Isaac, in disguise as Harkeem, picked up two papers from the stall and admired the headlines. The Star City Times read Star City’s Secret Sovereign ‘Ship and detailed the long history between Blacktime and Glorybeam. That was Greg’s contribution. On the Star City Post, under Rebecca’s byline, the front page was Revealed! Supervillains Hiding In Plain Sight and had the information Isaac had provided about the various companies and buildings owned by Blacktime through his shell companies.

  Whether or not the stories made the splash Isaac hoped for was really up to the populace of Star City, but he heard the other people at the stand muttering about them. For all the power Star Central held, the actual number of supers was miniscule, fewer than professional athletes even, and the number of total metas in Star City probably couldn’t fill a stadium. Regular people were the actual voting populace, the labor force, the tax base, and Star Central had to ultimately bend to the civilian government.

  “You gonna buy those?” The man running the stall scowled at Isaac, who refolded the papers and dug in his pocket for the appropriate cred tab. Handing it over, he took his papers and continued on toward Star Central itself. He still wasn’t sure how he’d get to Cayleb, but just hunkering down in his self-storage or lying in his rented bed didn’t do much for his thought process. Putting eyes on the problem would help, and if nothing else he might get lucky. It wasn’t like supers were generally completely inaccessible to the public.

  As Harkeem, he stepped under the visitor shelter outside of Star Central, mingling not with the various supers, but with the permanent stable of fans, reporters, observers, and gawkers. It let him stare at all the heroes going in and out, hoping for some ideas or, failing that, seeing some evidence of Cayleb’s handicraft. Admittedly it wasn’t likely any such additions would be obvious, since the only recent product Isaac had seen was a miniature camera drone, but he’d seen Cayleb’s work evolve for years.

  For a while he didn’t see anything as people in costumes walked or ran or hovered on their way in and out of the main doors of Star Central – most attending the Jobs and Bounties board – but finally he saw something. A speedster with a minimal costume, just a blue bodysuit and goggles, but with an additional piece of machinery over his ear that had certain lines and forms that Isaac recognized. That was good enough for him.

  “Have we heard of any new tinkers?” He asked the nearest fellow observer, a young man in a suit with a clipboard and a well-chewed pencil.

  “I dunno,” the man said. “Lemme ask Ricky.” He turned and looked through the gawkers and then walked two paces to elbow a middle-aged man with a potbelly and beard who was busy snapping photos. “Yo, Ricky, did Ike get any new tinkers recently?”

  “Dammit Jo, you ruined my shot,” Ricky grumbled, lowering the camera and adjusting its strap over his shoulder. “Yeah, new guy by the name of Machine Head. I only got one shot of him, though, he’s down in the Dungeon with the rest of the tinks. Here, lemme find it.” Isaac waited as Ricky pawed through the bag hanging from his other shoulder, leafing through a stack of photos until he extracted one.

  The picture was grainy and out of focus, framing Cayleb inside the Star Central elevator and showing him in a suit similar to the one Cyberlocution had loaned him, something to support his head. But he had a big goofy grin on his face, which was a good sign. If it weren’t for the fact that he was completely incommunicado, Isaac wouldn’t even be worried.

  “His given name is Cayleb,” Isaac said in Harkeem’s fussy voice, figuring he’d at least give the man something in return for his help. “One of the unfortunate members of the Lost Generation.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ricky waved at Jo, who obligingly scribbled something on his clipboard. “Weird that they haven’t trotted him out more. Be a good public image to show one of those poor kids growing up to be a proper hero.”

  “Perhaps such a question should be included in the inevitable queries that will result from this morning’s news,” Isaac suggested, nudging each of them with an elbow of his own. Not that the men, whether they were actual reporters or just fans, wouldn’t have thought of it themselves, but sometimes an outside push did wonders.

  “Yeah, probably,” Jo said. “Hey Ricky, think we can get Marvin in on this?”

  Isaac left them to their plotting, glad to have some forward movement, even if it was clear that he wasn’t going to be personally getting any deeper into Star Central. Cayleb probably wasn’t going out on patrol anytime soon, but from the sheer number of reporters accumulating in Star Central’s lobby, a lot of public pressure was about to be brought to bear on the organization. And it wasn’t going to stop, since Isaac had plenty of material to run in the papers.

