"…the children, just shoot. Doesn't matter your aim, just shoot. You see one lying on the ground? Shoot the little bitch twice more to be sure. We give them no chances to be clever or lucky, understand?"
They were going to kill kids?
Why was I even out here? I didn't have anything worth mentioning in the way of equipment yet. My power could only go so far on scraps, and pickings were slim in a city like this. Ug, if it weren't for the Trio I'd not be out tonight, I'd not have heard the ABB, I'd not have to get into a fight.
And with Lung? On my first night? What the hell kind of thing had I done in a past life to deserve this?
And yet… kids. I couldn't just let this go. I had to stop them… somehow.
I flicked my fingers, snug in the haptic control glove I was wearing, like an old school power glove. Throwing out commands for my… well, 'abominations' is the only kind word I have for them. Just my luck to be cursed with a power that is only good for making monstrosities.
A window opened on my hacked together visor, showing a birds eye view of the area. If only that had been a metaphor. I literally had a camera feed from the augmented pigeon that was flying above our heads. Icons appeared over the living targets, marking them as hostiles, showing estimated threat levels, equipment, and, awkwardly, their projected value in replacement parts.
I should probably feel more worried that I didn't find that last bit horribly disturbing…
A half dozen rats, that had been following me from the shadows, moved to encircle the group below. Their bodies were bulbous and distended from the cocktail of chemicals they now produced, a cocktail that would react extremely explosively once the command was given. They would prove a good opening move, causing chaos and allowing my other units to attack with a hefty advantage.
The trio of dogs I had been lucky to nab slunk up to the edge of the alley, a flicker of light revealed the dull and rusted metal that had been fused into their bodies. Weaponry systems that barely counted according to my power; it had felt surly when I had made them, if I had to guess I'd say it wanted better quality materials. Well sorry power, but I don't have access to that, maybe if the Protectorate could get past the horror of my creations, they'd be willing to fund me and provide quality parts.
No, bad Taylor. No stalling, you can't afford to let these assholes get away!
I flicked my fingers again, calling up the PRT's hotline. I paused a moment as the first ring went through, gulped, then flicked my fingers again and sent the rats forward.
A second and third ring, and then the line picked up.
"PRT Emergency Hotline, please state the nature of your emergency." A bored female operator responded, tired, robotic, a small device could be implanted in the neck that would administer adrenaline, caffeine, and a half dozen other compounds as, and when, needed to keep the user operating at maximum efficiency for hours…
No bad power! Not now.
A heartbeat had passed, my power could provide flashes of insight, ideas, designs in a fraction of a moment, but it always left a headache. I would have preferred one that took its time, instead of brutally mind-raping me with ideas.
"There's a group of ABB, with Lung, near the Docks. Corner of…" I was cut short from rattling off the location when the first of the rats launched itself towards the nearest gangster and let it's explosive innards do their job.
Ow.
My ears are ringing, and I'm lying on my back looking up at the building I had been on. I squeeze my eyes shut, and then open them again, and the world is still blurry. But I can see the feed from my pigeon, I think I miscalculated the rats.
I don't think it ever occurred to me that the rats would be carrying tinker explosives inside them. I think… I need to make sure I don't keep them inside in the future. Wait, no, focus Taylor.
Lung. Lung was there. I blinked my eyes clear again, and looked closely at the now cracked visor. There, that was where the first rat went off… and those other five craters. Shit that is definitely more than a little flashbang-in-a-rat. Next time I won't do calculations at school, it's hard to tell if you've carried the one when your notes are soaked in BerryBlast Soda. And looking at this mess, I am fairly sure I didn't carry more than one number.
There… is nothing left of the gangsters who were caught in the blast. Oh crap. Oh man, oh crap, the PRT is going to be so pissed off with me. Fuck!
I push myself slowly, agonizingly, to my feet. Looking up, I wonder how the hell I survived that fall, maybe Murphy didn't hate me as much as he seemed to. Oh god, did I really just think that?
Standing up straight, it finally clicks, other than the ringing in my ears, the street is eerily quiet… there should be car alarms, or sirens going off. Am… am I deaf now? I flick my fingers, and mercy of mercies my visor responds, even if it's a bit sluggish. The system alerts swap from an audio stream into my earpiece which, now that I think about it, is missing, and starts scrolling past as a text stream on the left side of my visor.
