Hero Super

“Loot?” Batty echoed, her face turning as she looked towards Calvin. “These were people, kid. Real, living, people.”

Calvin flinched at her disturbed gaze, gulping as he realized his words. “I—”, he stammered, brows curling as he noticed her slight overreaction, “These are just their powers. Those—”, he gestured towards the curtains hiding half-rotten cadavers, “—those were people.”

Her furrow deepened, the edges of her mouth curling downwards as she followed his gesture, “It’s still a part of them.”

“It’s more like belongings, really,” he answered casually, earning a glare from her. He raised both hands immediately after, “Okay, sorry. Not loot.”

“It’s just— don’t call it that,” she said, her voice turning to a sigh. “How many people did they… how many victims? Those disgusting greedy fucks.”

“A lot,” he answered with a tone of bluntness, “but this… I don’t think this is enough?”

“Not enough?” She repeated, looking back at him with the same face of disgust as earlier.

“No! I mean— look around. That’s a fuckton of bodies, but this is just a fuckkilo of powers. It doesn’t make sense that it’s only this much.”

At a glance, there was more than enough in front of them to make Calvin explode into a universe-ending apocalyptic Hatchling if he was to absorb them all— if that was how it worked. There are too few powers to justify the amount of half-rotten bodies on the floor. And that’s only if they stored all the bodies of their victims.

Batty looked around and nodded lightly, “Even if we add the ones those scrappers, or fuckers or whatever they’re called, if we add whatever they were already using, you’re right. This isn’t enough.”

“Not nearly,” he repeated, picking up one of the flasks. A panel popped up in front of him, but his attention was still on the flask. Or rather, on the label written on the flask, “E318 - Can read with eyes closed. E318?”

Super Absorb

Super Power: Blindscribe detected. Absorb?

Yes No

'Blindscribe? Why does it have to sound so cool?’ He smirked a little at the slight dissonance between the label and the name the system gave. “But… how?”

“How what?” Batty asked, glancing towards the flask in his hand.

“How are they using it? How are they absorbing the powers? Even Dox doesn't know how, and she’s probably the smartest person.”

“She’s a genius, and a little unhinged—”

“—a little?”

“—but she’s far from the smartest,” she shrugged, “and she didn’t even know they had those things inside the pods. I didn’t even fucking know about those abominations.”

“Can’t you just find someone they experimented on and ask them?”

She scoffed, “Just go up to one and ask them?”

“'Ask’, yeah,” he repeated with air quotes.

“I thought the Academy was teaching heroism?”

“It’s been like two weeks,” he shrugged.

She chuckled before answering, “First off, no. 'Asking’ like that is how you get hatchlings. Second, it’s virtually impossible to tell who has a power implanted and who awakened naturally. Thirdly, do you really think they wouldn’t mess with their memories after that?”

“All good points,” he nodded. “Except for the second one. Just get a Scrapper?”

She looked at him funny, “They’re not the only ones getting powers, you know? There’s a lot more people out there.”

Calvin turned to her, confusion on his face, “What do you mean?”

“There’s more than just this place,” she answered. “This is Villainopolis. Everything can happen here. You can find out more when we get out.”

He nodded, “so they’re kidnapping people to steal their powers, then putting it into their own gang?”

“Maybe recently,” she nodded, “I couldn’t find out much about the implanting process except that it’s very recent. Like, a bit more than half-a-year-ago recent.”

'So, my lifetime here so far. Coincidence? I hope so,’ he thought to himself. “Then… they took this many people in half a year. Holy shit.”

“Maybe more. They’ve been here a while, just recently active.”

“Why take their powers then when they couldn’t even use it?”

“Why would anyone take power away from the people,” she scoffed, “I can’t even start thinking of a reason, kid.”

He rolled his eyes, “Okay, why keep their bodies here then?”

“What’s this, a quiz?” She echoed his words from earlier. “I don’t know, Calvin. I got kidnapped, remember?”

“Right…”

“I’ll take a look around,” she turned to the curtains, “see if there’s anything here that might tell us why. Or how. You keep an eye on the door.”

“Roger that,” he nodded, smiling as he was about to be left alone.

Super Absorb

Super Power: Tuff Twin detected. Absorb?

Yes No

'E113 - Summons pet rock,’ he read the label. 'I already have a pet rock. Technically.’

