Brennus Files 12: Contriving

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Ah, the Contriver. No class of metahuman has caused the people on Earth as much of a headache as this one.

That’s a good way to sum Contrivers up: Headaches for others. No kind of metahuman is as unpredictable, or as annoying, as a Contriver to deal with, whether you’re their ally, their enemy, or just a bystander trying to avoid becoming collateral damage.

It doesn’t help that it’s easily the most nebulous class of powers that we’re talking about. Where do item-based powers end, and where does Contriving start? Are some Contrivers perhaps just extremely advanced Gadgeteers which contemporary science just plain can’t comprehend?

Many a Contriver of the early years has, in retrospect, been revealed to have been a Gadgeteer, and many a past Gadgeteer has since been re-classified as a Contriver, further muddling the classification.

Then there are “artifact-based Contrivers”, a classification which many abhor and which has been retired since the reform of the Classification system – people who express their power through a single, unchanging item, but can not create anything beyond it, nor modify it, really – merely requiring some manner of outside focus to express their power.

As if all that wasn’t enough, their specific condition – being tied to a particular, usually very elaborate fantasy – makes it nearly impossible to actually work with a Contriver directly for the sake of exploring the true nature of their power.

Currently, Contrivers are classified thusly:

A Contriver is a metahuman with a fluid, changable power or set of powers which they can not express independently, but require external tools to do so, whose nature is determined by their individual ‘theme’.

While succinct, this definition is not very useful, as Contrivers are perhaps the most diverse kind of metahumans, falling into several different classes:

  • Artificers: what most people think of when they speak of Contrivers, and by far the most common kind, Artificers create fixed items which are empowered by them, often but not always following a theme of ‘mad science’ of some sort, though there are also many ‘magic’ Artificers, who create ‘enchanted’ items.
    • Canon Examples: Doctor Despair, Spellgun
  • Casters: Far more rare, Casters express their powers through temporary constructs, be they vocal or otherwise – such as chanting spells, drawing runes, or other such temporary means. Almost always ‘magic’ based, there have only been two confirmed ‘science’-based Casters in history.
    • Canon Examples: none yet
  • Weirds: Not a formal classification so much as a catch-all term for Contrivers who fit into neither of the above categories, using more abstract or unusual means to express their powers through, such as a Contriver relying on specific constellations of people or circumstances for various effects.
    • Canon Examples: none yet
  • Hybrids: Combine two or more of the above in various ways.
    • Canon Examples: Hecate (Artificer & Caster), Heretic (Artificer, Caster & Weird)

Beyond these classes, Contrivers are usually differentiated by which one of two main themes they follow:

  • Mad Scientists: Following a pseudo-scientific mindset, Mad Scientists are almost always Artificers, creating items themed after their particular brand of science. They tend to be more rigid in the application of their powers, rarely able to improvise much on the go, but in return also (usually) create more stable, reliable Contrivances.
    • Canon Examples: Spellgun, Doctor Despair
  • Mages: The other big theme of Contrivers is, unsurprisingly, magic. Most, though not all, Mages are Casters. In general, Mages tend to be more adaptable than Mad Scientists, their powers less strictly defined, but they’re also more likely to suffer backlash of some kind or simply fail.
    • Canon Examples: Hecate, Heretic

Regardless of which class the fall into, Contrivers can not simply do anything they like that fits into their particular theme. There are several factors to consider:

  • Resources: Usually, Contrivers require specific materials to craft their Contrivances, be it raw materials to make ray guns, or chalk to draw magic circles, or any of a number of things. Depending on their theme and the particular Contrivance they wish to produce, these can get pretty exotic and, often enough, expensive. Some Casters can eschew these.
  • Time: It takes time to craft Contrivances, usually proportional to their power. Again, some Casters can eschew this, being capable of ‘creating’ their Contrivances (usually ‘spells’) on the fly.
  • Research: A Contriver doesn’t simply know everything they can do all at once. They usually start out with only a few ‘patterns’ with which to work, using them as blueprints for Contrivances (usually, a single pattern can be used for multiple different Contrivances), and have to perform research, each their own particular kind (a Mad Scientists might have to crunch mathematical formulas which’d give a normal person brain cancer, a Mage may have to do ‘spell research’ or negotiate with imaginary demons, deities or other sources) in order to obtain a new pattern.

While Casters may seem to have quite the advantage here, being often able to eschew materials and time spent crafting fixed items, instead casting spells on the fly, they are usually saddled with other restrictions and flaws beyond what a Mad Scientists often has to suffer, such as being dependant on the whims of some kind of ‘patron’ who might revoke their powers at will, or having to risk backlash if they mess up their ‘spell casting’, which isn’t unlikely to happen in the heat of combat.

Beyond all this, there are some common attributes all Contrivers share, both in terms of naming and process:

  • A Contriver’s creation is called a ‘Contrivance’, regardless of whether it’s a spell, a machine or something else.
  • Assuming unlimited time to research and build, as well as unlimited resources, a Contriver can do anything which fits their theme.
  • Power nullifiers can prevent a Contriver from both creating and using their Contrivances. This is usually the easiest way to determine whether a particular metahuman is a Contriver or a Gadgeteer, assuming a power nullifier is available.
  • All Contrivers are at least slightly mad, as they each truly, fully believe in their particular fantasy, even if it may not be immediately obvious.
  • Bad things happen when someone tries to actually convince a Contriver that what they’re doing is ‘not real’.
  • Contrivances usually lose all power if their creator dies, reverting to being nothing but curious decor, at best.
  • Even beyond their particular delusion, Contrivers are the metahumans most likely to suffer from Derangements, ranging from the extreme (Doctor Despair’s megalomaniacal compulsion to conquer the world) to the merely quirky (Hecate’s obsession with proper Grammar and Neatness).
  • Contrivers and real technology don’t mix well. While this is not a hard rule, the weird nature of Contrivances tends to play hob with any mundane technology they interact with, especially more complex ones (such as computers).
  • Contrivers and Gadgeteers really don’t mix well. While Contrivances and Gadgets usually interact with each other no different from the way mundane technology interacts with Contrivances, it is universally considered a horrible idea to have Contrivers and Gadgeteers try to create something in close proximity of each other or, worse, together. The results can be as harmless as both of them simply being unable to make anything that works, up to creating the Ultimate Lifeform To Replace All (ULTRA).

The Magnum Opus

While not exclusive to Contrivers (Gadgeteers are also capable of this), magnum opi are more often associated with Contrivers than Gadgeteers, if only because Contrivers are so much more common than Gadgeteers, and thus more of them have created these.

A Magnum Opus is a Contrivance (or Gadget, though we’ll focus on Contrivances here) on a different scale from what the metahuman usually creates. It is not a once-in-a-lifetime creation, but simply something grander, often but not always an expansion of their usual work into the megascale, though it may also be simply an extremely powerful, smaller item (Infinity+1 Sword).

Magnum Opi differ from normal Contrivances both in the time it takes to make them, the value of the resources required, and the potence of the result, all three far exceeding the normal results of the Contriver’s efforts.

Seeing the Truth

Many people have tried to show a Contriver that what they do is not what they think it is, and observe the results. Their efforts have been met with various, often detrimental results:

  • The most common reaction by Contriver is to simply ignore these attempts, rationalising any proof they might be shown.
  • Also quite common, and not at all desirable, is them going into a rage, lashing out at whoever or whatever challenges their delusion.
  • Rare but not unheard of is the case of a Contriver suffering a ‘crisis of faith’, losing their powers until they return to their fantasy.
  • One of the most rare results is the Contriver losing their power entirely, essentially ceasing to be metahumans. This may in some cases actually kill the Contriver.
  • Rarest of all observed reactions is the Contriver losing their power and, essentially, manifesting again on the spot, gaining some other power instead, which is usually related to their Contriving’s theme.
  • There are rumors of one more possible reaction, though no confirmed cases exist – that is, that a Contriver might realise that their delusion is not reality, yet retain their Contriving and unlock untold potential. This may or may not simply be wishful thinking.

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Neither Beast nor Beauty in this

Working on the new Dreaming chapter right now, but there’s just something I have to get out, if briefly:

Don’t watch the new Beauty and the Beast movie.

Seriously. Don’t.

I could write a whole essay on everything wrong with this movie, but I’m not going to do this here, because it would touch a lot of explosive subjects, such as feminism, misandrism and so on, which I do not want to make this blog about.

However, I feel the need to briefly express just how much I urge everyone reading this not to watch this piece of scat. It is easily the worst Emma Watson movie I have seen, for one. That is not, however, its greatest failing. Its greatest failing is that it insults anyone with at least two braincells to rub together. It is insulting to women, it is insulting a thousand times to men, it is insulting to anyone who enjoys fairy tales. Go watch Avatar: The Last Airbender, by Shamalayan. It may be utter scat, as well, but it’s at least not nearly as insulting as this.

I’m not writing this to spark a discussion, and I shall not likely ever go in-depth as to what I think is wrong with this; I’m just urging you to spend your money more wisely, instead of giving it to the people behind this. Go to your neighbor and pay them to watch their grass grow. Buy a Happy Meal and re-enact Nico’s attempt at summoning Bianca. Buy a blu ray of Batman v Superman.


Just don’t do anything that’d encourage people to make more movies like this. I beg you.


Tieshaunn Tanner

B013.1 Call of the Sleeper

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Yesterday was a big day, for yesterday was the day, on which the first of the Chosen of the Blood, of whom our Leader speaks so much, has visited Germany.

