uly 17th, 2010.
Thursday
Resources Available:
Metal: 3500 units
Butane:14 canisters
The actual numbers would be 8k max. 4k for the command centre, 500 for the new supply depot. One supply depot can only keep up to 8k metallic material conversion. SCV only collects the Metal around the perimeter of the location of the Command Centre while it's being built, and the amount of metal around the Trainyard perimeter is dwindling. This is as good as it gets for now.
It's Morning, and breakfast, if you could call it that, will be…an experiment. Trying to save whatever meagre amount of cash I can. I still haven't found a clue on how to earn some cash with my talents just yet. I could just sell weapons and be a gun runner? Friggin 6 am, what am I supposed to do?
That wouldn't sit well with me, being a gun runner, considering the heat I'll get unless I'm at the toybox or Dragon level of tinkering. I'd settle for saving money for now. Besides, I'm curious how this other MRE is gonna taste. Found it beside the horrible MRE. This MRE had a different Logo. Came from the Umojan Protectorate.
Save me some time and money if it's actually good.
I sat cross-legged on the cold neosteel floor of the supply depot, staring at the opened Terran ration pack like it was about to fight me. "Meal- Ready to Eat"(MRE), the label read. "Flavoured for morale enhancement and standard military dining." Well? That's new. Those social engineering yahoos might be on to something.
Yeah. Flavoured. for moral enhancing? Odd choice of word there.
Is it sussy? I highly doubt that's the case. Why? It's because it's from Umojan. It's the closest thing to what America stands for. Highly independent and have long held that trait as their defining factor when recruiting.
I guess what I'm about to say is that these guys are anti fascist. Their tech is always the bleeding edge of Terran warfare; hell, the medic stuff all came from that part of the faction. Not to mention, working under their factions is usually fairer compared to the alternatives, like the Dominion.
If they dare to serve their version of MRE.
It's probably safe for consumption. Taste-wise? Eh…
I'm about to try it..
The depot's lights hummed softly above me, casting long shadows across the workshop corner where my SCV had been busy rearranging scavenged parts, still working on the Command Centre. I'd order SCV1 to finish up a new supply depot, but I'm busy eating breakfast, so that can wait for a bit.
The faint smell of oil, metal, and industrial lubricant didn't deter my food experiment. Working hard, or hardly working? Does it even make a difference if I have automated SCV? Being a tinker is the best.
I tried to smell the thing, but it is mixed with this weird synthetic aroma of whatever the hell "morale-enhanced paste" was supposed to be; it doesn't smell bad. But it doesn't smell good either, just…foreign. I read the instructions below, which say to reheat for a minute.
And that's when I realised the depot had no stove. Not even a hotplate.Another reason why I want that Command Centre done asap.
Terran logistics really didn't plan for anyone to enjoy food. It is just a means to survive on it. I looked around and spotted the only thing even remotely resembling a heat source: a Bunsen burner attached to the workbench.
"Right," I muttered. "Nothing says fine dining like open flame and desperation."
I twisted the valve, lit the burner, and watched the blue flame flicker to life. The hiss of gas filled the silence. Using one of the metal cups from the ration kit, I poured some water from my canteen and set it on the burner to boil.
It took a few minutes. During that time, I could hear the distant clang of my SCV outside, still welding scrap together for the Command Centre foundation and additional supply depot. Even that mechanical rhythm had started to feel comforting, like the heartbeat of a home slowly coming to life. I got used to it, okay? Try living in one for a few days, and you get used to it, too.
This is my life now after all. I'm an adult and I really can't complain on my own,, doesnt mean I dont gotta be bitter about it. I am bitter. Just not bitter enough to fall into depression.
When the water finally boiled, I poured it into the ration tray and stirred the greyish paste inside. Steam rose, carrying a smell that could only be described as "unappetizing mixed with sadness."
I took one cautious bite and sighed.
"Still better than DreamHack catering, better than the other MRE at least.," I muttered under my breath. Those esports organisers' catering was really one of the worst. I get that it's all for healthy reasons, but celery and raw carrots as snacks? That's too much. Yeah, it's edible.
The MRE is serviceable.
It wasn't terrible per se, just bland in a way that made me nostalgic for Japanese instant noodles and cheap Malaysian coffee. Every swallow tasted like a reminder that I was very far from Earth Prime, very far from esports arenas and hotel buffets. Mmm...Swedish buffets are delicious. This is the synthetic flavour of home. In an odd, nostalgic way. But it still lacks a certain punch to it. Need more salt, too.
Halfway through the meal, the SCV trundled back in, its robotic voice chipper as ever.
"Commander, Command Centre foundation is 30% complete. And Supply Depot Completed!"
"Yeah, great," I said between mouthfuls. "You want breakfast? I promise it's morale-enhancing, at least that part checks out."
The SCV beeped, almost like it was laughing. You're lucky you dont need to eat. I leaned back against the wall, holding the now-empty tray, and let the silence stretch. From the outside, He could see the skeletal structure of the Command Centre being built. Never thought I would see the day that something of this scale and magnitude is being built. It's roughly five acres. The size of four football fields. And it hasn't gone vertical yet. Just the bare base full of metal and pylons.When it's done its gonna be 3 stories tall. That's gonna attract some attention.
Outside, the city lights flickered faintly in the distance, muted by smog. There isn't much of a view from inside the depot staring out at the screen, just tons of tons of boats abandoned with the train business dead. still smells like salt, piss and rust. I wonder if I can do anything about that smell? Either way, gotta have worse things to worry about than smell, yeah?
Somewhere out there, people were fighting, scheming, surviving. Me?
I was a retired StarCraft player, eating future military mush out of a tin tray in an abandoned trainyard while I wondered when the next super Kaiju battle was gonna happen. I'm probably gonna skip it. Not much I can do right now with zero tinkering. Should I ? Eh..maybe I shouldn't. I'm wishy washy fifty-fifty right now. Ask me again when the endbringer comes.
And somehow… I was okay with that.
Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the absurdity of it all, but I chuckled to myself. "This is fine," I said to no one in particular. "Terran life, baby. Adapt and survive." Adapt and enjoy a slice of life, maybe. Cape bullshit just tires me out. Maybe because I dont have a suicidal parasite in my head telling me to engage in conflict. That's probably it.
The SCV beeped again in what I liked to think was agreement. As I cleaned up, I caught sight of my reflection in the shiny side of a neosteel panel and took a hard look at myself. I could do more to have a better haircut instead of looking like a hobo.
I didn't look like a hero. Didn't feel like one, either. Villain? not menacing enough. I could try for handsome, maybe? My ex-wife told me she was into me because I was a pretty boy. A certified "Oppa", she said. I should really take care of my outlook, too. Maybe find a place to work out or build one. Ugh..this is so much easier if I have someone nagging me.
"Tomorrow," I murmured, setting the empty cup aside. "Tomorrow, I'll get a haircut, maybe.." Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not gonna get a haircut, I'm gonna hole up in here for a few days. Then I turned off the burner, the flame hissing out with a faint puff of smoke. I was thinking of building a gun. The Gauss Rifle is too deadly.
That thing was a glorious chunk of lethal engineering, no complaints here. It's wonderful in theory, catastrophic in practice if I ever slip. I wasn't looking to announce myself to Brockton Bay as "the guy who vaporised a cape with EMP levels of disruption, I needed something I could actually use without accidentally ending someone's life, something easier to train with and easier to justify pulling out in a scuffle.
So I settled on a compromise: a pistol.
