In which a Brockton Bay Dockworker finds herself thrust into a role of much more prominence than she'd ever expected.
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Introduction
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
"Emmy, I'm sorry. I looked as hard as I could, but I just can't find another job for you."
I nodded across the table to Danny Hebert.
"I understand, Mr. Hebert. Thank you."
I was turning to walk out of the office when it hit me just how fucked I was. I was two weeks out from eviction at any given time if I couldn't keep the money flowing. Let alone the protection money I needed to avoid getting "recruited" by the ABB. No more money meant I was going to be out on the streets, followed by getting dragged into who knows what.
I hadn't even reached the door by the time I'd started to cry. I'd been working my butt off, and trying as hard as I could and it just wasn't enough. Danny was doing all he could too, as was the entire Dockworkers' Association. Society just wasn't built to handle the stresses it had ended up placed under, and it was crumbling as a result. I... I honestly wish it had been built stronger.
[DESTINATION]
[AGREEMENT]
[TRAJECTORY]
[AGREE- IMPACT]
[QUERY]
[DAMAGE][DESTINATION][TRAJECTORY]
[RELUCTANCE][AGREEMENT]
Two gargantuan beings spiraled through the void. As they approached, they shed parts of themselves. One was impacted by an object on approach, shifting its trajectory ever so slightly. Towards me.
When I came to my senses, I was in a warehouse, in front of a machine. Looking around, I saw Danny slumped against a wall, bags under his eyes and his teenage daughter staring at me oddly.
"What... What happened?"
The girl - I think her name was Taylor? - spoke up.
"You spent the last two days straight building... that. It was like you were possessed; we had to put the water bottles and food directly into your hands or you wouldn't eat. Didn't sleep either. That's why dad needed to get my help; he just couldn't keep you safe on his own, and he needed to minimize how many people found out about the new Tinker."
I blinked.
"I'm a Tinker?"
Taylor nodded in sheer exhaustion.
"As far as we can tell, anyway. Any idea what that machine is for, by the way?"
Looking at it, I realized that I had a pretty good idea.
"I think it's a machine for making things. Random junk goes in, sophisticated components come out. Though I don't think I'd be able to move it without heavy machinery, considering it weighs multiple tons."
Danny sighed as he hauled himself to a state of relative wakefulness,
"Don't worry about it. This warehouse is basically the Dockworkers' Association's collective attic full of forgotten things. That's why I brought you here; I couldn't think of anywhere else you could get all the stuff you were demanding in that fugue state without attracting attention."
Thinking for a moment, I realized an issue.
"If I was in a Tinker fugue for two days, my landlord has probably evicted me already, figuring I was dead or had done a runner. He's that kind of ass; only reason I hadn't moved was not being able to afford it."
Danny nodded,
"There's no 'probably' about it. Your stuff went on the street yesterday. Kurt recovered a lot of the sentimental items, government papers, and your electronics, but scavengers were already picking over the pile when he got there."
I blinked,
"Oh."
Just my luck; get superpowers, become homeless. As always, the perversity of the universe tends towards the maximum.
"Where am I going to sleep, then?"
Taylor shrugged,
"The warehouse office has a bathroom, kitchenette, fridge, and an internet connection. Plus we set up a cot for you. It's not much, but it beats living out of a cardboard box."
She was right.
"Thank you. Both of you."
Danny sighed,
"You're welcome. Any thoughts on what you're going to do next?"
As I glanced at the stuff machine I'd built and ideas whirled through my mind, I noted, "I think I'm going to take a couple weeks to figure out what I can do, first. Jumping into stuff with no plan seems like an incredibly stupid decision."
The conversation gradually trailed off; now that I was (apparently) sane, Taylor and Danny needed to go home and get some sleep. I really needed some sleep too, come to think of it. I had some thoughts about analyzing the stuff-maker, but I was just too pudding-brained to do a good job at it right now. So I just wrote a reminder note about it for the morning, crawled into the cot, and went to sleep.
In the morning, I got myself cleaned up in the bathroom - which had a shower for some reason - noted that I needed to get my hands on a laundry machine somehow, brushed my teeth, and had a basic breakfast of instant oatmeal.
Huh, what's this not about-
"To Morning Emmy: try and figure out our Tinker rules today. From sleepy Emmy."
Ah, right. That seemed pretty logical.
So I wandered over to the stuff making machine to take a look at it. Popping off one of the access panels, I immediately noticed something rather important. Not only did every single system in there have backups for its backups, but everything was massively overbuilt, and sensitive components were thoroughly protected from all manner of abuse. It would never be the most efficient or compact of approaches, but the damn thing would probably still work after being used as a chew toy by Lung in full rage mode.
Heck, thinking it over, I don't think this machine would ever break down without getting the absolute shit kicked out of it first.
That... That was huge. From what I recalled, one of the biggest problems Tinkers had to deal with was the sheer amount of maintenance needed to keep all their equipment in working order. And at least for certain devices in certain circumstances, I could just ignore that issue.
Right, so let's think about where this might lead. If my specialty was something to do with making really durable technology, then it should be a lot easier to lean into it than to work against it. Given that I still needed a laundry machine, I had a pretty good first project to test that hypothesis.
Nodding to myself, I booted up the stuff-making machine and got to work.
I knew a fair bit about how washing machines worked on account of my engineering-nerd teenage years, heck, I'd even repaired a few of them. So it was pretty straightforward to start working on the design for a laundry machine. Every single time I tried to make it lighter or more efficient, I felt like I was trudging uphill without any help from my power whatsoever. On the other hand, all my efforts to make the laundry machine more reliable worked just fine.
I had a workable washer-drier design that should last for about a century within an hour, and I got to building it. Even if this project had mostly been meant to learn more about my power, the fact was that I did need some way to clean my clothes. That the laundry machine was rugged enough to work in an active volcano in antarctica was irrelevant.
Come to think of it, that could be a pretty good basis for a cape name. Ruggedizer.
I nodded across the table to Danny Hebert.
"I understand, Mr. Hebert. Thank you."
