Chapter 3 - WTW 2

\Lunch was great, so what now?

Go visit the docks? I should probably do that. Arriving there was a different matter of course. Took me 30 minutes just to take the bus there. Was it far? Not really, but I have a lot on my mind to process things. Taking the bus allows me to learn about the different routes in the city and see the nooks and crannies of how the people here live and breathe.

When finally arriving there. It paints a different picture entirely.

The docks looked worse up close. Rusted cranes leaned like skeletons of a forgotten age, ships moored and abandoned, ropes frayed, and containers stacked like tombstones of an industry that had given up. The air smelled like salt, oil, and loss, although if memory serves me right, the dock workers did all of this to themselves in the past during the nineties, after a protest.

I'd come here in my civvies with that odd Dreamhack hoodie right after what happened with Panacea and Glory girl, and then went for lunch. Do I need to change? I hope this is a nothing burger, nothing that'd scream "guy who saves the Pelhams' kids just another face in the Bay. Rumours dont move that fast anyway.

That's when I saw him, the guy I mean, who else I'm talking of course, it's him, just standing near a rusted forklift, clipboard in hand, squinting at a manifest that probably hadn't been relevant for months. Middle-aged, tall, broad-shouldered, with the sort of face that's seen too much disappointment and just learned to live with it.

Now, how the hell did I even meet him here?

Coincidence? This is some providence bullshit, or my RNG is hella busted. Might as well make use of this encounter. Beggars can't be choosers, but a broke ass asian will be an opportunist asshole if he can't help it.

"Excuse me," I said, approaching. "You work here?"

He turned, offering a polite but tired look. "Used to. You're standing on what's left of the Dockworkers used to work at, not exactly functioning right now with the blockade."

"Jason Lin," I introduced, offering a hand.

"Danny Hebert," he said, shaking it. His grip was strong, old-school, huh..He's surprisingly strong. "You looking for work, son?"

I shrugged. "Kinda. Depends on what kind of work there is."

He chuckled bitterly. "Then I'm afraid you're out of luck. The docks are pretty much dead. What doesn't belong to the gangs is being stripped down by scavengers. We used to have six companies moving freight here, but now it's just one, and they're barely hanging on."

I looked around, there's not much to see except broken debris, and most of the stuff here just remains unfunctional. "The place looks like it's been through a war."

He nodded, eyes distant. "Feels like one too. Everyone here, gangs or otherwise, they all want up piece of the port. The city can't keep up, and no one's investing here anymore. Not when the capes blow up half the infrastructure every few months."

He sighed and folded his arms. "I used to have a hundred men under me. Good people. Now most are laid off, moved away, or just... stopped trying. The few left are scraping by doing day labour or guarding empty warehouses for half pay."

I leaned on the railing beside him, watching the water ripple against the hull of an old trawler while I wondered if there was anything I could do with Terran tools to elevate this place, maybe even revitalise it in the future. A dock like this could benefit everyone, especially me, in the long run.

"You ever think about leaving?" I asked.

"Every damn day," he said with a humourless smile. "But this place… It's my home. I've been fighting for these docks since before you were born. My wife she..." He stopped. His voice caught for half a second, eyes flickering toward the water. Then he continued quietly, "She used to tell me I cared too much about this place."

I didn't push that. I just nodded. It's a shame what happened to her. If I could prevent it, I would, but I wasn't sent that far back. Sometimes, having meta-knowledge can suck so much. Even if I do prevent it, then what? Changing the narrative to what I know into Chaos? Like I said earlier. Got a lot to think about now that I'm really here. Meeting Danny just seals the deal, doesn't it? It hits you right in the face when reality says...

These people aren't some characters you've read in some damn book. Just like your knowledge and supposed granted privilege of knowing and having the ability to change things doesn't mean you should just change things willy nilly. Don't be the next Xelnaga failure and turn things for the worse. You could do worse than lose a bet to two Gods and then get sent here with an SCV, though...heh.

He studied me for a moment as the silence lingered, snapping me away from my inner thoughts. "You don't look local. You from out of town?"

"Yeah," I said. "You could say I... landed here by accident." You have no idea, buddy ol pal.

That earned a small smirk. "Then take an old man's advice, son. If you've got a choice, don't stay here too long. Brockton Bay has a way of chewing people up."

I smiled faintly. "Maybe. But I've seen worse places come back from the dead. You just need the right people to start building again." and calling me son feels awfully humbling when you're already past a certain age, live through it, died..and gets reborn and transmigrated here. Coming back from the dead is...not pleasant.

He chuckled softly. "Building? Are you a contractor?"

"You could say that, Architect..Contractor and construction. The whole package," I replied, eyes drifting toward the shipyard cranes. "I'm good with heavy machinery. Logistics. Infrastructure. Build Cities and stuff."

That seemed to get his attention. "You're an architect? We could use someone like that, uhh...if we had any work left to give."

He sighed again and set down the clipboard. "If you're serious, come by the Union office sometime. We don't have much, but… people around here could use a hand that's not attached to a gun."

I nodded, shaking his hand again. "I'll think about it, Mr Hebert."

He smiled at me, and I can tell it's quite genuine, too, the tired kind, but genuine. "Call me Danny." We decided to sit down. Danny and I ended up sitting on an overturned crate, staring at the bay. Danny took a sip from an old thermos and handed it to me. "Coffee. Cold as hell, but better than nothing."

I took a cautious sip. It was bitter and strong like any strong Caffeine does, the kind that could wake the dead. I'm much more of a tea drinker myself, but coffee this strong? It's not that bad.

"Wow, that's strong," I said. He gave a tired smirk. "Yeah, well, caffeine's the only thing keeping the Union running these days."

I leaned back. "You mentioned the gangs earlier. I guess you meant the ABB, Empire, and Merchants, right?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Used to be the ABB stuck to the east end, but Lung's been getting more ambitious lately after he arrived two years ago. Empire's still doing their white-power garbage in the north, and the Merchants? well..." He shook his head. "Bunch of junkies pretending to be a gang. The only thing they're good at is spreading rot."

He pointed toward the water. "See that cargo ship over there? Used to move container freight for a shipping company out of New York. ABB hijacked it three months ago. Police didn't even investigate it, too scared, too stretched, or too bought off."

"Sounds like the PRT should've stepped in," I said, testing the waters.

Danny let out a low, bitter laugh. "The PRT?" He spat to the side. "They're babysitters for capes, not protectors of the people. Half of them sit in their fancy HQ downtown while the rest of us live under the thumb of gangs. You call them, they tell you to wait for Wards or Protectorate deployment and by the time they show up, someone's already dead or missing."

I frowned. Did he had a disagreement with the PRT? I wasn't aware of that, since when? "You sound like you've had experience."

He looked down at his hands, jaw tightening. "My daughter goes to Winslow. Not exactly the safest place in the city these days."

I stayed quiet. That's rather ominous. What does he even mean? Did the bullying already start? Or is it because he grew apart from his daughter?

The wind picked up, carrying the distant cry of a gull and the faint rumble of trucks along the boardwalk as Danny here tries to be vague about his daughter. I wonder if I can do anything about that. The Nexus point of this world from the beginning till the end. The protagonist of this story. It's not my place to intervene in family matters, but her matter? I'm still contemplating whether it's wise to just let a poor girl suffer so she could have the potential to be Khepri.

Musings of a transmigrator: What would you do in my shoes if you're here? To be soft? to help? Or let a poor girl suffer for the better good of mankind, on the chance it will succeed. Wouldn't that be no different than the Illuminati behind the scenes in this story? I dont need the path of victory to know it's a bad idea in hindsight. When the methods you use to get there are full of questionable and moral issues, it's no wonder the world will face an end to extinction. Fleeing from Earth Bet? Even if I have the firepower to kill the Golden freak, it won't stop the declining issue, wouldn't it?

It seems even Danny kept silent as we both contemplated in our own way. I wonder what he will do if he finds out the truth? Spare him the troubling thoughts. Like I said...

got a lot in my mind to process things, and not all of them have an easy cut-and-dry answer to solve, and are almost unsolvable issues without proper finessing. Terrans dont do complicated. They shoot first and ask questions later. A bunch of onnery species that somehow survived when far brighter and intelligent species would rather just die out, Nah...Terrans adapt and somehow survived with all the bullshit. Maybe I'd take a book out of Reynor's playbook and just ...dont think too much, son.

Let the dice roll.

He continued after a moment, voice quieter now. "Sorry..got lost in my thought, My... daughter has been distant lately, and work doesn't get easier each day. "

I nodded, "Teenagers then? It's tough, being one. Dont ask me, I've forgotten how to be one despite my current mortal age."

