Chapter 10
Lingering Heat
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The Watson House, Guest Bedroom
November 30th, 2008, Sunday
9:01 AM…
Alessa blinked awake, the Forge's dreamscape still clinging to her mind like smoke. The usual magi-tech ruins had been different this time — a new structure stood among them. Not stone, not steel. Something… alive.
She reached for her AR goggles on the nightstand and slipped them on, having brought them home in a spare backpack she used for her most common Forge tools, like the PDA. The familiar constellation of Forge icons shimmered into view, neatly arranged per her subconscious preference. At the periphery, one pulsed faintly.
ESSENCE SPINNER.
Her brow furrowed as she focused on it. The file unfolded in an elegant cascade of diagrams: DNA strands rendered as glowing silk threads, protein chains twisting under her fingertips, daring her to weave them into something new.
Alessa's eyes narrowed. "Oh… this is that creepy Zerg thing, isn't it? The one with the bug-brain who thought breaking bones was a legit training regimen. Yeah, no thanks. Not becoming Abathur. Abathur with a manicure, maybe… but not that."
She only knew Starcraft because her dad was even more of a nerd than she was. She knew the Zerg could strip planets bare, absorbing lifeforce — "essence" — from anything they consumed. Having something so similar to what those alien horrors used was… less than ideal.
Still… the possibilities.
Feathers from a peregrine falcon for aerial reflexes. Chitin from a Hercules beetle for armor. Tokay gecko tissue for healing. She could blend them all without cruelty, without tearing things apart. Biology made precise — no guesswork, no butchery.
The thought crept in uninvited: Taylor could be taller. Stronger. No more scars. Alessa smirked faintly, shaking her head. And maybe… nah. She'd likely kill me if I even suggested that right now.
Beneath the joke, the weight of the discovery settled in. This wasn't just another drone or weapon. With this, she could heal as much as she could fight. Her grin sharpened at that realization. "Alright, Spinner. Let's see what you can do - my way."
She flicked her wrist, calling up the new tool's workspace in her AR view. The silk-screen interface appeared in midair, threads of light crisscrossing like the world's most intricate loom.
For a test, she pulled a sealed sample tube from her desk — a few shed hawk feathers she'd collected for an unrelated idea involving hybrid materials. She let the AR goggles scan them from top to bottom, watching as the Spinner translated each strand of DNA into luminous, shifting threads.
Her fingertips ghosted over them, adjusting and weaving — not to create a living organism, but to design a biologically inspired polymer. Once synthesized, it could be manufactured in her workshop, and applied as a coating to her drones' wing components, giving them lighter weight and greater wear resistance without adding complexity to their mechanics.
The silk threads twisted into a tight braid, the interface pulsing green. It would be even easier once she had the right raw materials on hand, but the diagram in her AR display was a thing of beauty. Was this how Abathur saw DNA, how he could alter it so easily? If so, his casual cruelty in pursuit of efficiency was even more baffling to her, alien mind or not.
She flicked her eyes, sending the finished design rotating in her vision, and allowed herself a sharper grin. "Lightweight, durable, no sentience. Perfect. Welcome to the team, Spinner."
Alessa was still admiring the completed model when her door swung open without so much as a knock. Rounding towards the noise, she sighed out an exasperated, "Alice—"
"Up," Alice announced, striding in like she owned the place. "Shower, shoes, outside. You've been up for maybe ten minutes, and you're already glued to that thing again."
Alessa lowered her goggles just enough to give her a flat look. "It's Sunday."
"Exactly," Alice shot back. "Forge-Free Sunday. New rule."
"That's not a rule." Alessa grumbled back.
"It is now." She folded her arms. "You were out all day yesterday, and the day before we had school for half of it before heading to your secret lab. Now you've barely been awake an hour and you're already back at work." She gave a pointed look. "I'm intervening before you burn yourself out. Or worse — start arguing with vending machines about proper change again."
"That happened one time," Alessa muttered, already collapsing her AR workspace. The luminous DNA threads winked out one by one in response. From there, she pulled the goggles from her head, gave them a quick check for smudges, and slid them into a padded pouch in her backpack. The rest of her everyday tools followed — PDA, a couple of spare microdrives, and the pen-shaped scanner she'd created a couple days ago that she tended to carry just in case inspiration struck mid-bite of lunch or something.
Alice watched this with a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation of her own. "You're packing like we're going to the moon."
"I don't like leaving my things out where people can touch them," Alessa replied without looking up. "Or worse, move them."
Alice rolled her eyes. "We're going to a café, not a war zone. And speaking of people…" Her grin turned sly. "Maybe invite your new friend. You know, the one you actually talk to like a human being instead of a test subject."
Alessa paused mid-zip. "…Taylor?"
"That's her name, yeah. Unless you've already assigned her a code name in that scary brain of yours."
Alessa made a face but pulled out her PDA anyway. "Fine. But if she says no, I'm going back to bed."
Message to Taylor: Hey. Alice is dragging me out before I turn into a ghost. We're grabbing food — want to join? No obligations, no big deal if you're busy.
She hit send before she could second-guess it, slipping the PDA into her backpack and tightening the straps.
Alice was already drifting toward the doorway, clearly moments away from grabbing her by the shoulders and physically herding her out.
"I can walk, you know," Alessa said dryly as she stepped past her.
