The massive limp body falls back to earth with a tremendous crash. The iridescent wings protruding from my lower back flare as I decelerate, alighting lightly on the pavement a few seconds thereafter.
[Glefe, where do you need to go?]
A flashing red square appears in my vision, just above the neck joint.
I light off Lichtbajonett and plunge the blade into the designated spot. [You're up, partner.]
[Jawohl. Estimated completion in 90 seconds.]
I let out a sigh at this, my shoulders falling. I still need to find the Pearl, but at least the hard part is over.
"What now?" Asks Dauntless, arriving close by.
"Now, we wait to see if this works." I raise my voice to be heard, as I nod down at the spider's body. Glefe's blade remains still embedded as it is in what passes for the spider's neck, her gem pulsing.
Hearing a crunch from behind, I turn around to see Miss Militia, finishing her descent from the building via some kind of grappling hook contraption, which dissolves into green light as she lands on the sidewalk. The weapon, then, reforms into a large knife as she erects herself and approaches.
I turn back to Dauntless. "I assume the Empire's gone, then, since everyone's coming over?"
"Yeah." He rubs his neck sheepishly. "They, uhh, got away."
I sigh. "That's unfortunate, but it is what it is."
"Do you mind if we ask some questions?" Miss Militia asks once she approaches conversational range.
"I don't have anywhere to be, at least until this is done." I gesture down to the body with my off-hand.
"Do you mind briefly describing your powers?"
Internally, I smirk, but my face remains impassive. "I use magic."
Miss Militia frowns. "...I'd appreciate it if you took this more seriously."
I shrug. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd skip the questions we both know I won't answer forthcomingly."
She grimaces, but Dauntless just rolls his eyes. "I suppose we'll move on to the Tinkertech, the 'Lode Pearls', I believe you called them? Can you tell us more about them?"
"Again, the PRT already has everything I know, but short version? There are somewhere between five and twenty-four in the area. Of those, I've managed to contain two, with the third being the one that got Armsmaster, here."
"You're saying you have two of these Pearls in your possession?"
"Yup. And I'm taking steps to actively find the rest. It's been a miracle that nobody has died so far, and I'm not sure how long it will stay that way."
"And how are you keeping them?"
I take just a moment to generate a response. "A… power-generated subspace pocket." Technically, not a lie.
She frowns. "Tinkertech often has poor interactions with other tinker's work."
That… actually takes me off guard. "Are you saying I'm a tinker? I'll be honest, I wasn't aware."
She inclines her head. "You… didn't build your costume?"
"Nope, all power-generated." Kinda. I leave that part out.
"Well, still, I'll have to ask that you surrender the pearls to us." Miss Militia states firmly.
I narrow my eyes. "You're demonstrably incapable of handling them safely."
"We have the best Tinker in the country to contain them." She replies, crossing her arms.
I quirk an eyebrow, glancing downward. "Uhh, not right now, you don't. Besides, you want me to believe that Armsmaster doesn't have protocols he follows when approaching unknown Tinkertech? No, what would happen if I gave them to you is they'd activate again, only this time it would happen inside PRT headquarters. That just sounds like mass murder with extra steps to me."
"The PRT has the legal duty to take possession of all unknown Tinkertech." She presses.
[My lady, it might be wise to tip our hand somewhat. Inform them we know how they've been bending the rules. It will likely cause them to take a more cautious approach with us in the future.] Glefe gently prods.
Sending back a mental nod, I press on. "The law is what's important to you, now? That's interesting, considering your organization has been spending the past week trying to illegally learn my civilian identity."
Miss Militia recoils as if struck. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"You have no knowledge of a squad of PRT troopers, armed with sub-machine guns and assault rifles, being sent to the apartment of a civilian, whose only crime was posting a censored version of me changing into costume on PHO?"
Miss Militia stutters, and even Dauntless frowns.
"I'm sure they were doing what they needed to do to keep the peace." Miss Militia responds after a long pause.
I sigh, shaking my head. "History books are full of the names of people who were 'just doing what they needed to keep the peace'. They have names like Pol Pot, Hitler, and Stalin. Not the sort of company I'd be comfortable keeping, but that's just me."
"You can't honestly be comparing the PRT stretching the law slightly to some of history's greatest monsters!" She retorts.
"Nobody starts off at genocide, but that's not my point. Using the law as a cudgel when it's convenient and ignoring it when it's not isn't 'keeping the peace', Miss Militia, it's the behavior of a petty tyrant. We're heroes — people the public is supposed to look up to. We're supposed to be better than that kind of thing; be something for people to believe in."
"Well, then, what do you believe in, Ritter?" She asks, challengingly.
"You wear that flag around your face, Miss Militia, tell me: have you ever read much Mark Twain?"
