Cryptekial (Worm/WH40K)

[Noxturne90]

CRYPTEKIAL




A Worm Story by Noxturne, with Betaing by @einargs.

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Dark Archive:

Story Posts:
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Arc one:
1, 2, 3, 4​

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[Noxturne90]

CRYPTEKIAL

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Friday the 11th, March 2011
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Slowly, it took form. Shiny silver with a black sheen, it was fairly simplistic on the outside yet retained a hint of menace. Gently, she pulled back, the homemade particle welder dying in her hand, and took in the sight of her creation, complete for the first time ever.

Almost seven feet long, it was a thin sleek rod of silvery-black metal bare of ornamentation. The head was capped by a wide double-headed blade, wrapped around a crystalline tube running down the middle. Somewhere between a spear and an ornamental staff, it was cool to the touch as she picked it up, and yet it tingled in her grasp. She could almost feel the power that would be running through it from the power-source in the grip, just waiting for the first surge of energy to get it going. Hefting it up, and feeling the weight and balance of it for the first time, Taylor struck the butt of it against the cement of the basement floor experimentally.

It sounded with a resounding crack, and looking down she could see that the concrete had powderized under the strike. She flipped it end over end, careful to avoid the blade, and smiled at how the metal cap on the end of the staff wasn't so much as scratched. It was a simplified construction, from the artistically styled ones in her head. But what it had in external simplicity it made up for what it was inside. It was a fusion of several designs and functions, combined together into a single, versatile weapon and tool.

All it needed now was the initial charge, the first burst of energy to get its internal power source running at full-tilt.

Swinging it back upright, she looked at the bench and the remains of her tools. Out of everything she had cobbled together for this one creation to work, only the particle wielder and her power cell were functioning.

The boxy, toothed maw of her material processor was dead, finally giving up the ghost to process the last of her scraps into the regenerative metal that made up her staff. The assembler had shared a similar fate, pushed to the brink and beyond to make the components that she had pieced together one part at a time. The Particle Welder was on itss last legs as well, and even deactivated it sparked and smoked ominously. Sighing, she unplugged it from the power cell.

That was that then. It would take a month to repair and rebuild it all. A month of putting together scraps. But next time, she'd build them better, build them back into themselves. Bigger, more durable, more productive. Making just one thing wouldn't burn them out and leave them ruined next time.

All that was left was the power source, dominating the center of the bench. A patchwork cylinder that squatted on the wood like an overly large toad.

Well, not for long.

Swinging the bladed head down, she pointed her staff right at it. The weight was awkward, and already she could feel the muscles in her skinny arms burning, but this was the last step. Then she would be ready to step out on her own. For a moment, Taylor just stared at it. It was the first thing she had made. Her proof as a Tinker.

Unceremoniously, she shoved the bladed tines into it, the unspeakably sharp edges spearing the cell without resistance as it spewed forth emerald lightning. Sickly green bolts of energy lanced outwards, and were drawn into the staff. The tingling feeling grew, now literal instead of figurative as the weapon came to life in her hand. It hummed and buzzed, and Taylor could now feel it as the interface connected her mind to it. No buttons or switches, her very thoughts would control this.

The cascade of energy slowed, and eventually died. Pulling back, acrid smoke filled the air as the bench itself smoldered from the blackened scars across its surface joined by the smoke that leaked from the casing of the energy cell, together signalling the death of the last of her equipment.

But settling the butt of the staff on the floor again, she knew it was worth it. Her weapon was finished, complete. Alive. She could feel the pulse of the power flowing through it, growing stronger as its capacitors and batteries started to fill.

She might have been working with figurative sticks and stones, but now she had a work of art, and the starting point for everything else moving forward. This was the mark of her first real step forward, the culmination of all her time and effort up till now.

It was beautiful, deadly. And every inch belonged to her.

Carefully, she leaned it against the wall. For now, it could wait. But later tonight, she'd take it out and test it.

Turning around though, she now had something else to deal with. The remains of the rest of her hard work. Before her father got home, she would have to clean this up. Should she trash it? No. Chances were to high that if she threw it away, someone would find it and figure out something was up. Save it?

She ran her fingers through her curly brown hair in thought. Maybe. Maybe. The power cell would be easiest to repurpose or repair. The processor was scrap, without a doubt. The assembler might be salvageable, she could maybe rig it to work just long enough to make the parts for a new power cell or processor. She could theoretically charge both the processor or the assembler from the staff if she needed to, since its internal generator was functional.

She licked her chapped lips, and decided to sort it out later. For now, it was all going into the corner and back under the bedsheet.

The staff, she thought as she looked at it out the corner of her eye, was coming upstairs with her.

~~~~​

Her father?

Asleep.

School? Not for two days.

Costume?

A poor check, but it was something. Strangely, she still yearned for a cape. But the trenchcoat would work for now. A hoodie beneath and a cut down ski-mask covered her hair and lower face.

She wasn't going out to fight, not yet. But hefting her new staff over her shoulder, she knew that she couldn't wait a single night more to test it out now that it was finished. Two months of gathering, building, and time had lead up to it's completion. And while it was only one thing rather then the collection of things that Tinkers supposedly made at first, she had poured everything into it.

She had taken inspiration from Armsmaster, even, in it's creation. Instead of singular dedicated features, it was many versatile features put together to create a singular work of engineering that she felt could handle any task thrown her way much like his iconic halberd.

Case in point, as she skipped the last step of the stairs, and stood in front of the front door. The locked front door. Now she could unlock it like a normal person.

But she wasn't a normal person. She was a Parahuman.

Gripping her staff, (she would have to come up with a name besides 'staff') she held it up to the door, and focused. Through the interface, she felt the mechanisms and inner workings of the staff, felt along the connections till she found what she needed. From the staff head, invisible fingers of force creeped outwards. She couldn't see them, but she felt them, like they were extensions of her own.

She directed them into the lock, wrapping them the insides of it, and pulled. With a satisfying click, the lock undid itself.

Taylor couldn't help but beam to herself. Yes, she had taken longer than it would have if she just undone the lock herself. But the fact of the matter was that she could open it her way, and did.

Slipping through the door and into the night outside, she locked the door behind her.

Staring at the street in front of her house, she considered her destination. Down near the Boardwalk, and into the Docks? The idea struck her as overly dangerous.

"Maybe," she thought aloud to herself, instead looking the other direction. "The area between Downtown and the Docks?"

Thinking it over, it resonated with her more than the first idea. She could venture into the Docks if she changed her mind, or into Downtown if there was trouble. And the area in between was peaceful enough for a first night out to give her creation a test run.

Decision made and destination set, Taylor slung her staff back over her shoulder and creeped down the darkened street. With every one-in-three streetlights in this part of town simply non-functioning, she was fairly secure in the belief that no one had seen her leave her house. The walk was slow, as every few yards she had to readjust the weight of the staff on her shoulder, trying to find a balance between comfort and ease. Still, she made progress as she kept to the darkened streets and made her way, eventually settling on shifting it from one shoulder to the next every now and then by time she hit a decent pace.

~~~~​

It was beautiful, in an archaic, primitive way. Kinda like baby's first finger-painting. Her thoughts tore it apart even as it was admired. Wheels? Who the hell in their right mind uses wheels? She didn't even bother calculating the number of ways she could literally get it off the ground. If she did, she'd be here all night long.

And was that an actual combustion motor? Dear god, she thought she could actually see the cylinders and almost felt sick to her stomach. Alright, it was marginally better, she acquiesced to herself. Someone with actual intelligence had redesigned it to be ten times better and ten times smaller than a combustion motor with that estimated horsepower had any right to be. But then they had gone right back to sticks and stones with actual exhaust system that looked custom-made to deliberately sound like two mountains mating. Messily.

It was beautiful and horrifying in all the right and wrong places. The body itself was alright. That frame was definitely a non-standard metal alloy, and was that a concealed multi-spectrum energy analyzer? Oh, yes it was. Shame though, hers would be better and would scan along a multidimensional axis and-she-should-really-

Taylor hadn't even noticed that she had left her alleyway, crossed the street, and was now all but pawing the magnificent/nauseating creation in front of her. Was that a toolkit mounted on the side? Oh joy, she could tear those wheels off and actually put in something elegant. Now, what was more appropriate? A low power anti-gravitic suspenser system? Or the more costly small-ship grade version?

Oh, why not make it a dual-function one? Then it can function inside AND outside planetary atmosphere and gravity at varying altitudes and speeds!

Omphf

She blinked blearily, finding herself looking at the night sky and the few stars visible through Brockton's light pollution. She should really do something about tha-and my, was that a really sharp-looking blade?

"Drop the weapon," A strong, authoritative voice calmly stated, pausing a moment before continuing. "And my toolkit."

In the face of having her face skewered, reason returned and she felt a hue of panic start to overtake her. She also noticed that she indeed did have a toolkit in her free hand. Where those mountings on the side? Why would there be mountings unless it was actually att-

Oh, that's why. There was an unnaturally clean cut, as if someone had sliced it from it's mounting like hot wire through butter.

She released her grip on it in a flash, letting it clatter to a rest on the sidewalk.

"Now the weapon. Do not make me repeat myself."

Behind her glasses, Taylor's eyes were crossed as they both tried to meet at the point a scant inch from her face, where the tip of the blade hovered menacingly. The sense of panic grew stronger, and she knew that whatever was happening The Staff was potentially her only way to defend herself.

But at the same time, that blade was extremely close, and was very sharp-looking. It also stirred a memory, fuzzed by the mania that had overcome her and her rising fear. One that told her she had seen this particular blade before.

Did she have a choice?

The gleam off the razor edge in front of her eyes said No.

The Staff humming in her grip said Yes.

But she knew that blade, she just did. And reason won out over fear as it told her that going with the second option over the first would hurt her in ways she couldn't quite put her finger on just yet.

She let go of the Staff, the connection between her and it breaking as it dropped to the sidewalk with a metallic clatter, punctuated by the stomp of a boot as it was nudged from just within reaching distance to firmly outside of it.

Without ceremony, a gloved hand came down and hauled her to her feet, pushing her back against the wall of some nondescript building, allowing her to take her attention off the the weapon shoved in her face and turn it to the one using it.

The visor offered nothing, silver and white with blue accents offering nothing for her to draw any kind of cue from. The mouth lower face though, was a thin grim line of a mouth framed by a neatly trimmed beard.

Ah, that was what she needed. Armsmaster. Only Armsmaster had that beard. So that was his halberd that was pointy and sharp and directed at her. Which means it was his bike that she had apparently sliced up to get at the toolkit.

Might explain why he seemed less than enthused about it.

"You're a cape," he stated with certainty, his visor looking through at some point at the back of her head. "Why are you trying to steal my toolkit? Are you a Villain? Explain. Now."

Her mind scrambled, trying to decipher the order of importance that the questions were in. She was being held at halberd-point (was that a thing?) and being questioned by Armsmaster. How had this happened? How was it happening, and how did she stop it from going further. She opened her mouth, determined to state her innocence, but what came out wasn't the succinct declaration she had in mind.

"N-no, not a villain, just l-looking!" Was what came out of her mouth, words running wild even as she tried to rein them in. "Just wanted to look, but w-wheels! And engine, a-and exhaust! EXHAUST! Just wrong! I didn't m-mean to-"

Dear god she was babbling in front of Armsmaster like a moron. Just like they said she did. She could feel her stomach starting to curl up and die in her gut. There was a pause for a moment as she sucked in a breath of fresh air, and could feel another verbal spillage coming on, when Armsmaster raised a pacifying hand, interrupting her.

"Enough," he said in strong tone. "You're telling the truth. I understand."

She gaped, confusion and bewilderment striking her hard. "Wha? I mean, b-but?" She stammered.

"It's a well documented occurrence," he started, stepping back. She did notice that he kept himself between her and the bike, and stood closer to her staff then she was. But at least the halberd was held away from her and at ease. "That new Tinkers, especially those that don't yet have a handle on their abilities will enter a fugue at points when encountering Tinkertech that they themselves did not make for the first time."

