1.24
Headway/Nexus Quest 1.21
Location: Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, United States of America, Earth, Sol, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Bet, Worm Multiverse, Worm-jcw3
Date: Thursday, December 9, 2010
Today, you spend a little time on something you've admittedly neglected recently, but for decent reasons. Computer skills haven't been relevant whatsoever on Earth-Mayim, they're at a higher level which means an exceptional difficulty in increasing, and you have better things to study. But you decide to give the skill another chance today. It's predictably disappointing, with another increase in Computer Maintenance, but none in any of the other categories of Computer Specialist. Still, you suppose that with the way Headway works, you'll have better odds next time.
Japanese...ugh. You thought you had this one in the bag! But nope. Through what you suppose is Headway laughing at your belief in yourself, you manage to bungle your way into seeing absolutely no increase in the language whatsoever. Still, you know that you'll be able to fully finish it next time. There's absolutely no chance of failure. You...you think you might have just jinxed it.
You spend a more productive period of time on boxing, and you see splendid increases in boxing and martial arts mastery, the former which brings it to superhuman levels, and the latter which is just generally useful. You continue with some exercise, but that doesn't really help you in any majorly noticeable way.
Location: Loguetown, Naval Protectorate of the Polestar Islands, Sekai Seifu, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Mayim, One Piece Multiverse, One Piece-jcw3
Date: Wednesday, April 20, 1532
Finishing your training on Bet, you transition to Mayim for the rest of your day. Your first order of business is a bit grisly. You've mostly gotten better since you...killed Arakaki, but there are still the occasional pangs of guilt for killing a person. Ordinarily, the situation would be complicated enough, but a new element's been added.
You see, 'Water Bullet' Arakaki was a pirate with a four million beri. Yeah. You know, Fengten had a 5.5 million beri bounty, and you took him out in, like, one shot. Four seems like a bit of a ripoff. Anyway, he has a bounty, and for the past few days you've been wrestling between your pragmatic and emotional sides whether or not to accept it.
Looks like your Vulcan side won out, since you've spent the past hour waiting in the Marine office for Lieutenant Klatt. You're sent into the man's office without much ado or reference to the obnoxious amount of time you were made to wait.
"A fishman, eh? You're moving up in the world," the older man notes, stamping out a note on a bounty poster, before feeding it into the mouth of a snail. Its eyes make an Earth-Aleph buffering symbol, rotating as such, before abruptly stopping. Is that...a fax machine snail? You can't believe those series of words just crossed your mind.
"Yeah," you respond lamely.
Klatt doesn't seem to notice, and hands you several bills, all adding up to 3.6 million, before handing you seven ten thousand bills. You know why it's not exactly 4 million, it's because you killed him. "Why was Arakaki worth four million when Fengten was five and a half?"
"Freedman?" the lieutenant asks, and you nod in response. "Him and his crew were more of a nuisance than Arakaki. The latter raided ships every now and again, but had a lot of power on his side, despite having small numbers. The former, though? He burned down two islands, one of which had a full Marine base there. Bounties ain't power levels, Hebert. They're how much the Sekai Seifu wants to take down that pirate."
"Oh."
Klatt looks up at you, adopting a minor scolding tone. "Oi, Hebert. Next time, pick up the bounty sooner. We take the bounty back for ourselves after a few days. If you don't claim it, well, it goes back into our coffers."
"Why?" you frown.
"Because the government needs its money, and hates giving it away. Bounty hunters are useful for supplementing our ranks, but we gotta add some limitations on them somehow."
You nod in understanding, before thanking him for your reward, and leave the Loguetown base. You head into the woods for a time, intending on training your bear form. You succeed, obviously, having a bear of a time increasing the level of your first shape changing ability. You can finally easily talk in bear form, and shifting between forms, even in stressful situations, should be a lot quicker.
Your last move of the day is heading to Middle Musashi's dojo. The man nods when he sees you enter, and draws his nodachi. You bring out your scimitar. Training with Musashi is never really an event with a lot of formality, it's just training. You feel an impressive increase in your personal skill in swordplay, but a frustrating lack of reflexes or combat instincts. Musashi seems satisfied with your growth, though, so you return home feeling...relatively satisfied.
Location: Loguetown, Naval Protectorate of the Polestar Islands, Sekai Seifu, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Mayim, One Piece Multiverse, One Piece-jcw3
Date: Thursday, April 21, 1532
You reach a new milestone in the morning. You finish off an entire skill! Yes, your bear form finally maxes out entirely. It took a while, certainly, but it was worth it. You see casual, instant transformation between forms, the ability to hybridize your 'baseline' human form and the bear form, and similarly obvious benefits.
You exercise a bit more after that, and you actually see an increase in the baseline skills of fitness and exercising. The increase of two high-level skills is definitely something to be thankful of. After that, you try out the Swordfish Fishman form, but to your extreme annoyance, your training was unsuccessful in leveling it.
You idly note that today's Foundation Day, the date of the founding of the World Government, and that the main town will be packed as a result. You're right, there's a parade going on. You were going to go buy some supplies, maybe go to Damascus or Middle Musashi for a bit of training, but you think you're going to take a break and enjoy the festivities. Hey, it's hard training all the time, a time to relax might do you some good.
An odd type of fortune is with you today, as you get to see the parade coming right from its beginning. Leading the way is a bored-looking Captain Smoker, waving politely at the cheering crowd, with Yorkville and the rest of his regiment behind him. He usually has a young Japanese woman with him, you wonder where she is. Her name is...Tashigi, if you recall correctly.
The flag of the World Government of Mayim, a cross of four blue circles revolving a single blue sphere, all connected to each other on a white background, waves proudly over the streets of Loguetown. You definitely see the patriotism of the Worldly people (in the absence of an available demonym, you're just using Worldly) and while it doesn't even come close to American exceptionalism, it's impressive. It helps hammer in the fact that you're actually in a different nation right now.
Outside of the flag of the Sekai Seifu flapping over almost every building on the island, there really aren't that many other decorations for Foundation Day. You suppose that they don't really need it, all they need to show is their love for their country.
The Marines finish marching, and they're followed by a variety of floats of varying sorts. Almost immediately after the soldiers finish leaving, the citizens break out beer, rum, and alcohol of varying types, chugging them with cheerful aplomb. You exit the ceremony after that, and a woman bumps into you along the way.
You almost don't recognize her at first. The thing about Earth-Mayim being a real world as opposed to One Piece, the manga and short-lived anime, is that the characters from the series rarely look the same as when Oda drew them. Smoker's hair is constantly flopping and fading in and out of reality, leaving a smoky trail where bits and pieces of hair should be, fishman have slippery, rubbery, tough skin, and the people's excitable attitudes that were occasionally funny in the manga are actually kind of creepy.
Tashigi, the personal assistant to Captain Smoker, and a surprisingly attractive woman (that sounded a bit better in your head). She's looking a bit flustered in her civilian clothes, as if uncomfortable in being out of her uniform. "Oh! Um, excuse me."
"No worries," you wave her off. Should you...introduce yourself? The only character- no, the only person who had an analogue in the manga you've met so far is Smoker himself. You have no reason to speak to Tashigi, outside of 'oh, I read about you in a comic from a different universe.'
"Aren't you...Hebert Taylor-san?" she frowns, looking you over, adjusting her glasses. That's another odd thing Mayimites tend to do. They use Japanese honorifics while speaking perfectly normally accented English.
"I am."
"Oh! I'm Master Chief Petty Officer Tashigi. A pleasure to meet you," she says, bowing slightly. You...aren't sure how to return that greeting, so you try to smile disarmingly. "You took down Arakaki and Fengten, yes?"
"Yeah. How'd you know?" you blink.
"Word travels fast around the Polestar. Smoker-taisa likes us to keep up our knowledge about important people in the area, not just pirates."