"I'm not taking chances," Alice replied before shutting the door behind them as if to ensure Alessa couldn't slip away. It was tempting, given she had a shiny new "toy" to play with, but she pushed the thought aside. An annoyed Alice wasn't something she wanted to deal with as her friend continued speaking, "You've been back in work mode for less than an hour. Next week, maybe we'll even get you a tan."
"Sure," Alessa muttered. "Right after I sprout wings."
The thought made her wonder if she could use her newly acquired Essence Spinner to give herself flight-capable wings. Just as quickly, she shoved the idea aside before she could start coaxing her AR goggles into answering the question. Not that she could with Alice pushing her down the hallway before stopping at the top of the stairs, arms crossed expectantly. Alessa sighed but smiled despite her mild annoyance with the goth's antics. Alice really was a good friend, and she wasn't about to squander that by being a workaholic.
Besides, Alice was right, she really did need to actually socialize like a normal person.
A minute later, her PDA buzzed. Taylor: Where are you meeting?
Alessa thumbed back a quick reply: Boardwalk, near that little café with the blue awning. Easy to find, and we'll grab a table outside.
Taylor: Alright. I'll see you there.
Alice, looking over Alessa's shoulder, smirked. "Told you she'd say yes. Now move it, ghost girl."
And just like that, the outing was set, the easy cadence of the exchange nudging Alessa into the day whether she liked it or not.
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The Boardwalk, the Blue Harbor café
9:43 AM…
The Blue Harbor Café sat mid-Boardwalk, far enough from the piers to catch the ocean breeze without the briny punch of low tide. Its blue-and-white awning flapped in the November wind, the name stenciled in cheerful letters above a line of outdoor tables. Tourists and locals filled the seats, mugs steaming in the cool air.
Alessa and Alice wove through the planked walkway, the hum of weekend chatter blending with the clink of shop doors. PRT troopers patrolled in pairs, a visible deterrent among street vendors and strolling families. A black-and-white cruiser idled near the carousel, its officer chatting with a vendor over churros.
Alice's gaze snagged on a freshly painted rectangle of beige in a side alley. "That's fresh."
Alessa followed her eyes — the edges of a spray-painted 'M' still ghosted beneath the cover-up. Merchants. Sloppy. She filed it away; the Boardwalk didn't usually tolerate that kind of mark.
They passed two older men speaking low outside a shop. "…by the docks again," one muttered. "…before the cops cleared 'em out."
"Typical scum," Alice said under her breath. "They won't last long here."
A PRT van rolled past, its driver scanning the street. Maybe Alice was right, but Alessa knew blips could become warning signs.
At the café, Alice claimed a table with a clear view of the street and bay. "Let's see what this place does best — and by best, I mean caffeine."
Alessa sat to her right, leaning her cane against the table within easy reach. The cane and slight limp kept most eyes off her — for now.
A shadow fell across the table. Alessa's grip tightened on the cane until she saw the newcomer.
"Guess I'm not late," Taylor said, sliding into the seat across from her. Hoodie zipped, hair damp from a shower, and a small smile on her face. "Hope this is still casual. I didn't dress for… whatever this is."
Alice waved a hand. "If you'd shown up in a ballgown, I'd have made fun of you. Hoodie's safe."
Alessa smirked. "You'd have made fun of her anyway."
"Probably," Alice admitted, grinning. "Good to have you, Taylor."
"Th-thanks, Alice," Taylor said, her smile shy but genuine. Alessa caught herself noting the shine in her hair, the potential hidden under baggy clothes — a fleeting thought sparked by her Terraria perk before she pushed it aside. Taylor wasn't a project. Not now, maybe not ever.
A server approached, dropping off menus with a practiced smile. "Morning, folks. Coffee to start?"
"Yes," Alice said immediately.
"Make it two," Alessa added.
Taylor hesitated. "Tea, if you have it?"
"Of course," the server said, jotting it down before retreating.
Alice leaned forward. "So, Taylor. How's your weekend been? Please tell me you've done something besides schoolwork and surviving Winslow."
Taylor gave a small shrug. "Not much. Helped my dad with some work around the house. Tried to read, but the TV downstairs is… loud."
"Sounds like you need more field trips with us," Alice said, grinning. "We're way more fun than whatever's on your dad's TV."
"Depends what's on," Alessa said dryly, then tilted her head. "Speaking of — what were you trying to read?"
Taylor blinked, surprised at the question. "Uh… old paperback I found in a thrift store. Kind of a mystery-slash-thriller thing. I'm still in the first few chapters."
Alice smirked. "So you're saying you could be roped into a book club?"
Taylor gave a faint, almost amused snort. "Maybe. Depends on the book." She hesitated, then glanced at Alessa. "What about you? What do you read?"
Alessa shrugged lightly. "Mostly fantasy and sci-fi. Stuff with good worldbuilding, clever tech, maybe a little mystery thrown in. My dad's fault — he raised me on a steady diet of space operas and epic quests."
Alice leaned back, smirk widening with mischief. "She can quote the entire script from the first and second Terminator movies." Alessa's boot connected lightly with Alice's shin under the table, earning a quick laugh and a brief grimace from the goth. "I don't hear you denying it," Alice added. "As for me? Pure, sugary rom-coms."
Taylor blinked. "…Seriously?"
