Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

WARNING: This fic contains scenes depicting self harm and graphic violence. Chapters with graphic depictions will be marked, including this one.

Morning, May 10th, 2010

“This is NBC7, bringing you updates on the reconstruction of Grand Central Market. New York is still reeling from last Sunday’s events, where a violent confrontation between prominent gang members of the Teeth and Midtown Towers left a wake of devastation down Park Avenue and at least five innocent bystanders and one as-of-yet unidentified cape killed in the crossfire.

“It was revealed earlier today in a press conference with PRT correspondents that several Protectorate heroes will be aiding in reconstruction efforts, including Diamondback and Sphera. Director of New York PRT operations, Ansley Wilkins, commented on the situation, promising increased patrols of Midtown and heightened vigilance against the most violent gangs of New York City.”

A recording of a stern woman’s voice played over the radio. “The actions taken by these villainous groups will not be tolerated by the PRT nor any other lawful hero organization in our grand city. We are taking the harshest possible stance against this act of terrorism, and we are committed to preventing any such atrocities. Coordination between the Protectorate and independent hero organizations will lead to increased patrols and safety of our citizens-”

Frankie switched the radio to the soft strum of a country music station. He dealt with enough bullshit in his life already—there was no need to add to the pile of misery. Really though, what was the world coming to? Violent terrorists— about damn time someone called them what they really were —demolishing downtown. The police couldn’t do anything about them. Heroes weren’t doing jack-squat neither. Time was, dealing with criminals in this country used to be simple, back when the government was worth a damn. And if the policemen wouldn’t get a move on it, you grabbed your piece and went out to take matters into your own hands. Justice, plain and simple. He sighed in longing for the days when the world made sense, before it had gone off the deep end.

Frankie scowled and checked on the Porsche in his rearview. Jackass had been riding up his tailpipe for the past five miles. Nobody respected semis in this day and age, not like they used to. Did the idiot not realize he was in for a sore crash into the back of the trailer if Frankie pulled a hard brake? He had half a mind to give this moron a lesson he’d never soon forget right there and then. But then he’d be out the deposit on his truck, and his boss wouldn’t be none to happy with the whole ordeal. Frankie could kiss this job goodbye. He grumbled but ultimately kept cruising down the backroads two-laner at a sedate pace, hoping his tailgater would get the memo and pass him on by soon.

Half his mind was occupied by the Porsche while the other half entered what he liked to call the flow state of truck driving, a zen where only trucker and road existed. It was a good thing part of him was paying attention, because he almost didn’t notice the girl in time.

His foot slammed on the brakes, causing the semi-truck to grind to a screeching halt feet away from splattering the girl into roadkill. The follow up rear end collision knocked him bodily into the steering wheel. The airbags failed to deploy.

“Fucking fuck! God fucking damnit!” Frankie smashed his fist down on the dashboard. He unbuckled his seatbelt with shaking hands. His heart beat a mile a minute. Swinging the door outwards, he angrily stormed out to give this idiot girl the dressing down of a lifetime.

Any rage fueled tirades died on his lips when he took a closer look at the near accident victim. She was unclothed, naked as the day she was born and made no attempt to protect her modesty.

Something ain’t right here, Frankie thought to himself. Drugs, or somewhat. It’s gotta be.

“Girl, you nearly got yourself killed! What in hell were you thinking?”

She blinked dumbly as if she hadn’t understood a word out of his mouth. S’definitely on some hard drugs, Jesus Lord.

With a grunt, the Porsche driver stumbled out of his wrecked car.

“What the hell man!” He cradled his arm.

Frankie palmed his face. He had a feeling he was in for a long day.

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Noon, May 10th, 2010

Old fluorescent lights hummed loudly overhead in the station break room. Officer Charles Davenport had decided against sticking the detainee in the interrogation block. He felt that treatment should be reserved for the actual criminals, not mentally damaged teenage girls. And given her current condition, she posed no flight risk or danger to anyone besides herself.

When the call went out for a 11-81 dispatch with a possible 9-41, he hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect. The two knuckleheads shouting at each other about insurance and accident culpability were the least of his headache. Finding a girl in a state of undress on an isolated backwoods road was the real concern. Worse, while she was visibly uninjured, she was unresponsive to basic questioning and had seemed only dimly aware of her surroundings. There weren’t many positive conclusions one could reach.

He had urged her to put on some clothing, an extra jacket he had laying around the squad car. Her only reaction had been to stare blankly at the garment. For the sake of everyone involved, Charles had draped the jacket over her and zipped it up himself.

Now that they were in the station, it was still her sole article of clothing. Efforts by himself and the secretary to persuade the girl had proven fruitless, and unless they wanted to slide underwear and pants onto her themselves, this was just how things were going to be.

He had one of the boys run a check through local missing persons reports. When nothing came up, they expanded the search to the national registry along with running a basic facial recognition check. 

So far, results were barren, which was somewhat surprising given her rather distinctive appearance. Hers was a face you couldn’t easily forget. There was no denying she was a looker, and what an understatement that was. Charles could tell she was going to grow up into the type of woman that men fought wars over, a real Helen of Troy—pale green eyes, a button nose, flushed lips, long wavy dark hair gleaming with a luster to make cover models envious. Her features leaned towards softer angles that emphasized her youth, and the officer warranted a guess she was around fifteen, certainly no older than seventeen. But perhaps the most disconcerting part of her appearance was her flawless complexion— immaculate was a word that came to mind. When your average Joe used the term, they meant a woman took good care of her skin, moisturized, cleansed, monitored for acne and oils, those kinds of things. The girl in front of him went beyond those standards. Pores were almost nonexistent, and not a splotch of color was out of place on her creamy white skin. It gave him an uncanny feeling, like looking at a porcelain doll.

Hopefully they’d get a match sooner rather than later.

“Miss, can you give us any identifiers? Name, date of birth, address, parents, siblings, extended family, school… favorite food?” The weary officer had tried every conceivable permutation on that line of questioning to no result.

The girl tilted her head, not unlike a puppy listening to its owner’s voice. 

No informative result, he groused internally.

“What am I even doing? You can’t understand a word I say.” Not that it mattered. He was basically playing baby-sitter until Child Services arrived.

Regardless of his feelings on the matter, it was still his duty to question her in the hopes they learned anything of use—gently, of course. Upsetting the poor girl was the last thing he wished for. His own daughter had started high school this semester, and he couldn’t help the pangs of empathy he felt. She’s someone’s daughter, and it’s our job to make sure she gets home safely.

He continued to ask her lightly prodding questions, filling the silence with a one sided conversation. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought she reacted more strongly and more frequently as time passed. In the brief flashes of eye contact, he detected what might have been fleeting moments of awareness and intelligence. 

He glanced at the clock—half past three. Shouldn’t be too much longer before CPS gets here. Taviston was a small town far from any service centers, so he had expected a delay despite contacting them soon after bringing the girl into the station.

“Aaauuuuuuhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnnn.”

“Jezen-criminy!” Officer Davenport did not jump like a frightened schoolgirl at her sudden outburst. “So you can talk. Er, sort of. Do you understand what I’m saying? Can you tell me your name? Please, I’m trying to help you. If you can get us a name, we can get in contact with your family, get you home.”

“Aaa-nnnn-aaaaaaaaa. Ck .” She made a harsh c consonant sound. “Mmmaaa.”

She was definitely making more eye contact. She held his gaze for a good long second and smiled, displaying perfectly straight, pearly white teeth and warmly twinkling eyes.

“I don’t understand, Miss. Are you trying to tell me your name? Wait, I’ve got an idea. Nod for yes. Shake for no.” He mimed the gestures in the hope that she was following along.

She took a moment to visibly process the idea, then nodded. 

“Good, that’s good. Give it another go. It’s alright if you can’t do it on the first try. We’ll work on it for as long as we need to.”

Her face was becoming more expressive by the minute. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and she went cross eyed as she appeared to contemplate what she was going to say next. A full minute passed while she remained unmoving, and he was afraid he’d broken her again.

At last, her eyes uncrossed, focusing on his, and she spoke. “Mm-yy nn-nnnaa-mm-uh i-i-ii-shchs-” The s consonant sound was a struggle for her.

“Sssss, like a snake see,” Charlie pointed to how his teeth were positioned. Dammit all, he didn’t care how much of a buffoon he looked right now. They were finally getting somewhere.

She made a second attempt. “M-my nnaamme i-i sss -” An impressive hiss. “Ann-naa- ck a. An-na-ca.” She sounded out the syllables carefully, testing each one. 

“Annaca? Your name is Annaca?”

She nodded vigorously, flashing him a bright smile. Progress, they were making progress.

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May 15th, 2010

The Pediatric Neurology Division at Saint John’s Children’s Hospital had a decades long history at the forefront of studying and treating neurological deficiencies stemming from developmental issues and traumatic brain injuries, and the doctors and caregivers of Saint John’s took pride in the accomplishments of both their research and the hope they spread to the patients and parents who entered these halls, patients that were—by necessity—special cases. 

Even among the laundry list of rare genetic diseases and debilitations that Doctor Phatra Chandra dealt with on a daily basis, Annaca No-Last-Name stood out from the rest. First impressions of her condition by police and CPS painted her as having a severe form of retrograde amnesia, citing the girl’s inability to recall events before Monday. Doctor Chandra wasn’t so sure. At least, she suspected there was more to the puzzle beyond the memory loss. Amnesia caused by repression of traumatic events did not normally cause patients to lose their communications skills, and any head injuries leading to the deterioration of Annaca’s soft skills would have A) Left evidence of severe physical trauma, B) Put the girl into a coma, or C) both of the above. With standard logical routes of reasoning closed, the doctors reviewing her case had been forced to suspect that parahuman interference may have been at play. Testing had revealed nothing out of the ordinary in her brain, no Gemma or Corona Pollentia to be seen, but that did not preclude effects of other parahuman powers as the root cause of her problems.

It was a messy situation, made more so by a lack of identification. The police had put out an alert days ago. Child services were running their own checks. So far, nobody had claimed to be the girl’s relative and no additional witness reports had come forth. As such, she had been made a ward of the state of New York via an abbreviated process, blasting through the usually lengthy bureaucratic procedures at an unprecedented pace so that grants could be secured for her treatment. Chandra suspected that strings had been pulled by the PRT behind the scenes. No doubt they had been made aware of the oddities surrounding Annaca’s case and likely believed some level of parahuman involvement as well.

Currently, Chandra was attending a second evaluative meeting with Annaca and her caseworker/assigned temporary guardian. The caseworker’s presence was more of a formality, as Annaca was currently living on hospital grounds. Much insight had been gained as to how treatment should proceed.

“What do you think of the hospital so far, Annaca?” Chandra asked her newest patient. The doctor kept an open and inviting tone, speaking clearly but without overly babying her speech. One thing they had learned was that the girl could mostly understand spoken language fine, so long as the topic wasn’t too complicated and diction was enunciated with care. Getting a coherent response back was a different matter, though progress had already been made from yesterday’s meeting.

Annaca was all smiles all the time. She smiled when you spoke to her, and she smiled at passersby while walking down the halls. The seemingly elated girl had a smile for each and every new experience.

“Mmm, the hospital is fun.” She beamed her pearly whites at Chandra. Annaca spoke in short, simple, childlike sentences. Her smile dimmed. “Shots are not fun.” She also tended to be brutally honest with whoever she was talking to. Her filter hadn’t fully developed yet.

“I don’t imagine they are. I always looked away and held my mother’s hand when I had to get my shots,” Chandra commiserated. “But I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying your stay. Tell me, what are the most fun parts of the hospital?”

“There are lots of new people. And the machines are fun too!” Chandra distinctly remembered how hard the technicians had struggled to get the energetic girl to lie still for her MRI scan. Staff had caught Annaca several times staring transfixed at medical equipment. When asked why, she said that “she liked the sounds and pretty lights”.

“The machines are impressive. Do remember however that they aren’t toys. It’s ok to look at them, but we shouldn’t touch them unless we have permission to.”

“I know that!” She pouted, sticking out her lower lip in a manner that would have been adorable on a girl half her age. On a teenager’s face, the childlike emoting produced an uncanny valley effect. Most people’s facial recognition instincts caused them to react poorly to the juxtaposition. It was one of the many reasons that teens and young adults with developmental issues faced discrimination. Doctor Chandra was not phased however; she was quite used to seeing those sorts of expressions on older patients.

“I know you do. It’s just important to remind ourselves so we don’t forget,” she assured the girl. An incident had occurred yesterday in one of the check up rooms. The examining doctor and caseworker had left Annaca unattended for less than a minute only to come back to find the curious girl poking and prodding at the monitoring system. Luckily, no one had been hurt, and the equipment hadn’t been damaged, but the point bore repeating.

“Alright, Annaca, I have a few tests I’d like us to go through today. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Yeah! Sounds fun!” Lots of things sounded fun to Annaca.

First and foremost, Doctor Chandra’s field of study was pediatric developmental psychology, and in all her years as a practicing physician, she had never been given quite so much trouble placing a patient’s mental age. Annaca spoke at the level of a developmentally normal 4 to 5 year-old but demonstrated the comprehension of someone several years older.  

Starting with a baseline was important. Doctor Chandra led Annaca through a series of questions whose purpose was to gauge Annaca’s position on the Adult Intelligence Scale. At first, Annaca struggled to give the correct answers that an adolescent would be expected to, particularly on questions that required abstract thinking. However, as time went on, she began to improve her scores in categories of reasoning that she had previously missed. Chandra almost couldn’t believe it. Her patient was developing cognitive abilities on the fly . The most bizarre part? Wrong answers weren’t being corrected. Annaca was somehow reaching the conclusion that her answers were wrong completely by herself. Such a phenomenon was unheard of, and the doctor wondered if the examination was stimulating parts of Annaca’s brain that had been damaged by some unknown injury. 

