Deadlines (Tinker of fiction SI)

By: Cool10007

A tinker needs three things to function: Time, tools and materials.

Pick one.

Oh, and say hi to your new cousin! She doesn't trust you yet, but you're charming enough to sidestep her deep-seated distrust of people her age, right?

Right?

Status: ongoing

Published: 2022-05-13

Updated: 2022-06-04

Words: 23422

Chapters: 15

Original source: https/forums./threads/986581

Exported with the assistance of

Deadlines (Tinker of fiction SI)

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Interlude - Mister Pitter

Chapter 1

I'm struggling with severe writer's block with my other two fics, so I've decided to give this a go. Let me know what you think - I feel like it came off a little edgy, but I tend to get edgy when I'm upset and Jamie has more than enough reason to be sobbing his eyes out. Enjoy!

As my caseworker and I slowly trek up the cracked pavement to the squat house, I can't help but reflect on the pure absurdity of my situation.

The transition was more gradual than I expected. You can read everywhere about the time 'self insert so-and-so' gets dropped into Brockton Bay with nothing but the clothes on their back and a brand new superpower to keep them alive. And with the strength of their power and a generous helping of metaknowledge, they fix every problem they come across.

My appearance on Bet? It took a while. Longer than the 'Bam! Welcome to hell, kid' that seems to be the fictional standard.

Four. Fucking. Months.

I barely noticed it until the end, honestly. Catching the final words of a report about a 'legend' was easily ignored when I hardly watched the news in the first place, the slow uptick of 'Worm memes' attributed to my friends finally getting into the web serial. A website dedicated to Eidolon vs. is a fan page, the title change on forums from 'Worm' to 'Capes' a natural progression - honestly, it was alarming how subtle the change was at times. I brushed off the addition of new family members as dad finally reconciling with his sister enough to be comfortable with us around them, I disregarded videos of cape fights as a new trend, or some advertisement, or literally anything other than being put on Bet.

Towards the end, I assumed I was going crazy - the pandemic had been scrubbed from the internet, it's 2011, Sufficient Velocity no longer exists, half my accounts and games have been replaced with off-brand versions of themselves and for some reason, half of Melbourne looks like goddamn San Fransokyo or something. I'm oblivious at the best of times, but outright fabricating half my life?

Mum made me go to a psychologist, who promptly diagnosed me with schizophrenia - I took the meds for all of two weeks before the side effects got too much for me. I was 'high functioning' enough to be allowed to do so, as long as someone kept an eye on me.

Until, of course, we went to Canberra. Because of fucking course we did.

A family reunion - damn near everyone even remotely related to me showed up, some of whom I hadn't seen for the better part of fifteen years. Fun, games, drinking and not a single argument in sight. It was nice.

Until the screaming started.

I distinctly remember looking up and seeing the Simurgh for the first time. That ice-cold sensation of suddenly understanding exactly what had been happening to me over the past few months. Half a second of elation - I'm not crazy! - followed by the creeping realisation that I'm looking at The Simurgh.

Ziz.

Israfel.

The Hopekiller.

The entire party of nearly seventy people went dead silent, all at once. Horror dawns as everyone simultaneously realises that we're either about to die, or really wish we were dead.

And then… Things got a little hazy.

I don't remember much of what came after. Little flashes of running, people screaming and fighting shine through occasionally, but I only really got ahold of myself ten or so minutes later.

I had ended up in Questacon, surrounded by smashed or dismantled electronics, bleeding from the nose.

I couldn't hear her scream anymore.

I sure as hell felt it, the not-quite-sound reverberating through the building's foundations ominously, but it wasn't affecting me. Because I built something.

The Transtar Psychoscope is a marvel of technology. Capable of automatically scanning and researching alien organisms, to the degree of replicating the unique abilities of an unusual species like the Typhon in an instant. Numerous modifications are available via chipsets, a sleek HUD allowing even a novice to use it with ease. A vital tool for researching the Typhon, maybe even the most vital.

After all, without the psionic shielding the device provides, it'd be next to impossible to survive encounters with Telepath Mindjacking.

At the time, I assumed I had Prey technology as a tinker power. I was wrong, but it didn't matter until later.

My recollection of things blurred again soon after - not from the Simurgh's scream, but because I put my head down and built. Anything and everything I possibly could: chipsets, recycler charges, weapons - shoved into my backpack as I ran like hell.

Most of that's gone now. Handed out to heroes in the moment, or cannibalized for other projects. But still, a few remain, hidden at the base of my backpack or my suitcase.

My introspection is interrupted by my caseworker losing one of her heels to a busted step - one I carefully dodged. Despite being rotten through, the worn paint hid the break well.

I fight back a smirk as I move over to steady her. "Did you not see the crack in it?"

Melissa was not amused. "No, I did not. Hold these, please."

She passes me an armful of files and paperwork as she awkwardly begins to fish around underneath the stairs for her lost piece of footwear.

Melissa gave off the same kind of vibe most of my old art teachers did - they care for their profession, and maybe once they enjoyed it, but they've been worn down by life until only a resigned bitterness remained. As if she was disappointed in herself, at what she had accomplished.

Brockton Bay would do that to you, I suppose.

I take a moment to rub my plain white medical eyepatch as she struggles to get her shoe back on. When I had finally 'came to' after the Simurgh's attack, I was in a private hospital on the outskirts of Canberra, outside the quarantine zone. At some point, I had fallen asleep with my newest contraption strapped to my face - a big needle attached to an MRI machine, numerous tinkertech components and a translucent ball holding a scrabbling mimic. And by strapped in, I mean the needle was stabbed through my left eye into my brain.

The moment I realised what I had built, I used a recycler charge to erase the whole thing - Mimic and all - from existence. And I was lucky I did. Turns out? My power is Tinker of Fiction - a wonderfully strong ability, capable of incredible feats of engineering.

It's less helpful when your specialty switches every 24 hours, with zero input to what comes up next.

It's outright deadly when you forget how the machine literally poking the inside of your brain works.

So yeah. It was lucky that the Mimic didn't escape and unleash what might as well be a third Entity on Bet. It was lucky the machine didn't outright kill me when it suddenly vanished, instead leaving me with a perpetually bloodshot eye. Lucky that while hopped up on a tinker fugue I had the presence of mind to install every Neuromod I had available into me and not install the ones I developed off Simurgh scans. Lucky that, despite only really being equivalent to a handyman and weapons hobbyist with whatever I shoved into my brain, the Neuromods had taught me how to operate recycler charges well enough I didn't turn myself into easily processed fabrication materials. Lucky that I built the damn thing outside the quarantine zone and didn't get locked away inside.

Lucky, lucky, lucky.

I was lucky to arrive at the muster location soon enough to be informed by Dragon herself that everyone in my family was dead, or in the quarantine zone. I was lucky to have family who weren't invited to the reunion in America. Lucky Strider overheard and offered to take me with the capes, Dragon accepting for me and beginning to make calls to organise things for me.

I was lucky that 'Great Uncle Hebert' was too old to cause me serious harm by my third night in his house. Lucky that my phone had international coverage so I could call my caseworker and get the fuck out of there.

Melissa managed to pull her heel back on and walks over to the door, pressing the buzzer as she carefully ignored the now misaligned bottom step.

People keep telling me how lucky I am to have survived Canberra.

I don't feel all that lucky.

Regardless of my personal opinions about the situation, Melissa had a job to do - so I get to meet the new members of my family. Joy.

She raps her knuckles against the door's windowpane after it becomes clear that the doorbell doesn't work. Game face time, Jamie. Good first impressions are vital when asking a stranger to let you into their home.

The door swings inwards, as a tall, thin, balding man opens the door and gazes at us over his glasses.

"… Hello? Can I help you?"

Melissa clears her throat and meets his eyes. "Yes, Mister Hebert? My name is Melissa Stevens, I'm a caseworker for Youth Guard. I'm afraid we need to talk to you about recent events involving your family. May we come in?"

Last edited: May 13, 2022

Chapter 2

Enjoy!

I have to stop myself from fidgeting in the uncomfortable atmosphere - I keep unconsciously moving to drum my hand on the table, bite my nails or fiddle with a pen. The worst part about the transition? I'm sixteen again. Or, sixteen-ish. I'm not sure, and nobody has mentioned anything to the effect.

Being sixteen means going back to school, losing access to my ADD medication, having my freedoms reduced to next to nothing, going back to school, not being able to drink, not having any qualifications, going back to school.

Danny and Melissa have been talking things over for the past few hours - explaining laws, benefits, conventions…

I lost track within the first ten minutes.

Instead, I've been drawing in my brand new sketchbook. Not that you'd know it, from how much of it is filled. I can't build, but I can sketch out designs - or more and more lately, just draw out scenes from my specialty's original world.

Apparently, my Neuromod package came with a variety of skills that weren't seen in the game - I could play piano, paint, draw, play poker and I'm still finding more at odd times. I'll see a baseball game on the news and absentmindedly think 'his form is off,' or even move to correct people lifting boxes the wrong way.

For example: Having been intently sketching out a landscape of the Bullseye Cavern, I completely missed what Danny asked me. Both of them are waiting for my answer and I don't want to admit I haven't been paying attention, especially on something so important.

A set of priorities immediately leaps to mind, as if I'd done this a million times before. First, poker face. Make it seem like I've been listening the whole time, that this pause is just me thinking over my words.

Now, fun fact about me: I've been taking acting classes for years at this stage - not seriously, more as a hobby than anything. So I know to tilt my head , purse my lips a little and let out a slight sigh.

I didn't know to flick my eyes to the lower left, readjust my shoulders by half a centimetre and uncross my legs. I didn't know how to breathe at the most natural pace, how to shift the dominance of my eyes slightly and push my tongue forward against my top teeth.

If before I had half-decent skill in acting? Now I've got the instincts.

Second - find what you missed. Both Danny and Melissa are looking at me intently, waiting for a response. Danny is leaning forward and Melissa's perpetually stony expression has cracked lightly - the question was personal, not legal. My opinion on something… Most likely candidates are if I'm ok or how I'm feeling about my situation. This situation.

A quick glance at the paperwork reveals that the pages Danny needs to sign sitting on top, a pen next to his hand: My opinion about moving in with him!

I'm 80% sure I'm right, but just in case, I'll use an open ended statement. "Well… My only real alternative is with Uncle Hebert, right?" Pause and draw back slightly- "I guess that's actually 'Great' Uncle Hebert now."

A dark look crosses Danny's face at the mention of his father and his knuckles turn white against the table's edge. "Yes. I…" He takes a deep breath in, slowly letting it out. "I would not wish that man on anyone."

Danny's rage vanishes, leaving him looking sad and tired. He stares at the pen before nodding. "We'd be happy to take you in, Jameson," Ew. "For as long as you need."

A ball of stress unravels in my chest as I slump and smile at him. "Thanks, Uncle Hebert. And we're family! Call me Jamie." Please. I can't hear it without thinking about 'that menace, spiderman!'

Just another bad thing about the transition, I guess.

Things move rapidly from there, Danny immediately signing the paperwork and Melissa leaving to organise the rest of the introductory package - the other one having been given to Danny Hebert Senior.

And yes, that's Danny Hebert Senior, guy's got an ego alongside his temper.

My new caretaker hesitates as he gathers up the mugs he and Melissa used - my glass of water still half full. "Uh, I hate to do this, but I've got to get back to work for a meeting in about-" He checks his watch "twenty minutes? I'd prefer to stay and get to know you, but I… Can't really miss it. Nobody to fill in for me, especially on such late notice."

His tired look intensifies, frowning at his keys.

Honestly, it'd be great to have a chance at decompressing on my own for a bit. "Yessir," Danny flinches "that'd be fine."

What did I…

Oh. Hebert Senior's rules. Whoops.

I meet his eyes and awkwardly grin. "… How about we stick with Uncle Danny?"

His mouth twitches up, realisation sparking in his eyes. "That works. Uh, help yourself to anything in the fridge, the phone's over by the stairs, I'll be back in a few hours?"

I casually wave him off. "No worries. I'll see you then?"

He nods, grabbing his keys and the pile of paperwork. "See you then."

Danny rushes off, leaving me on my own in an unfamiliar house, in an unfamiliar city, in an unfamiliar country. Heck, in an unfamiliar world.

I go back to drawing, this time on the couch in the living room.

It's a relief knowing Danny is willing to take me in - I wouldn't trust the foster care system back home, on Earth Bet? I'd probably get adopted by Coil, or Kaizer, or something.

Heh. Nah, no way I'd go to a rich villain.

My current specialty is Slugterra - a breath of fresh air after the past week and a half or so. In the ten days since the attack on Canberra, I've had exactly one useful specialisation - Futurama.

