Ripples 4.14

2000, September 8: Washington, DC, USA

The biscuits were delicious. No, saying they were delicious didn't do them justice. They were more like teatime cookies than the bready biscuits served for American breakfasts, but that didn't make them any less buttery. There was the slightly oily goodness of perfectly browned butter, the faint hint of richness from caramelized brown sugar, and a nuttiness that I couldn't place to any earthly treat. There was even a slight touch of bitterness from burnt edges that made the treats so much more real to me.

This complex weave of flavors was unique to me. Hell, I found myself tasting something a little different each day as my own preferences shifted. Mom tasted something with a hint of dark chocolate and raspberries, a flavor combination she grew to love during her study abroad in Germany.

I crammed a second of the palm-sized fuckers in my mouth like a chipmunk before I realized what I was doing. When the third materialized in my hand in a shower of blue sparks, I had to physically struggle with myself to not eat it right away. And this, this was the self-control I'd managed only days after receiving the rune.

I always was the snacking sort, the type that could empty a bag of almonds without even knowing. It wasn't about being hungry as much as it was keeping my mouth occupied.

Yes, I had an oral fixation. Go fuck yourself.

I reluctantly put it on a plate on the dining room table and got to my morning workout.

Mom was surprisingly cool with my "magic cookie powers." She'd long since gotten used to the idea that her son wasn't a normal tinker. She knew basically everything about my powers, all but my past life's memories.

Hiding new abilities like the Hexflash from the PRT was one thing; hiding it from my mom just rubbed me the wrong way. Her knowing that I had escape options even outside of my tech went a long way to ease her worries and I couldn't justify not telling her for my own paranoid ass. More, her knowing what I could do and how I might react in an emergency might well save her life. It wasn't like she was going to tell the PRT anyway. She could admit that they had all the resources needed to help me thrive as a tinker, but she wasn't exactly their biggest fan. With these points in mind, obfuscation wasn't an attractive option to me.

I heard mom come down the stairs and glance at me. She smiled and munched on the last biscuit with as much enthusiasm as I before puttering about in the kitchen. I grinned, content with the domestic atmosphere. By the looks of it, it looked like breakfast would be a bowl of rice, cucumber kimchi, and slices of Spam.

I was seated on the mat, legs crossed and a shroud of blue aura glowing from my small form. I made the Tear of the Goddess shortly before my kidnapping, a little more than two months ago. It varied by the day, but I'd made sure to set aside some of my daily meditations to sink mana into the Tear. After two months of this, it was finally starting to pay dividends. The quantity of mana I could channel through my body had increased greatly. Things like reinforcing my muscles or reaction times were well within my abilities. Hell, if I focused, I could even send out pulses of mana with each strike, rupturing my target from within.

I suspected that the Tear would be full by the end of the month, or perhaps shortly into October. Deciding what I wanted to evolve my Tear into would be yet another task before me.

Today was Friday, which meant Korean lessons. Mom gave me my assignments for the day before heading off to work. Ms. Kosker came by to act as my teacher, though she could do little else but supervise. After zipping through my Korean language coursework, I sat through a few lectures from Ms. Kosker about European history and the Treaty of Westphalia before heading off to the lab. It was a pity, she wasn't a bad teacher, but it was pretty damn clear that she was an accountant first and foremost. History just wasn't her subject and it made for a somewhat by-the-books experience.

X

I arrived at the lab nearing noon and was immediately ushered into Travis Powell's office for that promised PR meeting. This would only be my third or fourth time meeting the man. Normally, the Wards and I dealt with one of the countless PR drones that made up his department.

Being the head of PR for the PRT in the capitol meant he was a very, very busy individual. More often than not, it seemed he dabbled in everything from legislative affairs to media relations. Costume design and merchandising was in fact only a very small part of the ferocious beast that made up the PR department

I respected him for his ability to juggle so many hats. Almost. He was still a dick. A competent dick, but a dick.

I walked into his office and gave him a polite nod. The office was surprisingly plain with few garnishes that hinted at personal taste of any sort. No pictures. Not even a fake flowerpot. One of the few things that nodded towards any sort of individuality was a pen holder, a figurine of a knight on one knee, fountain pen held up in the flat of both hands as though presenting his sword to his liegelord.

Travis Powell, head of PR, was seated with both hands firmly on the desk. He was clean-shaven with slicked back brown hair. He wore his navy suit jacket even indoors and allowed it to complement the emerald-green tie, a pop of color in an otherwise normal guise. Everything about him screamed that he was a successful man to be taken seriously, the picture of business professionalism.