At this point, he turned his head slightly, seemingly to look at her Staff still resting on the ground. "In this state," he continued. "It's not uncommon for those Tinkers experiencing the condition to try to understand or draw comparisons between their own tech and the new tech, to the point of deconstructing it or attempting to improve it while disregarding anything that could be considered a concern or distraction."

"I do assume," he said as he looked from the Staff to her. "That you are a Tinker?"

Was she a Tinker?

She had built a device that broke down matter into something that was not-quite energy. A storage unit that could store said energy and use it to power her other things. A device that took that energy and reconverted it back into matter, in a more desirable form.

According to science as she knew it, humans couldn't build those things. And according to PHO, Tinkers were those that built things that normal human science couldn't.

She had never really thought about it before, but Taylor supposed that made her a Tinker. She had never really been concerned with what type of Parahuman she was, only that she was one.

"Yes," she said, the first word she had been able to speak clearly since this all started. "I'm a Tinker."

There was another moment of silence, and the impression that Armsmaster was not looking at her, but through her. It was disturbing. The idea of someone looking through her was one that unsettled her. When she got things up and running again, she would hav-

Her train of thought was interrupted as Armsmaster leaned down, and reached for her staff. He stopped just short, throwing her a questioning look.

For a second, Taylor wondered what it was for, before she realized it and tried to get an answer out. "I-it's safe! I haven't built any protections into it yet. Just don't touch the g-grip, it's a neural interface."

And there she went again, stuttering like a fool.

Armsmaster though, didn't say anything as he picked it up, noticeably avoiding holding it by the concave section that denoted the grip. Without ceremony, he stood back up, offering it to her.

Tentatively, she took back her staff, feeling part of the awkwardness vanish as it's systems lit up in the back of her mind, and the warm heartbeat pulse of energy flow beneath her fingers.

"Now," He said, this time with a smile. "Do you have a name?"

Confidence restored, she shook her head. "No. I haven't picked one out yet. I was here, trying out the Staff now that it's finished."

"Staff?" Armsmaster replied, and she could swear she could see him quirking an eyebrow under his helmet. "It looks more like a spear."

"Staff," she firmly asserted. "It's my Staff."

Now she was certain he was quirking an eyebrow.

"If you say. Now then," He started, leaning down and picking up the discarded toolkit before stepping to the side and clearing the way to his bike. "What precisely, is wrong with my bike?"

~~~~​

He made a point to himself to keep a firm hand on the toolkit, as he let the girl work through her first experience with someone else's Tinkertech. Frankly, the chance meeting was rather fortunate in that regard; many new Tinkers fell prey to others because of such a trap. Meeting her here while he took a moment to stretch his legs during his patrol both allowed him to learn of a new Tinker and to evaluate her.

So far, his impression was good even if he had to step in from time to time with a question in order to prevent her from cutting out his engine or, as she put it, 'those circular offences to my eyes' in polite terms as she continued to aimlessly drift from one topic to another.

Among the notes he was taking, one was on precisely how sharp the blades on her spear, or staff as she almost stubbornly insisted on it being called, were. Considering that the outer armor of his bike had been a new experimental alloy he was testing for Dragon, returning to his bike to see her casually cut through it with ease in order to gain better access to his toolkit was somewhat alarming. One half of his visor replayed the scene, and noted the faint visual distortion around the blade at the time.

'Some form of cutting enhancement?' He thought to himself as the girl went on about some form of anti-gravity suspension system that could double as a protective energy shield. Thankfully, he was recording this. Many of her ideas so far had actual merit, and he was honestly interested in knowing more.

"Just have to remove this one little-" She started, and the staff started to lower, the edges already flickering in and out of sight. Time to cut in again, before she decided to start trying to cut bits of his bike out again.

"What would you use to power the system?" he asked quickly, keeping his voice calm as the question succeeded in diverting her from her current train of thought, leading her to ramble on about a self-contained fusion-plasma reaction, with several alternatives. He had to admit, the idea of her destructively disassembling his bike unnerved him slightly. It was a finely tuned machine, and one of his few passions; the only thing he tinkered on less for work, and more for personal enjoyment.

Although it was effective in what it did. Many questioned why he rode the monstrously powerful motorbike instead of something more advanced, and the answer was simple: It was the most efficient.

Many of the bikes systems were indeed Tinkertech, but the core mechanics were still those of normal motor vehicle engineering. It was a clean, efficient design that was easy to maintain and upgrade, and perfectly served the purpose of transporting him and his gear around the city in timely fashion.

That, and it was in itself a weapon. A psychological weapon. While arresting and apprehending criminals was a priority, stopping crime period was a greater one, and the distinctive sound of his bike was often a very strong deterrence in that factor. Lesser criminals would outright give up or leave without a fight, and more hardened ones would lay low for hours on end till they were sure he was gone.

In preventing crime from happening at all, his bike was one of the most statistically successful weapons he had ever developed.

Now though, he could see her starting to wind down as the last of the fugue started to work itself out of her system. Once a Tinker started, it was better to let them finish then interrupt them. There were a few cases of such interruptions leading to obsessive compulsions to acquire and study Tech that a Tinker couldn't finish working on.

Which meant now was a better time to ply her with questions, now that she was relaxed and less likely to simply run.

He would admit (though not in public) that the handbook given out by Mr. Chambers of PR was both informative and effective in dealing with others.

"You said you had not yet chosen a cape name, if I'm not mistaken?"

The girl stopped mid-sentence and blinked, the street light reflecting off of her glasses as she looked at him in confusion, before sense took over and she nodded along to a nervous affirmative. "Y-yes. This is my first night out. I just finished the Staff and I wanted to test it."

Armsmaster nodded, and didn't press the issue further. As expected, many Tinkers felt impatient, and often wanted to try out their creations out regardless of how ready they were. "May I see it?"

For a moment, she tensed, seemingly uncertain. However, slowly, she nodded and held it out to him "S-sure, just mind the grip till you're ready."

"Thank you," he replied, picking the staff up and once again avoiding the concave grip. A neural interface she said, if he remembered right? Fascinating. His own halberd was controlled mostly mechanically, hidden triggers controlling most of the functions while a few were operated vocally or in some other fashion by his suit. He could see the benefits to a neural interface however.

"It's very well made," he said, running a hand along the polished metal of the shaft. He noted the smooth, silvery finish with a black hue as he tested the weight and balance, which was quite excellent. "What is it made out of, if I may ask?"

"An adaptive self-regenerative memory-alloy." She rattled off without hesitation. He, however, quirked an eyebrow behind his visor. That...sounded impressive. There were implications there that intrigued him. Maybe if…

"Could you explain a bit more?" He prodded.

"S-sure" she stammered, overtaken again by nervousness. "At it's core, it's a self-healing metal. Once charged, it retains a memory of it's given shape and in the case of machinery, function. As long as it retains a sufficient charge of energy, it can repair and reassemble itself from most damage. Over time, the imprinted memory of it's given shape becomes stronger, allowing it to repair from higher levels of damage. In an energy-rich environment, it can theoretically reassemble itself after being dismantled on a molecular or atomic scale. Sufficient exposure to a given form of damage also causes it to gain minor resistances to said damage, "

His thoughts spun as she rattled it off with the confidence of a Tinker in her element even as she continued. This material had so many possibilities.

"Precisely tuning the the amount of energy running through it can also allow the material to harden and become further reinforced, increasing it's damage resistance, bu-"

"Thank you." he said, cutting both her and himself off. There would hopefully be opportunities and time later to test her claims and if it was as she said it was. Now was not the time for him to get caught up in it himself. But if it was the real deal, he needed to get a sample for himself and Dragon. While there were self-regenerating metals out there produced by Tinkers, most of them were very limited or were simply not practical to use. Time to divert both of them onwards.

But he had to admit, he was enjoying this moment. He would definitely have to extend an invitation to the Wards to her. After he picked her brain a little.

"You said," he started, leaning up against his bike and pointing towards the grip. "That this is a neural interface? What functions is it capable of? I assume it's safe to use?

"Yes," she girl replied, steadily this time. All her apprehension was fading, and he could see her getting into the mood of enthusiasm that overcame a Tinker when they started to talk shop. God knew he and Dragon would spend hours at a time discussing things. But unfortunately, he didn't have hours, so he would settle for what he could learn now. His patrol for the night would be a worthy expense. "I figured that a purely technical input wouldn't be effective, so I went with a touch-based neural interface connecting the base senses to it. Just grip the handle and it should…"

He did so carefully, wrapping a gloved hand around the grip. Almost instantly, new sensations lit up in the back of his mind. Not what he was expecting either. Instead of a purely informational feed as he expected, it was…

Purely physical, if he had to describe it.

"It's not what I...expected." He commented offhandedly.

She nodded, seemingly knowing what he meant as she stepped up and started gesturing at the staff.

"A purely data-based input has the potential to be strenuous on a person's brain, since there needs to be some kind of translation between machinery and the brain for any kind of understanding to happen. So I made it mimic different physical sensations instead, so it would feel like an extension of self rather than an alien connection."

He nodded, already starting to come to grips with a few of them. "Walk me through it, if you would."

Nodding, she pointed directly at his hand holding the staff. "The 'pulse' you feel is the power source. The speed and strength of pulse denotes output and stability. The slower and weaker the pulse, the lower the output. Same in the other direction. An even pulse is a stable, continuous output, while an uneven one means that the output is being periodically interrupted. In the case of imminent destructive failure, there would be a feeling of immense 'heat' from the pulse-"

As she walked him through basic operation, Armsmaster admired the thought and ingenuity that had gone into the weapon's construction. While he himself would have preferred a purely data-type input and output, he did understand the intent. The Staff was designed to be wielded purely instinctively, allowing for split-second alterations in function and seamless operation. It prioritized efficiency and ease-of-use over technical accuracy, allowing the user to instantly gain a grasp of the state of the weapon in a highly organic manner.

The sensation of a heartbeat for power, pressure on the skin for battery capacity, and others made to integrate into one's own physical senses near-perfectly. That sealed the deal, in his opinion. He would make the concerted effort to extend a strong invitation to the Wards towards the girl. He was sure she was a strong Tinker, and losing her to carelessness or the Gangs would be a loss, to be certain.

"Thank you," he said, handing the Staff back and picking up his own Halberd again. "That was quite informative, and impressive. Most Tinkers aren't able to create such a refined product initially."

Immediately, the girl seemed to look away, likely surprised at the praise. He could understand. But he was being quite honest in it.

"T-thank you."

"No problem at all. I apologize for the rough treatment earlier, but understand that I was operating on limited information. I've found this meeting quite informative. Although I do have a question."

"A question?" She repeated after him, and he could see her thoughts whirring away.

"Yes," he said with a nod as he crossed his arms, his halberd in it's holder on his bike behind him. "I assume you might have already, but have you given thought to joining the Wards?"

There was a moment of silence, the girl in thought as she looked down at the sidewalk. "Yes," she eventually answered, refusing to meet his gaze. "I've thought about it, but I don't think I want to. It's just…."

"I won't press if you don't want to, and I won't give you the stats that you likely already know. The Wards are however a benefit, and you are a strong Tinker I believe. The Staff alone is a very impressive construction, with what I'll assume is limited materials and means. With the resources and support offered, I believe you could put your abilities to extremely good use and create something even more impressive. The demonstration today makes me confident that you could make major contributions to the Wards, Protectorate, and PRT."

She shook her head, looking up at him and he could see the refusal in them.

"No. Thank you, but right now, no. From what I know right now, I don't believe that the Wards are what I need."

Off in the corner of his visor, a bold lettered TRUTH flashed out. Pressing it would likely ruin any good will he had garnered with this session, and she had made a good impression on him. She was a shy, if so-far good natured girl. Likely in her mid-teens. Something about her posture though, about how she was almost always at a minimum safe distance and always tense in some fashion worried him. But there was nothing he could do about it.

Holding back a sigh, he nodded and gave his best smile. Miss Militia herself had recently confirmed that it had improved drastically, and he hadn't had a repeat of the Crying Child incident since. "I understand. I will not force it, if you are not willing. "He stood up, passing a hand over one part of his belt, catching one of his metallic calling cards from the automatic dispenser as it dropped out. With a practiced flip of the fingers, he offered it.

"Here. When you are comfortable, feel free to call me. I would like to work some more with you, if and when you feel ready to. I would also like to arrange a meeting at the Protectorate Rig, and my Lab, if you are up to it. It could also be a chance to met the Wards and express any concerns you have with the program or issues."

She carefully took the card, and he once again noticed that now she was out of the confidence and comfort talking Tech, she was rather like a rabbit ready to bolt. A second between reaching the card, and actually taking it, and then as quickly as was polite, as if she was afraid he would grab her.

A concern he would have to look into later.

