being vulnerable again.
“At least tell me how you did it, asshole.” She relaxed slightly, giving up on holding up the walls so diligently. “You don’t actually have magic powers, right?”
[No. Unfortunately, it was part gamble that luckily paid off.]
“Bullshit. All risks have some basis of success to make it worth it. Tell me, otherwise I’ll go back and disclose just what kind of relationship we have. In vivid detail.” She scowled at me. “You did this shit in your League interview as well.”
I took a deep breath, despite it not really affecting how I spoke through my vocalizer.
[She was unmarried but had a photo of a man on the side wall. Signed, so unlikely to be a partner or family member. Glasses, but didn’t use them for the computer, so they must be specifically for reading closer things. As she seemed like an experienced professional, there was no chance that she wouldn’t know Benny was writing erotic fiction instead of working. So the assumption was that she probably read it on the sly, in addition to the typical romance books where the dark and brooding male lead is half dressed on the cover.]
Roxy was silent for a moment. “Even then, you can’t assume that…”
[My lense brought back the information that the man in the picture was a romance author. Also, the calendar that Benny switched to had blocks earmarked for reading time. We all need our escapisms.]
“Perceptive motherfucker,” she murmured, shaking her head to look out the side window again.
We were through the warehouse districts and about to head into the construction sites and storage areas just before the outskirts now. Too early to pat myself on the back for making it out of the city safe, but it was at least growing increasingly unlikely the super was about to snap me in half.
“Part of it is also worry, Dubs,” she said, quieter than usual.
[Oh? For my live test tonight?]
“I know you’ve been through worse… heck, I’ve done worse to you. I guess the part of me that trusts and loves you is just scared of losing you.” Her hand came across and gave my arm a light squeeze.
[Maybe I’ll get hurt. I cannot promise you I will come back uninjured. However, I will emerge victorious and alive. I always win.]
“Always? You lost against me, smartass.”
[Did I though?]
She exhaled, but I could tell some of her nerves were easing off. It turned out that maintaining relationships was more difficult than I had imagined. In a way, I was lucky she was partially understanding of my need to charm any of our detractors. I held zero attraction for our manager, but I couldn’t have someone stifling our progress. Missing out on missions or opportunities to grow was unacceptable, so having her as part of my fan club was an unfortunate reality.
[Is Clara pissed off with me?]
“No. She sent a message suggesting we should argue and then have make up sex while we have the house to ourselves.” She removed her hand from me. “I think that’s her way of saying that she is tired and stressed. Today is a big day with her seeing the Doc and your mission later.”
They had indeed decided that the villain needed turning into paste this evening. Made sense on some levels, but was exhausting. As long as I didn’t have any more ghosts of the past leap up in front of me during the afternoon, then I’d survive.
Tech villain. Not entirely my bread and butter, but they wanted me to cut my lack of teeth on something with a similar flavor to what I brought to the table. At night, which suited me perfectly. In the outskirts, which was odd but also acceptable.
A hobgoblin scientist going by the name of Jolt God. Most goblinoid ancestries had become a normal part of society centuries ago, no matter their prior alignments or sordid pasts. Hobgoblins were the exception. Near human sized, but slim and oddly proportioned. Skin usually different red or green hues, long heads with jutting lower tusks. Pointed ears and noses like their diminutive cousins, but odd eyes like a goat. Mostly lived in large groups or tribes on the fringes of society.
Occasionally, some dabbled in magic or had minor powers. Jolt had some unnatural proficiency with technology - although given that they mostly existed stealing trash it wasn’t actually reliable or functional most of the time.
Until now, at least.
League intel signaled a high chance of Jolt God having started a project that threatened the safety of Goldarch. A bomb. They weren’t entirely sure of the type - but knew that the hobgoblins had potentially scored the necessary components to make something that would actually work, and not just blow themselves up.
This had led into an interesting discussion on how supers were actually assigned to missions. My assumption was that one of the S-Rank heroes like Angel could just fly over, nuke the site from the sky, and go home for a well-earned rest. Apparently, this was actually more like a normal job than I had first realized.
Shift patterns, areas of influence, and portfolio building. If the higher Rank supers did everything, then that would leave the lower Ranks with nothing to do, and the former often overworked. Both a recipe for disaster. Missions were just as much a way for the League to regulate the power, energy, and money-making capital of its heroes, just as much as it was for peacekeeping and justice.
It was almost enough to make me jaded - even if most of my life had been killing supers and criminals.
Clara hadn’t complained about the mission being today, but I could tell it was something conflicting for her. Time away from her education or workshop, but a chance to prove herself as my sidekick. I could imagine her mind was overheating from it all.
“At least I’ll be comforted with the fact that she will be home when working, so I can protect one of your dumbasses.” Roxy rolled her head around. “Assuming the range is okay, like she mentioned.”
