Joseph reached into the bag and pulled out another tube. He’d filled the bag entirely with fire-based workings, so it didn’t particularly matter which one he grabbed. There was nothing complicated or dangerous to use, just enough to give Johansen something to chew on and justify just how different his workings looked on paper. The different tube colors, he was unwilling to change, however. If he were to stick a red into a blue and then forget about it after a while, he could end up with a flamethrower attached to his hand instead of a shield. Now, there were certainly people that would argue that a hot enough flamethrower was just as good as a shield, but, to his knowledge, none of these people ever tanked a blow from Sister Agony.
What was she up to nowadays? Not important right now.
After a couple minutes staring into the pool of fire Joseph had summoned, Johansen got to her feet, holding her glove close to her face where the construct had made contact, looking for damage. Once she was satisfied that the glove was intact, she turned to Joseph and shook her head. “I have so many questions,” she started as she slipped the glove back on. “Why don’t you give me the bits you consider important and we’ll work from there.”
He nodded, popping open the red tube in his hand and dumping the rolled paper into his palm. Carefully unrolling it and flattening it out as he walked over to Johansen, he explained what he could. “It started a couple years back when I was going through a bout of insomnia, and I’d taken to doing a little meditation over a scratch pad to help me relax before trying to sleep.”
In reality, it was four years ago and some change, but he wanted to create some separation between himself and his main gig. Johansen didn’t need to know the reason he’d been restless or exactly how he saw the world in his meditative states, but a little bit of disclosure might give him some wiggle room to work without the Company watching over his shoulder. Fire was what the woman expected from him, so fire was what Joseph was going to give her.
“You might say I’m not particularly inclined toward the arts,” he continued. “So I never kept any of my stuff.” He handed the unrolled paper over for her to inspect. “So, I did what any self respecting pyrokinetic with insecurities might do. I burned my drawings every night. They always flared up nice and bright, just enough to make me wonder whether it was my imagination that they burned hotter or longer than they should have. Then I started noticing other things, like how the fire behaved strangely or how bright it was or what sounds it made. Things got less normal the more time I spent working on a particular drawing. Whether I used pencil or ink. The types of paper. Stuff like that.”
More or less true, the story he was spinning now pretty much covered how things started, leaving out the bits where he experimented with the other types of energy on the spectrum and specific terms he came up with for his process. Telling Johansen more might give the whole game away if she took things to their logical conclusion. Whatever Johansen was, she wasn’t stupid. Overly ambitious, naïve, willful, yes. But not stupid.
“Now, after a little experimentation, I've got a bit more control and intensity.” He finished anti-climactically with a shrug, hoping to let Johansen put the pieces together herself.
She snorted, a sound Joseph hadn't expect to come out of someone so- like her. "I'd say you've got a tendency to understate things." Holding the paper close to her face, she scrutinized the design and rubbed the paper between her fingers. “This is a long way from being a human barbeque lighter. I mean the first trick you showed me fundamentally alters the way fire works. Where does the fuel come from? Why is it so juicy?"
Joseph slowly shook his head a put on his best pensive frown. "Don't know. Intent matters as far as what form it takes. I also know that the longer I spend making one of these," he explained, holding up one of his tubes and wobbling it from side to side. "The more powerful it is."
"So, you do weird stuff with heat, but you have to prepare beforehand,” Johansen mused, taking the information exactly where Joseph hoped she would. “And you didn’t tell anyone, not even your AHAB assessors or your doctor.” There was a slight hint of disapproval in her tone that Joseph didn’t particularly like. It's not like he didn't have his reasons to do what he did. "That was a dangerous decision considering the nature of you first generations' gifts and your statistical risk for complications." She didn't say the word 'psychosis,' but Joseph could feel it there, stalking just out of sight.
“Can you blame me?” He asked, a little anger bubbling up into his voice. “Before the change, I was lucky to be boring enough that kidnapping me and dissecting me wasn’t worth what it would cost, politically. Some of us still remember the times before AHAB, when people we loved would just disappear one day, and we never knew if it was some rogue biotech firm or our own government. You might say those early days were instructive to those of us too weak to fight back.”
Johansen winced apologetically then considered for a moment, looking up from the working in her hand to his face. “I’m sorry. I get it,” she said as she rolled the paper back up between her fingers and handed it back to Joseph. “So, you evolved your powers and grew them in secret. Then you started doing hero work in secret too."
He rocked his hand back and forth in a 'so-so' gesture. “Not sure if I would call it hero work. With the Scar being right here, Gregory Basin is a sort of hotspot for unexplained and dangerous phenomena, so I do what I can. I'd call myself a consultant before I'd claim anything close to the title of hero.”
“It looked like hero work to me, unsanctioned as it was,” she observed with a knowing smile. “It looked to me like you were playing to your strengths, in this case knowledge and preparation, which is half of what hero work really is. You went against opponents your power could handle, and you didn't try and branch out to something you weren't equipped to handle. Some heroes take a long time to realize their weaknesses define their rules of engagement as much as their strengths.”
