"HEY!"
The shout echoes down the street, vibrating windows. Everyone freezes including Tiger, Cricket, the two gangs, even a couple of pigeons.
I don't give them a second to breathe.
"I JUST cleaned this mess up," I say, every syllable sharp enough to cut steel. "I'm not doing it again because you two feel like marking territory."
Storm Tiger straightens, wind curling around him like invisible claws. He's trying to size me up, big SCV, unknown cape, already handled two gangs solo. His instincts are making him cautious.Cricket tilts her head, blades humming, but even she doesn't charge. Good. At least they have a survival instinct of a proper person instead of a pigeon.
"I don't care," I continue, "who owes who money, who insulted whose ancestors, or why you're all allergic to handling problems like adults. But if anyone here throws so much as a punch-"
I drop the SCV's claw straight into the pavement, cracking asphalt.
"I will end the round myself."
Both gangs flinch backward.Cricket actually shuts her screeching blades up for once. Storm Tiger narrows his eyes but doesn't step forward.
"ABB," I bark, pointing the SCV's claw at them, "go home."
They scatter like cockroaches.
"Empire," I add, turning to the other group, "go home."
They grumble, but they didn't budge. Why would they? Their capes are here. Storm Tiger lingers around while Cricket watches me from behind her visor, blade-drones twitching.
I raise the SCV's visor toward them. Of course, these fuckers want a fight, the stupid parasite in their stupid ass brain probably started egging them to get more data, especially against an unknown mech like my SCV.
"You two wanna fight? Do it somewhere else, away from them."
They didn't budge. Storm Tiger smirked disdainfully, "Why would we? That's a nice mech you got there. Are you a Tinker? Ya know.. Joining the right gang and serving would do wonders for your career"
"Brockton Bay," I mutter. "Why is everyone allergic to peace?"
And I just muttered my annoyance on loud loudspeaker with a tired blank tone. "Oh, look, it's Storm Tigger, Pitmaster of the Third Reich, little-known fact?" I pause for dramatic effect, leaning forward so the SCV's metal arm creaks under my weight. "Not very dope in a fight. You and your sidekick Cricket, with that stupid cage helmet to cover that burnt ass face,"
I then complained further, " I loathe the two of you like I hate all Nazi's but watching the two of you like this? Leading an army of white men? Fucking disgraceful. You're six feet tall and can't even get a date? So you gotta settle on a bitch face with a cage? With those awful skills? I guess you can't even get a white girl pregnant. "
"The fuck you say?!" Storm Tiger got mad first, but I didn't relent.
"Ooo scary, tell me, Tigger boy, do you hate me? Are you so easily given in to the hate? You think you're powerful? With that airbender farce? Think you're hot shit with that finger flick pinches? Think you're the Strumtiger in World War 2? Giving the Sturmmörserwagen their fitting name?"
I just laughed and cackled like a mad villain, making everyone around us uneasy,
" What an epic fail. The man thinks he's a German warfare machine. The fact you dont even wear a shirt with no protection makes me think you think it's all just a joke, huh? For a tank, you're pretty much defenceless. Who you trying to pull a hookwolf? You got no blades to cover u,p not even your stupid tiny wee wee."
I let out a slow sigh. "Must I deal with this?"
Both of them freeze, blades humming, wind swirling, and for once, the predator game stops. Storm Tiger's jaw ticks; his normally sharp, calculating glare falters. Cricket tilts her head, visibly baffled, her cage-helmeted face giving nothing away, but the way her stance stiffens says it all.I can almost hear their mental gears grinding, trying to figure out if I'm joking or just insane.
"The fuck you say?! Say that again!"
"Sure thing, cosplayer, so shut up, stand at attention, you seig fucking heil loser, what's with that lameass posture? You call yourself a proper Nazi with that hunched back? Fucking hell.. at least Krieg dresses smartly, befitting of a Schutzstaffel, the man at least knows how to dress sharp and not look like a hobo out of Connecticut. The least you can do is show some pecks, but all I see is a beer belly bottom. Do you not even lift, bruh…"
I can almost hear their mental gears grinding, trying to figure out if I'm joking or just insane.
"You're dead!"
Cricket did her pulse sonic attack towards me, but it's not very effective since I'm insulated within the cockpit. Cricket can maintain a pulse of subsonic noises to disorient and induce vertigo in nearby opponents. While the ABB gang had already left, the rest of the E88 were affected and started convulsing on the ground. One of them even vomited.
Storm Tiger lunges again with that wing claw strike of his, but it didn't even dent anything, and I let him make a fool of himself. With a calculated swing of the SCV's articulated arm, I knock him off balance, sending him skidding across the concrete with a grunt that's part frustration, part pain. He scrambles back to his feet, glaring, but that momentary advantage is all I need. A bad matchup. If Kaiser were here, id probably run away. The man controls metal after all, but just these two?
I lean back, voice calm, almost bored, letting the mechanical whir of the SCV fill the space. "You're going to have to try harder than that," I mutter.
Cricket steps forward, but the hesitation in her stance is clear. They're both strong, no doubt, but they're reacting to me on my terms now. And right now? I'm not even breaking a sweat. I turned off my external speakers and got to work, and hit my coms.
"Need some of the SCV units to Capitol Hill. Monica, are you hearing this?"
A static later and the coms light up "Yes, Commander, I have your visuals, engaging with hostile presence"
I just laughed at it, " Call in the cavalry, send SCV13 en route here if it's not yet at base. It's only been a few minutes"
"Acknowledge, Commander"
Yeah, just another is enough.
**********************
A/N
A little long because I had a migraine yesterday and didn't post as it wasn't finished.So this is the merge of both chapters, I suppose.
167clowwNov 24, 2025NewView discussion
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Nov 26, 2025
#243
A funny question, if one might ask.
Ya ever thought about pigeons lately?
Dumb little birds, the lot of them. And right now, I have two bloody dumb pigeons trying their best to whack me with powers that dont even work on a hundred-ton mech. I press on the loudspeaker and taunt them, " You can't lift, bruh. Why are you even trying?. A guy like you should just settle down and have kids with the ugly bitchface beside you. Go start a family or some shit, raise some racist pinto kids"
That got him angrier instead "Dont listen to him, darlin'! You're prettier than any gal I've met when you mutilate those idiots in the ring!"
With a hoarse voice, Cricket turned and looked to Storm Tiger with a valid concern on her face as she was clearly confused and didn't expect that "You think I'm pretty?" said so not in affection, but more of a… pure, undiluted I am going to kill you and wear your lungs like mittens energy.
