back of my mind, adding another strand and trying to pinpoint the change I'd need to make to allow for propulsion. Something clicks so I 'point' the end of the thread at the other end of the ship and summon one of the many wooden skewers I have, consuming the attached strand. The skewer appears midair before limply lobbing itself backwards, arcing into the water with a plop. My slight excitement at the success is tempered by the fact that I somehow managed to make it go backwards.
Another attempt results in the skewer going the right direction, yet it's still slow. On the third attempt I add two mana strands, one for direction and one for speed. The result is a skewer appearing midair and flying forwards multiple times faster. It shoots across the ship before destabilizing due to drag and fluttering down to the sand.
One strand to position the origin, one strand to add direction, and two strands for speed. A skewer forms, accelerating forwards and reaching the other end of the ship in the blink of an eye. It slams into the hull and cracks, splinters flying as it falls the ground broken. Giddiness overwhelms me at the fact that I actually have a knock off Gate of Babylon. I quickly summon another skewer and watch as it rockets away from me, landing in roughly the same spot as the other one. If I set up a target, or at least aim at a certain spot, then attempting to hit it should increase my dexterity, right?
A few points of mana later and my backpack is on the ground across the ship. The top is unzipped, providing a convenient basket for me to aim for. I'm quite pleased with my ingenuity, if I get the skewer in the backpack not only will my dexterity go up, but the backpack will also collect the skewers for easy retrieval. Now I just have to not miss.
After twelve cycles of shooting until I run out of skewers, crawling over to the backpack, collecting the skewers that aren't broken, and crawling back to the edge of the water, I hear a knock. I quickly don some spare clothes and crawl to my backpack before struggling to my feet. I painstakingly hop over to the entrance and lean on the 'doorway' so I don't tip over. I'm met with the sight of a PRT officer with a black vest on. The only thing to note about him is that I'm pretty sure this is the same guy that I brushed off while leaving their headquarters. That would definitely explain the slightly annoyed look he's sporting.
"Sup." I initiate, already dreading the fact that I have to have another conversation today.
"Jack. I'm here with your contract." The PRT officer replies. Definitely the same guy. I'm gonna call him Bush on account of his massive eyebrows.
"Splendid. I'd invite you inside, but..." I wave my hand at the distinct lack of furniture. Ooh, wait, since I'm getting a house out of this, that means I get furniture. I can finally sit on a couch again!
"No need. Just sign here." Bush reaches behind him and brings out a clipboard with a stack of papers on it. Oh, paperwork. Great. As much as I want to just sign without reading it, this is from a government agency, who knows what crazy conditions they have. I grab it and start reading through. I skim through all the legal jargon until I get to the terms. One ten thousand dollar sum, a house valued under three hundred thousand dollars that can be taken away if I don't hold up my end of the deal... and nothing else. I look up at him, quirking an eyebrow.
"The commission will be off the books." Interesting that they're not putting that on record. Is it so they don't make a precedent for this type of thing? Probably not, there's no way nobody has ever asked for tinkertech before. Then why? Is it just easier?
"In that case." I quickly skim through the rest of the document. I don't find any disagreeable terms, so I sign it using the pen that was attached to the clipboard. A simple 'Jack' with a smiley face at the end. I hand it back to Bush and he nods before snaking his arm behind him again.
"Thank you. Please choose a house." Bush pulls out another clipboard. Where is he getting these from? It only has one paper on it, with a list of black and white images and some small text next to each. I scan the page, settling on a house between Downtown and the Docks. Twenty five hundred square feet, two floors, a basement, and a decent yard. That's really all I need.
"This one." I point to my choice, and he nods, taking the clipboard.
"Okay. Please follow me." He spins around and starts walking to an unmarked car that I didn't see before. We're doing this now? Don't they have to buy the house first? Or do they just have houses for situations like this? Actually, that kind of makes sense. They probably keep safe houses on hand that heroes can bunker down in.
He gets in the driver seat of the black car, leaving me to hop my way over. Rude. I finally reach the passenger side door and open it, sliding in and giving Bush the nastiest glower I can manage. He at least has the decency to look ashamed, but that lasts for all of a second before he starts the car and takes off. I brace myself, expecting my reduced reaction speed to mess with me, but nothing happens. I don't know if that's because of my higher dexterity, the ride feeling surprisingly smooth, or both. It doesn't jostle or shake, and I'm not feeling any potholes or bumps like I did last time I got driven around. Maybe it wasn't the roads being terrible... maybe it was Daniels truck. If I get some extra money I'll buy him a new one, he deserves it.
We pull into a suburban neighborhood. I watch vacantly through the window as houses pass us by, each looking almost exactly the same. If this place has a HOA I'm breaking my contract and leaving, and there's not a single thing in the world they could offer me to keep me here.
