Ripples 4.9

2000, August 28: Washington, DC, USA

The last week of August also meant the start of my homeschooling experience. Though admittedly, mom didn't exactly teach anything.

The PRT had introduced her to several banks in Annandale, the closest thing the metro area had to K-Town. Because the city had so many Korean immigrants, being able to speak the language was mandatory and she managed to snag a job at Hanmi Bank as a teller. It wasn't glamorous or particularly high paying, but it was out of the way, in a good neighborhood, and did not impose too much on her time.

Maybe I was seeing shadows where there were none, but I took her rapid employment as Cauldron's olive branch to me. I told myself that I would try to look at the big picture. Contessa had managed to use my kidnapping to advance the PRT's agenda immensely, to the point that my personal growth seemed almost an afterthought. Even so, I couldn't help but focus on myself and what Contessa was planning for me, if anything at all.

As for my homeschool schedule, one Ms. Emily Kosker materialized seemingly out of thin air. I didn't know which hole Costa-Brown dug her out from, but she apparently was a teacher for a few years before seeking a career as a budgeting analyst with the feds. Since then, she'd acquired a security clearance, high enough to be let in on my identity if not my past. Which meant she was cleared to know who I was and could sign off as a course administrator for my homeschooling schedule. I had a feeling that she was pulled from her budget team and volun-told to oversee my education.

I hoped they were paying her overtime.

By the end of the day, the chubby middle-aged woman left a little shellshocked. No one told her I was that far advanced, I guess.

She promised to look into testing so I could hopefully graduate early. There were some concerns about the legality of it all, but the state of Virginia had some different provisions for homeschooled students. Then came the discussion about what exactly I wanted to study and how it would look for an eight year old to be a high school graduate, but that was to be expected. In the end, she'd be presenting me with a series of math, literature, science, and history exams for each grade level to make sure I learned the material.

Of these, I was really only worried about history. I read and wrote at a grad student's level. Math was a joke compared to the calculations needed for techmaturgy. Sciences? I could write a dissertation on any subject should I choose to delve into the World Rune.

Was it a conflict of interest that a PRT affiliated teacher was my course administrator? Definitely. Was anyone asking too many questions? Not if they wanted me in the lab as much as possible.

Social interaction? I was homeschooled! What social interaction?

All things considered, the PRT was adapting smoothly to my abnormal mental state.

That wasn't to say mom didn't have any say in my education. She, with Ms. Kosker's enthusiastic approval, tacked on Korean language and music lessons three days a week. To "enrich my learning experience," Ms. Kosker had said. Really, mom just wanted to spend time with me and I couldn't bear to deny her that.

X

Back at the lab, I received an email from Brickhouse. He and Hero had a chat about my costume and they agreed that I would be going out on PR patrols anyway. After all, Hyunmu was supposed to be visible. Even if I only had my pistol, Sobriety, and Hero's bodysuit, I couldn't be mistaken as anything other than a Ward and the suit alone looked nice enough or they wouldn't have let me debut in the first place.

They agreed that seeing me start from nothing then grow into a tinker persona would be best for my image. So, seeing how both of my bosses were in harmony, I had no choice but to join Verdeer for a lap around the National Mall.

"Hello, Verdeer," I greeted with a polite bow. The two of us were standing outside the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, the building directly west of the White House. We were already attracting people's attention. This was an extremely tourist-heavy neighborhood; plenty of people visited every day to take pictures of famous buildings, not least of which was the White House.

"Hello, Hyunmu. I see you've added some new inventions," he said. His voice had that rumble-honk of a stag that was hard to place. Still clearly audible, but it made me wonder how much of his vocal cord were cervid. He also spoke a bit louder than strictly necessary so he could be overheard.

"I did." With a gesture, I sent the Ymelo hovering to his side. "Please meet Ymelo. It is a drone tuned to my biorhythm."

"Very pretty. What does it do?"

We began walking south, a small but not inconspicuous trail of tourists following behind us.

"It is my flashlight," I said brightly. "I only jest. It is also a tool which keeps me focused longer. Imagine it like coffee, but without the caffeine addiction and turned to only work for me."

"Huh, that's pretty cool. It's a big shift from your laser gun."

"It is. I am slowly discovering my specialization. I also made a shield. It seemed only fitting given my name."

