NO PLUMBERS ALLOWED: Shroom 3-7

Brockton Sewers, Floor B3 Base Camp

Director Piggot firmly believed that the fewer people that knew a secret the better. Armsmaster agreed on principle, of course, it was just common sense, but the fact was that he needed equipment down in the sewers and there was only so much he could carry down by himself. Some of the supplies he wanted, he hadn’t even been sure would fit in the pipe, but the pipes’ organic nature gave them a degree of elasticity that allowed everything through.

So far, at any rate. He could foresee issues in supply chains if some of his plans came to fruition. All the pipes they’d found--and they were pretty certain that they had almost found all of them by this point, thanks to Velocity’s efforts--had been uniform in size, but what he really wanted was one he could drive his motorcycle through.

Colin Wallis was only human. He would never admit it, but he had a vision of driving through a pipe in the Rig garage and appearing anywhere in the Bay in seconds like Batman emerging from the Batcave. It was an attractive image. He wanted to call Toymaker about the possibility, but there were numerous issues preventing that from happening anytime soon.

Toymaker--Taylor, he thought grumpily--had been extraordinarily busy the past week. He’d checked in and apparently she was attempting to outfit the entire DWU and most of the PRT in her armored clothing, which he respected. Unfortunately she was only making overalls at the moment, and they were too thick for him to wear under his armor even if marketing would allow it.

But that was for another time. For now, his issue was carrying materials, and that meant bringing troopers down to see the pipe. The Director had been reluctant to allow that, but Armsmaster wasn’t terribly inclined to care about her opinion at the moment given recent events, and she had eventually relented and allowed him two agents to act as his assistants.

One was Captain Amos, a former Army veteran that Director Piggot herself vouched for who had served the PRT for nearly the organization’s entire existence. The other was the much younger Private Franklin, who had joined the PRT straight out of high school three years ago and who Renick had suggested. Both were loyal and had glowing records, even as small as Franklin’s was, and the Director was confident that they could keep things under wraps until it was time.

“Alright,” Armsmaster said, setting his load down. “Set up right here while I prepare the drone.”

While he unloaded his crate, setting the rough oblong of metal and plastic to the side, Franklin and Amos began the process of setting up the folding tables and diagnostic equipment. Some of it he and Dragon had built, but others had been loaned or purchased from other Tinkers, and of course there were quite a few more mundane tools as well. Analyzing soil samples, air samples, water and perhaps plants if he could find them… He intended to leave no stone unturned.

Amos grumbled, handling the drill. “Sir, do we really need to set up the tents here? We’re underground, what good are they here?”

Armsmaster paused, letting the startup diagnostic continue on its own. “No, the tents are not for here,” he said. “I had hoped that would be self-evident.” Then he thought about it. “Although, my preliminary mapping attempts indicate that there is a sizable body of water directly above this room. There might be leaking, so perhaps we should.”

“It’s bone-dry in here, sir,” Franklin commented. A drop of water landed on his nose and he flinched. “More or less.”

Armsmaster shrugged, turning back to the drone. It could wait until the next visit. “Private, begin cordoning off the alternate entrances. We should have already prevented wandering citizens from getting into the pipe system, but one can never be too careful.”

The drone finished its startup and unfolded itself. Four spindly legs extended out, a camera-eyed head emerged from within the chest cavity, and a tail telescoped out behind, swishing back and forth. Once it was done it resembled a black, robotic gecko with a pair of antennae horns.

Armsmaster smiled. “Dragon, it’s wonderful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Dragon’s voice said from his earpiece. It crackled slightly from the effort of carrying her transmission so far underground. “I wasn’t sure what sort of environment to expect, so I opted for a climbing model. Ideal for dense cities, jungles, and rockery. It has weak repulsors in the feet allowing it to jump far and land softly, but their true purpose is to reverse and attract instead, allowing it to cling to surfaces as a lizard would. And of course, if it runs into any trouble…”

The drone’s mouth opened to reveal a series of sharp steel teeth that gleamed in the limited light.

“Outstanding.” Armsmaster retrieved the portable transceiver and connected it to a very long cable. “The first thing to do will be to place the transceiver on the other side, of course. I am uncertain just how long the pipe is even with its apparent space-folding properties, but I hope that what I’ve brought will be enough. Once a local connection is set up, the drone will be able to travel far afield and still send back images. And sound?” he asked.

“But of course.”

“Excellent.” He connected the other end of the cable to a mobile monitoring station, which also needed to startup before they could start. It was a courtesy, honestly, as he could have plugged it into his suit and watched it on his HUD, but if this ‘camp’ became long-term, it would do well to have a method of observation already established for others. Not to mention it would be terribly boring for his current company to have to just stand there while he, from their perspective, looked at thin air.

