Silver-Starred Souls (OC Mecha Tinker)

[K-GoN]

Spoiler: Foreword

Foreword

​

So, this is me trying to get back into writing. Let's get the important stuff down. I don't own Worm, Gundam, Macross, Armored Core, Full Metal Panic!, Titanfall, or anything else that you may recognize from one popular franchise or another. This concept has been lingering in my head for the past four to six years, but for whatever reason, my Muse has up and raised itself from the dead and poked me to work on this idea. So here we are.

This being an off-shoot of my Devil's Toys story to a certain extent, insofar as that Devil Gundam SI serves as the BROB who inserts the SI/OC into the setting of choice for Chicanery and Shenanigans. In this case, I'm very much not fond of the Entities, so don't expect the later parts of this story to at all adhere to canon in that regard. You know, assuming I get that far. But I digress.

Silent Child 1.1​

"…the children, just shoot. Doesn't matter your aim, just shoot. You see one lying on the ground? Shoot the little bitch twice more to be sure. We give them no chances to be clever or lucky, understand?"

I am thou, thou art I…​

The familiar growl of English with an (affected) heavy Mandarin accent rippled through the night air, causing a crowd of various gangsters of Asian descent of many different nationalities to alternately stiffen or fidget - and a select few to grin and nod. Aside and yet apart of them, one stood - deferentially behind and to the side of the six-foot, dragon-masked leader, was a man dressed in what some might derogatorily call 'tacticool' clothing, in stereotypical 'urban camo' colors, complete with SWAT-like padding and armor. And yet it was over that which would truly reveal this individual - a metallic skeleton, with extra ribbing and connections to the hardened pads and makeshift armor plates, all linking back to a decently large pack mounted on the man's back. Under a raised and stiff bifurcated collar were wires linking to a decently heavy-looking helmet, mainly supported by an extensive spinal mount from the back slipping between the two parts of the collar, a bulbous, round thing with a single ominous eye blazing red.

Thou hast been granted the boon of existence…​

Robert Quang Huy was glad for the all-encompassing and 'try-hard' appearance of his preferred gear. It helped him hide the shaking he was desperately trying to keep under control as he sucked aerosolized albuterol out of the custom respirator to keep his symptoms at bay.

For I despise thee most of all…​

This was all the Azn Bad Boys 'esteemed' Tinker, Thánh Gióng, could bring himself to do as he meticulously kept himself out of Lung's vision.

By mine will, thou shalt suffer, as I cannot…​

All the better to prevent him from accidentally drawing the Dragon's disdain or ire again at his mere sight.

Suffer the aches of thine unfortunate birth…​

Because despite having joined (been press-ganged into) them over three years ago, all there was to show was his slipshod exoskeleton and the pitiful 'rifle' he now handled. Despite himself, Robert couldn't help but check it again. Hands shifted the weapon around in a manner closely studied from 'realistic' movies and video games and stolen, surreptitious glances at clips on dark web sites, as he studied the (personally) carved wood furniture of the gun, the cables and connections between the various electronics that allowed it supreme control of its firing rate, muzzle velocity, and even accuracy. One hand absently traced the Asiatic dragon carved into burned walnut grooves as he double-checked the mag-locked strap that both secured the weapon and powered it from his suit's battery-net before he was satisfied that the ramshackle device made out of scavenged gun parts and broken furniture was up to par.

Suffer the wrath and scorn of those better than thee…​

As a bonus, the habitual check calmed him - his heart rate slowed, his breaths evened out, and the hacked together 'AI' of his suit noted this and started feeding him normal filtered air instead of his customary gaseous drugs.

Now, he didn't feel like he was about to vomit up everything from the last month. He could even think of the coming task with smooth, simple logic instead of chaotic, rampant nervousness.

As far as Robert was concerned, the Undersiders have it coming to them. What did they expect, robbing from the literal single most deadly cape in Brockton Bay? And so publicly too.

The only thing Lung could do was respond brutally. His 'face' required it. Heck, not only because of standard gang politics, but also throwing Asian culture into it - reputation, respect, social standing, was all very important to Asians in general, a commonality that helped smooth over the multinational origins of many of the Azn Bad Boys members…somewhat.

Suffer the agonies of life in this shard of a world…​

A hero, of course, would have objected. Would have said that Lung didn't deserve any face as a criminal, a gang leader, a murderer a thousand times over.

But then, a hero would have stood up years ago.

A hero wouldn't have obeyed Lung then, when he told them to pull the trigger.

Robert had long come to terms with the fact that he wasn't a hero. He'd mourned that dream as was its due, before leaving it to rest in its shallow, smoldering grave. Then he'd got up, and simply did as he was told.

And in turn, Lung didn't burn him anymore. And Robert's mother, and sisters, and nieces and nephews also wouldn't burn. All it required was that others did, and Robert helped.

And at the end of the day…Robert was fine with that.

If thou wouldst escape this fate, go forth and do good.​

As Robert was musing, one of the others lit up a cigarette, the sudden and notable flash of heat drawing an alarm from his helmet's IR sensors that quickly died down as it crunched the numbers and noted it was not, in fact, a beam impact, rocket motor, uncloak, teleport, or gunshot.

Bring to the broken masses hope and joy.​

All Robert did was roll his eyes and huff to himself as the smoker - Wei Chen - leaned over and lit a cigarette for Ji-Hoon too. He pushed down the irritation of people with perfectly healthy and functional lungs ruining them for stupid thrills with practiced ease.

"你是个慢脑袋吗？告诉我现在几点了!" The snarl of Lung's Mandarin brought Robert back into focus as he glanced back at his leader - who was currently grabbing one of the newer scrub's arms and twisting it - somewhat brutally - to look at the watch on it. As the translation scrolled across his HUD, Robert did a bare, simple shrug to himself.

Yet should thou fail and bring forth only misfortune for others…​

Really, Lung could have just asked him and received a very accurate and quick response, but again, 'face' and reputation. Lung didn't need the answer. He just needed to assert himself to the newbies. Keep them 'basting in fear'.

A car arrived as Robert mouthed 'fear-turkey' and chuckled alone under his helmet, Vannara and his group arriving…well, a little late, in all honesty. But what Lung didn't ask, Robert wouldn't tell.

Then, as they were starting to leave, everything went to hell.

At first, Robert thought that the Undersider's apparent leader, Grue, had intercepted them - it was a large, dark hazy cloud that sort of matched Grue's strange shadow power in the night. But then the image sharpening and shape recognition on his HUD kicked in, resolving the cloud into a swarm of what seemed to be every flying bug in all of Brockton descending upon him.

Thou shalt languish in misery forevermore​

But that wasn't the worst of it.

No, what made Robert dearly and sincerely regret adding the imaging enhancement algorithms to his helmet's optical sensor feeds was when it gave him an up-close and personal look at his personal nightmare - enough spiders coming together to create a horrible shag carpet big enough to cover a department store with extra to spare.

Robert, it should be noted, is an arachnophobe.

Thankfully, when his mouth opened to emit an embarrassing high-pitched scream that would ruin his reputation among the ABB forevermore, it was strangled in its infancy by the fact that Robert's respiratory system mutinied and refused to work under such stressful conditions. Leaving him choking for at least two different reasons.

His hands involuntarily went to clutch at his neck and its rebellious airways as the swarm covered him and everyone else. It was unfortunate that the only sealed aspect of his suit was his helmet, because that meant he could feel every spider crawling on his skin as they infiltrated every crease, crevice and opening and started biting.

This is mine vow, that of He Who Reclaimed Abaddon From The Worms.​

It was here that Robert fainted, still choking for breath and with heart rate more in tune with a rabbit on cocaine than a human. His suit, preprogrammed for such an event, executed an automatic retreat and rendezvous procedure - leaving behind the rest of the group, and Lung, who roared into the air with flames spewing from his hands.

Thou who art bound to the will of the Devil Gundam Satanael…do make it interesting, why don't you?​

 

[K-GoN]

Silent Child 1.2​

ABB Safehouse

April 11, 2011

Robert's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred and disoriented. The dull ache in his head and chest reminded him of the chaos that had unfolded before he succumbed to unconsciousness. Noting and then disregarding the faint smell of vomit, he took a look through the reactivating HUD that came to life as he did.

From what he could see, he was back in the meeting point they'd used before setting out for the retaliation on the Undersiders - the same backrooms of a 'teahouse' where his main workshop and the storage rig for his armor was, drywall painted an unobtrusive cream color festooned with shelves holding various components, the bits and bobs of Tinker experimentation. On the vinyl flooring across from the armor rig was the boxy shape of the metal salvager and printer that he mainly used to make the custom rounds for his rifle. And nearer to the doorframe where a curtain of colorful beads separated the rest of the building from his workshop, was a gathering in ABB colors and parahuman costumes.

As his armor's microphone arrays reactivated, a shrill voice made him grateful for the automated dampening protocols built into them.

Bakuda.

Also called the Cornell Bomber…considering she had, apparently, triggered at Cornell University and proceeded to take the entire campus hostage with a host of improvised explosives. The New York Protectorate had driven her off in short order, only prevented from catching her by having to deal with the bombs she'd left in her wake. Sometime last month, Lung and Oni Lee had left Robert in charge while they went and recruited her.

And now here she was, the unstable bomber, ranting about…

"...get every moron from here to the docks, and force them to work with us!."

"And how, exactly, are you going to do that?" Robert's mechanized voice hissed out, making the others jump in various degrees - except of course, for Oni Lee, the inhumanly calm and emotionless teleporter just calmly turning to look at Robert as the Tinker's armor detached itself from the storage rig built into the wall, single optic amping back up to an unsettling red.

"Oh? Is the coward who fled and left Lung to get captured talking back to me?" Bakuda sneered. The gas mask that served as her face snapped closer to Robert - for all that he had at least four inches on her, Robert felt his spine quail at Bakuda's forceful speech and challenging stance.

Thankfully, his terror and nervousness was, as ever, masked by his armor - all those present saw was a militaristic soldier in powered exoskeleton and body armor staring cooly down at a petulant woman.

"Cowardice is not defined by a single act, Bakuda," he responded, the robotic filter his helmet imparted on his voice giving him an air of command. "I left Lung to ensure the survival of the Azn Bad Boys and to protect our interests. And I cannot be blamed for thinking that Lung would win an honest fight against a foe that uses…insects."

There was a pause as all present had to acknowledge that, one that let Robert take proper stock of who was present. It seemed, along with him, Bakuda, and Oni Lee, there were several more of the senior members of the ABB - including the leaders for the strike, Wei Chen, Ji-Hoon, and Vanarra. "What happened after I left?"

"Ah...well...that's...uh...thing. No one...know...uh...really?" Vanarra spoke up, the Cambodian stuttering over accented, unfamiliar English. "Everyone...uh, well, run, after...uh...bugs hit...and then Lung...uh...fire everywhere, you know?"

"Yeah," Wei Chen said, "We regrouped here, and it looks like a few of the mooks got offed…probably ah, 'friendly fire', but no one's seen hide or hair of Lung, and Oni Lee…"

"I retreated after harassing the Undersiders." The 'ninja' responded matter-of-factly. "Expected support did not arrive."

Robert absorbed the information, his mind racing to piece together the events that had transpired in his absence. The absence of Lung and the uncertainty surrounding his whereabouts weighed heavily on his shoulders. He knew that their leader's absence would have severe consequences for the Azn Bad Boys, especially with the rival gangs ready to pounce.