The two of us made for an odd sight. His six-six height towered over my own four and change even without his added antlers. With them, the guy could have easily posed as a small tree.

He did, in fact. It was a bit of an ongoing game for Verdeer to hide in Theodore Roosevelt Island off the Potomac and dare children and parents to find him before anyone else. The monthly game of hide and seek made him one of the most popular Case 53s in the nation.

A few minutes later, we stopped at a hotdog stand that served classic New York style dogs, boiled in suspiciously murky water instead of grilled. We intentionally took our time to eat and "connect with the community," which really just meant signing a few autographs and letting people touch my relic pistol. Some of the parents were a little nervous, but we reassured them that because the gun was attuned to my unique biorhythm, no one could fire it but me.

Biorhythms… Like anyone knew what the hell those were. Pseudo-scientific jargon was amazing at explaining things without explaining anything. Bullshit, but convenient bullshit. If that's what it took to get the public used to seeing a Ward open-carrying, then that's what it took.

Seriously, there was a small pamphlet titled "Science-y Things You Can Tell Civvies to Avoid Long Explanations They Won't Understand Anyway" that was basically a list of meaningless soundbites that sounded tinkertech-y but was vaguely sensible to the average person. It was written as a joke by Warptek before he transferred out years ago but still made the rounds for a good chuckle once in a while. Metalmaru included it in my introductory packet. That thing came in surprisingly handy at times.

Our path took us from the Eisenhower Building south to the Lincoln Monument where I had my debut. From there, we made a tour of the National Mall and its varying memorials, starting with a walk around the Tidal Basin. The Franklin Roosevelt and Thomas Jefferson Memorials were around the waterfront. Somewhere along the way, Verdeer turned to the gathering tourists and began talking about the history of the Tidal Basin and the monuments, turning our patrol into a guided tour.

He was a good speaker and had clearly done this before. I found myself wishing this was back in February so I could see the sakura trees in bloom. Yes, sakura trees. Apparently, there was a petition from one Mrs. Eliza Scidmore as early as the 1880s to plant these Japanese trees on the National Mall. She was a bit of a globetrotter and fell in love with these trees during her visit to Japan, so much so that she approached every new superintendent for twenty-four years with the idea. Eventually, the movement grew to involve one First Lady Taft and the mayor of Tokyo.

Even today, there was an annual Cherry Blossom Festival as well as a ten mile run during peak bloom.

After that spontaneous history lesson, we circled up to the Washington Monument where Verdeer took several pictures in front of the monument, positioned so it looked like he was charging the monument horns first.

Then came a winding trek that saw us through several Smithsonian museums. Some smart-aleck asked me to explain jet propulsion because "tinkers know science things." The impromptu lecture on aerodynamics forced me to draw on Corki and Dr. Heimerdinger's knowledge but I managed to shut him up and leave a nerdy video recording for posterity.

The trip wouldn't have taken more than an hour and a half at a leisurely walk, all the monuments were fairly close together, but the constant press of tourists kept our pace slow.

We were turning north to the National Gallery of Art and back towards HQ when we heard someone shout through a megaphone.

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"Gather 'round, gather 'round, for the greatest show in the city!" shouted a college-aged Asian man in a crisp, black tux. He also wore a white domino mask, a crimson bowtie, white felt gloves, and a tophat. In his hand was a cane.

Next to him were two more men in sharp tuxedos. One had a far more elaborate mask that covered much of his face and another was short and rotund with both an obviously fake Monopoly-man style moustache and an honest-to-God monocle. He took a seat on a hardlight chair that seemingly materialized from nothing.

I wondered how they could stand to wear tuxedos in the middle of August. That truly had to be a superpower.

The three men were standing on the steps of the gallery and drawing quite the crowd with their antics. Above them, a squad of eight drones hovered. Four shone down spotlights that had an obvious tinkertech component; it was the middle of the day but the lights still shone brightly without being blinding. They even seemed to have a minor entrancing effect, almost as though they were whispering, "don't look away."

Two more drones created hardlight curtains to frame their impromptu stage. The final two hovered at Monopoly-man's side, presumably for self-defense or some future stunt.

"Ah, fuck," Verdeer grumbled lowly before speaking into his mic. "Console, we've got Stage Crew. National Gallery of Art. Should we engage?"

"Negative," came the static-filled response. "Back off and we'll see what Prestige has planned for us."