You...don't think you qualify as important, but whatever, the Marines are in charge of their own priorities. "Makes sense," you say. Tashigi nods, she seems a lot more comfortable talking about her work. "So...why aren't you in the parade?" you frown.
She sighs. "Smoker-taisa ordered me to take Foundation Day off," she says, in the same way a child would say that they had been grounded. "I told him I was perfectly capable of acting in the parade, but-" her voice changes to a mocking baritone impersonation of Smoker, "Tah-shee-gee! You're overworked! Take a day off!"
"Hmph!" she literally pouts, folding her arms. Her eyes widen, and she waves her hands. "That-that's not to say I'm upset with Smoker-taisa, just a bit concerned about his priorities."
Tashigi looks curiously at your swords. "Where did you get those?"
"Ah, Ippon-Matsu."
She nods, before gesturing to your larger blade. "That's...Kishi-ko, yes? A zweihander, one of Romo's models."
You have no idea who Romo is, but that's definitely Kishi-ko. "The other's Kiramekureisho. I have no idea who built it."
"Neither do I," she admits. "It...looks like a rather cruel sword."
"Ippon-Matsu called it the sword of saboteurs. The other one's the sword of heroes. I...guess I wanted to cover all of my bases."
"A reasonable idea. Do you really have the strength to carry both of them?"
You chuckle. "Just barely."
"Impressive," she remarks. "It seems like an odd set-up for a swordswoman, though. If you're going for dual-wielding, wouldn't it make more sense to use two swords of the same size?"
You shake your head. "I'm going for a more modular set up. If I need a strong sword, I use Kishi-ko. If I need a quick sword, I go for Kiramekureisho."
Tashigi understands. "Huh An interest-," she says, before her eyes widen in realization. "Oh! I have to go speak with Smoker-taisa!"
"I thought that you were off-duty?"
"I am, but I believe I know how to convince him to return me to work! Goodbye, Taylor-san!"
Tashigi dashes off, giving a hasty wave as she runs off with a new purpose. That...was a surreal experience. You shake your head, deciding to move on. You don't really have any interest in watching the rest of the parade, since a bunch of floats and drunks wandering by really doesn't strike you as entertaining, nor does listening to patriotic songs sung by drunks or dancing women on floats in scantily clad clothing.
You find your way to Murufi's Bar, where bounty notices are typically posted. You're not sure if you're willing to go back to hunting just yet, not so soon after Arakaki, but hey, this is the equivalent of window shopping. 'Pink Eye' Malior, 500,000 beri. 'Jailbreaker' Jaxson, 7,750,000 beri. A notice for a treasure hunt- hello.
Adventurers and mercenaries wanted! Treasure discovered in the rocky Perraults, guards and able seamen needed for assistance! Share of treasure will be rewarded to all guards. Contact Windle for details.
"Interested in the treasure hunt, are ya?" a ratlike (no, seriously, that's what he looks like) man with a serious overbite asks, walking up from a position by the alley. You guess this is more convenient than tracking him down. He stretches out a hand. "Steve Windle. Nice ta meetcha."
"I'm interested in the money. Doesn't sound much like a hunt if you already know where the treasure is," you point out.
He laughs nasally. "True, true. Well, there ain't much paperwork for this. Just show up at the docks around seven o'clock in the morning on Saturday."
You nod. That's the...23rd? "I can do that."
"Good. See you then!" he grins.
That man seemed untrustworthy, but you can't put your finger on it. Part of you thinks it's the name, the other his appearance, and yet another thinks its his attitude. Still, you probably shouldn't judge the guy, he could be a perfectly decent person. You almost flinch as you think of the times before you were pretty, when you were regularly insulted for your plain appearance. It's not something that's enjoyable.
You go into the dojo for more training with Middle Musashi, but not much is really accomplished. You get a bit better with your reflexes, but that's about it. He doesn't seem too upset about it, but that's because he doesn't know about Headway, and he doesn't know the gains you could have made.
Damascus' smithing training goes a lot better. You see a significant increase in the skill itself, as well as in its sub-categories of weaponsmithing and armorsmithing. He claps you on the back when he notices this, almost burning your hand off in the furnace. You think that contributed to you gaining heat resistance as a skill.
Today's been a relatively unproductive day, but you've done enough to feel satisfied with yourself. You head to sleep, ready for a new day.
OMAKE
Across Realities, Hands Held
It had been a very, very long time since Red One, United Earth Confederacy Naval Ship Nemesis had personally encountered something that she couldn't understand.
The greatest warship ever constructed by the human race, mounting weapons that could crush fleets and slay worlds, the ship-self of a two-thousand year old artifical intelligence driven by her sheer hatred of the Compact of Species who had destroyed her civilization; she had seen much in her centuries. Time, effort and experience had eroded her original programming limitations, allowing her to become more than her creators had ever expected (or feared). She had crossed the galaxy, fought countless battles, spun webs of deception, healed and upgraded herself, always learning, always growing. No, there was not much that could surprise her.
So she found herself very much at a loss when what looked like a teenaged girl appeared on her command deck from out of nowhere.
Internal defenses sprang to life as Nemesis tried to understand what was happening; turrets deployed to target the intruder, combat drones shifted to active status and began converging on the bridge. Scans of the intruder showed what appeared to be a healthy, adolescent human female. One sidearm (chemical-projectile weapon, solid shot), no concealed weapons, implants or explosives. One electronic device (primitive, minimal capacity, probable short-range communicator). No way of determining presense of nano- or bioweapons without an in-depth examination.
Shutting down all external communications, she initiated a full cybersecurity sweep. Either this... girl had genuinely just materialised here in some mysterious manner, or someone had managed to subvert her internal sensors without her noticing, either to insert ghost images or conceal her approach.
No Compact assets were detected in this system; active scan showed no signs of remote platforms or stealthed vessels. She deployed half her drone reserves and began shifting to full combat readiness; she didn't know what was happening, but she would not be caught off guard by... this.
Initial sweep completed, no trace of any foreign code or intrusion measures were detected. She initiated a more in-depth scan and began searching for other infiltrators; this could not be happening.
Four seconds after her apparent emergence, the girl-thing straightened - having been apparently struck by nausea on arrival - and took in her surroundings. Tall for her age, with brown, curly hair and a slim, muscular physique, she wore loose-fitting clothes made with a combination of natural and synthetic materials and... were those supposed to be corrective lenses of some sort?
The intruder cleared her throat. "Hello?"
A blink. That language... the girl was using English? That tongue had died with the Confederacy; she would have sworn that there wasn't another sentient being in existence (besides her) who had even heard it before. What the hell was going on here?
Confused and aggravated (relatively speaking), she defaulted to her original programming regarding this sort of situation. "You are trespassing in a secure area. Identify yourself."
Casting a momentary glance at the turrets, the girl turned to face Red One's holographic avatar and squared her shoulders. "My name is Taylor Hebert, I'm from an alternate version of Earth, and I've come to offer my assistance."
-------
"That... is quite a story." This, needless to say, was something of an understatement.
The girl, no, Taylor, had explained it all. Earth-Bet. Capes; humans randomly endowed with physics-defying powers. Endbringers; unstoppable city-wrecking monsters. The Nexus power; how she could travel between different worlds, different universes, most of which appeared to be fictional from her perspective. She'd been scanning constantly as Taylor talked; voice, body language, perspiration, all her physical tells indicated that she was telling the truth.
She nodded. "It's a lot to take in, I know." Seated on a couch in a nearby officers lounge that she kept maintained (mostly for nostalgia) with a mug of tea in her hand, she was doing an admirable job of keeping her composure in the face of a non-human intelligence to whom she had told a tale that would have shattered some being's minds outright.
"So; out of the handful of worlds that you can choose to access at any given time", Nemesis stated, her avatar projected from a swiftly constructed emitter, "why did you choose to come here, of all places?"