Not glamorous, just for the sake of practicality
It is something small, reliable, and controllable. In the back of my head, I kept thinking of the old Terran armoury blurbs I'd read as a teenager; the image that stuck was the crude-but-reliable P220. The schematics are in my head; I could just fabricate one with the Fabricator.
a sidearm described as stubbornly dependable. It never jammed on paper, it went where you pointed it, and yes, it was still plenty lethal. The point wasn't that it was non-lethal; it was that it made lingering lethality less likely than slinging a shoulder-fired railgun around a dark alley.
I didn't build anything fancy.
The depot had a parts cache thanks to the weird generosity of a fully "Supply Depot" inventory, so I downloaded a schematic, ran the fabrication routine on the workbench, and let the machines do the heavy, precise stuff.
I kept my hands off the critical tolerances.
When the frame came out, it was oiled and measured, small enough to feel like an extension of my hand instead of a generic gun from Earth. I slapped on a simple safety, tested the trigger pull on a mechanical gauge, and fired a few rounds into the old shipping container we'd set up as a backstop. Works like a charm.
To be honest? It's a little underwhelming.
Sitting there afterwards, the pistol warm in my palm, I let myself be honest: this was still a weapon. I wasn't pretending otherwise. But it was a decision about risk management. If I had to intervene again with Shadow Stalker or get jumped by the ABB or even E88, I can help, I can protect a helpless person or break up a gang raid or something,
I wanted something that let me control the force I used, something I could put away and sleep with. The Gauss rifle was a little too strong for street-level stuff unless I wanted to go to war; the pistol lived in my jacket.
There's the moral part.
When I slid the gun into the inside pocket of my hoodie and zipped it up, it felt oddly responsible. The Gauss rifle was a last resort. The pistol was a tool for keeping things manageable while I finished the Command Centre.
Right, heading out to check on the new supply depot.
I need security protection. The Nova Supply Depot can build a railgun turret. Nova's SCVs can build railgun turrets at mineral cost.
These turrets can be salvaged. Ravens innately construct railgun turrets instead of normal auto-turrets. At the low, low cost of 200 metal and within 25 minutes. With this, his Depot Capacity is raised to 16, but he has 0 combat units to command except those SCV.
I could have asked the SCV to build three around the Command Centre perimeter. Building the SCV takes an hour.
While waiting, I patch up my servos and tighten my armour while waiting for the Supply depot to fix me up a new SCV Metal reserves were dropping fast, and I still didn't have any real security aside from a few automated defence drones. If anyone from ABB, E88, or even Coil's people stumbled across this base, I'd be finished.
After this, I'm almost left with 2600 Metal units. Barely enough to build a Barracks later on or if I want to build more SCVs, since I already have a Command Centre when it's done..1 hour for an SCV but with the Command centre I can build q to five simultaneously and perhaps the quee time is faster since I can do it by batch or simply roll it out one by one at 12 minutes per unit. Pretty fast and believable for the tech standards.
A problem for future me. Current me? Focus on Turrets.
When the new SCV was done, it was wheeled out all prim and proper in the colour of Cyan just like Nova. "Read to serve! What's next?" Real chipper this one.
Railgun Turret is what I want to build.
Automated point-defence system capable of firing hypersonic projectiles. Effective against light and armoured targets. Range: 75m. Power draw: 15. Metal cost: 200. Build time: 25 minutes.
"Alright, SCV3," I said, stepping outside and pointing toward the Command Centre perimeter. "We're putting in some insurance. I want three railgun turrets, one facing north toward the yard entrance, one west toward the scrapyard, and one east covering the refinery. Got it?"
"Got it! Affirmative!"
"Good.SCV1, keep an eye on this one and help protect it since you can't build one directly. Keep the build low profile, no flashy welding sparks if you can help it."
" Oh-ho, nice choice, boss! I'll have them up before lunch!" chime SCV1
And SCV3 saluted
"Understood! Stealth mode: engaged!"
I watched as SCV1 rolled toward the northern edge of the Command Centre together with SCV3, deploying its construction arm with a soft hydraulic hiss. It began marking ground coordinates, plating foundations, and assembling the first turret's frame. The machine worked like a veteran craftsman, efficient, precise, tireless.
Within minutes, the metallic skeleton of the first railgun turret began to take shape, a squat, cylindrical base with reinforced armour plating, its turret head slowly rotating into place like the eye of a waking titan.
I folded my arms, watching with quiet satisfaction. "That's it, bolt by bolt… we're becoming something alright, not just surviving, I wanna be able to fight back properly, maybe we can wall off the south side entrance with bunkers and supply depot too, later to create an artificial wall"
Metal: 2900 units
Butane:13 canisters
And there's still plenty of broken ships to salvage. Eventually, I'll use it all up I could even see the left side started to reside since it halted collection, but eventually, the SCV will scrap enough metal for the bay to pass through. I wonder what the Dockworkers would think of that?
Only time will tell. The low hum of fabrication filled the air as I thought about my next move. Each turret would take 25 minutes, and anyone stupid enough to wander into my trainyard uninvited? Well… they'd find out what happens when Terran ingenuity meets Earth Bet reality.
A productive morning, I'd say.
If only Lunch came sooner, but then again, I ain't going out today, so MRE it is. No…the question I wanna ask is…if only the next day comes sooner. Day isnt gonna end itself. Time is all I have, might even build something else…Hmm, I wonder if I could build myself a Laser Cutter? The H1 Flash Laser Cutter may be a Flash Welder too. Might as well do it. Maybe I can somehow sell it off to the docks to make some money as a loan. Might as well make it.
Sigh…It's gonna be a long day, huh.
July 17th, 2010.
Friday Morning 9.00 am.
Sophia Hess (Shadow Stalker)
I shouldn't even be here. It's been a day since I lost.
That's the first thing that hit me as I slumped into my seat near the back row, half-listening to Mr Gladys drone on about post-war economic shifts like anyone actually cared. This place, all gossip and laughter and shallow crap that didn't belong in the same universe as last day I remembered..
Emma sat two desks ahead, all smiles and whispers, playing her part perfectly. She didn't notice the tiny scorch mark on my wrist guard, barely hidden under my sleeve. Nobody did. Nobody ever noticed.
Emma Barnes was in her element, though. Her voice cut sharply through the chatter of the classroom, honeyed with cruelty and smugness as she leaned over Taylor Hebert's desk. Madison hovered nearby like some overeager little gremlin, giggling on cue.
But all I could think of was that asshole.
The guy with the cheap sunglasses.
That Asian Prick.
I grit my teeth, staring out the window. The morning sunlight was way too calm for what I felt inside. That day had been a disaster. I'd been tracking a small ABB group near the east side for some easy marks.
The memory still burned behind her eyelids as the flash of the Gauss rifle, the searing arc of electricity that had fried through her shadow form, grounding her like a bug in a zapper. It wasn't even a real hit; he hadn't meant to kill her. A warning shot.
easy marks huh... or so I thought when some chink motherfucker happens to be a Tinker with a gun that put holes into concrete walls oozing EMP charges.
Then pain. The fucking pain!
I'd been in fights before. Been hit, stabbed, shot at, even, but never that. It wasn't just how I was hit, it was the way my body flickered. One moment, I was shadow, untouchable, the next, I was solid and on my knees, muscles spasming like I'd been plugged into a live socket. I never knew I had a weakness.
That weapon with that weird, humming gun had fried me in ways I didn't even think were possible.
And she'd lost.
And then there was him.
Asian guy, early twenties maybe, hoodie, shades, wearing that stupid black cheap plastic eyewear with that stupid smirk of his, even with that calm voice, even after nearly shooting me. He didn't look like a cape. He didn't move like one either. That dude didn't have an ounce of training; it's all just instinct, honed reactions like an athlete.
Maybe even calculated. He didn't gloat. He just looked at me.