Joseph's eyes drifted down to the ground and traced the cracks in the stone under his feet. “I like my town, and I like my people. I don’t like seeing the Scar bleed into their lives just because they’re unlucky enough to live here.” He cleared his throat then burned the paper in his hand and watched the flame shrink down, condensing into tens of tiny pinpricks in his palm. Then he extended his arm with his palm outward, pointing toward the husk of a dump truck before letting the constructs off their leash. A barrage of crackling, popping, meteors the size of match heads shot from his hand and hit the truck's chassis as well as a good bit of the ground around it, throwing sparks and leaving trails of fire where they made contact. Small, blackened divots in the stone and metal were visible where the little constructs had made impact. He really needed to work on that spread. Way too wide.
Johansen watched the little fires burn with her arms crossed, a thoughtful expression on her face. She stood there, her blue eyes focused keenly and her blonde hair not held in place by her hat blowing gently in the breeze. When she turned to Joseph, she wore a determined look on her face.
“I can work with this,” she declared. “The only thing holding us back is trust.”
An unbidden thrill of anticipation slid up Joseph's spine. “Trust?” he asked.
“Yes. Trust. We have to tell the Company about your current strengths and limitations. If we’re going to get assignments, they’ll need to know that we’re a proactive team by necessity. They can’t just send you into the unknown and expect the best results. Sending you up against weaker opponents is just asking for a slaughter or lots of collateral damage at least. They’ll need to assign you jobs where you can let loose or have time to prepare. You'll also need time in the lab to work on your powers safely. I’m pretty much going to sell you as a bomb maker. There's precedent of explosion-based heroes, Warlord being the most renowned currently.”
Joseph's excitement dimmed at that. He opened his mouth to strenuously object to being compared to the likes of Warlord, but the whine of a familiar 2-stroke engine sounded from the trees behind them as a motorbike shot from the treeline. Its rider, an older man with long, graying hair and a dirty looking full beard steered the bike, bobbing and weaving between fallen logs and jagged boulders with the confidence of a man with years of experience. His olive green jacket hung open, billowing behind him and exposing the black and tan pistol he never left home without, and his tanned, craggy face was stuck in a permanent grimace around the unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. The old man pulled his bike up alongside the truck and leaned it against the fender even after Joseph had asked him not to do so countless times.
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Joseph nodded to the man in greeting, limping over to take his hand. “Uncle Wilhelm,” he greeted him flatly.
Wilhelm surprised Joseph by gripping his hand tightly and pulling him into hug, which Joseph awkwardly returned after a moment's hesitation. His uncle smelled strongly of smoke, engine grease, and sweat. “Who the hell is that?” Wilhelm whispered into his ear.
It took Joseph a moment to bring his mind back into focus, but he got there after a full second. “Company agent. Don't make this weird,” Joseph replied in a matching whisper.
The two broke their embrace, Joseph feeling a little put off by the show of affection, even if it was a ploy. Wilhelm and he had a special relationship and not one that involved shared feelings or exchanged Christmas cards.
After clearing his throat, Joseph got started with the introductions. “Uh. Agent Johansen, this is my Uncle Wilhelm. My father’s brother, veteran, survivalist, tobacco enthusiast, cheater at cards, and the man who raised me, if you want to call it that.”
Johansen glided smoothly over to Wilhelm and took his hand with a picture perfect smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wilhelm. I’m Cammy.”
Wilhelm grunted, taking the cigar out of his mouth to spit next to the truck’s back tire and looking like he'd just swallowed something distasteful. “Boy, can I talk to you for a moment? Privately? It’s a family thing. You understand, right Miss?” Wilhelm asked in his southern drawl that he'd cultivated sometime during his long and storied military career.
Johansen never lost her smile, but it cooled slightly. She looked calculatingly back and forth between the two men, but she remained polite. “Not at all. I’ll just wait here and... keep warm,” she said, sidling up to the pool of fire and rubbing her hands together.
With an embarrassed grimace from Joseph, he followed Wilhelm back to where the gravel road met the treeline. Then out of nowhere, Wilhelm reached out and shoved Joseph hard in the shoulder, nearly tipping him over thanks to his cast. “What the hell are you doing, boy? The government sends you your first honey pot and you can’t wait to spill your guts? Why did I even go through the trouble of training you if you're just gonna walk yourself into a supermax?” Wilhelm kept his voice quiet but the venom he put into those words stung.
Joseph ground his teeth together and did his best to look his uncle in the eye. Of course, Uncle Wilhelm would assume the worst. Paranoia was how the old man had gotten old in the first place, despite everything he'd done. “No one's going to supermax. She knows I’m a pyrokinetic. I’m showing her that I’m a pyrokinetic.”
Wilhelm cracked his neck and nervously chewed on his lower lip. "You're showing her a shitload more than you needed to, boy. What happened to laying low?”
"I nearly blew her up when we met. Laying low was out."
"We talked about being careful," Wilhelm growled running a hand down the front of his face and into his beard, "About tradecraft. What the hell were you doing?"
"I was doing my job."