Danny just laughed instead," Haha! Is that so? "

"What does the mayor think about all of this?" I asked

It took Danny a bit awhile to formulate a response as he rubbed his neck, feeling a tad bit uncomfortable with the question. God probably knows he struggles with that question every single day."Well, the short answer, the mayor doesn't care. The city council is corrupt or scared. We've been filing petitions for months just to get one working patrol in this area, and what do we get? A speech about 'budget constraints' and 'civic priorities.'"

"Let me guess," I said. "The priorities don't include fixing the docks."

Danny gave me a dry look, but was slightly amused by it "You catch on fast."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "You ever think about organising something yourself? Like, a security group, or even… I don't know, hiring a few local capes?"

He actually laughed at that. "Hire capes? Son, we can barely pay our electric bills. You think someone like Miss Militia or Armsmaster is going to help a bunch of broke dockworkers when the mayor's waving PR contracts downtown?"

I'd do it for free, just pay me in metal and gas, and I'm all good.

He shook his head. "No, they'll only show up once the ABB or Empire make a big enough mess that it hits the news. Then they sweep in, take the cameras, and call it a success."

I studied him. The way his hands clenched when he talked about the system. The way his gaze went cold when he said "ABB." Danny wasn't just a tired man; he was angry. The kind of quiet, simmering anger that only builds after years of watching everything you care about decay. A guy like that in a Marine CMC Armour? He almost feels like Jim Raynor.

"Sounds like you've been fighting this fight for a long time," I said softly.

"Too long," he admitted. "But I don't know how to stop. If I give up, the people under me… what happens to them?"

I nodded slowly. "Maybe you just need… new tools." Danny Hebert in CMC armour spouting shit does seem more attractive when I think about it.

He raised an eyebrow. "Tools?"

"Yeah," I said. "You can't fix a collapsing dockyard with bureaucracy and wishful thinking. Sometimes, you've got to build from the ground up, even if it's a little unconventional."

He gave me a half-smile. "You sound like you've got ideas, Mr Lin."

I shrugged. "Let's just say I know a thing or two about logistics and infrastructure. Give me the right materials, and I can make things work again."

Danny looked at me for a long time, like he was trying to figure out what kind of man I was. Then he nodded, slow and deliberate. "If you can do that, Jason, you'll have a friend here. Brockton Bay could use more people who build instead of break."

I smiled faintly. "You'd be surprised how often those two overlap."

He didn't quite get what I meant, but that was fine.

"Here's my card, contact me if you have anything need anything in the future, anything related to the Docks I mean" I took the card and gave him a short, curt smile

"Will do, Danny"

As I stood and shook his hand again, I couldn't help glancing around the dockyard one more time. So much steel, so much land, so much potential just rotting away under gang control.

He gave me his phone number, and I naturally took a namecard from him too, laminated with plastic and the BBDWA logo on it. By the time I noticed it, it was almost evening. Danny had already left, but the conversation left me feeling morose about what to do next.

Time to head back.

After what I've talked to Danny, my appetite just dwindles even further. Brockton Bay's economic issues are now starting to be a factor going forward.

Got a lot of my mind thinking about what to do next, what I wanna do here in this world. Uncle Ben's quote from Spiderman never rings truer than what I feel right now, With great power comes great responsibility. Funny thing is, Uncle Ben, do you even ask if the person wants that responsibility? What if some goddess decided to just send you here? Does responsibility even mean anything if I dont survive this first?

A lot of my mind to thinking about it while time ticks away. Sometimes it feels so slow, sometimes it ends too soon. Either way, I need to make a decision sooner or later, either to ignore of factor in this problem into the equation, whether or not I'm fit to meddle in things when I'm in a position of power. That ...? will take a long, long time. Future me problem, not current me problem.

I guess I am thinking too much. Contemplation was never my strong suit anyway. If I did, I would choose to play Protoss, not Terran. Lots of overall macro compared to minuscule micro on the fly. Planning long-term meta isnt my thing. Never was and never will be.

Brockton Bay problems reminded me a lot of the early 90s in Asia, specifically South Korea. The birthplace of E esports. The place where Starcraft was dubbed the national game e-sports of that republic.

When I think of StarCraft, I remember the community, pushing to rank up, custom games, and following my favourite pro players. The matters of the Confederacy and Jim's rebellion don't seem like it would matter.

But something slowly changed. Why it hurts to see it fade over time, and what it means for the people still looking for one more match, I'd get absorbed in their story as time goes on, and I learned one fundamental thing that I never knew I needed to learn.

It was the foundation of esports.

When the people resonated with it. Why it happen so organically and natural?

Where a whole nation dubbed it the National E-Sports at a time, and later changed into League of Legends when the game lost its popularity.

The People of Korea understood the struggles of the everyday Terran, the unrelenting sheer force of Zergs and the Protoss stagnation despite being a power house much like the Nation that prided itself as the four Asian Tigers. It reflects their nation as a whole during their economic recession during the early and late 90s. How do they rise from a third-world nation to a first-world standard?

That's their story.

and for a time. Real-time strategy was the bees' knees, the endgame for all gamers, the radical dreamers that dared to dream before the Chronoshift, right before it was Y2k. Anyone who played RTS was what every gamer in Asia aspired to be...next to fighting games, of course, before the rise of MOBA and FPS dominated the scene.

In South Korea, it was a National phenomenon. Then it spread here in South East Asia and the world. a global phenomenon.

Where was I back then? Honestly...I've forgotten much about the past. I did remember playing my first game on a MAC, where most of Blizzard's games aren't available on that. Why was I remembering all of this? I had a dream, of course.

And all dreams gotta end.

Sleeping it off seems like a good idea.

Powers...and Responsibilities, huh...

July 16th, 2010.

Wednesday.

Sleep...was servicable. Bedroll? In hindsight, it might be a nice little thing, but I think I'd rather sleep in an SCV with the swaying and moving. The supply depot is too quiet for my taste.

Still...It is what it is. This is the second day since I came to Earth Bet. Two days since I woke up in this world, and still no logout button. Still no money. Still no damn coffee or tea. The Supply Depot might be a good Idea at first, but it's turning into something of an inconvenience now that I think about it. No kitchen, no bathroom. I have to pee and poop like a caveman outside and dig holes in the ground like a cat.

I sat up slowly, the thin blanket sliding off my shoulders.

The supply depot hummed softly around me. The low, rhythmic vibration of its power core had become almost comforting, like white noise. A little piece of Terran tech in a world that ran on capes, gangs, and drama and reminded me that I'm still alive, but eh, I'm also on a timer.

My "bed" was a rolled-up emergency bedroll I'd found in the depot's storage compartment.

Thin, plasticky, smelled faintly of something I'm not familiar with, but after a lifetime of sleeping in airports, LAN centres, and budget hotels, I'd had worse; besides, it is free. Can't complain if it's free. Technically? I'm homeless. Beggars can't be choosers. I dont even have an ID here.

Crap...I need an ID too. Ugh.. It's just not my priority right now.

Morning light leaked through the small ventilation grate above, cutting across the dusty floor. The air smelled faintly of metal, and something vaguely… processed. I didn't think that neosteel had a certain smell to it, but I digress; it's time to wake up. Neosteel can smell like Coconut for all I care, the day isnt gonna get any better.

My stomach grumbled.

Right. Breakfast.

I shuffled over to the storage racks where the rations were stored neatly stacked in metallic-grey boxes labelled "FIELD RATION, TERRAN STANDARD ISSUE." Each box had a picture of a very cheerful marine giving a thumbs-up.

Yeah, that's reassuring. Really suspicious.

The same guy who probably eats gun oil and washes it down with recycled water advertises for shit like this. Terran culture is weird. I grabbed one box and flipped it over. No expiration date. Just a production code that probably meant something like "manufactured before the Koprulu War." Where did this stuff get conjured from? Divinity sure is magical, able to just bring fictional stuff into reality.

"Okay," I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Worst case scenario, I get space dysentery. Best case, it tastes like chalk and regret." That betting goddess better not screw with me. This is food. Food is sacred after all.

I popped the seal and was immediately hit with the scent of synthetic protein. The contents: a compressed nutrition bar, a tube labelled 'Caffeine Gel (Combat Strength),' and a pouch of something called 'Egg Substitute Type-2A.'

I stared at the pouch. "Type 2A? What happened to 1A?"

I tasted it.

...

...

...

Tastes like ass.

Fuck this shit.

The SCV beeped somewhere outside, its dull mechanical voice echoing faintly through the depot: "Resource acquisition: seventy per cent efficiency. Metal stockpile nominal." Cool. more resources.

That got me thinking...

Ya know?

I never knew how I felt about automated SCV. I'm actually thinking that I'd get one of those rowdy, typical redneck SCV drivers wearing jeans and a white singlet and red cap, yeah...real Murrica feel to it. Nah, instead I got a snarky chatbot with a failed humour app. Great work, Terrans! They do have sexbots. Oh, they do...Umoja Protectorate has a wide application to social tech stuff.

