Hello cyber readers!
Some fun stuff in this chapter :3
As usual, this is un-beta-ed and quite rough, besides. You've been warned!
xXx
"A Tinker?"
"Yes. It's a classification of parahuman. Tinkers can create or alter devices beyond the inherent restrictions of a cape's knowledge, resources, or natural physics. Tinkers have an area of specialty where their abilities either operate exclusively or are, in general, more effective."
It was Armsmaster who had shown up to the Union building, taking statements as PRT troopers efficiently loaded the unconscious –and more often than not, maimed –bodies of the Merchants into PRT patrol vans.
After Guinevere's passing mention of Gwyn, Armsmaster had made the mistake of interrogating the young woman for more information about her father. After she confirming that, yes the man had indeed created her, and yes, Guinevere does in fact have other siblings, Armsmaster had concluded that this "Gwyn" must be a sort of biotinker along the lines of Nilbog. Mere confirmation of earlier speculation, but valuable still.
"Ah, forgive me. I know what Tinkers are," Guinevere's soft voice hedged for a moment before soldiering on –though now with an apologetic undertone. "It is simply that my lord regards tinkers with a sort of idle contempt… or pity, on his better days."
"Pity," Armsmaster repeated, his voice flat. Tinkers were some of the most flexible and versatile parahumans. When someone said "Brute," people knew vaguely what to expect –the usual assortment of regeneration, strength, or immunity powers –and barring an unusual cape, they were right. But a Tinker could be anything from Blasto with his plant-specialized biotinkering abilities to Leet, who could build anything once.
Anything.
Was it any wonder that of all newly triggered parahumans, it was Tinkers that were the most pursued? It was rare for a new Tinker to remain independent a month after their unveiling, and two months was almost unheard of. They were either killed off by a gang, forcibly recruited, or fled into the ready arms of the PRT. For someone to openly disregard Tinkers as a whole… It simply wasn't done.
Tinkers were too dangerous for that. A fact that Armsmaster secretly prided himself on.
"May I ask why," Armsmaster forced himself to politely inquire. Since his initial arrival, Guinevere had expressed a 7.92% increase in compliancy when he was courteous. This indicated a similarly polite home environment. He would have to make note of that in her file.
It could be useful.
"My lord asserts that Tinkers rarely understand their own works. That this is why tinkertech must be maintained by its creator, and why it cannot be mass produced," Guinevere explained. "Tinkers often do not know how or why their creations function, only that they do."
Armsmaster bit down an impolite retort but took note of this revelation to add it to "Gywn's" file when he got back to his lab. Director Piggot had been rather insistent that they bring any detail (no matter how minor) about this new biotinker "Gwyn" directly to her.
Such an inefficient use of his time.
"Would you please join me at the Rig," Armsmaster requested politely. He suspected that it came out a bit forced.
"Not without me," Danny interrupted whatever Guinevere's reply might have been. "Guinevere is a minor without her father present and I refuse to allow you to simply railroad her into joining the Wards! If she decides to join, then it'll be because she wants to."
Guinevere blinked in surprise and Armsmaster was careful to keep his lower face neutral, even as he glared daggers at the Union employee. Mr. Hebert was a well-known figure in Brockton Bay for passionately fighting against anti-union legislation and ensuring profitable work for those under his responsibility. In the past, Daniel Hebert had been a fiery man with an inflexible will and quick temper, going toe-to-toe with several of the Bay's past mayors, an array of corporate heads –Maxwell Anders not the least among them –and even Piggot on occasion.
Each and every time, the Dockworker's Union had come out better in the end with either work contracts or binding safety agreements. It had been a bit of a guilty relief around the Rig when Mr. Hebert's effectiveness took a steep dive when his wife died. Sure, the man still fought the city government and lobbied for more jobs for the dockworkers –even succeeding at times –but the fire within Daniel had gone out. It had been one less battle for the PRT to fight.
It would seem that Daniel Hebert was back, and Armsmaster could feel the efficiency of the Protectorate decrease.
xXx
Did Velocity really think that Guinevere was a paltry six feet and some change? No. That was the hesitant guess of an exhausted Mover who had stumbled upon the scene of a mass murder while working the third shift patrol alone –something that Piggot had already reamed Armsmaster for. In truth, Guinevere was easily seven feet tall, awkwardly ducking through each doorway and standing head and shoulders above even Armsmaster, cocooned as he was in power armor.
"We have you readily confessing to the murder of no less than fifteen people last night, and then less than twenty hours later, we find out today that you were involved in the brutal maiming of at least twelve more," Piggot sneered. "That's not going to look good in front of a judge."
Of course, no one really cared, they were Merchants after all, but Piggot wanted this thing in the Birdcage immediately. Costa Brown had talked (bullied, manipulated, reasoned and had at last resorted to simply ordering) the director into settling with the cape "Guinevere" and her "father" joining the Protectorate.
