From sabre at annotations.com Wed Sep 5 23:38:42 2018 From: sabre at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Thu, 6 Sep 2018 02:38:42 -0400 Subject: (a/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part A Message-ID: * Late May, 1996* * Friday Evening* * (Pacific)* * Blue Moon Tavern* Elizabeth Tirkoff had, against all odds, become a teacher. A Commandant of an Academy, even. This on top of being a practicing psychologist, psychiatrist, and therapist. *This* on top of being a figure of authority and a role model for responsibility for young heroes and the greater Metropolitan Boston Area. This had its advantages. It also had its disadvantages. For one thing, she'd become pretty well known in Boston. Natives had taken to calling her Teach or Doctor T as well as her old codename of Healer. Elizabeth was fine with all of that, so long as they didn't call her Liz. Very few people were allowed to call her Liz. Not that it stopped them, per se. Unfortunately, this meant Elizabeth's options for certain types of activity were severely curtailed. Unless she used her prodigious mind power and mental illusionary capacity to conceal herself, she couldn't go out and do certain things without being recognized at the worst possible times. Like when she was buying medication for a yeast infection, say. No one wanted to be Teach or Doctor T or Gods help you Healer when you needed to grab Monistat because most of your meals involved a pound of sugar and your hormones were swinging cyclically. That's why G.I. Joe PSAs never featured Lady Jaye at a pharmacy -- most people were just as happy to not know that half of that battle. More to the point, it meant that Elizabeth was expected to hew to a certain standard of behavior whether on the clock or not. So. If, say, Elizabeth wanted to get quietly drunk and brood, she had a problem -- especially since responsible telepaths didn't affect the minds of others when they were too impaired to legally drive a motor vehicle. But, Elizabeth had advantages too -- one of those being the Xolchaportation network, which meant after a rough couple of days rather than drink alone in her room -- a prospect which depressed her more than the past couple of days -- or, worse yet, facing life sober, she could go elsewhere. Elsewhere today was the Blue Moon Tavern in Seattle, Washington. There were better establishments, but Elizabeth wasn't in a better establishment kind of mood. There was the Big Time Brewpub, but setting Revolutionary Anarchist Werewolves aside, there was too much chance of running into Team Cynical in there. They wouldn't judge, but it would still involve talking. Elizabeth wasn't in the mood to talk. She'd have Xolchaported to Hal's in California if she were. She just wanted to drink her Wheathook and not deal. It was a dive bar, which meant smoking wasn't just allowed but encouraged. Elizabeth had firm opinions about smoking, none of which she cared about today. The ambiance was exactly what she was looking for, right down to the grizzled old man playing a bass for no readily apparent reason in the corner. Just her and her beer and loud bar-goers from college age through old age, stale cigarette smoke and a cheap cigar-- Elizabeth paused. Cheap cigar. Almost pipe tobacco rolled in leaves, really. Sweet smelling. Familiar. "Fuck," Elizabeth muttered. A dirtwater blonde in a black trenchcoat slid into the booth across from Elizabeth. She was, without exception, the best looking thing in this bar or on this street, even, yet no one seemed to notice her at all, not counting Elizabeth. "Two government psychologists, a vampire and a telepath walk into a dive bar," she said, taking the cigar out of her mouth. "Right," Elizabeth said. "Did CUA ever get around to firing you?" "Fuck if I know. Ask Dan Quayle. You?" "I don't get a paycheck but I seem to still be on the MIB newsletter's mailing list." Elizabeth sighed. "Hello, Chalandra." "Hey Liz." She looked around herself. "Nice dive bar." "Gets the job done." "What job? Getting drunk?" "I suppose so." Chalandra smiled a touch. "So glad to see you're so glad to see me." "Are you here as a drinking buddy, an old pal from the wars, a CEO headhunting a prospect, or a therapist?" Chalandra considered the question. "Why does it have to be just one of those things?" She grinned. "So. Tell me about your mother, Liz." Elizabeth shook her head. "I just wanted some Monistat, Chal." "What?" "Never mind." Superfluous Productions and Mason Kramer in association with Mademoiselle Muse, Inc. Proudly Present: Mason's Mazin' Mob! and the Adjusted League Unimpeachable in *Reflecting upon Refractions* or * Caustic Illusions* based on * "Mason's Mazin' Mob: Twisted Reflections"* by *THE* Mason Kramer written, produced, plotted and kibitzed by *THE* Mason Kramer (concept, plot, execution) and Eric, Lord Sabre (scribbles) Ain't No School Like the Old School *CONTINUITY NOTE* Just in case there's someone A) still wondering and B) still caring about where this fits into Superguy Continuity -- here we go! This takes place immediately after the Twisted Reflections arc of Mason's Mazing Mob, some time after the events of CalForce #150 and ALU Interstitial #1, some time in between ALU #110 and #111, and a few years after the events so far chronicled in the SfStory series "Trail Boss." Also, it's 1996 and Clinton is President. So, that. * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Monday Afternoon* * (Central)* * Stately Ward Manor* * Austin, TX* Different heroes and other support personnel were moving throughout the scene, assessing damage, rounding up and formally arresting accomplices, performing triage and otherwise taking care of the battlefield that had once been the home of Austin's superteam. Whether it would be again was, as of that moment, an open question. Mighty Guy was sitting with Mighty Dog, who was staying close to where Mental was crouched next to Momentum and Dreamweaver. He was ruffling the large heliumite dog behind the ears. "You're a good boy!" he said, very loudly. "A very very good boy!" "Am I? Hurrah!" Mighty Dog began wagging his tail, the breeze blowing over a number of EMTs crossing through the scene. "I don't feel that good today, Mighty Guy. Plus, I actually feel sick, which is new and kind of ooky." "I *know*. But you're still a good boy!" Mighty Guy looked at Mighty Dog's flank, where the branded logo of 'Mighty Dog Dog Food' was still visible, the fur having been burned off and the flesh seared by the red hot heliumite branding iron. Mighty Guy frowned. He had the power of Mighty Fast Thinking, which usually meant his thoughts outstripped his actual ability to follow them -- but looking at that injury, Mighty Guy knew everything he had to know, especially about the monster who had hurt Charlie. "A *very* good boy." Andy Awesome walked past the two, noting Mighty Guy taking care of Mighty Dog -- normally when the two combined their massive and horrifyingly potent powers, the destruction was total. That neither one was causing that much of a disruption was frankly disturbing. He knelt down next to Momentum and Mental, with Healer just behind Momentum, arms wrapped around her. Momentum was somehow bolstering Dreamweaver's life force and the life force of her two unborn children -- the young heroine's throat still having been sealed off by the deadly allergens that she'd been hit with -- and reinforced by an allergen-spiked epipen, which was one of the more evil things Andy Awesome had ever heard of... and he'd heard of quite a few. "We gave her a shot with a real epipen, and the EMTs gave her something else, but it's not helping," Mental said. He was clearly very worried. "Momentum and Healer are keeping her alive, but..." "I know, son. Her system's been badly shocked. It will take time before we can get the histamine reaction under control. In the meantime, we have to get her breathing on her own again. I'm afraid that doesn't leave us with a pleasant alternative." *⸘"So, I need to have a tracheotomy?"‽* Andy paused, and looked up. Dreamweaver was standing there, glowing golden with light coming from Momentum, who was standing next to her -- Momentum herself being fed a greenish-gold energy from Healer. He looked back down. All three women were still in their silent tableau keeping Dreamweaver alive. He looked back up. "That's right," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were awake." * ⸘"I'm not. I do my best work when I'm asleep, remember? This time,* *Healer's bridging us into the waking world. I understand about the* *tracheotomy. I'm sure Mental does too."‽* "Of course," Mental said. * ⸘"Sooner rather than later might be good,"‽* Momentum said. *⸘"I don't* *know how long I can keep this up, and this is really cutting into my* *shrieking and phobia-ridden nervous breakdown time."‽* *⸘"You're doing fine,"‽* Healer said. *⸘"You're a natural at this. And the* *shrieking will still be there when we're done."‽* *⸘"So long as it's still on the table."‽* * ⸘"Absolutely. I'd never deny you a good shriek."‽* "All right then," Andy said, leaning over the black-clad woman. He slipped one of his special pen out of his awesomely cool pocket protector, cracking it and slipping the end off -- that end was an awesomantium tube with a sharpened, angled end, ready for what he had to do to get Dreamweaver breathing on her own again. Some distance away, Dangerousgirl shivered and looked away. "Wow that freaks me out," she said. "Really?" Roger/Melody said. The two were still blended -- Roger possessing Melody and their two personalities merging into a well-dressed female presenting whole. "Given everything, *that's* what's bugging you? You burned your hand down to the bone earlier today." Dangerousgirl looked at that hand. It was fine, albeit a bit sort because all its calluses were lost, thanks to Roger/Melody healing her. "Yeah, but my hand wasn't a *throat*. That's just ooky." Roger/Melody chuckled. "Ooky I can believe -- oh, there goes the MECHA Jet. Medivacing Phobos. Did Summer go with them?" "Yeah. Everyone else is going to hitch on Awesome Force One, but all the healing cats couldn't do much in Phobos's case. I guess they're helping Burt, though." "Good." Roger/Melody paused. "Wait, healing *cats*?" "Yeah -- Anne Enger? Their healer? She has cats that swarm you and lick you and then you get healed and... honestly, I dunno how it works." Dangerousgirl rubbed her temple. "Hopefully they can help with a headache." "Cats. Healing cats." Dangerousgirl paused. "Yes, Roger--" "Roger/Melody." "Sure, why not. Healing cats. Why is that the thing that's breaking you?" "It's not breaking me." She looked over where Mental was still watching Andy Awesome render awesome care to Dreamweaver. "But I really hope Tim doesn't need healing." Dangerousgirl opened her mouth, then closed it. "Point. Crap. Um... and of course, Dreamy's going *straight* into intensive cat care as soon as they can move her..." "Yeah. This should be fun. * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Friday Evening* * (Pacific)* * Blue Moon Tavern* * Seattle, WA* "You didn't answer my question, you know." Chalandra took a long pull off her beer. "What?" "About your mother?" "You didn't ask a question. Technically speaking you spoke in the imperative." "You know something? I'm a CEO. I talk to lawyers and MBAs every day of my life. And yet? You're *still* my favorite pedant." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "My mother was awesome. Loving. Caring. Even when things went squirrelly because my telepathy was developing faster than I could control it, she kept me grounded. Also, she taught me phone phreaking when I was fourteen." "Seriously? Cool Mom." "Yeah. Though mostly she was sick of me calling home collect from payphones." Elizabeth chuckled. "She taught me a lot of things. About three dirty fighting techniques -- I considered myself quite the tough customer until I met you and Badass, I'll have you know. Lockpicking -- just used those skills in fact. Misdirection. Redirection. Situational awareness. Double-talk and concealment. Heckfire, I first learned mental illusions by adapting what she taught me to my telepathy." "And now you're teaching a whole new generation all those things and more." "Well, professionals are. I'm mostly teaching Ethics, Psiology and other Practicals, and some Psych here and there." Chalandra laughed. "In what universe aren't you a professional, Liz?" Elizabeth drained her wheathook. She nodded to the server, who nodded back. Chalandra cocked her head. "By the way -- 'heckfire?' What the fuck is that?" "Well, aren't you just Miss Sweary tonight? Work with teenagers in a classroom every day? You come up with new and interesting euphemisms. Plus, I got tired of swearing in Hindi around them." "Okay -- I'll allow it. So it sounds like you're a pretty good teacher. As shown by that op -- I hear Dangerousgirl really stepped up in the fun." "Bruce and Dianna taught Dani more than I ever did." Chalandra took another puff off her cigar instead of answering. The server put Elizabeth's fresh glass tankard down. "Anything for you?" he asked Chalandra. "And are these separate tabs?" "Nah -- it's all on *my* tab," Chalandra said. "And what's your absolute worst scotch?" "Sagamore's Unfortunate Cull." "Awesome. A double of that on the rocks and leave the bottle." "Your funeral, lady." "Nah, that was a few hundred years back." The server didn't rise to the bait, heading off to get Chalandra's swill.. "Your tab?" "I can put it through expenses." "You own the company. You ultimately pay those expenses." "Yeah, but don't tell the accountants that. It's more fun to get them arguing about what I can get covered." "You're not quite that much for rotgut normally." "We're in a legendary dive bar. Rotgut's part of the charm. In fact, I myself was sitting on that side of this barroom in 1959, in exactly the right time and place for Theodore Roethke to vomit all over my lap." "Well, his poetry was sublime." "Oh yeah. It was a truly sagacious yarp." Chalandra looked sidelong at Elizabeth. "How's Samantha?" "Mm -- oh. Better. Much better. She'll pull through just fine. There's not even going to be a tracheotomy scar. Tim's doing better too -- caring for her and knowing the twins are okay are helping there." "Tim's strong that way. But then, they're strong kids." Elizabeth snorted. "They're not kids. Not anymore." "Please. You're all kids from my point of view, and I'm a kid from Vlad's point of view. Being a kid is in the heart, not the--" "I know. They're not kids. Not anymore." Chalandra paused. The server walked back up. "One glass of ice with terrible scotch added. One bottle terrible scotch." The bottle was green and gnarled like a tree, as though it had twisted in a desperate attempt to get away from its contents. The server put down a napkin as well. "No refunds." "Thank you!" He rolled his eyes, walking away. "I like him. I can see why you come here." "I come here for anonymous drinking," Elizabeth said. "And how's that working out for you?" "Drink your horror, Chalandra." Chalandra took a puff off her cigar, then a hit off the scotch. "Mm -- perfect. So you're not a kid anymore either, then?" "I haven't been for roughly forever, Chalandra. I was thirty when I was twelve." Chalandra laughed. "No you weren't. You're just remembering it that way." "I think I'd know before you." Chalandra laughed again. "Just like your students know better than you, right? Our self-perspective's always skewed. You know that. Well, usually. Not on nights like this." "Oh -- and what do I know on nights like this?" "That's what I'm trying to figure out." She chuckled. "I'm waiting to hear how everything that happened -- with Mirror Maid and the Mob and Alice No-Last-Name and all the rest was somehow magically your fault." "There's nothing magic about it." Chalandra paused again. "Wait, what?" "It is my fault, Chal. All of it. Maria. What happened to the Mob. All of it. It's my fault." Chalandra stared for a long moment. "Okay. *This* I have to hear." * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Monday Evening* * (Eastern)* * A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.