Ch. 2: Rogue Wave

I, as Beaker, step out of the back of the bakery and into a fairly dingy alleyway, rife with discarded bottles and cigarette butts. Reggie is aware of my antics, but no one else outside of Emily is. Fortunately, Emily has set up a discreet series of sensors that detect any recording equipment targeted at the door, leaving me more or less safe when exiting, even if someone's recording a video of themselves for whatever social media they like.

I step into the streets of Dudek, my mask displaying a helpful 3D map of the area in the top right of my vision. By tilting my neck hard to the right, I can swap between thermal vision, infrared vision, and normal vision. It's incredibly useful technology, yet another asset Emily brings to the table. With the coast clear, I dart off into the night. I have a specific target in mind tonight. I twirl my cane, which on the surface is little more than a metal stick with a pointed hook, but it contains a few tricks for dealing with problematic foes. First and foremost is that it's a big metal stick with a weighted end.

It's a bit of a trek, but I came prepared with a few muscle enhancing stimulants ingested beforehand. I'm hardly superhuman, but it's enough to make me more of an athlete than I actually am.

I wish, truthfully, that vigilantes didn't have to exist. The reality is that ever since people started developing superpowers, the government's been growing weaker and less centralized. It's hard to lead a country when someone can explode your head with a thought, after all. The USA is fragmenting into ever-smaller sub-governments, and they aren't always well-oiled machines. Especially not Dudek.

As such, there's EViRT, local cops, officially sanctioned heroes, and a couple others. But they can only do so much. Gangs have been running rampant in major cities ever since, and police aren't capable of handling the massive followings that they've been able to accrue. As shitty as it sounds, sometimes your only source of work is for one of those gangs.

Within half an hour, I've reached my destination: a large, abandoned canning factory. It used to go by "Last Resort Cannery," but now is simply "Eighth Reich." As the name implies, it's a skinhead hotspot, the meeting ground for a few independent groups of dipshits. There are a couple targets inside I intend to apprehend, as I quietly slink around the nearby building.

I really, really hate the skinheads. There's more than a handful of these gangs around Dudek. The police very rarely get involved with them unless their dumb bullshit spreads into actively harming civilians, which is why there are so many vigilantes in the city. Lots of the larger cities in the country are like this now: nesting grounds for unsavory elements that vie for skimming so-called protection fees off of legitimate businesses.

Something on my HUD flashes, making me turn my beaked mask to the side to evaluate the incoming person.

They're some kind of cape, certainly. They're dressed in teals and blues that make a wave pattern, and wearing an old-school diving helmet no doubt filled with all sorts of tech of their own. To make matters worse, they're carrying a trident which has a suspiciously large and noticeable button on it.

All in all, a disturbingly similar costume to my own. And I have no idea who they are. And they're walking straight towards me.

I stand up from my hunched over lurking position, twirling my cane while getting into character.

The new figure speaks first, sounding like he's underwater. "Oh ho ho, a little bird was separated from their crew, it seems."

I tilt my hat down. It's secured with magnets to allow for putting on and taking off, while also not falling off in combat. My costume truly is a labor of love from Emily. "Hark, villain! You dare approach me? You know not your own folly!" The distorted voice hisses out from my voice modulator.

"Villain? No, I'm not one of the skinhead fucks like you, birdbrain." The figure slams his trident into the ground.

I take a brief pause. Is this some kind of trap? "...perhaps in your terror, you have forgotten whose side you claim allegiance to. For it is you who has allied themselves with the abhorrent beliefs that cannery contains!"

"Is this some kind of mind game? I'm not gonna fall for it."

"Mind game? Bah! As if an idolatrous indolent like yourself has a mind to game with!" I point my cane at the new figure. "They call me Beaker, and I am a doctor of medicine, not some pathetic imagined-past worshipping filth!"

The dive-suited man sighs like bubbles breaching the surface. "...time out for a second. Let me look you up." He takes out a phone, briefly doing a few searches as I awkwardly keep my cane lifted up and pointed at him. My arm is getting tired.

The dive suited man puts his phone away. "Okay. I have no idea who you are, but there is exactly one record of you on the wiki saying you stopped a house fire?"

"Indeed, twas I, though I assure you that my combat skills will not be found lacking either, villainous scum!"

"God damn it. I think we're actually on the same side here. I came here to beat the absolute shit out of Carson Porter."

