71-72 - Patiently and In So Much Trouble

71 - Patiently

Wednesday, December 3

- - - - -

Collidus was not true to his word, and it was pissing me off.

It’d been four days, and we were deep in finals week. I’d texted him daily asking for updates, but he kept putting me off. Apparently—and uncharacteristically—he kept saying he was ‘scouting’ or ‘planning.’

<Who are you and what did you do with Collidus? - Understudy 5:24>

Whatever he had planned, I hoped it worked, even though the waiting was killing me. We’d tinkered with the Code of Ethics on Monday—only three teams had shown up. Punch, Grapple, The Crumb, and Flare were obviously confident in their Code. Jennifer and Robert, the two pre-law Extras, were not more chill with Doctor Jackson out of the room. It took almost two hours—Gourmet left to get us lunch twice, apologizing after she ate it all the first time—but we had something that the two pre-law students agreed was…not great, but at least serviceable.

It’d have to do. Superpower Ethics was just one class of many, and Doctor Mindstorm had stressed the importance of passing my classes. Academic probation sounded terrible: mandatory weekly meetings with my advisor, enrollment in a twice-weekly study hall class, and constant email check-ups on my classes’ progress. I didn’t want any of that, so between studying and taking finals in Post-Launch Day North American History and Intro to Drama, I’d been too busy to plan about fighting Professor Panic again.

With nothing much to do, I found myself in the library—gasp—studying for Ilneat Relations. I’d be taking that final tomorrow, and—

My phone buzzed.

<Hey, Understudy. Im in Prof Ps lair! - Collidus 11:37>

<I told you to break into his bedroom - Understudy 11:37>

<Did you find anything out - Understudy 11:38>

He’d done it. The little shit had followed through. Not only that, but he was inside Peter’s lair. How the hell had he pulled that off? I’d hunted for that damn lair for months! My stupid Ilneat Relations textbook vanished into my backpack.

This time, my phone rang.

“Hello?” I stood up from my place in the library, smiling apologetically at the other studying students as I fled the quiet, expansive room.

“Hey, so Professor Panic has way too much security on his computer. When I messed up the password, I got attacked by Panic Pals. Then, I tried again, and the whole thing melted. Like, actually melted. It looks like metallic mac and cheese now. But I did find out something interesting.”

“What? What’d you find?”

“You and Professor Panic were in love! Panic and Understudy, sitting in a tree!”

I took a deep breath. “Collidus, what about where he is?” That little shit was being a brat, and I needed Professor Panic’s location.

“So, the computer melted down. The rest of the room was pretty much empty. But I did find a sticky note on his desk. Most of it was charred and scorched, but there’s something about a submarine. I don’t know why he’d need one of those. We’re in the middle of North America.”

“A sub? I have no idea why he’d be looking for a—“ It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I stared down the concrete path. The S.U.B. Dozens of students walked back and forth from the dorm towers to the short, squat Student Union Building. And somewhere below it, Professor Panic lurked, plotted his next move, or waited for me to mess up with all the superheroes on patrol. “Thanks, Collidus.”

“No problem. When are you—“ He didn’t have a chance to finish. I’d already hung up.

<Do you have finals today? - Annie 11:41>

I was already running toward Walnut Tower. They’d finished my room two nights ago, and they’d added reinforcements to the windows so they’d break less easily. It was good to be home, even if the bed wasn’t quite the same or if my new coffee table needed a folded-up piece of paper under one of the legs to stop it from rocking. I had a lead for the first time all week, and it’d be enough. I was going to end this Series Finale. Tonight. Once and for all.

<Yeah one this afternoon. - Bianca 11:42>

<Meet me at 1301 at 630. Bring your backpack <3 - Annie 11:42>

◄▼►

The Third Ilneat Compact, as it’s commonly referred to on Earth, allowed limited Ilneat presences in all major Earth cities. In exchange, continued Post-Launch clean-up efforts continued in the Everglades, near former Alice Springs, Australia—which, for some reason, attracted a disgusting number of nuclear strikes for a tiny town—and the Ganges Watershed. While those clean-up efforts were important, the real benefit from the TIC was the cultural exchange with the Ilneats themselves.

