2.11 Wave

2010, October 17: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Being a tinker was exhausting. Shakers, brutes, or any other cape got to relax after a battle, but that was a luxury denied to tinkers.

We had to examine everything we used for flaws or damages, take stock of any loot we acquired, and consider future engagements to develop countermeasures to likely threats. Granted, the first wasn't relevant to me at this time, my suit was not damaged in the least, but I decided to go through the process as though my suit had been torn in half, better to be meticulous now than regret it later. I then went back to my cape archives and added my own observations.

Sunday morning flew by. By the time I woke up and returned from my jog, my inbox was filled with requests and questions concerning my tech. Unsurprisingly, the shield module was the most sought after item, with starting offers ranging from eighty to a hundred thousand dollars. I spent an hour sorting through potential clients and answering some questions regarding my tech's capabilities; or at least, the capabilities of the more limited versions I was selling.

After a short stint on PHO, I went out to my lab and spent a few hours refining the ship's designs. I hoped that I would be able to carry the designs onward even after the One Piece specialization had passed. After all, these blueprints weren't necessarily tinkertech, just craftsmanship at the highest echelons of mortal ability. There wasn't anything outright impossible about my designs for the Gullrest.

I also took some time to examine Squealer's turret I'd stolen yesterday. It had broken off at the axle and the firing mechanism was still largely usable. The small piece I'd stolen weighed nearly two hundred pounds, straddling the limit of what I could lift with Psychic.

It was surprisingly well made, for Squealer-tech. There was a robustness about the tech that I hadn't expected of tinkertech; it could likely stand up to some serious abuse. I wondered if that was a result of Squealer's power compensating for her general… Squealer-ness… or a result of her being a vehicles tinker. Either way, it was sturdily built, so much so that I could conceivably just integrate it onto a cannon of my own if I wanted to. I really didn't want to though.

It looked terrible, like it belonged in a Mad Max flick. Despite its functional state, I couldn't imagine dragging it into battle against Lung. Was I being a diva about my appearance? Yes. Would I use this? No.

Instead, I took note of some of its more robust design elements then cut it down with a focused torch to recycle. If I ever needed a missile turret, I'd build one that didn't look like it came out of Megatron's asshole. That's what a Transformer's anus was, right? A waste ejection chute?

Squealer's turret did give me the excuse to work on the final series of inventions I wanted to build from the One Piece tech tree. I was sorely lacking powerful ranged options. Thunder Wave was great, but against the likes of Lung, Fenja, or Menja, it'd be a nuisance at best. It had proven to be lacking even against Trainwreck.

Psychic, despite my rapid improvements, was ultimately more of a utility skill at the moment. Yes, an alakazam could crush Hookwolf like tinfoil before chucking him past the horizon. I wasn't an alakazam.

When all was said and done, I had a great deal of defenses, but not enough cards up my sleeves that can dish out heavy damage.

My answer came from the flashiest character in One Piece, the Pirate King's cabin boy, Buggy.

I wanted Buggy Balls and Muggy Balls, explosives that could flatten an entire row of wooden buildings or grievously injure the awakened zoan guards of Impel Down.

Buggy was a joke compared to the heavy hitters of One Piece, but One Piece was also a world where Alvida, the definition of a first arc fodder villain, survived being punched clear across the horizon, about five kilometers for the uninitiated, and was healthy enough to find and eat a devil fruit before looking for a rematch at Loguetown.

Put Buggy next to the vast majority of capes and he'd stack up quite nicely. Whatever else there is to be said of him, he was one of the better pyrotechnics experts of the setting. I told SAINT to rouse me at lunch and allowed myself to sink deep into a tinker fugue.

X

I emerged from my fugue to find an arrangement of six red balls. Three were the size of basketballs and filled to bursting with a special explosive that could level a building. Or several if fired at the end of a cannon. The other three were the size of large marbles. I thought about hiding a few in my hover boots like Buggy did, but reconsidered. I had a better delivery method in mind.

After lunch, I was running through a series of boxing drills SAINT found for me when I received a call from Faultline. Huffing and puffing and drenched with sweat, I laid down on the cool cement and took the call.

"Hello, Faultline, welcome back to Brockton Bay," I gasped out. SAINT soaked a towel and dropped it on my head. I gave him a thumbs up in thanks.

"Thank you, is this a good time? You sound winded."

"Just got done with a workout, don't mind me."

