Wake 1.14

2010, September 24: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Dean was kind enough to drop me off at my house, saving me a phone call to Sierra for a ride. I enjoyed a light dinner of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and peas before taking a shower and retiring to my room early. There, I knocked out all the homework I hadn't done in favor of the arcade earlier in the day before I used one of dad's collectible metal guitar picks and Magnet Rise to practice simple songs.

The metal pick made for a harsher, more aggressive sound suited to riffs, but I found that I lacked the dexterity with Magnet Rise to play even the more basic songs to conclusion. Still, it was good practice.

An hour later, as soon as mom and Sierra fell asleep, I was out the window and dashing for the Palanquin. The four expanded bags could not be stored inside my own, something about disorderly dimensional folding, so I just rolled the empty bags like a sleeping bag into each other before strapping them to my back to minimize their volume.

I walked up to the club, disguised as usual in a new face. Five-two was short for a man, but not unheard of for a woman. Today, I was a pale beauty of vaguely Eastern European descent with high, thin cheekbones, soulful eyes, and light brown hair that cascaded down to my butt. Crimson lipstick and a copy of one of Sierra's more adventurous tops made me look like any other girl checking out the new club. I ignored the disgruntled murmurs and cut through the line before the bouncer stopped me.

"Just headed back, big guy," I said with a cheeky smile. My voice came out of the synthesizer a bit higher than usual with husky undertones. I made a note to improve it if I could. It was good, but I didn't think I'd fool anyone familiar with the person I was masquerading as. "Don't worry, I don't need a guide and I won't get lost. It's not like the place is a labyrinth."

That was the code. The words Labyrinth, guide, and lost. It wasn't particularly complicated, but it didn't need to be. The burly man shrugged and waved me to the side of the building. The employees only entrance was open; Faultline was expecting me. I ignored the strange looks I got from the kitchen staff and shuffled out into the main club.

It was chaos: pulsing bodies, booze, and technicolor lights galore. Some kind of heavy EDM comparable to Deadmou5 from my past life was blaring in the background. I dampened the external audio with a wince. More than a decade after my reincarnation and I still couldn't stand techno. Rather than brave the dance floor, I made my way to the back corner of the room where a staircase led up to a secondary dining area that doubled as a lounge.

The lounge was tastefully decorated, posh in a way that didn't make anyone feel underdressed. It was the kind of place one could go to dress down and kick back with a tumbler of whiskey and a deck of cards. Clean, oaken furniture and comfortable seats filled the room with a single, smaller bar area along one wall. Two pool tables were occupied by six young men. Off in one corner, a group of young women shot the breeze over a bottle of wine and a cheese board.

Newter was draped over a sofa in another corner, two girls hanging off his arms as he regaled them with a story from one of his many missions. The girls wore matching jackets that covered their arms; it was probably what kept them conscious in such close proximity to the orange cape.

I tried to maintain a reputation for polite calm and dry wit in my everyday life, all the better to keep other children at an arm's length.

Sierra knew better of course. She found out how asinine and petty I could be when I smeared hot sauce up her nose while she was sleeping for four days straight because of some slight I couldn't even remember anymore.

Sure, she replaced my toothpaste with gelatin and shampoo, but I still claimed victory in that trade. She was the one who had to run to dad.

Looking at Newter grinning like an idiot, I couldn't suppress that same urge to ruin someone's day for shits and giggles.

'Ehh, my cape persona should be different from my daily life anyway, right? Right,' I mentally shrugged before allowing a disturbingly wide grin to spread across my face. One of the men playing pool looked like he was about to approach the European beauty but the grin with far too many teeth made him turn a full one-eighty. 'Asshole prankster sounds like it could be fun.'

I took a page from a friend from my old life, Christopher.

Yes, Christopher, not Chris. He was tall, blonde, handsome, and walked with a self-assured gait that made even people far more senior than him treat him like an equal. He always wore a button-down shirt with slacks and loafers. He was the kind of man I mocked in my teenage years for being a pompous poser, but inevitably tried to mimic when I entered the workforce.

Back straight, head held high, shoulder spread wide, and chest pushed out, I didn't walk towards my orange associate so much as I stalked. I may have only been five-two, but it was the kind of walk that drew the eye and made me seem taller.

"Newter!" I barked for the whole lounge to hear, turning heads and making the two bartenders look worriedly at one another. "You cheating manwhore!"

I couldn't quite pull off the indignant shriek of a scorned girlfriend, but I gave it my ace effort. The two girls hanging off his arms jerked upright, sobering up in a way only the threat of imminent catastrophe could make happen.

"Newter? What's going on?" the redhead to his left asked, voice breaking into a tremble that made me feel a little guilty. She was pretty, lithe and leggy with wide green eyes. The way she shuffled a full seat away from Newter marked her as the conflict avoidant type.

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"I don't know. Lady, I don't even know you," he frowned. "I've never seen you in my life!"

SAINT, best duck that he was, mimicked a crying face perfectly. Wide eyes, quivering lips, flushed cheeks, deep breaths, the whole nine yards. "Y-you… you don't even remember that special night we shared?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I decided then and there that the look of pure befuddlement on his face was worth every bit of shit I'd get for this later.

I jumped into his arms, shoving the blonde girl to the side. To her credit, she had one hand in her purse, presumably for a bottle of pepper spray or something. She was certainly far more collected than the redhead.

"We even went dumpster-diving together. I thought we had something special!"

"Hey, you're going to dose yourself!" he tried to pull away but his surprise, companions, and seat against the wall kept him from reacting in time. I landed on his lap, my bare hands holding onto his shoulders. "Wait… how are you okay?"

