Greg peered down at the table before him, inspecting the two metallic arms that lay on its wooden surface.

The two left arms, unfortunately.

On a whim, Greg had donned his newest creation, waiting with baited breath as he had attempted to psych himself up for his given experiment. With a twist in his gut, he had reverted to plain, pasty white, boring old human Greg. Thankfully the metal and gemplast gauntlet hadn't crushed his arm like a squeezed tube of toothpaste, but unfortunately it hadn't undergone the same disappearing act that his alien spotted appearance modifier was long prone to do.

The glove had slipped off, lying on the floor in front of him.

At this failure, Greg had been slightly annoyed. It would have been so much easier had gem tech transferred the same as normal material. As it was, he didn't want to have to lug around his more hefty accessories in a backpack. While they were and would be MUCH lighter than they should have been, the issue at hand was their size.

Outward, of course. He quickly learned that there was a limit to how much you could fold space around a given object, even with internal power providing a smidgen of a boost of help.

Still, until he could produce a much larger supply of bioplasm he would be constrained by its inherent lack.

So he couldn't transfer his tech across forms, the very act of changing slid everything away from him -holding the glove in his hand had produced the slightly odd effect of the glove laying on top of his hand upon the conclusion of his transformation- and rendered his previous attempts null.

Greg had let out a sharp huff, took out her scanner and attempted to see if she could apply some sort of dampening field to the glove so that she could store it in a more compact form. Perhaps something like pokeballs or dragonball capsules, that sort of stuff would always be classic.

Greg stared at the object in his hand, before realizing that he had grabbed something out of his gem.

The object itself was largely unimpressive, a small rod little longer than the palm of his hand with two circular globes of crystal on both ends. Three diamond shaped crystals rose from the top end, framing a yellow transparent screen that had popped up when the smaller crystals had detached from the enlarged ocean tinged marble.

Scanner. A device that peridots used when ones limb enhancers were malfunctioning or otherwise unresponsive. Greg didn't know how he knew this, or why his power was laughing at him. He could feel the giggling, he swore. He supposed that was better than the other line of thought his power had thrown at him, stating that he should ask home world for a replacement set.

Gregs power was decidedly odd, he inwardly declared.

So he had a 'scanner'. A device that he had not made, which his power 'subtly' told him was given as a tool of last resort. Like using a spoon as a screwdriver or the decaying half life of a neural dictathemeters engine fuel for reading light.

He closed his eyes, trying to see if he perhaps had anything else stashed away in his gem.

He couldn't feel anything 'inside' it, but hadn't really for the scanner either. He had just needed something and had... Taken it.

Greg decided he needed a burger, medium rare, grilled onions, no tomatoe, honey mustard and roasted parsnip.

Greg didn't get one. Now he was hungry as well as slightly frustrated. Stupid gem.

Another arm? If his gem could just make the darned things he wouldn't have to tinker on them in the first place. He felt a note of derision, as well as the feeling of someone banging their head against a desk. Disappointment. Greg was disappointed at his own foolishness? It's not foolishness if it works.

Greg picked up the arm, turning it over in his hands. The answer was right in front of him, he just knew it. If only he could just reach out and grasp it...

The arm was raised in his hands while Greg numbly watched on, unsure of his own actions.

A flash of light as the tip of one finger touched the barest edge of his gem, and Greg was left staring at his empty hands. It was gone. He thrashed about in his seat, looking to and from for the elusive object. He couldn't have dropped it, could he?

He stopped, noting that as he stared off at the far wall the inside of his head felt... like it was buzzing. A schematic of his creation flashed in front of his eyes, 'slotting into place' for lack of better words. He realized that the internal placement was like thinking about a computer, the files were catalogued in a given folder.

'How' he was equating computer files to imaginary structures inside of his head he wasn't exactly sure of the overall usability, but he knew that it felt right. There was the design he had just submitted, there was the scanner that was supplied to everyone in her cut, there was the skinsuit she was made in, there was the dress she had made to impress La-

Greg arched in his chair, clutching his head as pain raced onwards under his fingers. It was minutes later that he was able to coordinate intelligent thought, primarily being 'what the hell was that?'

The answer wasn't forthcoming, the information slipping ephemerally from his grasp as soon as he had stopped thinking about it. Scanner, arm... Dress. He hadn't made the dress, hadn't made the scanner, yet there they were. Greg wasn't able to get a good view of the item, it was just 'there'. Context information of what the item was, no further details he could grasp onto.

Finding the damn thing had hurt him in the first place, so he pushed it from his mind.

What was important, was the arm.

He dragged it back out of his gem, looking on as it materialized back in his hands. It looked just as it had when he had finished making it, spikes and all. Unimpressive, thrown together, really a rush job. He'd have to spruce it up later.

Putting it down he... dragged it out of his gem again.

He was left with two left arms, both glinting in the desk lamps light.

"Holy shit," Greg ground out, hefting the limb he still held above his head, "I can dupe! Duped items! Hell yeah!" He crowed, reaching for a screwdriver. If he could dismantle the duped items, he could just repurpose the second arm and turn it into a right arm. It would be easier than just building the darn thing from the ground up, that was for sure.

The plate obscuring the power supply snapped off at his probing tool, clattering to the floor before the entire construct poofed into nothingness. Greg stared down at where the arm had been, feeling a growing sense of disappointment. Three tries later, and Greg had to admit defeat.

The original arm couldn't be taken back out, or at the very least Greg couldn't figure out how. Any construct produced from the originals 'blueprint' had the same durability of the original -as far as Greg could tell- but would disperse when he tried to take them apart. He could will the arm to stay when he pried off panels, but whatever panels or parts he separated from the whole immediately fell apart into nothingness.

It was annoying, to be sure. There went the whole 'duping' idea.

But in that failure there was a certain level of promise to be had. He couldn't take the dupes apart. To combat that, he could make an unlimited amount of dupes regardless of how many got destroyed.

He could be a one man army! As soon as a villain disables one limb enhancer, poof! It's replaced by a brand new one! Greg let his mind fantasize on the subject, a realization coming to the forefront of his mind. This definitely solved the 'backpack' dilemma. He didn't think the internal storage had a limit -at least, not one he could quantify- so he could potentially carry around giant ass mech suits and no one would be the wiser! He could go from being an unintimidating little green waif, to gigantic mecha in seconds!

He just had to build it, first.

All the bioplasm he had used on the original arm was essentially gone, eaten by the capricious gems unassailable hunger. All the metal and other materials were gone as well, meaning he would have to be careful. He couldn't just willy nilly throw things in, he'd have to be sure he was willing to let them become blueprints before he'd feed them to his gem.

After a few minutes more of experimentation, Greg found himself able to conjure the glove around his arm. He had to raise his hand to the gem to start off, but afterwards he could flail it around without abandon and it would still reliably settle around the mobile appendage. This was good, that meant he didn't have to stand still in order to get his weapons in the middle of a fight. That would have sucked.

"Hey Lung, can you wait just a second," Greg joked out loud, pantomiming towards his dresser. "I just need to get dressed. Just a tic, a moment more, okay. I'm ready."

He giggled like a madman, unable to keep the pervasive vibrations silent and trapped within.

Not that he'd be be trying to pit his tech against Lung anytime soon. Good god, no. His current limb enhancer would maybe be able to knock him unconscious, if he hadn't been able to ramp up at all yet. His regeneration abilities would allow him to shrug off the concussive forces, eventually becoming immune.

He would be avoiding Lung like the goddamn plague.

What villains could he take on with his current gear? Not many, that's for sure. Any of the ones with normal human level of durability, such as the Merchants leader Skidmark and his love glove. It was a crass way to refer to the Tinker, but Peridot couldn't in good consciousness compliment the woman for her... 'specialty'. The vehicles she made looked atrocious, Peridot would rather burn off her own arm than have one of those monstrosities attributed to her.