“That’s the last question. How are you feeling, Annaca? Are you tired?” Taking a break might not be so bad an idea to let her recuperate from accumulated mental gatigue.

“Nope! I’m doing fine. This is so much fun!” Her cheer hadn’t wavered one bit the whole time, and Chandra didn’t think the earnest girl was faking her behavior.

The doctor couldn’t help but smile along with her patient. “As long as you’re fine to continue. You’re doing very good, Annaca.” Annaca, predictably, smiled at the praise. “I think next we’ll take a look at some puzzles.” She indicated to her shelf full of children’s puzzle toys. “Don’t worry about selecting ‘the right’ one. There’s no right or wrong choices here, I promise.” How a patient went about solving the puzzle was more important than which puzzle they chose to solve or even correctly solving it.

Annaca pondered her choice for a long minute, exaggeratedly pursing her lips in thought. At last, with her decision reached, she pointed to a Rubik’s Cube. 

“That one looks fun. How does it work?” 

Oh, she was asking higher concept questions without prompt. Doctor Chandra made a mental note. 

“This one is called a Rubik’s Cube. You twist it like this, again and again until the colors are all messed up, and you can’t remember how to turn it back.” She took the cube in hand and twisted it a few times to demonstrate. “Then, you’re supposed to put all the colors back the way they were. Like this.” She moved the rows back to their starting positions, then handed it over to Annaca.

“Okay!” The joyful girl began twisting. And twisting. Then she twisted it some more. For several minutes, she would not stop twisting while Chandra watched in quiet so as not to disrupt the girl’s concentration. 

After a few more minutes, the doctor broke the silence to ask the girl about her thought process. After all, she needed patient feedback in order to understand her cognitions and reasonings. “Could you tell me what things you’re doing to try and solve the Rubik’s Cube, Annaca? Sometimes it helps to say your thoughts out loud.”

“I haven’t started yet.” She said, then continued twisting.

“Oh, that’s alright. I didn’t realize you were still messing up the colors, though I think you’ve got them quite thoroughly twisted by now. You don’t have to keep going.”

Annaca paused, and her eyebrows in confusion. “But you said I shouldn’t remember.” 

Chandra blinked. “Do you mean to tell me that you remember the order of all of your twists?”

The normally upbeat girl shrunk back, her smile sliding off her face. “Is that bad?”

“Not at all,” she reassured her. “I was just surprised. Most people have a hard time remembering that many twists. I can’t even remember after ten of them. It makes you different, but that’s not a bad thing. Everyone’s different in their own ways, and you shouldn’t feel bad or wrong about that.”

“Okay… should I solve it?” She sounded confused on whether she should keep rearranging the tiles.

“If you want to. Do you still remember the order of your twists?”

She nodded. Then, Chandra watched in fascination as every twist was reversed with perfect precision. Her patient worked slowly but methodically with a singularly devoted concentration to her task. When the last tiles were rotated into place, she held up the cube for the doctor to see. “I did it!”

“That was a great job, Annaca. I could never have solved it the way you did. Hmm, how would you like a harder challenge? If I mess up the Rubik’s Cube behind my back, you won’t know the twists. How does that sound?”

“Bring it on!”

Now where did she learn that turn of phrase from? Her mannerisms were becoming more in line with her age with each passing hour. Doctor Chandra lifted a quizzical eyebrow at Annaca’s caseworker who shrugged and shook her head in amusement.

The rearranged cube was handed back to Annaca who immediately started twisting. 

Oh my, is she actually going to solve it on her first try? Both doctor and caseworker looked on in anticipation. 

As it turns out, Annica did not know how to solve a Rubik’s Cube, but that certainly didn’t stop her from trying.

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July 1st, 2010

For two hours, three times a week, Chandra and Annaca met in the therapist's office to discuss the girl’s thoughts and gauge her progress, and in that time, remarkable strides had been made in Annaca’s mental state.

“We went to see Frozen, and it was really, really good. Olaf is so goofy, and Elsa’s powers are so cool. Hehe, cool, get it? I wish I had powers, like building a flying car or a super laser. Or, or, or a super- healing laser.” She rambled on enthusiastically about her trip to the movie theater, never getting bogged down on one topic for long.

“Oh? I’ve heard you’ve been interested in heroes recently. Are Tinkers your favorite, then?” Ever since Annaca had discovered the world of capes, she had been obsessed with learning about the “awesome heroes”. Especially Tinkers. Dragon was a favorite of hers.

“Yeah! Tinkers are the coolest type. They can make anything they need to, and they’re always prepared.”

“I’m sure it’s not easy being a hero though, even if you have the strongest superpowers of all. Dealing with people getting hurt everyday and getting hurt themselves. I don’t think I could do that. It sounds much too frightening for me.” Introducing complex concepts and challenging her preconceptions was an important component of developing Annaca’s mind, and Chandra often played devil’s advocate in their discussions to encourage critical thinking.

Annaca was unphased by this particular conundrum. “Well, duh. You can’t be a hero without someone to rescue.”

How delightfully insightful, Chandra mused on the poignant wisdom that children so often dispensed—often common sense that adults took for granted. If we all took them to heart, maybe our world wouldn’t be in this sorry state.

“How right you are, I think. Now, I’d like to discuss more about your trip, if that’s alright with you. New York can be overwhelming, even for longtime residents. There’s so many people and cars, and they’re quite loud. Are you feeling okay with crowds and the big city?”

Annaca became a little quieter, and her smile wasn’t as bright. “I mean, it’s a little scary, but it’s still tons of fun to see new things. I wish people didn’t honk their horns so much.” Her features scrunched up in annoyance at the memory.

Chandra giggled. “New York City drivers can be quite rude, can’t they?”

“ Sooo rude,” her patient agreed.

The conversation continued in that vein for a while with the two of them discussing likes and dislikes, the good and the bad of the Big Apple. 

Loathe as she was to ruin the girl’s enjoyment, Chandra eventually brought them around to a less comfortable topic. “Have you given any more thought to your dreams?”

Lately, Annaca’s nighttime slumber had been consumed by nightmares of a place she referred to as “the dark room”. Guiding a child to confront their trauma was never a pleasant feeling for the doctor, but it was a necessary evil on the path to recovery and growth. Whether or not the nightmares had anything to do with Annaca’s life from before the May incident remained a mystery and a question of vital importance. “Unlocking” repressed memories was not a thoroughly explored field in the scientific community given the plethora of confounding factors and entangled ethical issues, and Chandra wasn’t anywhere close to certain that Annaca’s memories could be recovered.

The normally cheery girl was usually excellent at maintaining good eye contact while talking to others. Now, she peered out the office window with a pained expression. 

“It’s been the same. It’s dark. I’m scared, and I’m all alone. That’s it.” She spoke in clipped words. “Can we please talk about something else, Mrs. Chandra?”

“That’s alright for today. Hmm, how are you liking your books?” the doctor asked, changing topics. Annaca was reading at a 5th grade level and rapidly improving. Her mind was a sponge that soaked up knowledge and vocabulary at an astonishing rate.

Annaca sprang right back to her bubbly self. “Oh, it’s wonderful! Yesterday, I read Harry Potter and The Tinker’s Stone. It’s about this boy who finds out he has superpowers-”

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July 30th, 2010

“-and Grand Central Terminal is the biggest in the world. It has 67 tracks and 44 platforms, and over 700 trains leave every day, and thousands and thousands of people ride on them every day too. Mom took me to see them, and I got to ride the trains, and they were so big. I got to ride in the conductor’s seat, and they let me drive the train all the way to California.”

“Really? All the way to California? That’s so cool! What’s it like there?” Annaca responded to the other girl’s questionably truthful story with enthusiastic support. Daisy Scott had in fact taken a train ride all the way from New York to California, and the train conductor did indeed let her sit in the driver’s seat for a short while, but for the sake of safety and regulations, they had not let an eleven year old drive the train.

Daisy smiled. Annaca always listened to her. She was so pretty, and she was the best ever. “It’s not like here. It’s hot and weird. There’s lots of big trees, really really big. Bigger than the train stations.”

“Oh! I read about those. The California Redwoods! You got to see them in person?”

“Mhm. They’re so tall, you can’t get to the top even if you climb all day long, and it would hurt a lot if you fell down.”

“The Redwoods are for sure going on my bucket list. I’ve got Chicago, Saint Louis, Nashville, Honolulu, Seattle, Houston, Phoenix, Tampa, Denver, Los Angeles, and Now San Jose.” Annaca listed the cities off beginning with her pinky and starting over when she ran out of fingers to count on. “I’m going to visit all the biggest cities one day, but first I’m going to explore New York. I’ll be the queen of the Big Apple and I’ll know every street and back alley just like all the taxi drivers do.”

Daisy didn’t know about all that. It sounded like a lot. What she did know was trains. “Are you going to be queen of the subway trains too?”

The older girl puffed up proudly. “Of course! A monarch must know all of her kingdom if she is to hold dominion over the realm.”

That was a lot of big words, and Daisy wasn’t sure she was following along. She liked listening to Annaca anyways. Her voice was so pretty.

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August 16th, 2010

Annaca’s giftedness could no longer be denied. Now that the girl had recovered much of her faculties, it was plain as day that she sucked up new topics like a vacuum cleaner over a popcorn strew floor. Just a month ago, Chandra had been worried that Annaca would forever be behind the curve academically despite her superb memory retention, but now it wasn’t out of the question that she could join the incoming freshman class at least part way through the year. Her learning was that prodigious.

However, Annaca’s emotional maturity lagged behind her age group, and here, there was less recourse. It was a skill that could not be taught from reading a book or during therapy sessions. Only engaging in real world social interactions and life experiences could shore up her missing qualities. To that end, Annaca had been encouraged to spend more time with the older and higher functioning patients at Saint John’s. While they weren’t a perfect substitute for the diversity of a proper school setting, they did give her much needed alternative points of view.

In large part, the social gatherings had been successful. Annaca was a hit with nearly everyone who met her. On more than one occasion, the other staff had told Chandra how much praise their patients heaped onto the girl, often citing her as an excellent listener and an engaging conversationalist. She was so popular in fact, that social outings had been organized between Annaca and the other patients, and this was the current topic of discussion.

“I’m so stoked Zani agreed to let us all go together,” Annaca said. Zani was her caseworker and partial caregiver. The two were on a first-name basis. “Anthony, Roger, Tracy, and Sandra all said they could go too. Ohmygosh, I’m so ready.” She had been using more teen slang as of late. “Like seriously, Jetstar is going to be there. She’s only like the coolest Ward ever.”

Annaca practically vibrated with excitement. Her legs bounced up and down in rapid staccato. 

“Getting to see the Wards, huh? That is exciting. I’ve always been more of a Legend fan myself.”

“He’s awesome too,” Annaca interjected. “There’s just something so cool about meeting teenage heroes. Like, they're the same age as me, and I can imagine being a hero with them, hanging out and fighting crime.”

Her ideas about heroes were colored through rose-tinted lenses, and Chandra had not expended much effort to explain the nuances of how stressful such a position could be in reality. Let her keep her innocent view of the world for the time being. With more experience, Annaca would discover the less than comfortable truths on her own.

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Afternoon, August 21st, 2010

Bustle and hustle. Loud and dirty. That was Manhattan in a nutshell, although the venue for the Wards meet and greet was located in one of the nicer parts of the burrough. A space had been rented out for the event on the Upper West Side, tucked between two taller buildings adjacent to Central Park. Event coordinators had gone with an open floor plan with booths placed at intervals around the perimeter of the large hall, each hosting a duo or trio of Wards—a smart decision that split the sizable crowd based on who they were most excited to see. Young girls flocked to the male heroes with well-toned muscles, while the boys similarly gathered around the tightly costumed female Wards. It didn’t take a cynic to realize that the PRT weren’t above using angsty teenage hormones to generate revenue and positive public relations. For goodness sake, they had their underage heroes selling merchandise with a pose and a smile.

Out of the multitude of Wards present, Annaca zeroed in on one booth in particular, and anyone who knew her could have immediately guessed the deciding factor. She’s like a homing missile for Tinker related anything, Zani mused to herself while she monitored the girl. Finally getting to meet one in the flesh must be her wildest dreams come true.

Zani had let her charge wander the convention hall by herself, content to keep an eye on her from afar. The caretaker wasn’t worried. Annaca could get overzealous, but when you took the time to explain boundaries and rules, she listened, and she remembered. Nor was this the first time Zani had taken her on such an outing.

And she was glad she gave Annaca some independence, because the always talkative girl looked so alive chatting with other cape fans. Of course, more than a few attendees had seemed put off by her demeanor and by the other Saint John’s kids, but the ones that stuck around were all enjoying their conversation as they waited in the queue.

Annaca at last arrived at the front of the line, and she shared a spirited handshake with the hall’s sole Tinker, Jetstar, if I remember right. Zani did not generally pay attention to the cape scene beyond the big names.

The Tinker and her fan shared an animated conversation. Gestures were made towards the techy looking parts of her costume. At one point, the Ward made a pushback motion, causing the front row of fans to retreat a few steps. Then, she activated a gauntlet-like device. A jet of blue flame burst from the palm. The engine’s roar could be heard across the hall, and Jetstar’s display was met with cheers and hoots and hollers. Not from Annaca though. Her charge’s eyes had gone wide as saucers. She was a moth to a flame, enraptured by the light.

A wide smile appeared on Zani’s face. Moments like these made her job worth the difficulties. When Annaca’s case was initially brought to her desk, she could only foresee several weeks of yet another grueling, thankless task. Working in Child and Family Services crushed one’s soul. Zani had witnessed entirely too much of the evil in humanity to not be jaded. Annaca’s case wasn’t like the others though. There were no abusive parents, no durg den households, and no severely troubled teens. Calling Annaca an angel was only a slight exaggeration. Having her around was a breath of fresh air—she always had smiles to share and joy to spread.