  He wasn’t going to stick around for the press conference though, as he didn’t trust his persona to hold up against the scrutiny of multiple supers — including, perhaps, Glorybeam. Isaac could catch it on television or watch whatever clips were aired later on. He was sure the news and radio types would replay the juicy bits for the next few days. The problem was that he wasn’t sure what exactly he should do.

  Normally around this time he’d be helping with the convention setup – or at least, he would be after work – but for the moment there was no persona where that would be appropriate. Save for Ravdia, and he couldn’t imagine trying to shift boxes and set up tables in that costume. Though he probably would have welcomed even something that annoying to keep him occupied, as nervous energy made it hard to focus on the car’s radio as he drove away from the Star Central parking lot. He needed to burn off his anxiety, so he went to make sure he had a proper civilian costume for Chains.

  When he’d first made the persona, he’d never thought about what Chains would look like outside of the ganger style. Chains had existed for one purpose, but Isaac wasn’t quite ready to throw away that persona. Besides, figuring out the civilian version was a strangely entertaining backward exercise, extrapolating who the normal person might be behind the costume.

  He decided on something like mercenary chic, matching tan-and-brown shirt and cargo pants that looked vaguely like a uniform without actually being one. A grade-seventy, gold-colored chain as a belt and another one as a bandolier, because Chains would certainly never be caught without one. The only other thing he purchased for the outfit were boots, nice ones, which he could re-use for other personas easily enough.

  The end result was someone who looked more like an aspiring mercenary rather than an aspiring ganger, which probably matched Chains better than the Iron Nails outfit. If he decided to keep Chains in the future for whatever reason, that was probably a good direction to go — except he didn’t have any mercenary inclinations himself. At some point he was going to have to get some training of some sort, but it was clear that he just wasn’t cut out for constant combat.

  While he shopped – and then, later, as he worked on the details of the outfit – he listened to the radio, and this time he could pay attention. Fortunately for him, Administrator Ike started the press conference late, though that wasn’t all that uncommon. Even then he only caught snippets as his little mini-radio crackled from all the reporters trying to shout over each other.

  “Administrator! Do you have any comment on—”

  “—any truth to Glorybeam—”

  “—plans to shut down the exposed businesses—"

  “—finally go after Blacktime?”

  The general, noncommittal replies from Vilmonica, the official spokes-super – Ike didn’t speak directly – were disappointing but expected. The papers probably hadn’t entirely blindsided Star Central with the stories, but close enough that there wasn’t a full public relations workup. Of course, if it was just this, then they might be able to smooth it over, but there’d be more coming.

  Once he was finished with his costume creation, Isaac copied some more information; more businesses and this time snippets with individual names. Instead of meeting with Rebecca again, he went to a parcel service and had the tape mailed to her care of the Star City Post. In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have even spoken on a recording, since he was certain that someone could recognize his put-upon voice and accent if they wanted, but he doubted anyone was really looking for him.

  He kept himself busy with errands and combing through the data he’d taken, hunched over the clamshell as he transferred or redacted things to avoid certain personal details. It was one thing to hand over the names of corrupt mayors or supers cooperating with Blacktime; it was quite another to include the names of someone’s kids, or worse, break secret identities. Even for villains, the line between the two was sacrosanct.

  On Wednesday morning he walked through the slums with a backpack on, finding them unusually quiet. There were still people about on the streets, but nobody wearing a gang outfit, and even the normal background noise of people yelling somewhere in the distance was gone. It set him on edge, and he wished he had more to protect him than just clothes, but nothing happened as he walked along the aging sidewalk. The only unexpected thing was that Smokeshow was outside when he approached, smoke pluming from her lips as she worried a cigarette.

  “Hey,” she said, lifting her hand, her eyes flicking over his non-ganger garb. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna come.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” He had to keep the lower voice, but he pulled back on it a little bit so it wouldn’t hurt his throat so much.

  “Y’know, the crackdown that’s gonna be coming,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of Star Central. “But anyway, it’s better to go out and do normal things. Not like we can do any work.”

  “That is the plan,” Isaac said.

  “Gimme a sec,” Smokeshow said, and slipped back inside. Isaac waited, arms crossed as he leaned against the building and wished he’d brought a jacket. He wasn’t waiting long, at least, before she returned in something that was still very goth, but slightly different from her ganger wear. Layered top, long skirt, and he recognized the toes of platform boots as she emerged. He couldn’t imagine that she’d done all that in the few minutes she’d been gone, and he had to wonder whether she had been using illusion before, or was now — and why she’d done it. “’Kay, now I’m ready.”