And that's where I hit my biggest snag. After days of Tin Tin, the Misadventures of Flapjack, and that weird 60's batman show, I was eager to get building - but I can't exactly make a spaceship in a day. Prey tech is all made as simple as possible, intended for flash fabrication from four different standardised material types. Futurama requires a fully stocked laboratory, more money than a 16 year old can scrounge up and a sacrifice to the robot devil and M.O.M. to build. Heck, I couldn't make a raygun for the back of a comic book if I tried. So, I looked around Hebert Senior's house for materials - to get an idea of what my options are.

I hit the goldmine with the medicine cabinet in the shed. He hadn't been in there for years, so it was all expired - but a little tinker magic let me turn some old glassware, a hot pan and a busted chainsaw into a half-decent setup. And as it turns out? Half-decent is more than enough to make a bogus miracle cream invented by a travelling salesman. 'Dr. Flimflam's Miracle Cream,' enough to fill a small paint can - less than useful for actual injuries, but with some fantastic side effects in humans. Flight, invulnerability, super strength, lickitysuper speed and the ability to command the loyalty of sea creatures!

In the episode, I remember Leela and Fry getting all but the last one and becoming superheroes. Until the cream ran out, anyway.

Guess what I got?

Behold, discount Aquaman! I can tell fish what to do and they'll usually do what I say!

It was disappointing. I ended up going all in with my remaining time, making an Atlanta Breather and Pressure Pill out of the remaining meds, a busted microwave, a walkman and my retainer.

Suppositories are not fun, but it's a permanent addition to my abilities. Even if it sucks.

Slugterra, meanwhile, is much more fun. Most tech can be made out of everyday materials in next to no time - mostly for cheap gags, but a half-decent giant robot in forty-five minutes is no joke.

My current goal is more practical - a lovely little device called a roboslug.

Now, Slugterra was a favourite of mine when I was little - fun, quirky, interesting setting and something my brother and I enjoyed watching together. See, thing is? It suffers from power scaling something fierce. Eli, the main character, goes from being the rookie son of a legendary 'slug-slinger' to the goddamn chosen one over a few seasons. This means some of the earlier episodes can have some very interesting implications when compared to the later ones.

Enter 'robo-slugs' little mass-producible robots made by a mad scientist who wanted to replace all slugs.

The details aren't important - what is important is that Roboslugs can replicate the abilities of live slugs.

And slugs can do nearly anything.

I mean that quite seriously. If something needs doing, a slug type can help. Cleaning your house? A Bubbaleone can soap thing sup. Someone bugging you? A Hexlet can give them disastrously bad luck. Need an escape? Dig a tunnel with a Crystalyd. The possibilities are endless.

It sounds to me like they're the perfect weapon against capes, and a pretty decent multitool besides.

My main problem is materials - I can't exactly dismantle the Hebert's TV, and just because the tech is doable with everyday items doesn't mean I should build it out of everyday items.

I'm not dismantling my Psychoscope, 60's Batman shark repellent isn't even slightly useful, nor are my futurama things…

I could use my final few recycler charges to machine the components, at least. Like a high-energy lathe or something.

As for materials, perhaps the boat graveyard. Large amounts of metals and miscellaneous materials, something nobody will miss, probably not as monitored by gangs or the PRT…

Alright, sounds good to me. I write out a note for Danny - claiming I went for a walk and leaving my cellphone number on it - and start walking to the boat graveyard.

I gave up on that plan after a few minutes, instead catching the bus to the Lord Street Market and walking from there. Conveniently, 2011 Brockton hasn't adopted contactless payment cards - so a few bucks in cash was fine, even if it took me a bit to figure out if I had to tip the bus driver or not (I didn't).

From the market - which had me practically salivating with what was on display - I followed not-google-maps to where not-google said the boat graveyard was.

And found that it's now a tourist attraction.

It shouldn't be surprising to me - with tourism being the main influx of money into the city, of course somebody would try to cash in on the derelict eyesores.

… I'm gonna get wet, aren't I?

I had to get wet. The nearest ship connected to the docks that hasn't been turned into a fancy restaurant was about two kilometres down the road - the touristy atmosphere fading into run-down buildings and sketchy looking people hanging about.

I had forgotten that this area wasn't great - I ended up putting on my Psychoscope to scan for, and avoid, signs of life. Bit hot for a hoodie, but I can't exactly wear it out in the open.

Getting to the downed ship was an effort in itself. This one had no accessible entrances, but I was able to climb along the side using the rivets as handholds - internally adding climbing to my list of inexplicable skills - until I got out of sight.

I expected it to be much more nerve-wracking than it was, honestly. The rivets made for good platforms when lined up, and there were handholds embedded into the side, presumably from earlier looters. Dangerous, but less so.

Once inside, I took some time exploring the ship. Every single one of the cargo containers has been cracked open and looted - the remains being mouldy furniture, broken glassware and what I think used to be toilet paper.

Now, the boring bit - rejigging the recycler charges to exclude certain regions of space.

It took me a while - just reprogramming the charge, but also gathering other needed materials into piles - by hand - for conversion. Plastics, glass, copper, the rotting circuit boards of the ship's internals - all of it was dragged into the half-sunken engine room. In total, it probably took about three hours of difficult work - thank god for tier three leverage, despite my noodle arms.

In comparison, triggering the recyclers was anti-climatic. Just, put it down, press the button, "Beep beep beep" and tada! Sixteen roboslug's worth of components, ready for use, plus some spares for future repairs - though they're excessively durable anyway.

I immediately began returning to the Hebert household - it was now 2:53 and while Danny hadn't yet called, I didn't want to push it.

I got back at 3:20, weighed down by my backpack full of scrap. I actually saw Winslow on the trip - students beginning to filter out.

I put my backpack next to my suitcase and returned to drawing - this time touching up my drawing of the Alpha Whale docked against a rickety dock, adding some rusted components.

It was my focus on this task that distracted me from the noise of the backdoor opening and a spitball-covered girl clomping.

She, focused on getting the spitballs out of her hair, didn't notice me either until she came from the kitchen and saw me smack dab in the middle of her living room.

"Who are you?" Despite her voice being mostly flat in tone, the simple statement conveys a surprising amount of venom.

Shoot, what do I say?

"Uh, hi. Are you… Danny's daughter?"

I probably should've thought of a way to introduce myself earlier, especi-

On the edge of my hearing, I hear a faint buzzing noise.

Fuck.

Last edited: May 13, 2022

Chapter 3

For the record, I am well aware of how limiting the 24-hour turnaround is - it's intentional, and if Jamie ends up making an unreasonable amount of tech feel free to let me know. Sleep is optional, right?

Let me know how the ending feels - I'm trying to convey how little Taylor and Danny talk, but I'm not too happy with it. Enjoy!

I throw my hands up in surrender. "Woah, hey! I'm allowed to be here, relax." Deep breath, palms facing out - make no sudden moves towards my pockets. "My story is… Pretty unbelievable - so how about I stay on this couch while you ring up your father? You can use the landline, or even my cell."

Taylor's glare lessens slightly, her posture still vaguely combative. "Don't move."

She walked over to the kitchen and began to dial. I was careful not to disturb the fly sitting on my sleeve, and instead returned to my sketching - to this day, I still think mechabeasts are cool. Shame I don't have the materials to set one up, but I'd have nowhere to keep it anyway.

Taylor isn't exactly what I expected. I knew she was an unreliable narrator, but I was expecting someone either aggressively average in appearance, or outright intimidating. Or, considering the reference images Wildbow has provided before, outright pretty.

Instead, Taylor was… Normal. Fit and, while not conventionally attractive, I couldn't really see the whole 'upright frog' thing. Then again, I'm not great at judging beauty, period. My fashion sense is still stuck in the early 2000's.

… Wait, is that trendy now?

Taylor walked out of the kitchen looking very put out.

"So, you're my cousin?"

That's a relief. "Yep - through your grandfather - my great uncle, apparently. I'm Jamie."

She frowns. "How come you're staying with us?"

… How do I break this gently? "Well, Great Uncle Hebert isn't exactly 'nice.' And…" I let out a sigh. "The family reunion was held in Canberra. I was the only one who got out."

Taylor didn't seem to know how to respond. "Oh. I'm sorry."

I shrug. "Can't do anything about it. Um, what's your name?"

Taylor flushes. "Oh. Sorry. I'm Taylor, it's nice to meet you."

I nod. "Nice to meet you, Taylor."

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the room.

Well, I've got a tried and true method of fixing these situations - ignore it! I return to my sketching after a few more moments of silence.

Taylor quickly retreats, and I can hear her door shut upstairs. Good, an opportunity. I give up on my sketching - the dragon mechabeast isn't turning out how I thought it would - and pull out my phone.

Taylor would immediately be able to see me build the Roboslugs, so I'd either need to come clean, or do it later at night.

But she can't see what's on my phone - which leaves me free to program. Replicating the scans of every slug in existence by hand is tedious, but necessary if I want to make proper use of my new devices.

For all his mad science, their inventor Quentin wasn't an idiot. I've got designs for some of his earlier prototypes lined up, each robot replicating and replacing one type of slug each. The issue with that is each unit might as well be bespoke, hardly the mass-produced fighting force he had been hoping for. Worse, it required him to work with Slugs - which he was terrified of.

Instead, he abandoned the concept of copying slugs altogether and focused on a different member of the food chain. The Mimic, or 'Mimkey,' is a red salamander capable of replicating any slug's abilities when fired. If Quentin could copy that, he could copy any slug he scanned - as a robot can simply have a 'velocimorph' form uploaded, rather than rely on the presence of a particular slug.

So… Replicating complex energy scan reading by hand, on a phone. Joy.

I let out a yawn and looked at my phone - 3:40 am, time for sleep.

I had basically worked through the night to get my Roboslugs done - while my specialties switch at 12:16 am, I could assemble the loose parts into usable components as a tinker to push through the bits reliant on tinker shenanigans, and leave a simple instruction manual for myself to slot the remaining devices together after Slugterra is long gone.

And the spoils for my hard work stand before me! Sixteen cute little robots, hovering at attention before me. A flick of my wrist had them fold up and clip onto my belt, another sent all but one into my backpack.

I can't help but grin. "One, buzzsaw!"

The little robot spits out a palm-sized, energy construct circular saw that I move to use on some scrap metal - only to remember that it's nearly 4 am.

"Ice cubes!" Frost covers my fingertips, "Crystalize!" An aquamarine shard spikes out the surface of my fingernail, "Spiderweb!" A glowing blue net captures my hand, before fading into nothing.

Yes! This is so cool. Actual tinkertech - not an uncomfortably large suppository, or discount Aquaman powers, but an extremely powerful, durable and versatile tool and weapon. I might not have a blaster - the lack of live slug energy to power them limiting their usefulness had I built one - but considering the '100 mph' transformation barrier has been reached with a band of rubber, or a lever made of twigs, I'd say I'll be fine.

My newest specialty is Postal - and since I'm not after healing crack pipes, or disease bazookas, I feel fine leaving things until tomorrow afternoon.

I press the Roboslug against the back of my watch, letting clip against it, and lie back on the couch. Time for bed.

I didn't notice the moth poking about my bag, nor the team of ants that followed it and began dragging a unit up the stairs.

The thing I miss most about having my ADD meds? Using them to wake up.

On days like this, where I've had only a few hours sleep but still need to function, I could simply take my pill and I'd be wired until it wore off nine hours later.

Now all I can do is drink black tea and hope I stop feeling like a zombie.

Taylor woke me up when she left for her run at 6:00 am - not intentionally, but she wasn't exactly quiet either - and I figured it was best just to get up and live with it. I had a shower, got dressed and returned to sketching. The postal dude is an… 'interesting' character, which lends itself well to comics.

Danny was up and at it not too long after, getting ready for work. I struck up a conversation while we ate our breakfast.

"So - what do you do for work, Danny? I remember something about the docks?"

He seems surprised that I asked. "Oh. Yes, I'm the head of hiring for the dockworkers union. I manage our employees and do my best to get contracts for us, wherever I can."

I nod, swallowing my mouthful of cornflakes. "You like it?"

He hums, thinking. "Yeah, I do. It can be challenging sometimes, but I enjoy it."

"What are you working on right now?"

Danny practically lights up, sitting up straighter and smiling. "Well, Medhall is trying to build a new clinic on the west side and need people to help with construction…"

Last edited: Jun 5, 2022

Chapter 4

3 am bakery shifts are good money, but kills my muse. The whole chapter feels disjointed to me, but tell me what you think!

I stretch out, crack my back, and sit down. Danny has just left for work, leaving me to do as I please.

Our current 'plan of action' for the coming weekend is to clear out the basement as a room for me, but until then I'm stuck on the couch.

It's better than a hotel room, at least.

Now… What should I build? Postal has some weird tech, but hardly any of it is worth making - guns, guns and more guns aren't useful when I'd get arrested on the spot for carrying.

