2.3

2.3

Saturday, 12th February

The next morning had been more of the same; long conversations with Dad that often managed to tread too close things you had been trying to keep under your own, direct control. He had been relatively accommodating about it, all things considered, but that didn't meet that he was willing to let up on his few demands.

Over a few mugs of coffee and perhaps too much chocolate-spreaded toast, you ironed out the rules of your future communications.

You were, Dad insisted, to agree to meet with him every week for a full discussion on the goings on of that week and the upcoming plans for the next. This would take place on a Friday evening, in an ongoing echo of the confession from the night before. During that time, he would be able to give you his own advice and suggest amendments to any plans that you had established.

Further, he believed it would be a good idea to keep him up to date on any new powers that happened to manifest. As it happened, you believed this was a good idea anyway: once you had revealed to him that powers were going to keep coming to you, there was functionally no reason to withhold it from him any further. Though some people would do anything to keep their cape and home lives separate, it was apparent to you that any such disconnect had already been exploded by the previous night's revelations and any attempt to restore such a barrier would be like trying to repair a collapsed wall with toothpick struts and Vaseline cement.

These initial suggestions had been those with which you were perfectly happy to meet. You were slightly less enthused about the following suggestions; as though you were a small child, he insisted on you keeping a log of schoolwork you got up to while he was at work. If you were going to be a cape, he said, he understood that life sometimes had to take a back-seat. That said, you had been allowed to leave Winslow on the condition of homeschooling and those school board assessments were as inevitable as entropy and perhaps more deadly; as a result, you were going to study and you were going to demonstrate that study in the form of your log book. Missing a day here and there was fine but going an entire week without working was going to get you grounded again and the cape work would have to be the lifestyle hitting the chopping block for a while.

Grumbling, you were nonetheless forced to accept. Dad was not, typically, an aggressive man – his occasional temperamental flare-ups notwithstanding – but he could certainly be assertive and it was hard to say no when his argument was so grounded in reality and sense. That did not, however, prevent you from resenting it.

'Anything else, Dad, or do you think I need to be getting down to the graveyard and start hauling those boats, too?' you asked, a sardonic lilt to your voice, but far from dismissing the absurdity of it, Dad seemed to be considering it.

'I tell you what,' he said, voice light but contemplative. 'I'll take a look at some of the rules regarding cape assistance on material recovery and get back to you. Not sure exactly how much you could help – even if you could lift it, it's not always that easy – but if there's anything you could do then it might get you a pass one day when you inevitably go out without telling me.'

You wrinkled your nose.

'Would I do that?'

'Taylor, you're fifteen. I'd be more surprised if you didn't.'

Well, it was hard to argue with that.

Though you weren't happy about it, you weren't surprised when Dad stuck to his promise to ground you. He hadn't even let you continue going out on your morning jogs – you were stuck to stretches and bodyweight exercises in the house, which had functionally no impact anymore. You were becoming steadily fitter, more aesthetically honed in on the superhuman ideal, but you weren't really gaining any strength or stamina anymore. In a way, the acquisition of the Alexandrian strength had robbed you of that achievement. Resenting it felt strange, like resenting a solid gold ingot for your birthday, but you felt the resentment anyway.

Using the time to get your schoolwork back on track seemed the most obvious route, and you did so as much as you could think, but you honestly hadn't fallen far behind; the ministrations of the trio had seen your grades fall precipitously, but you were still a solid student, and with those first few weeks home away from Winslow you had caught back up to where you felt was realistic without even finding it too difficult. Over a year of operating without a computer and without Mom had rendered you pretty skilled at extrapolating information from the books you did have and without much eternal support, even if it did leave you a little disconnected from the outside world.

A disconnection which had almost come back to bite you.

You remembered that inconclusive answer back when Faultline's Crew had confronted you. Of course, they were hidden in shadow at the time so even if you had known who they were, you wouldn't have been able to aim the question properly – but you hadn't known the nonetheless.

A little bit of research over the grounding period had revealed to you who they were, and you were mixed in your opinions. While it was clearly the case that they were criminals by any legal standard, they usually worked pretty professionally and had yet to kill anyone, at least that you could find.