“Are you sure that you want to do this today?” Dragon asked suddenly.

“Certainly. Now that your camera drone is here there is no reason to delay.”

“One more day is unlikely to hurt anything. Toymaker just called the Director about the mushroom harvest being done. She’s sending two of her people to provide a demonstration for them and several other gadgets she’s put together today.”

Colin hesitated, but shook his head. “No, this is more important I’m afraid. I will have other opportunities to examine her work, but dealing with this is our top priority at the moment.” He stepped back from the console, making sure everything was in working order, and clicked on the monitor. The little drone’s POV lit up the screen, looking up at him from about knee height. Once certain it was working he turned to the drone and popped open a panel on its back, fitting the mostly-hollow interior with the vials it would be filling as it explored. “We are ready, Dragon. You may proceed at your leisure.”

The drone stood from its sitting position, moving more like a cat than a gecko, and grabbed the transceiver’s stand in its mouth. Colin noted that the teeth were now sheathed, leaving a grip pad that he hadn’t noticed behind them. It climbed on top of the crumbling brickwork pipe and dived in, a much deeper version of the usual sound accompanying it. The cable unrolled as it followed it down.

And then kept unrolling. And still more.

“Sir,” Amos said, clearing his throat. “Perhaps you should… unplug the cord from this end? In case it goes taut and pulls the machine over.”

Sound advice. Colin did so, and held his end in his hand as the coiled cord continued to fall. It was a very long cable, with this one roll twice the length of a football field at full extension. Without his suit, the cord itself might have been too heavy for him, and it was rapidly running out.

Luckily he brought two, and retrieved the second now, attaching it to the end of the first as it reached the end.

Three quarters of the way through the second cable, it came to an abrupt stop. Armsmaster felt the pipe pull gently on the cord in his hand for a brief second before it gave up, and he plugged it back in.

“Oh goodness…”

The image was of a kingdom in ruins.

-----------------------------------------

PRT ENE Main HQ - The Rig

Director Piggot folded her arms behind her back and looked down at the little brown Toad, who sneered back at her. Looking up, she saw the purple and blue ones carrying in boxes of their products, with that rabbit apparently supervising.

Not turning away from Tess T., Piggot said, “What’s the final status report, Agent Roberts?”

The young trooper glanced between the two and cleared his throat nervously. “I oversaw the harvest and according to Tess T. there were no failures or unviable growths. The delivery contains eighty basic red mushrooms, thirty-five blue Super Shrooms, and a total of fourteen Ultra Shrooms. They’ve also brought thirty Fire Flowers and six Ice Flowers, and a selection of miscellaneous other mushrooms.”

“Most of them don’t heal,” Rigel piped up. “But they have some interesting effects, so we thought you might be interested!”

The Director glowered at the rabbit for just long enough for his smile to start slipping, then turned back to facing Tess T. The little brat seemed to think that Emily couldn’t see her making those faces whenever she looked away.

Piggot finally determined the Toad wasn’t going to try anything just as Miss Militia clapped her hands, getting everyone’s attention.

“Thank you so much for completing the order in a timely fashion,” she said, “But I can’t help but notice that you’re unloading quite a few more boxes than those numbers imply. Do you have something else for us?”

Tess T. grumbled, looking nearly as unhappy as the blue Toad did. “The Princess,” she said, with heavy sarcasm, “is deeply apologetic about the recent events involving the pipe system and the concern caused by the new Toads.” She looked Piggot in the eyes, and the Director got the sense she was being issued a challenge, though for what she wasn’t sure. “She wants a friendly relationship with the PRT, and so she wishes to add to your order, free of charge.”

“Princess Thistle is just cool like that,” Fly confirmed, opening a large box and pulling out a pair of thin black overalls. “Check it!”

The Director suppressed a grimace and made a motion for Agent Joshua to grab the pants from Fly. The agent nodded to Miss Militia. “Care to help me demonstrate for them?” he said.

Miss Militia shrugged good-naturedly, and when Joshua held the overalls to the side, her weapon shifted to the PRT’s standard issue pistol and fired thrice. The clothes whipped back from the force of the blow, but swung back undamaged. Fly grabbed them from the bottom to pull it taut, and when she fired again the overalls caught the bullet like a fireman’s tarp catches a falling civilian, and the glowing bullet dropped to the floor harmlessly before dissipating.

The Director looked decidedly more impressed now. “Not bad,” she admitted. “Do they have to be overalls?”

“Toymaker is still getting used to the process,” Rigel said. “Once she’s got it down she could theoretically make any clothes armored like that. But for now, we brought twenty pairs for you.” He dug around in another crate. “Plus some hammers!”