Ah fuck- More rom com nazi drama, give me a break- Storm Tiger realised his mistake in real time. His arm dropped. His whole body stiffened. A bead of sweat practically formed a perfect anime droplet on his temple.
And after I diss them using ERB Hitler with some creative liberty changes of course, still, instead, the man just doubled down in his embarrassment and reall,y really tried to lift the SCV with his aerokinesis. It makes me wanna create a whole disstrack dedicated to this pigeonhead.
Seriously…the dedication to stupidity is astounding.
"Why aren't you even budging a little!!"
That's how heavy the SCV is. Different types of SCV have different weights, of course. The initial models were smaller and far more durable, so they are a little heavier, while some of the scrap versions of SCVs, like Mira's Marauders, were made from scrap, so the weight isnt as heavy since they ran on missing parts and whatever goes tech they can find.
Storm Tiger moved first to lift me while I was chilling inside. Oh, he was trying ever so desperately, of course, not that I fault the man for trying. I just think it's all too silly, I mean…what in gods name are you thinking, trying to lift a hundred-ton mech with Avatar Ang's rejected powers? You know he tried to do that finger flick explosion, right?
Things about explosions are…you really need enough oxygen and proper ignition to create a powerful blast. A pure windblast without any ignition? He doesn't get it at all. How do you tell a Nazi that he's doing it all wrong?
Ever the dramatic type, if you fail, try and try again.
As if the very definition of insanity wasn't taken into account and just…well,
Try, try again? Not to mention he's such a drama queen.
"Why won't you lift!! Arrrghhhh!!!" shouting like a moron, still trying to lift me, I just let him. Not like I had popcorn to enjoy this..farce. As good as trolling a parahuman is, this is getting pathetic to watch.
Dramatic types always lunged like they were in a movie trailer. He came at me in a streak of claws and wind, the pavement splitting under his feet as he bounded forward.
Inside the SCV, I simply lifted one oversized hydraulic arm; I ain't even trying to be offensive; it's more like a bored Asian dad raising a hand to stop a toddler from running into headfirst into the floor cuz you cant bailance your way on the couch properly like an infant., and dont you kid yourself, the man is a manchild throwing a tantrum just because he can't lift.
Storm Tiger hit the metal with all the force of a guy who hadn't done his research. The impact rattled the arm, sure, but mostly it rattled him. Again with that stupid claw move. It barely scratches the paint.
He bounced back with the indignant shock of someone who just discovered the world wasn't built for his convenience. I could almost feel his pride cracking louder than the armour plates if I even cared much, Nope. Not one bit.
Cricket circled next. At least the girl knows her inadequacy and didn't try too much.
She's light on her feet like a gymnast, blades out, doing those quick, jittery movements that were probably supposed to look intimidating. She skittered left, right, back, and forward like a malfunctioning Harley Quinn.
The SCV's sensors tried to track her, got confused, gave up, and flagged her as a "moving hazard object." Fitting, I suppose. I once read that she's able to dodge bullets, too. That's kinda cool when you think about it.
She darted in and slashed the leg assembly. Sparks flew. She probably thought she was doing something meaningful. From inside, it felt like getting tapped on the shin by an angry fork. Admittedly annoying, not remotely dangerous. Unlike failed Tigger over there, the girl at least got some sense to go for the servos.
I nudged the joystick forward.
The SCV stepped. One step. Just one, and she knocks herself into the plating.
Ouch-
Cricket scrambled out of the way with a noise I couldn't hear but could definitely imagine. She moved with the frantic energy of someone who had just realised the thing she was stabbing had the weight and stopping distance of a bulldozer.
Storm Tiger recovered enough to try again, whipping up wind and dust like he was summoning an ancient Aryan spirit or some shit, I dont know any Aryan lore unfortunately. Could make it into a nazi joke hah~!
A dramatic gust slammed into the SCV, coating the visor in a fine layer of gravel. The machine vibrated a little, and that's it.
I tilted the bucket arm down and shook the dust off like a giant metal dog shaking rain from its ears. Storm Tiger's expression said he hadn't expected that level of disrespect from heavy machinery.
Storm Tiger tried leaping onto the chassis, claws digging, but at this point I ain't even controlling the SCV anymore, just have the chair reclined back and set it to auto mode and idle. The machine automatically initiated a slow tilt manoeuvre, as if it were trying to shake a cat off a countertop as it fell.
Storm Tiger fell hard.
For someone with wind power, you would think you could just cushion your fall with wind power, right? Nah..too angry and too dumb to even think calmly in a fight. Gravity did the rest.
Cricket rushed in again, blades spinning, and the SCV simply rotated its torso a fraction. She overshot, stumbled, and nearly collided with her own teammate.
Somewhere behind them, the E88 goons who had been fighting earlier had stopped entirely. Half of them watched like it was a street performance. The other half recorded with their phones, probably wondering who would get more views: Storm Tiger's attempt at mixed martial arts against a construction vehicle, or Cricket's impression of a distressed kitchen utensil? Honestly? I dont know what her role is in this anymore.
Can't use her sonic powers, can't even dent me with her special fork knife. Useless. Bet she's feeling really tired of this shit, huh?
A final shove of the SCV's arm sent Storm Tiger sliding backwards across the pavement, tearing up asphalt as he scrambled for balance. Cricket froze mid-step, reconsidering every life choice that led her here.
I settled the SCV back into a neutral stance, hydraulics hissing, servos humming, like the machine itself was sighing in boredom, but that's just the auto idle mode and probably says something like "SCV Ready! - or - My cow died last night, so I dont need your bull" Those are some good quotes.
The two villains stood there, winded, dented, and thoroughly humiliated by a machine designed to build prefab barracks and dig bunkers and scavenge metal. Definitely not designed to fight kung fu furries and shrieking gremlins.
If there was ever a moment I wished the SCV had a built-in laugh track, this was it.
I turned on the loudspeaker coms and mockingly said, "You done throwing a tantrum yet? Or do you need five more minutes?"
Just in time, SCV13 rolled in without a hitch "SCV-Ready!"
One of the E88 mooks got flustered as SCV 13 rolled in fast with its boosters and began doing minor repairs on SCV12, not much to repair since there isnt any lasting damage."Fuck! There's another one?!"
Storm Tiger pushed himself up more slowly this time. Cautiously. His bravado cracked, leaking frustration and uncertainty. Probably bruised his ego, too.
From the corner of my visor, a new cluster of movement caught my eye. Oh shit, it's the popo-PRT vehicles approaching, lights flashing, sirens muted but unmistakable. And Aegis flying and landing on the rooftop far away, acting like a good Boy Scout.
