A soft electronic chime rang out as the glass door slid open and Michael stepped into the building. The cheap mask itched, rubbing uncomfortably at the corners of his brow even though he hadn't put it on more than a minute before. It shifted awkwardly in place, as if threatening to fall off regardless of the thin elastic band sandwiched between his hair and a spare baseball cap.

Shuffling to the side, he stepped out of the way of the door, turning to glance around the large space. Other than the sales counter in the back, the layout was open and airy. Shining white and light-green dominated the room, the iconic colors of Remedy. One wall was consumed by shelves of merchandise, while spaced out across the floor were display cases proudly exhibiting posters of NORA's corporate team. Individual shots were mixed with posed group photos, all surrounded by informational brochures, pamphlets, and other details about the city's most famous hero team. But other than the gleaming visuals, he noticed something else. A faint, tingling pressure that pointed him further into the lobby.

It was Michael's first time in this particular building, though he had a pretty good idea of what to expect. All three corporate teams in the city had similar facilities, with only slight changes in colors and layout. They served as public venues for the heroes and the brands themselves, an enormous advertisement for the companies that spent so much money on their golden children. Here, ordinary passerby could stop in to receive well-rehearsed presentations, or if they had scheduled well in advance, meet a cape themselves. However, beyond toys and guided tours, the corporate storefronts offered other services as well. NORA Pharmaceuticals was perhaps the largest company in Raleigh, and didn't hesitate to offer generous payment for what they wanted.

Approaching the polished counter, Michael shifted, dragging his backpack higher on his shoulders as the young man leaning behind it straightened with a smile. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, about the same age as Michael himself, which was impressive. Getting a position working for any hero team, much less Remedy itself, was one hell of an accomplishment. He still remembered the first time he had browsed their application site, fueled by youthful naivety and perhaps an overabundance of pride. How fast that had shattered, reading through page after page of requirements and qualifications.

"What can I do for you, sir?" the assistant asked, the picture of professional courtesy.

"Here for the buyback," Michael replied tersely, fighting the urge to reach up and adjust his mask. The man behind the counter paused for a moment before he nodded in recognition at the words.

"Of course. Please head down the hallway and enter the second door on your right. An associate will be with you momentarily." Departing with a murmured thanks, Michael followed the instructions as he moved past the counter and further into the back of the store. Even without the guidance, it would have been impossible for him to mistake his destination. Like iron filings around a magnet, he could feel something beyond the door pulling at him. The unmistakable sensation of tinkertech.

Entering the room, the source soon became obvious. The area was like some sort of cross between a high-end electronics store and a doctors' office, with gleaming instruments and devices secured along a bar-like workstation near one wall, all sectioned off and labeled "Staff Only". Above them, unlabeled cabinets stretched across the space—likely containing more ordinary tools—and at one end a heavy receptacle sat bolted down tight, poking out beyond the divider.

Thankfully, the store was apparently just as eager to get to business as he was, the door opening again almost immediately after he entered. Through it marched an older man with a clipboard tucked under one arm, moving quickly towards the pile of machinery. A shock of salt-and-pepper hair sat above a neatly pressed pair of slacks and a collared shirt of the same corporate colors. The newcomer busied himself behind the tall bench, lights blinking on at his touch. A few seconds later he seemed satisfied with the result, and turned to face Michael.

"I hear you might have a piece of tinkertech, hmm?" the man questioned, straight to business, and Michael shrugged his backpack off his shoulders. Flipping it around, he reached down past the wad of spare clothes inside. Against the back of the bag lay a thick metallic plate, and as his fingers brushed against it once again information coursed through him.

It was a kind of instinctual knowledge, a feeling of weight, inertia. He could feel the impression of impacts resounding off the surface, rocking the piece of metal far less than they should. Along with the sensation was the feeling of rejection, like a missing handhold. There was nothing to move, nothing to change. Still, he didn't let any of it show as he continued pulling it out of the bag, and the man opposite him squinted at the unassuming piece.

"Right in the box, there you go," the man instructed, lifting the lid of the reinforced bin beside him, and Michael set it down within with a heavy thump. "Let's see what we have here, yeah?" The associate snapped the box shut, flipping the thick clasp to secure it. On the monitor beside him, a model of the armor panel sketched across the screen bit by bit, like black sand pouring in to fill the shape. Halfway through, a section of the model zoomed in, splitting off from the main image, and the computer let out a light chime.

"Looks like you're in luck," the man stated happily. "That's definitely tinkertech all right, and even better for you, it's not ours. Those markings are Steadfast's work, or rather their tinker's." Michael only nodded. Whether it was really tinkertech had never been in doubt, though the additional information was interesting enough.