Getting a blaster substitute is my current priority, but the closest thing is the beanbag cannon - about as useful as it sounds when used as intended, and nowhere near the one hundred miles an hour I need. Health pipes are good in theory, but considering they're instantly addictive, with withdrawal symptoms that could kill me within hours? I'll pass.

Where would I even find cocaine on such short notice?

Uh… The ensmallen cure might be good against the Nazi twins? But I'd have to get close in close. Nah.

Plus, I don't want to inject that into someone. Ew.

… Maybe this specialty isn't as good as I thought?

Eh. I could make the smiley pin at least. Start a new collection now that my old one is on another continent?

I think that cookie container was recyclable plastic…

I heard Taylor return a little while later, though she made her way up the stairs without saying hello. I had just finished cooking my new pin - a round, plastic smiley face.

It doesn't do anything, but I'm bored and this seemed like fun.

I stick the pin on my backpack and return to sketching.

Hey, I should post this stuff online! See what people think. Maybe a comic strip? Postal guy-

"Excuse me."

I look up to find Taylor staring at me, expressionless. She's had a shower and gotten changed, if her damp hair is any indication, and is rolling something between her fingers. What…?

Oh. I guess I should've checked on my roboslugs this morning.

Ah well. I knew this was coming, I just hoped it wouldn't be so soon. At least Danny isn't here.

I raise an eyebrow. "You went through my things?"

She didn't so much as twitch in response to my accusation. "What is this?"

Do I play this off, or do I just roll with it? Which is less likely to get me swarmed with bugs?

… I suppose I've always preferred Megamind to Batman.

I smile at her, before reaching out and making a beckoning gesture at the slug. In an instant it unfurls, wings popping out from it's back and soaring out of Taylor's grasp to me. I turn the roboslug to face her and make it fold into storage mode.

"Tinkertech," I reply nonchalantly, "What's with the bugs?"

Her jaw tightens minutely and a low buzzing fills the room. "Who are you really?"

Maybe a tad more batman with this one. "Well! I'm Jamie Doe, your cousin from Australia. Who is now living with you because nearly everyone he's ever known is either dead or quarantined. I understand that this might surprise you, but I had no idea you were a cape until I got here and noticed the odd bug behaviour."

It's even true - I got curious and used my psychoscope to scan over the vermin around the house. With a view of every bug around it's obvious they're being directed.

Taylor steps forward and juts her chin out, an attempt at intimidation greatly diminished by her being a few inches shorter than me.

"I don't believe you."

"Do you work for the Empire?"

A look of surprise flashes across her face, before she glares at me. "No!"

I meet her gaze evenly. "How about the Wards? The Merchants? New Wave, Coil, Faultline's Crew, the Undersiders - fuckin… Uber and Leet?"

Taylor's eyebrows knit together. "No?"

I lean forward. "Then I don't care. I have no intention of joining the cape scene any time soon, beyond the absolute minimum. I'll probably go Rogue after school, but until then I'm fine with tinkering up whatever the hell I feel like, when I feel like. Rather than bet my life on half-built gear and hope."

Her body language is a blank wall, the ominous buzzing dying down somewhat. "People need help."

"Not from me."

She stares for a moment, before turning on her heel and storming out of the living room.

Well, as much as one can storm out with a pokerface as solid as that, anyway.

I'm assuming she's shunting off part of her reaction to the swarm, but who knows? Maybe being relentlessly bullied for years builds up good acting skills.

… I should probably help with that.

For now though, I'll just get back to drawing. A prison break perhaps?

And… I'm officially an artist! With a final press, my sketches have been posted online to the various off-brand websites that fill Bet's internet.

Honestly, this is partially an attempt at creating a plausible revenue stream for myself if/when I end up doing the rogue thing, and partially me wanting to see what the Worm population thinks of other series.

The bugs have been paying extra attention to me since Taylor went off, but nothing's come of it so far. With some time to think about it, I've realised that she's probably branded me an asshole in the same vein as Armsmaster, but…

Eh.

Taylor, as it turns out, follows the same pitfalls that many teenagers - including myself - are vulnerable to. Specifically, thinking she knows better than those with more experience.

It doesn't help that a little over half the time, she's right. Regardless of how effective a villain she can be, it doesn't change how bad an idea being a 'double agent' on a team with a high-powered thinker is.

Hopefully, I can make her situation a little better. Stop the Trio, get her in the Wards for heroing, give her some gear to stop her from becoming another statistic…

Christ, this world is a mess.

Last edited: Mar 17, 2022

Chapter 5

"Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it's unbelievable" - Matilda Wormwood

If Jamie seems a little off over this specialty, don't worry, it's intentional. Having all that that Holy Style bouncing around his head is bound to make anyone a little odd - especially with his shard artificially pumping up his Bravery while the specialty is active. Can't have a tinker be unable to use his own equipment, after all. Enjoy!

The fact that my first thought upon waking up was 'whoever decided the living room windows didn't need curtains, should burn in hell' is probably a good indicator of how poorly my life has been going recently.

That my second thought was 'Wait, hell is real?' is probably a better one.

Yeah… No. Breakfast first, then existential crisis.

Judging from the single mug on the countertop, Taylor has already made her way out for a run. I should be quiet so I don't wake Danny up, though he should be getting up soonish anyway.

I pour myself a bowl of cereal - Velociflakes, everything you need to get up and running for the day! - and try to sort out my thoughts.

Honestly, The World Ends With You seems like the perfect specialty for my current situation. Psionic based powers, low-cost, quick and easy to build, and inconspicuous to carry around. It's the implications that come with it that are the issue.

I could hypothetically make an Underground for Brockton Bay. A full-on, outright afterlife made to contain and judge the souls of the recent dead.

Using graffiti .

I don't have anywhere near the time I'd need, obviously, but that I could hypothetically do so makes me nervous. Especially when I can picture everything an angel feather could do.

The silver lining to having my understanding of reality shaken? I can absolutely confirm that the Simurgh, A.) doesn't qualify as an angel and B.) uses psionics as the main component of her abilities. - Is it even a 'her?' It is, after all, a giant hunk of pseudo-crystal shaped into a superweapon.

… Y'know what?

I don't care. I'm making the executive decision to ignore the metaphysical side of this specialty and just get building already. Heaven knows this probably won't be the last time my power does something like this either.

I begin to sketch out some pin designs as a zombie-like Danny stumbles into the kitchen, grunting something that might have been a greeting at me.

A player pin is a must - or rather, the more useful Reaper Pins from the new game. Maybe both? Oooh, the Gatito designs were always a favourite of mine. Maybe I could…

Oh. The powers of The World Ends With You are all based on imagination, human consciousness and belief - different brands of clothing could legitimately protect you better from psychic attacks because people paid more attention to them. Hence how a maid costume ends up on par with samurai armour when fighting psychic wolves and bears.

So nothing branded - both clothes and pins - will work at all.

Disappointing, but not an insurmountable issue. The strongest pin sets would be useless and any threads are just mundane clothing, but Noise pins cover most psychs anyway.

I begin to sketch out a reaper sigil onto my page. Food should also work for 'boosting stats.' The long and short of it is that food is a quick way to boost your own 'imagination' - psychic oomph - by consuming the result of another's artistry and subsequently refining both your imagination and their own. Normally it'd take years to make even a minute difference, but the correct sigils could bring that up to scratch.

A sip from his coffee cup draws my attention to Danny peering over my shoulder. "What are you drawing?"

"Some recipes I'd like to try," I reply absently, "Plus some pins I'm planning on making. Just planning stuff to do today, I guess."

He winces. "Sorry to just leave you like this, but work needs me and Taylor…"

I nod, flashing him a slight grin. "And Taylor is dealing with her own stuff. Don't worry, it happens - I'll be fine, Danny. Entertaining myself is something I'm well versed in." I flatten out the paper and look over my designs. "Hmm. Where could I find a badge maker on such short notice…"

Danny looks at me oddly for a moment, before walking off.

Hopefully, that takes care of that?

Now… Decisions, decisions - do I go for the fantastic looking lapel pins, or the easily mass-produced badges? Both work roughly the same, but the lapel pins are more durable and look nicer. On the other hand, I could continue to make the badges indefinitely once the specialty fades. A digital design can be printed no matter what, and print shops are always open for work.

Ugh, my head says badges but my heart says lapel pins - the only sensible thing is to do both. I'll head out and start collecting the materials for either one. If I can't find a badge maker for sale, I'll make the lapel pins. If I get the badges set up first and the unique foods, I'll make the lapel pins as well.

Simple.

First up, library. I can use their computers to browse for badge makes and their printers to scan through my designs. Then, I'll head my way over to the market… My debit card still works over here, there's just a 3% surcharge - tinkering funds are taken care of, for a little while, but that will vanish the moment I need expensive materials… I'll just have to be careful.

Speaking of expensive materials - I'll need a pearl for the fusion pin, preferably multiple so I can have spares. I know how to make a pact with my own shadow, but the pact itself is still needed to activate psychs. Maybe a traditional Chinese medicine shop would have some? I could swing by while getting stuff for the attack, defence, HP and Brave medicines. They're not the most efficient foods for stats, but they're fast, easy and will last ages when compared to the 'real' foods that cause huge stat boosts.

I pull on my backpack and step outside, checking my phone. Ok, the next bus leaves for the city centre in about twenty minutes, that should give me plenty of- "What are you doing?"

Shhhhh- "Shoot, Taylor, don't sneak up on me like that! I'll end up… Accidentally punching you or something."

She looks at me coolly over her glasses. " Where are you going - and why wait until the moment Dad leaves the house?"

Well, at least she's not using the ice-cold poker face on me this time. "Getting stuff for tinkering. And I was talking with him, I'm hardly going to ditch him the minute I finish breakfast."

She frowns minutely. "What are you making?"

I check the time - 7:28. "A number of things, which I don't have time to explain to you if you're going to get to school on time."

A slight flinch accompanies that statement. "It's a day off."

I eyeball the Immacula kids getting on the bus a few hundred meters down the street. Taylor doesn't even turn to look.

"Well…" I shrug. "No skin off my nose. For the record, I don't believe you. But if you want to bunk off, that's your business."

Taylor looks like she's trying very hard not to seem upset with me. "Just tell me."

I let out an explosive sigh. "You're not going to leave this alone, are you?"

She shakes her head resolutely.

"Fine. Fair enough, I guess - c'mon. If you're free anyway, I could use a guide. Today, I'm going to be making some badges and some food. Maybe some clothing too."

I suddenly start walking and Taylor quickly matches my pace. "What?"

"Y'know, badges? Like this?" I tap the smiley face on my backpack. "But like, better than this one."

" What?"

"Oh, but they give their wearers psychic powers. Not the smiley one, that's just a badge - the new ones hopefully will."

"What?!"

Taking refuge in audacity appears to work great against Taylor on a warpath. Now, let's see if I can get her to stop thinking I'm a gang plant or something. First step - get her curious.

"Psychic powers. Now, if we hurry we should be able to get to the library in time for opening - that should mean no lines to use the printer and computers. Tell me, does the name 'craigslist' mean anything to you?"

Taylor's pace increases to a slight jog to keep up with my own long step.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Step one, complete.

Chapter 6

Tada! A new chapter appears. I didn't get quite as far plot-wise as I'd hoped, but I'd prefer an extra chapter in this arc than just rushing through all the important bits. Let me know what you think! Enjoy.

Unfortunately, Craigslist doesn't exist and the library's printer is too low-quality to print out pin designs wholesale.

The print shop across the road, however, was much more helpful with my little shopping list. A little tinker magic let me MS paint up the designs at an appropriate resolution and before I knew it I had several pages worth of high-quality pin prints.

Well, that's a bit of an over-exaggeration. I have one page of pin prints - the rest are backlogged for now as the shop make their way through the Immacula student council election posters. Vote for Ashley Queens!

Inconvenient, but a little tip from one of the store's employees more than made up for that. Print shops, funnily enough, can't survive on just printing posters, photos and photocopies - they also supplement their income with various other services that require expensive equipment such as T-shirt printing and making little badges for various events.

And while that's wonderful news, it doesn't exactly assist my dreams of mass-produced psychic foci. When I mentioned this shortcoming, one of the guys on the cash registers piped up that he had sold one of their older badge press machines to his sister when she was running for homecoming queen. Apparently, she had gotten frustrated with it after the first fifty or so badges and hadn't touched it since.

So I immediately dragged a still-bewildered Taylor with me to get to go get this little miracle as soon as possible.

I hadn't considered the twenty-minute bus ride would give her a chance to get her thoughts in order.

Taylor's mouth pulls into a tight frown as she watches me inking out a design onto a plain, white nametag sticker I snagged from the print shop. "What are you doing now?" Her tone is faintly exasperated, seemingly having disregarded me as a threat over my frantic attempts to make magic badges.

"Making stickers." I complete the two identical designs and quickly tear them out. I hand one to Taylor and stick the other to the top of my shoulder, under my shirt. "Keep that on for a day or so, will you? It should at least be of some minor help."

