PWP: 7.6 Rise (Patreon)

Rise 7.6

Bryce Kiley2011, February 4: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I heard about Armsmaster taking down Alabaster and Crusader on Friday at school. I was usually more plugged in than this, but I drained myself dry to finish a shen gong wu and passed out in bed last night.

Even for Brockton Bay, it wasn’t every day that capes duked it out, nor did heroes often capture villains so cleanly. While it wasn’t groundbreaking news, my friend circle had more reason to care about such things than most, what with New Wave and several Wards in attendance.

On paper, this was a good thing. Armsmaster took down two capes and a handful of armed gangsters within a minute, so quickly that the Empire didn’t have time to send reinforcements. Oni Lee got away, but that was a given so no one held it against him.

However, it made me wonder. His patrols had grown more efficient since he acquired my scanner and shen gong wu. That was good for him, but I expected the Empire to retaliate soon-ish. It was no reason to stop being a hero, but I found it somewhat ironic that without Coil, the destabilizing factor in this city might end up being the heroes themselves.

Well, that was the PRT’s concern. I’d have SAINT keep an ear to the ground for any major gang activity, but I didn’t feel the need to do daily patrols to help suppress the gangs. I gave Kid Win his specialization, killed Coil, encouraged better operational security, and handed out tech to Armsmaster. I’d contributed plenty and the playing field had been leveled.

Instead, I made preparations for what I had a feeling would be my fourth and final shen gong wu. I’d wrung myself dry pretty much every night to enchant the third and I was still only just on schedule. I expected to finish the fourth wu by Thursday or Friday, just a day or two before the specialization shift. I wouldn’t have enough time to make a fifth.

I started by making a pair of ornate bracers. They looked like two halves of the same whole, with an indented space that awaited a single, massive gem. The body was made from sturdy leather reinforced with wapometal and scales of seastone for added durability. It’d all been dyed a deep, inky black, with gold inlays and accents all around.

Making them had been the easy part. Now, I was having a bit of difficulty gauging the exact chemical makeup and molecular structure of the ruby that was supposed to be set into the bracers. Ruby was aluminum oxide, what jewelers called corundum. Its distinct, crimson color was achieved by replacing some of the aluminum ions with chromium. Easy enough.

The trouble was, jewelers weren’t chemists nor alchemists. “Ruby” was a catch-all word for any gem that fit the criteria. And Grandmaster Dashi certainly hadn’t been overly picky, either. From what I could tell, his methodology had been, “Eh, this shiny rock looks good enough.”

I… didn’t get to do that. The best potter in the world could make a bowl out of subpar clay. But for a rank amateur like me, I needed the best base materials possible to stack the odds in my favor, especially since I was going for one of the most powerful and versatile shen gong wu in existence.

I had a notebook full of chemical formulas and precise crystal lattice structures. By weight, a ruby could be anywhere from .05 percent to 3 percent chromium oxide. I had to make various configurations, inscribe the base layer of scripts, then channel qi through them to figure out which stone conducted kung fu magic best. It was… a process.

Meanwhile, Sabah had taken over the public aspect of our organization. She had no eye for commercial or monetary interests, but she enjoyed looking through PHO messages from various heroes around the world. She took costume requests and used them as inspiration for her fashion design. Her section of the lab was so full of clothes and fabrics that it was a little hard to tell where her tinkering ended and her hobby began.

That was just as well. I was glad she’d found a productive way of expanding her tinkering footprint. Her Shard only helped her with the current specialization and to maintain what she’d already made. By taking commissions like this, she was learning not to rely on her Shard so much.

X

2011, February 5: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Saturday morning, I met up with Amy and Sabah in the Gullrest. I’d received a call from Brock Nash last night, letting me know that he’d settled in.

It took me a second to remember that “Brock Nash” was the false identity I’d made for Trainwreck. Given how much work we still had to do with the devil fruit before we considered it viable for distribution, it was a good chance to check in on him.

“You know, I could give you two a lift. It should take me just two or three jumps to make it to Nashville,” Sabah offered from her workstation.

yShe was in the process of cutting out a form-fitting bodysuit for a cape in New Orleans. Apparently, the gator-themed heroine wanted a gator-like texture to her suit, which Sabah found to be an interesting challenge. I was pretty sure that was the only reason she took on the commission.

“Nah, we’ll take APEP. You nearly threw up just from hopping to DC,” I pointed out. I had no idea if being a gravity child made me immune to teleportation sickness, nor did I want to find out.

“Alright, suit yourself.”

“Want me to bring back lunch? Or dinner? Nashville’s known for its hot chicken, right?”