I mean, do I really want to build one? Sexy bots? Pretty gynoids?

...

...

...

DO I even need to ask? Of course, hell yeah. I'm gonna monetise that shit. Sex sells. Clankers are a money maker. But for now, SCV scrapping metal to convert into Pseudo Mineral and Neosteel is all I can do for the moment. Will Dragon get offended? eh..not my problem. That's Collin's problem.

It's good to be single.

Scavenging steel beams, scrapping derelict cars, sucking out leftover fuel tanks, even diving into the oily bay water to collect whatever trace hydrocarbons it could find. Gotta love my SCVs. I'd spent that time sorting piles, hammering dents out of usable panels, and occasionally yelling at the SCV when it tried to "mine" a crane that was left alone to rust. Dear lord..these things are dumb as fuck sometimes. I wish I had one of those Terran Adjutants right about now.

And now on the morning of the third. We suddenly had enough?

That was fast.

Not as fast as in-game time, but still fast considering there are only 2 units. That's when the SCV chimed. "Alert: local activity detected. Individuals investigating resource acquisition patterns."

Three days and there's chatter. Honestly?

I thought I would get found out sooner. I wasn't exactly being subtle. There are threats out there, but it isn't something I wanna piss anyone off for now. I guess my days of going out are numbered. Dont wanna get kidnapped or worse...

Getting pressed into joining some gang.

I did well yesterday, but that's only because they act like base mooks. Not an actual cape with powerful superpowers. Whatever the leader of Chorus is gonna do, his tech failed. Even in the canon timeline, there wasn't much of a threat regarding the Chorus gang.

"Unknown personnel. Three signatures. Civilian-grade power output. Observing from the northeast quadrant."

I squinted in that direction. Beyond the fence line, a few silhouettes lingered, oh, never mind, it's just teenagers, maybe druggies or scavengers. Too far to make out clearly, but close enough that my stomach tightened.

"Great," I muttered. "We've gone from invisible to local rumour."

Still, it made sense. A giant Terran construction drone moving around the docks for two days straight? Yeah, that was bound to attract attention sooner or later.

The SCV, unfazed as always, continued: "Resource quota met. Current inventory sufficient for structure construction: Command Centre." Scv1 chimed in. Finally.

That got my attention real fast.

I straightened up, looking at the growing pile of sorted metal. "You're serious? Enough for a full Command Centre?" I knew that they supplied every metal they acquired under the depot when they deposited it for processing.

The Depot could even sink underground like a Terran Bunker if I wanted it to be. Besides, the base is a superstructure, a huge ass base like an Industrial Complex. Once this thing is built, it's gonna attract people real fast.

Honestly? I would rather build some turrets now, but a Command Centre is enticing enough.

I still have a Gauss gun, and the SCV are kinda like a mech, and they could fight off a basic zergling rush. Ordinary capes or zergs? I wonder which one is far more dangerous. I doubt there's any real trouble unless Lung or Kaiser came into the fray directly. Capes like Miss Militia and Armmaster might pose some issues, but Vista? The wards? heck..even oni lee can't keep throwing bombs at it. The thing can survive a direct nuke. It takes 3 nukes to completely tank it. I have faith. Terran Technology is way past any of Earth's tech anyway.

I looked around the trainyard with all the broken rail lines, the decaying freight cars, the overgrown weeds, and the smell of salt and rust. Not exactly prime real estate. The place was abandoned to rot here.

It wasn't exactly a tropical paradise, but… it was isolated.

ABB territory was a few blocks north, Empire boys were across the city, and the PRT barely even patrolled this area unless something exploded, and since the rig is right smack towards the sea with the PRT controlling the middle of Brockton Bay, that just means their territory control is just terrible. Getting besieged from all sides and all that. An RTS nightmare in logistics.

Which, in fairness, might happen once I start building, I could simply start my own gang.

"Claim this place…" I murmured. "Make it my own little Terran outpost." The dominion will rule once again! hahah! I jest, of course, screw those guys. The idea was absurd. And yet, for the first time since waking up here, it felt right. Join the PRT? skip. Be a villaiN? nah...Independent? ...heck nah, why would I play on hardmode? I chose the warlord faction.

Sure, it was risky. Someone was already watching. But if I could get the Command Centre up and running, I could hide most of the operation underground, set up proper defences, maybe even get the orbital uplink working again. Why not a fourth faction in BB?

I glanced at the SCV, which was patiently waiting for orders, its arms still holding a load of crushed steel.

"You know," I said with a smirk, "if this were a match, this would be the point where I turtle up and macro like a coward."

"Acknowledged. Initiate macro protocol?"

I laughed. "Yeah, buddy, no shit. Let's build a turtle. Proceed with the Command Centre."

The SCV beeped affirmatively and trundled off toward the clearing near the old loading platform. The ground rumbled slightly as it began to flatten the terrain, cutting through weeds and concrete with methodical precision.

"Construction estimate: seventy-two hours. Three local solar cycles are required for full Command Centre assembly."

"Three days, huh…" I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "That's not terrible, but it's a long time to be sitting here with our... well, with our reactor hanging out."

I paced a little, eyeing the metal piles and the growing crater where the SCV had started to clear ground. The terrain was uneven, littered with scrap, half-buried rails, and the remains of a few shipping containers that had probably been there since the Bay's heyday.

Three days.

Three effin days.

In a video game, that would be nothing. Queue it up, drop a mule, go grab a sandwich. But in this world? Three days were an eternity. Too much could happen. ABB patrols. Looters. PRT drones. Hell, even random civilians might stumble in. The noise alone could give me away. I leaned against a steel beam, thinking hard. "We can't risk that kind of exposure. Not here, not with eyes already sniffing around. But where else could I build it? certainly not in the middle of the sea."

The SCV beeped in acknowledgement, as if it knew what I was thinking. "Alternate protocol: assign one unit to construction, one to standby patrol. Revised completion time: one hundred twenty hours."

"Yeah," I sighed. "Safer. Slower. Welcome to the joys of playing without a build queue. Who needs a build order, right? It's not like the playing field is even, or I have someone to duel with right now. I have no proper opponents except the element of surprise, and then all hell breaks loose or not, depending on who's asking on the front door...Why is it worm...fucking goddess."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and did some quick mental math. Five days meant I could lie low, stay mobile, and maybe draw attention somewhere else while the SCV worked. If I could get people focusing on another "weird event" across town, maybe no one would bother investigating a random noise from the trainyard.

The problem was, distractions in Brockton Bay usually involved something on fire or someone in spandex doing the setting. Cape bullshit. Or maybe I'm just overthinking all of this. In the story I've read. The PRT are portrayed as incompetent, so who knows?

"Alright," I muttered, making up my mind. "We do it your way. One SCV builds, the other stays on guard. Slow and steady. I can live with that. So from three to five? I can deal with five days."

The building drone trundled into place, its arms unfolding with mechanical grace, welding torches flaring to life. Sparks illuminated the fog, and the low thump-thump-thump of foundation work began to echo through the yard.

The second SCV rolled closer to me, its sensor eye swivelling like a dog waiting for instruction. Mengks SCVs got some weird quirks in it.

"Standby," I told it. "If anyone gets too close, don't engage them, just alert me. And no, that doesn't mean run them over. unless they attack, then sure, go full drill mode on their posterity and zap them."

"Acknowledged, sir!"

"Good." I took a deep breath, watching the construction sparks fly in the misty dawn. "Five days. Just five days, and we'll have something permanent. A roof, a command terminal, maybe even a medbay if I'm lucky. With a medbay, maybe I could even requisition the med tech for a basic medkit..ooh maybe even one of those fancy Terran A.I for an adjutant. An A.I in this world is super handy."

Before I could plan stuff...

The thought hit me like a siege tank shell.

I smelled awful.

Not just "been working all day" bad, this was three days of scavenging in a rust pit with a power suit humming under a hoodie, kind of bad. The sort of stench that could strip paint off the inside of a dropship. I noticed that I haven't taken a bath in three days in an open area nearby, the rust and the sea.

I lifted my arm, sniffed once, and immediately regretted it.

"Oh, sweet Mother of Mengsk," I muttered, gagging. "That's not Terran-approved."

"Environmental contamination detected. hehe-"

"Yeah, thanks, genius. I am the contamination. So you're making jokes, huh? I see you. That humour module thing is doing wonders for your personality SCV1"

"Acknowledge", it beeps happily.