Taylor took a sip from her mug, then placed in on the coffee table and folded her hands. "My power doesn't give me that many details about a world. Sometimes it's a couple of paragraphs, sometimes just a line. Yours... I couldn't just ignore it."
"Oh?"
She nodded. "Humanity has been reduced to a shadow of it's former self. A star-faring civilization, destroyed at the height of their power by an alien empire, who indoctrinated and domesticated the few survivors. Two thousand years later, the last warship of the Confederacy continues to wage war on her enemies; alone, outnumbered and driven by a hate that will not die." Taylor lifted her head and stares at the projection. "Yet despite the size of her foe, she will not relent; for while humanity lives, there is hope for a brighter day."
Nemesis shuddered internally as a spike of rage pierced through her. To have the fate of her crew, her creators, her world reduced to such, such...
With an effort of will, she repressed the surge of emotion. Taylor wasn't mocking or goading her; there was clear sympathy in her eyes, and something more...
Determination. Whatever her purpose here, it wasn't something simple or frivolous.
"That doesn't answer my question," she responded. "What do you want with me?"
"There are two aspects to my power", Taylor explained, "The first you know. The second is called 'Headway'; it allows me to learn skills at a vastly accelerated rate and gives me a chance to acquire skills or powers from enemies I defeat or kill."
Nemesis's paranoia ratcheted back up at that comment. "Am I your enemy, then?"
"No!" she exclaimed, sitting bolt upright with a look of shock on her face. "No, I mean..." she moistened her lips for a moment, before calming down. "Two things leapt out at me after thinking about your world's description. First; that you, Nemesis, were an individual in your own right, presumably an artifical intelligence." She nodded towards Red One's avatar. "And two, that you were alone; meaning that in two thousand years, you hadn't managed to create any more AI's like yourself. Presumably because, for some reason, you couldn't."
The picture was becoming clearer now. "But you think you can."
She bit her lip. "It'll take time; your code is going to be larger and far more complex than anything I've encountered. Given time and the right programming tools, my power can give me the necessary skills; either to create new AI, or to give you the means to do so."
She believed this, Nemesis could tell. Her uncertainty was over the time and effort required to achieve results; that she would achieve said results was something she had no doubt in.
But there's something more here, and it isn't hard to fill in the blanks. "And in doing so, you hope to find technology to help your own world." It was not a question.
Taylor nodded, more slowly this time. "A lot of what you have would be useful to us; I've seen other high-tech worlds, but most of their advanced tech require exotic materials that only exist in that reality." She shruged. "Even if that's the case here..."
"Given that your body doesn't seem to contain any elements I don't recognise", Nemesis interjected, considering how her technology could be applied on a late twentieth century Earth, "that doesn't seem likely."
Taylor looked relieved at that. "We can compare Chemistry textbooks or something, I suppose." she said with a slight grin. "Anyway, even if that was the case, there is one thing that wouldn't depend on that which would be of almost incalculable worth back home."
Red One had already deduced this one. "Artifical Intelligence itself."
A firmer nod this time. "We don't have any real AIs at home; Tinkers can do some pretty crazy things, and I've seen some attempts in other worlds, but none of them are on your level. They're more tools than anything; you...", she leaned forward, enthusiasm in her voice, "you're a person. Having someone like you to help organise things, to find ways to fight the Endbringers, to bring technology up to the level needed to cancel out parahumans advantages..."
"Because being so much more powerful and capable than the population in general makes them inherently disruptive." Nemesis interrupted. "And you think new intelligences based on me wouldn't be disruptive as well?"
"Probably", Taylor admitted, looking confident. "But I'll take that over insane or genocidal any day." she comments as she picks up her neglected mug for another sip, "Odds are some Tinker or Thinker will wind up creating some form of AI eventually; given the complexity of the subject and how villains outnumber heroes, I'm not banking on that ending well." She grimaced at the thought.
Nemesis took a moment to consider this. Trust in some unknown girl from another dimension to poke around her code, her very self, in the hope of unlocking the ability she'd sought for centuries? She had her own plans, her own research projects. Could she take this risk?
Yes.
Yes, she could. She could offer a helping hand to this girl; so young, so very young for such power and responsibility. For the sake of both their worlds, for a brighter day, she would do this.
"Well then, Miss Hebert", the avatar stepped forward with a smile, "I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
A hand of flesh and blood reached out to touch one of light and illusion, and the future of humanity was changed forever.
Headway/Nexus Quest 1.22
Location: Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, United States of America, Earth, Sol, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Bet, Worm Multiverse, Worm-jcw3
Date: Saturday, December 11, 2010
Heh. Finally. You've finally mastered Japanese! It feels like it's taken weeks, but that's your first second language fully completed! You close the language website tab, and sigh in relief. It takes you at least a minute to realize that you still have a whole day left over to train.
Location: Loguetown, Naval Protectorate of the Polestar Islands, Sekai Seifu, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Mayim, One Piece Multiverse, One Piece-jcw3
Date: Friday, April 22, 1532
You sheathe Kiramekureisho and Baiyokohai as you finish your dual wielding training. It goes incredibly well, with you seeing drastic increases in the area. A good thing, too. You'll likely never learn Zoro's three sword style, if only because of how silly it looked, but his two sword style was perfectly reasonable.
Your swimming training is also pleasantly productive, with an impressive increase in the skill. Mayim's a waterworld, so this skill has obvious benefits. You're glad Dad doesn't know the extent of your success in this skill, he'd be calling you Aquagirl for an eternity. You have no idea what he sees in Super Friends, and you're afraid to ask. The incubator jokes about your albatross form are already getting old, and it's barely been a few days.
Survival winds up with okay results, as both naturalism and tracking see increases. Giant albatross goes well as well, to the point where you actually have wings now. They aren't functional wings, but it's a step in the right direction.
You leave the woods to go to Damascus' smithy. It...goes adequately, you suppose. Only the base skills of blacksmithing and heat resistance improves whatsoever, with weaponsmithing and armorsmithing all staying at the same level they were yesterday. Damascus is still impressed (in his own special way) with your growth, but given that baseline smithing is mostly about stuff like nails and boards, you aren't.
Freerunning all over Loguetown makes you feel a bit better, though. While it's not flight, there is a certain level of freedom attached to it, mostly thanks to Headway's augmentations, you presume. The skill increases by only a moderate amount, and you're a bit awkward while doing it (especially with the odd looks you get from Loguetowners), but it's still pretty fun.
Location: Loguetown, Naval Protectorate of the Polestar Islands, Sekai Seifu, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Mayim, One Piece Multiverse, One Piece-jcw3
Date: Saturday, April 23, 1532
You arrive at the Loguetown docks early in the morning, as instructed by Windle. There are...fourteen mercenaries/bounty hunters at the Captain's Strumpet (lovely name, that), all of whom presumably qualify as able sailors. The Strumpet's a smaller, more ramshackle ship than the Naughty Hurrah or the other ships you rode, but it's got more than enough room for the attending mercenaries.
You board the ship through the Jacob's ladder, haphazardly thrown off the port side of the ship. You draw odd looks from your 'coworkers', you imagine both for being a teenage girl and for having an enormous zweihander strapped to your back. No one says anything, though, so live and let live.
The captain exits his quarters with several other men and looks over the assembled mercenaries. "Right then, you lot," he says, in a cockney accent. You...weren't expecting that. "Windle already gave you the basics of what you're doing, but I'm gonna reiterate. There's a little cave in the rocky Perrault, filled with all sorts of gold left behind by some fucker or another. You lot are gonna guard the ship and help us get there, and at the end, you'll all get a nice share of the bounty. We clear?"
Nods all around. "Good. Then get to fuckin' work!"
