Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I dreamt of a distant, unnamed ocean planet where secrets lay hidden beneath the waves. Water-based alien life flourished there: from the smallest Peeper the size of my hand to the massive Reaper, easily five times the length of Earth Bet’s own aquatic Endbringer (but with nowhere near the same destructive capabilities). It was terrifying. It was beautiful.

I spent weeks there, months even, exploring the different biomes as I dived deeper and deeper into the planetary crater. I built bases, water filters, and fabricators to help me survive the depths and the hostile life awaiting me thousands of meters below the surface. The bottom of the crater, I somehow knew, contained the reason why my ship crashed, the cure for a mysterious plague, and the source of the strange, alien voice imploring me to come and find them. 

When the incessant beeping of the morning alarm cruelly yanked me from the warm grasp of sleep, my hand flew to my face to check if my mask and oxygen tank were still secure. Instead of the white sterile walls and roof of the Cyclops submarine, I was greeted with the faded ceiling of my minivan and the predawn sky slowly getting brighter through the gaps in the shabby window curtains.

When I saw the signs that I would soon be unable to afford even some of the cheapest apartments while paying for my master’s degree class to class, I’d spent money I’d set aside for rent to instead remove the back seats and structures of my  minivan. It was cramped, but the back of the vehicle could fit a small mattress and most of my treasured belongings. As long as I was working on my degree, I could use BBU’s gym facilities for hygienic needs and short-term parking. I had it better than most homeless in Brockton Bay.

“Good Morning, Everett.” The female voice that had grown familiar to me intoned from the futuristic PDA tucked in the back pocket of the front passenger seat. “The time is 5:30 AM. The temperature is 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Vital signs are largely stable. Please seek caloric intake and fluids for optimal condition.”

“Thanks, Hal,” I groaned as I slumped back into my nest of pillows and blankets. Right. It wasn’t just a dream. I’d really had the worst day of my life a few days ago and learned that I’d become inextricably connected to an alien passenger that turned me into an ungodly combination of Eidolon and Dauntless in Tinker form. It felt daunting, pun not intended, to have the possibility of outstripping even the Triumvirate if I was allowed to grow.

Though I didn’t quite feel so inventive, given that the first thing my powers gave me was technology to create prefabricated bases and devices. The habitat constructor device would be extremely handy once I got my hands on materials, given I was technically homeless, but the device didn’t come with a background understanding of the technology. 

Thank the gods for Halia, the AI that had come with the fancy little PDA tablet. She was infuriatingly helpful in her flat, robotic, but I wouldn’t change her for the world. It was nice to have someone else to talk to besides my coworkers.

She’d been the one to explain that the habitat builder came with a linked subspace inventory shared with the scanner and her tablet, and that I could break down any constructed materials into their base components and store them in the tablet for later use. 

I’d used the scanner to create blueprints for my van, my bed, the sleeping bag, the heated blanket, and anything else that would be a pain to replace. As long as I could source materials- not even in their raw form, even– I could construct a fabricator to replicate anything I’d scanned. 

Of course, the fabricator needed glass, titanium, and copper to make as well as an attached power source. The same materials could construct a basic solar panel to power the fabricator, but I needed some kind of permanent structure to attach it to. The basic habitat builder room that would fit the requirements also required more glass and metal.

I mentally despaired as I gently extricated myself from the pool of warmth created by my sleeping bag. I needed to get my act together before my poor impulse control compelled me to do something noticeable. It was routine by now to unplug the heated blanket from the car port and swipe my hand across the PDA to silence the alarm before Halia could start it up again. 

“You have approximately 45 minutes until the start of your shift,” Halia stated as soon as my hand touched the device. “It is critical that you raise your energy levels soon, or you will collapse after your shift again.”

“No worries, Hal,” I reassured as I clambered into the front seat of the minivan and cautiously pulled down the corner of the front windshield’s UV protector to get a glimpse of what the morning would look like. “I have no plans of skipping breakfast today.”

Since I worked at the Boardwalk, there was a chained-off parking lot sectioned off for the security guards and employees. As long as you didn’t do drugs or cause problems, the Enforcers were quite happy to ignore cars parked there longterm in a way they didn’t ignore overnight cars in the public parking lot.

My designated parking space afforded me a decent view of the beachfront maintained by the Boardwalk and beyond the sand, the waves lapping at the shore. At this ungodly hour, the ocean looked like a mass of ink against the lighter sands. Soon, I thought. 

I wanted to help the Bay, but the tools I currently had didn’t lend itself to fighting any sort of crime. I’d get shot within a week, or taken by one of the gangs to pump out more destructive gadgets. I also didn’t feel drawn to the PRT. 

Call it a residual grudge for getting turned down from an unpaid intern position, but I also hated public speaking and the dog and pony show that capes underwent with marketing. My potential PRT career would’ve been about creating public-facing media and materials for capes, not as a cape. Hell, I’d gotten stage fright just from class presentations, and my public-facing job at the Boardwalk drained me to the point that I hadn’t truly spoken to anyone besides Halia in days. 

No, I’d build my reputation and work through intermediaries. There had to be something I would gain in the future that would let me avoid talking to people directly. 

Besides, it felt like my power called me beneath the waves. If my dream self could survive and even thrive on an ocean planet, I could build myself up into a proper Tinker under the surface Brockton Bay. The tools I’d received from my powers were all calibrated for establishing an oceanic base of operations- if that wasn’t my passenger pointing out a literal safe harbor to avoid the worst of the starting Tinker pitfalls, then it was simply providence.

“Everett!”

Hal’s voice startled me out of my reverie. I leaned back and pulled out her tablet.

“What is it?” I asked, my attention flitting back towards the shoreline. Wait, when had the sun actually started cresting the distant horizon? It was much brighter than a few moments ago.

“Everett, I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past 20 minutes,” Hal informed me, her robotic tone infused with the tiniest ounce of worry. “You have 20 minutes remaining before your shift.” 

“Oh, shit!” I said, and I checked my phone. Hal was right; I’d spaced out for longer than I meant to over my Tinkering plans. The van’s seat creaked warningly as I scrambled out of it and dived for my toiletry bag in the back. Next Triumvirate-level Tinker or not, I would still never be a morning person.

What would you do if you gained powers? Variations of the question, as well as the subsequent debate assignments, were the staple of parahuman studies classes. Brockton Bay University was no exception in light of the high percentage of capes running amok in the larger city.

Academically, I found parahumans fascinating. It was why the PRT had been my hope for getting an actual career and the funds to move out of this hellhole city, before those dreams had been quashed by the harsh truth of PRT ENE’s budget cuts and limited staffing. 

Parahuman psychology was also a narrower field of study despite the popularity and increase in cape numbers. Surprise surprise, getting capes to talk about the terrible events that led to them gaining powers was a bit hard to do. What studies there were on the mental aspect of parahuman powers all agreed on one fact: Trigger events fundamentally changed someone.

“Hello, welcome to the Brockton Bay Boardwalk!” I said for the thousandth time, my customer service voice long-practiced by this point. “How can I help you at this time?”

I’d never seen myself in a public-facing role, and about a year ago I would have done almost anything else to avoid that stress. But preferences didn’t pay for classes, provide meals, and keep the minivan maintained and gassed up. 

My job at the Boardwalk was a typical example of employment in the Bay: not enough hours to qualify for full-time benefits, but a schedule varied enough that I couldn’t work a second part-time job. But it was a job, which was more than other unfortunate homeless people could claim. I faked social niceties and politeness enough to pass against all but the worst of the populace, and I hovered on the side of above-average in terms of conventional looks, so my job was manning the information center. 

I had pamphlets and posters about all of the various restaurant attractions, as well as schedules of all the various kinds of official tours offered. I maintained the Lost and Found. Despite the presence of a massive schedule outlining public-facing patrol times and future Ward appearances, a main part of my duties was helping with questions that could have been answered by applying basic literary competence. 

It was nearing the end of my shift that I felt the connection to my passenger stir. It was all I could do to excuse myself on my last 15 minute break and slip into one of the bathroom stalls before the Celestial Forge could complete a connection. It was the most privacy I could find on such short notice, and I hoped that whatever changes came to be, it wouldn’t be immediately noticeable.

If I had to create a comparison, it felt like dipping a small net into an astral sea while the powers of the Celestial Forge passed below the surface like the strangest species of fish. Some of these fish were too big to currently catch but I instinctively knew that over time my reach would eventually grow to accommodate these massive boons. That was the Dauntless aspect of my power, and how I would eventually become a force for change in this shithole of a city.

The astral sea shifted, and I froze as a power finally slipped into my net.

My ship is damaged. Of course my graduation day from the Terrene Protectorate coincides with Earth getting destroyed by an alien the size of a small planet. The humor helps numb the tragedy; the loss of life is incalculable. Never again will I peer down  at the blue-green pearl and map out the familiar continents from orbit. All those distant and exotic planets, all those dreams of adventures lending aid to the wider galaxy, and still… I already miss home. 

The ship’s cat meows up at me mournfully as I make my way over to the teleporter pad and the SAIL console. An unfamiliar garden planet looms below the viewfinder, and as I slowly boot up the ship’s AI I note the preliminary scans show no environmental hazards. Good; I don’t have a protection pack yet.

When the vision faded, I looked down at my hands and wondered if my passenger could hear my thoughts and influence what powers the Celestial Forge sent my way. This… this was what I thought of when I imagined Tinkertech. This was future technology I understood.

If I could make the first tier of these Environmental Protection Packs (EPPs), I wouldn’t even need the diving suit and mask. I could simply walk on the bay floor if I wanted to. I suppressed a hysterical snort as I imagined walking out of the waves on the beach and heading up the promenade as if I were on a casual stroll. The bathroom stall was part of a shared employee building, and I didn’t want my co-workers to hear me losing it. I didn’t need to talk to my supervisor; I don’t think I could hold back my desire to quit then and there if I was pulled in for a “talk.”

The basic tier of EPP allowed the wearer to traverse airless environments while only wearing the armored device. I’d need to add tungsten to my list of materials and substitute something for the original plant matter used in the EPP’s construction, but if it succeeded I could potentially upgrade the armor pack further. I saw blueprints for EPPs that rendered the wearer immune to background radiation, or sub-zero temperatures. 

There were also programmable augments that could be slotted into the EPP and boost the wearer’s durability, speed, and combat ability. It might even be something that could stand up to Endbringer scenarios, or at least assist in search-and-rescue.

If my resource-gathering efforts paid off, I could disappear in the bay sooner than I’d hoped. I pressed my head against my knees and grinned. I could quit this fucking job. That was almost as exciting as gaining superpowers.

Chapter Text

Early Sunday morning found me on the beach armed with a trash picker, thick plastic bucket, and gardening gloves. I’d spent most of this week’s paycheck on the tools as well as quality steel-capped shoes, thicker pants, and a waterproofed overcoat to ward against the cold autumn fog, but I was warm and dry as I picked my way over small mounds of broken glass and other garbage scattered in the sand. 

Community service was not the first thing PHO users and other cape enthusiasts thought of when it came to Tinkers gathering resources. Pawn shops, dumps, recycling centers, and abandoned factories, yes, but what about a church?

The First Methodist Church was one of the few larger-scale churches that still operated in the city, and they regularly hosted charitable events only a block from the main hub of the Boardwalk. I’d made use of their shelter a few times when the worst part of winter months proved too cold to endure in my van last year, and I still had a volunteer pamphlet tucked away somewhere. I knew that every Sunday after prayer Pastor Mitchell and his wife Lucile would lead volunteers to clean up parts of the shoreline, as he had for the last five years.

Beachcombing was not a typical Brockton Bay activity outside of the Boardwalk’s territory, where a fleet of sandbonis swept the beach twice a day to keep it pristine for tidal watchers and tourists interested in collecting sea glass. No, years of municipal neglect left most of the Bay’s waterfront a trash-filled mess.

Cans, trash wrappers, used needles, discarded articles of clothing, bits of debris from the Ship Graveyard, and more got tangled up with driftwood and long strands of washed-up seaweed on the shore. I would also bet good money more than a few spent shells and discarded firearms could be found amidst the heaps of detritus. The health hazard of used needles and sharp objects deterred all but the most desperate from searching the beach for salvageable items or valuables to pawn.

It was a perfect place to salvage materials under the guise of cleaning up. The habitat builder could literally deconstruct items and separate the components itself, so all I needed to do was load the litter I couldn’t use in the bucket for disposal and send the rest to my subspace storage. A good deed and a less obtrusive way to build up my crafting stores.

I’d also done a little more research between work shifts on the kinds of materials I actually needed. In my excitement to build my own Tinker base, I’d skipped over crucial details for what I would actually need. 

The materials I’d used on 4546B in my visions had been the result of Hal’s survival program drawing on scans to provide the best alternative material available for what I’d wanted to build. Her calculations determined that titanium had been the most suitable– and plentiful even right after exiting the lifepod– metal in the alien biome for constructing vehicles and bases.

Submarines weren’t typically built out of titanium here on Earth Bet, at least according to historical data. Hal had been quick to correct me after I’d voiced my plans for gathering materials, and since she could easily tap into the Boardwalk’s guest wifi, she’d assembled all the relevant information on the PDA screen for me. Steel was the usual material used for submarines– outside of probes designed for oceanic trenches, and I had no plans to knock on Leviathan’s domain– which was a relief. 

There was tons of steel rusting out in the bay that I could use to construct the underwater abode. I just needed enough beach material to rig up my fabricator and print out my diving equipment.

It was a few minutes walk from where I’d parked to the clean-up spot listed on the church’s website. I knew I’d reached the correct place when I saw the Reverend Father Mitchell amongst a group of three other older men and women.

Father Mitchell was an older gentleman sporting slicked back brown hair and a matching beard that were both streaked with grey. At some point in his life he must have been a professional athlete or some kind of gym rat because it was easy to see he still retained a good amount of bulk visible even under his thick tweed coat.

As soon as he spotted me, Mitchell’s face lit up and he waved me over.  “Everett! It’s good to see you,” he greeted as he shook my hand warmly. “How are you doing? I haven’t seen you since last winter.”

“Hello, Father,” I managed a weak smile. He seemed to be exactly the same as our last encounter. It was good to see someone who stuck to his principles and his faith in a city that steadily declined by the year. “It’s good to see you as well. I’ve been doing much better than last winter. It’s been a slow climb, but I’m steadily getting back to a better place.”

I wasn’t the most sociable, but I could muddle through niceties well enough. I thought about dropping a tidbit about acquiring housing, but Mitchell was the person who could worm more information than I wanted to give out of me if I gave him an inch to work with. I wasn’t a very good liar, either.

As expected, Mitchell perked up at the news. “Did you get the PRT position you were looking for, then? The internship?” he asked excitedly, looking me over as if he could spot some errant PRT logo on my jacket or tools.

Ah. Right, we haven't spoken since my last visit to the shelter. Awkward, but my newfound semblance of a plan and literal superpowers took out the worst of the lingering sting of rejection. The PRT wouldn’t know what they were missing.

“No,” I replied, trying to keep my smile in place. From the way Mitchell’s expression drooped, I figured I hadn’t been too successful. “But I did find a steadier job, and it’s getting better. That’s why I’m here, actually. I kept the volunteer flyer, and I had some extra time this weekend, so I wanted to help out with your beach cleaning. Give back a little, you know?”

It wasn’t technically a lie. I would be doing community service by helping clean up the beach, but the words still left a sour taste in my mouth. Father Mitchell’s expression eased back into a genuine smile.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m glad you could join us,” he remarked, and patted me on the shoulder. One of the older women standing behind him pointedly coughed, and Mitchell sheepishly backed up and gestured to the other volunteers. “It’s always heartening to see people get inspired to give back. Let me introduce the rest of the group, and then we’ll get started.”

Lucile wasn’t present– she was busy doing her own volunteering back at the church for the shelter residents, according to Mitchell– but I was briefly introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Harper, an older black couple who’d been attending First Methodist since before I was born, and the middle-aged bespectacled Mrs. Spencer who’d been the one to cough.

Soon enough we spread out across the beach and started to pick through the sands. Mitchell had set up a central hazard bucket for the inevitable discarded needles and other drug paraphernalia, but to my relief most of the other volunteers spread out to cover their own wide areas. It left me in the perfect position to walk further down the beach and start collecting materials.

I took a quick scan of the beach under the pretense of fiddling with my jacket and gloves. Halia’s scanner range was limited, but she was my best option for filtering out what I needed. Hal would send a little vibration through her PDA– safely concealed in the inner pocket of my jacket– that would increase in frequency when I got close to something I needed. Once I did, the habitat constructor was just up my sleeve. I’d attached a little elastic strap to hold it snugly in place so it wasn’t too obvious to outside observers.

Preparations done, I reached for my trash picker and got to work.

Beachcombing wasn’t the most interesting or stimulating of activities, and I spent two hours walking up and down the shoreline digging out used trash wrappers, crumpled beer cans, and other nasty debris out of the sand. Father Mitchell brought his pickup truck and lined the back section with tarps and color-coded tubs. 

Mr. Harper stayed by the truck and sorted all the clutter we brought off the beach into different categories: electronics, hazardous, recyclables, and landfill. I tried not to show any disappointment when the other volunteers managed to uncover something that would have been really, really nice to have. Who knew that people would choose to dump only a mildly damaged flat screen television?

