Report and Final Schedule

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Yeah so, obviously, the whole updating on time thing is not going well right now. Eleven-hour shifts will do that to a writer.

I don’t know whether I’ll manage an update today (it would be a regular update – the power rangers file will be shelved until further notice), but I’ll certainly do what I can to finish something. This rather sad state of affairs may well continue until the end of September, I’m afraid.

To make a little something up to you all, I’ve decided to publish my final schedule for Book 1 – Brennus:

B011 Monkey Family

B012 Born At Sleep

B013 Call of the Sleeper

B014 Rift

B015 Gloom & Doom

B016 Supermassive Black Hole

B017 All Masks Fall

B018 All The Lost Ones

B019 Basil Blake

B.E Epilogues

Hopefully, I’ll be able to finish all this by February, then take a month or two off to get a head-start on editing for the book release (which will also include a near-complete rewrite of the first three arcs, I think) and focus a little more on The Dreaming. Then I’ll segue into the second book, parallel to writing the Dreaming and editing the old work if I don’t manage it during the break.

I hope you’ll stay with me until the end.

Until the next update, goodbye, and have good fun.

 

Sincerely,

Tieshaunn

Brennus Files 06: Go, go Power Rangers!

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Go, go Power Rangers!

Go, go Power Rangers!
Go, go Power Rangers!
Mighty Morphin Power Rangers!

Go, go Power Rangers!
Go, go Power Rangers!
Go, go Power Rangers!
You Mighty Morphin Power Rangers!

Many a history that may have been was derailed with Point Zero, but few countries took such a strange turn as the country of Japan did. At first, metahumans were a very welcome sight in the land of the rising sun, for it was still in the throws of extreme nationalism, and a high incidence (relatively to the rest of the world, at the time) of manifestations (there were no less than forty-three known metahumans active in Japan by the end of the Thirties, and almost a hundred of them by nineteen-forty, almost twice as much as in China and almost at the level of Australia, Africa and the America).
And just to make things even more favourable for metahumans, nearly the entire imperial family had manifested by the end of the Twenties; Emperor Hirohito was one of the most powerful metahumans of the time, a high-powered weather controller; this, as well as a series of very successful expansions into Chinese territory, invigorated Japanese national pride, and many said that Japan had now entered a Golden Age…

That is, until Weisswald came along, of course.

The shock and upheaval that he caused, not just to Japan’s country but to their very culture can’t be overstated.

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B010.3 Falling Hearts

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Basil lowered his arm, removing the knife from her throat. “Hello. I did not expect you here,” he greeted her.

She rubbed her throat, as if checking for cuts – but he had not even nicked her skin. He was surprised to see that her hair was brown, which he really had not expected, not with the way she ran around in costume; but he could still recognise her by her pink visor, which she apparently kept at hand just like he always had his soft mask with him at all times.

<Brennus? Is that you?> she asked, her lips unmoving except to breathe. He looked down and saw that she was wearing a slightly bulky glove, blue with wires running through it, and her fingers were moving as if she was tapping keys.

“Just like how I control my suit’s functions,” he said, taking a closer look at her glove.

<Oh, I knew you used a similar system, I saw your fingers move every time you were in that suit!> she replied, her earlier question forgotten. She lifted the glove to show it off. <It’s still rather bulky, and easily damaged, though.>

“Why did you bring it along, then?” was his reply as he looked at it from beneath while she typed. A speaker was worked into the palm, and he could tell that the glove extended further down her arm, probably with some power source hidden somewhere beneath the bulky sweater. “Better bring a sturdy unit attached to your belt, or something in that vein.” He quickly looked her up and down – winter boots, baggy black pants, a blue turtleneck sweater. Nothing like his quickly converted costume. “Speaking of which, do you not have an emergency costume?”

She gave him a sheepish glance. <I didn’t think to make one – it’s not usually a problem for us official heroes, since we’re not supposed to do heroics at all when off duty.>

He stepped back, smiling (which should show, slightly, through his mask). “Why are you back here, then, attacking me?” he asked.

<How things are and how they should be are two vastly different things; that’s why we put on costumes and go out risking our lives, after all, right?> she answered with another question. <And speaking of costumes, how exactly did you work that jacket, did you have a second one over it as cover or…>

“Stop!” he said, raising a hand, palm out. “I just realise that we are taking an unnecessary risk staying here and chatting up… though we certainly should compare notes on those control gloves, at a later point in time,” he continued, trying to steer them away from the Gadgeteer Zone they would probably slip into in a moment.

She nodded. <Do you have a plan?>

Flipping the knife into the air and catching it, he said, “Get access to the surveillance system to destroy any recordings of the two of us, somehow contact the outside – hopefully, they did not cut all connections to the outside world.”

<Right. Let’s do that – but I need a costume first, or I can forget my secret identity as soon as someone snaps a cellphone picture of me.>

“I think I saw a SuperWear shop earlier. It should be nearby, and I can disable the cameras inside – though that will alert our opposition, if they took the surveillance system over, which I will assume they did.”

<Let’s hurry then.>

* * *

 

A few minutes, two disabled cameras (he had not had the time to tie them into loops) and one popped lock later, they were in the shop – and what a shop it was.

The original SuperWear had been the first commercial store for superhero and -villain costumes, founded in the late Twenties by the man who had been making and fixing Lady Light’s costumes (she used to go through a lot of them, before she mastered her powers) so as to make a living out of his talent (and make it tax deductible). He had provided custom-made outfits for anyone who could pay, thus preventing supervillains from coming after him – they were his customers, too, after all.

From there, it had grown and grown, and was now the biggest retailer of all things costume-related (they did not provide hand-tailored custom works anymore, though).

The one they were in had been hailed as the largest SuperWear store in the world, taking up space on every level of the Bright Arcades. Its interior was well-organised, easy to navigate and utterly exploding with colour. Basil had to blink when he first entered and turned the lights on.

“Well, at least you are sure to find something to wear,” he said, as Polymnia looked around in glee, then ran over to the girl’s section.

<No peeping!> she shouted back as she vanished among the racks of clothing.

“Not interested!” he shouted back, annoyed. As if every guy was a horn-dog like Outstep (or Dalia). “I will stand watch near the staircases!” And he proceeded to do just that. Fortunately, the lockdown had also closed the shutters of all shops; and though the front door had been opened again, most likely by the criminals so as to collect the customers and herd them all into one place. These guys work fast.

As was to be expected from criminals led by a mastermind. Kudzu was not exactly one of the big names – he just about cut the middle class – but Basil had, nonetheless, heard a bit about his exploits. He did not remember any flaws in his power, or even how exactly it worked – which was too bad, because people with mastermind powers usually had built-in blind spots their power could not account for (like Formula, a villainess whose power over math let her calculate even the future, but was utterly incapable of accounting for positive emotional factors).

Which would have been really good to know when going up against such a mastermind. If at least I knew whether he’s a precog or just a super-powered planner.

Either way, he closed the main entrance again (the shutters were mercifully quiet) and then disabled the mechanism, so it could no longer be opened from the central control, only from within the shop. Keep an escape route open to you, but deny your enemies the entry. Always a good thing to keep in mind.

Now if only I could access the cameras outside. But that would have to wait until they got to the control room (which was likely to be heavily guarded now, as Kudzu would almost assuredly be there) or some other access point to the system. Like perhaps the maintenance room? Only he had no idea where it was.

His train of thought was derailed when Polymnia stepped out from the racks of clothing.

<Done!> she said. <They actually have a bodysuit styled like my armor! Doesn’t it look great!?>

“It certainly looks… colourful,” he supplied. “But would not some more… uh… coverage, be good?” There were a lot of transparent parts to it. “How about you put that sweater on over it?”

Her face fell, and he got the feeling he said something wrong. <It doesn’t look… good?> she asked, the artificial voice sounding a little disappointed.

She even has mood settings for that thing – I so need the technology for Eudocia. “Oh, I’m sure it looks good… if you just want to, uh, you know, show off. But it looks a little bit, uh… indecent? As in, a lot? You are a little… young to wear that, I think.” Not to mention way too busty.

<I guess I’ll, uh, pick out something else…> she said, crestfallen.

“Please do. It really does not suit you. And do hurry, we do not have much time before someone gets here and tries to take us out!”

She hurried back into the racks of clothing, while Basil went back to watching the entryway, sliding behind a nearby rack of masks – and not a second too soon, as soon he heard someone shout on the other side.

Though he could not tell what was being said, the other person seemed agitated. He heard someone answer, and then the sound of something being stuck to the metal shutters.

“They are about to break through, I think!” he said in a normal voice – according to her public profile, she should be able ot easily hear it.

<I can hear them; coming through!>

And she stepped back into sight, now wearing a simple blue bodysuit with pink boots and a pink glove on her free hand, and a pink scarf that hid her face from the nose down. She had also gotten a wig in her usual colours.

Talk about garish. But it probably looked great to most guys – it was not her fault that Basil preferred a much more clothed style. “Get behind some cover,” he told her, pulling a stun grenade from his belt. “And cover your e-“

<Can you disable their communication equipment?> she asked suddenly, cutting him off, while she remained standing in full view. <If you can, I can take care of the rest.>

“I have a single emp grenade with me. Short range, so it should not affect your equipment. Do you have any weapons with you?”

<Kind of. Watch and be awed.>

“Guess I will have to trust you…” He took the grenade and threw it over to the entrance way, where it stuck to the doorframe over the door, ready to be set off. “I sure hope you know what you are doing.”

With some luck, she will show off some new invention of hers. If she is this confident in it, it ought to be good.

* * *

 

There was a surprisingly quiet series of explosions – really more of a succession of ‘plops’, each accompanying a circular part of the shutter being melted, forming the outline of a door.

Basil drew his knife in his left hand, and a stun baton in his right. He was still hidden behind the rack, using a nearby mirror to keep an eye on the entrance.

When the outline had been melted into it, a stiff kick dropped the whole section into the shop, and six men streamed inside, clad in battle fatigues and wielding highly tricked out assault rifles…

Oh, this is just too rich, Basil thought as he set the grenade off. There was barely any sound, just a short crackle, and then the men were inside, moving to surround Polymnia, guns held ready.

“Freeze!” their leader, a man wearing a red beret over his full-face mask, shouted as they formed a circle around her. “Surrender and you won’t be harmed!”

I do hope those rifles are not EMP-proof, Basil thought as he got ready to attack – they would probably search the shop, and he might catch one of them, at least, off-guard before anyone noticed their weapons were not working…

<Right back at you, Sirs,> Polymnia responded, setting her vocalizer to ‘cocky’. <You do know who I am, right?>

“Polymnia, Junior Hero, Sonic Gadgeteer, enhanced hearing,” he shot back rapidly. “We’ve read up on all the locals, girl. Now, take off that glove, get on your knees and put your hands behind your head! Right now!”