"What? I contain multitudes," Alice said with mock indignation. "Besides, happy endings are underrated. Give me something bright and funny after a long day, and I'm set."
Taylor's lips twitched, the closest she'd come to a real grin so far. "That's… unexpected." She hesitated again before swallowing, as if to steady herself before she managed to press forward, "Speaking of books… you mentioned a side project in your email. The one after… you know. The soap thing."
Both Alice and Alessa paused for a beat, exchanging a quick glance — Alice raising a brow, having not been present for that earlier conversation, prompting Alessa to mouth 'I'll tell you later.'
"Not exactly the place to talk details," Alice said once she turned her gaze back to Taylor, her tone light but edged with warning as she looked around the café.
Alessa nodded, offering Taylor a small smile. "Let's just say… I've been making a few things. Tools. Gear. Nothing dangerous — at least, not unless you're on my bad side."
Taylor tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering behind her eyes, but she didn't press.
Alice grinned. "And before you ask, no, I'm not telling you what she made me. You'd just get jealous."
Taylor's lips twitched, almost a smile. "I'll take your word for it."
From the corner of her eye however, Alessa spotted another rectangle of mismatched paint on a building across the street. Smaller than the first, but the same shape. Not fresh enough to be new, but recent enough to matter. She filed it away for later. For now, she had coffee, company, and a fragile moment of normalcy, and she wasn't about to waste it.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them strolled along the Boardwalk, coffee cups in hand. They wandered in and out of shops — a boutique full of bright scarves Alice insisted on trying, a game store where Alessa lingered over the sci-fi novels for sale, and a gift shop packed with overpriced tourist trinkets. They also passed the memorial for the Cologne victims that was still up, all three of them pausing for a few moments, their thoughts unspoken but plain in their expressions.
Taylor kept close, her hood up a little higher now. Alessa noticed the way her eyes darted when they passed a bus stop — the quick stiffening of her shoulders. She followed Taylor's gaze just in time to catch a glimpse of someone slouched on the bench, a vaguely familiar outline from Winslow's rougher crowd. By the time she looked again, the figure was gone.
The both of them decided to walk Taylor part of the way home despite her quiet assurances she could make it alright on her own, but she tellingly didn't put up much of a fight either. Alessa suspected it was because she was both grateful for their presence, and didn't want to be alone with what they knew Taylor had endured, their path winding away from the busiest part of the Boardwalk. The chatter turned to PHO threads — Cape rumors, silly arguments, and the occasional over-the-top conspiracy theory. Alice rolled her eyes at half of it, but Alessa and Taylor traded quick grins over the more ridiculous posts. It was light, easy and it allowed Taylor someone to nerd out with for a change, something both Alessa and Alice were sure the girl greatly appreciated… and yet, under it all, Alessa kept scanning the street, aware of how the city's mood had shifted lately.
Taylor didn't mention it, and neither did Alessa. Not yet.
As they rounded the corner into a quieter side street, a police siren wailed faintly somewhere deeper in the city, the sound bouncing off the buildings before fading again. A patrol car idled two blocks ahead, lights flashing but siren off, the officers speaking to a pair of street vendors with clipped, businesslike gestures. Alice gave the scene a brief glance but didn't comment.
Taylor's attention, however, flicked toward a different sight — a narrow alley plastered with layers of graffiti. Most of it was harmless tagging, but over one faded mural was a fresh scrawl in harsh black paint: the same crude 'M' they'd noticed earlier, this time untouched.
Alessa caught it too. She didn't slow her steps or change her expression, but her fingers brushed the edge of her cane in a reflex she barely noticed. As they walked past, she allowed herself one last look over her shoulder — the mark seemed to stare back, bolder in the fading light.
"Boardwalk's getting sloppy," Alice muttered finally, almost to herself before she shifted the tote bag on her shoulder so the fox keychain dangling from it swung lazily.
No one responded, and the conversation drifted back to PHO theories, but the image lingered in the back of Alessa's mind like a splinter.
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The Boat Graveyard, the oil tanker base
12:08 PM…
Later that afternoon, Alessa was back aboard the oil tanker, the hum of her workshop greeting her like an old friend. Alice's fox bot stood on the main worktable, its sleek polyalloy plating catching the overhead lights. She'd been fine-tuning its movement algorithms for a few days now, but the Merchant sightings had convinced her to finish it today. Alice meanwhile was perched sideways in a chair across the room, earbuds in now, quietly mouthing along to whatever song was on her playlist while scrolling her phone with one hand and idly tapping the toe of her boot against a crate.
The last module — a compact, high-voltage taser — clicked into place with a satisfying snap. Set to stun, it had enough punch to drop a grown man without leaving permanent damage. For backup, she pulled up her AR workspace and sketched out a second idea: a collapsible self-defense tool Alice could carry without drawing attention. At first glance it would look like a chunky fountain pen, but it could extend into a short, rigid baton with a telescoping core and a contact strip for a low-voltage shock.
Non-lethal. Concealable. Effective.
She set the fox bot on the floor for a final test. It padded forward smoothly, tail swishing, sensors pinging as it mapped the room. The soft whir of servos filled the air, joined by the faint ozone tang of discharged electricity as Alessa tapped her tablet — the bot's eyes lit with a faint blue glow and it zipped forward, delivering a quick zap to a dummy target in the corner before settling back into a neutral stance.
