PWP: 7.7 Rise (Patreon)

Rise 7.7

Bryce Kiley2011, February 9: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I laid back in my bed, absentmindedly strumming my dad’s old acoustic guitar. I wasn’t playing anything, just taking quiet comfort in the way the six strings rubbed against the callous on my thumb. I was tapped out, completely wrung dry in every sense of the world.

Aura-wise, I couldn’t even manifest a single Thunder Wave if I tried. And physically, I’d just returned from giving Sabah and Amy flight lessons before dueling SAINT in his new, Chameleonbot body. 

SAINT was the single strongest opponent I could face short of a fully ramped Lung. He had my skills and techniques. He knew my fighting style inside out. And though I had Crown Chimera and alchemy, he had a far wider array of pokemon moves to level the playing field, including a masterful control over barriers.

We trashed the robot shell. I froze its arm with my freeze ray just as SAINT tried to channel a Thunderbolt through it and the whole right arm shattered into fingernail-sized fragments. When he tried to turtle under a Protect, I managed to convert the gas around him into pure oxygen and detonated the bubble from within. He gave as good as he got, but he couldn’t use Recover to fix his machine suit so I won in the end.

All told, our trial run was a complete success. Sure, it was annoying having to rebuild the Chameleonbot, and Sabah was a little miffed with us for what would inevitably become at least partially her work too, but no one could deny we’d put it through its paces. If push came to shove, SAINT could fight alongside me, something he’d dearly wanted to do for a long time. 

Or, perhaps I'd bring him out when I needed an alibi. There was also the option of simply introducing him as another member of our organization. He didn't need to copy my appearance.

My door opened and my older sister came inside. In her hand was a plate of Kalamata olives and a mug of chamomile tea. “It’s almost midnight, little brother. You’re still up?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m just… thinking,” I said as I continued to softly strum a wordless melody.

She scrunched her nose into a frown and plopped herself down on the foot of my bed. “What about? Want some olives?”

“I don’t see how you can eat them by themselves. They’re so salty.”

“They’re delicious, and a little fruity. Anyway, my preferred nighttime snack isn’t what we’re talking about. You look tired.”

“I am. I finished a project for Cyberduck Productions and feel pretty spent,” I said after a moment of thought. 

“That's the music studio you're interning for, right? How’s that going?”

“Pretty good. It’s a huge time sink, but I’m having a lot more fun with this than I thought I would.”

“You haven’t touched dad’s guitar in a while. I thought you’d moved on to electronic music,” she said, popping an olive into her mouth.

“I did, but it’s nice to play with this old thing once in a while. Why the sudden interest? Wanna listen to some of the sound files I've been working on?”

“Maybe next time, when it’s not literally midnight. Aren’t they working you too hard if you only just finished?”

“No one’s telling me to work overtime,” I said with a chuckle. Or at all, really. The only boss I had was in the mirror. “I just… got caught up finishing a project, that’s all.”

“They don’t have to say anything directly if the deadline’s too close,” she huffed, offended on my behalf. “They’re not taking advantage of you, are they?”

“They’re not. The deadline is actually Saturday, so I finished a little ahead of schedule.” The shift, that was. My final shen gong wu was finished with a few days to spare, though I doubted I’d have the time to make another. I’d probably spend the rest of the week repairing Chameleonbot and designing a few more jackbot models.

“Oh, then why are you working so late?”

“Inspiration is a fickle mistress. And I like to work late because I hang out with friends a lot. You just never hear me because I have really great headphones.”

“Yeah, I should get a pair for myself. What brand do you use?”

I got up out of bed and opened the bottom drawer of my desk, pulling out a second set of headphones. They looked exactly like a high-performance model found online, and likely performed better given I made them. “Have that one; it’s a spare.”

“Wait, what? No, how much does one of these cost?”

“Eh, I won’t say it’s cheap, but don’t worry about it. I was going to get you one for your birthday.”

“O-Oh, thanks, little bro.”

“This is the part where you tell me that I’m the greatest little brother in the world and you wish you were half as cool as me.”

She punched my arm with a snort of laughter. “Don’t get cute with me, Bryce. Go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your olives.”

Once she left, I found myself already out of bed so I looked through my various PHO accounts. The GOAT had her fair share of course, but so did Creed. Plenty of people realized that the mysterious, shadowy thinker known for being distant wasn’t likely to respond and decided to reach out to the next best thing.