She made things of quality, functionality. While they may be rough, they never looked like pieces of trash. She had standards.

Mush was a definite no go. He could boost his strength by absorbing trash, which considering the state of the city was a lot of potential power ups. Also, brute. With his current gear, a definite no go.

Lung was obviously a danger, as well as Oni Lee. No one knew the specifics of his power, but Greg had his suspicions. He was obviously some sort of case 53, inhabiting a body of malleable ash. He wasn't really teleporting, he was just reforming the ash from his main body to attack at will. It didn't really explain the grenades, but Greg was sure he'd think of a proper explanation eventually.

Empire Eighty Eight was a cavernous crockpot of capes, ranging from Kaiser himself to 'lowly' thugs like Rune.

She might be able to take Rune, if she just shot her right off the bat before she could get up her momentum it might work out. Boom, headshot.

Greg realized he didn't really know how to fight. Video games had taught him many things, but how to actually fight in the real world was not one of them. Funny, as many people as he had shot in the plethora of COD games he had owned over the years, he hadn't the foggiest how to load or maintain an actual gun.

"Press X," he stated with a sour laugh. That would be something he'd have to work on.

The limb enhancer should work against any normal, non powered thug. He still had to aim the blasts, but that should just be as simple as pointing a palm towards them. Robert Downey Jr. could pull it off, so why couldn't she?

Until Greg finished the limb enhancers for his legs he didn't want to try getting into a fist fight. Close range combat should be viable, but the fact that he could release a punch with magnitudes greater force than his perceived action could make holding his footing a treacherous situation.

The one time he tried punching the basement wall -his mom was certainly NOT home when he tried this, she would have grounded him until he was in diapers again from old age.- he had found himself hurled bodily across the room from the force of his punch. He literally was exerting a force greater than his legs could support, despite the fact that limb enhancers mass was mostly self contained within its own internal mesh.

Until he had time to upgrade it, he'd have to be careful.

The home warppad was finished, lying flat against their basement floor. He had three warppad 'plates' ready for use, but they'd only be able to be used once before they shattered. He had tested this already, warping back from school and leaving the shattered remains of the plate behind under a bush.

The fact that he had wasted his supplies just to get back home quicker did not eluded him, and in fact was slightly galling.

The plates wouldn't properly scan into his gem,leaving him feeling bloated from them... 'swimming' around up there. He couldn't make copies of them either for some odd reason, leaving him with three.

He wouldn't have to worry once his stealth robonoids finally finished making the second warppad downtown.

His plan was to seed the city with his warppads in obscure, out of the way locales. Fortunately, these locations were readily supplied in the form of buildings rooftops. Rarely anyone ever went up on the roofs, and if they did they wouldn't see the pads anyway due to the stealth tech he was implementing. Same as his robonoids, the pads would only be visible to other gems.

And since Greg was the only one, this was a non problem.

He could potentially 'make' others, his power told him. All she needed to do was rig up an excavator, drop it in some far off location that no one ever really went like a canyon or valley out in the wilderness, and then she could start up a kindergarten. Then she could have as many amethysts as she could ever want!

Greg was sure his power was stretching the details a bit. There was no way he could actually create living, breathing beings. Not with machines.

He knew how sex worked.

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(Ramping Up Part 2 Interlude Danny)

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Danny Hebert was a hard working man. He scraped and scrimped to provide for his daughter, lurching from one day to the next since the death of his wife. He had felt the distance between him and his daughter growing, stretching, becoming thinner and thinner to the point where he could almost sense the inevitable snap.

Then his daughter brought home a lion.

He couldn't believe she had actually tried to hide something like this from him, it was a lion for crying out loud! It wasn't like she could stand in front of it and pretend it wasn't there.

His daughter had powers. Wonderful, amazing, terrifying powers that had come about from the horrible incident at the school. Those damned fools, that corrupt principal and the leading gadflies that flew and sputtered in and out of that horrid school. It was a crime, a travesty, a joke what they had done to his lovely daughter, compounded only further by how they had tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

His baby sent to the hospital, and that excuse of a woman, a 'human' that people had actually left in charge of their kids, had the gall to try to talk down to Danny as if he was confused. Like he didn't know what he was talking about. Like what happened to Taylor wasn't that big of a deal.

It was enough of a deal to end up giving her powers.

At least he didn't have to feed the darned thing, if it's size was anything to go by it would have ended up costing far more than a couple bags of dog food a month. He wasn't even sure the projection did eat, but Taylor assured him that Lion hunted outside of the city when he felt like it.

He didn't feel like chastising her choice of naming, but did feel sorry for the critter. Any poor pup he might have ended up bringing home might have ended up being called 'dog' its entire life.

The lion wasn't the end of it, not even close. Taylor, his sweet little baby girl, was a grab bag. Changer form with that gem covering her belly button as a handy DIY disguise, limited flight, brute strength, that pink shield that she could pull out? It was all rather much, and left Danny feeling like he had spent a full day riding the teacups. Whipped around from topic to topic, never given a moment to breathe.

His baby was going to be a hero.

He couldn't say no.. but the fear gnawed at his belly, the looming chance that if she went out one night to fight the dirtbags of this city...

He couldn't lose her. Annette had left her in his care, he'd never neglect her again.

Taylor had seen the worry that ate at him, and promised she wouldn't go out looking for trouble until she had built up a bit of a safety net.

Then she started bringing girls home.

They were like Lion, projections. Humanoid, but subtly... Off. Their skin colors were a wide spectrum, ranging from orange to purple to red. It was truly an odd sight to be had, and she just kept making more. At least he didn't have to feed them...

"This one tastes good!" The newest one crowed, holding up the uneaten half of an old cigarette. His lovely wife had been many things, and unfortunately she had been a bit of a smoker before her untimely demise. Had it really been that long since he cleaned around the house? How far had he let it all go?

"Carrie, you can't eat that, that's a cigarette," Danny admonished her, gently taking it from the purple girls outstretched fingers. "It's trash, and even if it was new it would still be a filthy habit."

"Awwww," Carrie whined, eyeing the butt as Danny flicked it into the trash. "But it tasted good..."

"I still can't believe you all put... Stuff into your mouths," the short red skinned girl ground out. Danny had quickly learned that this one had a bit of a temper on her, reacting to the world around her with unbridled emotion. "You don't know where it's been! And then you mash it with your teeth, and you swallow and... Eeeeuuurrrgh," the poor girl looked slightly green, the pallor intermeshing with her natural skin colour.

"Just cause you're a stick in the mud doesn't mean I am," Carrie retorted, blowing a raspberry down at Mallory.

Mallory gave her a death glare before walking off, back to the basement to fry the poor fire retardant beanbag with waves of heat. It was better than unleashing her ire on his poor petunias.

"I'm rather partial to those crunchy things," Blossom called out from the other room. The orange skinned girl was second that Taylor had brought home, and showed a stunning sense of lethargy that could combat a cat. "You know, the ones that hide under the fridge?"

"You're not supposed to eat roaches!" Danny called back in a defeated tone.

"Roaches! Right! Those ones!" Blossom declared in an unperturbed tone.

"Are they trash too?" Carrie asked, fixing Danny with a wide eyed stare.

Danny sighed. He knew no matter what he said, the projected girl would still have trouble understanding just what he was trying to get across. They all subtly reminded him so much of Taylor, like little slices of her personality all sheared off and stuck in pallete swapped skin suits. It helped that none of them looked like his daughter, it was already weird enough.

Bubbles, the first. A Jaspar as Taylor had called her, denoted by the gemstone sticking out of her shoulder. Bubbles was soft spoken, demure, and rarely brought attention to herself. She looked like she was trying to avoid all attention in its entirety however, shrinking in on herself whenever Danny tried to talk to her. A real wallflower.

Blossom, the second. Again, she was a Jaspar like her first sister.

