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Alternate POV - To The Arcade
·
27-Apr-2024
So, what have our houndish 'heroes' been up to lately?
(Alt POV piece: Arcade of the Glory Hounds)
So, what have our 'heroes' been up to lately?
-
Sammy Niwa—better known to his sometimes adoring, occasionally critical, always intrusive public as Arcade—is not having a good week.
It started off so promisingly too, with a not-entirely-spontaneous interview spot with a reporter from The Cowl, one of the more reputable sites for parahuman coverage. They had great rapport, everything went smoothly, and the icing on the cake was an absolute chump of a mugger choosing the exact wrong time to run past, letting Sammy look cool as hell with a perfectly threaded laser to knock the would-be thief’s legs from under him. Couldn’t have plotted it out better himself.
Maybe your week peaking on a Monday is a bad omen, because it’s all been downhill from there.
First, him and Enfilade go out to this loan shark in response to a hotline distress call. Two unknown masks wreaking havoc. Awesome, Sammy thinks, hasn’t been anyone new to tangle with for a while, should be a good workout and an easy win.
Nope. These villains are tough customers and worse yet, some kind of creepy black tentacled spider person thing crashes the party, randomly joins the bad guys—as much to their surprise as him and Enfilade’s—and freaking breaks Sammy’s nose.
Like, okay, Sammy’s taken his share of hits. He’s been injured before, and much worse than a knee to the dome, but come on. Messing up his face? Seriously? Some of Sammy’s teammates—cough Surpass cough—would ride him mercilessly if they caught him being precious about his appearance, but his looks are kind of a big deal. And man, somehow things only get worse from there. Surpass is usually the Hounds’ closer, the one to sweep in and wrap the mission up.
That’s… not how it shakes out.
Nodes!Paradigm:
Black and shiny goes full horror show, chucking up a gaggle of scurrying creatures that swarm all over Surpass, biting and gnawing and making the worst noises Sammy has ever heard. Fast as she is, Surpass can’t handle the gross little bastards and the villain at the same time.
Mutations!Paradigm:
Black and shiny suddenly turns into something out of a horror movie, their body exploding into a terrifying new shape. Clawed, fanged. Mouths where mouths shouldn’t be.
Eyes. Sammy won’t forget those eyes for a long time.
Carapace!Paradigm:
Black and shiny goes beetle mode, coating themself in a suit of chitinous armour that’s somehow a match for Surpass’s fists. Sammy’s seen her punch through brick walls, through steel. Anything that can stand up to force like that is something Sammy wants no part of.
He reckons Surpass would have won, given enough time. She’s resourceful, she’s hard as hell to hurt, and she’s stubborn as all get out. Thing is, thanks to Sammy already screwing up, the whole battle goes sideways.
A villain seriously held him hostage. Sammy’s had the occasional L in the past, but this is like, the next level of L. Absolutely humiliating. If he hadn’t had the **** kicked out of him by tentacle jerk, he might have been able to defend himself. Instead, Architect boxes him up like a complimentary gift wrapping and uses him as a bargaining chip. The three villains get away. The media gleefully covers the Hounds’ failure, Sammy and company get the riot act from Corporate for giving the DPR even more dirt to dish.
Corporate. Coming up three years as a Hound, and Sammy still isn’t used to answering to non-powered higher ups. It’s bizarre having a boss separate from the actual leader of the team, much less a random suit who’s within their rights to chew him out. He’s done his homework, he knows the Glory Hounds’ structure is nowhere near as commercialised as some heroing outfits: Corporate has limited control over the roster—they can’t appoint a leader, can’t hire without going through the team, can only fire under certain circumstances—and are far more permissive to boot, but while they’re a necessary evil, not all of their evil is necessary.
Doing the right thing should come first. Always.
Pining for his days as a hotshot independent notwithstanding, Sammy’s week from hell went ahead and got even worse yesterday. Those three villains popped back up, and apparently they’d gone through mitosis because their ranks had doubled. Six villains, a brand new team, two hits in two different locations, both of them over and done with before the Hounds could even start to respond. A fresh round of criticism from the suits for not being prepared. Vantage at least shut them up by pointing out the team’s patrol routes for the week had been laid out by Corporate. Knockoff-brand-suit had gone real quiet after that.
Sammy just feels bad for the Wesson Parks Patrol, and not only because their team has a terrible name. Ranger’s the kind of guy you kind of just root for, someone who’s got more passion for heroing in his little finger than a whole building of DPR goons, who never stops fighting the good fight, even with special abilities that rank pretty much on par with a regular person who trains kickboxing a few times a week. Ranger cares. That matters. Mis/Hit are good people too; Sammy and the Hounds have coordinated with them a couple of times when the Shreds are having one of their half yearly rampages.
Point is, the Patrol had managed a huge win, given those smug Businessmen a bloody nose (Corporate views those scumbags as ‘low priority’. Urgh), and then got curbstomped. It’s honestly cruel.
Now everyone’s up in arms over the Altruists, Sammy’s nose still hurts like hell, and he woke up this morning to six straight texts from his ex.