Oh boy, that's a lot of critical failures, and look, the one emergency regenerative implant I had managed to make had overloaded and died. I'd need to make a new one, but boy were those parts expensive. Well, looks like I know why I didn't die, my implant died to save my poor spine. I'll have to give it a funeral.
I staggered to the mouth of the alley, where my dogs still waited. The beasts were half machine, and honestly, they creeped me the fuck out. Imagine giving a toddler the chance to play Legos with living animals. Some of what I'd done to the poor things was horrific. But when you only have a scalpel, every problem looks like it needs more invasive surgery.
Peeking around the corner, and I didn't see any immediate threats. Did I manage to kill Lung? Shit that'd be a badass first night out. Maybe the PRT wouldn't immediately throw me in the Birdcage… no, who am I kidding, one look at one of those pooches would see me with a Kill Order, no doubts.
Pushing myself off from the corner, and walking much like a zombie into the middle of the road, I approached the mess I had caused. Ew, was that a spleen? Looks like those gangsters were a little less intact now than when last I saw them. This was going to get me in trouble, I just knew it. And the Trio didn't even have to do anything, they could have just left me alone and I'd have gotten myself a Kill Order without any help.
I slapped my face and screamed. Which only reminded me that I couldn't hear anything but the ringing. I stopped screaming, and looked down, thoroughly unimpressed with myself. Next rat I enhance gets a cryogenic mix. I mean, I can't even use these as spare parts anymore.
Oh hey, that guy is still in one piece.
And he's getting up.
Oh… fuck you too Murphy!
I turned and ran, if Lung had survived that, there was nothing I was going to be able to do against him. I could only hope I could get away and hide. I flicked my fingers as I stumbled over debris, sending my dogs off to attack. They wouldn't last, that's for sure.
Huh, I could smell burnt flesh. Was that the dogs? Was that Lung?
Oh. It's me.
I slammed face down into the asphalt as Lung tackled me to the ground. His aura of heat and fire licking at my costume and burning my flesh. I… can't feel that right. Shit, that's got to be nerve damage. A neural-regenerative mix could be brewed using the womb of a living animal as an incubator, so it wouldn't have to be permanent loss of sensation at least.
Suddenly I can see more than just asphalt. Right. Lung's still here! His face is covered in small metallic scales that are pushing out of his flesh. Replacing it, covering it. A subdermal reactive armor that can… No!
His hand around my throat means I can't breathe, and he's holding me up high enough that my feet are dangling, unable to get purchase against the ground. He's speaking, saying something. Probably cursing me out for being a shitty excuse for a tinker. Probably calling me a dumb bitch who should never have left her mothers womb. You know, just putting to words exactly what I'm currently thinking about myself.
Wait, what the fuck is that.
Something gigantic slams into Lung, something gloriously enhanced. And I go flying, smacking into the sidewalk, and rolling until I hit the wall of the nearby building. Yay, I could still feel some of that. Oh and look, the Pigeon has a better view than me.
Hellhound is here, her three giant dinosaur-dog-things are here too. Two with riders, and the one that crashed into Lung, and now has him in it's jaws and is tossing him about. That looks painful, and that beast could do with pneumatic enhancements to it's jaw, then it could have sliced right through Lung's chest.
One of the other dog things jumps down, and one of the riders, the pretty one with the motorcycle helmet, drops off it. He drags me up onto the beast, even as black smog flows out of him, encircling us, and cutting off my signal to the pigeon. The last thing I clearly notice from that feed is the scorched wrecks of my own augmented dogs. Well, apparently they did nothing to help against Lung.
I flick my fingers, and send out the emergency signal. A massively overpowered pulse of radio that should tell… well only the pigeon is left, so only him, to attack. See, I didn't want to be in a position where my creations could be separated from me. That didn't seem like a safe proposition, so I made a last ditch command for the neural control chip that I implanted in each of them. It would send them on a frenzied assault of whomever had me captive, and anyone still marked as hostile.
I hoped that the poor pigeon would make a valiant last stand against Lung, but mostly I hoped its body wouldn't be left for the PRT to link to me.
Wait, didn't I put that tranquilizer into the pigeon?
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I'm not sure how much time has passed, but I am now fairly sure that one of the error messages means that I have brain damage, and another means that my ears no longer exist as functional equipment.
I can fix both of those, but that's only if the myriad of other injuries and the rather extensive surface burns, especially those around my neck, don't kill me first. I really wish I'd left a letter for Dad in my bedroom. But you can't put a loose eyeball back in the socket after you stick a camera in there… wait what the hell is wrong with that metaphor.