Buttercup, the third to arrive and first true deviation from the formulae. She had green skin, off blonde hair and a long, lithe figure. She was taller than Taylor and even Danny himself, standing at a towering 6"2. She was curious, insatiably so. She had already taken apart and put back together every piece of electronics in the house, and Danny was sure that if he hadn't forbade it she would have tried to pull apart the drywall to get at the wiring behind it.

Having run out of PowerPuff Girl names, Danny had been forced to actually get creative with his naming -for some reason Taylor felt perfectly comfortable calling them by the same name as their gemstones, and boy was that odd enough- for the subsequent additions to his household.

Amy, the fourth and second new colour change, was named after the amethyst that sprouted from the back of her left hand. She seemed playful, yet ornery at times. She was restless, tired of waiting around. Danny could tell she just wanted to go out and fight.

Mallory, the fifth. As cantankerous as her previous sister, Danny could almost swear she was embarrassed to be in the same room as him. Her cheeks if possible would grow even redder if he payed her any attention, before she would scramble out of the room for one reason or the other.

The sixth was another bestowed with an amethyst, this time sticking out the palm of her left hand. Danny wasn't sure why Taylor's power made them with different placement, but that was powers. You could have lasers that shot out of some guys eyes and curved around a corner. Absolute bullshit.

Danny couldn't very well call her Amy like her sister -and with Taylor quite content to just call her 'Amethyst'- he had finally settled on Autumn. She seemed to like it well enough, swaying with a music that no one else could hear.

Brunhilde was a forceful, enthusiastic little girl with a penchant towards action. She had demanded a 'kickass warriors name', to the extent that Taylor had finally caved and looked for one on the Internet. The name had stuck as soon as it left her mouth, leaving the young looking girl bouncing around on the furniture, lunging with imaginary weaponry at invisible foes. Another with a Jaspar on them, Danny found it odd that she was so much smaller than those before her.

Pansy was the first true departure for Danny. Number eight in appearance, the fully grown woman had a pearl lodged in her neck. She was calm, quiet, polite, and even helped around the house. Last night she had even managed to cook a surprisingly tasty dinner. Where she had gotten the supplies to make it, Danny didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask.

Whenever he wasn't looking he was sure he could see the barest hints of a sneer out of the corner of his eye. A trace of derision that curled upon her lips, directed at him with such ferocity that he found himself flinching even when he was certain that she wasn't in the room. The woman doted on his little girl hand and foot, but she held nothing but contempt for Danny himself.

As long as she didn't hurt Taylor, he didn't care.

Carrie, the newest. As Taylor called her, an amethyst. Despite her appearance -like most of her sisters, closer to Taylor's age- she had the soul of a child, endlessly curious as she sought out new delights.

Like what new flavor she could cram into her mouth, like the chunk of-

"No! Carrie, you can't eat the towels they're for drying things!"

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(Ramping Up Part 3)

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The week passed slowly, the media storm swirling like a turgid toilet cleanse. For some reason Greg couldn't fathom, Taylor was missing from classes all week. Probably trying to avoid all the reporters trying to get that one word of gossip, that one slice of fame they could wring from the proverbial rag.

Slightly less surprising was the fact that the terror trio had been pulled from school. There was no definite proof, just vain gossip floating to and fro from the mouths of babes. Not a investigative bone among the lot of them. Just spewed what they heard with wild abandon, not even bothering to burrow deeper for the truth.

Like the fact that Shadow Stalker had been transferred out of Brockton Bay, supposedly due to a dispute with the Youth Guard. Some typical garbage about there needing to be diversity in the lifestyle of participants to the struggle of cape life, and that said diversity would be well mitigated by a change of scenery.

A paragragraph or two of flowery, meaningless words.

Shadow Stalker was probably Madison Clements. She had the right physique, and she just so happens to be taken out of school right at the same time that SS is transferred? Bullshit. There was a connection there, Greg knew it. Shunt off your cape to another city so that someone else has to deal with the screwup, and in a new town where no ones the wiser. Classic PRT.

He supposed it could have also been Hess, but... God was she a bitch, no way anyone would have actually made her a hero in the first place. Dinah had described SS as a bitch... But Hess was a biiiiiiiiitch. And while the PRT and Protectorate was obviously corrupt -feeding seals to an engine reactor or something, he knew they were up to some shady stuff even if he couldn't prove it- they weren't friggin morons. They would have noticed the latent bitch rays from Hess the instant she stepped on the Rig.

Madison was much better at concealing her bitch rays. Pretty smiles, and all that. At least she could actually smile without looking like she was constipated. Or wanted to kill you. Or wanted to kill you because she was constipated. Or wanted to kill you because she was constipated, from swallowing all of her latent bitch rays.

Screw Hess.

He hoped she had been sent off to Juvie, with the video forever immortalized online there was little chance she had a sliver of privacy. While Taylor was the victim, Hess and her little sycophants were the aggressors.

While Taylor was an interesting read, a shying wallflower that was victimized by three others, those others were the true meat of the story. What made a psychopath tick, how could they justify their actions? How crazy would they sound as they tried to justify their actions? Anything they said could be sensationalized so far out of context that it could scrape the moon, no one cared if they offended the little clods.

So all four girls were absent. Probably the best for them, talk around school was that all three major gangs -or at the very least the little hangers on that weren't quite gangers yet, those that still walked the halls with their pretty little colours with the faintest hope that Said colours would protect them from the other gangers in the hall- had their sights set on them. They were now a delicious looking chance for influence, either by 'crushing Hess into dust for her attacking a white girl' or just for the five minutes of fame that interacting with them would bring.

Greg had even heard one Merchant wannabe talking to his buddy, passing a needle back and forth between the two of them. One had told the other that if they got Taylor hooked to 'the good stuff' then all her good luck would leak over to them.

Yeah, cause getting bullied for a year and a half was 'good luck'. Lord only knew what was going through their heads. Probably very little, she mused, as the copious strain of toxins eroded what little remained of their already prodigiously small amounts of grey matter. Not like they were using it for much in the first place, no great loss.

Outside of school, Greg had managed to cobble together a veritable fleet of robonoids. Twenty five, at his last count. It would be slightly embarrassing if he were to forget how many he had made, but there was just so many of the damned things now. He had them scouting out the area around his city, the nearby areas downtown, and also had them hard at work creating his secondary warppad. Should be done by the end of the week.

The robonoids. Small, unremarkable even if they weren't invisible to the normal human eye.

Which in no way explained the purple skinned girl sitting on their living room couch.

Carrie, she claimed was her name. She had crawled in the open window, unrepentant and seemingly didn't realize that she was breaking and entering. When Gregs mom had confronted her she claimed she was just following the 'walking balls'. Greg had shown his mom, of course. But he left them in stealth mode if they were out of his workshop/ the basement. No need to piss her off by seeing a flood of little robots running around.

"I just wanted to see where they were going," Carrie whined as she finished off the juice packet Gregs mom had given her.

"You shouldn't even be able to see them," Greg snapped, more than slightly miffed. Was it the plating? Did the subsystem for the refractive manifold malfunction? Power fluctuations? Intentional sabotage from another tinkers tech?

"Why not?" She asked, chewing on the side of her juice box. "They aren't hiding, they're just sitting right there."

The one she was pointing at was still reading as cloaked. Full systems operational. How annoying.

"They're stealthy," Greg insisted. "You shouldn't be able to-" he stopped, watching in muted horror as she started eating the cardboard box. It disappeared into her mouth, her chewing the only memory that it even existed in the first place. "You aren't supposed to eat those, " he stated numbly.

"Mister Herb says that a lot," she chirped, picking a shred out of her teeth before throwing it back into the empty abyss. "Did you know that you're not supposed to eat wrappers? Even though they taste good they're only supposed to wrap the food up."

