Ch. 1: A Relief Like No Other

"Here's a brilliant idea from the depths of my vile mind. Cease your babbling. Merely listen." My warped voice hisses out through a beaked respirator, the soft sound of air being taken in through the masks's filtering cartridges. "You've spoken plenty. Now I'm talking. Understand?"

The man nods, backed against a musty wall with hands held aloft as he stares into the polarized lenses of the mask in front of him.

"You have been selling highly addictive substances in the area. Don't deny it. Indeed, don't utter a word. Allow me to elucidate what happens hence. I will render you unconscious, and you will awaken in police custody. Alternatively, you will awaken beneath a scalpel. You may choose, but decide quickly. Neither time nor my patience are your allies."

The dealer looks for an escape, any way to avoid my looming form. He's just out of range to try and sucker punch me, and he's already staggering from the effects of my gas.

"You didn't choose, as such I'll assume you wanted the scalpel. Fret not, this was always how you were destined to end. I'll endeavor to write a conciliatory letter to your family on how cooperative you were." I reach out a gloved hand, taking him by the collar and dragging him as the sounds of sirens blast in the distance.

Damn it. I forgot that the word "police" made my mask call the cops instantly and alert them to my location. I had intended to change it to a different word after testing, but evidently forgot. I hope Emily won't be too pissed that I used the new feature already... I wait with utmost patience, until the Emergency Vigilante Response Team screeches to a halt by the sidewalk a few minutes later. They only sent a single EViRT hovercraft, without a single local cop backing them up. Am I that low priority? I sigh through the voice distorting filter. "Speaker on," I say, as a high pitched whining starts to emit from my mask.

"HALT." The mask amplifies my voice, echoing it across the musty alley and through the vacant street beyond.

The doors to the blue and gold hovercraft swing upward as soon as I speak, revealing a pair of men in dull metallic blue and gold body armor, each carrying a viciously designed rifle with three separate magazines attached to it: one along the bottom, and one on each side at a 45° angle. A shame they have tracking chips in them, along with a self-destruct feature. I'd have loved to bring one back home for Em.

"I SAID HALT, EVIRT," I repeat, as one of the two starts to advance.

"Wrong," the officer states. "I don't listen to you, you listen to me. Your stupid fucking costume doesn't... It doesn't... I..." He collapses unceremoniously to the pavement, armor dully clattering as he falls.

The other officer rolls his eyes, staying by the car. "Hey, Beaker."

I tip the wide-brimmed hat of my costume in an objectively cool way to the EViRT agent. "HELLO, OFFI- SPEAKER OFF." I clear my throat, disappointed at how lame that was. "Hello again, Officer Liron. A beautiful night, no?"

"Uh-huh. Is my rookie dead?" he asks, stone faced.

I recoil in mock terror. "Heavens, no. Indeed, I can administer an antidote, if it would please you."

"Yeah, no shit it would please me." He makes a 'go-on' gesture with his off hand, allowing me to slowly crouch down, my beaked mask pointed at him. "You can relax, I'm not an idiot," Liron adds, his veneer of passivity breaking away and revealing his boredom.

"Ah! Good, good. It is a sudden awakening, so for my safety, I will disarm him first. Pending your approval, Sir Liron." After a nod from the EViRT officer, I take both the unconscious man's rifle and sidearm, and gently place them behind me. With a dramatic flair, I fumble around in my black leather coat, withdrawing a bottle of a unique smelling salt, which I hold under the nose of Liron's new partner. Within a few seconds, he's awake, backing up quickly, reaching for a sidearm that is no longer there.

Liron pats the other cop on the shoulder once he backtracks far enough to be out of reach of the faint gas cloud around me. "Calm down, rookie. You're not in any danger. Beaker's one of the... huh. I don't really have a term. 'Good ones' implies that vigilantism is good. One of the less destructive ones."

