Oscar Ward
I skip the funeral. For one, I never knew the Guardians of the Globe anyway. But for two, it’s the perfect worldwide distraction. Not that I’m doing anything that’d lead to Cecil siccing Omni-Man on me… but it’s just good to know he’s too busy maintaining his lie to find me. Besides that, it’s finally time for me to move into my apartment, which is nice. I crashed at the Teen Team base yesterday after our shared meal spilled into an after-party where I got to know everyone a little more.
…Sucks that Eve’s going to walk in on Kate banging her no-good boyfriend, but hey. It’s not exactly my business. I’ve never really been in the business of controlling what other people do anyway. Doubly so in relationships! The only real upside here is that she’ll be… available? Still, what about her and Mark? I do like ‘em as a couple. But he willingly chooses Amber. Though all this hinges on the fact that Eve even likes me in the first place. Do I even like her? I mean, she’s hot and nice and all but…
The sky darkens. I blink.
“...Huh.”
At some point during my increasingly questionable romantic analysis, I’d hit space. Baltimore had become Maryland. Maryland had become the East Coast. The East Coast had become a patchwork of greens and greys disappearing beneath a blanket of clouds. I’d grown used to the howl of wind against my protective aura. But it’s gone now. The transition is abrupt enough to make me glance around in confusion. The blue of the sky deepens, turning navy, and then losing all colour to the infinite darkness.
…Oh. The curve of the Earth slowly reveals itself beneath me. My mouth falls open. I don’t care if I saw this literally yesterday. Human brains were not built for this. The horizon bends impossibly far in every direction. Clouds swirl across entire continents. The Atlantic stretches like liquid glass beneath the afternoon sun. And it just keeps getting bigger. Or rather... I keep getting smaller. The thought hits me harder than expected. Down there are cities. Countries. Billions of people. With their own problems, dreams, worries, and bullshit. And from up here? You can’t see any of it. It’s one enormous blue marble hanging in the dark.
I simply float there, letting momentum carry me higher.
Current Charge: 99.85%.
My face immediately scrunches up.
“Right. Cosmic wonder later.”
I’m not here just to sightsee. Coming up to space is my way of killing multiple birds with one—at max, two—stones. See, I’d tried to teleport to New York, mainly to see if I could. But my ring doused my hopes with ice-cold reality. For one, blind FTL travel is liable to kill me. With no way of knowing where we were, using FTL travel to jump from Baltimore to NYC is basically suicide. So, I did the natural thing and asked if it had any advanced tech in its database for me to create constructs of so I could travel to the moon. Its answer was a resounding no. I’ve also got none of the training material that’s usually packed into these things.
So… satellite time! I want round-the-clock internet access, goddamn it! Also, I’m pretty sure my GDA phone’s being watched, and while I’d love to drive the agent tapped into my phone insane… I also would like to see what this world’s porn industry’s looks like. For research purposes, of course.
Ring, find me the closest out of commission satellite!
A green beam fires out of my ring, scanning the darkness.
None detected nearby.
…Fuck. Guess this thing isn’t all-powerful. I fly towards a cluster of floating metal objects, scanning them as I go. Some are commercial. Others are for weather, belonging to different countries. Quite a few are GDA, though, which makes sense. As much as he pretends he’s not, Cecil is basically the king of the world.
Finally, I find my satellite. It’s basically a metal box. A very expensive metal box, sure, but still a box.
“...Huh.”
I circle it once. One of the solar panels is bent at a weird angle. There are several holes that probably weren’t supposed to be there. …Ring, what killed it?
Green light flashes over the satellite.
Likely catastrophic collision with orbital debris.
Space litter. Got it. Honestly, that’s kind of depressing. The thing survived launch, probably years of operation, then got jumped by garbage. Maybe it was Mark. I float closer. We can use it though, right?
Affirmative.
Schematics beam up from my ring, contained in holographic green light. I haven’t the foggiest clue what I’m looking at, but my grin spreads instantly. I mostly magically bullshit my way into fixing the thing because where there’s a will, there’s a way. …Pfft. The process involves rerouting a lot of the intact stuff, offloading the actual task to my ring at the cost of battery. Eventually, the wings twist and the whole structure rotates to face the sun. I hold my breath.
Minimal functionality restored.
Overwriting CPU…
Current Charge: 97.2%.
“YES! Download everything, Ring. Time to turn you into Jarvis!”
Negative.
What? Why?!
Doing so would deplete the power ring’s remaining charge and lead to your death.
Is there anything else I’m not allowed to do?
Safeguards are in place to prevent Lanterns from endangering themselves.
I frown. Is there a no-kill rule?
Negative.
Good to know! …Wait a second. A frown crawls across my face. Ring, why can’t you tap into the internet?
Native species’ data creation speed exceeds the ring’s charge.
And if you limit it to public records, news, anime, and the sections of YouTube I tell you? Oh, and piggyback off the satellite. I’m cool with staying up here for a little bit if it means using as little charge as possible.
Estimated time to completion: 2.5 hours.
I basically float around in plebeian boredom till my ring flashes. A tiny status light flickers green.
Full Internet connection established.
