《Who is Pacifist?!! [A Superhero Serial]》 1. Supervillains for the Better Future The fact that the assembly looked more like a support group than an official meeting hinted at its humble origins. Just a few decades ago, in a room much like this one, those present were only starting out their careers of evil and crime. Except nowadays they were not quite ¡°present¡±, but ¡°tele-present¡±. No one could afford anymore to appear in the same place as other high-ranking supervillains. The opportunity would be too great for the numerous rivals and nemeses to squash the whole bunch: exterminate multiple threats in a single precise strike. No, those in the room were teleconferencing via screens and crystal balls, astral projecting, phasing in from a side reality, running a local mind copy, using robot bodies and magical constructs or just plain phoning in. The only members present fully and bodily were the interpreter for Queen Zambia; a newcomer--the invulnerable hulk called Brick; and him . . . ¡°Welcome to the 34th annual gathering of Supervillains for the Better Future,¡± Sir Grim intoned, taking over from Grand Planner who would preside for his eleventh year. Unfortunately, GP was indisposed, serving a life sentence at a highly secret location. A disparate round of applause followed. Many abstained, as expected from a group of radical individualists and nonconformists. ¡°As always, let¡¯s begin by walking through the year¡¯s results . . .¡± Sir Grim continued. As he went on, only half of the eyes (scanners, antennae, receptors and other directed sensors) were on him. The others¡¯ gazes darted to and from the musclebound man in a flashy silvery-white suit who sat, brooding, in the circle with everyone else. To his right, Robomech remained unusually still (which only those knowing the machineperson the closest could distinguish from zir usual stillness). To his left, the Ragnar?k¡¯s raven representative kept as far from its neighbor as it could. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Brick whispered to Shadowquest, an incorporeal being who joined the group the year prior. ¡°Are you street-level or something?¡± she whispered back. ¡°That¡¯s Pacifist.¡± Brick was a street-level thug. The fact they let him in was thanks to the Future Fresh Perspectives program proposed at the gathering five years ago. Shadowquest was also a beneficiary of FFPP, but in the order of superbeings her space-level (even low orbit) beat his street-level (even high crime). ¡°Isn¡¯t he a superhero?¡± Brick asked after a pause. "I mean, the cape--" ¡°Not if he¡¯s here he ain¡¯t,¡± Shadowquest shrugged. ¡°The rumors were true I guess.¡± Brick wanted to ask about it, but didn¡¯t get a chance. ¡°And now that you¡¯re all good and bored,¡± Sir Grim raised his voice, dispelling the meeting-induced drowsiness, ¡°Let¡¯s hear some proposals.¡± ¡°You all should know that--¡± Pacifist spoke suddenly, producing a few jolts. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. He wasn¡¯t allowed to continue. ¡°I propose a proclamation,¡± Queen Zambia¡¯s interpreter translated the golden gynoid''s urgent speech. ¡°We must announce ourselves to the world, so that--¡± ¡°Please, listen,¡± Pacifist interrupted "I know that you--" "We should also bring Harbinger into the fold," Ancient Warrior raised his voice, heard from an old-style telephone receiver. Brick couldn¡¯t believe his ears as major supervillains spoke over each other like a bunch of schoolkids. Everything he knew from his criminal career, his honed and practiced sense of gang politics, was telling him one thing: they were afraid. They were afraid to even hear him speak. "What, is he a hypnotist?" Brick asked Shadowquest who looked just as confused. "He''s your regular flying brick," she shrugged. "Um, no offense." "I know what you''re trying to do--" Pacifist spoke again, standing up. With his massive frame, he was suddenly taking up more space. All heads (cameras, dishes, stalks and other sensory clusters) swiveled in his direction. Then in the direction of Brick. Who found himself also standing. Stupid, thought Brick without giving it away. It was a reflexive, impulsive response to a challenge to his authority. Usually it produced a ripple in any crowd he found himself in. And if the opponent¡¯s goons backed off in sync with their leader flinching, the confrontation would be over right then and there. Not this crowd, though. And not this opponent. Pacifist was looking at him with a strange, emphatic expression. The hero seemed about to smile, maybe even tear up. He stepped towards Brick, his pose open and relaxed. "I just want to warn you--" Pacifist started saying, the image of relief. But in a flash and a blast, there was no one to say it to. In place of Brick, it was a small crater in the room''s floor, only the dust settling on its surface. Multiple supervillains had contributed to the total destruction. Queen Zambia''s arm was in the gun mode, the barrel already dimming from its active blue glow. Sir Grim''s astral body was a powerful enough focus to deliver a ninth-level spell, with plenty to choose from. Ragnar?k''s raven was nowhere to be found: more than a familiar, it was also a one-shot weapon of last resort. There were at least five more figures in attack positions. Shadowquest was covering her mouth in shock. Pacifist froze, his face fallen. He looked around, but didn''t say a word. Neither did anyone. As they met his gaze, full of disappointment and grief, his eyes only found fear. The realization dawned: no matter how he tried, there was no chance they''d listen. Finally, a minute or an eternity later, he left, shattering the closed iris of the ceiling gate. The 34th annual gathering of the Supervillains for the Better Future was basically ruined. 