Meadow is a Tinker whose speciality is trash. Her power makes her want to hoard, and makes her fine with being around trash. She dreams of being a hero with no understanding on how to get there.
Intended to be canon-compliant as possible. Butterflies will eventually change stuff. Starts roughly a month before the events of Worm.
Author's Note:
This story is set in Brockton Bay, it starts roughly a month before the events of Worm.
It's intended to be canon-compliant, mostly characters that already exist.
If something is not canon-compliant, let me know, I'll try to fix it.
Certain aspects of canon will happen as expected. Meadow won't be around to change them. But, even a single cape in the fusebox that is Brockton Bay will eventually lead to more substantial changes. Don't expect a Lung fight, bank robbery, or even that many interactions with the Undersiders at all.
This story is mostly just a small writing project. I want to improve my writing before I write something more thought out. I have the general story beats planned out but none of the nitty-gritty details. Updates will be as and when I feel like it. If my characterisation sucks, then my bad.
The world of Worm is dark, this story will also be dark. That doesn't mean it'll be all bad all the time, nothing ever is. That being said, if you're sensitive to the themes in Worm, there's more of that here, so maybe avoid it.
I'm from England (sorry), so I've probably got some terminology wrong. There'll also be a few british-english spellings for things. Mostly extra u's which I'm fine with.
This story was inspired Talverty's "Trash Can Hero". The idea of a trash tinker with a hoarding problem was neat to me. You won't find too many similarities aside from the power/its influence.
Can also be found on Spacebattles and Ao3 if those are more comfortable for you.
1.1
I lifted open the dumpster. My mouth practically salivating at the idea of the treasures I would find inside.
Treasures I found indeed. It wasn't a full dumpster. Some of the best gunk you can find was at the bottom of dumpsters. Which was what I was searching for now.
The last week was spent scraping gum off the bottom of tables at diners, gathering up a lunchbox jammed full of them. I'd procured a couple of glue bottles from some school when it was closed. A rusty pipe left abandoned behind the same school (feel sorry for the chump who lost that beauty), and now I had the last ingredients. Banana peels, packets of salt, and the ever lovely mystery dumpster gunk. I used a piece of cardboard to scoop up the goo and stored it in a plastic bottle I found on the side of the road on the way over.
People left such nice stuff lying around. Mine for the taking.
No reason to leave the rest of this in here all on its lonesome. I gathered the various detritus from the dumpster and scooped it into my backpack. It was ready to burst with my haul from this afternoon. Heading home now was necessary, as much as it pained me to leave.
This area was gang territory. Not sure what their name was, small-time thugs, probably. But I'd seen the tags. It'd be stupid to not notice stuff like that. Living in Brocton Bay, you quickly learn where to go, and where to avoid. Sparse gang tags meant you were probably fine. (Not even sure there's anywhere without tags in the city.) Dense tags meant someone was frequenting here. You better check which were the most fresh, or face the consequences.
Being white meant I could go to Empire territory; if it weren't for my shoddy clothes. Since I was a girl, I needed to avoid ABB territory, especially at night. Coil's territory didn't have too many stigmas about it, but the ABB were often trying to claim it. You could expect laser filled battlefields at random times.
There were some other smaller gangs around, most paled in comparison to the powered gangs. My home was in gang territory. I'd heard gunshots on my own street once or twice. People here tended to keep their head down.
My appearance was like most around here. Dirty, poor, and hiding from the world. I was wearing heavy, baggy clothes to stop the cold March air and to stop cuts from broken glass.
Walk with purpose. Keep your head down. Pay no attention to what anyone was doing but keep an eye out.
People didn't bother you if you looked like you belonged.
It might be tempting to rob me for my backpack. Most were too busy snoozing to notice me. Criminals were night owls, coming out closer to midnight than the current seven PM. In case someone was foolish enough to try to steal my bag of treasures, I had a crowbar hidden in my baggy sleeves. Dropping it down and into my hand was a well practiced motion. I'd practiced it because it looked cool. The practicality of it didn't hurt.
There was no such thing as too careful, even if I hadn't been bothered in the five trips I'd made over the past week. People tended to keep to their own in this part of town. A few of them might have even recognised me. It wasn't like I lived that far away. We probably went to the same stores.
...
I made it home to my mom's apartment safely. She was watching TV. More accurately, asleep in front of it, glass pipe slipping out of her hand. Frank was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, lounging like a king in his throne. He took a hit from whatever it was he was smoking and glanced over at me.
"You smell like shit." His voice was more nicotine than human.
"Okay."
He glared at me for a tense second. I squeezed the backpack straps tighter. Keeping my eyes staring down at the floor was the best way to avoid him saying more. He grunted and returned his gaze to the screen.
I held in my sigh of relief, rushing quickly to my room, my sanctum. We made it. I slumped against the door, the sounds of the rest of the apartment fading away, muffled behind my wooden protector. Foam layered the door, a personal addition. A few hours with a box cutter made it lumpy, and according to my power, that meant it muffled sound.
That's right, my power. I was a cape.
I'm not even sure how it happened. After failing to run away I was dragged back here. The next day I woke up and my room felt good. I saw the worth of every trash bag, every box, every single piece of garbage that was my home. No longer did it feel like an unconquerable mess. It felt like a good start.
Readying to be a hero was busy work. My power meant my form of heroing involved devices. Creations that I made, stuff out of science-fiction.
There was no limit to what I could create. The ideas were raring to flow, clawing at the back of my brain.
Inspiration was needed for the final puzzle piece. As I gathered stuff over the past few weeks, a few of them came forward. They were much too complicated to do with what I currently had. Then, finally I had a simple—and possible—idea a couple of days ago after realising there was free gum on the bottom of tables.
My current haul spilled out onto my bed. Stragglers were shook out of the folds with a little force. Splitting it off into sections for later organisation took only a moment. The banana peel, salt packets, and mystery gunk joined the already laid out tub of glue (formerly a tub of vaseline), and lunchbox full of bubblegum.
Alongside that, I had a pot ready with a hot plate to provide heat.
Ready to create.
Hot plate plugged in. Check.
Water from some bottles I filled at the park fountain. Check.
Several healthy chunks of gum. Check.
A whole banana peel. Checkerino.
A dash of salt. Yep.
And our honoured guest mystery gunk from the bottom of a dumpster.
I brought the whole thing to a boil while mixing it slowly. Ocassionally my power would give me a little ping, and I'd grab something nearby to add to it. Though I wasn't really sure what was added, I didn't pay attention. Some kind of powder. A paste of sorts. It didn't really matter.
Turbo Focus Mode was what I called this state. My brain sort of forgot about everything else, even the passage of time. Forgetting to eat, drink, use the bathroom; all possible with the power of Turbo-Focus Mode!
Usually I'd lay out food beforehand allowing me to grab it while I worked. This time it was half a burger I found in the trash behind a fast food place. It was wrapped up nicely, so no beetles or rats had even gotten into it. Not that I minded sharing too much.
Oh, mystery gunk. Teach me your secrets. I hummed a small song as I stirred.
Yawning, I stretched my arms up over my head. Pleasant smells wafted into my nose from the brewing pot. My creation was a big glop of pinkish white stuff. To be more accurate: it was a highly adhesive glue that could stick to basically anything it touched. It had a small amount of elasticity before it'd start to fight back. I was confident it could hold down a person if I glued them to the floor.
While it was rendering in the boiling water, it wouldn't stick to the pot. The moment I stopped the boil—which I needed to do soon—it'd stick happily and never be removed.
Fortunately, I knew the secret to coax it out of its shell. You needed to be sweet to it.
Grabbing a wooden spoon off my wood pile, I coated it with a packet of sugar. Scooping out a chunk of the stuff (I really needed a name for it), I moved slowly so as not to spill, pouring it into a small plastic bag. It slid off the spoon like it wasn't there, then glopped onto the plastic. A speckle of it splashed the wall. Tying it up with a knot kept it secure in the bag. Nice and snug.
I turned the plate off, letting the rest settle in the pot. It'd retain for long enough that I could figure out how to store it before it went 'bad'. Should be about five weeks.
Prodding the wall glue with a stick, I found it kept ahold of it with ease, keeping it basically straight. Could be a good hat rack. There were hats around here somewhere.
For now, I had no delivery method for my super glue. I'm pretty sure if I threw one of these bags hard enough to reach someone, it'd rip open in the air, sending glue flying in every direction. Then we'd all be in trouble.
The top ranking idea was to make gloves that leaked glucose—which is sugar apparently—so that I could dip my hand into a bag and slick it onto whatever person or object I needed. Which I wasn't sure how to do right now. Silver medal idea goes to: pouring packets of sugar onto a glove before I scooped some out.
Then it hit me. Well, my power told me. Gelatin. Boiling down gummy sweets could make gelatin molds to pour the forever-stuck glue (bad name I'll work on it) into. Then those could be thrown like a paintball. They'd split the outer layer pretty easily by contact, but not by flying through the air. On ocassion they'd break apart while flying through the air, but I wasn't working miracles here.
Shouldn't even be too hard. Most of it could be done by hand. I just needed gummy candy. This current pot setup would work to melt it down.
Any time I did find candy, I liked to eat it right away. People didn't throw it away much, making it was a rare treat. Chocolate was more common but usually was claimed by ants.
After that; I could find ways to propel stuff quickly without using my arm. Leaving me with high-velocity delivered sticky glue bullets. Crime should weep at the potential. A sling shot would probably work best.
Gummy sweets, shouldn't be too hard. Should be simple to check out the nicer parts of town to find some rich kid who threw away something so precious.
I could do with a weapon. Just in case.
After grabbing nearby parts, I set to work.
Its core was a broken baseball bat, snapped off roughly halfway up. I added hinges, pipe cleaners, wires, parts of a toaster, and a circuitry thingy. A light switch was used for the trigger.
It looked like a wooden bat with wires coiling around it, up until about halfway where it swapped to a flatter metal surface that ended in two prongs. That part was from the side of a toaster I had already dismantled. The grill part of the toaster was laid on top of it to spread out the damage some. Also, it looked cool.
Circuit boards were encased inside small plastic containers to stop them from getting wet. Metal strips spread out of them to wrap around the bat and deliver their charges to the wires. Pipe cleaners were wound around it. They served the same purpose as the wires, the metal inside being conductive. Mostly, I thought it looked nicer with them added.
Flicking the switch, I felt it hum to life, ready to protect. I flicked it off. Better to reserve the power for when it's needed. Watch batteries generated most of the power. There weren't too many left in my hoard. Mentally, I noted swapping out that system for something else later.
She was christened Coco, the Blectrictifying, and she was beautiful.
That night I slept great, clutching onto my new protection.
Brockton Bay's 'rich' part of town was way too clean. Wearing nicer clothes to blend in ended up being useless. Even my best clothes were dirty compared to how pristine the people and the buildings were. Plus, it sort of sucked. There weren't any cool random things to find on the ground. How did these people live without having a cardboard box float to greet them? There weren't even that many gang tags. Weird.
On the upside, treasure was delegated to its metal prisons, never straying too far out. Stores also hid their dumpsters from prying eyes. Meaning, I could dive in peace. Relative peace. I fast learnt that people semi-frequently came out of the store to throw stuff away. A boy, not much older than me, yelled at me when he saw I was back there. Running from him wasn't hard.
After that, I made sure to be patient. Hiding from sight and waiting before diving in. It was painful sitting around while it was all just within tantalising reach. Oppurtunity struck whenever an employee threw things away and returned indoors. It even meant I got more for my pile. Fresh stuff too. Patience rewarded me with juicy goods and I still hated it.
My disappointment climbed with every dumpster I checked. Sure, my bag was quite literally overflowing with goods. I had to start being selective with each trip—as much as it pained me—simply because I couldn't carry it all. But I was here for a reason; gummy stuff. I needed gelatin... Wait.
Collagen can be rendered into gelatin and gelatin is used in a lot of products. Collagen can be found in cartilage.
There were plenty of bones in my hoard. Restaurant dumpsters contained them all the time.
Marshmallows can also be used for similar purposes.
Ideas of what I could use it all for buzzed around my head.
A healing paste came to mind. Which I was pretty sure I'd need. If not for myself, then for the people I saved. Marshmallows were all I needed to make it, aside from a few additions I already had in stock.
Collagen could eve be used to make a mouldable armour, which would make a nice undercoat for my costume.
Even the bones could be used. Good for projectiles. No, wait, way too deadly. Splinters and shards. Could be good for tools if I can figure out how to make it into an alloy. I'd need a way to melt metals. A forge, maybe? An idea flashed to me on how to make one, requiring a lot of rubble. Shouldn't be too hard to find, even if I didn't really know of any destroyed buildings.
My backpack was heavy with loot. There was no way I was carrying it around on my back anymore. It left its resting place of leaning against the dumpster I was enjoying the company of, and was scooped up into my arms. Waddling home was all I was capable of with how fat it'd gotten.
Making marshmallow healing paste sounded fun to me. The idea of a huge, muscled dude having a pink sparkly paste smeared into an open wound made me giggle. Candy scar tissue. Based on the design in my head, I think the healing process should leave minimal scarring if its allowed to stay in the wound the entire time. A person's body should naturally break down the sugars to use for whatever bodies used sugar for. Any waste would be pushed out of the wound as it healed. Definitely need some way to keep it in in the wound. Maybe duct tape?
I heard hushed voices in the alleyway ahead of me. A panicked sounding woman responded to them. Glancing down it, I could see two men holding a woman at knife point. She was emptying her purse onto the ground. One of the men held his hand up against the wall near her, a knife in his other hand, loosely pointed in her direction. The other guy was snatching up her things and shoving them into a bag of his own. His knife was on the floor to the side.
Wall-leaning guy sounded casual, like talking to a neighbour. From this distance their conversation was muffled. The woman was fairly quiet, only responding on occasion in short answers. I needed to act fast; floor guy was almost finished gathering her things.
There was a flag in my backpack, a chunk of it missing as if it was ripped off. Not sure what country it belonged to, just a cool rainbow.
Fashioning it into a makeshift mask took precious seconds. No idea what I looked like, but it covered my face well. After making sure it was secure, I unhooked Coco from a strap on the side of my bag. She practically purred in my hand as I flicked her switch. A nearby trash can lid became my shield.
Coco's eagerness spurred me on. My feet pounded down the alleyway, moving as fast as I could, while I held Coco's flat metal head out like a spear.
Ground guy reacted to my footsteps, looking up towards me. Wall guy noticed his friend turning and began to turn himself. Too late.
Coco slammed into the side of his body. A thrum of energy rolled out of her. Wall guy's muscles tensed up. He smacked my bat away with his hands then toppled over to the other side of the alley. Floor guy—Mr Snatchy Hands—stumbled as Wall Guy fell over him.
Nausea. Muscle spasms, then a heavy wave of vertigo. The Blectrifying lived up to her namesake. An electric shock before feeling like the world was spinning.
Wall guy was shoved off his friend, sliding down against the brick wall. Sick exploded out of his mouth. His feeble attempts to stop it didn't help. He curled up into the fetal position.
Floor guy pushed off the ground as he bolted to his feet. His knife was still on the ground. He swung a momentum-charged punch towards me, my shield barely raised in time to block it. A mighty 'gong' sounded out as his fist collided.
The force of it sent me tumbling backwards. He was much taller, and easily double my weight. Stupid tiny me paled at his strength.
As I tried to find my feet he kicked me in the stomach, hard. I made an undignified 'BLEGH' noise as I was sent skidding across the asphalt. Scrapes let themselves be know by stinging. My stomach felt like, well, like a full grown man had kicked me in it. Footsteps rapidly approaching told me worse was to come.
I rolled sideways, my whole body protesting as I flung myself away. A nearby dumpster was a convenient handhold, letting me pull myself up. Blood rushed to my head, causing the world to turn blurry. I lashed out towards the man with Coco. Nothing but air.
"Fuck!" He swore. At least it was close enough. Thumming heartbeats pounded in my ears.
I repositioned, grabbing my bat in both hands and backing away. Wary of my weapon, he inched backwards. Behind him, his friend was climbing to his feet, using the wall for support. No woman past them, good. She'd been saved, at least.
The man started backing up step by step. His eyes darted to the floor, then back to me as he inched his way towards his knife. Should I rush him? I didn't feel like getting kicked again. My bag was still at the entrance to the alley. Too much time required to get there and make something.
"Jay, you a'ight man?" Floor guy asked his friend, his eyes mostly on me and the floor still.
Wall guy, or Jay, muttered something, still clutching his stomach as he pulled himself up. Floor guy nodded, hearing words I didn't. Jay finished pulling himself up as the floor guy reached his knife. He bent down, grabbing for it blindly, eyes locked with mine.
"What say we teach this freak a lesson, huh?" Floor guy asked as he stood up, knife now in hand.
"My fuckin' head is woozy, man. Don't know if I can do much," his once casual tone was strained, worried. Serves the fucker right.
Floor guy looked to Jay. He saw a man whose eyes were locked forward, a hand clutching his stomach. Some sick was still around his mouth and was rapidly drying on his shirt. He looked pale, too. Coco must be a bitch to be on the receiving end of if the fight was taken out of him this completely.
Floor guy clicked his tongue. Returning his attention to me. With his knife pointed towards me, he shuffled over to his friend, hooking an arm under his elbow. They began to hobble back through the alley, facing me, making sure I didn't move. Should I move? One hand was currently occupied, the other held a weapon that could kill me without trying.
Was I fast enough to get to him before he could free his arm? Probably not. I wasn't a runner and was fairly short. I wondered what Coco would do if I hit her in to the metal of his knife. Would it travel through? Metal is conductive to electricity, I'm not sure if it would be a strong enough shock to disarm him. Her electric powers were a byproduct of the way she induced nausea. Still awesome, but not strong.
The woman was gone. She was safe now. Rushing these guys would mostly be putting me in danger. Issue is, they'd do this in the future. I needed to arrest them. Fuck. I didn't even have any zip ties on me. NOTE TO SELF: ALWAYS KEEP ZIP TIES ON YOU. There was a bag of the glue I had made in my backpack. I bought it with me because I was proud of it, but it could be useful to bind these guys.
Decision made, I rushed forward. They were edging closer to the end of the alley, almost breaching the exit. My sudden start must have caught the floor guy off-guard because he had to shove Jay off him to free up his arm in time. I arrived just before his friend was free.
The knife whistled as it lashed out. A dead stop saved it from reaching me. As it was nearing the end of the swing I lunged out with Coco. Floor guy leant backwards, falling down onto his butt to get out of the way. I kept the lunge going, pushing my body weight into it so I fell down towards him, Coco at the ready.
She impacted into his stomach, power surging out of her into his whole body. He let out an 'oof' and started to clench up. The knife arm that was swinging back up to me failed to move as his muscles contracted. He didn't drop the knife, his grip just getting tighter. Huh, thought he'd drop it. Vomit exploded out of his mouth, splattering on to my face.
My lunge was with my whole body weight, and the rest of me was catching up to it. I fell onto the aptly named floor guy. Even if I was small, my whole body colliding into the guy took the wind out of him. Scrambling off, I rolled to the side to make some distance, leading into a run that was practically on all fours.
I patted myself down, checking for any knife wounds. None, phew. Jay was gripping his knife, not pointing towards me, and holding his head.
"Drop it, or Coco gets to visit you again," I said, patting the bat for emphasis. Moments passed as he thought it through. Relenting, he dropped the knife to the ground and kicked it over to me. Then he laid down on the floor, seemingly thankful for his head no longer being in motion, and put his arms behind his back.
Holy shit! Arresting first, excitement later. I rushed back to my backpack and retrieved the sack of glue as well as the sugar packets.
Neither man had moved much by the time I returned. Jay was telling the floor guy to lie still; it helped with the pain.
Sugar coated my hand, letting me scoop out sticky goo from the bag. Jay's waiting wrists received a healthy dollop, making sure to smear it so it coated both his wrists all the way around, binding them together. My non-coated hand pulled at his elbows. Even with my best tug, his arms didn't budge from the glue encasing them. Glue was also stuck to his shirt. Even if he removed it, his wrists would be well and truly stuck.
Satisfied, I moved on to the floor guy who was still rolling around. He didn't put up much of a fight as I positioned his wrists and did the same as before.
Coco was turned off now that I was safe. Her batteries must have been close to out, anyway.
Cool. Now what?
Victim saved. Bad guys tied up. Shit, I needed to call someone to actually pick them up. Phones were expensive. Shit. Fuck, my stomach hurts, too. Breathing became harder as my adrenaline faded.
I peeked out of the alleyway. The woman that was being robbed was walking back with a cop. He glared at me as the woman waved to me. I nodded. A quick look back to my prisoners assured me they were still tied up. I left to meet the woman and the cop.
Mascara had run down her cheeks, and her hair was a mess with bits of gravel in it, but I could tell she was fairly pretty. Her clothes definitely meant she lived around here, too nice for my neighbourhood. She was maybe about twenty years old? Judging ages wasn't my strong suit.
Cop guy was tall, imposing. His dark skin amplified his intense glare that didn't seem to falter. Confidence. Be confident. Clutching Coco tighter helped steady my nerves.
I gestured to the alley. A short cough to clear my throat. "Two low-lives all tied up and ready for you. Don't know when the vertigo will wear off, so I suggest we move," my voice was steady despite how much I wanted to wheeze from my stomach pains.
He held a hand up to me, his other hand reaching for a stun gun. "Unknown parahuman. I'm requesting that you put some distance between us. I don't want to fight you, and would appreciate if you stayed back," he said in a rehearsed tone.
"Uh, sure, okay. I can do that." I backed up, free hand raised to show I meant no harm. Wasn't exactly how I imagined this interaction going. I stepped off to the side to let him past. His face cringed as he sniffed the air. He glanced towards me but carried on walking. Didn't think those guys smelt that bad. There wasn't exactly time to sniff them during our fight.
"Hello, you saved me. Could you tell me your name?" The woman spoke in a gentle tone. She kept a short distance from me, using her arms hugging herself. Fear was still plastered on her face.
"M-" I stopped myself. Can't use your real name, dumbass. "I don't, uh, actually have a name yet. I was still, y'know, working on that. I just sorta... stumbled into.. y'know."
Fuck, I was bad at this.What happened to the confidence I had before? I was doing so well then.
"Oh. Well, thank you anyway," she said, giving me a soft smile. "He was saying some horrible stuff to me. Saying if I ever told anyone he was going to hunt me down. They had my ID, I hope they didn't get to look at it." A wave of worry washed over her. She licked her lips and I could see tears forming in her eyes. What was I supposed to do here?
She needed confident me, not this. I stood up straighter, ignoring my ribs crying out. After repositioning Coco towards the ground, I took a few steps forward.
"Hey. It's alright, I'm sure the police will offer you protection if you need it, and I'm just getting started. By the time they're out of jail, which I think will be a few years, I'll be even stronger." I swung Coco up over my shoulder, letting her rest there. "This little cutie is just the start. I'll be making even cooler things by then," I said. Apologise to Coco later, she's plenty cool as is. "So, if they do come after you, I'll be there at your call."
She wiped at her face with her sleeves, smudging her makeup even more. "Thanks, I, uh," her nose twitched with disgust before her face returned to neutral. "How old are you? If you don't mind me asking."
"Um." Adults didn't take me seriously most of the time. They'd tell me I was too young to get it. Whatever 'it' is. Fourteen was plenty mature. It's not like I was stupid or anything, my mom told me I was too smart for school. There were a few things I didn't know, but I could learn them in the future. Do I lie to her? No. Lying isn't what heroes do. "I'm fourteen, and already a super genius."
She blinked at me, her mouth slightly agape. A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "Okay. Sorry for prying, it's just that I'd expect you to be in school right about now." Before I could make up a lie she continued, "Good thing you weren't though. I won't snitch," she winked at me.
Mr. Cop Guy called us over and took our statements. His sleeve covered his nose as he spoke, making him muffled. The woman wasn't really reacting to any smell, so I wasn't sure what his deal was. I told him about sugar being able to remove the glue when he needed to.
After we were done, I said farewell and grabbed my backpack before heading home.
I did good today. Finding trouble wasn't even the plan. Imagine what I could do when I'm ready for trouble.
Coco had proven her worth. Her reward? New watch batteries, as fresh as I could find. An idea for a device that could measure the charge left in batteries I found flashed through my head. Useful.
I stored it away for later and headed home with my bag full of my haul and my head full of good thoughts.
I was jubilant. A word I learnt from the back of a cereal box earlier today. It means incredibly, mega, super joyful!
Saving Tina, as I learnt her name was, made me feel so good. My ribs and aching joints would protest that point, but what did they know?
When I was younger, my mom had a boyfriend who loved comic books. He'd read them to me sometimes when he was feeling okay. Most other times, he'd just talk to me about things he read online. Heroes and villains, fighting it out, an epic war between good and evil.
Near the end of the relationship, I'd always ask him about Brockton Bay's heroes. Miss Milita running around with an infinite arsenal was my favourite, at least until Vista came along. Now, with my power, I started to appreciate Armsmaster, Gallant, and Kid Win more. Being able to make cool robot suits, hoverboards, laser rifles, and other future-tech is rad. I was like them, I could make robots.
An exoskeleton could be made to enhance my strength, allowing me to pick up objects heavier than I could normally lift.
Woah. That'd be cool. It wouldn't stop any significant damage but it'd help if I was working with heavy stuff, like when I started to make my forge. Penciling down the idea I thought on my future.
Wards. I'd always wanted to be one. Thinking about me being with them on patrols, fighting crime, becoming their friends, it gave me goosebumps and butterflies in my stomach. Powers made it a real possibility. I had no idea how to approach them. Recognition. People being aware of me. That's what I needed.
Officer Faulmann, had asked me to get as much evidence as I could before calling the cops. Arresting a criminal wasn't enough, you needed to gather evidence or they'd walk away nine times out of ten. In the case with Tina, it had been pretty cut-and-dry. They still had a few of her things on them, alongside a bag full of her stuff. There'd also been a security camera that was angled towards the alleyway exit we had come out of. Maybe it caught my fight? That'd be cool to show to the Wards.
I jotted down a few things I needed alongside the sketch for the exoskeleton. It looked like a roll cage that you saw on monster trucks. Red line would be sprayed across to make the pipes look cooler. Image was important for capes. They needed to be recognised.
My list ended up being:
Name
Costume
MORE DEVICES
Healing Paste
Zip Ties
Camera
Police Scanner
Name and costume were the most important. Being able to heal people felt like it could be an issue I'd face soon. Maybe if I had it right now it'd help my stomach stop feeling like it was about to rip open.
The healing salve will not affect internal injuries without surgery. It will reduce external bruising, swelling, and act as a pain nullifier.
Oh. Good to know. Healing paste became a priority.
Sweat lined my back, making me have to peel myself off my bed. Normally, there wasn't this much sweat. Jolts of pain ran through me, and my breathing got a bit harder as I sat up. Standing up wasn't much harder than sitting up. I felt okay enough to walk, even if the room was spinning. Mind over matter.
As much as I loathed the idea of just buying them, I needed marshmallows something fierce. My loose change pile was getting pretty hefty. Mostly it was one cent coins, but I had a few dimes and quarters. I even had two dollar coins.
...
Walking to the store was an agonising, grueling process that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies. Did I have enemies? Yes. Jay and Floor guy.
A whole bag of marshmallows was actually pretty cheap. They were the big kind, and a bag came with plenty. They were perfect for what I needed.
Losing my coins felt bad. Separating them felt like breaking up a family. Whoever gets them next might be able to give them a nice home. Did change feel bad when it wasn't in circulation?
With the good pot covered in omega-glue (still not a good name), I had to resort to the rustier pot.
Marshmallows and a ton of other stuff—including some random plants I found—were boiled down to a thick paste within an hour. My body didn't like me moving around a lot. Pain was my reward whenever I did so. Chemistry didn't require I run around gathering stuff too often. My power also kindly informed me of everything I needed before I sat down to work.
Mom came back at some point, she was yelling as I was letting the water cool. Some kind of argument with boyfriend-of-the-week, Frank. Wasn't my interest, I didn't bother listening.
I flipped through a comic book to distract myself as the marshmallow boiled. This one I'd read a few times. It was about a hero called Remindo, fresh out of the Wards, working his way up to the Triumvirate. This was issue two, and the last few pages were missing. The recap at the start gave me all the context I needed. Making up my own ending was more fun, anyway.
Before the pages cut off, he's in the middle of a fight against a villain called Laminate. Laminate had Remindo's love interest captured and at his mercy. A box of laminated air surrounding her like a shield. Beneath her; a cliff edge. When the bottom panel is removed, she'd fall to her death. Remindo is unable to do anything, afraid to get closer. Then it stops.
Usually, I liked to imagine she saves herself. She uses a nail file, hidden in her dress pocket, to saw away at the ropes binding her. Grabbing her shoe to use the secret spiked tip on the heel. As the hero and villain are monologuing, she smacks it against the wall leading back to safety of the ground. It shatters like a car window does when you use a metal point against it, and she escapes her cage.
As Laminate turns to her, surprised by the sound of his power failing, she expertly throws the heel into his face, gouging out his eye. With a few ninja moves, she takes him down easily in hand-to-hand. Turns out, she was a secret agent the entire time. A highly trained PRT officer who can stop parahumans as well as other parahumans could.
Afterwards she adopts a teenage girl called Meadow, and trains her to become a cool spy, too.
Last part is stupid, but whatever.
...
The water in the pot had cooled enough for me to start using the paste.
Lifting up my shirt, I saw a boot print across my stomach. It was a reddish-pink with horrible patches of yellow and purple around it. My left ribs had swollen up a lot. I prodded it. Pain flared through me and I hissed through gritted teeth. Fuck, that hurt.
I slathered the healing paste on to my stomach in heaping portions. Tingling sensations spread from the paste. My pain washed away, becoming a dull throb instead of a roaring ache. It even removed aches that had become background noise at that point.
Splodges of white and pink coated my skin, emitting a cool feeling that soaked right through to my bones. No sparkles, unfortunately. Glitter could be added, but finding that in big enough portions wasn't easy.
Scooping out the rest of the paste, I tied it into a plastic bag. It should last a long time without spoiling. Ants would probably devour it if they found it. My new hat rack was the perfect perch to suspend it above the ground. That worked on bears. Why not ants?
Pillows wheezed as I slumped back into them, enjoying the almost lack of pain with a contended sigh. Insulation foam sheets wrapped around me, I drifted off to sleep.
I slept like a baby.
...
Kid Trash? No. Trash Win? Eh. Wastemaster? Nah. Trashmaster? Sort of cool.How could I add Gallant to a name? I wasn't even sure what it meant. Maybe it would be better if I went for something more original.
Recycler? Maybe. Dragon? Taken, obviously. Hoard Queen? Nah. Garbage Woman? Seemed like an insult. Tinker Trash? Don't want people associating me with trailer trash.