Miss Militia walked over and lifted a hammer out of the box, curious. Her weapon appeared in her hand, and after a moment’s concentration it changed to match. The green hammer flickered oddly, like TV static, before stabilizing. She tossed it in the air, testing its weight, and hummed appreciatively. “It’s got an odd feel to it, doesn’t it?”

Piggot looked over everything, thinking. The overalls were at least black, which meant that she could equip some of her agents and as long as they wore the typical flak jacket it would still look normal. The hammers… well, she didn’t think they would be useful. It was ill-advised to engage most parahumans in close quarters, but she’d leave it up to the agents themselves. If they wanted one instead of the usual knife, that was their prerogative.

Still, something was bothering her. “Is there any particular reason Toymaker isn’t giving the demonstration herself?” she asked.

Tess glared. “Gee, I wonder.”

Rigel stepped between them, spreading his arms in a ‘what-can-you-do’ sort of gesture. “She’s prototyping.”

“I doubt she even noticed we left,” Tess scoffed. “Mr. Hebert was the one who had to arrange this whole thing, the Princess is laser-focused right now.”

The Director nodded slowly. “I’m familiar with the phenomenon. Do you know what she’s working on?”

“A magic wand,” Rigel said, sounding disinterested.

Pardon? “A magic wand,” she repeated incredulously.

“Yeah. You need talent to use it to its full potential, but just about anyone can at least use it to shoot a kind of… magic blast, or something. I never really cared about magic outside of a power source.” Rigel turned to continue unpacking, while a number of troopers likewise began collecting the healing items.

Miss Militia and Director Piggot shared a look. Piggot decided to think of it in terms she didn’t find ridiculous. “An equippable Blaster power is nothing to scoff at,” she said carefully.

“Eh.” Rigel pulled out another hammer and pretended to inspect it. “She’ll probably have to make a Magikoopa to have someone who can really use it, but first she has to actually make it.” He looked up. “So, can we show you how to work the Fire Flowers now?”

Yes, that was probably for the best. Piggot wanted to think about that instead of whatever a ‘magikoopa’ was. “Yes, let’s move to the testing range.”

As they walked, Miss Militia fell into step beside her.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to be a little less hostile, Director,” she said quietly.

“This is me being less hostile,” Piggot replied. Then she sighed. “I know. I’m trying, I promise that I am.”

“You still haven’t told me what you did that made Armsmaster so upset with you.”

“And I don’t intend to. As long as things continue as they have, that incident will never have to be mentioned again,” she said firmly.

Miss Militia looked dubious at that, but decided to drop the subject. Perhaps she’d press Colin about it later.

--------------------------------------

Toymaker’s Workshop

Okay, this is easy. You’re only walking into a Tinker’s lab. Dennis sighed heavily. This fogged up the inside of his mask, which allowed him an excuse to wait as the fog cleared up. He felt unaccountably nervous, and it was honestly kind of ridiculous. He’d talked to Toymaker before, and they’d gotten along decently well, but a Tinker’s personal inventing area wasn’t ever somewhere you should enter incautiously.

Granted, his experience with the subject was limited. Armsmaster hardly let anyone into his lab, but the few times Dennis had gone inside, he hadn’t missed the outmoded halberds left on display, or the exposed sparking wires--or, once, an unidentified black orb four inches across that had been kept suspended between two giant electromagnets each the size of a car. Clock still didn’t know what that was about, but after seeing it he’d experienced more static shocks in the week that followed than the entire rest of his life combined.

As for Kid Win? Chris was great, but Dennis was very careful not to touch anything in his room, not since he sat on Kid’s hoverboard before it was done and almost got pancaked into the ceiling. If he hadn’t been in costume, he’d have seriously gotten hurt.

People thought Clockblocker was the funny comic relief guy, and he was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t careful. He’d spent too much time in hospitals already.

But he was no coward, and he’d met Toymaker several times already, so Clock knocked on the door and waited.

The guy who answered was not Toymaker, on account of being about three times wider at the shoulders and also black. Clock had to take a step back in order to look up at him. He was wearing black overalls and a yellow short-sleeved shirt, and it didn’t look silly at all--or at least that’s what he’d say if the big guy asked.

Am I being sarcastic, or not?

Clockblocker cleared his throat. “Uh, hello? Is this the right secret workshop? The Docks are a big place, I might have the wrong address.”

The big guy stared at him. “If you’re here to pick up the order, you just missed them. They should already be at the Rig.”

“What? No, I’m just here to hang,” he said, internally wincing. “And, maybe, see about getting some of those stopwatches.”

“Hang, huh?” The guy snorted.  “Well we’re all out of rope, so you might as well come in instead.” He opened the door fully and let him in.