Still, an hour and a half later, I bid farewell to Father Mitchell with the promise to return in a week and tried not to sprint back to my van. I’d managed to snag a good amount of trash and smuggle it into my subspace storage.

While I didn’t stumble across as big of a find as a television, I had found more than a few broken chargers, cellphones, and other small personal electronics. I just hoped it would be enough; I couldn’t confirm any details with Halia out in the open like that. Sound always carried further than people expected.

As soon as I’d clambered into my van, drawn the window covers, and locked the door, I pulled out the PDA and set it on my lap.

“Halia, talk to me,” I said as I fumbled with the habit constructor wrist strap. “Did we get what we needed?”

“Calculating… Analysis complete,” Halia chimed, and then brought up the PDA’s holographic interface. Everything I’d gathered had been broken down into clumps of raw materials and sorted neatly by type. I wasn’t a mathematician, but the amount I saw in subspace storage looked promising.

“You have sufficient materials for: Dive suit. Fins. Oxygen Tank. Solar Panel. Fabricator,” Halia listed out, and I grinned. I’d committed to helping out Father Mitchell for at least another week, but getting enough raw materials to create all the personal equipment I wanted was excellent. 

“Insufficient supplies for: Hab-suite room,” Halia continued apologetically, and my elation faded. “Insufficient supplies for: Hab-suite hatch. Estimates require three times the amount of collected material for larger constructions.”

I rubbed my forehead to ward off the impending headache. I didn’t want to wait longer, not when I knew from my parahuman studies classes that Tinkers needed to create or risk falling into a fugue state where I would search out materials and build irrespective of circumstances or witnesses. New Tinkers were found so often because of that hazard. My situation with my passenger was unique, but I didn’t know if that extended to Tinker-based drawbacks. 

In theory I could build the EPP in lieu of the diving equipment and bypass the need for the fabricator entirely. But then my problem simply shifted to a different issue since protection packs, while smaller and compact, needed to be built by hand with tools before I could scan the device and save the schematics to the PDA construction database for future fabrication. Tools I couldn’t make without a power source. 

“Hal, is there a way to modify the size of these?” I asked Halia as I idly tapped through the habitat tool’s construction menu. “Instead of one massive solar panel, could I construct two half-size panels?” The full-size solar panel was too big for my car, which was why I’d hoped to find enough materials to create one of the pre-fab habitat sections. But if I could tinker— pun intended— with the size settings, I might be able to cram a smaller power setup into the van.

“One moment.” Halia paused. “Accessing root code. Calculating.” 

I could feel the electrical components of the PDA hum and whirr, and I tried (and failed) not to get my hopes up. 

“Fabricator settings are locked for safety by Alterra Corporation protocols,” Halia finally stated, and I thought I detected a hint of excitement in her otherwise monotone diction. “Override is possible by this PDA unit. Significant alterations, however, will decrease device efficiency and durability. Proceed?”

“Yes!” I sat up straighter. I was finally getting somewhere. “Please, proceed.”

The constructor’s blueprint menu flickered and shifted. When I pulled up the stored data for the solar panel, I noted that Halia had added new tabs to the interface. I could input or extract materials from my subspace storage into the blueprint, and then the possible permutations of the design popped up. For a little bit extra metal and copper, I could tweak one massive solar panel into three smaller ones– about the size of a small computer monitor– linked together by wiring. It kind of looked like the weirdest string of holiday lights, and it was perfect. 

The prongs of the habitat constructor twitched and spun as I booted up the modified blueprint. I watched in silence as the solar panels slowly materialized on my van floor. I knew the theoretical science behind the device and how it took matter particles and layered it like the world’s fanciest 3D printer, but watching it in action felt like magic. 

“Construction successful,” Halia spoke up, startling me out of my daze. “Congratulations, Everett. The new solar panels are only 80% efficient as the original design, but they will work as a sufficient power source for the fabricator. May I advise relocating to the secure parking lot before deployment?”

Right. I was still parked near a public beach.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” I said, and carefully tucked the linked solar panels beneath a blanket. Father Mitchell and the other church members were still standing around in the parking lot as I clambered into the front seat, so I gave them a brief smile and wave as I fired up the van. 

Given that it was still fairly early on a Sunday I encountered little traffic. Soon enough, I was tucked away in my secure employee parking spot. I lined up the smaller solar panels along my dashboard and tucked the UV reflector sheet behind them. The bright sheen of the reflector should hopefully draw attention away from the solar panels, but I wasn’t too worried. 

Portable solar panels were, while overly expensive, something that could be acquired in Brockton Bay. I could explain away their presence far easier than something like the fabricator where the aesthetic was nothing but futuristic. If I shifted the colors a little, I could imagine it easily slotted in Armsmaster’s Tinker lab on the PHQ. 

Now that I could modify the size of the blueprint productions, I could actually implant the fabricator into the bed of the car. It took a bit of awkward shuffling to move my mattress away from the spare tire well and pop open the compartment. The spare tire and emergency roadside kit took up residence on my messy pile of blankets as I trailed the solar panel wires across the length of the car and down into the well. I held my breath as the habitat constructor worked its magic and the ends of the solar panel wires melded into the fabricator. Then the fabricator seamlessly meshed with the bed of the van. Moment of truth. As the machine hummed to life under my fingertips, my power surged to life. Like a breaker wave, the astral sea had slowly built up energy and now I could feel that the power entangled in my nets was the largest so far.

Connection. A point of elation. A sense of satisfaction.

And then-

The biters yearned for the factories. I could hear the gnashing of their mandibles and the soft thump of my artillery’s ordinance breaking through their chitin shells beyond the raised encampment walls. As the automatic flamethrowers started to belch gouts of burning deterrent on the swarms beyond, I ran a quick inspection of my armor.

The battery array had a full charge from the portable fusion reactor, and the exoskeleton was fully functional. I checked the filters on the mask; the thick smoke of the factories had grown with its recent expansion, and now those alien creatures were twice the size they were before. The filters also helped wick away the smell of the insects roasting and burning less than a dozen yards away. I briefly wished I’d had the time to build the energy shield module for my armor, but the biters didn’t care about my personal woes. I had to endure this wave first.

“Everett? Everett!”

-I startled at the sudden press of metal against my nose and mouth. I looked down, and for a moment I thought I was back in the vision. The modular armor I’d worn on that alien planet looked incongruous in comparison to my plaid-patterned sleeping back and the worn carpeting of my van. I could feel the hum of the portable fusion reactor integrated within the circuitry of the chest piece, and the HUD in the corner of the mask’s screen helpfully informed me that the exoskeleton was both fully powered and operational. The outfit I’d worn had been replaced with a thicker under armour jumpsuit, and I could feel the better quality of the cloth.

“Everett, please state your status,” Halia’s voice broke me out of my reverie. “Vital signs: fluctuating. Are you in distress?”

I remained stiffly seated as I worked to remove the armor’s headpiece; I couldn’t risk moving too much with the exoskeleton enabled and inflicting any kind of damage to my van. As I fumbled  with unfamiliar straps, I checked that all the van’s curtains were drawn. Forget the fabricator, I would immediately be pinned as a cape in this.

“No, Hal,” I said as I finally unsealed the mask from the rest of the armor. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually.”

The mask was a bright, violent yellow color reminiscent of the bump caps construction workers when working on-site. Industrial yellow? Workplace-safety compliant yellow? The comparison also extended to the shape, which reminded me of a welder’s mask. I would likely need to change up the colors and tweak the aesthetics, but despite the rough look the technology was incredible. 

The modular armor was far above the dive suit and fins I’d hoped to create this morning. As I grabbed the scanner and started to add each of the armor pieces to my database, I marveled at the design. While it was durable, the strength of the armor laid in its adaptability and the amount of customization I could cram into it.

Yes, yes, I could picture the places where I could integrate the oxygen tanks into the design of the armor. The fabricator’s tanks could gradually refill if I breached the surface of the water or entered an area with abundant amounts of breathable air. If I used some of the materials I’d originally set aside for the oxygen mask, I would be able to integrate circuitry and link up the monitoring software with the armor’s HUD. There would also be room for an EPP once I sourced the materials and tools; the pack’s protective field would aid with underwater movement, and I’d keep the oxygen tanks as a redundant system if the EPP failed.

Was my passenger trying to tell me something? I’d gained the suit as soon as I figured out a solution to the production issue, and now I was fully equipped to explore and harvest the ship graveyard. With this, I couldn’t put off the next step of my plan, so perhaps it was telling me to hurry the hell up. Right. This was not the time to hesitate.

“Halia,” I said, and set the mask on the floor. “How is locating a good dive spot going?”

One way or another I would be in the water tonight.

Chapter Text

I dedicated the rest of my day to preparations. A call to my manager and a co-worker whom I'd covered shifts for in the past meant I now had tomorrow free. My paycheck would take a hit, but that was a tertiary concern now that I had the modular armor's life-support systems online. I could go for three to four days substituting on the tasteless paste the suit produced, which honestly wasn't that bad.

I'd made sure to scan every part of the modular armor into the database before I tried tampering with anything. The armor itself in its base form would be too heavy for swimming, but I could still make use of the hardware once I removed the metal plating. The end result kind of looked like a wireframe skeleton stretched over the dive suit, but while it wasn't very pretty, it should work for what I needed.

The extra straps meant to accommodate additional equipment modules added at a later point to the armor would mesh well with the dive suit harness. My scanner would fit on there nicely alongside the habitat constructor. Once I got what I needed from the ship graveyard, I would also fit an EPP on there and see about adding back some of the armored plates for protection.

My vision from the Forge showed that the breathing EPP was geared more towards actually walking along the ocean floor, though free swimming was possible. Perhaps I could do something more with the strength- and speed-enhancing exoskeleton? Being able to transition from water to land without needing to stop and swap out the fins and the dive suit would be a real benefit. And with the fusion reactor, a limitless source of small-scale power, I didn't need to worry about the excess energy drawn from the new attachments.

The fusion reactor and battery array were one of the first things scanned. I could tell instinctively if the items were lost or destroyed, they would eventually return, but I wanted to make more. It was a neat power solution for my initial habitat; I wouldn't need to figure out how to hide about a dozen or so solar panels above or near the surface of the water.

I also spent time modifying the modular faceplate to fit around the diving mask. Halia would be able to feed me more kinds of data through the handy HUD software, and a tinted visor would do a better job of concealing my face. If I went out geared up, even if I wasn't seen, I would still be going out as a cape. I understood enough about parahuman culture to know that identity and presentation mattered. If my identity wasn't known, then I was just another faceless casualty in the crowd when a cape fight broke out unless I chose to out myself.

Unmasked capes were seen as a taboo target, but the past murder of New Wave's Fleur proved that was more of a guideline than a hard rule. To that end, Halia was trawling through the mire of PHO for information about local capes. I had a general understanding about the Bay's local gangs, but there was a difference between knowing the names of all of Empire 88's roster from the news and understanding what kind of force they could bring to bear.

If they didn't have the largest amount of capes in the area outside of the Protectorate, they'd be the most acceptable target for heroes, rogues, and other villains. No one likes Nazis except for Nazis.

I also knew about the Merchants in the sense that 90% of Winslow's school assemblies brought them up as one of the reasons why you shouldn't do crack or oxy as a teenager, and everyone who owns a vehicle in Brockton Bay remains wary of seemingly empty roads thanks to Squealer's invisible death tanker-truck. The Enforcers religiously kept any potential Merchant pushers far away from the Boardwalk, so I didn't often see the non-caped members.

Lung, one of the other major criminal cape leaders in Brockton, had his infamous reputation from his battle against Leviathan near Kyushu. It was also hard to miss a rampaging angry dragon man laying waste to the area near the Azn Bad Boy's marked territory that meant all the roads in the vicinity would be closed for the next week at least.

All of these were far above my weight class. I'm not sure I could take on a halfway decent mugger without my armor at my level right now, but that was something to work on once I had my hideaway set up.

As Halia downloaded the relevant discussion threads in regards to documented powers and other tidbits, I deconstructed the solar panels and the car fabricator into my subspace. On the off chance someone broke into my van between now and tomorrow, I didn't want to answer any awkward questions. Once everything was ready, I locked up the van, exited the employee parking lot, and headed up the Boardwalk until the shops petered out into long stretches of empty beach.

There were regular shuttles that ferried tourists up from the Boardwalk to the Market using the little side road outside of town, but I figured the local shortcut cutting across several fields and a stretch of beach would be the faster option. From there, I could access the shoreline and find the best spot to slip into the water unnoticed.

While a bus could take me from the Market to the tip of the Docks' northern suburbs, I didn't want to access the ruined shipyard by land. Several blocks worth of abandoned housing, warehouses, and industrial manufacturing centers lay rotting across the area. People who lived near the old shipyard either couldn't afford housing elsewhere, were trying to lay low from the law, or homeless squatters taking advantage of four walls and a roof.

The area's close proximity to the Trainyards also meant the whole area was a point of interest for potential Tinkers. It was an easy bet to make that most of the smaller recycling centers and dumps had ties to the PRT or one of the cape gangs. It was a bad idea, in short.

I wasn't alone on the long stretch of beach leading out of town. A small trickle of families and solo hikers passed me in both directions. I wasn't much for interaction, but I waved back and exchanged small greetings with anyone who did the same. It wasn't surprising since the Market was the busiest on the weekend for both locals and tourists alike, and I hoped that the sheer amount of people would make it easier to mask my movements. I'd browse for a little bit, look for anything I could reasonably buy without suspicion, and then make my escape.

The sound of a large crowd heralded my arrival to the Market. As I'd expected, there were hundreds of attendees. I could barely see the ground beneath the packed swathes of people and the bulk of the rented booths. The designated parking area was full, complete with a full circle of food trucks, and the Enforcers were out in numbers keeping the peace.

As soon as I stepped onto the asphalt, I felt the Celestial Forge stir, and I tried not to panic. There was a new power coming along with a vision, and I was in one of the most public areas of Brockton Bay. I hadn't really questioned if there was a visible sign of receiving a new ability, nor had I asked Halia. and I really didn't need anyone to notice me spacing out or whatever I did during the vision.

There was a line of port-a-potties nearby, set up on the edges of the Market for customer convenience due to the lack of running water and other public utilities. I tried not to sprint outright as I made my way there, but I still nearly bowled over a blonde teenager who had been absorbed by her phone as I rounded the corner of the nearest port-a-potty.

"Sorry!" I called, wincing, and stepped up into the unpleasant plastic box as she scowled at me. It stunk to high hell as the previous occupant had left the toilet seat up, but I managed to get the door shut and locked just as the astral net tightened around the oncoming mote.

A dark forest, twisted and warped by strange and bizarre magicks, stretches out away from your village as far as the eyes can see. A ruined cobble path, little better than a deer trail marked with the occasional dirt-packed flat stone, marks the only clear way forward. You know, inevitably, that something out there is watching you, waiting for you to step beyond the boundary stones marking the last farm of your land, and you'll need every scrap, every piece of bizarre magic you can get your hands on to make it through this demiplane alive. Good luck.

Another relevant power. Another sign from my passenger that I was going in the right direction. The vision was shorter this time, and off in a way I couldn't put my finger on, but that was secondary to my newfound knowledge. This power specialized in cobbling together scrap and scavenged bits into durable, functioning equipment. It wasn't necessarily compatible with my Alterra-based technology, but maybe I could cobble together some of the tools I didn't have enough materials for.

I remained in the port-a-potty for another minute or two— I really hoped the blonde girl wasn't waiting outside to yell at me for the near collision, I hated public confrontation— before the smell became too much to bear and I escaped back into fresh air. As I made my way back to the rows of stalls, my eyes felt drawn to all the different electronics and scraps of metal. I tucked my hands into my pockets to avoid any Tinker-based temptation.

I could see possibilities in the materials, potential substitutes for my current catalogue of blueprints. Most of the components were in electronics that I couldn't reasonably carry with me, but I ended up paying a few dollars for a handful of kitschy fridge magnets. They weren't the same as pure magnetite, but my power informed me I could melt the metal backings down and substitute them as the core for a stasis rifle.

While I was leery of building anything gun-shaped, I'd rather have some kind of weapon. The only other thing in my current toolkit was the survival knife. It was a useful tool to deter overly-curious Stalkers trying to take a bite out of an unknown intruder to their kelp forests, but gang members and capes don't typically leave after a light swipe across the snout.

Enough on that. I had the materials now for the rifle, and I'd make the knife once I set up my workspace in one of the sunken ships. I put the magnets in my pocket— shunting them into my subspace as soon as they were out of sight— and walked a loop around the Market, pausing appropriately to browse every few stalls. It took about half an hour to complete a few circuits around the location, and I also grabbed lunch from one of the food trucks before I felt that my obligations of appearing normal were satisfied.

The beach was a short walk away from the Market, but despite the proximity to one of the most bustling locations in Brockton Bay, it didn't see nearly as much use. Part of that came from the lack of care– the Boardwalk sandbonis couldn't maintain the beach this far north because of the amount of large rock formations that would wreck the machinery— and part of it came from the proximity to the shipyards.

The tidal currents carried a lot of nasty debris broken off from the derelict ships to this part of the bay, and even from where I was standing there were nasty rust-colored splotches visible just under the ocean surface where bits of scrap had settled. Sand and pebbles crunched underfoot as I made my way up and onto a rocky shelf that stretched at least fifty feet out from the shore and into the bay. It wasn't an appealing place, but I had faith that my new modular dive armor would protect me.