My mask exaggerates an already vigorous nod. "Indeed, 'good ones' is far too presumptuous for a masked figure of ill omen such as I! My nightly escapades have left many a foe-"

"Yeah, yeah, skip the speech. She's obviously insane, Bradley, but she's been helpful lately."

The rookie looks between the officer and I. "She?"

"Mhmm. She's cooperative. Play along with her delusions. Beaker, this is Bradley. Go easy on him, he's new."

"A true pleasure, despite the circumstance!" I bow deeply, swinging one arm behind me to let my cape flutter in the soft wind.

Bradley looks at Liron with disgust. "You know she took my guns, right? And all that shit over the radio about the scalpel?"

"Just wait in the car," Liron says with natural authority. I've always liked Liron. He's not a slave to statutes and regulations.

Bradley sneers, as he sulks off to wait in the car like a child in time-out.

"Sorry about him."

"Nonsense, he is entirely justified. I inspire fear in many, though your heart is too noble to be cowed, I suppose."

"Uh-huh. It's a busy night, can we get to the part where you tell me why you have a guy unconscious?"

"Indeed. This is merely a low-level drug peddler, and I admittedly intended to interrogate him further. However, I accidentally summoned you."

Liron's wrist starts to chirp as he checks a small display built into his gleaming armor. "I can see that. Don't torture people."

"Bah, twould've been hardly torture!"

"...twould've?"

Something like a laugh flows through my mask's distorted filter. That one was admittedly a stretch. "Of course, I do need much of his contraband for my own nefarious and illicit purposes. Tell me, what is the minimum amount of the stimulant known as 'crux' carried for a felony conviction?"

"Two ounces."

Damn it. He only had about three to begin with, and I need more than one ounce. Better play this off. "Then I shall leave him with only one and a half, allowing his evil to return to the streets! Until we meet again, Liron!" I throw a bottle to the ground, creating a massive cloud of smoke that carries for well over a hundred feet. By the time it dissipates enough to see, Liron will at most barely catch sight of my cape fluttering around a corner.

With careful grace, I slip away through the back door of a bakery, and tap a certain arrangement of the small tiles that make up the back wall of the store's decor. The pattern reveals a hidden staircase to an equally seclusive basement. I tromp down the white tile steps, and into a large glass tube ringed with various brass nozzles that extend into the chamber, hermetically sealed doors on each end cordoning off the area. Through the glass walls of the tube, I can see on one side my tastefully decorated living room and kitchen, while the other has a disheveled chemistry lab, with dozens of glasswares and reagents scattered around. I really need to clean up.

Various gases enter into the tube, one after the other, until a green light flashes on the opposite door and dramatically opens with a rush of purified air. I stride through to the left side, and press a handful of concealed buttons on my costume, causing it to hiss slightly as it decompresses. With a happy but tired sigh, I hang up the costume on a mannequin, while taking the several dozen multicolored vials neatly tucked into my coat, and carefully setting them aside in a test tube rack. The plague doctor inspired costume sits next to a largely white and blue skin tight suit with a respirator. More or less the same design, beneath the theatrics.

With a steely-eyed nod, I say, "Do some harm," causing the plague doctor costume to tuck itself behind a wall that appears to be solid metal. In its place, some pajamas appear, which I happily slip into.

I return through the decontamination chamber, and finally, into my home.

"Long night?" My friend, Emily, sits on the couch in the living room while watching TV.

"Like you wouldn't believe. I spent a literal hour tracking down one guy, and then I accidentally called the cops on myself. Apparently the word 'police' calls the police."

Emily laughs, looking back at me with her soft brown eyes. "I'll fix it today, Viv. You should have told me I didn't fix the default command."

"Meh." I plop down next to her. "It's not a huge deal. You have enough on your plate."

"I don't think a part time mechanic gig counts as 'enough on my plate.'" Emily smiles at me, both of us faintly illuminated by the blue glow of the television.

