[IC] Worm - The Malfesant Throne

[SkinnyTy]

Bryson Green (Ifrit)

The Zenith - Protectorate HQ

---

One day in the Boston Protectorate, one day, and apparently that was all it took for them to figure out my biggest weakness…. Mornings. As the third alarm started to ring on my night stand, and that is third simultaneous alarm, it was at least the 8th chronological alarm this morning, I decided it was time to give up the fight. At this point, even I couldn’t stay asleep with all that noise, and was staying in bed as much out of principal as stubbornness. That is what hero-ing is all about right? Even when the bad guys are winning you are supposed to give them your middle finger because that is what heroes do…. That is how all the stories work anyway. I was no longer so sure that those stories were written by actual heroes, or anyone who considered their alarm a mortal enemy.

Wide awake at this point, I sprung out of bed all at once. After disabling the onslaught of alarms, I checked my phone for all the news the night had brought, checking the global goings on, my interest specific feed, and the local news, which was unfortunately still set to Phoenix, where I had been a ward only a week ago. I mentally noted to change it later, but right now I had somewhere important to be!

After quickly getting the typical morning chores done, and getting dressed in some warm athletic clothes to make up for my Arizona developed thin-blood, I made my way to a balcony.

They say every city has a personality, something that can be reflected in its history, its economy, its people, and its protectorate teams. Boston, seemed to speak of overcoming unbearable odds, of making more than anyone expected out of any situation. This seemed to be embodied in the magnificent feat of engineering that was the Zenith. A massive, beautifully constructed, intimidating wonder of the world, it hovered over the Boston bay, giving a breathtaking view of the city before me. It was gorgeous, although I would be lying if there wasn’t a part of me that felt constantly afraid that either myself, or the Zenith as a whole would plummet into the unforgiving, icy waters below. I put those thoughts aside for the moment to appreciate the view.

Yesterday had marked my arrival in Boston, it had been a rush without time to meet anyone, get much done, or least of all play tourist, but when I saw the Zenith I promised myself that I would find some way to get a look at this view. I breathed it all in, admiring the crisp, cold morning air of January, the snow-covered city below me was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I wasn’t usually one to put aesthetics over pragmatism, but I could appreciate a view, and whatever it cost to build this wonderful monstrosity, it was worth it for the view alone. Of course, views of rivers, valleys, mountains, canyons or whatever were all beautiful, but in my opinion city-scapes were the best the world had to offer. No, buildings were not very interesting in their own right, but the people. Every time I stared at a view like this, I could hold millions of people in view, millions of pinpoints of light and energy, going about their lives filled with hopes, dreams, challenges of their own. Each of them an ocean of knowledge and desire, at least the equivalent to my own consciousness, could there be anything more beautiful than such a wealth of value?

My transfer had actually been scheduled for next week, but it appeared that my date was moved up, supposedly for convenience but I knew it was anything but convenient. In fact, the plan had originally called for me to be assigned to the New York protectorate, but it had been switched almost at the last minute. To the press, the excuse was that Boston had a greater appreciation for tinkers, a heavy educational influence from all of the major universities and a history of famous tinkers was responsible for a public love of the heroes, but this was in the end just an excuse. The real reason was that here in Boston things had begun to spiral out of the Protectorates control. A situation in which they had already been spread thin had turned dire, they were short on resources, and who was more resourceful then a tinker?

The sunrise snapped me out of my reverie. I wish I could say that it was beautiful, and from a different angle maybe it would have been, but all the snow just made for a thousand mirrors and I was painfully blinded as it peaked over the horizon. Annoyed at the interruption, but now also aware how much time had passed, I headed inside to get to work. As I went in I could see a VTOL leaving the Zenith. My heart fluttered as I wondered if I was missing anything important, but I dismissed the feeling, as odds were it was just a standard patrol, nothing too exciting surely.

I began straight for the tinker’s workshop, I hadn’t gotten to explore it yet and for the above-mentioned reasons the Boston Protectorates tinker workshop was legendary among PRT tinkers, although I had yet to discover how much of that was just rumor and myth, and how much was reality. Then again, if a tinker really had built this place, how could he not include an incredible workshop as well? It might be important to start researching the local threats beyond my initial briefing so I could start considering what tools I may need to counter them. On my way to the workshop I pulled out my phone to check for any new updates or news….

@Sickle-cell

[Lasrever]

_@Sickle-cell

"They looked pretty intact from what I saw. Didn't look too up for a conversation, though," Robin laughed, "so you might have to look elsewhere. Protectorate types tend to be kinda uptight about the whole 'law-breaking' thing."

But despite her easy demeanour, Automaton suddenly seemed lost in thought. Freedom. She'd dismissed Wonderland as a bunch of crazies, and... oh who was she kidding, that had been completely right. But there was something awfully tempting about that idea, as tempting as it was terrifying. Self-determination, and unabashed selfishness with it.

Robin knew she wasn't her own person at heart, really. Always the follower, flying under the radar, doing what she was told. A part in the machine - a description that was a little on the nose, but it felt true enough. A piece in the games played the likes of Whetstone and Gladius - a pawn to play a part of their choosing. To be discarded in place of the important ones.

Manipulated by people who spoke about honour while using the desperate as meat shields. As scapegoats.

That being said, these people were as violent as they came. It just happened that Planck's words had struck on something Robin knew she was missing. Whether the girl knew what she was doing or not, that was the easiest way to have Automaton dance along to your tune. Because despite her resolution to be somebody, she knew she'd been failing. The kind of liberation described... It had her hook, line, and sinker.

This kid, so much younger than her, was more her own person than Robin had ever been.

But Automaton wasn't a murderer, right? She'd been trying to do good. Or less bad than some, even if it didn't always work out - oh, who was she kidding, her only motivation was gathering parts. Collecting shiny metal like some kind of stab-happy magpie. She had little room to be self-righteous, just because her selfishness was a little less ruthless.

That being said, Robin didn't think she was much of a killer. A thief, a fighter, and... yeah, she was certainly capable of doing enough damage to finish someone off, but if it was avoidable, she'd rather not. But if this was all about making their own choices, maybe she wouldn't have to.

It didn't occur to her how naive that idea might be. Or, indeed, that an organisation such as Gladius might not take kindly to a willing defector. Concerns that might have changed her decision if they'd come to her mind, but Robin was always one for living in the moment. Going with the flow. And today, that was taking her in an unexpected direction.

