Rise 7.2
Colin Wallis2011, January 23: Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Halbeard,
You won. Congratulations, you cheating Robocop knockoff.
Whatever. As promised, you can ask The GOAT a question or ask me to build something for you.
[Here] is the full list of everything we’re willing to give you. I’ve included a brief description of what they do and how. I’m reasonably sure you can reverse engineer them all so have fun with that if you choose to forego a question.
You’ll also notice that some things I can do are not included. You of all people should know how finicky tinkertech can be. Some things can’t be replicated or given away, not even to the winner of the Brockton Bay Grand Prix.
The Third Arm Sash is exactly what it sounds like. You call out its name and then it becomes a third arm that responds to your mental cues. Yes, telepathy is possible. No, don’t ask how.
As for its uses, I suggest first giving Kid Win a pat on the back with it. You know, since he’s the real winner. I’m genuinely proud of him.
Fuck you kindly,
Creed
PS: You’re going to need to learn to practice if you want to use the sash properly. Please don’t disable your cameras; I want to make a blooper reel.
I eyed the email with smug satisfaction. It was a distinctly unheroic feeling that I should quash down on, but I couldn’t help it. Creed sounded so… petulant. No matter; being the bigger man was for public relations.
I wondered how much control The GOAT exerted over their subordinate. Depending on the answer, the email could have been doctored specifically to garner this response from me.
As sweet as my victory tasted, I could allow myself to bask in the feeling for only so long before duty called. Like with every other tinkertech, the sash needed to be tested properly, doubly so because it was not made by a Protectorate tinker.
I headed down to the lab set aside for power testing. I would have preferred my own quarters, but I'd been overruled. Director Piggot wanted the power analysts to observe.
Naturally, this then turned into a show. A few of my colleagues, the Wards, and even the agents who had nothing urgent stood on the observation deck. I scowled in annoyance. Things had been quiet, but surely there were more efficient ways to spend their time.
“So that's the sash? It doesn't look like much,” Assault said with an easygoing grin.
“Creed excels at defying expectations,” Miss Militia pointed out. “He was insistent on all drivers holding the sash when he invoked his ‘xiaolin showdown.’”
“He also called it a contest invoked via the Samsara, the Buddhist notion of the cycle of souls and karma,” I added dryly, inwardly suppressing a shiver. The moon had left quite the impression. “I am skeptical.”
“You don’t think the sash is what makes the dimension?”
“That seems unlikely. The GOAT would never have allowed him to put up such a valuable item as the prize, especially when it could have gone to villains.”
“True… Still, maybe we should test it. Creed is known for being rather whimsical.”
“Very well,” I acquiesced. We made our way to the center of the testing ground and I held out one end of the sash to her. “As Creed said, I declare a xiaolin showdown. The contest shall be a nonlethal spar. The winner may claim the sash.”
Nothing happened.
We stood in the middle of the room, looking like a pair of fools.
“Hmm… I wonder what’s wrong,” Miss Militia muttered. “Oh, right! He said we had to accept the terms of the race. I accept the terms of this xiaolin showdown.”
We waited some more. Never mind the shifting of dimensions, the sash didn’t even glow. There was the sound of chirping crick–
”Knock it off, Clockblocker,” I snapped, glaring at the Ward.
He put his phone back in his pocket with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
“As expected, Creed did not share his dimension-maker. His email said as much. It is likely one of the items The GOAT considers too valuable to share freely and he withheld it with the excuse of it being nonreplicable.”
One of the scientists, an elderly gentleman by the name of Dr. Foster, cleared his throat. “In that case, shall we begin testing the Third Arm Sash?”
“We will. Miss Militia, please vacate the field.”
Soon, I was the only one on the testing grounds.
I wrapped the sash around my hip and left shoulder. That way, its “arm” would hang at about the same height as ny shoulders. Creed said controlling it would take practice. Like any other weapon, firing it from the hip sounded unwise.
“Are you ready, Armsmaster?” the scientist called. “All monitoring equipment are online. Please proceed at your discretion.”
“Understood.” Feeling rather silly, I called out, “Third Arm Sash.”
The sash came alive, rearing up from my chest like a cobra. Its “hand,” the tassels on the end acted as fingers, stretched out before me like a lunging spear, only to droop to the ground aimlessly. It flopped along the floor like a dead fish before going still.
This was… distinctly underwhelming. The email mentioned telepathic control. I thought it would include a psychosomatic component with which I could control the sash.
“Any special observations, Armsmaster?”
“None. It is present.”
“You don’t feel like you’ve got a third arm?”
“I do not. It would be stranger if I did. I will try using it to lift my halbe–”
That was as far as I got. The dormant fabric leapt into the air like a striking viper. It lashed back towards me, reaching for the halberd holstered at my back.
