3.03

Furor 3.02

The Fugly Bob's Challenger was a massive meal. An extra large three segmented toasted and buttered sesame seed bun housed three foot wide all beef patties, three slices each of cheddar, Colby jack, and Swiss cheese, ketchup, mustard, mayo, relish, barbecue sauce, two kinds of bacon, fried onions, red onions, lettuce, tomato, pickles, mushrooms, and some of the secret sauce that goes on the hideous bob. It is sliced into six manageable portions, each the size of a normal sandwich, and comes served with an extra large orders of fries, a medium order of onion rings, an extra large soda, and a large milkshake. It's blatantly impossible to finish. Fugly Bob's really uses it more for the spectacle than a fair challenge. Drunk people, stupid people, and crazy people kept trying it and kept paying out when they failed.

I smiled at the terrified waiter/master of ceremonies who was setting the dish and it's sides in front of me. It was actually a bit funny in a twisted kind of way. The man and three of his coworkers had drawn straws behind the counter over which of them would serve us.

"Y-yes, well," The man began, "The rules are simple, if you finish the Challenger in one sitting, it's free. There's no time limit, but if you fail to finish within business hours, you forfeit. Should you be caught sharing so much as a single fry, your forfeit. Should you leave the restaurant under any circumstances, you forfeit. Should you forfeit, or-or otherwise fail to finish the Challenger, you must pay the full price." With that said, he quickly left the dining back to wherever the staff goes.

"Empress," Tattletale said hesitantly, "are you sure you want to eat that thing?"

"Tattletale," I answered, "do you have any idea how long it's been since I've eaten something that didn't come out of the snack aisle of a convenience store? If I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna over do it." I punctuate that sentence with a bite of overloaded burger, savoring the mix of savory flavors and spices.

Every so often I'd get hints of morbid curiosity or fear or feelings like that from the other people in the restaurant. I'd been getting feelings like that all afternoon, but at least people had stopped screaming and running away by the time we got here. Yeah, I didn't want to scare anybody, but it really wasn't my fault that the so called heroes went on the news and branded me a violent lunatic. Honestly, I know that villains are scary but we were just three girls and a dog. Still, I figured that if today went well, there'd be fewer scared people later. I took another bite of the colossal burger, hoping that acting normal would set them at ease. That was why I had a tank top and shorts on. That's why Tattletale had a jacket on over her costume, and that's why Bitch only brought the one dog.

Tattletale had been polite, and waited to start on her plain cheeseburger until the challenger had been finished and brought out to me. Bitch had scarfed down half of her bacon cheeseburger within minutes of getting to the table, feeding the other half to Angelica, who had been sitting under the table

"So," Tattletale said after taking her first bite, "how are you liking the clothes I picked out for you, Empress?"

I looked down at the backless tank top he'd gotten me. "They're not the kind of thing I used to wear, But I like them, thanks." I smiled at her, and then popped an onion ring into my mouth.

Tattletale smiled back, "good, I'm glad." She ate a fry and then continued, "so, any idea what you want to do for our next job?"

Seriously? This was supposed to be a normal day out. I could feel some of our eavesdroppers startle a bit at her blunt question and… she winked at me, what--oh. I see her game.

"Nothing like robbing a bank," I answered, playing along, "too much frustration, not enough targets for the frustration. Why can't we steal from Empire Eighty-Eight or the Azn Bad Boyz? I wouldn't feel bad about taking their money."

"Because Empress, if we only fought villains, then we'd be heroes," Tattletale answered as though though the answer was obvious.

"So? You two and the others have been great friends in the time I've known you," I replied, "but I never wanted to be a villain in the first place." I took a sip from my soda before I continued, "if it wasn't suddenly illegal to have a panic attack after your trigger? I'd probably be a hero right now."

"Aww," Tattletale says, feigning some kind of disappointed sounding emotion, "but you make such a good villain."

"I'll take that as a complement," I said genuinely, "but again it wasn't like I had a choice." I stuffed a few fries in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "Besides, we could probably do a better job than the actual heroes now that I think about it."

