Wave (A Wormverse Story)

[Rhyzler]

Synopsis, Preface & Trigger Warning​

Wave is a story written in the setting of Wildbow's Worm, and takes place in Sydney, Australia in 2005, seven years prior to the events of Worm itself. It follows Parthian, a new and less-than-heroic tinker who must navigate the parahuman political landscape of a city that was almost completely destroyed by Leviathan 7 years ago. Now, the city stands once again, reborn from the ruins with a new team of capes watching over it, The Atlas Alliance. However, the AA aren't the only capes to have made Sydney their home, with several villainous factions having embedded themselves in the infrastructure of the new city as it was rebuilt. How will Parthian fare in Sydney and its dark underbelly? Especially when she has a few dangerous secrets of her own to keep.

The story is written with the intent that it could be considered canon within the larger Worm story/timeline. Wave serves as a novelised adaptation of an ongoing tabletop RPG campaign, similarly as The Legend of Vox Machina is to Critical Role. It will primarily consist of a completely original cast of characters, with major figures such as the Triumvirate only making occasional appearances. As much as we all love them, our favourite gang of teenage villains will almost certainly not feature at all in this story, so please don't expect to see them.

Just like with Worm and Ward, readers should be cautioned that Wave will be fairly dark as fiction goes. There will be graphic language, descriptions of violence, sex (which will occur offscreen) and references to potentially triggering material such as child abuse and sexual assault. I take these topics very seriously as a writer. I will do my utmost to treat them with the respect they should be shown and will not tolerate anyone who fails to do the same in the comments. As Wildbow did with Worm and Ward, I would give this story an MA-15+ (PG-18 for non-Australians) rating. I advise reader discretion in general for this whole fic but chapters that contain any of the aforementioned potentially triggering material will be preceded by trigger warning notifying readers of the sort content ahead, should they wish to avoid it.

With all of that said, I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this exploration into a different place and time in the Wormverse we all love so much. Onwards!​

 

[Rhyzler]

Splash 1.1​

Friday, 2:54pm, April 22nd, 2005

It was a quiet afternoon as I made my way west along the motorway, leaving the coastal city of Sydney behind me as I headed inland towards the Blue Mountains. It wasn't rush hour quite yet, but there were enough vehicles on the road that I had to focus. Focusing was good - I was glad for the distraction. Anything to keep my mind and my eyes from wandering over my shoulder to the blankets I had covering the gear in the boot and backseat of my car. I'd turned the radio on to help drown out the nerves, but quickly found that the idle political chatter on ABC Radio just became a new kind of background noise.

Having to brake behind a particularly slow moving truck was enough to shake me from my stupor, just in time to be surprised by a trumpeting tune that heralded the beginning of the news.

"Good afternoon, it's three o'clock and I'm Darren Walker, here with your ABC Radio News update," the voice began. "It's been a day of excitement and showboating today as the Medi-Evils villain duo Steam Punk and Battle Bard carried out a robbery at the Eastwood branch of the Commonwealth Bank. As usual, Protectorate capes Gloryhammer and Excalibur were first to arrive at the scene to attempt to stop the pair. Unfortunately, the heroes were occupied protecting civilians from Steam Punk's clockwork soldiers and both villains managed to escape. The Protectorate plans to make an official statement on the clash later this evening and the Commonwealth Bank has declined to give details on how much money was stolen."

"People don't like Americans poking their noses in… Why do we need Aussie capes flying the Protectorate flag, anyway?" I commented out loud over the ongoing radio broadcast, turning pointedly to the side to address my helmet, perched on the passenger seat. Its birdlike gold-and-white visage peered back at me, partially covered up under some rags. Of course, not expecting an answer from the inanimate object - I was nervous about the upcoming tests, not crazy - I turned my attention back to the road, one hand loosely over the top of the steering wheel, the other hanging limply over the centre console near the shifter.

The newsreader continued and I tuned out the non-cape stuff. Things like the housing market or a party's latest political stunt didn't interest me.

"Speculation continues to swirl around the current construction going on beneath the Atlas Alliance's headquarters in the harbour. The area has been closed off from the public eye for the better part of six months now - with all members of the AA, their connections in APRA, and their corporate sponsor Cardon Enterprises all refusing to elaborate when asked. And, our final story - in news following the recent string of attacks and killings occurring at nightclubs across the city, APRA and AA confirmed this morning that there is parahuman involvement, according to recovered CCTV footage showing at least one suspect with powers. Specifics of the power or whether the suspect is acting alone were not addressed in the statement. Authorities have advised people to avoid going out in the city for the time being, and to keep their eyes open for unusual activity. If you see any parahuman incidents, please call for emergency services or the Atlas Alliance directly via their hotline, 1800 ATLAS, that's 1800 28527. I'm Darren Walker, and this has been your 3pm ABC Radio News update."

The next half an hour or so went by quietly, and nowhere near fast enough for my liking as I was forced to maintain the speed limit. My thoughts started drifting to my sister again. It had been more than a week now since I'd last heard from her and all I could do was worry. Tinkering had helped to distract me from… everything else that was wrong but it could only take me so far. As anxious as I was about going out in costume before I thought I was completely ready, my workshop had started to feel like a prison of my own making.

A field test had been the only logical choice. Somewhere safe and secluded where I wouldn't accidentally stumble into a cape fight or have other capes stumble into me, not until I was completely, totally ready.

If I can ever be ready, really.

If I really tried, I could probably make excuses to spend the rest of forever in my workshop endlessly pulling things apart and putting them back together for the umpteenth time to make sure they were perfect even though I knew they were. I couldn't let my workshop become another prison though, I'd spent too long in one of those already. I sighed with relief as I finally exited the motorway and spent a few more minutes bobbing and weaving down smaller roads, following my Sat-Nav uplink until I reached a small rest stop area adjacent to a bushwalking track that lead into the Blue Mountains National Park. Here I could focus on topics other than my sister while being somewhere other than my lab.

Well, first thing's first. Step one: Due diligence. Let's see if there's anyone about right now.

Pulling into the rest stop area, I peered around, looking for other cars or signs of movement. With the exception of another car passing by as I climbed out mine and started moving around to the boot, I was alone. No sounds of any oncoming cars either.

Alright. Step two: Air superiority.

Reaching into the hatch, the first thing I pulled out was a sleek looking module, not dissimilar to a hard-shell Camelbak, sans straps. Roughly the size of my own back, the underside was mostly flat, with four magnetic attachment points denoted by insert circles which aligned to matching anchors on the back of my own torso armour. In the centre was a hollow within which a sophisticated optics package sat, and the top side of the entire module was curved like the upper edge of a wing. I took another quick look around, picked my helmet up and pulled it down over my head with one hand as I flung the module up into the air with the other. At the apex, right when it would have started to fall, shimmering hard-light wings - nearly twice its length reaching out to each side, like pale blue panes of glass - quickly formed as it started hovering, awaiting orders.

Those orders would come via encrypted radio from my helmet, itself linked to a very simple haptic system in my gloves. Small pads on my fingertips made contact with patches on the insides of my knuckles, completing circuits not unlike keys on a keyboard. The real magic was the input interpreter; with my left hand I selected modifiers and on my right I typed. There were enough combinations to emulate a full alphanumeric character set, but the vast majority of functionality I achieved with a shorthand language of glyphs. Like the kanji I'd learned studying Japanese, some of the glyphs represented complex concepts; some of them were invented out of necessity, being required to help describe incredibly in-depth physics interactions I'd needed to reference when concepting and building my tinkertech.

I ordered the drone - Peregrine, as I'd chosen to name it - to fly up overhead, to about 500 metres, and keep me in sight. A tuneful chirp sounded in my ears as the Peregrine confirmed my orders and started flying over the treeline in the direction of the forested area. A moment later my HUD flashed, and two small screens appeared in the top right corner of my field of view. The first was a mini-map detailing the Peregrine's distance and position from my location, and the second was a view from Peregrine's camera.

I had to fight the urge to jump up and down with glee as I watched it fly up, up and away, until it was small enough that even its wingspan - as wide as I was tall at around 170cm - was just an ever-so-slightly brighter blip amongst the afternoon sky. With the Peregrine's optics package fixated centrally on my heat signature, I blew up the minimap to cover the entirety of the right lens of my helmet, compositing it with a simple opacity mask so that the hot signals would stand out and the ambient temperature background faded away, letting me see through it normally.

HUD set, I shrugged off my loose button-up overshirt, revealing the costume beneath. On the surface, it wasn't unlike a set of biker leathers; pants and a long-sleeved jacket in dark greys and blacks, with some smatterings of maroon to add in some colour.

I'd had neither the time nor the inclination to go the 'power armour' route so many other tinkers seemed to take. There wasn't a tinker in the southern hemisphere or possibly on the planet whose power armour could match Sentinel's, and my technology didn't particularly seem to lend itself to building bulky physical protection, anyway; I had the feeling a full suit of armour would take me months or years to produce. Instead I relied on off-the-shelf materials, practical soft protective covers, with plenty of utility - and harnessing on which to attach the tinkertech I actually felt suited for.

This served me perfectly. It was lightweight - very important when it comes to flight, as even anti-gravity isn't exactly a free lunch - and it had high flexibility. Reasonably comfortable, too. I preferred other methods of protecting myself than hard plates of steel or other tinkertech materials, anyway. Although I wasn't expecting to have to defend myself from enemy capes just yet and could have probably forgone them, I went through the process of attaching all of the soft pads and plate inserts anyway, then a set of sacrificial hard-light reactive armour projectors, leaving the cape until last.

Yes, I had a cape. I didn't care if it was cliché. If capes were good enough for Alexandria and Eidolon, they were good enough for me. Plus, the vertical gold stripes on that maroon fabric was going to look damn cool blowing in the wind once I was zipping about. I donned the cape with a swish and my transformation was complete. Annelise Maxwell was gone, and in her place stood the new tinker in town, Parthian.

With the Peregrine continuing to show me the all clear on my HUD, I reached into the boot of my car with a gloved hand and shifted the blankets covering up the Lightreach, laid out in full at an angle across the entirety of the boot. I gripped the handle, sending a signal to activate its self-stabilisation. With a gentle hum, the anti-gravity generators whirred to life, negating its weight and allowing me to lift it up into the air like it was a prop made of foam instead of the several-hundred-pound slab of steel and tinkertech it actually was. I pulled back and closed the boot of the car, not bothering to lock it. The fact it was a 21-year-old shitbox, and the presence of the gear stick, combined to make plenty of a theft deterrent.

With all my readings currently stable, I turned and started making my way down the trail, figuring I'd walk into the forest a little bit before taking off. Then I'd fly a little further into somewhere secluded before starting weapons testing. After a good 10 minutes of walking or so, I did a quick check of the area, made sure the Peregrine was reporting A-OK and then started running final pre-flight checks on the Lightreach.

Two months, two weeks, and three days of work since my parents- since I became a tinker, leading up to this field test. I really hope this doesn't turn out poorly.

I'd been more fortunate than most tinkers, having access to enough money that I was able to skip the 'build stuff out of literal scrap' stage of tinkering without having to join either the Atlas Alliance or the Protectorate. I didn't have a problem with them, joining just would have been… complicated, on account of existing relationships, and I wanted to make my achievements on my own terms, anyway. Even with a proper workshop and high quality materials, the tinkering process hadn't been much less difficult; but the Lightreach's power source and hard-light projectors were stable now, the anti-gravity generators weren't overheating anymore and the entire thing had finally agreed to stop ripping itself in half whenever it shifted configurations.

Even with all that in mind, I was still nervous. I had done rigorous testing in my workshop but that was a small, sterile, controlled environment. I needed to know how it would perform outdoors, under unpredictable circumstances. I needed to know how I would perform under unpredictable circumstances. There was no way in hell I was gonna throw myself at one of the leaders of a local villain group on my first night out in costume. I'd have to be crazy, stupid or both to even think of doing that. Instead, I'd decided a field test was in order. So here I was, out in the forest waiting impatiently for the console to return a zero exit code, indicating checks completed without errors.

With no errors returned, I held my hand out, palm down, fist closed around the handle of the Lightreach, and let go. I took a step back to watch it hover and just kind of let my mind be blown for a second that I built this. I'd built this board and it was hovering in front of me, currently defying physics while simultaneously exceeding any technology my world was currently capable of producing without the use of powers.

I put my hand up on the surface of the board, pushed down as I jumped up, putting my back foot behind me on the rear end, front foot up towards the forward tip, and raised up to a standing position, hovering a metre off the ground. With a subtle 'vvmm', the soles of my boots magnetised to the surface of the board, keeping me steady. The balance gauges on my HUD danced momentarily but quickly settled well within acceptable ranges. I was flying.

I'm flying. I'm not just standing on it in my lab. I'm outside, just me and Lightreach, there's no safety nets, and I'm ACTUALLY flying!

I couldn't resist letting out a little whoop of excitement and joy. Pushing down with my back foot, closing one fist as I leaned forwards down to my knee, I angled the Lightreach upwards and began to accelerate - slowly - up towards the treetops.

I watched as the ground began to fall away from beneath me as I simultaneously observed myself rising up towards the Peregrine from its own perspective. The drone gave a tuneful chirp as a marker pinged on my mini-map, indicating a decent sized clearing further into the forest that was suitable for the weapons test. I angled around - awkwardly at first, having never actually turned this thing at speed before, only hovering in the workshop while stationary. I touched my thumb to my knuckle, then slid it out towards my fingertip, the command gesture for the board to start accelerating. I hunched down further, letting the nose of my mask split the air in front of me as the wind started whipping past.

I had heard and read countless times about what it felt like to fly from capes blessed with the ability to do so, and... They were right. There was this feeling of energy that flowed through my body as I started to accelerate, an almost giddy sense of joy at the feeling of freedom as I watched the canopy of trees blur past beneath me and soared over the top of them. Distracted by my own excitement, I let my hand drift outwards to feel the wind blowing past and was promptly punished by physics. I knew what kind of effect extending my arms would have at high speeds, but there's a difference between theory and practice. The air currents pushed my arm upwards abruptly causing me to overbalance. I threw my other arm out on instinct, trying to throw myself back upright, but that just made it worse. I shrieked as the board - and I along with it - angled towards the ground, continuing to accelerate. Half a dozen alerts began flashing across my HUD, snapping me out of my shock for long enough to drag my thumb across the inside of two knuckles, sending a signal for the Lightreach to level itself out. The entire incident only lasted a few seconds, but in the aftermath I couldn't stop wondering just how painful - if not lethal - a dive into the ground from my current height might have been.

Upright once again, I crouched as low to the board as I physically could with my boots still magnetised to it. Shallow, scared breaths shot in and out of my lungs for a few seconds as I grappled with my own mortality.

Good to know the magnets and command inputs are working properly. Shoot. I could've actually died.

The list of people who would miss me was depressingly short. My roommate Sam? Possibly. My dad? Maybe. My sister?

Would Elly miss me?

The fact I didn't know anymore sat like a rock in my stomach. I wasn't supposed to be thinking about her right now. Although… Consciously trying not to just brought about a kind of guilt all its own. I grit my teeth and reasserted my position on the board. I spent a few moments tweaking the maglocks, allowing me to crouch nice and low like a speedboarder, one hand gripping my board and one leg out behind me to brace against.

Yeah, having a hand down forwards helped a lot. I started to pour on the speed again, this time using the stance of my whole body to help cut through the air rather than just the beak of my helmet. I let the feeling of the air rushing past me peel away Annelise's problems as Parthian started racing through the sky once more.

I'd done the maths - the board itself would definitely push almost 400 kilometres per hour in Earth's gravity. I was, of course, wildly excited to experience that speed for myself… But real life has a way of raining on parades, and there's a tricky little issue called 'acceleration', insofar as the human body could only withstand so much. Even in my improved riding stance, I still wasn't optimally positioned, given that I was standing on top of the propelling mechanism. By the time I'd closed the distance to the clearing, on account of my own mistake, my airspeed had only just passed 120. I sighed, disappointed in myself, and started slowing down to flare out. Angling downwards, I continued to ditch speed steadily before aiming all the way down to the ground in the centre of the open area.

I came to a steady stop, wobbling just a little about a metre off the ground. Another chirp from the Peregrine told me there was no one else in the area or any approaching air traffic that might see me from overhead. The magnetic locks had released automatically as soon as the board registered a level flight below walking speed; I stepped off one side, dropping a metre or so to the ground, and the Lightreach stopped with me... Waiting. I took it by the handle and prepared to wield it.

Time for the weapons test.

I felt the anti-gravity generators and internal stabilisers clunk as they shifted to ballistics mode. With the exception of a hard-light bowstring materialising along one side of the board, the Lightreach didn't change shape at all. I had deliberately built the board in the shape of a hefty great bow with the limbs being large and solid enough to both stand on and house all the tinkertech inside it. All the changes made when swapping from hoverboard to greatbow configuration were internal; the hard-light projectors engaged and the anti-gravity generators reoriented their stability fields to act against each other - for balance, rather than propulsion. I had read online from scientific articles and PHO threads that while most tinkers had some sort of speciality or focus, others had a much broader range of things they could create. My power seemed to fall somewhere in the middle. A mix of both anti-gravity and hard-light technology. I could build some things outside of those direct categories like the optics package on the Peregrine and I could make things that used just anti-gravity or just hard-light technology, but my tinkering had always felt at its strongest when I was building something that married the two together.

I guess that makes this the Lightreach's honeymoon getaway?

I looked around for a tree nobody was gonna miss - in case I'd... misjudged things. A quick glance let me spot an older looking, more withered tree on one side of the clearing. I raised the bow in front of me left-handed. A ray-casted, depth-mapped projection of the calculated impact point overlaid on both lenses of my helmet as I pointed it at the hapless tree. The overlay changed again as I toggled between firing solutions; I thumbed the input for Direct Fire Support, Armor-Piercing Fin-Stabilised Hard-Light, and watched as 'DFS-APFS-HL' flashed on my HUD and the projection flattened into a line. Like flash-forged silicon carbide, a hard-light arrow would fly truer than any physical arrow with a payload to deliver.

I pulled back the string, slowly - the Lightreach materialising the selected munition on demand - listening and feeling the mechanisms of the bow compound my own draw strength by tens or hundreds of times through its internal mechanisms. I loaded the limbs fully as the projector trued up the hard-light projectile to the target designator, then eased back a little bit. I wasn't planning to send it all the way through in one shot. I held it for another second, the targeting solution steady despite the excited tremor in my muscles, then let go.

With a rush of air and a supersonic crack, I watched as the hard-light arrow effortlessly speared through the trunk of the tree, sending chips of splintered bark flying as the arrow whizzed off into the forest, stopping a moment later with a dull thud as it stabbed into the thicker trunk of another tree. I let out a shocked but appreciative whistle.

Note to self. Minimise draw strength and use flathead projectiles when firing directly at people. Maybe I'd better find a berm to fire into…

I went for a walk-around, inspected the damaged tree, took a few notes, moved over to the arrow embedded in a tree further back, made a few more notes, took a close scan of the projectile's structure through my helmet optic. Each time I let go of the Lightreach to write in a field notebook, it hovered there, exactly where it was when I let it go, until I grabbed it again and it started to move with me. I returned to the clearing, lining up another shot. I drew back the hard-light string once again, listening to and feeling how the Lightreach accounted for the new draw strength limit. I sucked in a deep breath and lost it with a surprised yelp as my HUD flashed indicating I had an incoming phone call.

Elly?

I answered immediately, without even checking the caller ID, frantically sucking in another breath of air as I prepared to vomit out all the worry I had been feeling.

The automated spam call spouting something in a foreign language felt like a punch in the gut, bringing on a sudden, irrational burst of rage. I hung up with a swift gesture, gritting my teeth again as I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. My grip on the Lightreach became white-knuckle tight as I pulled the string back all the way, hitting and blowing past the draw limit indicator I had set moments ago. I didn't need to shout or scream - the thunderous cracks that echoed through the forest as I unleashed arrow after arrow into that poor old tree made my feelings known far louder than I possibly could have. By the time I was done, the tree looked like it had been on the wrong end of a machine gun.

The anger was gone and although the sadness lingered, I couldn't help but marvel at what I'd achieved with the Lightreach's firepower. A calm sense of satisfaction washed over me as I let Annelise's problems go once again. I spent the next few hours freely loosing arrow after arrow, continuing to wonder at the efficacy of my tinkertech, despite my reservations about whether or not I was ready to really make full use of it yet. Satisfied after a few more basic test shots, I started to get more creative with my aim. I practised shooting through targets, testing to see how many branches I could skewer on a single arrow. I tweaked the parameters on my arrows and attempted some curved shots, testing the way the arrows curved through the air to hit targets I seemingly wasn't aiming at. Even with the HUD aiding my aim to a significant degree, I still found myself giggling with delight as I made tricky shots, sending my arrows through narrow gaps in the treeline to hit specific knots on a trunk a distance away.

After a while of this, I started getting more confident and decided to attempt some dismount-to-shoot drills. Jumping on my board, I began flying in circles and once I'd picked up a bit of speed - though not enough to harm myself - I manually disengaged the mag-locks on my boots as it came to an abrupt stop, my boots sliding off for a very quick dismount. I managed to catch it as I fell, feeling the 'thunk' as it switched configurations - but there was a momentary delay in the switch between modes that put me off balance, causing me to land flat on my face as the Lightreach floated out of my grasp.

A brief glance at my HUD showed me to be unharmed except for probably a few small bruises on my body, and a slightly bigger one to my pride. I laid there face down in the dirt and groaned, my helmet catching the sound and reverberating my voice out into the quiet clearing.

Absolutely and utterly defeated. Hoisted by my own petard. Flew too close to the sun. Pride before the literal fall…

I let out a little giggle, followed by another. Then a guffaw, and finally, raucous laughter; thoroughly amused as I was by my own misfortune. For a good minute or two, I continued like that - laying face down, arms wide, with the Lightreach hovering diligently nearby. Eventually, I put a hand down into the dirt and raised myself up. After a few hours of testing, it was just beginning to get dark now. I marked the clearing on my GPS; a good spot to return to if ever needed to do some more tests. For now, though, I had plenty of tweaks to do with fresh data. Ergonomics, functionality adjustments, some fine tuning, and the early thoughts for a system to help reduce my descent speed should I ever be separated from the Lightreach mid-flight.

I ordered the Peregrine to scout the way back to the rest spot, getting a chirp of acknowledgement from it as I reached up to use the bow to pull myself upright onto my feet. After waiting a minute for the Peregrine to return to the rest area and confirm that no-one was around, I hopped back up onto the Lightreach and rode my way back in under five minutes, coming to a gentle stop by my car. Reluctantly, I took off the cape, gloves, and helmet, sliding my overshirt back on and stowing all the equipment in the car.

After a few more tweaks, I really ought to go do… Something. Patrol. Maybe stop some crime. Make some friends, or some enemies. Make a name for myself. Who knows? Anything but making more excuses to do nothing. I can't afford to leave myself alone with my idle thoughts any longer.

Even those blessed distraction-free hours spent fiddling with tinkertech only managed to delay the unhealthy, anxiety-inducing brooding that I'd taken to. I couldn't hide away in the lab forever.

I called down the Peregrine, reaching out to grab it as it descended, the faintly glowing wingspan vanishing suddenly as its engines disengaged. I deposited it in the boot and tossed the blankets back over the lot to hide them before climbing back into the driver's seat. Any notifications I got on my phone should've been transferred to my HUD, so it was perhaps irrational of me to pull out my phone anyway, hoping for a text from my sister to be waiting there for me. Unfortunately… No luck.

We'd called each other multiple times a week at first, after I fled, but her calls had dropped in frequency. That was right around the time I got a text from my mother, saying I was a disgrace to her family, officially dead to her, and I should never come back.

Eventually, Elly had stopped calling entirely. I still got a text at least once a week, asking if I was okay, and she'd answer when I called her. Our conversations had been getting shorter and shorter, though. She always mentioned how much she was working and studying, but she never wanted to get into details, and she always sounded tired and hollow.

Powers in a bottle. My mother, wanting to turn me into her pet cape. My father, letting her have whatever she wanted. The unbearable weight of expectation. In a kind of sad irony, it turned out they didn't need the vial to give me powers at all. I had to run away. I had to leave Elly behind. I wish I'd taken her with me instead of leaving her in our parents' clutches. I'd always shielded her from the worst of it, and it seemed more and more like Elly couldn't handle the brunt of it alone.

