2.16

“Protocol in these situations is usually to contact a USMW medical squadron —”

“It’s fine, Rory, I can heal pretty quickly,” I interrupt. “You guys head out, I’ll catch up.”

He pauses his metaphorical hand-wringing before letting out a huff. “Fine. Don’t be late, we need to inform HQ of the possibility of museum robbery,” he says, standing. “And remember to take your helmet. These suits are expensive, and the USMC doesn’t appreciate having to re-appropriate illegal tech.”

I nod, slumping against the display case behind me. That fight was draining on its own, and on top of my general fatigue, I’m now missing a good bit of stored fat from using my power, and blood from having to use it in the first place.

I haven’t told Rory about the calorie requirements of my power. I think he might object to the way I’ve been eyeing that pastry shop across the hallway.

Rory stops a short distance away. “...Well done.” And then he walks away.

The others gather near the store’s entrance. Eva gives me a small wave. Olivia stares resolutely in the opposite direction, but her fists are clenched, and I think they might be shaking.

I grin, and do a quick salute.

Eva smiles, and Olivia marches out of the store, while the others follow along.

They leave, and I let out a sigh. I really need to ask for a granola bar or something.

After taking a minute to breathe, and watch the few remaining flies try to squirm away, I haul my aching body upright, staggering towards the pastry shop.

I leave my helmet on the floor where it is. It’ll get in the way.

The shop itself is tiny, so I end up reaching over the glass divider and snagging a couple donuts from the display, keeping one eye on the outside hallway, where a small, leftover swarm of flies meanders about.

I think I’m starting to get a good idea of whose notebook I’d found, back at the nazi hideout.

Faust. What a dramatic name. Still, if the USMC’s findings are correct, that was his giant eel destroying the suburbs, and this was his creepy bug monster terrorizing the mall. If I want to decipher that notebook in any reasonable time frame, I need to know more about him.

Stumbling out of the pastry shop, croissant in hand, I watch as the last remnants of insects press themselves in between the cracks of the windows and rotating exit doors, out into the parking lot.

They’re moving slowly, but it’s obvious they’re heading towards a predetermined destination.

I take a moment to use my power, smoothing over my injuries and restoring some lost muscle mass, and push myself through the revolving door and out into the open air, keeping an eye on any stray flies.

—

Following the trail of flies isn’t exactly easy, but I get better at it as time goes on. It seems to prefer moving through the few wooded areas sanctioned by the city government, so I end up stomping through brush and past small oak trees a number of times. Never for very long, though, and soon enough the thin path of bugs trails its way to a sort-of abandoned residential area.

The place is a little trashed, but it’s obvious there’s construction work happening, what with the gigantic mover parked in the middle of the road. The city only has a couple of them, but this amount of destruction definitely warrants its use.

The thing towers over the houses surrounding it, metal beams crossing and intertwining into a skeletal monolith sat on top of six huge tank treads. A reinforced structure points upwards off one of the corners, topped with a complex-looking crane and pulley system.

As advanced as it is, though, the structure isn’t new. I think I remember having a class on them in school — they were an important landmark in terms of reconstruction efforts, especially after Disasters. But they’re old. Rust and grime crawls up the thing’s bulk, tarnishing the solid metal and almost creaking in the wind. I’m not even sure the super who made them is still alive.

Still, it’s likely the neighborhood will be up and running within the month. The former residents will be able to apply for disaster recovery as soon as they finish, and they’ll probably get a discount, considering I think it was one of the USMC’s heroes who caused the damage.

The trail settles. Flies buzz, meandering in conflicting directions in a large radius around the neighborhood, no longer leading in a clear direction. It could mean the creature’s escaped, but still…

I work my way along the streets, peeking into the windows of abandoned buildings, discretely checking for any signs of human activity. If I don’t find anything, fine, it was a bit of a long shot anyway. But if I do…

One of the houses spills light from a window near the back. I approach cautiously, hugging the wall underneath it and only slightly peeking my head up to peer inside.

It looks like a bedroom, with a battery-powered lamp resting on a desk inside, next to a small filing box. Some other stuff lies scattered around the room as well, food packaging, articles of clothing… a coat hangs on the door.

I look left, then right. Then, I examine the window.

It’s unlocked. I push it open and crawl inside.

The space is cramped, but homely, in a way that makes it obvious this was the only room being used. Shielding my eyes from the bright yellow glow from the lamp, I tentatively slide open the first drawer of the filing box.

Holding it up to the light, I start to decipher… a schedule? There’s something penciled in for about a week from now, labeled ‘SNCHL + PNDA MEET’.

Carefully digging through the rest of the box doesn’t really reveal anything else. Faust isn’t as busy as he seems, I guess.

I close the box, making sure not to disturb anything else in the room, and sneak back out of the window, shutting it behind me. I don’t know if Faust is still using the place or when he’ll be back, but I think I need to call this in.

