Agrippa
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Wake-up Call – Chapter 18
🕑 Added 2021-11-10 04:38:27 +0000 UTCYou know what I never knew I wanted for my birthday? A baby Endbringer.
Mostly because I don’t want one. At all.
You shouldn’t have, universe. You really shouldn’t have.
“What the fuck?!”Ah, Taylor, I can always count on you to find the words deep within my heart.
“It’s… It’s just a theory, all right? That’s the best we could come up with,” the wheelchair-bound girl with auburn hair says defensively.
“A theory that could mean we have a nascent natural disaster kept prisoner beneath my city. Somehow, I don’t feel like applying the scientific method.” Admirable delivery, Colin. Certainly admirable.
“She just looks like a scared little girl…” That’s… very naïve of you, Hannah. All right, you’re back to being my favorite.
“I’m afraid there’s very little about her that’s… little.” Dragon… That’s bad. And you should feel bad.
Right. Time to focus before the girl centaured to a monster body (yes, I’m verbing ‘centaur;’ no, I’m not apologizing) decides that architecture is optional on casual Fridays and goes all Collateral Bulimic Barbie on us.
Manifestation of parahuman abilities often correlated with underlying mental issues—
Oh. Fuck. Now I feel insensitive.
Manifestation of parahuman abilities often correlated with character flaws—
Fucking smartass.
“Right, right, we can do this… Genesis? I need you to be sincere with me about Noelle and your—” Eyes unnaturally steady, no overt tells indicates effort to suppress them, slight twitch of left hand, likelihood of being used to relieving tension by scratching unfeeling leg—
Fuck.
Also, mental note: I need to discover other swearwords as versatile as fuck so I don’t feel so repetitive—
Commonly used swearwords include: shit, damn, goddamn, asshole, whore, bugger, bloody, cunt—
Holy fuck, Power, have you been waiting all this time for an excuse to swear?
—bitch, cumstain, shitstain, cumguzzler, faggot—
… I’m going to take that as a yes.
“I don’t know. I just know her power is messed up and that… it eats people. The parahumans are stored, but…” Genesis shudders, and that’s not fake. Which is a good tactic, because everything else is.
So I kneel in front of her to look her in the eye, which will come across as horribly patronizing, but that’s precisely what I’m going for.
“Genesis, love, look, I am a Thinker seven—”
“Actually—”
“I swear I’ll replace all of your graphite oil with fucking glitter, Armsmaster.”
“I don’t use graphite oil since—”
“You will. So, where were we? Ah, yes, I was just telling you how utterly adorable it is that you think you can lie to my face just like that when my city and everybody I care about are being held hostage by the very existence of your friendly zoological display in there. With me so far?”
Genesis clenches her jaw in defiance, but her skin is pale, and her eyes are still glued to mine. She’s far too scared of showing anything, any tells a Thinker can use to infer anything about her.
Which means her secret is that dangerous.
Wonderful.
“Oh, you still don’t feel like talking? Don’t worry, that just means it will keep being my turn,” forced blink at word ‘turn,’ possibly related to— “You should never cede the initiative” repeated reaction “to the other player,” widening of pupils, fear reaction, “you know? Of course you know, after all,” used to wheelchair, no outstanding muscle tone, possible isolation from peers related to lack of involvement in physical activities, parahuman manifestation related to escapism “such a good gamer as you would have learned at least that much, though your friends,” forced blink, attempt at nonchalance, “well, they aren’t quite your friends—” rhythmic clenching of jaw, habitual source of tension—“not anymore, even if they were when all of this began.”
Genesis looks at me, her hands now balled into tight fists whose range I’m just on the edge of, unbalanced by something that is no more than a cold reading trick. She fears too much my arriving at her secret, which is their secret, because…
Wait. Wait a second.
“You all met before having powers?” And now she recoils. Fuck. “Oh, that’s… No. Not a group trigger, I’ve never heard of one that big, and that would require a very newsworthy event, something from… What was your accent? Let’s see, some consonant drift, a slight tendency to turn ‘th’ into ‘d…’ quite stereotypical Nort Central, maybe Minnesota—no, what I’m saying, that’s obviously a Wisconsin—”
“Are you done?” Ah, there’s that anger, that visceral reaction to cover up fear when retreat isn’t a possibility. And now you’re engaged¸ Genesis.
