Super Minion - Chapter 51: Comfort Food

Sidekicks

Morph took a deep breath, and knocked on the door in front of him… no answer. After a few seconds, he knocked again, but there was still no response, or even any noise. That meant Turbo was likely still asleep.

He fidgeted in indecision, his arms twitching as if he didn’t know how to hold them while thinking. On one hand, waking up a tired hero, even one as… abrasive as Turbo, felt rude to Morph. On the other hand, it was already nine-thirty, and their shift had technically started at eight.

Eventually, it came down to the choice of which hero Morph wanted to deal with. Yeah Turbo would probably be belligerent and perhaps cuss out Morph for waking him, but somehow that wasn’t as intimidating as a possible lecture from Brick about asserting himself. Brick never yelled at Morph or Poena, nor did he get irrationally angry, but being lectured by him was like listening to an army drill sergeant trying to keep their cool while speaking to unruly high school students. No mean words were spoken, but the disappointment and mounting frustration were palpable. Maybe it was all in Morph’s head, but still, talking to Brick was intimidating.

So, hoping he wouldn’t have to go ask Brick what to do next, Morph knocked on the door to Turbo’s quarters once again. And one more time. And again, but a lot louder than he intended, because his power picked up on his frustration and turned his knuckles to stone just before he knocked. He got through two complete, rumbling taps before-

“What?! What is it?! The hell are you making all this noise for?” said Turbo, leaning on the suddenly open door frame and rubbing his blurry eyes. He’d put on a blank mask to answer the door (basically just an extended domino mask with the Fortress City emblem), but was otherwise just in sleep shorts; Morph had to stop himself short from knocking on the man’s bare chest. The man was lanky, with pale skin, and in shape. All evidence of how often he ran around in his full-body costume. The only other defining feature was the man’s short, dark hair, which had a bleached-blonde stripe running down the middle from front to back, somewhat reminiscent of the road mark design of his costume. A bit tacky looking, in Morph’s opinion, but Turbo pulled it off well enough. The women Turbo often brought to his room seemed to think so, at least.

Morph gathered himself. “Well, I’m assigned to you for today’s patrol, um, sir.”

“No you ain’t,” grunted Turbo, still picking sleep gunk out of his eyes. “It’s my day off. Poena’s with Brick, and you’re with Magenta.”

“Er, Magenta is in the hospital, sir.”

Turbo paused, his brain catching up to the waking world. He gave Morph the stink-eye.

“Magenta. In the hospital.”

“Yessir. They say she might be out for a week or more, so we’re taking her patrol area.”

“Christ. What’d she do this time?”

“Er, there was some sort of vampire monster thing…”

“God damn it. Always with the fuckin’ bugs.” Turbo lifted the blank mask a bit so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. After a few moments went by (where it became clear Morph wouldn’t just walk away and stop bothering him), Turbo said, “Fine. Fuck it. I was running up and down the entire sector yesterday by my fucking self, but whatever. Let’s do another damn shift. Musta been crazy when I signed up for this job.” He turned back to his room to get ready, and said over his shoulder, “Meet me in the garage. Don’t make me wait,” before slamming the door, leaving Morph alone in the hall.

Morph awkwardly started jogging to the garage, his legs growing slightly longer and lengthening his stride as his power picked up on his urge for haste. Coming from anyone else, Turbo’s comment might have been hypocritical, but there was every possibility that the speedster would be waiting in the garage for him when he arrived, and Turbo hated waiting. Morph, Poena, and a Central support agent had driven around with Turbo all day yesterday, and Turbo had constantly been impatiently jumping from the moving vehicle to respond to incoming reports (often leaving the door swinging open on his way out). Technically, they were supposed to follow along and learn from Turbo how he handled these situations and maybe provide support if it was safe to do so, but there simply hadn’t been time. Not with Brick and Magenta assisting with the lockdown, leaving Turbo as the only active hero for the entire E13 sector. It ended up with Morph and Poena awkwardly riding around in the van all day, only helping with taking statements or other non-violent, handler-approved tasks. It resulted in a lot of griping from Turbo, who muttered about Central “babying” them while he did all the work. Morph… unfortunately had to agree.

The sidekick’s injuries during the Trebla robbery had spooked Morph’s and Poena’s Central assigned handlers, and the two sidekicks had been assigned nothing but basic duties after being healed by a super with a medical focused power. On the one hand, Morph was extremely glad they weren’t just throwing him in the deep end during the middle of Odd Summer. On the other hand, Morph could practically feel the pressure weighing down on everyone around him. Cops and Central agents were overworked, emergency resources were strained, and heroes were needed everywhere. The sudden lockdown in E12 had unleashed a flood of small incidents, from minor crooks taking advantage of the confusion, to normal civilians panicking due to the fear of whatever unknown disaster was happening right next door. Right now, things were holding together, but only because Turbo had been nearly everywhere at once, and E13’s more notorious villains had declined to cause trouble during the, admittedly short, lockdown. But now it was the next day, and E13 was down another hero, leaving only Turbo and Brick in the middle of Odd Summer.

