Seal 4.6

2010, November 27: Damascus, Syria

We didn't go home that night. After our hour-long break, we jumped right back to treating the wounded, physically energized thanks to the honey but still mentally exhausted. When Mariah retired for the day, she was a local and had been one of the first to respond, Victor stepped up and replaced her as the operations director of station B-3, slotting into the role annoyingly smoothly.

There must have been some communication between the stations because rather than die down, the stream of incoming patients only seemed to pick up. Panacea had arrived so it was natural that the worst cases got sent our way. The presence of myself and Othala only made that tide worse.

We worked until three in the morning local time, roughly two five hour shifts from when we arrived. I'd long since run dry of coffee despite the expanded bag and had neither the time nor materials to make more.

On the plus side, finding a place to sleep was as simple as grabbing some keys from the concierge desk, heading upstairs, and claiming a room. Patients got shipped from where we were to a number of refugee camps after they were treated, but there wasn't anyone willing to tell us we couldn't sleep on-site. The station being a commandeered hotel, several of the search and rescue teams also came here to rest, kind of like bees coming back to the hive.

They kept us sorted according to our location for convenience, our hotel was mostly filled with Brockton and Boston capes, but had the presence of mind to separate the villains and heroes. Truce be damned, some of the capes were eyeing Victor, Othala, and Rune with less than friendly intentions, not that I blamed them.

After our shift and a hasty dinner of cup ramen and protein bars, we sat around waiting for our separated companions to return from their own shifts.

First came Glory Girl, Laserdream, and Shielder, floating in and still somehow looking like they'd popped out of magazine covers.

Then came Rune, reclining on a comfy-looking office chair she'd picked up somewhere.

The Protectorate, led by Armsmaster, came in as one group, shepherding the Wards with a gentle hand. They offered Gallant and Kid Win proud smiles before dismissing them to their rooms. Though I couldn't see their faces, the two had a haunted gait about them and barely reacted to Clockblocker's admittedly weak attempts at lightening the mood.

Then my UI sparked to life as the best duck in the world returned to me. I quickly muted my external speakers. "SAINT?"

"Pory!" he trilled excitedly. Through our bond, I felt relief and happiness wash over me. I realized that this was the first time we'd been separated for so long.

"Good to hear from you, buddy," I said, sending back the same. "How was Wieldmaiden?"

"Pory-gon. Pory. Porreee."

A series of images and expressions followed. Some arrived through the bond, mostly emotions like respect and admiration, while others came in the form of pictures that popped up on my HUD. "Someone tried to take the regalia?"

"Pory," he denied.

"Someone asked to examine it?"

"Gon."

"And she refused."

"Gon."

"She didn't try to fiddle with the settings?"

"Gon," he shook his head in denial.

"Good. What do you think? Is she trustworthy? Or should I find someone else to loan this out to tomorrow?"

"Porygon." There was a sense of approval. It seemed Narwhal had an eye for integrity as well as talent. Or maybe she had the basic common sense not to fuck with tinkertech. Either way, she seemed safe enough.

"Alright, I'm glad you approve. Tell me about your day, bud. What was it like being on search and rescue?"

We chatted amiably as more people came in. Weld of the Boston Wards, Bastion, head of their Protectorate, and more drove through. They'd apparently met up with Faultline somewhere along the way and had opted to give the striker a ride. The steel-like Case-53 seemed happy to chat with Newter for a time, but Bastion called him back for something or other.

There were others, such as Chain Gang, Morticians, and Thee Impersonators, as well as smaller groups of gangs and independents that lacked the members to warrant a group name. I found it funny that this lobby was as friendly as capes got with so many different factions in the room. There was no real goodwill here; we were all just too tired to pick fights.

After a time of admittedly halfhearted posturing, people began to retire for the night. Because of secret identities that had to be respected, I saw a few choose to find their own accommodations. Even when they chose to remain in the building, they made sure to demand their own rooms.