~~~~~~

The angry snarl of Armsmaster's bike faded into the distance, leaving her standing there on the street, calling card in hand.

Briefly, she buried the embarrassment at how she couldn't help but act like some a nervous schoolgirl, and looked the card over in her hands. It was a thin yet sturdy-feeling piece of precision-cut metal, polished and shined to a mirror finish with Armsmaster's information neatly embossed on it. His cape name, and a phone number.

Suddenly, she stopped, and pulled back on her sleeve to look at her watch, only to gape at the time. She had spent almost more than an hour with Armsmaster. More than an hour, just geeking out.

'But he said I was a strong Tinker. That he was impressed by the Staff and my ideas.' She thought to herself. The idea of vindication felt satisfying. Someone thought her abilities had worth besides herself. And that someone was the most accomplished Tinker in the city.

It felt good. He looked disappointed when she had turned down his suggestion for the Wards, but in turn she was thankful he hadn't pressed it. And the offer to met with him, to work with him in his lab? The concept was thrilling. An actual lab, with actual tools. She could scrap the old stuff completely, and make totally new ones that weren't held together with a prayer. With access to the stuff in that lab, the timeline of a month could be cut down to a day, maybe two.

Looking back up in the direction Armsmaster had left in, and then back at the card, Taylor couldn't help feel that this was a massive step forward. Her first night had turned from just testing the weapon to something else.

Turning the card over one last time in her hands, she pocketed it. It was late now, and she only had so long to get home and back in bed to avoid suspicion when her dad got up early to head to work. She'd have the whole day to herself to consider things.

Hefting her Staff, and no one saying otherwise would convince her it was something else, she started back home. She might not have tested things like she wanted to, but she had gotten a much more desirable result out of her effort.

And maybe, she'd be a real Hero much sooner than she thought.

~~~~
Saturday the 12th, March 2011
~~~~​

The next day after his chance meeting and and an hour after the rising of the sun, Armsmaster, now Colin Wallis, absentmindedly sat at his workbench tweaking with the innards of his halberd. Pulling and redoing a wire that had slipped out of alignment here, tightening a fastener that had loosened by one-tenth of an inch there. The routine maintenance that he always had to do. Yet his thoughts were elsewhere.

For a moment, he considered screening himself for Master/Stranger, but he dismissed it. He already knew what the problem was. The only thing to do was simply wait it out and work through it when it hit.

But he still couldn't stop thinking about the Staff.

Personally, he still believed that the design was a spear. Or the more he thought about it, the of it was overlaid by a halberd. The sensation of it last night still lingered strongly in his mind. Looking down at his own weapon of choice, he could help but think that it felt...inadequate now.

He still had no idea of the capacity of the new Tinkers weapon, but the way it functioned in his grip, like it had been alive and an extension of himself stuck with him. Before, his own halberd had occupied that space.

Then, he had encountered that weapon. The explanation how almost the entirety of its internal systems were composed or laced with her supposedly regenerative metal, assuring that in the case of damage or destruction, it could restore itself to perfect condition and required virtually no maintenance.

His lie detector had returned truth on that and everything else, and he had even double checked the recording. But was it too good to actually be true? It had to be.

Now his own weapon felt dead and clumsy in comparison, and he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of disgust and disinterest as he worked on it. Sliding his chair back, he stood up and leaned over the table, taking in every detail.

'When had this ever been an efficient design?' He pondered to himself. Maybe it had started out as efficient, but now? It looked bloated and cumbersome. So many tools, systems, and everything else competing for space and maintenance. There was a limit to how small he could make something based on the desired level of performance on the field.

The grip was a mess of hidden triggers and mechanisms, so much so that an entire section had to be devoted so that his thumb could activate or deactivate safeties to prevent himself from using something he didn't intend to. He had to redesign the shaft several times already on this, his primary halberd, to prevent structural compromise whenever he installed or switched out for a new system. The blade-head had already snapped off once during a tussle with Stormtiger because he hadn't noticed the metal fatigue.

Dozens of other small yet critical issues that ate up his valuable time as he tried to fight them, to find the perfect balance.

And now he had, and it wasn't his.

"Is that what I need to move forward?" He thought aloud to himself. Looking at his armor over at the rack, he imagined one of the same nature as the Staff. Something that was an extension of self instead of a separate object.

Objectively, he knew what this was. Like he had explained last night, this was the onset of a Tinker event. Experiencing a new form of technology with the potential to resonate and raise his own above its current level, and all he needed to do was pry the secrets from the source.

Designs danced in his head, of what could be made with systems controlled purely mentally. Of micro-wiring without the fear of something breaking, since it would repair itself within seconds. Weapons and armor that didn't hold him back, but lifted him up past that glass ceiling he couldn't seem to break.

And all he needed to do was to get that Tinker in his lab, and get her spilling her secrets. He knew for a fact that an hour alone with that Staff would be worth it.

But he couldn't do that. Standing straight, he took a step back and breathed deep. "Coffee, strong, no cream, no sugar." He said gruffly.

"Yes Sir." his automatic coffee machine chimed back in a pleasing, neutral voice. He could feel the seconds tick by as he started pacing the floor his lab on the Protectorate Rig. What if the coffee machine could anticipate his needs? Read chemical impulses in his brain, analyze behavioral characteristics to predict when he would want his coffee, and how he would want it?

More so, what about the rest of his equipment? That toolbox? It took up three precious feet he could be using for an remotely controlled automated assembly table to compliment his current workbench, and that was only the start.

Everywhere he looked, Colin saw waste and inefficiency. Everything was so manual. Seconds wasted using everything by hand, turning into minutes, hours, days. Precious time squandered, that he could have used to advance himself. All he had to-

The ding of the coffee machine was a godsend, drawing him across the room like a bullet as he almost tore the mug from the receptacle and chugged the scalding liquid like it would save his life.

"Another!" He choked out, slamming the cup back into the machine and leaning heavily on the wall. He could feel the mania fading, or at least being blotted out by the burning in his throat and chest. He chuckled hollowly to himself.

"That...was definitely one of the worst ones." He muttered. A drop of something went past his vision and hit the floor with a splat, and he curiously wiped his brow, his hand coming away soaked with sweat. He wiped it dry on his pants leg, and breathed deep again.

Another ding filled the air, and this time he took the time to savor the drink. At the very least, he had deciphered the heart of the issue. What he needed was that interface. The ability to blur the line between himself and his equipment. He had felt it, the first twinges of an event coming on all morning, and with it passing a weight was now lifted from his shoulders.

Fighting against a surge of Tinker inspiration was never easy. It was universally easier to go with the flow and let it dictate the pace of things.The incessant need to create, build, shape was immensely strong, and incredibly gratifying when followed through.

They key to it was finding what the inspiration focused on, and singling it out. Homing in on what was the core of it, and knowing the heart of the issue allowed one to discard everything else and control it.

It was a trick that couldn't really taught; only learned through personal experience. And he had plenty of personal experience. Now if only Kid Win could pick it up, the Ward might figure out his specialty.

Coffee finished, he grabbed a towel from beneath the counter and wrapped it around his neck as he turned around, taking in his lab again with a smile. "Better now, I think." He said to himself. No more did everything in the room stand out as a mistake or error that needed to purged and replaced. Now, he only saw the possibilities, the advances he could make if he filled that in hole.

"Gra-" He stopped, pausing in thought before shaking his head. "Chocolate bar, Hershey's."

"Yes Sir," his nutrient dispenser chimed back, before it rattled and dropped the requested item in the tray, where he picked it up and started to unwrap it with a grin.

He had earned the right to indulge his sweet-tooth just a little.

~~~~

She had spent half the night turning the card over in her hands once she had gotten home, alternating between examining it and repeatedly reading the words and numbers printed on it, to the point she had memorized Armsmaster's number.

On one hand, she could make the call. It couldn't hurt, and it could propel her forward in her career by months if she somehow got the help of the more experienced Tinker.

On the other hand, what would she be giving up if she phoned? There was the threat to her freedom of action, the ability to do what she wanted, how she wanted. If she accepted his offer, she was potentially holding herself to whatever expectations Armsmaster, and by extension the Protectorate, levied on her in exchange for his help.

There would also likely be pressure to join the Wards. Armsmaster hadn't pressed the issue, but would others be as understanding? To just accept her refusal at face value?

The argument had kept running circles in her head, starting the night before and haunting her through to the morning. Evident even now, as she sat alone at the kitchen table as she once again started turning the card over in her hands in thought.

She let it drop to the table suddenly, where it clattered and skittered across the varnished wood as she put her head in her heads and groaned.

"What," she said to no one in particular. "Do I do?"

The card glittered back up at her mockingly.

She frowned, taking a deep breath and throwing her head back in exasperation.

"Alright." She muttered. "Think it through Taylor. Not that hard. Weigh the good and the bad, and see what comes up. What do you want? Just have to think about that. What do Iwant?"

She started counting spots on the ceiling, trying to organize her thoughts. What did she want? Why was she worrying about this so much?

The answer was simple: she wanted to be a Hero. Pretty basic as far as motivations went, right? She got powers, so she should be a hero.

Why, niggled a part of her. Why a hero?

She frowned, her eyes glazing over in thought. Because, she answered back. It was the right thing to do. Hadn't she dreamed of it all those years ago, when she had an Alexandria lunchbox and countless other memorabilia? Hadn't her and Emma spent hours just talking about the kind of Hero they would be if they got lucky enough to get super powers?

Yes, her head answered back. You did. What about now? We both know what you really want to do with your powers, so why a Hero?

For a split-second, she wasn't staring at the ceiling. Instead, she was staring across a blasted landscape lit by sickly green light, three figures crawling in the dust in front of her. Then she turned away.

They were beneath her.

She viciously shook her head to banish the thought. Yes, they were beneath her. She was going to be a hero, and then her life would change. She'd leave them in the dust, and move on. She would be better then them. No, scratch that, she already was.

They just hadn't realized it yet.

Finally, her own thoughts didn't echo back in a different tone. No more arguments came from the back of her mind from some discontented part of her. So she moved on.

She would be a hero. What was on the line, right now, that would change that?

Armsmaster's offer.

She wanted to. She really wanted to. She hadn't realized it till she had gotten home, but she had enjoyed that hour spent talking with Armsmaster on some deserted street on the outskirts of Brockton Bay. When was the last time she had talked at such length with someone? When was the last time someone was actually interested in what she was talking about?

She'd talked more last night then the entire month previous, flying off on tangents as Armsmaster listened and jumped in with a comment or question of his own. It had been thrilling, to have someone interested in what she could do, someone praising her work.

It lit a spark of warmth in her heart she hadn't felt in a long time.

She leaned forward, curling in on herself as she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Was she really that desperate for human contact? So isolated that interaction that didn't end in ruined schoolwork and vandalized clothing gave her a rush? Had it seriously gotten so chilly between her and her father that it devolved to this?

She really was fucked up.

The card sparkled at her again, as the sun through window reflected off the polished metal.

"Alright. I know what I want. But is this chance part of it?" She said to herself. "Do I want it? Or do I need it?"

It represented opportunity. She wanted to be a hero, to change her life. So far, life hadn't changed. So, was she doing something wrong? Down in the basement was the reminder that it would be another month before she could make anything new. Another month not being a hero, or changing her life.

She could change that, if she accepted the offer.

She sat there, looking at the card. Her thoughts ran at a million miles per hour. Yes. No. Yes. No. Maybe? What did she have to lose again? Did she have anything worth losing compared to what she might gain?

She wanted to be a hero.To be a hero, she'd have to change. She wasn't changing now, she couldn't see herself changing now.

She made up her mind.