My vitriol is interrupted by the car suddenly stopping. Bush steps out so I follow suit, leaning on the car door for support as I take in my new residence. It's a suburban house, there's not much else to note about it. It's painted white with some brick walls around the garage, it has two floors that I can see, and I don't doubt that it has a basement. I can just barely see the sides of a fence poking out from behind the house, so the yard is fenced. All in all, not bad. Definitely better than a shipwreck, so long as I don't get people knocking on my door for having grass an inch taller than they say it should be.
Bush walked to the door while I was taking in the sights, so I hobble my way towards him. I'm knocked off balance when he throws a key at me and I have to flail to catch it. I manage to just barely wrap my hand around it but I topple from the sudden change in balance, leaving me on the white concrete making up the driveway. I glare at the prick hatefully, but instead of owning up to his mistake, he just looks away. He's one bad decision away from getting a skewer to the knee, I swear. I'll heal him after, of course, but he will know pain.
Before I can enact my revenge, he nods at me and speed walks back to the car. I barely get to my feet - or is it foot? - before he passes by me. I pointedly ignore him as I hop towards the house, but I'm forced to stop halfway and turn around as Bush starts talking.
"Armsmaster will be here soon to finish your contract. Goodbye." Bush states blandly before getting back in his car. The door shuts before I can even respond, and I'm left gawping at the street as he drives off. At least he said goodbye? I guess?
I finally manage to hop to the front door and wiggle the handle. Locked. I look at the key I'm holding, and right as I'm about to put it in the lock I notice something. A small piece of paper wrapped through the hole meant for a keychain. I lean against the door so I can use my other hand to unfurl it. Written on it is a phone number, with text below it stating 'PRT Personal Line - Jack'. They already have a number for me? That's convenient. I pull my phone out, saving the number in my contacts, and finish opening the lock. I swing open the wooden door and the first thing I notice is the signature smell of an empty house. As I step inside, something horrible quickly becomes apparent. There's no fucking furniture. Those scamming bastards! I quickly hop through the rooms, checking everywhere for furniture, but there's nothing.
My eye twitches. This is grounds for a renegotiation. No, no, I should just scam Armsmaster in return. They started this, and I'm going to bleed them dry for it.
Deep breaths. In, out. In, out. Okay. I'll put that to the side for now, my revenge can come later. First, I need to see the rest of the house. I loop back to the hallway leading to the front door and I crawl my way up the stairs that are off to the side. The second floor has two bedrooms and a bathroom connected by a decently sized loft. That makes me wonder... with all these bedrooms, should I get roommates? If I'm not going to be using these rooms for anything else, I might as well make some money off of it. But who? If I just pick random people, I'll have to deal with cape fanatics trying to live with me, so that's a no go. I don't think Daniel would appreciate having to move out of his house, I don't know the slightest bit about Asads life outside of work... who else do I know? Nobody comes to mind... oh well, I'll figure that out another time, I want to check out the basement.
I flop down the stairs as gracefully as I can, which means not at all. I don't know what I'd do without [Resistance]. I steady myself on the railing and stand, hopping around the house until I find a door leading down. Once again, I flop down the stairs. Past the stairs is a... basement. Stone floors, stone walls, pipes, and more. I don't know what I was expecting from this, honestly. If the rest of the house has no furniture, the basement definitely wouldn't have any. Whatever. Now that I finally have a safe living space, and a good area to store things, I can empty my inventory out.
The backpack I got from Daniel comes out first. I don't need Glory Girls note anymore now that I have her number saved, so that can go in the trash with the PRT number note. So can all the bloody tattered clothing I still have for some reason. Kevin and Devin's knives can just sit on the floor for a while, until I find somewhere to put them. Alabaster's pistols and switchblade can go in the backpack. The first bullet I was ever shot with can also go in the backpack. I don't need this first aid kit anymore, on the floor with it. I don't really need blankets, considering I don't get that cold anymore, so those go in the backpack. My trusty broken shovel... can rest in the backpack for now.
I stand back and look at the mess that's now on the floor. A trash pile soaked with blood on one side, a pile of knives on the other, and a backpack in the middle. Great. That should be everything, my menu is definitely a lot cleaner now. Looking around, an idea strikes me. I hop to one end of the basement and duct tape my backpack to the wall, zipper open. I hop all the way back to the other end and get myself ready. It's time to grind until Armsmaster gets here.
The stick in my hand vanishes, replaced by another kebab. As I devour it, the skewer I was just holding goes flying from a mana strand above my other hand. I don't bother looking at it as it lands in the backpack with a soft rustle of cloth. Bullseye. It's been two hours of nonstop training, and my reaction speed is reflecting it. It's still slower than it used to be, but it's about twice as fast as it was earlier. Too bad progress is slowing down for both my dexterity and my [Reaction] skill. Looking on the bright side though, my Gate of Babylon is working great. I only lose a skewer every dozen or so shots now, and I can just replenish my stock by eating a kebab or two.
