Surge 3.8

2010, November 6: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I finished up my Saturday morning jog before checking on the Inorganic Net. I wasn't sure what I was expecting in just two days, of course there wasn't much. The equipment I'd seeded with the data sticks did scan a few exercises, but nothing I'd consider combat-viable. Still, I dutifully followed along as the capoeira instructor went through her stretches and core exercises. It was good to have a routine I could follow beyond "jog for health." After all, having access to all these techniques wouldn't mean shit if my body lacked the muscle definition needed to perform them adequately.

After a few hours of exhausting physical conditioning, I took a shower and ate a small dollop of enchanted honey to give myself a quick pick-me-up before heading out to the Hillside Mall. I had to make good on my promise to Vicky.

Besides, Dean was a pretty swell dude and I did have a nice fat wallet now thanks to Accord.

I was glad I arrived early; I'd almost forgotten how crowded these meet-and-greet events could be, especially one where all the Wards were participating. Even twenty minutes early, the main plaza at the center of Hillside's donut-shaped layout was filling up rapidly.

I hadn't been to one of these since Sierra was in high school and I was in middle school. It was a New Wave thing if I remembered right, one of the last they held as a group before Fleur was murdered and Lightstar moved out of state.

Shortly following the Boston Games and New Wave's strong showing there, they held a public town hall meeting so people could ask questions about the movement. Dad found out somehow that Sisi had an interest in Crystal and extrapolated the burgeoning crush to an interest in New Wave as a whole. Nothing came of it, but Sisi was mortified all the same.

Smiling at the bittersweet memories of my second life's father, I wandered the plaza, looking over a handful of booths that sprang up to take advantage of the event. The owners of the maw knew their audience; virtually everything on the ground floor had been converted to showcase the Wards. I saw a Vista-themed sundress, which I knew she'd hate, Aegis-print bike helmets, replicas of Kid Win's hoverboard, with wheels obviously, and even Shadow Stalker-brand tacti-cool night vision goggles, which she probably threw a fit about.

I giggled as I tried one on. Everything about it screamed edgy teenager obsessed with airsoft or middle-aged mall ninja going through a midlife crisis. I'd never met Sophia Hess in this life, but I could practically feel her seething.

"Interested, young man?" the vendor asked, a balding, Hispanic man with a Dauntless-themed shirt.

"No thank you, sir. Stalker's fine and all, but I'm looking for something Gallant-related. My friend's birthday's coming up and he's his favorite hero," I told him honestly.

"Ohoho, the knightly tinker himself, eh? Well, I got just the thing for your buddy," he said as he leaned forward. He was in full salesman-mode now that I'd confirmed I planned to buy something. He brought out a heavily modified rifle used in laser tag. It was spray painted neon-blue and silver, Gallant's colors. "How 'bout a nice gun?"

"Gallant doesn't use a gun," I told him flatly. "You just spray painted a rifle in his colors."

"He does shoot energy blasts though."

"Ehh, no thanks, mister."

I left him grumbling as I walked away. There were a few ripoffs like that, but just as many with goods of surprising quality. Eventually, I settled on a scale model of Gallant's helmet. It had some heft to it, which made me think the plastic encased a metal frame. It wasn't protective by any measure, but any LARPer would have loved something like this in my past life. It even had LED lights built into the visor.

At $150, it was probably overpriced, but I had to give it to the maker, it did look pretty cool.

Gift shopping done, I grabbed myself a warm pretzel from a nearby snack stand before lining up. Not five minutes later, the Wards arrived with some PR rep who acted as the coordinator for the event. She said something about justice, being a pillar of the community, and something else that I tuned out before yielding the floor to Aegis.

I knew Carlos. He was a kind, mature boy who acted like a big brother figure to a lot of younger kids in school. Even knowing who was under the mask, I almost didn't recognize him. Just like at homecoming, the Aegis who stood in front of me stood with an almost domineering confidence that he lacked in his civilian life.

Credit where it was due, the PRT's public speaking coach knew what they were doing.