Morph could count. Hellion, Imp, Socket, Warhead; already the list outnumbered the capes two-to-one, and he’d barely even started. That wasn’t including the massive list of notable minions Hellion had in her employ, nor any of the other members of Hellion’s old crew that might be tempted to stop by now that Warhead was around. Even worse, it wasn’t like there weren’t other cowls in E13 besides Hellion’s Henchmen who might cause trouble. Mechanilizer, Snarl, the Vega family; people forgot about them with Hellion’s Henchmen always center stage.

Morph sighed as he reached the garage and Turbo was indeed leaning on the hood of an escort van, tapping his foot and grumbling under his breath. Seeing Morph, Turbo zoomed into the van, taking shotgun, and yelled out the window for Morph to hurry up. Morph got into the back seat, and the Central agent who would be driving got them moving, pointedly and professionally ignoring the stream of invective slowly filtering out under Turbo’s breath.

Yep, one irate hero and his inexperienced sidekick were all that stood between E13’s southside and the dozens of crooks and cowls that might decide today was the day they put their plans in motion.

Who knew what they might be up to?

 

Tofu

“Why is all of your stuff on the floor?” asked Ollie.

“I have it organized for efficiency. That way I can reach everything easily.”

“Even the knives?”

“Especially the knives. They’re the most important utensils.”

“That’s weird,” mumbled Lucas.

“…Is it?”

“Yeah,” agreed Ollie.

Admittedly, I hadn’t gotten around to properly furnishing my apartment yet, but I’d been to both Mikey’s house and Nicole’s room at the HH base, which had led me to believe that the floor of one’s own personal space was a perfectly acceptable place to store items. Maybe it was weird because I organized everything by dimensions, use, and estimate of need? Perhaps disorganization was a requirement.

“What are those things?” asked Ollie.

“Metal slugs. I made them.”

“And those?”

“I.D. cards.”

“And those?”

“Teeth.”

“Those are too big to be teeth.”

“Not for a will-o-wisp.”

“…What is that?” asked Lucas, uncharacteristically loud. He was pointing towards my window.

“That’s my plant.”

“COOL!” shouted Ollie, rushing over to the potted plant with Lucas in tow. They stopped short, to my relief. The plant had continued to remain immobile and benign, as advertised, but I didn’t know how it might react to children. I didn’t want them getting hurt if they somehow managed to provoke a volatile reaction.

“How’d you get a plant?! Are you rich? Is that why you have so much weird stuff? What do you feed it? What’s its name? We saw plants at the zoo, but they were plastic. Wait, is this one plastic? Can I touch it?”

“Which question do you want me to answer first?”

“Uhhh… what’s its name?”

“I haven’t named it.”

“You have to name pets!”

Ollie and Lucas set about determining what the best name for the plant should be, which apparently involved trying to yell their suggestions the loudest. Meanwhile, my phone rang, and I answered a call from Cindy.

“Hello Cindy.”

“Hey Tofu… so um, I’ve got a little problem you might be able to help me with.”

“What is it?”

“Well, there was an incident at work, and long story short, I’m gonna need help cheering up Nicole.”

“Was it Tedic?”

“What? No. Actually it was Warhead. We were heading to the garage and I freakin’ forgot to tell him about Nicole. I should have realized. He’s been fighting ants down in South America since forever, and just sort of reacted when he saw her. Accidentally broke her claw before I could stop him. He apologized, and Nicole said she’s fine, but well…”

“I see.”

“I don’t suppose you might have any ideas? I feel really bad about it.”

“I could cook her some meatloaf?”

“Er, I don’t really think that’s going to cut it, Tofu. She seemed really down.”

“I’ll think about it then, but you should also call Mikey. He will likely have better ideas than me.”

“Alright. Also, I got a text from Natasha saying she needed my help sitting the twins. If you’re still at the apartments, can you let her know I’m going to take a while? She’s not answering her phone.”

“Oh, I talked to her already. I’m watching Ollie and Lucas right now.”

“…You are? Is everything going okay?”

“Yes. I’m showing them my knife collection right now.”

“Hey Tofu?” asked Ollie, interrupting, “Is it okay if we pet your plant?”

“Are the scales on your hands puncture-proof?”

“I dunno~.”

“Then only touch the dull parts.”

“Kay.”

“Tofu?! Was that Ollie? Tofu, what’s going on over there?” asked Cindy.

“Just making sure the plant doesn’t injure them. Some of the larger leaves can poke.” An indicator popped up on my phone. “Oh, and I’m getting another call from Mikey; that’s convenient timing. I’ll ask him about cheering up Nicole and get back to you. Talk to you later.”

“Tofu wai-”

*beep*

“Hello Mikey.”

“Hey Tofu.”

“Is everything fine? You don’t normally call so early.”

“Hey, I get up early sometimes. Anyways, I was just calling to warn you to make sure you do the after-action paperwork for last night. Sandra seemed kinda pissed when I drove the van back alone, so maybe make sure you have it filled out before you see her.”

“I have my report ready, but thank you for the warning.”

“No worries. How about you, everything go fine after I left?”

