3.8
“This would be easier if I had help. I can’t involve innocents, I know this, but sometimes the task before me feels insurmountable.
I know it would be worse for anyone else. I have acquired power that no-one else has access to; it would be irresponsible not to take advantage of that.”
— Vincent Hall, Encoded Notebook; Section 3, page 52
“I can’t — how did I not notice her?!”
“Them,” I correct absently. The kid didn’t exactly introduce themself. “It’s superpower bullshit, probably best not to dwell on it.”
The… normalizing effect, for lack of a better word, isn’t permanent, thankfully, and as soon as I brought up our mysterious thief, Chloe seems to have adapted.
Sort of.
“I’ve seen them like five different times, too! Oh my god, the jewelry — that’s like a thousand dollars down the drain!”
Chloe collapses to the floor of her shack, devastated. I think it’s only partially an act.
I shrug. “We can always do another heist.”
Chloe shoots me a glare from her spot on the floor. “An hour ago you were puking your guts out after we had to fight one guy!”
“I get carsick!”
“You do not! You were fine in the van!”
I roll my eyes. “Honestly, kid looked like they needed it.”
A sigh. “Yeah. Maybe. We weren’t going to be arming people anytime soon, anyway.”
“Guess not,” I reply, scowling faintly.
“So. Where do we sell all this?”
—
A week passes quicker than I expect. It’s… odd, not having access to the internet, or any of the amenities of the USMC tower. I’m forced to make my own entertainment, especially while Chloe’s busy tinkering at her desk.
At some point she pulls out a welder, and I decide it would be wise to make my escape.
The shack itself is surrounded by a fairly abandoned street corner, so finding a nice rooftop isn’t difficult. I find I like the view.
For the most part, I work on ease-of-use for my power. It got a… boost, I guess, after my fight with Rook. It seems like it’s just efficiency, so I have to eat less when making changes, and the threshold for modifying my body without consuming existing energy is lower. I can make bigger changes faster without as much loss.
It still doesn’t solve my core problem, which is that I can’t use it while in combat. Or while doing anything, really. I’m lucky that so far no one’s been able to take advantage of my mid-combat spacing out, but I know that it isn’t going to last.
I spend my time letting myself sink deep into my power’s trance-like state, and attempting to move. The most I can manage is forcefully breaking the trance, which isn’t helpful.
When I’m not trying (and failing) to forcefully develop a new aspect to my power, I’m keeping up maintenance on the part’s I’ve already modified, and considering some additional ones. The blades, for example, aren’t as useful against weaker opponents. I don’t want to kill anyone.
Against Rook, though, it was invaluable. And maybe the intimidation factor will help me end fights quicker.
I’m not particularly convinced by my own arguments.
For the finished product, I’m beginning to think that past me had the right idea, not designing an extension system. It’ll hurt, but modifying my arms so that they split easier, and just regenerating them later would save me a lot of time and headache. Plus, they would be faster to deploy, which could be life-saving in an emergency.
Much to think about. Another time.
I come up from my power, brushing my hair aside. The sunset isn’t usually visible in Westpoint, but, well. Roof.
It’s another reason why I chose this spot.
The city still glitters.
I shake my head. Better get back to the shack before dark.
I stand, waving my arms and legs around to disperse any lingering aches, before turning and wandering my way back down through the building. It’s an old, crumbling thing, and as I cast my gaze along the cracked walls I consider relocating next time I need a quiet spot.
Not exactly OSHA compliant around here.
The shack is quiet when I arrive, Chloe’s just hanging up some of her tools, and she shoots me a grin when she sees me step inside.
“Yo. We should go visit your buddies tomorrow.”
“Buddies?” I question, frowning.
“Yeah, buddies. Goons, henchmen, whatever you wanna call ‘em,” she says, waving a hand. “See if they’ve made any progress.”
We’d left the house about a week ago, and I’d asked if Ava had anyone she thought would want a… checkup? I’m not totally sure what to call it. Regardless, she’d said she would look into it.
“Should really get a phone,” I mutter.
“Too traceable. Even your goons having one is a little iffy.”
“They’re not my goons.”
Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Sure?”
“They’re not! I don’t have goons! I have volunteers!” I protest, falling back onto her couch.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Volunteers you enticed with a life-changing medical procedure,” she points out.
I pause. “…Is it really a medical procedure?”
“Semantics, Claire,” she counters, rolling her eyes.
I let the silence hang, for a moment.
“Is this really okay?” I ask, voice smaller than I would like. “I… I don’t know how else I can protect them. If I do the procedure and any of them leaves the gang, they’d be hunted down immediately. I can’t let that happen.”
Another pause, this time not from me.
“I’m not condemning you,” Chloe finally responds, swiveling her stool to face me. “I’m just saying… face reality. This is how things are. Don’t deny it.”
I sigh, and close my eyes.
“…They’re my goons…?”
“Damn right. Now go the fuck to sleep, we’ve gotta visit your goons tomorrow.”
—
We walk to Mikey’s house. I almost ask why we don’t take Chloe’s car before I remember where it is. And how loud it is. And dangerous.
I’m half-tempted to start spending that heist money on an actual vehicle.
The walk isn’t actually that bad. Ten minutes at most. Standing out in the middle of the street with my hair feebly hidden under a baseball cap, though, is giving me some serious anxiety.
“Are you sure there isn’t a better way to do this?” I pester.
Chloe rolls her eyes. “Just dye your hair or something if it bothers you so much — actually, can’t you just, like use your power and change colors anyway?”
I scowl. “No! I like my hair. I worked very hard on it!”
“Really.”