No, Paco, he was not in fact also ‘laying awake thinking about what we had’. Furthermore, while serenading him with what he’s pretty sure was a self-penned poem may seem like a grand romantic gesture, said gesture loses a lot of its power when delivered at four in the morning in some unholy, offkey combination of Spanish and Japanese. A for effort, F for execution, W for will-you-hurry-up-and-get-over-it-for-****’s-sake-it’s-been-almost-an-entire-year-this-is-getting-depressing.
Also, the coffee machine on the Hounds’ floor of HQ is broken, and yeah Sammy could go the one on the next floor up, but that one doesn’t have the right flavours and never seems to get the temperature quite right.
Taking a morose sip of his lukewarm coffee, Sammy leans on the wall outside one of the conference rooms and waits for someone to show up to let him in.
Cause uh, carrying keys? In this spandex? Yeah no that’s not going to happen.
He’s actually very early for today’s briefing—thanks Paco—so he winds up awkwardly loitering in the hallway for almost half an hour before Enfilade rounds the corner. Hey, at least Sammy wins his silent bet with himself. With Enfi, on time means showing up ten minutes ahead of schedule. Minimum.
“Morning, newbie!” he calls. She rolls her eyes, and Sammy grins. He’s actually only sort-of making fun of her; Enfi’s spent her entire career smothered in DPR rules and regs, and giving her a little **** is his way of breaking her out of the shell. “Do me a solid and open sesame?”
“Even when you manage to be early, you forget your keys. Typical.” Enfilade’s tone is stern, but Sammy just sees his teammate breaking out of her chain-of-command robotics to clap back and privately calls it a win.
“I know, I know, I’m a terrible slacker.”
“Hmph.” She produces a massive ring of keys, instantly selects one, and then unlocks the room, holding open the door for Sammy. He gives her an ironic bow and strolls inside. It’s just as it was left from last time, the oblong conference table shoved up against one wall with a scattering of chairs arrayed in loose rows facing an electronic board. Propped in front of said gadget is a more analog version, covered in scribbled notes and affixed with innumerable clippings. Vantage prefers working manually. Sammy’s seen her private thought boards, insane spiderwebs of tacked-up notes, photos and annotations that would make a conspiracy theorist blush.
Sammy takes his usual spot, left front. Enfilade goes to the middle and sits, back ramrod straight. The mechanical parts of her arms whir and click as she folds them. Sammy glances sidelong at her, studying not for the first time the disproportionate bulk of her forearms, the slight plastic sheen of synthskin. Must be weird having body parts that are as much weapon as limb. Maybe that’s rich coming from a guy who can shoot laser beams from his hands, but Enfilade’s cybernetics are so obviously artificial.
He hasn’t asked her the circumstances of her becoming an augment. Not yet. Probably not for a long while. It’s not the kind of question you just fire off in a casual conversation. He doesn’t know her well enough. Give it time.
Sammy still remembers his first encounter with a reporter desperate for a scoop on how he ignited, a greedy vulture salivating over the worst day of his life. Some flares are lucky enough to have glorious beginnings, their powers coming at the perfect moment for dramatic heroics.
Some.
Augments? DPR augments? They're the kind of people willing to risk life and limb, signing themselves away to the government for a chance to become something different. Those breaking away from the DPR’s watchful eyes are a slender minority.
Enfilade will tell him when she’s ready. If she’s ready. He won’t be a vulture.
She meets his eye. He winks at her. She scoffs and looks away.
They aren’t alone for too long; the door opens and in walks Vantage, putting Sammy’s predictions at two for two. Unlike Enfilade, he actually knows her real name, but he always tries to stay in work mode around the base. Less chance of slipping up and using the wrong one in a tense moment. Sammy is briefly amused to realise that wearing a mask makes him the odd one out of the group; that’s rare.
Vantage nods at each of them in turn. Sammy waves back lazily as she walks to the front of the room, flips the paper on the easel board over, and immediately begins writing on the fresh canvas. For a couple of minutes, the scratching of her pen is the only sound in the room. In such quiet, Sammy—along with everyone else—hears Surpass long before they see her. That booming, boisterous voice is unmistakable. Sammy can’t quite make out the words, but if he was a betting man, he’d wager that she’s ragging on Portrait, a favourite hobby of hers.
Sammy… thinks they’re friends? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.
Surpass bursts through the door first, laughing with a joke Sammy didn’t fully hear but had a punchline something to do with geese. Portrait’s only half a step behind her, but such is the size difference that Sammy can’t actually see him until he slips off to the side. Portrait isn’t even that small, Surpass is just tall as hell and absolutely jacked.
Needless to say, Sammy maintains that super strength means her physique is totally cheated and she's totally disqualified from any kind of competition. Some people have to work for their six pack, thank you very much.
“What is UP?” Surpass shouts at nobody in particular. She’s not actually asking a question, just making sure she hasn’t been missed—as if anybody could—and is totally content just receiving the usual nods and waves en route to sprawling into the largest chair, right in the back.
Portrait takes the seat next to Sammy’s and gives him a prim smile, which he answers with his own more relaxed version. When Sammy first joined the team he hadn’t known what to make of the guy, with his elaborate costume that looks more suited to the theatre than fighting and his aloof attitude. Over time, Sammy grew to understand that Portrait just winds up real tight, real quick when he’s under pressure. Otherwise, he’s as mellow as you’d like.