I was turning to walk out of the office when it hit me just how fucked I was. I was two weeks out from eviction at any given time if I couldn't keep the money flowing. Let alone the protection money I needed to avoid getting "recruited" by the ABB. No more money meant I was going to be out on the streets, followed by getting dragged into who knows what.
I hadn't even reached the door by the time I'd started to cry. I'd been working my butt off, and trying as hard as I could and it just wasn't enough. Danny was doing all he could too, as was the entire Dockworkers' Association. Society just wasn't built to handle the stresses it had ended up placed under, and it was crumbling as a result. I... I honestly wish it had been built stronger.
[DESTINATION]
[AGREEMENT]
[TRAJECTORY]
[AGREE- IMPACT]
[QUERY]
[DAMAGE][DESTINATION][TRAJECTORY]
[RELUCTANCE][AGREEMENT]
Two gargantuan beings spiraled through the void. As they approached, they shed parts of themselves. One was impacted by an object on approach, shifting its trajectory ever so slightly. Towards me.
When I came to my senses, I was in a warehouse, in front of a machine. Looking around, I saw Danny slumped against a wall, bags under his eyes and his teenage daughter staring at me oddly.
"What... What happened?"
The girl - I think her name was Taylor? - spoke up.
"You spent the last two days straight building... that. It was like you were possessed; we had to put the water bottles and food directly into your hands or you wouldn't eat. Didn't sleep either. That's why dad needed to get my help; he just couldn't keep you safe on his own, and he needed to minimize how many people found out about the new Tinker."
I blinked.
"I'm a Tinker?"
Taylor nodded in sheer exhaustion.
"As far as we can tell, anyway. Any idea what that machine is for, by the way?"
Looking at it, I realized that I had a pretty good idea.
"I think it's a machine for making things. Random junk goes in, sophisticated components come out. Though I don't think I'd be able to move it without heavy machinery, considering it weighs multiple tons."
Danny sighed as he hauled himself to a state of relative wakefulness,
"Don't worry about it. This warehouse is basically the Dockworkers' Association's collective attic full of forgotten things. That's why I brought you here; I couldn't think of anywhere else you could get all the stuff you were demanding in that fugue state without attracting attention."
Thinking for a moment, I realized an issue.
"If I was in a Tinker fugue for two days, my landlord has probably evicted me already, figuring I was dead or had done a runner. He's that kind of ass; only reason I hadn't moved was not being able to afford it."
Danny nodded,
"There's no 'probably' about it. Your stuff went on the street yesterday. Kurt recovered a lot of the sentimental items, government papers, and your electronics, but scavengers were already picking over the pile when he got there."
I blinked,
"Oh."
Just my luck; get superpowers, become homeless. As always, the perversity of the universe tends towards the maximum.
"Where am I going to sleep, then?"
Taylor shrugged,
"The warehouse office has a bathroom, kitchenette, fridge, and an internet connection. Plus we set up a cot for you. It's not much, but it beats living out of a cardboard box."
She was right.
"Thank you. Both of you."
Danny sighed,
"You're welcome. Any thoughts on what you're going to do next?"
As I glanced at the stuff machine I'd built and ideas whirled through my mind, I noted, "I think I'm going to take a couple weeks to figure out what I can do, first. Jumping into stuff with no plan seems like an incredibly stupid decision."
The conversation gradually trailed off; now that I was (apparently) sane, Taylor and Danny needed to go home and get some sleep. I really needed some sleep too, come to think of it. I had some thoughts about analyzing the stuff-maker, but I was just too pudding-brained to do a good job at it right now. So I just wrote a reminder note about it for the morning, crawled into the cot, and went to sleep.
In the morning, I got myself cleaned up in the bathroom - which had a shower for some reason - noted that I needed to get my hands on a laundry machine somehow, brushed my teeth, and had a basic breakfast of instant oatmeal.
Huh, what's this not about-
"To Morning Emmy: try and figure out our Tinker rules today. From sleepy Emmy."
Ah, right. That seemed pretty logical.
So I wandered over to the stuff making machine to take a look at it. Popping off one of the access panels, I immediately noticed something rather important. Not only did every single system in there have backups for its backups, but everything was massively overbuilt, and sensitive components were thoroughly protected from all manner of abuse. It would never be the most efficient or compact of approaches, but the damn thing would probably still work after being used as a chew toy by Lung in full rage mode.
Heck, thinking it over, I don't think this machine would ever break down without getting the absolute shit kicked out of it first.
That... That was huge. From what I recalled, one of the biggest problems Tinkers had to deal with was the sheer amount of maintenance needed to keep all their equipment in working order. And at least for certain devices in certain circumstances, I could just ignore that issue.
Right, so let's think about where this might lead. If my specialty was something to do with making really durable technology, then it should be a lot easier to lean into it than to work against it. Given that I still needed a laundry machine, I had a pretty good first project to test that hypothesis.
Nodding to myself, I booted up the stuff-making machine and got to work.
I knew a fair bit about how washing machines worked on account of my engineering-nerd teenage years, heck, I'd even repaired a few of them. So it was pretty straightforward to start working on the design for a laundry machine. Every single time I tried to make it lighter or more efficient, I felt like I was trudging uphill without any help from my power whatsoever. On the other hand, all my efforts to make the laundry machine more reliable worked just fine.
I had a workable washer-drier design that should last for about a century within an hour, and I got to building it. Even if this project had mostly been meant to learn more about my power, the fact was that I did need some way to clean my clothes. That the laundry machine was rugged enough to work in an active volcano in antarctica was irrelevant.
Come to think of it, that could be a pretty good basis for a cape name. Ruggedizer.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
… the tinker tech ability to make stuff more durable/last longer is absolutely busted, I love it<3
Functional fusion reactors anyone?
Really this opens hundreds of thousands of doors to brilliant ideas that we just can't build do to lack of durable enough material, doesn't even need to be tinker tech magic space lasers.
Functional fusion reactors anyone?
Really this opens hundreds of thousands of doors to brilliant ideas that we just can't build do to lack of durable enough material, doesn't even need to be tinker tech magic space lasers.