Which was how I found myself in one of the hotel rooms in the early hours of the morning. Back home, it'd be about nine at night, nowhere near late enough to be bedtime. There were two beds and two, cheap, faux-wood desks with matching swivel chairs. I wasn't sharing; the only person I'd be comfortable bunking with was Amy, which would raise some hilarious questions if I tried. I did have Faultline and Newter in the room across the hall though.

Or, they were supposed to be. Newter was currently making a mess of my unused bed. Faultline sat on the corner, careful not to touch her subordinate directly.

"So, why are you both in my room?" I asked the mercs with a stifled yawn.

I was tired but could not force myself to sleep. So instead, I'd been performing checkup and maintenance on the Pledge Regalia. There wasn't much that needed doing, it wasn't as though she'd gotten into a fight with it or anything, but it was something to keep my hands busy.

SAINT was off doing… something. I'd asked him to help sort the health records of missing persons while no one was looking, figuring that Dragon's eyes would be on more immediately impactful tasks and, like SAINT, she couldn't fork. He knew how to keep himself hidden and knew to withdraw immediately if he suspected he'd been noticed. I wasn't sure he could beat Dragon in cyberwarfare, but he should be good enough to at least leave.

Anyone else? Not a concern.

"You don't look like you're ready for bed," Faultline observed with a wry smile. She'd gone for a domino mask similar to Clockblocker's, there was someone giving them out to capes who wanted one, revealing her high cheekbones and hawklike brown eyes. Rather than whatever pajamas or nightgown she typically wore to bed, she'd settled for a comfortable set of sweats. "Is the time difference messing with you?"

"Yeah. I'll get over it. How about you? How were things out there?"

"Chaotic. Exalt from Houston stuck around and coordinated us from the air with Dragon. She wants to talk about that scanner you gave her friend by the way."

"For good reasons I hope?" I'd heard it all from SAINT but it didn't hurt to make conversation.

"Yes. Wieldmaiden was able to find dozens buried under the rubble we might have missed otherwise thanks to you. There would have been more but they were long dead."

That was a sobering thought. I, and I was sure Newter as well, noticed that a great many people were coming in with radiation poisoning, burns, and crushed limbs after a while. Everyone in Behemoth's path died, but his kill aura actually had a fairly small diameter. Outside his aura, blasts of fire, lightning, and concussive force collapsed buildings on top of helpless civilians.

A decent chunk of the people we treated were probably people Wieldmaiden and her team dug up. Just that small fraction was enough to leave us feeling like shit. I couldn't imagine what the scene looked like out there.

"I see. That must have been awful. Sounds like search and rescue wasn't exactly a walk in the park either."

"Hazard management in my case. I mostly just helped cut down rubble to more manageable pieces so we could clear the roads. But no, it wasn't pretty."

"Yeah, I saw a fair bit of the output come my way. So, how can I help you, Faultline? I didn't think you'd be the type to show for events like this."

"I'm not. There's no money in being here and though I agree there is worth in charity, I have my own concerns that take precedence. No, I'm here for you."

"I figured as much. Well, message received. You're a friend and I appreciate that you value our relationship enough to step up just because you thought I might."

She nodded magnanimously. "You're welcome. I'd like to speak to you about your organization."

"Oh boy… Where do I begin?"

"At the beginning would be nice," she said with a small smile. "When Newter first found you in the junkyard, you did not seem particularly powerful. You quickly became a force to be reckoned with and I can only assume this is through The GOAT and whatever organization they represent."

"It is," I confirmed, leaving out the obvious, that I was my own organization. I didn't even have a name for it yet. "I understand you want answers, but I'd prefer to do this some other time when we're not all dead on our feet. Our arrangement stands if that's what you're concerned about. Can't we pick this up sometime over the week?"

"That's good to know, but we're already here. This isn't just about The GOAT; this is about your role in the city and what you intend to do about the gang war brewing between the Empire and ABB. Have you had time to consider what you want out of the Undersiders?"

"I thought you didn't care."

"I didn't until Lung decided to use me as his mailman," she said with a pointed frown. And, I understood. Her original intent was to use the city's chaos as a smokescreen; no outside party could just barge in to chase them down because of the delicate balance of power between the heroes and villains, and so long as she refrained from taking jobs inside the city, the local powers lacked the bandwidth to attack them on their own initiative.

