A Bad Name 58

Chapter Fifty-Eight Three 5 gallon water bottles, a medium sized pot, a bag of onions, and two bags of potatoes. That's what a trio of gun toting guys took from us.  In retrospect, I'm surprised they even got away with that much water. Each bottle is forty pounds full, and unless they were closet crossfitters, the best they could expect to manage is a walk for a couple miles. We still have enough water for today and tomorrow, according to Silas, we just need to ration it. Compared to the eighteen hundred-ish people here, the fifteen gallons of water isn't catastrophic.  Maddie's right. It ISN'T worth chasing after them. But next time, there might be more of them. We need to organize some kind of defense. I wish I knew what happened to Arthur. Or Pastor Steve. Arthur would have... SHOULD have... been in the Curtis Brighton shelter. Except we barely made it in ourselves. I haven't had time to really look for people, we've been too busy, but Maddie and I weren't the last people out of the apartment. It wasn't long after we got in that we were locked down, and every once in a while I remember the conversation between Officer Patterson and the dispatch, right before they lost communications.  The rumbling. It didn't take much imagination to fill in the blanks, that dispatch was desperately trying to get a few more people into the shelter before the first of the waves hit.  Arthur's apartments, our apartments, aren't there anymore. Collapsed, rubble. When I checked for it, I took a few steps through its rubble, as best I could guess, but I couldn't have said what had been any particular apartment. I wistfully imagine the basketball hoop with its chain net, buried somewhere under shattered frame, pulverized stucco, faux brick reduced to plaster and rust toned paint. The hoop leads me to wonder how that kid and his mother are; I hope they made it out alright.  I try to not think about how many people I knew are dead now. I don't succeed.  I need to distract myself from this line of thought.  ... Say, didn't I get a notification of some kind of title? What are Titles, anyhow? [Spoiler="Titles"] A Gamer that performs an absurdly exceptional feat of skill, ingenuity, or sheer ability has the potential to receive a Title. Titles grant special bonuses to actions, abilities, and/or interactions with individuals appropriate to the accomplishment that granted the title. Titles can be changed at will, enabling the user to utilize different bonuses based on their circumstances. A Gamer may have one title active per twenty levels. [B]Earned Titles[/B] Jury Rigged: grants a +5% bonus to effectiveness of makeshift tools and repairs. Luck +25 for determining availability of useful materials for quick and dirty solutions. [/Spoiler] Huh. That's kinda neat, actually. Not really what I expected... but I suppose any bonus is better than no bonus. Equip Jury Rigged.  [Quote] Title 'Jury Rigged' has been equipped. Achievement unlocked!  "They Call Me 'Mister' Tibbs" Received 1000 xp. Level up! You gained 5 stat points.[/Quote] ... Okay then. And what are Achievements? [Spoiler="Achievements"]  Achievements are hidden goals that are tied to specific mechanics in the Gamer power. These goals, when attained, may reveal other Achievements that may be reached. Attaining Achievements grant rewards that may be general in nature, like xp rewards, or specific to the challenge. Such rewards scale to the difficulty of completing the Achievement. [/Spoiler] Suddenly I'm less comfortable with the idea of exploring my power. Every time I turn around, it seems like there's a new aspect, a new twist, or wrinkle, or hidden bonus. During my week off adjusting to the apartment, I'd spent a little time exploring the internet, learning about cape business. In that time, I learned a couple things that singled out my power-- and Jess's-- as something powerful and unique.  Powers don't usually get stronger. If they do, it's very narrow in scope; Lung gets tougher, stronger, his fire gets hotter. But it goes away once the fighting is over. The next time there's a fight, he starts over from what functions as his base form. Such increases in strength are rarely permanent. When they are, they tend to scale very slowly, like Dauntless, who is still slated to be Triumvirate level in a couple years. But nobody gets to choose. Nobody gets to build their power set from the ground up. Nobody gets to just... grow. And keep growing.  Except for maybe one. And God help us all if Crawler is a Gamer. If he has other abilities besides the defenses...  ... This line of thought isn't any more comforting than than wondering which people I know are still alive.  "Excuse me! Are you Mister Gammer?" I turn around from where I've been staring blankly at the water supplies. At the entrance to the tent stands one of the reporters, Terrance Wyatt. Oh, God damnit. I do my best to swallow my intense displeasure and give a fast nod. "Uh, yeah, that's me. Did you, er.... need something? Water rationing is in effect until the Emergency Management folks can get here, but-" "Oh, no sir," he says with a brightly cheerful voice. "No, I'm here to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." I mind. I mind a lot. Unfortunately, saying it will only make him more curious. "I... guess. Although I don't know why you want to talk to me."  I'm barely finished saying the word 'guess' before he turns around and ushers the cameraman in. I feel the first stirrings of panic as Terrance grabs my sleeve and pulls me into position, standing at a forty-five degree angle to the camera, while Terrance matches me, and smiles. "Don't look so nervous, you'll be fine." "Rolling in five, four, three..." The cameraman goes silent counting off two and one with fingers, then pointing at Terrance.  "And here we are with Brandon Gammer, who some say was [I]the[/I] hero of the Curtis Brighton shelter yesterday, who kept everyone calm in the face of the shelter leak and got everyone working together. Brandon, some people are saying you were brilliant yesterday." I feel like I've been sideswiped. "Uh... what?" "With the chewing gum!" he clarifies cheerful. "Honestly, hearing about it sounds like something out of MacGyver." I feel a cold weight settle in my stomach. If I'm gonna get through this with my cover intact, I'm gonna have to sell this like I'm peddling pot. "I, uh, can't really take credit for the idea, it was..." I trail off.  "... It was?" he prompts after a second.  "I was... Look, it was just a dumb idea that worked. I was just trying to find something for everyone to do so there wouldn't be a huge panic. And chewing gum is mostly sticky rubber, so..." I give an awkward little shrug.  "So, if I'm understanding this right," Terrance says, "you came up with the plan that saved the shelter by accident?" I shrug again, helplessly. "Uhh... pretty much... yeah." "That's an incredible story. But what about the tunneling out of the shelter?" "I helped dig, but that wasn't my idea. There was a guy who does air conditioning who thought that one up. And someone else mentioned busting up the seating to use as pickaxes. Or picks." I pause. "Whatever those are called." "And the organizing of the occupants of the shelter?" Terrance presses.  I get an ugly suspicion in the back of my head. "Everyone was a part of that. I don't know how to make a Franklin stove, or set up a tent. I can't handle a classroom's worth of kids. I don't have medical-- well, I DO know a little CPR but I'm not able to handle people having bad allergic reactions or whatever. It's just... we had an air conditioning guy in there. We had a school teacher. We had a guy who fucks around-- oh, sorry-- with metalworking. We had people who go camping for fun. It-" I find myself groping ineffectually at my personal vocabulary, trying to communicate the cover story I'm verbally wandering around. "... It's like, before capes, people did stuff. Like, uhh... Audie Murphy. He was the most decorated soldier of world war two. But he wasn't a cape. Or, or Einstein. Or Charles Atlas. Or Isaac Newton. Uhh... It... You don't have to be a cape. In a group of a thousand people, there's gonna be someone, or a lot of people, even, who can do what needs to be done. You just need to convince them that they can contribute. That they aren't obsolete just because there's capes." Suddenly I realize both Terrance and his cameraman are completely silent. It's not that crazy a concept, for God's sake! Capes didn't build the shelters, or the Eiffel tower, or invent the steam engine! People did! Normal people! Oh shit I think I just said that out loud on camera.  Oops.