Extinction Knight is, well, pretty much a knight in shining armor." Perfect Storm buzzes angrily at that comparison, and you give the crimson sphere at the head of the staff a quick pat.
"It is NOT one of your 'knight in shining armor' fairy tale prince charmings. It is an one-person instrument of genocide and mass-murder,
JUST LIKE THOSE BARBARIC BELKAN FUCKS! They weren't so high and mighty when I
BUTCHERED EVERY LAST MAN WOMAN AND CHILD IN THAT FLEET WITH THEIR OWN MAGIC!"
Or maybe it was just who they came from; Perfect Storm rambled a bit about somebody named 'Belka' for a while when you asked.
Wow, can I call it, or can I call it?
Tim glances up with wides eyes and interrupts, "A Tinker?"
Several of the Privateers start laughing at that, and while their accountant blushes, he doesn't take back the question. Someone clearly has a favorite group of capes.
They're mad scientists, what's not to love?
"Your loss," Tim says in a teasing voice. "It seems simple enough to me. You say you can make me a Tinker? I'll sign up for that. What do we need to do to get this ball rolling?"
That's a good question. "Storm? Time to get started, buddy."
"Aye aye, Mistress!" The Privateers chuckle at that, and your cheeks burn.
Never gonna get over that, are you Taylor.
It hangs in midair and gleams innocently for a moment.
You and everyone else jump back and not a few people shout in surprise when the jewel explodes. A wave of wires and gears and slabs of metal flood the space. It's as large as a car, then a school bus; you're worried you are about to be crushed by your own Intelligent Device when the outpouring of pieces comes to a halt for just a moment. Something deep inside the mechanical mess shifts and turns, then the innards pull back with the same speed they came after you. They don't get as far, though. The sheets of copper and bronze clank together, seams sealing instantly and hiding the delicate machinery.
What stands before you is a short, blunt crescent, an oval of pale blue glass sitting in the middle of the curve. It is not as large as it once was, much to your relief, but it still stands half as tall as you and maybe half a bus in length. Swallowing your nervousness, you walk forward as slowly as you can without making your newfound doubts obvious and lay your hand on the glass dome. It shatters under your touch, the solid sheet breaking apart into tiny hexagons no larger than your thumbnail that roll outward in a wave and vanish into the edges of the opening that is revealed. All that sits inside is a slanted wall with an indentation in the rough shape of a person. "Is… Is Tim supposed to climb in there?"
The hell?
"Negative." Perfect Storm's voice is no longer the androgynous thing you are used to, but instead the deep voice from the training simulations. It – or has your Device been a he all this time? – somehow senses your confusion. "No accessible power source detected. Mana will be drawn from Linker Core. User Taylor possesses sufficiently developed and enhanced Linker Core. Acceptable limit of strain calculated. Time for Device creation: 73 hours, 8 minutes, 50 seconds."
So, rather than sitting at a work bench, this thing is just gonna keep Taylor plugged in like a battery?
"Lay in receptacle." Shrugging, you do so only for your clothes to flash and refrigerated air to wash over your bare skin. "Garb stored in dimensional pocket as when deploying Barrier Jacket," the voice says before you can raise a fuss.
You're learning PS.
Water, or some sort of liquid anyway, gushes out of unseen vents in the walls, prompting you to hook your heels against the lower edges of the indentation and hoist yourself up. You expect it to stop somewhere around your ankles, maybe your knees, but once it gets to your waist you start to panic. "Storm! What's going on?"
"User Taylor will drift in suspension fluid during empowerment process." Small circular things press into your arms, your legs, your buttocks, and up your spine to the base of your skull. "Advise preparation. This may sting."
Your eyes flick around in perfectly reasonable fear while the water covers your chest. "What do you mean, sting—"
Red-hot needles stab through muscle and bone and flood your body with acid. You scream only for the sound to be cut off when water pours down your throat and into your lungs. You gag and gasp, your frantic attempts not to drown sucking more fluid down while your vision starts narrowing down into a single point…
Empowerment process? Needles injecting things? Oxygenated fluid?
When the hell did Perfect Storm copy an Evangelion?
The plink, plink, plink of water dripping onto a sheet of tin slowly rouses you. You just lay there for several long moments, thoughts drifting around sluggishly and not making any sense. A chilly breeze brushes against you, making you shiver and finally giving you the impetus to open your eyes. You immediately slam them shut when even the dim light surrounding you stabs them like daggers. "Storm?" you rasp through an aching throat. "Time?"