"Hello, Mr. Powell," I said. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, sit, Hyunmu. You're in an interesting position, you know," he began. "All tinkers are, especially in DC. You see, a hero's image is a careful balancing act. Is he the sinless paragon who defends the weak and espouses justice with every breath? Or is he the reclusive inventor who seldom emerges from his lab, and only to offer life-changing insights? Or perhaps, he is the young, sincere immigrant trying to discover an identity for himself. Tell me, Hyunmu, which do you think fits you best?"

"None of them. I don't think I've ever claimed to know much about justice and it's only my mentorship under Hero that might lead people to think this way. My identity as Rubedo is somewhat of a secret and certainly not for public ears so any contributions I've made so far get underplayed by necessity. I think I can make such life-changing inventions, but I've yet to do so as Hyunmu. And lastly, I know my identity. I've kept up that ridiculous accent because it plays out a convenient narrative that's easily marketable, but Hyunmu is not me."

"Indeed," he leaned back in his chair. "Hyunmu is not you, Andy Kim. Neither is Rubedo. In fact, 'Andy' isn't quite right either, is it, Yusung? Am I saying that right?"

I nodded. It was only with that motion that I noticed his beer belly. It wasn't really important, but so crisp and flattering was his suit and tie that I almost didn't even consider his excessive weight. I knew that he would be image-conscious, came with the job, but the meticulousness of his dress made me wonder what else I'd missed. Looking closer, I could spot hints of white roots along his temples. He was graying but dyed his hair a rich brown. I doubt I would have noticed without the pericognition of the Oracle's Elixir.

"The pronunciation could use a bit of work but it's close enough."

"Names are funny like that, aren't they?" he said, completely ignoring the input he asked for. "We all have them. In the case of you capes, you have more than one. You in particular happen to have more than most. And yet, names seldom encompass everything we are, do they?"

He paused and pulled a gray coffee mug to his lips before continuing, seemingly on a tangent. "You're wonderful, by the way. Ms. Youngston from down in Phoenix had nothing but glowing praise for you. Rubedo's debut, yes I saw that, was perfect, with just the right amount of, what'd she call it? Right, 'youthful candor.'

"And you're wonderful here. You've played your part as the respectful, polite young man struggling with English as a second language to perfection. Really, you have potential as a child actor if you wanted."

"Thank… you?" I said, unsure of how to take it.

"I'm not done. See, you're right in saying that none of the three types of heroes I've mentioned describe you. The closest would be the third, but that's more of an image you need to slowly evolve away from. Eventually, we want Hyunmu to grow. We want Hyunmu to develop into a confident, capable tinker, preferably with fluent English. It's the concept of change I was going for when I designed your aesthetic.

"You see, change as an idea is complicated for the public. A part of them wants to see their heroes remain the immortal, immutable bastions of justice and hope they were when they were children. It's a big reason why Alexandria is so perfect for marketing, despite her drab, overly serious getup. Another part wants to see heroes grow with them, to hold their hand on the road of life, eventually passing the torch to the next generation. There is a dichotomy here.

"That's Hero. That's Armsmaster, Pyro, and Glace. And that's you. That's why the Madhouse really exists. Hero has many years in him, hopefully many decades, but one day, he will pass. His star will wane and it will be up to you to hold up that torch. Change. Your image is all about change, Hyunmu."

'He really likes to hear himself talk,' I thought, mentally rolling my eyes. That was a surprising amount of insight into my own image, I'd honestly thought he just pulled the concept for my image out of his ass all slapdash, but it was good that he had some plan for it.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Why the shit accent though?" I asked. "We could have done the 'changing of the guard' theme without sticking me with a ridiculous accent."

"You tell me," he said smugly. He didn't correct my language surprisingly enough. "You're not like the others, I'm told. So you tell me. Why would I saddle you with something like this?"

I considered it. "DC is a multinational city. You think I can appeal to an untapped audience."

"Good, that's one reason. What else?"

"Having an obvious immigrant embrace American culture and the PRT specifically is great branding. Bluesong comes to mind."

"That's a second, tied to the first. What else?"

"To distance myself from Rubedo. I need to be as different as possible."

"That's a third, obvious too. What else?"

I came up blank. "Nothing comes to mind."

"You. You're the reason."

"You think I want to pretend to trip over my words?"

"No." Instead of continuing the conversation, he dug through a drawer and placed a folder in front of me. "Public Relations and Outreach Opportunities: Hyunmu," it read. "This was complied by several of my assistants. Well, they had a dozen different ideas, but these three were what were not discounted for one reason or another. Read them. Go on. Read them and tell me what you like most."

I obliged. The first was almost insultingly stereotypical: Go to a kindergarten and teach children how to fold paper cranes. I did my level best to not interact with kids my age, why would I willingly choose to drown myself in a tide of ankle-biters?