* * B-Tower Floor B-8* * Conference Room* * Boston, MA* Bruce Rogers sighed. He was out of uniform -- though in a way, his grey business suit was a uniform too. Or at least a disguise. "I wish I could say I was shocked that this happened, but in hindsight it was a bomb waiting to go off." "I'm well aware," Healer said. She sounded exhausted. "You're well aware?" Mandy asked. "Wait -- seriously? Because this came out of *nowhere* as far as I'm concerned." "Maria Mendez has had multiple traumatic events, coupled with her isolation thanks to her mirror force." Bruce sounded cool, but not hard-edged. If Mandy didn't know better, she'd almost think he sympathized with the teenager. They were all watching her sitting on the floor of one of the secure holding cells down in B Tower. She had barely spoken since she was brought in, a robe haphazardly wrapped around her. She'd been nude when she was captured, and she didn't seem to much care about changing that. "It was a weakness -- one that could be exploited. She certainly never tried to conceal her condition." "And she was resistant to therapy." Healer rubbed her temples. "I don't... I've got all these happy notes in her case files about the dangers of her condition and the progression of her depression, but..." "But there was nothing to be done for it," Bruce said. "The Mob members don't attend as full time in-residence students of the Academy. They're working heroes attending part time. And it's working well. But we had no authority to force Maria to take a leave or go into therapy. Meanwhile, Random Encounters knew exactly how to crack her open." "She barely moves. She hasn't eaten since she got here." Mandy shivered. "It's like she's dead inside." "Maria betrayed her closest friends -- including a man she purported to love. She's lost everything." Bruce looked at Mandy. "Why wouldn't she feel dead inside?" "Thank you for... letting us hold her here," Healer said. "I know we don't have jurisdiction--" "Her acts were dangerous and deadly enough to make a case for terrorism," Bruce said. "That put it in federal hands. We're a licensed holding facility for federal parahuman prisoners. It wasn't really difficult." He frowned, slightly. "Random Encounters, on the other hand..." "What about him," Mandy asked. "He got routed into federal custody too -- but not ours. Someone's pulling in a favor and I don't care for that. He knows too much about the Mob, and they're in no condition to--" "Don't worry about it." Bruce blinked, and looked at Healer. "Elizabeth?" he asked. She looked at Bruce, then Mandy. "Don't worry about it. I'm not." Bruce looked at Mandy. Mandy shrugged. "All right," he said, finally. "You're the expert here." "Don't remind me," Healer said, taking a deep breath. "I need to go talk to Momentum. She's overdue to scream at me." "If you need help..." Mandy said. "Of everyone in the building? I'm probably the one who least needs help right now." Healer stood. "I'll talk to you both later." Mandy and Bruce watched her leave. "She's pissed," Mandy murmured. "Yes, she is." Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly. "Oh God, you're doing the thing." Bruce blinked. "What thing?" "The squint. The 'and now it's serious' squint. Don't do the squint -- it's been a crappy day already." Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it. "It *is* serious. I remember..." "Remember what?" Mandy paused. "Crap. Now I'm facilitating your squint." "I remember what Kid Solipsism told me after the incident with Faith and Radian. Elizabeth -- *Healer* went down roads she'd given up, in her anger and grief." Mandy paused. "And you think she's going down those roads again?" "I think... we need to remember that Healer isn't simply a beautiful woman, gifted therapist, and teacher of superheroes. And every so often she's reminded of that fact. When you walk in shadow... it's easy to get lost, Mandy. I know that more than most." Mandy looked at Bruce, then sighed. "This is why I hate that fucking squint." [End of Part A. Part B follows.] -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From sabre at annotations.com Wed Sep 5 23:39:18 2018 From: sabre at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Thu, 6 Sep 2018 02:39:18 -0400 Subject: (b/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part B Message-ID: [Beginning of Part B] * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Friday Evening* * (Pacific)* * Blue Moon Tavern* * Seattle, WA* Elizabeth looked somber, eyes down on her beer instead of Chalandra. "All this happened because Maria was cut off from tactile sensation, right?" "Right. Which Sensation used against her. He took her stimulus-starved nerve endings and overstimulated them to levels which would be addictive in a healthy person, much less someone cut off from the world." "Precisely. Stimulus starved. She had less than an hour of touch in years of deprivation, and then had her emotions torn open during the Dreamquake event." "And this is your fault?" There was a rough tap on Chalandra's shoulder. "Hey Lady!" a rough voice demanded. Chalandra turned, snarling. "Can I *help* you?" There was no one standing there. Chalandra turned back to Elizabeth, who gave a little wave. "You're an illusionist. We know this." "I'm a telepathic illusionist with the almost otherwise unknown ability to affect the nervous system of others without necessarily going through their brains to do it. There's literally nothing Sensation could do that I couldn't, Chalandra. I could have given Maria the sensation of interacting with her world whenever I wanted to. I could have given her a bulwark against that temptation. But I didn't. I let her suffer. And so when someone *did* offer her a way out of her deprivation, she took it. She let him get her addicted. Ultimately, she did whatever needed to be done to keep him stimulating her. That's on *me,* Chal. I could have stopped it before it ever started. So don't tell me it's not my fault. I'm not Yury. It is *precisely* my fault." Chalandra looked at her friend for a long moment. "Yury's one of the healthiest people I know, Elizabeth. If she heard you say that, she wouldn't stop saying 'bullshit' for five straight minutes. As for me? I'm more refined. I'll keep it down to a few simple recitations." She cleared her throat. "Bullshit." "Chalandra--" "Bullshit!" "Chal--" "Buuuuuuuuuuullllllshiiiiiiiit!" Elizabeth slammed her hand on the battered wooden table. "What do you want from me?" "A little recognition of the total bullshit you just spewed would be a start." "I could have prevented this!" "So why didn't you? Huh?" Chalandra leaned forward. "Yeah, we're both psychologists, but you're the one who went nuts with it. Sitting on boards. Publishing papers. Peer reviewed crap. So tell me, *Doctor* Liz... why didn't you spend the last three years tickling the shit out of Maria Mendez three times a week?" Elizabeth looked away angrily. Chalandra's voice dropped. "You know the answer, Liz. You didn't do it because you're a doctor. And you understand Maria's condition." She leaned back. "We're dancing around the term, but let's be frank. Maria's *disabled.* And you don't do a disabled person any favors by giving them the *illusion* of normalcy. They have to learn to deal with their actual situation. They have to learn to live with their disability. They have to *accept* their disability. You can't help them hide from it." She shrugged. "If nothing else because you can't walk around behind Maria twenty four hours a day giving her fake stimuli, so no matter what happened she'd be plunged right back into her sensory deprivation over and over again. She'd never heal that way." "She didn't heal this way."m00sewood "Did you try? Did you offer her counseling? Did you work with her in and around class? Did you investigate the reasons why she can't control her powers?" "You know I did." "And did she take those opportunities?" Elizabeth looked away. "No." Chalandra shrugged broadly. "And that was her choice, Liz. Not yours. You did what you were supposed to do. What you *had* to do." "I could have made that therapy a requirement of her attending the Academy." "How? You weren't requiring the other kids to get *their* issues dealt with before they came in. You can't just unilaterally declare that this one person doesn't get to have the opportunities her peers have because she's disabled. There's this whole law that got passed that says that's out and out illegal, for one thing." "I'm not sure the ADA applies to this case," Elizabeth said. "I'm sure that it *should,* and it's *your* job to make sure it *does,* so superguys don't get a raw deal because they're different." Chalandra went to puff on her cigar, but noticed it had gone out. She pulled a wooden match from her pocket, striking it with her thumb in a practiced flick and puffing the cigar as she held the flame to its end. Elizabeth took a deep swallow of her wheathook. "I want to wrap them all up in bubblewrap, Chal. They're so...." "Young?" "Well, yeah." "Every one of the Mobsters... well, former Mobsters, I guess... have helped to save the world. At least one of their members has died and gone to Hell. More than once, even. Samantha may be nineteen, but she's also a wife, an expectant mother, and the queen of a dominion larger than any on Earth. Timothy's subjectively lived longer than *you* have, and he knows full well he's never going to get a day older." Chalandra smiled ruefully. "Which on the whole, for the record, is actually pretty nice but you go through some bad patches with it, trust me." "Yeah. I bet." Elizabeth took a deep breath. "All right. Doctor Harkness. You're ham-handedly psychoanalyzing me. What's your prognosis?" "Well... bearing in mind this is effectively a pat diagnosis based as much on past experience as not and that we're both somewhat drunk and you haven't been comprehensively interviewed?" Elizabeth waved that off. "And without first obtaining my full medical history. I live in the same building as Mike Green -- I've seen the Monty Python episode too. Go on?" "Tentatively? Irrational guilt, survivor's guilt, delusion of responsibility, delusion of reference, imposter syndrome, past abandonment issues, *fear* of abandonment, narcissistic personality disorder and post traumatic stress disorder. Oh, let's throw in generalized anxiety disorder in there just to keep things tied up in a lovely bow." Chalandra smiled. "Did I miss anything?" Elizabeth stared at Chalandra. "I'll take that as a no." "Why not take the plunge and go straight to borderline personality disorder?" "Because of all your problems? Black and white thinking isn't one of them. If anything, you're *too* stuck in shades of grey." "Oh. Well. Okay then. I feel so much better." "Good. You should. Being told you really are nuts should always be a positive." "I'm being sarcastic." "I know. You're not that good at it." "What survivor's guilt? Everyone survived!" "Did they? Get any mail from Akane lately?" "That -- that wasn't--" "Honestly, the survivor's guilt goes back to Faith. Transcendence doesn't really emotionally feel like survival, after all. But then, that's when your trouble really started." "What? No. Put a pin in that. *Narcissistic personality disorder?*" "Oh Liz. I adore you. I really do. I wouldn't be here if you weren't one of my best friends in the world. I sure as Hell don't want to change you. But you've *always* wanted to be the center of attention, drama queen subtype. Honestly, it made CalForce harder for you than a lot of us, because who could compete with Key, Yury, Akane--" "And you?" "I was going to say Templar. You're at least as good looking as I am." "Well, that's a lie." Chalandra laughed. "It was all okay, though. Because there was Faith." "You said that before. What are you talking about?" Chalandra poured another tumbler-full of her terrible scotch. "Get another beer and I'll tell you all about it. * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Monday Evening* * (Eastern)* * A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.* * A Tower Floor 10* * Room 1013 (Single Occupancy)* * Boston, MA* "This room is... really ugly," Buddy said, looking around from his vantage point in Alice's hair. The cricket adjusted his glasses as he looked around. "Yeah, they all are. I hung out in Mem's one night--" "Do I need to have my 'staying safe' lecture with you? 'Cause it doesn't really translate well to non-egg-laying species." Alice rolled her eyes. "He's still a minor, and I'm not. Besides, Kid-E, Trans, Nobody and S...Sam were all there." She looked around. There was a comfortable looking bed, a surprisingly spacious closet, a study nook, a window with a great view of B-Tower -- Alice made a mental note to close the blinds if she were going to change at anything less than blurred speed -- and really ugly xolchacrete walls and xolchalinoleum floors. Across the hall there was a common kitchenette which Alice had already put to good use by simmering a spaghetti sauce in the name of making this place feel slightly more like home. She'd be keeping a closer eye on it, but JOEL was watching it for her. "Anyway. It's kinda comfortable. There's a student lounge with magical reappearing soda and all the fun of communal showers to add to the joy." "Yeah. Joy's what you're radiating." Buddy laughed, softly. "It's kind of... small... after the mansion, right?" Alice paused. "Does it show?" "Kinda. I mean, understand -- it's *mammoth* from my point of view. But then, I'm a cricket. You're a giant primate." "You say it with such affection, too." She looked around again. "I'm grateful for it. The mansion's probably going to be under repairs for months. Having a place to hang my hat..." "You own a hat?" "I could own a hat. No one says I couldn't." "Hey -- own two hats. I'm flexible. Just don't imply *I'm* your hat." Alice smiled a bit, checking the drawers. Plenty of space for her clothes when they got here from Stately Ward -- not that she had that much. "You fail at being a hat, Buddy. You don't keep rain off my head or sun out of my eyes." "I occasionally play guitar." "That just makes you headphones--" Alice suddenly lurched to a side and sat down hard on the bed, shuddering. On her head, Buddy hung on to her hair for dear life. "Alice -- what the hey--" Alice's eyes closed. She could see it all -- Samantha and her children falling into the pit. Healer behind Alice. All of it in her mind. All of her in *their* minds-- "...it can't be. It makes no sense..." Alice whispered. "What makes no sense?" "Me. I... I healed Samantha -- or kept healing her or boosting her life meter or something. I don't even know. And I could hear her thoughts and she could hear mine, and Tirkoff was in my head anchoring me down and... and..." She shuddered again. "Why would I be a telepath? Or a healer? Or *anything* like that? The professor's formula literally just makes people faster!" Buddy kept holding on. "Yeah, well -- the professor's formula also makes people burn out, except you don't do that, so..." "That's not an answer." "I don't have answers! I mean -- maybe you were already a telepath and healer and the formula just made you fast. Or maybe you got bitten by a radioactive healing cat or something. I don't know!" * }{Alice?}{* Alice froze. * }{Alice, it's Doctor Tirkoff. May I come in?}{* "Get out of my head," Alice hissed. There was a long pause. *}{Alice. I'm sorry. I really am. But I'm not* *in your head. You're in mine.