Her eyes take on a quizzical expression, and I push on. "To quote him: It doesn't matter what the press says. It doesn't matter what the politicians or the mobs say. It doesn't matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. Republics are founded on one principle above all else: the requirement that we stand up for what we believe in. No matter the odds or consequences. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth and tell the whole world: No, you move."
"What are you trying to say?" She demands.
I sadly shake my head. "Just like the first time we met, Miss Militia, you're telling me to do something that will harm and kill innocents, all for the sake of checking a box on some internal document. So I'm telling you, right here and right now: 'No, you move.'"
The silence stretches for a few seconds until Glefe beeps.
[Operation complete. Recommend all personnel step back while de-transformation occurs.] Glefe informs me telepathically.
"Okay, people, two steps back, all of you!" I raise my voice once again, before turning to the PRT line, "Corpsman, get me a stretcher!"
The spider begins to glow a bright blue, dissolving into floating motes of light which disperse into the air. When our vision clears, the form of a naked, brown-haired man, lying face down in the center of the impact crater, becomes visible. A pair of masked PRT troopers, wearing medic armbands approach, carrying a stretcher. I turn to face them.
"Best guess he'll be out for a few days, during which he'll need care. Afterward, I have no reason to think he won't make a full recovery. I'll be gone shortly, so you won't need to worry about his ID." Being answered with a nod, I finally turn back to Miss Militia. "I don't want to be antagonistic with you; it's just that if you ask me to choose between the public good and the PRT, I'm choosing the public every single time. Until we see each other again, I wish you well." I state, before jetting up into the air.
"Ritter, wait!" I hear her call after me, but I'm already gone.
Breite Bereichsuche is already on my lips, but before the sensors appear, Glefe pipes up with a warning.
[Alert, unknown Mage approaching.] She says.
A split second later, my drones fan out, almost immediately spotting the same mage as before, on a beeline past the police line.
A few seconds later, I find the Lode Pearl, lying in a street gutter a few blocks to my south…
A location the other mage is approaching directly, and one she's closer to.
I catch a glimpse of an object in her hands, presumably her device. It's a long, slightly wedge-shaped structure, about two and a half feet in length, that makes up its main body, adorned in what appears to be black anodized aluminum panels, along with spots of purple illumination breaking up the silhouette.
About two-thirds of the way down its length is the handle, which is roughly joystick-shaped and protruding from the top, contributing to a grip reminiscent of one of those t-shaped batons you sometimes see cops carrying.
As she disappears behind a corner, I realize she is likely to reach the pearl before me.
Shit! I pour on the speed, swerving between buildings, but it's just not enough.
"Sealing mode." I hear an emotionless female voice intone, just as I arrive, the spherical violet gem inset below the top-mounted grip of her sci-fi gun-shaped device flashing in response.
"Stop!" I call out, causing the other mage to calmly look up at me.
"Ritter." She greets icily. "It would be better for everyone if you forgot about the Lode Pearls." She states.
"Wait, who are you? Why do you want the Lode Pearls?"
She shakes her head. "Flash bolt." She intones, a circular array spinning into life above an outstretched index finger.
I try to dodge, but the violet shot that bursts from her hand turns harder than I thought possible, striking me squarely in the chest.
It doesn't do much damage, but it releases a great burst of mana, drowning out both Glefe's and all the drones' sensors, and blinding me in a great flash.
It only takes about half a second for me to recover, but by that time, the other mage is gone, a fading magical signature the only evidence she'd ever existed.
"Fuck! Get back here!" I call out in challenge, but the other figure is already gone, the lode pearl with her.
---
I make my way back home in a dead silence, scowl on my face. Calmly, I unlatch the door and find that, unsurprisingly, the house remains empty, even as the sun dips below the landscape to the west.
Still in a dour mood, I stomp up the stairs and enter my room, silently latching the door behind me. Once I plant myself face-first onto my bed, I finally let out my frustrations into my pillow.
"GAAAAAAAAAAAA!" I scream.
I let out my rage until my lungs are empty, then take a deep breath, and do it all over again.
"FUUUUUCK!"
Having found some minor catharsis, I roll over in my bed, panting.
[My Lady, are you quite done?] Glefe asks innocently.
"Done?" I reply out loud. "She got away with one of the pearls! Who knows what might happen now, because I failed!"
[...I believe you may be thinking about this in the wrong manner.]
"Thinking?!" I exclaim, before snapping my mouth shut and continuing telepathically. [What the hell do you mean, thinking about it wrong? That girl, she got away, and- and-]
[Stop it!] Glefe demands, with enough force to drive the breath from my chest. [You've failed once, yes, but to try at anything means to come up short on occasion. Why, then, are you giving up, condemning yourself to failure, now and forever over one setback?]
My face hardens, and I gaze down at the little green pendant around my neck. [I don't want to give up, but what do we do, Glefe? We can't track down that other mage, and we can't get the Pearl back.]
