Chapter 42: 3-11 Surge

Surge 3.11

2010, November 9: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Tuesdays were quickly becoming my favorite weekdays. Thanks to Arcadia's weird, vocation-forward schedule, I only had PE, world issues, and English before I was free to do as I pleased and Mrs. Currie in world issues didn't collect assignments on Tuesdays, opting instead to give us as much time over the week as possible.

I once again poked fun at Stephen while playing flag football; the asshole deserved it. I made sure to be on his team and did my absolute best to lose convincingly. After three months of consistent exercise, I wasn't ripped, but nor was I the twig-like twerp anymore. Yes, I could proudly call myself a reasonably fit twerp now. Progress!

Throw in the mastery of my own body thanks to the solid sense type and it was a genuine challenge to not seem like I had my own Spidey Sense.

No, I wasn't supernaturally fast, at least not without Agility, but my sense of balance and awareness of the world around me made it so that it was honestly more challenging to lose convincingly than it was to win.

That, and the way Stephen's face flushed red like a baboon's asscrack was hilarious.

X

I made a beeline for the Gullrest after school. Strider had sent me a message saying he'd be able to make his delivery at 1AM, Thursday. Seeing how I couldn't build up my stockpile of seastone until then, I dedicated the fabricator to creating more nuggets of wapometal. Between that and the lab beneath Harvey's, I wouldn't be running out of the SMA anytime soon.

SAINT was once again racing the drone, this time to see if he could build a Black Rhino trike faster than Big Rig's machine. I left him to it. If nothing else, it was fantastic Psychic and Magnet Rise practice. While he did that, I decided to put the finishing touches on my custom regalia.

Three hours later, I stepped back to admire my handiwork.

It looked pretty funky, truth be told. The color scheme was still black and charcoal-gray with burnt-orange accents much like the original Expansion Suit, but that was where the similarities ended. Nor could it be compared to Sanji's stylish white boots.

If anything, it took quite a few design cues from Om's nameless Water Regalia. Like Om's regalia, it boasted three wheels per shoe, with the back wheel being twice as large and thick as the others. There were notable tread grooves carved into the back wheels that allowed water to escape their rotation in specific tracts.

The heel contained the same piece of technology that allowed Germa raid suits to condense water molecules using pyrobloin. The large back wheels then used their tread grooves to manipulate the condensed vapor, spinning in a set frequency to strike a balance between vibration and surface tension that generated Om's trademark bubbles.

These bubbles could then be released directly from the heels like Om or stored within the regalia. That storage was only possible thanks to the hyper-durable seastone frame, which helped pressurize the water and generate even more friction for the front two wheels which contained Key Mother.

Key Mother could then perform all the flamboyant tricks Spitfire, Aeon, and Kazu were known for without me having to go supersonic with Agility. At least, that was the theory. My work was sound, the question was whether or not I could do my own creations justice.

Of course, as homage to the original Flame King, I painted the wheels a burnt-orange, with the trademark kyubi no kitsune in bright crimson. Would anyone be able to tell? Probably not, it wasn't as though I'd sit still long enough for them to admire my handiwork, but it felt right. I started by following the road they'd paved for me; it was only fair I paid proper respects.

There was a tradeoff to this extra versatility however. Because of all the friction and heavier weight of seastone, I had to admit that the original Key Mother had a higher top speed. So long as I didn't cheat with Agility, Kazu and his bullshit anime-physics supersonic nonsense would be forever beyond me.

I grinned and treated myself to a mango-flavored garlic. Man-garlic? Sounded stupid; I'd take it.

My experimentations in genetic engineering had really begun to take off. Now, I was able to flavor the skin as well as the flesh. As for why I decided garlic peels should taste like chicharrones…

I coughed and made a face, spitting out the peel and bits of the clove. "SAINT? Please remind me that pork rinds and mangoes do not go well together."

"Pory," he trilled back. The pulse that echoed through the bond left me with the distinct impression that the little shit was laughing at me. "Gon. Ree-gon."

"Shut it, I was curious, all right?"

"Ree."

"Fine, fine. You're smarter than me. Happy?"

"Porygon."

"Smug little…" I walked over to my costume and dressed myself before hefting the Pledge Regalia behind me. I held a hand out and deployed its primary function. "Ring In: Infinite Scale."

As much as I'd like to be done with my new regalia, I couldn't pass this off as a finished product. Regalias were powerful, powerful enough to make modern military technology look like toys in comparison. Hell, there was an actual aircraft carrier made with AT tech in the canon storyline.