I shifted in my chair, my fingers twitching against the desk. Gladys kept rambling about Brocton Bay GDP growth as if I give two fucks about the city's income. Nobody ever gave a shit about me, so why should I care?
Fuck., my head was still stuck in that alley, that smell of burning ozone and the faint electric sting that lingered under my skin. If I ever see that guy again…
Tsk.
I'd checked the PRT channels this morning and found nothing on the forums. No record of any new tinker tech sightings, no alerts, no mention of a weapon that could short out a phaser. Whoever he was, he wasn't on their radar yet.
That was… both good and bad. Good, because I didn't have to explain why I'd nearly been knocked out by some random civilian with a sci-fi rifle. Bad, because it meant I didn't know what he wanted or how he'd built something that powerful without the PRT noticing. That asshole missed on purpose.
I could feel that grinning smirk rubbing off from the smile of his eyes.
Fucking Chink bastard, with those stupid slanty eyes of his, I couldn't see his eyes, but the crease of his skin at the corner shows it.. It still pisses me off how he kept dodging my shots so easily.
Beside me, Emma leaned over and whispered something about Madison's new shoes. I gave her a half-smile, the kind I'd practised, the kind that looked real but never reached my eyes. She's just another prey trying to be a Predator. It didn't matter to me; Emma's issue isn't my focus.
I can't.
Inside, I was replaying the fight over and over. The way the charge hummed, the way the air burned blue right before he fired. The way he missed on purpose.
Yeah. That's what scared me most. He could've hit me. He didn't. Which meant he was in control. A predator wearing sheep's clothing, Chink motherfucker could have pasted me, but didn't. And if he was smart enough to build that tech, and calm enough to show mercy, then he wasn't some random ABB tinker.
He was something else.
It still pissed me off how easily I let him get away with it.
I tapped my fingers against my thigh, restless. Maybe I could track him again. Didn't he say to find him at the trainyard? That weapon had to leave a signature heat, residue, something and go from there, go back to the scene, check out the aftermath of the damage left yesterday if those PRT stooges haven't cleaned the road yet. I could retrace the fight area tonight, maybe catch another trail.
Or...just head to the trainyard blind. Unprepared..like a dumb sheep.
But part of me… part of me wasn't sure what I'd do if I actually found him. Because for the first time in a long while, I wasn't the hunter. To hunt another hunter? What would that feel like? This? Whatever this is? It feels awful.
And I didn't like that feeling one bit.
"Ms. Hess," Mr. Gladys' voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and impatient. "Would you care to tell us the key reason for Brockton Bay's industrial decline?"
I blinked agaom, meeting his stare for half a second before smirking faintly.
"Because people here don't build anything worth keeping," I said flatly.
The class laughed. Gladys frowned. Emma grinned at me. They all think they get it, but they dont. I didn't give two fucks about it either.
Why should I?
Just a bunch of prey talking shit among themselves to feel slightly important. It irks me that there was someone who didn't give a fuck like me. Because somewhere out there, in a forgotten trainyard, someone was building something dangerous, and he chose to be meek, not wielding power when he should.
Emma was at it again, leaning over Taylor Hebert's desk with that smug little smirk she wore like a crown. "Come on, Taylor," she drawled, "you didn't actually wear that on purpose, did you?"
I should have died,
The bastard should have just hunted me like Prey.
Fucking Chink asshole.
"Hey, Sophia," Emma called, snapping her out of the thought. "You're spacing out. You okay?"
I blinked towards Emma. My predatory golden eyes flicked toward Emma, who was smirking in that self-satisfied way she always did when she thought she was the queen of the damn world.
There was a time when this used to amuse me. The way Taylor would flinch, shrink into herself, the way we could control her mood with just a few words like a stupid lamb, it made me feel powerful. Like I mattered. Like I wasn't just another screw-up who had to wear a mask to be worth something.
But right now? I couldn't even bring myself to smirk.
Because all I could think about was him.
"Yeah," Sophia muttered. "Fine."
"Then come on," Emma said, nudging her shoulder. "You can't just sit there. You're the one who started all this, remember?"
Somehow, that pisses me off and that earned her a sharp look. Emma flinched for just a little but still tried to grin through it. Since the day I'd saved her, she had changed for the better. Not sure. But definitely ain't a prey no more, she tries to fight back…tries like it even matters. It's not like any of this mattered.
I leaned back in her chair, expression flat. "Not in the mood."
Madison blinked while surprised. Emma frowned, her smile faltering for the first time all morning.
"What's up with you lately?" she whispered, as if afraid Taylor might overhear. "You've been... weird. Ever since-"
I cut her off with a glare sharp enough to slice glass. She got the message and shut up. Ever since what? Since she got her ass kicked by a stranger? Since she realised maybe she wasn't as untouchable as she thought? That she was the prey?
She could still feel it. that moment of helplessness when her power flickered and died, her body solid and human again, and that man's condescending, calm voice telling her to stand down.
You don't have to fight everyone. Seek help.
It pissed her off how that line stuck in her head.
I turned away, resting my damn chin in my hand again, going back to old habits as the classroom drifted back into focus. Taylor was staring at her, not at her. Just toward her. Scared, but curious. Like she was waiting for the next blow that never came. What's she looking at? Fucking dumb Taylor Hebert. The only reason she's in this mess is that she let Emma do that to her. Fucking useless piece of shit.
She never fought back.. Never.
I couldn't fight back…
FUCK!
I looked away first.
The bell rang again. Emma huffed, Madison giggled, and Taylor slipped out of the room as fast as she could, and honestly, she could not give two fucks for the matter.
I stayed behind, staring at the empty desk, my mind still replaying that crackle of blue energy, that one humiliating instant where I wasn't Shadow Stalker, I was just Sophia Hess, weak and human and a pathetic little lamb.
Waste of time, she thought. All of it. It's all his fault! Fuck that guy! I'm gonna murder him when I find that detestable Chink! A fucking bolt straight to that stupid face!
I grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out without another word.
Then maybe…
Tsk.
For a moment, I thought about Taylor, the way she didn't fight back, didn't scream, didn't even look angry. Just… endured. And then I thought about the look in that guy's eyes when he knocked me down. That detached focus, as if he were already three moves ahead. Why would that pathetic Taylor even remind me of him?
It's those eyes… they're the same. Not the eyes, the expression of it.. The same pitying look with those same pathetic frowns when they saw me. Maybe she saw through her, maybe just like he did.
"You're wasting what you have," he'd said as the words still echo in my mind.
I let out a short laugh, bitter and dry. "Shadow Stalker, huh?"
.....
Friday Morning 9.00 am.
PRT ENE Headquarters, Brockton Bay - Director Emily Piggot
There was never enough time in the day.
The city was a festering wound with the gangs breeding faster than we could cauterise, capes balancing between celebrity and catastrophe, and now, a new wildcard to toss into the mix right after the Chorus gang hit one of New Wave darling Victoria Dallon and made her sister trigger.
"Dreamhack."
Even saying the name irritated me. It sounded like something a teenager would name their fan page, not a new parahuman. The conference room smelled faintly of burnt coffee in the morning, not in a good way. Standard for Brockton Bay PRT ENE, as mornings here tend to be,
Across the table, Miss Militia was just settling in, uniform crisp despite having come straight off a redeployment in Boston. Armsmaster was already present, visor dimly glowing, a mess of files, surveillance stills, and printed reports neatly stacked in front of him. The man still didn't find time to read those, probably busy tinkering with god knows what down there in his lab. A bad habit of his, and they want to promote him to be the leader of the Protectorate?
God have mercy on us all.