One of the benefits of it being in the outskirts was less terrain to get in the way of her communications… apparently.
I switched Erin—our security system—down to the local area of effect, rather than the more powerful and potentially tumor-inducting wide range. I’d received no anomalous messages from it, and started to wonder if my paranoia wasn’t because of a hidden opponent scouting us out, and just the ghost of my buried arm knocking on the door of my weakened psyche.
Somehow, the thought of it being an unseen enemy was more comforting.
Van pulled up across the dry ground beside the workshop. I had made it back in one piece. Hopefully a continuing trend for the whole day.
I popped the door open, but stopped as Roxy held my arm. So instead, I turned my head to look at her. She moved herself up closer to me, her other hand holding the side of my gas-mask.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“I hope you don’t think my insecurities mean I love you any less.” Her burning eyes looked between my own goggled orbs. “It’s just… I want this to be real.”
[It’s very real, Roxy. I don’t want anybody but you.]
The tension around her eyes relaxed, and she smiled. “You want to go argue all over the kitchen furniture?”
[I have some very compelling points I’m eager for you to hear.]
“Well, I am hoping the physical intimacy will help override my emotional vulnerabilities. Maybe there’s some feral need for me to stake a claim that you still belong to me.” She pulled a face. “Are you currently casting magic on me?”
[Hmm? Sorry, was too focused on trying to mentally undress you.]
Roxy rolled her eyes. “Dork. Get your ass inside the house.” Relinquishing her grip on me, she popped her door open. “Oh, and keep the outfit on.”
----------------------------------------
Waiting for nightfall was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences in recent memory. Without Clara around to constantly pester us, we had fallen into some amount of normal relationship. After a bath and brief vacation from our work clothes, we had watched a little television, spent some time lying in the garden talking about her childhood, and even threw some rocks out into the wastes. She had me beat there rather easily.
We play-fought for a bit, and I was only partially convinced she used some of her strength powers to best me every time. My gun-arm made carrying her awkward, but with some trial and error we found that I had enough strength to carry her piggyback style for a short distance - something she absolutely loved.
By the time we made it to late afternoon, our worries from the morning seemed long forgotten.
Now once again in the recently scrubbed clean kitchen, she waved a spoon at me - ice-cream tub in her hand.
“Alright, asshole. Nobody is this good of an actor. You’re not fixing my broken parts in a day, but I believe you’re genuine.” She took a scoop and paused. “If you gotta be a charismatic prick to get us ahead, then fine, but nothing more than words, understand? This list just has ‘smooth-talking’ on it.”
[Ah, so there is a list.]
“Don’t change the subject, fucko.” She took a few steps towards me, stopping a foot away to glare into my eyes. “I need you to assure me.”
[I promise, Roxy. The last thing I would want is to hurt you.]
She maintained eye contact as she put the spoon in her mouth, nodding slowly. “Alright. Even if it makes me the biggest dumbass in the city, I believe you.”
[If that were the case, you’d be competing with me for who is dumbest, as I am trying to have a relationship with a woman I goaded into killing me.]
Roxy smiled and withdrew the spoon. “Guess we’ll just be idiots together, then.”
I nodded, but was distracted from further staring into her flaming eyes by a notification in my lense.
[Clara wants me to pick her up. She is being dropped by a cab at the edge of the warehouse district.]
The super rolled her eyes. “In close third place, huh? Standing around there after closing is asking for trouble. Tell you what, I’ll jump out there and meet up with her - you can drive up and get us both?”
[Perfect. I’ll get moving now and send you her coordinates.]
Wasn’t the most efficient way for us to all travel, but sometimes that wasn’t the most important thing. It wasn’t a long journey, but as soon as the techie hit the passenger seat, she fell straight asleep. Roxy sat in the back for a change.
“Feels like I’m about to be dropped out of an armored personnel carrier in some war zone,” she murmured from the darkness.
Perhaps that’s why I liked it. A thought that fluttered away as I tried concentrating on the barely lit road.
Before long, we were back at the house. A couple of hours from my rough mission starting time. Stacy had mentioned that I might be monitored - if I eventually got my full League of Heroes badge, they’d be able to jumpstart my public image by bringing up my induction exploits after the fact. So… part of my job today was also getting marketing material for my prospective employer.
Roxy carried the spent techie from the van and to the lounge - but she’d need to be woken soon. Clara would never forgive either of us if we allowed her to sleep through her first opportunity to act as my sidekick. As much as I had gotten used to being solo, there were numerous advantages to having these allies now.
One such thing was possibly whatever was in the crate the sleepy tech had been traveling with. I lifted it from the back of the van and took it to the smaller workshop room for now. This space not only had all my magazines, ammunition, and wearable tech I wasn’t currently using - but was also where her chair and main computer had been set up. Three monitor screens, the one on the far right running with rows of data as the drive resisted being cracked.