Normal villains weren't quite so adept at working clean. Glory Girl may have disliked them, and you couldn't say that you approved of their methods or the jobs they took, but it did seem as though Faultline had been correct when she had explained their neutrality – you found more than one case of them rescuing civilians who had been kidnapped, and one case of them collaborating with a private corporation to leverage Faultline's surprisingly powerful ability for demolition purposes.

Somehow, you felt as though Faultline had not looked as closely at the laws regarding parahuman assistance as Dad currently was, but the legality of the action had nothing to do with its morality; a morality which was not so much white or black as colourless – who cared?

Taking the card that Gregor, the strange translucent man, had given you, you had stored it away in a drawer in your room. Somewhere nobody would be likely to find but that wasn't really stashed away in secret either. Though you never anticipated needing to contact them, two months ago you would never have anticipated needing to contact Glory Girl either and here you were – doing precisely that on a regular basis. Better to have it, and not need it, than to one day need it and not have it.

Tuesday, 15th February

Dad had agreed, despite your grounding, to let you out once to meet with Victoria; his logic being that you needed to discuss with her to finalise your plans on your PRT paperwork and then submit it. It was essentially work, he claimed, and therefore permissible – you honestly thought that he was just being nice rather than keeping you cooped up, but you weren't going to argue.

Monday had been Valentine's Day, so she had been otherwise engaged, but you and Glory Girl had agreed to meet on the Tuesday, at the same building you had had your heart to heart after training. Something about that building just seemed secure, even if it was only because of the experience you now shared there, and so you had agreed without much discussion.

Alighting on the building that afternoon, you could see that she was already waiting for you and had been texting on her phone. She seemed to be in a good mood so you figured that Valentine's day had gone well, but you weren't going to bring it up unless she did first. You liked her, but the last thing you wanted was an in depth look into her romantic life; it was a little too personal for your tastes, and not something that you really felt you had to know.

'Hey, what's up? Any new powers yet?' she asked as you landed, humour on her face.

'Not yet but I'll let you know if it changes.'

You spoke for a little while. About nothing in particular, mostly. Glory Girl felt that your grounding made sense, but then, she was also surprised you had told your Dad about being a cape at all; as far as she was concerned, that was pretty unexpected.

'Telling someone that much and then holding more back is just a recipe for tension, honestly.'

You couldn't find it in yourself to disagree despite how much you wanted to. It was settled now, but there was no real question that it had been a cloud over the otherwise recovering relationship you had with Dad; always having one more thing you couldn't quite come clean about.

Now that the air was clear, you felt like the opportunity for that familial bond to be fully healed was there. Of course, things took time; it was never going to be easy for you to forget him completely bailing on your life together in the aftermath of Mom's death, but you could understand it and it was clear that he was making amends. Besides, you thought to yourself, it wasn't exactly as if you were trying to make things easy on him at the time. You had your own reasons too, and life wasn't treating you well, but sometimes things aren't the result of malice. Things just aren't going well for two different people and those miseries arrange themselves in such a way to make commiseration impossible. Nobody had to like it, but that was what life was like sometimes.

Snapping yourself out of contemplation, you broached the subject of your PRT registration with Glory Girl.

'You still haven't done that?'

'No,' you said, tone even. 'There's been a lot on my mind. However, now you know the problem I have.'

'I do?'

You sighed. For someone so smart, she could be a little oblivious at times.

'They want a run-down of my powers. My powers are weird. I don't know what to tell them without making someone in a department somewhere go crazy. Answering some questions from time to time is one thing, but I'm not going to let myself be turned into a lab rat or a subject for analysis when I could be out there fighting crime.'

'Uh huh, because you've been fighting so much crime lately.'

You winced. Stinging, but you couldn't really deny it; you had been a cape for almost 5 weeks now, had a costume almost that long, but had really only been out twice and the first time had been solely to break into a civilian home. Your record in costume was not exactly stellar.

Best to just move on, you supposed. Not worth fighting a battle you can't win.

'We're going to get to that. For now, help me figure out what to tell them – Dad thinks I should just leave stuff off and tell them about the obvious things.'