~~~~​

"Yes," Colin answered automatically to the voice on the other end of the phone. "Yes, thank you. I appreciate that you're able to part with it, I have a new project in mind where it could prove useful." Internally, he sighed. Dealing with the Central Requisitions Office at the Protectorate National HQ was always a chore. But it was the only way to get access to confiscated Tinkertech that wasn't under quarantine or sent to Dragon.

The voice of some office drone chattered in his ear again, drawing his attention back to reality. "Yes, of course. It's purely for research purposes. I'll have it returned on time. Thank you again."

This time, he did sigh as he hanged up the phone and leaned back in his office chair. Finally. Almost an hour on the phone to get some form of neural pattern reader shipped out to him, not to mention the paperwork he would have to sign.

Still, as he looked up at the digital clock on the wall of his office, he noted that as usual, he had finished his duties as team leader of E-N-E branch at his optimal time, even with the additional paperwork accounting for his absence from the latter half of his patrol and the reasoning. Now, it just past lunch; leaving the rest of the day free till patrol. Shutting down his computer and clearing the desk, he pondered his options.

He could hit the gym. While he had already finished his routine early this morning after he had finished work in his lab, it never hurt to squeeze in a bit more. Quite honestly, as he stood up and pushed in his chair, that sounded the most appealing.

Alternatively, he could-

Ring~!

He paused halfway through doorway as the phone started to ring, looking back in mild surprise.

Ring~!

A hint of frustration colored his good mood as he turned around with a phone, calmly walking back back to his desk and checking the readout on the phone, just in time to catch another ring~!. To his surprise however, the call wasn't on the Rig's private network, or from the PRT. Not even from the larger Protectorate National Network. The extension was dialed by someone using his private number.

For a moment, his mind skipped a beat as he ran a mental check on who precisely had this number, before remembering. He had given the young tinker a calling card, hadn't he?

If it was her, it was perfect timing.

Clearing his throat, he promptly answered the phone, replying sharply. "Armsmaster speaking, this is…?"

"Uh...hello. It's...me? From last night. I was hoping to arrange that meeting you talked about. I have a few questions, if that's alright?" He nodded along, easily recognizing the nervous voice from last night.

"Of course," he replied confidently. "I was actually hoping you would call, Miss. What are you curious about?"

"There's a few things I would like to bring in, if it's ok. Mostly some of the stuff I used to make the Staff. Most of it's broken now, but…"

"That's fine," he answered, suppressing a spark of anticipation at getting such quick access to those tools. "It's actually desirable. I know you don't wish to join the Wards at this time, so I wanted to broach some other options with you. One of which is a process in which you can sell select technology to the Protectorate for a nominal fee."

"Thank you. I was also wondering how I would get there? The Protectorate HQ is out on the water. Is there anything I should do or know?"

"Nominally," he started. "We can supply discreet transport. It's possible for you to arrange where and when you wished to be picked up, and be then be delivered to the Protectorate HQ. If you wish, the meeting can also take place at the PRT building."

"N-no, no. That's fine. The Protectorate HQ is fine." The voice replied, starting to sound anxious and reinforcing his belief that she was someone with less than stellar desires to interact in a public setting. "Is it possible to phone back when I have the details?"

"Yes, yes it is. The only question is if you wish the meeting to take place today, or…?"

"Tomorrow, if it's ok." She replied. "Is the morning possible?"

"Very much so. My schedule is clear, it shouldn't be difficult at all to make sure we have adequate time for our meeting. Simply phone back when you have the details of where and when you would wish to be picked up, and I'll handle the rest."

"I-I will. Thank you for the offer. Goodbye."

"Goodbye Miss." He replied, and the call ended.

Well, that settled that as he turned on his heel and headed for the door. His next stop was the lab, so he could prepare for tomorrow. She had mentioned that she would be bringing in some broken equipment to share, meaning she was likely hoping to repair it. He would have to check his stocks of materials, to make sure they were adequate.

He also made a note to call back that annoying office worker and cancel that order. He wasn't going to need it after all, if tomorrow turned out as he hoped.

~~~~

​

 

[Noxturne90]

CRYPTEKIAL

~~~~​

Hannah, normally Miss Militia, frowned slightly as she found that the gym was another bust. Ethan, publicly Assault, and Robin, otherwise known as Velocity were present and going through their respective exercises. However, the object of her search, Colin, was absent - just like everywhere else she had looked on the Rig. His office was empty, and his lab was locked. If he was in there, he wasn't answering.

Surveying the room, she couldn't help but feel frustrated. They were losing daylight, and nighttime patrols would be starting in a few hours. To her surprise, when she gone to check about her shift manning the Console tonight only to find that Colin hadn't filed the schedule.

She found it later, still on his office desk with the rest of his completed paperwork. Something more surprising still, since he always made sure it was taken care of. Either by himself, or by one of the Rig Personal.

She was shocked from her reverie with a pained yelp, only to find Assualt standing front of her, cringing and trying to pull his hand away from where she had it a vice-grip. She instantly let go, an apology already on her lips.

"Geez, Han. Was just wondering why you were zoning out in the doorway. Did you really need to kung-fu grip me?" He gasped out half-jokingly.

"I'm sorry Ethan, I wasn't thinking," she replied, already wincing at the angry color his wrist was turning. "I jus-"

It's ok, it's ok," he said hastily, waving it off with his good hand, before carefully cradling his other one. "Should've realized that whole 'Don't sneak up on someone' applies to both directions."

"Still," she said as Robin got off his treadmill and started to wander over with a curious look on his face. "Let me help you get some ice on that."

A few minutes later, Robin sat nearby, chuckling in between gulps from his water bottle as Ethan nursed a wrist wrapped up with a towel over some ice. "Smart move," the speedster got out between his laughter. "Startling someone who spends the most time out of anyone training. I've forgotten how many kinds of belts she has, you're lucky all she did was mess up your wrist."

His friend and comrade snorted, gingerly adjusting his impromptu wrapping. "Well, next time it's your turn to see why she's zoned out in front of the one way in or out of the room."

Hannah scowled at both of them. "Be serious you two, at least until we know how bad it is. Hopefully it's just a bruise, and nothing else."

"Ya," Ethan chipped in with a fox-like grin. "I already have to explain to puppy who I was playing rough with before my patrol. Now my excuse of getting all sweaty in the gym just got a lot flimsier!"

Hannah didn't even bother trying to hold back the groan as she ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation. "I'll tell her what happened. Now stop joking around you two."

The pair shared one last chuckle between them before shaking their heads, Robin crumpling the cheap plastic of his empty water bottle in his hand before taking a shot at the waste bin, landing it inside perfectly. "Alright, alright. Just as soon as you tell us why you were spacing out in the first place Hannah; it isn't like you. Unless you're getting to that whole 'once a year' limit, are you?"

She sighed, shaking her head before crossing her arms and looking up at the ceiling. "No, that isn't it. I was looking for Colin. I can't seem to find him anywhere on the Rig."

"The Boss?" Ethan asked, blinking owlishly. "Don't think I've seen him. What about you, Rob?"

The speedster knitted his eyebrows in thought, before something hit him. "Ya! I saw him this morning. Came into the gym looking like he ran a mile, but with a big smile on his face."

Both the other capes looked at him stupefied, but it was Ethan that slowly developed a devilish smirk. "Re-heh-eally now? Don't suppose the old beardmaster is cu-"

He was cut off with a sharp smack, Hannah's hand at the ready to deliver another one.

"H-hey! I'm injured here! You can't hit me! It's against the rules to hit an injured man!"

"Funny," Hannah deadpanned. "I think I just did. Or did you forget your wife gave me carte blanche if I caught you being stupid? Now think," she said sharply, turning back to Robin, who was slowly inching away with a look like a nervous rabbit. "Do you remember anything else? Did he say anything about where he was going after his workout?"

"Not a thing," The fast-moving cape replied with a shrug. Only that he was going to go to his office and finish his paperwork for the day."

She sighed, her hopes dashed. Another dead end. Until…

"You know," Ethan spoke up, still rubbing the spot where Hannah had whacked him. "I've just remembered overhearing a few of the workers talking about how he'd left the Rig. Apparently he was in a big hurry to pick up some things from storage at the PRT building. Even borrowed the hauler. If he isn't here anywhere, he might be over there."

"Off...the Rig?" She said to herself. That was…unusual. Colin almost never left the Rig without giving notice first, at least to someone. Part of his responsibilities was that he would almost always be here, on call. If he had to be elsewhere, someone had to be able to cover for him till he got back.

She didn't know if she should be worried or frustrated. Chances are, that it wasn't anything but him getting worked up about a new project. It had happened before. While Colin could be a bit stiff, tinkering was one of the few things that got him to loosen up his otherwise strict behaviour.

'Colin,' She thought to herself. 'Just what the hell are you thinking?'

~~~~​

"No, that's unsuitable. Weaponry is likely to be low on the scale of things she'll want. Perhaps some armor? Yes, that might be good for a trade." Colin stopped, looking over his shoulder at the PRT Agent assisting him, frowning as the man picked up a fist-sized black orb.

"No, put that back. It's something Leet made. If it doesn't blow up now, it'll malfunction later." He said, before going back to digging through storage, looking for some of his old creations he could recycle. Spare parts were high on his shopping list, but a few odds and ends to offer in trade were not undesirable.

Distantly, he felt as if he had forgotten something important.

~~~~​

Hannah just shook her head. She'd put in a call to the PRT building when she got back to her office, but for now if that was the case, it was out of her hands. "Alright," she said as she let her arms rest at her sides, one finger tapping against the holster which held her weapon, currently in knife form. "Thanks for the help. You going to be ok Ethan?"

The man lifted away the towel and ice, peaking in underneath at his bruised wrist before nodding. "Ya, I'll be fine. It's already going down, and I don't have any problems moving it. Should be fine by tonight's patrol."

Hannah smiled, a true, warm smile. "Good. I am sorry about that. Keep the ice on it, and you two let me know if you see Colin back on the Rig, alright?"

"Will do." "Sure thing Han." The pair chimed out.

She nodded, and turned to leave. Her thoughts were already wandering, caught between her lack of success and her superior's apparent sudden departure. From what the pair had told her, the best guess was that he had gotten caught up in another bout of Tinker inspiration and was on a streak. While it was rare with his self-control, it wouldn't have been the first time.

All the more jarring for it really, she thought as she made her way down the corridor. Still, made her wonder what had set it off. Another talk with Dragon, like it normally was? Or something else? She knew he was feeling stifled lately, although he didn't talk about it. It was part of her job, to notice when he was performing at less than one-hundred percent. Was this the breakthrough he had been wanting?

Either way, she'd find out when he got back. After she chewed him out.

~~~~

The Next Day

Sunday the 13th, March 2011

~~~~

Nervously, Taylor shifted from foot to foot as she stood in the shade of a tree at the edge of a local park not far from her house. She couldn't even remember the name, just that no one went there, and the playground was a few pieces of scrap metal lighter because of her.​

Perfect place, to wait for a reportedly unmarked vehicle to pull up and carry her to the Protectorate HQ dressed up as what several people would likely describe as 'suspicious'

This was a stupid idea. What had made her think that this was not a stupid idea? What if someone did come to the park, and saw her standing here with her massive dufflebag? The morning sun was still on the rise, and traffic was non-existent. But still? What if someone did?

