PWP: 3.6 Surge (Patreon)

Preface

Welp, PWP won the monthly poll, so that means I’m going to make the honest effort to dedicate at least half my writing time to this story. Here is the first of a few chapters I have planned for it this month.

Surge 3.6

2010, November 3: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

It hurt. Not physically, I had minimal trouble adjusting to my sprint. Mentally. Emotionally. Kazu, as a fucking novice, was able to use the Flame Road with a basic set of ATs. He was able to, for just the briefest moment, smash the sound barrier. Sure, it was only in a straight line and he’d become the Flame King after Spitfire, but that was as a goddamn rookie in his first ever Parts War.

I couldn’t do that.

After an hour of sprinting back and forth, I couldn’t copy Kazu’s After Burner. I knew how to do it, at least theoretically. Kazu began the technique by falling until his body was almost parallel with the fence he was running on. Oh, yeah, because the ground was too easy apparently; he did this while running along the railings of a fence. Then, when his body was positioned to minimize air friction, he kicked off all at once with an explosive thrust.

Supposedly, his skates were mimicking the afterburners of jet craft, hence the name of the technique, but that made zero goddamn sense! An afterburner was just an additional bit of fuel injected into a jet’s combustor located inside the pipe behind or “after” the turbine mid-flight for some extra thrust. There was nothing even remotely comparable between that and the way a basic AT worked!

I dashed through the cargo hold at disappointing speeds and allowed myself to smash into the wall in frustration. Protect and my suit’s shield flared as I made like a starfish and left a Creed-shaped imprint into the metal. I shoved with my knees and allowed myself to peel away from the wall like a cartoon.

Landing with a clanging flop, I groaned. “SAINT, how many attempts was that?”

“Pory.” The helmet’s UI flashed forty-three.

Forty-three attempts in an hour and my top speed sans Agility was clocked at only five hundred sixty-eight miles per hour on the straightaway. It was enough to grant me a hefty mover rating according to the PRT standards, but it was a far cry from the potential I knew I could achieve. Sure, I’d broken this record when I airdropped onto Squealer’s truck, but adding Agility and gravity was cheating.

I’d thought After Burner would be the simplest technique for me to learn. Just run fast in a straight line, right? How hard could it be?

I was so, so wrong.

ATs translated the raw kinetic energy of the storm rider’s kicks into motorized thrust. The stronger and faster the rider, the more effective the AT became by extension. What did it say about me then that even with the Germa raid suit boosting my strength, I still couldn’t crack the supersonic divide, the big seven-six-seven? Did that mean there was something wrong with me? Were anime characters just built different? Was Kazu just a freak of nature?

I sighed and picked myself up again. I wasn’t being entirely fair to myself. Yes, Kazu could break the sound barrier in his first Dash, but almost no one else could.

Even towards the end of the series, that kind of raw, straightaway sprinting speed was rare, the hallmark of a king-level rider. Most of the great riders didn’t get that kind of speed until their “roads” were much more developed. My bitching was the equivalent of a child picking up a slingshot and complaining he wasn’t as accurate as Usopp. Having the right gear wasn’t the same as having the right talent. Still, the failure left a bitter taste in my mouth.

There were two plus sides to my repeated failure, beyond redecorating the wall, I mean. One, it showed me clearly that without Agility, some of the fastest tricks would be beyond my abilities. Disappointing, but it did give me an idea of how to improve so it wasn’t all bad.

Two, it allowed me to better appreciate my newfound biology as a gravity child. Perception. Proprioception. Thanks to a perfect blend of echolocation and dramatically improved eyesight, I never once lost track of my position or tripped over my feet. I only crashed into the wall a handful of times on accident, and that was mostly me getting used to the braking mechanism in my skates than a failure of my reaction time.

“After Burner’s a failure,” I told SAINT, “at least, without Agility.”

“Pory,” he trilled. I could feel him consoling me through the bond.