And frankly, for all the ABB was bad, Robert didn't like the chances of his mixed-race family doing at all better under the Empire.

"We need to find Lung," Robert declared, his voice resolute. "We cannot afford to leave him in the hands of our enemies. The Undersiders may have shown their cunning, but we must not underestimate Lung's resilience and determination." He looked down, focused his helmet's optics on Bakuda in what he hoped was an intimidating glare.

"You, Bakuda, will be working with me to produce equipment for us to use in locating and retrieving Lung."

"And why the hell should I do that?" She snarled back, slamming her mask against his helmet. "You've been some chickenshit no-good Tinker under Lung for years and got no-"

"Lee." Without his helmet, Robert's voice would have come out reedy, hoarse and pleading. With it, the demon slid smoothly into action, his tanto sliding under Bakuda's mask in a gesture of unmistakable threat.

Oni Lee, as the second oldest Parahuman in the ABB, was technically the one who should be in command in Lung's absence - however, the serial suicider was, as Robert gambled, a follower…one who followed whoever best served Lung's ambitions, Robert was sure. Meaning so long as Robert took command in order to save Lung, Lee would help him to the best of his abilities, in carrying out the operations necessary to retrieve Lung…and to keep the Azn Bad Boys in order while he did so. But if Robert reneged and tried to flee…

He'd only made that mistake once before.

There were still scars on his back from it…right under the burns.

"We will work together, and make miracles Bakuda." Robert intoned. "Because if we don't, we will all die, whether under Kaiser's steel boot, or Lung's wrathful maw."

---

​

Brockton Bay Docks Warehouse 36-79

April 12th

Wei Chen warily eyed the two Tinkers before shifting his attention back to the device in his hands.

It was a visor, kinda. The glass - well, glass-like part was a lot thicker than normal for the standard visor-shaped sunglasses you could buy out of a Boardwalk bargain bin. The frames were enlarged, thicker, and with some coiled wiring and added foam supports on the parts supposed to contact skin - except for some very shiny silvery hexagons near where the arms would rest against his skin..

"So I just put this on?" He asked, voice trembling slightly. Bakuda made an exaggerated motion of frustration, just throwing her hands up - and yet for all that it looked more childish than his niece throwing a fit, it still made Wei flinch back.

He did not need to be blown up today.

Gióng ignored his fellow Tinker, and just nodded at Wei. Shrugging to himself, Wei slipped the visor on. For a few seconds, it was just a black barrier separating him from the world. Then the inside lit up, a series of white letters in a big blocky font scrolling across Wei's vision, saying: CHECKING…

Almost as soon as he recognized the word, the letters flashed an acid green color and blinked - only to be followed by more, words in various languages dancing through his view, some of them flashing green and disappearing, while others went red and also vanished. The storm of words lasted for a few seconds, long enough for Wei to note that all the words flashing green were ones he recognized - whether from native Mandarin or hard-learned English, or the various Korean, Japanese, or other languages' words that he'd just picked up through osmosis. Then…

"Whoa!" The words fell away and the world flooded his sight in a flash of color that was somehow so sharp it was blurry. Wei could feel his eyes strain and water at the level of detail and the saturation of colors, and a growing ache in his temples that grew until it felt it exploding - and then relief, as the image refined itself, needless details and sharpness bleeding away until Wei saw the world exactly as needed. "天呐！Is…this is how you see the world, Thánh Gióng?" Wei only saw the larger Tinker nod between flipping the visor up and down so he could compare the two sights - somehow the world through the visor was…easier, more refined - he was able to absorb everything in sight, to know the details of everything to the extent necessary without triggering the nauseating overload it was initially.

"Indeed." The lifeless tone brought Wei back to attention. "The visor is linked to my armor's processors, so the initial settings were those adjusted for myself." That brought Wei up short. Gióng saw the world through that horrid level of detail? "Yes, I initially tried to introduce a prototype of these visors to the ABB early after I joined. The results were…rather lackluster, as you experienced, so Lung forbade me from attempting since. Luckily however, some insight from Bakuda's pain bombs allowed me to craft some adaptive sensors to allow intuitive adaptation. Here." Only a sudden alert popping up through the visor let Wei react enough to not fumble Gióng's personal rifle when he threw it at Wei.

As Wei handled it, he almost instinctively settled into a standard rifle hold - main hand on the pistol grip and other on the forestock - both carved for gloved hands bigger than his, and thus a little more awkward than the typical AK derivative the ABB had in stock. After getting a decent hold on it, Wei took another second to glance over the weapon - he and the other senior guys had always wondered why Gióng had such a simple weapon - compared to the double ray guns or the everything halberd, a mostly wooden rifle that fired bullets seemed rather tame. But stylish, Wei had to admit - he could see the carving in real fine detail with the visor compared to the brief snatches he'd glimpsed while Gióng had the rifle. A dragon coiling around the weapon in a single sinuous motion, the tail wrapped around the shoulder stock and body curving around trigger, magazine port, safety and the slapped-together camera-scope-thing until the forestock showed the dragon's mouth open, extruding the metallic barrel of the gun. Wait…there was a small figure next to the dragon's head…

"Hoy! We don't have all day here!" Bakuda's distorted mechanical voice - courtesy of Gióng's adjustments to her mask - shocked Wei out of his contemplation. He gave a quick nod to the Tinkers and shouldered Gióng's rifle. Immediately, a reticle like that he saw in his nephews' shooter games appeared on the visor's display - well two, another one formed by dashed lines circling around the first, making a zone about the size of Wei's fist if he held it up at arm's length.

"Clear range!" Thánh Gióng's voice rang out through the warehouse. The other ABB who'd been observing and loitering near the other end quickly moved back towards Wei and the Tinkers, leaving behind a group of human-shaped paper targets. After a brief moment of checking to make sure all were safe, the tinker in exoskeleton gave Wei a nod. "Fire at will."

Wei stilled for a moment, drawing on his experience with previous rifles and carefully controlling his breathing - one of the many tips he'd learned from those who used to be his seniors…before they died, at least. As he did so, he started planning the sequence he'd go through, how he'd aim and adjust after the fact - and as he did so, square boxes started appearing on the paper targets - projections from the visor, like the rifle reticles.

Wei had a sneaking suspicion as to what those were…especially given how he'd seen Gióng operate in battle before…

Clearing his mind again, Wei started squeezing the trigger. The rifle gave muted coughs and buzzes instead of the usual 'bang' and 'crack', and it jumped in his hands quite a lot less than rifles of similar size had before. Wei fired until the visor helpfully informed him that the magazine was empty - both through text that was somehow both unobtrusive and yet alerting, and a subtle persistent voice that vibrated not through his ears but through his skull.

Safing the rifle, finger off the trigger, Wei held it loosely pointed groundwards as he and the Tinkers observed his performance. There was no need for him to move closer, as the visor clearly highlighted the hand-sized holes punched through the targets - three-round bursts put cleanly and clearly exactly where he wanted them - some in the head, some in the heart, some in the groin for shits and giggles, and all he'd done was swing the rifle bore right to left without really aiming.

"Systems synchronized and performing to expectations." Gióng noted. "Wei, any issues?"

"Other than the headache at the start, nothing. Went smooth."

"Good. Mass-production is unfeasible within our time limits, but depending on the next test, we should be able to go ahead with a limited run of visors and weaponry - enough to match the units I have ready to go." Thánh Gióng gestured to the wall, where one of his storage rigs had been wheeled, and in it a sight that made Wei shudder. One of Gióng's old exoskeletons - last seen almost two years ago, when it snapped Takashi's spine in half and dislocated all his limbs.

For a moment, Wei considered saying no. Then he glanced at Bakuda and noted her irritatedly tapping her finger on her arm. And he thought of what Lung would do if he learned Wei refused to follow Gióng in helping him.

He walked to the exoskeleton, handing Gióng his rifle back as he did so. The numerous metallic ribs and struts and linked plates folded obligingly out, allowing Wei to turn and settle his back into the frame of the construct. Helpfully, text instructions scrolled across the visor's display, instructing him on when to press back and when to let the mechanisms move and lock in place. Shortly, he was fully ensconced, visor chiming helpfully and a green check mark flashing briefly.

Wei took a deep breath. And then stepped forward.

 

[K-GoN]

Silent Child 1.3​

Brockton Bay Docks Warehouse 36-79

April 12th

Robert kept a careful eye on Wei as the Chinese man took his first hesitant steps inside of X1. The other eye was kept on X1's readouts, splayed all over the right side of his HUD as the three-way link between it, Wei's visor, and the compound processor system of Robert's own exoskeleton surged with data. A careful study should, hopefully, catch any overreactions before they occurred and crippled Wei as much as Takeshi had been.

The mere memory of the sickening snap and following cracking bones made Robert shudder.

Still, so far it looked like Wei was doing well. The visor was finishing adapting Robert's own exoskeleton software adjustments for him, and it looked like the connection between it and X1 was solidifying before Robert's eyes.

For a moment, Robert chewed on his lip, weighing the possibilities in his mind, and the data on his HUD.

"Wei, a-attempt the course." Again, his suit protects him from appearing weak - the ABB senior nods and proceeds towards the half of the warehouse still covered in ancient shipping containers, crates, and other such detritus that now served as an excellent obstacle course for the more agile exercises for Wei and the X1.

Wei was still moving cautiously as he walked the thirty or so strides from the storage rig at the wall to the starting point for the course. Perfectly understandable, all things considered, but Robert did note that Wei was just starting to settle into his more natural gait - and without the X1 doing in his kneecaps.

Progress.

Wei settles in at the start point, shifting weight from side to side and the X1 does not interpret those shifts as a cue to suddenly pivot his pelvis in one direction at max rotational velocity. Robert notes this as a positive.

"Mark." Wei is startled into taking a sudden step and staggering into the start of a run, until the extended toe of the X1's foot attachments makes him trip. Robert watches in real-time the confluence of action and reaction as Wei's human instinct drives him to bring his arms up to arrest his fall - the visor reading and interpreting those and feeding back to the X1 for just the right amount of fluidity and assist in control to allow Wei to actually move his arms to do so - and the overrides in both that force him to curl his hands into halfway fists, so that instead of the soft meat of his palms, the reinforced knuckle plating on the X1 slams into the ground.

"Sorry! Sor- It was my mistake -"

"Don't worry Wei." Robert interrupts the senior, who's actually somehow managed to pivot his caught fall into a traditional kowtow. "I-it's all data - and it looks like it's progressing…p-promisingly. Re-ahem. Resume the starting position and begin when you feel ready."

"Yes Thánh Gióng!" Wei presses his head into the concrete with perhaps a touch more force than necessary, and then leaps up to his feet and almost instantly jumps into the course.

As far as Robert could see, everything was proceeding well. Honestly, probably a little too well - he'd expected there to be a lot more issues between the visor and X1's connectivity and the rather lackluster processors in the exoskeleton to hinder its ability to adapt the programs from the visor. Now that he was looking though, he could see a significant data flow between his own suit and the X1, as well.

With a few eye-blinks and biting down on a specific section of his mask, Robert opened a new documents and began using eye-look macros and jaw controls to write a note to himself:

• Mark additional processors for incorporation into X1 and future iterations to support visor adaptive assistance programs.
• Look into integrated command and control systems between visor/exo links on tactical and strategic levels.
• Study the effect of such systems in both active combat operations and more passive daily activities.