I adjusted my glasses, glancing at the wall-mounted display as the feed cycled through grainy footage of the incident at the Boardwalk Mall. Civilians fleeing, panicked crowds, gunfire and a single figure in a dark orange hoodie moving through the chaos easily.
"Begin the meeting, gentlemen, ladies," I said flatly and nodded for them to proceed. Armsmaster tapped a control, and the footage paused at a clear frame of the man standing between a group of unconscious gang members and the Dallon girls.
"Our unidentified subject appeared approximately two days ago, 07/16/2010," he began, voice clipped and precise. "He intervened in an armed robbery perpetrated by a local faction calling themselves the 'Chorus'. During the incident, he subdued six armed suspects, all suffering moderate to severe blunt force trauma. No casualties."
"Parahuman?" Miss Militia asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Possibly," Armsmaster replied. "But there's no obvious power signature. Based on the footage, I estimate enhanced physical ability or trained combat efficiency. No visible equipment, no armour. He appears… improvisational."
I frowned at what he just said. Is he trying to downplay this? "Improvisational doesn't usually drop ten gunmen without firing a shot with a metal pipe."
"Agreed," Armsmaster said. "However, his movements suggest a disciplined background. Tactical awareness, controlled aggression, no wasted motion. Not standard vigilante behaviour."
Miss Militia flipped through the printed photos. "And his alias?"
I exhaled through my nose. "Not his choice. One of the gang members shouted it during the fight when it occurred, apparently because of a logo on his hoodie. Amy and Victoria seems to think so."
"Dreamhack," Armsmaster confirmed, tone unreadable. " Possibly a reference to his past identity."
Miss Militia's brow furrowed. "So he's not a parahuman using the name as a joke?"
"Or," I said, "just another parahuman problem we have to deal with eventually, Joke or not, Fact is. The man did take down 10 armed men."
I stood, walking to the display and pointing at the paused frame of him standing protectively near the Dallon sisters. "Panacea and Glory Girl. That's what concerns me. He interacted with two Wards-protected civilians and then disappeared without a trace. No attempt at contact, no follow-up, no collateral damage. What do you make of this?"
Miss Militia crossed her arms. "You think he's hostile?"
"I think he's unpredictable as all Parahumans are," I said. "And unpredictability is worse than hostility."
Armsmaster adjusted the feed, switching to a map of Brockton Bay. "There have been reports of construction activity in the abandoned trainyard, heavy equipment sounds, cutting torches, and unusual lights at night. ABB territory, currently unclaimed since Lung's last raid. This Dreamhack may be operating there...It is, however, just a conjecture on our side."
"Building something? You think he's with the ABB?" Miss Militia asked.
"Unknown," Armsmaster said. "But if he's constructing a base of operations, he's either planning a long-term vigilante effort or preparing for something more organised, suspected use of unauthorised tinker tools, either he's a Tinker or he's not. That seems the most plausible conclusion.."
I narrowed my eyes. "And the ABB hasn't moved in yet?"
"They've sent scouts," Armsmaster said. "But...was intercepted by another Parahuman."
He opened the folder. Photos. Blurry shots, street corner surveillance from a civilian camera in ABB turf, bodies slumped against walls, scorch marks on asphalt, and a distinct bolt lodged in a cinderblock wall. And a medical report from the ABB getting treatment at Brocton Bay Hospital for punctured wounds that came from…
Crossbow bolts.
Armsmaster noticed it before I did. "This is Shadow Stalker."
"Confirmed," Renick said grimly. "We picked up one survivor from the ABB crew while the rest were in the hospital. He claims they were hit by someone in black, fast, wearing a mask. She took down five of them before vanishing. No civilian casualties, but..."
"But she's escalating," I finished. "And in ABB territory, of all places." I pinched the bridge of my nose. That girl. That reckless, arrogant girl.
"She was supposed to stay out of that district," Miss Militia said, frowning. "We've warned her twice already. I thought she'd been sticking to upper downtown."
"She's hunting," I said. "She's not patrolling, she's hunting."
Armsmaster leaned forward, folding his hands. "Shadow Stalker's recent behaviour matches a pattern of escalating vigilantism. Increasingly hostile encounters, deliberate targeting of organised crime. Her last three engagements have all occurred without backup or PRT coordination."
"Any contact attempts?" I asked.
"None yet since the last time she evaded us", Colin replied.
Renick hesitated. "You might wanna see this… there's another layer.
That tone never meant good news. "Spit it out." Renick slid a still frame across the table. It was from another angle of the same incident, but it's not ABB this time, but the same street, later that evening.
The image was faint but clear enough. A man., wearing different clothing, wearing cheap sunglasses, civilian. Same profile as the "Dreamhack" suspect. He was standing across the street, half-hidden behind debris, watching with a rifle, sparking arcs of lightning.
"Is that Dreamhack?" Miss Militia murmured.
"Perfect," I muttered, my patience thinning. "Just what this city needs right now, a rogue vigilante picking fights with another rogue vigilante who is also confirmed as a Tinker."
"Yes, Director. As per preliminary analysis, the subject codename 'Dreamhack' is far more visible here. Judging by his looks, the man seems to be asian, fairly young, around mid-early 20s. Fresh graduate or simply a young adult, we are still trying to ID him, but the facial recognition still couldn't pick it up due to the hoodie and glasses, we decided that-"
I gave him a look. "You're keeping that name?"
"Until something better sticks," he said. "The press already picked it up from the mall footage. It's recognisable, at least."
Great. The name is plastered across every unofficial cape blog in the state.
He tapped the display, and the wall screen flickered to life, a blurry still image of a figure in that awful orange hoodie, mid-turn, the orange glow of fire reflecting off his Hoodie. Beneath the blur, someone probably that camera-loving idiot from Channel 7 had typed "Dreamhack saves New Wave?"
He nodded toward Armsmaster, who stood beside the board with his usual quiet intensity. Armsmaster keyed in his portion. The next slide showed the impact photo: a dumpster with a ragged hole punched through the metal, the wall behind it cracked and blackened.
"This," he began, "is the aftermath of his second confirmed appearance. East side ABB sector. Shadow Stalker made contact during a patrol. The weapon used confirms that he is probably a Tinker"
He brought up a schematic overlay of the Gun, A tinker tech gun that is surprisingly meticulously high tech or at least what they assume the thing he's carrying.
"This thing here functions as a coil-accelerated projectile launcher. A Gauss rifle, theoretically. Discharge left a measurable EMP trail, briefly nullifying Shadow Stalker's phase state. Estimated muzzle velocity exceeds two thousand meters per second. Extremely deadly."
Renick interjected, "For reference, Director, that's about double the impact energy of a standard PRT rail prototype they had on New York."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "So, to summarise, some idiot with a hoodie and a logo is walking around with a portable railgun that can knock out our Wards and punch holes through reinforced dumpsters and possibly a tank? How does a Tinker like that go under the radar for so long?."
Silence hung in the air for a beat too long.
Armsmaster coughed. "Technically, Director, it's precisely calibrated. Evidence suggests he intentionally missed. Otherwise, Shadow Stalker wouldn't be alive, and also, 2 days ago was our first interaction with the person; I doubt he was there to debut. Saving the Dallon girls was perhaps purely by chance."
That, somehow, didn't make me feel any better. "Fine," I said. "Let's move on to classification. Threat level first. Go ahead, Renick."
Renick adjusted his glasses. "Based on available data, he qualifies as a Tinker-class parahuman, provisional Tier Six. The weapon exceeds known technological baselines. Possible secondary Blaster traits due to EMP field, though contained."