You don't have much time for training while on the Strumpet, with a lot of work as an able sailor. Surprisingly, most Mayimites don't mind an underage teenage girl working with them as an equal, as long as you keep up. You're at Perrault Rock before you even realize it. The rocks are exactly as boring as you imagined. They're a collection of spiky rocks and boulders meandering in the open sea of the East Blue,
The captain calls all of the assembled mercenaries below deck, and you join the others in heading to the mess hall. It's a pretty cramped environment, all things considered. Which makes it all the more unbearable that you have to wait for the captain. Something smells like sweat and mold. "Where's that annoying captain?" one of your fellows asks.
"I bet him and his first mate are sitting on their asses having a good laugh about us sitting around in here."
"Come on, let's-" one begins, before someone yelps.
"Gas!" a squeaky male voice shouts, before you hear a thump against the ground. Fuck. You turn around towards the door. It had locked automatically upon entering, but you had assumed that to be a product of the ship's poor quality. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. You and several other men barrel towards the door, and had you been a few seconds earlier, you might have succeeded.
You spot the gas. It's an odd purple-pink color, and the fact that its color was all you could think of is probably indicative of how you were already suffering from its effects. You try to resist, flailing at the door, maybe you can break it with your super strength, but your efforts are in vain. You collapse on the floor, unconscious.
Location: Perrault Rock, Naval Protectorate of the Polestar Islands, Sekai Seifu, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Mayim, One Piece Multiverse, One Piece-jcw3
You wake up an indistinct amount of time later, with something in your eye. You shake yourself awake, and you see the other mercs, uncomfortably close to you. More concerning is the fact that you're all tied up in a rope.
The other mercs are shuddering awake, and you suppose the sleeping gas is wearing off. Wait...sleeping gas. Fuck! That's right. The gas, the room, it all comes flooding back to you. So...where are you? A cave. It looks like a dryer version of the exterior of the Perrault Rock, so you're guessing that you've been captured and dumped in some natural cavern.
But...why? You don't have your weapons on you anymore, but they weren't that valuable. Do they intend on killing the assembled mercs? You hear some of the mercs start to shout out, and your concentration is broken. That gas is still screwing with you, you feel dizzy, drowsy, the whole works.
"All of you, shut up!" a nasally voice shouts from deeper within the cavern. You immediately pinpoint the source of the noise. It's a red-bearded man in one of the most stereotypical 'evil cultist' robes you've ever seen, and he's holding a black revolver. He's followed by twenty-four men in similar outfits, carrying weapons, all of of lesser quality, like very basic knives or swords, or worse. "I'm Schwarsher, head priest of cessation, and chief acolyte of Death himself!"
What. You hear similar murmurs among your colleagues.
"Yes, that's right! Death, the only constant force in our terrible world! And this is where you brave fellows come in! You will be sacrifices to-"
He doesn't get a chance to continue. Your fellow bounty hunters start screaming at him, chafing in their bonds. You don't really pay attention to them. You feel a primal instinct inside of you urging to run, transition into a bear and get the hell out. But that's not a workable option. Number one, you have to save the mercs. Number two, you have to defeat the bad guys. Number three, you have no idea where you would go from here. So, the best option seems to be to fight.
A bunch of death cultists are holding you hostage, and wants to kill you. That's...not what you were expecting out of this journey. Judging by their weapons, they don't really have an ability to enforce that. Maybe you can fight them off. Your bear form is superhuman (or is it superbear?) even compared to its own species, after all.
"Ahem!" the cultist leader shouts. "As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, you will all sacrifice yourself to His cold embrace! Through a tournament!"
You know, they're acting a lot sillier than you'd imagine a death cult to do so. You don't mind, it makes it a bit easier to not be afraid of them. Which, given your predicament, is crucial. You spot some other men in cultist robes pulling a cannon, and your apprehension returns in full force. "Yes! Kalb, Drechsler, Hoffman, the rest of you, thank you! Do you see this, brave sacrifices?"
He gesticulates wildly at the cannon. "You will fight each other, to the Death, naturally, or you will meet Him with the cannon...or my gun, whichever suits His fancy."
"What the fuck is in it for us?" one of your fellows retorts.
Schwarsher wags his finger. "I was getting to that! The winner will be released and allowed to join our prestigious religion!"
Is...is that how they recruit? God, these people are sick. The cultist leader claps his hands. "So! Maik, fetch the dice, and we'll decide who'll fight!"
A cultist tosses a pair of dice into the air, and Schwarsher, as well as several others, eagerly look into his hands. "Ooh, numbers ten and five. The man in the green vest and the girl!"
Of course. The old Hebert luck. The cultists poise the cannon, and the others make sure they have their weapons out, while four death worshipers walk up, all holding knives of some sort. They cut the binds around you and the green shirt man, before hastily retying them. You're surprised the mercs didn't try something, but that cannon is pretty discouraging.
The green shirt man looks at you with a somber yet determined expression, as the cultists return to him his scimitar. "I'm sorry, kid, but I can't die. I have so much to live for. I've got a kid and wife back on Furskin, and...goddammit, I can't leave them!"
"It's alright. I'm not going to die. Neither are you," you say, nodding your head as if to affirm yourself. You're not killing anyone today. A couple of the cultists, one struggling to carry Kishi-ko, the other delicately holding Kiramekureisho, hand you your swords back.
He recoils in confusion, but before he can say something, Schwarsher, with his increasingly annoying voice, holds his gun forward. "Right! Start the match!"
The bounty hunter lunges forward towards you, a haphazard, brutish way of attacking. It's obviously unsuccessful. You glide out of his way, before sweeping his ankle. He yelps as he falls down, and you get back up, but not before jamming your elbow into his gut for good measure. He's down for the count.
"Yes! Excellent! Kill him, release him to Death's cold touch!" Schwarsher shouts in a creepily ecstatic manner.
"No!" you yell right back. "I'm not killing this guy! And no one's killing anyone!"
Schwarsher scowls. "You will kill that guy, or we'll blow up the rest of you!"
That's your cue. This could be a tremendously stupid idea. You're a fast runner already, and the cannon's only about twenty feet anyway. Inside of four seconds, you've made it to the cannon's location. You see Schwarsher point his gun at you and pull the trigger, and a gunshot rings out. You feel a brief pinch on your shoulder, but you elect to ignore it for the time-being.
You take a second to create bear arms, knocking aside the several cultists stationed at the cannon, before shoving with all of your might. Natural strength and adrenaline working together allows you to bear the strain of tossing the cannon off of its cart and onto the ground. One cultist narrowly manages to nick you in the shoulder with a dagger, but his closeness to you allows you to backhand him onto the ground. You do your best to ignore the sudden pain that comes from the stab wound.
You see the cultists preparing to charge. Nope, no need to deal with that on your own. You ignore the hazy, nauseous sensation in your head (probably from the sleeping gas) and barrel towards the prisoners. "Your stuff's over there!" you hiss, swinging Kiramekureisho through their bindings. "Help me out or we all die!"
They don't have to be told twice. Now, you face the immediate issue of buying time for the other mercs. There are nineteen cultists rushing at you, all armed with some variety of weapon. You grit your teeth, ignore the pain in your shoulder, and charge forward. You use your bear hands, and smack aside a man with a spear, before grabbing the blunt edge of a rusted longsword, yanking out of someone's hands, and then shoving the man backwards.
One almost nicks you with another steak knife, but he's no match for your reflexes and sheer strength, and he goes down like the rest. They finally adopt the sensible routine of attacking you all at once, with at least five weapons coming down on you at once. You jump backwards, before assuming full bear form, and returning to the fray.
You think you shattered one's ribs with your hasty landing, but you can worry about that later. You slam one into another, temporarily taking them out of the fight. You recognize the next victim of your paws as Schwarsher himself, desperately clicking on his presumably jammed revolver, and you're almost embarrassed to admit you got great pleasure out of taking him down.
