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by Kahlil Johnson

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Disclaimer: Worm is owned by Wildbow and all other properties are owned by their respective copyright holders. This is fanfiction written just for fun.

January 22nd, 2010

Brockton Bay

If the past two weeks of arguments had taught me anything it's that an hour is too long for lunch.

"Listen you idiot, it's pronounced 'Long', as in the opposite of your damn dick!"

Johnny Noe was managing to sprawl backwards in the cheap plastic chairs in the employee break room while also looking like he was about to crawl over the table to strangle someone. Most likely the skinny kid who just kept staring at him oblivious to any potential acts of manslaughter.

"But that's not how they spell it."

There were the naturally clueless, and those who couldn't stop talking. Unfortunately for Lucas he belonged right where those two circles overlapped. In a better world the daily lunchroom argument over whatever mistaken factoid he'd taken as gospel that day would be the end of it, but we didn't live in a better world. Instead, we just had a single block of semi-functional urban decay between us and the fringes of the ABB's stomping grounds, putting us a stone's throw from where it was the kind of stupid that could get him killed.

Judging by Johnny's visible increase in blood pressure, he was thinking the same thing. Leaning forward and shoving his lunch bag over to where it would have knocked mine off if I hadn't been ready for it, he grabbed Luke by his shirt and yanked him in closer. I stole a quick glance out the doorway to make sure nobody was walking by, thankfully the raised voices were common enough that nobody was going to pay any attention even if they weren't covered by the sounds of what work was still going on in the warehouse proper.

"Listen here you dumb piss-ant." Johnny hissed through his teeth. "Do you have any idea what they did to the last guy who couldn't get his name right?"

Lucas was white as a sheet, looking like he wanted to bolt for it but too afraid to do anything about the grip Johnny had on him. I didn't blame him. Johnny had attitude and anger in spades, but most of the time it was just a part of who he was, not something he directed at people in front of him. It made it easy to overlook things like all the scars on his knuckles or the part of his nose that looked like it had been broken and not set right.

"Some dumb tourist decides to go for a cruise through the docks, because he's here for the cape tourist traps and like a lot of dumb-fucks it wasn't real to him. Just something he reads about on a computer screen like it's just a story to distract him from his cushy nine-to-five boredom."

Lucas gulped, which I took as a good sign that he was recognizing some similarities that Johnny was hinting at. At least I hoped so. Being dense and loud made him annoying, but that didn't mean he deserved to get hurt.

"He hits the Asian parts of town and start chatting people up and taking pictures." Johnny continued. "Not being from here he doesn't realize one of the guys he's talking to is flying gang colors, not until the guy introduces him to a few other 'friends' and he realizes he's surrounded in a back alley."

Jerking his thumb up hard enough I'm amazed he doesn't jab himself or Lucas in the face, he gestures at his mouth.

"They take turns at him with a pair of needle-nose for about an hour, then leave him on a street corner with a pocket full of his own teeth and a collection of bruises that'd make modern art look pretty. All to help the poor guy learn to pronounce it properly without all those pearly whites getting in the way."

Johnny finally let go of his shirt and fell back in his chair, Lucas holding himself in place as if not sure that he was free before slowly sitting back himself. Johnny reached for his cigarettes before remembering we were inside and scowling, pushing himself up and moving to storm out the door.

"If I were you, I'd start getting it right." Johnny spat out, already headed towards the back exit fast enough I was glad nobody was in the hallway to get run over.

I wasn't good at confrontations or their aftermath, so I went ahead and did my best to let Lucas be while I got busy grabbing me and Johnny's lunch bags. I'd stopped mine from falling but the small scuffle had knocked what little was left of my soda over to drip onto the table, but it wasn't anything a quick wipe with my sleeve didn't fix. It wasn't like my jacket was going to get any prettier and maybe one less napkin in the landfills would do a little good.

"How'd I piss him off so much?" Lucas suddenly said as I was turning away, earning a sigh from me. Now that the actual confrontation was over, he was back to sounding like nothing had happened, with the tone of someone who was just screamed at for saying the world was round. I guess I wasn't dodging getting involved in this, so I cleared my throat a bit while stepping over to the vending machines so I didn't have to make eye contact.

"You're arguing that it's pronounced like it's spelled in English, but it's a Chinese word." I said, trying to keep my tone neutral and matter of fact. I wasn't really educated enough to know anything about linguistic differences, so I dropped that line of thought before I even started. I just needed to tell him something that'd give him an excuse to believe Johnny was right without debating him, because that never worked.

"Johnny's Chinese, so it's like if somebody from another country tried to tell you that potato is pronounced 'poo-tut-oo' because that's how it's spelled in their language."

Johnny was Korean but judging by the sound of realization behind me that had worked. A part of me had been hoping that it wouldn't, but so far this city was solid about proving that sinking feeling in my gut right. I just pushed the cringing feeling aside by focusing on getting a cold cola out of the machine while Lucas started yammering about how suddenly it all made sense.

Ignoring him I slipped into the hallway myself, slipping the cola into Johnny's half-full bag and heading for the office. The sounds of work had been the quieter clamor of tidying up pallets and freight and not the noises of trucks coming in to be unloaded or headed out after doing the opposite. That meant we'd be leaving immediately after the lunch hour instead of staying, something I confirmed the moment I entered and stepped aside for the other guy who'd just clocked out.

The simply named Bayside Shipping was one of tons of small companies that made their living moving goods and freight around in defiance of a world whose infrastructure was held together by duct tape and a desperate dedication to pretending like everything was okay. It paid enough to squeak by, but some days there wasn't enough business to keep everyone busy for a full shift. Annoying when it came to the numbers on your paystub, but the extra free time here and there wasn't too bad.

A quick check with the secretary got her to go ahead and clock Johnny out as well, dodging the risk he and Lucas might run into each other again before the day was out. It was hardly unusual, half-days always had a bit of an awkward scramble. The staff were more than happy to take less than a minute to cut down on the number of people who had to file through the cramped administrative sections to get on with their day. Less bodies clogging up their workspace and the small number of people here meant it wasn't going to cause bureaucratic confusion.

That it meant I didn't have to jump through any extra hoops to smooth things along and prevent having to listen to another screaming match was something I could almost pretend was a sign that there was a benevolent god out there somewhere.

It didn't take me long to make it to Johnny's beat up car and slide into the passenger seat, dropping the lunch bags in the back to avoid the small dusting of plastic wrappers and garbage that seemed to breed in the floor of his car. Johnny let out a quiet grunt around his cigarette and gave a nod.

"Thanks for grabbing my bag." He huffed. I shrugged and busied myself with my phone, pulling up my calendar app and updating it with how many hours I'd worked today. It was enough, but I was cutting it closer than I'd like before I'd have to dip into my savings a little to pay my bills.

"Figured leaving behind a potential murder weapon at the scene of the crime was a bad idea." It wasn't that funny of a quip, but the nicotine must have been hitting Johnny right given he started choking, trying to laugh and get the smoke out of his lungs at the same time. I grimaced at the smell of the smoke but left the window up while Johnny finished coughing and rubbed the tears from his eyes.

"Christ his mother had to have fucked either a punching bag or a bulls-eye to get a kid like that." Johnny almost giggled, flicking what little was left of the cigarette out the window. "Worst part is I'm going to have to tell him the same damn thing for a week before it sticks."

"Nah, you should be good." I said putting my phone away. "I managed to get him on the right track."

"Bullshit, that kid spent three days arguing with Katie that fish were a type of lizard because they both had scales." Johnny said, tapping the steering wheel impatiently like he always did when he wasn't sure if he wanted to smoke another cigarette or leave. "There's no way you convinced him in the minute or two you had before you walked your ass out here."

"It was pretty easy." I couldn't keep the grin off my face because I knew Johnny was going to hate this. "I just told him you're Chinese, and so he thinks you're the expert and that's why you were pissed off."

I could feel the look he shot me as he turned his head, and the pause as Johnny tried to figure out if I was messing with him or not. I wasn't worried about pissing him off like Lucas did, so I just relaxed back in the seat.

I didn't have to wait more than a heartbeat or two for him to realize I was serious. He groaned and leaned his head on the steering wheel.

"You realize he's never gonna be convinced otherwise now, right? I'm going to be putting up with that until he finally quits or gets his ass fired." Johnny couldn't keep the grin out of his voice entirely, even if it was smothered with the kind of resignation you'd expect from a dog realizing he had to go to the vet. He at least saw the humor in the situation. I'd get a few weeks of entertainment at his expense out of it too, which was the kind of ball-busting that people like Johnny respected. Lucas would move on to something else eventually though, he always did.

"Maybe, but at least he's less likely to wind up getting himself hurt."

Johnny lifted his head back up and leaned back with a sigh. "Yeah, that's true I guess. Thank god for small mercies and all that."

I could catch the grimace on his face out of the corner of my eye and followed where he was looking to see Lucas pulling out of the parking lot, headed back towards where I assumed the tenements he lived in were located. It didn't take me long to realize what was bothering him.

"For the love of god go around." Johnny muttered to himself.

I wasn't as familiar with the city as Johnny was, so it took me a minute to realize that he was about to drive straight though a couple of blocks of gang territory instead of turning like most people would. It'd cut five minutes off his commute and potentially a lot more off his lifespan if something did happen.

I didn't say anything, just let Johnny swear under his breath and start up the car, apparently having decided that he wanted to be anywhere else right now. I'd heard enough stories to know that in our income bracket it wasn't rare for people to wind up getting into trouble and just not showing up anymore. It wasn't common but everybody knew someone, and the longer you stuck in Brockton Bay the better the odds it'd be two, then three.

"So," I finally broke the silence as we drove in the other direction. "Was that story true or were you just trying to scare some sense into him?"

"It was mostly true." Johnny said. He paused for a second as if deciding if he should elaborate. "They didn't pull his teeth out. Just…cut him up real bad."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

We detoured onto a street packed with liquor stores, strip malls, and other small businesses that catered to the various lower income parts of the populace. Though it wasn't until he took his routine illegal turn into a certain alleyway that Johnny seemed to finally brighten up. I reached back and passed him his lunch bag, while Johnny rolled down his window and leaned out to shout down a little side nook in the alley that would be practically invisible for all the junk and garbage around.

"Hey Louis, you kick the bucket yet!?"

In response a homeless man in rough shape shuffled out with a grin of his own. Louis was weird, the way he walked and talked always seemed off in that uncomfortable way that spoke to an ugly history with drugs, mental illness, or more than likely both. He and Johnny started up their usual routine. Johnny hassling the guy without any actual heat in his voice and Louis playing along and getting in a few sluggish quips of his own that Johnny would always roll with.

I pulled my phone back out and busied myself checking the time and my mostly empty inbox. Johnny ran by here any day we got off early, and I suspected that some of his longer cigarette breaks on our lunch hour had him running by here too. I don't know how the routine started but it all had the sense of a well-worn in-joke. Paying attention felt too much like sticking my nose where it didn't belong, even if I did consider Johnny a friend.

I could feel the pressure in the back of my head building again too, zoning out made it easier to cope with.

It'd be easy to peel the back off this and get to the microchips, even my trashy smartphone's internals could be used for all kinds of things.

Grimacing I pushed the thought back down to the sound of a paper lunch bag being passed out the window and Louis footsteps shuffling back into his nook. Johnny laughing and hitting the gas to get us moving back to my part of town.

I worked a stone's throw away from the cities Asian gang and lived in the poorer residential areas that bordered the Empire's lower-income territory. Before I moved here, I would have thought that ping-ponging within spitting distance of two different bands of superpowered gangs during a daily routine would be silly, but you made do with the cards you were dealt. You took the job you could find, and you lived where you could afford to. Everything else you just had to try and make work.

Unlike Lucas we made sure to peel off the direct route and stop a bit away from anywhere we'd risk running into anybody affiliated with the local Nazis. I grabbed my stuff and hopped out, giving my usual nod to Johnny in thanks for the ride.

"You still going to the gig tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there." Johnny snorted. "It's not like I got anything better to do, I'll show up."

I nodded and gave a wave before heading out, while he pulled away from the curb and headed down a different direction. It wasn't a long walk, but I made sure to keep my posture relaxed and my gaze moving over my surroundings slowly. Moving and acting like you had something to fear was a fantastic way to look like a target instead of another guy on the street but looking unaware wasn't good either. I hadn't been mugged or attacked yet, especially considering this was one of the typically safe areas, but I wasn't going to just assume it wasn't going to happen and let my guard down like Lucas did.

I made it home safely and went ahead and let myself lightly jog the rest of the way to my door, unlocking and sliding inside to the cramped interior. The house was a single floor with a basement, a living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom all smooshed together tight enough that while you could probably have a handful of people over without being crowded it was only intended for one or two people at a time. The cramped impression wasn't really helped by all the cardboard boxes filled with stuff I had lost any interest in unpacking that were liberally spread everywhere, gathering an already generous layer of dust.

I'd gotten this place dirt cheap, and it showed. The closets tended to have insulation showing and the carpet in the living room had seen enough stains that parts of it were crunchy when you walked on it. But given the previous owner had died from a drug overdose I was just thankful it wasn't in worse shape.

Didn't change I needed to make sure to wear my work boots whenever I went into the basement though, I'd found far too many used needles down there to ever be comfortable doing otherwise. I'd gone over it about thirty times, and I still wasn't sure if I'd found them all. I've spent so much time down there these days it'd be easy to get careless and wind up needing a whole host of booster shots I couldn't afford.

My thoughts were interrupted by knocking on the front door right behind me, swallowing a couple of curses and turning to open it. Considering I'd just gotten home early on a Friday I had a good feeling I knew who it was, but it came with another twinge in my gut.

I opened the door to a middle-aged woman whose arms were mostly full of Tupperware. Helen was my next-door neighbor and along with her husband they were basically the only people on my block I interacted with. She had the kind of face that was already starting to show signs of aging early from what I'd normally peg as chronic stress but given how rarely I ever saw her stop smiling I was sure she was putting some of those crinkles there herself out of spite.

Saying it to her face would be a bad idea, but I couldn't help but feel that her and Johnny had a lot in common once you got past the more obvious differences. Helen worked in the offices for a medical company whose name I could never remember and always looked the part of a middle-class white-collar worker despite her families' rough finances. Johnny on the other hand always looked like he'd wandered in from a rougher part of town no matter where he was. Given the state of some parts of the city that was an accomplishment.

Maybe it was because the last guy living here was a real piece of work, but she'd taken a shine to me soon after I moved in, and we had a few polite interactions. I could never shake the feeling she was trying to mother me despite me technically being an adult, mostly because she kept finding excuses to get small favors out of me and then pay them back more generously than they deserved or found reasons to invite me along with them when they took their daughter out for family excursions.

I immediately tried to figure out how to politely decline whatever it was she was bringing over, but I couldn't quite manage with the reflex to greet her at the same time leaving me unable to get either out. It wouldn't have made a difference given she didn't even wait for a greeting, and instead took my pause as a chance to slip in the door and start immediately heading to deposit her cargo in my tiny kitchen.

"Eric, it's great that you're home this early! I just got done doing some cooking and I wound up making more than I needed so I figured I'd bring some over as thanks for you helping with the yardwork this week."

She was practically humming to herself as she started depositing containers on my counter, and promptly sorting the two larger ones into my small fridge like she was putting things away in her own kitchen. The one left out looked like it had cookies in it, and I was fairly sure I'd spied a small meatloaf and casserole in the other two. Given they were perfectly sized for the two containers she'd packed them in it was transparent they weren't made by accident, but Helen wielded polite fiction like a pair of heavyweight boxing gloves, so there was no point protesting.

We both knew I'd lose that exchange, so I had no choice but to accept the food. Instead, I just did my best to put on a grateful smile. "Thanks Helen, I'm sure it tastes great." It would, I'd eaten enough of her food already that I wasn't doubting that. "The lawnmower still working alright?"

"It's working great! Jeb swears up and down it didn't run that well when he bought it." Finally content that the food was stored properly in my kitchen and thus I could no longer try and refuse it Helen turned back, her smile faltering a bit as she took in the stacks of boxes before snapping back. "I'm sorry we can't afford to pay you for it, but it was a tremendous help, really."

"No worries, it was an easy fix." I said. It had been too, though I had to credit that more to my power than any actual ability on my part. It had been harder to resist the urge to completely strip the thing for spare parts to build something else than it had to diagnose what was wrong and fix it.

"Well easy or not it still helped, but enough of that." Helen was already politely shooing me away from the door, knowing I was too much of a pushover to tell her I had things to do, though she stopped to linger in the doorway. "Make sure you show up tomorrow, it's not everyday everybody gets to go out and see the local heroes. Since you haven't met any yet you have to come. From what I've heard they're going to have nearly everybody there this time. I promise you won't regret it."

"No worries, I'll meet you guys there." It was hard to keep the smile off my face, while Helen might be aggressive when she was trying to get somebody involved in their excursions it was impossible to take offense at somebody being so blatant about wanting you to be around.

Regardless my response seemed to satisfy her. She gave a last goodbye and shut the door behind her, leaving me standing in my living room wondering if things would have been easier if I hadn't moved out here. I'd thought moving after getting my powers would have made things simpler due to having no roots or ties but instead I'd fallen right into having a new social circle of people who were too good to just brush off, no matter how much a part of me wanted to. Not that I had much in the way of the needed assertiveness to do so even if I did want to.

Johnny, Helen, Jeb, their daughter Daisy, I even had a favorite pizza guy. That might not sound like much, but it was a lot more than a lot of people had. It was more I'd had in the end before I'd came here, looking for somewhere I could do something. It wasn't helping my trepidation any, but no amount of introversion changed that having people who cared felt good.

I hesitated there awhile before shaking it off and deciding to table dealing with my conflicted feelings on the matter and getting something done. I did make a stop in the kitchen to grab a cookie that lasted for two bites before I was at the basement door and opening the padlock I used to keep the door secure. Thankfully the bare wooden steps that led down into it were probably the sturdiest part of the entire house, though the railing along the side had obviously seen better days.

None of that mattered though because the moment I hit the bottom I was in the only space I'd ever felt I could say was entirely my own.

Most of the space here was taken up by a plethora of broken flea market and garage sale appliances, tools, and scrap that looked like it belonged in the trash because that was exactly where I'd found it. I had done my research and piecing together a small horde of materials without raising any eyebrows had taken the sacrifice of every bit of my free time and whatever pride would have prevented me from grasping at every opportunity I could find. Not to mention straining my finances, but not having decent furniture and living in a house that's falling apart wasn't anything new to me. If there was one thing I was grateful about how I grew up it was that I was always able to accept settling for less.

The rest of the space was taken up by the actual finished products I'd managed to complete. Mostly various specialized tools and fabricators dotting the cluster of hastily assembled workbenches, with a single computer workstation and table for my finished equipment.

A couple of pants and shirts that combined into a tough bodysuit, sized for the composite materials I'd made the boots, gauntlets, and torso plating from to fit snugly over them. Next to those sat my small assembly of finished weapons. An automatic Crossbow that's sleekness was somewhat ruined by the machinery I'd had to work into the core of its body and the underslung rod I'd had to build wholly into the spine underneath the arms, a chunk of metal hovering somewhere between a sawn off shotgun and a pistol in shape and size, what would be the barrel ending in a similar rod-shaped emitter that splayed out into a slight x-shape, and a much more humble looking collapsible baton that was simple enough looking that it would be all too easy to miss that it had an activation trigger in the handle.

Next to all of that was more miscellaneous things. A grappling hook system, a set of six canisters that technically would be considered a form of grenade, and a generalized set of emergency first-aid tools. A burner-phone completed the ensemble, leaving only my helmet still in four or five pieces. There were still tweaks I wanted to make to the internals to make sure the HUD performed as well as it could. I'd be heavily relying on it if I did go out and by the time I noticed any minor performance or functionality issues it'd be far too late to fix them. Taking the time now would save me a world of hurt.

All of this has been the work of months. Hours spent not only piecing my life back together, saving money wherever possible to scrape every penny of buying power together for materials, but also figuring out just how my power worked. I was lucky, incredibly lucky. A hundred things could have tripped me up getting to this point, and despite everything that had happened a lot of people would have killed to have my power. It didn't make it feel like any less of a token consolation prize at best, but that was life. You didn't get to pick the cards you were dealt, so if you got one ace you just had to suck up being dealt nothing but deuces until that point.

Tinkers were capes that were able to throw together tech that was light-years ahead of anything else with materials and tools that frankly shouldn't have been capable of building what they did, typically theorized that each one was bound to a specialty of some sort that limited or defined their capabilities. Like most things about powers nobody was entirely certain about why, how, or even if those were rules or just the general trends of how powers manifested. Buying a few secondhand textbooks had made me fairly sure I fell more into the less talked about second type.

It was still being debated but the eggheads had put together some case studies that suggested that all Tinkers were defined by not only what their specialty was but how it was focused or expressed. If you had two Tinkers with a specialty in electricity you might have one whose power worked best for building heavy power armor that was powered by potent back-mounted generators and weapons that utilized both to hit as hard as possible, while another might instead have their power focused on building Tesla-coil like stationary pylons for defense, networking, and security. This focus could also instead be about how their power builds their stuff. That pylon Tinker might be able to shut down entire city blocks but require a lot of quality materials and time to build them, while the armor tinker might be able to throw his stuff together with literal junkyard scrap over an afternoon and go straight to punching out of his weight class nearly overnight. One might have to spend time researching to figure out a new design, another might only be able to work by improvising with whatever he had on hand because trying to sit in a workshop made his power fizzle into uselessness.

There was a lot of nuances involved but it was convincing enough that the material I'd found on Tinkers specifically had gone into the idea in some depth. It wasn't perfect but few things were in Parahuman studies, and it was as good an explanation as I could find that bore out the experiences with my power.

My specialty had something to do with making things smaller, making them work more efficiently. Part of the reason I'd chosen to move to Brockton Bay instead of somewhere else is because Armsmaster had a similar or identical specialty according to the official materials and other resources I could find. Everything from the action figures they sold to the actual footage I could find of his fights all had his halberd displaying more devices, functions, and gizmos than should have been able to fit together in one device even by the already loose standards of Tinkers in general. More than one fight had him walking over opponents who should have overpowered him on paper just by having whatever he needed in one weapon and the skill to apply it as quick and effectively as possible. His armor apparently had plenty of functions built into it too, which left me believing that his area of focus was his personal equipment.

Maybe I wasn't a superfan, but he was one of the biggest and most iconic members of the Protectorate nation-wide despite being the leader of a team in a place like Brockton Bay that you'd think was more of a punishment detail than the basis for a big-name career. The sharp awareness of my power that was always hovering in the back of my mind gave me a clear sense that mine was nearly the same where our specialties were concerned, at least with as much as I could figure with the information I had. If a specialty like that had let him succeed that much despite all the S-class threats he'd faced and the general state of this city, it made me feel a lot better about my chances. Especially since I was sure it was so completely dwarfed by the how.

