I reached into my Masspack, pulled out a baseball hat and a widget connected to it, and set it on the rooftop next to me.
Electro blinked. “What’s that?” he could not resist asking.
“It’s a portable brain scanner. Scans for imbalances and irregularities in neural structure. Also very good for outing disguised aliens and monsters pretending to be human.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “And you want me to use it.”
“If the hat fits...”
He made another face. “And that’s all it does?” he demanded, suspicious regardless.
“It doesn’t even have a power source. If you think it’s doing something to you, don’t put juice into it.”
“Oh,” he blinked, then remembered who he was talking to. He got to his feet slowly, and hesitating just for a moment, walked over to where I was floating an inch above the concrete, grabbed the hat and the widget connected to it, and retreated back to his chimney.
He had to take off his green head covering to put it on, but he did so, revealing brown hair and eyes, with a bit of a manic air about him. He slowly fit it on, finding the electrodes on the widget, and pumped some juice into it.
The small screens and graphs on the device lit up, along a small hologram generator. He stared at it in fascination, feeling the waves it was sweeping through his head with little arcs, and watched as it mapped out the current flow in his head.
The sixty-forty imbalance at the moment was kind of jarring in its brightness, with some major light coming from his backbrain.
“What’s it mean?” he asked, staring at everything. “Sixty left, forty right?”
“You’re currently in an emotionally dominant state, so you’re overreacting to stuff easily. That big flow is the juice coming up your spine and flowing through your adrenal glands. You get a high when the juice is flowing, and probably have a real hard time not getting an erection when you’re pumping electrons, too.”
He looked hugely embarrassed despite himself. “Uh, was that a problem with you?” he blurted out, then had the grace to look horrified that he had even asked.
“Used to be.” He blinked at me admitting it. “It’s akin to a drug addiction. I tasped myself for twelve goddamn hours straight to build up my resistance, until I didn’t react to it anymore. Try doing that as a guy, and you might end up with a permanent hard-on and losing your legs for lack of circulation, so I don’t recommend it.”
His mouth opened and shut. “Right.” His eyes were almost feverish as he stared at the display in his sparking fingers. “So, what do I do about it?”
“You’re the electrokinetic. Move the juice around, like you did back at the bank.”
He looked at me, back at the display. “That’s it?”
“I told you this shit was all on you.”
He grimaced again, staring at the display, and his eyes narrowed in concentration.
There was a few seconds of lag, but you could see the areas dimming down and brightening as he shifted where his internal juice was flowing, more carefully this time than before. The wasted voltage on his fingers dimmed down as his concentration sharpened.
“Keep it balanced,” I warned him as he hit parity. “Otherwise, you’ll just go right into that hyperfocused obsessive state.”
“Right, right. Wow, I can feel the difference in the ability to concentrate... and, you don’t sound as annoying as you did.”
“Hyperterritoriality, ego, overemotional reactions, and so forth are symptoms of left imbalance. You also probably feel inspired, seeing things in the world others don’t, think you are enlightened when you’re just acting like an idiot, like the whole world is just there for you to do things in, and it’s your right to do so.
“So, you want something, you go take it. You want revenge, you go take it. You want your way, you dominate by any means you have. Your impulses have the force of long-term habits and plans, instead of the idle whims of any normal person.
“Scary villain laughs and ranting about how the world owes you something seem cool and appropriate to every occasion, too.”
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His smile was pretty forced. “Can I... keep this?” he asked hesitantly.
“Custom-built brain monitoring and visualization hardware any hospital would kill to possess, fine-tuned enough to detect shapechanging aliens, and he just wants to walk off with it.” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” I pointed at the cable he’d stuck in his belt. “You will see what you can do with that cable and get it back to me. If I can arrange buyers, I can come back to you with a contract, likely for however goddamn much you want to knuckle down and make, and certainly enough to pay down any gambling debts.
“Now, who’s collecting on you?”
“Uh, there’s several places...” At my stare, he ducked his head. “I think they are gonna pull in The Mountain to lean on me.”
“Huh. Mr. Hill will break all your legbones and shut you up in a room to make this stuff to clear your debt. If he’s nice, he might even let you out after he makes a substantial profit on the arrangement.”
“Shit!” He totally believed me, which was good, because I wasn’t lying.
“On the other hand, if you want to propose a business deal with him, that would probably work out a lot better. You need someone to keep you in line, and he can definitely pull it off.
“And he always adheres to a contract,” I assured him.
“Wait, I could hire The Mountain?” He sounded startled. “He’s... not cheap!”