- Location
- united kingdom
Interesting, this has massive implications for usage, other than him of his devices as one of the main reasons that tinkers can't really mass distribute the equipment is because they need to maintain it directly due to shard shenanigans. With his devices, ruggedised and over designed for sheer reliability, apocalypse proof, essentially. Give his equipment to others for them to do the hero business. Plus many other implications.
I'd drop the 'izer' and just leave it as Rugged. Ruggedizer sounds like something a Doofenshmirtz knock-off would invent.
Jordisk
<Unverified N00B>
- Location
- Blind Eternities
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
There is no "tinker tech ability to". There is "the ability tonmake tinkertech". Yes, that does include some shaker and breaker aspects, as the materials are modified, space is shifted, components are secretly replaced by power shenanigans, hands do the work of advanced tools, eyes see levels of detail like microscopes, and so on, along with a Master/Stranger effect to not NOTICE this, of course. However, she does not have some Striker ability to make materials more durable.
Her tech is rugged and sturdy, with lots of redunancy. It isn't "make the steel harder", it is "use thicker steel". It isn't "magic memory that can't fail", it is "use twelve drives that mirror each other".
Well this is unique and interesting.
Modus_Tollens
SCREAMING.
- Location
- ALSO SCREAMING.
Its probably a lot of things, in all honesty: Tinkertech has its theme, its caveats, but a lot of the time it doesn't really care what you are painting as long as you have all the right colors on your palette and are consistently pushing boundaries. Using what we see as a start I could see it allowing for a whole bunch of shenanigans, if shenanigans that you might not necessarily be dovetailing into your work on day one.
You have redundancies, sure, but for instance you might have distributed and fully integrated computation throughout the structure so that the structural material of the object itself is doing the computation. Break a device in half and both halves might still function at, say, a third of the original's speed. If they are close enough to one another, or similar tinkertech, it might be at half speed because its using some weird natural resonance thing to act like wifi. The reverse might be true as well with more substrate tacked on or just in range increasing the functionality of the whole shebang, if requiring ever mounting quantities with each doubling of power.
And, instead of using thicker steel, it might have her using some weird structural geometry hacks instead. Materials formed in certain ways take on absurd properties. There are things called 'Prince Rupert's Drops' which are the result of quickly quenching falling beads of glass. Poke the tail too hard with a finger and it breaks (borderline detonating the whole structure) but strike the head with a hammer and it will laugh in your face. Things like this exist and sometimes we bumble into them but it seems like the sort of thing a tinker fugue would pull out of nowhere.
Last edited:
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
R: One very minor spoiler:
Ruggedizer and Armsmaster are going to constantly get on each others' nerves.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Honestly I could go either way on armsmaster so this is fine.
How are you all doing?
Hope things have been good enough at least?
Activation 1-1
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
The next week passed in a blur of planning and Tinkering. I figured out pretty quickly that selling my Tinkertech would be one of the better options in terms of sustaining myself, so I looked into the laws about that.
Putting it bluntly, they were shit. Not being able to patent non-replicable Tinkertech was something I could understand, sure. Sounded pretty reasonable, to be honest. But there was an utter maze of other rules and fines associated with NEPEA-5 that made things very tricky to keep track of. Broadly, it seemed there were only four-ish avenues to operate a business as a Parahuman without getting smacked upside the head with fines.
Option one: have a business entirely unrelated to your powers. Not really an option for me.
Option two: Be a sole proprietor or independent contractor. So long as you stayed below a certain income threshold anyway.
Option three: Work for a business owned by non-parahumans, thought you could kinda-sorta loophole this sometimes.
Option four: Be useful enough to the government that they would ignore the other rules. Not an officially approved route and pretty darn risky, but there were a few known cases.
Of course, there was a fifth option: have enough firepower to simply ignore the fines while being too much of a problem if provoked to merit enforcement. It would get me declared a villain eventually, no doubt about it. But as groups like Toybox and the Elite showed, that wasn't necessarily a dealbreaker. Heck, sometimes the PRT even purchased stuff from members of the Elite. That's how the Rig got its fancy force field after all.
After some thought, I concluded that the best option was to set up a legal fiction of being an independent contractor working for my civilian identity. It wouldn't hold up forever, maybe not even for very long. But it would buy time to build up to the point where I could simply ignore all the fines that came my way.
That clarified some things for me. I needed a starting product, something I could sell. I needed security to keep from getting kidnapped and forced to work for one of the gangs - given my unfortunate ethnicity, I was at risk from the Merchants, ABB, and the Empire 88 -. Lastly, I needed supporting equipment for manufacturing at scale, shipping, that sort of thing. I also needed some help with regards to marketing.
I started with security first. unfortunately, my power just wasn't suitable for making powered armor; the best I could do was something akin to a tankette. But the main issue there was just how much volume was needed to protect my squishy human body without using stuff like crumple zones, which my power absolutely refused to countenance. If I removed myself from the unit, most of those issues went away.
And that's why I made a set of security robots, linked to a CCTV system. They were about human sized, got around on tank treads, featured four dextrous arms and hands each, and each of them had a set of electrolasers to incapacitate intruders. For brutes, well, laser-guided lightning guns could take a fairly all-encompassing definition of "incapacitate". Each of them was also exceedingly durable; anything short of an anti-tank weapon wouldn't even scratch them. Not to mention that they would only need a tune-up every thirty years or so, not accounting for combat damage.
The trio of robots were also smart enough that I decided to err on the side of caution when it came to treating them like people. So I named them Jerry, Berry, and Mary, for lack of better ideas.
As for my initial product, I opted for emergency supplies. Extremely durable radios, flashlights, water purifiers, camp stoves, and solar chargers for the above. Nothing too out there, but things that lots of people would get good use out of. I'd just about finished the stuff-making machines for the solar chargers and radios when Berry broke my concentration.
"Emmy, the Heberts have arrived."
I blinked. The expression on Berry's facial screen was neutral.
"Show them in."
A few minutes later, we were talking in the office. Jerry had joined our impromptu meeting, though the other two security robots were busy maintaining the perimeter.
Danny was the first to speak, asking "So, what have you decided?"
I shrugged "I'm going to try making money off my Tinkertech, though with the laws being what they are that means I'm very technically going villain."
