Surge 3.13

2010, November 14: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

The rest of the week passed in that paradoxical way that was both a blur and a lazy lull. Strider's delivery went well; he delivered $60,000 worth of various materials for construction, the bulk of which was volcanic ash.

The fabricator I purchased from Big Rig and the forge beneath Harvey's were now running near constantly to produce a constant flow of seastone. In fact, I had to build yet another foundry in the Gullrest to convert the volcanic ash into usable pyrobloin so I could keep the fabricator running efficiently. The one in the Gullrest was several times larger than the one beneath Harvey's as I was not constrained by basement floor space.

I also asked the parahuman porter to deliver the Black Rhino to Mr. Staber and promised him a small cut from the proceeds. Said proceeds were then immediately used to make yet another order of volcanic ash alongside a second fabricator and three more drones from Big Rig. I didn't have quite enough money to purchase everything from Big Rig but he was happy to do another tech swap, three more engines for three more drones. All told, I had north of $200,000 and lost it all in less than ten minutes building up my pipeline.

Tinkertech was expensive…

I knew that of course. I also had a general expectation that construction materials could command some hefty price tags, but I wasn't anywhere near being able to build heavy industry yet. At the rate I was producing seastone, I could maybe build a house in one week? It was a lot for my personal use, but only just barely enough to meet Big Rig's quota in making some rich cat's personal survival bunker.

My ship? I could forget about that for now. The amount needed to build a boat out of seastone was absolutely monstrous, which was probably why even the marines never did that; they only lined the bottoms with the wonder-material.

Didn't matter. Price was no object. I could be patient. My production was starting to ramp up, which meant I could have SAINT take on catalog orders for me and oversee manufacturing. Hopefully, I'd soon reach the point where I could accept jobs online and only provide one final quality assurance check before shipping them off via Strider.

That'd be the key to having a near passive income, which I would of course reinvest into more and more fabricators. I just had to make sure SAINT and I were up for management roles.

Little else of interest happened on Friday and Saturday. I spent those two days training with SAINT and finishing tuning my regalia.

SAINT's progress was smooth and steady, especially for a pokemon with only a singular sparring partner in myself. He'd mastered almost every move in his arsenal and had no trouble using them in combat. His Protect could withstand the detonation of a Muggy Ball, though just one at a time.

I was so proud of him that I told him he could have the Upgrade when he finished two more tasks: First, customize Protect until it could be used to cover a larger surface area, enough to shelter one or two people. And second, use psychic aura to develop a Barrier.

Were those standards arbitrary? Absolutely, but since I lacked the pokemon world specialization, I had to set those standards somehow. My words and the clear promise of reward seemed to motivate him and he redoubled his training.

In particular, I suspected it would be the second challenge that would be most difficult. Thus far, SAINT had had all his moves downloaded into his programming. He'd been asked to modify them slightly or even use them in conjunction, as he did with Magnet Rise and Agility to move, but never had he been asked to create a new move altogether.

He had everything he needed. He knew how to solidify aura into Protect. He knew how to generate psychic aura. All he needed to do was to put those things together, to apply his knowledge in a way beyond the scope of his own programming. That's ultimately what I wanted from him: organic growth. Everything I'd seen of him thus far told me I wouldn't be waiting long.

The reason I was having him focus so heavily on defensive growth was singular: Eviolite. I'd made one for him months ago knowing that I'd never make a Dubious Disc. In lieu of his final evolution, the stone that could make porygon-2 such a defensive powerhouse seemed like a no brainer at the time. By having him learn these defensive options before he evolved, I hoped to give him a strong foundation to build from..

Zap Cannon? It was great, immensely powerful, but SAINT's role as floating artillery would always come second to his role as my shield.

As for my regalia, I finally gave it a name after much thought: Crown Chimera of the Mirage Road. It was a Frankenstein's monster of a regalia, one forged using not just multiple regalia cores, but the technology and materials of an entirely separate universe. It was a hybrid, a true chimera of different technologies much like the tinker of fiction, one that could only grow as I did.