I take a moment to process what I'm hearing. He claims to also be a vigilante and is after Carson Porter, someone who I believed to be away from the city at the moment. That's a little farfetched, but at the same time... It does track. I have my own targets inside, but if Porter's there, so are others I'm not equipped to deal with.

"I shall require proof of thine allegiance! Name yourself, miscreant!"

"Can you stop with that LARPy talk? I'm Rogue Wave. You can look me up."

"Very well. I shall do so with haste." I quickly search his name online, silently grateful there's an internet connection. Sure enough, a blurry photo matches his appearance, and he's listed as a vigilante, but not a villain. Interesting. I put the phone away into my belt. "Indeed, your alibi is accurate."

"So... why the hell are you here?" he asks, folding his arms.

"I seek one ruffian by the moniker of Vincent Ferguson, and a rival cape by the name Taxus."

"Shit, Taxus is here? Glad I bumped into you, then. How about a little team up? I'll even tell you my powers first."

I'm not sure if he's being serious about telling me his power. The getup pretty much gives it away. "Ahh. If I had to guess-"

"You'd be wrong. I have limited control of inertia. The costume is just to confuse people." There's a smugness that leaks through his voice filter. To be fair, his little deception worked. "How about you, birdbrain? What's your deal?"

"I would appreciate you referring to me correctly, and not by such an insulting term. As stated, I am Beaker." I theatrically bow, in much the same way I did last night. "I use all manner of potions and elixirs to apprehend my foes."

"So you what, give people smallpox?" he asks.

"Nay, I decidedly do not. I do not cause disease, but treat it. Perhaps we shall focus on the true illness that permeates this area, hmm?"

"You're really not giving up on the voice, huh? Whatever, fine. What's your dispower?"

"Ahh, a mystery, one that you will-"

He cuts me off with yet another long sigh. "Mine is that I'm not affected by gravity. If it weren't for the heavy ass suit, I'd just float into space."

"God damn, that sucks. I- I mean, how unfortunate for you, my good-"

"Seriously, stop."

Some people take all the fun out of beating up fascists. With reluctance, I drop the ridiculous speech pattern I adopted to further obfuscate my identity. "Fine, fine. Mine is similar, in that if my suit is ruptured, I'd probably die."

"Jesus. So how does that work in day to day? I just wear weighted clothes."

There really isn't any way to describe it without giving myself away entirely. There aren't a lot of people walking around in hazmat suits. "You don't want to know."

He looks off to the cannery. "Probably not. Good news is that our dispowers suck so much that we got pretty strong powers in return. At least, I did. How about you?"

I open my coat in response, revealing dozens of glittering vials. "If you can name something the human body can do, I can cause it."

"That's... terrifying. Not a lot of capes with powers that can directly affect people. I guess since you make things that you use... never mind. Did you have a plan?"

"Yes. I have some very strong sleeping gases, which are my usual lead-up. My problem here is range. I'm not sure how to get past the guards to get the gas inside the building. It's too open to sneak in."

"I had the opposite problem. Two guards is easy, just make their guns move up and to the left, and they can't aim anymore. Then I just knock them out with my little shock stick." He presses a hidden button on the trident, revealing two arcs of electricity between the sharp points.

That actually solves my problem perfectly. My coat is bullet resistant, and my actual environmental suit itself is hard to pierce, but gunshots would still easily shatter my ribs or my skull, or turn my muscles into jelly. "That's a plan, then. You'll likely have to do the legwork with Taxus, though. My gases aren't made to work on trees."

"We'll figure it out. No point in waiting around." In a flash, Rogue Wave dashes forward with incredible speed, making me sprint behind him to catch up. A few gunshots ring out, and as expected, they are wildly off course as Rogue Wave zaps the two guards with his trident.

I hold the bottle in my hands as Rogue Wave half floats, half jumps backwards. With a solid throw, amplified by Rogue Wave's inertia giving it a boost, the concoction flies directly through the now open door to the cannery.

A lucky break for us, since a solid two dozen were inside a makeshift bar just through the doors, all of which are asleep now.

"Damn, Beaker. You weren't joking about your ability. How long before they get up, and how long before I can go in?"

"Twenty minutes, and about five minutes. I'm moving in." I tap one of the cartridges on the sides of my mask, entering into the warehouse. The sleeping gas is functionally invisible, leaving my view undistorted as I start searching the patrons, taking each and every one of their IDs that I can find. I imagine having all this information on them will give me an edge at some point in the future. One of the IDs reveals my target: Ferguson. I, with strain, drag the heavily muscled man outside, before binding his arms and legs together. "Still looking, but should be safe for you now."

