Surge 3.4

2010, October 31: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I spent the rest of Sunday in my room, drawing up tinkertech blueprints for the Pledge Regalia. It was a large, cross-shaped piece of machinery that resembled a headstone at first glance. The cross itself was disjointed, with slanted lines intersecting its body to mark the points where it could be disassembled. It was not one cross, but eight thinner crosses stacked atop one another. When fully deployed, the crosses could separate and float around the Pledge Queen, synchronizing the abilities of her subordinates and allowing her to work on large-scale projects simultaneously.

The crosses functioned as a set of giant megaphones, radio receivers, and amplifiers that processed and released sound waves as extremely precise vibrations that could not be heard by humans. Or, at least, that was the theory provided by Air Gear. How it expanded "vibrations" to include mechanical deconstruction of high-tech power armor was beyond me. Then again, I didn't care about the how, only that it worked.

I finished off my sketch by redesigning my helmet to include the specialized headset Kururu used in canon. Luckily, unlike the hybrid engine, this one went smoothly. The headset wasn't truly tinkertech, just a highly advanced audio suite, and it fit in nicely to replace the one already in my helmet. With that done, I joined my family for a simple dinner of some shepherd's pie

When I returned, I decided to relax by strumming dad's guitar. I felt as though I'd let it fall to the wayside a bit, too absorbed in cape life. Funnily enough, my skills had not rusted. Or rather, I was hyper-aware of every single movement of my fingers across the strings, every vibration. I belatedly realized that this was the result of what Dr. Minami had called the solid sense type, one of the two modifications to a gravity child's cerebral cortex.

It wasn't expounded on much in canon, but as I understood it, this new section of my brain helped me make sense of vibrations. It, in an almost literal way, allowed me to paint a "solid picture" of sound waves, an instinctive understanding of a sense I'd never had before. It was echolocation, but tuned up with anime-logic. With it, I could feel each wavelength from peak to peak caused by the oscillating strings. I tweaked one tuning peg then another, marveling at my newfound perfect pitch.

As much as I enjoyed playing the guitar for how it reminded me of dad, I'd never been particularly gifted. Sierra and mom said I was talented at the guitar because I was so young and seemingly picked up music chords quickly relative to my age, but they didn't know I had an entire life of mediocre talent and experience to draw upon.

Musical talent was always something I'd envied. I played through "All Along the Watchtower," dad's favorite Hendrix song, and decided then and there that even without the twinkle eye or the versatile powers granted by the regalias, the gravity child serum was worth the trouble for this alone.

I was so happy to discover my new affinity for music that I started to hunt down my favorite bands. Most of them were from my past life and had to be imported from Aleph like Guns N' Roses, Bon Jovi, and Linkin Park, but I'd also developed a taste for Bad Canary's punk-pop music while researching her sham trial. To this day, "It's My Life" by Bon Jovi was my favorite song, and the only one I knew how to play both on the piano and guitar. I started strumming the introductory chords and to my surprise, I felt SAINT tug on my bond.

"Pory," he trilled quietly. There was affection there, and curiosity too, but the most prevalent emotion was simple contentment. Somewhere along the line, it seemed as though SAINT had adopted my interest in music. Or, more likely, he could feel my own enjoyment and reflected that through aura. I smiled happily as he leaned into my side and twitched his blocky little feet in time with my strumming.

'That's one more thing I need to explore. Just how far does my ability with aura extend?' I wondered. Was our bond enough to let him gain "levels" even without direct combat experience? Could we one day coordinate without speaking aloud at all? How would I know when he is mature enough to handle evolution? Should I just give him the Upgrade and let him decide when he wants to use it?

I didn't know. Being a pseudo-parent was hard.

I shelved the thought for later and instead started to sing.

I listened to myself cover the first verse and visibly winced. Just because I had perfect pitch now did not mean I could sing well. Unlike guitar strings, there were no convenient tuning pegs for my vocal cords. I heard every imperfection, no matter how small. I eventually got better at ignoring them in favor of simply enjoying the music, just one more thing I'd have to get used to.

It was almost ten when I finally put down my guitar. I checked my PHO account one last time and sent off three PMs. One was to Kid Win, reminding the young Ward to go buy a box of Legos. The other two were replies to Big Rig, the Toybox tinker specializing in large-scale construction, and Uppercrust, head of the New York branch of the Elite.