I often did this, usually making minor edits to the shortlist SAINT put together. Making basic costumes for heroes was a good way to ensure the Germa fiber loom and sewing machine, as well as the fabricators I purchased from Big Rig, were busy even when Sabah and I weren’t using them.

Given this month’s specialization, I hadn’t required them for much in a while so we’d ended up making basic suits for several capes across the world. Strider was happy. The man made a healthy commission on every one of our orders and we were showing him that Sabah really had no desire to cut into the courier market.

There was also a separate list, a database of Case-53s. This, I was a bit more personally invested in. We were so close. Amy made Brock look completely human, albeit with a small hit to his bioelectric capacitors. That was a proof of concept. Soon, it’d be time to unveil devil fruits to the world.

The idea was to quickly gift them to Case-53s across the country who were in the direst need of help, thus proving that distance was no object. It probably wouldn’t keep Case-53s from flooding Brockton Bay, but I hoped to at least mitigate that gold rush, even a little bit.

X

2011, February 11: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

The day began as normal. I went to school, had homeroom with Mr. Maury, and shuffled off to algebra II with Mr. Kalil from ten to eleven in the morning.

We were using the FOIL method to solve for X when the intercom blared to life. It was a tune we’d been conditioned to recognize since we were children.

“We are having a surprise endbringer response drill. All teachers lead your class in a single-file line towards the shelter beneath the gymnasium,” our principal’s voice rang out. She was normally a confident woman, but I heard an underlying tremor in her voice.

Whispers erupted among my classmates. They were thrilled; it wasn’t often that we got an excuse to skip class. One or two heard the anxiousness. My mind whirled.

The Simurgh was supposed to descend on Canberra, Australia on February… twenty-something off the top of my head. Today was the eleventh, almost a full two weeks before the scheduled date. We also happened to be on the other side of the globe.

This was an unexpected drill, not unlike earthquake, fire, or school shooter drills. We had these at random points throughout the year as part of the school district’s disaster readiness program. Nothing should be wrong. Nothing was scheduled to happen today.

And yet, something niggled at the back of my mind. Maybe it was my paranoia talking, but I couldn’t help but make sure. After all, I was the biggest reason for her to come here. This was my deepest fear made real.

I took out my pokenav, disguised as a phone, and tried to call my sister. If it failed to go through, that’d be proof that the faraday cage was up. Surely, they’d take it down in an emergency.

I couldn't get a connection using a standard phone line. I didn’t relax. More explanations flooded my mind. A disaster would result in people flooding emergency channels. Maybe the faraday cage was kept up in the first hours to cut down on useless chatter. Or maybe, someone at the front office just forgot, as panicked people were wont to do.

Hypothetically, if the Simurgh was coming here, most people would have no choice but to hunker down and hope that the heroes could drive her away before the half hour threshold was up. Otherwise, they’d just have to live with the quarantine and hope they and their loved ones weren’t in her crosshairs.

The principal… would she tell people that the Simurgh was coming? Hell, would she be told in the first place? The Simurgh was the most reviled of all endbringers. Her impending arrival would cause mass panic like nothing else. No, even if it was “only” Leviathan, the school staff might try to pass it off as a drill initially, if only to get students to the shelter in an organized fashion.

I typed in a second sequence, one I hoped I’d never have to use. It was a unique program, designed under Despicable Me’s espionage expertise to completely bypass Arcadia’s faraday cage. It was made to establish a communication line with SAINT, who generally spent my school days at the Gullrest overseeing my various projects.

I had him take stock. A full sweep of Brockton Bay using the Mimic Network. The response I got sent my heart leaping into the back of my throat: The entire city was on lockdown. Emergency services desperately tried to corral fleeing civilians. Exit routes out of the city were congested beyond capacity. Riots were already starting to break out as people desperately tried to reach their loved ones from the middle of a work day.

This obviously wasn’t a school drill. An endbringer was coming. Things had been going well. Too well, which honestly should have been my first clue. I had so much fun with the Brockton Bay Grand Prix that for a moment, I forgot the setting I’d been reborn into.

Well, I should have known Grimlord Wildbow would be happy to remind me. I didn’t know if that man was secretly a multiversal seer, but damn it, I blamed him anyway.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. I was panicking. I'd prepared for events like this. Even in school, I wasn't entirely out of options. I couldn’t afford to throw an irreverent bitch-fit.