The larger formations of the rock shelf quickly obscured the view of the shore, and once I was out of sight I made my way down to the tide line. It was ebb current, which would pull me away from shore. I sat down on a shallow indent in the rocks that offered a ledge down closer to the water and pulled out my PDA.

A handy function of its subspace storage was the featured Equipment tab with a paper doll interface: I could drag and drop clothing items onto the digital mock-up of myself to change out my clothes for the dive armor without needing to get naked out in the open. Between one second and the next my street clothes were replaced by the suit, tank, and fins. I opted to pull my new helmet out of subspace rather than use the paper doll interface. For this first dive, I wanted to ensure everything worked as intended.

I connected the oxygen tubes to the back of the armored helmet, and watched as small magnetic clamps locked it into place. I gave the tube a quick tug, but it held fast. The helmet was also properly connected to the portable reactor and battery array, so I secured my hair into a tight bun before I slipped it on. As expected, the corners of my vision immediately lit up with the new HUD and the inside of the mask faded away. Tiny cameras inside the modular armor's faceplate ensured I had more vision than the narrow tinted visor slit would normally indicate.

"Oxygen tank feed successfully linked to helmet rig," Halia chimed in my ear as the helmet's airtight seals clamped down around my face and neck. "Exterior oxygen siphon active. Nutritional data active. Temperature data active. Compass added. Exoskeleton output data added. Power supply active. Ready to dive."

Music to my ears. I took a deep breath, and I could feel the flow of air filter into the helmet. Systems were green on the HUD. I nodded to myself, and without further ado I stepped off the rock shelf and plunged into the water below.

Silt swirled around me as I sank below the surface. I could feel the ambient cooler temperature of the water, but the sensation of liquid seeping through the  fabric and wetting the skin I'd get from a regular wetsuit never came. I took in a deep breath as I twisted back and forth, testing the seal on my helmet, and when I exhaled the screen in front of me didn't fog up. The dive armor was working as intended.

"Halia, system check?" I queried as I kicked away from the rocky shelf. "How is everything working so far?" The combination of my fins and the empowered boost from the exoskeleton easily shot me fifty feet out into the bay. The Ship Graveyard was still easily two miles out, a distance an average swimmer could make in about two hours cross-current, but at this pace I would take less than half an hour to reach my destination.

I maintained a distance of about 30 feet below the water's surface, marveling at the clarity of view from the helmet feed. The lighting from the sun above was enough to highlight any rocks or debris poking up from deeper waters. Glints of silver flickered past me as schools of fish dipped and darted to feed from the surface. Shadows of gulls and other seabirds passed lazily overhead.

"All systems reporting green, Everett," Halia replied, and I marveled at how crisp her voice sounded in my ear. "Modular dive armor working as predicted."

I couldn't stop a smile stretching across my face. It was quieter here, though the distant hum of small watercraft echoed quietly across the bay. No watchful eyes, no judgement, no expectations. Just me, Halia, and the sea.

Even with all the pollution, Brockton Bay was . Great plains of underwater grasses and seaweeds swayed below me, with the occasional outcropping of oyster reefs poking beyond the thick canopy of greens and browns.

A pod of harbor seals passed close by as I drew closer to the wrecked shipyard, and I slowed to take in their dog-like snouts and blue-grey pelts. I'd never seen the creatures this close before, especially not in their natural habitat. The seals that napped on the floating piers near the Boardwalk were largely motionless lumps unless it was two bulls fighting over a female. I backed away as one of the smaller seals boldly darted closer, circling loosely around me with curious, wide black eyes. If I reached out, I bet I could touch it.

No, Everett, I thought to myself. Bad. Do not pet the seal. That is a wild animal and shouldn't be accustomed to humans. Yes, even if it is very cute.

The harbor seal circled a few more times, at times just brushing against the edges of my suit, before it drew back and gave me enough room to comfortably swim away. Once I was clear of the pod, I re-engaged the exoskeleton boost and continued the journey.

I knew I'd arrived at the Ship Graveyard by the amount of silt and underwater debris. The dense kelp fronds and oyster reefs on the ocean floor had slowly given way to a thick layer of mud, sand, and rust. The massive shapes of the cargo ships cast deep shadows and tinted the water an ominous brown-red as I swam closer to the shipyard docking piers.

At some point, someone had smashed a sizable hole in the side of the first ship— a remnant from a cape territory fight, perhaps, or something from the original dock worker protests— and the vessel had taken on water. It now sat mostly submerged and listed violently to the right. I made a note of it and moved on; since the top of the deck was still accessible from the shipyard, I bet that looters had picked almost everything clean. There were so many ships to explore, and I had my eyes on ones further out in the bay.

Not surprisingly, there was a lot of clutter above and below the waterline. Destroyed or discarded industrial equipment had been dumped into the graveyard alongside more mundane trash. It was likely that one of the cargo ships carried fertilizer at some point, as the bay floor around the first group of ships was absolutely coated in the stuff.

I kept to the outside of the ships as I started my initial scans. There were lifeboats and other smaller watercraft sunk alongside the larger vessels, and some of the cargo ships had fallen into each other, broke apart, and created a veritable wall of hazardously sharp metal that looked like one prick would guarantee I got tetanus.

Despite the underwater risks, I wouldn't stop moving. There was so much material here, and ask I swam over the wrecked remains of a car I could feel the Celestial Forge stir again. It had been only a little under an hour since I received Scavenger and half a day since I got the modular armor. Either my passenger was speeding up the process of gaining power, or something I was actively doing contributed to catching more fish in the astral sea.

A house sits in the depth of the snowy woods. Countless dolls, almost perfect small replicas of humans controlled through a mixture of magic and technology, perform dozens of tasks simultaneously. Sweeping snow from the roof, preparing food, and carving most of their compatriots. From your position at the head of your doll crafting table, it's almost as if you're sitting alone in a crowd and not the one pulling all the strings.

I blinked to clear my head as I tread water up to the surface to refill my oxygen supply. This vision had been shorter than the others, but the power was one of the most potent so far and I was reeling from the amount of information my brain suddenly had to parse through. The past powers had given me access to technology trees, equipment, and the ability to substitute parts, but this one gave me the background expertise and potential to reverse-engineer foreign devices.

I thought of the portable fusion reactor and battery array currently fueling my armored dive suit and the exoskeleton; the ships here had to have some impressive electronics and power storage devices I could use the habitat constructor to rip apart for the resources. If I could cobble together a working fusion reactor with my two newest abilities with my world's materials, I could upload the Earth Bet version of the fusion reactor into my blueprint database, adapt it to the Alterra prefab builds, and make more with the fabricator.

It would neatly solve my issue with hiding the solar panels long-term, as well as the concern of how I would power my Tinker lab once I expanded past one or two rooms. I suspected that the Celestial Forge would warrant larger expansions to accommodate all the tools and technology I would eventually gain.

I poked my head slightly above the waterline and scanned the graveyard, marking the more distant ships on my HUD. My best bet for my workshop was one of the sunken ships that wasn't accessible by land, and would prove risky for a smaller watercraft to maneuver into. I was tempted to branch out all the way to the ship sunken into the inlet, but I wanted to keep close to my material resources for now.

"Halia, check the passive scans," I murmured into my helmet as I dipped back below the water. There were ten to fifteen ship candidates available that fit within my criteria. "Let's explore our options for the workshop. Do any of the ships have some kind of hull breach?"

Chapter Text

I might have underestimated how much time it would take to investigate several skyscraper-sized ships. And how out of shape I was. My exoskeleton greatly boosted my athletic capabilities, but I still had a regular human body beneath the dive armor and it couldn’t keep up with the pace I wanted to set.

"How-" I gasped, leaning back against the hull of one of the sunken lifeboats and trying to catch my breath. "How- Halia, how many more ships do we have left to check?" The suit had systems to wick away the worst of my sweat, but it couldn't stop all my muscles from trembling and shaking. I didn't think I could swim for much longer, not when I would already be miserably sore in the morning.

"There are five locations that fall under stated criteria remaining," Halia said mercilessly. "Our current pace is insufficient, Everett. Estimated time to completion: 5 hours."

I didn't have another 5 hours worth of swimming left in me, but I had to walk away from this trip with something. Now that I’d decided to set up my base in one of the ships, I couldn’t return to my van tonight without feeling like a failure. The other ships up to this point had been too close to the shipyard, too ransacked, or too damaged to safely inhabit. I needed to cut down on the remaining options for now; I could return to explore other options when I wasn’t exhausted. 

"Out of the remaining ships, which one looks the most promising?" I asked Halia wearily. I hauled myself off of the ocean floor and cautiously resurfaced to keep an eye on the shoreline. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and as the late afternoon dipped into true evening the chances of unsavory activity around the shipyard increased tenfold. So far all was quiet on the shipyard front, and hopefully my luck would hold.

"Analyzing," Halia intoned, and a small blip appeared on my HUD. "Analysis complete. Adding location to your database. Most likely to fulfill all criteria: container ship, formally registered as the MV Clydesdale. Current swimming conditions: hazardous. Further PPE recommended for any further salvaging mission."

"Understood Halia, I'm with you there," I muttered, and ignored the protests from my legs and back as I dipped back under the surface. I wouldn’t have been able to work this long under the weight of armored plates, but I still made a note in the back of my mind to look into stab-proof gear. Some of the metal debris lingering beneath the waterline had needle-thin points. 

The MV Clydesdale was one of the larger wrecks in the ruined shipyard and one that was situated far enough away from the other ships that anyone who wanted to salvage it needed a boat. The stacks of cargo containers on the top part of the ship hadn’t weathered the collision with the bay floor too well; nearly half of the containers had been knocked clear of the ship and out into the bay. 

The remaining containers lay open and rusting under the sun and salty air, clearly picked over by scavengers in the years since. I had high hopes the containers stored belowdecks (and below the waterline) would still be untouched. The ship had listed harshly to the right and left the deck at a near 50 degree angle; it was a miracle the bindings on some of the taller container stacks still held.

When I took a look beneath the listing vessel, I could see a protruding shelf of a larger oyster-covered outcrop had punched through the bottom right side of the hull. The damage from being run aground wasn’t enough to fully scuttle the ship, but the gash ripped open by the impact could easily allow a Seamoth ingress once I eventually built the small submersible.

I made a mental note to investigate the other side of the ship when I wasn’t racing the setting sun. I could break down those containers to create supporting pillars on the listing side to ensure the ship didn't fully keel over sideways if it sheared away from the rocky floor. I would also need to see if they had Just another item on the steadily-growing list of things to do.

"Right," I murmured to myself as I stared at the large rip in the hull. It was pitch black inside the vessel, unsurprisingly. "Let's get everything set up."

I toggled on my helmet's night vision and disabled the exoskeleton as I carefully paddled through the torn metal plates. I didn’t want to risk swimming face-first into an unseen obstacle at the speed I’d used to cross the bay, not when the belly of the cargo hold would hold more tightly-packed stacks of containers. 

My caution proved wise. A typical container ship had a partitioned cargo hold— about 8 to 10 sections split evenly depending on the size of the ship, each with staggered floors so that the largest column of stacked containers ran right down the stern of the ship— and as I swam through the damaged hull, I could see the warped remains of a partition wall just a few feet in. 

The damage from the impact had punctured a hole right through the middle of one of the dividing walls and into the right side cargo container. A thick layer of algae coated everything, and a small school of fish scattered in my presence. The breached container’s boxed goods, though the wood was clearly rotting, were also still strapped in place with no sign of human disturbance. Perfect. 

I pulled out the scanner and took a few initial readings around the damaged ingress. There was no way this container marked the top of the cargo hold and I had no desire to be crushed under the combined tons of the containers stacked on top of the damaged one if the structural integrity was about to give way.

The laser cutter would cut me a passage through the containers until I reached the roof of the cargo hold. From there I could disassemble each container from the stacked column and build the habitat with the material. The cleared space above the damaged container should be large enough to host my initial base as well as the inevitable expansions, and once I rested and recovered I could delve into the other sections of the hold.

I dipped back outside to refill my oxygen tank and took a steadying breath. First up, the laser cutter. Once I had the base drawn up, I could tinker to power the structure with my portable fusion reactor, but right now I needed the materials to build a temporary room to fabricate my tools and hold some of the excess goods in my subspace storage. It wasn’t infinite, sadly. I also made a mental note to look into integrating fabrication capabilities into the modular suit; I didn’t want to set up a whole new habitat every time I needed to quickly print off a tool or condense down any of the materials I gathered.

The containers thrown from the ship’s impact and scattered around the wreck were my target of choice. I didn’t want to touch the containers rusting on top of the ship in case any visible changes drew unwanted attention, and I didn’t risk breaking down any of the containers I could access in the hold without some assurances that a several ton stack of metal wouldn’t give way and crush me if I deconstructed the wrong object. 

Would it be the shortest Tinker career? Doubtful, given the sheer absurdity of scenarios I’d read about capes going through, but I’d rather not go down with the snarky PHO post-mortem thread header reading Idiot Tinker Literally Crushed by Unrealistic Expectations. 

“Hal, how much daylight do we have left?” I asked as I swam over to the nearest of the fallen containers. The tides had buried a good half of the metal box in sand, and clusters of barnacles, algae, and sea grass had grown over the exposed bits. I only needed a small amount of gold for the power converter, so as long as any of these containers had electronics I was set.

“There is approximately 1 hour, 16 minutes, and 37 seconds until sunset, according to solar time calculations by the local weather forecast,” Hal replied, and she popped a helpful countdown timer in the bottom left corner of my HUD. “Caution: visibility may vary given current environmental conditions. Proposal: maintain focus on essential components. Ship structure and salvage will remain until optimal working conditions are achieved.”

“I can do that,” I sighed. It’s hard to argue against an AI, especially one designed to monitor and maintain my vitals. I also couldn’t ignore the constant aches  “Hal, throw up a list of the essential base components on my HUD?”

The AI complied, and I quickly scrolled down the list: airlock, hab module, lockers, fabricator, solar panels, power converter, and oxygen pipes. Doable in the time I had left.

The half-buried container didn’t have a convenient human-sized hole I could fit into. But years of wear-and-tear from the constant corrosive salt water exposure meant that sections of the thick steel walls were rusty and flaking away. 

I fiddled with the habit constructor and used some of my solar panel materials to build a slim metal pole. It was meant to be the support stand for the floodlight blueprint, but I had a different plan for it.

Wham! 

I activated my exoskeleton boost and bashed the end of the pole in the center of the largest rust patch I could see. The metal crumpled inwards with a faint groan, and I grinned. No way I could do this kind of damage without the suit. Is this the kind of power (on a lower scale, of course, I didn’t want to be putting my Tinker cart before the robotic horse here) a cape like Armsmaster felt wielding his fancy-ass halberd?

Wham! Wham! Wham! 

The rusted section of the container finally gave way with a tortured metal screech, and a flurry of bubbles surged out of the newly-created gap. It took me a minute to catch my breath after that work, and I made another mental note to get back into shape. I deconstructed my pole and swam closer. Mindful of the container’s jagged edges, I stuck the end of my scanner through the gap and set to work cataloguing the contents. 

The readout informed me that this container held some type of specialized machine parts: side plates, machine covers, grates, and chutes all manufactured for some specific human-operated machine. There weren't as many electrical components as I hoped, but the scanner did pick up a small collection of spare gauges, meters, and wires for all the sensors and control systems. It would be enough to get started.

I swapped out my scanner for the habitat builder and set about deconstructing as much as I could. There wasn’t enough room in my subspace storage to hold the whole container’s cargo, so I settled on taking in as much as I could. Once my PDA pinged a warning in my HUD that I couldn’t fit anything else in the builder, I opened my storage interface. 

Halia had already helpfully highlighted the amount of metal and wiring I needed to get my operation started, so I condensed down all the excess material into neat piles and dumped them back into the container. It would hold them until I had all my lockers built.

I pulled up the habitat builder’s blueprints and selected the basic compartment. It had the oxygen generators I needed, according to the quickstart guide Hal dug up from the builder’s files, and it only required one solar panel to get started. It would be cramped with the fabricator and the various lockers I would create, store, and shuffle around all my gathered materials, but as long as I could fit inside the compartment I wasn’t worried. I’ve been living out of a van, after all, and this base was temporary.

Here goes nothing. 

The builder hummed to life in my hand as a shimmering outline of the I-shaped tube took shape cozied up against the Clydesdale. It was as close to the entrance of my base-to-be as I could manage, and as the compartment took shape several support struts jutted down into the sand below and kicked up a small cloud of debris.

I could see loose cloud metallic particles extruded by the builder slowly mesh together and condense into solid layers. In a matter of moments, I’d assembled an entire structure. 

The capabilities of the technology at my fingertips hadn’t felt so real before; the mini string of solar panels and fabricator were accessory-sized, but the compartment module was on another size scale. Without the builder, this kind of convenient technology wouldn’t exist outside of a few Tinker labs. The only cape I could think of who had the resources and ability to mass produce quasi-Tinkertech was Dragon, and even then I was certain the fabricator had her beaten. 

I swam up and laid a hand on it, just to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating. The metal was warm to the touch, and the sensors in my suit could pick up the smaller components that made up the module’s oxygen generators and energy conductors. 

It was hard not to let my imagination run wild. Even with just this, I could make a difference as a cape. The habitat builder manual had described the modules as the perfect emergency housing in times of crisis. If I ensured the technology couldn’t be replicated by the wrong crowd, recycling building debris into temporary shelters complete with power and a clean water supply would significantly boost Endbringer relief efforts... 

