Chapter 1.2.15 — Crunch Time

Emmett spent the better part of the week tied up with school and laying low. He went to class, ran back to the apartment, and continued working on his write up for the radio locator project.  As per Dr. Venture’s orders, Emmett focused on schoolwork and didn’t come to the lab. Which meant he didn’t train and didn’t work on his mods outside of general research.

It sucked.

Emmett had never taken so long to write a paper in his life. Usually he could bullshit his way through a first draft, no problem, but this week… minutes positively dragged, and each sentence felt like he was chiseling it out of granite.

It. Sucked.

More than once, Emmett wondered why the hell he needed school, anyway. He was a hero now. Was he really going to be an engineer during the day and spend his nights as a mask?

When he was little and playing pretend that he was a superhero, his dad used to say that ‘crime didn’t pay, and neither did crime fighting.’

But that wasn’t exactly true.

Being a mask didn’t pay. The Summit of Heroes did.

Working for the Summit was like working for the military, the police, or the national guard. They were paid to go on patrols, paid to keep the peace and fight villains. They probably even had health insurance—something that Emmett’s dad constantly claimed was important. Presumably, they even had retirement benefits. Dr. Venture was a testament to that, though Emmett couldn’t bring himself to ask his boss about the particulars.

Pretty much the only things keeping him going was knowing that he was within two months of graduating, that his parents would kill him if he dropped out now, and that there was a non-zero chance he might need a real job. Emmett had already picked a fight with two members from the Summit of Heroes. Accidental or not, he imagined that wouldn’t look good on his application.

Emmett leaned over his desk, face in his palms, and groaned.

~

Other than work, Emmett saw Lock a couple times but his roommate looked even more preoccupied than Emmett. When asked, Lock gave the same noncommittal answer:

He just had a lot between work and classes.

At one point, when they were both in the kitchen making food, Emmett felt like he should ask follow-up questions. He was waiting for water to boil so he could make ramen and Lock was scarfing down a protein bar.

Emmett leaned on the counter. He couldn’t remember what classes Lock was taking, but Lock was in his last semester, the same as Emmett. Lock had a final project of some sort, even if Emmett couldn’t remember what it was.

“What’s your final project looking like?”

The words felt like they hung in the air while Lock chewed. Most of his face was hidden behind the hood of his sweatshirt.

He balled up the wrapper and threw it away before finally answering. “It’s going. Halfway done.”

Emmett smirked and waited for more details, but Lock didn’t give him anything else.

“Catch you later,” Emmett said. Lock just waved as he disappeared back into his room and closed the door.

Emmett shook his head and stared expectantly at the pot of water. He couldn’t wait for the next two months to be over. They’d both been under a lot of stress—even more than usual. Finals were always crazy, but senior year had been something else for both of them.

It had definitely put a damper on their friendship.

When this was all over, they’d have to celebrate.

Emmett sighed—when this was all over, he and Lock would probably be going their separate ways. Lock would probably move back in with his sister, and if Emmett went the cape route and got registered with the Summit of Heroes, then he’d be living at one of the official stations. Even if Emmett decided against it and continued being a mask, it was only a matter of time before he slipped up and Lock discovered him. That would only become more likely with more people living in the same house.

Emmett looked from the steaming pot to Lock’s door and back again.

Either way, things were changing, and this section of his life was coming to a close.

~

By the time Thursday rolled around, Emmett was going stir-crazy. He’d only been outside to go to classes. The closest he got to superheroics was going up to the roof of the apartment for fresh air.

He’d stand out on the roof at night, looking out over the skyline, hoping to see someone running in the distance. It was pointless, of course, no supers bothered coming this far away from downtown or from the warehouse district. That was where all the action was.

The Thursday night deadline was fast approaching, and Emmett stayed up most of Wednesday night to finish his write up. Thankfully, he had an easier time focusing as the week went on—something about the looming sense of dread motivated him even better than thinking about all the training he was missing.

By the time Thursday night arrived, Emmett had checked over his paper three times and submitted it just after ten o’clock. Two hours early.

Emmett leaned back in his chair, sagging from exhaustion. He stretched his neck and shoulders, which ached from hunching over his laptop. Then he got up and stretched his stiff legs.

Emmett chuckled at himself. A Class 1 super and getting sore just from sitting at the computer.

And he still wasn’t done! Not really. He’d finished the write up. That didn’t include the blueprints, the scale model, or working model that he would need for his final grade.

He pushed the thought aside. It was good enough for now. He still had roughly two months to finish the rest.

Emmett unzipped his backpack and pulled out his impact shield. He opened up his forearm compartment, disconnected his whip and connected the shield, paying attention to the sensation of each. He felt the links of the whip and plates of the impact shield, and the bottled power of the sonic and concealable pistol. He could feel the connections pulse and activate.

He went back and forth, swapping out each of his mods. Even though the mods were completely synthetic, they already felt like a part of him. They already felt normal.

Eventually, Emmett swapped back to the whip and hid the rest of the mods in his pack.

Emmett sat back down at his desk and opened up his hidden folder of mod designs on his laptop. He’d spent the last few weeks compiling ideas for additional mods—everything from a taser, flamethrower, grappling hook, to short-range lasers.

Some were impractical, like the flamethrower. He wouldn’t be able to conceal anything but a small tank of fuel. Lasers were a similar problem. Others, like the grappling hook, were just slightly more niche versions of current mods—it had better range than his whip, but less flexibility and control.

There were other ideas too, like integrating magical artifacts for either offense or defense. If Emmett could control a prosthetic with his mind, he should be able to do something similar with an artifact. Of course, first he had to get a magical artifact, and you couldn’t just go to the store and buy one.

There were other ideas too, like using nanomachines and holograms to simulate certain telekinetic and illusion-based powers, but those were nothing but thought experiments. The technologies just weren’t feasible yet.

Emmett continued scrolling through his folders of mod designs, mostly fantasizing about future tech he might one day harness, when a message popped up on his laptop screen.

Hello, Emmett.

Don’t be alarmed. It’s TINA.

Emmett’s heart skipped a beat as he stared at the new window. Alarm was replaced with worry. He wrote back.

Is something wrong?

No. Everything is alright at the lab.

Emmett breathed a small sigh of relief before writing back.

How did you get access to my computer?

Dr. Venture is monitoring you. I have access to your phone as well. It’s just passive monitoring.

TINA’s responses came almost instantaneously, and he chuckled in confusion before asking:

Why are you contacting me like this?

Because I have some ideas for your next modifications.

Emmett’s mouth fell open. TINA had been indispensable in narrowing down which rail system to use for his prosthetic arm. He trusted TINA’s analysis, and so did Dr. Venture.

Now TINA was offering him more modifications??

Emmett’s fingers practically flew over the keys as he typed.

What did you have in mind? Weapons? Or defense? Or utility?

My ideas aren’t attachments for your prosthetic arm. They are for the rest of your body.

~ ~ ~