A third sequence followed, this time accompanied by a pulse of aura. No one could replicate that confirmation method, nor could I accidentally butt-dial it. It was nothing as dramatic as the nuclear launch codes, but so much more precious for it.

SAINT had instructions, both for himself and the Mimic Network. Priority one: our families. He was to use the Mimic Network to identify and locate all VIPs. Disregard all secondary objectives, including secrecy protocols, should they prove obstacles. 

That done, I was brought back to the classroom chatter. We joined the river of students as we were ushered towards the shelter. As students were wont to do, they were debating which endbringer they could feasibly survive. The general mood was light, utterly ignorant of the chaos going on outside Arcadia’s walls.

Now came the tricky part: How did I excuse myself? I looked outside. Deceptively peaceful blue sky greeted me. I thought about shattering a window and running out. If I had to out myself, I would, but… but I really didn’t want to.

Under usual circumstances, the principal would call multiple students to the office, each selected to be similar in appearance to the Wards. The Wards would be quietly escorted off the premises while these scapegoats were dismissed for the day.

I doubted this was what they’d do now, however. They simply didn't have the time. Every second counted where the Simurgh was concerned and she'd already caught us with our pants down. I had to make a decision, and fast.

X

Amy Dallon

Vice Principal Culpepper called the Wards, Eric, Vicky, and I out of class before the principal made her announcement. It was the best way to make sure there wouldn’t be a panic.

It was also a clear confirmation that this was no drill. An endbringer was coming and we were needed.

“Which one?” Vicky demanded.

“Does it matter? We need to rendezvous at the PRT building,” Carlos said, taking charge.

“We have confirmation that the Simurgh will arrive in Brockton Bay in roughly seven minutes,” Mr. Culpepper said gravely. “At the very least, we can send you kids away.”

“That’s–”

“Go, Carlos. No, Aegis. Go and do what you can, son.”

“I-I understand, sir. Come on, everyone. We have seven minutes. Let’s make them count.”

I looked around. We were all here as far as the administration was concerned, but there was one cape they didn’t know about: Bryce. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

“What? I’ll carry you, Ames,” my sister began.

I pushed her away as I pressed my quick-change canister. A spiral of sparks bathed me in a familiar glow. My costume, an off-white turtleneck and trousers beneath my customary white robe, settled on my shoulders.

I felt the whisper-quiet flight pack nestled beneath my hood, the pistol that slotted on my right thigh. I had no intention of fighting, but they were comforting, especially after those grueling training sessions Bryce forced on me. I allowed them to reassure me even as I moved towards the door.

“I’m sorry, Vicky. Go with the Wards. I have to do something,” I insisted as I took to the air. The moment I stepped into the hall, I cloaked, vanishing from sight and leaving them floundering.

“Ames? What the hell? Where are you going?” my sister cried behind me.

She’d be fine. 

Bryce. He had to be told.

Or… Did he know? He was usually so well-informed that it was hard to imagine him being surprised by such a major event. But if anything could catch him off guard, the Simurgh would be the one to do it.

I couldn’t be sure. I had to find him. I headed to the freshman corridor, flying above their heads. I found him as his teacher was leading the class into the hall. He looked outside at the sky, then at the pocket I knew held his own quick-change canister.

He knew. Somehow, he'd already cottoned on to the direness of the situation, but he couldn’t leave without outing himself. Then it was up to me to give him a distraction.

There was no time to think. I drew my pistol and found the fire extinguisher. A plasma round–Bryce insisted that I have more stopping power than just the goop bullets–crashed into the red cylinder, flooding the hall with blinding white smoke. A few more rounds, alternating freeze and plasma bolts, added plumes of steam that further covered the hallway.

The students panicked. They might not make it to the shelter like this. But then again, this was the Simurgh. The shelter didn’t matter. We either won, or everyone was fucked anyway.

Bryce’s head whipped towards my position. I saw the exact moment he caught on to what was happening. He elbowed everyone until he had a bit of wiggle room before bouncing off the wall and vanishing into the white smoke. There was the crash of a shattered window in a nearby classroom and I hurried to catch up again.

X

Bryce Kiley

I loved Amy Dallon. I worried for a bit. I’d wondered if she could handle herself in a crisis. Maybe she wasn’t a master tactician, but she at least knew how to use what she had and she really came through for me.