This latest stretch was the longest yet without contact. Nothing since I'd last tried to call her on Monday, and she hadn't tried to call back yet. I brought up her number again, routing the call through a proxy service to avoid being tracked or identified.

"Please pick up…" I whined quietly, bouncing my knee agitatedly. With a beep, it went to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me. You know which number to call. Love you," I hung up with a defeated, heart-aching sigh.

---

AN: And so it begins! I'd like to give a huge thank you to my co-author Casey West and our beta readers, NotDis and two more who've chosen to remain anonymous for now. I recognise that this is a somewhat unconventional Worm fanfic, being both almost completely original and based on an RPG but I'll be happy if even one person thinks this is cool. I am far from a professional writer so feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

I'm going to initially be cross posting this fic to SB, SV, AO3 and FFN to see where it gets some traction (if any) and then I'll probably narrow it down to one or two forums. The current plan is to post a new chapter every two weeks or so but that may eventually slow down to monthly depending on how much life gets in the way and how quickly the fic catches up to its RPG source material. The eldritch horror within me hungers for your comments so please feed it!

 

[Rhyzler]

Splash 1.2​

Friday, 8:34pm, April 22nd, 2005

Thanks to the rush hour traffic coming in, the return trip to my workshop had been much slower than the journey out. It had been made all the more unbearable by the unscratchable itch to tinker, to boot, but the drive was thankfully almost over.

Seven years ago, when Sydney had flooded, the inner suburbs had been just.. washed away, taken by the tides, leaving no evidence humans had ever built there except for spotted ruins of half-unearthed underground utilities and the hardiest footings of skyscrapers. The rest had been simply inundated, but mostly repairable. The affectionately named 'Poverty Belt' marked a several-kilometre-wide dividing line between the two - not washed away, but by far the most heavily damaged of what remained.

Rather than start at the edges of the devastation and work inwards, reconstruction had purposefully begun in the areas Leviathan had completely wiped out - a deliberate effort to restore what we'd lost, rather than let the city naturally expand back into the ruined parts of the landscape. The restoration money had mostly run out - squandered, misused, reallocated - before reconstruction could get underway all the way out there, so it served as a ring of ghettos dividing the freshly built inner city from the merely repaired outer suburbs, attracting the poorest of Sydney's surviving residents. Then the better-off folk had moved into the newer, better Sydney en masse, and then the international refugees started flooding in, while the poorer survivors stayed out in the cold, and well… The resulting xenophobia and resentment was predictable.

My workshop was an industrial unit in northwest Sydney, just on the outside of that Poverty Belt. I actually thought it was a really smart play; capes probably looked for new tinkers all the time in the poverty belt itself and on the outskirts of the city, not to mention how sketchy the electricity services could be out there and how suspicious deliveries of materials could look. With a unit, as long as I was very careful, I figured I'd be effectively hiding in plain sight - and with a few other tradie businesses operating in the same block of units, I was able to keep my tinkering fairly inconspicuous. Loud noises late at night, high-power-draw tooling, and deliveries of machining equipment and building materials were the norm.

I let out a happy sigh as I pulled into the unit and began unloading my gear into the workshop space, my home away from home - literally, even, on the occasions I'd ended up on a creative spree and just not bothered to go back to my apartment after a long day of work. I was eternally grateful that I'd had the presence of mind to ensure my own financial stability before running away from home. My family was quite wealthy thanks to their business connections, wealthy enough to be just fine after I'd rendered their bank accounts a few million dollars lighter with the help of one particularly mutinous family accountant. I couldn't explain exactly what moved him to help me instead of turning me in when he caught me taking the money, but I owed him a lot; he'd hidden what he could, and continued to manage my funds in secret after I fled. Maybe he was sympathetic to my plight - he'd worked with my uncle for more than a decade, after all, and probably had better moral character than the goons my parents hired. While it bothered me to let him keep so much insight into my ongoing affairs, the other option was being broke and homeless, so I'd made the choice to accept that risk.

That afforded me the luxury of sitting here, now, with all the resources I needed to do my work. The first order of tinkering business was, as always, maintenance. I stripped my costume down to the fitted gym clothes beneath and then loaded the Lightreach, chest rig, and helmet onto their respective stands, plugging them into my computer so I could begin a diagnostics check.

As those scans got underway, I started stripping some of the smaller hard-light panel projectors off my chest rig and cracked them open. The short fall I'd suffered had merely bruised my dignity, but in a fight, an unplanned dismount could mean death. I sat down and started scribbling, glyphs and numbers and a few simple equations spilling forth as an idea crystalised in my head. I measured and made physical adjustments, altering the hard-light lensing components. I reassembled them, ready to operate in a new shape, with a new purpose: a prototype safe-descent system.
The diagnostic scan finished about an hour into my work and I was happy to find that everything was in the green. Experience had come to lend credence to what I'd read about tinkertech needing fairly consistent maintenance over time, but it was nice to know that the Lightreach wasn't already in need of adjustments so soon after the full teardown and rebuild I'd carried out earlier this week. I returned to my work designing the slow fall system, the end result of which would be something akin to a pair of rigid, hard-light wings that would project out above and behind my shoulders.

The other thing I wanted to work on was finalising my newest batch of specialty arrowheads. Snare arrows. I hadn't had time to finish them before I'd forced myself out for the field test, so they'd remained unfinished on my workbench until now. But if I was going out on patrol, I needed a non-lethal takedown option, so that was next - after I was done with the slow fall system. The two cheap dummies I had weren't good substitutes for people either. During the few tests I ran, their arms, heads and torsos fell off too easily, so it was difficult to tell if the bindings would stay tight enough once deployed.

Guess these will need a field test of their own.

The field test had helped, but ultimately it hadn't been enough to get my mind off of Elly and everything else. I had real practical proof that my tech was ready, now. It was time to take it out into the city and make use of it. If I didn't go soon, I worried I would worry myself into never going out at all.

No more excuses.

By the time I'd finished tinkering and was pulling out of my workshop again - costume on, Lightreach and Peregrine covered in the boot - it was a bit past midnight. I drove south along the border of the Poverty Belt until I found a suitably dark alleyway to pull into. As I was about to get out of the car, my personal phone buzzed with a text notification from my roommate Sam.

Turning in 4 the night. Spagbowl in fridge if u havnt eaten. Hope ur getting good $$$ for overtime.

Though I'd initially been happy with my newfound freedom, about eight weeks or so after moving into my new place, that happiness had started to falter. Beyond the annoyances of shopping, cleaning and cooking - skills I'd never had to master, and more importantly, kept me from my tinkering - I'd felt lonely. Evidently I was still burdened by the lack of real relationships my upbringing had left me with despite all the parties and charity galas my parents had forced me to attend. Two weeks of filtering applicants for my room for rent advertisement, and some mildly invasive background checks had given me Sam Bourkley, a 23-year-old mild mannered young man and aspiring artist. I didn't care for rent money, I could've lived there alone - and Sam was more than happy to accept the strange arrangement of performing all the household duties, cooking, and cleaning in lieu of payment. He'd protested a little, offering to pay at least a reduced rate, but I'd seen no need.

I fussed over a response for far too long before finally sending something short in reply.

Thx Sam. Goodnite!​

With no-one else around at this hour, I was clear to take off. Uncovering the equipment in the boot and donning the rest of my costume quickly, I finished up with the cape again before taking the Peregrine and holding it up to my back, beneath the cape. With a dull 'thunk', it mag-locked to the back of my chest rig, blending into my silhouette underneath the maroon fabric. I grabbed the Lightreach, positioning it midair, hovering eerily still and unsupported near the car while I closed the boot.

I set the Lightreach to its board configuration and clambered up onto it, angling up towards the sky and launching out of the alley. I configured my HUD as I gained altitude, sorting all my readouts into place as the different systems came online and linked up. Picking up some speed, I angled around roughly towards the new Harbour Bridge, aiming for a few thousand feet of altitude.

The dull hum of the board picked up a little as I propelled myself skywards over the Poverty Belt. With so few tall buildings around this area, I quickly found myself alone in the night sky. After Leviathan had almost completely destroyed the city, Sydney had been fortunate enough to receive a great deal of international funding and support, which - thanks to the efforts of Australian construction and engineering giant Cardon Enterprises - had allowed the city to be almost completely rebuilt from the ground up. Not everyone had seen the benefits of that support, though. For the people who'd barely survived the city's ruination, there was no greater insult than seeing the city welcoming the displaced and needy into our safe harbour instead of putting its own poor first. From above, the Poverty Belt looked like a scar on the face of the city. An ugly and permanent reminder of everything we'd lost, that not even time would likely heal.

I crouched down into a speedboarder's stance as I picked up speed, the city coming clearly into view in just a few scant minutes. Shining towers of steel and concrete pierced their way up into the darkness, the glow of fluorescent lighting casting a yellow-white halo over the entire region. Even at this late hour, I could see the streaks of red and white denoting cars cruising the streets, tiny specks beneath me as I raced through the cold air.

Specific details began to come into view as I got closer. I recognised the headquarters of Cardon Enterprises standing at least 10 storeys proud of the other buildings. Its logo made it clear and obvious to all as it cast a blue neon glow out into the darkness from its prime position in the middle of the new central business district. Even higher still, floating above the skyline was the famous headquarters of the Atlas Alliance. A sleek, flying fortress, hovering above the waters of the harbour and casting a watchful eye over the city beneath it.

As I flew over the city wondering what the best course of action would be, my thoughts returned to the news broadcast I'd heard in the car earlier this afternoon. There was nothing to be done about the Medi-Evils now, and I wasn't planning to throw myself at the parahuman serial killer in the area just yet… At least, not alone. If they did strike again tonight, though, perhaps I could volunteer as overwatch? Pursue them from a distance until Atlas or APRA caught up to stop them, maybe provide some long range cover fire.

That said, fighting crime wasn't the only way to get noticed, and the serial killer wasn't the only thing in the news. The Atlas Alliance was building something on the island beneath their headquarters, and everyone wanted to know what that was. The no-fly zone around and beneath the flying fortress had prevented any news helicopters from getting decent pictures, but a small drone with a tinker-grade optics package?

Posting some sneaky pics to PHO would certainly be one way to start my cape career, and I probably won't even need to enter the no-fly zone.

I considered briefly, then opted for the best of both ideas. Darling Harbour had the highest concentration of nightclubs in the city, and it wasn't far from the Atlas HQ, so I pivoted around and sped off towards it. From my vantage point up high, I made use of the extensive magnification on my helmet optics and began surveying the roads. I screened my radios until I found the frequency for the Sydney police dispatch and tuned in.

With nothing immediately catching my attention, I reached behind my back beneath the cape and pulled out the Peregrine. With an almost haphazard toss, I released it into the air as its own engine and wings flickered to life, and it sailed off at low speed, loitering and waiting for orders. I instructed it to circle Atlas Island (formerly Goat Island), looking for angles it could capture footage with its own optics package - that was far superior to the one built into my helmet - and find out if there was anything interesting visible. I also made sure to tune into civilian aviation frequencies, just in case Atlas HQ started hailing the Peregrine.

The Peregrine chirped in response before peeling off in the direction of the island. In the short amount of time it took to travel the distance, a report about a bar fight on the dispatch radio stole my attention. I manoeuvred sharply downwards over Darling Harbour, running text searches against public business directories to try find the building in question. I came to a stop a few hundred feet in the air - high enough to still be a dark spot among the dark backdrop of the sky and nearly impossible to spot, but low enough that my optical zoom could provide a sharp look at what was going on at ground level.

Maybe I'll get a chance to field test the snare arrows after all. Fingers crossed for someone rowdy!

I found the bar's street address and swooped towards it, clearing the rooftops in the surrounding area and bringing myself to a stop at a vantage point that gave me a clear view of the sidewalk outside the bar. I could already hear sirens approaching, and less than a minute after I arrived, a patrol car rolled down the street and pulled up to the premises.

I descended down to the roof behind me, across the street from the entrance - it looked suitable to land on. Stopping a few metres above it as the mag-locks on my boots disengaged, I crouched down and grabbed the bow handle as I let myself fall forwards in a roll. As soon as I felt the weightlessness in my gut - the Lightreach swapping configuration and ceasing to hold me up - I activated the slow fall system.

Angled panels of pale blue light formed in succession, starting from my shoulder blades and proceeding outwards. They angled to catch air even as additional, larger panels appeared in concert, overlapping and splaying out like angelic wings; I could see the tips reaching around the sides and to the front, like a parachute, holding myself in the air by my chest rig for precious seconds of hangtime. My boots touched down on the bird-crap-ridden rooftop - roughly, but not injuriously so - and the panels began to flicker and fade.

Test One of Slow Fall System: Success. Now I just need to build more replacement armour panels.

Grinning widely, I took a few steps towards the ledge so I could see the street opening of the bar again. Two officers had stepped out of the car and gone inside before I set down, and nothing particularly wild seemed to be occurring at that moment.

Ears perked up and eyes scanning, I reached down to my thigh bandolier to grab a special arrowhead and fed it to the shelf of the bow. My HUD flashed briefly as it recognised the munition; Proximity-Fused, Air-Bursting, Target ARresting System. The snare round I'd just finished building, designed to wrap a human-sized target up in a bundle of wires. The ballistics computer flashed 'PFAB-TARS' and the Lightreach hummed, holding the munition in place, just waiting for me to draw the string and give it room to project the hard-light arrow shaft to mount it to and fire it with.

A handful of people exited the bar as a group, looking just a bit rattled and a moment later, one of the police officers stepped out, pushing a man in handcuffs along with him who was struggling to stay on his feet, no doubt due to heavy intoxication. Over the dispatch radio, I heard them advise that a single ambulance had been requested as well, with no sirens.

Seems like they've got it in hand. Unfortunate.

Was it messed up that I was disappointed the police were able to do their job safely and successfully?

I left my own question unanswered, stowing the snare tip back at my thigh and turning my attention to the Peregrine's camera feed in the corner of my HUD. Now rapidly circling the island at a fair distance, I blew up the feed to fill one half of my vision so I could take a better look. There was definitely something being built on the island, although it was difficult to make out in the darkness. Construction seemed to have ceased for the day, so there was nothing to light up what was down there. From the silhouettes, though, it looked like a collection of buildings, with a design that matched the sleek aesthetic of the Atlas HQ. It also seemed to have much more square footage than height, with the construction expanding out beyond the island's land mass in a few spots, requiring extra manufactured supports. If I had to guess, it looked kind of like a space-age university campus.

Alright, time to test out and dial up the light amplification.

I swapped the Peregrine's optics to night vision and momentarily lost track of what was going on, the feed going white as the cameras started absorbing all the light pollution from the surrounding area. Once I dialled in the right adjustments though, the buildings came as clearly into view as if I were viewing them in daylight. Construction seemed to be largely (if not completely) finished; there were no cranes or large vehicles on the grounds, and only a few traces of scaffolding here and there - though there were several large lorries parked out the front of the building in an open air carpark, along with a few other small construction vehicles.

If any construction was still underway, I could safely wager it was now taking place indoors. Even with my new daylight perspective, I wasn't granted any additional insight into what the building's purpose might be.

Maybe it's some kind of museum?

Whatever it was, I told the Peregrine to save a few full-resolution images to its drive that I could pull from it later. I felt a sense of devious satisfaction at my accomplishment, like a kid who'd managed to sneak a peek under the wrapping paper and see what their Christmas presents were. The little mischievous smile on my face promptly faltered though as the video feed suddenly began to crackle.

I expanded the feed to fill my view and brought up signal diagnostics to try and identify the cause. It wasn't a connection issue between the Peregrine and myself, but the crackling continued to get worse until the feed went completely static. The drone itself was apparently completely fine otherwise - GPS, altimeter, static pressure sensors, environmental sensors, etcetera all reading stable - but its cameras were blind.

What the-?

I pulled up the camera diagnostics and began cycling through its different vision modes. The light sensor was reporting null data. Low - even near-zero - data implied a physical obstruction, null data meant either damage or worse, hacking.

I turned my head up towards where the Peregrine was supposed to be, letting my HUD highlight a little ring around where the drone would be in the sky and activating my full 100x optical zoom to try and make out the faint lights of its wings as it zoomed around at high speed. No sign of any physical interference.

Someone's hacking my drone! Who's hacking my drone?

My fears were confirmed moments later when a crackle came over the aviation frequency.

"Ah, ah, ah!~ Sorry, but there's no sneak peaks," said a heavily-synthesised masculine voice "You'll have to wait until it's finished like everyone else. Run along now!"

I quickly inspected the Peregrine's storage to validate the pictures I'd taken were still saved, and was relieved to find that whoever was doing this, they only seemed interested in scrambling my cameras and didn't have control of any other systems.

"Last callsign, say identity?" I replied curtly, incensed.

"This is Olympus One. You are not currently violating the no fly area surrounding the Atlas Alliance headquarters, but I know what you're trying to do. I've scrambled your video feeds for now but if you don't break off your current flight pattern in the next 10 seconds, I will be forced to seize control of your drone remotely."

Olympus One was the callsign for the Atlas HQ. I was talking directly to someone up in the home of the Atlas Alliance.

Guess I've poked the hornet's nest.

"Acknowledged," I curtly answered once again… And immediately initiated downloads of the saved full-res images from the Peregrine's storage to my helmet.

Whoever this - I assumed guy - was, I did not like his attitude. Intending to both push the point and be obnoxious, as well as test the exact capabilities and the extent to which Atlas HQ was prepared to go, I let the 10 second warning lapse as I drafted up a series of timers and instructions for the Peregrine: first, to power off its own radio once the upload to my helmet was complete, cutting it off from any remote access; then, to wait in the current loiter pattern circling Atlas Island for 15 minutes before breaking west by five kilometres to loiter there; then finally to re-initialise the radio hardware and reconnect to my system.

With the course laid in, I plucked another special arrowhead from my thigh bandolier and loaded it onto the shelf. The HUD flashed 'ACE-X' - Anti-gravity Collapse Effect eXplosive. When I'd first started working on my anti-grav generators, I'd discovered the smaller, flimsier initial prototypes had a tendency to collapse in a violent, roiling gravity wave preceding a concussive explosion. A pain when it came to building the Lightreach, but quite useful for deliberately harnessing as arrowheads with a bit more kick to them. Essentially a small, fragless grenade on the tip of a hard-light arrow... Just in case I needed to scuttle my own tinkertech.

The voice came over the radio again. "Well that's a shame…"

An alert flashed on my HUD warning me that an override of the Peregrine's systems was being attempted.

Okay. FUCK this asshole!

Maybe I was flouting the spirit of the no-fly zone by taking the pictures, but I hadn't actually violated any restricted airspace. My conduct so far had been perfectly legal, and now this blowhard was overstepping his authority to try and steal my drone. I didn't know what kind of silly game Olympus One was playing, but they'd got me fired up, and I was going to pick up the gauntlet - I refused to walk away with nothing. With a particularly cold anger starting to settle in, I immediately set about making things as incredibly difficult as I possibly could for the other connection trying to jack my drone, delaying them while the images continued to upload.

I hadn't expected a hostile actor to be able to so easily get inside my systems, not even with downgraded user privileges - so I hadn't bothered to put in any kind of internal security. Access control was supposed to be cryptographically secure - intruders were meant to be stopped at the door, not once they'd already gotten in. Bad clients were supposed to be banned after just a few attempts. How had they managed to even open a connection?

No time to find out now - I'd just have to investigate later, in the aftermath. I wasn't some AI with the mental bandwidth to do digital forensics under pressure at high speed; I was only human, entering commands in a terminal via haptic gloves, far from the optimal battlestation.

No, now was the time for drastic measures. I did have one clear advantage; I was already fully connected, secured and encrypted, and I had administrator privileges.

I went to the firewall first. In regular operation, the drone connected to a lot of external resources, over private and public network connections; the state table was huge. While the attacker continued to feed exploits to the system, I spent precious seconds finding and isolating the entries associated with the picture upload process and my own administrative backdoor… and then dropped the entire remainder of the table, cutting off every other link between the Peregrine and the outside world until they could all initiate new connections. An effective but temporary defence.

I knew it probably wouldn't stop the attacker for long - as soon as they realised their signals were being dropped, they would use whatever method they'd originally used to gain access again and just pick up where they left off. But it was a start, and sure enough, several core components stopped logging access attempts.

I used the time I'd bought to start working on the next radical obstacle. I tore through the instrument and flight control systems and scrambled every hardware driver present - drivers I'd personally written - effectively cutting the nerves from the Peregrine's brain to its own muscles and senses. The upload continued to tick along steadily - obviously, I couldn't just unplug the radio itself to kill Olympus One's connection, not until the images were secured.

The drone started to veer off course, no longer able to determine its own heading or orientation, nor commence any flight adjustments. I could see the attacker had reconnected and was trying to issue commands, but the drone couldn't even control itself right now, so the attacker had no hope.

That situation was untenable, though - the drone still had plenty of altitude, but if it went into an uncorrected dive and crashed, I'd lose. I cursed under my breath for lack of a regular keyboard as I painstakingly built primitive replacements for the drivers I'd just ripped through, slowly giving the machine its eyes, ears, and wings back. With the flight control system hastily adapted to drivers running under my own privileged access, only the Peregrine itself - or I, personally - could exercise what degraded control I'd managed to re-establish, which meant that there was one big obstacle left in the way of the attacker:

Access to my own personal privilege level. Root access to the entire system.

Olympus One has opted for the most efficient method, focusing on getting unprivileged access and then exploiting specific hardware directly instead of trying to hammer at universal privilege escalation, but it cost them; now their work was useless, and they had to take the hard route anyway.

I briefly considered taunting them, but they hadn't bothered talking to me on the aviation frequency since this whole affair began, so I figured smug silence was better.

Still, I watched the logs nervously as they tried to crack open my own user access. I'd put all my eggs in one basket, hoping that the hacker wouldn't be able to achieve full access before the upload completed. If they succeeded, though, they could backchannel through to all of my other hardware - my helmet, the Lightreach… I'd have to shut everything down. I'd either be completely compromised, or incredibly vulnerable, having to walk home dragging the Lightreach behind me. A kind of crystalline fear started to form as the logs flew by, so fast - inhumanly fast. It had to be some kind of automated exploit kit, or maybe some parahuman power. The attacker was trying things so quickly my eyes couldn't even track what it was doing at a given moment.

Then my feed disconnected. I felt that crystal form into a drop of pure terror and fall down into my stomach. For a few dark moments, I just gaped in shock, wondering if I'd failed. Then I watched with my own eyes as the Peregrine started lazily banking into the pre-programmed loitering pattern I'd given it earlier. Its indicator on my HUD was dark.

In a rush, I checked my helmet storage. The files were all there. I checked the file hashes; they matched from the drone. I opened one of them, and there it was; a crystal clear picture of the buildings beneath the Atlas HQ.

A feeling of overwhelming elation shot through my veins and burned away the terror, replacing it with the need to whoop and throw my fists in the air. The upload had finished, that's why I'd been disconnected. Then, just as I'd instructed it to, the Peregrine had powered off its radios and moved to carry out its programming in silence. Nothing could hack into it now, not without physically catching it, and it was much too fast for almost anything to catch.

I laughed, exhaling lungfuls of nervous energy as it gave way to sheer relief, relaxing muscles that I hadn't realised I was holding taut. I'd beat him, and now the drone was going to rub it in his face. What was he going to do now that he couldn't win?

The feeling of victory was short-lived.

A hatch opened on the underside of the flying fortress. An ovalescent object - about the size of an armchair, with sleek armour panelling in a blue and white colour scheme - dropped out and rocketed away on an intercept course with the Peregrine. From the design, I could instantly tell it was one of Sentinel's probes, although it was about half the size of the ones that usually accompanied him personally when he was out.

The realisation that I might have just made a fool of one of the most powerful tinkers in history came with a lot of mixed feelings I didn't have time to process now.

I drew back the Lightreach's bowstring. The weapon manifested a hard-light shaft for the explosive arrowhead I'd mounted earlier and began calculating a firing solution; not for Sentinel's probe, but for the Peregrine. Sentinel's specialisation wasn't public knowledge, but whatever made the armour for his suit and probes out of was nigh indestructible. Since his first appearance after Leviathan had destroyed Sydney, he'd only been beaten once, by the leader of the Odinsons. I was just being a realist when I accepted that there was simply no chance I was shooting down his probe.