Clock stepped inside, absently rubbing his neck, and took it all in. It was a freaking mess. Every wall was covered in slapped-together shelves jam-packed with… Well, they defied description, but he recognized what half-finished projects looked like. A half-disassembled machine with a glass globe filled with glowing fluid stood in one corner, and in the middle of the floorspace four tables had been brought together to form one big work desk. One of the tables had clearly only just been made; possibly right in this room, if the sawdust was any indication.

The yellow Toad was spinning in a swivel chair on one side, the black bomb Nobel was standing on a stool, and in a worn folding chair sat Toymaker, hunched over a device that was slowly taking shape.

She was facing away from him, which was good because she wasn’t wearing her mask.

Dennis averted his gaze on reflex. “Aw geez, I didn’t realize she wasn’t decent!”

Nobel looked over. “Hey, clock guy. I don’t think I got your name. Hey Brian, Boss’s mask is on the counter, could you--?”

The big guy walked over and gently lowered the bandanna in front of Toymaker’s face, then tied it over her face. She did not react in any appreciable way.

Content that her ‘modesty’ was restored, Clock stepped over to wave a hand in front of her face. Her uncovered eyes remained totally focused on the thing in front of her, not even blinking.

He whistled. “Wow, I’ve seen some Tinker fugues before, and she is deep in it.”

“Yeah,” Brian agreed, leaning against the table. “Been like this for three days straight, since I brought her home Friday. I’m kind of worried if we’ll be able to get her to sleep tonight.”

“Boss is making up for lost time,” Nobel said, hopping from the stool to the table. He nudged a screwdriver out of place just as she reached for it, and she grasped at the wood grain for several seconds.

“NOBEL!” she hollered, making everyone present jump. “I need a flathead screwdriver!”

“In a sec Boss. We got company.”

“What?” She twisted around in her chair, rubbing her chin. “When did I put my mask on--Oh, hello Brian, when did you get here?”

He sighed. “I brought you that burger three hours ago, remember?”

“Oh right.” Then her eyes refocused and she saw Clockblocker as well. “Oh. Hey. How’d the demonstration go?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did the Director send you?”

“I mean, kind of? Armsmaster asked me and Vista to check up on you every now and then,” Dennis said. “I don’t know what Piggot said to you the other day, but I still wanted to see how you were doing. She can be nasty….”

Toymaker turned back to her tinkering. “That’s nice of you,” she said, distracted. “Hey, do you want a new pair of gloves?” she said, swinging back around and handing him something Bugs Bunny would wear.

“Uh, no thanks.” Clockblocker flexed his hands, showing off the way his costume exposed his fingertips. “I can’t really wear gloves, see.”

“I was thinking of you when I made them, actually,” Toymaker said as if he hadn’t spoken. “It was tricky, but I think I figured out a way to extend your range from contact to short-range.”

Dennis blinked, then took the gloves without a word and stuffed them in his pocket.

“...You’re not going to try them out?”

“I’ll test them out back at HQ,” he promised, turning to look at Nobel, who kind of looked amused. Brian was no help either. Instead he looked at the Toad, who had continued spinning in place the entire time he’d been there. “What’s up with him?”

Toymaker followed his look. “Who? Oh, Cheers! Stop that, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Yes, Princess!” Cheers reached out and grabbed the table, bringing the chair to a sudden stop. Cheers, however, kept spinning for a little longer and tripped over the arm of the chair and tumbled over into the floor. “I’m okay! Wow, Princess Thistle, how’d you get the roof to spin like that?”

“Princess Thistle?” Clockblocker laughed. “That’s a strange one, you don’t act like a pri--hm.” He trailed off, because Toymaker had found the screwdriver and gone back to working.

“Yeah,” Brian said. “I haven’t been here long, but she’s like that.”

“You don’t have to stick around, Brian,” Toymaker said, apparently not completely focused yet. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Brian and Nobel exchanged a look that had Dennis suppressing a laugh. “Sure you don’t, T.”

“And when was the last time you drank anything, Boss?” Nobel asked innocently.

Toymaker stopped, thinking. Clock heard her smack her lips. “...I am a bit parched, actually.”

Cheers jumped up, thumping his head against the table before standing, apparently uncaring of the bump already forming on his cap. “I’ll get you something, Princess!” He ran, unsteadily, out the door.

Toymaker sighed. “They’re like big, dumb children,” she said fondly. “And absolutely nothing to be upset about, Director,” she added under her breath.

“Harsh,” Clockblocker noted.

Brian shook his head. “No, she’s right. I don’t think I’d say dumb, but aside from Tess they aren’t all there.”

“Anyway,” Clock said, sitting in Cheers’ chair. “What’s that you’re working on?”

Nobel closed his eyes.

At first, Clock took it to mean he’d made a mistake in asking, but then he saw Brian cover his eyes as well, and then he wished he had too because Toymaker picked up what she was working on and pointed it at him.