“That’s okay. I’m over it. Instead, what if I used Agility like a jet afterburner? The principle is the same, right? A jet dumps extra fuel into the combustor mid-flight for extra thrust. Why can’t I do that mid-run? I wanted to be accomplish everything the main characters could, but maybe that’s my problem. I shouldn’t have tried to compare myself to them.”

“Porygon… pory?”

“Being a storm rider… The biggest theme throughout the series, beyond sci-fi skates I mean, is freedom. Individuality. It’s stated multiple times that though there are eight major roads, there are countless offshoots, as many as there are riders. Hell, there’s one guy who achieved a Smell Road, whatever the fuck that is. Maybe I should stop trying to copy the kings and make my own road. I’m not just a storm rider after all. I’m a budding aura master, shipwright, geneticist, and inventor. Not using everything I have would clip my wings.”

“Porygon… Ree-gon…”

“Hehehe, yeah, I’m pretty easily distracted.” I hopped in place and began to stretch my legs. It was amazing how natural that felt, even with wheels strapped to my feet. “SAINT?”

“Ree?”

“Thanks?”

“Porygon?”

“For being here. For being my sounding board. You make it easier to think, to reflect,” I told him honestly.

“Reee,” he trilled, the bond pulsing with fondness.

“Okay. We’re going to run laps for the next hour. The goal is to use Agility in lieu of After Burner and to preserve my control even mid-run. Then, if I can do that, we’ll call it a win and shift to Hurdles. Got it?”

“Pory!”

X

Other than a short but exhausting training session against SAINT, the only thing of note to have happened on Wednesday was that I received a phone call from Uppercrust. He sounded as his name implied: cordial, professional, and with every syllable dripping with that high society drawl that made you want to ask if he was sipping a tumbler of whiskey and rolling a cigar.

He thanked me for my interest in his work and agreed to examine my engine for compatibility with his tech. I sent Strider a text telling him about the situation so he’d know to deliver the engine to New York when the time came.

I knocked out my homework in a laughable fifteen minutes, the perks of being a post-grad in high school. There was some more work to do researching Canary’s trial, but that could be put off for a while longer. While I fulfilled my obligations to the standard education system, I had SAINT compile every news article on Canary’s trial as well as any publicized court documents so I could review them all at once when I got around to writing my report.

After that, I took a quick shower and nestled into bed. “SAINT?”

“Reee?”

“Wake me up at three.”

“Pory,” he trilled reproachfully.

“It’ll be fine,” I said, waving him off. “It’s nine now. Six hours of sleep is plenty. I’ll tinker until six then come back here and wait for mom to wake up before heading to school.”

“Porygon…”

“Thanks, bud. And yeah, just keep the volume down.”

“Reee,” he nodded.

I left him to his own devices. SAINT was developing as an individual, not just my glorified AI assistant. He’d taken to music with the same love I had, albeit in a different bend. I converted the original DAW, digital audio workstation, that I purchased into the TM Interface, but it was no trouble at all for SAINT to recreate and install the DAW software onto my computer for his personal use.

I found it both funny and heartwarming to watch him play with electronic music. He didn’t really have any conception of earworms or preference for music in the normal sense, but he’d seen me play often enough that he associated certain musical styles and beats with certain emotions. Classic rock for example, because it reminded me of dad, was tied closely with a sense of fond nostalgia to him. Putting together a song wasn’t just about compiling a melody for him; it was about building something that could help him invoke and engage human emotions, a way for him to connect with humans.

And, since he could work the computer while digitized, it was no trouble at all to shut off the monitor and turn off the volume. Sounds apparently sounded very different in digital space anyway.

I smiled and nudged him towards the computer. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with, bud.”

X

2010, November 4: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

The first hour in the Gullrest was spent tinkering. I promised Faultline’s Crew Germa fiber costumes as thanks for setting up my banking information but did not enough fibers on hand to make one for Gregor. I didn’t want to keep the big fellow waiting so SAINT was mixing chemicals and churning out coated Kevlar threads that were fed into a mechanical loom.