And then the kitten Newter adopted turned out to be a tiger. I'd initially been a tinker she could have on-demand, a useful resource. I was still that, but I turned out to be far more powerful than she expected, and from her perspective, because a hitherto unknown party snapped me up. She was doing her due diligence; I could respect that.

Seen in this light, her dislike of thinkers in general made a whole lot of sense.

"I'm sorry about that," I said sincerely. "It wasn't my intent to drag you into this city's affairs, even indirectly."

"I know. Look, Creed, you're not a bad kid, not a villain, not really. You're a rogue, if that. It's clear to anyone who looks that you have heroic inclinations. I don't know if this is due to whatever arrangement you have with The GOAT, but you're sending mixed signals to all of the factions in the Bay and I wanted to know your objectives moving forward."

"Yeah, man, things are getting a bit hot in the Bay right now," Newter joined in. He picked up one of the spare pillows and tossed it between his hands and tail. "You're my friend, you know? I mean, I know we haven't hung out in a while, but I don't want you to just die off or anything."

"However, that isn't to say we're going to be sticking around. I intend to accept a job out west for a few weeks to let the heat here die down. I felt we should have this conversation before I left, see if there is anything we can do to make things easier."

"So you're here to learn more about The GOAT and give me some advice about how I should handle being a not-hero?" I summed up.

It was… Cowardly? No, that wasn't right. They didn't sign up for my shit and Faultline would always put her team first. The team lacked heavy hitters without Labyrinth and she was a tossup at the best of times. Still, I couldn't help but feel a little bitter about it. I'd known they avoided conflict in the city, but I'd hoped to have them in my corner if push came to shove.

"That's right. Behemoth attacked at the opportune time for the city and you. The truce puts cape activities on pause for a few days, but I suspect things will return to business as usual by Tuesday or Wednesday. And that means that like it or not, you're going to have to make a decision regarding the Undersiders."

"How is that a decision? I'm not going to give them to Lung. Besides, if I do, the Empire will assume I've sided with the ABB. They offered a similar contract, but with more money."

Faultline nodded expectantly. "I assumed as much. Congratulations then. You've officially painted yourself into a corner. I must point out that had you taken the path of an independent hero, you would not be asked to face these moral quandaries."

"I know, but being a rogue gives me freedom to act and retaliate without restraint. It's better for the city. Or at least, I thought it'd be better."

"On paper perhaps. People seldom behave rationally in reality. Life can't be broken down to realism, deterrence, and game theory."

"So I've learned," I muttered. In an ideal world, the ABB and Empire would stay in their territories, Lung lacking the numbers to push and Kaiser lacking the power to contend with Lung. But an ideal world didn't have Coil. "I turn the Underisders in to either gang, they'll die. Worse, I know that both contracts are just ways to start leashing me into their camp."

"I'm glad you're aware of this. So what are your options?" she asked pointedly. Faultline was apparently a fan of the Socratic method of teaching.

"With the Undersiders? Handing them over to a gang is out. Taking them down myself and turning them in to the PRT isn't ideal either. They'll either get killed off in custody or be out within the week because the PRT leaks like a sieve. At best, the PRT is good for a stay of execution, but removing the Undersiders at this point wouldn't end the fighting because Kaiser can't afford to look weak."

"Correct. Hookwolf will likely act with or without Kaiser's permission, and the more violent elements in the gang will flock to his banner. Kaiser isn't a fool; he will not give orders he knows won't be obeyed. Lung won't stand idle for similar reasons. Capturing the Undersiders is likely to discredit your status as a mercenary as you'll have shown that you are actively ignoring contracts in favor of siding with the law."

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"And a merc's only law is his word," I finished for her. Somehow, I doubted my usual excuse of "The GOAT made me do it," wasn't going to cut it this time.

"Overly dramatic, but yes."

"What if I target Coil?"

She blinked in surprise at the apparent nonsequitur. "Hmm? What does Coil have to do with this?"