Judging by the hum coming from the other side of the wall, I assumed whatever machine analyzed the physical properties of things was in the larger working space.
I idly thumbed through the magazines, starting to load them up. No killing, Stacy had informed me. While Jolt’s hobgoblin group weren’t exactly friendly with Goldarch, wiping them out might just invoke revenge from other tribes in the area. We had to do things according to a weird notion called ‘the law’.
Steps over by the door had me turning to see the super silhouetted against the open space. “Anything I can help with, Dubs? I feel antsy as shit.”
[Perhaps wake Clara. I’m not sure how much preparations she needs to do.]
“Sure. How are… you feeling about tonight? Nervous?”
I grunted, placing the last Nerve shot into the ten-mag.
[Perhaps. Not really about the mission, as such.]
“Oh?” She stepped into the workshop itself so that she could accost me directly. “Spill it then, Dubs. This is a two-way street.”
[Once we find out the secrets of my past… what if I was something even more terrible than we have been assuming? Killing supers seems like a near certainty, but what if that meant more than just adults…? What does that mean for us?]
Roxy exhaled and stepped closer so that she could hold my face. “There’s no point creating your own nightmares, Dubs. We’ll find out and then make any judgements. Do you have any urges of infanticide or worse?”
[No, not at all.]
“Then part of you living a better life is going to be drawing a line in the sand where the old you died. It won’t be that easy, and it’ll be something you have to find your own peace with… but I’m here for you always.” She pressed her nose against my re-breather, in lieu of a kiss. “I know you’re a fucking murderer. I’m not as virtuous as the superhero suit tries to sell it.”
“I think we’re all aware of that.”
We both looked over at the doorway, where Clara was standing, arms crossed and a scowl over her tired eyes. “I hope you disinfected the kitchen, you rabid animals. I make toast in there.”
[Perhaps you’ll have to include the whole house in Erin’s-]
“We don’t have time for this.” The techie jerked her thumb back. “Rockslide, out. Go make me toast and some cold water while I sort this towering lump of freak out.”
Roxy narrowed her eyes, but bit back a response. Instead, she left, giving Clara a polite smile before blowing me a kiss.
Once the super had vanished into the house, Clara’s glare immediately washed away, and she came into the workshop with renewed energy. “Sorry for the show, Gunquake. It’s important to set boundaries when it comes to our working environment. If we let my sister stand around talking about emotions, then it’s only a few steps away from you also desecrating my workshop. And she is not allowed to do that.”
Any note I made about her only specifying Roxy being the one not allowed to do such a thing quickly washed away. My finger jutted out toward the new crate she had returned home with.
[What’s in the box?]
“I’m not sure you deserve it.” She gave me a coy smile and went to sit at her computer. “Although I think you’ll really want it.”
I did.
[It can’t be that impressive then. You must not be proud of it if you’re unwilling to show me. I’ll pass.]
She didn’t turn from her monitors, as screens bloomed into life on the other idle two. “Unfortunately, my dear Gunquake, your charms and mental tricks do not work on me.”
[Is that so? I could have sworn I saw you turning a little green earlier.]
Clara paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she gave me a quick glance. “In some ways you are mine, Gunquake, just the same as in some ways you belong to Rockslide. I am wary of anything that threatens that status quo… but again, that was not you trying to charm me.”
[As I am yours and you only want the best for me, I know that the crate contains something ingenious that will both be technically impressive as well as paramount to my success this evening.]
She ran her tongue across her lips before swiveling in her chair to look at me. “I recant my original statement, Gunquake. Please, help yourself.” She gave me a wry smile. “To the crate.”
I didn’t need asking twice. Was already grasping for the lid before she had uttered the clarifying addendum. Brass clips on every side, which I popped one after another before removing the top wholesale.
Peered inside the rather full box.
Looked like a backpack of some kind, with several tubes running off one side.
[Not the grappling hook previously discussed?]
“Correct. It is not a grappling hook.” She stood up from her chair and yawned. “Bring it through to the bigger workshop. You might need a change of underwear after this, and I’ll not have you make a mess in this room.”
I lifted the open crate up and followed her through, wondering if she did have a way of knowing if Roxy and I defiled the workshops. Probably best not to bite the hand that rearranges broken internal organs. In the larger space, and in addition to the electronic device analyzing the metal shard, Clara had also acquired some manner of raised length of guttering padded with fur. A rest for my gun-arm for her to work on it.
After placing the box down, she gestured for me to step over to it. I did so and placed my arm inside the comfortable channel gently. She stepped up behind me, now holding the backpack - albeit struggling with the weight a little. Arm back out, I threaded my right before my more flexible left also went through the straps. Some weight to it, but nothing terrible.
She took up the three inch-wide tubes from the floor and stood beside me.