“Eh, pass. I don’t like spicy food that much. I’m thinking about going to a famous clam chowder place in Boston later. Have fun, you two.”

“Alright, cheers, Sabs,” I said as I tucked myself into the driver’s seat.

Amy hopped into the passenger side and poked my arm insistently. “Don’t you dare drive like Sabah, Bryce.”

“She’s not that bad. She’s just… enthusiastic.”

“I watched the race. She drives like a maniac. Just because the car is nearly invincible doesn’t mean she needs to test it every chance she gets.”

“Hah, no problem. We’ll keep a comfy, subsonic cruising speed. No sharp turns and definitely no loop-de-loops.”

“Good.”

I twisted the keys and the supercar purred to life beneath us. It was nice, driving something that wasn’t my roller blades for a change. Crown Chimera was still king, but I supposed luxury cars like this had their charm.

We lifted off smoothly into the air as the car faded out of the visible spectrum. The stealth module was the same as the one installed into my costume, just scaled up to cover the larger chassis and engine output. So long as we kept things subsonic and didn’t draw too close to the Rig, we were functionally invisible.

“So, how long a drive are we looking at?” Amy asked as she took in the city shrinking behind her.

“Nashville is about a thousand miles to the southwest. Since we’re staying subsonic, we’re looking at an hour and a half? Two hours?” I said as I turned on the radio. Songs I’d recreated from memories of my past life filled the air. I couldn’t quite get them right, but SAINT had been happy to remix them anyway. “So, how is everything? We haven’t had a chance to talk much aside from our cape stuff.”

My best friend let out an exasperated groan as she leaned back into her chair. Fiddling with the lever, she tilted the chair back until she was almost completely horizontal. “Annoying. It’s annoying. Vicky’s trying to set me up with a date again.”

“Oof, I thought she only did that around major dances and stuff. That was why you wanted me to go to homecoming with you.”

“Yeah, well, Valentine’s Day is coming up and she’s in a lovebug-y mood. Do you know Gavin?”

“Who?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Just tell her you’re gay. I thought you were going to.”

“I said I’d think about it,” she muttered awkwardly.

I chuckled and patted her back. “It’s not a big deal, you know. She’d at least set you up with cute girls instead of guys you can barely stand.”

“Yeah, well, easy for you to say. You… know things… about people.”

“I do, yes. We’ve established this.”

“So… Do you…?”

I was as sure of Amy’s mental state as I could be. I decided to rip the bandaid off all at once. “Do I know that you want Vicky to sit on your face? Yes, I do.”

“I don’t–That’s disgusting!” she yelped, face ruby-red.

“Meh, it’s whatever.” Then, in a high falsetto, “‘Help, I’m stuck in the dryer, step-sis~’”

“Do you want testicular cancer? This is how you get testicular cancer.”

“Look, my point is, you can be into whatever you want. Your kinks don’t make you a bad person, Amy.”

“You… really don’t care?” she asked in disbelief.

“Not really, no. I’ve known more or less everything about it and none of it’s stopped me from being your friend,” I pointed out gently. Strictly speaking, her being an angsty powderkeg was why I befriended her in the first place.

“Incest is wrong.”

“You’re not related.”

“That’s not what the law says.”

“But that’s what biology says. Incest is wrong because inbreeding results in a genetic puddle. Seeing how you lack the proper equipment and aren’t genetically related in the first place, I don’t see what the issue is here.”

She punched me. It was a good thing we were flying because she would have made me swerve into another lane had we been on the ground. “Asshole. That doesn’t mean it’s not weird.”

“True, it’d be weird if you started hitting on her, but thinking she’s attractive in itself doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s practically objective truth. And, I mean, I suppose you could have a kid, given who you are, but that would also eliminate the genetic puddle issue.”

“You… You really don’t care that I have the hots for my own sister? Adopted or not, it’s weird, right? It’s still wrong.”

“It is weird, I didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s also probably wrong from a legal perspective. But, it’s also none of my business. Like I said, I knew and still became your friend.”

She stared down at her hands in thought. “I… Thanks…”

“You’re welcome, you sexual deviant. So long as you understand that I’m never going to stop making fun of you. Lovingly, of course. You know, as your best friend.”

“You can lovingly go fuck yourself, bastard.”

“Now, do you want me to set you up with a girl?”

“If you mean Sabah, pass.”

“You’re right. You’re obviously into busty blondes.”

She reached into the glove compartment and took out a bag of mutated almonds. She thought about throwing them at me before crunching down angrily. “Ugh, fuck it. What are you into? Tell me so I can make fun of you.”