<Take off this glove? Sure, Sir,> she said, pulling her vocalizing glove off – very carefully and slowly. Basil could see the men get nervous, even though they were basically surrounding (well, they had formed a half-circle, to avoid crossfire) a teenage girl in a garish costume, taking off a strange glove…

Well, the had a lot of reason to be nervous.

“Get a move on, girl!” the leader shouted at her.

She smiled sweetly, and dropped the glove.

And then things went in a totally different way than he expected.

* * *

The men’s eyes tracked the glove for a fraction of a second, and that was enough, it seemed. Before even Basil could react, Polymnia had lashed out, kicking the leader so hard in the balls, he fainted on the spot.

Basil, and every other guy in the room, crossed their legs in sheer, instinctual, sympathetic reaction as the man simply collapsed with an almost gentle sigh.

Ow.

One of the men got his bearings back before the others, and aimed for Polymnia’s center of mass, squeezing his rifle’s trigger – and nothing happened. Much like Basil had expected, their rifles were the modern, highly modified type, probably some lesser version of Gadgeteer work.

Polymnia reacted instantly and, without ever putting the foot that had just crushed the leader’s family tree down, she swung around on her other heel and clipped the chin of the wannabe-shooter, knocking him out.

Now the others reacted, squeezing the triggers of their weapons – to no avail, as Polymnia moved faster than any human should, punching the next two men in the line-up with a fist to the chest for each, throwing them back into a rack of villain costumes for boys, which tipped over and buried them both.

She has been holding out on people, Basil thought as he stared, watching in awe as the petite girl whirled towards the men to her left (she had basically taken out the four in the middle of the half-circle) and threw herself at them, swinging her arms in two perfect (if rather lacking in a formal style) punches to the gut.

Basil was so stunned by the display that he almost did not react when the two criminals behind her dropped their rifles and drew simpler handguns in swift, smooth motions, opening fire.

“Look out!” he shouted, more by reflex than any conscious decision. It was that same reflex that made him vault out from behind his cover and throw his knife into the shin of the nearest gunman, while his baton hurled towards the other man’s arms.

The first man’s shots went wide, but the other was lucky enough to only take a glancing blow – and instead of shooting Polymnia in the back of the head, he shot her in the chest as she whirled around.

“No!” he shouted, running towards them, reaching for his second knife and a medikit… but Polymnia moved before he reached them, reaching out to crush the gun with one hand.

“But you’re just a-” the gunman began before she knocked him out with a single punch.

Basil reached her, staring. “W-what?”

She looked at him, then down herself, inspecting her suit. There were three holes in the chest, but the bullets had not penetrated her skin – only left slightly reddened skin, which was already fading. She sighed as she saw the damage.

“You are a brick?” Basil asked, surprised.

She looked at him, annoyed, and bent down to pick up her glove. When she had put it back on, she said, <I hate that word. I’m no brick! But yes, I’ve got Paragon-tier strength and toughness.>

Wow. “I never heard that you have that kind of power before, and I read up on you very thoroughly!” he replied, exasperated.

In response, she just smiled sweetly. <Well, no one expects the cute, multi-coloured music tech-girl to be able to shrug off small caliber fire and punch through concrete, so I keep it a secret. You know, just in case.> She winked at him.

And Basil thought, I know what Amy would say now, and it would not even be perverted. “That only makes you cuter, I think.”

She smiled even wider. <I know, right?!>

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B010.2 Falling Hearts

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Kudzu was not a very intimidating figure to look at. He was tall, too thin to be entirely healthy and had cheekbones you could cut titanium with. His black hair was curly, but not very long, his eyes had a kind of wet, blue-green colour, like the water at a shore full of algae. His overall image was not improved by his perfectly ironed white shirt, the professional pocket protector holding several pens and his casual-office-wear-style jeans and white sneakers. And the cheap-looking blue cloth mask he wore, covering his face from his nose and up, did not do him any favours, either.

All in all, the man calling himself Kudzu did not look like the supervillain he professed to be, and he certainly could not be threatening to anyone who wasn’t deathly afraid of clerks.

Not that he minded. He’d built most of his early career on not being taken seriously. When the heroes came after a villain group, they tended to ignore the guy who looked like a clerk and focus on the garishly clothed ones – giving him a good chance to use whatever escape plan he had ready. And Kudzu always had an escape plan ready. Or twenty. Wiggling out (or into) things was kind of his speciality, after all.

Another difference between Kudzu and the average supervillain was that he mostly worked as a consultant, helping other villains along with their crimes – for a price. It was rare indeed that he took point on a venture, such as today.

Unfortunately, the job had been quite urgent and he hadn’t had the time to find a suitable figurehead. Especially since he’d had to hire his minions through the Syndicate, using the cheaper options (always wiggling out of a bad situation unfortunately didn’t include always getting away with the money, not to mention the fact that locked up supervillains were unlikely to pay what he was owed), and had gotten stuck mostly with teenagers. He’d blown most of his reserves on prep work, hiring a true professional to procure some sensitive information necessary for the job itself – there’d been no other way to get it, even for someone with Kudzu’s mind.

Since no one would believe a teenager had been the mastermind behind this action over him, especially not once they figured out what he was actually after, he didn’t even bother, and was taking the helm for this.

He threw a glance over his shoulder, at the three figures that were with him in the central computer and surveillance office. One sat in front of the monitors, working furiously to twist the system to their use. One of the rare teenage gadgeteers out there, and a specialist for surveillance, as well. It was only thanks to his inexperience that Kudzu had been able to afford him. He’d do his job, hopefully.

At least I lucked out on the other one.

Behind the pudgy boy, two girls stood, both, ironically, dressed in cloaks with hoods, but with far different styles.

One wasn’t even really a member of his team. The Syndicate had sent her along to observe – most likely a mastermind in training. He’d been offered a bargain in hiring the other cloaked girl, in exchange for bringing her along and answering any questions she might have. Her cloak was dark blue, and fell over her shoulders to hide her whole body, unless she moved too vigoriously. He didn’t even know her name. And frankly, she’d proven more than a little annoying so far – not due to her questions, they were usually restrained and on the mark, but rather because she had some manner of enhanced perception like him, perhaps even some minor precognition – just being around her made his power have to work overtime, accounting every possible change to his plans that needed to be made simply because of her effect on his calculations.

But she was worth it, as he got a true heavyweight along with her – just in case the peacekeepers realised something was amiss and came in to fight.

He watched the red-handed girl in the dirty, ragged cloak, as she didn’t seem to notice his attention while she watched the computer screens. Her cloak was in bad shape, not due to her style but simply due to lack of care. Ragged, torn, exposing too much flesh to be decent when she moved the wrong way – but she didn’t seem to care, at all. There was even the smell of old alcohol and worse on that cloak, though she was mercifully sober right now (a professional, even in her current state). The other two took care never to take a breath with their noses in her direction. He didn’t know what had happened to her, but whatever it was, she was obviously not dealing well with it. One could almost taste the pent-up need for aggression, for release inside her.

Which meant that, if it came down to violence, she’d be more than willing and able to provide most of it. And that was what he needed her for.

“Leet, anything strange going on?” he asked the young Gadgeteer.

“Nope, Sir,” came the reply. “The mall is locked down – thank God for easily hacked security systems – our people are patrolling the place looking for any stragglers, and I’ve got the surveillance system dancin’ to my tune.”

“How’re the specialists doing?”

Leet tapped an icon on the screen and called up a particular security feed from what seemed to be a vault room. Several men of very impressive strength were tearing up the floor with their bare hands, slowly uncovering a hidden vault door worked into the reinforced concrete of the place. “We’re still true to your schedule, Sir! This ought to be easy wo- huh.”

“‘Huh’?” asked Kudzu. He hated it when people cut a sentence off like that. It usually meant something was not going according to plan. And he loathed it when that happened.

“Um, I lost a camera, down in the employee hallways of the clothing section. And one of the shops,” Leet said, sounding annoyed.

“Can you tell whether they were destroyed, disconnected or just turned off?” the cloaked girl asked the question Kudzu would have asked next.

Well, she’s certianly picking it up fast.

Leet shook his head. “I got nuthin’,” he said, surly. Kudzu was ninety-two percent sure that he had a crush on the girl in the cloak, and would have preferred to impress her.

At least he’s properly motivated. “Call up the security feeds from all the stores and hallways around that shop, now. Which one was it?” he asked.

“SuperWear, a shop for hero and villain costumes and such,” Leet said. “No idea why anyone would want to get into that in such a situation…”

This time, Kudzu got it first. “I can. It’s a great place for a hero who was here in their civilian identity and doesn’t have his or her costume at hand – even if they can’t find a replica of their usual costume, there’s still enough there to conceal their identity.”

“So, we have at least one unidentified metahuman of unknown intention in here,” the cloaked girl. “Depending on his or her abilities, that might be a problem.”

“Maybe. But I did plan for this. Send in team three – they are allowed to use lethal force if necessary, but should try and get him or her alive to us,” he ordered. Leet immediately send out the orders.

“Why take them alive?” the cloaked girl asked, confused. “Wouldn’t it be more prudent to just shoot them?” Despite her words, she didn’t seem to like the idea, though.

“Ah, let me guess, you read that ‘Evil Overlord List’, right?” Kudzu asked. Maybe having a mastermind in training along wasn’t such a bad idea – it gave him something to amuse himself with while waiting for news.

“Yes.”

“Good stuff, good stuff… I wrote some of it. It’s mostly rubbish though, you know? We need the drama, and the heroes surviving, because villains who go around killing willy-nilly tend to attract uncomfortable attention,” he explained patiently as he saw, on the screens, how team three – six heavily armed men, trained to fight metahumans – took place outside the store on both ends – the employee entrance and the main entrance.

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Well, why do you think supervillains mostly keep to a certain code when doing their deeds?” he asked. “It’s certainly not because we’re all such nice chaps, you know? It’s because those supervillains who murder without restraint, or take certain… freedoms,” he explained, avoiding the use of the proper word in front of the three teenagers (two of whom were almost certainly minors), “with defeated enemies, or otherwise don’t restrain themselves, invite increasingly escalating response from the United Heroes. All the way up to Quetzalcoatl and, ultimately, Lady Light (and, I guess, Gloom Glimmer – she certainly has the power). Not to mention that, though villains are more numerous and more powerful on average, heroes are far, far better trained and organised. So we play nice and, in return, heroes refrain from killing us and try to bring us in alive.”

He looked straight at the cloaked girl. “Get it? A dangerous villain reads the list and acts accordingly to it. A competent villain knows when to show mercy and be inefficient, in exchange for the insurance of not being attacked with lethal intent.”

“I guess that makes sense,” the cloaked girl replied contemplatively. “I’ve heard people complain about heroes being too soft on villains, about them having to use more force…”

“Which would only lead to escalation. We’d go right back to the early days, before the time of the United Heroes and the Syndicate. The only reason there’s still an America left to make those claims is that there were so much, much fewer metahumans than nowadays, back when there was no code. So we’ll play nice and try to capture whoever is in that shop and see how we can use them to our advantage… while still playing nice.”