While he was doing that, I was drafting designs to automate the process. If there was one thing post-modern societies had over fantastical settings like One Piece, it was the widespread use of automation in mundane manufacturing after all. I planned to sell this ultra-resistant cloth, and that meant I’d need way more than I could make with my personal attention. For that matter, automated manufacturing of other, relatively simple goods was something I’d need to add to my ever-growing to-do list.

The rest of our time was spent practicing.

I raced around the cargo hold with all my might. Five-seventy... Five-seventy-four… Faster than my record yesterday but not enough.

I approached the corner at speeds rivaling commercial aircraft. Flexing my legs, I stomped my left toe into the floor, ramming the AT’s toe-stop and causing a river of sparks and smoke to erupt from the friction. I allowed myself to skid on my toes, drifting while my right leg tensed in preparation.

“Agility!” I shouted. A corona of psychic light shrouded my body like violet flames as I shot forward at a perfect right angle, turning the drift into a rocketing thrust without sacrificing any speed.

I smiled smugly as a resounding bang echoed throughout the metal. Eight-ninety-two and climbing. Suck it, Kazu; I’ll find my own road.

The next corner approached and I allowed the Agility to die out before doing it again.

And again.

And again.

SAINT had long since vacated my suit after we’d established that I was at no risk of seriously injuring myself. Once I’d gotten a hang of racing around at speed, we decided to adopt a different approach to Hurdle; after all, SAINT needed practice too.

I stood in the center of the hold as SAINT floated in the air. He bobbed like a rubber duck in a bathtub. “Pory. Reee-gon?”

“Yeah, whenever you’re ready, SAINT.”

“Gon.”

With that, our match was on. Our take on Hurdles was simple: evasion practice. The game type was meant to teach budding storm riders to evade obstacles. What better way was there to learn that than by dodging SAINT’s projectiles?

Arcs of electricity surrounded my favorite duck. Then, with a cry of his name, he launched a salvo of Thunder Waves at me. Thus began our game of tag.

I ducked the first bolt of lightning and used that motion to lean forward. I fell until my body was almost parallel with the floor then kicked off, leaving thin skidmarks in my place. I was much faster with ATs, but I’d yet to integrate them with my pyrobloin-based hover boots so I couldn’t just condense water vapor to gain altitude. I’d effectively traded 3D mobility in exchange for additional speed because that was what I wanted to train at the moment.

SAINT had no trouble drawing a bead on me despite my increased speed. A second Thunder Wave lanced out towards where I was going, but I stomped my toe-stop onto the floor, swerving into a sharp turn that narrowly dodged the electrical attack. A third blast was avoided by speeding up with Agility.

“Pory!” he cried as he hovered at chest-level. Electricity crackled around him as he rocketed towards me. Spark, a simple enough move for him to improvise and the natural precursor of Wild Charge.

I grinned beneath my helmet. I had no intention of dodging. Instead, I braced my muscles and sprinted forward with everything I had. “Agility,” I whispered, my voice drowned out in the sonic boom left in my wake.

I timed a boxer’s straight with my lunge. SAINT’s electrified head met my seastone knuckles in a shower of sparks. A deafening bang resounded through the cargo hold as our attacks met in the middle. It was an impact that should have smeared me across the walls. I felt my arm stiffen uncomfortably but that was the extent of any recoil, the wonders of Germa technology. As for SAINT, pokémon were made of sterner stuff. Add on the eviolite he wore around his neck, and there wasn’t much I could do that he couldn’t shrug off with a single Recover.

Neither of us took any real damage from that exchange, but one thing was for certain: I weighed more. My partner was launched back like a bullet, carried on my fist due to his lighter weight.

As I neared the steel wall, I jumped and thrust my feet forward. My ATs found traction and threw me up the vertical surface, leaving SAINT embedded behind me.

“That one’s my win, SAINT,” I called teasingly.

“Porygon! Pory!” he yelled after me.

I laughed as I skated along the wall. It was a brand new feeling. I knew I should feel dizzy,  nauseous even, but I didn’t, not with the solid sense type preserving my sense of balance. Feeling daring, I pumped Agility again, transitioning to the underside of a walkway. There were several of these around the hold, as well as large pipes that had been used for ventilation or temperature control.