[Thinking about things logically would be a good start. There's another mage in the bay; what do you know about her?]
[Well…] I trail off into thought. [She's clearly after the Lode Pearls. ...Glefe, what could a skilled mage do with the Pearls?]
[Quite a lot. Al-Hazardi artefacts of their type are commonly targets for study and utilization on Belka. In addition to the Grosse Kurfurstin, which is itself a relic, Belkan planets often have civil defense systems operated by such artifacts, for a single example. Depending on whether she is a member of a competing organization or working alone, there's an almost innumerable number of ways a relic such as a Lode Pearl might be used.]
[And you think they could be an entire organization?] I ask with trepidation.
[Whether she is or is not is irrelevant, and we're drifting off track. The mage herself, did you notice anything else about her?]
I exhale heavily. [Well, when she cast that flashbang spell at me, her array was weird; circular.]
Glefe sends the impression of a nod. [She was using a most unusual style of magic; one I'm not familiar with, but that's not what I was referring to. Take a look at this.]
With her words, a holo screen appears in front of my eyes. In it, an image of the unknown mage is displayed, having just cast the spell at me, which is lancing out across the frame. A pointer appears at the spell, and in a separate display, something which looks an awful lot like a waveform appears.
[Take a look at the spell's magical signature. If we zoom in enough to see the actual mana waves, can you see how spiky it is?]
As she speaks, the display follows her directions, revealing, true enough, a series of boxy waves, superimposed on each other. After a moment, a translucent sine wave appears over the display, the peaks and troughs on both it and the original lining up.
[A point of fact we've skipped over in your magical theory coursework is how, exactly, practicing a spell makes it more efficient. While any shape of wave will result in a successful spell, the closer the waveform is to a sine, the more mana-efficient the result will be. Here, I've overlaid the ideal waveform over the actual observed one. As a few more points of data, here are equivalent waveforms I've recorded from you. The top was from your first use of Fligerflosse, and the bottom from today.]
Again, a new pair of displays materialize, positioned just to the side of the existing one. True to Glefe's words, the top shows another very boxy waveform, while the bottom, while not perfect, is much closer to the ideal.
I frown. [What, exactly, causes the waveform to take a specific shape?]
[Mana Dynamics is a very complex subject that researchers have dedicated their entire careers to. As a generalization, though, the boxier a waveform is, the more work their device is doing to compensate for a lack of skill.]
I think this over for a short time, before my eyes widen. [...You're saying she's inexperienced?]
[I'm saying that, while she may have received some degree of formal training, she has less practice than even you, my lady. Since it's unlikely any organization will have taken the effort to transport a mage with single-digit days of experience interplanetary distances, it's extremely likely that she, like you, is a local to this world.]
I mull over this revelation for a few seconds. Who could it be? She had a device, how did that end up on Bet? Before I get too far off-track, though, Glefe presses on. [Based on this, we can make a few deductions. If we assume the existence of a larger organization that she is a part of, it's a safe bet that it is not one of the state-level actors I fear. An interdimensional empire does not need to recruit local talent for basic artifact extraction.]
I nod in agreement. [What sorts of groups would need to do that, then?]
[In my mind, the single most likely perpetrators would be some form of rebel group. The dimensional sea is a big place, and populated but un-contacted worlds are a favorite place for all sorts of ne'er-do-wells to hide from the powers that be.]
[It could also be a local group that somehow discovered magic.] I muse. [I mean, you ended up here, and so did the Lode Pearls. Who's to say another device didn't fall into the hands of, like, a villain team, or something?]
[...A distinct possibility.] Glefe concedes. [Under normal circumstances, a world which has not discovered magic by your civilization's level of development is never going to, but your world does seem to have a great deal of… peculiarities.]
[You can say that again.] I groan. [But, what do we do about them?]
[That remains, ultimately, your call, Lady Taylor. If you wish for my opinion on the matter, though? This group, whatever it is, wants the Lode Pearls, and they probably want them for a specific reason. That, in my opinion, is reason enough to attempt to foil them.]
I nod. [Then it's settled. In addition to trying to secure the other Pearls, we'll do whatever we can to stop this group from getting them. I have to ask, though: do we have any better ways to find these guys? Do some movie hacker stuff and get their phone numbers or something?]
[I'm afraid that sort of activity is outside my capabilities, my lady. We do have one lead, though, and that's the Pearl they've acquired. Through my analysis of the two in our possession, I've been able to identify the Pearls by serial number, based only on their magical signature. For the record, we possess serials XII and XXI, while the stolen one is serial VIII. Therefore, should we ever detect activity from that Pearl, we can immediately correlate it with the organization.]
To this explanation, I reply by sighing. [So, we're just waiting again?]
Glefe chuckles. [It's often been said that the unofficial motto of the Belkan Armed Forces is 'Hurry up and Wait'. You're simply getting the full experience, Lady Taylor.]
