You've figured out the problem with your plans. When you come up with them they are entirely brilliant, because it's up to Future Taylor to carry them out. But when the time to act finally rolls around, Future Taylor still hasn't shown up to take over from you.
You're currently dressed in your new costume. Most of it is fairly mundane: Riding breeches, boots, gloves. The thing that took so much work was the chest piece, a black 'leather scale mail' that you assembled from several old jackets. It's almost entirely useless as actual armor, being more of a really thick t-shirt. But between the bronze-colored rivets holding the scales in place and the curly decorations you made from scraps of copper wire you could pass for a Viking warrior, if the warrior in question was working as an extra in a B movie.
Really, the only historically accurate part of the outfit is the knife and purse on your belt. Well, the sheath at least. The knife is very modern (the purse also contains pepper spray).
Your cheap plastic mask depicts an insufferably smug man with a thin beard and mustache, and your head is otherwise bare. You also, er, padded your costume a bit in the front, to suggest the presence of a bust. Also in the, uh, in the area around the hips. It's not vanity! Obfuscating your stick-like figure will help protect your secret identity! Also, you didn't want anyone look at the male face on the mask and draw the wrong conclusions. In case your long curly hair wasn't enough of a clue. Or your voice.
Alright, fine, it's vanity. Moving on.
It's still February, and walking around in a glorified t-shirt is fucking cold. But that's all part of the plan. That way, when you raise your arm to greet the three skinheads in front of you, your skin color is readily apparent. Well, you assume they are all skinheads: Two of them are sensible enough to wear hats in this climate. One of the hat-wearers has a walkie-talkie, and is speaking into it.
"Number two patrol, reporting," he's saying. He listens to something you can't make out, then continues. "Encountered unknown parahuman, appears non-hostile." Another garbled communication. "Roger that. Out."
He returns the walkie-talkie to his belt. You can't exactly say that he turns his attention to you, because all three of them have been watching you warily the whole time. But he raises his arm to return your greeting.
"Can we help you, miss?" See, he correctly identified your gender before you opened your mouth. This totally validates the padding! The speaker wears an expression of polite indifference fitting his query, the guy on the left glares at you suspiciously, and the guy on the right looks faintly annoyed. Though to be fair he looked annoyed even before they spotted you, and hasn't changed expression since - he might just be annoyed that his ears are cold. They are very prominent.
"I'd like to join the Empire," you say. The three of them relax somewhat.
"I'll call it in. Your name?"
"Low Key." You picked your name and costume specifically for this moment. Nazis: For all that they loudly proclaim to hate faggots, they are every single one of them gay for Norse mythology.
"I'm Mike. This is Sven and Alex." He shakes you hand, then gestures to each companion in turn. "Excuse me." He turns away and raises the walkie-talkie again. Sven-the-suspicious and Alex-the-annoyed offer you handshakes as well.
"Pretty sure Loki was a guy," Alex observes.
"Tell that to Sleipnr," you say.
He nods thoughtfully. "Piece of advice, though: People who fuck horses don't get to join our club."
"I'll keep that in mind," you promise. See, he got the reference! You totally called it, gay for Norse mythology.
Mike finishes up his conversation on the walkie-talkie and turns back to you. "Kaiser will meet you at the foundry. Alex will guide you there."
Sven passes his headgear to Alex. It's like a badge, you realize: At least one shaved head per patrol must be visible at all times.
"Why me?" Alex asks.
"Because I trust you to be diplomatic and not scare off the new recruit before she even gets to Kaiser. Sven not so much."
"At least I can be trusted not to marry a jew!" Sven counters.
Mike turns to face him. "Really, we're doing this? You'd do this to me? In front of the new brass? Fight me!" He puts up his hands in a boxer's stance and throws a punch - a slow, playful punch clearly not intended to connect.
Sven puts up his dukes and deflects it, before responding in kind. They get really quite into their footwork as they continue to not-quite-shadowbox against each other. You and Alex flee before the sheer amount of male bonding in the air reaches toxic levels.
---
You and Alex walk in silence for a while, until finally you can't keep a lid on your curiosity any more.
"Did he actually-"
"Tragic story, really," Alex says. "Got married before he found out about the JQ, then he was trapped between the vows of matrimony and the fourteen words."