In exchange for that power, they had extremely specific maintenance requirements or they'd never perform at their optimal level. Usually, king-level riders sought out talented tuners who could synchronize the regalia's internal mechanics with the unique biometrics of the individual wielder. The relationship between king and tuner was so tight-knit that it had been compared to marriage on multiple occasions.

This was one of the main reasons I'd begun by building the Pledge Regalia: Without proper tuning, everything I built would break down in short order when forced to a king's standard of performance. I hadn't bothered to tune the Water Regalia because I knew I'd need to do it all over again when I finished incorporating Key Mother. Now that I had, it was time for me to truly make it mine.

Seven cross-like amplifiers hovered in the air, splitting off from the main body of the Pledge Regalia. Normally, Kururu would have had her subordinate tuners manipulate each one. I wasn't sure I had seven friends, never mind seven highly talented tuners at my beck and call. So, I improvised.

"SAINT, come here and help me tune this."

"Pory!" He dropped the half-finished Black Rhino, the third he'd made today, and sank into my helmet. I saw him integrate seamlessly into my pokenav before taking over the internals of the regalia.

Yayoi, Agito's tuner, was said to possess an eerily accurate internal clock, so much so that she could tell time down to the precise second no matter where or when. She wasn't unique in this; all of the better tuners in Tool Toul To, Kururu's team of tuners, could do the same.

As ungodly gifted as they were, it stood to reason that they couldn't stack up to a literal AI designed for precision.

"Heh, eat your heart out, Kururu, SAINT can tell time to the nanosecond," I laughed smugly. So what if I couldn't beat bullshit anime-people? I could build a porygon that could beat bullshit anime-people.

Yes. SAINT was truly best duck.

I let out a pulse of sonic vibrations that peeled my man-garlic for me with only minor pulping. We only had half an hour before I'd have to return home for dinner but I wanted to get a start on tuning. Then, just to prove that Earth-Bet would fuck with me in even minor ways, my pokenav began to ring.

"Porygon?" SAINT asked as the caller ID popped up onto my UI.

I sorely wanted to ignore it but the caller ID said it could be important. "We'll have to tune it later," I replied with a disappointed sigh. "Start packing up. We'll go home after this call."

"Ree."

"Oh, right. I'll go home. You keep messing around with the drone. Make sure the fabricator keeps spitting out more wapometal and stack them in storage, alright?"

"Pory."

I detached the pokenav from my wrist and placed it on the counter so I could look at Amy properly. The chinguard of my helmet detached with a pneumatic hiss and wrapped around my neck. Then, staring directly at the camera, I popped a clove of raw garlic in my mouth.

"Yo. How's it climbing, oh horny one?" I greeted cheerily.

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, ass," came her immediate response.

"I mean, if you want… Phone sex isn't really my cup of tea but I guess I could give it a shot." Our relationship was built upon a foundation of shit-talking and we'd build this pile until it reached the fucking moon.

"You wish."

"Okay, obligatory snarkfest done with. What's up? Need me to bust some kneecaps for you? Because I kinda had plans."

"You're not a mafioso, you dingus."

"True, but you literally called me to kick the shit out of the Empire a few weeks back."

"To save civilians. Not the same thing," she shot back dryly. "Anyway, it's not that. Answer me honestly."

"I always am."

"Are you a thinker?"

"Me?"

"Or are you working with a thinker?"

"No, I'm not working with a thinker. What brought this on?"

"Kid Win found his specialization the other day. It's modularity apparently, whatever that means."

I took my patented teaching-position-number-one, with my right hand pointing for emphasis and my left hand cradling my right elbow. I pushed up an imaginary pair of glasses and said, "Modularity is a design principle focused on the deconstruction and reconstruction of a machine and its components systems into variable configu-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, nerd." She gamely ignored my exaggerated pout. "That's his specialization. He discovered it from playing with Legos apparently, Legos you gave him. Was this an accident?"

"If I say yes, will you believe me?"

"Not a chance in hell."

"Figures. Zero trust, Ames."

"Creed."

"Fine, fine. How'd you even hear about it?"

"Gallant told Vicky who told me," she said simply.

To be fair, that should have been obvious. I popped a garlic clove in my mouth and chewed. "Well, congratulations to Kid Win. I'm happy for him. Are you just here to drop me the PRT scuttlebutt?"

"Creed, this is serious. Do you have any idea how much of a hornet's nest you kicked off?"

"I do, yes. PRT is probably poring over every single one of my PHO posts. They're likely to think that since I am a confirmed tinker, either The GOAT or another one of my associates is a thinker. Sound about right?"