She thought for a second, resting her head on her chin. The light was perfectly catching her face to frame it against the sky, the loose strands of her blonde hair going almost white and fiery in the sun, and you thought for a moment that it was an image that would make a fantastic post-card for enamoured fans; she certainly had enough of them.

'I think you can't really get away with that,' she began. Her voice was slow and her tone was considered, as if she wasn't entirely confident herself. 'You never know what powers you're going to get in the future, so even if you can hide a bunch of them now, things could change and then all of a sudden you have some annoying phone calls to deal with. He's definitely on to something with keeping it vague though.'

Adjusting her seating so that she was no longer sat on her cape, she continued on.

'Why not just tell them you're a grab-bag? That's what I thought you were at first, and you won't even have to be too precise. Just tell them you're a grab bag whose powers manifest in an Alexandria package. That's basically true, even if it doesn't tell them exactly how strong those specific powers are, and if something comes through in the future that you can't hide you can just tell them that it was part of the grab bag that you didn't really understand or use at the time.'

The idea made sense, but you had some reservations about it. After all, Glory Girl herself had figured out that you couldn't have been a grab bag after just a few meetings and one training session: if you stuck things out, there was no way that someone involved with the PRT wouldn't make the same conclusion even if they weren't as close to you. You said as much.

'If you figured me out, they'll figure me out. No offence. You're smart and you know me but they've been doing this since parahumans were a thing – I get caught on camera a few times, someone like Armsmaster or Miss Militia gets a look at the footage, or even just a senior PRT officer, and they're going to know something is wrong.'

'Maybe,' she said, tone somewhat sceptical. 'But by then you're registered and you're proving yourself as a hero. They're not going to drag you in after six months of being a hero to try and put you in chains, are they? The PR would be a nightmare. People wouldn't accept it.'

The thought was appealing. The lie-that-wasn't-really-a-lie didn't seem like it would last long, but it didn't need to last long. Once you were registered, you could go out on patrol alone as well as with Glory Girl or other members of New Wave if you wanted, and you could build up such a good reputation so quickly that it would be poison to try and discipline you beyond a few judgmental words.

Something about the thought of using reputation like that tasted sour, but you weren't about to let a little distaste stop you from being a hero rather than a lab experiment.

'That makes sense. I don't love it,' you stood grabbed the papers, leaning on the concrete. 'But it works. Good enough for now, right?'

'Exactly.'

Glory Girl got up and began circling around the rooftop, scouting for prying eyes. According to her, it was prudent to do whenever you were in public in one spot for too long; you hadn't really bothered since any parahumans nearby would expose themselves to your detection without you even trying, but you supposed that it made sense. After all, you'd been surprised once already, and though it never went anywhere negative it shouldn't have gone anywhere at all if you had been paying attention.

Filling out the paperwork didn't take long – you had already done most of it, after all, with Dad – and you were soon packing it away, folded in your pouch. Creasing official documentation didn't really appeal to you but it wasn't like you were going to risk just flying through the air with loose paper; if giving a brief, semi-fictional description of your powers to the PRT was this stressful, you didn't want to know how bad it would be to simply have your powers leaked by dropping them on people's heads in the street.

You signaled to Glory Girl and she flew back over, but didn't bother landing. Now that she knew that you could fly too – and were perhaps even more agile than she was, if in a less graceful and more insectile twitchy manner – she all but required you to do so. Something in you felt that she still resented being forced to go slowly while you made your way between walls on your first patrol, but you weren't suspicious enough to check.

Bolting along at maximum speed, the PRT headquarters came upon you fairly quickly. The glass doors looked different in the daylight, and while there was still something unpleasant about the fluorescence of the lighting it no longer appeared forensic in its illumination. Instead it felt quite a lot like a standard office building; were it not for the cardboard cut-outs of Protectorate members and the occasional photograph of various Wards over the years on the walls.

The woman seated behind the reception was the same that had been there when you had initially picked up the paperwork, and you cringed internally as you remember her seeing you storm off from Aegis and Clockblocker, irritated by something the latter had said. As you thought about it, you remember that it had been about Sophia, but you couldn't remember anymore why you had been so angry. Probably worthy of an apology, but you weren't going to seek anyone out to do it.