They call her Lady Light across the sea, and by God Almighty, a more fitting name, I can barely imagine. Angel, perhaps.


She came to us glowing like the sun, brilliant and flawless, escorting the American President on his way to a peace conference. A sham, really; no one here in Europe actually wants peace, I think. But at least it allowed me to lay eyes on her.

Later, many of my landsmen spoke about how she was living proof of the Truth of Blood and Heritage, even if she was a woman, at least the first of the Chosen had been a true Aryan, the rumors of her relationship to one of the accursed Jews notwithstanding. Personally, I never saw the point in despising people merely because of race. Yes, some people are born inferior to others. Others superior. That is nature.

That is no reason to hate, though. Pity, perhaps, for those less fortunate, but certainly no hate. Disdain, for those who refuse to recognise their place, but certainly no rage.

Besides, even in my limited experience, I have come ot realise that the same differences exist within the German – or Aryan – race, as well. Perhaps not to such extreme extents – other races are definitely more different from us than we are among each other – but the difference exists. No one would ever say that I was an average member of my race and I say this without a hint of vanity. I had proven myself to be better than most even before my blood awakened.

Perhaps if I tell myself that often enough, I’ll even convince myself that I didn’t end up proving to be less than most, too.

I am rambling again. Mother always tells told me that I tend to ramble too much, if I don’t have others to keep me on track. Adelheid just says said I’m addicted to the sound of my own voice. It is quite likely that she is right.

Where was I… ah, yes, Lady Light. Such a simple name, to encompass such an enrapturing creature. At first I thought, this is it? This is the first Chosen? She was… thin. Almost a head shorter than I, and looking so fragile. Weak. I could pass for her older brother, even though I’m barely half her age.

And yet… and yet, there was something, something that drew one’s eye to her. A quiet confidence, a core of will, of conviction, as uncaring for what us mere humans may do as the sun itself is, and just as brilliant. A blazing sun in human form. I have never seen its like before, not even in the Leader.

She did not talk to me – why would she, I was but one lesser chosen among several gathered there? – but her gaze passed over me. It felt like she was staring right into my soul.

Whatever happens… whatever else comes of the next few years… I pray that I shall meet her again.


8 am, November 17, the day after the Crocell Incident

The door to the container ‘hangout’ that Basil used as a cover for one of the entrances to his base opened, and Vasiliki entered alongside Tim and Dalia, studiously trying to ignore her friend’s choice of clothing. Fashion was just one of the many subjects which they clashed on, and she wasn’t going to get into another discussion about how appropriate skimpy tops and miniskirts or hot pants with tights were, especially during winter. She’d just quietly stick to a nice (hand-made) long skirt and a comfortable (hand-made) sweater.

Maybe some day, Dalia would learn. And until then, she’d keep entertaining Timothy, who clearly did not mind her fashion sense at all.

They walked to the elevator, that would lead them down to the base.

“You think B-Six is already awake?” Dalia asked lightly, smiling as she moved with a casual, unconscious grace which Vasiliki greatly envied her for. “Or perhaps still? Could see him skipping sleep, after yesterday.”

She wasn’t wrong, though. “I can imagine that being the case, yes,” she admitted while they pressed the hidden switch beneath the counter to take them down. The elevator started to move without a sound. “Studying that monster, then getting a chance to work with three other gadgeteers, on Sovereign’s equipment, no less, well…”

“Basil got his hands on new tech?” Timothy asked, sounding like he couldn’t decide whether to be amused or horrified. “I bet he was… ecstatic.”

That elicited a giggle from Dalia. “He must’ve had such a huge nerdgasm!”

Vasiliki rolled her eyes at the crass language, though she couldn’t honestly object to the point made. Basil could be very easily excited by anything to do with his power, and the fact that he’d somehow convinced Gloom Glimmer to take him straight back here, right after the battle was over, spoke for him being almost out of his mind with new ideas. Otherwise, she was absolutely certain he would not have left them behind.

Not that Vasiliki wouldn’t have stayed anyway, to help with search and rescue. It had still been an unpleasant surprise to find out that he’d left so suddenly, and without even telling them that he’d survived.

Vasiliki had been scared for her friend.

He’d better have a damn good excuse, she thought to herself, while also trying not to think about all the corpses they’d pulled out of the flooded rubble and collapsed buildings.

So many corpses, even though an anonymous hero had been going around helping evacuate the civilians…

She was distracted from that train of thought when the elevator reached the living room and ‘command centre’ of the base, where they were immediately greeted by Eudocia’s emblem appearing on the large central screen.

“Hi you three!” she chirped, sounding to all the world like an over-exited preteen. Which, in some ways, she pretty much was. “How’re you doing?”

“We’re fine, thank you for asking,” Vasiliki replied. “Is Basil in his lab?”

“Yup, he’s been there since he came back. Didn’t even sleep. If it wasn’t for Prisca, he wouldn’t even have eaten,” Eudocia complained sullenly, as usual exasperated in how hard it was to pursue her self-imposed duty of looking after Basil’s oft-neglected health.

At least he keeps himself nearly obsessively clean, Vasiliki thought, thanking the gods for their small favours. “Do you know what he’s been working on?”

“Nope! Whatever ideas he got, they’re way beyond me,” the AI replied, chirpy again. “First thing he built was some kind of headgear he used on himself, but I have no idea what it really did, he wasn’t being too chatty. Seemed to give him a headache, though. Since then, he’s been working on some kind of bracer or gauntlet. He cannibalized most of his stuff to make it, even his vibrosword!”

Dalia whistled, though even she looked like she could see the issue with that. Vasiliki couldn’t help but frown, too. She knew that Basil’s resources were running thin, which explained why he had to take apart previous projects – or unfinished ones – to make new stuff, but sacrificing his sword?

Well, it wasn’t like he’d used it all that much to begin with – he didn’t like killing any more than Vasiliki did, and the vibrosword was pretty much only useful for taking apart inanimate objects, unless you wanted to kill your opponent.

“We’ll talk to him,” she stated firmly, sorting out her thoughts. “Try to figure out what’s going on.”

“Yeah, time for a little reality check,” Dalia said in a similar tone of voice. She hadn’t taken him just leaving them behind much, if any, better than her. “This is weird even by his standards.”

“Thanks. I hope you’ll talk some sense into him,” Eudocia said, opening the door that lead down to the lab proper.

The three of them walked down the short staircase and entered into the lab… which honestly looked not much different than usual, at least to Vasiliki’s eye. It had always been a strange mixture of obsessively neat and absentmindedly chaotic; several worktables with half-finished or just-disassembled projects laid out in what seemed to be utter disorder, to the point where she sometimes suspected Basil might have an eidetic memory, just to explain how he ever found anything, contrasting with the neat, orderly way that said tables and projects were laid out in the room, with clear, neat pathways between them, everything stationed so that, no matter at which one Basil was sitting, he could look at any other project by turning in the right direction.

She’d never admit it to him, for fear of his head swelling even more than it usually did, when it came to his gadgets, but watching him work, seeing all the strange stuff he was working on, was a really fun pastime for her, trying to figure out what the hell he was fiddling with at any time and all. The fact that he tended to get so absorbed in his work, he’d likely not notice her even if she was standing around naked and singing in Greek, made it all the easier to observe him in his ‘natural habitat’, as she and Dalia tended to joke.

It had changed over the last month or so, though. Vasiliki had been aware that he was having trouble continuing his work, both due to his power being baulky and due to dwindling money, he’d complained about it a few times, and Eudocia had shared some of it, as well, but right now, it was as obvious as ever that he was starting to run out of resources, at least.

Half the lab was empty, really, with only a few small parts and tools on most tables, his work mostly concentrated on the five centre tables, one of which being his computer station, at that.

She couldn’t even begin to guess at the purpose of most of the things he was working on, but one table, at least, was easily identified – the one he’d been performing maintenance on his battered armour (as skillful as he could sometimes be, somehow he still managed to get it wrecked a whole damn lot), the individual pieces laid out along with the bodysuit worn underneath them, looking like they were back in top condition.

The other tables were far less obvious. One sported what she assumed was a computer tower as tall as she was, standing at its centre. It seemed to have been built by cannibalising damn near every other computer in the room, fitting all the necessary parts together into an amalgam that would have made Frankenstein proud. With all the wires leading out of it, and the irregularly spaced amber-coloured cooling lines, it reminded her kind of of some japanese anime’s idea of a mechanical tree or such. And that was only the most obvious piece, as its wires connected to a variety of other devices, which were interconnected in turn, the whole construct so expansive it extended onto another table, all of it ending up in what looked like a twisted, uneven VR headset that had to weigh as much as a small child at the least, currently resting on the table in front of where Basil would normally sit.

Another table sported what looked like three hollow, egg shapes that fanned open like flowers, the insides of the petals covered in countless tiny spines, with one of Basil’s hand-made laptops wired up to them, running some kind of program with a progress bar that was half-done.

Finally, there was one last table on which lay a single gauntlet, sized to fit over Basil’s forearm and the back of his hand. Unlike the rest of his armor, it wasn’t made out of the black ceramic he tended to use, but of several overlapping half-rings of silvery metal, covered in gold and copper circuits which seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever (though Vasiliki knew better than to assume Basil would waste resources on mere aesthetics). The table was actually clean apart from that, all the tools put neatly away, signifying that this work, at least, was complete.

