"What are you doing back there?" Gobber shouted above the noise, his thick, contorted accent demanding as he staggered over to my workshop.

I sighed and climbed out from behind the charged particle manipulator, the project I had been working on for months. It had increasingly grown in size as I continued working on it, and I was impressed with the progress I had made on the invention, as they often didn't work very well.

"I'm checking to make sure the hydraulics are working so when the activator sparks, the mainframe isn't fried." I drawled sarcastically, knowing Gobber understood none of what I had just said.

Gobber grunted and walked around to where I stood, tools strewn haphazardly about the ground. He tried his best to walk around them, but the task was nearly impossible for someone of his size. I couldn't help but wince once or twice as he kicked away a few expensive pieces of equipment.

"How long are you gonna fiddle with that thing ? I need your hands in the lab." He asked gruffly, pushing past a heavy hammer.

I sighed.

"I'll keep 'fiddling with it'" I said, using air quotes. "Until it's ready."

I turned back to the CPM and ran a few last minute tests for any possible electronic problems. Gobber looked at the contraption, trying to sort out what it did in his mind, but gave up and settled for frowning at it confusedly. He had been trying for months, and had given up by now, knowing it was far too complicated for him to figure out.

"Well, hurry up. Your dad's gonna be home in an hour. He still thinks you're going to school." He said. And with that, he left the dark, musty room, shutting the door behind him.

I sighed and began packing up my tools into the rusty tool case that barely held everything together. My Dad is the chief of police, and was always busy. He didn't know that I didn't attend school anymore. All he knew was that I was passing with honors, and that's all he needed to think he knew. The truth was, I had graduated high school an entire year early, and had been offered several scholarships for various engineering colleges and universities, even the odd science scholarship. I wasn't planning on telling him until the last minute possible, and that moment wasn't anytime soon.

It wasn't his fault he didn't pay attention, crime was very prominent in his precinct. Violent homicides were noticeable and persistent, always violent and well thought out. The most dangerous stunts were pulled off by the crime group known simply as the Dragons.

The Dragons had killed my mother years ago, in retaliation for Dad's squad killing several of their gang members during one of their famous raids. I was there that night, I watched them take her away, and shoot her. I had been injured during the attack as well. The leader of the group had found me, and had shot me in the left leg, making me unable to do anything but lay on the ground and watch as they murdered my mother.

I had seen them take her, and I could have done something. I knew that I could have stopped them, but I didn't. I didn't because I was afraid, and because of that, my mother died, and I lost my leg. I was a coward, I was weak, I couldn't kill someone. I wouldn't kill someone

They were the reason I know had a prosthetic, in place of a real leg. They were also the reason I still woke up at night, sweating and gasping for air. Now, arresting as many of them as possible was the only thing my Dad cared about any more.I liked to think that my Dad still cared about me, but nowadays, I wasn't so sure. We never spoke anymore, except for the very brief and very awkward conversations we had when we accidentally saw each other at home. I think I reminded him of my mom, something that was painful for the both of us, because remembering my mom meant remembering what I could have done that night to save her life.

I preferred not to remember, and so did my dad.

Shaking off the depressing thoughts that often surfaced when I was alone, I was about to lift the heavy toolbox up and make my way back into the office, when I spotted something amiss among the tangle of wires in the machine.

I leaned forwards, and noticed an extra wire, to my disbelief. It was blue, and very thin. I frowned. Who had put that in there, and what was it connected to? The only people who ever touched my invention was myself and the occasional scientist who had come to inspect it, making sure it wouldn't explode some day and wipe out the entire human race.

I tugged at the wire gently, testing the resistance. It was pulled taught, and I searched for a pair of wire cutters I could use to slice the wire. Finding an old rusty pair with dull blades, I pulled it out of the old toolbox and held it close to the wire. I snipped them shut, and a spark flared up. I pulled my hand back quickly and cursed. The wire was live!

There was another series of sparks coming from the wire, and I quickly searched the machine for the kill switch to turn it off, fearing the spark would set off some of the dangerous mixes of chemicals and metals.

I spotted it, the only problem was that it was buried deep within the machine, meaning I would have to stick my hand in to turn it off. I had first designed the kill switch early on in the project, meaning after I had begun adding extensions to the CPM, it had been lost in sheets of metal and dangerous wires.

I quickly calculated the odds. Huge explosion, or possible electrical shock? I chose the lesser of two evils, the electric shock. Burning my hands was sounding a lot better than burning down the entire lab. I shoved my hand deep into the machine, barely fitting past the tangle of wires, narrowly avoiding a possibly painful encounter.

"Who designs a machine like this?" I muttered to myself.

Right. I designed this machine.

I flipped the switch down, effectively turning off all electricity making it's way into the machine. I sighed, and wiped the sweat from my brow that I hadn't known gathered. I extricated my hand from the delicate mess of machinery and stood back, trying not to think of what could have happened had my hand brushed the live wire. Making a mental note to rewire the kill switch, I was already beginning to plan how I was going to do it.

All thoughts of relief disappeared, however, when I saw yet another spark light from within. Before I knew it, an explosion sounded, so loud that I could only hear the ringing in my ears when I was thrust against the walls of the small workshop. I crumpled to the floor, pain wracking my body.

I looked to the machine, and my breath clogged in my throat. It was glowing purple, and the energy surrounding it began to expand. I struggled to stand and run away to seek protection. Before I knew it, the machine exploded once more, filling the room with such a bright light I couldn't see anything. I was blinded and deaf, kneeling on the ground, still struggling to get away from the massive accident I had caused.

Another wave of pain hit me, this one feeling like an over charged static shock, only it covered my whole body and disappeared almost immediately, leaving me feeling sore and numb all at the same time.

I once again tried to stand, but I became so very tired. I was exhausted, and couldn't move at all. I struggled to remain awake, but soon fell prey to a heavy slumber, forcing me to succumb to the heavy blanket of sleep lain over me.