"Don't suppose there's any space on your little freedom train? If I'm that disposable, Gladius can find some other poor sod to take my place. They're a dime a dozen around here." She paused, before smirking. "Who knows? Might even have some time in my schedule for hair, boys, and ponies." It wasn't clear if treating Planck like a kid was a good idea, but Robin defaulted to treat most things as a joke. Even, apparently, mass murderers.

And despite the lightness of her tone, her question was entirely serious.

[hagroden]

Mathias Park

@ProPro@FancyHats@Sickle-cell

---

At Maxwell's question, Mathias stepped forward and took the keys politely, pocketing them with a smile before placing his mask back on. Then, he turned to Tracer, hoping to answer at least her first question.

"We will be operating within close proximity with Anon, However he will remain just outside of our sight. If he is attacked, I understand he has a capable assistant that can likely protect him to some extent while we near his location. However; if Anon is attacked, it is part of our agreement that we do not attempt to look at him. If he's laying the in the street, there is not much that can be done to avoid looking at him; but if seek out his appearance, there will assuredly be drastic consequences."

With that, Mathias turned back to Maxwell, and waited to see if there were any more details or questions from the four individuals present.

[ProPro]

"OUT OF THE WAY! DEADLY FLESH EATING BACTERIA ON THE LOOSE!" An airtight jar filled with something a putrid green was rolling down the hall at breakneck speeds. The man shouting was well toned, highly muscled, wore a tattered lab coat with combat paddings, and every attempt he made to grab the jar seemed only to spur it further out of control. Down the stairs went the, thankfully, nigh indestructible glass jar. Bounce bounce bounce along each step it took while its pursuer practically flew down the stairs he skipped so many steps at a time. Oh man, if the director found out about this runaway specimen, he'd be suspended so hard. If she found out that it wasn't your standard flesh eating bacteria but a virus designed to overwrite your DNA to urinate uranium (urinatium he called it) then he might as well pack his bags for the Birdcage!

"STAND ASIDE, VERY DEADLY, LET THE PROFESSIONAL HANDLE THINGS!" The man pushed through a crowd of PRT employees to get to the jar. Finally the rolling menace came to a stop and he was able to snatch it. "Huff. Puff. So. Out. Of. Breath." The man took a look at the jar, reading the label and his eyes opened wide. This wasn't Urinatium! OR flesh eating bacteria! This was his cancer medication, oh man! Grumbling, he produced a syringe from his tattered lab coat and jabbed it through the top of the jar, pulled some of the green substance out, then injected himself in the neck.

"Aaaaaah, that's the good stuff." His eyes practically rolled back in near orgasmic bliss. That's when he realized he wasn't alone. There he was, standing in front of the tinker workshop with some new person he'd never seen before checking his phone. Wait, new person? "AH! You must be Ifrit! Welcome to Boston, welcome welcome! I'm Replicant, you've probably heard of me! The tinker with disability, eh?" In the same motion Replicant held out his hand to shake his fellow hero's, he also produced a cotton swab and moved to rub a sample of Ifrit's skin cells from his arm,

@SkinnyTy@Sickle-cell

[SkinnyTy]

Bryson Green (Ifrit)

The Zenith - Protectorate HQ

---

I had just pulled out my phone when I heard someone holler, "STAND ASIDE, VERY DEADLY, LET THE PROFESSIONAL HANDLE THINGS!" as a group of PRT employees were blown aside by some sort of rampaging humunculi. It had bulging muscles, tattered white wings flowing behind it, ferocious blood shot eyes and… oh, it was just a tinker. He looked young, about my age, although he had MUCH better facial hair. (There was a reason I stay clean shaven, by the time my face starts looking respectable my neck beard would be at my chest.) I recognized him, he graduated to the Protectorate only about 2 months before I myself did.

It turned out he was charging not after me, but the capped beaker which rolled across the floor with what could only be super-beaker speed. After finally trapping his query, he panted, “Huff. Puff. So. Out. Of. Breath." Upon examining the label, his eyes seemed to light up and he pulled a rather large looking syringe from his tattered robe, talk about a peanut butter shot, the thing made the standard PRT immunizations look cute. He then drew a syringe full of the strange green substance out and plunged it straight into his neck. I flinched, couldn’t help it. “Aaaaaah, that's the good stuff." He borderline moaned. After he got over his fit of…. relief…. he seemed to become aware of his surroundings and notice I was watching. "AH! You must be Ifrit! Welcome to Boston, welcome welcome! I'm Replicant, you've probably heard of me! The tinker with disability, eh?" He offered his hand in a friendly handshake, which after getting over a moments confusion, I heartily took. I failed to notice however, that in his other hand there was a cotton swab.

I offered him a warm smile, “Hello there! I uh, yes, have certainly heard of you! It is nice to meet you…. Errrrm…” I trailed off as he used his other hand to swab my arm. “Are you going to…? Ah, never mind…” I had heard the rumors and read his dossier on my way to Boston. He was eccentric, and but others had warned me that he usually meant the best for it and not to read too much into anything strange. I suppressed my sense of suspicion and moved on. “Nice to meet you Replicant, and thank you for the warm welcome. I am Ifrit but I go by Bryson out of costume, I try to keep the two separate to a degree.” After the hand shake I nodded toward the door. “I am still quite new around here, any chance you could show me around the workshop? I have heard good things about the Zenith’s tinker space.”

Immediately concerned: @ProPro
Locally concerned: @Sickle-cell

[Sickle-cell]

Thinker Cup Cafe

Downtown Boston

_{21st January, 2011}

Well, that was easier than expected.

Whetstone allowed herself to smile as the girl left. Suddenly the cloying smell of coffee didn’t seem quite so bad. She’d talked a big game about not disrespecting her, but her views on life itself seemed a little shaky. Being a gang leader in Boston, Whetstone had dealt with many capes like these in the past. None capable of unleashing a potentially fatal plague onto the city, but hey.

Soon enough, she’d have a weapon specially designed to break the Covenant, regaining her control of Allston and vastly increasing her resources. Despite what she’d bartered, a part of her felt sorry for Sickle, but he’d made his bed now. After taking a pop at her directly, she had to make an example of him.

Guess me and her aren’t so different, after all, she thought.

@Old Amsterdam

---

Donovan smirked.

“Professional. Not like your friend, there.” Taking his free hand, he picked up the crimson envelope and slipped it into a pocket. “I’m almost impressed. Might be a future in this city for you - not like the majority of Wonderland’s goons.”

