[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/NN7JjDC.jpg?1[/img][/center]
[center][h3][b][color=0054a6]Sean Evens/Overclock[/color][/b][/h3][/center]

[b]Date/Time:[/b] [i]November 11th, 2022. 5:44 PM.[/i]

[b]Location(s):[/b] [i]City of Redline Patrol[/i]

[b]Stage 3 Escalation Energy Pool:[/b] [i]3 hours, 0 minutes, 0 seconds[/i]
[hr][hr]

"Do you need a ride?"

The door closing behind him was the only answer, as Sean stepped out onto the front porch of his home. A small kernel of guilt wormed its way into his gut, but he shoved it aside. They... hadn't been speaking for the past few weeks, not since she betrayed his trust, helped the PRT ignore his rights, his [i]liberties[/i], helped them [i]conscript[/i] him. On the one hand, he knew she meant well... to a degree, but he wasn't going to easily forgive her for that, not for a long [i]long[/i] time. He was angry, justifiably so, but he wasn't about to take it out on her outright. He wasn't that kind of asshole, so damning silence would have to do.

Sighing at the biting 33 degree chill, Sean's body warmed up, the familiar vibrating rumble suffusing his body chopping that chill in half. It was a common misconception that he was a Brute, an easily made one. And on a technical level, in terms of classifications and what kind of threat he might present, that was still true. However, his power, at its core, was nothing more or less than a highly flexible Breaker power, a power that allowed him to interact with the more tangible aspects of physics in a variety of ways.

The strength and durability were more side effects of the portions of his power required to keep him from being torn apart every time he so much as took a single step. Because of that, his durability was not so much direct physical defense as it was "dividing the effect of harmful forces levied against him". Like extreme temperatures, for example. Or, at least, that's how it seemed to work as far as he could tell.

Pulling up the furred hood of his jacket over his head, less for defense and more for disguise, Sean stepped around into the backyard gate of his house. Entering, he shoved his hands in his pockets and... loitered, standing still, as the energy in his body became yet more suffusive.

[i]23 seconds have passed.[/i]

This whole scenario was a nightmare for him. Unlike what they might assume, he had a [i]life[/i] outside heroics, a plan. Between school, martial arts and work, he really didn't have the kind of free time that they expected of him. Unfortunately, on the work front, he'd basically been forced to quit. There was no way he was going to be able to hold down a job properly while also being a government attack dog... At least the latter paid okay. And he [i]really[/i] hated that he had to factor money into this matter. Being a hero shouldn't be just another paycheck, shouldn't be about greed. It wasn't that he particularly abhorred the idea of being rewarded for his efforts, but reducing the noble profession down to just another government institution, another series of letters in the ever growing and all too easily corrupted alphabet soup?

[i]Unacceptable.[/i]

[i]His Breaker state had risen another Stage. One more...[/i]

Even so, a Hero -a real one- shouldn't be someone who fought for money. Money was fine, but that should never be the goal. It was about the mission, about actually saving people in all the ways that matter and making the world a better place. It wasn't about defeating the villains or showing off; those things were simply par for the course. A real Hero could do so much more, fire-fighting, disaster relief and even just common human acts of decency. At the end of the day, heroism was about saving [i]everyone[/i], not just punching assholes in the face. A real Hero inspired hope in society, encouraged good people to stay on the straight and narrow, and made those that preyed upon them regret being villains at all.

The PRT was just another government entity. It didn't matter who the Director was or how apologetic he may or might not be. At the end of things, he answered to uncaring and far less accountable individuals. Being a government-sponsored hero was a death-trap of morality. Maybe basing that kind of opinion off of comic books was fallacious, but considering how consistent that narrative ran? Clearly, there was an understanding of human nature there that many would like to pretend didn't exist. Government heroes, if they allowed themselves to be dragged into the Big Man's momentum, allowed themselves to choose orders over the right thing, choose looking good for the cameras over actually putting a stop to the threats to the people? The red tape of oversight was a death sentence to heroic ambition and integrity.

But Sean refused to allow himself to be yoked... not the way they would like.

It was time to make a [i]point[/i].

[i]As his internal timer ticked past 4 minutes and 40 seconds, Stage 5 spun up, and time almost seemed to come to a halt.[/i]

He'd certainly used it before, on many an occasion even, but the drain on his internal energy stores to maintain this level of power was... significant, enough to run his tank dry in a mere 3 minutes, which he thought was, to be honest, all too little for the sort of things that would normally require it. Oh, and that was only assuming he'd not already spent some energy elsewhere. Therefore, he'd only used it in quick bursts, which were usually more than enough to handle even the obstacles Redline could present, villainous in nature or otherwise.