As fast as the Peregrine was, to my dismay, the probe had insultingly little difficulty matching its speed and quickly closed in. A hatch on the probe opened up and a mechanical arm extended from it, reaching out for my drone as the gap between them got smaller and smaller. Since I'd disabled its radio to prevent the hack, I couldn't even tell it to evade; my drone was about to fly gently into the waiting arm of its captor. All that work keeping them from seizing control of the Peregrine and I was going to have to blow it up anyways.

At least it's going out on my terms.

I held out hope that this was all bluff until the very last second, when the probe's arm snatched the Peregrine out of the air. With a sigh, I loosed the explosive arrow and watched it briefly disappear into the night sky with a supersonic crack, detonating with a spectacular blast right in front of the probe. The Peregrine underwent rapid unscheduled disassembly, as expected, and I could only hope that Sentinel would have to deal with some gnarly scratches in his probe's paintwork for my trouble.

Barely shaken by the blast, the probe immediately closed its hatch and beat a hasty retreat back into the ventral hatch it had first appeared from.

Serves you right! Get out of here.

I watched through my magnified helmet optics as the weapons array beneath the fortress sprang to life and began scanning for targets. Seconds later, three of Sentinel's full size probes descended and began rapidly circling the area. I raised my eyebrows - were they planning to send them after me? They had maybe 40 square kilometres of city to cover if they wanted to find me - much more if they didn't know which direction that arrow came from.

I set the Lightreach down and leisurely clambered aboard, pulling up the photos the Peregrine died to get me while I watched with amusement at Atlas HQ's frantic reaction. A few more seconds passed, and then the circling probes suddenly came to a halt - before breaking off and flying towards Darling Harbour, rapidly closing on my approximate position.

Oh, shit.

---

AN: Here's chapter two up a whole day early! It's not a huge difference but I'm happy that it's not late. There's a bit of a cliffhanger on this one and I know these first two chapters have been very tinker-technobabble heavy but I promise there will be good old fashioned dialogue and character introductions and interactions in the next few chapters now we're past the tinker-y business.

The next chapter might be a few days late as I'm going away for a few days the week before it's due to go up but I'll do my best to stick to schedule. In other news, I'm looking for someone to help beta this fic on a regular basis (once a fortnight) so if you'd be interested in volunteering your services, please DM at Rhyzler#9795 on Discord.

Thank you once again to my lovely co-author Casey and our beta reader Juff!

 

[CarmenSargent]

Synopsis, Preface & Trigger Warning​

Wave is a story written in the setting of Wildbow's Worm, and takes place in Sydney, Australia in 2005, seven years prior to the events of Worm itself. It follows Parthian, a new and less-than-heroic tinker who must navigate the parahuman political landscape of a city that was almost completely destroyed by Leviathan 7 years ago. Now, the city stands once again, reborn from the ruins with a new team of capes watching over it, The Atlas Alliance. However, the AA aren't the only capes to have made Sydney their home, with several villainous factions having embedded themselves in the infrastructure of the new city as it was rebuilt. How will Parthian fare in Sydney and its dark underbelly? Especially when she has a few dangerous secrets of her own to keep.

The story is written with the intent that it could be considered canon within the larger Worm story/timeline. Wave serves as a novelised adaptation of an ongoing tabletop RPG campaign, similarly as The Legend of Vox Machina is to Critical Role. It will primarily consist of a completely original cast of characters, with major figures such as the Triumvirate only making occasional appearances. As much as we all love them, our favourite gang of teenage villains will almost certainly not feature at all in this story, so please don't expect to see them.

Just like with Worm and Ward, readers should be cautioned that Wave will be fairly dark as fiction goes. There will be graphic language, descriptions of violence, sex (which will occur offscreen) and references to potentially triggering material such as child abuse and sexual assault. I take these topics very seriously as a writer. I will do my utmost to treat them with the respect they should be shown and will not tolerate anyone who fails to do the same in the comments. As Wildbow did with Worm and Ward, I would give this story an MA-15+ (PG-18 for non-Australians) rating. I advise reader discretion in general for this whole fic but chapters that contain any of the aforementioned potentially triggering material will be preceded by trigger warning notifying readers of the sort content ahead, should they wish to avoid it.

With all of that said, I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this exploration into a different place and time in the Wormverse we all love so much. Onwards!
I love it and keep sharing. I am waiting for more. Till then I will explore google search because I want to write an essay assignment on 9 celebrities affected by domestic violence and I am gonna take help from this source to write my essay assignment. When I am done with my essay assignment, I will come back over here to read more stories from you.​

Click to shrink...

I love it and keep sharing. I am waiting for more

 

[Rhyzler]

Splash 1.3​

Saturday, 1:04am, April 23rd, 2005

Did I regret the choices I'd made up to this point in the evening? No. Would I have made them again if I'd known this would be the result? Maybe not. Were Sentinel's probes fast? Yes. Very fast.

Aboard the Lightreach, I angled forward and down into a steep descent from the rooftop. I sucked in a breath as my stomach lifted inside me - and then dropped back into place with an equally sharp turn to level the board back out, speeding along just above the tops of the street lamps. I booked it south as quickly as I could manage, deeper into the CDB.

A crackle came over the police dispatch radio.

"All units in the Darling Harbour area, be advised. AAHQ reports an explosive projectile was detonated beneath its airspace. ShotSpotter pins the projectile from the Darling Harbour area. Three Sentinel probes currently deploying to survey the area and potentially pursue. Parahuman involvement possible but not confirmed - Deva and APRA on standby to deploy in the event of confirmation."

Hey, that's not… That's not fair!

I keyed into the frequency in a fit of irritation, opening my mouth to respond to the dispatcher and give them some obviously lacking context, and immediately froze. Slowly, I let go of the key, leaving my 'broadcast' as just a pair of radio clicks, hopefully lost in the signal.

I was self-aware enough to know my ego and big mouth had gotten me into this situation, and continuing to lean on them was unlikely to get me out of it by this point. I still felt riled up, though. Olympus One started it by trying to steal my drone! And then they wanted to get uppity, when all I did was protect my property - material and intellectual - from an illegal seizure? The audacity!

I knelt a little further down, fully embracing the speedboarder stance as my cape kicked up behind me, tugging at the fixing points atop my shoulders while I poured on as much speed as I thought I could safely manage. It had only taken me a few minutes to get into the CBD, but anything beyond 100km/h was likely to be a high speed ticket to an early grave as I started dipping and weaving between buildings - especially while flying this low down, in the hopes of staying out of sight of the probes.

Partly due the nature of my upbringing, and partly just because of my own interests being elsewhere, I'd never been much of a cape groupie growing up. Even though Sentinel had made a huge impression in the media when he first appeared, just a few months after Leviathan hit, I'd never given him much thought. I started looking into him more once I'd become a tinker myself, though - because of course I wanted to know just how good the greatest tinker since Hero was. Now that I was currently fleeing from his tinkertech, I found myself rather pissed at just how powerful and versatile it was.

Last I'd checked on PHO, Sentinel's highest known top speed on record was somewhere around Mach 4, so it was safe to assume his bigger probes could match that - considering he almost always travelled with a pair of them. There was no chance I could simply outrun them, but I did have a few advantages; manoeuvrability, and size.

As best I could tell, Sentinel's suit and probes flew using some kind of electric rocket engine. Very good for high top speeds and acceleration - but not as well suited to weaving through tall buildings at speed, lest the force of the thrusters blow out all the windows along their flight path and rain glass down onto the streets below. The probes didn't know my exact location just yet, and they hopefully wouldn't be able to get close enough to do anything - as long as I played to my advantage.

I heard the muted roar of the probe's thrusters as they reached the harbour not even 30 seconds after I'd cleared the area, and I suddenly found myself regretting that I'd lost the Peregrine. Without it, I couldn't safely multitask tracking the probes and navigating through the city. I also couldn't plot an escape route, unless I wanted to risk getting higher to see over the buildings and at the same time potentially reveal myself to the probes.

Crap, crap, crap!

I veered sharply around one building and dove to avoid a suspended footbridge linking it to the building across the street. I raced along at street level, quickly pulling back up as a bus came into view. The driver admonished me by laying on the horn, even as I cleared it with more than enough room to spare.

Rude!

I heard a whooshing sound overhead, glanced up to see one of the probes flying past me over the buildings a few blocks down. I returned my attention forwards again and-

Shit!

My stomach turned over as I dropped my weight backwards, steering the Lightreach vertical and shooting upwards, narrowly avoiding flying straight into a block of offices. I tucked my legs into my chest and quickly pulled the board into a backflip before I gained too much height, shooting back towards the ground before pulling out of the dive and curving to the left, to carry on down a different street.

"This is Unit 12," a voice began on the police radio. "Possible suspect just spotted heading northeast on Mary Ann towards Paddy's Markets. Costumed individual appeared to be riding a hoverboard."

Oh come on! Who? I didn't even see any cop cars.

An acknowledgement from the dispatcher came across the channel, but nothing to confirm if the probes were onto me now or if APRA and Deva were going to get involved. I zig-zagged between a few smaller buildings and tucked into a barrel roll to circle around a section of monorail track, before diving back once more down towards the street. I heard another whoosh - this time passing somewhere behind me - but I wasn't going to risk another glance, not after how well the last one went.

I breathed a small sigh of relief as the sound grew fainter, and then choked on it moments later as the rumble of the thrusters picked up again, growing gradually louder as it approached from behind. I banked left at the next opportunity, shifting myself to near horizontal and tilting my head backwards to steal a glance without having to take my eyes off my current course for more than a split second.

I did not like what I saw in that split second.

A few hundred feet above me, clear of all but the tallest buildings, one of the probes was now hot on my tail, moving as the crow flies in order to keep up with my erratic movements.

Damn you Sentinel.

I decelerated rapidly and executed an Immelmann turn - pulling up into another backflip and then rolling myself over at the apex of the loop - quickly reversing my course at the cost of some speed and a queasy feeling in my stomach as I levelled out. The manoeuvre was effective - if only temporarily. Another risky glance backwards showed the probe slowing down as quickly as possible and pulled sharply upwards to execute a Herbst manoeuvre - flipping over on its end and then rolling over once it had killed enough speed before rocketing back towards me. What little ground I managed to gain was lost in under 20 seconds as the probe closed the gap once more.

I heard more thrusters overhead and another steep, banking turn let me catch a glimpse of the other two probes closing in on my position and moving to create a triangular formation. They maintained a wide berth from each other as they flew over the buildings.

Hemming me in so I can't escape with my current tactics.

A smart move. While I could outmanoeuvre the probes all night long, this formation would make it almost impossible for me to actually escape them. Almost.

Played out the advantage of manoeuvrability... Time to lean on size, then.

I continued my wild flight pattern, dipping, diving, bobbing, weaving, and dodging between the many skyscrapers of Sydney's CBD until I found what I was looking for - the monorail track I'd flown past earlier.

Back when old Sydney still stood, the monorail had been just a tourist attraction. It still was, but advancements in maglev technology by Cardon Enterprises - extrapolated from tinkertech - had opened up the possibility for use as a genuinely feasible form of public transport. With the underground train networks of the old city centre flooded and damaged beyond repair, the reconstruction efforts presented the perfect opportunity to implement a brand new monorail network to connect the new CBD.

And now it was going to help me escape Sentinel's probes - or at least, I hoped so.

I banked upwards and began following the rail as it weaved through the city. The clearly marked path would be easy for the probes to follow me along, but it allowed me to safely pick up some extra speed I was going to need for my plan to work. I kept my foot on the metaphorical gas as I chased the track through the city, winding around buildings - and occasionally shooting through them, where the odd station had been built into one of the existing structures rather than as a standalone fixture.

One building, two, three, then four. I needed the probes to think I was just following the track at this point… That I'd given up on my erratic flightpath and was dumb enough to try to just outrun them by following the track. Five, six, seven, eight…

When I counted the ninth building, I kicked the Lightreach upwards and slammed on the brakes immediately as I entered. I grunted as my knee buckled and slammed into the board, swallowing the pain as I finished my abrupt stop and quickly moved to position myself over the station platform.

Safe from a fall any bigger than a half a metre, I then rapidly set about powering down all of my tech except for the bare necessities required to see through my helmet and keep the Lightreach flying. I heard the whoosh of the third probe from the rear of the formation rush past outside and instinctively held my breath. It wouldn't take them more than a few seconds to notice I hadn't exited the station and double back to try and find me.

With all my extra computing power and flight assistants shut down, I was struck with the realisation of just how much I relied on my tech; I knew what the almost fly-by-wire protocols did for me, I wrote them myself, but the extent to which they made my job easier was now starkly apparent. My legs began to wobble as the Lightreach freely shifted about under my weight, completely unstabilised and unassisted by computers.

I've never ridden a skateboard or snowboard before. Why is it so damn wobbly?

I swallowed the thought and grit my teeth as I worked to balance out the board. Dangerous as this idea was, I'd be damned if I was going to let myself get caught now. I spun around and slowly began to move back out of the station the same way I came in.

Hugging the wall, I edged my way back out of the building, looking down as I hovered out into the open. I expected the Lightreach to begin to lower itself, and the utter lack of any such movement gave me a shock not unlike when you go to take another step down a stairwell but you're already at the bottom step. Of course the Lightreach wouldn't be following terrain height - there were no sensors running to even keep track of what was beneath me. I kicked myself mentally as I scrambled to figure out how to angle down for the safest possible descent.

I heard the roar of the probes approaching again and slid backwards, flattening myself against the exterior wall of the building. I hit much harder than intended. My helmet and board smacked against the concrete, and I cursed silently, thankful my helmet kept me from anything more than a dull throb in the back of my head. I held my breath as two of the probes shot past overhead, no doubt checking to see if I was doubling back along the monorail track. Either by virtue of my tech being minimised, my position against the building or perhaps just sheer luck, neither of the machines seemed to spot me.

Glancing about, I spotted a fire escape on a building across the street and slowly hovered my way over to it, barely controlling the wobbling in my legs from constant overcorrections, clearing the area just in time as the third probe arrived. I clutched at the metal railings of the fire escape and quickly pulled myself onto the stairs, dismounting from the Lightreach and holding it close as I made myself as small as possible on the fixture.

Breathing heavily, I watched as the third probe rounded the corner into view, now moving slow enough that it could safely descend to the height of the monorail track. I watched with bated breath as the large, ovalescent machine stared into the station tunnel with eyes I couldn't see, no doubt scanning across a dozen different spectrums of light and sound to try and detect my presence.

The probe itself wasn't particularly imposing in its design, but knowing that it was nigh indestructible, packing some degree of ungodly firepower and currently hunting me like the Terminator gave it a deeply intimidating quality. I slowly began inching my way down the fire escape on foot as I heard the thrusters of one of the other probes approaching. It soared past overhead, tracking back along the monorail line in the direction I'd been going originally and then the probe stalking the station entrance boosted back up beyond the skyline. I expected it to fly off but instead, it remained hovering over the building, presumably keeping watch in case I was hiding somewhere inside, waiting to escape.

I descended a few flights of stairs and then carefully climbed back onto the Lightreach, setting off in what I hoped was a westerly direction. For my own safety and because I assumed the probes would be watching for anything travelling fast, I kept my speed down as I flew from fire escape to fire escape, climbing up and hunkering down each time I heard the sound of one of the probes approaching.

After 10 minutes of sneaking about with no probes coming close in the last three, I decided to power my computers and other tech back on. A feeling of comfort washed over me as I felt the Lightreach become a little more rigid beneath my feet and my GPS reconnected and informed me that I had in fact been moving in the right direction.

Pushing away from the latest fire escape, I pulled up just a little and began to pour on the speed again, flying out over the harbour towards the ANZAC Bridge. I put myself on course back to my car and dropped low over the water as I inevitably ran out of skyscrapers to hide behind with the CBD behind me. Slowly, I let myself relax as a strange sense of giddiness began to bubble inside me. I'd broken free of the probe's triangulation and was now heading back towards my car. I'd escaped.

First the hack battle, now the chase.

Holy crap… I outsmarted Sentinel twice in one night.

Almost.

The alert pinged on my HUD only moments before I heard that painfully familiar roar steadily growing louder behind me. One of the probes had found me again now that I was exposed - or it had never actually lost me - adjusted course, and was rapidly closing on me again.

"Oh come ON!" I shouted.

I pulled upwards, flooring it as hard as I could manage while keeping my balance, accelerating rapidly towards 200km/h. But the probes were still closing in. My HUD issued another alert.

1000 feet and closing…

500 feet and closing…

250 feet and closing…

And then the probe suddenly broke off its pursuit.

…

…

WHAT?!

I dropped my speed back down and watched as the probe along with the other two still in the city just… Returned towards Atlas HQ.

The police dispatch radio came through my ear again.

"All units, be advised. Pursuit of the suspect has ceased and the search order from AAHQ has been rescinded. Continue with normal operations."

They just let me go..?

I wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that... Glad, perhaps, that I was out free? Annoyed, that they didn't catch me while they had the chance? Slighted, that they didn't think I was worth capturing?

A wave of exhaustion washed over me but I couldn't bring myself to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Just because I wasn't being actively pursued anymore and the broadcast said the search order had been rescinded, didn't mean they weren't still following covertly or tracing some sort of signal or energy frequency my tech was emitting. Rather than just boost it back down to my car, I adjusted my course and took an obnoxiously long, winding path back towards where I'd parked.

I touched down about a block from where I'd taken off originally, and shut off all my tech - save for the functions required to keep the anti-gravity generators running on the Lightreach, as it was much too heavy for me to carry unassisted. I slipped through a series of alleys to return to my car and took one last quick look around before hurriedly shucking my gear, pulling my helmet off last and setting it down with the rest before covering it. The pile was a little bit smaller for the lack of the faithful Peregrine, sacrificed for the sake of the shots I now had stored on my helmet.

Deciding that, on the off chance I was still being followed somehow, I went straight home to my apartment rather than my workshop. The last thing I wanted was to get Sam involved, but my apartment was much more replaceable than my workshop. About 30 minutes later, I was stepping out of the lift in my apartment building - costume stuffed in a duffel bag - and itching to get to my laptop so I could pull the photos from my helmet and post them to PHO. Perhaps not the most sensible idea, but the Peregrine had died for those photos, and I refused to let its death be in vain. A little bit of cops and robbers wasn't going to deter me.

I slipped back into my apartment, sneaking my way through so as not to wake my roommate Sam. I set my duffle down in my room, grabbed my helmet, and plugged it into my computer; a chuckle came out unbidden as I pictured a dastardly Parthian twirling an imaginary moustache as she slapped the 'Post' button. In the few minutes it took to offload the pics, I logged into PHO on my 'Verified Cape' account - a perhaps vain but prudent decision I'd chosen to make in advance of my debut - and navigated through to the Sydney board.

I typed up a somewhat cheeky title while waiting for the pictures to upload. With the post almost ready to go, bathed in the light of the laptop screen with my helmet staring at me with its almost accusatory expression, I pondered for a moment… And then I stood up.

This calls for wine, I think.

I slipped back out to the kitchen to pour myself a glass, then promptly returned to the sight of the mouse still hovering over the 'Post' button and the image upload now complete as I took my seat. I crossed my legs up on the side of the desk, leaning all the way back in my chair with the glass in hand, took a sip, and clicked the button.

[Your message has been posted!]​

I sat there and watched it for a few minutes, excitement slowly fading as I sipped away further. Of course nothing was going to happen right away. It was well into the early AM by that point. Nobody was awake.

Ehhh... Well…

I started clicking around other boards, looking at other random postings, cape sightings, Atlas Alliance news, scrolling aimlessly and not really paying too much attention while I finished my glass. The biggest thread of the day was about the fight between the villainous Medi-Evils and their heroic rivals, Excalibur & Gloryhammer, and the debate seemed to be pretty mixed. Some people said that capes who were supposedly as powerful as Excalibur and Gloryhammer shouldn't be letting joke kid villains get away, while others were justifying it as something akin to street theatre with how camp the two pairs tended to play things when they clashed.

Others still took offence at that, considering that real lives were actually in danger when Steam Punk took hostages with his automatons. They argued that if the Protectorate was going to keep insisting on forcing their capes into Australia as part of the resource and training exchange program, they should at least take their jobs more seriously.

Well that's a flawed argument. Excalibur and Gloryhammer are Aussie nationals, not Americans.

I couldn't imagine things would be much different if they were part of the Atlas Alliance instead, but I had to admit it set a bad precedent for the Protectorate when their experimental Oceania division was supposed to be showing Australia and New Zealand how government hero-ing should be done.

After Leviathan, it was painfully clear that Australia needed a more organised system for heroes to work under. Sentinel and Cardon Enterprises mostly solved that issue when they went to the government with the Atlas Alliance proposal, a few months after the attack - but it hadn't fixed everything. Australia now had organised, government- sponsored heroes, but still lacked its own equivalent of the PRT - and the Alliance was only successful in cities where independent hero teams already existed or where they were specifically created for the Alliance, like in Sydney.

As part of the reconstruction efforts, the US had commenced a resource and training exchange program to help the government found the Australian Parahuman Response Agency, or, APRA. Our own PRT. Unfortunately - in some people's opinions - it also came with the stipulation that the Protectorate would form an Oceanic division as an alternative to the Atlas Alliance. The proposal was popular initially, but public opinion quickly soured when it became clear the team was more of a political and PR stunt than a genuine effort to actually expand the Protectorate into Australia and New Zealand.

The division operated out of a base in Canberra, but with only five capes on a team that was supposed to cover a region as big as the entire United States, public interest and government funding quickly turned back to the Atlas Alliance.

I doom-scrolled for a little longer and then let the tiredness start to overtake me. Dragging myself back upright, I set the glass down on the table and wrapped my helmet back up before returning it to the duffel bag. Changing out of my clothes, I slipped under the sheets and didn't bother with an alarm. I'd wake up when I woke up, and then I'd be fresh to get back out there, rebuild my Peregrine, and... see what came.

---

I was woken the next morning by the sound of knocking at my door and a faint buttery smell wafting into my bedroom. I jerked upright, turning around in my sheets before dragging myself into a sitting position and addressing the closed door to my room.

"Hey?"

"Hey!" Sam called to me from the other side of the door. "I'm making pancakes for breakfast. Want any?"

"Yes. Please! Thank you," I called back, disjointed while I started getting my thoughts in order, shaking loose the fragments of dreams and inspirations already fading away, like they always did. I looked over to my laptop - screen now dark - before rising up out of bed and going to pull on a robe.

"Ooooorder up!" I heard him call back, followed by footsteps as Sam moved back into the kitchen, the sound of sizzling picking up again.

I wandered out of my room and into the bathroom first, looking at my dishevelled appearance. I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and combed it through a little before putting it back up again, wiped off some of the slightly smudged make-up, forgoing a full shower and clean-up for after food time. My stomach demanded attention first.

Still a little tired-eyed, I cinched the robe around myself, wandered out to the living area barefoot, and joined Sam in the kitchen, opening the fridge looking for breakfast juice.

Sam was more than a full head taller than me with short, dirty-blonde hair and what I considered a handsome face - not that his admittedly good looks had been the only factor in my choosing him as a roommate. He was dressed in long, flannel pyjama pants and a loose fitting t-shirt that depicted the hero Deva in an angelic pose; the words 'Guardian Angel' were written in a fancy scrawling font beneath the image. She was the third most popular hero in the Alliance's Sydney team after Sentinel and Maverick, owing largely to the fact that she chose not to wear a mask but still somehow managed to retain a secret identity. As a result, she'd developed something of a cult following on PHO; the 'Deva Hunters', as they called themselves, a group dedicated to working out Deva's real identity, despite having found no success in almost five years.

"Morning sleepyhead," Sam addressed me with a mildly teasing tone. "I noticed you didn't eat the spagbowl. How late did you get back last night?"

It struck me at that moment just how odd it was, for me, to be so casually dressed and familiar around someone who wasn't family or an employee. I looked away from him for a moment while I considered. It felt nice to be… Unguarded. I looked back up at him with a smile, tinged with guilt at his line of questioning.

"I was gonna have some... I was looking forward to it. I just forgot. It was... pretty late," I answered sheepishly.

"That's fine. Orange juice is in the door."

I gave him another guilty smile and poured myself a glass of juice, replacing the carton in the fridge before taking my cup down to the dining table. I took a seat facing the TV to see if there was any big morning news while I waited for pancakes.

I flipped on the TV and surfed to ABC News, which was currently in the middle of their eight o'clock news broadcast. Lots of talk, but no new information about the 'Sydney Club Killer', as they'd now been dubbed - and only a small mention of reports regarding an explosion occurring around the Atlas HQ last night, and a possible chase through the CBD involving three Sentinel probes and an unknown individual. No statements had been made yet by officials in the Alliance, APRA or Sydney police.