They were still a ways out, picking their way through traffic, but they were coming fast. From the rooftop, I could see that a few people were coming here fast. Probably the heroes.
Good. That meant I didn't need to drag this farce out.
Cricket turned her head, noticing the incoming response. Her posture tightened, jittering even faster while that bitch resting face turned panicked, several calculating thoughts probably whirled in her mind right now, the cold realisation that this fight wasn't just pointless, it was unwinnable.
Storm Tiger looked between me, the SCV, the approaching PRT convoy, and whatever pride he still possessed. His jaw worked, tension rippling through him, but the outcome was already written all over his face.
He didn't attack again. Neither did Cricket.
"Empire! We fall back!"
They both retreated, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, Storm Tiger's aura dispersing, Cricket's blades retracting as she darted back toward the maze of alleys at the district's edge. The rest of the E88 mooks scrambled with confusion and bugger off to god knows where in every direction.
They vanished into the mess of Capitol Hill like ghosts fleeing daylight.
I could still see Storm Tiger glaring at me when he was about to leave, I just gave him the middle finger and wiggled it to just say..fuck 'em. Or fuck off, mate. The sun is almost setting anyway.
The fighting had stopped a minute before the PRT vans rolled up with no style at all. Black and black on black.
Storm Tiger and Cricket had already bailed, with Tiger limping and clutching his ribs, Cricket scrambling after him with that weird, twitchy sprint that doesn't resemble anything I've seen before, must be some sort of twitch. Judging by how fast they disappeared into the alleys, neither had any interest in round two.
And if anyone asked why I didn't chase them, I could? But I wouldn't. With just an SCV? You're highly overestimating this glorified Space builder. Its primary design isnt for combat but construction.
I stayed in the SCV, hydraulics humming quietly, while the dust settled. When the damn backup finally arrived. Took them a while to respond. A whole 30 minutes since the conflict started. Someone reported it, and they act upon it. Civilian report? Maybe. Lots of phones around her,e even the ABB and E88 could have done so since they didn't want either group to go off scot free.
Still not a response time I would wanna boast about though. It's a bit late if you ask me, considering they only sent someone in a van, and their flier couldn't even scout ahead properly since he's still a ward.
Battery touched down first, still sparking lightly. Miss Militia followed with steady boots-on-the-ground calm. Behind them came the Wards Vista, Gallant, Kid Win, and Clockblocker, all fanning out in practised formation. While Aegis was already here on the roof, giving them the sitrep.
They took one good look at the knocked-out E88, the unconscious ABB, and the very confused stragglers who weren't sure whether to run or pretend to be part of the sidewalk, and their postures all shifted the same way.
What happened here? Miss Militia stepped forward. "Report J, how did you end up here?" while looking up at both SCV12 and 13 standing side by side, while SCV13 was still doing minor repair on SCV12, especially at the lower servos.
I powered down the drill arm and pointed it toward the scattered bodies of some members of the E88 getting knocked out by cricket's sonic attacks. In a way, the ABB got more loyalty since they carry their wounded. Nazi's? Yeah..they Nazi's.
I dont even know what to feel about this since..hey, they are Nazi's. Supposed to be the worst scum on earth, then again..Nazi's oh boy…some of them are just racist pricks, but they have family too. Then I see shit like this, and I go…Ahh..right, as expected..Nazi's..Umu..naruhodo.
"Gang fight," I said. "I stepped in before it escalated. Storm Tiger and Cricket showed up, made it worse, then retreated." As I speak from the external speakers.
Battery inspected one of the unconscious ABBs on the curb. "No fatalities?"
"None," I answered. "Just bruises. Maybe a cracked rib or two. Be right back, gotta check something. I said while dialling down the intercom and turning off the external speakers. It wasn't loud since it proximity proximity-based. Miss Militia nodded and went to coordinate with the rest of the PRT officers. "Thank you for stepping in. We'll take it from here."
I nodded, shifting the SCV into idle mode. "They should be out for another hour. Maybe more for the stubborn ones."
While the rest of the wards muck around, still not noticing I was inside the SCV itself.
Clockblocker whistled softly. "And this Dreamhack guy did all this in… that whoa.. that's a mech? Another one?" He gestured at the SCV.
I shrugged inside the cockpit. "It's more of a construction machine."
Vista eyed the mech like it personally offended her sense of spatial stability.
"It's… big, and there are two of them," she said carefully. Compared to her? Ya, it's big, around four meters tall. Twice the size of a marine. Almost twice the size of a Helbat or a Marauder.
Kid Win pushed his visor up for a clearer look. "Definitely tinker-grade. No signature I recognise, though, but..Whoa, i- is that a plasma cutter?!"
"I'm right here," I muttered inside the cockpit, unheard of course since I didn't broadcast it on the loudspeaker. I could only smile at a ward fangirling about one of my creations…
Gallant moved past, posture professional but calm, surveying the emotional residue like a medic checking vitals. "Nothing unusual for this neighbourhood."
Boots clattered on the pavement, followed by the heavy thump of PRT troopers moving with practised coordination, while I check some stuff on the holoscreen about the updates on my command centre. The Tech Reactor should be done any minute no,w when I heard those wards coming in to check out my SCVs.
"Holy crap," someone said. Cockblocker, if I remembered the file correctly. "Look at the size of this thing. You think it's sentient like one of those A.I?"
Kid Win circled around the mech like a kid studying a new toy. "No heat signatures around it. Systems are idle. What kind of metal is this?" His voice wavered with equal parts excitement and existential panic. "Do you have any idea how complicated it is to keep a rig like this balanced on urban terrain?"
Clockblocker snorted. "You say that like it matters. I just want to know who names themselves Dreamhack. Sounds like a sleep disorder."
"Maybe its a gaming reference " Kidwin said.
"Oh yeah?" Clockblocker said. "What does it mean? Does he hack dreams? Does he hack while dreaming? Does he hack dreams so well the dreams lag?"
Kid Win sighed. "I heard on Aleph/R thread on Pho that it's some sort of gaming sports festi-sigh. Why do I even try with you?"
"Because you love me," Clockblocker said cheerfully.
Battery approached next, all business, gaze sharp but calm. "Whoever piloted this thing drove off two notable ABB capes. That alone justifies a tactical commendation. Console tagged the call: codename Dreamhack…and you do know he's watching right, boys? He's inside one of the mechs.
Good. Attention achieved.