At this point you realize your mistake: You thoroughly researched the nazi capes, but completely neglected to study their technical vocabulary. Yes, like every other Brockton Bay native you are aware that the '8's in 'Empire 88' refer to the eighth letter of the alphabet, and that the resulting 'HH' stands for 'Heil Hitler' (the whole thing always struck you as a bit silly, a 'no girls allowed in my treehouse club' level of secret code). But that's all you know, and you didn't even consider that there would be more of that sort of stuff. Which, in retrospect, is somewhat like trying to infiltrate the Merchants without knowing the street names for heroin. Which probably also prominently feature the letter H now that you think about it.
No, focus. You need to take this more seriously. Right, uh, J is another easy letter, must be jew-something-or-other, and the fourteen words are probably something like 'fuck niggers and kikes, the holocaust didn't happen but I wish it did'. Was that fourteen? You understood the gist of his statement, at least. You hope.
"So what happened?" you ask.
"Tried to hide his wife from his friends and his politics from his wife," Alex says. He shakes his head sadly. "That shit never works long term. Always gets out sooner or later. She divorced him, of course. Huge scandal too, almost got him thrown out of the Empire." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "Some people still think he should have been."
"But not you?"
"Nah, honest mistake. Guy ended up in a bad situation, no good way out."
You nod along, doing your best to appear calm. His conviction that secrets inevitably get revealed is not exactly doing wonders for your peace of mind right now. But there's no turning back. You'll just have to make sure that by the time you get found out, you'll have nicked enough powers to make it out alive. Gotta step up your game.
On that note, what is your soul's price, Alex the Surprisingly Reasonable Nazi?
Alex wants to secure the survival of his people and a future for white children.
Hm. After due consideration, you'll have to reluctantly file him in the 'too well-adjusted to Master' bin. Unfortunate.
---
Turns out that 'the foundry' is not the name of a club or a pub, nor is it an abandoned industrial property turned villain lair. It's an actual, active foundry, full of workers and molten steel and everything.
The sudden heat is quite welcome, since you apparently lack the sense to dress yourself properly. You still stop in the doorway and blink in surprise as the true import of what you're seeing dawns on you, though. Non-bankrupt heavy industry, in your city? Either the fascists really do make the trains run on time, or Kaiser is using gang money to prop up an otherwise hopeless business for reasons of his own. Putting the socialist in national socialist, as it were.
Then you blink again. The sight of molten steel is filling your brain with all kinds of ideas. The wonders you could forge, if you had a magma smelter, and- You shake your head to get rid of the images. Ok, so you're a Tinker >0, that's cool and all, but not what's important right now.
You're led to a secluded section in the back, where Kaiser is waiting for you. He sits on a metal throne behind a metal desk, wearing an ornate suit of metal armor covering his whole body. It seems to fit him perfectly, and you marvel at how each joint of his gauntlet moves as he raises a hand to beckon you closer. You could make even better armor, if- no, focus.
Kaiser has the power to create and control metal. The message behind him holding this meeting mere yards away from several tons of molten steel is not lost on you. Nor are his bodyguards: Two tall, blonde valkyries. And by tall you mean roughly 12 feet (by 'valkyries', you mean that they are wearing viking-themed outfits considerably more expensive than your own, but just as historically accurate). Fenja and Menja, twins who apparently shared the same trigger event.
That they're only double human size right now is also a message. If they were regular unpowered criminals they would have their guns in hand, but pointing away from you, with their fingers off the trigger.
"Low Key, was it? I'm told you wish to join us." Kaiser speaks up. His is the voice of a man completely confident in his position. Yes, he could kill you in three different ways right now, but if you were in his shoes you'd be at least a little bit worried about a parahuman with unknown powers standing so close. Guess that's why you're not a gang leader.
"Yes, sir," you reply.
Kaiser puts his hand on his chin and tilts his head, a deliberately exaggerated motion to make up for his full-face helmet. "With that name... Let me guess, Thinker?"
"No." You shake your head.
"Stranger?"
"No."
"Master, then."
"Yyyes, but not in the way you're thinking."
"Then by all means, demonstrate!" He bows slightly in his seat and indicates that the floor is yours with another exaggerated gesture.
"Come forth," you whisper, and the room contains significantly more wolf. Fenja and Menja both startle, but if Kaiser reacts at all it is subtle enough for his armor to hide it.