I couldn't keep it in anymore and burst out laughing. "Hahahahahahaha, oh my God, Newt! You look hilarious right now!" I crowed.

I was laughing so hard that I almost fell off the couch.

Taking his dawning look of realization as my cue, I leapt from his lap into a textbook backflip that an Olympic gymnast would have difficulty replicating. A single twitch of my eye removed the texturing effect at the apex of my jump, letting me come down into a perfect three-point landing as Creed.

I almost wished I had a cape so it could settle around me dramatically.

His look of confusion quickly transitioned to indignant rage. "Creed, you son of a bitch!" he cried.

"Hey! My mama's awesome, thank you very much. Seriously, Newt, let's go upstairs. I want to talk to the whole Crew."

"Umm, who are you?" the redhead asked, curiosity overriding her shyness.

The blonde to his right no longer looked bored. "What are you, a chameleon?"

"I'm so sorry, ladies. I must have lost track of time," Newter said apologetically. "Feel free to go to the bar for anything you'd like, on the house today."

As they shuffled away, he gave me the stink-eye. "Dude, was this necessary?"

I laughed to make it clear I was grinning under my helmet. "Not at all, but I do have recorded video of the whole thing," I said. "I wonder if PHO will find it funny. I do need to introduce myself to the wider cape world somehow."

He looked mortified for a moment but then gave me a confident smile. "Do it, watch. Faultline's going to have your hide for disrupting the guests. Besides, what happened to 'low-key is the name of the game?'"

"This is plenty low-key. No one's died and nothing's burning. Anyway, let's go." I grabbed the lizard-like cape by the arm and dragged him towards the stairs, handily ignoring any questions about my identity. I idly wondered how long it'd take for rumors of a chameleon cape to make their rounds on the net. If nothing else, I could expect something from those two girls.

It might not be a bad thing to let people know Faultline had a stranger on call. My costume didn't obviously scream "tinker" after all.

X

"Glad you could join us," Faultline looked distinctly unamused. Even through her welder's mask, the glare she gave me could have frozen a charging bull.

'She must have some way of keeping track of the rest of the club,' I realized. Looking around, I saw that Labyrinth was conspicuously absent. Perhaps it was a bad day for her.

"You saw that then?"

"No, but Newter looks rather miffed, which leads me to believe you ruined his… recreational time. I take it you won't make a habit of disturbing my customers?"

"As you wish." I took the reprimand in good grace and produced the four expanded bags. Gregor got a large duffel bag that could hold close to a thousand pounds, Labyrinth and Newter got a school backpack similar to my own, and Faultline opted for a series of smaller bags she could wear on her waist like a toolbelt. The next few minutes were spent testing my tech, with Gregor shoving the entire coffee table inside his bag at one point.

Satisfied, he set the table back and turned to me with a smile. "Thank you, Creed," he said. He was certainly eye-catching, like a blobfish practicing a comedy sketch, but sounded like Morgan Freeman narrating said sketch. Whatever the PRT said about a full-face helmet making me look unfriendly, I was grateful for the chance to not show my expression so as to not disappoint the gentle giant. "You do quality work."

"Thanks, I try.' I placed my second commission on the table. Alongside the gray hacking tool was a notepad with a list of materials. "Here's the second bug box. The notepad contains what I'd need to make Labyrinth her shawl."

Faultline looked it over. "You can work with Kevlar?'

"Yeah, I think I mentioned it at one point. My suit's made of cycling leathers and canvas work clothes because that's what I had on hand. I can't exactly buy Kevlar in bulk without raising suspicions, can I? Honestly? I'm not sure if Kevlar is the best material for a shawl. If you know of any other type of fabric that would work better, feel free to replace that." I pointed to another section of the notepad. "Also note that I'm going to have to design a scanner for her. There is a scanner in my helmet that lets me save and replicate outfits. Hers will work a little differently to allow for as little input as possible on her end."

"Understood. Can anyone who wears the shawl use it?"

"Yes, though I can add some security measures like a passphrase. I take it you want to be able to swap the user as needed?"

"That would be ideal. Now let's talk about furnishing your lab. The bar will be fully functional on the eighth of October, so I can have your lab furnished by the same."

"I know I want a furnace rated for metals with a higher melting point, a set of crucibles to stick in said furnace, and some tools to shape metal, but I've yet to decide on what else I'd need most. Do you mind if I take a few days to think about it?"

I figured that a forge would be useful regardless of my specialization, but I couldn't make any rash decisions without knowing my next specialization.

"That… would be doable," she decided. "Depending on how you tinker with your new equipment, we may need to renovate the basement to allow for better ventilation and to make sure it is not a fire hazard."

"That sounds great. Please do that if it isn't too much trouble." That it'll cost me went unsaid.

"The longer you take to tell me what you need, the longer your lab will take to prepare," she warned.

"I know, you'll have my answer by Sunday at the latest," I promised.

Author's Note

Bryce is very much unlike Andy. Andy has consistently held to the idea that he must do good in the world and has acted accordingly. Bryce… he's very much a "go with the flow" kind of guy. He put it best, he will let the chips land where they may. Both are creators to their core, but the ways they use their inventions are very different.

It also means that Bryce is subject to flights of fancy like pranking Newter. Granted, the chances of Newter reacting poorly were low given Newter's own jocular personality, but that could have potentially backfired with some heavy misunderstandings, alienating the only ally faction he made.

He's also not neatly as careful about his identity because he hasn't been bitten yet. He constantly ribs the Wards and is considering reaching out to Sabah if it'll keep her from triggering. Or perhaps when she triggers. He hasn't decided yet because, again, he's a very whimsical person.

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.