Big Rig,

Sorry for the late reply, Big Rig. While I'm sure Toybox has a lot to offer me, I'm not interested in joining a faction, even a neutral one like yours. Unfortunately, membership in Toybox would mean leaving Brockton Bay and I find that unacceptable at this time. That said, I would be more than happy to do business with you.

To be clear: You. Not Toybox, you. If anyone else in the Toybox network desires my services, they will have to approach me of their own accord. As far as I am concerned, I will deal with each of you as an individual, not a collective.

You expressed an interest in my soda engine. I am delighted to inform you that my engine has been upgraded. It is the size of an office desk trash can and has a power output comparable to a ramjet. [Here] are the exact specifications for your perusal. I would also be happy to include examples of my Germa fiber polymer weave, seastone, and wapometal with our first transaction so you can stress test the materials yourself.

The precise quantity of those materials I'm willing to sell will depend on what you plan to make with them.

Now, as for myself, I am interested in your engineering CAD software as well as any fabrication machines you may have designed for construction purposes. We can trade, one for one, or we can start a video call sometime this week to negotiate the specifics.

A prospective business partner,

Creed

I figured that if I could get Big Rig to approve of my raw materials like the seastone, he might decide he wanted a stable supply. In that case, I would be able to argue that his fabricators should be provided to me at a discount seeing how he was partially helping to secure his own supply chain.

I sent a similar missive to Uppercrust.

Uppercrust,

Sorry for the late reply, Uppercrust. While I'm sure the Elite has a lot to offer me, both locally and nationally, I'm not interested in joining a faction, even a neutral one like yours. As I said, I consider my freedom to be the first and highest virtue. I would decline membership even should you establish a cell in Brockton Bay and give me a position of authority. I'm sorry, but that just isn't where I see myself at this time.

That said, I would be more than happy to trade with you.

As I understand it, and please correct me if I am mistaken, your specialization is defensive technology on a grand scale. I'm sorry to say that I am largely uninterested in your tinkertech at the time, though that will likely change as my own repertoire develops. However, I admire your work and would be happy to provide you with a newly upgraded soda engine. It is the size of an office desk trash can and has a power output comparable to a ramjet. [Here] are the exact specifications.

If you find that you can use my engine to help power large-scale force fields, I would be happy to sell you additional models at a discount. All I ask in exchange is that you utilize the Elite's network to assist in the acquisition of raw materials for my own projects. I would like to arrange a video call sometime this week to negotiate the specifics.

Best,

Creed

I hadn't lied to my friends. I sincerely respected Uppercrust, hence my willingness to part with the first hybrid soda engine for free. I also saw this as a smart investment. Uppercrust's shields could not withstand the direct might of an endbringer, as Leviathan had shown, but they could protect a city's major infrastructure against most natural disasters.

He represented a vital part of the world's infrastructure. For example, he was a big part of why Leviathan's tsunamis did not completely sink neighboring cities. If he decided my engines were a highly efficient, cost-effective way to power them, I'd be looking at millions in revenue, even after cutting him a large discount.

More than that, Uppercrust was old. By parahuman standards, he was an ancient elder. His injury, of some malady I either couldn't remember or canon never identified, was likely something I'd be able to fix in time, assuming I had his trust and the right specialization. Or better yet, perhaps I could direct Amy to him when she didn't quite have the same black and white mentality concerning her power as she had in canon.

It'd take a while to convince her that helping a villain, even a man like Uppercrust, was the morally right thing to do, but I was wearing her down, slowly but surely.

I went to bed with flying dollar signs swirling in my mind. Who said helping the world couldn't be profitable?

X

2010, November 1: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I set down my tray of popcorn chicken and fries with a clatter that grabbed the table's attention. "Friends," I declared, "I am in need of assistance."

Stephanie and Chelsea had gone off on some cheer competition and wouldn't be back until Wednesday. Vicky and Amy had yet to arrive so it was just us guys.

"Hey, Bryce, you're oddly energetic," Carlos noted. "What's going on?"

"I'm having a hard time tutoring this girl named Hannah. How do I get her to study?"

Dennis shrugged. "Dunno, my dude. That's not really my thing. Try Dean, he's the student council president."

"I'm afraid I don't have much for you either," the school's heartthrob said. "Being the student council president doesn't actually have much to do with motivating people to study. Have you tried genuinely asking her? Sometimes, a bit of empathy goes a long way."