“You really want to know?” I asked with a quiet chuckle. Psychic let me snag a few nuts before she could close the bag.

They tasted like caramelized onions, smoked paprika, and roasted peanuts on top of the regular almond flavor. Fantastic. Sabah probably had the most discerning palate out of the three of us.

“Yes, I do. It’s not fair that you know everything about me.”

“I’m into some degenerate shit, you know.”

“I’m curious now. Shoot.”

I took my right hand off the wheel and laid it atop hers. Turning, I stared deep into her eyes. “Handholding and deep, soulful stares.”

“You know, I can turn you inside out right now,” she said blandly.

“You won’t. You love me. Okay, for real, though. I’m pretty sure I told you that I have a thing for older women.”

“Like who?”

“Your cousin.”

“Eric?”

I stared at her flatly. “How do you get Eric from ‘older women?’”

“Shut up! My brain isn’t working right now!”

“Haha, fine. But seriously? Sierra and I have the same taste in women. We both think Crystal’s really hot.”

Her nose scrunched at that. “That’s so weird.”

“You asked. Would you prefer we look up pictures of celebrities and bond over how nice their tits are?”

“Shut up. I’m done with this conversation,” she grumbled and flipped the speaker volume higher.

“Fine, fine. Let’s talk about the devil fruit. Are you ready to meet with Trainwreck?”

“Yeah, more or less. So it’s like this…”

X

2011, February 5: Nashville, TN, USA

Nashville was a very boring city. There, I said it. I was probably insulting the great god of country music, but that didn’t make it any less true. If anything, being known as the “capital of country music” was proof. It was as if the city was saying, “Yeah, we’ve got nothing else to brag about so let’s sing about how daddy lost the farm.”

We landed fifty miles away and decloaked before driving into town like a pair of normal roadtrippers. Brock directed us to a motel he’d been staying at near the outskirts of the city. It was owned by an old, Indian couple who charged forty bucks per night, rented a shed for another twenty, and asked no questions. Brock left the door open for us and went to pick up his laundry. When he returned, we were already there, decloaked. 

His room was very bare-bones, not that I’d expected any different. He’d apparently picked up that cowboy-esque style that was so common in this barbeque-belt region. I didn’t know why he needed a big ol’ hat, but he had three of them hanging on the coat hanger by the door. Next to them were three, braided rawhide belts with large, copper buckles.

The only indication of his status as a cape was a large, open toolbox next to the motel’s desk. At a cursory glance, all the tools inside could have passed for any mechanic’s bread and butter. What drew my eye was a multi-functional screwdriver, wrench, and hammer hybrid.

No company would ever make such a thing. It was doable, but a dedicated, single-use tool tended to perform much better and last longer. The time it took to make such a thing wasn’t worthwhile, not unless you happened to be a tinker whose tech was unreasonably rugged.

I heard the door close behind us. Turning, I saw a man in his mid to late twenties, with a medium build and height. He had short, closely cropped brown hair and a five o’clock stubble that made him look older than he was. Then again, I supposed that as a Case-53, his age hadn’t ever been clear.

He wore a jean jacket that covered his arms. On his hands were a pair of dark gloves with textured rubber on his fingers and palms for better grip. He set his laundry basket aside and hung up his hat.

“So, you’re here, Creed. And you brought Panacea with you,” Brock said. He looked happier, inasmuch as neutral could count as “happier.”

“I did. How have you been, Brock?” I asked, offering him a handshake. I nodded to his modest collection of cowboy hats. “You look like you’re blending in well.”

“Yeah, well, I like the hats. I figure that if I wear things that are eye-catching, people will focus on those instead of asking about my arms, y’know?”

“That’s smart. Alright, let’s get started.”

“Sure. Do you two need to set up?”

“Nah, a laptop to take notes on is all we really need. Now that you and your devil fruit’s had a chance to settle, our main goal today is to remove the discoloration in your arms in your humanoid form. Make sense?”

“Alright, how are we going to do this?”

I took out a laptop and sat myself in the corner so I could record and take notes. “This is Panacea’s show from here on. But first, have you noticed any differences between your two forms?”

“Uh, actually, yeah.” He took out a can of beer from a minifridge in his kitchenette and offered it to us. When we declined, he shrugged and chugged it himself before taking a seat. “You know how my power works, right?”

“Your amorphous limbs charge bioelectricity to manipulate the tinkertech you build,” Amy said as she read from a tablet I’d prepared for her. “Are you saying that since you have human bones, ligaments, and muscles, your limbs aren’t generating that bioelectricity anymore?”