Christ I could use a drink.
The darkness swirls away, and I see that I'm still on one of those giant lizard-doggos. The visor sends out pings now that it can communicate again, but I get nothing in response. Oddly, not even my home server… well it's a bunny that's doing time as a server, responds. Shit, that emergency signal must have made even Sir RackUnit attack. That wasn't intentional, I'd need to file a bug report with HQ.
I laughed, or I think I did. Hard to tell when you can't hear.
A girl with blonde hair, and green eyes behind a purple mask that doesn't really cover enough, leans down over me. She's saying something, but all I can think of is how I could make use of those teeth. Those are some shiny-ass teeth. Does she bleach them?
I'm unceremoniously lifted up and taken inside. This is either a safe-house or, if they are really stupid, their lair. I tried to pay attention, but I am fairly sure that flashing light means I am experiencing large levels of blood loss. It'd give me a chance to test out the synth-blood serum I have at home. Too bad we weren't there. I try to tell the girl where she can go to get it, but… my body is really fucked up, and I am fairly sure she just heard gurgling.
Okay, when I'm out of here, I am going to make a cure for tinnitus. I have new respect for those people who suffer from it.
I'm thrown down onto a couch, and I am fairly sure the group is arguing. The crossdressing one with the poofy shirt sits down right beside my head, sending a shock of pain through my body. What an ass. Oh hey, and he doesn't give a shit that I am dying right here, he's going to play some PlayStation. I bet he has mommy issues.
Hey, it's the girl again, the blonde. I'm sure there's a joke here, about a disabled Frankenstein and his hot nurse, but I can't think of it right now. She has a container of first aid stuff. Bandages and Tylenol, girl that isn't going to help you. I need a trauma team. Or an infant monkey that I can render down into a serum that should have me back in tip-top health in a week or so of bed rest.
There's a phone out, and it looks like she might be getting help from someone on the other end. Maybe she has a friend who is a doctor. Maybe she's calling 911.
I yawn, or try to, it's hard. Even thinking is hard. Fairly sure I am dying right now.
Well, I did better than I expected against Lung at least.
Maybe they can put that on my tombstone. "Exceeded Expectations. Didn't die instantly."
]|[ ]|[ ]|[ ]|[ ]|[ ]|[ ]|[ ]|[ ]|[
I blink, then blink again, the light is bright and harsh, like hospital lights. Only I think these are cheap knock-offs, and that's telling as hospitals don't exactly splurge on lights.
I try to lever myself upright, and pause when I notice that my visor is gone, I look down, and... Hey that bitch stole my clothes!
"Hey, you. You're finally awake." Hallelujah, it's a miracle, abomination girl can hear again!
"Are you even able to hear me? Say something if you can." The girl one, with the blonde hair.
"Something." Ug, even speaking hurts.
"Well, that's something I guess. I think we owe you an explanation about what happened, but I'd say getting you to a doctor, and keeping you alive at risk to our own necks, counts for everything else." You owed me for something? That can't be right, the only person who owes me anything is Emma, and I'll collect from that bitch, oh yes indeed I will.
Fingers snapped in front of my face. "Oi! Stop zoning out, I'm trying to talk to you here!" She's angry at me, frustration looks good on her face, sorta like a pain enhancement module would look good on Emma's forehead.
"Ug, there's no way I can talk to you right now. I'll leave a phone number, and you can call me at that when you are ready to find out what happened." Yeah, I am frustrating to deal with, I know, bitch. "Fuck knows if you'll actually remember this though." She muttered the last, but I still heard it. Yay, my hearing must not have been entirely fucked. That'll make it easier to fix everything.
She turns and swears too quietly for me to properly make out, and writes a number onto a piece of paper. Then she turns and leaves. Speaking of, I should make like a leaf and cannibalize some chlorophyll… wait that's not how that one goes.
I push myself into a sitting position, noting the excessive number of bandages, and the tightness of my, clearly still burnt, skin. This is going to be a hard one to explain to dad. Wonder if he even noticed I was gone.
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I checked on the assets of mine that had been left beside the bed. My haptic control glove was entirely intact, and so was most of the control circuit. The visor was a total write off though. Unfortunately my 'costume' such as it was, had been entirely written off and tossed. But they had left me some old cast-offs. Hell I am fairly sure I still had some of my suit stuck in my wounds, it itched like it.