Regardless, he'd never actually used this Stage before on the scale he was about to, and not just because using it this way was generally massively inefficient. For one thing, it would have possibly attracted attention from some very unfortunate sorts. (Un)fortunately, one of the most annoying of said sorts was already in the know, and now that they knew about him and were ostensibly allies, even if reluctant ones... Well, he could finally cut loose a bit and show them what he could [i]really[/i] do, a good deed, expression of defiance and low-key implied statement that he was entirely without need of their supposed "safe training program" all in one. No, it would be clear that the only thing they were doing was holding him back.

He idly double-checked his reserves: still full, as he'd been standing still the whole while. He had no idea what kind of bullshit he might have to put up with at the PRT, nor how much time he was going to be stuck there going through legalese nonsense and interacting with a bunch of other Parahuman kids, which promised to be... less than fun. Regardless, it was never a good idea to run himself dry. Having enough left to bring his best to the table in the case of an emergency was only prudent.

[color=0054a6]"So, a minute or two, then? Minute and a half?"[/color] he idly mused aloud. Actually, he might have been high-balling it. Redline was located in the State of Massachusetts, which was only 190 miles long at its absolute widest point. At this level of escalation? Sean could move about 100 miles a [i]second[/i] if he was jogging and going slow enough to really meaningfully interact with the world. 186 miles per second if he was all-out sprinting his fastest. One piddly little city, like Redline?

Absolute child's play.

Sean [i]Moved[/i]. Or rather, "moving" almost couldn't quite describe it. Overclock, the hero, had been an active presence in the seaside city of Redline for two years now, but never before had he put on such a distinctive show, a display that practically screamed to the citizenry "I am here, watching over you". For that brief minute and a half, his speed well eclipsed that of lightning, trailing in his wake in a constantly-refreshing nigh-omnipresent crisscross of tesla coils, azure lightning whirling behind him to lick upon every surface harmlessly aside from a distant hair-raising feeling of not-static. Indeed, though the lightning existed visually, it did not rend the city asunder thanks to being as misaligned with normal physics as Sean himself, as Overclock tore across the rooftops and all throughout the streets and alleyways of Redline.

8 car crashes averted. 14 wrecks attended to and victims safely extracted. 23 purse snatchers zip-tied. 78 attempted murders averted and criminals restrained. Medical aid applied to 179 victims of crime or mere accident given first aid. Serious cases moved to a hospital. 4 regular fires put out and victims safely evacuated. 3 arsons put out and perpetrators mostly in custody. 37 rapes averted and perpetrators restrained for law enforcement. 25 robberies foiled. 13 cases of domestic abuse handled and victim brought to police. 6 hate crimes shut down. 7 cats saved from trees. 911 phone calls set to ringing for all relevant cases, and "Friendly Neighborhood Overclock" calling cards distributed where needed. And a fair few other incidents of which there were, frankly, too many to name.

Honestly, he was rather proud of those cards. They were shitty and cheaply printed, but the little cards had instructions on the back about calling 911 and making sure to give a witness statement to make certain the criminals that went after them got put away for a good long while. Normally, Sean would only hand them out when he was in too much of a hurry to remain and give the police his own statement as well. On that note, he was... [i]really[/i] going to need to restock both his cards and zip-ties after this.

And all of that occurred within the first several seconds.

Some things required he slow down. Helping lost children. Foiling several suicides and taking a moment to talk them down while remanding them safely to someone who could help. Pumping the water out of someone's lungs and/or performing CPR. There were just some things that even insane speed couldn't hurry along. If it needed actual delicate handling, required calming words and a personal smile, he obliged as best he was able, and every single time, he shoved down that annoying part of him that complained that the moments he spent speaking were dozens of other people not being saved. He was a Hero, a real one... or at least, he liked to think so. So, he could never allow himself to be wrapped up in obsessing over things like numbers and weighing lives. Instead, it was better to save everyone in front of him, one at a time, as they came. No complicating things, just doing good deeds.

And so, for a minute and a half, the city of Redline was intermittedly illuminated in mass by thunderous trails of crackling azure light, and to say the least, it was a bad day to be an active criminal...