I wasn't sure if I should be offended or proud of that. Either my actions last were apparently not newsworthy or I'd embarrassed the Alliance enough they wanted to keep things quiet. I still didn't understand why the probes had stopped the chase right before they caught me though. What was the deal there?

Sam distracted me from my thoughts as he came over to the dining table and set down a big stack of pancakes in the middle, along with a variety of toppings and a plate and cutlery for me.

"Anything big happening?" He asked, gesturing to the TV.

"Mmmmm..." I responded vacantly, eyeing the pancakes. "Oh, umm… A bit of stuff about the serial killer. Still not saying anything about what their power is, or why they're targeting nightclub bar staff and customers. I'd be worried if I had time to go to a nightclub."

I raised my utensils and started the grave work of disassembling the fluffy foodstuff for sustenance.

"Hah, yeah. That's pretty scary though. The idea of a cape serial killer sends shivers down my spine."

The last thing Australia needs is its own Slaughterhouse Nine.

I responded mid pancake, raising a hand up to the corner of my mouth quickly as a consequence of messy eating.

"I mean... Any serial killer, right? Cape or no cape... Strange the authorities can't or won't say what their power might be."

"Maybe they've got some sort of power that makes them good at sneaking around or something?" Sam theorised as he scooped a pancake onto his plate and began slathering it with blueberries and maple syrup.

"Nobody's that good at sneaking. And if they were that good, it'd be obvious that was their power... right?" I asked as I set my knife and fork down for a moment to take a sip of orange juice.

"I guess? Who knows, powers are fucking weird..." Sam shoved a big forkful of pancake into his mouth.

I let out a bit of a chuckle, knowing all too well how true that was.

"If you got a power, what do you think it'd be?" I asked idly as I grabbed another pancake off the stack.

"Mm-mm." Sam mumbled as he finished his mouthful. "I don't want powers. Far too much trouble for me. If I had to get a power and I could choose? I'd want something to help me with my art. Like super steady hands, or some sort of vision power that lets me see the world differently so I could do some crazy psychedelic stuff."

I nodded along amenably.

"You?" He prompted.

"With my luck, probably some messed up power that makes it impossible for the cops to find out that I've been killing nightclub goers," I responded wryly. Sam choked a bit on his current mouthful and gave me an odd look.

"Well that's dark..." he muttered.

"I'm kidding, obviously," I backpedalled, holding my hands up sheepishly. "Could you imagine me manhandling anyone? I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag."

Smooth, Lise. Joke about being a serial killer with your roommate. Real smooth…

"I dunno about that. You work out, don't you?"

"A little. Are you calling me a serial killer~?" I jabbed my fork in his general direction and squinted ominously, the expression somewhat ruined by the muscles tugging upward the edges of my mouth.

"It would explain why you're always out so late, but no. I don't think you're a serial killer 'Lise," Sam snorted with a shake of his head.

And, successfully escaped from the hole I dug myself into. Yay!

I let out another little chuckle and stabbed the last slice of pancake menacingly.

"I'd want to fly," I spoke up in a softer voice, after a few moments.

"Yeah. Flying would be great…"

It is, Sam. If only you knew.

"Any plans for today?" He continued

"I mean, work?" I said. "Like any other day of the week."

"Seriously? It's a Saturday. Don't you have anything else to do? Are you being forced to work against your will?" He leaned in close and spoke in a mock whisper. "Blink twice if you're being blackmailed!"

"Oh! Oh, umm. Saturday. I guess... I've got some time, yeah," I wondered.

Am I just now realising I've had no life outside of tinkering?

"No, no plans, then," I followed up with a sheepish grin.

"Well I'm heading into the city to do some landscape work with a few people. You're welcome to join if you want?" Sam offered.

"Landscape work?" I asked curiously.

"Painting landscapes. We're gonna pick a good spot in the city and then paint the skylines."

"Oh! Oh. I'm no good with a brush or anything. I'd just be dead weight, haha..."

"Could just be a fun outing? Up to you of course." Sam finished his plate and started clearing away the mess.

I needed to get back to my lab to work on replacing the Peregrine, as well as upgrading my security - since apparently Atlas has someone who can just crack into my secure network through a port that shouldn't be crackable. But doing something other than tinkering for a change did sound kind of nice. Maybe hanging out with Sam's friends would give me a chance to take my mind off Elly for a little while.

"Umm.. when are you going?" I asked

"Ten-ish?" Sam replied, looking down at his watch. "So in about an hour and a half."

I fought the indecision for another few moments and then nodded.

"I'm in. That's enough time to check in on something I need to and… Well… Clean up," I decided.

"Cool," He acknowledged with a soft smile before moving over to start washing up the dishes.

I finished my cup and stood up, taking my plate over to the bench to stand next to him, waiting, thoughts elsewhere. Sam took the plate and cup from my hands and gave them a rinse before loading them into the dishwasher. Broken from my short, temporary reverie, I gave him a quick little "thanks" and retreated to make my way back to my room.

I sat down at my desk, nudging my laptop to wake it up and reaching for the refresh key to see what's been made of my PHO posting.

⬥ Topic: Look What I Found!​

In: Boards ► Places ► Australia ► Sydney
Parthian (Verified Cape) (Original Poster) (Temp Banned)
Posted on April 23rd, 2005:

[Removed]
(User was banned for this post.) (This thread has been locked.)

(Showing Page 1 of 1)

► Veggiemighty
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
Holy wow! New cape alert and pics of what they're building under the AAHQ? Amazing!

► Big_Ernesto
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
super interesting. some sort of campus-ish building or maybe museum? pics are super good quality from angle and lighting it looks like these were taken at night while flying over the harbour. must have some crazy camera tech. $1000 says theyre a tinker of some kind.

► ACoolUsername
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
GUYS! WHAT IF ITS A CAPE SCHOOL?! IS AUSTRALIA FINALLY GONNA LEGALISE CAPE MINORS? IS THE AA CREATING ITS OWN WARD TEAM?!?!?!?!

► AussieX3 (Moderator) (Sydney '98 Survivor)
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
Please refrain from posting classified information on these boards. This is your first and final warning. Anyone found to be reposting the content from this post will also receive a ban.

► Superfly
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
What kinda cape name is Parthian? First thing that comes up on Google is some ancient Middle Eastern Empire. Hope they're not a terrorist.

► Moxter (AA Enthusiast) (Deva Hunter)
Replied on April 22rd, 2005:
Wow. Very cool & super racist over generalisation you've made there, asshole.

► Superfly
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
There were reports of an explosion beneath the AAHQ last night and then a chase through the CBD with THREE Sentinel probes. With where these pics were taken, what are the odds they also caused the explosion. Just calling it like I see it.

► Almighty_Uncle (AA Enthusiast)
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
Don't agree with the racism but it'd be a pretty big coincidence if it wasn't the same person. Obviously they are trying to make a spectacle for their first appearance by doing this. Fingers crossed they are not a full blown villain and just an overzealous rogue

► Sleepyhead
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
Fuck! The post has been removed. Did I wake up too late? Dammit!

► Ace_Appreciator (AA Enthusiast)
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
Noooooooo!!!! I missed it too! Let me see you cowards!!

► AussieX3 (Moderator) (Sydney '98 Survivor)
Replied on April 23rd, 2005:
[This thread has now been locked.]​

Well, that had about the effect I was hoping for.

Overtaken by the most infectious grin reaching from ear to ear, I checked my account to see how long they'd temporarily banned me - seven days - then flicked over to check the other boards to see if there were any Parthian speculation threads yet. Pulling up the board for all known capes in Sydney, I found Parthian marked with an asterisk, listed under the 'Rogues/Vigilantes' column alongside the likes of Beacon, Gusto, Hoodlum and King Hit. Clicking through to my board revealed it to currently be locked.

⬥ Topic: Parthian
In: Boards ► Capes ► Australia ► Sydney ► Rogues/Vigilantes ► Parthian
AussieX3 (Moderator) (Original Poster) (Sydney '98 Survivor)
Posted on April 23rd, 2005:

[This board is locked.]​

While an account by the name of Parthian exists as a verified cape and a post was made by them late last night, this board will remain locked until confirmed sightings of this cape occur.​

"What a killjoy!" I muttered. I sent off a short message to AussieX3's message box, requesting an appeal of the ban, including a quick apology and a promise not to post rule-breaking content again. Maybe they'd let it slide the first time and ease up on the ban early, it couldn't hurt.

I pushed myself upright and was reaching out to close my laptop when a notification pinged to inform me I'd received a private message. I sat back down and pulled it up to read.

⬥ Private message from ManInTheCan:

ManInTheCan: Sorry about the drone​

Hmm..?

---

AN: A few days late on this one, apologies for the delay. I had a busy week and struggled with finding a way to end the chase sequence that hit the key points I wanted it to without handing Parthian the idiot ball. I'm satisfied with what I got in the end so I hope it was worth the extra wait!

Next chapter will be a bit of slice of life stuff, worldbuilding and plenty of dialogue. It's time to get to know 'Lise a little better out of her costume before things pick up towards the end of this arc.

Thanks again to my wonderful co-writer Casey and if you'd be interested in betaing this fic, please DM me at Rhyzler#9795 on Discord. Fingers crossed the next chapter is out on time!

 

[Rhyzler]

I have baked some life. Anyone want a slice?

Splash 1.4​

Saturday, 9:00am, April 23rd, 2005

⬥ Private message from ManInTheCan:

ManInTheCan: Sorry about the drone​

Hmm..?

I leant back in my seat for a few moments to ponder before typing out a response.

Parthian: You made your choices, I made mine. Can't hold a grudge.

Parthian: Have any trouble getting the frag out of your paint?

ManInTheCan: A couple of scratches, which is more impressive than you might think. But that is why I'm messaging you. While I certainly don't condone your photoshoot, what happened last night shouldn't have happened. Evidently, I put a little too much trust in someone I shouldn't have while I was out of state and they greatly overstepped their bounds of authority.

ManInTheCan: I'd hate to have bad blood with a fellow tinker (I assume?) so soon after their debut, so please let me know if there's something I can do to make it up to you. Within reason of course.​

I couldn't help but giggle maniacally to myself as I pondered my options. Someone with the username 'ManInTheCan', who described themselves as a fellow tinker, was messaging me out of the blue to apologise for the loss of my drone. I could only assume I was talking to either Sentinel himself, or possibly Arsenal - Atlas' other resident tinker - on his personal account. What could I ask the - presumably - man himself for?

I typed and re-typed the start of a sentence in response, then deleted it all again and thought some more. With time slowly ticking away to get ready to go out with Sam, I decided to leave my interlocutor without a firm answer for the time being. A favour from Sentinel was no small thing and I didn't want to waste it with a hasty response.

Parthian: I'll think on it and get back to you. Consider any bad blood cleared.

ManInTheCan: :thumbsup:​

I closed the lid of my laptop and headed in the direction of the shower, eyeing the time as I went. Over the next 40 minutes or so, I went through the daily ablutions, scrubbing down, cleaning up and doing some hair care. Once I'd finished drying it and setting it, I put on some make-up - maybe a little more than the usual "no makeup" look I normally went with. I wanted to make a good impression with Sam, and his friends, of course.

I'm not overthinking this, am I?

I was definitely overthinking it.

I fussed for another 10-15 minutes, picking out some clothes - aiming for an elegant and slightly gothic look I hoped would be appealing - before heading out to find Sam. I found him waiting in the lounge room, in some blue jeans, a similarly toned polo with a white undershirt beneath, and a few big bags of art supplies beside him.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah. Can I help with those?" I offered.

"Please." Sam stood up from the couch and handed me a big duffle bag, shouldering another 2 himself. With an eager 'Okay!' I hefted the last bag and followed him to his small hatchback, down in the parking lot. Once the bags were loaded in the boot, I climbed into the passenger seat and buckled in as Sam flipped on the radio and pulled out of the car park, heading towards the city.

Despite my best efforts, I failed to resist eyeing him curiously as he drove.

Just… Keep it casual Annelise. You were literally raised to be able to carry small talk. How much more difficult could just a casual chat be?

"How many of your friends are coming?" I asked idly.

"One girl - Jane - I know personally, and then three others I met at a class last week," he answered.

"Ahh, okay. Do you usually do stuff like this on the weekends? Go and find stuff to paint? With Jane?"

"Sometimes. I've known Jane since high school and she's like a sister to me," Sam explained. "I started a course on landscape art with her last week because I suck at anything that's not portraiture and that's where we met the other three. We thought it might be fun to go out and do something together so we settled on a group painting day."

"Cool, cool," I responded, leaning back into my seat a little bit and finding a tune to softly tap a foot to while I tried to find a way to continue the conversation. "So... you're gonna find somewhere with a bit of skyline. Got somewhere planned out?"

"Well Jane is a bit of a cape geek, and very persuasive. So… Probably a view of the harbour that's got the AA base in it. Maybe around Huntleys Point on the north side. It's got some good vantage points."

I hummed in acceptance, and went back to watching the parts of Sydney go past that I didn't usually pay attention to while I was the one driving; the alleys, the side streets, the buildings, the people walking... and, occasionally, back at Sam.

"How long does it usually take to... paint a skyline?" I asked a little sheepishly, trying to prompt some more idle discussion.

"Depends on how detailed you wanna get and how fast you can work. We'll probably be there for most of the day although you don't have to stick around if you don't want to."

I let out a small laugh.

"No, I'm not trying to get out of it already... I'm just curious. Some time away from work is probably a good thing, since stuff's come to a bit of a flashpoint and I could use a bit of time away from it to let things settle in and develop. A day away from it all is good."

Sam chuckled in response.

"It's fine, really. I'm under no illusions about you being as interested in art as I am. I just wanted you to do something other than work. Plus, it's nice to get to know you better. I feel like I've hardly seen you since I moved in, with how much you've been working."

Great. Even Sam thinks I have no life.

"Yeah, I suppose that's true enough... Very busy... Lots to do..." I mumbled. "But! I'm here now. And, yeah, I'm plenty interested, but you have to admit that being as interested as you is a pretty high bar!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Sam laughed jovially.

I gave him a broad smile by way of approval.

The drive into the city took around an hour or so, thanks to traffic, and as we were approaching the Anzac Bridge I heard the rumbling of jet engines approaching from the south-west. A familiar rumble.

I panicked for a second, twisting in my seat to try and spot the source of rumble before remembering that I wasn't currently Parthian. Sentinel - assuming he and ManInTheCan were one in the same - had extended an olive branch and apologised for last night, apparently passing the blame to someone else for the entire debacle, but I wasn't going to take him at his word and go knocking on Atlas' door in costume.

Continuing to gaze out Sam's window, I watched as three dots in the distance rapidly approached, growing bigger by the second until they quickly became recognisable as Sentinel, flanked by two of his probes flying towards the bridge.

"Huh," I muttered, before deciding to feign ignorance. "That's… There's a cape heading towards the bridge, with some big drones," I told Sam.

Sam's head whipped around to glance out his window.

"Holy-! 'Lise - that's Sentinel!"

The probes peeled away from Sentinel to fly under the bridge as he rocketed over the top, slowing down and arcing up to perform a loop-de-loop before banking back down and carrying on across the harbour towards the Atlas HQ. A bunch of cars honked their horns as a way of cheering as he passed over and I giggled as Sam joined in.

"Seems like a bit of a show-off," I mused, continuing to play clueless.

"Well he is a celebrity of sorts. How the hell do you not know Sentinel is?" Sam flashed me an incredulous look.

Whoops. Too much ignorance.

"I've heard of him!" I responded defensively. "Just seems a little reckless to be flying those things around a bridge willy-nilly, you know?"

Says the girl who played Cops and Robbers with three of them in the middle of the city last night.

"He's only the greatest Tinker since Hero, may he rest in peace! I'm sure he knows what he's doing," Sam said in defence of the hero who definitely didn't need defending.

"Mmm. I suppose you don't get to that point without having a pretty good idea," I conceded.

"You're not that big on cape stuff, are you?"

Is that a heaping pile of irony I hear knocking at the door?

I turned back to Sam, with Sentinel's drones now well out of the vicinity, and gave him a shrug.

"I guess I just haven't really had that much time to follow the scene or anything."

"Well a lot has happened since Leviathan..." Sam trailed off.

I nodded, humming in agreement, and decided to let the statement lie. I turned away again to watch the buildings go by.

After another 15 minutes of weaving through the city traffic, Sam pulled into an underground lot to park. We collected the gear he packed and headed back up to the surface for a short walk to the public transport hub at Circular Quay. I stuck close to him, clutching his equipment tightly as I focused on passively observing and going with the flow, rather than giving in to the instinct to interrogate and take control of the situation and where we were headed.

It was a nice day out, the weather was clear, and we seemed to be getting a reprieve from the chill of the last few days. As a result, there were a lot more people out - tourists and locals alike, going about their days and enjoying the sights. We waded through the hustle and bustle, having to gradually fight harder against the tide of people as we got closer to the quay, until I heard a voice calling out.

"Sam! Sam! Over here!" a woman called to us.

I perked up, looking for the source, ready to signal Sam if he hadn't noticed yet. Unsurprisingly - considering he was a foot taller than me - Sam was able to spot them with ease, and gave a wave in her direction.

"Hey, Jane!" he called in response.

He gave me a nod, tilting his head in her direction and led us over to where Jane sat with two other people. Another young man, who I guessed might be Greek from his features, and an older looking woman in maybe her mid-50s. I surveyed the group, putting on a well trained smile and holding up one hand in a chipper half wave as I introduced myself rather than waiting to be introduced.

"Hi! I'm Annelise, but people call me 'Lise."

Compelled by curiosity, I took a bit of a longer look at Jane, wondering what kind of lady Sam would be long term friends with. She was what most people would consider to be conventionally attractive; standing maybe three to four inches taller than me with shoulder-blade-length straight blonde hair, a slightly ovalescent face with bright green eyes, a rounded nose, and a bright toothy smile.

"Hi! I'm Jane," she responded with an even more eager attitude than mine, darting over as we arrived to take my hand in a sort of part-clasp, part-shake. "This is Keith and Mel. You must be the mysterious and benevolent housemate Sam has told me about!"

Well she's certainly a ray of sunshine.

"Yeah! Not mysterious by any particular choice, though - I just work a lot," I enthused, giving her hand a friendly squeeze in turn. "So the invite out today was nice for the chance to... get away from it all. I hope I'm not intruding or anything."

"Not at all! We're happy to have you," she insisted.

Keith gave a nod, and Mel smiled warmly in agreement.

"Thanks," I said with another smile - Jane's pep was infectious - before turning slightly back to Sam. "Did you say there was someone else coming too?"

"Oh, Will just texted me," Jane cut in. "He woke up with a fever so he's staying home. Huge bummer."

She frowned slightly but quickly perked back up again.

"So, we were thinking of getting the ferry up to the Berry's Bay lookout as our spot for the day. Any objections?" she proposed.

I shrugged and nodded agreeably, adjusting the bag on my shoulder.

"Just happy to tag along," I enthused.

"Sounds good to me. Let's go!" Sam piped up. He adjusted his bags as the others gathered up their gear and then we all headed into the Circular Quay ferry terminal. Tickets purchased, we headed for our wharf to await the arrival of the next ferry.

"So is the Berry's Bay lookout a nice spot?" I asked, directing the question to the whole group.

"Oh it's lovely," Mel said. "I've done some work there before but it's a whole new city to paint now."

"It hasn't stopped sprouting upwards," I remarked, alluding to but not quite stepping on the cause of it.

Leviathan was always an awkward topic. Even seven years after his attack, people still didn't really know how to talk about what had happened. Sydney was the third city Leviathan attacked, and the first time we'd truly 'lost' to him. With no mass teleporters to bring in heroes, only Legend, Eidolon, Alexandria - and shortly after, Hero with a dozen other capes - had arrived in time to reinforce Sydney's (at the time) small cape population... Along with other Australian cape teams, like the Mystics and the Renegades, who had access to Mover powers.

It hadn't been enough, and more than 1.5 million people died in the attack.

Despite the destruction, Sydney had bounced back remarkably fast thanks to the international support. So quickly, in fact, that the city had still managed to host the Olympics in 2000, which ended up being treated as a sort of grand re-opening for the heart of the city. A celebration of human perseverance that showcased we could still thrive and carry on with our traditions, even in a world beset by the Endbringers.

For a lot of people though - especially those who'd lived through the attack - it left them at an awkward middle point. Talking too casually about the Australia's biggest national tragedy felt like an insult to the memory of all the lives that were lost, but too much negativity and mournfulness felt like it undermined how far the city had come since its destruction and how much we'd prospered in spite of what we lost. And there were plenty of survivors, friends, and family who just didn't want to talk about it, under threat of reliving their own memories of it all.

Lost in thought as we waited for the ferry, I found my eyes drawn to Atlas HQ more than anything on the ground while I listened to the idle chatter.

"Are you a cape enthusiast too?" Jane asked in her ever eager tone. She must have caught me staring and assumed. I broke from my reverie to look back at her with a smile.

"Not particularly," I answered. "Most of my life I've been too busy to pay attention. I suppose it's been bringing itself to my attention a little bit more lately, though. Sam - tell them about Sentinel at the bridge!"

Sam recounted the spectacle to Jane and the others as the ferry docked at the wharf and the workers set out the gangplanks for us to board. I could only describe the look on Jane's face as that of a child listening to a grandparent tell an old war story.

"What?! No fair! That's so cool! Ugh! I'm so jealous! I want Sentinel to do a backflip for meeeeeeee~!" Jane complained, in an overdramatic but oddly genuine fashion.

"It did look pretty impressive..." I conceded. "Wonder what he was doing?"

"He loves doing things like that whenever he's out on patrol," Jane explained. "It's the sort of thing that puts a smile on people's faces. If the capes are happy to be showing off a little, then we know there's nothing to worry about, right?"

The piercing sound of the ferry horn split the air momentarily before the roar of the engines picked up, and the vessel started to pull out from the wharf, turning towards the harbour.

"You ever wonder if maybe things weren't all A-OK, would they stop doing that?" I countered. "Or would they keep doing it anyway, because people would notice and start panicking otherwise?"

Jane's face hardened as she started to ponder that thought very deeply - as if the idea that heroes could lie to the people was a totally alien concept to her. Keith leant over and whispered conspiratorially to me.

"Jane is totally gaga for cape stuff. Apparently, Maverick saved her life once when he stopped a car from running her over and she talks about it all the time. I guarantee she'll mention it to you before the day's over," he joked playfully.

The mention of Maverick was a bit of a jolt. Even as a cape myself now, it had been so long since I'd thought of him. I gave Keith an understanding nod, and in the interest of confounding Jane further, I elaborated.

"I mean... wouldn't it kinda be required of them? As superheroes? To make it seem like everything's okay regardless of whether it is or not. In order to protect the public from anything bad that might happen if people started panicking and thinking the heroes don't have everything under control."

"I guess? It depends though, doesn't it?" Jane began. "If there's a villain on the rampage, seeing Sentinel doing backflips instead of rushing to the scene at Mach four isn't gonna put me at ease, right? It's about the ideals they embody. When there's trouble or danger, we can count on them to protect us and catch the villains, but when there isn't, they ease up. That's not to say I don't think they aren't still working hard, but if the heroes are always looking for trouble non-stop and we see them doing that, then we'd assume that there was trouble to be found and then we'd always be worried."

"I almost got run over once," she continued. "Car was doing 70 in a 50 zone and ran a red light. It was a big car too, almost certainly would have killed me... but at the last second, from out of nowhere, Maverick jumps in front of me and takes the hit for me, practically catching the car. I was terrified! But despite the fact that he'd just stopped this car going 70 kilometres an hour almost dead in its tracks, that he was covered in broken glass and I could see this piece of metal stabbing into his leg. Despite all that, the first thing he did was flash me this big, warm smile and say, 'Are you okay, Miss?'"

I watched as Jane's eyes widened with wonder as she recounted the story. For a near death experience, she didn't seem traumatised in the slightest. Quite the opposite in fact. Earnestly caught mildly by surprise, I frowned as I pondered one of the statements.

"Stabbing into his leg?" I asked.

"Crazy, right? Because he's shown himself to be bulletproof before. I can only think that maybe his powers take time to activate and if that's the case then what he did was even more heroic! He made a split second decision and legitimately put himself in harm's way to save me."