"Thank you for that, Miss Teller," he began, looking every bit the capable hero, "and thank you all for joining us here this morning. I'm sure you have a lot else you could be doing so it means a lot to have you with us. I'd try for a joke to kick things off, but that's more Clock's thing, and let's be honest, he's not that funny anyway."

That got a smattering of chuckles from the crowd along with good-natured grumbling from the resident clown.

"So, getting right to it, we're fortunate to be joined by the chief events officer of this mall. He has agreed to donate a portion of the proceeds of this weekend's revenue to the Brockton Bay Youth Centers, a nonprofit dedicated to providing for children in light of the upcoming holiday season. Because being a hero isn't about fighting; being a hero is about helping the community and giving back to the city we all love."

'I take it back, their PR guy needs to be fired immediately,' I thought, cringing a little at how corny it all sounded. To be fair to Aegis, he did well enough, but there just weren't many people who could make a speech like that sound genuine.

Being one of the first in line, it didn't take long for me to be shuffled in front of the Wards. The setup was such that each guest could meet a Ward for a minute or so, with them being lined up in order of seniority, much like a K-pop idol's handshake event. I shook my head and put on a smile for Carlos.

"Hey there, how's it going?" he asked in a friendly voice. "What's your name?"

"Bryce Kily. Sorry, but I'm just here to have Gallant sign this," I told him, holding up my shiny helmet.

I could feel him studying me with a gimlet eye. I'd portrayed myself as a cape nerd in school, but not the sort who collected merch. "Oh? Are you a fan?"

"Nah, it's for my friend, Dean Stansfield. His birthday's coming up and someone told me Gallant was his favorite Ward, no offense."

"Haha, no worries, Bryce, none taken. Gallant's a really great guy. I'm sure this Dean fellow will love his gift."

"I hope so! This bucket wasn't cheap!" I chirped happily as one of the workers ushered me onward.

Dean, Gallant, stood waiting. He looked every bit the knight and though I couldn't see his eyes through his helmet, I knew he was surprised to see me here. Still, he nodded affably and held out his hand. "Hello, I'm Gallant, how are you today?"

"I'm doing great, Gallant," I said with a fat smile, not even bothering to hide my amusement. I knew Dean saw emotions as colored aura around people, but he wasn't always great at interpreting them or identifying their source. I figured he'd probably pass off my aura as someone excited to get a gift for a friend. I hefted my helmet, a mirror copy of the one worn by my friend, and held it out. "Mind signing this? Got this for a friend's birthday coming up because his girlfriend said you were his favorite Ward."

"Y-Yeah? What's his name?"

"Dean Stansfield. Could you write a little message? Maybe, 'For Dean, your favorite Ward, Gallant?' Or something cheesy and appropriately heroic-sounding?"

"Y-Yeah… Give me a minute…" he replied woodenly. "Heard it from his girlfriend, huh?"

"Yup! Vicky's a great girl, being super considerate and all. I hope the two are happy together."

"Right… I hear she likes to play pranks sometimes."

"Not this time. I haven't known Dean long. Like, I didn't even know you were his favorite. Good thing she told me, or my gift to him probably would've been a pencil case or something equally lame," I said with a smile that wouldn't melt butter.

"Great. Here you go. I'm sorry, but that's all the time we have," he said, handing the helmet back. The text on it simply read, "Happy birthday, Dean. From Gallant." As I walked to Clockblocker, my enhanced hearing picked up his muttering under his breath. "Would've rather taken the pencil case…"

I bowed out of line after that. As interesting as a meeting with the rest of the Wards could be, I wanted to get on with my day. I was tempted to let Dennis in on Vicky's little prank, but Carlos would likely make Dean the butt of the joke as soon as they went back to PRT HQ anyway.

X

Social obligations met, I returned back home to put the model helmet away before skipping out again, this time to the Gullrest.

Having a rotating specialization of some of the greatest technical marvels in the multiverse sounded phenomenal, until I realized I couldn't master half the shit I made before being saddled with yet another tech tree that I felt obligated to explore because doing otherwise would be a massive waste of potential.