“Put those in your pocket,” Batty reminded him as she started walking away. Her footsteps paused, taking Calvin’s attention, “and maybe don’t tell the cape.”

“I thought you weren’t suspicious of him anymore?”

“Him? Not as much. Heroes?” She let out a scoff.

“Wasn’t really planning to, anyway,” he nodded, intending to give it to Dox instead. The useless ones anyway. “Huehuehhmm— ahem. Let’s see what we have here.”

A few floors down

'You know, in hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have left those two to themselves,’ Martin thought to himself as he trudged on downwards another set of staircases.

They’d decided to split up, which was normally something that shouldn’t be done.

However, circumstances being what they are, in addition to the woman’s insistence on the lower floor’s relative safety and the kid’s rare flash of insight, the choice was already made. The two would raid the terrorist’s potential weapon’s storage, while he, being the fastest of the three, would go and push the button and run back up with them.

However, a flaw in the plan had failed to present itself until it was too late— the appearance of his lifetime nemesis.

'These damned stairs,’ he let out a sigh, annoyed that his power was virtually helpless against the non-linear incline, 'Fuck these inane lairs. Fuck insane villains. Fuck insane inane villain lairs— why is everything cement? Why have so many goddamn stairs? What is wrong with…’ “It’s all so frustrating.”

A simple, single, and relatively uncomplicated flight of stairs were what he was expecting when he went down.

Ten minutes into the 'journey’, however, he’d already gone down at least three flights of stairs— with unequal amount of steps—, up one flight, around a spiral staircase, through a couple of hallways, and down a hatch.

'There was a slide and a pole in there somewhere,’ he recalled the 'attachments’ next to the spiral staircase. 'Either the guy had a stroke when making this floor, or his entire philosophy regarding defence system is to bore the intruder to death.’

He’d bet on the prior theory. The way was so innocuously incongruent and utterly delirious, yet for some reason the path neither split nor ended up dead. Twists and turns, but there was no other way but forward and back.

'I don’t get it. Why this?’ He thought while pulling up the blueprint he got from Calvin. 'This clearly only has one set of stairs down.'

He didn’t have time to ponder the intricacies of the madman’s mind. As soon as he thought about trying to understand it, the set of staircases he heading down abruptly stopped in front of a doorway.

There was no door on it, it literally was just a tiny, one-person wide, and one-half-person high doorway.

“Hmmm…” he hummed after crouching and peeking through the claustrophobic entrance.

The room beyond was as boring as before: all cement, no imagination. Except for one wall, the one opposite him.

He went through the entrance and kept his bearings straight, trying to make sure there wasn’t anything suspicious before turning his attention towards the anomaly.

A pair of golden doors.

'Guy likes his gold. And his white.’ thought the hero who donned a suit of white and gold.

The doors were sat underneath an archway of white stone. It was hard to tell what the material was, just that it was white and wasn’t cement. It looked like pure rock, carved and carried, etched and decorated with gold, gems, and dyes.

He carefully walked closer to the doors, subtly activating his mask’s 'death trap scanning’ mode to be extra careful.

'Something’s not right,’ he thought as he carefully walked towards the door, looking over every nook and cranny with his mask, 'Not a single trap or turret. Not even that they’re disabled… there’s literally nothing there. It's just a room.’

He reached the door and knelt down, touching the seam between the white wall and the cement floor.

'Even this… I’ve never seen something like this,’ he stood back up and stepped away, deactivating the scanner and looking around the room in confusion, 'It’s like the tinker suddenly died and got replaced.’

Normally, tinkers worked alone.

Not because of any measure of ego or snobbishness, just the nature of their power. Tinker Tendency. It's what makes every one of them unique, and also what prevents them from working with another Tinker.

That, and the general fact that most tinker techs don’t have blueprints or plans. Not because of the nature of their power, just laziness.

'This doesn’t even look like they worked together, it’s like they alternated who was working on what,’ he pursed his lips, pressing a button on his mask to record a full scan of his surroundings, 'That should net me a few points. Bet R&D would like it.’

After securing some of his finances with a few more pictures and an extra scan, he moved on towards the double doors that sported their own uniqueness.