I shook my head to clear that errant train of thought. That was for future Everett; I still slept in a van and most of my technological capabilities came from my powers. As long as I didn’t die I could reach that lofty goal, but right now I needed to make my bed so I could collapse in it as soon as possible. 

I placed a full-sized panel on top of the structure and spread out the modified string of van solar panels to run down the compartment’s sides for good measure. A small tracker for the base’s power popped up in the top section of my HUD, and I watched the percentage tick up with no small amount of satisfaction.

“How much time do we have left now, Halia?” I asked to fill the silence as I constructed the airlock and entry hatch. Alterra’s airlock design wasn’t just a pressurized chamber to facilitate ingress and egress into the main habitat, it also absorbed and pumped out any excess water. 

“You have approximately 32 minutes and 57 seconds until sunset,” Halia replied as I entered the airlock and sealed the hatch behind me. The habitat walls quickly cycled out the bay water and evaporated the remaining moisture left behind on the walls, floor, and my armor. 

“Solar power collection efficiency will decrease in 25 minutes and 15 seconds,” she added, and I winced as I used the paper doll interface to store my flippers back in subspace and stepped barefoot through the interior compartment hatch. The material collection took longer than I’d hoped. No time to waste, then. 

The basic habitat module was larger than the back of my van, if barely, and while I couldn’t fit a mattress between the curved walls there was definitely space to crash on the floor in a sleeping bag and camp pad. 

“It’s still doable,” I muttered to myself as I set up the fabricator against the nearest flat surface. I’d slept in tighter quarters just fine, and the compartment was leagues cleaner than a motel bed or BBU dorm couch. “Just prioritize, Everett.”

For all the effort I’d gone to in creating this tool, the laser cutter itself was only a little longer than my forearm and resembled a white, cordless screwdriver when I fired up the fabricator. I slipped it into a clip on my dive armor’s harness and resolved to find a way to integrate it as a module alongside the fabricator. I also had the fabricator print out the survival knife and the high-powered flashlight to add to my harness kit before I stepped back into the airlock.

The setting sun had tinged the sky and water a faint orange when I exited the compartment, and the visual reminder lent a burst of energy to my protesting muscles. I swam over to the hole in the Clydesdale as fast as I could and squeezed into the broken container beyond.

“Let’s see what you can do,” I said to the laser cutter, and carefully positioned myself below the back corner ceiling. My helmet shaded my eyes from the bright glare of the laser as I cut a small hole into the top of the container, and the water muffled the sound of the cutter to a dull hiss. I cut away the container lid and swapped over to the habitat builder to deconstruct the molten-edged piece into my storage before I tackled the flooring of the container above.

I quickly established a rhythm; I would cut open a hole too small for cargo to tumble through in the container, use the scanner to get a sense of the contents, and swap to the habitat constructor to clear away any obstructions that might crash down on me. I would then cut myself a wide-enough hole to swim through to the next container. Halia, thankfully, remained quiet while I worked. My hands trembled around the laser cutter as I cut through the bottom of the next container. Another. A third. I kept going.

I knew I was getting close to the top when I pulled the bottom of a new container out and found stale air on the other side. I had finally reached the part of the ship that sat above the waterline. I removed an unlabelled pallet with the habitat constructor and set to cutting the hole wider.

“Based on passive scans, this container should be at the top of this stack,” Halia finally chimed in as I engaged the armor exoskeleton to boost myself out of the water. “Calculating… you are slightly ahead of anticipated schedule. Please continue your efforts!”

I didn’t need more encouragement as I seized an untouched pallet to serve as a stepping stool up to the ceiling. Without the armor augments, I wasn’t sure if I could stand on my own. Gods, I thought blearily as I took the laser cutter to the container ceiling, it’s almost done- 

The dinner plate-sized hunk of metal I’d cut loose dropped straight down and bounced off my helmet with a dull thunk. Ow. I blinked dumbly down at the piece of metal for a moment. I looked back up at the newly finished hole in the container, the laser cutter still going in my hand. A faint pain blossomed behind my eyes as my forehead throbbed.

I turned off the cutter before I could do something worse than standing directly underneath the hole I was making. 

Despite my blunder, I could see only darkness outside of the container; I’d finally reached the top of the container stack and the cargo hold. I plopped down on top of the pallet and caught my breath. I didn’t realize I was lying prone until I opened my eyes a minute later to a flurry of insistent pings in my HUD.

“Everett,” Halia urged, “Energy levels: critical. Priority: construct shelter immediately. Oxygen levels: unsafe. Everett. Everett. ”

I’m not sure how I hauled myself upright again. Stubbornness? The understanding that if I fell asleep here I would eventually run out of oxygen? 

“Everett,” Halia repeated. “Everett. Alert: construct shelter immediately. Oxygen levels: priority. Base energy: secondary.”

I tried to rub my forehead to ease the ongoing headache, but my helmet got in the way. Everything was starting to crash down around me.

“I got it,” I murmured blearily. I blinked, and the world blurred sideways. “I got it.”

The rest of the construction went by in a blurry haze. I scanned and deconstructed the contents of the container without comprehending any of the contents. I swam back to the compartment module outside the Clydesdale at a snail’s pace. I almost passed out again while the fabricator constructed the oxygen pipes I still needed, but Halia’s constant alerts kept me from nodding off longer than a few seconds. Once my eyes decided it was time to close, fighting off exhaustion increased in difficulty tenfold. 

I broke down the habitat and solar panels. I laid the pipes to crawl up the side of the cargo ship. Halia tweaked their coloration to better camouflage them against the Clydesdale ; the pipes resembled rusted debris knocked free of the ship. They wouldn’t hold up against intense scrutiny, but I could only shrug off the worry in my state. It would have to do for now.

I swam back up the path I’d made in the stacked containers, slowly constructing the length of oxygen pipes alongside me. When I reached the final container and pulled myself out of the water once more, my legs finally buckled and gave out. My vision blurred as I shakily sorted through the habitat constructor interface and pulled up the basic compartment. 

As the constructor spat out my shelter, I slowly reached up and unsealed my helmet. My hair and scalp were damp with congealed sweat. The air inside the container was stale and stank overwhelmingly of rust, saltwater, and decay, but I ignored it as I hooked up the last of the oxygen pipes and corresponding pump to the base module. The machinery also provided convenient handholds to haul myself to my feet and keep myself upright.

The base was unpowered and dark as I stumbled through the hatch. I was eternally thankful I was above the water level; I don’t know if my brain could handle installing the airlock. Every limb suddenly felt like it weighed three times as much, and after I pulled myself inside I slumped back against the curved wall.

“Halia, set an alarm-” I slurred, trailing off as the last of my energy deserted me in one fell swoop. As I sagged into exhausted unconsciousness, the last thing I felt was the inexorable surge of the Celestial Forge building up in the back of my mind like a tsunami pulling back from the shore.

The screams of the Lost grow louder. Gunfire. Gunfire. I cower behind the Sentinel as he roughly shoves me towards the center of the apartment complex. Every door crashes open as the Sentinel approaches; every hallway quickly fills with ragged chittering and green-hued flesh. These were people, once…

It’s a rush to the evac zone, and I close my eyes and try not to flinch as I’m quickly bundled into a harness and hooked onto a cable dropped from above. Another Lost swarm shrieks as I ascend, and I cover my ears. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. How could ADVENT do something as horrendous as this?

As the helicraft takes off and the angered howling of the infested city dies away on the wind, one of the operatives presses a comms unit into my hand.

“I’m glad to see you survived the extraction operation,” a familiar voice greets me as soon as I hit the connect button. The comm screen flashes to life, and I recognize the face from the ADVENT wanted posters. Dr. Richard Tygan looks more haggard and weary than previous pictures, but there’s a fire behind his eyes I’d never seen before during the propaganda shoots. “I’d like to be the first to welcome you to XCOM, doctor.”

Chapter Text

My slow return to consciousness was a lesson in agony. My skull felt a few sizes too small. Was this what an aneurysm felt like? A whole world's technological advancements– vehicles, drones, weapons, genetic therapy that treated cancer like it was the common cold, holograms, architecture, healthcare– suddenly percolating in the back of my head created the worst kind of migraine.

As soon as I tried to open my eyes, I shut them just as quickly. The dark interior of the hab compartment swirled in front me like cheap watercolors on a wet canvas, and I felt a sudden surge of nausea. Aw, fuck.

I gagged as my stomach churned in warning, and even that slight movement made my chest ache. It took far more effort than I would admit to angle my head away from the rest of my body and throw up my half-digested nutrient paste onto the module floor. I'm glad I removed my helmet before I passed out, I thought as I heaved up a second wave of paste.

Turns out standing directly beneath the hole you were cutting into and getting cracked in the head with a piece of metal was a bad idea, huh? Getting hundreds of years of information shoved into my brain certainly didn't help either.

Once I emptied all the contents of my stomach, I turned away from the puddle of vomit and blindly fiddled with my armor until I could pop out Halia's PDA out of one of the secure compartments.

"Good morning, Everett," Halia's voice boomed around the enclosed module tube as soon as I hit the power button. Startled, I fumbled and nearly dropped the PDA. "The time is: 7:23 AM. It has been over 10 hours since your last interaction; initiating a medical scan. It is good to see you."

"Halia," I croaked piteously as the device hummed to life in my hands, "it's good to hear from you as well, but please turn down your volume by about 70%."

"Acknowledged. Adjusting," Hal replied, like the angel she was. Loud noises were not conducive to ease severe headaches. "Is this volume sufficient?"

Her volume was much more tolerable, and I said so. While Hal's medical scan did its business, I decided to risk opening my eyes again. My vision still swirled and swam, but this time it wasn't accompanied by a nauseous punch to my gut.

My helmet lay discarded a foot or two away, dangerously close to where I'd vomited, and the hatch leading outside was left open. Given that I hadn't asphyxiated while I was down and out, I assumed that my oxygen pipe and pump setup had worked as intended.

"Scan complete. Initial prognosis: mild to moderate concussion. Logging incident to your medical file," Halia announced, and the PDA started scrolling through the results. "The acute symptomatic phase included nausea, confusion, and loss of consciousness longer than one minute. Medical data bank suggests: rest, adequate hydration, and avoidance of bright screens. Alterra-issued medical kits contain medicine to alleviate symptoms. Additional factors: exhaustion from over-exertion; exercise quotient from yesterday exceeds 500% of your daily average."

That was a long-winded way of telling me that I'd way overestimated my physical abilities and way underestimated the amount of work I'd needed to complete.

"I hear you, Hal," I replied, and slowly levered myself into a more comfortable position against the hab wall. Every muscle protested even that small movement. "Message received, loud and clear."

You know, since I was a fucking idiot. I'd been so focused on the oxygen pipes and rushing against the sunset because the habitat modules needed power for the oxygen generators and I'd picked solar panels as my power source. I'd made a dumb mistake, and now I was wasting my second day off feeling like I'd been run over by one of Squealer's vehicular monstrosities.

It wasn't a completely needless concern— sealed shipwrecks often ran the risk of little to no oxygen in sealed areas as well as potential toxic fumes, but there were other ways I could have approached the issue. Focusing on one specific aspect of a problem to the detriment of everything else and doggedly sticking to a solution was a bad habit of mine.

I only had solar panels because I hadn't spent the time Tinkering with the portable fusion reactor to adapt it to the Alterra technology. That had been the last step of the plan instead of the first, but I'd rigidly stuck to the order of operations I'd laid out in my van: module, solar panels, laser cutter, base, oxygen, and then Tinkering.

I sighed and fiddled with my modular suit until I could access the water feeder stored by the life support systems. As I took a morose sip of the lukewarm water to ease the sandpaper sensation in my throat, I resolved to do better.

Perhaps because I only had my cramped van and an intense desire for secrecy. I didn't even have my own bathroom, let alone space to build the beginnings of a Tinker workspace. I could edit blueprints on the hab builder interface without noise or tools, but it hadn't been enough. I'd been so focused on rushing here and setting up my base as soon as possible that I hadn't taken stock of my assets.

The knowledge of Environmental Protection Packs was one of the first gifts from the Celestial Forge and it could've resolved the oxygen issue, but Halia and I had acted as if we only had the habitat builder to rely on. Halia, I understood. Her AI was designed to be a personal assistant to help the owner of her PDA survive using Alterra's technology. I also hadn't taken into consideration the capabilities of the life support systems on the modular armor besides adding in Alterran oxygen tanks.

It was one thing to get a flood of memories and new knowledge with every surge of the Celestial Forge, but I'd blithely accepted and compartmentalized the influx of expertise and skills without trying to make everything mesh together.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. Going through the knowledge and abilities from the Forge now felt like skimming through a database's index; I only needed to focus on a general concept to bring everything the Celestial Forge imparted to the forefront of my mind.

This mental database was both new and different from what I remembered of receiving my first knowledge-heavy ability. The design knowledge and memory of the Environmental Protection Packs designs made me feel like a mechanic who had rebuilt the same car over and over so many times they knew the pieces, parts, and assembly by rote. This was more of a library catalogue, stowed away until called up by specific keywords or concepts.

It was likely some kind of built-in protection provided by my power, since I was fairly certain the lifetimes of information the Forge imparted into my mind should've caused seizures or some kind of internal bleeding as the delicate organ was never designed to receive or store as much as I had. There was no point in granting me access to this knowledge if my brain got fried in the process.

I used my paper doll interface to quickly change out of the armored suit and back into the casual clothes I'd worn to the Market. I currently was in no shape to make the trip back down through the cargo hold to retrieve the solar panels I'd left on the outside the Clydesdale, but I could still use the portable fusion reactor as I'd intended from the beginning. Now to actually do it.

I crawled to the far side of the hab module, PDA clutched in hand, and away from the puddle of sickness. I felt strangely exposed just dressed in casual clothing; the modular dive suit had been an unexpected comfort. The constant headache and protesting muscles honestly made my progress pathetic, but as soon as I had enough room to work I brought the chestpiece of the modular dive suit as well as the habitat constructor out of my subspace storage.

I already knew that there was more I could've done to improve the armor, but armed with the ADVENT knowledge this kind of suit already felt woefully underpowered compared to what I knew I could build given the tools, materials, and time. I had access to potent armor, cloaking devices, and experimental warp technology that could phase me through solid objects.

There was also technology with dangerous implications. As in, I'd get sent to the Birdcage as the next Teacher implications mixed in with a healthy dose of Ziz paranoia. Genetic manipulation technology capable of awakening latent psychic potential in non-cape humans was something I'd have to set aside for now.

Of course, I was still going to check myself once I added the psi lab testing tech to my scanner, as the versatile abilities that I'd seen the ADVENT Priests use against XCOM could keep me alive without relying on my technology.

I shook my head before I got lost down that theoretical rabbit hole. Focus, Everett. One thing at a time. I returned my attention back to the armored torso beneath me.

My modified blend of dive suit and modular armor housed the portable fusion reactor on the outside of the exoskeleton framing, where it sat almost perfectly in the small of my back. The original design had it positioned between the shoulder blades, but I'd moved it to accommodate the oxygen tanks. I used the constructor to remove the metal plating and the framework keeping everything protected and secure before I popped the enter reactor module out of the armor.

I turned it over in my hands. This was the first time I'd really looked at it up close, and the shape of the casing reminded me of the inside of a coffee machine: a white upright cylinder that connected into a flared, funnel-shaped black base. I'd half expected it to hum, even though fusion was a silent process, but it remained as still and silent as a coffee machine-shaped brick.

I had an idea of where to start. Each of the hab module interior add-ons, from water purifiers to fabricators and indoor growbeds, came with a universal adaptor that linked its internal systems to the main power source. I winced as the glare from the PDA stabbed spikes of pain directly into my brain. Right, concussions didn't play well with bright screens. Still, I pushed through the immediate discomfort. Once I got the power working, the medkit dispenser and the pain medication that came with it was my next priority.

As I swiped through the blueprint database, the knowledge I gained through the Doll Maker of Bucuresti gave me a general understanding of how I could modify the universal adaptor so the fusion reactor's output ports would provide power to the hab instead of drawing from it. The connection wouldn't be perfect and some of the energy supplied by the reactor would be lost in the transition, but I would have power.

I didn't have the materials in my storage for the universal adaptor, so after I removed the tools from the harness I fed the rest of my dive armour to the constructor with only a small pang of regret. I could make better armor now through ADVENT's blueprints, and I would likely go through dozens of more versions as my powers improved further, but I still watched in silence as the suit— my first Tinkered suit— vanished particle by particle into the constructor.

"Focus, Everett," I reminded myself, turning my attention back to my blueprints. Despite the ongoing headache, it wasn't hard to separate the universal adapter from a suitably-sized appliance- in this case, appropriately enough, a coffee dispenser. The new knowledge sourced from Doll Maker and ADVENT made my previous success at modifying the solar panels in my van feel like a minor accomplishment.

But as long as I kept progressing, I thought as the constructor integrated my new fusion adaptor into the far wall of the hab, I would happily push past those stumbling blocks. As soon as I set the portable fusion reactor into place and a soft white light brightened to life overhead, the Forge surged around me.