Stolen novel; please report.

"I didn't get the chance because she jumped on her phone within the first four minutes of the session."

"Take away her phone." Carlos took a bite of his pizza. "You need to be firm with kids."

"I tried, but she's the type to throw a fit over it."

"How old is she?"

"Eighth grade."

He winced. "Ouch. I feel you, Bryce. I have a little sister who's six years younger than me. She doesn't always listen even when I have so many years on her."

"Yeah, I'm only a year older so she treats me like a nagging peer than a teacher."

"Have you tried bribing her with something she likes? Juana, my sister, needs to be bribed with snacks or time outside to do her homework."

"Yeah, that's basically what I did. I threatened to tell her mother. It worked, but I just wish there's something I could do that isn't running to mom."

"Hey guys, what's going on?" Victoria and Amy had arrived. New Wave's golden girl took a seat next to Dean, with Amy taking her other side. I had no idea how or why, but I could only assume that Dean and Victoria had gotten back together at some point over the weekend.

"Bryce needs help with a girl," Dennis said with a grin.

Victoria's grin took on a distinct shark-like edge. "Oh? Do tell."

My palm met my forehead. I picked up a popcorn chicken and chucked it at the ginger clown.

Amy saw and barked out a laugh. "Out of context?"

"Very." I ripped up a packet of black pepper and sprinkled it over my ketchup. "We're talking about how I can get an eighth grade girl I'm tutoring to actually give a damn about studying. Carlos says I should bribe her with something, but the only thing I know for a fact she's interested in is Glory Girl."

"Peanuts," Amy said definitively. "Train her like Pavlov's dog."

"I'll give you an autograph if it'll help," Vicky chimed in. "I don't mind meeting a fan."

"Okay, thanks, Vicky. I'm going to use you as a bribe. She doesn't get to meet you unless she does her damn homework."

"Hey, on another note, I met Creed on Saturday," Vicky sang.

Dean straightened at that. "What? When? Did he do something?"

"No, it was at the Halloween party at the Palanquin that Crystal dragged us to. He was actually pretty tame."

"What? No hostages? He didn't try to burn the building down?" I snarked.

"No."

"Drug stash?"

"Nope."

"Stealing people's wallets?"

"Actually, no. He joked about it, but I'm ninety percent sure he didn't take anything."

"Huh…"

"The worst thing I saw him do was underage drinking. He's a bit of a character."

"Why was he there in costume?" Dean asked. "Wasn't he big on not being affiliated with any gang?"

"To drink without an ID, didn't you hear?" Dennis said.

"I don't actually know," Victoria shrugged. "We just talked about random stuff. Didn't really get to grill him or anything, you know?"

"Nice, hear anything juicy?"

"Nah, he said some weird stuff about The GOAT then left."

"You should be careful," Dean warned. "He might seem harmless, but he's still a villain."

Vicky laughed. "I think I can take him."

"Maybe, but that's no reason to underestimate the guy," Carlos spoke up. "We keep hearing that every criminal is dangerous, especially tinkers since they're so unpredictable."

"She probably could," I said as I nibbled on my last popcorn chicken. "She's definitely stronger and can fly freely. Are you electric proof?"

"Mostly? Uncle Neil can't really shock me either."

"Then we haven't seen anything Creed can do that you can't just bullrush your way through."

"See? Bryce believes in me."

"I believe in facts," I drawled. "I think he could probably avoid the fight with you by teleporting or whatever he did to leave last time, but I don't think he can win a straight fight."

I was being truthful. I had options, like shooting her with the Walker pistol before punching her throat using Psychic at the same time her barrier went down, but I didn't think I could take her down without resorting to such lethal measures. She was that fast and strong. For a lot of reasons, not least of which was the potential Red Queen sitting five feet away from me, "lethal" wasn't exactly a viable option. If I ever met Glory Girl in costume, I'd probably play tag with her before jobbing and running away.

The rest of lunch was spent talking about what they thought Creed would do now that it seemed like there wouldn't be a gang war erupting. The general consensus seemed to be that he'd likely lay low for a bit and make money off his catalog.

X

Tutoring went a little better, mostly because I threatened to call her mother then offered her the carrot that was meeting Vicky. Even so, Hannah just wasn't a motivated kid and I decided to do the bare minimum to fulfill my obligations as a tutor, nothing else. After all, my original goal for tutoring wasn't because I had any dreams of being an educator. I just wanted an excuse to vanish into my lab for a few hours during the day.