I can see myself in the reflection of her glasses: exceedingly sallow, with stormy blue eyes, shoulder length black hair, and a physique reminiscent of an anorexic noodle. Regardless, I'm alive, and doing fairly well despite my condition.

"Well, if you're offering... anything I can do to make it up to you? I've been working on a bunch of fun stuff in the lab. I have one stim I'm almost done with that makes it so your body can produce its own vitamin C. Yes, I cured scurvy. Add it to my list, right?"

"You're running out of things to cure. If you want to make it up to me, just keep doing a good job as the vigilante. I still hate the name, but the media decided on Beaker... Speaking of, it's almost, what, 5am? Don't you have work soon?"

I check my phone. "Shhhhhhhhhucks, and I need to finish something too. I'll see you later, have a good day, and thank you!" I scurry through the decontamination chamber, and into my lab, where I begin vigorously dropping seemingly random objects into test tubes. Grass, sand, water, bleach. It's like what a child thinks chemistry is, I muse, as Emily leaves my home through the decon chamber, and out through the bakery.

Once complete, I quickly start stuffing various elixirs and reagents into a temperature controlled bag, and pull on the white and blue environmental suit, before moving over to my bedroom and rummaging through clothes. Lab coat, lab coat, t-shirt, scrubs... lab coat and t-shirt it is, and a pair of dark jeans with sneakers worn over the environmental suit. Hospital couture.

I leave up the steps with a hustle, as I order a rideshare.

"Mornin', Viv," the baker says, checking on something in the oven.

"Hey, Reggie! How's business?" I reply through the respirator. Unlike my costume, my day-to-day environmental suit has a clear and flat window along the front, so as not to hide my face. A pair of tubes near the bottom constantly cycle my air and oxygenate it again via a chemical reaction of my own design, giving me enough air to last for 36 hours without refilling it.

"Business is slow. Can't you use your magic potion power thing to generate me some business?"

I apologetically shrug. "Sorry, not much I can do about that."

"I'm raising your rent, then. You know how much the power bill is this month?"

"Go ahead, however much you need. It's not my money, anyway."

After a few minutes of chitchat, I jog outside, looking at the massive skyscrapers that only grow taller the further away they get. I've always liked the view from the outskirts of Dudek City. It's a nice place to live, close to people, but not so close you can't escape into the rest of the world for a few hours in the middle of the day.

After a buzz from my phone, I get into the car that fits the rideshare's description: red, a decade and a half old, fairly small manufacturer. Still, its nice and clean on the inside. It probably smells nice, too, based on the half dozen air fresheners up.

The driver, a middle aged man, looks above the scented cutouts and into the rearview mirror. I'm just like the picture, I'm sure, complete with weird outfit. He pulls away from the curb, and tries making idle conversation.

"Morning... Vivian, right?"

"That's me, Dr. Vivian Amsel. Good morning to you as well, Aleksa! How's your day been?"

He stops at a red light, looking back into the rearview. He seems surprised I bothered to learn his name. "Fine, fine. You?"

"Not bad at all. Thankfully, I'm not going to be late to work again. I appreciate you getting here so quickly."

"It's my job. Need anything special, or are you good? Didn't see any extra instructions."

"Huh? Oh, I'm good, got everything I need. No immune system, that's all."

He glances at me again, but doesn't betray whatever's in his head. "Alright."

We both stay quiet the rest of the ride, until he reaches my destination: Dudek Hospital. With a quick goodbye, I step out of the vehicle, making sure to give him five stars and a large tip. If I don't tip well, people start declining, and my boss is close to not accepting that excuse anymore. With a bracing breath, I step inside. The spotless white and beige lobby is almost as high as it is long, with a large, half-pace staircase behind reception that leads up all seven floors.

With a hustle, I start moving past the lobby and through a few sets of metal double doors, ignoring the stares of patients, but acknowledging the greetings of the fellow staff. When I finally make it to the office, I'm a bit out of breath, and slightly fogging up my helmet. Emily is still working on a solution for that...

