Chapter 1.2.25 — Venture 7

Venture slumped down into his couch in the living room of section 001, taking a much needed break from his own research. He flipped the display to the video feeds from the Gray Room. He’d started a pot of coffee in the kitchen and it would be another ten minutes or so before it was done brewing.

Clara had once asked him why he still used an old drip brewer when there were other methods that were faster or, supposedly, tasted better. Part of it was that his sense of taste had never been quite right since his helmet malfunctioned while fighting Sarano some fifteen years ago.

All things considered, though, Venture would never give up his drip feed coffee maker. Each time it broke, he tried to buy the exact same model again. It had everything he needed—which was a delay-brew function, so he could set it and it would be ready for him in the morning.

That second reason was the one Venture told Clara when she asked. Venture never told her about his lack of taste, and he never told her the real reason:

That it reminded him of his childhood home.

Venture was a man defined not just by technology, but by change—by adaptation. But he wasn’t a machine. Drip coffee was one of those things he chose to hold on to, chose not to upgrade. Those things and their reasonings say more about a person than the myriad of things they fritter away.

Venture rubbed idly at the stubble on his chin while he watched Clara and Emmett spare. The smell of coffee grew steadily bolder.

Clara chose to wear her training exosuit today, instead of using the VR rig. That limited the powers that she could simulate—she wouldn’t be reprising her role as Lord Sumac or Gale Force. Though she could still present as someone like Instaflame or various artificers, like Arsenal or Lead Debt. In addition to her onboard flight and weapon training systems, the Gray Room could simulate flames or explosive weapons that didn’t require a lot of manual control.

The pair went back and forth through the faux buildings, Clara predominantly in the role of pursuer, using her flight, speed, and superior ranged weapons to keep constant pressure on Emmett. Meanwhile, Emmett fought like a guerilla insurgent, using his maneuverability to evade her by dashing through buildings and doubling back to surprise her with any number of gadgets.

The more the pair trained together, the more confident Emmett had gotten with his collection. Clara was smart enough not to fall for the same tricks twice, but so far Emmett had managed to get several wins:

Using smoke pellets and noise makers, Emmett had lured Clara close enough to pin her down with his sonic blaster. Another time, he used his whip to snag her out of the air as she passed and somehow held on to the window frame with his other hand—that one had been a gamble. On a bad day, he would’ve torn every muscle in his weaker arm with a stunt like that.

Emmett’s other two wins came from a well-aimed ambush with his concealable pistol, and from leaping onto Clara in mid-air and tasering her. That one sent them both plummeting four stories and had them cackling with laughter afterward.

More than once, Venture found himself smiling and joining in their reverie.

Of course, Clara got the better of Emmett the other umpteen times.

No matter what kind of training they put Emmett through, no matter how eager he was to learn and to train, there was no substituting the years of experience that Clara had. She’d been training since she was a preteen—she’d practically been born into this life. Emmett had been made about a month ago.

Venture got up and poured himself coffee, then came back to watch more of their training.

He had to admit, their progress was impressive.

Clara had become a formidable instructor. She’d managed to strike a balance between pushing Emmett to strive for more and toning down her own abilities, so she didn’t outclass him in training. Her skill with the VR simulator had grown as well, which would only help her coordination and reaction time with her exosuit and help her prepare for powersets she hadn’t fought in real life—

Not to mention all the work Clara had been doing on her own to temper and control her latent abilities.

Emmett was a different story. He was the pinnacle of what Mutagen-A could do to the human body—from his strength and speed, down to how quickly his neuromuscular system learned new movement patterns. It was one thing to hear about Gnosis’s mutagens being used by special forces throughout the world, but just a month ago, Emmett had no wrestling or combat experience whatsoever! Now, Venture would put him up against 95% of Class 1 supers and against perhaps 50% of Class 2.

There would always be ill-fitting match-ups—those couldn’t be avoided. But they could be prepared for, and that’s where Emmett’s true potential lay.

To the point, Emmett was finally leaning into swapping his forearm mods on the fly. Finally, living up to his namesake.

Venture sipped on his coffee and enjoyed the progress that his proteges were making.

But just before he could slip too far into fatherly pride, TINA interrupted him.

“We have a visitor.”

Venture swallowed dryly and took another sip of coffee, hoping it would help. It didn’t.

On the screen, TINA had superimposed the front door camera feed. A ghost of a man stood at the door for the second time in two weeks.

Venture ran a hand through his hair and closed out the feeds to the Gray Room, replacing them with the sunset skyline of Belport.

“TINA, open the door. Tell him I’m here.”

~

Venture watched the feed as the unassuming spymaster of the Summit walked through the halls of his lab.

Finally, Wight arrived in Venture’s living room and stood patiently.

“Wight.”

“Magnus,” the ghost glanced toward the pot of coffee. “Do you mind?”

“It’s still warm.”