I did not want to write this stupid essay. I was supposed to argue the significance of the Third Ilneat Compact, but Peter was so close. All it’d take was me turning in what I had—I was confident I’d nailed the multiple choice section after all my visits with Rocko and Pataki—and taking a loss on the essay. My hand was writing, but I wasn’t really thinking.

Bianca—Fursona was the one I needed, but Bianca all the same—was in a science final, putting the last bits of data in from some experiment. She wouldn’t be done for another hour, so there wasn’t any point in rushing. Instead, I kept writing.

Elephants react similarly to seeing humans as humans do to kittens and puppies. They think we’re cute. Similarly, the Ilneat Empire thought humanity—or at least human media—was cute, cool, or entertaining. The continued Earth-wide contract as a studio world represents humanity’s part of that cultural exchange, but Ilneat contributions to humanity’s culture have an understated but profound impact on the theater.

One of the major impacts on theater (and also on music) was hyper-acoustic coating. Though expensive and fragile, hyper-acoustic materials and, especially, coatings allow for unique, non-acoustic theater and auditorium shapes. They can also be used to make certain sounds, like those common in Ilneat music, audible to human ears. Hyper-acoustics have opened up a whole new level of depth in music and new theater productions, both musical and traditional plays.

I kept writing. Every few lines, I stared at the clock as it crept closer to the end of the day, or I glanced at Doctor Quailman to see if he was as bored as we were. He stared at his computer, typing, then reading, then taking a quick look over the room. No one else had gotten up, so I kept writing.

The sun was descending below the wall by the time I finally finished what I hoped was a viable final essay on the Third Ilneat Compact. I turned it in, ignoring Doctor Quailman’s shocked look at how quickly I’d finished, and left the classroom. I’d pass or fail; whatever happened would happen, but I had other things on my mind.

◄▼►

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Bianca said. She gave me a quick kiss and started unpacking the Fursona costume.

“It’s fine. Let’s get ready.” I was already suited up as Understudy, this time with both Rainy Day and Lab Assistant Panic equipped and ready to go. I’d made a few adjustments to each build. Both Costumes now carried [Check the Script], while, with a ton of regret, I’d changed out Understudy’s [Hometown Heroine] for [Flickerform]. I wasn’t happy about it, but there weren’t enough power slots to cover everything, and with two [Adaptive Armoire] costumes, I needed the flexibility. The minor leagues would open up a slot or two, I hoped.

I watched and talked while Bianca pulled off her coat, sweater, and fuzzy leggings, stripping down to shorts and a spaghetti-strap top. “He’s in the Student Union Building. I’m pretty sure SSS members are helping him out. There have to be—he’s in too many on-campus lairs. So, what we’re going to do—here, let me help you buckle in—is break in, take him down quickly, and try to get the police there for the arrest anonymously. We need to move fast and hit him before he can get into the FEAR Power Armor.”

“That buckle attaches to my head,” Bianca said. She pulled the head on, and I saw how it worked. I strapped her into the suit, and Fursona stretched. “Thanks, Understudy.”

“No problem.”

We stepped into the elevator; the moment we did, the Style System hit us with a message.

[Absent-Hearted Professor Pt. 2: Act One in Progress]

“So, Professor Panic probably posits our plan,” Fursona quipped.

“Shut it. It’s still going to work.” The elevator door opened. “We’ll head to Ash Hall and go from there. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to sneak out through the curfew.”

“Sure.” Fursona and I hurried furtively down the hall. I kept looking over my shoulder, and so did Fursona. As we exited into the Ash Hall basement, she paused. “Which major leaguer is on duty tonight?”

“I’m not sure. Hopefully, it’s Stella-Luna.” If it was a Triad member, we’d be screwed if they caught sight of us; they’d call the whole team in, whereas Stella-Luna—hopefully—wouldn’t be able to summon backup. Maybe we could outrun her or find a place to hide. But ideally, we wouldn’t run into the guest security on campus or, worse, a super-powered professor.

We ducked out Ash Hall’s door, nodding at a couple in the common room who were…being wildly inappropriate for a public space. He nodded back while she blushed. “Nothing wrong with what you’re doing, but maybe take it back to your room?” I suggested.