So when the position came up to take a more active role in the girl’s life, Zani jumped at the opportunity. Annaca’s adoption process was still ongoing, and Zani knew she was never intneded to be the girl’s permanent guardian, yet a rebellious part of her hoped they would have more time to spend together. So much joy had been brought to her life, and she wasn’t ready to give it up.

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Early Morning, August 22nd, 2010

Zani blinked open bleary eyes. Something had disturbed her sleep, and she could hear unknown sounds coming from outside the bedroom. Checking the nightstand, her clock read 3:48 AM. I need to sleep… Go away…

Delayed synapses fired, and Zani jolted out of bed. Someone was in the apartment. It could have been Annaca making that racket, but... 

A sound, sharp and visceral, like metal scraping on flesh, reached her ears, followed by a wet squelch. Blood froze in her veins. Annaca’s out there.  

The bedroom door nearly shattered off its hinges in her hurry to slam it aside. Oh god, oh god. Blood coated the sofa, fresh. Shattered glass littered the floor. There was no intruder. Annaca was the only person in the room. Her palms dripped red. Clutched in her hand, a wickedly sharp shard of glass gleamed with the nightlight’s dim reflection. She stood in the middle of a pile of torn up appliances—a gutted microwave, a disassembled television set, a broken toaster, more that could not be identified. Her eyes were closed.

“Annaca!” Zani’s blood curdling scream filled the studio apartment. The desperate caretaker leapt over the pile and rushed to Annaca’s side. Fingers were forced apart, and the glass dropped to the carpet

Taking hold of her shoulders, Zani shook the girl, “Annaca! Annaca, wake up! Annaca!”

Her eyes fluttered open with a gasp. Tears flooded her cheeks as her whole body shook with racking sobs. She clutched her hands, crying out in pain. “It hurts. Everything hurts. Make it go away.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be alright. We’ll get you to the hospital. Hold on, Annaca.”

Zani hugged her tightly. Everything is going to be okay.

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August 24th, 2010

Subject-0655 has self-inflicted wounds on the palms and soles, made with a crude cutting implement. (Zanidaya Smith was present and reported that Subject-0655 appeared to be unconscious at the time of injury.) Metal tubes appear to have been inserted into the cuts. Examination by Field Agent Perkins revealed similarities between the structures and Jetstar’s engines, although current functions are unknown.

It is the professional opinion of both Perkins and I that Subject-0655 displayed Tinker abilities. Decryption for Subject-0655’s personal case files are enclosed, along with information relating to possible trigger events. It should be noted that Subject-0655’s circumstances share similarities to Case-53s. (That’s our speculation. Take it with a grain of salt because some of the details aren’t adding up.)

Director Wilkins cut open the sealed envelope with a practiced motion, and inserted the enclosed flash drive into a specialized laptop that was disconnected from the building’s network. What she read next was no less disturbing than the leading missive—missing memories, unusual health records, popping into existence out of the blue. The breadcrumbs formed a trail, maybe leading to a Case-53 as had been mentioned, or possibly to something deeper. 

Regardless, this horrific discovery of powers was now hers to deal with. Wilkins juggled a lot of heroes—five dozen Wards and nearly twice as many Protectorate members. She had studied the powers of PRT capes from around the country. It was her job to know them intimately. So, it was no laughing matter when she thought to herself that chance had dumped one of the worst powers she had ever heard of into her lap. A self mutilating Tinker was unmarketable, a self mutilating Tinker did not inspire adoration from the public, and a self mutilating Tinker did not sound like a stable cape to have against the villains of her city. 

Frankly, the girl was a public relations disaster waiting to happen. She could imagine the headlines, Government Scandal: PRT Encourages Minor to Self Harm . There had to be a way to make this another director’s problem. Piggot was always begging for additional forces despite Brockton being less than 5% the size of New York.

Director Wilkins sighed. I’m being unfair to the poor girl. Psychological profiles indicated a strong inclination towards the Wards. Sticking her on the support team wouldn’t be such a terrible option. They’d have to keep a close watch of course, maybe see if a schedule could be created with Gourmet, though his brand of regeneration might not work if her tech interacted poorly.

Negatives can be spun into positives. The girl wants to be a hero. The director straightened in her chair to begin hammering out the requisite forms. She would make this work.

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August 26th, 2010

The newest Ward tried to stabilize herself on the four brilliant orange jets of flame blasting out of her hands and feet. Once again, she managed only a few seconds in the air before losing her balance in an end over end tumble that concluded with her crashing head first into the testing room’s copious padding. 

Both attending researchers winced in unison. The girl had started out the day with a tentative smile. Now, after numerous failures and hard landings, any evidence of her excitement had long since been wiped off her face.

Still she rose. Again and again. Refusing to give up.

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August 27th, 2010

Chandra held Annaca in a warm embrace. Today was their first meeting since the hospitalization and the last one they would have as doctor and patient. Her desire to continue caring for the girl she had grown to love warred with her logical reasoning. She was not fit to continue on as Annaca’s therapist, to address the baggage that came with parahumanity. She sorely wished she was.

“What if I’m not cut out to be a hero?” Annaca whispered. Tears flowed freely. She hadn’t smiled once today.

“You’ll be an excellent hero. So long as people need rescuing, you’ll rise to the occasion. I know it.”

She truly believed that Annaca had the qualities to blossom into a great hero—compassion, a love of learning, and the determination to try. But she’s not ready. Nobody could be prepared for the responsibilities and hardships that gaining powers thrust upon them, and Annaca was further disadvantaged in that regard. Annaca was so innocent in her perceptions—naive, if Chandra was being honest.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe,” she ordered. “Putting yourself at risk for others is noble, but not at the cost of your life.”

“I promise,” Annaca said.

Chandra held Annaca tighter. Please, watch over Annaca and keep her from harm, she prayed to whatever gods might be listening. Allow her to become the hero she wants to be.

Chapter Text

August 30th, 2010

I followed Vigilant through the blast doors, the impenetrable looking dark metal having parted for the Protectorate hero’s biometric scan. Beyond the threshold lay a room straight out of the whimsy of science fiction. I was greeted by sleek lines and curved, neomodern architecture.  Slate gray with electric blue highlights made up the prevailing color scheme. Floor to ceiling windows provided a one way overview of Roosevelt Island and Queens borough across the river. At a glance, the equipment looked expensive. My sense of money wasn’t the greatest, but the combined expenses to build every piece of technology in this single room probably totaled more than the combined salaries of every hero in the building—of which there were at least a dozen.

“Welcome to Wards Base 5. Home, sweet home,” the older heroine sang. “This is where you’ll be spending a lot of your time, so feel free to get familiar with the place. You’ve got a fully stocked kitchen—please don’t cook anything that smells too strong by the way. The ventilation works fine, but this is still an enclosed space. 

“This here’s the little tyke enrichment zone.” Vigilant chuckled. “Sorry, can’t help myself, but yeah, the TV and game consoles are awesome, and the common area is a great place to do homework too.” 

Vigilant sighed. Her eyes were the only part of her face visible through her ninja-esque hooded cloak, and they sagged in performatively exaggerated despondency. “Enjoy it while it lasts. For some reason, the guys in charge seem to think us Protectorate heroes don’t need a Playstation in our base. Phooey, I say. Can you believe I had to go and buy my own gaming setup? It’s like they think I’m supposed to act like a real adult or something! It’s outrageous, I tell you.”

The heroine had been a rather animated guide for the whole tour, a bundle of infectious energy that had given my mood a much needed pick-me-up. Ever since waking up to last Sunday’s living nightmare, my life had been turned completely upside down, and life was flying at me too fast to adapt—first there was the hospital, then the meetings with Deputy Director Sanjay, power testing, meetings with the Image Department, with lawyers and youthguard representatives, so many unfamiliar faces, paperwork, paperwork, paperwork, signature after signature. 

Then I lost my home. I lost Zani. I cried during our goodbye. We both did. She said she wouldn’t be able to properly provide for me. I wanted to understand her position. Logically, I did. Parahuman children were difficult to care for; we had special needs, and Zani was never equipped to deal with that burden. It still hurt, worse than the pain of having my hands and feet cut open. For one horrifying moment, I had thought my nightmares were coming true, that I was going to be abandoned. Left all alone in a dark room.

But there were so many other people in my life: Daisy and my other friends from Saint John’s kept in touch, Mrs. Chandra planned a lunch with me later in the week, and now I could add all the heroes and PRT staff to my list. Vigilant was the first among many I planned to befriend. I was going to be so popular.

She continued to give me the lay of the land. “Dorm rooms are down the branching hallways, boys to the right, girls to the left, bathrooms are at the end of each hall. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but please respect each other’s privacy. Last, but certainly not least, the almighty console.” She gestured grandly to a hightec cluster of computers. The station was arranged in a circle around the Ward base’s central pillar with multiple well stocked workspaces and a plethora of variously sized monitors. “This is where the magic happens. All Wards get trained for console duty. Think of it like the hero version of being a police dispatcher—not as much fun as patrols, but vitally important nonetheless.

“And that’s pretty much everything—wait—I almost forgot! Questions or concerns of any kind can be reported to any Protectorate member, any deputy director—even if they’re not in charge of your district, or Director Wilkins herself, but do keep in mind that she’s busy pretty much 24/7. As for actual chain of command stuff, Cache is leader of Protectorate Team 5, and Sphera is second in command. She’s actually the one in charge of your team and an excellent resource if you want to learn more about the job. Trust me, she’s awesome. Now that’s everything. Any questions?”

I finished committing the base’s layout to memory. “Yes ma’am! Do I get to meet the other Wards today?” I asked.

“Ack! Don’t ‘ma’am’ me! I graduated like two months ago,” she said in faux-outrage. “Just Vigilant is fine or The Ever Vigilant if you’re feeling pretentious, Vigil for short. And yes, you’ll be meeting your new teammates today. Let’s see it’s…” She checked her phone. “A quarter past one. The older kids should be getting out of classes soon. We’ve got about an hour give or take.”

Oh right. School is a thing. Before the incident, there had been talks about maybe enrolling me in the upcoming semester. Well, the school year had already started, and I had forgotten all about it in the ensuing chaos. I still very much wanted to attend. High school was a place where you made friends and memories; at least, all the television shows made it seem that way.

Friends… I hope I can get along with everyone.

“Something the matter?” Vigilant asked me. My nervousness must have shown on my face.

“What if the others don’t like me?”

“Pshaw.” She waved away my concerns dismissively. “Girl, I was Team 5’s captain for the past 8 months. I know my people, and I know it’ll be love at first sight! Except for Near Sight, ‘cause she’s a little grouch. Don’t let it bother you though—she’ll warm up to you eventually.”

I was more worried about what they would think of my powers. I wasn’t blind. I saw the grimaces and sensed the uncomfortable tension whenever the topic arose. Self-tinkering made a lot of people uncomfortable. Squeamish might be the word for their reactions. Not to mention how other Tinkers would feel about me stealing their ideas.

I couldn’t meet the heroine’s eyes. “It’s just… I don’t know if my power is a good fit. They’ll probably think it’s creepy.”

I sneaked a glance at the heroine, and we locked gazes. “It’s not that bad.” She didn’t sound as confident as before. “I’m going to let you in on some insider secrets. There’s a reason the PRT doesn’t like the public knowing the ins and outs of their capes’ powers. Besides the potential security risks, I mean. Under the hood, lots of powers are kind of gross or disturbing in one way or another. Us parahumans though? We get it. They’ll understand, so don’t worry about the specifics. It’s what you do with your abilities that matters anyways. Does that make sense? I’ve never been great at the whole peptalk thing.” The heroine awkwardly rubbed the back of her cowl.

I did feel a little bit better. “Yeah. Thank you, Vigilant.” I smiled lightly. Smiling was important to making friends.

“I did have some more questions, if you don’t mind,” I said, reasserting eye contact.

“Shoot.”

“So how soon and I guess how often do we get to fight villains? I don’t know if I’ll be ready with my current kit.”

“Never!” she said cheerily, eyes twinkling.

“Huh?”

“Okay, preferably never,” she clarified. “You do know it’s a bad thing to have children fighting organized crime, right? Er, I’m not trying to be condescending or anything, I swear. I’ll explain. Let’s move to the couch first though. Those cushions are calling for my booty.”

I snickered at the childish humor and plopped down on the indubitably comfy couch. Vigilant lounged next to me with her combat boot covered feet propped up on the center table. 

“So,” she began, “don’t believe everything you see on TV. The whole point of the Wards program is to introduce young parahumans to the world of heroes in a way that doesn’t put your life in danger. That means you’re not supposed to be fighting villains. I say ‘supposed to’ because that’s not how it works in practice. The reality is, the villains outnumber us by a good margin. Protectorate and independents can’t cover them all on their own all the time, so we call on the Wards to deal with the lower level threats. You know, the small-time criminals—the hucksters,  thieves, and least egregious of the gangs. Sometimes Wards can go up against mid level threats, but only with Protectorate backup and only if you’re old/experienced enough. Sorry to burst your dreams of having an epic showdown in Times Square. It’s going to be at least a few months before they let you deal with anything more than petty criminals. And forget about duking it out in the big leagues. Wards are absolutely not permitted to engage with the Teeth, the Towers, or the Triad. Things would have to become dire before we ever even considered that option.”

I let the information settle in. My hopes weren’t dashed. Fighting villains was less important than keeping people safe and helping those in need, though everything I read and watched made it seem like the two were inextricably linked. Besides, I was in the building up phase of my Tinker career. Big fights could wait until I had a better kit.

Logical reasoning couldn’t assuage all of my doubts however. “But what if my power is really useful against a specific villain? Will they still stop me from helping?” It irritated me to simply think about being prevented from saving people because they didn’t want me to fight. I couldn’t imagine how frustrating being sidelined in a real scenario would be.