I set up a strand, reinforce it with three more, and summon a skewer to fire. Just as I let go of it a knock resounds through the basement, causing the skewer to go wide and shatter against the concrete wall. That better be Armsmaster. My mind wanders while I struggle up the basement stairs. What should I ask for? A grappling hook would be nice, but I won't be able to make the most of it with only one leg. A knife could be useful, but [Gravity] is more than powerful enough for fights. I can't ask for a suit of armor... should I ask for a sword? That would be pretty cool, but no. I want something useful.
I finally reach the front door, and through the small window I can see silver and blue. Good. I brace myself and fling the door open.
"Sup." I use my signature catchphrase! It's not very effective...
"Jack." He nods. I tilt out of the doorway so he can walk in and shut the door once he's through. Despite the bulky armor he's wearing, his footsteps are surprisingly quiet.
"Here to hash out the commission?" I inquire, and he nods again. I hop to the living room and he follows. Unfortunately there's not a place to sit, so we're left standing and staring at each other awkwardly. I clear my throat.
"Cool. Got any suggestions?" I ask, and his lips widen a bit. Not quite a smile, but he's not frowning, so that's a good thing.
"First, why was a commission from me a part of your deal?" He sounds a little peeved, but also genuinely curious.
"Your tech is cool as hell, and useful to boot. I saw a chance to get some and I took it." He fights down a smile, and I get the sense that despite his annoyance, his pride just got soothed.
"Are you aware that this is only being afforded to you on the grounds that you fulfill your side of the deal?" I nod at him in reply, and he continues, "Good. I would suggest a weapon."
"My offensive options are enough for me right now..." I trail off as I realize something and look down. I can feel my eyes light up as I look back at him. "Say... how much tech do you think you could fit in a leg?"
"Too much for a 'reasonable commission'." My wording is coming back to bite me in the ass. I can't blame him though, I wouldn't want to waste that much time either.
"Well, how much would you be willing to fit in a leg?" I prod him, and he thinks for a second before responding.
"Depends on what you want." That gets me thinking. What do I want? Obviously I want some way of feeling it and controlling it naturally. It'll be temporary, so I can't build my fighting style around it, so no super specific weaponry. I don't think he could make a leg that matches the strength of my natural leg, so that's out as well. It doesn't need any movement outside of just holding me, as I can store it in my inventory whenever I want. Hmm...
"Honestly, I can't think of anything. Can you just make it connect to my nerves, and be as durable as possible?" His mouth opens a bit before snapping closed. He takes a second to respond.
"Really? That's all?" The confusion is clear in his voice, along with a tinge of irritation. Probably thinks I'm wasting his time. Could I get something more out of this?
"Well, if you're up for the challenge, I have another idea to go with the leg." He stares at me without responding, so I continue, "A small needle, about six inches long. All I need it to do is be durable and teleport back to me."
"That's two commissions." If he's surprised at my odd request, he doesn't show it.
"I'll owe you one." He purses his lips as he considers, and reluctantly nods. I'm pretty sure if my requests weren't as simple as they were, he would've said no.
"It'll take about a day." I reel back slightly in shock. Only a day? I knew I wasn't asking for a lot, but tinkertech is tinkertech. Does he just have spare parts lying around or something?
"Works for me. What about maintenance?" I ask, getting ready to try and remember a long list of instructions.
"The leg won't require any. If you bring the needle in, I'll maintain it for as long as your contract is upheld." Oh, that's why they gave the commission to me so easily. It forces me to continue working with them for as long as I want access to the tinkertech. Smart.
"Works for me." I shrug at him. I'm sure their expecting me to come in every few days when it stops working, but they don't know about my inventory. Dorks. He stares at me for a second before turning around and walking back to the door. Before he steps out the door, though, he turns back to me.
"One last thing. Your first patient will be here at noon tomorrow, and another will follow the next day." I'm about to respond when he starts talking again, "And you might want to get to know your neighbors."
"What? What is that supposed to mean?" I ask him, but he just turns and walks out. I swear I see the ghost of a smile on his face. Is he messing with me? Why would I need to meet my neighbors? Is there actually an HOA? HOAs...
Whatever. I shake my head clear of those negative thoughts. I've got two more hours to kill. I could train some more and get my reaction speed closer to what it used to be, or... I could go... interact with people. Just the thought makes bile rise in my throat.
Despite Armsmaster clearly messing with me, I don't think he would've said that without a reason. Are my neighbors special? Did the PRT place officers around this house to surveil me? I hope not, that would be annoying.
Whatever, the only way to know is to meet them. I hop on over to the front door just in time to hear Armsmasters motorcycle fade into the distance. I ignore my desire for a cool tinkertech motorcycle and hop down the porch, then the driveway, then the sidewalk. The first house I visit is my neighbor on the left - I knock on the door and wait. The seconds turn to minutes as nothing happens. Rude. Or maybe they're not home? There's not a car in the driveway.