Even now, just three months in, I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed with all the different branches available to me. I had to master riding ATs; practice my marksmanship with the walker pistol; make more Muggy Ball bullets so I could have an emergency stockpile; develop my burgeoning aura by practicing with Magnet Rise, Psychic, and Protect; cultivate a client base so I could have the funds needed to tinker; begin planning out my ship; think about what I wanted to do with my new artificial devil fruit that'd just begun to flower; and build new tech, including my hybrid regalia. That was of course on top of school, maintaining relationships, and picking up martial arts.

Even for a (mostly) competent adult with a genetically enhanced physiology, that was a lot of things pulling me in different directions.

Which was why I decided to dedicate the rest of the weekend to tinkering and training in the hopes of getting caught up with my extensive to-do list, or at least make some headway.

After a morning of jogging, capoeira, and the Wards event, I didn't feel like doing any more physical practice at the moment so I began the session by unfolding the Pledge Regalia and strumming my guitar. By tuning the regalia's cross-shaped nodes to the sound waves produced by my guitar, I was able to use said waves like extensions of my own hands. I wasn't quite confident enough to start properly tinkering with sonokinesis yet, the internal components could be especially tricky when building with no hands, but I had graduated from picking apart a vacuum cleaner and could now start putting together the frames for more hybrid engines, Black Rhino motorcycles, and rudimentary ATs.

While I did that, I had SAINT mix more powders and distill the chemicals necessary for Buggy's special brand of explosive. The powder formula was ingenious, Buggy likely could have had a successful career as a weapon maker for the Marines if he so felt inclined, but also simple. It could be crafted even in the resource-starved East Blue, on a wooden ship, with only roughly nineteenth century towns to plunder.

SAINT had no trouble following along with the recipe.

After a few hours playing different types of music, I came to the conclusion that the Pledge Regalia was easier to use when I had an instrument in hand. When I first built it, I didn't use a guitar to practice, just whistling and using my voice to try and dismantle a toy Hero figure I had. After all, Kururu didn't need an external source of sound so I shouldn't either.

I wasn't wrong per se, but having the guitar in hand made things so much smoother. That was the difference between a master and a novice. I wondered briefly if it'd be worthwhile to build the sonic guitar that Kanon fellow had in the manga. He was Kururu's cousin and the only one who rode the Ring Road with offensive abilities. He incorporated multiple AT mechanisms into his guitar, allowing him to release destructive pulses of sound that could shatter glass or focus said pulses into blades that could compete with a king.

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

I shook my head. 'Nah, I have enough on my plate.' Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted my primary weapon to be a guitar of all things. As cool as such unorthodox weapons were in anime, most people stuck to a sword or something for good reasons. Giving up the use of both my hands, being forced to bring the pledge Regalia into battle when it could be better used in production…

There were better primary weapons.

After the music session, I moved on to making something for myself… kinda… Lunch came first, which meant tinkering with lineage factors, splicing qualities from different foodstuffs into other, more improbable foodstuffs to get the wackiest meal I could that was still technically edible.

It was fun… and the fact that this was what I did for fun probably said some things about me… But! It was fun so I didn't care. I was entitled to play Frankenstein with my groceries, damn it.

I quickly texted mom and Sisi that I'd be out with friends until dinner and got to work prepping my lunch. I couldn't eat cherry-flavored garlic or watermelon-flavored leeks, as funny as those were. Good nutrition was critical now that I was forcing myself through hellish conditioning.

That gave me an idea. It wasn't from my specializations, neither Pokemon nor One Piece nor Air Gear. Digimon… They grew meat. As in from the dirt. It was a constant through so many games and anime that "meat-apples" were something of a meme with the franchise.

Could I do that…?

And thus began the next step in my descent to biotinkering degeneracy.

I made a quick dash to the local Hannaford, the largest supermarket chain in New Hampshire, and picked up a bushel of apples, a package of ciabatta rolls, skirt steak, provolone cheese, onions, pickles, arugula, and a bottle of chipotle mayo. Then, then the madness began. After all, why stop at meat-apples?

The next two hours passed in a blur as I isolated different flavors and spliced them into individual apples. By the end of it, I had a ciabatta-apple, steak-apple, cheese-apple, onion-apple, pickle-apple, arugula-apple, and chipotle-apple. I carefully sliced them into thin strips before grilling the steak-apple and topping it with a cheese-apple. Then, I layered the rest of the slices into a standard sandwich configuration, capped on either end by two bread-apple slices.