“In this hypothetical, uber specific scenario, where you’re the sole key to a clean victory, then sure. They might let you take on one of the big boys. But don’t count on it.”

“Then what will I be doing? I can’t even tinker all day because of the restrictions the director placed on me…” My mind was split on the matter. On the one hand, the idea of tinkering again scared me a little. My body decided to do those horrific things to itself while I was asleep and helpless. Having my control robbed from me had been deeply upsetting. And the pain… But on the other side, I needed to tinker if I wanted to grow as a hero. I couldn’t hope to rescue everyone in front of me if I remained stagnant. There were ways to get around the pain too. I haven’t considered any surface level stuff. What if I went with something like an ear piercing? Those always look so cool on the popular girls. But how would I incorporate a jet engine into something so small? Hmm…

I was broken out of my reverie by Vigilant rapping on my forehead. “Earth to lost girl. Did you hear a word I said?”

I blushed. “Sorry. Got distracted by tinkering ideas.”

“Ha, no sweat. Not the first time I’ve heard that before. I was saying that I unfortunately don’t have any say on your tinkering schedule. You’ll have to talk to Sphera, Cache, or the deputy director. What I can tell you is that most of your working hours—by the way, Wards aren’t allowed to work over 25 hours a week except in extreme circumstances, it’s a law—anyways, a lot of your time will get taken up by patrols, obviously. You’ll get routes either with a Protectorate member as a sidekick gig or with one of your fellow Wards. There’s also events. You strike me as the kind of gal that likes the spotlight, am I right?”

I perked up a bit. “I do! I think inspiring others is one of the most awesome parts of being a hero. It’s part of what got me interested in being a hero in the first place.”

Vigilant’s eyes shined with shared excitement. “Heck yeah! Up top!” 

We high-fived. “ Tsss.” The heroine rubbed her palm. “Jeeze, you’ve got hard hands.”

“Oh, that’s the jet engines,” I said sheepishly. It was surprisingly easy to forget that I had steel tubes shoved into my appendages. Once the pain had subsided, the tinkertech began to feel like a natural part of my body. The doctors had marveled at how quickly the incisions had healed and how I retained feeling where my flesh had been replaced by metal. The sensation was less of the standard sense of touch, but it allowed me to gauge pressure, temperature, and texture. Nor was my range of motion affected, despite the tubes that should have made my wrists stiff. During power testing, the researchers had come up with a working theory that my power adapted my biology in order to tolerate and integrate my tinkertech.

“Well, you’ll have some more heft to your punches, that’s for sure. Where was I? Right, other than patrols and events, you do multiple training sessions a week, both for getting physically fit and for getting used to working in a team setting. There’s also courses on image and acceptable use of force, when you can and can’t detain a suspect, etcetera. What am I missing? Oh, can’t forget console duty. I already told you about that one. Last, but not least, you have to attend monthly meetings so you can get up to speed on the latest info on your district. I think that’s pretty much everything. Any more questions?”

I had many more questions. For every bit of information the pamphlets and meetings had given me so far, there were two more unknowns.

We spent the next half hour discussing the inner workings of PRT and Protectorate operations, as well as clarifying any confusions or misconceptions.

I had learned a little about how the Wards-NYC operated, and Vigilant was happy to fill in the blanks. The PRT couldn’t realistically expect 60 parahumans to cover the entire city from one central location, so Wards were split into five smaller teams. However, the available manpower was sufficient to allow for more specialized squads than would be possible in smaller cities. 

The Lancers were a fast response group, often the first to arrive at a confrontation and the most likely team to face off against higher level threats. Joining the Lancers held the strictest requirements out of any team; every member needed some form of high speed and maneuverability. There was a reason they were considered team numero uno.  

The concept behind the Archers was ranged capabilities. Why worry about speed or brute force when you could hem in your opponents from afar? The Archers specialized in reconnaissance and locking down combat zones. Team 2 tended to have more Blasters and Shakers than its counterparts.

Sometimes, brute force is the best option. That’s where the Bulwarks came in. Team 3’s game plan revolved around being incredibly difficult to remove from the field. They fought defensively and offensively at the same time, and the Bulwark’s biggest hitters had some of the highest destructive potential in the city.

Team 4 often got called the Rescue Team by the residents of New York City. They were an eclectic collection, but they trained diligently and had excellent power synergies that helped them respond to disasters of all shapes.

Then there was Team 5, the Support Team. My team. The higher ups' thinking had been to gather all the capes whose powers didn’t lend themselves to direct fighting, including some of the non-combat Thinkers who were preparing to join WEDGDG and newer Tinkers. Its second and arguably more vital role was to serve as an introduction for younger parahumans to the world of heroes and villains, simply because New York City had the manpower to spare elsewhere. Because of this, Team 5 had the youngest average age for a Wards team in the entire country—at any given time, they were sitting near a mean of 13 years old when the national average was between 15 and 16.

 Although the Support Team saw the least amount of actual combat, their contributions should not be discounted. Supplying other teams with supplemental tinkertech was a massive force multiplier, and Thinker support provided much needed counter intelligence. I wasn’t sure how much use I’d be here since my tech only worked for myself, though I didn’t feel too down about it. There was a record of Tinkers being shuffled around as they built up their arsenal. 

We were chatting about Vigilant’s favorite public hero events—Macy’s Day Parade and New Year’s Times Square celebration—when the visitor alarm sounded. I checked my domino mask absentmindedly. Still secure.

Oh shoot. I wasn’t sure if my teammates knew I was in the base, so I buried my face into the couch cushions to protect their identities.  

“Why are you pulling an ostrich impression?” Vigilant asked bemusedly. “Is our intrepid new heroine shy?” I couldn’t see the Cheshire grin that split her face, but I could hear it.

“No! I am not shy!” I vehemently denied the accusation. “I’m protecting my teammates’ secret identities!” My explanation was muffled by the couch cushions.

I heard the blast doors slide open.

A new voice, female sounding, said, “Hi Vigil! Is this the new trainee?”

“‘Sup Cassette? Yep, she’s the newest member of Team 5, and as you can see, she’s very shy.”

“I’m not shy!” I shouted into the cushions. “What if they entered without a mask?”

I heard a male voice, deep yet soft, say, “There’s no need to worry. Masks are on— it’s standard procedure.”

I risked a peek through my fingers over the rim of the couch. I saw two masks and two teens. The girl, Cassette, was short and slender, petite almost, with not a lot of muscle mass to her build. She wore her dirty blonde hair in a ponytail. A reflective visor hid her upper face, but her wardrobe was otherwise normal for a teenage girl—a t-shirt and jeans combo that showed off her farmer’s tan. 

In contrast, the boy was massive. My months spent in the big city had exposed me to all sorts of body types, and in that time I had rarely spotted people as heavily muscled as him. He stood no less than six foot six and 260 pounds, built like an ox. His face was obscured by a ski mask-like head covering, though the texture looked rubbery (A luchador mask might have been a better comparison). It looked terribly out of place with his chinos and checkered-patterned, short sleeve button up. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that both of them were older than me by a year or two.

All good then, I fully uncovered my face and smiled despite myself. “Had to make sure. Hello! I’m the new Ward! I don’t have a hero name yet because Image said they’re having a hard time figuring out what to go with. In the meantime, you can call meee- uhhh…” Coming up with a good name on the fly was hard.

“How about Shine? Because your hair is so shiny. Seriously, you have got to tell me what products you use,” she said, matching my smile with one of her own.

“Sure! Call me Shine,” I agreed. “I don’t use anything special for my hair though, just whatever is laying around.”

“Really? You pop off with those blessed genes then. I’m Cassette by the way, and the lug nut over here is Valve.”

“‘Sup?” Valve nodded at me.

“I just got done with the building tour and Vigilant was telling me about the Wards teams. Your guys’ base is so cool!” I answered. “How about you?”

He looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected my response. “Uh, not much. School’s back in session, so that’s kind of a drag.

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Cassette said, folding her arms. “I got so used to Summer hours, that now it feels like I barely spend any time at all actually doing hero work. Shit sucks.”

“Language. There’s innocent ears!” Vigilant chided.

Cassette flipped her off, “Oh fuck off. I don’t want to hear that from you. And stop teasing our new teammate.” She glared at the Protectorate hero.

“It’s fine! I already know the f-word and s-word. I read them on the internet even though Miss Z- my guardian said I shouldn’t,” I explained in an attempt to settle their argument.

“See! It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. Her reactions are so adorable.”

What does she mean by that?! I looked questioningly at the heroine.

“Anyways, I’ll get out of your hair now. Have fun, kids. But not too much fun.” Vigilant winked and strutted out of the room. The doors closed in her wake.

Cassette groaned. “Her schtick was funnier when she was actually part of the Wards.”

“She only acts that way around us,” Valve countered. “I’ve seen her when she’s on patrol with the other heroes. She looks serious.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better about it?”

“You know you still like her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassette grumbled.

I watched the byplay with idle entertainment. So far, Team 5 seemed like a fun group to hang out with.

“We should give you proper introductions, Shine. You know, ice breakers, but like less cringey than the ones you suffer through on the first day of class.”

I understood exactly what Cassette was talking about. There was a scene from the pilot of The Cape Club just like she described. The two Wards joined me with Cassette taking Vigilant’s spot and Valve sitting at the far end of the couch. 

Cassette went first. “So Shine, do you know your power classifications?”

I nodded and listed them off. “Blaster, Breaker, Brute, Changer, Master, Mover, Shaker, Stranger, Striker, Thinker, Tinker, and Trump.”

“Good, good, so we don’t have to go over that. Introductions then. Like I said, I’m Cassette, and I’m coming up on my second year on the Support Team. I’m a Thinker, postcog—the only one on the eastern seaboard.” She smiled proudly. “You can imagine my powers as projecting a sort of movie everywhere I look. I can see, hear, and even feel the past by rewinding the tape, so to speak.”

The alarm sounded once more, and another mask-clad Ward strode into the base. She was taller and more willowy than Cassette, with a short bob cut and dark skin like coffee. She wore a baggy hoodie that hid her frame.

“Hey Ephe!” Cassette pronounced it Eff-ee . “We were just in the middle of introducing ourselves to our newest member. Come! Join us.” 

“Sure.” Ephe was quiet, but not in the same way that Valve was quiet. With the giant of a teenage boy, there was careful control of his naturally booming voice. Ephe’s voice was diminutive—timid, as though she was afraid to be heard. The quiet hero took a seat next to Cassette. Tense shoulders and closed off body language read mild discomfort.

“Did you see Kludge on your way up?” Cassette asked her seat partner. “We should probably wait to do Shine’s spiel until he gets here.”

“I saw him in the lobby.”

“Good. Valve, you’re up next,” Cassette demanded of her hulking teammate.

He acquiesced. “Alright. I’m Valve. I’ve been team captain for a couple months now, ever since Vigilant graduated to the Protectorate. I’m a Tinker, and my specialty is hydraulics. I work with high pressure liquids, which is more dangerous than it sounds.”

“Don’t be fooled by his humble words,” Cassette said. “He can cut through five feet of solid steel. And that’s just his tinkering tools!”

Out of all the Wards on Team 5, I was the most familiar with Valve. “That’s amazing!” I complimented my fellow Tinker. “Your tech is awesome. I’m subscribed to your fan forum, and I really like all of your videos, especially the one where you tapped into a fire hydrant to put out that blaze on 5th Street. I hope I can make tinkertech as good as yours someday.” A blush crept onto my face. Comparing my knockoff, plagiarized ideas to the gear that real, accomplished Tinkers had created was embarrassing.

“Oh, well thank you.” Valve shifted in his seat. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll become a great Tinker.”

I beamed. That meant a lot to me coming from him. “I’ll try my best!”

“Oh my God. Valve, she’s your biggest fan.” Cassette made a high pitch squee and shook Ephe’s shoulders. The taller girl looked alarmed but didn’t try to shake off her attacker.

It was at that moment that the alarm sounded for the third time before the doors opened to reveal another Ward.

“I was briefed that our new member is going through orientation today?” he said, walking into the room. He stopped to stare at the scene before him. “Did I walk in on something, or…?”

The dumbstruck Ward was short and stocky. His black hair was slicked back with gel, but a few strands stuck out of place. A white dress shirt and black slacks would have completed his prim and proper look if not for their rumpled appearance. Overall, he gave the impression that he’d arrived from some formal event and had gotten caught in strong winds along the way.

“Yep!” Cassette informed him. “This is the new girl, and we were just in the middle of introductions when she dropped this bomb on us.”

“Bomb?” He asked, confused.

Bomb? I was also confused.

“Meet Valve’s number one fan!”

Oh. That. “I think he definitely has bigger fans. I mean, I haven’t even been a forum member for a month. You should see how often some of the other girls post.”

“But those girls aren’t on Team 5,” she countered. “They can’t appreciate the beauty and grandeur of Valve’s big strong cannons like you can.”

That’s true, I thought. The other forum members don’t have the mindset to fully comprehend tinkertech.

“Seriously Cass? You were grilling Vigil for this just ten minutes ago. How about we lay off? Give her some space.” He grit the words through his teeth, sounding genuinely upset.

Ephe blanched, and Cassette was properly chagrined. “Sorry, Shine. I got carried away with all the excitement of a new Tinker on the team.” Suddenly, the atmosphere didn’t feel so upbeat. 

“That’s alright. I’m really excited too. It’s been so much fun getting to know you all!” I meant it. I smiled at her to show that I wanted us all to get along. I wasn’t sure why Valve was upset—I really didn’t mind the banter. 

The fourth Ward, who was still standing at the doorway, cleared his throat. “If we’re doing introductions, I’ll go next. Kludge.” He closed the distance to shake my hand. I took it. His grip was light. “Are we doing powers?”