Now that the initial check had passed, the employee picked up the clipboard once more, clicking a pen in his other hand. "Before we go any further, I'll need to confirm a few things with you. Safety, you know how it is."

Michael gave a murmured acknowledgement even as he shifted in place. It was a very real concern when it came to tinkertech. This particular piece seemed practically designed for stability, but you never knew what a tinker might come up with. He was thankful for his power; it was the sole advantage he had over the others who scavenged the city for spare tech. Though he had never seen it personally, he'd heard plenty of horror stories about unwitting civilians getting injured—often severely—when unstable tinkertech violently failed.

Really, that was the only reason he had any goodwill towards the company buybacks. They made no efforts to hide what they were; paying for tinkertech, offering increased rewards for tech from opposing corporate teams, it was a competition first and foremost. Business in its purest form. The fact that it helped protect the city was a convenient bonus, no matter how much they might like to pretend otherwise. But incidental or not, they did help, and so he had to begrudgingly give credit where it was due.

"Has the item in question ever moved or changed while you were in possession of it?" the man asked, starting his list, and Michael shook his head. "Has the item in question ever shown signs of being powered: lights, noise, vibrations, or other activity? Has the item been broken or lost pieces since you were first in possession of it? Has it reacted to any outside stimuli?" The questions continued, all in a similar vein, all with the same quick negation. Finally, the man reached the end of the list and set the clipboard down.

"Well, I'm going to run the first series of tests here to get a ballpark figure for you, and then, should you agree, we'll take it off your hands. I must warn you in advance: if we detect any instability, you won't be allowed to leave with it, but you'll still be compensated." Rehearsed warning over, the man continued more informally. "Besides, no matter what they tell you, we're the best deal you're going to get for this piece here. Sure, you could return it to Steadfast for some extra goodwill, but they aren't paying top dollar for their own gear."

"Don't need to convince me," Michael stopped the man before he could get going. As irritating of a salesman the employee was, he wasn't wrong. Mostly. There were always rumors of underground groups, criminals willing to pay a premium for tinkertech, but he wasn't nearly that desperate. Finding tinkertech was a pleasant accident more than anything, a byproduct of his actual hobby. Michael had no problem selling one group's tech to their competitors, and the fact that NORA Pharmaceuticals also ran the largest available buyback was just a nice bonus.

At his confirmation, the other man snapped on a pair of latex gloves before lifting the lid of the box to remove the armor plate. He quickly placed it onto a conveyor belt, and with a soft whir it was pulled into the opening of the next machine. A long, square device, vaguely reminiscent of an airport scanner.

As the analysis began, the employee flipped the page on his collection of papers, glancing back at Michael with a pensive look.

"Anything else you want to share about this piece of tech here?" the man asked carefully, tone circumspect as he toed around the unspoken question. A reminder of why exactly Michael was wearing a mask. Early on, when the buyback programs had first started getting set up, the corporations had apparently decided that getting their hands on the tech was more important than figuring out the means through which the sellers themselves obtained it. They didn't ask questions, and the people providing the stream of tinkertech kept their anonymity.

Michael hesitated, though not for the reasons that the employee probably thought. He had nothing to fear legally; all four of the scraps that he had found during a year of casual searching had been picked up straight off the streets in the most literal sense, usually tucked away in some near-inaccessible spot. The faint stirring under his skin had led him to places that nobody else would bother to look. However, that wasn't why he paused in contemplation.

He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, exactly what the plate was designed to do. When it was in his hands, he could describe how incoming forces would be absorbed, how the plate would move and shift as impacts rattled across its surface. Even now, he retained knowledge of the fundamental purpose of the piece. With his power, he could offer far more information than the employee would have been content with.

That was the problem. Even beyond the anonymity of the mask, right now he was one of many. Hundreds of people collected tinkertech to trade in, ranging from amateurs like himself who stumbled across pieces out of sheer luck to the handfuls of crazed collectors, hot on the heels of the latest cape fight to snap up even the smallest parts. All of these people regularly stopped by the corporate buybacks, and one ordinary seller could simply vanish into a sea of figures and masks.

That all changed, however, if he started spouting information that he shouldn't know. That was something to take notice of, and he only trusted the anonymity provided by the buyback programs so much. Standing out wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

On the other hand, he didn't have to tell them everything. As if in response to his thoughts, the associate spoke up again. "Anything you might know about your piece here is valuable information. It saves our team time investigating, and there's a bonus for you." His gaze was still trained on Michael, who came to a decision a moment later, tilting his head in feigned uncertainty.