Data acquisition: 52%.
Estimated time to completion: 1.2 hours.
…Well, might as well get comfortable. I immediately open YouTube because I have priorities. Hours later, long after downloading everything wraps up, I’m floating cross-legged above the satellite while a dozen windows float around me in hard-light projections. My attention drifts from the video currently playing.
Far in the distance, something catches my eye. ...Ring?
Awaiting query.
What’s that?
A targeting reticle appears over a distant glimmer.
GDA orbital weapons platform detected.
I sit upright. No shit! It’s the laser they blasted Omni-Man with! The thing is an enormous, gleaming metallic spear hanging in orbit above Earth. Vast solar arrays extend from either side while armoured plating protects the central structure.
Current activity suspended.
The laser platform looms ahead of me now. Its scale is difficult to appreciate until I’m actually beside it. Entire buildings could fit inside portions of the structure and the central emitter alone is wider than some city streets. I drift around it slowly.
Approaching object detected.
Something shoots upward from Earth. Really fast. I squint as a vague sphere shape tears through the upper atmosphere trailing a faint blue glow. It decelerates smoothly in front of me. I stare at it. Its glowing red lens stares back.
“...Hello?”
The machine unfolds its panels to reveal a small compartment. Inside sits a single black earpiece. Ring?
No immediate threat detected.
After a moment’s hesitation, I pluck the earpiece from the compartment and slot it into my ear.
Static crackles. Then a familiar voice sighs heavily.
“Kid, why are you screwing with my laser?”
Uh oh.
“...I saw it.”
There’s a pause.
“That’s your explanation?”
“It’s the truth. …It’s also a giant space laser, Cecil.”
“You know, Donald said you’d say something like that.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Ha! I knew he liked me.” I float backwards away from the platform. “Relax. I wasn’t trying to steal it.”
“Because you already stole a satellite.”
“I repaired a useless satellite and then stole it.”
“Either way, you cannibalised GDA property and stole a metric fuck ton of data.”
“It was broken.”
“It was still ours.”
“Pfft—c’mon! Possession is like nine-tenths of the law.”
“That’s… not how that works.”
“Agree to disagree, then.”
The sigh that comes through the earpiece sounds genuinely exhausted. “I was pulled away from the funeral for Earth’s mightiest heroes for this?”
Wrong franchise, buddy. But shit. I do feel somewhat bad. The silver drone hovers nearby in judgement of me.
“...Sorry. But, admit it. The satellite thing was cool.”
“No.”
“It was a little cool.”
“No.”
“It was very cool?”
“Kid? Stop touching my orbital infrastructure.”
I snort. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“Good. Enjoy your apartment. Since you’re headed to the new Guardians tryouts, might as well swing by for the keys yourself.”
“Wait, that’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. A lecture?”
“Would you really listen to it?”
My lips twitch. “...No, but it’s about the principle.”
“Besides,” Cecil continues, “you’re either exactly what you appear to be or the greatest long-con infiltrator I’ve ever encountered. No one halfway competent would go up and download all that data knowing they’re under suspicion.”
That never really concerned me since I’m kind of trying to save the world, but hey. Bonus points for me? Still… I’m a little suspicious that he trusts me so easily. Then again, does Cecil trust me, or is he trying to get me to trust him? Either way, if I can prepare for the Viltrumites, then I don’t care either way.
The line dies, but before I can return the communicator back into the drone’s depths, it plummets back to Earth. …Shit. Where am I even meant to put this thing because I sure as hell am not keeping it on me. I mean, my place is probably bugged to hell, but again, that’s not the point.
Ring subspace functionality available.
Sweet! I hold the earpiece over the ring. A portal about the width of my palm materialises above the Oan sigil. My wrist disappears in its depths. I leave the communicator in there and watch it close.
“I wonder what else is in there…”
A holographic window beams up from my ring. Darker green squares block out four rows of six. I squint at it suspiciously. …Ring, why does it look like a game inventory?
Conclusion: simplest form for Lantern to comprehend.
Well, it’s not wrong. I look toward the planet below. Right, back to work. The ring now possesses enough public information to make my life infinitely easier. Which meant it’s finally time to answer one very important question. Ring?
Awaiting query.
Search all American public records for Zoe Thompson. Narrow the results down to a black-haired girl with blue eyes. She’s got shortish twin tails and a fringe. Sort of like that one chick from Miraculous Ladybug.
Searching...
A green search bar materialises before my eyes. Results begin pouring in almost immediately. School records. Local news articles. A driving licence photo. None are the Tech Jacket I’m looking for, but it doesn’t take long for the ring to sift through and find her.
A location marker appears over North America.
Subject identified.
My pulse quickens slightly. There she is. Tech Jacket... slightly older than I remember, but maybe that’s just the photo. As it stands, she’s one of the very few people on this planet who could eventually help deal with Viltrumites. I frown and focus on the map. The marker blinks. A suburban neighbourhood appears beneath it.
I point dramatically. “Time to dive!”
FTL route calculated.
Warning: destination lies within a populated area.
“...Fine. Beam me down nearby, then.”
Route adjusted.