I rode upside down and did not fall, my speed and friction preserving my run. But that didn’t last. SAINT learned much from me, and one of those was “pettiness.”

“Pory! Gon! Reee!” he trilled loudly, practically a battle cry for my diminutive friend. Then, the walkway I was skating on began to shiver and tremble.

“Oh, you bitch!”

“Gon!”

I could hear the smugness in that single chirp as he floated closer towards me. The walkway beneath my feet began to undulate like an ornery snake. He’d taken control over it with Magnet Rise and had begun to tear it out of place.

Thinking quickly, I hopped off and made for a nearby pipe. The pipe was as thick as my torso, making it one of the thinnest ones around. I landed with my legs somewhat spread apart, forming a large, “U” shape with my feet. The wheels of the ATs aligned with the curved surface of the pipe, spinning me around its surface in a corkscrew. Even then, never once did I lose my balance.

I crouched down and skid my seastone-tipped fingertips along the pipe’s surface, creating a screeching noise somewhere between tortured metal and nails on chalkboard. It was enough to disrupt SAINT’s control briefly, and to orient myself towards him.

I launched myself in a textbook “superhero” flying punch that decked the smug shit across the hold.

“Ree!” he shouted, more from shock than actual pain.

“Ha! Take that!” I got my feet beneath me and carried through the punch, turning it into a diving crouch that saw me land feet-first on an adjacent ledge, the second floor of the hold. That allowed me to carry right on running with minimal loss of thrust.

Belatedly, I realized that this had evolved beyond Hurdle and even Cube. I was comfortably “flying” now. This, this was Air.

“First person to touch the ground floor loses, got it?” I called in challenge.

“Gon!”

And so our game was on. When he tore away my road with Magnet Rise, I picked up a stray pipe or even a piece of sheet metal to act as floating steppingstones to the nearest wall. When he let loose a rapid-fire salvo of Thunder Waves, I countered with Protect before firing back with my own Thunder Wave. When he nearly cornered me, I made myself invisible for the slightest second while popping Agility, appearing behind him to hammerfist him towards the floor.

Ours was a contest of skill and technique, strategy and terrain control. It was everything we knew about combat rolled into one, and we loved every second of it. SAINT especially, I could see the battlelust so common among pokémon start to rear its head, that impulsive, instinctive need to get stronger. I couldn’t allow him to fight capes, not because I didn’t think he was strong enough, but because I wasn’t strong enough: I feared that I wasn’t ready for the backlash of having a true AI as a subordinate.

But I wouldn’t hold him back. I swore I’d let him grow to be the best he could be, whatever that might look like. If that meant I’d need to be strong enough to give him the experience he so desperately craved?

Then so be it.

X

SAINT didn’t come with me to school today. Instead, he agreed to supervise the weaving of Gregor’s new outfit. With the last of my commitments to Faultline’s Crew entrusted to him, I could focus on what I wanted to build: automation… kind of…

It was true that this was a critical part of my development as a tinker, but I lacked the supply chain to make full use of such a thing even if I managed something large-scale. And, I couldn’t help but think that if I could get a contract with Big Rig, or maybe when my specialization changed to a more futuristic setting, I could have far more effective fabricators and automated manufacturing capabilities. I had only two weeks with Air Gear left.

I decided to automate the creation of Germa fibers, but nothing else, for now. My thoughts drifted instead to improving myself as an individual, not strictly as a tinker. Truthfully, I’d already made much of what I wanted this specialization such as the gravity child serum, Pledge Regalia, hybrid soda engine, and both the cores for the Water and Rumble Regalias.

To improve myself, I had two things that I truly wanted to build, as well as two things I truly wanted to master during my remaining specialization. The first was Key Mother, the Flame Regalia. While experimenting with After Burner told me that I’d never be the raw speed-type Kazu was without relying on aura to carry me through, its access to the Inorganic Net and Hole Nine Heaven’s Door, I shit you not I didn’t name this, was invaluable.

