6.6

6.6

Sunday, 24th​ April

With a spare day left to yourself before anything technically required action, you were almost at a loss of what to do. It was strange how you could simultaneously have so many things going on and nothing at all; like finding yourself in the calm at the centre of your own, personal storm, you felt calm and neutral.

Morning began normally. You went for a run, then a shower, and then prepared breakfast – this time, you chose not to disintegrate parts of it. While you appreciated Dad's perspective on your new striker power, you were also of the opinion that it wasn't something that you could really rely on in most cases. Having something handy around to get through obstacles, perhaps, and maybe as a last ditch resort to a save a life, that was worth a lot, but using it regularly absurd. Just because people sometimes carried guns in civilian life didn't mean that it justified them carrying around a rocket launcher, and making trivial use of the striker power seemed to be very much in the same family of extremity.

You weren't even sure how useful it would be. Naturally, while thinking about what it could and could not work on, you had asked your thinker power about whether it could apply to Endbringers but had received an inconclusive result. Whether that was because it didn't work on them, or because there was something fundamental about Endbringers that you didn't understand didn't really make a difference; the end result was that you were going to have to touch one of them if you wanted to find out and while you had resolved yourself to show up at the next opportunity you had (how could you not, your thinker power telling you that you could make a difference?) that didn't exactly mean that you were thrilled by the idea of getting into touch-range with things.

Trying to choose which Endbringer you would most like to get into a melee with was like choosing which gun you'd like to have blow your brains out onto the wall. No good options seemed available.

While you ate, you attempted to distract yourself from such morbid thoughts by trying out the crossword puzzle in the back of the newspaper. Dad, who had always been a fan of sudoku, had left the checkered boxes untouched and the idea of trying out puzzles as part of your quest to add to your list of things-to-do-that-didn't-involve-fighting appealed to you. Unfortunately, as most of the hints seemed to regard films you hadn't seen and events from before your birth (in several cases, events from before Scion had even descended, which seemed almost quaint in some ways), you found yourself quickly becoming disenchanted with the idea of becoming an expert puzzler. Perhaps not.

The half-finished thing found itself abandoned on the table when you went to clean up your dishes, placing a bowl and spoon still steaming with the scalding heat of the water that you barely felt on the rack to dry, spiralling loops of heat pouring off them.

Dad had almost burned himself to the point of blistering after he had dipped his hand in the water after you'd washed up the first time since unlocking your brute power. You had tried not to make it so extreme since, but it was difficult to gauge without the true pain sensation that most other people felt from the burn.

Wondering how hot something would have to be before you truly felt it was an interesting past-time, and while you could potentially have wasted some thinker questions on trying to find out, the reality was that it was more interesting to think about than to know. Sometimes things were just like that.

After a late morning filled with study, you could feel a headache brewing, though not one related to your thinker power. While you were trying to make sure that you kept abreast of all of your studies, you couldn't deny that since Armsmaster had enrolled you in some college level courses, you were focusing a little more on the sciences than you had in the past – and on the mathematics required to understand some of it.

You did not enjoy the process.

It wasn't that you didn't understand. The reality was that, for the most part, the rules were simple and the processes didn't require much in the way of individual judgment. Once you had learned how to balance an equation or gone through the troubles of learning what integration was, the steps you followed each time were more or less the same. There was a beautiful simplicity in that, and you thought that with a bit more understanding you could see why someone like Armsmaster would find it so worthy of study.

But it wasn't intuitive in the same way that other things had been for you. While school hadn't been a pleasant experience for you in some time, there was no denying that you had a knack for certain subjects over others, and since getting back into reading you had only re-affirmed that. You were Annette Hebert's daughter through and through, and that was why you found yourself settling in at lunch time to read.

Flashdrive's comments about drawing inspiration from science fiction had struck a chord, and while Mom didn't have a huge range of science fiction in her collection, there was enough that you were able to cobble together a few books and combine that with some cursory internet searching in order to try and start drawing out some ideas.

The names that sat in front of you – Asimov, Lem, Clarke, Blish, Bradbury, Butler, and Forster – had written on the subject at least a little. You knew it was cheating, and you were going to get around to reading the books in full, but between reading through the blurbs and then finding some summaries online for the more prominent texts, you had assembled a number of ideas that seemed like they would be fun to investigate.