“You don’t have the money or the moxy to hire him. I said a business deal. You’re gonna need a partner any way you look at it, because you can’t rely on your own brain. Your powers make you a loose screw. Mr. Hill can and definitely will force you to use that thing to keep your brain stable, and if he has to fucking chain you to a bench to get some work done, he’ll do that, too.
“The only downside is that you’ll come out of it filthy rich. Horrible consequences, I know.”
He was definitely nervous, but the talk about money, and turning the enforcer who would be breaking his legs into his partner was making him contemplate doing things he normally never would. “Uh, how do I contact him?” he asked.
“Can you fine-tune that cable?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he nodded without hesitation.
“How long is it going to take you?”
He thought about that. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It could be less than an hour, it could be all day. I’ve never done anything like it before,” he excused himself ahead of time.
I gave him a hard look. “You probably don’t want to wait until after he’s been told to collect from you.”
“I’ll have it done by tomorrow night! Promise!” he blurted out.
“That should work out well. He’s working in the Resort tomorrow night. I’ll let him know you’re coming, and you can have a good honest talk with him. You meeting him there shows you have confidence.
“If you can’t make it, you better have a DAMN good excuse. So, get out of your colors and put on civvies.”
“Got it, got it,” he nodded quickly. “Uh, thanks for the help!” he nodded belatedly.
“Be prepared to cut me in as a partner. The Mountain is a STICKLER for money. If I send you to him, he’s not going to cut me out. Likewise, if you decide to gaff him after making a contract, you won’t have a grave. He’ll mulch you up with his bare hands and fertilize some trees with you somewhere.”
“Right, right.” He was sweating now. “Do you know what he’ll charge for his help?”
“He’s tough and fair, not greedy. The faster you pay, the cheaper he’ll be, and the more respect he’ll have for you. You jerk him around, he’ll soak you for every last penny. You cheat him, he’ll wash his hands after you disappear, and that will be that.
“Pay what you need to in order to get out from under this, and then get rich. You can probably be a millionaire in a month after you’re clear, and retire and never work a damn day in your life again in a year, if you’re so minded.
“Or you can ramp it up to the next level. All up to you.”
=========
The Resort, the next night...
“Siddown. I gots a charity tournament to stand in half an hour.” Mr. Hill, in a very intimidating suit, gestured over his shoulder at me. He’d lost his main suit when the house was blasted, so he’d bought several others now that he had a decent income.
This one was all gunmetal gray and dead serious. Max Dillon, wearing his plain black baseball hat with the widget hanging inside his leather jacket, sat down quickly.
They’d given Dillon some grief at the door for wearing it, but one display of electricity and his identity was confirmed, and they’d waved him on in. The Mountain was waiting in a private room for him.
Dillon glanced at me as Dealer standing behind Mr. Hill attentively, and turned his attention back to the big man.
“Dynamo called me,” he stated bluntly. “Says you got a ‘business arrangement’ for me.” His heavy skepticism was totally audible. “You’re into the casinos for six hundred large, sparky. I don’t even know where you got the balls to propose something to me, so this better be good. They are this close to sending me out to collect from you, if only to plug you into the generator to pay their light bills.”
He swallowed under the weight of those stony gray eyes. “I did it! I purified the cable she gave me!”
“What cable?” Mr. Hill asked stonily, and Max’s face fell a little. He pulled out the meter-length of coupling and handed it over.
Hill handed it over and back to me, and I flicked up a card, light glowing from it and playing over the cable. “Volturium, sir. Exceedingly pure, to at least ten-millionths of one percent.”
“What’s it do, and why’s he showing it to me?” he asked grimly.
“Electrical superconductor, sir. Carries electrical current with no resistance, and thus generates no heat. You can save on cooling equipment while sending more current or information through it. Volturium already does that to an extent, but he’s taken this to another level.
“May I test it?” I asked Dillon directly.
“Uh, sure!...” he agreed, a little wide-eyed that I knew all that and would be capable of doing so. Ah, Nom de Guerre, a boon to alternate identities thou art...
I flicked up a 4D and a 4C, the cable unwinding between my fingers, floating in midair. I released the cards at either end and they began to spin, while the 2H I flicked up glowed in the middle.
The snap of the voltage starting between the cards made him start, but the display was rapidly re-aligned into the cables, even as it began to build, build, and build some more.
Even Mr. Hill half-turned when the arclight got bright enough, and the noise sounded like a chainsaw running in his ear. I was putting a lot of amperage into this thing.