I flinched and let out an uncharacteristic swear. The sudden movement made me stumble backwards. It was but a single step, but that was sufficient for the sash to miss the handle sticking out above my shoulder. It then proceeded to wrap around my face, blinding and gagging me while I tumbled to the floor.
I laid there, listening to the snickering coming from the observation deck. Groaning with embarrassment, I belatedly remembered that there were many cameras here, recording this shame for posterity.
I made a mental note to upgrade our network security. I’d already done so once, but it seemed prudent. Anything to keep Creed from seeing this incident.
“Are you okay, Armsmaster?” Miss Militia called. “Is anything hurt?”
“Just my pride,” I muttered. “The Third Arm Sash is much more responsive than I first expected.”
“Please describe what it’s like to activate the sash,” Dr. Foster said.
I made to unwind the sash from my face, only for the infuriating bolt of cloth to twitch along with my real arms. I got it off, but it twitched like a worm the entire time. “That is the trouble. There is no psychosomatic component that accompanies my commands.”
“Clarify, Armsmaster.”
“I can feel in the back of my mind that there is a third arm I can access. However, because I am accustomed to a body which only possesses two arms, it is as if this third arm is unsure when it is being addressed. When I move my right or left arms, the sash seeks to respond. I attempted to grab my halberd with my right arm, only for the sash to jump up as well.
“This problem is made worse by the fact that the sash possesses no neurons. I do not receive tactile feedback through it. I am loosely conscious of its general location, but the sensation is muted. It is an entirely foreign addition to my body.”
“Try to curl the tassels. They seem to act like fingers.”
I did so. I kept a close eye on it. This time, my focus kept it from moving elsewhere and I managed to ball it into a fist without moving my other two hands. “Each tassel is indeed a finger. Moving this sash separately from my own limbs requires focus. I feel that this will lessen as I familiarize myself with the sensation of a phantom limb.”
“That’s to be expected. Remarkable, especially for something that is not electronic or mechanical in any way,” the doctor muttered. “I wonder how it establishes a telepathic connection like this.”
“Unclear,” I admitted, only somewhat bitterly. Tinkertech often did the impossible, and in a way that was inscrutable even to other tinkers. This was just a more extreme example. “Composition of the fabric is entirely made from wool and a synthetic fiber. The fiber forms a tubular sheath over each strand of wool. I suspect this is similar to the composition of Creed’s own costume.”
“Can we replicate it? Will we be seeing better costumes for everyone in the Protectorate?” another scientist asked.
“Possible. It will take time and is likely to be doable in small batches. The PRT does not have advanced manufacturing capabilities.”
“What about if we took the chemical formula and contracted it out? It’s… It’s not tinkertech, right?”
“It is not blackboxed from what I can tell,” I admitted. “However, I suspect tinkertech precision will be necessary in its construction. Conventional technology is unlikely to be able to replicate the synthetic fiber on a molecular level.”
“True… It’d also create a liability if the PRT is overly reliant on a single government contractor for safety gear.”
“Correct. I am considering a collaboration effort with Dragon and Kid Win should they be amenable. Between our specializations, we should be able to manufacture this fiber with reasonable efficiency.”
“Yes, well, let’s shelve that for now,” Doctor Foster aid. “Armsmaster, we’ll go through basic testing as if the sash were a parahuman power.”
“Understood.”
The results were… promising, albeit flawed. With some focus, provided I did not distract myself with my organic limbs, I was able to gain enough control over the sash to perform mundane tasks.
I wrapped its “fingers” around a horizontal bar. It was able to lift me into the air with no visible strain. My armor included, I weighed eight hundred forty-two pounds. The lack of muscular feedback was appreciated; there was no pain from what would otherwise have been a strenuous pullup exercise.
The sash only began to strain when I attempted to pull two tons, approximately the weight of a light truck. Even then, after stretching for over fifteen yards, rather than the sash tearing, I found myself being pulled towards the weight.
I quietly appreciated the integrity of Creed’s construction. Whatever else could be said about the infuriatingly bombastic tinker, he was a capable tinker and had flourished under The GOAT’s tutelage.
Cautiously, I began to incorporate my regular limbs. There were a few more mishaps, especially when I began performing my regular halberd drills, but I was getting better. The letter had not lied; the Third Arm Sash was slowly but steadily becoming a part of my intuitive locomotion.
This testing session gave me a number of ideas on how I might use the sash to best effect.
One option was to give it to a teammate. As loath as I was to give it away, it was an idea worth considering. Upon testing, we found that Miss Militia could use the sash as well.
Of my teammates, Assault would likely benefit the most thanks to his kinetic manipulation power. For all his unserious personality, he was a highly proficient fighter and already used to 3D movement.