"Perfect," she murmured, making a mental note to hand over the baton when Alice visited the tanker next, once she had it finished anyway. With the way things were shifting in the city, it never hurt to have a little extra insurance.
A soft chime from her goggles broke her focus. A drone alert flashed across her HUD, red-tagged for proximity warning. Alessa straightened, pulling up the feed. Onscreen, one of her perimeter scouts skimmed low over the twisted hulks in the Boat Graveyard, its camera catching the flicker of movement — a pair of men picking their way across the wrecks, Merchant colors visible even at a distance. Switching to thermal, she saw them moving slow, deliberate.
They weren't just passing through. The pair stopped at one of the larger derelicts, a rust-streaked fishing trawler listing hard to port, and peered inside through a jagged hole in the hull. One of them pointed at something within, then made a wide, sweeping gesture with both hands — the kind that said imagine what we could fit in here.
They moved on to another half-submerged vessel, checking hatches, rattling doors, and taking their time like they were already picturing the place with generators humming and floodlights blazing. At the next hull, one paused to dig a spray can from his jacket. A moment later, the familiar crude 'M' hissed into existence across a sheet of peeling paint — the same mark she'd spotted on the boardwalk earlier. Alessa, upon noting the new addition, scoffed and muttered, "They're getting brave."
Alice, still perched sideways in her chair, looked up from her phone. "Who's getting brave?"
"Merchants," Alessa said flatly, eyes narrowing as she tracked them to the next wreck. "Scouting. Probably looking for a place big enough to hole up."
Alessa zoomed the feed out, letting the drone circle wide over the Boat Graveyard. From this height, the two Merchants were just specks hopping between half-sunk hulls, the camera smoothing out the bounce of their movements. No weapons in sight, but they were too coordinated for scavengers. Her fingers tapped at the holographic overlay in her goggles, tagging their position and letting the drone quietly shadow them. Cloaking stayed on, rotors whisper-quiet. No reason to spook them or tip her hand. Instead of chasing them off, she slid into her AR workspace, calling up a fresh schematic. World's Maker stirred to life in the back of her mind, smoothing the transition from vague idea to clean blueprint in seconds.
A disguised sensor buoy — little more than a barnacle-crusted chunk of driftwood at first glance — began taking form in the design pane. Passive sonar, basic motion detection, a cheap wide-angle camera cannibalized from a waterproof action cam. Nothing obvious, nothing flashy. It would sit in the water like junk until its tripwire triggered.
She flexed her micromanipulator gloves, a new tool she'd found just sitting on her workbench that had already proven its weight in gold by making delicate work easier than ever, trimming the design down to the micron, making sure it could be thrown together from scrap without looking like anything worth stealing. With Rapid Construction, she could have it built, sealed, and floating by nightfall.
The idea of more aggressive defenses hovered at the edge of her thoughts — high-voltage shock buoys, magnetic pulse emitters, even a disguised flechette launcher system. All doable, all dangerous. But anything that flashy would all but scream "Tinker lives here" to anyone paying attention, and she wasn't ready to paint a target that big on herself. Not yet.
By the time the buoy was done, Alice had claimed a patch of deck in the workshop and was running her new fox bot through its paces. It padded across the metal with uncanny smoothness, tail swishing, servos whispering with each step. Every so often, it made a soft chuff or curious yip, head tilting as it processed its surroundings. Not AI-smart, but quick enough to track Alice's hand signals and verbal commands, and dart after a tossed bolt like it was the most important mission in the world.
Alessa saved the buoy blueprint to her ever growing library, mentally filing the nastier options under break glass in case of idiots. One more quiet set of eyes on the water would be enough for now.
Eventually they powered down and packed up as the sun started its slow drop, the fox bot trotting at Alice's heel. Alessa's drones stayed cloaked and high as they eased into the shadows, taking a long, cautious route off the tanker. No sense walking into some strung-out Merchant looking for trouble.
By the time Alessa sealed the buoy's casing and tucked it aside for later deployment, the low whir of servos was already filling the workshop. Alice had the new fox bot pacing in a lazy circle, its polyalloy joints flexing with smooth, animal-like precision. Every so often, it let out a soft chitter — something between a bark and a fox's yip — before nosing at her ankle like it wanted a treat.
Alessa smirked at the adorable sight. "You're going to spoil it before it even sees a real fight."
"Not spoiling. Bonding." Alice crouched, scratching the bot's metallic 'fur' as if that would somehow matter, having not equipped the small robot with the ability to 'feel' such things.
They stayed like that for a while, letting the drone feed in Alessa's goggles play quietly in the corner of her vision — until a flicker of movement caught her attention. On-screen, one of the two Merchants in the Graveyard froze, head tilted toward the sky.
"You see that?" the man muttered to his companion, gesturing toward the bright patch of horizon.
The second man shielded his eyes, saw nothing, and shook his head. "Man, you're fried. Let's just check the next one and get back before Skidmark loses his shit."
The first lingered a moment longer before spitting into the water and trudging after him. As they passed between two hulls, the camera caught a spray-painted tag on the side of a wreck — the same jagged, neon scrawl they'd spotted earlier downtown.
Alessa exhaled, easing the drone higher into the sun's glare until they were just specks again. When she finally closed the feed, she caught Alice watching her.