Keeping the revolver level, his shades turned to meet Tony’s gaze. “Forgive the handgun. It’s nothing personal. You tend not to survive very long in this line of work without taking precautions.”

Standing up, he holstered the gun with a quick and seamless grace, without anyone in the cafe even noticing it had been drawn. “And yes. We did know, but not coming along regardless is impolite. Be seeing ya, kid.”

@Duoya

---

Wonderland Safe House - Raven Street

Downtown Boston

_{21st January, 2011}

“Wow,” Askaryan said with a chuckle. “Didn’t even hafta break out the charm.”

Planck squealed with joy. “Really? That sounds awesome!” Her demeanour changed in a split-second, sobering and becoming far more mature. “But that question is paradoxical. We’re all about freedom. If you have to ask, you've missed the point. Everyone in this city is free to join us, leave us, love us or hate us. The only ones I have no time for are those who stick around out of fear, like that spineless rat earlier.”

Noticing the pooling blood on the floor, she suddenly jumped back a little. “Oh. I’m sorry.” With a wave of her hand, the room shifted colour to a faint pinky-green hue. The organic matter around Automaton’s wounds and Askaryan’s leg began to nit closed of its own accord.

“I’ve gotta go head back, but the effect will last until the bleeding has stopped, providing you wait it out here.” Smacking her head with the umbrella, she faced Automaton. “I can’t do tinker-stuff, though, so you’ll have to fix most of the stuff later. Sorry!” she called back, bouncing out the room.

Hopping over to a chair, Askaryan grunted as he sat. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to her. God, I hate this feeling,” he said, as the flesh around his leg visibly rippled and regrew.

“Hey. Thanks for that. Not many people would be willing to pull anyone from Wonderland outta the fire, let alone a Gladius-hired cape who’d just been fighting us moments before. Fleeing the Protectorate was a good call, but not many would have made it.”

@Lasrever

---

The Consortium Corporate Headquarters: Alverton Building

Downtown Boston

_{21st January, 2011}

Taser nodded, and turned back to the table.

“Well, there you have it,” Maxwell said. “I’ll keep in touch via the burner phones should your orders change. Otherwise, I expect routine updates from you on any changes. Especially if you find them. Whether you engage is down to us, but if you come under fire, you are free to retaliate - unless you have identified their base. In which case, your survival is paramount. With that information, we can bury them in mercs, capes and generally give them a fate worse than death.”

“This city can be a lonely place. Don’t fail us, or you’ll soon find that out.”

@ProPro@hagroden@FancyHats

---

Protectorate Headquarters - The Zenith

Above Boston

_{21st January, 2011}

Beyond the door, two tinkers were lazing around in the communal lounge. One sat on a large sofa, reading the paper with a coffee in hand and a doughnut on the table. The other paced the room, brimming with fury, as a news report rattled off the known information about the Dorchester battle.

“Look at this shit!” the female pacing cape yelled. “Absolute chaos, and what does Praetor do? Sends a bunch of teenage girls. We have the equipment to stop the entire thing - capture everyone. And yet, we’re sitting here, watching it on the fucking news!”

The man looked up from his paper, bemused. “Astrid. Calm down. You’ll give yourself an aneurism.”

Her glare fell on him. “Don’t tell you agree with that tosspot.”

“Not at all,” Walter replied. “But screaming at the TV won’t solve anything. Take that anger. Put it into your work.”

“I… I…” She sighed. “Damn it. It just makes me so bloody mad.”

Pushing the table in front of him over towards her with his foot, he smiled. “Have a doughnut. It’ll help.”

“How?” Astrid said, scowling.

“The sugar will make you fat, then you’ll have more immediate concerns.” His grin grew from ear-to-ear.

Her hands clenched into fists. “You complete and utter d-”

The TV flared to life, a direct feed to Praetor’s office.

“Vector.” The voice boomed. “Reports from Dorchester place the Covenant at the scene, as well as Pipeline. That brings the total kill-orders on site to five. The situation has been escalated. I want you within range of that location to strike when ready.”

Eyes flaring with a hunger, she smirked. “I’ll be ready in two. Is a VTOL prepared?”

“VTOL insertion would draw too much attention. Take another form of transport - beg, borrow or steal something quieter from another tinker, if you have to. I’ll be in touch with orders once your on-scene.” the feed went dead, and the news resumed.

Turning the the man, she laughed. “I’m going to enjoy today.” She ran off towards her lab.

“That is what worries me,” Pallas replied, under his breath.

That was when he noticed the open door, and the two tinkers standing there. “Oh, Replicant. And… a new face? Ah! You must be Ifrit. Bryson Green, wasn’t it? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

@SkinnyTy@ProPro

[PlatinumSkink]

^Knight

Rosaline Buckner
Battle in Dorchester

Sickle-Cell really does have self-propulsion, Knight confirmed as she felt his strength against her shield and saw him hold his own against Anomaly’s hand. However, it seemed like he was pushing against her wall with intention to push it back. He does not know it’s immovable when not moving, occurred to her with a start.

Entertaining this, Knight allowed her wall of frozen time to be pushed back, equivalent to how much force she felt in her mind that he pushed against the shield. The progress was slow, but the fact that it was slightly working could give him, and other criminals, the false idea that fighting her barriers was not a futile endeavour. She could use that. It was delaying him.

Knight felt a flash of hope as she felt herself lose the mental weight of the net with the blood-shards as Septima removed them from this world. Wonderful. Now she’d shape her wall and capture Sickle-Cell as he was pushing against it-

Gestalt created two walls, intent on boxing him in, and Knight blinked startled first because her mind went “I didn’t make those”, they completely invalidated her own plan by alarming the opponent. Not to mention, there was a glaring flaw in the plan that both she and Sickle-Cell realized at once.

She tried to shape her own shield to block the escape route, but it was too late, and Sickle-Cell was already flying out… and landed in front of her, staff of blood pointing at her. Knight swallowed, fear returning somewhat, but she let her other shield vanish as she prepared to clash… when he spoke.

The first instinct was to oppose his words with a flare of anger. “We don’t negotiate with the likes of you, as heroes we have to take you down”. But, as the hero in charge, she had to consider the safety of these young girls. … It occurred to her with surprise that Sickle-Cell was giving a peaceful option rather than just attacked them when she hadn’t expected him to. Did he not want to fight them? Was his target only the gang-members? The Protectorate was among those he had declared war against. … She gained a little hope for his mental state. She considered it a second or so more.