I didn’t want that. I’d won it fair and square. I could acknowledge that I was being somewhat petty, but this was mine, and perhaps Kid Win’s. So, to preempt any suggestions in that direction, I endeavored to master the sash all the more quickly, brainstorming ways to incorporate it into my loadout.
The obvious answer was that I should use it to wield a second halberd. I had a few backups, after all. Unfortunately, I lacked the coordination for such a thing to be effective; I’d just get in my own way.
Better, yet, I planned to take advantage of the fabric itself. Because it was fabric, its stitching could be pried apart. Wires and bolts could be woven directly into the cloth, no different than zippers or metal rivets on jeans.
If I installed a mechanical port onto the “hand” end of the sash, I could freely customize it with whatever tinkertech I needed for any given situation. And, given how durable the fabric had proven to be, I wouldn’t be compromising its structural integrity much.
I liked this idea. I’d start with a sensor suite meant to ping off my helmet. That way, I’d always know where it was, even without tactile feedback. A series of electronic pulses could be used to keep it from entangling with my organic arms or halberd.
After that, perhaps an omni-directional camera? Gun mount? Or even the nanothorn blade? I’d shelved its use as part of my endbringer loadout, but that didn’t mean it was useless in other scenarios.
I found myself smiling as the sash moved with me. Still jerky, still awkward, but better. It was modular and the PRT as a whole would soon gain Creed’s hyper-durable synthetic fiber. Initially, I hadn’t been especially impressed with my prize, but I was starting to come around.
X
Bryce Kiley
I sat in a video conference with the leadership of the Brockton Bay PRT and Protectorate. That was Piggot, Renick, Armsmaster, and Miss Militia.
I wasn’t there in person, of course. I was posing as the enigmatic The GOAT, the “The” was mandatory. I asked Amy if she wanted to take her throne. She threatened to turn my nosehairs into poison ivy. I was so proud; her threats were getting creative.
That was just as well. Having the PRT demand questions of a jaded, seventeen year old girl sounded hilarious, but she didn’t have my information. It would have been funny watching Amy stumble over making up “thinker-y” answers and the PRT reading way too deeply into her nonsense, but I did plan to take this mostly seriously.
I’d sealed myself in my private quarters away from the lab so SAINT and I could have some peace and quiet for this. The Gullrest’s interior had been completely remodeled by this point. At this stage, I still had no definitive idea of what my final flying ship would look like on the outside, but many such rooms were already complete.
“Hello, PRT East-Northeast, Protectorate. I distinctly recall the prize being a question or piece of technology for Armsmaster,” I observed dryly. The voice modulator made my words a bit warbled, altering the pitch until it was neither masculine nor feminine.
They were no doubt using this as a chance to acquire more information about me. No matter. My display avatar was a picture of SAINT. My beloved partner was in his cyberspace domain, ready to fend off any attempts to locate me.
A mere month ago, I would not have felt confident enough to meet them like this. Then, SAINT evolved. The sheer quantity of data he could process, the speed at which he could rewrite and manipulate code, they’d all skyrocketed. I had absolute faith in his ability to hide our position, even from Dragon if necessary.
“We’ll decide together,” Director Piggot said firmly. She practically vibrated with distaste for me. Then again, The GOAT was everything she hated, a parahuman who was both powerful and independent, someone who got “lucky” and wasn’t accountable to anyone. “We had questions about Creed’s catalog.”
“I assumed you would. Very well, ask. I am in a gracious mood; I won’t even count that as your question to me.”
“We noticed that several pieces of tinkertech displayed by Creed are missing from his catalog,” she said, completely ignoring my attempt at humor.
“Oh? Which one were you curious about?”
“Whatever made his dimension as well as the healing glove he used in Damascus are the notable absences.”
“They’re absent for a reason. You can’t use them. To be clear, that is not ‘I will not permit you to use them,’ but rather, ‘You are physically incapable of using them,’” I replied.
“Gloves that manipulate biological matter are too dangerous to leave in the hands of an independent.”
“Tough. They are merely the mediums that enable the output. They require integration with too many different pieces of tinkertech to be considered a single ‘piece.’”
She glared at me as if I’d personally torn out her kidneys. I should have seen this coming; Ellisburg wasn’t the kind of thing a person left behind.
Even so, I could hardly give her my alchemy gloves. She’d just claim I’d given her duds; and she’d be right after a fashion. I sure as shit wasn’t going to train someone like Dashi did before teaching them to access the geothermal energies that powered my formations.
Sabah, maybe, if ever drummed up the motivation. She was on my team and a dear friend of mine. More to the point, she was also my sister’s best friend, someone who spent a lot of time around her and was in a position to protect her if the worst came to pass.
Random PRT goons? Fuck no.
