Super Genetics

When Terry broke from the alleyway onto the open field, it was with a dozen instances of his Master of Light arrayed on either side of him. It strained his aura to turn each of them invisible, both on the visible and infrared wavelengths. More than that, he had created false trails—another five barely visible distortions in the air, each racing across the muddy field at different speeds.

Terraform’s man, Klein, used his earth affinity to mask their footsteps, all the while creating false footprints up and down the field. Alan, with his water affinity, created small splashes in every direction. They ran across the field in a staggered pattern, relying upon obfuscation and sheer numbers to fool any of the fliers up ahead. There was a chance, a slight chance, that whomever was flying above would have missed the signs. They were invisible, after all.

But as they were halfway across the field, Terry realized that would have been too good to be true. A sharp whistling sound screamed through the air above them, followed by a sonic boom that seemed to cut into his ears. He glanced up, his heart pounding in his throat, his palms sweaty as his hands pumped at his sides. At first, all he got were impressions: sunlight glinting off metal, a shape moving through the air faster than his eyes could track, yet graceful like a hummingbird.

And then, the impact. A suit of rippling steel crashed into the mud right in front of him, and he pulled up short. He sent a quick message to the others, telling them to continue on, while he faced off—not with some C-ranker like he had expected, not even a B-ranker like he had dreaded. No, standing before him now was perhaps the most famous Artificer in North America. Tinker’s power armor was iconic, the stuff of legends, of Saturday morning cartoons, the kind of armor that was almost a living thing in itself.

Terry had fantasized, once upon a time, of owning a set of armor like that. And now, here it stood in front of him, eight feet tall, shining silver in the sun, gleaming so brightly he had to squint. A faceless exterior regarded him, penetrating through his Master of Light skill and the earth magic he was using to hide his footsteps. They regarded each other for a moment—Terry, invisible to the naked eye, Tinker, looming eight feet tall and larger than life. Then, Tinker’s faceplate irised away, revealing a wry smile.

“I’m afraid your run ends here, Chameleon.”

Chameleon? Terry wondered.

“It’s been a merry chase,” Tinker continued, “and I’ve enjoyed studying your power set. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”

Terry let his guard down, revealing himself to Tinker, though he still maintained the low-grade Artifact he was using to hide his identity—a simple steel mask that modulated his voice. “You’ve been studying me?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s not every day I see a C-ranker demonstrate control over four elements, not to mention your mastery over portals. It’s quite impressive.”

Terry couldn’t suppress the gulp that pushed its way past his throat. “That’s impossible,” he said with a forced chuckle. “Four elements and portals at the C rank? You know better than that, Tinker.”

“Don’t play coy, Chameleon. You insult my intelligence. Since you know of me, you understand that I’m always thorough and never make statements without evidence to back them up.”

Terry nodded, stalling for time. Most of his attention was on maintaining the Master of Light illusions over the rest of his team as they raced towards the Black Wall. Tinker seemed to notice his distraction and snorted humorously.

“Oh, please. I sensed your friends the same moment I sensed you. They are inconsequential to me. I’ll let them go if you promise not to put up a fight.”

Terry bit his lip, letting the magic go, drawing his aura back into himself. Preparing—not for a fight, but preparing all the same. The spatial-locking Artifact, or more likely series of artifacts, were spread across East Topeka, which is why they couldn’t simply portal back into the Black Wall. But each artifact was localized, its range weakening the further out from its center he went. And now, within fifty feet of the Black Wall, it felt weaker than ever. He turned his mind inward, probing at the Artifact with his senses.

“Okay, Tinker. I don’t want to fight you. But I am curious.”

“Oh?” Tinker asked.

Terry saw a partition in the Black Wall slide open, watched his friends and Terraform’s agent slip into the safety of the wall. Alan sent him a System message: We’re clear.

Terry relaxed incrementally. Tinker had a reputation of being relatively honorable, so Terry didn’t think his friends would be executed if captured. But certainly, imprisonment was on the table. And unlike him, they couldn’t lean on their family name to save them. All the same, Terry knew better than most that public personas were often quite different from private ones—Dancer being a prime example. Still, he felt himself relaxing, more comfortable when it was just his neck on the line. He began probing at space, examining it as he crafted a response to Tinker.

“Who am I to you?” he asked. “As far as I can tell, none of the locations I’ve raided were of high strategic importance to you or the Council.”

“That’s true,” Tinker replied, that same wry smile locked into place.

“Well then, forgive me if I sound overly humble,” Terry continued. “But, as you said, someone of my rank certainly doesn’t merit the attention of the Council’s S-ranker representative.”

Even as Terry spoke, he continued to probe at the space, his aura refined down to a needle-thin point. As it narrowed, so did his senses. He began to recognize a web-like pattern to the nearby Artifact’s magic. He knew, even at this distance, that forcing his way through, while possible, would take far too long. Instead, he tried to slide his aura into the gap, thread the needle, so to speak.

