Wave 2.9
2010, October 11: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
I was absolutely right: I felt like shit in the morning.
The entire outing took a little less than two hours, but those were the highest tension two hours of my life. Skidmark taught me one thing: I was dangerously unskilled.
Despite having all the advantages, I still took a bullet to the head. From Skidmark. I didn't do enough research. I wasn't comfortable enough with using my myriad abilities. I had so many cards up my sleeve that frankly, I'd be hard pressed to choose the optimal one in any given scenario. Instead of pulling aces from my sleeves, I was fumbling with the whole deck. Those were all great lessons to learn; I just wished I didn't have to almost die to learn them.
Skidmark of all people made me take a long, hard look in the mirror at Creed. Building a cape identity wasn't just about being quirky or having a recognizable brand. Above all else, I had to be strong, and the sad truth was that had I faced anyone more competent than that idiot, I might well have died.
Exhausted, I skipped out on my run and bummed a ride to school from Sierra.
X
I bid Michael goodbye with a tired smile. Thankfully, the kid hadn't been too troublesome and even seemed proud that he'd scored a B+ on his math quiz. His dad was happy, I was happy, and the kid had found a new hobby in PHO shitposting.
Yeah, not too proud of that last one…
I quashed the urge to go home and sleep, instead heading to a gardening store under disguise. I could theoretically make a devil fruit, but what powers it would grant would depend on the lineage factors I spliced into it. In greatly abbreviated terms, the devil fruit was a gene-splicing tool.
It completely altered the lineage factor of the consumer, suffusing every cell and forcing a series of mutations that was, even to my expanded tolerance for all things freaky, pure bullshit. It was the single most comprehensive form of gene-editing, without anything resembling invasive surgery.
Or perhaps it would be better to describe the fruit as a viral cluster. Regardless, if I wanted to retain the ability to edit lineage factors in this manner even after this specialization, I had to at least make one fruit.
That left me with very limited time. I had to start growing my fruit immediately; it needed to fully germinate after all, something about the fruiting process being integral to letting the relevant chemicals and catalysts mature.
As such, one of the things I'd looked up was the speed at which many house plants grew. I needed a seed that would germinate extremely quickly so I could modify the plant in its infancy before my specialization changed in eleven days. As it turned out, there was indeed a plant that would germinate in under a week: the common radish.
Yes, my first devil fruit would be born of a radish. That this was still far from the weirdest thing I'd ever heard spoke volumes about my life.
Soil, pot, radish seeds, and a bag of cherries bought under the guise of an old grandpa, I immediately transferred my goods to the lab then joined my family for dinner.
I spent the evening playing tug-o-war with SAINT using some metal bearings. That then quickly shifted to who could make the most elaborate picture using Magnet Rise and ball bearings. It wasn't just a good way to practice for me; I'd found that SAINT lacked the creativity common to organic sentients and I wanted him to interact more with the world.
X
2010, October 12: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Tuesday morning saw our class divided into teams of eleven for our month of soccer. This time, Eric and I ended up on opposing sides and I put much more effort into the class. Coach Miller approved and perhaps Steven was one of those kids who didn't know how to communicate except in insults because even he started to leave me alone.
I insisted on the midfield position to get the ball as much as possible. I had less interest in playing the game than I did running up and down the field practicing subtle uses of Agility, but that itself made me seem dedicated, if not particularly skilled.
I wanted the move to be second nature, something I could use to enhance my abilities at a moment's notice. It had taken a month just to get good enough to not start a light show.
Halfway through the class, I saw Eric looking pensive. Normally, he'd be making goo-goo eyes at Grace, but even she seemed to have a hard time getting a smile from him today. I made a note of it but didn't otherwise interfere. Their couples troubles were their own.
X
Amy was waiting outside my world issues class just as the lunch bell rang. I could just feel the back of my neck itch with the rumors this would spark. She grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me into an abandoned classroom. She wore a complex expression, a mix of concern and frustration tinged with a hint of satisfaction.
"You hit the Merchants," she said matter-of-factly.
"You don't have to sound so accusatory. I did tell you I was gunning for a meth lab. I found one."
"You should have told me."
I narrowed my eyes. "Ames, I like you. I respect you, admire you, even. But I am not your subordinate. I'm going to keep to the rules of our arrangement, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you call the shots on everything I do. Obey the unwritten rules. No major crimes. Those were the rules."
"The city's in a panic because of you."