At Valve’s nod, he continued. “I’m a Tinker. Team 5 tends to get a few of those. Image stuck me with Kludge because they couldn’t find a better fit that wasn’t already taken, and to be honest, I didn’t care to come up with a second option. I combine separate pieces of tinkertech into one object, and I mean one, single object. It’s honestly a pain.” He displayed a lot of self depreciation towards his work. Undeservedly. Kludge’s tech was really interesting! 

I told him as much. “Well I think your stuff is awesome. Why wouldn’t you put as many functions as you could into one piece of gear?”

He gave me a look that said, “ You don’t understand.”

“Do you follow a lot of Tinkers?” Valve asked me.

“Mhm! Tinkers are my main follows, but I’ve looked into all the Wards.”

“When you say ‘all the Wards’ do you mean everyone on Team 5 or all the Wards?” Kludge asked.

“Only for New York City so far. I’m going through all of the Protectorate and independent hero pages too, and then I’ll do the villain entries. I don’t want to go into this blind, after all.”

“Huh…”

“That’s an admirable goal.” Valve said, looking at me as though seeing me in a different light. “Certainly, we all do our best to keep on top of things, but there are a lot of capes in New York, and I wouldn’t expect you to keep track of each and every one of them. I wouldn’t ask that of anyone on Team 5 either.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem for me. I’ve got an excellent memory.” It wasn’t bragging if it was true and I didn’t rub it in people’s faces. But I did feel some small amount of satisfaction in revealing my talent to them.

“ Huh… ” Kludge repeated.

Valve clapped his hands. “Okay, now that everyone who’s not in school for the next hour is here. I’m incredibly curious to hear about your power. You’ve got the floor.”

“Same here. The text from the deputy director was kind of cryptic,” Kludge said.

“You got that too?” Valve asked.

“What text? I didn’t get a text.” Cassette glared between the two junior heroes. “Also, we can’t forget Ephe! She hasn’t had her introduction yet.”

The look Ephe sent Cassette said, “ Why would you do this to me. ” I guess she wasn’t a fan of ice breakers.

“I’m Ephemeral. I’m good at escaping, and I can turn invisible. Er, it’s kind of a Thinker/Stranger mix, and um, it’s complicated.” Thus ended Ephemeral’s introduction. She stared unwaveringly at the floor.

“Vigil should totally trade you the ninja costume, Ephe. It’d fit you so well.”

“No thanks,” the girl said on the edge of inaudibility. I was beginning to think Ephemeral had a shy personality.

“ Now you’ve heard everyone’s introductions. Take it away, Shine.” Valve made a sweeping gesture.

Where to start. How to phrase it. “So, I haven’t had much time to explore my actual Tinker powers,” I hedged, “but we’re pretty sure my specialization is in a form of self tinkering. I-” I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. There’s nothing to be nervous about. I didn’t decide my powers. They just are the way they are. “I splice my tinkertech into my body, and my biology adapts to integrate it.” Splice was a euphemistic way of putting it.

Cassette made an appreciative whistle. “Damn Shine, that’s metal af.”

Something passed between Kludge and Valve, but the meaning was lost on me. It probably had something to do with the shared text.

“There is one other aspect to my power…” When no one said anything, I continued. “I- kindofsortofgetallmyideasfromothertinkers. ” 

“Could you repeat that, please?” Kludge asked.

I calmed myself. “I get my ideas from-” gulp “from other Tinkers.” I couldn’t look at my teammates’ faces, and definitely not at Valve or Kludge.

“I’m starting to piece together what the dep director meant with his message,” Valve said.

“Yeah,” Kludge agreed, “but why wouldn’t he just tell us straight about her powers?”

“No clue. It doesn’t seem like a life threatening operational security risk.”

“Mind clueing the rest of us in on this super-secret text only you two extra special dorks got, or is this on a need to know basis?” Cassette put her sardonic wit on full display.

Valve broke the news. “Not so long as you don’t gossip about it. I’m apologizing in advance, Shine. Orders say we’re not allowed to collaborate with you or demonstrate our tinkertech without a designated third party present. That probably means no patrols with us or any other Tinkers for the foreseeable future. Sorry.”

The ultimatum hit me like a truck. What? Why?! This is unfair! They never told me anything like this! They can’t do that to me! They can’t, they can’t, they CAN’T!  

I didn’t register when Cassette took my hand. “Are you alright, Shine? They really didn’t let you know that beforehand? What the hell, that’s such bullshit!” 

I fought to control my breathing. In my chest, the burning, bubbling sensation resided bit by bit. I’d never felt so a ngry before. 

“It’s fine,” I forced myself to say, “They said- we agreed that it was best if I had supervision while I tinkered. I didn’t know that extended to drawing inspiration from other Tinkers.”

Kludge had a frown on his face. “That really sucks.”

Change tracks. “You’re not- mad at me for being an idea thief?”

“I mean, not really? A lot of tinkertech ends up having the same basic functioning regardless of its packaging-”

“ Phrasing.” I thought I heard Ephemeral whisper the word.

“-and I’m not really sure you would even get out of my amalgamation of a trash heap,” Kludge finished.

“I have to agree,” Valve said. “I don’t mind. Imitation is a form of flattery after all. Although, I don’t see how you could- uh- adapt my tech to your biology. My stuff is pretty bulky.”

Hearing their support made me feel a bit better about the situation. “Thanks guys. I’ll talk to the deputy director about it.”

“No problem.” “Of course.”

Cassette was still upset on my behalf. “Maybe you should try explaining to him that Tinkers need to tinker. You’d think he would know that .” She used Ephemeral’s shoulder as a headrest, and the taller girl didn’t lean away. “Alright everybody, we need to clear the air, do something not so frustrating. I’m officially declaring group bonding time!”

“You don’t have patrols today?” I asked. I genuinely didn’t know what Team 5’s schedule looked like, but I knew they didn’t patrol quite as often as the other Wards teams.

“Nope, none of us have anything scheduled until 4. Literally the only thing on the agenda right now is your orientation.” Cassette’s eyes gleamed. “Mario Party?”

“But- but what about learning console duty or power training or physical fitness training? ”

“Is that what you want to do?” Kludge asked incredulously.

Maybe?!  

“We’re not going to throw you into the deep end,” Valve said with a kind smile showing through his ski mask (It’s totally a luchador mask). “One step at a time. I’ll show you the ins and outs of the console later.”

“Yuck, console is nothing to get excited about, trust me. They stick me on it all the damn time, and it’s so boring. ” Cassette complained while powering up the Nintendo.

“Her power works through screens,” Kludge clarified, “ Somehow. ”

I guess it was gaming time. I shouldn’t be complaining about spending quality time with my fellow heroes. We could save the day at a later date.

Chapter Text

August 30th, 2010

“Bye, everyone! See you all soon!” I waved farewell to the half-dozen underage capes.

“Bye-bye, Shine.” “See ya!” “Later.” 

Besides the four who had led me through orientation, every other member of Team 5 was middle school age or younger (barring Topsy Turvy, who was almost as new as me and in the process of being assigned to another team), so despite how fresh faced I was, I didn’t feel like the baby of the Wards.

“Have a good one.” Valve waved back from his seat in front of the dispatch monitor. He would be taking over console duty now that my training was done.

With a hiss, the doors slid shut, cutting off the Wards’ clamor. We had the floor to ourselves, and the sudden quiet was eerie. I moved quickly, taking an elevator down a few floors to where the walkway connected the Protectorate facilities to the PRT offices. Aside from their matching heights, the neighboring buildings shared little in common. The PRT’s side had a modern feel dominated by 40 straight floors of reinforced windows on a boxy frame, while the Protectorate building looked more in line with architecture from the previous century. It had a tiered structure, built from stucco and concrete, that narrowed inwards as the building went up—an Art Deco style if my studies of the city’s history were accurate.

A few office workers joined me on the ride down, and we all shuffled out when we reached the floor with the walkway. I crossed at a clip through the windowed sky bridge. Activity was much busier in this section of the complex. 

My destination was the deputy director’s office. Workers and PRT officers gave me a once-over as I marched through the halls and up stairwells, easily remembering the route. I’d only met Mr. Sanjay once before, during my assignment to Team 5, but he had seemed friendly at the time. If I could make him see that I was taking the responsibilities and dangers of my power seriously, then I’m sure he would reconsider his stance. 

His secretary, Mrs. Jensen, sat attentively at her desk outside his office. A spark of recognition lit up her eyes. 

“Hello, Miss. Is there anything I can help you with?” Her voice was the definition of prim and polite.

“Yes, please. I’d like to speak to Mr. Sanjay,” I stated confidently.

“Unfortunately, the deputy director is busy at the moment. Unless this is an emergency?” The brunette quirked one eyebrow. I got the sense that abusing emergency privileges for anything other than a life-and-death situation would land me in serious trouble.

“It’s not an emergency, but it is important,” I insisted.

“In that case, I’ll inform the deputy director, though I can’t say how long he’ll be. I’ll let you know when he responds,” she said, not unkindly.

“Thank you very much.”

She nodded politely, and I sat down in a hard-backed waiting chair. Minutes passed, then half an hour. I was trying and failing not to get antsy. Why are they making me wait so long? I bounced my leg. Are they waiting for me to give up and go away? I chewed on my lip. Another fifteen minutes passed—nothing.

Mrs. Jensen spoke out of the blue, breaking me from my spiraling thoughts. “Apologies, but the deputy director hasn’t responded yet.” There was a hint of concern in her features. “I don’t know when he’ll be available… I can leave a message for him if you’d like.”

“I’ll give it a few more minutes, but could you let him know I was here if I have to go?”

“Of course,” she said, jotting down some notes in a thick binder at her desk.

“Thank you.” I slouched back in my chair. Sally (she had introduced herself as Agent Perkins when we met in the hospital but said she was fine with me using her first name) would be waiting for me. She had become my handler—for lack of a better term—since Zani left, and I was supposed to let her know my whereabouts.

I sent her a text on my PRT-issued phone (I’d hopefully get a device for personal use sooner rather than later). A notification buzzed moments later.

Sally: Got your text. Let me know when you’re on the way. I’ll be in the garage. Level 2A.

I remembered perfectly where we parked, but it was nice of her to send me a reminder.

Our exchange hadn’t killed much time, but it was getting rather late. My resolve held firm. Ten more minutes , I promised myself. If he’s not out by then, I’ll put it off until tomorrow. Or, I could bring it up to one of the Protectorate heads, though they weren’t guaranteed to sway the deputy director’s mind, so I may as well bring it straight to the top. From the sounds of things, the decision had come from Mr. Sanjay anyway, or at least, he had been the one to pass it along to my Tinker teammates. If I couldn’t convince him, there wouldn’t be much recourse left available to me.

I counted down as the minutes passed. Seven minutes remained, then six. What am I going to do if they won’t let me look at other Tinkers’ work? I can’t come up with any ideas on my own. I’ve tried! Five. This isn’t what having powers was supposed to be like. Tinkers are supposed to be able to make equipment for every situation, and I can’t even make a simple stun gun by myself. Four. Maybe I have to accept that I’ll never be like Dragon. The forlorn thought burned in my heart. Three. Two.

“Oh! The deputy director just responded. He has a few minutes to see you now.” The secretary injected some cheer into the room’s increasingly gloomy atmosphere. If I wasn’t mistaken, she sounded a bit relieved herself.

I perked up, rising from my seat to head to the fancy office door. “Thank you for letting me wait here, Mrs. Jensen.”

“It was no problem at all.”

I opened the door to Mr. Sanjay’s office. “Good evening, Mr. Sanjay.”

“Evening already? Ah, never mind that. You can close the door on your way in.” 

I did. 

“So what brings you up to my office, Annaca?” he asked while arranging what looked to be a freshly printed stack of papers. 

His desk hadn’t been so messy during our last meeting. The bottom layers of organized folders were covered in newer documents spread haphazardly. Notations in pen and highlighter had been made throughout the paperwork, but he quickly shuffled it all into one large pile before I could discern anything legible. 

The man himself was also disorganized compared to when I had last seen him. His strong jaw, outlined with a thick, coarse beard, held a warm smile, but his eyes were more tired than I remembered, and there was a lack of energy in his posture.

“Are you alright?”

He sighed, and his smile slipped. “I love New York more than anything, but this city never rests. It’s nothing you need to be concerned with though,” he said without answering the question. Some strength returned to his composure. “Now, I think I know why you’re here, but I’d like to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

There was no sense in delaying any longer. I ripped off the band-aid. “I want to collaborate with my teammates, sir. As a Tinker. You know I can’t build anything without examining another cape’s work, and I don’t think it’s fair to roadblock my progress. I know I have the potential to be an excellent hero if you’ll just give me the chance, and I promise to be careful not to go overboard with my tinkering. I’ll follow all the rules.”

He listened to my spiel with an attentive ear, which made his next words all the more unbearable. “I understand how you feel, but the PRT can’t allow you to collaborate with your fellow Wards at this time.”

My heart sank. “But I need this to grow as a hero. Please. I really-”

The deputy director cut me off. “ However. That does not mean we are blocking you off entirely. I should apologize. This was poorly handled on my part. I meant to have this conversation with you earlier, but several things came up,” he said, gesturing to the disorderly state of his office. “We are not blocking you off from all tinker tech access. In fact, we have a few Protectorate Tinkers lined up to give you a—curated—look at their laboratories.”

My heart soared. “Are you for real?” Full Protectorate heroes? 

“Very.” Some of the brightness returned to his eyes, and his smile became less strained. “As you can imagine, we have been pursuing our least disruptive options, Tinkers who specialize in small-scale creations, at least for initial trials. If your power proves cooperative, we will move onto a wider array of Tinkers, and eventually, your fellow Wards.”

