Chương 84: 6.05 How many Samanthas does it take to change a lightbulb?

2104: 02: 12: 20: 52: 05 When I came back home from Tuesday's sambo lesson, the house was empty. Mom was on shift and had already told me she wouldn't be back home until well into the night. I went upstairs, dropped my bag and just… stood there, thinking. Normally I'd take the opportunity to do homework, or study ahead, or train and master my forms, or watch movies, read another of Amber's recommendations, listen to music, etcetera, etcetera. But not today.

Therapy had left me feeling a certain type of way, a combination of listless and restless; an agitated state of disappointment and bleak resignation at the hopelessness of it all. It reminded me a lot of the worst days of winter break. It had taken me weeks – six sessions total – for me to gather my courage for today's session, and what did I have to show for it?

Very little, except for the knowledge that I was stuck, a dark cloud, a sense of impending doom hovering over me – something I already knew before, but truly felt now. Yet I still didn't know when said doom would come. It left me with the urge to be active, to find something to take my mind off of things and do something useful with the unknown amount of time I had left. I didn't want to be stuck moping about for the rest of the night – and likely next day too.

And what else would you expect a young and awesome vigilante to do but go masking? Unfortunately, Amber had her own plans for today, and even if she could join me it wasn't like we had any more leads to follow up on. Not after busting one of Motorgang's attempts to clear out a pawn shop just last week, the last easy target on the list we'd gotten from the fence's tablet. And to be honest, even if that hadn't been the case, I wasn't in the mood to ask Amber to go masking.

Doing so would inevitably lead to her asking questions about why so suddenly, off schedule and on such short notice. Or if not that, she'd at least harbor some suspicions about it. I could go patrolling on my own, but… While technically not the first time masking on my own – or even the second or third – those times had been different.

Besides the failure of my first few hours as a solo hero, the others had all been at Nth-Sight's request, and there Amber had known where I was and kept an eye out in case things went wrong. She'd impressed on me how important it was for one side to always know when the other was out masking. You know, just in case. Besides, while Mom hadn't explicitly forbidden me from going out on my own, she had not-so-surreptitiously said 'good' when I said I basically never went solo.

And like Amber, she'd explicitly stated she wanted to be informed whenever I went out – again, just in case. If she found out I went masking on my own without telling either her or Amber, she'd no doubt be angry. Worse: if she, as Peakstar, was out on her own patrol, I might even run into her. So maybe it wasn't the best idea to go out masking by myself. … But there was no harm in me going flying, was there? Doing so had always helped take my mind off things.

And if I was going out in shifter form, it might be best to do so while wearing my costume 'underneath', as it were. Just in case a situation happened below which required intervention. A hero always needed to be ready, right? You know, just in case. X I soared through the clear and cold night sky as a snowy owl, observing the streets below with keen eyes. I had decided to combine my desire for distraction with a bit of an assignment: get more useful forms.

Specifically, I focused on finding inanimate ones I hadn't tried yet. This was easier said than done. Amber and I had tried many different items for me to mimic, but to say it was hit-or-miss would be overstating things. We'd concluded that most (for lack of better words) simple inanimate objects – concrete, sand, dirt, asphalt and the like – gave me practically nothing.

Objects built with a purpose in mind, like cars, motorbikes and bicycles, couches and chairs, phones and tablets and other electronics, bricks, wood and iron fences, etcetera; things like that did give me some extra 'power', but they never seemed to be quite as useful as they should be. For example, the boxing bag's hostility sense was way too restrictive in what it counted as hostile, and the car's road sense, while perfect for navigation, wasn't something I could practically use.

The car itself couldn't move, not without first spending an hour charging battery – a charge that would disappear between shifts. Being a bicycle allowed me to send a warning in the form of a ringing bell to someone's mind in a ten-meter radius – useless since I couldn't see or hear or sense anything in said form. A motorcycle gave me a supreme sense of balance – which was useless for the same reason as the car.

Becoming a trashcan gave me knowledge on whether there was unhoused trash within a whopping five-kilometer radius – a special kind of uselessness that spoke for itself, really. The sole exception so far was water and other liquids, but even then I needed it to be extremely wet outside to do something more useful with it.