"Good morning, Dr. Amsel." My secretary Ishfaq greets me with his pleasantly neutral demeanor. "You have a busy day ahead."

"Damn. I was hoping people stopped getting sick since yesterday." I laugh at my own joke, taking a printout that Ishfaq extends to me. I look it over, immediately rolling my eyes. "Ugh... tell Genomics that I can't help them. It doesn't work like that. I've said this like a dozen times..." Even ignoring the impossible job, I do have a busy day.

I briskly pace into the cardiology wing, and there's immediately chaos in one of the rooms. Someone's heart is about to burst from some kind of tachycardia, as doctors and nurses shuttle in and out, relaying drugs and medicines. I double check my printout for the day. Yep, ventricular fibrillation. Nothing too abnormal, though it's acutely worse than the printout suggested.

I cautiously step over, and gently nudge the doctors aside. At seeing me, they all obediently do so, backing well away, as I hold a hand out. I look at the guy for only a short moment.

ventricular fibrillation, water + sea salt + cotton + rubber

Easy enough. I excuse myself, and find an empty room to open up my big bag of tricks in. As usual, this means a storage closet. I take each of the fortunately common ingredients from my bag, and place an intuitively measured amount of each into an empty vial. The water, salt, cotton, and rubber all melt together into an amber liquid that I immediately take over to the patient. He's coding, too, so good timing on my end. I hold out an open palm, which a nurse fills with a syringe. I draw in the potion I created, and inject it into the man.

Within seconds, he jolts up, looking around in terror and confusion. "What the hell just happened? Who? What?"

I hold out the syringe for someone to take from me, before moving on to the next patient. If I want to get my schedule cleared by noon, there's no time for meet and greets.

With a final wave to my secretary, I start to the staircase just before 11:30. Unfortunately, the path is being intentionally blocked by the hospital's new director. I try to casually walk past him, to which he blocks my exit. I really, really miss blending in to crowds.

With a groan, I check the time on my phone. "What now, Kinsey?"

"You know what. You didn't fill out a single report, Dr. Amsel. Maybe you want to go do that?"

"Yeah, sure, let me write down 'used inexplicable superhuman chemistry powers to cure eleven people.' That makes sense. Look, I know you're still getting the hang of-"

"You should just share your damn research, so we don't have to go through this."

I sigh again, exaggerating the volume in the vain hope he gets the point. "I've told you like three times, it doesn't work like that. My power works very simply, even simple enough for you to grasp. It tells me how to make cures, and if they aren't administered by me, they denature. Hell, if you want, you can try to replicate it. Today I used boric acid, medical grade honey, and cedar ash to remove a lung tumor. Seriously, have fun. Tell me how that goes."

Director Kinsey shakes his head in disgust. "You're making that up."

"Yeah, for sure. Because look at me, I definitely don't have a dispower. I just thought dying to the common cold or an undercooked egg or whatever would be hilarious. Maybe trust the person who has to shape her entire life around the drawback to her ability on how the damn thing works. Or, better yet, fire me. I dare you. As if this is the only place in the world I can go work at." The plasticky, vinyl-like material of my gloves makes a stretching, slightly squeaky sound as I clench my fists. "Or, you can shut the hell up, accept you don't know anything about me yet, and move."

Kinsey takes a irritated step to the side, allowing me to walk past. I take a long look at him for the hell of it, and a thought like a data stream pulses in my brain.

advanced liver cirrhosis, lysergic acid + fluoxymesterone + duck fat + rosemary

"God damn it... Kinsey, you want a cure for your shitty liver? I have a shopping list for you to have on Monday. We'll see who's making what up. You can even watch me work."

