Bleak meter: Bleak

Timeline: After Season 10/MotO

Context: It's canon that radio signals pass between realms. In the First Realm these mysterious transmissions are called "radio ghosts."

FireCloud3: Thanks! And yeah, exactly. Although, one exception; when the ninja are trying to teach teen Wu about having a sense of humor and they're all screwing around teasing each other, Faith is laughing too. She softens up a lot around the ninja idiots, clearly. That or she appreciates that they're picking on Jay. :P
That's why they use pebbles, nobody but Chew Toy would suspect anything! :P
If Faith knew you'd just called anything about her cute she would die on the spot. XD

JustRandom:That's good!
Jet Jack goes near everyone's fiance! That's how she be.
That was a Grumpy Cat meme I think, thanks. :P
Nooooooo, PEBBLES. Definitely. 100%.
Funny you should say that, originally this was going to be a comic. But that takes a lot more work and I can't draw good. XD
Yeah, that's mine. Thanks. ^_^''
Faith is highly annoyed and she's looking for an escape clause. She'll find one yet.
Aw, she wouldn't pulverize you. Mostly she'd just be like, um, no, only Chewie gets to call me that.
Huh! I'll be upfront about saying, I'm not really a big believer in the mbti system, but now you've got me curious. Are they really score-able?
Possibly! Although unfortunately it'd probably be in the context of something mildly bad happening to Jet Jack, not on purpose. The other most likely candidate is Chew Toy, actually. He's so clueless and earnest that it's hard for Faith to find him threatening and she lets down her guard for him a little more.

Muzzle had been looting old speeders for months by now. Every time something got scrapped, he would be lurking around the perimeter, ready to dart in and snatch this or that salvageable bit of equipment. Every time somebody cursed out a malfunctioning two-way radio, he would be right there offering to fix it, usually asking for only a pittance in return. Granted the repairs never seemed to last very long, but at his prices, who was complaining?

He had finally amassed all the parts he needed. Wires and gears picked from the burnt remains of wrecked speeders. An intact radio crystal, the most difficult find of all. A smooth tin shell he had bartered from the metalworkers. For three nights he labored over assembly, muttering to himself as parts failed to fit as expected and his configuration had to be reworked.

Finally it was ready. He turned the radio on and tested it, thrilling at first the buzz of static, then as he turned the dial, the wavering notes of an orchestra from some far-off realm. Everything he had hoped for: small enough to carry around, but still picking up just as many frequencies as the premium radios in their largest vehicles. There were very few radios like this in the realm—usually if you were building a small one you didn't bother with more than a two-way frequency. Muzzle was an aficionado, however, and had always wanted his own broad-range radio to pick up radio ghosts and listen in on the realm's own radios.

He stood back for a moment, basking in the shiny, flawless finish of his new contraption. Then, tongue tucked against one mouthpiece of his mask, he picked the radio up and began to carefully work scratches into its surface.

Bluffing had never been Muzzle's strong suit. For weeks he had been too nervous to even take his new radio out of the house, but after all, he had built it small for a reason. Today he was due to work in the fields, and the hot, boring work of weeding would go easier if he could listen to radio ghosts in the meantime. After some hesitation, he took the radio with him.

Even as he walked through the village, he struggled with the urge to tuck the radio against his side and keep it hidden. He knew that kind of behavior would only attract more attention. He had to act casual, as if nothing out of the usual was going on.

"You're going to be late," said Daddy No-Legs by way of greeting, clicking his mech up beside him. "Oh. What's that?"

Muzzle jumped inadvertently.

"What's what?" he stammered. His fingers tightened reflexively around the radio despite his best efforts.

"Is that new?" said No-Legs, craning his neck to get a better look. "I've never seen it before."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" sputtered Muzzle, by now actively trying to keep the radio out of his sight. "I've had this old thing for years! Ages!"

No-Legs gave him a long, hard look. Muzzle swallowed, feeling sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

For a moment No-Legs' eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tensed. After a terrifying second, however, he relaxed again and shook his head pityingly.

"You're going to have to do better than that," he said, and turned to drift his course away. Muzzle hung his head, his eyes flickering to the scuffed, faintly dented radio, apparently still not battered enough to fool anyone. Or maybe it was just him not doing a good enough job.

He set the radio down carefully when he started to work, where he could keep an eye on it at all times. After the incident back in the village, he didn't even dare to turn it on yet. No-Legs had enough history with Muzzle that he'd hesitated to alienate him, but he couldn't count on anyone else to have that hesitation. Maybe nobody would notice.

"Hey . . . what's that?"

Dammit.

"I've never seen this before," remarked Jet Jack, picking up the radio before Muzzle even registered where she was. She turned it over, examining it. "This is new, isn't it?"

There was a certain weight to her words. A sizzling mix of panic and rage flared in Muzzle's chest.

"No, it's not!" he snapped, snatching for the radio. He got it out of her fingers, just barely, but he knew he'd given himself away. She raised her eyebrows at him silently.

"I've had this thing for years," gritted Muzzle, in futility. He set the radio down and glared at Jet Jack hard. She tilted her head, sizing up the radio, the grim expression of its owner, and his fists twitching at his sides. He carried a knife, like most Hunters. He looked ready to employ it if pushed.

"Hmph," said Jet Jack at last, and walked away. Muzzle tried not to breathe an audible sigh of relief.

He spent the entire morning warring between tensely watching his radio as he worked, and struggling not to look tense. He still didn't dare to turn it on, but at least nobody else bothered him.