"Stop exaggerating; the city's spinning its rumor mill a bit faster than usual, but that's about it." I'd gotten curious and checked PHO the night prior. Sure enough, the hot new thread stickied to the Brockton Bay section of the forum was titled "Merchants down: Who dun it?"
It wasn't much. Because the warehouse was so isolated, there had been no witnesses of the fight, at least none that weren't the Merchants I'd brutalized.
Bagrat had heard down the grapevine that a pair of thieves had hit a major production facility, stealing practically everything that wasn't nailed down and leaving Skidmark, Mush, and Trainwreck in their dust. The event overshadowed Trainwreck's induction into the Merchants, something Coil no doubt appreciated. Because there was no footage of me or SAINT, all the online community had to go on was the incoherent ramblings of druggies.
I would have to assume any capability I showed with the Merchants would be public knowledge, but I could live with that. As for SAINT, they thought he was either a Case-53 or some kind of projection.
A blocky pastel duck with lightning powers, suffice to say, I'd yet to earn the notoriety for that outlandish a claim to be believed.
"Okay, the city's not about to burn down, but the PRT put us on notice," Amy said. "You remember how those druggies got their asses beat by Faultline a week ago?"
I nodded and couldn't help the smirk that spread across my face. My allies were pretty damn impressive. "Yeah, that was a fun watch."
"Well Skidmark took another major hit on Sunday. The PRT eggheads think he's going to have to prove his leadership, whatever that might mean among Merchants. They asked New Wave to show the flag a bit."
"Well that explains why Eric's been so distracted today." I hummed ambivalently. This wasn't an unexpected response, though one I could do without. "They think he's going to lash out. I doubt it's going to lead to a gang war though. I'm not loyal to any faction so Skidmark doesn't have anyone he can attack for revenge."
She let out an exasperated sigh. "It's not about revenge, Bryce. It's about proving he's still a player. Why didn't you call the PRT to arrest him?"
"Because I'm not a hero," I said. "Believe it or not, I did think about this. The ideal scenario was for no cape to be at the facility, but barring that, I decided going in that I wouldn't try to arrest anyone. As much as you think Skidmark lashing out is bad, the Empire and ABB duking it out for what used to be Merchant territory as remnants of their dealers and hookers scatter across the city would be immeasurably worse. If I cut off the head, I want the body to die too, not wriggle around causing problems. This isn't ideal, but it's also not a disaster."
"I know, but I still wish you'd have told me beforehand. The things we do are going to ripple through the city; it's just a part of being capes, but I'd have liked some time to prepare."
"Intelligence on the ground can change, Ames. I can't always keep you abreast of every single thing I do."
"Fine, but I want you to help if something happens because of this."
"Help how?"
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
"Fight. Tell them you got contracted to fight for the heroes."
"Ames, how is that believable? The PRT 'doesn't negotiate with villains,'" I said in a mocking newscaster voice. "No one else in the city would have anything close to the kind of resources to hire a mercenary group, and if they could, they'd go to Faultline not some unknown."
She looked at me with an exasperated glare. "Then what?"
"I can't be seen siding with heroes, not until I have the kind of clout Uppercrust does."
"You caused this mess."
"I did. Tell you what? I'll intervene to save lives. I'll keep a situation from getting worse and actively try to end fight as they happen. It'll do me some good to advertise, lock in the idea that I'm a wildcard in the minds of the gangs, and I'll be helping the city keep a lid on this mess. Deal?"
She thought about it then began to nod slowly. "No fighting heroes."
"Maybe. Definitely no crippling damage. A few bruises at the absolute most. I'm going to run if I have an option."
"I don't like this."
I sighed and pulled her into a hug. "I know. That's what compromises are, grumbles. A good compromise leaves everyone pissed off."
She leaned into my shoulder, then jabbed me in the ribs with a bony finger. "You better not start a gang war."
"I won't," I promised. "I'm a thief, not a monster. I don't want people to suffer from the things I do either. You have my number."
She stared at me disbelievingly. "Wait, you're a tinker and you didn't make a cape phone? You're an idiot, Bryce."
"You give me too little credit, Ames. My phone is configured in a very specific way that integrates with both my suit and powers. A big advantage of this is that it runs on rules that no other computer uses. It's almost impossible to hack conventionally. I wouldn't put it past Dragon's abilities, but then, she's Dragon." I purposely didn't mention the AI living in my PokéNav. Anyone trying to hack it would provide a convenient door into their own systems for SAINT to fly through. He had extensive instructions on what to do should that happen.
"Okay, fine. I'll call you if something major happens. Try not to stir the pot too much in the meantime?"
