Awoken 1.4
Two hours later, at clear past three in the morning, I turned away from the screens. "Zach?" I called out.
"Yeah? I'm over here!"
I stood up, cracked my neck, and made my way over to the woodworking table. He was sitting in a chair, whittling away at a former block of wood. He looked up as I came closer. "You done with your little study session?"
"For now," I said, pulling up a chair, "I think so. I've had a few ideas, but nothing huge yet, and I want to get something done tonight."
"Finally. So," he said, leaning forward and setting the knife and wood aside, "How can I help you help me?"
Okay, time to do boring stuff. You can skip this. "Walk me through your power, then we can talk about the Tinkertech."
He explained, in a whole lot of words, that his power lets him make anything, once, and that it can cut off tech trees if he isn't careful. I, in turn, nodded and uhuh'd the whole way through, a skill I'd perfected back in high school alongside sleeping while standing. (First period classes and undiagnosed sleep disorders don't mix.)
"So, crazy thought, bad pitch," I said after he finished.
"Yeah?" he said, caution staining his voice.
"Have you tried, umm… not being careful? Because it sounds like your specialty isn't building things once, at least to me. It sounds more like building new things to solve problems, like some sort of crazy Eidolon tinker."
He stared at me. Kept staring. Finally, he spoke. "So you think I should be building new gear instead of trying to maintain old gear," he said flatly, "until I run out of stuff to build?"
"More or less."
"Great suggestion," he said with sarcasm, "I'll get right on that."
"I'm serious! Have you ever built a power source based on dirt, for instance? What about nanites, or an AI? I'm looking at that pile, and all I see is technology."
"I'm a tinker! I BUILD TECHNOLOGY!"
"No," I replied, "Tinkers create and build whatever their specialty is. And yours is everything, not just every electricity-based technology."
That made him go quiet.
I headed off the train of thought, because we could always come back to it tomorrow. "We'll set that discussion aside for now, though. No time for it tonight, I'm gonna be out like a light in about an hour or so. For now, walk me through this Tron disc." I shook the thing for emphasis.
We walked over to the circuitry station, a large, stone-topped lab table with several large scorch marks and a few precision tools scattered atop it. Zach set down the disc, and started stripping the outer shell.
"This thing does three things. It has a toggleable edge blade, to cut stuff that it hits. It has a kinetic redirector, that makes it bounce and fly really efficiently, or block things when held. And it has a seeking feature, so it always tries to return to its user after going a certain distance or hitting a certain number of things."
"So, just like a Tron disc."
"Exactly." He removed the shell. "The three functions are pretty simple, but that's the problem I'm having. Simple things mean more stuff I can't build. You can see how many things I've built, so you can imagine how many avenues I've used up."
You have no idea, buddy.
Another thought struck me, and I laughed a bit.
"What?"
"I just realized that yesterday, I wouldn't have called a kinetic redirector 'simple'." I would have called it science fiction, to be honest, even though I now had one to repair.
"Yeah, you kinda get used to it in my- our, line of work."
"I guess so," I said. Leaning forward to get a closer look at the device, I studied the structure a bit. I could see some of the damage, but I needed some tools to really assess the full extent of the device's problems. "Anyway, let me take a look here." I reached for my metatool, and popped out a probing tool.
Tech/Pretech Check (Int): Rolled 9+1 vs. difficulty 10. Pass.
I had a pretty good grasp on what each component did. Skill check success!
"So, what is that thing on your arm, anyway?"
I pretended to study the device for a bit, to keep up the illusion. I spent the time mostly poking the probe at the bits where the parts sort of stopped making sense, the bits of eldritch godling gluing together the machine. Tumors to be excised.
"This," I said, poking one such spot, noting the way the two parts seemed to do conflicting jobs, "is a metatool. It's got a bunch of basic tools for the aspiring tech repairman. Not the greatest item, but it is handy in a pinch."
"Sounds useful."
"Not as much as you'd think, but it's serving me well enough." I finally stopped poking stuff, and sat back a moment, popping my neck again. "Well, I can get an idea of what's going on here," I said, stretching.
"Really? I wasn't sure you would actually have anything."
"Yeah, I can sort of puzzle it out. I can definitely see why Tinkertech isn't reproducible, too. Even the parts that make sense are decades ahead of the norm in this thing, and there's parts that seem almost deliberately broken."
"Where?" He leaned in, peering at the machine. "Show me."
I pointed to the main fault that my skill check had determined was not just nonsense. "See the conduit here, the burned out one? The power going through that point could only have reached that level if it had been conveying the power of a fairly powerful explosion, and all the other conduits would have burned out too." I moved the probe to another point. "This microchip, and several like it, are placed in just the right proximity to the power source that they can overheat if it runs too long, but only if the power source is the specific kind you have here, which throws out extra heat in that specific direction." I poked one of the god-bits, then another. "And these points, which are scattered throughout the machine, are just nonsense-tech, yet they seem to be vital to function despite their lack of actual functionality. That stuff, I'd guess, is the copy-protection tinkers have, and I might be able to repair the rest if I replace those bits somehow."