The one responsible for all that, Basil, sat at his computer terminal, wearing black dress pants and an unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his biceps, lounging on a swivel chair, turned halfway towards them.

Vasiliki felt her face heat up a bit, hoping to all spirits that her dusky skintone would hide the light blush as she was reminded that Basil had been… really getting more attractive, ever since she first met him.

Oh, he wasn’t turning into a supermodel, and he likely never would be; but gone was the gangly, messily black-haired, stick-thin nerd with the sharp black eyes she’d first befriended. His hair had grown long (and stayed messy, in spite of his attempts to keep it under control), nearly touching his shoulders by now, and his face had lost a lot of baby fat it’d still sported just a few months ago, making it look even sharper than before (which was saying a lot), his cheekbones looking like she could have sliced bread on them. His unbuttoned shirt and rolled-up sleeves showed the results of working out regularly, nevermind all the combat training they did whenever all three of them had the time, nevermind the regular patrols; he was still a little too thin and she doubted he’d ever look like a body-builder, and he often looked like he was tired due to what seemed to be some natural wrinkles around and underneath his jet black eyes, but…

Damn it, I’m feeling a little jealous of Prisca now, she thought. All in all, she wouldn’t be surprised if Basil wasn’t going to be getting a lot of hopeful suitors, come prom time – traditionally, Diantha High always had girls’ choice there, and Prisca wasn’t around to lay claim to him.

Oh Goddess, what the Hell am I even thinking? I have way more important things to worry about! she thought to herself as the two of them walked up to Basil.

“Hey, B-Six!” Dalia greeted him cheerily, and Vasiliki noticed that the red-head was clearly not as restrained as she tried to be about ogling the eye candy. “Did Prisca just leave?”

Timothy coughed suddenly, looking away.

Basil looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Just a few minutes ago, yes. Her charge ran out and she had to wake up. How did you know?”

Yeah, how did sh- ohhhh, Vasiliki caught up just a second later, and felt her face heat up even more. She really had to get herself a boyfriend already.

“Female intuition, I guess,” Dalia quipped brightly. “I see she got you to eat, huh?” she continued, nodding towards an empty plate on the table next to the computer.

Their friend shrugged. “I was not really hungry, but Prisca was really… insistent,” he said casually, as if it was nothing special.

“I really need to get that far with my girlfriend…” Vasiliki heard Timothy whisper from behind her.

Amen, she thought. And I need to find a boyfriend in the first place.

“Anyway,” she spoke up, trying not to focus on her relatively irrelevant relationship status. “We’ve got to talk, Basil.”

He turned his chair to face them fully and she realised that it wasn’t just his natural look she’d picked up on earlier. He really did look tired, though not as badly as he’d gotten before their intervention a while ago.

Perhaps we should keep a closer eye on him again, I don’t think that Eudocia is really cut out for watching over her ‘father’.

“Let us talk then,” he said with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“What happened at the end of the battle?” she asked straight out, not wanting to beat around the bush anymore. “Why’d you just dump us to come back here, and why’d you risk showing Gloom Glimmer our base?”

He flinched a bit, looking actually guilty. “I… I am sorry for leaving you behind. I am not entirely sure of all the details, but when Crocell died… well, you noticed his death throes, right? They call it a ‘psychic scream’, I think.”

Vasiliki nodded, shuddering at the memory. It had been profoundly unsettling, not to mention painful – her headache had lasted for hours. She knew that Dalia’s experience had been no better, either.

“What did you experience while it happened?” he asked them, gesturing for her or Dalia to take over.

“Flashes,” the latter immediately spoke up. “Flashes of colours and shadows, and weird sounds, like whale songs,” she explained as she sat on a chair Timothy had pulled up for her.

Vasiliki looked around and saw that he’d done the same for her, and was now sitting on one of his own, too, so she sat down as well, the four of them forming a loose circle among Basil’s workstations.

“My experience was very similar,” she continued once it became clear that Dalia was finished. “But even less distinct. Just shadows and screeching, but muted, echo-y, like it was underwater,” she described as best as she could, while Timothy remained quiet – he was the only one here who hadn’t been present. “I think there was more, while it happened, but it… didn’t stick in my mind.”

Basil made a thoughtful sound as he intertwined his fingers beneath his chin, elbows on the armrests of his chair. “I saw… much more. Perhaps because I was so close to it. Images, mostly. Memories, I think, of Crocell. To be more precise, his birth… and his creators.”

“What!?” Vasiliki shouted, jumping up onto her feet. “That thing was made? And you know who did it?!” She’d track these monsters down and blow them to high heaven!

He raised a hand in a calming gesture. “I will get to that,” he said, standing up as she sat down and buttoning his shirt closed, before he walked over to the huge computer tower to flip a single switch, causing it to boot up quietly, numerous fans that were hidden among the already extensive cooling lines starting their work. “I can not say whether it happened due to Crocell’s presence, but during the battle, it was like my power… came unstuck.” He gestured towards the gauntlet with one hand, using the other to type something on the tower’s keyboard without even looking at it. “That is how I was able to figure out how to kill the beast. Anyway, my memory of the contents of its scream began to fade quickly, and that is when I came up with this.” He gestured towards the computer tower and the headpiece it was connected to. “A neural engram recorder and visualiser,” he explained. “It can read the neural signals of the brain’s visual cortex and record them, provided one focuses long enough on an image – I used it to save as much of these visions as I could, before they faded from my mind, as well.”

The three of them just gaped at the boy, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care, as he continued on.

“Now, as to what I saw…” he stopped, suddenly, and turned to his computer terminal. “Eudocia, how is Prisca doing?” he asked calmly.

“She’s awake and talking to her mother,” the AI replied. “It seems like it will take a while, but I can’t be sure, since I’m not allowed to listen in on private conversations without permission,” she continued, sounding sullen.

“Good,” he said, sitting down again. “She will have to hear this, too, but… I would rather discuss it with you all first.”

And with that cryptic comment, he tapped a few keys on his terminal, calling up an image of… some kind of underwater scenery, a trench maybe. A slick rockwall could be seen, covered in corals and illuminated from below in all colours of the rainbow.

A tap of a key called up another image, looking up said wall towards the surface of the water, though little could be seen of it.

“I was not able to save much,” Basil continued, as he moved on, going from picture to picture. Crocell – it had to be him – was swimming up, it seemed, approaching a jet-black shape that seemed to float on the water’s surface, something like a huge octagon. “Here is where it gets interesting.”

More pictures came up, until Crocell seemed to break through the water’s surface, looking up at the starry sky.

Then, he climbed on top of the water, and looked down and out over a huge, almost city-sized floating island of metal, formed like an octagon.

His gaze swept over several people who’d gathered on some kind of platform at the edge of the installation, and focused closer on them.

Vasiliki felt her heartbeat speed up as she saw what she assumed to be the villains behind all the murder and bloodshed these monsters had caused over the last day. There were many, and not all were distinctly visible – the image quality was not the best in every shot, probably because Basil had had trouble remembering every detail – but a few stood out.

A woman in what looked like a samurai-themed knight’s armour mixed with a black-and-purple ball gown, wearing a helmet which reminded her of a bird, and a katana strapped to her side. Another woman, short, Asian, in a lab coat, with an ecstatic look on her face, her black hair drawn back in a bun. Next to her, a pimply, gangly man who looked like the stereotypical nerd in an oversized labcoat. And finally, a black-skinned woman in a smaller, tighter labcoat, her hands in her coatpockets as she seemed to look almost condescendingly at the viewer – at Crocell.

Others were around them, but they were indistinct, blurry. The focus was clearly on those four.

“That’s them, huh,” Dalia whispered. “Anyone recognise the bitch in the fancy costume?”

“No, I have never heard of anyone with that costume,” Basil replied, both Vasiliki and Timothy saying the same.

“Nor have I found any images on the internet which match her,” Eudocia added, her voice much more serious than usual.

“I did recognise one of them, though,” Basil continued, zooming in on the short Asian woman and the gangly nerd. “Eudocia was also able to identify the man – he is known as ‘the Geek’, a legacy villain who disappeared a few years ago. But it is this one that I am most interested in.” He zoomed further in on the short woman. “That… is Dusu.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the resulting silence.

Vasiliki stared at the image of the woman who’d ruined Prisca’s life, and that of so many others – no wonder Basil didn’t want to confront her with this rashly. The crippled girl would go ballistic.

She very deliberately did not ask whether Basil was sure – he would never speak about this unless he was absolutely sure.

“Is there a way to tell where this place is?” she asked instead, her voice barely more than a whisper. “There were some images of the stars earlier, perhaps one could determine its location that-” She cut off when she saw Basil’s grim smile.

“I did just that,” he affirmed, tapping a few keys. The images of the starry night showed up on the screens, one in each, and graphs began to appear, measuring the distances between stars, shapes they formed and more. “I also calculated how deep the trench Crocell rose out of must have been, based on the speed at which he rose and the height we observed when he first surfaced at Esperanza City. With those values, I was able to determine that it must be built somewhere above the Mariana Trench, specifically this general location.”

He called up a map of the Pacific Ocean, zooming in on the relevant portion and highlighting an area with a red circle. One quite near to the Challenger Deep, Vasiliki’s geographical knowledge told her.

“It is only accurate to within about a hundred kilometres, but nevertheless – whoever these people are, their base is somewhere there. And I am going to tell the United Heroes about it soon enough.”