[Shut it, you jumped-up abacus!] I retort, but I can't keep the fondness out of my tone. [Do we have anything else to discuss?]
[At the moment, I don't believe so. You do still have school in the morning, though; perhaps you should make yourself ready for bed?]
[Perhaps I should, thanks, Glefe.]
[It was no inconvenience at all, my lady.]
---
Beep! Beep! Beep*
It was supposed to be a simple escort mission. Get Stormtiger and Krieg out of the city, maybe fighting some Empire capes along the way, and be back at HQ in time for his evening tinkering session with Dragon.
*Beep! Beep! Beep*
Then, the call of unknown tinkertech in the convoy path came in. He was skeptical at first, but when he found that glowing red gem, his doubts vanished. He'd scanned it first, of course, and what his suit's sensors detected was… strange. No power generation, no communications; in fact, it emitted no electromagnetic radiation whatsoever save for a dim omnidirectional 680nm emission. The red glow did pulsate slightly, but his cryptographical suite was unable to determine if it encoded any information. Actually, the bitrate of such a hypothetical transmission would be so low as to make it practically useless, so he dismisses the idea.
*Beep! Beep! Beep*
Jarred from his musings by the continued, incessant beeping, Colin Wallace opens his eyes, beholding the sterile drop ceiling. Judging by the aspect ratio of the tiles: they're square, as opposed to the rectangular 2:5 of Brockton Bay Central's ceilings, he's immediately able to pin his location as the Secure Infirmary of PRT HQ.
*Beep! Beep! Beep*
His location established, he turns his attention to his surroundings. On his right, a canula embedded in the crook of his elbow connects to an intravenous bag hanging by a stand at the bedside. 5% dextrose in saline, he impassively observes. On his right index finger, a blood oxygen monitor is clamped, slightly uncomfortably. From his chest, he can feel the adhesive of the Electrocardiogram probe, presumably the source of the infernal beeping.
*Beep! Beep! Beep*
By his left arm, he quickly locates the non-emergency, cleared-for-identities green button, which acknowledges the press with an electronic chirp and a small green LED illuminating from within.
His thoughts turn back to that gem that, presumably, put him in here. His scans having turned up nothing, he used his halberd to cautiously prod the object. Observing no reaction, he used his weapon's tractor beam functionality to carefully lift the suspected tinkertech, intending to place it into one of his inertially stabilized secure pouches for safekeeping; at least, until he can return it to his lab on the Rig for further testing.
Instead, though, his halberd suffered some sort of power failure as it lifted the object. He remembered an error message appearing in his HUD, though he only had the time to register the color of the red letters before the gem rolled into his boot, and everything became pain.
In agony the equal of anything he'd ever experienced, which includes the time Kaiser caved in the groin of his Mk. 4 suit and shattered his pelvis, he was delirious. He has a fuzzy memory of complex figures and equations whizzing through his head at breakneck pace, and colors… so many colors.
...He needs to check himself into Master/Stranger screening.
Just then, the door alarm chirps the 'Short Delay' cadence, before, five seconds later, the figure of someone he was not expecting to see appears.
"Hannah?" He asks, surprised. "No, it doesn't matter. Hannah, I need to turn myself in for-"
"Master stranger screening, I know." Hannah cuts him off. "We're already in isolation, Colin."
Oh. Well, that makes things much easier.
It's unusual, though, that the other cape is in the same isolation cell as him. Usually, as the primary suspect of compromise, his stint in lockup would be significantly longer than hers, and thus she, and the rest of the present heroes would be held separately from him.
"That's convenient, but I'll admit I don't understand why we're being held together."
For some reason, M/S isolation has received something of a… reputation in popular media. Popular portrayals often have it being effectively a form of solitary confinement. This, in Armsmaster's humble opinion, is a pointless and stupid characterization. The basic purpose of M/S isolation is to determine if an individual is subject to outside influences, and it's impossible to do that by locking someone in a room with no stimuli.
No, real M/S isolation is far laxer. The subject is given a comfortable, if a touch spartan, dormitory, a small set of curated leisure activities, and a working area, all of which they're encouraged to make use of. After all, the largest dataset the PRT possesses on any given protectorate hero is their authored reports, and a theoretical infiltrator would need to memorize a wide variety of PRT policy and stylistic tells of their victim to successfully forge those sorts of documents.
In answer to his question, Hannah rubs her face with her palm. "Piggot upgraded me to level-1 confinement because she's under the impression I lost a philosophy debate with a teenager. She said, quote, 'I know nobody in my command is stupid enough to talk like that, so I want to know who you are, and what you've done with the real Miss Militia', unquote."
Colin frowns. That... does sound a lot like his direct superior. "Well, that's unfortunate, but nothing we can do about it now. Is the duty officer currently listening in? I'd like to make a request."
