Mind Games - Chapter 4 (Patreon)

I stirred several times before I really woke up.

Each time, I found myself staring at the inside of a black cloth bag, my hands tied behind me at the wrist, and my legs bound at the ankle. Three times out of four, it was to the sensation of movement along pitted roads that brought up memories of old, poorly-maintained state highways a lifetime ago. The fourth, I distantly smelled gas and felt my bile rise briefly before I passed back out. Each time, too, I could feel my elbows and knees bumping into others in whatever vehicle we'd been shoved into.

Distantly, I heard the click of a lock, the opening of doors, and felt myself being carried somewhere.

I fought to stay awake, but couldn't.

After that final memory, though, I awoke fully.

The first sensation to greet me was a kind of all-around soreness from being treated like a sack of potatoes for several hours. The second, upon opening my eyes, was the searing pain of bright fluorescent lights. Belatedly, I swallowed and felt the specific pain of pressure behind my ears decrease suddenly. Lastly, when I began to move to sit up, I noticed my wrists and ankles were no longer retrained.

They took me – us – inland, into the mountain. That's the elevation change. Why? Safe house in the mountains? That signals intent to hold us.

I blinked my eyes against the harsh light and found myself laying on a couch in a spruced-up, if still run-down building with cement walls, floor, and ceiling. Whatever its true purpose was, it had long-since been retrofitted as some kind of meeting room. Cheap tables were set up in the center, equally-cheap folding chairs sitting around them. Not much else, besides a pair of old metal cabinets that had seen better days. Even the lights were old bare-bulb affairs that reminded me of pre-LED classrooms.

An errant neuron flashed and I felt myself over for-

Wallet's gone, shit. Key's too. Damn, I had a multitool that I really liked. Ugh, phone is-

I blinked as the fingers on the hand digging through my pocket hit hard metal and plastic where there had only been an empty envelope of fabric a moment before.

Right, Company phone. Soul-bound magitek bullshit.

I hesitated a moment before easing myself up and withdrawing the device in one smooth motion. I had every expectation that I was being covertly observed, but the phone had a basic SEP field on it, as per its manual. I hadn't exactly had an opportunity to stress-test it under field conditions, though, so I didn't want to lean too heavily on it. That said, it would almost certainly work if it was mostly out of sight. Like, say, if I was curled over myself looking as if I was about to hurl or contemplating how fucked I was.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the mapper app so I was limited to the publicly-available map apps for this world. Thankfully, I did have an internet connection that ran on functional magic.

Huh, close to Fuji. And it's past sunset, about six hours since I was kidnapped. Awesome.

There was the odd impulse to call my father. Unless the man was on a work-bender, as sometimes happened, he'd likely have noticed I wasn't home yet. Shinso Niko wouldn't panic about it, but he would become anxious. And when a man like him became anxious to the degree his missing son would engender... well, I hoped the neighbors wouldn't mind a bad night.

I probably needed to do better than calling Dad.

I heard footsteps.

The building was clearly an empty husk, and bare concrete echoed like no one's business, but that didn't mean I had long. Impulsively, I opened up the most familiar app on my phone, set up a private stream, and flipped through the collection of my favorite heroes' social media tags.

This is either absolute genius or the worst idea ever.

My words came out in a quick low-tone murmur designed not to carry over distance, unlike a hissing whisper. “My name is Shinso Hitoshi. I was kidnapped walking home from school today in East Saitama prefecture, knocked out, tied up, and thrown in a van with a bunch of other people. It's been six hours, my ears have popped over the course of the drive so I think we've gone up in elevation. My best guess is that we're in the foothills near Mt. Fuji, in either Shizuoka or Yamanashi. I don't know where the other captives are. Please help, this is not a stunt or a joke.”

Then I silenced my phone and slid it into my pocket, finally taking a calming breath.

Thank god for stress immunity. Best purchase I've ever made.

Then the door opened and a man with russet-red hair stepped in. Normally, that would be the mark of a foreigner, but in this day and age you had to be more thorough. At a guess, given the man's skin tone and barely-visible epithetic folds near his eyes, I'd say he was half or quarter-Japanese and predominantly some kind of European.

As for clothes, he definitely drew from the military-surplus school of thought. High-cut boots with obvious metal inserts up to his shin, gray camouflage pants and shirt, and an armored vest-turtleneck combo that looked like he'd taken Best Jeanist a bit too literally on his fashion tips. Overall, he definitely pulled off the middle-tier mercenary and probably had a quirk to back it up. Or, at least, some familiarity in the back of my mind was sure he did

He grinned widely upon seeing me sitting up, the expression distorting the large scar running across the lower half of his face and trailing up the right side to his hairline. Judging by how the skin looked, I'd say it was one hell of a burn mark. Probably from some hero like Endeavor taking issue with whatever his group was up to.