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B010.1 Falling Hearts

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November 10th, 2:00 pm

Basil was walking through the Bright Arcades – the city’s biggest shopping and entertainment hub, making up the center of the Brights. He was not usually comfortable here – too many, way too many people, no way to keep an eye on them and that just made him jumpy – but he had some shopping to do.

Another problem was that he was quite angry right now.

Basil was not used to being angry. Oh, he got angry during combat, every now and then, and sometimes he read or heard or saw something that made him furious – but he found it hard to stay angry – it usually discharged quickly, and not too rarely in the form of either violence (if in battle) or some manic (well, more manic than usual) work on some gadget (or several). But this… this shimmering anger, and the headaches that went with it, ever since he had finally worked up the courage to confront Amy – they had just finished dinner (she was usually in a calm mood after a meal), sat down on the couch together to just relax, and he had… brought the issue up. It had not gone well.

That had taken place last wednesday, three days after his talk with Magnus. Amy had not talked to him in the two and a half days since, which was longer than they had ever spent without talking to each other. She did not even sneak into his bed at night anymore, which was just worrying. She had been doing that ever since he could remember… all the way back.

Not like he wanted her to – she had completely blown him off when he had tried to explain to her why he was upset, that he wanted her to turn over a new leaf – and frankly, the more he thought about it, the less he understood why he had waited for so long to confront her about it. These last few months, ever since he had manifested, had just been… intense. Too much to deal with, and he had somehow been able to push the whole issue with Amy to the back of his head. Again and again.

I should have spoken out on the first day I learned about it. He was just as angry with himself as he was with her. But the biggest reason why he was angry was because he was powerless.

If he was honest with himself, then he was really way in over his head. Ever since he jumped into his suit for the first time, he had been tangling with people way over his weight class. The Snow Queen had been downright harmless. Just on his team, he had an incredibly powerful and rare true probability manipulator, a contriver who could pretty much make anything, given time (she was already working on a teleportation ‘enchantment’) and a projector who could go toe-to-toe with a giant fecal monster and emerge unscathed. And let us not even get started on Gloom Glimmer. He was boxing way out of his weight class.

And his enemies… two S-Class threats in less than three months. Most superheroes got through their career with no more than three such events total. Not to mention apparently having the eye of the Savage Six on himself.

And my sister is on the same level as those monsters, he thought as he looked through a storefront advertising stuffed animals. No, not her style.

And even if he could influence her – what would the Dark do in response? He certainly had an interest in Amy being as amoral as possible (while still being controllable).

“No one’s ever achieved anything by giving up”, Magnus repeated in his head, waggling a finger.

So, despite all the issues, Basil was going to… negotiate. He was going to get back into Amy’s good graces, and do what he could to change her, and fuck the consequences.

Thus, he had asked Prisca what to do (without explaining the specific problem – he just said that he and Amy had had a fight and that he wanted to mend things again), and she had advised him to get her a present. All fine and well.

Next, he had asked her what present to get her, which had caused Prisca (currently using her power – he was still not allowed to see her real body, as her mother had climbed to new heights of paranoia) to hit him over the head and tell him that he had better know what to buy his own sister.

So he had gone and talked to Vasiliki (who said she would kick him in the ass if he asked her that again), to Timothy (who had no more a clue than he did), to Aimi (who just looked at him as if he was being silly) and then, out of sheer desperation, to Dalia. She had been acting kind of weird since last monday, and he had not expected much, but…

It is kind of sad that Dalia is currently my only source of useful advice, he thought. She had told him to get Amy something that he would not normally have gotten for her, to show that he was really putting some thought into it, and not running on autopilot.

Which meant buying something instead of making it himself.

“Also, make sure it’s something that really fits her, to show you’re thinking about her. And something nice, too. You’re thinking nice stuff about her.”

If he was not so focused on Amy, he would probably be a little disturbed by how… smart Dalia could be every now and then.

So now he was looking through the stores – the Bright Arcades were really the best place to shop for just about anything (there had even been a rumor about a shop that sold superpowers here, though it had been thoroughly debunked).

Maybe some pony merchandise? She is really into that show… He looked at a store for little girl stuff as he walked by. What is the name of the purple one ag-

Unfortunately, walking around the Arcades without looking forward was a good way to run into someone, and so he did.

“I am so sorry!” he said, looking at the woman he had almost bowled over.

“Oh, not to worry – I wasn’t paying attention myself!” said the dark-skinned woman. She looked vaguely familiar, beautiful but not extremely so, with a colourful peacock pin in her hair. Checking her watch, she gave a small start, walking quickly by him. “I need to go! Goodbye, Macian!”

“What!?” He whirled around, but she was gone already. What the hell?

She had called him Macian. Who was that person!? And why did she call him that?

And just then, his plans were completely derailed as the Arcades locked down.

* * *

The automated blast-proof door- and window-shutters slammed down with booming sounds that made the windows of the shops rattle. The lights went off, all at once, and the screaming started.

What the hell!?

Basil had been just standing next to a shop’s door, and he moved into the door, to avoid getting trampled. And then, the lights went on again, and a voice came out of the public announcement system.

<Hello and a good day to you all! This Kudzu speaking, supervillain extraordinaire and your hostage taker for this fine saturday afternoon,> said a voice with a cultured New England accent. <Please remain calm and gather in the central atrium on the ground level. Behave, and no one will be harmed – scout’s honor! If you try to leave, contact the outside world – don’t bother with cellphones, we’ve cut the Arcades off completely – or hinder us, me and my associates will use force to… chastise you.>

Kudzu, Kudzu… He knew that name, but he could not quite remember the details. A mastermind kind of villain.

Meanwhile, the people outside were already moving towards the atrium with a minimum of fuss – there were regular drills on proper behaviour in this kind of situation.

Drills Basil did not intend to obey. Moving deeper into the shop, he pulled his cellphone out, but found that even his connection to the outside world was cut off – both telephone and internet were down. Great. And Eudocia probably will not notice me being offline, since she is having a girl’s day with the others. Why had he not thought of installing some automated alarm in case his connection cut off? It was so basic.

Nonetheless, he was not without means as he moved into the staff room in the back (no cameras there). Pulling his jacket off, he opened a latch, reached inside and pulled, inverting the jacket – now it was white, with his emblem in the back. The whole thing was made of two layers of kevron with a wire mesh made of his ceramic in between to stop knives and other pointy weapons. From a pouch on the inside, he pulled a black full-face mask out, followed by a belt with some basic equipment he kept hidden in his bag.

It was not much, but it was better than nothing.

From the staff room, he entered the staff-only hallways, narrow ways that were supposed to allow quick movements around the Arcades out of sight of the customers. There were cameras here, again, but there was nothing he could do about that right now.

I need floor maps of the Arcades, and I need to find the central computer room – destroy any recordings of myself, open a channel to the outside. There was no telling if people outside could even tell that there was something amiss in here. At least, the chance that they could not was too high to rely on a swift rescue.

A mastermind would not pull off something like this without making sure he could keep the heroes away.

He saw an elevator (bad idea) and a door into a stairwell (better idea). The computer room was probably in the administrative area at the top of the football stadium sized Arcades.

Off we go, I g-

Ducking, he barely, barely evaded a scything kick to his head, drawing a knife in an unconscious motion – and then he was up, grabbing a punching arm to twist his attacker around and slam them into the wall, knife to their thro-

“Oh. You,” he said in a surprised voice.

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Short Delay

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The first chapter of Falling Hearts won’t be up until tomorrow afternoon to evening, depending on how work goes.

Sorry everyone, but Stuff Happened again. Nothing bad, just lots of work 😉

Good night everyone, and until tomorrow!

B009.b Strange Fish

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‘Café Rosso’, New Jersey

“Two chocolate pancakes and two coffee for table six!”

Elsbeth – Elsi to her friends – hurried over to the counter to pick up the order, balancing it on a tray which she held with one hand up next to her shoulder, and walked towards the table – two guys were sitting there, so she put some extra swing into her walk, hoping for a generous tip later on. They’d certainly stared at her enough already to warrant it.

Once more, she doubted her decision to work in this place, as her movements to put the food and drinks on the table showed off more cleavage than she was really comfortable with. This place was known for its rather provocative waitress uniforms – cut to emphasise the best parts of the wearer – and for only hiring pretty girls for the job. It paid well, and Elsi was trying to pay her way through college, so she’d taken the job. And honestly, I shouldn’t complain so much – it really does pay well.

Elsi was pretty, but not pretty enough for a job in one of the really expensive places, or as a model or anything – it was nearly impossible to compete with the metahumans there, or the girls who’d been able to afford plastic surgery by Doctor Beauty (be it with money or for ‘favours’). Working in this place had been the only job she’d been able to find that didn’t involve sleezy work, at least at a reasonable distance to the flat she shared with three other girls her age.

So she brushed a blonde strand of hair behind her ear, flirted a little with the guys and then went to pick up the next order. The next one certainly wouldn’t make her feel so… on edge. Her favourite customer had ordered his usual breakfast earlier, and she saw Waldo, the cook, put the eclectic menu on the counter for her to pick up – no need to call out, there was really only one person who bought that combination, and it was always her who served him.

Quickly, Elsi picked it all up – extra-thin pancakes, a cup of honey, a cup of strawberry jam, fried bacon, canned pineapple and hot milk – and took them to the rearmost table, which stood in the corner and allowed one to see most of the place without being seen all that well in return.

A week and a half ago, a new customer had sat down there, and Elsi had been the first to serve him. At first, she’d thought he was some kind of pervert, come here to watch all the pretty girls and eat cheap food. But no, he hadn’t looked at her cleavage once, and she was pretty sure he’d never bothered to watch her ass, either! In fact, he barely flirted with her, unless she initiated, and even then, only to humor her, she was sure.

Honestly, he seemed a little shy, which was just crazy, considering how good-looking he was. Not superhero-stuff, no, but definitely above the average. His name was Cedric, he was a travelling artist who was spending a few weeks in New Jersey to search for ‘inspiration’, and he was the nicest guy she’d ever met. It helped that he was too old to be interesting for her, so no crush to screw things up (Elsi was very awkward around people she crushed on).

“Hey Cedric!” she greeted him with a genuine smile.

He looked up from the book he’d been reading (one of Shakespeare’s plays, though she didn’t know which one) and smiled back, making dimples appear on his cleanly shaven face. His messy red-blonde hair had been washed and combed into a semblance of order, his teeth were white as new tableware and his warm brown eyes made her think of molten chocolate, the overall look complemented by lots of laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. He looked a lot like her father – or at least, how she’d always imagined her father would look like, if she ever met him. A little too short, but otherwise just right.

“Hello Elsi honey,” he greeted her, voice as warm as his eyes. “Ah, you know how to make a man happy!” he added when she put his breakfast down, and he immediately went to work – half the honey into the steaming hot milk, the rest onto the bacon. Jam and pineapples spread over the three pancakes, followed by bacon for each, and then he rolled them up.