"I see. In that case, I will get straight to the point. I have eight designer bags waiting in my club. Accord would like them by the end of the week. Is this doable?"

"Yes, that's manageable. I'm sure PHO will be disappointed to find my client for the week has already been set."

"Indeed, I saw the footage of yesterday's bout. I suppose congratulations are in order."

"You don't sound entirely happy."

"The time when you need my assistance is rapidly coming to an end," she admitted. "I can recognize that much."

"If it means anything, you and any of your referrals get priority. Besides, I like you guys. I'd like to think we're friends."

"Yes, that does sound nice, though I do make a habit of avoiding personal attachments when it comes to professional relationships."

"Then let's stop making this about business. I wouldn't mind hanging out at the Palanquin once in a while," I said. "Where else can I get underage booze?"

She let out a snorting laugh. "Very well, though I suspect you could find ways to acquire some liquor without me if you wanted to develop a habit. You are welcome at the Palanquin anytime, Creed."

"Was that all? I assumed you'd have something to say about yesterday's events."

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "You were too flashy, intentionally drawing attention to yourself. It's not my preference, but I don't doubt that you accomplished what you set out to do. Personal preferences aside, you conducted yourself adequately."

"Thanks," I said honestly. "Any advice from a veteran to a rookie?"

"I hope you're not calling me old," she said with a jocular edge.

"You? Never. I'm sure you're the vision of youthful vigor."

"Hah, smooth. I noticed that your ranged options are limited. Do you have any other ranged attacks besides your electricity and telekinesis? They seem to be fine against normal opponents, but I don't think they'll be much good against some of the more durable threats in this city.

I stood and wiped myself off with a towel. "I will in a few days. I'm working on something I can best describe as 'rated for Lung.'"

"That is… worrying. Good, but worrying."

"Heh, praise me more, Faultline-senpai~"

"Please don't ever say that again," she deadpanned.

"Yeah, that made me cringe too. Anything else?"

"Krieg." That one name made me wince.

"Yeah, I know I'm terrible at boxing. I'm getting better."

"You're hardly the worst I've ever seen," she hummed. "I'm not talking about your performance. I'm talking about why you felt it was appropriate to engage him at close range if you could have choked him out in the first place."

I paused. "For… my image?"

"You sound unsure."

"You're right. I could have strangled him immediately, but acted impulsively anyway. I want to say it's because I wanted to make myself look more impressive later by building up hype, but that's not true. I wasn't thinking about that at all. I think I lost track of all the tools I had at my disposal. I have a lot of options that I'm spoiled for choice sometimes."

"It's good that you know that. Do you think removing Krieg immediately would have harmed your objectives?"

"No, Othala would have been around to command the Empire grunts intro retreat regardless of when I sent him to la-la land."

"It worked out this time, but impulsive actions can compromise your objectives, Creed. It's one thing to cultivate a flair for dramatics, another matter to lose yourself to the mask. Try to plan out your decisions, the steps you need to take to reach your objectives. You have the luxury of cloaking to escape when things get rough. There's nothing wrong with disengaging and scoping out the battlefield before reengaging with a better plan in mind. I suspect you did so in that battle, am I wrong?"

"No, you're right. I hid up on a rooftop and took a breather to figure out how I wanted to end the battle," I said. It felt weird to get lectured like this by a woman who was technically younger than me, but she was the expert and it was sound advice.

"Then you have the luxury of adjusting your plans on the fly where most capes are forced to simply go with their gut instinct. Try not to sacrifice efficiency for impulsivity or showmanship; you may come to regret it."

"Noted, thank you, Faultline."

"No problem."

I changed the subject. "How're you all liking your bags?"

"They work as promised." I could hear her smile behind the call. "We've taken to carrying first-aid kits, survival gear, and rations along with heavier weapons to augment our standard powers."

I nodded. "If you don't have to worry about weight, there's no reason to not have them."

"Precisely. Labyrinth has yet to have need of the shield, but judging by yesterday's footage, she's in good hands. She would like to express her gratitude. I now better understand its worth, and I think you do as well. She has used the invisibility function several times; it made our last mission go smoothly."

"Excellent, always good to hear you're happy with my products. As great as my shield is, if she never needs it, that alone is cause for celebration."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Indeed. When should I expect you?"

"Tonight at ten."

"That's fine. We'll see you then."

X

2010, October 18: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

School was abuzz with talks about Saturday's battle. Even in math class, kids whispered about different details or even things they'd read on PHO, to Mr. Kalil's increasing annoyance. The most popular subject of discussion was of course, me.