}{* Alice froze. Around her, time froze as well -- Buddy no longer moving above her. It was like that moment when she ran to intercept the bullet before it hit Samantha. She looked around, and realized that she could feel air shifting out of her way but not really resisting her. Not just fast, but *fast*. Like, Half-a-Dash level fast. That didn't make any more sense than the healing or the telepathy did. Alice carefully plucked Buddy off her head, and very carefully set him on the desk on the other side of the room, behind a pile of books she'd already pulled out. She didn't know if there was any chance Tirkoff didn't know he was here, but just in case... Alice took a deep breath, and tried to let time start moving again. She felt herself 'gear down.' Felt herself moving more normally. "Okay," she whispered. "You can come in." The door opened, and Doctor Tirkoff -- no, Healer -- walked in. She quietly shut the door, and moved to sit in the chair next to the desk. "Hey," she said. "Hey," Alice answered. "That was really me in your head?" "It was. I suspect the anchoring helped." "How'd... why is this happening?" "I don't know why you're telepathic, if that's what you're asking. I have a couple of theories about your life-force sharing, but they're just theories. But... if you're asking why your telepathy's manifesting *now?* I have a theory about that." Alice took another deep breath. "Go for it." "I was thought-talking to you during the mission. And I was using my telepathic abilities. And you were able to 'see' me doing it... and unconsciously start to try it yourself. For most people, that wouldn't be enough... but with your speed... it's possible your subconsciousness learned *very* fast, so that by the time you needed to slipstream after the bullet and then start supporting Samantha, your subconsciousness knew what to do even if you didn't." "Are you saying that extra speed's part of... the *telepathy?*" "It's not impossible. You may need the telepathic sense or other psionics to perceive the world when you're going that fast, so you don't run into things. Similarly -- your gearing up to that speed may be giving you bursts of fast healing, and that may take the form of an energy you can share..." "Boom. I'm a healer." She chuckled. "Just like you." "Hey. I'm limited to 'pathetically running after the T' speed, and my 'healing' is purely psionic -- either healing people of psychic injuries or 'healing' them of the abnormalities that make their parahuman abilities possible." Alice blinked. "Wait -- that's *real?* I mean, I heard the rumors--" "Oh yes. It's real. And along with *that* comes a raft of other off-spec abilities, like my illusion-shaping and my ability to telepathically stimulate the nervous system without having to enter through the mind. But then -- everyone's abilities are unique in some way." Alice looked back down at the floor. "I don't want this. I don't *want* to be telepathic. If I'm telepathic then I'm--" She looked away. Healer took a deep breath. "If you're telepathic then you have something in common with the monster who hurt you." Alice snapped her head up, staring at Healer. "Did you go into my--" "Alice, I'm a pretty good psychologist. The most likely reason for your hatred and fear of telepathy was trauma. No, I didn't look into your mind to see what happened. And I won't, unless it's to save a life -- most likely your own. But one thing I *can* tell you... is that no matter what happened to you... you *don't* have anything in common with your attacker... because even when you were a quote criminal unquote you cared more about everyone around you than almost anyone I've met. Your abilities don't define you. Your actions do." Alice stared, then looked down. "Yeah, well... my actions weren't my actions back then." Healer took a deep breath, listening. "It... *he* crawled into me. He wore me like a *suit*. So much is a haze, but he had a *grand* old time. And I..." She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Alice?" "...yeah?" "I won't do anything without your permission... but I *am* a psionic healer. May I look? May I help?" "...you won't like what you see." "I won't like what happened to you. I *do* like you, Alice. And that won't change." Alice looked up slowly. "Okay," she said, softly. "Okay." * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Tuesday Morning* * (Eastern)* * A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.* * Command Center* * Boston, MA* Michael Green, aka the Masked Bruce, walked into the Command Center, whistling a jaunty tune. "Hey there, Dani!" he called over to Dangerousgirl. "What's the good word?" Mike had been acting progressively weirder ever since he had been bonded to the nigh-omnipotent Omniquantum Megabracers -- more properly known as the ancient and mysterious *Oanthet*. He'd been out of touch for a few days. Dangerousgirl half-scowled. "No good words over here. You lose your Xolchacomm?" "Wha-- oh! No, but I knew you guys could handle whatever it was." "...what?" "Just what I said! I could sense that whatever was going on you guys could handle it, and I was learning some new, subtle abilities the Oanthet grants me with my--" "Do. You. Have. Any. Idea. How. Many. Mobster. Members. Are. In. Medbay?" Mike blinked. "What?" Dangerousgirl was staring at Mike. "We put out a top priority recall for a reason! Dreamweaver almost died! Mighty Dog was badly injured! Roger lost his body and is cohabitating with a girl who isn't me! Phobos is--" "...wait. What happened?" Mike looked serious, now. "Oh, now you want to know what--" There was a thrum, and Mike's armor formed over his body as he floated into the air, the golden mask forming over his face. "What. Happened." Dangerousgirl paused. "Random Encounters happened. He gave some guy the ability to project tactile sensations into other people, and they used that to suborn Mirror Maid. She betrayed the Mob and they were all almost killed. I went down with the Dash, Healer, and Momentum and we pulled them out of the fire, but..." The Masked Bruce stared at Dangerousgirl, and then with a ripple of light he was gone. "Oh, hey. Good talk. Thanks." She rolled her eyes. "Sadly, that seems par for the course these days." Dangerousgirl looked over at the far door. Mandy was walking in, Frigid Girl and Memorex behind her. They'd been left on monitor duty while they were fighting Random Encounters. Clearly, they were cleared to do it again. "Tell me about it. Or don't. I'm tired of hearing about *Mike.*" "He seems weirder every time I see him," Memorex said. The teen was cocking his head, slightly. "An' have you noticed his speech patterns--" Trashman came through the door the Masked Bruce had originally come in. "Ah. Dangerousgirl. Good. And you've got a relief? Excellent. I was--" Dangerousgirl signed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Seriously? We're going to do the yelling-at-Dani thing *today?*" "Dangerousgirl--" "I know! I'm probationary! But there wasn't anyone else! And the Dash answered her recall so there was a full member on hand so it wasn't even against the rules!" "Dangerousgirl--" "And we hit them hard and we won the day and everyone was saved! Even Maria! So I don't appreciate--" "*Dangerousgirl!*" "What?!" "I just wanted to say you did well, and find out if you'd be willing to take a walk with me. Say, down on the waterfront." Dangerousgirl blinked. "I... did well?" "Extremely well. I know I may not be your favorite person right now, but--" "You... don't... have any cutting remarks to bring my ego down to size?" "...not on *hand*, but if you're disappointed I can always--" "No! No... that's fine. A... walk. Okay. Um... lemme go put on civvies--" "Of course. I'll meet you downstairs." Mandy half-smiled as Trashman and Dangerousgirl both went out -- through separate doors. "Well, that's either a good sign or we're all going to die. Right. You two have the board. Have fun with it." She walked out the same door as Trashman. "Fun, she says," Memorex said. "I'm thrilled we're gettin' to do more, but *fun--*" "What about the Masked Bruce's speech patterns?" Frigid Girl sounded serious. Memorex paused. "It's probably nothing--" "You notice things, Mem. You're a detective. It's not nothing. What about his speech patterns? Are they... wrong?" Memorex bit his lip, walking over to the board. "No... they're almost *too* right." "...what does that mean?" "No idea. But it's like... like he's... I dunno. Forget it." Frigid Girl paused, then slowly nodded. "Okay." "Right." Memorex slid into one of the chairs in front of the board. "So what do we do while staring at monitors?" "As I recall? Someone in this room needs tutoring in Algebra..." Memorex rolled his eyes, sighing. "Yeah yeah. Okay." [End of Part B. Part C follows.] -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From sabre at annotations.com Wed Sep 5 23:40:25 2018 From: sabre at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Thu, 6 Sep 2018 02:40:25 -0400 Subject: (c/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part C Message-ID: [Beginning of Part C] * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Tuesday Morning* * (Eastern)* * Not-Worth-Noticing-Apartments* * Undisclosed Location, MD* Mega-Intelligence Bureau Special Special Agent Thomas Kim was entirely unused to a day off. Under Ross, that kind of thing simply hadn't happened. His replacement, MIB Director O'Larsen, had his own... *way...* of doing things, and that included giving his people Federal Holidays off 'to be with their family.' It seemed strangely unAmerican, at least defining America as the MIB always did. Of course, they couldn't *actually* take Memorial Day off, like the rest of the country -- after all, that was when the *Communists* would sweep in. Or whatever menace O'Larsen was on about that week. So, they had to have the following day off. Which meant it was a bright, sunny Tuesday... and Kim didn't actually need to be there. The shower was running in his apartment, though he wasn't showering. This might have been a dodge -- a way to beat listening devices or a subterfuge or a means of establishing a water usage record as later evidence or *something,* but as it worked out this time it meant someone else was showering. Which wasn't unknown in Kim's apartment, but there was still kind of a nice newness to the concept. Regardless, all and all he was in a pretty good mood, curled up (he refused to acknowledge it might resemble a canine curling up) on the edge of his couch, tea sitting by his side, wearing an old tee shirt and blue sweats, looking out the window at the blue sky and fluffy clouds. It was weirdly peaceful. His secure phone -- the one the MIB supposedly didn't know about, as opposed to the one they supposedly did -- rang. "Of course," Kim said. "Typical." He picked the cordless up. It might have seemed like a security risk but the encryption between his handset and the base station was shockingly good. "Go." "Hello, Tom. How's the weather." Both Kim's eyebrows went up. "Tirkoff?" he asked. "Tirkoff. It's mostly cloudy in Boston today, high of about sixty three degrees with little chance of precipitation but it's kind of dreary nonetheless, so I'm glad I'm not *in* Boston." "Where are you?" "Oh, you'll figure it out. I need a favor." "A favor." He half-smiled. "You may not have internalized this, Tirkoff, but you're not exactly the Bureau's favorite lost lamb these days." "Oh, I know. That's why I'm calling you instead of one of them." "Because... of our extensive past together? I think we spoke like three times, not counting Akron." "Oh, we have to count Akron, 'Field Agent Kim.' You never did get my coffee order right." "I got it right. I had a moral objection to putting six sugars in a medium coffee." "And therefore you now owe me." "In no universe do I owe you. If you hadn't screwed the PUS project over I could have cut Less off at the knees--" "If you're looking to guilt me over that, look elsewhere. I spent three months putting your test subject back together. In some ways she'll never heal. And if that's just the cost of doing business to you, you have a lot less soul that I figured." "Yeah, well, souls are overrated." Technically, the Spirit of the Wolf wasn't quite the same thing, but why would he mention that? "I'm sure. You're still going to do a favor for me." "Or?" "Or I'm telling Trudy Galloway you're a werewolf, alive, and the person who actually led the op instead of Olson. Let's not pretend I'm kidding around, okay?" "I'm not -- I just needed to get the threat on the table so we wouldn't dance around the subject. So. What favor do you think that buys you." "I made sure Random Encounters went to the MIB Lockup in Not-MIB-Holding-Facility, Virginia, instead of going to the ALU's holding cells or being processed either in Austin MetaHolding or on his way to the Really-Really-Hard-To-Get-Out-Of-Place." "Really? Seems like an odd choice given everything." "Not really. I'm calling a Grey-Out. Full scrub, my involvement never even showing up on the docket. I know the place is on skeleton staff and their surveillance gear's already been compromised." "Compromised how?" "Call it the mysteries of the universe. Random Encounters is going to simply cease to exist." "I think people might notice if--" "Oh, don't worry. He'll be on the radio right on time." Kim paused for a moment. "Hold on." "If you're going to trace this call--" "I honestly don't give a crap where you are, Tirkoff. Believe it or not, I have neither patience nor fucks to give regarding Random Encounters, and I don't think anyone else in the Agency does either. Hold." He pushed the hold button, listening. The shower had stopped. Good. "Ennie!" he called out. "Yeah?!" "C'mere! Job thing." "Right!" The bathroom door opened and Special Special Agent Menelaus Roth, also of the MIB, stepped out, a towel around his midsection. His skin tone was dusky, and though he was a bit short for a government agent his muscles were well sculpted. His hair was oddly messy when wet, but the agent still moved like he was in complete control of his environment... which generally he was. "What is it?" "Tirkoff on the Blue Line." "How'd she get that number?" "I didn't ask." "What does she want?" "A Grey-Out on Random Encounters." "Is he in our custody?" "Apparently, yes." "Huh. And?" "And I used up my Free Grey-Out Coupon. Do you still have yours?" Roth arched an eyebrow. "She's finally pulling the trigger on the Galloway threat?" "I know, right? Welcome to 1995, Tirkoff. Anyway, given the guy I really don't need to be threatened." "Me either -- waste of far too much skin for my tastes. Sure. I'll call it in from the Yellow Phone at my place. Tell her two hours." "Owe you." "At this point, you owe me so much I think I own equity in you." Kim grinned, taking the call off hold. "Hey, Tirkoff," he said. "How *did* you get this number?" "Come on, Kim. I still have *some* game." "I heard -- still wearing grenades in your hair, huh?" "Flashbangs. Why does this surprise people? Where do you keep yours?" "In my pockets." "Well, wear a superhero costume sometime and say that. So?" "Two hours. Grey-Out'll happen. I don't want to know anything else about it. And for the record, that's your one threat-call. Try to use the Galloway leverage again and I'll release the Easter Island footage." "No worries. I figured you wouldn't care once you heard it was Random Encounters." "We miss your smiling face," he said, half-smiling himself. "Yeah, that's a lie on so many levels it may cancel out to true. Goodbye, Kim." The receiver clicked. Kim hung up, standing fluidly. "Thanks," he said again. Roth shrugged. "It's just two months to the new coupon book. Besides, I can punch my 'off the books' card. I'm only one away from a sandwich day at the office, so this'll put us over the top." "Seriously? I *do* owe you." Kim walked over. "So I keep saying." The two kissed briefly -- just a quick buss. "I have to go change and get home to call this in. We have this bizarre day off -- where do we go after that?" "Paddle boats?" "Please for the love of God, Tom. No more paddle boats." "Can I help it? I love paddle boats." "Insert dog-paddle joke here. Let's see 'Stealing Beauty.' "Ugh. Bertolucci. You know no one likes that movie." "They just don't like international cinema or Liv Tyler." "You combined those two concepts in one sentence and don't see the problem? Fine. We'll go see your Italian porn movie." "It's not porn. You just lack culture." "I was literally raised in the woods." "Excuses." Roth headed back into the bathroom. Kim shook his head and went to grab his tea. It was probably cold but he had to drink that cup before he could make another. That was the rule. * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Tuesday Morning* * (Eastern)* * The Waterfront District.