A bright smile of my own was plastered on my face. I couldn’t help it. “Thank you, Mr. Sanjay! I won’t let you down.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He rubbed his baggy eyes. “I take the fault for this failure in communication, but in the future, do remember that your Protectorate leads are kept up to date on all matters concerning their Wards. Don’t hesitate to bring any questions you may have to them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised.

“Good. We’ll assign a date for the first trial sometime in the next few days.” The deputy director took the nearest pile of papers in his large hands and tapped it against the desk to align the edges. “Now, I must be getting back to other matters. This city never sleeps.”

I took the dismissal for what it was.

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Objectively, my living situation had not changed all that much. I studied when I could and watched TV or browsed online forums in my free time, the same as before. I continued to live in an apartment, although my new home was in Manhattan instead of Brooklyn, and I had my own bedroom now, too. Those changes seemed superficial.

The real difference was in my company. I could tell Sally was trying her best, but I don’t think she knew what to do with me. While the PRT worked on long-term arrangements, foisting me onto the agent had been their interim solution. 

“Are you getting along with your team?” she asked me at dinner, slicing off a chunk of her baked potato.

Agent Perkins looked exactly how an author might describe the protagonist of a spy thriller. She wore her black hair straight, hanging off her shoulders, and severe features enhanced her beauty rather than detract from it. Sharp eyes and a hooked nose contributed to her hawklike appearance. She generally kept her expression schooled, giving off the impression of an unflappable personality. In the time we’d spent together, I’d never seen her controlled demeanor slip.

“Mhm,” I mumbled around a mouthful of potato, then swallowed. “They’re all so awesome, even the little ones. Especially them! Have you seen Dragonfly? She’s just so adorable!” I gushed.

The flighty Mover was our team mascot. She was far too young to patrol—Valve had whispered to me that she was the youngest Ward in the eastern US—with or without a Protectorate partner, but everyone loved her all the same. If she wasn’t so cute and innocent, her powers would be kind of scary. Reaching sustained speeds of over 400 miles per hour and a top speed that shattered the sound barrier, coupled with the maneuverability and reaction time to match her namesake, the young heroine could fly to any corner of the city in under five minutes. The only capes who had her beat were teleporters and Legend himself.

“I’ve met her once or twice.” The stoic agent cracked a smile.

We finished our meal while making small talk, never broaching personal topics. There existed a detachment of professionalism between us that prevented both of us from opening up. As much as I wished for it, she couldn’t be Zani. She wasn’t filling the role of my adoptive mother, nor was it her job to do so, but I missed Zani, and I missed our long talks about our feelings and movies and our favorite places in the city, and I missed her hugs most of all. Physical affection wasn’t in Sally’s wheelhouse.

“Is there something wrong, Annaca?” For all her emotional distance, the concern sounded genuine.

I stifled a sniffle and wiped my eyes. My sleeve came away damp. “It’s nothing. Lots of emotional stuff happened today. I’m fine, promise.”

You’re a big girl, Annaca, I told myself while wiping away my tears. And you’re a hero. Act like it.

“I’m here to listen if you ever need to talk about anything.”

“I know.” Just not as my mom .

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August 31st, 2010

I listened as the PRTNYC’s Junior Image Lead, Calliope Carraway, finished her presentation. Her getup reminded me of a peacock. Multicolor dyed hair was done up in a swirling bouffant, and she wore a dress with a wide, fanning back piece.

“That covers the basic outline for your costume. We can flesh out the details once we’ve picked a name. Speaking of, we’ve got a few options we’d like you to take a look at.” She pressed the remote forward to the next slide.

I raised my hand. 

“Yes?” she asked, tone abrupt.

“I actually came up with a name that I wanted to run by you.”

“I’m afraid that we have neither the time nor would the PRT allow you to pick a name not from your preapproved choices.” She shot down my proposal.

“Please hear me out. I promise it won’t take up much of our time, and I put a lot of thought into it.”

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists before reopening them. “Go on,” she motioned, sighing minutely. 

The room’s attention was on me, a handful of Image Department staff in varyingly eccentric outfits. 

I stood up and made my pitch with confidence. “So I’m a Tinker with a wide specialty.” That was the partial lie the deputy director had me go with. It wasn’t untruthful so much as it obfuscated the more uncomfortable aspects of my power. “My hero name should be something simple that relates to using lots of different technology, yet powerful. A name everyone can remember. Call me-”

Dramatic pause.

“The Techno Queen!”

My enthusiasm was met with flat stares. One of the costume designers coughed into his arm.

“That has a very unique spin to it,” Calliope said with strained tolerance. “Unfortunately, there are certain negative connotations to noble titles in cape naming conventions.”

I looked at her in confusion.

“Many villains tend to use ‘king’ or ‘queen’ or similar,” Calliope’s aide clarified.

“Yes, thank you. The PRT does not permit its capes to use such terms given that and other complicating factors. Now then-”

I accidentally started talking over Calliope. “What if we took off the ‘queen’ part, and-”

The image guru took it upon herself to speak over my interruption, arms crossed and shooting a cold glare in my direction. “Do you think that the longest operating cape-adjacent organization in the world hasn’t the first clue of how to name their heroes?”

“I just-”

“Do you believe the PRT is incapable of providing you with a name that meets our standards of excellence? Do you see us as inept ? ”

“No, that’s not-”

“No?” She interrupted me, “Then I implore you to consider the options that our team has worked diligently to bring you. I assure you that care and consideration go into every one of our heroes’ names. The public responds to our work, and they respond well. I think you’ll find that your fans prefer understatement over banal audaciousness. Now please take a look, if you would.” She ended her impassioned speech, leaving me dumbstruck. She must have really hated my suggestion.

As upset as I was at being shut down so harshly, I set the feeling aside and read her bullet point list: Constructor, Blueprint, Innovate, Synthesize, Gadget. These are the names she got so worked up over? I could hardly believe it. They were so… flavorless, which shouldn’t have surprised me because they were also in line with the PRT’s naming scheme of single nouns, action verbs, and adjectives. The PRTNYC held onto the ideal of simplicity in a particularly stringent fashion, as they were limited in their creativity by the plethora of capes within their jurisdiction. Well over a thousand capes roamed New York City, making up roughly 3% of the United States’ entire parahuman population. All in the name of avoiding stepping on toes and keeping in line with current trends, I was sure, though none of those mitigating factors made me feel better. The names lacked the flair of individuality. They weren’t impactful. They weren’t me.

“What if I don’t like any of the options?” I asked tentatively, bracing for another tirade.

“Then we’ll choose the one that we believe best suits you.” Her tone made it abundantly clear there was no room for debate.

Oh.

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Calliope Carraway internally cursed whoever decided the girl’s power description should end at “Tinker; wide-ranging specialty.” Good names needed specifics to play off of—defining characteristics—so of course the newly minted Ward despised all of her options! They were uninspired and droll. Pursuing other avenues had failed to pass inspection as well. Someone high up in the chain of command had made it their goal to stick the poor girl with a boring, unoriginal name, almost like they wanted her to pass under the public’s radar. Her boss had been quite adamant in his instructions; the name comes from the list. No exceptions.

So here they were, struggling to decide amongst a quintet of equally unimaginative monickers. The Ward bit her lip in thought. 

“I guess I’ll go with Gadget.” She sounded far from enthused.

“Gadget it is,” Calliope quickly agreed. Blowing past their difficulties was ideal. “Let’s talk costume details. Our original concept was a cross between a nouveau-tech style and a classic dress skirt. The name Gadget implies multifunctionality and utility. In that vein-”

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Hours later and after far too long spent dwelling on the minutiae of costume design, I dragged myself into the Wards base (I thought talking dress-up would be more enjoyable, but the naming dilemma had drained the life from me). Kludge and Ephemeral were present, the former hard at work scribbling out math equations and the latter manning the console. A handful of the younger Wards were present too. I spotted the twins, Nemean and Phoenix, Strike Through, and a boy I hadn’t met yesterday.

I did a double take as I entered the base. “Kludge!”

“What’s up, Shine?” he said, nonchalantly waving at me with his mask in hand.

“Your mask! Secret identities!” I pointed to my face, then to his. 

Despite surely having heard the alarm buzz, his face remained bare, and I was met with East Asian features staring back at me. His eyes and nose were smushed together in a way that reminded me of a pug.

“Eh, we’re on the same team now. I’d rather not wear it if I don’t have to, you know?

“You’re not worried?” I twisted my neck, looking around in panic as he was visible to everyone in the room. From what I had read online, unmasking a cape was a sin of the highest order, nearly tantamount to killing.

“It’s fine? We’re on the same team, Shine. I don’t mind if you see my face. Pretty sure I can trust you not to spread my identity around town. I’m Allen, by the way.” 

“As long as you’re okay with it. Nice to meet you, Allen.”

“I am okay with it. No pressure on you either. You can reveal as much or as little as you like at your own pace.” He went back to grinding away at his homework like nothing happened.

“We’re going maskless?” Nemean or Phoenix asked. Telling them apart was difficult when they were wearing their civilian outfits.

“If you want,” Kludge, Allen, responded. “Shine’s good people. She’s been vetted.”

I have?

“Awesome,” the twins said while doffing their matching face masks in synchronicity. 

The twins were black, and both had tightly curled dark hair. With more of their faces revealed, I saw that they had long features and identical birthmarks on their right cheeks. The pair went back to playing their fighting game without introducing their civilian identities.

Strike Through followed suit, taking off her motorcycle helmet-like visor. Tangled, bushy brown locks tumbled out of her helmet to land on a lightly freckled face. The girl cape was young—younger than the twins by a few years, and they looked to be in 6th or 7th grade. 

“Hi, Shine.” Her smile was missing a canine tooth and a molar. 

My unofficial nickname had spread like wildfire after Cassette passed it around.

“Hello, Strike. I promise not to give away your secret identity,” I said seriously.

For some reason, my comforting statement made her look more unsure of herself. “Um, that’s good. I’m Emma. You don’t have to use my hero name when it’s just us in the base. Unless you want to.”

The as-of-yet-unnamed cape didn’t seem interested in taking off their mask anytime soon. Emma nudged him in the side from her sitting position.

He introduced himself with an exasperated sigh. “I’m Sieve. I’ll unmask when I know I can trust you fully.” 

Emma glared at him. “She’s our teammate. If we can’t trust her, then who can we?”

“We met literally 5 seconds ago. Geeze.” His voice cracked, and he let out another sigh.

The two preteen heroes had a silent standoff, looking like they were moments away from breaking into a verbal sparring match.

“It’s completely fair to wait,” I placated them. “I hope I can prove to you I’m a trustworthy member of Team 5.”

Sieve cast his eyes down. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sure you’re a good teammate, but doing the whole secret identity thing with new people is hard. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

My experience in keeping my civilian and hero lives separate was nonexistent, mostly because I didn’t have a hero identity yet. Plus, most people in my personal life already knew I had powers. However, I didn’t tell Sieve that. I could empathize with the difficulties he faced, the same ones that I would be dealing with soon enough.

“I think I know what you mean,” I said. “I wouldn’t put all of my faith in a stranger either.”

“Yeah,” he sighed yet again. I figured it wasn’t an indicator of a bad mood and more so a verbal tic—part of his natural speaking patterns.

I changed topics before we both got uncomfortable. “I saw you on TV the other day. They did a piece about your work in the cancer wards. I think it’s incredible what you can do.”

Sieve’s power was one of the most well documented for a Ward due to how often he used them in a public setting. Both news coverage and fan videos captured footage of his Breaker state, where he morphed his hands into smoky tendrils. Anything the tendrils touched could be made semipermeable to a wide array of materials with extreme specificity. Medical professionals within the PRT quickly realized the potential of Sieve’s power to save lives if it could be controlled to a fine degree, and their predictions had proven correct. He debuted as a member of the rare breed of healing capes, quite literally causing cancer and other harmful substances to fall out of patients at a touch. If something dangerous needed removal from the human body, Sieve was the one to call.

“Yeah… Thanks.” He didn’t sound overly happy to receive the praise.

“Stop being salty.” Emma poked the morose boy in the side.

“Hey!” he complained.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot,” I apologized to him.

He grimaced through his face mask. “It’s whatever. Healing people is pretty awesome. Most of the time. I just wish Sphera would let me do patrols in the neighborhoods that actually needed it, instead of this crap where they treat me with baby gloves.” 

“He’s upset because they don’t let him fight villains,” one of the twins shouted over their gaming session.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Sieve shot back. “You’re the same age as me!”

“Unlike you, we’ve faced real engagements. We’re definitely gonna get signed for the Bulwarks.” That was the other twin. 

“Knock it off,” Allen called out from across the room. “This isn’t the NBA. You don’t get ‘signed’ for anything. PRT decides where you’re needed most, and guess what? That’s where you go. And scaring off Malefactor a couple times doesn’t count as ‘real engagements’. The guy’s the butt of half of PHO’s jokes.”

“Does too count,” the twins echoed in unison.

“Malefactor?” I asked, confused. That wasn’t a name I had come across in my research.

“He’s a walking punchline,” Allen explained. “Calling Malefactor a villain is like calling a chicken a dinosaur; he technically breaks the law, but he’s as far from a real villain as you can get and still get slapped with the label. For some reason, he makes it his goal to go around filming himself harassing people on the street, but only when he knows there’s Ward patrols nearby. Wards, never Protectorate. He’s a joke and a coward, but I guess you have to give the guy some credit for being smart enough not to hit above his weight class.”

“He’s a total punching bag,” Sieve interjected.

“Yep,” Allen agreed, “anyways, everyone’s pretty sure he only does it to get attention. He makes grand threats, but he never follows through, makes these realistic illusions out of fire to try and scare people. The worst crime we can charge him with is threatening with a parahuman power. You ask me, I don’t think he’s all there. Needs to spend some time in a mental institution.”