I took deep, measured breaths as I ran along the sidewalk. This was my third mile this morning and I was starting to feel the strain in my lungs. After months of consistent cardio, I could officially count myself as "respectably athletic."

"Alright, so get this, Brockton," came the voice of Kevin Hartley, host of the Foghorn. The sleazy radio host wasn't exactly good entertainment, but he was usually the second to know about things that went down in the city, the first of course being the ever-enigmatic Bagrat on PHO. "So I've been talking about the new gang of thieves called the Undersiders, right? They've done a lot of smash and grabs? Well they've started a feud against Hookwolf of all people. Now, don't any of you call me a Nazi sympathizer, but the Undersiders are trying to punch way above their weight class."

I frowned as his hot take on the city's geopolitics washed over me. According to him, the Undersiders, who'd been mostly hitting small jewelry stores, pawn shops, and the like, were getting too big for their britches. They were looking to carve out stable territory of their own and losing sight of their main strength as capable escape artists in favor of greed. Apparently, this had been the trend for a week now, though I hadn't noticed as things hadn't escalated much.

"In other news, several courageous PRT officers led by Protectorate power couple Assault and Battery busted a dogfighting ring near the Trainyard the other day after receiving an anonymous tip from a concerned citizen. The ring is suspected of having ties to the Empire and the public is advised not to stay out after dusk. In fact, coming from me, just avoid the whole area altogether if you can."

I scoffed. No doubt the "concerned citizen" was Tattletale. I knew that Bitch, Rachel, took it upon herself to rescue dogs from Hookwolf's dogfighting rings but I didn't think she'd moved this early in canon. Was it a coincidence? Or was Coil indirectly pushing the Undersiders into conflict with Hookwolf? There was no word about a confrontation between Hookwolf and Assault and Battery so someone was clamping down on his leash, likely Kaiser, but for how long?

I… I didn't want to deal with this… Just the thought of getting involved in this mess sent spikes of suspicion through my mind.

My first thought was that Coil didn't like this tenuous peace. He was much like Baelish from Game of Thrones; for him, chaos very much was a ladder. This made me wonder if he'd finished whatever observation he thought he needed to make and was now ready to act.

By pushing the Undersiders into a collision course with the Empire, or at least Hookwolf's faction, he could be looking to destabilize the region in small ways, seeing what I'd be willing to act on and what I'd be willing to let slip through.

Or maybe, he wanted to recruit me into the Undersiders by urging me to encounter them in a sympathetic light? Bitch was right to free abused dogs, no questions about that. If I had to choose, of course I'd choose to help the Undersiders. It'd be an easy way to open dialogues with a self-professed mercenary.

Then again, this could all be a coincidence on Bitch's part and I could be overthinking this. In some ways, that made me even more paranoid. I wasn't dumb enough to think a tinker on Creed's level would go ignored by Coil. If this wasn't part of his plan, then what was?

I grunted in annoyance as I reached the Lord's Street Market. I did a quick about-face and began to run home; this was far enough for today.

'Shit, I'm really not cut out for this,' I thought, frustrated with myself. 'I was a physician's assistant, not a security analyst. Should I just out Coil and be done with this mess? Tell everyone who Thomas Calvert is?'

I considered the scenario. There was nothing keeping me from doing it. I could even assure anonymity by having SAINT do it for me from a public IP address. It would utterly cripple him. Coil's best defense was that no one knew about him until too late. Right now, he shouldn't have had the time to set up as many failsafes. Or if he did, he certainly hadn't had time to recruit the Travelers and Noelle.

'So what's keeping you?' I asked myself. Air left my lungs in ragged breaths now. Really, why didn't I? Shouldn't I do this before the Echidna Incident became a possibility? 'What could go wrong if I drop Coil's name like that?'

For starters, he could clear his name. Quite easily, I'd imagine. Whether through his own resources or through connections like Accord, I didn't doubt that Coil could easily shovel a great many inconveniences under the rug. And that wasn't getting into any favors he might be able to weedle out of Cauldron. They'd be his last resort, but I didn't want their attention any more than he did.