"Great to hear. I've got your back."

He'd already tied up the two guards as well. He's efficient, and competent too.

When we re-enter, there's something new in the room. A beautifully carved statue of an unknown man, easily nine feet tall, made entirely of stained yew wood. In one hand, it carries a sword made from the same wood, though it seems to be darker and harder somehow. As expected, the statue moves, head turning to face us with a loud creaking. With eyes like hardened sap, it gruesomely smiles to reveal seed-like teeth stained nearly black with not just lacquer, but old blood.

Taxus. One of the few capes the skinheads were able to recruit. He's, as far as anyone can tell, not particularly bound by the ideology. He simply enjoys the hatred and blood. Choosing targets based on race is a small price to pay for having such a huge backing, I would think.

He speaks like a poorly played clarinet, squeaky and without consistent volume. "Two? Good." It raises the wooden sword, swiping it widely to catch both of us once. Rogue Wave easily dodges it, while I have to awkwardly jump back, and land on my ass. I scramble back onto my feet, already regretting coming in here.

I mentally run through my potion assortment. How the hell am I supposed to stop this thing without killing him?

Rogue Wave starts accelerating debris, causing scraps of metal and empty crates to fly into Taxus, knocking him off balance but seemingly doing little actual damage. Taxus responds with a high-pitched laugh, releasing hundreds of sharp needles from his mouth at high speed, spreading them in a wide arc. They tear at Rogue Wave's costume and skin, but do little to affect my redundant layers of protection. Thank God for Emily.

Maybe that's it. I can't hurt Taxus, but I can slow him down. I fiddle in my coat for a few potions. "Wave, deliver these!" I yell, throwing them into the air. I had an initial concern that the change in inertia would make the potions no longer "mine" and therefore inert, but the sleeping gas was unaffected. Hopefully the trend continues as Wave directs them ahead.

Taxus releases another wave of needles, which easily shatter both vials, but can't stop the liquid inside them. Taxus is splashed with a blueish-green on one of his feet, sticking it fast to the floor. The other, a bright green, only connects with a few drops that start to freeze the giant wooden monster. He struggles to free his foot, but it's stuck hard to the ground. In annoyance, he continues to release a hail of needles at the cover Rogue Wave was taking.

Next up is a fun one. I start to slowly advance, holding up my thick leather and kevlar cape as a shield, deflecting the needles with ease. Rogue Wave returns the attack by hammering Taxus with a siege of loose gravel.

The moment Taxus averts his attention, I release a massive cloud of smoke, switching to the thermal vision in my mask. Taxus is still as warm as a human, thankfully, letting me creep around him and carefully aim a vial at his head.

I miss entirely.

I watch the vial tumble past the enormous target and onto the ground as the smoke starts to dissipate. Taxus, turning around, sees that I am now very much in range. He thrusts his sword hard into my gut, sending me to the ground a dozen feet away.

The sword is fairly blunt, it seems, but that's little consolation to my very ruptured intestines. "Pod 3," I say, waiting as a needle in my suit stabs into my spine. A general physical injury potion. Not quite a doctor's visit, but enough to keep me dying. For the time being, anyway.

Taxus, I notice, is slowly coming free of the glue, and seems none the worse for wear. Damn it. I don't have a better solution, no pun intended. I throw yet another potion that actually lands on his shoulder, watching as it coats the giant man in a napalm-like substance.

"That oil can be lit ablaze, fiend." I say, far weaker than intended with the wind knocked out of me. "This duel has concluded. Yield yourself, or be rendered to ash!"

Taxus seems to think for a moment, briefly sniffing the substance he was coated in. "Fuck. You." He sharply yanks his foot up, freeing a few chunks of asphalt with it, and starts awkwardly lumbering over with the impromptu shoe.

I hold the ignition potion, quivering. I didn't expect a fight to the death, and figured this idiot would realize that just because something doesn't smell like gas doesn't mean it isn't flammable. This is a deranged murderer, yes, but still... he's still human. Technically, anyway. I whisper the word for active threat instead of simply the term for someone to come pick up a captured criminal, and stagger to my feet. I'm going to regret calling them.

Taxus suddenly bursts into flame, dropping his sword and screaming as he tries to drop and roll, but the fire refuses to be extinguished. I don't have any more freezing potions left. I immediately add an addendum, telling the response team to bring extinguishers for a type A & B fire. What the hell lit him? Damn it: Wave's trident, still actively sparking, a distance away from the panicking bonfire. I scoop up the deceptively heavy implement, turning it off with a button press, and start looking for Rogue Wave.