“Nothing dangerous happened at the club, however, would you happen to know the best way to cheer someone up? It seems there was an altercation at work this morning, and Nicole was injured.”

“What?! She okay?”

“Her claw was injured, and Cindy says she seems depressed over the incident.”

“Damn, she just can’t seem to catch a break.”

“The best way to cheer someone up is candy!” yelled Ollie, suddenly. He’d been listening in.

“…Hugs,” supplied Lucas.

The two of them began listing suggestions to cheer people up, the naming of the plant apparently forgotten. It seems children are easily distracted.

“Uh, where are you Tofu? I’m hearing a lot of yelling in the background.”

“That’s Ollie and Lucas. I’m watching them for my neighbor.”

“…You’re babysitting?”

“Yes.”

“And everything’s going fine?”

“It seems to be. I’ve talked to Cindy about it. She normally sits for them.”

“Oh, that’s good then…”

“Take her to the zoo!” interrupted Ollie.

“The museum!” said Lucas. They’d continued yelling suggestions throughout the phone call.

“Well anyways, we’ll put our heads together and think of something for Nicole,” continued Mikey, not having heard what the kids were saying. “I’m not on shift today, but maybe I’ll stop by and we can see how things go. Maybe we can all figure out something fun to do together. Could definitely do with something relaxing after all the stuff with the lockdown that went down yesterday.”

“Indeed.”

We ended the call, and I turned back to the twins who were now arguing over whether the zoo or museum was better.

“Tofu! Tell Lucas the zoo is better!” demanded Ollie.

“Nuh uh. The museum is better,” asserted Lucas.

“Which one is better Tofu?!”

They looked at me expectantly. I did a quick search on my phone for what those things were, and it was clear:

“I think the zoo is better.”

“HA! SEE?! I told you so!” yelled Ollie.

Lucas frowned. Then, his lower lip quivered, and his eyes became watery. With a hiccup, he slowly started to wail, a shrill sound that emanated from him at an impressive volume.

“Are you injured?” I asked, worried. I’d just told Mikey they were fine.

Lucas didn’t respond, continuing to cry. Ollie himself was wide eyed, and became more and more anxious as Lucas continued to cry. He kept glancing between me and Lucas, as if expecting me to do something, but I was unsure what was the correct response for crying children. Ollie’s own eyes soon grew watery as well, and it seemed he might start crying too, but then he threw his arms around Lucas and yelled, “I’M SORRY!”

They both then cried for a little while, but eventually settled into sniffles and hiccups. Still, they did not at all seem happy about the situation, likely to break into a bout of crying again at any moment.

Fascinating behavior.

I had observed babies cry to alert their parents to physical distress, but I was certain that Lucas hadn’t been physically harmed, so it must have been the answer I gave. It was surprising that merely saying something could produce such a completely distraught reaction, and indeed, a hug from Ollie helped to make Lucas feel better, like Lucas said they would. This was by far the most extreme emotional reaction I’d seen to words so far, and yet Ollie was able to calm Lucas rather quickly. Learning how to provoke and alleviate such reactions on demand would be highly beneficial, and with such clear-cut reactions, it seemed children could be a useful tool in testing human emotional stimuli.

“Lucas, might I ask what it was I said that made you sad?”

“Y-you said the museum w-was bad.”

“Ah, then there has been a misunderstanding. I did not mean to say that the museum was bad, just that of the two options I believe the zoo to be better. Both options are good, but after carefully considering the pros and cons, the zoo is slightly more valuable to me. Another person might find the museum more valuable, and I will indeed present both options to Nicole, as I believe both options would be of interest to her. I apologize for not clarifying.”

“Okay…”

Lucas continued sniffling though, and Ollie continued to hold Lucas’s hand while looking at the floor and frowning, obviously still feeling bad about his part in making Lucas cry. Despite both Ollie’s and my own apology, and hugs, it seemed Lucas was still feeling sad.

Hm. How to solve this without having to resort to hugs, myself? What else made children happy?…

 

“Do you two like sugar?”

 

Morph

“You have the right to your mask, and to the identity it represents. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided-”

“Newbie, we don’t have time for the whole song and dance,” interrupted Turbo. “Just cuff ’em to an anchor and leave ’em for the cops to handle.”

Morph blinked at Turbo, who had suddenly appeared next to him in a blur. Morph’s arms were currently made of concrete and wrapped like snakes around three would-be thieves he’d just caught. They’d cut through the metal shutters of a closed pawn shop window using some kind of metal absorption power one of the three had, before grabbing as many electronic items as possible and running for it. Morph cornered them after they ran down a dead-end alley and, despite the metal absorber having slightly enhanced strength, had been able to apprehend them without any injuries, or Turbo’s intervention. Technically, his first solo collar.

“Er, right,” replied Morph. He reached for the cuffs on his belt, but then paused as he realized a potential problem.

“Um, Turbo? That guy absorbs metal, and the cuffs are metal, so… how do I…”

“Ugh. Then we wait,” replied Turbo, managing to make ‘wait’ sound like a curse.