"Hey dumbass, when are we going to do something important?" Robert turned to see Bakuda glaring - presumably, the goggles of her mask prevented any actual expression from showing - at him. A flick of his eyes and a blink brought up another note - one festooned with various observations of Bakuda's devices he'd been making since Lung had brought her in. Several of them had highlights or sub-notes attached - one in particular had several, something he'd listed as '*->!!!silicate/crystalline conversion effect !!!<-*'

Yes, definitely a topic of interest and importance. Just as Robert opened his mouth to respond though, the not-faint-enough-for-his-comfort cracks of gunfire drew everyone's attention - Wei tripping from the distraction, but rolling into a recovery crouch next to a crate. Fear roiled Robert's stomach for a few moments while he blinked over to the feeds from the security cameras he'd hijacked - fear that gave quickly to surging annoyance and petulant anger.

Fucking Merchants.

"Bakuda. With me." For a moment, Bakuda had turned back to Robert, probably with some vitriol of one stripe or another, but then what she heard processed as she also saw Robert stride forward with confidence only petty irritation and an advanced mobility-assisting powered exoskeleton could give him.

"Finally!" She grabbed the Milkor MGL she'd claimed for herself out of some of the more extravagant sections of Lung's hoard, bandoleers of her custom explosives hanging around her shoulders, and she actually rushed ahead of Robert. His systems noted her movements, her unconscious mannerisms and her gait, noting them in the file he'd set aside for a custom exoskeleton, right next to the one for Oni Lee.

They came to the door of the warehouse and left it, and -

Something hit Robert in the head.

As far as he could tell, it just felt like a tap, or when his older sister had flicked him in the head, back when he was little and they were happy.

Then he checked the HUD readout.

7.62mm. Rifle round. Impact consistent with steel jacketed armor-piercing qualities.

His HUD traced the trajectory back towards the burgeoning engagement area, the three guards left in place while the rest of the gang was in the warehouse huddled behind walls and crates and looking at him with expressions of outright terror. Bakuda had thrown herself to the side, somewhat undignified, but he was more focused on the individual highlighted out to him.

Robert wasn't really seeing the man - didn't take his features, his race or his dress or whatever into account while a resurgent mixture of fear and anger at what just happened filled him. There was one instant, as Robert's eyes lingered on the man, where the roiling emotions threatened to tip over into fear and panic, driving him to void his bowels and eyes.

Instead, a familiar fury arose in him. With a few thoughts and flicks of his eyes, he marked targets. Then he raised his rifle and fired a shot.

About twenty meters away, the man who'd gotten the lucky shot on him shrieked as his hand exploded. As he stumbled back, Robert adjusted his targeting and his aim and fired again.

His other arm, just below the elbow. The screams heightened as the man's fellows scattered.

Another shot. Shoulder, clip, sending the man spinning, falling to the asphalt.

By now, the rest of the Merchants - exactly thirty-nine, going by HUD-count - had gathered their nerves and were firing back. Robert walked calmly, smoothly following a route laid out for him by his armor's systems, allowing for his exo to guide his steps in such a way as they avoided the most extreme danger zones of the wildly firing gangsters and into cover next to one of the guards.

"Bakuda. Engage those on the left. Please use your silicate/crystalline converter bombs for research purposes."

"Hey! There's only like ten guys-"

"Fifteen. Do not worry. The sample size is sufficient. Seojin, you may stay here. I will be engaging the rest myself." The guard hesitated, but nodded as Robert lifted his rifle and aimed it around the corner of the warehouse wall they were pressed against. It was a little awkward, and still required Robert to expose more of his body than he was comfortable with, but he worked with it.

Three quick squeezes. Three bodies fell to the ground, neat holes punched exactly between each of their eyes.

Enemies now suitably distracted, Robert brought the rifle back in and pressed his foot against the wall. Braced, he pressed against it, the exo turning it into a powerful leap towards the opposite wall and bringing his other foot against it before firing the pack thrusters to provide additional force, bringing Robert up high enough to grab the roof and use the exo's assistance to pull his full body up.

Now possessed of elevation, what would have been an annoying chore became what Robert's aunt would call a 'turkey shoot'. Admittedly, Robert wasn't clear exactly what a turkey shoot was, but it felt like a slightly more difficult 'fish in a barrel' to him.

But as the first of several explosions began more to the side, Robert was able to focus on his own targets - some of them were still out of view, but he simply started walking along the roof, rifle raised, and started taking shots.

The first few were basically free, effortless, Merchant uglies falling to the ground with fresh new holes ventilating their gray matter. After the sixth one, the group Robert was engaging wised up, now directing fire up at him, forcing him to duck and step back from the roof and let its edge hide him.

Thankfully, the two guards by Bakuda were smart enough to take advantage, and now the Merchants ducked around to try and hide from their fire. Robert made a note to commend Rithy and Anoulack later.

Skirting the edge of the roof, Robert raised his rifle high, using its camera-scope to view and target the Merchants again.

Four shots - two to exposed heads, one to a leg and a follow-up to the screaming face that dropped into view after.

Six more - four to various extremities, and only two finishing rounds. Robert clicked his tongue angrily at himself. Then his attention was drawn as he saw a figure start to run - arms limp and bleeding.

"Oh no. You're not getting away." Robert growled. He didn't notice Seojin under him flinching and cowering away from the roof, mirrored by the other ABB who'd joined him.

Instead, Robert fired a single round, and the fleeing man's ankle flew apart to renewed screaming. Then a set of explosions engulfed the Merchants he'd been engaging.

"Ugh. Bakuda!"

"Hey! You were taking too long!" Robert just sighed to himself, and stepped off the roof. The exo guided his body through absorbing the impact, a smooth roll into a walk off to where his last living target still laid, Bakuda jogging irritably up to him as he did so.

As they approached, Robert could hear the man crying, screaming still. He imagined himself slowly taking the man apart, round after round fired into him as nonlethally as possible, to extend the pain - and as he did so, a feeling slowly arose within Robert. Something cold, slimy and all-encompassing.

Ah. The disgust after fury. Robert stopped, still several feet away from the man, raised his rifle and fired a single round. The man's cries stopped.

"Aw come on! All that trouble and you're just going to-"

"Yes." Robert's clenched word came out as a hideous growl through his vocoder. "We have more important things to do. For example, I need to analyze your bombs and their effects." With that, Robert marched off, to the impact zones of Bakuda's devices. The bomb tinker herself just stood by the newest corpse, raised her hands, and let out a shout of frustration.

"Just like college, all over again!"

 

[K-GoN]

Silent Child 1.4​

ABB 'Teahouse', Workshop

April 12th, 2011

Needless to say, they had to evacuate the area after the short-lived engagement - only staying long enough to get the crystalline remains of the Merchants taken out by Bakuda's bombs thrown into one of the larger trucks, getting some strength-enhancement data for Wei and the X1 at the same time.

With both him and Wei's visor in the same truck as the glassed Merchants, Robert was able to get as much data from non-destructive scans as he could during the transit. Fortunately, all the data was supporting his hopeful hypotheses as to the method and capabilities of this specific brand of Bakuda bomb.

That said, it always behooved one to be sure, which is why Robert was standing over Bakuda's shoulder while she disassembled one of her conversion devices - well, not really over the shoulder. He was standing in the corner of the room next to the storage rigs for both his armor and the X1, a good three meters away from Bakuda and her explosive. The optical suite of his helmet allowed Robert to maintain a clear view of Bakuda's work - and even when there were brief moments where her hand blocked his view, there were still cameras in the room that had the workbench in sight.

Thus far, Robert was able to follow along with Bakuda, such that he was fairly sure he could now construct the glass-converters by himself from basic parts, if not quite from scratch. Still, there were some strange -

Don't worry about it​

- choices in materials or processes that he'd have to pick Bakuda's brain for.

"And that's the coherence limiter?"

"Duh."

"And it's composed of a…silicon allotrope?"

"Yup."

"...wait, is that silicyne?" That stopped Bakuda for a moment, her head darting around to give Robert a stare.
"...I guess you do know some stuff." Her grudging mumble was clear to Robert. "But yeah, I use silicyne as basically part of a trigger for the bomb. Stuff's not naturally stable, but I got it linked to these fancy little cells here charging it in a stabilizing frequency until it detonates - then they overcharge it and it transmits a bit of the electricity to this part as both an active charge and a signal -"

As they chatted, Robert couldn't help but wonder at how she did some of the things she so casually mentioned -

I said don't worry about it. Now shut up and lemme sweet-talk this Shard.​

- But he let it slide as the components in his head started to resolve into solidity, so to speak, the redesign of Bakuda's glass bomb coming closer to reality - and then an insistent beep of a very specific tone rang in his skull.

->Mom: Hey, Robert. I hope you're doing well. I wanted to let you know that I won't be able to make it for our weekly gathering tomorrow. Work has thrown me a curveball, and I have to stay late for the next few days. Sorry about that, honey.​

The text, routed from his phone to his exo's systems, brought Robert up short.

Shit, it is Tuesday, isn't it?

<-Me: Hi Mom. Thanks for letting me know. No problem at all, I understand work can be demanding. Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do to help?

->Mom: Thanks for understanding, sweetheart. It's just a major project that unexpectedly came up, and it requires my full attention. Don't worry, though. I have everything under control. Just a few long nights ahead.​

Reading through his mother's text, Robert felt stupid. Of course she'd be working late - Lung was caught after all, there was probably an all-hands on at the PRT.

<-R: I'm glad you're handling it, Mom. Take care of yourself and make sure to get some rest when you can. Projects can be intense, but remember to prioritize your well-being too..

->M: You always know how to look out for me, don't you? I appreciate your concern, Robert. I promise to take breaks and recharge whenever possible. How about we reschedule our gathering for next week? I'll make pho.​

Robert snorted. Mom couldn't cook for shit. What she meant was she'd get Mia to make pho.
…he could never use the Para-Humans Online site. Keeps making him hungry.

<-R:That sounds great, Mom! I'll mark it on my calendar. Take care of yourself and get through this project successfully. You've got this!

->M: Thank you, sweetheart. Your support means the world to me. I'll make it up to you next week, I promise. Love you lots!

<-R: Love you too, Mom. We'll catch up next week. Take care!​

A small smile was left after Robert finished up the short conversation. For all that she had perhaps the most unenviable job in the city, she was fully committed to it. That she was, if not quite happy per se, but content…no…comfortably annoyed? Something along those lines, so long as she wasn't miserable, Robert could deal with…everything.

As Bakuda continued to work, Robert allowed his mind to wander - he was fairly certain he understood the fundamentals of the device, and idly was continuing to rework it in his head - as well as more general improvements to Bakuda's arsenal he had planned. It was as he was musing on connecting the detonators to visor-based controls that Takeshi entered his mind.

The sudden thought of the Japanese cripple instantly made everything else screech to a halt. With the updated visors and the planned upgrades to the X1 and the newer models…Robert made sure his mic was muted.

"Shit."

---

Docks Residentials, Sato Home
An Hour Later

It was an easy trek from the teahouse to the residential area of the docks - naturally, an Asian-majority neighborhood, more middle-class than what most people typically considered ABB territory. It was late enough that Robert was able to keep his exo-clad body in the lengthening shadows of the evening, sticking to alleys and roofs with the ease of programmed maneuvers and preplanned routes.

These took Robert to a decently-sized low-mid-class property - barely a yard to speak of, packed uncomfortably close to its neighbors, but better than run-down tenements packed overfull with Asian families of up to twenty, if not more, stuffed into rooms meant for three at best.