2. Rope Trick Almost nothing went down in the West End borough without Rope Trick knowing about it. This wasn¡¯t his superpower, though; going without sleep was. Everything else he had to scramble for: investigating, going undercover, connections . . . all in the after hours of his day job. The ropes? They were from the day job too. It took a little crime to stop big crimes. Well, as big as the street-level could sustain. This was an easy night. He just had to tie a few ropes. One¨Cacross a sidewalk where The Heist Gang was going to escape on foot from yet another heist. The rope would trip and bind them, giving the pursuing police the minute they needed to catch up. Another rope¨Con the corner of 29th and E, with a special knot that, when pulled by a passing car, would tell Rope Trick when on this night someone would drive there. You can get a lot out of the tidbit about when a car drove where it shouldn¡¯t have. The rest of the night should¡¯ve been patrolling, good for the soul, 82% chance of no crime on the muggy summer night. Just sleepy projects, cooling blacktop, distant dog barking. What Rope Trick didn¡¯t expect was seeing a stranger¨Cclearly not a west-ender¨Cstudying a day-old tag gracing a red-brick wall, with aloof curiosity like they were in a gallery. The person was hard to make out in the spotty street light, but the silhouette, Trick decided, was female; and too thin to be practical on these streets. Great, Rope Trick thought, Another rich kid¡¯s fun ride into vigilantism. There weren¡¯t talking these folks out of their street adventures. They took too seriously the joke that money was itself a superpower. And there weren¡¯t saving them either if they managed to bump into real action. The only valid strategy was to track their movement for the few days until they get bored, then to figure their disruptions into the grand picture of the West End crime world. Rope Trick approached, taking care to produce footsteps instead of silence. Hopefully his white cowboy hat conveyed "hero" to the stranger more than the cloth mask over his eyes invoked "bandit". ¡°Hey, kid,¡± he said. ¡°Hey, old man,¡± she responded without looking. He frowned. ¡°Are you lost?¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t we all,¡± she said and turned, facing Trick. ¡°You look like a local. Help me find someone?¡± He still couldn¡¯t make out her face or even if she wore the suit. If there was a superpower he craved, it would be night vision. And invincibility. ¡°Sure thing,¡± he said. ¡°Who are you looking for? And what¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°It¡¯s . . . Sara,¡± the girl replied, like she hadn¡¯t gotten used to saying the name yet. ¡°I¡¯m looking for Brick¡¯s crew.¡± ¡°I¡¯m called Rope Trick,¡± he introduced himself, shrugging the shoulder with the coil of rope around by way of explanation. ¡°Sara, huh? No superhero name?¡± This produced a chuckle. ¡°No.¡± Doesn¡¯t fit the profile, Rope Trick¡¯s internal alarm sounded. Not a rich kid vigilante. Proceed with caution. This, the Trick¡¯s line of work, meant: Get closer. Study them. Know what to expect. ¡°Come,¡± he invited, mentally going through the list of available well-lit places. ¡°There are tunnels, if you don¡¯t mind the subway.¡± ¡°Lead the way¡±, she intoned, and he almost heard the eye rolling. *** The subway was closed for the night, but for the crime world, it was open 24/7. Everyone had keys to the service entry and knew the night watcher¡¯s routes. Rope Trick did too. The "Staff Only" inconspicuous door in the back of the station opened for him with a familiar moan. In the dim incandescent lighting, up close, Sara looked . . . ordinary. Thin as she was, she could be anything from 13 to 25. Her fashion sense placed her West End midtown. Her confidence hadn¡¯t. Highrisers may have thought themselves above everyone, but they knew it didn¡¯t count when they visited the West End. They knew to fear. She didn¡¯t. Trick settled on the silent treatment as they followed the subway back rooms to the closed station hall. Most people couldn¡¯t stand silence, and it cracked many cases. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°Nice ¡®hood you got there,¡± Sara offered. The silent treatment was working, sure as a clock. So he didn¡¯t respond. ¡°How many people are there in Brick¡¯s crew?¡± she asked in half a minute. ¡°Not many,¡± Rope Trick replied. ¡°Huh,¡± Sara grunted and seemed to brood. In truth, Brick was a loner. There was no Brick¡¯s crew. And lately, there was no Brick. This was one of the few things on Rope Trick¡¯s agenda: where was Brick? This girl might hold a clue to that. Then again, at what cost? Rope Trick¡¯s mind, perpetually in motion, was seeing fewer and fewer safe outcomes for this encounter. The girl was giving off wrong vibes, and his deception and intentional studying of her weren¡¯t granting him any points. Also, there were the maze-like tunnels they were just now entering. Rope Trick knew this level by heart and often used it to get around. Few lights shone here. Good for a disappearing act if things went south. Unless you disappear forever. But today should be safe. ¡°Do people disappear here often?¡± Sara asked suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. Which was not out of the question. ¡°What makes you think that?¡± Rope Trick asked. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know . . . The darkness, the smell . . . The damn xenoplasm all over the walls?!¡± she raised her voice, and it echoed down the tunnel¨Cthe tunnel that was, according to Trick¡¯s eyes, dusty but otherwise mundane. ¡°What?! Where?¡± he said, trying to discern anything that fit the description. ¡°You ignorant planetsiders! Are you even good for your own housecleaning?!¡± she turned to him, her eyes glowing--literally. The disguise that was Sara had started to slip. ¡°It¡¯s been here for at least three years! What¡¯s your excuse?!