Of course, you couldn't be certain that any of them were possible. One of the frustrating things about your tinker power seemed to be that it didn't offer obvious ways forward; you had moments where hints seemed to fall into your head and ideas seemed to come together, but it wasn't as though there was an obvious pathway laid out in front of you. Maybe if you had a single, solid end goal there would be a sense of ease to things, but that kind of clarity had eluded you thus far and you weren't sure if it was ever going to come.

Still, certain ideas had appealed more than others, and you couldn't deny that the idea of a legion of small robots appealed to you – and the potential of microscopic surgery teased in a number of the books seemed like an obvious way to try and maximise the ways in which you could make an impact outside of battle. Whether learning the science necessary to make it happen would be plausible within a single lifetime or not was a different issue, but there was potential there at the very least. Something to work on, when you found the time.

When you stood up, you stretched out and heard your back pop and crack in at least two places. Strangely enough, after years of sleeping on a mattress that was slightly broken and sitting on a couch where the stuffing had gone slightly to pasture, suddenly having proper back support almost felt like punishment. Once you had taken the time to sink into it, it was lovely, but the process of standing up and not having any of your usual dips to use for leverage meant that you felt almost trapped.

Getting up with wings felt like overkill, but maybe transforming into a snake and just slumping off the bed was the less melodramatic option.

With tinkering in mind and the afternoon still open to you, you decided to head over to the PRT headquarters. With nothing scheduled and no demands on your time until Monday morning, you would be able to speak to Flashdrive and little more and discuss some of your ideas and, perhaps, allow him to scan your own blaster power.

It made sense. While you had yet to see him in the field, it was well known that for a number of tinkers the frontlines were the most dangerous place to be. Of course there were exceptions who constructed suits of power armour, both humanoid like Armsmaster and multi-faceted like Dragon, as well as those occasional tinkers whose power could be turned to self empowerment, but the majority of them were reliant on devices entirely for combat – things they could drop, things which could break, and things which could malfunction in unexpected ways.

Leet, of Brockton Bay's Uber and Leet, had demonstrated multiple times throughout the years the risks of trying to use tinkertech in the field. Whether he was just particularly incompetent or whether it really was as dangerous as all that, you couldn't be sure, but the reality was that if you had anything that might provide Flashdrive with a more reliable method of defending himself when he was out on patrol – should such a thing even happen – you were happy to provide it to him.

And it was that in mind that you found yourself costumed up, flying towards the PRT headquarters yet again.

The city was beginning to look more familiar below you as you passed over it. Most of it was still foreign enough that you couldn't name locations or streets, but you were beginning to recognise some of the more prominent structures and some of the paths that people stuck to most. The busiest areas stuck out like a sore thumb, and some of the more dilapidated parts of the city – remnants of the time before Cinereal started tugging things back into something resembling order – stuck out even worse.

Running the map you had been given over in your head, you vaguely located each different quadrant of the city covered by villainous forces. It was intimidating in a way, something that you felt embarrassed to admit. Of course, the city had been the same in Brockton Bay, too, but there it was just the way things were for a long time. You had grown up knowing that the architecture of the city told you less about its makeup than those lines that existed only in the culture, and in the local legends; this is where the Empire ruled, et cetera. Even Lung, whose appearance had turned the ABB from an upstart group into a monolith capable of holding its own with anyone, had arrived long enough ago that he seemed naturalised.

Here, in Atlanta, everything seemed so contingent. Why was such a gang allowed to exist, or to hold territory?

You knew it wasn't as simple as it seemed, and research had told you that things used to be even worse than they were in 2011, but it still seemed baffling. Being an outsider had a way of making everything stick out, even when the same principles had seemed to natural where you had come from.

Quickly, you decided to run some questions through your thinker power – something you were slowly thinking about as Percentile, a name that made it a little quicker to refer to – to get a grip on the gangs. Of course, you couldn't be too specific, especially when the gangs were so numerous, but running a few questions to give you a broad idea might let you prepare more for the upcoming weeks.

Chances that any of the gangs in the city are planning something which could lead to widespread danger to civilians in the next two weeks or so?

Inconclusive.

You furrowed your brow, almost coming to a stop in the air.

While it was far from the first time your power had thrown up an inconclusive result at you, it didn't happen all the time and you were fairly sure that you knew enough about the powers that be in Atlanta to get at least something.

Troubleshooting was in order. Unless it was the power itself malfunctioning, there had to be something specific, and so taking things one at a time might clarify things.