'Always with the crows and the beetles,’ Martin noted. 'I wonder if… no, if this tendency was already in the database, it would’ve popped up the first day. Focus, let’s just get out for now before Empress comes back and throws this place into the stratosphere.’

He pushed on the door, brow raising in suspicion as it swung open without effort. The lack of security, while technically speaking was a 'good’ thing, was unnerving. Like a snake without venom.

After a quick peek inside to make sure no turret nor trap was waiting, he pushed both open and carefully stepped inside.

'Buttons, screens… and someone’s forgotten lunchbox.’

A simple room, big for one person, small for three, smaller if they’re all obese, filled with consoles and buttons and screens.

No guard, nor turret, nor robot— not even a security camera. Nothing else was inside except a stale sandwich and a sweaty room-temperature juice box, much to the disappointment of whoever left it there.

On the opposite end of the door was a small 'extension’ of the room jutting out, like a tumour in an otherwise perfectly rectangular room, filled with nothing but darkened glass walls.

'An observation deck.’ He noted.

He set his sight elsewhere momentarily, walking closer to the centermost console with the egregious amount of buttons. A groan immediately escaped his lips as he saw the next 'obstacle’ he had to run through in his quest to lift the lockdown.

'We meet again, crow with a branch in its beak,’ he thought sarcastically, looking at the symbols with unknowable meanings. “Just press the 'lift lockdown’ button. It’s easy. It’s always fucking— haah… always the details.”

He redirected his attention back towards the observation platform to curb his annoyance, walking around the console to come closer.

'Yep, tinted.’

He leaned in and pressed his mask against the glass, trying to peek through the tint.

“Wait, what am I doing?” He rolled his eyes and tapped on his mask, scrolling through the different view modes to try and see through. 'Flashlight? No. Infrared? Not either. Thermal? Of course not. That’s glass. TechScope? Nope— ah, there we go.’

A blue cube.

TechScope was proprietary technology that can scope out, well, technology. Specifically tinker technology. And the only tinker tech through the glass was a single cube of unknown dimension, unknown use, and unknown everything.

'I have a feeling that is important in some way. Just a feeling,’ he joked. He took a photo using his mask and noted it in his watch before moving on. 'I can’t waste any more time, I need to find the button… there has to be a handbook or a guide or something.’

He turned back to the mess of buttons in the room, immediately getting blinded by his own mask. “Fucking—”

He disabled TechScope and started scanning the mess. Like before, there was nothing else in the room but gold and stone. Not even a poster or a post-it note.

'I need to improvise…’ He scanned the room, trying to think of a way. 'Something in the room that might help…’ “Sandwich?”

He snapped his finger as an idea took root in his head, turning towards the stale sandwich.

'UV light,’ he thought, tapping his mask.

Instantly, the sandwich glowed a hue of green, along with a button right below it. He turned towards the other consoles, seeing a couple more buttons glowing, but thankfully not more than a handful.

“That narrows it down a bit,” he nodded to himself, walking closer. “Now it’s time to guess which one is… or not?”

The closest greasy button had a particularly helpful symbol. Helpful in that it accurately and conveniently describes the specific button he needed to look for: a wide lock and an arrow pointing down.

“Lock. Down.” He stifled a chuckle at the comical simplicity. He briefly looked at the other buttons, none of which had a symbol as helpful as the one he was in front of. 'Security might activate immediately once I press this.’

He opened his watch, intending to send a message up, when he noticed a notification already there.

Calvin: You good?

'A few minutes ago… I should probably not keep this on silent.’ He chuckled.

Me: No.

You sent an image

Calvin: Just press everything or something.

Me: Stay alert, security might activate.

Me: Just do as planned.

Me: Don’t wait for me.

Calvin: No time to learn Egyptian, I guess?

Me: Egyptian? The symbols?

Calvin: Yeah?

'He mentioned that earlier too… how does he know what this is?’ His suspicion towards the boy grew once more, but it would be unproductive to interrogate him over the messaging module. He closed his watch and noted it down, refocusing back to the matter at hand, “Here goes.”

Rumble

A subtle sound, like mortar grinding against its pestle, felt like an earthquake in his ears. He quickly took out his knuckle-dusters and raised focused his senses, looking around for the sound and paying attention to any movement.