It seemed that the Chief Director was hell-bent on leashing the rabid wolf, but Piggot would be damned if she allowed it to be leashed to her jurisdiction! So when the cape and his creatures joined the Protectorate, they would be kicked to another town.
That left Emily Piggot with the unenviable chore of strong-arming the two into joining, and she couldn't quite keep her scowl suppressed. It was obvious that this new biotinker would be just as bad as Nilbog, if not worse!
Why couldn't the Chief Director Brown see that?
"Please, any half competent lawyer could make the case for self-defense in either case," the balding beanpole beside Guinevere easily rebutted.
Ah, yes. Daniel Hebert was back. What. A. Joy.
Emily shelved her budding frustration at the reemergence of this old annoyance rearing his head again. There were simply more important things to deal with.
"The former sought to kill me," the tall beast spoke in her deceptively soft voice. Its unnatural, lingering echo revealed the thing's true nature to the director. "And then the latter would have killed Daniel Hebert. He is under my protection."
Not "I couldn't allow that" or "what else was I to do" Instead, it would seem that Hebert had somehow manipulated his way into this thing's good graces. The implications were… not good, however interesting they might be.
"Do you have any proof," Piggot snapped back. "And you, Mr. Hebert… You should be careful not to be an accessory to such a dangerous cape."
Danny Hebert lifted his chin defiantly –which had the serendipitous side effect of allowing him to look down upon the squat woman. "Skidmark admitted that the Merchants visited the DWU because we've been depriving them of members, not because of any machinations on Guinevere's part. I would be glad to testify that in court, and provide security footage from the building to that effect."
"Yes, this 'protection' of yours." Piggot turned to the statuesque cape. "And you should be careful about declaring such things. Who knows how other interested parties might take it?"
"Daniel Hebert is a father who now seeks to fulfill his title's demands," Guinevere replied coolly, her eyes just as blank as the mask that she wore. "Who would I be if I did not try to keep him alive so that he has the opportunity to make amends?"
Piggot's eyes gleamed with savage eagerness. "You admit that –"
"Are you going to charge her, or summon her father? Because nothing Guinevere says without her father present is admissible in court and if you're not going to charge her, then we're leaving."
Piggot ignored the aging Dockworker as cold, vibrant eyes locked onto her own. "Love is affection wedded to will. It is an emotion bonded to action, and neither can be separated from the other without losing the product. Without the emotion, the action rings hollow and lacks substance. Without the action, the emotion is stagnant and wasted." Even in that flat, empty tone the words were spoken with a well-worn familiarity.
"Daniel Hebert has lived without providing action and now seeks–"
"Love?! What would a monstrous thing like you know about love?"
"My lord Gwyn, of course. He is my Father."
A deep reverberation rocked the building, shaking the Rig's windows with its intensity before either Danny or Piggot could respond.
Guinevere stiffened as it ceased, her plate armor clinking at the swift abruptness. "I must go."
Daniel glanced at the much-taller girl, concern and confusion vying for dominance on his face. Indeed, there was a curious note in her unnatural voice, and Piggot took note of it, even if she was unsure of what it was. It was the first overt emotion that the cape had shown throughout the… interview. The director would have to review the security footage later on. This might provide some insight into the thing's character –such as it might have been built to have one.
"We're not done and you're not going anywhere."
Another wave of low, almost inaudible sound rushed over the Rig and the windows cracked at the force of it. Distantly, Piggot categorized it as not dissimilar to a whale song –deep and almost musical in its foreignness, all but inaudible to humans.
"It wasn't a request."
xXx
Panic reigned uncontested in the streets of Brockton Bay as Protectorate and the police alike scrambled chaotically, flooding their respective chains of command with hysteric questions –what is it, what do we do, is this a new Endbringer, what is it, do we blare the sirens, what do we do?
Standing in front of the rig stood a gargantuan man, his broad chest barely constrained by a dark, silken robe and highlighted by interlocking pates of silvery armor. He towered well above the lampposts and the city's taller trees, looking down upon the denizens of the Bay as a man might an antpile. Obsidian-black hair fell in a tangled mess to the giant's shoulders and his equally black beard was cropped to a square jawline, highlighting the sharpness of it. Bronzed skin, corded and thick with muscle, contrasted starkly with the almost aphotic nature of the creature's hair.
Luminous, yellow-gold eyes burned with an unsettling ferocity. Made all the more eerie by the fact that there was no discernible sclera or iris within the giant's eyes. Just fiery spheres set into its eye sockets, swirling and sparking with the intensity of a star gone supernova.
The colossus faced the PRT building with his countenance carved into a glare of righteous rage. One hand –each finger containing an extra knuckle –raised toward the sky, and the not-quite noontime morning darkened until the pale moon and her astral assistants firmly reestablished themselves above. With the morning sun now less helpful than a full eclipse, the titan's eyes now pierced through the dark like an unholy lighthouse.
"Where. Is. My. Daughter."