As a leader, could she lead a group of young girls towards a battle with significant chance of death? … No, she couldn’t be that irresponsible. To minimize chance of death, it needed a coordinated strike by the collected heroes of Boston to take him down, not just the four of them. Though, she couldn’t just let him act as he pleased, either. She came to a compromise.

‘… Leave this field without spilling one more drop of blood. Do that, and we’ll let you go.’ She held her sword ready as she spoke.

‘Attack anyone further, and we’ll be obligated to stop you.’ They would not stand idle while he took lives. It was that simple. ‘… Though you may save your allies, assuming you do it nonlethally.’ She added as an afterthought because she knew that, in his position, she wouldn’t stand by to let an ally be hurt just because of such an agreement.

immediately concerned: @Sickle-cell@Banana
locally concerned: @DracoLunaris@Kiddo@knifeman@POOHEAD189

[SkinnyTy]

Bryson Green (Ifrit)

The Zenith - Protectorate HQ

---

The more the scene unfolded before me, the more I could feel a sly grin forming on my face. It couldn't be helped. Joining a new team was always difficult in the beginning, but each team had very different challenges. You had to build trust with your teammates, get a real understanding of their strengths and weaknesses, both in terms of combat and emotional health. The most painful part was always figuring out their baggage... As capes, we all had to pay a terrible price for our power. A trigger event always entailed what was essentially trauma, those with physical powers were sometimes considered lucky as it entailed physical trauma, although mental factors were usually still heavily in play, things like rape, being trapped, being chased, being tortured and so on. That was why it was more common for those in unstable political climates, like the middle east, to have more in the way of physical powers. On the other side, mental powers tend to correlate with mental trauma, emotionally disturbing phenomena or extreme pressure, they were a lot less predictable and in some people opinion, more mentally damaging. The downside, in other words, to having lots of tinkers on the same team would be that there was a lot of mental trauma, a lot of baggage. It could be challenging for people with similar emotional weaknesses to be a n effective team.

This team, fortunately, already felt familiar in a positive way. I could recognize the group dynamic, it was certainly unique, but I could tell I would get along with the others here. Definitely an advantage of having so many tinkers on the same team. As the woman I assumed was Vector headed off I started to make a gesture to call her back, but then thought better of it. She seemed rather determined and I got the sense that if she so much as perceived someone as hiving her the slightest hindrance, that someone may not live to regret it.

“Oh, Replicant. And… a new face? Ah! You must be Ifrit. Bryson Green, wasn’t it? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” the man, who I now recognized as Pallas, greeted me. I gave him a warm smile and offered him a nod, it would have been awkward to give a handshake from so far. "You must be Walter! I am very pleased to meet you, your NIKE suit was partially responsible for inspiring my primary suit. You were one of the first to demonstrate the advantages of using power-suits to enhance mobility, rather than just piling on armor for durability and upping the firepower." The lounge we were in looked to be a sort of hub for the Tinkers, and probably other capes, with no workshop equipment I could see, but it looked quite nice, probably higher quality then the other protectorate shops, but I couldn't really say for certain as I had always been limited to the Ward facilities before now. I gestured toward Astrid, "If she needs a ride via relatively stealthy means, I may be able to help, but fair warning it wouldn't be the most comfortable of rides."

Walter looked like a tinker. At his age and level of experience, it was relatively rare to still have a civilian identity really under wraps, especially given his background, and he seemed to have embraced that fact. His "civilian" clothes looked like they belonged to the future, like how Han Solo should have dressed if he were a space-scoundrel. His coat was made of high quality materials, and was large enough to hold what was surely an untold number of unpleasant surprises for anyone who found themselves his enemy.

"So what is the plan here? I know I haven't had time to really get fully acquainted with everything, but I am at least prepared for action. If we are up against specialized threats, with some time I can get something together as well. My biggest issue is.... I don't actually have any lethal weapons at the moment. In a pinch, I can adjust the dosages on my tranquilizers to kill, but it would be pointless at that point. If I have some time to prepare though, I can create some tools that would actually take advantage of the.... non-priority, for keeping a target alive." I couldn't quite keep the uneasiness out of my voice for the last part.

It was a pretty uncomfortable point for me. There were kill orders on multiple targets within the city, something that was exceptionally rare in the PRT and reserved for only the most dire circumstances, threats like the slaughterhouse 9. It wasn't expressly forbidden per se, but in the cape community there was something called "the unwritten rules." It was a... truce of sorts. An understanding that we wouldn't kill each other, since those in power wanted to stay in power, they would essentially go easy on threats that didn't really threaten their power. That is why most cities stayed in equilibrium, the PRT wanted more mild villains to be in power so that the more brutal ones didn't come into power. What was happening in Boston.... It was what happened when things fell out of equilibrium, when someone got too ambitious, or when they got desperate or careless. The city was falling into an increasingly viscous situation, and the smart people knew that it would trigger an escalation that would be the most punishing for whoever lost. That fact would only raise the stakes, and in the end, only the strongest side would survive. Fortunately, I was currently chatting with one of the most experienced battle tinkers, inside of our floating super-fortress. If that didn't say strength, I had no idea what did!

Despite this, I was still extremely put off. I had never killed anyone, and I didn't have any desire to. I was willing, I would do whatever was necessary, but.... on something like this I could not help but wonder if it would actually be necessary. I understood the importance of responding in kind, of deterring the most brutal of enemies from using such means, and I also understood that if my enemy was out to kill me, I would absolutely use lethal weaponry for even a 5% improvement of my odds. But still, that didn't mean I would want it.

Immediately concerned:@Sickle-cell@ProPro

[Sickle-cell]

Protectorate Headquarters - The Zenith

Above Boston

_{21st January, 2011}

Walter smiled. “Armour has its perks, but it isn’t really my forte. One of the reasons I’m happy to welcome you here. My specialisation allows for maneuverability, enhanced weapons tech and even shielding, but strip away the defenses and there isn’t much left, I’m afraid.”

Looking towards her lab, he shook his head. “Regrettably, Vector is a little impatient. She will likely have stolen means of transport long before your offer can ever reach her.” Pallas sighed. “I do wish she’d slow down a little, before she gets herself killed.”

“There is no need to worry about the situation downtown. By the sounds of things, it’s wrapping up. Not necessarily the way we wanted it to, if the Covenant are there, but we take what we can get, these days.”

Gesturing towards one of the labs, he began to walk. “Please, this way.”