Animal based? Opossums were cool. Bears were usually found digging through trash cans. So were raccoons.
Back slots for my devices would make it look like I had tons of babies on board like a mother opossum. Each device would require fur to fit the theme better, in that case.
Bears were big and scary. I wanted to be more approachable. They were at least fluffy and cute, despite their ability to smush you dead. Too much of a reputation as murder beasts for me to use, probably.
Raccoons could work well. They liked to gather stuff, were associated with trash, and were cute as hell. Cute wasn't exactly what I was aiming for. I wanted to be approachable. Safe, for civilians, but intimidating and scary, for bad guys. Parts of that would come with rep. Raccoons were also crafty little things, which fit me to a tee.
I sketched out a costume. A big furry raccoon suit with some inner-linings of metal to give armour capabilities. Way too bulky and cumbersome.
My next sketch was more like a knight. I copied the armour of a knight from an image book I had. Except I modified the helmet to have round, egg-shaped ears like a raccoon. Then, I added a tail; a big one. Spare things could be hidden inside of it for emergencies.
I gave the gauntlets (as the book called them, fancy word for metal gloves) claws, too. That'd be intimidating. I sketched the underlayers as well. Chain mail could be worn beneath the plate to protect my squishy innards. Beneath that I'd have some padded clothes, like a coat, an extra layer or two of pants and shirts. Then an extra layer of collagen based armour beneath all that. Even made of cheap materials, it should be pretty hard to get through it all with most weapons.
Raccoon Knight sounded sort of cool. I wondered if there was a word for a warrior who uses technology or something.
A semi-waterlogged dictionary in my book pile was my main way of learning new words. A lot of the words were way too long. Hard to sound them all out. Not being able to pronounce my own cape name would be embarrassing. I tossed it to the side. Something useable would show up in the future.
Raccoon Knight would work for now.
I cut up soda bottles into varying sizes of donut rings. Each was linked together with wire frame to look like a raccoon's tail. Small at the base, then big, almost bulbous, down the middle before tapering off near the end. With the way the wires ran through it, the tail could shift and move naturally as I did. Eventually I might be able to hook it up so it reacted to certain muscles moving on my body, or even give me rudimentary control over it entirely, like an actual tail. That'd be neat.
It's colour wasn't quite like a raccoon's tail yet. Paints solved the issue, even if I didn't have that many. By the time I was done, the paint job was haphazard at best. Spray paint was added to my imaginary shopping list to try to make it better. I stuffed some insulation foam into the tail to give it a bit of weight. It also let tufts of 'fur' poke out from the gaps.
A bucket would become my helmet. Most of it wasn't rusted over, a rare find. I was jubilant when I got it. Every other bucket had been rusted scrap. Still worth taking, just not as handy.
With slight modifications and additions, I turned the bucket into a workable helmet. It had a visor with a slit for my eyes that could be flipped up and down. Sunglass lenses were indented to sit above the visor. They could be flipped down with a button press. Moving them back up to my forehead required manual resetting. Never knew when you were gonna face a light based cape.
The ears were a bit wonky, but served their purpose. Looking in the mirror, I could see that I looked awesome. I was a knight. One wearing modern clothes, but I'm sure that'd be fixed when I made the rest of the suit. Dark brown hair stuck out at the bottom of the helmet. Flowing in whatever direction it wanted to. Unruly, it made me look sort of wild. Like a knight who survived on her wits in the wilderness. I flipped the visor up and found an issue. My face was pretty visible through it.
A person taller than me could look down and probably see my entire face. Easy solution. I grabbed some spare foam to pad the helmet. My head felt cosy inside of the foam, instead of the cold metal touching my skin.
A space around my mouth, and my eyes was kept free so I could still speak and see. Sound would be an issue, but my hearing would be damaged by someone hitting me on the head otherwise. Knocking on the helmet produced a dull thump, the sound mostly blocked out by the foam covering my ears.
I looked like Mouse Protector. Awesome!
A microphone can be added on the outside of the suit to feed audio into a speaker. Would also allow to pick up frequencies not usually heard by human ears.
Nifty. Not sure I had that level of electronics here. My electronics pile was sparse, most of it currently being attached to Coco. It wasn't every day people threw electronics out. A toaster and a television I had scavenged were my major hauls. Getting the TV into the flat was a bitch.
Glasses can be modified to include extra vision capabilities, such as infrared. Can also be used to display information within own vision. The idea was handy, but again, not capable. My power loved to tease me with the stuff I couldn't possibly do yet.
Give me something simple! Nothing? Okay. I need a ranged capturing device.
A frisbee can be modified to act as a bola. A launcher can be made either using air compression or kinetic energy.
That idea was doable.
I grabbed a frisbee in almost perfect condition. No idea why someone would throw this away. I cut it into three pieces, like a pizza. Threading together twine from a cat scratching post to make a decent rope took up most of the project time, and most of my day.
Once the twine was threaded, finishing the device wasn't hard. It took all of five minutes to add a slot for the rope and to glue it to each piece.
Brackets would unfold as the frisbee flew. Each bracket would separate from the other from the spinning momentum. Eventually, all that'd be left would be the rope, which was connected to each frisbee slice, and then joined in the middle in a big knot.
Weighted cotainers full of rocks would give each slice extra weight. I'd needed some screws for the brackets to let them rotate out when flying. Mostly, it was just taping stuff down.
I'd test these out later today. A light pole would work for a first target. Definitely worth getting the throwing motion down to not miss when I come across an actual criminal.
My glue pellets still needed a way to be fired. Elastic would be needed to make the sling shot. A surprising rarity. I knew pants and underwear had it. Usually, by the time they came into my court, the elastic was well worn out. I'll come back to it later.
Coco had her batteries replaced, and I wiped some vomit off her. In the future I would replace the watch battery system for something else. Way too cumbersome prying each battery out before replacing it. A device similar to a TV remote would work better.
I had an idea—just a regular idea, not a power based one—to start threading the soda can tabs together to make chain mail. They needed shaping a bit beforehand, which pliers could do just fine. My tab collection was too low to start right now. A few hundred wasn't enough.
Homeless people often gathered cans and bottles, I'd done it myself a few times for money. Would they be willing to part with just the tabs? I might need to pay them back.
Homeless people needed food. Healing paste was also a good thing to offer. If I did, I'd need to go out in costume, which might make them suspicious of me. Oh well, I'd earn their trust. Make a bit of a name for myself, too.
...
"Who're you supposed to be then?" The man asked me. He was older, salt and pepper beard, little hair. He had dark, leathery skin and lots of wrinkles. Layers and layers of clothes hung off him like a lasagna. Cans and bottles clinked against each other like wind chimes in the bag he was holding.
I bowed, shoving my nerves as far down as they could go. "Raccoon Knight. Patent pending." I gestured to his bag. "I'm in need of soda can tabs for a top secret project. I've gathered a few on my own, but it's a big task. In return for just the tabs off any cans you have, I can give you food and even some healing if you need it."
He rubbed his beard and looked up at the sky. "Just the tabs?"
"Just the tabs."
"What you need them for?"
"Top secret, I'm afraid. I'm sure when my awesome debut happens, you'll see them. You can point and say 'I helped make that!'" I tried to keep myself smiling, despite the helmet covering my mouth. You could hear smiling through words.
He hummed, tapping his chin. "What sort of food are you offering?"
I reached into my bag and pulled out a wrapped up sandwich. The bread had been repurposed from other sandwiches to make a whole two pieces. People didn't like it when their food had bite marks out of it. I didn't mind so much. It made the bread look patchwork. Still delicious. I'd filled it with plenty of meat and some greens. Greens didn't survive long in the trash so I had to get some fresh today.
"I have ham and chicken mostly. Some with mayo, some with ketchup, others without, and some with both. I also have lettuce in a few. Oh, and I have a special one with honey mustard which I was going to give to the first person who helped me. So long as they want it."
"Bread looks off. What type is it?"
"A mix of a few types, I think. It tastes good though, I promise." I retrieved my own sandwich from the bag and opened it up, taking a bite to prove it was tasty.
The man mulled it over some more. "I'll take a sandwich. You can have my tabs, too."
"YES!" I pumped my fist and wriggled my body with excitement. "Sorry. Thank you, I really appreciate it."
He received the honey mustard sandwich. I got to work removing the can tabs.
"What's your name, anyway?"
"Gerard. Most call me 'Rex', though." At my look he shrugged. "Don't even know how that one got started. Been called it for over fifteen years."
"Well, I can call you whatever. Princess Fluffybutt, if you want. No difference to me."
He chuckled a bit. "I hated the nickname originally. It's grown on me, as weeds tend to do. Rex is fine."
I nodded. "Been homeless long, Rex?"
He laughed loudly at that. Shit. Wrong thing to say? "Not the question I usually get right away. You are an odd one." He shook his head, tutting. "I've been homeless for a long time, yes. Hard to get a job when your hands don't work right." They shook as he lifted them up to show me. Scars ran across them in zig-zag patterns.
"Sorry. Don't think my healing paste can fix that." It can't fix internal damage, diseases, or viruses. I figured as much.
"I ain't expecting it too. You'd need Panacea for that, and I wouldn't trouble her with the effort." He paused. "I do have a gash on my leg if you wanna take a look."
I nodded, spinning around to see him properly. With his pant leg lifted I could see blood-soaked bandages. He removed them, showing a nasty cut. The edges were still swelled up. I untied the top of the bag attached to my belt and scooped a hand inside.
"Is it gonna sting?"
Would it? I had no idea. "No clue, to be honest." He let out a small chuckle, then nodded.
I carried on, smearing a large glob of paste across the wound. A shiver rolled through his body as it was applied. I smeared it in there as best I could, making sure it reached all the edges and covered the inflamed bits. I wound the bandage back on tight. "Should be good. Give it maybe a week or two before you remove the bandages. Make sure to clean up any of it that seeps out, or you'll get ants."
"Ants? What's this stuff made of?"
"Marshmallow, mostly."
He blinked at me before sighing. "Real odd duck. Well, if I see you again, I'll either be thanking you for this mystery balm, or shouting at you."
Balm. Nice word. "It should work. It fixed my bruises." I returned to collecting can tabs.
We had a few short more conversations, him mostly asking if I was a new Ward or not. He also told me to shower. I guess I was a bit sweaty from walking around town.
After I finished gathering the tabs, we parted ways. It was a raindrop in the bucket of what I needed. Progress is progress, though. Now to find more homeless people.
...
Gerard wasn't the exception. People were friendly to me. I had a few tell me to fuck off. I'd have been skeptical if I didn't. Almost everyone was nice though. They liked the food, and they appreciated the paste, even if most rejected it. A lot of people aren't a fan of unknown substances. The pain relief alone got me a couple of hugs, which was surprising; nice, though.
It worked okay on a woman's messed up tooth until it dissolved in her mouth. And it was made of sugar, most likely leading to future problems. She just shrugged, telling me that it was already fucked. I gave her a small supply of the stuff for pain relief.
By the end of the day, I was out of sandwiches and healing paste, while my bag was chock full of tabs. With the amount I gathered, I should be able to make a full shirt. One of the homeless people, Stacy, had actually been collecting them on her own. She had a decent amount. Neither of us felt good about splitting her from the collection, so we left it be. I gave her a sandwich, anyway.
Before heading home I tested out the frisbola by throwing it at a lamp in a park. It spread out in the air as it flew, metal brackets helping it expand before unlinking from each other. When the knot of the three ropes collided with the lamp, the frisbee wedges spun around, wrapping themselves around the post. It worked!
I untangled it—which was surprisingly hard—and started slotting the brackets back into each other. Manually resetting it each time was annoying, but not that bad. In the future I could make a few more, carrying around four or five at a time would let me use more without having to 'reload'.
After jingling my way home, I endured a thirty minute rant from my mom about Frank. Apparently he'd cheated on her. Again. Who could have predicted that? And she was going to throw him out once he sold off the last of his supply. More likely she'd listen to whatever bullshit he spun to her and take him back. Or he'd get sick of her yelling and just leave. Like everyone else.
I nodded along, letting her talk to me as much as she needed.
Once she had worn herself down, she gave me a quick hug, telling me I was such a good daughter. That she was gonna buy me something nice as a treat tomorrow, maybe a donut. I made noncomittal grunts in response and left for my room when I could.
She promised treats all the time. Then she'd get so high she forgot her own name. By tomorrow she'll have forgotten she even spoke to me. After the hundredth time of falling for it, I got the message.
I spent the last portion of the night threading together my chain mail. Seeing the suit take shape gave me hope that I was gonna look the coolest.
After a few nights preparing, my chain mail shirt was completed. Worn over the top of my winter coat, it looked incredibly cool. Already I felt like a true knight. I used elbow and knee pads from my hoard to give me some protection from scrapes. There was only one elbow pad, only my left arm got it's protection. It was my punching arm, my swinging arm, my right-hand (left-hand) gal.
Righty could throw just fine. A new toy strapped to the small of my back also featured a slot to hold my frisbola. The plastic bag containing the healing paste was at risk of bursting. Placing it into a tupperware container (the only one I had a lid for) was the smarter idea. A hidden pocket inside my coat kept it snug. Maybe it'd bump into me as I ran around? Not a big issue.Just extra emergency armour!
The 'Prisoner Containing Glue' (Nope, still bad.) was also being kept in a plastic bag. Unlike the paste, it was meant to explode in a pinch. So long as it didn't explode onto me.
There was a repair shop that had shoddy security in their garbage can. Breaking into it using random things I had in my backpack was child's play. For my efforts, I was rewarded with; a mess of frayed wires, a couple of fuses, an unknown games console without its shell, plugs, a pair of headphones without the foam, and a broken radio. That last one was the most important. Not that I didn't love the rest.
My electronics pile was looking mighty fine now.
Repairing the broken radio took no time at all. Prying stuff back into place, or replacing wires were the major fixes. A rig that attached around me like a belt kept it secure at the small of my back, covered up by the frisbola.
Everything I found was in a state of disrepair that anyone could fix, I wasn't sure why they threw it away. Especially since it was a repair shop. Like the rest of the stuff, the headphones werne't hard to fix. One side was cut away to leave me with a singular headphone which was fed underneath my helmet. The wire was a bit obvious, even with me hiding it underneath my shirt. Inside of the helmet I removed a portion of the foam to accomodate for the new addition. Squishing my ears between plastic and foam didn't sound enjoyable. The cut away foam could even replace the missing part of the headphone to make it softer on my ears!
With my project complete, I could listen to the radio as I patrolled.
Installing a microphone into the radio could pick up sounds around me and place them directly into my ear. Its range would be even better than my actual hearing. It's main use was a direct line into a police scanner.
Which, as it turns out; is complete nonsense. They used a lot of codes, none of which I understood.
Getting a library card required paperwork, renting a book or using their computers required a library card. An infinite cycle. Computers were a mystery to me, anyway.
My only option was learning through doing. Every time I heard a new code, I'd write it down in a little notebook. There were cute images, like stars or hearts, on each page. A special find. Using context clues to figure out what the codes meant was a mixed-bag. Hearing 'Ten-Sixty', then the words 'Suspicious vehicle last seen on so-and-so street,' probably meant that code was for suspicious vehicles. Others weren't given clarification after. Cops were just expected to know them. Or had a handy little code book ready made.
There was one I knew already. Ten-Four. Which I'm pretty sure is just 'Okay.' Seeing as every cop show ever uses it when they're responding to whatever they call the guy on the radio. Operator?
Cop shows were an excellent idea, actually. Good job me. Thanks me. A few are just dramatisations and wouldn't be the same in reality. There were shows that followed actual cops responding to real cases. They included radio chatter and then showed the actual crime itself, meaning I could link them.
After my mom left to do whatever moms did, I browsed the TV. We didn't have too many channels, making finding the right one easy. Watching them go around, helping people, it inspired me. I also learnt a few new codes. Like the one for a parahuman stopping criminals, and the one for potential parahuman at the site. The show was set in Denver. A few denverian capes showed up on occasion, which was nifty. Not very helpful, but nifty. Who knows, maybe in the future I'd get to work with them in some international case?
Video evidence would be needed to make most crimes stick. Cameras were hard to come by. Stopping a drug deal probably wouldn't do much good if they only had a small amount on them. Getting them off the streets even for a night could potentially save someone from their influence, though. I didn't know if it was worth it. I couldn't spread myself thin.
I wanted to help the cops. Parahumans didn't like working alongside them. I'd heard the cops on the show refer to the PRT as 'the sidekicks'. Neither side seemed to want any interaction with the other. Cops had training and required evidence. Capes came in, trained but not in the same way, with no regard to due process. The show had spoken about how most cape arrests lead to the criminal walking away. Similar to what Officer Faulmann told me about needing evidence.
Cops helped me with my dad. I didn't want them to hate me. Being the same old cape who blew in and expected them to do all the work wasn't appealing.
Patrolling around the city at sunset was sort of nice. A meandering path away from my house, gave me plenty of time to enjoy the oranges and purples the city was being cast in. Broken glass tinkling on the floor like star light. My radio chirped occasionally with background chatter. My helmet made things quieter, not quiet enough to not hear people talking near me. People gave me a few odd stares while keeping a respectable distance.
Huh. I thought people would climb all over capes on patrol. A lot of people around me had a good reason to distrust capes.
When the villains showed up alone, you could just keep your head down and try to stay out of their way. When the villains showed up fighting, you ran. You prayed and begged your home wasn't in their path of destruction, and got to safety.
When the heroes showed up, you ran harder. I'm sure they meant well. Cape fights just aren't clean. If heroes are roaming around your neighbourhood, they're looking for someone. Which means there's going to be a fight very soon. You got out, then surveyed the damage after.
Collateral damage was an afterthought. It wasn't like the people around here could afford cape insurance.
Shaking my head made the sour thoughts go away. A wary eye scanned the area around me to find potential crime.
After what felt like an eternity of my patrol, I heard a code that could potentially use my help. Ten-Fifty. Which, according to my notes, is a traffic accident. Usually there was an F, PI, or PD after, which wasn't here this time?
It wasn't far away.
There weren't any crashed cars by the time I arrived. There were officers surrounding what looked like a body in an area that was being taped off. What?
Pages fluttered as I flicked through them. Ten-Fifty was supposed to be a traffic accident. Shit. I need to get out of here. I backed up as quiet as a mouse, turning around at a casual pace to not draw attention. I sprinted the moment the cops line-of-sight was broken.
If anyone saw me, they might think I did it. Returning to the scene of the crime, that's what criminals did. I was an unknown cape with unknown motives. I knew my motives were good. That didn't mean others did.
Something was wrong. There wasn't a car there, when there should have been. Was I wrong about the code? I could have easily fucked it up, writing down the wrong number. Or maybe the show edited in the wrong codes so criminals couldn't guess them? No, that didn't make much sense.
Maybe it was like accents. Every state had a different set of codes. I'd listened to Denver codes and just assumed they'd apply here as well. I'd listened to a Denver accent and called it Boston. Idiot.
My confidence was shook. How do I carry on with the rest of the night if I couldn't trust any of the radio codes?
How did other heroes do this?
In comics, they'd always do patrols, roam around, and stumble across crime. They'd use some super hearing power or device to echolocated crime. Or an AI that could scan all radio signals and detect crime before it even happened. Could I create an AI?
No.
Oh. Huh. Well, thanks power, can always trust you to get to the point.
Maybe I should talk to another hero, learn how they do things. Same issue as before. Where the fuck do you find anything?
Would roaming around let me run into crime? I knew some corners that drug dealers worked from. If I hid nearby, lying in wait, I could pounce and catch them in the act.
Eh. What's the point? They'd just walk free later, anyway. No self-respecting dealer would carry enough to be guaranteed a jail sentence. Plus, there'd be no evidence aside from what they carried.
Then there's the issue of it being one person, a small part of the machine. I'd seen the way they worked, heard it from the mouths of others in my neighbourhood. A dealer didn't carry that much on them, someone else would deliver it to them. Who had someone else to deliver it to them, and so on. The lower level guys didn't know much about the hand that fed them, or the hand that fed that hand.
Sure, it'd help in a way. It just wasn't enough. I wanted to help a specific person, not help some vague concept of a person that may or may not exist. Taking down Lung, that'd help people. I could imagine them all. Getting rid of one drug dealer, it'd maybe, potentially, possibly help someone. Then they'd be replaced the next day, and someone else's life would be ruined.
Ugh. Was it all pointless?
No. I couldn't think like this. Helping a single person was enough. Tina, Gerard, Stacy, the rest of the homeless people, I'd helped them. Tina kept her things because of me. The homeless got a sandwich, conversation, and healing. I healed people, eased their pain. That made me a hero, and that was all that mattered.
I sprinted back to my home turf; renewed. My power was designed to fix things, make them better. I knew exactly what to do!
There were tools in my bedroom. I slotted them into the little loops on my belt. Leaving the house without my helmet made me feel naked. My mom was home, and I didn't want her knowing. It wasn't long before I got to return it to my head.
For the rest of the night, I roamed around, finding any building that looked like people would be—or were currently—living there.
Fuse boxes were restored to working order. No one noticed me turning them off while I fixed them. None of the buildings had power before.
Pipes were an easy fix. Usually they just needed to be tightened or patched up. Going inside the buildings got me a few prying looks, or people straight up leaving. All but running away from me. Me! I'm a hero. They'd know my name, eventually.
No one bothered me while I worked. They kept a cautious distance. I was invading their homes without a word, after all. It was only expected.
Once I had done as much as I could for a building, I left for another. There were a lot of homeless people in makeshift communal living situations. Abandoned factories seemed to be a fan favourite.
After fixing up what I could in a couple of factory buildings, I found an office. Formerly abandoned, now occupied by a lot of dishelved outcasts of society. They'd setup hammocks, mattresses, sheets to act as doors; all stuff to make the place a bit more private and livable. It was sort of nice. If not a bit scary, being around some potentially dangerous people. No more dangerous than my dad, or my mom's boyfriend-of-the-week.
The building was only a few stories tall, basically a big, red-brick rectangle. Individual offices had been replaced with communal bedrooms. Mattresses and hammocks replaced whatever furniture was here before. There was a communal kitchen, still being used despite the building having no gas. They'd hooked the oven up to an external gas cylinder.
The toilets already had modifications. Where the individual booths were missing, they'd had shawls and blankets draped down to give privacy. One of the booths—nearest the sink—had been changed into a shower. A contraption was hooked up to the sink itself to let the water flow out of a shower head. I didn't see a drain added to the floor of the cubicle. Mould clung to the tiles of the improvised shower floor.
Two of the three sinks in here didn't work, and the shower sink's spare tap spat out a cloudy liquid. Eyes peered in through the doorless door frame, curious but keeping a safe distance. A few people warned others of a cape.
Once I got one of the non-working sinks back to a functional condition, my lookie-loos started talking.
"She fixed the sink!" One said, a smile spreading across his face.
Others came to look, as I got to work on the rest of them. Clear water ran out of the shower sink, and the pressure of the showerhead increased to give it a better flow. One sink remaining. No sinks remaining. I couldn't increase the final sink's pressure, so it was a weak flow. At least the water was clear.
Holstering my tools, I got up, and turned to see the few people watching had grown to a sizeable crowd. All of them started talking to me at once. They asked me to fix things; "do the sink in the kitchen," "do the same to the other bathroom," "fix the stove," fix so many things. I preened at the attention.
Within a couple of hours, I'd fixed what I could in the other bathroom, fixed up the sink in the kitchen, make a couple of bulbs start working again, double-checked the gas flow to the oven—it was partially loose, in a few weeks it could have lead to it leaking—, and rewired the fuse box. People were thankful. It felt good. No one really kept up a conversation with me, unfortunately. Which was odd, since the homeless from before were happy to chat. Individuals versus a crowd?
My power regarded the conditions of the appliances as junk, which let me fix them as if I was an expert. Ideas for new devices appeared in my head with each repair. Adding new additions to their home with no way to repair them was a bad idea. It had fallen to pieces brick by brick with no one really having the knowledge to fix it. An extra, unknown device wouldn't help that issue. A plumber lived here before—someone formerly from the DAU—but that guy had left a few months back, leaving no one with the knowledge to repair.
Teaching wasn't something I was capable of. My power was the one who had the knowledge, I was just doing what it told me and giving it inspiration for new things as they came to my brain.
As I headed home, exhausted, I thought through the ideas I'd had during the night.
First; was that my armour could be made pretty easily. It wouldn't be hard to shape the aluminum from trash cans, or corrugated sheets of metal that you saw on garage roofs. Layering them together could make sturdy armour. No need for heating or shaping, just cutting and slotting together. Cutting them would take a bit of effort, more than a handsaw and elbow grease could contribute. Cutting was the main hurdle, which brings me to...
Second; if I found a saw blade, I could make it into a power tool. An outlet would provide it power, but it wouldn't function for long. It would fall to pieces after getting through my breastplate. Making the same tool twice feels wrong, though I'm not sure why, so I'll find another tool the second time around. Maybe some kind of plasma cutter made from a welding torch?
Third; a scanning device. A sonar pulse would map the immediate area, like a bat. That information would be relayed into a two-dimensional image that could be displayed on my sunglasses if I ever set those up. Alternatively, I could maybe hook it up to one of my sensory glands, such as my eyes, ears, or nose. Allowing me to sense what it saw with that sense.
Surgery on that level was a bit beyond my power right now. I had the ideas, just not the know how. It was entirely possible for me to do it, and make it painless, clean, and replaceable. There was more information and tools needed to let me perform it.
Fourth; after unclogging one of the drains of a massive, wet clump of hair that seemed to go on forever (which was really cool), I was inspired to make a tangle-mine. It could be filled with hair, seaweed, or other threads to make something that could ensnare the wheels of a vehicle. A little setup would make it work like a landmine, or it could be thrown. Like a car airbag, it'd be relatively safe for human use, though I wouldn't risk it. One use only per mine.
Fifth; cleaning out a bunch of rotten food from the kitchen sink's pipes inspired me to make an incredibly potent stink. The type that sinks into everything it touches, like a skunk's spray. Gelatin casings would make them function as little stinkballs.
A blowgun could be made using just a piece of plastic pipe. I could add a mouthpiece if I wanted, though it wasn't necessary to function. My power wasn't needed for the design, just a piece of pipe.
Designs for a paintball gun appeared in my head. An ammo box could be made with a soda bottle, which would slot into a receptacle at the top of the pipe, feeding the stink or glue balls down into the pipe itself. A handle, trigger, and stock were pretty easy to make. Pulling the trigger would activate a pressurised air can, such as a deodorant, whipped cream, or spray cheese can.
Rapid fire was possible so long as the can retained its pressure. Should the can fail, the slot it fits into would be a modular slot, allowing me to remove the can and replace it with another like I would reload a gun. The ammo would be self-feeding, a camera's aperture could work well for that.
Knowing stuff I didn't before took getting used to. Walking around, if someone asked me how an airbag in a car works, I'd have no idea. Until I thought of an idea of a tangle-mine, and my power happily supplied the information needed. Telling me exactly how an airbag works, and how I could make my own version.
That information stayed with me. I didn't have perfect retention. It was like if an adult told you how the rain works. You'd need to hear it again a few more times before you really got it. A lot of the things mentioned by my power were pretty advanced stuff, things I hadn't even heard of. Context was provided alongside the information, I wasn't left in the dark about what it meant. The information flow would be simplified a bit for me to understand better, at least while I wasn't in Turbo-Focus mode. When I was in that the information flowed faster, clearer, I knew exactly what every single thing was and did.
Tonight had been a mixed bag. Like when you find a new dumpster, but it's already occupied by an angry opossum.
I'd seen a dead body. It wasn't my first.
No use thinking who they were, or how I could have helped. Thinking about that would just make me sad. I'd almost spiralled out after seeing them, half-convincing myself I'd be better off forgetting the whole hero thing. Police codes would need to be relearned through trial and error. Mostly error. I scrapped the pages I had, throwing them into the paper pile in my room.
Helping strangers in those factories and office building had been nice. Heroic. Even if none of them really knew who I was. Most were rightfully wary, keeping their distance, keeping their eyes peeled for what I was doing. A few had called people. I wasn't sure who, since no one showed up.
I was laid on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, the glow in the dark stars greeting me. I added a new constellation, Wrench, for the plumber. Keep the pipes clean, and the water flowing. Wrench, I believe in you.
Sleep was as easy as fixing a sink. Doing hard work all day meant I was ready to pass out the moment my head touched the pillow.
Tape peeled away from my shirt with a horrible noise. It was wrapped tight around me to keep my marshmallow healing paste secure. A few days had passed since repairing sinks, so it should have done it's job. Confidence flowed through me, certain that my creation would have succeeded.
Removing my shirt hurt. The balm, as Gerard called it, had crusted over, drying against the shirt. It peeled away from me as the shirt was removed. Globs of it fell down. Only the outer layer had hardened. The inner part was still a paste.
Faded bruising lined my stomach. The boot print was gone completely. My swelling had been reduced a significant amount, a little remained. I ran my hand over the skin. It was soft and very clean, like someone had removed layers of it but only on my stomach. My sides and chest were darker by a few shades. I picked at the edges and it flecked off. Just dirt. Oh. I was covered in a coating of grime.
It didn't bother me.
That might explain Gerard telling me to shower. Showering was something I liked doing. Even when the water ran cold after twenty minutes, I'd stay in the shower. A watery sanctum, away from the outside world. The outside world was all filth and messes. Bags of the stuff, cockroaches in my hair, needles lying around. That sort of stuff didn't bother me any more. I don't think I showered since I got my power.
May as well. Turns out I had a lot of dirt on me. Water ran brown as it flowed off me. Fixing up the pressure on the shower was a simple task. I also fixed the heating issue, so it'd run hot for a good forty minutes before running out.
Mom would yell at me if I spent too long in here. She hated when I wasted all the hot water. Just a quick shower, enough to clean most of myself, and wash stuff out of my hair. We had no shampoo, so I used some soap instead.
I could modify the flow of a shower head to be a high-pressure hose. It'd be capable of ripping flesh from bone with a steady enough stream.
Not helpful. Might be useful for fighting fires, though.
I dried myself off. Towels would make good bandages. Very absorbant. I gained an idea for using sanitation pads alongside my healing paste to keep it sealed in. Clean pads thrown away weren't a thing I'd ever found, just used ones. Those went into my blood pile; a tightly sealed box. Insects liked to eat blood, which would defeat the purpose of a blood pile. Insects were fine, now, so long as they didn't crawl on me. Too many unpleasant memories.
An insect repellant could be placed under my pillow. One version used sound to scare them away. Rodents would also be scared by it. The other would use chemicals, bathing me in them as I slept. Smelling like a hospital wasn't what I wanted. I didn't like chemical smells any more than I liked insects.