  “Looking good,” he said, and she turned away down the road, but not before he caught a slight smile.

  “C’mon,” she said, and he followed her down the road to the garage. The cars inside were more visible than they had been at night, and he recognized them as brand new Musashi Roadsters, each one an executive-looking coupe each in red, blue, and black, with sleek glass canopies and flip-lights. Smokeshow, of course, selected the black one.

  The ichor-implosion engine of the car chimed as she pulled it out, heading to the convention center downtown. It didn’t take much prompting to get her to talk about what was going on within the gang — people looking for who might have spilled the information, for example. Given the Mechaniacal attacks all over the Five City Alliance, Crash’s assumption was that the obvious tinker had stolen stuff from somewhere, though apparently Blacktime favored the idea that the Cayleb’s surveillance – the stuff they’d stolen from Star Central – was the culprit. Regardless, there were some hard questions being asked of all the lieutenants, and that could be dangerous given the criminal nature of the organization.

  “Sounds like you need a break,” he said tapping his fingers on the central console and watching a couple of supers fly across the sky.

  “You’re damned right I do,” Smokeshow agreed, her fingers brushing his as she worked the clutch, shifting down a gear as traffic slowed and then stopped at a light. “Haven’t had much of a chance to just go out and have fun for a while. Dad’s always got something going on, and since I’m in charge when he’s not around…”

  “Yeah, no time off,” Isaac agreed. “Maybe need to raise it with him after this. I mean, I doubt he wants to make it so you’ve got no time for yourself.”

  “Maybe,” she said, waving it away with the hand holding her cigarette as she turned into the convention drive. “Not going to worry about it now though. Gonna try to enjoy this.”

  He was looking forward to the convention as well, though he felt maybe a little guilty because he hadn’t managed to solve Cayleb’s silence yet. Something he’d learned was how much taking breaks was necessary, though, and he’d gone to the convention every year since he could buy the tickets, so he wasn’t about to skip out. It was, however, the first year he had VIP passes.

  “Welcome, welcome!” The man at the front desk took the two passes and presented them with gold lanyards, his cheer maybe a little bit forced. The convention itself had less enthusiasm and fervor than it normally did — the scandal had clearly put a damper on the usual happiness, uncertainty creeping in thanks to the bits of news out of Star Central, like some supers quitting.

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  “It’s usually more lively than this,” Isaac told Smokeshow as they walked past the vestibule. The multi-story convention hall was, despite his words, full of people. Big booths were set up, some official – Star Central always had a presence, and a few representatives – but most not. To one side was a stretch of comic authors, another wing held meta-mercenary companies, and on the second floor was a large billboard proclaiming the presence of the magical girl glam-rock group, Moon Prism. And everywhere there were people.

  A little over half were dressed normally, like Isaac and Smokeshow. The rest were in costume, ranging from poorly spray-painted knockoffs of Glorybeam’s armor to ten-foot tall, completely faithful reproductions of the utterly impractical mechs from the WarCrush franchise. Cameras flashed in a regular strobe as people took pictures of themselves, of some of the most interesting – or amusing – examples, or just sought out celebrities.

  “We might have stood out less if we were in costume,” Smokeshow mused, and Isaac had to admit she had a point. He’d simply worried about the gang signs being too much, too recognizable, and not enough in the spirit of the costumed fun of MetaFiCon.

  “Maybe next time,” Isaac said, by way of compromise. Not that he could even imagine where his life would be in another year, but it was as diplomatic as he could think about.

  “Maybe,” Smokeshow said, sounding almost amused.

  “One thing I have to warn you about,” Isaac said, as he watched her expression to see what interested her, touching her shoulder to start steering them that way. “Some aspiring supervillains will likely attack while we’re here. Nothing major, no real force, but it happens usually once a day while the convention is on. Just a tradition at this point.”

  “And Star lets them?” Smokeshow asked, raising her brows. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t know, since there was a big difference between the performative supervillains who were, to a large extent, mostly having a laugh, and the hard-bitten gangers under Blacktime’s aegis.

  “They tried stopping it a few years back, and the con-goers started attacking the superheroes.” Isaac snorted. It was before his time, but still a legend among the older staff. “So they’re mostly there for if it gets out of hand. Which…” He looked around. There was a certain pall hanging over the convention, an undeniable tension. It had never been his intent, but releasing those secrets might well have ruined this year’s MetaFiCon. “It might. Or we might not see anything.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “You talk a lot more when it’s just us.” He shrugged at that; she was so taciturn herself he had automatically adjusted himself to be more outgoing, plus there was the fact that he genuinely enjoyed her company, even if it had clashed with the normal attitude he had given to Chains.

  “Should I not?” He asked, slightly worried about the integrity of his persona. Most people adopted certain behaviors when they were at work versus at home, so hopefully it didn’t come off too wrongly, but he had no idea what held together the identity.

  Smokeshow just smiled and shook her head, refusing to press any further as they just drifted through the convention, the VIP passes meaning that in many places they didn’t need to wait in line or pay extra. There was only one major stop that Isaac cared about, and that was the mercenary recruitment area off in the corner. He couldn’t always rely on reading a bulletin board post in time to help out someone, and they might have some way into Star Central. At least enough of one for him to get in contact with Cayleb.

  A half-dozen people in costume stood around a booth with a high-quality sign proclaiming the group to be Justice for Hire. They’d had a place at MetaFiCon for as long as Isaac had been attending, unlike some other groups that had appeared and then vanished as people lost interest or went with Star Central. Mercenary work was a bit of a gray area, but in some ways they were held to a higher degree of scrutiny than heroes. Mostly because they didn’t have an entire government on their side.

  He got a couple of pamphlets, one for him and one for Smokeshow, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Isaac replied by merely waving the piece of print at her while he stuffed his into his backpack. After a moment, Smokeshow followed suit.

  “Better to have lots of options,” he said. “More tools, more contacts. You’re less likely to end up totally sunk.” Not that he expected Smokeshow to want to bother with vigilantism. The next stop seemed to be more appropriate to her interests — Moon Prism. They were doing a couple songs every hour, which were generally open and the sound was broadcast over the convention center, but there was a VIP area up front which Smokeshow had absolutely no problem taking advantage of.

  Magical Girl glam rock wasn’t exactly Isaac’s genre of choice, but he had to admit that Moon Prism had some good bops, like The Power of Friendship and Violence or The Crystal Stars. The seven band members were dressed in their full Magical Girl costumes, the armor glowing with each color of the spectrum, and making their own light show as scintillating beams and glowing whirls of magic shot forth into the air. His Ravdia persona was such a pale imitation that it was a wonder it fooled anyone.

  They’d just wrapped up the set, and Smokeshow was standing in the short line for autographs, when a rumble came from outside the miniature stage area. Half the people rushed out, but Smokeshow persisted long enough to get a vinyl promo autographed before joining him to find out what the ongoing thumps and booms were about. A loud voice echoed incomprehensibly to them, but by the time they reached the stairway he could make out a few words.

  “…my reign of terror, for I, Galvanitor, will reign supreme!” A man in a clunky, black-and-yellow costume floated in front of a shattered glass window, small arcs of lightning radiating from him and grounding themselves on the floor and ceiling. Isaac’s lips pursed as he appraised the would-be villain. The costume was clearly handmade, but had decent styling, and most importantly he’d used the big glass windows that were almost meant for such entrances. The convention staff had a construction meta that could fix that in just a few minutes, so he was probably someone who had been to the con before.

  “Seriously?” Smokeshow said with a laugh. “You’d think he was sovereign-class.”

  “You never know,” Isaac replied idly as several costumed people appeared to contest Galvanitor. Metas, or maybe even supers, but cosplaying as someone else. It could get confusing. “It’s at least as much about how you apply your power as what it is. Plenty of construction metas could at least be strategic-level, but they just don’t have the personality or insight for it.”

  “Maybe, but not him,” Smokeshow decided, as a lightning arc grounded into an overhead light and overloaded it, making the watching con-goers cheer. Normally being too close to a super using powers was dangerous, but this was more like watching fireworks than being around a live grenade. Exciting rather than dangerous.

  “Not him,” Isaac agreed, as someone with freezing powers started encasing the showy supervillain in a cube of ice. Up to that point, Galvanitor had been too busy floating and laughing to actually do anything, but maybe that was the point, and the guy was afraid of actually hurting someone. It was looking like that was going to be the end of that particular incident, but before it could wrap up, the entire wall below the broken window burst in and cheers turned to screams as debris rocketed into the crowd.