Or he could fully embrace his inner warlord. He could launch his failsafes and hold the city hostage via planted bombs. Or out the Empire and throw the city into utter chaos. Or invite Heartbreaker here by releasing Regent's identity to do the same. Or any number of things that didn't include directly striking at me.

Hell, it wasn't impossible for Coil to have tortured Faultline for information already. She didn't seem like a woman who'd break easily but the snake could try as many times as he needed. She'd talk, perhaps if not for herself, then for Elle. Or Gregor. Or Newter. Her crew that she considered family.

'Fuck, I'm regretting going to her,' I swore. It was necessary when I started but I had to admit that any public connection could be a potential vulnerability. 'At least I didn't unmask like a fucking dumbass…'

Coil had to go, but he had to go at the right time, when I was ready to pull his organization out root and stem in one smooth stroke. The cleanest way to do that would likely be to steal his files, hack his comms, and build an airtight log of his crimes before attacking both his identities at the same time. But that was easier said than done. The only way I could think of to acquire that kind of information while coordinating an attack like that would be if I had the help of a software or cyberwarfare tinker… or Dragon…

Or… Or SAINT. Theresa Richter wasn't the only AI around.

'I could have SAINT do the hacking for me. I'd just have to find Calvert's house. I think Coil's bunker was beneath Forsberg?'

That was the smart move. As far as I knew, Coil had no protections against an AI just digging through his systems to make copies of incriminating evidence. Technically, illegally obtained evidence wouldn't be admissible in criminal court, but if Canary's trial taught me anything, it was that no one in Earth-Bet gave a damn when it came to capes. I could publicize whatever SAINT found while conducting a raid on Calvert's person. In which case, outing him wouldn't be necessary in the first place.

Trouble was, this was all predicated on what I knew. Coil was a regular customer of tinkertech in canon. Who was to say he didn't have some form of network security that SAINT couldn't brute force his way through? In a city with a Protectorate team led by a nationally recognized tinker, that'd be the first thing I'd invest in if I were a crime lord. Worst part was, even alerting him might make him tip some dominoes to send a message.

Was SAINT a good enough hacker? Was I strong enough to handle the fallout?

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

'Maybe… And I don't like maybe… But he almost certainly will be if he evolves,' I told myself. Porygon-2 were improvements in every way from the standard porygon. They were specifically designed for space exploration and could process appropriately massive quantities of data. Even better, they were capable of growth beyond their programming in a way that a standard porygon found difficult. 'If SAINT became a porygon-2, he should be able to adapt to and bypass anything Coil has.'

I reached home and gave mom a quick hug before climbing into the shower. The hot water poured down over me as I considered my options further.

'Should I evolve SAINT now then? My conditions were arbitrary. He could probably do just fine even if I gave him the Upgrade now… No, pokemon need a foundation. Even without an organic body that needs to mature, he'd probably benefit from mastering aura… I think… I have time. It shouldn't be too long before SAINT learns to modify Protect and builds a psychic Barrier.'

I washed up and went about my day, still conflicted as all hell. In the end, what I knew for absolute certain was that I couldn't meet the Undersiders. I didn't know what Tattletale could glean from videos of me, but the last thing I wanted to do was make things easy for her. After all, anything she knew, Coil knew.

"Hey, bro, morning," Sierra greeted as we gathered around breakfast. She had her teased hair in a sloppy ponytail. Her pajamas of choice was an oversized sweater with a stylized print of Rime's face on it. She offered me a lazy smile that transitioned into a yawn.

"Hey, sis. You look tired."

"Because I am tired. Seriously, why did I choose engineering?"

I shrugged. "You used to like playing with Legos when we were kids. Like, you stole all my Legos and gave me your Barbies."

"Heh, yeah. Good times. Real life engineering is too much work though. Maybe I should change majors…"

Mom set two plates laden with waffles in front of us. "Stick with it, Sierra. You're going to be in high demand when you graduate."

"Ugh, I know, but is it worth this torture now?" she moaned.