"Problem?"
"Not yet," Alessa said. "Let's keep it that way."
They packed the last of their gear in silence. As the light began to fade and shadows deepened between the wrecks, both girls kept their heads low on the way out — the fox bot trotting at Alice's heels with a soft whirr, its sensors sweeping the dark for trouble. Thankfully the Merchants were far enough away, with close to two dozen wrecks ensuring they weren't spotted, which in turn enabled Alice and Alessa to use the makeshift raft to quietly get back to shore. It was only after they'd put the Boat Graveyard far behind them that they started to relax, Alice's new 'furry' companion now poking its admittedly cute snout outta the goth's bag, ever watchful, ever on alert just as Alessa had programmed it to be.
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Brockton Bay General, ICU Ward
6:28 PM…
The fading orange light through the hospital window softened the hard edges of the room, painting the walls in late autumn sunset colors. Machines hummed quietly, steady and unobtrusive, while the faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air. Richard's hand rested lightly on the blanket, tapping idly in time with the monitor's soft beeps. His breathing was slow but steady, and every so often he flexed his fingers as though testing his strength.
Richard Dawson looked better than the last time Alessa had seen him awake. The oxygen tubes were gone, his skin had a touch more color, and his eyes—still tired—held that familiar spark.
"Thought you'd be taller," he teased as soon as she stepped in.
Alessa blinked. "I'm literally the same height I was yesterday."
"Mm. Maybe you're just standing shorter these days," Richard said with a faint smirk.
Alice snorted from her chair beside the bed. "She's been hunched over her projects so long she's evolving into a gremlin."
"I'm not a gremlin," Alessa shot back, heat creeping into her ears.
"Girls," Belinda cut in, setting a container of still-warm stew on the bedside table. "Hospital rules say no fighting over who's the bigger gremlin in front of the patient."
Richard chuckled quietly, the sound rasping but stronger than before. His gaze drifted to the food. "You made that?"
"From scratch," Belinda confirmed. "And don't you dare try to argue about the sodium levels. One day of hospital food is bad enough — I'm not letting them make it two."
"Kindness doesn't cost a damn thing," Richard murmured, the familiar words loosening something tight in Alessa's chest.
They ate together—well, Richard picked at his portion while Belinda and Alice made sure the container would be empty by the time visiting hours ended. Conversation was light, and Alessa mostly listened, soaking in the warmth. Now that he was awake, she had a good feeling these moments would be much more common.
When visiting hours wound down, Belinda herded them toward the door. Alice lingered for one more bad joke before following. Alessa hesitated at the doorway, earning a slow nod from her dad before she stepped out into the hall.
==========
The Watson House, guest bedroom
8:18 PM…
The house was quiet except for the faint hum of Alessa's desk lamp. Alice leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching as Alessa pulled open the top drawer and withdrew the small, warped cylinder of metal and circuits. Holding it replaced her earlier unease with a cold weight in her stomach. Active AI or not, Skynet's database was still a relic of nuclear fire—Judgment Day in a chip.
"You're really gonna look at it again?" Alice asked.
"Not yet," Alessa said, eyes fixed on it. "But with the Merchants moving in… I can't ignore it forever."
Alice didn't reply, but her silence spoke volumes.
Alessa slid the chip into a padded case, locking it away in the back of her desk. "Later," she murmured.
That night, sleep came poorly. Her dreams replayed the nuclear detonation from Terminator 2—missiles flaring above cities, Endbringers and billions alike wiped out in blinding flashes. She woke gasping before the Future War could begin.
Morning light filtered into her room as she sat up, heart still pounding. "Fucking get a grip, Alessa," she muttered. "It's only the database, not actual Skynet."
The words rang hollow.
Padding toward the bathroom with the foggy intent of splashing water on her face, she pushed the door open without thinking—
—and stopped dead.
Steam swirled through the air like lazy ghosts, warm and damp against her beautiful pale skin. Beyond the thin veil of frosted glass, Alice's form was bathed in the silver spray of the shower. Her head was tilted back beneath the water, hair plastered to her neck and shoulders in dark, glistening strands. Rivlets traced down the gentle slope of her spine before curving over the flare of her hips, clinging just long enough to highlight the shape beneath before falling away.
Alessa's breath caught, her mind suddenly blank except for the rapid thump of her pulse and the awareness of how utterly beautiful her best friend was. The kind of beauty that made your chest ache and your knees feel a little unsteady.
A bead of water slid over the glass as Alice shifted, raising her arms to lather shampoo into her hair. The motion drew subtle lines of muscle beneath smooth skin, her body swaying with a relaxed grace that Alessa couldn't tear her eyes from until the screaming alarm bells of her own conscience finally shoved her back into motion.
She closed the door—softly, carefully—and leaned against the wall for a beat, trying to will the heat in her face to fade.
It didn't.
She spun away and retreated toward the stairs, cheeks burning and unwelcome—if not entirely unpleasant—thoughts chasing her all the way down. Belinda was in the kitchen, an amused, knowing smirk forming when she saw the lingering blush on Alessa's face. "Pleasant dreams, kiddo?"
"S-something like that." Alessa muttered, not about to tell Belinda she was hot for her niece.
That was one conversation she never wanted to have if only to avoid exploding into an ash cloud.