It took me much longer than I am proud of to get dressed, and by the time I had the local doctor, well that might be too high a title for that guy, had dropped past and given me a bag of drugs. The dosage of such was written on each bottle, and he'd told me that the ones who brought me here had paid for everything before leaving.
So I was scot free to head home.
Too bad that took me four hours.
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It'd been well over a day since the fight, and Dad wasn't home when I got home. Odd, since it was early morning now. And that means I'd been missing for at least 24 hours. Surely there'd be a report with the cops, and I'd be labeled a person of interest with the PRT, since I disappeared at the same time as Lung got blown to hell.
Oh, and I was a girl, and so was their mystery caller, surely they'd piece it together. Wait, did I ever hang up that call? Does the PRT know what Lung had tried to say to me? Oh god that was embarrassing, I'd never live it down if they associated it with me.
I stumbled down the steps into the basement, where I'd made my little lab, flicking the lights on as I went down. I'd need to make a serum to heal me up, and something to inject it in. And probably I'd need to start enhancing a new pigeon, maybe wire it up with enhanced hearing systems, and put a cochlear implant into my own head so I could hear even after being hit by explosives.
Not being able to hear was a right problem.
I looked up from my lab tools, and noted that the sun had moved. I looked at the clock, and clearly I'd been here for a few hours. Grimacing, I glared at the tools and shook my finger at them.
"I'm supposed to get warning before I drop into one of those phases. Asshole power," I muttered.
Tinker Fugues, not even once.
But it seems I'd managed to get the Serum made, I swiftly planted the needle against the skin of my neck, feeling for the right vein, something my power didn't really assist with. It's not a super-nurse power after all.
"Here goes nothing, hopefully this doesn't make everything taste like nails again."
Then with a sharp pull of the injector I send a few CCs of liquid wizardry into my veins, and shiver at the chill it sends down my neck. Now just to crawl upstairs to bed, and I'd be right as rain in the morning. Hopefully.
Oh these stairs are awfully comfortable. I'll just have a short nap here, and continue on later…
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[ Excerpt from PRT post-incident report. ]
"The Parahuman known as Lung, and an unknown number of unpowered members of the Parahuman Gang known as the Asian Bad Boyz (ABB), were engaged by a suspected new trigger Parahuman late evening of April 10th 2011.
A PRT Operator received a call from an unknown individual at 2237 hours, who reported the group, and was cut off by a number of explosions shortly before the call disconnected.
Protectorate Parahuman Asset Armsmaster called in explosions near his position at the Brockton Bay Docks at 2238 hours.
PRT forces rerouted to the area after Armsmaster reported the presence of Hostile Parahuman Hellhound, member of local Villain team Undersiders. Call was made at 2244 hours.
Hellhound and minions spotted leaving the scene around 2247 hours. Multiple Civilian reports to PRT Operators made around this time, and for many minutes following.
Armsmaster called in Hostile Parahuman Lung as being subdued by unknown sedative, possible tinker make, at 2249 hours."
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[ Excerpt from PRT Trooper Neil Phillis's after action report. Conducted by Superior Officer Sergeant Todd Westly ]
Neil Philis: "I don't know what the hell went down there sir, but the only reason we know there were at least four gangers, was the number of spleens."
Todd Westly: "Spleens?"
NP: "Yes sir, somehow whatever parahuman power was used there, it left the spleen mostly intact. It may have been a coincidence, but…"
TW: "You are looking a little green there Neil, you sure you can keep going?"
NP: "Yes sir. Just, give me a moment."
[ Pause of seven minutes ]
NP: "Okay, I don't think I'm going to puke now sir."
TW: "Take your time, I know that the Director has already pre-approved psych leave for everybody involved with the cleanup."
NP: [ incomprehensible ]
TW: "I am going to remind you that this meeting is being recorded Phillis, keep your remarks to yourself."
NP: "Sorry sir, won't happen again."
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[ PHO logs extracted 12-04-2011 ]
XxVoid_CowboyxX : So anybody seen the latest mess near the BB Docks? Apparently the undersiders have decided to step up their game and took out Lung. Who even does that?
Avalon_ThreeZero : Yeah, [ REDACTED LINK ] and [ REDACTED LINK ], there is some gnarly images coming out from the area. Like scion dropped a boulder on the intersection and spread a dozen people over an entire block.
StarLemon66 : Oh god, at least mark those links as NSFL, I opened these at work! You are a scik fuck.
Bagrat : I've got a line from a friend who'd rather not be named, and they say that the Undersiders only turned up part way through, that damage? That was some new Parahuman. No further details for you, but I'm sniffing around.