Robert approached from above, an exo-led leg tapping with a deceptively light tough on the corner of a roof down the block lowering what had been a hard sprint to a light tumble that left him standing adroitly in the backyard of his target house.

For all of the extensive engineering that went into his exo, none of it went into making a good three-forty kilo of man and equipment able to make a three-story landing silently. Still, the exo-guidance software maneuvered it in such a way as to minimize any damage to the frame or to Robert, and as a side-effect, a much less noisy landing - more sudden scratching or shuffling than a spine-shattering thud.

Still, enough noise that Robert was entirely unsurprised when the back door opened and a woman stood behind the screen door - an apparently demure woman in that distinctly Asian age-bracket of 'not a teen, but not quite old', black hair falling loosely down to her shoulders, and dressed in American mother-standard with apron. About the only thing marring her perfect Japanese Wife image was the slight curl of a lip and tenseness in her brow - both things Robert's social systems helpfully pointed out indicated she absolutely loathed him and was furious at him showing up here.

And he honestly couldn't blame her.

Haruka Sato opened the screen door of her home and gave a bow that was perhaps slightly too deep.

"Gióng-sama. What may this humble one do for you?" Robert winced internally, but gave a slight nod of his head towards Haruka.

"I am here to speak with Takeshi." The instant glare Haruka shot him made actually wince. Robert was sure, if she was a parahuman, he'd be dead on the spot. Well, actually, he was pretty sure she'd have made a decent attempt at murdering him with her bare hands, if they weren't out in the open.

While they endeavored to keep any open 'gang' indicators on the down-low here, the whole block was basically Azn Bad Boys housing - for those who had done well enough to see their families put up in actual homes, with reliable power and filtered water. For all of Haruka's justified antipathy, she couldn't be seen disparaging or disrespecting one of the ABB's vaunted parahuman elite.

"遥か！誰かいるの？" Haruka straightened, still glaring at Robert.

"それはタイン・ジオンだ！" She shouted back.

"Are you just making him stand outside!? Invite him in!" With that, Haruka gave another, shorter bow, before taking a step back and to the side, gesturing for Robert to precede her inside. With another nod, Robert strode in, half-expecting a knife in his kidney as he passed her. Inside the house, he found what he imagined was much like the others in the area - typical American kitchen/dining room, cupboards around a gas stove and a sink against the tiled walls and floor, with a round table set up so that there was just enough room for one person to maneuver. On the other side of the table sat Takeshi, in the same wheelchair Robert had seen him in two years ago. The Japanese man regarded Robert with the same lazy smirk he'd had when they'd first met, only a few more wrinkles and much more well-trimmed beard and mustache marking the passage of time.

"Yo, オタクくん." Robert huffed at the term, before reaching up and grabbing the front of his helmet. The seals and spinal supports deactivated in sync with him pulling it forward and off, revealing his own face for the first time in…over twenty hours, perhaps? He wasn't sure. Robert ran his hand through his hair, letting the uneven and unfortunately greasy strands stick together in some bizarre agglomeration before he retrieved his glasses out of an armored case on his belt, sliding them over his nose and above a chubby face marred with acne scars.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that." At Robert's reedy, whinging voice, Takeshi chuckled.

"Maybe if you ever grow up, instead of out."

"Only if you get back up to kick my ass again." They both laughed, Robert's more scornful and Takeshi's more hearty, before Robert sat down, an armature extending out from his exo's backpack unit to support his weight. Haruka served tea, performing her duties as hostess and wife wonderfully - though Robert preferred sweeter blends, he still made sure to sip appreciatively. There was a comfortable sort of silence as they observed the formalities. One that Robert wished he could let last a while longer. Takeshi, as ever, was more to the point.

"So. What brings you here?"

"Can't I just be visiting an old friend?"

"...I would hope I'd have seen more of you over the past two years then." Robert had to bite his lip at that, wrench down the self-loathing and disgust.

"I'm sure you're already aware, but Lung's been captured."

"クソ." The muttered curse escaped with the vitriol of one knowing they've lost their best defense against literal Nazis. "I'd heard as much."

"Yes. Have you seen the PRT announcement?" Robert himself had only managed to get online during the trip. It had been announced earlier that day that the PRT had custody of Lung and spread through the internet by the usual means.

"Not myself, but a few of the old-timers that drop by from time to time mentioned it earlier." Probably some of the other longer-serving seniors from back when the ABB had been on the west coast - before Lung had conquered them and cut across the country to Brockton Bay.

"Yeah. I'm working on getting him back." At that, Takeshi gave Robert an incredulous look. He, more than anyone, was well aware of Robert's situation. "You really think the PRT will be able to keep him around? More to the point…you think Lee will let me run?" The grimace and shake of the head answered Robert well enough. "So yes. I've had to wrangle the new Tinker and the '組長', prevent her from blowing the city up and get them ready to help me break Lung out…and I've been making some progress." Here, Robert had to take a deep breath, and a pre-emptive cough. "Takeshi. How'd you like to walk again?"

 

[K-GoN]

I come with content. A 3D Render of Thánh Gióng's helmet as it stands in the story right now.

Spoiler: Spoiled For Mobile

 

[LostDeviljho]

Seems like a promising start!

One request though, could we get translations for the non english bits? I cannot actually read japanese or chinese so I keep having to tab away to google translate to figure out what they're saying.

 

[ToothMaker]

I've seen a couple of Merchants fics before, but ABB fics are pretty rare. You're off to a good start here, so watched.

 

[K-GoN]

Spoiler: Author's Note

So I'm pretty sure it's some kind of fanon to have Bakuda have teh name 'Grace', and I'm not entirely sure where I first saw it, but I figured why not keep using it - I mean, I haven't read Ward (and I have absolutely no intention of doing so) so I don't know if Bakuda's real name was ever revealed there, but I don't think it was.

As far as this chapter goes, normally in Worm-fics, this would probably be listed as an interlude with a letter after the (1.A if we go sequentially, or 1.B or Bakuda or something) but considering this is a third-person fic, I kind of figure it counts as a 'real' chapter, so just going to keep going with the chapter name convention.

But anyway, this chapter, we see how Bakuda's taking things and setting up the dominos. Not sure if I'm doing it well - honestly, I'm thinking it's a bit too much on the 'tell' instead of 'show', but past fic-writing experience tells me that if I get too hung up on parts, I'll never get another chapter out.

Next chapter is Oni Lee.

Silent Child 1.5​

Brockton Bay Docks - ABB Storage Warehouse
April 13th, 2011

Grace wasn't sure what to make of things.

At first, when Lung had first recruited her with just his mindless hench-demon and a flock of whores, she'd figured it'd be an easy ride to taking over the stupid gang - let Lung laze around as he'd apparently been doing for years, sweep the other Tinker-who-gives-a-fuck-who-he-is, to the side and get the gears grinding on becoming something…infamous and feared.

Respected.

Obeyed.

She'd figured her chance had really come when Lung had gotten his idiot self captured and the other Tinker had proven absolutely useless. Who runs from kids? From bugs!?

It should have been easy.

And she'd almost had it. Lee had no drive, no will - Lung's hench-demon, and absent Lung, he was following her lead as if he was a dog and she had a treat. And the rest of the 'leadership', if those spineless twats could be called that, were buckling under her.

And then the other - no, and then Thánh Gióng woke up. She had thought he'd just left the armor and run, but no the bastard had apparently been sleeping in it! For all its banged-up paint job and slapped together look, Gióng's armor still had a presence that stiffened even her spine.

It was mostly the helmet, but the way the connection ribbing cast shadows in the teahouse backroom's lighting did not help at all.

At any rate, the moment she backed down, Grace knew her chance was gone. She'd seen it in Lee nodding along to Gióng's words, in the hasty bows and kowtows or the full-body shudders of the mooks and gooks.

So she'd gone along with it - oh, not too cleanly, just enough spite and venom to make it clear she wasn't a happy camper, but not too much to make her seem…uncontrollable.

Ugh. Even thinking that put a foul taste in her mouth.

Still, Grace had kept herself just noisy enough to seem occupied, while still keeping eyes, ears, and nose out to see what, exactly, Thánh Gióng was cooking up. At first, she hadn't been all that impressed. He'd spent a few hours stripping some of her bombs and asking her questions and then brought out that glass-thing and fiddled with that too. It was a stark contrast to before, when she'd first been brought in by Lung - Gióng had never hung around, always made himself scarce when she came around. Grace had figured he was afraid of her.

But now, he ignored her threats like they were spitballs in his hair - and he definitely knew what she could do. But he'd run roughshod over her work and his alike without hesitation, and rolled right into testing it - pulling her and everyone else except Lee and a few others into that warehouse for the visor and exo testing.

And then, well, those idiots had attacked. Grace honestly wasn't sure what that was all about - for all people called the Archer's Bridge Merchants a gang, they were really more an agglomeration of sleazy drug dealers and the hopeless idiots clinging to them - hell, Grace was pretty sure their 'product' was just shit bought from the ABB and E88, cut with random-ass crap, and sold at something like five hundred percent mark-up.

So it twigged her weirdness radar when thirty or so of these morons apparently decided to just raid an ABB warehouse that's being actively guarded.

But, it had let her see a kindred spirit in action.

And Bakuda had no doubt Thánh Gióng was like her - an angry genius, struggling against the world that trampled all over their pride again and again - he'd shown it in how he dealt with the Merchants.

From what she'd seen during the tests, he could have held the trigger down on his fancy-schmancy rifle and swung it like a cheerleader's baton and killed the whole lot in a second. Instead, he'd taken his time, dismantling the first one as an example, and slowly killing off the rest. Frankly, she wouldn't have minded letting him drag his vendetta out, but it was a bit more prudent for her to finish the battle quickly and get out.

Still, there had been that little frission of fear (she paid for that damn English credit, she was going to fucking use it)...and maybe a bit of excitement, when he'd seethed at her. Well, she assumed he seethed at her, the vocoder-thing made it impossible to tell his actual tone or mood.

Later, as they'd been working on reengineering her silica-bombs, Grace had been surprised to learn Gióng actually knew some things - Grace had only known about silicyte from some of the papers at Cornell, so it was a bit of a surprise to find it recognized by some yokel Tinker in the pimple of America. Of course, the more she saw of him, the more Grace considered that judging Gióng by his non-PRT 'peers' was probably doing him a disservice - though considering one made literal junkheaps and the other was notorious for most of his inventions blowing themselves up, without being designed to mind, Grace supposed that being unremarkable but steady was still rather admirable, if not that flashy.

Then he goes and dumps a pair of goggles on her desk and out the door without so much as a how-you-do. Grace is taken aback for a few moments until she sees a small light ringing the inside of the goggles and is reminded of the visors.

She had still hesitated for a few moments - it was never wise to heedlessly touch other Tinkers' stuff after all - but then she had the new set of goggles on, her old ones clattering on the teahouse floor. She expected the rush of detail and sensory overload, she'd been with Gióng and the mooks when they were testing the visors after all, and so was able to steel herself for the sudden onset of nausea and headaches.

Once she rode that out, the world exploded into color - figuratively speaking. Boxes and lines and icons marked almost everything in view, giving her part numbers, angles, elemental compositions. Many of them were off, she noted, and was keen to watch as the display updated as she thought that - her own bomb components details adjusting in real-time as she mentally listed the allotropes and chemicals and tiny, nearly microscopic parts that went into them.