Now suited up, I stalled briefly for Amy to catch up as I headed for the Gullrest. Had she been any slower, I would have been forced to out myself to put on my suit. It was the downside of being a tinker; most of my capabilities were locked behind my costume.

“Bryce! The Simurgh!” Amy shouted as our comms connected. “She’s coming!”

“I know. ETA? How long do we have?”

“S-Seven? Mr. Culpepper said seven back there, so six minutes!”

“Breathe, Amy. You did well. You saved my ass back there,” I said reassuringly. I took that intel and compartmentalized. I couldn’t do anything about it, only react in the time I had. “We head to the Gullrest. SAINT should have contacted Sabah by now.”

We arrived to find SAINT and Sabah waiting for us. She was already in her costume, desperately clutching at her pistol. Her breath came in short gasps, just south of hyperventilating.

She turned as we arrived. SAINT must have told her. “Bryce! Amy! What's going on? The sirens–”

“Yes. Simurgh. ETA, five or six minutes,” I cut her off. She paled as white as a sheet of paper. I headed to the half-finished remnants of the Chameleonbot and quickly began alchemically disassembling every mechanical component. “I need you three to listen. No questions. Just do as I say.

“One: Sabah, SAINT will have identified the location of our families with the Mimic Network. Find them. Teleport them out of the city. Then stay there. We don’t know how your power interacts with hers.

“Two: SAINT, once you’ve led Sabah, activate self-destruct protocols for the entire Mimic Network. The last thing we need is her using them.” I had plans for the network, but they were all fried now. “Then, take APEP and drive it out of the city.

“Three: Amy, I need you to load up the telescope onto APEP while SAINT helps Sabah. When he returns to take APEP away, you go back to your family. Do as the PRT tells you, but keep a line open.”

I began loading everything into my expanded bag. Every bit of ammunition, every single tech I thought might help, every version of the alchemical gloves I’d ever made, even the prototype devil fruits.

“Wait, what about you?” Sabah demanded.

“Me? I’m going to go abuse a pigeon,” I replied with a glib confidence I didn’t truly feel.

Amy grabbed my shoulder. “Bryce, what the fuck? Get serious!”

“I am serious, Amy. We have Legend incoming in two minutes at the latest. The bird bitch will be here in four. He’s going to need help and no one else in Brockton can do this.”

“Aunt Sarah–”

“Not fast enough. Neither is Purity, not that I’d trust her in the first place. Crystal might be, but she’s too much of a glass cannon.”

“But why you? Why the fuck are you playing the hero now?” she demanded. “You're a tinker too!”

“There are aspects of my power that Shards don't understand. I can fight her.”

“You don't know that.”

“I have to try,” I insisted.

Sabah shook her head. She saw the shen gong wu I grabbed. “You planned this. Not the attack, but… you prepared. The wu that you wouldn’t tell anyone about.”

I nodded with a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, I did. The moment I tell anyone, they’re no longer private, no longer mine. Their functions might not be secret anymore.”

“You’re going no matter what.”

“I am.”

“You’re going to die. What am I supposed to tell Sierra?” she pleaded. “Bryce, please…”

“The truth. SAINT has a file that explains everything. A video recording, too.” Left unsaid was that it would also double as my last will and testament if the worst came to pass.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Bryce,” Amy said, teeth gritted, knuckles white.

I looked at the timer. ETA, just two minutes. The clear sky had never looked so ominous before. “In the words of the Honored One, ‘Nah, I’d win.’”

Author’s Note

Simurgh battle. Yay. I’m writing this basically back-to-back off the Simurgh battle from A Colorful Life and I’m not happy. It’s kind of draining to write two of them like this. But, that’s just how the outlines played out this time.

Well, here’s to hoping you guys like this. I think most of you already know the wu he’s going to use by now even though I never named them. Either way, enjoy.

Plant Fact (Again!): A Syracuse University associate professor by the name of Sam Van Aken is famous for creating a tree that produces forty different fruits through plant grafting. The funny part is that this Frankenstein’s monster of a tree isn’t a science experiment. Or at least, it didn’t start out that way.

Nope, the man’s an artist. He has an MFA (Master’s in Fine Arts) from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania and used that as inspiration to create a tree that buds with multiple flowers. It eventually grew to include branches from forty different “donor” trees, including varieties of almond, apricot, cherry, nectarine, and peach.