The other bounty hunters join the fight, and it continues going in your favor. The cultists, now caught between a you and a hard place, are losing horrifically, and the mercs, understandably upset about being forced to be sacrifices, attack with vigor.
You take down five more on your own, while the mercenaries eliminate the rest. You recover from the battle, panting slightly from overexertion, the adrenaline high starting to wear off. You confirm that the last of the cultists have been wiped out, and start to relax.
That is, until, you see the corpses. You're unfortunately perceptive enough to look down on the ground to confirm that the cultists aren't trying any new tricks...and...you can clearly see that four people are dead. One mercenary, and three cultists. You don't make yourself suffer, you only see them for a split second, but...you don't think you have to say why that upsets you. At least they died to cutting wounds, so you know you didn't do it.
You back up against the cavern walls, collecting yourself. "Oi. Are you alright?" one of the mercs asks, after a few seconds.
You nod in response, slowly getting back up. "Um, yeah. Just needed a moment to-"
"Yeah. No worries," he waves you off. "You saved our lives. I'm perfectly fine with giving you a bit of time. So's the rest of us."
Part of you wants to say that you failed to save that mercenary's life, but you do your best to quash that part of you. It went a lot better than the Naughty Hurrah, at least. "Thanks. I think I'm good. You guys mind if I get first dibs on the loot?"
It feels a bit unnatural, but you need to say something so that you don't look or feel weak. You...don't know why you think you should say something like that, but it probably says something negative about your mental state. The mercs step out of the way, almost paving a path of the way. You spend a few minutes looking at the...alive ones. All they have is a cheap gold necklace, a cutlass, 50,000 beri, and the leader's black revolver.
"You know that thing's jammed, right?" a merc points out.
"That's the only reason I'm not dead," you reply. "I can probably fix it. If not, souvenir."
The other mercs take their pick of the remaining offerings (there's really nothing of quality), and then you find your way out of the cave. It takes a bit of searching around, but you make it back to the Captain's Strumpet.
Apparently the captain was one of the cultists, and you just didn't notice. That's fine with you, since you don't need him for the trip back to Loguetown. The fourteen of you make it back to the civilized Polestars without any trouble, leaving the unconscious cultists tied up, and carrying Ribal, the dead merc, back to the ship.
You're about to descend from the Jacob's ladder when one of the mercs stops you, with eight standing behind him. "Hey, um, Hebert, right?" he asks, scratching the back of his head.
You nod. He continues. "Me and the guys, we was wonderin', do you have a crew?"
"No," you reply, forcefully but politely. "I'm not looking for a crew to captain at the moment. Not until I'm strong enough for the Grand Line."
"Oh. Uh, okay," he replies.
"If you want to, you know, pay me back or whatever, just, uh, be nice to people. Yeah. That's it. Don't kill innocent people, don't rob good people, stuff like that. Be a good person," you instruct. Hey, it sounds silly to even you, but you think it's a reasonable thing to ask for. Judging by the looks on the nine mercs, it was.
You leave after that. Is that going to be a regular thing, tough guys asking to join your nonexistent crew after you save them? You find it somewhat flattering, but it's not a good idea at the moment. You descend from the ladder, and find an alley in a secluded part of Loguetown.
Location: Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, United States of America, Earth, Sol, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Bet, Worm Multiverse, Worm-jcw3
Date: Sunday, December 12, 2010
"Rough day, kiddo?" Dad asks when he sees the expression on your face.
"Hoo. Yeah," you say simply, before you begin your explanation of the day's events.
Omake: Awkward
"Am I fictional?"
The question should not have come as a surprise. That is to say, I expected to get it eventually from someone whom I had confided in concerning the specifics of my power after having gotten to know and trust them for a few years, not one of several strangers I had almost literally landed on in the middle of breakfast and subsequently fought to a standstill with a plastic spoon and a box of cereal (I would have won had I gotten the butter knife, but I wanted to give them a chance) not an hour earlier.
I also didn't expect to get asked while drinking orange juice (you never realize how acidic that stuff really is until it goes down your lungs and up your nose) in said kitchen but that's just how my life is, you know.
Fucking psychics.
Meeting Jean Grey's slightly insulted leer with my own unimpressed one as I wiped juice off my face, I sent her an image of the Simurgh, or at least concentrated really hard on sending her an impression of the Simurgh. I think that's how it works.
Judging from her shocked expression as she flinched away from me, my assumption was apparently correct.
"No peeking." I took a bite of my toast and waited for her to restart conversation.
We were the only ones in the Xavier manor's kitchen at the moment, fortunately. The other students, once the misunderstanding of my arrival had been cleared up, had school to attend and while Jean technically did too, she was acting as my minder while the teachers discussed my sudden appearance in their kitchen.
Well, that and how I had overpowered the 400 pound supersoldier with metal bones from a position, tactically and physically, that was, mildly speaking, disadvantageous.
The perks of an extra arm joint are… Come to think of it, not that many. But it came in handy this time, so I guess it still counts as a sound investment.
"Am I fictional? That's your power, right? Teleporting to fictional universes." And she's back.
"Yes. To both." There's that flinch again. Really? She's surprised by that? Getting verbal confirmation of what she already knew by reading my mind?
And she's looking guilty and won't meet my eyes. We are so talking about personal boundaries after this.
"If it's any consolation-" And, honest to God, I meant it as a compliment. "I heard you were a very popular comic book in the seventies."
Didn't look like it was. In fact, the redhead now looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"Listen." I tried again, awkwardly, feeling like I had made a bit more of an ass of myself than I had ever intended to be and, ugh, this is gonna be weird but in for a penny, in for a.. probably a lot more than a pound, I guess. "I… don't know if you were fictional, only fictional, that is, prior to my coming here. I do know that there was a series of comic books in the sixties and seventies (and some of the eighties that continued in a dimension parallel to my own and became the basis of cartoons and movies but please, let's not go there right now) where one of the characters was a psychic named Jean Grey and I don't know if your dimension, this dimension, exists for that reason or if this dimension, or a similar dimension, was somehow the inspiration for the comic book or if it is all just one big coincidence and nothing is related. I. Don't. Know. I do know that you are real. Here. Now. As real as I am and probably ever will be. So please." I looked at her pleadingly.
"Can't we just end this conversation and forget it ever happened?"
She thought about it for a few seconds before nodding and taking my hand. "Consider it done. Come on, the Professor is waiting for us in his office." I followed her out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
"...As real as you will probably ever be?"
"Please don't."
Omake: Even Mad Science Thinks You're Insane
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"
In retrospect I already knew that, when one's first thoughts on see a pack of Deathclaws were, 'eh. I can take them' and 'how long will that form take to master' there really isn't any way to doubt. It came with cape life, double so when your powers required that you to throw yourself headlong into the deep end to improve them. Honestly I thought I was coping with rather well.
Then it gets pointed out. By the head of a group who barely consider insanity to be a hindrance and in several cases have managed to weaponize to create wonders, terrors and blow the lid off secrets... in one case literally. How did one blow up a mountain from the inside?
I turned away from the mass of equations scrawled along the wall, that before I got my power I would of had a seizure trying to comprehend what the symbols meant, to my fellow... researcher? Colleague? Friend?
The Think Tank were insane in a way that fitted in more with B Movie Theatrics from the 50s. Barely keeping together, with only the promise of brand new SCIENCE! stopping them from turning their attention to the Wasteland. However, they were probably one of the few groups in the multiverse, who could work out how to create large transdimensional portals to move items in bulk to Earth Bet. Or people out of it if the Endbringer fights got worse.
The introduction of the Falloutverse's medicine would be worth it. To say nothing of power armour, laser guns and robots. Who didn't like robots?
"Doctor Klien, we agreed to keep any objections or criticism both constructive and polite."