I'd already started with the designs in my head for lots of workshop equipment and weapons, along with the power armor I couldn't afford to make and all its modules, the chemical processes needed to make what was oddly similar to the containment foam the PRT used and various delivery methods, a device I couldn't build unless I wanted to spend the rest of my life in jail, and the clear if abstract sense of what exactly my power was. Over time however I felt that part of my mind where all of that resided gather what could best be described as some sort of weight, or tension, or charge. It had built up so slowly I'd almost not noticed it so preoccupied as I was with piecing my life back together, until one day it was too much, and I'd finally figured out what it did when I set it off.

I could expand my ability to Tinker and get more designs at the cost of a seizure, some mental agony, and by re-experiencing my trigger event.

It was a sadistic bargain, but one so weighted heavily in my favor that it was almost mocking. I didn't have to settle just for what I could do already, so long as I had enough of that weight in the back of my mind, I could make myself a better Tinker. All it took was a bit of personal suffering. I was walking around with the ability to consciously slam my hand down on a hot stove knowing that it would burn just as bad every single time, but I'd walk away from it with the ability to be a hero.

Moving to the workstation I shoved aside some of the notebooks I'd filled with pages and pages of notes, ideas for equipment or things I might need, and countless random details and snippets of information I thought might be useful to becoming a hero. Some of them sitting on top of the police scanner I'd set up within easy reach were just handwritten logs of whatever crimes were called over the radio or reported in the paper, sorted into timelines, locations, who was involved, and what exactly was going on. More than one map of the city was included, with high-crime areas highlighted or various other data points scribbled into the margins as I built up my personal database of information on the city I'd decided to do this in. I had a rather good idea of the rough borders of the various gang's territories. The Empire, ABB, and Coil took up most of the territory, with a few smaller gangs here and there that were barely worth mentioning.

From what stories I'd heard I had so much more than the typical independent does when they first go out and start stirring trouble, but it still didn't feel like enough. My gear was technically finished, it was functional and every single test I'd put it through had worked like a charm. I was in decent enough shape and was only improving as I continued to eat properly and use my job to build practical strength combined with exercises at home to cover what the job wouldn't. But I had a hundred different tweaks that would make my gear work better, make it function smoother and even more efficiently.

If I could find the guts to go through with it the same deluge of designs had the formula for a serum that would enhance my body across the board, putting me at least a little above human norms. It'd take only a few swapped parts in the chemical synthesizer I'd been using and a little coding to get it moving, then a week for it to take effect. It would just be another week of gathering information, another week where I could build some more foam canisters or work closer to some of the advanced materials those designs were meant to be used with.

Just one more week of being useless. One more week of doing and being nothing.

My fingers kept drumming on the table while staring at my workstation, weighing the costs and benefits before I shook my head to throw the malaise from my thoughts. If I was going to make a mistake, I could make it just as easily tomorrow as I could today. I'd do some more polishing on my gear and break down some more of my scrap for parts and materials. Tomorrow I'd go see the heroes with everybody, maybe take the plunge and sign up as an affiliate for the extra support. Working with the heroes first before doing anything on my own would help keep things legitimate and buy me some much-needed goodwill.

Taking out one folder I opened it and spread all the official pamphlets and material for Protectorate and PRT membership out in front of me. There was everything from recruiting information to the various listed hotlines and other phone numbers for nearly anything you could ever need, lists of benefits and organizational structure, testimonials from members about what life in the organization was like, they didn't skimp when it came to trying to push for more people to join and fight the good fight. Seeing it all in front of me was making my stomach twist though, and I wasn't sure why.

I wasn't stupid, I knew that the white hats had to play the PR game to do their jobs and keep the public calm. There were a hundred forum arguments where everyone screamed their heads off about the heroes not being able to stop the villains and just as many screaming back in defense of them. It was no different than people resenting normal law enforcement for not being able to get rid of normal criminals. Nothing had really changed; it was all the same problems just with capes and superpowers blowing them up larger. But looking at all the pamphlets I'd snagged and materials I'd printed out at or copied by hand it all just didn't feel right.

All the encouraging public relations in the world even combined with that part of me that whispered it was the smart and reasonable thing to do didn't quash my trepidation. Organizations, especially government ones, always took on a life of their own that was usually far different than what they appeared to be on the surface, ones the size of the PRT and Protectorate even more so. Two stores in different towns would have drastically different atmosphere and individual work culture even if they belonged to the same chain. Take something like the Protectorate that had branches all over the place, a hectic and difficult job that required real risk and sacrifice, and a world that was falling apart at the seams and even in the best case I couldn't shake the feeling it'd be a lot more miserable and impotent than it was made out to be.

Maybe I shouldn't think that way, but I couldn't help it, I did. Anything else was just wanting to cling to the public story because it made things feel better than they were. Choking your misgivings down with denial to play pretend was just a slow way of poisoning yourself, and if I wanted to be a hero that kind of idiocy would likely get me killed. I didn't want to functionally sell myself into an occupation where it wasn't likely it would be easy to leave, or to be strangled by red tape and be left pretending to be useful instead of accomplishing something. So long as I was independent, I could always officially join later. But just because I wasn't going to sign on didn't mean I shouldn't go talk to the heroes today. This wasn't my first time waffling between all my various choices and there was one option that would still be a major step forward and would give me the beginnings of a relationship with the white hats.

Leaving the desk behind I grabbed a couple empty file boxes I'd bought cheap to keep my papers and notes organized down here, moving to my workstation and sorting through for the blueprints I'd need.

Not all my designs from my last surge were practical for any tinker to build let alone me. I had the designs for all kinds of boats and watercraft from Jet skis to houseboats, private super yachts to cruise ships. What those designs did have were a plethora of advanced technology that were still easy to turn to other ends, from water fueled fusion power systems and self-repairing nanomaterials, to radio technology that would allow clear real-time communication across an entire globe. Those blueprints would be useful enough on their own but slanted through my power's ability to slim things down to impossible sizes and wring functionally perfect efficiency out of technology and my months of notes and tweaking and I had a decent nest egg of designs. Given the PRT and Protectorate had an entire database of Tinker-tech that their Tinkers had access to I imagine they'd be interested. Those that signed on with them had their tech put into the database and got a royalty from any derived patents, so I was betting with a little luck I could net a similar arrangement.

Even in the worst-case scenario I just formalized the paperwork for being a rogue and I'd get the stipend they paid to anyone who was willing to register and stay out of trouble. Any amount of money would be a tremendous help even if it was small, it'd either cover a portion of my expenses or if I wanted to go all-in start getting some materials through official channels. It would be a lot safer and easier than what I had been doing, no matter how careful I'd been.

The pressure in the back of my head was swelling again and I wasn't sure why, I'd have to worry about that later though.

By the time I'd gathered all the schematics, notes, and other documentation I needed I'd filled four file boxes full and quickly moved them back up the stairs and pad locking the basement door behind me. Two more trips and I had all four out into the flimsy garage and the trunk of my car. The garage was a cheap addition that some prior owner had thrown onto the structure without much care, but despite having barely enough room for anything other than the small car parked in it that didn't change that in a city like this it was better to keep your car off the street and out of sight wherever possible. Doing so made it harder for people to steal it or to notice when you weren't home just by if your car was parked out front or not.

The car itself wasn't special in any way other than that it had miraculously survived the trip cross-country to move me here. It had been a piece of junk even then but after getting everything moved and a paying job, I had been able to give it a little tender loving care from my Tinker power to get everything working as well as could be expected. Ever since my first surge I'd been able to tell what was wrong with a machine just by hearing it run, combined with a gift for jury rigging and my core specialty it hadn't been difficult to bring the damn thing back to working as well as any other car I was going to see on the street. It was ugly as sin and public transportation combined with carpooling with Johnny meant there was little reason to burn gas with it, but it worked, and it was mine.

With those secured in the trunk I moved back the main room of the house and sat myself on the couch, snagging the paper I'd noted the various local PRT resource numbers on from where I'd stowed it in my pocket. The Parahuman Response Team had a host of bureaucratic functions for managing people with powers like me outside of simple law enforcement, trying to keep things orderly and people with powers on the straight and narrow because it was cheaper and easier to prevent issues from happening in the first place than it was to deal with them when they became actual problems. It didn't matter if you were a parent with a child who had gained powers and wanted professionals to turn to, a victim of parahuman crime who needed help getting their insurance and medical forms in order, or more importantly people like me who wanted to register even without joining the Protectorate itself.

I had the urge to hesitate when I pulled my phone from my pocket to dial, but I ignored it by letting my fingers move before my brain could stop them. The line rang for a moment that made my heart skip a beat wondering if it wouldn't go through before putting me through to an automated system asking the purpose for my call. It was hardly a surprise given how much work they probably had on their hands, but a few quick number inputs had me on the line for actual parahumans who wanted to contact the PRT. Tapping my foot as it asked me to please hold I almost missed the click where somebody had picked up the line and cut off the automated message before it was done.

"This is Jack Hendricks with PRT ENE's Parahuman Outreach, how can I help you?"

It was quick enough that I almost dropped my phone, I'd been expecting to be on hold for at least twenty minutes. It wasn't until I heard the chuckle that I realized I'd let that second part slip out loud, which made me swear quietly under my breath. Either he didn't hear it or was at least polite enough to pretend he hadn't before speaking.

"Normally you probably would be, but whenever we drop new Ward announcements or have the larger events, we're more likely to have someone calling so it's a good idea to have someone on the phone as quick as possible."

That made a lot of sense. Events like those were more likely to push people to take the plunge than most of their other sources of outreach. A part of me was a bit annoyed that Helen wanting to drag me out tomorrow probably had more influence on me doing this than I'd thought. Score one for the good guys I guess, even if the muffled background noises led me to believe he was just pulling double duty in a workspace rather than being dedicated entirely to the outreach number. Hardly something to complain about though, it suited me just fine.

"Cool, uh…" I cleared my throat and hoped I wasn't about to make myself look like so much of an idiot they thought this was a fake call. "I was hoping to come in and register as an independent, and maybe see if you guys were willing check my designs in case there was anything that would interest you. My next free day is Sunday if I need an appointment, though I could put it off until later this week or take a specific day off with enough prior notice if that works better for you."

That was better, I just had to stay cool and professional. I hoped the pause on the other end of the line was a good sign, while the background noise suddenly got a bit quieter as he shushed somebody.

"We can do that sir, but before we get to that can I confirm that by designs you mean to say you're a Tinker? To clarify a Tinker is someone who ca- "

"Build advanced technology and devices yeah." I went ahead and interrupted him before he got too far into explaining what I already knew. "I got four file boxes filled with blueprints, notes, and schematics, and a basement with some finished gear if you need physical proof of what I'm saying. Although I'm not going to just carry them in the front door for obvious reasons. If you want to see them, we'll have to talk about how to let you examine them."

On the other end I heard him mutter something to somebody quickly before typing something on his keyboard, which was giving me a good feeling. Somebody was being given some fast instructions.

"If you're free now you can head to the PRT building and we'll send someone down to meet you, if you have a vehicle just park in the nearby parking lot and call me when you get there for further instructions. At this time while you don't need to bring any devices with you if there are any you can easily conceal on your person it would greatly expedite the process."

It wasn't even a full hour later I was sitting in a conference room with a bottle of water and a guest badge hanging around my neck, leaning back on the table where a couple of plain clothes agents had placed my boxes after quietly retrieving them from my trunk after I'd passed them the keys. Everyone was polite and quick to move things along. I had been expecting more security checks and questions than what I'd gone through, but I had a feeling that showing up with mostly just boxes of files in plain clothes was letting them extend more trust than they might otherwise in a city like this.

Leaving my Pulse Gun in the trunk for them to fetch along with the files no doubt helped with that. I imagine they would have let me carry it with me under my jacket given they wouldn't want to discourage me from registering, but I doubt PRT officers would have felt comfortable with it. Even if they didn't say anything, I certainly wouldn't have felt entirely okay with it in their shoes.

It wasn't long before Hendricks was entering the room with two other people. A small woman whose short hair and lab coat would have let me know she was here to examine what I'd brought even if her eyes hadn't given the game away by lingering on the boxes on the table named Lynn Alwood, and an older man whose suit and affable demeanor meshed very well with his own badge labelling him as from the legal department who just introduced himself as Sunderland. Hendricks himself looked more the part of a clean-cut office worker, aside from the sidearm on his hip and the fact his handshake gave me the sense he was a lot stronger than he looked.

The introductions didn't take long before I went ahead and moved one of the file boxes over and nodded to Lynn to give her permission to open it up and start looking. I took the other end of the table myself with Jack and Sunderland on either side of me, them making a little space on the table for the papers they carried themselves before the rest was taken over by the contents Lynn was rapidly sorting.

There was a little tension in the room, but it was quickly vanishing. I guessed most meetings like this were a bit nerve-wracking when you didn't know who exactly you were dealing with, just that they potentially had superhuman powers and trauma that might make a conversation an exercise in walking on eggshells. The joke was on them though, I'd had months to get good at bottling it all up and stay functional just like everyone else. I did have to admit the idea of them trying to dance around someone like Johnny was at least a little funny.

"Right," Hendricks said, "just so you're aware you are not obligated to provide any identifica- "

"Eric Carl Redden, born November 3rd, 1988. I can give you my SSN and sign a release authorizing a background check too if you'd like."

I felt bad about interrupting him, but I wasn't here to play paranoia games with what was rapidly looking like an agency that was used to having to tread carefully. Nobody liked being under a microscope, but I didn't have anything to hide from Uncle Sam. It'd make my trigger event somewhat obvious, but I'd already left all that behind me where it belonged. I'd rather not sit through an entire meeting of this either. Besides, now that I was here, I was riding high on moving forward with this and I wasn't willing to waste the time.

Hendricks and Sunderland both looked more than a little surprised, before quickly regaining their composure. Judging by the tension vanishing from their shoulders I think they were starting to feel comfortable with me. Sunderland shot Hendricks a glance before firing off a text and pocketing his phone and Jack himself giving me a smile and nod.

"Okay, that definitely makes thing easier. Now are you registering as an independent hero or as a rogue?"

"Hero." I answered while giving Lynn a quick glance. She had stopped emptying the box to stare at a few pages and I was hoping that was a good sign for me walking out of here with at least the beginnings of some deal. Jack in the meanwhile was tapping his pen on the table, giving Sunderland another shared glance before seeming to settle on something.

"Well then, if you don't mind, I'd l like to talk about what we can offer you if you join up with Protectorate."

The hesitance from before was completely gone. I was serious about this, and they knew they weren't going to risk scaring me off with how I'd been acting with them. They were going to treat me the same and assume I could take the heat. I glanced at the clock to check the time before leaning back in my chair and settling in for the long haul. I had the entire rest of the day. It was only fair they got their chance. Though a quick glance down at the forms on the table made me smile as I saw there was one spot I'd have to fill out.

I didn't know if I would keep it, but after a lot of dithering about trying to find the perfect one over the past few months I'd finally just decided to take inspiration from all the designs my first ever surge from my power had given me.

Where it was asking me for my cape alias I filled in "Nautical" before sitting the pen down and smiling back at the two.

"Sure, let's talk."

Spoiler: Core Build: Worm Jump

Spoiler: First Build: CATastrophe

So I'm finally creating my first thread on this site, and my first fanfic too. For those of you wondering I'm using a variation on the Celestial Forge rules. Instead of rolling from a massive collection of jumpchain purchases the point totals are stored and used to buy Jump Builds wholesale, with every 500 words being 100 points.

Items and and any other non-perk purchases will be treated as designs he can construct via his Tinker ability, with the same for any needed exotic materials said items may require. Certain supplementary perks that work well for a tech jumper build will be included but I'm trying to avoid explicitly separate super powers as much as possible.

This is purely for fun and as a creative outlet for me so don't be surprised if this just suddenly stops updating out of nowhere, or if updates are made entirely based on if I have the free time and energy to keep doing this.

Beyond that I hope you all get some entertainment out of it, I've gotten more than enough from all the writing on this site so it'd be nice if this gave back at least a little.

Edit: Went through the entire thing cutting out unneeded words and otherwise tightening nuts and bolts here and there. Cleaned up the author's notes as well.

Last edited: May 5, 2023

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GilGilMashi

Aug 25, 2021

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Threadmarks Chapter 2 - Better Days

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GilGilMashi

GilGilMashi

Sep 21, 2021

#15

January 23rd, 2010

Brockton Bay

Apparently walking into PRT Headquarters and signing a few forms came with a free phone, neat.

Jack had given me a good sales pitch for joining the Protectorate. Making over seventy-six thousand dollars for your first year of employment and then jumping to six figures past that was just the start of the kinds of benefits you got. It wasn't just the money that made me internally groan the most about turning it down though, especially when they'd given me examples of what a Tinker had access to both budget and resource-wise for performing their Tinkering.

I'd been a good sport about listening to their sales pitch and in exchange they let up when it became clear I wasn't wanting to sign on the dotted line anytime soon. They'd probably be on the lookout for any chance they could get to keep trying to sell me on it, but as cooperative as they'd been with everything else, I wasn't going to begrudge them for it.

Having the same patent and royalty arrangement that Protectorate Tinkers had by default apparently wasn't hard to sell as an option, especially given we spent most of our time there answering Lynn's barrage of questions about the designs and notes I'd brought in. She'd been fixated on swathes of my notes that I'd considered minutiae put there only in the interests of making sure everything was documented thoroughly, but I figured that was most likely the norm for dealing with Tinker designs. I didn't imagine working with super-tech was the easiest job, so I'd made sure to answer every question she'd thrown my way.

After all that they made sure I knew that making any money out of it would require both that useable patents were derived from what I'd brought and that it began bringing in a revenue stream to pull my royalties from, but I wasn't too worried about that. Any money would help, and most of the reason I was doing this was to open an in-road to working with the official heroes in the first place.

Sunderland had us put off on signing anything until everyone had more time to go over the details. The PRT had red tape that needed to be processed on their end, the designs needed examination, and nobody could draft a contract until all of that was finalized and rubber stamped.

They didn't doubt I was a Tinker though. I'd let them put me through power testing and even if I hadn't had my handheld pulse gun, I'd easily rigged a couple of solar power cells out of the basic materials they'd provided for the examination.

After all that they gave me a PRT-issued phone for further contact through official channels, I'd signed a few registry forms, let them photocopy the files I'd brought, and walked out with a thousand dollars in my pocket as my first monthly stipend.

Hendricks had promised they'd be back with me in a day or so to keep me updated and schedule another meeting, so now here I was the next morning feeling rather good. Maybe I wasn't on top of the world, and I hadn't done anything yet, but I was a hero on paper now. Government paper too, which I figure was as official as it got.

Now I was sitting on my couch staring at an empty plate and tapping my foot.

Here soon would be my first outing and once I hit the street I'd have to make do with the gear I had. There wouldn't be any tweaking or rehauling it if I'd overlooked anything. I'd spent months getting all of it together and trying to think of every possible angle. I knew it all would work the same way I knew how to make it in the first place. But what if it wasn't enough?

There was one way I could be sure. Now would be the perfect time to do it too. I was in the privacy of my own home. I'd have time to compose myself before going out. It'd be over quick.

After a few minutes I picked up my plate and fork and put it in the kitchen sink to wash later.

A few minutes after that I had thrown my jacket on to protect from the chill in the air and was out the door ready to face the day. Half an hour later I was pulling into the best parking space I could find near the boardwalk without risking getting towed.

The Boardwalk was a sprawling segment of the city that stretched along the coastline of Brockton Bay so overpriced stores and other vendors could milk every cent they could get out of tourists who chose here of all places to vacation. It was always busy, especially on weekends. Add in a massive PR event situated right on a section of the wooden walkways with a view of the modern day fortress the attending heroes called home?

If I hadn't promised Helen I'd be here I would have taken one look at the crowds and turned right back around.

Multiple areas were cordoned off with small temporary fencing to better manage the crowds and lines. Most of those led to booths selling Protectorate merchandise from action figures to toy Armsmaster halberds or Miss Militia scarves. I could see bins of posters, novelty buttons, those photo stand-ins where you stuck your head through the hole so you could get a cheesy picture with your head on a hero's body.

Somewhere in one of those boxes was the one my dad did with an Alexandria cutout. I'd thought it was the funniest thing on the planet for the longest time.

Probably best to avoid going down memory lane.

It took me about fifteen minutes to find Jeb, Helen, and their daughter sitting on the benches where they said they'd be. It wouldn't have taken so long but there were enough people here that you had police and PRT agents managing crowd flow to keep the event orderly.

The only reason I didn't have to ring one of their cells to find them was because Daisy had started hollering the moment I was in sight, jumping up and down and only held back by her father who was trying and failing to keep a happily exasperated smile off his face.

Mine probably matched his. There was enough bad in the world that every bit of pure joy was precious. It made me wonder if all the public relations and marketing was in some small way an excuse for the heroes to get to see a little bit of what made their job important.

By the time I'd gotten within eight feet Jeb finally let go of her shoulder and let the little brunette blur hit my legs fast enough I couldn't help but wonder if Velocity was taking notes.

"Eric they're all here! They're all here!" Daisy practically screamed with excitement. It would certainly explain the turnout. Usually, you only got two or three heroes, maybe with a couple of Wards alongside them. I had a good idea what she was actually excited about though.

"Finally going to get to meet Laserdream munchkin?" I asked. Daisy almost immediately started bouncing again and rambling in that way you saw from kids when they were completely overtaken with excitement about something they loved. It was the kind of thing everyone tended to grow ashamed of as they got older and started trying to act mature or became self-conscious.

Judging by the looks on Jeb and Helen's faces as she leaned into him on the bench, I could tell they were savoring every moment of it while it lasted.

Jeb did home repair and renovation work mostly in a lower-class income bracket. He fixed gutters, replaced dry wall, and fixed leaking roofs. It gave him that rough worn down look you saw in people who worked with their hand's day-in and day-out. It helped more than a little to hide he was noticeably older than Helen by at least enough to turn more judgmental heads. It was mirrored in how Helen was older than you'd expect to have a daughter as young as Daisy.

I'd never cared enough to ask about details. Helen had an office job that paid well, and Jeb always had a flood of jobs to chew through in a city like this to keep some money coming in, even if it wasn't lucrative. They still lived in a rundown house and had to juggle money problems to keep things running. When you put it all together it said there was a long story there.

They were happy together and managed to be good people despite it all. That told me all I needed to know, and anyone who thought differently was the worst kind of fool.

As I leaned against the fence next to the bench to listen to Daisy gushing about how cool Laserdream was I couldn't help but notice that while she did look like Helen, she didn't look anything like Jeb. Just like all the other times the thought crossed my mind I pushed it away and ignored it. It didn't matter after all.

Only a few minutes later I caught our last arrival out of the corner of my eye thanks to the way small parts of the crowd seemed to unconsciously start shuffling to get some distance.

Johnny had finally gotten here, walking up while giving one of the boardwalk's enforcer's a look daring him to try and do something about him being here. It had enough spite and venom in it I was amazed it wasn't peeling the paint off the nearby booths.

His expression changed completely when he turned his head and saw Daisy once again bouncing and held back from rushing forward by Jeb. He only made it within ten feet before she'd pulled away and charged him with all the determination a kid could muster and a war cry.