Belinda raised an eyebrow but didn't press the point, turning back to stir something in a small saucepan. The aroma of cocoa drifted through the air, rich and warm. "Hot chocolate's almost done. You two should sit before I make you."
Alice padded in a few minutes later, hair damp and clinging to her neck, wearing an oversized band tee and flannel pajama pants. She flopped into a chair opposite Alessa and stole a marshmallow from the plate on the table.
"What?" she asked when Alessa arched a brow.
"Nothing," Alessa said quickly, fiddling with her mug as Belinda poured the cocoa. Steam curled up into her face, chasing away the last of the morning's chill. They talked about nothing important—neighborhood gossip, a funny story from Belinda's nursing days, an upcoming flea market Alice wanted to drag her to. It was the kind of easy domesticity that felt almost alien to Alessa after the last few weeks, and she found herself reluctant to leave the table.
Back in her room, Alessa sat cross-legged on her bed, notebook in hand. She wasn't ready to touch the chip yet, but the Merchants' expanding presence gnawed at her. She sketched out security layouts for the Boat Graveyard—extra drone patrol paths, sensor buoy placements, fallback points if they tried to set up shop near the tanker. Her pencil flew across the page, ideas stacking faster than she could write them down.
When she finally set the notebook aside, it was well past midnight. Outside, the city was quiet, but the unease in her chest hadn't gone anywhere.
She turned off the light and lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she'd have to start acting on those plans.
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Winslow High, the halls
December 1st, 2008, Monday
8:21 AM…
The halls buzzed with their usual half-asleep chaos as Alessa and Alice made their way in, backpacks heavier than usual. Inside were a new iteration of Glowbugs, these being thin enough to slip unnoticed behind lockers, vents, and ceiling panels where before they'd been slightly bigger, and thus more visible. Alongside these new Glowbugs were a few new toys: pencil-sized audio recorders and discreet motion-triggered microcams, each disguised as part of the school's outdated wiring. They worked in tandem between classes, splitting up to cover more ground. By the first lunch bell, half the devices were already hidden and streaming.
Later that afternoon, the cafeteria was a low roar of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clatter of trays. Alessa and Alice claimed a table near the back, Taylor joining them with a tray balanced in one hand and a paperback tucked under the other arm. Conversation stayed light—Alice griping about the vending machine's idea of "fresh" sandwiches, Taylor mentioning a half-decent book she'd picked up, and Alessa tossing in the occasional dry remark that earned her a faint smile from Taylor.
Across the room, the Trio sat clustered together. Emma's eyes were sharp, Sophia's narrowed, Madison whispering something that made the other two smirk. More than once, Alessa caught them glancing over with thinly veiled hostility—tiny twitches of narrowed eyes, a curl at the edge of Sophia's mouth, Madison's gaze darting away too fast when caught.
A few nearby students noticed too, shifting in their seats, their chatter dipping for a heartbeat before resuming. Alice leaned in, muttering, "They're planning something."
Alessa didn't look their way again, but she already had one of her stealth drones piggybacking on the cafeteria's wireless, set to quietly scrape phone data. If they so much as texted each other about it, she'd know.
By the last bell, she had her answer—chat logs full of smug hints about a "special surprise" for her. Locker-related no doubt, which would allow her and Alice to tie them to the original 'prank' against Taylor. All in all, it was utterly predictable. In her admittedly blunt opinion however, it was downright pathetic given how unoriginal their plan was. She could come up with a better biohazardous terrorist-like 'prank' in her sleep. Not that she would unless it was to bury the Trio alive in three separate wooden boxes in a mountain of literal shit. No, she wasn't that petty, but it didn't stop her from imagining giving them a taste of their own messed up medicine.
She rolled her eyes in any event, and filed the footage away for later. For now, the priority was the other goldmine she'd caught on a bathroom-break check: a perfect shot of Blackwell chatting with a PRT liaison, her tone sharp as she referenced "keeping certain incidents out of the official record."
Evidence of cover-ups. Exactly what they needed.
By day's end, the Glowbugs had capture Sophia in a heated conversation with Emma behind the gym, bragging about "teaching that freshman a lesson" last week. Alessa felt her lips curl into a thin smile. Not in detention. Not suspended. And on video. With the footage stacked alongside the beating she'd already caught, it wouldn't take much to connect the dots straight to Blackwell's door. The principal's shield was cracking—one recording at a time.
Turning to Taylor though, Alessa gave her a flat look when she started to open her mouth, her concerned visage making it clear what she was about to say. "If you're about to suggest we leave you before we become targets of their torment too, you can forget it."
"Bu-"
"Nope!" Alice cut in next with a firm shake of her head. "Nope, not gonna happen. Don't get us wrong, we appreciate you being all worried and stuff, Taylor, but I'm pretty sure one of us said it before. We aren't in the habit of abandoning our friends."
"So get used to us sticking around, no matter what they might try." Alessa stated as she finished getting her stuff out of her locker before starting away, her cane once more in hand, a faux, convincing limp present as ever. It'd become second nature honestly, pretending to be far weaker than she actually was, but when someone tried to trip her in the hallway, Alessa stopped and narrowed her eyes at the offender. "Emma, Madison, or Sophia?"
"Wh-what?" The dumb brunette jock guy stammered out, equal parts surprised she'd avoided his attempt to embarrass her, but had also asked him such a question.