"Hmm, I can see where you're going with that." Tattletale replied, "but I don't much see the point."

I shrugged in time for Bitch to say with a too wide smile, "I'm always up for fucking up the Empire." I gave the redhead a friendly smile, though I suspect that she wasn't in on the blonde's plan.

Some people, not a lot, but some people who were in here with us were less scared, or at least felt that way. Judging from the clicks or occasional flashes of lights I'd noticed, people were taking pictures. Hopefully this would make more people belive my side of the story and not the lies the PRT were saying about me.

Neither Tattletale nor Bitch seemed to have anything else to say, so I put all of my focus on devouring the mountain of food sitting before me.

I not too long later, I began to notice the morbid curiosity in the other patrons of Fugly Bob's had begun to grow even as their fear decreased, and was joined by confusion and... excitement? It was then that I realized that Tattletale and Bitch were among those emanating those emotions.

I turned and saw not only the crowd around us but the staff and my two friends staring at me. "What," I asked.

My blonde teammate pointed to the empty Soda cups, half drank milkshake, and third of a giant burger sitting in front of me. "Where did it go?"

I blinked. "I ate it," I said before taking another bite of the colossal sandwich.

Tattletale responded by poking me in the belly, then placing her hands around my midsection, as though trying to measure it.

"And where did it go after you ate it," she asked? She was practically radiating confusion at this point, and a little bit of fear. What did she have to be afraid of?

"Presumably my stomach," I deadpanned in reply.

"T-Empress," Tattletale began, "there is no way in hell that there is enough room in your stomach for that amount of food in that amount of time. It… Either your stomach acid is fluorine based," she continued, "or you're bigger on the inside than you are on the outside."

"And that sounds cool," I said, "but unless you're telling me that being able to eat more than I should be able to in one sitting also means I can eat as much of whatever I want without gaining weight, I don't see how it's relevant."

"I don't think that… son of a bitch."

I smiled, thinking of how much I was starting to love my powers, just in time for Bitch to perk up at Tattletale's statement. I laughed, before setting to finish doing the impossible.

Someone actually clapped when the last morsel disappeared down my throat. I turned to see a girl that I think I recognized from Winslow in the corner clapping. A couple of people joined her, but other people looked at the clappers like they were crazy. Well, at least I couldn't feel fear from anyone anymore, so I'll take it.

Fugly Bob's, being a fast food chain, you usually paid upfront, the Challenger being the exception, so we all just got up from our booth and started heading towards the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a dark skinned girl taking out her phone to snap a picture of Bitch and Angelica.

A man came out from the back room, and began heading our way, but Tattletale intercepted, walking over to him.

People were staring again. No one seemed scared, but without a mountain of food to devour, I had nothing to distract me from the many, many ways this could go wrong.

It was then that I noticed that there were a pair of PRT Agents in full armor and equipment standing at the main doorway, looking right at me. I stepped back, just a bit. I--Lisa had said they wouldn't do anything if we didn't do anything.

Bitch noticed them them just after I did. She whistled, prompting Angelica to snarl at the agents, and then took a stance and clenched her fists, clearly expecting a fight. I took a deep breath and after exhaling, I tried to take my most confident pose, but I faltered when people noticed that the PRT were here and moved to the far walls in fear, again, clearly expecting a fight to break out.

My fears, were assuaged when Tattletale returned to us. She simply smiled and walked right up to the PRT officers and said to them, "Gentlemen, I hope you realize that you're blocking the door."

The officers didn't respond, and while I couldn't see Tattletale's face, I could sense her growing more smug.

"Really now, my friends and I aren't starting anything," she said, "which means if any violence were to breakout, it would have to be because you started shit..." I could feel a few emotional shifts in the bystanders at her words, "and really? Right now we're just a couple of girls having a day out. The PRT starting violence around civilians… with a restaurant half full of witnesses? One hell of a PR nightmare, no?" She laughed. "So, why don't you stop blocking the door. It's rude."