Vasiliki swallowed dryly at the thought of the kind of violence that information would unleash – there was no way the heroes, and even a lot of villains, would hold back, not after the massacres caused. Nevermind governments like that of Japan, who’d been hit the hardest hit.

She wished she could participate. She’d drawn children out of the rubble of Esperanza.

“Damn, B-Six, that’s just… that’s so awesome,” Dalia said, hushed, her hands on her cheeks.

“Yeah, man, this… this is huge,” Timothy agreed, after having been quiet for most of this. “Are you… are you certain? I mean, I know you wouldn’t say this lightly, but if you’re wrong…”

Basil shook his head. “I am certain in what I saw, and the conclusions drawn. Crocell was made and he was made there. And Dusu,” he all but spat the name, “was involved in some fashion.”

He smiled grimly, showing teeth, the sight making Vasiliki shiver down to her toes. “This will not just be a chance to punish them for the monsters they unleashed. I intend to take the chance to find a cure for Prisca’s condition; if anyone has it, then Dusu, the one who created that plague in the first place.”

The Greek sorceress leaned back in her seat, running her fingers through her hair as she took a deep breath. “By the Goddess, this is… this is so much, Basil. Too much. We need to, to think this over, plan… and we need to tell Prisca, too. She deserves to know.”

He nodded, sitting down again. “Yes, yes she does. And I will. As soon as she comes back – I want to do it face-to-face, or as close as it gets with her insisting on the projection over her real body.” He sighed, leaning back as well.

“So, how are we going to tell the UH?” Dalia asked thoughtfully, an expression that was just weird on her, in spite of the situation. “Just give them a copy of the images and all?”

“I can not think of a better way,” Basil answered. “It will probably take a while to convince them that it is reliable, but I do not think that they will dismiss it, in the end. They need to take the chance to nip this at the bud, before even more monsters are created and let loose.”

Vasiliki nodded in agreement – that was paramount. Followed by punishing them for what they’d already done, of course.

She wished she had the power to directly send such villains to Tartarus herself.

“Alright, let’s talk about how we’re going to get this information to them in the most efficient, convincing way p-” she began, but was cut off when Eudocia suddenly butted in.

“Father!” she shouted, sounding panicked. “You’ve got to help!”

Basil turned his chair around, sitting straight and with alarm. “What is going on, Eudocia?” he asked briskly, but calmly.

“It’s Prisca!” the AI exlaimed, seeming to grow more and more panicked. “She just had a stroke!”

Basils knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of his table. “Status report, now,” he hissed as Vasiliki just stared in shock.

The screens changed to ECG readings and other information that Vasiliki couldn’t even begin to make sense of, making her briefly wonder where he was getting them from… until she remembered that he’d built most of the medical equipment currently sustaining Prisca, and there was no way he hadn’t left himself a connection to it for just such an occasion.

She watched as Basil’s eyes flew over the information, seeming to absorb it in record time. “Any reports on the other surviving victims?” he asked, his voice tight.

“Two of those whom I have access to had strokes over the last hour, one of them fatal,” she replied, her voice growing calmer, more mechanical, now that she was getting orders to pursue. “I’m hacking into what little there already is on their hospitals’ networks… nothing conclusive, as usual, but it seems like the plague is attacking their brains more aggressively than usual.”

She saw Basil tremble, even though his face – which she could see from the side, sitting where she was – was completely calm. “Keep collecting data. I want every byte you can get, he said calmly, leaning back on his seat.

Vasiliki couldn’t sit around anymore, though, and leapt up. “We should get to the hospital, see what you can do for her… or maybe me, if all else fails,” she said, turning around to go for where she had her spare costume stashed. She knew her healing magic -what little of it she was capable of – was not the most reliable, but if all else failed…

Dalia got up to join her, her face tight with worry.

“No,” came a sharp, cold voice, freezing them both in their tracks. “We are not going to the hospital.”

They turned around, both of them, and Vasiliki felt her blood run cold as ice.

Basil was leaning back on his chair again, his fingers intertwined as he’d put his hands together over his lap, his head slightly leaning forward.

His eyes were cold as ice and blacker than the darkness itself.

“W-why not? We need to help her!” Dalia protested, but Vasiliki just stared at her friend, who was looking into the distance with those cold, hard eyes.

“We will be of no help rushing to the hospital,” he spoke calmly, ignoring Dalia’s protests. It was like someone completely different was speaking. “I have already done all that I can for her, with just my skills and resources. Vasiliki’s magic is not compatible with my gadgets, and no one knows how it might react to Dusu’s plague.”

“W-what are we supposed to do, then?” Vasiliki asked, her voice trembling, and not just for fear for Prisca. This Basil… she’d known that there was something cold, and hard inside of him, some part of his that couldn’t be explained by the life he’d lead so far, but that was nonetheless there, but she’d never thought she’d see it so clearly.

He was scaring her.

“It is simple,” he said with that ice-cold voice. “There is only one person who knows how to save Prisca,” he continued, calling up the image of those four villains again. “We are going to go after the source of the plague.” He tapped her face on the screen.

“Are you crazy!?!” Vasiliki shouted, unable to restrain herself. “There’s no way we have enough time to wait for the heroes and the government to gather their troops and get there, Prisca will be dead or brain-damaged long before that!”

Basil remained maddeningly calm, in the face of her outburst. “I never said we would wait. Or I will not, at least. I will go after her as soon as I can arrange for some transportation, and gather up as much firepower as I can on short notice.”

She gaped at her friend, unable to believe he was being so reckless, so… so stupid, even with his girlfriend’s life on the line! These were some major supervillains, and there could be a whole army on that floating island!

The other two seemed just as shocked as she was, unable to protest, as they watched Basil pick up his cellphone from the table.

“How… how are we even supposed to get there on our own?” Vasiliki asked weakly.

“Yeah, unless you got a jet stashed somewhere around here, there’s no way we’re getting there anytime soon,” Dalia agreed.

Basil just punched a number into his cellphone and lifted it to his ear. Whoever was on the other end picked up quickly.

“Gloom Glimmer,” he greeted the other side. “Brennus here. I am calling about that favour you said you owed me…”

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The Dreaming Rewrite is complete!

Finally, I finished the rewrite! I know it may not seem like much, but it both changes a lot for my story, and was a lot harder to do to my satisfaction than it may seem.

I hope you all will enjoy it as much as I do now. For more details, head on to the Dreaming!

Regarding Brennus, I’m expecting a new chapter to be done by the end of Tuesday (I have half of it written already); currently the only thing slowing me down is a rather nasty infection that’s been splitting my head since Friday. I’ve still been able to make progress on my writing, so it’s not too debiliating, and I’m optimistic about meeting this deadline, for once 😉


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Brennus Files 11: Gadgeteering 2.0

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Like any kind of power, gadgeteers can be hard to classify, since each one is different in their own way, but there are certain patterns that can be observed. They’re not hard categories that every power has to fit into, but they can be useful as a guideline to understanding a gadgeteer’s process.

Gadgeteers usually manifest at the end of a string of challenges, often failed or barely passed, then confronted with one final, greater challenge or success; at this point, whether they accept reality and press on or reject it and flee inwards may decide whether they go down the path of the contriver or the gadgeteer.

Case Study ‘Peregrine’: Layla manifested after the plane she was on crashed on a remote island in the Atlantic, leaving the teenage girl as the sole survivor of her flight, and bereft of her glasses on top of that. Half-blind, she established a camp, then went to work using technical knowledge gained from several special courses at school to scavenge parts from the plane and the cargo, trying to build a long-range communication device. After two weeks of work, numerous set backs and her rations running out, she had one finished and tried turning it on… but her limited eye sight had caused her to overlook several important details in the wiring, which caused the machine to burn out uselessly, damaging several vital, irreplacable components.

First of all, every gadgeteer has a focus. Actually, every power has it, but it’s most obvious with gadgeteers and contrivers (next Brennus File will be on contrivers). This focus is the axis of their power, and what most people think of when they try to classify a gadgeteer, but it’s not the only thing.

Foci can run the gamut from simple, clear ones (heat-based melee equipment) to the strange and abstract (man-machine integration, countdown, automation). Usually, more abstract ones are more ‘powerful’, meaning if someone with the ability to perceive powers looks at you, they’d see a bigger power there, but it’s not universal.

Usually, they can be broken down along the lines of:

  • Field gadgeteers: those who have a certain field which they focus on and are mostly limited to working within said field, only branching out with a lot of effort, but can do amazing things within. The most common type of gadgeteer.
    • Polymnia: works with sonics, and only with sonics. Every other field she touches on is adapted to her focus.
    • Hotrod: multi-purpose vehicles and vehicular weaponry
    • Cartastrophy: originally Four-Wheeled Vehicles, has branched out into vehicular power armour.
  • Approach gadgeteers do not have one specific field, and are able to work within several of them, branching out relatively easily; their gadgeteering is instead governed by the approach they take, a certain theme or recurring element.
    • Tick-Tock: everything she makes has a timer as part of its function.
    • Boom-Boom: it all blows up. Often repeatedly.
  • Hybrid gadgeteers are where the lines get blurry, as they seem mix the strengths and weaknesses of both, in various ways, with no clear distinction between their field and their approach.
    • Sovereign: Automation.
  • Free gadgeteers, who can invent anything, in any field, given sufficient time and materials, though usually with some manner of large drawback, often tied into the vastness of their power.
    • Su Ling: could make anything, but everything she made escalated into the megascale. She sat down to fix her village’s sole microwave and ended up constructing a factory which turns raw matter into food. She wanted to build a telescope for her younger siblings to stargaze, yet ended up with a laser cannon which burned a canyon into the moon that is visible from Earth. Had a secondary power which allowed her body to produce rare and valuable materials required for her construction process (very painfully and beyond her control).