As the HUD settled into stability, an icon appeared and pulsed insistently with a gentle humming tone in Grace's skull. Looking at it and then blinking, Grace was entirely unsurprised to find a schematic pop up into the HUD - well, several versions of a single schematic, including a wireframe, a parts and materials list, and a rather plain computer render, all of a bomb. On the surface, it was a plain device, a simple dirty silver hexagonal prism about two and a half centimeters in diameter. It was, as ever, what was on the inside that mattered.

Grace's eyes flickered to and fro across the schematic, the displays in the HUD following them and her thoughts to disassemble themselves, showing components that were mostly derived from her glass bombs. However, according to these plans, if she replaced the silicyte fuse-charges with…what the hell is deontographical polymorphic crystalline meta-alloy?

The expected answer arrived swiftly, an arrow directing her view to a metallic box mounted on the wall that looked mostly like some kind of air conditioner, but in truth was…a goddamn 3D printer!?

The goggles' systems helpfully provided that the feedstock - metallic dusts of various elements, including rare earths salvaged from various computer components, all kept in a vacuum-sealed stock chamber - was 72% full, the last fabrication jobs were all complete and dispensed - DG Alloy Smart Rounds for Thánh Gióng's rifle, apparently - and the various sliders, toggles, and other controls for the printer's operation. Even better, the goggles' systems uploaded the new components to the printer even as she studied it.

Originally, Grace's glass bombs, once triggered, emanated an 'anomalous energy field' that rearranged all matter into a crystalline lattice that resembled that of glass - elementally speaking, they weren't actually turned into glass, it was simply that the arrangement of atoms within the field were forcibly altered into something like it. In a lot of cases, the resulting structure was actually tougher in some ways…but with Gióng's alterations to the design, the field was focused and smaller, but instead, eliminated the molecular bonds, reducing the materials affected into fine dust of nearly pure atomic elements.

Of course, that would basically result in something within the field just being turned into dust, and rather quickly the elements would undergo their various reactions to the atmosphere, the dirt, moisture, whatever, and nigh-immediately resume being impure compounds…But Grace figured she had a fix for that.

Gióng didn't know all her tricks, after all.

She cloned the schematic, saving the original design, and then started ripping the copy apart. With Gióng's deont-fuckit, calling it DG Crystal, with that stuff, it could serve as energy storage, electrical conductor and structural material it seemed, with different configurations capable of excelling in different fields, up to a point. And often, after that point, failing with…explosive results. Very useful in rifle rounds, for example, and a number of other fields.

But it would also serve in letting Grace alter and combine another of her designs with Gióng's. Using DG Crystal in place of the standard materials allowed her to alter many components, reducing needed space in the design. In the end though, she still had to make the resulting device at least twice as large as Gióng's 'disintegrator bomb'.

She had just managed to get the printer started on the components when the door creaked open, Thánh Gióng pushing a wheelchair with some cripple in it into the room.

"And where the hell have you been!?"

"Recruiting." Was all the creepy vocoder said, even as the frame with the testing exo folded itself and its occupant in such a way that it allowed Gióng to just wheel the cripple over to it and let the man maneuver himself into the connective ribbing, sliding the visor Gióng offered a second later. The initial nausea and headache bullshit seemed to go a little quicker than it had for the other mook and Grace, and soon enough the exo unfolded and refolded over the guy.

It took all of ten minutes, mostly the guy working up the nerve to actually move, before he was walking around the room in the exo. After the guy - a nametag popped up, saying Take-something or whatever - finally worked out his jitters, Gióng waved him over, popping open a false wall that revealed what looked like a bunch of drawers.

Then he opened another part of the wall, folding out another workstation, and started pulling spare exo parts out of the drawers, handing them to Takagi who started hesitantly making alterations to them with the tools on the table, then putting them together. He quickly got more comfortable, working faster, starting to actually put the parts together. He only got even faster when Gióng finished pulling parts out and started helping with assembly.

Within two hours, they had another exo assembled in the storage frame.

If there was one thing Bakuda knew now, it was bombs - and Brockton was looking to become a magnificent one, with the ABB as the fuse, and Thánh Gióng the spark lighting it.

It would be a real shame if this one fizzled. So she was going to do her damndest to see it blow up real good.

 

[ToothMaker]

[blinks] Am I the only one getting Thánh Gióng: HERO OF THE ABB vibes out of that?

 

[LostDeviljho]

[blinks] Am I the only one getting Thánh Gióng: HERO OF THE ABB vibes out of that?

Click to shrink...

I feel like this is a reference to something I don't recognize, but nonetheless yes absolutely. There's some Youjo Senki-ass perspective differences going on here and I am here for it.

 

[The Lazy One 02]

I feel like this is a reference to something I don't recognize, but nonetheless yes absolutely. There's some Youjo Senki-ass perspective differences going on here and I am here for it.

Click to shrink...

It's a reference to Warhammer 40k. Chipras Cain: Hero of the imperium!

 

[K-GoN]

Silent Child 1.6​

Brockton Bay Docks, ABB Territory
April 13th, 2011

Lee remembered much and little.

He could recall San Francisco, with the old Azn Bad Boys. Streets full of the downtrodden and forgotten, many of them refugees still trying to make their way after years in America, still drowning even though they'd fled Leviathan and left his wake behind.

He remembered knives and gunshots and pain, pain that persisted like a dog gnawing on his leg, until he was granted a means to leave it behind.

And then, of course, he remembered Kenta.

Everyone remembered Kenta.

Lee had to put his brief reminiscing on hold as he focused on a rooftop across the way, seeing his back appear for a short moment before he felt himself dissolving -

---

And then, of course, he remembered Kenta.

Everyone remembered Kenta.

Lee, as he normally did when able, studiously avoided glancing back where he'd been as he surveyed the street, as well keeping the light of dawn out of his eyes.

Kenta had shown in a storm of force, haughty and arrogant before the Azn Bad Boys of then. And then he had, of course, shown his arrogance to be quite justified.

Back then, Kenta had shown little interest in longevity. He had destroyed the Azn Bad Boys as a gang in short order, and it had only taken so long as it had because Lee himself had fought against the dragon, along with a handful of others with stiffer spines.

Those, Kenta had forced into his service.

There were, Lee thought, a few others left from that time. But he could not recall their names or faces.

It had taken little longer for Kenta, Lung, to smash apart the other Asian groups in San Francisco, before ordering all of his recruits further east. A small caravan of trucks and cars, a discreet migration across the United States, stopping here and there and searching out other Asian-majority gangs, and crushing them.

And when they had failed to be all that discreet in handling them…well, Lee probably had forgotten more hidden graves along the highway than there were pieces of patrol officers in one.

Lee finished this sweep, and focused on a higher roof a few blocks away. He saw his back, muscles rippling under his costume as everything began to splinter -

---

And when they had failed to be all that discreet in handling them…well, Lee probably had forgotten more hidden graves along the highway than there were pieces of patrol officers in one.

Lee pulled himself up to the edge of the roof, back and core flexing as he flipped over and landed adroitly on the balls of his feet, alert and ready for any who were ambushing him.

This time, there were none.

That had not been the case for much of Lung and the growing ABB's exodus.

Many were the times their growing convoy had been waylaid, by law enforcement, by heroes, and rarely by villains. Something twanged in the shadows of Lee's memory, of an independent accosting them - probably notable only because of the rarity of such creatures.

The lesser fights had been mostly handled by Lee himself. Back then, he'd merely had his blades, but those had served his selves well enough.

The greater combat had been sought by Lung, and often ended swiftly when his opponents found themselves incapable of matching him and fled. Though, there had been a pyre back in…Illinois perhaps?

Lee discarded the thought as he finished his sweep. He saw no excessive police presence, no other parahuman patrols where they should not be. There was not the noise of the barbarians or the stench of the worthless to draw his attention.

The day was as calm as it had ever been.

This irked him.

Lee let his weight draw him backwards, over the edge. As his feet left the ledge, he saw the flash of his back before gravity drew him ever downwards, head-first towards the concrete some six stories below before he felt himself start to fragment -

---

The day was as calm as it had ever been.

This irked him.

Lee ignored the flash of his former self, turning away from the falling dust-to-be to move to the other edge of the roof he was on.

This spot had stuck in his mind, persisting throughout his selves for the simple reason that he could see where they had first come to Brockton from here. To be fair, it was only the outskirts of the fight, which had erupted outside the city limits, when the Bay's Protectorate had gathered in force to stop Lung.

A foolish endeavor, that had resulted in the scars of molten asphalt and the shattered bricks that lay where the city workers had left them, deeming them extraneous compared to repaving and releveling the roads leading into the city.

The entirety of the 'heroes' had sallied forth to oppose Lung, and failed utterly. That they lived at all today was entirely due to Lung's mercy and his paying lip service to the ridiculous 'rules' the fools whinged about.

After all, Lee and the rest had already been in the city for the better part of a week by then. There had been nothing but Lung's order stopping him from striking while they were occupied with Lung's flames and talons.

But Lung had seen no reason to end their suffering, and let them limp back to their headquarters, their rig and its force field, strolling in and laying proper claim to his domain, a domain established in the shadows by the ABB and Lee.

A chime from an ear piece alerts Lee to a call incoming. Only a few have the number for his phone. He answers.

"Lee. Report." The toneless voice of Gióng's vocoder comes through.

"No issues. All quiet."

"Very good. Return. Upgrades available." The call clicks off. Lee considers for a moment, turns slightly and begins to make his way to the teahouse that serves as Robert and Grace's workshop.

As he watched his back across the way, he considered them, even as he started to fragment -

---

- and begins to make his way to the teahouse that serves as Robert and Grace's workshop.

Robert had been a bit of an unexpected boon…that turned out to be of little worth. Useful enough that Lung decided to keep him rather than kill him outright, but whatever expectations Lung had, they were sorely disappointed by 'Thánh Gióng' in action.

Especially when he'd tried to run. Robert had managed to put together a far simpler, incomplete form of the exoskeleton he used today. It allowed him to sprint.

That was it.

Lee had scored his back lightly, drawing only a little blood, but the newly awakened Tinker had howled like a man in tightening thumbscrews, sobbing even as Lee had dragged him back to Lung.

Lung had done as Lung would, and allowed Robert to live so long as he continued to obey Lung and aid in the ABB's efforts.

And Robert had grown…somewhat. It had taken surprisingly little for him to truly get started - though in turn, the resulting products had been rather…underwhelming, compared to other Tinkers.

It was enough to pull his own weight however, and so Lung was content to leave him to his devices. And Thánh Gióng had done well enough - whatever other myriad weaknesses Robert had, he wasn't one to shy away from blood when necessary - especially Nazi blood.

As for Grace - Lee paused the thought, glancing down at his back as he -

---

As for Grace, she was far more typical of Tinkers - at least, from what Lee understood. Perhaps a bit more explosive, in both the literal and figurative sense, he mused, striding down the alleyway.

Still, not every Tinker had to be run off by Legend, which was enough to pique Lung's interest. They had been confident enough in Thánh Gióng to leave the gang as a whole in his hands while they sought the woman out.

Lee had little expectations these days, but Grace had managed to confound even those few his mind could cling onto.

Still, Lung seemed to think her kindred in spirit if not in fact, and the plans she had to expand Lee's capabilities were quite promising on the surface.

From what Lee knew of Lung, with how he worked, and how…active Grace, now Bakuda, was, it would seem Thánh Gióng would eventually be replaced.