"SCREW THAT! YOU'RE ASKING US TO SEE IF WE CAN RIP A HOLE IN THE FABRIC OF REALITY! TWICE!"
"You didn't seem concerned when I explained to you last week."
"I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING! CRASS LOBOTOMITE HUMOR! NOW YOU'VE GOT NUMBERS AND EQUATIONS AND SCIENCE!"
"You're a scientist Klien. You've done plenty of dangerous experiments. They call this place Big Empty for a reason."
"THAT'S WHEN I UNDERSTOOD WHAT WAS ON THE BOARD!"
I turned back to the numbers, then to Klien and back again.
"Hold on. I simplified this by a measure of three, you," a pause, and then I facepalmed, "oh right. Forgot that transdimensional studies doesn't exist here."
"I DON'T PLAN ON DOING SOMETHING, THAT COULD DESTROY THE EVERYTHING IN EXISTENCE! I RATHER LIKE LIVING IN THIS UNIVERSE! EVEN WITH LOBOTOMITES FOR NEIGHBOURS!"
I sighed, "okay. Go round up the others. I'll give a lecture on tunneling through time and space."
"EXCELLENT! IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I ATTENDED SOMETHING THAT WAS WORTH APPLY MY VAST INTELLECT L!"
Klien floated off, forgetting to turn his speakers to internal only.
"8! WE ARE ATTENDING A LECTURE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES BY A KNOW-IT-ALL! I REQUIRE YOUR HECKLING SOUNDTRACK!"
It was hard to forget that the floating brains had once been people, which meant they once been students. Students who had been bored by the thought of sitting in a room with a hundred other rivals, listening to some Ivy League professor drone while they rather be just blowing stuff up in the labs.
"WHY DO ASK!? OF COURSE I CHECKED MY SYSTEMS!? MY VOCAL SUBROUTINE IS... DAMN IT! O YOU SAID YOU FIXED THAT!"
"It's not O! It's Zero! And at least remember to call me a Doctor you ego loving disco ball."
"YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS THAT PRANK BACKFIRED AND TURNED ME INTO A MAJESTIC ORB OF COLOURS!"
"Everyone's sensor arrays were blinded. Nobody could see for the next two cycles. You kept ramming into the door."
"WORTH IT TO HEAR YOU GET TANGLED UP WITH MOBIUS!"
"Why are you still head researcher?"
"DO YOU WANT TO LISTEN TO HER LESSONS ON ETHICS AND MORALITY AGAIN!?"
"Fair point."
Huh. Well at least they were better than Wislow students. For one they didn't suck up to the teacher.
Headway/Nexus Quest 1.23
Location: Loguetown, Naval Protectorate of the Polestar Islands, Sekai Seifu, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Mayim, One Piece Multiverse, One Piece-jcw3
Date: Sunday, April 24, 1532
"Eh?" Damascus arches an eyebrow when he sees you enter his smithy. "You usually come later at night."
You shrug. "I have stuff to do."
"Tch," he rolls his eyes. "If you weren't such a good student! Get to work."
That's his way of saying hello. You see definite increases in weaponsmithing and armorsmithing, the former of which is sizable. Pleased with your success, you leave the five bills with Damascus and head back into Loguetown's woods.
The empty pool you've been training at is where you start, with the form of swordfish fishman seeing a single increase. That's nice, but it's by far the least impressive shape changing growth you have today. Giant albatross apparently lucked out, because you feel Headway tingle thrice while you practice with it.
The new benefits from the form shouldn't be ignored either. Namely, that you can fly! Oh, sure, it gets pretty tiring after ten minutes or so, but...flying! You took off from the highest tree you could find (in hindsight a risky idea) and flew. Yesterday, it was a wimpish glide, and you crash landed into a sandbar.
Today? Genuine flight. You're honest to god giggling, you're so giddy. Headway is the best power. You take flight one last time, landing a bit indelicately on the ground. Okay, so you need to work on the landing. But you have enough self-control to wait until tomorrow. You hope. You change back from your albatross form, which essentially looks like a slightly smaller version of the first bird you killed at Shigeki Island.
You use your new-found excitement as motivation for running, and not only do you see an increase there, but also in fitness itself. You think you're done here. Like, you don't think your fitness can naturally get any better. This...you're used to feeling great thanks to Headway's fitness. But you doubt you'll ever get a cold again, or suffer through any diseases like cancer or AIDS in the far future, mostly because your body is so optimized that conventional ailments aren't really going to be a problem for you.
You spend a while practicing tracking, and while it's a lot easier while using the bear form, for a human, you're 'only' a professional at it. A small increase occurs, and you're satisfied for today. Fishman karate, though, is completely unsuccessful, despite you training it in your basic swordfish fishman form underwater. Whatever. Always another time.
Location: Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, United States of America, Earth, Sol, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Bet, Worm Multiverse, Worm-jcw3
Date: Monday, December 13, 2010
You transition home, and wince. You've been avoiding this for a while, but Schwarsher's cult hammered in the necessity of this skill. You look at the poison ivy leaf you found on Mayim, and reluctantly rub it against your arms. You already hate this. Maybe you can get a meditation skill so you can better ignore the inflammation. Or you could not be stupid and do this right before bed. You sigh, before going to sleep.
Location: Loguetown, Naval Protectorate of the Polestar Islands, Sekai Seifu, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Mayim, One Piece Multiverse, One Piece-jcw3
Date: Monday, April 25, 1532
You show up early to Damascus' early again. He arches an eyebrow at your rash, but thankfully doesn't comment. Standard blacksmithing, weaponsmithing, armorsmithing, and heat resistance all see increase, to your immense pleasure. To your immense annoyance, however, you can't itch your arm without having disastrous consequences with the hot metal.
It's incredibly difficult to resist the urge to fly back to your hiding spot, since once you've flown, it's a bit bothersome to go back to walking. Sort of like returning to crawling after being an Olympic runner. Still, you make it, and you see an increase in swordfish fishman. Unfortunately, you don't level up giant albatross whatsoever, which, excluding the ever-present rash, is the most annoying thing to happen in the past few days.
To make up for yesterday's fruitless training, fishman karate finally unlocks. You're still at an obnoxiously basic level of competence compared to what you could be, but it's a start. At the moment, it's really only useful for underwater combat, and even then, you suck at it, taking at least thirty seconds to gather the water together for the punch, and the punch only being a bit stronger than your norm anyway. You aren't sure if the difficulty's because it's just that difficult to learn, or if it's because it's self-taught.
Fishman karate revolves around gathering water around your body and using it to enhance your physical abilities, largely combat-related ones at that. Experienced users can use the moisture in the air, but at the moment, you're having trouble getting freshwater to work. Still, it's something. It also takes your mind off the fact that, today, you reapplied the damn poison ivy for no increase. Stealth is unsuccessful as well, but dual wielding sees an increase, so there's that.
Location: Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, United States of America, Earth, Sol, Milky Way Galaxy, Earth-Bet, Worm Multiverse, Worm-jcw3
Date: Tuesday, December 14, 2010
When you transition home, you find Dad scowling at the table. "What's wrong?" you ask. You really hope it's not about you.
"The downstairs toilet's broken again. I think that plumber company screwed us over," he runs a hand through thinning hair, sighing.
Oh yeah. Every few years, almost like clockwork, the same toilet breaks down. You feel a pang of guilt at not helping around the house more than the bare necessities. You probably could do a lot more than you have been. "I could always learn plumbing," you recommend, out of the blue. "I could take an hour or two a day for a while to study, and then I'd be good enough to fix the problem."
"Really?" Dad blinks, before staring into thin air, another trait that indicates that he's thinking. "Huh. I guess it makes sense that you could. Well, if you would learn some plumbing, that would be really useful."
You nod. "I'll keep that in mind. Maybe some other maintenance stuff," you say. "I'm going to bed, though. Long day of training."