I grabbed some things from my stash and setup the insect repellant. The other half of the headphone I hadn't used in my costume found it's job. It hooked up to a black box—formerly a TV remote—which then connected to an outlet. There wasn't any sound when I turned it on. Double checking it showed that it should be working just fine. Shrugging, I went about my day.
Non-crusted paste from the shirt was returned to the area that still had swelling, then taped down. In a few days, the swelling should be gone completely. I smelt sweet. Very sugary. Even after showering, the skin on my stomach was a lot smoother than the rest. Maybe I could modify the formula to make it into a cleaning paste instead.
Technically, I could just use the current version of the paste to do the same thing. A modified cleaning version would be better at getting rid of harmful bacteria. It could also be used to clean my teeth safely, and have less sugar, fewer ants.
...
Today was a gathering day. The past three days were spent doing the same. Spreading out from my house to hit dumpsters I hadn't already. Now, I was heading towards Arcadia. A prestigious school full of rich kids, from what I knew. It looked like a nice place.
Chain link fences surrounded the hill it was perched upon. I had no delusions of being able to get inside unnoticed. Instead, my goal was to see what people threw away. During the day I'd scout out the school from a distance, using some binoculars to view what people were putting into the garbage.
At night, I'd sneak in and grab stuff before the janitor can remove the trash in the morning. Fool proof.
Students went about their days, viewed through my binocular eyes.
"Samantha. I'm telling you, there's no way you can use your powers in class. Mr. Bungus will notice your grades improving. He's not stupid."
"God, Riley, he won't notice. I'm a super genius, super model, and super strong. Mr. Bungus wouldn't notice my grades improving if I'm stealthy enough."
"You don't know how to be stealthy."
They weren't really having that conversation. I was just making up voices for them. My spying distance didn't let me hear their words. The two girls were arguing in a polite, muted way. No one seemed bothered by them despite their frantic arm waving. Both were taller than me by about a head. They had similar hair, maybe related?
A traffic cone could be fashioned into a listening device. I noted it down amongst my idle scribbling. Useful in the future, not needed right now.
Samantha and Riley eventually headed into the school. Everyone else joined them, leaving me staring at an empty school entrance.
Oh, right. Classes would start and students would go in to them. They'd come out again at recess, and lunch, I think. The school I went to had 'walk-around' time. You'd spend it like currency. Even in the middle of class, you could take off to walk around the school grounds. I used mine when the class was being too loud. Transfers from other places told me it was unusual. Not sure Arcadia would have it.
Temptation overtook me. Everyone was inside, even some security looking people had moved entirely indoors. I could scurry on over to the trash cans, grab my loot, and be out before anyone even knew I was around. Raccoons were excellent at heists. I threw my backpack over the chain link fence. Climbing over wasn't an issue, one of my specialities. I threw a towel on top to stop the metal spikes from hurting me.
Morning dew covered grass met me, muting my landing into a soft thud. Retrieving my backpack, I ran across the open field, avoiding class room windows when I could. Plenty of goodies were waiting for me. Candy, paper, wrappers, plastic bottles, cans, pens and pencils, erasers, and even the bottom half of a flip phone. All in fresh, excellent condition. I'll never understand how people can throw away half-eaten food.
You could have saved half of the chocolate bar for later instead of throwing it away. These chips had plenty left. Gummy bears, well, that one was in my favour so I'd let it slide.
I unwrapped one of the bars and sprinkled some crushed up chips on it. A nice snack as I continued to rummage through the other trash cans.
"Ew. What're you doing?" A voice behind me said. I craned my neck around, the chocolate bar still clenched in my teeth. She was beautiful. What I imagine a Greek goddess might look like. Platinum blonde hair cascaded down her head, tall, muscular. She was also floating a couple of inches off the ground.
"Uh. I- I was." My words caught in my throat. The chocolate fell into the garbage below me. She gave me a strange look. My heart was racing, my thoughts a blur.
"You need to come with me. Alright?" She floated towards me, a hand outstretched. "I'm going to take you to a teacher. They'll be able to help you, okay?"
She was going to tell on me. I was going to get in trouble. I couldn't be in trouble. I'm a hero. Sweat slicked my palms. I wanted to wipe them down, they didn't respond. My whole body was frozen.
Confidence. I needed to be brave. She just didn't understand what was happening. I tried to speak again, to explain. My words were a mess, unintelligible. Her hand was getting closer and closer.
Getting away became top priority. Explaining could wait until later, when I was more established. Teachers were bad news. I grabbed the bag on my belt, the 'containment glue'. I unhooked it and chucked it towards her. Once my hand loosed the bag, I ran as fast as I could towards the fence. She screamed as the bag hopefully hit her. I didn't dare look over my shoulder.
My legs burnt as I ran. A stitch appeared in my right side, and my rib flared with pain after each pounding footstep. I threw my backpack over the fence before clambering over myself. The towel ripped, half of it not joining me when I tried to drag it down with my fall. Sorry, soldier, I'll come back for you later.
Darting down twisting, winding alleyways in an attempt to lose any pursuers. She could fly. I'd never hear her footsteps if she was chasing me.
I caught my breath inside an alcove. Deep gulping breaths that steadied my heart rate.
When I become a Ward, I'll apologise to her personally.
A/N:
These 3 initial chapters were pre-written to get my foot in the door. Thanks for reading.
Feedback is appreciated, tell me it sucks if you gotta. I'm new to writing and wish to improve.
Author's Note:
This chapter includes some direct domestic abuse. Like I said before, Worm is dark, and I'm not shying away from that. I don't want to be excessively dark for no real reason, though. I've been worrying about that part of the chapter, even now I'm not 100% sure about it. If you think it is too much, please leave a message, I'd love feedback to fix the tone.
It's also a little longer than the others, don't expect that to be the norm.
1.4
My first hero interaction and I messed it up!
I didn't even know who she was-someone from New Wave, since she wasn't wearing a mask-and I'd thrown a bag of my containment glue at her! She'd be stuck there for hours until they figured out how to remove the stuff. Or maybe it just splashed her. It could have been a grazing blow. She might not even be stuck at all. New Wave had a lot of shield capes.
Was I being hunted? My eyes were glued to the sky. Birds flying overhead kept making me jump. I need to calm down. Deep breaths.
First priority was getting away. I was sure she noticed my face. Why did I lift my helmet to eat some chocolate? Stupid. It was only a matter of time before my glue was linked back to me. Best I keep my head down, stick to my cape identity as much as I can. I needed to get into some cape fights, fast. Then I could set my rep up, make myself untouchable. After that I can join the Wards and apologise to the Greek goddess woman.
Yeah, good plan.
I pulled on my chain mail shirt and clipped my tail into place. The plastic donuts had become a bit squished in my bag. Coco and my radio were at home. My frisbola stored in my bag, just in case. No more glue, I'd need another batch. Without it, I'd be in trouble.
I gathered a trash can lid to use as a shield like I used on my first accidental hero incident. Sword and shield were iconic for knights. I'd rather use a spear instead. The reach would help accommodate for my short arms. Coco, with a couple of modifications, would be perfect for the job.
Ideas ran through my head, distracting me from the potential danger around me. Quiet. I need that brain power to think my path out of this.
If the glue bomb hit, she should still be stuck in it. If I hadn't, then she'd probably have already caught me. Safe to assume she was stuck. Other capes would come to rescue her if she could reach her phone. Or she could just scream, the school was in yelling distance. In that case, I should be expecting other heroes, potentially the Wards, most likely New Wave. The Protectorate might not take kindly to me attacking a cape. That's what villains did, not heroes. Would Armsmaster himself be chasing me down?
Outpacing his motorcycle wasn't possible. His armoury was also much more impressive than mine, especially since I was missing pieces. I definitely needed some kind of weapon right now.
My backpack was still full of things from Arcadia. Finding a dumpster with the rest of the components was easy.
Sawing using only a jagged piece of metal made my already tired body, exhausted. In the end I managed to make some kind of air cannon. A small and unimpressive version of a larger design I had.
Grabbing whatever gunk, food, or liquid I could find in the dumpster, I smashed it all together into a variant of the stink paste.
I rolled up as many as I could make from the rancid goo. Then wrapped them gently in a piece of cloth, taking extra care to not crush them as I hung it from the firing end of the bottle.
Loading would be an issue. Once loaded, they should fly up to thirty feet, letting it happily splat against whatever it hit into, leaving them with a heavy stink, the kind that soaks in. Smells didn't bother me anymore. It was potent, strong enough to singe my nose hairs, I just didn't mind so much. My power told me it should be debilitating without nose protection. Aim for the face.
I kept the weapon lowered as I took bounding steps through as many winding paths as I could.
My breathing was still struggling, the addition of exercise not helping it any. I really needed to run more.
A noise up ahead. I loaded a ball into the air cannon. An embarrassing amount of time later, my fumbling fingers slotted it into the pipe. I gripped the firing mechanism in my hand as I checked my exit.
A cat. It was just a cat. I relaxed.
Deep breaths.
After calming my nerves, I ran the last leg of my journey. Mom's apartment entrance was hidden inside the surrounding set of buildings. You had to go through a driveway that connected to the street, then into an open aired square. There were three building entrances here. All of them were apartments. The fourth building you just entered from the street.
I snuck into the square, checking it out before heading in. Coast is clear. Ducking down to keep my height beneath the windows, I slid inside the door. Mr. Tennant was sitting in the shared hallway. He was blind. His head turned towards me as he heard the door open and close.
"You've been out a lot lately, Meadow. Find a boyfriend?"
I cleared my throat before talking. "Ah. Footsteps, yeah?"
"And the way you close the door. Always have to click it in twice since you don't put enough oomph into it."
I laughed. "I'll sneak up on you one day."
"You didn't answer my question," he said, pulling his headphones down. "And what's with the voice? You wearing a motorbike helmet or something?" His gaze was withering.
Shit. I forgot about my helmet. I took it off, tucking it away into a bag, my chain mail—removed as quietly as I could—, tail, and new weapon joined it.
Lying was wrong. Protecting your secret identity was important.
"Ah, yeah, you were right on the money. My boyfriend drove me home on his bike." My stomach felt queasy.
He hummed. "I don't believe you for a second." He pointed to me. Heart meet stomach. "Don't think I can't smell what you've been up to. You've been diving into other people's trash again. That's where you got the helmet from."
Oh. He was lying for me. Great! I faked a laugh to make it feel like I was caught. God, I hated lying. "Yeah, yeah, okay. You caught me. I thought it looked cool."
"That's fine. Just make sure you don't get sick from it. And take a damn shower!" He waggled a finger at me. The smile on his face meant he was just joking.
I was going to argue I had showered yesterday, but was interrupted when I heard a car pull up outside. "Sorry, gotta go!" I sprinted upstairs, away to my mom's apartment. Mr. Tennant yelled something about keeping my nose clean, literally.
...
Mom was home. Crying, curled up on the floor.
"Meadow! Is that you?" She didn't even try to look at me. I could just leave.
"Yes, mom."
"Aw, come here, baby." She pulled herself up to rest with her back against the couch, making grabby hands in my direction. I complied, placing my backpack aside.
As I got close enough, she gestured for me to lean down, then pulled me into a hug.
"Sweet baby. You'd never betray me. Not like Frank," she cooed in my ear, stroking my hair. "I'll treat you better now he's gone. I promise. We'll go out for walks, eat ice cream, get you some new clothes."
Liar. I endured the hug and the meaningless words. Her spell almost captured me as she started to sob, telling me that I was the best thing she ever did.
Bullshit. I know that she sees my dad in me. She'd yelled at me plenty of times for me to get the message. I was a no good piece of shit like Him. My nose, my chin, both of them His. It was how I got the scar across my chin. She'd said it was too much like His, it needed to be different.
Every word was a lie, tailored to make me love her. To make me forget.
I pushed her away. "Have you slept?"
"No, baby, not since yesterday. The bed smells too much like him. Maybe if I could smoke, I could."
Not the smell then, just the not being high part. "You could sleep on the couch. We can spray your blankets with something that's nice."
She shook her head. "Couch is too lumpy. Let me take your bed, baby. You can use mine."
"No!" The word slipped out, a yell. Her eyes went bug wide.
"What did you say to me?" She pulled herself to her feet, suddenly full of energy. Fuck. "You don't fucking say that to me! I'm your fucking mother, you hear me?"
"I-I'm sorry! Please, I didn't mean it. You can take it, just take it and I won't say it again, please!"
"Oh no! You don't get to walk away from this that easy. You need to learn a lesson." She grabbed for me. I stumbled back, too slow. A clump of my wild hair was caught in her hand. She pulled, yanking me onto my knees. Now, I had a choice: Pull myself along willingly to avoid having my hair ripped out, or try to fight back.
Fighting back had never worked before. She'd always win and then punish me worse.
Closet time for me.
I was thrown in, my head hitting the back wall. Another dent joined the others. The door slammed shut, the dead bolt outside clicking long before I could reorientate myself. I slammed a fist into the door. "Mom! Please, I'm sorry!"
The front door slammed shut. Fuck. I was alone.
I let out sobbing breaths. The walls were tight around me, they shuddered, ready to fall on me. This confined space made it hard to breath. My nose too clogged with snot, the deep breaths failing to do anything.
An idea. My power, a lifeline. I wasn't powerless anymore. I could make it out of here.
I searched for things I could use.
There wasn't a lot. A crusty towel, a quarter, a power cable that had melded into the outlet, the other end not plugged into anything. There were the brackets that held up the shelves above me, their screws were either loose or so far crusted into the metal I couldn't tell the difference between them. My shaking fingers struggled to gather the loose screws.
The power cable's open end was one of those that looked like a little pair of binoculars. I turned the outlet off, the switch resisted the effort. I won. Two screws, one into each hole, the big end poking out. Using my fingernail, I scratched open certain parts of the cable, as indicated by my power.
I wrapped my hand up in the towel, covering as much skin as possible. Best I use my right hand, just in case. I flicked the power back on. Shoving the screws into the door hinges made a loud pop. I definitely didn't scream. The second time, I was ready for the sound. Sparking, popping, and a burning smell filled my prison. Through the towel, I could feel the plastic of the cable melting from the heat.
I targeted the screws in the hinges. They were crappy, never replaced in the history of the building, melting well. As one felt done, I moved onto the rest. By the third screw, I could feel my flesh burning. I grit my teeth. Mind over matter.
Agonising seconds passed. Plastic had probably fused with my skin by now. Finally, the last screw melted enough. I dropped the wire as fast as I could, not daring to look at my hand beneath the towel. I shoulder-barged the door out of its frame. It dented the hallway wall opposite, ending up locked at a diagonal. I climbed over, running to the kitchen as I got free.
Cool water relieved the burns, stinging all the while. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Pieces of black plastic were grafted onto my fingers. Layers of flesh had been ripped off my pointer and my thumb. The towel had protected me from the worst of it. Water washed away ash, breaking apart a chunk of my saviour. I wasn't sure what, but I'd use this towel for something. Least I could do.
I picked at the plastic as the water flowed over my hands. Before long, I'd removed the largest chunks, leaving only little bits I couldn't pick out without digging into the flesh. My hands kept shaking.
Healing paste. That's what I needed. I shuffled over to my room, climbing over the fallen door, and retrieved the shirt crusted with the marshmallow. I shoved my burnt hand into the balm, rolling it around to coat them in the glorious resin. Pain became a dull throb, my head clearing up along with it.
Easily my best invention. Coco a close second.
Mom would come back. As I sat on my bed, clutching my hand inside the shirt, I thought about it. No matter what I did, she'd come back. She would be expecting me to still be inside the closet, to have learnt a lesson. Fuck that. I'd be gone by the time she's back. Never coming back here again.
I glanced over my room, my sanctum. Weeks worth of treasures surrounded me, all organised into piles, each one loved. My backpack could only carry so much. Grocery bags could be used for some other stuff. I'm not sure how much I could lug around with me.
I might have to abandon it. It was just stuff. So why did I feel like crying at the thought of it?
This sucked. Everything about it. I thought she stopped doing this. It'd been almost a month. Now, I had to leave, to abandon my things, the things I had rescued, loved, treasured. Just because my bitch mom didn't know how to take no for an answer.
My backpack was untouched. I grabbed it and a few shopping bags, double layered. The most important stuff went in my backpack. My costume, devices, a hotplate, a pot, my radio, and as many other electronics as I could fit. There was space to spare, which I used on anything I felt could be important for future crafting. The bags I filled with a variety of things. I wanted the best from each pile to make sure I kept my options open for the future.
Water and food was a priority.
I grabbed an extra bag, stuffing it with any food I had lying around that wasn't spoilt. Spoilt food went into the crafting bags. Every useable bottle I could find was filled with water from the kitchen sink. I grabbed what meager offerings we had left in our fridge and pantry. Cold hotdogs and crackers, plus some cans of spaghetti. With my scavenging skills, I should be okay. These ready-made things were a backup. Cans of stuff didn't really spoil, from what I'd heard. Dry food kept well.
After checking over what I had one last time, I set off.
Hello world, I'm ready to meet you.
Mr. Tennant wasn't around to see me leave. For the best.
I slipped away from the apartment. Unnoticed by the sparse few people in the streets.
My new home wasn't so bad. Spacious, and warm enough. A roof over my head would keep any spring rain away.
It was a former office space, meant for a tiny business. Two connected rooms, divided by a wall with a big hole in it. (By design, not by being smashed). One room was connected to the front door, which I had locked with a self-made lock. Couch frames were left lying around, no cushions. The other room—which normally had a door to divide it from the other, but it was gone—had a kitchen area attached to an open space. Two thirds office, one third kitchen. None of the appliances remained, gutted down to just pipes left in empty spaces.
The kitchen-side of the building had a short hallway leading to a backdoor (also now locked), and a bathroom. Copper sold well, meaning there was none left behind the sink. My new mirror was half removed, the remaining half covered in spiderweb cracks.
There was also a bathtub, but no pipes. The toilet was in pretty good condition, all things considered. It, and there's definitely a pattern here, had no pipes, but it wasn't broken. Not even a chip. There was no upper lid, just the lower one you sat on. I could see the pipes still in the ground behind the tank. Surface level parts had been removed by opportunistic scavengers, the rest was still there, just waiting to be fixed.
I deduced (means figured out in detective speech) that the sink and bath were in similar conditions. Both should function fine when their pipes were returned.
Priority was water. I had already setup a rain catcher outside; A tarp held up with sticks to catch the rain, then the rain would slide down the tarp into a funnel that lead into a bucket. Pretty simple. My plan was to set up a few more of these around town in any out of the way places I could find. Homeless people could even take advantage of them if found.
While this building was nice, and would house me for now, I wasn't stupid enough to think it would last. People would notice me living here, eventually. Per night, I could swap out to a different building to sleep. That way I could use this as a main base for a long time. During the day, when I didn't need any lights, I could use it as my workshop.
I also wanted to have multiple stashes. No use losing everything again if I had to move in a hurry.
I wiped away the welling tears from my eyes. No use letting it get me down.
Three other locations had been scouted already. One had a rather angry couple living in it. Dust coated the other two, probably abandoned for years. I setup ways in and out of those buildings for later. Emergency exits were important.
Back at my main base, every window needed to have a simple latch on the inside to keep people out and to let me escape out with ease. Two doors on the building had received a special little device from me to replace their lock. They didn't use traditional keys, instead you'd use one of my modified keys. Modified keys could be made fairly easily. You just needed a special piece of gum and something to skewer it on. Preferably something flat, and metal, key-shaped, if you will.
Saliva would harden the gum and let you unlock the door. Instant-hardening gum. My power called it a 'saliva activated non-newtonian solid-shift material'. I called it Steel Gum. Could be useful as a prank, though it might crack a tooth.
Safe and secure.
I made a huge ball of the stuff, about baseball sized. Using Coco to whack it around my house was fun. She'd get the attention she deserves after I finish prepping the safe houses. After using the rest of my healing paste on myself, I needed a new batch. Guess I'll be saying farewell to more of my coin buddies soon.
Once everything was setup in each base, I felt a lot safer. Each night I'd rotate to a different one. Only one—my main base—had a mattress. Nests, for lack of a better term, were placed in the others. A big pile of the softest things I could find, shaped roughly circular so I could lie in the middle and roll around in my sleep.
My blanket joined me whenever I moved bases. Just a thin sheet, nothing special. It kept me warm enough. When it was too cold, wrapping up in the other warm things that made up my bed kept me cosy.
I finished turning my second best invention into a neck-and-neck contender for first.
Coco more than a baseball bat with her additions. She was attached to a metal pole, formerly stabbed in the lawn. Rust had been washed and scraped away as best I could. Cloth strips tied around the middle gave me a place to grip.
Sanding down the part the metal plating sat on before, made it completely flat.. Two spiralling metal tubes intertwined around each other, dancing down around the baseball bat. They gave her more surface area to potentially deliver her nausea.
Shaping the pipes into spirals took a lot of work. Not very fun work either. Breakage cost me even more time.
Touching the pipes wouldn't suck as much as having the grill head jammed into you. It came down to contact time. Holding onto the pipes would be just as bad as me holding the plate against someone. I don't imagine most would want to do that.
Her pole had been reinforced, in addition to a wooden crossguard where the body met the shaft. Which should stop any swords from cutting down to my hands. The bottom end of the pipe was capped with a door knob to act as a counter weight.
Her switch to activate the nausea was hidden beneath the wraps, and had been replaced by an indented button from a light switch. A button was easier to press for my still recovering right hand. Electrical burns to my muscles hindered my pointer and thumb's mobility, I could no longer make them bend down all the way.
She was powered by a battery box, several at once to act as redundancies. Reliable batteries were hard to come by. People didn't throw away full stuff.
I did have a device that could measure roughly how much charge they had left, made from a microwave someone had thrown out of a building. The readings weren't accurate. Closer to no, yes, or maybe. No meant empty, maybe meant partly full, and yes meant mostly full. The answers came from some christmas lights. Pink, blue, and green. Knowing what batteries had charge, and what ones didn't could save my life one day.
I gave Riri the Energy Oracle a pat before moving on.
My breastplate had a good start. The aluminum outer-shell was nearing completion. It was made out of a trash can I'd ripped apart using some crushing and leverage techniques. The inner shell, which was intended to be made of a corrugated steel, didn't exist; much too hard to shape or cut. Interlocking pieces made from aluminium let me not worry over crude cuts too much. Spaced out moats covered the metal. It was made from a trash can after all, I couldn't get rid of that design.
The top-half slanted down, meeting the bottom half in a point at the middle of my ribs. A donut ring connected to the bottom piece and wrapped around to the back half, it connected with it's sibling by slotting into each other. The back half was more rounded, closer to one big sheet. Front and back connected with straps, which used a simple hook system, like a bra. Chain mail plus my heavy coat would protect my sides from too much harm.
Fur linings ripped from another coat I'd found would eventually be placed underneath the layers of metal. Should keep me warm during patrol, and could be removed come summer.
I planned to wear it tonight. Even half-done, it gave me plenty of protection. Plus, it looked fucking sick.
I had been calling my new ranged weapon a paintball gun in my head, which wasn't too far from the truth seeing as it's design matched one. A paintball gun just didn't fit the theme I had been building up. Knights and raccoons.
Don't think about how the frisbola worked into that. I still needed to figure out a name for a tech-based warrior.
There was a third, secret theme, alchemy. Mixing potions, making lead into gold, it was a magical version of science. My containment glue, healing marshmallow paste, and my skunk bombs were all alchemy. They'd been mixed together in a pot like a witch with a potion!
So, that's what I themed my paintball gun after. The plastic bottle which would house the ammo was painted red up to about a third of the way, stopping in a straight line that made it look like it was settled liquid when the gun was pointing towards someone. It would also obscure my ammo count. A small hatch made from the plastic lid of an orange juice carton was fitted into the top of the bottle, allowing me to feed ammo into it. The bottle would twist into a bottle cap I'd glued to the pipe.
A hole big enough to feed a single piece of ammo at a time led into the plastic tube. It ended in a modular firing section. I could either screw in a mouth piece to manual fire or I could add in pressurised cans to shoot for me. Which were activated with the press of a trigger attached to a wooden stock below the pipe.
Different coloured tape wrapped around the pipe to make it look a bit nicer. I painted a symbol onto the side of the stock that faced outwards, a raccoon head. I wasn't an artist. Still, it was pretty cute.
I called her Fufu, the Alchemist.
Modified plastic bottles became a place to store my glue, healing paste, and stink and glue pellets. I sawed the top off, adding twine so it could be bound to my belt, and added a liftable lid made from the top half of the bottles. They looked like a squat little bottle with a teacup hatch. The glue bottle had some sugar packets tucked into the thread.
I was ready for the next part of my plan.
Helping people was great, and all, but I needed rep, and fast. Tonight, and as many nights as it takes, I'd go out patrolling. Keeping an ear on my radio for the specific codes that indicated parahumans were fighting, all the while.
Then, I could prove my worth.
It wasn't easy.
The first night hadn't achieved much. I spent it gathering some food for later on. Restaurants dumped all their food out at closing time. Less fancy places would close around the time I started my patrol. Snacks for now, meals for later.
I was in full costume, including my breastplate. Fufu lay slung across my shoulder using a strip of cloth, and rested across my stomach. For Coco, I added a grip to the top of the radio. I could slot her into it when I was one-hundred percent sure there was absolutely no danger around.
Getting her back out took effort. The arm position required was awkward. No cowboy fast draws for me. She'd also increase my horizontal size by a lot. There weren't many doors I needed to go through, just something to keep in mind.
Back to the drawing board on her storage.
Radio voices chirped in my air, announcing codes on occasion. I wrote down any I didn't know, keeping an ear out for context clues to explain what they were. After my previous failure, I was being extra careful. I knew what Denver used for crimes involving different types of parahumans. Which didn't help here. It could potentially be the same, since they'd be newer. I just had to hope they gave me enough context to follow through.
On my second night of patrol, I found what I was after.
"0320, sidekick's kids are engaged with the Empire cape known as Rune. Potential civilian's trapped in a collapsed building."
Perfect! Not for the civilians, of course.
I ran to the location listed. It was at the edge of a park, a wide road running past it.
A girl in a black and red robe was hopping between pieces of floating rubble, nearly as high up as the surrounding buildings were. Bright bolts of energy ripped through the space she had been, leaving a funny looking afterglow in the dark. They splashed harmlessly when they hit buildings. She was rotating between three pieces of rubble, making them act like a conveyor belt.
Air distorted around her and she appeared on the ground. I ran forward, readying Fufu, this was going to be a ranged fight. I poured glue bullets into the ammo container, double checking that one had fallen down into the pipe.
Vista—OMIGOSH VISTA—was shortening the gap between herself and Rune. As Rune flung bits of rubble, they twisted out of existence. Her throws weren't powerful. Each piece of rubble moved slow enough to be dodged. I could hear the girl cursing from here.
A man in futuristic looking silver armour with blue under lights was shooting the blasts I saw before. Gallant. He was trying to keep pace with the now grounded fight, while also maintaining a healthy distance. Ranged fighter, definitely. I'd heard his power armour could do well in a closed-ranged brawl if needed.
He glanced towards me as I approached, raising his other hand in my direction.
"I'd like to request you stand back, please," he said nodding to me before returning his attention back to his teammate.
At this distance to Gallant, my power was buzzing at the back of my mind. No ideas were flowing, it was just excited about something.
"Oh.. uh.. I can help, actually." I aimed my gun towards Rune. She was running across the grass now, drawing quick symbols with her fingers when they were near things. Those objects levitated upwards, the bigger objects came to orbit around Rune, smaller ones flung themselves to Vista. Vista countered by simply shifting the air so the attack wasn't even close.
Fucking awesome. I ran to catch up to the fight. Gallant chased after me.
"No, wait, please. Vista has this-" He was saying something as I got in range to shoot. My first shot went wide, the second hit rune in the side. Yes!
Wait. It was a tiny splat. She didn't even seem to notice that much. There wouldn't even be a bruise. Containment glue is not good in paintball form.
I flipped Fufu upside down and unloaded the glue bullets, loading stink bullets instead.
Gallant stepped out in front me, holding a finger up. "I appreciate that you want to help. I really do. But, we have a team dynamic, and a plan. A third party getting involved can potentially throw that off balance. So, please - ," he really stressed the please, "stay put. We can talk after, I promise." Then he took off. Through some unspoken communication the surrounding space warped, and he was two feet away from Rune.
She didn't seem surprised. A fire hydrant blocked Gallant's fist, making a gong sound as they collided. Gallant flew away backwards. I didn't know he could fly. He crashed into a building, raining down rubble as he was lost through the walls. Vista increased the distance between her and Rune to the length of a street.
I needed to help, no matter what Gallant thought. I unhooked Coco from her grasp as I ran forward, Fufu's stock squeezed under my arm to keep her steady. My right hand really didn't want to pull the trigger. I forced it to. Something teared in my fingers before bullets started to smack into Rune. Levitating objects shifted to block my fire, whilst Rune cursed up a storm.
I pulled Coco around to my front, still loosing shots as I ran closer and closer.
"Fuck this reeks!" Rune yelled. Clumps of dirt soared past my head, I stumbled as one barely missed. My feet twisted causing me to fall down onto my face. Fufu flew from my grip and smacked Rune in the legs. I rolled to the side, clutching Coco tight, as the fire hydrant came hurtling towards my head from above.
By the time I found my feet Rune was dry-heaving, leant against a swing set. My chance! Coco's spear head pointed towards the currently disabled girl as I rushed towards her.
Vista's voice was muffled, far away, my helmet didn't help. She said something like "N... don.. tr..". There was no time to process it before I was in lunging range of Rune.
I thrust the spear out, using what little reach I had to strike it into the girl.
An entire swing set collided into me. I was thrown head over heels, tumbling, as I often did away from my opponents. My breastplate took the brunt of it. Despite the swingset shaped dent, it kept the bar mostly back. I wasn't saved from being pinned by it.
Note to self: Make devices that can be activated without the use of hands.
Rune's face leered over me. Her costume looked like the mage from my book of knights. A hood shadowed her face, making it hard to see her features.
"Fuck yough," she held a hand up to her mouth as she wretched out the 'you'.
Gallant's fist narrowly missed Rune. She squawked and sidestepped away in time to avoid it, grabbing ahold the swingset as she moved, using it to fling herself up, over the buildings.
I pulled myself to my feet so I could survey the damage. A cylinder shaped dent ran right across my new breastplate. The chain mail on my arms had been squished. Shouldn't be too hard to fix. Coco's new pole was bent at almost a right-angle. That would need to be replaced entirely. Fufu was on the ground where the swing set had originally been. I could grab her later.
Gallant was muttering something. Communicating with someone on comms?
One moment Vista wasn't there. The next, space warped and she stepped through. Like stepping through a dimensional doorway. Her expression was hard to parse from only seeing her mouth. Definitely not a smile. Her costume was very green, with cool armour panels, a visor, and a skirt. I'd considered a plate skirt for my own costume, inspired by her own.