* * Boston, MA* Dani felt vaguely surreal -- like she was going to wake up at any moment. She was wearing a nice light blue sundress over orange tights which was actually her orange uniform -- she had to wear her uniform wherever she went, since it converted the deadly ionizing radiation she constantly emitted into tasteful color -- orange and green, in this case. She didn't really feel temperature, so she didn't have a problem keeping covered up most of the time, but still. Bruce was walking next to her, along the harborfront, looking out at the water. "I never get used to this," he said. "Used to... what?" "The sun. The sky. The ocean. The smell. Back in Dark City we don't get sun more than twenty-six minutes a year, the whole place reeks of decay, and the only nearby lakes are stagnant. This is so... *nice* in comparison." "Huh." Dani considered for a moment. "Why does anyone live there?" "Money. Opportunities. Lack of opportunities. Inertia. All sorts of reasons. I have to spend a lot of time back there -- without me, things get worse. With me... maybe they get better. I don't know." "You don't know? I thought you knew everything." "I know enough to know that I don't know everything." He turned to her as they kept walking. "For example. I thought I knew this young woman -- a bit of a hothead, overconfident like no one's business. Either doesn't take things seriously enough or takes them far *too* seriously. Angry at me because of what happened to her sister, and honestly she has every right to be... but still..." Dani opened her mouth, then closed it, looking out at the water herself. "Still a child. A four year old." "Exactly." He took a breath. "But it wasn't true. I was wrong. Maybe she only had four years before she grew up... but when there was trouble -- including someone she cared a lot about being in danger -- she kept her head, she came up with a plan, she led others into that plan's execution, and she kept going -- even when she was badly hurt. And thanks to her... not only did the heroes get saved... so did another lost soul, when it would have been easy to just let her fall." He chuckled. "She did far better than I did the first time I had to try and pull all that together." "You would have done better." Dani couldn't quite believe she was saying that, but it was the only thing she *could* say. "I would have done it *differently.* Had a different plan. Would it have been better? Would it have worked? Who knows? It doesn't matter... because you had a plan that *did* work." He half-smiled. "You're already an amazing hero, Dani. You're becoming the best of all of us. I know that, now." "Second best. Dianna's the best." Dani paused. "Um. I mean... I have a lot to learn before--" Bruce laughed. "I know what you mean." He looked at Dani. "And I'm sorry. Deeply, deeply sorry... for everything that's happened with Dianna. I'm going to need your help to save her. And you may need mine." Dani pursed her lips. "It's your fault she's broken." "I know." "I can't fix her. I've tried." "I know that too. But maybe *we* -- all of us -- can." "Maybe." She snorted. "Assuming we get Mike to look away from the mirror or the cosmic nothing long enough to help." "Speaking of things that scare the Hell out of me that'll need all of us..." "Have you figured out how to get to Jane?" He shook his head. "And today... there's been a lot of other things to think about. Samantha. Tim. Roger. Charlie. Burt." He paused. "Maria." Dani breathed out. "I know," she said. "I was at breakfast with the Brats, and they were... they don't like Maria. And I can't blame them... I know Tim's livid, and Summer doesn't want to hear about it, and... and is it weird I'm worried about Maria? I mean, she did me a lot of damage before I contained her -- and she nearly killed people I care more about than I ever thought I would. And yet..." "And yet... you look at her and you see someone else who's broken. Like Dianna. And instead of exaltation or anger or schadenfreude you feel compassion. No, that's not weird, Dani." He smiled again. "But it's rare. I hope you always have that." "Yeah." She stopped, turning to Bruce. "What happens to the Mob now?" Bruce stopped as well, and he looked at Dani. "I... don't think anyone who's in a position to make those decisions is in any frame of mind *to* make those decisions. But if I had to put money on it?" "Yeah?" "I don't think there's going to *be* a Mob. Phobos is... probably going to be working mostly support. Always a hero, but not on the front lines any time soon. Tim and Samantha have had a bad scare, and they have children on the way. Where Tim goes, Charlie goes. Roger and Hellfire and Momentum all want to keep going, but they can't create a team out of that." He shook his head. "We're going to invite them to the Academy full time -- give them a chance to recover. They'll still need to be recognized as peers -- now more than ever -- but...." "It's a good idea. A good start. Are they going to be able to handle Maria being in their classes?" Bruce paused. "You think that's the right call?" "I think it's the *only* call. Bruce... I felt it. I felt Sensation's power. He made me feel things I've never felt, turned up way higher than any human being was ever meant to feel. Joy. Pleasure. Agony. Torture. All of it. He hammered at me with those, and they nearly broke me in less than three minutes. He had over a day with Maria, and I'm not stuck in sensory deprivation. Maria may look like a criminal and a traitor right now... but she's a victim. And either we help her, or when she *does *become a *real* villain it'll be because we *didn't* help her." Bruce chuckled again. "I thought you were just a kid, Dani. Hey -- want a cup of tea?" Dani paused. "Tea?" Bruce looked around. "We're standing next to Boston Harbor, and we're discussing treason and revolution and betrayal and pain and redemption. That suggests we either drink tea or dump it into the harbor, and these days the harbormaster frowns on that." Dani snorted. "Okay. Why not?" * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Tuesday Afternoon* * (Eastern)* * MIB Lockup* * Not-MIB-Holding-Facility, Virginia* Healer walked up to the front gate of the nondescript office park. It looked like any other -- a bunch of tech companies with generic names, a courier service with a bad logo, all brown buildings that looked like they'd been extruded from an office-space-for-rent Playdoh mold. That's what made it effective. None of these businesses actually existed beyond the minimum necessary to maintain the fiction. From the point of view of anyone watching, Healer herself was a woman in her mid-twenties, with dark red hair, maybe five six, petite and perhaps a bit too angular. She wore black sunglasses and a black suit-and-skirt over 'nude' tights that were, now that she thought about it, kind of innately racist. She walked in the front door, holding up a credential to a bored looking security guard who waved her through literally without a second thought. This level of illusion was easy. Just be what looked mundane and expected without leaving any distinguishing characteristics for a memory to form around. She made her way past three checkpoints. The building was nearly empty, though there were guards, of course. Right now they only had one prisoner, though, and he wasn't a flight risk all told. On the security monitors and systems throughout the building... there was no sign that a woman had even walked in the building. Healer had worked with overwatch before, but never overwatch of JOEL's power and complexity. This man had been behind Jenny's injury and near-death. JOEL was, if anything, eager to help. Two more checkpoints down and into the actual security wing in the underground level. Everything was fine. The Grey-Out meant things were already being expunged, so it wasn't like hiding herself in all the hubbub was going to be an issue. She walked into the prisoner's cell block-- And stopped. Special Special Agent Richard Less, cigarette in his mouth, black suit on his body, sunglasses as always on his face, stood there with a slight smile. "Well hello there, sunshine," he said. "You have the power to be surprised to see me. Oh! Wait. Sorry. That was the other guy." Healer shimmered back into herself. She was in the red and white version of her heavy work suit. "Hello, Richard," she said. "That's all? Just 'hello Richard?' Not even an attempted pun on my name to get under my skin? You disappoint me, Healer." "I can't make that pun. You're the biggest dick I've ever seen." "*There* it is," he said, grinning. "Nice! So! What's on our agenda today?" "Oh, I have a little business with your prisoner. So I would say we have a problem." "We do? Oh! Me. Nah. Go for it." He stepped out of her way. Healer arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" "Seriously, Dizzy Lizzy. Grey-Out in effect. Do what you're here to do and get going. It's even getting us an office sandwich day tomorrow." "Why are you here, then? Evidence?" "Nope! Not recording, not harboring a super secret backup, not laying a trap, not doing a thing except standing here." "Then why?" "Why else? I hate that fat fuck. I want to watch." He grinned more broadly. "Go ahead, snoop my brain. See if I'm lying. I don't care. I know you won't poke where you shouldn't. Which is *weird.* If it were me -- ah well, but it's not. Hell. I don't even want to use you as leverage against Selanova now that she's crossed the river. I'm just here for the joy of the moment." Healer snorted. "From the outside, it won't be much of a show." "Never said it would be." He took another drag. "You know something, beautiful? These things'll kill me." He looked at the cigarette -- at the burning ash at the end. "I know that. Every so often I stop. But then... right when shit gets real, they're right back in my hand. You should remember that, while you're working with Mendez. An addiction stays in you. It sticks down deep, and yanks you back when you least expect it. All you need's a push, or a bad enough day, or a reason why it's just this once." "All very true. Are you looking for help? I don't really do Smoking Cessation counseling and I can't ethically treat you anyhow, but I can refer you to some experts." "Oh, I doubt you know the right experts to help me." He took another drag. "Need a cup of coffee or anything?" "No thanks. I remember your coffee." "You remember a lot of things today, I'll bet." He nodded. "Clock's ticking, and I do love seeing your ass move in that uniform, so walk on by." Healer snorted again, walking past. She could obfuscate, but she honestly had no reason to care. She stepped through the doors, visible through the one-way glass of course, and shut the door. Sitting in a chair in the corner, legs cuffed to the legs of the chair, wearing a grey jumpsuit and a lot of bandages, sat Random Encounters. He had a swollen eye that had darkened to full black-eye status as well, and more than one bandage on his face. His midsection had been taped up for broken ribs, and he had at least three casts on appendages. "Well well well," he said. "Doctor Tirkoff -- or should I say Healer?" "Healer's the polite thing to say," she answered. "Comfortable?" "Not really -- they're pretty slow with reupping the pain medication." "I'm shocked. Really." She cocked her head. "Why did you *goad* Reflects right after she saw Sensation die? Were you *trying* to get killed?" He shrugged as well as he could. "All I had left was spitting in their eye. I figured I'd bait Summer into committing cold blooded murder and get herself branded a dangerous loose cannon at the least. Reflects was a poor plan B but sometimes you take what you can get." "Even if Summer had killed you you'd have failed. Who would testify supporting that assertion? You tried to murder a lot of people, and *did* kill your own henchman. Self-defense would be *simple* to make stick." "Not in her own head. Not in the eyes of her fiance or daughter or *you.* If all I could do was poison one of them at that point, why wouldn't I?" Healer shook her head. "Why? Why do all this?" "Because I hate them. I hate them so much. I hate their house. I hate their dog. I hate their smug expressions. I hate their stupid faces. I long since stopped caring about the hows and whys. They are everything wrong with this country -- everything *liberal* with this country. Just like you." "You say that word like it means something to you, but it doesn't. 'Liberal' out of your mouth just means 'someone I don't like.' You're no conservative. Not any more. You've had a sickness growing in you for years, born of that first dark tome you read. And even if it did mean something to you... I was recruited for government work by George Herbert Walker Bush himself when he was Vice President under Reagan. What makes you think there's anything *liberal* about me, at least today?" He snorted. "You go on saying that. All I know is this. Sooner or later they're going to send someone in to debrief me. I'll get a chance to contact someone senior to them. They'll get me out of here and my information will go where I want it to go. And then I'll be free and I'll still know all their precious little secrets. Reflects was *incredibly* thorough. Want to know which ones harbor dirty little fantasies about you?" "Mental, Roger, and Maria herself to her own slightly homophobic horror, plus the usual casual asides. I'm a telepath and no postadolescent shields well when he's hot for teacher. Not even Mental. Dreamweaver's indulgent of his fantasy life, though. She understands that everyone fantasizes... about *so* many things." "Well, she would, wouldn't she. Messing with people's dreams. And you say I'm a monster." "No. I say you're sick. You have a *deep* sickness. Almost terminal. But that's okay. We can help you. *I* can help you. I'm a doctor." "Help me? What -- you're going to psychoanalyze me? I know the rumors about your past but I also know you don't 'heal' people of their superpowers any more -- not beyond temporary blocks. You sure as Hell aren't going to do anything to *me.* So why are we here?" Healer smiled a bit more. "Wow," she said. "You really *are* a bad judge of character." Random Encounters blinked. "What?" Healer paced in front of the prisoner. "It's true -- I've had to do a lot of soul searching in the past few years -- things that seemed so justified... so black and white... seem so questionable now. Eliminating the powers of others. Wiping memories or skills. It's a nightmare scenario when used indiscriminately. I had to learn that. In ways I had to atone." She turned, and looked in his eyes. "But you know something? Sometimes it *is* justified." Random Encounters's eyes grew wider. "Wh-what?" "You have all this half-learned occult and scientific knowledge. You know all these secrets -- not just the Mob's, either. And it's grown in your head like a cancer, wiping out any possibility of a good man remaining. I already told you. You're sick. I can help." She smiled, very slowly. It was a smile with no warmth in it whatsoever. "I can *heal* you." "...no. No, you don't -- you can't--" "Oh I can. Really easily." "Hey! *HEY!