Taylor nodded towards Jerry "You certainly have the intimidating evil minions to pull that off."
I groaned, "Yes the security robots are intimidating, and they are technically my minions, but they're not evil. They don't go around hurting people for no good reason."
Something about that seemed to hit a nerve, as Taylor almost shrank into herself. Meanwhile, Jerry himself apparently felt no need to comment.
Danny sighed,
"I hope it works out for you. God knows, we could use some more good jobs around here."
I nodded,
"I'll see what I can do. I'm going to need some help with shipping and receiving along with marketing, if nothing else."
There were a few moments of silence, then Danny asked,
"Curiously, can I see the stuff you're planning on selling?"
I shrugged,
"Sure? I've got prototypes of the first wave of equipment all ready."
A minute later, Danny was holding my prototype flashlight.
"Good light, nice grip. A bit heavy, though. What exactly separates this from all the other flashlights on the market?"
I held out my hand, "Pass it to me, and I'll demonstrate."
Danny did so. I proceeded to put the flashlight in a clamp, lens up. I then retrieved the pickaxe I'd found lying around the warehouse, and passed it to Danny.
"Hit the flashlight with that pickaxe. Hard as you can."
Danny hesitantly nodded, wound up, and slammed the pickaxe's point into the flashlight's lens at high speed. The light didn't even flicker, and the lens wasn't even scratched. As for Danny, he had managed to swing the pickaxe hard enough to outright break its sturdy wooden handle. He was also cussing up a storm, having apparently pulled a muscle in the process.
Taylor asked "What is that lens even made of?"
I answered "Synthetic corundum, with a few extra things added. It'll stand up to anything short of a gunshot. The case meanwhile is just really good nickel-plated steel with some clever tempering. Quadruple redundant batteries and circuits coupled with extremely good temperature tolerance mean it should stand up to just about anything reasonable."
Danny regained his composure, before asking "Are all the things you make that durable?"
I nodded, "Yeah, kind of my thing, it seems."
"Then what's the going price for one of those flashlights? I bet a lot of people will appreciate having something they can know works with absolute certainty."
"Haven't decided yet. How does two hundred dollars sound?"
Danny thought for a moment, before answering.
"It sounds like you've got yourself a deal. And you should probably charge more for them, being completely honest."
Putting it bluntly, they were shit. Not being able to patent non-replicable Tinkertech was something I could understand, sure. Sounded pretty reasonable, to be honest. But there was an utter maze of other rules and fines associated with NEPEA-5 that made things very tricky to keep track of. Broadly, it seemed there were only four-ish avenues to operate a business as a Parahuman without getting smacked upside the head with fines.
Option one: have a business entirely unrelated to your powers. Not really an option for me.
Option two: Be a sole proprietor or independent contractor. So long as you stayed below a certain income threshold anyway.
Option three: Work for a business owned by non-parahumans, thought you could kinda-sorta loophole this sometimes.
Option four: Be useful enough to the government that they would ignore the other rules. Not an officially approved route and pretty darn risky, but there were a few known cases.
Of course, there was a fifth option: have enough firepower to simply ignore the fines while being too much of a problem if provoked to merit enforcement. It would get me declared a villain eventually, no doubt about it. But as groups like Toybox and the Elite showed, that wasn't necessarily a dealbreaker. Heck, sometimes the PRT even purchased stuff from members of the Elite. That's how the Rig got its fancy force field after all.
After some thought, I concluded that the best option was to set up a legal fiction of being an independent contractor working for my civilian identity. It wouldn't hold up forever, maybe not even for very long. But it would buy time to build up to the point where I could simply ignore all the fines that came my way.
That clarified some things for me. I needed a starting product, something I could sell. I needed security to keep from getting kidnapped and forced to work for one of the gangs - given my unfortunate ethnicity, I was at risk from the Merchants, ABB, and the Empire 88 -. Lastly, I needed supporting equipment for manufacturing at scale, shipping, that sort of thing. I also needed some help with regards to marketing.
I started with security first. unfortunately, my power just wasn't suitable for making powered armor; the best I could do was something akin to a tankette. But the main issue there was just how much volume was needed to protect my squishy human body without using stuff like crumple zones, which my power absolutely refused to countenance. If I removed myself from the unit, most of those issues went away.
And that's why I made a set of security robots, linked to a CCTV system. They were about human sized, got around on tank treads, featured four dextrous arms and hands each, and each of them had a set of electrolasers to incapacitate intruders. For brutes, well, laser-guided lightning guns could take a fairly all-encompassing definition of "incapacitate". Each of them was also exceedingly durable; anything short of an anti-tank weapon wouldn't even scratch them. Not to mention that they would only need a tune-up every thirty years or so, not accounting for combat damage.
The trio of robots were also smart enough that I decided to err on the side of caution when it came to treating them like people. So I named them Jerry, Berry, and Mary, for lack of better ideas.
As for my initial product, I opted for emergency supplies. Extremely durable radios, flashlights, water purifiers, camp stoves, and solar chargers for the above. Nothing too out there, but things that lots of people would get good use out of. I'd just about finished the stuff-making machines for the solar chargers and radios when Berry broke my concentration.
"Emmy, the Heberts have arrived."
I blinked. The expression on Berry's facial screen was neutral.
"Show them in."
A few minutes later, we were talking in the office. Jerry had joined our impromptu meeting, though the other two security robots were busy maintaining the perimeter.
Danny was the first to speak, asking "So, what have you decided?"
I shrugged "I'm going to try making money off my Tinkertech, though with the laws being what they are that means I'm very technically going villain."
Taylor nodded towards Jerry "You certainly have the intimidating evil minions to pull that off."
I groaned, "Yes the security robots are intimidating, and they are technically my minions, but they're not evil. They don't go around hurting people for no good reason."
Something about that seemed to hit a nerve, as Taylor almost shrank into herself. Meanwhile, Jerry himself apparently felt no need to comment.
Danny sighed,
"I hope it works out for you. God knows, we could use some more good jobs around here."
I nodded,
"I'll see what I can do. I'm going to need some help with shipping and receiving along with marketing, if nothing else."