Chances that the Runners are planning something that could lead to widespread civilian danger in the next two weeks?

71%

Troubling, though a spark of inspiration caused you to rephrase the question.

Chances that the Runners are planning something other than drug dealing that could lead to widespread civilian danger in the next two weeks?

6%

Not exactly reassuring, but you already knew that they were dealing dangerous substances; filtering that out of the question pool would give you a more accurate reading of their behaviours, at least insofar as they varied from their norms. Relatively low chances of something going wrong, but enough that you figured at least one of them was going to have some idea that could lead to trouble. Not major enough to trouble Cinereal over, but perhaps to keep an eye on.

Chances that Octave are planning something that could lead to widespread civilian danger in the next two weeks?

Inconclusive

Teeth came together in a grimace. Culprit found; something about Octave was interfering with your power and you didn't like it. Since encountering Coil and his similarly baffling ways, you had grown a special dislike for anything that set Percentile at odds with itself, and as much as you didn't like to resort to violence, you were already planning a particularly unpleasant evening once you figured out which one of the group – if, indeed, it was only one of them – was causing you such trouble. Contrary to the issues with the Runners, this was very much something to keep people informed of; after all, there was always a chance that there was a known explanation that could help you aim your indignation more appropriately.

How lucky, then, that you had a meeting scheduled already with Cinereal the following day?

With only a few questions left for the day before a headache started to set in, you decided to save Inheritance for the following morning – the group was still seemingly reeling according to Cinereal's notes, and weren't expected to cause too much trouble too soon, and while you didn't exactly feel happy about being left in the dark for another day, there were more pressing issues.

Regent.

As you piled questions through Percentile, you couldn't help but feel the resurgence of the idea you had the day previously; to tell him, or not to tell him? Even asking Percentile for an answer felt strange, as though you were offloading social interaction to a power, but you wanted to make sure you were prepared for whatever his response would be. His guarded reaction when you had first offered him a boost back in Brockton Bay had surprised you then, and you had backed off rather than allow it to escalate.

Going in blind to tell him that Cinereal now had her mind set on it? That sounded torturous.

And so you ran the question.

Chances that Regent will attempt to flee if I tell him about Cinereal's plans?

87%

You cursed.

Chances that Regent will attempt to flee if I tell him that I'll back him up if he doesn't want to get the boost?

43%

Still higher than you felt comfortable with, but nearly halving the chances meant that you were simply going to have to bite the bullet and tell him. And take a side.

You weren't looking to potentially having to tell Cinereal to put a rain check on it, but the reality was that she couldn't do anything to force you to empower him. You were voluntarily empowering people for preparation and the sake of potential mission flexibility – nothing was in your contract that you simply had to do it. If she attempted to make you do it against your will, she would find that you were a very difficult person to move.

Purity, Hookwolf, Night, Fenja, Menja, Cricket, Victor, and Krieg could all attest to that much.

'Text Regent; Can we meet tomorrow afternoon at headquarters? I need to talk to you about something.'

You allowed your helmet to automate the text and send it through, the letters flickering briefly at the base of your helmet's internal screen before vanishing.

God, sometimes it felt good to be a tinker.

When you touched down, you offered a greeting to the secretary and then made a bee-line to the workshop. Flashdrive was, as expected, present and appeared to be working again on the large machine that sparked various colours. You weren't sure exactly what it did yet, but you had plenty of time to learn and whatever it was, it didn't seem to be calling to your tinker power to influence it, so you decided not to trouble yourself over it for the time being.

'Hello again,' he said, voice somewhat cheery as he noticed your arrival. 'Got some plans to work on?'

'Sort off,' you answered, plunking open the draw of one of the tables on your side of the room and withdrawing a pen and pad, noting down some of the ideas you had taken from the science fiction texts. 'Started reading through some science fiction stuff for ideas, based on your suggestion. My Mom had a lot of books, so there's a lot to take.'

'Make sure you actually read them though, they have life lessons in them.'

'I will, I will. Just needed prompts for now.'

'I hear you.'

The two of you worked in silence for a short time, the only sound coming from his side of the room the electronic buzzing of the machines and the occasional beep as he entered new commands into the console, the only sounds from your own being the scribbling of pen on paper, the occasional crinkle of a screwed up piece containing an idea you immediately dismissed, and the occasional tapping of your finger against the temple of your helmet.