I turned to him, noting the look of worry he had on his face as he looked up from his machine to me. "I think I have an idea of what's wrong here, though, on a more general scale." I couldn't hide it from him. This was a matter of life and death, and he was too important to the long term to risk failure.
Plus, I was starting to like him. Which made it harder to break the news.
"What?" He sounded worried, too. Too late to turn back now. I sighed, and began to talk.
"I think your power is deliberately sabotaging you. Because you're using it wrong, your power is feeding you less safe designs, and making more of them fail outright. I'm sorry, but the rest… My theory on your power earlier? That's my best guess. I can only recommend that you start innovating like crazy, or you're gonna kill yourself."
"A-are you sure?" Okay, strike worry. That was his terrified face, if his voice was anything to go by. Shit.
"No," I lied, "But it's a definite possibility."
"Shit!" he said, standing up and pacing. "Shit, shit, shitfucking dammit!" He turned to me, yelling to vent. "You know how careful I've been!? Every build, every game theme, it was all a way to keep track of things! Every time I build a fucking toaster, it sets me back, and now you're saying my stuff is gonna kill me? Fuck!" Just like that, he slumped into a chair. "Fuck," he repeated, "It's just not fair."
Jesus, I couldn't even think of what to say that didn't sound insensitive as fuck. I was used to my life being ruled by tons of minor handicaps. The new nature of my existence didn't help, and I didn't look forward to probable insanity or the inevitable series of bad rolls, but I'd kind of learned to take that kind of shit in stride, because my normal life was defined by setbacks and failure. I had no real reference point to work from here. Still, I had to try.
"Zach, it's not as bad as it sounds."
His head shot up, and he spat the words when he spoke. "Where the fuck do you get off sayi-"
"Calm the fuck down!" I yelled, standing up abruptly. That got him to shut up, so I continued. "It's not the end of the world. Just a setback. I'm gonna help you through this, and through the mess with that crazy bomber bitch, and whatever the fuck comes next, okay? You guys are showing me a lot of trust, and I'm gonna pay it back. For tonight, let's go back, get some rest; take some sleeping pills if you have to. Tomorrow, we try to figure this shit out, and we keep doing that, day by day, until we have shit sorted again. Got it?"
Persuade Check: Rolled 9+0 vs. difficulty 8. Pass.
He took a minute to reply, and his tone was one of defeat when he did. "Okay. We'll get it tomorrow. Let's head back." With that said, he got up and headed for the exit. I followed behind, shutting the lights off as I passed the threshold.
The drive to the duplex was as quiet as a grave.
Passing the Night...
The next morning, I woke up as normal: alert in moments, slight headache, with absolutely no idea what time it was, and in desperate need of a shower. It's weird, but my first thoughts on waking were that I'd forgotten to buy a pack of gum while getting my cheap mask, and a slight regret for missing the service up at Immaculata, which quickly passed. I made my way to the bathroom, absently noting the time as 2:15 on Richard's bedroom clock. No sign of him, so I guess he went out.
Stepping into the bathroom, I closed the door, and faced the mirror for a moment. Staring back, of course, was my face; strong chin, slightly overgrown dark brown hair, coppery goatee and mustache, gray eyes, and all the little imperfections and skin problems I was familiar with, splotching across my face like a mild but unyielding sunburn. I could be considered fairly handsome without the skin problems and the extra weight, but personally, I could care less. I was still me, for better or worse.
I scratched absently at my cheek, and looked away from the mirror as I got ready for my shower. I was dwelling on things, somewhere in the back of my mind. A little voice, telling me to just give up, that I should get my shower and walk out, find a new place, and just live day to day. I knew it was the depression talking, but I also knew from experience that it was very convincing. It didn't exactly rule my old life, but it was there to drag my optimistic thoughts into darker places, and I was always worse about it when I was tired.
My shower was quick and quiet, ruled by what-if scenarios running through my head like the water running through my hair. Ways Leviathan could go, from taking him on with a telekinetic gauss rifle and dying horribly to sitting in a bunker and feeling bad for myself. The Slaughterhouse 9 could be even worse: I just had no idea how to confront some of their problems, especially Crawler, Shatterbird, and Mannequin, without relying on too much coincidence to occur.
I worried and ran scenarios on my leveling speed, because I had no idea how fast I was gaining xp. I could be level 2 or 4 by the time Levi got here, and I needed the 4 more than the 2. Should I be going out and saving cats? Was there a way to get roleplay xp? Why was I not allowed to know my rolls or see my character sheet?
I sighed, gave up, dried off, and reached for the strange fabric that was my only outfit in the whole world. My mind was running more scenarios and questions before I had my future-clothes back on.
