The meeting room at the PRT headquarters in Brockton Bay was filled with the usual faces—Wards, capes, and officers, all seated around a long, rectangular table. The atmosphere was tense but focused as Director Emily Piggot began her report on the last month's events in the city.

Piggot, a stern and no-nonsense woman, stood at the head of the table, her voice carrying a tone of authority. "Let's begin with an overview of the situation in Brockton Bay. The usual skirmishes have continued, with the Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB causing their typical disruptions. However, it's worth noting that Lung appears to be out of the city at the moment."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Piggot continued, "We're not sure where he's gone, but his absence has led to a temporary decrease in ABB-related activities. Keep an eye out, though. He could return at any time."

She paused, allowing the information to sink in before moving on to the next topic. "Finally, there's a new parahuman rogue who's set up shop in the city. His name is Kevin, but he's going by the alias Kevin Fox. Initial reports suggest that he's a Tinker."

Piggot nodded to Armsmaster, signaling him to take over. The armored hero stood up, his expression as serious as ever. "Kevin Fox runs a shop called 'Fox's Mechanical Repairs and Custom Mods.' He's been active on social media, posting photos and videos of his work."

Armsmaster tapped a few keys on the laptop in front of him, and the large screen behind him lit up with images and videos. "Here's some of what he's posted."

The first image was of a sleek, black sports car, its body gleaming under the shop lights. The car looked like something out of a futuristic movie, with sharp lines and a low, aggressive stance.

"This car," Armsmaster said, "is capable of reaching speeds up to 270 miles per hour, as demonstrated in the videos."

He clicked to play one of the videos. The room watched as the car roared down a deserted stretch of road, moving so fast that it was almost a blur. The video ended with the car performing a perfect drift around a corner, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

"Impressive," muttered Miss Militia, leaning back in her chair.

Armsmaster nodded in agreement. "It is. But that's not all. He's also been working on custom motorcycles." The next set of images showed bikes that looked like they belonged in a comic book—sleek designs with skull paint jobs, glowing lights, and other dramatic touches.

"Here's a video of one of his bikes in action," Armsmaster said, clicking play again. This time, the screen showed a motorcycle speeding through an obstacle course, dodging cones and jumping ramps with ease. The bike's design was eye-catching, but it was the performance that held everyone's attention.

"This guy's good," said Clockblocker, shaking his head in disbelief. "Really good."

"Too good to ignore," Piggot added. "Which is why we need to keep a close watch on him. We don't know his full capabilities yet, but if he's a Tinker with this level of skill, he could either be a valuable asset or a significant threat."

"He seems to be another Squealer." Assault quipped from his seat. His comment was received by nods from many.

Armsmaster took his seat again as Piggot addressed the room. "Our primary concern is understanding his intentions. So far, he's kept a low profile and hasn't engaged in any illegal activities, but that could change. We need to be prepared."

"Are we going to approach him?" Vista asked, her young face serious. The girl really acted mature during the meetings. "Try to recruit him, maybe?"

Piggot shook her head. "Not yet. We need more information first. Right now, our priority is observation. Armsmaster, I want you to continue monitoring his activities and see if you can get a better read on his capabilities and intentions."

"Understood," Armsmaster replied.

Piggot looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each person in turn. "Any questions?"

"Do we know anything about his background?" asked Assault. "Where he came from, what he's been doing before this?"

"Not much," Piggot admitted. "His records are clean, and he hasn't made any waves before now. But we're digging deeper."

"What about his social media presence?" Miss Militia inquired. "Anything that stands out?"

Armsmaster pulled up another screen showing Kevin's social media profiles. "His posts are mostly about his work—cars, bikes, mechanical projects. Nothing personal, no hints about his past or other activities. It's all very controlled."

"That's deliberate," Piggot said. "He's smart. He knows not to give too much away."

"Do we have anyone who could get close to him?" Battery asked. "Someone who could get more information without raising suspicion?"

Piggot considered this for a moment. "It's a possibility, but we'd have to be careful. He's new to the city, so he might be on guard. For now, let's stick to observation and see how things develop."