Oh well. I move on to the neighbor on my right, carefully hopping down the sidewalk to get there. Thankfully my reaction speed is decent enough now that I don't trip and fall every foot or two. Eventually I pass the empty driveway and reach the door, knocking three times in quick succession. Once again, a minute passes with no response. Was Armsmaster really just messing with me? I didn't know he had that in him, I'll have to reevaluate my opinion of him.
The final neighbor is the house across the street. I don't hear any cars coming, so I hurriedly hop across the road. My mind wanders to Frogger before I banish that train of thought. I let out a sigh when I reach the other side of the road, if I had fallen and a car had came that would've been really unfortunate for the car, and I don't want to pay for repairs. I hop up the driveway and note that they do have a car, an SUV by the looks of it.
I reach the door with hope in my heart and knock three times. Unlike the previous houses, I hear languid footsteps from inside getting louder. I brace myself for an awkward introduction as the door opens, revealing a blonde woman that looks vaguely familiar. I can't quite recall ever seeing her though... oh. Behind her, in what appears to be a living room, a man crosses my vision. A very tall blonde man. Familiar blonde woman, tall blonde husband...
"Photon Mom?"
"Excuse me? Who-" She looks down at me and trails off, finally catching a glimpse of my leg. The irritation that was clear in her eyes vanishes, replaced by confusion, wariness, and understanding.
"Sorry, I wasn't expecting to see you here... I just moved in across the street, so I was going around meeting the neighbors." I take the opportunity to explain, hopefully distracting her from my slip up. She stares at me for a second, confused.
"I... see? Did the PRT not warn you?" She asks, unknowingly confirming my theory. The PRT definitely keeps houses in reserve, and they probably keep houses near where heroic capes live for safety reasons.
"No. I picked that house because it looked nice, and the PRT officer that drove me here didn't say a word about you." I point my thumb over my shoulder towards my house.
"Picked?" She raises her eyebrows.
"Made a deal with Piggot." I clarify. She waits a second, probably expecting me to continue.
"Oh? What for?" She leans slightly against the doorframe, taking on a more relaxed posture.
"Long story short, I went in for power testing. They found out I could heal brains, so they gave me VIP treatment and a contract." Her eyebrows shoot up again before she quickly composes herself.
"Really? That's... impressive." There's clearly hope in her voice, but she's trying to hide it. Why?
"Apparently. Say, could you set up a meeting between me and Flashbang sometime?" She blinks at me, then blinks again before breaking out in a wide smile.
"I'd love to. Would you like to come in? I was just about to start making dinner." Her voice is much warmer now. Accepting would let me improve relations with them, but I'd have to talk more...
"I'll have to pass tonight. Would tomorrow work? Same time?" To her credit, she doesn't look disappointed at all.
"Of course." She nods.
"I'll see you then. Have a good night." I bow my head slightly and turn around to walk away. I start hopping down the driveway, and I make it halfway to the street before I notice something. I didn't hear the door close. Is she just watching me hop around? That's embarrassing, I hope not. I turn my head back to their front door to check, and yep, she's just standing there. Watching. Why?
Before I can ask if she needs something, she breaks out of whatever trance she was in and gently closes the door. Weird. What was that about? Has she never seen a one legged teen without a crutch... oh. Yeah, I probably look outright depressing hopping around like I do -- especially if they don't know that I'm older than I look. That new leg really can't get here fast enough.
I finally make it to my door and go in, making sure to lock the door behind me. It's weird having an actual door after so many days of living in a shipwreck, but it sure is nice. I make my way to the basement door before flopping down the stairs like a disgruntled fish. Not very graceful, but it gets the job done.
As I line myself up with the backpack on the wall again, I sit down this time. Now that my reaction time is actually reasonable and leveling my dexterity is slowing down, I should add more intensity. But how do I make aiming harder while also training other skills?
I muse for a few minutes before the answer strikes me. If I put myself under [Gravity], I'll need to add the extra pull to the calculations for the arc of the skewer thus increasing dexterity gain, while the increased gravity will increase [Regeneration], [Healing], and [Resistance].
A grin splits my face at the fact that despite losing a leg, I can still train in basically the same way as I did before. Hell, maybe when I get better at aiming my skewers I can even add in strength training somehow and train everything at the same time.
With a new goal in mind I store my clothes, use [Gravity], and summon a skewer.
A yawn interrupts my aiming, causing the skewer I just summoned to splatter against the concrete on the other side of the room, adding to the growing pile of wood shards littering the floor. That's my sign to stop for the night, I guess. I carefully stand, making sure not to slip in the puddle of blood decorating the floor under me, and stretch. The one thing I miss about living in the ship is my ability to see the sky. I have no idea what time it is right now and there are no clocks around to check... actually, I need to fix that as soon as possible. If I have no way of checking the time there's nothing stopping me from going into a fugue down here and spending the entire day training. Usually that wouldn't be a bad thing, but I have responsibilities now. Ugh. Maybe I should just go back to being a bum...