Hannah Washington's eyes roll as Colin's gaze immediately returns to a speaker inset in the room's ceiling.
After a few seconds, there's a click, and an electronically-modulated voice bursts forth from the overhead.
"Yes, sir, what can we do for you?"
Colin understands that it's important that the M/S subjects not be able to identify the current duty officer by voice, but the fact that the voice changer makes them sound like some sort of supervillain always rankled him. "To start with, I'd like the current date and time, please."
"It's currently 0842, on Thursday the 13th of January, sir." the voice replies.
"So, nearly forty hours…" He muses, under his breath.
"Colin, I could have told you that." Hannah chides, in that exasperated but fond tone she so often employs with him, both in and out of costume.
Ignoring the other hero, Colin continues. "Thank you. I'd like to make a media request for Monday's sensor logs from my suit, please."
There's another few seconds' pause before a reply comes. "Sir, my records are showing both your suit and halberd being unrecoverable."
Colin frowns. Irreparable damage would have been one thing; it wouldn't have been the first time Colin had to rebuild his power armor from scratch following a particularly damaging battle. Unrecoverable, though, implies that the PRT response hadn't found any clue to his armor and weapon's location. That means that either it was teleported out, and now in the possession of whatever tinker created the gem, or…
No, direct mass-energy conversion is off the table. To have completely erased his suit and halberd from existence would have yielded energy in the Exajoule range, enough to wipe everything between Providence and Portland off the map. Clearly, one thumbnail-sized tinker-tech device, no matter how advanced, is incapable of containing such power.
"That's… unfortunate. I'd like to request the Rig's sensor logs from during the battle, in that case."
"I'll pass that along. Anything else, sir?"
"Since this isn't a standard isolation room, have I been given a terminal, or will I need to request one?" Colin asks.
"...I'm showing a standard datapad on the approved equipment list, but no indication of where it is located."
"It's in the drawer; again, you could just ask me these things, Colin." Hannah interjects once again as she removes the blue, newspaper-sized rectangle from the bedside end table.
"It's more efficient to go through the official channels for these things, you know that, Hannah." He then raises his voice slightly. "Then, that will be all. Thank you, Duty Officer."
"Of course, sir."
"Colin…" Hannah begins, before cutting herself off. "You'll see my bodycam later, I suppose. But we need to talk about Ritter."
"Ritter? Why, did she make an appearance?"
She sighs. "After you were… incapacitated, she arrived to render aid. We managed to have a short conversation."
"Did you learn anything about her tech? Washington has really been hounding me about investigating her." He asks, excitedly.
"She claims not to be a tinker and that her equipment is power-generated, but that's not what I wanted to talk about. Colin, she knows about the Empire leak, and she knows about the raid on the PHO poster. She's… not impressed with us."
Colin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I tried to tell Piggot her approach was a bad idea. Tell me, do we have a new A-class villain in the bay?"
"I… don't think so. Her primary complaint seemed to be how our procedures put the public at risk. I think her view of us is us as the most benevolent of the Bay's gangs."
Colin lets out another deep breath. "That's… not as bad as it could be. We'll have to approach her carefully, but I think the situation is salvageable. However, don't think I haven't noticed you dancing around what exactly happened on Monday. Miss Militia, please, tell me what transpired."
Hannah closes her eyes and inhales sharply. "...you're not going to like it, Colin."
"The thing about the truth is that it exists whether you like it or not. Please tell me, Hannah."
"Alright." Hannah pauses, seemingly thinking about what to say. "Here's what happened..."
---
Despite my tumultuous last few days, the world kept on turning without me. I attend school, receive homework, and then go home, all while continuing my training and studies with Glefe. Now, usually, I'd be worried about burning myself out, but Glefe's lessons are interesting enough that I find myself actively looking forward to them, unlike school.
...It probably says something about me that I'm finding the history of the Magical Space Holy Roman Empire more interesting than that of my own country. ...Or it says something about Mr. Gladly that the sentient piece of jewelry is running rings around his teaching ability.
You know, on second thought, it's probably that second one.
Anyway, when I got to school on Tuesday, I was pleasantly surprised to find Emma absent. Not that I find her particularly threatening these days, but simply not needing to spend the entire day looking over my shoulder, waiting for her to try something is like a breath of fresh air. I was actually enjoying school for the first time since her betrayal.
But then, come Wednesday, she was absent too. By Thursday, I was legitimately getting worried. Not because I had any particular care about her anymore; I've fantasized more than once in the last year about her moving away and not needing to deal with her anymore. My bigger worry was that, since our last interaction was me humiliating her, even if mildly, she might be crazy enough to have done something stupid.
And I'm not sure how I'd feel about being the reason for her hurting herself.
By Friday, and after giving the matter a… great deal of thought, I decide that I owe it to the girl she once was to at least check up on her. Even still, I don't want to face her parents, so I'll leave, just, turning up at her house as a last resort.