"He's the one who's bankrolling the Undersiders. I have enough information on them to know none of them wanted to start a gang war. He's a thinker. His power, he's a precog who can run two parallel simulations to observe two different outcomes. He selects an outcome he prefers and his power puppets his body to enact it. Because he retains knowledge of both simulations, it looks from his perspective as if he can split time into two branches. He used this power to gain leverage over the Undersiders."

"The GOAT has been busy…"

"Yes, they have. Coil is the primary destabilizing force in the city, despite the apparent size of his organization."

"That's valuable information, and confirmation that The GOAT's knowledge extends to more than tinkers. Are you sure you were supposed to tell me this?"

"I don't see why not. Call it a sign of trust."

"Those don't mean as much when a thinker is involved," she said wryly, "but I'll take it as it was intended."

"Right. Back to the point, I'm thinking about just breaking Coil's organization. Releasing his power, connections to the Undersiders, that sort of thing."

"Why would that matter? I am now not going to meet with him in person for obvious reasons, but that wasn't something I would have done without significant precautions anyway. Those who were already cautious will simply acknowledge his short-term predictions and remain cautious. Those who were opportunistic would consider allying with him because he seems easier to control than Lung or Kaiser respectively. You would turn him from a nonentity into a potentially valuable asset in the eyes of the gangs.

"The Undersiders can all be made up of poor orphans just trying to steal to keep their ailing siblings fed and it wouldn't change anything for the same reason having them arrested wouldn't end the fighting. This isn't about them anymore. At best, I suspect that Coil will need to act more carefully due to increased PRT oversight. At worst, it's his word against yours and you'll have strengthened an enemy's position with little gain."

"Yeah, dude, and you look shifty as hell," Newter joked. He thought about it for a bit longer and said, "I mean, you're a mysterious tinker representing a mysterious organization headed by a mysterious thinker from out of town. And if you do manage to knock Coil off, then it could be seen as you deflecting, or making a power grab of your own in the middle of the chaos."

I grunted in annoyance.I didn't like it, but the ambiguity I'd purposely cultivated was coming to bite me in the ass. It'd been useful to make the gangs cautious, but I was starting to wonder if it'd served its purpose. "You're right, I do look pretty shifty from the outside. Coil's still on my list for starting this shit though. I might deal with him first just so he doesn't make things worse."

"Oh?" Faultline hummed. "Are you going to start a second gang war against Coil's faction? It'd certainly be one way to avoid the contracts."

"I don't know. I'll have to talk to The GOAT. Coil's… bad news…"

"Anything I should know about? You seem extraordinarily wary of him, more than you are of the two bigger gang leaders."

"No? Yes? Nothing that's a threat to you. He's just a much bigger deal than anyone gives him credit for, and a lot more willing to do things that would be considered a violation of the unwritten rules."

"Enough that The GOAT thinks he is a priority."

"Yes."

"Fine, I'm leaving the city anyway. I don't have the right to tell you how to handle things here while I'm gone," she said with an explosive sigh, washing her hands of it.

"You're still a lot more experienced than I am. What do you think is the best way to stop the fighting?"

"That ship sailed the moment you declared yourself the balance-keeper."

"I never said that."

"But everyone heard it. You appeared to stop the fighting, protect civilians, then proceeded to go out of your way to commit nonsensical crimes to distance yourself from the heroes. Actions speak louder than words, Creed, and though you may have never voiced it, the fact is that you've taken the role of Great Britain in European history."

"Huh?"

"Not a fan of historical geopolitics I take it? It's fine. I'm not going to give you a lecture on European history, but to oversimplify a millennium of conflict, Britain was a fickle ally. As a maritime power, its interests were best served when there was no continental hegemon in Europe. So, it sided with whoever was weaker, lending its navy to best fight against whichever country was most powerful at the time. France? Spain? Prussia? Didn't matter. Britain wanted a divided Europe and, more often than not, they got it."

"And you're saying that's me. And The GOAT."

"That has been the impression I got. I suspect others have come to similar conclusions."

"Fine, no good options. So what's the least shitty option?"