I lapsed into thought for a few moments, a few complicated expressions working their way across my face. That was certainly Maverick... My cousin, Peter. He had always been a genuine hero right down to his very core. I wondered if his father was happy or upset about that wound and why he got it. Peter could be bulletproof if he wanted, but after that accident that led to him getting powers, Uncle Dave had never truly been able to stop worrying about him. That was a big part of why he'd decided to have Cardon Enterprises fund the Atlas Alliance… So that Peter - Maverick - would have a team around him to watch his back and help keep his bleeding heart from leading him to take too many risks.

A wave of sadness washed over me as I thought about Peter and Uncle Dave. We'd been so close when we were kids - to the point that I still thought of Peter as more of an older brother than a cousin. I wished I could have gone to them after I… left home in a hurry. But they were too closely connected to my parents; I couldn't predict what they might have done if I'd told them everything. And I couldn't go back home. Absolutely not.

I suppose I could reach out sometime. It's not like I'm kept too busy to get in touch anymore. Maybe Peter could tell me why Elly isn't taking my calls anymore? Or at least find out if she's okay…

I blinked a few times, realising I just absolutely zoned out, and gave Jane a sheepish smile.

"Yeah - really seems like one of the good ones," I agreed.

"Definitely. He's also a total hunk. Mmm!"

Hahaha… ew.

I gave Jane a bit of an involuntary weird look at that thought, and chuckled. The ferry rocked a bit as it docked again at another wharf.

"Hey ladies!" Sam called out. "This is our stop."

I hefted my bag and made to follow Sam again. As we disembarked from the ferry, Keith leant in again.

"Told you~!" he muttered.

"You absolutely called it," I marvelled back at him. "Within minutes."

"It's kind of endearing, though. Nice to know that the AA really can inspire so much hope in people."

"Honestly it sounds like a life-changing experience. I can hardly blame her for wanting to share the story," I agreed.

It was a five minute walk from the wharf to the lookout where we all started to set up our various bits of equipment. Sam and Mel both had easels on which they set out some canvases, Jane had a big sketch pad and Keith had a bulky and expensive looking digital camera.

"Any preferences for what you want to work with?" Sam asked. "We've got acrylic or water paints, or you can do sketches like Jane, if you want?"

"I'm good with a pencil," I replied, eyeing Keith's camera curiously. It looked like a new model and was probably very expensive. I could feel my power tingling in the back of my mind.

The best way for me to describe how my hard-light projectors worked was that it was a kind of lensing effect, much like that of a camera - except, instead of bending light, it bent its properties. High quality optics were more than just necessary, they were the bulk of the weight of a projector; I'd spend a lot of time early on disassembling junk cameras for parts to prototype with before I reached the point where I needed to manufacture my own, more specialised lenses. Those weren't only useful for hard-light projectors, either - the optics package on the Peregrine was far better than most consumer tech, on account of being able to build it myself, to much more exacting specification.

That camera looks pretty nice, though. I wonder if I could strip it down for parts for the Peregrine rebuild?

Sam dragged me away from that distraction by handing me a sketch pad and a set of drawing pencils. I took the supplies gratefully, but instead of getting started, I hovered around a little bit, curious as to what everyone else planned to start with.

Unsurprisingly, Jane had chosen to frame Atlas HQ as the focus of her piece, and was currently working on sketching out a rough skyline. Sam was focusing more on the CBD itself, while Mel was starting with where the harbour opened out into the ocean. It was harder to tell exactly what Keith was shooting, but he seemed to be getting pictures of all kinds.

I clutched my sketch pad and took a few steps back - contextualising not only the skyline of the CBD, but Sam against it as well, observing him as he observed the lay of the land and pondered his canvas. After a little while spent just watching and taking in the details, I put a soft pencil to the page and began to lightly outline the shape of my subject; Sam, and particularly the look of concentration on his face.

From the moment I put the pencil to paper, I could feel the urge to use this time to lay out design and concept drawings for the next version of the Peregrine. Thanks to yesterday's field tests, though - and the choice of Sam as my subject - I was able to fairly easily suppress that urge for the time being, as I zoned in on something organic rather than technological.

The first handful of hours passed by quietly as everyone focused on their work, only pausing occasionally to make idle small talk. As the day went on, I could feel the itch getting a little more nagging. I really did want to work out some new ideas for the drone. There was always room for improveme-

I managed to shut down the instinct again as I stared even harder at Sam's face and body, to the exclusion of my awareness of anything else. Sam was no Hollywood hunk, but he certainly wasn't bad looking. A little on the lanky side but I could choose to see it as toned if I wanted.

I might have ended up stylising him a little bit in my sketching; a little more angular here, a little bit more prominent there, adjusting his stance a little bit more confidently, his grip on the brush assured. Maybe it was a little bit embellished. So what? It was art, even if it was just a sketch. It wasn't that bad, it was just... picking good features that were already there.

As I added a little bit more shading to the side of his brow in profile, emphasising the not-quite-severe, purposeful expression, my thoughts turned somewhat to my stomach; not much more than peckish on account of a filling breakfast, but fairly thirsty. I pondered speaking up to inquire whether the group planned to take a break, but shied away from the idea, unwilling to shatter the unique atmosphere of artistic focus.

Very zoned in on my work, a jolt of surprise shot through me as I realised Jane was peering at my work over my shoulder.

"Ooo! Interesting! I love your composition," she said in a teasing fashion.

"Ah! W-what?!" I yelped, jolting upright and twisting as she announced her presence.

For a split second, I wondered why my new alert scripts for the Peregrine didn't ping me that someone was that close to me; then it hit me all over again that I wasn't in costume, I hadn't uploaded those scripts yet, and the Peregrine experienced a rapid unscheduled disassembly just last night.

In the here and now, I found myself moving to hide the sketch from her in a guilty fashion and then forced myself to stop, mentally cursing that I got taken by surprise. I took a second to master myself and then put on a smile.

"Thanks," I responded shyly, looking down to consider it again in its totality myself, having spent most of the time laser focused on small details.

The piece did include vague references to the skyline, wiggles of shading here and there to indicate splashes of colour, but I had mostly avoided any straight lines; with the exception of the parts of the easel necessary to convey the context of the subject I was sketching, almost all of my efforts over the last few hours had been soft outlining, marking, hard lining, shading and little flourishes here and there, all telling the story of an artist and his dedication to a work in progress.

"You know we're supposed to be drawing landscapes right~?" Jane whispered to me.

I whipped my head back around to look up at her, mortified. This was weird, right? This was probably creepy. We quite literally came out here to do landscape work and I actually just drew a sketch of my new house mate instead. It was probably going to creep him out. Jane gave me a wink and then spoke louder as she addressed the rest of the group.

"Do we wanna break for lunch now?"

I tried to at least freak out silently, hardly listening to the others as they piped up in response. A consensus was quickly reached, with Keith and Mel volunteering to stay and watch the gear while Jane, Sam and I went to grab some food from a kiosk we'd passed earlier.

I stiffly flipped the sketch pad closed and stood up, clutching it tightly where nobody could spy on what I had drawn and then shuffled in with the others. It was only a short walk up to the kiosk and the three of us made a bit of small talk about how our pictures were going.

"I'm kinda impressed Lisey~" Jane needled.

Lisey? Is that my nickname now? I wonder if Sam will catch onto it, or if he'll keep calling me Lise…

"You've got a real eye for detail," Jane continued. "Do you work with small scale stuff a lot? Like for work or hobbies?"

Dammit… Jane, please pick anything else to talk about..!

"Uhh... yeah. My job is... technical," I answered in a small voice, vaguely deflecting.

"Oh really?" Sam chimed in. "I'm kinda curious about your job actually. Is it like engineering or IT?"

I perked up a little bit at Sam's show of interest, nodding emphatically.

"Yeah. I can't give you any specific details because it's, uhh, classified." Nice cover, 'Lise. "But it's been a lot of both, lately..."

"Ooooo~!" Jane cooed conspiratorially.

"NDAs are exciting. Wait! You're not working on the thing they're building under the AAHQ are you?! If you are, you have to tell me! I need to know Lisey! What are they hiding down there?!" she lamented in dramatic fashion, grabbing me by the shoulders and jostling me gently.

"Jane, calm down!" Sam said, a little concerned.

I grinned a little bit as I brought a hand up to rest on her wrist against my shoulder, deciding to take the opportunity to do a little retaliatory teasing.

"You know, I might know a little something…" I said as nonchalantly as possible. "Did you see the photos that leaked on PHO before the thread was taken down?"

"No, I didn't!" Jane whined. "I woke up late this morning and they'd already been taken down..!" She pouted and hung her head momentarily before perking up again. "Wait. Did you?!"

I grinned even wider for a moment, letting the tension build up a little further, enjoying my newfound leverage far too much.

"Maaaaybe~" I allowed, before suddenly reaching into my purse to pull out my phone, unlocking it with a few taps and bringing up the photos I'd saved. I tilted the phone to her, showing her the Peregrine's overhead stills in ever-so-slightly grainy - but high-resolution - full-colour night vision.

Jane's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and she snatched my phone from my hand to stare into it, giggling like a schoolgirl. It took her a few seconds to catch herself and turn bright red with embarrassment as she meekly held out my phone to give back to me.

"Sorry..." She said sheepishly.

My instinct was to snatch my phone back and admonish her rude behaviour, but I swallowed the thought.

Be nice. Make friends. Everyone needs friends.

Instead of taking my phone, I leant over and swiped to the next shot from a different angle and nudged the device back towards her.

"They posted a few different shots," I prompted.

Jane giggled again, almost dancing with joy as she stared into the screen as the three of us queued up to order food.

"So what do you think it is, based on those? And... any thoughts on who might have taken them? It seems like it's a new cape... I don't really know much," I lied, trying to prompt her into speculating, in the interest of figuring out what she thought of me… Or, rather, of Parthian.

"Well, I read through all the other comments before the post was locked and I'm leaning towards some sort of training centre," Jane answered. "A museum seems a bit self-aggrandising and not really worth the secrecy. Question is, who's it a training centre for? The AA themselves almost certainly have one up in their flying fortress already - so who, then? A Wards-esque program seems the most likely… but the bill to legalise underage capes has been stuck in the senate for more than a year now. So unless something's changed, or is gonna change soon, I'm not sure. As for the cape who posted the pics, I don't know, really. We don't know anything about them or what their powers are yet, except that maybe they're a Tinker, but that could be any number of things."

I pulled an incredulous frown - partly at the relative dismissal of the 'mystery cape', and partly at a revelation hidden right in the middle of her… admittedly expert-sounding analysis.

"I didn't even realise underage capes were illegal," I said. "Why even do that? There are so many young parahumans... There's going to be ones doing cape stuff either way. At least in America they've got a safe option..."

Jane frowned as well.

"A lot of the capes who died in the Leviathan attack were kids, and there's some pretty morbid footage from news crews and people on the streets of it happening. Stories from parents who had no idea their kids had powers, spending days wondering what happened to their children… only to find out they'd been drowned or crushed or died in any number of other horrible ways while trying to fight Leviathan. It was a big point of contention when Sentinel and Cardon Enterprises went to the government with the AA proposal. There's still plenty of underage heroes out there like Beacon and Gusto, but legally, they have to be classified as Rogues - and the AA, Protectorate and APRA always have to discourage their actions even when they're saving people. It sucks on a lot of levels. Hopefully, now that we have a much more organised system for heroes, this'll be the turning point for them," she concluded.

"Yeah... If your kid's got powers, they're probably going to fight... Would you rather they fight alone as Rogues or have a team, as well as older capes looking out for them? It should be an absolute no-brainer... Oh well. I guess I'm glad I don't know any underaged capes to worry about." I said, shaking my head.

Jane continued to swipe through the pics on my phone, zooming in and studying them for the next few minutes of waiting until we reached the front of the queue to order.

"What do you want 'Lise?" Sam asked.

"Oh! Umm... I'll... take a Caesar wrap and a bottle of water," I offered in response.

"Gotcha." Sam placed the order and the three of us stepped aside to wait for our food. Jane handed my phone back to me, a nervous and guilty expression on her face.

"Sorry. I might have swiped a little too far and seen a pic of your workplace," she muttered.

I stiffened in place, my veins running ice cold before I clawed my phone back and frantically stuffed it back in my purse to secure it.

"Umm, you, uhh..." I floundered for a few moments in pure panic, lowering my voice with a worried tone. "That stuff's, umm, classified, so uhh... I didn't... you didn't see anything serious, right?"

"Just a fancy looking workshop I think?" Jane answered in an equally hushed voice. "But I didn't see anything. You don't have to worry about me one bit."

She mimed zipping her mouth shut.

"Food's here!" Sam called as he started loading stuff into his arms. I moved up to grab my stuff, mentally kicking myself.

Dumb, dumb, dumb! I should've put those photos in their own folder. What if she saw the Peregrine? What if she saw the Lightreach? Now all I need is for Sam to find out I sketched him instead of, y'know, what we actually came here to sketch, and make me look like a weirdo. Then my total fuck-up of the first time I've actually gone out with new people and tried to make friends will be complete.

I followed close behind the others as we moved away, almost physically shrinking down as I cringed at my simple, stupid mistake. My eyes remained fixated on the ground as we walked, watching the placement of my feet and enduring the tension and awkward silence that seemed to last an eternity on the short walk back to the others.

Jane sat in silence as she ate, while the others talked. I snuck glances at her, doing my best to stay discreet, trying to pierce through the windows of her eyes to decipher what she was thinking about that's got her so quiet. I prayed to gods known and unknown that she didn't see anything that would inevitably become identifiable as belonging to Parthian.

I pulled my phone out again and began frantically going through it. First, I saved all the incriminating photos to their own folder and encrypted it. Then, I went through outgoing connection logs, breathing a sigh of relief as I determined she hadn't uploaded copies anywhere while the phone was out of my sight.

I was upset with myself, even so. Angry enough that I didn't even want to finish my wrap. Instead, I just sat and simmered, kicking myself over and over again so I might never make such a rookie mistake twice.

When lunch was over, everyone went back to working on their respective art pieces. I looked at the front cover of my sketch pad and contemplated what to do next. I could have started something new, but... Nothing else I might've wanted to draw out here would help me keep my mind off my gear. Not to mention, it would be obvious I'd started over, and they'd probably want to see what I was working on before.

Instead of making a decision, or sitting there staring at my sketchpad and looking awkward, with a stroke of genius I put off the decision by pulling out my phone. The bookmark to the PHO home page called out to me, to see if there were any new developments. Both the thread I created and the one about Parthian remained locked, so there was nothing new to read there. I had, however, received a response regarding my ban.

⬥ Private message from Aussie3​:

Aussie3​: Right now your ban is gonna stay in effect. We don't know anything about you except you're a verified cape whose first post was pics of classified material. PHO doesn't condone and tries not to encourage villainous activity, so if you're not a villain maybe go do something heroic? Catch a thief or save a cat from a tree or something. Once we know more about you and that your intentions are good, I'll think about lifting your ban early.​

Ugh. That's so unfair! Other capes' speculation threads were fine. Why lock mine? Overzealous moderators...

I paused as an idea occurred to me.

Hmmm...

I pulled up the private message thread with ManInTheCan and started to type.

Parthian: Think you've got the influence to get me unbanned from PHO and my speculation thread unlocked? I'm not a villain, but the moderator seems to have a hard-on for the idea.
​

I sent the message, then lowered my phone for a moment to look around at the others. Everyone else seemed to be zoned in on their work. Jane noticed me looking and gave me a small but nervous smile before returning to her work. I looked down at the sketchpad and then brought my phone up again, refreshing my messages.

Nothing yet.

I let out a sigh.

I put my phone back in my purse and then grabbed the sketchpad, flipping back open to my previous work. There was no point starting something new and fighting the urge to tinker when Jane had already seen my sketch of Sam and the others would probably ask to see it anyway, so I continued work on it. After about another hour or so of working my phone pinged with a notification.

I suppressed a jolt of surprise as I was broken from my focus and then carefully closed the sketchpad, putting it down to the side and pulling out my phone to check it.

⬥ Private message from ManInTheCan:

ManInTheCan: I can probably swing that. Is this what you want as your favour?
​

I pondered for a few moments. It was probably a fair ask. It did require him to demonstrate his influence a little bit. And I did want people talking about Parthian... That was the whole reason for the stunt in the first place.

It wasn't exactly the best thing to use a favour from the most powerful tinker in the southern hemisphere on… But there's favours and then there's favours, and this was not the latter. It wasn't a 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card - not that I was planning on landing myself in jail. No… this was a perfectly appropriate request.

Parthian: Yes.

ManInTheCan: Deal.
​

I failed to suppress a giddy little grin as I anticipated getting what I wanted from the annoying moderator. One of those small victories that tasted oh so disproportionately sweet.

ManInTheCan: Don't post anything you shouldn't this time.

Parthian: Already promised the moderator I wouldn't! Cross my heart.

ManInTheCan: It's me you should be worried about crossing.

Parthian: And yet, here you are about to get me unbanned! And you didn't even demand that I go save a cat or something first. Truly, you're a gracious adversary.

Parthian:


ManInTheCan: So long as you use those powers for good, we won't have a problem.

Parthian: Alright, big guy. You've made your point, and it's well received.
​

With a sudden rush of awareness, I hid my phone screen for a moment while I looked up and around to make sure nobody was watching me. Nobody was but the flash of movement did draw a glance from Sam.

"Everything okay?" He asked.

"Yeah, just- uhh, just work stuff. It's nothing, just... a notification," I said, putting as much confidence as I could in my voice and ending with a weary smile.

"How's the drawing going? Mind if I take a look?"

I froze up, opening my mouth so that my brain could generate an appropriate refutation. When it unexpectedly and utterly failed to produce one, I gave him an awkward smile and grabbed the sketchpad, clutching it close.

"I- it's, no, you don't want to, it's not... I don't think... it's not really done or anything..." I started to try and excuse myself.

Annelise. Get a hold of yourself! What's wrong with you today?

"That's cool. I can get a bit cagey about showing my work before it's finished too," he said sympathetically. "Lemme see at the end of the day?"

I breathed an altogether probably too loud sigh of relief, and muttered a few vaguely agreeable words. He gave me a smile and went back to painting.

I let my racing heart slow down again and - with another quick glance around - opened the sketchpad to cautiously continue my efforts. I was basically continuing to dig my own grave after learning it was destined for me, but… maybe he'd forget?

Or maybe he'd be too busy looking at the other parts of my drawing. The way I had started sketching the skyline was rather abstract.

Hmm, that's basically a circuit diagram… No! Bad! Stop that!

I started aggressively shading over the hints of circuitry - creating a much more darkened backdrop that, annoyingly, only served to highlight the drawing of Sam in the centre of the page. Exasperated, I tried to flesh out more detail elsewhere in a more… organic manner. Smooth, curved lines that flowed naturally like... the wings on the Peregrine drone.

Nope! Perhaps if I sketch another person? That seemed to be working.

I started drawing Keith, and quickly realised I was much more interested in his camera as I started envisioning - and then sketching - a refined optics package for the Peregrine.

Okay, I need to stop.

I started to scribble over what I had drawn so far, and then stopped for a moment. No point letting good ideas go to waste. I pulled out my phone and took a quick photo before going back to scribble some more. Once I thought it looked suitably like a mistake in the drawing, and not a covered-up design, I slowly closed the sketchpad, closed my eyes, and tried to centre myself for a few minutes.

I let time pass for a short while. It was actually very relaxing in the warm afternoon air, and the idea of just dozing off for a while began to rapidly grow more appealing. Maybe a quick nap would let me get back to it without all these designs floating around in my head trying to get out. I leant back, closing my eyes and focusing on the warmth of the sun, just letting time pass.

---

A voice called into the depths of unconsciousness… calling for me.

"'Lise? 'Lise~!" Sam said, trying to gently rouse me.

I opened my eyes and straightened up.

"Yeah... what's up?" I asked, looking around.

"We're gonna start packing up now."

As I looked around, I noticed the sun was much lower in the sky, right around the point where it was starting to turn the horizon orange. A little surprised and embarrassed, I gave him a little smile and a nod.

"Ahh, okay... yeah," I agreed, still gathering my wits about me.

I reached around, checked my purse and phone before grabbing the sketch pad. It was 5:11pm now, according to my phone, and everyone else was gathering up their gear. Keith was packing away his camera while Jane helped Mel remove her canvas from the frame, and Sam was washing off his brushes. Still clutching the sketchpad close, I hovered around, observing, looking for an opportunity to help if someone needed it, considering I had basically nothing to pack up.

"Mind helping get my canvas off the frame?" Sam asked as he finished packing away his brushes.

"Sure!" I said, glad to have some direction. I moved up to the easel, sketchpad under my arm and took my cues from him.

He'd painted a very realistic depiction of the Sydney CBD skyline using acrylic paints. It was a bit smudged and sloppy in a few spots where he had clearly painted over a mistake, but on the whole it looked quite good to me.

He handed me a small tool to use for prying the staples from the wooden frame, and I took it with a nod before getting to work. Immediately comfortable working with my hands, I operated almost on autopilot while I split my attention between the staples and taking in the details of his painting.

"It's amazing," I marvelled aloud. "Accurate."

Sam smiled brightly as he continued to work.

"Thanks! You really think so?"

"I do! You only need to look out there to see," I enthused, gesturing back out to the view, giving him a broad smile.

"Guess my skills are improving then. You'll have to show me yours too."

I gave him a noncommittal grunt and another smile to hide the dread as I finished separating the canvas and gladly let him take over, gently rolling it up and stowing it away in a special canister. In a few short minutes, everyone was almost all packed up and ready to go.

Sam tapped me on the shoulder.

"So can I see or what?"

I looked around nervously as it started to sink in that there was probably no reasonable way to get out of this. It was going to look wildly inappropriate. I was going to look creepy as hell, and then we were going to have to drive back to the apartment and it was going to be just so unbelievably awkward. There was really no two ways about it; the drawing was so absolutely and utterly focused on him, and everything else was an afterthought of an afterthought by comparison. Purely because trying to draw anything else resulted in tinkering, but it wasn't like I could ever explain that.

I set my jaw and slowly extended the sketchpad towards Sam, still looking away, bracing myself for the reaction.

It's really not going to help the matter that it's a pretty flattering rendition, either...

I started to shrink down in a kind of anticipatory cringe.

Sam was quiet as he took the sketchpad and looked over the drawing.

Just kill me now…

"Wow... This is... Really good." Sam looked up at me with a slight blush. "I'm kind of flattered. What do you guys think?" He turned the sketchpad to show the others.

I shrank down a little further, cursing as I felt the heat in my traitorous, burning cheeks. I could hardly understand why this was affecting me so much - I'd spent so long not caring what people thought of me when I was growing up as the scion of a pretty rich family.

Why do I care so much now? Why do I want them to like me so much?

There were several hums, nods and mutterings of approval. Jane managed to catch my eye and gave me a wink.

Without any real way to respond to that, I defaulted to putting on a weak smile by way of acknowledgement.

Mercifully, the big deal I was expecting about my sketch never eventuated, and we all finished packing up and headed back down to the wharf. We boarded the next ferry to arrive and headed back to the city. I spent the entire trip back almost entirely self-absorbed and quiet, grappling with confusion over how quickly they all reviewed the sketch and then left it be, moving on like it wasn't something really strange for the weird new girl to do... and Jane's wink.

When we arrived at Circular Quay, Mel stayed on the ferry to head back to her place and Keith darted off after a quick goodbye to catch his bus, leaving Sam, Jane and myself in the same spot where we met this morning.

"It was really nice meeting you today, Lisey! I had a super fun time," Jane said.

"Yeah - you too," I replied to Jane. "Maybe again soon."

I was now entirely unsure of how to feel about Jane. She seemed nice, if almost too bubbly. She'd seen the picture of my workshop but behaved as though it was an honest accident, and I hadn't found anything to suggest she'd made copies of the picture - or done anything else underhanded. Had she guessed I was a cape, or had my abstract descriptions of my work being secretive been enough to convince her not to pry? If she had guessed, she was hiding it well.

And what was that wink about? That was twice!

Jane pounced on me, enveloping me in a big hug.

"Thank you for being so good to Sam," she whispered quietly to me, before pulling away to playfully aim a punch at Sam's arm and then envelop him in a hug, too.

I looked at her, a little confused, but gave her a smile regardless as she pulled away, complete with a micro shrug. She waved goodbye to us both and then skipped off down towards the CBD.