There's one lead I'll start off with, since it seems like somewhat of a low-hanging fruit.
"Hey, Madison, do you mind if we talk real quick?" I ask of my seemingly-former tormentor.
I don't know if she's actually had a change of heart, or what, but every time we pass in the hallways, she shoots me this wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights expression that never fails to bring a smile to my face. My semi-metaphorical partition face, at least. I don't think openly relishing the pain of others would go as well for me as it had for Emma. Moving on.
Her eyes widen, and she backs up a few steps. "W-what do you want, Hebert?" She squeaks.
I raise my hands in a placating gesture. "Calm down, I'm not trying to start shit."
She slowly relaxes as, well, I don't know what she was expecting me to do, but when it doesn't happen, she eventually repeats her question, but more confidently. "What do you want?"
"I was just curious what happened with Emma, is all." I ask, faux nonchalance on my lips.
Madison narrows her eyes. "Why do you care? You hate her, right?"
"I… strongly dislike her." I admit. "But that doesn't mean I want her dead. And with how she just dropped off the face of the earth…"
"Oh." Madison's face falls. "Yeah, I talked with her Monday night. She transferred to Immaculata, apparently."
"Ah." Is all I say in reply as the gears in my mind start turning.
I still remember lying together on her bed one night, when we were talking about which High School we wanted to attend, back before everything went wrong. We both spent quite a lot of time making fun of the Immaculata uniform, the stuffy nuns we were sure ran the place, and the pretentious students. If she transferred there…
The most likely explanation is that her parents learned what she was doing at school. I smile, knowing she was experiencing at least some sort of consequences for what she put me through.
"I… could pass on a message, if you'd like?" Madison says, and I realize I had been silent for an extended time.
"No." I immediately deny. "In fact, I think it would be for the best if we never saw each other again."
"Oh." Madison almost seems sad at that.
"Thanks, Madison." I offer, before taking my leave, before she can reply.
She may have been the least offensive of The Trio, but she was still one of them. It wouldn't do to let her feel too comfortable around me.
---
With that weight lifted from my chest, the rest of the day passed fairly easily. Around lunchtime, I fielded a conversation with Glory Girl in which she tried to invite me shopping over the weekend, and I had to remind her that no, we aren't supposed to know each other out-of-costume, and no, we can't just manufacture some way for me to meet her out of costume, that would be incredibly suspicious.
In Computer Class, I checked up on PHO again. Yes, I've long been able to just do that whenever via Glefe and a spare partition, but I feel like there's something to be said for actually, physically moving a mouse and keyboard.
Anyway, there's a thread up for my fight with the Armspider, though the Armsmaster connection doesn't seem to have been made in-thread. It's weird, actually. There's security footage of the convoy getting hit, and amateur video of all the heroes arriving, including my brief questioning of that PRT Lieutenant, but there's no footage of Armsmaster leaving the scene.
You'd think that Void_Cowboy or someone would have made the connection, but they don't seem to have done so.
That, or the PRT has better Information Warfare capabilities than I'm giving them credit for.
On one hand, not wanting to underestimate a potential adversary. On the other, falling for the folly of thinking it's possible to underestimate people's stupidity. Truly, a difficult decision.
Anyway, my participation in the battle didn't go unnoticed. A cellphone video of the battle's final moments can barely make out my chasing of the spider up the building, but the brilliant beam of my Gottlichhowbitze was unmistakable, even in the grainy footage.
A few of the commenters started giving me names like "Our Lady of the Doomlaser", or "Princess Rainbow Sparkle, Slayer of Monsters and Punisher of Nazis".
...I'm getting the feeling I might be finding more t-shirts in stock the next time I find myself in Lord's Street Market.
Other than that, the overall public sentiment towards me seems to be generally positive. There are a few scattered trolls, as always, as well as a Protectorate-affiliated account calling on me to come in for power testing in their usual heavy-handed tone. Also, as usual, the public at large doesn't seem to give either group much mind.
Maybe in the grand scheme of things, it's not much recognition, and maybe even, in an alternate timeline, I would have found the nicknames obnoxious or offensive. As it stands, though, every message of admiration, no matter how jokingly worded, feeds that little flame of pride in my chest just that little bit more.
With what I'm sure is a stupid grin on my face, I back out of the Brockton forum, which has been fairly quiet, other than the Pearl situation, and scroll through the general US section.
Hmm… Bastion said something racist, but the video got taken down, and nobody's sure what actually happened. I'll check back in when there's more information; skip. A few astronomy nerds are arguing about some inconsistencies with the Ursid meteor shower in late December. I don't know anything about astronomy; skip. The sort of grown-ass individuals who watch children's cartoons are complaining about plot holes in the new Protectorate Pals season. Whatever, dude; skip. A list of the newest Aleph import movies, though there aren't any showings in Brockton until Sunday. Might be an idea.