I looked around the depot. Plenty of storage crates, welding torches, a half-finished workbench, but no plumbing, no shower, not even a bucket. Just me, my filth, and the faint metallic tang of recycled air.

sighed and dragged a hand down my face. "Okay, Jason. Think. You've got five days before the Command Centre's done. You can't exactly walk into town smelling like a vespene refinery."

Where could I even shower in Brockton Bay?

Let's see. The Boardwalk? Too public. The Docks? Too dangerous, also ABB territory, I might be asian, but I sure as hell won't find someone willing to lend me their bathhouse. Hotels? Out of my budget. Public gyms? What was it..Laborn Gym? That's actually a good Idea, but I wouldn't wanna meet Grue, and that's a whole mess I dont wanna deal with. The Protectorate HQ? Yeah, right. ahaha..."Hi, can I use your shower? Don't mind the Terran mech I parked outside."

I rubbed my temples. "That leaves the beach."

The idea sounded stupid the moment it left my mouth, but… what else did I have? The water was right there. Sure, the bay wasn't exactly clean, calling it water was generous, but there is an open shower for you to rinse off the salty seawater.

I glanced down at my hoodie, streaked with grease, and sighed. "Fine. I need a place to wash this too, maybe get in some new clothes as well. Gotta find the cleaners"

Before leaving, I grabbed a towel (technically an oil rag), and my emergency kit. I left the depot's systems on low power and told the standby SCV1 and SCV2

"Hold the fort. If anyone comes snooping, make some noise but don't crush them."

The SCV, ever helpful, beeped nearby. "Acknowledged."

I'm tempted to bring the Gauss Rifle; I brought it along but hid it in a nylon bag. Need it to store my clothes too later, so it's a good idea to just bring it.

It was late afternoon when I decided to act civilised again. The beach breeze carried that familiar Brockton Bay cocktail of salt, rust, and industrial misery; even this far off from the Graveyard docks, it still smells like that...or was it just me? honestly? I got used to it after three days of grease, metal dust, and recycled air; it smelled like freedom. Murica...yeah. Even had a gun too in the nylon bag.

Not exactly subtle, but better than walking around like an apocalypse cosplayer. The Boardwalk wasn't far, I mean... I figured I could blend in with the after-work crowd.

...

...

...

Not with a hoodie you're not. I have grown senile, I think, and I'd just never realise it, haven't I? What was I thinking?

The Boardwalk itself was… nicer than I remembered from what little I'd seen of the city so far? It's no high praise. But it has its own charm, I suppose.

A patchwork of old shops, beach cafés, and cheap entertainment spots, trying their best to look alive in a dying port town. Neon signs flickered over tourist traps, and I caught a faint whiff of fried food that made my stomach growl.

Focus, Jason. Clothes first, dignity later. Much later.

I ducked into a local beachwear shop, one of those places that sold everything from flip-flops to suspiciously knockoff sunglasses. The air smelled like sunscreen and new plastic. The lady at the counter gave me a once-over, eyes lingering on my hoodie and general hobo-in-hiding vibe.

"Uh, looking for something, sir?"

"Yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "A couple of shirts, maybe some jeans. Shampoo. Body wash. The works."

She blinked, then nodded slowly. "Rough day?" she inched back a little. I think my smell got to her, dear lord..that's embarrassing.

"Rough, very rough." I nodded with a stoner face, Please just ignore me, sales girl, I smell bad.

I grabbed what I needed. Just a cheap white T-shirt, jogging pants, a pair of sandals, a towel, maybe a spare jeans too and another T-shirt and a small bottle of coconut shampoo and bodywash that claimed to "restore vitality." God knows I needed that. Do I need more T-shirts? nah, two is enough.

The body wash smelled aggressively like coconut and mint. Whatever, it'd do. When I paid, she gave me the kind of polite smile you reserve for people who look like they might start talking to themselves at any moment. "There's a public shower down by the pier if you need to, uh, freshen up."

"Perfect," I said. "Thanks."

Just the place I was looking for. I walked out, the paper bag rustling in one hand, the hidden rifle slung over my shoulder with that sports nylon bag.

The public showers were exactly where she said they'd be, old concrete stalls half hidden behind a faded "Brockton Bay Beach" sign right along the city's waterfront. The paint was peeling, and the pipes rattled like they hadn't been used since the last time a parahuman would attack. But water was water.

It was heaven.

The water was cold, metallic, and a little brown at first, but it didn't matter. The grime came off in grey streaks, the oil washed out of my hair, and I could actually feel my skin again. For the first time in days, I didn't smell like something weird.

The shampoo foamed up properly, the scent of artificial coconut never felt so pleasing in my life as it hit me with such nostalgic force that I almost laughed. Back in my StarCraft days, I used to travel with a similar bottle. The same smell, the same cheap brand. Guess some things survived across worlds.

After a good fifteen minutes of scrubbing, I stepped out feeling like a new man. I changed into the new clothes: a plain black T-shirt, dark sweatpants, and sandals. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screamed I build Terran infrastructure and outed me as a Cape. Nahh...just your average asian taking a nice hot bat in the afternoon like a damn tourist here. Fuck I look like a tourist.

five out of five. No Drama. All of that for 45 bucks. Damn. A little too pricey perhaps? eh... who's counting.

Just… normal crap...I need to deal with.

I caught my reflection in a cracked mirror by the stall, still tired, still worn, but less of a stray dog and more of a person again. I look younger, of course, like I was back at the age of 20. College years.

If I ever got an ID? I'd pose as a working adult or someone attending College. Do I even look that attractive? eh, I can't tell. It doesn't really say..I wanna fuck myself because I'm a hot vibe. So no, I guess.

"Not bad," I muttered. "You almost look human." My hair is a mess. I definitely need a proper haircut. Why the heck did the goddess build me like a hobo? I was definitely attractive when I was younger. My former wife said it, so it must be true. Then again, it was she who managed my appearance, the way I wear, my fashion, down to my very own slipper. Me?

I have zero fashion sense. Give me jeans and a white t-shirt, and I'm ok with that. Got nothing against bright colours or pretty clothes, I just dont really care about external appearances much. I'm old...my soul is old, eventually? These things just really dont matter. Heck, I dont even bother cutting my hair for a year until my wife scolded me and won't ever sleep in the same room again until I get a haircut.

Sheesh...women, I dont even remember what she looked like. I think I missed her.

I wrapped the towel around my neck, Clean. no frills. All the dirty laundry is in the nylon bag. Time to do some laundry. Man, I never thought that would be the most peaceful part of surviving in a grimdark superhero world, just casually doing laundry. There's one nearby up at the Boardwalk.

The laundromat sat a few blocks away from the Boardwalk, tucked between a pawn shop and a bakery that smelled way too good for my empty stomach. The bell above the door gave a weak jingle as I stepped inside. Warm air, detergent, and the low hum of machines greeted me like I did those back in the old days.

I threw my bundle of clothes, my old jeans, shirt, and, most importantly, the DreamHack hoodie into one of the washers. That hoodie had been with me through tournaments, flights, sleepless nights, and way too many cups of instant noodles. It was practically my second skin. I wonder why the goddess made me wear that before coming here. When I was dead, I was pretty sure I wasn't wearing that, of course.

Seeing it spin under soap and water made me realise how far I'd really fallen from my former life to a guy doing laundry in a superpowered war zone. It all seems a little too ridiculous.

I sat down in one of the plastic chairs, the kind that creak whenever you breathe wrong. My reflection in the vending machine looked… better than a mirror. Less like someone who'd crawled out of a scrapyard. I even had a bit of colour back in my face.

Five days.

That's how long until the Command Centre finishes construction.

Five days to figure out what the hell I was doing in Brockton Bay.

I started running through possibilities.

Hopefully, it doesn't involve screwing with the world too much.

******************

A/N

Not much stuff is going on in this chapter. I am still in the middle of writing most of the stuff. To everyone who read and gave a like and comment here, thank you for giving this fic a chance. I'm not a very sociable person, so forgive me if I dont reply to everything. Sincerely, truthfully, thank you. Sorry for the long write. The yap is too much, isnt it? But I dont wanna remove anything

Last edited: Nov 10, 2025

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Nov 10, 2025

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Have you ever watched the news on an old television before?

Not that old. Still in technicolour with all the problems of a black and white without the good clarity of 4k Television, not to mention LCD or even its predecessor, the CRT. Cathode Ray Tube of an electron phosphor-coated screen with a heavy bulk compared to the modern display television.

The laundromat TV was one of those old wall-mounted models that buzzed louder than it spoke, with colours just slightly off, making everyone on-screen look a little seasick. Still, it was something to watch while the dryer rumbled behind me, for a CRT tube, the things hold up for some reason back in 2010. Even a wall-mounted one feels like a safety hazard.

It's one of those things you tend to overlook before, but since you know how the tech tree evolves, seeing one is just jarring as hell, like living in a museum or something. One of those boomtubes just announced something important.