The first time she’d seen him do this, she’d felt like hurling, but by now, she’d just accepted it as one of his quirks (God knew he had enough of them).

“And how is your day treating you so far?” he asked, waiting a little for his milk to cool while he used a spoon to stir it up and dissolve the honey.

Looking quickly around, she saw that no one was paying attention right now – people rarely did, when she was this far back (in fact, the other waitresses barely noticed Cedric – it was always Elsi who picked him out and served him) – so she had a minute or two to chat. “Same as ever, really. You’d think with the winter weather we’d have less tourists, but they still pour in in droves. Lots of legwork.” She tapped the side of her bare leg (these skirts were seriously tiny), winking at him.

“Eh, something tells me there’s gonna be less work for you in the near future,” he said, still stirring his milk. “And how’s college? You had an exam yesterday, right? Introduction to Metahuman Legal History, if I remember it right? How did it go?”

“Like you ever forget anything, Cedric,” she replied merrily. “Thanks for asking, and it went great – your help with my prepwork really paid out, thank you!” He’d been reviewing her practice exams, and discussing the subject with her during her breaks. It was almost a shame he was an artist, because he’d have made an awesome teacher – somehow, he could just get you to pay attention and focus, something she’d always had trouble with before. “And now that I got that out of the way, it’s smooth sailing until the end of semester exams…”

And that was another great thing about Cedric – he listened. He was perfectly content slowly sipping his milk and taking small bites out of his rolled-up pancakes while she told him about her day at the university, about her problems with her flatmates (Jenny and Jessy had broken up – again – and were on the warpath with each other – again – until the inevitable make-up-sex – again), about that one teacher who seemed to have it in for her, the other one who was always looking at her ass, her bitchy boss here at work…

Speaking of which, the nearby door into the kitchen had swung open when one of her colleagues rushed through, and she saw that that fat bitch Clarice had just started chewing out one of the new girls again – a mousy little thing named Marcy, who’d just barely made the cut, but they needed more waitresses to deal with all the customers they were having lately. Apparently, the girl had messed up two orders, and one customer had complained about it, which of course meant that Clarice was now in the process of humiliating the girl in front of half the staff – like a small mistake like that couldn’t happen to anyone here!

“I’m sorry, Cedric, but I gotta help Marcy,” she told him regretfully. They had little enough time to chat as it was, without her being distracted.

He didn’t seem to mind, though. “Don’t mind me. Just bring me a slice of that strawberry chocolate cake on your way back!” he told her with a wink, putting the empty jam cups onto her tray, making the corner of her mouth twitch as she picked her tray up and walked towards the two women (thank God the cafe didn’t insist on high heels, like some places – it’d be hell!).

She knew that Clarice had all the attention span of a lemming – which made the insults she was throwing at Marcy over one confused order quite ironic – so she went for the direct, simple solution: walking straight through the space between the two with a whispered ‘excuse me’, she rattled the tray a little – distract the bitch.

And it worked. Cedric had been telling her this’d work since the third time he’d been there! Clarice turned after her, as if to fire off a reprimand, and Marcy took her chance to go out to the customer area, where she was safe. Elsi, on the other hand, put the dirty dishes away, grabbed a slice of the cake and went out the other exit before Clarice was finished thinking up something to say (no one ever accused her of being quick).

“Welcome back, brave hero,” Cedric said, having apparently finished an entire pancake roll during this short interlude. “And I see you even brought me spoils. Gimme.” That last word was pronounced the way a child would have, and she gave him the plate with a smile.

“You were right, she really doesn’t have a measurable attention span!” she told him, looking around to make sure no one was paying them any attention.

“I know all about attention, my dear. It’s my bread and butter,” he said as he polished off the second pancake. “Speaking of bread and butter, I’m sad to say that I’ll be moving on soon.”

Oh. She’d known that was coming, he was a wandering artist after all (when she’d asked him what kind of art he did, he’d replied ‘performance art’ and neglected further comment), but still, she’d miss him.

“Such a shame… When are you leaving?” she asked, feeling far less chipper than just a moment ago.

“Very soon, I’m afraid,” he said with a sympathetic smile on his face. He seemed just as sad as she was. “I got a message earlier this morning – a commission for a private performance up in New Lennston – and it’s too good an offer to pass up. I should be on the train already, but I wanted to say goodbye first.”

Suddenly, her eyes were wet, and she nodded. She’d really come to like this quiet, slightly crazy man with the disgusting eating habits and the ability to listen to a teenage girl bitch and moan about her life while still paying attention and without getting annoyed. “I’m sure you’ll knock’em dead.”

Laughing out loud, he took his fork and ate a piece of the cake she’d just brought him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, and I promise I will! Now, be a dear and bring me… let’s say, two bananas, and something to pack the pancakes up for the way.”

She nodded and hurried off, drying her eyes with a napkin on her way to the counter, where a basket full of fresh fruit stood, and took a paper bag for takeout along, too.

Back at the table, she quickly packed everything up for Cedric while he finished his milk and his cake quietly.

“Will I see you again?” she asked in a subdued voice as soon as she finished and put the bag down on the table.

“On the television? Most likely. In person? I don’t want to make any promises there,” he said as he pulled his wallet out, giving her the money for his breakfast (if you could even call it that). She put it away. “Here, this is for you.”

Her eyes went wide when he handed her eight fifty dollar bills. “W-wha- I can’t accept this!” she gasped, looking at the bills on her hand. That’s three month’s worth of rent, and some extra!

Smiling, he took her hand with both of his, closing it around the bills. “You can use it better than I, and besides, I got plenty more where that came from.” Rising to his feet, he leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Be safe, Elsi. And be strong. I know you’ll be a great one.”

She was too choked up to reply, and just nodded through the tears. He pulled his brown coat on, took his bag and left with one last wink, leaving just after Clarice, who always took a break around this time.

Elsi already missed him.

* * *

Cedric pulled his collar up against the cold, stretching until something stiff popped in his neck. I’m getting old, he thought as he walked down the sidewalk, keeping a discrete distance from Clarice – that woman was just unpleasant. And the way she treated her waitresses was just appalling. He couldn’t imagine how Elsi and the others held themselves back from punching her in the face every time they saw her.

Ah, sweet Elsi. Such a good lass. So polite, so nice. Rare, nowadays, and besides, it had been quite a while since he’d had such a pleasant model to work with – the last nine before her had just annoyed him, eventually.

Speaking of annoyance, Clarice had just stopped at an intersection, looking impatiently at her watch as she waited for traffic to stop and let her pass. Her attention switched between the traffic light and the watch.

He looked down the street, quickly, and saw a garbage truck approach at quite the speed – the traffic lights had just switched to green, so the driver wouldn’t have to slow down – but he was focusing on the street. Reaching out, he plucked the man’s attention off the street, redirecting it to a passing group of sparsely clad schoolgirls (despite the winter weather!). At the same time, he took Clarice’s attention off the street and the lights, too, and made her focus more on her watch – she was always running late with her breaks, anyway, and this was just the right nudge to make her step carelessly out onto the street to cross it.

Thunk.

Soon, the screaming would begin, but he was already walking down an alley, peeling a banana as he made his way to the university, redirecting any strand of attention that he sensed attach itself to him.

Elsi had really endeared herself to him, and the rules were clear – if, after a week or two, his current model did not endear him- or herself to him (or at least amused him), he killed them. If they were annoying, or downright unpleasant, he killed their friends and family, too, at least the closest ones. But if they were alright, he went on his way. And if they grew on him the way Elsi had, he did them a few favours.

Because he was such a nice guy, after all.

Finishing his second banana, Cedric Cullen, better known to the world as Caliban, went on a stroll towards Elsi’s college. There was a lot one could do with two banana peels and some attention control. Besides, Elsi deserved better than those teachers.

I still have some time before the train leaves, anyway. College, then New Lennston. He began to hum the melody to the Beverly Hills Cop theme. One of his favourites.

No one paid him any attention.

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B009.9 Family Matters

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Roughly at the same time

Basil was starting to doubt his sanity. Or at least, his memory. Sure, it was supposed to be inviolable, memories beyond the short term were supposed to be safe, but… every rule has an exception, right?

And right now, he was really doubting his memory. After Vasiliki had left, he had started working on his new armor design, and made some good progress – but then he had decided to see about setting his scripts back to work for some money, and…

They were not there. Not the scripts he had used.

Or rather, they were there, but they were useless. Half-finished, ideas and first attempts, but nothing functional.

He was sure he had used just these scripts for it, but now… it would not be the first time his memories were wrong. Only now there was the question of…

Where did the money come from?

Working through the account data, he found that it had been deposited in the accounts he had been using… about five and a half years ago. Way before he remembered setting them up in the first place.

Twinkle twinkle little star,

He shook his head, trying to focus. He had to track these. Normally, he would have Eudocia do it, but she was off playing with Prisca (she could only be at one place at a time, a limitation of her code). So he had to find out who had deposited the money himself, and why…

“How I wonder who you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky,” sang a soft voice.

Basil whirled around on his seat, drawing and throwing a dagger by sheer reflex.

A vermilion-coloured blade shot up, striking the dagger out of the air before it could touch the pure white face with the vermilion eyes.

He did not stop to think, or even feel confused about her being here – only an amateur would do that – but he vaulted over the table, away, towards the door to his store room.

I need weapons. But he had just finished taking most of them apart!

She followed, moving leisurely, but her many limbs nonetheless gave her enough speed to keep up with him as he ran through the door, slamming it shut, pulling the lever for the emergency seal.

There was a crash, and then the sound of a saw winding up, followed by the sound of screaming concrete and metal.

He looked around the storeroom – most things here were useless right now, and the few that were not would not cause any damage to her body. Her bodies were always insulated against electrical attacks, it was just necessary for being a Gadgeteer out in the field…

She was already halfway through the door, by the sounds of it, and the glowing orange line that was slowly travelling around the door.

What do I use, what do I use… He could not focus.

He blinked, and the door fell out of its frame. Her body contorted, somehow squeezing its entire mass through the frame without touching the edges. It was black, with fine silver details, and some transparent spots to show off pure white inner workings. Overall, it looked like some kind of snake-spider hybrid, coiling its long body up to form a spider’s abdomen.

“Then the traveller in the dark, thanks you for your tiny spark,” she continued singing, never moving her lips – her voice just barely sounded mechanic.

Again, he ran, towards the back end of the store room and… and there was an opening there that he had not noticed before, leading into a hallway. Do not let her trap you! He took it, closely followed by her, using all twelve limbs without blades gripping the floor, the walls, the roof, to propel her forward, always just a step behind.

What do I do, what do I do, what…

His mind was running in circles, unable to come up with a solution, he just wanted to run.

“In the dark blue sky you keep, and often through my curtains peep; For you never shut your eye, ’till the sun is in the sky…”

A right turn ahead, just when he started to feel like she was catching up (he did not dare turn around to look), and he took it, hearing the tell-tale sound of sharp blades piercing the concrete. He ran, his legs already burning – strange, he had been working out for ages now, and he was already getting tired? – deeper into the dark-

Ow.