"Well what would you major in if you changed now? Philosophy?"

"Mom, don't diss philosophy. Some of my best friends are in it."

"And I'm sure they'll have a very fulfilling life working at McDonald's and asking people why they want fries with that," she replied dryly.

Sierra clutched her heart in mock horror. "Oof, that's cold. Very possibly true, but damn, didn't know you had it in you."

"We had our stereotypes in college too, you know. You kids don't have a monopoly on sass."

"Point… I guess I don't really know what I want. I mean, engineering is okay, I'm just not sure if it's what I want to do for the rest of my life."

"Sounds rough," I said. I sympathized. I'd been there as well in my past life. Truthfully, the reason I went into medicine wasn't so I could help people. It was because being a physician's assistant paid very well without nearly as much medical debt as a full fledged MD. "Everyone has different priorities, sis. I think college is supposed to be about new experiences. As you experience new things, you'll figure out what you want. Give yourself time."

Sierra hummed appreciatively before reaching over to ruffle my hair. "What do you know about college, little bro?"

"I don't know, heard the line from porn. It sounded nice though," I shot back.

"Eww! Bryce!"

"Bryce, don't be crass," mom chided. "But he's not wrong, Sierra. Maybe you can audit a few courses? Try to get a taste for different classes outside your major."

"Maybe… Thanks, mom. And I guess you too, Bryce…"

"You're welcome, sis," I nodded happily. "What brought this up though? You haven't always been satisfied with engineering but you've never considered changing majors before."

"Oh, that, you remember Sabah?"

"Arabic, about my height, really pretty? Of course I do."

"Of course you do," she rolled her eyes. "Stupid horny teenager."

"Hey, it's not all hormones. She's really nice, helped me with homecoming and everything."

"Yeah, sorry to break it to you, she's gay."

I slumped in my seat exaggeratedly. "Damn. All the cute ones are gay."

"Whatever, bro. Well she's thinking about changing majors to fashion. Follow her dreams, you know?"

That got my attention. Did that mean she triggered already? Or that she was close? I had to admit I hadn't been keeping an eye on her. "Huh, she'd be good at it," I said uneasily.

When I first met her, I'd told myself that I'd let the chips fall where they may. It'd practically been my motto until before I triggered: Don't get involved; let people live their lives. Good or bad, I wasn't responsible. If I could keep my head down, I could muddle through past all the incoming tragedies and disasters. I could survive Gold Morning and… live my own life.

Even after I triggered, my plan to keep the Bay as stable as possible could be seen as an extension of this mentality. If I could keep the city from blowing up and waited, I could ultimately become powerful enough to be untouchable.

As of yesterday, I was very close to that point. Now that I had fully tuned Crown Chimera, there were vanishingly few who could pose a threat. There were arguably stronger capes, but I now boasted a versatility that just couldn't be matched. Question was, what did I want to do now that I could afford to act more brazenly?

"Bro, you okay?" Sierra called, breaking me from my contemplation.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

"You were pretty out of it."

"I just have some things I need to think about."

"Hmm? You can come to your big sis for advice, you know that, right?"

"I do," I said with a wan smile. "I think it's something I'll have to work out for myself."

"Alright, you do that."

X

2010, November 15: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I shut my locker and headed for first period. I still didn't know the answer to that question. It felt as though the sky had opened up before me, as though I was a frog who had just left his well. I could continue to be the comic, hold off on making sweeping changes until I had my ship, but I felt that if I made excuses now, I'd never stop. I was the Tinker of Fiction, with all the endless potential it implied. I'd never run out of new projects.

I felt simultaneously like I was being overly cautious and not cautious enough, restless, but as though I stood on a cliffside and a single misstep could send me tumbling down.

This time, I was the one waiting outside Amy's class. No matter my decision concerning broader Brockton, I could help Sabah without any consequences to myself. All I had to do was convince Amy to take a personal request.