Wilhelm looked at him reproachfully. "You mean you were living your cover. You do remember what the word 'cover' means, right? It's supposed to cover for the more important shit in your life. The real stuff. If your cover attracts agents from the Company, it's not a very fucking good cover is it?" Every word he spoke was louder and more forceful than the next until he was snarling and shoving a gnarled finger in Joseph's face. Joseph could detect a slight tinge of fear in the man's voice hidden just under the angry disapproval. Whether it was for Joseph or for himself, he didn't know, and maybe Wilhelm didn't either. Joseph chose to believe it was for them both.
"I'm playing the hand I've been dealt," Joseph ground out between clenched teeth. He tried and failed to keep his anger from showing, feeling his face grow hot as his pulse pounded behind his eyes. "This," he said, motioning discretely to encompass the now smoking quarry. "This is damage control."
"Damage control." The old man crossed his arms, looking down at the ground and nodded to himself as he processed. "Is she recording any of this?" Wilhelm asked, sounding more weary than angry now.
Joseph took a couple deep breaths until the world went back to its normal tint. “No. She’s unplugged.”
"How the hell did you manage that?" Welhelm asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Company kids graduate with a Goddamned tablet jammed up their asses. If she's not wired, I'll eat one of your drawings."
"They're workings," he corrected. "Also, yes, she's unplugged. Trust me. Plus, she's only getting to see the fire stuff, so if you're asked, that's all you know."
“Boy, have you ever heard the expression 'just the tip?' The same principle applies here. She's convinced you to trust her for this one thing. Then, before you know it, you’re spilling your guts because you caught feelings.”
“I left the weird stuff at home, and that's where it's staying until we need it. I'll probably never be able to tell her everything.”
Wilhelm let out a long breath, frowning at his boots and looking like he was chewing on the world's toughest jerky. “That implies that you want to tell her.”
Joseph glanced back at the Company woman to see her squatting by the fire and poking tentatively at the puddle with a stick. He shook his head with a little smile. "Nah. I love living a life of complete social isolation," he laughed bitterly. "My only confidant an old coot that lives in a survival bunker stocked with canned peaches and peanut butter."
"Ammo too."
"Ah yes, who could forget the ammo."
"Well, if my handler looked like that, I’d have told her everything on day one.”
Joseph scoffed, feeling the tension relax between the two of them. "Whatever. Now what did you come all the way up here for? I saw your message back at the shop. I was going to come when it was safe.”
Wilhelm turned his head to the side to look at the woods where he'd just driven up the mountain to get here then cupped his hand over his mouth as if covering for a cough. It was something the old man did when he didn't want to give anyone a chance to read his lips. Old habits die hard. “We’ve got one.”
Joseph stiffened, a warm micro dose of adrenaline suffusing his body. “Which one?”
“Gull.”
"Gull," Joseph breathed. "Holy shit." The possibilities flashed through his mind. Gull was a first generation super and a rare one at that. He had more than one distinct set of powers, or at least that's how it seemed from the outside. When he pretended to be a hero, Gull was respected by the people and feared by the underworld. Now though- Now the guy was a terror.
"How did you get a line on Gull?" Joseph asked incredulously.
Wilhelm ran his hand through his beard to straighten a few of the tangles, looking a little uncomfortable at having to explain. "Couple friends of mine from back in the day run drugs from time to time to pay the bills." He looked away, studying a particularly normal pine tree and wearing a sheepish expression. "After the little dustup on Graviton's island, Gull went to ground in a little town along one of my buddies' routes. Their couriers would go missing then come back with lost time and no packages. The bastard's holed up in a little berg in New Mexico. Probably got the whole town enthralled."
Gull, in addition to having ghostly wings and substantial physical abilities, was a Mesmer, meaning that all it took was a couple words from him to subvert someone's free will. Anyone he met without extensive mental training or psychic powers would be more or less under his spell, willing to do anything up to and including dying for him. The super also had the reputation of being extremely fickle and cruel to the people he enthralled, especially after his transition from hero to psychopath.
The thought of a bunch of people enslaved to a man like Gull made Joseph want to pack up and get over there now, but that wasn't how he worked. It wasn't how he could afford to work. He needed to do this with a clear head and a carefully laid plan.
Then there was Hugh and his people to consider. Hugh showed himself as willing to kill, so he was already a candidate for the list. “I’ve got another one on the horizon. Big guy. Altered. But I may be taking him down with the Company, depending on a couple things falling into place. What’s our window on Gull look like?”
Wilhelm spit, showing his distaste at the thought of a delay on their hunt for Gull. “Short. Days. Maybe a week. Depends on how long it takes for him to get bored with his new digs.”
“I’ll see if I can slip away. Any ideas on that?” Joseph asked, legitimately unsure how he was going to do it. Before, when it was time to go out of town to take care of business, he just flipped his shop's sign to Closed and left. Now, with the Company in town, things were going to be more complicated.
“Marry that girl so she won't have to testify against you.”
"Yeah. I'll get on that." Joseph said, rolling his eyes and turning back toward Johansen who was now throwing rocks into the fire puddle and trying to look disinterested in their conversation.
"Who's ready to see a fireball!" he shouted as he started back toward his firing line with Wilhelm trailing slightly behind. His mind was occupied elsewhere though, formulating the beginning of a plan.