Armsmaster added, "His behaviour suggests training, but that doesn't seem to be the case from the rough footage. I dont think the person had any former military or tactical background. Calm under stress, deliberate shot placement, situational awareness. Not reckless. A professional but not trained for warfare."
"Which means he might also be a thinker class rating," I said flatly. "A thinker who can build a weapon that knocks out parahumans and possibly armoured vehicles.. Wonderful."
Rennick hesitated. "Director… there's another angle to consider. If he's not actually a Tinker then-"
I raised an eyebrow.
"-then his weapon might not be his creation. There's no manufacturing residue, no design markers, nothing that matches our database. He might've found it. Or… brought it."
"From where, Renick?" I asked, a touch too sharply.
He hesitated, glancing at Armsmaster. The man didn't meet my gaze. I sighed. "Fine. File your science fiction theories under the 'goddamn alien gun' folder and get back to reality. We're not adding 'extradimensional tech trader' to our bingo card. Just put it under potential black market item, check to see if any purchase was made with Toybox or any thinker for that matter."
There was a strained chuckle or two from the room. I stood, walking toward the screen. The photo stayed fixed, the blurred image of that hooded figure, head turned, one hand in his pocket, like this was just another night stroll.
"I don't like it," I said quietly. "He's not reckless. That's the worst kind of parahuman, the kind who picks his fights. How the hell does he stay under the radar this long? I want to know, and I want to know it now. Isnt that the trainyard? Wasn't there another parahuman prowling the grounds?"
Collin grunted, "The armoured man that broke my armour hasn't shown up since last month. We suspected that the parahauman that first appeared in the Trainyard had probably left Brockton Bay"
"Can you really confirm that?" I said it matter-of-factly. " We have two tinkers on the loose, god knows where they keep coming from, and they so happen to congregate at the trainyard?"
Miss Militia spoke up for the first time. "Ma'am, at least this Dreamhack seems rather restrained. He's not hostile, ma'am. From all accounts, he's helped more than hurt. It could be worth contacting. A quiet meeting, maybe."
"Or maybe he's casing the city," I shot back. "We thought the same thing about Armsmaster's last friendly Tinker recruit, and we still have half a lab missing thanks to that fiasco." Colin stiffened but said nothing. KidWin really did a number on that lab.
"Until further notice," I continued, "Dreamhack is classified Tinker-6/Blaster-3 just because if we remove that gun, his threat level would probably be just Tinker 6 and Blaster none, with some hand-to-hand combat, provisional Vigilante. Priority Observation. Non-hostile engagement orders only. If we see him again, we monitor, we record, and we do not engage without backup."
Colin nodded, " He may... or may not have subdued Shadow Stalker from the picture during the altercation with the ABB scouts from yesterday."
Miss Militia's expression turned cautious. "Back to Shadow Stalker, if she attacked him first..."
"I don't care who started it! This has gone too far!" I snapped. "She's a teenager with lethal weapons, operating unsupervised, attacking organised crime and engaging unidentified capes. We can't keep sweeping this under the rug."
Armsmaster's voice was quieter but firmer. "Director, if I may, her methods are excessive, yes, but her results are effective. The ABB's been pulling back from several streets she's hit."
"That's not control. Are you gonna wait till there's a body count?" I countered. "She's a liability, not an asset. The moment she kills someone, and she will if this shit keeps up, the PRT takes the blame. We're supposed to contain parahuman violence, not enable it."
Miss Militia sighed. "You're suggesting formal intervention."
"I'm suggesting containment and rehabilitation and send her ass to Bootcamp near San Diego for reeducation purposes" I said sharply. "If we don't act now, we'll have a bloodbath by next month. The ABB's not going to take being hunted quietly, especially not with Lung's temper. The last thing I need is him deciding to come back into the city for revenge."
Renick nodded grimly. "So what's the play?"
I tapped my pen on the folder before me, thinking. "Shadow Stalker has skill, aggression, and an obsession with control. Fine. Then we'll give her control under supervision."
Miss Militia understood first. "You want to push her into the Wards."
"Force, if necessary," I said, tone leaving no room for debate. "She's a juvenile, and that gives us jurisdiction. We'll frame it as a structured path toward legitimacy. Either she accepts the program, or she's detained for unauthorised parahuman activity and obstruction of PRT operations."
Armsmaster tilted his head slightly. "That might not be an easy sell."
"I don't care if it's easy," I said flatly. "I care that she stops shooting people in my streets."
Miss Militia's brow furrowed. "She won't go quietly."
"No," I admitted. "But she will go, I'm only worried she decided to join someone else, like that Dreamhack."
For a moment, the room was silent except for the low hum of the ventilation. The three of them knew me well enough not to argue when I'd already made up my mind.
I finally looked to Armsmaster with a stern warning not to fuck this up. "Coordinate with the Wards team. I want a plan for capture and induction ready by tomorrow. Miss Militia, start prepping the press cover story in case this leaks. We'll frame it as a 'recruitment success.'"
I turned to everyone, "As for that Dreamhack matter"
"Intent doesn't matter," I replied sharply. " I don't care if he saved a nun from a bus fire or if he's operating without registration without oversight; he's a liability. We don't need another self-righteous vigilante playing soldier in my city. Not to mention, I dont need another asian to join the ABB, so that's another angle we need to tackle fast. Approaching the trainyard might be a bad Idea, so be cautious. We can afford to give him a few days; if he's smart, he will report to us directly. Right now, our priority is with Shadow Stalker"
There was a quiet hum from Armsmaster's armour as he processed that. "I can initiate a low-profile recon. Drones, maybe a patrol. If he's unregistered, we can track his energy signature once we confirm he's using equipment."
"Do it, make contact amicably", I said. "And keep it quiet. The last thing I need is New Wave sticking their noses in this, claiming him as some kind of ally."
Miss Militia nodded, though her eyes were thoughtful. "If he's not a parahuman, just… skilled, we might be able to bring him in peacefully."
I gave her a look. "In this city? Peaceful recruitment is a fantasy."
She didn't argue. She just sighed. Another storm over Brockton Bay. And as always, I was the one holding the umbrella while everyone else danced in the rain.
Last edited: Nov 11, 2025
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#68
July 20 2010
Sunday 7.30 am
Waking up inside a Terran Supply Depot wasn't the weirdest thing I'd ever done for the past few days, but realising I hadn't touched a phone in three days, and hadn't slept in a real bed for a while, that was the closest thing to torture: poor sleep quality and the lack of social interaction with actual people. I have no friends here, and no phone to access one.
I am essentially living like a damn hermit, holing myself up like I was in a pcBang except the PC bangs in Asia were actually quite comfortable, you can order takeout and bubble tea and have cute, pretty girls send you your meals and in some places? You could even rent a place to game and sleep.
My previous gaming studio was like that, late-night scrims, training with the region's top ranking pros, scrimming against regional Grandmasters in their homegrown, getting drunk silly, playing Shit the fridge, cho tai tee and digital mahjong if you shit the crapper.
Those were the days-
I sat up on my bedroll, the metal floor humming faintly beneath me as the depot's ventilation system cycled another burst of recycled air because outside air smells like piss and rust, so the blowing cool air at my face, like air conditioning, is very comfortable. It's just..after three days holing up in here, my back started to ache. I miss sleeping in a proper bed.
A few blinking status lights painted the dim interior, and I looked towards the panel screen for the SCV maintenance with resource allocation numbers and turret calibration data… Everything seems fine, all green. All good.
Meanwhile, I might have grown a little agitated.
Three days, man, three whole fucking days.
No phone, no internet, just talking to SCV1 like I'm talking to some goddamn Wall. Look, SCV1 is great, the lovable mech idiot is twice or thrice my size and occasionally acts like a puppy, but it's not really a proper interaction, okay? The tyke aint a full A.I so the interaction is quite limited, besides..I dont wanna offend the cutie. I assure you it's not for scrolling memes, alright? It's not really t-the memes. Don't believe me?