"Stop with this 'technically a villain' nonsense. Choose whether you're a hero or villain because one way or another, you're too invested into the city to not get involved in the fighting. I understand why the ambiguity might have been useful, but it's not anymore. If you decide to become a villain, take over territory. Recruit. Get your backers to send you mooks and powered subordinates. Use that territory as a buffer between the Empire and ABB. Give them a reason to stop fighting.

"Start with the Merchants. Clean house and expand. Be brutal and overwhelming, but ensure that everyone knows that you follow the rules. If you do this, lots of people are going to get hurt. Dozens will likely die from the fighting. But it'll be brief. The city will settle into a new normal in which you become the third gang, one with enough real power to make the others not want to leave themselves open."

"How very realpolitik of you," I said wryly. I remembered the Bakuda incident from Canon, how the Undersiders and Empire worked with each other to get rid of the mad bomber. "Like ripping off a bandaid? You're assuming they won't form a united bloc to deal with me."

"That is a possibility, yes, but only if you go too far. That line is somewhere between the Teeth and the Slaughterhouse. For the various factions in the city to unite against you, you would have to cause widespread chaos and civilian casualties the likes of which would warrant an A-class response from the heroes. Are you going to be as bad as the Slaughterhouse?"

"Of course not, but I still don't think this is the right answer," I said, not least of which because I simply lacked the manpower Faultline thought I had. If I just fucked of to do nothing but create, if I really embraced my biotinker side, I could probably finish the zoan fruits, use alchemy and the biological knowledge of Amestris to make it a fully functioning zoan, not just a SMILE.

I could then give it to the disenfranchised, the hungry and desperate. There were plenty of those if I so wished.

A part of me wondered if I should hire the Dockworkers and homeless people, start giving them armor and have them act as a neighborhood watch, make them zoans so they can fight capes on even ground. But that was obviously fraught with problems, both in the security sense and reputational sense.

No, if I ever empowered someone else, it'd be in small amounts. I didn't know what might get Cauldron to intervene in the Bay, but an independent power broker would be likely to force their hand. I wanted their attention even less than Coil did.

I wouldn't mind a lieutenant, but it'd have to be someone I could trust. Or someone I could control…

My thoughts immediately swerved back to the Undersiders. I could control them, flip their loyalties. It wasn't an attractive option, but it was an option. Lisa would be a bitch and a half to manage, but it was doable, especially if I promised her Coil's head.

Brian was easy, altering records to legitimize his income stream while dolling up caseworkers' reports to make him seem like a more attractive caregiver wasn't beyond SAINT's abilities. I feared SAINT encountering another tinker, not conventional security. Considering the gold I'll soon be able to make at will, funding the Laborn family wouldn't even be expensive resource-wise.

Alec… He was a hedonist through and through. Keeping him happy was as simple as hiding him from his dad and giving him video games. For the low, low price of a few grand per month, I could adopt my own basement-goblin!

And Rachel… She was simultaneously the easiest to understand and hardest to care for. Dogs were expensive, but the resources weren't what worried me. So long as the dogfighting rings were operational, she'd feel compelled to attack Hookwolf. Which brought me straight back to square one: Conflict.

Not for the first time, I wished I could just put them all in timeout, slice up the city into different territories and wall them off.

In the end, it came down to the simple fact that I didn't like them. They were fraught with problems and though I could control them with a dozen different leverages, both social and physical, I just didn't want to bother. They weren't worth the hassle of micromanaging them.

Faultline saw the distaste on my face. She sighed and continued her analysis. "If you don't like the thought of becoming a warlord, be a hero. Take down Hookwolf, Cricket, and Stormtiger when they continue to rampage around the ABB territory. You won't be holding territory so it'll be less resource-intensive, but it'll also put you in the line of fire more often.

"You're going to have to take on capes from both gangs, arrest them without resorting to lethal force, protect civilians, and ensure that they will not simply walk out of prison to try again. I don't need to tell you that holding back is far more difficult than fighting all-out. If you go down this path, any resources or connections you may have been cultivating with the gangs will likely go up in smoke.