The two agents looked to each other, then backed away. Tattletale motioned for us to come over to her, so I did, with Bitch and her dog following after.Furor 3.03

Paperwork was surely the bane of all who dealt with it, even for people like me who'd spent most of their lives doing it.. That was the downside of being a cape. Whenever you leave to do cape stuff, the crap from your day job builds up. Half the union, myself included, took off for two days because Mayor Christner called a favor, so... Learning that Mayor Christner would still be helping with Taylor helped raise my spirits and get me through it all, but even then making sure that forms were filled out correctly and signing them for hours on end… well, it was boring.

I was interrupted from my musings on the banality of paperwork by a tone from my computer, telling me that I was getting a video call. Probably from Dragon, she was the only one who contacted me this way, and a quick check proved that to be the case. I took a moment to make sure that my camera and mic were connected and answered.

"Hello, Mr. Hebert," said the image of Dragon on my screen. "How are you doing this afternoon?"

"Better than I was doing this morning," I answered, "but still not so good."

"Still worried about your daughter?," Dragon asked sympathetically.

"Among other things, yes." I answered.

"I've seen the news report on her… altercation with the Wards the other day," Dragon said in a hesitant manner, "it seems that the local media is on her side."

I gave a small smile. "And that helps, but until the people of this city and the PRT are on her side..."

"I feel for you, Mr. Hebert," Dragon continued, "and I know your local protectorate and PRT. Armsmaster and Director Piggot are stubborn, but they ultimately both want justice to prevail." The image on the screen smiled at me in turn. "If your daughter really is innocent, then as soon as the evidence of her innocence turns up, they'll do the right thing."

"If you say so." changing the subject, I asked "so to what occasion do I owe this call?"

The woman sitting in my browser window looked down, as though ashamed of herself for getting off topic. "I've called about your Tinker-Tech, Mr. Hebert, and what you're doing with it."

I raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"Yes… Can I let you in on a little secret, Mr. Hebert?" I nodded and she continued, "I'm not a Tinker by the strict definition of the term. I claim to be a specialist in replicating and combing Tinker-Tech, but by the strict mechanism of how my powers work, I'm more accurately a Thinker." The image on my screen cleared her throat, "my actual power let's me see what's missing out of Tinker-Tech."

I blinked. "You've lost me."

"Then let me explain," the woman on the other end of the videochat replied, "what we define as Tinker-Tech is advanced technology, far beyond that of normal human science, created by parahumans with a power that grants them advanced understanding of the sciences. However, there's always something missing. I've often studied laser weapons and found technology for new lenses, or new light bulbs or the like, but no viable power source, or a firing mechanism that was missing key pieces." To be honest, that was fascinating. I suddenly remembered how I'd overtime managed to halve the carbon emissions on my truck without changing the gas mileage. "The going theory is that, in addition to providing such advanced scientific knowledge, a Tinker's power somehow affects reality or probability to compensate for such gaps, and that this is part of the reason why most non-Tinkers can't replicate Tinker Technology. My Power let's me understand what's missing and compensate for it."

"That's very interesting Dragon," I began, "but what exactly does it have to do with my own technology?"

"I've examined the blueprints and samples you've sent in for approval quite intensively," Dragon began, "and while some of your technology, like your communicator, follows these norms… Most of it does not. The Gauss rifle you sent in, the armored construction suits, the… tank? I didn't notice it at first, but most of what you make isn't Tinker-Tech. It's just tech."

I'd sort of figured all of that, from the descriptions of Terran-Technology from dream discussions with Jim… Or his copy. I decided to play dumb. "And?"

"D-do you not realize just how significant that is, Mr. Hebert!?"

"Apparently not," I deadpanned, "would you care to explain?"

"Quite simply," began the woman projected on my monitor, "it means that your technology can be replicated by non-Tinkers." I was aware of this, and I nodded to show that. "It also means that by studying your technology, it might be possible for non-Tinkers to learn how to replicate other tinker-tech. With your help, Mr. Hebert, it becomes possible to revolutionize the world."