The cockpit hatch swung open. I stepped out. Boots on the ground. Clockblocker's visor locked onto me. Kid Win's flight pack sputtered in surprise. I hopped down from the mech, boots hitting asphalt with a sharp thud just to shock them.
Dozens of eyes widened. Did they really not see me enter the cockpit earlier? Battery glanced at me again. "You're Dreamhack, right? The independent?"
"That's what they call me, Just J is fine enough," I said.
Clockblocker sputtered first. "You..You were inside that thing?!"
I dusted my gloves off. Obviously.
Miss Militia quickly composed herself, but her eyebrow gave her away, smiling or was it something else?
Kid Win actually took a step back. "You… piloted it manually? No neural link? No harness?"
The fuck is a neural link? Why the heck do you even need one for a builder type- ya know what? He doesn't know. It's fine…let it go.
Battery's charge dimmed as she recalibrated her threat assessment. "Everyone, meet J the newest independent Tinker working here on the Brockton Bay. "
I nodded. "That's me."
The whole group recalibrated in real time, shock melting into intrigue, wariness mixing with professional curiosity.
Clockblocker circled me like I was a rare Pokémon. "Wait wait wait, Dreamhack is just… a dude? A tinkery dude? I thought you were a really hot girl..could have sworn that smile was too pretty at the briefing a-and I didn't believe it when Shadow said you were a He… "
What…the fuck.
Me? A girl? Eh?
Do I look like a fucking femboy on a hoodie?! Why hasn't anyone told me?! I thought I was looking like a hobo~!
Vista screamed at Cockblocker "Hey! Control yourself!" Vista turned to me as if embarrassed by her own teammate and tapped the head of Clockblocker "Sorry about him, he's being unprofessional as always"
I shrugged. "Not the worst things I've heard..wait, you saw my pics?" How the hell did they even get pics of me in my civilian form? Fuck. How?! With Shadow Stalker? Was it that time during the laundry thing?
That was almost a week ago!
That did nothing to soothe me. Even the PRT troopers had lowered their weapons only halfway, torn between relief and what the hell did we just witness. Miss Militia stepped forward, tone calm but eyes sharp to steer the damn narrative back to the gang again while glaring at Clockblocker. Aegis was on the roof, shaking his head, and Gallant just facepalmed himself.
"I uhh..sorry?" rubbing his neck like he's done this a dozen times before and didn't even feel the need to be embarrassed.
Miss Militia coughs again. "J … you dismantled an ABB-E88 street clash alone. And then forced Storm Tiger and Cricket to retreat."
She nodded once, accepting that. "Your intervention prevented something worse. We'll file a cooperative action report."
Fair enough, I suppose.
Kid Win approached me with that slow, hesitant walk of someone trying to muster courage before the nerves faded. His visor lifted just enough for me to catch his eyes, and in them I saw the familiar frustration I see in kids I used to coach. The feeling of inferiority and embarrassment about themselves. This is one of those times, too.
"Hey," he said, voice wavering slightly. "Can I… ask you something? Tinker to tinker?"
I gave a simple nod. No pressure.
He exhaled sharply, as if he'd been holding his breath for minutes. "How do you figure out what your thing is? Your specialisation. Everyone says tinkers have one. I've tried everything. Weapons, armour, drones, and skates? None of them feels right. I feel like…" His gaze dropped to the floor. "Like I'm forcing it. Like I'm building blind."
I knew his specialisation. Of course I did. The kid wasn't meant for single-purpose gadgets. His power wanted systems transforming and always ever shifting. The keyword was Modular. Modular platforms built to adapt moment-to-moment. But I couldn't exactly tell him that without raising eyebrows.
So I leaned against the warm metal of the SCV, letting the soft ticking of cooling hydraulics fill the space between us. Since SCV13 has been done with the repairs and remains Idle as well.
"Try not to think too much and just enjoy the process."
He looked up, frowning in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"When you build something," I said, "what part do you obsess over? Even when you don't have to? What do your hands redo three times because it doesn't feel right yet?"
He blinked at me, thinking. Really thinking.
"…I guess I always focus on the attachment points," he said slowly. "Making sure stuff snaps on and off easily. I spend more time on that than the actual weapon or gear. I always redesign those parts."
There we go.
"For me, my first idea was I wanted a drill, then I started making a drill, then I thought, it would be cool to mix a drill and a hand, so boom! Hand drills! Then I thought… It's a shame it's just a gauntlet. Why not build a mech? BAM! I built a mech with a drill! And so forth and so on..till you see these two baddies behind me," I said while SCV 12 turned and waved with its drill hand, and SCV 13 waved with its plasma cutter hand just to prove a point.
"Instead of treating your tech like final products, treat them as foundations. Platforms. Something meant to shift depending on what you plug into it."
Kid Win stared at me as I'd just handed him the blueprint of a universe he didn't know existed.
"A… reconfigurable system?" he whispered. "Adaptive gear? Modular…"
He cut himself off, eyes widening behind the visor. A spark had caught. He stepped back a little, breath unsteady but energised at the realisation when his powers just clicked right.. "Thanks. Seriously. That… that actually helps. A lot."
He turned away slowly, almost in a daze, as if his mind had already sprinted ahead to a workshop filled with half-disassembled prototypes. Guiding tinkers without revealing foreknowledge was going to be a long-term challenge.
Kid Win was halfway across the lot, still walking as if he'd discovered religion in the shape of a circuit board, when I called after him.
"Kid."
He stopped immediately. Hope flickered behind his visor—hope mixed with confusion, because he hadn't expected me to say anything else.
I jerked my thumb toward SCV13, still standing there, newly minted, fresh off the Command Centre from 2 days ago, and I haven't seen a lot of mileage. "How would you like to own one?"
I spoke into the intercom to Monica.
"Monica, disable SCV13 protocol and reset it, save its digital matrix and transfer it onto a new SCV within the Command centre. Just build a new one and transfer it"
Monica replied, "Acknowledge. Are you giving the SCV away?"
"Affirmative, call it an early summer present to nurture a young Tinker so he can protect himself better, not like the PRT ever provides any armour for these kids, it's just costumes and bare minimum gear. Those PRT troopers here have more combat gear than the kids"
I silently pinged Monica across my coms link using psionic communications with the tools I have in this pseudo Ghost helmet.
Monica. After you strip SCV13 of all sensitive data. Pull the operational core, the personality matrix, everything that gives it bad habits or remembers my coffee preferences. Transfer all of it into the new chassis under construction back in the Command Centre, and install a blackbox program on 13. I wanna know how many holes the PRT has from the inside.
Her reply came through instantly, crisp and efficient as always.