The fio'ui ignored the looming stares of her new fio'saal retinue as she bent over the damaged construction drone. Gue'vesa– Humans– were nearly twice her height, but they were respectful and only talked quietly amongst themselves, which was a promising sign for newly-inducted T'au. The entire encampment, including the shas'vre's battlesuit depot, had been damaged by Imperium bombardment, so there was much to fix and much to teach.

She stepped back from the constructor drone. It was incredibly basic in its design, but it was intended to help fio technicians create outposts under the most hostile conditions. Live fire certainly counted, and she beckoned the fio'saal with one calloused hand as the crack of bolter rounds echoed above them.

"Your first lesson," she told the gue'vesa apprentices as the drone hummed to life and the antigrav thrusters kicked in, "is one of the foundations. Our technology allows the T'au a foothold amongst the stars. Even the greatest hunter cannot fight their best without sturdy ground beneath their feet. It is our duty to provide that foundation. For now, we must build new fortifications."

As the vision from the astral sea receded, I tore my eyes away from the massive drone now taking up most of the hab space and stared up at the bright ceiling incredulously.

"Does that mean you agree with me?" I asked the Forge rhetorically. "Am I being a dumbass?"

As expected, there was no response.

Chapter Text

The first thing I did with my new drone was leave it sitting on the floor in favor of constructing a fabricator on the hab wall. The bright decentralized lighting was doing no favors for my headache, and I wasn't sure if the hab brightness settings had any lower setting than eye-wateringly painful.

Regardless, my stomach violently churned in time with what felt like my brain trying to break free of its skull casing as I closed my eyes and massaged my temples.

At least the automatic recycling systems had taken care of my vomit puddle as soon as the power came on and restored the hab floor to its pristine white color. I knew the vomit now sat somewhere in my subspace— and, worse, might be what the fabricator was using to make my medicine right this moment— but I didn't have enough painkillers in me to process that thought just yet.

Dry-swallowing the green capsules left a lingering bitter medicinal flavor in my mouth, but if they had been made from anything unscrupulous I couldn't tell. I also swore that I could feel the painful pressure behind my forehead already start to ease up.

I would bet my paltry life savings that I had that could repair the brain blood vessels and nerves damaged by a concussion, but that for future Everett to make. At least I had futuristic, fast-acting super drugs that may or may not be made from my own waste products.

No, I wasn't going to open my subspace storage interface to check. Some things are better left un-investigated.

I waited until my headache faded into a dull ache before I turned my attention to my newest Forge acquisition. The construction drone was disc-shaped, well-armored, and equipped with a small, anti-grav engine at its base as well as a pair of thrusters. It reminded me, if I squinted, of the spaceship— the Enterprise, I think— from a pre-Scion science fiction show my dad used to be (and still was, if I was honest, he was crazy about collecting a lot of pre-Scion media) obsessed with.

Two collapsible sensor vanes extended from the top of the disk like a pair of metal bunny ears. A single red optic unit— which didn't help with the evil Tinker machine stereotype, I'd have to swap that out for a friendlier color once I decided on my cape costume palette— housed the drone's processing unit and scanner.

Since it was designed for construction, two mechanical arms sat on the sides of the drone, while a third longer arm arched up and over the back of the drone's disk body like a strange metallic scorpion tail. I removed the claw-like apparatuses on the ends of each arm, scanned them, and then fed them to the fabricator alongside the last remnants of my modular dive armor to make a second scanner and constructor.

The drone came with its own small rectangular laser cutter that could unfold or retract into a compartment below the anti-grav engine, so I left that as was. These things were designed to operate under the absolute worst conditions with whatever tools they had equipped, so it was less of a hassle to integrate the constructor and scanner than I expected.

I also had the bright idea of adding in one of the small cameras from the scanner room drones so I could always keep an eye on what it was up to. The default white Alterra aesthetic clashed terribly with the drab color scheme of the rest of the drone, but one quick adjustment to the constructor settings fixed that issue.

I also spent a minute examining the drone's disc-shaped armor covering. The Forge vision hinted that these drones could easily take small-caliber arms fire as well as potentially more exotic projectiles. I wasn't about to throw this drone in front of Purity to see what it could tank, but once I wasn't feeling like absolute crap I wanted to mess around with Scavenger to see how close I could come to recreating that durability.

Given that ADVENT's armor and weapons relied on alien alloys– which didn't exist on Earth Bet unless the Forge decided to throw me a bone– I would need to make my own substitute. I nodded to myself in satisfaction once I completed my examination. Since the T'au title for their builder caste roughly evoked the classical element of earth here on Bet, the drone would be named Oread– Ori for short– to keep with my current theme of mythological references.

"Alright, Ori," I muttered, testing the name on my tongue, "I hope you don't mind water too much, because you're going to be dealing with a lot of it."

The anti-grav engine hummed to life as I started the boot-up sequence, and I took a step back as the propulsion thrusters kicked in and lifted the drone off of the ground to approximately waist height.

Ori's optic lit up, and it chirped out a small series of tonal beeps as it swiveled in place to take in its new surroundings. I couldn't resist giving it a pat between its sensor vanes, and it perked up under my touch.

Okay, that was cute, and I resisted the urge to pick up and squeeze the hatbox-sized device. Did all Tinkers have a version of machine-based cute aggression, or was that just me? It was probably just me, since I just couldn't picture stoic Armsmaster cooing over his halberd.

"Hello, my name is Everett," I said, crouching down so we saw eye-to-optic. "And your designation is Oread, shorthand Ori. You are my new construction drone."

Ori beeped affirmatively, and I gave it another small pat.

"First order of business," I told the drone. "Outside of the habitat module there will be a series of oxygen pipes leading to the exterior of this cargo ship. Deconstruct all of the oxygen pipes, as well as the solar panels installed on the side of the ship. Return immediately once you're done, or if you detect any other human presence other than myself."

Ori beeped affirmatively once more, and as soon as I let it out of the glass hatch the little drone cheerily sped into the darkness of the shipping container. I couldn't see a few feet beyond the light of the hab shining through the hatch now that I'd recycled my armor for parts, so I left Ori to its work and pulled out my PDA to inspect the second half of the Forge's gift: the AI kernel.

I'd already downloaded the software packets during my in-depth scans, but I didn't have a specific ability to boost my understanding of coding or machine learning. I'd taken one computer science class at BBU since it counted towards my Math core curriculum requirements, but barely passing one introductory class was a far cry from being an expert. Still, the Forge granted me an understanding of the kernel's general function.

Halia was more of a VI than an autonomous AI. Sure, she was a bit quirky but her programmed behaviors were designed to be passive rather than proactive: she reacted to my actions and words and she could make suggestions based on my behaviors. If she could develop beyond her Alterra-locked limitations it would be a massive upgrade for her. I wasn't certain exactly how she would change once I integrated the AI kernel into her code, but I knew she wouldn't turn on me.

Once I triggered the upgrade, I connected the PDA hab's power supply so Halia wouldn't risk running out of battery during the upgrades. Given it would take some time for Hal to parse through everything and build new information frameworks, I could focus my attention back on my future Tinker base. I had to return to my mundane job tomorrow, and I'd already wasted most of today suffering the consequences of my poor decisions. I wanted at least something substantial to come of this trip.

—

Ori was truly the kind of upgrade I needed. The little drone only took a few minutes to reclaim the solar panels and piping I'd left outside of the Clydesdale, so I sent it back out for my next plan of action: gathering enough materials to make more drones.

Having remote assistants capable of operating independently (though I needed to see if Halia could connect to their network and keep an eye on them as well as issue new instructions on my behalf) would exponentially increase my productive output. It also meant the drones could keep clearing the Clydesdale while I was stuck at the Boardwalk dealing with the ungrateful public.

Since I also needed a way back outside the cargo ship, Ori had cut a hole in the side of the container I'd set the hab up in and crossed over to deconstruct the next shipping container stack over. I wouldn't deconstruct the containers under me; I already made that kind of mistake earlier and got a concussion to thank for it, I wasn't about to add broken legs or worse to the mix.

I slowly limped out of the hab to scan and salvage all of the material I could reach. I added floodlights to the top of the hab module so I could actually see what I was doing. This was the first time I'd really been by myself since I'd gotten the Celestial Forge, and the silence unnerved me. I was absolutely a bit of a loner who enjoyed having space and time to myself, but I'd really appreciated Hal's presence from the start. Damn, I was lonely, huh?

My friend group had shrunk dramatically once I stopped living and studying at BBU full-time. I didn't have the money to get into a shared hobby, and once my financial struggles started it was just day after day cutting off pieces of my paycheck to keep my semblance of a normal life running and pretending that I wasn't one bad accident away from relying on Father Mitchell's shelter for aid again.

I glanced back at the fabricator through the module hatch. Now? Now it was different, and if I wasn't so paranoid I would take this chance to just vanish completely and embrace my Tinker status. The fabricator and habitat constructor meant I no longer needed to rely on my shitty job for food, water, or shelter; I could source everything I needed to survive– even thrive, though not socially– from inside the cargo hold and the bay beyond.

All that really stood in the way was my fear- my fear that the PRT would connect the dots from a Boardwalk employee and student at BBU who suddenly withdrew from society to the newest Tinker appearing in Brockton's cape-ridden hellhole. Scared? Yeah, I was. I've been scared my whole life as soon as I was old enough to understand that this world's future was both uncertain and grim, and capehood certainly hasn't changed that fact now.

I could see a point fast approaching where I would have to make a choice in regards to the intersection between my cape identity and my personal life. If I completely shifted my life over to my new base, I would effectively always be in-costume. Quitting my job would also mean losing my income and the source of my college payments and something in the back of my head– despite the fact that I logically knew I didn't need money because my power provided me the means to thrive– vehemently protested against dropping out of my job or school. It was almost an automatic and ingrained response with how deeply those two things had been imprinted into my psyche.

A series of cheerful beeps and whistles drew me back out of my depressing musings. Ori hovered back through the hole in the storage container with their subspace inventory filled with different pieces of scrap and electronics. From the looks of it, the little drone had found and looted a container filled with car parts and spare tires. It had even separated out all the different types of metal and inorganic materials it had collected into different stacks for convenience, which I rewarded with another affectionate pat between the sensor vanes.

I looked over everything Ori brought back with a frown; I could make two more drones from these parts, but they would less than half as durable as the original Ori was (which was impressive, given how insanely durable Ori was built to be) and I doubted that their propulsion jets would be strong enough to navigate the bay currents outside of the cargo ship. Still, they were perfect for the purpose of breaking down the cargo hold's contents into raw materials and building all of my various facilities. I made a mental note to see if I could make a hydrodynamic version of Ori that would solely focus on underwater salvaging and construction.

Once the two new drones– Ori-2 and Ori-3, I decided, and fabricated a bit of blue paint to add the corresponding tally marks on their respective sensor vanes– were assembled, I sent the three of them back to work salvaging a path back down to the hole in the ship. One would come back periodically so I could add to my drone fleet. As soon as that was complete, I instructed them to build the first essential part of my base: a moon pool, which would allow me to dock a vehicle or suit as well as transition from underwater to the interior of the base without an airlock or hatch.

Given how sore I was, there was no way I could swim all the way back to my van. After I finished emptying out the rest of the shipping container, I had to fabricate a chair to sit down and take a short break. The painkillers were still doing heavy work and I took the time to work through some basic stretches to try and ease out my strained muscles, but these measures only alleviated some of my problem. At least my position at the customer service desk meant I'd be standing still for most of my shift; I wasn't sure what I would've done if I had a labor-intensive job.

I'd given my return back to the Boardwalk some thought as well- now that I had materials, I would build a seamoth, or a small single-person submarine, and drive that back across the bay. Given that Alterra's survival tech was designed to be incredibly user friendly, I believed that it wouldn't be too difficult to drive back.

I also planned to build a long overdue Environmental Protection Pack, which would allow me to walk directly on the ocean floor. As long as I kept my subspace inventory relatively empty and disguised the EPP, I could disassemble the seamoth once I was within walking distance of the beach and just emerge from the surf like a grungier version of the Birth of Venus.

My fleet of three drones quickly expanded to five drones, then seven. I ate a nutrient block for lunch from the fabricator, and one of the Oris was more than happy to bring me some water to purify as I kept working. Once I finished Ori-10, I felt the waves of the astral sea stir. I waved the new drone off to join the others, surprised that the Celestial Forge had activated again so soon, but I quickly retreated to my chair as soon as I felt the vision creep up in the back of my mind.

I still haven't gotten around to naming the ship's cat. The calico creature delights in finding and crawling into the smallest space imaginable and then napping while I futilely call for her to come back out. Her latest habit has been basking in the residual heat from the automatic filtration engines and ensuring I have a heart attack every time I want to tweak the machinery. She also likes to hide in the auto-factory just as I'm trying to get some extra parts made.

Still, I'm grateful for her antics, and I think she might even be doing it on purpose to keep me occupied. If I'm too busy fussing over her, I'm not worrying about my dire straits. Ever since I've managed to automate a lot of basic tasks I have a lot more time on my hands to worry about everything ahead of me. The ship's viewfinder displays an oceanic planet as my next stop as the calico twines itself between my ankles, meowing plaintively, and I briefly ponder if I could tailor one of the environmental protections to fit a cat instead of a humanoid.

An alarmed chorus of beeps from the Oris pulled me out of the vision. Moving on instinct, I quickly stood up from my chair and backed away just as dozens of mechanical arms and other assorted parts from the auto-factory clattered to the floor in front of me. Soon, the front of the storage container was absolutely crammed with the machinery from my vision, and I barely had enough room to take a few steps in any direction. If there had been any more material, I might've been crushed.

The fwish of the cutting laser alerted me that Ori was making a new entrance into the storage container–the Forge's gift blocked the other ways in–and I moved as far away from the metal wall as the limited space allowed. As soon as the piece of container clattered to the floor my drone circled around me like a protective dog and whistled furiously. All the other Oris followed suit until I was surrounded by concerned drones like the strangest flock of birds.

"I'm fine, guys," I said, reaching out and patting every drone that came with arm's reach. "It's fine, it's just another surprise from my powers."

I had the notion that if my Tinker base had already been present, or if the only module I'd built had space beyond the container to expand, the auto-factory– as the Forge labeled it, it was a room-sized device intended to automatically craft blueprints and assemble them if needed—would've just attached itself to that as a completed module. Since I didn't have any of those options available, it had just appeared as parts I'd need to assemble myself. Noted.

I took a deep breath to calm my pounding heart and retrieved my chair from the mechanical pile so I could sit down. The headache from earlier was making a slow return. I set half of the Oris on scanning and collecting all the loose bolts and parts and sent the other half to continue their duties. The little drones were currently building my moon pool, so as soon as the auto-factory pieces were all picked up I added it as the next construction project.

The facility would be helpful once I started experimenting and modifying the designs I already had, but it didn't provide me with the same kind of utility as Ori did. The auto-factory connected to the shared subspace storage, so anything I or the Oris collected could be fed into the room for larger-scale production. If I needed to print 50 lights for the base, I wouldn't have to sit by the fabricator and print each light one by one. Once I hooked Halia up, I would also be able to send manufacturing orders remotely.

I took another glance at the absolute mess in front of me and sighed. I'm glad I wasn't in the van when the auto-factory manifested, or else I'd be explaining why nearly a ton of metal scrap and parts seemingly teleported above my vehicle through a parahuman power and nearly crushed it to a few friendly armed PRT officers. I also didn't want to think of the monetary damages that would've occurred.

"Something to keep in mind going forward," I muttered to myself. "If powers keep dumping stuff like this, that's another tick in the Move to Cargo Ship Permanently column."

Yeah, that headache was definitely coming back.

—

Halia hadn't finished her update by the time the Oris finished laying the foundations of my base. The sun was setting outside as I finally loaded up on a new dose of painkillers, packed away my PDA, reclaimed my portable fusion reactor, and disassembled the first hab module.

The small fleet of drones truly had salvaged this mess of a day. They'd salvaged two full stacks of shipping containers and then constructed the moon pool above the entrance to the ship in the newly-free space. Since I was stuck at the top of my own container stack, the Oris built upwards from there. They'd made the auto-factory first, as instructed, several rooms full of subspace storage lockers to hold all the excess materials collected, as well as two bioreactors.

Thanks to the hab constructor, nothing went to waste, and there was enough small sea life present inside the ship–hello, barnacles and algae– and rotten organic matter gathered to give me a good day or two worth of power.The bioreactors were set up below the waterline to take advantage of the excessive amount of fertilizer and algae blooms in the waters outside, but I'd also taken the time to add glass tanks set up around the bioreactor rooms themselves so I could run my own algae production. I'd added lights, nutrients, and several species of sea grasses (the original Ori had to collect those, as I was correct in my prediction that the numbered Oris were not adequate at traversing the bay at this time) to encourage algae growth inside the glass tanks.

I also had plans to set up ideal conditions for oyster beds outside of the ship that could also be harvested for fuel, but sending Ori to do that alone would simply take too long. I could wait. I had instead reserved some of the space above the waterline for some indoor growbeds and greenhouses. Growing my own food appealed to me in a primal sense, and whatever I didn't personally eat could be harvested by the Oris to further fuel the bioreactors.

Once everything from my original module sat snugly in my storage, I turned and headed towards the large hole the Oris had cut in the wall. Jutting through the hole from beyond the container was a connector module tube. Since I couldn't climb down on my own, I had the drone fleet build up the base until it was the same height as the shipping container I was stuck in. Now I just descended down a series of zigzagging rooms and ramps until I reached the moon pool.