The side of her lip twitches up slightly as she glances at it. "Sure, Jamie. What does it do?"

… Oh god, she's treating me like a child. I suppose I have been running around like a loon trying to make badges and colour in my drawings. Fine, if you're going to be like that… "After you finish school tomorrow - and you aren't wagging off again to chase my idiotic ass around the city, or I'll tell Danny - we're going to Fugly Bob's. You'll get to see then."

Her face pinched slightly at the reminder of school, but sticks her sticker in the same place as me. I suppose colouring or not, the Roboslugs are legitimate enough to convince her. Food items are going to be vital in the coming days and I'm curious as to whether having Hollow Legs would let us beat the challenger.

I'm pulled out of my rumination as the bus pulls into our stop. Taylor jumps slightly when I snap my sketchbook closed, but quickly falls into step with me - having quickly got used to my frantic pace and long steps. We're just outside the university, a stream of college students filtering out of the bus behind us as we get our bearings.

Taylor seems content to marvel at the campus, watching the students milling about with a complicated look on her face.

Me? My eyes are locked onto the twenty-something girl holding the exact thing I need, glancing about at any teenager-ish faces walking past.

The exchange was over before Taylor had a chance to realise I had left her - I walked over, wallet in hand, said hi, handed her the money and we both left. It was very convenient that whats-her-name didn't want to be seen talking to me, I can get on with my plans in no time flat!

"C'mon, we're done here."

Taylor doesn't turn towards me, but her attention clearly shifts to me. "What? But we just got here!"

"Yep. But I've got my badge maker now and the next parts I'm going to need are in places less…" I squint at the Empire tags on the bus stop bench "Aggressively white."

I check my maps - my phone is on 30%, better hurry - and nod in satisfaction. "C'mon, we can walk from here."

Taylor makes a strangled noise in her throat. "From here to where?"

"Touristy fish market - did you know that Brockton Bay has several gourmet fish farms in the bay? 'Cause I didn't." When the ships started polluting the pristine beaches of Brockton Bay, and therefore the city's wallet, Armsmaster added filtration systems to the base of the Rig's struts. It keeps in with the eco-friendly image using an old oil rig presents, and gets him a nice little bonus from the city besides. The flipside to this is that the water is practically perfect for farming all kinds of sea life, which quickly turned into a booming gourmet sea food operation.

Taylor's tone is cautious, studying my face. "I don't think we can afford that stuff, Jamie."

I hum non-committally. "Perhaps. But trust me - in this case, it'll be worth it."

Taylor nervously pokes forward with me into the loud seafood market, the plastic flaps swinging closed behind us. As a few curious eyes turn towards us from the various staff - it's unusual to see a pair of teenagers here at all, let alone unattended - all indication of her fear bleeds away to an emotionless mask, body language stilling.

Kind of eerie when you watch it happen, but if it makes her feel more comfortable? So be it.

Guided by both the nagging of my specialty and foreign chef's instincts, I run a falsely-practised eye over each display. The fish here is of exceptional quality, but the almost sterile environment of the water closer to the rig leads to large variations in taste over only a few kilometres. I'll have to be careful to balance it with the rice.

My slow scan of the displays had garnered some interest from the largely bored front-end staff. With the school and workday fully in session, the only remaining patrons were some clueless tourists and the occasional house-husband/wife. I could pick up snippets of Korean and Japanese talking about the two of us, mostly when I skipped over a flashy salmon display boasting its produce being used in a Michelin Star restaurant - the flesh was a tad too tough for what I'm looking for - yet stopped to look at one of the smaller stalls.

If I had to guess, I'd say it's a slow day for them.

Despite her seemingly impenetrable calm, Taylor shrinks somewhat at the attention. Oh, right - she can't understand what little we can hear.

"Relax, they're just gossiping." Her look was not reassured. "They're arguing over whether I actually know what I'm doing or not."

"Do you?"

I grin at her and readjust my backpack's shoulder straps. "We'll see, won't we?"

I pause my roaming as we walk past a little stall with an old guy playing on his phone. A bunch of oysters laid out on a grid, with a sign proclaiming that some of them had pearls in. I look over at Taylor.

"Wanna try?"

She grimaces. "No thanks. I tried that once wi- when I was little. Fifty dollars on a bunch of oysters, not one had a pearl." She glares at the stall and the old guy snorts without looking up. "And you'd be best not to try either."

I shrug. "Suit yourself," I reply casually, "But I think I'll take… That one."

I tap the oyster two down and one across from the top. The owner didn't even bother to look up before sticking out his hand for my money.

I hand it over and he jabs at a smaller line of text under the 'win pearls' title. $4 to open? Geez, this guy must make bank with all the bratty kids about.

"Nah, I'm good. We'll just do it at home." I pick up my oyster in a plastic bag and stick it in my backpack. He shrugs and returns to fully ignoring us.

Taylor looks a little annoyed I ignored her warning, but I bump her shoulder lightly. The action surprises her and she faces me fully.

"I'll show you when we get home, but I'm fairly confident the Jewellers is off the list now."

She frowns deeply. "How could you possibly-" A look of realisation crosses her face. I just smirk.

"I'll be done here soon." I promise, "I just need some-"

" Oi, kid!" An old Korean lady shouts out from behind a counter to our left, " You after someth'n?"

I clear my throat and reply in kind. " Yeah, actually. Do you know where I'd be able to find some good sea urchin?"

The old lady barks out a laugh and points at her coworker. " Ha! Told 'ya he had to have some Korean in him! Pay up, loser!"

I can't help but snort at the alarmed look of her younger companion with the choppy beard. " Hate to burst your bubble, but I'm Australian. Heck, the most exotic my family tree gets is 'Irish convict.' I've just picked up a few languages here and there. Now, about that sea urchin?"

The lady lets out a playfully angry cry as the man sighs in relief and nods. " Yeah, I know some - just head down that way," He points, " and look for the stall with the penguin mascot. He'll hook you up."

I wave him off. " Thanks! Cool, this way Taylor." I turn to her wide-eyed look and smile. "What?"

"You speak Korean?"

I snicker. "Taylor, I'm fluent in damn near everything."

She wrestles with that concept for a bit, before shaking her head. "Alright, whatever. Let's just get whatever it is you need and head home."

I wince slightly. "Ah… One more stop after here? It's around the corner."

She sighs. "Fine. And then we'll get your stupid prints and head home."

I look at her in horror. "They are not stupid!"

"Fine. But let's hurry up."

Last edited: Feb 2, 2022

Chapter 7

Dinner table dialogue was not working for me, so I just skipped it - lemme know how it flows. And feel free to leave tech tree suggestions for me! I've got quite the list, but I'm always looking for more. Just be aware that they might not be used in the way you expect, if at all. Enjoy!

I can't help but grin as I look at my full plastic shopping bag. " Thank you so much!"

"Don't come back here! And don't you DARE waste those!"

I just wave back at the grumpy old shopkeeper and step out onto the street. Finding this place was a monumental success

Taylor is glancing between the storefront and I nervously "What did you do? I heard yelling."

I can't help a bemused smile crossing my face. "Ah, don't worry. I just got some rather… Valuable ingredients. Since I'm neither Chinese, nor an old fart, Mr Siau in there was worried I was going to waste them."

She looks at the shopping bag in my hand. "What did you buy that has him so worried?"

I hum and begin walking towards the bus stop once more. "Well, I've got a few servings of Cordyceps, some absurdly nice noodles, rare mushrooms, spices…" I look over at her and shrug. "It's not the ingredients on their own, it's the fact that I bought so many at once. He's frightened I'll waste them because I don't know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

"I better, otherwise this whole trip will have been for nothing."

Taylor isn't amused.

I relent. "Yes, I know how to use them properly. The mushrooms will be used to farm more mushrooms, then pressed into a liquid form. The noodles should be used in a particular type of ramen, the spices alongside it and maybe a tea as well… Yeah."

She studies my face for a moment, before turning away - silent.

I guess we wait now.

I'm in a fantastic mood by the time Danny gets home. My pins are printed and many are fully completed, I've set up a Pact with my shadow using a pearl-base fusion pin, a set of lead solder lapel pins made in rubber tire casts are being electroplated in the basement and I'm in the middle of cooking us dinner.

Absolute shadow ramen, with a side dish of gourmet rice balls and a royal jelly honey-vanilla slice for dessert. It's shaping up to be one of the best meals I've ever had, let alone made myself.

Taylor quickly moved her homework into the kitchen when she realized I was cooking for everyone - she said something about keeping an eye on me, but I think she just likes the smell.

My neuromods are really shining here - I know exactly what I'm doing and feel strangely practised, more so than simply following my power's instructions provides. I can smell when something was done, instead of relying on timing and measurements.

On the other hand - I keep reaching for tools and ingredients that aren't there, or nearly going off recipe despite that potentially damaging the meal's benefits because I randomly thought something else would taste better.

Taylor and I both had donned a set of reaper-style pins that would allow for psychic development while eating food, as a Player or Reaper would experience in the Underground, to best make use of this very expensive meal.

I had debated using a Telekinesis psyche to assist my cooking - mostly for practice - but decided that the risk of Danny entering unannounced was too high.

He entered the kitchen just as I was plating up the last of the rice balls, with the ramen nearly ready - pausing in shock.

"Jamie? What are you…"

I carefully place down the plate and turn to face him. "Cooking! I heard that the seafood in Brockton was really good, so I decided to make some rice balls I've been wanting for a while. Then I saw the ramen place, and the herbal remedies shop and…" I make a show of looking at the various utensils and ingredients strewn about "Yeah, I might have gotten carried away. Sorry, did you have something planned for dinner tonight?"

Danny looks about, bewildered. "Um, no. No, you're fine - I was just going to make pasta, but this… Huh."

I shrug. "Well, good timing - I'll be done in about fifteen minutes. Where do you normally eat?"

Danny quickly busies himself with setting the dining table, Taylor tearing herself from pretending to do homework while staring at the plate of rice balls to help.

There was too much food for everyone to eat, so I plated up half servings of each and stored the rest in the fridge for tomorrow's lunch.

Dinner was dead silent - not from awkwardness, but rather everyone was too busy devouring our meals. The rice balls were perfect and the ramen was fantastic - I could practically feel the strengthening of my pact with every bite.

I was pretty proud of the slice too - the honey was prepped via my power's directions, but using it in the vanilla slice is my own invention. From Danny and Taylor's reactions, I don't think they minded.

After finishing our dessert, we were all stuffed - even at half servings, the amount of food was absurd and we practically left our plates sparkling. Danny and Taylor washed the dishes, while I cleared away my ingredients and wiped down the benches.

The other two went straight to bed the moment they finished, falling into a deep food coma.

I'd say dinner was a success!

As much as I'd like to go to bed myself, I've still got work to do - with only a few hours left on my specialty I need to paint my lapel pins, set up some stencils for CAT graffiti and create some Extra Slot stickers.

Not hard work, but it still needs to be done.

I've got the digital designs for every unbranded Noise pin and the basic 'generic' pins players are given to start with - though 'unique' noise such as the Phoenix, Rhyme or Mr Mew are obviously unavailable. Currently, about a fifth of those designs are printed - with ten Player pins and twenty-five Reaper pins taking up much of the print space.

It might be overkill, but a form of Player pin is arguably the single most important pin available - it prevents external psionic influence, unlocks the basic level of a player's imagination and allows for the creation of basic pacts with other players in the event a fusion pin is not available.

My zinc-plated lapel pins currently consist of the powerful Anguis pin - with a laser attack stronger than any other pin available, the teleportation-granting Leo pin, the psychokinetic Raven pin, the Green Dragon pin capable of a buffeting pyrokinesis, the ever-lucky Pig pin, the Orvis with it's shocking lightning strikes and - finally - the slow, powerful Rhino pin.

Each pin practically grants a full parahuman ability, only restricted by usage limits and charge times, and I'm quite eager to finish them off and begin testing. The Pig pin might not be ideal for combat, but testing them in an arcade? Or a casino? How about the Raven - could I use it as an extra pair of hands while Tinkering?

So many possibilities, so little time.

So, I sip some black tea and return to my painting. The CAT graffiti could be mildly memetic, encouraging people to spread it over the gang's designs… A sigil here to promote Imagination development, a curve here to seed the beginnings of an Underground…

Things are looking up!

Chapter 8

Did you know that wards are fanon? Because I didn't - I knew arithmancy and runes were extended well past the source material, but wards? Those are used nigh-universally! I hope I did the introduction of magic justice. Enjoy!

(Also, I'm just going to head this off to prevent confusion before the next chapter's explanation - the wands aren't going to be useful for spellcasting, at all. This is not the beginning of Wizard Tinker, this is Jamie digging up raw copper to make a laptop)

"Jamie!"

I flinch and look up - Taylor was glaring at me, arms crossed.

"Huh?"