Greg stared at her, a half second away from rubbing his forehead in consternation.

"Who?" He settled on.

"Mister Herb! He's mommys dad, but he's not our grandpa. I think she made him too, but I'm not sure. He doesn't look right. All wrinkled and waxy, like a statue. Or a trebuchet! "

"...Does your mom know where you are?" Greg asked. How odd he decided, himself looking like a young child asking a teenager who acted like a young child where her mom was.

Carrie looked around, for once seeming to take into her surroundings. "Uh... I don't think so? I know how to get home though, mommy showed us where her house is from the docks, just in case we get separated. You look like Buttercup!" She suddenly belted out, staring at Greg intently.

"...Who?" He repeated. Different focus, same intent.

"Buttercup, she's green too!" She tilted her head to the side, peering at him through squinted eyes. "She's not as small as you are, though. Are you defective?"

Greg picked a newspaper up from the bench alongside him, rolled it up, and swatted her on the head.

"Don't be rude," he reprimanded. For some reason he felt an underlying sense of discontent and severe annoyance at her words. She wasn't defective, she was unique, girl better watch herself or Peridot would smack her with something harder than a bundled up collection of wood pulp and ink concentrate.

"But you're short," she rebutted, flinching under anther swat. "Hers isn't on her forehead, either."

"Why are you here?" Greg asked, a migraine forming behind his eyes.

"I wanted to see the ball things."

"Why are you still here," Greg reiterated.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

'Your mommy gave me juice. It tasted good, but it was kinda crunchy at the end."

"...You can't stay here," Greg finally settled on. He turned around, reaching for the tracking chip he had been working on. If he could get one of his robonoids to slip it onto a perp, then he could track them right back to their hideout! No need to wait in a boring stakeout, all the progress with none of the wait. "Just give me a second and I'll... Walk you home."

It was a bit of an underhanded tactic, but Greg couldn't exactly risk her walking out the front door and drawing attention to herself. Maybe even drawing attention to her 'mommy'. She was wearing a nondescript hoodie that obscured her features if she stared at the ground, but purple skin would always be a big draw for the eye. Also, if she led him straight to her 'mommy', then he could confront the lady on keeping better track of her daughters.

Something about this whole situation was making her senses itch like mad, she just wasn't sure what the hell it was-

'Hers isn't'.

'Forehead.'

Hers isn't on her forehead.

'You look like Buttercup'.

The robonoids were in perfect functioning order, stealth systems all green, operational.

The stealth systems don't work on other gems, the design is outdated.

Greg whipped back to look at Carrie, momentarily confused at the empty chair. When did she leave?

"Carrie?" He called out, desperate for answers.

"She left hon, said she had to go home!" His mom supplied from the other room.

Greg stared at the empty chair before turning back to his moniter.

"Shit."

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(Ramping Up Part 4)

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Greg was surprised at how durable his body was whilst in his changer state.

The fact that all damage he had accrued in the past five minutes was of his own fault, from his own stupidity, due to his own inexperience, was not lost on him.

He had decided to step up his heroing timetable, unwilling to wait any longer to get out and try to get some hands on experience. With someone out there that could see through his current stealth tech -and the next upgrade that would only barely shield them being a component mix that required gold, platinum, and several other chemicals that Greg couldn't just go out and buy.- he couldn't afford to sit around on his laurels. He hadn't even finished making his laurels yet, and they already weren't enough.

The one limb enhancer would have to do.

He had broken down four of his robonoids, cobbling them back together around an old wicker basket chair that had been lying in a corner of the basement. It was lacking compared to something like Armsmasters motorcycle, or even Miss Militias barebones normal ride. Heck, even one of Squealers pieces of shit was... slightly more impressive. Hers usually had wheels. Wheels typically made things travel faster than articulated legs.

He had practiced using the seat, sitting in the throne as it walked back and forth across the room. It was clunky, turned like the most graceful of turtles whom had been wading in tar, and only had a max speed of perhaps twenty eight miles per hour. The micro boosters he had been hoping to get working had turned up bust, the parts breaking under the first test. Not enough to time to get them working, not with what he had.

He needed more materials. He couldn't buy more because he was broke. He couldn't ask his mom for more money, she'd just say no anyway. She had already given him free reign over her old gear, what little there was that didn't make him want to gouge his eyes out. Out of the now mostly nonfunctional tinkertech she had kept, only a gas powered grappling gun was still usable. Unfortunately for Greg, the line had somehow rotted through and left the whole thing practically worthless. Something to build on.

He didn't weight too much in his changer state -an embarrassingly low sixty two pounds, much to his consternation.-, so whatever line he ended up using wouldn't have to be the most heavy duty. It would be enough until he managed to create a variation of the many hardlight grappling beams that raced through his head at the thought. The examples from the Ratchet & Clank series, as well as Metroid Prime seemed viable. For some reason however his power felt rather ambivalent at the concept of a grappling hook.

Why bother with a hook on a string when you could just fly up to the elevation you were trying to reach?

Because grappling hooks were cool, damnit. Physical media would never die! Down with the cloud!

Wait, no. Greg loved the cloud, it saved his stuff when his juryrigged memory drives overheated and cooked his memory into sadness. One can only download illegal copies of Hancock so many times before they realize it just isn't worth it.

Honestly, the first time was enough for Greg. As far as cape movies go, Hancock was one of the more... lacking. Greg loved Will Smiths' movies -the actor had triggered on a live episode of Fresh Prince in the early nineties on earth Bet, and had subsequently been killed during a following Endbringers encounter.- but it was just too unrealistic for him.

Pain was a bit too realistic for him as well, he was quickly finding out.

The throne proved more than capable of traversal from roof to roof, a slight hiccup in the realization that walking up the nearest wall proved slightly difficult as fragments of the wall would come off in the thrones grasp. 'Destruction of Public Property', Greg realized. Hopefully no one would be able to tie it back to him. He was a hero for goodness sakes.

Once on the roof, he could pass from one to the next with a combination of the thrones powerful limbs as well as a careful application of an internal gravity buffer. It made both himself and the throne light enough to make the slight hops, but he would have to be careful with its implementation. The sub processors recharged slowly, so it was more energy efficient to simply leave the grav dampers on. The recharge rate for subsequent activation could only be reduced to a worrying thirteen seconds. Unfortunately, the grav dampers also turned a two hundred pound throne and a sixty two pound Peridot into a floaty forty eighty pound accident waiting to happen. Forget brutes, any normal Joe Shmoe could pick her and her throne up and toss them headfirst into a wall.

She'd have to remember to disable it in combat.

Gregs plan had been simple, almost artistic in its implementation. He had no money. Who had money, that he wouldn't feel too bad about taking it from? The gangs! No one would care if he relieved them of a couple sheckles here and there. Well, no one but the people in those gangs in the first place. But who cared what they thought.

Greg had discussed this very subject with his friend Sparky many a time in the past. 'If you had powers, which gang would you go after?'

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"Merchants, full bore," his friend had stated languidly, taking a pull on his toke.

"Really," Greg had replied dully, eying the doobie in his friends hand.

"Don't give me that shit," Sparky had testily barked back. "I buy my shit from a guy in the Empire. They may be racist assholes, but at least they aren't fucking Merchants."

Greg let out a confused sigh, looking down at his friend. "I would have thought you'd be all smiles and praise for them. Yuh-know, drugs and all?"

Sparky gave him a dissatisfied huff, smoke pouring from his nose in an acrid cloud. "Man, fuck the Merchants. Right up the tailpipe. They don't care about the experience, they're all about manipulation."

"I thought they just peddled drugs." Greg had woodenly stated, taking a slight puff on the offered handout. He didn't often partake of his friends vices, but every so often he found them to be quite relaxing.

"That's what they want you to think, if you're just focused on the obvious shit then you never see the filth lying underneath..."

"Plenty of filth lying on top," Greg joked.