The second was relatively more bearable and I suspected that they included the first to make me more agreeable to the second. If I chose this, I would visit the National Aerospace Museum and join the tour guides for a day, essentially acting as a guest guide. Apparently, my little impromptu lecture on aerodynamics during my patrol had not gone unnoticed.

The third was equally tinker-ish. I was to join an extracurricular robotics team. Nothing I built would be competition-permissible for obvious reasons, but I would be required to make regular appearances and show off whatever robot I made in exhibition matches.

"None of them," I sighed, "I'd rather not be involved with any of them."

"Explain from the top."

"The first? I hate children. I barely tolerated school back when I had to go. And if my personal opinion wasn't enough then I don't think I can keep up my accent in a room full of kids, especially if I have to teach them something. I just don't have the patience to deal with something like this."

"Yes, your accent. It's an awfully convenient way to limit interaction with your relative age group, isn't it?" he winked. It was then that I realized he might have thought my image through more than I gave him credit for. Perhaps he wasn't just a racially profiling asshat. "And the second?"

"It's the least objectionable," I admitted. "The tour is a two hour commitment, which by itself isn't bad. I can pass off my awkwardness as my poor grasp of English and it helps that my audience would be mature enough to follow the subject even if it's delivered with an accent. But there's too much of a time commitment outside of the actual tour. Getting familiar with the exhibits, meeting the local staff beforehand, and doing a meet and greet afterwards for another two hours makes this a full day affair. I can't do that."

"Can't or won't?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Can't," I said firmly. "Look, Mr. Powell, I'll work with you. I want to work with you. But I can't take too much time away from tinkering, especially when I haven't even made my own armor yet."

"And what's keeping you from making your armor?"

"Endbringer prep. Potions. Lots of them. Seriously, ask me again about the tour thing in a month. Or hell, I'll give a lecture on robotics in a high school if you want."

"Fair enough, and what's wrong with the last one?"

"I don't want a long-term commitment. I also think it runs counter to my image. I'm supposed to be this sincere kid who's trying a bit of everything to discover his own specialization as a tinker, right? Sticking with robotics doesn't play well with that theme and it wouldn't be good to narrow my own audience."

For the first time, I saw Travis Powell smile. "Good, good. I wasn't sure why you'd object, but I figured you'd object to all of these. I have a note from Hero and the chief director asking me to limit your PR schedule until the endbringer passes as well. We've given you a load of things you could do, but I don't think anyone's asked you what you would like to do. So, Hyunmu, what do you think would be best for your image?"

I shrugged. "Sorry, but I don't really care too much. You can say it's because I'm inexperienced or don't know the headaches a bad image can cause, but in the end, I care about tinkering. Anything that gives me more time to tinker is good. Anything that gives me less time to tinker is bad."

"Figures. You're just like Armsmaster. Metalmaru too. Fine, you still need to make a public appearance of some sort however. It would be good to be able to show off a talent that isn't tinkering. Got anything?"

"Baking," I said automatically. Really, it was a no brainer. "Baking is just tinkering you can eat."

"You can bake?"

"Yup. Any chance I can just contribute a few dozen cookies to a bake sale or something?"

He hummed to himself for a bit. "You know… There is something. What do you know about high school schedules?"

"I tested out of everything except history and world issues," I said dryly.

"Nothing then. Okay, public schools in America really like football. Most schools align their first major social function to the start of the football season, which they call homecoming."

"I do know what homecoming is, thank you. But that's a dance."

"Yes. But the week before, school clubs often hold fundraisers for their extracurricular activities. The schools have a half day, there is a bake sale, then everyone comes back for a rally around the school's teams."

"You want me to attend a high school rally? Why not a middle school then?"

"Not enough exposure," he waved me off. "Normally, I wouldn't have someone so young join a rally like this, sticks out like a sore thumb, but you won't be alone. Two of the Arlington Wards will be there as well, Just-Ice and Brigadier."

I thought about it. Attending one would mean a smaller time commitment since I could leave shortly after the bake sale and before the start of the rally. I could also leave much of the talking to two other Wards who are bound to be more interesting to teenagers than I. And, not a small part of myself was happy with the chance to flex my bullshit baking talents.

"Sounds perfect," I said, "when is it?"

"The fifteenth. Next Friday. I'll email you the details."

"Thanks, Mr. Powell. You were…" He was a lot more flexible than I expected but I wasn't sure how to phrase it without sounding like a backhanded compliment. "… reasonable," I finished lamely.

"The PR department isn't some unreasonable monster, Hyunmu. We exist to make sure you heroes don't get in over your heads."

X

"So you're going to bake cookies?" Yasmine said disbelievingly. "And that's your PR shtick? Dude, that's so lame."