Then we were outside. Somewhere out here, a major league hero was on patrol. And I was becoming increasingly certain that the Student Supervillain Society was plotting with Professor Panic.

We couldn’t use the main path; that much was obvious, so we crunched through the snowdrift-covered grass. About halfway to the Student Union Building, in the middle of darting from one tree to the next, Fursona held up her hand and pointed. “That guy looks familiar,” she said.

I followed her pointing paw. A faintly glowing figure dashed across the quad ahead of us, leaving behind melted footprints in the crusty snow that steamed. “Is that Flare?” I whispered.

It was. Fursona and I followed the speedster as best we could, creeping a few hundred feet behind him as he headed toward the Student Union Building and an oddly-placed delivery entrance.

“That’s where he is,” I said. “Let’s take Flare out and break in before any other villains appear.”

As the spark-themed little leaguer arrived at the delivery door and started typing a code into a keypad conveniently hidden in a power outlet, I used [Bit-Part Barrage].

I’d say he never saw it coming, but the spotlight gave it away.

[Dramatic Damage! +1 Drama Point Pending]

[Dramatic Damage! +1 Drama Point Pending]

[Dramatic Damage! +1 Drama Point Pending]

[Dramatic Damage! +1 Drama Point Pending]

Fursona leaped across the freezing cold field a moment later and crashed into him. I darted forward, activated [Spotlight Strike], and started looking for an opening. But before I could find one, a portal opened before us. A pair of hands reached through, grabbed Flare, and pulled. Then, before I could scramble away, one grabbed Fursona’s wrist, the other grabbed my outfit’s collar, and I found myself yanked onto a warm, tiled floor.

Tele-Portal stood over us, hands on her hips, glaring. Flare moved to escape, and she fired a portal under him, another above him, and dropped him into an endless loop. Then she turned her gaze toward us as if daring me to try something. I held up my hands.

She cleared her throat. “Understudy, I’m disappointed. You’re in so much trouble.”

◄▼►

72 - In So Much Trouble

I was in so much trouble.

Teleportal let Flare out of his portal loop and pointed at a row of familiar-looking chairs. “Sit.” Fursona and I sat on one side of the Superpower Studies office waiting room, Flare found a seat on the other, and she blooped a portal into existence and hopped through it. All three of us stared at the ground. My stomach felt like lead; we weren’t getting out of this.

“What’s the plan, Understudy?” Fursona asked. She sounded as nervous as I felt, even through her voice modulator.

I shrugged. “We got caught red-handed breaking the rules. I don’t think there’s much we can do here.”

“So, what? You two are just gonna come clean about attacking a supervillain during a lockdown? You think that’s going to work? Ha!” Flare crossed his arms and glared sullenly at us. “You two are the worst, you know that?”

“At least we didn’t get beaten by us three times,” Fursona said.

Flare flushed, anger flashing across his face. For a moment, he looked ready to start something—right here, in the professors’ waiting room. I shook my head at both of them. “Chill out, Flare. We can still get out of this if we’re honest about our actions. Or at least, maybe not fail Superpower Ethics or something.”

Flare breathed, screwing his eyes closed. Then he half-groaned and half-screamed. “Augh! You’re so fucking hateable! Fine, you win. We’ll settle this shit later.”

I sat back in my chair, pretending to relax even as the camera drone—why was there always a camera drone around when I didn’t want it—spun slowly between our faces. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest.

The portal flared. Tele-Portal stepped back through, this time with a very, very angry-looking trio of professors. Even this late, Doctor Jackson wore most of her pantsuit from teaching. Doctor Mays was in a T-shirt and jeans, and though he’d cleaned up a little, flecks of sawdust covered his arms. And Doctor Mindstorm wore footie pajamas, not too much unlike my favorite ones, still stuck in Riverside. Fursona stifled a giggle.

“You two, My office, now,” Doctor Mays said, pointing at Fursona and me. He opened the door, and we filed in—along with Doctor Mindstorm. The two professors took the seats, leaving us standing awkwardly in front of the desk.

“Why…am I back here right now?” Doctor Mindstorm started.