Case Study ‘Peregrine’: Layla’s power gave her two inter-connected foci, and she works best while working in the intersection of the two. Her foci are ‘Flight’ and ‘Sensory’.

Beyond this, gadgeteers are often split into combat/non-combat ones, though this distinction is mostly just used for teams in the field to set their priorities.

While there are some gadgeteers who are strictly locked into only creating combat equipment, and some who can’t make anything for combat at all, in most cases, it is more fluid than that.

So why don’t gadgeteers just stay in their lab and make equipment for normal people or for other metahumans to take into battle? Why not keep these valuable force multipliers safe in your base and have them crank out force-fields, laser guns and power armour?

Simply put, a gadgeteer needs to test. They need to see their creations in use, live, in whatever environment they were made for, in order for their power to properly improve on them. If a gadgeteer makes something for combat, then, unless he does not wish to improve on it any more, he has to be there and see it used in combat. While another person could use their equipment with them standing by and observing (they do need to be present, in most cases, as their power is watching with more than just their senses), that would leave the gadgeteer rather defenseless. Furthermore, not everyone can use a gadget to its fullest capability and only seeing half of your variable plasma gun’s potential come into play defeats the point of putting it to the test in the first place.

Case study ‘Peregrine’: Having escaped the island using a hand-made, solar-powered glider and flight goggles with navigation equipment built in, Layla returned to her home country of Scotland, where she chose to take on the name Peregrine and become a superhero. To do so, she developed combat-worthy equipment, specifically a rifle meant to drop stunning payloads from above on opponents, specced to be most accurate during fly-by attacks, as well as a winged jetpack to enable the full use of her weapon, and provide the much-needed mobility. In order to further improve on these first, rather crude creations, she’s going to go out and test them in combat against a local clan of criminals, among them one metahuman. No one but her has the necessary sense of balance and eye for air currents needed to fly her jetpack without crashing, and aim her gun properly during the high-speed strafing runs which it works best in, even where they to wear her high-spec visor.

And as for those gadgeteers who’re fine with not improving their technology, always just replicating the same old piece of equipment, never innovating…

Well, that’s a fast track towards dropping your Synchronization with your Tenant way, way down.

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B012.d From On High

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“Welcome to the UH Central Branch, Inspector Haurson,” the young woman behind the counter greeted Mike with a brilliant smile after scanning his ID card.

He smiled back on reflex. “Thank you, Miss…” he looked at her name tag. “… Fastings.” He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen her before, at some point…

Right, she was at the Austin branch headquarters, he thought, as he recognised her. “Nice to meet you again,” he added with a smile.

She smiled. “You must have me confused for one of my duplicates,” she replied, tapping said name tag. “This me has certainly never met you, Sir. I’d remember.” She looked at the long scar running down the left side of his face, across his (thankfully still functional) eye and cheek, down to the jaw.

“Oh, you’re a self-duplicator?”

She nodded. “Regular and persistent. I staff a lot of places, all across the organisation.”

“Huh, you must get killer overtime,” he joked, impressed. He hadn’t heard of that kind of power before… he should really read up on more on the powered non-cape employees of the organisation, he’d focused mostly on the leadership and on the capes, so far.

The pretty receptionist giggled. “You could say that, yes. Anyway, you’re cleared for the whole building. I assume you’re here for the board meeting?”

He nodded. “Aye. First week as an inspector, and already get my first board meeting. How lucky is that, eh?” He had expected to have at least a month before the next regular meeting… of course, there was nothing regular about this one.

“Can’t be lucky all the time,” she replied with a grin. “You should hurry, or you’ll be even less lucky.”

“True, true,” he admitted, taking his card back. “Well, see you later, Miss Fastings.”

He left her, walking down the old-fashioned hall – the UH Central Branch’ headquarters was not, as some might expect, inside a huge skyscraper, nor some other modern building; it was, in fact, a refurbished mansion built in what he assumed to be an Old English style of some sort… Victorian, perhaps? He couldn’t tell. Lots of carved wood and wooden furniture, very little visible electronics of any sort. Situated in the forest depths of New Hampshire, the place was isolated and heavily fortified… not that anyone could tell.

A wooden door slid open as he approached it, revealing an old-fashioned elevator – or at least, it looked old-fashioned. No old-school elevator would have responded to his announcement of ‘Floor U4’, the doors closing.

Nothing seemed to happen at all, but seconds later, the doors opened again, and he exited out into the fourth underground floor of the gigantic complex constructed beneath the mansion. Of course, the public knew little and less about this, and even the government only knew about the first four floors beneath the mansion… the rest were secret, and the bottom most ones were secret even to him, even though he was an inspector charged with keeping the various branches of the US UH honest, investigating any hints of malfeasance.

It was annoying, but he believed his superiors when they told him that he didn’t really want to know what was down there… that it would only give him nightmares.

Some things, man was not meant to know… yeah, no, I don’t buy it. Some day, I’ll find out what’s down there, he thought quietly to himself as he walked down the hallway… which still looked like it was at least two hundred years old, if in very good condition. The aesthetics of whoever built this… well, better than just concrete and steel. I do wonder whether these fabled bottom floors are built like this, too.

Finally, he reached his destination, a large double door, and entered after a polite knock.

Inside, he found a long room, with a huge double-window at the end of it, showing an idyllic scenery of rolling hills and a lake… some gadgeteer’s work, he knew. An illusionist, he created life-like holograms, and had helped spruce things up around the base.

“Inspector Haurson, I’m glad you could join us on such short notice,” he was greeted by his superior, Chief Inspector Edward Valiant.

Edward was a strange figure to look at, in many ways. He just about reached five feet and five inches of height, was rather heavy, heavily balding and sported rather large ears. His clothing style did him no favours, either, preferring to dress like a washed-up PI from the late nineteen-forties, in a gray pinstripe suit and white shirt, with an ungodly tie in dark blue, with red-white-and-black patterned squares across it. He had a very pleasant smile, though, which almost made up for having to look at his ties.

“Chief, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Mike replied with a grin, shaking the shorter man’s hand. “I hope I’m not too late?” He looked around at the gathered men and women, nearly two scores of them; but the seat at the head of the table, in front of the window, was empty.

“Nah, we’re still waiting for the Chief Director,” Valiant said. “Come, let’s sit down. This is your first meeting here, after all.”

“Yeah,” Mike agreed, following his chief past several other people sitting at the lower end of the table, to sit down on an empty chair next to Valiant’s, near the middle, with his nameplate in front of him. “Honestly, I feel quite out of place here… Inspectors don’t usually sit in for this, right?”

Valiant lowered his girth into his chair, sighing in relief. “Nonsense. I always bring one of you lads along, and you’ve earned the spot; besides, I know you want to rise up even higher, and this’ll help you make your name,” he winked at Mike, grinning.

Mike coughed briefly, to cover his embarrassment. His aspirations weren’t exactly a secret, but neither did he carry them on his sleeve. Besides, he was in the company of the people he hoped to ascend to match, some day.

He was spared from having to formulate an articulate reply by the double doors opening once more. Three people entered, a tall woman and a thin man, flanking a second, short man.

A very short man. If he cracked four and a half feet, Mike would be very surprised. His slightly stocky build did not help make up for it, only emphasizing it. Furthermore, he sported a very… old-fashioned bowl-cut that made his hair literally look like its namesake overturned bowl, and a mustache one could have used as a broom, as well as a dark blue pinstripe suit.

In fact, he and the Chief Inspector made quite the matched set, in a disrespectfully funny way – there were many jokes going around the offices about the two of them.

On the other hand, his face and his bearing immediately put any doubts as to his qualification to hold the power he did hold down. He had a calm, attractive face, rugged, with thick eyebrows and dark green, intelligent eyes and an overall very serious, respectable expression.

Such was the appearance of Chief Director Harley Ortega, the leader of the United Heroes and one of the most powerful men in the world, as he walked down the length of the table, smiling at the gathered people, always trailed by his ever-present shadow, a tall, gorgeous woman wearing a dark blue suit and skirt, and black pumps, her regal mediterranean features calm and collected. Her hair was drawn up in a tight knot, which did nothing to hide the fact that instead of having a hair colour, her hair looked like someone had painstakingly cut a hairstrand-shaped length out of reality, allowing one to peak past the Earth into infinite space, with each strand showing a different section of it. The effect was oddly disorienting to look at, yet quite beautiful.

Mike knew her as Sigma and no one had been able to tell him why she bore that name. She was the Chief Director’s personal assistant and bodyguard, and her file had more redactions in it than readable text.

The other man was Warren Gerden, the chief secretary of the board of directors, a thin, somehow slimy-looking man, though Mike had never heard anything but praise for his conduct and work ethics.

The Chief Director walked onto the podium built beneath his chair at the head of the table, to give him a much-needed boost, while Sigma took her place to the right behind him, her eyes almost glowing like chips of ice above a lamp, cast into shadows by the light from the window behind her. Warren sat down at a separate chair and small table with a laptop, to record the meeting and provide any resources needed.