Okay, maybe a little for memes, just a tiny tad bit, Cat pics. cute doggie pics, the internet got those in spades! But I also need it for information. For connection. For something familiar in a world where Kaiju and super superpowered guns and capes were real. How can a modern man such as I live with no social feed?
No Parahuman Online?, no cat memes, not even any inclination to see some Cape short videos like the infamous Collateral Barbie texting while flying and crashing into a building near the docks or maybe check out some of Uber and Leet videos and see what the hype is all about, I'm a curious Asian, okay?
. I really wanna see that. I do. Since coming here, I still haven't seen it. How can I have an authentic Brockton Bay experience if I haven't seen that? It was one of her first debut clips.
And the internet clipped that shit, so I gotta!
and thus it was immortalised.
On the internet.
For everyone to watch and see!
Thus, the tale of Jason Lin continues as I…shall eventually get online, one way or another, plus, there's a reason I need to get outta here, get a proper social life. The food isnt cutting it. Other than living off bad-tasting MREs to keep me company. After yesterday's dinner, I dont think I ever wanna try that again. The taste of nostalgia cannot replace real food. I hunger for Lamian.. cheese tacos, and a good ol' sloppy joe like a true American! Anything is better than MRE.
"Okay, this is no way to live my life", I muttered, rubbing my face. That's what I did in essence, anyway. "Today's Agenda? Try to get myself a phone and food. Yep..definitely these two things."
The depot lights brightened automatically as I stood.
Wow! Cool. I didn't know it could do that. I guess I didn't really notice it since I was dead tired from before I moved on. What time is it? I dont even have a friggin watch to check the time, if only I had a phone...
Sigh…another reason I need a phone. Or a watch. I could probably just make a holopad, isnt it? But there wouldn't be a SIM card to access a valid ISP and telco in this world; besides, I know it won't be compatible. Runs on different computer languages, too.
Another great reason to get a phone!
I looked towards the side and forgot to tidy up the stuff. Just a working H1 Flash Welder and Laser Cutter. If I ever decided to start a company or go legit, some of the stuff that I can offer is this. Made a bunch of grav bombs too, a flash bomb and even one of those Micro spy the size of a dragonfly.
Kept it in a tiny box in my pocket in case I ever need to use one. I even started building a proper Helmet reinforced with Neosteel, but couldn't get it to plate even more armour until I unlocked the tech to produce Tungsten Neosteel or one of those Mercenary plating using Carbon Mono Neosteel that Warpigs and Mira Marauders equip. I just dont have the fabricator until I build myself a proper engineering bay. In the meantime, it does have the essential just…not towards Op sec stuff. Eventually, I could even miniaturise this into a Visor, but for now, this is enough.
The SCV's mechanical voice chimed through the intercom. "Resource quota for day: 64% complete. Estimated completion: 1 day, 7 hours," chirped SCV1 outside.
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, throwing on my hoodie. "Add one more mission objective: find me a phone before I start talking to the walls. Ugh, never mind, scratch that..just build one more Supply Depot if you can find the time to scrounge up enough Butane gas"
"Roger that, boss!" SCV 1 beeped and went to build another supply depot if it could find enough butane around. Once the Command Centre is complete, I'm just gonna bum rush building more SCV so I can build more stuff and hopefully clean up the whole trainyard before proceeding towards the Docks Graveyard. There's more metal there to farm after all.
I stepped out into the morning light, the scent of salt and rust filling the air. The depot door sealed behind me with a hiss as I stepped out and was assaulted by the horrid smell of rust and sea.
I dont think I'll ever get used to the smell. Might wanna consider moving elsewhere. Or wear a mask. I could probably fashion up a rebreather or something like one of those fancy ghost operatives wore.
"Okay, Jason," I said to myself, adjusting my hood. "Step one: find a tech shop. Step two: buy a phone." Easy enough to follow, right? Or maybe I should add Step three: pretend you're not a possibly extradimensional former gamer building StarCraft infrastructure in a world with capes. hah! Like that will ever be me. Nope. What kind of Terran Commander looks like some kind of hobo?
This kind!
The SCV beeped from a distance, like it was mocking me.
I grinned despite myself. "Yeah, yeah, keep collecting those metal, buddy."
I started down the cracked street, hands in pockets, hoodie drawn up against the coastal wind. My body still ached from hauling scrap and sleeping on metal. Thankfully, it's only temporary. If the Command Centre didn't have proper beds, I might need to acquire one for the sake of my back so he wouldn't develop long-term back pain.
Now, I had to figure out where in Brockton Bay a guy could get a cheap burner phone without raising suspicion, especially when all I had were a few crumpled bills from a goddess with questionable betting practices. I sure as hell ain't getting a phone under a hundo.
So buying a new one is out of the question for now.
" I need more bucks," I muttered. "In a city like this, that's not enough for a phone. Maybe for some food, and probably hygiene stuff, but not a phone"
I could nab it from someone or nab money from thugs. The thought made me chuckle. So second-hand phone it is! The Asian market probably had some second-hand phones on sale or something. I could probably get a cheap breakfast and a used phone there.
Still, as I made my way toward the city's edge near the ABB territory at the Asian Market. I couldn't help but notice something else coming my way: drones in the sky.
Tiny, faint shapes against the morning clouds.
I stopped for a moment, narrowing my eyes. They hovered a little too long, scanning areas near the docks, moving in slow, sweeping arcs heading towards the trainyard.
"PRT maybe?" I said quietly. "Or ABB…?"
Either way, I didn't like it. Damn, butterflies are starting to flap their wings. I don't do heroes. I don't do villains. I don't even on a good day do "vigilante." Labels are for people who have free time. Me? I'm just trying to survive. Today's survival priority: a phone. If the PRT or whatever find me out, I'll handle it.
I zipped my other hoodie up over the neosteel plating like it was concealing a bad fashion choice instead of actual armour. The Dreamhack hoodie is on a permanent hiatus until …geez. Until never, I guess. I'm gonna have to keep that hoodie on lock until my public persona and cape persona don't matter, I guess.
The P220 sat snug in an inside pocket, muzzle down, safety on. It wasn't the Gauss rifle, that shit is a tad bit overkill, P220 might just be an average gun, but it packed enough authority to scare a drunk without making me into a headline. That was the point.
Keep everything low-tech and dont show off.
Or at least try to, God knows I need to lay low. Goddess, I mean. I wasn't really religious. But a goddess? really? Where does that put Christianity or Judaism, or even Islam on the map? Buddha? Hinduism? Zeus and friggin Sun Wukong of all things dude...what the hell?
Ya know what? I ain't even gonna question it.
I'll just treat living here as my afterlife, and this is just the result of Karma.
Getting yeeeyah yeeted in the world of Worm.
For real, I ain't even mad.
Just disappointed.
Here I am, upside down, near the Northern area of the docks. ABB territory. Red light district at night. Asian marketplace in the morning.Looking for a second-hand phone like a broke ass asian in need of alms and handout. What would my parents in heaven think? Haha!
Haiya..this failure.
Well, I'm here now.
ABB territory smelled like hot oil and sweet bread this early morning, maybe because there was a Korean Bakery playing K-pop music out here that kinda hit me on the left side with things, warm, sweet, and just cruel enough to remind me that Terran rations taste like sadness mixed with industrial lubricant.
It's...surprisingly good. Sweet and hearty.