I say his group on the simple basis of the energy he carried with him as he strutted into the room, still grinning. “Well, well... if it isn't the boy of the hour, Bootstrap-kun! Or, would you prefer Hitoshi?”

“Either's fine, I guess,” I replied, my tone dry as a desert as I stared at him with a professional insomniac's gaze. “So, you know me, but I don't know who you are. Any clues on that front?”

He chuckled, stepped up to the table and dropped into a specific folding chair that looked to have been reinforced substantially. Also poorly, given the way the metal was sloppily wedded to itself. He planted his feet wide, leaned back in the chair, and spread his arms.

Open body language. Trying to be friendly. Wants something. Something from me.

Sorry Talents, no brownie points; 'A' for effort, though. I was in their meeting room, my restraints removed, largely uninjured when I could be in a cold, dank cell without a clue. The fact that any of them were talking to me at all meant I was no longer being lumped in with the rest of the people they were trafficking.

For some reason.

“You can call me Wolfram,” he replied, still grinning as he looked me over. “Not much to look at, even if you are starting to get a little muscle on you. At least you've got work ethic, judging from those streams of yours.”

Wolfram. Archaic German name for the element tungsten. Quirk has to do with metal?

There was a flash of recall at the thought, but I refrained from showing it beyond the twitch of my fingers.

“Is that why you kidnapped me?” I asked bluntly, my voice and posture still non-aggressive. I had one chance to make my move, I wasn't going to blow it prematurely.

“In your situation? I prefer the term, 'aggressive recruitment.'” Wolfram smirked, reaching up to rub at the scar tissue around his chin.

Ah. So we're playing that game, then.

I reviewed the sequence of events and came to a fast conclusion that felt right enough for me to speak on it. “Your men weren't prepared to face my quirk when they got me in that alleyway. Between then and now, I'm guessing you somehow accessed the public registry regarding my quirk.”

Wolfram chuckled again as he tapped the cheap folding table. “See? This is why we're talking. You're smart enough to put things together. Just like you're smart enough not to make a go at using your quirk on me.”

“I figured you would have someone watching,” I wagged a finger around the room. There weren't any visible cameras, but that didn't mean anything. “Also, I recognize that brand of earbuds.”

It was the sound-canceling type, a higher-end model that I’d looked at picking up for my streams in noisier outdoor environments, and could be set to simply repeat digital copies of human voices it picked up.

The villain smiled again, his burn scar twisting as he did so, before pointing at his ear. “Good catch. Yeah, you were a surprise catch, to be honest. We had a shopping list put together and just happened to be in your area. Decided to pick up the little wanna' be hero who thought he had a quirk valuable enough to get into UA.”

So this isn't a direct reprisal by AFO, just me attracting the wrong kind of attention.

“Which would explain why I was able to catch your men unawares,” I sighed. “I never talk about my quirk on my streams.”

“Because you know you'd lose at least half your subscribers if they found out you had a villain's quirk-” I twitched at the pronouncement, trying hard to keep my face blank. Even if the twitch of his grin hinted that I wasn't wholly successful. “-which raises the question of why you want to join the white hats in the first place.”

“Mostly spite,” I replied honestly, bluntly.

Wolfram snorted, slapping his leg as he began fully laughing.

Good, the longer I can stretch this out, the longer I have for someone to take up my invite to a stream. I should also give them as much actionable intel as possible.

That was Plan A, at least. Plan B was a work in progress.

“Hah, spite! That's a good one,” Wolfram chuckled, inhaling deeply before exhaling in a long breath. He leaned back from where he'd bent over laughing, rubbing at his scar tissue again. “Is committing yourself to the life of a middle-income public servant where you'll never receive the due you're owed really worth the satisfaction for that spite you feel?”

“That's the thing, it's not about me,” I replied, giving him my best dead-eyed stare as I reached up and tapped at my chest, over my heart. “It might look like that, and I'll admit there's a certain level of visceral satisfaction in achieving a heroic career after being told my entire life that I have a villainous quirk.”

“Then if it's not about you, what is it about?” Wolfram asked, his jovial expression fading, even if he still wore a small smile at my expense.

“It's about the next dozen kids who need to know that they have an option other than a life of crime,” I replied honestly, shrugging. “You can call it altruism if you want, but it's deeper than that. This life I've had... as good as it is compared to other peoples', I want the kids who come after me to see me as an example of what they could be, rather than letting some inborn ability define their destiny.”