“Say cheese!”

“Wh--” And then the entire world turned white. “Ow!”

“It’s called the Strobulb!” she explained as his vision slowly came back. “It’s basically a flashbang without the bang. It’s an attachment for my vacuum; I’ve decided to start carrying it around more. I’m going to need to make some new goggles too, something that can block out excessive light.”

“That would be useful,” he agreed, blinking away the stars. “Thanks for the light show by the way, real flashy.”

He vaguely noted her pointing at something, or at least that’s what he thought she was doing. “Over there is the Gravitator, which can focus on specific targets and alter their personal gravity; I made it out of an old washing machine, it’s not done yet.”

“What?” He could almost see again, so he was able to make it out when she pressed a metal baseball bat into his hands.

“Try this out, I want to see if you can do something with it.”

Bemused, Clock stood and swung the bat a few times, but then she jerked it out of his grip and popped the top of it. Clock blinked, and his vision finally cleared enough for him to see what she’d actually handed him.

It had certainly started as a metal bat, but about halfway up from the grip it had been cut in two and then riveted back together. The tip of the bat had been replaced by a shallow bowl, and a large blue glass ball had been placed in the cup. This glass she had now removed and was fiddling with something in the space it had occupied. Whatever she was doing, once it was done she popped the orb back on and handed it back to him.

“Try now.”

He gave it a halfhearted wave, then actually pointed it at something that looked unimportant and tried to make something happen.

Toymaker leaned in, looking excited. “Did you see that?! Nobel, did you see the orb light up just then?”

The Bomb tilted his head. “I… think it might have been light from the window, Boss.”

She grumbled. “Try again!”

He did, but whatever she wanted to see, it wasn’t happening.

“Great,” she groaned, taking it from him. “I’ve been working on and off on this all week, but no one can get anything out of it! The most I’ve been able to do is make it glow on command, but I can’t make it do anything else.” She demonstrated the glow before setting it aside.

“What’s it supposed to do?” Dennis asked, curious.

“It’s a magic wand,” she explained. “It’d be best if I used silver, gold, or an alloy thereof, but I was hoping that that didn’t matter much. I used a bat as the base so it can be a good melee weapon too, but…” She broke off with a sigh.

Clock grinned. “Man, sounds like you’ve really struck out with this one.”

Toymaker glared at him. “Very funny.”

“Hey, no one bats a thousand. Maybe you just need to cover your bases. Maybe I can pitch some ideas?”

“Hey.” She poked him with the wand, trying not to smile. “Knock it off.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe you need to put it through its paces?” He stood up and pointed a thumb at the door. “You haven’t had much chance to practice with your stuff, have you?”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying she should, what, spar with you?”

Clock shrugged in an exaggerated way. “Could be. It helped me and Vista get used to what we could do.”

“And you can use those gloves!” Toymaker added.

“Sure, that too.”

“Well, I’m ready to try anything,” she said, getting up. Her back popped as she stood to her full height. “Ack, what the heck?”

“T, you’ve been sitting in that chair for nearly eight hours,” Brian told her. “Maybe some exercise is a good idea after all, come on.” He popped his knuckles. “Might even be fun.”

Clockblocker suddenly regretted his choices.

--------------------------------------

Cheers skipped happily, eyes closed. He didn’t bother to look where he was going in the absolute surety that he’d end up where he meant to go. The Princess needed a drink! He didn’t know where drinks were, but he was sure he’d find one if he wandered for long enough! It was simple probability. There was a non-zero amount of drink in the world, therefore he’d find it by chance sooner or later.

Cheers seemed hyper on the surface, but in fact he was probably the most patient of his siblings. After all, if he hurried all over the place, he wouldn’t have time to stop and smell the roses!

Oh, that was a good idea! They should tear up some of this drab concrete and make flower plots! The docks were all gray and drab and boring, some color would really liven things up!

He wondered what roses smelled like. Probably like a rose. He knew what Fire and Ice Flowers smelled like! Cinnamon and mint, respectively, in sufficient concentration to burn the sinuses. That meant they were strong! He was pretty sure! Chief seemed to think so!

Cheers ran into a pole, but his cap didn’t really feel pain much so he just bounced off and grabbed on, twirling around twice or thrice before taking off in a new random direction. He felt like singing! Except it wasn’t raining and he didn’t know any songs. Maybe the Chief would like a radio in the garden!

“Oof!” He ran into something else now, something big and square and hollow and faintly humming. That was enough traits for a thing to have that he felt inclined to open his eyes, and found himself standing in front of a vending machine.

“Oh yeah,” he said out loud. “This absolutely validates my poor decisions!”