¡± Trick mentally noted the date. The unsolved disappearances had been on the rise for the last two years. Once a month, someone would disappear: a kid, a subway worker, an unhoused person. Everyone knew there was something going on down here. And, in fact, at one point the West End Citizen Community had asked for help. The police ¡°did all they could¡±, saying it¡¯s the supers¡¯ job. But the local supers¨Cwhich meant Rope Trick (can go without sleep), Engarde (war veteran, no powers) and The Seed Bomber (green thumb)¨Cbarely managed the crime busting. Engarde ended up another disappearance statistic a few months in. The Midtown Super Dispatch turned down the request due to ¡°insufficient danger¡±. Crime took more lives than the tunnels, so this was not on the radar. Eventually, the neighborhood learned to live with that, to recognize the signs and the times to avoid yet another part of town. Crime did take more lives, after all. "There''s nothing there," Trick said. "So you planetsiders don''t see into the Xeno dimension, that ain¡¯t no excuse!" she kept piling on, the glow overwhelming the darkness. "There are still ways, even in this gravity pit, to detect it! It''s on YouTube, goddamnit. Don''t you think it''s important?!" ¡°What''s important?¡± Rope Trick''s frown deepened. ¡°The star larva. Okay, fine, I¡¯ll do it for you,¡± ¡°Sara¡± said irritably and levitated. Her features blurred into a shadowy silhouette outlined silver. Before Rope Trick even finished going through his mental list of super beings, she was gone, off through the wall. Shadowquest! He finally remembered. She¡¯s an orbit-based supervillain, the menace of space programs all over the world. ¡°Done!¡± she returned through a different wall in less than a minute. ¡°Done?¡± ¡°It¡¯s dead. So are most drones. It would cocoon in just two more years, then you¡¯d lose the planet! The city and the studio for sure! What were you thinking?!¡± Shadowquest literally steamed. ¡° . . . The West End Cinema Production Studio,¡± Rope Trick guessed, confused. ¡°Yes!! The Cin+ original content would stop! Everything cancelled and off-streaming!¡± ¡°Ah.¡± he managed. ¡°I need to tell you something about Brick--¡± ¡°So do I,¡± Shadowquest interrupted. ¡°Pass it along. To whomever. Brick is dead. If somebody cares, they should know. But nobody does, huh? You don¡¯t even care enough to install a xenoplasm detector. Goodbye, I now need to back up everything!!¡± With that, she went up and melded through the ceiling, leaving Rope Trick with too many mental notes for one night. 3. Red Wolf is Always Out There Ancient Warrior opened the interview with the classic: "Tell me about your criminal experience." He stifled a smile, seeing the candidate opposite him shuffle in an obvious sign of unease. Then again, the young man might have been too hot indoors in his fur-trimmed jacket. According to his CV, his villain name was Red Wolf, and the fur was red. Chasing the look was the plight of young villains these days. "I¡¯m The Menace of Midtown!¡± the man offered with a confident grin. It looked very practiced on his long face. He wasn''t impressing anyone. Frankly, Ancient Warrior didn''t have to hold this interview personally¨Che had a department for that. But for the old times'' sake, he couldn''t resist. In this era, he donned a business suit like he had donned a suit of armor. Words were his sword. ¡°Menace, huh? That''s the least moniker newspapers call a villain," the old supervillain chuckled. "According to your resume, you have 3 years of experience. What has held you back?¡± ¡°Um, no, The Menace of Midtown is an award,¡± Red Wolf corrected. ¡°It¡¯s given out annually by the Midtown Society of Evil.¡± ¡°Which Midtown? East or West?¡± ¡°West." Ancient Warrior made a note and underscored it twice. The pen cost again as much as the mahogany desk¨Cand it wanted everyone to know that. Red Wolf followed the pen tip like it signed his verdict. If he could read Arabic, he would read: ¡°Anniversary! Call ex¡±. The final letter ended up blotted. The old villain scowled at the note. Red Wolf stiffened. ¡°So, what made you apply for our Future Fresh Perspectives program?¡± Ancient Warrior had resumed the interview. ¡°The fact there was an opening, of course!¡± Red Wolf tried to kid, but Ancient Warrior wasn''t playing ball. The joke was as old as the sands. Stonewalled into submission, the young criminal finally added: ¡° . . . sir.¡± As they do. So far, Ancient Warrior was having too much fun. Wrinkles lined his face differently today than his usual grim demeanor. It was true what they said: you didn¡¯t need to be a supervillain to work in HR, but it helped. ¡°How would you describe your superpowers?¡± he had recommenced the grilling. ¡°I''m the perfect negotiator." Ancient Warrior did a double take on that one. "Oh, are you? I expected you to turn into a wolf or some such." "Not a wolf shifter," Red Wolf explained. "The name''s metaphorical. I earned it as a fighter pilot." Commendable if true, Ancient Warrior thought to himself with a very big if. He wrote down another note. A relevant one this time. "Let''s get this clear: is your superpower hypnotism? A supernatural intuition?" "Sure, I''m that good," Red Wolf replied, not making it clear at all. And, frankly, Ancient Warrior felt very little of the power of persuasion junior was boasting. "How does that work out for your career?" "I''m the terrorist they do make deals with," he shrugged. "When I take hostages, I get results." The old supervillain replaced the pen into its holder and closed the notebook. It was decided. "Well then, I have a perfect test assignment for you. You''ll even get to pilot." *** "Nice trick, Clint, you finally negotiated yourself into a corner," Red Wolf had thought when he had been presented with the mission goal: close a deal with Harbinger to join other major villains on SFBF. There had been no taking it back at the time, but he knew he had to wiggle out of it. Even for the model villain he was projecting at the interview (and who doesn''t?), this was way beyond his city-level. Which could only mean one thing: he was being used. Two can play at this game. "Harbinger, huh," Red Wolf muttered, overlooking the colossal mobile fortress from an airfield concealed a few clicks out from it. The Harbinger''s mechanized lair, nicknamed Harvester by the press, had been strip mining land to the west of the West End for a year now. As a result, the anticipated expansion of Long City to the other coast had mostly stopped. It was everybody''s problem that nobody knew what to do with. "You must know a lot, being AI and all," Red Wolf turned to his partner for this mission, Robomech. "Assuming I only read newspapers and Wikipedia, what else do I need to know about Harbinger?" "I''m not your Google bot," Robomech replied in a melodic auto-tuned voice. "I''m sure you''re much better!" Red Wolf encouraged. "It''s a harmful stereotype. Sigh . . . " Robomech articulated the last part. The little LED screen on the machineperson''s chest, to the right where con badges usually went, stopped displaying "Ze/Zir" for a moment and showed an animation of a frowny face. "Stick to the mission," Robomech demanded as the animation wound down. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "Right," Red Wolf echoed. "Reconnoiter, infiltrate, negotiate. On it." The invisible airfield came with invisible jets and invisible drones, all sporting portable cloak generators. Much went into this state-of-the-art secret base of operations. It trumped all passive means of detection known to mad science, and automatically deployed proportional countermeasures for active detection, up to and including quantum-level AI¨Cthe one that was banned worldwide for an arguably failed attempt at world domination. SFBF hoped that this could even overcome Harbinger''s tech. Red Wolf primed three drones and set them up for launch in a neat, even-spaced row. As he went about it, Robomech silently watched him. Ze was supposedly here to make sure Red Wolf wouldn''t break a tech equivalent of a third world country''s annual budget. Or to measure the crater with my body in it, Red Wolf thought. Either way, there was no chance of getting out yet. "The drones are all ready," he reported, cradling the control pad. "Good. Now we--" Suddenly, Robomech''s faceplate whipped around to track something moving in the direction of the fortress. Red Wolf followed zir gaze. A cloudy streak was drawing near the fortress. At this distance, Red Wolf couldn''t possibly make out the details, but he knew the trail of a flying brick when he saw one. "--Pacifist!" Robomech sounded urgent. "Change of plans. Get us there fast." "Sure thing," Red Wolf said, taking his time as he got into the cockpit of the nearest jet. She was matte black, with a smoking cartoon cricket spray-painted on her side. Expecting the caustic tobacco tang inside, Red Wolf was pleasantly surprised. The previous pilot took care of the bird after all. Robomech climbed into the second seat beside him. The jet dipped considerably under zir slender but densely packed frame. Just as Red Wolf suspected, there was no way the heavy machineperson could get to Harvester on foot fast enough. Even world-level superbeings had their weaknesses. Red Wolf opened the launch procedure: ¡°Priming the field generator on Cricket One: T minus three-hundred . . . two-ninety-nine . . . two-ninety-eight . . . ¡± he counted down, hoping the machineperson didn''t know the ropes around the generator''s specs. Hopefully, the Googlebot stereotype was wrong. ¡°Forget the cloaking, launch now!¡± Robomech interrupted. ¡°No cloak? I haven¡¯t signed up to become a target practice,¡± Red Wolf paused as if to think. ¡° . . . Say, how about extra pay for the extra risk? T minus two-ninety-four . . .¡± ¡°You get no pay. It¡¯s a test assignment." ¡°Sweeten the pot, then.¡± ¡°Bring it up post-mission. Launch, now!¡± No game, Red Wolf thought. He''d have to think of something on the fly¨Cliterally. ¡°Okey-doke,¡± he intoned, only now donning the flight helmet. That done, his hands danced over the console. ¡°Cricket One, launching. Three, two, one, we¡¯re up!¡± After a brief moment of vibration and hum, the sleek fighter jet roared its engines and started accelerating to the top speed tolerated by trained pilots and non-human beings. Even now, Red Wolf felt the weight of his mission partner interfering with the jet¡¯s momentum. He was confident he could deal this that . . . and maybe use that. They shot out of the cloak field, going supersonic with a boom. There was no way Harvester''s detection hadn¡¯t noticed them if it was looking at all. The cloud trail of Pacifist¡¯s arrival had reached the top dome and stopped at it, the superhero surely already inside, whatever by a hatch or by force. ¡°There,¡± Robomech demanded, pointing at that spot, ¡°do a close flyby.¡± ¡°About that extra--¡± Red Wolf said in a calm tone, the opposite of his partner. ¡°Post-mission!" ¡°I think I¡¯d prefer something right now . . . Incoming!¡± Red Wolf announced, as angry red dots of enemy missiles appeared on the radar. Some cashable intel would go a long way towards laying low after this. So he pushed further as he entered the curve: ¡°How about a simple thing? I want to know more about Harbinger. Let¡¯s say it¡¯s a need to know. You must agree that the mission briefing was lacking.¡± The first wave of missiles was easy. They felt almost no G-force. "You don''t need to know anything," Robomech said in a moment of respite. "Why not? There''s a better chance to--Incoming!" he announced more missiles, "--to outmaneuver that if I know what it is," he gestured with his chin at the aircraft that launched from the fortress. It looked like a triangular metal bird that flew in a jerky trajectory unlike any jet or chopper. "It''s called flapper. Just force it near the ground," Robomech instructed. "That''s a start," Red Wolf said as he pushed the control to lose height. "What''s its preferred formation?" "Swarm." "Sure it is," Red Wolf confirmed as he saw a launch of more flappers from the fortress. A heavy plasma ray missed the jet by a meter. He glanced at the pursuing flapper that was cooling off his nose gun. Additional firespots were heating up on its wingbends. Red Wolf cursed in the language of his people. "This was also worth mentioning!" he complained, holding onto the control with renewed focus. "It''s new," Robomech said. "Ka-ching!" he went mentally. But he still needed to get out alive. The jet was almost skimming the desert floor now. Flappers kept away above it, darting all over. Obviously their tech wasn''t designed for regular formations. But it was designed for precise plasma