*" he shouted. "I need help in here! I have rights! I have--" "Oh Random Encounters... don't scream. I'd tell you not to waste your breath, but you aren't. We haven't been speaking audibly since the moment I shut the door. All this? Is just in your head." Healer began to glow, a slightly greenish hue that spread out, leaving white behind it. "Now... open your mind and say 'ah.' If you're good, there's a lollipop in it for you." Outside the cell, Richard Less watched the telepath stand in front of Random Encounters. She was right, there wasn't really much of a show -- well, discounting her in a tight uniform. But for once, he wasn't looking at that. He knew a few signs he could watch. Random Encounters's jaw muscles clenching. His breaking into a sweat. His shivering. "That's it," he murmured. "Suck on that cancer-stick, Tirkoff. Breathe that sweet smoke into your lungs. Remember how good it tastes... how good it feels... and how much you hate riding on that wagon. After all, he deserves it. I'd do it without a second thought." His lips grew into a smirk. "I wonder how many thoughts *you* gave it." [End of Part C. Part D follows.] -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From sabre at annotations.com Wed Sep 5 23:40:48 2018 From: sabre at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Thu, 6 Sep 2018 02:40:48 -0400 Subject: (d/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part D Message-ID: [Beginning of Part D] * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Friday Evening* * (Pacific)* * Blue Moon Tavern* * Seattle, WA* One ordering of another gigantic wheathook later, Elizabeth was watching Chalandra expectantly. "You are going to be so hung over," Chalandra said. "I'll have you know I drank a fifth of Johnny Walker Blue not three weeks ago with nary a twinge." "I believe you. You're going to drink gallons of water before I let you out of my sight, blondie." She shook her head. "Blonde. Blonde was taken, you know. I'm the blonde one." "Arguably, that shade is more brown than blonde." "Arguably, shut up." "Fine. So. Faith. Reveal unto me your wisdom from beyond the grave, oh Vampire Therapist." "You laugh. If I hung out a shingle I'd have so much freaking business from depressed goths I'd have to turn a couple of other therapists just to keep up the demand." "Yeah, that sounds like a fun office environment." "Don't knock it. No one parties like the dead." She crushed the stub of her cigar out, and knocked back horrible scotch. "Faith." "Faith." "What did you do for Faith? I mean, in general." Elizabeth shook her head -- she was drunk enough now that keeping it clear wasn't the easiest thing in the world. "I balanced him. I gave him a focus for his gullibility. I reached under the layers of his surface beliefs and affirmed truths in him, and took away the abusive or false beliefs that hurt him. I helped him interact with the world and grow as a person." "So, a real symbiotic relationship." "Absolutely. And if you tell me it was somehow bad I swear--" "It wasn't. It was beautiful. I envied the Hell out of you. Both of you, really." She paused. "What did Faith do for you?" Elizabeth blinked. "What?" "In symbiosis, both sides get something out of the relationship. Faith got some sense of order that eventually let him grow as a person from you. What did you get from him? And don't say personal satisfaction or love -- that's not what I'm talking about." Elizabeth blinked again. "I... that... I'm...." "Eloquently said. C'mon, Liz. He must have given you something. Or... was it a parasitical relationship instead of symbiotic? Was Faith just a parasite?" "No," Elizabeth said, slamming her hand on the table again, anger in her eyes. "Don't you *ever* call Faith a parasite!" "I agree. So what did he give you?" Elizabeth's head was swimming. Admittedly, the large amount of beer didn't help with the process. Chalandra smiled, very slightly. "Liz... he gave you affirmation." Elizabeth blinked. "What?" "He affirmed you. Reinforced you. He gave you purpose. He *believed* you. He believed *in* you. And he added chaos to your life, forcing you out of the shell you always try to retreat into and the persona you try to put on. As you gave him the focus and balance to grow as a person, he gave you the excuse to cut loose -- to let a little crazy into your world, and therefore to *grow as a person.* And through it all, he made it perfectly clear that there was at least one person who saw you as the single most important being in the universe, and that was enough." Elizabeth snorted. "Yeah." Chalandra arched both her eyebrows. "What was that, Liz? Do you doubt?" "Why should I doubt?" "Why indeed? Go on. Say it. You're drunk enough and I won't judge. And it's bothered you since the day you learned Faith transcended instead of dying, but you were so relieved he wasn't actually dead you couldn't ever admit it. *Say it.*" "Fine! Why Akane?" "Why Akane what?" "Why did Akane's death push Faith to exert will and transcend? Why her? Why not *me?* You're right -- I was in his head every day for years! I lived with him. I loved him. I laughed with him and cheered him on when they started dating. Why did it take *her* for him to reach his potential? Why not *me!?*" There was brief quiet except for glasses clinking. Elizabeth realized pretty much everyone in the bar was staring at the two of them. Chalandra looked around. She opened her eyes wider and lifted a hand, fluttering her fingertips. "Whoooo... you are under my vampiric traaaaance... none of you give a crap about the two women getting drunk in this corner booooooooth...." The bar-goers turned back to each other and began talking again. The bassist started back into his bass. "You've gotten better at that," Elizabeth said. She was bright red, and not just because of alcohol. "Yeah. Board meetings bring out the Dominance Stare in you. So. Why not you, huh?" Elizabeth looked down. "Forget it. It's dumb. Unworthy of Faith and me and you and it's stupid. Of course it wasn't me." "See? Narcissistic personality disorder and imposter syndrome, fighting each other in a steel cage." "Oh shut up. So I'm a bitch. Fine. I can live with that." Chalandra laughed. "No, you can't. You hate it. You hate not being loved." "*Bur ki chatani bhosadike* -- have you always had this low an opinion of me!? Was I the team punchline?" "The team punchline? Jesus, Liz. Eivandt was on our team." There was a pause. "Point," Elizabeth said. "Also, you *stopped* swearing in Hindi and *started* using the word 'heckfire?' Seriously?" "There's always the chance one of the kids would know Hindi." She looked into her beer. "Let's face it. We were all the punchline. We took turns. Eviandt got to laugh at me as much as I got to laugh at him. And we both laughed at you and you laughed at both of us. I don't have a low opinion of you. I think you're amazing. I really, honestly do. I think at the end of the day, your biggest problem is *you* don't think you're amazing." "After your prognosis? I clearly have good reason to feel that way. But then I did anyway. I fell off the wagon." She waved another beer over. "Went back into surgery. Cut out bits of Random Encounters so he'd never threaten the Mob again." "I'm literally a Vampire, Liz. I'm pretty sure I would have killed and eaten him. And then gotten my triglycerides checked. Honestly, I'd had that on the table if you hadn't done something first. I was pretty pissed too, you know. But you? Cut out the sickness and pain. You're right. You're a surgeon. You cut out the cancer. Despite everything, you were a healer, not a hunter. And if you were a bit of a monster? Most of us are, now and then. We do our best and we keep going." Elizabeth hehed. "A bit of a monster. And I'm the one teaching the next generation. How many of them are going to get brutalized doing this?" "All of them." Elizabeth blinked. "What?" "All of them, Liz. Every student you have and every student you will ever have. I'm sorry but it's true." * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Wednesday Morning* * (Eastern)* * A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.* * Load Pan Bay Sublevel 1* * Medical Bay* * Boston, MA* Transit smiled. She was kind of glad to have company. She'd been in the medical bay for several days, with an infection or illness that even the advanced science, magic, and 'other' at the ALU's disposal couldn't identify. She kept up with her lessons in part because she needed to do *something *with her time and in part because Transit was never quite as happy as when she was learning something. Preferably math. Or anything that wasn't English Lit. Still, as glad as she might be to have company... she was unhappy about the circumstances. She was trying to be careful in talking to her medbay-mate, but she wasn't the best at being tactful. "So... Maria tried to kill you all and now she's in a cell? That's awful!" Q.E.D. Her medbay-mate smiled. Her smile was very pretty, as she was herself -- blonde and pale, with a preference for black although right now she was in an embarrassing hospital johnnie the same as Transit. Somehow, she made it look sporty and cute. "It is," Samantha said, her voice very scratchy. "But it's better than if she were free." "I can believe that. How could she *do* that?" Samantha shrugged. "I'm not the right person to ask. She tried to kill my daughters. That's... not easy to forgive or understand. And Tim... you don't even want to know how Tim feels. The sad thing is... Hellfire was Maria's best friend, and she's all torn up. She and Rog... Mel... whoever they are are spending a lot of time together right now." "Sadly, she had the opportunity to rise to her true heroic merit, but fell short," Charlie said, on the other side of Samantha. He too was in medbay. In his case, a specially designed one to help him recover from advanced heliumite poisoning. "Thus did she fall from grace and get spacked for her troubles, what ho." Transit nodded, taking another sip of water. The fever was cycling back up, so she had to stay hydrated. "But you're both getting better?" "We all are. I'll be able to attend classes in a day or two." Samantha smiled a bit. "I'm looking forward to it. They say Scholarman's coming back to teach." Transit stared, then fell back onto her back, her head flumphing into the pillow. "With luck, this disease will kill me before then." "Oh, come on. How can you not love that class? The digressions, the tea, the weird myth stuff--" "It's useless and he's worse than Lit Lass! At least she's just boring!" "She has no imagination or use for imagination. It's all just rules for grammar and usage." "That's why I prefer her. What possible *use* is *imagination?*" Samantha didn't answer. The clock on the wall ticked. Transit could tell it was about a thousandth of a second slow. Transit slowly flushed. "I... don't... mean *you*, Dreamweaver." "Good," she said, dryly. "But speaking as the monarch of an entire Realm that uses myth and imagination as natural laws..." "...fine. Fine. I get it. You like his class." "It's not just me. Hellfire likes it too." "It seems to me that one either loves or hates the class," Charlie said. "There is no in-between." "That seems true," Transit said. "Where do you fall, Charlie?" "Actually, I don't need to fall at all! I can fly!" "...do you like the class?" "Oh." He paused. "Good heavens, no. Loathe it." Samantha smiled a bit. She ran her fingers over the bandage on her throat. The cats had almost completely healed the tracheotomy incision, but it *itched*. At least, that's what Transit assumed. "Are there any other classes you like that much?" Transit asked Samantha. Anything to steer the subject. "Measure Theory and Integration? Topics in Actuarial Science?" "I've never heard of either of those, so I assume they're math." Samantha smiled a bit more, closing her eyes. "Probably learning the history of the Realm. Of course, that teacher doesn't work here. Which may be for the best. I'm not sure Charlie or Tim would be happy running into him in the halls." "Really? Why? Is he rude?" "By definition," Charlie muttered. "He's a cat. And not a nice one, either!" "Deuteronomy is *very* nice," Samantha said. "He just has... a bit of a sense of humor. Tim's getting used to it." "That seems unlikely." Transit furrowed her brow. "A talking cat who teaches history?" Samantha smiled, adjusting in bed again. "It's a dream kingdom. That sort of thing happens." Transit slowly nodded. "I think I've got a hypothesis of why you like Scholarman's class." "Oh? Why?" "He's the only person who makes less sense than the rest of your life." Samantha smiled a bit more. "You may be on to something, there." * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Friday Evening* * (Pacific)* * Blue Moon Tavern* * Seattle, WA* Chalandra poured the last of her bottle into the glass. "Everything thinks of CalForce as the wild bunch. The crazy ones. The partying anarchists. Or, more properly, the exemplars of the Californian Way. But look at what we did. What we *survived.* The Magic Wars. Radian's fall. Radian's *trial.* Rad's coma. The Ottsamattawidu Crisis. And so many more I can barely keep them all straight. I didn't even get to my *own* traumas, and they fucking *sucked.*" She looked Elizabeth in the eyes. "Super heroes put themselves between the worst of the world and the innocents who would be consumed by it every day. Stick with this long enough and yeah. Suddenly an eighteen year old heroine's stuck in a hole by the Mega Intelligence Bureau and systematically tortured, or half our friends go anti-magic crazy, the others form a counterinsurgency, and a lot of people die." She reached over and touched Elizabeth's hand. "Like Roger. Who died that day, before he ever became your student. Or Tim, who was sucked into the same Wasteland Radian told us about but remembers every minute of it. Or Samantha, whose own uncle tried to murder her. Or Christina, who had her entire life taken away from her when she was turned into fire. Or Burt, who'll never speak out loud again." Her voice dropped. "Or Maria, who was locked inside a silver statue to which there is no key." "What about the Brats, Chal? How do I protect them?" "The who?" "The -- sorry. Nickname. It stuck. The first class. Mem, Fridge, Kid-E--" "Ohhh. Right. Sorry. The Sorceress Subternatural, the girl who was built to be a weapon, the kid who attacks anyone who startles him, and the brother and sister who grew up in a nastily abusive household. However will you keep them from losing their innocence and suffering the slings and arrows of an unfair world?" Elizabeth looked down. "Liz? How many of your students died in this attack? Just your students. Sensation was a countdown timer Random Encounters started before they ever got there. I read the report." "How did you get the report?" "I'm on the Board of the Rogers Foundation, Liz. Remember? How many of them died?" "...none." "That's right. None. Not even Maria. Despite being betrayed. Despite having their worst secrets and weaknesses used against them, they all survived. They're recovering. They're *alive.