"Yeah. Last I checked, they were trying to connect the dots between Monsters Inc. and Othala because you called her Wazowski once," she said with a chuckle. "So you're a thinker."

"Si, seniora."

"Senorita, you turd. If you're going to speak Spanish, stop butchering it."

"Ja, compadre."

"That's not even the same language."

"I know."

"And stop distracting me! Why? Why let people know you're a thinker?"

If I had to be honest, I wrote that stuff on PHO because I thought it was funny. Still did, to be fair. A part of me wanted to help Chris reach his potential as a tinker. I couldn't just say that I did it for shits and giggles though. Besides, I could use the chaos I'd generated. "Let me ask you something in turn, Ames. Tell me, what's keeping Creed independent?"

"What?"

"You heard me. What's keeping Creed independent? Creed is an established villain with rogue-like tendencies. He is a mercenary who isn't above selling his tech. He's confronted both heroes and villains now. So what's preserving his neutrality in all this?"

"I… Your tech. You have a bunch of tech that everyone wants and can use it to keep yourself safe."

"True, but then what's keeping me from getting swarmed by the Empire and being overwhelmed with numbers? Or Armsmaster from trying to take out my tech via EMP and forcing me into the Wards?"

"I don't know; is there a point to this?"

"Of course there is. It's fear: Fear is what's keeping me free. Not fear of me directly, I made it clear that I'd restrain myself, but fear of who I might have in my corner. Right now, the PRT thinks that I have outside support and that support is heroically inclined, which makes them less eager to directly engage me."

"Shouldn't the Empire and ABB want to crush you quickly if they think you're an immigrant cape? They'd want to cut off any influence from outside, especially if it's heroic."

"I'm sure they do. A big part of what keeps me safe is my ability to camouflage and pick and choose my battles. I can't beat all of them at once, but I can pick off who I want and that makes them cautious. There's also the fact that the PRT leaks like a sieve so both Kaiser and Lung should know everything the PRT knows. So what you've got is a flamboyant tinker who seems to be the primary face of some shadowy organization with at least one thinker and seemingly very deep pockets. With me so far?"

"You're saying they're afraid of what this mystery organization might do?"

"Maybe 'fear' isn't quite the right word," I conceded. "They're cautious. At the same time, since they know that Creed will follow the rules and seek to keep the Bay stable, they're willing to take a wait and see approach."

Amy huffed. "So you let people think you have thinker support for street cred? That's fucking stupid."

"Maybe you're right. There is always the possibility that one of the gangs will go on a rampage to try and flush me out, but keep in mind that stability is good for the gangs too. For the most part, neither Kaiser nor Lung want a gang war. It doesn't matter how much Kaiser postures like a peacock; in the end, he doesn't want to throw down because that's bad for business. Sure, there are grunts on both sides who want to prove themselves, but gang wars are expensive, in both the financial sense and the human lives sense. I'm counting on both leaders being self-interested enough to take the cautious road."

"Really? That's a hell of an assumption to make in the Bay," Amy pointed out, not incorrectly. Irrational stupidity was basically our city motto. "You think that's going to keep Hookwolf from ripping your ass a new one?"

"No, of course not," I scoffed. "He's one of those unpredictable elements I talked about. What it does do is keep Kaiser from reinforcing Hookwolf or publicly condoning his actions in a way that mobilizes the entire Empire. Sure, he'll sing Hookwolf's praises and say he's the 'Aryan ideal' or what other tripe, but he won't move the gang. You know what? Here's another question for you: Why knights? Why does Kaiser take a knightly aesthetic?"

She thought about it for a moment. I could see the moment light bulbs lit up in her head. "Image. You're saying mobilizing the entire gang to flush you out looks bad for him, or any gang leader. This is especially true of the Empire though because they're supposed to be defenders of white people or some shit."

"Exactly. They can't initiate is what I'm saying. Or they can, but only to a point. Otherwise the foundation they've built their reputation on starts to crumble."

"I still don't like this. You're playing with fire. This all depends on the assumption that Kaiser and Lung are reasonable people. Think about that. Repeat it to yourself and if that makes sense to you, maybe you're the crazy one."

"If it helps, the city isn't any more likely to blow up than it was before. Think of it like a stack of Jenga blocks. Every robbery, every drug dealer posturing on his street corner, that's all slowly crumbling away at the foundation. All I did was give everyone a reason to stop pulling the blocks apart for a while. I don't think it's going to last, Ames," I said solemnly.

I wasn't delusional. My amateur try at realpolitik could only stem the tide for so long. If there was one inevitable truth about Brockton, it was that someone somewhere would do something monumentally stupid. My goal was never to forge a lasting peace anyway; it was to preserve the peace long enough for me to come into my own as the Tinker of Fiction.