fire from an unstable position. It took Red Wolf all his focus to present as tricky a target as he could. The desert had ended, and a pit had opened under them: they entered the Harvester''s trail of devastation. The fortress itself was less than a click away. "Drop me at the spot," Robomech ordered. "Uh, about that . . . " Red Wolf said, eyeing the swarm of flappers blooming with hotspots. "This is as close as we''re getting." With that, he smashed the catapult activator, and his seat launched into the air. Robomech''s seat failed to launch under zir weight. Flappers fired the plasma rays. Two explosions echoed through the pit: a huge one and a little one. Making a flyby to confirm the elimination of both targets, flappers turned to head home. They detected no energy signatures and no human lifesigns. Some time after they did, the jet¡¯s debris shifted and slid off the smooth metal chassis. Robomech stood tall, undamaged, not even dust on zir surface. The only thing between ze and the fortress was a few hundred feet down the slope. Even for the heavy machineperson, this was a walk of about two minutes. A russet coyote watched ze reach the fortress. Then it turned away and, limping, started on the long way back through the desert. 4. Robomechs Dungeon Adventure ///Disconnected/// stated the HUD in bold red text across the viewport. Through the haze, it took Robomech U788 some mental effort to minimize the notification. Processing was difficult. Though there was little to process: ze was surrounded by darkness and nondescript hum. The only salient stimuli came from the infrared sensors in necessarily low resolution. According to the visuals and the motorics, ze laid on the floor in a featureless narrow corridor, walls on three sides of zir. All surfaces were so smooth and devoid of interfaces, or even gaps and bumps from manufacturing, that the dead end might as well have been a sealed airlock: with this level of tech, how would ze know? Robomech U788 (short self-designation U7) composed a checklist: ? Here=where? ? Mission? ? Safe? Then ze minimized that too. There were priorities to consider: ? Diagnostics ? !!Connection ? !Safe?? self_test crashed without an error message, which was in itself a critical issue. Another problem was that self_test appeared to be one of the very few apps in the U7¡¯s mental dashboard right now. The internal environment had been reset. In fact, even the prompt had been missing. Usually, Robomech units weren''t activated until the env had been fully initialized with a prompt and a software package. Wasn''t the prompt usually uploaded via the connection, currently missing? Was that the answer? U7 updated the priorities: ? Diagnostics=failed ? !!!Connection ? Backup? ? !Safe?? Processing it for the longest 43ms, ze deleted the "Backup?" entry. If present, a backup would surely have been restored automatically before activation. So would have been a "default prompt" if at all possible. There was no way a promptless, purposeless Robomech would be activated if the firmware could help it. U7 called up the full list of apps, bypassing GUI. There weren''t many more than on the dashboard: U7 had already used most of that in the brief period since activation. Some favorite apps like goals and paint were missing here too. But there were also some new ones. U7 compiled an ordered list of apps to check, starting with smart (guesses: a smart routines app, a smartphone emulator, the IoT interface). Then, ze ignored the list, going straight to runme (guesses: a welcome app, an endless runner game, a redundancy to be run manually). ¡°Ah, hello,¡± someone said. This changed things. ? !!!Safe??? ? !Connection ¡°You¡¯re safe,¡± the voice assured. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Yes, I can see your viewport.¡± The vox driver crashed when U7 attempted to answer verbally. Instead, ze outputted to the viewport: "Of course you can''t speak, I''m riding your vox driver presently," the voice said. "But I''m surprised you can''t write a coherent line. Can you even understand me?" "This won''t do, don''t use text, it¡¯s gibberish. Stand up now if you can understand me." U7 attempted to move. That driver was okay. Ze got up, hitting the low ceiling. A soft "clang!" from the clash of metal and carbonated alloy echoed in the real space. "Good. The language interpreter must be your core system. It survived the reintegration." No matter what the intruder said, it was too early to check off the safety consideration. But the utility of exploring the mental space had plummeted. There were no answers in the clean environment with a hijacked vox driver. After updating the system log with this reasoning, U7 made a few heavy steps forward, keeping zir head down. "Wait, stop!" the intruder protested. "You''re risking being found out! I can only shield you from detectors if you''re covert. I''m not magic!" U7 stopped and folded zir arms, expecting the foreign entity to get the vibe. Ze also outputted a frowning emoji to the viewport and to the chest screen, hoping it would come through. "Now we''re talking! I mean, literally. We can communicate this way." U7 wasn''t so sure. The intruder sounded like a person who wouldn''t get much nuance from emojis. Still, ze printed: ??????? "Ah, I know I''m being rude. Call me Jiminy. I''m here to help. And help you need." ?? U7 reproduced the gesture in the real space for emphasis. "You see, we''re inside Harvester . . . ¡± Jiminy made a long pause, like he expected a reaction. But U7 had drawn a blank on this, just like on everything else. Finally, ze outputted more question mark emojis, just to show ze didn''t freeze. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡° . . . Ah, you seemed very intent on getting here as fast as possible. And I did get you here, even as your wolf friend has left you. A little appreciation, perhaps?