“Firstly, Gunquake.” Her eyes went to the backpack. “Something that can carry my drone, with a signal and range booster. Reduced reaction time for me, but it means I can sit here eating toast rather than hang just outside of shotgun range in constant danger.”
[Still the dragonfly variant?]
“Indeed. I’m weighing up options for what would be best going forward. For now, this is enough.” She reached into her dungarees pocket to bring out a flathead screwdriver and popped open the panel of my gun-arm that held the Overcharge tech.
A tap on the side of her head and a bright white light bloomed from her right eye. She hummed to herself as she inspected the internals. From her other pocket, she withdrew a piece of metal the same size and shape as the panel removed, except this had three holes that looked perfect for fitting the tubes in.
“Please stay still for this, Gunquake. I will explain each one as I have affixed them.”
[Understood.]
She held the screwdriver in her mouth as she turned my arm slightly to get a better angle. Dropped two of the cables to bring the first one forward, through the panel, and then she jostled it into an area just ahead of where Overcharge was affixed.
I felt a slight tug as she ensured it was in properly, before she removed the tool from her mouth. “First is a coolant. Over a prolonged battle it will maintain the effectiveness of your V-Force drive - an increase of between ten and twenty percent depending on length of use.”
Although I wasn’t sure I had ever consciously noticed the V-Force dragging, it was likely that my fights ahead would possibly be even longer than normal. Those with super powers weren’t often humbled by a shot or two, like your average criminal.
“Second,” she said as she checked it was in. “Will allow you to triple load cartridges into the chamber with no reduced power - although it uses as much V-Force as an Overcharge, so I’d advise only using it for certain circumstances.”
Clara tapped at a cylindrical tank on the right side of the backpack. “Third floods the chamber with whatever is in this. Sacrilege, but sometimes I have deviant ideas.” She labored me with some eye contact as she tugged on this third tube.
[What is currently in it?]
Although she continued to look up at me, her face wrinkled up. “Lubricant.”
I allowed a silence to fall between us, before she turned and started to fix the panel back in place.
“Original plan was a flamethrower type thing, but I didn’t want to make a bad impression on the Doctor on the first day.”
[You created this today?]
Clara nodded. “For the most part. Dr Jarl is very hands-on, and values practical learning. Mostly, he did not interfere with this creation, but gave a few practical pointers that helped it come together.”
[Did you want to tell me all about your day once I get back?]
“That sounds really nice, Gunquake.” She smiled and stepped away. “Be careful with the tubing when doing any acrobatics, but otherwise, that’s all done.”
I removed my arm from the comfortable rest and flexed it back and forward. The tubing actually seemed to be elasticated in some manner, and fit reasonably snugly with my profile. Last thing I wanted was dangling cables doing me a disservice in the middle of battle.
[Once again I give you my thanks, Clara.]
“You can show your gratitude by coming home safe for Rockslide. She has pestered me into giving her a link to the drone video feed… so don’t die in front of her, okay?”
I nodded, unable to verbalize it into a promise. It didn’t feel likely that I could die to a group of hobgoblins, but I was only human - even if a little Advanced. A shot to the wrong part of me, or something that stunned me, and I’d be easy enough to overrun.
Still, this was what it was all about.
A handful of tests and I could become an official superhero. In the pocket of the League, and with their backing, I would be able to…
I stepped out of the workshop into the early evening darkness. Over to the side, the city was illuminated by hundreds of dots of light. It was nice to have this work to paste thickly over the mystery that had been uncomfortable for my eyes. As soon as the League had officiated me, it would be time to dig around in their filth and see what they really knew about me.
Maybe I could help them find Boss. Then Boss could tell me who I really was.
As Clara pressed past me to return to the computer, and Roxy came out of the house with toast and water, a nervous smile on her face…
It reminded me that I was in no urgency to find out my past. Whatever murky experience had befallen me was eager enough to present itself every few days that I sunk away from it, but the truth was whether through Boss’s intention or my own volition, I had a life not defined by the before-times.
“Sweet new tech, Dubs.” The super tried to look genuinely interested and not like she was itching to follow me on the mission like a lost puppy. “Oh, guess what? I was using my brain for more than thinking of you undressed for a change and remembered the word that describes such a smooth talking charmer like yourself.”
[Oh, you did?]
“Yup!” She stopped in front of me, an eyebrow raised. “You're like a bard.”
Bard.
My muscles tensed as shadows flickered between our gathered buildings. A chill ran through me, even knowing they were fake. I blinked as color ran from the world.
“You alright, Dubs?”
I looked down as she put her hand on my chest, only it wasn’t her hand. Black glove.
Wasn’t my current outfit either. Tactical vest, half soaked through with blood on the right side. A humming noise and pressure filled my ears.
I watched as the hand gripped at the nametag, fingers digging in and tearing the fabric away.
Bard, it had said.