After you had finished getting your ideas down, you sat up straight and looked over them. Making a decision on exactly how to proceed would depend on a few factors, but you had options now, and it was something.

In the meantime, you wanted to pursue the idea of scanning further. Flashdrive had put the idea into your head, and other than deciding to put whatever you came up with into your helmet to make it more accessible, you had little idea where to start. Seeing someone else's scanning in action, however, seemed as though it might help prompt some motivation, and with the decision already made to offer Flashdrive the usage of your blaster power, the opportunity wasn't far from reality.

'Flashdrive?'

'Yeah?'

'You said that your scanners work best on blaster powers, right?'

'Sure did.'

'I have a blaster power. Would I be able to get a closer look at your scanners if I allowed you to take a reading of it for emulation?'

The older tinker froze for a moment before turning his head in your direction. He didn't seem upset, but you could tell there was an element of surprise in it.

'Are you sure? Most people are pretty reserved over that kind of thing.'

'Sure, why not? We're on the same team. I know that Armsmaster has scanned a few of the people in Brockton Bay – he even got a scan from Purity, a villain, though I'm not sure how. And she might not be a villain anymore.'

If it were possible for someone to exude confusion without facial expressions, Flashdrive did so.

'It's complicated.'

'I gathered,' he said, standing up straight and placing his hand on the console. 'Well, if you're offering I would love to. Always good to get something to supplement the offence – most of my tinkering is prone to utility, so I'm a little limited when it comes to battlefield tech. Not to say that I don't have any, of course, but it's not always the handiest.'

You nodded and didn't question further; the idea of giving him more options was exactly why you had committed yourself to making the offer in the first place. If he could use your power in your absence to blast someone and in doing so, save himself from injury, you didn't see that there was much justification for holding your power back from him just for the sake of ego or some kind of warped sense of ownership.

Watching as he moved, you tracked Flashdrive to the back of his side of the workshop, where he pulled a large metallic chest away from the wall by a few inches – the squeaking sound of its casters rung in your ears and you resisted the urge to try and insert your finger into your non-existent earholes. Instead, you simply enforced a slight shift in your physiology, trading human hearing for serpentine hearing.

As a kid, you had thought that snakes were deaf. After all, they had no ears so it just made sense. You'd learned that that wasn't really the case as you grew up a little more; snakes weren't deaf, but they weren't nearly as capable as humans in picking up a range of frequencies, and their biology didn't really allow for the perception of frequencies above around a thousand hertz; in effect, trading out human hearing for a snake's allowed you to apply a low-pass filter to the world and avoid some of the more irritating sounds.

If you'd had that the first time you had fought Cricket, and had thought of it the second time, you would have used it automatically. That said, you had no idea whether it would work or not; Cricket's sound wasn't truly audible in the first place, and it still set you off balance. Work a try, anyway, and if you were ever forced to confront her again it would be on the shortlist of tactics to try.

Flashdrive pulled a few small rectangles roughly the size of a wallet from the chest, blowing dust from the top of them, before turning back to join you in the centre of the room.

'These are my scanners,' he said, handing one over to you. 'Take a look while I get these set up. Not sure how much you'll get from it, but you're welcome to try.'

The welcome, though generous, was largely without effect. His scepticism seemed warranted, as even though it was simple in design and you could pop off the back with a simple application of pressing on a sliding panel, absolutely nothing you saw made sense. While you knew that you weren't exactly an expert on electronics yet, the entire thing looked like a combination of circuits that should've done nothing more than turn on lights, a few potentiometers, and a mess of undifferentiated parts that were soldered together at seemingly random intervals attached to a printed circuit board. There was fundamentally very little to understand, and what was there resisted comprehension.

Still, the idea of it seemed to call to something in you; perhaps not something directly replicable, but the concept of using a light to designate a location of effect to scan rather than tracking it to an individual's power made for the possibility of a more effective scanning system. Maybe, rather than having such large blocky modules – and it felt strange to consider such things large, given their powerful function and relatively small size – you could make it even smaller. Perhaps something to be dispatched from the helmet?

Ideas were at work, and by the time you were brought back to the room moments later, Flashdrive had finished setting up four of the devices around you, resting each on a table. A small bulb, those you had seen connected to the simple circuits, lit up and there was little permitted to cast a shadow within their illumination.

'What do I do?'