It was dusty and dented but it still had power, and he had to assume that meant there was something inside.

“Hello, I’d like one drinks, please!” Cheers said. He knocked on the machine, and something inside rattled at him. Judging by the blinking green lights on one side above the selection buttons, it wanted money. “Can you put it on my tab?”

It could not put it on his tab. This required some thinking.

Before he could engage in the terrible ordeal of thought, Cheers was distracted by his current dilemma by a not-so-distant clanging, perhaps of an upturned garbage can, which was rude. Maybe it was the Chomp wandering off! Which if that was the case he should probably go fetch her, she was pretty far out from her normal stomping grounds.

Cheers paused and looked around. He had no idea where he was.

Oh well. He went towards the sound, coming to a slightly-more-dilapidated-than-normal building, where he followed the wall until he came to the corner. The Docks weren’t just the waterfront, of course, there were streets that went blocks and blocks into the city that were still technically part of the DWU compound. He knew he was still on DWU property because he never ran into a fence. It must have been really important back in the day, to have so much land.

Speaking of the perimeter fence, there it was! Just ahead, there was a great big gap where it looked like a car had crashed straight through and then it had just never been repaired. He was currently looking out from a one-lane road into the parking lot of a truly enormous warehouse, the biggest one he’d seen so far. Weather-worn signs suggested it had once been a factory for ammunition, but it had clearly been gutted ages ago, since there was a great big hole in one wall and there was nothing but empty shelves inside.

On the opposite side from where the fence was broken was an actual gate, which had fallen over ages ago. There were a few ruined cars in the lot, one of which still had tires, and a trio of abandoned trailers off to one side. Streetlights were spaced throughout the lot, though it was still too light out to know if any of them worked still. The parking spaces had all faded away, and grass grew from places where the asphalt had cracked.

There was also a gang war brewing.

Cheers watched, smiling aimlessly, as on one side a bunch of burly bald men were stepping through the gate, and on the other wiry young men decked in red, yellow, and green crawled through the hole in the fence. Cheers stepped back into the side-road, slightly behind a yellow fire hydrant.

“Get outta here, trash!” one skinhead yelled, waving a knife around. “As of today, you’re standing on Empire ground!”

The more colorful people laughed, infuriating the others. “Oh, are we? You are a long way from your side of town, white boy!”

Cheers watched them as they started edging closer to each other, making threatening and racist statements to each other.

“...Man, there’s no drinks here either.”

Ahem.

Someone next to him handed him a can of--Cheers read the label--Sprite. It was even cold!

“Hey, thanks, pal!”

The masked figure waved the thanks away, kicking at the ground shyly. Then they stepped behind a light pole and vanished.

Weird! But inconsequential, because now he had what he came for. Cheers ignored the brewing battle behind him and decided to retrace his steps the only way he knew how.

He closed his eyes and started skipping.

------------------------------------

The Rig

Rigel held out the Fire Flower to the volunteer. “Here, give it a try!”

The trooper held the flower dubiously. “Sure, and how do I do that exactly?”

“Um…” Rigel scratched behind one ear. “The ones we grew on--I mean, the ones I’m used to are actually weaker versions that were bred for looks and hardiness instead of practical use, and they function a little differently, um…” He shrugged. “Try eating it?”

The trooper looked unimpressed, but he complied. He sniffed at the flower, wincing at the overpowering cinnamon scent. Then he took a bit of petal. His eyes widened as the flower melted in his mouth, and then something peculiar happened.

First, the trooper’s eyes watered and he started gasping as the sheer spiciness of the flower petals made him regret being alive. Luckily, he didn’t suffer for long, because the second thing that happened was that his standard uniform turned from the regulation black and gray to something decidedly more colorful. The bodysuit turned snow white, the armor pieces turned red, and the belts and straps holding everything on turned yellow.

Most importantly for the trooper, the spiciness became considerably more tolerable.

The entire flower shriveled up, turning dry and brown, while the eyespots shifted to look ‘closed.’

While he recovered from his meal, Rigel clapped his paws happily. “Oh good, that worked! Hopefully in the future we can figure out less unpleasant ways to use it! What did it taste like? I’ve never tried one.”

“God, I don’t know,” he rasped. “It was too hot to taste anything.” He inspected his uniform with interest. “I wasn’t expecting this. Is that normal?”

“Yep!” Rigel stepped back. “Now, hold your hands like thi--uh.” He cut off, looking at his nubby digits. “Okay, kind of cup your hands--no, make like claws?”

“Why are you the one doing this again?” the trooper muttered, but he complied. He splayed his fingers out and then bent them inward, thinking of the lingering heat on his tongue.

A ball of flame sparked to life on his palm, suddenly enough that he jerked, dropping the fireball and sending both man and rabbit scrambling as it bounced off the wall back at them again and again before collapsing into embers the tenth time it hit the floor.