"-and in other news, the New Wave team has officially welcomed a new member to their ranks. The young healer, Panacea, steps forward as Brockton Bay's newest cape."

Hearing the name, I looked up. Panacea finally debuts. She probably hasn't slept a wink, worried bout her sister and probably swamped through testing, and now, in the afternoon, they announce it immediately?

New Wave doesn't mess around, even for stuff like this. Guess it ain't a family business if you ain't a pro.

The screen cut to a live press conference. A small crowd gathered in front of what looked like the New Wave in front of the PRT HQ with those clean marble steps, bright banners, and way too much optimism for this city. Cameras flashed, of course, like it's a national Holiday around here.

Lady Photon stood at the podium, every bit the picture of classic heroism. Perfect hair, bright costume, the kind of confident smile that could sell hope by the bottle.

"Today," she said, her voice strong even through the tinny, tiny speakers on those CRT TVs, "-we celebrate a new light in Brockton Bay. My niece, Panacea, has chosen to step forward, to use her gift for the betterment of all. New Wave believes in transparency, integrity, and family, and Amy represents that ideal."

Brown hair, hospital-white robes, hands fidgeting as if she didn't know where to put them. Her expression was flat, bordering on miserable. I recognised that look in myself once upon a time, too angsty to consider getting a job, instead I'd go into late-night scrims in the cybercafes and turn to Video games.

Someone shoved me into the spotlight because everyone else thought it was a good idea at the time, I dont deny it. Being under the spotlight with fans, getting cheered on like pseudo-rock stars, hell...I was the modern rockstar. Rockstars wanted to be me. For a time, that was the rush.

As for Cape culture?

Who knows. Being a celebrity never invites danger for me. Not for capes tho, even as a healer. That danger still exists with Endbringers and insane murder hobo like the Slaughterhouse Nine. I look towards Panacea and could feel the despair oozing out of her. Getting under the spotlight right after the worst day of your life?

That's gotta suck.

"Kid looks like she's about to bolt," I muttered to myself.

The old man at the next machine gave me a sidelong glance and grunted, not sure if I was talking to him or the TV while the laundromat kept turning and whirling.

Lady Photon continued, voice full of that heroic grandeur you couldn't fake unless you believed every word.

"With Panacea's ability to heal the sick and injured, Brockton Bay stands stronger today than it did yesterday. We are proud to welcome her to the New Wave family and invite all citizens to show her the same support you've shown us through the years."

Amy gave a small, awkward wave. It looked more like a twitch than a greeting.

The camera zoomed in on her face for a moment with eyes tired, smile forced, and I couldn't help but exhale a small sigh. It's no wonder she got cranky over the course of a year. I can't say I can relate to her, but...This world isn't that kind to minors, let alone heroic ones.

"This world really loves putting its heroes on pedestals," I said quietly. "Then, acting surprised when they fall off."

Back home, people did the same thing, too, I guess, just with players instead of capes. Win a championship, and you are a god. Lose one match, and the same crowd would rip you apart online. From gods among men to pariahs in a single day, Cancel culture was booming. People on the internet back then didn't know how to filter anything. Superstars rise and fall in seasons depending on the roster you're on.

Guess that kind of worship wasn't exclusive to esports. The newscaster's voice came back as the camera cut to B-roll footage of New Wave's past rescues and charity events.

"Panacea, daughter of renowned heroes Brandish and Flashbang, has already made waves in the medical community with her miraculous healing abilities. With her addition, New Wave aims to renew hope in Brockton Bay's citizens."

I leaned back, watching as the TV switched to another story, something about gang tensions at the docks. Hope..huh?

Hope.That word again.

Hope does sound nice. Now, where was I in the sea of mediocrity before the end of times? Yeah, hope sounded nice. But I'd seen enough of this city in just a few days to know how fragile it really was. Know the reality that awaits all of us here. We're on a timer, and the only ones who know about it, like Couldron, are escalating and making it worse under the guise of good intentions.

Amy Dallon or just Panacea. I prefer the pet name given by the internet of my world. "Panpan" the healer who could cure anything but herself. Part of me wondered if she remembered the guy from the mall? The one who beat up a gang while wearing a DreamHack hoodie. DreamHack. God, I really needed a better alias. I didn't plan to meet her like that.

I was just there by sheer effin luck, hoping I wouldn't change anything drastic in the future with that damn butterfly effect until I'm ready. She would grow to hate and resent healing, but this is still within the early stages of her self-gaslighting, with her sense of guilt falling in love with her own sister. There's no need to go that route.

Not yet.

The dryer beeped, snapping me back to reality. I stood, grabbed my now-warm clothes, and glanced at the TV one last time. Time to walk back and take the scenic route towards the Trainyard, which means I might have to bypass ABB territory if I want to head for a shortcut. It should be fine.

Asian territory and all that. Perks of having a buff called "Asian", I guess, in that place.

That leaves me to plot the next problem moving forward.

Five days is a long time for me to stay stationary. If things go bust, that's it. That's how the dice roll sometimes, and if it's something outside of your control, then there's nothing else you can do. All you can do is work on the solution.

Should I build an additional supply depot using SCV1?

Perhaps, there are some things he can start to prevent moving forward. From the top of his head, I have the knowledge of every Terran tech tree in my mind, even if I dont have the conventional tools to build one. Some tech, such as the Gauss Gun or a spider mine, can be built. Anything Victor Kachinsky, the premier Scientist of the Dominion, could build? Technically, I could, too, in theory, using a workstation or the armoury tooling equipment. Small stuff, not the heavy stuff. I could build a bomb. One of those nifty grav grenades or the stun bombs. Give me some valid non-lethal options. That reminds me…

Would the Cornell Bomber awaken in this timeline?

I wonder when the girl called Baku-

"You lost, pal? Give us your money!"

The young dude, scared out of his mind, sputtered, " D-Dont hurt me! Take it! and toss his wallet at them.

I watched as one of the gang members drew a butterfly knife from his pocket, and another of them put his hand on his waistband towards some poor caucasian kid who probably took the wrong turn or something.

Asian, mostly. Hoodies. Bandanas. A few had red or green patches stitched into their sleeves with those damn tacky colours that might've meant nothing elsewhere, but here? They meant ABB.

Azn Bad Boys.

The name was as stupid as it was dangerous. Lung didn't care enough to change that cringy, pathetic name when he took over and just left it that way. Tsk. Such a disgrace. No real asian will be caught dead with a stupid ass name that bleeds stereotype like that. Laozhang Noodles got more originality than that; at least it's proper Chinese. Make the Hans proud and all that shit.

They were one of the local gangs that had their grip around this part of the city's throat. Not just petty criminals, either. They had capes. Superpowered ones. A dragon and a teleporter. Word around the city was that their leader ran the place like a small empire. Lung and Oni Bitch. With just two capes, they run the whole gang with fear on lockdown. Oni Lee huh? Now that's a guy I can't wrap myself around with. That Lung is just an overgrown Lizard. Powerset is pretty self-explanatory

Oni Lee's power is a hybrid between teleportation and duplication. When Oni Lee teleports, he leaves his original body behind, which can act autonomously for five to ten seconds before disintegrating into a cloud of white carbon ash. Power relies on Line of sight and got the Moniker the Immortal Bomber from some circles.

But frequent use of his power damages his mind, memories, personality and eventually just straight up brain damage. The mind isnt built for extreme duplication of mitosis. One theory stated that it's probably the fate of all breaker states. Breakers have a closer connection to their passenger than any cape, and in the course of diving deeper into their breaker state and not, for lack of a better phrasing, surfacing for air, they begin to lose themselves to the power.

Or perhaps, too many suicide breaks the psyche. It's not like the shards can tell the difference if someone is mentally well or not. A bunch of dump parasites. What the hell do they know?

Suddenly, all of this just got extra depressing. It's just the reality of the world I live in right now. Depression inducing is its trademark of sorts.

I pressed a little closer to the brick wall, letting my eyes adjust to the brightness of the sun. More of them were spilling out from a two-story building up ahead, moving with that kind of silent coordination that meant bad news. Azn bad boys territory.

I was just trying to get home. Fresh clothes, clean hair, stomach full of noodles, well, soon anyway. The Laoban that sold those scrumptious Lamian is open for business, and for once, things almost felt normal. I could go for another Lamian but…eh, I'd rather just get home and sleep it off. But nah…I gotta witness a shake-up.

Brockton Bay gave me another slap in reality, reminded me where I was. I even thought about turning around, taking the long way home, too, when something whistled through the air.

Thunk!