Wolfram chuckled again, a slow rolling sound with a current of darkness under it. I refrained from bouncing my leg to bleed off the nervous energy I felt building.

Odds are he won't kill me. Even if I wasn't on his 'shopping list' and won't be recruited willingly, he could probably still find a buyer for me as long as I don't make keeping me captive too much trouble for him. Remaining docile will make it hard for him to justify taking me out, even if he wants to.

“You know... I told the boys that we should pick you up because you had a valuable quirk if you were trying for UA of all schools,” Wolfram finally spoke up, sighing. “But the truth was... watching your little Hero How To videos? They really got under my skin, how you'd talk up all those assholes in the spandex-wearing crowd.”

“I probably don't need to ask why you have a negative opinion of heroes,” I replied evenly. “That why you switched over to kidnapping? Whatever business you were in before get stomped by someone in a unitard?”

Wolfram's eyes narrowed at me and, extending a hand, the metal of the chair between us snapped and twisted until sharp spikes of steel were pointing at me.

Hmm... it occurs to me that I am bad at obeying my own instructions. Or I accidentally struck a nerve. Damn.

“Watch your mouth, brat,” the villain replied shortly, his sharp gaze just as piercing as the weapons his quirk had formed. “What would a little shit like you know, anyway? Someone too stupid to know a good offer when he sees one.”

Wolfram stood, turned his head off to the side, and spat. “Even if I can respect the steel in your spine, Bootstrap, I'd hoped you'd have been smarter than this.”

With his piece said, he walked away and threw the door open. I saw another man, this one wearing a balaclava over his face waiting just beyond it. “Take him to one of the soundproof cells. And for God's sake, keep those earbuds in or he'll mind control you.”

The mook in all-black tactical gear nodded, stepping up as his boss walked away and pulling the assault rifle he was wearing into a ready position, even if the barrel was pointing towards the floor instead of directly at me. “C'mon, move.”

Even if he had the best trigger discipline around, I didn't want to risk giving him an affirmative reply when they knew the nature of my quirk. Instead, I nodded and did exactly as he directed me to.

Meanwhile, I speculated as best I could while I took notes. My last jab probably had struck a nerve, though it'd been an educated guess at best. This crew had all the trappings of professionalism, but they were sloppy when it came to holding people against their will. Letting me walk under my own power to the holding cells? Far too much of a risk. I should have been blindfolded again. Hell, given my quirk, I should have been gagged with a lock on it with a pair of escorts.

They hadn't even taken my shoes or my belt.

Thankfully, it seemed like the holding area wasn't below ground. While we were walking, I glanced into the darkness around whatever base we were in, looking through broken or shattered windows. The entire thing looked to be a single-floor complex made of reinforced concrete that had aged into disuse.

Civilian? Military? Some billionaire's private bunker?

Along with the dark forest around us, I heard the noise of a generator running and glimpsed more electric lights outside. A few other men, some masked and some not, passed near us. Another sloppy mistake. Finally, we came to a thick door that opened to reveal padding on the inside that was likely just old futons bound to the concrete walls by metal ties.

“Keep your mouth shut and don't cause trouble if you know what's good for you. I’ve already got enough shit to deal with from the fucking blonde who bit me,” the mook snapped, slamming the door shut and locking it.

I clicked my tongue and sighed, looking over to one corner. “At least there's a toilet.”

The more important part, though, was that this was a solitary cell. That meant surveillance was unlikely, especially if they were separating each of the victims. Too many feeds to keep track of in any detail. It was easier to just post cameras in the hallways and leave it at that.

Then I pulled out my phone and saw the slew of messages coming in. “Well, looks like that worked at least. I'm locked up in a cell now, the sucker punch I got hit with will probably bruise pretty well, but other than that I'm fine. Their leader, Wolfram, has a metal-controlling quirk. One of the guys who grabbed me has some kind of remote-teleportation power. The last two were a bulky guy and a tall average-looking one who punched me in the face. Didn't get a read on either of their quirks.”

I paused, skimming more comments. “Let's see... no, I don't know where the other captives are. There were a lot of rooms like this on the same hallway, though. I'm starting to think this is an old JSDF base from back in the Dark Age. No one said anything about when they're planning to move us...”

My eyes scrolled through more responses. “Holy shit! Mirko and Hawks. Nice to see two of my favorite heroes listening in. Thanks for the support. Okay, yeah... let's see if my phone will get coordinates. Honestly, just grateful it both works out here in the boonies and they missed it. Well, they found my main phone and missed my streamer-phone, at least.”