“Good morning, everyone,” the Chief Director greeted them smoothly, his voice easily filling the room. “Thank you for coming all together on such short notice, and outside of our usual meeting times, as well. I’m afraid we have rather a lot to talk about, and so would like to skip the pleasantries and get down to brass tacks.” He looked around the table, but no one spoke up. “Good. Now, let’s start with the obvious subject, first.”

At a snap of his fingers, the entire window behind him disappeared, instead showing, now, four still images from around the world.

Mike felt a shiver down his back as he recognised the forms of Crocell and what he assumed to be the other three monsters that’d shown up at the same time, though he hadn’t yet seen images of the other three.

Crocell was shown in his final form, the last one he took before he was brought down by the local heroes.

The Chief Director gestured at a man sitting near the head of the table, a spindly thin man with wild, white hair, his face wrinkled, his age exaggerated by the huge, thick glasses he wore, magnifying his watery blue-green eyes to near-comical orbs. Unlike everyone else in the room, he wasn’t wearing a suit, but rather, a lab coat over a Hawaii shirt and a pair of black suit pants. “Professor Finderer, would you please brief us on these creatures?”

Finderer, the head of the UH’s research and development, spoke up in a nasal, but precise voice with a strong german accent: “Yesterday, at three-twenty-five Pacific Standard Time, the monster now known as Crocell appeared at the shore of Esperanza City, after heavy warnings of precogs… around the country that something horrible was going to happen there. It continued to engage our gathered heroes – and no few supervillains – as well as several dignitaries from the AMU and the GAIN, causing billions of dollars in collateral damage, almost five thousand civilian deaths – the count was only so low due to an unidentified but presumably very powerful metahuman helping to evacuate the people, who hadn’t been moved out of the city yet – and forty-five casualties among the defenders, before a group of, of young gadgeteers, using a modified Subjugator’s main turret, managed to put it down. Its death throes then flooded most of Esperanza City, causing even more damages and four more deaths among the defenders.” He stopped to take a breath. “And it was, almost certainly, the least dangerous of the four we know of.”

There were some shocked whispers around the table, people leaning closer to each other to exchange words, while Mike folded his fingers on top of the table. He’d already heard similar sentiments on the way here, though he didn’t know the specifics yet.

“Now, as far as we know – these four beasts, named Crocell, Andras, Marchosias and Alloces, appeared less than an hour, apart from each other, all coming from the sea, and all of them wreaking seemingly mindless havoc in major population centres, except for Aloces, which was intercepted by Queen Madeleine, before it could reach one. They all seemed to, shift through several, progressively more powerful forms over the duration of combat, often in response to, taking large amounts of damage, or their abilities proving, insufficient. Since everyone here was already briefed on Crocell yesterday, we will skip discussing him.” He picked up a remote from the table and pointed it at the screen, which focused on the image to the left of Crocell’s.

It showed what appeared to be a lanky, lizard-like beast, walking on its hoofed hind legs, while its head was almost leonine, like a twisted mixture of a snake and a lion, with countless spikes growing out from it in the form of a mane.

“The entity which appeared in Australia was named Alloces, due to its physical characteristics,” Finderer explained further, speaking evenly, as if he was just reciting the same lecture he’d held last year. “As it was the first one to be noticed – though not the first one to appear – if only by an hour, this caused the others to also be named after demons from the Ars Goetia. It went through multiple stages of development, ending up in this form.” Another click of the remote changed the picture to show the same beast, only now it looked more like a centaur, standing on four hoofed legs, its body still scaled and more appropriate to a lizard than a horse, even if its shape fit one, with a muscular humanoid body sticking out of the horse’s neck, topped by a now fully leonine head. It even sported fur, and was coloured like one, as well. “The creature was slain by Queen Madeleine before the full extent of its abilities were known; it demonstrated a singular ability, aside from extreme physical strength – summoning meteorites at will, ranging in size from about six metres in diameter, to five hundred.”

The imaged changed to show a veritable rain of burning hot projectiles coming down from the sky, tearing up the beach and forest. Several people gasped at the sight, but overall, the gathered directors were far calmer than Mike felt. A giant monster summoning meteorites? That sounded like the stuff of nightmares if he’d ever heard of one.

“Queen Madeleine managed to slay it, though according to what scant few reports we have, she took heavy damage doing so,” Finderer concluded, sounding animated – and annoyed – for the first time; probably at the lack of concrete information.

He switched over to the next one, an image of what appeared to be a nude male, suspended in mid-air. He lacked any primary or secondary sexual characteristics, his body perfectly smooth, yet sculpted to perfection, his skin a warm, normal colour for a caucasian male. However, it lacked a head, its neck ending in a perfectly straight stump, showing a cross-section of its spine, throat and other organs. In front of the empty air where her head should be, a mask floated in the air, depicting some manner of stylized bird, though Mike would be damned if he could name it. Its feathers were black, at the very least, yet tipped in gold, the bird somehow managing to convey a haughty expression.

“Andras appeared in Hong Kong minutes before Crocell surfaced in Esperanza City; within twenty minutes, it had killed or enslaved the thirty-seven metahumans who’d gathered to fight it off, sending its minions to slaughter the population of the metropolis,” Finderer led the description of this one, as Mike felt a cold pit form at the bottom of his stomach. “He appears to have been either incapable or simply not interested in controlling baseline humans. During their rampage, his minions caused four manifestations, all of which were quickly enslaved by him and added to his minion’s ranks. The vector by which he controlled them is unknown, and speculated to be telepathic.”

He waited briefly as murmurs broke out for a minute or so. Even the Chief Inspector didn’t stay quiet, leaning closer to Mike. “Great, another mind-bender. As if that crazy pet of the Dark ain’t bad enough.”

Mike couldn’t help but agree fully. Untangling the mess one of Mindstar’s victims caused in the Boston PD had been the assignment that had put him on a short list to promotion, yet he still wished it had never happened. Talk about messy.

Finderer continued. “Fortunately for everyone involved, Lady Light arrived in Hong Kong within forty minutes of its initial appearance and engaged it in a protracted battle. After approximately ten minutes, she’d managed to disable his puppets, after fifteen more, she managed to destroy the monster. Apparently, she was somehow able to block its telepathic powers.”

On her own? Seriously?

“Andras did not exhibit as extreme transformations as the other three monsters; it merely started out without its mask, which slowly manifested and became more elaborate as it developed and became stronger. Aside from its – presumably – telepathic abilities, Andras exhibited the ability to generate powerful, focused energy blasts from either of its eyes, simultaneously or independently, while aiming them in multiple directions at once. It was also at least as tough as Crocell proved to be, if more compact. The whole battle destroyed fifty-five percent of downtown Hong Kong. Fortunately, upon his demise, the effects of his telepathy wore off immediately, and the heroes and villains who survived are now being treated and screened. Most of them are expected to make full recoveries.”

Another click, changing to a giant, emaciated canine with wet, messy black fur. It looked, in any way, like a dog on the edge of starvation, except for its enormous size, easily the size of a minivan, judging by the cars next to it.

“Now, Marchosias, so christened due to its canine appearance, is the only one of the four to survive its first fight. It surfaced in the bay of Tokyo, causing only a minor panic, as its did not look nearly as threatening as the others. However, it proved to be the most dangerous one, having appeared almost a full hour before Alloces, yet remaining relatively docile during the first stages of its transformation, running through the city to evade pursuit, only occasionally attacking people seemingly at random. It proved elusive enough to escape the local Sentai’s attention, going through no less than half a dozen transformations – we assume – before it appeared in its final form.”

Another click, and the image changed to show a very different creature. It now appeared more like a dragon, of some sorts, its torso a weird mixture of humanoid and canine, or perhaps feline features, looking very flexible, and covered in smooth, almost silky fur. It had powerful shoulders and strong arms, ending in clawed hands with opposable thumbs, while its hind legs were more animal-like. It had a long, sinuous tail, longer than the rest of its body, bare of fur and covered in scales instead. From its back sprouted two pairs of huge black wings, though they were only black on the outside. Their insides were covered in strange scales, arranged in a way that evoked feathers, and scintillating in bright red, blue and purple. Its head could have been a nightmarish dog’s or cat’s, it was hard to tell, covered in dark fur, with glowing eyes that matched the insides of its wings in colours. It was now the size of a truck, if it pulled its wings together.

“Once it assumed this form, it was officially named and engaged by both the local Sentai team, their support groups, as well as Huong Long and the three members of our Tokyo branch functioning in a support role. However, it soon proved to be… problematic to combat.”

Another click showed Marchosias flying through a street, trailing a cloud of glittering dust that matched its eyes and wings in colour.

“From the moment it assumed its final form, Marchosias began to produce these scales, which it spread everywhere it went,” Finderer explained, sounding more subdued now. “Any baseline who breathed them in went insane, while also growing stronger, as well as able to ignore a ridiculous amount of pain – their increased is suspected to be a result of the latter, allowing them to push themselves to extremes without pause, due to the lack of sensation. All his victims immediately started killing everyone they could reach, except for other infected, unless he was currently flying by nearby, providing more scales. In that case, they would drag uninfected people towards the scales to become infected as well. Fortunately, though, the scales appear to lose their potency quickly, becoming inert within less than a minute of being separated from its body. However, their effects upon baseline humans appear to be permanent; those who survived the immediate battle and could be caught non-lethally show no signs of recuperating.”

Oh my God… so that’s how all those people died. Mike’s stomach was turning at the thought of how that must have gone.

One of the directors – Director Niles from Miami, a rather hard man who seemed much to dour to come from that city – spoke up. “Excuse me, you specified that this applies to normals; how did it affect metahumans, then?”