One of the guys jerked back with a choking noise, slammed against the wall, pinned there by what looked like a black metal bolt straight through his shoulder. The lighter dropped, rolling across the pavement before sputtering out. Blood dripping down, but those guys didn't care. For a heartbeat, nobody moved, even with one of their guys injured with blood oozing out. He wanted to scream in pain, but a friend of his put his hands on his mouth.

"Cape! Where is it?!"

Then I saw her.

A shadow peeled off the rooftop and dropped into the street like smoke forming a person. She landed in a crouch like some sort of Batman reject store, black armour glinting in the faint moonlight, cloak flickering in and out of existence with that creepy white mask. It would look cooler if she swapped it with a Mighty Ducks white hockey mask, but nah.. Guy Fawkes. That's what she's into. V for vengeance bullshit except the guy Fawkes mask didn't have the moustache and eyebrow, so it's all just white and creepy as fuck. Girl got issues.

Behold! Brockton's very own Bargain bin Darknight! Shadow Stalker.

I recognised her instantly. You couldn't exist in this city for more than a few days without hearing the name. Has she joined the wards yet? I heard she was pretty active before joining, with certain Vigilante tendencies that tend to the borderline of excessive violence. Crossbows, stealth, and a reputation for hitting hard and disappearing before the cops even showed up.

The ABB guys panicked, pulling out knives and guns that suddenly looked a lot less useful. She moved faster than I could track another thwip! and a second man went down, screaming and clutching his leg.

I pressed back against the wall, watching from behind a dumpster. The last thing I needed was to be mistaken for a gang member or, worse, an accomplice. I'm asian… I have a cheap sunglasses I bought from the store before, and not a lot of protection except for this new hoodie I bought with the neosteel exoskeleton underneath. Damn…note to self. Buy a cringe ass Bandana to cover your mouth just in case. But other than that? Heh. I'm yellow as fuck out in the open.

"Hand where I can see them," she said, voice sharp, amused, dripping with the kind of confidence only someone bulletproof to regular ammo could afford, except I really dont think her outfit is bulletproof. "Now drop it, or I'll make you part of the architecture, you asian fucktards."

She didn't even chase. She just stepped forward, yanked her bolt free from the pinned guy with a grunt, then turned and looked at me and somehow they reached an understanding. They turned to me and I knew instinctively what they were about to do..

"Hey, wait-" I warned them. They didn't listen. They ran. Bloodspilled and everything. They ran like a little bitch. Really? Gonna leave an asian hanging like that? Now she's gonna think I'm part of the gang or something.

also...

Asian fucktards? really? Now I'm offended. Language girl. I didn't even have time to look before a thunk split the air. A bolt slammed into the pavement near my foot, ricocheting off with a metallic ping.

"Hey! What the hell?!"

She shot at me! Fucking hell, I knew it!! What an asshole!

"Nice try, ABB scum," she barked. "You idiots really think hoodies and cheap Sunglasses make you invisible? Fucking asians."

I turned, hands raised. Hey, these sunglasses are not cheap! I bought them at the Boardwalk for 10 dollars! Okay, maybe it's cheap. But it's still 10 dollars!

Mind you, but she doesn't know that, does she? She was perched on a fire escape after she warped away there for the vantage point, half-shadow, half-solid like some sort of power move. Did she really think I'm the stranger? Am I getting racially profiled right now? By a black girl?

Never mind, my racist tendencies are rising. This is getting ridiculous.

"Oh, come on," I said. "Do I look like a gangster to you?"

She didn't answer. She fired again. I dove sideways as the bolt clanged off a metal bin, splintering the air where my head had been a second ago as I dodged. This girl has zero chill with the propensity to shoot to kill. Her aim is shit!

"Listen!" I shouted, ducking behind a parked car. "I'm not with ABB!"

"Sure you aren't," she snapped, vaulting down from the fire escape in one smooth motion. She landed light, almost noiseless, her cloak phasing through the railings before solidifying again. "You were coming from their turf, dressed like one, and carrying something under your jacket. I don't take chances."

Great. The rifle, and my laundry clothes, of course. But yes, the rifle.

I cursed under my breath. "Lord, have mercy on me, my patience is running thin, I'm getting a shake down by some bargain bin reject shop batgirl…why.."

"Drop it chink!"

I hesitated. Not because I was hiding something illegal? Okay, fine, maybe a Terran Gauss rifle wasn't exactly street legal, sue me. It counts as Tinkertech, but hell no, I'm not gonna drop a Gauss rifle on the floor! because if I dropped it and it discharged, she'd be a stain on the nearest wall. That gun could puncture a tank's armour if it wants to.

She mistook my pause for defiance and loosed another bolt. I barely managed to deflect it with my forearm. The impact rattled up through my arm, but the neosteel armour under my sleeve absorbed most of it. The bolt clattered to the ground, bent in half.

Her eyes widened slightly behind the visor. "Armour plating?"

I sighed. "Yeah, and it's expensive. Can you not ruin it?" Neosteel armour. Never leave home without it.

She moved fast, phasing forward, appearing beside me in a blur. I twisted just as she swung the crossbow like a club. The hit landed against my shoulder, jarring but manageable. I responded by grabbing the weapon, shoving her back with my weight. But she countered with some basic hand-to-hand combat and wisp away again.

"Enough!" I barked, shoving my hand into another Parry. If I didn't have such good reflexes with this new body and my sharp eyesight, that bolt would have skewered my eyes. The girl is aiming at dead spots on purpose!

Shoot to kill? On a civilian? What if this were someone else? That's it.

Little bitch wanna play? Let's play…This is getting nowhere unless I strung her up with the sheer magnitude of what she's facing.. I unzip the bag, leaving the nearly crumpled clothes within the bag to spill abit and out came the C-14 Gauss Rifle.

Say hello to my friend, the C-14 Marine Gauss Rifle!

Attention!

Ladies and gentlemen, this here is the Apex of Infrantry Warfare! Coherent description not included and certainly not needed! I will explain it! So just listen!. The Gauss rifle is not an 8mm bullet, like some dumbasses think. Make no mistake, do not underestimate the power of a C-14 Gauss Rifle!

Terran logic doesn't make sense! So dont even try, you maggots!

Leave the thinking to your betters and superiors!

To reference it properly, a modern 50 calibre round pushes 900 m/s. This thing shoots at hypersonic levels. That means at the bare minimum! It pushes at 1500m/s. Second part…the part that got everyone confused is that it's an 8mm wide spike and thus making it bigger than conventional bullets in the market. I kid you not, those mother-effin'' eggheads keep forgetting this shit.

The Gauss rifle actually shoots in a two-stage system. First, using your basic ass science conventional propellant to fire a shell, hence the damn casing. Then after that…it accelerates it along a barrel of a coilgun, giving it a minor EMP effect to railgun style at hypersonic speed of sheer fucking Terran brutality! You wish you weren't some Alien Zerg scum. This thing could penetrate an Ultralisk Armour at the upgraded version of the Tungsten Neosteel variant, so dont even speculate how much firepower it can reach. The answer will always be yes! Except blasting at a battlecruiser or one of those Zerg leviathans, if you do? Then you're off your rocker and need to seek mental help.

This shit is the average tank killer! TANK KILLER!

The shell is an armour-piercing discarding Sabot capable of an APFSDS with magnetic capabilities. APFSDS is common, and that's the truth. But it's the ingenuity of the Terran civilisation to overspec this shit with a kinetic energy of a 25mm Auto Cannon in the real-world equivalent.

Not to mention, it has a 30-round firing power per second at 1500 RPM.

Let that sink in motherfuckers.

Let that shit sink in while I'm about to obliterate this little girl using Terran hardware with sheer Dominion malice and Impunity!

30 rounds per second in a single burst just to show her the absolute ridiculousness of its firepower in Terran Modern Warfare! Beating everyone with sheer brute dominance and supremacy! Four fingers and one thumb! That's all you need to wield this fine beauty. No additional parts needed!

Bitch you wish I was playing around. This is just standard-issue conscript stuff.

This is how you shock and Awe, maggots! Terran style!

She thought I was pulling a pistol. By the time she realised it wasn't, the Gauss rifle was already humming, the capacitors charging with that distinctive high-pitched whine that raised the hair on your arms.

I took a slight shot, missing her on purpose, but the electromagnetic pulse shot from the Rifle grazed her with electricity, which is her weakness, rendering her phasing ability redundant.

The shot tore through the afternoon, the muzzle crack echoing across the alley. The slug missed her intentionally, of course. I dont wanna kill anyone, but the shot did destroy a garbage bin and left a gaping hole in the metallic green plating and even punctured the concrete wall behind it and whatever metal ass bullshit behind it as well, leaving molten slag by a foot, all but the electromagnetic discharge from the shot rolled off in a corona of blue-white lightning.

Nah, man, that shit is what I was counting on.

It hit her like a wave.

And she dropped like a little beeeetch.