"Let me dumb it down for you then since you look like the stereotypical meathead type. Which one of the girls told you to try to humiliate and embarrass me by making me fall flat on my face? Because picking on the crippled girl is such a good look for you by the way." The sarcasm was caustic as it was audible to anyone within earshot as Alessa reiterated her question. "Emma, Madison, or Sophia?" She had her answer when he grimaced ever so slightly when she said Emma's name. "Figures it'd be Emma. I'll get back to you later."
Before the jock could muster up the necessary brain cells to retort, Alessa had already left his side of the hallway, her eyes on the Trio alone who'd stopped further down the hall to watch. The three girls started to grow visibly uneasy by the time she got within arm's reach. "Emma, what a surprise that you'd come up with such a boring attempt to get back at me by weaponizing your fleeting charm. I guess your worth really is only skin deep."
"You-"
"Oh shut up, Emma, I already know it was you that put that jock up into trying to trip me." Alessa cut her off, taking no small amount of pleasure from the look on the brat's face. "Enjoy your cutesy appearance while it lasts, Emma. Beauty is fleeting, and yours will fade before you know it. Of course, that's assuming your modeling career isn't unexpectedly interrupted." Sophia got right in Alessa's face then, glaring daggers at her, but Alessa merely stared unerringly at her in turn, completely unafraid. As much as she wanted to give a hint about Sophia's costumed alter ego, to make her wonder how much she actually knew, Alessa held her tongue. By the time Sophia scoffed and looked away with a dismissive wave of her hand, the hallway's background chatter had died completely, the silence pressing in as nearby students leaned towards the four of them, eyes wide.
"You aren't worth my time, you crippled freak." Sophia spat out at Alessa's back.
"Oh but you're worth mine." Alessa retorted before her gaze returned to Emma's angry scowl for a moment, silently hoping she'd open her mouth again just so she could tear her down once more.
Before they could respond though, Alessa walked away, her cane sounding like the ticking of a clock that was counting down to some impending doom. Soon enough, a grinning Alice and a gobsmacked Taylor caught up with her, their own bags bouncing on their backs with every hurried step. "God I love it when you get fiesty."
"They'll remember that." Taylor added, her brow furrowed with worry, but Alessa didn't miss the gratitude or the enjoyment, fleeting as they were, in her admittedly pretty eyes.
"I hope they do. It'll give me an excuse to embarass them again." Alessa retorted.
"So... Fugly Bob's?" Alice asked, her grin still present as they made their way outside, a light snow having started up around the same time. "Alessa's treat."
"I didn't agree to that." Alessa dryly retorted with an amused shake of her head.
"Ugh, fine." Alice groaned dramatically only to smirk moments later. "Seriously though, I've got a craving for greasy, artery clogging goodness for some reason after that epic confrontation."
"I'll... have to tell my dad so he doesn't worry, but y-yeah, I think I'd like that." Taylor replied, a small smile flickering across her face despite her lingering concern about the Trio's inevitable reprisal.
Alessa only nodded, not all that concerned about the three losers.
No, she was worried about the future, but even that was a distant concern at that moment given how she had her dad back, powers that had made so many things possible that she couldn't have ever imagined doing beforehand, and a burgeoning friendship to add to the one good one she already had with Alice. All in all, life was good, but she couldn't help but worry when the other shoe was gonna drop.
For now, all she could do was prepare.
Evening settled over the city by the time Alessa, Alice, and Taylor made it back to Alice's place. The three of them sprawled out in the living room—Taylor curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket, a look of quiet wonder on her face which made Alessa's heart ache given the obvious implications, Alice perched cross-legged on the floor, and Alessa leaning back in the recliner, boots kicked off. The TV was on but muted, casting a soft glow that mixed with the golden lamplight.
Conversation drifted easily at first—Alice launching into a funny retelling of a bizarre incident she'd witnessed earlier in the week, Taylor laughing despite herself, and Alessa tossing in the occasional dry quip. They skirted around anything too deep, content to let the warmth of the room and the cocoa in their hands keep the day's tension at bay.
Eventually, Taylor glanced at the clock and stood, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. "I should head home before Dad starts worrying."
"We'll walk you partway," Alessa said without hesitation. Alice grabbed her coat, and the three stepped into the brisk night. Their breath fogged in the air as they strolled through the quiet streets, streetlights pooling yellow halos on the snow-dusted pavement.
When they reached the corner where Taylor's route split off, there were promises to meet again tomorrow and quick goodbyes. Alessa and Alice lingered a moment, watching her go, before turning toward the Boat Graveyard.
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The Boat Graveyard, the oil tanker base
8:09 PM…
Back aboard the oil tanker, the mood shifted. The warmth of Alice's living room gave way to the hum of generators and the metallic tang of the sea air. Alessa powered up her terminal, pulling the latest Glowbug footage from the upgraded, now Wi‑Fi‑capable models—Alice joking they were no longer "real Cold War chic" like the original hard‑pickup versions—as she settled beside her. Grainy audio captured muffled conversations—snippets that hinted at just how far Blackwell's cover‑ups went. Alessa didn't share every detail yet, but the implication was clear.
While Alice fetched them both tea, Alessa turned to her workbench. She placed the sensor buoy she'd finished last night into a padded case, fingers lingering on the cool metal before carrying it topside. The water below was black and restless, but she lowered the buoy in with steady hands.