* The worse for wear? Sure. But that's going to happen." She squeezed Elizabeth's hand. "You want to be blamed for something? Okay. I blame you for that. The Mob got thrown into the worst Hell imaginable -- even counting actual Hell -- and came out alive. That's your fault." "They were heroes before they--" "Yeah. But they're amazing because you helped them get that way. Are they all being helped?" "Yes...." "Did they have to organize that themselves?" "What -- no. We organized it, and got Andy and some of the others involved--" "While the Manor's being rebuilt, do they have a place to live?" "Yes." "Is Maria Mendez rotting in the Really Really Hard to Get Out Of Place, her psyche turning into a festering time bomb?" "...no...." "Then stop being a fucking martyr. This is a win. Tragic? Absolutely. But a *win.* And they're all going to be stronger and do bigger and better things." She paused. "I heard a rumor that Alice No Last Name is actually talking to you." "We... may have found détente." "How'd that happen?" "She was impressed with my choice of hairclip and how well I could walk in heels." Chalandra paused. "Well, you do walk well in heels." "I know I do." "Did you fight for them with all your strength?" "Of course." "Then that's something to add to my prognosis." Chalandra drained the last of her Sagamore's Unfortunate Cull. "Irrational guilt, survivor's guilt, delusion of responsibility, delusion of reference, imposter syndrome, prior abandonment issues, fear of abandonment, narcissistic personality disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, generalized anxiety disorder... and hero." Elizabeth considered that for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay." "Now. We get your irrational resentment of Faith's transcendence condition dealt with and figure out some way of compensating for the balance he brought to your life, and we can really get somewhere." "Man, how much is this going to cost me? I mean, I don't think you take insurance and aren't your lecture fees something like a quarter million?" "Oh, don't worry about it. We'll work it out in indentured servitude." * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Tuesday Afternoon* * (Eastern)* * The Harborside Teashop* * Boston, MA* "So... am I still a probationary member?" Dani was sipping her tea -- milk, two sugars. She'd gotten in that habit the last time she was in one of Scholarman's classes. He turned really funny colors when you put sugar in tea. "Obviously the answer is yes. For one thing, we haven't had an Executive Board meeting since the beginning of the month." "Of course. Naturally. We're the ALU. We do things the old fashioned way -- by following rules written down in a book otherwise locked up in a filing cabinet you need a passkey, authorization and a birth certificate to unlock." "Bureaucracy yields legitimacy. Trust me. There are days I miss the old 'vigilante nutjob beyond the law' routine, but I've got a lot more opportunity to do some real good as part of a recognized team." Dani cocked her head. "That has to be the first time I've ever heard you talk about vigilantism as anything but bad." Bruce half-smiled, sipping his own tea -- he took it straight, which was no shock. "Well, when I thought you were a child I had a responsibility to model behavior, didn't I?" "Oh, of course." Dani leaned back. "So... setting aside the legalities... am I still a probationary member? I mean, it's been years." "Kid Solipsism is also still a probationary member." "Well, sure -- he doesn't believe in any of this in the first place, so he doesn't care. Question still stands." Bruce arched an eyebrow, a slight smile on his face. "Do *you* think you should still be a probationary member?" Dani paused. "Oh, that is dirty pool." Bruce just smiled a bit more. Dani sipped her tea. "Well... I'm definitely not ready to leave the Academy. Honestly, I'm just now beginning to figure out just how much I've learned and how much I still *have* to learn. I guess... yeah, I should still be probationary. For now. At least until we work out Dianna's problems and figure out Mike's deal. This isn't the right time to make a change." Bruce nodded. "I concur." "So I passed the test?" Bruce chuckled. "There's no test, Dani. If you'd said you were ready for full membership, I'd have field promoted you right now. But your reasoning is sound, and I agree with it. So we'll hold off." Dani stared at Bruce. "What?" Dani started to laugh. "Nothing. Nothing at all--" There was the sound of gunfire from outside the teashop. Dani and Bruce both stood, turning-- Across the street. A BayBeaconBank of Boston Mutual First branch was clearly being robbed, the robbers running out the door and piling into a getaway car. "Oh great," Dani said. "I'll give you cover so you can get out there--" "Actually, I think I'm going to finish my tea." Dani blinked, turning to look at Bruce. He was indeed sitting back down and picking up his cup. "Uh... there's a bank robbery." "Yes there is." He smiled, looking at Dani. "You should do something about that." Dani blinked. "I can't. Probationary members can't go into solo action. They have to have a full member in good standing with them at all times. Those are the rules." "Yes they are." He sipped his tea. "Fuck the rules. I trust you." Dani blinked again. "Really?" "Really." Dani slowly unhooked the belt she wore around her waist, setting it on the table -- watching to see if Bruce made any movement to dissuade her. "Time's wasting, Dangerousgirl." Dani pulled her hair out of the scrunchie she'd been wearing, then pulled the dress over her head and dropped them both on the floor. She flipped her head down and back, a mane of brunette hair tossing into shape, even as she turned and ran for the door -- people in the teashop shouting in recognition. Bruce watched Dangerousgirl hit the street and -- with a detonation of nuclear force -- hurl herself into the air after the robbers. He set his tea down and moved to pick up her dress, which he began to fold. She was growing up, but he still had to have words with her about-- "You... know Dangerousgirl?" Bruce paused, turning to look at the person speaking. She was a young woman -- maybe fourteen. Deep brown skin, wide brown eyes. "I do, in fact, know Dangerousgirl," Bruce said with a smile. "...whoa. Did she really punch Satan back to Hell?" "Yes, as a matter of fact she did." Bruce put the folded dress down on the table. "Grab that hair elastic for me, would you?" The girl scooped up the scrunchie. "If you know her... then... you must be..." Her eyes grew wider. Bruce half-smiled. Ah yes. Time to be 'Bruce Rogers, Bored-and-Boring-Billionaire benefactor of the Adjusted--' "...her *butler!*" Bruce paused. "What was that?" one of the servers asked. She looked at Bruce. "Are you really Dangerousgirl's butler?" Bruce accepted the scrunchie from Dangerousgirl's young fan. "Yes," he said, solemnly. "I am Dangerousgirl's butler." "That is *so cool*." "I am forced to agree." Bruce picked up his tea, finishing it. He nodded to the server for another cup. He really had to tell Melford about all this. He suspected he'd get a kick out of it. depending on how much focus he had at that point, of course. [End of Part D. Part E follows.] -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From sabre at annotations.com Wed Sep 5 23:41:11 2018 From: sabre at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Thu, 6 Sep 2018 02:41:11 -0400 Subject: (e/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part E Message-ID: [Beginning of Part E] * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Wednesday Afternoon* * (Eastern)* * A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.* * B Tower Medium Detention Level* * Boston, MA* Maria was sitting on the floor of her cell. She didn't bother sitting on the bed -- a bed or a floor all felt the same to her. She was still wearing the robe she'd been given -- it was easier than getting into clothes without Phobos's ingenious machinery stitching the clothing into place around her. Besides, it didn't matter. She'd be wearing prison orange soon enough. "Miss Mendez?" Maria looked up. Nouveau Skunk -- that superhero-slash-lawyer -- was standing there, along with Trashman and Healer. So it was time. "Miss Mendez?" Nouveau Skunk asked again. "Yes," she said, softly. "How are you feeling?" Maria snorted. "Numb." She looked down. "I always feel numb." The memory of pure tactile overload flashed through her brain -- Sensation flooding her with the most incredible pleasure anyone had ever felt, the most hideous pain anyone had ever endured, the most-- She shook her head. "How I feel doesn't matter," she said. "How's... how's Samantha? And Tim and Charlie and--" "They're alive," Trashman said, coolly. "And they're going to stay that way, at least for now." Maria paused, then nodded. "Good," she muttered. "So... I know I haven't spoken to a public defender or anything but... I'm just going to plead guilty to whatever. I mean, it's true, right--" "We've been discussing the case with different authorities," Healer said. "Along with members of the Mob, particularly Burt. We've needed to be in contact with certain supervising authorities anyhow, since Momentum's relocating here for the foreseeable future. That gave us a chance to go through options." "What options?" Maria said, sniffing. "I did it. I'm guilty. I..." *Samantha desperately trying to find breath. Tim in a catatonic state,* *bleeding from a wound she'd given him, a monster clinging to his head.* *Charlie locked down in a press and being branded. Burt in an ever-shrinking* *invisible box. Fragments of Phobos's armor on the floor--* Maria hunched in on herself. "Yes," Trashman. "You did it." "But... and this is important, Maria... you were under the influence of mental coercion." Healer sounded more compassionate than Trashman did. But then, everyone did. "I wasn't mind controlled." "That's true," Healer said. "But you were being subjected to stimuli much greater than people can normally process. That, plus your normal state of sensory deprivation..." Maria swallowed. "Ma'am... I... I have to ask..." Healer paused. "Yes?" "Why... why don't you heal me? Of my powers. I mean... they say you can do that." A shadow crossed Healer's face. "I can, yes," she said. "More properly, I can normalize and remove the psiological triggers within the mind that allow for powers to be harnessed and controlled. I can't revert physical conditions. Ironically... if you had control over your mirror force, I could heal you of it. Since you don't, all I could do is make it even harder for you to control it." Maria stared, then looked down. "Of course," she said. "To be frank, Miss Mendez, your case is neither cut nor dry," Nouveau Skunk said. "It's obvious you weren't operating in a normal state of mind, and as obvious you were under a program of conditioning as potent as any brainwashing I've ever heard of. Resisting would be nigh impossible. Dangerousgirl herself reported on Sensation's powers--" Maria snorted. "I didn't *resist*," she said. "After... after we spent the night together, he made it clear that he'd make me feel good if I helped and hurt me if I didn't. And... I didn't care. I preferred the pleasure to the pain but even the pain was better than..." She took a breath. "I *cooperated.* And the more he rewarded me, the more I cooperated. And so help me God if he were here right now and he told me to kill all three of you I would do it in a heartbeat." "We know," Trashman said. Healer looked somber. "Maria... conditioning techniques work best when you don't feel like you're being conditioned. You remember cooperating, but that was after a night of being overstimulated in ways quite frankly none of us can imagine. I've been your teacher for some time. I hope I've been your friend, too. And the woman I've gotten to know wouldn't do the things you did." "Then maybe you don't know me." "Maybe we don't," Trashman said. "And you're right about one thing. Whether or not you were conditioned, you made *choices*, Maria. Even at the end, you only turned on Random Encounters because Sensation was killed--" Maria winced, looking away. *Dead... and with him any hope of--* Trashman paused, then continued. "You made choices. And they do have consequences. Serious ones. And you are clearly a danger. To others, and to yourself. We're not going to pretend otherwise." "The question," Nouveau Skunk said, picking up the thread, "is whether or not your choices meet the criteria of criminal acts. You were undoubtedly under mental coercion. Was it enough to explain your choices?" "Ask Healer," Maria muttered. "She could answer that much, at least." "Not in a legal sense," Healer said. "Even if the answer were clear to me -- which it probably wouldn't be. It's nowhere near easy to work out motivation even when you can examine a psyche directly. In the end... it's about our judgement." "If I were your defense counsel," Nouveau Skunk said, "I would absolutely be driving for acquittal. I think there is unquestionable 'reasonable doubt' surrounding your actions. And if you do go to trial, I'm likely to *be* your defense counsel." "I can't afford you," Maria said. "All my money came from Burt." "I'd work pro bono. It's important that you know that. And even if you elected to plead guilty, I'd move to strike your plea on mental health grounds. Would it work? I've no idea." "He's right," Trashman said. He was still cool. Clearly he wasn't here to be 'good cop.' "If you go to trial, there's an excellent chance you would be acquitted, or at the very least remanded to mental health services. But it would still be on your record, and no matter how 'unquestionable' Skunk's 'reasonable doubt' is, whether or not a jury agreed is far from certain." "We've been talking with officials," Healer said. "With authorities and experts, with Academy personnel, and with... your former teammates." Maria closed her eyes. There it was. She knew it, of course, but there was that confirmation. Maria Mendez. Mirror Maid. Reflective Lass. Reflects. Member of the Teen Team, of Mason's Mazin' Mob... and now of nothing at all. Healer let Maria absorb the impact of her words. "Frankly... we all agree on one thing, Maria. We all agree that it doesn't serve the needs of justice or of your former teammates and the crimes committed against them for you to be thrown in the Really-Really-Hard-To-Get-Out-Of-Place. You did some terrible things. But you also had terrible things done *to* you. You're a victim too." Maria snorted. "Not hardly. I'd think you two--" Nouveau Skunk didn't count for these purposes "--would understand better than most. When I fought Dangerousgirl I was *trying* to kill her. And I *loved it*. I wanted her to *die*." Trashman continued to look at Maria -- that piercing gaze... those scary eyes. "Interesting," he said, softly. "I could say the exact same thing, only about Dangerous*man*. It's... oddly satisfying to smack that smug overconfident look off their nuclear powered faces, isn't it?" Maria blinked, looking shocked. Healer and Nouveau Skunk looked equally surprised. "Isn't it?" Trashman asked, quietly. "...yes," she said. "God, I did so much to the people I love most in the world..." her voice broke. "But driving into Dani with all my strength and power... I *loved* it." "Yes, you did," Trashman said. "And I loved punching Dangerousman. But I wouldn't have done it had I not been under mental duress, my usual restraint suppressed. And when I was confronted by Dangerousgirl's wife, and I told her that... she reminded me that Dangerousman himself had spent his life being conditioned into seeing the world in terms of goals and acceptable losses." Trashman cocked his head slightly, still looking at her. "He's gotten better, and so have I. If you want so badly to go to prison, I'm sure you could talk your way into it. Getting better instead... would be harder. More painful. And it would mean being confronted with former friends, teammates, and loved ones. And don't kid yourself... even if Nobody, Melody, Momentum, Mighty Dog, Hellfire, Mental, Phobos, Dreamweaver, Mime Man, and Summer all agreed that you deserved a chance to better yourself... even if they all agree that you were under mental coercion... most of them *hate* you. And what we're offering will mean *seeing* that, day in and day out. And the other Academy students aren't feeling very charitable about you either." Maria stared for a moment, then looked at Healer. "The Academy?" "We would be bringing you in under similar conditions as Momentum," Healer said. "Albeit with greater restrictions, at least at first. Assuming the courts agree, but they're likely to do so, given the Mob's assent. And Trashman's right. There'd be no hiding from what happened. But that also means having the chance to make it right. For yourself and for them." "Miss Mendez," Nouveau Skunk said, "I believe quite firmly that you can be a great, great hero. I believe that with Healer's teaching and counseling and therapy -- and oh yes, you would be going into therapy as part of this -- you can get past this and end up stronger than you were before. But the process? Will *suck*." "It's not fair to the others," Maria said. "They shouldn't... they shouldn't have to see me..." * ⸘"Don't flatter yourself, Mendez."