Rigel beamed. “Great! You practice, while I go away to where there isn’t fire.”

The trooper inspected his hand with cautious wonder as Rigel entered the observation booth.

Tess looked up from a clipboard and scowled at him. “Rabbit.”

“Hi,” he said with a bland smile. “My name is Rigel.”

“Whatever.” She turned her attention back to the clipboard, so Rigel turned to the Director instead.

“What do you think, ma’am?”

Director Piggot stared into the testing room with barely-restrained glee. “How long does this last? And how strong are those fireballs?”

“Uh, the fireballs vary?” Rigel said uncertainly. “They kind of do what you want. They burn things, obviously, but only kind of? It’s complicated, and I’m not a botanist. But getting hit by a fireball is kind of like getting hit by a punch that gives you a sunburn.”

“Good to know, but is it temporary or permanent?” she pressed, turning to look down at him.

“It’s kind of permanent? If the flower was healthy--”

“And it was,” Tess snapped.

“--Then the powerup will last until you take a really big blow. If he takes a hit or that would have broken a bone, or caused major bleeding, then instead it just kind of hurts and the powerup goes away.”

“Pyrokinesis and a one-time shield?” Piggot summed up. “I can work with that. Oh yes.”

A man in a lab coat overseeing the tests looked over. “We’ll need to run our own more in-depth tests, since these are just to confirm that the… flowers… work at all, but do you know if he could eventually do more than just fireballs?”

Rigel shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Tess rolled her eyes. “I thought you were the expert here, rabbit.”

“I’m an engineer, Tess, not a botanist,” he protested. “Everyone knows the basics of how Fire Flowers work, but I never learned the details.”

“Everyone knows, huh?” Piggot said quietly, thinking. Before she could decide whether or not to ask, a clerk entered the room with the blue Toad following.

“Director,” the clerk nodded. “We’ve counted over the harvest, and it seems a few mushrooms are unaccounted for?”

Piggot looked at Tess, who shrugged. “I planted a hundred and fifty shrooms, and the ones that grew correctly are the ones I brought you. The rest were volt shrooms, a few poison shrooms I kept for turning into fertilizer, and that one crazy plot that kind of scares me and I still don’t know what’s going on with it.”

“Alright,” the clerk acknowledged, “but you said you brought us 80 red mushrooms, and we only counted seventy-eight.”

Tess scoffed. “What, you’re going to grill me over two mushrooms? It’s probably just the help not being able to count properly.”

The blue Toad nodded, tearing up. “Probably… It’d be just like me to screw up something as s-simple as counting…”

Tess groaned in annoyance. “Oh, hush you. I didn’t--”

Piggot cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, I’d feel more comfortable knowing for certain that it was a clerical error than being left to wonder. We don’t want these fungi getting into the wild.”

Tess T. actually laughed at that. “Do you know how hard I had to work to grow these things in the most ideal environment we could find? No, if someone dropped them somewhere they’ll just dry out and wither, not take root. There’s not enough Power in the air to support them.” She waved the concerns away and turned her attention back to the clipboard, where she was sketching something.

The Director scowled, not appreciating the flippancy, but then the test room lit up gold and the researchers made noises of awe and appreciation. “We’re not done talking about this,” she promised. “If any wild mushrooms start popping up, there will be consequences.” Having said her piece, she turned back to the observation station and addressed the researchers. “Alright, what happened?”

Rigel, seeing that no one needed him at the moment, hopped over to Tess and tried to look over her shoulder.

Tess jerked the paper away. “Can I help you?”

“Whatcha drawing?”

“I’m plotting out a new farm layout,” she said testily. “Something hopefully a little more efficient than what we just got done with. Speaking of, I’d much rather be there going ahead and planting the new crop.” Tess held the clipboard under her arm and glared at him. “I know why you have to be here, know-it-all, but why’d I have to come? I’ve barely done anything other than introduce us, and I’m not built for diplomacy. Why didn't you bring Jubilee, or the silver one?”

“Sterling took the day off, and Jubilee didn’t want to go without Grape, who didn’t want to come,” Rigel said.

“Well, what about Nobel?”

Rigel twitched. “I don’t want to talk about Nobel.”

Tess eyed him, suspicious. But then she decided she didn’t care. “Fine, whatever. Go back to your demonstration I guess while I try to figure out if we missed a mushroom somewhere.”

Rigel huffed. “Maybe I will.” He returned his attention to the window into the test room.

Gloom, the blue Toad, looked between the two of them and sighed. “Maybe I shouldn't have come either, I’m bringing down the mood…”

“Hush, Gloom, you’re doing fine,” Tess said, not looking up.