If she wasn't going to put in the effort, then fuck her.

I finished up our session at five in the afternoon and stepped out of sight before changing into my costume.

Several minutes later, I found myself at the Brockton Bay Central Bank.

"Greetings, mortals!" I shouted as I flung the doors wide. The security guards immediately readied themselves. "Now, now, is this how you treat a client?"

"Sir, you can't be he-" one of the security guards, Tom, his tag read, tried to grab my shoulder.

I let him, then kept walking, dragging him along like a sack of potatoes. "I am here, to WITHDRAW FUNDS FOR MY VILLAINOUS OPERATIONS!" Deafening silence followed my proclamation.

'This is fun; I can see why All Might behaved this way,' I chuckled internally.

Seeing how no one was moving, I stood behind an older gentleman, black with a salt and pepper beard that was immaculately cared for. "How is your day going, sir?" I asked politely.

"Umm… What're you supposed to be?"

Tom tugged at my arm again, more insistently this time. "Sir, we don't serve villains," he said firmly.

"Don't mind me, good chap. I'm just here to withdraw some money." I turned back to the businessman. "And can I say, your beard is immaculate, sir."

Tom got fed up with trying to coax me outside and decided that since I wasn't actively fighting back, he could just pick me up and carry me out. I let him. The moment he placed me outside like a disposable mannequin, I strolled right back to my place in line. I could have gone about this in a dozen different ways, but just because Amy wouldn't let me rob a bank didn't mean I couldn't troll them for shits and giggles.

"Sir!" he shouted. He rushed over and tried to pick me up again. This time, I used Psychic to push down, effectively grounding myself.

I nudged the comely businessman and sent him a mischievous wink. "You've got to admire Tom's dedication, eh?"

The bank manager, a man named Spielman, came over. He was a stereotypical fat cat: big beer belly, balding, white, and with a suit that was perfectly tailored to make him look important. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said.

Unlike Tom, I could see the beads of sweat running down his balding head. He managed to stand with his back straight, staring my comparatively diminutive form down with all the bureaucratic outrage he could muster.

"I refuse," I chirped cheerily. 'Guess seeing me not hit Tom gave him a backbone.' "And may I just say, your service is atrocious. I understand that I have a bit of… gravitas to my presence, but that's no reason to stop serving your clients."

"We don't serve villains!" he said, growing increasingly flustered.

"Why of course you do, my rotund friend. You're a bank, all your biggest clients are villains., most just don't wear masks." He sputtered something that I ignored. "Well, the way I see it, you can either serve the clients, including me, or I, a notorious villain, will remain in your lobby and detract from this bank's sterling reputation."

"The Protectorate has been called, sir," the second security guard said.

"Hah! They'll come to remove you!"

I tapped my chin guard with an index finger in an exaggerated show of contemplation. "But if they do that, I'll have to fight them, which will certainly mean the bank will close for the next week due to collateral damage. And I'll just be back next week for the same."

That galvanized someone in line. "Just serve him already," a woman shouted.

'Typical of Brockton Bay,' I thought. 'Capes are entertainment until they interfere with daily life. Then they should be appeased as soon as possible.' I didn't let my contempt show and instead clapped. "You see, Pugman? There is only one thing for you to do."

He growled something unintelligible and stomped off. "Come here," he said resignedly.

"I refuse!"

"What?"

"I will not cut in line, that's just despicable, and even a villain like me has standards," I said with my nose turned up at the sky.

Within minutes, like the true Brocktonites they were, both the bank and patrons went about their business. Stupid? Yes, but so stupid that it circled back to being impressive. That level of apathy had to count for something.

The bank served every guest in record time and a few minutes later, I was standing before the teller when Velocity appeared next to me in a blur of red.

"This has got to be the politest bank robbery I've ever seen," he drawled. "You're not going to let me foam you, are you?"

"Roadrunner! Good of you to make it. How's it going?"

"Roadrunner? Really? Couldn't you have come up with something more creative?"

"Don't mind it. I'm sure that one day, you'll be your own person."

"Right… So, what're you up to, Creed?"

"Oh, just making a withdrawal. I don't see what the big deal is. Speaking of," I turned to the teller and handed her the debit card I knew was tied to the Number Man. "I'd like to withdraw five hundred from the account linked to that, please."