Amy sucked in a breath and released in an exasperated sigh. "Is this coming from your thinker powers? No, for that matter, what are your thinker powers? They're your powers, right? You don't have anyone besides me?"

It wasn't as though I could tell her about SAINT, who'd easily qualify as a thinker now that I considered it. I placed a hand over my heart dramatically. "You're my one and only, Ames."

"Eww, don't ever say it like that."

I wiggled a hand in front of me in a so-so gesture. "Anyway, yes and no. I don't know the future if that's what you're asking. I'm acting on information provided by my powers about the key actors in this city. Which isn't to say it's absolute, but… think of it like receiving a dossier about each person. Some people's files are more complete than others."

"And this file told you that Kid Win's specialization is modularity."

"Yes."

"Do you know how big a deal that is?'"

"Huge. Kid Win is a genuinely heroic person whose power could potentially rival Hero's once he has time to mature."

"Seriously? Comparable to Hero? The Hero?"

"Yup. Mr. Zebra-Snax himself."

She let out a snort of laughter. "You're fucking awful."

"I am shameless. But seriously, Winman is going to be great."

"Not if he calls himself 'Winman."

"Hey, don't diss Winman. It's part of his brand. Only losers diss Winman."

"Of course," she said, eyes rolling like pinballs. "Did you know that there is no precedent for someone else discovering a thinker's specialization? It's usually considered something personal to them. Either the specialization is super obvious, like force fields or something, or they have to spend months figuring it out on their own."

I scoffed. "And that's likely the problem. Tinkers are cagey about their power and methodology and each individual is different so no one bothered looking at Kid Win's tech. Would it have helped? I don't know, but me being the first doesn't mean other people couldn't have come to the same conclusion. If anything, that I'm the person to find out first should be embarrassing for the PRT. God knows I'm not that bright."

"Oh hey, humility. I didn't know you knew what that was."

I flipped off the smug bint and started to peel another man-garlic clove. "Fuck you kindly, my dear lady."

"Is that garli-No, never mind. It's a big deal because they thought thinkers couldn't figure out specializations either but sure, just casually upend everything the PRT thought they knew about tinker powers why don't you?"

"What can I say?" I shrugged. "I'm one of a kind. So, besides the PRT rumor mill, what's up?"

"I'm watching my idiot friend eat garlic. Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Garlic tastes like mangoes to me."

"Got it. I'll bring you some crayons for lunch."

"Thanks, I love the purple ones."

"Idiot… Say, Creed?"

"Yo."

"What do you know about me?"

"Like, my power?"

"Yeah. You said you had a dossier on people right? Do you have one on me?"

Her question sounded innocent enough but I could plainly hear the land mines hidden beneath. I needed to be careful not to set her off. I settled on honesty; it really was the best policy where Amy was concerned. "That you are my friend, you are a woman of unyielding moral fiber, and that you are the hero I admire most."

"Now how much of that did you mean?"

"Every last word. You did the lie detector thing on me, remember? Trust your power if you don't trust me."

"I trust you. Or, at least I trust that you're not a bad person."

'And that's progress,' I thought ruefully. As miniscule as it seemed, that she considered a known "villain" like me a good person was already a huge leap forward compared to the black and white morality she had in canon. Of course, she was far more morally flexible in Ward, but the point was to not have to go through the shitfest that got her there. "Amy, do you think I've been manipulating you?"

"Have you?"

"No, but I can't convince you with words alone. You're going to have to decide that for yourself."

The freckled healer was silent for a long time. Then she let out a resigned sigh. "I think… I think everyone manipulates everyone else. With love, with words, with social expectations… I don't think you're special in that way."

"Thanks, I appreciate not being accused of mastering Panacea," I replied dryly.

"Say, Creed?"

"Yes, Panpan?"

"Can I ask you something?" I opened my mouth. "And if you say, 'You just did,' I'm going to grow a cactus up your ass."

I winced at the image. That girl was becoming uncomfortably creative with her threats. "Fair enough, shoot."

"What do you know about me?"

"I told you, you're the b-"

"No. None of those platitudes. Yes, I know you mean them, but don't think I didn't notice how you hide behind sincerity. How much do you know about me?" she asked a third time.

"I…"

I wasn't sure how much I should say. Was she ready to hear everything? For that matter, was I the right person to hear it from? In an ideal world, Carol would have sat her down and talked her through her adoption status and her origins like a mature adult. Carol should have been the one to guide Amy through the responsible use of her powers. Carol should have been the one to teach her about moderation. But this was Earth-Bet, where Carol was every bit the bundle of issues as Amy herself.