There were a few moments of silence, then Danny asked,
"Curiously, can I see the stuff you're planning on selling?"
I shrugged,
"Sure? I've got prototypes of the first wave of equipment all ready."
A minute later, Danny was holding my prototype flashlight.
"Good light, nice grip. A bit heavy, though. What exactly separates this from all the other flashlights on the market?"
I held out my hand, "Pass it to me, and I'll demonstrate."
Danny did so. I proceeded to put the flashlight in a clamp, lens up. I then retrieved the pickaxe I'd found lying around the warehouse, and passed it to Danny.
"Hit the flashlight with that pickaxe. Hard as you can."
Danny hesitantly nodded, wound up, and slammed the pickaxe's point into the flashlight's lens at high speed. The light didn't even flicker, and the lens wasn't even scratched. As for Danny, he had managed to swing the pickaxe hard enough to outright break its sturdy wooden handle. He was also cussing up a storm, having apparently pulled a muscle in the process.
Taylor asked "What is that lens even made of?"
I answered "Synthetic corundum, with a few extra things added. It'll stand up to anything short of a gunshot. The case meanwhile is just really good nickel-plated steel with some clever tempering. Quadruple redundant batteries and circuits coupled with extremely good temperature tolerance mean it should stand up to just about anything reasonable."
Danny regained his composure, before asking "Are all the things you make that durable?"
I nodded, "Yeah, kind of my thing, it seems."
"Then what's the going price for one of those flashlights? I bet a lot of people will appreciate having something they can know works with absolute certainty."
"Haven't decided yet. How does two hundred dollars sound?"
Danny thought for a moment, before answering.
"It sounds like you've got yourself a deal. And you should probably charge more for them, being completely honest."
Watched ! And it change from the typical tinker we see in fanfiction.
tenmachi
We don't talk about the other nine
First: have my likes and my watch. Very neat premise!
Second: if the gov't in setting doesn't get to work with the Wildbow Ball, and Cauldron doesn't ruin it for everybody, I could see this Going Interesting Places. Here's hoping.
Third: how absolutely horrifying would it be to have Ziz in attack mode grab access to her powerset...
Second: if the gov't in setting doesn't get to work with the Wildbow Ball, and Cauldron doesn't ruin it for everybody, I could see this Going Interesting Places. Here's hoping.
Third: how absolutely horrifying would it be to have Ziz in attack mode grab access to her powerset...
COBOL perhaps? Circa 1959 and still in use it seems. There are 2014 standard and 2023 stable release compilers
It doesn't seem to be going anywhere, much to many many people's displeasure.
Someone should call Atropos
Activation 1-2
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Two days after I sold that prototype flashlight to Danny, I was ready to make my initial sales pitch to the PRT for the radios and flashlights. About a quarter of that time was spent getting the flashlight making machine up and running, the rest was spent on making another robot. This time, I'd made a body double.
To my overjoyed shock, my power was exceedingly cooperative on the design here. After some thinking, I was able to figure out why: redundancy was a major part of how my power ensured my tech's reliability, and at present I was a single point of failure. With all the features my power was cramming in here, I wasn't just making a decoy. I was basically making an entire second me.
While my power was telling me it would take some brain surgery to fully synch myself up to the robo-mes, a brainwave monitoring headset was an acceptable interim solution. And also I was more than a bit nervous about opening up my skull for any reason whatsoever.
My double was also significantly stronger and more durable than a baseline human. Which let me equip her with "power armor" without the issues that trying to protect my squishy self presented. That "power armor" also let me disguise the fact that she weighed about three times as much as she should, and would set off metal detectors.
Once Me2 was ready, I slept with the brainwave headset on to get her mind up to spec.
I woke up to her gently brushing my hair.
"Morning, Emmy. Big day today, you ready?"
I got up, yawning.
"Yeah. You ready to make the call?"
The second me nodded, as I took off the brainwave headset and stashed it in a cabinet. Meanwhile, Me2 picked up the telephone and dialed the PRT's non-emergency line.
"Hello. I'm a Tinker looking to sell equipment to the PRT."
While Me2 (she really needed a better name) talked, I went through my morning hygiene routine and ate breakfast. Forty minutes later, Me2 hung up the phone and walked over.
"So, I've got... mixed news. We'll be meeting with the PRT in about two hours; that said, they really weren't happy about meeting here instead of PRT HQ, despite our very good reasons for not wanting to go there. They also absolutely refused to let us bring a security robot. So we're going to have Armsmaster here, with two whole vans of PRT troopers to make sure we don't try anything."
I sighed. "That makes sense. In the meantime... how do you feel about Melissa as a name?"
My robot doppelganger shrugged,
"I can live with it. Though you should probably get in the habit of calling me Ruggedizer when there's people over and I've got the suit on."
I thought for a few seconds,
"Yeesh, cape names are a weird concept. They're basically branding."
The two hours passed, and I found myself incredibly jealous of Melissa, mostly on account of constipation. Not needing to go to the bathroom would have been great. Also not needing sleep, though blanket cocoon was nice. Though on the other hand, she was missing out on food on account of not having a digestive system.
I'd barely gotten out of the bathroom in time to see Melissa opening the door for Armsmaster; we'd already explained that the Dockworkers' Association had given us permission to use the building until we could get a permanent location, so we weren't worried about getting arrested for squatting.
As forMelissa Ruggedizer, she greeted Armsmaster with, "Nice to meet you, I'm Ruggedizer."
Armsmaster replied,
"And I'm Armsmaster, Protectorate ENE. I've been told that you want to sell us some equipment?"
"Yes. I specialize in extremely durable and reliable technology. At the moment I've got production of flashlights and radios up and running, though I intend to branch out to more products in future. Would you prefer to see a product demonstration inside, or out here?"
Armsmaster's response was a terse, "Outside, thank you very much."
He very clearly didn't trust us, which I suppose made sense. Still, this was an opportunity.
Ruggedizer turned to me and asked, "Hey boss, would you get one of the flashlights and two of the radios? For demonstration purposes."
I called back, "Sure thing R!" and went to get the items in question, though that did mean I missed out on a bit of the conversation. When I got back, I heard Armsmaster talking.