'Just stand in there and use the power. Doesn't have to be at full strength, doesn't have to be pointing at something. I know from your files it's more about pushing than setting fires, right? So just shove something gently.'

You weren't sure how that worked; would the scanner emulate only the weak levels of pushing, or was it the kind of thing that Flashdrive would be able to moderate for himself once he had the pattern of effect scanned into his systems? Maybe even he didn't know, truly.

Following his instructions, though, you raised your left hand and loosed a pretty gentle form of the power, shoving the door to the room outwards contrary to its natural inward motion, wrenching the metal hinges from the wall.

'Bit more than I expected,' he said, 'but that's good. One more, focused this time if you can.'

Maybe it was just a subconscious urge to make sure he was getting a good version of the power scanned in, but he was right that it had come out fairly firmly. That, or the hinges on the door were just less secure than you had anticipated.

Issuing a more focused version of the beam, you stuck to your target and hit the door, drilling a narrow hold perhaps two inches in diameter into the wood, splinters clattering across the floor to reveal a hole bored right through.

Again, you were not pushing the limits of your power but you wanted to ensure that whatever he scanned was coming out with enough strength to be useful if he had to turn it on a villain.

A flimsy gust of air wouldn't have done anything to stop Hookwolf, and you didn't imagine it would do much to stop some of Atlanta's hard hitters either.

'Brilliant, thank you,' the older tinker said, scuttling around to turn off the scanners and carrying them back over together near his desk.

The entire affair hadn't taken long, but given that it required you to stand still inside of an area clearly illuminated by obvious instruments, it was clear why he hadn't been able to poach a number of powers from the various villains that he had no doubt encountered over the years. Immediately, you knew that such a negative wouldn't be allowed for your own scanners. Whatever limits they had – and you knew there would be some, as if scanners came out perfectly then surely a tinker of Dragon's calibre would have simply scanned every member of the Birdcage and developed an infinitely wide power set – you were intent that targets being stationary was not going to be one of them. And if lights could be done away with, you'd do that too.

After a brief conversation in which Flashdrive attempted to talk you through what his scanners had actually done, resulting in the emergence of a headache that threatened to turn your mood sour, you had conceded defeat. Scribbling down a few of your ideas on scanners for later and sealing it all up again within the drawer of what you were quickly coming to consider your main desk, you left headquarters again to head home – with a busy morning scheduled, you wanted to make sure you got an early night.

You'd need it.

Monday, 25th​ April

It was a strange melange of the familiar and the novel to enter the same room, but in a different building, for the same purpose, for different people.

It was that strange mixture that you experienced walking into the identical medical bays in the starkly different PRT building for regular empowerments of a new set of Protectorate heroes; you weren't entirely sure how to think about it, and so you simply didn't and allowed the moment to flow over you as though you were merely existing in it, rather than pivotal to its execution.

Cinereal stood tall in the centre of the trio, looking the same as she had on the first day that you had met her. Something about her seemed out of place when she wasn't in her office, and you were glad to note that some of her aura of intimidation had gone with the change of location. In some ways, in a room so well lit and so uniformly white, she looked more definite.

Flashdrive, wearing his real mask, stood to the left of her, and stood taller than you had seen him when in the workshop. Perhaps standing to attention in the presence of his boss, though you couldn't be certain if it was that or just being out in public rather than tucked away in his grotto.

To the Protectorate leader's right was clearly Glacial. She was short – perhaps only five feet four, if you had to guess – and had a thin frame, though one that spoke to an athleticism that you knew you didn't have, rather than your own stick-like body. Her hair was dyed blue, much as Shielder's had been back in Brockton Bay, but it was a cool blue to match the tones of her costume, which was made up of an ice blue bodysuit with armoured chest plate, pauldrons, greaves, vambraces, and gauntlets that looked to be made of crystalline ice that nevertheless were frosted rather than melting in the warmth of the room. Her mask was made up of a similar material, covering her entire face with the exception of surprisingly warm green eyes that looked out through a fissure in the glacier.

'Hello,' you said, not wanting to waste time. 'Do we have a preferred order?'

'Flashdrive first. You warned me of his potential fugue; we will empower him and allow him to leave to his laboratory. Glacial next, and then me last.' Cinereal replied, and you nodded.

'Please just give me a moment,' said the doctor, a younger looking woman than most you had seen since arriving in Atlanta. Her skin was a soft brown, and she had the wrinkles of a smiler across her face. 'I would just like to hook up some monitoring to you before you begin, if that's alright?'