She shared a look with her teammate before they turned to me.
"We almost had her there, huh?" I beamed. We were pretty close. Shame about the end.
Gallant placed a gloved hand against his helmet. Vista looked like she was smiling and frowning at the same time.
You know Raccoon Knight could learn from this and make a Marshmallow/Containment Foam gun. My thoughts is that it would be similar to the Gloo Gun in Prey (2017).
"Vista, I'll call this in. You talk to our... guest." Gallant gestured to me before turning away, talking to someone on his communicator.
Vista looked great. She was shorter than me, yet five times as cool as I'd ever be. Her face returned to a passive look, away from that weird frown smile.
"That stuff you shot her with, what's it made of?" she wafted a hand in front of her nose. "It smells pretty bad."
"Yeah, it's meant to!" I pulled a stink pellet from its ammo pouch and held it out to her. "Rotten food, mostly. Not too hard to make. I added some chocolate to give it the consistency. Originally, it was more of a liquid."
She took it to inspect. Holding it slightly out of her face, she took a tentative sniff. Vista immediately started dry heaving.
"Ugh. That's awful." She held it out to me and I took it back. "I'd love to see Hookwolf hit with a few of those."
Praise? From Vista? I beamed at her. She gave me a small smile back.
"Your costume, is that mail made from the thing on soda cans?" she gestured to the chain mail running down my arms.
"Yep! Can tabs, a whole ton of them." I ran my hand across my right arm. They'd dented some from the swing set being pressed up against it. "Made a whole shirt of it. In the future, I wanna make pants too."
"And it works? As armour, I mean?"
"Totally. According to a book I read," it was mostly pictures, but I had read most of the words "chain mail is mostly to lessen the blow. You gotta wear something called a gambeson underneath. It's like a padded cloth. Then the mail and the gambeson together totally stop swords from even hurting you."
"You're into knights, then?" Vista glanced over to Gallant. He sort of looked like a knight, just a very futuristic one. Was she jealous that I'd like him more?
"I am, but you're my favourite by far. Gallant doesn't hold a candle to you, don't worry."
"I wasn't... nevermind. Do you have a name?"
"Raccoon Knight! Patent pending." I gave her a short bow. My helmet almost slipped off my head before I readjusted it.
"Raccoon Knight. You seem very new to all of this. Would you mind if I gave you some advice?" I shook my head. "Good. Now, listen, any other time and we would have appreciated your help. This time, however, we were going in with a very specific plan in mind. This was a predetermined plan of attack, not an impromptu caught off-guard moment." she pressed her hands together. "That is to say, you kind of messed us up there."
Anxiety struck me. No, I was just trying to help. I fucked it up. I messed up their plan. I thought I was helping, but they'd lost Rune because of me.
"Wait, wait, wait. We're not blaming you!" Vista waved her hands at me. "You couldn't have known what we were planning. I'm sure you saw us fighting someone and just wanted to help out. You're new to the game and couldn't possibly have known. In the future, listen to what the heroes tell you. Gallant told you to stay back, and I warned you it was a trap. You can trust us. We're on your side. Okay?"
"I-I just... I wanted to... I thought, you know, you needed..." I'd messed it all up. Why hadn't I listened? "My helmet it. I couldn't hear you, and Gallant said. I just thought that I could assist." I grasped my head in my hands. Tear ran down my face, sliding out of the bottom of my helmet to the grass below.
"Hey. It's alright, I promise." Vista stepped closer to me. "Woah, crying. Um. Shit, what's protocol?" she muttered. I barely heard it over my sobs.
I flinched away from a hand placed on my shoulder. Gallant's hand. He was standing there, expression hidden by his helmet, with his hand outstretched. "I've been asked to bring you with us to the Ward's HQ. Would you like that? You can meet the rest of the team while you're there, if you want." his voice was gentle, calm. So why did I feel so scared when he spoke?
"I can't, I, I don't have the rep."
"Rep?" Gallant sounded confused. He shook his head. "You don't need any rep, don't worry. Glory Girl, and the Director wanted to talk to you."
Glory Girl? She was a member of New Wave. Was she the one I stuck to the ground? There was no way I could go in. They'd think I'd attacked her. And now, I'd let Rune escape. I needed to have a capture under my belt before I spoke to them.
"No, I, I really can't. Not yet." I backed up. "I need to do something first."
Gallant and Vista looked at each other for a moment. "We'd really like it if you came with us. We can help you, I promise." Gallant held his hands out towards me, placating, soothing.
"It'll be safe. You'll get to meet the rest of the team, and you can do whatever you need to after. You're not under arrest or anything. Glory Girl just wants to talk to you." Vista held a hand out to me. "We can go in together. I won't let anything happen to you, alright?"
Vista wanted to protect me. I'd messed up, let their hunt escape, and she was being nice. There had to be some kind of catch. People weren't nice if you ruined their plans. I just couldn't figure out what. Vista probably worked with Glory Girl all the time. They'd be friends, best friends even. She'd want me to be punished for hurting her best friend. Gallant was probably as attractive as Glory Girl. They probably dated. He'd want me punished for hurting his girlfriend.
Their words were honey to me. I so desperately wanted to believe them. Heroes don't lie. Do they? Which means I should trust what they were saying to me. I wasn't in trouble, it was just talking. I'd even get to meet the other Wards. But I'd ruined their plans, which meant they should be wanting to punish me. If heroes don't lie, then I should trust them. Plans being ruined meant I should be punished, so I shouldn't trust them. So, heroes did lie? Or they weren't really mad.
Maybe it didn't matter to them if Rune was caught or not. Vista said I'd messed them up. Yet, didn't want to punish me for it, or even for hurting her best friend? I was confused.
"Calm down, take a deep breath. Three seconds in, three seconds out. No one's going to hurt you." Gallant said. It was like he could hear my thoughts. Or I was still crying. Yeah, I was.
I followed his advice, taking the instructed breath.
"Good. Now, you're not under arrest. You're free to leave if you want to. But, we'd like you to come with us so we can clear some things up. You're not in trouble, you're not going to be punished."
Vista walked closer to me as Gallant spoke. Her smile was nice. She gestured with her head away from the park.
I took her hand.
---
My fading sobs were almost deafening in the oppressive silence that was currently hanging over us. After they convinced me to go with them, they'd receive some kind of call that put them both on edge. Neither were talking. Their heads were turning, scanning the environment.
I snapped Coco off at the bend she'd earned before heading out. She'd be a bit unbalanced, but should otherwise work just fine. The main wiring was at the top of the shaft. I gripped her close, keeping her tucked under my arm.
Gallant scouted ahead, peering around street corners before giving us the go ahead to walk down them. Vista kept an eye on our back, her hands twitching occasionally. I wasn't sure what we were looking out for. I made sure to keep my eyes peeled for even a slight bit of a movement. My visor blocked a lot of my view when it was flipped down. Flipping it up only showed my eyes, which wasn't a big deal. I kept it up, all the better to see danger.
Tearing metal echoed through the street. A whirling dervish of blades came falling down from a rooftop, landing where we would have been if not for Vista's intervention. She shoved me aside, pulling Gallant and herself away from a thrown chunk of debris.
"Run! We'll deal with this!" she yelled to me, her voice sounding like she was right in front of me. The gap between us was widening. The world twisted around me. Buildings swam by as I was pulled this way and that. Everything settled after a moment. I found myself stood in an unfamiliar street.
Focused on trying to settle down my crying, I wasn't sure which way we had gone. Even then, I didn't know where I was now. I needed to help, had to help.
There were houses around me, a suburb of sorts. Trash cans waiting just outside each door, ripe for the picking. I set to work. People didn't enjoy when you went through their trash for whatever reason. They'd thrown it out, proven they didn't want it, and had the nerve to yell at me for giving it a new home, new life? I didn't understand it at all. I was as quiet as I could be. It wasn't quiet work.
I emerged from the fifth can with my hands full of stuff. I commandeered someone's yard to begin crafting. Each piece called out to me, waiting to be used. I just wasn't sure what they wanted. I'd grabbed these bits seemingly at random. I stared at them now and let down the walls.
My power flowed, pinging off each piece. I saw how they could all fit together. How they all belonged. A hose here, some gum there, a bit of lighter fluid there. People, as I just learnt, throw out electronics that are in next to working order. The few things I had grabbed; a flashlight, an electric razor, and a small engine, simply needed some piece bent the right way, or to reconnect an inner component. I should raid people's personal trash cans more often. I'd stuck to dumpsters mostly so far.
Within a few short minutes, I'd made my magnum opus. An umbrella. At least, that's what everyone else would see. This thing, no, Cici, the End, will fall apart the moment she's fired. Whatever opportunity I got with her, I'd have to take it. Hopefully, it'd let everyone get away safely.
I clicked my radio on. Voices were reporting an ongoing cape fight between members of the Empire Eighty-Eight and the Protectorate. Police backup was requested to escort civilians away from the fight itself. I could follow a car to get to the fight pretty easily.
Despite wanting nothing more than to shoot Cici and help the heroes, I also needed to keep civilians safe. I'd use her if a chance came up, otherwise I'd focus on getting people away from the danger and offering covering fire.
...
Finding the fight wasn't too hard. Vista had put me an impressive distance away. On the radio, they'd listed several street names. I'd managed to narrow down the direction using the ones I knew. Once I was close enough, it was a simple matter of following the PRT sirens.
Gashes taken out of the concrete showed the path of Hookwolf, the rapid ball of spikes I saw before. Random objects had been uprooted and now stuck out of walls, doors, or had vanished entirely. Rune's work had to be. There were also scorch marks. I wasn't aware of any Empire capes that had fire powers. Pyrokinesis, I think it's called.
Civilians had come out of their houses to see the aftermath of the commotion. Paramedics were administering first aid to a couple of people.
"Hello. Um, I have a healing paste that can help with cuts or bruising. You apply it to the injury and then cover it with bandages." I spoke to a woman paramedic who was working on a man's injured leg. She glanced up at me, then her eyes ran up and down my body.
"We need clearance to use the healing of a parahuman we don't know. Are you registered at the hospital as a healer?"
"Oh.. No, I'm not."
"We can also use it if the patient gives their consent." she turned to the man.
"Will it let me back on my feet soon? Time off is bad enough as is, without it being weeks."
From what I'd gathered healing the homeless, their infections were the first thing to be removed, clearing up in just days. Open cuts or sores had closed up a little, but not a whole ton. My own bruises had faded in just a day of sleeping in the stuff. My swollen rib was also now just a tiny little bump that only hurt if I poked it.
"It should cut down on the time to heal by about half, I'd guess. It's also a pain relief." probably best not to tell him it was mostly untested. My power told me it was completely safe for humans. We could even eat it, but that didn't mean regular people would believe that. Knowing things you shouldn't is hard to explain.
"Well, I'll take it. Thank you, miss..."
"Raccoon Knight, at your service." I gave him a quick bow. I removed my glove before slathering some of the healing sludge onto his cut. He sighed at the pain leaving him.
"That's good stuff."
The paramedic took to bandaging over the cut, keeping the healing paste inside. "You'll want to wipe away any that drips out of the bandage. The main component is sugar, so it might attract ants. After the cut is completely healed the last of the balm should fall out and can be wiped away."
"You said it was a pain relief. Is it addictive?" the paramedic asked me as she finished up her work.
"Oh. I don't think so. It wasn't made to be addictive."
"Most medicine isn't. Are you sure there's no short-term addiction?"
I spoke to Rex recently. We met while I was rummaging around for my new home. He didn't ask me for any more of the stuff, didn't even mention it at all. We just spoke about the best ways to find food.
"I'm one-hundred percent confident that there is no short-term addiction to my healing balm." I put my hand up flat towards her, three fingers raised. People on TV did that when they were trying to tell the truth.
She smirked at me, but nodded. "Good. I'll ask the others if they want any."
I needed to get back into the action. Helping people was great. It was exactly what I wanted to do. What I needed to do was save Vista and Gallant.
"I'm sorry. I have to get going. Here." I unhooked one of the three healing paste containers I had strapped to me. "take this. It'll work on most outside injuries. Inside injuries would need it applied on the inside, which isn't easy. Just slather it on, don't need to be heavy, and cover it up." she took the bottle from me, testing the lid a few times.
"Got it. Thank you."
I nodded at her and took off, following a wolf's tracks.
...
Running around in armour got tiresome fast.
My sweaty efforts were rewarded when I finally found the battle. Hookwolf was engaged with Armsmaster, in his metallic blue power armour, with neither gaining much ground. Miss Militia was on a rooftop somewhere as I saw various types of bullets hit the different Empire Eighty-Eight that were engaged.
Gallant was keeping Rune occupied between Miss Militia's shots. Vista was acting as battlefield support, moving people around to where they needed to be, or moving enemies away from allies. Alabaster was trying to engage Vista. but kept finding tranquilliser bolts stuck in him. Four seconds later, he'd reset and be back at it. An endless game of cat and mouse. He was an otherwise normal looking guy, a bit stocky, but normal, so long as you ignored his porcelain white skin, hair, and eyes.
The bolts came from Shadow Stalker. She was slipping around the fight in her mist form, mostly keeping Vista safe. A few shots from her crossbow were aimed at Hookwolf. The bolt stayed in the mist form as it sailed through the air, disappearing inside of Hookwolf's writhing mass. They didn't seem to be doing a lot. She looked fucking awesome. Her cloak billowed as she rolled around, shifting between her human form and her shadowy mist form. A stern woman's face adorned her mask. She was all black armour, flowing cloak, and awesome.
She grabbed another bolt from the straps on her arms and loaded it into a crossbow. Another shot stopped Alabaster dead in his tracks. It wasn't a tranquilliser bolt like I thought. They tore a hole through Alabaster, who would reset the damage again after four seconds.
I readied Cici. When revved up, she'd fly in a mostly straight line. Her flight time should be enough to reach Hookwolf. I grabbed the hosepipe and pulled on it with as much force as my tired arms could muster. She sputtered. Again. Sputter. Again. Purring. Yes!
I pushed her up into the sky. The umbrella top whirred as it spun around and around. Cici took flight, heading over the heads of everyone. With the umbrella opened up, you could see the components I'd added down her handle. The engine coughed up black smoke as she sailed across the heads of villain and hero alike. A few spared her a passing glance, most ignored her. She was quiet over the scraping of metal against concrete, and the loud shots or fwoomps from Miss Militia's weapons.
She reached close to Hookwolf before her payload began to deliver. If you could hear it, I imagine it sounded like a sprinkler on a lawn. Green goo rained down to the street below, picking up in coverage as she kept spinning. Where the goo met concrete, cloth, wood, it did nothing. Where it met metal, it ate its fill. A mailbox was left with a large bite taken out of it as the acid chewed its way through.
Hookwolf bucked as some droplets met his form. They ate away chunks of the metal, rendering blades useless, melting through hooks, spearhead, and the like with ease. More met their sisters. In a few short moments, Hookwolf looked like someone had grabbed large handfuls away from the metal cake that he was. Armsmaster backed up, avoiding the rain using a car.
I whooped, catching the attention of Alabaster and Vista.
I tried to grab Coco as Alabaster sprinted towards me. Vista was too slow in warping the space, and my hands were too shaky to bring Coco out in time. She was out of her clip, ready to be swung around to my front as the knife leapt towards me. My breastplate covered a lot of me. It still had its swing set dent. The structural integrity was weak. Alabaster had aimed at my side, where the plate left my side exposed. Chain mail and a thick coat were all I had there.
The chain mail popped as the knife seared through it. Alabaster tackled me in the same motion, bringing us to the ground in a heap of knight and nazi. I struggled as best I could. At the end of the day, I was a teenage girl, and he was a full grown man.
Alabaster pulled his knife back to go for another stab. Shadow Stalker's foot, delivered right to his side, sent him rolling off of me. I scrambled to my feet, slamming a chunk of healing paste into the knife wound. Coco was at the ready in the same motion. Alabaster leapt to his feet in a smooth motion. Shadow Stalker traded some melee blows, Alabaster's knife always meeting nothing but mist.
Vista extended out a collapsable baton. She swung at the air. Alabaster reeled as the baton met his face from over fifteen feet away.
"What'd you do to Hook?" Vista asked me, still swinging at the albino nazi.
"Highly corrosive acid. Should eat through most types of metals. Nothing else, though." I glanced over to the Hookwolf fight down the street. There wasn't one.
Cars, mailboxes, streetlights, and Hookwolf all had large chunks removed from them. In Hookwolf's case, he was collapsed on the ground, his metal slowly folding back into his form. Armsmaster stood over him. His armour also had bites taken out of it, showing a dark cloth underlayer he wore at parts. Whoops. I doubt he'd be very happy about that.
Rune was nowhere to be seen. A figure joined Armsmaster's side. Miss Militia, I assume. From here, I could mostly see her signature scarf draped around her neck. Her weapon changed form into some kind of knife, and she stowed it away. She turned and began to run towards us.
I grabbed Coco and joined Shadow Stalker in her fight. Alabaster seemed to know how to fight. He was keeping Stalker on the ropes. I doubt it would have been much of a matchup without Vista's intervention from her extra-expandable baton.
Skirting around the edge of the fight, I waited for my moment. A rubber bullet met the back of Alabaster's neck as he attempted to run off through the gap in a building. I lunged, jamming the purring Coco into his side. His body clenched up causing him to topple down to the ground. He reset after two seconds. I jabbed him again. Stalker backed up. Her breathing was heavy. One elephant. Two elephants. Three elephants. Four elephants. Jab. The constant spasms and vertigo kept him down. Miss Militia withdrew some zip ties (fuck, I forgot to find some), and pulled them onto Alabaster at the start of his cycle, freshly zapped.
Armsmaster's mouth was always visible. The bottom of his helmet was open, showing off his perfectly groomed beard. The acid had revealed a bit more, showing me his cheeks and a little of a domino mask. He did not look happy.
Do I run? I can pretend to grab Cici. I'm sure the heroes wouldn't stop me from doing that. Then I can run away after.
Armsmaster spared me an angry look before speaking to Miss Militia.
"PRT will be here in moments. Hookwolf should keep for an hour or two. Can you deal with her?" his head nodded towards me. "I can take Alabaster."
Miss Militia heaved Alabaster up, who looked even more upset than Armsmaster, and handed him over to the hero. "No problem. I don't mind. Vista, Stalker, go with Armsmaster and keep watch on the prisoners." Vista saluted before running off. Shadow Stalker just muttered something and followed along.
"Raccoon Knight. It's nice to meet you." Miss Militia's eyes crinkled up. I couldn't tell what it meant without seeing her mouth.
She knew my name? "You know my name?!" excitement bounced around my body.
"Yes," I could hear the smile in her voice now, "we've been hearing about people seeing you around. A woman claimed you saved her from a mugging, which we confirmed with the police. Good work with that." she gestured back to Vista. "Vista is the one who told us your name. She called it in before this all happened. You were heading to the PRT building, right?"
Her tone didn't make me think I was in trouble. The property damage beyond proved otherwise. There was no way I was getting away cleanly from breaking this much stuff. "I..." changed my mind? Would she let me just go? "need to grab my device. I don't want a civilian grabbing her." I started to leave. Miss Milita held my shoulder. She wasn't stopping me with any force, she just wanted me to stop for a moment.
"Armsmaster already retrieved it. We'll give it back to you." her eyes swept over the scene. Cars were ruined, huge chunks taken out of the metal, mail boxes were nothing but the wooden pole they stood on, and manhole covers had been melted almost completely. I winced. People needed their cars. I'd become like every other hero. Untold property damage in the name of justice. I felt sick.
"Don't worry about the damage. The good from helping us bring in Hookwolf and Alabaster will outweigh it in people's minds. People have cape insurance, and their property can be replaced, they themselves cannot. Damage now for lives later." she squeezed my shoulder, reassuring. The physical contact was nice. People around here weren't as poor as my neighbourhood. They could afford the damage. It did little to help my worries.
Sure, the cars would be fixed, but that would take time. Tomorrow morning when they need to get to work? What then? Most of the cars would work. The damage was superficial, mostly to the chassis. Cops would stop them from being driven in that state. Inner frames of tires had melted after the acid ate through the hubcap, leaving them exposed. Those were not driveable. I'd ruined people's days, ultimately. What good was bringing in Hookwolf if these people suffered for it now?
It was hard to imagine future people being potentially, maybe, possibly safe from Hookwolf's potential rampage. Too many ifs. I shook my head.
"I'd like to go home. If I can?" I asked the heroine, refusing to look her in the eye.
"You can go home. We're not keeping you. But, I would like for you to come with us to the PRT headquarters. We'd take your statement, clear up some past doings, and then give you a place to sleep if you wanted it, or a drive back to your house." I flinched a little at the mention of my home. Leaving my mom was still too fresh. "We can also do that tomorrow, though. So, there isn't any reason to keep you. Please do come in to debrief at some point. We'd appreciate it." she let go of my shoulder and turned to me. I shook my head. I couldn't go in, not yet. Her eyes crinkled up again as she nodded, then turned to leave.
Glory Girl was going to be angry at making her wait. Not much I could do about that. I needed to do more before I could go in. Make up for the property damage here. Get a few more solo arrests under my belt. I also wanted to feed the homeless again. Maybe I could volunteer at a soup kitchen.
I steadied my breathing and headed home to makeshift sleeping shelter number two.
Characters and fight scenes are always scary to write. Characters are especially a weak spot to me. If someone seems like they're acting out of character, lemme know, I'm happy to do minor or major rewrites.
Thanks for reading.
her life will get better, she'll get her just desserts eventually
containment foam is the next logical step in upgrading her glue, she just currently has no idea what containment foam is
Your welcome I quite enjoy reading this story, just doing my art 07
I still think her having her own version of containment foam made out of some concoction with Marshmallow as the base would be funny. Maybe it's even adjustable, turn a knob to one setting sticky and hardens for captures or for sealing an area off or maybe a platform, turn the knob again and it's stretchy and bouncy like a jump pad or the goo in portal.
i made some 3D renders to better visualise her gadgets. pretty simple textures so don't expect 100% accuracy, also very cartoony because i suck at realistic. thought they'd be neat to share
Armsmaster's workshop was organised efficiently. Every tool was where it needed to be. It was an organised chaos. Tools were piled up in places he could reach as and when they were needed. Every part has its place, and he knew every part's place. Dragon often asked how he worked in 'that mess'. She was mostly joking.
"Working with foreign Tinkertech is a task on its own. Even Kid's tech stumps me sometimes." Armsmaster spoke to the empty air, to Dragon. When he was in his lab they tended to be on a call together. He liked the company of the woman, and his day was ever so slightly worse when she was busy. "This, however," he gestured to the umbrella on his workbench "is quite literally trash."
"Colin, that 'trash' melted through your armour which is no easy feat," the disembodied voice of Dragon reprimanded him.
"No. I don't mean it's not well made. Although that could be debated. I mean it's quite literally made from things you'd find in a dumpster."
"Oh."
"This engine has been repaired beforehand. It doesn't seem like a big job, anyone familiar with engines could fix it. The hose pipe has been taped up, clearly having chunks of it missing before. And the container for the acid is just a part of a vacuum." He tapped the parts mentioned with his screwdriver. "By all accounts it looks like something anyone could make, and by all accounts it shouldn't work.
The acid is the only part I'd even consider Tinkertech. Its properties are interesting, and devastating. I worry about what it could do if made to be self-replicating, fueled by the metal it eats."
"Potentially dangerous, as most Tinkers are. We have to trust she won't do that. None of what we know about her leads to that conclusion." Dragon's avatar smiled. "Now, you were excited about your lie detector's progress yesterday, tell me about that."
Colin smiled and happily divulged.
Once again I'm five seconds away from a panic attack. Why did making decisions have to be so hard?
I really, really, really wanted to go into the PRT. Paperwork was important, and my account could be the difference between an arrest or none. What's more, is that I'd get to see the building! I'd been offered a tour before by Vista, they'd even let me meet the Wards! I could see Kid Win's lab, Armsmaster's lab, Gallant's lab! All of it was so exciting, which made me think it was too good to be true.
I felt like I needed more trophies on my wall. An arrest or two, some more repair work, and making sure my fellow homeless (technically, though I did have a home) were fed. Potentially even another cape fight. Rune had gotten away, and she'd then alerted Hookwolf, Alabaster, and some fire-wielding cape to help her get revenge on Vista and Gallant.
They'd been in danger because of me messing up their fight. Sure, the fight with Hookwolf I'd managed to help take him down, and the Protectorate were clearly on their way, or in the area already, since they got there so fast, but I'd made that fight happen for no real reason. I wasn't even sure if Gallant was okay, he wasn't around at the end when Miss Militia spoke to me.
Rune had gotten away again. She wasn't as dangerous as Hookwolf was. I wasn't sure where Alabaster laid on the power scale. I'd mostly heard about him due to his participation in a lot of unpowered brawls. Hearing of a fight between whatever gang occupied the territory around my mom's apartment and the Empire Eighty-Eight goons usually also included Alabaster.
He was stronger than me. I doubt Armsmaster would have struggled against him. He was only as strong as a normal guy.
My frisbola! I completely forgot about it. That would have disabled him a lot sooner than Coco would have. A combo with it and Coco would have been more than enough. Damnit, why didn't I think of it. Shadow Stalker might not have had to put herself in danger that way.
Stupid. NOTE TO SELF: ALWAYS REMEMBER ALL OF YOUR TOOLS.
I definitely needed additional ways to disable opponents. My glue was good, but lacked any way to deliver it. Paintballs are a terrible method of delivering large chunks of the stuff. I wonder how the PRT captures people. Miss Militia had used zip ties to arrest Alabaster. I didn't see what they used on Hookwolf, I wasn't even sure how they took him down in the first place. My acid should have eaten through the metal, not him. God, I hope I hadn't killed him.
Maybe I could ask when I turned in my report.
…
The PRT building was a squat skyscraper made from glass. Every surface was a window, metal bars protected them. It looked pretty similar to other buildings around here, though much more reinforced. A shield logo was attached above the front entrance with 'P.R.T.' marked on it.
I'd come in costume. My breastplate was too dented to look cool anymore. I planned to replace the top portion of it, I just didn't have enough time. Cutting out the pieces last time had been a whole day's worth of effort, pinching them between rocks and making my way through by clipping with pliers. Gruelling, laborious work. I looked forward to it. This time around I planned to add an emblem. The PRT logo was an inspiration.
For now, I was wearing my coat, chainmail, and helmet. I'd also kept my weapons away, I wanted to send the right message. I kept my ammo pouches of healing balm and containment glue, just in case. The stink pellets were left at home. My chain mail was partially shredded were I'd been hit by Alabaster. The coat beneath was also torn, revealing the fluffy insides, healing paste crusted up against it. Turns out, the knife hadn't even hurt me beside a bruise from the impact. I definitely needed to fix up my chainmail.
A lot of people were staring at me as I headed inside. Tourists, too many cameras for locals. A few snapped pictures as I walked. Hopefully I looked cool rather than as nervous as I felt. Confidence. I was Raccoon Knight right now, not boring old Meadow.
"Hello. My name is Raccoon Knight, patent pending." I gave a short bow. "Last night I assisted in an arrest against some of the Empire Eighty-Eight and was asked to come in and give a report." I spoke to the receptionist. She was young, maybe college aged, but had that jaded retail worker look in her eyes. Her smile was nice, polite, and clearly fake.
"Raccoon Knight, yes. We've been expecting you." She tapped a few keys on her keyboard. If I found a keyboard I might be able to make something to interface with any overlay I setup inside my helmet's sunglasses. "Miss Militia is around and willing to take your report. Go through that door over there." her hand pointed over to a door on my right.
Two armed agents in a PRT uniform stood guard. They had what looked like flamethrowers attached to tanks on their back. Fire seemed like a poor choice to stop people. Safe to assume it's something else. The shorter one nodded to me, their visor reflective enough to see what I looked like. Sort of cool, even without the breastplate. My wild hair poked out the back of the helmet, making it look like a fur cloak. You couldn't see much of my face through the helmet, just a tiny slither of my eyes through the helmet's slit. They were shaded, which made me look mysterious.
I really needed gloves. My small hands gave away how frail I was. Maybe some of those big welding gloves? All of my current triggers should work fine even through thick gloves. My mail and coat combat looked good though. The elbow pad seemed a bit silly. I'd replace it with metal eventually.
I was led through a corridor at a fast pace. I had to jog a little to keep up with their longer strides. Neither spoke during our journey.
"In here," a male voice, the shorter one, told me, gesturing to an unmarked door. I nodded and headed inside.
It looked like every cop show ever. An interrogation room. Two chairs sat opposite each other around a metal table. A large mirror reflecting the room. Correction, a two-way mirror reflecting the room. Shit. It really was a trap.
As I turned to leave a familiar face entered, Miss Militia. Outside of the dark of the night I could see she was pretty. Olive skin, silky dark hair, bottle-glass green eyes. If Glory Girl was a Greek goddess, this was one of her apostles. Her costume was some kind of military outfit with American flag additions. An American flag scarf draped around her neck, covering her lower face, and down her back a little ways to form a sort of cloak. Like the kind musketeer's wore, sort of.
"Raccoon Knight. It's good to see you again. Would you like to take a seat?" She took a seat in front of the mirror.
I could still leave. No, I couldn't. Miss Militia was a faster draw than I was a runner. She could stop me easily. I sat down, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Good. The process for this is simple. You give me a retelling of how the fight went down last night in your own words. I'll record it with this." She placed a small recording device onto the table. "Then, if you want to, we can visit the Wards as promised. Sounds good?"
"Uh. Yeah, sure. Though, I don't wanna visit the Wards, if that's alright?" Maybe I should visit them. A final treat before I'm hauled off to jail.
Her eyebrows hitched up. Confusion, or surprised, I think. "That's fine. I thought you would want to, you seemed interested according to Vista."
"I changed my mind?" Why'd I phrase it like a question?
"Okay. I understand. No matter, you're not obliged to. How about we get started with that report?"
I nodded and retold the event from my side. After she clicked off the recording, thanking me, I decided to ask "What happened to Gallant, by the way? I lost track of him near the end. Also, I didn't know the Empire had a fire cape, or was it one of Armsmaster's or Gallant's devices that made the scorch marks?"
"Gallant chased after Rune, Othala, and Victor with the help of Velocity. Othala is a power granter, one of the powers she can grant is fire. They were hoping to melt through Armsmaster and Gallant's armour. Victor was the one using the fire. Both of them fled before you rejoined the fight."
Othala and Victor. I'd need to remember those names. "Oh, okay, thank you." Miss Militia stood up, her chair scraping across the ground. Well, here it is. Arrested before I've even done much.
"Sure you're not interested in seeing the Wards?" Her eyes smiled at me. At least I think it was smiling.
"No, thank you. I'd rather just get this over with." I stood up myself, preparing to put my hands behind my back.
