"You look like you had a bad day." Bill noted as I trudged through the gate.
I nodded.
"Something at work?"
I nodded again.
"Why don't you come inside. I'll put some coffee on."
I was about to protest it was too late in the afternoon for coffee, but Bill had already disappeared back inside. I sighed and followed him in.
Coffee with Bill had become sort of a tradition on the days I wasn't spending the mornings in Lesterton's office. I took my usual seat on the couch, while Bill relaxed in his armchair, the desk shoved away towards one wall. For a while, neither of us said -or signed- anything. I tasted the coffee, set the mug back down, trying to fill the silence without saying anything. Bill just let the silence stretch out.
I don't think I can keep doing this internship. I signed.
Bill nodded.
But I can't just quit, either. I'm behind enough with a missing semester already. If I leave this, I'll never be able to get a job.
"Sometimes it's good to know when to cut your losses, you know." Bill pointed out. "I've seen you working here, you've definitely got the talent to be an engineer— one bad job shouldn't affect the rest of your career."
I set down the cup of coffee. I'm just not sure. I signed. My life is already kind of a mess right now. I don't want to screw it up further.
"You're still young." Bill advised. "You got plenty of time to fix things up if they don't work out. Take opportunities when you see them and you'll end up in a better place than running a scrapyard." He chuckled at that. "You should only stay the course if you're going in the right direction."
He was right, I realized. My world had changed, and I needed to be able to change with it.

I arrived at the PRT headquarters an hour early, just in case. I'd had the foresight to pack a suit when I'd rented the apartment, but I also brought the remote I'd built for the Thunderstorm Mk1. I had also begged an old trailer off of Bill, and had driven the drone tank onto it. Fortunately he hadn't stuck around to watch, so I just threw a tarpaulin over the top. It was smaller than a real tank, so it fit without much issue onto the trailer, and didn't have any obvious silhouette. My old Focus's engine sounded a little strained, but the modifications I'd added gave it a bit of an edge, and I pulled away from Bill's gravel parking lot with a friendly wave.
I got more than a few odd looks as I drove down the highway, a huge, tarpaulin-covered trailer being pulled behind a straining station wagon. The looks got more concerned as I pulled up to the PRT building, which was guarded by two masked men carrying machine guns. The gate was shut, and I pulled up to the guard shack next to it and handed him a slip of paper.
My name's David Fraser. I'm afraid I can't talk, but I do have an appointment. If there's any information you need from me, just ask and I'll write down my answer."/p
The guard took it, eyed me for a minute, then turned to the phone. "Hey, I got this guy David Fraser out here, says he's got an appointment?"
A pause. The guard nodded. "Okay. Head on in."
The gate lowered, and with a loud whine from the engine, I lurched back into motion. The parking lot had several spaces for the big vans the PRT used, one of which was empty. It took me more than I'd have liked to park my car and its trailer, but I managed to finish before I was due to go in. As at last I pulled in to an empty spot, leaving the trailer next to my car, I saw a big, bearded guy watching me. As I got out of the car, he fixed me with a brief glare and walked to what must have been his own vehicle, a slick-looking sports car. I realized he must have been watching my clumsy attempts to park the trailer and felt my face heat a little. Way to make a first impression, doofus. I thought.
Once inside, I was directed to a smallish office where a man who looked in his early forties was waiting. As I walked in, he set down the book he'd been reading and stood up to shake my hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Fraser." He greeted me. "I'm Alex Gardener, and I'll be conducting your interview."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gardener" I wrote.
"That's right— you mentioned in your application that you lost the ability to speak in an accident. Might I ask if you became a parahuman around the same time?"
I nodded. Gardener sighed a little. "These things happen— we're still not sure why. Still, it seems you've escaped more intact than most."
"I count myself fortunate." I wrote in agreement.
"Agreed. Now, you also said you were a tinker who specializes in armored vehicles, correct?"
I nodded again. "I have a sample outside" I wrote, and Gardener raised his eyebrows.
"I'd like to see that later, but for now let's work on some of the basics. What sort of improvement do you think you could bring to the Brockton Bay parahumans team?"
"Using my armor, I can apprehend more dangerous villains than most other capes— my tanks can employ nonlethal means to capture people too dangerous for another person to approach. Since there are a lot of powerful Brute and Breaker types in Brockton bay, drone-type operations can be used to minimize casualties."
It took a long time to write all that out, by Mr. Gardener seemed in no hurry. He waited for me to finish each section and read it aloud before I erased it to keep writing.
"That's an interesting idea, Mr. Fraser." He said. "You say you can use what I believe Dragon calls 'telepresence' to apprehend villains and other criminals, but my concern is what might happen if the signal to control these drones is hijacked. They could go from an asset to a threat very quickly."
"My drones aren't controlled by simple commands," I wrote. I pulled the glove I'd designed out of my pocket and showed him. "The glove transmits coded combinations of hand gestures to issue basic parameters of operation. The onboard software does the rest."
Mr. Gardener nodded. "I see." was all he said. "Now what was it, specifically, that drew you to the Brockton Bay area in particular?"
"Simple proximity for the most part." I wrote. "As I said before, the numbers of villains who employ brute power over subtlety are what I'm most suited against."
"And you feel confident that you could handle yourself against such villains, even though you don't have any prior combat or police experience?"
"That's why I'm applying here." I wrote. "As a part of a much larger group, I can rely on people with more experience in actual cape work to help me employ my own abilities safely and efficiently."
"And— I'll be blunt— you don't think your speech impediment will make this a difficult proposition for your teammates?"
"It may." I admitted. "However, even without formal training I know a lot of signals in police operations are nonverbal anyways."
"We're pretty different from the police." Mr. Gardener pointed out. "Nevertheless, I think you've answered all the questions I have for the moment. You mentioned something of a demonstration?"
I nodded.
"We have a test range for this sort of thing out back. I'll meet you there."
It was the work of only a few minutes to escort the Thunderstorm Mk. 1 over to the range, where a series of targets had been set up.
"Let's see what you're made of, mr. Fraser." Gardener said.
"Which setting would you like to see?" I wrote.
"Let's start with something nonlethal." He said.
I selected the paintball rounds, pointed at the target, and fired. Bright red paint splattered everywhere, shaking the ballistic gel target but not damaging it. Without waiting, I selected the next target, switched to stunners, and fired again. The metal-cored rubber bullet spat out of the barrel and smacked into the second dummy with a loud THUNK. I selected a third target, selected birdshot, and fired again. This time there was a clattering sound as a low-velocity cloud of birdshot sprayed out of the barrel and impacted a third dummy. There wasn't enough speed to do a lot of damage, but a few pellets stuck into the gel as the rest scored and marred it. Gardener raised an eyebrow at that, but gestured to continue.
I rolled my thumb in a weird fashion that indicated the full-power shot, and pointed a finger gun at the target. As my thumb came down, the railgun fired. There was a loud crack, and the dummy ceased to exist, as well as a large chunk of the earthen embankment behind it. Bits of stone and dirt clattered to the ground, some skittering close to our feet, a hundred feet away from the center of the explosion.
A few seconds later, Gardener's mouth closed. "We'll be in touch, mr. Fraser. You should get an email in a week or so with our decision."
"Thank you." I wrote.
"I suppose. In the meantime, be very careful where you point that thing." He turned and headed back inside, which I took to be my dismissal. On my way back out, I felt several people watching me. But every time I turned, no one was there.