Morph put cuffs on the two men who couldn’t absorb metal, and they settled in to wait for a pick up. Luckily they were in an alley, so at least there weren’t any rubber-neckers, but having to stand around holding on to a criminal while Turbo paced was awkward to say the least. They never showed this part in the movies, at least, none that Morph ever watched.

Five minutes passed, then Turbo raised a hand to his com, receiving a new communication from Central. He listened a few seconds before responding.

“…Negative dispatch. Can’t intercept. Currently running overwatch on sidekick, Morph; we have powered perps awaiting pickup.”

“Um, I think I can hold them here if you need to go?” offered Morph.

“And have Brick rip me a new one for leaving you here unsupervised? Pass.”

Three minutes went by before the next call came in for Turbo, which he again refused. Then five minutes before another came in. Finally, when a fourth call came in and was passed by, Morph nervously spoke up.

“Um, Turbo, I can just, not tell Brick? If you need to go? That was a lot of calls. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Turbo just tilted his head back and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Your helmet has a camera right?”

Morph blinked, “Oh. Yeah.”

“Then it looks like I’m stuck here. Word of advice: ditch that shit the moment they let you. Causes nothing but trouble.”

“Oh… I guess Brick checks that, doesn’t he?”

“Not what I meant, but sure.”

“…Not what you meant?”

Turbo rolled his eyes, but said, “We aren’t stuck here because Brick has a pole up his ass. He does, but that’s besides the point. We’re stuck here because this asshole,” he pointed at the man quietly sitting in Morph’s clutches, “can’t be secured. Next time make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Alright… how do I do that?”

“Jesus, this isn’t rocket science. Next time, when you’re doing you’re best round-up rodeo impression, just hit him harder. He can’t run away if he can’t run.”

“Oh… isn’t that kinda…”

“Tch, it’s a super fight, kid. Put them down before they put you down. You think Brick doesn’t tenderize guys like these on a daily basis?”

“I guess. But Magenta-”

“Crushed a dude in half on camera. Like I said: ditch them. As if anyone even gave a shit anyways. You know all that outrage was just Hellion’s people astroturfing, right?”

“But what about-”

“Look! Stop asking stupid questions, and trust the guy with the highest arrests-per-minute ratio within three sectors. Ditch the cameras. Beat up the bad guys. Get paid. It’s that simple.”

Turbo refused to say more, and they waited in silence until the cops finally came to take in the three men Morph apprehended (bringing with them a specialized containment unit complete with plastic cuffs), whereupon Turbo immediately ran off to deal with the calls still in progress. Morph got back in the escort van to slowly follow Turbo with the Central agent, pondering the discussion with Turbo all the while.

He supposed it made sense. Beating someone black and blue didn’t seem like something you should do as a member of law enforcement, but when the guy you were trying to arrest could deadlift a truck, there were only so many ways you could apprehend them. Morph supposed that was why the training he’d been given put so much emphasis on avoiding use of excessive force after the arrest, but was conspicuously absent of reminders for proper conduct during the arrest. Logical sense. Still…

He pulled out the work phone he was issued when he became a sidekick. Sidekicks didn’t have access to the full hero network, but the police network arrest records were open to him. After all, sidekicks needed to learn how their mentors did things, right? And what better way than to research the cases they’d worked on?

Morph pulled up Turbo’s records. The man hadn’t been lying; Turbo’s power allowed him to go through incidents at a rate most heroes could only dream of, and the records reflected it. It gave Morph an excellent sample size, even after he filtered out the arrests of normal citizens. That left him with the list of supers and mutants Turbo arrested, and the results made Morph frown. While the normal citizen arrests were largely inconspicuous, the super and mutant arrests were spattered with injury reports. Especially the mutant arrests. But was it enough to be concerned? Pulling up Brick’s and Magenta’s records showed a similar ratio of injuries among arrests, maybe even a tad higher than Turbo’s… but you didn’t call in a speedster for situations that required a straight up fight. You called them in where their speed could potentially end a fight before it started. From their power sets, one would assume Turbo’s arrests would have a lower injury ratio than his teammates, but that wasn’t the case. Add that to the fact Turbo had far more arrests total than Brick and Magenta combined and it meant that while the ratio of arrests-to-injuries was similar for all three, Turbo had far more injuries logged total. Nearly one to two serious injuries for every five arrests of a super or mutant.

Should… he tell someone? Brick, maybe?… But maybe he was way off base and those numbers were normal. He was just a fresh sidekick after all. It wasn’t like someone else wouldn’t have noticed, right? Causing discord over a rookie’s misunderstanding would be a terrible idea, especially during Odd Summer while the team was so strained.

Hell, even if Turbo was using excessive force during arrests, was that necessarily bad? Could you blame him for being heavy-handed on criminals when the sector was, quite literally in some cases, on fire? If Morph had been just a bit rougher during the fight, they might have been able to secure them at the scene and head to the calls that came in. Calls where people needed help. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, he guessed…

But Morph knew that wasn’t *really* what Turbo meant.

Tofu

“Tofu, you’re gonna miss it! This is the best part!”