"Okay. I'll see you out then."
Wait. What? I wasn't under arrest? "I can go?"
"Yes, of course. We're all done here." She swept a hand to gesture to the now open door.
Since I wasn't under arrest—still confused—I thought I could pose a question. "Oh. Before I go, could you tell me how you contain criminals? I have some glue that might work but I'm struggling to think of ways to deliver it." I asked as we were exiting the building.
"We use containment foam, it was designed by Dragon." She grabbed a grenade from her bandolier. "We use grenades, or the spray guns you've probably noticed on the PRT officers around here. It works like a flamethrower does but with no ignition.
It's sprayed as a liquid before it expands into foam, letting us carry around quite a lot in a small space, and is perfectly breathable if it covers someone's mouth, or nose. It's also resistant to temperatures high or low, electricity, impacts, and tends to stop the people inside getting any leverage to break free. Sticky, too. Wiping it off just makes it expand as more is exposed to the air."
She sheathed the grenade and continued. "We can't hand any out to independents. If you joined the Wards you'd be given access to it, as well as plenty of other resources."
My head was spinning with ideas. The practical applications of containment foam were huge. A dozen ideas danced in my head. "Oh, um, thank you for the explanation. I'll be going now." I inclined my head and left. Probably rude, but I had to get these ideas down right now.
…
Not being under arrest was kind of the greatest. Prison probably wouldn't have let me make a new nest or hoard. Miss Militia's explanation of containment foam was perfect.
A spray system to deliver it was easy enough. Having the foam in liquid form before it was sprayed also solved the issue of it becoming stuck inside its tank or the hose. Genius. As expected of Dragon. I'd heard tales of her, she was the greatest inventor in the world, capable of working with anyone's tech. I could only hope I was even a fraction as cool as her.
I hurried to work the moment I got back home.
First, I made the glue into a liquid form. This meant melting it down, which I did outside to avoid any fumes. This would be placed inside a tank attached to my back, which would fire it out of the hose. I could have a mouth piece for manual firing, my main snag was that I had no clue what to do for the automatic firing. A deodorant can wasn't going to cut it for the constant stream I wanted. Short bursts in Fufu were fine, not for this though.
I found myself distracted from that project. My healing paste was flickering ideas in my head. I needed more marshmallows.
For a third time I parted with a selection of my lovely collection of coins. This bag of marshmallows wouldn't go towards making healing paste. I had a decent amount of that already. Instead, it'd be used to make containment grenades. The properties would be close to the original containment foam.
With another pot, I started to create my new concoction. Stirring it around made me feel like a witch. Double bubble, boil and trouble. I don't know how that goes.
Early afternoon sunlight beat down on me as I finished my work. I patted the final clump into shape. I tried to keep them as close to the original marshmallow shape as I could since it was cute. I had about twenty of them. Each was soft, pillowy, like a marshmallow. They could be picked up and tossed around just fine with no one being the wiser. I'd placed stones inside to give them a bit more heft. They should be capable of being thrown a respectable distance.
To activate, you would squish it in your hand before throwing it away. Squishing them will activate a chemical chain reaction that will cause the marshmallow to rapidly expand in about three seconds. They should inflate to the size of a beach ball. A tiny terror disguised as a cute candy. Criminals beware!
I repurposed a scavenged belt to contain the marshmallow grenades. Miss Militia's own bandolier had inspired me. I used paper cups cut in half to keep the marshmallows secure, as well as a bit of paper to stop them falling out. I could tear off the paper and withdraw the marshmallow in the same motion. Then crush and throw.
I needed to make some sort of sprayer to deliver the now liquid containment glue. The idea didn't stick with me for very long as I moved on to fixing my breastplate.
When I was making it I'd make a few extra pieces with the intention to double plate. They were the wrong size for the top slant of the breastplate but could be cut down with some effort. Fortunately only the top half was dented, the rest was fine. I also added a logo. It was crude, misshapen, and only vaguely looked like the raccoon I intended it to. Overall, incredibly cute if not poorly done. By the time I was done it was mid afternoon. Not quite sunset just yet but close. I didn't have a watch here.
I fashioned a ruler, a stick, and a trash can lid into a sundial. Sunset should be around six PM right now. It was maybe March thirteenth if I'd been keeping track of days right. According to my brand new sundial, it was about half five. Not much daylight left. I took a swig of fizzy lemonade soda I found while walking home from the PRT building. Someone had just left the half full two litre bottle lying around. Their loss.
Hard work was thirsty work. My breastplate was back to working order, I had new marshmallow grenades, Cici was unfortunately lost to Armsmaster clutches. My power and I both lamented the loss of that engine. I'd forgotten to ask for her back, and Miss Militia hadn't brought it up while I was there. Maybe it was my fault, I had tried to get out as fast as I could.
I could get it back when I became a Ward.
Gloves weren't thrown away often, not the thick welding kind anyway. I had tons of the plastic ones that surgeons wore. Random buildings would just have a whole bunch of them in their dumpster, no idea why. They didn't seem like hospital buildings, just random factories.
My power kindly informed me I could make leather from roadkill. Which felt wrong. Animals, even dead ones, were off-limits. I could work with the dead, I'd learnt that when my power was happy to work with bones, but that didn't mean I wanted to. It was disrespectful. For now, I'd suffer without gloves. In the future, if I find a good enough knife, I might be able to turn old leather goods into other things. My current equipment wouldn't be enough.
Tools made my power sulk. I'm not sure how else to explain it. If I tried to think of tools to make, my power would slump the ground, groaning and moaning that it didn't want to. I could push it enough to give me ideas for tools but it felt like it was making a 'harumph' noise when I did. It seems it wanted me to do without them as much as I could. Already existing tools received no complaints from my power.
So, I'd need to find a knife the old-fashioned way.
My radio had been spewing idle chatter as I toiled away the day. My ears perked up as I heard a familiar code, a cape fight. Two in two days, score! Armsmaster, with Kid Win for support, was currently in pursuit of the Undersiders. They'd robbed a casino or something, didn't matter. I had no clue who they were, but a cape fight was a cape fight.
I grabbed my gear as fast as I could. Fuck, I wish I had a bike. Running it is.
…
Running after a high-speed chase was not feasible. I wasn't stupid enough to try. Listening to the radio gave me a rough layout of which direction they were headed in. The casino was situated on the outskirts of Brockton Bay. Armsmaster's pursuit had taken him away from Captain's Hill and into the Downtown area. My base was in the North End. There was no way I was going to get close enough in time, not with the direction they're heading.
I was already out of breath and panting by the time I reached midtown. Damnit, I really needed to run more, or create some transport.
They were turning towards Kittery now, further away than I ever could hope to reach. Fuck.
Kid Win was hit by something according to the radio. Hellhound's dogs? No medical attention was requested so he was probably fine. Ugh. What should I do? I could go walk all the way over. The chase would be over by the time I was halfway, it already sounded like it was winding down. No visual on the Undersiders, a crackly voice informed me.
I trudged along. Even missing out on the chase I could still help in some way. Following the trail of destruction should net me some information about the group. I could ask civilians what they saw and what they knew. No idea why I hadn't ever thought about it before.
When I feed the homeless I should ask them about what capes they know about. Can always trust the downtrodden to keep their ear to the floor. I knew my local area well enough to avoid most gang places.
That's another thing, I knew of some gang hideouts. Still not sure what gang, but I did know where they were based. I could see if any of them are still active in my civilian identity some time.
I retraced to the start of the chase, the Ruby Dreams casino. Getting all the way out of town to the casino was outside of my tired legs desires. The next best thing then, Captain's Hill. The chase had taken them past Captain's Hill and into Downtown. There wasn't much in the way of a trail of destruction. If there was any, I couldn't see it now. Traffic was moving along at its usual sluggish pace. I tried to visualise the path taken, remembering the street names mentioned and placing them onto a virtual map. A real map would be nice to get, even if it meant I'd be spending money on it. How much did a map cost anyway?
I followed the imaginary route and struck gold. Shards of ceramic, metal, and plastic were littered around the street. This must have been where Kid Win was hit. Hellhound's dogs were powerful, I marked the thought down in my notebook. I scooped up the pieces into a piece of cloth. It was just an exploded outer shell for whatever device had been hit, most likely his hoverboard.
A glint from the drain caught my eye.
There was definitely something down there, something bigger than the shards up here. I removed the slatted iron grate with no resistance. No flashlight, needed to remedy that. I jotted that down too in my notebook.
Squinting I could make out a lumpy metal device with a soft red glow beneath it. Kid Win's tech no doubt.
I pulled a length of twine from one of my utility pouches and stuck one of the metal shards to one end using my containment glue. I folded the twine to the shard a few times to keep it secure. Another dab of containment glue on the base of the shard. I lowered the rescue rope down the drain. The twine was just shy of reaching the device. I shimmied onto my stomach and leaned partially into the drain.
Don't think about how it's a tiny little cramped space with no way out if you fall down.
The rescue rope met its goal and I gave it a small tug to test if it was attached. Success! I pulled the whole thing out, my glue was incredibly sticky. Stickier than containment foam maybe?
Kid Win's device was beautiful, even covered in gunk. The whole thing hummed with potential. So many ideas. So many possibilities in this one thing.
I clutched it close to me, glancing towards the people around me. They were watching me, confused, greedy. They wanted this. They wanted to take my new treasure away from me. No. I couldn't let that happen.
I cradled the device in my right arm and grabbed Fufu with my left. She was already loaded with stink pellets.
I sprinted as fast as my tired legs could carry me, not stopping for anyone or anything. If they didn't have the opportunity to take it from me, then they couldn't. Just keep running.
…
Back home I secured my base. Chairs blocked handles, sheets to cover up windows, alarms primed and ready. I had set up alarms around each of my bases. Simple things, just tripwires that would jostle cans inside the building itself.
I peeked through the windows a few times to double check if I was being followed. Nothing. No one. Good, I was safe. We were safe.
I placed her down on the island counter between the two rooms. Using some tissue I wiped her clean of the gunk. She was actually twins. One part was a battery, she received energy from outlets, sunlight, or biomatter. Her sister was a guidance system, intended to help navigate, aim, or direct other devices. These had probably been from one of his laser blasters if I was understanding the system right.
Two for the price of one, a great deal. If only I had more. I needed to flush away the ideas I had for adding these to parts of the power armour Gallant was wearing. Those did me no good right now. Right now, I need to think of things I could make with these. Either independently or together.
There was so much potential in both of them. Even one alone led me down a rabbit hole of wondrous possibilities. What did I need?
A vehicle for one, or at least some form of transport.
Maybe power armour? I'd had an idea for an exoskeleton in the past.
A forge to melt down metals so I can make the rest of my armour.
A sprayer for the glue.
Tools
My power groaned at the last suggestion, but did oblige me.
I could use the battery to make a recharging hub, then I can make all of my devices interface with that and constantly have power. No more needing to replace batteries or plug into outlets. I should be able to get a decent amount of charge per tool, letting me charge them before heading out for whatever activities I had planned that night. I could still use batteries as a backup in case I was out for a really long time.
Then, I could modify some power tools to use the charge from the recharging hub. It wasn't exactly making tools, but it was probably the best I was gonna get. I still had the old idea of a plasma cutter or a modified saw blade.
Finding power tools wasn't going to be easy. Maybe the Dockworkers threw them away?
Using Efef, the Lifegiver, as a recharging hub was the most practical option. She wouldn't be tethered to just one device, which would have been a sad existence for her. Elel, the Navigator, her sister, would be better off either being part of my helmet to work as guidance for all of my devices, or attached to an individual strong device. She was fine with either idea.
Riri, the Energy Oracle, would become the new base for Efef. I attached them together. Efef supplied the power, and Riri would supply the input. The whole process was stupid simple.
I needed some kind of feed for Efef so I could give her plant matter, for now she'd have to settle with sunlight. Using the outlets would draw too much attention to my hidden base of operations. I made some solar cells out of bottle glass, fibreglass, and spare wires. Hooking them up on the roof shouldn't draw too much attention. They were small, unnoticeable. If I ever expanded to a full array then I'd need to hide them, which would reduce their effectiveness.
Efef was now drawing in power, and her roommate Riri was ready to charge anything placed inside her microwave tummy. Charging Coco would be impossible with this current setup, yet another thing I needed to expand upon. It shouldn't be too hard to make some latches that are connected to the system. I could then hook Coco onto those latches when I was back at base. She'd need some modifications, same as everything else, to interface with Efef and Riri. I needed a better name for the duo. Eiri? Efiri? Rifef? The Lifegiver Oracle?
Elel was a simpler task. I pried out the sunglasses I hadn't had a chance to use yet, from my helmet. I made a paste out of the sticky stuff you found on computer parts, thermal paste I think, and slathered it onto the glasses. As it settled, I hooked up the Navigator to the frame of the sunglasses.
She looked like a battery pack, a small rectangle divided into two separate hills. A red, glowing line ran around her flatter edge. She had three ports. One input, one output, and a charging port. The input would be capable of providing different information to an interface based on the code used. I didn't know programming, heck I didn't even own a computer, I'd have to settle for whatever stuff she already had programmed onto her.
Making my current stuff, and future stuff, work with already programmed stuff wouldn't be hard at all. My power was made for using things other people had created.
I finished crafting Elel onto the glasses and replaced them back inside my helmet. I could charge her using a wire in the charging port, obviously, but I'd need to modify Efiri to accept those types of inputs. Yet another thing to modify on them. They would be worth the trouble.
I flicked Elel to life before placing the helmet on. The paste across the sunglasses shimmered as she sent jolts of information through them. At first it was a blurry, unseeable mess. Then the glasses cleared up fully, giving me a perfect image. It wasn't even tinted by the sunglasses shade, though it should still provide glare protection.
Her interface was pretty simple. There weren't any weapons currently attached or detected to display their information. A lot of numbers were shown and then hidden as they had no way to be used. She could track things like temperature, wind direction, light levels, vibrations, heat signatures, and a lot more. Elel was more than just navigation, she was tracking. Kid Win had barely scraped the surface of what she was capable of. Tacking her onto a laser gun for basic aiming was a criminal offence.
"You poor thing." I patted the side of the helmet she was under. I'll treat her right. She'll get to do all that with time. Some I could even do right now.
I set to work, hooking up detectors that ran down my body. They looked like simple little nubs attached to wires. I kept the wires flush with my skin or coat to stop them from being cut easily. Two nubs were attached to the back of my hands, in the future they'd attach to gloves. They'd let the Navigator send subtle signals to adjust my aim on the fly. As well as display external factors such as temperature and wind direction.
One ran down into my radio. I'd need to attach it each time I suited up but it was worth it. Elel would be able to detect radio signals around me using theradio, letting me figure out the locations of anyone using communicators. She could also display a map of the local area already, letting me overlay the information onto that.
Another was on the palm of my left hand, my firing hand. This is how I'd let her see my weapons information. Not every weapon would be capable of displaying ammo feeds, or relative charge. I'd still be using mundane equipment with no electricity.
The final one was hooked up to the middle of my chest. It would display my heartbeat, as well as some estimates on my current body temperature.
I really wanted to give her more. If I had some surgical tools I could hook her up into my muscles themselves, as well as my organs. Then I'd have almost complete data on my entire body's functions.
For the remainder of the day I modified my devices that demanded power, like Coco and Elel to work with Efiri. Now they could be charged up whenever I needed, no more hoping I don't run dry on batteries.
Satisfied, I turned in for the night.
Armsmaster still owed me Cici's parts. I'd talk to him after I claimed some more victories. I hope Kid Win will be understanding about using his tech, he had thrown it away after all.
I had big plans for the future. I dreamt of a blacksmith forging armour, and a knight in an exoskeleton mech.
I only want to write interludes if they're offering relevant information and not just gushing over how cool and strong the main character is. In this case, I thought a small little snippet of Armsmaster getting frustated over the lack of actual Tinkertech her power uses could be fun without taking up too much of the chapter. Again, let me know if any Canon characters feel out of character.
And thus reveals Meadow's true speciality, other Tinkertech.
Her power was intended to recycle scrap parts of other Tinker devices. The more Tinkertech used, the more stable and diverse the creation. Even just these two pieces led to her being capable of a lot more.
The trash portion of her power was a last minute addition her shard offered her, since Meadow has no clue what Tinkertech even is, just that some capes, like herself, can make futuristic devices.
Sorry she didn't end up gushing over Armsmaster's box of scraps - I'd basically envisioned the same scene as FluffSteve and really wanted to write it, it just didn't make sense right at this moment. She's skittish and scared, not understanding that the heroes just wanna help. Running out of the PRT building fits her current mindset more.
Exoskeletons were surprisingly simple. I could make the entire thing with no tools as long as the pieces were the right size. Given enough scrap I could pick and choose which would work. 'Given enough scrap' being the key phrase. Finding a big box full of plates and pipes was easier said than done.
My initial thought was the Trainyard. The Trainyard was full of abandoned trains, as the name suggested. My issue came in that they were mostly modern trains, and generally were box cars, not engines. Steam engine trains were chock full of pipes, like tentacles hidden under their carapace. Modern trains were full of mouth-watering parts, but lacking in as many pipes.
There was also the Trainyard Protector; a cape who'd taken up residence there and claimed it as their own. A tinker, I think. Maybe we could talk shop? Probably unlikely to let me claim their parts for my own.
Next thought was the Boat Graveyard. There were a whole slew of boats that were floating in the water by the docks, a couple were even beached. Boats had lots of pipes and plates, exactly what I needed. If they didn't, then the Trainyard was right next door anyway.
Getting inside of one shouldn't even be too hard if I whip up an extra batch of the stuff I used on Hookwolf (and the surrounding environment and heroes). I had a few lighter fluid canisters with a little left in each, which was the main component.
Before I left for the Boat Graveyard, I needed to make that acid as well as finish up a few things. Sewing up my coat was one, which took all of five minutes. Another was to tape together the hole in my chain mail. Fixing it up entirely with new tabs felt pointless. Melting down the excess I had for actual chains was a better idea, with my forge being less than a day away.
Last, but not least, was that I needed transport. Material wise, I needed a ton of stuff. Slings of cloth could be worn over my shoulders to carry a high amount of pipes. A wagon would work best for the metal sheets, or a sled. A sled was easier conceptually.
I fitted some planks together using my glue. Tricycle wheels were already part of my hoard. I picked out the two best ones then screwed them onto a pipe that was also glued to the planks. Last, I added a line of cloth to act as the pulley system. Not bad for five minutes of work. It was a row of planks with raised edges - to keep everything in - and a metal bar with wheels screwed on.
This thing was definitely going to fall apart. Should hold until I've done what I need, that's all that matters.
…
Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I stared up at the towering titans looming on the ocean. Ocean salt had eroded the edges of most of them, and a few had washed ashore in the low tides. It was surreal standing so close. I'd seen the Boat Graveyard all of my life, heard of it all my life, but I'd never been this close before. It was kind of sad. This place represented the loss of a lot of jobs, the Dockworkers Association especially. In a way, it matched their current state.
My dad lost his job when the shipping jobs dried up. It made him bitter, resentful. I hated him for the person he was, and I hated this place for making him like that. I spat on the ground. Good riddance to him.
Deeper into the Graveyard, closer to the beached boats, I saw three people. Asian, wearing gang colours, red and green. Initially I wasn't sure what gang had those colours. I knew what tags to look out for, but not the colours. Based on their skin tone I was going to guess ABB. Money on me being right.
"Shit, cape." I heard one mutter as they saw me approach. No reason to be rude to them, they were just hanging out and I'd interrupted that. I couldn't arrest them for a perceived crime, or a future or past one.
"Hey, no need to worry. Not here to arrest you or anything, just hunting for scrap." Waving them a friendly greeting I gestured to the sled I was pulling. "Just need to load this up and I'll be out of your hair." I looked over to one on the right, who was bald. "Or chest hair, either way." I joked, hoping to lighten the mood.
The youngest looking of the group, on the left, smiled before catching himself.
"Yeah? What, you a Tinker?" the middle one asked. He was maybe in his late teens, or early twenties. Overall, pretty handsome. A nasty looking scar ran down his neck. Bald guy was taller than the handsome middle guy, and had a round face with chubby cheeks. Young guy was scrawny but about the same height as the middle guy, they looked sort of related too, same chin cleft. I needed to get their names.
"I think so. That's one of the power list things, right? Tinker is for futuristic tech. My name is Raccoon Knight, by the way."
"Yeah, they make Tinkertech, real versatile. Raccoon Knight?" Middle guy rubbed the light stubble on his chin while licking his upper lip. "Yeah, yeah, I think I heard of you. You hand out healing that smells like sugar, right?"
He heard of me? "That's right, my patent pending Marshmallow Healing Balm." I refrained from patting a container on my side. These were gang members, you had to be careful around them. Showing them your stash would just lead to you having that stolen, along with your life. "You need some? I'd be willing to heal you up if you can show me a ship that has rooms no one's been in yet."
"Seon, I wouldn't mind a bit of that stuff, my leg still is fucked up." Young guy spoke, his voice was very melodic. Seon, was this his name, or some kind of title? Seon waved off the young guy.
"What's the offer? We just gotta point you to a boat and you'll give us some?" Seon said.
"No, I won't be giving you it. You show me a boat and I confirm it. Then, assuming the boat has what I want, I'll apply some of the stuff to whatever injuries you have."
"Shrewd business woman." Bald guy said. He had that sort of gravel you get from smoking too much. It was also the voice that said 'cape' earlier.
"No deal." Seon shook his head. "After we show you a boat - that you confirm is good - you give us an entire container of it."
Buying more marshmallows wasn't on my to-do list. Losing out an entire container on a fresh batch was going to hurt too much. I really didn't want to part with any more coins.
"How about… you buy me the ingredients and I'll whip up a whole pot of the stuff for you. After you show me to all the rooms and help me haul the stuff out of them. I'll even go to a few extra rooms so you can get some copper out of it. How's that?"
Seon mulled it over. He even conferred with his friends about it. After some hushed whispering he walked over to me. He offered me a hand to shake. I shook it.
"You got yourself a deal, raccoon girl."
…
Titans outside, tiny insides. The oppressive corridors of the ship were slanted ever so slightly as to trip you up if you stepped wrong. It didn't help that most of the floor was ripped out to get to the pipes beneath. Seon rapped his fist against a metal door with a bank vault spinny wheel attached to it. The wall nearby had been pried apart but it didn't expose the room behind.
"This one should be fresh. Lu tried to get inside once," he gestured to the torn apart wall "as you can see, it didn't work out." He stepped aside, his hand sweeping out to gesture towards the steel door. "Impress us, oh magnificent marsupial."
"Raccoons aren't marsupials, dude." Mark, formerly the 'young guy', said.
"Yeah? What are they then, smartass?"
"I don't fucking know, something else."
"Yeah, real clever knowing a half-fact."
I let their argument fade into the background. I fished out a bottle I had filled with the metal-eating acid. This did nothing to flesh - Armsmaster at least hadn't seemed burnt - but that didn't make it any less terrifying. If I dropped this, it would eat right through the floor we were standing on.
Twisting open the cap, I took a deep breath to steady my hands. I splashed a glob up against the walls by thrusting the bottle forward a bit. Droplets dribbled down onto the ground, singing through the metal. No matter. The main payload hit my mark, within seconds it ate through the metal, leaving open a gap the size of a beach ball. An unusual green tint marked the edge of the metal. That hadn't happened to any metal in the Hookwolf fight.
"Holy shit!" Seon exclaimed as he looked inside the hole. "This is serious shit, raccoon girl. Didn't think you had it in you." He smirked at me. I smiled back, even though he couldn't see it.
"Yep, I'm a force to be reckoned with. Hookwolf was fed this same medicine." Bragging, sure, but earned bragging. My chest swelled with pride.
"Bullshit, no way." Lu, the bald guy, said.
"Oh, oh, I heard about this. I was telling you this yesterday. Racist prick got got, a metal eater let Spear Guy tranq him." Mark said. His sing-song voice felt weird with his word choices. "That was seriously you, RK?"
"Loaded a bunch of this stuff up into a drone that delivered it right onto him." I was beetroot red under my helmet, praise was weird. "Also, sorta melted Armsmaster's, that's 'Spear Guy', armour."
"Smelly bitch like you took down Hookwolf? I don't buy it for a second." Lu sneered at me. Smelly? I smelt fine. I washed my hands like two days ago, and showered less than a week ago.
"Ey. No disrespect to the Wolf Killer." Seon shoved Lu in the shoulder. It wasn't a hard shove, not really meant to move him. Lu just looked annoyed but shrugged.
"Whatever, man. Let's just get this over with."
"He's right, better we get out of here fast. Yeah, some bitch with a stupid name likes to shop here."
I nodded and melted the last portion of the wall.
…
We ended up going to three rooms. Two for me, one for those three. They weren't big rooms. I imagined most of them as being cabins before they were emptied out. Inside they were fresh for the picking. No one had touched these rooms in the couple of decades the ships had been here.
My new friends and I pried open parts of the wall, or burned open the parts that couldn't be pried, and collected our plunder. Both slings at my side were fat with metal pipes. They counter-balanced one another and weren't as heavy as I imagined. Still sucked, though.
My sled was harder to fill. It was too big to pull through the slanted corridors. We had to group metal sheets of the same size together to carry out at a later date. Meaning many trips, and tired legs. Having the extra people around sped up the process by a significant margin. On my own I might have got half a room done before tiring out. The final room was all for them, which they said they'd claim later on. I opened it up and left them to it.
Mark and Seon were both sociable, happy to chat with a stranger who just barged into their afternoon. We spoke about where they liked to hang out. Good places to eat. They blanched at my meal plan of 'whatever I find in the dumpster that day' but didn't judge me for it. Mark had been homeless for a bit after he ran away from home.
I spoke a bit about leaving home too, but the wound was still fresh. Neither of them pressed me for details.
Lu seemed annoyed at me, and at Seon. I wasn't sure what their dynamic was. He listened to Seon without question while grumbling the entire time he followed orders. There were a lot of cruel glances thrown Seon's way, and sometimes mine. I wanted to speak to him more. He rebuked any attempts to get him to talk.
We toiled away for a few hours, earning our fill. Now, parting ways, we had to trust each other. They were initially hesitant to let me out of their sights, having not yet delivered on the healing. Seon waved it off, saying the metal was enough good will to earn me a rendezvous; a fancy word for meeting, he told me. They'd go to the store to buy my shopping list of ingredients, then they'd meet me with the stuff to cook it in an hour.
It seemed like a fair deal so I agreed.
…
"Hey, racoon girl. Good to see you didn't bail. Got you a sandwich." He tossed me a foil wrapped object, presumably a sandwich. I caught it then opened it up. "Didn't know what you liked so it's mostly meat."
Wow, I'd never seen a baguette sandwich so complete. I used to make my own back at my mom's apartment, that was regular bread though. This was a thick, crusty bread with no mould, no bite marks or anything. "Thank you. I'm not picky when it comes to food."
We walked to a factory I knew still had power. They were wary it might be an ambush. I'd apparently 'proven I'm trustworthy' enough to stop their worries. At least Seon wasn't worried. Lu still looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Music shook the building as we got closer. It was a mess of at least five different songs.
"Shit, sorry. It wasn't occupied before."
Lu clicked his tongue. "Just some pond scum. We can deal with them."
Seon shook his head. "Nah. No fighting. Bosses orders."
"Come on man, we got a fucking Tinker with us, it'll be easy." Lu turned to me. "Those guys in there? They're scum of the earth. Selling drugs to kids and shit. Don't you wanna take them down?"
"Shut it man, we ain't fighting." Seon said.
They sold drugs to kids? Pretty sure all the gangs sold to people my age, didn't we count as kids? I shrugged. "I'd love to, but I don't have my heavy hitters with me. No crowd control. That party sounds like it's got a whole mess of people. Doesn't matter how cool you are, ten people rushing you will leave you as a stupid corpse." Hopefully that'd appease him.
"Arm us." Lu said. He chopped a hand into his palm. "We use your Tinkertech and we can take them out for good."
Seon stepped in front of us, facing towards Lu. He shook his head. "Yeah, we ain't doing that. We'll call up some boys later on to see if it's still going, and we can deal with it then if we need to. Got it?"
Deal with it? Were they going to kill these people? I don't think I could let that happen. I also don't think I could take on these three at once. Coco was back at base, too cumbersome to navigate ships with. After dropping off the metal I'd come straight back out without grabbing her. Stupid. Fufu was resting against my back, loaded with stink pellets. I wasn't confident in my quick draw.
"Fucking fine, whatever man." Lu raised his hands, backing off. "Can I go back to base?"
Mark looked like he was caught between his parents arguing. Seon shrugged. "Yeah, fuck it, go." He sighed, scratching his head.
Lu walked away.
"Yeah, sorry about that. And uh, don't worry, we're not gonna actually send someone. Just wanted to shut him up. It's just a fucking party, man, pigs can deal with it."
I nodded. It made sense. Lu didn't seem like he was gonna take a hard no for an answer. He'd been chafing at the orders all day. I'd call the cops on my way back at base to break this up, just to make sure.
"Anyway, yeah. You know another place, raccoon?"
"Think I do, follow me."
…
Our short walk to the next location was in complete silence. We went to an apartment block that retained power. One of my sleeping places was here.
On the third floor were a set of rooms that had been completely blocked off by furniture. Removing the blockade wasn't easy, it was liable to crush you if you tried. The fire escape on the back of the building was close enough to one of those rooms to reach the window. It wasn't directly attached to the fire escape but could be reached by laying a plank across towards it. That plank I kept behind a dumpster in the alleyway the fire escape was located in.
The other, more accessible rooms were occupied by a lot of different people. Mostly drug users. Even walking right in front of them while yelling wouldn't get them to notice you. The people here were deep in their highs. I wasn't sure why someone was still paying the power bill for this place. Maybe it was the people who operated the drug lab in the basement. Maybe it was someone so rich they didn't even notice it on their bill.
No one here seemed to even notice. Most of the bulbs were smashed to bits. There wasn't anything in the way of appliances to use power. Seon and Lu didn't seem to care about the condition of the building or the people. We walked through the halls in silence.
Finding an empty room wasn't too hard if you went further up. We moved what remained of the furniture to blockade the door. Seon didn't want any random people walking in and trying to rob us.
After about half an hour I'd brewed up a large pot worth of Marshmallow Healing Balm. MHB. I hope that wasn't a brand already. The whole process was watched with scrutiny. Neither of them marked anything down though. I wasn't sure how they expected to recreate the process when they didn't note down cooking times or amounts. Maybe they didn't want to steal my recipe. I was under the assumption they'd take word of it back to their boss. It was implied as part of the deal that they were allowed to try to remake it.
Oh well, no skin off my back.
After that, we parted ways. I walked back home, taking a circling route to avoid them potentially following me.