Vantage turns around, eyes making a quick sweep of the room. “That’s everyone,” she announces. “Phalanx won’t be joining us, she’s—”
“—working on her armour,” Sammy and Portrait chorus in unison. They exchange grins.
Surpass straightens from her slouch, glaring at them both. “She needs—”
Vantage’s turn to interrupt. “We’re aware, Surpass. No need to cover it again.”
Unusually for Surpass, she subsides without further comment. To be honest, Sammy’s heard his teammate’s counterargument so many times that he reckons by now he could recite it from memory. First, she points out that Phalanx only has the one set of armour, since the DPR confiscated the others when she told them to go **** themselves. (Surpass’s words, not Sammy’s) This, Surpass reasons, means Phalanx has to spend a lot of time on her armour, otherwise she won’t be effective in the crunch. On top of that, Phalanx is still learning the workings of her gear; the DPR intentionally kept her in the dark so she’d be more dependent—and so on and so forth.
Vantage continues. Or should that be ‘begins’?
“As you know, we’ve got a new set of villains in town. Since they were kind enough to give two separate introductions, we even know what to call them.” She nods to her board, at the top of which she’s written ‘Altruists’.
Portrait breathes a laugh. “Provocative, aren’t they?”
“Maybe they really believe they’re in the right,” suggests Sammy. Wouldn’t be the first villains to think as much, and most he’s encountered have had at least some justification for what they’re doing, even if it often involves a lot of self-delusion.
“Perhaps, which may help us predict their next move,” says Vantage. “Presently, I’m just as concerned about how quickly they’ve recruited. The other gangs have remained relatively stable for the past eighteen months. The Altruists went from smalltime activities as a duo to adding four members in three days.” She frowns. “Not to mention, there’s no trace of any of them operating at all until recently. That’s less data than I’d like.”
Sammy understands her consternation. Vantage’s power works best when she’s got information to work with. The more information, the better she can simulate and predict her opponents. Sammy tries not to think too hard about the exact way her precognition works because whenever he does it makes his eyes cross, he just knows that she can handily kick his *** and it’s not even close.
Enfilade raises her hand, speaking only when Vantage gives her a nod. Months after joining the team, that habit persists. “I’ve cross-referenced the Hounds’—sorry, our—parahuman database and also conducted independent research.” She shakes her head. “I had no strong hits for any of the powers displayed.”
“You mean there aren’t any other bony boys out there?” Surpass says, leaning forward. Sammy can hear the smirk in her voice.
“None that match Fracture, no,” Enfilade replies, completely plain faced. Surpass is visibly disappointed, though Sammy doesn’t think there’s any malice in it. She’s kind of just like that.
“Thanks for trying, Enfilade,” says Vantage. “We may need to revisit that in the future once they’ve shown more of their hand. Currently, we don’t even know their full toolkits.”
“What about Tentacle Creep?” Surpass pipes up. “Think we’ve got a pretty good idea of their bag.”
“Surpass… Thresh has introduced themself now. You can’t keep calling them Tentacle Creep.” As always, Sammy marvels at how completely unfazed Vantage is by their teammate's nonsense.
Nodes!Paradigm:
“Sure, whatever.” Surpass waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, so Creepy can make those gross flesh nuggets on top of all their tentacle ****. Like, don’t know about you guys, but villains hucking bits of themselves all over the floor is the kind of thing that sticks in my head. If they’re not brand new, then somebody’s gotta remember them.”
Sammy suppresses a shudder. Somehow the worst part is the sound the wriggling black creatures made when they hit the floor. Like meat slapped onto a counter. Or a lifeless carcass dropping to the ground.
Mutations!Paradigm:
“Sure, whatever.” Surpass waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, so Chompy’s body flipped the **** out right in the middle of all that. Like, forget the tentacle ****, if a villain suddenly grows extra mouths and eyeballs and turns into a giant mutant fleshbeast, that **** is going straight on the ten o' clock news. If they’re not brand new, then somebody’s gotta remember them.”
Sammy doesn’t know that he’d describe the transformation as turning into a giant mutant. Moderately sized mutant. With some giant parts. Then again, he’s not the one who had to punch the thing.
Carapace!Paradigm:
“Sure, whatever.” Surpass waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, so Shelly has their tentacle **** and can also go like full, bug samurai with all those armour plates. That’s memorable, you know? I sure as hell never fought anyone who can just grow a suit of armour out of their own frigging body. If they’re not brand new, then somebody’s gotta remember them.”
Sammy was pretty out of it when the actual change happened, but he’s seen footage from the security cameras. Even in a distant, grainy recording, the sight was unsettling. Bulging, shifting shapes beneath the inky black surface, pushing through one by one. Sammy’s just glad it was Thresh’s weird membrane and not their actual flesh. He doesn’t think his stomach would be up to the task.
Enfilade shakes her head again. “Nothing on record.”
“So they just appeared out of their weirdo puddle one day and decided to be our problem. Amazing. Love it.” Surpass sits back and groans. “If none of these assholes have any history, then how the **** did Head *******—”
“Architect,” Vantage corrects.
“Then how the **** did Architect, noted *******, even find them? Pretty sure they don’t run villain classifieds.” Surpass glowers like Vantage is concealing that information on purpose.