"Oh! You're looking up the showings?" A voice far too close behind me causes me to jump.
"Gah!" I spin around, causing my interlocutor, Charlotte, to jump out of her seat, which she had rolled directly behind mine.
Realizing what had just happened, she sheepishly apologized. "Er, sorry." She says, rubbing her neck, a grimace on her face.
"Erm, can I help you?" I ask awkwardly.
"Uh, yeah. I, uhh…" She waffles this way and that.
I just sigh, rubbing my temples. "Charlotte, I'm not mad at you; you just startled me."
"Er, yeah. Sorry. I just saw your screen, and it surprised me, since I was going to ask-"
"Maybe you should start over?" I offer.
"Hehe, yeah, sorry. So Yuki's dad got a hold of a big box of pirated Aleph movies and we were planning a big watch party tomorrow but Sam had to back out because her family had plans so now we're missing a person so I was wondering if you'd be interested in coming over?"
My brain short-circuits as I try to decipher that word salad. "Um, sure?" I reply, not fully comprehending what I'd agreed to.
"Great! Shoot me a text; I'll send you all the deets!" She excitedly chirps, flipping open her pink phone and looking at me expectantly.
Cautiously, I take out my second-hand Nokia with no SIM, and quash my internal feeling of revulsion at the device; I'm not actually using it, after all. As I pretend to listen to Charlotte rattling off a phone number, I have a brief mental conversation with Glefe.
[Glefe, can you set me up with a non-cape number I can send to her?]
[Working, My Lady. Done. Message composed and ready to send at your signal.]
I blindly tap a few more buttons before commanding [Now.]
Charlotte's phone buzzes, and her face brightens. "Great! I'll text you everything when I get a chance! See you tomorrow!" She chirps, exuberantly moving back to her seat.
Uhh… apparently I have plans tomorrow, then. At least I don't have to be worried about being bored, I guess?
Is that even a good thing?
Actually, can I even survive an extended social event after all this time? I guess there's only one way to find out. And Glefe will have my back, whatever happens.
---
It's with trepidation that I approach the beige vinyl siding-clad walls of Chateau d'Charlotte.
Okay, I'll admit I'm being a little over-dramatic. I'm just… worried, is all.
That's not the right word, either. It's… I've heard people making jokes about getting adopted by extroverts, and that's just what I thought they were — jokes. So, when Charlotte's invitation came, it was just so out of left field it knocked me off balance.
Besides, it's been so long since I've just... hung out with other people my age. Will I still know what to do? Will I embarrass myself? Will they still want to talk to me afterward?
...Okay, I'll admit I'm stalling. The fact that I'm more worried about meeting three classmates outside school than I was about fighting literal, actual, man-eating monsters trying to kill me probably says a lot about my social skills. I do my best to shake off my disquiet and stab the doorbell with an extended finger.
Inside the house, a synthetic chime rings out, and I watch through Glefe's sensors as one of the atrophied Linker Cores within rapidly approaches the door, accompanied by rapid footfalls.
The door flies open, bouncing off the wall, such was its velocity. It would have whacked me, had I not stepped back in anticipation.
"Taylor!" I'm greeted by Charlotte's figure within the entryway. "I'm so glad you came! Come on, I'll introduce everyone!" She chirps, grabbing me by the hand and dragging me inside.
Shell-shocked by the exuberance of her greeting, I allow myself to be led like a horse through the entrance hallway and into what appears to be the home's living room.
On one side of the room is a large, widescreen projector television, with the other occupied by one of those big, fancy L-shaped leather couches with a recliner built in.
On said couch are two other girls I vaguely recognize from school. One with long black hair and straight-trimmed bangs, and the other wearing her blonde locks in a short, smart bob.
"Girls, this is Taylor!" Charlotte declares, gesturing to me as if I'm the prize on some manner of game show.
The blonde facepalms. "Char, calm down, you're scaring her." She says in an accent I can't quite place.
Charlotte deflates like a popped balloon. The ravenette pipes up next. "I'm sorry about Charlotte, Taylor. She just gets… excited. I'm Yuki, and this is Cammy."
The blonde, Cammy, apparently, interjects. "Yeah, don't mind her. We've got pop and some snacks; grab a can and take a seat!"
"Uh, sure, thanks." I reply slowly.
After such a… emotional reception, I'm pleased to discover that the other girls are just… kinda normal. It doesn't take long for us to fall into a rhythm of comfortable, easy conversation.
"What do you do for fun, Taylor?" Cammy asks.
"Well…" I'm about to answer before realizing that, recently, my primary hobby has been learning how to do magic from a space AI located in my necklace, and I can't exactly say that as an answer. It takes me a moment before another response is on my lips. "I enjoy reading; my Mom was a literature professor at BBU. More recently, I've been getting a bit into martial arts, seeing as we live in Brockton and all." Kaiser Arts count as martial arts, right?