I wracked my brain for the dossiers I'd been given. "Prestige, Masquerade, and Showbiz of Stage Crew, correct? I was told they are villainous rogues. Are they a threat?"

"Right. They're mostly harmless but make a habit of putting on shows and taking 'donations' from tourists."

Nodding, I readied my shield. "Agent Mitchell, Wards have engaged them in the past."

"You're not ready yet, Hyunmu," he told me. "You haven't worked with any of the Wards before."

I had to remind myself that he almost certainly didn't know me. That I was rebranded Rubedo? He might have the clearance to know that much. That I murdered twelve people and had enough firepower in the back of my hand to write those three into the history section? Probably above his paygrade. From his perspective, he was keeping a fresh Ward from getting in over his head.

I took several steps back and merged into the gathering crowd. It would be very much against my kayfabe to go against orders. "Understood, sir. I will be on standby."

"Thank you. Verdeer, wait for Brickhouse and Gold Rush. Hyunmu, this will be a good chance to see how they operate. ETA ten minutes. Park police have been notified. They'll begin herding people back to give us some space."

Ten minutes? That alone told me everything I needed to know about the PRT's assessment of the three before me. There was no way in hell that such a delay would be permitted against anyone actually dangerous. Washington, DC had its own Uber and Leet, it seemed. "I understand, sir."

I took stock of everything I had going for me. I had a packet of a dozen health potions turned into pills as well as pill variants of both elixirs. If pressed, Time Warp Tonic would also grant me a burst of speed. And of course, the Blitzshield, Sobriety, and relic pistol were holstered at my side.

I doubted things would escalate to lethal levels, but I also had all three charges of my Minion Dematerializer as well as my Hexflash. A blast of ice magic should also prove useful in the right circumstance. It'd mean tipping my hand so I wouldn't use it unless I had no other options, but itw as comforting to know that I was better armed than most SWAT teams.

Satisfied that I could salvage the situation if things got bad, I settled down to watch the show.

"Thank you, thank you. It's always nice to hear such a welcoming reception. And look, we even have two of the Wards in the audience," the man with the tophat, Prestige, called.

Two spotlight drones took that as their cue and pointed us out. People backed away, leaving me alone. A few feet away, Verdeer received the same treatment.

"Play along and try to be humorous," the agent on call told us. "They want a reaction out of you so let them play their tricks until they do something blatantly dangerous. Hyunmu, withdraw further if you can."

"Yes, sir," I heard Verdeer rumble. Louder, he said. "You carry on, Prestige. I'll just be a deer and watch for a bit."

Prestige groaned exaggeratedly. "Well, it's a good thing you're a hero, Verdeer. You have no future as a comic."

"Maybe, but I won't turn green over it," my senior drawled, "… much."

Up on stage, I could see the three men crack a smile. "Alright, can we hear from the littlest Ward, please? How's DC?"

"Greetings, Prestige of Stage Crew. I am learning much," I said respectfully. "Mambo sauce is too sweet. People from Maryland cannot drive. The subway is, as you Americans say, 'on fire.' Quite literally, oftentimes. This is a truly fascinating city."

"Ha! Dry wit's the best kind of wit. Bravo, turtle-boy. Now, let's get on with the show!"

He waved and the tallest, skinniest man with the elaborate mask, stepped forward. "How is everyone this afternoon? I'm Masquerade and we're going to start things off simple. I'm going to need someone to volunteer to come up on stage with me. Yes, you, the pretty lady over there." A girl no older than eighteen skipped onto the stage. "I'm going to read your mind," he told her.

"Okay, what am I thinking?" she snarked back.

"That I am the most roguishly handsome man you've ever met in your life." Whatever retort she was going to say was drowned out. "Or that you think I'm really weird and kind of creepy. See, everybody? Mind-reading."

"Boo," a few voices called from the crowd, proving that idiots will call out even villains with no regard for self-preservation. Thankfully, I saw two pairs of the DC park police begin to herd people away. They weren't getting much done, but even a bit of extra room would be nice if things came to a head.

To his credit, Masquerade played off the hecklers and laughed along. "Haha, alright, fine, fine. Let's get serious. For those of you who don't know, my name is Masquerade and I am a mentalist, someone who can read minds and peel back the mask on any falsehood. So, here's what's going to happen. You and I are going to have a conversation. It can be about anything you want, absolutely any subject at all. We'll have a chat and your goal is to lie to me."