"So she's only your employer for legal purposes?"
"Yes."
"You're walking a tightrope there. Be careful."
That's when I entered the conversation, handing the bundle of kit to Ruggedizer, who then handed it to Armsmaster.
"I got the stuff!"
Armsmaster turned the devices over, looked at how they were assembled, clicked the flashlight on and off, and such. After a moment, he remarked, "I do not see why this is impressive."
I shrugged. "Then set it down and have one of the PRT guys shoot it. It'll still work."
Armsmaster looked somewhat askance, but did as requested. A moment later, a rifle bullet was fired into the flashlight and each of the radios.
One of the PRT sergeants (his name said Brown) picked up the flashlight and clicked it on.
"Huh. That was a full power rifle round, and the thing's barely dented. I'm shaking it around, and the light's not even flickering."
Ruggedizer shrugged,
"Well yeah, it's got quadruple-redundant circuits and a bunch of other stuff to make sure it's going to work no matter what."
Armsmaster looked askance,
"Why would you put that level of redundancy in a flashlight!?"
"Why wouldn't you? Then it might break when you really need it!"
"But it's so inefficient!"
That's when Sergeant Brown stepped between the other me and Armsmaster.
"You're both smart, now can we please drop the personal issues and focus on the business transaction at hand? Ruggedizer, you want to sell us flashlights and radios, with their extreme durability and reliability being the main selling point, yes?"
The other me nodded, "That's correct. I'm thinking four hundred dollars a flashlight and six hundred per radio; I've looked up prices in the industry, and those seem about right for the quality I'm selling. I might also start making ballistic plates for your armor."
Sergeant Brown nodded,
"Then I can take these demonstration units for Tinkertech evaluations, correct?"
"Sure, consider them free samples."
That's when Armsmaster spoke up again,
"You really should consider joining the Protectorate; independent Tinkers have a tendency to get snapped up or killed in fairly short order."
Ruggedizer smirked, her eyeroll hidden behind her tinted visor.
"I'm not stupid. That's why I made the trio of security robots you absolutely refused to allow anywhere near PRT HQ. Rest assured that I've got plenty of plans to make sure I don't get press-ganged or killed."
There was an awkward pause, as if Armsmaster was mentally evaluating whether or not to continue the obligatory recruitment push.
Eventually, he answered, "Very well. We'll get back to you once we've made a decision about whether or not to purchase your products."
With that, the PRT left, bringing Armsmaster with them.
To my overjoyed shock, my power was exceedingly cooperative on the design here. After some thinking, I was able to figure out why: redundancy was a major part of how my power ensured my tech's reliability, and at present I was a single point of failure. With all the features my power was cramming in here, I wasn't just making a decoy. I was basically making an entire second me.
While my power was telling me it would take some brain surgery to fully synch myself up to the robo-mes, a brainwave monitoring headset was an acceptable interim solution. And also I was more than a bit nervous about opening up my skull for any reason whatsoever.
My double was also significantly stronger and more durable than a baseline human. Which let me equip her with "power armor" without the issues that trying to protect my squishy self presented. That "power armor" also let me disguise the fact that she weighed about three times as much as she should, and would set off metal detectors.
Once Me2 was ready, I slept with the brainwave headset on to get her mind up to spec.
I woke up to her gently brushing my hair.
"Morning, Emmy. Big day today, you ready?"
I got up, yawning.
"Yeah. You ready to make the call?"
The second me nodded, as I took off the brainwave headset and stashed it in a cabinet. Meanwhile, Me2 picked up the telephone and dialed the PRT's non-emergency line.
"Hello. I'm a Tinker looking to sell equipment to the PRT."
While Me2 (she really needed a better name) talked, I went through my morning hygiene routine and ate breakfast. Forty minutes later, Me2 hung up the phone and walked over.
"So, I've got... mixed news. We'll be meeting with the PRT in about two hours; that said, they really weren't happy about meeting here instead of PRT HQ, despite our very good reasons for not wanting to go there. They also absolutely refused to let us bring a security robot. So we're going to have Armsmaster here, with two whole vans of PRT troopers to make sure we don't try anything."
I sighed. "That makes sense. In the meantime... how do you feel about Melissa as a name?"
My robot doppelganger shrugged,
"I can live with it. Though you should probably get in the habit of calling me Ruggedizer when there's people over and I've got the suit on."
I thought for a few seconds,
"Yeesh, cape names are a weird concept. They're basically branding."
The two hours passed, and I found myself incredibly jealous of Melissa, mostly on account of constipation. Not needing to go to the bathroom would have been great. Also not needing sleep, though blanket cocoon was nice. Though on the other hand, she was missing out on food on account of not having a digestive system.
I'd barely gotten out of the bathroom in time to see Melissa opening the door for Armsmaster; we'd already explained that the Dockworkers' Association had given us permission to use the building until we could get a permanent location, so we weren't worried about getting arrested for squatting.
As for
Armsmaster replied,
"And I'm Armsmaster, Protectorate ENE. I've been told that you want to sell us some equipment?"
"Yes. I specialize in extremely durable and reliable technology. At the moment I've got production of flashlights and radios up and running, though I intend to branch out to more products in future. Would you prefer to see a product demonstration inside, or out here?"
Armsmaster's response was a terse, "Outside, thank you very much."
He very clearly didn't trust us, which I suppose made sense. Still, this was an opportunity.
Ruggedizer turned to me and asked, "Hey boss, would you get one of the flashlights and two of the radios? For demonstration purposes."
I called back, "Sure thing R!" and went to get the items in question, though that did mean I missed out on a bit of the conversation. When I got back, I heard Armsmaster talking.
"So she's only your employer for legal purposes?"
"Yes."
"You're walking a tightrope there. Be careful."
That's when I entered the conversation, handing the bundle of kit to Ruggedizer, who then handed it to Armsmaster.
"I got the stuff!"
Armsmaster turned the devices over, looked at how they were assembled, clicked the flashlight on and off, and such. After a moment, he remarked, "I do not see why this is impressive."