I clear my thoughts and hold myself on the basement stairs banister, shaking my foot to get the blood off. I'll have to find some way to clean up if I don't want to track blood throughout my brand new house... maybe I really should make a hydrokinesis skill. It would be another thing added to my plate, but cleaning up with it is really all I need it to do. While it would be cool to use it offensively, I don't think I could get it stronger than [Gravity] without extensive training. Another yawn cuts off that train of thought. Guess that's something to decide tomorrow when I'm less tired.
As my foot graces the top of the stairs, I remember something that makes me stops me in my tracks. I have a shower. Oh my god, I can finally take a shower. My hopping becomes frantic as I quickly make my way to the master bedroom. I almost fall a few times but I make it there in record time, throwing open the doors to the en suite bathroom. There, spotless and inviting, stands a shower encased by glass walls. I make my way over very carefully and slide open the door. The cold tiles under my feet don't bother me as I step inside and grab the knob underneath the shower head. A quick twist to the left and all my prayers are answered, a cold geyser of water hitting me in the face and washing over me. The water quickly warms up and I fall to my knee, basking in the radiance.
I'll never take having a shower for granted again. I fall limply to the floor, sprawling out and letting the blessed water cleanse me. Another yawn escapes me as my eyes start to feel heavy. I really should go lay down somewhere and sleep, but I don't want to leave. Just five more minutes to get the filth off of me and I'll get out...
A chime burrows itself into my ears. Huh? I groggily sit up and rub the gunk out of my eyes. Or at least I try, no matter how much I rub, my eyes are still wet... oh... oh no. I look up in dread and confirm that, yes, the shower is still on. A window that I didn't notice last night is now shining, letting the sunlight stream into the bathroom. Fuck.
I jump to my feet in a panic, but I'm quickly reminded that I only have one foot as I lose my balance on the wet tiles and fall on my face. A quick check of the tiles reveals that they didn't break, thankfully. I pull myself up using the fancy handle on the sliding door and shut off the water, taking a deep breath and calming myself down.
Another chime rings throughout the house. Is that my doorbell? Is it already noon? My panic comes right back as I quickly hop out of the shower. A hurried glance reveals a dastardly truth... I have no towels. Damn it. Next best thing then. I start wildly flailing my body around to shake off as much water as possible before donning my clothes and rushing out of the bedroom. As I make my way to the front door I have several close calls due to the fact that my feet are still wet and every single floor in this house is made of tile. There's not a single rug or carpet anywhere. I'm going to have to fix that, just as soon as I get my money.
I make it to the front door before a third chime occurs. There's not a doubt in my mind that I'm a sopping disheveled mess right now, so I brush my hair back a bit and steady myself before calmly opening the door. Confidence is king. I'm unexpectedly met with the sight of Armsmaster, arm halfway to the doorbell with a large duffel bag in his other hand. Standing behind him is a large man that I don't recognize, about six feet tall and built like a bodybuilder. He's wearing khakis and a regular shirt instead of a PRT uniform, so he's not an officer... who is he?
"Sup." I drawl out, still getting a good look at the unknown man. Armsmaster gives a tight nod while the other man just stands there, meeting my gaze. His eyes are laser focused and his posture is rigid, like a soldier at attention.
"Jack. Can we come in?" Armsmaster sounds more polite then usual. Not to say that he's usually rude, but it sounds like he's being as official as possible.
"Sure." I step aside and let them in, making sure to get a good look at the unknown man as he walks inside. Is he my patient? But if he is, why doesn't he have a costume on? Or at least a mask? I shut the door behind him and follow them to the living room, and we're all left standing and staring at each other. I really need to get some furniture. I decide to break the silence, "So... want to introduce me?"
"This is your first patient. We can't tell you his cape name for obvious reasons, and we have to ask you to not attempt to discover it." Armsmaster responds dryly. Just as I'm about to ask why he's not in costume it hits me. They probably don't want dozens of 'retired' capes from all over the United States showing up to one specific house for a bit before getting back in the game. Yeah, I can see why they chose to be discrete.
"Makes sense. Any preamble, or should I just heal him?" I'm just going to assume they're not going to let the patients talk, lest I figure out their identity that way.
"We've forewarned him. Whenever you're ready." Well that's convenient. I'm glad I don't have to go through a spiel every time. I nod at Armsmaster and extend a tendril to the unknown mans brain. He locks up as I start to heal him, a tense three seconds passing before my connection cuts out. As the man comes back down from the pain, his eyes contain a shimmer of gratefulness and... hope, I think. He opens his mouth to say something but stops himself, confirming that I was right about the speaking prohibition.
