Chapter 4: 1-4 Call

Call 1.4

2000, May 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I leaned back in my chair and pressed myself against the backrest, cracking my spine with a satisfying series of pops. I wasn't a typical tinker so I didn't experience normal fugues, but the World Rune did influence me in other ways.

For one, I found myself with a deep appreciation for art. Anything I could point to as an example of fine craftsmanship and creativity, I liked, never mind that I needed to be drugged up to actually perceive most forms of art. It didn't matter if it was a song or a highly customized luxury car; the passion was just as important as the final product.

More relevant to the present, I also felt a near obsessive reverence for the creation process. Something about Inspiration as a concept lit a fire in me that I couldn't fully control. When a PRT researcher tried to take an Oracle's Elixir from me while I was tinkering, I took it as an interruption of the creation process and literally bit his hand. Luckily, though I did have a small black mark for assaulting someone, the incident was jotted down as a part of the neuroses imposed by my power.

The precedent was embarrassing, PRT agents still teased me sometimes, but it ensured that no one would interrupt my tinkering unless it was an emergency. Even my mom was told to either let me burn myself out or come to a stopping place on my own.

By the time I stopped for the night, it was well past ten, approaching eleven.

In front of me were four sets of four potions. Each potion was stored in one of those mini water bottles that schools liked to give out for lunch, barely more than a few mouthfuls. The first set was a familiar neon-pink.

The second set was the standard health potion, made from a Mana Crystal, nutrition shakes, and strawberries. I didn't know if that last one was just for taste and pigment or if it had a real effect on the outcome, but I wasn't ready to question the whys of my power. It looked red, with a vibrancy that reminded me of fresh blood. I knew without testing that the potion would close wounds, replenish blood loss, and even minimize scarring. What it would not do however, was regenerate limbs or major organs. It had the potential to save lives, but it was not a cure-all.

The third set was also red, but a slightly darker hue. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that the potions looked angry. The Elixir of Wrath was made from protein supplements, orange juice, and Gatorade. The elixir had two effects. First, it removed the brain's subconscious limitations, effectively inducing an extended bout of hysterical strength. Second, it enhanced the body by flooding it with mana, protecting the drinker from themselves while augmenting the effect. The drinker should be able to rip a thin tree from the sidewalk or use a STOP sign like a polearm with ease for one hour.

That kind of power, I estimated it at roughly brute four or five, did come with a significant downside: Removing the brain's limiters also meant removing a person's general impulse control. I was seriously hoping it wouldn't drive the drinker into a berserk rage, but "wrath" was in the name. The last thing I needed was the PRT shackling restrictions on my tinkering because they thought it was "unsafe."

The final set of four was a silvery-white and reminiscent of liquid mercury. It was the Elixir of Iron, a potion that reinforced the drinker's skin, giving it the durability of high quality steel without sacrificing flexibility. It also increased the drinker's size by approximately twenty percent. That meant that if a six feet tall man drank it, he would find himself slightly north of seven feet. The potion also granted the drinker the strength and constitution necessary to withstand that sudden shift in size and weight. All told, it was probably the more useful of the two new elixirs I'd made today. No real side effects beyond a drop in stamina and a brute power that could keep agents from getting injured in the first place? Yeah, I'd be milking this for all it's worth later.

I retired for the night after brushing my teeth with a tired but satisfied smile on my face.

X

I stood in the vast expanse of space, just me and the World Rune. Here, in the deepest depths of my soul, the rune manifested as a constellation of stars, each unlit like empty braziers in some ancient temple. The stars were arranged in the form of the Rune of Inspiration from League of Legends, a spherical core surrounded by three rings. The core was formed from the three Keystones while the runes of the Contraption, Tomorrow, and Beyond formed the rings.