I booted up the map app I'd used before and frowned. That's what I got for using software made by mere mortals. I nevertheless read off the vague region it was giving me. “Can't quite get a perfect location, but hope that helps.”

My phone buzzed and I blinked, shifting apps to-

Huh. That's either good news or very bad news.

“Uh, look... I'm going to cut the stream now to save battery on my phone. I know it's not really my place to tell you your jobs, but pick someone and give me a call whenever you get close, I guess?” I shrugged, looking down into the camera again.

“This is Bootstrap, signing off for now.” I gave them a two-finger salute and a deliberately-nervous grin before cutting it and sighing deeply as I collapsed against the cushioned walls and let my head flop back to impact the minimal cushioning. Absently, I wondered if this had been prepared at the last minute or if this was the same quality of 'quirk containment' room the other unlucky visitors were getting.

Then again, it's not like anyone outside of someone with a professional license has their quirk trained to an effective level.

Looking up at the futons stapled to the ceiling, I sighed. “Is there a lesson here? Or just fate deciding to stick a 'Kick Me' sign on my back?”

I gave the universe a long moment to respond, sighed again, and looked down at my phone.

[URGENT NOTICE – CONTACT COMPANY REP]

“Because that's not ominous at all,” I muttered, considering the matter for another long minute. “Eh, fuck it. It's not like I've got anything else to do.”

I tapped the icon and held the phone up to my ear. Really, I would have preferred to put it on speaker, but while the phone was protected from notice, my own voice wasn't. Which was why I faced away from the door as I made my call.

“Good, you got back to me quickly.”

I blinked, pulling the device away from my ear briefly, giving it an odd look, then returning it. “Hello? I thought I was calling my Rep.”

“You were,” Velma Dinkley's voice replied. “Unfortunately, there was an accident and your representative was killed in the crossfire.”

I winced. “Well... damn. Okay, you're my new Rep, then? Was that was the call was about? No offense, but I'm kind of busy being kidnapped right now. Barbie's death is sad and everything, but was it really 'urgent?'”

“No, Barbie's death was just tangentially-related to the cause of the call,” Velma replied patiently. “We received your sample from... Gigantomachia. Are you familiar with how we process samples?”

Frowning at the whiplash-inducing change of topic, I held up my free hand and counted off days. “I thought it took a week for the binding to finish? And, uh... no, I'm not familiar with the process.”

“There's a time differential involved. We had to rewind things a little bit to contain the damage,” Velma replied bluntly, making me frown in confusion. “The relevant part is that, when we pull a sample from the target reality, we also pull a 'bubble' of that reality along with it in order to ensure the stability of the sample. You'd be surprised at how many exotic powers completely lose cohesion outside of their native reality.”

“I'd never really considered the problem before, but... sure, I'm following things well enough. I take it there was a problem with Gigantomachia's sample?” I asked, worried that this would affect my bottom line. After resolving not to bind or sell anyone outside of the most irredeemable villains-

Damn, I should have left a binding disguised as a watch for Wolfram. Fuck.

-opportunities like Gigantomachia weren't something that popped up every day, so the thought of losing what little potential income I had was worrisome. Especially given that I could really use a few credits right now.

“Not the sample. The bubble of reality we pulled to encapsulate and protect the sample,” Velma replied. “Something was hiding in it, broke containment, and killed dozens of researchers and staff.”

There was silence for a moment as I worked my mouth. “I'm... sorry? Th-that's not normal, is it?”

“Not for your world's Danger Rating, no,” Velma stated, instantly bringing up a whole host of questions. “The problem is that the facility over here isn't prepared to handle or process the kind of material you'll be sending through with any captures. Which means, in turn, if we can't actually use the product, then we can't pay you for it.”

“I mean, that is a problem, yes,” I granted her slowly as I wrapped my mind around what she was saying. “I'm really more concerned about the fact that I was inserted into a DR 4 world and, evidently, there's something hiding in the shadow of reality itself that can go murder-blender on a group of people. Because that sounds like eldritch horror shit, and I did not sign up for that.”

“Hence why we're increasing your point allotment,” Velma stated, and I felt myself relax minutely. “You're being moved up from a DR 4 to a DR 6.”

Okay, running the numbers, that's 225 points. Not bad, but...

“Again, that sounds like something from a DR 9 or 10. Where there's some creeping evil around the corner constantly watching your every move. Or a rogue SCP or something.” I argued, pinching the bridge of my nose as I allowed one of my legs to begin bouncing anxiously.