Her glare immediately fades at my bewilderment, instead shifting to the… 'gentler' tone she had been using with me yesterday. "I've been trying to get your attention - you weren't responding to me earlier. Are you trying to make something new?"

She really does think I'm touched in the head, doesn't she? I could use my words and bring it up, but…

Eh.

I think seeing her face when pins work will be worth suffering through her patronising tone. Obliviousness it is!

"Uh, right, sorry. Yeah… Trying is a good word for it - I'm having issues with this new specialty, it needs a rather extreme metamaterial to work."

She sits down next to me and looks over my shoulder at my sketchbook. "What do you mean 'metamaterial' - is that a broomstick?"

"Yes, it is. How much do you know about tinkers?"

Taylor purses her lips and leans back, thinking. "Not much, just what I found on PHO. You have greater flexibility with a much harder startup, they're more valuable because their tech can be used by other people, tinkertech can't be used commercially because it breaks down over time without maintenance…"

I nod. "All true for normal tinkers - but I work a little different. Beyond the-" I flick the shiny green dragon pinned to my shirt "Obvious. Do you know what tinker specialties are?"

Taylor frowns a little. "Of course. Most tinkers have a gimmick or theme they follow, though most keep it a secret to avoid…" She straightens suddenly "This new specialty?"

I can't help but grin. "Yep - my specialty switches every day at sixteen past twelve am, hence my rush yesterday. Once a specialty goes, it's gone completely. It's like… I sacrifice time, scale and consistency for way more flexibility. As in, more than any other cape I know of bar Eidolon."

Taylor's mouth draws into a flat line. "I don't know about that - but I had wondered why you were rushing so much, and about the pins with your little robots."

I shrug. "You'll see once I can find somewhere to really let loose. Anyway, my specialty today is witches and wizards - so I've got to figure out how to give myself magic, without using any magic."

She stares at me for a moment. "Ah. Ok?"

I stretch out casually and check my watch. "By 'magic,' I mean the natural reality-warping energy that is produced metaphysically by about five hundred-thousandths of a percent of the global population on Earth…" Uh? "Let's just call it Earth 'R' for now, since it's not officially catalogued. You've got ten minutes until your bus gets here, by the way."

Taylor continues staring at me for a moment, before starting and rushing towards the back door. As she steps out, she turns back towards me. "I'm going to want a better explanation later, Jamie."

I wave lazily over my shoulder. "No worries, we can do it at that Fugly Bob's restaurant - Have a nice day at school, Taylor."

She let out a frustrated noise and left, leaving me to my sketching. I'll probably get grilled later, but the effects of Hollow Leg should distract her enough.

And really, it's just sketching. Despite my best efforts, the pureblood propaganda of Muggleborns stealing their magic remain just that - propaganda.

Harry Potter - Not a particularly 'high level' specialty unless you could set yourself up with a wand and… four or more years of schooling? About that, anyway. And worse, the main component in everything interesting is a generous helping of magic. So… I'm stuck.

Sure, there are plenty of rituals and potions to enhance someone's magical power - even give it to something wholesale - but they all require a baseline level of magical strength. Where am I supposed to get seven wizards, seven witches and a human sacrifice? Or manticore teeth?

It's not all bad, I suppose. Souls have more 'substance' when viewed through a wizarding lens, since they're actual metaphysical constructs awarded to living beings by a higher power, rather than psychic representations of a person's consciousness and being, which means I could daisy chain runic matrices into the Underground sigils. Give the eventual realm a unique environment, rather than just 'Brockton, but now nobody can see you.'

… But improving a hypothetical afterlife system for twenty years down the road doesn't give me magic. And magic is what I'm after.

I've already accepted that I'm not getting much out of this specialty, as disappointing as it is, but I need to at least try and set up tools for the future.

So… Experimentation is my only option. I'm in uncharted territory here, the closest thing my power can offer up is some old soviet experimentation with 'witch blood' and uranium.

Let's see, what could a muggle do without their own magic? Runes, arithmancy, potions, rituals, alchemy… Anything that uses external sources to power the final effects. Out of those, what could I do?

Potions are a bust, with as magic-dead as Bet is all I'd find is biotinkered monstrosities and lunatic capes. No mandrake root for me!

Likewise, rituals are also useless - no initial spark means that even rituals powered through sacrifice become meaningless dances. Plus, anything interesting requires a large chalk or salt circle - not exactly easy to make in a crowded city.

The remaining options are far more promising. Arithmancy is the obvious favourite - magic via maths sounds like the perfect thing for a tinker, but the reality of it is that arithmancy is the art of predicting the future using maths. A mix of probability forecasting and numerology, a significantly more accurate form of divination - its use in spell casting extending only to the results of unpredictable spell effects. It's most often used in sports to find betting odds, spell creation to figure out if this particular bit of pseudo-latin will kill you or not and by teenagers who think predicting the future using math makes them invincible.

So… Yeah, not perfect. Runes is slightly better, but not by much. Runes can be used as a magical 'programming language' of sorts - binding spells to environments, places and people, or otherwise guiding magic into unusual shapes. It's mostly a way to link a spell to a unique identifier and then hook that identifier onto whatever object you'd like.

But to do that you, y'know, need to have spells to cast. Underground sigils are dealing with souls, which can replace the need for spells in that case, but raw magic gets a little more complex.

Alchemy technically still works fine - and it better, otherwise all of chemistry is shot - but without a spell or two speeding some of the conversions along making anything interesting becomes exceedingly complex.

Not great - but I'm not going to get anything done by sitting around and complaining about how hard not being handed reality warping is. Time to get to work.

I have either done something very wrong, or very right.

Before me sits my prize for six hours of work - an ornately carved green ash wood stick, with a pleasant hemp oil finish strapped to a distinctly alarming battery pack, calculator screen and Gameboy Colour screen. Careful use of a roboslug's energy weapon projection had drilled a minuscule hole through the centre to around midway through, enough for me to thread a blood-soaked hair into the techno-wand - the fit being air-tight.

Even now, left undisturbed on the kitchen bench, the tip sparked ominously with pale blue flecks.

I had tried polishing and properly organising the components, but that just made the device look like a strange raygun rather than a ramshackle art project - I certainly got the technomagic aesthetic I was after.

The wand itself was nothing special - although wood was acceptable for a wand, retrieved from a nearby church's garden, the core of muggle hair and blood is significantly less so, about that of kneezle hair. The electronic components were picked up at a video store, only a ten-minute walk away.

Let me tell you - buying some Gameboy Colours on the cheap from a busy Blockbuster because Nintendo is regarded as an obsolete relic felt like a fever dream. But since the flop of the Nintendo Super Virtual Boy, an early attempt at commercial tinkertech integration, they've stuck with trading card games - though even that has been on the decline in favour of regular playing cards. They just can't compete with Protectorate and Ward branded cards.

Still, it's good news for me - two techno-wands, one currently functioning and the other burnt out. My first attempt was with Pine, eager to be used creatively and certainly ready for the mysterious nature of a new field of magic - but it ended up being too eager and burnt out the core. Ash wood tends to make especially productive tools, both magical and not, due to its tendency to attract energy - perfect for this situation, though the temperament of the wand left it ominously sparking at the non-traditional use.

The wands themselves are just that - wands for magicals to cast with. It's the electronics that are special. Custom circuit boards made with runic patterns to enhance operation and prevent burnout, set to rapidly run as many arithmancy calculations as possible, in the shortest time possible, focused on the probability of casting a spell. This starts at zero, but the wand and runic matrix collect the 'excess' magic from the arithmancy, which becomes a new data point for the next set of equations - with a new equation running five million, eight hundred thousand times a second. A little bit of magic, quickly building up into a lot of magic.

I stretch out and glance over at the roboslug I've been using - a hair-thin energy drill still extending from it's mouth. I'd used it for nearly everything - cutting, carving, drilling, soldering, cleaning and polishing. Useful little buggers, just as I had hoped.

But it brought something to my attention - there's no reason why I can't set up a routine for it to make wands automatically.

Nothing used is actual tinkertech beyond the arithmancy equation code, and that doesn't degrade any more than a normal program would. It'd let me experiment more after the specialty has finished, and ensure I'm never without access to magic when a new specialty rolls around.

I glace between the still smoking wand with a burnt-out core and the angrily sparking one. This is a bad idea… But that's never stopped me before.

Checking the time show's I've got about an hour until Taylor returns home and we can head out to Fugly Bob's, so I've got the time.

Hmmn. Alright! Let's make some more magic.

Last edited: May 13, 2022

Chapter 9

Well, real-life has hit me like a brick to the jaw. Over the past two weeks, I've had my hours changed three times, had so little sleep that I began to hallucinate for a while, got into my top Uni preference after literal weeks of technical issues and acted as the impromptu manager of the bakery as a trainee twice. So yeah, not much time to write. But I have time now! Enjoy.

This was originally supposed to be an interlude from Taylor's perspective, but I realised that I have zero idea how to write from her perspective. It's been so long since I read Worm proper that her characterisation is a conflicted mess in my head - and I didn't want to delay this further by falling into the obsession pit once more.

I'm pulled out of my near-trance by the sound of Taylor stepping through the backdoor.

"Alright, Jamie. I've-" Fuck!

In a flash, I dive from the kitchen bench to the loungeroom, locking eyes with my surprised cousin. I frantically make a chopping motion across my neck, keeping half an eye on the violent red light now pouring from my previous position. Taylor's eyebrow's furrow as she goes to speak- No!

Scrambling to my feet I practically tackle Taylor out the door, shoving a hand over her mouth. Her arms move up to shove me off, but she notices the red light behind me and stills.

I lean towards her and whisper lowly. "I am going to remove my hand now. You can make as much noise as you like, but don't speak until I say so. Ok?"

Taylor studies my expression for a moment, before slowly nodding. I lift my hand off her mouth and step back, pulling a wire cutter from my pocket.

Ok… How do I disarm these again? I had written it down on some sticky notes earlier, but a mana spark got too close. Apparently paper doesn't do great with magic, not enough 'conductivity' when compared to the animal-based parchment.

I'll just wing it. There are only two major wires, it should be fine.

Taylor cautiously follows me into the kitchen, the red light slowly receding as the new silver lime wand calms down. It is spinning a centimetre or two above a runic circle drawn in salt on the table, with the tip of the wand being a glass prism from one of my bag's keychains. Silver lime is a mysterious wood, best for Divination and Legimancy. I had hoped it'd work better than my ash wands since Arithmancy is a form of Divination. Technically, I was right.

It, despite the substandard core of non-magical blood and hair, channelled the artificially generated magic better than any of my other attempts - nearly being on-par with a poorly made piece by an Olivander! It's just a tad temperamental.

As in 'speaking near it will make things explode' levels of temperamental.

My guess is that Arithmancy works well with the standard 'algorithmic' precognition that the Entities makes use of and it either isn't working well with the mysterious nature of silver lime, or is working too well and the wand is just throwing a hissy fit at having no truly suitable wielders anywhere in reality.

It got better when I capped the 'operational end' with the glass cube, angry sparks becoming ominous omens dancing through the now foggy tip. Spooky, but less of a fire hazard.

Having learnt from my earlier attempts, I kept the wire cutters hidden behind my back as I casually approached the wand. The number of skulls appearing within the glass increased, but the salt circle didn't begin glowing - a good sign, time to act.

The second I was in range, I swing the wire cutters around and cut through the battery pack's connection. Taylor steps back as the salt circle glows a toxic green and the wand falls to the table, rattling.

Three, two, one… It falls flat, the glow vanishing as the wand returns to being a hunk of wood, metal and plastic.

I let out a sigh as I pick it up off the table. "Well then. That was certainly something. Welcome home, Taylor. How was your day?"

She continues staring at me.

"And you're sure that was-?"

"Safe, no. Safe for me? Yes. Nothing I'd be worried about doing in the kitchen, but I wouldn't want somebody who doesn't know what they're doing trying - I'm doing the equivalent of playing with a taser, not a gun. It could hurt me, but not badly enough that I'd need a doctor."

Taylor purses her lips and turns to face me fully in her seat. "Tasers can hurt people bad enough that they need a doctor. Even kill."

I huff. "It's a metaphor, Taylor, don't read too much into it. Is this our stop?"

My question adequately distracts her. "Yes, it is. Why are you insisting on Fugly Bob's? There are plenty of other, better restaurants - even if Fugly's is a bit of a local icon, it's hardly the most private place to talk."

I tap my pins. "Well, I can't exactly show these off - the effects are rather flashy and I'm maybe… sixty percent sure I'm being watched since I'm from Canberra. The sticker is much subtler… to a certain extent. You've seen the low end of what I'm capable of, now it's time for something a little more involved."

Taylor grabs my shoulder as we step off the bus. "In public?"

I can't help but grin. "Yep. So, for the record - I gave you an old family recipe yesterday made out of the herbs I bought, got it?"