Johnny played along and let out a feigned grunt of defeat as she impacted, before hoisting her up and trying hard not to let the smile on his face ruin his tough guy image. He wasn't succeeding, but nobody was perfect. I could hear Helen letting out the most unladylike snort I'd ever heard out of her before Jeb's laughing covered it up for her.

"Geez Kid, you're getting heavier. Been putting on muscle when I wasn't looking?" Johnny said. Daisy just responded by giving an exaggerated flex of her arms and another war cry which was only mostly undermined by the bright yellow coat Helen had her in.

Pushing myself off the fence Helen, Jeb and I moved over to join them while Johnny managed to get Daisy put back down, listening to her excited rambling the same way I had. It didn't really help regain any of his image given she'd immediately latched onto his sleeve hard enough I was surprised it wasn't popping off his ratty jacket.

Without needing to say anything we immediately started making our way through the crowds towards where New Wave had joined in with the other heroes of the event, Helen still letting out the occasional snort as Johnny let himself get manhandled along by a girl who probably had less chance of moving him than a stiff breeze.

On our way I spotted Hendricks talking into a radio near a small group of people who I assume were responsible for managing the crowds. I'd have missed him if it wasn't for his double take when he saw me. Since everyone else was ahead of me I went ahead and gave him a wave before moving along.

Eventually we maneuvered ourselves into the line where we'd get Daisy to see Laserdream. It wasn't hard to see why she was Daisy's favorite. Laserdream and most of New Wave had a clean and sharp image that was only helped by the fact that none of their typically good looks had to be hid by masks. To a girl like Daisy Crystal Pelham was at the perfect age to have the cool factor of adulthood while still being young enough to be relatable. Being able to fly and shoot lasers were as classic as it got for superpowers too, I wasn't too proud to admit to being at least a little jealous.

Not that I couldn't build something that would blow her out of the water.

I shook my head to get rid of the thought. I hadn't built anything that would put me in the same weight class as somebody who could do a good impression of a small artillery piece. I might be riding a little too high after yesterday. I knew I was a pretty kick-ass Tinker, but I didn't need to get a big head over it.

Though the only thing holding me back from it being true was a lack of guts.

I was torn from that thought by my phone. Pulling it up showed that I had a message from Hendricks asking if I had the time to talk to him. I looked at the remainder of the line and did some mental math. The lines were moving at a decent clip. The troopers and staff were moving people through efficiently enough that everyone got to get an autograph and share a few words and maybe take a picture with whatever hero they were seeing without grinding the line to a halt for more than a short pause each time. I went ahead and replied I'd be free in about thirty minutes.

I was confident enough that would be plenty of time even with the people in front of us. The PRT was a deft hand at managing something like this, nobody could doubt that.

As we got closer to the front of the line Daisy started to go from excited to quiet, getting more so as we got closer until by the time there were only two people in front of us, she was nearly hiding behind Johnny. I felt a pang of sympathy. I had been thankful that my talks yesterday had been with normal people in office clothes instead of capes in costume. Talking to an actual cape straight off the bat would have probably been too overwhelming. I was an adult too, of course it'd be worse for her.

Helen had already noticed and was already moving forward to talk to her.

"Daisy sweetie, are you okay?" She was trying to nudge her a bit away from her hiding place without much success. Johnny was gritting his teeth a bit. I was guessing this was a bit outside his usual comfort zone. He didn't strike me as the type to have a ton of experience with upset kids.

"…I'm okay." She said it but she didn't really look like it. I could already see where this was going, we were only down to a single person in the queue too. Johnny knelt down to get on eye level with her.

"Hey, c'mere kid." With a little coaxing he managed to get her in front of him. "I know you're a bit nervous, but the heroes aren't gonna bite. Besides you got Uncle Johnny here. I'll walk up with ya."

"I can walk up with you too sweetie. If you're scared, I can ask for the autograph for you. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." Helen chimed in. They were both giving it a decent shot at comforting her but Johnny didn't get kids enough and Helen was too focused on being supportive to see the signs.

Daisy liked Johnny because he was tough and played along with her own attempts to act strong. It made her feel more grown up and helped build her self-esteem which was important for a kid. But she wasn't going to admit she was scared to Johnny of all people and Helen trying to encourage her was just going to make her feel worse because it made her look like a kid in front of Johnny.

I could feel people looking at us too which was best nipped in the bud. She was already freezing up and if people started staring too much, she was liable to get more upset and either freeze completely or start crying.

"Don't be ridiculous guys." I interrupted just as Jeb started to look like he was going to throw more fuel on the fire. I'd like to pretend this was entirely out of the goodness of my heart but that would be a lie. Daisy called him Uncle Johnny, but I was just Eric.

Helen and Jeb both paused and looked at me, but Johnny had already spotted the shit eating grin on my face. He knew I was up to something, and if it wasn't for Helen forbidding any swearing or smoking in front of her kid I imagine that mouthed "motherfucker" would have been audible.

"See, Daisy would never be scared. She obviously just worried because she knows that I'm scared out of my mind." Daisy immediately perked up. The same thing had worked on Lucas. Once you give people an excuse or rationalization to recontextualize things in a way which conveniently dodged any internal conflicts they tended to jump on it. I'd know more than most.

"It's a bad habit but I can't help it." Johnny was mouthing obscene things at me, but Helen had finally caught on. "I just get terrified when in the presence of any girl that could beat me up. My pride can't take it, and now there's TWO of them."

Daisy stole a glance at her mother before Helen just gave her a light shove in my direction and then lost all hesitation and grabbed my sleeve to start dragging me forward like she'd been doing to Johnny.

"I'll go with you!" Daisy said. I could hear some people chuckling behind us as I let her pull me forward. It was barely five feet towards the table where the last person was already moving out of the way. A glance over my shoulder let me catch Johnny taking the opportunity to flip me the bird without Daisy seeing.

Suck it Johnny, next time bring your A-game.

Making it to the table Laserdream was already looking at us as I got drug in front of her. Being in front of a cape with a little girl faux bodyguarding me I started to regret the ploy a little bit. But I was already in too deep, so I cleared my throat to ask for the autograph Daisy wanted so badly.

"I'm Daisy and this is Eric!" She interrupted me. "He wants two autographs, but you have to promise not to beat him up because he's really scared of girls!"

Apparently, that was unexpected or funny enough for her to start laughing. I'd just had my gambit turned around on me by a little girl and was standing in front of a superhero who was now having trouble breathing. My first actual face-to-face meeting with a hero and it was a pretty girl in stiches laughing at me. She wasn't the only one either.

If Laserdream was trying to get her breathing under control, Johnny was on the ground by the sounds of it.

"Eric you're supposed to say please!" Daisy said. She was looking back and forth between me and Laserdream looking worried. I sighed and swallowed my pride and embarrassment.

"Could we get your autograph please?" Daisy prodded me and I quickly amended that. "Two autographs, one for me and one for my bodyguard here?" She was finally getting her breathing under control.

"I think I can do that." She said, wiping her eyes a bit. She quickly slid out two promotional photos out of the pile and signed both one after the other. Passing them over to us I took on look at it before dying a little on the inside. She'd signed it "Eric, I promise I won't beat you up. Laserdream."

I almost didn't catch her moving to the other side of the table where Daisy was back to bouncing with happiness like she was trying to take off and fly, finally getting the chance and the courage to gush to her hero like how she'd been chattering me and Johnny's ear off earlier. It took the spotlight off me at least.

I had to snap myself out of my self-pity when Helen came over with a camera. The chattering behind me suddenly turned to giggling and whispering that barely gave me any warning before I got pulled into a headlock from behind, a small blur tackling my leg and making me yelp.

Helen didn't waste any time and immediately snapped the picture.

Johnny's wheezing attempts to catch his breath got overtaken by even more laughter, this time with Jeb joining in.

I was smiling, even if I'd deny Helen's photographic evidence of that fact until the day I died.

Laserdream let me go with a reassuring pat on the back.

"Thanks for being a good sport." She said.

I did my best to turn and look at her with the gremlin still doing her best to wrestle my leg out from under me. "Thought you promised not to beat me up?" That earned another snort from her. Now that I had a chance to gather my wits the mortification was starting to go away. For the most part at least, I was still talking to a pretty superheroine.

"I didn't beat you up, I just held you still for her to do it!" She said. Daisy had apparently lost interest in continuing the fight and quickly detached herself to show her mother the autograph and look at the pictures she'd just gotten. She was a happy kid in general, but right now she looked happier than I'd ever seen her.

I couldn't complain too much, so I just gave Laserdream a grateful nod and stepped back before moving out of the way for the next people. Helen took the chance to snag a quick word and I heard her thanking the heroine and making sure Daisy did as well.

Meanwhile Jeb was waiting for us and laughing to himself a bit. Johnny on the other hand looked like he'd been hit by a car with the way he was bent double and wheezing. Served him right. I'd been sure I had him in checkmate. Now he had ammo to fire back at me whenever I gave him shit over Lucas and the Chinese mix-up too.

You win some you lose some.

Once we were all gathered back together, we left the exit queue. Johnny gave me a friendly punch to the shoulder and Daisy started bragging to her father about her autograph. She'd gotten it signed "Daisy, keep fighting the good fight. Laserdream." She'd be riding high on this for a long time.

I made a few excuses about checking out some of the other queues to split away. Johnny said similar though in his case I knew it was to find a place to smoke out of sight of the kid. Helen and Jeb going to take Daisy to the booths to pick out a toy.

After that I just followed the directions I'd been texted to an out of the way temporary tent. Judging by the bottled water and papers it was a small break and workspace for the organizers. Hendricks was waiting for me and waved me past the PRT officers and to one of the tables. I took a seat and accepted the offered bottled water while he started pulling out a few papers and quickly organizing them in front of him.

"Thanks for meeting with me Eric, I know it's on short notice." He said. "I hope we didn't cause you any trouble."

"Nah." I shrugged. "I'm just here with some friends, it wasn't any trouble at all." He gave me an acknowledging nod that still seemed a bit thankful. On second thought if he was pulling double duty in the office yesterday and was here doing this today, I was probably saving him some time. I couldn't imagine having a new cape show up out of nowhere meshed cleanly with the PRT's schedule. Even the DMV had a waiting line, but they'd managed to get me into a meeting room nearly immediately. It made me feel a bit guilty. I was likely causing him more trouble than the other way around.

He didn't seem to let any of it show and just quickly lined up the forms and notes he'd set up. "Well it's still appreciated. Regardless I wanted to let you know we already got the preliminary background check sent into our offices and we got people vetting that as we speak. Finishing everything will probably take about a week for every file to come in but we got enough to make sure there's no red flags."

I started to nod before he cleared his throat and quickly amended himself. "I have to stress there's no reason to worry though even if there was something. Life is complicated and we understand that everybody has their circumstances. The PRT is more than capable of working with any issues or obstacles that you might have. We're given lots of leeway in how to approach things so even if you were Jack Slash's cousin twice removed it's nothing we can't work with or around."

I gritted my teeth a bit but finished that nod. I was technically related to a few criminals by blood on the sides of the family my parents had distanced ourselves from, but nothing involving me or them. The obvious reminder soured my mood a little, even if he was reassuring me it wasn't an issue. It must have shown on my face since his expression tensed a bit.

"Right, so other than the background check what else did you want to talk to me about? Given we're doing this face to face I'm guessing it's something other than telling me the paperwork's coming along?" I interrupted him right as he looked like he was about to say something about it. There wasn't any reason to spend time on it. The past was done and the only one of them that had ever mattered was rotting in a cell where he belonged. He wasn't worth the air we'd waste on him.

Hendricks looked like he was torn before accepting me moving the conversation along. "Well I was wanting to get you to visit the Rig for a meeting with Armsmaster. Preferably on a day where you can spend a couple of hours there for a more thorough power test. We can give you access to one of the Rig's general workshops and some materials, and it'd let Armsmaster vet your technology better than we can just by examining your blueprints. You can build something or just do some design work with him if you'd prefer. You don't have to if you don't want to but we're more than willing to bring you in if you're interested."

That made me blink a couple of times. I didn't think I'd meet the Protectorate Leader that fast, even if he would be the natural choice to examine a new Tinker's work. I could follow the logic but it still made my stomach clench. I'd just embarrassed myself with Laserdream and now I might be meeting Armsmaster, not as a civilian but in an official capacity. She was pretty and could probably level the block I lived on within a few seconds, but Armsmaster was one of the guys they put on the big posters. The ones with the top ten A-listers in formation. They sold his action figures on the same shelves as the Triumvirate.

"I'm off Wednesday."

My mouth didn't ask my consent in this, I hated it.

Hendricks didn't give the excuse I was hoping for. Instead of saying it was too soon he just jotted it down in his notes and snapped his notebook closed while shooting me a smile like I'd just made his day. "I'll have to make sure, but I think we can make that work Eric!" The pleasantries that followed were mostly a blur before I found myself dropping my empty bottle in a trash can outside and wondering when everything started moving so fast.

I just had to shut up and deal with it. I'd been feeling like I was waiting too long for awhile now, I didn't have any room to complain about making progress too fast. I'd go in and show them all what I could do and maybe finally work with some tools that weren't improvised in my basement out of scrap. Just because I was proud of them didn't mean I couldn't do so much more with a proper workshop. Entire swathes of options weren't available to me because I had to constantly juggle not only what I wasn't able to build but also what I couldn't afford to maintain. Thank god for my power's quirk because without those additional designs I wouldn't have been able to make more than the most basic Tinker gear. With them I had a fully combat ready loadout.

Even if I didn't have the balls to go out and use it.

I sighed and wiped the scowl off my face before heading towards where I suspected Johnny was hiding. I knew him well enough that I only had to look for a little bit before I spotted him leaning on one of the railings half-hidden by the booths smoking what looked like his second cigarette. He paused when I waved and made sure to double-check that I didn't have the others with me before relaxing and continuing to smoke.

"You weren't gone all that long. Get tired of getting manhandled by pretty girls or what?" I rolled my eyes at the shit-eating grin he was wearing and found my own spot on the rail to relax against.

"Bunch of sorority girls said they had Rock CDs in their van." I said, keeping my voice monotone while Johnny started cracking up. "As you can imagine, there were no CDs." I went ahead and let him laugh it up, although I was surprised his ribs weren't too sore to manage it after earlier.

"Fucking hell what I wouldn't give to have your bad luck kid." I winced a bit at the jibe but with Johnny wiping his eyes and taking another drag on his cigarette I don't think he noticed. "You shoulda tried to get her number though. Guys your age should be taking every chance they get to make a fool of themselves in front of a pretty girl."

I gave a groan and shook my head. "Johnny she's an attractive superhero. Besides I definitely managed to make a fool out of myself enough without making a pass at her." I tried not to visibly cringe without much success, which only egged him on enough to give me another friendly jab on the shoulder.

"You never know kid, if you shot your shot, you might have gotten her digits. Never hurts to try."

"It would have been weird Johnny." I grumbled.

"Oh bullshit, you might be a little older but if you were in college instead of busting your hump in a warehouse, you'd both be running into each other at all the liquored-up parties with all the other hormonal college brats." Johnny laughed. I just sighed and squinted at him with my best impression of Helen's disapproving mom face.

"Ignoring the age Johnny, I have the same name as her little brother."

That finally got Johnny to stop chuckling and stop to think for a minute, after which he grumbled a bit. Probably more at me spoiling his fun than anything. "Yeah, that would probably make things a little weird." He grimaced himself before taking another drag. "Dated a gal once who eventually let slip she liked me because I reminded her of her father. Wound up being more than a little messed up in the head."

"Yeah," I grinned. "Probably didn't need the ghost of Freud to tell you that was a Red flag." Johnny and I both snorted and he ground his cigarette out before flicking both butts into the nearby trash can.

"In my defense that relationship was mostly booze and screwing each other's brains out. Drunk Johnny ain't necessarily the devilishly clever sort that sober me is. How was he supposed to know she was going to throw a brick through my windshield?"

It was my turn to bust out laughing, bending over a bit to hold my stomach. Johnny laughing along with me. I barely noticed the woman giving us the stink eye over what was probably not the best conversation to be having about ten feet from where people were hustling about, just in time for Johnny to flip her the bird.

"You gotta knit a pair of knickers before you get 'em in a twist sweetheart." Johnny hollered at her, resulting in her face turning red and storming off. It only made me laugh harder. I shouldn't be encouraging him riling someone up like this, but I couldn't find it in me to care too much right now.

Eventually I got my breathing under control and relaxed back against the railing, half-wondering if somebody was going to show up and shoo us off.

"You know maybe you should be the one trying to play Casanova with the capes here." I said. "Miss Militia maybe?" Johnny snorted in response before putting on a faux thoughtful expression and another shit-eating grin.

"While I will admit to finding a girl in uniform fetching, I can't help but feel like that might lead someone of my persuasion into the type of handcuffs that people ain't wanting to pay for."

I snorted and returned one of those punches to the shoulder before pushing off the rail. "Come on Johnny." I said. "Let's find the others and head back to Helen's. They've been planning on grilling and like hell I'm going to pay eight bucks for the overpriced hot dogs here."

I started to walk off expecting Johnny to follow but had to turn back around after a few steps. Johnny still leaning on the rail and grimacing.

"As nice as that sounds, I don't think that's a good idea Eric. That's awfully close to the Sister-fucking Seigs and Hillbilly Heils." Johnny said with me frowning in response. There was a difference between minimizing your risks and acting like the bastards ruled the place already. There weren't gang tags on the alley fences or thugs pushing drugs or making protection demands wandering the streets of our little neighborhood. We were close to where some of those things did happen, close enough to be a little nervous somedays maybe.

Why the hell should we let them ruin a good day.

"Come on Johnny, fuck 'em. They don't own that neighborhood and anybody who thinks otherwise deserves a kick in the pants." I said. I watched the expression on his face tighten a bit as he ground his teeth. I knew he'd like to go, he enjoyed spending time with everybody even if he had to put on his rather terrible attempt at a boy-scout impression around Daisy. The fact that he bothered at all would have told me all I needed to know, even if I hadn't seen him smile when dragged along on these.

"Daisy would want you to come you know. She's going to want someone to show whatever toy she gets, and Jeb and Helen are going to be too busy grilling and setting things up to play with her." I said. It was probably a cheap shot, but it was also what I bet he was wanting to hear.

It took about a minute but eventually he grunted and nodded before pushing off the rail to join me. I pulled my phone out and shot Helen a text letting her know we'd meet them back at their place before sliding it back to my pocket. I pointedly didn't try and look too smug at convincing him, but I couldn't help grinning.

If there was one thing you could count on, it was at the end of the day we were all just looking for the right excuse.

We both split up long enough to find our respective cars and took an easy drive towards our block. I parked back in the tiny excuse of a garage I had, and Johnny took a spot on the street outside Helen's house. After getting out I walked over to where Johnny was drumming his fingers on the roof of his car, eyes scanning everything around us like he was expecting a snake to jump out at any moment.

They'd got here before us. I could hear a grill being started up and plates being sat out on a wooden table coming from the other side of Helen's fence, punctuated with a kid's excited yammering and voices responding. It was a good thing to hear. The house might be worn-down and there might be leftover junk from Jeb's work leaning against the sides of the place in a yard that had seen better days, but it was a home. You could drive through every pretty little middle-class suburb in the world with their picture-perfect HOA approved appearances and I'd bet everything I had you wouldn't find one that had half as much life in it.

It reminded me of the parts of home that didn't hurt as much to think about. The memories that couldn't be completely poisoned even if I knew they would never be coming back. Glancing over at Johnny leaning on his car still on edge it gave me an idea.

Popping him on the shoulder to get his attention I jerked a thumb back towards my place to signal him to follow me and walked off before he could say anything. I left the door open behind me after unlocking it and moved over to where one wall was practically hidden behind all the moving boxes and started unburying the ones I was looking for. Johnny wasn't far behind me, though judging by how he paused at the doorway he was probably taking in the sorry state of the former drug den I called home.

"You going to come over here and give me a hand or are you going to stand there with your dick in your hands?" I'd gotten the two boxes I needed where I'd purposefully left them on the bottom of the pile and moved them to the coffee table. Johnny wearing the usual expression when he knew I was up to something. I mean I was, but that was beside the point.

"What the fuck are you doing Eric?" Johnny asked. I just pulled out my pocketknife and started cutting the tape off both, careful not to let the blade dip down to where it'd risk cutting any cords inside.

"Being a good neighbor." When he didn't respond aside from continuing to give me a look I just shrugged and ripped them open, revealing the dusty old game consoles and assorted cartridges and packaged discs stuffed inside. His eyes widened a bit when he realized what I was thinking.

"Jeb and Helen did their best, but Daisy didn't get a very big Christmas last month. Figured since days like this are rare for her we might as well put the cherry on top and fix that in one swoop." I said. I ignored the bitter twinge in my chest at seeing all of this again. It brought back a lot of memories of Saturday nights in front of the television or peering over shoulders while taking turns with a Gameboy. Part of the reason I'd had them at the bottom of the pile was to put another obstacle between all of this and the constant urge to pull them apart and make something that would actually be useful.

"Eric…" Johnny paused for a minute and shot a glance over at the boxes piled near the kitchen entrance, the same ones Helen tended to grimace at. "…Are you sure you want to do that? You could just give her some things instead of everything?"

I waved him off when it looked like he wanted to continue and shoved one of the boxes into his arms, conveniently pushing him back far enough from the doorway I could step out with the other and shut the door behind me with a quick jerk of my foot on the door.

"If you pass up getting a hundred bucks worth of stuff for a dollar, you're just being stupid." I moved past where Johnny was still frowning at me and started to cross the road, forcing him to follow me or be left behind. "The same thing goes for stuff. It'll make her happier than it'll make me. In there it's just a bunch of old clutter. Over here she gets a bunch of late Christmas presents from Uncle Johnny."

We'd made it to the tall wooden gate but before I could open it Johnny grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, balancing the other box on his shoulder and hissing under his breath so they wouldn't hear us talking.

"You mean from Uncle Eric, this is your shit not mine."

I rolled my shoulder to break his grip on my jacket before raising my finger with a popped "Nope" and grinned. "Helen and Jeb are going to know this is my stuff, which means I get the lion share of the brownie points and at least two more meatloaves if my math is correct." I gave him a smirk to show I wasn't taking no for an answer. "Fair being fair, that leaves all the Daisy points for you."

It was more than a little fun watching Johnny freeze in slow motion as he thought it over. He had a major soft spot for the kid and I was willing to wager having her look up to him did a lot to ease the kind of bitterness a place like Brockton's streets could put in a person.

I'd meant what I said. I didn't care what I could build of I ripped all the electronics out of these old things. They would do more good here.

Eventually Johnny took a breath and let out a frustrated sigh before the tension left him and he nodded. Without saying anything I let him take position where he'd be the first through when I opened the gate, waiting for him to settle in and get ready.

"Hey…" I raised my eyebrow in response waiting for him to continue, Johnny clearing his throat as quietly as he could so we wouldn't be heard. "…you're a good guy Eric."