Her staff was in the bag, along with everything else from the basement. Getting it out of the house after her father left for work had been next to impossible. Her arms were still numb from hauling it here to the park in the morning twilight. Each moment had been next to hellish, waiting for someone to see her or the cops to pull around the corner and start asking uncomfortable questions.

"Where?" She muttered to herself. "Where is it?"

If her promised transport didn't come, she didn't know what she was going to do. Getting here to the park unscathed was a miracle. Getting back to her house? Impossible. It would be utterly impossible. And what about after? The whole point of this thing was to meet with Armsmaster.. And maybe repair her equipment faster, if he let her.

She was betting so much on this. She still couldn't believe she had decided to go through with it. After all her care, all her precautions. Throwing caution to the wind to try and grasp a half-chance that she could reach her ambitions that much sooner -

She resisted the urge to beat herself around the head.

For the chance of one thing going right, she was exposing herself to so much going wrong. Armsmaster had been right when he said she probably read about it online, and she had. She knew the statistics. Knew the data. And here she was, standing in plain sight with only a hope and a prayer that this wasn't going to turn on her.

Distantly, the rumble of a large engine reached her, growing louder and causing a thrill of nervous fear to race up and down her spine. Desperately, she tried and mostly failed to hide her bag as her mind repeatedly ran the details of the conversation over and over again.

"The van will be white. It will have government plates, but no markings otherwise. Likely, after getting in, you'll be questioned by a PRT agent to confirm your identity. Afterwords, you'll be brought to a private boat, and then to the Rig."

Was this it? The discrete transport promised?

The vehicle rounded the far off curb, and for a moment her heart skipped. It was a white van, no markings. She couldn't see the license plate just yet, but was it too much to hope.

Likely yes, but still. She looked down at her bag, uselessly shoved up against the tree. Packing everything? What had she been thinking? She should have-

The van was getting closer, and slowing down. Squinting, she could just make out the government plates on the grill. It had to be the one sent for her. For the first time, she noticed just how dry her throat was. It fit the description. White, no markings, government plates. Almost painfully plain. But if she hadn't been looking for it, she doubted she would have noticed.

It pulled to a stop in front of her, and she finally noticed the blacked out windows. From the rear, the double doors to the back swung open, and a woman in a nondescript uniform stepped out. Her eyes were covered by a thick pair of sunglasses, and her hair was covered by a black cap.

"You are…?" The women asked, letting the question hang. Taylor gulped, her throat going from parched to bone dry. Last chance to abandon this, turnaround and head back home. She could get the staff from the bag, and vaporize it and the contents saving the trouble of hauling it back.

"Unnamed." She replied, repeating the answer she had given Armsmaster. Simple really. Answer the question of name by not having one.

The women, like the PRT agent, nodded, and for a moment Taylor could see a blond curl slip loose from under her cap. She gestured to the open van, before looking at the nearby bag inquisitively.

"Do you need help with your bag ma'am?" She said, and Taylor herself turned around to look at it. It weighed a figurative ton. But at the same time…

"No," she answered. "I'll be fine."

Honestly, she wished she was. Wrestling her bag around to the back of the van, and then up and inside, was downright painful. Her arms had gone from numb to burning. Not for the first time she thought about would happen later, when the meeting was over and she returned home.

But eventually it was wrestled into place near the front end, and she clambered up, followed by the agent. Inside, it was a small compartment. Two benches bolted to the walls on either side, with just enough space between them to sit comfortably. The doors were shut, and for a moment there was a thrill of panic as they were locked tight.

All she had to trust was what Armsmaster had said, that this would be the transport that picked her up. Discreetly checking her watch, she noted that it was the agreed-on time. They had asked the right question, with the precise wording.

All that was left now was…

"If you don't mind," the women started as she sat down on the bench opposite of her. "I just need to ask a few questions to confirm things. Is that ok, ma'am?"

Taylor, behind her mask, nodded tentatively. "S-sure. Go ahead." For a moment, the bench rattled as the engine started, and everything jerked as the van started moving. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small glass window, presumably to the driver's cab. She could see the tiniest slice of someone, dark clothing against dark skin as the van leaned slightly, presumably taking the corner.

What followed were questions, almost relentlessly. She was drilled for details on the night she met Armsmaster, to the details of their conversation, and their discussion over the phone.

There was a few points of panic, as she almost couldn't remember some crucial details. The rumbling, rattling passage of the van didn't help either. But somehow, she managed to apparently satisfy the agent. She reached to the side afterwards, to a comm system she hadn't noticed, and pressing the button had said in a clipped voice, "She's the real deal." presumably to the driver.

The ride from then on was in silence, only the sound of the van and the world outside of it. All Taylor could do was catalogue those sounds, and try to match them to the sensations of movement from the van.

The sounds of other vehicles, and a long time without turns, only starting and stopping, made her think of one of the downtown roads. Many small turns in a row made her think of one of the outer neighborhoods.

Finally, the sound of traffic died down. For a few minutes, she heard something like the sound of construction. Eventually that faded, and over the sound of the engine…

'The sea.' She thought. The crashing of waves on a nearby shore. Suddenly, the van lurched to a stop, and the engine died. The agent across from her nodded, and before Taylor could say anything she reached down and picked up the bag.

"Here. I'll help you get it out to the boat." She said with a smile.

Inside, Taylor wanted to decline and turn down the offer. But she also couldn't deny the fact that even now her arms still ached. So, she nodded instead.

"Thank you." She replied. The agent smiled, and nodded back even as she unlocked the door, throwing them open. For a moment, the glare blinded her, until her eyes adjusted again. In front of her, the bay stretched out to the sea. Out in the distance, the refurbished oil rig that served as the Protectorate Base sat, taking up a place of prominence in the middle of the bay.

Following the agent, she looked down and saw a small, nondescript dock down a set of stairs from the road they were now parked on. A motor boat floated at rest, manned by another agent in a simple unmarked uniform.

They didn't exchange any words as she was led down the stairs and across the dock. When they reached the boat, the third agent took her bag, and she followed shortly after without a word. Seconds after she was seated, the boat's engine growled to life, and they pulled away.

Briefly, she turned around, and back on the dock the female agent waved at her, before turning around and heading back up the stairs to the van.

She didn't bother to watch her leave, and instead turned to look ahead, towards the Rig. Nervously, she laid a hand on her bag. She could feel the outline of the staff through the canvas, and it gave her a sense of much-needed comfort.

The boat bounced beneath her, and she couldn't help but suppress a snort. 'Sink or swim, huh?' She thought to herself. 'Here's hoping I know which is which.'

Slowly, the Rig grew in the distance as they drew closer.

~~~~​

The boat clunked against the landing, a series of stairs on one of the main supports, leading up to small platform elevated just high enough to avoid the waves. The bulk of the Rig loomed above her and for the first time Taylor noticed just how large the structure was. It had always been small on the horizon, but now?

It was easily nine stories tall, if not more, and from what little she could see it was oddly geometric, yet one part of the building flowed into another. There were no markings, just off-color panels that made angles blend together broken up by the occasional odd protrusion or window sticking out.

She barely noticed when the pilot tied them off, or picked up her bag without noise or any sign of effort.

As he motioned for her to follow, she felt a rush of something. 'I could carry it as well if I-' But she stamped down on it. No use in being frustrated. She was uncomfortable with others handling it, but the truth of the matter was that she wouldn't get far with it. She just wasn't that strong.

Taylor followed him onto the rig, shoes squishing on the water-soaked steps as they started up the stairs.

"Watch your step ma'am," the pilot said, his tone clear, crisp, and controlled. "and hold onto the railing. You need to be processed first, before you can proceed further."

She nodded, even if she knew the man couldn't see her as he proceeded up the spiral stairs with her close behind. The word processed hung at the forefront of her thoughts. It made her think she was being arrested, and not making an outreach to a well-known hero.

The rest of the climb went in silence, until they reached the suspended platform. There, Taylor was treated to something of a surprise; the platform was actually an access point for a small elevator, built into the supporting structure. The man waved a hand forward, indicating that she'd be going first.

She stepped inside the stainless steel box, and although she tried to stop herself, she couldn't help but throw a worried look at her bag.

The man however, shook his head. "Sorry Ma'am, your bag will be returned after it's been inspected. Likely, you'll be asked to the nature of its contents while you're are being cleared."

She opened her mouth to voice a protest, but before she could the doors snapped shut, and she was left alone as the elevator started upwards. The movement was very smooth; the only reason she was able to tell at all was because of the initial jerk of acceleration.

Still, it left her in a tight, enclosed space. She couldn't help but fidget nervously. She hadn't noticed before, but it was a small elevator. Standing dead-center, she could stretch out her arms and touch either side to the right or left of her without much effort. The harsh, sanitary light didn't help either, reflecting off the metallic walls in a harsh glare and casting even the smallest difference in stark shadows.

Like the set of nozzles positioned in the corners, pointing inwards. She didn't want to think about those.

Wishing again she had a glass of water for her parched throat, she hooked a finger around the edge of her makeshift mask and adjusted it slightly, noticing that half a ski-mask was still half a ski-mask. Meaning, it wasn't precisely suited for room temperature environments as she looked up at the roof and wondered precisely when she would reach the top.

The walls hummed as she ascended, seeming to take forever. Eventually though, it came to a stop, a poignet musical ding~ announcing her arrival.

The doors slid open, revealing a pair of burly men dressed in uniform and a long hallway, the word 'PRT Security' printed boldly across the chest of their outfits. "Please step out of the elevator ma'am," One said, gesturing for her to come forward with one hand, the other securely kept on his belt. "Hands in front of you, please."


She could feel the nervous feeling in her chest grow, but complied, holding her hands in front of her. The nervous feeling transformed into actual fear when a pair of handcuffs were slapped across her wrist without ceremony. She couldn't hold back the squeak of shock when they clicked shut, firmly secured.

"Wha-? W-why?" She babbled, until she was grasped firmly on either side by the two guards and gently led forward..

"Sorry ma'am, but procedure states that unknown and unregistered parahumans are to be restrained until cleared to prevent possible security breaches." One guard said with practiced precision. "Please refrain from speaking until we arrive at the security station. If you are cleared, the cuffs will be removed and you will be escorted further for the duration of your stay by a member of the Protectorate." The other chimed in. Both spoke from the experience of practiced routine.

She didn't understand, and she wanted to protest, but wisdom told her that it was likely better if she didn't. Holding back, she nodded silently.

The two guards nodded back, and she was guided down the hall.

At the end of the hall, a solid-looking door swung open, manned by another agent, and leading into a rather barren room. On the other side, there was another door and in the middle, a table and set of chairs were placed. She was guided to one chair, and taking the hint she sat down, handcuffed hands in front of her on the table.

The two guards that had led her in left through the same door they came through, followed by the third. The still-mysterious door swung open, and a slim woman in an official looking business suit stepped into the room, shoes clicking on the tile as she wordlessly walked up and took a sit on the opposite side of the table across from her.

"Greetings, miss. I'm Agent Dullahan. I'll be conducting your interview and clearance. Please answer all questions truthfully, and in as few words as possible," She said, adjusting the pair of glasses she wore slightly. "Before we start, no questions will be asked about your personal identity, and if you feel a question would encroach upon or risk your personal identity, please say so. Do you understand?"

Licking her lips nervously behind her mask, Taylor nodded. "Yes, I understand."

"Good," the woman replied, laying out a sheet of paper in front of her. "Then let's begin."

The questions started simple, and as time passed started to increase in complexity. She couldn't help but think there was something going on in the background, something she wasn't see. Distinctly, Taylor wished she had her staff as another question was pointed at her.

"Are you a Parahuman?" Was asked of her in the same even, clinical tone as the last dozen questions.

"Yes." She answered back. The cuffs were starting to feel heavy on her wrists.

"You are a Tinker, correct?" Was shot back at her.

"Yes." she repeated, trying to keep eye contact.

"Understanding the context of being a Tinker, you possess no other powers besides the ability to construct a technology unique to yourself, correct?"

That one made her pause in thought. She had seen the rhyme on the internet during her research, and the brief explanation of each part of. She hadn't really considered herself a Tinker till Armsmaster had made her think about it, but afterwards she understood that was her type of Parahuman, rather than just being a Parahuman like she had considered herself before. The question was a simple one, she realized. They were asking if she had any other powers she was maybe hiding.

"Yes," she replied back confidently. "Nothing else I am aware of."

The women hummed to herself, making a note on the sheet of paper that made her heart jump. But the questions continued unabated.

"Are you carrying or concealing anything on your person that you have created with your parahuman ability, or anything that could be considered a weapon or tool?"

That one was was just blatant. She wouldn't try anything like that even if she could. "No" she shot back.

"Very good. Now, one of our more important questions. In turn, describe the nature of these objects," the lady asked, laying a series of five pictures on the table in front of her. Taylor recognized them instantly, being her creations, laid out on a surface. A spike of anger was driven into her thoughts at the suggestion that they were handling and touching her equipment, but she refused to voice it. "Starting with this one." Agent Dullahan finished, resting a manicured finger on the image of her staff.

"A multi-function weapon that I brought for demonstration purposes." She answered, pushing the idea that someone else was handling it out of her mind.

"And this?" She was asked.

The next few minutes were spent going over the pictures, even going back over ones they had previously gone over, just with different questions. Eventually, the matter was apparently settled as the pictures were put away.

"Very good. Last few questions, ma'am."

Taylor nodded, a wash of relief flowing over her.