Of course, then Lung had gotten captured. Some small part of Lee held suspicion over the events, but the greater shards were focused on getting Lung free again. Bakuda had her own thoughts on how to achieve that…but Thánh Gióng had proven to have enough steel in his spine to override her.

For all Lee knew that Robert was under Thánh Gióng's mask, retching to keep the vomit down and the fear from showing, it remained true that he was also the best-suited for leading the ABB in Lung's image, at least until they finally managed to retrieve the dragon.

Since then, Lee was more occupied with keeping the ABB's businesses running as smoothly as they could. Everyone knew they couldn't escape the Oni, and everyone knew if they slipped, that Lung's wrath would be great upon his return.

But now, it seemed the Tinkers had something for him.

Lee proceeded into the back alley entrance, barely giving the door guard disguised as a bum a look, and paused upon entering the workshop.

There, he found the two Tinkers, and at least eight of the so-called '組長' - three of whom were in exoskeletons. One was very obviously the X1 frame, in it…Saito? Lee couldn't pin the name down, but he remembered the old hand had been crippled by that same exo. But here he was, walking, and helping…helping assemble a fourth unit.

"Lee." His attention shifted back towards Thánh Gióng, the Tinker holding out a mask. It was similar in form to the type of masks Lee typically favored - most of them cheap, common plastic forms in the style of festival masks from dying Japan. This one, however, was a shining silver color, with green lenses for eyes, and much sharper, cleaner details than the typical mask. "This mask has the upgraded sensors we're using for the visors, and will connect to the network and share data in the same manner. I believe it will also help with your power."

Interesting.

Lee took his current mask off with little care. It didn't matter who knew his face. He hardly remembered it in the first place. Much less any man who had it before the Oni had. The Tinker-made mask slid easily into place, strap settling over his ears and around his head and alternately tightening or loosening itself before it was comfortable.

He bore the discomfort of its booting and synchronization with ease, the nausea and pain as fleeting as everything else. Once all was done, there was an icon pulsing insistently in the HUD.

"Focus on the icon and blink twice." Lee followed Thánh Gióng's instruction, and somehow, the HUD expanded - it was difficult to describe, but he could still see everything from his own point of view, but somehow his field of vision expanded to incorporate views from other perspectives - those of the exo-clad seniors, Thánh Gióng…and the guard.

Lee was able to see himself in Thánh Gióng's view. The silver of the mask rather clashed with the more red-toned ensemble he had, he thought. And even as that thought crossed his mind, he saw the mask's silver separate into hexagons, and each shift into a dark, deep crimson, before settling back together into a cohesive surface. He watched as Thánh Gióng nodded, the view shifting in perfect sync.

"Now, see if you can teleport to the outside." Lee didn't expect much. It was impressive that Thánh Gióng had somehow managed to get this kind of viewpoint integration to work, but Lee had tried to teleport through cameras…sometime, he thinks, probably back in San Francisco…probably when his power first arose. It hadn't worked. Lee didn't expect it to work now, but he would try.

And then he saw his back appear in the guard's view, and he could see the brick wall in his own view…and the interior of the workshop…at the same time…

Lee was frozen, even as he could feel the self inside start to fragment…it felt foreign but familiar at the same time. There…was something. Continuity.

He opened the door and stepped in again as the dust from his old self fell to the floor. Thánh Gióng was there, studying the falling dust as Lee knew he would, before his view shifted to the Lee standing in the doorway.

"How was it?"

"...interesting."

 

[Thread]

This fic is as I quote "...interesting.". Good job and I have to agree with that one word. Makes you wounder how things are going to be from here.

 

[Because_i_can]

'組長'

Click to shrink...

Can someone please translate this

 

[K-GoN]

Silent Child 1.7​

Brockton Bay Docks ABB Territory
April 14th, 2011

Everything was going well.

Rather too well, for Robert's nerves.

Every time life was going well for him, it was just winding up for another gutshot.

The first time, his mother had finally gotten his medical issues straightened out…then The Bastard had left.

Then, when they'd all gotten over that particular asshole, and Robert had that scholarship…Fucking Ellisburg happened, and he and Mia had to take the time help their mother.

That, as far as Robert knew, was his super-empowering trauma, his 'Trigger', or whatever the PHO-nuts called it.

The minor bit he'd managed to do seemed to help his mother with her issues, and then Lung and Lee had him after that.

And well, life had continued its sad, dreary trod onwards from there.

Well, until…Jeez, was it really only two days ago? Robert checked his HUD records. Yep. Two days.

It felt like a lot longer…probably due to the energy drinks, the all-nighter design and production sessions with Bakuda, and the seniors once he got Takeshi and started slapping the spare parts into full frames.

Thinking of those, Robert was honestly rather pleased with how fast those were coming together - at the moment, they were pretty slapdash compared to how he'd have liked to have them, but considering they were literally outdated prototypes and spares of his own armor and they had to use the next few cycles of the printer for Bakuda's bombs and ammunition, then weapon parts after that.

Now though, they had sent Lee off with the bombs to do some collections, and the ABB seniors, the '組長', were putting the new rifles together. At the moment, Robert's feedstock was at the lowest it's ever been in two years.

And he had upgrading to do.

Something was definitely going to go to shit soon, Robert felt it in his gut. He ignored the fatigue creeping in around his eyes and skull, instead flicking his eyes across his HUD. A blink and a sweep of his eyes connected his suit's HUD directly to the printer. A click of his tongue and wink set his Tinkering playlist rolling.

Seeking the peace of reason,
Sheep in a peaceless season,
Reason to keep believing,
Waken the beast who's sleeping,​

Robert felt his head start to bob, almost subconsciously, to the beat, and lips started mouthing along to the lyrics. Extensive Augmented Reality controls for the printer flickered into existence before him, and he started manipulating them.

He didn't notice the others in the workshop pause briefly and take note.

He'd been hesitant before to take this last step. Before, he'd never had the call to upgrade like this - if anything got too heavy, he was allowed to just call in Lee. In theory, Lung wouldn't mind if he was bothered himself, so long as a worthy fight awaited him - thankfully though, simply calling Lee was often enough to get the Empire, or the Protectorate, or the Wards to back off. Rarely did anyone bring enough force around to warrant Lung's wrath.

But, well, here he was now. Lungless.

Thankfully, some of Bakuda's tricks using the DG Cells had sparked something in Robert's head.

Robert was too engrossed in his designs to notice when he started just outwardly singing along to the music.

"Your world's a fantasy, you've failed the test,
Ever forging all new fallacies creating more mess,
Directly through this bleak machine, with all of the rest,
DC! Dying, dying electricity!"

The ABB seniors in their own exoskeletons jerked away from him almost instinctively, especially as the printer started working - the mechanism unfolding for a larger dispenser port and now emitting both a flickering green glow and an unsettling growling noise. Slowly, a solid plate of iridescent silver metal was disgorged from the machine.

Well, an apparently solid plate. Really, it was a bitruncated cubic honeycomb of DG Crystal rods and microprocessors with about a one-millimeter thick covering of solid titanium-steel alloy and a two-micron thick lamination of reactive DG Cells.

Robert took a few moments to dismantle the connective ribbing on his torso, just on his right side for now, stripping them down until just their connections to the actuators of the actual exoskeletal frame remained. That done, he connected the plate to them, the iridescent silver color shifting in hexagonal patterns into a more red-on-green urban camo pattern similar to that on his repurposed SWAT armor.

The HUD reacted accordingly. His apparent battery charge dropped like a rock, the extra capacity afforded by the interior of the plate boosting the exoskeleton's maximum potential charge significantly. An increase of approximately fifteen percent. A helpful icon popped up, declaring the installation of relevant firmware to the microprocessors - some coding that had taken up a significant part of Robert's last three hours.

Once Lee got back from his trip to the Graveyard, Robert would start replacing or augmenting the rest of his connection ribbing. It was, unfortunately, still far from a proper power armor suit - the armor plates were merely either attaching to or replacing the extant ribs that held him and the exoskeleton together, and far from the degree of comfort and security he would have in a proper suit. For instance, he would still lack proper NBC safety for everything outside of his head - anything absorbable through his skin would still be terribly deadly, even on a mundane level, much less any parahuman abilities equivalent to such.

But, such an overhaul would take too long, even if Robert now had the interest and the means to perform it. Really, it wouldn't be an overhaul, but a complete new unit, just salvaging the required processors from his current suit's back module. Even more so, an investment in time and resources he couldn't afford.

So, the stopgap plates.

And, well, one other project Robert had in mind. Another item that had been basically mothballed in the giant design bin that was his mind for ages, but had now come to the forefront with urgency in the wake of recent events.

He just had to have the materials from Lee's little expedition…

It was, in fact, just as Robert was about to turn on the exos' viewsharing that Lee popped back in, almost literally, just appearing with the faintest wind of displaced air…and wearing seven extra "bandoliers" filled with the disassemblers.;

"Lee…" Wordlessly, an image popped up in Robert's HUD. Blinking at it, it opened up into a video file that started playing, from Lee's viewshare HUD. It showed Lee's viewpoint, just one at first, standing on the slanted deck of one of the infamous tankers in the bay - strangely holding his bandolier.

In an instant, the view doubled - as programmed to for Lee's power, which had been a simple but interesting programming adjustment for the mask unit. Then it doubled again, and again, whereupon Robert watched seven Lee's throw the eighth one their bandoliers in the moments before they dissolved - the eighth one now holding all eight bandoliers.

Robert stared. Rewatched.

"WHuughackouf!"

---

Robert would later math out that Lee had basically left the entire tanker as a hollow husk - the fact it actually didn't rise and float out to sea probably meant the hull was stuck on some rocks or coral on the seabed or something.

Still, Lee's…unexpected, to say the least, new capability was something of a boon, even if it made Robert's head ache with all the violations inherent in it - well, those violations had been present before, but their newfound permanency also gave Robert a far more persistent pain.

Granted, that pain seemed far less consequential given that Robert now had enough feedstock for the printer to last a very good long while - or a very short while, given some plans he had for expansion…but then, that all would depend on the next steps.

With the feedstock more than replenished, Robert was able to work himself and the other exo-clad ABB seniors harder - soon, everything was…not satisfactory, but tolerable.

So, the time had come.

The ABB gathered again, but in their proper place for the first time in days, called at the fall of night in what could charitably be called their headquarters - or would be called Lung's "lair" by the more courageous outsiders - the full force of the Azn Bad Boys met. It was a

The common footpad, those who had been largely left in the dark, were bewildered as they saw their commanders in their new exoskeletons, with heavy armaments gleaming with freshly-forged technology, and more so with the definitively more advanced frames boasted by both Oni Lee and Bakuda - each with their own mask with optics that glowed an off-green color.

And then, of course, there was Robert - or rather, Thánh Gióng. He was standing just slightly off-center of Lung's old, weathered chair, where the dragon had sat like a medieval king before his court. The Tinker himself did not dare to sit in the chair himself of course, but he had no need to.

No, Thánh Gióng was resplendent before the common soldiers, newly bedecked in armor plating that was vaguely reminiscent of traditional Asian armor - more particularly, the Chinese styles that one way or another inspired the armor of the rest of the continent in general.

In a strange way, it made him both less and more terrifying.

As Robert stood before them, the glow of dim lights casting eerie shadows across the room, he felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. Thánh Gióng, the Tinker turned strategist, had become the lynchpin of their operation, the guiding hand that would lead them through the perilous path ahead.