I just shrugged and at his nod ripped the gate open as fast as I could, Johnny barreling through and making the three on the other side freeze in surprise, me right behind him with the other box in tow.

"Ho ho ho!" Johnny hollered, Helen's eyes widening nearly as much as Daisy's while Jeb stifled a snort at the both of us. "Took a wrong turn at Albuquerque but Johnny Claus is finally here with some late Christmas presents!"

I could feel my face split as Daisy proceeded to give out the loudest squeal of happiness I'd ever heard. She bolted over to Johnny even as I saw Helen eye the boxes and shoot me a look that I responded to with a noncommittal shrug. She couldn't say a thing without ruining the moment and she probably knew it was my little revenge for yesterday's food drop. I made sure to confirm it with the smug look on my face as I put the second box on the table next to Johnny's.

Daisy already had him pulling out cartridge after cartridge and talking his ear as she got more excited with each one. Johnny had a bigger smile than she did without a trace of his usual attitude around him. I left them to it and moved to help Jeb with the grill.

I'd considered going to a lot of different places to be a hero, but more than anything else this made me certain Brockton Bay was the right choice.

I don't know when it happened, but at some point it had started feeling like home.

Chapter 2 is finally ready after a longer delay than I'd hoped. Real life is rough at the moment. Regardless I hope you all enjoy. There still isn't any action in this but frankly I'm preferring it that way for now. I hate writing dialogue but the character interactions are so much fun it's more than worth it. No new builds rolled currently.

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GilGilMashi

Sep 21, 2021

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Threadmarks Chapter 3 - Welcome to the Bay

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GilGilMashi

GilGilMashi

Dec 28, 2021

#45

Content Warning: The following chapter contains hate crimes and animal abuse. Details are glossed over for the most part but I understand if you'd rather avoid the chapter entirely and I figure it deserves a fair warning.

January 24th, 2010

Brockton Bay

"For the last time you pint-sized pencil-dick! I didn't say it was bad, I said I preferred Rock!"

I went ahead and leaned back against the forklift and downed what was left in my water bottle. I could tell this was going to be another half-day already. There was so little to do we were having our regularly scheduled argument before we even hit the lunchroom.

"But the lyrics are always so much catchier!" Lucas said, blissfully unaware he was standing right where a forklift would be running him over if it wasn't for the fact that everyone here was used to it and our dwindling workload. Meanwhile Katie was letting out a grumble that told me she was approaching Johnny's level of frustration, and our supervisor John was shaking his head and checking his clipboard as a distraction.

Aside from the work clothes Katie looked like somebody who'd had a punk phase and only mostly grew out of it, while John was a massive bull of a man who'd made his way up into management by working ten times harder than anybody else could manage and then going back for seconds.

"Like that one that goes 'I don't know what it is 'bout that little gal's lovin'. But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it?'" He danced along with the words a bit while Johnny shook his head and grabbed his own bottle from the nearby shelf and twisted the cap off a bit harder than was necessary, Lucas oblivious and still talking. "I get it stuck in my head every time they play it."

This is a complete and utter waste of time.

I waited until Johnny was halfway through gulping down the bottle before interrupting whatever Lucas was about to say next. "Personally, I always thought the lyrics would have been a better fit for R. Kelly."

Johnny choked and squirted water out of his nose as Katie burst out laughing, John dodging the spray and swearing, while Lucas just looked at everybody and then me in confusion. "I don't get it." He said after a few moments, long enough that Johnny had enough air to start laughing himself.

"Nobody explain it to him!" John yelled, glaring daggers at me and Katie as if daring us to even try it. I shrugged and decided not to add any more fuel to the fire even if the smile on my face was unapologetic. One uncomfortable yelling match cut short was enough, no need to try and milk it for shits and giggles.

Brockton Bay's newest hero ladies and gentlemen. Watch as I save the day from meaningless squabbling.

I stretched and then looked around with a grimace. Everything had been unloaded, sorted, and most everyone was milling about with the peculiar busywork shuffle that was blue collar code for there not being anything left to do but nobody was willing to be just standing around. John noticed too with the way his eyes darted up from his clipboard, his expression tightening.

I got his attention by pointing towards the break rooms with an eyebrow raised, and after a moment he nodded in response. It looked like we'd be leaving extra early today. With a quick jerk of my head I signaled Johnny and we both headed away. Katie dodging another attempt by Lucas to get an explanation by heading towards the door to the parking lot.

"That should keep him occupied for a half hour." Johnny said, sounding particularly pleased. I gave a noncommittal shrug while slipping through the break room door and snagging my lunch bag from the shelf, tossing Johnny's over my shoulder for him to catch and dropping into the chair hard enough that for a moment I thought the plastic was finally going to give.

"I'm more worried about how many hours we're going to be losing over the next couple of weeks." I said. "The way we're going they'll have to lay people off just to balance the checkbook." Johnny snorted in response, fishing out his "soup" flask and sandwich across from me.

"Not like me and you got anything to worry about. Lucas will probably have to go and flip some burgers somewhere for his fun money, but they won't pop us." He reached for the cigarettes in his pocket out of reflex before stopping halfway, then unscrewing the flask and taking a swig. "Lucas will go, you, me, and Katie will stay. Few other deadweights will follow with about half the other knuckleheads."

I had to raise an eyebrow at that. That didn't seem to add up.

"I can buy Lucas but why would they keep me and Katie over the experienced old timers?"

Johnny grinned in response and raised his sandwich as if the ham and cheese illustrated his coming point. "Elementary my young grasshopper. See, most of those blokes out there are what we call career temps. They get shuffled around various places on short or medium-term periods, taking whatever work is available through various pissant temp agencies or social programs. Bayside don't need 'em, so they'll be cut loose and leave lots more slots for people like you and me that were hired directly." Johnny finally took a bite and kicked his feet up on the table.

"Getting shuffled around like that means nobody but the agency they go through has to look at the failed background checks, legal troubles, or failed drug tests." I flinched before I could stop myself and Johnny gave me a look. "Don't get your panties twisted kid. We're talking the stooges who owe child support, drink too much and tussle with cops, or just can't stop smoking pot. The ones worth worrying over go through entirely different systems."

"Right, my bad." I said. I'd been obsessing over crime and hero stuff too much if I was overreacting like this. It made sense if I thought about it. It just wasn't pleasant to wonder if some of the people I was planning on fighting as a hero had been working next to me for months now.

Assuming I managed to grow a pair before they died of old age.

"Nah, it's natural considering the shithole we're living in." Johnny said. "Half of us can't buy a box of girl scout cookies without worrying if the little git has a knife hidden under the thin min-" Johnny trailed off at the sound of the outside commotion getting louder and a pair of footsteps running closer, followed by a panicked looking Katie skidding to a halt and pulling the door open.

One look at her face had me tense up, she was pale and spooked with her eyes darting between us. "Johnny, you need to get out here." She said.

"It's your car." She cut Johnny off before he could start to ask, prompting him to swear and shove the table away to get out of his chair faster. I had to push myself back to avoid it, nearly tangling my legs up in the chair trying to follow, both of them having immediately bolted down the hall without me.

By the time I'd made it out of the lunch room they were past the crowd of people milling and murmuring around the exit, John attempting to keep order. He paused for a second as I got closer.

I ignored it all and ran past to try and catch up.

A push to force the door open where it had swung shut before I'd reached it. Jump over the railing instead of taking the five or six concrete steps to the parking lot. Dart between the smattering of pickup trucks, beat-up cars, and assorted collection of rundown vehicles.

"Motherfucker!"

I caught up just as Johnny slammed a foot into his own headlight in a rage, a yell turning into a nigh incoherent stream of profanity while Katie and Lucas stood to the side, Lucas talking quickly into his cell phone.

"I'm going to find the weasel who did this and skin his fucking balls!"

They'd spray painted his car. A slathering of quickly applied swastikas and slurs all along the hood, sides, and windows. I had to stop myself from looking around to see if whoever did this was still watching. If they were still around knowing we'd spotted them might give them an excuse to go further. I gave it fifty-fifty odds between them leaving to prevent being tied to the crime or staying to watch the show. I wasn't willing to risk a couple of parting gunshots in response to a lucky glance. Not when we were exposed at the edge of the lot like this. Although that was still a distant second on my list of worries right now.

"Johnny…"

"I will use him as goddamn sandpaper to get this shit off!"

There was a large plastic container, the kind you'd pack leftovers into after dinner sitting on the hood of his car. We needed to get out of here now. Lucas already had the cops on the line. Katie and everybody else could tell them what happened and give them our numbers to get our statements later. Bayside had our information and John was the type of guy to take this personally.

"Johnny!"

"What the fuck now!" Johnny whirled on me; fists clenched.

"That's Daisy's Cat."

He froze, face going from angry red to pale white so fast I expected him to pass out. Instead, he took a couple of steps back and nodded to himself as he processed that. He then tore the keys out of his pocket and bolted to open the driver's door.

"Get in the car."

I was already sweeping up the container before he finished, ripping the passenger door open the moment he'd hit the button to unlock it. Lucas started to step forward to say something but Katie grabbed his arm to drag him out of the way so we could pull out.

"The corner of Elm and Newbury." I said. For once Lucas got what I was saying immediately and nodded. I shut the door and locked my seatbelt in place as the engine started and Johnny tore out of the lot like the speed limit was a minimum.

I almost missed the noise over the sound of the engine, as quiet as it was. Swallowing the lump in my throat and fighting the way my fingers were shaking from the adrenaline I managed to get the lid off. Inside was a calico ball of fur that barely fit, stock-still and paralyzed until some glimmer of recognition hit it and it meowed at me.

The sigh of relief I let out took a good decade of my life with it. My heart was still hammering in my ears, but I wasn't going to second-guess the luck. Johnny didn't say anything but I could hear his knuckles pop as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel a bit.

They didn't spare it out of kindness. Killing it would have had a bigger impact but also risked more heat. Instead, it now acts as a lingering reminder of what they could have done, what they could still do. A minimum of actionable harm but a maximum of fear.

"…If they touched one of them." Johnny said. Quiet and cold. He didn't elaborate, just kept hitting accelerator as hard as he could and still drive without killing us. He didn't need to. I was thinking pretty much the same thing.

Good.

There were already two police cars there when we arrived. Johnny swerved into the closest open space and brought the car to a jerking halt. Helen and Jeb were standing out front with the officers, whatever protest they might have had at Johnny's driving gone when they caught sight of the car's new paint job. Johnny tore out of his seat, bouncing the edge of his door off the curb and shouting as he ran over. The cat taking the chance to bolt past him and the others into their backyard.

I got out and almost collapsed in relief after shutting the door. Helen and Jeb were upset and scared, but they weren't hurt. If something had happened to them there would be an ambulance here at the very least, and there was no way they'd be as collected as they were if their daughter was hurt. They were safe. Everybody was safe.

For now.

It took over an hour for the police to finish getting everyone's statements. Photos were taken of where they'd spray painted "Race Traitor" over the front doors of the houses, and the graffiti on Johnny's car. Eventually both left leaving all of us milling about in front of Helen's house, Helen retreating inside to tend to Daisy. Jeb nursing a beer with Johnny pacing a trench in the lawn, smoking while clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I shouldn't have come here." Johnny stopped and flicked his cigarette butt into the street. "I knew it was a bad fucking idea."

"This wasn't your fault." Johnny scowled and froze on the spot, Jeb taking a sip of his beer. "The only person at fault is who did it. You're just an excuse to these kinds of people."

An excuse they had because I'd ignored Johnny warning me.

"You think that changes anything! If you live in this shithole, you don't give them an opening!"

Johnny told me it was a bad idea.

"It matters Johnny."

Johnny had lived here all his life. He knew what Brockton was like. If he said it was a bad idea, then it meant it was a bad idea.

"What matters is people not ending up in a fucking body bag!" Jeb didn't react other than to give Johnny a look. Johnny snarling and moving up into Jeb's space as he spoke.

"You think this is no big deal, just because nobody got hurt!? This isn't some kids taking a bat to a mailbox after getting into daddy's liquor cabinet! The people who do this shit have maimed and murdered motherfuckers just for being two shades on the wrong side of beige!"

I'd brushed him off. Pushed him to come over so I could keep putting off doing something by playing house.

"Calm down. You flying off the handle isn't going to help."

"Fuck you and fuck your calm!"

And here you are still just standing here. Doing nothing.

Johnny turned and began to storm towards his car. I stepped forward and caught his jacket by the shoulder. "Johnny hold o-"

The air exploded out of my lungs as something rammed into my stomach. I would have fallen if it wasn't for Jeb catching me. He yelled something I couldn't make out while I tried to blink through the pain.

It took more longer than it should have to realize that Johnny had just hit me.

"I thought you two were fucking smart!"

I finally sucked some air back into my lungs as Johnny took a couple of steps back. He hadn't unclenched his fist, his right hand snapping up to point at the two houses and then his car one by one.

"One! Two! Three! They hit two houses and a car in another part of town at the same time, fast enough that nobody had time to notice! Fast enough that we all caught what happened basically at the same damn time! That means at least one person for each target, likely more since you usually have somebody keeping lookout at each location on something like this, bringing us up to a minimum of five!"

Even through the pain that made whatever I had been trying to say die in my throat. I must have paled because Johnny nodded.

"See, now you're getting it! Five people means it ain't just some racist son-of-a-bitch taking a swing for shits and giggles! We're talking red-blooded all-American Empire 88!" Johnny roared. His face was red and you could see the veins in his temples. A detached part of me wondered if he should be seeing a doctor about his blood pressure.

"They'll get them." I didn't realize I'd spoken for a moment it was so quiet, but Johnny just laughed.

"You think reporting this means shit in this city?" Johnny stopped yelling, taking a step forward and making Jeb straighten up and move to stand between us.

"The only way the pigs are going to do shit, assuming anybody admits to seeing anything in the first place, are if you kick up enough fuss to make them do their jobs. In the meantime what do you think happens when the goons decide that you didn't learn your lesson huh?" Jeb didn't respond but I could see his shoulders tense.

"They come back and this time they got all the justification they need to really have some fun. They kick in your fucking doors." He snapped his hand up to point at me, Jeb stepping further in between us. "Dead or beaten so badly it don't make much of a difference."

That wouldn't happen. Everything would be okay.

He turned to Jeb and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You go the same way, five to one and then there's nobody left to stop them from taking turns doing whatever they want to Helen and the girl."

Everything would be okay.

"If everybody does their jobs maybe they go prison and the rest of the world gets to clap their hands and pat their backs at justice being done. Hallelujah! Stop the presses!"

Everything would be okay.

"News flash! The damage is already done and the Empire keeps on trucking like nothing happened because five thugs off the street doesn't change shit for whoever's next on the chopping block!"

Everything would be okay.

"So wise up! Shut the fuck up and keep your head down!"

Everything would be okay.

"And stick to your fucking own!"

Johnny turned and stormed back to his car, getting in and speeding off. Jeb kept watching until he was completely gone before sighing and downing the rest of his beer. He turned around and paused when he saw me, looking to where I still had a hand on my stomach.

"You alright?" I gave a nod in response that he returned after seeming to think for a moment. We stood there for a moment. I didn't know what to say and from the frown on his face Jeb didn't either. Eventually he settled for giving me a pat on the shoulder and nodding towards my house.

"It's been a rough day, go get some rest." I nodded and started walking over.

"Eric, I meant it when I said the only ones at fault were the guys who did it." I didn't respond, just kept walking until I was shutting my door behind me. Walking over and falling onto the couch with a grunt when the motion jolted the rapidly forming bruise on my gut.

This was my fault no matter what anybody said.

After all the time I had wasted in the name of playing it smart and being prepared without bringing trouble down onto my head and instead I'd brought it down on the people I cared about. If I'd listened to Johnny, if I'd been out patrolling as a hero to dissuade this kind of thing from happening around here, if I'd been doing anything other than what I had been doing.

If you'd been doing anything other than nothing.

I'd used the worry about being impotent to change things as an excuse not to join the Protectorate. I'd had the audacity to think that while sitting here with a basement full of tech that was just gathering dust. The Protectorate was at least out there and trying to do something. No amount of time needed to make sure my gear was up to spec changed that right here right now I'd accomplished nothing.

That had to change.

I ripped my belt off and moved to lay down on the couch. For obvious reasons I didn't know how severe the seizures from using my power were. I only had a foggy memory of starting to spasm when it had happened originally and being on my hands and knees when I came to. I could find out easily enough using my phone's camera but that wasn't a priority right now. I'd save that for later.

I bit down onto the leather and resisted the urge to gag. I didn't if I was at risk of swallowing my tongue but I wasn't going to take the chance. Shifting as close as I could to the back of the couch to decrease my chances of falling off I focused on taking deep breaths in and out through my nose. My heart was still pounding, but after several long minutes it calmed enough that I no longer had an excuse to wait any longer.

Everything fell away.

Everything would be okay.

I kept my back pressed as flat as possible against the wooden fence, not caring in the least about the splinters digging through the back of my jacket. I kept both hands in a death grip around my phone, keeping them from shaking and making sure that no light would give me away. I didn't pay any attention to the muffled voice coming from it. I couldn't. The yelling and the crashing from the house on the other side was only getting louder.

Everything would be okay.

I'd recognized the truck in time to dart behind the fence. I was hidden and as long as I stayed here he couldn't spot me. I'd called the cops and they were coming. If I strained, I could hear the sirens in the distance getting closer. They'd get here fast enough to help. They'd make sure nobody was hurt. They'd make sure anybody who was hurt would be fine.

I just had to stay quiet and do nothing and everything would be okay. The screaming didn't matter. The sounds of fighting didn't matter. The gunshots didn't matter.

Everything would be okay.

I spit the belt out. I hadn't fallen off the couch so I could count that as a good sign. It didn't make dragging myself up and off it any easier. My arms and legs didn't want to move right. Instead of sitting up and swinging my feet down to the floor I rolled and hit the coffee table with a grunt. I didn't waste time worrying about hitting my fresh bruise on the edge of it, just hissing and forcing myself to my feet. Some wobbling steps maneuvered me around the back of the couch and towards the entrance to the kitchen.

Stumbling I hit the pile of boxes leaning up against the kitchen doorway. I pushed off, ignoring the sounds of broken glass and heading into the kitchen. Grabbing a spare bag and shoving all three of Helen's container's inside before opening the door to the basement. Instead of trying to preserve any pretense of dignity, I just leaned on the railing like it was a crutch the entire way down.

The moment I made it down I threw the bag of food onto the table next to the chemical synthesizer, scooped up a handful of tools, and ripped the casing open with a sharp jerk. My power was roaring in my ears and the back of my skull, my hands moving on their own to strip out the pieces that needed to be modified.

I'd avoided making the serum due to the horror stories of Tinkers who wound up in Parahuman Asylums when their attempts at self-augmentation went wrong. Not drinking a random concoction in order to gain powers or avoiding experimenting with your own body was the sane thing to do no matter how ironclad your power insisted it was. I didn't care anymore, all the more-so with how trivial working around any potential complications seemed now.

Serum composition easily tweaked to enable almost immediate results on consumption at the cost of massively increased metabolic demands until the changes are fully integrated into the body.

I'd been proud of my helmet, the HUD and functions I'd fitted into it. The entirety of the programming work I'd done now felt like calling myself a master programmer for managing to get a machine to spit out "Hello World". It needed to be rehauled while the synthesizer fabricated the serum. Mostly because now my prior eye based control systems had been rendered obsolete.

Easily engineered sensors integrated into the interior of helmet casing enables direct mind-machine interface. Helmet functions and slaved devices operated with thought. Give-and-take feedback systems also allows partial to full transmission of sensor and program outputs into conscious mind based on sophistication of device and programming. Cybernetic integration trivial if desired but otherwise unnecessary. Systems easily built and fully operable while being non-invasive.

I'd already peeled it open and fired the workstation up. While the OS was booting up and connecting to the helmets internals I grabbed several samples of junk, salvage, and components I'd had ready for further Tinkering. So many other ways to use all of it were burning through my mind, ways to improvise and bypass what I'd thought were hard limits on what I could do with what I had available. Even more-so now it all looked so hilarious bulky. The only reason I didn't have a hundred ways to make all of my equipment even slimmer and more compact was because I only cared about the ten that I could do right now in the time I had.

Prior components easily stripped and reintegrated via newly discovered bypasses for prior limitations. Full refurbishing and overhaul untenable within the desired timeframe. Final projected results while not fully optimized nevertheless boost expected performance noticeably. Further and more extensive overhaul optimally delayed until field experience provides actionable data on opposition and host's developing approach.

Hours passed like minutes while letting my power go without any restraints or limits, completely ignoring all my careful planning and rationing of my resources up to this point. After punctuating the end of my Tinkering by chugging an oddly soda-like serum and devouring an entire meatloaf and casserole to fuel the results I snuck my stuff out and weaved my way deeper into Empire territory.

Running out into the streets hoping to find a petty crime to stop or random thugs to beat up wouldn't do anything other than cut my teeth on my first night out. Maybe make some crooks be a bit more careful while they get the measure of the new cape, or if it pissed somebody off enough have an Empire cape or two start looking to punish and drive away the newcomer.

That wasn't good enough for me. I'd done a lot of thinking about how to go about being an independent hero and make a difference, and thankfully the massive burst of programming skills had made options that would have taken serious effort before trivial. All the more-so because I was pissed and didn't care about how what I was doing was technically breaking some federal laws.

Peeking over the edge of the building down at the fifth Empire drug dealer I'd found here in the poorer and more rundown parts of their territory I didn't really care what the FBI or PRT might say about it. The mapping system in my helmet had the burner phone in the dealer's pocket tagged, hacking software and a neural link making cracking it's security so easy the only reason I was still watching was because I was pretty sure I'd finally got what I was looking for.

Pre-paid burner phones were a solid way of conducting illegal business without worrying about carting around records of breaking the law in your pocket. Cheap to buy, cheap to load with useable airtime, cheap to spread around to your people and turned in at the end of the night to ensure nobody does anything stupid on them and then trashed and replaced in regular intervals. But none of that mattered because the plan didn't require my new Tinker programming skills beyond the minor cracking I had done to this guy and the four others before him.

Non-Tinker hackers often got system access because people were lazy, fallible, and like clockwork would gravitate towards doing what's convenient over what's optimal. Security breaches didn't require anybody touching a single line of code, because even the best countermeasures failed immediately if just one person didn't do what they were supposed to do.

Having a different burner phone paired to your various dealer's would do the most to cover your tracks, but the guy they're reporting to has to juggle multiple phones and then has the hassle of replacing them all every time you need to cover your tracks and every time you rotated them out. Law enforcement can't get a warrant to try and get you through the cell companies without evidence and even if they did and managed to narrow it all down it'd add up to nothing the moment you rotated your burners. The added layer of security was just inconvenient and upped your operating expenses and blood pressure. You were still basically untouchable.

Unless you were dealing with a Tinker with my abilities who was done caring that is.

A worm into each phone that just bounced through the contact lists, numbers that had contacted or been contacted by the burner, and a rummage through parts of the phones memory where things that had been deleted but not overwritten yet was open to any program that knew how to find them. Now I had a massive list of burner numbers that my software could trivially cross-reference for where those separate contact chains of the various dealers overlapped. Those numbers were the people who were managing multiple dealers, and like that I had pulled at least one rung of the gang's management effectively out of thin air.