The juniors and seniors that made up her class shot me strange looks but otherwise left me alone. In less than a minute, the grumpy healer stepped out. She spotted me and, for a moment so brief it may as well have been a dream, her lips twitched into a smile before settling back into their usual scowl.

"What's up, Bryce?"

"Let's talk somewhere quiet," I said as I grabbed her by the shoulder and began to usher her outside.

The two of us made our way to the courtyard, the same place by the fountain where we spoke before. Amy glared away any curious onlookers. It was honestly kind of impressive the reputation she'd managed to cultivate at this school without any of the usual bullying behavior common among teenagers.

"Alright, Bryce, what do you want?"

"I know you don't take healing requests," I started. Her big, brown eyes narrowed into suspicious glare. Before she could cut me off, I said hastily, "It's not for me."

"Of course not. It's never about you. Who is it? Who paid you to give me their sob story? And how much?" she huffed angrily. "No, I don't care. It's the luck of the draw, no matter who it is."

She glared back mulishly. There was anger, frustration too, but most of all, betrayal. It made me hesitate. How many "friends" had she lost this way? How many blamed her for not saving everyone? How many tried to buddy up to her just for this conversation? She hadn't been a hero long in the grand scheme of things, only a few years, but even with Vicky watching her back, it likely wasn't a small number. I suspected that this had as much to do with Amy's self-imposed isolation as any real introversion on her part.

"No one approached me about anything," I promised.

Her glare softened until she slumped with a sigh. "Oh, Bryce… I…"

"It's not family either," I hurried to correct her misconception. "Mom and Sierra are fine, as far as I know."

"So what then? You just heard something on the news you want me to fix?"

"What if I told you I know of a few people who will trigger very soon? Would you help them then?"

"Bryce, no one can predict triggers. Not even the entirety of Watchdog."

"I don't predict them, at least not directly. I know of actors on the stage, remember? I know they have powers in the future but if they don't now…"

"Then they trigger sometime in the near future. And what do these actors do? Am I going to create the next Bonesaw if I don't help them?"

"No, they're both…" I couldn't rightly call Sabah a hero. Nor Taylor. "They have their hearts in the right place. And one of them can't really be helped in the medical sense."

"Bryce," she stressed.

"Look, we can have this conversation later, preferably not in school, but just keep this in mind, okay? The person I want you to heal is her father. She's not perfect, but she's a genuinely good person who I think doesn't deserve to go through a trigger."

"I hate you…"

"Amy…"

"I'll… I'll think about it, okay? And I'm going to want a full explanation. None of that 'It's not my story to tell,' crap."

"It really isn't."

She glared heatedly. "Yeah, well, if you're trying to get me involved in 'her story,' then I deserve to know what I'm getting into."

I looked into her eyes and saw equal parts determination and irritation. Finally, I let out a sigh. "Fine. I can't make you use your power for anything. I'll just tell you what I know."

"Good."

I skipped to my feet and made my way back to the cafeteria to join our friends. There was an uneasy silence between Amy and I. I knew I'd be pushing one of Amy's big buttons, but I felt I had to try.

I liked Sabah, and not just because she helped me shop for a suit. She was a genuinely kind woman who felt a great deal of responsibility for those under her care. She didn't need to step up after Leviathan, she was no hero and owed the people nothing, but she did anyway. Even if that was by joining the villains, even if all of that hadn't happened yet, I felt I owed it to the older girl to intercede on her behalf to Amy.

X

I finished up and shipped off another two Black Rhinos, hybrid soda engine included, for a cool $600,000 total. Likely still undercharging, but they were easy enough to make with my fabricators and drones so I considered it worthwhile to draw in more customers. Despite the relatively easy load over the past few days, I felt emotionally drained.

I explained the situation with Sabah to Amy after school, but the best I could get from Amy was an "I'll think about it." I wanted to press but that would involve giving her more specific details, details like, "Levi might be coming around May." I hadn't told her that much because doing so raised a whole slew of questions I wasn't ready to answer.