Luckily, the receptionist didn't appear to remember who you were. She took the paperwork as though you were a complete strange – which, you supposed, you were – and filed it away in a drawer beneath the desk, presumably to be later stored somewhere both more secure and more useful if someone wanted to contact you or learn more about you.

Probably going to digitise it, to be honest, you thought to yourself. Everything's going online these days.

Turning to your side, you noticed with surprise that Glory Girl was no longer flanking you. You felt the burning sensation of more parahumans entering your radius, and as you turned you saw her standing next to the elevator as it opened and two Wards emerged; this timing was getting suspicious.

Or, you had thought it was until the taller one in some mixture between the armour of a knight and a science fiction paratrooper embraced Glory Girl in a hug. You recognised him as Gallant, a relatively popular Ward in the media, but you were surprised to see how close they apparently were.

Chances Gallant is her boyfriend?

100%

That was probably something you should have known. Even as you asked the question, you realised that not only was it something you should have known about your friend – possibly your only real friend, depending on how Shielder and Manpower thought of you – it was also probably public knowledge. Another piece of evidence stacking up in the pile labelled 'reasons that you should know more about the city you live in'. It was getting slightly irritating how often you were surprised by things that didn't even appear as though they were supposed to be secret.

Not identifying Faultline and her compatriots purely by silhouette after a long day of training? Galling, but hardly the kind of thing you were about to lose sleep over. Not realising that the boyfriend of your closest confidante was a popular and well known member of the Wards? Far more troubling.

Alongside him was a figure you recognised: Clockblocker.

Once Glory Girl broke away from the hug – were those dents in the armour always there? - the three of them made their way towards you, and you decided to meet them halfway.

Well, you thought, now was the opportunity to apologise that you had been just considering. You opened your mouth to speak but before you could manage to, Clockblocker cut you off.

'Hey, Penumbra! I just wanted to apologise for the last time we spoke, I guess I kinda came off a little strong there. Didn't mean to upset you or anything.'

You closed your mouth with an audible click. That had not been the kind of start to the conversation you had been expecting, but it was nice to know that he had realised feet weren't supposed to go in mouths, whether you knew exactly how he'd got it there in the first place or not. Certainly made your own apology easier.

'It's not an issue. I think that I overreacted. It was a long day, and I'm sorry for leaving in such a state anyway.' That hurt your ego, but it had to be done.

He stuck out a hand, an expectant look somehow emerging on the totally blank plane of his helmet, and you looked at it tentatively. Should you choose not to shake it, it could make your apology come off as fake and that was something he wasn't likely to forget. You had no idea how old Clockblocker was, but he wasn't leader of the Wards and that told you he was probably not too much older than you; the kind of hero you'd be working with in the city for a while. On the other hand, there was always the risk that a brisk handshake could remove the limb, and you didn't want to be responsible for that either.

Times like this only left one solution.

Chances that I can shake Clockblocker's hand without maiming him if I'm really really careful?

92%

Your exhalation was quiet but he clearly noticed, cocking his head to the side like an eager dog.

Reaching out, you took his hand as gently as you could and shook it. Any remaining tension in the room fled readily, and you could almost feel the mood rise. The only person who seemed to still hold some stress in their shoulders was Gallant, and you weren't entirely sure if that was from the atmosphere or simply the effect of his steely pauldrons on his posture.

Once you released his hand, Clockblocker looked at it for a moment. Somehow the lack of facial features on the mask made him more expressive rather than less.

'Got yourself a nice, brisk handshake there, I see.' he managed to get out, voice comedically squeaky, as he shook the hand out in front of him. 'Can't say I expected that. Thought you'd be more of a conjurer type, from the outfit. Looking very magical.'

'I aim to be unpredictable.'

'Aim accomplished.'

Glory Girl moved back over to your side and the two of you looked at the Wards for a moment before conversation was ignited again by voices stepping over each other; eventually the situation melded into a fairly pleasant conversation. It turned out that just as you had caught Aegis and Clockblocker on their return from a patrol last time you had been at the PRT building, you were catching Clockblocker and Gallant on their way out to a patrol this time. You weren't attempting to pry, but Gallant offered the explanation anyway.