The pretty young lady looked between me and the hero. Seeing Velocity shrug helplessly, she squeaked out, "I-I'm going to need a photo ID, sir."

"You're sure?"

"Y-Yes?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling you?"

"Curses! Foiled by rudimentary fraud protection!"

"U-Umm… You can go to an ATM…?"

"Ah, see? What a wonderfully professional lass she is. I don't see why everyone else at this establishment can't be as great as her."

"I wonder why," the red-clad hero snorted. "Creed, is that account number actually linked to an account?"

"Of course it is, Red Rocket. It's my main account that contains the bulk of my funds."

"I thought I was Roadrunner?"

"Hmm? Did you say something?"

Velocity sighed. "You're not actually robbing a bank?"

"Of course not! It goes against my… wait for it… creed," I winked, not that he could see through my visor.

"W-will that be all, sir?" the attendant stammered, clearly just trying to get me out of her hair. Couldn't blame her.

"Yes, you have been truly wonderful, young madam," I said. My fun had, I stepped out of line and made for the ATM. "If I were you, I'd demand a raise."

I strolled out of the bank with five hundred dollars in my pocket, leaving behind a very confused Velocity. A part of me expected him to attack as soon as I reached the parking lot, but he didn't for whatever reason. I shrugged. It was a good litmus test as far as seeing where I stood with he Protectorate. It seemed that so long as I didn't actively commit crimes, I was still very much a small fry in their books.

I stepped behind a STOP sign, then cloaked as I stepped past it, leaving Velocity with the impression that I'd teleported through a portal that wasn't there.

Ten minutes later, I was standing outside the biggest Toys "R" Us in town. In my original life, the chain had all but vanished due to the rise of Amazon and similar, but that wasn't so in this world. The general downturn of the global economy and absence of giant online retailers meant that chain stores got to cling to their local markets for a while longer.

Grinning like a loon under the mask, I shoved both doors aside before the automatic mechanism could trigger and shouted, "Hello, people!"

"Kyaaah!" I heard someone scream. I turned her way to find an old lady I'd startled. Behind her was a boy of about eight, probably her grandson.

I ignored the twinge of guilt at startling little old ladies and continued. "I am here…. TO BUY LEGOS."

Compared to the bank, my time at the toy store was practically mundane. The manager fell over himself to give me what I wanted, mostly to get me out of the store as quickly as he could. I bought the biggest Lego set I could, a 2008 model Death Star consisting of almost four thousand pieces. He seemed genuinely surprised when I pulled out four hundred dollars to pay for it.

X

I was putting the final touches on the Pledge Regalia's blueprints after dinner when I received a call from Strider. I quickly locked my door before putting on the helmet. Voice disguised, I picked up the call.

"Hello, Strider," I greeted. "How goes the courier business?"

"Good morning, Creed," he said. His voice was relaxed and mellow. "Well, morning for me. I'm in Australia for a bit. Is this a good time to chat?"

"Sure, I wasn't doing anything important. Did the suitcase I made for you get damaged already?"

"No, that's not it. The suitcase works as promised actually, thanks again for that. I was calling because I managed to work out a deal with a quarry about the volcanic ash. How much did you want again?"

"As much as you can physically provide and then some," I said. "You can consider this an ongoing commission as I don't foresee a situation in which I'll stop needing ash anytime soon. If you can get it, I'll buy it."

"Huh, what are you building that needs this much of it?"

"Who knows?"

"Well, I can get twelve hundred pounds of it to you tomorrow night."

"My time or yours?"

"Yours," he confirmed. "I always stick to my clients' time zones. It's just easier that way. Do you have a dropoff location?"

"Faultline's Palanquin is fine. There is a small lot out back."

"Yeah, I'm sure I can find the place. I'll be there by midnight tomorrow."

"Agreed."

That night, I headed to the Gullrest to tinker myself another expanded bag, this time a large suitcase like Strider's. It was too cumbersome to carry into battle, but I figured I'd need it to move things from the Palanquin to the ship.

Author's Note

Is this how banking works? I have no fucking clue because I'm a terrible adult and haven't stepped foot inside a bank in years.

This is what COVID's reduced me to… I'd say that but let's face it, I was a disgusting shut-in anyway.

The scene is stupid, but Bryce is trying very hard to be stupid. Or at least, seen as such.

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.