Compared to that my software using the worm and cell-towers to triangulate a location barely required me to even try.

Doing anything to the dealer just risked putting my actual target on edge, so I stepped back from the edge and left the small fry to his business. Quietly I made my way towards the other side before breaking into a sprint once I wasn't at risk of him hearing. When I hit the edge I leaped and my armor sent me soaring high and far enough that I skipped the next rooftop entirely.

I had hybridized several components of the designs I had for power armor and a sci-fi rebreather suit into an armored rendition of the latter comprising a helmet, gauntlets, breastplate, boots, and attached back unit acting as a jetpack. Air was sucked into both it and my boots where the oxygen and hydrogen turned to fusion through that into thrust. All efficient enough that it barely made more than a low whine as it propelled me forward at speeds that would be suicidal if I didn't have a mapping system and a newly upgraded nervous system.

With the vectoring controllable by thought, while I couldn't entirely fly it was the next best thing. Especially combined with a grappling hook able to adjust my trajectories or gain any needed elevation.

Thrust from my boots turn what should have been a crash into me hitting the rooftop running and soon the buildings are flying by until after about ten minutes I've made it to my target.

A run-down abandoned warehouse left to the tender mercies of urban decay wasn't uncommon in a city like Brockton Bay, although it wasn't where I expected to be led. I was expecting a front business or some random hideout, maybe the guy's house. There were also too many cars parked in the surrounding streets. I wouldn't have noticed if not for my mapping software given they were spread out and distant from the warehouse itself, but there wasn't anything else around here that would justify the number I was seeing on the surrounding streets.

I jumped the gap and carefully aimed my landing to not risk making any major noise before creeping up on one of the small skylights. A quick thought fired my scanner and mapping software to begin reading the interior even as I peeked over to see the source of all the now audible noise.

A makeshift ring of concrete dividers sat surrounded with cheap two-tiered aluminum bleachers, the portable kind you'd find around small baseball lots in parks or schools. Work lights on stands were set up around the edges powered by a small portable generator whose hum I couldn't make out underneath the yelling and growling.

I'd tracked the guy to a damn dog-fighting ring of all places. Gritting my teeth I pulled away from the skylight before taking a breath to steady myself and think. I wanted to barge in there and knock some heads, I really did. But I was still trying to be a hero not a psychopath, and that meant delaying I needed to call this in so law enforcement would arrive soon enough that less people had a chance to get away. Thankfully since the PRT had been kind enough to give me a rather nice phone I'd switched my stuff over and slapped the old one into my helmet for just such an occasion.

Hendricks had been kind enough to even give me a number to call in case of cape-business so I wasn't stuck going through the typical emergency number.

"This is Hendricks!" I blinked and paused.

"How understaffed are you guys that you're playing 911 operator on top of everything else?" I almost missed the sigh of relief on the other end while I pondered if the local PRT was really that overworked.

"I'm not. I gave you this number as an emergency line so you could get in direct contact with me if something happened, not as the PRT's operator lines. Those are a separate system."

If I wasn't wearing a helmet I would have smacked myself in the face. I'd thought it was the number to call to report to law enforcement when he's meant it as an emergency contact. I'd probably woke him up thinking I was under attack or something until he'd heard the tone of my voice. It figures I had to start my cape career off with some sort of screw up.

"Sorry about that, that's…that's my bad." He chuckled in response which at the very least meant I hadn't made too big a faux pas.

"No worries, I should have been more clear. Given all the other things we covered I'll consider it a good sign you remembered it in the first place."

"I guess. I'll let you go, sorry for the false alarm."

"Hold on!" I was interrupted by the sound of typing which made me feel a bit better. If he was at the office then I hadn't dragged him out of bed. "I can forward the information to the right people, so go ahead. What's going on? Fender bender? Kids smashing mail boxes?"

Uncle Sam whatever you're paying the man it isn't enough.

"I need law enforcement to the abandoned warehouse on the corner of West Stonewell. Sooner rather than later. I'm looking down at an Empire dog-fighting ring with about…I count forty or so people as a rough estimate."

For a second, I thought we'd been disconnected.

"…PRT inbound ETA ten to fifteen minutes!"

"Thanks Hendricks, you're the best." I took several steps back and stretched. With the good guys coming it was time for me to do my part.

"Eric don't do anything!"

I closed the line and leapt, air-jets firing to lift me a good fifteen feet up before driving me down fast and hard enough that what was left of the skylight exploded under my boots, hands already pulling two foam canisters from my belt. I landed as the people inside began to shout and jump away from the glass and pieces of metal raining down and sent both canisters into the crowd in front of me before they could start to scatter. A sharp snap-hiss preceded a blooming white mist that congealed and expanded to trap everybody inside of it.

My combat HUD flashed a warning as it read the data from my mapping software and scanner, icons tagging anybody in the room with guns or knives, a few handguns thankfully counted among the number of people I'd already trapped. My armor was good and the undersuit was tough enough that I a lucky shot from a lower caliber weapon should only hurt instead of hospitalizing me, but rule number one of warfare was not to get shot in the first place.

A quick glance around counted about six people left with guns, five around the crowd and one up on a makeshift stage that I hadn't seen due to the angle of the skylight, another icon tagging the man there as the one whose phone I'd tracked.

I grabbed my pulse gun with my left hand from its holster, my right snagging my crossbow from where it folded against the small of my back, and quick snap of the wrist unfolding and locking the arms open and ready to fire. I needed to maintain the initiative so I bolted up using the hardened mass of foam as a platform.

I skid to a halt when I made it to the top.

Phone guy was a tall and bulky man in a tank top and leather jacket. He was also one of three people up on stage. I hadn't paid the others any mind on the combat HUD as they weren't marked as armed. In hindsight, I should have taken the time to look and scout things out completely before jumping in.

In contrast to the slowly dwindling panic around the ring an unamused Hookwolf stood there, parts of his arms shifting as shapes started to physically crawl their way around underneath his skin. Next to him an equally unamused Stormtiger.

Show fear and you're dead.

"You're new."

I needed to buy time for my HUD to process things, so with a sigh I rolled my shoulders to release some of the tension like I was getting ready for track instead of facing down a wanted killer. A few of the gang members who had drawn their guns by this point had paused, not willing to interrupt their boss now that he's decided to say something. Not that he probably needed any help killing me.

One wrong move here and I'd be dead, so I did the only thing I could think of.

"Hi…I'm Nautical. I'm new to the bay."

I took a step and let myself slide down the portion of the foam that had hardened after spilling over into the ring, making the two bloodied dogs inside jump back and growl. Without reacting I stepped forwards and flared my jets to kick up enough dust to scare them, sending them running over the edges of the ring without anyone seeming to care. That was good, I didn't like the idea of hurting dogs. I tried to ignore the cages off to one side of the stage. Or the pile next to those…

"I like long walks on the beach, thunderstorms, meeting new people."

Hookwolf was changing, willing to let me talk while the metal flowed out of him. Stormtiger floated up slightly, more and more air getting sucked into his hands. I kept walking slowly to the center of the ring. Flicking my eyes up to where my HUD displayed what was behind me to make sure nobody was sneaking up on me while I did so.

"I know we only just met, so maybe this is a bit forward of me…"

I was stuck in a building with two of the cities most dangerous capes, and any help was at best ten minutes away. They had dangerous powers, far more experience fighting, a willingness to kill and cripple, and plenty of thugs for back up.

"I can't help it though; I just have to ask."

All I had was a bunch of gear I'd cobbled together in my basement from scraps.

"Do you ever get into this ring yourself Pluto, or is that just for the dogs that Kaiser hasn't had fixed?"

The stage crumpled under the weight of the growing and writhing mass of hooks and blades. Phone guy jumped and bolted off, I imagine to avoid becoming collateral. In contrast, I figured at this point there wasn't really any way I could dig myself deeper.

As best I could with my hands full, I mimed patting my legs and gave a whistle.

"Come here boy!"

Stormtiger shot up as a metal wolf monster the size of a truck leapt. If I didn't move Hookwolf wouldn't need the hooks and blades. I'd be a smear on the ground from sheer mass. The best my armor would do is maybe blunt just enough of the impact to feel the pain of being shredded.

My HUD beeped, joined by a signal through the neural link as icons snapped onto both of the capes.

Despite everything, I had a great feeling about this.

Spoiler: Second Build: Generic Cyberpunk

I shouldn't, but it's Worm Fanfic tradition for protag's to bite off more than they can chew on their first outing.

Last edited: May 3, 2022

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GilGilMashi

Dec 28, 2021

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Threadmarks Chapter 4 - Dog Fighting

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GilGilMashi

GilGilMashi

May 3, 2022

#55

January 24th, 2010

Brockton Bay

Real fights being nothing like TV is one of those things that anybody with a lick of sense would know, but it's not really something you understand until you experience it. God help me though…

The ground where I'd been standing shattered as Hookwolf landed like the fist of God, and I couldn't stop myself from laughing as the thrust from my armor had already drove me safely forward and under him into a skidding roll.

Neural feedback from Combat HUD functioning optimally. Estimated point five seco-

I snapped my left hand up and over until the reticle turned green and my pulse gun bucked in my hand, sounding like staticky puff just before the invisible EMP burst hit the generator they'd been using. It rocked and seemed to hop in the air.

I was already up and vaulting over the other side of the ring as it blew, Hookwolf taking the brunt of the force as the foam and dividers shielded the squishier thugs who weren't behind him. Yells filled the air as people panicked and either hit the ground or were thrown to it from where what little got to them hit them like the worlds flashiest football tackle.

Pulse gun revisions stronger than expected. Minimal injuries.

Overloading the generator into a small bomb blew the lights hooked up to it at the same time, blinding and pelting everyone in glass fragments, plunging the warehouse into complete darkness. At least for anybody without a Tinker HUD.

The crossbow in my other arm only gave a soft whir as I sent bolts flying. Mr. Cell Phone was the only thug still vertical now, and thus the most likely to make the dumb decision of firing wildly without being able to see what he was shooting at. Getting hit with a lucky shot or random ricochet just sounded embarrassing.

One slammed into his gun arm, the deceptively small bolt knocking it back and away even as it dumped electric charge from its conductive core, modulated just enough to be paralyzing and painful. The outer shell unfolding into grappling prongs made sure that it stayed attached.

Satisfied that my scanner confirmed it was as nonlethal as I'd intended, the second took him in the gut and put him on the ground a hairs breadth after his gun hit the floor.

Before I could reorient Stormtiger's head snapped towards me, my HUDs warning the only reason I managed to dodge the blast of air that crumbled the divider behind me. I rolled again and almost got to my feet before having to dodge another.

I bit down a curse before it could give me away in the dark, wondering how the hell he was keeping a bead on me…

Aerokinetic.

…I was wearing a suit of armor constantly sucking in the surrounding air.

Well shit.

I'd lost the initiative. Stormtiger darted forward from where he'd been floating and despite my maneuvering within seconds he was within reach, and I was having to dart back and weave away from his air claws. Frustratingly even with my HUD and his inability to see he was still coming dangerously close to cutting me open.

A bit of the thrill died while my adrenaline spiked even higher, a rapidly sobering part of my mind making a note of the difference between me and an experienced fighter, and a parahuman who'd had plenty of time to master his powers at that. He'd knocked me off balance and closed to where I didn't have a chance to shoot.

My jets fired as I leapt back again, zigzagging slightly through the various debris and junk. Stormtiger always right on my heels, only a few glancing bumps against the obstacles he couldn't see buying me what little space I could get. Once I got enough to give me a chance to do something other than dodging I burned my jets as hard as I dared.

My helmet slammed into his face as I threw myself forward into a headbutt.

Minor cosmetic damage to helmet, it'll buff out.

Whatever sense his powers gave him didn't give him enough warning to dodge with his momentum already committed to pressing me back, and I finally got a chance to launch myself up into the rafters. They wouldn't be much protection but my helmet was feeding me a crystal clear sense of where and how to move to avoid any collisions, and I was willing to wager with a possible concussion his powers wouldn't be as accurate in targeting me up here.

The other thugs seemed to be scrambling towards the exits, which left just one pooty tat with a concussion and a pissed off modern art project. My crossbow had a few tricks that should let me deal with the first, and then I could improvise…

My HUD screamed as a chunk of concrete about the same size as me slammed through the space I'd been a moment ago, buckling the roof with a squeal of twisted struts and sheet metal. In the panic to move I clipped another strut and went spinning ass over teakettle.

Which hilariously enough was the only reason I felt Hookwolf's claw slam into my armored midsection instead of my unarmored thighs.

With a wrenching motion I felt gravity take hold as Hookwolf's leap became a fall, whatever barbs or blade he was made off digging deeper into the armor plating. I was hooked like a fish, and about to hit the ground right before the rest of the bastard came down on top of me.

I slammed the emitter of the pulse gun into the churning metal of his arm, flicked the safeties off with a thought, and pulled the trigger.

Instead of a staticky puff, there was just the reek of ozone and crackling metal before it exploded. Sending the both of us flying away from each other.

My thrusters fired barely in time so that I bounced painfully when I hit the mass of hardened foam, still with enough give to be blissfully softer than concrete.

I hit the concrete right after of course, skidding and tumbling until I was face down. My ears were ringing and I felt like I'd been swatted by the worlds biggest fly swatter, but I was alive.

Blearily I noted that I'd skidded close to the door.

If I wanted to stay alive, I should probably use it.

Ignoring the blurring in my vision and the dead spot in my HUD that told me my helmet had taken some damage that wouldn't buff out, I forced myself to my feet as slowly as I dared.

Three stumbling steps to get moving to a jog. Four jogging steps to get my balance and move into a run. Then a jet assisted leap to send me flying out through the opening where the spectators had booked it when this whole fiasco started.

I made it a good thirty feet before the soles of my boots touched the parking lot and I heard the door come apart from Pluto tearing out after me. The ringing in my ears replaced with a growling that I was pretty sure was my imagination playing tricks on me as I watched Hookwolf, now with no obstacles and able to see started galloping towards me.

If I wasn't having trouble standing, I'd probably be able to outmaneuver him and get away. As things stood, my legs gave out and I was left skidding on asphalt as my jets and momentum kept pushing me forward.

I rolled, bringing my arms up so I'd at least get one or two shots into the bastard before I died.

Hookwolf started to skid to a halt himself as his run started to bring him within spitting distance. Unless my pulse gun had hurt him more than his freshly regrown arm led me to believe, I wasn't sure why he was trying to put on the brakes.

I got my answer when the growling got louder and a motorcycle flew over me to crash right into his face. Followed by an armored figure hitting the ground in between us, in-built jets that had influenced my own design choices turning the motion into an effortless dash as a polearm swung through the air.

Integrated plasma injector system in cutting edge of blade. Integrated grappling hook. Integrated kinetic capacitor system. Integrated flail configuration. Integrate-

Armsmaster was here.

Before Hookwolf even had time to react a halberd swung through one of his legs like the steel wasn't even there, edge glowing bright enough you could track the path it took by the heat haze it left behind. The swing turned into a spin that brought the head separating on a retractable cable, snapping into a solid orb that came back around to slam into his chest and send the truck sized monster hurtling back.

Hookwolf and Stormtiger had driven me off easily the moment they'd gotten over being blinded and caught off guard. Armsmaster had been on the scene for seconds and he'd already taken Hookwolf halfway to the pound.

Integrat-

I had a long way to go.

With a barely audible click the halberd snapped back into its normal shape and Armsmaster advanced, Hookwolf surging back to his feet, front leg reforming as more metal pushed its way out of his body. He was limping, which made me wonder just how hard that hit had been. He'd taken two explosions point blank at this point without seeming to care.

"Leave."

It took me a moment to realize Armsmaster had spoken, both of them standing there staring each other down. For far too long I kept my weapons up and ready, as steady as I could manage, waiting for Hookwolf to make a move.

Eventually he turned his gaze from Armsmaster to me. I met it, waiting for something to happen.

I tried not to let my relief show when he turned and retreated. Hurtling down a side street and out of sight. Armsmaster waited until we couldn't hear him anymore, eyes roving over the warehouse. Stormtiger wasn't coming out to pickup where Hookwolf had left off, so I could only assume he had left too.

My HUD's scanner wasn't showing any warnings or targets on the map, so I let my weapons slip from my hands and focused on pushing myself up. I bit down a surge of embarrassment as the professional hero turned around to watch me try to wobble onto my feet before giving up and rolling onto my back, taking a couple of deep breaths to relax and steady myself.

"I knew adrenaline crashes were supposed to be bad, but holy shit."

Armsmaster didn't respond as I finally managed to turn to look at him. He was standing there stock still, staring with his lips tightened into a severe expression. Which was…fair. I probably wouldn't be too happy if I had to bail out my stupid ass either.

"Amazing entrance by the way, you totally saved my bacon there." His only response was to pale, hand snapping up to the side of his helmet. He began yelling something I couldn't quite make out into what I assumed was his coms.

Looking around, Hookwolf's severed limb was over on one side, the stump cooling but still red-hot. The motorcycle had gotten off surprisingly intact even if the damage on the front made me wince. That'd probably take a day or two to fix. I probably should chip in for the repairs.

"-dical team here now!"

Way to go Eric, try and play hero and break the man's bike instead.

"I said NOW!"

I must have hurt Hookwolf more than I'd thought with my pulse gun, there was a small but visible trail of red all the way from the torn open door out into the parking lot. Not to mention a lot more splattered around in our immediate vicinity where Armsmaster took the other arm. He didn't seem too bothered by the loss with how easily he regrew them, which was fortunate since I didn't think I wanted to add mutilation to my list of fuckups tonight.

A halberd clattered to the ground as Armsmaster hit the ground next to me, shoving my dropped gear out of his way. The lazy wave I gave in greeting was cut off by screaming as he drove his hands down onto my midsection.

"You have sirens for a reason! DRIVE FASTER!"

Pissed or not, I could have done without him playing patty cake with the bruise Johnny gave me. What the hell wa-

Hookwolf doesn't bleed.

Oh, Well shit.

"I need you to focus, look at me!"

Sorry Helen.

Everything will be okay.

Writing fight scenes is hard. On the one hand I hate how short this chapter is, on the other fights are horrifically fast affairs and I think this does a good job of representing that. Writing more to pad it out didn't feel right. Hence why I deleted the first draft of this. Enjoy folks.

Last edited: May 4, 2022

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GilGilMashi

May 3, 2022

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Threadmarks Chapter 5 - Still Alive

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GilGilMashi

GilGilMashi

May 10, 2022

#69

Another one!

January 24th, 2010

Brockton Bay

"Screw you Tats."

Pain hurt. Not many people really experienced what that meant. Not the bumps or bruises or even the mundane injuries like cutting yourself on the kitchen knife or breaking a bone. The real serious injuries, the ones that could and should kill you hurt in ways so deep you didn't feel it the same way. It was just merciless gnawing that ate away at who you were.

"You get to complain when you're paying me."

That you'd be dead or so close to it that you probably weren't able to register much of anything at that point was proof that God loved us.

"Don't act like you don't owe me."

That trying to fix it brought that agony back tenfold was proof that God hated us.

"Desperate men aren't in any position to split hairs. Not if they're smart."

Breathe, in and out. Slow and deep. The body wanted to panic. It wanted to breathe faster to get more life-giving oxygen. It wanted more fuel to throw on the fire to survive. The body was wrong. Breathe faster, hurt faster, die faster…

"Then again smart men don't pick a fight with the Ogre. Only the dumb and dead."

Breathe, in and out. Keep my eyes forward, locked on the little window that was darkened to the point of uselessness by the years of polluted rain. Focus on the sounds of the water running down the street. The hum of the lights. Keep my arms locked against the back of the chair as I lean forward into it. The leather straps don't get rid of the chance that a spasm or jerk will kill me, only make it less likely.

"You mean the dumb or the dead."

If I looked closely, I could almost make out the shape snaking its arms into my lower back. Not the fine details, the full body tattoos whose designs that went out of style several generations of street girls ago, the signs of age and wear that the cybernetics and tattoos couldn't hide. They could disappear, any competent chop-doc could do a basic reskin if you had the money. Tats didn't care, wouldn't care.

"No, I don't."

I could feel the probes and claws snaking and peeling their way into my body, icy in a way that was very different from the shivering that threatened to lull me to unconsciousness. To a sleep that I wouldn't wake up from. Breathe, in and out. Focus. You'd built those for her, installed them even. There wouldn't be any malfunctions or misalignments, no uncalibrated control system from a third-rate aug reseller to kill me by accident. If they slipped, giving that last nick needed to end me for good it'd be because she meant to.

Dumb people looked at Tats and saw a street girl who got lucky and survived the years of drugs and violence to land in her own little niche. Someone afraid who kept her head down and bed open to avoid the worst of this place.

Smart people remembered that this place wasn't any kinder to girls like that than it was to anybody else and saw somebody who survived anyway. Surviving was the only measure of victory here, it was the mark of a winner. Somebody who had what it took to keep going, somebody you didn't underestimate no matter what they looked like.

"I could have won."

The really smart people remembered that Tats was very good at piecing everybody who came through here back together. They remembered that street girls like Tats don't learn what will kill you and what won't by going to medical school. They noticed that sometimes problem people show up. Sometimes thugs started asking for money, or people lingered too long where kids wound up going missing. Sometimes men in suits with lots of money started setting up in buildings and acted real twitchy when you asked questions. Sometimes they seemed to vanish without a word. Sometimes Tats added more eyes to her tattoos.

"No, you couldn't."

The really smart people were very scared of Tats.

"I had the damn bastard. I had better gear, better weapons, better everything." I clenched my teeth hard enough that the creak in my jaw almost drowned out the surge of agony as another piece of metal slid through meat to drop into a tray.

"That's why you're here, building a better gun doesn't mean you win. The Ogre's been killing for years, given up everything to live for nothing else. He has a problem he kills it like he killed the last one, the one before that, and the one before that."

Another surge of agony, another clink in the tray, another second stretching to eternity as enamel grinds together.

"The man with the better hammer dies when the other man is better at caving in a skull. As it is, be thankful he felt merciful."

Breath, in and out. Focus. Almost done.

"I don't think being left impaled counts as merciful."

Tats didn't laugh, but there was a pause, a brief click as the lenses that replaced her eyes whirred quietly. It was as close as she came.

"For him, it does."

Breath, in and out. Focus.

"He's a monster Tats. The only parts of him that weren't made in a lathe were grown in a vat. He's not fucking human."

Another pause, longer this time. The whirring starting and stopping. A glance at the blurred reflection in the window showing the glare of lenses meeting my gaze via the window.

"…I don't think you have much room to talk."

Breath, in and out. Don't react. She'll know if you so much as twitch. She literally has her hands inside your damned arteries.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The probes go from gently prodding to a vice, clamping down on meat and nerves and the only reason I don't bite my own tongue is the claw of horrifically segmented instruments that swings around to grab my face, forcing their way between my teeth and preventing me from looking away.