"It felt… odd, when I was carrying it," he started vaguely. "It was harder to get moving than it should have been. Like one of those gyroscope toys." He finished with a feigned shrug. Opposite him, the man was busy scribbling down his words, nodding to himself. He offered his thanks, and the two lapsed into silence as the machine whirred in the background.

A silence that was all too short, as the man spoke up again. "From what I can tell, you found quite the bit of tech there," he chattered in what was likely the prelude to some pitch. Sure enough, he continued exactly how Michael had feared. "You considered partnering up with a corporate team? We're always on the lookout for folks with a keen eye. We offer a monthly stipend as long as you supply us exclusively, regardless of how cheap the bits might be."

Regardless of how expensive as well, Michael thought in irritation. Somehow they never advertised that part, though. Trading the unpredictable gains from the gamble that was looking for tinkertech into a steady revenue source sounded nice on paper, but he knew how that would go. No matter what he turned in, the stipend would always end up being just a little less than what it was really worth. Plus, he'd be expected to chain himself to one buyback.

"Not interested," he responded stiffly, then didn't stop the words that spilled forth. "Aren't the buybacks anonymous? Sounds impossible to enforce your exclusivity." The employee grinned, unperturbed by his response.

"Well, you'd be joining us as a regular employee, no more 'mysterious hooded figure'," the man replied easily. "Break the contract, and you're facing some hefty fines. Besides, with every buyback having their own payroll, everyone is encouraged to keep each other honest. If we even think a rival employee's coming in here, we turn 'em away on the spot. Like you said, there's no way to verify, but nothing saying we have to buy."

Great. Even without him admitting it, the man had basically confirmed that the anonymity offered here lasted just as long as the companies willed it. Already, he was glad he hadn't given out any more information.

It only took another minute for the scan to finish, the noise dying out as the light atop the device blinked in attention. As the piece of tinkertech slid back out into view, the employee turned his attention back towards the monitor. After a few seconds of typing on a nearby keyboard, the screen showing the initial scan faded, replaced by a more traditional sales display.

Michael's eyebrows rose against his will at the value displayed before him. Eight hundred dollars was more than he had expected for a piece of seemingly mundane armor plating, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He could hear the older man chuckle, likely catching his reaction.

"Guessing that's a yes, then," the man said. "If you're happy with our deal, go ahead and place the plate in the exchange bin on the wall there. Give it a push all the way in, until you hear a click." Following his instructions, Michael shoved the sliding drawer shut, and above it the slit of a cash dispenser lit up, spitting out payment. A quick rifle through to double-check the amount, and he folded the wad of bills in half, slipping it into a pocket.

Along with the money came a stub, a long string of numbers and matching barcode printed on its surface. Behind him, the man spoke up. "That's your follow-up. Stop by in a week or so and show it to the man up front. Your information proves useful, and you'll get that bonus."

"Pleasure doing business with you!" the older man gave a half-yell as Michael departed, offering an offhand wave in response. Passing through the lobby, he emerged out into the summer heat, head tilted low. A block further down the street, a delivery alley offered an opportunity to duck into, where his hat and mask were exchanged for a long shirt, sleeves scrunched up to the elbow.

The early afternoon sun burned down overhead, and Michael took a minute to relax in the shade of the alleyway, debating with himself. The day ahead of him was empty; for the first time in a while he didn't have work waiting back at home. The past month had been brutal, even on weekends such as these, but now things had died down. Add the lack of rain in the forecast, and there wasn't any reason to head back so early. It had been too long since he had a chance to stretch his legs and get back into his hobby. He had found time to visit the nearby park the week before, but it wasn't the same.

Urban exploration was the official term, though most people were quick to dismiss it as trespassing. They didn't care to find out why, just saw a figure hop over a fence and assumed they were part of some nefarious scheme. Never mind the fact that whatever decrepit tower of concrete he was climbing through never had anything valuable in it to begin with. Hell, most of them didn't even have something as basic as piping, either never installed or stripped out years before by actual squatters. He wasn't there to make money, just to wander. A chance be alone among the crumbled ruins of man-made titans, all the more beautiful for their collapse.

He had already been roaming the city for over a year before he discovered the first piece of tinkertech. Every few weeks he would take the bus southeast across the city, past the sprawling downtown of shining glass and down towards the river. Even in a city as bright and growing as Raleigh, there were areas left behind, where shifting businesses cast aside swaths of half-built, empty shells to move on to better opportunities. Here was where he spent all-too-brief days, one abandoned lot at a time.