His aura fumbled at the web as Tinker responded. “You are correct, Chameleon. You are of no strategic importance to me or the Council. But I am a scientist to my very core. And, as a scientist, the thing that gets me out of bed every morning is intellectual curiosities. Let me tell you, young man, you are the most fascinating curiosity I’ve run across in many years.”

Terry chuckled, his voice modulating through the mask, sounding robotic. It gave his response an eerie air. “I’m flattered to serve as a curio for the man for whom very little sparks his curiosity.”

He focused his aura tighter, narrowing it down even further. It became so thin as to be brittle, and he worried it might break from the slightest contact with the Artifact’s web. All the same, he was out of options. He sent it questing forward, slowly, meticulously, probing at that infinitesimally small gap between the web. He found himself unconsciously holding his breath and diverted some of his attention to keeping his body language neutral. For an S-ranker like Tinker, especially with the artificial enhancements no doubt feeding him data through his power armor, even his heart rate must have been blaring across Tinker’s senses, alerting him that Terry was more nervous than he was letting on.

“Well, I do enjoy a good challenge,” Tinker said, his smile dipping briefly. “And though I’ve enjoyed our little game of cat and mouse, I’m afraid I can’t let you breach my Artifact’s web.”

Terry felt his heart drop into his stomach. Something flashed across his senses, extending out from Tinker’s power armor, buttressing the spatial-locking Artifact that he had nearly cracked. Of course, the S-ranked Artificer had sensed his fumbling attempts. He cursed under his breath.

Then his eyes caught on movement at the base of the Black Wall. For a moment, he thought it was his friends coming back in a misguided attempt to save him, and he pulled up his System chat to rebuke them. But as the movement continued, he realized the error in his thinking, recognizing the figures collecting outside the wall.

A smile touched his face, hidden by his mask.

“You got me, Tinker,” he replied cheerfully. “You’re too smart for me. Too strong. I surrender.”

Tinker pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “What are you up to?” He cut off, perhaps some sensor built into his suit picking up the movement belatedly. He peered over his shoulder and watched as a hundred ghouls spilled from the wall like wasps from a kicked nest. Behind them, five patches ranged—more than Terry had ever seen at one time. The undead procession moved uncannily, eating up the distance in seconds.

Tinker’s suit burst into life, armaments appearing all over as if from thin air. An honest-to-God turret now loomed over Tinker’s shoulder, a laser quickly mapping across each of the undead, gauging distances. Wrist rockets appeared on either arm, and though Tinker didn’t bring them to bear, Terry could imagine the devastation and the speed with which they could be brought to full effect. But the undead didn’t falter, and though they approached at superhuman speeds, Terry recognized that they weren’t attacking, but rather gathering, heralding their leader, who approached much more lazily behind them.

Terry’s smile widened as he recognized his father, Prince James, the Commander of the undead legions, riding on Skol’s back, Hati close behind at their shoulder. The two dire wolves approached, the ghouls and patches parting to let them through, and though his father had a set determination to his lips, Terry couldn’t help but notice those eyes flashing towards him, green magic dancing in that gaze.

Prince James and his dire wolves stopped a dozen feet before Tinker, all three of them regarding the S-ranker with a predator’s gaze. “Damien, you old mad scientist,” he said gruffly, “what the hell are you doing on the field? You know the rules.”

“Is that how you address your elders, you young pup?” Tinker fired back. “Last I checked, East Topeka was my charge. I’m simply dealing with a rat problem; it’s none of your concern. Go back into the wall before I make you.”

“So much bluster,” James said with a hearty laugh. “I know you like me too much to kill me, even if the SPC weren’t watching us. But just in case your opinion of me has soured inadvertently, know that we have wraithglass recordings of this meeting transmitting back to the Emperor even now.”

Terry used the distraction to approach the web once more, but with more finesse, less panic, running the fingers of his aura over the web rather than trying to punch through. Tinker’s localized spatial-locking Artifact was obviously built into the suit, but Artifacts were complicated beasts. The more generalized their purpose, the less effective they were at any one task, and Tinker’s power armor was as generalized as it got. He could never be as strong as a specialized spatial-locking Artifact, and so all Terry needed was a little bit of distance.

Slowly, subtly, he activated Master of Light, bending his appearance just a fraction. As quietly as he could, he began to step backward, away from the undead, from his father, and from Tinker’s Artifact. He timed his footsteps with the sounds of their conversation, masking his movement even to their high-ranking senses.

“You’re right, Commander. I have no intention of killing you. The paperwork would be immense, and it’s far beneath me—a waste of my time.”

They both chuckled dryly at that, as if they were sharing a drink and discussing world events rather than facing off on the battlefield.

