UnMasked Nomad

8

"Processing... currently impossible. Requisition computer Ram for R&D?"

"Yes, figure it out. In the meantime, bullets made of this Semi-Godly metal will do, I suppose."

"Processing... Complete. Adding to Fabrication Queue. Time to completion: 3 hours."

I nodded, and placed both the collar and the tooth in a nondescript cardboard box, labeling it 'from: Nomad; To: Aquaman/Batman', then setting that on top of one of Conner's bikes. He'd deliver it, I hoped. When I returned, Moray was still asleep, so I wrote a note, setting it next to them, and went into the shower.

'To: 'Moray'
From: Nomad (The chick who knocked you out).

Aquaman will come check on you in a few hours, probably. I'm in the shower, cause I have dry saltwater in my hair, and then after that I have work to do, so I'll be back around nightfall. You're in my bed, but don't worry, sleep as much as you need. If you're hungry, there's protein bars specifically designed for super-appetites in the little mini-fridge downstairs in the garage. Oh, and Ocean Master is already in prison in Atlantis, so don't worry about that part.'

—

The living quarters overlooked the lab from an angle on high, the wall facing it fully glass, like an industrial loft. In an effort to disguise the location of my new home, I'd taken several measures.

First: Sound Dampeners so perfectly occlusive that I instantly was reminded of the shadow realm, and my own heartbeat. It was not pleasant, until phase two kicked in.

I'd sent a little belt of cameras to Star city, where it was wrapped around an apartment building in the middle of downtown, constantly transmitting the sounds of the city, as well as the sights from one side, as the glass wall was built to look like the same window as the loft apartment it was modeled after, and it was playing the view from the window at a luxurious 600 pixel per square inch display, an acuity almost exactly equal to the human eye.

Next, phase three: the ground vibrates ever so slightly, exactly as if cars were moving nearby, and the neighbors were walking around. The cameras were using finely-tuned tremor-sensors to match that, as well.

Thus, with the sound, view, and tremors, only Superman would ever be able to tell something was not right with the apartment, because as far as I was aware, he was the only one with super-senses that could see better than the average human being, in pixels/in^2.

The interior was modeled after a girlfriend of mine's old Condo; she'd sold it, a few years ago, and I missed it, having lived there as her roommate for three years, and as her lover for another four.

A mixture of grays, blacks, and browns gave it an incredibly earthy vibe, like the cave it was, while brand-new chrome appliances mixed with black and silver granite countertops tied the two together nicely. I'd always hated our backsplash in the kitchen, so I changed it, and nodded, happy with my work.

I hummed, staring at the front door, which currently led to a large laundry room, with a little Zeta-Beam emitter tucked into the back closet, for entry and exits.

The location signal was bounced off of nearly every single piece of receptive and unused metal capable of transmitting Zeta Beams in the world, effectively hiding it, while still allowing me to use the Zeta Booths around America to get to the apartment, though no one else would be able to guess the code.

'Open, Says Me' was my favorite quote of all time, not that anyone here would ever guess that, and there was no way for them to look up my Netflix watch history.