I was figuratively drooling looking over my haul. It wasn't a diverse set of scraps, entirely steel sheets, and a mix of copper and iron pipes, but it was sparking ideas in my brain like crazy. This set of scraps had the potential for a ton of cool stuff. Ninety percent of it was going towards my exoskeleton.
My power seemed conflicted. Every time it bought up an idea for something I could do, it'd snap back to the exoskeleton like it was trying to stay focused.
Exoskeleton was more important, right now. It'd lead to me getting my forge ready, which would lead into infinitely more ideas than this box of scraps would.
Tinkertech was what Seon had called the things I made. I liked the sound of it, maybe I'd use it more.
I tinkered away.
…
Pipes formed a wireframe of limbs. Two arms, two legs, human, obviously. They connected at the shoulder blades, at the small of the back, at the upper thighs, at the feet, and at each joint to plates shaped like hexagons. Ports, currently empty, were attached to the shoulderblades. They were modular, intended to be filled at a later date.
It stood upright on its own. A me-shaped hole filled the empty air. The connectors were resizable, I intended to wear this into combat in the future once my armour was complete. I stepped inside the skeleton.
Metal, and nylon straps - where I could afford it - slotted together to bind the second set of bones to me. I slid my feet in like putting on shoes. My hands fitted into a modified pair of gloves, pipes adorning the back of my hand.
I felt fucking awesome!
I tested the joints, throwing a few punches to see how quick they reacted. Sluggish, but I could feel the extra weight and power they gave me. My next version would be made from a custom alloy, just like my armour.
Each step clunked as my metal shoes hit the floor beneath me. Vibrations shook the rest of the suit, making it feel unsteady, loose. It wasn't. Just the nature of its design.
Going outside I tested the suit by lifting a barrel. Information fed to me by my power told me it should net me about an extra thirty pounds of weight. I could upgrade the suit to maybe close to fifty in the future. Lifting the barrel outside of the suit was something I could do with a bit of effort. It wasn't easy. I'd rolled it here instead of carrying it.
I barely even felt the weight as I heaved the barrel up. My back didn't even hurt from the lift.
Coolest. Thing. Ever!
…
Hauling rocks - even with my awesome new suit - was tiring work. Taking care of myself wasn't even a question. I needed frequent breaks or I'm pretty sure I'd die of exhaustion.
Orange juice was nice, even if it was a week out of date. Avoiding mould in drinks was harder than on food. Can always eat around mouldy chunks of food, not so much with liquids.
Mould could be used to make a lot of neat stuff, actually. Penicillin was one. I could also make a self-replicating agent that could be used in other formulas, such as my acid. Acid that ate metal and produced more of itself was a neat concept. The Boat Graveyard wouldn't stand a chance against that stuff.
More importantly, I could add it to my MHB. My grandma used to have a sourdough starter, a glass jar full of a really gross tasting yeast. I could have a healing balm starter. Feed it biomass to grow more of it. That way I could give anyone I wanted some. Each piece would be capable of growing more of itself. You just needed to feed it, like a marshmallow pet.
This was good stuff. Mould was incredibly easy to find, even if I didn't only need to make the base a handful of times.
Don't get distracted. Finish the forge.
Right, right. I jotted down the ideas and got back to work.
…
A huge stack of rocks in varying sizes were piled up together to create a furnace. Clay, mud, and grass filled the gaps. I'd cheated, using glue to hold most of the rocks together. Once I set the first flame, the clay and mud should harden enough to keep everything in place even if the glue melts. Which I wasn't sure it would, but better not to leave it to chance. My power thought it could melt with the heat, but wasn't too sure itself.
There, there, power, sometimes we don't know things. Just a chance to learn.
The mouth of the forge was placed against the brick portion of my house. Most of the outer walls were wood, with the exception of the one out of the back door.
This place was intended for some kind of business, the buildings running off down to the left of the street were similar in design. A few of the buildings further down still had active storefronts. As you got closer and closer to this building the more boarded up they became.
The chimney ran up the side of the wall, nearly reaching the drain pipe. It was going to be obvious when I was using this.
I had chosen this place for its low foot traffic, as well as the fact it was nestled in an odd part of town. We were still technically in the North End if you looked at a map. Locals would disagree this part of the city counted for the location. We were nearing the edge of town, almost out, not quite in. It was pretty close to the Trainyard by distance, but was hidden away by the buildings around here.
Smoke, no matter what, drew attention. Especially in a place like this, that had no reason to have smoke. Shit. I hadn't thought this through.
Building the exoskeleton suit, setting up the forge, it'd all seemed like such a good idea. I never even took the time to think it through.
How was I supposed to forge things without a forge? Damnit.
I went to rub my face into my hands, cold metal touched my face. Right, the suit. I stored it away inside the building. Slumping down into my nest, I thought things over.
The Wards would be an easy option, they might already have the alloy I had in mind created.
I could potentially find someone who'd be willing to sponsor me. In return for a bit of my alloy they'd let me use their forge. No idea who'd fit that bill.
New Wave didn't seem to recruit outside of their family, at least I'm pretty sure.
What other Tinkers, besides the Protectorate ones, were in the city? There was… I wasn't sure. People spoke about a TV show sometimes with a Tinker who liked to recreate games. I wish that guy was real. I didn't know much about games but I was a fast learner. Raccoon Knight and Video Game Dude, ready to make cool robot mechas.
I rolled over, snuggling into the warmth of the insulation foam. Sighing didn't feel like enough, so I wriggled about for a while to vent the frustration. Blegh. Wards were the only option.
I definitely needed more arrests and to fix more stuff before I officially joined. However, a tour of their facilities was offered to me. I wasn't sure if that invitation was an open one. What if the bridge was already burned?
I wriggled some more.
Worst thing was that they said no. Actually, I could think of a thousand worst things. They could laugh at me. Legend himself could come in right at that moment, seeing my lack of proper armour, and join in on laughing at me. Behemoth could come crawling out of the ground just to join in, then use the energy from the laughing to turn me into a pudding.
Okay. That last one was sort of scary, no need to be dumb, thoughts.
No Endbringer would even bother coming to this waste of a town. Legend also wouldn't be seen dead here, for probably the same reasons.
Was that insulting to the heroes that did live here? I lived here, and the people I'd met weren't all bad. Brain, stop being stupid. This city is full of people just trying to get by, it's not their fault we're a port town in a post-Leviathan world.
I jumped to my feet. I still had some daylight left, let's head to the PRT.
The logo on my breastplate mirrored the building's own.
"Hello, little sister." it greeted her.
"Hello, older sister." my raccoon emblem said back.
Stop distracting yourself. Go inside.
Walking in I was met with a lighter crowd than before. A few obvious tourists gawked at me. I probably looked a whole lot cooler with my plate fully intact, as well as that hole in my chain mail fixed. I saw a couple extra suits milling around, giving me wary glances.
My weapons had stayed at home to give the right impression. This time, I at least had Elel with me. My heart rate was one-hundred-and-twenty beats per minute, which was higher than normal. It spiked up to one-twenty-five as I realised I was panicking.
Deep breaths.
Three seconds in. Three seconds out. Gallant's advice rang through my head.
Calm.
I approached the receptionist desk as the attendee ushered me over. It was a man this time, middle-aged, full, blonde hair tied into a bun, and heavy laugh lines etched into his face.
"Are you here to join the Wards? We weren't expecting anyone." his voice was pretty high for a full grown man.
"Oh. Uh, no I was here too, um. I was offered a tour last time. I turned it down, since I was, I was… busy at the time. Yeah, busy. And I was wondering if it'd still be possible to see the Wards?" Nailed it.
"I'm not sure. Let me call someone. Take a seat right over there." he pointed to a set of plastic seats. I sat and waited.
A few minutes later Armsmaster stepped out of the elevator and walked over to me at a good clip. "Raccoon Knight." he said, then smiled at me, a nice smile. "How about that tour?" he nodded his head towards the elevators.
A tour from Miss Militia might have melted my brain just from pure fangirling. Armsmaster was a newer appreciation, so I think I could hold out. "Oh, sure, I'd love to." I stood up and followed him to the elevator. We stepped inside and the door closed behind us.
Mirrors lined the back elevator wall. Tilting my head a bit netted me a full view of the back of Armsmaster. His power suit was a deep blue, with silver highlights, the same silver his visor was. I inched forward to view the front of his suit. A symbol was fitted to his chest, his own helmet. It sort of looked like I was copying him with my own emblem. Shit, I wasn't opposed to the idea but I didn't want him to think I was stealing his look.
"I got the idea for my emblem off the PRT logo on the building, I'm not copying you or anything." I leant forward a bit to talk to his face. He was taller than me by a lot.
"Huh?" he glanced at me, I guessed the light frown on his face was confusion? "Oh. Don't worry about it. It's common for heroes to put an emblem on their chest. It puts out a forward front, showing the world your logo." He nodded to himself.
The doors slid open. I hadn't even realised we were moving. Armsmaster stepped out, his suit wasn't as loud as my exoskeleton. I also realised that my power was brimming with excitement. I thought it was my heart beating in my chest, but my beats-per-minute were back to one-hundred. Why did it get like this around Tinker stuff? Did it want more Tinkertech?
Of course it did. Even I wanted more Tinkertech. I had scraps. This was a full suit. Yet, my power wasn't giving me ideas. Maybe it wanted me to break it apart. Nah, feels wrong. Well whatever, power, enjoy your bouncing up and down.
I followed Armsmaster down a corridor. The walls were a metal of some kind, shiny, almost white. We reached a security terminal. Armsmaster lifted up his visor to scan his eyes. I glanced away to not get even a glimpse of his face.
We waited around for an awkward amount of time. I didn't dare say anything.
"There aren't many Wards here right now. If you want to, you can visit my workshop. I'd like to talk about your device you used against Hookwolf." Armsmaster stayed staring forwards to the door.
"Okay, sure. That sounds good. I didn't really, you know, think Cici would be that destructive by the way. Sorry, about the damage, and your helmet."
He blew out his nose harder than usual, a chuckle? "Seesee? You name your inventions? Or is it a designator, like a serial number?" He turned his head towards me, a smile was gracing his lips. The doors silently slid open, as silent as the elevator ride had been.
"Uhm, it's a name."
Armsmaster nodded, turning his attention to the room before striding inside. I tried to keep up with his much longer gait.
A dream, that's what I saw. I'd dreamed about being here, in this room, all my life. Well, it wasn't this room. A dome wasn't what I was expecting. Modular walls had been moved around to corner off one portion of the room into separate rooms. The rest was like a spy base. Monitors, computers, and seating filled up the side of the room opposite. Information flooded the screens, and Shadow Stalker sat, with her feet up, observing it all.
She turned her head towards us, her mask's impassive face stared right at me. She didn't have her cloak on right now. I could see her long, straight hair was tied back into a ponytail. It was shorter than my hair, less messy though, also darker.
She nodded once to me, then turned her attention back to the monitors. Fucking awesome.
Armsmaster headed over to talk to her as another cape approached.
Clockblocker was in full costume, he stood up from a more lounge seating area then walked over to me. Ticking clock faces across his white suit greeted me as he did.
"Hey, it's nice to meet you. Raccoon Knight, right? I'm Clockblocker." His voice was energetic.
"Raccoon Knight. Patent pending. It's so good to meet you." I gave him a short bow. He titled his head before curtseying.
I made an undignified snort which made him laugh.
"Patent pending, that's funny. I'm digging your whole knight motif. Are you going for full armour?" his head titled as he walked around me, examining.
It was kind of embarrassing having a boy check me out so much.
"Uh, yes. I have plans to make a forge, which I'll then use to make an alloy that'll make the rest of my armour. Proper chain mail instead of can tabs."
"That's what this is made of?" He lifted up the edge of the chain mail shirt's sleeve. "I didn't believe Vista when she told me."
I beamed. "Yep. Though it was just a temporary measure while I made the forge. I had to make a whole exoskeleton just to make the thing in the first place."
"An exoskeleton? Like a mech suit?" His voice somehow got more excited.
"Not really." His shoulders slumped. "But, uh, it lets you lift up like thirty pounds more than you usually can. Makes it waaay easier too." I quickly spilled out the words, I didn't want him to be disappointed.
"Huh, neat. I thought exoskeletons were for bugs, learn something new." he mimed checking his wrist for a watch, then slapped himself lightly on the forehead and craned his neck to view the clock on his stomach. I giggled. "Well, would you look at the time, I gotta get out on patrol. It was nice meeting you, Knight."
He rolled his hand as if bowing, in front of himself, I returned a curtesy. This time he snorted.
Then I was left alone, looking around the Ward's base. It really was cooler than my dreams.
Armsmaster returned, his hand on my shoulder interrupting my thoughts. "Sorry there aren't any more Wards here. Patrols started recently, you missed them by an hour. Would you like to come visit my workshop?"
I nodded.
…
Armsmaster's workshop was a marvel of technology. Tools I could only imagine the uses for were piled up on the workbench. A halberd was stowed on a rack above the bench. Two mannequins, one with a spare suit of power armour were sat at the far end of the room. A computer was on a surprisingly mundane desk, the computer itself looked enhanced but normal at its core.
Cici, or at least her parts, sat to one side of the workbench.
Armsmaster gestured to his halberd. "This stores a set of equipment, all miniaturised, of course. I have another, currently folded up into the back of my suit which stores a different set of tools."
He picked up a device and started talking about its functions. My attention drifted to a trash can under the desk. It was halfway full. A mostly eaten cereal bar, energy drink cans, lots of paper, a bit of string. Non-crushed energy cans were something of a rarity. For whatever reason, people crushed them up like it owed them money before throwing them away.
Long cans like that would be good for grenades. Based on my marshmallow grenade designs I think I could use similar properties; mix it up for a timed chemical reaction before throwing it.
A one-time use ammo system also came to mind. Each can would be both a firing mechanism and the magazine. Fill it up with some kind of scattershot, then attach it to a trigger system to shoot. Replace the can with the next after the first was spent. It'd be costly, full cans like that were a rarity, and the end result would be a shattered bit of aluminium. I could then re-use that in other things, just not the shotgun design.
Origami mixed with clockwork made for some interesting small contraptions.They could be used to deliver messages and the like long distance. Paper birds with gears from a watch. It was a cute idea, and friendly.
"You're having Tinker ideas, aren't you?" Armsmaster spoke, I blinked at the sudden realisation that I'd been stood there staring into space like an idiot. "I saw the signs. The hand twitching, ready to write down ideas, the blank stare at nothing, the not responding to what others are saying. I get like that too, most Tinkers do."
He tossed the device he was holding onto the desk, then walked over to the remains of Cici. "I wasn't sure you were a Tinker, at first. This, while obviously Tinkertech upon examination, didn't seem like it at first glance. The pieces were all fixed like anyone without powers could do. They fit together like someone without powers could do. But their function? Definitely Tinkertech. I tried to recreate the idea, and it didn't fly, it didn't even start. When I used my power, however, I made it work."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a tiny paper parasol. A short cord hung out of the bottom, which he pulled. The parasol whirled around making a little whooshing noise. Armsmaster balanced it on a fingertip before pushing it up into the air. Even with his gentle shove, the parasol took flight, fluttering about the workshop. I watched it as it twirled around my head. Eventually it landed onto the computer desk. It wobbled on its pole as the parasol stopped spinning, then it fell down onto its side.
"Neat." was all I could figure to say.
"Thank you. Cici, as you called it, is an interesting invention. I'm particularly interested in the corrosive liquid used. First, there's something more important I need to ask."
"What's that?"
"How are you using Kid Win's Tinkertech?"
Just another note asking about feedback on any potential mischaracterisations. If someone seems off, please let me know.
Thank you all again for your kind words.
There was also a minor edit to 1.6 to make mention of the lack of a knife wound:
"My chain mail was partially shredded were I'd been hit by Alabaster. The coat beneath was also torn, revealing the fluffy insides, healing paste crusted up against it. Turns out, the knife hadn't even hurt me beside a bruise from the impact. I definitely needed to fix up my chainmail."
"He left it! It was abandoned in a drain and I just wanted to give it a new home! Elel and Efef are my friends and you can't take them away fro-"
Armsmaster raised a hand to my objections. "You misunderstand. I'm not upset with you. Kid Win went to search for his missing blaster parts and found they were on the move. We traced it back to your… 'home' and left it with you. Our plan was to contact you tomorrow, actually, to invite you into the building again." he took a gentle step forward, somehow light in that heavy-looking armour. "The Wards can help, the Protectorate can help. You're living in squalor, on your own, in a part of Brockton Bay that only frequents the desperate. The Protectorate is worried about your well-being."
Squalor? I was living in luxury compared to my mom's apartment. Sure I didn't really have a fridge or anything, but I didn't need one.
"Your power," Armsmaster shook his head, "no. You are important to the Protectorate. Living like you are, it's not healthy, and we just wish to help you. The Wards program will offer you a home, you'll be fed, and warm, and we can deal with whatever your parental situation is."
My parental situation. A traitorous mom who locked me away in the suffocating closet, and whatever boyfriend-of-the-week felt like doing. Would they really just go away? Could it all be so easy?
"What, what would happen? To them, I mean. I ran away from home."
"If you join the Wards, there'll be a court case to have your custody handed over to us. In the future, we'd try to find you foster parents to take over your care until you came of age. In the meantime, you'd spend it here, in your own room, with access to clean water and food."
Would her mom give up without a fight? Would He try to get custody of me?
"I have a dad. I don't want to go to him. If I agree to join, can you stop Him from getting me?" I blurted out.
Armsmaster nodded. "We'd make it our life's mission."
While that situation was apparently simple, there was the matter of the damages, of putting the rest of the Wards in danger, of me. My power, while I loved it, wasn't that strong. Rune had gotten away because I couldn't put her down with my crappy aim. Hookwolf, despite my bragging to Seon and friends, was only dealt with because other heroes were there to assist. I wasn't even sure if he was dead or not. Try not to think about it. Alabaster equated to a normal human being, and even then I was too stupid to bring zip ties.
"The damages, and Rune getting, there was Hookwolf too and Alabaster is just normal, but I didn't have zip ties, and someone had to get to work but they didn't have their car the next day, and it was because of me, there were not enough arrests and there was too much damage." I tried to explain as best I could. It was a rambling mess and I wasn't sure Armsmaster even understood.
He stepped forward another gentle step while I was rambling. A steel hand placed on my shoulder stopped me short. My breath hitched, tears threatening to escape me.
"Don't worry. Despite messing up against Rune," I winced a bit "it led to the arrest of Hookwolf, Alabaster, and Victor. The property damage was negligible compared to the damage Hookwolf had already done, and every person on the street affected had cape insurance or will receive a payout from the PRT. Wards aren't expected to have many arrests or major villains as part of their quota. You're setting your expectations of yourself too high." His words were honey, and I was a fly. Tears were streaming down my face partway through his talking.
"How am I, and why is the, there was the thing, and I just wanted to." I'm not sure I was understandable through the sobs. His grip on my shoulder tightened a bit, reassuring.
"Take the time you need."
I cried for a while, maybe about five minutes. Armsmaster offered me some tissues at one point. He never let his hand fall from my shoulder. I wanted to hug him, but I barely knew him. Just some sort of reassurance was nice, which the shoulder squeeze did. When my sobs were beginning to fade, he sat me down on a chair and left to grab me some water.
"So, um, how do I join the Wards?" I asked after gulping down mouthfuls of water.
He smiled at me.
Joining the Wards wasn't as easy as signing a piece of paper, though it did involve a lot of paperwork. According to Armsmaster, my situation also added a lot of steps to the process. Joining when your parents weren't involved took extra complications, especially to appease some organisation called the 'Youth Guard'.
Mostly everyone was nice to me. A flurry of faces took up my days, leaving little time to be nice back. I tried, at first, but it became too much when I was dealing with my fifth person in the last seven hours. I felt like a lab rat, poked and prodded at to see how I'd dance. Maybe that was cruel, everyone was just trying to help.
I was given a lawyer, a chubby woman called Sally Mann. She thinks her parents liked salamanders a lot, which is why they named her that. We laughed over our parents giving us stupid first names with our last names. I liked my name, but it still felt silly with my last name.
I asked about changing it, to whatever my new parent's name would be. She said that when I was officially adopted I could, but my foster parents were a temporary home between them.
Overall, she was nice and didn't speak to me like I was an idiot. The same couldn't be said for the other people involved in the process. There was a member of the Youth Guard, Richard Jordan, who was always condescending towards me. Each sentence out of his mouth was more appropriate for a toddler or a particularly bright dog than for a fourteen-year-old girl.
I went to school. I knew how to read and write. Why did he act like I couldn't string together basic sentences? He read that I stopped going to school when I was seven and thought that meant I knew nothing. I could use the tuna fish sandwiches he always ate to make a gas that could burn through his fake hair in seconds. Could he do that? Well, his breath probably could.
Dealing with him, while unpleasant, was a short part of my days. The rest was spent dealing with the PRT proper.
I met Emily Piggot briefly. She was a stern woman, very blunt. In no uncertain terms, she told me I was a valuable asset, a potential problem, and that I needed a lot of work with the image department, all in the same sentence. I wasn't sure how I felt about her, but I appreciated her honesty.
Spending time with the Wards didn't seem to be a priority, as I barely saw them at all. My room was currently being restructured, so I was spending my nights at a PRT agent's house. Her name was Heather, and she was pleasant to be around. She had curly red hair that looked too bright to be natural and heavy freckles.
I don't think this was her actual home. There weren't any pictures. All the decorations looked like they came with the place. Like a house on a movie set. Heather never knew what shelf, drawer, or cupboard held what, which further solidified the idea it was more of a safe house. I wasn't too concerned.
What I did miss was my stuff. I asked the PRT about it and they said they would recover my Tinkertech. Gathering the rest wasn't on their to-do list until I insisted that I wouldn't join if I didn't have; Every. Single. Piece.
After a while, I had plastic boxes full of all of my things, except for the forge. It was weird seeing my hoard gathered all into singular places rather than spread out across my den.
Hoarding a lot of stuff isn't something normal people do, according to every other person I've spoken to. Which was kind of surprising, how did they feel secure without knowing they had plenty of things on hand?
I was assigned a therapist, partly for my hoarding 'problem' but also to help acclimate me to the hundreds of changes I was required to go through.
Therapists were like doctors but their tools were pencil and paper, and their speciality was the brain. It wasn't normal for the Wards to even see a therapist consistently. They rotated between them for reasons I wasn't told. In my case, I was assigned to a therapist that lived in Brockton Bay. It was one of the nicer parts of town, though basically on the outskirts past Captain's Hill.
Dr Kim was a soft-spoken woman. She had the sort of voice you heard on late-night television. It was excitable while still being quiet. Her face was just as soft, very round. Her glasses were the big circle kind that made her look like a scientist. Sweaters in bright colours with wavy patterns seemed to be all she wore. Every time I went to see her, which was about three times over the initial week, she had a different sweater on.
She looked Asian, and I wondered if she had ties to the ABB. I'd always heard that every single Asian person was with them. Then again, my mom is an idiot. I dismissed the thought, as well as the gross things my mom would have called her.
"Last time you were telling me that all of this, the recruitment, it was making you feel dizzy. You were struggling to keep up with every new face, every new idea. How're you feeling today?" she asked in a gentle tone. When I first met her I thought she was trying to keep me calm, like I was a flight risk. Then I realised that was just how she talked.
I was sitting on a comfortable couch that was a weird cream colour. It reminded me of old milk. One of the pillows was nestled comfortably in between my torso and my legs as I hugged it. Dr Kim was sitting across from me on a padded wooden chair. I wondered if she was comfortable.
"Still dizzy, but getting better. There's not too many new people anymore, and everything is wrapping up. I still need to meet all the Wards, I've only really spoken to Den- to Clockblocker the past few days. It's not even a real conversation, just him saying hey to me before I leave for Heather's house. Then, I still need to meet with Glenn Chambers. He apparently handles costumes, images, and stuff for the Wards. After that, I gotta meet my foster parents, if there are any. Even then I'll eventually need to meet someone who might wanna adopt me, which is extra, extra stuff." I sighed, burying my face into the pillow. "I said there's not too many anymore but the more I think about it, the more there's still to do. It's exhausting."
"I understand. You've been thrown into the deep end when you just wanted to enjoy the water. Unfortunately, these events are unavoidable. Having them happen sooner than later is for the best. That comfort, of having them out of the way, doesn't stop you from being exhausted. Did you take my advice of asking for breaks when you need them?" Dr Kim said. I could hear her pen tapping lightly against her leg.
"Yes." I looked up at her. "No." I shook my head. "I just find it hard to talk when everyone else is speaking. Interrupting people is wrong. I did start taking more notes but I'm still struggling to write the bigger words."
"It's only been a few days, don't beat yourself up over not being perfect immediately." she smiled and readjusted her glasses. Her words echoed the brief conversation I'd had with Armsmaster that started all of this.
"I'm trying not to. I'm just so good at other stuff. It's frustrating when things are hard."
"Your power, you mean?"
"It flows so easily. Every thought just slots into my head and I know how, I know what, I know when. I know the answer to complex physics problems just because they're a piece of the puzzle to making something new, but I can't even remember how to write the letter Q properly. I felt so smart before all of this. Now I'm recognising that I know so little."
It was frustrating, dealing with things I thought I'd be good at.
I wasn't worried about dropping out of school. My mom told me I was too smart for it anyway.
I wasn't worried when I looked over the notes I'd taken while scavenging and they'd been scribbles. I could still read them, and remember what they were.
I wasn't worried that I didn't know some words, like rendezvous, because it meant I got to learn them.
So why did they suddenly feel like a problem now?
"You've been alone for a long time. You were neglected, practically a feral child. Now, you're realising that and it's coming with these other observations. Tell me, Meadow, what did you do before when you didn't know something?"
"I would try to remember it, make a mental note and keep it stored away."
"That worked? Remembering a lot of things at once is difficult."
"Yeah, it did." Did it? I often forgot which tools I even had, like my frisbola. I kept forgetting to do certain things, usually finding myself distracted by something else. "No. It didn't." I sighed. "I remembered some things but I always forgot others. It's like my brain shoved out old information to make room for the new."
"Most people work like that. It's why we have the written language, something that was taken from you."
"It wasn't 'taken' from me. I could have kept going to school if I wanted to." I argued.
"No." Dr Kim said. "Your mother was confronted by one of your teachers, did you know that?" I shook my head. "She told him that she'd kill him if he ever tried to tell her how to be a parent again, she even pulled a knife on him. There was a court case over it and your mother was required to do community service." I had a vague memory of her complaining about community service, I just didn't know what it was about.
"You're a young woman who was dealt a bad hand in life." she continued. "Sometimes the universe is like that, a cold indifference. Which is why we have each other. In your case, you had no one. As much as I wish I could, I can't change the past. Neither can you. So, we have to accept that the past is gone and done, and think about the present, of what we can do now. What we can do now, is to rehabilitate you into society and help you catch up on what you missed. To start with, you can't blame yourself for not knowing these things.
Tell me, if a Tinker project of yours wasn't working out, what would you do? Would you abandon the entire thing and give up? Or would you rework it until it was what you wanted?"
I wasn't sure what the answer to that was. None of my projects had failed to be what I wanted. Everything I made was good in some way. A lot of the time I wasn't even sure what the outcome was going to be. With the exception of the forge. That hadn't failed because it was built wrong. It failed because I didn't think of the logistics of it. What had I done then? I'd run off to the Wards, and now I was here.
"I…" wasn't really sure what to say. I took a drink of water to fill the gap. "I'm not really sure. The only project that didn't work out for me was my forge, and that was an issue of not thinking through the details. The forge itself would have worked fine. I just didn't think of the fact it'd make smoke and people would see it."
"What did you do? Did you dismantle it?"
I exhaled air from my nose in a laugh. "No, PRT did that, I came here. I wanted to tour the building and see what the Wards had. Then Armsmaster was nice to me and made my worries feel so trivial in the face of it. He told me I was important and I fell for it." I tossed the pillow I had been hugging to the side. Stretching out my body felt good.
The clothes I'd been given still felt unfamiliar against my skin. I was used to wearing baggy clothes with lots of pockets. Sometimes I'd sew extra pockets on the inside of jackets to help store more things. These were a tighter fit, just jeans and a t-shirt but they clung to my body. It felt weird. The jeans didn't even have pockets. My shoes were also so flimsy, basically just cloth. I missed my big leather boots.
Dr Kim was in my peripheral vision as I stared at the ceiling. She was watching me, writing stuff down. I guess she wanted me to elaborate, or continue. I didn't really feel like it.
"When do I get to pick my own clothes?"
"Hm?" I repeated myself. "Oh. I'm pushing for you to get more independence in clothing choices, meals, and the like. For now, the schedule we have you sticking to is important. It's important for you to remember to eat healthy meals, bathe every day, brush your teeth, socialise, and practise your reading and writing. Your clothing choices were just what was on hand by the PRT. I can put in a word to expedite, which in this case means to speed up, the process for you to pick what you want to wear." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Which I'll do tonight. We're at the end of our session here, Meadow.
I won't be seeing you again until Friday, the twenty-fifth. I'd like for you to think over what we spoke about today during that time. How it's okay for you to not know everything right away. How you need to recognise your improvements. And how it's alright to tell people you need a break. I hope you have a good week." she said, standing up to show me the door.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it."
I left Dr Kim's office feeling weird. Our sessions always left me the same way..
Heather must have received word from Dr Kim because she took me out shopping the moment I stepped in the door.
It was nice, despite all the people. We stuck to the Boardwalk, a place I was unfamiliar with. Going here before was a surefire way to get myself chased away by a burly man wearing a suit. I was what they considered an 'undesirable'. I just wanted to give their trash a new home.
Similar to my clothes, my hair felt weird on me. I refused to let them cut it. I liked my hair, it was cool. Hours of washing it, brushing it, and combing it had made me regret that decision. A tangled mess, a bird's nest, a field of brambles. All phrases used by the speciality hairdresser they'd pulled in for it. She was nice, despite the shock of having to deal with what she said was the worst state she'd seen hair in. I'd seen homeless women whose hair was all clumped together. My hair wasn't like that, it just got tangled a lot. She was definitely exaggerating, or just hadn't been to the Docks.
After it was cleaned up, I was taught how to brush it, and how to care for it. Turns out, soap wasn't a good replacement for shampoo.
It felt weird, not having it be all tangled and wild. I felt civilised. Which was sort of gross. Right now, it was in a braid that ran down to my lower back. I still had some ways to go before it was in what the hairdresser called 'acceptable condition'. A braid would hide it, according to her.
I wasn't ashamed of my hair. I wasn't ashamed of not doing the basic hygiene routines that everyone else did all the time. I was ashamed when I was told it was wrong. I was ashamed of the pitying looks that everyone kept giving me.
I just wanted to be a hero, not an injured puppy for people to fawn over.