Or rather, whether what I'd done was right. The heroes had every cape in the Merchant roster dead to rights. They had Kaiser's right hand, his most skilled all-rounder, and the only villainous healer in the Bay ready to arrest. Had Creed, had I not intervened, Brockton Bay could have been down one of its three major gangs and at least three capes of the Empire. It wasn't surprising then that so many condemned my actions. That was in fact the exact tone taken by the PRT public statement.

The PHO thread discussing the battle had to be muted four times over the weekend until Alathea, the original Brockton Bay moderator, finally threw her hands up in the air and permanently locked down the thread. My own introductory thread was undergoing the same thing from the spillover, with what started as mostly lighthearted joking becoming a giant flame war between those who supported my actions and those who called me a villain.

Some were saying that the Empire had more resources to throw at the battle and that it was a good thing for me to stop the whole affair, even if it meant letting the capes go. They drew on my original argument, that a gang war would erupt between the ABB and E88. Most of this crowd seemed to be older; they were the ones who remembered the rampant violence of the Teeth way back when the Butcher was the dominant cape in the city. Things could get far, far uglier than the status quo, they said, and it was a good thing that I acted as a mediator.

Others claimed, not incorrectly, that those were hypotheticals. They said that I forced the heroes to release tangible gains in the fight against the gangs because I was too afraid of what might happen. They called me a coward. Most of this crowd were younger, those who were passionate and ready for a change, even if it meant inciting more violence in the short term.

Still others didn't care, pointing out that I was an independent mercenary and had no obligation to help the heroes shut down the gangs. They were largely uninterested in the fight itself and focused their speculations on my tech and just who The GOAT could be. The general consensus seemed to be that I was too advanced to be a new cape, just new to the town, and that I had out of town contacts.

Unsurprisingly, my friend circle in particular was not spared from this discussion.

"Creed could do so much in the Wards," Dean pointed out. "He said the Wards would limit him, but those limitations exist for people's safety, not just PR. Imagine if PRT troopers had access to his shielding technology. Or what if the troopers had those hover boots? What would response rates look like then?"

"Maybe," Vicky said, "my aunt's pretty conflicted about him. Crystal says he seemed nice enough."

"He's got a point though," Amy spoke up. It was atypical of the normally quiet girl, enough so that she drew attention from even the tables surrounding us. I wasn't sure if she spoke up because she wanted to side with her sister, disagreed with Dean simply because he was Dean, or felt invested in the cape persona she'd helped create, but her support was appreciated. "He wouldn't have been able to intervene to save lives in that battle if he'd been a Ward. You make it sound like the restrictions placed on Wards are all benign, but they seriously hamper the impact capes can have. If I joined the Wards, I wouldn't be able to donate as much of my time to the hospital because as a Ward, I'd be bound by laws governing underage employment."

"Aren't you underage anyway?" Stephane sounded confused. "It's not like you're magically older because you're New Wave and not a Ward, right?"

"Yes, but that's not what I mean," she explained. "As a Ward, I'd be employed by the state, the government. Wards receive wages and stipends, insurance, training, et cetera. Those are all nice, but they come with strings attached. Because I'd be an employee of the state in a parahuman capacity, any volunteer hours I put in wouldn't be volunteer hours; they would be a part of my cape activity as a Ward, my job in other words. Right now, I can sleep at the hospital and heal all night if I want to." She gamely ignored Vicky's concerned frown. "I don't do it often, but I could. As a Ward, my hours would be much more restricted."

"We're not talking about that though," Dean argued. "We're talking about Creed as a tinker. If he had enough control to force the gangs apart, he had enough control to make the arrests stick. If he supported the heroes completely, they could have put them all under arrest."

"Again, if he were a Ward, he wouldn't have even been allowed into that fight in the first place."

"Amy's right, Dean," Carlos said. As the leader of the Wards, I was mildly surprised to hear him support that argument. Then again, perhaps he was just playing devil's advocate. They probably didn't want to be seen to be too in support of the Wards. "Wards are kept out of the fighting. Still, even if he doesn't join the Wards, I hope he transitions more into being an indie hero like New Wave instead of whatever he is. He could do a lot for the heroes."

"Isn't he selling his tech online?" Dennis said. "Man, I want those hover boots."

"Yeah, I saw the catalogs," Chelsea chirped. "I didn't see the boots though."