“That’s alright. I still need to finish the second batch of waffles.”

As it turns out, the twins did indeed like sugar. We moved back to their house so I could make us something sweet to eat, and it turned out that Natasha owned an antique waffle iron. I’d been wanting to try one out, so I decided to make waffles (with syrup in every square, as the twins instructed). The twins happily ate their syrup and waffles while watching a television show called ‘Ted the Tinker’, in which a tinker was currently exploring ‘space’ in his tinkered school bus while teaching a class of young humans.

It was absolutely terrifying. Of all the things I had learned since escaping the lab, space was the absolute worst thing ever. The exact nature of the world outside the lab was far more sinister than I ever imagined, and I was in awe at the mental integrity with which the twins watched the cartoon. The show informed us that to travel between ‘planets’, you had to cross a massive void with absolutely nothing in it, for billions and trillions of miles in all directions. No materials, no resources, no nutrients, and if you somehow found yourself adrift in space without a method of propulsion, no amount of resource conservation would allow you to hibernate long enough to survive the millions and billions and trillions of years it might take you to drift towards a suitable planet. Assuming you drifted to a suitable planet, and didn’t just smack into a sun, or get sucked into a black hole, or cooked by a solar flare, or any number of other terrible things that were completely unavoidable if you found yourself drifting in a vacuum. Wandergheist could be avoided, gods could be appeased, powerful supers could be killed, and Mikey’s grandmother’s ghost wouldn’t actually kill you. But space? Inexorable death.

“Tofu, you’re missing Saturn!”

Ugh.

I suppressed the illogical urge to scrub my memories of the information, and resolved to package the knowledge from Ted the Tinker into storage as soon as the show was over. Knowledge of space was too important to delete, but I didn’t want the information actively in my higher processes.

For the next hour, I watched television and ate waffles with the twins, who alternated between staring at the television, eating, and rapidly rushing around the room while pretending to be superheroes that punched asteroids. It seemed that sugar agreed with them, as they seemed much more energetic and happy now. The physical and mental benefits of sugar couldn’t be denied, which made it strange that many humans seemed to abstain from consuming adequate amounts. At least the twins had no such qualms, eating everything I gave them. Yet still, I might need to give them a little more, as they were wasting a lot of energy with unnecessary movements, flailing their arms and dashing about as they were.

18 years growth until legal recognition as a ‘functional adult’.

Average estimate of Odd Summer events before adulthood: 5.

Estimated probability of death before threshold reached: high.

Conclusion: Inefficient design.

It was no wonder humans were so protective of their young. The growth period of the human ‘lifecycle’ was absurdly long, and human children seemed to have no real defenses against predation. With the amount of dangerous scenarios experienced during daily Fortress City life, it seemed like a miracle that humans ever reached adulthood… though I suppose that was the reason parents provided for their young for the majority of this period. I doubted Ollie and Luke would be very successful minions, even with their fixation on the ‘capes and cowls’ practice they seemed to enjoy.

Until then, they were a great source of information, both as living examples of human children, and due to the fact that they tended to ‘blurt’ out information on whatever caught their fancy. Already I had several new items to add to my list of topics that required more in-depth research, especially this ‘zoo’. According to the twins’ description, it was where you could go to “see all the animals,” which sounded like a perfect place to collect more designs. The advertisement online promised, “exotic animals from pre-Odd Summer times,” which sounded like a wonderful opportunity to collect baseline designs.

My list of research topics just keeps getting longer… Maybe that’s why humans took so long to grow? From the samples I’d collected so far, their brains seemed to finish congealing around the twenty-five to twenty-nine year age range. Perhaps that’s how long it took for them to learn everything they might need to operate as fully functional humans? I was definitely having trouble keeping up with the abundance of topics I encountered on a day to day basis, even with constantly searching the internet on my phone.

It was just so difficult to tell what I should be focusing on. Combat data and physical improvements were of course top priority, followed by things I needed for day-to-day survival and maintaining my disguise, but then things got tricky. How important was it to know Spanish, or Mandarin, when English was the dominant language in Fortress City by far? Which pop-culture references were essential for me to know? Was memorizing Jesus’s powerset important if he was currently (but apparently only temporarily) dead? What about knowing the average price of whole grain wheat? Could I use the fibonacci sequence to enhance combat predictions? Which was a more efficient use of my time; memorizing the numbers in an E13 phonebook, or figuring out how to synthesize a kobe beef substitute using a mix of bologna, human liver, and cheese whiz? All of these research topics and more had a place on my list, but it was difficult to decide which to focus on without a proper frame of reference.

Sigh. Hopefully the schools wouldn’t take too long to reopen after Odd Summer ended. Maybe Sandra could find me a spot somewhere? Until then, I suppose I could focus on-

*Click clack*

“I’m home~” called Natasha, openingthe front door.

“Mom!”

“Mom!”

The twins went running for their mother, games forgotten, and immediately began blurting out a summary of everything we’d been doing.

“Tofu made waffles!”

“…he has a bunch of stuff on the floor.”

“And we watched neptune!”

“…u-ti-sils, and tooths, and metal bugs…”

“And we played capes and cowls!”