"Next order of business." Armsmaster said as he set aside the thick manila folder of incident reports and pulled the next one out. All of the other members of the Brockton Bay Protectorate were present, with the exception of Challenger, who was on patrol. "We've received another application to join the Protectorate, from a tinker who calls himself…'Boiler-Plate'." Armsmaster opened the folder and passed around the brief transcript inside.
"Real name is David Fraser, he's a Tinker who appears to specialize in making armored vehicles. He showed up with what he claimed was a prototype- offered the interviewer a chance to see his abilities up close."
"And?" Assault prompted.
"He left a ten-foot wide crater in the back side of the range." Armsmaster replied. No one in the room registered any shock; destroying the range outright was well within any individual's abilities. "Personally," Armsmaster continued, "I think the kid's something of a one-trick wonder. He's got the potential for a decent wallop, but it's tactically inflexible. He's better equipped to start a war than stop a bank robbery."
"Hm." Dauntless held up the page slightly as he inspected it, leaning back in his chair. "It also says the tank had three different kinds of nonlethal rounds, plus room for two more that weren't filled. What about canisters of containment foam?"
"We might as well just send a PRT squad at that point." Sere pointed out. "And at least a strike team would be able to call for help if they needed it. This one's mute."
Dauntless re-inspected the sheet. "Huh, that does seem like an issue. Still, even if he's no good for regular patrols, imagine the throw weight he could put down against an Endbringer."
Miss Militia nodded. "A few tinker-made tanks could be pretty useful against the larger threats."
Armsmaster shook his head. "The issue there is there'd be no foundation in working with other caps. If we're only going to use him for bigger threats, he'd be worse than useless at coordinating as part of a team, and Endbringers are the worst time for that kind of potential friendly fire."
"You seem pretty against this one." Dauntless remarked.
"I am." Armsmaster agreed. "I think he's a danger to anyone he's teamed up with, as well as himself."
"If I didn't know better," Assault drawled, "I'd say you were trying to keep other tinkers out of Brockton Bay. Is Kid Win enough competition already?"
"That's hardly the issue." Armsmaster answered, undisturbed by all outward appearance. "This young man is just too hard to control to have around- imagine the collateral damage even one stray shot could cause."
Miss Militia raised an eyebrow at that. "Who said anything about the front lines?" she proposed. "What about a support position— he'd be an asset to improving the motor pool. Besides, he's said that his drones were inspired by Dragon's. It would make sense to adopt the same strategy of sending unmanned robots rather than accompanying them. We keep him in sight"— she nodded at Armsmaster "—yet we still get the advantage of his abilities."
"Seconded." Assault said. Dauntless and Velocity both nodded their agreement as well.
"Who's against, besides me?" Armsmaster asked. Sere and Triumph both raised their hands. No one else cast their lot in.
"All right." Armsmaster sighed. "I'll talk to Director Piggot, and we'll see about clearing out a new workshop." He set the folder aside and pulled out another one. "Now, as for the status of the Wards program…"

I almost knocked the laptop off the table when I checked my email a few days later. I was in! For a good minute or so I didn't move, a huge grin spreading across my face. Then I leapt up and grabbed my jacket, intending to head over to Bill's again. It was earlier than my usual time, but today I was fizzling with energy. My hands were a little shaky, and my breath came a little fast as excitement filled me. I was a real, live cape now. I'd go on patrols and catch villains— and one day I'd catch up with Bakuda.
I rolled up to the scrapyard and hopped out of the car with a wide smile on my face. Bill came out of his shack, frowning a little. My own grin faded as I saw the object he was holding with one hand. It was my first version of the Boiler-Plate helmet.