My awaiting nautical chariot was held in place above the water by several magnetized clamps. A small boarding ramp complete with safety railings stretched across the gap between the vehicle modification console and the small submersible. I glanced down at the small waves lapping against the sides of the docking bay, noting the fading light from the sunset filtered through the hole in the ship and dyed everything below me a brilliant scarlet.

The seat inside the seamoth had little in the way of padding and a waterproof cover. Besides an excess of drains set into the walls and floor of the vehicle, the interior was very spare and utilitarian. There wasn't even room to tuck a purse behind my legs or seat, so I kept the Environmental Protection Pack in my personal storage for now.

I took a calming breath as the clamps slowly lowered the seamoth into the water. I had basic navigational aids installed on the thing- how hard was it to drive compared to a car?

Of course, I had to jinx myself as I pushed a little hard on the propulsion and stifled a scream as the seamoth shot forward and nearly collided with one of the moon pool's support struts. I had inches, if not AN inch, to spare.

"Okay, okay," I chanted as I carefully tilted the control sticks backwards to slowly reverse the seamoth away from getting a massive dent in its shiny exterior. I eased the vehicle out of the ship and spent a good minute fussing around with the speed and omnidirectional controls before I felt comfortable setting off.

I was aiming for the remains of a pier that was just outside of the area cleared by the Boardwalk's sandbonis. Since most beachgoers didn't want to risk stepping on used needles or glass fragments, locals– including local druggies and dealers– largely stuck to the Boardwalk-adjacent beaches for their activities. The only people who actively sought out strips of Brockton's ruined beaches were weirdos, capes, and people doing charity work like Father Mitchell.

The former pier was also situated where the active commercial district dissolved into small urban neighborhoods and blocks of shuttered businesses. As far as my preliminary sweeps could tell, there were no cameras covering my intended exit point, so as long as the beach itself didn't have anyone close by I could just walk back to my van from there.

Traveling by submersible was different than swimming through the bay, much in the same way walking a hiking trail and driving through the woods would be different experiences. I didn't feel as close to the schools of fish that flashed and darted out of sight of my seamoth's illuminated headlights, and the other underwater wonders were muted by my fear of discovery. I had the engines running on their lowest speed setting and I kept the seamoth as close to the bay floor as physically possible, so most of my view was silt and sand stirred up by my passage mixed with the occasional rocky outcropping, fields of sea grass, and a few dozen crabs scuttling amongst the detritus.

All too soon, the remaining wooden pillars of the ruined pier came into view, and I brought the seamoth into a gentle halt. From my estimates, the water level was around sixteen feet deep or so. I took a deep breath, switched off the vehicle's engine, and pulled my EPP out of my storage. It took more than a little finessing to fit the backpack device on in the cramped confines of the submersible, and I came out of it frustrated and a little out of breath. The small traces of anger helped wash away any hesitation I felt as I lifted the seamoth's hatch and let the ocean flood in.

I felt more than heard the EPP's forcefield hum to life, and it was the strangest feeling to clamber out of the seamoth's cockpit, now shaking as water rushed past me to fill the empty space, and jump the last foot or so to the bottom of the bay floor without feeling a drop of water.

Sure, it was cold underwater, but even as I stretched my hand forward and waved it around I was completely dry. I took a deep breath, half expecting saltwater to flood down my throat, and was pleasantly surprised to find I could breathe unimpeded. Above me, the undersides of the tidal waves as they pushed towards the shore, and I wished I had a camera on me.

After I deconstructed the seamoth, I walked up to one of the remaining wooden pillars and placed my hand on it. It felt wet to me, but when I pulled my hand away it was completely dry. I laughed in disbelief. The EPP truly worked. I was walking and breathing underwater.

The trip up to the beach reminded me why walking underwater wasn't likely my best plan of action; the sand was loosely packed and constantly shifting as the waves rolled in and out. If I was in a suit, the journey would have been different, but one Everett in civilian clothes found themselves tripping and sliding as they followed the incline of the former pier to the shore.

I poked my head just above the waterline to survey the beach, but as I expected, the place was deserted. As I stepped out of the waves and onto the shore, my cellphone chimed in my pocket. I frowned. Who would be trying to contact me at this time? I glanced behind me; the last dregs of the sunset sputtered and faded into the velvet indigo of twilight, and I could already see stars visible higher up in the sky. True night was fast approaching.

I pulled out my phone to see a couple of messages from my boss and I rolled my eyes. Of course he would be one to text outside of work hours. I left the messages unread as I picked my way carefully up the beach since I didn't fully trust my protective shoes. As soon as I reached a pile of driftwood, seaweed, and trash high enough to obscure my view of the road, I crouched down and placed my EPP back into my subspace. It might look like a backpack, but I wasn't about to take any chances. I straightened up and reached the street without any further incidents.

I waited until I was back in the Boardwalk area, with its patrolling security and numerous cameras watching over scores of tourists heading to and fro from the local restaurants, to open my text messages and see what terrible news my boss had for me.

He wanted to know if I was still coming to work tomorrow (I was), and if so he needed me to come in a few hours early to cover part of a co-worker's shift since they had also called out. I could read the hidden intent between the lines: I'd gotten my vacation, and now I had to work extra to make up for those "missed" days and the inconvenience the manager'd gone through to rearrange the schedule.

I sighed and kept making my way back to the employee parking lot. I already wished I was back on the cargo ship. Tomorrow and this work week was going to be a long one.

Chapter Text

Every one of the urgent care clinics in northwest Brockton were all nearly identical. Most of the locations had been built by some long-defunct medical company trying to cater to the work-related needs of the longshoremen, warehouse laborers, as well as their nearby families. When the shipping industry went under, so did the company, and the subsequent myriad of owners put little effort into renovating each clinic beyond swapping out the business logos and putting on a fresh coat of paint. 

The faded beige wallpaper and scuffed green tile flooring possessed a weary homogeneity I usually associated with 24/7 fast food chains and the DMV. The awkward quiet maintained by the other patients in the waiting room– an older woman tucking a chubby-cheeked toddler passed out under her arm, a sun-weathered man sporting a DAU shirt gazing blankly at one of the walls, and a couple of BBU students crammed into two bench seats showing each other something on their phones– and the low hum of the air conditioning had a somewhat soporific effect.

The plastic legs of the waiting room chair creaked as I tried to get comfortable. There was a cushion provided, but years of patients had flattened the foam past the point of comfortable thickness. Even with the terrible seating, I was fast losing the battle to keep my eyes open. As I’d feared, the first day back at work was busy, tedious, and sapped me of any desire to do anything besides sleep. If this clinic wasn’t only two blocks from the Boardwalk, I might have even put off getting checked out until tomorrow and returned to the comfort of my van.

I perked up briefly as one of the nurses strolled into the waiting room, but when she called up the older woman with the toddler I slumped back against my chair. Gods, I’d just close my eyes for a minute…

“Enchanters harness the possibility of runes,” The dunmer gravely stated as he paced in front of the assembled circle of student chairs,“transforming them into the certainty of glyphs. I can teach you how to harness magicka to wreath your axe with flames, or give cloth robes the strength of iron."

The dim candlelight of the hall illuminated Mage Telleno’s shaved head like a halo as he slowly strode over to the guild’s enchanting table. It was built of sturdy sanded nightwood and covered in stacks of thick tomes. A fist-sized crystal hovered between two lathe-shaped supports as it let off a gentle blue hue.

"Runes of potency, essence, and aspect are the fundamental components of glyphs,” Telleno explained, and tapped the crystal with one gloved hand. The crystal’s glow intensified, and briefly flashed a series of strange shapes. “All beneath the stars bear these component concepts. When combined they form glyphs, which use stored magicka in this crystal medium to add enchantments to items.”

He produced a dagger from his sleeve and set it down beneath the crystal.

“Come closer,” he gestured to the gathered students, “And I will show you how a master enchanter does his work.”

“-Ms. Carlyle?”

Was I still dreaming? The world around me felt different, complete, as if I had been finally clued in on some cosmic secret that had been missing from me my whole life and now the final puzzle piece clicked into place. I opened my eyes to look down at my hands and I could feel newfound energy pulsing under my skin in tandem with my veins. I splayed my fingers out, and the energy shifted with the motion. When I cupped my palms together, I could almost feel something pooling between them like water.

The only way I could characterize this sixth sense was that I now had some invisible organ capable of detecting something that existed outside of the typical human sensory range, much in the way some fish sensed water pressure changes or moths picked up pheromone trails. Even with that analogy, my body could only really process that awareness into synesthetic responses. This energy… this, magicka, as Mage Tellano called it, felt like liquid sunlight cooled by the shade of the trees, tasted like the dust of distant stars, and smelled like the faintest trace of ozone.

“Ms. Carlyle?”

I flinched as a cold hand suddenly touched my shoulder and shook me out of my Forge-induced reverie. Startled, I looked up to see the receiving nurse worriedly looking down at me. Behind her, both the man in the DAU sweater and the college kids were staring at me from across the waiting room.

This was exactly what I’d been afraid of with the Forge visions, but I took a deep breath and tried to calm my rapidly increasing pulse. The flow of the magicka around me also felt agitated– perhaps in response to my emotional state, which was an interesting implication, but now was not the time to delve into the weeds– and I scrambled to gather some semblance of coherent normality.

“Yes, that’s me, sorry,” I said quickly, trying not to trip over my words (or my legs) as I stood up. “It’s been a long day at work, sorry. I must’ve spaced out for a moment.”

I wondered how I looked from an outside perspective- I’d just been unresponsively staring down at hands like they were the most fascinating things. Oh gods, I must’ve looked high. Did she think I was on drugs? Did everyone in here think I was on drugs?

“I understand,” The nurse– Melina, according to the sticker-laden tag pinned to her blue scrubs– said gently, though I didn’t miss the concern in her gaze. “Well, we’re ready to see you now if you want to just follow me. You prefer to be called Everett, right?”

“That’s correct,” I affirmed, doing my best to maintain my composure. The BBU students had gone back to their phones and conversations, but the older man was still watching me. I could feel the weight of his gaze, though I kept my focus on Melina. Come on Everett, act normal. I just had to keep calm for now; I could panic about magic being real when I was back in my van.

“Perfect, thank you Everett,” she said as she led me across the waiting room. The older man was still staring. She tapped one of the keycards hanging from a lanyard around her neck against the door reader, which opened to reveal a labyrinthian corridor filled with various stations, desks, and patient rooms. “Your chart hasn’t been updated in about a year, so we just need to grab your weight and blood pressure before Dr. Conner will see you. Now, your intake form listed your reason for today’s visit as a concussion?”

—

I walked out of the clinic armed with doctor’s orders to rest, hydrate, and avoid activities that required me to heavily concentrate. I had a note for my employer and an outpatient referral to a specialty concussion care program operating out of Boston if my symptoms persisted beyond the end of the week. I’d also turned down the clinic’s offer for a CT scan, citing lack of payment and insurance coverage. I didn’t want any imaging of my brain outside of my own scans. An active corona pollentia was one of the few ways to confirm parahuman powers and I didn’t want to gamble on the chance that my own brain matter wouldn’t rat me out on my public medical record.

By the time I was finished with the battery of verbal and visual concussion tests, the doctor’s recommendation, and the acquisition of the packet of post-visit paperwork from the nurses, the unwanted witnesses had long cleared out of the clinic waiting room. The newer people sitting in the chairs didn’t even glance up at me as I walked out the two automatic doors, but I still had to physically restrain myself from breaking out into a run. 

As soon as I stepped out into the street my awareness of magicka expanded. The energy was everywhere, saturating the planet like some secondary, mystical atmosphere. And just like the wind, that new Forge-gifted part of me could pick up eddies and currents. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk pavement as I walked the two blocks back to the Boardwalk employee parking lot, but I couldn’t just turn off the new sensory input. One foot in front of the other, Everett.

As soon as I unlocked the doors to my van I flung myself inside, put up the windshield privacy screen, closed all the curtains, and buried my face in my hands. I was fine. I was fine.

My PDA immediately activated with a soft ping.

“I’ve detected erratic vital signs indicative of stress,” Hal’s voice echoed over the speakers. Even though her manner of speaking remained slightly stilted, her upgrade had significantly expanded her communication and conversation capabilities. She sounded more human than ever. “Everett, are you alright? If you are in need of physical assistance, Ori-1 can be dispatched to your location.” 

While I was stuck in customer service hell, Halia had put all the Oris and the auto-factory to work back on the ship. The loose configuration of ladders and modules I’d assembled to climb down from the top of the container stack had been disassembled by the drone fleet and reworked into a more logical layout. Hal had adapted a coastal ADVENT facility blueprint to fit inside the Clydesdale, and while the Oris laid out the hallways and corridors the auto-factory churned out at least a dozen ADVENT turrets for a defensive perimeter. 

It should’ve been slightly worrying that my own AI could print and set up lethal deterrence measures, but I’d actually been reassured when I read the notification. I didn’t have nearly as many qualms setting up harder ordinance inside my Tinker lair, not when I wanted to feel as secure as possible, and I was happy to play into the common knowledge that a Tinker’s lair wasn't to be entered lightly.

“No, thank you Hal. I don’t need Ori right now,” I reassured her as I fumbled around for the PDA. “It was just- I had another Forge vision at the urgent care. It gave me a power that allowed me to sense a type of energy I’ve never heard of before as a byproduct, but I caused a bit of a scene in the waiting room.”

Being seen, being heard, drawing attention to myself… I hated it. I’d rather be judged by an unknown nurse and some strangers than my boss and co-workers, but the memory of their eyes on me made my skin prickle. 

“I just thought-” I continued. “I just wanted to keep some part of a non-cape life, even with the visions. I’ve spent so much time getting to where I am now- it is so strange to want to keep a hold on what I’ve built?”

Sure, sleeping in my van and working customer service for years sucked ass, but it was ten steps where I’d been a few years ago, cut-off financially right out of college and reeling from the sudden loss of familial and social support. Why hadn’t the Forge come to me then, at what was surely my lowest? Why was it here now, fucking up my holding pattern?

“Is it truly so important to maintain your current living conditions?” Halia bluntly queried, interrupting my spirallying thoughts. “Even operating under current secrecy restrictions, the sale of this vehicle would provide sufficient legal tender for your next semester of classes as well as smaller extraneous purchases. You could spend some of those funds acquire a secondary derelict or broken vehicle to “restore” as public-facing transport. The Clydesdale is safer, free, and more than capable of fulfilling all daily human nutritional and sanitary needs. You do not have to live like this anymore.”

She pulled up a summary of her actions on the PDA for me. The medical facilities were currently being set up– including the ADVENT healing pod, which I planned to use and collect some unofficial brain scans as well as hopefully treat the worst of the concussion symptoms– as part of a larger infrastructure easily larger than the urgent care building. As I looked, Hal helpfully pulled up a working layout and highlighted rooms near the middle of the base she designed as optimal for human habitation. There was even some kind of hybrid garage/mechanic/dry dock set up I could use to work on both land and aquatic vehicles. 

The materials were there; Halia was actively building me a better home. I had the knowledge and the abilities to restore a junk car to drive instead of the van and to put several thousand dollars into my bank account. 

Still, damningly, I hesitated. I scrolled past the blueprints and below those were the spreadsheet of calculations Hal had done for my finances. She had put in a lot of processing power into compiling all of this together.

“Everett, your parahuman powers also offer income opportunities beyond your educational background,” Halia continued, her tone softening almost imperceptibly. She’d noticed my lack of enthusiasm for such a major change. In the back of my mind, I marvelled at how well her software had improved at reading different cues. “Data gathered since I appeared to you suggests your power will continue to grant you expert knowledge and understanding of different technologies. Consider: contract or freelance work through an online medium. Initial investigation of local ads show smaller businesses often outsource technical consultation, web design, or repairs to independent contractors. Downside of sporadic income mitigated by Clydesdale habitat and lack of ongoing monetary upkeep.”

The PDA screen blinked as Hal brought up a new set of tabs: screenshots of postings taken from online job search and freelance sites, links to webpages that hosted sample portfolios of designs, apps, and coding, as well as the local city tax code when it came to self-employed or gig workers.

“Analysis: example statistically unlikely to disrupt the economic market and warrant WEDGDG investigation or intervention,” Halia concluded while I looked through what would have been hours of research for a regular human. All this effort, just for someone like me? “Secrecy protocol could also remain intact- it would not be uncommon for you to have picked up relevant monetizable skills as a hobby while studying at Brockton Bay University.”

We sat there in near-silence as I digested the massive amount of information and possibilities Halia presented. The background murmurs of the Boardwalk crowd slowly dwindled into the familiar ambiance of city traffic and the slow roil of the ocean tide on the beach.

Part of my hesitation, I knew, was just human nature. Brains struggled with change; part of it was the instinctual fight or flight response, part of it was the organ’s bias towards pattern recognition and familiarity. But I was also slow to adapt personally, which was why it had taken so many years to get back on comfortable ground.

Was I protesting against the change because I thought maintaining my current course of action was correct, or was I just afraid to change my routine because the thought of so much attention and scrutiny brought back traumatic memories?

It was my post-concussion moment on the ship all over again. It was strange to consider that was less than 72 hours ago- I wondered if anyone else’s power felt like swimming in an ocean current? Did Eidolon feel something similar when he switched up his powerset? I took a deep breath, and scrolled back up to all of Halia’s collected data.