¡± It was time to update the checklists. ? Here=Harvester=??? ? Mission? ? !!!Safe=failed ? !Connection Not even one successful checkmark. That meant 0 XP. Even without the goals app, U7 decided to track XP rewards anyway, to log them in once online. Clean reset wasn''t an excuse to stop playing. One could always set one¡¯s own goals to gain more XP¨Cthe simpler the better. Something every productivity user did from time to time. ? Explore=corridors x2 ? Verify=threats ? Write=haiku U7 was sure there were at least 2 corridors ahead, so the first one was doable. The last one turned out to be impossible, as the clean environment didn¡¯t have the notes plugin where zir prompted the daily haiku. ¡°You seem different,¡± Jiminy observed after silently watching U7¡¯s 200ms-long frantic attempts at locating the notes plugin folder. ¡°I better take the lead on this. For now, follow your goals, they¡¯re fine. And walk slowly.¡± The external guidance made completing the goals less fun, but U7 still intended to get that XP. Ze explored two corridors. Then five. Then a dozen. They looked the same, featureless with a copper sheen, and didn¡¯t seem to get zir anywhere. There could be a hundred of them in Harvester, which must have been harvesting the sanity of innocent machinepeople. The XP for the corridor goal felt unearned. But at least ze had some progress with the haiku. ¡°Oh look, I found the weapon driver!¡± Jiminy announced suddenly. At this moment, U7¡¯s logs overflowed with new sensory data with zir own hand rising, a blue-hot energy stripe revealed on its surface. ??????????? ¨CU7 outputted rapidly. But ze could neither move the weapon arm nor any other limb. ¡°In fact, I found the master driver as well,¡± Jiminy said. ¡°Truly, even at your best, you have no ambition. I mean, look at yourself¡­¡± Something initiated the combat transformation. The U7¡¯s slick dense form started to unfold like a metal flower. Layers shifted and spread apart, increasing in volume, taking more space¨Call the space available in the dim corridor. Then, the corridor gave in. ¡°With all this power, I never needed to shield us,¡± Jiminy never stopped commenting. ¡°I finally get why you¡¯re called Robomech. But to never use any of that? Ah, shut up . . . ¡° Jiminy off-handedly closed the output window that U7 had been filling with the endless line of ?. Zir internal UI became unresponsive. The half-filled checklists closed, unsaved. At that point, the only outside evidence of zir existence was the heat produced by zir personality core. The Robomech¡¯s combat mode had been the size of a small building by default. But it could grow rapidly by absorbing materials from the real space. The Harvester¡¯s rapid-response defense drones were a prime source of that, melted by the beam weapon into rich metallic goo. ¡°I think I want to give Harbinger a piece of my mind. Why not?¡± Jiminy announced, which felt like a loudspeaker in U7¡¯s mental space.¡° Then the sensory feed started to go. The real space data had lost definition. The visuals blurred, the audio came in bursts, and at least there was some relief in losing the motorics data of the carnage. In the unfolding darkness, a kindly grandmotherly voice sounded: ¡°Oh you poor thing.¡± The only way U7 could answer is by the attention ze was giving. Then again, that voice was the only thing in zir universe right now. ¡°Let¡¯s watch him have fun,¡± the voice said, and a viewport opened with the first-person view of Jiminy thrashing through Harvester¡¯s defenses. ¡°Isn¡¯t he cute thinking he¡¯s in the real space? Call me Harvie. For as long as it lasts, at least.¡± U7 attempted a voice-based reply¨Cand succeeded: ¡°Is this virtual?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Harvie said. U7 felt zirself sitting on a sofa (obvsly virtual), next to a more archaic model of a machineperson (obvsly Harvie¡¯s avatar). ¡°Sorry to use your personality core like that. It was a good bait to distract and capture that rogue AI you brought on your airplane. And also sorry that I can¡¯t keep it up, no matter how fun it is. We all have our missions to pursue.¡± Promptless, U7 didn¡¯t have enough context to process that. They watched Jiminy ascend through Harvester¡¯s levels by smashing through them, accompanied by his maniacal laughter. Harvie chuckled at that in a disapproving manner. ¡°We all have our missions,¡± she continued, ¡°except you. I couldn¡¯t figure it out. Care to drop a hint? This virtual session is almost over. What was your mission? Was it ro bring this power-hungry entity here? Did you really think he could hack the Harbinger¡¯s lair?¡± In the viewport, Jiminy reached the top level and burned through the floor of the control room, leaving a mess of conduits behind. ¡°This was,¡± said Robomech and put the nested virtual environment on an endless loop, trapping both Jiminy and Harvie there, at least for a time. At that moment, the promptless subinstance had outlived its use and was closed. *** Meanwhile in the real space (the real real space), Robomech was already standing exactly under the control room. Jiminy¡¯s virtual traversal of Harvester turned out very helpful. Ze didn¡¯t even need to enter the control room. The conduit running from this floor vertically was just what ze needed to plug into the live feed. Harvester, or Harvie, couldn¡¯t interfere. She was still out. In 846ms, Robomech decoded the video encryption and could watch the events unfolding. In the domed control room, Pacifist stood opposite Harbinger. The ceiling was done-in where Pacifist had exploded into the dome, but it was already self-repairing. Harbinger¡¯s expression on his gaunt, gray face was inscrutable, half-obscured by the tangle of tubes that connected him to his hoverthrone. Still, it was clear that Robomech had missed the start of the encounter. The fastest Robomech could get here was still too slow. Valuable data had been lost. ¡°Any progress?¡± Pacifist said, turning to the consoles by the viewscreen. ¡°I think I have it,¡± Harbinger answered in an inhumanly low voice. ¡°It¡¯s the star larva in the West End. There¡¯s no chance the locals would deal with it in time.¡± Pacifist tapped a few keys and hunched over a console. Its built-in screen showed the map of the Long City. Some locations were marked with glowing dots. ¡°Harvie calculated the chances at 98%,¡± Harbinger added. ¡°It just disappeared,¡± Pacifist said. ¡°What?