The lights were clinical here. Bright white glaring off every pristine surface. A haven of science and tech, all under one roof. Enough futuristic gadgets and gear to start a small war.

Or end one.

“I’ve been given the privilege of showing you to your own private lab. The good news is, given how much potential you’ve shown, we’ve cleared out one of the larger ones for you. As such, it comes with a number of perks that you usually have to earn. For a start, basically any tools or materials you need should be kicking around somewhere. It was fully stocked not so long ago. If you ever need a hand finding anything, let me know. Until about a week ago, it was mine.”

“I’ve been moved up to lab 103. The first tinkerlab ever constructed on this base. It used to belong to Foucault, and has lain dormant ever since his death. In a show of reverence, more than anything else, I guess. He left a lot of his old tech and creations in there, and no-one can quite figure out how they work or why - as expected of tinkertech - but given the escalation in recent events, that is apparently my new task.”

“I don’t know how much you know of Foucault, but he was a genius, even by our standards. Specialising in both anti-grav devices and mass production of technology, this entire base was built by him, single-handedly with an army of drones. It is entirely self-sufficient, producing scores of nanobots to repair systems as they decay and even fabricate entire VTOLs via the production line in the engineering deck. Praetor figures that if we can somehow crack the key behind his mass-production devices so we can input schematics ourselves, we can not just cut down on crime in Boston.”

“We can eliminate it entirely.”

Two large heavy doors opened as they approached, revealing a massive lab with tables, tools and tech scattered everywhere. “Here we are. Your new home. For most heroes, that their dorm room, but we both know tinkers spend more time sleeping in their labs than anywhere else. I’ve collected my personal belongings - the ones I could find, anyway - so if you happen to come across any blueprints for things, I’d be greatly appreciative if you could return them.”

“Is there anything I can help you with, before I let you get settled in?”

@SkinnyTy

---

Gladius Border Territory

Dorchester

_{21st January, 2011}

“And yet, you still call yourself a hero.”

A muffled scoff came from behind the mask. “You allow me to walk away, but only if I agree to leave the murderers, the drug dealers, the thugs alone. Do you not see the hypocrisy in that? Your Protectorate does a good job of painting us as the villains, but one fact remains - we are the closest thing to justice this city has!”

“While you and your puppeteers sit around tables to talk and make deals, we act. While you heroes defend the wealthy and the powerful, we champion the poor and weak. While you claim the streets are safe, we clean up the filth you pretend doesn’t exist because it benefits you to do so.” His words dripped with venom, rising to a fever-pitch and with a ring of authority that marked him as a natural born leader.

“Why don’t you stop hiding behind the title of ‘hero’, and actually earn it?” He moved his hands out to either side, making a cross formation, and dropped the staff. “After all, I am the antithesis to everything you believe in, right? And there’s a kill order on my head to boot.”

“So prove you have what it takes to keep this city safe. Or prove me right.”

@PlatinumSkink@Banana

[SkinnyTy]

Bryson Green (Ifrit)

The Zenith - Protectorate HQ

---

The further I was lead through the labs, the more impressed I became..... In the movies, laboratories are always pristine and clean, organized, with everything labeled. In reality this was not the case, movie laboratories were as true to labs as movie bedrooms were to real bedrooms. This place however.... this was the inverse. The tinker workshop had been built by someone who cared. The whole thing was well designed, everything looked as though it had been well thought through. Despite the lab spaces being messy, they were designed in such a way that they didn't feel messy, they felt natural. I doubted I could manage to actually make it look disorganized, and the slightest effort in maintaining order made every lab here look like a work of art.

Every lab we passed made my draw droop just a little further. We passed what looked like it was Replicant's lab. I thought I could hear... a pig? In my quick glimpse I saw increasingly confusing looking containment units, an incubator normally used to store microorganisms held a bunch of rats that looked a little too muscular for normal rats. Even more confusing, the unit was labeled with a genus of microorganism, but it was a eukaryotic micro-organism, which normally couldn't possibly survive in a mammalian body but... I resolved to stay well clear of that particular laboratory.

As Walter continued: “I’ve been given the privilege of showing you to your own private lab. The good news is, given how much potential you’ve shown, we’ve cleared out one of the larger ones for you. As such, it comes with a number of perks that you usually have to earn. For a start, basically any tools or materials you need should be kicking around somewhere. It was fully stocked not so long ago. If you ever need a hand finding anything, let me know. Until about a week ago, it was mine.”

I found the compliment enormously flattering, not only the words but the actions to back it up! I wasn't one to prioritize glory, or recognition. I tried to be pragmatic, but having someone as prominent and experienced as Walter call me promising, that was nice... it went a long way. In the back of my mind I knew both the compliment and the gift (in the form of his former lab) was probably a maneuver meant to make me feel more indebted to the team, to quickly build trust by making such a kindly offering, but I wanted to appreciate the gift and feel like I was part of the team, so I dismissed the thought.

Walter continued to talk about Foucault, I could tell that he probably knew and missed the man, I had no doubt that working in the same laboratory would be a bitter sweet experience for him. Still, I felt my sympathy get sidetracked at the last statement, “We can eliminate it entirely.” That sounded a little... ominous. Praetor certainly seemed like an ambitious man, a fact I appreciated. I liked the idea of using all the tools at our disposal, but I was also suspicious of ambitious people, (who wasn't?) and I could see the danger in providing such tools to the wrong hands... Still, I decided to give the benefit of the doubt and resolved to worry about it later.

As the lab doors opened, I felt all my resolve and thoughts melt into a big puddle on the floor. They would likely be mopped up by automated cleaning drones, but I did not even care at the sight of the gorgeous room which I had just heard Walter describe as mine. I barely managed to stand up straight as I already felt new ideas, new designs, faster and a thousand times more sophisticated then any human should ever be able to comprehend flooding into my mind. I could imagine building a new 3d printer, one that operated faster and at a greater scale, yet with more precision then my relatively primitive prior generation. I could imagine finally being able to implement the aerial dispersion mechanism I had thought of, but lacked the material, I could build something that could actually be described as a vehicle using all this space, I could.....

I had to catch myself, almost literally, slow down, and remember that Walter was still here, I think he had asked a question or something and I hadn't even expressed my gratitude. I got a hold of myself and turned to him, "Thank you, so much! I can't tell you how much I appreciate you giving over your space, I know how hard that can be, I really owe you one. If there is ANYTHING I can do to help you, let me know. If you need any specialized materials, want something 3D printed, want a.... whatever! Just let me know. I uhh... I think I will be just fine. I have some things to bring in but not much, I can take care of it. I kinda want to just explore.... I'm sure you understand. If you need anything in here, you are always welcome of course. Let me know when you guys need me, I'm ready for anything, uhhh... or whatever! Thank you!"