“Yes!”
She snorts. “Well, it gives you presence, so I guess there’s that.”
I huff. “You can’t talk. You put gears onto all of your gadgets.”
“It’s part of my power!”
“Really,” I counter, smirking.
“You’re the worst!” Chloe announces, throwing up her hands and all but shoving me onto Mikey’s porch. We barge into his living room still bickering about aesthetics.
“You just can’t handle the style,” I tell her, ignoring Mikey’s outraged stare as I waltz into his kitchen and start raiding the fridge.
“What style? You look like an OC I drew in eighth grade.”
I mock-gasp. “You — !”
“Girls,” Ava sighs, leaning against the wall in the living room. “Let’s remember why we’re all here.”
I peek my head over the refrigerator door. “…Sorry.”
Chloe snorts. “Whatever,” she mutters, parking herself onto the couch. I follow behind, taking a seat next to her. Looking around the room, I notice Sarah and Gordon are absent. It sends a twinge of worry through my gut that I try to repress. I really need to get a phone.
I take a sip from the drink I’ve stolen. It’s some kind of sparkling water. Mango flavored…?
Not something I would have expected out of Mikey. The man is currently trying to scowl me off his property.
“So. What do you have for me,” I say, turning to Ava.
She sighs. “No one wants to bite. Not really. I’ve floated the idea — subtly — but half the time people think I’m joking. Only ones who go for it are the truly desperate. Not usually my crowd, but…”
Ava takes a drag. She’s already smoking, of course.
“We take what we can get. I’ve got a candidate ready whenever you are, but from there it’ll just be by word of mouth. You’ll have to gain a reputation before you start doing anything on a larger scale.”
I frown. “A reputation would be bad. I don’t particularly want to be noticed.”
“You’ll have to if you want to expand this thing without kidnapping people of the street,” she points out. I scowl.
Ava thins her lips. “With any luck, you’ll be talked about more like a fable; stay under the radar that way. Regardless, I’ve only been able to get a couple bites, so you’ll be doing them one-by-one for now.”
“Fine. When can I meet them?”
“Today, actually. We can head over in a couple hours.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah. She doesn’t usually have much going on.”
Cryptic.
“Alright. Anything else?”
Ava shakes her head. “Not yet.”
I sigh. “Okay, uh. One more thing.”
“…Does anyone have an extra phone?”
Chloe chokes on nothing. Ava sends me an aggrieved stare.
“No, seriously — I wanna keep up-to-date on things — “
“Here.”
I blink. What — ?
An object sails through the air, and I catch it on instinct. A phone…?
“It’s a burner,” Mikey grunts. “Do whatever ya’ want with it. I’m gonna go take a shit.”
The man heaves himself off the couch and wanders down the hall.
“That’s new,” Ava mutters, taking another drag of her cigarette.
I mess with the burner phone, trying to find the power button. It’s an older model, it looks like, but I manage to turn it on and everything seems to work.
“D’you think it’s bugged?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.
I get a pair of shrugs in response.
“Well. I guess it’s fine for now,” I decide. “Let’s go see that patient.”
—
Ava has a car. Thank fucking god. I don’t know how she does it.
It’s not exactly a brand-new vehicle, but it looks well-loved — a bit beat-up, but nothing if not reliable.
“Get in, kiddies. Don’t touch my dashboard,” she warns, casting an accusatory glance at Chloe. The girl in question attempts to look innocent.
Her success is arguable.
The drive is short. Ava actually seems to take us deeper into the downtown area, crossing through abandoned construction zones and buildings crawling with rust.
I take note of how comfortable she is driving in the rockier areas. Does she come here often? Where does she find the time? Maybe she lives somewhere nearby?
Taking another look around, I hope not. Where the downtown area closer to Chloe’s shack had a ramshackle vibe to it, this place feels actively dangerous. It’s all shadowed overhangs and sharp, rusty edges.
We stop near a crumbling residential area, Ava motions us out of the car, and we follow her up to the entrance. She slowly pushes the door open.
“Maeve? Are you here?” She ducks around the corner, and swears; Chloe and I follow close behind.
The house is grimy, and it’s current occupant isn’t any better. The woman’s practically wearing rags, slumped against the far wall like a marionette. Ava crouches down next to her, gently touching her cheek to push her face forwards.
My breath catches in my throat.
“Hey. Hey, come on, are you alright? Come on…”
The woman’s eyes flutter open. She looks kind of out of it.
She mumbles something, and Ava sighs. “Standard medical practice goes out the window here. Are you…?” She turns to me, hesitantly.
It takes me a second to understand what she’s getting at.
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I was gonna do a full checkup anyway.” I dip into my power, extend a thin needle of bone, and slowly slide it into the woman’s wrist.
She’s not… injured, really. I have no experience with substances, and my power only really tells me the function and chemical makeup of biological matter, but it seems like she has a large amount of mundane drugs in her system. Cook’s synthetic stuff is present, but in less amounts than I expected.
She’s also severely malnourished, and suffering from some kind of chronic illness. I’m not sure I can remove that permanently.
I relay all this to Ava after I do a quick sweep, removing some of my own fat stores to fuel a quicker process, remove the substances from her body, tweak her brain chemistry, and bring her back to peak health.
Ava grunts as I remove the needle. “So she’ll be okay?”
I pause. “No? She’s going to be well-fed for like, a day, and then everything’s going to come crashing back down unless she gets some kind of stability.”
Ava shoots me a glare. “You know what I meant.”
I don’t respond.
It was so… easy. It took me all of two minutes to clear almost every medical condition this woman had.
The thought makes me sick.