He ran into a wall, unable to see it coming, and bounced off of it, falling backwards.

“As your bright and tiny spark, lights the traveller in the dark; Though I know not what you are, twinkle, twinkle, little star.”

Do not stop moving! he thought to himself, trying to get back onto his feet – and then something hard slammed into him, throwing him against the wall again.

His head rang, and though he could not see anything to begin with, he still felt his vision go black as his ears rang.

There was only one sound, really, the singing voice, gentle and soothing, as cold hands gripped him, propping him up against the wall as several lights on her body turned on, illuminating the room – though he saw little other than her skull-like face, those wide open vermilion eyes.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are,” she sang, just staring at him. “How I wonder what you are.” A slender hand with vermilion nails caressed his face, making him shiver with fear. “Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky…”

This is wrong. Fight! Fight her! You still have seven knives on your body! But he could not move, he was paralysed with fear!

More arms joined the two that were holding him, and the one that was caressing his face. These ones had no delicate woman’s hands, but instead claws with blades as long as his legs, no less than sixteen blades approaching his body, two of them aiming for his eyes… slowly.

He could not even speak.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are,” she sang as the blades stopped just millimeters above his eyes and body. “How I wonder what you are…”

They plunged in.

* * *

Melody was sitting on a chair in front of Director Ryan’s oaken desk, looking at the stout, muscle-bound man with the awful haircut – it was shaved around the sides and back, short on top and sticking up, like an extreme army buzzcut. It didn’t help that it was bright red, with some silver inbetween. He was wearing an immaculate maroon suit with a fitting tie on a black shirt.

To the side stood a tall and very thin man in his late thirties, with short black hair, a widow’s peak and a regal nose, with watery blue eyes, in a black suit and green tie. Sarah was there, too, as short as she was despite being twice her age, daughter of Chinese immigrants. She was wearing a simple skirt suit in blue, and looked very worried.

And as if all that wasn’t disconcerting enough, Patrid was there, too, in his usual white suit, with that goatee and the blonde, slick hair, looking like the devil incarnate. He was lounging – not sitting, lounging – on his chair, the only one in the room who seemed completely calm and relaxed.

<What’s going on?> she asked, feeling small and vulnerable. She’d just quickly tied her hair back and put on underwear and a knit dress, and her sandals. Nothing like presentable, but Sarah had insisted that it was urgent. <Am I in trouble?> She looked from the director to Sarah to Gerden, avoiding looking at Patrid. He still gave her the creeps, more than the Spiteborn or BigShit or Hastur ever did.

“Nono, you’re not Melly!” Sarah reassured her, or at least tried to – she was obviously still nervous, as her heartbeat proved. “We just need to… ask you some stuff. About this morning, and yesterday.”

Melody blushed. Dratz. They found out? <What about, exactly?>

“Your mother called us, told us that Miss Whitaker had dragged you out of their home in a rage, and that you then both vanished. And now you show up back here, alone, in a… worrisome condition,” Gerden said, looking quite… not unconcerned, but preoccupied, maybe?

She blushed even more. <She took me to Italy,> she began, making them stare in disbelief. Typing quickly, she poured out an answer, hoping to get this over with quickly. She had a bad feeling. <I was upset, and she thought some good ice cream might help. We ate some ice cream, talked, then went and…> She hesitated, not sure if she should continue. She didn’t want to get Irene into trouble.

“You can talk, Melody,” Sarah said, looking sympathetic. Why? “We won’t judge you.” Gerder and the director nodded. Patrid just watched her, looking barely interested. His gaze gave her goosebumps.

<We got drunk… Irene passed out, and I wasn’t well, but I didn’t want to go to the local UH division, so I… I used her cellphone to call her dad, and he picked us up and dropped me off here.>

She was barely finished when everyone but Patrid made an uproar, looking at her like she was insane.

“You called the Dark without permission?” the director shouted, aghast.

“You got drunk with a dangerously unstable metahuman?” Gerder shouted.

“You drank alcohol!?” Sarah shouted at her, looking ready to faint.

“You called the Dark, on cellphone, for a ride? Glorious,” Patrid chuckled.

She felt like she was about to turn infrared in the face. <I hoped no one would notice, and I could just… go to sleep.> She couldn’t stiffle a yawn.

“Melody, putting aside the gross violations of protocol you committed,” the director began, making her feel even more ashamed. “You risked more than just bodily harm, are you aware of that?”

Gerder leaned closer, putting a hand on the desk. “Do you even know what that… girl… has done to others? On a whim? Her file is very extensive, and I’m absolutely sure it’s not nearly complete.”

<I am aware of it,> she said, her blush gone. Now she was looking coldly at them. It all makes sense. They think she… did things to me.

Well, she almost did, didn’t she? whispered a treacherous little voice in her head.

No. She stopped. It’s not her fault she got a power like that. Not a good sign, talking to herself like that.

“Aware?” Patrid asked, an eyebrow raised. He was the only one who seemed to be amused by this turn of events, while the others ranged from horrified to stunned.

She nodded at him, finally turning to face him fully. Apart from her, he was the only other metahuman here… he might sympathise more easily. <She told me everything. About her lack of control, and her problems, on the first day. The details, later on. I knew all that, and I went with her willingly.>

Gerder’s mouth was moving like a fish, opening and closing. Sarah seemed to be no better. The director was just stunned, while Patrid still looked amused.

“Y-you went with her, when you know that she’s a habitual rapist?” Gerden finally asked.

<I object to that term, Sir! She’s as much a victim of her power as anyone she abused with it!> she responded, the voice from the vocoder turning angry and hot. <And besides, didn’t the United Heroes vet her, before they let her join? Why is this still an issue!?>

“We did do some rudimentary testing, but…” Director Ryan began. Gerder continued, “There’s not much we can do to really vet someone of her power level. And besides, Lady Light insisted that she be taken in, and the Board agreed too readily.”

<Well, she IS kind of our l->

“Gwen Whitaker is not the leader of the United Heroes,” Patrid suddenly butted in, serious for once. “Keep that carefully in mind, Melody. We are lead by the elected board of directors, a board she is not and can not be a part of, as she does not fulfill the requirements for extended registration – it is only due to her reputation and history that no one tries to arrest her for illegal vigilantism and use of metahuman abilities, as she is not a formal member of the UH, despite being our founder.” He smiled again. “Though it helps that she could probably beat us all up if we tried, too. Doesn’t mean we don’t listen to her, though. But Miss Whitaker Senior has never sought nor accepted any official position of power, nor formally laid claim to the title of superhero. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

People are uncomfortable that she still holds this much power? It seemed pretty obvious. Like it doesn’t even matter that she’s spent the better part of a century doing nothing but fight the good fight and save billions of lives. She nodded, still.

“The problem here is that a minor who is under our protection went missing – along with possibly the second-most dangerous and unstable individual in the world!” Gerder said as forcefully as he could, making her (and Sarah) flinch. “Miss Stenton, I am sorry to say this, but for your own safety, the Board of Directors has to hereby formally forbid you from closely associating with Irene Whitaker, also known as Gloom Glimmer, beyond the direct, qualified scrutiny of a designated handler or superhero judged capable of protecting you!” he rattled off.

Melody turned white, then green, nauseated, then… shock and hurt turned into fury.

She jumped onto up, wishing more than ever that she still had her own voice, and didn’t need to type on a freaking vocoder!

<I refuse your orders, Sir! You cannot tell me who to be friends with!> she said, instead, sounding calmer than she felt – the vocoder wasn’t really built for the kind of emotional outburst she wanted to make right now. Before anyone could object, she continued, <We are teammates, and BFFs besides, and if you don’t want to let us associate, then I’ll leave. No one gets to tell me who my friends can or cannot be! And if I leave, consider the damage that’ll do to you all! My album sales are at an all time high, almost all fans of my music now support my superhero career, and I’m a freaking Gadgeteer to boot! The third-highest rated on your payroll, if I may say so! So you better think twice about telling me who I can hang out with!>

She turned and stomped to the door, not wanting to hear any reproach. She had to get away, before her nerve failed her. <Also, has anyone ever considered that ostracising Irene might be just the straw that’ll break the camel’s back? Ever thought about that!?> With those words, she slammed the door shut, stomping off.

Faintly, she heard Patrid’s amused voice say, “I told you so…”

* * *

Basil’s eyes flew open, and his heart lurched into triple-overtime.

Bending over, he would have thrown up if he had eaten anything recently. Instead, he retched dry, before he felt over his face, his eyes… they were still there. He was somewhere completely dark, but his eyes were whole, and the only pain he felt was a faint soreness in his muscles.

W-what is going on!?

Had he… really been attacked by Atrocity just now? No, that made absolutely no sense. He did not doubt she could circumvent his defenses easily, but why would she be here? And why would she leave him alive?

Blind, he felt around the room, until he found the empty doorway, and got up, walking forward – until he saw a faint light ahead. Turning a corner, he could see into his storeroom again.

The door to his workshop was closed, sealed.

Was it just a dream?

He stopped at the door, turning around to look at the way he had taken earlier. I did not make that. Months ago, he had started digging, using robots to create his lair…

Only when he thought about it, he did not have an robots around here, except for a few half-finished ideas and his ravenbots!

The memories of getting the money had been fake… were fake, too. Were his memories of constructing the lair fake, as well?

Is there anything I can be sure about!?

Only one way to find out, mate. Investigate.

He listened, and he ran to pick up a torch… a flashlight. Why had he used the other word in his thoughts?

Back down the hallway… smooth rock, it was dug right into the bedrock. No signs of claws digging into anything.

Again, the room. It was not very big, but smoothly made, yet without any lighting. There was nothing there, except…

He bent down, picking up an old, worn notebook. It was quite heavy, and he could see that several pages of a different kind of paper had been added to it, making it thicker than it should be.

The cover bore the words ‘Property of Macian. Hands off!‘

Macian again…

He opened the notebook on the first page, and froze. It was covered in pictographs, just like his own, only… cruder? Or maybe just crudely drawn. Going through it, he found countless designs for all manners of gadgets, ranging from stuff he would be ashamed to work on – way too crude! – to force-fields! Nothing complete enough to use, most of it incomprehensible, but…

Then, suddenly, actualy writing took over. Notes from this Macian.

Intrigued, Basil took a closer look.

* * *

Some thoughts on my visions, and those of others I have been able to aquire

Henry

The Shaper, unbound from anything but imagination. -> Henry?

The Maker, mad and yet sane, rising ever higher. -> Me? Dunno if I’m sane or not, though my money’s on ‘bugfuck crazy’

The Dreamer, a gilded knight that glowed like the sun. -> someone with armor-based powers? too simple

The Defender, another era’s fallen idol, given a second chance. -> Heretic? But he wasn’t ever really an idol… maybe the Dark?