'Above?’ He looked up to see a small square stone receding into a hole in the ceiling. With a click and a jolt, a golden shelf popped down from the hole, carrying a particularly opulent-looking gizmo. “What is that— is— is that a mini-fridge?”

Lined with gold, made of white stone, adorned with gemstones, and ringing with the unmistakable hum of refrigeration— it was, by all accounts, a mini-fridge.

He walked closer, more confused than cautious, circling the fridge before gingerly grabbing the corner and pulling it open. A gust of cold air and an unhealthy dose of insane, he could only look on in tired disbelief at what was inside.

A clipboard, a handful of papers, and a few bottles of alcohol.

“What in the world is— I can’t. I just— I can’t anymore,” he gave up with a sigh, relaxing his stance and leaning against the console. After collecting himself, he grabbed the clipboard with annoyance, 'damn, who even uses paper anymore?’

He grabbed the corner of the mildly frozen paper and tried to pry it from the next page, tearing it a bit as he put some force on it.

'That won’t work,’ he sighed. “What even is this? 'Experiment subject 618-F’. Ah.”

He quickly skimmed the contents of the paper as soon as he got an inkling of what it was about.

“Some numbers I don’t understand, status deceased, methodology… 'Grafting Operation 103-J’? Grafting?” He squinted and started reading more carefully. “'Dreams and hallucinations the subject experiences match with subjects 618-C and 618-D’, hmm… no mention of the operation itself.”

He continued skimming through the details of the experiment, which was mostly sparse and vague observations about some guy slowly turning insane.

'It’s more like a psych evaluation rather than a science report,’ he thought while reading. 'Conclusion: Operation 103, and possibly machine configuration 1782, was a fluke. Side effects only developed a delayed effect. Ability was also…’ “Lost? Ah, 'due to the subject’s untimely overdose from a circulating knock-off of Megistus’ drug.’ That’ll do it.”

He re-read the earlier parts of the paper, now with more context from the conclusion.

“'Grafting Operation’… that’s how they were implanting powers,” he noted, 'Megistus… I should take note of that name.’

The document gave him a few more clues about the facility’s purpose— or the entire terrorist operation’s purpose. However, it also added some questions in the end. Questions he hoped would be answered by thawing the documents.

'This isn’t the original machine. They have the blueprint but not the machine configurations,’ he started summarizing, leaning against the console as he processed the information. 'The processes to extract and graft powers aren’t perfect, so they have side effects…’ “Which is why the Scrappers exist as they are.”

His eyes widened as the pieces fell in place.

'Start a gang to kidnap other supers. Extract their powers, testing the machine and the configuration. Implant their powers into the non-supers of the gang. Stronger gang, stronger and more targets— rinse and repeat.’

Experiment subjects and a front, the gang covered what they needed.

'No Oracle in Villainopolis. Too many people to keep an eye on. Too divided with all the Zones. They just needed to stay out of the monarchies and that should’ve been it. Why didn’t they?’ He frowned. 'Why touch Empress’ kingdom then? The guy’s insane, not dumb.’

He started scratching his chin, or his mask’s chin, trying to think through the lens of the mad. The best he could think of was just that, it was mad. Or it was a mistake. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter for now.

'Why do it this way? Who is Megistus? Are they in the same group or not? Why were they in the Academy?’ He noted the questions in his head, typing them out in his holowatch for later. 'Focus. I need to get out.’

Pieces of the puzzle were still missing and questions only grew by the second, but he had to move on and do what he came down here to do.

'Button was a dud, and none of the other greasy buttons have symbols that look like they’d end the lockdown. Damn. Is there really no instructions on this thing?’ He flipped the clipboard, unexpectedly seeing a symbol that seemed out of place.

Eight concentric circles with a spherical indent in the middle, each circle outside of the indent had its own sphere of varying sizes in varying places. What’s interesting was that it didn’t look like the other symbols— it wasn’t etched by hand. More machined, less personal.

'Looks like a planetary system,’ he thought as he took a picture of the peculiarity. He was about to put it in his pocket when he saw something odd in the picture. An engraving.

Too small to read with the naked eye, but undoubtedly written in a legible language.

He tapped his mask and activated the zoom function in his display, making the text larger.

“'Reclaim the Lost World. For Earth. For Paradise.’” He read out loud, his eyes narrowing as he read it again. “Earth? Like a rock?”