[hr][hr]
[b]Date/Time:[/b] [i]November 11th, 2022. 5:50 PM.[/i]

[b]Location(s):[/b] [i]Redline PRT Headquarters[/i]

[b]Stage 3 Escalation Energy Pool:[/b] [i]1 hour, 30 minutes, 0 seconds[/i]
[hr][hr]

Overclock touched down atop a building a block away from the PRT's base of operations still crackling, as his power began to wind down. Rolling his shoulders, Sean stepped off the roof into an alley, idly observing the descent in slow motion, before touching down with barely a bend of the knees, his power reduced to Stage 3. The lightning no longer flowed around him, as he sighed and released down to Stage 1, grunting in satisfaction at the feeling of energy beginning to trickle back into his reserves. The initial boost didn't take a lot out of him, enough so that he could maintain it and still recharge. Though, were he [i]not[/i] to use his power at all, his pool tended to recover at a 1:1 rate, and the tank would be brimming again within 3 hours at most. Given the fact that using his power at all chopped that in half, it would still take 3 hours... just to recover the half he'd blown off for his stress relief do-gooding.

Stepping out of the alley with his furred hood still pulled up against the -to him- mild chill, Sean shoved his hands in his jacket's pockets and began the short walk to the PRT HQ proper. As he approached, Sean couldn't help grimacing at the structure, an ugly menacing thing, more like a prison in appearance. His brain whispered quietly that it might as well be -and actually, technically partially literally was, but he shook the thought off... if with some difficulty. Sean snorted at the irony of being miffed about the PRT's outward PR, but then again, he would be one to talk with his friendly persona and active interaction with the citizenry. Rather, Sean actually considered PR to be a good thing, vital in some ways even. Giving the people hope, giving them beacons to look up to? That mattered. It was simply that one should never choose something as ultimately banal as PR over actually saving lives. Appearances could rot if the alternative was more victims being made.

Striding casually up to the front doors of the building, Sean stepped inside the lobby with a neutral expression plastered on, taking in the sight of couches and various portraits of the Guardians staring into his soul, while a few PRT officers lingered here and there. Grunting, he concealed his hesitation and strode up to the front desk, rolling his jaw, as he mustered up to the forefront of his memory the absurd -but objectively effective- passcode. Before the receptionist could speak, he deadpanned, [color=0054a6]"I have a message from an angry swarm of BEES which says that Risen won't see his coffee mug again unless the only restored baseball cap in the world is delivered to my roof by lunchtime."[/color]

With little to no fanfare, an Officer was beckoned over to escort Sean to the elevator. While the descent to what was, apparently, [i]below[/i] prison level got a raised eyebrow, the brunet refrained from offering commentary. He held his peace all the way to the blank wall and offered only an appreciative hum of approval at the hidden retinal scanner. At the very least, it seemed like they were taking this seriously, even -or perhaps, [i]especially[/i]- as a first-time venture. His eyebrows raised even more at the [i]second[/i] elevator behind that. One part of him appreciated the fact that even he would likely have a spot of annoyance breaking in or out of here. Honestly, the only gripe he might have is how much a blackout or EMP attack could be a problem for elevators.

He kind of hoped there was a backup escape route...

The second elevator opened directly into, instead of a hallway, an apparent common room, which Sean entered without hesitation. The area was pretty sparse, almost spartan even, containing mostly just boring walls, terminals and screens. There was a table and some rather comfortable-looking chairs, two of which were occupied, one by the Director, himself, and one by...

[color=0054a6][i]Fuck! Workshop![/i][/color]

[color=0054a6]"Ah, Workshop... Long time, no see."[/color] His eyes drifted down to her fiddling hands... and the sphere.

[color=0054a6][i][b]FUCK[/b]! She's [b]Tinkering[/b]![/i][/color]

To be honest, the rather trashy, scarred girl didn't even rate half as much concern past that point, even with the Mad-Max-looking cybernetic arm. Sean barely managed to conceal his, well... "trepidation" might be an understatement, as he carefully located and took the furthest seat from the unpredictable Tinker, moving slowly and clearly to not startle the suntanned girl. Even when he turned his head to address the Director, he couldn't stop himself from watching the southern gal out of the corner of his eyes. [color=0054a6]"Well, I'm here,"[/color] he said with about half-again as much enthusiasm as he felt... which was honestly not much. Still, he threw out a little wry grin anyway.

It was a little hard to muster up the mental energy to put an act on, when so much of his brainpower was now devoted to keeping an eye out for even the [i]slightest[/i] spark of trouble from Workshop. To be frank, he was halfway considering ramping up his power again, just in case. It was only the fact that he'd been running it at full throttle when they first met that had saved both of them and far too many potential collateral casualties. Their first meeting was the stuff of infamy in Redline... and was also the reason there was now a massive area of frozen time acting as a tourist attraction...

And on [i]that[/i] lovely train of thought-!

Sean idly scooted his -admittedly comfortable- chair a bit sideways, giving himself as much room as possible to book it in the case of an... "incident".