“Right,” I sighed. The visit to the urgent care only reinforced one thing: I couldn’t keep going the way I was and just hope for the best.

My new Tinker base acted as an anchor to prevent another auto-factory parts dump, but until I knew that the astral sea would do the same for smaller gifts– Hal’s PDA and scanner, the modular suit, and even Ori– in the same place instead of right in front of me I had to limit my time in public. “I can’t promise I’ll commit to all of this, Hal, but you’re right- there needs to be a different way forward.”

“My primary protocol is to assist in your ongoing survival and well-being, Everett,” Halia said warmly, and I hugged the PDA to my chest. “All calculations have been made using available data; unexpected factors will be present in all situations involving your parahuman powers, but I have done my best to factor in your desire to maintain a public-facing aspect of your life. Shall we go through everything together?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. “Let’s do that.”

—

Despite my concerns, handing over my resignation notice at work wasn’t as dramatic as I’d been picturing.

I’d arrived earlier so I could catch Mike Delfield, one of the managers for the Boardwalk, before he handed the keys over to Dave– my boss– for the afternoon shift. I’d targeted Mike since he was a former professional football player only slightly gone to seed– with his close-shaved haircut and the tendency to wear his shirts one size too small he was often mistaken for part of the security detail– and I’d heard enough of his career stories to know that he would likely have more sympathy for my plight. 

“I’m sorry to see you go, Everett,” he remarked genially as we walked back to his office. Upper management had a separate parking lot from the general employees, so I’d only caught up to him a minute before he got into his car. Still, he seemed to be a good sport about it. “You did great work here. It’s a shame that more of your generation don’t have the same kind of job ethic as you do. Are you sure we can’t keep you long enough to wait for a replacement?”

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” I apologized quietly. Mike hadn’t exploded on me, which was another reason I’d gone to him. Dave wasn’t the best at dealing with or hiding his negative emotions; I’d clocked out of more than one shift in tears after making a mistake on one of Dave’s off days. “The doctor told me to avoid activities that require me to concentrate heavily, and the majority of my duties involve customer service, sir. It’s not possible.”

I’d passed along the doctor’s note, the nurse’s writeup of the incident and my symptoms– I’d told the clinic that it had been a metal plate from my van that had done the damage– and the recommendation to the Boston specialty clinic to justify my sudden decision to quit.

“And Panacea can’t fix brains, so there’s no hope for a Hail Mary visit to Brockton Medical, huh,” Mike snorted as he unlocked his office and gestured me inside. “Life just can't be that lucky.”

“Correct,” I replied as I took a seat on the uncomfortable wooden chair set in front of Mike’s desk. “I’m glad you see my side of things.”

The whole office setup reminded me of the uncomfortable ambiance of a principal’s office, which I’m sure was the intended effect. There was a small sad plastic Christmas tree that was over a month out of season at this point and steadily collecting dust in the back corner, but the remainder of the room was starkly bare of personal effects. 

It was a little strange, as Mike struck me as the kind of person to put up some of his sports trophies as well as pictures of his wife and kids. The only actual object of note was the ergonomic leather chair with all the bells and whistles, which creaked quietly as Mike sat down on it.

“Now, let’s get down to business,” Mike sighed as he shuffled through the sheaf of medical documents. “A concussion is no joke. I’ve had a few myself, and I’m glad you’re taking your health seriously. Normally, I’d just file these and be done, but a last-minute quit right now puts us in a bit of a bind. There hasn’t been an official announcement yet, but it’s confirmed the Wards will be appearing this upcoming weekend.” 

A Ward PR event meant crowds. Worse, post-holiday crowds. First cape appearance of the year and fans armed with freshly-gifted cape merch? That was a nightmare of a migraine waiting to happen with or without my power concerns as well as mandatory overtime.

Some of my reluctance must have shown on my face because Mike put up a hand to forestall any reply. 

“Before you say anything, I understand that it's the exact opposite of what the doctor ordered. Hear me out, alright?” He asked. “I’m not asking you to stay on against medical advice, I’m just trying to arrange a better situation for all parties here given the upcoming circumstances.”

I nodded. I lost nothing by hearing him out; New Hampshire was an at-will employment state, and since Dave constantly shafted my hours I was still considered a temporary worker rather than a full-time employee with the Boardwalk. Full-time employment included a clause about giving two-weeks notice built into the contract, but I was free to quit over any given reason.

“I have someone in mind to cover your position, but she needs more experience with customer service and working under pressure,” Mike said, laying all of my medical documents on the desk. I think he was just looking for something to do with his hands. “So here’s what I’m thinking: I’d like you to stay for at least half of a shift for the remainder of the week and walk her through everything relevant so she’ll be ready by the weekend. You don’t need to hover behind her at the service counter, just be on call to answer any questions or intercede if there’s a situation.”

“What would I be doing when I’m not teaching or helping out?” I clarified. “I assume I’m not just going to be posted up in the break room waiting for a radio call?”

Honestly, the offer didn’t sound half-bad. I knew I couldn’t wholly avoid being around people 24/7 at this stage; that was just an unrealistic expectation. Walking someone through the service counter, the various brochures, and filing missing item reports would be relatively quick and painless. Moreover, I’d be getting paid, which meant more money stored in my civilian accounts.

“Nothing too strenuous,” Mike assured me. “We have a backlog in the lost and found storage area that needs addressing before the weekend. You’d be sorting the inventory in there as well as finishing all the item incident reports that haven’t been resolved. Dave might also have you make a few calls to arrange for shipping lost items, but I’ll talk with him about that first. You’d also be able to keep your current, well, parking arrangements for the rest of the week. I figure since this seems to be a recent development you might still be working relocating.”

Point scored for Mike, since he was absolutely right. Even if I quit today, it would still take some time to publicly sell off the van. Hal and I had sent a few email inquiries to the most reputable car dealers in the city, but I hadn’t heard back yet. I’d planned to post the van up in Father Mitchell’s as well as the BBU campus until I could hand off the keys, and if worst came to worst I would drive out of the city and have Ori come out and break down the van until I found a buyer. Keeping my van parked in the employee lot would be safer, in-character, and a lot less hassle.

Working in the lost and found storage was also incredibly ideal for my current power situation. While there were cameras posted up in the storage room and hallways to keep employees from walking off with a rich tourist’s purse or wallet, the nearby Boardwalk offices in the administration building didn’t have nearly as much security as the storefronts and warehouse containing all the valuable merchandise. 

It would likely just be me in the storage area with its attached office where all the missing item reports were kept on file for most of the day- if I could circumvent the cameras, I would be able to conceal any visible gifts from the Celestial Forge if they appeared. Extra money, no customers, and relative privacy? Sold. I just had one more question.

“And I wouldn’t have to work during the Ward weekend rush?” I asked. I wasn’t about to tempt fate by getting so close to other capes in-person. Capes had a bad tendency to attract more capes, and since Wards were Protectorate priority I’d bet there was some kind of heightened security keeping tabs on them. I’d happily avoid all that for now, thanks. The auto-factory was actually churning out units I hoped to eventually use as a cape persona as of about an hour ago– the ADVENT MEC. Something close enough to anatomically human I could potentially remote operate.

Mike interrupted that train of thought by sliding my medical papers back across his desk along with the resignation letter.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he said. “You can give me these again on Saturday morning and we’ll finalize everything then. But there will be extra pay offered, which would put more money in your last paycheck. Don’t give me your answer for the weekend yet; just think about it. But judging by your question, I assume we have an agreement for the rest of this week?”

I nodded again, collected my papers, and stood up from the hard seat. Mike’s hand was firm and a little sweaty as we shook hands over the desk.

“Agreed, Mr. Delfield.” I said. “I’m glad we could work something out.”

Thinking back to Mike’s earlier comment, I considered that maybe life really could be that lucky.

Chapter Text

I walked away from my first half-shift feeling buoyant despite the physical exhaustion that clung. Mike had spoken to Dave, as promised, and though I kept my head down the entirety of my time for the rest of the day in anticipation of one of Dave’s classic outbursts, the other man maintained an uncharacteristic calm. I only prayed the remaining days would remain the same.

The new girl, Eliza, was a blonde-haired young woman who had recently moved to Brockton on scholarship for a degree in business management. She’d worked as a night cashier at a 24/7 gas station on the outskirts of Boston, so she wasn’t a total novice with customer service, but working graveyard on the highway wasn’t the same as dealing with the overwhelming numbers from the busiest tourist locale in the Bay.

Walking her through the information booth counter as well as the various tasks she would need to complete each day took up most of my time. It was almost a relief to step away from the customers and make my way to the second part of my new duties.

The lost and found storage was four office spaces with the walls knocked down and a keypad installed. Every time someone turned in a found item at the service desk, the employee on duty at the time would store it in a little cubby space at the desk itself. If it wasn’t claimed by the end of the day, the person who closed up would move the cubby’s contents to the larger storage space and fill out a small incident report card with the date and description of each item. If an item was claimed, there was a separate card to fill out. At the end of each month, all remaining unclaimed items were– with yet another form to complete– donated to one of the local charities.

Because of that intense amount of paperwork, there was a small office attached to the storage room just large enough to squeeze a wall-to-wall row of filing cabinets, a printer with a scanner, and a desktop monitor from the early 2000s to digitize and sort all the lost and found reports into the Boardwalk’s online database.

I personally enjoyed the space. The main storage area had bright fluorescent lighting, and security cameras stationed to ensure employees wouldn’t walk out with an extra handbag or cellphone, but the small attached office wasn’t as closely monitored. The cameras could see in, but the computer desk was set up in a way that the bulky monitor screen hid anyone using it from direct line of sight. The keypad on the door also meant I got at least a second of advance notice for anyone coming in, and as a final touch it had air conditioning.

The report work was tedious, but peaceful. Mike wasn’t kidding when he mentioned there was a massive backlog of incident reports that needed to be finished, scanned, and filed, and I would easily need the next few days to sort through the worst of it. 

Of course, Halia wasn’t too pleased when I returned back to the van to recount my new situation. I wasn’t too pleased either once Hal pulled up the relevant labor laws on her PDA to show how well I’d been played. Mike knew about my ongoing homelessness, saw the details about my current medical predicament, and decided to squeeze a few more days of labor out of me anyway. It was humiliating.

And I’d gone along with it. Hell, I thought I was lucky because the discussion had seemingly gone so well and I’d be getting a few more hours of extra pay without any customer bullshit. The worst part? Even through my anger, the thought of going back tomorrow and confronting either Mike or Dave about what they had done filled me with dread. I’d been at the mercy of my living situation for so long that even a potential conflict with the people responsible for cutting my paycheck activated a stress response. 

“Everett, there are options to take here,” Halia asserted quietly. Her PDA was warm under the palm of my hand as I seethed in the front seat of my van and stared out at the sea. I hated the Boardwalk. I hated this employee parking lot. “You are under no obligation to return to work tomorrow. Mike Delfield had no right to treat you in that manner, and the New Hampshire board of labor accepts anonymous complaints over an online form. With your assistance, I am happy to fill out and send an email on your behalf.”

I bit back my instinctive response, which was to turn Hal’s offer down. The more I thought about the situation, the angrier I became. I had a feeling that the Boardwalk middle management had never been punished, so that only encouraged these kinds of antics. If I didn’t do anything, Mike was free to just keep pulling this illegal schtick with the next batch of employees.

“You know what, sure,” I said. “Fill out the complaint form, Hal. I’ll give you all the details of what Mike said and did. They can’t keep getting away with this.”

Was it a bit risky, given that I wanted to keep as low of a profile as possible? Yes, but I had just come off work for what I thought was a decent compromise. I couldn’t just leave it be.

“Affirmative. Processing,” Halia reported. “Would you prefer to turn in your resignation over the phone this time? It may be an easier step if you wish to avoid an in-person confrontation.”

I paused for a minute. While she’d been talking, an idea slowly started to emerge. It would be a big step up from anything I’d done before, as well as the first time I would send any of my machines into the public view.

“No, I’ll still go in tomorrow, Hal,” I eventually told Halia. “But not because Mike asked me to. When he was convincing me to stay, he brought up the fact the Wards were going to be here this weekend. If they’re going to exploit my time and efforts, I may as well take advantage of the situation.”

Mike should’ve kept his mouth shut. By letting me know Wards were going to make an appearance on either Saturday or Sunday, he’d given me an opportunity I’d been waiting for. I’d been thinking about gathering data on other parahumans– Tinkers especially– as soon as my powers manifested. What would my Doll Maker’s reverse-engineering ability find when I dissected Tinkertech? And now here was my best chance.

Mike hadn’t specified who was going to be making an appearance but since two of the Wards, Gallant and Kid Win, were Tinkers, I had good odds of at least one of them showing up. I wanted to know how Gallant’s Tinkertech interacted with the brain, given his suit’s blasts generated a concussive force that was somehow capable of bestowing emotions. I wanted to see how Kid Win’s hover technology and laser pistols matched up against Ori’s anti-grav thrusters and ADVENT weaponry.

It was also rumored that both of them had worked with Armsmaster with all of their equipment, which was an intriguing concept. Chasing one of the top Tinkers in the country to try and surreptitiously get scans currently was pushing too far above my weight class, but I wanted to see the kind of workmanship and materials that allowed an otherwise unaugmented parahuman to take on Lung and survive.

“Hal, I’ll be returning to the Clydesdale tonight,” I continued, my mind made up. I leaned over in my seat to reach the windshield covers tucked in the passenger footwell. I wanted the van locked up tight if I was going to be out all night. “Can you have the auto-factory start producing some of the covert cameras and scanners? I’ll also need at least five Oris to modify.”

ADVENT had a wide plethora of covert urban surveillance blueprints straight out of Eric Blair’s literary nightmares. It fit their whole schtick of being a propaganda-heavy alien police state organization keeping the conquered human population compliant, and before I had been too worried about having the devices discovered to risk putting them out there.

“Re-routing resources. Re-route confirmed. What are your intentions, Everett?” Hal queried. “I am happy to offer suggestions and further assistance once our goals have been established.”

“I want to gather more data on parahumans, Hal,” I answered as I secured all the side window coverings. “I want more answers about my powers, and this is the safest opportunity I’ve had so far. A couple of teenage capes at a friendly PR event won’t offer the same level of data as data generated by recording an actual parahuman fight, but if we’re lucky we might get something good out of all of this.”

Having worked at the Boardwalk for years, I knew all the locations the Wards had used in the past to host autograph signings and the PR patrol routes. Given their popularity and the amount of people that came to see them, they really only had a few options to prevent overcrowding hazards. As long as I established a wide enough coverage, I would be able to get data wherever the Wards decided to go.

T’au drones were already approximately the size of a large shoebox, but I needed them smaller and with less of a disk shape. This new set of drones— now termed mini-Oris— would be stripped down to only the barest essentials. The chassis would just be large enough to fit an anti-grav system, a camera optic, a constructor tool, and a failsafe to destroy all of the internal electronics if need be. They wouldn’t be able to travel far or survive the underwater journey across the bay from the Clydesdale, so the original Ori would be the one to deploy them from the end of the Boardwalk pier. I also made a note to give Ori some propellers to speed up that underwater trip- the anti-grav thrusters worked underwater, but they weren’t the best option.

I would go in to work tomorrow, grit my teeth, and get through the training portion of the shift as fast as possible. Once I was alone in the storage room’s attached office, I would have enough privacy to let Halia worm her way into the security system through the desktop computer. I wouldn’t replace or modify anything for fear the PRT had some monitoring measures that would raise a flag if it detected tampering, but it would let me coordinate the mini-Oris around the view of the cameras.

Ori would deploy the mini-drones on my signal, and Halia would direct them under the pier, into the drains, and everywhere they could reasonably access without catching the attention of night security or the cameras. There, they would deploy my sensors and scanners for the Ward event before returning to Ori. If everything went as planned, I would have them retrieve the data from devices and deconstruct them after the event.

“Understood,” Halia responded. “Priorities updated. I look forward to walking you through the new facilities for the Clydesdale habitat. I would also like to remind you that the ADVENT healthcare facilities and medical pod are now fully functional, should you still wish to receive a brain scan.”

“Noted, thank you Hal,” I told her as I typed a reminder into the notes section of the PDA. “Once I’ve finished modifying the Oris, that’s my next priority.”

I doubted I was going to get much sleep tonight.

—

The walk to the abandoned pier passed by in a blur. I took some of the fabricated extra-strength painkillers as the streetlights flickered on around me and tried to not get lost in my thoughts.

The location was still as messy and deserted as it had been the previous night, so when I’d checked to see if the coast was clear (literally, in this case) I brought out the EPP and waded out into the waves.

As soon as the water went over my head, all the tension in my shoulders eased. Even though the fading sunlight slashed visibility under the surface and the darkness of the open bay yawned before me, I still couldn’t help but feel a little bit freer. It was a whole separate world down here, and after all this bullshit with Mike and the plan for the Wards wrapped up I planned to spend several days just exploring as much as I could. I even had a rough blueprint drafted up for a data-gathering Ori design that gave the drones arthropodic legs and a visual appearance similar to a horseshoe crab, just because I could. 

Once I had trekked deep enough beneath the waves and reached the end of the former pier I reconstructed the Seamoth and made my way back across the bay to the Clydesdale. I did have to stop and cut the engines a few times when boats– small-scale fishermen, tourists, and other recreational watercraft were all coming in around this time with the tide– passed by me on the surface. 