“Maybe there’s a villains-only social network,” Sammy drawls casually. “MiscreantSpace.”
Surpass’s frustration vanishes in a snort of laughter. “Dude that’s not even a pun.”
Sammy shrugs, grinning. “I’m not even a villain.” She laughs again and settles down, just as Sammy had hoped. Sometimes you’ve got to clown around a little to smooth things over.
“At this point it doesn’t matter,” says Vantage. “What we need to take into account is that they’re resourceful and clever enough to grow their ranks and then act on those increased numbers.” She sweeps across the group. “Everyone’s taken the time to look over the breakdown of yesterday’s attacks, right?” Murmurs of assent from all save Surpass, who instead delivers a lazy thumbs up. “Good.” Vantage nods, raises her pen. “Let’s get started.” Her eyes gleam.
One intensive whiteboarding session later, and what was once a pristine page now resembles the same maze of scrawls it replaced.
Sammy’s exhausted—thank you, mask, for conveniently hiding the black smudges under his eyes—but feeling pretty good about how much they got down. The Altruists aren’t as blank a slate as feared, and he knows that mapping the details out like this can only help Vantage’s power come online.
Not that he wants to rely solely on Vantage. Surpass may be pissed that Architect pulled one over her by taking the low road, but Sammy got his clock cleaned. He got his face messed up. He’s earned the right to nurse a grudge.
Thresh. There’s more notes alongside their name than any of the others, and they’re somehow still the most enigmatic. Faceless. Their powers unpredictable, unique and yet unrecorded. The way they appeared from nowhere, unexpected even by their supposed allies. What lies below that blank exterior? A mask that’s more than a mask?
Anything. Anyone.
…Someone Sammy’s going to hit with so many lasers, next go round. Like, at least half a dozen. Good ones too, not the lightshow style pew-pews that come out when he doesn’t charge up that barely leave a mark.
“Arcade, can you wait behind?” Vantage’s voice halts his revenge fantasy. He looks up, blinking, and gives his leader a shallow nod. He hadn’t even stood up to leave anyway.
Sammy remains in his chair while the others filter out of the conference room, and after Enfilade shuts the door behind her, he turns back to Vantage. “Detention again, huh?” He smiles. Vantage doesn’t, then asks the last question he wants to hear.
“Sammy, are you alright?”
His smile stays fixed in place. His stomach plummets. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” he deflects.
Wrong answer. “You were held hostage. Architect threatened your life.” There’s no sarcasm, no implication of duh, obviously. She’s plain and matter of fact, with a sprinkle of concern.
“We’re heroes, our lives get threatened all the time.” Sammy feels his laid back tone slipping. He’s too tired and too sore.
“That doesn’t mean it can’t affect you.” Vantage pauses. “Or that you have to pretend it doesn’t.”
“Good to know, but I’m fine.” His voice is dull. Unconvincing. Dammit. He takes a quick breath, tries again, shooting Vantage a smile for good measure. “I appreciate you thinking about me. I won’t lie, that did suck, but seriously, I’m good.”
She slowly nods. Not for the first time, Sammy wonders if her power works on conversations just as it does on combat. Maybe she knew from the start this wouldn’t go anywhere. “Remember that the team has resources if you ever feel the need to talk.” She inclines her head. “That’s all. Try to get some rest, you look—”
“Like an unwanted Spanpanese love ballad woke me at an ungodly hour, yeah.”
Vantage’s mouth hangs open a moment. Heh. Didn’t predict that, did she? Sammy basks in the satisfaction while Vantage’s lips twitch into a half smile. “Sure, we’ll use that analogy. Take care of yourself, Sammy.”
“Always do.” He winks. “But if this is your way of telling me I’m allowed to nap while I’m on call, I won’t say no.” Getting up, he flashes a mischievous grin and then heads out, feeling her eyes on his back every step of the way.
Sammy’s smile slides off the moment he leaves the room. Yeah, that’s our Arcade. The golden boy. Wouldn’t do to have him look worn out or pissed off or hurt.
He’s got an image; the handsome, cleancut, flashy youngster. The guy the cameras love, always willing to spare a moment for the press and a few more moments for the fans. In short, just the kind of person to rehabilitate the Glory Hounds’ public image.
Before that day, the day they lost Shannon and Rory and the trust of the town, Sammy was the plucky rookie, the younger brother. And sure he’d roll his eyes and quip to the media and he really did believe that he could cut it as a Hound and that he wasn’t so green as they all played it up, but part of him enjoyed the attention, the extra bit of slack he always got. He knew that no matter how bad things got or how out of his depth he dove, somebody would always be there to bail him out.
God, he was such a kid.
Sammy starts down the corridor before Vantage can come out and ask why he’s still there.
It’s not the broken nose, or the embarrassment of capture. Not really. It’s what those represent. Defeat. Flaws.
He’s not supposed to have flaws. He can’t allow himself to have flaws. He owes it to the dead and the living both. He promised to step up. Be a hero. Be the hero.
Sammy feels the heat in his palms. The energy crackling from shoulders to fingertips.
He pictures that featureless black visage, shimmering and swirling like liquid night. Wisps of smoke coil from his hands.
“Next time,” he whispers. “Just watch me.”