The fight with Snorkel had been the perfect use case, but unless I was fighting another hydrokinetic I couldn't see much utility for it besides travelling through rivers and sewers – which was less useful than simply flying, or running through the streets as a horse or ostrich. Only genuine maker stuff seemed to be useful, even if they too were limited in strange ways. Like with the Hexkey drones being able to move the little wings and rotors and shoot its laser, but not use its thrusters to actually fly.

Either way, I kept looking. At worst the objects themselves could be used to blend in – even if that world-without-senses my consciousness gets placed in hindered the effectiveness of that – and at best, I could get something incredibly powerful in niche circumstances, like the water had turned out to be. Today, it could be that meter-long copper wire I found, one that allowed me to emit a very small electric shock – who knew when that would be useful?

It all made me wonder why there was such a distinction between animal forms and unliving forms in the first place. Was it due to faulty implementation of my already-rudimentary power suite by my creator? It felt too weird for it to be functioning exactly as intended, but the fact that it functioned it all would… I shook my head – almost a full 360 degrees – and chased away those thoughts.

It seemed that inevitably, my mind kept going back to thinking about my current state, and all the faults my maker had made when creating me. It seemed flying alone was not enough to distract me anymore, and I needed to find something new. And thankfully, I found it. Before I could see, I heard it: a distinctly familiar mechanical rumble. Distinct, because of both a harshness and authenticity that the fake noisemakers enthusiasts put on their electric motorbikes lacked.

Familiar, because of a memory from what seemed ages ago, of a sound I heard minutes before a bridge collapsed out from under my feet. But as I flew toward the noise and found the machines from which they originated, there was a lack of familiarity as well.

Where the other bikes made by Motor Spirit I'd seen had meter-tall gigantic wheels with the chassis seemingly suspended in-between like a hammock, these motorcycles were sleek, small, and aerodynamic – glowing, high tech-looking sports bikes as opposed to overengineered choppers. Accompanying them was a fifth vehicle. Quieter and with an electric engine, this small four-wheeled truck was armored like a tank, made to weather heavy assaults.

Which, with the Motorgang henchies on bikes escorting it in a square formation, likely meant there was something valuable to be had. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. But I wasn't a hundred percent certain, simply because they weren't trying to hide their presence, all but inviting the attention of patrolling masked. Their bikes and getup were clearly Motorgang, which was again highly conspicuous.

If they really wanted to move something precious, going incognito would be the way to go – and they surely could do better than this. Maybe they'd figured that this high up in Northside, deep in their zone of control, it didn't matter? That nobody would dare mess with them here? Or maybe they had intel I didn't and found that today, this very night, was a safe place and time to move whatever they were moving?

Or maybe it required expediency that would attract attention regardless, and so opted for intimidation by flying their flag proudly as opposed to trying to obscure their affiliation. That, or they wanted people to be following them. A trap, but for who? Amber and I? That was a bit extreme; no matter how annoying we were, we were still juniors. Unless they figured out how we found one of their fences, and the trouble we caused was more than we'd realized. Which left me in a bit of a conundrum on what to do.

They had yet to reach the highway, their current route still locked to winding roads where they seemingly couldn't build up speed – that, or the transport truck was simply too heavy and difficult to maneuver to move and turn quickly. Meaning that, for now, I could track them from above easily enough, but if their destination was somewhere far away they would inevitably reach a road where I wouldn't be able to keep up.

Trying to track them through one of the pingers Amber had given me could work, but considering their conspicuous nature, I doubted that wherever they were going – regardless of whether this was bait or a genuine transport – was going to be important. More likely, their end point would be a temporary base, a one-off location from which they could split up and ship whatever they were transporting to another location. Since I didn't want to let them get away either, it left me with only one option: attack.

If this was a trap, I was certain I could get away quickly enough on my own. If it wasn't? Then I'd just intercepted an important shipment. A low risk, high reward situation. I followed them for a while longer, waiting for a point where they were forced to take a series of quick turns where I could close in on them. Then, before they turned another corner, I quick-shifted into a peregrine and swooped down, aiming straight for the truck.