"And that's why you called." I said it as a statement, not a question, in an even tone. I could see the significance, but at the same time I was expecting some kind of catch.

"It is," Dragon replied. "After consulting other members of the Guild, and various PRT and Protectorate Tinkers, I've compiled a list of scientists and engineers who I'd like you, if you're willing, to teach about your technology."

"I'm not so sure I'm willing to do that," I answered. To be honest, I wasn't. Terran-Tech was mostly war machines, and to be honest I'm not even sure if what Dragon was saying was right.

"Well, of course you would get the final say on who does or does not get to learn about your technology," Dragon hastily added, and admittedly I found myself feeling more agreeable to the idea after that, "and that brings me to the other reason I called you."

"I'm listening."

"I understand that you've been selling your technology to your city's emergency response teams and public transportation sectors. I also understand that other cities and the main branch of the PRT have requested to make similar deals."

"This is correct." I idly wondered if Dragon somehow had access to the computers of other city government's or the PRT.

"I've been requested to approach you about a licensing deal," Dragon adjusted herself in her seat on her end, "I don't think it's a coincidence that I was asked just as you were starting to get requests of your own."

"I don't think it's very likely either. What do you mean by a licensing deal?" I had a vague idea what she meant. I'm no fool, she wants to buy the right to manufacture and sell my technology, but I want specifics. Which of my creations? And for what purpose?

"I would license rights to your technology, replicate and produce it, and sell it to cities and organizations," Dragon answered to the point, "not all of it, just what you yourself have sold or are planning to sell to city governments."

"How much… control, would I have," I asked, "over which cities and organizations received my tech?"

"You would have the final say. I can easily understand not wanting your technology to fall into wrong hands," Dragon continued. "Furthermore, the contracts would be open to renegotiation, so if a city or organization abused your technology, we could stop supplying them."

"What about… Selling here?"

"Nothing I produce will touch the Bay. I'll leave your hometown's distribution in your hands to be done as your current agreement dictates."

"And if I manage to begin mass production on my own?"

"As I've said," Dragon answered, "you would have final say on any city or organization I'd sell your technology to. If a market opened up that you'd prefer to handle personally, it would be as simple as telling me so."

"And the local PRT gets nothing?" It was petty of me, perhaps, but they'd already tried to bribe me with my daughter's safety. Turnabout was fair play, and knowing that they wouldn't get any of my tech might make the locals take my claims of Taylor's innocence more seriously.

"...That would have to be specifically negotiated with Chief-Director Costa-Brown," Dragon answered hesitantly. I'm not sure what answer I was expecting, but…

"And how would the profits from the sales be split?"

"I personally don't care about the money," Dragon replied, "but the Guild could always use more funding… I'm thinking 65-35 in your favor?"

I blinked. "Most people would try for more." Even if she personally didn't care about the money, she'd just said the guild could use the money, and to be honest I was curious about why she was offering me a deal so clearly biased in my favor.

"I'm not most people," Dragon said with a smile, "Police, hospitals, and fire departments having Tinker-Tech vehicles? Tinker Made armor for the police and maybe the PRT? These are the kinds of things that could save lives. That's what's important. I already said I didn't care about the money."

"Alright then… I'd need to see an actual contract first," I said, wanting to be sure there wouldn't be any unpleasant hidden details, "but I'm open to the idea."

"Very good Mr. Hebert. I'll draw up a preliminary contract and send it to you to look over, and then you can get back to me on your thoughts--Oh, and I'll send over the list of scientists too."

"Alright," I answered. "Now, if that's all, I've got paperwork fill out."

"Oh, of course. Goodbye Mr. Hebert."

"Goodbye Dragon."

The famous "Tinker" signed out of the chat after that, so I closed the window. I was just seconds away from getting back to work when I got a call on my communicator.

"Boss," Uber's voice sounded from the device, "I've made contact with your kid