I shrugged. "Then set it down and have one of the PRT guys shoot it. It'll still work."
Armsmaster looked somewhat askance, but did as requested. A moment later, a rifle bullet was fired into the flashlight and each of the radios.
One of the PRT sergeants (his name said Brown) picked up the flashlight and clicked it on.
"Huh. That was a full power rifle round, and the thing's barely dented. I'm shaking it around, and the light's not even flickering."
Ruggedizer shrugged,
"Well yeah, it's got quadruple-redundant circuits and a bunch of other stuff to make sure it's going to work no matter what."
Armsmaster looked askance,
"Why would you put that level of redundancy in a flashlight!?"
"Why wouldn't you? Then it might break when you really need it!"
"But it's so inefficient!"
That's when Sergeant Brown stepped between the other me and Armsmaster.
"You're both smart, now can we please drop the personal issues and focus on the business transaction at hand? Ruggedizer, you want to sell us flashlights and radios, with their extreme durability and reliability being the main selling point, yes?"
The other me nodded, "That's correct. I'm thinking four hundred dollars a flashlight and six hundred per radio; I've looked up prices in the industry, and those seem about right for the quality I'm selling. I might also start making ballistic plates for your armor."
Sergeant Brown nodded,
"Then I can take these demonstration units for Tinkertech evaluations, correct?"
"Sure, consider them free samples."
That's when Armsmaster spoke up again,
"You really should consider joining the Protectorate; independent Tinkers have a tendency to get snapped up or killed in fairly short order."
Ruggedizer smirked, her eyeroll hidden behind her tinted visor.
"I'm not stupid. That's why I made the trio of security robots you absolutely refused to allow anywhere near PRT HQ. Rest assured that I've got plenty of plans to make sure I don't get press-ganged or killed."
There was an awkward pause, as if Armsmaster was mentally evaluating whether or not to continue the obligatory recruitment push.
Eventually, he answered, "Very well. We'll get back to you once we've made a decision about whether or not to purchase your products."
With that, the PRT left, bringing Armsmaster with them.
I would have thought the two would have gotten along great, since the less time spent fixing stuff, the more time you can be in the field.
Depends on the author, most write his shard as being efficient in use of materials. Not so much in maintenance.
Qoheleth
Archivist
- Pronouns
- Any
Hm. Emmy's trigger vision and Tinker specialty make me suspect that she got one of those Eden shards that entered circulation pre-Cauldron. It's a strong fit for the plan Eden had been cooking up when she crashed, which was more focused on large blocs at war with each other than individual or superteam-sized cape vs cape fights, & thus would've put Tinkertech under fewer "only the Tinker can safely use this" restrictions.
It's not the way he would do it, so it's automatically stupid. Also, his power is efficiency and miniaturization, so he considers anything that makes a device bulky a waste of space, and therefore inefficient.
GBscientist
The Empire's Greatest Mouse
- Pronouns
- He/Him
If it were not for Emmy's inability to make power armour, I would say she was working from BattleTech's tech tree. Heavy and tough describes just about everything except armour plating.
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Activation 1-3
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
A/N: Gonna be a brief hiatus for Thanksgiving Break after this one.
Emily Piggot looked up from some routine paperwork as Andre Smith - her division's head of Tinkertech evaluation - entered her office.
"Ma'am, I've got the testing reports on the samples of Ruggedizer's tech that were given to us for testing purposes."
Director Piggot thought for a moment before asking,
"She's the independent Tinker who wanted to sell us flashlights and radios, I believe? How did that go?"
Andre set the report on the director's desk as he answered.
"The full version is in the reports there, but in short, they're good flashlights and radios, and they still work."
Piggot blinked,
"I feel like I'm missing something here. Why is them still working impressive, exactly?"
"Because they still work after being blown up multiple times, shot with the biggest gun we had in inventory, attacked with all manner of power tools, thrown off the PRT building's roof, getting set on fire, getting dunked in liquid nitrogen and various horrible corrosive agents, irradiated with an X-Ray machine, being squished in a hydraulic press, having their casings stuffed full of mud, getting subjected to obscene amounts of thermal wear, being blasted with an EMP, and lastly they were given to the Wards with explicit orders to 'try and break the damn things', quoting Armsmaster."
"Wait, what does Armsmaster have to do with this? And why did he give the testing units to the Wards?"
Andre blinked.
"Right; apparently their opposed Tinker specialties means that Ruggedizer and Armsmaster can't help but irritate each other. Given that, recruiting Ruggedizer into the PRT ENE seems like a bad idea."
"...You said the radios and flashlight still work after being put through all that abuse?"
"Yes. They look like shit and the finish is ruined, but they still turn on and more-or-less function. Last I knew, Vista had tuned one of the radios to a music station for her own amusement. Ruggedizer's tech isn't fully indestructible, but it's damn close."
As Director Piggot began reading through the paper version on the report, she couldn't help but be impressed. Both at just how durable Ruggedizer's technology was, and at how thorough the testing team had been in trying to break it. By the looks of things, someone using a device made by Ruggedizer could totally rely on it to function as advertised, even in truly absurd circumstances.
Still, flashlights and radios weren't all that game-changing, no matter how reliable. On the other hand, Ruggedizer must know that. These first products reeked of someone trying to figure out something they could sell without scaring anyone away. Which was honestly quite sensible.
After mulling it over for a bit, Director Piggot opted to authorize the purchase of two hundred flashlights and fifty radios. And also to query Ruggedizer about some ballistic plates for testing purposes. That would be enough to keep Ruggedizer in the black and started on her way towards somewhat legitimate business, while also being a small enough expenditure to work into her department's permanently over-stretched budget.
Director Piggot wasn't happy about having a Tinker who simply couldn't get along with Armsmaster in Brockton Bay, but she was being pragmatic about the situation. A Ruggedizer rolling in money from selling technology was a Ruggedizer who wasn't raiding banks with nigh-indestructible robots or something equally troublesome. And if the PRT could benefit from keeping the new Tinker happy by getting to use her technology, all the better.
The next couple days were a massive pile of anxiety as we waited to hear back from the PRT. We passed the time by Tinkering together, along with... "intense snuggling". The... amazonian features I'd given Melissa awoke something I hadn't noticed before. And that's how I learned I was bisexual at the age of 36.