I stared down at six of what looked for all the world like deconstructed then reconstructed apples.

"This is the single most idiotic thing I've ever done," I told SAINT, "and might be the most unreasonable way to make a sandwich in fiction."

"Poreee," he trilled beside me. He dusted off his powder-laden bill and hovered over a tablet, one of the few I'd not dismantled yet from the Hillside Heist. He quickly googled something and held the screen up to me.

"'Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn't stop to think if they shou-' Really? You're quoting Jurassic Park at me?"

"Porygon. Gon."

"Oh, you smug fuck."

"Por."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure it tastes fine." So saying, I grabbed one apple sandwich and took a big bite. The exterior layers were crisp, which translated somewhat well to what I expected of a sandwich, crisp onions, arugula, and the crunchy crust of a well-made ciabatta roll. Then the cheese-apple and steak-apple hit. I'd grilled the two in the hopes of giving them a more authentic flavor.

I froze.

"Pory?"

"N-No, it's fine," I told him, forcing myself to take another bite. I chewed thoroughly before swallowing. "Okay, definitely up there on the weirdness factor. To be fair, all the flavors are there. Skirt steak tastes like skirt steak and the provolone cheese is nice and mild, but they're also really juicy like an apple and it's kinda weird. Want one?"

"Reee," he trilled before a vacuum-like hole made up of pixels, zeroes, and ones opened up on his mouth. One of my "sandwiches" vanished into it.

"Did you even taste it?"

"Pory."

"Fine, whatever. I've had my fun so let's get back to work."

"Gon?"

"Are you done making the extra Muggy Ball powder?"

"Gon."

"Great job, bud. I really appreciate your help," I told him sincerely. Having him around was basically like having a second tinker and I couldn't be prouder of his growth. Best of all? He accepted crusted almonds as payment.

"Pory-gon? Pory?" he asked. Our connection twanged as he plucked on it like a guitar string, sending impressions laden with curiosity.

"Why do I keep making weird food?"

"Gon."

"Two reasons: First, it's fun. Like I said, SAINT, it's not enough to have a purpose, having a way to wind down is important too. Second, the lineage factors are not some unique invention by Vegapunk. They are a field of study, a subset of biology as understood by the scientists of One Piece. Sure, I made the Lineage Factor Extractor and Splicer, but I need to keep working if I want to better understand the process. Devil fruits don't just incorporate vegetables; they're part lion, dragon, eagle, or whatever else. I don't just want to be good, I want to be flawless. Get me?"

"Porygon."

"Yeah, so I'm going to make weird foods as a way to experiment from now on. That steak-apple had the flavor but the texture and aroma wasn't quite right for example. Being able to eat my experiments is just my way of having fun with the learning process."

We hopped right back to it after lunch. To give myself some time to digest, SAINT and I practiced our aim, me with my pistol and regular bullets and SAINT with telekinetically lifted projectiles.

I wasn't bad, I did hit my targets, but without SAINT hovering in my suit to act as my personal aimbot, my aim was only marginally better than average. Increased proprioception did mean I had better posture, but a natural deadeye, I was not.

"Say, SAINT," I called, making him pause. I had been taking a small break and watching him "shoot." "Why do you do that?"

"Pory?"

"That," I gestured to the little bolts he'd been using as ammunition. "Why throw that instead of using Psybeam?"

"Gon. Pory-gon," he chirped. He pressed a shared memory into my mind, of me telling him to practice this way. "Porygon."

"Well, yeah, I know I told you to, but that was initially to teach you better control over Psychic. You can hit the target as accurately as you want now and I think you understand psychic type aura so it should be fine to do something different."

"Gon?" he asked with a curious trill.

"Psybeam. It's supposed to be a beam of raw psychic power and a staple of the porygon line. I don't remember everything you can learn naturally, but I do remember Tri Attack and Psybeam were on that list."

"Gon," he said. I had the distinct feeling he was shrugging helplessly at me. It was more of a bob considering the little fella didn't actually have shoulders, but the message was clear enough.