"I have what I needed. I won't need to go out for at least the next two weeks," I said with a soft smile. "Let's go to lunch before your sister thinks we're making out behind the bleachers or something."
"Eww," she punched my shoulder. "Don't even joke about that."
"You really know how to ruin a guy's self-esteem, Ames."
I made for the door but Amy caught my sleeve. "Wait, Bryce."
"Hmm?"
"The duck. On PHO. They said there was a duck. Do you have a partner you're not telling me about?"
I turned to her and flicked her nose. "No partner. Lone wolf, remember."
"So the druggies were all having a shared vision, were they?"
"Tinkertech creation."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Huh… You're not going to tell me more, are you?"
"Nope, of course not. And you're just going to have to be happy with that."
She stared at me pointedly but nodded. "Fine, keep your secrets. But… why a duck?"
"Because ducks are great. Did you know ducks have corkscrew-shaped pneumatic rockets for penises?"
She let out a snorting laugh. "Fuck! Bryce! You're fucking gross!"
I grinned and let her slap my shoulder. Distraction successful, I led her out of the classroom, avoiding any uncomfortable questions about SAINT for the moment. We walked out into the now empty hallway and made our way to the cafeteria. "And Ames."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for caring, in your own bitter, bitchy way."
"You're welcome, asshole."
X
After school found me back at the forge beneath Harvey's. I'd snuck in while invisible, ignoring the now operational restaurant.
The general manager, some Canadian guy named Martin, had been told in no uncertain terms that both the upstairs studio and the basement were off limits, but I didn't want to test his curiosity for too long. For that matter, I wouldn't put it past one of the part-timers to look for a cozy place to grab a smoke or something. I quickly made a mold of a lock and filled it with liquid seastone to set. Eventually, I'd replace the whole door with seastone.
Was it paranoid? Possibly, I didn't even have my main lab here, but I couldn't help but want the extra security.
That was the work of a mere thirty minutes thanks to the SUPER-efficient forge powered by cola. Once the forge was free, I taught SAINT how to make ingots of seastone and wapometal then let him at it while I moved back to my main lab to build the LFES. The new radishes now occupied a central place of honor on my counter.
Once I finished assembling my tools, I spent the afternoon working out and punching away at a makeshift heavy bag. I was no martial artist, but learning how to throw a basic punch wasn't too complicated. I could still see the business end of Skidmark's pistol in my mind when I closed my eyes, the blue of his layered fields ready to empower each bullet.
I lived because my inventions were amazing, amazing enough to make up for my inexperience. Being fit wasn't good enough anymore. Doing Dennis' workout regimen had gotten me in shape, but it hadn't made me any more skilled. It was time to fix that as best I could.
X
2010, October 14: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
As it turned out, extracting the lineage factor of even something as relatively simple as a cherry was simultaneously easy and complex. Science couldn't readily point at a single chromosome and say, "Yeah, that's the thing that makes a cherry black instead of bright red." It was a confluence of factors that were often beyond the comprehension of modern biology.
A lineage factor, perhaps because it was being subsidized by my power somehow, was a bit simpler than that.
After a few attempts, I succeeded in extracting the "flavor" of a cherry.
The process was somewhat similar to extracting the dye from a bolt of cotton however. Just as the cotton sheet would still retain some of the dye, stained into its very fibers, the cherry still retained its flavor, faded as it was. This was in line with what I remembered from Vegapunk's artificial devil fruit. He did clone Kaido's fruit, but only partially. Kozuki Momonosuke was a dragon too, but he was Kaido's lesser in every way.
That was another thing I found rather frustrating. I could extract the lineage factor of something, but injecting it was a different story altogether. The simple truth was that I wouldn't know how it'd react. Rejection was possible just as with a foreign organ, and as always, simpler things like flavor were infinitely less problematic than, say, a full host of devil fruit powers. It'd take further experimentation to master the splicing process.
Rather than worry about it needlessly, I ran through a series of combat drills that SAINT was kind enough to find for me.
X
I sat on a beanbag chair in my room, strumming away at my guitar to the melody of John Legend's "All of Me." SAINT was seated behind me, between my head and the wall. We were brought out of our relaxation time by the ringing of my PokéNav. I shot it an irritated glower but answered when I saw the caller ID.
"Evening, Faultline."
"Evening," she returned, her voice as crisp and professional as always. "We finished our job this morning and I had the chance to review the documents you sent me. Are you certain you want to make two separate catalogs? You may be restricting the number of customers you get."