“There's a spirited disagreement over whether your world was improperly analyzed and rated or whether a contaminate got into the bubble we picked up and wasn't native to your reality,” Velma replied. “Shifting your rating up to a DR 6 is an unhappy compromise for all involved. Particularly on your part, since management has agreed to waive interest on the supplemental credits you're receiving if we're overreacting.”

“Because I won't be able to pay you back with slaves,” I stated, torn between irritability at this new unnecessary complication and a kind of subdued glee that I wouldn't have to make constant value judgments on the subjective morality and ethics of people who were often in horrible situations.

“Because you won't be able to pay us back with slaves,” Velma replied, and I felt her rolling her eyes. “If you're done pointlessly moralizing your employment situation, do you want some advice?”

“Sure,” I replied, pushing away the existential dread I was suddenly feeling for a more pragmatic response. “I don’t guess you’ll let me swap out for a ‘No Bindings’ build instead?”

“Management is not prepared to offer such an option at this time.”  Velma stated, even going so far as to sound vaguely apologetic.  “First though, spend at least half of what we're giving you on defenses. At least half,” Velma warned sternly. “You're in a bad situation and are going to be expected to deal with a lot of unknowns. Heading off problems at the pass with, at least, a partial defense is incredibly valuable. I'm not going to advise you on which ones to take, that's your judgment, but you very much should be worried about your position.”

“Noted,” I stated, heaving a sigh as I agreed with her. Phenomenal cosmic power was all well and good until someone trapped you in an itty bitty living space because you were metaphysically just a very powerful human.

Not enough to guard against instant death effects, but those are thankfully very rare. And I can start saving up-

Fuck. No, I couldn't. No captures. Or... wait, could I?

“Can I get a list of alternative missions?” I asked, my mind working more aggressively now. “If you are wrong, I want to get a jump on paying things back and maybe making some income for myself. Since I'm kind of screwed in that regard.”

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, she replied. “That's not a bad idea, but I'll need to run it by my superiors and get an approved list. Expect turnaround sometime later this week.”

If I'm alive, that'll be something to look forward to.

“Any other advice?” I asked instead of lingering on the unhappy thought.

“Yeah,” Velma stated. “You'll probably want to use the other half of your points to buy into some powerful templates or heritages or something. My advice would be to stay away from anything reality-warping, probability-bending, or otherwise exotic. While the defenses you pick up will help you stay unnoticed, the effects of powers like those can be like a dinner bell for higher-order entities. Or, potentially worse, a sign that something else is aggressing on their territory.”

I felt a chill run up my spine. “Roger that.”

On the one hand, that was disappointing. I'd done what I could with my build to stay under the radar and had refrained from buying a copy of, say... Superman's powers at a degraded level. Not out of any sense of fair play, but because being a threat without the power and reputation to All Might my way through things would put one hell of a target on my back.

And not just with the villains.

On the other hand, though... I was getting my starting allotment of credits over again and more. I was also getting the chance to reselect my mission choices. If I really was in a world that was substantially more dangerous in unknown ways, I couldn't handicap myself by intentionally locking out vigilante activity. No, if I was losing the ability to capture villains for credits and had already decided capturing heroes was morally repugnant...

Then I needed to respec harder into stealth. A lot harder.

I cocked my head, an idea coming to me. Exotic powers were a no-go, fine. But what about powers that concealed themselves by their very nature?

That... is an idea.

I hummed, then nodded as the easy purchases came to the forefront of my thoughts. “Go ahead and put me down for... Mind Defense, Soul Defense, Environmental Defense, Information Defense, Wyldscape Defense, and Psychic Talent.”

There was silence, then the sound of typing. “Jenkies, that was fast-dammit, I slipped again. Please ignore that, I get enough shit at office parties.”

“Sorry, I wasn't listening. Have to make sure no one's coming to torture me, you know? Still busy being kidnapped,” I chuckled lightly.

Velma huffed a quiet laugh. “Thanks. Anyway, you want anything else right now?”

My eyes tracked back to the locked steel door and I considered things once more. It was a spontaneous plan, but it wasn't necessarily a bad one. I whetted my lips and nodded to myself. “Yeah. I've got a few templates in mind and I want to ask some questions.”

“Pulling up options now,” Velma affirmed. “About what specifically?”

I took a breath. “How does Arcane Fate work outside of Creation?”

~~~

Real Life is very stressful for reasons I'm not going to explain, but should probably be obvious.

So here's a piece of my stress relief.

Extra-long chapter of Mind Games.

I'll have OG Industrious out over the weekend. Until then, thank you for all your support and know that I'm incredibly thankful for both that and any feedback you can offer. Rock on, stay safe, and I hope the rest of your week is better than the first half of mine has been.