If Amy knew, so did Shaper. Would Shaper communicate with the other Shards? Would endbringers still hit where I knew they would? Could the Simurgh see me? Did I even have a normal Shard or did whichever godlike entity who put me here activate the tinker of fiction power when dad died just to stay on brand? If I told Amy, and that in turn caused behavioral changes in the endbringers via Shard network, how long would it take until Contessa paid me a visit?

Hell, all that was even with the unlikely possibility of Amy choosing our friendship over telling the PRT an admittedly gamebreaking piece of information.

The only conclusion I could reach was that it was better not to mention it at all. And so, all Amy knew was that Sabah would trigger while frustrated and alone, largely in part due to her father in the hospital. She would abhor violence and remain one of the city's few true rogues until people forced her hand. Then she would become a leader and fierce defender for all who came to her.

I let out a groan of frustration. "Enough. I'm just going around in circles. SAINT, wanna come help me blow off steam?"

"Pory?" my partner trilled. He vanished into my helmet and a picture of Amy's mug popped up over my UI.

"No, it's not Amy. At least, not completely. I guess I'm starting to realize that keeping a lid on this city is way harder than I first expected." I clicked my heels, feeling for a moment like Dorothy, and allowed myself a small smile of satisfaction as Crown Chimera sent silent vibrations up my legs. "I don't want to think about it anymore. I'm going to clear my head, see how Crown Chimera handles now. Ready?"

"Porygon. Poree…"

"Yeah, I know what I said. But it's not good to just wallow in despair either. Sometimes, you need to come back with fresh eyes."

""Pory."

I kicked off, sending us skyward and out of the hatch I'd carved into the hull of my lab. Instead of inland, I headed out to sea. I needed to do so many things. Blow off steam. See how it felt to perform the martial arts trickling in through the Inorganic Net. Make new tricks for the Mirage Road.

Hell, maybe that was what I needed, to be loud. To blow up shit with zero regard for my surroundings. To really cut loose and make increasingly ridiculous names for my finishing moves like a shitty shonen protagonist.

If the US could test nuclear bombs in the ocean, surely I could do the same.

"SAINT, lock pokenav coordinates to Brockton," I told him. Then, once we were several dozen miles off the coast, I stood atop the water and pumped aura through my feet. "Chart a course southeast. Four hundred miles out."

SAINT manipulated my UI until a map appeared showing the pristine blue of the North Atlantic Sea. Aura-induced After Burner included, it should take no more than half an hour to reach my destination. If anyone managed to find me so far out at sea, I figured at that point, they'd deserve my time.

With the boom of a collapsing vacuum, we were off.

Author's Note

According to Homeadvisor, you can expect to pay $50 per square foot in material costs, or about $75k for a 1,500 sq-ft house in the US, if you want to build a single-family home. Though Bryce lost ~$260k, that was so he could acquire the capacity to make a house out of bedrock each week. All things considered, he's coming out far ahead of the average. He still thinks it's crazy pricey because he has no frame of reference for this stuff.

On another note, reading the cost of homes makes me depressed because it reminds me that I'll never own one lol.

Shoutout to Zerak for the name of the road.

Oof, definitely the angstiest chapter to date on this fic I think. But then again, I don't know how I could've avoided this confrontation. Like any teenager, or adult, with shitty coping skills, Bryce is doing what he does best and kicking the can down the road by heading to the open blue to test out techniques.

Speed of sound is roughly 767 miles per hour. After Burner (Kazu's low-end sprint speed) clocks in at slightly north of that, so yeah, about half an hour to travel 400 miles. Be honest, how many of you forgot that "pokenav" stands for "pokemon navigator?" It's one of the first things he ever built; he may as well use the damn thing for its intended purpose.

Feel free to suggest chuuni attack names. Air Gear had some weird move names: Leviathan's Fang (he's not shouting that on Earth Bet, lol), Saint Elmo's Crossfire, Moonstruck Drop Bagram, Gungnir, Astro Magus, and my personal favorite, Thunder Road Final Form: Electric Titan Thunderbolt Snowman. I shit you not that's an actual attack name. It's even funnier because Nue was honestly such a badass.

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.