Heather was enthusiastic, dragging me from place to place. She seemed conflicted too. Each time I pointed at the clothes I'd rather have, she looked like she was confused but would say words that were encouraging. In subtle ways, she'd push me towards dresses and the like. They didn't have any pockets or even any armour capabilities.
In the end, we ended up with a compromise. I'd get what I wanted, which was cargo pants with lots of pockets, huge hoodies with plenty of space to add pockets, some new heavy leather shoes that were meant for hiking, and a new backpack that was also meant for hiking. In return, Heather picked out more dresses, skirts, frilly socks, and these plastic-feeling shoes. She told me they were leather just finished in a certain way.
All of the dresses and skirts had pockets. Which was acceptable. She also got me some new underwear. Girls didn't wear boxers often. We were supposed to wear these tight-fitting underwear. I didn't like the idea of it. Heather didn't seem to mind settling for buying me new boxers.
I liked loose clothing. Tight-fitting clothing made me feel restricted and confined. She also bought me a basic makeup kit. I'd never used makeup before, except for the time I snuck into my mom's room and plastered it all over my face. She wasn't pleased.
Unpleasant memories aside, it was a nice gift, since she also promised to help me learn how to use it properly. Heather was nice. She'd dote on me, treating me like her own daughter. Then we'd be walking down the street and she'd be alert, ready. A soldier. It was a stark reminder that she was just playing pretend. Another adult who was just trying to keep me calm.
She offered to buy me ice cream to round out the day. I wasn't sure what ice cream was.
"You don't know what ice cream is?" she said, her mouth open so wide I could see the back of her throat.
"No? Is it a big deal?"
"A big deal?" she made a confusing expression like she remembered something upsetting. "Alright. It's settled. We're getting some tubs, plenty of flavours to try."
She ended up buying a lot of different types. It came in flavours I'd had in different candies. Chocolate, strawberry, bubblegum, mint, and a lot more that I'd never even heard of. Heather told me that ice cream was, as the name implied, cold and that I should pace myself eating it. I could get something called a 'brain freeze' if I ate too fast.
I could make a self-cooling container that had similar properties to the air vents you found just inside store doors. It could be modified to act as a fire extinguisher, a bug repellant, and a potential flash freezer.
My power teased me. Right now I was being restricted from making stuff. I was free to jot down the ideas and maintain my current gear, but I wasn't allowed to create new objects until I went through power testing. It was irritating having these cool concepts that would take less than twenty minutes to make, and not being able to.
At least I was allowed to keep Kid Win's tech. Armsmaster, after consoling me, was excited over the prospect of me being able to use other Tinker's tech for whatever reason. I wasn't paying much attention at the time, on account of the info dump that was joining the Wards. He mentioned Dragon a few times like they were close friends. I kept dreaming about meeting her.
Back at home, Heather set out samples of each flavour and set me to try every single one. About eleven in total.
It was good. Amazingly good. Part way through, they had started to melt a little.
"Oh! I've had this one before." I was eating the 'vanilla' one. "It wasn't like this, all fluffy. It was a liquid like the melted part. Tastes better when it isn't mixed in with other stuff."
Heather stared at me with an odd look on her face. Confusion? I wasn't sure, I'd need to look at my face chart. It was a chart with a bunch of different expressions on it to help me remember which was which. "Other stuff? Where exactly did you eat this?"
"Behind a restaurant, it was in a little cup with some other liquid in it. It tasted a bit like this, but with a gross aftertaste from the other thing."
"That's the saddest way I've heard of someone experiencing ice cream." She gave me another odd look. Concern? Or worry? It was similar to confusion but with upset eyebrows and no squinted eyes.
Heather stepped around the table to hug me. She was a very physical person. Lots of hugs, hand holds, gentle touches. Even when we watched TV she'd let me lay across her lap. It was hard to get used to physical touches that I enjoyed.
"Well, eat up, I want to hear what you think about the rest."
Bubblegum was my favourite. It tasted like someone described bubblegum to someone who'd never tasted it before. In a weird way, it worked.
After dealing with legal proceedings, a new strict schedule, a couple of insufferable people, and meeting more faces than I could ever remember, I was finally done. A literal sigh of relief left my lips as I finished signing the last of the paperwork needed to officially make me a member of the Wards. Despite the relief, being officially part of the Wards just meant more work.
I took a deep, calming breath before entering the Ward's headquarters. Only a week had passed yet it felt like I last saw this room a lifetime ago. I was in my new clothes, a yellow dress (with pockets) that Heather said complimented my blue eyes. My hair was still barely recovering from the extensive damage I'd subjected the poor thing to, so I kept it tied into the safety braid.
Shaving your legs was pretty common amongst women - something I was unaware of - but I was really bad at it. Long socks kept people from seeing my red spotty legs. Heather told me the process for it a million times over and I still messed it up. She wasn't as upset as I thought she'd be, which was nice.
The Wards were waiting for me. They were all still in costume but had removed their masks. I wasn't wearing any mask either.
Clockblocker, Dennis, I already knew. Although our meetings were brief, he'd unmasked to me as a show of solidarity. He'd even invited me out to the arcade if my schedule would permit it, which it never did. I still wanted to go there, I'd never been allowed inside the arcades for very long. His familiar red, curly hair was a nice comfort among a sea of unfamiliar faces. His face was freckled, like Dr Kim, though I was sure his hair colour was natural unlike hers.
Aegis, whose name I hadn't known before having the rundown on each of the Wards, was the team leader. He wore a mostly red costume, some parts were white. A shield was set in the middle of his chest, also white. I didn't see his helmet near him, but I had seen it in images. It was pretty basic, like the rest of his costume. If someone said the word 'hero' to you, Aegis' costume was probably close to what you'd imagine just without the obvious cape.
He had long hair, not as long as mine, just down to his shoulders, and light brown skin. He was handsome and clean. Boardwalk material. Walking down the Boardwalk with Heather opened my eyes to how rundown every other place was. It felt like a wealth-sucking vampire that drained the well-being of every other area in Brockton Bay.
They all looked at me expectantly. Right, introductions.
"Hello. My name is Meadow. Meadow Fields. You might know me as Raccoon Knight, patent still pending. I'll be joining the Wards with you all." I said with confidence. Practising in the mirror for hours had paid off.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Meadow Fields?" Shadow Stalker said. She was pretty. Model levels of pretty, like Glory Girl. "That's the stupidest fu-"
Sorry for the delay. This chapter was kind of a pain to write. For whatever reason I just couldn't get through it. Originally it actually continued for awhile longer but I thought this was a good stopping point for Arc 1. Arc 2 will cover Meadow's journey through the Wards.
It was hard to write for a few reasons. The first being that it's very dialogue heavy, which is not my forté. The second being that I've had a lot of ideas for future things that I really want to write but obviously can't.
The Wards Arc is very important in Meadow's journey but it won't be my favourite thing to write because writing bureaucracy isn't that fun for me.
This chapter might feel a bit weird, having a big week long time skip, and it'll be a whir of things happening. That's sort of the idea. Meadow agrees to join on a whim and is now thrust into a world she was not evenly remotely mentally prepared for.
Thank you all for reading. As usual, feedback is always appreciated, and let me know if people are speaking wrong etc."
AS must be hurt to insult our trash goddess.....or our bad trash panda.
Neat story and man is out of touch with life for basic know how. Hope she gets better at least.
She clicked her tongue. "Fine, whatever. I need to go on patrol, anyway." To say she stomped past me would be wrong, since it didn't sound like she stomped, more like gliding, but with a stomping attitude. My name was stupid. It still sort of hurt.
"Sophia, you're supposed to introduce yourself." Aegis stepped as if to chase after her. Shadow Stalker slipped her mask on in one smooth motion and turned in another, flipping Aegis off with both fingers as the doors slid shut in front of her. Aegis ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily.
"Sorry about her. She can be a bit brazen." He walked up to me, hand extended, a bright pearly white smile on his face. "Carlos. Aegis in costume. Team leader." I shook his hand. "I have redundant biology and flight. Makes me function like a pseudo-brute."
His body could adapt to things. I wonder if it could adapt to mechanical parts. Would it work around an artificial organ or extremity, or would it not be considered part of his body?
I wasn't aware we were supposed to introduce our powers.
"Nice to meet you, Carlos. Uh, I have Tinker powers, I make stuff out of things people threw away. Armsmaster said my specialisation was probably 'Recycling', or something." I said.
His smile grew wider. "Oh, we know. Armsmaster wouldn't shut up about it. He said you can use other people's Tinkertech. You have some of Kid Win's stuff, right?"
"Yeah, I was told it was fine for me to keep it." I hoped they weren't going back on that.
"I haven't been told otherwise. Anyway, the rest of the team needs to introduce themselves." He stepped back and gestured with both hands towards me.
Dennis half-ran forward, locking an arm over my shoulder. "I'll take it from here." He put on an accent that sounded like an old-timey radio announcer. "Stick with me, kid. You're gonna be fine." He held his hand out towards the far left member of the group. Vista.
"Clock, you better not say some stupid stuff about me." Vista said. He grinned, Vista sighed.
"That's our tiny terror, Vista, otherwise known as Missy. Now this missy can warp space so up is down and down is up, and down is also left somehow. It'll tousle your brain into a tizzy and leave you dizzy. Despite her small demeanour-"
"Where'd you even learn that word?" Vista interrupted.
"she's a force to be reckoned with and every villain knows it." he continued as if not interrupted. Vista, despite rolling her eyes, preened at the praise. His hand next turned to Gallant, who was rubbing his helmet with his thumbs. Eyes cast down to the floor, avoiding me.
He was also handsome. Did heroes get reconstructive surgery to make themselves more attractive? Everyone in this room was attractive except for me and Vista. Even she was cute in a way that could be attractive.
"That's our resident knight in shining armour, Gallant. Known when not saving damsels as Dean Stansfield, just as rich in wealth as he is in personality." Dean looked up at me, his face almost snapping into a smile. It felt wrong, but I wasn't sure why.
He strode forward, chest puffed out. "Dean Stansfield. A pleasure to officially make your acquaintance. I want to apologise for losing my cool with you back at the park. It was unprofessional."
He lost his cool? He was the picture of polite. I was in the wrong back then. "What? You didn't even seem angry, and if you were, it'd be justified, anyway. I messed up, and I'm sorry for interrupting. You could have been killed by Hookwolf because of my mistake."
Facing him was harder than Dr Kim said it would be. A tightness weaved around my chest, refusing to let go. Dean gave me a concerned look.
"I'm not upset. You'll learn how to handle those situations better now that you're here. As much as I hate to leave you, I do need to go catch up with Shadow Stalker. I'll talk to you later. Again, I'm not upset, don't worry." he held his hands out, placating before leaving the room.
"Hey, it's alright. Dean could never be angry. He's a big softie." Dennis said in a normal voice. It was soft in my ear, barely a whisper. How could he read me so easily? I took a deep breath. Dennis squeezed my shoulder a bit.
"Despite his metal exterior, Gallant is no Tinker." he said.
"He's not?" My anxiety faded a little at the distraction.
"No, miss, merely a feint. He shoots blasts that change your emotions and can sense them around him to boot. His armour was made by our resident Kid Win and maintained by the mech suit with a beard, also known as Armssomething or other." Dennis' hand turned to an empty space of the room. "Kid's too busy tinkering so just imagine him there." he said in his normal voice. "And this is Kid Win. Despite his dumb name, he's a Tinker of a high calibre." he continued in his mock accent.
"He's under orders from Armsmaster to do something for Meadow. If you paid attention during the briefing you'd know this." Vista said.
"Drats, foiled again by the mech with a beard. Now," he stepped away from me, removing his arm. "the most important question in the world." He leant in towards me as if sharing a secret and paused for a few heartbeats. "Who is your favourite?"
"Dennis." Aegis warned. Unlike Shadow Stalker, Dennis just waved it off.
"Oh, um, Vista." I said.
Dennis clutched his heart, swooning dramatically. "You wound me. Didn't even hesitate." he groaned, falling to the ground.
Vista lightly kicked him. "Get up, stop being an idiot."
"I resent that." Dennis pointed a hand up at him from the floor. Aegis shook his head, then seemed to remember something and headed off towards the console. I still needed to learn how to use the console, yet another thing to the to-do list.
"Glad to see someone around here has a brain, though." Vista walked over to me. To say I was star-struck was an understatement. She gave me a soft smile. "Missy Biron. Nice meeting you. Is your last name really Fields?"
Aegis turned and shot her a look.
"Not teasing." she raised her hands defensively. "Just curious."
Sophia might have been mean, but Vista hadn't a mean bone in her body. "It is. Kinda silly, yeah?" I smiled back at her.
"Parents, huh?" she shrugged, and gave me a smirk. She glanced at a watch hidden beneath her glove. "Shit, patrol soon." she turned to leave before stopping dead in her tracks. "I said shoot right then. You may have misheard me."
She wasn't allowed to swear. "Sure?" 'I would commit crimes for you, Vista.' I didn't say.
"Good. I'm off on patrol. Have fun with Dumbnis over there." Vista gestured to Dennis, who was just now getting up off the floor.
"Dumbnis… Vista that's weak, even for you." he said, dusting himself down as he stood up. He sounded like a disappointed adult.
"Whatever. Take Meadow to Kid Win." she half-yelled as she walked off down the corridor.
"You're not my boss." He yelled back. Dennis walked over to me. "Though I do need to take you to Kid Win. After you, fair maiden." he screwed his eyes shut and made a pained face. "Forget I said that. After you, Meadow."
I snorted. "Of course, my liege." I curtseyed. Dennis gave me a big grin. We left for Kid Win's workshop.
Kid Win's workshop felt more like a factory than Armsmaster's workshop. Instead of being half-office, half-Tinkerstation, it was instead full Tinkerstation. There were machines scattered around the room, some reaching up to the ceiling. All of them had a white label stuck to it. A black marker noted their uses in big block text.
'Pneumatic Drill.' The biggest read. Air power, despite not using it that much, was what my power was most attracted to. It was relatively simple to set up, though pressurised air was harder to find than electronics. Fufu only had a few shots in her between each canister.
It was almost fortunate that I didn't get into too many scrapes before all of this. Running out of shots mid-fight would require swapping to the mouth piece for manual firing, a cumbersome process that could lead to getting hurt.
I thought about the small air cannon I had made. She never even got a name, or a use. She was made to protect me on the way home, but ultimately didn't do anything. Kind of sad, also fortunate. I wanted to upgrade her, make a bigger version. I still wasn't sure what to use it for. Maybe delivering a gas of some sorts?
"Yo, Chris!" Dennis yelled, startling me. "What you cooking up today?" he continued in his regular tone.
Kid Win was digging through some boxes under a desk. Dennis' yell caused him to jolt and hit his head against it. All the items on the desk jumped up a bit from the force.
"Motherfucker." he said, rubbing the back of his head. He stood up to face us.
Chris had light brown hair that wasn't really styled to do anything. He was pale, probably didn't see much sunlight outside of his armour. Large brass goggles, with a gadget framed in front of the lenses, sat over his eyes. He lifted the goggles up to reveal droopy eyes.
"Screw you Dennis." his brown eyes turned to me. "Ah, new girl. Raccoon Knight, right?" I nodded.
"Meadow." I informed him.
"Cool, cool. Chris, or Kid Win, or Kid, whatever you want. Uh, I got some stuff for you." he turned and pulled the plastic box out from under his desk. It was partially filled with Tinkertech. All sorts of Tinkertech, from batteries to anti-gravity panels. I knelt down to get a closer look.
"This has some of Armsmaster's stuff. Mostly it's mine, though. I was told you'd be able to use this. It's just scrap or broken projects that we hadn't got around to melting down or taking apart. You were using parts from my blaster, an aiming piece and the battery, right? What'd you use them for?"
I was in heaven. My brain was flooded with ideas that I could barely keep up with. As one formed, another interrupted it. I snapped myself away from the box to look at Chris.
"Oh, um, I used the navigational component to interface with a pair of sunglasses in my helmet. She displays everything from temperature–internal or external–to assisting with my aim. I put these nodes on the back of my hand so she could adjust my aim using my muscles rather than a targeting reticle. That's Elel, the Navigator.
Efef, her sister, the Lifegiver. I used to make a charging port attached to a microwave that would charge anything electrical I ended up using. She could also recharge batteries with a little modification to them. She's technically conjoined to Riri, the Energy Oracle, so I like to refer to them as Efiri when talking about the full station."
Chris stared at me for a bit before speaking. "You name your devices?"
"Do you not?" he shook his head. "Oh. Well, they deserve names. I name all of my stuff. Um, not to be rude, but do you mind if I?" I gestured to the box of stuff.
"No, go right ahead. I get why Armsmaster was excited now."
"The bearded mech, excited? Impossible." Dennis mocked as I dug in to machine heaven.
A conversation between the two boys was pushed to the back of my mind, becoming white noise as I grabbed bits and pieces. Each one slot into the other, like a jigsaw made from mismatched pieces. A battery here, a servo here, an anti-gravity panel here. Magic. It was magic. I'd always considered myself a knight, one who used technology. But this? It was magic, through and through. I was giving all of these pieces a new life, a life they shouldn't have.
The battery had no charge, but it didn't matter.
The wires were frayed. It didn't matter.
The gravity panel didn't function on both sides. It did not matter.
None of it did. Each piece was broken, obsolete. Nothing more than scrap. I was a wizard, a mage, a sorcerer, capable of granting them life. A necrotechnomancer.
I fed the battery into a coil of metal, a magnet shot between to generate charge in a never-ending loop. It'd charge the battery enough to power the gravity panel, which would then generate charge by pulling the magnet. It wasn't perpetual energy, not by a long shot, but it was enough to grant new life to the battery to be used for a while.
I finished my creation. She was a squat circle, her body being made from the casing of what looked like a fire alarm mixed with a roomba. A shiny domed panel was set into the bottom of her case. It was reminiscent of a cartoon UFO. Two metal handholds jutted out of either side of her. I grabbed them with both hands, then glanced around the room to find a test. Right, the box beneath me. I closed the flaps, locking them in place.
I indented the buttons on both sides of the top of her case. A warbling noise filled the room as she kicked into life. A low whooshing built up speed as she charged up.
Come on, work. I know you can do it.
Twenty seconds went by before she clicked into life. Distorted air connected to the box below, wrapping around it. The box lifted off the ground with ease. After a short moment, it snapped up at surprising speed, connecting to the panel beneath.
She needed a name; Kiki, the Gravity Well.
I turned a dial, and the box split the difference, ending up halfway between the floor and the panel. Rotating, Kiki caused the box to follow along. I positioned her way from Dennis and Chris, then turned the dial again. The box was pushed across the room, like it was levitating. Distorted air stretched across and past it in a beam.
"Holy shit." Chris said.
"Neat." Dennis said at the same time.
"You slapped that together in like a minute. It somehow uses parts from both Armsmaster and me, and works fine with multiple settings, too. Bullshit. I call bullshit." his tone and the smile stretching across his face betrayed his words.
"Jealous, Chris?" Dennis taunted him.
"A little. It's also giving me crazy ideas for adding more settings to my blaster and hoverboard."
"Whatever works, I guess." Dennis shrugged. He went over to the box, now on the floor, and knelt down to look at the pieces in it.
"It was your tech. I just gave it a new form. I couldn't make anything like this on my own." I said to Chris.
"What sorta stuff do you make on your own if not this?" Chris asked.
"She mostly uses trash. Has a paintball gun she made from plastic bottles and PVC pipe. And a spear that makes you feel awful made from a baseball bat and some toaster parts." Dennis said, still rummaging through the box.
When I told him about Coco, Dennis had wanted nothing more than for me to use her on him. I told him that it was a dumb idea, but after begging me over the course of three days of short interactions, I'd relented. Even now, I'm sure he can remember the feeling. Oddly enough, he'd thanked me for it since he got to skip console duty.
"Pretty much right." I said.
"Recycling specialisation, right? Armsmaster said something about that. Well, anyway, that box is all yours. Dennis, you know what room to take her to?"
"Huh?" he craned his neck to look up at Chris. Plastic circles had been nestled into his eye sockets, making it look like he was wearing spectacles.
Chris rolled his eyes. "Meadow's new workshop. You know the room?"
"Jealous of my genius, I see. Of course I know the room. I'd be a terrible tour guide otherwise."
Chris shook his head, chuckling a little. "It was nice meeting you, Meadow. I have to go out on patrol soon, so I need to leave. And no one's allowed in here unless I'm in here, regulations." He gestured to the door.
"Oh, sure, nice meeting you, too." I used Kiki to pick up the box of new friends, much to Dennis' disappointment. We shuffled out of Kid Win's workshop and said our goodbyes.
Dennis led me down deeper into a lower level of the basement. A door with a silver plaque outside was our final destination. The plaque read 'Raccoon Knight's Tinker Studio'. I had my own workshop? My own lab?
Dennis turned to say something, but I was already past him, bursting into the room. "Hey!" he protested as I ran by.
The room was the same layout as Kid Win's, but with no random machines. Three benches lined the back left wall. A desk with a computer was placed against the right-hand wall, near the door. All of my things, my hoard was already lined up under the benches in the boxes that had become their home. A set of basic tools were placed on a board above one of the benches, including a few power tools.
Dennis flicked a light switch behind me, illuminating the room. I didn't see any lightbulbs or plates on the ceiling or walls. I wasn't sure how that worked. In the light, the room was even better.
"Fucking awesome." I wasn't sure what else to say.
Dennis clapped a hand on my back. "There's a cot in the wall if you need to work on stuff over night." he pressed a panel hidden on the wall the door was on. A flat looking bed folded out. He pressed it again to send it back. "Piggot told me not to tell you about it until you were more settled, so I'm telling you, anyway."
"Dennis. This is fucking awesome!" I beamed at him. My body felt like it was about to burst. I bobbed up and down on the spot to expend some of the energy. He grinned at me.
"Alright, alright. You can gush later. I need to show you your room." he had to drag me out of the workshop.
My actual room in comparison was spartan. Just a bed, a dresser, and a side table. Dennis told me I could add decorations if I wanted to. He recommended against it since it meant you'd want to spend more time here than at home. Heather had said I was free to stay on base if necessary, but I should try to come back home as much as possible. I wasn't inclined to argue.
…
Dennis had to leave me to face the image department on my own.
Tinkers were allowed, and encouraged, to make their own costume. Power armour was a common enough design they had. In my case, I already had a costume. It had a long way to go till it was finished, but I'd cemented my brand. Something Glenn Chambers was torn on.
On one hand, I had successfully created an idea and followed through with the theme. Plate armour with ears, a tail, and the logo. On the other, it meant changing my costume's theme, also meant changing my name and vice versa. They were intertwined, symbiotic, and Glenn did like both of them. He was just trying to 'future-proof' my decision. I wasn't sure why he needed to.
He looked more like a biker than what I imagined the image department would. His hair was gelled up into a mini mohawk. Glimpses of a bright blue suit peeked out when he leant back in his seat.
I wasn't important enough for an in-person visit from Glenn. He'd phrased it as he was busy with things in New York and couldn't make time for the trip, but did want to make time for me. I'd needed someone to set up the webcam and laptop for me, since I had no idea how they worked.
Learning computers was something on my to-do list, which was growing ever longer with each passing day, much to my dismay.
"I want to stick to my theme. Now that I have a forge, I can make an alloy that'll be durable and lightweight, so the armour idea will work fine." I said. Seeing myself talking was weird. Watching my lips moving was a bizarre feeling. It didn't feel like I was looking at myself. Especially since I was lacking my healthy coating of dirt.
Even though it was March, and was still cold, the sky was clear enough most days that my time scavenging had given me a tan, which I liked. My hair was still in a braid. Probably would be for a long time. I didn't look as tired as I felt.
I'd been given a physical, which was a medical examination of my body, and I was, in the doctor's words, 'surprisingly healthy for someone who'd lived off food from dumpsters and frequently slept around trash. The PRT had deemed that I had some kind of minor power to process toxins and diseases better. I think they didn't realise that most food thrown away was still eatable, and that I wasn't going around cutting myself on rusty metal. No special ability needed.
The examination also told me I was five-foot one, and one-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds, which was a healthy weight and shorter than I expected. I definitely needed limb enhancers to improve my reach and gait. The doctor was also surprised I had the right level of vitamins and proteins
"We can work with that. The knight theme is a good sell. It's been proven to work." Glenn Chambers continued. "Speaking of, Mouse Protector was looking to get in contact with you. She's an independent hero and has a similar theme to yours. It's a good match." The Mouse Protector wanted to talk to me? "What I'm worried about, Meadow, is her personality. She'd be a bad influence on what I want you to become, the type of hero you've expressed interest in becoming so far." his voice was tinny over the computer speakers.
"I'm not going to change myself because some woman spoke to me." I lied. Mouse Protector was awesome, and I would happily model myself after her. I wasn't going to change my personality just from meeting her, so the lie wasn't technically a full lie.
"Quite right. However, I cannot guarantee she won't have some influence on you. I'm not here to run your life, but I would like it if you spoke to her in the future, once you're more established. Is that agreeable?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's fine." I didn't know what she wanted with me, and to be honest, nor did I care in this moment. Maybe I would tomorrow after I slept. Right now, I was physically and emotionally drained. Meeting the Wards into speaking with Glenn was a bit much.
"Good. Now let's talk about logos and merchandise."
We spoke for another two hours before I was finally allowed to leave. Having my own action figure sounded cool, having my logo plastered onto everything from cups to foam versions of my devices sounded cool, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Too tired.
I was told to work on improving my device's designs to look better, even if it wasn't functional. I didn't really understand why. Every single one did their job. Why add bells and whistles? I'd agreed just to get to bed faster.
Much of what I was told was functionally useless. It was all about appeasing some entity that existed in a vague sense. Public perception for people I didn't really care about. I cared about what the locals thought of me. I wanted to help people, and be seen as someone you could turn to for help. A hero who fixed things, from crime to engines.
Being liked by ideas of people in New York, or Philadelphia, or even on the other side of the world didn't mean much to me. Glenn spoke about it like it was the most important thing. I supposed to him it was.
Keeping myself clean, presentable, was his most stressed point. My state before all of this was described as 'disgusting and sad'. Almost every adult I'd encountered had said, or implied, the same thing to me. Pitying glances when they learned how I lived. People lived in worse conditions. I was thriving on my own. I didn't need their pity.
I thought about Rex. I was supposed to talk to him again, and the others, before all of this. He'd never expressed many opinions on capes when I was around.
I wonder if he'd be proud of me.
…
Sweltering heat, heavy leather apron and gloves, metal boiling down to liquid form. This was heaven.
The fruits of my labour were currently bubbling in a cauldron within the Tinker made forge. There was no visible flame, just metal pipes that glowed red hot.
I'd spent the better part of three days creating moulds for the armour pieces. They weren't very complex, just different sized plates plus a larger mould to create about two-hundred-and-fifty chains per cast. During that time, I'd finalised the design on the alloy and gained permission to create it.
A lot of hammering was in my future. Each piece needed to be shaped to fit together. When I was done, it'd be a suit of armour to rival the round table knights. Raccoon ears were a must, and were included in the design.
The tail was giving me trouble. My current design was deemed unfit for public perception. I disagreed, but I did agree that it was flimsy. Plastic just wasn't good enough. Getting the doughnut shaped metal pieces was easy. So was the wireframe to hold them up. Finding what to put inside the tail was what was perplexing me, which is a fancy word for confusing. It was originally meant to be an emergency storage unit to use as a last resort.
Gas, despite being relatively simple to make, required a long approval process. My stink pellets were still undergoing approval. I'd note it down to fill in later, and just focus on the design for now.
Every single thing I made, no matter how simple, needed approval. Even if I'd proven its effectiveness, it had to undergo that same rigorous process. It was getting old, fast.
Telling the PRT that I could make mould that would continually produce the healing plaster had caused something of a disturbance. The review process for the paste had then taken highest priority and was marked safe for use in the field. Plus, they'd pay me per pound of the stuff I sold to them. If I made the self-duplicating version, and had it approved, they'd give me a monthly payment for as long as it lasted. Which should be the rest of my life.
Turns out, healing was rare, and self-replicating Tinker things were also rare. It was also scary. I was told, in no uncertain terms by Piggot herself, that if I ever made a self-replicating version of anything else, I'd be shipped to the Birdcage faster than I could say 'sorry'. I wasn't so stupid as to go against her wishes, even if I didn't understand them.
Heather, when I was lamenting not being able to clear out the boat graveyard with self-replicating metal-eating acid, told me Piggot was part of the team that dealt with Nilbog. Some guy who'd taken over a town, and could make self-replicating creatures. She said I should avoid being like him at all, even a little. It was a fast way to get a kill order on my head.
Of course, my power took the time to tell me I could make something similar with just chemicals and plant matter.
It called it a homunculus. An artificial person. It wouldn't be sentient, just a robot. It could be made to not be self-replicating, too. I sort of liked the idea of a little plant helper. I jotted it down and made sure to triple underline that it would not be self-replicating in case anyone read my notes.
…
Days passed fast. April crept ever closer. Before it pounced, my armour was complete. Chris had helped a few times, offering advice and conversation. Dennis stuck around too, though offered less useable advice and more conversation. Carlos, Dean, and Missy also poked their head in occasionally to chat. Carlos and Dean were only a couple of times. Missy tried her hand as much as she could but often was too tired from patrol to stick around for long. Sophia didn't show up once.
Plate armour covered me from head-to-toe. Chain mail covered any gaps, and I had made gambeson to sit underneath. Proper gambeson. No more cheap coat for me. I'd sewn it together while waiting on the forge.
Finding the cloth was an ordeal. I started with things from the PRT lost-and-found bin, which amounted to a few jackets, a couple of shirts, and a lot of glasses. I wasn't sure why people lost glasses all the time.
The glasses were thrown into my glass pile, and the frames into my plastic or metal piles.
Finding the rest of the cloth showed my limitations. A PRT officer tried to offer me his coat. He planned on replacing it next week, anyway. I found my power unwilling to give me ideas on how to incorporate the materials into my gambeson. So, I tore it to bits. Yet still my power refused to give me information.
When I told Chris this, he told Armsmaster, who dragged me into power testing. I needed to go here at some point before going out as a hero for real, anyway.
They–after way too much testing–determined a few of my limitations.
First, was that I couldn't be given an item that was in useable condition, just no longer wanted.
Second, was that I couldn't break an item to make it useable by my power.
Third, was that my power didn't always work the same way.
Before, it allowed me to use marshmallows I had bought. In testing, I went to a local store, bought some marshmallows, and failed to be able to use them. The very same brand I'd used before.
I was beginning to get frustrated. These limitations weren't a thing that happened in the past. I scavenged stuff, I made stuff, simple. Now, due to the PRT requiring me go through certain processes, I was finding them. Was it shy? I didn't understand why it didn't want me to rely on others.