“…has a plant!”

“And he has a plant!”

“Oh my, seems you two had quite the exciting morning, but I bet it wasn’t as exciting as mine,” she paused for effect, “I got the job! When Odd Summer ends I’ll have a job at Babs’ Beautifiq Boutique! No more long nights for me. I’ll be able to tuck you two in every, single, night.” She pinched their cheeks.

The twins’ reaction was… likely not what Natasha was hoping for. Their faces went blank, then showed confusion, then became distressed, before Ollie asked, “Does that mean… you won’t be a superhero anymore?”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

“Ollie shhhhhh!” said Lucas, trying to shush Ollie.

“What’s this about?” asked Natasha, again.

The twins looked at each other, then awkwardly faced their mother.

“We found your hero mask,” admitted Ollie.

“Hero mask?”

“…The white one,” said Lucas.

“Oh! That mask.”

“Please don’t stop being a superhero!” begged Ollie.

“Ah! Ollie, hunny, that mask, um, that’s not a superhero mask.”

Both twins gasped.

“You’re a supervillain?!”

“No! No Ollie, that mask, it, um-”

“Your mother doesn’t wear that mask, Ollie, Lucas,” I interrupted. All three of them turned to me. “She got it from our warehouse job. There was an entire shipment of them that wasn’t paid for, so we got to keep them.” I pulled out my own mask. “See? Even I got one. Working in a warehouse is quite lucrative. I get to add lots of things to my collection.”

It took a little more cajoling, but eventually we convinced the twins that their mother and I really did just work in a warehouse. They then became pouty afterwards because their mother wasn’t actually a superhero, but she just pulled them into a hug while mouthing ‘thank you’ to me over their shoulders.

“You could still sign up to be a hero,” pouted Ollie, to which Natasha laughed.

“Sorry hun, but even if they took mutants, I think I’m better suited for a desk job.”

I agreed. Her mutation was simply not as durable as most of the other powered minions, and if her priority was funneling earned resources into her offspring instead of herself, then a job with a safer risk/return was preferable. Being even a rank-and-file minion carried some physical risk, and being a bonehead could be quite dangerous if you didn’t have the correct power set. Frankly, I wasn’t sure why anyone would risk it without the ability to heal themselves or prevent injury; humans could be far too fragile. Those that then chose to be super villains and made themselves a target? Well, I had enough evidence to prove they were definitely crazy. The only thing more dangerous was being a superhero.

I couldn’t begin to imagine what went through their minds.

Sidekicks

“Stay here.”

Poena couldn’t believe her ears.

“What!? I can help!”

“You aren’t trained for this yet. Maintain a perimeter until the firefighters get here.”

“But-”

“Stay here!”

Brick didn’t waste another word, and marched right into the burning apartment building, flames licking uselessly at his sides. Poena stood where she was for a moment, fuming, before moving to do what Brick told her to. It incensed her that once again she was being relegated to busywork, but she would follow orders and get it done perfectly. Just like everything else she was assigned. Maybe then she would finally get to do something meaningful.

She got to work, what little of it there was. The residents of the apartment building were already evacuated safely by the time she and Brick arrived at the scene, a combination of good architectural planning and the fire drill practice that most everyone in E13 had down pat (this was Hellion’s stomping ground after all). Two of the evacuees did need to be looked at for minor smoke inhalation, but the central agent that was babysitting Poena was already handling it. Instead, all she had to do was keep idiots and looky-loos away from the building, which left her plenty of time to stew over her situation.

Ever since the bank heist in E12, Poena was constantly being assigned the most menial of tasks, stuff that any Central agent would be able to do. It was like everyone had forgotten Poena was trained for this! She’d signed up the very day she triggered her power (before Odd Summer was officially announced), and attended more than just Central’s training courses (which were woefully incomplete in Poena’s opinion). Police protocol? Memorized. Emergency procedures? Drilled. First aid? Self-defense? Pfft. She’d taken courses in first aid well before she’d ever gotten her power, and attended a self-defense class since she was thirteen. Her fencing club? That was just exercise. One of many activities she excelled at.

Even if it had been her favorite.

Her demeanor soured further at the intrusive thought. Had been her favorite. The final match of the tournament where she gained her power had been her last match. Likely forever. They didn’t allow you to compete in sports after you gained a power, nothing official anyway. Too many ways for someone to cheat even if their power technically didn’t apply to the situation. That meant she was banned from any meaningful fencing tournament, an outcome that burned all the more as the win had gone to her opponent from another sector. The smug asshole scored the first hit and then-

“AAAAAHH!”

The sound of shattering glass preceded a scream, and Poena’s head whipped around to the source. She caught just a glimpse of a body falling through the air before it impacted the pavement with a wet thud. The person had crashed out of a second story window of the burning apartment.

Poena was running to the body before most of the crowd could even gasp in shock, a can of multipurpose flame retardant pulled from her utility belt. Upon reaching the body, she liberally sprayed down the areas that were still aflame, then coated any patches of exposed skin she could see. Poena doubted the burn-ointment properties of the spray would be up to the task though. The man was practically charcoal.