There were the devil fruits to consider as well. Amy had a lot of goodwill as Panacea, but I somehow doubted it’d save her from Director Piggot. If anything, the fact that Amy “hid” the full extent of her biokinetic abilities was likely to count against her. This cemented in my mind how careful we needed to be about the rollout of the devil fruits.
“You’re not making things easy for yourself. One mistake, a single slip-up will see you labeled a villain,” she spat, barely civil. “We are not kind to biotinkers; we can’t afford to be.”
“That’s fine. That just means we can’t afford to make mistakes,” I said. Even through the voice modulator, my flippant tone carried over. “By all means, do as you please, director. I always do, so I can hardly begrudge you when you do likewise.”
“You said we could demand any piece of technology. Are you going back on your word?”
“I believe Creed’s exact words were, ‘The victor will receive the right to request any singular thing of myself or The GOAT, as well as this sash,’” I said, replaying the exact video from my helmet cam. “You may request whatever you wish. I reserve the right to reject. I will honor the bet to the extent that I deem fit. Now, do you have a question for me, or shall I wait a few more minutes while your techies fail to hack my location?”
I wasn’t sure what annoyed her more, that I refused to surrender “obvious biotinkering,” or that the cyberattack was slapped aside so easily. Her face took on varying shades of red before she grunted in annoyance. “Fine. We’ll settle for a question.”
I eyed Armsmaster. The man looked distinctly annoyed, like a child who’d been promised an X-Box for Christmas, but found out that it would be shared with all his many siblings. I supposed that was exactly what was happening here.
I wondered how much control he truly had. Yes, he was the leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. Yes, he was one of the ten flagship heroes the PRT advertised. But he was still a federal employee at the end of the day. I had the sneaking suspicion that he’d been overruled. The sash wrapped over his shoulder might well be the only thing he got out of this.
“We? Who is ‘we’ here?” I asked, chuckling. “I believe I owe Armsmaster a favor. Does he feel as you do?”
If anything, the man’s scowl deepened further. He looked like he was chewing the words he really wanted to say before settling, “I do. My question is thus: Can you predict endbringers? And if so, how? Is that why you sent Creed to Damascus?”
I found myself smiling. My esteem of the man rose a few notches. “Perhpas that is the right question to ask, but I intended for you to be a little more selfish. Given the gravity of the subject matter, I will not count this as your question and answer truthfully.
“First, no, I cannot predict endbringers. I can be reasonably certain that the Simurgh will be making an appearance in February, but I dare not guess where. Any decent analyst could have told you that much.
“Second, I did not send Creed to Damascus. Endbringer battles are on a volunteer basis and that is true of those in my organization as well. Creed judged that he could do little against Behemoth and chose to aid others in the aftermath. I’m quite proud of his contributions.”
“What do you know about endbringers?” Armsmaster asked. “You told Dragon that Behemoth had a core.”
“Again, I will not count this as your question because I’ve already given Dragon all that I know. Endbringers are dimensional onions. Each layer is twice as dense as the last, held in place by spatial manipulation in a way that ignores inconvenient things like too much mass.
“Behemoth’s core is at the base of his neck. Leviathan’s is at the center of his chest. Lastly, Simurgh keeps hers in one of the joints of her largest wing. Because she is the Simurgh, even I am not entirely certain which joint.
“That truly is all I know about endbringers. Now, I must insist that you either ask a question or request a piece of tinkertech.”
He nodded. “I expected to use this favor on those questions. I admit that I have not thoroughly considered my options.”
“Fine, think it over. However, know that the catalog will not be updated with Creed’s newer inventions. Your options will not increase just because you wait to see what else he makes.”
“That is understandable. I will contact you with a request within the week. My choice will depend on the result of several projects I have in the works.”
“Ah, tinkers, always so insistent on making the optimal move,” I replied with a knowing chuckle. “Do as you please, then. I await your call.”
Author’s Note
Ended up being a quasi-Armsmaster interlude. Hope you don’t mind.
No qi, no xiaolin showdown. Heylin or Xiaolin, one way or another, at least one person involved needs to have something, that spark of qi to initiate the duel.
PRT gets access to Germa fibers. It’s a free, bonus tech that won’t hurt to give away and represents significant advancements for regular troopers and non-brute heroes.
Animal Fact: A kangaroo mother can be perpetually pregnant because she has three vaginas, two uteruses, and an external nursing pouch.
An embryo can be "held" in the uterus for a while until the joey inside the pouch is ready to leave. Then, the 'roo gives birth, gets a new pouch-baby, and has a second uterus which can be baking another bun in the oven.
Oh, and the joey that leaves the pouch isn't immediately independent of the mother so the mother can be taking care of three at a time indefinitely: one in the uterus, one in the pouch, and one running free. It’s like a counting game for degenerates.