"Yeah, but it gets worse the deeper you go. The only reason they peddle drugs in the first place is to get more members. Remember Toby?"

"Scrawny guy, year ahead of us? Haven't seen him in a while," Greg admitted, wracking his brain for references to the freckle laden teen.

"He bought his shit from the Merchants. They lulled him into a false sense of security, selling him what he wanted, when he wanted it. Then, they switched their ingredients on him. What was just a happy way to pass the time," he held up his joint, waggling it in the air between them, "became a gut gnawing addiction. They refused to sell him the stronger stuff again, not unless he joined up! That's how they get you man, they wait until they're just 'those guys that sell drugs' to you, then they slip the noose around your neck!"

"Huh," Greg muttered, "Wow, yeah, fuck those guys."

"Fucking Merchants."

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A plus point, the Merchants were also obviously the weakest of the three main gangs. They only had three Capes, a breaker a shaker and a tinker. With one of them being a drug addled mushhead -similar to his chosen cape name-, the gang leader being a drug addled wastrel, and the last being a drug addled -actually, you could just refer to any Merchant member as 'drug addled' they probably had to put it on their drivers licenses, right under eye colour or something.- tinker Greg was actually surprised they were still active. Drugs were a profitable business, apparently. Anyway, Mush apparently never roused himself unless Skidmark actively kicked his ass into gear.

That was one potential trouble marked off the list.

For both Skidmark and Squealer it was a bit more of an issue. Sure, Squealer was most likely holed up inside a workshop cobbling her shitty rides together with spit glue and happy thoughts. So it was unlikely that he'd encounter her unless he actively searched her out. Might be worth it to try and steal one of her rides. If only to use them for the various weapons she had managed to superglue and duct tape to the sides.

Skidmark however... As the leader, if anyone saw Greg and called it in... He would definitely be on the scene promptly. Asshole had a tendency to tussle with Capes, even if they were trying to de-escalate the situation. Dude just liked trapping people in his fields and mocking them. At least that was better than that one time he had locked down Armsmaster. Took a crowbar to his suit for a good minute before he was chased off by Miss Militia.

Definitely a drop in ol armsies popularity.

So it was rather simple what Gregs course of action was to be.

"Stealth mode, don't fail me now!" he crowed out. Almost immediately, he slapped a hand to his mouth. Yelling out his position wasn't stealthy. It was admittedly the exact opposite of stealthy. Bad Greg.

Under him, the throne shimmered slightly, the surface of the protoshell deepening to a darker shade of green. Same as his drones, he could still see it. Not that he could still preen over that, being undertaken so entirely by his little house invader. In time. He tugged the plastic windscreen out of the shell, locking it into place between him and the outside world. Not the most high tech, and he had ran out of materials before he could make a cockpit she'll that also was affected by the stealth field.

So for now, he'd have to hope no one would notice the blurry viewing glass supposedly hovering around. He'd keep to the shadows, and it's not like people ever looked up. Especially at night.

Finding the Merchant den had been stupefyingly easy, Greg just had one of his drones follow an open member from Winslow. The dumbass had dawdled all the way to the merchants territory near the docks, revealing two of their storehouses and 'recreational areas'. Nothing on their main base yet, and not a whisper of any of the confirmed capes.

They could always be keeping a cape in reserve, a secret weapon to throw the tide of battle.

It's what Peridot would do.

Sending his drones in had been almost laughably easy. Like with Winslow, he had his handy little robonoids keep to the ceiling as they crept on as quietly as they could. Tons of people just sitting around, Greg had been forced to wait for the majority to either fall asleep or leave. His robonoids quickly located their main storeroom, where he found they kept several duffle bags of loose cash.

Stealing from the Merchants was almost embarrassingly easy.

All he had to do was Have his drones grab the bags and drop themselves out a convenient window. He hadn't even needed to open the dang thing, it was just too darn easy!

Retreating with nerves racing, eyes darting at every sound. Greg swore that the whole 'running away' from his score was even more stressful than doing the darn act in the first place!

It was a few blocks away, just skirting the outside of Merchant territory that the roof in front of Greg tore itself apart with a near titanic 'boom'.

Greg froze in his tracks, the damage on the roof ahead of him an ample testament to something not being right.

"I can't see you," a voice called out from his left. Greg slowly turned, keeping the throne as stationary as possible. "But I can feel you! Come on out little cape, lemme see your face!"

Greg froze, recognizing the profile of the man before him. Stormtiger. Empire cape, not as quite as much of an asshole as Hookwolf. Liked to play with his 'food', had ricocheted Laserdream between walls of air before he was chased off by Brandish about a year ago. Aereokinesis, could form the air around him into blades that he propelled with force great enough to shear through steel plate. Was also able to form shields that could shrug off hits from Glory Girl. Holy crap.

"I said," the cape let out irritably, throwing his hands out and releasing four blades of air. The four waves crashed down around him, just barely missing the edges of the outside of the throne. "I know you're there! I can feel the air inside your little pod... Or rather, I can feel the absence of the air where it should be! So come on out," his tone turned caustic, "or the next blast just cuts you to pieces."

Greg weighed his options. He had to run. That was only common sense. Once he got far enough away, he could throw down a warp plate and just zip off. He'd lose the throne, but at least he still had the money. From the barest glances he had given the inside of the duffle, he had seen more hundreds than he had ever layed eyes on before.

Stormtiger hadn't mentioned anything about the smaller robonoids, but he could just be waiting to see what Greg would do. Surreptitiously, Greg sent out a command for them to get into position as he played his hand.

He popped the windscreen. Arcing it back over his head and inside the sheath where it had lain before. "Hi there!" He called out cheerfully as he maneuvered the throne to face him fully. In for a penny, in for a pound... "Wonderful night we're having, wouldn't you say? A bit windy for my tastes, but to each their own..." He trailed off, belatedly realizing he was blathering.

"Hmm," Stormtiger let out, taking in her appearance. "A little young to be out this late, aren't you?"

"What can I say, moisturizer does wonders," Greg vollied back, "Just makes the wrinkles up and disappear. Now, are you through accosting me on my lovely night out, or are we going to have a problem?" She stated with a knowing smirk.

"As I see it," the man stated arrogantly, shaking his head in amusement. "We already have a problem, see? Here you are, in the middle of the night, climbing around in Empire turf like these here buildings are your very own jungle gym. We can't have that, now can we?"

"This isn't Empire territory," Greg shot back, arching her back in irritation.

"And yet, here I am," stated Stormtiger viciously, a frown flitting across his face. "And here you are. Peridot, wasn't it?"

Greg flinched, a shiver that crossed her spine in the span of an instant. How...

"Saw what you did, turned in that evidence of what that nigger was up to. Good job, protecting that girl," he said, chuckling lightly to himself. "Shame about the other two, but it's not like they were sympathizes in the first place. Hang around the niggers too long, and the taint rubs off on you, you know?"

Greg stayed silent, a frown marring her features as she considered her next words. "I'll be upfront," she started, drilling him with an acid laced glare. "I don't confine myself to such limited thinking. The true tragedy at play there was the fact that a young girl was being bullied. The skin colour of her aggressors had little to do with it. Anyway, don't you think the 'race card' is kinda a moot point with me?" She raised an arm, holding it in the faint moonlight. "Not exactly, pure master race 'white' here."

"And a right true shame that," Stormtiger admitted, shaking his head. "Now see, I was told to keep an eye out for you. We all were. Tinkers is a right valuable commodity after all. Told us to make the pitch..." His stance subtly changed, where once stood a cautious, relaxed man was a rigid warrior capable of moving at a moments notice. "But I can see I'd just be flapping my gums. No use wasting my time..."

He flung his arms outwards, blades of air arcing along the roof as each wisp carefully bisected eight of her robonoids. Shit, he could see them. There was only four left, the rest left in basement as they worked on the next set of projects. Two of his blasts whipped out, tearing the legs out from under her throne.