'No problem.'

'Lovely, just a moment.' She repeated herself, as you slipped off a glove. 'My name is Doctor Webby,' she spoke, monologuing as she retrieved some apparatus you didn't recognise from a drawer, and then pulled another which you did from her bag. 'You haven't met me yet, but I'm in charge of the medical staff here – hopefully we won't see each other too often, but it's nice to put a face to the name.'

You thought that was a slightly strange thing to say in a room filled with people who were very much not showing their faces, but you were willing to play along. Webby's demeanour seemed pleasant enough, and you weren't about to try and contradict her.

'Nice to meet you too.'

She smiled as she turned back around, and you saw Cinereal shift her weight to a single foot, as though impatient. You felt your eyebrows climb an inch up your forehead. It was a surprisingly childish gesture, and you half expected it to be accompanied by the click of the tongue. Webby, for her part, seemed to notice it but didn't react. Whatever the dynamic between the two was, it was clear that it wasn't something new and both had settled into their roles without the need of any interruption on your part.

'Okay, if I can just have your hand for a moment,' Webby said, and took it the moment you raised it, sticking what seemed to be a circular stick pad to your hand which led back along a wire to the apparatus, the other end of which she inserted into her computer. 'This is just for monitoring a number of your vitals as well as some other possible readings. We aren't really sure yet how a power like yours might work, so any data we can have is helpful. Ignore it as much as you can.'

You nodded.

'Are we ready?'

Cinereal's impatience didn't come through in her voice, but you could tell that she was ready to move along. In her defense, you didn't recall any of the doctors in Brockton Bay wasting so much time with these things, but they had also had the opportunity to give you a full physical, so you assumed that they'd taken a number of other measurements. It was a pain, but you could hardly begrudge Webby her own assessments.

'We are.'

'Flashdrive?' You spoke, and he stepped forward.

'What do I need to do?'

'Just raise your hand or something. I have to touch your skin, but that's it. Doesn't seem to matter where.'

He wasted no time following instructions and you raised your hand in response before tapping him on the back of his hand in roughly the same spot that the sticky pad had been placed on your own. The familiar rush of heat, which had been absent since departing Brockton Bay, poured down your arm and you felt the empowerment go ahead as normal.

Flashdrive tensed, as though expecting a blow, before settling down slightly. There was a distracted look in his eye immediately, and you knew instantly.

'Cinereal,' he said, nodding to her. 'Penumbra.'

With that, he left. Perhaps you would give the workshop a miss that afternoon and revisit the following day; if there was anything left of it, maybe you could even get started on your own new project.

'Hope I don't go weird like that,' Glacial spoke up, a strong accent. 'Seen that before?'

'Yes, with Armsmaster. And Kid Win.'

'Wild. Me next?'

Cinereal didn't move or speak, and so the smaller girl stepped forward and raised her hand, slipping off her gauntlet. You weren't sure whether the gauntlet was just enormous or whether she was very very small, but the scale seemed off.

Proceeding promptly, you repeated the motion you had done to Flashdrive a moment earlier, and felt the same warmth pouring into Glacial's hand. Her skin was cold, which you supposed you should have expected given her name and obvious visual theme, but you wondered how normal that was. While temperature based powers weren't exactly abundant in Brockton Bay, there had been no real tells regarding the powers people had had without seeing them use them, and since arriving in Atlanta you had already seen Cinereal and Glacial both with specific temperature indicators.

Potentially a coincidence, but maybe different power types had different traits like that.

Glacial pulled her hand back slowly, then slipped her gauntlet back on over it, and took a moment before speaking.

She didn't speak for a moment, as though processing whatever was going through her mind.

'Well?' Cinereal was expectant.

'Cool it,' Glacial replied, her green eyes turning to look at Cinereal. As she moved, you noticed puffs of frosted smoke emerging from beneath her mask; fogged up breath. 'It takes a second.'

As she spoke, the temperature of the entire room began to descend, slowly at first and then rapidly, until you were sure it must have been below freezing. All of you were breathing clouds of smoke, and though there was none for it to do so, you were sure that any water would have frozen solid in minutes.

'More shaker,' she said. 'No need to touch anymore, it's just everywhere around me. Not sure how far it could spread out. And it's all there to control, from where I am.'