Something good? Not this early in the morning. Not in my mornings! hell no...but this is odd, the "something good" turned out to be a single Korean kid behind the counter, rolling and kneading dough like his life depended on it
Hmm... I stared at the Korean kid kneading dough, working hard and noticed a long line of Grandma's aunties and mostly teenage asian girls swooning over the poor kid as he looked dead ass tired trying to make bread while he noticed the boy's parents giggling inside, working on the oven.
Poor kid. This early in the morning, and he's already selling bread. Literally, figuratively. tsk tsk...One girl actually audibly sighed when he punched the dough. What the hell is this? K-pop Bakery Idol?
I walked the alleys slowly, head down, looking for the usual: three dudes loitering outside a closed bodega, a couple of kids swapping cigarettes, someone puking in a stairwell. Early morning scrounging is the best time to take things from people who aren't paying attention.
The boy caught me watching for a second, from one asian to another asian with a different mother, we just stared, just long enough to shoot me a look that said, "Help me." Not verbally, just the silent telepathic plea of every overworked man everywhere. According to the bro code, I should help umu-
I almost saluted him out of respect. I was gonna take the Q too, but damn, that's a long ass line. Those chocolate breads look scrumptious, though, and the sausage buns. Koreans do make the fanciest bread stuff around here, huh? Never seen the other bakers get this much attention.
Or maybe it's just the Korean kid.
Tall, got that K-pop Idol smile, and handsome to boot. Wonder where he gets that haircut? Oh, hey, if I squint my eye a little, he looks like Sun Jin Woo from Solo Levelling.
How about that? Eyyo king, did you get isekaied to worm too?
Haha!
I doubt that's the case.
Honestly, if the ABB didn't recruit him, some K-drama producer would if those guys ever existed in Brockton Bay. I can imagine a series like this existing in Earth Aleph.. "The Bread and the Bakery," maybe. Or "Hangul Flour My Heart: Knead Me Gently." I'd watch it, if only to see if he ever escaped the female MC.hehehe-
"Hang in there, kid," I muttered under my breath as I walked off. "You're feeding half the neighbourhood and breaking hearts at the same time. That's hero work." Yep..sucks to be you. Not me. I'm single as fuck, looking like a hobo, and let it stay that way.
I snickered. I could practically feel the malice from the back of my head, probably from the bakery kid.
Anyong hae…not much problem bro-mida~
Behind me, another round of giggles erupted as the boy slammed the dough on the counter like he was trying to kill it. Poor guy. Yeah, truly, not my problem. You do you hubae. Aja aja hwaitin! Your older Sunbae got shit to do. Bro code is for those who can afford to do it, not me, nu-uh. I'm going bargain hunting for a phone.
I could have - is that kid still staring at me from the bakery?
Weird. I feel a sort of kinship with the dude.
In any case!
I found my mark at a busted-up corner deli further away from the Bakery, a cluster of guys slumped on crates, one passed out against a brick wall, another draped across a motorbike, laughing at something on a phone screen. Their jackets had the red-and-green trim ABB, unmistakable. Breakfast of champions, if your champions are fond of chaos and instant noodles and cheap convenience store bread. At least there's a tech store here, it's just…why does it gotta be swarmed by ABB?
I sidled along the row of dumpsters like a ghost who still remembered how to be awkward in public. Heart rate up, but steady. Years of tournament pressure teach you two useful things: how to focus under stress, and how to judge timing. This was a timing problem.
Before I could hit my target...
Karma had other plans for me-
I heard someone shout,
"Ah! Is you again!"
I turned half-ready to bolt bail bail!! They have a thinker and knew I was gonna rob 'em! I-I was just gonna get a SIM card! Honest! I wasn't gonna beat their ass and steal their phone!!
Maybe…I mean, the thought did appear.
Because let's be honest, in Brockton Bay, getting recognised wasn't exactly comforting, but instead, I saw a short, round-faced woman in an apron waving at me. Took me a second, but I recognised her. Lao Zhang's Noodles.
The place where I'd eaten that glorious bowl of lamian two days ago. First-ever noodle I ate since coming here.
Oh, hey, it's just Aunt Laozhang.
Beside her was her husband, tall, wiry, with that permanent expression of tired amusement that only comes from decades of marriage and noodle-slapping. Yeah..bro is whipped.
Her husband was staring at me, judgingly, with his eyes squinting when they could squint no more "Lengzhai..what are you trying to do?"
"Uh," I said, awkwardly scratching the back of my head. "Morning?"
"You! Come, come!" the lady said, grabbing my wrist before I could protest. "Last time you ate, you never came back! My husband thinks you ABB! I say, 'No, no, ABB no use chopstick so well!'"
The husband snorted. "I still say maybe ABB. He wears a hoodie. Always hoodie." What's wrong with a hoodie?. At least I didn't wear the Dreamhack hoodie.
"I wear hoodies because it's cold," I muttered, being pulled into the shop like a wayward son. Nah, man, I wore a hoodie because it's comfy, and it does make me look like a hobo. Hobos get ignored around here.
Inside, the place smelled like heaven, just like last time.
Ahh--Laozhang Noodles. My favourite place in the Bay.
It's probably the Chinese in me that likes the smell of Szechuan chilli oil, garlic, and broth simmering in a massive pot. Reminds me of my parents' cooking, heck, it even reminds me of my wife's cooking from my last life. My stomach, traitorous and loud, growled immediately.
The lady grinned like she'd just won a prize. "See? You hungry! I make breakfast! You eat!"
Food is food, I ain't complaining.
Before I could even think, I was shoved onto a stool, and a steaming bowl of noodles was placed in front of me. Thick, hand-pulled noodles with beef and scallions. Actual food. I almost teared up. Eating that MRE was so bad, I almost cried. Almost, it's just a tear.
Oh dear lord, sweet mother of Jesus, this is the life. Just eat noodles and live my hermit life. Why does it gotta be this world though? Sigh..But halfway through my bowl, she leaned across the counter, eyes gleaming. "You strong, yes? Can knead dough?"
"Uh… kinda?" Where is this going?
She slapped my shoulder like she'd just knighted me. "Good! Lunch rush is coming. My nephew goes to school. You help make noodles! We pay you, okay?"
I blinked. "Wait, uhh...what?"
After eating, and a few moments later. I'm the newest hire for Lao Zhang Fresh Lamian Noodle. I looked down at the apron 'Lao Zhang's Fresh Noodles: Best in the Bay' and sighed. So this was happening. Hmm..I didn't peg myself to find a part-time job, but here I am, I guess.
Within minutes, I was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, trying to copy Uncle Laozhang's rhythm as he slapped and stretched dough like it owed him money. The wife shouted encouragement over the boiling pots, customers started lining up, and somehow I became part of the kitchen chaos. But there's still time. It wasn't rush hour just yet, just breakfast. And this part of the town dont really take such a hearty and full breakfast in the morning.
"You," she said, pointing her ladle like a divine weapon. "Need a haircut."
Her husband chuckled. "Too long. Looks like a homeless lengchai."
"Hey," I protested, wiping sweat from my neck. "This was a style back in my world...uh, I mean… back in college."
Madam Lao Zhang wasn't buying it. "No excuse. You eat my noodle, you work in my shop, you must look handsome. No customer wants ugly noodle man."
Before I could argue, she grabbed my arm and said something rapid-fire in Cantonese to her husband, who just waved me off with a smirk and went back to him while her husband grumbled something and went back to cleaning.
"Wait...where are we going?" I asked as she towed me down the street like a soldier being dragged to the front lines, not that it mattered, I was here to find a cheap breakfast and phone! Why am I being recruited and then getting told I need a haircut?!
Which I really do, I know..but come on! Wait a sec...where the heck am I? I didn't know the North side was this windy and complicated. Lots of small little roads, kinda reminds me of Hong Kong.