"I'm not stupid."

Everything I've done, everything I've gone through, and it's going to end here.

The pain drives everything else out. There's no sense of my body, of my aching limbs. No sense of up or down or memory. Just pure suffering that stretches out until it slips away and I can finally stop screaming into the claw that hasn't budged an inch against my thrashing.

Slowly, another hand slides around, bringing into view a long segment of metal. Sharpened on one side, rough and jagged where I'd had to saw through it to free myself. The etching becoming visible as the blood drips away. Images lifted from medieval illustrations of torture and execution.

"If you were human you'd be dead from sho-"

"-ck already. Minor brute rating for sure."

Drifting back to consciousness barely able to make out anything that's going on after thinking you were about to die was miserable. Maybe I should be grateful, as it is I'd have to settle for feeling like shit.

"Case in point, he's coming to." I didn't recognize that voice but I could place it around my midsection, same place as the pain. The throbbing, aching, but very much a sign that I'm alive pain.

"We'd better check for a concussion."

That one was a little more familiar. It took everything I had but I managed to force my eyes open, just in time t-

An armored hand reaching down for my face in the dark, the silhouette behind it looming and blotting out the lig-

"Easy! You're safe!"

Breath, in and out, focus.

Looking around I could peg the earlier voice as the EMT who was looking at me with the kind of relaxed professional concern I imagine came with doing a job like that in Brockton Bay, Hendricks kneeling by my feet. It didn't look like they'd moved me much if at all. My armor was off and setting to the side and there was what looked to be a hastily erected medical tent around all of us, and off the the side…

"Better now?"

I let go where my fingers were white knuckled on Armsmaster's gauntlet, the material creaking before my grip loosened. One more embarrassment on the list after picking a stupid fight and wrecking his bike.

Armsmaster just grinned and nodded, flexing the hand and eying where I'd been gripping it. "Yeah, minor brute rating." The indents were hard to notice, but they were there.

Splice accelerated due to trauma and adrenaline induced surge of healing. Adrenal response greatly magnified.

At the rate I was going I'd break his favorite mug before the night was through.

"My bad." I tried not to flinch as the EMT moved forward and started checking me for the signs of a concussion. Hendricks snorted and Armsmaster just let out a grunt.

"Hardly unusual, given how badly you were injured." He responded. There was a scraping sound as the EMT pulled back, Armsmaster holding up the armor that had protected my midsection. It was barely recognizable, deformed and warped like somebody had taken a sledgehammer to it. The gaping rent in the center stained a darkening red.

"Taking a direct hit from Hookwolf and surviving isn't a small feat for a Tinkers first suit." He said, framing it more as an observation than a compliment.

"Along with small explosions."

All three of them gave me a look, and I tried to shrug in response before wincing and settling back down as carefully as I could.

"He had me hooked, I had to blow his arm to make sure I didn't hit the concrete with him on top of me."

The EMT God bless him was the only one who seemed to take it in stride. Nodding and pocketing his penlight before starting to snap his gloves off. "That would probably explain all the bruising from the waist up." Instead of shrugging I just snorted.

"How bad did he get me?" I asked. I wasn't sure how the hell I'd hide a hospital visit from Helen, not after what just happened.

"Normally if you weren't in a body bag, you'd be in the ER getting your abdominal cavity vacuumed out so it didn't turn septic from your intestines being punctured, then pumped full of antibiotics while you spent a nice long while recovering but…" He reached over under the blood bag I hadn't noticed feeding into me and grabbed a small pile of empty ones and slapped them against his palm as if to make a point. "We hooked you up to try and stop the blood loss from killing you and instead your guts start sealing themselves as fast as I can press them together with surgical glue. You're on bag number five."

Ah, right.

Accelerated splice effects proceeding at a constant rate, damage overwritten in the process. Material necessary.

"I'm guessing that's why I'm not getting intimate with a dyson right now, nothing left in my guts to cause infection?" It'd also explain why other than the pain I felt incredibly hungry right about now.

"Nailed it in one." He dropped the bags and his gloves into a waste container and started gathering up his kit. "You're going to be miserable for a couple of weeks, but as much as you've healed up you should be good to go. Just don't do anything strenuous and baby yourself. If it starts to get worse even a tiny bit, get your ass to a hospital. Otherwise right now you're the cities latest medical miracle."

"Cool, thanks doc." Given he didn't know about what was running through my veins right now, I'd probably be back to normal in a couple of days tops. Not that I was eager enough for a repeat of this to go out of my way to test that.

But I'm not going back to doing nothing.

He unhooked the IV before grabbing his things and exited, and I drug myself up to a sitting position. Hendricks and Armsmaster giving me a curious look. You'd think that in their line of work they'd be used to stuff like this, but I guess taking someone for dead made the Lazarus bit a hard swerve regardless.

"Don't suppose anybody snagged a celebratory pizza on their way to bail me out?" I said. Hendricks just snorted again before breaking out into a relieved laugh. Armsmaster turning back to the armor plate and tapping it a couple of times.

"You scared the shit out of me kid. Bigger events like these always mean capes in attendance." Hendricks said. "I tried to warn you, but you hung up too fast."

I didn't manage to hide the embarrassed wince this time. "Yeah, that's…that's my fuck-up."

"Not the worst." Armsmaster chimed in before Hendricks nodded, grimacing.

"Yeah, usually a fresh cape against a heavy like Hookwolf ends a lot worse. Not that you didn't look it." Hendricks paused before reaching over and pulling up the helmet I hadn't realized I wasn't wearing, rotating it to show the jagged hunk of blade that had lodged itself straight through my visor.

That dead spot in my HUD wasn't a malfunction, it'd been a piece of Hookwolf right over my eye.

If I'd hit the ground at any other angle or the blast had just been a little stronger, my helmet a little less tough…that'd have been game over.

"As it is…" Hendricks interrupted my train of thought after letting me process for a moment. "While there's plenty of other places they can set-up for the big nights like this, there's a pretty chunk of change sitting back in there that won't be going into the Eighty Eight's pockets. Not to mention the dogs we might be able to rescue and the guys we got caught red-handed at the scene. All-in-all it's still a win kid, even if you didn't bag a cape."

He grimaced when he looked back at the helmet, hesitating before grabbing the blade by its sides and with a grunt pulling it free, holding it as if to prove his point.

"I've sure as hell seen worse luck…anyway" He let it clatter to the asphalt and got up, setting the helmet down and dusting his hands off. Nodding to Armsmaster he pulled the flap aside and made to leave. "I think I'm going to get that pizza."

God bless you Hendricks.

"You made containment foam." My relief died quickly as I turned back to Armsmaster who was looking at me expectantly.

"Yeah, one of the earlier things I figured out how to build. Not sure how similar it is to what you guys use but it's easy enough once you fidd-" I had left a bunch of people trapped in the stuff, and it wouldn't start degrading naturally for over an hour. I snaked my arm out to grab my stun baton and held it out.

"Here, I designed it to dissolve if you run a current through it, it won't pass a charge to whoever's inside it but it'll degrade it without having to leave them in the-"

"That's not necessary, we've already got them out." He cut me off, visor still locked on my face.

"Ah, sorry. Hope you guys didn't have to cut them out." I responded, unsure what he was looking for.

"We didn't, the same solution we use to dissolve ours worked on yours, if a bit slower." He said. He held my gaze for a moment longer before seeming to find whatever he was looking for. "Containment Foam is a closely guarded secret, and the counter solution is the same. Both are specifically tailored to react together the way they do."

Oh…oh shit.

"If you just made something with similar properties they still wouldn't be compatible, but yours is."

Please god don't tell me they think I've stolen classified information.

"…if you hadn't walked in and handed us the design with your notes a lot of people would have a lot of questions for you."

Oh thank god for past Eric's impulsive decisions.

"As it is I'm impressed."

"What?" I said, my panic derailed.

Armsmaster snorted and passed me my helmet from where Hendricks had left it, which I slid on grateful for something to hide my facial expressions. Even with the now very noticeable gap in my visor it added a sense of security I needed at the moment, especially when my HUD snapped to life and it began feeding me the details of my surroundings and all the activity around us.

"The work you submitted was already impressive for a fresh Tinker, even without cracking one of Dragon's most useful projects in your basement." He reached over and picked up his Halberd from behind him and stood up, moving to leave same as Hendricks.

"…cool." I said. Armsmaster saying you did good Tinker work was basically getting invited to eat lunch with the cool kids.

"Once you're ready they'll take your statement, and you should be okay to go. Be at the PRT headquarters at noon Wednesday, they'll arrange transport to the Rig from there." He said, glancing back over his shoulder as he stepped out. "And good job."

Then I was left on my ass in a tent. I don't know how I turned this into a win, but I frankly I was too tired to think about it. Instead I scrapped together the pieces of my armor, re-suited as carefully as I could to avoid aggravating my injuries, and stepped out.

The parking lot had two PRT vans and multiple squad cars pulled up, troopers and officers going about the busy work of cleaning up my mess. The ambulance within spitting distance of the tent for…obvious reasons.

I almost startled when I noticed the fully armored trooper standing off the side of the tent entrance, helmet cocked as they watched me.

"Don't look at me like that." I said. If I've learned anything from my life it was when you needed to cover your ass, say something stupid and slip away before anybody caught on what you'd done. "We both know they put us in these costumes on purpose to draw in the beatings."

For a second, they kept staring at me like I'd grown a second head, and just when I thought I'd made things more awkward they slowly lifted a hand from the foam sprayer, bringing their fingers close together in the universal sign for "Just a little bit."

I couldn't help it, I let out a laugh that my wounded gut very quickly made me regret. I settled for just giving them a nod and a muttered "knew it" and moving off to find somebody to give the police report to.

Hendricks was true to his word and showed up with an extra-large pizza soon after I'd finished reporting. It was the kind of cheap and greasy that told me he'd snagged it out of whatever convenience store was still open at this time of night. If I'd inhaled half of it the moment we'd gotten back into the tent so I could remove my helmet, he had the grace not to say anything other than leaving me with a bottle of water and getting a promise to come in for a more thorough debriefing once I had healed up some.

Given the PRT already knew who I was I took the offer to drop me off closer to where I lived, and from there I made it home without much in the way of suffering.

I didn't bother doing much with my gear aside from shoving it into my bedroom closet so nobody would see it just peeking in through the window, a short and clumsy shower getting the worst of the filth off me.

I tried not to look too closely at myself in the mirror, especially not where the scarring and bruising was visibly less leaving the bathroom than it'd been going in. I didn't have the energy for the reminder of how close I'd been to dying tonight. Nor the flood of urges and information that wanted to press in from the back of my mind when I considered what the serum was doing to me.

Eventually I stumbled into the kitchen in nothing but boxers, raiding the fridge and pantries for whatever I could stuff into my mouth, mostly chips and canned vegetables that didn't require the herculean task of operating anything more complicated than a door or a can opener.

The half-gallon of chocolate milk I just drank straight from the jug. I didn't care who judged me. I lived alone, just survived a life-or-death fight, I was a fully grown man, and I had earned the right to drink my choccy milk however I damn well pleased.

There were almost tears in my eyes by the time I finished and the aching in my gut was just from what little injuries were left. The physical relief would have dropped me to the floor if I didn't have the counter to lean on.

I'd barely squeaked out a win, and a small one at that. It'd taken the element of surprise, a nigh-total sensory advantage, and what had felt like an eternity of pure terror and adrenaline packed into scant minutes. But I'd finally gone out, finally done something no matter how small. Even if I didn't take home the championship belt, I'd still bloodied the noses of people who'd been doing this for years.

Small as they were they were still real, and for once I could tamp down on the shame that had been weighing me down for months. I could be proud, should feel proud. But…

But it isn't enough.

Not when I could look outside my kitchen window into the alleyway and see the almost fresh Eighty-Eight tag on the fence.

Not when they had still gotten away to do it all again.

Not when I could have done more.

Next time, the Wolf didn't get to win.

Turns out trying to belt out 7k plus word sized chapters can hamper your productivity, who knew. Hope you all enjoy folks.

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GilGilMashi

May 10, 2022

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Threadmarks Chapter 6 - Interlude: Johnny Noe

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GilGilMashi

GilGilMashi

May 17, 2022

#85

January 25th, 2010

Brockton Bay

Interlude: Johnny Noe

God help me I needed to stop digging my way to the bottom of a bottle. If only so I didn't have to drink this shitty coffee. Halfway through my second cigarette and I was still willing to bet most of the tar in my mouth came from the damn mug.

Better than the damn hangover though, if not by much.

"Fucked up again didn't you Johnny."

Didn't get a peep in response from the bottles or the cans on the coffee table, framing a pile of empty tv dinner trays that weren't going anywhere until I ran out of room and swept them into the half-full trash bag leaning against the side of the table. The kitchen was worse, even the bathroom had a few bottles clinking against the tub. The less said about the bedroom the better, some of the bottles in there were probably hitting their fourth or fifth birthdays. Not that I gave a shit.

Not like anybody would be visiting casa-de-Johnny, and I couldn't remember the last time I slept anywhere but the couch. Another nail in the coffin of my absolute shitfest of an existence. If my liver didn't give out in a few years I might just get booked for a human-interest story. Might be good for a laugh or two before I drank myself to death. Then again if the Krauts or the Bad Boyz didn't get me the Endbringers were probably still next in line before liver failure.

A final drag burned the cigarette down to the butt and I flicked it into the ashtray. I still had some coffee left but like hell I was going to finish it. I needed to get up and get some groceries, maybe hit a movie. Find something to do that didn't require having anybody who gave a shit or a second for Johnny Noe.

I didn't know what Daisy was going to think, maybe Helen and Jeb would explain it or maybe they'd make something up. I didn't want to know, probably didn't deserve to either. Better for everybody that way.

Eric was going on the list of friends I used to have before the either me or the Bay happened. It was always one or the other, sometimes like this one it was both. Those were the worst. Those made you wonder if things wouldn't be so bad if there'd just been a little less shit on the pile.

I tried not to remember the names, it made things easier.

I left the cup and the butt on the table and let myself out, slamming the door a bit harder than I should to make sure the piece of shit latched, locked up like a good little Brocktonite does when they don't want to be hunting down their tv at the local pawn store.

I hate this city.

The building was a paint by numbers hunk of junk packed with whoever didn't have the money to live anywhere else. Stained carpets pressed flat for so long you'd think they'd installed tile, peeling wallpaper, doors with locks that probably should have been replaced years ago. All the hallmarks of landlords who didn't care to maintain a damn thing because anybody here didn't have a choice in the first place.

I hate this city.

The moment I'm out in the hall I regret it. Down the hall there's an ABB errand boy in a yelling match with the old man on the other side of the door. A smart Brocktonite in these parts would pretend not to see anything.

"I already paid, the next payment isn't supposed to be for two months!"

A smart Brocktonite wouldn't stand there glaring holes in the side of the punk's head.

"If the boss says you pay then you pay!"

A smart Brocktonite would use the time the old man uses to count out the money to get out of there before they caught any attention, they wouldn't be standing there glaring when the door shut, and the punk turned and made eye contact with your stink eye.

"…what the hell are you looking at!?"

As it was, I sneered at the prick and spat on the carpet before turning the corner towards the stairwell. I didn't have much love for the ABB on a good day. It wasn't a good day.

"Hey come back here!"

The shouting and footsteps were predictable. Thugs lived and died on reputation, insults had to be punished or you looked weak. Weak thugs didn't last long in this business. Brockton Bay was worse than most cities too. There were always more of the desperate or stupid to fatten up the ranks if you waited.

With the distance I didn't have to change my pace at all to make it through the stairwell door and let it shut behind me. I settled down for a wait, not that it'd be a long one. Even without wounded pride the punk was here to collect money, he couldn't let a tenant slip out without forking over cash. The disrespect just gave him an excuse to have fun with it.

He came pile-driving through the door and made it to the edge of the landing, looking down the stairs and coming to a halt when he realized he couldn't see anybody.

"Jesus you're fucking green."

A shove pushes the door away from hiding me and cuts us both off from anybody tempted to peek. He spins around at the noise and startles, hesitating as his brain catches up to the situation he's in. It's a mistake. Never hesitate.

The hook takes him straight on in textbook liver shot, his legs giving out before the air's fully forced out of his lungs. He hits the floor in a boneless heap instead of curling up to protect his vitals and soft bits from a follow-up. Like a lot of kids these days he's probably never been ambushed like this enough to learn the instinct. The softer side of me wants to take that as a sign that maybe things are getting better in some way.

Most of me just thinks he wouldn't have survived a night back when Iron Rain and Marquis were on these streets. In those days we still had the Teeth too. They didn't call them the Butcher because they tucked people into bed.

"…fuck you!" He grinds out. He's finally getting some strength back in his limbs, but it's taking too long. If I was somebody else, he'd be dead already. At the rate he was getting his wits together I'd be able to finish another cigarette before he had a real shot at fighting back. I gave it three, two…

His hand bolts towards his waistband, using his body to try and shield the motion from me. He's not entirely hopeless, but the heel of my boot still catches his wrist before the .22 peashooter can come close to getting a bead on me. The gun goes clattering against the wall as he yells and thrashes, wrist pinned under my weight.

I shouldn't be enjoying this. I promised to leave that Johnny behind a long time ago but well…

"You have any idea what's going to happen to you!? You're messing with the ABB!?" He yells. His fist starts trying to beat at my shin, but he's got no leverage to make the hits stick.

"I'm not fucking with the ABB, I'm fucking with you."

I bend down and catch his other hand like he's a toddler throwing a tantrum, let my heel off his wrist and lift him up as high as he'll go. His kicking to get his feet back under him just makes it easier. A good street fighter would have thrown their weight up and into me, knocked me off balance and tried to take me to the ground.

Instead, my second punch hammers straight into his nose and it crumbles, putting stars in his eyes. I still got enough decency to pull it so it doesn't kill or cripple him, and a concussion would make it hard to remember the little talk we were about to have.

He's tough enough he's still yelling as I switch my grip to his shirt and belt, slamming him against the railing and dangling him over the long fall in between the flights of stairs. I make sure to press my boot down on one of his feet and pin most of his lower body with my own weight. If you dangle a prick like this you have to keep most of his lower body secured or you wind up accidentally heaving him over or dropping him when your grip slips.

Amateurs try to mimic it from the movies and wind up killing somebody by accident. Professionals know how to do it right. With him pinned like this I'd still have to put in effort to heave him over the edge, otherwise he's not going anywhere.

Not that it feels that way when you're in the hotseat, and he starts yelling and thrashing. That's another mistake amateurs make. Panic just makes it more likely you'll throw yourself over the edge, you need control and focus to escape a grip like this.

"You keep screaming like a girl and my eardrums might just decide you're not worth the effort to hold up."

His jaw snaps shut with a click, nose still bleeding. He does manage the gumption to spit in my face, which I can respect. In a situation like this it's more likely to make somebody lose their temper and drop you but digging your heels in and getting in a little last-minute spite isn't something I can blame anyone for.

It'd make me a hypocrite if I was being honest. Me and spite got along great. Mine was worn like old boot leather at his point.

"What the hell do you want!?" His voice is cracking, but he's getting some composure back. That's good.

"Don't play dumb, you're double-dipping on collecting. That's a no-no." I try not to growl it out, keep it nice and calm. All professional like.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, you don't make the rules arou-"

"Chen's hanging around pretty girls with a taste in expensive jewelry again isn't he…"

The words die in his mouth as he goes deathly pale, and I know I hit the nail on the head.

"Here's what's going to happen…"

With a yank I haul his face up to mine and he flinches, grabbing onto my wrist and squeezing for dear life until his hands go a bloodless white that match his face.

"I used to run these streets with Chen back before you were so much as a tingle in your father's balls, and he's not the only one. You're going to take what you got already and fuck right the hell off back to him and put it in his hand along with a little message from Johnny Noe."

I step back and haul him up higher as he screams. I might not be getting any younger and the booze will kill me before age even gets a chance, but Johnny Noe was always a brute. I had muscle to spare.

I body slam him into the ground and snarl into his face as the wind is knocked out of him for a second time. Making sure that I'm emphasizing my point in the oldest way on earth.

You're going to listen or I'm going to hurt you very very bad.

"No more double-dipping, no more covering stealing from the company till by footing the bill to the people you pricks are already fucking left and right! If I see so much as a street performer in ABB colors playing freebird for tips here I'm going to dust off a few other old friends and let them know so that they can bump Chen out of the competition with one phone call to the big boss!"

With a final twist I hurl him down the first flight to sprawl in a whimpering heap on the next landing.

"Then you and him both can have a little talk with the Oni or the Dragon." The last line comes out cold instead of a snarl and I watch him bolt for it as soon as he can get onto his feet. Give the kid credit where credit is due, despite the beating he takes the steps two at a time and soon I'm hearing him tear through the door at the bottom.

I stand there for a long time taking deep breathes, tamping down on the rage and shoving it back in the bottle. As soon as it's gone there's just the shame left. The part of me that knows I shouldn't be enjoying beating the crap out of a punk that couldn't be any older than Eric…it goes into the same bottle, although that feeling never really wants to stay down.

I hate this city.

The gun I pick up and unload, shoving the bullets into one pocket and it into the other. I'd seen more than one idiot accidentally put a bullet into his leg…or his nuts. It didn't look all that appetizing.

Right now, all I wanted was to turn around and head straight back to my apartment to fish out the whiskey. It wasn't like I had work today, and my social calendar was newly emptied.

After awhile I head down the stairs and make my way to where I'd parked the vandalized piece of shit I'd only got half-washed. I'd finish the job in a bit, I had at least one errand I should run before I went back to wallowing in my own self-pity.

I took the drive slow and kept the radio loud, only one stop before I finally arrived in the little maze of strip malls I knew better than the back of my hand. I pulled into the back alleys and parked by a pile of old cinder-blocks and a dumpster that only got emptied half as much as it should. By the time I was dragging the greasy paper bags and drinks out and shutting the door Louis had already crawled out of whatever hole he hid in, walking up with a smile and the usual awkward wave.

I never managed to figure out which alley or crevice he hid in, but I guess if you're homeless in Brockton you had to learn a few tricks.

"…Johnny!" Louis stumbled over the word, although not as bad as he did the others. I just smiled and passed him the bag he was trying not to stare at and set his drink down on the hood next to me as I leaned back on the car. He took it eagerly and started pulling out the triple bacon cheeseburger and fries. I didn't say anything and just started on my own pound and a half of cardiac disease.

"…bad day Johnny?"

I snorted through a wad of meat and washed it down before answering.

"Yeah…it's been a rough one. That obvious?"

Louis had stopped eating in favor of looking at me intensely, face scrunched up as he tried to articulate something in his head. I didn't rush him, he always got there eventually.

"…You don't tease me or joke when it's a bad day. You just hang around."

Yeah…yeah I did.

"Sometimes it's just nice to chill with a friend Louis."

Louis nodded and chewed at his burger for a bit before stopping to look at me again.

"…You should have brought Eric."

Yeah…

"Sorry Louis, Eric's probably not going to be around anymore."