We're inside before she can reply, quickly finding a table for two at the back wall. Taylor seems frustrated I haven't properly answered her questions, but quickly calms as the waiter approaches - naturally, not by the forced swarm shunting. I guess she's getting more comfortable around me, if we're not getting the creepy poker face at the slightest annoyance.

"Hi, welcome to Fugly Bob's. Are you ready to order?"

I cut in before Taylor can answer. "Two Challengers, please."

Both Taylor and the waiter pause. "Um, right. A challenger for two - just so you know the 'challenge' is only valid if one person eats it alone."

I smile blankly and nod. "No, I know. Two separate challengers, please."

Taylor pales slightly and the waiter blinks. "Uh, alright then. If you're sure?"

Taylor pipes up. "Jamie, I don't think that's a good idea - they're a lot larger than you're thinking. And a hundred dollars each."

I nod, glancing around. A few people are paying attention to us now, the surrounding tables having some people outright eavesdropping. I guess the challenger is a bigger deal than I thought. "I'm well aware of that. Remember that tea we had yesterday? The one I said was a family recipe?" I tap my chest where Taylor put her Hollow Leg sticker.

She hesitates. "… Yes? Will that help us eat them?"

Mmm - 6/10, a passable lie but without the commitment needed to really sell it. "Yep. Long story short, mum's side picked up a bunch of traditional Chinese medicine during the gold rush. They all work, they're just outshined by modern medicine for the most part. Or just flat out not useful - who needs an expensive fix for scurvy when an orange will work just as well, right?"

The waiter shifts uncomfortably. "So, just to confirm - that is two challengers?"

"Yep! Thank you-" I turn to Taylor, "Do tip now? Or do we do that later?"

She blinks at the change in tone. "Um, no. You do that when you pay for the meal."

I nod and smile. "Cool beans."

The waiter hovered awkwardly for a moment, before walking off. Alright then, I guess we wait.

"So I'm talking a good game here, but you haven't eaten yet today, right?"

Taylor looks sheepish. "I had some tea this morning and a banana for lunch. I missed breakfast and forgot my lunch when I realised I was late, and you chased me out the door before I got a chance to have a snack."

"Always have at least something for a meal, it's better for you than going without. But in this case, it's probably for the best." The obvious eavesdroppers have largely dropped off, but no need to say anything that might grab their attention just-

Wait, what am I doing? I can easily check if they're listening. All I have to do to check is focus.

Oh my god, he's so cute! I just wanna- No, play it cool, it's only the second date. Boys like girls who play hard to -

Oh gee, thanks, Mike! That's sooo helpful. Asshole. This is why I'm sleeping with your wi-

Should I get the Belly Buster combo or the Udder Disaster? I'm feeling more like pork, but-

Hi, I'd like a medium cheeseburger combo, please. Hi! I'd like a medium cheeseburger combo, please. Hi, I'd- shit they're here, what was it?

Well then.

I'd say we're probably fine.

I begin speaking lowly to Taylor. "So, questions?"

She blinks and her expression hardens. "Right. Questions."

Last edited: May 13, 2022

Chapter 10

This chapter feels pretty filler-y to me, but a lot of the exposition in it is stuff I've clarified outside of the story proper - so it had to be done. Plus, Devil Daggers is highly addictive and has been eating up my time something fierce. Next chapter should finish up the Fugly Bob's meeting and get back to moving the plot forward. Enjoy!

Taylor chews on her lip for a moment, looking slightly nervous now the opportunity for answers is right in front of her. Then again, I have left her quite a few things to think about.

I'll admit, now that I've remembered that I can, using the Player Pin to scan her thoughts while we talk has crossed my mind. It'd make things a hell of a lot easier, at least. No miscommunications.

But… I don't really want to. There's a huge difference between scanning strangers to check if we might be in danger and scanning someone you know to get a leg up in conversation. Taylor seems to like me well enough, no reason to put that at risk because of paranoia or laziness.

Taylor leans forward over the table. "Ok. I've got a lot of things I'm curious about, but…" She lets out a long breath "Alright. What was with the food yesterday? And today, I guess."

Did I forget to explain? Oops. "Right. So, do you remember me mentioning how the pins grant psychic abilities?" She nods. "Well, unsurprisingly, psychic powers are hard to use. There just isn't enough power behind a normal person's thoughts to make lightning, y'know? So in order to use these powers, you need to build up the 'mass' behind your thoughts - change from thinking with a plastic fork to thinking with a sledgehammer. With me so far?"

Her nervous look fades into a lightly exasperated frown. "Yes?"

"Great. Normally to do that, you'd need to develop your 'imagination' via interacting with other people - particularly artists - as a part of a scheme to uplift all of humanity by the local higher-order folks in the specialty's world. But, if you don't have time for spending years bettering your community, you skip most of it by eating particular foods and wearing the right pin. Or being dead, I guess, but I like the pins better."

Taylor's eyes widen. "So all this food is you preparing us to use new powers?"

I hum. "Sort of. Each person can only use certain pins and the ones you can use aren't always useful. Plus, I don't really want to encourage you to be a hero outside of an organisation like the Wards - the survival rates are… Bad. Really bad. So I'm not going to give you any weapons-" She scowls and begins to reply, but I cut her off " but, I am going to help with defences. For example:"

I pick up the steak knife next to me and drag it across my palm - not hard, but enough where it'd normally bite into my skin. Taylor flinches in response, hand twitching forward to stop me - but blinks in confusion as I reveal a faint white line across my hand rather than a cut.

I can't stop my grin. "A stronger psychic presence results in a stronger physical presence. Think of it like stats in a game - eating the right food will make you more durable, faster, stronger, braver… Safer."

Taylor looks guilty for a moment, before straightening resolutely - a fly on my collar buzzing angrily. "Thanks for the help, but I'm going to be a hero. No matter the risk."

I shrug. "So be it. Just… Don't become a statistic, ok?"

She huffs and crosses her arms. "Right. What's with the 'magic' thing - and why did you stop me from speaking around that stick?"

"Well… Magic is an energy source generated by a select portion of the population, referred to as witches and wizards, capable of manipulating the fabric of reality. Magic doesn't naturally occur on Earth Bet, to I made devices to create it artificially. Wands are semi-sapient and the particular one I was testing when you walked is extremely temperamental, so it interpreted any and all words around it as a failed spell. The right word at the wrong moment could have been dangerous - but I cut the power, so it's fine."

Taylor drums her fingers on the table. "Do you think powers are magic?"

"Nope, not even close. I do, however, believe that my power can access specialties based on other worlds that might have physics systems that support things very much like magic. I-" Are they talking about Legends of Artican? "Think a poster would be nice closer to the door wouldn't you?"

Taylor blinks as I glare at her. "Uh…?"

I click my pen and begin writing on my napkin. "Y'know, near the basement stairs? I mean, like I said, I've only got the magic ones - but I'm sure we can find some nicer ones if we look." I rotate my napkin to face Taylor and tap the word written on it - EAVESDROPPER.

Taylor's eyes widen. "Oh! I… Think I might have one in my cupboard? If you'd like."

"Yeah, that'd be-" Or not, I guess. I wond- Ooh, my burger! "We're good, he stopped." I cover the word with my finger and nod. "Any other pressing questions?"

Taylor slumps, relived. "Let's wait until we're at home, ok? How did you…?"

I tap my player pin. "This is a player pin - it lets me 'tune in' to other people's surface thoughts and protects my mind from the same. It's also a part of the set that lets me use pins at all, so… yeah, it's important."

She leans in for a better look. "Will I get one? And for that matter, what are you willing to give me?"

I shake my head. "Not this one in particular. The advantage of this pin is that it lets you use multiple different pins at once - with my modifications, I've gotten that up to six. You haven't put alien brain matter in your skull to become ultra-talented with psionics, so I'll be giving you a reaper pin instead - it lets you use any single pin at a time and has the same mind scanning-slash-protecting abilities as a player pin. It also helps develop a unique personal ability in the user, which is… Nice."

"A personal- You did what to your brain?"

I press my index finger against my mouth. "Shush, we're in public. But yes, when I first triggered the specialty I had at the time was largely based around injecting exotic matter into your skull to get new skills and powers, said exotic matter coming from an alien species. Don't worry, I'm fine, my eye-" I tap my medical eyepatch "-will just be a bit red for a while. And I keep finding out that I've mastered random skills and languages, so I think it's a fair trade. As for the personal ability? It's pretty much a new power, one that can range from helping people remember things, to straight-up time travel."

Ah, there's that hopelessly lost look I've become familiar with. Sorry, Taylor, it makes about as much sense as it sounds.

Taylor glances behind me and makes a small squeak, paling slightly. What…?

Oh . Ok. That is a lot of chips.

Two waiters walk over, carrying a platter of french fries between them - two wire baskets with picnic-style grease paper holding a mountain of chips, each enough to be a meal on their own. A waitress follows the pair, holding two enormous paper cups that seem closer to buckets than something to drink out of - the waitress struggling under their weight.

Taylor and I are silent as the staff dump their burdens upon the table with a relieved sigh. The waiter turns to us.

"Right. Here are your sides, I'm afraid we're out of the curly fries at the moment - the weight and ingredients are the same, it's just the shape that's different - and your drinks are our in-house lemon squash. I'm afraid that, due to the size of the cups, we won't be offering the usual free refills - though water is available and you're able to order one of our standard pitchers if you'd like. The first of the challengers should be ready in about ten minutes, if that's alright?"

Taylor remains silent, staring at the food in front of her, as I smile at the waitstaff. "That's fine, thank you. And I'm assuming these count as a part of the challenge?"

"Yep."

"Cool. We best get started then, hey Taylor?"

Taylor shoved a fry in her mouth and glared at me. "You're paying, right?"

I grin. "We're not gonna lose, but yes."

Let's get started!

Last edited: Feb 23, 2022

Chapter 11

Yeesh. Not pleased with this ending and I feel like this chapter is more filler than anything interesting, but I want to get at least something out. Let me know what you think - Enjoy!

The challenger is not a burger.

It smells like a burger. It tastes like a burger. People call it a burger.

But it is not a burger.

It is a mound of ingredients, piled haphazardly on top of one another in a stack vaguely reminiscent of a burger. It is layer after layer of fresh grocery store vegetables drowned in special sauce and not patties, but slabs of mincemeat wide enough to span the enormous meal - entire tomatoes only covering a single layer.

I had seen the house-made buns they were using around the store, in other meals.

They were being used as bread bowls.

I lift my weary gaze to Taylor. She looks miserable, shoving slice after slice of this abomination into her mouth, steak knife already cutting the next piece as she grinds the mouthful into something she can swallow.

I am faring no better. It's been an hour at this stage and we were only just halfway through. The crowd gathered around us had mentioned were making good time, but I can't bring myself to care.

You don't eat the challenger. You shove it down your gullet, pushing one bite down with the next - the refreshing taste of the lemon squash rapidly becoming sickening as time went on.

It was fun at first - the food is delicious, despite its size Fugly Bob's refused to consider the 'quantity over quality' approach. It's probably the only reason we can continue.

But I can't stop. Because the moment I do, I won't be able to bring myself to continue. Won't be able to force myself to continue.

I can't imagine how people could eat this monstrous creation without some form of supernatural help - despite the power of Hollow Leg, I can feel the ability's enhancement strain to keep me capable of eating more. The psychic system's nature wars with itself as it weighs style against efficiency - we need to keep eating, but there physically isn't any room left in our stomachs. We're slowing down.

Powers or not, a human body can only fit so much mass inside itself and the pair of us are both rake-thin teenagers. Hollow Leg does let you eat more, but the main draw is that it lets you burn off bytes through combat without locking out slots. So long as you're burning it off, you could eat a literal ton of food in a day with no issues.

So maybe I should try that. My pins are pretty flashy with their effects, but if I focus…

Holy shit, those kids can pack it in! Even grandad had trouble-

Where are they putting it all? They're both skinny, do they have some sort of weight loss-

HURK! Oh god, I knew I shouldn't have let Tony talk me into coming here. It's disgusting and those two PIGS over there are hardly-

C'mon, seriously mom? If those two can do it, so can I! It can't be that hard, and-

Further.

What's going on inside Fugly's? It's usually only this busy on Saturday night, why-?

And maybe the rhubarb as well, I can make a slice-

Oooh, is that Fugly Bob's? The travel guide said that it was quite the-

C'mon, further!

Alright, we head out at dawn-

Why is she so-

That's a weird-looking dog, I-

What an asshole! When I see him-

What a sucker! I've got this in the bag, another few minutes and her pension is-

And then carry the four, which gives me-

Woah there, what the heck was that? I absentmindedly shove another slice of heart-clogging grease down my throat as I refocus on the previous line of thought.

Maybe a car? Or a mansion! God, who cares- I'll have it all!

Who are you scamming? There's another mind across from the greasy con artist, filled with dusty cobwebs.