Acknowledged. SCV13 data extraction in progress. Core transfer to SCV24 is underway. Blackbox programming initiation once the SCV is near the designated area.
Perfect. I at least need to spy on Calvert without him knowing he's got the upper hand on this. At least this is a way in. I'm sure they would probably find something, but with Monica, all your base belongs to me anyway. Super terran UED A.I with military spec programming. What can you do?
"You want a head start?" I said. "Take it." I gestured towards SCV13 as it powered down to reboot itself. "That one is all yours"
For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't even try to breathe. The world around him seemed to freeze a little at what I had just given him. Vista pausing mid-lean, Clockblocker straightening up in surprise, Aegis muttering something under his breath. I would act like that too if I get a free mech when I was a dumb kid. Who doesn't like mechs? Boys will always have love for mech culture.
Even the PRT troopers nearby went momentarily silent as if the absurdity of what I'd just said had short-circuited collective logic.
Kid Win pointed at himself. "Me?"
I shrugged. "SCV13 is yours."
I saw the exact second the words broke through the shock. His stance faltered, like he'd been caught stepping into a dream without permission. "You're… giving me a tinker-grade mech. A working mech. A functioning working..woah..wha?"
He couldn't finish the sentence. The kid was trembling, hands hovering over the SCV's side panel as though he was afraid touching it would make it disappear.
Behind us, Clockblocker whispered, "He's gonna pass out."
Vista elbowed him sharply. I just sighed. Kids will be kids.
"Don't get too excited," I said. "It's not just a gift. It's homework."
Kid Win snapped his attention back to me, still stunned. "Homework?"
"Figure out how it ticks. Reverse-engineer what makes sense. Don't try to copy it sin by sin, use it to understand yourself better. Make another one if you can," I tapped the chest of the SCV.
"This is a platform. A canvas. Now think of something modular. Something you wanna add onto the mech that makes it better?"
He stared at me. That spark from earlier had become a wildfire, he wondered why the hell did I even wanted to give it to him. He nodded, a shaky, reverent motion. But still grateful "I'll take good care of it oh damn..Armmaster is gonna freak out."
"I expect he will, but he has his own toys. Now you got yours.."
As he touched the SCV like someone greeting a sacred relic,
Kid Win didn't need a fully sentient construction unit following him around like a loyal dog. He needed a machine he could learn from, not one that would try to teach him how to build a supply depot just because it felt nostalgic.
He walked alongside SCV13 with the cautious awe of someone escorting a baby dragon. The way he kept touching the plating, ot would have been funny if it wasn't so painfully relatable.
I remembered being that kid once.
"Okay, so… let me get this straight," he said, gesturing at the retreating mech. "You just gave him a robot. Like…like it's a spare bike. A spare scooter." Cockblocker said, still reeling at how generous I am, as he even muttered "Dammmn..this Tinker is loaded as fudgggee..I gotta get me some of that loot"
." Dont worry about it..I got like plenty more of those back on base"
Kid Win had barely coaxed SCV13 when I felt the Wards' eyes pull back to me like gravity, or maybe like prey animals finally realising the lion was still standing behind them.
Clockblocker was the first to break the silence.
The world seemed to pause.
Vista blinked twice. Even stoic Aegis overheard me, but didn't respond either. Everyone I see seems to have brain exe. Frozen still, even Miss Militia, standing off to the side, reading an update from her earpiece, visibly froze.
Clockblocker's visor tilted. "Wait..hold up…hold up..that ain't right. You said Plenty? Plenty more… Plenty of what?"
"Mechs," I said casually. "Like that one."
Silence. Pure, unfiltered silence. Ah wait..I thought they knew? Didn't PRT usually do recon on potential PRT on the bay? They should know about me, right? Then again.. It's only been a day since I built that much…oh, wow. Has it only been a day? Oh…they dont know.
woops?
So I guess the silence is warranted.
Not the normal kind either, this was the type of silence that had weight. The kind that said everyone here is re-evaluating their life choices. And it's all my fault, yep.
Aegis cleared his throat. "How… many?"
I shrugged and just told them the truth. "Twenty-something. Depending on what's finished being assembled." Vista made a small, strangled noise that sounded like the word what trying to escape through a collapsing throat.
Miss Militia slowly lowered her phone. "Twenty… fully operational… oh"
"Twenty-four," I corrected. "Though SCV24 is still updating its data after I gutted thirteen. Give it a few minutes."
Clockblocker threw his hands up. "He numbers them. Oh my god, he numbers them. He's not even joking. T-that's why it comes in numbers. I thought it was just the model type..aha.."
Aegis's voice dropped, like he was afraid saying it louder would summon a federal audit. "You just-hijo de puta.. Unbelievable."
"That's one way to put it," I said…Fuck indeed. At this moment. I knew that I probably fucked something up.
Their shock hung thick in the air, as I'd just admitted I kept nukes in my garage for rainy days.
It wasn't even a brag, I was stating a simple fact that I have… a lot of mech to uh…farm me metal and stuff and also gas. Lots and lots of gas. Oh, come on!
That's what they do on StarCraft! Just build lots of SCVs and roll out!
But for the PRT? For capes used to tinkers who could maybe build one cool gadget every few weeks? Yeah, I seem like the abnormal cunt who came to their city and messes with the balance and shit.
Twenty-plus SCVs were uhh..well. It was insane by ordinary standards, I suppose.
Clockblocker took a step back. "Dude, you're a whole… faction."
I didn't say anything. I am the whole faction, the Dominion Empire and the whole Terran forces. Aegis stared at me with the slow horror of someone piecing together an algebra problem they really wish they hadn't started. "And you're registering as an independent?"
"...."
He exhaled, helmet tilting upward. "The Director is going to have an aneurysm."
Miss Militia's tone was gentler but no less stunned. "You realise this level of manufacturing is on par with a high-level tinker team, right? Almost a small army."
"Correction," I said. "A non-combat industrial workforce, if I could have fought back, I would have chased Storm Tiger and maybe caught him too."
Clockblocker muttered, "Yeah, until you put guns on them. Why haven't you put guns on them?"
Vista smacked him in the head again, " Dont give him any Ideas!"
I pointed at him. "Not part of the plan."
He lifted his hands. One of his hands was still rubbing the slap by the little angry green munchkin"Hey, I'm just saying.If a guy says, 'I don't plan to build an army,' that's usually the exact phrase villains say before-
Vista kicked his shin. He yelped again. Does that boy not learn anything? I sighed and stretched my shoulders, letting the tension ease. "Relax. If I wanted to take over the city, I wouldn't be doing it with SCV."