The room was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable. The ABB members looked to Thánh Gióng, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension. They had witnessed the transformation of their comrades into fearsome mechanized warriors, and now they sought guidance, a plan of action to reclaim their leader from the clutches of imprisonment.

Taking a deep breath, Robert began to speak. The vocoder eliminated the stutters and cracks, the smooth, emotionless machine voice of Thánh Gióng the only sound allowed outside his helmet.

"Brothers and sisters of the Azn Bad Boys," he began, his words echoing in the chamber, "the time has come to strike back against those who would see us fall. Lung, our leader, our symbol of strength and unity, has been taken from us. But fear not, for we possess the means to free him from his captors."

He paced in front of them, his exoskeleton's heavy footsteps resonating on the cold concrete floor. "Our plan is twofold," he continued, "the majority of our forces will engage in a frontal assault, a spectacle of chaos and destruction that will draw their attention and resources. This distraction will be the cover under which our true mission will unfold."

"Oni Lee, our agile phantom, will infiltrate the heart of their fortress, slipping through their defenses like a shadow. His mission is clear: locate Lung, neutralize any threats, and extract him."

"But make no mistake," Robert's voice grew more somber, "this is not a simple rescue mission. We tread in the territory of the dangerous and the powerful. Our enemy, the ones who dare imprison our leader, are not to be underestimated."

He looked into their eyes, his gaze unwavering. "This will be a fight unlike any we've faced before. We will need to be swift, precise, and resolute. Lung's fate, our fate, hangs in the balance."
"Our actions will echo through the city, a testament to our strength and determination. Let this night be remembered as the night the Azn Bad Boys reclaimed their leader and their honor!"

A chorus of fierce cheers erupted from the assembled ABB members, their fists raised in a unified show of solidarity. Robert's words had ignited a fire within them, a burning resolve to see their mission through to the end.

As the room buzzed with renewed energy, Robert felt his skin seem to crawl as a heady feeling invaded his mind.

This…this was dangerous. This feeling of…almost drunken power.

So this is why they all love it so much.

Robert had all of five seconds with the feeling and he already craved more of it.

That, more than nearly anything else so far in life, terrified him.

"Tonight, we rest and gather our strength. Tomorrow, we will strike!"

Spoiler: Author's Note

Writing stories is a bit of an effort for me. Usually what happens with this stuff is I imagine these awesome scenes and emotional moments, and I really want to just get to them and get them out, and get praised for them!

But if there's anything I've learned from the past decade of progressively more crap movies and shows and the better works I've read - fanfiction literally better-written than multi-million dollar projects - is it's in the build up that a good moment is made great.

Journey before destination and all that jazz.

But man, do I hate slogging through the journey. That's why writing shit is work after all. That's why we have the whole big hullabaloo about AI-generated art and shit.

Speaking of which, I do run these through Chat GPT, but frankly most of what it generates doesn't really fit my style for whatever reason. I don't know if I'm using it wrong, but at this point I'm just feeding it my stuff to see what pops out the other end, rather than trying to actually make usable content. For whatever reason, Chat GPT is a lot more melodramatic than I am. And it keeps trying to give Robert a much more generically heroic outlook.

Anyway, my point is the main slog for me is in getting to the awesome bits I initially envision for a fic. And a part of that is trying to figure out when and how. To get 'but and therefore' instead of 'and then'.

It's a bit of a pain, but if I can pull it off…well.

As a note for the future, if we get to that point, this story is categorically not going to involve the Golden Morning. In point of fact as a warning, most everything Scion-related is not going to happen at all the way it did in canon - frankly, I detest most of the latter half of canon Worm, so instead we're going to be digging into the other inspirations for this fic.

I'm looking for a war here.

Spoiler: 組長 Translation

The characters "組長" break down as follows:

"組" (kumi): This character means "group" or "organization." It represents a specific faction or family within the yakuza structure. Each "kumi" operates under the leadership of a "kumicho" (組長).

"長" (chō): This character translates to "leader" or "chief." It signifies the position of authority and responsibility within the yakuza hierarchy. The "kumicho" is the top-ranking member of a yakuza family, overseeing its activities and making important decisions.

So, when combined, "組長" (kumicho) refers to the "group leader" or "head of the family" within the yakuza organization.

 

[meloa789]

You forgot the threadmark.

 

[K-GoN]

Ah dammit. Fixed it. Thanks for the alert.

 

[K-GoN]

Silent Child 1.8​

April 15th

The sun hung high in the midday sky, casting its warm, inviting rays across the picturesque city of Brockton Bay. To any unsuspecting tourist, it appeared to be just another ordinary day in the coastal city. The bustling streets were alive with activity, with people going about their daily routines, seemingly oblivious to the subtle tension in the air.

Yet, for the native Brocktonite, they could feel the unease in the air. Many of the alleyways and sidestreets, cast in the noonday shadows by the buildings around, were empty of their usual societal dross. Those who were more misfortunate than malcontent swiftly made themselves scarce in the noted absence of the latter, and outside of the kitschy Boardwalk, many shopkeepers were closing their doors earlier than normal, and parents all around ushered children into their homes.

In the heart of the Docks district, near the old warehouses and piers that lined the waterfront, a growing assembly of people dressed in various shades of red and green began to form. There wasn't a large number, but each and every one had a certain air to them - a sternness, a hardness that was barely perceptible, but all the more arresting because of it. All of them had some kind of jacket, most of them fairly light, suitable for the brisk New England weather of the day - and those with a keen eye could see many notably stiff bunches of material or awkwardly protruding shapes. Several of the growing mob carried lumpy golf bags or misshapen packs. Then there were a few others - four specifically - who wore long, heavy coats that covered them practically ankle to top with hoods hanging low over faces, and strangely designed steel-toe boots peeking out from under the hem.

The Azn Bad Boys, once all gathered, moved with purpose through the labyrinthine streets and back alleys of the Docks. Their march was deliberate, led by the coated men and women to a specific warehouse, owned by a certain company, and host to a certain sort of clientele. These clients were already rushing out of the warehouse, but as the ABB force arrived, they scrambled further out - men with shaven heads and prominent tattoos of symbols of the Nazi party or other such hateful things, the rank and file of the Empire Eighty-Eight forming up in front of their lair.

Emerging from the skinhead crowd was a tall man with greasy blond hair, a steel mask molded into a snarling wolf strapped to his face, and otherwise bare but for a pair of jeans and a set of tattoos: a snarling wolf over a swastika on one bicep, and the stylized characters 'E88' on the other. Hookwolf, one of the Empire's parahumans, and one of the deadliest. The superpowered supremacist gave the crowd of ABB a scan and snorted, unimpressed.

"This all?" He growled. "I'm almost impressed that you yellow-bellied slants got the nerve. Too bad it's so fucking pathetic. Where's the rest of you? Where's that little boy wearing the mask, or that chink in the suit!?" In answer, the coated ABB leaders gestured slightly, almost unnoticeably, and the formation opened - front ranks sidestepping until a decent and notable gap was left in their frontmost lines - a gap that was swiftly filled.

A sudden blur was all that could be seen before a single thunderous impact shook the ground, some ABB and E88 gangers stumbling - though more from startlement than any real imparted force. Standing in the gap was Thánh Gióng, but covered fully in green-hued metal plates with hints of red cloth peeking out from what few gaps there were. The Tinker rose steadily from the crouch he'd landed into, the single red optic on his helm fixed assuredly on Hookwolf.

"I will note that I am not Chinese." The Tinker's vocoded voice hissed out from the helmet, even as he took a few steps closer.

"Like I can fucking tell, all of you look the same to me." The beast spat, grinning. His skin rippled unnaturally, barbs and tips of hooks briefly etching lines in the flesh that disappeared just as swiftly as they appeared. The computerized digital rasp was unrecognizable - could have been a scoff, a snort, or even a chuckle. But the shake of Gióng's head was enough for all present to interpret it as negative. "Though I gotta wonder what in hell you're thinking, coming here with half the bodies you'd need and no lizard to make this an interesting scrap." That drew another electronic crackle from Giòng.

"Naturally, I have to correct your math. I have here over three times the number I would need to deal with you, but I had not the heart to deny so many of my comrades the honor of battle, even against lacking foes like yourself." The responding shouts and jeers from the collected skinheads were suitably ignored. "As for the latter…all knew this was inevitable once the Protectorate announced they had Lung. I'm just striking first."

"Hah! I suppose -"

"Don't bother. We both know this fight already started before I even showed up. After all, Stormtiger and Cricket are never far from you." With that, one of the nearby buildings - not the dog-fighting converted warehouse, but what had been an administrative building - exploded in a burst of concrete shrapnel, dust, and unnatural sharp wind. In that sudden burst of confusion, six bodies fell into the midst of the gathered gangers - two the instantly recognizable Stormtiger and Cricket, parahumans of the E88, the other four in exoskeletons and paramilitary gear very similar to Thánh Gióng's old setup.

As the E88 rank-and-file struggled to adapt, the ABB were already dispersing into preselected cover - the four long-coated ones discarding their heavy garb to reveal exoskeletons and paramilitary armor as well as towering shields forming from silvery meta-alloys on their off-hand arms. And with that, the bloodiest gang battle Brockton Bay had seen in the last decade started.

The opening salvo of gunfire from the ABB, a focused barrage of handguns, SMGs, and a few rifles, ripped into the scrambling E88, leaving many of the skinheads dead, and quite a few more bleeding. Very shortly however, the plebian shouting and gunfire of the rank-and-file made way for the paranatural. Both Hookwolf and Thánh Gióng ignored the gunfire, the former expanding rapidly into a shifting cloud of metal blades, the latter nonchalantly kicking the blender-to-be into his followers, ignoring the few blades that scraped along his new shin guard and instead raising his rifle and firing off a single shot. The following detonation, courtesy of a Bakuda-designed micro-explosive, scattered a significant portion of Hookwolf's forming mass as shrapnel into the immediate area, eliciting a furious howling scream from the Changer.

The cyclone of wind-blades and clash of steel on meta-alloy nearby were also factored into the decisions of the rank-and-file to evacuate the center of the battle and leave that to the paranaturally-powered. Of this particular sub-section of the battle, eight of the ABB, the leaders, the 組長 chosen to take one of the exoskeletons, were handling Stormtiger and Cricket. Four of the exo-suited had counter-ambushed the two E88 supers, the other four darting into the fray once Hookwolf's known hangers-on were confirmed present. Meta-alloy shields fended off both flensing wind and curving kama, while heavy customized rifles barked and coughed and hissed forth a variety of ordnance to harry them. Not Bakuda-custom rounds like Gióng had for Hookwolf, but deadly enough to force two parahumans of power ratings three or higher to act defensively.

It is often recorded in the aftermath of battle that many combatants misremember the timing, seconds bleeding into minutes or minutes flashing into seconds in the memory of the witness. Such was the same for this battle, what many would claim were minutes of parahuman and parahuman-empowered clashing, but was in fact a handful of seconds before the arrival of the PRT and Protectorate. Both had tracked the growing troop of the ABB since its inception, well aware of the coming battle.

The Protectorate, naturally, made first impact, the heroes smashing into the center of the battle - well, Assault and Battery were the ones actually 'smashing' in, by virtue of their powers. The rest of the heroes served as the PRT vanguard - the systems of Thánh Gióng and the ABB 組長 marked out Miss Militia, Armsmaster, Velocity and Dauntless as present.

All according to plan.

In the blink of an eye, Oni Lee stood in the center of the battle.

Another, and there were five Oni Lees.

Another, sixty.