I normally would have been quite embarrassed, or would have felt bad, but I could not help the rush of information coming to my brain, and it needed an outlet. I had to get to work, start ordering my priorities. First I would need to maintain my current equipment, get it in here, make sure I was still in fighting ready shape. Second I would need to start on the new 3D printer, get processes running, get a chemical reactor started on the material I would need.... Third I would.....

Locally Concerned: @Sickle-Cell@ProPro

[POOHEAD189]

Iron Fist

He had to admit, this battle with Sickle and the chicks had him entertained. They were actually fairly impressive in their own way, redirecting his attacks and attempting to overpower him, almost succeeding. He knew they still didn't have a chance at beating him. Even Manny wasn't certain he could beat Sickle without an exceeding amount of prep time and great caution. But if they tired Sickle out enough, or provide an opening for him...

As the battle raged, he slipped further down the alleyway, and traversed towards the west, climbing over dumpsters and fences with monkey-like ease in order to get closer to the battle. He even had to slide through a puddle under a freight truck, narrowly avoiding a bit of Dragonfire as he did so. But this was all business to him. He'd gotten out of many things far worse. All that was on his mind was the job.

Skidding to the closest alleyway he could find, at least for the time allotted to him, he pressed his back against the brick of one of the buildings that had remained relatively intact, and waited. Luckily, he didn't need to wait long at all, because they had begun...talking. Creasing his brow, he peeked out and saw Sickle land in front of the warrior woman, opening himself up and mocking her.

Almost on instinct, while she spoke to him, he concentrated. His skin shimmered and reshaped itself into living titanium. Even his eyes were near indestructible, along with his body being much more dense and far more powerful with his momentum. He tensed for a moment, before bending his legs and waiting.

“Why don’t you stop hiding behind the title of ‘hero’, and actually earn it?” Sickle moved his hands out to either side, making a cross formation, and dropped the staff. “After all, I am the antithesis to everything you believe in, right? And there’s a kill order on my head to boot.”

“So prove you have what it takes to keep this city safe. Or prove me right.”

With a concealed running start, Manny burst out of the alleyway in full titanium form. Years of martial arts discipline and underhanded assassinations giving him speed and precision as he sprinted the dozen odd feet at Sickle's flank with his long legs. His punch, a purely disciplined and forceful attack that could burst through a man's torso, was aimed straight for Sickle's kidney. Manny theorized Sickle wouldn't conceivably see him coming unless he got lucky (or the Knight and her companion reacted) within 5 feet, and by then, would it be too late?

Manny let out a Kiai as his fist was launched.
@Banana@Sickle-cell@PlatinumSkink

[PlatinumSkink]

^Knight

Rosaline Buckner
Battle in Dorchester

To Knight’s surprise, Sickle-Cell replied with a speech, the first words in particular startling her. Then the speech… infuriated her, and she clutched her sword harder as she glared at him.

‘Fuck you.’ Maybe not the most mature of first lines, but his supposed personal justice and messed up reasoning to her supposed hypocrisy pissed her off. She held her sword ready as she spoke, her mind working on her reply… and on another thing at the same time.

‘You don’t get to claim we’re-’ Then she realized she was seeing someone dash at Sickle-Cell from a nearby alley. It was with a mixture of anger, regret and sheer annoyance that she let go of her sword with one hand and swung the hand to hold in his direction.

‘STOP THAT!’ She shouted as a wall of air froze in time into a blue barrier in front of Iron Fist, two meters wide and high but very thin, yet unmovable. ‘I appreciate what you’re doing and all, but I just decided not to fight this man for the safety of my team! Now stay put and let me talk!’ She paused a moment to make sure everyone understood what she wanted. Assuming nobody talked or did anything else the next one and a half seconds, she’d continue talking.

immediately concerned: @Sickle-cell@Banana@POOHEAD189
locally concerned: @DracoLunaris@Kiddo@knifeman

[Gardevoiran]

Anomaly

Near a crashed VTOL

---

Anomaly climbed out of the VTOL, her free hand helping her by lifting her up as she wiggled out. A bit of it collapsed over her, stupidly, but she was unharmed. Mostly. She stubbed her toe on the way out, so there was that.

Holy shit did she miss a second or two. There was this titanium man on the ground over there, Sickle was giving speeches, and Knight was yelling swears. Alright, this is... different.

The speech did make Anomaly question a few things. Was she really a hero? The answer there was easy. Sort-of. She hadn't really done anything yet for her to earn the title of a "hero", but at the same time she was needed to evoke hope in the people. She needed to be the hope given to the masses in order to keep them enthusiastic about actions and efforts to protect them. She needed to do all this armless, but that was besides the point. Anomaly, Knight, Septima, Gestalt, hell, everyone in the Protectorate was there to evoke hope in the masses. Even if she could make one little boy or girl fall asleep at night without fear of big bads like Sickle wrecking their home, Anomaly's job was complete.

The teen walked over to behind Knight, her hands at her side and ready to defend her should the need arise. They could block shots well enough if she had to, but otherwise, she would be fine.

immediately concerned: @Sickle-cell@PlatinumSkink
locally concerned: @DracoLunaris@Kiddo@knifeman@POOHEAD189

[Lasrever]

_@Sickle-cell

Looking slightly bemused, Automaton settled for a slow nod - it felt like the safest as Planck walked away. Weird kid. But then, the message was clear. Wonderland would accept her. She wasn't really sure if that idea was exciting or utterly terrifying, but it was definitely one of the two. Maybe best not to think about too hard.

As for Askaryan, she turned back to him with a short chuckle. "What can I say? I've had enough 'charm' busted out on me for one day. As for pulling you out... seemed like a good idea at the time."

Robin paused. Well, no. From a survival perspective, the decision was an unnecessary risk. It had been mostly been on a whim, and there was no denying it was impulsive, but there was at least some reason behind it. "I guess I'd rather not leave anyone to the dogs if I can help it, y'know? It's not like I've got any reason to care about that fight. With the Protectorate and all the murderous vigilante types around... Sure, we were on opposite sides, but that doesn't mean I'm interested in watching you go down permanently. Like I said, I'm a sweetheart deep down."

She really wasn't sure how much truth that statement held, but it'd do for now. "Besides, anyone that's willing to have some wordplay mid-fight is cool with me. So you're welcome."