Should I really do this? It seems like it'll help, but it costs so much… Oh, I best get it over with, before I lose my nerve-

He's playing y- me.

What? I mean, is he? He's been quite helpful… But not particularly forthcoming…

He's after my pension, he thinks I'm a sucker!

No, he wouldn't!

I should ask him.

…

He's dodging the question- Now he's getting angry? Oh my god, I was right!

I should go. Maybe call the police.

Yeah, it might not be safe to stay around him for much longer. I'm glad I checked - I knew there was something off, but-

And that's enough of that. When I refocus on the world, Taylor is staring at me and a waitress is approaching the table.

She smiles calmly. "Are you finished, sir? It's fine if you-" I shake my head.

"No. I'm just emotionally preparing myself for what comes next."

I make eye contact with Taylor. Hey, it's me - stretch your powers out as much as you can. Using them should burn some calories, if you're struggling.

Taylor pales and looks down at the remaining portion on her platter. She shudders. Fair enough.

Half down, half to go. With a slightly emptier stomach, I fling myself back into the meal with gusto - feeling horrible, but determined to finish.

I'm gonna beat this fucking thing, if it's the last thing I do!

I hate everything. Taylor and I are lying against the table, bloated and on the verge of throwing up.

"AND WE HAVE, NOT ONE, BUT TWO NEW CHALLENGERS FOR THE WALL! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN - WELCOME THE LATEST OF BROCKTON BAY"S CHAMPIONS!"

A cheer goes up across the crowd surrounding us, Taylor loudly protesting at the noise with a groan. A chuckle goes up as I flip off the store's owner - Who wasn't named Bob, oddly enough.

The rest of the evening was a blur - we got photographs put on the wall and limped our way home. I passed out on the couch almost immediately. Danny got home after us, but didn't wake us up.

My sleep was fitful - full of meals the size of mountains and monsters that crawl around just out of sight.

Taylor woke me up the next morning when she went for her run, bumping past the couch on the way to the kitchen.

When I came to, the realisation I can make memetic weapons rocked me.

Then it got a bit hard to think at all.

Last edited: Jun 7, 2022

Chapter 12

What do you think of this as an introduction to the eldritch? Weird? Exciting? Disappointing? Let me know!

I am not a calm person. Not even a little. I can be patient, sure, but only because of years of learning to keep myself entertained all day, every day - overloading myself with entertainment options so that I could be in the middle of a class, at work or on a farm in the middle nowhere and still be spoiled for choice.

I'm always doing something, even if you can't see it - it's been by necessity since I arrived in the Bay, but my frantic leaps from one topic to the next aren't exactly unusual for me.

Hence why my attempts to keep my thoughts entirely still are causing me excruciating pain - it's barely been twenty minutes and I'm struggling to stay conscious, just drawing out a simple mandala into my sketchbook.

The SCP Foundation, unsurprisingly, is an absurdly dangerous specialty. With a scale ranging from 'pathetic junkbot,' to 'souls and empathy are an external infection,' all the way up to 'you have personally pissed off the Christian God, and now he's coming to kill you,' I'd expect to have an easy time of it.

I was not expecting to be forced to dance around my own thoughts as my power's bumbling attempts at assisting me force memetic kill agents into my psyche, or invite eldritch horrors into my skull for tea and biscuits.

My left hand seizes up as one such horror plucks at my nervous system, and I'm forced to scatter what little control of my fingers I had regained to prevent a heart attack. An infernal outsider giggles at my hasty attempt to hide the spike of panic following that, before greedily latching on and draining it from me with a wet slurp.

I shudder and slowly begin reconstructing my ability to move my hands.

I can quite confidently say any dreams I may have had of making memetic kill agents to take out the slaughterhouse, or making SCP-914 to help upgrade my tech have been thoroughly dashed.

Making anomalies in the SCP universe is both easy and around about as dangerous as playing with a nuclear reactor's fuel rod. If you're nearby, you're already dead - it's now just a matter of how and when you die.

And if you end up taking out anybody else along the way.

I shakily place down my pen and lean back. Danny will be up soon, so I have to do this now if I want to keep my abilities secret.

Every step in like glass grinding inside my skin as the Visitors delight at my struggle. I'm lucky that I had set up my Psychoscope and player pin so soon - my mind is well shielded, leaving the only possible entrance my passenger.

I carefully force my fingers to pick up the salt shaker and unscrew the cap, which drops to the floor and rolls underneath the table. I'm suddenly overtaken by the obsessive need to dive after it - letting go of the salt.

It spills across my drawing as I scramble after the cap. The Visitor's uproarious laughter quickly becoming concerned mutterings as light dances across the page - heedless to my single-minded attempts at retrieving the salt shaker's cap, the small piece of metal smooth enough to give my clumsy fingers difficulty.

And then, with a whiff of otherworldly spice, they begin to scream. The obsession fades, and I'm left panting on the floor as the Visitors flee from the basic ward, the pain enough to discourage further attempts at using me for entertainment.

What the fuck.

With a groan, I heave myself up and glance around. I've knocked over a chair and spilt the salt - obviously - but nothing else seems damaged.

Good. Ok. Right, clean up.

I carefully grab my notebook-turned lifeline and begin cleaning up. The mandella should protect me for a while, but I'll need a way to close off my connection to my shard - even now, I'm still being forced to mentally avoid the connection as it tries to pass through amnestic solutions to my issue.

Can't think about eldritch entities if you don't remember them, right?

I need to make… A valve of some sort, a way to prevent access to shardspace. An off switch for my powers, from my end. Maybe I could use a tap-

I force myself to stay still as I internally trip over an infohazard boobytrapping any memories associated with gardens. So not whatever that thing was, then. A vault door? An iris of some kind, maybe. I put my notebook down to check-

And immediately jump back, flaring up an electric Orvis attack on the edge of my metaphysical protections. The kitchen lights flicker and I feel an angry screech rock through me as a Visitor is driven off.

Fucking scavengers. Ok, what do I need? Metal, tools, a way to get it inside- Oh wait, I can just put it Inside. That works, tools are taken care of with the Roboslugs, metal… I'll check the basement and garage, maybe there's a paint can or something.

Something is dripping down my chin - my hand comes away from my face red. A nosebleed I'd assume, but I don't have any time to fix it while I focus.

Asfmm Donatilmbsfk madrildtmfa? Tkktm.

Ok, Danny might be a tad late this morning, but that's good for me. My ability to move my upper left calf muscles has a hole though, so I'm best off to try teleporting for the first time. A tad more focus on being not here, but rather over there through the eye of Leo and I'm-

-stumbling to my feet in the basement, several meters away from where I was aiming. My headache flares up, but I can see a mostly empty paint can just over there.

I pull the collapsed Roboslug off my watch and point it towards the paint can. "F-f-f-ffiics. Ficks. Cleen et. Whu- Wait fer fer-ter in-sta-rucksions." My poor language skills.

Thankfully, the Slug complies - flying off to clean out the dry residue left inside each can. I slump to the floor and allow the Psychoscope to extend over my head.

The psychically-controlled device is much more cooperative than my idiot meat body and I pull up a quick and dirty interface to direct the slug.

I need a solid valve, something to seal away my power in events like these - when having my power is more dangerous than not. Quickly erasing the swirling pattern I had begun drawing when I wasn't paying attention, I stop and breathe.

I could try to use anomalous magics to help, but doing so without a proper anomalous background is a fantastic way to get myself killed.

No, it's much easier to-

Pointer OutcomeProgrambecame InsideIdeawent InsideRoboslugbecame InsideProgramwent Inside

-ow. Execute the program.

Last edited: Mar 11, 2022

Chapter 13

Tada, one recovering memetic victim for your reading pleasure! Let me know what you think - enjoy!

I keep my nose pinched shut as I watch the roboslug work - cutting, crimping and welding the metal into shape, dictated by my idea turned directly into code by the Pointer. Despite my bleeding nose, I've made good progress with correcting my hazard-infested psyche - most of my motor functions and skills are usable once more, though I still have to be careful about what concepts I think of. My power keeps spewing up cognitohazards whenever I think of the concept, but those are easily avoided now I'm used to it.

The lights flicker once more as I'm forced to flare up Orvis, a bolt of lightning frying an overly zealous Visitor attempting to break through the mandella's protection. They seem to have realized their entertainment is making moves to escape and are trying their best to stop me.

I'm just grateful they're stuck between the mindscape and unreality - had they been solely in unreality, or god forbid manifested, I wouldn't be able to fend them off with my Pins. Though I've hit the point where manifesting psyches not just outside of combat, but in the real world is possible, their effects are still lacklustre - Leo should be able to teleport me anywhere in sight freely, yet I was winded by a supposedly simple jaunt down the stairs.

It's only thanks to the Pin's psychic nature and the strangely cooperative nature of unreality that I can muster the force needed to hold back the invading forces.

A beep-

notenoughteethnotenoughteethwhydon'tIhaveenoughteethGETMEMORETE-

I will not submit

. I spit the bone fragment growing out of my cheek onto the ground, taking care to keep it only on the concrete floor of the basement. The anomalies following a cognitohazard are getting stronger.

A tone from my roboslug lets me know that it's finished - a simple tin-plated steel aperture sits on the ground next to it. A short, hollow cylinder with a mechanical iris acting as the door, clockwork on the exterior providing a method of closing it. On its surface, countless symbols and designs are etched - protection sigils several hundred times stronger than what is in my notebook.

Now all I need to do is carefully-

Pointer OutcomeJameson's mindBecame insideThe ValveWent InsideThe ValveBecame Inside [HOST CONNECTION]Went Inside

-install it. Huh. It was easier this time.

I could feel the open aperture locked around my connection to my power, securely placed as to surround it completely. The faint etchings across the Valve's surface now seem like cavernous ravines, ready to swallow any who fall into them. The barest thought and a flash of faint panic sends the clockwork spiralling, the iris snapping shut-

Ok.

It's very quiet now.

Quieter than it's been in a long time.

I lean back and look at the dusty, spiderweb-covered ceiling. Ok then. This has been an ordeal and a half. A touch of focus…

And then I've got to speak to HR about Andy's behaviour to Samantha, that sort of talk is never acceptable- Oh, Taylor's back from her run. I haven't heard Jamie this morning, I wonder-

Shit. Time to get up.

…

Any time now.

Up! Get up!

…

Fuck it. I pull myself through Leo's eye, focusing on not being here, but rather-

fallingfallingfallingfalling

-on the couch. I appear a meter or so higher than intended and awkwardly flop down on my back.

There's a thump as Taylor drops her mostly empty schoolbag, mouth hanging open in shock.

Huh. I guess the fact I'm a cape hasn't really sunk in for her yet - I suppose this is a more 'in your face' sort of proof, rather than a little drone or being able to eat an absurd amount of food.

I spot Danny's foot on the top step and quickly pull myself into a natural position, snagging a tissue off the coffee table for my nose. Taylor turns to see what I'm looking at and spots Danny, her mouth clicking shut.

"Morning, kid… s. Jamie, what happened to your nose?"

I grin sheepishly. "Ah, I went to scratch my nose and forgot I was holding my pen. Its nothing serious, don't worry."

Danny studies my face for a moment, before shrugging. "Alright, if you're sure." He glances at my position and the suitcase sitting at the end of the couch. "I'm sorry you're still stuck on the couch - We'll clear out the basement tomorrow, try and clean it up enough for you to stay in, if that's ok?"

I wave him off. "Don't worry about it Uncle Danny, I'm totally fine. A room would be nice, but it's not too uncomfortable here either."

He purses his lips. "Alright then. Have either of you had breakfast?"

We both affirm that we've eaten and wait for Danny to head to the kitchen. Taylor speedwalks over to me, keeping half an eye on the kitchen door.

"What the fuck was that, Jamie?" She hisses out, glaring. "You almost got spotted! And since when can you teleport?"

I swallow, trying to wet my dry tongue. "I know, sorry - I was tracking him and figured finding me bleeding on the basement floor would be more suspicious than a near-miss teleport. And I just did it for the first time this morning, I'm in a bit of a bind-" Visitor!

Taylor's head snaps to follow my gaze, catching the wall light flickering as I fry the encroaching enemy with a burst of lightning. She looks at me questioningly.

I smile wearily. "Have you ever read Lovecraft?"

Her expression turns wary. "Are you going to tell me you think some Old Ones are after you or something?"

I let out a hopeless laugh. "God, I hope not! If they are we're all fucked - no, my newest specialty connected to a world practically filled with infohazards. Just knowing about some of these entities makes you vulnerable, and when your power is shoving everything it can find about them into your skull…" I gesture to my bleeding nose. "I've been awake for half an hour, Taylor. I only managed to teach myself how to speak again five minutes ago."

A touch of fear appears behind her eyes. "Is it really that bad?"

I purse my lips and-

Error

-Do… Nothing.

Huh.