'Brockton Bay has a lot of capes in it, not just for it's size but for anywhere. Lots of criminals too, of course, so it makes sense that we're needed. Patrols are coming and going all the time.'

You nodded. The one real patrol you had been on with Glory Girl had been mostly dead air and empty space until the very end, but you also got the feeling that it wasn't usually so lucky; after all, how could it be? You had picked a route that was expected to be quiet for a reason and still ended up outnumbered in a fight, even if those numbers hadn't ended up meaning anything in the long run.

Where Clockblocker seemed relatively focused on practising his stand-up routine, Gallant was a much more conservative personality. He was polite, but didn't speak too much and when he did, he came across as the kind of person who thought a lot about how his words would be received by others. Opposites must have attracted with him and Glory Girl, who you generally saw as a much more outspoken individual.

Conversation eventually petered out as Gallant announced their need to get out on patrol. It was nice catching up with you, he said, but Armsmaster would be displeased if he heard socialising had kept them from their schedule; and worse, Aegis would be disappointed, something which Clockblocker described as like seeing a kicked puppy. Nobody wanted to disappoint Aegis.

As they left, you followed at a slower pace alongside Glory Girl.

'They seemed nice.'

'They're cool, for sure. About time you meet more heroes who aren't just me. I mean, I like myself as much as the next girl but I'm not the only person in the world, you know?'

You knew. She had been extremely helpful but the future of the city couldn't really be managed unless there was at least reasonable relations between all the heroes, and prior to meeting Gallant and Clockblocker today, your only real interaction with heroes had been bitter; you hadn't even met any of the Protectorate either, though that seemed more in line with expectations. They were older, usually dealing with more serious issues, and in some cases, barely on patrol due to the other duties bestowed upon them. You knew that Armsmaster was head of the Wards, and you shuddered to think about what it took to manage a half dozen teenagers with superpowers. Dad was having enough trouble with you and you were pretty good, all things considered.

Eventually, as you drifted through the air above the city, Dad called and told you it was time to come home; an exception may have been granted, but you were still grounded and if the paperwork was done then it was time to get back to serving your sentence.

You informed Glory Girl, and she was loathe to let you return but ultimately had to agree. Apparently she'd been grounded more times than she could count and if you didn't serve your time, parents had a way of stretching things out forever. She made sure not to let you go without one last confirmation though.

'When you're free, we patrol. Deal?'

'Deal.'

Thursday, 17th February

Freedom was sweet.

You soared through the air at close to your maximum speed, easily outpacing Glory Girl, much to her chagrin. Your wings chittered and buzzed in the air and while the daylight prevented their glow from being blinding, there was a definite smear of emerald energy trailing behind you.

One thing you appreciated about your flight was the manoeuvrability. Speed was good, after all, but you imagined you could probably have just manufactured speed by jumping hard enough at this point – as long as you were okay with cratering the ground beneath you each time you did it – but that would have been a straight arc to wherever you landed. The twitchiness afforded by your insectile wings, on the other hand, was enviable; Laserdream certainly thought so.

When you had gone out on patrol, you had been surprised to see her again. She was even more surprised to see the wings, but went along with it without too much concern.

Apparently, at least according to what she was willing to share, she was probably the fastest of New Wave in a straight line but something about the build-up of inertia and the forces inflicted by heavy turning made her feel intensely unwell, so she usually stuck to speeds a little lower than Glory Girl's. That she could maintain a pace that outstripped most cars on the road without having her stomach go on strike was something unique to her among the other members of New Wave. That you could double her pace and barely feel the effects felt almost like cheating, and the pair of them were happy to remind you of it.

Still, the air was pleasant through the thin fabric of your mask and your cloak fluttered amusingly in the sky and it was easy for you to take their jealousy as jokingly as it was intended. Neither of them seemed to have taken it particularly seriously.

Dad had finally seen fit to end your grounding, and as soon as he had, you had contacted Glory Girl. She was going out on patrol anyway and had invited you along; Laserdream didn't go out as often as she used to – in fact, none of New Wave did outside of Victoria – but she still tagged along from time to time and she didn't mind having a third.

