My trip back was almost uneventful. Almost. As I took a shortcut through Harper Street, Nanocloud pinged me. : there’s some sort of fight going on in the alley up ahead : six guys beating up a couple of seniors I darted towards the alley in question. Two white-haired men in their sixties were on the ground, being pummeled by a bunch of youths with black caps. Blackhats. “Stop!” I yelled. The thugs looked up and saw me. I braced for a fight. All six of them turned and ran. YOU HAVE ENDED A FIGHT WITH THE BLACKHATS THROUGH THE SHEER POWER OF YOUR INTIMIDATION! 6 BLACKHAT THUGS DEFEATED. +150 XP. Great. Just what I wanted to do - terrify normal people. I walked over to the senior and cast a quick Observe. MARTIN BEAN CLASS: RETIRED SCHOOLTEACHER FACTION: NONE HP: 25/70 MARTIN IS AN EDUCATOR WHO JUST RETIRED. HE SPENDS SOME DAYS, LIKE TODAY, GETTING HIS ALCOHOLIC HUSBAND OUT OF BARS. TODAY HE TOOK LONGER THAN EXPECTED TO FIND THE BAR AND HAS BEEN THE VICTIM OF A HATE CRIME THANKS TO THAT. CONDITIONS: CRACKED RIB CLYDE KUSHNER CLASS: RETIRED CORPORATE EXECUTIVE FACTION: REPUBLICAN HP: 11/60 CLYDE WAS A HIGH-FLYING MANAGEMENT PROFESSIONAL UNTIL LAYOFFS HIT HIS INDUSTRY. HE HAS STRUGGLED WITH DEPRESSION AND ALCOHOLISM EVER SINCE. ONLY HIS LONG-STANDING RELATIONSHIP WITH MARTIN HAS KEPT HIM SANE; EVEN NOW, HE STRUGGLES TO FIGHT OFF THE DEMON DRINK. TODAY, HE MADE THE MISTAKE OF GETTING DRUNK IN THE WRONG TYPE OF BAR AND ENDED UP BEING A TARGET OF A HATE CRIME. CONDITIONS: ALCOHOLISM (-5 WIS, -3 DEX), DEPRESSION, BROKEN ARM, INTOXICATED “Mr. Bean?” I asked. “I’m Belessar, and I’m here to help. Can you speak?” “Thank you,” croaked Bean. “I need some help…. My friend needs an ambulance…” “I know he’s your husband, Mr. Bean. Not homophobic.” “Oh,” the man sagged in relief. “Sorry… some people don’t understand…” “That’s okay. Can I heal him?” “You may if you can,” replied Bean reflexively. “Oh… sorry… inappropriate joke.” “You were an English teacher, weren’t you?” The man smiled. “I guess it shows. Can you really heal?” I nodded and used my ability. Golden light engulfed Kushner’s body. His HP jumped up to 41, then to 70. I followed it up with an application of Field Surgery, removing the Broken Arm condition. NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: CLEANSE TOXINS. REMOVES POISONS, TOXIC SUBSTANCES, AND PATHOGENS FROM THE BODY. LEVEL 1: REMOVE INTOXICATION. COST: 50 MP. Neat, a new skill. I used Cleanse Toxins to remove the condition ‘Intoxication’ from Kushner. As the man gathered his wits, I turned to Mr. Bean and used Heal on him, twice. “Oh, that’s tingly,” exclaimed Martin Bean, then blushed. “Sorry, involuntary reaction.” “Many people have described the sensation thus,” I commented. “Let me get you an escort home. How far are you?” “Our car’s a block over.” “Perfect. You drive, I’ll loom around in the back looking menacing, and that should help you get home safe.” “Belessar's midnight double date," read Anne, "was with two seniors from Perkins Way. At three a.m., the elusive ultrahuman was seen accompanying a retired schoolteacher and his husband home in their car. Speculation is rife about the relationship between the two men - both staunch Republicans - and Belessar. When contacted by this reporter for a comment, the ultrahuman’s office did not respond.” She put down her tablet. “You know, if you’d told me your interests lay that way, I could set you up with some cute guys.” “My ‘interests’ don’t lie any way. And why are you trying to set me up again?” “Sisterly responsibility. Besides, what about this office of yours they’re supposed to have contacted?” “I'm guessing they mean my e-mail address.” Anne frowned. “I read all of it yesterday …. Oh wait, there’s an e-mail from a reporter asking if you would like to comment on a story. Huh. That was sent at five a.m. and they want a response before going live with the story?” “Let’s not expect news reporters to be fair.” “Not this one, at least. Hey, I think you should check out the washing machine - there’s a strange beeping sound I can hear.” Now that Anne mentioned it, I could hear the beeps too. “That’s not the washing machine… Pager!” I raced over to the kitchen table. My SURGE pager had, indeed, lit up and started beeping. On it was a brief message: NEW YORK INCOMING ASSAULT 35 MINUTES I swore. “I’m grabbing my armour. Where are your bots?” “Assembling them. I assume this mean’s school’s out?” “Definitely. You stay here.” “Roger that. Bots will follow you. Where’s the assembly point?” “Stratospheric Guard HQ downtown. I’ll take the autocar to Passavant Street, then don my helmet.” I raced down the stairs and started grabbing my stuff. Battlehammer. Laser rifle. Sniper rifle. Fullersteel pilums - I had nine available, that would have to do. Armor on. I grabbed a Weightlifter’s Boon and gulped it down. With my boosted Carry Capacity, I stashed another set of Nanofibre Weave armor in inventory. Serums - I had three Jolt and five Adrenaline available. Should’ve made more. Into inventory they went. “Take a backup Weightlifter’s Boon,” suggested Anne. “I don’t have any,” I grumbled. “I thought we’d need one, maybe two at most, in reserve.” “Crap. What happens if you get encumbered?” “I’ll figure it out. Nanobots?” “Ready.” Anne handed me two boxes of cookies. “In case you get hungry. Or need a health boost.” OREO CREAM COOKIES: EACH PACKET PROVIDES +10 AP, +1 HP, PREVENTS HUNGER FOR 1 HOUR. “Thanks,” I nodded. “Stay safe.” “You stay safer.”