"Local time nineteen forty-one, 17 April, Earth Bet year 2011."
Nineteen… Military time, probably. And April seventeenth. That was three days, all right. Your arms shake and threaten to drop you flat on your face when you push off from the floor, but you manage to make it to a mostly upright position leaning against a wall. "What… happened?"
"Strain to Linker Core avoided. Template duplication and Device construction completed without complications."
So Taylor was literally used as a battery for three days.
Good. That's good. You still feel like complete and total shit, but right now you want out of this box. "Door?" Light burns against your eyelids, and you flop backwards and splat wetly against the cold linoleum. "Fuck. You."
Perfect Storm, I get the feeling you've picked up Samantha's sense of humor.
Something slides out from beneath your legs, and an ear-splitting grinding fills the world for far too long before a small object plops onto your chest. Sticking your hand out from beneath the blanket, you find a cool diamond-shaped thing. «Infinite apologies, Mistress,» comes the soft mental voice of your Device. «Linker Core–derived power source quaternary measure for replication. Additional redundancy, not meant for active use. Source comfort low priority.»
«Sovereign as source not predicted. Logging issue for relay to Imperial Armaments R&D.»
1. Linker core=Battery.
2. PS still has old programming that's telling it to sent info to its old, long-dead masters. Par for the course with Lost Logia, really.
You lob the pyramid at him, and bright green light erupts from it as soon as he catches it. Something swirls within the glow, and after about as long as it felt when you bonded with Perfect Storm, the light fades away to reveal the new and improved Privateer. Tim looks down through the tinted welder's goggles at his thick brown coveralls, the top pulled down with the sleeves tied up around his waist, and the muscle shirt that should be beneath it. And you do mean muscle shirt. Tim was thin and reedy before now, a lot like you and your dad, but now he's wiry. He eyes his arm and pokes a taut bicep experimentally. "Taylor?"
«Yeah, that's normal. No, it won't go away when you change back.» He whips his head around to figure out where the voice is coming from before he turns wide eyes back to you. You smile in response, and a harsh chuckle slips out. «Welcome to the world of magic, Tim, where full-body makeovers and telepathy come standard issue. It's a good thing Dad already picked you for his inner circle. Our Devices protect us from his powers. Getting a teamwork boost would be convenient sometimes, but since that same defense works against all Masters and even the Simurgh? I think it's a small price to pay in the end.»
That's one way to drop 50 pounds. Or rather, gain a few pounds in muscle.
Entertaining as the sitcom in front of you is, you have work to do, particularly if you can get your legs to cooperate. You wave for Lacey to help you up to your feet. «Anything important happen while I was out?» you ask your Device.
«Protectorate announced Ward Bouncer missing, unclear if runaway or kidnapped. Delegation of Protectorate Case 53s will tour city and invite all curious independent heroes and rogues. Invitation forwarded specifically to Samantha. 'Calamity Witch' mentioned in further fifteen threads in PHO Creative Writing board, eight labeled adult content. Audio message received from Chevalier.»
1. And nobody of value was lost. Still, if new monsters show up with his powerset, we know what happened.
2. If they're having C53s come for PR, the situation in the city must be getting pretty bad PR-wise.
That last bit cuts through your mental grumbling about Internet smut-peddlers, and you look down at the jewel. «Chevalier left a voicemail? Maybe it's about the statue. Play it.»
"Calamity Witch, it's Chevalier," the message says. "I asked around about the statue, but I only found something earlier today when I got a call from Legend. Someone must have mentioned it to him, and now he wants to talk to you." A small sound comes through, too garbled for you to make out. "I don't know what you got yourself into, but whatever it is had him sounding worried. He said it wasn't urgent, and maybe it really isn't. I still think you better talk to him sooner than later. Not much rattles him, but this did. Give me a call when you want me to arrange a meeting."
…Oh.
So, who wants to place bets: Cauldron, or past Villain he's come across?
Back in the Saddle – Okay, that's one crisis over with, other than the whole 'Lung is the Butcher now' thing. Before you get around to worrying about that, maybe you should deal with the local monsters? Put on your Batman cap and look around for where they could be hiding.
Thinking this is a thing we should do. Getting Noelle before she reaches critical mass is kind of important.