‽* Maria jumped, her leg hitting the floor directly which caused her to skid to the side frictionlessly, until she bounced off the bed she hadn't used. Healer and Nouveau Skunk looked surprised, too. Trashman was the only one to not look away from Maria. Maria stared at the woman in the black robes and hooded cloak. The woman who had been one of her best friends in the world for years and years -- who'd always been on her side, who'd always been close, and compassionate, and warm. Maria didn't see any of that, now. "Samantha," she choked out. * ⸘"Dreamweaver,"‽ *Dreamweaver said, firmly. *⸘"Don't fool yourself, Ms.* *Mendez. You're not on a first name basis with any of us. Not any more. And* *before you feel too much relief that I'm here, bear in mind I'm 'here'* *because Mental is helping me perceive things and I'm casting an illusion of* *myself down there. I'm in a hospital bed. They had to drive a tube through* *my throat to save my life. My life, and the lives of my children. We're not* *forgiving you for that, Ms. Mendez. Not by a long shot."‽* "That's... that's why I shouldn't--" *⸘"Shouldn't what? Force us to see you? See the reminder of what* *happened to us? You'd like that. It'd be easy. You'd be able to avoid us.* *Well... except maybe in your dreams."‽* Dreamweaver's chin went up. *⸘"You* *don't get off that easily. We all agreed you should have this chance. If any* *of us had said no, then they wouldn't be offering you this path. That* *doesn't mean any of us forgive you. That doesn't mean all of us... or any of* *us... ever will. No, you get to see us. You get to be reminded of your* *choices, and what they did to us. You get to have the reminder, day in and* *day out, of everything you had and lost."‽ *She paused again. *⸘"And maybe,* *just maybe, you get to make up for some of it. It's your choice. But don't* *you dare use us as a convenient excuse for why you won't try. You don't get* *that easy out."‽ *She rose into the air. *⸘"Do it or don't. It's your choice,* *not ours. Sleep tight."‽* And then Dreamweaver was gone. Healer took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was inappropriate--" "No it wasn't," Trashman said. "I knew they were doing it. Mental was seeing through my eyes." Healer blinked. "What?" "There probably won't be a Mob any more. We know that--" Maria blinked. Oh no. **Oh no*.* "--but for now there is, and they haven't formally removed her from it. For this one last moment, she was still a Mobster, and they had both a right and a responsibility to see how she was being treated and what she was being offered." He paused. "And I have been informed that they have now made a decision, and Miss Mendez has officially been expelled from Mason's Mazin' Mob, with prejudice. And Mental has dropped his connection to me following that." Healer was still staring at Trashman. She then looked back. "Well," she said. "That being said--" Maria looked down. "I don't... they fired me. I deserved it. But I don't have to do what they say." "No, you don't," Nouveau Skunk said. "And even if you were acquitted or remanded to other mental health services, you wouldn't need to serve any of that here." Maria nodded. "I'll do it," she whispered. "I agree." Trashman nodded. "I figured you would." "You should think it over," Healer said. "You're going to be held until we can have that court date, but I'll be down to work with you." "And I'll go over your options with you," Nouveau Skunk said. "All of them. And if you want a public defender as well, we'll have one brought in." Maria nodded. "Okay." "I'll be back later," Healer said. "Sure." Maria watched them go. She closed her eyes. They mentioned Melody in the list of Mobsters. Was she-- were they... no, they said they were breaking up... Maria's eyes opened. Wait. There was a name they *didn't* mention. "JOEL?" she half-whispered. «Yeah, Miss Mendez?» the Xolchaintellect responded. He'd been more formal with her since she was first confined than she'd ever heard him be with anyone. "How's..." she swallowed. "How's Jenny?" There was no reason JOEL should ever need to pause -- he thought so much faster than human brains could, after all... but pause he did. «I'm afraid that information is confidential,» he answered. «Do you need anything, Miss Mendez?» "...no. No I don't." * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Thursday Morning* * (Eastern)* * Palm Beach, FL* Inside a studio, inside a building, a man spoke into a microphone. He was recovering from accidental injuries, and he was speaking on political topics. More than one caller into the show said he sounded clearer and more focused than he had in some time, which confused him slightly though he thanked them. On the roof of a studio, a man in armor, a cape, and a mask was looking down, seeing through the roof to where the man was talking. There was a rush of air. The Masked Bruce looked up, accelerating his speed and perceptions. "Hey there," the Dash said. She was his friend, his teammate, and his girlfriend, not necessarily in that order. He was one of the very few who could understand her, whether she was at full speed or not. He was one of only two people who could talk with her normally without her needing to take special care. "Watching him?" "Watching him," the Masked Bruce confirmed, looking back down. He created an image so the Dash could as well, though of course at their speed he looked immobile. "It doesn't seem fair -- him just... going back to his life." "He didn't," the Masked Bruce said. "I've confirmed it. He has literally had every trace of 'Random Encounters' wiped away. All his occult knowledge. All the Mob's secrets. All his obsessions. The man who nearly killed them is gone. He's now effectively the man who would have existed without that terrible past. For all intents and purposes, Random Encounters was executed." The Dash shivered. "I'm not sure that's better. So he's not..." "Evil?" the Masked Bruce shrugged. "He's a blowhard, and he's got opinions. I don't like some of them. Is he evil? Ask a priest. But the objectively evil force that tormented the Mob is just *gone.* And there's no reason anyone will ask any questions -- since his public life is going on as per normal." "That's... a pretty dense ethical minefield for us to be walking in," the Dash said. "Is it?" The Masked Bruce looked at his hand, which was glowing golden with the Oanthet's power. "Would it be better if he'd been executed? Or if he'd told the world the Mob's secrets?" "Does that justify what was done to him?" "I'm less worried about him. But he's not suffering. If anything, he's happier now than he was before. 'Random Encounters' was pretty miserable all the time. Healer was right about how the dark power he studied had corrupted him." The Dash watched the Masked Bruce for a long moment. "So you're a telepath, now?" "Mm? Oh, yeah. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, right?" "Sure." She touched his arm. "What are you thinking about?" "Just... one little change was made, Jane. Healer reached out and made one little change, and now the Mob is safe, and the evil is destroyed forever, and even he's happier and more content." He looked at the glow coming off his hand. "You say it's an ethical minefield, but who loses out because of this?" "Arguably, Random Encounters." "A monstrous creature influenced by fel arcane knowledge who spent years trying and in a couple cases succeeding at killing teenagers. I'm not seeing the downside." "I don't... I'm not saying there is one. But it's still... we're not Gods. Not you, or me, or Healer. And this... makes me nervous." The Masked Bruce nodded, then frowned. "What?" "Something you said." He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just... what would it mean to the world if we could wipe out evil -- not just beat it back, but eliminate it at the root, without having to take lives?" "I don't know if anyone should ever have that kind of power, Mike." "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." "Anyway -- I've got to get to Europe. There's six hundred and nine different tasks on my task list--" "Yeah. Go. I'll cook dinner." He grinned. Jane smiled, and with a rush of speed she was gone. The Masked Bruce let speed move back to normal, and looked at the man once more. "But if you already *have* that kind of power..." He looked at his glowing hand once more. He would have to think about this. [End of Part E. Part F follows.] -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From sabre at annotations.com Wed Sep 5 23:41:33 2018 From: sabre at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Thu, 6 Sep 2018 02:41:33 -0400 Subject: (f/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part F Message-ID: [Beginning of Part F] *¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Wednesday Afternoon* * (Eastern)* * A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.* * B Tower Lift* * Boston, MA* Mental was tired. It had been the longest week of his life -- which, given the literal decades he spent completely alone in the Wasteland, was saying something. But... it was getting better. Samantha was doing better. Roger and Melody had at least tentative plans to stop being two beings in one body. Charlie was recovering well. Burt had gotten his sense of humor back. Even Phobos was doing well -- Summer having a lot to do with that. And yes, they were working out the particulars of both repairing Stately Ward Manor and closing up the Mob's outstanding business, but even those weren't *too* bad. Really, if it wasn't for how depressed Hellfire was and the fact that Maria... *existed*... he'd be doing just fine. But... he knew he'd get over it with time, and hopefully Hellfire would too. He was glad they were going to try and help her. He wasn't happy she'd be around the Chick-Mouse, but he could endure it. The lift doors opened, and Mental stepped inside. "So... where exactly am I going, JOEL?" «You know, most people ask that question before they get in an elevator.» "I am so not most people." «And, well, we're goin' up to twelve, where we have the cybernetics lab. It's where we have Jenny's support system going and stuff like that.» "And that's why I'm on my way up there? Jenny-stuff?" «Well, yeah. See, you're more or less in charge of Mob stuff right now, and Jenny's Phobos and Summer's daughter, but since we still don't have Xolchaportation to Team M.E.C.H.A.'s old place back up and running they can't just zap over here. And we want to discuss a couple of options, and you're the best person to do that with because of all the stuff I just said.» "Of course. She's all right, isn't she?" «Oh, yeah. She's still in a sleep-mode state, but she's healthy -- when we have stuff built for her, she'll be able to move right in, no data integrity lost.» "Thank God." He paused. "We're absolutely sure, right? I mean, I trust you but--" «Hey -- I've woken her up, briefly. She's okay.» "Wait -- you have? How? She doesn't have a processing... JOEL... did you... run Jenny as an instance on your system?" «I got the idea from Roger and Melody! It works fine, but we don't want to take any chances, and since the stuff we need to talk about requires some serious thought I don't want my opinions to prejudice the process. No worries! And you want room B-1202.» "Right. Right. Sure thing." Mental stepped out onto the twelfth floor of B-Tower. It had more of a hum than a lot of floors. He knew this wasn't where JOEL's core processors were, but there was still a huge amount of Xolchaprocessing gear up here. It had that overly dry, weirdly echoey sound that computer rooms with computer-room-quality HVAC have. He opened the door to B-1202, and stepped inside. Two women were sitting at a table. They both rose. One he sort of recognized -- she was in a black uniform with the distinctive outline of Texas on a patch on her shoulder and insignia of various sorts on her front -- which as a married man he elected not to stare at too long. Beyond that, she was a startlingly hot redhead, which itself was another reason not to stare. The other one-- The other one was a brunette, with olive skin and long brown hair and epicanthic folds on her eyes, and Mental didn't even feel badly staring at her. She was like a sledgehammer to the endocrine system. *}}Oh me oh my,{{* Samantha said over their telepathic link, amused. *}}I just knew one day you'd finally find my replacement. I just* *didn't expect--{{* *{{Hush,}}* he sent back. *{{I'd be embarrassed but look at her!}}* * }}I am. I don't blame you at all, husband mine. But I'm going to tease* *you mercilessly because I can.{{* "Mental?" The redhead had a Scottish brogue. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Shauna Campbell of the PDFOHS -*Alamo's Revenge's Revenge*.- We've been consulting with JOEL on various projects since the Satanic invasion, and he had a few ideas that he started discussing with us after Jenny was taken offline." "It's nice to meet you," Mental said, shaking her hand. "You seriously went with 'Mental' as a callsign?" the other one asked. "I'm an authority on stupid names and that? Absolutely takes the cake." "It's... nice to meet you too," he said, "Miss--" She smiled an unsettling smile. "Vogel. Miss Radar Vogel." Mental blinked. "Your name is Radar?" "My parents had an unholy love of the television program *M*A*S*H*." "Yeah, you don't get to tease me about my name." Radar grinning, giggling. The giggle was even more unsettling. "Oh, I get to tease you about anything I want." Campbell rolled her eyes. "Radar is part of our crew as well -- she works in the Unholy Abominations Engineering Cluster." "...that's quite a nickname," Mental said. Campbell and Radar looked at each other, then at Mental. "Nickname?" Radar asked. "...okay. Now that we've set a tone... may I ask what's going on and how it involves Jenny." "Oh, that's simple! I'm going to EXPERIMENT ON HER BRAIN!" Radar shouted. There was a pause. "No you're not," Mental said. "Aw, please?" «It's not really experimenting on her brain,» JOEL said. «See, here's the thing. Jenny's one of the most complex CI's on the planet, and because of the nature of her creation she's not exactly someone you can back up.» "I remember," Mental said. "Vividly." «But redundancy's important, and we're not going to let something like this happen again, cause this sucked.» JOEL sounded a bit intense. Mental had sort of suspected the two computer intelligences had been getting interested in each other before now -- but he didn't realize it was quite this serious. As it was, JOEL sounded.... Well, sort of like Mental sounded when Samantha was nearly killed. "...I don't think you can colocate her," Mental said. "I mean... there's a nanotech side to this and that includes some kind of... *thing* from Summer that..." "'Thing?'" Radar asked, arching an eyebrow. "Uh -- I'm not a computer science kind of--" "No, I like that. We have to *colocate Jenny's Thing!