"… Yes. Yes, it is. Look, Taylor, I'm sorry for inconveniencing you by almost outing myself - but I'm currently removing memetic booby traps intended to kill me from my limbic system. I hate to do this again, but I'm afraid I'll have to delay my explanations until later. Tonight, I promise." Her glare intensifies, so I cut her off before she can respond. "And I'll have you Psyche pins ready as well. Sound good?"

She chews on her lip and thinks it over. "Fine. Just… Don't do anything stupid."

Heh.

"Who, me?" I reply dryly.

She's not amused, but she does retrieve her bag and start to leave.

Right - I turn my attention inwards and use the faintest flare of the Green Dragon's breath to incinerate a loose anomalous thought. My mindscape is in tatters, holes and false logic loops dotting my thoughts.

I crack my knuckles and pick up a pen. There are a few ways I could go about this, but the one that's safest for me…

I'll need my power back first. And to do that I need a safe headspace.

Cleanup time.

Last edited: Mar 18, 2022

Chapter 14

It's been a hot minute since I last updated, hey? A small bout of writer's block was extended by covid, then work ate my free time and now I've moved out of home for the first time - just for a few months while I work at a ski resort, but I'm nervous. Hopefully, I can push past the more eldritch components of this specialty and return to a semi-regular pace at least until I hit the end of the first major arc. Enjoy!

With a stifled whimper, I yank out the final severed tentacle embedded in my brain's visual processing centre - my vision flickering as I remember how to see the colour blue without having a seizure.

It's been hours since I began clearing out my head, carefully removing the foreign memetics and thoughts and smoothing out the damaged mindstuff left behind. I'm finally at a stage where I'd be confident in opening the iris once more, once I need to.

Though… I'm not really sure I want to. With my connection to my power blocked off, I've begun noticing things - the obsessive drive to build as much as I can, as fast as I can has died down to nearly nothing and I've only just realised how irritating it must be for Taylor to be constantly brushed off and left in the dark. And whenever I think of Canberra, I start having an anxiety attack - my chest tightening, a burning dread rising within my stomach, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin…

It's not unfamiliar by any means, but 'familiar' does not mean 'welcome.'

Right. Deep breaths. I am sitting on the Hebert family couch, looking at my sketchbook. I have fixed everything wrong in my brain and there are no Visitors out to get me.

I am ok.

I let out a sigh and pick up my book off the table. It is entirely possible that I won't stay fine if I can't sort out the gaping security flaw in my noggin, so… What can I do?

Ideally, I need something I can make with minimal resources and time that will immediately render me immune or otherwise defend me against future cognitohazards and interdimensional enemies - which leaves me with few options. Especially since I'm working off what little I can remember without access to my power or the now non-existent wiki.

The jade ring… SCP-714? 718? Whatever - it'd defend me against most anomalous effects, but the accompanying exhaustion and general mental dulling are unacceptable. Plus, I don't have any jade.

The panacea pills are… Something to look into, actually. But they're not a passive defence, and I can always use a Cure Drink pin - which I need to set up for Taylor, actually - or would a combative psyche work better? If the goal is keeping her safe, then maybe one with Invisibility on it could be best- Leo could…

I pause.

Man, it's been a while since I've gotten so far off track in my own head. Before my initial transition, even - has my power been keeping me 'on track?' Or am I just being paranoid?

Something to watch out for. What was I doing? Right, SCPs. Uh… 898!

It's… Ok, less than perfect. With my power's help I can probably 'perfect' the incomplete memetic virus, perhaps combine it with the memetics-vaccine program the O5 council uses, but that doesn't help the zero-day exploit having a power in my brain has. Plus, it'd take long enough to make that the Visitors would become a problem again.

What I really need, just to start with is the full Foundation training course, specifically geared towards memetic or anomalous research. But what could teach me that in an instant? Miss J would take too long to make and use, I don't have the stuff on hand to make Telekill ingots and I can't exactly write up and run through an entire training program in an afternoon.

… Unless I've already had it. And I turn out to be a foundation sleeper agent.

Shit. Shit, ok. Could I really do this? Am I willing to do this? This'd… Well, I wouldn't be exactly the same person as I was this morning, that's for sure.

The retroconverter isn't something you expose yourself to lightly. SCP-2140 might only cause as few alterations as it can, but reality hopping from home to Earth Bet isn't exactly conducive to joining a fictional organisation like the SCP foundation. Especially with my knowledge of SCP being technically comparable to the O5 council at points due to seeing articles like the 001 proposals, the O5-iteration of SCP-2317 or the Ethics Committee tale.

I lick my suddenly very dry lips. I need the training, and not just for future cognitohazards. Being able to deal with anomalies in a world like Bet is an invaluable skill, even more so when including the psychological benefits of being a trained operative rather than some random kid.

It's… Not the best choice. But its probably the smartest.

No use delaying it then. I pick up a pen and begin sketching out a Foundation symbol - I'll open the Iris soon so I can speed through drawing it.

Hopefully, I can trust my head with this one - because the yawning pit open in my stomach is not filling me with confidence.

That'll do. Right. No use delaying - Three, two, one-!

I'm shaken from my shocked stupor following the reactivation of my Foundation training by a shellshocked Taylor flopping down onto the couch next to me. Her hair is matted with some kind of chemically-fruity drink and she's wearing a navy varsity jacket with 'Winslow High' written across the back.

I shake away thoughts of containment procedures and paperwork, looking over at Taylor's unfocused eyes. "Busy day?"

She jumps a little, as if surprised I was talking to her. "Yes." She blinks slowly. "I joined the lacrosse team."

Oh? "That's nice. What prompted that?"

Taylor thinks for a moment, before sitting up and rubbing her eyes, a moth fluttering out from the back of her jacket's collar. "I was asked to. People were… Impressed, that I ate the Challenger." The ghost of a smile appears on her face, still staring into space.

"I'm glad." Hmm. "Would you like to get your pins now, or do you need a minute?"

She slumps back against the couch lazily glancing over at me. "I'd like a chance to process things first, if we can." Her eyes flick over at the sketchbook. "What about you? Did you deal with the 'Lovecraftian monsters' thing?"

Heh. Not quite. "In a manner of speaking. I'll put it this way - as of about one-thirty this afternoon, I have always been a member of a conspiracy."

"What?"

I smile helplessly at a confused Taylor. "As of this afternoon, I am and have always been Site Director Jamie Doe, the sole member of Site Wynn and current acting head of the anti-memetics department."

Taylor stares at me in confusion for a moment - before slumping back with a groan.

Last edited: May 31, 2022

Interlude - Mister Pitter

Just a quick little chapter made while I had the time - it's not quite the length I wanted, but there's only so much time in the day and prepping for opening day is taking most of it. Enjoy!

I like to consider myself a simple man.

I don't need much to be happy - good food, good wine and a roof over my head.

If you can get me that? I'm yours.

My bitch of a wife (God rest her soul) found out what happens when you threaten that.

Coil, the legend, has found out what happens when you ensure my comfort.

Truly, despite his intimidating appearance, Coil is the perfect boss. Personable, reasonable, reliable, friendly and above all: competent.

Which is why his current behaviour concerns me.

I shake his shoulder lightly, having received no response calling his psudeoname. "Coil? Sir? Are you alright?"

He jerks suddenly, red pen slicing across the image he had been drawing. "Ah. Mister Pitter - what appears to be the problem?"

That is… Concerning. "Sir, you've missed four meetings." And you've never missed a meeting. "I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes."

He leans back, and I can almost picture him blinking in surprise. "I see. I… Apologise, Pitter. Something important has caught my attention."

I peer at the paper littering his desk - all of them are rough sketches of a person in red pen. "… Drawing, sir?"

He fidgets with his pen, gaze not moving from the crumpled paper. "Not just drawing. Learning."

Oh dear - this is hitting a lot of points on the master checklist. "Sir, I apologize for interrupting you, but we have to get you to medical. You…" Wait, I'm not supposed to let him know he's mastered. What's the excuse? "You've been affected by a gas leak - I need to check your vitals before-"

I'm cut off by Coil waving his hand - something else he's never done before - and tapping his most recent drawing. "Don't insult me, Mister Pitter. I'm not mastered, this is simply… A new direction, prompted by my power."

He has never spoken about his power. There are betting pools on whether he has one or not among the troops. "Even so Sir, I'd suggest we-"

With a frantic motion, Coil shoves aside his drawings and reveals a pattern carved into the wood of his varnished oak desk, almost like… a…

The teenager frantically swipes his bleeding wrists across the white concrete walls, a wild look in his eye. As I cross the T's in my signature at the PRT HQ, I turn to Mr Pitter, who is nervously fiddling with an IV bag. "When do you think we should step in?"

He swallows, eyeing the blood bags to our left. "He… Should be fine for another minute or so? The incision isn't large, but with power assistance…" He shrugs. "Just keep an eye on him?"

I nod precisely, straightening the papers on my desk as I walk over to the CCTV. I was initially concerned that this might be an unusual form of Tinkering, but after the first hour the admin team found the few remaining government records on Doe: He's a paranoid schizophrenic, with delusional tendencies. Not unusual for a parahuman by any means, but in all likelihood this is simply another delusion.

Had he really been Tinkering, we would've seen results by now - not just a poor rendition of My King.

I pause. Who is Doe drawing?

I turn towards the bloody circle and gaze upon the unfiltered visage of My King, The King who Rose from the Bleeding, the Scar-

I wrench myself away from the brilliant image my newest acquisition has drawn upon his cage - clearly some sort of master effect to prevent monitoring.

Clever, but nothing particularly notable. I am far more interested in the whispers surrounding me - promising power and influence if I only-

I cut off the timeline, clearly having become mastered by the new tinker's creation. That sort of instant loyalty is rare, I should…

What am I drawing?

Splitting the timeline, I look down at my page as I stand up to report for master/stranger quarantine. Across my previously perfect paperwork is a spiralling icon , that I can't help but stare at. I feel so…

Do you wish for power? Immortality? A new Age?

Yes.

Good.

We, the New Children of Kingdom and Worm, cry out as our king accepts us - now until the end, we are the D-

Wh-

What-

What the fuck?

I lick my suddenly chapped lips, examining the carving. "Si-" My voice cracks. "Sir. What the f… Hell was that?"

Is that how you see the world?

Coil is studying my expression, his anticipation clear despite the blank mask over his face. "Did you see it?"

I gulp, meeting the dips in the mask that signify where his eyes are. "I… Yes. Yes, I did."

He nods rapidly, pushing himself out of his chair. "Then there isn't a second to waste. Follow me - I'll show you to your new workshop."

"Workshop?"

Coil leads me out the door - nodding to the mercenary stationed by the entrance, who falls into step behind us.

"Yes, workshop." He thumbs at the keypad next to the door and leads the pair of us around the electrician doing something to the roof. "Tell me, Mister Pitter, did you ever do anything related to surgery while getting your degree?"

I frown. "Technically yes, but I found I wasn't… Suited to the field. If you want any patients to remain alive, I'd suggest finding a qualified surgeon rather than sending them to me."

With the trooper next to us, I couldn't outright state it - but from experience, I know that Coil would understand that I had just offered to kill anyone under the knife for him.

Coil nods. "That won't be necessary for now. No, what I want you - the pair of you, my two most loyal assets - to research our new ally."

…

Unusual. But I trust Coil to know what he's doing - he's not steered me wrong yet.

I straighten my back and suck in my gut slightly. "Yessir - what would you have me do?"

The mouth of his costume shifts in a manner that suggests a smile. "I would expect nothing less, Mister Pitter. You will be exploring a component of our new ally's power, a unique trump power capable of enhancing people in a variety of ways. The 'Vision' I shared with you should be enough to get you started. Feel free to request additional materials whenever you need - learning about this… 'King' is our top priority."

Before I can formulate a response, Coil turns to the trooper. "Creep, it has come to my attention that your… 'Proclivities' would be well suited to certain practices within our ally's domain. That door enters into your own workshop - I will come to speak with you once I get Mister Pitter situated."

The newly dubbed 'Creep' grins beneath his tactical gear, stained teeth clearly visible. "Yes sir - sounds fuckin' ace, boss."

I suppress my wince at his familiarity, but Coil just waves his hand in dismissal. "Now please keep in mind - we are not this entity's underlings. We are not employees, minions, thugs or cultists - we are allies, first and foremost. Any deviation from this will result in you being… 'Replaced.' Am I clear?"

We both nod and Coil spreads his arms wide. "Good. Just in here, Mister Pitter - I trust this room will be satisfactory?"

I eye the cleavers, chains, scalpels, gauze and torture implements and feel something indescribable poking at my chest, urging me forward.

The things I could do in here…

"Yes," I ultimately decide, "Yes, this will do."

After all - Good food, good wine and an entire kingdom to call our own?

This new ally is looking better by the minute.

Last edited: Jun 4, 2022