Poena checked his pulse, found nothing, then risked turning him over in order to begin CPR. She flinched at the sight of his burned face, and was suddenly very grateful for the tinker-made can of compressed air attached to her utility belt, as well as her helmet which blocked out most of the smell of… burnt meat.

She unfolded the plastic respirator mask attached to the can and placed it over the man’s mouth and nose. It automatically adjusted a bit, before a green diode lit up letting her know she could proceed. She pumped air into his lungs with the can, and then compressed the man’s chest, then repeated. And repeated. And repeated. It felt like an hour, but couldn’t have been more than a minute before the man suddenly lurched, pulling in a strained breath of air on his own. Relief filled Poena. She’d practiced CPR many times, but never had to implement it in a real life-and-death situation before.

With the man breathing again, Poena took a moment to recheck her surroundings. Reflexes had kicked in when she saw the man fall out of the building, but now she was wondering what exactly happened. Why was the man trapped in the building when everyone else had already evacuated? Was he related to the fire? Fortress City buildings didn’t burn easily on their own. Was he a dumb criminal that got caught in his own arson attempt? Not likely. Brick hadn’t appeared, which meant he was likely still dealing with whatever caused-

The burned man suddenly grabbed her arm, and Poena nearly activated her power in surprise. She tried to tug her arm away, but his hand stubbornly clung to her, surprisingly strong. He gasped terribly, trying to say something.

“Stop moving. You’ve been badly injured.”

It didn’t seem like he could hear her, and she worried that he would hurt himself further if he didn’t stop struggling. Where were the damn ambulances?

“Sir. Sir, can you hear me? You need to stop moving, you might-”

The skin on the arm that gripped her sloughed off, and Poena nearly screamed, but she strangled her reaction into a gasp instead. Where she expected grisly bloody bits and bone, instead was only smooth skin with an oily orange sheen. Healthy skin, that she could see was still settling into place like hardening cement.

Mutation. He was mutating.

Poena paled beneath her mask, and felt the bile rise up in her throat, but she forced herself to remember her training and follow it. She’d known this was a possibility, and there were steps to follow in just this situation.

Her free hand fumbled at her belt, her fingers feeling like jelly inside her gloves, but after a few tense moments managed to pull an emergency ration bar from its pouch. Hurriedly ripping the wrapper, she removed the respirator and held the bar up to the man’s mouth, trying to tell the man to eat as she did so… and this time she did scream as his head whipped forward to snap at the nutrition bar, nearly taking her fingers with it. She flinched back as far as she could with his hand still gripping her arm like an iron manacle, and watched as a mouth now filled with razor-sharp teeth made short work of the bar.

Over the next few minutes, Poena pulled more bars from her pouch and fed them to the man, not even bothering to remove the wrapper. Disgustingly, some of the razor sharp teeth fell out even as he chewed and were swiftly replaced with flat teeth better suited to chewing the energy bars. It continued that way, the mutation making swift changes while he ate.

Just as she began to worry that she would run out of food, the new mutant finally stopped eating, and his head fell back as he drifted into unconsciousness, no longer able to push past the pain and trauma of his ordeal.

Poena ripped her arm away from the mutant’s now limp hand and stood up, retreating a dozen steps to get to a safer distance. Sirens announced the arrival of the fire department, and a flash of anger crossed her thoughts. What the hell had taken them so long? Poena didn’t wait for them, and instead marched for the escort van, ignoring the cowardly central agent that still wasn’t approaching the mutant, ignoring the civilians that gawked with their cell phones out, and entered the van, slamming the door behind her.

Poena sat and removed her helmet, then concentrated on slow, deep breaths.

I will not throw up.

She’d done her job perfectly. Unlike the agent.

I will not throw up.

Followed all of Brick’s instructions. Dull as they were.

I will not throw up.

The crowd was safe, and the muta-

I will not thr- ulp. I will not thro-

She materialized a green needle, and stabbed it into her palm. The ghostly item pierced right through, doing no damage to her hand but igniting her pain receptors as if it had, causing the muscles to involuntarily spasm. Poena focused on that pain, distracting herself until her stomach settled. When it finally did, the needle winked out as if it never existed, leaving her hand without even a mark.

She didn’t throw up. She’d handled the job and contained the mutation.

Perfectly.

 

Nicole

Sewers in Fortress City were pretty nice, as far as sewers went. Lots of room to move around in. Relatively clean, at least in comparison to other mega cities. Plenty of monstrous fauna to eat if you were peckish, and lots of places to hide if you were one of those said fauna…

…Okay, so it was both metaphorically and literally a shit hole. But that made it a perfect place to mope.

*squee*

“Yes yes, Mr. Chonkers. Here.”

Nicole broke off another piece of her nutrient bar and tossed it in the water. The large nessie snapped it up before it even had time to soak, and made distressing gurgling noises as it swallowed the dry snack. Nicole would have been concerned if this hadn’t been the upteenth time this had happened. Mr. Chonkers wasn’t exactly a patient animal, finishing the hard swallow and then immediately nuzzling up to Nicole for more. While he was a couple tools short of a belt, Mr. Chonkers definitely knew how to be affectionate when he wanted food. Both he and the other nessies were one of the many bright spots in Nicole’s life as of late.