"And if we can't have you, well..." He let out a low chuckle as he stalked slowly forward, a slight hop in his step. "You know. No one can have you, yada yada yada and all that jazz."

Greg reached up to her gem, frantic action tearing the gauntlet from its slot inside and forming it around her left arm. Stormtiger reached out, surprise on his face as another blast of air slashed its way through the wrist. The hand clattered to the ground between them, both hunks slowly disappearing into a tangle of sparkles.

"Awwww, you're not even a tinker?" He let out in a disappointed drawl. "Well ain't the shit. Had my hopes up little lady," he crossed the final distance, leaning forward as he cupped the underside of her chin. "No point in keeping you now, if all you got is shitty projections. I'll be taking this as a consolation prize," he muttered, reaching down and grabbing the duffle bag. A couple bills slid out the opening, "Looks like you at least had a bit of fun... But as you oh so politely pointed out..."

He raised his free hand above his head, the winds whistling and straining through his fingers as they fought for dominance.

"You just ain't the right colour."

The world around Greg devolved into a whirlwind of motion, the winds tearing the building around him to pieces. He saw Stormtiger let out a laugh, using his winds to leap to another building as his wind made quick its work. Rubble quickly cut off his sight, and after a minute of settling quiet Greg tried to move.

He was pinned. His right arm was trapped, along with his lower body. He could still wiggle his toes, so at least he hadn't been crippled. His left hand was free, if he could only reach up to tap at his gem... A flash of light was swallowed up by the refuse around him, a small dinner plate sized disk of pink crystal falling into his hand. A slight twist in his bones, and Greg fell.

He lay on the surface of the warppad for the next half hour, desperately trying to curb his crying.

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(Ramping Up Part 5 Interlude Stormtiger)

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Chad stared at the ruined remains of the building across from him, carefully keeping an eye out for any movement. He'd have to leave anyway before any cops or PRT suckers showed up to put a damper on the mood. They always showed up after he broke something, wouldn't let him have his fun.

Not that tonight had been that much fun. He had cornered the new cape that everyone had been looking for, which he thought was a might ironic seeing as she had a whole rooftop she could have run away on. Not that she'd have gotten very far, but at least it would have made his night slightly more enjoyable. She had just cowered like a scared little girl.

That was all she looked like in the first place. He had been slightly hopeful when she had pulled out all those little robots, but they had been a right disappointment as well. They split open from the slightest flexing of his power, he had been hoping they would shrug off a couple hits.

Couldn't put too much stock on projections, anyway. The less things said about Crusader the better. Pansy ass always hid behind his piddly little ghosts, probably would fold under a single hit. Glass jawed little shit.

He dug his phone out of his pants pocket, flipping the case open so he could select a quick dial. He waited for three rings, bobbing along to the staccato beat.

"What?" He heard call out from the other end of the call. "Do you have any idea how fucking late it is? I have a meeting in the morning, I can't afford to show up looking like I spend my time in a more nocturnal leaning, so say your piece and get it over with."

Ah, yes. Being the face of Medhall in his identity as Max Anders, he was expected to keep looking like an average, normal individual. Fucking Kaiser.

Not that he actually cared. Who fucking cared about Medhall? They should just drop the pretense and take over. Not like anyone else actually deserved to rule this dump but them.

"Just doing a call in," he started, breath catching in his throat as his bosses voice practically yelled out.

"Then check in with Brad! I've told you a thousand times, I'm not to be disturbed at home!" His boss let out a low sigh, and he could almost see the steel jawed man pawing at his brow in his minds eye. "Whatever you have, it better be important. Ground breakingly, mind shatteringly important. We've already talked about your disgusting lack of respect..." He gulped, almost audible on the line.

The last time he had stepped out of line, pissed off the boss just a bit too much...Kaiser had forced Othala to give Chad invulnerability to wounds, while taking away none of the pain. He had left him impaled on a bed of metallic spikes for over an hour, with explicit instructions given to a couple of thugs to periodically throw cups of orange juice on the open injuries as well as jostling the surface Chad was chained to.

He unconsciously fiddled with a chain attached to his pants, an ever present reminder to his previous failings.

"Well, I... Uh, I found Peridot," he finally choked out.

"...Congratulations, You might have actually done something right for once," Kaisers voice carried across, filled with pleased warmth. "Can I expect to see her when I come in tomorrow? Or will she be undergoing a slight bit of... 'Rehabilitation'? If she's going to be in the stocks, I'd rather not waste my time. Go see her in a week or two once she's more pliant."

"Uh... Neither. Turns out she wasn't a tinker. Just projections. Weak ass shit too, couldn't even hold up to a light breeze. Green nigger, too," Chad explained, trying to keep his voice level.

"...Green?"

"Yeah, like in her profile pic on her YouTube. Turns out it wasn't a photoshop, bitch was actually green! Anyway, wasn't a total bust, she had a whole bag of cash. Looks like she knocked over one of Skids parks," he lifted the bag up, taking a sharp whiff. "Ugh, yeah, definitely one a Poopstains. Want me to throw up an ABB tag on a couple walls?"

While only tangentially a nuisance, the Merchants were most useful when they were utilized towards their own goals. If they thought some chink knocked over one of their parks, who were they to dissuade them from such a belief?

"Make it quick and leave the area. No need to give them any reason to suspect anything untoward. What of the girl? Did you take care of her?"

"Yeah, dropped a building on her head. She dead as fuck," he boasted, turning and walking off.

"How unfortunate, Well, it's only to be expected," his silky voice traveled through the line, trailing traces of malice in its wake.

"Everyone knows independents never last long, anyway."

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(Ramping Up Part 6 Interlude Mysterious Stranger)

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He stalked on through the narrow corridors, the low walls burdened with untold treasure. Hands reaching forth, seemingly at random he acquired his bounty and made his way towards the keeper of this realm. The arbiter, the gatekeeper, the unchallenged lord. He who distributed the glory and wealth of this land.

He dumped his gathered glut upon the alter, looking onward at the impassive face of his judge.

"That comes out to fifteen twenty nine," the youth stated, sniffling as he scratched at his chin.

"Fif-...what? The sign said they were half off!" Gary whined, waving a hand at the energy drinks in the pile before him.

"Sorry sir, that sale ended two days ago. Dale should've... Anyway, they're full price again."

Gary glared at the minimum wage sycophant, intent on seeing if he could melt the impetuous teens face off with but a thought. Nothing. Would've been cool, though.

"Fine! Outta twenty," he declared, dragging the bill from his wallet and throwing it on the counter. The kid gave him his change, piled the various foodstuffs into a plastic bag, and returned to his torturous workday. Gary exited the store -almost deciding to return and complain at the kid once more upon seeing that the brat had crushed the bag of chips by upending the drinks on top of them- and got into his decent -crappy- little station wagon. Wasn't the best of vehicles, but it was sturdy.

His phone rang.

"Yo!" He called out upon seeing the number displayed on the cracked screen. "Whatchu want?" He stated, pulling out of the parking lot and making his way back to the hangout. Technically illegal to talk and drive, but he had a pocket on his hat he could just slot his phone into. Technically unsafe, but who cared?

"Duuuude," the garbled voice returned from the other end of the call. "Did you replace the fire detectors?"

"What?" Gary muttered, momentarily confused. "No, that shits annoying. Why? It's not like we need them, what's the chance that anything in there would actually start burning?"

"Probably higher, now that you said that," the other joked. "Nah, I mean... Somethings beeping."

"What's beeping?" Gary asked.

"I dunnooooo!" His friend returned with an annoyed drawl. "I thought it was the proximity alarms, but nothing! I checked the locks, the circuit breaker box, the console, everything! It's coming through the intercoms man, this weird, annoying 'needle-deep' sound! I'm this close to taking a broom handle to the detectors, just to be sure... And now it's gotten louder!"