"Done." I state, just to be official. Armsmaster nods again and waves the man away. The man hesitates for a second, obviously reluctant to leave without showing his gratitude somehow, but he settles for grabbing my hand and shaking it violently before walking away. I focus back on Armsmaster when I hear the door shut behind me.
"Thank you," Armsmaster responds curtly before handing me the duffel bag he was holding. My arm almost lowers from the weight when I grab it, causing my eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. Whatever is in here must be pretty heavy. He continues as I unzip it, "Here's your ten thousand dollars, along with the commissions. The prosthetic is as durable as I can make it. Inside of the compressed alloy shell are multiple alternating layers allowing for shock absorption, as well as..."
I tune him out as I look through the bag, storing the tightly bound stack of money and pulling out the long metal object that has to be the prosthetic. It looks like a perfect replica of my leg, except for the flattened foot without toes and the top of the thigh where the connection point is. Its sleek chrome design is occasionally interrupted by almost imperceptible seams of dark grey where the metal sheets meet. The lack of any visible screws or bolts really cements the fact that I'm holding tinkertech.
I gingerly set it down and align the eight silver pads extending from the top of it with my thigh. I put my weight on it and as soon as the crystals on my thigh touch the top of the prosthetic, it starts whirring. The eight pads split into halves, each connecting with each other in a perfect ring around my thigh as the prosthetic starts to extend upwards. Metal sheets extrude from the top and continue rising until they reach the top half of my thigh, covering it in the same chrome metal as the prosthetic. A quick jolt runs through my muscles causing the prosthetic to twitch. Is it connected?
I lightly flex it, and the prosthetic actually moves ever so slightly. I take a step and it moves with me. It feels seamless, like it's my actual leg instead of a fake one. The only evidence that it's not my natural leg is the lack of feedback from it, every time it hits the ground I expect to feel something on my foot, but I don't. I quickly set that thought aside as I continue walking, giddy about being able to balance on my feet for the first time in... a day. Wow, it feels like it's been way longer than that. I stop messing around and tune back into what Armsmaster is saying when I hear him change topics.
"...the needle you asked for is slightly less durable to allow for the recall function you wanted, with a complimentary glove to activate it by extending your fingers fully." He stares at me, waiting for me to test it out. I oblige, walking over to the bag and pulling out a silver and blue cylinder of metal. Half a foot long and about a quarter inch in diameter, it tapers to one end that is very pointy looking. Perfect. Below the needle is the glove, similarly silver and blue. I was expecting a glove with metal on it, not a metal glove, but I'm not complaining. I wonder if I can get him to make this into a gauntlet at some point?
I slip it on my right hand and wiggle my fingers a bit, watching in fascination as the metal slides up and down on the back of my hand. It's surprisingly comfortable, more like an expensive leather glove then a hunk of metal. I tilt my palm up and open my hand as much as I can, and lo and behold, the dart in my other hand vanishes in a lightshow of blue lines before reappearing a few inches above the glove. A manic grin forms on my face before I can stop it. I'm going to have so much fun with this.
"The leg won't require regular maintenance, but I'll need to repair the needle every week or so. The glove, maybe once a month." He adds.
"This is perfect, thank you." I mean it. The leg is seamless and the needle is exactly what I wanted. He does good work. "Same time tomorrow?"
"I only came this time to drop your gear off, a plainclothes officer will come from now on." That makes more sense. I was wondering why they would go through the hoops of making the capes come here in civilian identity just for Armsmaster to draw attention anyways. I open my mouth to ask him another question, but he interrupts me, "As for maintenance, just come to the PHQ."
Well, he answered before I could even ask the question. I nod and we stare at each other for a second, waiting for the other to speak. When it becomes obvious the conversation is over, he turns around and marches out of my house. What a guy. Well, time to test out my new gadgets... but where? I can't exactly run or shoot this needle in the basement. The backyard? No, not enough space or acceptable targets. I don't want the needle going through somebodies house. The Boat Graveyard? That would work... I would just have to get back in time for dinner with the Pelhams.
I walk out of my house, my prosthetic leg not making nearly as much noise on the tiles and concrete as it should. Is that the shock absorption he was talking about? Nice. I store the needle and start running. One step after another leads to me bounding down the street, gradually accelerating. By the time I exit my neighborhood I've hit top speed, my prosthetic leg clanking against the ground with every step. Unfortunately it seems like my top speed has gone down, probably because the prosthetic can't output as much force as my real leg, but it's not by much. Still more than enough to pass by cars traveling on the residential streets I'm passing through.
It doesn't take long before I'm speeding down Lord Street, keeping up with some of the cars despite my lowered speed. As much as I want to weave in between the traffic I don't want to cause a pileup, so I resist the urge. I match the pace of the closest car and stay near them, causing the lady driving to do a double take as she looks out her window. I give her a friendly wave and she stares blankly at me. Fearing a crash I quickly do the 'eyes forwards' motion with my hands and she snaps out of it, focusing back on the road. Phew. Crisis diverted.