It had been in one empty parking lot that he had stumbled upon his first device. Back then he didn't have a prickling beacon to guide him. Instead, it was a glint in the grass that gave it away, at the bottom of a small hill. Layers of tire tracks covered the dusty asphalt above, but the low ditch of grass was untouched, if a bit muddy. Within it lay a small saucer, measuring a hand span across, with a heavy clip on the back.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to even turn it on, though from there the purpose of the piece was at least somewhat evident. It looked like a tiny shield, and sure enough, it was meant for protection. Placing it on a short wall and lobbing rocks at it had resulted in the chunks of stone slowing in midair, falling to the ground with a gentle clink.

That first discovery still sat in his room, high on a shelf. Even if it was likely the most valuable thing he'd ever salvaged, it had stayed, a memento of his journeys through the ruined bits of the city.

Right now, he had the rest of the day ahead of him, and the itch to go out was greater than ever. Decision made, he reemerged into the bright sun, heading back towards the bus stop that had brought him here. A few dollars and thirty minutes later, and he was standing on the sidewalk once more. Now, however, the towers of glass and steel were far in the distance, replaced by coarse brick and sturdy concrete.

The walk towards where he had last stopped exploring wasn't long, but he took his time, enjoying the light breeze that kept the heat from being truly oppressive. Even here, at the edge of town, the area wasn't dangerous. Just… empty. Quiet. That was the reason he was here, really. To enjoy the peace, within or atop the half-finished buildings, stubby husks of what could have been pillars climbing proudly into the sky.

Ahead of him was his destination, sectioned off from the road by way of a six-foot chain fence. It took barely a moment to scale, two hands planted near the top and one hearty tug, then he was swinging a leg over and landing with a thump on the other side. His backpack flapped to the side, and he tightened the straps, pulling it snug against his upper back. Before him, an industrial jungle unfolded outward.

A forest of rebar crossed the ground in erratic lines, growing out of intermittent slabs mixed with swathes of dirt. Foundations for what might have been a parking garage, or a warehouse, or any number of things. Beyond the rusted spines lay a hunched-over building, wings of empty window frames stretching out to the left and right. In the center, a tall archway shouldered the weight of the structure, standing no less proud for the cracks and flakes layered over its surface.

Walking beneath the curved stone revealed a murky entrance, light streaming through gaps in the walls to splash against the ground in a line of bright cutouts. Here, within the partial shade, nature was hard at work reclaiming the structure. Vines and patchy scraps of grass crept along the walls and floor, staining the stone beneath them.

Michael approached the rear wall, peering upward toward a raised section of stone that emerged from the floor deeper in. It looked like it would have become a sweeping staircase once it was finished, but without the actual boards, there were only the outer edges, each a few inches wide and curving upward in jagged steps. With a mental shrug, he made his way over, giving them a nudge and then a harder kick when they failed to budge. Stepping up a few inches onto the lowest level, he waited, testing to see if it remained steady beneath him. Finally, he began the climb, one foot ahead of the other, along the narrow track. Two-dozen steps later, and he finished with a leap onto the second floor. As he did, he felt a familiar sensation. That ever-so-distinctive rippling tug.

Michael cocked his head in surprise, almost stumbling as he tracked the sensation through the ceiling, a little ways above and off to the left. Ignoring the fact that every piece of tinkertech he had found was on the ground, he had just sold the previous piece. Sure, he had found it a few weeks ago, only getting around to visiting the buyback today, but it was an exceptional bit of good luck. Until now, the shortest interval between discoveries had been almost two months, when he had uncovered that armor plate.

He hadn't planned on going in any particular direction, but he certainly had a heading now. With a shrug he turned and began walking, letting the feeling grow ever so slightly stronger. He could take his time—it wasn't going anywhere. On the way up he'd get a look at what exactly was within the building and enjoy the sights, then snag the tech before he turned around.

The raised second floor was mostly clear of plant life, with the notable exception of moss and lichen that clung to the pitted concrete pillars. The walls had never been installed; instead a sea of waist-high concrete sections ran along the ground, forming a kind of gentle maze. So far, he hadn't seen any graffiti, which was welcome. The decaying stone was beautiful on its own. Scribbling over it left a different kind of mess, an ugly stain.

As he reached the end of the winding hallway a breeze hit him square in the face, blowing through from a sizable square opening in the wall next to a small stairwell. He approached the hole, dropping his backpack and leaning forward to rest his arms on the makeshift windowsill. Taking in the view, Michael let out a long breath, settling in place.