AlterEgo : Oh boy, did you see, the PRT have a press release stating that they have captured Lung. And that whoever took him out used an unknown toxin to do so.
XxVoid_CowboyxX : Shit, there goes the neighborhood.
Judge : This thread is now locked. Please continue here [ REDACTED LINK ] on the official PRT press release for this event.
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I woke up on the stairs in the basement, not the most comfortable place to sleep, I'll give it that, but the serum I had injected into myself seemed to have started working while I slept at least.
My hands were no longer leathery and hard to work, and I could stand up without too much pain. Just a shame I'd not waited to mainline that in bed. Then I wouldn't have aching bones.
I exited the basement quietly, hoping Dad wouldn't notice, and had a look around the house. Wait, how out of it was I when I got in. The place is ransacked.
A quick glance at the clock tells me that it's early evening, although it doesn't tell me which evening. But I suspect it's the same day, since I'd surely have been found by Dad when he got home… Crap I hope he didn't notice that I'd gone out for more than an entire day.
I managed to get myself upstairs, and into the shower, getting myself clean, and noting how even old scars were gone thanks to the wonder serum. I am definitely going to need to have two of those on my utility belt… which is now gone. Thanks blondie. Sigh.
After showering I found that I had to trim my hair a little, but for the most part, only the ends had got singed, and the rest was salvageable. Some good luck at last! After tending to my wounded hair, and dressing in my own clothes, I went through the pockets of the, I would hesitate to say stolen but that's the most likely answer, clothes I was left in. And found a note which included a number to call, a crude drawing of an eye, and two hearts. What a weird bitch.
I'd deal with that after recreating my visor… or just going for broke and making it a proper implant. I could FEEL my power purr at the idea of making my visor a proper implant. It'd been doing the same thing since I thought of the idea in the first place. But without high quality materials, the only implants I can make look more like overdone Borg parts.
And I couldn't risk my civilian identity being linked with the tinker who blows people up. That'd get me killed right quick, just ask New Wave.
I set about cleaning up the house, and getting dinner prepared. It was April twelfth, and a Tuesday, and thus my day to cook. So we'd be having Mac&Cheese, homemade of course, really it was all my minimal culinary skills were up to. I'd been better once, but ever since I found I could turn rats into what amounts to living sticks of dynamite, well my skills in a lot of other areas had dropped off.
Maybe it was the scatter brained nature of my power? Maybe I was just never good at cooking? Who knows…
"Hey Kiddo, you home?" It's Dad, and he sounds… sheepish. Am I in the clear?
"Right here Dad, making mac and cheese."
"Oh, that sounds...good." I could hear the distinctive pause before the good. What an asshole, couldn't at least pretend to like my cooking?
"Damn right, best fake food ever!" And I won't hear any complaints from you!
"Taylor, about last night…" yeah this was going to go well.
"Yes Dad?"
"I'm… I'm sorry about being out all night. And not seeing you in the morning. Kurt got hurt down at the docks, and Lacey was going nuts. I should have called, I'm sorry." Oh, so I am in the clear! Woo! Thank you Kurt.
"That's okay Dad, I just had a quiet night, it was fine." Lie, lie, and lie some more.
He finally poked his head around the corner, his tie already gone, and his shoes were inevitably sitting on my favorite spot on the couch already.
"Oh that smells… good, thank you for cooking Taylor." He fucking did it again! "But you know we could always get takeout, you must have cooked last night too."
"Nah Dad, it's fine, I don't mind." You can fucking suffer it then, no Kung Pow Chicken for you!
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The night had been quiet, and other than my escapades appearing on the news, for what I was assured was the second night in a row, nothing of note happened.
Dad hadn't noticed that I'd cleaned up the house after he ransacked it for an overnight kit. I wonder if it were me who'd ransacked the house if he'd even notice.
After Dad went to bed, I went through the hidden spots outside that I'd set up rat traps in. Two were caught alive, and a third had gnawed its own stuck leg off and bled out. Can't say I blame the bastard, but it'd have been nice if it hadn't been two nights ago, the parts were useless now.
Tossing the rotting corpse over the fence at the neighbor's open barbeque, I headed off to the basement to start work on the other two.
Now, most accounts from tinkers, or people pretending to be tinkers, suggests that most of them know what they are doing when they make things. I am, unfortunately, the rare sort that does not. I make a decision about what I want to make, and so long as my power agrees with me, I can just… give up control to my power, and it will make the device.