Another click, showing an image of a young Asian man, naked but for a pair of torn jeans pants, walking through the street in an aggressive pose, leaning forward, his arms spread as if about to pounce on someone. His eyes were glowing a purplish colour, while veins of scintillating red, blue and purple ran from them all over and around his face and neck. He was surrounded by a corona of intense, almost solid air.

“The effect on metahumans is far more pronounced; not only were they driven insane and beyond pain by the scales, but their powers were also boosted, to varying degrees,” Finderer explained, setting off another round of whispers. “Fortunately, said effect appears to be temporary; it wears off after apparently random amounts of time, though it does appear as if the ones to recover the quickest – on the order of less than an hour – are among those with the greatest control over their power. Furthermore, certain individuals, such as the Dark, appeared to be immune. Huong Long was briefly infected, but was able to nullify its effects at will, even upon re-infection.”

“Well, at least we didn’t lose one of our best… problematic as that child may be,” Director Ryan, from New Lennston, spoke up. He was a warm-looking, blonde man, stocky almost to the point of being fat. Thick, was perhaps the best word. “Though, how did this beast manage to escape the Dark and Huong Long?”

Finderer shrugged. “Mostly due to all of its victims providing such an effective distraction. After all, once infected, it did not need to remain present to manage them. Huong Long prioritized minimizing casualties, while the Dark attempted to pursue it, but was bogged down by empowered infected.” He stopped, tapping the remote to his chin. “On another note, it appears that Marchosias chose to flee the moment the last of its… brothers… died, implying that there was some form of information exchange between them. Lastly, the three which were slain all burst into frankly ridiculous amounts of sea-water, which contributed greatly to the collateral damage to Hong Kong and Esperanza City.”

The Chief Director nodded to Finderer. “Thank you very much, Professor,” he spoke smoothly, as the screen returned to an image showing all four of the monsters. Finderer sat down, immediately turning his attention to a tablet which his assistant handed to him.

“Now, fortunately, our own losses were sparse. Most of the casualties in Esperanza were on the villain side, and we didn’t lose any members at all from our Tokyo branch. There were no – official – members of the UH involved in the Hong Kong or Australian theatre. However, the simultaneous appearance of monsters like these is reason for concern. They are clearly of like nature, in spite of their appearance, and they all pursued major population centres, even if one of them never made it that far,” the Chief Director continued as he leaned back in his chair. “What are your thoughts, my friends?”

“If there’d been just one, I’d have said this was just another broken meta,” Director Niles spoke up, rubbing his pointy chin. “But four monsters, of such like nature? Seems more like one metahuman made these… or perhaps a group of them. What’s our Eyes say?”

Everyone, including Mike, looked at the director of Project Argus Panopticos, the United Heroes’ collection of pre-cogs and various other espers. A dark-skinned woman in her late forties, Martha Jenkins was the one who’d come up with and organised the project in the first place, and had been its director since the beginning. Usually, she loved presenting her pet project’s results, showing just how well it was working.

Right now, though, she looked more than a little chagrined, as she shook her head. “Whatever or whoever made these things, wherever they may come from, it blinds all our Eyes,” she admitted. “The most we’ve been able to get were disjointed ramblings about someone named ‘Rei’ singing a lullaby. And that’s from our most powerful precog.”

“That is beyond unhelpful,” Director Warren Armstrong supplied, his huge mustache twitching with his usual distaste for precognitives. “Do we at least have an inkling of who this Rei might be?”

Jenkins almost seemed like she wanted to snarl at him, but she didn’t, instead replying coolly, “No. It is apparently not an uncommon name among Japanese people.”

“Let’s keep an eye out for any metahuman with that name,” Ortega intervened before this could escalate into another fight. “For now, let us focus on what we do know. Which metahuman that we know of could, conceivably, have created these?”

People thought it over, including Mike. Soon, the first ones spoke up.

“Merkabah,” Ryan brought up. “She’s shown a propensity for creating monsters, even if they’re usually more… mechanical.”

Now that’s a crazy fucking bitch, Mike couldn’t help but think. He’d read all the reports which existed about her, as part of his briefing on S-Class threats, and they hadn’t been pretty at all. He didn’t think she was capable of something like this, though. These beasts were too big a departure from her usual MO.

“If you got something to say, spill it,” Valiant whispered into his ear. “You’re not here just to watch and look pretty.”

He looked at his boss, nodding, and then turned to the table in general. “I disagree. Merkabah’s past creations have been markedly different from any of these four, and far less extreme in scale,” he spoke, finding his throat quite dry, yet managing to avoid squeaking.

To his great relief, he didn’t get any weird looks for having spoken up; however, people did briefly focus on him, and he very nearly shrank back in his seat, especially when the Chief Director looked at him, briefly, and smiled.

“Noted. We shall still include her in our preliminary list, for completeness’ sake if nothing else, but she’s likely to be low on it,” the man at the head of the table said. “Any other candidates anyone can think of?”

Mike leaned back, relaxing just a bit.

“The Savage Six? This is just the kind of thing they’d love to do, even if I don’t know whether they could,” another director added, too quickly for Mike to check whom it had come from.

Ortega nodded. “We should consider motivation, yes. They definitely belong on the list, for now.”

“I believe it is pertinent to mention,” Director Charles Barnes of Kansas City interjected, “that the Savage Six have apparently spent the time since they returned into their otherworldly base kidnapping other villains from all over the world. At least, our Eyes assume that the Six are behind it.”

“What!?” Armstrong shouted, slapping a hand on the table. “How come this is the first time I hear about that!? This should’ve been brought up as soon as it became known!” He looked accusingly at Jenkins again, but she didn’t get a chance to respond.

“Warren, my dear friend, please calm yourself,” the Chief Director spoke calmly. “This is no place for such outbursts.” He looked intently at the man, yet without glaring, until Warren subsided with a nod. Then he turned towards the table as a whole. “I agree that this is more than a little worrisome. Even if the Six are not involved with these monsters at all, the fact that they’re gathering villains is something to look out and prepare for. Director Jenkins, would you please make sure that your Eyes make a list of any villains whom they think have been taken?”

Jenkins nodded, looking pleased that her people were being called upon.

“So, is there anyone else who’s an option?” Ortega continued.

“Sovereign, simply because he might be able to, if he gathered the right metahumans,” Ryan said. “Though I would put him low on the list. This doesn’t seem like his… style, for lack of a better word.”

There were nods all around the table, to both points.

“That’s about it, though,” Armstrong said, his hands clasped tightly on the table in front of him. “There’s honestly no other metahumans I could think of – who’re still alive, that is – which could be capable of this. The last one to create anything near this scale was Blackhill.”

Just the mention of that name sent shivers down several people’s backs, as Mike noticed. Many of those present here were old enough to remember the Martian Invasion in all its horror and wonder.

“I suppose we’ll have to hope that our Eyes and everyone else we can gather with a hand for such things will dig up some useful data,” Ortega agreed. “Now, unless there is more on this, we should move on to determining how we’ll pitch into relief efforts for the victims of these attacks… yes, Director Ryan?”

Everyone looked at Ryan, who’d raised his hand. “There is one point,” he said. “It’s regarding the battle against Crocell or, more specifically, how the monster was finally brought down.”

“Are you referring to the young gadgeteers who cooperated to take it down?” Ortega asked.

Ryan nodded. “Yes. More specifically, I am referring to the one who figured out Crocell’s weak point, then organised the operation, an independent young hero calling himself Brennus. You all are aware of him, I believe, as the boy who was instrumental in taking out the Acre beneath New Lennston, as well as the one to put down Hastur.”

Again, there were nods around the table.

“May I interject briefly,” Niles spoke up. When Ryan nodded, she continued, “This machine he built, could it be used to slay Marchosias, when he shows up again?”

“I’m afraid not,” Finderer answered, still focused on his tablet. “Even if Sovereign had not reclaimed his Subjugator – neither Tick-Tock nor Polymnia believe that they could recreate the device without Sovereign’s advanced technology as a base, not even with Brennus’ help – Crocell appears to have been… unfinished. According to what data we were able to gather, the Dark attempted a similar strategy against Marchosias, once he learned of Crocell’s defeat, and it failed. It is highly likely that, by now, Marchosias is no longer merely a mass of sea water contained by a hyper-powerful force-field.”

Niles made a sigh, but didn’t continue, and Ryan cleared his throat.

“Anyway, the point I wish to bring up is, how should we deal with young Brennus?” he asked into the gathering of his peers and superiors, while the secretary called up an image taken of Brennus, standing atop the jury-rigged Subjugator with Polymnia and Tick-Tock, aiming, moments before it was fired off. It looked… quite impressively heroic.

Armstrong nodded. “The boy has been too… impactful. We can’t allow a vigilante like that to run around free and keep showing up the actual legal heroes,” he agreed with Ryan. “Nevermind that his actions are inherently illegal, as well-intentioned as they may be, he is undermining the whole point of the United Heroes’ existence, and of any established, legalized hero team.”

“Atmittedly true,” Ryan agreed, though he didn’t look happy, “but that is not what I am referring to. I refer to the fact that, now if not already, he is going to be a target for countless unscrupulous villains and other criminals, not the least of which being the Dark himself, and we should try to recruit him so we can protect and nurture him and his talent. Though that would also solve the image problem which he represents. Yet Brennus has, quite decidedly, refused to join our local branch, even though he is maintaining cordial relationships with both Polymnia and Gloom Glimmer, and appears to at least be on friendly terms with Tartsche and Spellgun.”