·
27-Apr-2024
So, what have our houndish 'heroes' been up to lately?
(Alt POV piece: Arcade of the Glory Hounds)
So, what have our 'heroes' been up to lately?
-
Sammy Niwa—better known to his sometimes adoring, occasionally critical, always intrusive public as Arcade—is not having a good week.
It started off so promisingly too, with a not-entirely-spontaneous interview spot with a reporter from The Cowl, one of the more reputable sites for parahuman coverage. They had great rapport, everything went smoothly, and the icing on the cake was an absolute chump of a mugger choosing the exact wrong time to run past, letting Sammy look cool as hell with a perfectly threaded laser to knock the would-be thief’s legs from under him. Couldn’t have plotted it out better himself.
Maybe your week peaking on a Monday is a bad omen, because it’s all been downhill from there.
First, him and Enfilade go out to this loan shark in response to a hotline distress call. Two unknown masks wreaking havoc. Awesome, Sammy thinks, hasn’t been anyone new to tangle with for a while, should be a good workout and an easy win.
Nope. These villains are tough customers and worse yet, some kind of creepy black tentacled spider person thing crashes the party, randomly joins the bad guys—as much to their surprise as him and Enfilade’s—and freaking breaks Sammy’s nose.
Like, okay, Sammy’s taken his share of hits. He’s been injured before, and much worse than a knee to the dome, but come on. Messing up his face? Seriously? Some of Sammy’s teammates—cough Surpass cough—would ride him mercilessly if they caught him being precious about his appearance, but his looks are kind of a big deal. And man, somehow things only get worse from there. Surpass is usually the Hounds’ closer, the one to sweep in and wrap the mission up.
That’s… not how it shakes out.
Nodes!Paradigm:
Black and shiny goes full horror show, chucking up a gaggle of scurrying creatures that swarm all over Surpass, biting and gnawing and making the worst noises Sammy has ever heard. Fast as she is, Surpass can’t handle the gross little bastards and the villain at the same time.
Mutations!Paradigm:
Black and shiny suddenly turns into something out of a horror movie, their body exploding into a terrifying new shape. Clawed, fanged. Mouths where mouths shouldn’t be.
Eyes. Sammy won’t forget those eyes for a long time.
Carapace!Paradigm:
Black and shiny goes beetle mode, coating themself in a suit of chitinous armour that’s somehow a match for Surpass’s fists. Sammy’s seen her punch through brick walls, through steel. Anything that can stand up to force like that is something Sammy wants no part of.
He reckons Surpass would have won, given enough time. She’s resourceful, she’s hard as hell to hurt, and she’s stubborn as all get out. Thing is, thanks to Sammy already screwing up, the whole battle goes sideways.
A villain seriously held him hostage. Sammy’s had the occasional L in the past, but this is like, the next level of L. Absolutely humiliating. If he hadn’t had the **** kicked out of him by tentacle jerk, he might have been able to defend himself. Instead, Architect boxes him up like a complimentary gift wrapping and uses him as a bargaining chip. The three villains get away. The media gleefully covers the Hounds’ failure, Sammy and company get the riot act from Corporate for giving the DPR even more dirt to dish.
Corporate. Coming up three years as a Hound, and Sammy still isn’t used to answering to non-powered higher ups. It’s bizarre having a boss separate from the actual leader of the team, much less a random suit who’s within their rights to chew him out. He’s done his homework, he knows the Glory Hounds’ structure is nowhere near as commercialised as some heroing outfits: Corporate has limited control over the roster—they can’t appoint a leader, can’t hire without going through the team, can only fire under certain circumstances—and are far more permissive to boot, but while they’re a necessary evil, not all of their evil is necessary.
Doing the right thing should come first. Always.
Pining for his days as a hotshot independent notwithstanding, Sammy’s week from hell went ahead and got even worse yesterday. Those three villains popped back up, and apparently they’d gone through mitosis because their ranks had doubled. Six villains, a brand new team, two hits in two different locations, both of them over and done with before the Hounds could even start to respond. A fresh round of criticism from the suits for not being prepared. Vantage at least shut them up by pointing out the team’s patrol routes for the week had been laid out by Corporate. Knockoff-brand-suit had gone real quiet after that.
Sammy just feels bad for the Wesson Parks Patrol, and not only because their team has a terrible name. Ranger’s the kind of guy you kind of just root for, someone who’s got more passion for heroing in his little finger than a whole building of DPR goons, who never stops fighting the good fight, even with special abilities that rank pretty much on par with a regular person who trains kickboxing a few times a week. Ranger cares. That matters. Mis/Hit are good people too; Sammy and the Hounds have coordinated with them a couple of times when the Shreds are having one of their half yearly rampages.
Point is, the Patrol had managed a huge win, given those smug Businessmen a bloody nose (Corporate views those scumbags as ‘low priority’. Urgh), and then got curbstomped. It’s honestly cruel.
Now everyone’s up in arms over the Altruists, Sammy’s nose still hurts like hell, and he woke up this morning to six straight texts from his ex.