The room fell silent as everyone absorbed the plan. Piggot gave a curt nod. "Alright. Dismissed. Stay vigilant and report any new developments immediately."

As the meeting broke up, the team members filed out, discussing the new rogue among themselves.

Kevin was deep into his work at the shop, his hands greasy as he adjusted the carburetor of a classic motorcycle. The rhythmic sound of tools clanking and engines revving created a comforting background hum. Around him, his newly hired staff busied themselves with their tasks. Ryan, the painter, was meticulously applying a custom design to the side of a car. The two mechanics, Dave and Mike, were elbow-deep in engine repairs. Meanwhile, the two young helpers, Chris and Josh, were cleaning up the shop and fetching tools as needed.

Suddenly, a commotion broke the relative peace. Loud arguing echoed from the front of the warehouse. Kevin glanced up, wiping his hands on a rag, and exchanged puzzled looks with his staff. Before he could inquire further, Chris rushed over, looking a bit flustered.

"Hey, Kevin," Chris panted, "there's a woman out front causing a scene. She says she wants to see you."

Kevin frowned. It was strange though that someone had specifically arrived to see him. "Did she say what she wants?"

"No, but she's pretty insistent. Doesn't seem dangerous, though. No guns or anything."

Kevin nodded. His security system would have alerted him to any weapons, but the loud confrontation still had him on edge. He closed his eyes momentarily and shifted into the powers of Amperi, reaching out with his telepathy to scan the visitor's mind. Almost immediately, he recognized the chaotic brainwaves. It was Squealer—Sherrel Bailey—a notorious cape associated with the Merchants.

Intrigued and slightly apprehensive, Kevin headed towards the front of the warehouse. As he approached, the arguing voices grew louder. He could hear Ryan trying to calm the situation.

"Ma'am, please, if you could just wait a moment—"

"No, I need to see your boss now!" came a woman's voice, high-pitched and laced with agitation.

Kevin rounded the corner and saw her. Squealer was standing there, hands on her hips, looking both defiant and desperate. Her appearance was striking. She had an undeniably attractive figure, with curves that drew the eye. However, her glazed eyes and erratic movements indicated she was under the influence of something. She looked disheveled, her clothes slightly askew, but there was an intensity in her gaze.

Kevin stepped forward, trying to project calm authority. "I'm Kevin. What's going on?"

Squealer's eyes snapped to him, and for a moment, she seemed taken aback. Then she stepped closer, her demeanor shifting from aggressive to joking. "I heard you're good with machines. Real good."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. What is that she wanted from him? "I'd like to think so. What do you need?"

She called out, her voice dripping with mockery. "You're the one everyone's been talking about?"

Kevin narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Depends on who's talking. What do you want, Squealer?" He asked with a sigh. He really didn't want to go the route she was planning. His telepathy was already telling him what she wa gonna say.

She straightened up, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. "I heard you think you're some kind of vehicle genius. That you've been putting out some impressive stuff. But this is Brockton Bay, and I'm the top tinker around here when it comes to vehicles."

Kevin crossed his arms, unimpressed. "And?"

"And," she said, taking a step closer, "I don't like people challenging my authority. So here's the deal, big shot: a race. You and me, in our own rides. We'll see who's really the best."

Kevin raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "You're serious?"

"Damn right, I am," Squealer shot back. "Unless you're too scared to race me like a real man."

Kevin's patience finally snapped. Without a word, he raised his hand towards Squealer and released a concentrated electric shot. The lightning bolt struck her with a sharp crack, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Josh and Chris stood frozen, their mouths agape as they processed what had just happened. "Holy crap, did you see that?" Josh whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.

Kevin turned to them, his expression calm and authoritative. "Pick her up and put her in the chair," he ordered. "And grab a drink from the fridge for our new guest. She'll wake up in about five minutes."

Still in shock, Josh and Chris hurried to follow his instructions. Kevin walked back into the warehouse, where Ryan, Dave, and Mike were looking at him uneasily. The atmosphere was thick with tension.