“However, that is not to say I won’t spank you around this field if you press me. A hundred of your rotters, a thousand—it makes no difference. I am an S-ranker, Commander, and if you force me, I’ll remind you of that fact.”

Tinker angled his body, facing the undead. Red lasers sprung out, locking on the patches and the ghouls but sparing James and his dire wolves.

“Chameleon is my prize, one I’ve been hunting down for weeks. Leave him.”

“Chameleon?” James asked with a snort. “Is that the name we settled on for this rogue super? I thought we were going with Copycat, maybe Mimic, I don’t know—Pain in the Ass. But Chameleon?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Lacks gravitas, you know?”

A boom filled the sky, drawing their eyes upward. A man flew in low, hovering in the space above them.

“Tinker, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “You know the rules concerning S-rankers on the field. Would you invite total destruction on this city?”

“Oh, come off it, Paragon,” Tinker replied. “And will you get out of the sky? I’m not going to crane my neck up to look at you.”

The flying super scowled but slowly sank to the earth, turning towards Terry’s father. “And Prince James, I expected better of you. To openly provoke an S-ranker—what did you hope to achieve?”

Terry used the distraction and took three more steps. He felt the web weakening and searched for that sweet spot between the power armor’s locking effect and the Artifact deeper in the city—that point where the overlap became thinnest.

“What did I hope to achieve?” James asked slowly. “As you said yourself, the rules are quite clear. I spotted Tinker in the field, not a hundred feet from the wall, and the SPC nowhere to be found.” He shrugged. “I’m not the one courting open war here.”

Another three steps—slowly, inexorably inching backward. He found it, that sweet spot. He pushed that needle-thin point of aura through the gap, found the other side, exultant like a drowning man finally breaching the surface, gasping for air.

“I won’t give up my prize,” Tinker said, his tone turning serious. “Chameleon’s mine, and none of you have the strength to stop me.”

“I’ll file a formal complaint with the Council and SPC,” the representative complained. “Wait—Chameleon?”

Terry felt the SPC agent’s gaze turn towards him. “You are the Chameleon?” he asked.

Tinker turned, realizing the gap Terry had created between the two of them.

Now or never, Terry realized. He coaxed space apart, feeling it yield finally. Tinker’s eyes went wide. The portal opened instantaneously and Terry angled his body inside.

“You know,” Terry replied, “I’m not very fond of that name, but yeah, I guess I’m the Chameleon.”

Tinker moved, but it was too late. As he stepped through the portal, Terry gave Tinker a quick wave and a wink.

A moment later, he was back inside the Black Wall, his heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest.

Too close, Terry…too close.

A howl of rage erupted from Tinker, cut off at the source as his mask irised back into place, blocking the sound of his impotent fury. James very carefully kept the smile threatening to form off his face. Tinker whirled around, the rage evident in his body posture, even with his face masked.

“You,” he growled, pointing his finger toward James. “You let him get away.”

James put a hand to his chest, innocently. “Me? Why is this my fault?” He nodded towards the SPC rep. “Paragon’s the one that interrupted our little tête-à-tête.

“He’s one of yours, isn’t he?” Tinker continued, ignoring James’s deflection toward Paragon. “An unregistered super on your payroll, isn’t he?”

James shook his head. “This rage is unlike you, Tinker. This Chameleon is putting you off your game.”

Tinker remained silent for a moment, and Paragon used the gap as an opportunity to speak. But as soon as he opened his mouth, Tinker shot him an expressionless, blank look of steel that somehow perfectly transmitted the open threat. Paragon’s jaw snapped shut.

Tinker eyed the SPC representative for a moment longer before turning back towards James. “Commander,” he drawled, his tone filled with ice, “if you won’t claim him, the rules of this little war do not apply. I will take him by any means necessary.”

James kept his expression flat, waving a dismissive hand. “Do what you want, Tinker. Just stay off the battlefield, as we’ve agreed. I’d hate to have to call on my father. Heavens know Topeka suffered enough without two S-rankers fighting on the open field.”

“The SPC will not allow open conflict—”

“Oh, shut up,” Tinker growled, aiming his fist towards Paragon. The man blanched at the movement, holding his hands up in a passive gesture.

“I’ll just be going now to file my report,” he stammered. He backed away, taking to the air once more, gone with the thunderclap of a sonic boom.

Tinker held his arm up, watching the representative’s retreat, clearly lost in thought, fighting to keep his anger down. James flared his aura, spoke quietly in rapid-fire ghoulish, and eyed Tinker as his undead warriors filed back into the Black Wall.

“Always a pleasure, Tinker.”

“Fuck off, James.”

James gave a faux salute and signaled for his dire wolves to take him back to the wall. As he turned away, he couldn’t resist the grin that filled his face. A System message that he had been ignoring flashed in his vision.

[Terry]: Thanks, Dad. Sorry you had to get involved.

[James]: Stay safe, kiddo.