"Would you trust civilians with combat-grade tech?" I asked rhetorically. "Yes, I think it'd probably be for the best."
"As you wish. I've already distributed it to several of my contacts and one has expressed his interest."
That caught me by surprise. "So fast. I'm impressed."
"It's not as though I gain nothing by helping you, Creed. How about twenty percent of your sale?"
I considered it. It wasn't a bad deal from what limited information I could find online. "Ten," I said, more for the sake of negotiating than any real desire to keep a larger cut for myself.
"Fifteen," she said, her smile audible, "and I'll also help you set the prices to maximize our profits."
"Done." I pulled up a copy of my catalogs on my computer. "I've also been meaning to put them on PHO so I can regularly update them with available offerings."
"It'd be hard to tell which client was referred to you through me."
"We can always ask. Fifteen percent for every referral by you or three grand for every time I have to use the Palanquin as neutral ground, whichever is larger."
"I take it security is expected in that figure?"
"That's not too little for a single hour, is it?"
"That is acceptable," she said. I strongly suspected that she was cutting me a deal. "You are far too mature for your age."
"And how do you know who I am," I teased. "Someone's been snooping~"
"Come off it, Creed. It's no secret that you're a student at Arcadia, likely a freshman or sophomore. Don't think I didn't notice how you become unreachable during school hours."
"Yeah, the faraday cage is a bit of a pain. In any case, who's my first client?"
"Accord, do you have a problem with the Ambassadors?"
I considered it. "No. As much as Accord's neurosis is aggravating, he has had an overall stabilizing influence on Boston's criminal elements. He also goes out of his way to minimize his exposure to whatever he considers disorderly, no doubt to minimize his own headaches, but I suspect also because he wants to avoid drawing attention from the white hats. I don't think I'll ever like the man, but I can respect his work."
"Excellent, he would like a set of expanded bags for his Ambassadors and himself. He has insisted on providing the bags in question as he wants them to perfectly match each Ambassador's costume. You must retain their external aesthetics down to the smallest stitch or he will demand a refund. Will that be an issue?"
"No, that's fine, easier for me in fact. Demanding, but less of a guessing game as to client preferences. How many does he want?"
"Eight." She must have heard me suck in my breath because I heard her chuckle through the line. "I suspect you'll be quite busy in the near future."
"What's the timeframe?"
"One week from when he delivers the bags to you."
"I have my own projects to worry about, you know."
"Would you like me to turn him down?"
"I take it you're in Boston?"
"Indeed."
"He'll have to deliver and pick up the order himself," I said.
"He is aware. He is paying me to deliver the final products."
"So you went to Boston for a job, only to emerge with a new job offer?"
"What can I say? I am an entrepreneur," she said with a low chuckle. He is offering $17 grand per bag for a total of $136,000. I will of course be taking my cut from that."
I let out a low whistle. "That's quite a sum for a week's worth of work."
"Accord spares no expense when it comes to his organization's image. The bags will likely cost several thousand dollars on their own, assuming he doesn't simply make his own because he finds designer bags too plebian for his tastes."
"Yeah, that tracks with what I've heard of the man. Anything else?"
"No, I'll have the finalized contracts when I get back on Saturday."
"Okay. Tell the gang I said hi."
"I will."
She hung up and I flung myself on the bed. $136,000. After some quick math, I determined that Faultline's fifteen percent was $20,400, leaving me with a cool $115,600. That was more money than most families made in a year. Clearly, I'd found my revenue stream.
Still, as I fluffed my pillow and gave SAINT a goodnight scritch beneath his bill, I couldn't help but wonder just how useful money would be going forward. In the end, rare materials and favors were what really moved powerful tinkers, not mundane luxuries. Perhaps, once I built a reputation for quality and competence, I'd look into different payment options.
Author's Note
As far as I'm concerned, continued experimentation with the lineage factors as known by Dr. Vegapunk is as good as making a SMILE fruit for the purpose of the tinker of fiction. Vegapunk's knowledge far outstrips anything Caesar Clown would have discovered. Assume he can make one if he wants, though with Leviathan all but guaranteed to hit the Bay, it's easy to see why he wouldn't bother, nor is drawing Cauldron's eye as a rival power creator worthwhile.
Bryce is starting to make money. Shouldn't be too surprising that Accord's the first to take him up on a deal, even if it's for noncombat items. Or rather, it's specifically because it's for utility items that Accord is interested. I don't think he'd be the type of person to want to rely on tinkertech in combat, too unreliable.
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.