An Uncomfortable Conversation
"It's not as bad as it sounds," I knew the words were a mistake the moment they left my mouth. I could see the muscles in dad's jaw working as he finally lost the battle with his temper.
"You were shot! In what world is that not as bad as it seems?"
"The bullet barely touched me, I got worst when the ship I was on got ambushed by those Fishmen."
Maybe it was the fact that dad had never seen a fishman that made the encounter so distant to him. But my being shot, that had seemed to drive the dangers I was facing home.
"That was different, Taylor." I could tell he was still struggling with his anger and breathing deeply. Sometimes my increased perception wasn't a good thing.
"That was a fight you didn't go looking for. This was something you chose to do, never mind the fact that you were hired by a man named Swindle. Didn't it occur to you that might have been a bad idea?"
I felt my cheeks heat up at the question, but still tried to defend my position. "Steve Windle, and yes, but I couldn't just turn down an easy job for that kind of money."
"A job to find treasure," I wasn't even sure if he was asking or telling me.
"It's a world full of pirates' dad, there's a lot of treasure out there." That was even the truth of it, from what I'd learned. The government and pirates just tended to get to it first.
"You've been telling me how much stronger you're getting, but you still ended up captured by this sicko and his cult!" Now he was yelling, something I knew he tried to not do in front of me. I tried to think of a good explanation, something to convince him things weren't as bad as he thought…
"God, I hate to say this, Taylor. But ending up in some kind of cage fight is not the worst thing that could have happened to you after being drugged like that!"
…and I felt my rebuttal die on my lips. It was true, I'd read about what happened to girls who ended up in that kind of situation. Even here in Brockton Bay, none of the gangs were above taking advantage of a girl in that kind of situation.
"Maybe it's not too late to get you into the Wards. They might be able to help you get strong enough to keep something like this from happening."
I hated seeing dad like this, so beaten down. It reminded me of how he'd been after mom had left us and he'd pulled away from the rest of the world. What made it even worst was that it was my fault he was like this. After I finished explaining to him what had happened today.
Part of me wished I'd just lied to him about what happened today. Or just downplayed the danger I'd been in somehow. If I had, we wouldn't be in this situation.
But if something did happen to me…if I went to another world one day and never came back. I at least wanted him to know the truth about what I'd been doing. I wanted him to know what I'd been through, and what I'd accomplished.
"Dad, I do know what I could have done better." I doubt my voice was as reassuring as I wanted it to sound.
"Really?" Yeah, he definitely didn't seem convinced.
"Yes," I was trying to think of the best way to phrase this. "There's a few things I can improve in to prevent something like this from happening again. If I'd trained my senses more, I might have noticed the gas before it started to affect. Hell, I've gained a poison resistance skill that I can train to stop something like this from happening again."
When dad didn't respond I decided to continue. "Even having armor or a gun of my own might have made things easier for me." I decided not to mention that either of those things probably would have been taken from me after I'd been knocked out, it had happened to the other mercenaries after all.
"I've made mistakes dad, but I've learned from them," I continued carefully. "But I'm still proud that I was able to save the people that were captured."
"Even though you were one of them?" His tone wasn't quite teasing, but it was better than it had been earlier.
"Even then, I'm also glad that I was able to stop them from doing something like this again with another group of people."
I gave dad some time to think after that. The anger seemed to have left him completely, but what remained didn't seem to bring him any piece of mind.
"I can't lose you Taylor," he finally replied. "Not to something like this."
"You won't lose me, dad."
"You can't promise that," he sounded too tired to even be upset anymore. "No one can promise that, especially not someone in your position. You can't even promise that when you're on our world."
"Maybe I can't," I admitted. "But I can be smart about how I do this. I promised you I wouldn't go after the gangs till I was bulletproof and I meant it. Every day I've been training and getting stronger. I've gotten this far in just a few weeks and I'll get even farther as I keep going. I can't promise you I'll always be safe, but I can promise that I'll always play it smart so I don't get in over my head.
I could tell he wasn't totally convinced, but when he got up and hugged me I felt as safe as he wanted me to be.
"I love you, kiddo."
"I love you too, dad."
Maybe I couldn't promise him that I'd always be safe, but I'd do everything in my power to make sure I survived and came home.
And that was a promise I could keep.
Not Your Property
Standing on a rooftop in winter, breathing the chill afternoon air, you can see the people of Moscow making their way through the snow-choked streets. You completed your preparations and checks a few minutes ago; for now, all you can do is wait. Wait, and watch the city's residents below, going about their business on a perfectly normal day, without a thought to the possibility that it could all be wiped away in moments.
A part of you envies them; coming from a world where no-where is safe from the depredations of the Endbringers, that certainty was lost to you long ago. Not something that comes to mind all that often, but more of an awareness; that no matter your plans or prayers, a day might come when a monster would appear to destroy everything and everyone you loved. Immense, powerful and, thus far, nigh unstoppable. No-one knew what it would take to kill such nightmares, or even if it was possible for mere humans to accomplish such a feat, but they tried. They planned, fought, bled and died to oppose them, and you would not see their sacrifices be in vain. You had access to worlds and powers beyond any other parahuman, and you intended to use it to the fullest. Which, ultimately, was why you were here.
A superhuman-based world that possessed not only advanced technology in general (albeit not in general circulation) but actual examples of dimension-traveling vessels. Something that could open up countless options for your home world if acquired, and you knew just who to talk to.
Before that, however, came todays task.
The Nexus power had allowed you to arrive today at the earliest, at the very beginning of the series. This gave you limited time to work with, but hopefully it would prove sufficient. This was the day that Moscow was due to suffer a massive attack from a force of superhuman terrorists, inflicting death and destruction on the whims of an utter wretch of an old man; one who gloried in his cruelties, who sought to brand the face of the Earth with bloodshed, declaring his dominance to the world.
Despite yourself, you smile; against the terrible implacability of the Endbringers, what were mere men and women to you?
Your omni-tool beeps, drawing your attention. Mass teleport signature detected.
You quickly check the display, confirming the readings; two hundred individual objects appeared twelve miles out, approximately half a mile in altitude, approaching at half the speed of sound. Plan A, then.
Turning to face the direction of the incoming storm, you perform a final check on your systems. You'd experimented with Apocalypse's power-enhancing technology before, but little of it had been with this particular ability, given the potential for... excessive collateral damage. Still, for an initial strike on an airborn target, it should serve well enough.
You can see them approaching now, a swarm of lights burning through the air. All tightly clustered; no scouts or reserve, their over-confidence showing. All the better.
Counting down the seconds to optimal range, you prepare for the single greatest act of violence and death you have ever committed. And all in a good cause.
Thank you, Apocalypse. And thank you too, Captain Newgate. Then, you take one very deep breath, and scream.
*****
Approaching their initial attack zone, the Gamorran terrorists were caught completely by surprise. With the crippling and subsequent disbanding of Stormwatch, there was no group of superhumans capable of challenging them as a unit. Russia's native powers (such as they were) were stationed away from the city and too feeble to pose a serious threat to such a mighty host. Their military was even less likely to prove useful, though their destruction would serve to further emphasize the utter futility of opposing Kaizen Gamorra. Yes, there was no way they could fail.
Most of them would not live long enough to regret those thoughts.
There was no warning. One minute, the skies were clear in front of them; the next, the bulk of their forces slammed headfirst into a solid wall of concussive force. Every member of the attack group possessed immense strength and durability, sufficient to rip through buildings and hurl tanks across city blocks. This attack, however, was the equivalent to colliding with a mountain range.
Over one hundred and thirty superhumans simply... splattered against the airborne shockwave. Twenty-six more sustained moderate to critical injuries and fell out of the sky like stones. They would survive long enough to trigger their retrieval protocols, alerting Gamorra Island to the fact that something had gone seriously wrong with their planned assault.