Gary could hear the sound now, emanating with such pitch that it was clearly audible even over their phone call.

"The hell is that?" he asked, confused. It didn't sound like anything he could remember, but given who had designed the system that wasn't all that surprising. At times it seemed he threw in certain features just to piss off anyone who didn't know any better. "Look, just try the main console, look for any big red buttons. Or flashing buttons. Oooh! Big red flashing button!"

"Thaaaaanks, as if I didn't already try that. They're all flashing, genius!"

"Wait, seriously?" Gary asked, pulling into what looked like a barely used office building. The sign on the front of the store was faded, proudly declaring the tagging "Psychic Detectives! You lose it, we'll conjure it out of nothing or your money back!' The glass was dusty, a couple slurs written into the filth by a probing hand. The door squealed in protest at being opened, a testament to how well he had 'fixed' it. He could probably get a couple more decibels out of it, but the point was to make their office look like it was a piece of shit.

Not to make it look like a place that was trying to look like a piece of shit, in order to hide something. Which, considering they were trying to hide something, made it a bit of a balancing act.

He ended the call, now that he was here there was really no further point to it. He could talk to him in a minute, in person. He locked the door behind him, flipping the sign to let the outside world know they were closed.

He retreated into the break room, stealthily reaching his hand into the bottom slot of the vending machine and tapping out the code on the concealed number pad. The entire thing shifted, revealing a door behind it before closing once more with Gary on the other side of it. The small room juddered once upon him pressing a button inset on the wall, the contents of his stomach settling uncertainly as the elevator made its way downwards.

The door opened once more, revealing just how soundproof the conveyance had been made. An ear piercing notice sounded off every few seconds, permeating the air around them with its caustic vibrations.

"The hell is that?" he choked out, clasping a hand over each ear. This in turn nearly brained him with his bag of purchases, swinging freely with his haste.

"I dunno!" came from his friend, frantically wringing his hands as he came into eyeshot. Brown hair, thin figure, a face drawn and pinched from years of worry, he didn't exactly cut an impressive figure. "It started just after you left, I tried to shut it off but it's not coming from a recognized system. I tried just turning off the speaker system entirely, but a rerouted subroutine kicked in and locked me out of the console! It says that code 'nineteen four nine eight' is in effect."

"Nineteen," Gary puzzled over in his head, trying to remember the obscure guide codes that had once been in place. "Four... Quit being lazy and...Oh!" He exclaimed, making his way to the main atrium.

"What, what is it?" his friend asked, peering over his shoulder as he depressed a certain blue button on a side console.

"Nineteen four nine eight," Gary replied as the contents of the secret panel was revealed. "Quit being lazy and pick up the phone!" He dragged the ancient receiver from its resting place, the blaring alarm petering out as he shouldered it next to his ear. "We never use this anymore, heck, I can't remember the last time it was used, period! I think he set it up to keep in contact with his mom or something? I dunno. Who the hell would even be calling us anyway? Yello?" He stated, hearing the line click into place as the tired old system tried to connect both ends. "Luigis linguine parlor, you give us money we'll fix your toilet..." He trailed off, waiting for the reply.

"...That you Gary?" A feminine voice traveled across the line, further confusing him.

"Uhh... Yes? Who is this, how did you get this number?"

A moment passed, almost making him think the call had been dropped.

"This sound more familiar?" A deep, growling voice sounded out from the old handset. Gary almost dropped it in his surprise, the fat block tumbling through his fingers before he once more secured it.

"Holy shit, Susan? Susan Veder?" He ground out, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. "Holy crap, we haven't seen you for years, how you doin?"

"Better," the voice on the other end of the call reverted her her previous pitch and timber, an edge of solemness creeping in. She hadn't taken their bosses death well, splitting before the gang could almost literally implode. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know, day to day stuff..."

"Is that the boss?" His friend whispered, poking him in the side.

"Yeah, yeah, it's her, stop poking you dweeb," he whispered back, holding back a grunt as another probing finger sunk into his gut.

"Got a job, had to start paying rent to keep the old hideout off the market."

"That old deli?" She asked, memories of the past front echoing in Gary's mind. Back then, they had kept up their disguise by stalfing an actual sandwich place out of their doors. It was child's play to keep any suspicion off of them, as long as they were willing to cycle a few members on and off active duty. After the boss... 'Left', the place had shut down, their numbers scattering like rats from a sinking ship.

"Yeah, we're pretending to be a psychic detective service now. Get jobs on occasion, mostly nutters that think that stuffs real," he explained. "So, uh... Not that it isn't nice to hear your voice after all this time but... It's kinda weird? I guess? I just can't shake the feeling that if you didn't need something you wouldn't be calling in the first place..."

The other end of the line went silent, before a sharp sighed inched it's way across. "You know me too well Gary, always did. Actually, I have a kid now and..."

A pause sounded out between them once more, as his old friend once more tried to gather her thoughts.

"Well, he got in a bit of trouble. Triggered recently, had a run in with a gang cape. I was hoping you could help me out."

"Just... Could you do me a favor?"

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(Ramping Up Part 7 Interlude Observer)

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-Winged One; Saw a few news reports, BB is looking rather interesting as of late...

-XxVoidCowboyxX; really? just as boring as always for me, nothing really new. there's supposedly some sort of tinker merc group going around kidnapping little girls, but nothing really newsworthy.

-Winged One; Here, an EBB member caught a couple seconds on his phone before he was taken down.

-XxVoidCowboyxX; holy shit, how did you get this?

-Winged One; PRT confiscated the remains of the phone, uploaded the memory to an onsite server to try and save what wasn't corrupted. From there, it was easy pickings.

-XxVoidCowboyxX; you have got to let me know who youre supplier is one of these days. let the information be free!

-Winged One; Free? Well if all information should be free then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I uploaded this to your myspace account...

-XxVoidCowboyxX; I yield! i yield! geesh, how the hell did you even get that? I had to be like... fvie in that picture, maybe nine.

-Winged One; You are not very good at discerning age. You were eleven by my records, as you can see by the print on the front of the footie pajamas. That particular motif of Mouse Protector wasn't put into production until roughly four years ago, and was discontinued less than a few months later after she once again changed her costumes appearance. As for where I got it... You'd be surprised what one can find on the Internet. =P

-XxVoidCowboyxX; fine, I'm not gonna ask. I concede defeat, you are the superior information gatherer, the penultimate facet raker of the eastern coast.

-Winged One; And the realms beyond, don't you dare forget it. =)

-XxVoidCowboyxX; sooooooooooo, it's shaky as all hell, but I AM seeing that right, aren't I? a tan skinned amazon with a bright pink sword just bihtc slapped that poor guy into the side of a building, right?

-Winged One; Indeed. Quite curious that no one seems to know anything about her. She escaped even my senses, only appearing at seeming random after I delved into one of Armsmasters latest reports. Something about a possible geological tinker, but with no evidence to be had besides the depressions left in innocuous locations across BB.

-XxVoidCowboyxX; shit, that sounds several kinds of illegal. we clear, right?

-Winged One; Naturally. I wouldn't be talking about it in the first place if I was worried.

-XxVoidCowboyxX; oh, yeah, duh. my bad, forgot. so, you think they're connected? cause, 'girl with sword' sounds a bit detached from 'tinker'. its brockton bay, capes keep popping up all the time, could just be two different capes. heck, wonder woman there ain't even the most odd weve had recently. did you hear about Peridot? she uploded a video of these girls bullying this other girl from my school. It was fucked up, they should have been sent off to juvie long.

-Winged One; Juvie Long?

-XxVoidCowboyxX; *TO juvie A long TIME AGO. dunno why it did that, I swear I wrote it out.