Still, looked like clearing out wasn't an option if she wanted a quick heal. That being said, she'd have to slice it all open again if she didn't fix it here, so she glanced uncomfortably at Askaryan before deciding he'd probably seen worse. If nothing else, Robin had enough sense to make her parts easily repairable, so it'd be a quick surgery - and she was more than capable of being precise with her blades.

"Try not to startle me while I'm dong this, would you?"

Not to say that it didn't hurt as she gritted her teeth, cut her way in, and began tinkering with the machinery. It took a minute or two to do, her breaths shuddering unevenly, and by the time she stopped her arm was way bloodier than it had been. The concrete shard that had been lodged inside was yanked out and lay on the ground - a few lumps of ragged flesh hanging from it. But the circuitry seemed to have been mostly repaired... somehow. That kind of rapid repair was something she'd only try with a healing effect active.

The worst part was making the movements slow. It wasn't like a band-aid that you could just tear off all at once - a slow, constantly changing pain, though this one had been a relatively simple procedure. Installing what little hardware she had right now had eclipsed it in terms of pain and physical difficulty, not to mention the hours of recovery time required.

Which didn't change the fact that it still hurt like a bitch.

Slowly regaining control of her breath, her voice was slightly shaky as she spoke to Askaryan again. "That never gets more fun." Forcing a chuckle, she looked at her handiwork. It'd take a few minutes for the wounds to completely regenerate, the blade withdrawing as she was satisfied. "You know, some Tinkers get to make lasers instead." Talk about drawing the short straw, huh?

[PlatinumSkink]

^Knight

Rosaline Buckner
Battle in Dorchester

Seeing how nobody had spoken and they stood still, Knight continued.

‘Now, where was I? Right. Fuck you.’ She glared at Sickle-Cell.

‘You don’t get to claim we’re unheroic, that we don’t act. My team’s here to defend what we can, right now. We’re all the Protectorate could spare right now, and we STILL went to try to apprehend as many of the thugs as we could in this extremely dangerous situation. We were sent to just precisely clean up part of that exact filth you’re talking about, through legal apprehensions and then letting the judge and jury sort them out with justice. The filth that you just brutally murdered, denying them any and all chances of being properly judged. Your ”justice” is unjust in nature, judging all criminals the same! There are reasons why we don’t, tolerate, killing!’ Her voice held deep hostility, along with the anger at what he had just caused her.

‘My decision to let you walk stems entirely from concern for the Wards under my charge. You said it yourself, we’re not equipped to confidently deal with you at this moment. Given the choice, I am not willing to wager their lives for the possibility that we might be able to take out a threat like yourself. I’d rather see them live and be able to help the city for many days to come, making the city a better place in the long-term. You don’t get to judge us, you don’t get to strip our titles as heroes. We’re just trying to stay alive, damn it, while also doing some good to the world. Besides, I’d rather see them risking their lives against actual villains rather than misguided vigilantes.’ She spoke this next part in a slightly more relaxed tone, but still bleeding with hostility.

‘So no. We’re not going to fight you. You’re too pitiful to waste our lives on, if you think we actually take into account the wealth of the people we’re trying to defend. I’m thankful for every life you’ve actually managed to save, but for the love of all, stop targeting the Protectorate or the PRT, we’re trying to help. Stop killing when you do your justice, and I might actually start respecting you. But right now, I can but see you as a feeble-minded psycho who uses the word “justice” for self-gratification when he’s really just a common murderer going after what he views as “acceptable targets”. Fighting you at this point would only serve to validate your miserable existence in your eyes.’ She said, glaring at him.

‘Gestalt. Septima. Anomaly. Let’s go see if there’s anyone we can actually help, or otherwise arrest. Not that this depressing man isn’t desperately in need of help, we’re just not suited for providing it.’ She said, and then dashed for wherever looked like people might need her. If there still was any fighting (except for Maryland/Vegas) or gang-members around, she’d go for them. Otherwise, she’d go see if there were any injured she could attempt helping. If the path happened to take her close to Sickle-Cell, so be it, she’d just dash past him. She’d let the wall by Iron Fist vanish, giving him a slight apologetic look, but headed on. She’d completely ignore Sickle-Cell, UNLESS he started moving to hurt again.

immediately concerned: @Sickle-cell@Banana@POOHEAD189
locally concerned: @DracoLunaris@Kiddo@knifeman

[Sickle-cell]

CDC

Boston

_{21st January, 2011}

A girl wearing heavy winter clothes strolled through the door of the CDC, constantly shiftily looking around the foyer. Approaching the receptionist sheepishly - as though the woman would bite her head off - she spoke up in a quiet voice.

“I’m here to see someone.” She looked at a note in her hand, before sighing. “Apparently I’m a Phoenix?”

@Old Amsterdam

---

Protectorate Headquarters - The Zenith

Above Boston

_{21st January, 2011}

“Wonderful. I’ll let you get settled in, for now. We’ll have lots of time to sort out projects in the future after you get used to your new surroundings. If you need me, you know where to find me,” Pallas said, turning and walking towards his lab.

Ifrit would be incredibly useful for his latest project, but Praetor had specifically asked him to stay hushed about it. Which was precisely why he slipped the little white lie in about his current focus. It was all about reverse-engineering Foucault’s technology, but he’d already figured out how to pass his own tinker schematics into the Zenith’s foundry. Given what that meant for the Protectorate, though, Praetor wanted this card to be kept secret until the opportune moment to play it.

That was all understandable, but he was itching to get started. The fleet of suits stood ready for operators to use right now. The most elite of the PRT were receiving extra training to be deployed in them even as the battle raged in Dorchester. Had they been ready, this would be child’s play to stop - capturing or killing all involved without even needing to send a parahuman. That was the goal. The key to victory in a war of attrition spanning the entire city.

Still, while he figured out how to integrate with Foucault’s systems, he still didn’t know how they worked.

Recently, he’d been running over the plans for the base and adapting his mechs to match the schematics. The Zenith’s shield tech was inspired, and it had allowed him to develop Manton-protection for the pilots of his suits. By following the steps carefully, he hoped future developments would be even more spectacular.

And then, he might finally be able to find them.

@ProPro@SkinnyTy

---

Wonderland Safe House - Raven Street

Downtown Boston

_{21st January, 2011}

Watching with morbid curiosity - given that he had little else to do while his leg mended, Askaryan winced more than once at the sight of Automaton fixing herself.