It was daunting being in the presence of a World Rune. Here in my soul, it wasn't just a single, palm-sized marble lodged in the middle of a petricite container. It manifested as an entire constellation and still the image seemed too small for the infinite well of mana it represented. Standing in front of it, I could not doubt or question: The World Rune wasn't just a McGuffin; it was an ideal, a crystalized concept formed into a single word that could rewrite reality.

This was my rune page and it left my breath catching every time I saw it.

This, this was the dream I'd had every night since my awakening in this world.

Yet, something had changed.

I felt strength fill me. I'd never been uncomfortable or tired in my mindscape. Awestruck, yes, maybe even a little unworthy at times, but nor did I ever feel powerful. There was always a clear distinction between me, Andy, the squishy mortal lucky enough to house cosmic power, and said cosmic power. It didn't take me long to figure that the warmth I felt bursting in my chest wasn't my own.

It was calling me.

It was calling me in the same way its brethren had called to Ryze. To Tyrus. To so many others.

But where Domination called to conquer and destroy, Inspiration called to create and discover.

A wide grin broke on my face. There was only one way to answer.

I walked to the stars that made up the World Rune, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence. I reached out with reverent hands and a golden star met me eagerly.

My hands grasped the star and the warmth in my chest blazed into an inferno. For a moment, I thought my soul would burn to ash. Then, as soon as it came, the fire subsided, leaving me with a deeper connection to the World Rune. The star I'd touched stood out from the other eleven. It shone with a steady light, the first of many flames to be lit. As the connection solidified, a new power slotted into place.

"Time Warp Tonic," I breathed. I was very familiar with the ability.

In League of Legends, it was a good supplementary rune to take that gave a significant boost in the early game. It granted fifty percent of a potion's effects immediately, along with a small boost to speed. My version was similar, but not exact. The World Rune may have manifested in a way that paralleled my previous understanding, but it was not a mirror match by any means.

Knowledge of the ability fully sank into my mind. Time Warp Tonic was as it said on the tin: Whenever I drank a potion, I would experience a period of accelerated time, allowing me to move a little bit faster, have a little bit more time to consider my actions, than I would normally. The potion would also now be fifty percent more effective across the board: better healing, better durability, better duration, everything. I smiled. It was much better than the boon I remembered from the game.

X

2000, May 10: Phoenix, AZ, USA

The next morning found me in front of Acacia Elementary School, one of many in Phoenix. I'd only been attending the school for the past month after physical therapy, but it was already the bane of my existence.

"Take care, honey," mom said as she held me tight.

"I'll be fine, mom," I reassured her as I did each morning.

"If you need anything-"

"I'll talk to Mrs. Owens. I promise."

"Okay, have a nice day."

As she drove off, I snapped my walking stick to full length and tapped my way through the entrance. I wanted to take out my thermos and drink the Oracle's Elixir, but I couldn't. One of the things Ms. Youngston, the local PR head, and I agreed on was that I had to be visibly blind in my civilian identity. I could pretend well enough as I tapped my way through the halls, but all it would take would be a single sip of the tongue or a casual dodge around a corner I shouldn't have been able to perceive to out myself.

Unacceptable. It was far too difficult to describe a world without colors or shapes, or even to hold a conversation without giving in to visual cues and body language. Better that I just didn't have any of these to accidentally trip up on at all.

Mom threw a fit, but was talked down with a clear report on survival statistics for outed capes. While the unwritten rules were a thing, they weren't as well-cemented as they would be a decade from now. Hell, it was only this past February when the Brigade stormed Marquis in his own house. They unmasked as New Wave only a week later. Right now was the height of their cape accountability movement and Sarah Pelham was America's super-mom. No chance. No risks.

So, blind I would be.

It wasn't long before someone bumped into me in the crowd.

"Hey, watch i-" His voice cut off suddenly; that's how I knew he must have gotten a good look at my face. "Oh, sorry."

"It's cool," I said placatingly. I turned to face the speaker and gave him a light poke. "It happens, yeah? No worries."