"Shall we?" Sam asked, turning to me.

"Yeah," I agreed quietly, coming up alongside.

Once we'd reached the car and loaded it up, the trip back home was a long one, thanks to Sydney's notoriously terrible evening traffic. It felt even longer, on account of the awkward but amicable silence hanging in the air. Early on, I felt like maybe speaking up, or apologising, or something… but I never mustered the will to actually do it. Instead, I just wallowed in a kind of silent anguish. I'd had fun, sure - it was a good day, but… well.

I guess it turns out that actually, I SUCK at socialising.

Truly the cruellest of ironies for the lonely, former socialite longing for acceptance.

About 10 minutes before we got home, Sam finally broke the silence.

"Any thoughts on dinner?"

"I'm easy... I mean- I don't mind- Whatever's convenient," I offered.

"Probably leftovers then. I'm gonna go shopping tomorrow."

I looked over at him and nodded a few times.

"Need any cash for groceries?" I asked.

"Not unless you want anything expensive," he joked.

I shrugged.

"Maybe some of that really nice ice cream?"

"Sure. I'll send you the bill." He chuckled lightly and I found myself laughing along.

Maybe not so awkward after all…

I looked down at the sketchpad. It belonged to him. Was it weird to keep it?

Should I take my page out and give it back... Or give it back, page and all? Should I just abscond with it entirely? Would he mind? Should I buy him another pad? What's the least weird option?

I grappled with that for a little while, looking at the sketchpad but not really seeing it. Sam pulled into the carpark and turned off the engine. After a few minutes of unloading, we were back in my apartment, safe and sound at just a bit past seven. I retreated to my room with the sketchpad, dropping it down next to my laptop, and then headed back out, making my way to the fridge in search of the aforementioned leftovers.

I found the spag bol I didn't eat last night, some meatloaf, and a few slices of frozen pizza in the freezer. I decided I definitely wasn't going to let the spaghetti go to waste, pulling it out and setting about heating it up. Even after a day in the fridge, the spag bol was some of the best I'd ever had. That wasn't idle praise; I'd eaten at some high end Italian restaurants before.

I said my goodnights to Sam and headed back to my room, cracked open my laptop and checked PHO. My ban had been lifted, and my thread was no longer locked. There was some light discussion, but not a huge amount of buzz; talks of the pictures I had posted, whether or not I was connected to the explosion that happened last night, and a few very grainy and blurry photos of me whizzing through the city on the Lightreach.

I pulled up a CAD program, opened my phone, pulled up the photo I took of the design I drew before scribbling it out and started to explore the idea a little bit, tinkering for a few hours to scratch the itch. A feeling of relief settled in as I stretched my creative legs again, iterating on the Peregrine for a while using the photo I took of my sketch, then moving on to a new idea. When I was starting to get tired again, I'd pretty much finalised the Peregrine rebuild plans, and made headway on a new arrowhead. I saved the new file as 'Data Knife' - name pending, but that first idea sounded pretty good to me.

I checked the clock - 12:22am - and on a whim, reached into the duffle bag under my desk to retrieve my helmet and pull it down over my head. I crouched down in front of my desk, hands over the edge as I peeked upwards at my laptop webcam, so just my fingers and the upper half of the helmet was in frame, with the rest of the room in darkness. I took a cheeky picture, pondering it for a few moments before posting it to my speculation thread with the hope that it would stoke some more conversation

The helmet went back into the duffel bag, my clothes joined the pile in the hamper, and I dove haphazardly under the covers to let sleep take me.

I guess today went alright after all.

---

AN: Definitely not happy that I was late again with this chapter but in my own defence, it is about twice as long as previous chapters and the first draft was even longer! I thought about splitting this up into 2 chapters but I couldn't find a point anywhere that felt like a good stopping point without giving the next chapter an awkward start. Turns out I have a tendency to get lost in the weeds when writing SoL stuff, so big thank you to my co-author/beta reader Casey for helping me cut this down to something more manageable.

On a different note, I said in the very beginning that Parthian had some secrets of her own and here is where we get our first hints of that. It seems that being a cape runs in the Maxwell/Cardon family~

We're nearing the end of Arc 1 now. I estimate maybe 1 or 2 more chapters (depending on length) and then our first interlude before we begin on Arc 2!

I've also decided that I'm going to move the day I post (or at least try to post) updates to the weekend rather than in the middle of the week and since I don't want to keep people waiting 2.5 weeks for the chapter, I'm going to aim to post Splash 1.5 on the weekend of the 25th of Feb.

Comments sustain the eldritch horror that fuels my writing so please feed it. Thank you all for reading!

 

[Plooder]

This looks really good! Excited to see what's next.

 

[Rhyzler]

Warning, this chapter contains some (not quite S9 level) graphic depictions of violence. This is a Worm fic after all. Please read at your own discretion.

Splash 1.5​

Sunday, 8:12pm, April 24th, 2005

After yesterday's outing and a late night - spent designing my new Peregrine, and the early workings of my new 'Data Knife' arrowhead - I hadn't woken up until around 10:30 this morning. Sam was long gone for work by then, and I knew he wouldn't be back until the evening, so I decided I might as well head straight for my workshop after breakfast.

My speculation thread on PHO had erupted overnight, with dozens of people arguing over just about every imaginable aspect of who exactly Parthian might be. Some had latched onto the idea I was a villain, and that the explosion was a failed attack on the Atlas HQ; others were screaming at me for more info on the building beneath it, believing that I had some kind of inside source or might be a whistleblower. A handful of them were dismissive, claiming it was all a publicity stunt and that I might not even be a real cape. More than anything, people just seemed to want to know more about Sydney's newest cape, and that put a pretty big smile on my face.

I'd been debating on the way to the lab whether I should lay low for a while, after last night's excitement - keep working on the Data Knife, upgrade the Peregrine further. The prospect of patrolling again tonight won out, though. With an already-finished design to work from, and enough spare drone parts lying around to scrap and reassemble, it only took me a few hours to get the Peregrine up and running again, after all - so I ended up having little time to spend working on designs anyway, until evening rolled around.

By 8pm I had the beginnings of a workable prototype, with my main issue currently being the delivery mechanism. Launching the arrow with the Data Knife payload was easy enough, but having it impact softly enough to not destroy the knife - without sacrificing all my penetration power in the process - had me a little stumped for the time being. I had plenty of possible concepts rolling around, but none of them really fleshed out yet. I'd have to spend some time just following the possibilities and see what seemed more feasible… But tonight wasn't the time for that.

I suited up, grabbing my costume from my car - having brought it back with me from my apartment - and got partially dressed, fitting everything but the helmet, cape, and gloves. As I checked my security cameras to see if anyone was around, it occurred to me that I could take off from my workshop if I wanted. There was a ladder with an access hatch to the roof, for ventilation maintenance, and the air conditioning units up there would offer solid cover from anyone who happened to be looking.

Rational paranoia told me no, that I shouldn't risk revealing the location of my workshop… But logically, the risk was minimal. The block of industrial units where my workshop was located was almost completely dark in the evenings, and there were next to no other businesses nearby that would still have people working at this time of day. On top of that, the Lightreach was near completely silent, and it gave off no light when in hoverboard configuration. If I took off fast enough, I'd be little more than a dark spot against a dark sky.

I checked the security cameras again to make sure no-one was around and then pulled on my cape, gloves and helmet. Then I checked the security cameras one more time. As satisfied as I could make myself that there was nobody around, I mounted the Peregrine to its mag-locks on the back of my armour and grabbed the Lightreach from the boot of my car. One diagnostics check later and I was ascending the ladder to the rooftop hatch.

I stepped out into the crisp night air and hunched low between the air conditioning units to hide myself from view. It had been an overcast day, and the clouds still hung low in the sky, blocking out the stars and making things all the more suitable for a rooftop launch. I mounted the Lightreach and accelerated away, sticking low to the tops of the surrounding buildings for a few blocks before angling upwards into the sky. If anyone happened to be looking, or if I managed to get picked up on radar somehow, they wouldn't have seen me until I was well clear of my workshop.

I kept my speed down a bit, due to the reduced visibility brought on by low cloud cover that saw me bathed in the fluorescent and neon lights of Sydney's CBD after just a few minutes of travel. Looking out over the city below, I tuned my comms to the police dispatch radio and began to listen in. I reached behind me and pulled the Peregrine free of its mount, tossing it up in the air and watching as its hard-light wings flashed into existence. I ordered it to loiter a few thousand feet up, circling in a one-kilometre radius around me and keeping its cameras on my position.

I dropped down to a few hundred feet and began flying along at a steady pace, doing loops around some of the major streets of the CBD while telescoping in to do some people-watching and keeping an ear out for the radio. Plenty visible at my current altitude, the occasional shout and whoop came my way from the pedestrians below as I passed overhead.

Much to my chagrin, the first hour passed by uneventfully, then the second. Police chatter started to pick up around 11pm, but it was mostly just reports of drunken disorderliness, angry homeless people, and the like. As condescending as that moderator had been, I would have killed for a petty thief or a cat stuck up a tree right now.

Not every patrol is eventful, I guess… That's supposed to be a good thing, right?

I roamed the streets from above for another 20 minutes before a fresh report finally came across the PD radio.

"Patrol units near Central, be advised - we have reports of a code thirty-six at a convenience store near Barlow and George. Suspect is male, average height, in loose dark clothing with a buzz cut and allegedly wielding a bladed weapon."

Code 36… That's a robbery!

"This is unit one-four responding," said a new voice. "Heading to scene now. We'll attempt to apprehend suspect as they leave the scene to avoid escalation."

I checked my GPS and started searching for the intersection in question. The moment I had it, I took off as fast as I could. Bobbing and weaving between the buildings felt a lot less stressful when I wasn't fleeing from Sentinel's probes, and I arrived at the location in just under two minutes. There were a few different small shops along the street corner when I arrived, so rather than try to guess which store was the target, I set the Peregrine to start scanning my vicinity for two things: any unsheathed, bladed weapons; and anyone running away from the intersection.

I angled down towards the intersection and set down on a building with a flat roof, just a few storefronts away from the intersection proper. Three of the shops at the intersection fit the bill for what could be considered a convenience store - the dispatcher had been frustratingly unspecific. Cautiously and quietly, I stepped up to the edge of the roof and called the Lightreach to my hand. I felt the familiar 'thunk' as the anti-grav generators switched to bow configuration and the hard-light projectors hummed to life, forming the bowstring while I drew a snare arrowhead from my bandolier and mounted it on the shelf.

It was eerily normal as I looked down. No crowd was forming, there was no-one screaming and shouting or running in terror. From my point of view, everyone was just going about their usual business.

Am I too late? No, surely not…

As I continued to watch, I heard the sound of police sirens in the distance, gradually growing louder. In the eerie quiet, I put a foot up on the lip of the roof and drew back on the bowstring. The shaft for the arrow flashed into existence - already nocked - and I went as still as I possibly could, letting the Lightreach's internal mechanisms hold the weight of the draw. I strained my ears to make out any noise, maximising the overlay of the Peregrine's camera in one lens of my helmet, in order to keep an eye on both of our vantage points at the same time.

The Peregrine suddenly chirped at me with an alert, its cameras zooming in and highlighting someone leaving a convenience store across the road. The person turned to walk in the opposite direction of the approaching sirens, one hand tucked into the pocket of a dark and baggy hoodie and a backpack slung over their shoulder. Their face was concealed at the Peregrine's current angle, with the hood covering their head.

It didn't take years of enforced etiquette and social tutoring to read this guy like a book; he was nervous, in bold font and all caps. His head was turning back and forth like he was looking out for something, and yet he always avoided looking back in the direction of the sirens - which were now close enough that I could see the flashing lights travelling up one of the streets.

Some more chatter came over the PD radio just as two very distressed looking individuals stepped out of the same convenience store Hoodie had just left, stumbling onto the street to wave down the incoming patrol car.

That was enough for me to make the call.

Time for that field test.

No warning. No mercy. No ambiguity. I loosed the snare arrow at Hoodie.

The arrow flew true, bursting in mid-air behind him with a pop like a firecracker, sending a tangle of wires that ensnared him in a split second, coiling around his limbs and torso. Hoodie let out a surprised shout, falling to his side on the ground with a dull thud.

Field test, Target Arresting Munition: successful.

"Hey! What the fuck?!" Hoodie shouted.

I ignored his protest and started scanning the rest of the area, watching through Peregrine's feed as well to see if anyone else was acting suspicious. There were a number of shocked gasps and shouts in reaction to the sudden and aggressive apprehension of the otherwise unsuspecting bystander, and one person darted over - seemingly to check if Hoodie was okay, though he didn't get too close. As all this was happening, the police car pulled up outside the store and one of the officers disembarked to begin conversing with the two presumed victims.

I stayed standing right against the edge of the rooftop, looking down. I toggled my helmet zoom and took a much closer look at my suspect, observing how he was reacting to the police presence. Hoodie's hood had fallen back during his tumble, and now that he was lying on the ground, I could see his hair matched the buzz cut description. His hand was still in his hoodie pocket, trying to pull something from it, but the cables of the snare kept his arms firmly in place.

I grabbed another snare arrowhead and held it loosely in hand in case he somehow managed to break free; there I waited for the police to finish talking with the two people from the store. The pair continued talking to the officer and one gestured down the street in the direction Hoodie had been moving. There was a brief pause as the moment of realisation came, followed by some frantic hand gesturing, and then a flash of lights and sirens from the patrol car before it began rolling down the street to where Hoodie was lying bound on the ground.

I double checked my radio, making sure I was still listening on the dispatch to see if they would call it in. It seemed like they had it under control. I took a moment to kind of... shift my pose a little bit, to look... a bit more heroic. Just in case anyone had noticed me and started filming or taking photos or something.

There was some radio chatter as the other officer got out of the patrol car and confirmed that Hoodie was indeed the perpetrator, and that he was being taken into custody. The first cop and the two victims were now looking around the vicinity, presumably trying to spot whoever was responsible for capturing Hoodie. Another bit of chatter came over the radio asking if any Atlas or other capes had been spotted in the area.

C'mon, guys. I'm right here. Just look up!

I turned around, looking for the HUD marker indicating the otherwise impossible-to-spot at this distance Peregrine and then looked directly at it as I flashed it a peace sign. I sent it a signal to dump its VIS camera cache to disk, saving a recording of the events. Nobody saw what happened in real time, but maybe PHO would appreciate my work.

I turned back to the street, lowering the Lightreach to my side and putting a hand on my hip. I contemplated clearing my throat to draw attention to myself, but decided that was probably beneath me.

I'm not that desperate for recognition. Besides, surely they'll look up soon?

I waited for what felt like another five minutes as they continued glancing about, utterly stumped and ignorant of the world's Z-axis. The officer who'd gotten out of the car first took statements from the two victims, while occasionally checking his radio for any information about the 'elusive' hero. The other officer carefully disarmed Hoodie of the large kitchen knife he had stuffed in his front pocket, and then awkwardly began lifting the crook to his feet.

I expressed my disappointment with a quick "tsk", turning on the spot and taking a few steps before mounting the Lightreach once again.

Ahh well. Recognition will come later.

I hovered forwards and upwards a little bit, watching as the officers loaded Hoodie into the back of the patrol car. I waited for them to leave before taking back off into the sky to return to my patrol. I didn't have to wait long for something new to grab my attention.

"Units in the Mosman area be advised and on alert," the dispatch radio came to life again. "We've just received reports of a Code thirty-seven and ShotSpotters confirm origin point to be somewhere between Military and Middle Head."

Gunshots. In Sydney?

The National Firearms Agreement of 1996 had put serious restrictions on gun ownership in Australia, and the subsequent government buyback amnesties meant that almost no-one in the country owned a firearm anymore. Those that did had to acquire a licence and register their guns, and they were limited to using them only for hunting or collection purposes. Active gunfire in the middle of the city likely meant only one thing: gang activity. And if I was remembering correctly, Mosman was in north Sydney - Wogs of War territory.

I brought my board about, ordering the Peregrine to skew cameras in that direction and move across the harbour to loiter between those roads. Once the drone was on its way with its cameras pointed in the right direction, I took off after it, jetting out across the harbour. I angled upwards as I reached the other side and continued at speed, no longer impeded by tall buildings.

The Peregrine arrived shortly before I did, quickly spotting a large crowd of people currently running down the street from where the shots had been reported. I swapped the drone's cameras to infravision and traced the faint trails of thermal energy back to a club called The Buena, where I could see a few people were still trickling out. I didn't waste time with the crowd and instead flew straight towards the club to meet up with the Peregrine.

Heart beating fast in my chest, I overflew the building high above it as I instructed the Peregrine to start looking for any sign of a pistol or other firearm, the same way I'd asked it to search for bladed weapons earlier. I dropped down lower and started circling the building at a steady clip, looking around to identify entrances, windows, and searching for a way to get a view into the building.

The building was a three storey nightclub with access points on the rooftop dance floor and balconies on the first and second floors. Other than the front entry, there was a staff entrance and loading dock around the back. Looking over the building, a chill ran through my blood as I made a sudden realisation about the current location.

A nightclub… Could this be the serial killer?

Going from stopping petty crime to wading in on gang violence was already a pretty big step. A serial killer - and a parahuman one at that - was a whole other level of dangerous.

I'm pretty sure I'm not ready for this.

A gunshot went off somewhere inside the building. The sound was dulled by the layers of concrete it had to travel through, but it felt loud all the same.

You don't have to fight the cape, Parthian. Just… help anyone who's still inside escape.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, steeled myself, and angled downwards, making for the rooftop entrance and intending to bust my way in if necessary; the Peregrine would ping me if anyone else exited the building or when law enforcement arrived.

The roof was an open party area, with a currently deserted bar and dance floor and a set of stairs leading down into the building. I swapped the Lightreach to bow configuration and took a snare arrowhead, mounting it to the shelf. I approached the stairs and began to descend; not hurrying, but not slowly either as I relied on my helmet cameras to provide me better vision in the darkened interior of the club.

There was a sort of ominous dissonance as I descended into the building. The second floor - like the roof - was a nightclub with a bar and dance floor. The lights and music were still blaring, but the space was completely devoid of any people or signs of life.

Muffled shouting, followed by a crashing sound, echoed up from the stairwell across the room that led down to the first floor. My head snapped to the source and I raised my bow, two fingers drawing the hard-light string to arm the snare arrowhead with a hard-light shaft as I proceeded towards it, aiming down the steps as I observed what I could of the floor below before descending.

The next floor down was a much more brightly lit space, probably once a dining area. As I cautiously made my way down, I saw that a large number of the tables had been overturned, chairs strewn across the room, with plates and glasses shattered all over the floor. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, immediately to my left, I spotted the body of a heavyset man who I guessed might be Greek. From his clothing, it looked like he was a security guard or bouncer of some sort, but something about him looked wrong as I gazed down at him.

I stifled a retch and quickly looked away, lowering my bow as I realised why.

Holy fuck..!

The guard's body was lying chest down on the floor but his face was looking up at the ceiling. His neck had quite obviously been broken with enough force to spin his head around more than 180 degrees.

I swapped to infravision and raised my head again. With the sight of the body now reduced to a more tolerable blob of heat, I did a quick scan around, looking for any fading heat signatures that might indicate a trail of the likely serial killer leaving the scene. The body on the floor next to me was starting to fade, and I detected another weak signature across the room where the stairs leading down to the ground floor were.

I raised my bow again and moved off from the poor bastard. I activated the cell uplink in my helmet, cursed myself for not memorising the Atlas Alliance hotline, and dialled triple zero instead as I pointed my bow out into the room. Noting that the Peregrine hadn't pinged me yet about anyone leaving, I took a deep breath and advanced across the room to the next set of stairs as the phone rang.

When I reached the other side, I swapped off the infravision to check the other body - in case it was still breathing - and immediately regretted it. He was younger looking than the other guy - maybe mid-20s - and Middle-Eastern in appearance, dressed in the same gear as the other bouncer.

It looked like he'd had his ribs caved in.

"You have dialled emergency Triple Zero. Your call is being connected," said an automated voice.

I looked away from the body and swallowed the bile rising in my throat as the phone picked up.

"Sydney emergency services. What service do you require?" said the woman on the line.

I took a moment to breathe and formulate the information I needed to convey.

"This is independent cape, Parthian, calling from The Buena, Mosman. I'm following the trail of another unknown cape down towards the ground floor of the building. I've found two bodies already... injuries incompatible with life. I believe the Sydney Club Killer is responsible and still present at the scene," I followed up, trying my level best to keep the quaver out of my voice.

I slowly shuffled down the first step to the ground floor, keeping my bow up and drawn, Snare ready to go. I took another step… then... another, as I listened for the operator.

"Understood," she responded calmly. "We've received multiple reports of gunshots and police and ambulance units are already on their way to your location. Are you certain there is another parahuman present at the scene?"

"Y-yes. I'm certain. Only a cape could cause these injuries… so easily, ma'am," I said, inching down another few steps. "I'm moving to attempt to identify and subdue. But you should get Atlas out here fast. I'm sure the killer hasn't left yet."

"Understood. I'm going to advise police to hold back and transfer you to APRA for further advisement. One moment…"

There was a brief dial tone as my call was transferred.

As I continued down the stairs, I found myself in an equally well lit foyer area. I spotted two more bodies - just as badly mangled as the previous ones - on the floor in the same uniforms and a trail of blood that led towards some back rooms; one of the doors to which had been knocked off its hinges. My call reconnected, this time to a male operator.

"This is Parahuman Response. Independent cape... Parthian, is that correct?"

"...Yeah. Tracking an unknown cape at The Buena in Mosman. Brute for sure, I think the gunshots were in self defence. I've found... four dead so far," I answered, taking a second to take a deep breath.

I paused for a moment, squeezing my eyes shut and focusing on my breathing again, trying not to heave breaths and blow out the mic to the APRA operator while the blood pounded in my ears and my heart beat a million miles a minute. I opened my eyes again, pulled the bowstring to half draw and aimed it, bringing up the reticle on my HUD and continuing forward.

"Acknowledged... The nearest patrolling cape, Deva has been informed and is on her way now along with two squads of APRA troopers. Based on my information or rather lack thereof, I'm going to assume you're a new cape, Parthian. I would strongly advise you to retreat and wait for trained professionals to handle this," the operator warned.

I continued into the back area. I could see several doors on either side of a dimly lit hallway, lined with a lush red carpet. Some of the doors were hanging open, and the trail of blood led to the very end of the hall where I could see one more door, currently shut. I heard the shouts of a female voice coming from beyond it. She sounded angry and... upset?

"I'll… take that under advisement. I can hear someone shouting. How far away is Deva?" I muttered, taking cautious steps towards the final door, aiming right at the centre of it. I proceeded forwards slowly, intending to get close enough to distinguish what the woman was saying unless something else happened.

"Deva is approximately five minutes away and the APRA units are ten."

As I got closer to the door, I could see something had punched a hole through it, right around where I would have guessed the lock had been. Crouching down while maintaining as much distance as possible, I attempted to peer into the room, only to find a busted, flickering light repeatedly washing out my night-vision over and over. Upon swapping back to infravision, though, I quickly counted five heat signatures in the room through the hole in the door. Three were laid out on the floor, gradually fading to ambient temperature. One was off to one side, and the fifth seemed to be floating in the air in the middle of the room. As I listened, I could hear shouts coming from the fourth person.

"TELL ME WHERE, DAMMIT! I'm tired of having to work my way through you people location by location! Just tell me where they're being delivered, and all of this stops!" she yelled. In addition to being enraged and upset, she sounded young.

I turned off my infravision, pausing and waiting.

"I-I... Don't know where…" Another voice choked out, barely audible, male. "They send the girls here each a-afternoon... and take 'em again... the next m-morning... Please!..."

"Might not be a Brute," I whispered to the APRA operator with my heart in my throat. "Might be a Shaker. Telekinetic of some kind."

"Understood. Parthian, I am strongly advising you to fall back," the operator warned me again. "Deva is three minutes away."

The girl shouted and I almost leapt out of my skin.

"FUCK! Why don't you know anything?!" she exclaimed. "Am I seriously gonna have to claw my way up your ranks to some big boss?!"

"I-I don't..." choked the man.

"Who delivers them? Where do I go next?! TELL ME!"

"B-Bali Springs… Near Headland Park. I know th-they also... take deliveries…"

"Fuck... Fuck! Fine! Another brothel it is..."