Niles drummed his fingers on the table. “Hmm… so we both need him, and he needs us. Have we tried making another recruitment pitch at him? If anything, we can offer him many more and better resources than he could get on his own, and gadgeteers always need more resources.”

Ryan shook his head. “According to Gloom Glimmer and Polymnia, he is unlikely to accept that, even though it appears that he is running out of his own resources, wherever he may have originally gained them.”

“He’s running out? How do you know that?” Armstrong asked curiously, obviously sensing an opportunity.

“His gear has been downgraded since it was damaged in the fight against Hastur,” Ryan explained. “He was obviously unable to finance a full restoration. He also hasn’t improved as much as we would have expected, based on his other feats shown.”

“What kind of rating has he been assigned?” Ortega asked. “I assume it was adjusted after his performance during the Crocell fight?”

Ryan nodded, answering as the expert on the subject. “We are currently rating him as a Gadgeteer ten-slash-eight, with sub-ratings of Damage six, Movement four, Perception five, Protection five and Spawner two.”

Mike almost whistled at all the accumulation of ratings. That was quite the list, even for a gadgeteer.

He also had an idea on how to approach this problem, but he was going to wait and see if someone else came up with it, first.

“And we haven’t been trying to recruit this boy more?” Armstrong said in outrage, barely controlling his voice. “What kind of madness is this, to let someone who’s that powerful – a child, no less, as all reports I’ve heard here suggest he’s in the age group of your Polymnia – run around unsupervised and unprotected?”

“It is a delicate situation,” Ryan replied, though he didn’t seem offended at the outburst. Rather, he almost seemed to agree, based on how he leaned a little towards Armstrong as he continued to speak. “Brennus has, so far, conducted himself nearly impeccably – a single unauthorized use of our e-mail servers notwithstanding, and we all know how that paid off for us – and he is quite popular with the public. I don’t have to explain to you how much the crowds love heroes like him, and he is a hero, even if he’s also a vigilante. Trying to force him into joining us could not only antagonise him, but also the public, if he lashed out and it became known,” he concluded.

Armstrong seemed ready to object, but Jenkins cut in, looking intently at Ryan.

“What about his emblem?” she asked. “Let us not forget the incident with Ember, during which he painted Brennus chosen emblem on a wall, the first time he moved since his exile began, and until he began healing people again. Have you been able to contact Brennus on this matter?”

The stocky director shook his head. “I’m afraid not. As I said, the situation is delicate. I don’t want to contact him about this by mail, yet e-mails remain currently our only viable way for contacting him. I was hoping to talk to him in the aftermath of the Crocell battle, but Brennus apparently insisted on being transported directly to a location somewhere near his lab, by Gloom Glimmer, as he apparently had some kind of stroke of inspiration in the aftermath of the fight, and wished to work on it. Before anyone asks, no, Gloom Glimmer doesn’t know where his lab is. She simply dropped him off at New Lennston’s northern industrial district, which we suspected to be where his base lies anyway.”

“Sounds to me like we really have to do something already,” Valiant threw in his own five cent. “Boy’s only gonna be getting more and more attention once this leaks, and it will leak. The Protegé is too big for such an action to remain secret for long. Nevermind his performance during three S-Class events, delivering the final blow in each. And wasn’t he sought out by the Savage Six, too, during the Fion girl’s kidnapping incident?”

Once more, people seemed surprised, whispering among each other at the new piece of information. At least those who hadn’t known yet.

Ryan dismissed it, though, waving a hand. “That was apparently an unrelated issue. They have been probing various gadgeteers all over the world, or at least they used to until they put that on hold in the wake of the Osaka incident. Anyway, the dismissed Brennus, in front of several members of our junior heroes. They don’t believe him to be this Macian they are looking for.”

Mike frowned, leaning closer to his chief. “Who’s Macian, Sir? I don’t think I’ve read any files on him.”

“That’s because there ain’t really one,” Valiant replied quietly. “He’s barely more than an urban legend. A child gadgeteer who grew up in the Savage Six’ games, was supposedly involved in both the Berlin and the London Incident and at least a dozen more, then is thought to have escaped their pocket dimension. Nothing concrete on him, but it’s curious enough that it drew the boards’ attention in the past.”

“Chief Inspector Valiant, Inspector Haurson,” Armstrong addressed them. “Do you have anything pertinent to say?”

They looked at the man, Valiant looking quite annoyed, but Mike was the one to reply. “Just a thought, Sir. The Savage Six are looking for a young male gadgeteer of apparently considerable power. Said gadgeteer is said to have been both in Berlin and London – where Ember was – and Ember has drawn the personal emblem of a young, male gadgeteer of considerable power to a wall. What if he is this Macian, and the Savage Six merely failed to realise it?”

That got people thinking. Mike stayed quiet, watching them, as he thought it over himself. This boy is getting more and more curious by the minute.

“Hrm, Brennus is truly becoming an unavoidable issue for us,” Ortega observed, stroking his chin. “We can’t allow him to remain independent, especially if he’s running out of resources – thus becoming more vulnerable to attacks, or recruitment by villains – nevermind the image problem he represents. Also, he’ll most likely be in Sovereign’s sight now, too, after everything that’s happened.”

“He is a criminal – why don’t we just bring him in, and then spin it in our favour?” Armstrong asked calmly. “It shouldn’t be our first, or second option, but it is an option, and one that is, to me at least, far preferable than allowing a child to so endanger himself – and others.”

“Much as I’d like to, I cannot disagree,” Ryan admitted. “However, I would rather try to recruit him in a more diplomatic manner. Perhaps with the help of our junior heroes, they do have a rather friendly rapport.”

“If he is truly running out of resources, he ought to be all too eager to join us, as he doesn’t seem inclined to become a villain at all,” Niles argued.

“He appears to be a very proud young man,” Ryan countered. “Maybe too proud to accept joining us, especially now, when he’d be at a disadvantage.”

“Our profiling supports Director Ryan’s view of him,” Jenkins added.

They continued to discuss it, bouncing around ideas on how to get the boy into the organisation, however possible. His teammates, too, once they were brought up, though they were a secondary concern right now.

Still, it didn’t sit right with Mike. This wasn’t the way to recruit a proud, young gadgeteer riding the high of three major successes like that.Finally, he decided to speak up and voice his opinion.

“What if we simply help him out by paying him what he’s owed?” he asked, interrupting a rather spirited discussion between Armstrong and Niles on how to strong-arm the boy into the UH.

“Pay him?” Ortega zeroed in on him, his gaze like a flood light, only more focused. “Please elaborate, Inspector.”

Mike swallowed dryly, then took a sip from the glass of water in front of him. “Well, as Director Ryan pointed out earlier, we have profited rather greatly from him providing Polymnia – and thus, us – with his reproducible EMP-protection. According to what I’ve read, it’s already protected a few millions worth of hardware by now, correct? Nevermind the protection it provided to several of our own gadgeteers when fighting enemies who relied on the kind of EMPs which Brennus’ system blocks, correct?”

There were nods, some enthusiastic, some apprehensive and some neutral.

“I’m thinking, if we want him to view us in a more favourable light and, eventually, persuade him to join us, it could help to offer him the patent on his invention. He provided it freely, but I don’t think he really considered what that kind of thing is worth. A patent, perhaps with some – moderate – back payments, could net him several hundred thousand dollars within a month and millions in the long run, as long as no better system is invented and adapted. It would not only make him feel more secure and less… threatened in his pride, when asked to join us, but he’d also have an example of our fairness and generosity, proof that we reward good work even when not asked to.” He stopped, nearly breathless. I really have to learn not to get so worked up about every little thing, he chided himself, but remained quiet, watching the men and women around the table.

Ortega was the first one to speak up. “I like this. I like this, a lot. It’s the kind of thing the United Heroes were founded to do, in the first place, and reaffirming that is really a purpose of its own. If we can recruit such a promising gadgeteer with such a simple gesture, or at least make him more willing to cooperate with us in other ways, then I am all for it. Are there any objections to Inspector Haurson’s proposal?”

“So long as we are not overly generous, I see no reason to disagree,” Armstrong admitted, and Mike released a breath he hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding. If he’d convinced even Armstrong, then the others were unlikely to disagree.

And true to that, there were several agreements and nods from all around the table, with only the qualifier that they had to keep their budget in mind, which was going to be stretched anyway, due to the almost certain event of them supporting Esperanza’s (repeat) rebuilding.

“It is agreed, then,” Ortega closed with a smile, turning his eyes towards Ryan. “Director Ryan, please set everything necessary in motion. I want this done as soon as possible, before anyone else gets to the boy with another offer.”

Ryan nodded, looking quite pleased himself.

“Now, let us get to the next point, that is to say, our efforts to help provide relief and reconstruction for Esperanza City…” Ortega continued the meeting.

Mike leaned back in his chair, feeling quite sweaty. He’d really overreached himself, he thought, in spite of how it had been accepted. His first meeting, not even as a member of the board, just a hanger-on to the Chief Inspector, and yet he’d spoken up brazenly several times.

Valiant, though, seemed quite pleased, smiling that fatherly smile of his that could make anyone feel like a kid again. “Good job, kid. I knew you had it in you.”

He smiled back at his mentor, nodding to thank him for the compliment, as he picked up his glass and drank, returning his attention to the ongoing discussion.

There was still so much to do.

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