"But there are advantages to becoming a more established hero. It will make negotiating with the PRT easier. You may even get more customers for your catalog if people are confident they won't be funding a villain. You'll likely have an easier time working with Panacea in the future, should you ever desire to again."

I nodded slowly. Faultline had a gift for breaking things down. Hearing it all laid out like this made it seem more manageable. The simple truth was that there was no clean answer to my problems, but I did feel like I knew what I had to do now.

I wanted peace in Brockton Bay. The easiest way to do that was to be so powerful that no one wanted to mess with me. More importantly, I needed to get to that state without being labeled an S-class villain, as would definitely happen if I started making chimeras in Piggot's turf. I wanted safety and comfort for my family.I wanted Amy's help, and to help her in turn. I wanted lots of money and prestige so I could tinker as I pleased without a dozen paranoid idiots screaming how I'd start the apocalypse.

In the end, none of these things were possible as I was now.

"Well, I have no plans to become a warlord, so I guess I'm a hero now. Please remind me to send you a consultant's fee of some sort," I told her with a wan smile. Whether it was expected of me or not, it was a tangible sign of my appreciation, a message of my own if I wanted to use Faultline's parlance.

"Good. Always a pleasure doing business with you," she said with a satisfied smirk. "And speaking of business, I heard a great deal of praise about your new healing abilities. How much?"

"If you mean to purchase the gloves, they're not for sale. It's not that I don't want to give them to you, I actually think either Newter or Labyrinth would make fine medics given their terrain control and maneuverability. It's just a lot more complicated than anything I've shown. Training isn't really on the table either."

And wasn't that a pity. I genuinely wouldn't have minded giving a set of gloves to Faultline. In fact, I technically only needed one glove, just like Scar and Mustang only needed one hand to use their own techniques. It cost nothing on my end to embroider both gloves and my OCD kicked in, that was all.

Unfortunately, even if I gave Newter a glove right now, it wouldn't change anything. He lacked access to aura, which was what I'd been using to bridge the gap between the alchemy circle and the geothermal energy it drew upon. I didn't think this was how alchemists in Amestris did it, but aura was me, what I used to facilitate much of what I did. Not to mention, while the gloves let me fix almost anything biological, they didn't tell me what was wrong in the first place. I wasn't sure I was ready to part with a regalia.

"That's too bad. How much per healing then?" Faultline asked, pivoting seamlessly to something she could reasonably ask for. I liked that about her. When she couldn't get something she wanted, she didn't throw a tantrum; she found the next best thing. "How does ten grand per session sound?"

Unfortunately, I'd have to deny her again. "I don't think that's going to help. Let me explain…" I tapped the Pledge Regalia. "This thing? This wasn't originally made to scan through rubble. I didn't just have something so perfectly suited to search and rescue lying around. It was made to scan people, and usually at close range."

"What does that have to do with healing?" Newter asked. "Weren't you doing fine without it?"

"I was, but that was with a professional EMT shouting out prognoses before I saw the patient. And even then, there were some patients that I just couldn't save. The gloves let me manipulate organic matter, but everything else is on me. Scanning. Diagnosis. Manipulation. Proper structure and chemical balance to prevent complications. The whole thing. It's why I can't just give them to you; you'd be more likely to turn Faultline's heart inside out than actually help."

"Oh… And Gregor and I…"

"Yeah… Not really ideal. I mean, I'm not going to drug myself touching you or anything, but by the same token, I don't have a clear understanding of your biology."

"But you could," Faultline cut in. "That's a problem for every doctor, parahuman or not. If Newter and Gregor were willing to submit to medical examinations to establish a baseline, would your answer change then?"

I thought about it. Of course I'd say yes; that wasn't the question. The question was what I'd ask in return. Not money…

I looked at Newter. He fidgeted nervously; getting a doctor must have been tricky being a Case-53. I didn't want to rip him off, but Faultline wouldn't accept charity; she just wasn't that kind of person.

Then I realized something: Wasn't the exam itself payment? I could do so much with a sedative as powerful as Newter's. In another time, Skitter would dip one of her bugs in his sweat, only to jab said bug into Lung's eye. That miniscule amount, traveling directly from his eye to his brain, would be enough for Lung to take a second L to Skitter.