Anyway, we'd gotten automatic production of the camp stoves and water purifiers up and running by the time we heard back. We'd also had a visit from Danny, who among other things mentioned that the flashlight had proven quite useful when resetting a circuit breaker in the basement.
I fielded the phone call from the PRT this time, since Melissa was taking a shower. Even without sweat, her hair could still get dirty.
"Hello, Emmy speaking."
"Yes, this is Anthony Brown with the PRT. We've decided to purchase two hundred flashlights and fifty radios. How quickly can you get those to us?"
"We've got forty flashlights and twenty radios on-hand at the moment. You can come pick those up and pay for them any time. Still trying to find materials suppliers for the rest, since there's only so much old stuff the Dockworkers' Association is willing to let us recycle."
"We might be able to help with the materials side of things; there's quite a few trusted companies that the Protectorate sources Tinker supplies from, and we can help get you in touch with them."
"That would be really helpful, thank you."
The conversation carried on for a bit, until eventually trailing off. We'd be needing to open a business bank account to get paid, but as soon as we did the PRT would come right over to pick up the first delivery.
Once Melissa got done with her shower and came over, I told her how the conversation went.
"Huh, that's a pretty good sign. Also goes to show just how much we need to do in the getting things set up department."
I nodded,
"Yeah, we really need to hire a secretary and a marketing person at some point. Also an accountant. Maybe Danny knows a few trustworthy people with applicable skills who are looking for work?"
Emily Piggot looked up from some routine paperwork as Andre Smith - her division's head of Tinkertech evaluation - entered her office.
"Ma'am, I've got the testing reports on the samples of Ruggedizer's tech that were given to us for testing purposes."
Director Piggot thought for a moment before asking,
"She's the independent Tinker who wanted to sell us flashlights and radios, I believe? How did that go?"
Andre set the report on the director's desk as he answered.
"The full version is in the reports there, but in short, they're good flashlights and radios, and they still work."
Piggot blinked,
"I feel like I'm missing something here. Why is them still working impressive, exactly?"
"Because they still work after being blown up multiple times, shot with the biggest gun we had in inventory, attacked with all manner of power tools, thrown off the PRT building's roof, getting set on fire, getting dunked in liquid nitrogen and various horrible corrosive agents, irradiated with an X-Ray machine, being squished in a hydraulic press, having their casings stuffed full of mud, getting subjected to obscene amounts of thermal wear, being blasted with an EMP, and lastly they were given to the Wards with explicit orders to 'try and break the damn things', quoting Armsmaster."
"Wait, what does Armsmaster have to do with this? And why did he give the testing units to the Wards?"
Andre blinked.
"Right; apparently their opposed Tinker specialties means that Ruggedizer and Armsmaster can't help but irritate each other. Given that, recruiting Ruggedizer into the PRT ENE seems like a bad idea."
"...You said the radios and flashlight still work after being put through all that abuse?"
"Yes. They look like shit and the finish is ruined, but they still turn on and more-or-less function. Last I knew, Vista had tuned one of the radios to a music station for her own amusement. Ruggedizer's tech isn't fully indestructible, but it's damn close."
As Director Piggot began reading through the paper version on the report, she couldn't help but be impressed. Both at just how durable Ruggedizer's technology was, and at how thorough the testing team had been in trying to break it. By the looks of things, someone using a device made by Ruggedizer could totally rely on it to function as advertised, even in truly absurd circumstances.
Still, flashlights and radios weren't all that game-changing, no matter how reliable. On the other hand, Ruggedizer must know that. These first products reeked of someone trying to figure out something they could sell without scaring anyone away. Which was honestly quite sensible.
After mulling it over for a bit, Director Piggot opted to authorize the purchase of two hundred flashlights and fifty radios. And also to query Ruggedizer about some ballistic plates for testing purposes. That would be enough to keep Ruggedizer in the black and started on her way towards somewhat legitimate business, while also being a small enough expenditure to work into her department's permanently over-stretched budget.
Director Piggot wasn't happy about having a Tinker who simply couldn't get along with Armsmaster in Brockton Bay, but she was being pragmatic about the situation. A Ruggedizer rolling in money from selling technology was a Ruggedizer who wasn't raiding banks with nigh-indestructible robots or something equally troublesome. And if the PRT could benefit from keeping the new Tinker happy by getting to use her technology, all the better.
The next couple days were a massive pile of anxiety as we waited to hear back from the PRT. We passed the time by Tinkering together, along with... "intense snuggling". The... amazonian features I'd given Melissa awoke something I hadn't noticed before. And that's how I learned I was bisexual at the age of 36.
Anyway, we'd gotten automatic production of the camp stoves and water purifiers up and running by the time we heard back. We'd also had a visit from Danny, who among other things mentioned that the flashlight had proven quite useful when resetting a circuit breaker in the basement.
I fielded the phone call from the PRT this time, since Melissa was taking a shower. Even without sweat, her hair could still get dirty.
"Hello, Emmy speaking."
"Yes, this is Anthony Brown with the PRT. We've decided to purchase two hundred flashlights and fifty radios. How quickly can you get those to us?"
"We've got forty flashlights and twenty radios on-hand at the moment. You can come pick those up and pay for them any time. Still trying to find materials suppliers for the rest, since there's only so much old stuff the Dockworkers' Association is willing to let us recycle."
"We might be able to help with the materials side of things; there's quite a few trusted companies that the Protectorate sources Tinker supplies from, and we can help get you in touch with them."
"That would be really helpful, thank you."
The conversation carried on for a bit, until eventually trailing off. We'd be needing to open a business bank account to get paid, but as soon as we did the PRT would come right over to pick up the first delivery.
Once Melissa got done with her shower and came over, I told her how the conversation went.
"Huh, that's a pretty good sign. Also goes to show just how much we need to do in the getting things set up department."
I nodded,
"Yeah, we really need to hire a secretary and a marketing person at some point. Also an accountant. Maybe Danny knows a few trustworthy people with applicable skills who are looking for work?"
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