The buildings become more and more run down as I get further from the Downtown area, rows of spotlessly clean office buildings fading into dilapidated housing, old mom and pop shops, family owned restaurants, and fast food joints. It's a bit disturbing seeing how the wealth is distributed here, how only a few miles away from each other families can live such vastly different lives. Should I do something to boost the economy? Maybe if I get powerful enough, I can get rid of the ships in the bay? Would that even fix anything? It would help, but I can't imagine that I can fix all the economic issues here just by helping people ferry around. Maybe if I kill Leviathan when he comes around I can revitalize this place? No, that wouldn't magically fix all the other ports he destroyed. Should I become a tourist attraction... no. Charge old rich people untold millions to fix whatever cancer they have? That might work, but I don't think they'd be happy with my methods. Most people wouldn't like it if I started cutting them up to get cancer out, even if I do heal them after.
My musing is interrupted by a loud wail coming from my left. I quickly leap off the small street I've found myself on and look around. I don't see anybody. Another scream lets me pinpoint where it's coming from -- a cramped alleyway between two old brick buildings. A crime in an alley? How cliche.
I step into the dark alley, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden darkness for a second before taking in the scene. Three white dudes, probably older teenagers to young twenties, surrounding an old black dude that's bleeding on the ground next to a dumpster. Pretty obvious what's going on here.
"Sup. Y'all Nazis?" I throw them off with a casual greeting, even as I snake a strand of mana over to the man on the ground. He's in a sorry state, a broken arm, broken leg, lots of bleeding... he might've died if I didn't get here in time. That's fucked up.
"Who the fuck are you?" One of them steps forwards, pointing his switchblade at me. Oh, I wish I had Alabaster's stuff on me. The potential for irony...
"Is that all you guys say? Do they teach that at your Nazi seminars? Boring." I step further into the alley and the boys hesitate for a second, my chrome leg reflecting the scant sunlight that's around.
"You'll get hurt if you don't leave, cripple. You don't wanna fuck with us." The poor kid barely gets that out without stuttering. Well, I shouldn't call a Nazi a poor kid. I raise my middle finger in response, glove still fitted around it. The sight of my tinkertech adorned hand causes all their faces to drop. I take the opportunity to start healing the old man, the sudden screaming from behind them startling the three teens. One of them even drops his knife at the sight of the mans broken limbs twisting grotesquely back around to their normal positions. After a few seconds of screaming the man stops, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down.
"Look, just don't run." Of course, as soon as I say that, the 'leader' that confronted me first turns tail and hoofs it. Oh well, I warned him. I whistle for dramatic effect and summon a skewer, shooting it at the back of one his kneecaps. It hits him right where I wanted it to, shattering on impact. A strangled scream erupts from him as he's sent sprawling to the ground, clutching his knee in pain. As tempting as it is to use the needle on the idiot, potentially missing because of the extra weight would've made me a lot less intimidating to them. The less scared they are, the more likely they are to do something stupid.
"You wouldn't have to deal with splinters if you had listened. You two, come here." I point at the two still standing, then at the ground. They get the message and walk over. One of them is docile, staring at the ground as he walks over, but the other one is anything but. He's still holding a knife and his eyes are shifting all over me even as he tries to act calm. I wait for him to get closer and inevitably try to stab me. Lo and behold, as soon as he gets within a few feet, he lunges. I quickly store my shirt so it doesn't get ruined and just let the knife bounce off of my chest. He stares dumbfounded at the knife for a second, giving me ample time to grab his offending arm.
"Are you stupid?" I make my voice as deadpan as possible as I grab the knife with my other hand. Of course he tries to struggle, but he can't do much. Just for show I let go of his arm and use both hands to snap the knife in half, letting it drop to the floor. That must've finally got it through to him that I'm not some random pedestrian as he starts quivering.
I shoot another skewer at the 'leader' when I notice him getting up and trying to run again. He falls with another yelp of pain. Maybe I should use the needle. No, no. Bad Jack. Excessive violence is bad PR.
"Go fetch him, make sure he doesn't run again." I tell the two in front of me, and despite hesitating for a second and looking at each other, they decide to do it. The 'leader' gets dragged in front of me and for a second I feel like a mob boss. I kind of like the feeling. Should I start a gang?
I leave my mafia dreams behind as I summon my phone and navigate to my personal line. They pick up within one ring.
"Hello, Jack. What can we do for you?" A polite sounding lady asks. Much better service than the police station, I have to say.
"I just caught three teens assaulting an elderly man. He would've died if I hadn't healed him, so attempted murder sounds good for them. I'm on..." I trail off as I realize I have no clue where I am. I hold my other hand over my phone and lean down to the old man on the ground, "Where are we?"
"George's Pizzeria...?" The man, presumably George, responds. I uncover my phone and start speaking again.