"Try treating it like Thunder Wave," I advised. In a way, this too was an experiment. Just how much could SAINT learn on his own? I lacked a specialization to guide him and Earth-Bet lacked psychic powers altogether to act as a frame of reference. There was telekinesis which he copied from Rune and other capes, but this kind of raw expression of energy was a foreign concept to the capes of Earth-Bet. For the first time ever, I intended to leave SAINT on his own. I sent over a memory, a hazy scene from an anime of an alakazam crossing its spoons and a beam of rainbow color lancing out. "This is what it's supposed to look like. Want to try it?"

"Gon," he nodded. He turned back to the target. A corona of violet light surrounded him as he focused his psychic energy. And then… nothing. "Gon?"

"I don't know either, bud. This is going to be your personal project, to use what you have now and adapt it into a new technique of your own making. That's what inventing is. How 'bout it? Still think you can do it?"

"Porygon!" he chirped enthusiastically. I was counting on that. No matter how artificial, SAINT was a pokemon. He didn't mind being a tinker-lite and working alongside me, but as a pokemon, growing stronger was an inbuilt need. A competitive spirit was a natural part of who he was. I'd presented him with a challenge, one he should be able to overcome. And so, he would.

"Then I'll leave it to you. When you're not helping me, I want you to practice on your own. I know you've only been out fighting once when we raided the Merchants, but that's because I'm not as strong without you in the suit with me. Sooner or later, I'm going to be able to fight without a guided assist. I want you to be right by my side then."

"Pory-gon," he promised.

"We're going to kick so much ass."

"Gon!"

After another half hour of that, I transitioned back to tinkering, specifically, my new regalia. The heels of the Germa-tech hover boots contained unique compressors that compressed water vapor using a compound derived from pyrobloin to allow me to run on air. I simply refitted that into Ōm's Water Regalia, adding something to shape the compressed vapor into constantly spinning bubbles.

"I can stop right now and I'd still shoot rasengan water balloons from my heels," I mused. As funny as that was, I wasn't satisfied. Perhaps it was the result of being inundated with three months of shonen nonsense, but just as running Spitfire and Kazu's road wasn't enough for me, wearing Ōm's skates wasn't enough either.

I wanted my own regalia, my own road.

Trouble was, incorporating the Water Regalia into my hover boots was the easy part. Getting it all to play nice with Key Mother? I knew that'd be the real challenge, even with seastone frames to contain the immense friction.

And that was why I had to tear up the hover boots completely so I could build the entire body out of seastone. Leather, as comfy as it was, just wasn't good enough. Gold wire for conductivity. Wapometal for internal components that needed to be flexible and strong. But seastone for the skeletal frame of the boots as well as any component coming into contact with the rapidly rotating vapor-bubbles. In the end, what I'd designed was basically a set of grieves to go over a padded interior.

Unfortunately, molding all of that seastone used up almost everything in my stockpile. It took long enough that I barely made it home in time for dinner, earning myself a small scolding from mom.

X

I retired to my room for the night to find a message from a potential business partner. Surprisingly, it was not from Uppercrust, but from Big Rig. I thought Uppercrust would be faster in responding though I didn't know why. Maybe he gave off a more professional air than Toybox as a whole? Then again, he was likely the busiest tinker alive, Dragon excluded, thanks to his municipal defense systems.

Or maybe, Big Rig had relatively fewer resources than the head of an Elite cell and was more likely to jump on any opportunity to build connections, especially if said connection came with hyper-efficient engines fueled by easily acquired carbonated sugar-water. In any case, I had a note from the construction-tinker waiting in my pokenav.

Creed,

No worries, man, we're tinkers, being too busy to answer email is part of the experience. I took a gander at the Brockton Bay side of PHO and gotta say, you made quite the entrance. That's not necessarily a good thing, mind, keep that in mind and be careful. Wouldn't want to lose a business partner just after getting one because he was careless.

Now, I'll be honest with you. I wasn't impressed with your message. Keep in mind that a ramjet is a type of engine, not a measure of the engine's output. Yeah, I know what you meant, saying it's a small thing that rivals one found on a plane, fine, but it still read mighty unprofessional, like you didn't know what you were talking about.