So I was destined to spend many hours in what is known as a 'Tinker Fugue'. I had reached an understanding with my power. I would give up control of my body while it made things and it stopped yelling at me to make Borg from everyone and everything around me. At least until I got antsy and then we both wanted to make more abominations…Either way, I was already resigned to having no recollections of my work during the process. It was probably for the best. No one really wants to remember making Frankenstein's monster after all.
Short end of the stick, maybe. But at least I don't need to waste time actually designing things like a chump.
A short fugue later and I had a pair of cryogenic rat grenades. Honestly, if my power didn't short circuit the ick factor for me, I'm sure I'd never amount to anything, even with a power. And with the power, well I haven't made a good showing of myself so far have I?
I stuck the cold boys in a cage, along with a little bird seed and a bowl of water. I wasn't a monster, I simply made them.
I'd need something bigger, maybe if I made a remote neural disruptor I could capture that damned cat that had been taunting me for the last two weeks. No, you don't like that idea power? How about if I catch a pigeon and give it taser claws? Ooo, that sounds like FUN!
I grabbed a small bag of bird seed, zip ties, and my jacket and headed out to the park. It was dark, and I wasn't really supposed to be out, but I needed to have something in the way of an arsenal or I'd be in a right mess if I had another bad day at school and decided to do something stupid.
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I skipped school today. It wasn't a smart move, Emma, the bitch that she was, likely had 'helpfully' informed the staff that I was missing, and didn't have any excuse. Luckily it turns out that the staff at Winslow don't even really care about her if there is no fire, so nobody had called Dad. I know this because Dad would have been all fire and brimstone at me otherwise.
I slept most of the morning away, turns out going out at night and capturing a dozen pigeons at a park, then spending till dawn turning them into monstrosities is fairly taxing on the old body. Even with a dose of super-caffeine.
Yes, my power comes complete with it's own drugs. Technically the proper name would be something with about a hundred syllables, but fuck IUPAC, 'Super-Caffeine' is a boss name! Three shots more of that than the recommended dosage, and keep in mind that it's my own dosage levels, and you'll be buzzing for hours. And then crash into the deepest sleep you've ever had.
Pretty good way of resetting though.
On the way back from the park, with an arm full of ziptied pigeons, I had spotted an asshole stealing things from someone's house, and I'd stolen the PlayStation that was in the guy's van and booked it. It was a lucky find, as it had all sorts of little parts that would allow me to make a proper implant for once.
My power was a little weird. I could make pretty much any device I could think of into an implant, and my power would be ecstatic about it. The only issue, without high quality parts, it would always make a distressingly Borg like component. Often with high pitched sounds or other obvious drawbacks. But if I could get my hands on some high quality materials I could make the proper sci-fi ones. Implants that were entirely invisible to regular scanners, or visual inspection.
So with that PlayStation, I think I'll call it Steve, I was able to craft two entirely new implants. One is a cochlear replacement that will tap into any audio reception system nearby and provide audio. It would calculate the offset from myself and automatically correct the volume and apparent direction to give me incredibly accurate, long range, directional hearing.
The other is an ocular implant that goes in behind my eyes, attached to the optic nerve, and will write information directly into my brain. However, since I made the cochlear implant first, this one wouldn't be smart, and would instead be fed from an external source. This was no accident, since I already had an external source: the system that powered my haptic control glove.
Now, I get to have a small funeral for Steve, which involves using the rest of the Playstation's plastic shell, and the few remaining parts to make Tim the Wonder Pigeon. Tim would be my eyes and ears from now on. I would add bionic eyes and ears, including beyond-human capabilities, and I think I'd use the blender up stairs to give him a stealth field.
What?
Nobody in this house can cook worth a damn anymore, you think we use that fucking blender? It'd be much better as a stealth device for a pigeon that'd help keep me alive.
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No I wasn't putting off inserting the two new implants.
Okay, I lie, I totally was. It was scary. I'd never done anything like this to myself before, well I had, but the regeneration implant doesn't count, that was into my back. My power whispered that it'd all be okay, and that I'd be better for it. And logically I knew this.
But BOY was it scary to think about cutting into your own brain in four separate locations to insert the implants that'd be essentially permanent parts of myself for the rest of my, likely unnaturally short, life.
Okay, fuck, fuck, fuck. I take a swig of super-caffeine, boy that stuff has a kick like a pneumatically enhanced mule.
Time to get to the cutting.