~~~~​

When she was led into the next room and sat down, she sighed as the cuffs were finally taken off. They had started chafing horribly. Better yet was when her bag was brought in from another doorway, and offered back to her with no word.

Agent Dullahan entered, sheaf of papers held under her arm as she extended a hand in greeting. Tentative, she offered one back, shaking hands with the uniformed woman as the first smile she'd seen from anyone at all graced the Agents face.

"Welcome to the Rig miss. You've been cleared, and as you can see your belongings have been returned. Here," she started, pulling a small plastic card with a clip attached and offering it to her, "is your Visitors Pass. It will inform anyone that you are cleared to move about in pre-authorized sections of the building. Later on, there are procedures to have it upgraded to an affiliate pass, however that is a different process that will be explained if you wish to do so. For now, a member of the Protectorate shall be along shortly to escort you to your meeting with Armsmaster."

Taylor accepted the offered card, pinning it awkwardly to the front of her make-shift costume before looking up at the agent, letting out a small smile of her own. "Thank you. Any idea who it might be?"

"Unfortunately not. However, I wish you good luck during your stay here. Have a nice day, miss." And with that, Agent Dullahan turned on her heel, and briskly strode from the room through a side door. Taylor was left alone in the plain waiting room, with nothing but herself and her creations.

Thinking of them, Taylor remembered what had happened to them in her absence, all but diving for the bag, pulling the zipper open so fast that it squealed. Her concern, for the most part, seemed for naught. Everything had been replaced in almost exacting fashion, almost just like she had left it. She did, however, take out her staff. Running her hands along it's silvered metal surface, she wrapped her hand around the grip and smiled at it's smooth and steady heartbeat. No abnormalities she could feel. Perfect working order.

She gently placed it back in the bag, just in time for a panel of the wall to slide away with a hiss, revealing a hidden door. Taylor had to hold back a gasp as a figure she had only seen through the TV stepped through.

Battery, black circuit-pattern suit and all came through the door. Her emerald eyes scanned the room, before landing on her. The woman's face was split by a warm, friendly smile as she strode across the room, Taylor rising to meet her. The superheroine offered a hand for a handshake, which Taylor gladly met. She actually had to restrain herself, this being the second hero she had met in such a short span.

"So, you're the reason Armsmaster was in such a rush the other day. Happy to meet you. I'm Battery, and you are…?" The older cape asked.

"I don't have a cape name yet. I'm still pretty new." She replied, all that nervous fear from before fading.

Battery laughed, giving her a light pat on the shoulder. "Take your time. Just remember to put some thought ahead of it, or you'll end up like Clockblocker."

Taylor blushed lightly at the thought of ending up with that kind of cape name. She didn't think she could live with herself if she did.

"So," Battery said in a friendly and energetic tone, stepping away and giving her a look over. "We were wondering what had gotten Armsmaster all wound up. Isn't often he gets excited about working with another Tinker, even though he'll deny getting excited at all. You wouldn't believe the talking-to Miss Militia gave him the other day."

Taylor felt her face heat up in embarrassment. "I didn't-"

"It's fine!" Battery said cutting her off with a laugh, slapping her on the shoulder. She winced slightly at the impact, but her overcoat absorbed most of it. "It's just that it takes something out of the ordinary to get him fired up. Speaks well of you. After we got him to actually tell us, that is. He filed the paperwork but never actually told us he'd met you."

'T-thanks" She replied, thankful that her mask hid the majority of her face.

"Battery nodded, her eyes tracking down and resting on Taylor's bag. Leaning down, the older woman grabbed the straps and pulled. "Here, Let me get-"

The bag barely budged, and Taylor felt a rush of vindication. "Huh." Battery said, before shifting her stance slightly, and getting a better grip pulled. That rush Taylor felt at someone else finally having trouble picking up her bag faded as Battery hoisted it over her shoulder easily. "That surprised me. What do you got in here anyways?"

Taylor resisted the urge to curse her inadequacy and resolved to start working out after this. Everyone was making her feel like a wimp. It couldn't be that light, could it?

"Just some stuff," she admitted. "Things I wanted to show Armsmaster at our meeting, get his opinion on…"

Battery shook her head, adjusting the strap across her shoulder. "Already thinking like a Tinker. Can't wait to talk shop, can you? Come on, I'll give you a short tour on the way there." She waved for Taylor to follow after her, walking up to the blank wall from which she had emerged, the hidden door hissing open once again.

Following after, Taylor looked behind her, and could see that from this side it was a clearly marked door instead of just a blank wall. Before she could ask about it, Battery nodded and did so for her, apparently recognizing her questioning look.

"The Rig is riddled with them." She supplied. "The place is designed to confuse intruders, and prevent Strangers from getting around easily. Secret doors, false walls, and more. Most of it's computer-controlled too. Whole place can turn into a labyrinth at the push of a button. Half the fun of working here," She said with a wide grin. "Is figuring out where you're supposed to be working in the first place."

Taylor nodded along, looking back at the previously hidden door and paying much more attention to the walls as they started walking along the blank corridor. She found it disturbing, that there was so little means of telling things apart. But then again, it made sense with what Battery had said.

On that front, the older cape was still talking. "You came in from the Security Entrance. It's pretty tight, and is the only way up from sea-level besides the cargo lift."

Taylor nodded, lost in thought as she pondered back to the experience. "It seemed fairly simple," she replied. "But…"

"You think there was more to it." Battery finished for her, looking back at her over her shoulder as she led the way. "You're pretty observant. And right. There was plenty more to that then what actually happened."

They continued like this as Battery escorted Taylor through the Rig. Occasionally, they'd stop for Battery to show her a room, like the Gym or breakroom, where Taylor was offered and accepted a much needed drink. Along the way, Battery and Taylor chatted amicably.

Eventually, they came to a stop outside a door. This one was different from the others they had seen along the way, in that both the door itself and the frame had the look of being heavily armored and reinforced. Beside it, a small security pad was placed on the wall.

"Here we go. This is Armsmaster's lab. Let me ring you in, and he'll take over from here.

Taylor nodded, feeling a sense of anxiety come over her. Unlike earlier though, this was not a fearful sense, but one of anticipation. Everything she'd gone through this morning had been for this.

Battery pressed a button on the pad, and a distant bell rang. Leaning in, she spoke into the speaker. "Armsmaster, guest for you."

She stepped back, and after a second the speaker buzzed and a digitized 'Understood' came out. A second after that, and the door hissed open.

Armsmaster stood in the doorway now, although he looked surprisingly different. Gone was his armor and weaponry, and instead he was wearing something between a tunic and a suit, done in the same pattern of blue and white as his armor. His helmet was gone as well, replaced by a what resembled a cutdown version of the faceplate.

"Battery," he greeted, before he looked over at her. "Miss." A pleasure to see you again."

Taylor nodded, not trusting herself to not stutter like she had the first time.

"Armsmaster." Battery replied, offering the bag. He accepted, hefting it curiously before throwing a glance at Taylor, clearly expecting an answer of some sort.

Carefully, as to not let her reservation get the better of her, she answered. "Some things I wanted to show. Get your opinion on later…"

Armsmaster nodded in understanding. "Of course, I have a few things I want to ask you as well." He turned to Battery once more, even as he took a moment to set the bag down inside the room. "Thank you Battery, for your time. I can take it from here."

"Sir." Batter said with a nod, before looking at Taylor with a smile. "Good luck kid." With that, she turned away and walked down the hall, leaving them both alone. Armsmaster stepped to the side, clearing the way for to enter.

Taking a deep breath to fortify herself, she nodded and stepped into the lab, taking her first look at the workshop of an actual Tinker. Not someone's basement with cobbled together bits and pieces for a workspace.

The room gleamed with every surface cleaned and polished to a mirror-finish and set in the utilitarian design. The room itself spoke about maximized results for minimal effort. The door closed behind her, and Armsmaster nodded towards a table in the middle of the room and two chairs.

"May I offer you a seat?" He asked, using one hand to adjust the mask he was wearing.

She nodded, uttering a short "Thank you." as she sat down. Strangely, the chair shifted around her, changing and whirring till it was surprisingly comfortable. Armsmaster followed suit, his own chair whirring quietly as it presumably adjusted itself to him.

It was rather intriguing. It was obviously mechanized in some fashion, but how? She had to resist the urge to…

Her thought process was cut off suddenly, as her attention came back to reality and to find that Armsmaster was speaking. "I'm actually somewhat surprised," he continued, Taylor having already missed the start of the conversation in her reverie. "That you called so soon. Most would have waited longer."

"I almost did," she replied. "But a few of the points you made there, made sense. I'm still certain that I don't want to join the Wards, but you said there was other options?"

"Indeed." He said with a wave of his hand over the tabletop, the surface coming alive in a faint glow to her surprise. On his side of the table, projected images rotated past under the movements of a practiced hand, till it stopped and with a flicking motion he sent the image over to her side.

"There are multiple options for Parahumans to interact with the Protectorate and Wards, and further ones for interacting with the PRT, without actually joining any of the organizations. The most popular is the Affiliate Program, where a Parahuman lends their services and assistance, and in turn receives a discreet monthly paycheck and logistical support in exchange for following certain guidelines and directives." He explained, her own eyes going over the digital document and the details therein.

Carefully, she mirrored his actions, treating as a touch interface as she used her hands to move and interact with it. Armsmaster flicked another document at her, and she pushed aside the old one to examine the new as he continued.

"There is also the Supplier Program, unique to Tinkers. In exchange for supplying the PRT and Protectorate with Tinker-Tech, Tinkers are offered a discreet and secure location to use as a lab, free of charge, and access to the Protectorate's requisition network, along with open communication with other Protectorate Tinkers and those in the program. Payment is offered on a per-shipment level, with the level of pay depending on the nature and projected value of a given example of Tinker-Tech. For constant production of a kind of tech, it's typical for both parties to come to an agreement on a given price."

That sounded tempting. A place for an actual lab, that didn't require her to squat somewhere. No having to wander into the abandoned parts of the city, looking for a place that wasn't in active gang turf or already taken by someone else. No having to constantly trek through said turf just to reach her lab. She could have a place somewhere nice, with running utilities where she wouldn't have to worry about the building falling down around her ears thanks to rot, or being paranoid that someone would stumble across her.