-Winged One. Oh well. And yes, I have heard of Peridot. Embarrassingly, the video was my first indicator to her existence. Quite galling, to find out about such things from the evening news...

-XxVoidCowboyxX; SERIOUSLY? I actually managed to find something before you? i think i need to pinch myself...

-Winged One; I'll ignore that. If you're smart, you will as well. If you pinched yourself every time you were surprised, you might not have much arm left after all the damage is done. I will admit I am curious, you have information about Peridot from before her media debut?

-XxVoidCowboyxX; hell yeah, I was fucking THERE. didn't get video or pics, I stepped on a cats tail and dropped my phone when it freaked out. anyway, this truck barrels down the street, followed by these two cars. The first car starts smoking after Miss Militia shot it or something, and it dropped back as the truck flipped. the green girl, Peridot, gets sent flying from the truck as Miss Militia takes care of all the guys that were in the cars. she disappeared before I could get any video. *Sad Face* Apparently shes a tinker or something? hotwired the truck and drove it halfway across town. shes smaller than me, maybe half my size so I have no freaking idea how she was able to reach the pedals.

-Winged One; Found the report. Armsmaster noted a lack of any noticeable tinker tech. Says she's most likely not a tinker, just that she knows how to hotwire older vehicles. Perhaps Dinah Alcott assisted?~

-XxVoidCowboyxX; who? name sounds familiar, but I cant place it.

-Winged One; And you call yourself observant. Alcott, as in Dewey Alcott. The Mayor of your fair... Well, I suppose fair is a bit heavy praise to heap upon BB. It's a town, city, place, at the very least. Just not very 'fair'.

-XxVoidCowboyxX; ehn, that's fair I guess. =p. sooo, daughter? what was she doing running around with a cape? was Peridot saving her or something?

-Winged One; For someone that was supposedly THERE, you are surprisingly bereft of usable or relative information.

-XxVoidCowboyxX; I was there, honest! just... oh uh, crap, sorry, I gots to go. talk to you later.

-Winged One; See you later, little one.

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(Ramping Up Part 8)

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His hands grasped, holding the device before him as his digits flung themselves wildly across its surface. Electricity traveled from the flesh, reacting with the technology within. Processes and directives were carried out within the context of the program, information being carried on into the infinite abyss.

"Gots... to... go..." He grumbled out, mimicking the words his thumbs typed out into the chat program displayed on the face of his phone.

'Winged One' had contacted him years ago, one day out of the blue. He hadn't the foggiest what their real age, or even gender was but he liked to assume she was of course, a female of similar age. It made it feel less creepy. Of course, more accurately it would probably be best to assume she was older, probably in her twenties or so. She was just too good at sniffing out information. She had introduced him to a few sites over the years, encouraging him to persist with his ever expanding quest to sniff out ALL THE SECRETS. So, maybe it wasn't the healthiest friendship.

It was still one of the better online ones. Could be worse, she could have turned out to be an overweight dude in his mothers basement named 'Chuck'. Jury was still out on that, honestly, but he could hope.

When his mother had found him curled into the fetal position last night, she had been understandably worried. 'Mama bear mode engaged' and all that. An hour of explanations punctuated by hugging -Greg had forgotten how comfortable being cuddled by someone larger than him was, being small enough to be picked up turned out to not be the worst thing ever.- and she coerced him into an agreement.

'Greg will not go out and look for trouble unprepared'.

It was a simple rule, and one which he could apreciate. He had been so close, so unbelievably close to pulling it all off. He had gotten the money without anyone the wiser, had gotten away without anyone the wiser... If it hadn't been for the clod Stormtiger, she would have gotten away scott free! Some people just had no tact, foiling her plans before she was able to properly finish them. Rude.

His mom truly cared for him, and he did apreciate it. He loved her dearly, and all she had done for him over the years... She was his mommy. How could he not love her for that? Much better than his dad, at any rate. Small part of why he had taken to using her last name, that and another reason.

I mean really? 'Greg Universe'? It made him sound like a washed up rock musician. Moms name was just so much cooler.

After all that his mom had put him to bed, hoping they could both get some sleep in the few hours left before dawn. Greg had woken up to the tail end of his mom on a phone call, she had been asking her friend for something. She didn't elaborate, saying she would let him know the specifics once she got everything sorted out.

Greg had spent the majority of his day lounging around, sketching designs for improved 'chairs' on a pad of yellowed paper. This one could fly, and would have gravimetric dampness so that jerk didn't cost him again, and would have a grappling cable, and a harpoon and-

Okay, so maybe not a harpoon. Little need when he'd have a grappling ca- NO, a grappling BEAM! One step closer to true zero point energy systems, but just far enough out of reach that it would be a substantial hurdle to cross.

Around noon he roused himself from his sloth, changing back to normal so he could go out and about. He needed to go and pay a visit to the theatre.

What followed was as similar to previous events as could be for Greg. 'Can I get my paycheck?' 'No, you did not give it to me last Thursday.' 'No Tom did not give it to me, nor did he have permission to take it, as is outlined in the contract both myself and my mother signed, which if you had given it to Tom would result in you being fired.'

Gerald didn't have memory issues, he just didn't like Greg. Guy was always trying to trick him out of his paycheck, just so he could buy more smokes. Asshole. Clod.

Money in hand, -or as good as, once he hit the wallmart and got it out of the machine- he forged his path onwards. What he needed...

More toothpaste. The damned throne had used up the last of his bioplasm, he'd have to reconstitute his stock if he wanted to continue. Purchase secured from a corner store he never used, he could leave as someone who just came across as a tooth health nut. Neat.

A quick call to see if Sparky was up reaped pleasant results. He had been since before noon, and was amicable to hanging out for the rest of the day. So could he... was he ready for this? Sparky was his best friend, a true pal that stood by him through thick and thin. If there was anyone who could figure out anything 'power munchkinly' about his abilities, it would be him. He had an unerring ability to think up new views on the spot, turning any situation into another of a different light.

Yeah, he could trust him.

Which led to now.

Chat program disengaged, phone stowed in his pants, he knocked on the door.

"Oh, Greg!" Sparkys mom let out upon opening the door, and seeing him standing outside. "Rupe said you'd be over in a bit, come in, come in!"

Sparkys mom was the stereotypical 'friendly mom'. She threw everyone who crossed her path a freindly smile, and had nothing but polite words for those that entered her domain. But act like an assho-... clod, and she'd let you have it. Greg had learned that the hard way when he had accidentally sweared within earshot. A dressing down complete with disapproving glares his mother would have approved of had marked that day, guiding those that followed it.

Greg went up to Sparkys room, opening the door. His mom left after announcing that Greg had arrived, mentioning something about 'cookies' before she shuffled off.

Yes, she was that kind of mom. She'd deliver on them too, and if her previous efforts were anything to go on Greg would be enjoying a tasty sweet in no time flat.

"So, you said you had something to tell me?" Sparky drawled, closing the door behind him as he settled down into a beanbag that could have easily enveloped him.

"Yeah," Greg started, nervous tension strangling his words. "I just... It's like this... oh, fuck it," he finally let out, countless prepared speeches falling to pieces in his haste. "It'd be easier to just show you."

Greg concentrated, watching his friends eyes as his perspective quickly shrank. Before long it was over, leaving Greg standing in the center of the room fully transformed. Greg knew his friend, he could apreciate brevity if it was called for.

"Oh," Sparky let out in a slightly confused tone. His gaze didn't look all that surprised however, and before Gregs eyes...

Sparkys form was overtaken by a dimly glowing mass of light, slowly sinking into his flesh as his form was revealed once more. Where once sat a teenage male of what could be generously be described an 'overweight' frame, sat a slim woman who swiftly sank into the depression left by its previous inhabitant. Her skin was a light dusted blue, while her hair and dress stood as a stark contrast of deep navy.

"You too, huh?" Sparky let out in an amused drawl.