“They are, just… not as much? It’s hard to explain, but the stuff I make isn’t as responsive. Like… The best way I can explain it is when you try to touch something through a layer of cloth. You can still feel, just… not as much. Does that make sense, Panacea?”

“It does. I want to see it for myself, if you don’t mind. I’ll compare the two and see if I can adjust your human form.”

The tests took a few hours. They began by having Brock move his body normally. They then had him use that multi-tool in his toolbox. Lastly, Brock switched back to his monstrous form and repeated all the same actions. Amy spoke aloud everything her Shard told her and I took notes as best I could.

Through it all, it became increasingly clear to me that whatever changes Amy managed to make on the visual level, it’d be on a case-by-case basis. Every Case-53 was unique. Brock’s snail-like limbs weren’t at all similar to Weld’s semi-organic metal. Neither had anything in common with Newter, Sveta, or any other Case-53. In the end, each “dead” Shard followed its own internal logic.

Amy was in her element. Her eyes sparkled as she tackled this like a big, biological puzzle. She’d found a way to indulge her power while simultaneously helping someone else.

“Okay, I think I’ve got you figured out,” Amy said. She read the notes I’d written down for her and listened to playbacks of her own observations. “Brock, you’re not human.”

“Gee, thanks, doc,” Brock drawled sarcastically but didn’t take immediate offense.

“No, not like that.” She paused and considered her words, “Okay, a little like that… Let me explain.

“First, the devil fruit doesn’t turn you into a perfect homo sapien. Creed already said this. Instead, it enforces a template of a human body onto the consumer, allowing them to change into a hybrid state. Essentially, this hybrid state tricks your power by incorporating aspects of said power. Now, that by itself can be incredible for truly abnormal Case-53s, but this means that your biology contains aspects that aren’t human.

“In your monstrous form, your body generates excess bioelectricity through muscular contractions in your limbs. This bioelectricity is stored in electric organs along the surface of the skin, which is what is responsible for that snail-like texture.

“You said that trying to control your tinkertech in your hybrid form felt like trying to touch something through a layer of cloth. This is why. Those electric organs are both smaller and situated deeper in your skin than they are in your monstrous form. When the devil fruit remade your muscles, gave you bones, and mapped out new neural pathways, it also altered the structure and placement of your electric organs.”

Brock took that in slowly. He watched as his hand slowly lost its grayish tint. “Okay… I think that makes sense…? What’s happening now?”

“Now that we know there are no side effects of introducing this new template, I’m making the aesthetic changes to let you blend in without long sleeves,” Amy said. “While I’m at it, I can also move the electric organs closer to the surface if you prefer.”

“Is that going to make me look freaky? Or glow in the dark?”

“They don’t glow; you’re not a bioluminescent fish. Actually, what if I shaped those electric organs and made them look like discolored scar tissue?”

“That was what I told everyone, yeah,” Brock said. “I need long sleeves because I have bad scars. It could work. Will I be able to tase people?”

“Probably not, sorry. You’ll just have an easier time powering your own tech.”

“Eh, good enough. Do it, doc.”

Amy did so. Now, Brock had whirling patterns of “scar tissue” along his arms and legs. “There. These don’t look too bad. Tell them you used to tame lions or something.”

“I already told them I wrestled bears,” Brock chuckled. “Next time, it’ll be surfing on top of sharks. Thanks for this, Panacea.”

“No problem, Trainwreck. Or, are you using that name at all?”

“I’m not. It’s just Brock, now. I still have to think of a good name for when I start doing cape shit again. What about you guys? You fully join The GOAT’s crew?”

“Not… Not really? Yes and no? I’m still a part of New Wave, but I guess I’m also part of Creed’s team, too,” Amy said. “Let’s just say The GOAT gave me a lot to bring me out here.”

“All hush-hush, huh? Fair enough. I know when to keep my mouth shut,” He turned to me. “Has she figured out a name for you guys?”

“We’re the Cult of the Lamb,” I told him blithely.

“We’re not,” Amy rebutted.

“Yngya’s Grace.”

“I don’t know who Yngya is, but that sounds like a reference someone else might recognize, so no.”

“Eh, it’s a work in progress. Panacea, do you have enough data for mass production?”

“Maybe. Now for the next step. Brock, we need you to go swimming.”

He paused uncertainly. “Wasn’t that a big no-no?”

“It was and is. Don’t worry, Creed’ll fish you out. I want to feel exactly what the water does to you.”

“We don’t have a tub big enough. The motel doesn’t come with a bathtub, you know.”