Then I saw the specs on that engine and tested it myself. You build a lot better than you talk, that's for sure. Hell, even Pyrotechnical was impressed, said he wouldn't mind a collaboration. You can expect a letter from him sometime soon, whenever he's done with his current commission. Or he might forget, who knows? Guy's worryingly spacey for someone who handles so much explosives.

Look, I'm not really good at this whole negotiating thing, I leave most of that to Toy Soldier normally, but I want more. I make drones that build buildings and I can see how your tech synergizes with mine. I plugged the sample engine you gave me onto one of my drones and it was amazing how simple that was. Normally, tinkers have to jump through a bunch of hoops to get their tech to play nice with other tinkertech. You got something real valuable here is what I'm saying.

And that seastone stuff. I ain't sure about the name, but you do you. What I am sure of is that I like the gray, granite look it's got and I've never seen any stone anywhere near as durable. Looks are real important for some of my construction jobs, you see. I've got a job coming up to build a private emergency bunker for some fat cat up in Chicago and I want to make the walls and foundations out of this seastone stuff.

As for the wapometal, I'm interested, but it's not a priority. Pyro's got a knack for forging too, got some kind of tinkertech forge in his lab, and shape-memory alloys aren't new. It's stronger than most things Pyro can readily make, but I'm not willing to shell out a lot of cash over it. Maybe that'll change if I come across a specific job, but not right now. Toy Soldier seemed interested for his power armor if you want to take it up with him.

Lastly, that Germa fabric? It's not nearly as useful in construction as the other stuff you sent me. I wouldn't mind having a costume made of it for protection of course, but that's about it.

So here's the gist: I want the engines and seastone. You want a CAD, fabricators, and drones. Alright, let's make it happen. I'm going to keep an eye on my chatbox for the next few days. Get back to me when you can and we can hash this out properly.

-Big Rig

I grinned as I finished reading. It was happening, person whose cooperation I wanted most had bitten the bait. Others might keep him waiting as some kind of power play, but I saw no point. He had something I wanted, I had something he wanted, so we'd trade.

I sent him a private message on PHO. Not four minutes later, I had a reply to a video link. After having SAINT check it out to make sure the line was secure, I put on my helmet and accepted the call.

Big Rig was a corpulent man who wore a hard hat and gas mask, the sort you'd find on a construction site. He had on a neon-orange vest over comfortable work clothes. Everything was stylized of course, more blocky and angular to give him broader shoulders.

"Big Rig, a pleasure to put a face to the name," I greeted.

"Likewise, Creed. I gotta ask, for Dodge's sake, are you another Sentai Elite fan?" he asked with a chuckle and the hint of a southern drawl. "Kiddo was real excited when he saw the outfit."

"God, if I had a quarter for every time I heard that… There are things I like and don't like about them. It's more the old school Super Sentai, Kamen Rider, and Ultraman aesthetic I like. I think we both drew inspiration from the same place."

"Fair enough. Now, let's talk business, Creed."

I allowed myself a quiet sigh that didn't carry through my helmet. This would be a long night, but I hoped it'd pay off.

Author's Note

Thanks to Lincolnator on SB for correcting my nonexistent engineering knowledge. A "ramjet" is a type of engine, not a scale for how powerful an engine is. Though most are found on planes, he's since told me that you can have a "ramjet" fuel a tricycle if an engineer felt so inclined. Big Rig's reaction is a bit of a dig on that.

Why does he sound southern? I have no idea either.

Not much to say. Have an animal fact: The ocean sunfish, or mola mola, is the largest bony fish in the world, which is distinct from a cartilaginous fish (sharks, rays, etc.). It is also one of the few fish that lack scales, instead having small, tooth-like projections on its skin called denticles and mucus. Because it's relatively slow and lacks scales, it often suffers from parasites. It also has only four teeth in its mouth, though its throat is lined with teeth that help grind up food.

Admit it, you though I'd make a joke about fish, didn't you? Well, it's good to have a purely educational A/N once in a while. Gotta keep you on your toes.

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.