Armsmaster handed me a scanning device. He told me he no longer needed it and it was mine to keep.
Nothing.
Well, there was something, just not what I wanted. I gained ideas on how to make scanning devices of my own. None of them included the device itself, or any of its components. Even when I tried to think of ideas for what I could use the lens in the device for, I received nothing.
Last, I was given a box of scraps. They told me it was all found in dumpsters, at the train yard, or from the local junk yards. I was asked to take each piece, and note down the ideas I received from them. On a certain piece, a bicycle bell, I couldn't find any ideas. They told me to carry on, so I did.
By the end of the box, seventeen pieces had given me no ideas, the rest was fine. They told me that those pieces were bought specifically to give to me and then scuffed up to make them fit in. I was designated a minor thinker power relating to if objects were truly thrown away or not. This wasn't added to my PRT classification, but was marked on my file.
At the end of it, I was pleasantly surprised to find they were willing to accommodate my limitations. A contract would be setup with the local dump to supply me weekly with whatever I needed. If I didn't ask for anything in specific that week they'd give me a generic supply of materials.
My first shipment was so many materials that my head spun. I jotted down plenty of ideas, but focused on finishing my armour. Which, was magnificent.
A full gambeson coat, pants, and gloves. The gloves received a metal gauntlet exterior with metal bracers running up my arms. Chain mail covered the gaps between elbow and shoulder plating. My breastplate was angular, sharp with a much better raccoon logo on it.
My logo was designed by the image department. A cartoon raccoon head with a shield behind it. That shield sported gears and sprockets to show my Tinker nature. I was jubilant with it. Probably the wrong way to use that word.
I decided against the plate skirt I planned, but did create longer tassets–they're pieces of metal that cover the hips–to mimic a skirt. I also got to include a gorget to protect my neck.
The alloy I'd made was based on aluminium to keep things lightweight. That didn't mean it wasn't sturdy. Even Kid Win's laser rifle didn't leave more than a mark on the test plate I made.
Chris had received ideas by hanging around me, and improved his own gear. His rifle now sported a lot of different settings. His hoverboard also included different settings for various reasons. It was nice to see him so excited about stuff. Each time he told me things, I gained ideas, when I told him those ideas, he gained ideas. A self-fulfilling cycle. He was also happy to give me discarded components.
All of my named devices were stored in my lab now. It was nice seeing them all laid out. Improvements had to be made before my first patrol. A full suit of plate armour took a lot of time to make. I only had time to modify Coco, she deserved it.
A simple modification was made to let her piston away from me. I also fixed up her shaft, making it from the same metal I made my armour. It cut off half-way through and slotted together. With a button press, it'd expand her reach by about a foot with a fast mechanical push. It should be good to extend my reach and catch someone off-guard.
Then the day finally came for my debut. I had no idea how they organised these things. My debut was only announced a day before it was supposed to happen, but the next day about three different news stations had come to film it.
"You'll do great, sweetheart." Heather assured me. She gave me a tight hug. The contact was nice, and the hug relieved a bit of my anxiety. She bought me a weighted blanket, saying it would help with anxiety too. Turns out, she was right, and I loved the thing. I wish I had it here now.
Deep breaths. I'm Raccoon Knight, hero to the downtrodden. Raccoon Knight the Tinker, an artificer and a warrior both.
I stepped up to the podium that held the microphones. Ms. Piggot was behind me, her posture immaculate. Knowing what she went through had given me a sort of respect for her. She understood what it meant to fight for what's right.
I faced the cameras, the lights flaring in my eyes. I thanked past me for the sunglasses idea.
"Hello, everyone. My name is Raccoon Knight, patent no longer pending. I'm now officially part of the Brockton Bay Wards. I look forward to using my Tinker powers to defend this city."
Officially starting on Arc 2, and officially in the Wards. Back to the action in the next chapters.
To be candid:
Arc 2 (and maybe 3 idk yet) is easily the most important Arc for Meadow. Yet I also don't want to write it. It's hard, writing lots of dialogue, bureaucracy, and especially writing canon characters. Because it's hard, I do want to write it, since it'll make me improve. That hurdle isn't so easy to get over.
You may have noticed 1.8 and 2.1 both took way longer than the other chapters. I don't expect that to change, but I will get through them. It may take awhile but I'm not going to leave this fic for dead.
Give me Raccoon Knight Fanart or give me Death. I had a thought wouldn't the Cauldron Vials be considered scrap?
Loved the chapter always happy for more Raccoon Knight.
Give me Raccoon Knight Fanart or give me Death. I had a thought wouldn't the Cauldron Vials be considered scrap?
Loved the chapter always happy for more Raccoon Knight.
Oh my God I Love Trash Panda Knight the helmets cute as hell, if you make another one you might want to change the ear shape bit they look more bearlike than raccoon(No biggie if ya don't just giving my thoughts on it).
Just want to say that your story deserves more attention then it get.
Yeah, they need to be a bit more pointed for raccoon ears, I've 3d modeled a raccoon in the past and still messed it up lmao. I edited it, should be updated. still bad but better
It does okay on spacebattle, not great on here. I appreciate the kind words tho.
The ears look much better now thanks.
I think one reason you might not have been getting as much attention is the fact that you don't have Worm in the title. Sadly unlike the Raccoon I'm not nocturnal so Goodnight.
Patrolling felt just as pointless now as it did when I was doing it on my own. Aegis and Vista were accompanying me on what amounted to a PR walk. We were sticking to the boardwalk, a notoriously low crime rate area of Brockton Bay due to the enforcers that most shops hired.
Despite being in costume, I still kept a wary eye on the enforcers. I'd been chased away by them in the past while trying to get at the treasure troves they called dumpsters.
"Right now, you're going to be stuck on the safer routes. When you're more established and used to being around others, we can take you further away from the Boardwalk." Aegis continued his answer to my question of 'What was the point in this patrol?'. I thought the heroes might have more answers on finding crime. My initial attempt at patrolling had ended with me finding zero crime and being surprised by the wrong police code.
Turns out, there wasn't an answer. The heroes didn't stumble across crime any more than a civilian did, even though the heroes were looking for it. We were a preventative measure. If a crime was reported in, we'd respond to it. Usually, that meant getting there later than we were needed, unless you had mobility.
Kid Win had his hoverboard, and I was growing more and more jealous of that fact. Shadow Stalker could also leap around with ease, letting her cross the building tops like a proper hero should. Aegis would also usually fly if on a serious patrol. Vista could bend space to cover tons of ground.
Gallant, Clockblocker, and I were the odd ones out. Us ground based mortals would have to deal with gathering witness statements after the fact, or wait around for a cape fight to break out and hope console would give us permission to help.
Aegis, in his rust-red costume, was rambling on about safety procedures, how to approach crime when found, and how to respond to civilians in a positive manner. Vista chimed in occasionally with extra advice. I was listening, my attention just happened to drift a bit.
A rumble in my stomach made my eyes catch on half a sandwich someone had thrown into the Boardwalk trash cans. Mesh wire baskets, supported on a metal pole. All of their contents were shown to the world. It was hypnotic, drawing me in with its sandwichy mind powers.
I fished the sandwich out of the trash, chowing down–ham and cheese with some mayo–while I rummaged through the rest of the trash. Ninety percent of it was coffee cups, the paper kind. There were a few candy wrappers, a bit of foil, and-
"Raccoon Knight, what are you doing?" Aegis said in a warning tone. I glanced up, mid-way through a bite of the sandwich. A small crowd had gathered around Vista and Gallant. All of them were staring at me. A few held out phones in my direction.
I swallowed. "Uh, eating, and gathering materials."
Whispers. So much whispering.
Did she eat that from the trash?
Gross
Ew, what's wrong with her?
She's a hero?
Dude, this going on PHO the moment I get home.
She's disgusting. Ew.
Aegis sighed. He stepped forward, gently taking the coffee cup in my hand. He threw it back into the trash can. "Listen, you can't-" I snatched the cup back out of the trash. He stopped speaking, startling a little at my sudden movement.
"You can't." I said, my voice shaky. I grabbed the rest of the things from the trash can, scooping them up into my arms, and backed away. "I need them."
Aegis glanced around. Vista was talking to the crowd who were ignoring her. "Knight, remember what I said about public appearances?" Aegis said. He held his hands out in a placating manner.
I looked at Vista. Her expression confused me. I glanced at the crowd. Eyes staring at me. Mouths snarling. Whisper, whisper, whisper.
Stop whispering!
Aegis flinched. The crowd stopped their whispering. Oh. I didn't think that. I yelled it out loud.
My face was wet with tears, the foam inside of my helmet absorbed them, growing damp. The whispers started up again.
I ran. More whispering, more people, more crowds. I ran harder.
I ran until my breath was ragged, my chest heaving with each step. I ran until my legs burnt. I ran until there was no more whispering.
After what felt like hours, I rested in an alleyway. Hiding behind the bags of trash that were piled inside of it. Haven. Safe, secure. I ate my sandwich through thick sobs. I was so stupid. So dumb. Idiot. Moron. Idiot. I shouldn't be allowed around people.
"Meadow." Aegis' voice startled me. He was floating above the ground a short distance down the alley. His body was dark in the shadow of the building, his back illuminated by the mid-afternoon sun. "Let me take you back, okay?"
"I don't wanna go back to the Boardwalk." I protested.
He shook his head. "No, back to the Ward's base. Okay?" His feet touched the ground. He extended a hand towards me. "Please, Meadow?"
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Okay." I stood up and took his hand.
"Do you want to fly?" He asked.
"No. Um, I'd rather walk, clear my head." I said.
"Okay."
We walked in silence. Aegis was taking me along a winding route back to base. Whether to give me more time, or to avoid people, I wasn't sure.
"What you did… It was… It was fine." Aegis broke the silence. "I'm not gonna blame you for your y'know?" I didn't. "Just… Around people you need to be more careful. People can misunderstand. You were just gathering materials for projects, but they didn't know that. Also, maybe in the future don't eat food from the trash?" He glanced towards me.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Oh. Um. Well, it's unsanitary. Someone was eating that before, their saliva is on it. You could get an infection."
"They said I had a power that got rid of diseases and infections." I said. I didn't mention the fact that the food was fine, no power needed. Anyone could do what I did. It wasn't a lie. I just didn't want to argue.
"That does change things a little." He paused for a moment. "Then, instead of infections, you need to worry about public perception. I was saying, before you... wandered off, that the public's opinion of us is important. People are quick to judge, and we have to try to be as close to perfect as possible, at least in public. Having good ratings makes people feel safer around you. It makes people want to come to you with their problems, which helps us help them. People have a preconceived notion that eating food from the trash is bad. You should avoid it, at least in public. Okay?" He said, turning his head towards me again.
It made sense. People could be bad. If people didn't like me-even if it was for stupid reasons-then they'd be less likely to trust me. Glenn had gone over this with me plenty. I just didn't think eating food that was perfectly good was a bad thing. Why didn't they like it?
"Why don't people like it?" I asked.
"It's considered unsanitary. People would be afraid of you spreading germs to them. You might not get ill, but they can. If the food had some bad bacteria, then that could get on your gloves. Shaking hands could lead to someone vulnerable getting ill."
I could make an anti-disinfectant that would coat my gloves. I could extend that effect to my whole armour and body.
Alcohol wasn't too hard to find. I could also use hand-sanitiser or even just soap. Restaurants tended to throw away industrial bottles of soap with some left. A hospital's chemical waste bin might also be worth checking out.
"Okay. I'll make a disinfectant device, then people won't get sick. I'll tell people I have it and I can eat food. I find if I'm hungry without making people worried." I smiled at him, despite it being hidden by a mask. I hoped the smile would convey through my words.
Aegis sighed. "That's great, Meadow. Just, there's more to it than germs. It's a cultural taboo to eat thrown away food. You can't Tinker your way around that."
"Taboo?" I asked. I wasn't sure what the word meant.
"It means something that's considered wrong by people. Like yelling in public. You can't just eat things off the ground, no matter how clean." His voice was taking on a condescending edge, just like every adult in my life. Except maybe Heather, or Dr Kim.
"Sure, fine. No eating food off the ground, I got it." I dismissed him. I didn't want to keep talking about it. I'd eat what I wanted to eat. I wasn't going to disobey the team leader, though. I wouldn't eat things in public.
Aegis stopped for a brief moment before carrying on. We finished the journey in mute silence; the only sounds were the soft chinks of the grenades on Aegis' bandolier, the similar noises from my armour, and our footsteps.
…
Triumph, or Rory as I now knew, was pleasant to talk to.
Aside from a hushed conversation between him and Aegis after we returned to base, using a backdoor entrance to avoid the public, he was very open about his opinions. He didn't directly talk about what happened at the Boardwalk, instead opting to tell me about one of his first patrols.
"I ended up tangled in that fishing net for about an hour before I was cut loose. Man, I did not hear the end of that for years. Clockblocker is the only one who keeps it going, and most people just ignore his jokes." I nodded along. I didn't feel like laughing, but the story made me smile. He brushed a hand through his short, styled, dark-brown hair before resting it on the back of his neck.
"You're close to Dennis, right?" Rory asked me.
"Out of everyone, yeah. He's spoke to me the most. Though I've been speaking a lot to Chris, he helped on my armour. And Missy is nice, though I don't know her that well. Carlos and Dean check on me sometimes, but it's not real conversations." I was rambling.
"You've got plenty of time to get to know them. Patrols can be boring, tons of time to chat." he smiled at me. A rich person smile. Pearly white and perfectly straight. His face flickered into another emotion temporarily before fading. I didn't have time to catch what it was. "Aegis said you had a bad first impression to the public."
I nodded.
"Well, it happens. Don't let it get to you. PR will want to talk to you. You should trust them. They're there to help. First impressions stick, not going to lie, but you can make up for them. Show people the hero you are, rather than a misconceived idea. They'll recognise it, eventually." I nodded.
I wasn't sure I cared what people thought. What difference to me does it make that a concept of a person didn't like me? As long as the people who needed help, the ones I cared about, could approach me and ask, then I didn't care. Hopefully, those individuals wouldn't care about me eating a perfectly good sandwich that was going to waste, anyway.
"Good." Rory said. He patted my shoulder with his hand. "Good. Keep at it. Keep patrolling, but do listen to PR's advice, yeah?" I nodded again. Rory nodded too, giving me a thumbs up. "I've got a meeting to get to. I think you're wanted on console duty." He patted my shoulder again, nodding to himself before he set off.
What a pointless conversation.
…
"That one is for full broadcast. It'll put what you're saying through to everyone at once. Generally, you only use that if you need everyone out on patrol to converge at one location. Groups aren't always the same. Group A is whoever is set to the Alpha frequency. Bravo frequency is group B, Charlie is Group C, etcetera. You can tell the frequencies by the roster. Clockblocker is with Shadow Stalker right now. The roster says they're in what group?" Vista continued her explanation of the console. She'd returned from her patrol shortly after I had been led back. She was only out on patrol because of me.
I glanced at the current roster on the screen. They were in Group B, I said as such.
"Good. Now, tell them to stop drifting off-course." She pointed to their GPS signal. It displayed an overhead wireframe of the streets surrounding them. A blue line represented their current patrol route. Both of them had wandered a couple of streets over.
I pressed the Bravo frequency button and leant into the microphone. "This is console. Shadow Stalker and Clockblocker, please return to your designated patrol route. Over." Vista gave me a thumbs up.
"Console, I've told Stalker that we need to go back. She isn't listening. Over." Dennis' voice said. Clockblocker's voice, currently.
"Console, Shadow Stalker just called me, and I quote, 'a fucking snitch'. I thought that was our job. Over." Dennis said.
Vista leant in and took over the microphone. "Tell Shadow Stalker that you didn't need to snitch. You're both wearing the same trackers that you've always worn. Over." She said. She rolled her eyes at me as she stepped back. She smelled like lilacs. It was nice.
"Whatever, we're going back on path. Happy?" Shadow Stalker said over the comms.
"Uh, she didn't say over. Over." Dennis said.
"Your life's gonna be over in a-" I heard her voice faintly over Dennis' line before it cut off.
"It's okay. Resume patrol as normal. Over and out."
"Over and out." Dennis echoed me.
I turned to Vista. "Good. You don't need to say that you're console though, they already know that. You also don't need to specify their names, since they're already grouped up." She said.
"That makes sense, my bad."
"Don't worry, not a big deal. Most nights are like this: calm. If it gets too hectic, I'm at base. Just call me and I'll take over. Piggot will be impressed if you keep your head during a cape fight, but don't push yourself. If it's too much, call me, got it?" Her voice was stern, still cute.
I nodded. "Got it." I said. She smiled at me.
"Good. Do your best, newbie." She saluted before walking away. I saw her cringe as she walked off. Did I smell? I showered yesterday. I also sprayed myself with the perfume Heather got me after I got back to base. She told me to spray it if I was ever around trash for more than five seconds. I had been crying in an alley full of it, so I followed the instructions.
Oh well. I turned my attention back to the console.
…
Console duty was kind of entertaining. Most of the time, the comms were 'open'. You had to turn them off to talk without console hearing you. Shadow Stalker kept hers off most of the night. Aegis ended up patrolling with Gallant. The two boys spoke a lot about sports. I didn't listen in much.
Group A, Gallant and Aegis, helped move someone's car, who had broken down in the middle of the road. They found a wandering cat and called up the owner to return it. And much later into the night, they stopped a few drunken brawls.
Group B, Shadow Stalker and Clockblocker, had more luck in finding actual crime. Sophia had some kind of sixth sense for finding it. At random intervals, she'd deviate wildly off the patrol route. Before I noticed, she'd call in, asking for permission to engage. I called each engagement in to the Protectorate. Out of the four, three were approved. She, and Clockblocker, broke up two drug deals, a mugging, and found an Empire cape called Krieg. I also noted her consistent deviations from patrol to find those crimes.
Shadow Stalker sulked, for lack of a better term, at not being able to engage him. I managed to convince Armsmaster, who was responding to Krieg's appearance, to let her act as covering fire. Krieg's power, as indicated by the PRT file, was a form of kinetic manipulation. He could deflect projectiles and make people move slower. A painful enemy to go at in a melee. Shadow Stalker could negate that somewhat by leaving her bolts as shadow as they flew through the air.
Armsmaster had agreed that it could be useful, though he phrased it as 'The tranquilliser bolts I gave her could be useful if the shadow state of her power allows it to bypass his powers.' Which was an odd way to say she could be useful in this scenario.
Krieg was chatting in the middle of the street to a handful of Empire Eighty-Eight members at the time. All of them were armed, according to Shadow Stalker. They'd scattered like gross, disgusting bugs would at the first sign of Armsmaster. He came skidding into the scene. His halberd at the ready like a lancer on a horse.
Shadow Stalker got into position, using her wisp form to move silently across the rooftops. Krieg wasn't stupid enough to stand around waiting for Armsmaster. Like his friends, he scattered, using his powers to run faster than they could dream of.
The heroes gave chase. Armsmaster allowed me to view his body-cam footage to better see the battlefield. I instructed Shadow Stalker, giving her a play-by-play of the directions Krieg was heading in, as well as the scattering Empire Eighty-Eight. She told me to focus on Krieg. Armsmaster told me to focus her on the members. I wasn't sure what to do.
I instead communicated to Aegis and Gallant to intercept the members that were heading their way, and kept Shadow Stalker on a path between Krieg and a heavily tattooed man who was close to him. She must have seen my intentions, since she didn't complain about me seemingly directing her to a mook instead of the grand prize.
I called Vista over to assist, but not take over. She communicated positions to Gallant and Dean.
Armsmaster caught up to Krieg with ease. Krieg had taken shortcuts, covering more distance than going along the road would allow. Unfortunately for him, Armsmaster was excellent at driving and was happy to break the speed limit to catch up. Krieg came face-to-face with the blue and silver armour of Armsmaster, as well as a large ball attached to a chain that was currently his halberd.
It could shift into a lot of different forms. A flail didn't seem like the best idea against someone who can manipulate kinetic energy.
Krieg raised his hands to protect himself from the flail. It slowed to a crawl. Armsmaster rolled off his bike, letting go of the spear in the same motion. His bike remained upright, braking and placing down the kickstand. He attempted to kick out Krieg's legs but went wildly off-target. A feint, or Krieg's power?
On Vista's orders, I requested back-up from the closest Protectorate members, Assault and Battery. They both agreed to be there shortly.
Armsmaster continued his roll to the side, away from Krieg. His halberd appeared in his outstretched hand, no longer falling near the nazi. He thrust it forward, narrowly missing Krieg, who stumbled back to avoid it. The head of the spear folded out into several blades and whirred around dangerously. He swung it towards Krieg who batted it away with his hand like it was paper. Krieg rushed Armsmaster, swinging punches in his direction.
"Fire when ready." Armsmaster's voice came over the comms but not over his camera. He dodged and weaved around the man's punches.
Shadow Stalker was already in position. I wasn't sure how Armsmaster knew she wasn't following the runaway, especially since I hadn't realised she'd stopped. Experience made all the difference, I guess.
Armsmaster swung his flail, hitting Krieg in the chest. Krieg stumbled back from the force but wasn't hurt. It created a few feet of distance between them. A shadowy bolt sailed through the air, taking advantage of the momentary break in the fight. The arrow curved around the man, slamming into the tarmac of the road with force. Krieg glanced at it and laughed.
Armsmaster leapt in the moment he glanced away. Each swing did nothing to him, meant nothing. Armsmaster's breathing was becoming laboured, heavy. I heard Shadow Stalker's comms cut out mid swear word. She fired a few other bolts to the same effect. I requested she hunt down the tattooed man and she agreed with no fight.
"Armsmaster, backup is a minute away. Over." I said. We had communication with the Protectorate teams but didn't command them. They also had direct access to our lines at all times.
"I have him. Send them after the men." He said through panted breaths. I wasn't sure he did. It would disobey a superior's orders if I didn't tell them.
"Battery, Assault, this is Ward's console. Armsmaster is requesting you find the remaining men. I have no information on their current whereabouts, except for the two in Gallant's and Aegis' care. Over." It was truthful, while also letting them choose to disobey Armsmaster of their own free will.
"Then I guess we go to Armsy. Thanks, Knight." Assault said. Good, exactly what I wanted.
Krieg continued fighting Armsmaster, who was slowing down significantly. Each blow became sluggish, further amplified by Krieg's power.
Assault punched Krieg in the face, who was part way through a punch of his own. His mid-swing punch became the momentum that spun him around. Assault had arrived quickly, running at superhuman speeds to deliver a superhuman punch. It hadn't done more than a regular punch.
Krieg reorientated himself before breaking into a mad dash away from Armsmaster and Assault both. His path took him through a car filled side-street. Armsmaster launched something from his halberd but it veered off-course before hitting.
A blue blur slammed into Assault before streaking after Krieg. Battery. She managed to gain on Krieg just as Assault was catching up. He turned, kicking blind at the blur that was Battery. She was hard to track on the camera. His kick connected, sending her soaring backwards towards the street Armsmaster was resting in. Assault leapt back to catch her. Letting Krieg cover more distance.
Armsmaster clambered onto his motorbike, his breathing less laboured than before. It roared into life, and he took off in the direction Krieg had fled. I lost sight of Assault and Battery, only knowing their positions on the GPS map. Armsmaster's comms opened to the duo, but I wasn't allowed to listen in.
"Armsmaster in pursuit of Krieg. Going dark to Ward's console. Over." He said a few moments later before cutting the link. His tone wasn't different from usual. I wasn't sure if I messed up or not.
He never caught up with Krieg. He'd disappeared into the wind with no reports from the police or PRT agents otherwise. The Wards returned to their patrols.
On the plus side, Shadow Stalker became a bit more talkative through the rest of the night. That wasn't saying much. She still barely communicated and left her comms closed, but she was more willing to listen to what I said, less impatient.
Assault spoke to me for a while. He said I did a good job, and he was looking forward to meeting me in person. He also complained about Krieg stopping his cool moment. The punch he delivered was supposed to send the man flying further than Battery had, but his powers had messed with Assault's. It wasn't a long conversation, but was a fun conversation.
Vista took over the console fully after my time was up. My legs were shaky from sitting down for so long. She gave me the advice of stretching now and then, and also reprimanded me for forgetting to eat the entire time. It was only three and a half hours, not long enough to worry.
I ate in the PRT cafeteria. The food was bland, but filling.
I decided to spend a little longer at the base to work on a new project. I called Heather to let her know.
Kiki wasn't combat focused. Her gravity beam was too slow to launch anything. She was perfect for search and rescue, however. I could lift rubble, debris, etcetera out of the way while trying to save people. The issue was that she was cumbersome. I needed to withdraw her and grip her in both hands to use her at all. In search and rescue, this wasn't an issue, since typically I didn't need my weapons on hand.
I had an idea to use the gravity function to retrieve far-away objects, such as my dropped devices. Credit to Armsmaster's teleporting trick for giving me the idea.
I just needed to figure out how to do that. Kiki functioned in one direction, and one direction only. Out. She could push, pull, and even hold an item mid-air by doing both at once. She couldn't, however do it in anything but a straight line. A design flaw that only mattered if I wanted to route her through my costume to panels on my gloves.
It wouldn't work. Her beam would appear at the only gravity panel that existed. Incapable of turning through pipes, or wires, or whatever.
A problem easily solved by having another gravity panel, which I didn't.
Second solution. I could setup a compartment on my back that held spooled metal wire. That wire would attach to my devices and be fed through brackets on my armour. Preferably brackets underneath the plate itself. Then, if Coco goes flying, I can remotely activate a wind-up function that would pull Coco back to me.
I was mostly using switches, which meant it was either on or off. I'd need a reliable way to activate remotely that could be done without too much effort and was secure enough to not accidentally trigger.
Armsmaster used a lot of non-verbal commands to activate things, like his teleport. I would need to wait until tomorrow to ask him for help, as he was currently patrolling.
What non-verbal methods could I use? Certain hand signs?
I could use small magnets placed at specific joints on my fingers that would activate the pulling mechanism of the wire. Then removing the magnets from each other would stop it. One on my pointer finger and one on the thumb would work. I could even expand that system to other commands later. Each hand would have a separate spool of wire and would activate their respective piece of wire only.
Currently, I only planned on using my left hand, but that would change the moment I made my shield. I sketched out the design for the container and the pulling mechanism.
I had no metal wire. I jotted down an order on the sheet stuck by my door.
'As much metal wiring, like the ones they use at trains, as you can find. Thanks! - Raccoon Knight'
I doodled my symbol without the gears in the shield. They weren't needed and were hard to draw.
'Also, how does Armsmaster activate his devices without visible movement or speech? - Raccoon Knight, still' I added.
Not much to do but go home. On my way back, I received a text on my Ward's issue phone. A device I was still learning.
'this is glory girl got your number from gallant. do you wanna meet tomorrow for breakfast? just wanna talk. not in trouble' It read.
Glory Girl. Victoria. The Greek goddess. I had been avoiding thinking about her. Gallant, over the week of me making my armour, had gently pushed the topic of meeting with her. I told him I was busy, which wasn't a lie. I was still dealing with PRT things while making my suit. He'd let go of the issue without much fuss.
This was more direct.
'ohkey. sounds good. what time/place?' I typed back. I wasn't sure that's how you spelled 'okay' but I couldn't remember what else it could be. My thoughts had stopped working right.
'8am boardwalk. civvies. my treat.'
I told her that worked for me. Eight AM was earlier than I got up. My bed was very comfortable, and I liked to sleep late.
Heather had given me a bedside alarm clock. So, I hoped it wouldn't be an issue. Waking up was something I'd only ever done naturally, or when my mom had dragged me out of bed to complain about something. Maybe I should stop calling her my mom.
Heather made tacos that night. Another thing she did a weird shocked or maybe pained face to when I said I didn't know what it was. Heather assured me that they would be amazing. After they were made, I realised I had actually seen them before on the TV. They were really good.
TV, as it turns out, has more than just auction, cop, fishing shows, and commercials. Our channels were limited, which I knew, I just hadn't realised how many more there could be. I thought it would be a few extra shows. Nope, hundreds.
Cartoons were great. Probably my favourite to watch. Bright, but also very loud. They also had lots of jokes. I didn't know TV shows could be funny. I liked watching them with the sound really low.
Heather was relaxing on the couch with me after dinner. I was sat on the let side, closer to the TV, she was lounging against the armrest on the other side. She was wearing silk pyjamas. I had regular cotton ones. Silk felt weird, too smooth.
Her hair kept catching my eye when the TV flashed certain colours. It was very bright, too red. Dennis had similar hair, just more brown, more natural I think. She was reading a book using a book light since the room was dark.
"Heather." I said. She hummed in response, eyes still on the book. "Do you dye your hair that colour?"
She glanced towards me. "Yes. I like the shade. It's brown, usually. Why, you want to dye yours?"
I shook my head. "No. I was just curious." I turned back to the cartoon. A humanoid mouse was rescuing a cat from a tree. It had the ability to fly, like Aegis. Do animals get powers? I'd never heard anyone mention it.
I could genetically alter a mouse with functional wings. They'd need to be attached to its front legs. It would keep its thumb, the rest of the fingers being stretched out to function like a bat wing. Front paws were useful for mice. I'd seen them eat all sorts of stuff by holding them in their little hands. Maybe I could add extra bones and muscle to make the wings independent of the front arms. It would require tools I didn't have access to. Really small surgeon tools. Maybe Armsmaster had some, his speciality was miniaturising things.
"What's that Tinker idea you're having right now?" Heather asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. She still had the book open, further along than I last noticed. She'd told me in the past that I looked spaced out while thinking about power things, and that I muttered things under my breath.
"I was thinking that I could genetically alter a mouse to give it wings. DNA modification could let it pass those wings along, too." I said, focusing back on the TV.
Heather's hand gripped my shoulder too tight. I flinched. "No. Listen to me. You don't do that, okay? Never." Her voice was more serious than I'd ever heard it. Was this to do with the Nilbog stuff? My heart started beating faster.
"Okay, I'm sorry, I won't. You're hurting me." I said. My voice wavered more than I meant it to. She let go of my shoulder. I rubbed it to lessen the pain a little.
"I'm sorry." She said, her voice back to normal. Confusing emotions flashed over her face. Pity? No, that wasn't right.
"It's okay."
"No. No, it's not. I messed up, and I'm sorry, Meadow. No one is allowed to hurt you. You don't deserve that." She said. She bit her lip. "Can I… Can I hug you? Is that okay?"
It was. Her hug was nice. I took a deep breath. Heather wasn't my mom. Which I was both thankful for and hated. I wanted her to be my mom, but not like my old mom.
"I'm sorry. Genetically engineering animals is a slippery slope, and I panicked. I promise I won't ever hurt you like that again." Heather assured me. I believed her.
We ate ice cream and watched a movie about knights and princesses.
She'll get an actual first patrol soon, I promise.