"Aww man, he's not selling the boots?"

"He is," Vicky said. "They're in the heroic version of the catalog. See?" She held out a saved PDF file of the catalog. "I got to see the full thing."

The two made noises of appreciation as they leaned over Vicky's phone. I didn't know if Dennis had already seen the heroic catalog as Clockblocker but if he had, he was a great actor. He winced. "Oof, damn. The starting price for the boots is thirty thousand dollars? Who can afford that?"

"The shield-cape thingy starts at forty-five grand," Vicky said dryly. "He's definitely not going to be hurting for money."

"I think he might be looking to sell to heroic teams, not individuals," Steph pointed out. "Unless they're corporate or the PRT, I don't think anyone can just casually afford that much."

"See? Which is why he belongs in the Wards," Dean insisted. "He could distribute his tech to the heroes and troopers who can best use them."

"How would he get compensated then? I mean, if this is what prices look like for tinkertech, I can't imagine anyone being happy with just a basic stipend."

"He'd get mentorship from Armsmaster. Besides, doing the right thing shouldn't be about money."

I didn't want that to stand, not with Amy reluctantly nodding. "That's a nice sentiment, Dean. I really wish we lived in a world where that was possible, but it's also pure wishful thinking."

He frowned. "It's only wishful thinking until we put words to action."

"Then should doctors not get compensated?" I asked rhetorically. "Or if you think using doctors as an example is unfair, what about Uppercrust? He's a tinker from New York who leads the Elite cell there. He's legally a villain."

"Yes, he should join the Protectorate where he can do more good."

"Really? I disagree. I think he does more good as a villain than he could as a hero. Now, bear in mind that Uppercrust as a hero is a scenario that never happened so we're just arguing hypotheticals, but hear me out. Uppercrust has heroic clients. Hell, he built the shield system that defends the Rig. It's not as though he doesn't support heroes despite being legally defined as a villain."

"He could do more as a hero though. Why does he need to be a villain?"

"Here's a different question for you then. In a city with Legend, the fastest flyer and one of the most offensively powerful capes in the world, why is someone so high-value still free? His criminal record isn't up for debate after all. Legend could arrest him any time. He might have to break a few buildings, but if you're right and he could do more good for the world as a hero, a broken building or two is nothing, right? Why is he free? Legend isn't an idiot. The New York PRT director isn't an idiot. So… why?"

He was silent so I answered my own question. "Because he does what I think Creed wanted to do here: He stabilizes New York's criminal underworld. I did a lot of research on this for a project last year," I lied through my teeth. "See? New York isn't one of the safest cities in the country because of Legend, at least not completely. New York is safe because the heroes and villains have an understanding. Think about it. New York has the Teeth, a literally unkillable A-class threat in the Butcher, the Adepts, Lost Garden, the Elite, and independent villains like March. On paper, it sounds like Brockton, but somehow with more villains. And New York is mostly fine.

"New York is mostly fine because Uppercrust and Epoch, the leader of the Adepts, work together with the Protectorate to suppress the Teeth and any other murderous psychos that crop up. Villain doesn't mean psychopath; it means someone who doesn't' obey the law. Conflating the two only pressures the milder villains into more and more dangerous crimes."

"And you think they can't do that as part of the Protectorate?" By this point, I'd grabbed the attention of nearby tables. Unfortunate, but I was in too deep to pull out now.

"They can't," I confirmed. "The Protectorate answers to laws and the public. Yes, technically, Legend is the biggest gun there is, but deterrence isn't about having the biggest gun; it's about making the most credible threat. Legend isn't going to kill you for being a serial rapist or mass murderer. Uppercrust? He would, because people like that destabilize the city and keep him from making money. He would, because ultimately, he doesn't feel the obligation to obey the law."

"You're advocating for murder, Bryce! How is that a good thing?"

"Okay, I admit that's an extreme example, but softer threats are the same. The Protectorate need PRT approval for a major raid on a gang. They need to operate on set patrol schedules and routes. They are predictable. The Elite are not. Uppercrust, as far as anyone can tell, hasn't killed anyone in years, if ever. But everyone in New York understands that he's a major player in the underworld. No villain wants to push too hard in his territory and because he's focused on making money, his section of New York is largely peaceful with one of the lowest crime rates in the country."

"So you think that's what Creed's going for? A villainous lawbringer?" Victoria said, skeptical. "Why hasn't he taken territory then?"