I held my breath, continuing to listen, unwilling to retreat from another potential murder in progress, hoping the girl would let the last victim go. I held position short of the threshold to the room, ready to break in if she didn't.

"T-there... I told you what... I know. Now let me go... P-please... I've got a wife and... d-daughter at home..." the man pleaded.

There was a long pause. It sounded like both the girl and the man were sobbing.

"I was somebody's daughter once too…" the girl muttered. "Kusottare."

A shout.

A crashing sound.

A sickening crunch.

A dull thud as a body hit the floor.

---

AN: Worm really did love its sudden escalations in the story, didn't it?

*Throws parahuman serial killer at Parthian*

Obviously things may not be as cut and dry as they seem at face value though. If there's anything Worm loves as much as sudden plot escalation, it's moral ambiguity!~

The next chapter will be the final one for Arc 1, followed by our first interlude and then it's on to Arc 2! Please enjoy the dramatic tension of this cliffhanger until the next chapter and feed me some yummy comments. Thanks for reading!

 

[Rhyzler]

Warning. This chapter contains discussions of kidnapping, human trafficking and allusions to sexual assault. Please read at your own discretion and for goodness sake, be respectful in the comments. Thank you.

Splash 1.6​

Monday, 12:08am, April 25th, 2005

I could only watch as the white-hot thermal silhouette of the man suspended in the air was suddenly flung up into the ceiling. Something - probably his neck - broke with a crunching sound that made my stomach turn, and then his body dropped to the floor.

Fuck!

Fuck fuck fuck!

That was too fast! Way too fast!

I'd thought I was in position, poised to intervene before the girl - the serial killer - would be able to hurt the man... and she'd killed him faster than I could comprehend. Utterly stricken with fear, I started to back away, hurriedly backpedalling with my bow aimed right at the centre of the door as I made my way out of the back rooms.

"S-she just killed another one," I said to the APRA operator in a tight whisper, following up with hurried, rapid-fire statements. "Shaker… Telekinetic power that works on people, I guess. Really strong. Ground floor, back rooms. Her next target will be, uhh, Bali Springs if she gets away. I think she might be a trafficking victim trying to locate other trafficking victims. I'm heading for the ground floor exit."

"Understood," the operator responded. "Deva should be there any second now to stop her if she starts attacking civilians. APRA is four minutes away."

As I continued to back away down the hall, turning off my infravision as I moved, I heard footsteps from the room and saw movement through the hole in the door. I backed up faster, pulling the bow to full draw as the door creaked open and a head peered out from behind it.

"She's coming out..! She's looking at me!" I groaned under my breath, skipping back another few steps - I hoped - into the foyer. I kept the arrow fully drawn just a little bit longer, ready to dodge to the side and make a break for the entrance as soon as I was in the foyer proper. I only caught a glimpse of the killer before she quickly pulled the door shut again, but a few distinct things stood out to me.

She didn't seem to be wearing a proper cape costume, and the bottom half of her face was only covered by some fabric tied around the back of her head. She was Asian, and definitely younger than I was - 22 at the oldest. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with tears and her left arm was heavily tattooed with what looked like a tentacle, curling all the way up before disappearing into the torn sleeve of a baggy, black jumper.

The moment the door closed again, I eased the tension in the bowstring, turned, and ran for the exit as fast as my - admittedly very shaky - legs would carry me. The Peregrine chirped a warning at me and highlighted a silhouette flying rapidly towards the building.

That's gotta be Deva for sure. Thank god!

I booked it, doing my best to ignore the two bodies in the foyer. As I stepped out through the front entrance and into the street, I was showered in a golden light; a moment later, Deva landed hard before me in the middle of the street and quickly took a defensive and ready stance.

Whenever she appeared on television or in newspapers and magazines, Deva always made a point of eschewing any implications or suggestions about her religious beliefs, maintaining a firm stance that her actions and choices were always based on her own thoughts rather than the guidance or teachings of any religious texts. She had apparently chosen the name Deva because while it remained thematically appropriate - meaning 'celestial being' in its original Buddhist context - it didn't carry the same burden as a name like 'Angel' or 'Seraph' would in the Western world. She claimed to have forgone a mask because she wanted people to see that she was still human beneath the heavenly visage of her costume - and standing before her, it was easy to understand why so many believed she was, in fact, a divine being.

Both angelic and profoundly intimidating in appearance, Deva stood at least seven feet tall as she drew her huge, white-feathered wings together behind her back. Her costume was a white dress with golden armour plating at her chest, shoulders, forearms and shins. Unmasked, her face looked as if a renaissance painting had come to life and the halo of shimmering light that hovered above her head only exemplified how supernaturally beautiful she was despite the hard stare she was giving me.

"Parthian?" she queried.

I held up my hands both in greeting and as a display of non-hostility, slowing to a jog as I moved - not directly towards her, but to the side of her, to get out of her way.

"Yeah," I called back. "Cape inside. Did the APRA operator fill you in?"

"I am apprised of the situation," she said with assured confidence. "Wait here."

She marched without hesitation straight up the steps and into the building. As she passed by, I couldn't help but relax as I felt a wave of calm wash over me; the fear and tension of the fight or flight instincts that had been coursing through my entire being moments ago just ebbing away now that I was in her presence.

I slowed to a stop, lowering my bow and letting the hard-light arrow dissolve as I found myself nodding; my worries quashed by her words. It was thanks to that clarity that I remembered to provide Deva with a key piece of context to the situation.

"W-wait! She's... a victim, too," I called to Deva as she advanced, before trailing off and standing there, a little awkwardly. She paused for a moment, head turned to the side, and gave a nod of acknowledgement in my direction before continuing on.

What was I supposed to do now?

As Deva disappeared into the building, the Peregrine gave me another warning chirp, snapping me from my momentary confusion. I expanded the feed on my HUD to see a small figure travelling away from the back of the building. If they hadn't been highlighted by the Peregrine's thermal overlay, I wouldn't have been able to spot them as they moved. A small feminine figure, dressed entirely in black. She took to the air, and although they didn't appear on the white-hot thermals, the night vision hinted at what looked like wings made of shadow.

"Are you still on the line?" I said over the phone to the operator as I reached down to my bandolier and retrieved an IF-TSDS arrowhead.

A tracking round, designed to tag targets with microdots I could trace by radio.

"I'm here, Parthian," the operator answered. "The APRA squad will be there shortly. What's happening?"

"The…"

Why does 'killer' feel wrong now..?

"…girl has left by the back of the building. She can fly," I said, nocking the tracking round and angling my bow upwards... Way upwards. I signalled the Peregrine to lock its camera on the girl and follow it as the Lightreach and Peregrine started exchanging data to give me a firing solution. "I'm going to try and tag her with a tracker from a distance."

"Got it. I'll notify Deva. Tell me if you hit her."

I drew my bow to the calculated power, lining up my shot and loosing the arrow through the air, watching as it sailed high - straight over the building, far and away. I gazed through the Peregrine's camera for second after second as the arrow came back down. Right on target, the arrow discarded itself mid-arc as it deployed its almost unnoticeable payload; the miniature radio tracer. As the only part of the arrow that actually came down to land on the girl, the tracer stuck itself to her back without her noticing as she continued to fly away, taking up a more evasive pattern as she moved towards the harbour.

"Tagged her. Tracer is transmitting." I notified the operator.

I instructed the Peregrine to begin following the tracer's signal rather than the visual of the girl in case she ducked out of sight of its cameras. I ran back into the building after Deva, consulting my GPS for "Bali Springs'' to see if the girl was heading in that direction. Concerningly, Bali Springs was a kilometre east of us, but she wasn't heading in that direction at all. I checked the Peregrine's feed again, in case the girl had done something to confuse the tracer, but only confirmed that she was in fact travelling south-west.

"She's not headed to Bali Springs," I yelled down the hallway to the back rooms as I reached the foyer. "She's heading south-west!"

I turned back and took a few steps out onto the street, setting out the Lightreach in board configuration and climbing on. I angled upwards, gaining speed and altitude as fast as I safely could. Consulting the Peregrine's current airspeed as it kept pace with the girl, I determined she was only moving at about 50 kilometres an hour. I could catch up to her easily.

"Can you give us the frequency for the tracker Parthian?" asked the operator.

I reluctantly rattled it off, making a mental note to take the rest of my tracer arrowheads apart and rebuild them - they were all single-frequency right now. Maybe I could write some kind of dynamic frequency allocator... a tracer frequency tracker for my HUD? Then I could rename the trackers on the fly and know which was which - I could just...

Not the time, Parthian!

I climbed to a few hundred feet and followed from a fair distance back, matching the girl's speed; I didn't need to follow her with my own eyes, the Peregrine was both harder to spot and had better cameras. I glanced back to the nightclub to make sure I wasn't going off alone and saw the light of Deva's halo emerge from the back of the building a moment later, as her wings unfurled and she took to the air.

"I'm afraid the range on your tracer is too small for us to pick up on any of our scanners currently. The Wogs are pretty thorough with taking down any relay towers we try to set up in the area. Are you comfortable pursuing the suspect with Deva's support, Parthian?" asked the operator.

"I… I can do that. I'm in flight. Still have the girl in sight. Can you put Deva on this call?" I asked as the wind started to whip up around me.

"Patching her in."

"How fast can you fly on that?" Deva asked as she rose up to meet me.

"Fu... Fast, really fast," I said, stopping myself at the last moment from swearing in her presence. It felt... profane. "She's going about fifty kilometres per hour. I can go much faster."

"My top speed is one hundred but it takes me time to reach it. Can I ask you to go ahead and keep eyes until she stops?"

"I'd prefer to stay with you." I admitted. "I can still track her remotely using my drone."

Deva nodded, then took the lead in our two-person formation. I pulled up close to her, flying off her side and clear of her wingspan as she accelerated up to her top speed as quickly as she could in pursuit of the girl. We were rapidly gaining ground on her as she briefly flew out over the water, until she suddenly turned and began descending, to land at the tip of one of the small peninsulas that jutted out into the harbour.

I called out the sudden change in direction to Deva, pointing at the girl - or more accurately, pointing at the blinking icon on my HUD that indicated the location the Peregrine was looking, locked on to the tracer signal and the white-hot infrared signature that just dove downwards.

Deva slowed down to a stop and hovered in the air, beating her huge wings to stay aloft.

"What's she doing?" The hero asked.

I expanded the Peregrine's camera feed, swapping off infrared to its colour night vision sensor and zooming in to take a look. The girl had touched down on a little outcropping right by the water. She sat down and pulled off her shoes before dipping her feet into the water. I watched as she wrapped her arms around her torso and began hugging herself tightly while her body shuddered.

"She's just... sitting there," I answered. "She's got her feet in the water. She looks like... I don't know. She's hugging herself. She was crying when I saw her face. I think she's having a breakdown..."

I zoomed out a bit, partly so I could check the area around her for other heat signatures and partly because I suddenly felt as if I was intruding on something deeply private. There were no other signatures around and the girl's one was slowly starting to drop a little as she kept her feet in the water.

"You said you thought she was a victim. Of what?" Deva asked softly.

"Trafficking, maybe... I think you know the kind I mean. She was looking for girls... Girls being taken and moved. I overheard her talking about trying to claw her way up the chain to a boss who would know about the workings of the operation. She indicated... she lost her parents," I explained, trying not to let the emotions I was feeling get to my voice.

A sombre look crossed Deva's face.

"She's alone there," I continued. "Nobody else is around. We might be able to approach slowly and talk."

"Lets," Deva replied as she began to slowly descend down to the rocks.

I stood upright and slowly rode down behind Deva, keeping my arms out to the sides and empty, trying to maintain as non-threatening a posture as possible. I held back a little bit behind Deva. Though I continued to feel calm in her presence, my heart rate started to pick up again nonetheless as I remembered what the girl had done to those men with her power. The bodies…

"Don't forget she's a telekinetic," I muttered, a little worried, but very glad for Deva's presence.

The light of Deva's halo and the beat of her wings announced our presence as she touched down on the rocks a safe distance away from the girl. Though, 'safe' was a relative term considering we didn't know how large the range of her power was. The girl noticed immediately and scrambled to her feet, quickly pulling up the fabric to cover the bottom of her face.

She took a defensive stance, holding her arms out. I could see that both sleeves of her jumper were shredded and tattered almost all the way up to her shoulders and her arms were covered with full sleeve tattoos from palm to presumably shoulder. I could see patches of skin catching the light from under her clothes through what I assumed must be bullet holes. I would have been worried about the fact she might be bulletproof if she didn't look so… scared…

What on earth has she been through..?

"Did the Wogs send you?" she called out.

I touched the side of my helmet's jaw, retracting the lower portion of the beak so I could speak with my own voice, rather than having my helmet rebroadcasting it. I felt like anything even slightly imposing would send things entirely in the wrong direction right now.

"Nobody sent me," I called back. "We… We want to help."

I cast a glance over in Deva's direction.

"No you don't!" the girl shouted back. "Nobody's ever helped me. Not for years!"

"Then we want to understand," replied Deva. "You must be angry. Upset."

"Hah!" The girl laughed, but there was no levity in her voice. It was a harsh, choked sound, jagged with sarcasm and disbelief. "I am so far beyond angry! I'm overflowing with RAGE! I HAVE SO MUCH AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT!"

I glanced rapidly between her and Deva, unsure of myself and very, very scared of the little girl. Even if I'd had any clue about what to say, I wouldn't have been able to speak the words.

"I won't patronise you by pretending to understand what you're feeling, but what you're doing has to stop. I can't let you keep going around killing people." There was a presence in Deva's voice as she spoke. Firm and assertive, yet there was something calming about her words.

"I don't kill people!" The girl retorted. "Those men weren't people! They were animals and monsters and they deserved to die for what they did to me! To all those other girls!"

She gesticulated angrily as she yelled, and as her arms flailed, I could see that the tattoos on her skin were moving, the tentacle around her left arm coiling like it was alive.

"Not a Shaker," Deva whispered to me over the phone line. "Changer. Or maybe a Breaker of some kind."

"That explains the wings," I muttered back, eyes boggling behind the lenses of my helmet as I watched the girl's skin literally crawl.

"Hey, look… I'm Parthian. You probably know Deva, right?" I asked; I doubted she did, since she'd assumed we were with the Wogs when we first arrived, but establishing a sense of familiarity was a good way to diffuse hostility. Just one of the many lessons I'd been forced to learn quickly or suffer whatever consequences my parents deemed appropriate. "What do we call you?"

"I don't have a cape name. I don't want to be a superhero or a villain..."

"I understand," I continued before Deva could speak again.

Establish familiarity… Then try to find common interests.

That was actually easier than I would have expected.

"I... don't necessarily wanna be either of those things, myself. I'm new. I just... feel awkward calling you 'girl'," I explained. "Is there... a nickname you want, just for now?"

"My name is Aiko. I'm still a person... Or at least… I want to be…" The girl- Aiko's defensive stance faltered as she looked at the ground. "I didn't want to kill anybody, but nothing else worked... It makes me feel sick but I'm finally making progress. Please don't stop me. Not yet. I…"

The words seemed to catch in her throat.

"I think I'd rather die than not be able to finish this…" She turned her head away, looking out towards the harbour behind her.

A few moments passed in silence.

"What do you need to finish? I don't know much about you, Aiko, but I know they hurt you. Are you... looking for someone? Trying to get revenge? Trying to save someone?" I probed cautiously.

"I want to stop the Wogs bringing more girls in," she answered, her voice surprisingly calm. "I've already rescued a few from some of the clubs I went to, but if I don't find where they're coming from then they'll just keep bringing in more. More kids like me, pulled off the street from another country and dragged here to be bought and sold like livestock. It has to stop! I HAVE TO STOP IT!"

I tried not to physically recoil as her anger returned so suddenly. Hopelessly out of my depth and completely winging it, I peered over at Deva, trying to gauge which way she was leaning. Her expression was almost unreadable, her beauty almost aggravatingly distracting as I tried to guess what she might be thinking. She glanced over at me and then reached up to her ear. I heard a brief dial tone as she hung up from the phone call with the operator and I.

"Hang up on the APRA operator," she whispered to me. "Make it look like you got disconnected if possible."

With a few taps of my thumb against my knuckles, I called a script and power cycled my helmet's cell radio hardware, forcing the softphone to the APRA operator to crash. I gave Deva the slightest incline of my head.

"Can I talk with Parthian for a moment?" Deva asked Aiko.

She responded with a nod though I could see the wariness in her eyes. Deva slowly unfurled her wings, opening them out and then drawing them in to form a curtain around the two of us.

"We may have a unique opportunity here to kill several birds with one stone," Deva whispered conspiratorially. "The only issue is we could all be in serious trouble if we get caught. Should I say more?"

A small smile crept across my face.

"Go right ahead," I encouraged. "I'm with you."

"My public position as a member of the Atlas Alliance prevents me from conducting myself in any manner that falls outside of the law. You however, aren't currently bound by those limitations, so to speak. I am not blind to the flaws of government heroism and the laws that sometimes prevent us from truly achieving justice. I am proposing that you go with Aiko back to wherever she is staying or take her somewhere you know is safe; and then join her crusade, acting as a chaperone of sorts. You keep her from killing anyone else as you continue to search for the heart of these trafficking operations and put a stop to them. After the Wogs are dealt with, she surrenders herself to the authorities to be properly tried. We help a young girl find the closure and justice she very clearly needs, stop the Sydney Club Killer's rampage, shut down a sex trafficking ring and potentially cripple the Wogs' infrastructure all at once."

That's… actually a pretty solid plan.

But paranoia demanded I play devil's advocate.

"And if something goes wrong?" I asked.

As expected, Deva's expression hardened.

"Worst case scenario. You are branded as an accomplice to the killings and I am charged with aiding and abetting two parahuman serial killers. If we're caught, we'd quite likely all end up as cellmates in the Icebox," Deva said gravely. "However, if you notify me in advance of any 'research' you're doing on the Wogs, I can put myself on patrol in those areas and help to turn a blind eye to your activities. So long as you or Aiko aren't killing or maiming anyone."

I let out a low whistle, taking a few moments just to consider. Processing everything Deva just said. Everything Aiko had said. Everything that just happened tonight…

This is one hell of a night…

"Putting a lot of trust in the moral fibre of a cape you just met tonight, aren't you?" I muttered back to her.

"Well, that arrow you shot at one of Sentinel's probes was just a misunderstanding, wasn't it?" She answered coyly.

I bristled.

"I shot that at my drone, you know," I replied. "He understood."

Deva smiled at me. The expression had an almost motherly quality to it.

"I can imagine."

I tapped my foot a few times, looking back and forth as I considered everything for just a little bit longer - though, in all honesty, my mind was already made up.

"I'm in. Give me a number I can contact you on securely. You wanna make the offer, or should I?" I queried.

Deva quickly rattled off a phone number. I was surprised she had a secure one just ready to go.

Maybe this isn't the first time she's bent the rules to help someone do the right thing?

"I'll make the offer," Deva asserted, closing her wings back up and turning to face Aiko. "Aiko, I'd like to make you an offer. On the condition that you turn yourself in to the authorities for your crimes afterwards and don't kill any more people, Parthian will help you in tracking down the source of the human trafficking ring and stopping them while I make sure no-one else interferes in your search. Are you willing to agree to that?"

I turned to face Aiko as well, giving her a purposeful nod.

Aiko's eyes widened in disbelief and her arms dropped to her sides.

"Really?" she exclaimed.

"Really really," I confirmed, putting on as chipper a voice as I could muster.

Her head started bobbing up and down with increasing frequency as fresh tears began rolling down her cheeks.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes! You can send me straight to jail afterwards if you want! Thank you! Thank you!" she cried, happily.

I stepped towards her, leaving the Lightreach hovering preternaturally behind me, suspended in midair.

"Do you have somewhere to stay, Aiko?" I asked her.

"Umm... no... I don't really own anything," she confessed. "I've been living off money I stole from the clubs I went to..."

"I have to go and report that the suspect has escaped and took Parthian hostage in order to do so," Deva said in a knowing tone. "I trust I'll hear from you soon Parthian."

She gave us both a nod and a warm smile before unfurling her wings once more.

"Don't forget to scrap that tracer."

With a mighty beat of her wings, she took to the air, becoming a light amongst the now starry night sky as she flew back the way we came. With Deva gone, that feeling of calm I'd been basking in dissipated and some of my rational fear and apprehension returned.

"Yeah... So. You wanna come stay with me for a while, then? Until we get this all resolved," I offered, partially turned to watch Deva leave, wondering in the back of my head if I'd just been set up to get totally fucked over

"Are you sure that's okay?" Aiko asked.

Gods, no! I've got no idea how this whole thing's gonna work out. I'm taking a huge risk and I've literally watched you kill people!

"Yeah, I'm sure," I lied. "We'll figure it out."

Aiko pulled down her mask and gave me a big, beaming smile, which quickly devolved into teeth chattering.

"Fuck, I'm so cold!" She gasped as she wrapped her arms around herself.

After a few moments of hesitation, I reached up to grab my helmet and pull it off my head.

"Call me 'Lise," I said, holding out a hand. "Pleased to be your partner in crime-busting."

Aiko steadied her shivering as she took my hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Thank you for this, Lise."

---

AN: And that concludes Arc 1. Damn was this a hard chapter to write. Aiko is a very tragic character and it's definitely tricky to write her and do her story justice without being too blunt or glossing over it instead. I hope I've found the right balance in this chapter and will be able to keep doing so going forward.

Our first interlude is next and will offer a brand new perspective on the Sydney we know so far and the heroes and villains that occupy it. Any assholes, thugs or shitheads who go around the streets at night starting fights, committing crimes and generally causing trouble are liable to get King Hit.

Speaking of assholes, thugs and shitheads. Arc 2 is all about the Wogs of War and plenty of righteous, guilt free gang busting. So look forward to that!

Comments are tasty and I would very much like them please. Thanks for reading!

 

[Rhyzler]

Interlude 1
The Mechanic​

Sunday, 11:34pm, April 24th, 2005

It took effort to pry his glass from the bar's surface. Not much - hardly any really - but enough for him to notice how sticky the poorly cleaned it was. Leo downed the rest of his pint of cider, and then quickly chased it with a shot of vodka. It was a vile combination - but he was well past the point of being drunk enough, now, that the taste on his tongue and burning down his throat barely registered.

He slammed both glasses back down onto the bar in a clumsy fashion. If he'd been somewhere more civilised, the action might have drawn some attention - but Frenchy's was not a place that could ever be described as civilised. The very essence of a dive bar, the location showed its age and desperate need for maintenance - or even just the bare minimum TLC - in everything. The bar itself was scratched and gashed to hell by what must have been all manner of sharp implements; nails, keys, knives. There was one particular gash that looked so bad Leo could have only guessed it was made by a machete. The wooden surface would have been a series of bad splinters waiting to happen, if not for the sticky residue of years of spilled drinks that managed to hold the wood together.

The rest of the bar was awful, too. Stools that wobbled as much as the drunks that sat in them, tables with every flavour of slur and gang sign - Wogs of War or 99ers, mostly - carved into them. Chairs with backs so weak someone had apparently started a pool to bet on which regular would fall out of one next, if the chalkboard on the far wall was anything to go by.

Frenchy's was certainly not the place any sane person would go to drink for pleasure, so it was a good thing Leo was there on business. With a slurred shout and a clumsy wave, he called the bartender over.

"Glasssss of whiskey and ruuummm… Both neeeat…" Leo ordered.

"I think you've had enough," the bartender - Leo hadn't bothered to remember his name - responded as he cleared away Leo's empty glasses.

"Fucken' lightweight…" the man grumbled to himself as his head dipped below the bar out of Leo's view.

Leo didn't waste energy taking offence at the comment. From the bartender's perspective, he was already shit-faced after only one pint of cider, a shot of vodka, and a glass of whiskey since arriving at the bar. Easy to believe he was a lightweight, since the bartender hadn't seen him pregame half a bottle of tequila, four glasses of rum and a quarter bottle of whiskey back at home.

"Fffffine then. What do I… owe?" Leo asked.

"Twenty-one fifty," the bartender answered.

Pretty cheap, all things considered. Leo would have to keep this place in mind for the future if he didn't end up totally trashing it. He slapped the money down and rose from his seat, leaning against the sticky bar for support as he reached down to grab his backpack from where it had been tucked between his legs.

"Got a shiiiitter..?" he called out before the bartender could turn away, ignoring the sour look he received in return.

"Through to the back," the bartender indicated with a tilt of his head. "But if you make a mess in there, I'll fucken clock you one, aight?"