I nod again to Reggie, ignoring the odd looks of what few customers he has. Same old routine as always: moving to the back room of the bakery, inputting the code, descending the stairs, entering the decontamination chamber, blah blah blah. I'm just happy to get back into my pajamas. The suit isn't uncomfortable, exactly, it's almost possible for me to forget I'm wearing it. Still, taking it off? A relief like no other, as if it were a full-body bra I'm slipping out of.

I lazily meander to the kitchen, and start scavenging like a raccoon. Lots of sterilized leftovers, and absolutely nothing sealed. The sterilization gases I developed are able to penetrate through things like zippers, but a factory sealed plastic bag from a normal grocery store is essentially a bioweapon. I shrug, deciding on a simple sandwich with a diet soda from my at-home soda mixer, and top it off with a couple multivitamins.

Technically, I don't need to eat. I solved that problem a while ago, along with sleep. Two different potions I've made, and after taking them, I can go a day or so without sleep or food. Still, I rarely use them. Eating food is comfortable in itself, though a bit of a headache to manage the timing of, but a hard fought victory nonetheless. With patience, I was able to coax out a potion that would allow me to digest food normally, even without the gut bacteria humans usually require.

Emily is in the process of developing an inflatable sterilization tent of sorts that would let me do things like eat outside, but frankly, I don't feel the need to be more of a spectacle than I already am. It's a kind thought, certainly, but I was never much of a people person anyway.

A small intercom located by the decontamination tube crackles to life. "House call," is the extent of the message Reggie sends. Ugh. With a grunt, I press a button on the wall of the glass tube, opening the entrance remotely. Sure enough, within a few seconds, a smartly dressed man and a woman in a stupidly pricy ensemble descend the steps and into the chamber. She's definitely the patient here, in obviously ill health from even from the barest glance. As usual, the door seals shut behind them, and the various gases start pumping into the chamber. It starts to panic the pair of people within, but they'll get used to it. Finally, a couple different scans start processing, displaying results on the small monitors attached to the side of the door. One of them highlights something in the woman's purse in yellow. Figures they don't listen to Reggie's instructions.

I press another button, allowing two-way communication into the chamber. "Hey. Lady. You need to leave your purse in the chamber, or I'm not letting you in."

"Why?" she asks, more irritated than scared after the gases faded.

"Because I said so, how's that? I don't know if you noticed, but you don't live here. Just follow my instructions, please."

"We're paying you-"

"You're paying me to cure what ails you. Trust me, you aren't my only income stream. Either listen, or leave."

The woman's volcanic eyes close in frustration, as she very carefully sets the purse down on the floor of the chamber.

"Far corner, please," I assert, and after a scowl that can level buildings, the woman puts the purse into the corner of the chamber. Funny how well people listen when they don't have a choice.

With the press of a button, the light turns green, and the two are let through.

Immediately, the woman marches over to me, the scowl never leaving her face. "You flippant little asshole, I-"

"Hush up," I reply. Silently, the room starts to fill with a clear, odorless gas, triggered by my command phrase. I hold my breath, as I prepare to be yelled at more.

"What did you just say... say to..." Both she and the man pass out near instantly. Soon, a three tone beep signifies the gas's decay, and I go back to breathing normally.

I drag them back into the decontamination chamber, getting increasingly doubtful any money is going to end up in my account after this. Still, the formula appears in my head.

systemic lupus erythematosus, human hair + water + heat + any mint-flavored food

"Huh. That last one's new..." I look around my kitchen, eventually finding a roll of mint candy that's been sitting in a drawer for a while. I reenter the decontamination chamber after taking them, and opening the door to the lab before locking the chamber behind me. Same process as usual: mixing the components together, including a strand of the patient's hair. After applying heat from a bunsen burner, the various components all start to meld together into a greenish liquid. Despite trying to figure out a pattern, the potion colors seem entirely random. Even the same recipe will have different colors depending on what its treating, I've found. As I wait for it to cool down, I press the intercom button to the chamber, where two very pissed off rich people are screaming at me about lawsuits.