Claws slipping on the armored truck as I landed, I crouched and shifted until I was a cat. I made my way to the front of the vehicle, wind whizzing past as the convoy sped up again after turning the corner. Then, after the truck slowed down to take another turn, I raced up until I was right above the window. After the turn, the car still slow, I leaped and lithely twisted so my back feet were closest to the front. Still in midair, I quick-shifted into a gorilla and grabbed the front edge of the truck's cargo space.

With all my momentum and all the power a silverback possessed, I swung feet first into the truck's front window. I crashed through the thick safety glass, collapsing it less in a shower of shards and more like a meteorite had struck and punched a hole through it. Two men screamed as they suddenly found two hundred kilograms of mean and lean primate squeezing in more than a little uncomfortably next to them.

Whether by instinct or accident, the driver punched the brakes, causing it to slide sideways across the asphalt road while barely managing to keep itself upright, before hitting a pole. The airbags popped and punch outwards, encasing all three of us. The motorcycles behind dodged the out-of-control truck and drove past before their tires screeched too, shouts of alarm coming from the quickly-dismounting men.

I ripped my way through the airbag and before the others could come near, I swung back out of the front window of the truck and leaped into the air, quick-shifting until I was a hummingbird. And right on time, as I sensed rather than truly heard gunshots whizz by where I had just been, the henchies opening fire with their handguns. I decided to test the new trick Amber and I had come up with. Using the hummingbird as a quick and easy way to maneuver, I kept an eye at one of the shooting Motorgang henchies.

Flying a bit further up, I positioned myself and then quick-shifted into my Hexkey drone form. Momentum carried me up for a moment longer, until I hung in equilibrium at the apex. No matter how much I had mastered these forms, the rapid sense-change from gorilla form to base, to a hummingbird and base me again until I finally became the maker-tech drone made it difficult for me to reconfigure my aim currently. So I shot my inbuilt laser, simply trusting my positioning to be right.

The red light of drone-me's beam lit up my field of vision, striking the henchie dead-on. As if emerging from his shadow, the serpentine rope sprang up and began coiling around my target. The man struggled against the snare, but with the element of surprise and the rope coming in from behind, the battle was lost before it began. As I came closer and closer the ground, I felt the bullets of the remaining henchies whizz by through my sensors.

Others no doubt found purchase in my metal chassis, but I couldn't be sure – I couldn't feel anything through the metal. Though I was loathe to have the form be destroyed, I remained a drone; it was better than getting shot mid quick-shift. Once I hit the ground in front of the car and my sensors failed to pick up more gunshots near me, I quick-shifted into the tiniest mice I had mastered: the Pacific pocket mouse, courtesy of the Aberdeen Zoo.

I quickly ran underneath the truck to hide from the henchies, planning to make my way to the side of the truck so that it was between me and them, giving me cover to repeat the tactic.

"Where'd she go?" a henchie yelled. Another fired a gunshot at where I'd been right before going underneath the truck, prompting another to yell, "Stop it, you idiot! You might hit Greg!" Presumably, Greg was the henchie that'd finally lost the battle against the rope, lying still in the middle of the road between the truck and the other three. Or it was one of the two still in the truck, either or.

"I saw her, I swear!" the shooter retorted.

"She's a mouse! I-""Stop talking and form up around me. Triangle formation," the one seemingly in the lead said.

"If she's still here somewhere, she'll have to appear sooner or later." He was right, but it wasn't the time yet. As they'd talked, I had run as fast and far as I could, ready to repeat the drone trick. But just as I was about to, one of the truck doors opened up and a body half-stepped, half-fell out of it, crashing to the asphalt with a groan. Seemed like the henchies in the truck were finally coming to. I changed my plans and ran the opposite way, toward the henchie that'd stumbled out.

"Peters, get over here!" the head henchie ordered the prone henchie. He sluggishly raised his head towards the sound of the voice. In his dazed state, the command took him a moment to comprehend, but he soon rose and tried to make his way over. Unfortunately for him, he was too slow. I ran out from underneath the truck. I shifted to base and grabbed him into a hold from behind, wrestling the weakened henchie back to the ground with ease.

Wary of hitting their fellow man, the other henchies didn't fire, but from their approaching curses and quick footsteps, I could tell they were making their way towards me. I managed to quickly tie up his hands and quick-shift back into the small mouse before they managed to get close, rushing back underneath and to the other side of the truck while their leader cursed at my hit-and-run tactics.