"ARGGGH YOU BITCH!!"

Nope, you're my bitch now.

Shadow Stalker screamed, of course, short, sharp with an awful amount of swear, as the EMP burst crawled across her body, arcing along the metal of her crossbow and the polymer plating of her armour. For a second, she flickered half in, half out of her phase state… then snapped solid, collapsing hard onto one knee.

She tried to move, but her limbs spasmed, uncoordinated. Sparks jumped between her vambraces. "What… the hell… was that?"

I kept the rifle aimed down, but not at her. "Nonlethal warning shot," I lied because God help me if she knew what that rifle could actually do on full power. She would shit her pants. Terran weaponry is made for warfare, not these cat-and-mouse dances between hero and villain like some sort of play. My playing field was Endbringer stuff, not street level.

Her eyes burned through the visor, even as she struggled to get up. She was shaking mad, of course, what's a little pain for someone who names themselves Shadow Stalker? The glare was quite menacing if I didn't know she would turn into such a bully later on. "You… you hit me with an EMP?"

"Technically," I said, "I missed you with an EMP."

"You..asshole," she growled, stumbling forward before bracing herself on the wall. Her hand twitched toward the crossbow, but it was fried with sparks spat from the weapon's wiring, its trigger mechanism dead.

She glared at me through her mask. "You're dead. You realise that, right? You just attacked a protectorate hero." Trying to gaslight me? really? Two can play at this game.

"Correction," I said, backing away slowly, "I defended myself from a trigger-happy vigilante who couldn't tell a bystander from a gangbanger. Didn't think I was a cape, didn't ya?" Her response was a furious, wordless growl. She tried to phase again and failed. Her whole body jolted, static crawling over her armour.

Right. The EM field was still messing with her power interface.

"Yeah," I muttered, lowering the rifle. "That's gonna take a while to reset. Take your time, though, no worries," I smirked while enjoying her little suffering. Is this why Tattletale always feels so smug about herself? knowing stuff and having them react accordingly?

"You'd better pray I don't see you again," she hissed.

"Trust me," I said, turning to leave, " You're gonna see a lot of me, better get used to it. In fact, you're gonna see me so much in the future you're gonna start puking me in your dreams. Yep..okay, nice talking to ya but I got places to be, morder machines to build and uhh..yeah. Bye!"

"He-y w-damn it!" she snarled, but I was already walking away.

I walked away fast, heart hammering, the rifle heavy in my hands. I didn't look back, not when I heard her try to move, no coms..no no calling for backup. That confirms it. She doesn't work for the protectorate...

That got me thinking. If she had, there'd be a squad of PRT troopers sweeping this street in five minutes flat. Instead, I was standing there alone, with one mildly electrocuted vigilante who, apparently, wasn't part of any official team. Not yet.

That little fact stuck in my head like a tick.

Shadow Stalker is currently an independent, running solo, hunting ABB in the shadows. This wasn't the PRT's resident problem child yet, Rennick and Piggott's little headache in a bottle. This was Sophia Hess, still angry, still wild, still, well ... I need to confirm if she started bullying poor Taylor with Emma yet and nip that in the bud.

I lowered the rifle and exhaled slowly. The smart move was to leave. She'd recover soon, and I didn't need another fight; no need for variables to form in the timeline before I'm ready. I barely have a Command Centre, and already I was making wild moves like this. It would be safer to just...leave.

But something stopped me.

Maybe it was the way she was glaring at me, perhaps, troubled youth and all that. not with hatred, Kinda like what gaming means to me in the beginning, in the early days, people thought that stuff was a waste of time, perhaps going out and doing vigilante work was such a thing to her too, a way to cope with her family issues and problems at home.

She didn't look like she truly hated me; it's more like confusion, like she didn't understand how she lost. Or maybe it was just the part of me that couldn't stand wasted potential. She could be a ghost operative. A really good one too.

I turned back and crouched curiously. She got startled seeing me turning back and started to snarl like a mad dog again. What the…was she a dog in her past life? Eh, it probably makes sense in some twisted way. I was a dog, but I got reincarnated as a bitch with shadow powers because being a parahuman is too hard and instead i settle for shooting people with crossbows. for …reason. I dont know. Isnt that how most of those weird, long ass Japanese Light novel goes?

"Hey," I said finally, my voice quieter. "You're not calling anyone in?"

Her head jerked up, defensive. "What's it to you?"I could practically hear her grinding her teeth, oof. Easy girl, you're gonna have tooth damage that way.

"Nothing," I said with a shrug. "Just saying, for someone who's big on ambushes, you seem kinda… alone out here? Dont wards usually patrol in groups?"

She scoffed. "Don't need backup. I handle my own mess."

"Yeah, I can see that uh-huh..how's that working out for ya?" I muttered, eyeing the scorch marks on her armour. "Handling it great! I'd give it ten outta ten! No drama!" Yes, mock the downtrodden girl whose ego is too big for her britches to fill.

Her glare sharpened. "You got a death wish or something?"

"Actually, no," I said, holstering the rifle on my back. "I'm just genuinely curious, you were aiming that crossbow at me, what if I was just an ordinary asian guy minding my own business? You ever thought that if I weren't a cape, you would have just killed a civilian?"

That threw her off. "You're no civilian, fuck off. If you're gonna try to guilt-trip me, it ain't gonna work chink, you're just another asian bastard covering for the ABB. All of you are.. "

"Why? I mean…on what? What are you basing this for?"

"You don't get to interrupt me," she spat. "They're ABB, I got a tip. They fit the profile."

"Profile? You're going to shoot civilians on a 'profile'?" I asked. My voice was flat but loud enough for the market to lean in. "You can't confirm anything by spraying bolts at people. You could have killed them."

Shadow Stalker's jaw worked. "I'm doing my job..You can't prove they aren't ABB either…Maybe you're working for the ABB, a tinker with a gun like that? Lung wouldn't let you go…"

"You don't get to play judge and jury because someone's afraid and lazy enough to call in a tip," I said. "You shoot people without confirmation, you become the threat. You are the problem." I kept my voice steady. If I sounded angrier, perhaps it's warranted. If I sounded too calm, that's just my apathy keeping me in check.

This girl got a warped sense of justice, to her.

She let out a breath that could have been laughter or a sob, jittering around spasm of EPM still lingering, while she forced herself to talk. "You think I enjoy this? I've seen people get away with worse because the PRT doesn't want to step in fast enough. I got a message that placed ABB around this market. I came to intercept before they could force some girl to prostitution…you dont know what it's like, seen what I've seen"

"Look," I said, lowering my voice. "If you've got a tip, show it to the PRT, or call in the Wards. If you can't wait, you verify before pulling a trigger, "

She tsk… at me "What is it to you? Are you a hero? Never seen you patrolling"

I shake my head, "Fuck no, I got no time to play cops and robbers like the rest of you, and I refuse to participate in this farce. It's shit like this that escalated things."

" -and I told you…I dont need help!" she growled in anger

What was I gonna say again? I dont think I'll get through to her like this, sigh.. Is this why the PRT will forcefully press her into recruitment? She's doing far more damage than helping if this keeps escalating.

I'd know what they would do if she keeps this up, she's gonna end up with the PRT whether she likes it or not, and maybe that isnt a bad thing, but it certainly isn't a good thing either, it means she's gonna go with the same path as it is intended.

"Yeah. You're strong, fast, and you've got a cool ghost trick with that warpy wisp thingi when it's working, anyway." I nodded toward her still-flickering armour. "But you're wasting it fighting gangs solo. The ABB's not some Saturday-night brawl, kid. They've got capes who can melt steel or summon monsters. You'll get yourself killed. Imagine someone like Lung or the Oni shows up"

She bristled. "I don't need a lecture from some wannabe cape with a toy gun."

"Toy gun?" I almost laughed. "You want me to prove it's not?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "Don't you dare."

"Relax," I said, raising a hand. "Just making a point, I'm no hero, but I dont go killing dumb kids like you for no reason either."

"You're a kid too, dont tell me what to do, you chink! Fuck off if you got nothing better to do, or just shoot me!"

She kept staring at me, muscles tight, ready to move if I so much as twitched, and yet under all that aggression, all I saw was a big, bad black kitten doing a hissy fit because she's scared. Fear makes her react that way. Funny how I think of teenagers like that...reminded myself as a coach, guiding kids to the right path. She wasn't fearful of me...

Not of me, but of being vulnerable.

I read about her predator-prey mentality struggle. Part of being a breaker too, something about people who have this breaker state usually go against the environment, out of necessity, out of survival and lash out. She was a kid who'd built a wall of shadow and crossbows to hide behind, and I'd just blown a hole in it. Breaking her comfort zone, I'd just prove that the environment still has power over her. Variables that can't be broken.