Back inside, she paused by her desk, eyes flicking to another locked drawer, this one in a recently refurbished metallic desk they'd found in a nearby scrapyard, where the damaged Skynet chip waited. For a moment, she imagined the projects it could spawn—drones faster than thought, defenses even the Merchants couldn't breach. Then she shut the thought down and turned away. The fear of unleashing Skynet by accident still freezing her blood cold.
Outside, snow had begun to fall again, soft and soundless, blanketing the rusted deck in white. While she couldn't see it with how deep inside the tanker they were, Alessa could imagine what it looked like all too easily. The hum of her equipment filled the silence, and her resolve hardened. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but she'd be ready.
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Brockton Bay PRT HQ, the Oil Rig, Director's Office
9:18 PM…
Emily Piggot slapped the latest report onto her desk. "Explain this to me. We have three separate witness accounts, and this"—she jabbed a finger at a blurry photograph—"is the best image we've got?"
Miss Militia, leaning casually against the wall, nodded. "Taken from a fourth-floor apartment window. The civilian said it was like a faint shimmer moving against the sky—small, maybe the size of a crow. Quiet enough that she wouldn't have noticed if the sun hadn't caught it just right. No obvious PRT tech signature, nothing in our database."
Armsmaster stood stiffly beside her, studying the image. "If it's a drone, it's not standard issue. The shimmer pattern is irregular—almost like the air around it is being disturbed in a controlled way. That's not a cloaking method I've seen before. Could be a highly reflective material, but that wouldn't explain the sound profile. Whoever made it knows how to keep it hidden."
Velocity, perched in a chair, tilted his head. "Or it's just a trick of the light and everyone's chasing ghosts."
Piggot gave him a flat look. "Three separate sightings, in different districts, within forty-eight hours. If they're ghosts, they're busy ones." She pushed the folder aside. "Still, no ID on who's responsible. For now, it's background noise—what matters is this."
She opened another file, this one thick with photographs and maps. "Merchant activity's up twenty percent this month. More fights. More territory disputes. Shipments moving at odd hours. My gut says they're gearing up for something bigger."
Miss Militia's voice was calm, but edged. "If the shimmer sightings and the Merchants are connected—"
"Then we'll deal with it," Piggot cut in. "But until I see a clear link, we focus on the gangs. I want eyes on every warehouse, stash house, and known gathering place they've got. Double patrol coverage in their territory. Rearrange patrol schedules and include the Wards if you have to, just get it done."
Velocity gave a sharp nod. "Understood."
"Yes ma'am," Miss Militia echoed despite the slight discomfort in her eyes with the idea of sending the Wards against such a chaotic, degenerate group as the Merchants, with Armsmaster nodding his head at the same time despite a brief flicker of the same unease in his eyes.
Yet with so little support on their side, what choice did they really have?
"Good. Dismissed." The others filed out. Piggot remained seated, the faint shimmer burned into her mind's eye—an unknown she didn't have the time or resources to chase. She reached out, pulling the blurry photo closer, setting it dead center on her desk. It stayed there under the lamplight, a quiet, needling reminder that unanswered questions had a way of coming back to bite them.
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Total Word Count, 7,858 = 700 CP
Garbage Bin Grants (200 CP) (World of Darkness - Genius the Transgression)
The sad truth is that artists starve and so do scientists. A certain number of resources will be eventually poured into a project and often enough the Genius in question finds themselves grasping for one last essential component but with little to no money left. You are unusually adept at finding useful components in the most unlikely places. As long as you have a garbage repository that can viably hold things that you need for a project, such as computer parts in a junkyard or car parts at an impound, you have a great likelihood of finding what you are looking for, and even finding things that you wouldn't expect on site that will help with future projects.
Talented: (100 CP) (Inukami)
You are an expert at any non-combat related skill. Cooking? You can make a five star meal with low rate ingredients.
Time to Cook (200 CP) (Wonderland No More)
Wonderland's sense of time is kind of screwy, and it's perfectly reasonable for a chef to go out for a midnight quest to a mountain for an egg and get back before the pot boils over. This perk essentially slows down the progression of time from a narrative standpoint as long as you are focusing on making food that includes everything from acquiring ingredients to preparing the food to setting the table. This does not slow or freeze the movements of those around you, but it basically means that as long as you are focused on cooking, you'll finish everything on time and nothing will interrupt you. For instance, if you are cooking a special potion to boost your troops in time to stop an invasion, you'll get the potion ready on time even if the siege was just an hour away. When you stop doing food-related things, time returns to its normal pace; spell preparations technically count as cooking by Wonderland rules, though.
Scavenger (100 CP) (Ravenwood)
Sometimes, you do not have the luxury of top of the line equipment and need to rely on what scraps you can salvage. You, however, have an advantage, being able to cobble together scavenged bits into functional equipment that work as well as the real deal. This talent will also inherently improve the durability of such improvised equipment to function even when such materials should not feasible hold up under the strains of use.
Programming (100 CP) (World Seed)
Through hard hours spent slaving over a hot keyboard you have learned the art of programming, you could write a program for pretty much anything, please don't try to steal peoples bank accounts.
200 - 100 - 200 - 100 - 100 = 0 CP
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