The second henchie had yet to leave the vehicle so I shifted back to base, opened the door and dragged the still-stunned henchie out of it, securing him up with ease as well. Three down, three to go. The footsteps had stopped approaching. When I looked through the open space underneath the truck, my suspicions were confirmed: they'd reached their fallen comrade – the one in zip-ties, not the rope-bound one. Two stood surrounding guard while the third was doing his best to cut through the restraints.

Gorilla form would probably be enough for a one-on-three, but with my quick-shift bird-to-Hexkey-drone trick a confirmed success, why bother? I now had ranged options, and it appeared the Hexkey drone was tough enough to handle at least a couple small caliber bullets. Why risk losing the silverback? So I shifted into a snowy owl to give myself a powerful skyward jump, then quick-shifted to hummingbird, letting my momentum carry me.

One of the henchies must've spotted my colorful hummingbird form shimmering in the streetlight because they soon opened fire, forcing me to flap my wings again. Despite their best efforts, none of their bullets hit due to my small form and quick, erratic movement. I continued flying, making my way up until I was past the streetlight. The hail of gunfire stopped as its light prevented them from seeing me.

I turned about immediately, took aim once again, performing the right aerial maneuvers before quick-shifting into a drone for my turn to let loose. I fired lasers as quickly as I could, the henchies returning fire as the red beams appeared. The semi-functioning rotors and wings helped me aim, but after shooting only three lasers – they needed time to recharge between shots – one of their bullets struck me good. It hit one of the left wings in a critical spot, resulting in me spinning rapidly as I descended.

I hit the ground hard and was forcibly rolled over on my back, though thankfully in such a way it gave me a clear, if upside down view of the henchies. Two of them had been hit directly and were futilely struggling against the ropes, but the one I'd missed – the leader – had managed to grab his knife and was moving to help his friends out. It left him wide open. I shifted in and out – no need to change tactics – while lining myself up with the final henchie, then fired.

I hit, and now all three henchies were on the ropes. Yet the leader managed to grab his with one hand while locking part of it between his legs, pinning the dancing string as he tried cutting it with his knife. I quickly fired at him again, but while the impact and the light briefly distracted him, no new rope appeared. Their struggle continued, but it was clear the henchie had the upper hand. I quick-shifted into a mountain goat and ran up to him as quick as I could.

Right as the man cut the rope and it fell dead, I lowered my head and rammed into his hip. The man yelled in pain at the impact. Despite that he quickly tried to wrap his arm around my neck in order to stab me, but the bad angle meant I slipped from his grip with ease. I jumped back, but the henchie was quick; he scored a hit on my flank, his knife raking against my ribs and cutting me all the way up to my neck. I shifted back to base, but wasn't quick enough to avoid the phantom pain from hitting.

Still, I could not rest. With the henchie leader buckling and falling to the floor, and with the rope dead, I had the opportunity I needed. I quick-shifted into a drone again and fired. This time the leader was too wounded and too distracted. He tried to resist for a brief moment, one hand reaching for the rope again to try the same tactic. But it proved too slippery and struck like a viper, first coiling around his hands before snaking its way to his arms and legs, tying him up like a roast within seconds.

I shifted back to base form, powering through the phantom pain while listening to the sweet, sweet sounds of cursing henchies. My Heroic Impulse agreed. A feeling of pride and accomplishment washing over me as if saying 'good job!', 'you did great!', and even offering, 'maybe villains next time? Imagine how good that would feel'. It immediately soured my mood. Couldn't I have one moment to myself?

Still, I refocused and went to work, moving to pile the henchies next one another before calling the Guardians – definitely not the Wardens; wouldn't want my mother knowing I went out now, would I? – for a pickup. Afterwards, as I surveyed the battlefield I'd created, watching the windows open as concerned citizens finally felt courageous enough to look outside, my eyes caught onto something and realization hit me like a truck. The bikes, they were maker-made.

And after I copied them and broke through the lock on the truck's storage to look inside, I saw what valuable cargo they'd been transporting: Hexkey drones. Jackpot.