So I really shouldn’t be moping… or should I? I don’t exactly have a balanced frame of reference.

She’d been through a lot over the last few years. Most of it shitty, a fair portion of it terrifying, far too much of it life-threatening. Perhaps she could have avoided most of it, but only by allowing the powers that be to shut her away in an asylum where they wouldn’t have to look at her.

“Compared to all that, what’s a little cracked chitin? Right, Mr. Chonkers?”

Mr. Chonkers squeaked in mindless agreement, before suddenly turning to the entrance tunnel. The tendrils surrounding his mouth wriggled before he dunked his head just below the water and started blowing angry bubbles. Nicole knew what that meant.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, a familiar figure entered the nessie nest chamber. Tofu, wearing his normal everyday clothes, juxtaposed by his creepy doll helmet. He really seemed to like that thing. In his hand he had a plastic bag filled with containers, which she guessed to be whatever food was Tofu’s newest obsession. Walking over, he gave Mr. Chonkers a light bonk when the nessie lunged at him, before sitting down next to her.

“Hello Nicole. Did you get my text? I brought waffles for you to try.”

“Thank you. And yes, I did. Did you see my reply?”

“I must have missed it.”

“Uh-huh…”

Nicole rolled her eyes as Tofu pulled the containers of food out of the bag. Tofu miss a text? Sure. She’d sent him a reply saying she wasn’t hungry and he needn’t go out of his way, but as expected he’d gone dead silent afterwards. Obliviousness? More like weaponized obtuseness. Tofu was nothing if not stubborn when it came to food, treating the concept of ‘not hungry’ like it was a particularly strange and intriguing alien to be studied.

“Make sure you pour syrup in every square,” he cautioned, setting up the insulated containers.

“Alright?”

The waffles were amazing. Made from scratch and kept fresh with tinkerware containers, they were a far cry from the waffles in her memories. She’d only ever had the frozen kind, and those years ago, before she mutated. She ate with relish, and felt a bit guilty for claiming not to be hungry and then destroying nearly a dozen waffles.

“These were really good Tofu.”

“Thank you. I tried to copy the recipe from Maggie’s Sunrise Diner. I think they came out well. The twins Iiked them too.”

“The twins?”

“I was babysitting my neighbor’s twin children this morning.”

“Babysitting?… Did that go okay?”

“No worries. Neither child was injured, and I reported the singular crying incident to their mother.”

“Oh. Good. That’s good…”

“How about you? I heard you were injured at work?”

“Ah, yeah, there was a bit of an accident. It’s not bad though, see?”

She maneuvered her claw around so he could get a clear look. It really wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Just some large stress fractures near the ‘elbow’ from blocking the table. Rattleback had helped put some antiseptic putty on to seal the injury but, truthfully it probably wasn’t necessary. The cracks scabbed up well even without the putty, and she could still support her claw, even if it was sore and she couldn’t move it too fast.

“How did this happen?”

“Oh, it was nothing. Just spooked a guy into having war flashbacks. You know me, always going around scaring people.”

“Nicole, you would not intentionally scare someone. Are you okay?”

“What, I, yeah I’m fine Tofu. It was just an accident. It’ll heal fast.”

“That’s good. But I mean how are you feeling emotionally?”

“I, I’m fine, Tofu. Really. It was just a mistake, he already apologized and everything.”

“It is my experience that mistakes can hurt feelings even if you explain and apologize. Did the waffles make you feel any better?”

“They did, Tofu. Really, I’m fine. Everything’s glimmer bolts. Honest.”

“…”

“…”

“…Would you like a hug?”

That got a small snort and smile out of her.

“Tofu, you hate hugs.”

“Yes, but hugs seem to help people who are feeling sad.”

She paused, then sighed while giving her ponytail a tug.

“…I mean, if you’re offering.”

It was a shame Tofu didn’t like hugs. He was really good at them. Creepy doll mask or not.

“Better?” asked Tofu.

” A lot better. Thank you.”

“Good. Now then, I wanted to ask-”

“WARHEAD! YOU SCHEME-SLAGGING SONOFABITCH! I’LL KILL YOU!”

The roar echoed down the sewer tunnels, drowning out Tofu and silencing the nessies. Even the water seemed to drip more quietly, afterwards.

“I guess Socket found out about the fabricator,’ squeaked Nicole.

“Indeed. I’m surprised we could hear him from this distance. Isn’t the base insulated to prevent echoes?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. You know, I find I’m still hungry. Would you care to go hunting?”

Another crash echoed down the tunnels, sounding suspiciously like a wrench impacting cement.

“…Somewhere far from the base?” Tofu clarified.

“Sounds like a plan.” A great plan, even! The best. They packed up the tinkerware and made ready to leave.

“Also,” said Tofu, as they walked away. “I wanted to ask, do you prefer museums, or zoos?”

For some reason, a shiver went down her spine.