"Meet Fenrir," you announce calmly. Conjuring a giant wolf out of thin air is no big deal for you, clearly. Unfortunately the wolf himself rather undermines the impression you're going for with his wagging tail, panting grin and general air of being delighted to meet new friends. Hmph. Next time you'll explicitly tell him to look aloof and threatening. It might even work.
One of the Enjas - the one with the spear, not the sword, you can't for the life of you remember which is which - cautiously approaches the wolf, shooting questioning glances at both you and her boss. When neither of you object, she reaches out and runs her hand through Fenrir's fur. Tail wagging intensifies. Encouraged, she proceeds to scratch behind his ears, and the situation quickly degenerates from there. Before long Fenrir is flat on his back, accepting belly rubs and assurances that he's a good boy.
You and Kaiser share a look. Even with both your faces completely covered, the sentiment is communicated clearly. 'Fucking minions, am I right? No sense of gravitas whatsoever.'
"Do you have snake as well, for Fenja to fawn over?" he asks with a certain asperity. Menja completely fails to get the hint.
(Also, still called it. Every one of them, gay for the norsemen)
"'Fraid not," you say.
"A shame. You may dismiss it now. Menja, do try to control yourself."
Menja reluctantly gets up and resumes her position at his side, and you whisper "begone". Fenrir takes the time to give you a wounded look before he dematerializes, but obeys. He is a good boy, after all.
There's no reason be more nervous now than before, you tell yourself. Kaiser can still kill you in three different ways, the fact that Fenrir won't be able to materialize again for several hours makes no difference.
"You power appears adequate," Kaiser notes. "How is your martial arts?"
Oh. Clearly your sweet Viking costume has convinced Kaiser that you've already mastered the first required cape skill, so he goes straight to asking about the second. Which might be a problem.
"...nonexistent?"
"Hookwolf holds classes. You will attend those until he judges your skills sufficient. We don't expect you to take down Armsmaster in single combat, but we do expect you to be able to hold your own against a Ward. Do you know first aid?"
And there goes the third skill. You shake your head.
"Well. It's almost time for the annual refresher course anyway. We'll hold it a bit earlier than usual."
"Don't you have Othala for that?" you ask.
"Othala can't be everywhere," he says, his disapproval clear in his voice. "Everyone who gets injured in the line of duty will be treated by her, but someone may need to keep them from bleeding to death until she arrives, and that someone may be you."
"Understood, sir."
"It's quite early still. I think we'll send you on the introductory patrol right away."
"Oh. You should have said earlier, now I can't."
"Explain."
"It's my power, see. After I dismiss Fenrir it takes quite a while before I can call him back."
"How long?"
"I'm not sure, it seems to vary," you answer honestly. "I'll definitely be ready by Monday," you continue, still truthful but considerably less honest. But it's what's expected of you as a cape. ABS: Always Be Sandbagging.
"Unfortunate. Very well. Monday and Friday patrol, Tuesday and Thursday martial arts, Wednesday first aid - make a note, Wednesdays for the refresher course - to be replaced with more patrol on completion, your power permitting. Schedule subject to change in case of unusual circumstances, e.g. jailbreaks, gang wars." Kaiser does not lose his businesslike, faintly bored tone as his spiel meanders over to felonies and grave risk of bodily harm. "You're still in school?"
You nod.
"Untrained, working part time. Your salary will be one thousand dollars a month. With bonuses for parahuman combat, the size of which will depend on danger and results."
"You expect me to break people out of jail for a thousand bucks a month?" you scoff. "The Wards make more than that, once you factor in the scholarship fund."
"And if you cared more about money than about doing the right thing, you would be joining them instead of us," Kaiser counters.
You turn away from him and lock eyes with Menja. "Can you believe this shit?" you ask her. "The Kaiser is jewing me."
She bursts out laughing, then quickly claps her hands over her mouth. Even Kaiser is chuckling softly as you turn back to him.
"Very well," he says. "I will cover your college tuition as well, assuming you remain with the Empire that long."
"Because giving my boss an incentive to make sure I become part of the cape longevity statistics sounds like an excellent idea," you say. "Tell you what, why don't you take advantage of the fact that I'm young, foolish and broke and instead offer me a generous - but ultimately much smaller - signing bonus?"
Kaiser chuckles again. "You drive a hard bargain, miss Low Key. Are you sure you're not a Thinker?"
No, you're a Tinker, as you found out just now. You have a brain full of ideas, and getting them out of there and into the real world is going to cost a fortune.
===