Armsmaster seemed to have caught onto her interest, nodding in bemusement. "Yes, I thought you might be interested in that one. Many independent Tinkers prefer that option, since it allows them to raise funds for their Tinkering, while letting them build into other options."

Taylor blinked, her mind catching on the last part of that statement as she looked up from the document outlining all this to look at Armsmaster in confusion. "Other options?" She asked.

For his part, Armsmaster leaned back slightly, nodding. "Some Tinkers prefer simply being Suppliers, since it allows them to make money easily, and they aren't required to go out as a Cape. Others, however, prefer the program to being Affiliates since it allows them to be otherwise totally independant, letting them pursue heroic activities on the side without major concern on their own day to day operations. Security and supply is handled purely by the Protectorate and PRT, provided that the Tinker keeps up a reasonable pace of delivery, allowing focus to be put purely on Tinkering and Cape activities. The program also allows for fast-tracking to join the Protectorate or Wards later on, or changing programs. It's a highly flexible system."

It did sound enticing. Both spoken, and as she turned her attention back to the projected paperwork, on paper. The wording was thick, and there were a few things that she would need to look up to figure out, but it seemed to mostly be the case. Being a Supplier meant that the Protectorate and PRT were basically hands off, except for a monthly inspection to make sure she wasn't going to accidentally blow up the city or something. The only interaction otherwise was the interaction she herself instigated. Otherwise, they would handle the security and supply of the building completely from behind the scenes.

"It does look good. But, just so I know, what are the other options besides these two?" She asked.

If she didn't know better, she would have thought that Armsmaster was smiling behind his mask. "Glad you asked. Most would simply take one of those two, and not consider alternatives. Now, the other options open to you at the moment are…."

~~~~

​

 

[Noxturne90]

CRYPTEKIAL

~~~~

​

When Taylor next glanced at the digital clock on Armsmaster's wall, almost two hours had passed, and the clock was just shy of striking noon. Half the day gone by already. Her dad was going to be working late, so she had at least seven hours before he would be home. Six or five if she counted the time she needed to get home, and prepare something for dinner.

​

Hopefully that was enough time. She'd have to push it, and make sure that every minute counted.

​

She shook her head, and carefully tucked the manila envelope containing the printed copies of the various agreements and contracts into her dufflebag, and prepared to zip it up only for Armsmaster to call to her from across the room.

​

"If you don't mind me asking, you said you had some things to show me?"

​

For a moment, Taylor froze, before looking at the older cape and then back at her bag. From inside, the Staff and everything else metaphorically looked back. Was now the time? It was part of the reason she had even agreed to the meeting at all. She remembered her early thoughts and convictions.

​

"Yes, actually." She replied, standing up and leaving the bag open as she grabbed the handles, and tried to not embarrass herself as she hefted it off the floor. Already her arms were starting to burn as she carried it over to the table. Armsmaster stood, lending a hand as she hefted it up onto the table, the holograms long since dismissed and the table back to relative normality.

​

For her part, she held in the gasp of relief as the weight was finally taken off her arms. Weights. When she got home, she was going to get or make training weights. She wasn't going to stay this pathetic. If her host had noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead, she reached in, and withdrew her staff. The instant she touched it, she felt the tension and tiredness melt away under the soothing sensation of it's internal workings being relayed to her. She had only had it a few days, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was just right, and that it should always be at hand. It was comforting, reassuring.

​

Armsmaster, meanwhile, extracted the other contents, setting them on the table one by one, until he went to set the bag to the side only to freeze.

​

"Um," She started tentatively, somewhat disturbed by his sudden fascination with her bag. "Is something wrong?"

​

He came back to life then, glancing at her before shaking his head, setting the bag down beside the table. "No, nothing. My apologies. Now then, what do we have here?"

​

Taylor stared at him for a moment, unsure of the answer, before shaking her head and turning her attention back to her three worn down creations. "They're what I used to make to make the Staff. They broke down not long afterwards though."

​

He nodded, examining the three devices. He rested a hand on the power cell, turning it around and revealing the large gash in the side. She had a feeling as he turned to silently look at her that he had an eyebrow raised behind his mask. For her own sake, she was glad most of her face was covered.

​

"T-the staff needed an initial infusion of energy to kickstart the internal power source, but I didn't account for it not having a means to directly hook it up to the power cell. So I-I improvised. " She stammered, glad her blush of embarrassment was hidden.

​

Armsmaster, for the most part, didn't appear phased. "I see," He replied. So it's a power unit. What else do we have? And If I may ask, what is the intent of all of them together?"

​

Thinking about it brought the designs and functions back to the forefront of her mind, and she didn't even notice that she still had the staff in hand as she tried to explain. "The system, when working, can break down matter and suspend it in an energetic state, before reassembling it into an alternative configuration." She rattled off with precision, laying a hand on the processor. "This is what breaks it down. Material is fed into here, and is stripped apart at the atomic level. It's then fed into the energy cell, which stores it and uses a fraction of the converted matter as pure energy to power everything else. Finally, this," She pointed to the assembler, looking very much like a demented spider turned on it's back. "Reverses the process, converting it back into solid matter, and assembling it into a new configuration. Together, they created the Staff one atom at a time."

​

Armsmaster was silent, looking at all three in deep thought. The only clue to his thoughts was the tight line of his mouth, in hard concentration. "The energy-to-matter ratio-"

​

She shook her head. "It's….it's more like all the matter is pulled apart, but not. The system can reconstruct the atoms, and then put them all back together in a new configuration."

​

"I see. And I take it made the material the Staff and the components are constructed out of? What else can it make?" He asked.

​

For a moment. Taylor just stood there blinking as she tried to process the question. What else? What else did it need to make? All she needed was the stuff the Staff was made out of and a few other things, but as she thought about it, more thoughts started to spring up.

​

Tentatively, she tried to supply an answer. "Well...I think, at least theoretically, that it can make anything. I hadn't considered it, since at the moment it can only hold the patterns for a select number of materials. It's possible to fit it to simulate any range of environmental conditions, and provided enough material you could exchange anything for anything else."

​

However, the answer didn't seem to satisfy him, and they were both left staring at each other.

~~~~
​

Incredible. Just incredible. She didn't even realize what she had on the table in front them. Matter Reconstruction, made out of...was that part of an industrial blender? She didn't even seem to have considered that at any point, she could have split the atom by accident and blasted herself and most of Brockton Bay away in nuclear fire. Or that she literally had the ability to print money. Gold, diamonds, countless precious resources. If any of this was true, and the detector in his mask was telling him she at least thought it was, then you could feed material into the system, and get out just about anything you wanted.

​

He could only imagine what an industrially-scaled setup would look like. No, he could do better. Designs started to flicker at the edge of his thoughts of a facility that could pump out material by the ton on an hourly basis.

​

He was simultaneously exhilarated and terrified. With something like this, he could take his designs to a whole new level, building one atom at a time. He split his consideration between the broken devices and the girl. It was no wonder the staff seemed to such a professionally constructed creation, in comparison to her otherwise shabby costume.

​

By complete accident, had he stumbled onto a precious gold mine of possibility? If this was her starting point, what could she do with more?

​

Of course, there had been other Tinkers who could do similar. He had seen one device that could do what she claimed. But it took up the length of a football stadium, and was the reason there 'had been' a Tinker capable of building it. Matter transmutation was a rare technology among Tinkers. One of the figurative holy grails, and there were few out there that could manage it effectively or efficiently. He suspected that Dragon was at the forefront of those that could, and that was because she had access to all the previous work. If anyone could achieve the same feat, it would be Dragon.

​

At least, till now. It was possible that he was looking at the next leader of that small number of tinkers. But no, he couldn't make that assumption just yet. He would have to analyze and test the machinery first. Likely call Dragon in for her expertise.

​

Colin had to be careful. He had to weigh the possibilities. He didn't know anything about his guests other technological abilities, or what her specialization was. Where was the roof? What was her capacity? A potential unexpected variable, but of what kind?

​

And then, on top of that, was the way she had delivered it all here…

​

But that was for later, and she was starting to nervously shuffle about. He nodded, carefully selecting his response. "Very interesting. And you said they broke down not long after you finished your Staff?" He said, gesturing towards the object in her hands.

​

His response seemed to stun her, and for half-a-second she flinched away from him. There was another thing to worry about. She had the textbook physical quirks of someone suffering abuse, on top of her otherwise shy personality.

​

"Yes," She replied slowly at first. "They gave out right after I finished the last components. I think I know what happened, but I won't know till I pry them open," she finished, looking down at the three creations sadly.

​

He considered things for a moment, and nodded. "It isn't uncommon," he replied, "For Tinkers to trade tech and assistance between each other. You need to repair, and presumably upgrade these so you can produce more. I have tools and materials here, and an interest to study your Tech. If you're willing, I wouldn't be adverse to such a trade. I even have a few older creations I wouldn't mind exchanging for a few samples of what you can make once we are finished."

​

For a moment, his guest regarded him through those glasses she wore. Prescription? Likely. Her gaze flickered around the room, settling on things, weighing them in thought. Dissecting, identifying. That was the look of someone who was considering every threat and benefit currently available to them. He'd seen it before, on the faces of especially wily Heroes and Villains.

​

"Sure," she replied evenly and for a moment he forgot she was an naive and inexperienced Tinker. There was that edge of cold calculation to her voice, but it faded quickly. "What were you thinking of?"

​

He wasn't sure what to think of that. But it did tell him that she took this seriously. Rather, she was taking this more seriously than he was at the moment.

​

"A sample of the metal you've created, as well as a neural interface to examine." He replied evenly. Well, wasn't his guest an interesting bundle of contradictions?

​

She nodded, already setting aside her staff. "I can do that."

​

Behind his mask, Colin smiled. "Very well. Let's get these over to the workbench, and we can start."