Leo scoffed - he'd like to see him try. He staggered his way towards the back, taking note in particular of the door at the end of the hallway that led out into the back alley, in case it proved useful later. He slipped into the bathroom and, after checking he was alone, wedged the door shut with the stopper that had up to that point been holding it open. The reek of piss and shit was even worse in the closed space - if Leo hadn't smelled much worse before, he might have thrown up. But he needed privacy, and he wasn't going to cram himself into a single stall.

He dropped his bag on the floor and stepped over to the sink, resting his hands on the chipped basin for support as he stared at himself in the grime- and graffiti-covered mirror.

He looked like shit.

He checked his watch quickly. 11:40pm. They'd be here any minute.

"Time to get to work..." Leo said to himself in the mirror.

His body began to tingle - an intense feeling of pins and needles running from his stomach out to his fingertips, toes, and up into his scalp as his power came to life. The lethargy of his drunkenness left him as the alcohol in his system was consumed by his power as fuel, leaving him with only the loose and relaxed feeling of being drunk and none of the impairments that normally came with it.

He winced and groaned as the whiskey kicked in; the bar grew unbearably noisy in the background and the light of the bathroom brightened faster than his eyes could adapt. The adjustment period was always a little rough, but being able to see in the dark and hear a person's heartbeat up to 20 metres away was an advantage he'd be stupid to turn down.

He looked in the mirror again, viewing himself with sharper eyes.

He still looked like shit.

There was a deeply cruel irony to Leo's power. Alcohol had ruined his life, cost him his wife and daughter, his dojo… His dignity. And now, alcohol was the fuel required to live his new life. Without it, he was nothing, but with it?

Time to right some wrongs…

Leo opened his backpack and began pulling out his costume. It wasn't well made or particularly impressive, but it suited his needs. A protective vest, fitted leather pants, and a small leather jacket came on first. Over the top of those, he shrugged into a heavy cloth gi in black, embroidered with a fist logo over the left breast. For the finishing touch, he grabbed a long strip of fabric with cutouts for his eyes, wrapped it around his head, and tied it off at the base of his skull.

Someone started pounding on the bathroom door, demanding it be opened. He ignored them for the moment.

Looking back in the mirror once more, he finally felt better about his appearance. The face of Leo Kwok - a lonely, aimless drunk - was now gone, a mask he discarded. In its place, King Hit - the man he truly was, now - stared back, filled with purpose.

"Oi! Open the fucken door, cunt! Or are you takin' a shit on the floor in there?" shouted the drunken oaf in the hallway as he continued hammering with his fist.

"Wait!" He shouted in response.

"Fffffuck you! I gotta piss ay!" yelled the oaf.

King Hit tuned out the protests once more - as best he could, with his enhanced hearing - as he stuffed his clothes back into his backpack and pulled out a hip flask. He unscrewed the cap and took a quick sniff; cider, rum, tequila, vodka, and whiskey all mixed together inside, just in case he needed an emergency top up. He tucked the flask into the left breast pocket of the jacket beneath his gi, and straightened up.

A ruckus came from out in the bar, and King Hit checked his watch again. 11:45pm.

Right on time.

He grabbed his backpack and proceeded towards the door, kicking the stopper away and grabbing the handle. He swung the door inwards, tapping into his tequila-enhanced reflexes to effortlessly dodge the fist flying at his face the moment the oaf caught sight of him.

"Just what the fuck do you think-!" The oaf got out, before being cut off mid-sentence by the fist closing around his shirt. King Hit lifted him up with one hand, using his vodka-enhanced parahuman strength, and glared at him. It took the oaf a moment to process what he was looking at before his eyes widened in a mix of shock and fear. Mask meant cape, cape meant superpowers. Only idiots with death wishes dressed up if they didn't have powers.

"Move," King Hit growled, and threw the oaf into the opposite wall where he collapsed in a groaning heap on the floor. He slid his backpack across the floor, down towards the back door, and turned towards the bar proper, making his way towards it.

The number of occupants had doubled inside, but there was a very clear divide between the existing patrons and the men who'd just arrived. If the darker colours of their skin weren't enough of a clue, the oranges and browns they wore made it very clear exactly who they were. Wogs of War.

King Hit had been watching the area for the last few weeks, starting back when that serial killer first showed up; they seemed to be making their way north, through various Wog businesses, and into their territory proper. He hoped to go after the killer at some point and stop them personally, but he hadn't had much luck finding them or working out ahead of time what location they might strike next. Instead, for the time being, he'd been working his way through smaller groups of Wogs wherever he found them.

This particular group of thugs were collectors for the protection racket that the Wogs ran in this area. Leo had gotten word of them from speaking with a few of the business owners in the area, but their movements were fairly inconsistent… Except for one. Every Sunday night for the past three weeks, the group had finished their collection route here, at Frenchy's - always arriving between 11:45 and 12pm, without fail.

There were eight of them in total. Five of them - Bracelets, Flatcap, Beardy, Tattoos and Buzzcut - were currently threatening the patrons into handing over their valuables, while one - the leader, presumably - menaced the bartender, flanked by the remaining two cronies. King Hit put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle to draw everyone's attention.

All the heads in the bar turned, a mix of expressions across the faces in the room. The patrons looked scared, the bartender confused, a few of the Wogs laughed - but their leader looked wary. Bracelets, who was nearest him began sauntering closer, evidently unafraid of the cape standing before him.

"Uh oh boys!" he spoke with a condescending tone. "The fucking pyjama police have come to get us. Have we stayed up past our bedtimes? Here to tuck us in, are you?"

Bracelets' stupid quips earned a few laughs from Flatcap, Beardy, and Crony One, but the leader kept a wary eye on him. Smart. As for the others, King Hit was all too happy to let them underestimate him. It would be their undoing.

"Well, guess what, bro?" Bracelets continued blathering as he closed the distance, producing a set of brass knuckles from his pocket and slipping them onto his right hand. "I'm the fucking Tooth Fairy. So how about you give me your money, or I knock some teeth out instead?"

King Hit rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to bother telling Bracelets that that wasn't how the Tooth Fairy worked. He had no interest in meaningless banter.

He surged forward - the cider in his system enhancing his speed - and slammed his fist into Bracelets' chest before he could react. He heard the crunch of the man's sternum fracturing and continued to drive his fist forward, sending Bracelets flying backwards until he crashed into an empty table, collapsing as the piece of furniture keeled over under his weight. He was left wheezing for air, trying to suck back in the breath King Hit had driven from his lungs with the blow. Each shallow gasp was no doubt excruciatingly painful due to the fracture.

One down.

King Hit burst forward again, leaping over a table as he closed the distance to Buzzcut. Around him, the bar erupted into panicked shouts as the patrons ducked for cover and the Wogs frantically tried to get their shit together.

Buzzcut had a switchblade drawn and stabbed it towards King Hit as he came into reach. Years of training in Wing Chun, along with his enhanced reflexes, kicked in - King Hit planted his right foot, pivoting away from the thrust and converting his momentum into a spin as he whirled around and struck Buzzcut with an elbow to the stomach.

With Buzzcut momentarily winded, he wheeled around in time to see Flatcap swing a baseball bat towards his head. He raised his arms and grunted as the bat made contact, pivoting his forearm to deflect most of the impact away and steer the bat's momentum towards the ground. He still felt the pain, though - not that it would matter in a few moments.

He spun and threw a backwards kick at Flatcap's hand, causing him to drop his bat and buying a few extra seconds to deal with Buzzcut. Buzzcut lunged with the knife again and King Hit blocked with his left arm, throwing a counter punch with his right straight into Buzzcut's gut, striking the same place he'd elbowed earlier. As Buzzcut gasped, he curled his left hand around the thug's wrist and brought his right hand up to grasp the man's bicep. Then, with a swift shove, King Hit broke Buzzcut's elbow.

Buzzcut howled, going weak at the knees. The knife slipped from his hand as he collapsed, and King Hit grabbed the weapon as it fell, spinning to throw it into the back of Flatcap's hand as he reached for the bat he'd dropped. Flatcap began to wail just as loud as his friend did, until a swift kick to the head knocked him out.

Three down.

A chair came down on King Hit's back, and he staggered forward. Unlike the movies, the piece of furniture didn't shatter into a mess of splintered wood, and he just managed to block the second swing with his arms as he ducked left to avoid a punch from Tattoos. Quickly shifting his stance, King Hit grappled the chair and yanked it out of Beardy's hands, tossing it towards their leader and his cronies by the bar.

He didn't spare a glance at the result, instead rushing at Tattoos and throwing a series of rapid jabs into the man's chest and stomach. He took it better than the others had, but still staggered backwards, gasping for air. He slipped on a spilled drink and fell, but managed to grasp King Hit's gi as he went. Rather than fall with Tattoos, he took the man's weight and seized hold of his forearm. There was a moment of confusion on the thug's face before King Hit yanked him forwards and drove a knee into it, causing Tattoos' nose to explode in a fountain of red as he went down.

Four.

Beardy made the amateur mistake of announcing his attack with a shout as he charged at King Hit like he was going for a football tackle. The cape glanced back and wheeled around where he stood, letting his momentum carry down into his leg as it snapped outwards and clocked Beardy across the jaw - hard enough to redirect the man's charge, sending him crashing head first into the bar before he could arrest his own momentum.

Following through on his kick, King Hit planted his foot as it came back down to the ground and used it to launch himself forward at the first of the two cronies that was now approaching him, serrated combat knife in hand. He ducked low as Crony One swiped out with the knife and dropped to his knees, sliding across the floor past the thug before twisting around into a crouching position as Crony One quickly found his balance and spun around to face him again.

The two charged each other once more, Crony One frantically slashing and stabbing at King Hit with his knife as the cape bobbed and weaved with expert precision, dodging each attempted strike and punishing the whiffs with counter punches to Crony One's arms, chest and gut. The thug lunged forward again, overextending his reach this time and stumbling a step forward as he lost his balance. King Hit seized the opportunity, grabbing Crony One's knife hand by the wrist and pulling it upwards as he kicked the Wog in the back of the knee, forcing him to drop down onto it.

King Hit turned on the ball of his foot, positioning himself behind Crony One as he pulled the man's arm straight and pressed his other hand into his shoulder in preparation to break it.

"STOP!"

The word cut through the chaos and King Hit turned his head to the source - the leader of the group.

Crony Two had pulled the bartender part way over the fixture and was currently pinning him to the surface while the leader pointed a pistol at his head.

Shit. He hadn't noticed one of them was packing. Amateur mistake.

"Listen the fuck up!" barked the leader, "Okay, cunt? If you don't let my mate go and fuck off right now, I'm gonna shoot this guy in his fucking head! Okay?!"

King Hit glanced at the bartender, the man's eyes were wide with terror. 'Please,' he mouthed silently. King Hit turned his gaze back to the leader and narrowed his eyes.

"You're not going to kill him," he said, adamantly. "If he's dead, you stop getting your protection fee." He tightened his grip on Crony One's wrist and began to apply pressure to the man's shoulder with his other hand, causing him to yelp in pain.

The leader grabbed the bartender's left arm and slammed it on the bar, before pulling his gun away from the man's head and pressing it to the back of his hand instead.

"Then I'll blow a hole in his fucking hand! Fuck! Off!" he yelled.

A moment passed in tense silence.

King Hit shoved his hand forward and the shoulder broke with a visceral crunch. Crony One's pained howl was drowned out in an instant as a gunshot shattered the air, the noise sending King Hit staggering backwards as the bartender's screams joined Crony One's.

King Hit fucking hated guns.

They were deafening to his enhanced hearing…

And they were the weapons of cowards.

He shook the ringing from his ears and charged forward with a roar. The leader turned his gun on him and fired again, the sound shattering the air once more. A searing pain sliced past King Hit's right shoulder as he twisted away from the bullet's trajectory, but failed to dodge it completely. Even with his reflexes enhanced, he couldn't dodge a bullet from such a short distance.

He continued forward, tearing the pistol from the leader's hand with one hand as he slammed the base of his palm into the man's wrist, likely breaking it along with his trigger finger as the weapon was wrenched from his grip. King Hit continued to advance with elbow raised, pushing the leader down onto his back against the bar and pinning him with a forearm against his neck.

Guttural, angry growls rose up from the man's throat as he desperately swung and clawed at King Hit, trying to reach for his throat in turn. He glanced at where the bullet had grazed the cape's shoulder, and his eyes went wide.

The bullet hadn't penetrated King Hit's shoulder, but it had left a fairly deep gouge as it tore through his skin. He ought to have been badly bleeding, but the blood had already clotted thanks to the rum fuelling the regeneration aspect of his power. It would only take minutes for the flesh to knit back together, and maybe an hour or two after that for any trace of the wound to be gone entirely. He would have to remain drunk on rum to keep his power going, though.

He drove his fist into the leader's face, and his nose burst like a shaken soft drink. Then he punched the thug a few more times, for good measure, before letting him drop to the floor.

Seven.

The sound of the front door slamming drew his attention and he turned his head to see Crony Two fleeing down the street. He wasn't going to get away that easily.

King Hit started towards the back of the bar.

"Hey!" the bartender called with a pained shout as one of the other patrons - who must have hidden behind the bar during the scuffle - helped to tie a cloth around his bleeding hand. "Where the fuck are you going?!"

"To catch the last one," he answered without stopping.

"You trashed my bar and I got shot because of you!"

"And now you won't have to worry about the Wogs bothering you anymore," he called back. "You can spend the money you save on your hospital bills and new furniture. You're welcome."

He passed the oaf he'd thrown into the wall earlier - now cowering behind the bathroom door - and collected his backpack from where it lay by the back door, before stepping through it into the alley. He swung the bag onto his back and then leapt up to the roof of the building, catching the lip with his hands and pulling himself up the rest of the way, groaning as the pain in his shoulder flared.

He moved to the edge of the roof that faced the street and looked out, searching for the final gangster. He focused his hearing, too, turning up the sensitivity he'd toned down before the fight began in order to listen for shoes beating rapidly against pavement.

Gunshots pierced the night air and King Hit turned his attention in their direction. They were distant this time, but still loud enough he could pick them up. He glanced up and down the street again, hoping to catch sight of the eighth Wog. More gunshots sounded from the same direction as the last ones.

He clicked his tongue in frustration and pulled out his hip flask to take a sip of the awful mixture. He'd have to let Crony Two go for tonight.

Stepping away from the edge of the roof, King Hit turned in the direction of the neighbouring building and broke into a sprint, leaping from the edge of Frenchy's roof to the next as he began making his way towards the gunshots.

He moved fast, leaping fairly easily from rooftop to rooftop as he went. He'd never properly tested just how fast he could go, but he guessed it was somewhere around 50 kilometres per hour. The buildings in this area were organised in a grid pattern, all about the same height, so jumping from one to another wasn't too difficult.

After a bit under ten minutes of running, King Hit knew he must be closing in when a police car passed by beneath him, lights and sirens blaring, travelling in the same direction. Cops were an inconvenience, but one he could work around - as long as they didn't get in his way.

He leapt to the next roof, rounding the corner onto a new block, and immediately found the source of the commotion.

At one end of the street, a huge crowd - maybe 50 or 100 people - was being corralled near a cluster of police cruisers and ambulances, as officers hurried to cordon off the area. King Hit looked down to the other end of the street and witnessed a similar sight. Neither would be the actual location the gunshots were fired from, then. So where..?

It was a big group of people, and only one building on the street looked big enough to hold such a crowd - a triple-storey building that blatantly stood out from the surrounding ones as some sort of nightclub. Moving a few rooftops closer, he could see a big neon sign on the front that read 'The Buena'.

The gears began turning in King Hit's head as he quickly slung his bag off his back and reached in for his phone. He pulled up the GPS to check his location. Middle Head road, Mosman; the southeastern edge of Wog territory.

Gunshots. Nightclub. Wog territory.

It seemed he was in luck tonight after all.A smile crept across his face.

"Found you, Club Killer," he muttered to himself.

He tucked his phone away and set his backpack aside while he observed the scene and considered the situation.

He couldn't just go in blind. He didn't know who the killer was, or what they looked like. According to APRA, they had powers, but didn't know what kind. That made things more troublesome.

King Hit tried to avoid cape fights. They were dangerous - usually more trouble than they were worth - and often ended with one party running from the other. A fight wasn't truly won if your opponent got away.

He believed he'd be able to take the killer, though. They only attacked at night, kept things as subtle as possible, likely worked alone, and never stuck around to go after law enforcement or capes. They might be a killer, but they were also a coward. He could beat a coward.

And if he caught the killer, maybe he could finally convince Michelle he wasn't worthless. Maybe she'd let him see Ava again.

He caught a glimpse of movement from the ground floor and tensed, readying himself to leap down to the street and attack if he needed to. Someone in costume ran out of the building, and he almost jumped - before the sky abruptly filled with a golden light and another cape descended, touching down on the street in front of the nightclub. This one he recognised.

Deva.

Fuck. Did she seriously just swoop in to steal his glory? That bitch. He needed this!

He considered leaping down anyway. If he was at least involved in the fight, he could share some of the glory. That would have to do. Except…

They weren't fighting?

He'd missed any words the two had exchanged, but Deva was walking right past the other cape into the nightclub.

The killer must still be inside.

Then who was the other cape?

He didn't really recognize the costume, but the big board-looking thing they carried gave them away. Partisan. Or was it Parthian? Partition? Something like that. They were a Tinker. Supposedly new, but with good equipment. It wasn't clear yet if they were a hero or a villain.

He watched as Partisan stood passively out in the street. They'd run out of the building and Deva had gone in after the killer.

Coward.

Something suddenly caught Parthian's attention and they grabbed something from their thigh, loading it onto the board and wielding it like a bow. They drew back a glowing string and fired an arrow up off into the sky before dropping the bow to the ground, climbing onto it like it was a skateboard, and then taking off in the same direction they'd shot.

She could fly too?

Fucking Tinkers…

Running away. Not surprising for a coward.

But then he saw Deva flying up from the back of the nightclub to join Partition before they continued flying south-ish as a pair.

Not running, then. Pursuing the killer. When did they escape? How did he not notice them?

Cursing, he leapt down from the building, leaving his backpack behind as he started pursuing too. Being landborne quickly proved to be a significant disadvantage as the buildings became more varied in design, the street layout much less of an even sprawling grid as the terrain sloped down towards the harbour. If not for his enhanced eyesight, he would have lost sight of the light from Deva's halo more than once and been left behind as she and Partisan flew on ahead.

Why are they going so fast? Can the killer fly too?

The thought irked him. It would help explain how the killer had continually managed to escape so easily, but it would also make catching them a lot harder for him.

He continued to fall behind despite his best efforts as he leapt from house to house, sliding down slanted tile roofs and vaulting over disused chimneys as he parkoured his way through the suburban area leading down to the harbour. His lungs were starting to burn, and he could feel the aching fatigue starting to whine in his muscles. The right types of alcohol could enhance his senses, speed, strength, reflexes and healing - but nothing he'd tried improved his stamina. Furthermore, he was getting dehydrated, and drinking water was counterproductive to using his power.

His heart began to sink and his frustration boiled as the heroes flew out over the harbour.

No! Not when he had been so close to finally catching the killer. He'd hesitated to run in and the opportunity had slipped through his fingertips.

Coward.

Panting for breath, he pulled the hip flask from his chest pocket and downed the rest of it, letting it refuel his power as he cursed himself.

Then, Deva and Parthian suddenly turned and started flying back towards the land, descending from the sky as they went. Gauging their trajectory, it looked like they were heading to an outcropping that was actually closer to him than the direction they were headed before diverting.

Amusingly, if he'd been able to better keep up with them, he would have had to double back in order to get around to the other outcropping.

So - perhaps his luck for the night hadn't run out yet.

With renewed vigour and his power freshly topped off, he surged forth again, sprinting across roofs for as long as he could before dropping back to the ground when they ran out, and continuing down through the wooded area towards the outcropping.

He heard shouting as he drew near. The blood was pumping too loudly in his ears to clearly make out the words, but the voice sounded female. Deva? Or was it Partition, or the killer?

The shouting stopped and he could only assume the three had started fighting.

Come on! He was so close. He was almost there! As long as he could get even a single punch in before it was over, he'd be able to say he helped. That he was there. That he wasn't worthless.

Maybe, if he was really lucky, he'd show up in time to land the finishing blow.

He cleared the trees and began weaving his way between the rocks. As he closed the distance, looking ahead, he could see the light from Deva's halo illuminating the area right down by the water. They were still there. The fight wasn't over yet.

The first few words of their conversation started to reach him, impeded by the blood pounding in his ears, drowning some of them out. He skidded to a stop, staring in growing disbelief.

"...an accomplice to the killings and I… …aiding and abetting two parahuman serial killers. If we're caught… …cellmates in the Icebox," Deva said in a conspiratorial tone.

What?

The fight wasn't over because the fight had never started.

"However," Deva continued. "If you notify me in advance of… …the Wogs, I can put myself on patrol in those areas and help to turn a blind eye to your activities..."

What?!

Were Deva and Partisan conspiring with the killer to get rid of the Wogs? That didn't make any sense! The Atlas Alliance would never do something so underhanded. Especially not Deva. He had to be missing something.

"...I'd like to make you an offer," Deva spoke once again, addressing the killer. "On the condition that you… …kill any more people, Parthian will help you in tracking down… …and stopping them while I make sure no-one else interferes in your search…"

King Hit couldn't believe what he was hearing. Something had to be wrong. The killer's power was unknown, could she be a Master? Or a Stranger? What about Parthian? Now that he had time to think, he recalled some more of what he knew about them. They were a Tinker, but according to rumours online, they'd managed to escape from Sentinel after apparently trying to attack the Atlas Headquarters.

He doubted that was true. Sentinel was Sentinel. No-one just 'escaped' him.

Unless…

Partition could be a grab bag cape with multiple powers. Hell, the killer could be a grab bag. Either one of them could have a Master or Stranger power, or even a Thinker power that made them good at manipulation.

"I have to go… …suspect has escaped and took Parthian hostage… I trust I'll hear from you soon, Parthian."

He watched as Deva's wings unfurled and she took the air once more, flying back the way they'd all come. He turned back to Parthian and the killer.

"...come stay with me for a while, then. Until we get this all resolved," Parthian said, partially turning to watch Deva leave.

"Are you sure that's okay?" the killer asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure…"

And now Parthian was offering to let the killer stay with them? From the way the killer responded, it seemed like Parthian was the one in charge. It certainly took balls to invite a serial killer to stay with you. Unless Parthian believed they could keep the killer under control.

King Hit snarled as Parthian lifted their helmet off. They were looking away from him, but their long hair marked them as a she, as well.

There was so much he didn't understand about what was going on, but there was one thing he could be certain of…

He watched as the two of them shook hands.

Parthian was working with a serial killer, and Deva couldn't be trusted to stop them.

Which meant it was up to him.

---

AN: Uh oh. Seems like there's going to be a bit of misunderstanding ol' King Hit and our protagonist. Surely nothing bad can come of this and they'll sit down like mature adults to have a civilised discussion that will resolve the confusion.

For anyone curious about the title of this chapter, 'The Mechanic' is the name of King Hit's shard. I decided it would be a fun and kinda unique thing to name the interlude chapters after the character's shard (where applicable). I'll have to change it up a little when we get to interludes for non-powered characters.

I have to apologise a thousand times to my wonderful co-author/beta reader Casey who I've forgotten to thank publicly in the last couple of chapters. She does an amazing job of making my terrible grammar read like it's actually written in the English language and I'm super appreciative of all her hard work.

It's been really exciting to watch the readership of the fic slowly grow in an organic fashion. Especially since I know OC fics aren't for everyone, even more so when they're so far disconnected from the original setting and characters. Engagement is fun so gimme those tasty comments and maybe shill this fic to your friends in exchange for my eternal, virtual gratitude!

Next time on Wave, Arc 2: 'Undertow' begins and 'Lise goes on a shopping spree with a superpowered serial killer?!

As a final note, for those of you who've been following this story here on Questionable Questing I've decided I'm going to discontinue posting the fic here on this site. I've been having a lot of trouble with formatting whenever I've tried to post here and the smaller viewership on these sites means it's not really worth the effort to keep trying to deal with the issues. That said, if you've read this far, I really appreciate your enjoyment of this story and I hope you'll continue reading on one of the other sites where I'll be continuing to post. You can find those links right here:
SpaceBattles
Sufficient Velocity
AO3