The Inorganic Net recorded every “trick” used by storm riders and Heaven’s Door allowed the wielder of Key Mother to access and mimic all of them. Granted, I couldn’t learn any new tricks for myself considering there were no other storm riders to record in the first place, but if I could sneak the scanners and data sticks onto the equipment of other athletes, I could use Key Mother to teach myself those same movements. Boxing? Karate? Kendo? Jujitsu? Krav Maga? I could learn them all so long as I could get an ace athlete to wear the data sticks.

Best of all, Amy couldn’t even scold me over it. It wasn’t like they’d lose their hard-earned skills after all.

The second thing I needed to build was my personal regalia. This morning’s spar against SAINT convinced me: The Pledge Regalia’s construction capabilities wasn’t enough. I could become so much stronger, if only I could discover my “road.”

As it stood, Key Mother was my regalia of choice, if only because it was the one that had access to Heaven’s Door. But was that all I wanted to be? A copy of Spitfire, Kazu, and Aeon?

I offered Mrs. Currie a lackluster presentation on the current ongoings of the Canary trial and an analysis of jury selection then headed back to my seat to ruminate.

No, the more I thought about it, the more certain I became: I wanted a regalia that was uniquely my own. I had Water, Rumble, and Pledge in my hands at the moment. Of these, it was surprisingly the Water Regalia and its corresponding Lather Road that fit my Germa-style hover boots.

The principle of the Lather Road was that it condensed water vapor for aerial movement. Hell, with that kind of synergy, it’d take barely any effort to combine the regalia with my existing boots. Ōm, the original queen of this road, was so good at condensing vapor that she could pressurize air into rapidly spinning bubbles that both exploded on impact and could cut like a jet cutter. She called it “Bubblegum Crisis,” not that I’d be caught dead saying that, but at least the theory was sound.

‘Okay, that’s one regalia,’ I thought. I kept my eyes towards the front of the class as a pair of my classmates talked about something or other that the Vegas Protectorate was doing to combat white collar crime. ‘What else? Can I combine that with Key Mother somehow?’

I had a eureka moment. Ōm released the pressurized water and air as bubbles, but there was no reason I needed to do the same. The Flame Regalia was best known for its blistering speed, but its most complex techniques could only be done by harnessing that monstrous friction and turning it into heat shimmers.

The bubbles rotated. Ergo, they generated friction. Probably as much as, if not more, than simply skating in a straight line.

I began to doodle a rough draft. ‘Yeah… Let’s keep the vapor condenser in the heels... Use the motors to compress water and rotate it… The output should be enough to generate enough friction, but how do I keep it from wearing out my boots in a matter of weeks… Oh, right, seastone. Shit can’t be scratched.’

It was all coming together, a regalia born of Germa science, Water, and Flame. With it, I’d make the most of what I could already do, as well as gain access to the Heaven’s Door.

First tings first, I’d make the data sticks. Then, I’d sneak them inside boxing gloves, belts of gi, kickboxers’ shoes, and whatever else I could find. I could then program the Inorganic Net to parse out useless data from perfected techniques, something I didn’t doubt SAINT could help with. After that, I’d build the Flame Regalia so I could access the Net.

As for personal training, I fully planned to integrate those skills into my repertoire later, but until my custom regalia was built, I decided to stick to mastering the Pledge Regalia. Already, I could dismantle my toy robot and my new goal was to disassemble and reassemble a vacuum cleaner from the Heist.

The bell rang and I packed my bag to head to lunch. Truly, there was too much to do.

Author’s Note

Not much going on this chapter, but training is good too.

The speed of sound is roughly 767 mph. I love how casually it’s used in anime and comics, sometimes so much so that even regular punks and street-toughs have “supersonic” feats in battleboarding. Truth is, in a more grounded setting like Worm, even getting close to that barrier is obscene.

Anyway, have an animal fact: Great frigatebirds, yeah, that's a real name, can stay airborne for two whole months. How? By sleeping in 10 second bursts. Crazy part is, they’re not the record holders. The crown goes to the alpine swift, who can stay airborne for 200 days.

r/BirdsArentReal