Turning back to the mirror, I studied my face again, noting that I needed a razor and a toothbrush. One part of my brain encouraged myself as I locked eyes with my reflection, while another part imagined all the horrible ways I would die and leave those eyes lifeless and dull. Yet another part quietly reminded me that if I died, nobody would miss me, because I had no family here. My mother existed, but she could be anything now, instead of a poor single mother who had the heart to support her jobless adult son.
I was familiar with the term 'falling through the cracks.' That thing that happened to some people, where they just couldn't catch a break. I used to be sort of the opposite: someone who was hanging onto the edges, held up by people who cared about me, even as I slipped further and further in. I hated it, because I knew I was dragging them down with me, but I had nothing to work with. All I could do was accept their kindness, and try my best to pay them back someday.
Here? I had no home, no family to be a part of. No belongings beyond the few items sitting in the backpack out there. No friends to call and hang out with. No stupid, evil, lovable cat to nip at my heels, no familiar music or reading material, no stories to write for. I would never see a familiar face again.
All I had were my own problems, and my newfound powers. Ahead of me were pain, years of constant, daily grinding, and the distinct possibility of death, or worse, insanity.
I sighed again, popped my back and neck, put on my glasses, and walked out of the bathroom. There was no point to being here if I wasn't doing something to help others, and there was no point dwelling on my eventual death, whenever it came.
Making my way to the kitchen, I dug out a skillet and bowl, and started prepping ingredients for some scrambled eggs.
Zach had probably neglected to take sleeping pills last night, if I had him pegged right. I really felt bad for the way I'd handled that. He was the stabilizer of the duo, the one who had kept Uber from going bad, and I'd fucked with his head less than six hours after meeting him. Not that it wasn't a good thing; now the world would have a tinker who not only could make anything, but would, and I could eventually use that to advance all mankind. I just worried about him as a person.
Therapy. We should all get therapy. I wryly thought of one of my fanfics, imagined getting Yamada in on this action. It'd be the Eidolon thing all over again. 'Sveta's not a monster, the tinker who thinks the world might be fictional is!'
"Why does my brain do this?" I mumbled, more to stop my train of thought than anything, "Deep, philosophical questions, what-ifs, and then stupid shit like that." I checked the cabinet, groaned in horror at the lack of spices, muttered a curse at the discovery that they only had paper dishes, and made a mental note to civilize these two as I vengefully grabbed the black pepper. I still had my pride as a decent cook, and if I was gonna be a live-in houseguest, I was gonna make the shit out of these eggs.
I turned my thoughts to other things. Mainly, I needed short-term priorities. Muttering to myself, I poured the egg mixture into the skillet.
"Well, I could make a ramshackle psitech weapon. Probably less of a TK gauss rifle, and more an actual gauss rifle with a high-yield telekinetic crank-generator to reduce weight." Technically, it should count as a psitech weapon, unless real me was being a hardass. This was important because of the way combat bonuses worked with skills; essentially, the psitech weaponry skill would be cheaper to upgrade, and benefit from wisdom and constitution instead of strength or dexterity. Which, in turn, would let me hit stuff more often, and hit harder when I did.
I still need to test out my actual powers, too. Hmm. I'll have to think on that. I was already starting to regret my decision to keep the details of my powers from the others, but that might just be morning gloominess talking. Until I decided to change that, I'd have to find some time alone to check my powers out.
Other stuff. I was currently of the opinion that, as much as I wanted to contact Taylor and other big names, it might be better to let things happen. At least until she turned herself in. Butterflying away the person she'd become meant removing Khepri from consideration, which, in turn, meant no backup strategy if I died. Humanity would be wiped out, and it would be my fault.
I knew, making that decision, that I was dooming a girl to a life of misery and pain, loss and hardship. I really wasn't sure how to feel about that.
My mind wandered to another point, one that was fucking terrifying to consider- where is Contessa?
My first thought, as a writer, would have been to have her basically door to me, kidnap, brainwash, and level the hell out of me, and throw me at Scion when he went off. My second guess, the first notwithstanding, would have been that I had the Blank perk or something, but I'm not even sure this is a CYOA. I certainly haven't noticed any upsides or downsides that would indicate it, aside from, maybe, the Without a Map downside.
For that matter, if I don't have Blank, then did the Simurgh see me coming? Was I already fucked?
I stirred the eggs absently, trying to puzzle out the 4-D chess game of Simurgh vs. Contessa for a minute, before giving up. Real me probably had a huge plan for them, and I would not be allowed to know it from such a limited standpoint. That, or this was all real, which was pretty much the same. All I knew was that I really, really hoped I wasn't already the target of a Simurgh plot in action. Which meant I probably was. Which meant I wanted a Mindwall helmet, and all the Telepathy and Metapsionic powers, and orbital teleportation or something, because fuck that shit.
Oh, the eggs were done. Guess I should go wake up my partner in crime. Hopefully, he'd be in a better mood after I told him my plans for today.
After all, today, we were gonna fuck with physics.