"I'm in an alley next to George's Pizzeria." I finish, ignoring the quizzical look I'm getting from the old man.
"Officers will be there shortly. Thank you. Is there anything else you need?" The clicking of a keyboard is audible in the background as she speaks.
"No, that's all. Goodbye." I politely thank the lady and hang up. I hope they're always that courteous.
The three offenders are all trembling visibly now, probably at the realization that they just got caught in a massive way. Attempted murder isn't exactly something that can be swept under the rug. Well, serves them right. I turn to the old man who's now getting to his feet.
"So... come here often?" I ask him. He stops for a full second before facing me with the most dumbfounded look on his face. The corners of my lips creep up at his stupor.
"Yes?" He questions back, unsure of how to respond. To be fair, I wouldn't know how either.
"Are you George?" I hope he is. It would be awkward if he wasn't.
"Yes." No confusion this time.
"You make good pizza?" He nods strongly, his gray beard almost reaching his stomach.
"The best." He has nothing but unadulterated pride in his voice.
"Cool, cool. How much for one?" I have ten grand now, I can spare some money for a pizza. Especially if it's good.
"You just saved my life. I can spare a pizza for you." I have to stop my eye from violently twitching. Not another one...
"Sure, sounds good." I bite out.
"Thank you. You're a good kid." I can't stop the twitch this time.
"I'm of drinking age." I try to keep my tone as level as possible.
"Oh..." He trails off, leaving us all to stand there in silence as the seconds turn into minutes. I take the opportunity to put my shirt back on, startling George. Oops.
Thankfully, the awkward silence is cut short by a van pulling up outside. Two armed PRT officers step out of the back, quickly followed by two unarmed officers. I motion the teens to step out of the alley first as I stay behind them so they can't run, then step out myself. The unarmed officers walk over upon seeing me, taking out handcuffs and arresting the teens without question. They're not even gonna take a statement from them? What in the world have I done to earn that level of trust?
"Thank you, Jack. Is there anything you'd like to add to your statement?" One of the officers asks, turning to me.
"Not really. They might be Nazis, but I think you've gathered that by now." Surprisingly, the officer gives a deep chuckle at that.
"Yeah. We just need a statement from you, then." The officer turns to George, motioning to follow him. The two of them walk off, leaving me to watch as the three hooligans are rounded up into the back of the van. I hope George doesn't take too long on his statement. I want pizza, but I don't want it bad enough to sit here for ten minutes doing nothing.
I'm just about to leave when I notice George beckoning me towards the pizzeria. I follow him inside, the scent of dough and sauce hitting my nose as soon as I enter. Smells like good pizza. He motions me to sit down in one of the booths, so I do. I take in the scenery as he goes in the back. It's much more dilapidated on the outside than on the inside, with clean circular tables painted in red and white placed throughout the place. The walls are filled with connected booths, sporting pristine cushions and a pleasant dark red coloring. George must take good care of this place, if it can be this homely despite its location.
I patiently wait, getting excited at the smell wafting throughout the building. The scent of fresh cheese and baked dough grows more prominent every minute. The minutes tick down, the clock on the wall taunting me, until eventually I hear a muffled ding from the back of the restaurant. I sit up in my seat as George comes out, hoisting a platter with a massive pizza on it. It has to be at least twenty inches across and smells absolutely divine. What is it with people in Brockton Bay making such good food?
He sets the tray in front of me and slides into the other side of the booth. My hand gravitates to a slice and I pull it up, the mozzarella stretching perfectly. I don't wait for it to cool down before biting it, letting the flavors explode across my taste buds. Good god, this is easily the best pizza I've ever tasted. Easily leagues above the likes of Donatos and Dominos. I devour the slice in record time before grabbing another.
I only slow down at six slices, and stop at eight. There's still four slices left... I hurriedly touch the crust and store the slices before they lose more heat. George looks astonished, but I'm too busy leaning back and letting the pizza digest to care. A few seconds pass and my stomach settles, so I lean forwards and meet his gaze.
"I need to pay for this." My tone is that of utmost sincerity, but he shakes his head.
"You already have." He replies sagely, as expected from someone with a beard like his. My response is to take out a hundred dollars and slap it on the table. His stare lingers on it for a second, but he shakes his head and pushes it back to me. My eyes narrow, but I store the money.
"Fine, fine. Thank you so much for the pizza, George. It was amazing." The smile that he gives me is more than worth the price I'm about to pay for the pizza.
"I'm glad to hear you liked it." He kindly responds, but I'm too focused on extruding a mana strand as I stand up from the table. I give him a nod and start walking.
"I'll definitely be coming back." I continue walking to the door, letting my mana strand linger in front of him as he stands. I open the door, and as soon as the fresh air hits me, I summon another hundred dollar bill in front of him.
"Wait! You-" I hear him shout, but I'm already gone, sprinting down the street.
Yet another win for me.