Clockblocker rubbed his shin. "Right, you'd use all twenty." Miss Militia pinched the bridge of her nose under her mask.
Aegis muttered, "Please… please don't."
And through all the shock, the fear, the awe, they didn't realise something important. This wasn't even the impressive part. I could build far more dangerous, lethal stuff. I just won't..not yet. Anything else is too …deadly for this pageantry they're trying to cosplay around and do a play among villains versus hero stuff.
But judging by their faces, I figured I'd save that revelation for another day.
One citywide heart attack at a time.
I got a new ping from Monica
" Tech Reactor Complete Commander.Proceeding to build a Factory assembly"
A little devilish grin on my face. Now we're getting somewhere.
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Hookwolf aka Brad Meadows - POV
The training yard was already loud, like all the little shite's here punching below their weight.The thud of fists into bags, the wet crack of knuckles on bone, the barked orders from older recruits pushing the new initiates to their limits, their pathetic limits, but when the notification chimed on my burner, the world seemed to fall into a sudden, unnatural quiet.
I didn't stop the session for this, The men knew to keep working unless I said otherwise. Or my name isnt Brad Meadows, I simply stepped back from the circle of sparring bodies, the metal beneath my skin humming with a restless irritation I didn't bother to try hiding,
.The dust kicked up around me as two initiates slammed each other into the concrete, but my focus was on this video I received entirely onto the video loading on my cheap broken cracked phone screen.
I was expecting a report from Storm or Melody. Maybe even a victory clip trashing those inferior race down to the ground and gain an inch closer into the docks territory.. Maybe Cricket carving someone up for entertainment mutilitating some asian face with a smile on his face twisting it withing the skin and flesh like she always does, or brag about getting a new scar. At worst, a stalemate. Capitol Hill wasn't supposed to be complicated.
The video began shakily, one of his idiots was filming while lying on the ground. Sounds fuzzy from the stereo vibrating from the Crickets' sonic attack. They tend to destroy any sound quality temporarily.
The image tilted up just in time to see a massive, industrial mech pivoting on heavy metal legs, Blue paint markings smeared with dirt and impact scoring. Bright lights glared from its chest. Hydraulic pistons pumped like a heartbeat. A walking slab of steel and torque. Hi-tech industrial servos meant for heavy-duty military grade, he has seen one of those before on Tanks. Someone's being fancy with this.
A construction rig? Something weaponised by a cape with more ego than sense. So a new cape. That's why they are late?
Storm Tiger lay embedded in the side of a ruined car like someone had slapped him there with casual contempt. Cricket staggered nearby, clutching her ribs in a way that suggested the mech hadn't so much hit her as folded her. And the machine was this lumbering metal brute and just stood still over them as the two of them bumbled, fighting with not a single dent on it.
What kind of fucking farce is this shite?!
. The metal along his arms rippled.
A new parahuman. A tinker, probably. And an industrial-class mech at that. Something skitters or back-alley tinker wannabes couldn't build even on their best day. This wasn't some cobbled-together scrap heap. Weight class alone made it a problem. And the operator clearly wasn't afraid to use it. Probably weighs like a tank ,too. I've seen Storm lift an empty freight train. That thing is easily over 30 tonnes.
He watched the mech tilt slightly, almost as if mocking them, before the feed cut out as the holder was kicked or thrown. The last frame was Storm Tiger struggling to pull free from the cratered car door.
Storm Tiger had been humiliated.
Cricket sonic attack didn't work on it.
Two of his best fighters were made to look like rookies in front of half the goddamn bay.
That wasn't just disrespect. That was a declaration of war.
I rolled my shoulders in with my rage held in. Metal clicked, slid, and sharpened along the skin as the sharp material rolled out from his core and changed him despite trying to be calm about it.. The recruits nearby glanced at him nervously, some stopping mid-spar, others too smart to break rhythm but clearly aware of the shift in the air.
They all felt it. The temperature of the room had changed,
Had to force my powers inside and let the metal calm. Fury was expected, but uncontrolled fury was beneath him. Rage was a weapon. Not a leash. He's a warrior. Probably the only true Aryan warrior left on this god forsaken earth.
So he breathed. In. Out. And let his thoughts sharpen.
I stood in the middle of the training pit, boots planted in broken concrete, the stink of sweat and blood hanging in the air like a familiar fog. The recruits kept swinging, dodging, stumbling around me, but I wasn't watching them anymore.
A new player. A tinker with high-end hardware. Enough power to toss E88 capes like toys. Enough gall to do it publicly. My eyes were on the video still burning in the corner of my vision, Storm Tiger and Cricket tossed around by some smug tinker kid in a giant industrial mech.
It wasn't the loss that bothered me.
Loss happens. Even to the strong.
N, what twisted in my gut was what the whole thing represented.
This era… It's wrong. I've always known it, always felt it simmering under my skin like molten metal waiting to be shaped. I was born at the wrong age. In a time where men don't train, they accessorise. Where fights aren't fought for challenge or victory, but for clips and views. Where even Nazis show up to spar and then complain when their knuckles bruise.
Everyone wants to be strong without earning a damn bit of it. Like this Tinker. Just build something to fight for you. No respect for the struggle and the tenacity needed to build warriors.
A hundred years ago, fifty even… I would've been exactly where I belonged. In the arena. In the thick of a raid. In a world that understood what strength meant like Rome and the gladiators. Where bloodsport was an officially sanctioned sport, where a slave can rise into a champion and be s slave master.. You fought with your hands, your teeth, your rage. You proved your worth or died proving it. Clean. Simple. Honest. The strong live and the weak perish.
But now?
Now the world hands out power like party favours.
Gadgets, guns, tinker toys are doing the fighting for people who've never felt a real hit in their lives. That kid in the fucking mech!!
He didn't win because he was strong. He won because he never had to feel the weight of the fight. Just pressed some buttons and let the machine do the work.
And Storm Tiger… Cricket… for all their flaws, at least they fight. They understand the dance. The impact. The risk. They bleed for it. They breathe for it, and the fucker dare to humiliate my warriors?!
The recruits around me now?
Some of them can barely hold their stances. They think they're warriors because they passed initiation and slapped a swastika on their chest. Kill a nigga, and they think they hot shit, Kill some asian chink and screw their eyeballs, and they think they mademan, Mafioso. Proper Peakly Blinders like it's in the roaring 20s. Those eras are dead.
They want to look strong, not be strong.
I rolled my shoulder, metal grinding pleasantly against itself again unsatisfied with my current situation. The sound grounded me. Reminded me of what I am what I've built myself into. Not through shortcuts. This pure fucking grit!