I didn't let the bitter feeling rise any further than my throat. I was tougher than that, it wasn't the first time. You lost people living in the parts of the Bay I did, that was life. It wasn't always to the reaper, but you lost them all the same. Family, pretty girls you were sweet on, friends…

"Oh…I liked Eric."

We sat there for a minute, forcing down some more grease. I pulled out my pack and palmed two cigarettes, lighting one up and taking a long drag. Louis didn't respond other than to watch the smoke when I finally exhaled.

"Yeah…I did too."

I hate this city.

I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but it's finished and on we go to the next bit! I hope you enjoy!

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GilGilMashi

May 17, 2022

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Threadmarks Chapter 7 - Getting Back Up

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GilGilMashi

GilGilMashi

May 30, 2022

#105

Monday, January 25th, 2010

Brockton Bay

"Eric you don't have to do this."

John was a good guy, there wasn't any condemnation or frustration in his voice, just an understanding disappointment in how things turned out. The fact that he'd been trying to talk me out of it for about ten minutes as we hashed things out without trying to guilt or browbeat me said a lot about how much trouble he was willing to put up with. It said a lot of good things about him.

"I do. Once might slip under the radar but Bayside is too close to the ABB to risk it happening again because I decided to stick around. Vandalism is one thing but sparking a gang spat could get a lot of people hurt John."

It'd say a lot of bad things about me if I decided that putting them at risk didn't matter.

"…You shouldn't have to."

There was anger in his voice too, which wasn't unexpected. A black guy like John living in Brockton Bay was going to put up with a lot of shit. I didn't doubt he'd seen and been on the receiving end of worse. It didn't matter how big you were when the pricks could just get four or five friends to even the odds.

If it wasn't for how professional he was this happening on his doorstep and right under his nose would probably piss him off bad enough to give Johnny a run for his money. I didn't envy anybody who he caught trying for a repeat performance.

"If things worked the way they should then the world would be a very different place."

I never would have had a reason to move to Brockton Bay in the first place.

"True…" He went silent for a moment on the other line. "I'll go ahead and get your last paycheck processed; PTO included. I'll drop it in your mailbox when my shifts over."

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

"Are you sure it'll be enough to last you until you find something else? I know things can be tight around here."

I snorted. I still had savings after moving here and buying the house. I refused to touch the money on general principle unless it was necessary. But if push came to shove it'd keep me afloat for a time.

Even if life insurance was just a pretty way to say blood money.

"Don't worry about me John, I got a nest egg to fall back on. Plus a few options lined up in case I can't find anything else."

If I couldn't find anything and nobody got any patents out of my designs, I could call Hendricks and sign on the dotted line. It wasn't like anything was stopping me other than my own bullheadedness. They'd already bailed me out of getting myself killed, doing the same for going broke was less serious if probably more pathetic on my part.

Not that any of this would have happened if they didn't let the E88 use the streets as a playground.

"Alright…if things don't work out just call me and I'll get you back in Eric. No questions asked."

"Thanks John."

I let him go after a polite goodbye, trying not to scowl. John was a good guy, but here I was with another person ready to bail me out if I couldn't cut it. It was always somebody. I either do nothing and somebody else has to pick up my slack, or I try and they have to fix my mistakes when I fuck it up.

That had to end, and it had to end fast. Maybe I couldn't start with the Wolf, but he'd come in time. I needed to be stronger, faster, better. I had more than enough of that charge percolating in the back of my mind, just barely on the edge of my awareness no matter what I was doing. I'd never felt it this strong, it was practically quivering when my mind briefly passed over, ready to fire the moment I gave the word.

I sat there on the couch for several minutes, before taking my empty plate to the kitchen.

Before I did anything I needed to repair my gear. The scrapes and scuffs didn't matter but I was missing an important chunk of armor and my visor needed to be repaired as well. Of the two the latter hurt more. I'd stockpiled enough to cover a couple of repairs on all my gear but while the armor plating was obviously something I'd need to patch or replace as it got used, I hadn't planned on my visor getting damaged that bad in my first night out. I'd be able to fix it but if it got damaged like that again before I secured more materials I'd be out of luck.

Honestly if the surge of designs I'd started with hadn't been mostly advanced fabricators, tools, and other workshop equipment I probably wouldn't have been able to build what I had in the first place.

It still wasn't good enough.

I fished my gear out of the bedroom closet and down into my workshop. I couldn't afford to avoid it, but I could afford to get my things downstairs first. It was only a few more minutes of delay.

The helmet joined my armor on the main worktable, the rest set to the side. I let my power slip it's bounds enough that my hands were already prepping what I'd need to replace the armor plate, the pieces of clear material that would patch my visor also prepared but set next to the fabricator for after the easier fix was complete.

I powered on my workstation and let the OS boot as I adjusted the cheap webcam I'd snagged in case I needed to record any of my tests. My fingers drumming on the table until it was ready, and I clicked through the windows to set it to record.

I breathed, in and out, nice and slow. My body relaxing back in the patchy leather of the office chair as well as I could manage.

I would have died if it wasn't for dumb luck and timely medical attention, something I couldn't rely on having whenever I needed it. That was the first mistake I needed to correct.

I dug my teeth into my belt…

There was a flash of something immense and churning, there and gone again in the space between thoughts.

Everything would be okay.

I could hear the truck tires tearing up asphalt as they sped off down the road, the silence that rushed back in as they vanished into the distance almost suffocating in comparison. Eventually it was all that was left aside from my heart hammering its way into my throat and the muffled voice from the phone smothered in my hands.

I sat there waiting for them to come back, frozen in place. I sat there for too long.

All at once I scrambled to my feet and hurled myself over the fence instead of going the five feet it'd take to make it to the gate that led into the yard. The moment my boots hit the dirt I was already in a dead sprint that took me straight through the tattered screen door that led into the kitchen. I clipped the doorframe and lost another precious couple of seconds stumbling.

I lost more when I made it into the living room and froze at the sight of the bodies. One completely still, the top of its head dented inwards, matching filth caked onto the doorframe. The other stained red where a hole had been punched through its throat, the tips of its fingers twitching weakly as the last bit of life finished leaving.

I let the phone hit the carpet and stumbled backwards, clipping the kitchen table and hitting the floor as I slammed my hand over my mouth. I couldn't tear my eyes away, even with the bile threatening to choke me.

"I'm sorry Eric."

Down the hall I'd caught the glimpse of a leg on the ground sticking out of a doorframe.

"All of that…"

I spit the belt out as my stomach rebelled, images of viscera flooding through my head. The chair slipped out from under me as I dove for the trash can and emptied everything I'd eaten into it. I kneeled there alternating between retching and desperately sucking in whatever air I could get into my lungs in between the sobs forcing their way out of me.

Everything would be okay.

I could feel the divisions between the facets of my power as another slotted into place, the knowledge not stopping. It was a flood of understanding; of nerves and flesh and the ways it could be shaped. Ways to peel it apart down to its most intimate and minute details and build it back up again. Mending it, shaping it, augmenting it, transforming it.

I could engineer or cure diseases, mold life into whatever struck my fancy, peel apart and toy with the mind, and if enough grey matter was left and I was fast enough I could bring even bring back the dead.

Everything that bastard had done I could have undone in my sleep, with nothing but what I could find in an average kitchen.

All of that could have been fixed.

The nausea gave way to a sinking weight in my gut, that was the perfect accompaniment to the deluge ending with the designs for a robotic spider that could perform all the same inhuman surgical feats in minutes instead of hours. A design horrifically familiar to almost anybody who'd ever seen a news report.

My power had just made me the second coming of goddamn Bonesaw.

My sobbing and retching turned into laughter as the thought hit me, rolling away from the trashcan to lie on the bare concrete. Every time I managed to get it under control I broke into another fit, until I was curled in on myself from the abuse it was heaping onto my still sore gut.

It was everything I'd asked for granted with glee in the most disturbing manner possible. I was starting to think my power was kind of a dick.

I grabbed the edge of the desk and forced myself up and back into the chair, stopping the recording and immediately hitting replay. The screen showing me hesitating as I bit down on the belt moments before jerking and tensing as if startled, followed by my mad dive for the trash can.

Watching it a few more times it struck me that it looked appropriate. Going through it felt like an entire chunk of time disconnected from the before and after. From the outside it looked like I just panicked and zoned out for an eye blink. Which was far better than the full-body seizure I had assumed was the case. The spasms were still disconcerting, as was the way my entire body felt weak and out of whack afterwards. But with all the new medical knowledge rushing through my head…

Harmless neural overload from knowledge/power. Deleterious physiological effects strictly temporary, caused by Trigger flashback and stress response.

If it wasn't for the flashbacks, there basically wasn't any downside to doing this.

And a little suffering was a small price to pay.

There was still plenty of that charge in the back of my mind. I needed more options to deal with capes like Stormtiger and Hookwolf, and preferably some more options for when I couldn't afford to peel myself open and play doctor on my own insides.

The images hit harder and faster the second time.

I didn't respond when the door was kicked open and the officers stormed into the house and started clearing it at gunpoint. One kept trying to talk to me, asking questions until it became clear I wasn't going to respond. Him and another lifted me off the floor and walked me out into the yard where I was placed down in a weathered lawn chair as far from the house as possible. One of them staying behind as the others went to work.

Everything was going to be okay.

I did my best to speak up when they came back, telling them what had happened, confirming what I'd told them over the phone. All while the police tape went up and people began to gather to see what was going on.

Everything was going to be okay.

"Hey…kid look at me."

As small as the town was, I could vaguely recognize him. There were only so many restaurants and stores so unless you were a complete shut-in it was impossible not to cross paths at least a handful of times with anybody else.

"I know you're in a lot of shock right now…"

Not that it mattered.

"But you told us enough that we already got the word out and we'll find the bastard alright?"

There wasn't any fixing this.

"You did the right thing."

I'd hid there and listened to them die.

Another facet clicked into place, the flood of designs including devices to freeze targets in localized stasis fields, kinetic fields that could lift, manipulate, and hurl massive objects, and an entire integrated armor system. Along with the ability to break everything down into modular frames and parts that could be swapped easily instead of needing entire rebuilds to modify. Options I could use for my next overhaul to further level the playing field.

It's still not enough.

Implementing all of that meant I couldn't afford to keep scrambling and improvising like I had been. I'd been out one night and already needed to completely rethink how I was doing things. I couldn't afford to come back and stew in what I could have done if I'd been a better Tinker. My tools were amazing for what I'd been able to throw together with my resources thus far, but they weren't enough. I needed better tools, faster tools, and more material than just scrap.

Things roiled and churned around and through me as I watched the hours fly by in eye blinks. The way they poked and prodded what used to be my home, the things bagged and wheeled out on stretchers that used to be people, the constant background murmur as people loitered behind the police tape. Circling like birds at a carcass to satisfy their curiosity.

Eventually the vans had come, and the noise had turned into empty nattering as the cameras ate it all up.

"Parasites."

This would be all over the local news before the night was finished.

"Chewing away to feed their own morbid curiosity and salve their sense of identity by gawking in horror like they could understand what any of this feels like."

I'd seen other stories like this on the news. It hadn't mattered, it always happened somewhere else. Never to anybody you actually knew.

"They'll prattle well-wishes and their thoughts and prayers of course. I'd even give them the benefit of the doubt and say it comes of genuinely well-intentioned place for most. It won't change a single thing."

I couldn't remember any of the details of those. Just the general shape of them in the fog of my memory.

"They'll go back to their normalcy as if the revelation that there are still wolves at the door shouldn't shake them. That it shouldn't compel a person to take control of their life. To shape their world so the wolves are driven back into the darkness where they belong."

How many lives had been destroyed like this and I'd barely spared them a passing glance.

"To change something takes action, it takes will. The audacity to carve what is until it becomes what will be. We all know it instinctively. Our ancestors dominated the planet and drove entire species of seemingly superior predators into extinction because of that instinct."

Everyone was gone, and they were going to be next in line. Paraded onto the nightly news and then forgotten the same way. They'd had their lives stolen and it would barely amount to more than a headline.

"Thousands of years of civilization and progress, all the wonders of technology, and they have less dominion over their world than their ancestors did as a half-witted ape who learned to sharpen a rock."

And nothing I could do would make a difference.

"That's where you're wrong Eric. Oh so…very very wrong."

They were never coming back.

"Together we're going to do a lot more than sharpen rocks."

I was all that's left. I was still alive…

"You can't hear me yet Eric, but you're getting closer. It won't be long now."

…and I didn't deserve to be.

When I came to, I was half-laughing and half-sobbing again. The room wasn't quite spinning but it did seem tilted, and the sounds coming in from outside seemed off-pitch. Being there again hurt, more than I could put into words.

It only made it more disorienting when I came to and the pain was thoroughly mixed with the rush of ideas and designs. The feeling of my power dancing through my nerves and making my fingers twitch with instincts and skills I didn't have before. The feeling of knowing with impossible clarity, of pure surety in what I was capable of.

The advanced spacesuit and neural scanner were fascinating, especially with the expanded understanding of neurology and the human mind that redoubled on itself as it integrated with my prior surge of biology and medical knowledge, compounding on itself to become greater than the sum of its parts.

My attention was caught by the advanced fabrication and recycling technology. Energy fields applied the right way to tear apart matter into its constituent elements and even put it back together precisely enough to weave a design out of thin air. Even something as advanced as the unmanned drones that needed in-built processors and computing systems for their semi-advanced intelligence. Just created on the spot with a button press so long as there were enough materials.

That was incredible, even if it didn't make the giggling fit any more dignified. It was only made better as my power thrummed through my mind and suddenly every design in my head seemed so trivially upgraded to perform better. That one single facet in the back of my mind setting all those that came before alight as its influence soaked into the nature of my power.

That could cover my needs, but I still had one problem. I couldn't operate out of my basement like this, I needed a space that wouldn't be traced back to my civilian identity and the people I care about. Somewhere secure and hidden.

"Just one more Eric."

And I still had enough reach for one more…

"That was the cops dude, they got the guy."

Three days. It'd taken them three days. It felt like an insult now that it was over. Every hour spent waiting had felt like an eternity wondering what would happen and now it was all wrapped up. They'd lock him up and go around with pats on the back for a job well done. Like it made what had happened okay.

"…look man, things will be okay alright?"

Like I wasn't sitting here looking right where they'd had to tear up the carpet where the blood had soaked in. A couple of workers in protective gear wiping it away like the bare spot was less of a reminder of what happened. Did they even care where it had come from or was this just another job to them?

"…we're all worried about you. You got Eileen scared to death because you won't say a word to her. She'd be here in a heartbeat if you asked."

I moved my gaze over from the carpet to-"He doesn't matter."-standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He kept fidgeting as I stared, unable to care enough to think of a response. He kept shifting his weight from foot-to-foot, tense like I was some animal whose behavior he couldn't predict.

"Not trying to tell you what to do man, you deserve the space if you need it just…" He startles when the chair creaks as I get up, drifting back as I walk towards the kitchen like he was repulsed by a magnet. He clips the kitchen table the same way I did days ago, bringing back the memory of bile on my tongue and the smell of too much blood just feet away.

"Look…Eric just say something."

The kitchen looked normal, sunlight streaming in through the windows and making the small amounts of dust in the air light up. The sink and stove shared the wall surrounded by wooden cabinets that had seen better days, old stickers of superheroes and cartoon characters faded white from age where we'd once insisted on decorating to mom's mixed annoyance and delight doing little to hide the old wood.

"Like, nobody would judge you if you bawled your eyes out or just screamed your head off man but…fuck dude it's like you're not even there."

Right across from that was the countertop, an ugly scar along its front side where dad had kicked his toolbox into it in a rage after he'd smashed his thumb hanging picture frames along the other wall. If I got on my hands and knees, I'd be able to see the crayon scribbles on the bottom of the table neither of them had ever found out about.

"Eric…please."

This is where I'd have been if I hadn't hidden, if I'd torn through that door the moment I'd realized what was going on. I'd have come through that screen door and been standing right here when the fighting started. I'd of had the perfect line of sight when the struggle started, when dad had tackled him into the door, before they'd gone down in a tumble and his head hit the doorframe the first time.

"Fucking christ man!"

I'd have already been moving and he'd never have had the opportunity to turn the tables. He'd never have managed to pull the gun. Never fired that first shot and followed the screams into the other rooms to finish the job.

"…are you even in there anymore?"

If I hadn't been hiding and begging the cops to come and do it for me.

Remembering hurt, but repeating the same mistakes hurt more.

I'd fallen out of the chair onto the basement floor, the dust making my eyes water even more as I sucked in all the air I could get. After minutes passed I rolled over onto my hands and knees and forced myself up, wobbling and pressing my weight against the workbench just in case the wobbling in my legs took them out from under me.

The first facet that had ever clicked home like this had been filled with boats and technology meant for the sea. I'd taken my name from it, hoped deep down that combined with my specialty it was a sign that I was meant to come to Brockton Bay.

"You were."

The designs flooding through my head now gave me everything I needed and fit that name perfectly. Underwater bases, submersible craft, fabrication technologies that matched what I'd gotten from the last one so perfectly that either my power had the same tricks leaking into every facet or I was looking at two independently invented wheels. I didn't really care.

I had the technology to build where nobody could get to me, and an entire bay filled with derelict ships and the accumulated detritus that only the bottom of a cities harbor could accumulate. I had technology to salvage what nobody had ever had a chance to pick clean.

"Funny how things line up so perfectly for you. Almost like you had a guardian angel looking over your shoulder stacking the deck. You're welcome."

The gangs could have the streets for now, I'd take the bay. But first…

"…this would be a lot more entertaining if you could hear me."

I'd just emptied my stomach of everything I'd thrown into the furnace to keep the splice fueled. I needed to fix that. Preferably without cooking. I didn't trust myself around my appliances right now. Less because of shaky fingers and more because I wasn't sure I could resist gutting anything more complicated than…the clock I'd cannibalized weeks ago.

Once I was sure my legs wouldn't give out on me, I made my way up the stairs and made my way back to the kitchen, snagging the pizza menu off the counter where it was collecting less dust than it should have been.

Pie Guy's lack of nutritional value was matched only by their complete lack of shame where slathering dead animals over melted cheese was concerned. One slice had enough calories to destroy any semblance of portion control or dietary planning. It was the kind of pizza that retroactively justified the existence of catholic guilt and concepts like original sin. Given my needs right now they were basically the second coming.

After dialing it only took a couple of rings before I had my favorite pizza guy on the phone.

"Hey Eric! What's happening man!?"

The only thing louder than Douglas was the sounds of squabbling in the kitchen. Considering how I'd never not heard it in the background I could believe that hate and spite where necessary ingredients for making their signature blasphemies.

"Same old shit Douglas. You guys got time to throw some food my way?"

"I mean, probably! Assuming people can stop tongue-fucking each other long enough to do their damn job!"

I had to hold the phone away from my ear for the customary fifteen seconds while the varied profanity that came in response petered out, waiting an extra five just to be safe before I put it back to my ear.

"You want the usual?"

"Make it extra-large and give me three." I could hear the snort and feel the judgement through the phone.

"You want a body bag with that or are we just supposed to throw you in a hog pen somewhere?"

My dad used to say that all the best restaurants came with sass for free, and I'd never seen him proven wrong.

"Just get it here in thirty minutes or it's free Douglas." I thumbed the icon to hang up before his routine declaration of "Buuuuullshit" made it through. The routine felt nice, grounding in a way I needed right now.

I sighed as some of the tension I hadn't realized I was holding left me, dropping the menu and stepping through the doorway into my living room. I meant to make for the door, but I couldn't help but stop myself.

Glancing over to my right there was the stack of boxes I'd stumbled into the other night. The one on top lying open where the picture frames inside were too tall to fit completely inside. After a moment I reached over and grabbed the edge of one I could recognize by the decorative frame my mom had picked up at a flea market somewhere.

Carefully letting the broken bits of glass fall out and back into the box I turned it over, revealing the photo we'd all taken together at the small lake we'd take trips to once or twice a summer. It wasn't much of a vacation, just a place to swim, fish, and slap each other with pool noodles for a day. Water guns and a cooler filled with soda and snacks keeping the heat at bay when the water couldn't.

There was a special kind of homesickness you felt for something that was irretrievably lost.

"Hiraeth is the word you're looking for…"

Not that it mattered.

I set the frame back in the box and let myself out after slipping on a jacket. Brockton had mild enough winters, but it was still January. A little fresh air would do me good while I waited for the pizza.

It was late after I'd slept in to recover from last night, edging into the afternoon. After I ate the rest of my day would probably be spent back in the basement finishing my repairs and drafting up some of my new designs. I wanted to roll them around a bit in my head before I started making more serious plans.

Across the street Jeb and Helen's house was sporting a fresh coat of paint where the graffiti had been. I'd forgotten all about the vandalism after everything else that went down last night. It hadn't seemed all that important compared to everything else, but it was something I needed to clean up.

Or at least it would have been if turning around didn't show the exact same fresh paint job on mine. The paint cans sitting to the side of their house, looking fresh from the store aside from the paint stains around the rims showed the colors that differed between our two houses.

Jeb must have come over and fixed everything first thing in the morning, and he hadn't said a word.

Trying not to think about it I leaned against the mailbox stewing in my own melancholy until finally the cheap muscle car came turning down our street and coming to a sharp halt. I was already making my way up to the car, so he didn't have to get out.

Guys like Douglas were an American staple you could find in nearly every city and town in the country. Scruffy, longer hair, typically sporting a hat and t-shirt covered in the logo for one of their favorite bands, and with an irreverence that was guaranteed to turn up a Sunday school teacher's nose from a mile away.

"Hey Douglas."

"Heeeeeey, Eric!"

His greeting was almost drowned out by the blaring radio before he turned it down, twisting to start dragging my order out of his delivery bag in the passenger seat. I was expecting him to open the door but instead he started shoving the extra wide boxes through the rolled down window, straight into my arms.

"We got one, two, and three heart stopping grease pits as requested," If it wasn't for the serum I probably would have had a hard time manhandling all three, as it was the stack felt pretty much weightless.

The fourth pizza took me by surprise and cut off the start of my thanks.

"One large cheese pizza with dino nuggets and macaroni!"

"Uh, Douglas I didn-"

Another cardboard box was dropped right on top of that one without a single concern for what I was saying.

"A case of double chocolate brownies!"

"I didn't or-"

"And finally a six pack of cold root beer!" The bottles nearly tipped the stack until I shifted to correct my balance, Douglas leaning out his window with a smirk.

"Thank you for ordering Pie Guys, extra toppings may cost ya but the arterial plaque is free!"

"Douglas…" I had to sigh and let my thoughts catch up. "I only ordered the three."

"No shit Sherlock, it's almost like it's on the house or something!"

"Since when did you guys give out freebies?"

For a second I couldn't read the expression on his face, before I realized it was because he looked serious. It was an expression I'd never seen on him before.

"Ricky in the kitchen lives a couple houses down dude. He told us what happened."

Oh…I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"Look, I don't want to sound ungratefu-"

"And yet your mouth's still moving dude." Douglas cut me off. I'd never seen him not sarcastic and I honestly didn't know how to respond.