Neither Fursona nor I said anything for several seconds. Mindstorm glared. It looked both funny and menacing in her pajamas, in equal measure. “Look, I have fifteen ‘Apocalypse Scenario Plan’ essays to grade, and I’ll be honest, I’d rather be doing this than that, but I’m on a deadline, and my show starts in twenty minutes. Talk to me. I’ll figure out the truth…one way or another.”

That last line drew a glare from Doctor Mays. “What my colleague means is that this is incredibly inconvenient for all of us. What’s going on?” As I watched, trying to decide what to say, I realized that while he wasn’t happy with Mindstorm’s threat, he wasn’t as upset with her as he was with us.

“Okay, here’s what’s going on.” It took almost ten minutes to explain everything; somehow, neither professor interrupted me while I talked and talked. And talked.

By the end, Doctor Mindstorm looked incredibly bored. She suppressed a yawn. “I get it. You’re a young super with big dreams and no idea how things…really work. It takes a while to grow out of that.”

“Some of us never do,” Doctor Jackson said, joining the others and staring pointedly at Mindstorm.

“But we can’t have a bunch of little leaguers running around campus flouting school rules during a Man vs. Nature lockdown. I’d recommend you take a 20% hit to your ethics grades, but Doctor Jackson runs the class as a pass/fail, so that won’t work, will it now?”

“No, that won’t work at all. However, I want a small essay from these three students on Man vs. Nature events and why it’s important to follow directives from the Tokyexico Council of Heroes or TU staff. That’s now required for you to pass the course, and I’ve already assigned it to Flare.”

I swore under my breath. The nice thing about the rating having gone up—which I hadn’t told the professors—was that I could do that. I didn’t have time for an essay on authority and Man vs. Nature. I had finals, and I had to make plans for winter break. It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t asked for this, but Professor Panic had sprung it on me without a chance to ignore it.

But there were three professors here, plus Tele-Portal in the waiting room. And, to be honest, I’d fucked this up. I’d been in such a rush to go after Professor Panic and stop whatever he was doing under the Student Union Building that I hadn’t put any thought into planning—just like when the TUSSA had attacked the Student Supervillains under the engineering building.

So, after a minute to compose myself, I nodded. “Fine.”

“Tele-Portal has also volunteered to escort you all to and from your finals for the next two days in lieu of more restrictive measures to keep you out of trouble. Here’s her phone number. Please text her your schedule for Thursday and Friday,” Doctor Jackson said. She handed us business cards with Tele-Portal’s logo and smiling face emblazoned on them.

“Hold on. We’re not doing a temporary aggression removal?” Doctor Mindstorm asked sharply. I stiffened. She’d been in my mind before, and while she hadn’t messed with it beyond finding information, I had no doubt she could.

“No. That’s always been a last resort for students,” Mays said.

“Fine. Can we get back home? Arianette’s bringing Rogerick to her parents’ dinner party in fifteen minutes, and I was supposed to be done grading by the time it started.” Mindstorm didn’t seem put out at not messing with my brain.

Doctor Mays cleared his throat. “Yes. You two wait in the lobby with Flare. Tele-Portal will be by soon to drop you off at your elevators.”

The camera drone, which had been following us around, zipped away. As it did, I got a Style System message.

[End of Act One! Act Two Soon! No Skill Rolls Available!]

[Alias - Understudy] [Archetype - Magical Girl] [Community Rank - 405/523]

[HP 7/7]

[Styles and Skills]

►Archetype Skill - Transformation Sequence

►Badass (lvl 0; 24)

►Cunning (lvl 2; 24)

►Drama (lvl 4; 38)

►  Hometown Heroine 1

► Bit-Part Barrage 1

►Flamboyance (lvl 3; 31)

►Signature Skill - Adaptive Armoire

►Stored Costumes: (Rainy Day, Lab Assistant Panic)

►Spotlight Strike 1

►Starwave Sail 1

► Flickerform 1

►Grit (lvl 2; 41)

◄▼►

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I screamed into my pillow. I was out of costume, just regular old Annie. It was easier to be furious this way. Easier to be upset and frustrated. Magical Girl Understudy didn’t lose control. She did dumb stuff sometimes, but never lost control.