“Done? I haven’t even started. Because there’s something back there you’re fleeing from, something important enough to make your little group stick together while your murderous friend keeps eating people—” a flash of genuine guilt. Good. This wouldn’t work half as well if she was an irredeemable monster rather than a scared, selfish moron. “Right. It has to do with how you all got powers at once—which isn’t a figure of speech or an exaggeration, you were dropped right into a situation that required you to leave—Travelers, of course, how cute. But that’s not quite it. You hid what you were actually doing, the real reason behind your name. It wasn’t about being an itinerant band of villains for hire; no, it was about your origins. About something big that happened in Wisconsin about… Dragon, could you tell me what the first recorded appearance of our guest is?”
“January 18th, 2010,” she says from Colin’s armor.
And everybody who isn’t Taylor freezes.
Really? So much for your supposed cape-geekery. Not as embarrassing as not knowing what a trigger event is, but…
Ah, who am I kidding? That automatically disqualified you for the title. Filthy casual.
“You lot are a fucking Simurgh plot,” I say out loud, just in case it needed more clarity.
And Genesis sprawls on her wheelchair—
Oh, you fucking don’t—
Just as swirling mist starts to come off her body, I slap her as hard as I can. And keep doing it until she blinks herself awake and the nascent projection vanishes.
“That was very stupid,” I tell her.
“Worth it to shut you up,” she replies, rubbing her reddening cheek.
And now I believe my girlfriend is biting her lip beneath her mask not to snort.
“Tell me your name. Your real name.”
“Wha—the rules—”
“I’m a walking violation of the rules. And so is harboring what could be one of the biggest threats to humanity on the planet.” Now her eyes widen. She feels… detached from this place, but it still—Oh God, tell me it isn’t—
Simurgh displayed tinkertech of unknown function over Madison—
Right. The fucking Simurgh brought them here from a parallel world just so they could get powers and protect the ticking timebomb beyond the gigantic vault door that could only fit the décor of a supervillain base. Wonderful.
“We already know you fled a confinement zone, that you are off-worlders—” Hannah, sweetie, that dramatic gasp was a bit gauche, even if it punctuated my speech nicely “and that you’ve stumbled upon the rumored power-sellers that haunt the internet most sordid places that don’t involve Japanese drawings or Case 53 porn. Stop being cute, tell me your name, and work with me to solve this before everything blows up in our faces.”
She bites her lip and looks to the side, no longer concerned with trying to hide her tells, convinced that she can’t hide anything from me.
Good.
Because my head is killing me.
“Jess. My name’s Jess.”
***
Noelle
I am hungry.
I always am, but… I have two kinds of hunger now.
No matter how much my lower body eats, my upper one keeps being hungry. Nourished, at least to the point of keeping me alive, yet always hungry. That’s the first kind of hunger, the one I’m used to.
The second kind is the one that comes and goes. The one that’s so much worse, that I can never get used to, that feels like acid traveling through the whole monster, consuming it from the inside, demanding it be replenished.
It’s the hunger that drives me insane, because when it has nothing else to eat, it devours the barrier between me and the monster.
I’m afraid the day will come when it will tear into me.
“Noelle? Noelle, love, are you all right?” My… My boyfriend, even if I don’t know why he still wants to be, asks me from the computer screen, a bit more forceful than usual. Really, I would have blushed at him calling me ‘love’ before… Before.
“Yes… Yes, just a bit… You know…” And he looks at me with kindness, with that soft look I know the others never see because he can’t help himself when he acts like an asshole just to act like something.
“I know, yes,” he pauses for a moment, looking into my eyes, maybe fooling himself into thinking there’s nothing worth looking at beneath where my waist used to be. “The meeting went well,” he ends up saying, mercifully changing the subject.
“It did?”
“Yeah. Yeah, Coil is… more resourceful than I thought. It’s like half the parahumans in the city work for him, whether they know it or not. I mean, we are heavy hitters, but… Contacts. Connections, you know?”