In fact, when you had met the two, there had been a fourth; Lady Photon, one of the original Brockton Bay Brigade from before re-branding, had been there and was running down her expectations on their route when you had arrived. She had seemed pleasant enough, and though she hadn't been in costume at the time you could see that she clearly kept herself in shape; even in civilian clothes, she cut a fine figure and there was a sense of gravitas to her, as though her long years as a hero made her untouched by the world at large.

You'd exchanged only a few words, but given that it was your first real conversation with an experienced, adult hero – Faultline certainly didn't count, and you weren't even certain as to her age – you knew that it would stick with you: you could only hope that you had made a decent first impression before you had flown off with her teammates in tow.

Flying in the day was one thing: you'd done that before. Flying in the day through civilian areas was a little different, and you found it strangely thrilling to see people watch you as you passed, to see smaller kids point up into the sky as you moved overhead, and to race alongside your airborne allies from time to time to put on a show. They were well accustomed to the theatrics themselves, and thought you definitely felt that it was a little out of character, the sky brought out something in you that usually stayed dormant.

As before, much of the patrol was slow. That was partly to be expected: not only were you flying in the day, making crime slightly less of an expectation in the first place, you were also nearby the Boardwalk.

While petty crime was rife among the tourist traps, it was rare that anything happened on the Boardwalk that called for heroic intervention; it was for that reason that the Protectorate liked to stage PR events there. After all, if they were trying to present heroes as safe and approachable, the best way to do it was in circumstances in which it was unlikely they had to punch anyone.

Typical, then, that as you flew over the far end of the Boardwalk, closer to the end which transitioned into the docking area and eventually into the boat graveyard itself, Laserdream drew the attention of the group towards an incident.

Clearly, three capes was overkill for a mugging, but it was an excellent opportunity to get some public goodwill of your own underway without running into much risk.

Rapidly, you descended and touched down on the ground next to the man wielding the knife before he even registered your presence. The attack was taking place just off the main body of the Boardwalk, and as a consequence his thin cover was blown: as soon as people saw a cape descending from the sky, they gathered to watch.

'I would recommend that you return the bag.'

Your tone was confident enough to surprise even yourself.

'Yeah? Well, I'd recommend that you fuck off, bitch.'

He redirected the knife towards you. It was something of a cliché that, when clearly outmatched, criminals sometimes decided to go for aggression rather than what would make sense – clearly, the cliché had some truth to it.

Glory Girl and Laserdream hovered nearby, paying close attention. You were appreciative of their vigilance, but you didn't anticipate that there would be a need for them in an encounter like this one. His bravado did little to deter you.

'Once you return the bag, I'd be happy to leave you to the care of the local security. Until then, I think I'll stay.'

The bared teeth, slightly brown at the roots but otherwise in good condition, signalled that he was not willing to take your ultimatum as you had hoped. Instead, he threw the bag forward towards your face, attempting to blind you, as he turned and ran. Catching him was the work of three paces and a quick hop, and you had to take great care not to break his collarbone as you grasped him and held him in place.

As you squirmed, he ran the knife across your arm and you felt nothing. Looking down, you could see the fabric of your blue shirt parted around the area he had struck, but there was no wound.

You reached out your free hand and took the knife in your grasp, the blade inside your fist, and squeezed hard enough that you felt the edge dig slightly into your skin. It was unable to cut, but you felt the geometry of it.

Releasing your grip, you both saw the knife bent horribly out of shape, the blade resembling an arc of electricity more than anything else, and the thin tip of the thing broke off without the support of your fingers, dropping to the ground with a sparkling sound.

'I had hoped you would be more generous with your surrender, but I suppose we can't always be lucky.'

'Almost never lucky, Penumbra.' Glory Girl said, touching down at your side.

She gave you a subtle wink, and you felt grateful for the name-drop. Working on public relations was a little difficult if you didn't give the public anything to which they could relate your image.

In the end it was hardly even a crime; stopped with zero risk to anyone, and the enforcement of the Boardwalk nearby to take over, you ended up taking to the sky feeling almost disappointed. Sure, it had been fun to flex the muscles a little with the blade, but there was something almost anti-climactic with the situation.