Through pain.
Through choice!
I choose pain over convenience! Because the world is weak!
This world doesn't make warriors anymore. It makes dumb idiots with power and how to use it for power plays that hide behind Masks. Children play at rebellion because it makes them feel important.
Fine.
If the era won't give me warriors, I'll carve them out myself. Rip the weakness away layer by layer until what's left is something worth calling a fighter.
Storm Tiger and Cricket will crawl in soon, battered, humiliated, probably blaming everything except their own slip-ups. I'll deal with that. I'll deal with them. And then I'll deal with this new mech-brat who thinks power is something you can manufacture in a garage. Then the man was going to learn very quickly what it meant to offend someone whose entire body was a weapon designed to tear steel into ribbons.
And just so happens, they dragged their ass in as I mull things over.
Storm Tiger limped into the training pit first, one arm around a bruised, wheezing lieutenant, the other clutching his ribs. Cricket followed behind him, her movements stiff, her mask tilted from a dent that wasn't there this morning. The rest of their men trailed after them like a procession of shame. Fucking pathetic.
Training stopped. Recruits stepped back as if weakness were contagious, like they should, just like real aryan warriors. I didn't say a word, just stood there, arms folded, waiting.
Storm Tiger met my eyes and winced before speaking.
"Hookwolf… we, uh… ran into an unexpected problem."
Cricket lifted her hands, signing sharply, A joke. A literal joke. We got clowned.
Storm Tiger grimaced. "We went to Capitol Hill to break up the ABB retreat, and hey..look, it wasn't our fault. The guy showed up in this massive mech, like something out of a science fiction movie. Thing moved like a tank but hit like a truck."
Cricket slapped her hands together in frustration
I clicked my tongue. "Get patched up. Both of you. Your men, too. Call Othala if you need to."
They began to move, but I stopped them with a look.
"And later," I added, "you're going to tell me everything. Every movement, every angle, every mistake. Because if some cape with a glorified construction toy can humiliate the Empire's frontliners…"
Storm Tiger swallowed hard,
"…then we have a bigger problem than the ABB." Hopefully, they got the message. This doesn't need to be Kaiser's problem just yet.
Storm nodded and then looked to one of the corpses of a sacrificial body for the initiates that passed, the rot hadn't set in, probably died within an hour or so.
He clenches his arm and forms an air claw, levitating as the wind keeps pumping in with more compression. Storm Tiger then compresses it and releases it at the corpse, blasting it into many pieces, scattering the flesh and skin matter and bones scattering about. One of the bones even nicked Cricken on the arm with a flesh wound, but she just stares at it.
That was his best yet, and even I know it wasn't his fault. It was just a bad matchup. Still, he would have tried to find a weakness or something if he didn't lean into his anger. A fighter who gets ruled by anger isnt a very effective warrior.
I turned to him and said, "Clean that up," as I heard him mutter
"So it wasn't me…that fucker…When I find him, I'll blow him up just like that corpse"
I let my claws slide out with a slow, metallic rasp. I stared at them both, the bruises, the embarrassment, the bitterness under their words.
A mech. A damn construction mech.
Not even a proper weapon.
—--
Jason POV- Back at the Command Centre- time 7.00 pm
I collapsed into the metal chair in the canteen with the kind of full-body sigh that only comes after a few hours of being interrogated politely, then less politely, then politely again. The PRT had that down to an art form
Fucking smile, ask a question with a smile, ask harder and of course…with a damn fucking smile.. Miss Militia and Battery didn't raise their voices once, but you'd swear they were trying to peel my armour plates off with their words alone judging by their need to know about my base and my SCVs.
I'd slipped out before they could escalate to the"please step into this testing chamber phase. Fuck that. A man has limits.
Now, finally back in the dim steel warmth of the Command Centre, I dug into the tray in front of me. "Zerg burger," the label said, which had nearly made me drop the thing on sight if Monica didnt tell me it was made using a grass-like substance like tofu from the things they harvest around the base. Plant material bioengineering. Food chemistry for the 2251.
. But the moment I bit into it, holy hell. Crunchy edges, soft interior, the savoury umami kick Monica somehow coaxed from grass and spices.
Across from me, Trainwreck sat sprawled in a seat far too small for his current cybernetic frame, happily inhaling a second burger. His new body clicked and buzzed with minor servos adjusting as he ate. Every time he moved, little indicator lights blinked like he was perpetually in 'diagnostic mode.' The sight was oddly comforting.
He gave me a thumbs-up with his metal hand, plating hissing faintly. "Burger made by an A.I adjutant. You're really lucky, Jason," he said through a full mouth. "High-protein, low-cost, low-morale damage. Perfect dinner. I could eat this forever."
I didn't answer. I just chewed and let the exhaustion roll off me and just grunted "Mmhhmm" and nod as well.
The Command Centre hummed with the low, steady sound of SCVs in the next bay welding something, new structures, repairs, the usual. I think they are installing the new armour upgrades. Decided to upgrade the Neosteel Mk1 to Mk2. Space-grade edition.
A warm orange glow pulsed rhythmically along the far wall, where the Tech Reactor construction was underway behind reinforced glass outside at the barracks…I should check the place out later.
For a moment, I stared at the reactors within the canteen room with a slow rise, the way scaffolding retracted smoothly as the top plating descended into place. A twenty-billion-dollar project in the real world, built here by a handful of drones in a few hours by recycling gas and steel. The world would kill for a tech like this.
Meanwhile, the PRT nearly had a panic attack over one SCV I decided to give to Kidwin. Here's hoping he can really add more stuff towards it. I kinda want to see dear ol Pigot get an aneurysm. Maybe I'll accidentally drop by and accidentally heal her without her permission and feign ignorance about it, Kidney failure? Not in my timeline!
Trainwreck didn't notice my thoughts drifting until halfway through his burger. He wiped sauce from his chin with the back of his metal hand ineffective, as it only smeared more. But still happy since his disposable thumbs actually work unlike his previous bulky ones.
"So," he said. "You survive the cape trip?"
I let my head tilt back. "Barely, mostly kids doing kids stuff. The wards are a mess.."
He barked a laugh, metallic echo and all.
"Wards seemed pretty nice," he added. "Except the kid who thought your mech was gonna explode."
I groaned into my hands. "Cockblocker huh… Well, all of them got their own quirks and story behind those mask"
"Educational. Did you really just dump her ass there? Are you sure you dont want her here?. " he asked about Sophia.