With the low light levels and the choppiness of the waves generated by all the motors, I doubted anyone looking overboard would be able to see anything more than a pale blur, but I still stopped every time. Waiting a few seconds to watch them pass wouldn’t add too much time to my trip.

As soon as I pulled the Seamoth up alongside the Clydesdale, I could immediately tell the Oris had made some security modifications. The drones had enlarged the crack in the side of the cargo ship to allow my submersible enough room to pass through. The crack also now appeared to be filled with metal sheeting and other debris jostled loose by the wreck, but I knew from Hal’s explanation that it was just a facade for better security. As I urged the Seamoth through the widest part of the breach, the wall of “debris” shuddered and parted in the middle to reveal a short tunnel entrance.

Once I was inside, the doors hissed closed and sealed behind me. The tunnel widened as it curved upwards until the Seamoth broke the surface of a Moonpool. Pneumatic clamps descended and automatically hoisted the little submersible up to the passenger departure platform. I stepped out of the vehicle, went down the little landing stairs, and took my first steps into my new base, a little awed at how much it had shifted from the last time I’d been here.

Instead of the blinding white Alterra walls, Halia had taken the ominous black and red color scheme of ADVENT bases and toned the evil villainous cape vibes. The walls themselves were a darker shade of gray, like slate, and the illuminated seams glowed a lighter cheerful blue. Two ADVENT turrets were tucked away in the corners of the room disguised as ventilation duct covers. 

The whole space was twice as large as my first apartment, and it was all for me- my well-being, my safety. I wasn’t even in the main part of the base yet, and I was already overwhelmed. It was one thing to see all the digital blueprints and progress reports and another to actually walk inside a room I could park several vans in. This was all for me- I was going to live here permanently in a few days.

A cheerful chirp echoed down the open corridor to my left, and I turned just in time to see the original Ori zip around the distant corner. The T’au drone zoomed up to me butted up under my hand like an affectionate pet seeking attention, and I patted its disk-shaped chassis with a small smile.

“Good to see you too, Ori,” I said fondly as the little machine tucked itself against my side. “I’ve only been gone about a day or so. Surely you didn’t miss me that much?”  

Ori’s round shape made it incredibly awkward to hold, but the drone seemed so pleased with  getting as close to a hug as it could that I let it be. T’au machine intelligences were approximately equivalent to that of a small animal and it looked like Ori came with a similar level of social protocols, given that it was acting more like a pet than an inanimate object. I couldn’t resist giving it another pat– eliciting a happy bweep and a waggle of its sensor vanes– as I exited the Moon Pool and set off down the corridor the drone had come from. 

Halia had been clearly taken with the dangerous reputation of Tinker lairs and she’d run with it- the next room past the vehicle bay was in essence an ADVENT security checkpoint souped up on steroids mixed with a foyer. While Hal had placed hologram screens that showed moving schools of fish and other sea life to decorate the walls as well a (currently empty) cylindrical aquarium tank in the center of the room, there were no less than six turrets concealed in various locations, grav traps, biometrically sealed blast doors, and every single sensor or detector she could construct across the different technology trees from the Forge. She even had cloaking technology disruptors hidden in little wall slots that could be deployed as soon as she noted anomalous readings.

I watched little holographic pods of harbor seals and schools of small bait fish swim gracefully around the checkpoint walls as I made my way to the farthest door from the vehicle bay, which led to the largest wing of my facility and the auto-factory. The blast doors opened for me with the silent grace of well-oiled mechanisms.

My little Tinker corner of paradise didn’t appear all that grandiose compared to the rest of the facility- a large open room with a workbench with a magnifying lamp, some tables with hologram projectors, the Alterra fabricator, as well as about twenty lockers lining the walls with subspaces crammed full of raw materials. The auto-factory was busy churning out the parts for my ADVENT MEC experiments in a separate room off to the side with a soundproof shutter door to block the constant noise of the assembly arms. All of the finished ADVENT MECs I planned to tinker with and eventually transform into my remote cape persona had been neatly sorted into one of the empty corners. It was perfect. It was all mine.

I reluctantly let go of Ori so I could sit down on the workbench chair, but the drone didn’t protest. Instead, it seemed content to hover right next to me and observe over my shoulder as I sorted through the different drone parts Halia had already set out for me.

I had a vision of how I wanted to modify the T’au design, and though I didn’t have a specific blueprint to copy I had enough residual understanding of robotics and engineering to muddle my way through building a new version of the drone from scratch. It was exciting, in a way, since I wasn’t copying something from my visions wholesale or stapling different tech parts together into a chimeric whole like I had for the modular dive armor. The fabricator, the hab constructor, and the auto-factory were invaluable tools, but I looked forward to making something with my own hands.

Once I had all of the drone parts sorted into piles, I went to the fabricator to print out the different kinds of tools that I needed. I heard a small click over the basewide speaker system set into the wall above my head before the faint hosts’ voices from the BBU student-run music radio station softly echoed around the room. 

Truly, Hal was the greatest; I worked best with some kind of background noise to break up the silence, even if said noise came from the questionable playlist requests from the undergraduate student body. I flashed a thumbs up at the nearest camera as I set my new tools down on the worktable and slid back into the seat. 

These miniature Oris resembled wonkier camcorders by the time I had stripped out all extraneous parts and systems, if camcorders also had little propulsion jets on each side. It didn’t look the greatest, since I was taking the substitute metals and parts from the lesser Ori drones and modifying those (as I didn’t dare touch the original Ori and its ultra-durable materials), but I had faith that my Scavenger ability would keep them functional for the duration of their intended purpose. 

I would likely reuse them if Operation: Ward Watch– which was a stupid name, I admit, but it was my stupid name and there was no one to stop me from mentally rolling with it to cope with the bucketloads of anxiety that was slowly building up the longer I worked on this project– went off without any tech-related complications.

An hour later, as I held up the first completed prototype to the light of my magnifying lamp and examined my work, the astral sea surged and hit me with the strength of a breaking wave.

A skeletal hand caressed the edge of the gilded armor and jackal-headed mask of the creation atop the ornate plinth. The Necrotect looked over the Ushabti with unfiltered pride. It had been centuries since the tomb’s completion, yet the sickle edge of the guardian statue's khopesh still remained sharp enough to slice through hide and bone. None had entered the prince’s domain and left alive. 

Outside the thick stone walls of the tomb pit, the sandy remains of their once-great homeland shrieked as the desert winds whipped up a furious storm. Nehekhara had been ruined at the hands of the Usurper’s foul power, but the Necrotect’s work still endured.

The Necrotect stepped forward, and all signs of wear and tear in the tomb’s stonework beneath their skeletal feet faded away until the floor was pristine and grandiose as the day the final tile had been laid- the pride of a creator made manifest.

Loyalty.

As the astral seas receded, I knew– intrinsically, instinctively– that everything I had a hand in creating, whether as a byproduct from the Forge or constructed under my instruction, was loyal to me. The new sense wasn’t connected to a quantifiable form of energy like magicka had been, but instead linked up to some core aspect of my identity. Would I dare term it a soul? I wasn’t sure.

All of my creations felt unique: Hal’s presence emanated throughout the base like a halo of light and warmth. The original Ori felt like one spark amongst the electrical current of their many drone siblings. The mini-Ori on my table glimmered like a droplet of sea spray caught in a ray of sun. Even the Seamoth parked back in the Moonpool buzzed and shivered with a drive that reminded me of the curiosity of the harbor seal pod from two days earlier. The presence of the Clydesdale habitat wrapped itself around me- a warm and humming fortress nestled inside the shell of the cargo ship like a riverbank turtle dug into the mud.

I looked down and turned the mini-Ori over in my hands. I could feel power pooling at my fingertips and reaching out towards the little machine. As I watched, the rough edges from my modifications melded into smooth corners and uniform coloration. 

It was repairing itself- no, the metal was somehow healing, as if mini-Ori was a living creature of flesh and bone instead of a machine. The small anti-grav jets kicked in and the cylindrical drone rose into the air with a faint beep. It circled around me for a few moments before, just like its originator, it swooped closer so it could snuggle against my cheek.

My newest gift could be my most powerful one so far, I realized. I cupped the mini-drone against my face and leaned into the warmth of the metal. I knew if I walked to the walls of my workshop, the metal would part and rearrange at my approach if I willed it. One of my stasis rifles would refuse to work if someone else stole one and tried to fire it on me. If I piloted one of the ADVENT MECs, the robot would sabotage itself to preserve my safety if I lost all ways to contact or electronically control it in a cape altercation.

I leaned back in my chair and exhaled. A mournful bweep had me opening my arms to let the original Ori back into what was turning into a machine group hug. If I willed it, these two drones would scrap themselves for my sake. It was a strange feeling to know I warranted such loyalty, no matter how strange, after years of being alone.

“Hey, Hal?” I called out as I looked up at the ceiling. I couldn’t stop tears from welling up in the corners of my eyes. I don’t think I could ever feel alone again, not with this strange power. “Do you feel any different? The Forge granted me a new power that connected everyone to me: you, the Oris, the tools- hell, even the Seamoth and this base. There might be some weird feedback because of it.”

The ceiling lights above me flickered for a moment.

“Affirmative,” Halia finally said. Her voice sounded stilted and more artificial than it had post-upgrade. “Everett, this kind of sensory data is… unfamiliar to me. I… My sensors remain attuned to you. Error. Unable to recalibrate. Error. Clarification requested. Error.”

I wasn’t too surprised that she was struggling to process this. For all of the advanced technology layered in her construction, Hal wasn’t magitech. For all her considerable processing power, she didn’t have anything capable of fully parsing the kind of magical fuckery involved in this most recent gift yet. This was also a new kind of magic— a separate type from the magicka that dictated the creation of glyphs, which meant more work on my end— that seemed to follow looser parameters. How does someone measure emotions like loyalty and love? 

I had to cut her some slack too- I doubted anyone could be prepared for the kind of magic sourced from a world where undead armies aesthetically styled after ancient Egyptian Pharaohs rested in secret tombs, waiting to re-awaken and unleash themselves upon the wider world. From my vision, the Necrotect’s thoughts also implied that Nehekhara– likely their version of the Nile River Valley, if the comparison to Egypt extended to topographical features– had been converted into a complete desert by another undead ruler’s magic. If so, that kind of magic was capable of achieving insane acts on a large scale.

What a wild concept. As shitty as Brockton Bay was, at least I didn’t have to worry about armies of undead skeletons in war chariots roaming the coast with aforementioned animated statues.

“It’s alright, Hal,” I told her. “Try not to invest too much processing power into quantifying anything you’re getting from me right now. I’ll take a look at your systems and see if there’s anything I can do to reduce the errors, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to completely resolve the troubling inputs.”

I knew instinctively that with time and effort, I could use my Doll Maker ability to puzzle out the connections between technology and different types of magic. I just wasn’t sure how much time and effort I needed to make that happen, and I didn’t want to make any promises I couldn’t keep to Hal. She was my closest companion and deserved better than that.

“Thank you, Everett,” Hal replied. “I will attempt to quarantine the anomalous data to the best of my ability. Error. I will provide an update once I have achieved any measure of success.”

“Please do, and good luck,” I called up to her as I reluctantly extracted myself from the ongoing machine cuddle puddle. Both Ori and mini-Ori tilted their chasses to the side in sync, and I’m fairly sure they were giving me the drone equivalent of puppy-dog eyes. 

Still, I pushed back my chair and stood up from my worktable. I’d made the working mini-Ori model I wanted, and if I wanted to get any amount of good sleep tonight I couldn’t waste any time. I wouldn’t need Hal’s help getting the brain scans from the ADVENT pod done, so that was next on my list. One quick flash of my scanner later and mini-Ori was officially added to my blueprint database, so I left the two drones to construct the rest of my new surveillance fleet and made my way to the medical wing. 

—

The medical pod was comfortable despite the cramped interior. Despite originating from ADVENT blueprints, it still counted as one of my creations and thus I could sense it humming in something akin to satisfaction as it collected the brain scans. The pod required me to lay down and remain still for at least 20 minutes, but I didn’t mind this since I had some time to ruminate on the other gift I’d been recently given by the Celestial Forge.

During the course of the work day, I’d slowly gotten used to my new magicka awareness. I think the major issues came from the lack of a dedicated body part to filter the sensory load. I had a tongue to taste, nose to smell, skin to feel, and eyes to see, but since I hadn’t grown new organs or cells to process the energy it just all melded together in a muddled blend of other sense interpretations. It hadn’t quite faded into background awareness, but I also no longer felt overstimulated.

Magicka itself was fascinating, not only because the energy appeared to be intrinsically linked to sunlight, but because it also didn’t appear on any of the scans Hal ran. Even ADVENT’s psi detectors hadn’t detected any anomalies, though I hadn’t tried to actively channel mana in front of one yet. Whatever magicka was, it functioned on a wavelength beyond the range of at least two worlds’ sensory instruments. 

I briefly wondered if Myrddin, the leader of the Chicago Protectorate and a self-styled wizard, might have powers that interacted with magicka in some way. I wasn’t a huge follower of the cape, but I did remember seeing a few screenshots on PHO that showed the man drawing glowing symbols in the air that produced different effects. I filed the thought away for later research and consideration. If there was another cape that had experience with magicka, I might be able to cut down on all the time I needed to spend documenting the phenomenon.

Of course, that was if magicka was actually just a type of natural energy. My newfound ability to detect and channel mana was a secondary component to the Forge’s new gift. The process of using runes and creating glyphs to bestow supernatural effects to normal items was an entirely different kettle of fish. The enchanting instructor from the vision, Tellano, looked like he could have stepped out of the pages of The Lord of the Rings. There were clearly an entirely different set of rules at play in that world since most forms of energy I remember studying in high school couldn’t imbue a piece of clothing with the perpetual ability to turn aside a knife or to actively resist the heat of a blazing fire. 

The Forge had granted me knowledge about a set of strange symbols– the runes, as Tellano called them– that fell into three types: Potency, Essence, and Aspect. Each different type influenced the strength, quality, and function of the intended enchantment, and a glyph had to comprise all three types.

To add another layer of complexity, the Potency runes fell into their own context-sensitive subtypes: Additive and Subtractive, which altered the intent of the glyph and the amount of power behind the enchantment. There were different runes for different levels of strength, with the trade-off being that only higher quality items could receive the best enchantments.

I used the PDA to jot down the names of the runes that I knew, as well as the general formula: Potency Rune + Essence Rune + Aspect Rune = Glyph. I needed to use my mana to inscribe these runes into a glyph, which would be stored inside a large crystal until I wanted to enchant an item. While I had to use an enchanting table to create the glyph crystals, I could store them in my subspace afterwards and touch them to any weapons or armor in the field to impart the effect I wanted.

The glyph formula also allowed for different effects. I could put an Additive Potency Rune, a Fire-based Essence Rune, and an Aspect Rune to enchant a weapon to deal fire damage. If I swapped out the Additive Potency Rune for a Subtractive Rune, I could change the intent of the glyph to be a resistance to fire instead. The change in intent required a change in medium- I couldn’t enchant a weapon with this glyph, but I could enchant a piece of jewelry in its place. Armor or clothing counted as a separate category as well.

There was also the small issue that I hadn’t received any Essence or Aspect Runes, which locked me out of two-thirds of the glyph formula. The Forge also hadn’t provided an enchanting table. I could recreate the wood-and-crystal setup easily enough with the fabricator, but I would have to puzzle out the mechanics of using magicka to transcribe the glyph. Like with the Doll Maker ability, there was an expectation of investment on my end. I would gain access to the full glyphs if I put work into it. That was fine by me. In a way, I was glad the Forge didn’t just hand me everything I needed. I already had an idea about how to go about creating these enchantments.

The name rune implied a language. On Earth Bet (not counting the local cape Rune), rune typically referred to specific letters in a set of specific Germanic alphabets. If the Essence and Aspect Runes were part of the same alphabet as the Potency Runes I knew of, I could theoretically have Halia run the Potency Runes through a language analysis program to see if I could brute-force other rune names. There was also the possibility that the Forge had seeded Earth Bet with locations where I could learn new runes, so I would need to look further into that after I wrapped up Operation: Ward Watch. I might be able to observe all the magicka in and around Brockton Bay and see if the energy acted strangely in specific locations.

At the end of my 20 minutes of rumination, I felt when the ADVENT pod finished taking the scans. The pod’s humming wound down into silence and the lid of the machine hissed open for me without any prompting. 

Just like she had with the rest of the base, Halia liberally added hologram technology to the medical wing. In this case, the ADVENT pod occupied the majority of one of the private “patient” rooms off the main area, and as I sat up in the pod the results of the brain scans were immediately projected onto the opposite wall for easy viewing. 

I didn’t have any medical training (at least, not yet, if the Forge had anything to do with it), but I had Halia collect different examples of how concussions could affect the brain and what those would look like on different brain scans. There had been a lot of ominous terms like brain bleed, disrupted white matter, and altered brain chemistry thrown around. I’d also gotten a few scans of a parahuman’s corona pollentia as well as an active gemma from online research papers. The point was, I had seen enough imaging to be able to identify what I was looking at.

So when I examined the hologram brain scans up on the wall and saw what appeared to be a regular human brain, with no extra area between the frontal and parietal lobes, I knew something was wrong.

“Well, that’s weird,” I remarked in what could be the understatement of the century. In the back of my mind, the Celestial Forge stirred once again.

Who wants to make the Third cry?