When I see him, it's not good. He's completely saturated with the yew needles that buried themselves into his body, and the sirens are already on their way. Unlike local EViRT, I called in the calvary: the Empowered Defense Regimen. They don't mess around with cape bullshit, and they don't play games. The EDR barely takes prisoners. It's almost taboo to call them.

No time for triage yet. Just stop the bleeding. I dump a pair of potions onto him to speed up coagulation and do some kind of healing, as I try to drag him behind me. Way too damn heavy... didn't he say something about weighted clothing? I lift different parts of him until I find it: his shoes and belt are particularly heavy. I quickly untie and unbuckle them, hiding them away in a nearby crate.

shrapnel, remove foreign objects, honey + vinegar + water

alkaloid toxicity, remove foreign objects, honey + bread + any non-human mammal blood + paper

Without the extra pounds, carrying him is relatively easy despite the intense gut pain. "Pod 1." A shot of pure adrenaline, just regular epinephrine from an emergency allergy shot, injects into me. I start running, hopefully getting out of sight before it wears off.

Wait, non-human mammal blood?

I drop Rogue Wave onto the floor of the decontamination chamber, anxiously waiting for the process to complete. Immediately, warning flashes run the length of the tube, warning about a sealed object. His damn helmet is airtight, isn't it? I try to take it off, fumbling around with it for a full sixty seconds before eventually managing to find a pair of levers at the sides of the neck, and run the protocol again once popping it off. This time, it gives the all clear beep, letting me pick him up and drop him onto the couch in the living room, before impatiently waiting for the doors to let me into the lab to grab supplies. I grab a sterile pair of long tweezers, and a couple potions from my doctor's bag that will likely hold off the negative effects of the yew's alkaloids until I can find some animal blood.

First things first. I start carefully removing each needle with the tweezers in one hand, and dripping in tiny squirts of a potion from a syringe with the other hand. There's at least twenty of the damn things, but eventually, I manage to get the majority of them. I toss the syringe and tweezers onto the table, resigning myself to decontaminating the entire living section later, and try to avoid the adrenaline rush's headache from getting worse by squinting my eyes. Rogue Wave, I notice, is actually rather attractive. His musculature is visible beneath tan skin, with a tiny bit of brown stubble and a short haircut. I try to memorize his face, just in case, before deciding where to find the blood I need. Ten blocks away is a butcher shop. Only a few doors down, though, is someone else...

I knock politely on a door, dressed like a plague doctor at 3am. A dog inside starts barking frantically. I hear the door unlock, and slowly open as I stick my cane in to prevent him from reflexively slamming it closed. A younger man with frizzy hair rubs his eyes, peering through the gap kept from widening by the door chain.

What to say... "This is an emergency, please remain calm, my fellow."

"Okay..." the man says. "What is it, weirdo?"

I didn't expect him to actually remain calm. I loosen my grasp on a hidden potion in my pocket. "This will certainly arouse suspicion and appear absurd, but I require a scant few drops of your dog's blood."

"Uh-huh... and you're just asking me to do that?"

"I have a syringe, please good sir, this is a matter of grave importance. An associate of mine is in peril, and-"

"I got it, god damn." He opens the door's chain lock, letting me in. A large yellow lab mix immediately starts sniffing the strange new smells I bring with me.

"Ahh. Err..."

"Just be gentle with Hux, okay?" He sits on the floor, petting him. "He's a bit feisty, but I'll hold him steady."

"Yes, of course, I cannot show enough gratitude." I slowly insert the syringe as Hux whines a bit, before taking a small amount of blood and withdrawing the syringe, wiping the area with an alcohol swab from my coat.

I turn to the door, about to leave, until the man grabs my shoulder. I turn back around, looking at him through the polarized eye lenses. He looks... intrigued, more than anything.

With the flap of my cape as a distraction, I free myself and dart out the door and down the street, returning to the back door of the bakery. I anxiously wait on the gases to do their job, before sprinting to the lab and creating the required elixir. It glimmers gold and silver in the overhead lights, but I take no time to admire it. I carefully walk back to the couch, taking a fresh syringe and injecting him with the metallic substance, and sigh in relief. No more crisis. I sink into a chair next to the sofa. I usually hate sleeping in these suits, but right now, I can't be bothered to get up.