Connections. The kind of power we cannot ever have because… Well.
Me.
“I do.”
And he seems to catch on to what I was thinking, because there’s a flash of panic and his reply comes out rushed.
“Which is a good thing! And, well… I don’t like this, but…”
“But?” Francis mincing his words is never a good sign.
“He may have a lead,” I try not to smile, not to sag in relief, “but he needs us to check it out.”
“What? Why?” Why you, why do you all need to leave me behind, alone in here with the meat, and the hunger, and the other hunger—
“It will just be for a few days! I—I’m sorry, Noelle, but if there’s even the slightest chance this Tinker can help, I…”
A Tinker? So, this isn’t about Panacea, but a new lead? Out of town?
“I… Understand. I am not made of glass, Francis, I… I understand.” Because there’s not much else I can do.
He stares at me silently, and his face firms.
“Noelle, I… I promise I’ll help. I do,” he says, his voice that much stronger, that much more deliberate.
That much more… Truthful.
“You already have,” I say with a smile, trying not to show how much it hurts to have him repeat those words that only come before yet another failure.
“This time it’s different,” he says.
And then he smiles. Not his crooked, infuriating smile, but one that’s a bit mischievous, a bit sly…
And, somehow, for the first time in months, a part of me believes him.
***
Lisa
A good thing about hiring the same interior decorator as SPECTRE? The obsession for an intimidating, clinical, sterile atmosphere means that the bathrooms will inevitably have immaculately white tiles.
Which in turn means I can discern at a glance whether or not it’s safe to kneel on one of them while my girlfriend grabs my hair and I… Prostrate myself before the porcelain god.
Shut up. I’m still tasting bile, and my temples are throbbing; kinda not in the mood to come up with my best material.
“You just had to make that stupid promise, didn’t you?” Taylor says for the… Fifth time? Yep. Fifth.
I mean, I knew it was a bad idea before I even finished opening my mouth, but…
“You know you love me when I do stupid crap like this,” I say after I spit the (hopefully) last of the weird tasting saliva that keeps lingering in your mouth after you try to reverse the way eating works.
“I do,” she mutters with an exasperated sigh.
…
“Wait, really? It was the first thing I came up with.”
“Oh, for—that is precisely the kind of stunt that brought us together. Of course I love you when you decide to throw in with the underdog, no matter how stupidly misguided the effort is.”
“Oh, you love me,” I start to singsong—
And she pulls me up by my hair, which kindof hurts, but also kind of—
Fuck. I’m confused.
“Wash your mouth before trying to get a reaction out of me like that,” she says with a voice that definitely fits Skitter’s mask. And makes my knees wobble.
“It is very inappropriate of you to try and turn me on while all of this is going on,” I feebly object.
“Try?” And I can just see the arched eyebrow that accompanies that statement.
Oh fuck.
Possible synonims for ‘fuck’ include but are not limited to—
No. No, no, nope. Don’t make me ask Armsmaster to install a cranial swear jar, young… whatever the Hell you are.
Lisa Wilbourn’s attempts at gendering parahuman ability interface reflect—
Oh, who am I kidding: you are the parahuman incarnation of mansplaining. Of course you are male.
There’s a knocking at the door.
“Colin says if you aren’t out of there in three minutes, I should come in and spray you both. I admit it never occurred to me to use my power for that, but now I’m kinda curious, so…”
…
“The Protectorate’s beach parties must be amazing,” I can’t help but say out loud after visualizing the kind of super soaker a motivated, petty Tinker may come up with.
“Not really, though the eye candy isn’t bad,” she casually shoots back.
“Is it really that different from hanging out with people in tights all—”
“Do you realize she’s just distracting you until the three minutes pass, and she can come in to spray us with whatever the Hell her power can turn into?” Taylor says as she drags me to the washbasin.
“Uh… Well played, Hannah. Well played.” The water is already running, and I take enough to start gargling.
“Tsk. And here I was, ready to put that Thinker six to the test,” a suspiciously loud whisper carries through the door. And I spit the water before I can choke on it.
“… If that six doesn’t start climbing up, I may need to have a chat with Dragon about the implications of the body language of two adult coworkers who are very fit, mature, and currently single.”