The Lover, wielding the primordial power. -> What can be considered a ‘primordial’ power? Fire? Intelligence? Technology? (the last one might be wishful thinking or simple self-importance)

Heretic

The Shaper, unbound and gentle… -> certainly sounds like Henry. That boy is too nice for his own good

The Lover, driven by the primordial power. -> again the primordial stuff. Something really simple, but powerful?

The Dreamer, a gilded knight, brilliant as the full moon… -> Amanda is quite the dreamer? Might it be this literal? Probably not, heh

The Shepherd, a broken star that sought redemption… -> Hemming? … Perhaps Emyr? His power seems like a fit, as does his story

The Maker, a blazing well that sought to rise… -> seems familiar

Me

The Orphan, abandoned but not lost. -> Connection to the ‘Orphan Star’?

The Defender, fallen but not dead. -> fallen as in defeated, or fallen from grace? A fallen hero?

The Lover, lost but not alone. -> first time this one’s mentioned without the ‘primordial’. No idea what that means

The Maker, broken but not shattered. -> could that be me? I certainly feel like I’m in pieces

The Emissary, driven but aimless. -> someone who has a mission, but doesn’t know how to complete it?

Who is Rei? She sings a lullaby no one hears. -> connected the Sleeper?

Who is the Sleeper? What’ll happen when it wakes? -> apocalyptic?

Who is Bree? Someone cries her name, but she can’t hear it. The crying person sounds so sad, I cried when I heard her voice (I’m not prone to crying).

What is broken may not be shattered. What is shattered may not be lost. What is lost may yet be found.

What is the Orphan Star? A person, or a power? (It seeks something that doesn’t exist, but it won’t give up. Ever) <- sounds like my kinda gal. Assuming its a female, of course.

On second thought, do these titles describe people or powers?

Note: Research presence or absence of power sentience!!!

A friend says:

All the Lost Ones shall Gather -> I’m plenty lost. Henry, too, as is Amanda. Does this mean we’ll all get together again? I’d love that. Amy would love Henry to bits. He should be able to fix her, too. Maybe we can be a family?

All the Brave Ones shall Advance -> Probably means that at some point, there’ll be something epically nasty to fight (can’t wait!)

All the Bright Ones shall Rejoice -> A happy ending? That’d be nice.

Are these prophecies? How certain could they be? Far as I know, precognition can only show possibilities, never certainties? Maybe the fact that several people over such a long time have similar visions means these are particularly probable probabilities? (probable probabilities – there ought to be a better way to phrase that!)

Where does Journeyman fit in? I don’t think he’s a normal metahuman. Something is… off. (I realise that I’m not one to throw stones here). I have a feeling I’ll run into him again. He did give me a nice idea for a gadget, though.

Note: Research instant barbecue machine!

There’s a connection between Journeyman and that ‘friend’. J mentioned him obliquely. (I can’t believe I just used the word ‘obliquely’ in a sentence)

What is this ‘a friend’? Is it some kind of metahuman? Or whatever is at the source of the powers? Maybe some kind of manager? There seems to be some biblical imagery tied into that – he sure seems plenty godlike, though he did claim that his appearance and manner depended on whoever witnessed him -> might have been me, making him seem godly and stuff

-> Lady Light & the Dark might know

Note: Try and contact them as soon as possible

I-

* * *

The notes cut off at that point, and the following pages were all blank. Basil still leafed through the book, until the end, just to be sure.

Somehow, those notes make no sense, and yet they seem so reasonable… I think I might need someone to help me make sense of them.

He pocketed the notebook, then looked around the place one more time. It was empty, nothing else to be found. Then he went back to his workshop… which now felt much less like it was his.

I feel like something is going to break, too. I just hope it will not be my brain.

He went to the couch, turning on the television. Right now, he really, really needed a break, first of all.

An instant barbecue machine is a great idea, though.

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B009.8 Family Matters

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Even later…

 

This looks as good a place as any, Amy thought as she dragged the half-conscious Dalia through the street. The girl had woken up after she’d gotten her out of the club, only to throw up and groan all the way.

 

Amy had no idea where Dalia lived, and something told her that it’d be stupid to risk Basil walking in on her and his drunk, sparsely dressed friend, even if she was just putting her down on the couch or something. Her reputation wouldn’t do her any favours. Though it probably would be very funny. But then again, Basil had been weird lately, especially yesterday, and she thought it best not to agitate him any more than absolutely necessary.

 

So she’d decided to get the girl someplace warm, with something to eat and drink. And the nearest place she found was the “Dionysian Grill”, which sounded quite promising, food-wise. They probably didn’t offer all the other kinds of fun the name promised. And what a shame that is.

 

She reaffirmed her grip on Dalia, one of the girl’s arms over her shoulder, and took her inside. The place was set up more like a real restaurant than a fast-food restaurant, with someone standing at the entrance, waiting to assign tables. Everything was made of wood, except for the huge open stainless steel kitchen, where a team of cooks were preparing some big amounts of food. Good thing I came hungry.

 

Their entrance got some attention from the other patrons – two gorgeous girls in party clothing – though Dalia’s state also drew frowns of disapproval. The woman at the entrance looked confused, for a moment, and before she could gather herself and throw them out or anything, Amy poked her mind with some good old pleasure.

 

It was really funny, how little it took to control most people. The pleasure signals entered the woman’s brain, and her mind worked them into her reality to make them make sense. Thus, she felt happy to see them, and was quite open to giving them a secluded corner, where people couldn’t see much of them (just in case Dalia made a scene). Amy ordered two glasses of cooled water with lemon lemon juice and sat down next to Dalia, keeping her telepathy up so she’d notice if someone was listening in on them.

 

“How’re you feeling?” she asked the dizzy girl. She only got a groan in response, as Dalia put her head down on her folded arms. Amy giggled. “First time getting drunk?” Another groan, and Dalia put two fingers up without moving her hand. “Second? But first time since… the change?” A barely perceptible nod. “Stupid you. You’re not used to this body yet, you should’ve taken it easier,” Amy admonished her, thinking back to her own first contact with alcohol after her manifestation. It had been… unique. She had been very careful not to get drunk again. Of course, she couldn’t share that, so she gently patted the girl’s bare back (she was wearing a really nice dress – if only she wasn’t such a hack with make-up, she’d have been positively ravishing).

 

Footsteps came closer, and a young girl who would not look amiss in their company came up with two glasses of water (with extra lemon slices on top) on a tray.

 

“Vasiliki?” Amy asked with surprise, looking the girl up and down – she was wearing a light blue skirt with white trim and a pure white shirt and blue tie. Apparently the uniform here, and a nice one to be sure, giving Amy all sorts of ideas…

 

“Amy? Dalia!? What happened?” The Greek girl put her tray down, looking alternatively at them.

 

“I picked her up at a club – she overdid it with the drinks,” Amy said back in a low voice – but Dalia still groaned. “I didn’t want to take her to my place, I don’t know where she lives, so I took her to the nearest place where I could get her fed and watered – and which has a bathroom.”

 

“Good thing you brought her here,” Vasiliki replied, putting the drinks out in front of them onto paper saucers, then handed them the menu. “Look through the menu, tell me what you want – it’s on the house.”

 

“Thank you very much dear. And may I say, that uniform looks absolutely fetching on you,” Amy said in response, putting just the tiniest amount of innuendo into her voice, and was rewarded with a pretty blush.

 

“I’m flattered. You don’t look half-bad, either,” Vasiliki said and hurried off with her tray.

 

“She’s fun to tease,” Amy whispered to Dalia, and got an affirmative grunt in response. “Do you know any of her preferences?” A groan, then, “Boys only.” Such a shame. “So, why the drunken party girl act? I didn’t take you to be that reckless. Who knows what dastardly villain could have picked you up!”

 

“Head hurts… no talking, please…” Dalia sighed, raising her head to take a sip from her glass, making a sour expression when the taste hit. “This is awful.”

 

“It helps, believe me,” Amy said as she took a short draft herself. “Food will help even more. And going to the bathroom. You’ve got to get it all out of your system.” She looked through the menu, picking out something to eat. I’ll have to remember this place.

 

With some prodding, her erstwhile ward picked out something to eat, and the next time Vasiliki came by, they gave her their orders. “Alright, sit tight, I’ll be back soon!”

 

They spent their time waiting, quietly, until Vasiliki came back balancing two whole trays loaded down with food, abusing her supernatural sense of balance. She put them down, and there was quite a bit more than they had ordered.

 

“I’m taking my break, and I thought I’d join you – unless that’s a problem,” she explained when she saw Amy’s questioning gaze.

 

“Oh no, no problem at all!” Amy replied, arranging her food properly in front of her. Dalia simply pulled it all close and started eating without another word.

 

Vasiliki joined them, and they ate quietly for a few minutes. It was really good. Not real five-star food, but it was better than any fast-food joint Amy knew (she knew a lot) and better than most restaurants she’d been to (she’d been to a lot), too.

 

Dalia had to go to the bathroom several times, as her body processed the alcohol faster than was normal.

 

“So, Dalia, what’s wrong?” Vasiliki when she finished her main course, and turned to her salad.

 

“Why you think something’s wrong?” Dalia asked, slightly slurring her ‘s’ and ‘r’ sounds. She only got a deadpan look in response. “I just thought I’d party a little, you know? Have some fun, now that I’m hot, you know?” Her face was an awful mess, pale and sweaty, with dark rings around her eyes making her make-up look even worse than before.

 

“Don’t be like that, I’m sure you were plenty cute before,” Amy threw in. Self esteem issues, huh? That explains a lot.

 

Dalia snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner. “I was a fat, half-blind loser with permanent bed-hair. Nothing cute about it,” she replied between two mouthfuls of salad.

 

“You shouldn’t look down on yourself so much,” Vasiliki said. “Even if you weren’t conventionally attractive, that’s no reason to have that kind of attitude towards yourself – lots of girls our age have body issues, it’s nothing to feel bad about!”

 

“Says the girl who’s looked like a supermodel even before she manifested,” Dalia snarled.

 

“You did?” Amy asked, curious. This was the first time she was meeting someone else who’d been pretty before, like her!

 

Vasiliki shrugged. “I didn’t change, outwardly, all that much. My skin cleared up, otherwise, I’m pretty much the same as before.”

 

“How interesting. Did you know that, according to current theory, the Adonis trait is sparked by body image issues? That’s why so many metas, especially women, look like they’re out of a fantasy – they adapt to their beauty ideal, meaning, our culture’s beauty ideal, as they see it apply to themselves.”

 

“Thus the big…” Vasiliki looks at Dalia’s less-than-modest bust, then back at Amy’s face.

 

“Thus the big girls, yes,” Amy affirmed. “It’s also the reason why most metahumans – male and female both – don’t have body hair anymore.”

 

“That’s about what I’ve read so far, though my books had a more long-winded way of describing it,” Vasiliki said. “What about you, Amy? You certainly look like you could already be a metahuman.”