"Okay, my name is Sarah."

"It's Jamie, but good, good, exactly like that."

"What?"

I felt her heartbeat quicken. 'She's not a plant in the audience,' I mused to myself. 'That must mean he's very confident. He's either a very good mentalist or he's a thinker. Probably both given the context.'

Masquerade grinned and pulled out his wallet. It looked pretty thick. "If, throughout this conversation, you can sneak a single lie past me, I'll give you everything in this wallet. If you can't… Hmmm… How about a kiss from the lovely lady?"

The brunette, Jamie, seemed intrigued. "You're on."

"You can start talking about anything, anything at all."

"Okay, so I'm a freshman at Georgeto-"

"You're a junior in high school, but nice try."

"My favorite class is marching band." She waited expectantly to see if he'd call her out. Seeing nothing, she continued. "I play the French horn. In the off season, I'm also a part of the drama club."

"You're part of the orchestra. You must be very talented, Jamie."

She scowled. "Damn. Okay, I have three cats…"

"Do we know what Masquerade's power actually is?" I whispered into my comms.

"Not the specifics, but he does this often enough. He likes to get people to lie to him then tell them the real information," came the reply. "He's mostly harmless. ETA seven minutes. Just hold out for a while longer."

"Yes, sir."

After a few minutes of that, he sent her back down with a few hundred bucks in cash. He then tossed someone in the crowd a marker and told them to tell him a random statement, truth or lie. That marker was passed around popcorn-style for audience participation.

Finally, someone tossed it my way.

"Alright, let's see if the youngest hero can lie to me," Masquerade said confidently. "Come on, little hero, tell me something."

I rolled my eyes. By now, it was fairly clear what his power was. Like any magic trick, it stopped being mysterious if you showed it off a few dozen times. I decided to fuck with him a little.

"Truth or lie? My life goal is to murder God," I said, face flat as a board.

"Hyunmu," the agent admonished me.

I could just about see the cogs turning in Masquerade's brain.

Logic was telling him that there was no way in hell that this was true. By appearance, I was ten at the very oldest. The idea of "God" was a nebulous concept at best. By its very definition, God wasn't an entity who could be murdered at all. A child shouldn't have a life goal in the first place, at best a whimsical wish like "I want to be an astronaut," certainly not the kind of resolve I spoke with.

Everything about that statement should logically be false, but Masquerade's power wasn't answering him, which implied it was true. Cogs were turning, spinning faster and faster until I almost expected steam to start pouring out of his ears.

He flinched back and cradled his head, a thinker headache rampaging inside his skull like a bull in a china shop. "Oww…"

I got up on stage and wordlessly took another of the wallets he'd been dangling as a prize, my victory obvious.

"Huh, two hundred, not bad," I chuckled to myself before tossing it into the crowd somewhere.

Privately, I couldn't lie to myself. After resigning myself to being vulnerable to Contessa's shenanigans for a while longer, there was not a little schadenfreude at causing a thinker to short circuit like that.

"How'd you do that?" some kid asked as I got back to my place near the stage.

"Mentalism is not a superpower," I told him in my heavy accent. "It is the art of understanding the mind, discovering truths inside others. It appears that my truth is greater than his."

"So how?"

I shrugged with a mischievous grin. "Knowledge is like fruit. It is all the sweeter if you grow the tree with your own hands."

He huffed but turned his attention back to the stage.

'Heh, being a fortune cookie stereotype might be fun after all.'

Author's Note

Stage Crew is a very low-risk kind of villain team. They're here because I wanted to show something low-risk and more or less consequence-free before I get anywhere specific.

Brockton Bay canonically has a civilian population of ~350,000. DC has about twice that. Though DC is a much safer city than Brockton (not that that's saying much), it wouldn't be out of the question for DC to have nine Protectorate members: Hero, Metalmaru, Bluesong, Pyrotechnical, Glace, Armsmaster, Zero Day, Wonderland, and Outreach. For reference, Brockton Bay had seven Protectorate members at the start of canon: Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Assault, Battery, Dauntless, Velocity, and Triumph with Challenger being a recent transfer out.

I am firmly of the opinion that Earth-Bet has its share of responsible adults. The problem is that they're all in the wrong place doing the wrong things. Turns out, your efforts can be morally righteous and still be horribly misplaced.

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.