As noon drew closer, he realized with dismay that he probably wouldn't have the guts to use the radio at all today. Well, maybe this would at least count as a first outing; it would sort of get everyone used to seeing it, so they wouldn't pay attention to it. Maybe he could dart back to the village when they all stopped for water at noon, put the radio away so he wouldn't have to be sweating over it all day—

Just a few minutes before noon, there was a scuffle of running feet and Jet Jack suddenly swept past him, snatching the radio from just within arm's reach. Muzzle yelped, lunging after her, but she had already thrown it over to Benji, one of the metalworkers.

"Ohhhhhh, I remember this!" he remarked, examining the battered metal surface. "Didn't I make you a nice tin shell just like this, a few weeks back?"

"No," said Muzzle, his heart seizing. "Give it back."

"I should have known you were up to something!" said Benji. "Aren't we fancy. Thought you could have a nice new radio all for yourself, eh?"

Muzzle lunged at him in turn, but he bolted to a safe distance and passed the radio off to Vetch. A few other Hunters wandered over, attracted by the noise, and the radio changed hands several times, always staying just out of Muzzle's reach.

Finally it sailed over to Arkade. He caught it clumsily and turned it over, examining the front. He glanced up as Muzzle skidded to a halt a few feet away, tensed, waiting for him to toss the radio off to someone else in turn.

"This is broad-frequency," he remarked, his eyes inscrutable behind the glass of his welding mask. "Damn, Muzzle. Rare stuff."

"Give it back . . . " growled Muzzle, his shoulders heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Just hand the damn thing over, would you?" called No-Legs from a few rows over, his tone one of practiced carelessness. "Might as well let him keep it, we can all listen to it."

Arkade snorted and twisted the radio between his hands, squeezing it till the casing cracked open. Muzzle jolted helplessly at the snapping sound. With empty eyes he watched as several components spilled from the inside of the radio, scattering over the soft soil. More spewed out as Arkade tossed the broken halves down.

"Problem?" said Arkade.

Muzzle swallowed hard. His fists shivered at his sides.

"I mean, if there's a problem, we can fight," said Arkade. Some of the spectating Hunters laughed in understanding. Anyone else Muzzle would likely have beaten to a pulp, but he happened to be up against the one wearing solid iron armor from head to toe. He'd only break his hand and make a fool of himself, and he knew it.

"Well?" said Arkade, feigning surprise. "No? Aww, what, are you gonna cry?"

Muzzle swallowed again. The initial impulse had passed, and he couldn't work up the nerve to throw himself at Arkade heedless of consequence now. He was too proud to go scrabbling to pick up the shattered fragments to rebuild. After a moment he turned away, spitting a curse.

"Sure thing, punk," said Arkade. Chuckling, the bystanders dispersed to get some water before going back to work. From across the field No-Legs shook his head in pity again, but didn't intervene.

"What was all that noise about just now?" said Redskull, shuffling over from the next field.

"Nothing much, old man," said Arkade.

"Awww, you tore it up real bad, Arkie," remarked Jet Jack meanwhile, turning over part of the radio with one toe. "You could've left it easier to fix. No-Legs had a point, we could've all listened to it."

"It'd still be Muzzle's," said Arkade, shrugging.

"Is that what this was about?" said Redskull, sounding disappointed. "Did you break something of his? Arkade."

"Don't give me that," said Arkade wearily. "What do you think anyone else would have done?"

"I know everyone does it, and I don't care," said Redskull. "It's cruel."

"Yeah, well," said Arkade.

"You didn't like it when it happened to you, did you?" said Redskull quietly. When Arkade was silent he prodded, "Remember that abacus?"

Arkade looked away. He did remember, naturally. Thirteen batches in, and he'd been the only one who paid attention when the village inventory-keeper came to speak at the nursery. Most of the other whelps had snuck away, the remainder had fallen asleep or started picking fistfights, but Arkade had listened with rapt attention all the way through, answered all the questions the old woman had asked to test him, asked a whole battery of his own. He had known right away that he wanted to do the same thing when he grew up. The inventory-keeper had given him an abacus and showed him how to use it, so he could practice counting and adding to prepare for the job.

He'd held onto it for all of three hours before the other whelps smashed it. He had etched into some corner of his brain the exact groan and cracking noise as the framework burst open and the beads—precious little things, it took almost half a day just to make one of those—spurted out in every direction, to be snatched up by a dozen greedy hands and used as playthings (or in the case of the younger ones, swallowed).

"Don't think I've forgotten that," said Redskull. "I was the one helping you search for any leftover beads afterwards."

"And a lot of good you did," muttered Arkade. He shook himself as if he could buck off the memory. "'Course I didn't like it, old man. Nobody does. That's why we do it."

"Wouldn't it be nice if nobody did it?" said Redskull.

"I can't make everyone else stop doing it," said Arkade. "What would you have me do, just lie down and let everyone kick me around?"

"Change has to start somewhere," said Redskull quietly. When Arkade only scoffed, the old man shook his head and shuffled away.

"As you like it, young one. You make your own choices."

Arkade rolled his eyes, grumbling. He avoided thinking about that abacus if he could help it, he could have done without Redskull bringing it up.

After a moment he looked around to see if anyone was watching, then crouched to pick up some of the shattered pieces of Muzzle's radio. He raised his eyebrows when something flashed from the inside. Carefully he poked his fingers in and plucked out the radio crystal, surprisingly unshattered after its rough treatment.

"How'd he get hold of one of these?" murmured Arkade, surprised. He paused for a moment, considering how long Muzzle must have scrounged to find this sparkling little device. Then he dropped the crystal atop a flat stone and ground it to powder beneath his foot.

Prompt was "New."