We five current and former members of the Phoenix Wards were on a video call again. Penelope must have worked something out because I could hear David fine from Albuquerque. I'd been telling them about my upcoming PR stunt.

"It's not lame, Jazz," Raquel chided. "I think it's great. How come you didn't make anything for us? Don't you love us, Andy?"

"I'll mail you some cookies," I promised. "Speaking of, did you get the potions?"

"Yes, thanks a lot," Penelope said. I saw David nod from his end. "What have you boys been up to?"

"Endbringer prep. Potions, potions, and more potions. I've made enough to literally fill an oil drum. No one ever told me being a hero could be so tedious."

"You're doing good work. I'm sure they'll be very grateful."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just bitching. You, Dave?"

It was a relief to see the half-eared man smile. He still had bags under his eyes but they were fading from last week. "It's good," he said. We could tell how relieved he was by how much his accent shone through. "Really good. I got Josie enrolled into a good school for first grade and Director Watson even arranged a nanny for her so I can still be a hero full time. I still take mostly morning patrols after Josie goes to school though. The director's been real understanding about that. Oh, we even found a church and she's made a few friends there so I'm happy."

"I'm glad," I said honestly. "No major villains? Rivals?"

"Nah, Albuquerque is kind of quiet. Drug trafficking's the main issue here, but all the major cartels set up cells in California and Texas. New Mexico is a small market in comparison. It's mostly watching for handoffs to lesser gangs and local middlemen."

"Ooh! Penny got into a fight with Shakedown again," Raquel grinned. "That guy never learns."

"It wasn't a big deal, Raquel."

"Still the most interesting thing to happen to us in weeks," Jazz grumbled. "I swear, things have gotten way too quiet ever since you guys left."

"Quiet is good, Jazz," Penny admonished.

"Yeah, yeah, at least you get to actually do things, Miss Protectorate."

"Are the Wards really that boring now?" I asked.

"Yup. They stole your Control Wards by the way."

"What? Who?"

"They didn't steal anything, Jazz. Stop trying to rile people up." Penelope explained, "Royalle, Oathkeeper, and Director Lyons took our Control Wards so the Protectorate teams could counter Dos Caras. He found out about them and hasn't gotten caught out since the first time. So yeah, things are pretty quiet on our end too."

"Oh, yeah, then I don't mind. The wards were made to deal with strangers like him anyway. Hell, he was the stranger I made them for. Just let me know if you need more potions."

"Don't you need everything? I thought you couldn't make that many crystals?"

"I'm growing, remember? My production rate's skyrocketed so don't worry about it. Besides, what's the point of being a tinker if I can't pamper my friends?"

"Aww, you're sweet," she cooed, making my eight year old face flush in embarrassment.

"Yeah, thanks, midget."

I then had a thought that left a pit in my stomach. "Penny, you're not going to go join an endbringer fight, are you?"

"I mean… not this one for sure. I don't think I'm ready, but I thought about joining later… maybe as search and rescue? Say, how effective would Petricite be against an endbringer?"

"Not at all," I said flatly. "Petricite absorbs energy but the quantity of output released by an endbringer would easily overload what you've got. Hell, I don't know that a full suit of armor made of Petricite would work. In fact, pretty sure it won't."

"Oh, damn… That… I guess I shouldn't rely on it."

"Definitely not. Same goes for you, David."

"Don't worry, I have no intention of attending," he promised. "If something happens to me… I won't leave Josie alone."

I sighed with relief. Promises made, we heckled Jazz about her first date with Poundtown, bowling apparently, and settled on a movie for the night. My pick, so that was an easy one: Pokémon: The First Movie. It was released in 1998 in Earth-Aleph but the franchise never caught on in Earth-Bet. I took it upon myself to introduce them to the wonders of Pokémon, but none of the others liked it much.

Author's Note

Anyone else have slices of Spam with ketchup for protein growing up? I swear it's better than it sounds. Or maybe it's my nostalgia goggles talking. I grew up in a poor family and my parents worked so this was one of the simplest, fastest things mom could make for me and my kid sis. I still eat Spam with rice on occasion even though I can afford better now.

Yeah, another PR meeting. Dunno why, just came out. Funny how being a government-sanctioned hero is more about your image than punching bad guys, huh?

Yes, the multiverse is a commonly accepted fact even as early as 2000. This isn't an AU element; it's canon. Professor Haywire broke the boundary between worlds in 1988. Seeing how the Simurgh was able to coopt his tech during the Madison attack in 2009, he had to have been active fairly recently for it to have not broken down. He was confirmed dead by the time of Madison, but that leaves a huge window of time between 1988 and December, 2009.

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.