No, Paco, he was not in fact also ‘laying awake thinking about what we had’. Furthermore, while serenading him with what he’s pretty sure was a self-penned poem may seem like a grand romantic gesture, said gesture loses a lot of its power when delivered at four in the morning in some unholy, offkey combination of Spanish and Japanese. A for effort, F for execution, W for will-you-hurry-up-and-get-over-it-for-****’s-sake-it’s-been-almost-an-entire-year-this-is-getting-depressing.
Also, the coffee machine on the Hounds’ floor of HQ is broken, and yeah Sammy could go the one on the next floor up, but that one doesn’t have the right flavours and never seems to get the temperature quite right.
Taking a morose sip of his lukewarm coffee, Sammy leans on the wall outside one of the conference rooms and waits for someone to show up to let him in.
Cause uh, carrying keys? In this spandex? Yeah no that’s not going to happen.
He’s actually very early for today’s briefing—thanks Paco—so he winds up awkwardly loitering in the hallway for almost half an hour before Enfilade rounds the corner. Hey, at least Sammy wins his silent bet with himself. With Enfi, on time means showing up ten minutes ahead of schedule. Minimum.
“Morning, newbie!” he calls. She rolls her eyes, and Sammy grins. He’s actually only sort-of making fun of her; Enfi’s spent her entire career smothered in DPR rules and regs, and giving her a little **** is his way of breaking her out of the shell. “Do me a solid and open sesame?”
“Even when you manage to be early, you forget your keys. Typical.” Enfilade’s tone is stern, but Sammy just sees his teammate breaking out of her chain-of-command robotics to clap back and privately calls it a win.
“I know, I know, I’m a terrible slacker.”
“Hmph.” She produces a massive ring of keys, instantly selects one, and then unlocks the room, holding open the door for Sammy. He gives her an ironic bow and strolls inside. It’s just as it was left from last time, the oblong conference table shoved up against one wall with a scattering of chairs arrayed in loose rows facing an electronic board. Propped in front of said gadget is a more analog version, covered in scribbled notes and affixed with innumerable clippings. Vantage prefers working manually. Sammy’s seen her private thought boards, insane spiderwebs of tacked-up notes, photos and annotations that would make a conspiracy theorist blush.
Sammy takes his usual spot, left front. Enfilade goes to the middle and sits, back ramrod straight. The mechanical parts of her arms whir and click as she folds them. Sammy glances sidelong at her, studying not for the first time the disproportionate bulk of her forearms, the slight plastic sheen of synthskin. Must be weird having body parts that are as much weapon as limb. Maybe that’s rich coming from a guy who can shoot laser beams from his hands, but Enfilade’s cybernetics are so obviously artificial.
He hasn’t asked her the circumstances of her becoming an augment. Not yet. Probably not for a long while. It’s not the kind of question you just fire off in a casual conversation. He doesn’t know her well enough. Give it time.
Sammy still remembers his first encounter with a reporter desperate for a scoop on how he ignited, a greedy vulture salivating over the worst day of his life. Some flares are lucky enough to have glorious beginnings, their powers coming at the perfect moment for dramatic heroics.
Some.
Augments? DPR augments? They're the kind of people willing to risk life and limb, signing themselves away to the government for a chance to become something different. Those breaking away from the DPR’s watchful eyes are a slender minority.
Enfilade will tell him when she’s ready. If she’s ready. He won’t be a vulture.
She meets his eye. He winks at her. She scoffs and looks away.
They aren’t alone for too long; the door opens and in walks Vantage, putting Sammy’s predictions at two for two. Unlike Enfilade, he actually knows her real name, but he always tries to stay in work mode around the base. Less chance of slipping up and using the wrong one in a tense moment. Sammy is briefly amused to realise that wearing a mask makes him the odd one out of the group; that’s rare.
Vantage nods at each of them in turn. Sammy waves back lazily as she walks to the front of the room, flips the paper on the easel board over, and immediately begins writing on the fresh canvas. For a couple of minutes, the scratching of her pen is the only sound in the room. In such quiet, Sammy—along with everyone else—hears Surpass long before they see her. That booming, boisterous voice is unmistakable. Sammy can’t quite make out the words, but if he was a betting man, he’d wager that she’s ragging on Portrait, a favourite hobby of hers.
Sammy… thinks they’re friends? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.
Surpass bursts through the door first, laughing with a joke Sammy didn’t fully hear but had a punchline something to do with geese. Portrait’s only half a step behind her, but such is the size difference that Sammy can’t actually see him until he slips off to the side. Portrait isn’t even that small, Surpass is just tall as hell and absolutely jacked.
Needless to say, Sammy maintains that super strength means her physique is totally cheated and she's totally disqualified from any kind of competition. Some people have to work for their six pack, thank you very much.
“What is UP?” Surpass shouts at nobody in particular. She’s not actually asking a question, just making sure she hasn’t been missed—as if anybody could—and is totally content just receiving the usual nods and waves en route to sprawling into the largest chair, right in the back.
Portrait takes the seat next to Sammy’s and gives him a prim smile, which he answers with his own more relaxed version. When Sammy first joined the team he hadn’t known what to make of the guy, with his elaborate costume that looks more suited to the theatre than fighting and his aloof attitude. Over time, Sammy grew to understand that Portrait just winds up real tight, real quick when he’s under pressure. Otherwise, he’s as mellow as you’d like.