It's not a comforting thought when I put it that way.

I sighed. "Look, you can keep doing what you're doing, Miss solo hero. I mean, this edge-of-the-night routine may work for a time, but sooner or later, the PRT is gonna come crashing down on you and force you into their shitty Ward program or something, so maybe think about this. I've got a base. Tools to make stuff better, make you hunt like a PogChamp. Do some real change, none of this amateur night stuff, and certainly none of this asian stereotyping stuff, and eventually you're gonna get some innocent civilians killed. How about it, Miss Solo hunter? Want some free gear? Everyone likes free stuff."

Her eyes narrowed. "You trying to recruit me or something? Piss off…"

I gave a lopsided grin. "Recruit you? Fuck no, I got no time to babysit some vigilante, I'm just saying, if you're tired of fighting every fight alone, maybe come talk to me before you end up as another name on a memorial wall. My base is at the abandoned train yard. Stop by if you need better gear. That armour is shit."

For a second, she didn't say anything. Then, with visible effort, she pushed herself up, glaring at me through her cracked visor.

"Next time," she said quietly, "I won't miss. Your armour is shit. Who the fuck wears armour underneath a shirt? "

I sigh. Everyone is a critic, I should really consider building myself a CMC polyneoarmor like the Marines or just get a Barracks up and ready so I can start mass producing it. Girl isnt gonna talk unless it's on neutral ground, I'm done here. Said what I needed to say, the rest is up to her."Next time, bring coffee. We'll talk like civilised people."

She hissed something under her breath and cursed something unintelligible, probably an insult or something and limped into the shadows. A few seconds later, she vanished completely, her body half-phasing again as her power sputtered back online.

And just like that, she was gone.

I stood there for a while, at what I just did. Was that the right choice? Recruiting Shadow Stalker? turn her into a respectable person? Could I even do that? I tried to reason with her, see her perspective on things, maybe try to communicate. I tried to at least.

But can I even afford to help her like that? I wasn't kidding about giving her better protection. The things they prep the wards without any proper armour and equipment? It's the same damn reason why I'm not so keen on seeing the PRT and going to make friends with them. Even a sheet of neosteel alone could save her life if she got jumped by a Hoofwolf or something equivalent.

On one point, they are practically child soldiers and shouldn't even be on the frontlines. also agree with Miss Militia that kids shouldn't be here patrolling, but on the other hand if you're gonna send them patrolling, the least you can do is gear them properly. What could spandex and a couple of costumes do for protection? Vista was only wearing a skirt like a tutu with some sort of green visor. No Kevlar, nothing.

Hell, I was barely managing my own mess right now, two SCVs, half a command centre, and a criminal record waiting to happen if the PRT got wind of me. I already considered reformation as part of the initiative since coming here, but yeah…after meeting Sophia Hess alter ego, things just dont sit right with me. She could have been better. I know she could.

It's what I was comfortable with. Ex-Esport Coach and all that. I wanna give them a second go at life, or perhaps just prevent things that could happen in the future. I turned my gaze upwards toward the sky.

An Angel was orbiting Earth, probably staring down in her Omniscient viewpoint. I wondered if I'm already part of her plans yet?

No way to tell.

I see you Ziz.

What do you think about all of this? Sigh…

...…..

Getting back from that, and it's already late evening. That didn't go so well. SIgh…Maybe I should just stop going out altogether. All these encounters are getting surreal. To be fair, I would rather much prefer to just curl up and turle while I take my own sweet time to build and tinker and with enough resources…maybe an army or two.

For insurance.

Can't have too many units, yeah?

With Shadowstalker, the Prt is bound to find out, especially when the hospital gets a visit from ABB, treating those wounds. Fuck. Now I gotta start playing nice with them for goddamn no reason.

What was I supposed to do?

Bag her? Drag her ass and imprison the little shit in the supply depot?

….

…

…

…

That's not a bad Idea. Why didn't I think of that sooner?? Heck no!! Bad Idea! That's kidnapping! Nah … never mind. I'm just frustrated that it had to end like that. There's no good way to do it; every way I thought of was just subpar at best, because I'm not in my element. Terran Command is getting blindsided twice with no backup, no plan, nothing. It was purely luck that I even decided to bring the rifle after the last fiasco.

SCV1 is tasked to protect SCV2 while it builds stuff, but that might yield some complications. I need to take some risk if I'm ever gonna be more secure, I can't let something like today happen again. The Gauss rifle is out. I was out for several days. Wow…worst Tinker in existence ever. That's gotta be a record, right? Stealth really isnt my thing. But I love stealth when it actually works for me, fuck!

In hindsight, I could probably outrun Shadow Stalker with my armour, but damn it. I really wanna flex at that time. Could I outrun her? Who am I kidding, she's a track kid, isnt she? Eh…probably not. Too many variables.

Fuck it. I'm going to sleep. This is just bad luck getting outed by racial profiling from a vigilante girl, god damn it. It's like I'm simulating Worm fanfic on Dark Souls ' Difficulty.

It had been a long day.

Between resource management, keeping capes in check, and figuring out how to avoid drawing attention from the PRT or the gangs, I could feel exhaustion crawling up my spine. But before I crashed, there was one more thing to do.

"SCV1," I called through my wrist comm. "Status check."

A moment later, the familiar mechanical whirr-click came through, followed by a cheerful electronic beep.

"All done, boss! Supply depot running at full capacity. What's next?"

I looked out toward the east side of the yard, a flat stretch of dirt and rusted rails. "We're running out of storage space for materials already? Good timing. I need another supply depot built before dawn. We have the resources, yes? Build me one with the Nova spec, so that's a six-hour build with a single SCV, yeah? do it.."

I found that SCV one here is a little special. It could essentially build anything I could build, too, within the knowledge I have. Mengks SCV2 couldn't. It could only follow basic Protocol. I'd surmise that this one is a little special. Somehow, it syncs with every knowledge I have in its repository. Once the Command Centre is built, it could centralise all the data under the UEC system and sync all of my knowledge up to date.

But for now, it's the only one I can really rely on..

"Roger that! New supply depot. construction initialised!"

With a single unit, that's essential the next morning.

The comm crackled as I watched SCV1 roll out from its bay, its floodlights cutting through the darkness. The mechanical arms unfolded, grabbing and hauling metal plating from a nearby stack. The machine moved with that same deliberate efficiency I'd seen a thousand times in StarCraft.

In its own way, it's pretty cute

"Set it up near the existing depot, and create a box in the perimeter. I wanna keep building a couple of supply depots in the future, like a hedge against any invaders, since it's the only entrance towards this clearing that's visible enough." I said, leaning over the railing. "Keep it low profile, minimal light. I don't want any curious eyes wandering in here like usual."

"Understood! Commencing low-visibility build protocol!"

I chuckled quietly. "You sound way too happy about that." Now all I need is some Turrets and I'll have the basics for whatever local parahuman can throw at, even If Kaiser decided to bring their whole gang. Once the Command Centre is built, I'll go for the Planetary Fortress for those big giant guns. Let's see if anyone dares to commit seppuke with a twenty-tonne Anti-Material Turret the size of a tank.

"It's what I was built for, boss!" Aww, he's being cute.

Imagine that, My SCV A.I am getting smarter and will probably be sentient soon. Hmm, dont know how to feel about that. "You know," I said softly, mostly to myself, "I used to command a dozen of you on-screen without thinking twice. Now you're the only one out here, keeping this entire operation alive. Guess that makes you MVP."

"SCV ready for duty, sir!"

I grinned, " But instead of you, it's just a bunch of redneck guys in SCV talking smack at me while I'm operating it"

"I'm not a redneck, sir! That's slander!" beep*

"Sure you aren't, you're just extra snarky, aren't you?" it beeped. The work continued slowly. The hum of hydraulics, the scrape of metal, the comforting sound of productivity in a world that found out I had a Gauss gun capable of anti-tank obliteration, but who's counting, eh?

Sleep.

I turned to head back inside, stretching as I went. "Keep at it, SCV1. I'm calling it a night. Wake me if something tries to eat the depot."

"Roger that! Don't worry, boss! I'll keep the depot safe!"

First thing I'd build is some Damn Nova turrets. In case some actual dumbasses come through, they might not be any rednecks here in Brocton Bay, at least I dont think so., but there's Super Nazis, superpowered druggies and even a dragon here. If any of them decided to come here and cause trouble. Shoot first, ask questions later. This is my land. Murica right? I'd just shoot anything that dares come uninvited.

It'll be the most American thing I'd do since coming here because, for the love of god, I still can't get actual cheese tacos or a burger yet, and I do not want another visit to the mall.

Note to self,

Find time to visit fugly's Bob and order a Gut Buster.

I surely need one after today's affair.