—

“I hope you know how irresponsible you’ve been,” Rook tells me, standing over her desk in front of me.

I shrug. “I dunno, I thought catching supervillains and saving the day was pretty responsible.”

She holds up a hand. “We will get to that, do not worry. Right now, I am talking about your callous disregard for operational security. Really, Red, did you have to waltz around in public with your suit on? You realize your face is all across the internet by now, correct?”

“It’s not like I can really go out in public any other way,” I complain, rolling my eyes. “How else was I supposed to get my hands on a phone?”

“You shouldn’t have been out there in the first place,” Rook stresses. “Your actions today were completely irresponsible.”

“I’m helping catch the bad guy! Isn’t that the point, helping people? Stopping the bad guys before they can hurt anyone else?”

“That is not what this is about!” Rook shouts, banging a fist onto her desk.

My expression turns flinty.

It isn’t? I don’t ask.

Rook steels herself. “I realize you want to help, Red. And that is admirable. But you have been handed a great deal of power, at a very young age. You need to understand what, in our society, is your responsibility, and what isn’t.” She clasps her hands and leans forward. “You can’t take matters into your own hands like this. You — all of us have too much power to be leveraging it against others.”

I scowl. “I’m not leveraging anything, I’m trying to help — because of my powers, I can help, so I want to.”

“And how do you know that you are helping?”

I stare at her. “Are you serious?”

Rook’s expression tightens. “The situation you have found yourself in now may be cut-and-dry, but this won’t always be the case. You can’t assume that you will always be correct in every scenario.”

She sighs, adjusting her glasses. “The consequences of your mistakes will always be greater than those of the mundane population. Supers hold too much potential for damage to be trusted to operate independently. I know you want to help, but you need to step back. You need to trust that the USMW has everything under control. Understood?”

I grit my teeth and nod.

“Good. I’ll be placing you on leave for the next week. You’ll have plenty of time to think about everything we’ve talked about.”

I open my mouth —

“And before you ask, nothing has been decided yet regarding the information obtained in the approved USMW search conducted last night. Once a plan of action is decided, we may be able to reevaluate your leave. Clear?”

“...Clear.”

She nods. “You’re free to go.”

—

“Red.”

I try to sidestep Rory, who’s standing in the living area, arms crossed. He steps back into my path.

I scowl. “What?”

He narrows his eyes. “You know what.”

Eva hops up to rest her arms on the back of a couch by the window. “Hey! What happened?”

I roll my eyes, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I followed the bug.”

“You — you…!” Rory seems at a loss for words.

Eva isn’t. “What the hell, Red!”

“It’s not a big deal,” I start, trying to push past Rory.

“Yes it is?! Why didn’t you tell us?” Eva says.

I twitch. “Would you have done anything about it if I did?”

Eva groans.

“We would have called in to our handler, informed him of the situation, and proceeded from there. It would be up to him to determine our next steps,” Rory informs me.

I try to resist a sneer. That guy’s a creep. I wanted to make absolutely sure I got my hands on something that would help me decipher the notebook, and it doesn’t seem likely they’d allow me access to sensitive evidence. They barely ever let us out of the tower.

I can’t tell them this, and as much as I am justified, I can’t justify it to them.

“Fine. I’m… sorry I did that without telling you guys,” I say, swallowing my pride.

Eva sighs. “I guess it’s fine —”

“An apology won’t be nearly enough to absolve you. Has Rook…” Rory interrupts.

I wave a hand vaguely, stepping around him. “She already said I’m on leave. No missions, I guess.”

“...If that’s what Rook has decided,” Rory says hesitantly.

“Yep,” I say, passing the living room. “For now at least. Anyway, I got a thing I need to work on.”

“Oh, uh, bye?”

“...Good night, Red…?”

I walk to my room and close the door softly, settling down into my desk chair. There are a couple things I need to get done.

That stupid notebook isn’t going to be finished anytime soon. I pick it up and flip through idly.

Still, I’ll need to keep working on it. Maybe I’ll figure out the cipher through sheer, random chance. It gives me something to do, anyway.

I also need to talk to someone about getting something calorie-dense that I can take on missions. It’s annoying having to break into pastry shops, or inhale granola bars or whatever just to operate my power. I need something more efficient to use if I’m going to keep doing stuff like this.

That fight was closer than I would have liked. I can still taste the tang of… whatever that was.

I should also consider altering my body beforehand, so I don’t have to do it during the mission. I don’t need anything super lethal for the usual missions, but I don’t know if Faust is going away any time soon. Something… ‘built-in’ might help me be more effective.

A muscle augment, maybe? I don’t know enough about muscles. to really construct anything more effective than what I have now. Or… claws? As much as the bug thing hated vibrations, Rory’s sword construct wasn’t ineffective, exactly.

I stow away the ciphered notebook for later, and pull out a larger one. Writing my ideas down usually helps me put them in order.