“Encountering Malefactor is like a right of passage for new Wards, but he doesn’t count as fighting a real villain.” Sieve elaborated, glaring at twins’ backs. 

I nodded along to the explanation. “I see.”

I let the younger Wards simmer down as I plopped myself in the seat next to Allen.

“I got my official hero name today,” I told him.

He looked up at me from his notebook. “Oh? You don’t sound too happy about it. PR stick you with something bad?”

“My best option was Gadget…” I said it quietly, not ready for the others to overhear.

“Hey, that’s not too terrible. Could’ve been much worse. You could have gone with Kludge.” He smiled at the self-deprecating remark.

“They didn’t give you any better names?”

“Nah, they gave me a whole list. I picked the worst of the lot.” Allen smirked.

“W-Why?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Why would you intentionally pick your least favorite?”

Allen met my gaze with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now hold on a minute. I never said it was my least favorite, just that it was the worst name. Objectively speaking.”

“But why ?” I couldn’t fathom his thought process. “Our names are supposed to grab everyone’s attention. Alexandria, Dragon, Legend . Those are names that inspire awe. Not- not Gadget.”

Allen wrinkled his brow. “Let me pose you a hypothetical. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that ‘Legend’ didn’t exist. Bear with me now,” he said at my visible bewilderment, “imagine he has a different name if you like, something like Lighty Mclightface.” I wasn’t sure I was following, but I played along with the scenario. “Now imagine that Malefactor, the doofus of downtown, decides one day to change his name to Legend. Now we have this absolute ignoramus going around harassing the general public all while calling himself after one of the most prolific and—as you say—awe-inspiring hero names of all time. Does changing his name somehow make him a better person? Does it change your perception of him? If anything, it would turn him into an even bigger joke than ever before.”

His logic made no sense. “Of course that wouldn’t work. He doesn’t have the powers to go with that name.”

“So does the name make the hero, or does the hero make the name?” The Ward spouted the line as if he were a sage dispensing wisdom to his disciple.

“I don’t think I get your point,” I admitted. “Which part was supposed to explain why you chose ‘Kludge’?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I chose my name to spite the PR team. My point is that you shouldn’t feel bad about your name. Own it. Make the public see the Gadget you want them to see through your actions. And keep growing. Do it for long enough, and they’ll utter your name in the same breath as Dragon and Hero. 

“Okay, maybe not those two,” he hedged. “But there’s no reason why you couldn’t end up as the next Armsmaster or Talon.”

My heart fluttered. “You really think that I can be as good as them?”

“Well I sure hope so. The world needs Tinkers who give it their all. As many as we can get our hands on. Shoot for the Moon, if you miss at least you end up among the stars and all that jazz.”

I still wasn’t sold on Gadget, but his words made me feel the tiniest bit better about my name. Own it, he’d said. I’d do my best. 

Chapter Text

September 2nd, 2010

I was reluctant to accept the PRT’s offer to produce my costume. After all, half the joy of being a Tinker was the freedom to create a personalized style. However, I was forced to accept that constructing my own suit of power armor wasn’t an option, and even if it were, my special brand of tinkering would probably compel me to shove my brain into a jar to operate it. I was entirely unwilling to give up my flesh and blood body. There were so many things I wanted to experience that required tastebuds and nerve endings. I also rather liked the way I looked. My stomach went all warm and tingly when I got compliments on my appearance, and I doubted it would feel the same if I was entombed in a two-ton hunk of metal.

After the naming debacle, I was worried that their costume design would be a letdown too, so I was pleasantly surprised at the final product. The costume itself wasn’t tinkertech, but from the complexity and fidelity of the materials, I wouldn’t have been surprised if tinker-made tools were involved in the production process. 

Image had taken the idea of a “gadget-based Tinker” in an interesting direction, choosing to elicit an “inventor” theme mixed with a dash of “detective”, evocative of crime dramas. At the same time, the outfit had a distinctly techy tilt, blending old-timey and futuristic elements.

A dress shirt, dyed lavender, formed the underlayer, overtop of which lay the main piece that would best be described as a sci-fi trench coat. The coat, dyed a deep plum, extended to knee length with its uniform coloring broken at the waist by a utility belt. Its form emphasized an hourglass figure while simultaneously broadening the shoulders. Stylized buttons in the shape of spurred gears that shone like polished chrome pinned the sides of the coat together. Pins in the same shape decorated the sleeves, and thin steel bands—clearly designed for ornamentation over protection—wrapped around the upper sleeves. Fabric sparkled with an almost metallic sheen to complement the metal bits and bobs. The trench coat split in the front at the waist to reveal a pleated skirt in lavender that fell to shin height. 

Thick, dark purple combat boots that rose to knee height were paired with custom tube socks, also in lavender. During the design discussions, I had been adamant that my footwear needed to let my jets through, and their solution was retractable soles, made from a heat-resistant metal. I was happy my jets wouldn’t melt the shoes off my feet. 

A motorcyclist-esque helmet completed the look, its dark visor obscuring the upper face while exposing the nose and mouth in the coined “Alexandria style”. While my costume didn’t radiate the same level of intimidation as the Triumvirate heroine’s, nor was it the form-fitting, power exposé of Legend’s, it had a flair all its own. The design was memorable without compromising the aesthetics common to other Protectorate and Wards costumes.

The costume surpassed my expectations, and I was ecstatic.

“What do you think?” Calliope asked me, looking over her team’s work with a critical eye. “Care to try it on?”

“Yes please,” I said, unable to hide my growing smile. I may not have been 100% invested in my hero name, but the costume more than made up for it.

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I sauntered into the base, puffed out my chest, and planted my hands on my hips. 

“Introducing the newest hero of Team 5: Gadget!” I declared in my best announcer voice.

I was met with applause from the four older Wards, all of whom were unmasking as they realized it was me. I mentally switched to using their civilian names.

Cassette, Abby , let out a wolf whistle. “Ooo-la-la~ Is anyone else feeling hot in here, or is it just me?” she asked teasingly.

“Congrats, you look great.”

I preened at Valve’s, Nico’s , compliment.

“Eee, I love those buttons!” Abby squealed. “We can even keep calling you Shine. Get it? Because they’re so shiny?”

Allen rolled his eyes, but he cracked a smile anyway. “Uh-huh. Looking good, Shine.”

It was time for the second big reveal. I had put it off long enough, and my teammates deserved to know. Slowly, I lifted my helmet up and off, shaking my hair as it spilled out.

“Hi. My real name is Annaca. I probably should have done this days ago, but I wanted to wait until I had my costume. I’m so excited to be a part of Team 5.”

“Ahhhhhhh, you’re so beautiful!” Abby pretended to swoon into Ephemeral’s, Chelsea’s , arms. The shy girl awkwardly supported her weight. 

Allen rolled his eyes again. “She’s been wearing the facial equivalent of a thong, and you’ve just now realized this?” His mirthful tone said he was joking.

What was he trying to insinuate about my domino mask? 

“Shut up,” she retorted. “Don’t be so crass.”

Allen snorted and turned away.

Nico slid off the couch, rolling his broad shoulders. “Alright. I was planning to give you a tour of the training facilities, show you the equipment and all that. You down?”

“Hell yeah! Let’s get fit!” I said, popping out my shamefully small biceps. What was a hero without muscle tone?

An abortive laugh sputtered to my left, and I turned to see Chelsea choking on her spit.

“Are you okay?” I asked in concern.

“I- no, I’m alright.” She coughed to clear her throat. “I- uh- didn’t think you cursed.” She stared past me without meeting my eyes.

Abby giggled. “Yeah, I didn’t expect that from you at all.”

“Don’t worry. I may look young, but I’m actually 15. I’m totally old enough to curse,” I explained to them.

A sound like a frog’s dying croak escaped from Allen’s lips. Chelsea turned away while hiding her face in her hands. 

“ What? You all get to swear, but I can’t?” I snapped, crossing my arms. I knew when people were laughing at me, and I didn’t appreciate being made fun of.

“No, sorry, sorry.” Allen couldn’t contain another outburst of laughter. “Hell if I care about your language. It’s just… the things that come out of your mouth. You’re my new favorite teammate. Please never change.”

Abby wrapped her arm around mine in a comforting gesture. “What our resident idiot is trying to say is you have a fresh perspective on things, Annaca. And that’s awesome. Sometimes, you’ll say something that throws us for a loop, that’s all.”

I unfolded my arms. It was hard to stay mad at Abby’s bubbly personality. I was still peeved at Allen though, and I sent him a cold glare to let him know.

“If everyone’s got that out of their systems?” Nico eyed his teammates. “Let’s head to the training facilities then, Annaca.” He regained control of the situation, Team 5’s leader having been the only person in the room not to find amusement in my plight.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Abby said while clamping down tighter on my arm. She threw on her visor and led me to the door. “I’ll take care of the tour, Nico. What do you say, Shine? Girls stick together?”

“Um, sure! Is that alright, Nico?” I asked, hastily putting my helmet back on.

“You’re not scheduled for anything?” He addressed the question to Abby.

“Nah.”

He shrugged. “Go ahead then, but I’d appreciate it if you’d take this seriously”

“Yeees. Will do, boss.”

I hastily put my helmet back on as Abby led me out the door and through the halls, her blonde ponytail swaying in step with her bouncy stride. From Vigiliant’s tour, I knew the facility was down in the basement levels, the only location that could support the hundreds of tons of heavy equipment. 

We rode an elevator down to B1, and stepped out onto the observation deck encased by tall, reinforced glass panes overlooking the facility. The open floor plan, supplemented by massive steel support columns, was identifiable as a gymnasium, with rows of treadmills, weight racks, and other machines I couldn’t discern the purpose of. Black, rubbery flooring absorbed impact and sound. It looked similar to the location they had used for my power testing, though it lacked the more advanced equipment.

The two of us took a set of stairs leading down into a small locker room. A set of showers were recessed behind a half wall at the back.

“We share with the Protectorate and PRT officers, so make sure to keep masks on,” Abby explained while walking backward to face me. “There’s concealing masks in the cubby over there if you want something a little more breathable for work outs.”

“They’re tinkertech, right? I’m not supposed to interact with anything tinker-made because of bad power interactions.” I couldn’t help the shiver that passed through my spine. The ugly, two-headed snake reared its ugly head again; I wanted desperately to examine the masks, but at the same time, I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I forced myself to keep my eyes away from the cubby and maintain my composure.

“Oh, damn. I didn’t realize they were being that strict. Seems like it would be hard to keep an eye out for any tinkertech. Uh, should I be worried? Some of our equipment has tinkered components.”

She was right. It was all too common to stumble onto tinker creations when you spent time in a Protectorate head quarters. There was a silver lining, however.

“It should be fine as long as all of the tinker stuff is internal. I have to see the tech up close and in operation to copy it.” At least, that was the working theory they’d developed during power testing. For instance, I knew walking by the PRT’s forcefields didn’t activate my power. I’d likely have to observe the field generator up close to get inspiration, but the researchers had been understandably reluctant to expose me to them. The current strategy was to be as cautious as possible and report to the PRT whenever I had incoming Tinker thoughts.

“Tell me if you need to stop. I know how to shut off the equipment for emergencies.” As much as she liked to tease, I could tell Abby was taking this seriously. 

I nodded, and we moved on. The more experienced heroine gave me the rundown, skipping quickly over the mundane equipment while spending more time demonstrating the specialized machines. A lot of it boiled down to avoiding equipment rated for Brute strength, clearly denoted by black and yellow warning strips. One machine, shaped like a punching bag with some extra doohickeys strapped to the post, was meant to train hand-to-hand form in the absence of a sparring partner, and another with targets on a swivel was good for gauging reaction speeds and punch strength. If there was any tinkertech involved, none of it tripped my power. 

We stopped at one of the hand-to-hand machines. A weighted bag hung from a rod attached to a swivel post.

“Why don’t you try throwing a punch, Shine? Stand here.” She set her hands on my shoulders and guided me into the proper positioning. 

“Wider on the feet, shoulder length apart. Turn yourself slightly. You’re right-handed? Okay. Lead with your left then, like this.” 

I copied her stance. 

“Alright, wear these.” Abby handed me a pair of padded gloves—not quite boxing gloves, but they would certainly spare my knuckles.

“Thumbs on the outside, Shine! You’ll break your fingers before you break their face if you make a fist like that.” 

I corrected my hands, flipping my thumbs into place. 

Abby switched out the bag for a smaller weight and rotated it into place. A black dot marked where I should hit with my fist. “We’ll start you off with a stationary target. Ready?” 

I could feel energy coursing through me, an almost electric anticipation. “I was born ready!”

“That’s the spirit!” She backed out of the way. “Go for it.”

I swung my fist, impacting the bag with a dull thud, causing it to swing a half-turn away from me. It hadn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, but I imagined that wouldn’t be the case for a heavier target.

“Not bad, Shine.” She grinned beneath her visor. “But you can do better. You’ve gotta put more weight behind your punch. Shift your whole body. Imagine you’re punching through the target rather than at it.” 

Abby demonstrated the form in slow motion, and I emulated her technique.

She nodded appreciatlvely. “Yep, just like that. Give it another try.”

Round two. I glared at the bag, pretending to face down a heinous villain. Punch through it. My muscles tensed as I twisted my body in mimickry of Abby’s stance. Pivoting my hip forward, I unleashed my body’s coiled force at the space behind the bag, tyring my damndest to punch a hole in its surface. The smack resounded briefly, louder than my first attempt, before being absorbed by the sound dampeners. The bag flew around on the swivel.

And right into my overextended head. My reaction time wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way, and I took a glancing blow off my cheek.

I stumbled to the side with an “Oof” and barely managed not to trip as Abby rushed in to catch me. 