Her voice sounded somewhere far away, something you recognised a little from Vista's empowerment, and you wondered if there was something equally strange at work; Vista's power was already weird, but from what little you understood it had become fundamentally bizarre after a boost. Maybe Glacial was experiencing the same thing.

'Additional control only, or additional capacities?'

Webby's voice shuddered slightly as she spoke, but her demeanour didn't betray any discomfort.

'Capacities too. Range, now, I think. I could shoot it, if I had to.'

'Interesting.'

'And I think,' she said, 'can't be sure here without letting you try, but I think I'm frozen.'

Cinereal met her shorter subordinate's gaze. 'You're always frozen. Expand.'

'Like, actually frozen, duh. Cut me, I don't bleed cause it's frozen, that kind of frozen.'

You winced at the snappy tone in her voice, and for a moment you thought that Cinereal would retaliate in some way, but she didn't. Answer gained, it seemed that the lack of pleasantries didn't seem to bother the senior hero nearly as much as Webby's continued friendliness did.

Further unlike Brockton Bay, rather than allowing you to simply proceed with empowering Cinereal, you stood nearby, watching as Webby asked a number of questions and performed a few tests; indeed, a needle failed to draw any blood when inserted, and an oral thermometer returned a reading of only ten degrees Fahrenheit – well below freezing.

As the power wore off, roughly fifteen minutes after being given, the room crawled at a loathsome pace back up to temperature, and Cinereal moved towards you. Glacial sat back, leaning against the desk at which Webby sat, looking drained.

'If you would.'

The Protectorate leader raised her hand to you, black nails shining and the white powder that covered her skin evident. At such a close distance, you could see the darker tones of her skin beneath the makeup, and you wondered how she managed to keep it on even through combat. You weren't much of a make-up person, but even you knew that getting it to stick in such thick layers was impressive.

'Right away?'

'If you would.'

Though her tone didn't change, you could still pick up an insistence below it. Outside of her office, it didn't feel nearly so threatening, though you acquiesced anyway. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.

Touching your hand to the back of her own, you felt flame pour through you once more, the final charge you had available for the day, and wick away into Cinereal's body, which shot up in temperature instantly until even you had difficulty touching her without feeling the sting of burn. When you drew your hand away, there was no visible damage, but it hotter than anything you had felt in some time. Cinereal's gaze had dropped to her own hand, as though searching to see where the power had been.

A moment went by, an echo of Glacial's own quiet moment of reflection.

'Well? What's up?' That same teenager, apparently recovered enough from her own empowering, needled her silent boss.

Cinereal looked up at you, and her eyes were on fire.

'I do not believe,' she said, her voice wavering as heat distorts vision, 'that this should be used with any regularity.'

Webby sat up from the desk, and you turned your gaze to her. There, in front of her, the front of the table had begun to sag, as though steel drooping under its own weight in a blaze, before it began to crumble into ash.

As you turned back to Cinereal, the same effect was clear on the walls, the photo frame behind her containing its cliché stock art, the small bed pressed against the wall. All of them began to distort and melt down into grey and white flecks that flittered in the air and began to pile across the ground.

'It seems,' Cinereal's voice had gone hoarse, as though parched, and when you looked back to her, her skin seemed as though it was splitting like desiccated land, flickering tongues of fire writhing beneath the surface and between the fissures. 'Dangerous.'

Wherever Glacial and Vista had been, disconnected from reality, Cinereal had taken up residence there. Ash piled up around you all, and your vision flickered with the heat's warp of the world.

'You still with us, boss?' Glacial asked, her voice worried.

No answer was immediately forthcoming, but when it came, it seemed to speak from the ash as much as from the woman in front of you.

'I believe so. This shall pass.'

As the temperature skyrocketed, sweat breaking out across your skin, and holes crumbled through the walls, them curled like burning paper, you certainly hoped she was right.

Tinker's Choice

Inspired by conversations with Flashdrive, seeing his scanners, as well as reading some science fiction, you have a number of competing ideas for where to go next with your tinkering career. Which do we pick?

[X][TINKER]Stick with the idea of scanners in their purest form: we don't really know what we're scanning yet, but we can find out!

[X][TINKER]The medical options from the books seem promising, and we'd need some form of scanning/diagnostic to do that anyway. Try biological scanning before the esoteric stuff.

Which route to scanning do you prefer - note, this is about order of operations. Choosing one does not mean the other will never happen.