Anika DuPont, though? I punched the bed as hard as I could, screaming into the pillow again. It took a while to calm down; I hadn’t been this pissed since just before the Peter break-up. Somehow, that thought was calming. It wasn’t Annie that was out of control. It was Peter, and I was reacting to his bullshit. If I could stop reacting, I could make it through the semester, then flatten him afterward to end this Episode.

My phone rang. I stared at the number—it wasn’t my parents, Bianca, or Tele-Portal. It wasn’t one of the professors. The area code wasn’t for Tokyexico or Riverside. I wasn’t sure it was from Earth. I picked up the phone.

“DuPont. Backstage. Now.” Rocko’s voice sounded soft, without their usual fanfare and aplomb. They were furious. They hung up before I could even start explaining things to them.

Well, shit. This wasn’t just my Series Finale, or Peter’s. It was Rocko’s, too, and they probably had a lot riding on this. I hurried toward the Backstage entrance in my secret base, opening the star-festooned door and stepping into Rocko’s studio.

[Welcome to Rocko’s Backstage. System Disabled. Now arriving at Costuming]

Rocko had not one but two cigars in their mouth. Bianca was already there, sitting and drinking from a water bottle. I grabbed one of my own as Rocko started gesturing wildly, four hands—and cigar ash—flying. “Du-Pont! Marino! What is going on? Your professors stalled out my Series Finale!”

I opened my mouth to explain, but the ilneat got in my face, standing on their desk. “No, DuPont, listen to me. I’ve got two payments left on my house. Then, it’s done and paid for. Or, I could default. So give me some ideas here because we’re on a knife’s edge, and Professor Panic won’t pick up his phone! If this flops, Rocko Studios is ruined!” They sucked in a gigantic cloud of cigar smoke; the cloying smell lingered in the room, a hint of something tropical in the middle of the too-hot office.

“Rocko, I don’t know what to tell you,” I started.

“Then don’t tell me anything. Just listen. Absent-Hearted Professor Part One had ridiculously high ratings. Small Town Super—you thought you were done with it, huh? Nah, you don’t get out without a finale. But Small Town Super’s episode last week beat out half the minor-league shows. I’ve got three factories—three!—working on LABRAT toys, and the Fursona pajama is sold out in two systems!

“So, I’m thrilled, right? Part Two is gonna be even bigger, like the pre-Launch Day movies. Merchandise deals like you wouldn’t believe. But it just…doesn’t happen.” The ilneat put out one of their cigars on their desk and sat down behind it dejectedly. They weren’t crying; instead, they shook slightly, three arms wrapped around their body while the last one held their remaining cigar. “A little tension and anticipation is good, but our target demographic ain’t patient enough to wait weeks. We gotta get Part Two going again.”

As Rocko ranted at me about his bottom line, I had a sudden, horrifying realization. They’d said ‘default.’ They’d gone all-in on the Series Finale. They’d bet everything on it, and they’d probably gone into debt buying merchandising contracts. Which meant they had a very, very big stake in getting this Episode rolling. It’d ruin them if it failed. It might even ruin them if it got delayed.

“Why don’t you call up, uh, Mindstorm’s old studio? There’s gotta be something they can do,” I asked.

“’Why don’t you call up Mindstorm’s studio?’ You think I hadn’t thought of that. They won’t wanna talk to a little league production. They’re busy working with, I don’t know, Golden Goose or McHammer or someone. They don’t have time for us.”

“It’s worth a shot.” I had to get them to try it. Otherwise, I only had getting escorted around and essay-writing to look forward to. “What would you do if Ed called for help?”

“Ed? I’d tell him to take a spacewalk. Ed and that Bouncer—or Hopper or whoever she is—supervillain, they’re competition. Sort of. But, hmmm…Yacko did call last week about you two showing up at Tottergarten over your winter breaks, and I said I’d check in with you. It’d be good publicity to line it up with the holidays. What do you say?”

I felt a flash of anger for a moment. What were they doing, trying to get me to commit to something? But then I realized…Rocko needed me to say yes for some reason. Maybe to convince Mindstorm’s producer to pay it forward. “Fine. I can’t go home anyway, so Christmas Eve?”

They clapped their hands together, lit another cigar, and reached for a phone. “Now we’re talking! I’ll see what I can do. Give me eight hours.”

◄▼►