"I think he wants to preserve the status quo because, rightly or wrongly, he really believes that arresting the Merchants would cause a gang war between the two biggest gangs in the city."

"You're making him out to be some mastermind," Dean said sullenly.

I laughed. "Sorry, Dean, I don't mean to rag on you. I don't think he's a mastermind either. I mean, have you seen PHO? A bunch of people are saying that taking out the Merchants would be no different than inviting the Teeth back into the city. It doesn't take some kind of genius to worry about that."

"Point. You saw the fight too?"

"Yeah," I decided to regurgitate Faultline's main criticism of me so I didn't seem to favor him too much. "And he got his ass beat by Krieg."

"His form could be better," Carlos commented. "I don't think he's been boxing for long."

"Right. And at the end of the battle, he basically Force-chokes Krieg. Why didn't he do it earlier? I don't think he was thinking. Or, maybe he was arrogant enough to think he could fight Krieg in hand to hand. Or he trusts too much in his shield. My point is, he could have removed Krieg from the battle immediately, but didn't."

Charlotte grinned as she stole one of my tater tots and popped it into her mouth. "Huh, you're a pretty big cape nerd, huh, Bryce?"

I shrugged. "What can I say? I find them fascinating."

The rest of lunch passed without any real resolution to our debate.

Dean seemed frustrated with me because I disagreed with him, though he was gentlemanly enough to not truly pick a fight over the matter. Amy seemed thoughtful. Truthfully, so was I: I'd always liked to imagine that I was a person unmoved by public opinion, but seeing so many people disagree with my actions, I wasn't entirely unaffected.

I started to question my actions. Would it have been better to let the Merchants get arrested? That would have left me free to loot Squealer's garage. Shouldn't the gang war be handled as quickly as possible, like a band aid being ripped off? Was it wishful thinking on my part to think I could avoid the gang war if I wanted to make Brockton Bay a better place? I'd initially done so because I wanted to wait until I was stronger, until I was the biggest damn gorilla in the room, but how long would that take? When would I feel comfortable kicking the hornet's nest if not now?

I didn't know. All I knew was that I had to remain resolute. It was too late to go back and undo my actions.

X

I snuck into my lab after dinner and made two of Accord's bags. As Faultline said, they were exquisite in craftsmanship. Even a fashion-blind idiot like me could appreciate their artistry. They would not have gone amiss on walkways in Paris but still held the element of functionality so critical for a cape.

Each bag was uniquely designed. Even without the portraits provided, I would have had no trouble matching each bag to their future owners.

Citrine's was a handbag with a shoulder strap in the lightest tan leather. A line of orange jewels, her namesake citrines, decorated the outer face of the bag, dripping like dewdrops and catching the light in a way that would no doubt highlight her stunning dress and curves.

By contrast, Othello's were a series of six small pouches meant to be hidden inside his suit jacket. They blended perfectly with the black fabric, perfect for concealing weapons or a day planner.

I wondered what Sabah would make of their designs and took pictures to show her. Not immediately, but one day.

Author's Note

Nothing to say so have a random animal fact: Pandas are not "wildlife rescue" or "conservationist" missions. They physically cannot be released back into the wild because they will all starve to death. Why? Well…

So, you know that bamboo is grass, right? Well, grass kind of… clone themselves. It's why one blade of grass is linked to lots of other blades of grass by an underground network of roots. This isn't a big issue for your lawn, actually makes mowing much easier since they all grow at the same rate, but it's got huge implications for bamboo forests as an ecological system.

Basically, when a bamboo patch ('cause they're all one plant) lives out its life cycle, it withers and dies. But, the entire fucking forest will die. And this is cyclical, as predictable as the New Year.

That means that pandas, creatures that for some ungodly reason only eat bamboo, will very quickly run out of things to eat. In the days of yore, it wasn't a big issue because China had massive tracts of land dominated by bamboo forests. When one patch died, pandas just migrated to another. This is much harder now.

So no, pandas will never be released into the wild in any real numbers. No, they'll never be sustainable. China's just milking millions off them for the cuteness factor, all the while actual keystone species die out because they're not as fluffy.

Fuck. Pandas.

You know what the real kicker is? THEY CAN DIGEST OTHER FOODS. They don't need to eat exclusively bamboo, but they do because they're fucking retards. Seriously, if God let me push the Alt-F4 on one species, it'd be pandas.

Rant over.

This has been Fabled Webs' animal facts. Have a pleasant morning.

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