Green light engulfs me. The stars twist and space folds. Suddenly I’m in a forest overlooking a quiet if lively neighbourhood. The marker, based on the holographic map, is leading me to a hardware store downtown?
“Not that I can go there looking like this.”
I close my eyes and envision more normal clothes. Solid green light crawls across my body, originating from my ring and slowly encasing everything below the neck. Once it recedes, I’m in a standard white t-shirt, khaki green cargo pants, and white and black sneakers. Of course, the shirt has the Oan sigil plastered in green on its front.
…Eh, I kinda like it. Besides, I’ve got no plans to have a secret identity anyway.
I step out of the treeline and toward the town proper. The hardware store sits between a laundromat and what looks like a family-owned diner. Pretty normal-looking place, honestly. A giant sign hangs above the entrance advertising discounts on drills like that’s somehow exciting. I step inside and am walloped by that weird dusty hardware store smell every dad on Earth somehow likes. My eyes drift lazily over the frontmost shelves stacked with tools, buckets, screws, lumber, and—
Oh. Oh, no. She’s behind the counter. My brain blue screens. She’s distractingly hot. And she’s got muscles. I’m gawking at defined shoulders and toned, veiny arms. Thank you summer weather for putting her in a tank top! Her blue eyes flick to me for maybe half a second, then she lifts an eyebrow.
The tiniest smirk touches the corner of her mouth. I straighten instinctively. Operation: Be Normal begins now.
Failure likely.
Shut the fuck up, Ring. I walk over. She leans casually against the counter. I look down for a split-second.
…Damn.
She snorts. “Need help finding something, bud?”
“Uh.”
…Fuck. She’s got the slightly raspy tomboy voice, too. It’s so over for me. My throat’s horrifically dry. Brilliant opening gambit from me. Well done! Fantastic. Ten out of ten. I clear my throat and recover approximately point twelve percent of my dignity.
“Yeah, actually. I do.”
“What’re you looking for?” she asks, crossing her arms.
Dear God… those arms. I mentally slap myself back into focus. Viltrumites. Saving the world… starting with Chicago.
I lean against the counter and smile. “Honestly? No clue.”
“...You’ve never been in one of these before, huh?”
“I’m new to it all. Just moved out.”
“Oh? So this isn’t your first attempt at talking to strangers? Could’ve fooled me.”
Wow.
Okay.
Ow… but fair.
“Damn,” I mutter. “Was it that obvious?”
“Little bit. Zoe, by the way. What do I call you?”
I take the extended hand. Firm grip. Firm calloused grip. Which I absolutely don’t overthink.
“...Oscar’s good. Ozzy if you want.”
Her eyes flick briefly toward the green sigil on my shirt. “Nice shirt... and ring.”
I glance down.
“…You know, I realised after putting this on that I kinda look like someone who owns multiple swords.”
“You don’t?”
“I own zero swords.”
“Damn. That’s disappointing. Here I thought I’d discovered a cute weirdo like me.”
I snort. Okay. She’s funny. Terrible. This is going terribly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m having a great time, but this is not what I came here to do. Ring, how’s that invisible scan coming along?
No extraterrestrial technology detected.
No anomalous energy signatures detected.
No active augmentation systems detected.
No foreign biomechanical interface present.
My stomach sinks. So no Tech Jacket yet.
Zoe tilts her head. “You good?”
“Yeah! Totally.”
You are not in danger, Lantern. Comport yourself.
…Shut it.
Elevated heart rate detected.
Shut.
The fuck.
Up.
“You looked like you were having an existential crisis for a second.”
“Believe it or not, that’s just my face. Some people have RBS, but not me.”
She laughs again. I like her laugh.
…God. I am so unbelievably cooked. After another few minutes of aimless conversation that mostly consists of me pretending I know things about hardware and her very obviously noticing, I glance toward the door.
“Well,” I say. “I should probably get going.”
Her expression shifts slightly to… disappointment. I feel unparalleled joy well up within. And here I thought I was boring her with my awkwardness!
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“...Cool.” She gives me a small smile. “See you around, Ozzy.”
I nod and leave. Three streets later, it hits me.
“…Motherfucker.”
I stop dead.
Elevated distress detected.
I forgot to ask for her number! ...Would it be weird if I went back to ask for her number?
Probability of embarrassment: highly likely.
Probability of successful acquisition: likely.
Hmm… tempting. But will that affect her chances of getting hitched with the Tech Jacket? It’d be the height of all irony if she didn’t become Tech Jacket because I was getting laid. Not to mention it’d suck balls for future me. Does it even count as an opportunity of a lifetime? Awesome alien tech suit… but she’s going to fight space Nazis. I mean, she seemed to enjoy being a superhero though, right? I sigh dramatically and shove my hands into my pockets.
...Ring, monitor Zoe Thompson. I want to know if she leaves Earth, gets abducted, disappears into space, starts glowing weirdly, or otherwise becomes superhero relevant.
Acknowledged.
Satellite-assisted monitoring enabled.
Estimated notification latency: minimal.
I start walking again, moving through the decently congested thoroughfare.
“…She was really pretty, though.”
Statement supported by available observational data.
Ain’t that the truth.