------------------------------------

The Docks

Brian watched, bemused. He’d started out trying to show them some self-defense moves. Diverting punches, spotting tells, how to make a proper fist, that sort of thing. Things Clockblocker mostly knew already and that Taylor absorbed and then immediately forgot.

But it was clear they weren’t really taking it seriously, especially right now. Taylor had grabbed her vacuum and was blowing air out of it in Clock’s direction to push him back, while he was slowly walking against wind with one gloved hand outstretched, trying to get within range to freeze her.

As it happened, he was currently moonwalking against his will.

“So, those Toads,” Clockblocker said, raising his voice to be heard over the Poltergust. “What are they, like, reverse Smurfs?”

Taylor blinked, cutting the power and stepping backwards as he stumbled forward without the wind blocking him. “What now?”

“You know, instead of little blue people in mushroom houses, they’re mushroom people in little blue houses?” Clock rolled his wrist with one finger extended. “They’d even got the whole, each one has a singular personality trait, thing.”

“Well--”

“We aren’t like that!” Cheers announced as he came back from wherever he’d got off to. “We don’t have houses!” he added cheerfully.

“Er.” Clock gave her a look despite not having a viewable face.

Taylor took the can from Cheers’ hand. “We’re working on that,” she explained. “But D--Mr. Hebert’s having trouble finding a cheap apartment willing to accept the Toads.”

Nobel metaphorically lit up. “Last I saw, that red Toad was building little shelters for all of them out of old pallets and tarps.” He shrugged. “Didn’t look half bad considering he was doing it all by himself, but still.”

Taylor took a thoughtful pose, then pulled out a notebook and started writing. Brian sighed.

“If we can commandeer another warehouse in good condition, maybe we can get some curtain dividers, and give each of them their own space. Maybe make some proper separating walls out of those pallets? I’m not really comfortable letting them live in what is basically a shanty town.”

Cheers beamed. “Aw, thanks Princess, but Nass has been working so hard on it. I offered to help, but he said he wanted to do it himself so he could make sure his house was bigger than everyone else’s.” Before anyone could respond to that, he bounced in place. “Oh, but if you do that, you know, I just saw a really big warehouse! If you make more of us, it’ll have room for, like, a hundred! Maybe more.”

Nobel tilted his head. “Oh yeah? Where was that?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention!” the Toad said. “But it was around where those two gangs were having a turf war in that general direction,” he told them, gesturing vaguely inland.

Everyone else stared at him.

Clockblocker cleared his throat. “Uh, how far away was this, exactly?”

Cheers put a hand to his chin, sticking out his tongue as he thought. “I don’t know exactly, but it was roughly 632 skips to get there, and 574 skips back. The kind of skipping where you do the twisty thing with your body actually. Kind of like a horse…”

The toad prattled on and on as he began demonstrating what a skip was distance-wise. It was pretty impressive, actually; he didn’t get much height, but he cleared nearly four feet forward with every hop.

Taylor mouthed some quick calculations. “...That’s a little more than half a mile.”

Brian cursed. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be keeping the gangs away from here?” he accused Clockblocker.

“Wh--n--me?!” Clock sputtered. “First of all, I never had anything to do with that before today. Secondly, there’s fewer PRT agents than you think, and we need them everywhere all the time. Third,” he finished, pausing as he thought of a third thing, “...Well, this is old Brockton, right? Lots of little side-streets to cover. No one can get them all.”

Taylor groaned. “I’m not ready to be involved in a turf war yet! I need--I need Rigel, he can give me options.”

Nobel made a raspberry sound that had Clock looking at him in bewilderment. “Pfft, come on, Boss. All that stuff’s in your head already. Do you really need the kid to hold your hand?”

“No, but it would help,” Taylor said.

“What you need is something with stopping power,” Brian said. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but from what I’ve seen so far the only thing you’ve got with any real force is the dog-thing. Cici,” he said at Taylor’s glare. “But she’s kind of hard to control.”

Taylor nodded, thinking. She sat down on the ground and began muttering, sketching and scrawling and scribbling things out furiously for several minutes. Clock tried to ask what she was doing, only for Nobel to shush him.

“I can think of a number of things that could deal with this,” Toymaker mused out loud as she came to a decision. She flipped to a fresh page and began a much more organized list. “But they’d take time to build, and resources I don’t have yet. No… I didn’t want to do this so soon, but I might have to.”

She finished and ripped the page out, handing it up to Clockblocker.

“What is this?” he asked.

“A minion request for the Director. I promised I wouldn’t make any more without her permission.” She frowned, frustrated. “I don’t think she’s going to like me making a request so soon.”

Clock frowned under his mask and skimmed over the page. “Neat handwriting,” he noted absently. “What’s a Koopaling?”