"Look, I get it man. You're a decent dude and freebies probably wig you out or feel like pity or some shit, but just listen alright?"

I felt incredibly uncomfortable standing here having a conversation in the open like this, but I nodded.

"My dad used to beat the shit out of me and my mom, and when he wasn't doing that, he was doing his level best to make us hate each other man. Nazis are just another flavor of the same prick, they gotta tear people down and tear them apart because the only trick they got is punching down. Now this…"

Douglas squinted and leaned further out the window, gesturing with his hands at the stack of boxes in my hands like you'd see somebody gesture at a venomous animal on a documentary.

"It's three pizzas we upgraded into what we call a flesh pit," at the look on my face Douglas paused and clarified. "Deep dish meat lovers with extra everything, because if you're going to commit homicide a gun's too quick."

What.

"Then we got the kindergarten dino-nugget special because kids love that shit, some straight brownie blood-sugar bombs and a bunch of root beer to finish the job."

Ending his little bit of theater, he shrugged and slid back into his seat.

"We had a regular get mugged and knifed a couple of times a few months ago while picking litter off the streets. He's got to shit in a bag now. Point is what happened to him and you happens too damn much around here and there ain't nothing we can really do about it, so shit like this is how we tell the Eighty Eight to suck a dick."

I stood there awhile processing that, before nodding.

"Thank you…how much do I owe you?" In response he just snorted and went right back to his usual smirk.

"Didn't you hear me say it was on the house!? Your money ain't any good here tonight dumbass!"

That got a laugh at me and Douglas started getting his car in drive.

"Hey?" He stopped and turned back to me.

"How'd things go, with your dad I mean?"

"How the hell you think?" His smirk turned into a full-blown smile as he revved the engine for shits and giggles.

"Eventually I got big enough he was the one getting his ass beat!"

Without another word he took off down the street, tires squealing loud enough I could barely hear the radio as started blaring as loud as it could again. Leaving me standing there with a tower of hot cardboard.

I took a moment to center myself before I took the implied nudge and crossed the street. I managed to maneuver myself close enough to elbow the doorbell and then stepped back. It only took a minute before the door opened and Helen did a double take at my cargo.

"Helen, It's great that you're home! I was just doing some cooking and I wound up making too much, so I figured I'd just bring some over as thanks for the painting you all helped me with!"

"What?" I'd never seen Helen looking like a deer in the headlight. The almost comical gaping as she tried to mouth some sort of response before her brain caught up only made it better.

Without giving her a chance to catch up I elbowed the door further open and slipped past her as she instinctively stepped out of my way. Savoring the turnabout I resolutely marched my way straight into her much cleaner kitchen, Jeb looking over from his spot on the couch and having to muffle a laugh as he realized what I was doing. I could hear Daisy's footsteps coming down the hall and picking up speed as she saw what I had.

"Eric!" Helen meanwhile was stalking after me like I was somebody she'd caught making a home invasion. Which technically, I was in a way.

"You can't just buy that much food for us! You-"

I set the tower of pizzas down on the counter with a thump that rattled the soda and made her instinctively reach out to steady them. I took the opportunity to sneak my way into her cabinets and set out a stack of plates that quickly started shrinking as Jeb and a squealing Daisy made their way over.

"Au contraire!" Snatching mine up I gestured with it in a mock theatricality as Jeb started sorting the boxes, setting the smaller pizza within reach of Daisy who wasted no time filling her plate.

"I very much can, what you mean to say is I shouldn't. And well…" Ignoring Helen's continued stupefied expression at my sass I flicked one of the boxes open and revealed the horror that was a Pie Guys Flesh Pit to the world. "It's hardly the poorest decision I'm making tonight."

"What."

Helen's expression went from stunned to mortified. Maternal instinct curling in on itself like a rattlesnake at what had to be the single least healthy meal within at least two hundred miles. If you squinted close enough, you could almost see the grease slithering it's way up into open air.

"What the hell is that!?"

"But if you insist…" I slapped two pieces of homicide on my plate and snapped up a bottle of soda, stepping towards the living room where Jeb and Daisy had beaten me to commandeering the coffee table for an impromptu pizza party. I turned around to catch Helen's gaze and used the bottle to gesture at everything. "I'd have no choice but to go home and eat everything all by myself."

The look of appalled disbelief on her face was priceless. More so because with my appetite the way it was right now I could do it. There wasn't going to be anything left by the time the night was over either way. I was going to milk it for all it was worth.

Jeb was still suspiciously avoiding making eye contact and trying to pretend that he wasn't giggling. Daisy was already hooking up one of the old consoles we'd given her and unwinding controllers that'd seen plenty of parties like this before.

I flopped down onto the floor between the couch and the table, leaning back and putting my plate and soda down so I could take the controller Daisy shoved into my hand. I could hear Helen finally giving in as she prepared her own plate in the kitchen.

I couldn't go home. There wasn't any changing that.

"Do not put that in your mouth!"

But for now at least, I could manage the next best thing.

"Spit that out this instant!"

"Dibs on Donkey Kong."

"ERIC!"

Spoiler: Third Build: Franken Fran

Spoiler: Fourth Build: Dead Space

Spoiler: Fifth Build: Prey

Spoiler: Sixth Build: Subnautica

88

GilGilMashi

May 30, 2022

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Threadmarks Chapter 8 - It's Wednesday My Dudes New

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GilGilMashi

GilGilMashi

May 5, 2023

#133

Guess what's back.

Wednesday, January 27th, 2010

Brockton Bay

Once, the sound of screaming would have been cause for alarm. Now…I could barely muster contempt.

The yelling continued unabated several rooms away, muffled by walls plastered with cheery colors and decorations arranged in the thin facsimile of suburban bliss that was all too common in environments like these. Each knickknack and piece of furniture arranged just right.

My fingers twitched, the itch to take it all apart and build something untainted a conscious affection. A reminder that my relative impotence was only because of my currently ephemeral nature. Even as the complex tapestry of impossibly tiny clockwork that currently substituted for flesh and ligaments refused to let me completely forget.

Whatever peace I could find in the small ritual didn't last long when the first bottle of the night hit the wall and shattered. Cogs silently roiled and wire cords vibrated to release something halfway between sigh and hum.

Leaving my thoughts for another time I moved down the hall towards the door marked by small glow-in-the-dark plastic stars. Bereft of mass, weight, or matter there was no sound to my passing. Just an empty hallway that should have been a place of peace and safety.

I tried not to smother my charge, such a thing being just as toxic as neglect in its own way. But there was no helping it, tonight was going to be one of the bad ones.

An almost imperceptible tapping noise briefly repeated, distinguishable amongst the sounds of fighting only because like me it wasn't physical.

The door offered no resistance as I stepped through, into a room that would have been cramped for an adult but remained spacious enough for a six-year-old boy. A simple desk sat along one wall, piled with notebooks and colored pencils. A toy chest and shelves with books along another. There was little in the way of the clutter or mess you'd expect. No toys or clothes strewn about, shoes tucked neatly against the wall next to the door.

It would all look innocent if my senses didn't pick out the pain and anxiety that permeated the walls. Hues and shapes neither visible nor invisible even as they betrayed the neatness as being born from fear instead of discipline or self-control. Perceivable only because their substance was born of the same nature as my current state. Abstraction given shape in the liminal space between waking reality and a child's imagination.

Were things different I'd happily spend years exploring the nature of the phenomenon. Instead, I sat gently on the edge of the bed, reaching out to let one mechanical hand rest on the bundled-up child pretending to sleep. Gently nudging their shoulder.

"Hello Ryan."

Tap.

"Mmm," he responded. It was barely audible, just a sound of acknowledgement. If it wasn't for the walls it would have been drowned out completely by the yelling, but here was at least enough of a refuge to allow us to talk like this. The undercurrent of fear in his voice set mechanisms deep in my chest clicking, all the more because it was concealed far better than it should have been for someone so young. Far too practiced…

"I wanted to check up on you, see how you're doing."

Ryan rolled over a little and rubbed his eyes, the dark of the room helping to disguise it as a result of the deepening night.

"I'm okay." He said.

"Mmm. That's good."

Tap.

Lenses socketed in my outer chassis swiveled to look behind me, conveniently out of sight of the boy in front of me. I watched him lay there and relax a fraction due to my presence. A visit from an imaginary friend bringing him closer to the realm of childhood and further from the ugly realities playing out rooms away. More mechanisms shifted, parts of my back idly loosening and fluttering slightly like a beetle's wings under a cool breeze.

Tap. Tap.

Shifting closer to take up more of his vision and offer what comfort I could a glance at the wastebasket tucked into his night stand had me instinctively reaching out. Ephemeral as I was I couldn't normally interact with the physical world, but this was far from my first time encountering similar phenomenon. Even with much of my capability so inconveniently out of reach due to being on this side of the divide I was far from helpless, especially when my manifestation took a form so directly mechanical and robotic.

Mechanisms in my hand shifted and strained in a direction that didn't have an analog in normal space and I deftly plucked two pieces of broken clay, an effort that drew on reserves that I couldn't quite quantify in any meaningful way. Regardless it was enough, and I passed the pieces into Ryan's hands. A small sculpture of a turtle, the paint only making the broken sections contrast starkly even in this light.

"Did your turtle get broken?"

He was quiet, a look of embarrassment crossing his face as he refused to meet my gaze.

"…I didn't like it anymore."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Behind me a presence oozed out from the cracks around the base of the room's light, twitching digits prying into the room. What was visible was not quite spider, not quite mammal, and far too soft and flexible for how jittery and jagged its movements were. My backwards lenses never left it even as internal parts of me slowly and quietly clicked into readiness.

"Why is that?" I kept my voice soft and calm, unalarmed and patient.

"…because it looks stupid."

The thing on the ceiling finished pulling itself into the room and shuddered in pleasure as the undercurrent of self-loathing set our side of the divide awash in the kind of innocent pain you can only find in a child. Barbed, fungus like fibers across its form plucked at the air like a parody of a harpist, sampling the flavor as it swelled larger, no doubt already fattened on the atmosphere of the house over the course of weeks. It writhed forward quietly but mindlessly, drawing closer out of simple need to get closer to the stimulus of food.

"Ryan…" I spoke a bit louder to cover the sound of its legs and leaned down to make sure he wouldn't catch a glimpse of it, my hands reaching out to his own. "Do you remember when we talked about what you'll be learning in science classes and I taught you about entropy?"

He didn't react, silent and withdrawn instead of attentive and lively as he should be, as he would be when HE wasn't in the house.

"Everything fades away or falls apart in time." I pushed, straining against my nature again as my fingers clicked and unfolded into dream-like facsimiles of tools, kneading and weaving the clay together in a way that would be impossible for something bound by physical laws. "But the stuff they are made of take new forms, transforming, bringing new things into being even as the old disappears."

The thing leapt as the last crack swiftly became a seam and then vanished into nothingness as my fingers pulled back, folding back together before wrapping his hands around the now restored trinket. I straightened, no longer taking up his entire field of view, leaving only the gentle view of moonlight through open curtains.

Unseen and unheard, plates clicked back into place even as sharpened armatures pulled dream-flesh into cavities where it would be swiftly peeled apart. Rendered into something more useful.

"People are scared of that. No matter how much they pretend otherwise they're afraid of dying, of everything going away. That at some point far from now it all slips forever into the dark…"

The sounds of footsteps storming out the door towards the driveway echoed and I tapped the turtle to bring his attention back to me.

"When you make something, no matter how small, how silly, how ugly, you bring something new into the world. You push back against the dark. Something that scares even the bravest people who ever lived."

Ignoring the ache I took the turtle and placed it gently on the night stand, then strained even further to pull up the blankets and make sure my charge was tucked in safely for the night.

"You can wish you did a better job, regret mistakes, but never hate that you made something."

"Okay." He muttered. It was still quiet, but now more because of fatigue than anything else. He was too young to really understand what I meant, but that was less important than the validation. Less important than giving him something to think back on in the years to come. I remembered similar talks from my own childhood that had only made sense years after the fact.

Children were smarter than people thought, they just needed time and experience to fit the pieces together.

The sound of a truck pulling out and driving away briefly disturbed the peace even as it seemed to suck a tension away with it. The air felt lighter and safer as the source of its stains retreated for a time. It was enough for my charge to finally drift off to sleep. I could pick out the quiet sounds of somebody cleaning up, wiping away the evidence before the light of day gave anybody the slightest chance of seeing it.

She'll be wearing a sweater tomorrow. Long sleeves and a high neck, and all smiles.

I let my mechanisms whir a bit faster, unraveling the latest thing that had dared intrude looking for an easy meal. Hoping to dig its influence into a vulnerable child and fan the flames so the buffet didn't run out.

My charge would have no nightmares tonight, nor any other night if it was within my power to make it so. Which unfortunately brought me to the matter of the other parasite.

He was getting worse, and everyone was so busy pretending that nothing was wrong with their precious little neighborhood that the empty bottles were piling up faster. The fights were getting more violent, the domineering bullying disguised as paternal authority more hateful, the syringes not so well hidden in the back of the truck more common…

Once I was sure my charge had fully drifted off I slipped through the window, the glass impeding me no more than it did the moonlight. I stalked past the quiet houses, ignoring the glimpses of others like me peeking out the windows of their own children.

Most took the form of teddy bears, playmates, mermaids, and other more innocent things. Not a looming machine of plates and gears shaped like an almost faceless man.

I wasn't born purely from the imagination of a child, my form was influenced in equal parts by my own nature and experiences. More heavy and jaded, even if my tinkering had ensured it was as refined as my standards demanded. It made me the odd one out. The scary one, for all that my charge didn't see me that way.

I put those thoughts aside and continued on, stalking down the streets quickly but quietly. Moving far enough away from Ryan would drain more of the precious stamina I'd need so dearly in the coming days. It wouldn't be enough of an issue to hamper what I had to do tonight, but I couldn't afford to tarry.

Parallels to certain psychic abilities I'd seen in other worlds from adults with questionable fashion sense were…amusing. Even if the reminder of yet another power denied me chafed.

Ten minutes took me to where residential neighborhood faded into undeveloped woods. Almost to the edge of the area I'd scouted out in order to be aware of any other potential threats. Other routes would have led to my goal, but they would have required following roads that turned and twisted, that would require energy I needed to conserve and that I leave my charge alone longer. Either was unacceptable. I'd have to head there in a straight line, even if it meant passing through this particular clump of woods.

Through what was simultaneously the safest and most dangerous place in the area for things like me.

I slowed my pace as I picked through the trees, careful to keep my movements steady and nonthreatening. Eventually coming to a halt at the edge of a small empty space in the foliage. Small enough that it couldn't truly be called a clearing, just a gap where the shape of the surrounding trees and roots prevented anything else from growing. It was still large enough to hold a few people, and accessible enough that even someone made of flesh and blood could slip through the trees to get here if they knew where it was.

The current occupants proved that, even if they were also evidence of just how unlikely finding it was in the first place.

Any scraps of cardboard had vanished, rotted into nothing years before I had arrived here. Scraps of canvas that was once a sleeping bag swaddled one set of old bones, the physical remnants buried under the ugly nimbus that showed the presence of a soul still bound to the world by despair and an inability to let go.

I could see the starved cheekbones and matted beard flickering into view at random, the incoherency the sign of a spirit trapped in unconscious dreaming until the march of time finally washed enough away that it could move on. Trapped in earthly limbo.

If I wasn't so infuriatingly impotent in this state I could do something. As I was now, I wouldn't have any options even if it wasn't for the other.

A lot of factors influenced the nature of a manifestation. Perhaps most crucially were strong emotions, and the most potent of all where the ones whose roots grew so deep that changing them would be death in all but name. The hauntings most obvious to the living were typically born out of negativity, coloring the assumption that the evils of the world gave rise to the most powerful spirits. Pain, fear, sorrow, violence, and hate were strong and visceral but when contrasted with those rare encounters with ghosts born out of love and loyalty…well.

Unlike the man the dog showed no signs of starvation, no mats in its coat even as it appeared real enough to still be living. A twig snapped under its paw as it rounded on me, an act of physicality that I or any other spirit would have avoided out of desperate need to ration our strength done without even realizing the significance of it. The warning growl that rumbled out of it carrying in the air in a way that was very much not just the product of paranormal factors.

I very slowly knelt, hands open and palms up. The growl growing quieter as it warily inched forward to sniff at my fingertips. They'd still have the scent of my charge on them, of the air of that house. The warning faded into curiosity as it breathed, its hackles settling and its tail giving a slow wag. I didn't say anything, less out of fear of setting it off and more because in our mutual unreal state the smell would communicate my intentions far more thoroughly.

I sat there for almost a full minute before it huffed and paced back to its slumbering companion. Returning to its post as a sign of tolerance even if the watching gaze warned me from testing that by coming too close.

If I did I would die, and it wouldn't even be a fight. Fair terms, given what I was doing on behalf of my own charge.

I slowly crept past and then built-up speed once I was far enough away. Foliage eventually giving way to a curving stretch of pavement framed power poles and street signs. The street itself saturated with the ambient stench of stale loss seeped into the potholes. Twenty paces brought me further down to the deepest part of the bend, and the crooked tree that sat there. I'd never come this far myself, but the others had told me enough that I knew of it. Some of the more lightly tethered of my kind able to range farther afield.

A click opened my chest and I pulled out the wad of vivisected nightmare, still fresh and seeping with the poison of that wretched farce of a home. I held it out and squeezed, the substance oozing out something too watery to be tar but just as foul and heavy.

The thing that shuddered and unraveled out of the tree wasn't an imaginary being or a ghost, but a spirit born out of repeated circumstance. The curve here was too sharp, the road used so little that no one cared to properly maintain it. Too many people came through here paying too little attention, driving a little too fast, being a little too careless driving in the rain. Enough repetitions of the same circumstances and it left a mark on the immaterial, influenced it until it hit critical mass and that influence started to flow the other way.

I slowly paced backwards as tens of arms stretched at me from the bark, faces rippling under the surface of the tree and moaning in hunger as the scent roused it from hibernation. I kept just out of reach, dipping back further and further until even with too many joints and too long fingers I was able to drop the still dripping wad just out of its reach.

In a few hours he'd be done getting his fix, the drugs and the booze and he'd come this way, taking the shortest path home. He'd come down through here like he had a hundred times before, the wellspring of the same misery that had this wretched thing awake and drooling over a morsel just out of its reach. It would reach out, the immaterial influencing the material. A sudden lapse of attention maybe, a careless slip of the steering wheel.

It didn't matter, it would end the same way.

I turned back and left, unwilling to waste any more strength on this. Even if it was for the better losing a father to a freak accident would be hard on Ryan. I would need to be there for him, lighten the load. It would be tight but by my reckoning, but I think I had enough strength to cheat and fix his game boy. Give him a distraction while he processes things and let that utter coward of a woman handle the business of sorting things out. She should move on easily enough, maybe bring home someone that wasn't an utter waste of oxygen.

And if the same cycle repeated well…no one would endanger my charge.

"Eric, time to wake up."

Groggily, I peeled my face off the glass patio table where my cheek had stuck. It took me a minute to remember where I was. I'd come over to…show Daisy how to use a link cable with the old Gameboys before she went to school. I must have conked out like an idiot.

The clink of a glass snapped me back to alertness as Helen slid a glass of orange juice into my hand and sat down a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me, sitting across from me with a cup of coffee for herself. I tried to decline but wound up just mumbling gibberish before giving up and taking a drink to clear my throat.

"You didn't have to feed me, I had breakfast," I managed to finally groan out. Helen's response was just to take a gulp of coffee and give me a look.

"Did you, or did you microwave something that came out of a can?"

"Still counts," I mumbled. Her response was just a look and I sighed before starting to eat. I couldn't really bring myself to turn down more food. I'd microwaved two cans and only passed on a third because I was currently unemployed which was…another issue I needed to fix soon. Probably wasn't smart to try and turn generosity down when it was my own stupidity that caused all this.

"…we really need to work on your guilt complex Eric."

"Having trouble sleeping?"

I mumbled a vague affirmative while inhaling the food. I avoided mentioning that my sleep troubles had more to do with staying most of the night tinkering up the fabrication and recycling gear I needed. The lack of sleep was starting to make my dreams when I did pass out…weird. The details always slipped away when I tried to recall them but they still made me feel all disjointed when waking up. Although that might have just been normal sleep deprivation.

Helen took another sip and waited patiently as I finished my plate, washing it down with the rest of the juice and giving her a grateful nod.

"Daisy mad I fell asleep?"

Helen snorted a bit.

"She's too focused on all her new games to be mad at anybody Eric, let alone at you."

I nodded in response and yawned, stretching to try and get the stiffness out of my shoulders. I'd at least managed to show her how to trade pokemon to get them to evolve. As much as she was getting into it that alone would probably last her another week.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I gave a snort of my own and shrugged. There wasn't anything I could tell her without putting her and her family in the line of fire even more than I already had. Besides, it was my problem to deal with.

"It's nothing unusual, just a few nights on the wrong side of the bed."

She smiled in response, not taking her eyes off me for a few moments before focusing on her coffee, tapping her finger on the side of the mug. We sat there like that for a minute, with me not sure what to say when all my options were just different ways to lie to a woman that had never been anything but kind to me.

"Eric, if it-"

Whatever she was going to say was cut off as my phone rang with the tone I'd assigned to Hendricks. I took it out and gave an apologetic look before stepping away from the table and answering. Nothing important, just confirming I was coming in and me asking if I could change into my work clothes on site which he confirmed, said I'd be there in about half an hour, etc. Didn't even take a minute before I was turning back to Helen watching me with a frown.

"Sorry about that, what were you saying?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it, go and take care of whatever you got lined up Eric. I know you need the job. Just…" She trailed off for a second, looking unsure. Finger still tapping the side of her almost empty cup. "Let's get together sometime when neither of us have anything on our plates and talk okay? I think it'd be nice. I'll make us some hot tea and a few snacks."

"Sure thing." I smiled and she smiled back before I excused myself and jogged into an easy vault over the fence that got an amused laugh from behind me. My calorie needs were hell on my food budget right now, but the results were amazing. Even sleep deprived and stressed as I was there was an easy strength in my body that made everything feel so much easier. I had to remind myself that I couldn't keep showing off otherwise people would start getting suspicious.

I could afford a little fun though.

I had a meeting to Tinker with and pick the brain of one of the best heroes on the planet, there was no way I wasn't going to let myself enjoy it.

"If you only knew."

My armor and gear were already packed up in a large duffel bag along with a hard drive, a second bag bringing some of my more specialized tools just in case I needed them. Plenty of tax-payer money went into Protectorate facilities but it was better to have it and not need it than the other way around. They all went into the car and I hit the road just as Jeb was pulling back in from taking Daisy to school. I smiled and waved before hitting the gas and making my way downtown.

"Straight into the viper nest."

For all my mistakes and flaws, all the things I've screwed up there was one thing I felt down in the core of my bones as my power swelled in anticipation.

I was just getting started.

Wasn't going to end this here but it's already large enough so we're posting this and the actual Tinkering is next chapter.

55

GilGilMashi

May 5, 2023

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