  A figure some ten feet high and seemingly composed of blue flame strode in through the hole, scorching the ground. Several other metas in blue ceramic armor crowded in behind him, as well as some chunky flying drones that seemed to be made out of the same material, hovering on little jets of fire. Smokeshow muttered something under her breath and Isaac looked over.

  “You know this guy?” He asked, as everyone’s attention switched to the newcomer. The normal folk were pushing at each other as they tried to vacate the area — the new villain seemed far more serious, or at least less performative than Galvanitor.

  “Dad mentioned him. Plasmaster. Kinda wants dad’s job, I guess,” Smokeshow said, pulling a cigarette from her top — except she didn’t have any pockets there. The contradiction made Isaac blink for a moment until he realized it was entirely illusion, and a damn good one since despite his suspicions, he would never have caught it without that brief mistake.

  “So is he—” Isaac started, then was cut off as Plasmaster strode forward and the rocket drones started throwing fire everywhere. Flame powers were generally nasty; fire spread, and people without meta toughness couldn’t deal with heat. Using it offensively took things straight over the line into real villainy.

  For a moment Isaac was actually stunned, less by the actions as being suddenly confronted with the thing that always lingered in the back of his mind. The very thing that had shaped his entire life, in a sense: normal people getting caught in a super-fight. The ice super flung shards out to contest the fire, resulting in bursts of steam that scalded those who had been just a touch too slow. Then a strength super smashed into one of the lackeys with a blow loud enough to make Isaac physically reel back, his ears ringing.

  “We gotta leave,” Smokeshow said, her voice pulling him out of his reverie. Someone hit the evacuation alarm, the distinctive warble filled the air, signs lighting up to show the fastest route out, or to the shelters. Other supers started flying over, or pushing their way through the crowds: Star Central’s representatives, the mercenaries – he even recognized Pinkieboom – and the attending members of Justice for Hire. Attacking the convention for real was an incredibly stupid idea.

  “Yes,” Isaac agreed, turning to aim them both at the nearest second-story exit. Part of him wanted to stay and help, but he didn’t have anywhere near the right skills or powers for that. If he tried, he’d just get in the way of people with real training — especially the one that seemed to be at least tactical class. Or he could get cooked, since he was no more fireproof than anyone else.

  He and Smokeshow joined the flow of the crowd as the sharp staccato of gunfire erupted, then another detonation of some sort made the floor buck beneath them. He stumbled, giving himself some extra inertia to try and counter the forces, and wrapped an arm around Smokeshow’s waist to keep her upright. She kept close as they tried to push their way toward the exit, fighting the jostling crowd. More metas appeared ahead of them, from other rooms in the conference center, filling the space left by the high ceilings with people who could fly, hover, jump, or otherwise get over the heads of the crowd.

  “Shit,” said Smokeshow in a strained voice, and Isaac looked over to the side to see a large metal sphere bobbing near the ceiling. A very familiar large metal sphere, the kind that shut down superpowers. “Sorrygottago,” she said abruptly, shakily cramming the words together, and puffed into a stream of smoke that went straight to the nearest wall vent and vanished into it.

  Isaac stared, blinked, and then shook himself. He didn’t blame her for being spooked, not after how badly the Mechaniacal drone had hurt her, but it still left a bad taste in his mouth. He shook it off, as the press of people flowed past him, some people bumping into him and failing to move him much thanks to his higher inertia.

  He’d gotten maybe five steps further toward the exit before one of the ceramic-clad mooks came smashing down from above, piledriving a meta dressed up like a noir detective into the ground. The poor guy made a strangled noise as something cracked, his hat falling off to reveal a receding hairline. Probably someone with a bit more heroism in him than Isaac, rather than an actual super.

  Isaac wasn’t going to ignore something like that right in front of him. He quickly fumbled open the carabiner he used to secure the chain-bandolier and then stepped forward and whipped it underhand at the armored mook. By the time it hit, he had invested it with as much inertia as he could manage in those few seconds, and while the impact didn’t chip the armor the mook still went flying. The flailing henchman tumbled through the air and by complete coincidence smashed into the hovering Mechaniacal sphere — which crumpled like tinfoil. Isaac sighed in relief as he saw it was just someone’s prop, not an actual one of Mechaniacal’s devices, divesting some of his inertia so he wouldn’t flatten someone if he ran into them.