"Oh, is that right?" I snark. "Because last I checked, lupus doesn't have a real cure besides the one cooling down right next to me. If you're here, you signed the form absolving me of liability for this exact thing. But sure, I can open the door back outside for you. If you didn't want the solution, that is."

The woman grits her teeth, but stays quiet.

"Exactly. So here's what's going to happen. Since you so rudely started screaming at me like a pissy toddler, I'm not giving you the benefit of the doubt about getting paid anymore. You will send the money now. Make whatever phone calls you need to. Otherwise, like I said, door's right there. Just press the red button that says 'emergency' and it'll let you out. Or, you can pay in advance. I don't really care which."

I step away from the decontamination tube as the pair argue for a good five minutes, before the woman is too out of breath to keep going. I, of course, enjoy the silent movie in front of me, scrolling a web forum on my phone while occasionally checking one of my seven bank accounts.

Sure enough, in half an hour, a sum of $350,000 appears. I immediately split it across two of my bank accounts, and from there dividing it to three other accounts, and repeating the process a few times to confuse the paper trail. The easiest way to keep a rich person's money is to make it annoying to get back, I've found. With an unhidden smugness, I approach the chamber with the potion, open the door, and poke my head in. "So, for this to work, I need to administer it. Woman whose name I don't care to learn, go ahead and step forward. Slowly."

She does so, silently, having calmed down significantly after being trapped in a glorified fish tank for half an hour. I tell the woman to open her mouth, and dump the vial into it. The woman skeptically takes a couple steps back, but immediately, a bit more color starts to return to her skin. She bends her knees a bit, and takes a few deep breaths, as if she's using her body for the first time. The man next to her gets ready to support her if she stumbles, but she doesn't need it.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. It worked?!"

"No shit," I reply.

"Thank you... thank you! I didn't think it was real. My brother made me come, I thought you were-"

"Yeah, I don't care, I'm still not your friend."

"Right... right, of course. I'm so sorry. I... I'm sorry, you don't have to answer this, but why couldn't I bring my purse? I know its silly, but-"

"You have a factory sealed cereal bar in there, according to my scanners. That's a biohazard for me. No immune system. Hell of a dispower."

"Oh... oh."

"Yeah. Potentially could have killed me, but don't worry, I feel much better about you ignoring the extremely clear instructions, since you made up for it by throwing a tantrum and threatening to sue. Now get out. Don't tell your friends if they're going to act like you."

I return to my lab, and shut the door behind me. I hate dealing with the people who actually keep the lights on here...

Time for another few hours of work. I take a deep breath, and focus my mind. While the cures my power gives me the recipe for are a mostly unconscious piece of information, with meditation and persistence I can find 'cures' to maladies such as someone 'being awake' or 'having control of their muscle system.' Right now, I need to replace that smoke cloud potion I used last night.

Emily finds her way back to my place after work. I'd charge her rent, but she already does so much for me. She's the engineer responsible for pretty much all of the technology I use. The impressively thin suits I wear, the decontamination chamber, the hidden doorways, even the simple intercoms were all created and installed by her. She has a power of her own, and somewhat similar to mine, only applied differently. Her power gives her an intuitive understanding of any engineering task she sets her mind to, with the relatively mild dispower of ice pick migraines whenever she uses it.

Amusingly, a once-weekly injection by yours truly entirely blocks migraines. She functionally has no dispower, a nearly unheard of boon. In turn, she's fully half of the vigilante known as 'Beaker'.

Still, Emily is not the action type. She leaves roaming the streets to me, and I don't blame her in the least. Many of the cures my power gives me are illegal, immoral, or both. More than once, my power has required something uniquely weird and messed up, such as "blood from an Ashkenazi Jew" to treat cystic fibrosis, or "heart of a newborn puppy" to treat a young child's bacterial meningitis. Emily doesn't have the stomach for those kinds of choices. Instead, she supports from the sidelines, and cheers on my victories. It's more than enough for her.