She then carved out his eyes like the psycho she was, but that was another matter.

Point being, Newter's sedative was powerful. And I didn't doubt that Gregor had similar marvels hiding in that body of his. If I could get permission to experiment freely on samples, then maybe zoans weren't off the table after all. Not mass-produced, I wasn't crazy, but maybe something in reserve?

"I want the right to experiment on and attempt to replicate Newter's physiology. Gregor's too," I said. "In exchange, I'll forgo all payment."

"Woah, woah, what does that mean?" he exclaimed.

"It means your sedative is extremely potent and I want to learn to make my own."

Faultline frowned. "I understand the appeal, but do you know what you're asking?"

"Yeah, I know I'm asking for a lot. Considering Case-53s probably came from some biotinker, I can see why you'd be leery about it, but it's not like I won't have access to this information if I do the checkups anyway. I really just want your permission."

"I'll leave that to Newter."

The boy looked conflicted. On one hand, free healthcare. Great healthcare. On the other hand, he probably felt all sorts of insecure about what a biotinker might do with the data. Finally, he nodded. "You can't make a clone of me."

"I won't; one Newter's enough for this world," I said jokingly. Even a zoan wouldn't be a clone, more of a powered template people could switch in and out of at will.

"Then fine. I'm trusting you. I better not see any mini-mes around."

"You got a deal."

Things settled into more comfortable conversation topics after that. We ended up just shooting the breeze for another half hour because none of us could do much sleeping, what with Faultline and Newter working a nightclub and this being their usual operational hours and me being the unfortunate victim of jetlag. Teleportation lag? Tele-lag?

That.

I learned a fair bit about the woman, like how she preferred whiskey to wine but liked a very particular brand of brandy, because she was classy like that. She and Newter had some interesting stories about their jobs. A lot of the identifying information had been obscured for confidentiality's sake, but I was fairly sure I could pinpoint some of her clients if I wanted, not that there was any worthwhile payoff for me to make the attempt.

When they finally left, I put up a quick post on PHO announcing my newly confirmed healing abilities and a raffle for the residents of Brockton Bay. Two of those prizes were spoken for already, Sabah and Dennis, but this would be a good way to disguise my relationship with them.

Now that the excitement of the day was over and done with, I found myself gravitating towards the whole reason I came here: Healing. Or more specifically, healing Sabah's dad. Maybe because it was something I could do in the moment, maybe I really didn't want to know what I'd dream about tonight, but I felt it needed to be done, to come full circle today. As awful as today was, it was without a doubt a big step forward.

Author's Note

Long chat with Faultline. She's an interesting foil for Bryce I feel, not because she's evil or morally at odds with him, but because she's so much more experienced and unlike him, knows what she wants and isn't afraid to chase her objectives. Bryce sees himself in her in many ways. When he started out, she was the kind of cape he wanted to be; respected and beholden to no one. Now that he's actually powerful in his own right, he's finding that her style of intentional isolation isn't good enough for him.

Amy's changing him just as much as she's being changed by him, and it's most apparent when he compares himself to who he once wanted to be. We'll get to more of the Behemoth aftermath, but I see this chapter as an important "return to start" moment for Bryce, that moment when the high-level hero comes back to the starting village and looks back on what he was.

Remember, I decided that instead of keeping track of aura, haki, and alchemy, it'd just be simpler if Bryce used aura for everything. It'd be kinda weird if his power wasn't compatible with itself is what I'm saying.

Animal fact? Umm… Autocannibalism is a thing and most famous in snakes. The Greek image of the Ouroboros, the serpent biting its tail, is the best-known example. It's supposed to symbolize eternity and the cyclic nature of things, but the truth is that snakes eat themselves when stressed.

This seems to be more common among snakes that eat other snakes, which suggests that another cause for autocannibalism is a snake simply mistaking their own tail for prey. They can get quite far too, to the point that their own digestive fluids can begin to dissolve their tails.

It's also a thing in humans, but that's a whole different can of worms (snakes).

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.