Vantage turns around, eyes making a quick sweep of the room. “That’s everyone,” she announces. “Phalanx won’t be joining us, she’s—”
“—working on her armour,” Sammy and Portrait chorus in unison. They exchange grins.
Surpass straightens from her slouch, glaring at them both. “She needs—”
Vantage’s turn to interrupt. “We’re aware, Surpass. No need to cover it again.”
Unusually for Surpass, she subsides without further comment. To be honest, Sammy’s heard his teammate’s counterargument so many times that he reckons by now he could recite it from memory. First, she points out that Phalanx only has the one set of armour, since the DPR confiscated the others when she told them to go **** themselves. (Surpass’s words, not Sammy’s) This, Surpass reasons, means Phalanx has to spend a lot of time on her armour, otherwise she won’t be effective in the crunch. On top of that, Phalanx is still learning the workings of her gear; the DPR intentionally kept her in the dark so she’d be more dependent—and so on and so forth.
Vantage continues. Or should that be ‘begins’?
“As you know, we’ve got a new set of villains in town. Since they were kind enough to give two separate introductions, we even know what to call them.” She nods to her board, at the top of which she’s written ‘Altruists’.
Portrait breathes a laugh. “Provocative, aren’t they?”
“Maybe they really believe they’re in the right,” suggests Sammy. Wouldn’t be the first villains to think as much, and most he’s encountered have had at least some justification for what they’re doing, even if it often involves a lot of self-delusion.
“Perhaps, which may help us predict their next move,” says Vantage. “Presently, I’m just as concerned about how quickly they’ve recruited. The other gangs have remained relatively stable for the past eighteen months. The Altruists went from smalltime activities as a duo to adding four members in three days.” She frowns. “Not to mention, there’s no trace of any of them operating at all until recently. That’s less data than I’d like.”
Sammy understands her consternation. Vantage’s power works best when she’s got information to work with. The more information, the better she can simulate and predict her opponents. Sammy tries not to think too hard about the exact way her precognition works because whenever he does it makes his eyes cross, he just knows that she can handily kick his *** and it’s not even close.
Enfilade raises her hand, speaking only when Vantage gives her a nod. Months after joining the team, that habit persists. “I’ve cross-referenced the Hounds’—sorry, our—parahuman database and also conducted independent research.” She shakes her head. “I had no strong hits for any of the powers displayed.”
“You mean there aren’t any other bony boys out there?” Surpass says, leaning forward. Sammy can hear the smirk in her voice.
“None that match Fracture, no,” Enfilade replies, completely plain faced. Surpass is visibly disappointed, though Sammy doesn’t think there’s any malice in it. She’s kind of just like that.
“Thanks for trying, Enfilade,” says Vantage. “We may need to revisit that in the future once they’ve shown more of their hand. Currently, we don’t even know their full toolkits.”
“What about Tentacle Creep?” Surpass pipes up. “Think we’ve got a pretty good idea of their bag.”
“Surpass… Thresh has introduced themself now. You can’t keep calling them Tentacle Creep.” As always, Sammy marvels at how completely unfazed Vantage is by their teammate's nonsense.
Nodes!Paradigm:
“Sure, whatever.” Surpass waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, so Creepy can make those gross flesh nuggets on top of all their tentacle ****. Like, don’t know about you guys, but villains hucking bits of themselves all over the floor is the kind of thing that sticks in my head. If they’re not brand new, then somebody’s gotta remember them.”
Sammy suppresses a shudder. Somehow the worst part is the sound the wriggling black creatures made when they hit the floor. Like meat slapped onto a counter. Or a lifeless carcass dropping to the ground.
Mutations!Paradigm:
“Sure, whatever.” Surpass waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, so Chompy’s body flipped the **** out right in the middle of all that. Like, forget the tentacle ****, if a villain suddenly grows extra mouths and eyeballs and turns into a giant mutant fleshbeast, that **** is going straight on the ten o' clock news. If they’re not brand new, then somebody’s gotta remember them.”
Sammy doesn’t know that he’d describe the transformation as turning into a giant mutant. Moderately sized mutant. With some giant parts. Then again, he’s not the one who had to punch the thing.
Carapace!Paradigm:
“Sure, whatever.” Surpass waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, so Shelly has their tentacle **** and can also go like full, bug samurai with all those armour plates. That’s memorable, you know? I sure as hell never fought anyone who can just grow a suit of armour out of their own frigging body. If they’re not brand new, then somebody’s gotta remember them.”
Sammy was pretty out of it when the actual change happened, but he’s seen footage from the security cameras. Even in a distant, grainy recording, the sight was unsettling. Bulging, shifting shapes beneath the inky black surface, pushing through one by one. Sammy’s just glad it was Thresh’s weird membrane and not their actual flesh. He doesn’t think his stomach would be up to the task.
Enfilade shakes her head again. “Nothing on record.”
“So they just appeared out of their weirdo puddle one day and decided to be our problem. Amazing. Love it.” Surpass sits back and groans. “If none of these assholes have any history, then how the **** did Head *******—”
“Architect,” Vantage corrects.
“Then how the **** did Architect, noted *******, even find them? Pretty sure they don’t run villain classifieds.” Surpass glowers like Vantage is concealing that information on purpose.