 

“Are you asking if I’m secretly a meta?” Amy replied, a little bit uncomfortable, and a lot amused.

 

“N-no, I guess Basil would have told us, and if not, then you probably wouldn’t, either, but I mean… you certainly look the part,” she pulled back. Now, even Dalia was actually paying attention.

 

“I guess I’ve just been blessed with good genes. Or I might be one of those zero tier metahumans you hear about lately. They’re supposed to not even notice their manifestation,” Amy continued, steering the conversation away from her.

 

“Yeah, what’s up with those? I asked B-six, but his explanation made no sense to me,” Dalia said, slowly brightening up.

 

Vasiliki immediately got what Amy called the ‘Lecturing Expression’ – she saw it a lot on Basil. No wonder he likes her.

 

“Zero tier metahumans are an only recently recognised phenomenon – though they might have existed long before, unnoticed. They generally exhibit low-level enhancements to their physical abilities – not high enough justify a proper rating – as well as exceptional health, fertility and beauty – consistent with Adonis-types, and they may also share their generally longer lifespan,” she pontificated. “They generally seem to, for lack of a better word, slip into their manifestation – no known case remembers manifesting, or when exactly the changes began, as they seem to take a while to set in.”

 

“So… basically, they’re just prettier than normal, and nothing else?” Dalia summed up.

 

“And healthier. That’s about all of it,” Amy concluded. “And since we’re talking about manifestations already – I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you two manifest? Would you mind sharing? Basil insists on not telling me your stories.” He’s so… annoyingly loyal.

 

“Got bullied. For years,” Dalia said, shrugging – and wincing immediately, as another ice pick of pain stabbed her brain.

 

Let me help with that, Amy thought, gently prodding her mind, emitting a soothing sensation. She didn’t want to enter her mind fully, so this was all she could do without risking notice.

 

“It got really bad, and I… I was considering suicide, I guess. I got really low,” Dalia continued, which gave Vasiliki a wide-eyed look. But before the other girl could respond, Dalia continued, “And well, I was… I was taking a walk, thinking about stuff, and there was some festival going on, and I bought this ticket for a lottery that was going on there. I decided, if I won, I’d keep going, if not… well, you know.”

 

Wow. I did not expect this, Amy thought, feeling honestly shocked.

 

“And that’s when it happened – suddenly, everything was standing still, and then the stand exploded into light, and there was this beautiful star,” the girl continued, apparently oblivious to how her audience felt, an enraptured smile spreading on her drawn face. “I felt I had a choice to make, and I decided to… to live. I took the star, saw some weird visions I can’t make sense of – something about stars and suns and a huge snake – and then I woke up and I was standing there, and the owner of the stand called out my number! First time I ever won something! That’s how I got my leather jacket – it fell off its hook, just when I was trying to decide what prize to choose. And well, I guess you know the rest. Played the lottery, went out to kick butt and take names, ran into B-six and Vasiliki here…” She looked at the two them. “That’s my story. What’s yours?” she asked towards Vasiliki.

 

To Amy’s surprise, the girl blushed. Ohh, did she manifest due to something naughty? There might be more fun in this girl than she’d thought…

 

“I’m not sure… my manifestation seems rather, uh… trivial, compared to yours,” she said, looking down at her empty plate.

 

Dalia snorted. “C’mon, you can tell me! I won’t hold it against you, you know that!”

 

C’mon, share, girl! Amy reached out, gently sending some relaxation her way. The girl’s shoulders visibly relaxed and she looked up at the two of them (they’d somehow ended up sitting in a triangle).

 

“It’s really… um, promise me you won’t tell anyone, alright?” she asked in a small voice.

 

“Of course!” the other two replied in unison – then looked at each other and giggled, which prompted another flinch of pain from the younger girl, followed by her emptying her glass. Vasiliki called for another one, then put her hands on the table, lacing her fingers together.

 

“It was summer, really hot, and all my friends where on vacation, so I… I kinda… sorta… got myself a joint-” she began, but was interrupted by a torrent of giggle (interspersed with groans of pain) from Dalia.

 

“Y-y-you got a joint? You got high? Oh God, I think I’m either completely drunk or unconscious and dreaming, because this… this is…” She broke out into giggles again.

 

Vasiliki rolled her eyes, waiting for her friend to calm down, while Amy just watched them with amusement. They were so cute, Basil really needed to seduce them and start his own harem. It was the only sensible choice.

 

“May I continue?” Vasiliki asked, obviously annoyed. When Dalia finally got herself back under control, the dark-skinned girl (those perfect Greek features with that Mediterranean dark skin looked really yummy) took a deep breath and continued her tale, “My family has a cabin in the Abershy Forest, near the foot of the mountain to the West. I went there, set things up and lit m-“

 

“Set things up?” Amy interrupted, sensing unnecessarily complicated preparations (you learn to do that when you grow up with Basil Blake). “Do elaborate, my dear!”

 

“Uh, I fired the fireplace up, even though it was high summer, and I put an old, thick blanket over the couch I’d be sitting on, and I opened all the windows and turned on the ventilation. I stripped naked, put my clothes in a bag, the bag then under the same blanket. My plan was to take a shower right afterwards, then burn the blanket – our fireplace is big enough for that – and so avoid the smell sticking ot anything.”

 

Amy bit her lip, refusing to break out laughing and seem like she was ridiculing the younger girl. Even Dalia resisted, barely – though that might have had more to do with her groaning in pain as another headache attacked her (Amy could only soothe it, not make it go away).

 

“You know, you and Basil fit together quite nicely,” Amy said, making Vasiliki blush again. Maybe she’s interested? Well, of course she’d be, Basil is a real sweetheart! (In Amy’s mind, at least, Basil was a girl magnet. So far, she’d seen no reason to assume otherwise).

 

“I- I don’t know about that,” the girl deflected, looking away. “A-anyway, I smoked the joint and, well… you hear about people manifesting on drugs, right? Just having a bad reaction to them, or actually overdosing, or stuff? Well, in my case, I had a really good reaction to it – I mean, it was glorious,” she said, and the same enraptured smile that had been on Dalia’s face before appeared on hers now. “I… I just stood up and walked out the cabin, strolling around the forest, totally aiml-“

 

“Naked? You took a naked stroll through a public forest?” Dalia asked before breaking out into torrents of giggles again. Even Amy had to fight hard not to join in. I would’ve liked to see that.

 

Now Vasiliki was blushing from her scalp down to her throat (and probably deeper, but that outfit showed too little cleavage), but she continued resolutely, “At some point, the scenery changed – I was in a forest that looked like it came right out of a dream – vibrant colours, rolling hills, gargantuan trees with large roots – like in those Japanese movies with the wolf princess or the giant bugs – and more, and I… I come to this spring, and I kneel down to drink, and then she appeared.”

 

Now her gaze was positively blissful, and Amy leaned in closer, more curious than ever. She’d heard about people meeting strangers, fantastic and real figures during their manifestations…

 

“It was Hecate. I mean, the Goddess. She appeared as three beautiful, identical women in dark green chitons, with magnificient golden girdles. And she talked to me, in three voices, about… about some prophecy, about five lights I had to find and three suns and another, something she called the Black Sun. I still can’t make heads or tails of it, but then she asked me if I wanted to accept it, and the three put their hands together, holding out this star… and I took it, waking up back at the cabin, completely sober again.”

 

She looked at them with a smile, but Dalia seemed thoughtful. “You know…” she began. “I think, the visions I saw… there were five stars, maybe it was about the same thing?”

 

Vasiliki got a thoughtful look, and so did Amy. “There’ve been cases of people witnessing fragments of the future during their manifestation… Doctor Despair claimed he’d dreamed of DiL’s attack on Los Angeles, though it hadn’t made any sense to him at the time,” she said. How curious.

 

“I can… I can’t remember, right now, but I’m sure I’ll be able to, once I’m back to one hundred percent,” Dalia groaned.

 

“I’ll keep it in mind. We should ask Basil, too, maybe he saw something as well?” Vasiliki offered.

 

“I’m sure he’ll love a new riddle to solve,” Amy contributed. “But now, another question I’ve always been meaning to ask you two – why’re you vigilantes? Why didn’t you join the heroes, if you want to fight the good fight?”

 

They both thought it over, and Dalia answered first, “It just kinda worked out that way, and I thought it’d be fun to stick with these two.”

 

How very… you. Amy turned to Vasiliki, as did Dalia.

 

The girl looked down at her interlaced fingers again, looking… ashamed. “I… I wouldn’t make a good hero, I think. They’d probably lock me up,” she explained.

 

Amy’s eyebrows rose up. Interesting… “Why, what have you done?”

 

“It’s not what I’ve already done, it’s what I’m going to do. What I plan to do, once I get the chance… and the power to do it,” she continued. Before either of the others could dig deeper, she explained, “I have… had a cousin I was very close to. She was a superhero – well, more like a super-environmentalist – and she… she was murdered.”

 

Ahhh… “And you want revenge?”

 

Vasiliki nodded. “She was… like a sister to me.” There were tears in her eyes. Dalia surprised them both when she slid over to her, putting an arm around Vasiliki’s shoulders.

 

“It’s alright, teacher. We understand. And for what it’s worth, I’ll help ya get your revenge, when the time comes,” she said, trying to be comforting (though her breath probably ruined part of the effect, judging by the way Vasiliki was trying not to breathe in.

 

Oh, this is so much fun.

 

“Th-thank you.”

 

“Now, can you tell us who your sister was? And what asshole killed her, I need a name if I’m gonna help you track him down!”

 

“It wasn’t a man. And my cousin’s cape was Lupa Maior,” Vasiliki explained, her voice wistful. “She was a really sweet girl, just barely an adult, and she only really patrolled forests and nature parks, hunting poachers and the like.”

 

Oh. Crap. Amy knew that name.

 

“And the monster who killed her was Mindstar, that twisted bitch,” the girl continued, her face twisted by raw hatred. “And someday, I’m gonna twist her face back onto her neck, like she did with Estephania!”

 

Awwwwwwkward!

 

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B009.7 Family Matters

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5th November, Early Morning

The morning had actually turned out warmer than expected – Basil still had to wear a jacket and a scarf, but at least there was not any new snow. Not that he disliked snow – far from it – frozen surfaces were bad for his grappling hooks and, subsequently, bad for him.

And I will have a lot less protection than before, once I have reworked my armor into something lighter and cheaper. He really had to get more money. Maybe I should have asked Mister Karlson for a job, he thought with a smirk no one saw.

He walked on past a fast food restaurant as he thought about yesterday evening – he had tried to talk to Amy, but she had been in a weird mood, and he had decided to wait for a better opportunity to take his first step in… well, he did not know if it could be called redeeming, but perhaps reigning her in? He should have talked to her at once, made his position clear, set boundaries…

Except the mere idea of getting into a fight with her made him physically ill. Just looking at Amy at breakfast had made him feel both ashamed, angry and wistful, all once, remembering the good old days.