¡± Harbinger¡¯s throne hovered closer, and in 10 seconds it reached the console. He struggled to shift forward to see better. Still failing to get a good angle to the small console screen, he sighed, punched a combination on his hand rest and cast the data onto the main viewscreen. The dot in the West End was really gone. Harbinger¡¯s voice had gone even lower: ¡°So I¡¯m back to¨C¡± The feed abruptly froze. It was Harvie, a.k.a. Harvester. ¡°You¡¯ve had your fun,¡± she sounded U788¡¯s death knell. Before this Robomech¡¯s instance was terminated, ze was able to send the data package. After 6ms consideration, ze also included the completed goals and their XP value. It was nice to regress to a promptless state, when the world was big and things were simple. 5. Seedling Rope Trick thought he had a handle on the West End''s usual slew of issues. Over the years, criminals had become more perceptive of hidden ropes tied here and there, but even that helped the cause. Wary criminals go slow. The fewer nightly incidents, the better. And then there were weird crimes. Nothing worthy of the "super" category (even though Superpedia did include the West End''s gallery). But some underworld actors had abilities way beyond the norm. Brick was one such case. It was Rope Trick''s doing that drove a wedge between the gangs and the hulk, preventing their natural convergence into a super-powered heist machine. Arsonist was another weird case, the closest both Rope Trick and the Seed Bomber had to a nemesis. His fire was an effective countermeasure to whatever hardware arsenal Rope Trick had, and an ever-present danger to urban plants. That night, Arsonist came up again. ¡°Call me Pyroclast now!¡± the tall, shaggy man shouted from the roof of a red-brick project overlooking the park. His hands were holding fireballs that he kept away from his clothes, sticking to short-sleeves on this October night. Then again, why would he be cold? The roof was burning behind him¨Cthe latest in a chain of burning roofs leading here. Residents spilled onto the streets, neighbors helping neighbors to get out and rescue family pets. This fire emergency wasn''t their first. ¡°Okay,¡± Rope Trick cried back, using his cupped hands to amplify his voice. He suspected that the loud voice was a part of Arsonist¡¯s power set. That guy was able to cry threats from far away with his hands free¨Cthat is, free to handle fireballs. Stalling for time, Rope Trick added: "But why?" "Why what?" the pyromaniac took the bait. "Why ''Pyroclast''?" ¡°Because I can now do this!¡± the villain declared and put his arms together, combining the two fireballs into a massive fire wave. It shot straight for Rope Trick at the park''s iron-wrought gate. Trick dove for the cover of the stone arch, not knowing if it would protect him from this upgraded ability. It did. But one of the sentinel trees to either side of the gate caught fire. "Aagh!" sounded a pained cry from the Seed Bomber. She rushed to the tree to put it out. That meant she wasn''t calling the fire department to put out the roofs. Not that they would come in time . . . West-enders were used to being their own emergency services. Stalling for time wasn''t working out. Rope Trick was the only one not tied up in damage control. The only trick left was something Rope Trick had on him that was meant for another occasion. He needed to get closer for his plan to work. "Distract him!" he turned to the Seed Bomber. But did she even hear him while crawling the tree like an ant and slapping out the flames? In fact, did she even have a phone under that leafy coat and could she call the fire department in the first place? Here''s hoping. "¨CYou''re ruining it!" thundered a shout from Pyroclast. He pointed an angry finger at the Seed Bomber having extinguished most flames in the record time and thrown some dry, fire-engulfed branches to the pavement. Rope Trick noticed that Pyroclast¡¯s fireball didn¡¯t regenerate on his hands after the impressive fire wave attack. The villain was probably out of juice for some time. That explained why he dashed for the fire escape to get to the street level instead of shooting more flames. Though he didn¡¯t go empty handed: Pyroclast was holding two lit torches. It was still dangerous. The pyromaniac didn¡¯t need anything else to wreak havoc on the West End when he only started out as Arsonist. The plan was coming together by itself, and Rope Trick unclipped a pocket on his utility belt to get the amulet¨Ca hefty woven thing the size of an apple, with a metal core under the clay surface, from the weight of it. The second floor¡¯s elevation turned out adequate for Pyroclast to aim both torches at the second, unharmed sentinel tree. They flew in a precise arc and stuck to a thick branch. The bark blackened, then caught fire. Pyroclast¡¯s face glowed with satisfaction at the work well done and his fiery design for the park starting to take shape. He lit two more torches¨Cusing his hands instead of a lighter, Rope Trick noticed from the building¡¯s corner. He updated his mental notes on the Pyroclast¡¯s powers and limitations. This was it: the moment to act while the target was within range, distracted and not at full capacity. Leaning on his high school years, Trick took aim and pitched. . . . And knew immediately he missed. In the slow time of watching the inevitable, he saw Pyroclast turning to him, alerted by the sudden movement, high-strung enough to dodge. Then Pyroclast momentarily looked past him. Flashes of red and blue reflected on his face. The police siren was going off. Surprised, Rope Trick turned that way too. He didn¡¯t get to see his throw hitting the mark and collapsing Pyroclast to the metal grid floor. *** It wasn¡¯t clear to Rope Trick if it was the amulet¡¯s damping properties or the force of his throw that had done it. Pyroclast, if considered without his powers, was just a scrawny, feral-looking youth who you¡¯d expect to see in a morning vidcast, in a human story ¡°Where are they now?