"Yep, a kid at her age should mingle around kids and get a semblance of a normal life, even if it's a superpowered one. Besides, I'm still guiding her, im monitoring her as we spea,k even when she doesn't wear that gear"
Trainwreck just shakes his head," Did you bug my body too? Tell me," He questioned me about his new cybernetic frame. I shake my head "You're an adult, I dont need to watch you and babysit you if that's what you mean to ask"
I returned to the burger, savouring the tangy, smoky flavour. Whoever named it "Zerg" anything deserved psychological review, but I couldn't deny the taste. I'm a slow eater because I enjoy my meal. Im just really, really glad to have good food, even if it's alien and weird as fuck.
Trainwreck leaned back, chair groaning under him. "You sticking with this 'independent contractor' thing?"
"Until further notice," I muttered.
"Dont know bout you, but I think I'm getting antsy not punching anyone lately boss" " he munched thoughtfully. "Also, you get to come home with two gangs' worth of bruised egos on your bumper. I kinda wish for some action too"
I didn't even bother denying it. Powers want to be used. That's just his broken shard, not sharding right. So all it can do is mess things around, even if things were pretty swell right now. Broken triggers are like that. Cauldron forces powers onto individuals by injecting them with a "shard". Unlike natural triggers, which happen during extreme stress,
Cauldron's process is more like forcing the shards to adapt to the human body as quickly as possible. Case 53 is just a symptom of a worse design.
Trainwreck was already halfway through a third burger, blissfully unaware of concepts like "full."
"Monica," I called, leaning back in my chair.
A hologram shimmered into existence above the table: her usual crisp military projection, UED uniform immaculate, expression neutral enough to make a tax auditor proud.
"Yes, Commander?"
I fished into my pocket and pulled out the cheap plastic card I'd snatched off an unlucky E88 grunt earlier. It was the most mundane thing imaginable, just a scratched magnetic stripe and a faded logo from a no-name credit union. Practically a fossil in my world, it was phased out entirely for better security measures, but this is 2010. Not 2050.
"I want this topped up," I said. "Not traced. Not flagged. Just… filled. Quietly."
Monica didn't respond yet or choose not to, the artificial eyelids moving with almost human annoyance. "Define filled."
"Enough for groceries, some supplies, maybe renting a truck if I need to move a barracks in disguise. Nothing insane." I tapped the card against the table. "And I don't want to steal from civilians. Or anything legit. Just criminals. Organised ones. You know the type."
Trainwreck mumbled around his food. "Guy wants Robin Hood funds."
I snapped my fingers at him. "Ayyy, my man! See? He gets it."
Monica didn't sigh, but I could feel the digital equivalent emanating from her processors.
"Commander," she said, "UED cyberwarfare protocols are designed for interplanetary espionage, destabilising hostile governments, and collapsing enemy logistics chains. Using them to top up a low-security civilian magnetic-strip bank card is just…"
"Monica."
She paused for a while.I held up the card between two fingers. "I've been fighting Neo Nazis and budget yakuza all day. Please. Humour me."
Another micro-glitch blink of the holographic eyes. Then she straightened from her holofeed. "Initiating low-profile financial siphon."
A soft ripple of blue code poured down the projection like rain. Trainwreck's chewing slowed as he watched the display, mesmerised.
Monica narrated as she worked her magic, not for us, but because her UED systems weren't built to hide their own brilliance.
"Accessing global illicit financial networks…bypassing sockpuppet, entering onion network, skimming sub-cent increments from organised criminal operations to minimise traceability… embedding transactions within layered shell corporations… rerouting through outdated SWIFT nodes with forged timestamps… synthesising false account histories… obfuscating trails with recursive laundering through darknet escrow markets…"
I blinked. "Uh, Monica? How much did you just move?"
The projection hesitated. "The operation is ongoing, Commander."
"How much so far?"
She tilted her head, calculating. "Approximately one million thirty-two thousand, six hundred and fifty-two dollars."
Trainwreck choked on his burger.
I sat upright. "Monica! I said small!"
"Commander," she replied, "this is small. A few cents from each organisation. Spread across hostile networks globally. Statistically invisible." A faint pause. "Even the one known as 'the Numbers Man' will be unable to detect this pattern. It is beneath his threshold for analytical relevance."
I stared at the card.A cheap, flimsy piece of plastic. Now casually carrying enough funds to buy half a used car lot. Fuck no..I could buy the half of the real estate at the docks. She just made me a millionaire in a minute.
"Is this… illegal? Fuck of course its illegal. What am I saying?I feel bad for taking this." I asked weakly.
Trainwreck laughed hard enough to rattle his new cybernetic ribs. "Bro, everything we do is illegal if you squint. You are living on government property and not paying taxes and rent is illegal."
Monica nodded crisply. "All funds were sourced exclusively from criminal organisations. The PRT would classify this as 'a morally ambiguous intervention.'"
"I classify it," Trainwreck said, raising his half-eaten burger, "as dinner and a movie. What's new this Summer? I saw an ad for Inception. A movie from Aleph. Want to rent it on pay-per-view?"
I rubbed my temples.
"Well, sure. Here's the card number," I muttered the number to Trainwreck as he jotted it down, then sliding the card back into my pocket as if it might explode, "at least now I can buy Sophia something that isn't cafeteria food before the PRT makes her do paperwork. Oh..I can use this to pay Danny for manpower too."
Monica flickered. "Would you like another siphon cycle, Commander?"
"NO!! L-lets not be hasty with it."
"Very well," she said with a smirk on her hologram face. Her projection dimmed and vanished. That cheeky little bugger.
Trainwreck nudged me with his elbow, metal on metal since I was still in partial suit plating. "You realize you're basically a millionaire now, right?."
I folded my arms on the table and groaned.
"I'm a guy who wanted Dinner and accidentally committed international financial micro-warfare."
He shrugged. "Welcome to Tuesday," he said. Leaving to get his pay-per-view of Inception.
"Fuccccckkkk…It is still Tuesday Night," I said lamely.
I left the canteen still feeling the weight of that stupid plastic card like it was radioactive. A few cents from every criminal syndicate in the world, what could possibly go wrong? Nothing, apparently, according to Monica. Everything, according to my anxiety. Hat lady better not make a surprise Mothafucka behind my ass when I'm in my shower bathing…
No, I dont need that image of Contessa Peek a Boogieman, my ass when I'm in my birthday suit. Fuck that.
The air inside the Command Centre tasted faintly of ozone and metal, fresh construction, and that sterile hum of Terran tech running in perfect sync. It always felt strangely comforting. Like living inside a factory that secretly cared about me.