*" She paused. "Wait, that's dirty." «You're right,» JOEL said. «There are aspects to Jenny's personality that came from Summer's direct interface that can't be expressed in technological terms, and that means she's limited in what can be done. She already has some colocation between Stately Ward and the MECHA base, but that can get weird. So we needed a way of creating that kind of bridge.» "Which is where we come in," Campbell said. "Radar's not just a mad scientist. She's one of the most brilliant minds of Altiverse 001SF." "That doesn't begin to describe me!" Radar shouted. "I unlock the very cosmos! I am the *foremost Spamologist for the entire multiverse!*" She paused. "Don't ask about the other threemost." "Wait -- you're foremost, now?" Campbell asked. "Yeah, well, Bing retired and then started drinking this... stuff... that he got from Ralph--" "I believe you. Did you get even shoutier, by the way? Linda says you never used to be so--" "Oh yeah. I upped my brain game, and that means more madness. Plus I'm showing off for the cute superhero." "Isn't he a little young for you?" "My last boyfriend was a time traveller." "Um, I'm married--" Mental said. Radar smiled. "I adore how you think that matters." There was a ripple, and Dreamweaver's illusionary self appeared. *⸘"I* *adore a lot of things. Dreamweaver. Nice to meet you."‽* Radar paused, looking Dreamweaver up and down. "Hm...." "...Radar...." Campbell said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Jeez. Anyway. I'm an insane scientist who works with Spam in all its raw four-dimensional glory, and I've only grown more brilliant and insane with time." *⸘"Wait... are mad scientists supposed to admit to being insane?"‽* Dreamweaver asked. "Well... of course." Radar said. "If I couldn't admit it, how could I harness it? It does no good to overclock the processor if you then run 8 bit emulators on the thing." «That is so not how that works.» "All right." Mental said. "Can we please get back to how this affects Jenny?" «Well, it ties back in. We need to create a bridge that bends time and space in ways that don't normally happen, that she can use as an escape hatch. And, you know -- it'd be a potential retirement option for me too.» *⸘"This thing will work on Xolchatech?"‽* Dreamweaver asked. "This thing *uses* Xolchatech," Radar said, her malevolent grin growing. "Which I then can apply to Spamology!" *⸘"Oh, hey, that sounds safe."‽* "The ultimate goal is to create redundant safe cells for Jenny that she can move between, observing them all independently and able to revest herself between them." Campbell unrolled a blueprint on a nearby table. "For maximum capability, this includes the most advanced mobile computational frame." Mental paused. "Most advanced... on Earth? On your ship?" "The most advanced," Radar said. "It doesn't need to be qualified." Campbell tapped the blueprint. "It's called the Full Body Prosthesis, mark one, gynoid type. It runs on an ABPSARI core which also gives it multiversal and temporal capacity, it has extradimensional spaces that can be purpose driven, it includes a wide variety of scanning and weapons technologies... and a bunch of stuff we stole off a guy named Natchwald." "And... it's *cute.*" Radar pointed at the corner, where the FBP-1g was depicted. *⸘"It's... an android body? That Jenny could host herself in?"‽* Dreamweaver sounded stunned. "It's an android body that Jenny could host herself in... while also being resident in microcells in your mansion, that other base, here in JOEL's place, maybe an extra bank on the *-Alamo's Revenge's Revenge-*..." Campbell grinned. "It's nothing of the sort!" Radar shouted. "It's a *gynoid* body! Androids are male! Or sometimes genderless!" "And the thing is, the prototype is one thing," Campbell said, "but if this works, we could potentially use it as durable medical equipment in extreme circumstances." "Meaning...?" Mental asked. *⸘"Meaning they could potentially stick a mortally wounded human being's* *psyche and soul in a gynoid body before their body died,"‽* Dreamweaver said, eyes wide. "Naturally," Radar said. "We're calling it a Full Body Prosthesis for a *reason‽." "So... to sum up..." Mental said. "You want permission to build Jenny a new system... that will include multiple paradimensionally bridged sites..." Mental said, eyes wide. *⸘"And let her interact as a gynoid without actually removing her from* *her installations,"‽* Dreamweaver murmured. *⸘"So she'll be the CI for Stately* *Ward and the MECHA base, have a backup here, and also be able to tag along* *with me on a trip to the mall?"‽* «Essentially? Yeah. So. Can we do it?» Mental and Dreamweaver looked at each other. "We'll get back to you," they said in unison. "Ugh," Radar said. "Prudence is the enemy of innovation!" "I am so on your side here," Campbell said to Mental and Dreamweaver. "Thanks," Mental said. "We... need to talk about this with Phobos and Summer. Can we borrow that blueprint?" Radar drew a DIESCUM pistol out of a concealed holster. "Let me think about that." The pistol flew out of her hand and set itself on the table, well away from Radar. "Ugh. Telekinesis. I can tell working with you people's going to be a *drag.*" * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Wednesday Afternoon* * (Eastern)* * A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.* * B Tower Medium Detention Level* * Boston, MA* Maria had finally slept. She'd curled up in a ball in the middle of the floor. She was staying down. Standing was too difficult in her bare feet, and she had nowhere to go anyway. She'd had some broth too -- not that it mattered, since she couldn't taste it. Mostly, she just stared. The door to the detention block opened. There were footsteps, and a flicker of light from that side of the room. Maria froze. **Oh God... no... no please...** Her visitor walked up to the front of the containment cell. Her head was wreathed in flames. The rest of her was sealed into a golden and copper bodysuit. She had been standing next to Maria when Maria went from being super powered to being trapped in her mirrored form. Like Maria, her life as she knew it had ended. The shared incident had driven them together -- she was the closest friend Maria had ever had. Closer than Phobos, even. "Hello, Maria," Hellfire said, softly. In her right gloved hand she was holding a canvas bag. "Hello, Hellfire," Maria answered, as softly. Hellfire looked around. "Do they... do they not give you anything to do in here?" "They offered. I don't really want to do anything." "I know what that's like." Hellfire looked at Maria. "You trapped me in a metal tube." "Yes." "You trapped me and sealed me inside a metal tube, that you then were entombing in concrete, letting my flames die down to below an ember." "Yes, I did." "You were going to leave me there forever, ironically forcing me into sensory deprivation even worse than yours." "Yeah." "You knew that's what would happen, and you did it anyway." "Yes." She nodded. "You stabbed Tim in the stomach and threw a walking brain at him, after you made him think that his whole life was a delusion. You nailed Samantha with allergens and spiked her epipen, so that she'd have no chance of survival. Her and her unborn twin daughters. You literally helped them brand and poison Charlie, trapped Burt in a box made out of his own powers, strapped Melody and Roger into an artifact that was literally tearing their souls to shreds, and I don't even want to talk about Phobos." Maria nodded. "I did all those things." "And all because some guy made you orgasm." Maria paused, then nodded. "Yes." Hellfire looked at her for a long moment. "Don't do that again," Hellfire said, slightly choked up. "That's over the line. Okay?" Maria blinked. "Okay." "I mean it. Never again." "All right." She paused. "Except... I don't know if I can keep that promise. If he were here right now--" "Wah wah. Suck it up, Maria. Don't do that again." Maria looked at Hellfire, then nodded. "I'll try." "Okay." She took a deep breath. "Okay. I brought you some real clothes. Slippers we can tighten after they're on. A loose bodysuit. JOEL's going to let me in and you're going to let me help you get dressed. I'm afraid it has... um... a convenience flap. Because getting it back on if you took it off to--" "...I get it. Right. Hellfire... I... I don't... I don't deserve..." "Damn right you don't! But I'm not your friend because you deserve it, you idiot. Now strip." She paused. "That came out wrong." Maria, despite herself, snickered. "You think?" "Little bit of a feeling, yeah." Hellfire paused. "Are you crying?" "...I can cry if I want to." "I'm not arguing. I'm just jealous. My tears just evaporate." Hellfire's smile was clear even through the flames. "I am pretty pissed at you, you know." "I know." "Cool." * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* * Friday Evening* * (Pacific)* * Blue Moon Tavern* * Seattle, WA* "Is there a ramen place in Seattle? I could *really* go for real ramen, and some food would do you good while you're drinking the gallon of water I'm going to pour down your drunken throat." Chalandra sounded amused. "Chal? Tell me again why you bother eating?" "Ramen is its own reward, Liz." "Right. Koraku should be open. There's usually a wait." "I'm eternal. Is there a dress code?" "At Koraku? I think they require shoes and demand you cover your shame." "Oh, well. I'll never get in then." Chalandra waved the server over, getting out her black card. "That's okay. We can wander the International District and get picked up as vagrants." "Now *that* is a party." Chalandra nodded as the server took her card to be run. "Faith would never have transcended without you, Liz." Elizabeth blinked. "What?" Chalandra turned to face her. "Just what I said. Why did it take Akane's death for Faith to transcend? Because he loved her and he had to push beyond or she'd die. If it had been you, he'd have done the same thing. But it wasn't you because you never died on his watch. Thanks to him, your general awesomeness, and the rest of us, I'd add -- Hell, even Akane had to metaphorically seduce a guy into shooting her in the head. But if you hadn't been with Faith all those years... if you hadn't given him everything you gave and gotten everything he offered? He'd never had found the will. Akane would have just died. And Faith... I don't even know what would have happened to him, but it would have been a disaster. "Faith transcended because you made it possible. And the Mob all survived the worst day of their lives because you taught them how to survive the worst day of their lives, coupled with showing up when they needed you, without fail and without complaint. Without you and that school, Dangerousgirl and the Dash would never have been there in the first place, Momentum would have fallen into that trap and they'd all be dead now." Chalandra slipped out of her seat, prompting Elizabeth to do the same. "And to cap it all off, you put yourself on the line to save them. So maybe you weren't the lionized hero at the center of it all. Maybe you didn't die so Faith could transcend. Maybe the papers won't put up a headline saying 'Healer boldly saves the Mob.' You have to get over that. Because God damn it, you made it all possible. Believe me. I don't show up in Seattle on a Friday Night and go to a dive bar instead of the Fenix for a loser." She poked Elizabeth in the center of the chest. "I got *out* of this business, remember?" Elizabeth nodded. "Okay. Okay, yeah." "Good." Chalandra signed the slip the server brought back, tipping perhaps a bit overly much. "So I've always been this... needy-narcissistic?" The two were walking to the door. Elizabeth seemed more on an even keel now. "Kinda. It's all our fault, really. We totally should have gotten you a catchphrase." "A what?" "A catchphrase. Trust me, Liz -- the first time you heard Key and Yury shout 'it's not my fault' you had the *worst* catchphrase envy. Frankly, it was a little embarrassing." Elizabeth laughed. "Well, yeah. Their catchphrase was awesome. And if I so desperately wanted to be the center of attention -- you had to admit they got a lot of attention for that catchphrase." "Usually bad attention. Or the real attention came from their jiggling as they shouted it. You and I both had the bad habit of going into battle while wearing clothes." "Oh come on. You saw my first uniform." "And I didn't throw up. So you know my will is iron. Seriously. Studded back panels and feathered hair?" "I was trying to be cool!" "Yeah, well. Swing and a miss." She grinned as they stepped out into the cool Seattle night air. "Hey, Liz?" She smirked a bit. "Yeah?" Chalandra bit her lip conspiratorially. "Do you still have that Healer-kini Key got you?" "The red and white HotFlash and MeltDown thing? Why would I possibly keep that atrocity?" "Yeah, but do you?" "...yes." The two walked down the street, towards where they could grab a cab to the International District. Chalandra grinned. "I kept mine too. How is it of the three of us, Akane was the only one to wear hers where people could see?" "She bet against Team Cynical in their softball game with the Awesome Force." "Right! That's right. Who'd be stupid enough to do that?" "As I recall? You. Did you ever finish restocking and cataloging Badass's armory?" Chalandra had a reply, which made Elizabeth laugh, but it was too far away for someone standing in front of the Blue Moon Tavern to hear. * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* You say you're tired How I hate to hear you use that word Every time it hurts You say you're tired How I hate to hear you use that word Everybody hurts Who am I to say I know the way you feel? I've felt your pain And I know your sorrow You could try to let the past slip away Live for today Don't stop believing in tomorrow. --Warren Zevon, "Never Too Late For Love" * ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤* CREDITS The Teen Team, Mason's Mazin' Mob, Phobos, Mental, Mighty Dog, Dreamweaver, Roger Nobody, Melody Pernicious, Mime Man, Maria Mendez, and Sensation were created by Mason L. Kramer Random Encounters was a parody derivative character created by Mason L. Kramer under fair use for satirical purposes. Mighty Guy was created by Eric Burns-White and appears courtesy of Gary W. Olson Elizabeth Tirkoff and Chalandra Harkness were created by Gary W. Olson Special Special Agent Richard Less was created by Chris Wilcox Andy Awesome and Anne Enger were created by Dominic White Nouveau Skunk was created by Robert "The Beez" Beeler Dangerousman was created by William R. Dickson Radar Vogel was created by Jeff Smith Shauna Campbell was created by Frank Orzechowicz The Superguy List is a shared comedic universe with a collaborative shared history which is referenced and subsequently influenced by this work. We gratefully acknowledge the dozens of Superguy and Sfstory Authors who made and make this possible. Annotations and Notes for this story can be found at https://superguy-list.livejournal.com/38243.html With thanks to Gary Olson for his review and assistance, and the generous availability of Chalandra Harkness. Cybernetics and other technical support graciously provided by Matthew Gerber. Bruce Rogers's suits provided by Botany 500 in exchange for this promotional announcement. Trudy Galloway did not appear in this story but we have to pay her appearance fee and second bill her anyway. Her agent is amazing. -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: