Onyx didn't need the Danger Room to dissect the team's failure to stop Chernobyl. She could replay the scenario in her head. With a little bit of mental effort, she could even imagine it from other perspectives. Having seen Marlene's playback helped with that. And from every imaginable perspective, Onyx looked the same:
Useless.
She didn't really want to think about it anymore. She wanted to go clubbing or watch the sun come up somewhere exotic... she wondered for a moment whether Professor Xenon cared about her occasional jaunts to exotic locales, but dismissed the thought. If he cared, he could do something about it. Regardless, no matter what she was doing to keep herself busy, there was nothing on this earth that could occupy enough of her cognitive function to keep her from apprehending the truth.
She had been useless. Worse than useless, because Blue Jay had been forced to miss a potential offensive beat in order to heal her after she took a radiation blast to the chest. Of course, by the time she'd adapted her Multifunction Nanotools to the situation, it was too late. Amazing that so much could go wrong in less than a minute. She had to recalibrate the tools, clearly, but there was something wrong with them. Something was wrong with all of her equipment, actually. Had been since that weird time-disruption incident, and she was somewhat concerned. Her zero-point fount had at one time been able to generate enough energy to simultaneously power the nanites, her force field, an anti-personnel shield, gravity bolts, and near-light flight speed before that incident. It was, speaking strictly in terms of theory, impossible for it to be producing less power now. Unless something had changed in the local universe on a quantum level.
She noted all this while simultaneously feeling annoyed that it was so obvious to everyone that she was indeed using technology rather than magic, or at least to Bowman, unless someone had simply told him, which wasn't out of the realm of possibility. And that reminded her of the rather worthless Dr. Penwitch and she made a mental note to do some research as to what sort of spooky ops would simultaneously not be considered black ops yet strike the fear of God into the people they were paying to do work for them (which, in turn, forked another thought process: more anger and concern, that the government was actually in the business of killing people in order to cover up operations of dubious purpose). And she was rather amused/concerned at the suggestion that taxpayer dollars weren't funding that project. If they weren't, then the government either had some hidden source of near-limitless funds for such operations, or else they were printing said funds themselves. The economic consequences of either of those would be dire over the long term.
But the important thing, the thing at the forefront, was that she had been useless in the battle. Of course, her teammates browbeat her into jumping directly into the fray instead of taking a moment to plan, but the subsequent attempt to "plan" the rescue of Envoy had been so laughable that it was clear to her that planning was a waste of time, and that she had to be better at rapidly applying, not to mention withstanding, brute force. The notion that landing on the roof was a bad idea because it would give the enemy more time to prepare made her almost angry. Better to head in, guns blazing, then to attempt some reconnaissance. It was ridiculous, but that was beside the point. It was also clearly the way Tensile was best deployed. She wondered wryly why Fate, or Brian's parents, or both, had bothered to give him the ability to make himself incorporeal. He was no less vulnerable to attack than when he was at full density, and he clearly preferred smashing barriers to moving through them intangibly. But none of that changed the fact that she'd been useless.
She had considered seriously the notion of hanging up her cape, so to speak. Considered it frequently, in fact. That would give her more time to do research and experimentation, to see whether some of her inventions could be built on a scale that would actually make them useful to other people rather than merely lending her bedroom an unparalleled "gee whiz" quality. She wondered how the Circle managed to build their base way out in the middle of nowhere. How Otaku could build his stuff on such a scale (a scale that, admittedly, was still far better suited to making the world worse than to making it better. That made her wonder if perhaps high-tech villains were all embittered idealists at heart; people who realized the world couldn't benefit from their creations, or wouldn't even if it could. Her admittedly-minuscule data sample belied this theory, though. Otaku seemed to be little more than a staggeringly smart, demented pervert).
Other options aside from quitting didn't seem very appealing. She thought perhaps she could bring the fields and blasts online at something close to her previous full power if she discarded the Multifunction Nanotools, but that provided the team no non-redundant benefits. Restricting herself to niche functions not already filled by other members of the team left her vulnerable to threats that might respond only to brute force. It was best to have everything potentially at her disposal.
And as far as quitting went, well, she realized that was a notion she entertained to make herself feel like she was occasionally a reasoning, thinking being with control over her destiny rather than a bundle of instinct and conditioning that happened to have cognitive faculties. Her sense of responsibility and the regrettable thrill she felt when in danger ultimately made the idea of sitting on the sidelines unpalatable, at least for now. She suspected that a few more blows like the one Chernobyl dealt to her might condition her to feel otherwise. But she was not eager to test that hypothesis empirically.
She sighed and started speaking in Latin, the language with which she interfaced with her design machines. She'd worked out a way to halve the time it took to reconfigure the nanites. It wasn't as fast as she might want, but it did mean she wouldn't have to flee the battlefield every time she needed another power. Or if she did, she could return almost immediately afterward.
But she knew, as she did it, that it was missing the point. That the reason she'd been of no use was that she was simply not very good at fighting. She could compensate for that by building combat aides with the Multiform Nanotools, but that limited the level of energy they could deliver.
Simply put, unless something changed radically in the power she could pull from quantum space, she had to get better at fighting.
And that meant the Danger Room. A LOT of Danger Room. "Computer," she said, "Is the Danger Room available for a solo lesson?"
"Negative," the Computer replied. "The Danger Room is currently in use. Occupant: Envoy."
Three shrill beeps followed. "Warning: Fire identified. Sprinkler system engaged. Activate visual security feed?"
"Uhm. Affirmative," Onyx replied, brow furrowed. She touched a button on the ankh she wore, and from it oozed a glossy black substance, not unlike molten tar; it spread from the ankh to cover her body in less than a second, fitting her like another layer of skin. A second later, boots, gloves, and accessories formed from the blackness, and she was in costume.
Whatever's going on in there, she thought to herself, I think no one on the team needs to see anyone else naked for awhile. At least not in a professional context.
"Computer, full sensory feed from the Danger Room. Clandestine."
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