And then they exploded.

In this instance, most of the grenades unleashed simple concussive force blasting away the ashes of dissolving Lee clones and turning fragments already present into deadly shrapnel. By Giông's command, Lee concentrated his clones at the Protectorate, then the Empire, and finally a few scattered among the PRT. The heroes who could resist multiple stacked concussive detonations were forced to take them head-on, the abhorrent skinheads who were too slow or too dumb found themselves being thrown back with internal hemorrhaging, while most of the law officers were simply blown off their feet.

With a raised fist and barked order, the ABB footpads reorganized and hunkered into defensive formations, while Gióng and the other exo-armored advanced to lock ranks with the heroes.

Meanwhile, across the city, Lee was breaking into the Protectorate HQ. This was a feat that was long within his capabilities, given his power, but before Gióng, before Bakuda, would have amounted to a childish prank in the grand scheme.

Now, it was a carefully crafted lancehead piercing through what the Protectorate had thought was impenetrable armor.

It started from the beach, Lee's sight encompassing the Rig entrance, and a straightforward, simple appearance onto the main entryway, onto the solid rampway that typically had a forcefield bridge leading to the mainland, and well within the radius of their defensive forcefield. Even as the automatic defenses reacted to him, he displaced again, using the him still on the beach to relocate a few meters away from the him still facing the rapidly shuttering bulkheads.

Four hands work rapidly and quickly, withdrawing charges from the Lees' bandoliers and adhere to the bulkheads. Moments later, the two Lees dissolve into dust along with the bulkheads.

The third of him on the beach places himself in the center of the greeting area, and even as confoam starts spraying from the ceiling dispensers, that him has already scanned around, Lee going to the end of each hallway he could see, then to the next that central him could see, before then going to the furthest ends those could see.

Within moments, he's found the jails, while the self in the greeting room is being foamed and surrounded by PRT, before dissolving.

Lee keeps moving, placing selves at the corners of his eyes as one slaps what Gióng called 'omni-charges' onto the main jail door, keys it to matter dissolution, and activates it. He already has another one palmed as he starts moving as soon as he has clear sight of the jail internals.

This results in nearly a dozen selves spaced throughout the jail and the cells, half of them appearing mid-air to slap the handy charge onto the ceilings, a half-second passing before all that's left of the ceiling is falling dust.

The Lee in Lung's cell clasps hands before himself and bows.

"Lee." The Dragon's growl is pleased. "How?" Lee pauses momentarily, taking the moment to flash through three different locations before replacing the self before Lung through the sight of one of the four-to-five watching the jails.

"Gióng has proven capable in your absence."

"Is that so. I shall have to see proof." Lee nods, withdraws another charge from his bandolier and hands it to Lung. Then he glances to the side, generates three selves to place the charges in their off-hands on the outer wall of Lung's cell.

In the next moment, Lee generates more selves in every inch of the Protectorate HQ all of 'he' can see. Those selves then touch their bandoliers, keying all of the charges still held in them to a single setting, and then detonate.

Visible electrical arcs lance out from those selves and electronics shriek and squeal before dying, and then the three selves inside Lung's cell trigger their charges. As do the three on the wall of the hallway immediately outside of Lung's cell. And the four in the rooms past that. And the five who've spread to the rooms past those, in a chain that creates a clear path to the outermost wall of the facility.

Lung snorts appreciatively, and walks easily out of the Protectorate HQ. As he is, Lee takes a moment to handle a secondary task. Lung was free, and woe to those who barred his way - though there were still quite a number of selves scattered throughout the base making a nuisance of themselves. Pertinent to this task, one had found Armsmaster's lab - still operating, despite numerous high-power EMPs wrecking the rest of the facility.

Only natural.

Lee and four selves coordinate - a charge disintegrates the door quite easily, allowing Lee to physically walk in and place a charge as the other four place theirs at each outer wall. The four outer charges seem to detonate much the same as previously, but the one Lee places at the center does not detonate - instead it warps and ripples along with the space around it, and the dust caused by the disintegration charges falls into it. In the end, Armsmaster's lab is gone from ceiling to floor, and Lee has to teleport to the final charge and catch it before it falls, teleporting back beside Lung and placing the 'storage' charge back into his bandolier.

Lung raises an eyebrow at him, but continues striding uninterrupted.

"An opportunity presented itself."

"Did it now." Lung seemed to think for a moment, before nodding. Further interaction stopped as they came to the outermost breach - an open expanse showing naught but the ocean, the beach and the city before the two. "Where is he now?"

"Currently engaging with the purists and the enforcers." Lee could see the ongoing fight through the 組長 visors, as well as through selves he occasionally left to aid.

"Is he now? I wonder where this spine was before. I will have to reckon with him." With that Lung jumped. Lee watched as he went for a moment, briefly considering staying to aid Lung. But no. The Dragon would be insulted by the gesture.

Instead, he glanced through the 組長 feeds, and stepped in - literally kicking out mid-air to throw Cricket at Stormtiger, simultaneously throwing a concussive-keyed charge at the PRT and heroes' ranks before glancing over and stepping next to Gióng. A lazy underhanded toss at Hookwolf saw him being used as a makeshift Claymore mine - the metal fragments shattered by concussive force thrown back at the E88 menials who were too dumb to stay in cover.

"Lee." The Demon was used enough to the vocoder's quirks to recognize a question. In response, he removed the storage charge from his bandolier and presented it. "I assume he is free."

"Indeed."

"As discussed then, if you would." As Gióng spoke, calmly but urgently flashing text scrolled across all the 組長 feeds in their preferred languages. The exo-clad captains promptly disengaged from their individual fights, joining the ABB foot soldiers in their still-cohesive formation. Gióng took the head with a simple backwards jump powerful enough to throw him back several meters with only a shorter hop needed to both bleed momentum and position him exactly.

As the respective forces of the E88 and the law reacted, all bringing firearms to bear, an armature unfolded from the backpack module of Gióng's armor, a multi-jointed limb ending in what seemed to be some kind of camera with five broad panels forming an almost flower-like shape. As Lee watched, the panels flapped strangely, each time rotating slightly both around their individual centers and around the camera.

Through his mask's connection to Gióng's feed, he saw an endless rainbow stream of data enveloping the TInker's HUD, such that the small glance Lee had began to make his temples throb in pain before he had to shut off that connection.

The armature's panels flapped once more then folded in and spun around the camera, flashing various colors before they snapped into the initial open 'flower' form, all glowing red, broadcasting a single loud electronic chirp.
Then the enemies opened fire - handguns, sidearms of the PRT, various smuggled sub-machine guns and a few criminal long arms among the E88, all unleashed a barrage of rounds at the assembled ABB force, at Gióng's armored form and the 組長 presenting meta-alloy shields.

Yet, none were struck.

Instead, Lee could only see something flickering red as the armature's panels spun and flashed, and hear what sounded like rain on the asphalt.

The fusillade continued for maybe two more seconds before all realized they weren't hitting anything or ran out of ammunition and had to reload. The slower among the enemy realized the strangeness as they observed the distinctly unmarked armor and shields.

The armature's panels reshaped themselves into, of all things, a thumbs-up, and emitted a chirp some would say sounded smug.

For Lee's part, he enacted the next step, generating selves across the breadth of the battlefield maybe a meter in front of the 'front lines' of the E88 and the PRT alike, as well as among the mundane law enforcement encircling the whole battle. He'd already set the bandolier to the predetermined selection, so all they had to do was detonate.

Waves of concussive force concurrent with flashes of light that even in daytime were blinding were followed shortly by eruptions of smoke, all of which meant the ABB were able to withdraw in good order.

That done, Lee saw through one of his selves that Lung had reached shore, and stepped into place, respectfully just behind and to his left.

"News?"

"The battle has ended. Our forces have withdrawn."

"He did not crush his foes?"

"His strategy did not call for this."

"Hm. Not as much spine as I thought then. This too, I shall have to reckon with him." Lung snorted, then allowed himself a short chuckle. "Better, but not good enough yet."

Spoiler: Author's Note

Hoo boy. Been a bit, eh? Same story as usual, I had this halfway written soon after last update, but life and lack of enthusiasm resulting thereof got in the way. But now I had some spurt of inspiration that let me follow through! So here we are with the necromancy, and the dead rising, and all with the help of Kyoji.

Heh.

Jokes aside, this is the end (I think) of the Silent Child arc, and I'm going to have to find my notes on what the next arc is called - I'm pretty sure it's thematic to the Thanh Giông legend, but damned if I can remember off the top of my head. There may be an interlude - I've been trying to get one together at least. Anyway, things are getting better for Bobby boy - but we all know how far that goes in Worm.

 

[K-GoN]

Power​

As I'm lagging a bit due to the Muse making me rewrite what I have of the interlude here's a potentially spoilerish explanation on the details of Robert's Tinker power:

Spoiler: Power Spoilers

First off, the source of Robert's power is not a shard of any 'Worm' Entity, but rather of the Self-Insert grown Bastard Random Omnipotent Being from Devil's Toys. As such Robert has direct access to the following technology or sciences:

Mobile Fighter G Gundam: All DG Cell-derived technology and capabilities, as well as all technology implicit in the design and operation of Mobile Fighters - which includes setting equivalents of Minovsky Fusion and Particle physics.
Voltron: Legendary Defender: Altean and Galran weaponry, sub-light and FTL drives, and reactor systems, ship, fighter and infantry designs. Altean physiology and 'witchcraft'. Quintessence-based technology and interuniversal translocation capabilities.
Pacific Rim: Jaeger designs and control systems. Precursor biotechnology and interuniversal portal capabilities.

With these, Robert via the Devil Gundam SI has the capability to emulate the capabilities of, as far as I bother, basically any other equivalent-level technologies including but not limited to:

Deus Ex prequel series (e.g. Human Evolution/Mankind Divided) mechanical augmentations and weapons. Maybe Deus Ex proper nano-augs. Not sure.
Titanfall jumpkits and Titans
Call of Duty scifi tech
Halo MJOLNIR Armor (minus shields), exosuits and walkers, as well as any Human vehicular or ship-mounted weaponry.
Battletech anything.
Most other Gundam series technologies, with the exceptions of psycommu, N-Jammers, GN Drives, Phase Shift Armor, etc.
Armored Core, barring Kojima Particle and Coral-based technologies.
Code Geass

Naturally, Robert does not have…let's call it root-level access to all of this. His capabilities insofar as tech level access and compounding synthesis of said tech are restricted by some factors.

First off, he has restrictions on his ability to design and produce anything that is not humanoid in form or function. Specifically, any macro-scale device must either be humanoid in shape, or supplementary to the human body or basic human capabilities, and this restrictions gets looser and looser the larger the construct is - though in order for him to produce a wheeled or treaded vehicle, the resulting tank would essentially be a giant glorified habitat. In between those two extremes, this would allow him to create most of the nonhumanoid AC legs for example - quads, reverse-joints, etc, or allow him to pursue…some of the more exotic Mobile Armor designs.

Secondly, all of his inventions must be operated by human will. Any systems or devices will not be able to engage in any active operation without supervision or command of a human will unaltered by Shard power or other external factors. To wit, Robert cannot build a robotic assembly line and have it operate without supervision or active guidance. Drones and robots he may produce are not capable of movement without his or another designated commander's prompting. As with above, this restriction becomes looser with the greater the scale of a specific construct, but only insofar as required for necessary subsystems for such a construct to operate. For specific action, a human will - a pilot so to speak - is required.