“Now that’s what I call a punch! Show that bag who’s boss!” she roared. “You doing alright, Shine?”

I shook off the blow. “I’m fine. I didn’t expect it to come all the way around.”

“Well, I think you’ll need to go with a heavier weight. You’ve got more force behind you than I thought.”

Although she had more well-defined muscles, I was taller than Abby by a couple of inches, so it’s possible that was throwing off her calculations.

“This is kind of fun,” I said breathlessly, rubbing my cheek. “I want to keep going. Please?”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice. Let’s switch out the bags first, Rocky.” 

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Sweat dripped down my forehead into my eyes. I blinked away the salty sting. The rest of the tour ended up as hand-to-hand practice, and that was alright with me. I didn’t know how heroic beating up on a machine over and over was, but it felt nice to let out some energy. If nothing else, this was a good first step into training my combat skills.

My tour guide-turned-training partner was equally as sweaty as me, having put in her own practice rounds. Abby was obviously more advanced in her skills, able to chain together hits and kicks. I had limited success in copying her techniques. While her positioning was clear in my mind, I lacked both the muscle memory and strength/flexibility to perform the motions fluidly.

Done for the day, we passed a handful of PRT agents on the way into the locker room. I assumed they were PRT anyway, given their plain work out clothes and lack of face masks. A mix of men and women, the whole group had extremely well-built bodies. 

I waved in greeting to them. “Have a good workout!”

One of the female agents nodded at me. “Have a good evening, Gadget. Cassette.”

My cape name was spreading (even if it was only within the PRT for now)! Getting recognized as a hero gave me a heady feeling despite my reservations about the name.

“I don’t know about you, but I could really go for a shower,” Abby said once we passed the locker room doors. 

“Yeah, you stink,” I teased her, using a light tone to show I wasn’t being mean.

She threw up her hands. “Oh my god, don’t give me that. It’s not fair! How is it possible that even your sweat smells nice?”

“It… does? Um, okay… Was that supposed to be a compliment or…?” I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t take it in a weird way you pervert. All I’m saying is I wish I was blessed with genetics like yours. Or maybe you’re a cheating cheater who cheats. Are you hiding a power rating from us? Some kind of Breaker:0 that makes you smell like flowers?”

“I use deodorant?” I said hesitantly, fairly sure she wasn’t being serious.

“Hmmm, Tinker deodorant I bet. Probably got the idea from Valve and his stinky pits.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. Abby broke down in laughter with me. We were just two gals shooting the breeze. This was exactly what I wanted out of the Wards program: Training my powers and skills while building friendships with like-minded heroes, and I could safely say that Abby and I were past the point of mere acquaintances. We were well on our way to becoming true friends, at least from my point of view. I could only hope she thought the same.

I stepped into a shower stall and drew the curtain before stripping and turning on the water to cool off. The PRT didn’t spare expenses in their facilities; the temperature control was exquisite. 

“So, have you ever punched a villain before?” I asked over the hiss of the pressurized stream. 

Abby answered from the next stall over. “I’m not exactly the girl you send into close combat against powered opponents. I can out-intel a Brute or Blaster, but I can’t out-firepower them. Doesn’t mean I haven’t had my fair share of encounters with run-of-the-mill criminals. A good grapple’ll take down normals.”

I could hear the grin in her voice.

“What about you? Anxious to put what you’ve learned to the test?” she asked.

“As I am, I’m not much more capable than a baseline human. I’d rather build my kit before getting into any serious fights.” If they ever actually let me make something.

Abby took on a reassuring tone. “Tinkers always start out slow, but they end up the best of us. You’ll get there, Shine. And hey, for what it’s worth, you’re a fast learner. You got the hang of that right hook real fast.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Cass.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

The hiss from Abby’s stall cut off, and I followed suit. I quickly toweled myself off and got back into costume, slightly put off that I hadn’t brought a change of clothes. Emerging from the stall, I saw Abby with only her visor on and a towel wrapped around her for modesty.

While I waited for Abby to get changed—she had a reserved locker with an extra set of clothes—I checked myself out in one of the mirrors latched to the back of the lockers.

I posed. Hands on my hips, waist off center. Still-damp hair shaken into rolling waves. Lips upturned, with that neutral-haughty pout worn by fashion magazine cover models. Curves hugged snuggly by my well-tailored trenchcoat. Whatever reservations I held did not extend to the costume department. I loved the way I looked in my outfit, and I couldn’t wait to show it off to the public.

“Did you have a good workout, Cassette?” 

The unfamiliar voice brought my head out of the clouds. I turned to face the newcomer as they reached down to unlock the domino mask cubby with an ID badge. Recognition sparked instantly. A bright blue, skintight costume embroidered with a multitude of intersecting parabolic curves was the signature costume of Focal, a longstanding member of the New York Protectorate. Her Breaker power was well known, turning her into a walking mirror that reflected light, heat, sound, and all manner of other attacks.

“Yep,” Abby replied, now dressed casually in a blouse and jeans. “I’m showing Gadget here the ins and outs.”

Back turned to us, the older heroine finished replacing her facegaurd with the more breathable domino mask. She relocked the cubby before turning around to size me up. Her features were well hidden behind dappled optical patterns, but the mask didn’t block her silently searching eyes.

“It’s good to meet you, Gadget,” she said after an uncomfortably long staredown. “Continue to strive for excellence.” 

She slid past us, opening the door to the gym. When it closed, I was left speechless.

I glanced worriedly at Abby. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything. She’s just… intense. Especially the first time you meet her. Great hero, terrible PR, you know how it is. Um, don’t tell her I said that though.”

I mimed zipping my lips, then chucked the key into the wastebasket, eliciting a smile from my teammate.

As we retraced our path back to the base, I idly wondered about the best way to replicate the concealing mask. It wasn’t cloaking tech, persay; I wouldn’t be able to turn myself invisible. Moreso, the mask interacted strangely with incoming light to cast disruptive reflections, altering the contours and shape of the wearer’s face. I couldn’t be 100% sure from my brief encounter, but the effect seemed built into the fabric itself, a property of the material rather than an electronically induced baffling. But how do I go about building it? The disguising effect would only work at a surface level. I couldn’t hide it underneath my skin. 

Snap

I could stitch the fabric on, but that came with its suite of issues. Not least of which was that I liked my face the way it was.

Snap Snap

Maybe I was looking at this from the wrong angle. If the material was based on a matrix substrate like I thought it was, then mimicing the effect by injecting the reflective components directly into my skin was a possibility. My observation window hadn’t been long enough to know for sure. I needed another look, more detail.

Clap

I flinched from the loud sound inches in front of my face, stepping back and smacking my head into the wall. 

“Ow! What was that for?” I complained.

“You’re spacing. Been this way since we left the lockers. Must be tired, huh?” Abby’s light tone was betrayed by her look of concern.

“A little bit,” I said curtly. If I was short with her, it was only because I didn’t like being interrupted. A twinge of guilt ran through me at her worried face. With a shake, I cleared my head and brought myself back to the present. We were stopped right in front of the base’s doors. Strangely, I couldn’t remember how we got here. I guess I was more out of it than I thought.

“I’m fine. Just distracted is all. Sorry,” I sheepishly apologized to my teammate.

Abby gave me a gentle pat on the back. “It’s alright. Got a lot on your mind?” 

Between my upcoming debut, my studies, tinkertech designs , and the never ending meetings, the answer was a resounding yes.

“It’s been a little overwhelming,” I agreed. “Ever since I discovered my powers… But all of you have been super nice to me! It’s made everything so much easier to handle. Even though I don’t have a single patrol under my belt, I feel like a real part of the team already. Thank you.”

My smile was infectious, and soon Abby was beaming back at me. I opened my arms, and she met me in a hug. 

“We’re all glad to have you, Annaca.” That was the first time she used my real name. I hugged her tighter. “How about we get in there so you can show off your new threads to the kiddos.”

I nodded. “Let’s.”

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Tonight’s dinner was Chinese takeout—simple, cheap, and tasty. I forked another bite of my egg fried rice.

“How was your day, Annaca? I heard your costume’s done?” Sally asked me. The question had become a part of our daily ritual.

“Mhm!” I mumbled animatedly around my food before swallowing with an impressive gulp. “My costume is amazing . It’s not as flashy as I would have liked, but after getting stuck with, ugh, Gadget, I thought they were going to dress me in the most boring, bog-standard slop they could make. Okay, so it doesn’t stand out in the same way that Legend’s costume does, and it’s not like it’s my own personalized set of power armor, but it’s pretty unique. Like, I don’t think there’s anyone else in the entire state who wears a trench coat as part of their outfit. Trust me, I looked. It’s not just me, either! Cassette said I looked suave, and Valve liked it too. So did all the younger Wards, except for Sieve who said I look like a ‘gay Sherklock Holmes’, and then Strike Through slapped him, but I knew he was only joking. Oh, I unmasked to the other Wards today. I hope they don’t think badly of me because I took this long—I just really wanted to have my costume first. I feel like there’s nothing to unmask if you don’t have your hero costume in the first place. I think they’re all fine with it, but Sieve still hasn’t unmasked to me, and I’m worried that he doesn’t trust me because of how long I waited. Cassette says he’s just like that though, and I trust her, so we’ll see what happens. I guess the only other big thing that happened today was that I learned the proper technique for punching bad guys in the face.”

Sally raised a judging eyebrow, and I giggled.

“Just kidding. Mostly. I have been paying attention in my PRT classes. I know punching villains in the face is usually excessive force. But Cassette did show me some hand-to-hand stuff. I feel like I’m one step closer to being a real hero.”

I ended my rant out of breath. It felt good to open up about my feelings—a lifting of tension. I’d spoken my mind to Sally more and more over the past few days, and while we weren’t at the level of comfortability that I’d had with Zani, it was a work well underway.

“What about you? How was your day?”

I understood that a lot of Sally’s job was sensitive in nature, but reciprocation was important to me. She was willing to humor to my ramblings, so I listened to the fragments of her life she was allowed to share with me.

“Well, I had to renew my firearms training today,” she said between bites of her orange chicken.

I tilted my head, scanning my guardian’s attire. A white dress shirt and pencil skirt were standard around the office. I didn’t see room for a weapon unless it was better concealed than I thought. 

“I didn’t know you carried a gun.”

She shook her head. “I don’t. The PRT mandates all their field agents go through regular training. Doesn’t mean we’re strapped 24/7. I’ll carry if I know I’m going into a dangerous situation, but I’m no officer.”

That made sense. I could easily imagine how alienating it would have felt if Sally had brought a firearm to my interviews at the hospital. Treating new parahumans as active threats seemed like a surefire method for pushing away all of the PRT’s potential recruits.

That did make me wonder about one thing though. “Why aren’t the heroes trained on firearms, then?” I’d never seen a Protectorate hero carrying a gun unless it was in their tinkertech kit or related to their power. 

Sally blinked hawkish eyes in surprise and clasped her fingers together. “I do hope I shouldn’t have to explain why Wards don’t get to bring guns into the field. Minors aren’t allowed to have carry permits of any kind in the first place.”

That didn’t answer my question.

“ Duh, I know that. I mean, why don’t the Protectorate use guns? They’re like the super-police, and they get into dangerous fights all the time. Shouldn’t they have everything they can to protect themselves?”

Sally took a minute to put her response together. I could almost see the cogs turning inside her brain. 

When she finally spoke, it was with a gravitas I hadn’t heard her use before. “Let me ask you a question. Would you want every villain to start brandishing guns on top of their powers?”

I wilted under her gaze. “That sounds awful.”

“Exactly. But there’s a reason villains don’t cross that line: Escalation of violence. A gun is a statement of lethal intent. You never point your barrel at a person unless you’re willing to kill them and ready to invite lethal intent in turn.”

I blanched at the severity of her words.

She continued, “I’m not a cape. I don’t have an insider’s perspective. But it’s my job to work with them. I’ve gotten to know a few. There’s more self-policing in the cape community than you might expect, even amongst villains. Nobody wants to be on the receiving end of a lethal weapon, hero or not, and the capes that go against the grain get shut down. Hard. There’s no respect for any cape who uses guns. So no, the Protectorate doesn’t normally use firearms. They’re trained to deescalte conflict whenever possible, and guns just aren’t conducive to that.”

I let that sink in. “I suppose it’s better that neither side uses guns than both sides use them,” I conceeded. 

She nodded, dialing in her intensity. “Powers are more than enough on their own.”

We finished dinner over lighter conversation, but her admonition stuck with me into the evening. During my time at Saint John’s, Mrs. Chandra rarely, if ever, brought up these sorts of serious topics. Talking with Zani was much the same. Our chats had been filled with lighthearted discussions of pop culture and whatever I was studying at the time. That didn’t mean they never challenged my perspectives, but I wasn’t deliberately exposed to the macabre and the grim.

If I were to put a description to it, I would have said that they handled me with kid gloves—a phrase I’d learned from Phoenix and Nemean. Sally wasn’t like that. She wasn’t afraid to treat me like an adult. She didn’t dilute her opinions for my sake.

I struggled to categorize my feelings. Sally acted sort of like a big sister, but that description didn’t sit right with me. Maybe she was more like the cool aunt who visits from out of town? I didn’t know. Family wasn’t something I had a reference to outside of secondhand experiences (from television and the internet). 

Bedtime was closing in, and my eyes drooped. An in-depth introspection could wait for a later date. I closed my cape wiki tabs—I had made a solid dent into researching the local villains—and shut my laptop. Yawning, I shuffled over to the bed and turned on the night light before sliding under the covers. 

I fell asleep in minutes, my unconscious mind consumed by dreams of darkly dressed villains wielding oversized guns and my costume torn full of holes, reduced to shreds before I got the chance to show the world the proof of my heroism, all fading away when I awoke the next morning.

All except for impressions and designs of a concealing mask, niggling beneath my awareness.