"Y-yeah…"

Even a month later, I still unnerved the kids a great deal. It didn't help that Behemoth attacked Lyon days before my irregular start. Did that have anything to do with my appearance here? No. Did that stop the rumors? Also no. Humans were curious creatures and I could already distinguish at least four separate rumors about how I got my scar.

The one that said that I was rescued by Alexandria during the Behemoth attack before being resettled here was the closest. No hero, wrong endbringer, but close enough.

I made my way down to the far end of the hall and entered the first classroom.

"Hello, Mrs. Owens," I shouted cheerily. "I'm here for class!"

"This is the wrong class, Mr. Kim," said a tired voice.

"I'll see about finding the right class then, Mr. Rivera," I winked. I had it on good authority that winking through the scar and glass eyes made me look rather unsettling.

His class chortled at our usual byplay. Mr. Rivera was bar none the most beloved teacher. I had no clue what he looked like, but from what the principal told me, he wore a different colored tie for each day of the week and hadn't deviated from his wardrobe choice in the last fifteen years. He was the right mix of quirky and firm that made him both relatable to kids and a respected authority figure.

Meeting him on the daily like this also helped me sculpt my in-school persona. In an effort to seem more approachable, another of Ms. Youngston's suggestions, I decided to model myself after Toph from Avatar, a constant barrage of sarcasm, snark, and tactless blind jokes to keep people from focusing on my scar. Refuge in audacity. Mr. Rivera was an excellent person to practice banter with.

I gave the class a jaunty grin and moved to the room directly to the right.

"Good morning, Andy. Have you had your fun with Mr. Rivera?" Mrs. Owens said. She was the special needs teacher and had a smile you could hear. I heard she recently got married and moved to Phoenix two years ago. She still had that new car smell, a palpable aura of naïve optimism before the reality of the American education system crushed her dreams to dust.

"Yup," I said, popping the "p." "Gave the class an eye-full."

"Good, take a seat."

Lessons began. Braille first, then recess, followed by math. By lunch, I was thoroughly done with this. I could only feign interest for so long and though the lessons on braille helped, math was… aggravating to say the least. The less said about "nature studies" the better.

"Do you want to have lunch in the cafeteria or in here?" Mrs. Owens asked us. The class only had eight kids, each of us with unique disabilities. It was district policy to promote socialization without forcing the issue, so Mrs. Owens allowed us to eat in class instead of going out into the cafeteria like the rest of the kids.

Most of us remained, but myself and two other kids got up.

"I want to eat outside, Mrs. Owens," Sarah Baxter, a girl with a mousy voice, said. I had no idea why she was in this class, truth be told. She didn't have any obvious disabilities that I could discern, nor did she have trouble speaking or socializing, so I could only assume her problem was developmental. It could be as simple as severe dyslexia for all I knew.

"Of course you can, sweetie. You three stick together, okay?"

"Yes, Mrs. Owens," the three of us chorused.

Pierce Lovelace stuttered a little, he didn't speak well, but he was a good kid. For whatever reason, he insisted on meeting new people daily. It was honestly encouraging to see such an upbeat kid.

"Do you want me to hold your hand, Andy?" Sarah said, tugging gently on my sleeve.

I thought about refusing. There was still a big part of me that was too prideful to accept help from an eight year old girl, my current appearance be damned. I hammered that part of me into the depths of my mind and smiled. "Yes, thank you, Sarah."

I spent much of lunch trying to parse out what Pierce said, with Sarah chattering on about whatever most recently caught her fancy. Perhaps it was a bit patronizing of me, but I relegated most of it to background noise as I tried to figure out my cape career going forward.

My own debut with Wards Team One was put on hold indefinitely until the PRT could figure out what to do with me. Hell, my costume wasn't even fleshed out yet. This left me in the curious position of being a tinker with near carte blanche, but with neither a lab nor an identity in the cape world. I considered myself lucky; how many people got to fully build an identity for themselves and had the benefit of maturity and future knowledge?

It'd all start today…