I wonder if this is how Lady Light feels, every time she looks at the Dark. Was that what he was doomed to do? Spend the rest of his life trying to reign a mostly insane – and he could not deny it, Amy was not all right in the head (but neither was he, so he could not really throw stones) – supervillain in, always trying to preserve those beautiful memories of better days, trying to bring them back to life?

Maybe he was assuming too much – there probably were other, better reasons, more noble ideals and goals, maybe even something tied to Point Zero and their powers involved – but that would explain a lot of things. He only had a few years of those really good memories, and they were rather normal – Lady Light had a full score of years, an entire lifetime of being together with him, through an entire world war even before they got powers, and everything since then… Maybe that was the reason for conceiving Irene? A desperate attempt to draw them closer, to pull him back onto the side of the angels? It certainly seemed to work, he had never been as mellow and restrained as during the past decade.

Or perhaps a weapon to stop her older sister… because there certainly seems to be no other way besides bringing overwhelming power to bear against her.

But that, too was just speculation.

I would sure like to talk to them both. First, though, I need to stop distracting myself from the issue at hand. Amy.

He walked by the alley next to the restaurant just as he finished these thoughts, and caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A trash can’s lid had moved.

I found Grimalkin in a place like this, he thought, and suddenly he hoped… maybe he would find him again? He sure missed that crazy red-brown eyed furball of a cat. Despite what it had done to Amy’s underwear drawer. Or maybe because of it. It had been rather funny, after the horror had worn off. I could keep him in my hideout now, so Amy could not object.

Reaching out, he lifted the trash lid – and a rat jumped out and scuttled away. So not Grimalkin. He put the lid back down and walked on towards his hideout.

I wonder what happened to him – where he is by now.

Shaking his head, Basil continued on his way to his hideout. There was a lot of work to be done. And maybe, tonight, he would feel up to confronting Amy.

 

 

* * *

 

The lift went down into the lair, and Basil was not surprised to find Vasiliki already there, in her winter school uniform, sitting on the couch.

“You know, your perfume is nice, but you wear too much of it,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

She looked up from her book (she was always reading something) and gave him a deadpan look. “It’s supposed to be noticable,” she said as she closed her book and stood up. “And I didn’t come here to discuss cosmetics.”

He shrugged, taking his jacket and boots off. “Why did you come here? You don’t usually come in the morning.”

“Since I don’t have school this week – again – I’ll be working in one of our restaurants, and I drew the afternoon shift,” she explained, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Anyway, I wanted to try an experiment with y-“

His head whipped around from where he’d been switching into his labcoat. “Experiment! Tell me more!”

“Weeeeeeell… you know how they say, Contriving and Gadgeteering can’t go together? I thought, maybe, there’s a way to get around that. Here’s what I was thinking…”

 

 

* * *

 

“Oh God, I think it’s alive!”

“Muhahahahaha!”

“What in the name of God are you doing!?”

“I always swore to myself I would laugh madly if this happened! I have been practicing the laugh ever since I got my powers!”

“Are you c- Oh shit, it’s trying to escape! Quick, we have to stop it before it gets out!”

 

 

* * *

 

“Let us never do this again,” she sighed, falling down onto her butt.

“Agreed.”

“Let us never speak of this to anyone,” she added.

“Agreed. I guess there IS a good reason why people do not do these experiments anymore. Though I have to say, it was rather… sporting, do you not think so?” he replied, sitting down next to her, looking very deliberately away from her.

“Well… yeah, but… how come I always end up indecent after these things!? Thank God I wasn’t wearing my costume, because I only have one left!” she replied, glad that he was not the peeping type (sometimes she thought he didn’t have a sex drive to begin with).

“Here, take my coat,” he said, giving her his labcoat. Of course he’d gotten out of it unharmed – though Vasiliki had to admit, his reaction time was insane to begin with. In fact, they should probably test him sometime, in case he had some kind of secondary power that sped them up.

Because it was either that, or being a grizzled veteran with finely honed instincts in disguise. And that was too ridiculous to consider, really.

Basil was many things, but not grizzled.

“Do you want a dragonskin suit? I should have enough material for one more,” he offered.

She thought it over. She really didn’t want to impose on his fading resources, but… her current costume was basically just fabric – she could only enchant objects she’d customized to meet her standards, and doing that to a fullbody skin-tight suit took time.

“I’ll take it. I insist on paying you back, though. If only in rates,” she said, giving him a look that dared him to give it to her for free.

To her surprise, he just nodded, his expression understanding. “Alright. We will work something out. How about you pay me in meals at your restaurant? Haven’t ever been there, but I hear the chain’s great. And I love Greek food.”

She shrugged. “Suits me. I’ll give you a card, then they’ll be putting it on my name.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You actually have a system for giving out free meals to people?”

She raised her nose up. “Paying people with food is common Hellenic family tradition.”

“Think I can join your family?”

She looked away. “D-don’t be ridiculous!”

“Huh? Why are you blushing?”

 

 

* * *

 

Around Noon

Melody stumbled back into her room, yawning. She really shouldn’t have gone drinking with Irene. They were too young! And she’d never even touched alcohol before, except for a sip of wine during Christmas or such. Of course, her body could take it – she’d emptied half a bottle of… something Irene had given her, and had barely felt her fingertips and toes prickle.

But still, they’d really lost track of time, and she’d never even considered the damage Irene might have caused if she got drunk – but she turned out to be the most pleasant drunk Melody could imagine (it turned out her power didn’t protect her from alcohol at all unless she wanted it to, and sometimes not even then). She’d just gotten quieter and quieter, and then fallen asleep.

Of course, that meant they were stuck in Italy, two underage girls without passports or anything. And Irene wouldn’t wake up.

She could have gone to the local United Heroes chapter, but… somehow, she really didn’t want this to become official.

Finally, she’d done something she never thought she would – she’d taken Irene’s cellphone and called her father (she didn’t want to disturb Lady Light at work, and something told her the Dark would be more understanding of the situation – besides, anything to distract him from doing Evil).

And… well, travel by Darkwraith was definitely not something she ever wanted to do again. He’d been a perfect gentleman, even seemed to find it funny what had happened – apparently, he already knew how Irene reacted to alcohol – and had taken her straight back here, dropping her off in the nearest alley, out of sight, telling her to ‘be a good girl’.

Look who’s talking, she thought as she pulled her sticky clothes off – the first half of a bottle hadn’t done much, but the following nine bottles of Italian spirit had done a number on her senses.

She stumbled out of her room in a bathrobe and into the showers, passing by a disgustingly chipper Aimi (who began to say something, then saw how messed up Melody was and wisely shut her mouth), and all but falling under the first showerhead, turning it on to ice-cold.

Brrrrr! Now, that helped better than any other remedy against a hangover… or whatever one would call her state. Not her field of expertise.

How did we even get the idea to try out Italian alcoholic drinks? Had it been Irene’s idea, or hers? She couldn’t quite remember…

Maybe Irene would remember, whenever she woke up. Her father had said it might take time, though.

I should probably go to sleep, she thought. No school this week, anyway. She turned the shower off, put the bathrobe on, and walked back into her room, wet and dripping. There wasn’t much chance of her catching a cold, but… she still sat down to dry her hair.

Turns out, she shouldn’t have, because someone knocked.

“Melody? It’s me, Sarah!” her handler said in a soft voice.

Oh, please don’t tell me I have an appointment. She at least couldn’t remember one.

“You have an appointment with Mister Patrid and Mister Gerden, from the Board of Directors.”

Dratz, why can’t they let me- wait, the Board of Directors!? What do they want with me!?

 

 

* * *

 

Later that evening

Dalia raised her glass high, shouting along with the other people in the club. The band had gotten a call-response thing going, and though she couldn’t, for the life of her, tell what she was supposed to say in response, she just shouted along with the others. The intervals were just big enough to take another draw from her drink, or call for a new one, and it was awesome.

She never could have gotten into a place like this! No way, even if she hadn’t so obviously been underage. Now the bouncers didn’t care if she was underage or not – she was hot, she was dressed up and obviously up for a party, so she was just waved in.

Suck on that, Zara! Bet’ya you never got to skip the line just for being hot! she thought in triumph as she emptied her glass and put it back on the counter, calling for a new one. Another advantage of being her, she could take a lot. As in, she was on her ninth drink, and she barely noticed a buzz – when she’d tried some alcohol back then, she’d dropped after just one drink! Now, her vision was a little weird and unfocused, but she could still tell where everything was and all!

And the guys. They were all looking at her when she danced by them, looked her body up and down, feasting on every bit of skin she was showing off… It made her feel so much more like a woman than she ever had before!

And, as if she wasn’t feeling good enough already, just then, she saw her. Good God, was she hot. She’d known that before, of course, but she’d never seen her dressed up for partying before!

Grabbing her new drink – something blue and gold and sparkly, with a name she couldn’t even pronounce – she danced her way through the crowd – I fucking love this – I don’t even need training to dance, it just works – and towards her. There was already a throng of guys around her, trying to dance her up, but she just danced by all of them, teasing, playing.

She’d already taken the dancefloor over, as people began to dance around her, she had that much presence.

I should hate her for stealing my thunder. But she had to admit, she still had to learn a lot, and here was a chance for some of it.

“Didn’t ecssspect to find yyyyyou here,” she said, not noticing the slur in her own voice. “How come yyyyou can dshuust come in here and make everyone pay attentschion like that?”

She turned, looking at her, eyes and lips sparkling brightly. “I just do it!” she replied. “And aren’t you a little young for a Fleur de Lune?” she asked, taking Dalia’s drink and emptying it in one draft!

And yet, I just want to kiss her. How does she do that? “I can take ik!” Dalia said proudly. “I lick alcohol! Never knew it wash thish goot!” she continued, giggling.

She smirked, and took her hand. “I think I can do better than some alcohol! Come, let’s dance!”

Dalia was so focused on the warmth and softness of her hand, she barely noticed when she pulled her onto the dance floor, held her hand up in hers, put her other hand on her hip and started to move.

It started slow, in tune with the slowly winding up song the band was just getting into, and then sped up along with it.

And Dalia was keeping up. She’d never have believed it, but her every step was perfect, keeping up with her as they whirled around the floor, two unbelievably hot babes dancing in a way that was just barely out of the realm of indecency.

She was so warm, and she smelled so nice, and the room was so hot and loud and full and just…

The world whirled around them, and Dalia couldn’t even really tell what they were talking about, just that she felt so… fuzzy…

 

 

* * *

 

“Well, this is awkward,” Amy whispered as she twirled with the barely conscious girl, getting her off the dance floor without making a scene. She was emitting gentle waves of don’t notice us, and once she was sure they were unobserved, she picked her up like a baby (she weighed about as much to her) and carried her out of the club through the backdoor.

“Basil would kill me if I didn’t take care of you now, you know? What a bothersome girl…” She looked down at the pretty face with the badly applied make-up. “A cutie, though.”

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