~~~~
Tinker Montage!


~~~~

​

Armsmaster's workshop was incredible.

​

It truly was the only way to describe it. She couldn't think of any other words to put to it as together they tore down the heart of her Tinker infrastructure to rebuild it anew, better than it was before. The older hero had tools that didn't even have actual names, because they were invented and custom-made by him.

​

"Here," The older hero said, as he passed her a replacement limb for her fabricator. The last part before it would presumably be up and running again. Taylor had to admire the new level of workmanship that had gone into it. Together, the two of them had shrunk what would have been the better part of a day's work into half of one. Most of that thanks to the fact that everything she needed was right there, when she needed it.

​

All she had to do was modify what Armsmaster already had. She only had to fabricate a completely new part once, and that was the new containment coil for the energy cell that she had destroyed. But the results, nonetheless, were impressive.

​

Now, all three of her creations had shrunk in size and weight considerably thanks to Armsmaster's help. The man was almost possessed in the way he was laser-focused on details and efficiency. He was the one that figured out that she was losing a considerable amount of energy and matter as heat, resulting in the scorched and melted parts they had to pry out. She hadn't even noticed them growing hot at all, but apparently she hadn't properly insulated or tested the conductivity, so localized hotspots were the result.

​

She gently inserted the fabricator limb into it's socket, smiling at the new freedom of movement it displayed. It would likely cut production time down by a goodly degree. Her work finished, she looked over at Armsmaster, who dominated the other end of the workbench.

​

The Tinker sat hunched over her processor, focus locked onto his own work as he fine-tuned a few things in preparation for the trial run.

​

She set down her own tools, standing up off the stool as she stood a respectful distance away, and looked over his shoulder. "How's it coming?" she queried.

​

Armsmaster didn't look up or stop working, but he nodded. "Just about finished. It should be ready in a minute. Why don't you get some things from the scrap bin? By the time you get back I'll be done."

​

She nodded, looking around the lab curiously. Scrap bin. If this was her lab, where would she keep the scrap bin?

​

There! She smiled behind her mask as she pulled the wheeled bin out of it's niche, and was rewarded with the sight of worn down bits of metal, broken circuit boards, and other odds and ends piled together. Perfect, she thought to herself as she reached in and pulled out what looked to be an old piece of armor plating. This would do just fine. In her head, she ran the ratios, and instead of making several trips, she pulled the entire bin along with her back to the bench. They could feed scraps in as needed, without the added effort.

​

As promised, Armsmaster was sealing up the new casing, having finished with his portion of the work. All three of them gleamed in the light, no longer frankensteined bits of metal stuck together. Now, their shiny chrome casings protected their specialized components giving them a new, industrial image. They all looked brand new, almost unrecognizable to her. They were nothing like what they were before, down in her basement.

​

Armsmaster nodded to her as he stepped away, collecting and putting away the tools for later. "Now, these are your machines. How precisely do we operate them?"

​

"We've got to start them up, to begin. The processor can run on electricity till the power cell is charged, but the fabricator won't run till there is matter and energy being supplied by the cell."

​

"And how do you input designs? I don't see an user interface anywhere." he replied.

​

Taylor pointed at the base of the fabricator, where there was a metallic plate. It was one of the few aspects carried over from the old design. "This," she replied, "is a rudimentary neural interface, like the one in my staff but simpler. You can use it to program the machine. It's somewhat improved now, so you can also program what it uses to make things out of using the interface. But for designs, you just put your hand here, and think about what you want to build. It projects an image of the design back through the link so you can fine tune it, and when you're finished it starts construction. You just need a clear mental image and knowledge of what you want to make and the material you want to make it out of."

​

Armsmaster stroked his beard in consideration as he examined it. "Free-form construction. Very organic." He mused.

​

Taylor nodded. "We just need to get the fabricator close to an electrical power source. It can passively leech power from it's surroundings if there is a continuous current. Then it'll take just a little material to get everything else started."

​

"I have just the thing," he replied with a snap of his fingers, turning around on the spot and heading off to one of the many cabinets that dotted the room. When he returned, a massive car battery was in his hands, "a spare from my bike, "he explained. "It should work, if I'm not mistaken?"

​

She was quiet for a moment as she thought about it, before she nodded and smiled behind her mask. "Yes, that should work. Just set it beside the processor, and it should start working."

​

The Tinker followed her instruction, setting the battery down beside the machine. Within seconds, the leads started to spark, and the machine whirred to life, the opening starting to glow an ominous emerald green.

​

"There. Now, do you have some kind of tongs or something?" She asked, looking around the lab at the various tool shelfs.

​

"Tongs?" He asked skeptically.

​

She nodded solemnly. "It's from experience. Directly feeding the processor by hand is dangerous. It's grabby."

​

Armsmaster just shook his head, opening a nearby drawer and withdrawing a pair of heavy tongs, before handing them to her. She accepted them without word, before looking into the bin and selecting a nice chunk of steel.

​

"Here," she said, "this will get us started." She held the piece of metal in the tongs, just over the opening. She looked at Armsmaster one more time, who was leaning in rather close. "Back, please. It is really grabby."

​

His mask regarded her for a moment, before nodding and heeding her request. She turned back to the machine, and slowly lowered the chunk of steel towards it. When it was only a few inches away, it whirred to life as almost a dozen small, metallic spider-like limbs jumped out and seized onto the chunk of steel, as well as the tongs. She didn't bother fighting it for them, and let go. She knew how surprisingly strong they were.

​

Suddenly, Armsmaster had a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her away. Together, they watched as it made quick work of both the steel and the tongs. Wherever the metallic limbs touched, sparks of green would light up, and the metal would vanish leaving behind a perfect dimple.

​

"I was wondering what those were for." Armsmaster mused as the tongs vanished completely, and the chunk of steel rapidly shrunk in size till nothing remained. The limbs waved lazily in the air, their tips still sparking, before it's whirring died down and they retracted back into the machine. "And I understand what you mean by grabby."

​

She nodded, suppressing a shiver as she remembered her first encounter with her machine. She'd lost a watch and all of the sleeve of one of her favorite sweaters the first time around.

​

However, their attention was diverted as the power cell buzzed to life, the metal gaining that same green glow as it hummed. The light was still dim and was growing dimmer as the final link in the setup, the fabricator, spun to life.

​

"Now," she said, "we just have to continue feeding scraps to it to keep it powered and supply material. Here," she pointed towards the fabricator, "you can program it for the first time. Just put your hand there, and think of something you want to make. I added the function that it learns about the composition of whatever is fed into the processor, so you should be able to make something out of steel without having to teach it anything new. I'll feed a few more pieces to it."

​

Armsmaster nodded, reaching into the drawer again and passing her another pair of tongs. After a moments consideration, he pulled out a third pair, setting them on the table.

~~~
​

'Something out of steel….' Colin pondered as he took his position at the fabricator and stared at the interface. The sight of the processor in action had been fascinating. It had broken down a chunk of solid steel within the span of a minute. He also understood her hesitation of feeding it by hand. The speed of those manipulators was impressive. Likely, more impressive than previously since he had fine-tuned them. He would have to see if he could convince his guest to fit a safety shield to the machine. Anyone with sub-par reflexes was likely to lose a finger, or perhaps more, to that device otherwise.

​

He set his hand on the panel, and felt the familiar tingle of the interface. Immediately, it lit up in his mind. 'Now this is something I can understand' he thought to himself. It was like a digital design program, except in his mind. It actually reminded him of one he used. Familiarity bred ease of use, as he started to poke around. Experimentally, he thought about a simple circuit board. Something he had designed dozens of times, and knew by heart.

​

There was a split-second delay, and a perfect image appeared in his mind's eye. He could spin it, shrink and expand it, and more. It was just like his design program. There was almost no lag between thought and implementation. He thought about a change, and it occurred. Another thought, and he was examining a representation of an atom that made up the actual circuitry.

​

'Incredible' he pondered. He took apart the atom, one piece at a time. Then to experiment, he reassembled it. This was far, far ahead of his current means of production. He was literally creating something from the ground up. If this worked he needed to contact Dragon.

​

He felt the urge to blink, and suddenly the interface was at the back of his mind and he was back in his lab. He looked to the side, and saw his guest standing there, looking at him.

​

"Are you ok?" She asked. "I said that it should have enough material now to make something."

​

"Yes, of course." He answered. "Merely getting used to your interface."

​

"It's a bit more technical than my other one," she supplied. "It's necessary for design."

​

"Understandable. I actually find it quite easy to use. It's ready, you said?" He asked, looking past her to the power cell, and its green glow. It was notably brighter, and the noise had gone up a few pitches higher. Glancing at his scrap bin, there was a noticeable amount of scrap no longer present.

​

"Yes, it's ready to go. It should have plenty to work with." she answered, crossing her arms across the chest of her jacket and looking at the machine curiously. Likely, she was wondering just how the new iteration would perform.

​

No longer hesitating, he focused back on the machine. For now, he would do something simple as a proof of concept. A perfect sphere took shape in his mind, and he released into the device.

​

Immediately, the various limbs flew into action. Like the processor on the other end of the bench, a number of spider-like limbs articulated themselves into motion, green sparks leaping from their tips. But unlike the processor, each spark left behind a dust-sized speck of material, floating in mid-air. The speaks joined together into a dot, and the dot grew into a marble. In the same span of time that it took for the chunk of initial metal to vanish, a perfect steel sphere the size of his fist took shape.

​

The machine whirred to a stop, and he reached in and extracted the sphere, running his hands over the surface. "A perfect sphere." he mused, holding it up to the light, and letting it catch his reflection. The surface was totally smooth, and polished to a mirror-sheen. He could actually see his mask in it.

​

"You've created an impressive mechanism," he said, turning towards his guest. "I wish you would reconsider joining the Wards. If this is only the start of what you can do, I can only imagine what you could do once you've joined."

​

His guest shook her head, and he felt a small sense of annoyance at that was all he could refer to her as. "Sorry, but my answer is still no. I feel like I can do better outside of the Wards. But after seeing what you did with my machines..."

​

She suddenly turned away, and marched over to her bag. She reached in, and pulled out the envelope he had given to her, and set on the table before looking at him. "Do you have a pen?"

~~~~

Spoiler: A/N

And with that, the story is offically in it's own thread. Thanks to Einarg for all his hard work beta'ing this!

 

[Noxturne90]

And with that, everything that is meant to be up at the moment is up. Hope you enjoy, and as always, thoughts and comments are appreciated.

 

[Drakshaa]

Really liking it so far. Especially the characterisation of armsmaster and the tinker personality quirks.

 

[Doomed Wombat]

Nice I will be watching this closely.

I really like nice Tinker quests

 

[Orez Lanrete]

Welp, time for the bullshit that is Necron tech to utterly break all laws of physics and quantum mechanics.

 

[them8]

Nice! Love this!

 

[D.Rockstar]

Sweet...
I will be keeping an eye on this story...

 

[Lyova]

I enjoyed this enough to finally make an account.

 

[Aizen Mercer]

Hopefully she will notice soon that he is just using her.

 

[jwolfe_beta]

Necron Cyptek Taylor?
Yes. All my Yes!

So when will she be forced to bio-transfer?

 

[SalsaDeGranada]

This is very good so far. Haven't seen tinker buddy interactions between Tay and Armsy before.

 

[nobodez]

I really enjoyed these back on the Ideas thread,mane I'm looking forward to more here.

I also like how the collaboration between them went, it's good to see it.

I do wonder about that bit at the end though.

 

[PshychoManiac]

Nice. I like Tinker stories.

Also, the video isn't available.

 

[Yog]

Hopefully she will notice soon that he is just using her.

Click to shrink...

Everyone is using everyone. She only would have reason to complain if she didn't get a fair compensation out of the deal.

Also, I do wonder if Armsmaster is going to involve thinkers in trying to recruit her. Because she definitely merits heavy support. I mean, an atomic constructor. That likely can build copies of itself. The end of scarcity right there! He'll definitely be paying very close attention to her, and, I hope, bringing her up to the attention of others.

 

[ReadsByLamplight]

Everyone is using everyone. She only would have reason to complain if she didn't get a fair compensation out of the deal.

Also, I do wonder if Armsmaster is going to involve thinkers in trying to recruit her. Because she definitely merits heavy support. I mean, an atomic constructor. That likely can build copies of itself. The end of scarcity right there! He'll definitely be paying very close attention to her, and, I hope, bringing her up to the attention of others.

Click to shrink...

Saint and his crew are going to collectively shit themselves in terror once they learn of her existence.

 

[Dr. Omniety]

I have to say I really like your interpretation of Armsmaster. Too many people make him a glory hound idiot who sounds like a human waffle.
Also, Cryptek!Taylor is the best Taylor, looking forward to next chapters

 

[D.Rockstar]

I just got home, and tried to watch the video, it doesn't work...
am I the only one?

 

[Yog]

Saint and his crew are going to collectively shit themselves in terror once they learn of her existence.

Click to shrink...

...why? They are not anti - technology on principle. Saint is a human-centric bigot, but you can't even call him anti-ai, as he fixated on Dragon alone, justifying hjmself through Richter's message.

 

[Dark Abstraction]

Wow, this is impressive. I am eagerly awaiting further chapters. You've got a great handle on the characters, I found nothing about them lacking. The story is very immersive, well done.

 

[ReadsByLamplight]

...why? They are not anti - technology on principle. Saint is a human-centric bigot, but you can't even call him anti-ai, as he fixated on Dragon alone, justifying hjmself through Richter's message.

Click to shrink...

Because the eventual and ultimate expression of Taylor's tech is the Necron. Hell she could pretty easily sell the whole soul residing in metal thing as a life support system for terminally ill people.

 

[Dark Abstraction]

Because the eventual and ultimate expression of Taylor's tech is the Necron.

Click to shrink...

Nobody else could possibly know that though. Even Taylor.

 

[FractiousDay]

The main charachertisation of this Taylor seems to be 'Stutterer'