“There’s gotta be a river or pond within a hundred miles. It won’t take us long to get there,” I said with an innocent smile. This sounded like it could be fun.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Probably not, no. Don’t worry, Brock. I’ll make sure to enjoy this for the both of us.”

X

There was a lake to the southeast of Nashville called J. Percy Priest Lake, a massive , fourteen thousand acre reservoir. It was Nashville’s most popular destination for fishing, hiking, and all those other nature-y things. Truthfully, I was a little surprised that no parahuman ruined it yet.

The reservoir was home to several islands. One such island, right off the coast of the Bryant Grove Recreation Area, was Ponderosa Island. That was too big and we were likely to come across boaters or whatever. So, we headed southeast some more until we came upon a little blip of rock, uncreatively named Rock Island.

There, we got to dunking.

Brock was right. Brock did not have a good time.

I was also right. I had a fantastic time. The two may have been related.

For her part, Amy looked like she wanted to throw herself in the lake and drown, too. She tried everything she could think of. She examined him, probably in a more intimate way than anyone else possibly could. Yet, she came to one conclusion:

“Bullshit! This is such bullshit!” Amy lamented. “It doesn’t make any sense! Your cells are healthy. Your muscles are working fine. Your nerves are transmitting signals as they should. Why can’t you move?”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m seriously trying here,” Brock complained, body half submerged in the water. “You think it’s fun being a quadriplegic?”

“Yeah, sorry. I… kinda think I’m onto something? I’m going to have to study this more.”

“It’s cool. I look human now. I have a job. I’m off to a good start already. I’m satisfied.”

Personally, I thought this was a limitation of One Piece that carried over. This wasn’t a matter of biology anymore. Rather, this was “belief,” that nebulous power of the spirit that seemed to drive so many shounen settings.

I didn’t know who said it, maybe multiple people, but devil fruits were said to grant desires. They could make one’s dreams come true. That sounded like a lot of purple prose, but I was starting to think there was some metaphysical truth to that. Maybe they weren’t literally genies, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they turned out to be the “fruit born of the collective will of humanity” or somesuch.

It was a guess, and an admittedly unfounded one. But then again, here was Amy Dallon, the last word when it came to biology. If she couldn’t figure it out, then that must mean the phenomenon was at least partially metaphysical in nature. 

Which then raised the question: Whose dreams? No one else knew how devil fruits worked. The number of people who even knew they existed could be counted on one hand.

There was only one possible answer, then: Mine. My dreams. Or rather, my expectations. For now, my hypothesis was that because I was the only person with a connection to the setting, the devil fruits worked according to my expectations. I assumed the water would fuck Brock over, so… it did, just like in One Piece.

Changing my expectations wasn’t an easy thing. But it did mean that so long as I believed this weakness could be tinkered away, a solution might present itself. I doubted it’d be so simple, but it was something to think about.

We dropped Brock off before grabbing dinner at a local barbecue spot and heading home. We didn’t get everything we wanted out of Brock, but I counted today a success. We were one step closer to a mass produced devil fruit.

Author’s Note

There. We finally get  Bryce talking to Amy about her incestuous fantasies. I didn’t want to get too angsty about it. I know people get weirdly sensitive about sexual orientation and whatnot, but this is as much as you’re going to get.

Anyone else remember when Motel 66s used to cost ~$40? Also, I recently learned that Indian immigrants transformed the motel industry through a family-run model that’s still ongoing today. It’s pretty cool to read about, and apparently where the stereotype came from. 

Plant Fact (Surprise!): There is a plant native to southern Europe, northwestern Africa, and southwestern Asia called the ecballium elaterium. It is more commonly given the unfortunately appropriate name, the squirting cucumber. To put it bluntly, it jizzes everywhere. Let me explain

Like many flowering plants, it stores seeds inside a fruiting body. Rather than wait for animals to eat the fruit and shit out the seeds, or a strong wind to carry the seeds elsewhere, it has a very special method of seed dispersal.

The fruit of the squirting cucumber has very soft cells that slowly fill with water. Water pressure builds up inside the fruit until the stem can’t hold it anymore.

Then, the point at which the fruit is attached to the stem breaks off, creating a hole where the stem was and providing an outlet for the water. This then shoots the fruit, seeds included, like a mini rocket while its seeds spout behind it in a little squirt of plant jizz.

So yes, you can get nutted on by a plant. Also, it’s poisonous and can cause swelling of the uvula or necrosis of the nasal mucosa (mucus lining of the nasal cavity) if you ingest it orally or nasally.