Dave, who had seen Kevin use his electrical powers before, couldn't hold back his concern. "Boss, is she gonna be okay? That was a pretty strong jolt."

Kevin moved to the vehicle he had been working on and resumed his tasks, his demeanor unbothered. "She'll be fine," he replied, his voice steady. "I just knocked her out. Besides, I sent electrical pulses to her brain to bring her out of her high. She'll wake up sober and probably pissed, but otherwise unharmed."

Ryan exchanged a nervous glance with Mike. "And why exactly are we keeping her here?" Ryan asked cautiously.

Kevin tightened a bolt on the engine, his mind already shifting to his next steps. "I need to talk to her without the theatrics. This was the quickest way to get her attention. We might learn something useful from her."

Back at the front of the shop, Josh and Chris had just finished securing Squealer in a chair and were placing a cold drink on the table beside her. They looked at each other, still processing the surreal turn of events.

"Never a dull day here, huh?" Chris muttered, trying to lighten the mood.

Josh chuckled nervously. "Yeah, no kidding."

Kevin stepped back into the front area, glancing at Squealer as she began to stir. "Good job, guys. Stay alert and let me know if anything else happens."

After five minutes, Squealer's eyes fluttered open. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Kevin took a step forward, giving her a moment to adjust.

"Good to see you awake," he greeted her calmly.

Squealer looked around, confusion evident in her eyes. As her vision cleared, she noticed the various people in the garage holding tools—wrenches, screwdrivers, and even a crowbar. Slowly, the situation began to make sense to her. She turned her gaze back to Kevin, a mix of fear and curiosity in her expression.

"What do you want with me?" Kevin asked again, his tone firm but not unkind. "Why did you come here?"

Squealer hesitated, glancing at the tools in everyone's hands. "I… I don't really know," she stammered. "Probably the drugs. I might have been pissed off after seeing your videos online."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "The videos?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice gaining some strength. "The sleek designs you've been putting out. They're not my style, and I guess I got jealous and angry. I'm good with vehicles, but yours… yours are different."

Kevin nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "I see. Well, first off, you shouldn't be doing drugs."

Squealer let out a bitter laugh, the sound filled with self-pity. "Easier said than done. I'm an addict. Without them, I can't even think straight for more than half an hour."

Kevin looked at her thoughtfully. "I get it. Addiction is tough."

She stared at him, surprised by his empathy. "You don't know the half of it."

Kevin took a deep breath, making a decision. "Listen, I think I can help you. Help you get clean."

Squealer's eyes widened in shock. "What? Why would you do that?"

The others in the garage looked equally surprised, exchanging bewildered glances.

"Because I can," Kevin replied simply. "My powers are based on electricity. Thoughts, brain processes—they're all electrical pulses. I can manipulate them. It's not a perfect solution, but I might be able to help you overcome your addiction."

Squealer stared at him, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. "You're serious?"

Kevin nodded. "Dead serious. If you're willing to try, I'll help you."

The room fell silent, everyone absorbing the gravity of Kevin's offer. Squealer looked around at the faces of the mechanics and helpers, seeing a mix of skepticism and hope. Finally, she looked back at Kevin, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperate hope.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll try. But Skidmark better not know about this. He will get me hooked on them again."

Kevin nodded. There wasn't much he was gonna get from helping her. However, he had been on the receiving end of addiction like her. Only one person had dared to help him. The others simply didn't gave him a fuck. Kwarell was the only one who came forward, helped him, showed him kindness. The man had never asked him for anything, instead telling him to help the helpless when he had the chance. A strange wish, but he had taken in to heart. Dreaded and powerful, Kevin may be. However, he had a moral code, he live by now. One he had adopted after Kwarell's death. He helped wherever he could.

Squealer was going to be a tough work, but with his powers, he could certainly do it. Besides, he wouldn't lie. Kwarell's view of a slightly better world might be challenging and tough. And Heavens knew that Kevin Levin liked nothing more than a challenge.