You glanced down at your sleeve, sliced open and fluttering in the wind. Coming to a halt in the air, you allowed your companions to settle around you before asking the question.

'This might sound somewhat unusual, but I have to ask: where does New Wave get their costumes?'

Laserdream answered first.

'There's a cape tailor out of Toronto called Rhizome, she's a tinker who makes ultra-resilient clothing. She's where pretty much everyone who isn't employed by the PRT goes. She's expensive, but definitely worth it; her fabrics grow as you do, as long as you don't do anything crazy, which means changers love her.'

'Yeah,' Glory Girl followed up, 'I'm still wearing the same rotation of costumes we bought when I first triggered. There's a lot of growth in them. We can get you her details, if you want?'

'I would definitely like that.'

It was time to upgrade from the morph-mask; maybe you'd even ask for some LEDs while you were at it. Couldn't hurt.

That night as you settled in at home, you sent off an opening query to Rhizome using the PHO details that Glory Girl had provided. You hadn't even realised there was a marketplace section on there; it made sense though, basically everything else was there too. Why not wares?

Relaxing in your seat, it was strange to feel so accomplished. Usually something went wrong, and though your day had been far from dramatic, it had certainly achieved a lot of things on the to-do list.

There was only one thing left to get done that you thought made sense. After all, if Faultline's squadron of questionable-legality knew about you now, they probably weren't the only ones; that was especially true after your showing at the Boardwalk. It was time to ask a few questions.

Chances that all three of the main villain groups in Brockton Bay are aware of me?

0%

Chances that two of them are?

100%

Chances that they're interested in me beyond typical cape curiosity?

66%

Chances that the uninterested group is the Empire?

0%

Chances it's the ABB?

100%

Perfect, answers and only one wasted question. That sense of accomplishment didn't last long, however; with both the Empire and Coil's group taking more than a cursory interest, you knew that it was best to be prepared.

Chances that either the Empire or Coil's group know anything about me beyond what I showed on the Boardwalk?

100%

That made much less sense. How would it be possible? The only people who knew more were in New Wave, in the PRT, or were your Dad. It made no sense. You could feel a headache swelling at the base of your skull and you knew you only really had one question left if you wanted to be operational for training with Glory Girl and Manpower the next day.

Chances that either of them act on that information in the next week or so?

50%

That wasn't the most helpful answer. Did it mean that one of them definitely would, or that there was only a fifty per cent chance that either of them would?

It was difficult to know. If only you had more questions left, but you knew it wasn't a good idea to keep pushing; either way, you had what you needed to know. Criminals were aware of you, at least some of them knew something they probably shouldn't, and you needed to keep your eyes peeled over the next week. It was a good thing you weren't planning on going out without someone to watch your back.

Powers

Brute 10: Rolling a 10, you now have two of the archetypal Brute powers as part of a singular package. Firstly, you have gained immense physical resilience to damage, with most common forms of attack being utterly useless against you. You are less robust than an Endbringer, and certainly less than The Siberian, but not by much. You are essentially bulletproof, cutproof, and do not register pain from most mundane attacks. You have also gained immense super-strength, becoming one of the most physically powerful characters on Earth Bet. As a Brute 10, you are canonically the same Brute rating as Behemoth, according to WoG (though we have no knowledge of whether this includes his sandbagging or not). This strength does not come with an instinctive knowledge of its use, and therefore you must train so as not to obliterate people accidentally in combat.

- Mover 5: You have the ability to grow four, dragonfly like wings made of projected energy from the upper middle of your back, placed roughly in line with where a real dragonfly's wings are located on them. These wings grow in size depending on the speed of your travel, with a minimum 6 foot wingspan that can almost double at top speeds: your maximum speed is 178 miles per hour precisely, for potentially mathematically silly reasons. While flying, you have all the control and agility of a dragonfly; that is, you can hover in place, fly directly up or down, backwards, side to side, forwards, or at any angle, though maximum speed is only attainable in a forward direction. The wings emit a slight buzzing sound which grows in volume with speed, and the glowing light cannot be turned off, though it dims when not in motion.