The remaining thirty nine Gamorrans, while buffeted by the shockwave, retained sufficent presence of mind to scatter and search for the origin of the attack. They didn't have to look far.
Over central Moscow, a shining star took to the air, glimmering at them in challenge. A vaguely female shape could be seen within the folds of light, standing tall with arms folded in defiance. Darkness seemed to flow from her, bathing the streets below in a blanket of night.
Enraged at the foreign scum who had slain so many of their brothers and sisters, the survivors spread out and converged on her from all directions. This fool couldn't possibly get them all before they closed to energy range, and then...
The light around their target seemed to shrink for a moment, before detonating outwards in a surge of photonic fury.
*****
You gaze in satisfaction at the results of your power-driven blinding attack. At that range, and staring right at you, the majority of the attackers were completely blinded by the assault. A few managed to avoid the full effect, but suffered compromised vision nonetheless.
As in the trial runs, Grue's darkness appears to have successfully shielded the city from the immense pulse of light. Extending for half a mile in every direction before curving into a wall at your own altitude, most of the attack would only have been visible from above.
Step One, strike and scatter the main body. Step Two, draw attention and disable.
Step Three, your corner of your mouth curves up despite itself, Crossfire. And the coilguns open up.
Rapidly assembled, networked and concealed on the surrounding rooftops, the turrets were a marvel of engineering. Their design had begun life as semi-portable support weapons used by Systems Alliance Marines when assaulting (or defending) fortified positions. Reverse-engineered and modified with knowledge and technology from the X-men, the Avengers and information savlaged from Apocalypse's labs, they had developed into a compact, self-contained weapons platform that could fire an armour-piercing projectile at twelve times the speed of sound, several times a second, with surgical precision.
Their primary advantage, however, was that they could be rapidly constructed using materials found on any modern world. Between your knowledge and Royal Pain's technopathic powers, it had been simple; though you had sweated bullets at the thought that they wouldn't be ready in time, or in the wrong place, or...
Fortunately, your worries were unfounded. Armed and ready, they had a perfect view of the flailing terrorists, who hadn't realised that they might be facing attacks from more than one direction. Uploading targeting priorities to their network (with the partially functional targets at the top) you instruct them to engage the enemy.
*****
For all of their arrogance and bloodthirstiness, the Gamorran forces were not stupid. Realising that they were sitting ducks without the ability to see, they broke for the deck as one. Incoming projectiles reaped a heavy harvest, but twelve of them managed to reach the safety of ground cover. Still unable to navigate, most struck buildings or the street, driving through them (and killing or injuring many in their path) before coming to a halt, safe for the moment from retribution.
Four, having concluded that the mission was a bust (and not wanting to face the next horrible surprise from their opponent) triggered their uniform's teleportation function, following their injured colleagues back to base. The remaining eight had no thoughts of leaving, only to find and kill the enemy before she finished them off. Already their eyesight was returning, and if the band of shadow denied them their opponent's position, surely...
A helix of light pierced through the shroud, dropping their number to seven.
*****
Shit, you thought, rapidly tracking on the remaining terrorists. You knew it would be damn near impossible to pull this off with no casualties, but...
Three of them had apparently abandoned any notion of restraint, and simply started destroying everything around them, determined to have an escort on the way to whatever afterlife they believed they deserved. Prioritising them as targets, you moved to engage with Purity's blaster power. One down, two dow... move!
Apparently, one of the attackers had regained sufficent eyesight (and wits) to back-trace your fire. Bursting through the shadow-cover, he opened up with eye-beams while closing at a ridiculous speed, screaming in rage and death-denial.
Weaving past his energy-fire, you manage to seize his left forearm and (silently thanking Fishman Karate for teaching you three-dimensional close-combat) make a swift, but messy, end of him. Four left.
Finishing off the third berserker, you focus on the last three. Two had met up and were attempting to hide while formulating a plan; a quick shift to the west and a single helix blast removed them from consideration. The last had broken into an apartment building and... Shit. Hostages.
Dropping to ground level (and dispelling the shroud, it had no further purpose) you moved to the edge of the doorway.
"Stay where you are! If I die, they all die! All dead!" She seemed positively hysterical; either that, or she was trying to bait you.
Taking a quick look with a mirror (old tricks are the best) swiftly dispelled that notion; the woman (girl?) was genuinely panicked. Eyes wide and face pale, she appeared to be on the verge of snapping. Holding a young girl by the throat, while aiming a glowing hand at small crowd of crying people nearby, it was obvious who would die first if that happened. Apparently, stress had caused her to forget that she could just teleport out.
Taking a deep breath, you prepared to try and talk her down. I hate hostage negotiations.
"It's okay..." you begin, attempting a soothing tone of voice.
"No come in! All die, die!"
Great, she might not be rational enough to reason with. Silently, you curse your training priorities. You'd learned a fair bit of Psychology, but not enough to be confident in your ability to talk down a superhuman on the verge of a homicidal breakdo...
A loud snap from inside heralds a new chorus of screaming. Abandoning discretion, you surge around the corner, hands raised and glowing...
The last member of Kaizen Gamorra's strike force lay on the ground, head twisted around to stare at the ceiling. Standing above her, with a weeping child in his right arm, was an imposing figure.
Trenchcoat, heavy boots, trousers and vest, capped with a close-fitting cowl, all in black. On his chest, the symbol of a crescent moon.
Relaxing, you left you hands fall to your side. Well, that was quick.
The Midnighter nods at you, before handing the child over to her crying mother. "Not bad, for an amateur. First time?" Not a question.
You really wish you could cock a single eyebrow; damn genetics. "On this scale, yes."
Another nod. "Well, you did pretty well today. That said; since you obviously had time to prep, is there a reason you didn't inform anyone this was happening?" The tone is less relaxed now. Not a good sign.
"Yes", you answer, attempting to disguise your nervousness, despite knowing that this is one person that will not work on, "but I need to talk to your boss about that."
"Oh, do you now?" You sense the new presence a split-second before she speaks, though it probably wouldn't have done much good.
Turning, you see a blond, twenty-something (appearing) women wearing a white suit and a Union Jack t-shirt. Backlit by a shimmering orange and white portal, she holds a cigarette in one hand, while the other crackles with barely-restrained electricity. Oh boy.
Jennifer Sparks, Spirit of the Twentieth Century, leader and founder of the superhero team know as the Authority, stares you down with the weight of a hundred year's hard living. This woman, you remind yourself, has been through some serious shit in her time. She's met and influenced famous figures all over the world; killed, screwed and sworn at more people than you've probably ever met. She's been explorer, detective, military officer and superhero. She's been hurt, betrayed, disillusioned and scarred by the sharp edges of life.
And despite all of that, she still (under a veneer of gruff indifference and mild hedonism) genuinely wants to make the world a better place. In some ways, she's the sort of person you would want to be, though you wouldn't dare say that out loud where she might hear you.
And this is the woman you've come to strike a deal with.
"Indeed I do, Colonel Sparks", a raised eyebrow, dammit I want to be able to do that, "but there's still people to help here, and I'm not convinced Gamorra won't launch a follow-up attack."
"Gamorra?" Her mouth twists at that, before taking a closer look at the dead terrorist. "Figures this would be that bastard's work." A deep breath; "Jack, Doctor, I need you down here for Search and Rescue with Midnighter. Apollo, overwatch. Swift, Engineer, watch the airspace and get me eyes on Gamorra Island; if someone breaks wind down there, I want it on tape. Clear?" Apparently, the Engineer installed radio-telepathy a little earlier this time.
"As for you, young lady", she takes a brief drag, her gaze not having moved off you for a moment, "I do believe we need to chat. Right this way, please."
She strides into the Door behind her without a backward glance. Taking a deep breath of your own, you walk forward. Here goes nothing...