  “Thanks,” the detective guy groaned out, staggering to his feet and grabbing his hat before it was trampled by the remaining con-goers. A third eye opened below the receding hairline and the detective rose into the air, pursuing the mook Isaac had sent flying. That was enough of a contribution for Isaac, who gathered up the chain and hastened after the con-goers.

  “Hey, you!” Isaac didn’t pay attention to the voice for a moment, as it didn’t much stand out from the rest of the shouting and yelling going on, but then a hand gripped his shoulder. He turned and blinked at a super in a light blue costume with a cape and short fins on the arms. Lunar Bolt, the one who had once kicked him through a building as Chains. “You’re coming with me,” she said, as if he was part of Plasmaster’s group.

  “No,” he said, heart pounding and mostly by reflex, but he had at least three good reasons. He didn’t want to, Chains was certainly a criminal, and when they found out he was Isaac there was no way he’d be able to keep up his information feed to Rebecca. Not to mention he still didn’t trust or want to be involved with Star Central, or spend the night – or more – in jail.

  “It’s not a choice,” Lunar Bolt said, latching into his wrist with superhuman strength and crushing it hard enough to send a bolt of pain shooting through his arm. “Since you’re here I’ll — hey!”

  Isaac knew that he couldn’t actually escape the grip of a proper super-strength hero, but still fresh in his mind was the imprisoning feeling of his own clothes being full of inertia, and him without the ability to offset it. Lunar Bolt had superstrength, so it wouldn’t be nearly the same, but it’d throw her off for sure. He threw as much inertia as he could into her costume, and then just simply pushed against her.

  With his own investment, he had a lot more force behind a simple push than it might seem, and with her clothes being similarly affected even a slight movement turned into a bizarre feedback loop. After all, it wasn’t like he made things heavier as such; rather that anything set in motion wanted to remain in motion when invested with his power. Lunar Bolt released him by reflex as she windmilled and jerked, bouncing erratically into the air as she tried to compensate with her flight power.

  Isaac ran while he had the chance. The exterior doors were still crowded with people, but he knew where the restrooms were, and there was a clear path in that direction. He bolted around the corner, and went to duck into the men’s room to change into Lou’s getup before something Smokeshow had said earlier struck him. Being in costume was less conspicuous than being a normal person, and if anything a random janitor would probably stand out. Another magical girl might not.

  Instead he pushed into the women’s restroom – which was, at this point, entirely empty – and ducked into a stall, hastily digging through his backpack. Ravdia took longer to swap into than Lou, but he’d brought the costume along for a reason. The foam armor and veiled hat – and shoes – took up most of his backpack, even though he’d had plenty of practice with packing such things, and some of his swag from the con spilled on the floor as he yanked out the package and started dressing.

  He was glad that he’d made the costume to go over normal clothing, because all he had to get rid of was the two chains and his boots — thankfully the nose prosthesis and scar weren’t visible under the hat. Every moment it felt like someone was going to burst in on him, as he pulled straps tight and shoved his feet into the roller shoes. The bangs, booms, and rumbles from outside made his breath hitch and fingers jerk, but he managed to get Ravdia’s hat on and everything shoved into his backpack without being interrupted.

  The backpack itself he stashed in the janitor’s closet just outside the restrooms. It didn’t fit the costume and might be recognizable anyway, plus with it not being out in the open there was a good chance he could retrieve it later. Then he clicked his heels together and rolled back out, hoping he could surreptitiously help Lunar Bolt and divest the inertia in her costume. The moment he turned the corner, he ducked instinctively as a bolt of fire flew overhead.

  In the few minutes he’d taken to change, the fight had turned into a full-on super-brawl.

  not just limited to combat supers; it also applied to people who are literally strategic resources. Tinkers with unique talents, people who are the cornerstone of food or power production, and people with wide-scale powers like transport or weather supers. Even if it might seem a direct upgrade from tactical-class, many tactical supers would dominate a strategic super in a one-on-one engagement, as strategic classes have a different focus. That said, some strategic supers are that just because they have really potent tactical class powers.

  applies their power. The same power could be sovereign in the hands of someone driven and competent, and common or even dreg class when handled by someone with no intellect, interest, or imagination.

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