"Haircut!" she barked. "I know hor good place! Very cheap. Very fast. Very stylish!"
That sounded good, I supposed. The stylish part was a little doubtful. How could a Noodle auntie know about fashion, yeah? right up until I saw the sign.
"Golden Dragon Styles." The neon lights flickered in the afternoon light of the asian market district. The inside smelled like hair dye, cigarette smoke, and cheap shampoo. Oh, I really meant it too.
It's ABB crews everywhere. This place? ABB territory, no question. Three guys with tattoos curling up their necks were lounging by the counter, and one was literally sweeping up hair while wearing a red and green headband. For someone who's not into gangs, why are you bringing me here, Auntie?! These people are the ABB!!
Madam Zhang walked right past them like she owned the place. "This ah? My nephew's friend's salon! They give you a discount!"
The ABB crew looked up. One of them blinked at me, then at her. "Auntie Zhang! You bring boyfriend ah?"
She whacked him with her purse so fast I thought she was trained by the Terran Ghost program. "This boy helps at my noodle shop! You cut hair nicely, or I'll tell your mother you bullied Xiaoli yesterday! She still can't walk properly haiya!"
All three of them straightened immediately. "Yes, Auntie!"
I sat down in the cracked salon chair, trying not to make eye contact with the guy holding scissors shaped like they belonged in a slasher film.
"So, uh… just a trim?" I said.
The barber squinted. "Nah, bro. You've got that potential. We give you an Asian drama lead haircut. Besides.. I dont treat you right? My mom's gonna kill me."
"Uhh..okay. But who's Xiaoli?" crap..I shouldn't have asked.
The guy just glared at me straight, "Boy, shut yo ass up and just get the haircut"
Before I could say anything, clippers buzzed to life. A little snip and buzz some ointment? I didn't know they used ointment for your scal,p and a few more close shaves with a really sharp knife near my neck. Ten minutes later, I was watching in the mirror as my reflection morphed from asian hobo to next generation debut Idol. Okay, gotta admit, ABB barber got chops.
When it was done, the barber spun the chair dramatically. "Boom!. Handsome liao! now? You are now Auntie Zhang-approved! How is it, Auntie? Am I off the hook now?"
She nodded in satisfaction. "Good! Now he looks like someone who can sell noodles and break hearts," and slaps the guy's back till he coughs out.
I touched my hair clean, styled, maybe a little too sharp. Hell naw? Who is this? This can't be me. I'm an asian fuckboi, Sun Jingwoo got nothing on this style, horeeey shit, I look damn fine. Wang Yibo? Jackson Wang? Xu Kai? move away, bruh. We got a new cape Idol in the scene. "...I actually like it."
The ABB barber grinned. "First cut's free. Next one, you pay. Or you bring Auntie's dumplings. That works too. You better make 'em like they do or else..."
"Deal," I said, shaking his hand before Madam Zhang could drag me out again. Somewhere someone muttered, "Dammn…where did auntie Zhang find this handsome hobo? From the streets?"
As we walked back to the shop, she beamed. "See? I tell you. Handsome boy! Good noodle, good hair, maybe find a nice girl now!"
Yeah, no shit. There are moments in life when you realise the universe has a sick, cosmic sense of humour. For me, that moment came at exactly 12:43 p.m., when I looked up from the noodle counter and saw the line.
I was gonna get breakfast, get a phone. Go home. build a gun or two. I thought I had plans.
Nah, Karma had other plans.
A line of aunties, giggling office ladies, and way too many asian teenage girls. All waiting. All smiling. All holding their phones like paparazzi at a red carpet event or something, except it's a noodle shop. LaoZhang Noodle Shop. And at the centre of it all, right outside the shop window, stood him.
The bread boy.
That smug, flour-dusted hero from the bakery across the street. The same kid I'd pitied earlier today, while he was surrounded by adoring fangirls. He was leaning against a lamppost, sipping a soda or bobatea, I can't tell, watching me now with the biggest grin I'd ever seen. That mother bread fucker...he better not-!
"Payback's a bitch, huh?" he mouthed through the window.
I swear, I saw actual joy in his eyes. He's enjoying this, isnt he? Hubae…pity your Sunbae pls. Dont be like this. Dont be me! Help?
The dude just grinned and laughed while a girl nearby,his hanger-on, gave him a sip of bobatea while he watched on and enjoyed my suffering-
Niama chao hai, whatever happened to the bro code?!
"Jason! Faster! Pull noodle like you mean it! Customers watching!" right..I'm working right now.
I was trying. What does an ex-coach and ex-pro gamer for an esports team know about making hand noodles? none. I do fried rice like any respectable asian could do, or instant noodles. Not actual Chinese cuisine with thousands of years of history behind it.
My honour depends on it!
My asian creed and honour!!
I got a crash course in Noodle pulling, trying to emulate the Owner as I copied him; every slap of dough against the counter caused another round of giggles from the waiting crowd. One girl actually squealed. Another whispered to her friend, "He's like omg! those Chinese dramas! Noodle Heart!"
What the fuck is a Noodle Heart?!! Earth Bet got some weird ass show I'm not familiar with. I wanted to melt into the floor. Or get hit by an Endbringer. Either seemed preferable.
The worst part? My newly fashionable Asian drama lead haircut, from the ABB salon, made things ten times worse. The sweat on my forehead glistened under the shop lights. Every noodle pull looked like some dramatic slow-motion cooking montage from a romance series.
"Smile more!" Madam Zhang ordered. "You look like you're angry at noodle!"
"I am angry at the noodle!" I hissed back. "And at life!"
Her husband just laughed, slapping the counter as he stirred broth. "Now you understand the true noodle path! It's the bitterness of everyday life, toiling and toiling..good good, you're learning well Lengzhai"
Outside, the bread boy actually pulled out his phone and recorded me. That motherfucker!!
"Stop laughing!" I mouthed at him through the glass.
He raised his bobatea in salute, then waved dramatically before disappearing into the crowd of giggling girls. One of them even pressed her breast on his arm deliberately, Dammm...did I just meet a real life Harem MC? kid got game and rizz..I'm not jelly, who's jelly? not me nu-uh.
Ah fuck that guy! Shibal Saekiya! That Korean prick!
My first job in this world, and I'm getting oogled in public like Noodle Idol is a reality TV show or something.
Baker asshole, even if he got buns for days. It's no wonder I caught girls leering. Bro got the whole package, good boys go to heaven they say..bad boys bring heaven to you, and that one? That one got the whole Bakery package.
Fuck that guy.
By the time the lunch rush ended, my dignity had been diced finer than scallions. Madam Zhang patted my back, beaming. "Good! You make good noodles! Very popular now. People come for noodles and for you. Business double! Almost triple!"
"Yay...houyeng ah.." I said weakly, slumping against the counter. "Glad I could sacrifice my soul for capitalism."
But… it wasn't bad. There was laughter, yelling, and the rhythmic sound of noodles slapping against the counter like the percussion of some culinary battlefield. It's not something I'm used to, but it's not bad.
"Good! You got a strong arm!" Old Zhang laughed. "You noodle man now! Now you know suffer! Good liao!"
"Yeah," I muttered, "just what every ex-pro gamer dreams of: a bronze-tier noodle maker."
Damn..this shit needs stamina, or another bowl of noodles. A single bowl of noodles in the morning isnt enough to power me through four hours of lunch rush. How do these old farts keep doing it day by day? My respect for them just went up a whole bar full. Restaurant stuff is hard work.
I need to work out. My biceps are sore, and my back hurts even more. I need aspirin, Panadol…pain killer…help.