Yuki's eyes light up. "Really? What kind?" She excitedly asks.
Shit. Umm, back in my first lesson, I remember Glefe comparing the Kaiser Arts to various Earth styles. What were they again? "Uhh, mostly Karate, with a little Hapkido and Krav Maga influences."
"Oh, wow, a mixed martial artist! I'm a student at the Yamaguchi Dojo in the docks, think you'll ever be up for a spar?"
"I'm, uhh, mostly self-taught at the moment. I don't know if I'll be worth much…"
"You're making me want that spar more, not less." Yuki chuckles. "But, if you're uncomfortable, I won't insist."
"Maybe later." I waffle. "What about you guys, though? What do you do when you're not trying to organize movie nights?"
"Well, as we just established, Yuki is the Token Tomboy." Charlotte answers.
"Hey!" Yuki objects, but is cut off by a Charlotte raspberry.
"Well, I-" Cammy raises her voice slightly, enunciating heavily to try to cut off the heavily-trod argument brewing on the other side of the couch. "-am in the Drama Club, and outside school, I volunteer at a dog shelter."
"How's that going, by the way? You mentioned something coming up, like, a week ago, but I haven't heard you mention anything since."
Cammy shrugs. "We got another load of Hookwolf's dogs in; we were super busy for a couple of days doing intake, but after that gets done, it's basically business as usual."
"Isn't it Hellhoud that does the dropping off?" Charlotte narrows her eyes at the blonde.
"I'll be honest, I wouldn't care if it was Lung bringing them in. The important part is that the Nazis aren't killing them for profit anymore."
"I… wouldn't be so comfortable accepting things from a murderous villain, personally." Charlotte presses.
"I'm not accepting anything from her; whenever Hellhound comes in, it's after midnight, and my shifts end at ten. Besides, everyone I've talked to who's actually met her describes her as understanding, if a little abrasive."
"Changing subjects," Yuki interjects forcefully, "We need to choose a movie. I've got one called Reign of Fire, and another called Battlefield Earth. What are we thinking, ladies?"
I take this moment to speak up. "Do you… have anything on them other than the name?"
"Nope!" Charlotte and Yuki speak at the same time, looking to each other. Charlotte waves to Yuki to continue.
"My uncle knows someone who works at the Aleph portal, so they get ripped from there. I get them as a CD-R with the name written on in sharpie, and they're from Aleph, so I can't exactly look them up on PHO."
"So… It's just movie-themed gambling?" I clarify.
"That's what makes it fun!" Cammy observes.
I shake my head, allowing the others to discuss the pros and cons of the two films. Eventually, it was decided that Battlefield Earth sounds like an action movie, while Reign of Fire sounds more like a fantasy story or drama, which we'd rather see.
Imagine our shock, then, when we start the film, and discover it's a story about construction workers in London digging up dragons, which somehow causes a Draconic Apocalypse? Somehow?
It makes no sense, but it's fun, I guess.
The idea of finding things underground makes me think, though.
[Glefe, all the Pearls have been, just on the ground, right?]
[All of the ones we are aware of have, my lady.]
[Do you think they're all like that? Will I have to worry about needing to dig some up?]
[Well, that would require knowing the mechanism by which they found their way to your planet, my lady.]
[I've known you long enough that I'll bet you have a guess.] I press my device.
[I do. We don't know how the Pearls got here, but we do know how I did; I entered the atmosphere. As far as we know, the Pearls are a fairly recent phenomenon, as there aren't any historical reports of incidents that could be attributed to them prior to your debut. Therefore, I'll suggest that whatever process brought me from Belka to your Earth, the Pearls were either along for the ride, or were directed by the same phenomenon which determined my own trajectory through the Dimensional Sea, whatever that might be.]
[So…] I start off, even as I'm still gathering my thoughts. [If they fell from above, we'd expect that, in addition to being on street level, there would be many on rooftops, too.] This causes me to once again re-think my assumptions. [...do you think they're in the ocean as well?]
[Hard to say. I adjusted my course to ensure I fell on land, but whether or not the Pearls have the capability to do the same, is impossible to know.]
[...But none underground, unless someone dug a hole and put them there.]
[A fair assessment, My Lady.]
I turn my attention back to the movie, where a dragon is fighting with people skydiving out of an attack helicopter? Somehow? I dunno, but the others seem to be strangely invested in this weird-ass movie.
I join in the cheering as the bald dude in a leather vest and a Viking sword shoots the dragon with a fucking harpoon gun, causing it to crash into the ground. This isn't so bad.
With all the work I've been putting in these past few weeks, I have to admit that just… existing like this is refreshing. Glefe hasn't recommended any time off, but she also seems to have a military background, so maybe her standards are just different.
I'll have to make time to do this more often, I think.
---