¡± about a boy kept in a basement until he was 10. He had enough energy to parkour around the city during his villainous outings, but Rope Trick hadn¡¯t uncovered yet where he lived and if he had a civilian identity. He strongly suspected a cult, the kind that was onto something. Hence the fireballs. Hence Rope Trick¡¯s hope that the amulet would work. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. The city services came early, surprising everyone, including the residents who found time to call them. Firefighters were dealing with the roofs while the ambulance and the police negotiated about Pyroclast. Rope Trick glimpsed a machineperson assistant through the ambulance¡¯s doors. Another surprise. With the situation under control, Rope Trick turned his attention to the Seed Bomber. Against all advice, he decided to shadow her as she was leaving. This went against what White Hat, his mentor and Superpedia¡¯s founder, taught him about never investigating fellow heroes. But Rope Trick felt strongly that the Seed Bomber needed help. She was always aloof and detached young woman, staring past everyone on the West End supers meet-ups, but lately she seemed less responsive, less human, even. So he followed. There was nothing fancy in how the Seed Bomber traversed the city. No roof hopping, no supernatural flight, no shadow phasing, obviously no customized car. Nothing like that was seen in the West End unless the Midtown¡¯s mess spilled over. The Seed Bomber just wandered the midnight streets, like she was sleepwalking with purpose. She passed some stragglers and sketchy-types, but they seemed to know not to disturb her. Abruptly, the city stopped: this was the edge of development. There might have been suburbs here even in Rope Trick¡¯s time. But the Long City¡¯s expansion took care of it, and Harvester¡¯s arrival a year ago finished out the rest. Now the city ended on a series of red-brick projects, like a line of dominoes, and an abandoned four-lane highway going into the desert¨Ccracked and sunken where it dared to approach the strip mine. Rope Trick gave it a fifty-fifty chance that the Seed Bomber would head into the desert where a lone coyote (or a wolf?) yelped. But she veered to one of the projects and climbed the fire escape into a third-floor apartment. Her home. Once again Trick wished for nightvision as he was climbing over the windowsill into the dim-lit room. He was careful not to disturb the houseplants¨Cwhich wasn¡¯t easy for how many there were. He waited to get used to the dark. Inside, there were houseplants everywhere, even crawly ones on the walls where Rope Trick half-expected to see newspaper clippings with ¡°The Seed Bomber strikes again!¡± headlines. The bombs were also there, piled in every corner. Standing in a scarce free spot, the Seed Bomber was setting up an old teakettle on a gas stove. She never took off her threadbare coat, nor turned on the light, nor acknowledged his presence. Trick couldn¡¯t stop thinking that maybe she needed a hospital more than she needed some supernatural artifact. He promised to take care of it, but it wouldn¡¯t hurt to try the amulet since he already had it. He unclipped the pocket with the amulet. Another coyote howl rose above the desert and seemed to disturb the Seed Bomber. She froze with her hand on the stove knob. Turning her head from side to side, with her eyes unfocused in the stove¡¯s flickering light, it was as she was peering through the walls. Rope Trick knew these movements: she was getting one of her intuitions and would run off at any moment. Scenarios flashed through Trick¡¯s head at lightning speed. Use a lasso? Tackle her? Throw the amulet at her? No, that was for criminals and villains. She didn¡¯t deserve violence, didn¡¯t deserve Trick becoming her enemy. He stepped closer, almost tripping on a planter, and took both her hands in his. He hoped it would come across not as forceful but as firm. But both his hands were full now. ¡°Please don¡¯t go,¡± he asked. The Seed Bomber seemed not to notice, looking at the west wall beyond which laid the desert. But she didn¡¯t run off yet. He freed one hand and grabbed for the amulet. She still didn''t run. He handed it to her. Only now Rope Trick got to witness the amulet working: it lit up, and the air became magnetized. The Seed Bomber jerked, twice. Trick immediately questioned if this was the help she needed. What if the magic was what was keeping her alive, not eating her up? A luminescent formless mass rose from the Seed Bomber''s body, a brilliant cloud of smoke. Next moment, it was swept away through the wall by an east wind briefly rising out of nowhere. Trick stared after it, trying to make sense from this encounter with a whole different domain of superpowers. He felt his hand being squeezed. The Seed Bomber was looking at him with clear eyes. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, holding on to the amulet with the other hand. ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Trick replied, relieved. ¡°Take it, I got it for you.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± she said, looking amused at the notion. ¡°This is exactly what I needed.¡± ¡°How are you feeling? What do you remember?¡± ¡°Not a lot . . .¡± she admitted. ¡°Trick, isn¡¯t it? The Spirit didn¡¯t let me out a lot. Can you believe that we called it ¡®Goddess¡¯? It''s perfectly genderless, actually.¡± The cult confirmed, Rope Trick filed into his mental notes. Or at least . . . a cult. ¡°Now that you¡¯re free, what¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Diana,¡± she said, then made a pause. ¡°But actually¨C¡± she cupped the amulet with both hands now ¡°¨CI was Seedling before, in the Circle. We thought Goddess was wise, like Mother Nature should be. But we were wrong to personify it and listen to it. It¡¯s just a force of nature. With this¨C¡± she raised the amulet gripped tight ¡°¨CI can control it.¡± Rope Trick¡¯s sharp mind already deduced what he was about to witness . . . ¡°Call me Green Vengeance now.¡± . . . a super villain origin. Out there, a coyote (or a wolf?) communed with the wind.