Which was why this was now my problem.

The truth was that I'd been manipulating Amy far more than I'd let on with her. I'd been doing my best to nudge her moral compass in a healthier direction. It was why I was so insistent on being a criminal, even if my "crimes" barely counted. It was why I'd allowed myself to be chained down by Amy. Yes, for my own sake, but also for hers.

I'd made her The GOAT, and in doing so, I'd made her complicit in all my actions. I'd placed her in a position in which she had to consider different perspectives and outlooks. I'd forced her to think about the outcome of different actions outside of the unambiguous goodness of being the world's best healer. By giving her a say in my actions and catalogs, by becoming her friend, I'd ensured she'd be morally and emotionally invested.

Even the experimental fruits and vegetables I kept eating in front of her had their purpose. I wanted to use them to desensitize her to the idea of biokinesis for a purpose outside of healing. I wanted to rouse her curiosity while pushing the envelope for what she considered harmless and I was willing to literally reward her with peanuts like a circus elephant to do it.

I was training her like a rat using what amounted to a real-world application of the intermittent schedule of reinforcement. It was all for her sake, for the world's sake if I was being honest. She needed a new perspective if I wanted to prevent her descent into becoming the Red Queen. But I wasn't delusional. I had been manipulating one of my sole friends, using what amounted to a thinker power to groom her into being a different version of herself. A part of me felt disgusted with myself.

This, more than any heist, was why I insisted I was a villain. I acted with good intentions, but… so did Taylor.

"I… How much do you want to know?" I asked quietly.

"Everything," she replied firmly.

"Amy, I know a lot about you, about a lot of people. But I also don't know them as people; I know them as data points, words on a page. The truth? The truth is that the more I learn about you, the more I admire the person you are now. So fine. You want to know what I know? I'll tell you, but only what I know about you, no one else. Just make sure that you really want this."

"I do."

I let out a sigh of resignation. All I could do was trust that I'd had a positive impact on Amy thus far. "Okay, no lies. No tricks. Shoot."

She took a deep breath to center herself. "Who is my father?"

"Heh, I should have expected that to be your first question," I said with a rueful chuckle. "I guess you're not going to accept 'Mark Dallon' as an answer?"

"No," she insisted. "You said no tricks. That means not twisting my questions. I meant my biological father."

"I did say that… Marquis. Marquis is your father. Your birth name is Amelia Claire Lavere and you are the biological daughter of Marquis."

A dozen different emotions flashed across her face. Fear. Anger. Resignation. Acceptance. "I should have known."

"You know that doesn't make me think less of you, right?"

"You knew. You've always known."

"Since I had powers."

"There are no lame powers, only lame people," she threw my words back at me. "You told me that once. You knew."

I nodded. "Yeah. I know you can do a lot more than heal."

"You… You let me touch you anyway."

"I did. Like I said, I trust you."

"Why?" she burst out. "Why do you trust me? Because your power gave you a sign?"

"Because you choose to be a hero. Because your parentage doesn't define who you are. I knew plenty about Amy Dallon, but I didn't know her as a person until I met her in September," I said honestly. "And, what can I say, I liked what I saw."

"I… I need to go."

"Sure, but remember what I said. I know you, and still think you're worth knowing."

"I… Yeah… Thanks," she said softly. Then the call disconnected.

I let out a sigh and slumped back into my chair. I tried to be as positively affirming as I could but that was really all I knew how to do. All things considered, I thought that went well enough. I'd somehow managed to keep her from asking about her pseudo-incestuous attraction to Vicky so there was that.

I glanced at the clock: almost six. I stood and dusted myself off before activating the cloaking function. "SAINT, I'm off."

"Pory," he trilled. He sounded concerned.

"Don't worry about it. I think that chat went about as well as it could have."

"Ree?"

"No, no tinkering tonight. I'm going to go home and stay on top of my schoolwork. I don't think I can focus on tuning right now."

"Porygon."

"Yeah, stick around if you want. If you want to come home, remember to travel via the DSS."

"Gon."

Author's Note

Much talking. I did say Bryce's relationship with Amy is complex. In the end, he's grown-ass man who decided to outsource his moral compass to a seventeen year old girl and he's fully aware of what a scumbag that makes him, extenuating circumstances aside.

Nothing much to say so have an animal fact:

The Korean national bird is the Asian magpie. Though magpies are known for being selfish and annoying, they have a much more positive reputation in Asia and Korea especially. This is because magpies are also fiercely territorial and will loudly cry out when strangers approach their nests.