Venture’s coffee was almost gone, so he conserved it and waited for his guest to take a seat opposite him on the second couch—if only so his hands had something to do instead of betray his nervousness.

Wight had chosen one of Clara’s anime-themed mugs, one that had obnoxious hearts and swords splattered across it. He sipped from it and eyed Venture coldly.

Wight let the silence draw out until it festered.

“What happened to keeping your bloody kids on the rails?”

Venture did his best to keep a straight face. He had an idea why the spymaster was here, but he didn’t know for sure. If Wight was being obtuse, then Venture would be too.

“Were we really so different?”

Wight sipped his coffee before resting it on his knee. “Why were your two supers slugging it out with the Summit?”

“They were sparring in the warehouse district when two capes stopped them, questioned them, and tried to read their thoughts without consent.”

“The district was being monitored after Porcelain’s death, but we’ll get to that… Did you order your supers to attack Summit capes?”

Venture tempered his irritation. “I told Emmett and Clara not to consent to a mind-read, as is their right. When your capes took it upon themselves to go outside the law, I told them to escape. You need to find better capes.”

Wight blinked—that’s all. It was a small betrayal of his true thoughts: He agreed with Venture.

But Wight continued, “Now explain why the signature of your daughter’s exosuit matches the traces left behind the night Porcelain was murdered.”

Venture’s blood ran cold and he clutched the dying cup of coffee tighter. Wight must’ve taken the paleness of Venture’s face as a slightly bigger betrayal of his true thoughts.

Venture had long known that one day the Summit or one of his old enemies would figure out how to trace the energy from his exosuits. He was actually surprised they hadn’t managed it sooner. It was bad luck that they’d managed to crack it now.

What were the odds of that?

Wight said, “We matched the energy signature of your daughter’s suit from the run in with the Summit to the warehouse where Porcelain was murdered. And you’re right, the mind-read was illegal and inadmissible… but they still got Emmett and Clara’s names. And yours.”

It was testament to Venture’s nerves that his hands didn’t shake.

Venture swallowed. “Do the psychics still follow confession?”

Wight nodded. “The cape relayed the information up the chain and it was wiped from her afterward. The street sweepers don’t know your kids’ names, but Somnus does.”

“Shit.”

Wight relaxed in his seat. “Why do you think I’m here telling you to quit getting your masks mixed up with newbie capes?”

Venture ignored the point. He was more worried about the Summit’s psychics. About Somnus— the psychic. “Do you still trust them?”

Wight swirled his coffee. “I don’t have to trust them. I’m their boss and they answer to me. Besides, if they get too big for their britches, I don’t need to kill them. I’ll just feed them to the Menagerie.”

Venture shuddered and didn’t bother suppressing it.

Each powerset of supers had something akin to a governing body to maintain order over their own kind—the reasoning was one of preservation.  If psychics, for instance, began forcibly taking over the world, the other supers or nations might exterminate them. By keeping tabs on their own, these governing bodies maintained the world order.

Venture understood the logic well enough, even if he didn’t wholly agree with the reasoning. In practice, maintaining order like that just stifled growth. As an artificer, he preferred change and growth.

But the Menagerie was a fate worse than death, and Venture didn’t use that term lightly. For some reason, powerful psychics tended to form hive-minds… and lose all sense of self in the process. Somnus was one of the few exceptions.

Venture finally said, “You put a lot of trust in psychics.”

Wight said flatly, “No. The Code—mutual destruction—that’s what matters.” He sighed. “I know you’re not just mucking about in retirement… You need to tell me what you know about Champion street, about Porcelain, about the mutagen variants, how it’s connected. Then let us take care of it.”

Venture smirked. “I was told I’d have free rein when you side-lined me.”

Wight didn’t crack. “Yeah, well, you’ve run to the end of it, Magnus. What do you know?”

Venture had exchanged information with Wight and the Summit previously when piecing together what happened to Amarque. What Wight really wanted was a theory.

“It has to be an inside job. The operation is too big,” Venture said. “I just don’t know how high up it goes.”

Wight’s face soured. He didn’t need to say anything—they both had the same thought:

Gnosis was one of the most powerful corporations on the planet. If the theory was correct, it meant that someone high enough up in Gnosis had chosen to ignore the Code and say screw the balance.

Silence hung in the air while both men contemplated the gravity of things to come.

Finally, Wight stood and smoothed out the front of his sweater. “I kept your kids’ names from getting back to the street sweepers, but I couldn’t keep a gag order on the rest of it. The Summit is looking for an artificer and a cyborg. If they keep putting on a show, they’ll get requisitioned…”

Wight lingered only a moment longer before adding. “Be seeing you, Magnus.” Then he turned and walked through the door.

Venture brought up the hallway feeds on the living room screens. He watched the ghost until he’d completely left the lab. Once he was gone, Venture sighed and stood, ready to get back to work.

“TINA, we’re moving up Clara and Emmett’s schedules. We’re running out of time.”

~ ~ ~