“Maybe there’s a villains-only social network,” Sammy drawls casually. “MiscreantSpace.”
Surpass’s frustration vanishes in a snort of laughter. “Dude that’s not even a pun.”
Sammy shrugs, grinning. “I’m not even a villain.” She laughs again and settles down, just as Sammy had hoped. Sometimes you’ve got to clown around a little to smooth things over.
“At this point it doesn’t matter,” says Vantage. “What we need to take into account is that they’re resourceful and clever enough to grow their ranks and then act on those increased numbers.” She sweeps across the group. “Everyone’s taken the time to look over the breakdown of yesterday’s attacks, right?” Murmurs of assent from all save Surpass, who instead delivers a lazy thumbs up. “Good.” Vantage nods, raises her pen. “Let’s get started.” Her eyes gleam.
One intensive whiteboarding session later, and what was once a pristine page now resembles the same maze of scrawls it replaced.
Sammy’s exhausted—thank you, mask, for conveniently hiding the black smudges under his eyes—but feeling pretty good about how much they got down. The Altruists aren’t as blank a slate as feared, and he knows that mapping the details out like this can only help Vantage’s power come online.
Not that he wants to rely solely on Vantage. Surpass may be pissed that Architect pulled one over her by taking the low road, but Sammy got his clock cleaned. He got his face messed up. He’s earned the right to nurse a grudge.
Thresh. There’s more notes alongside their name than any of the others, and they’re somehow still the most enigmatic. Faceless. Their powers unpredictable, unique and yet unrecorded. The way they appeared from nowhere, unexpected even by their supposed allies. What lies below that blank exterior? A mask that’s more than a mask?
Anything. Anyone.
…Someone Sammy’s going to hit with so many lasers, next go round. Like, at least half a dozen. Good ones too, not the lightshow style pew-pews that come out when he doesn’t charge up that barely leave a mark.
“Arcade, can you wait behind?” Vantage’s voice halts his revenge fantasy. He looks up, blinking, and gives his leader a shallow nod. He hadn’t even stood up to leave anyway.
Sammy remains in his chair while the others filter out of the conference room, and after Enfilade shuts the door behind her, he turns back to Vantage. “Detention again, huh?” He smiles. Vantage doesn’t, then asks the last question he wants to hear.
“Sammy, are you alright?”
His smile stays fixed in place. His stomach plummets. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” he deflects.
Wrong answer. “You were held hostage. Architect threatened your life.” There’s no sarcasm, no implication of duh, obviously. She’s plain and matter of fact, with a sprinkle of concern.
“We’re heroes, our lives get threatened all the time.” Sammy feels his laid back tone slipping. He’s too tired and too sore.
“That doesn’t mean it can’t affect you.” Vantage pauses. “Or that you have to pretend it doesn’t.”
“Good to know, but I’m fine.” His voice is dull. Unconvincing. Dammit. He takes a quick breath, tries again, shooting Vantage a smile for good measure. “I appreciate you thinking about me. I won’t lie, that did suck, but seriously, I’m good.”
She slowly nods. Not for the first time, Sammy wonders if her power works on conversations just as it does on combat. Maybe she knew from the start this wouldn’t go anywhere. “Remember that the team has resources if you ever feel the need to talk.” She inclines her head. “That’s all. Try to get some rest, you look—”
“Like an unwanted Spanpanese love ballad woke me at an ungodly hour, yeah.”
Vantage’s mouth hangs open a moment. Heh. Didn’t predict that, did she? Sammy basks in the satisfaction while Vantage’s lips twitch into a half smile. “Sure, we’ll use that analogy. Take care of yourself, Sammy.”
“Always do.” He winks. “But if this is your way of telling me I’m allowed to nap while I’m on call, I won’t say no.” Getting up, he flashes a mischievous grin and then heads out, feeling her eyes on his back every step of the way.
Sammy’s smile slides off the moment he leaves the room. Yeah, that’s our Arcade. The golden boy. Wouldn’t do to have him look worn out or pissed off or hurt.
He’s got an image; the handsome, cleancut, flashy youngster. The guy the cameras love, always willing to spare a moment for the press and a few more moments for the fans. In short, just the kind of person to rehabilitate the Glory Hounds’ public image.
Before that day, the day they lost Shannon and Rory and the trust of the town, Sammy was the plucky rookie, the younger brother. And sure he’d roll his eyes and quip to the media and he really did believe that he could cut it as a Hound and that he wasn’t so green as they all played it up, but part of him enjoyed the attention, the extra bit of slack he always got. He knew that no matter how bad things got or how out of his depth he dove, somebody would always be there to bail him out.
God, he was such a kid.
Sammy starts down the corridor before Vantage can come out and ask why he’s still there.
It’s not the broken nose, or the embarrassment of capture. Not really. It’s what those represent. Defeat. Flaws.
He’s not supposed to have flaws. He can’t allow himself to have flaws. He owes it to the dead and the living both. He promised to step up. Be a hero. Be the hero.
Sammy feels the heat in his palms. The energy crackling from shoulders to fingertips.
He pictures that featureless black visage, shimmering and swirling like liquid night. Wisps of smoke coil from his hands.
“Next time,” he whispers. “Just watch me.”
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