The Psychic Tracer carefully wriggled the full beaker out of the purifier. If his calculations were correct, the silvery liquid inside the beaker would aid him in developing his Nasod armor further. That is, if he had gotten the composition right this time. It was the fifth time he'd tried it, and there was no luck yet.
Eh, maybe this time it'll be right, he thought, carefully carrying the glass container over to another table, setting it down next to one of his Dynamos. He was hoping to modify the energy output that the drones currently had, giving himself more power.
Add carefully took the black plating off one of the Dynamo, reaching for the beaker once the inner mechanisms were exposed.
"What are you doing?" a familiar voice asked, prompting the Psychic Tracer to stay his hand and sigh dramatically.
"Go away," Add muttered, turning to face himself. The Arc Tracer that was standing in the doorway glanced around, noticing the purifier.
"I was looking for that. Bastard," he said coldly. The Psychic Tracer rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, so? YOU copied my Nasod armor, keke. The least you could do is lend me your equipment," he shot back, then glared as the other Add's Dynamos flared out from his shoulders angrily.
"I did not copy your precious Nasod armor," the Arc Tracer said. If his voice was cold before, it could freeze Pyro Knight's flames now. "If I must be brutally honest, it bores me. The new technology from Echo is much more interesting."
The Psychic Tracer scoffed at that. "Right, because you want to just collect samples of El energy for all your life? I'll pass on that, thanks." He turned back to the Dynamo on the table, reaching for the beaker again.
Light footsteps sounded behind him. "If you're going to use my equipment, then tell me what you're doing with it," the Arc Tracer commanded. The Psychic Tracer laughed derisively, turning his head.
"Yeah, so you can copy my work again? I don't think so!" he said, and flung out his hands to shove himself away. "Back off!"
The Arc Tracer stumbled back a few steps, even though the Psychic Tracer didn't think he had pushed that hard. He came back, though, looking curiously at the silver liquid that the Psychic Tracer had created.
"I already told you that I have no interest in your so-called 'work'. What's that?" he asked, pointing to the beaker and ignoring the purple glare that was sent his way. Nosy little shit, the Psychic Tracer thought, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to show off.
"The key part of my Nasod armor," he said smugly. "It'll allow the Dynamos to handle more energy, so I can deliver more force with my blows."
The Arc Tracer snorted. "Why would you want to do that? My drones are far more powerful than your armor, and they require less work, too."
"I don't take advice from puffballs," the Psychic Tracer said stiffly, internally groaning when his counterpart drew breath to speak again.
"Oh, and this coming from a guy who's wearing enough fur and leather to be a hooker. Let's keep our fashion choices out of science, shall we?"
The Psychic Tracer should have backed down then. Looking back on the incident, he wished he had backed down then. But he just had to have the last word.
"Fashion? Kah, you call that outfit anywhere near fashion?" he heard himself say. "It's poofy and impractical, and what's that thin piece of wire on your head even for? It looks worse than Time Tracer's eyepatch!" There was one thing the two Adds agreed on; they didn't like Time Tracer, even though they'd only met him once. To be compared to Time Tracer was the ultimate insult for them.
The Arc Tracer actually growled, throwing out his hand. His Dynamo flared with energy, and a spinning purple drone appeared behind him. The Psychic Tracer didn't let him attack, however, driving forward with a punch.
Of course, he forgot that he only had five Dynamos, since the sixth one had been shut down for the experiment. The energy blast from his punch went wide and low, crashing into the table and demolishing a leg.
Both Adds watched, paralyzed, as the table toppled and fell. The beaker smashed as the table hit the floor, the silver liquid drenching Arc Tracer.
"Kahahahaha!" the Psychic Tracer laughed, throwing back his head at the shocked and angry expression on his counterpart's face. "You're a complete idiot, you know that?" he said between laughs.
There was no reply. The Psychic Tracer left off laughing, realizing that the Arc Tracer was no longer in front of him. He looked around, but the other Tracer seemed to have disappeared.
The Psychic Tracer shrugged and glanced down, searching for the Dynamo that had been on the table. Then he froze, realizing that a puffy jacket was lying on the floor, draped over a white-haired two-year-old. The child had the stupid haircut that the Psychic Tracer had only seen before on the Arc Tracer, complete with the hairband.
The kid looked around with big, purple eyes, then looked up at the Psychic Tracer. His face had a jagged scar running across it, exactly like the purple line tracing its way down the Psychic Tracer's own face.
"You nincompoop, what did you do?!" the toddler shrieked. It still had the voice belonging to the Arc Tracer, and that cemented the Psychic Tracer's idea that this was his more scientific counterpart. He started to chuckle again.
"This is NOT FUNNY," the baby Arc Tracer said. "If you don't find a way to reverse this, I'll – I'll -"
"You'll what? Hit me with a rattle?" the Psychic Tracer asked, still giggling. "Kehehe, that'll do so much good." Babies didn't usually have quite so fierce of a glare, he thought as he continued laughing.
"So you don't even want to know why it happened?" the childlike Arc Tracer asked. The Psychic Tracer shook his head.
"I'm more concerned about what would have happened if I had put it into my Dynamo as planned," he confessed, his giggles becoming more subdued.
"I would be the one laughing right now," the Arc Tracer said bluntly. "If you won't help me, I'll do it myself." He tried to get up, then realized that his legs wouldn't support his weight. He also realized that his clothes hadn't shrunk down to his new size, and immediately stopped moving, gathering his far-too-big jacket around himself self-conciously. This, of course, set the Psychic Tracer off into another round of insane laughter. The Arc Tracer could do nothing but wait it out.
Finally, the Psychic Tracer got himself under control. "Alright, I'll help you," he said, still snorting a bit. "But under one condition."
The Arc Tracer narrowed his eyes, which was an odd expression to see on a two-year-old. "What?" he asked, rather ungracefully.
"You'll help me with the development of the power-increasing technology," the Psychic Tracer said.
The Arc Tracer breathed out. "Is that all?" he asked nonchalantly. "Then I-" He stopped as the Psychic Tracer held up a finger.
"And," he said, "you have to steal Time Tracer's eyepatch next time we see him, and wear it. For a week." The incredulously pissed off look on the young Arc Tracer's face set the Psychic Tracer into laughter again.
Of course, it wasn't like Arc Tracer had any other option but to agree. After he did, the Psychic Tracer sat on the floor with his counterpart, drawing out the chemical formula that the original liquid had had, and they began to figure out an antidote. It took them a week.