There’s blessed silence only broken by the swishing sound of cold water in my mouth and Taylor trying not to snigger.
“… You don’t hold back that much, do you?” Hannah finally replies.
“Not when a joke has run its course.”
“Fair enough. Also, Tattletale?”
“Yeah?”
“Colin told me to ask you if a Thinker seven shouldn't have immediately realized there’s no way for my power to manifest as something as big as an urban water cannon.”
…
“Okay, first, I have the mother of all Thinker headaches; second, I hate each and every one of you; third, Taylor, stop laughing.”
She doesn’t.
… Fuck it. Strap-on it is.
***
It isn’t much more than three minutes later that I emerge from the bathroom with no traces of having voided my stomach due to a combination of physical repulsion, emotional revulsion, and ongoing Thinker headache-ulsion.
Shut up. I wasn’t going to break the streak.
We three walk back into the meeting room where Colin and Dragon just improvised a motion capture system for me to impersonate Noelle’s assholish boyfriend after getting as many details about him out of Jess as we could. I’m sure it’s not been my best performance, particularly due to my sappy ending, but the poor girl is distressed enough that just about anyone could have fooled her after going through Dragon’s own personal deep fake technology.
Which… Kind of added to the aforementioned emotional revulsion.
Really, something about fooling and emotionally manipulating a girl so deeply and obviously traumatized as Noelle doesn’t quite sit right with me. I don’t know why that would be.
Taylor squeezes my hand.
Yeah. Total and utter mystery.
“How are you doing?” Armsmaster tentatively asks with the kind of caution one uses to address emotional timebombs that may explode for no discernible reason.
“Better. More or less.” I mean, I could act offended about it, or I could roll with it and avoid a few ‘six’ cracks.
“She’s a vicious little thing,” Hannah adds, for no discernible reason.
“Of course she is. It comes with being a Thinker—” Worry is swiftly replaced by his deadpan.
“Glitter. Barrels of glitter.”
“The image department would love you,” he seamlessly changes his line.
“… Why do I feel like that’s a worse insult.”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Colin, Dragon (from her dedicated laptop), and Hannah reply at once. All of them equally unconvincing.
“… I’m never joining up with your traumatized band of cosplayers.”
“Well, we don’t have an image department per se, and there’s always room in the Guild for a powerful Thinker s—”
“Dragon, I know where the scalies lurk. Don’t make me use them. They are a last resort.”
“… I’ll be good.”
“What is a scalie—”
“Don’t even ask,” four voices in the room reply at once.
Which ends up with Hannah, Colin, Dragon’s avatar, and I suspiciously looking at one another before silently agreeing not to poke sleeping dragons (or other reptiles) as Taylor looks as confused as she can while still wearing her mask.
Right. That’s enough comic relief for today. I mean, my headache isn’t going to improve any more, and I have better things to do than waste Power to come up with better quips.
… I’m becoming everything I ever hated.
Still, there’s something to be said for not stalling and getting the unpleasantness out of the way as soon as possible.
So I take a deep breath that slightlyameliorates the worse of my remaining queasiness, and… Well. Not much else to say by this point.
“Right. I think I’m ready to see Coil.”
Taylor squeezes my hand once again, Colin grimly nods (TM), Dragon gives me a supportive smile from the laptop’s screen, and Hannah… Turns her power from a sap glove into a handgun.
And gives me a sharp smile.
Oh, you really are my favorite.
Dragon, you’d better up your game with that Christmas gift.
Comments
Agrippa
Glad to hear that, though I'd bet that's a first for an Echidna reveal XD
Havefeith
I was really amused by this chapter. Couldn't stop laughing at it.
Agrippa
Well, she kinda did murder all those people... But no, the water cannon thing was just following Colin's script, and the gun at the end was a non-verbal show of support influenced by having seen Dinah. She wouldn't murder Coil in cold blood, but would be very tempted to look the other way if he "fell down some stairs." Edit: modified Hannah's line so she identifies Colin as the culprit for her last jab. Let me know if it works better that way.
Are we sure Hannah wasn't a villain back home? because uh... that doesn't fit the image of Ms American Dream