“Some get to make laser arrows,” he commented, almost without meaning to. “But tinkers like that will always have one pretty major drawback.”

“Themselves.”

He chuckled. “They might have fancy suits or bows or worse, but they’ll never escape the fact that they are, undoubtedly, human. You, on the other hand, don’t appear to have that problem. With enough work, you could make yourself perfect, couldn’t you?”

“Speaking of, why do you augment yourself? Is it just random thoughts, or is there a specific trigger?” Realising the nature of the question, he held his hands up, defensively. “We’re on the same side now, and besides, not like i’m gonna try kill you again anyway.”

Looking at his leg, which was now almost completely healed, he smirked. “Given the outcome of our first dance.”

@Lasrever

---

Gladius Border Territory

Dorchester

_{21st January, 2011}

Sickle’s blood boiled in all but the most literal sense at Knight’s words, before that faded, leaving nothing but pity.

The things she’d said, the fact she stopped someone trying to kill him just to say those things, left him unable to feel anything else for her.

She ran off to help the injured, for no other reasons than she could and believed that she should. The Wards followed her, trying to do what they could. Sickle turned to the man who’d attempted to kill him and gave a simple warning. “Do us both a favour, pal, and don’t try that again,” he said, before walking after Knight.

He didn’t stop, his words drifting by as he walked. “You truly believe that, don’t you? I’ll give you a piece of advice. Leave this city. Go somewhere - anywhere - else.” Now he stopped, turning to look back over his shoulder. “Stay here, and you’ll be forced to choose between doing the right thing, or taking the easy path.”

“And I think that will break you.”

As Sickle began to walk again, a voice came over Knight’s communicator. “It’s Vector. I’ll be within range in around a minute. Keep the Covenant occupied, and I’ll end them, here and now.”

After a few steps more, he placed a hand up to his ear and stopped again. His body went visibly tense. “‘All the Protectorate could spare’? Did you honestly believe that?” He laughed, but it was shakier than it had been before. “How convenient for her to arrive after Pipeline had escaped, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll leave without drawing even one more drop of blood. I’m no fool - going up against Vector would be suicide. The question is, will you still let me leave?”

@PlatinumSkink @Banana @POOHEAD189

[ProPro]

Replicant at the Zenith

As soon as he was able to swab a sample from the new tinker's arm, Hubert popped the little cotton ball into a small jar he had kept on him, then observed it very closely. Invisible to the naked eye, even to those untrained in microscopes, he could see with perfect clarity. The microorganisms that lived upon his comrade's body. These would need to be safely stored and experimented on. In due time. Then Bryson inquired if he could show the man around the tinker workshop. Hubert looked up, only just realizing where he actually was. He put a hand behind his head awkwardly.

"Heheheh, sorry, buuuut I'm not the best for those kinds of tours. Most of the tech in there I wouldn't know from a shovel, you know? My power is kinda hyper-focused, but I'm sure the others can give you a better tour!" Removing his hand from his head, Hubert took a dramatic stance, clenching his fist as he posed. Just like a hero. "In any case, I've got someplace to be. The Center for Disease Control was supposed to report to me this morning, but never did, so I've got to go check on them. But you have a great day, new guy! Bryson! Ifrit, the destroyer of evil! Yeah!"

Without further fanfare, Hubert ran in the opposite direction. He had places to be and people to see, after all. All the while people either stared in bewilderment, or shook their heads in acceptance. The man was an odd one to be sure.

@SkinnyTy

---

---

Replicant at the CDC

The always stalwart and great hero Replicant strolled through the doors to the CDC right behind a young girl. She spoke sheepishly to the receptionist, looking a bit passive. He decided it would be best to interject and help the young lass! "Hello young 'Phoenix,'" he began, bellowing his words with bravado. "That's no way to introduce yourself! Try it with more confidence. Like this! Good lady, I have been notified that I am a Phoenix, and I need to see someone immediately! Please and thank you." The last bit was hastily added on under his breath.

"You're welcome, little girl. I am Replicant, proud tinker hero of the Protectorate! Greetings Tiffany," he added to the receptionist, beginning to stroll right on past the desk. "Just popping in to see the director. I didn't get my weekly check in, so I decided to pop on down in person! Hahahaha!"

@Sickle-cell@Old Amsterdam

---

---

Anonymous

"I believe they understand the risks and objectives involved at this point, Mr. Maxwell," the young man's voice rang through each of their heads. "We should perhaps get going now, my esteemed colleagues? Daylight wastes and time, well time is money as they say. Heh heh heh."

Finally! The carving was complete. Anonymous held a small wooden fork in his hands, and twirled it around to get a good feel for the tactile sensations of such a device. He'd never used one before. At least, not that he could remember. There was no need. What those people had done to him, to his face, it somehow supported his body without need of food, water, or oxygen. He couldn't begin to grasp how such a thing worked, but it left him... Strangely curious. How did one eat with a fork?

Stay back, man! I've got a gun! Don't hurt meeeeeaaaaargh!

Go fuck yourself, Johnny. I was stupid enough to believe you the first time you cheated on me, I won't let you back in my life again.

My social security number is 682-49-2290 and my date of birth is January twelfth, nineteen eighty-nine. Let's go with the Gold membership package.

Sold out?! Aw man, but I just got paid today!

How did one eat with a fork indeed.

@Sickle-cell@hagroden@FancyHats

[Old Amsterdam]

Alice

CDC Director's Office

@ProPro@Sickle-Cell

---

"Ma'am? A girl saying she's a Phoenix and Replicant from the Protectorate are here to see you."

"Send up the hero, and our Lady friend Tiffany," Alice said quietly.

She leaned back in the chair, now comfortably dressed in shorts and a tank, and set her feet on the desk.

When they entered, she'd wave sheepishly and greet them.
"Greeting, and welcome to my Office. Can I offer you two anything to drink? I might as well kill two birds with one stone, and we can discuss whichever of you who wants to go first," she said with a slight laugh, her eyes shining with amusement.

[SkinnyTy]

Bryson Green (Ifrit)

The Zenith - Protectorate HQ (Ifrit's Lab)

21st January, 2011

---

It was a common misconception that Tinkers were scientists. A scientist would solve a problem by experimenting, building a model of the world, understanding something so thoroughly that they could predict exactly how that thing would work, and then they could predict how, if they intervened in the model, if they made something that used the rules of that model, they could make interesting things happen. Just like it sounds, this process takes a long time. The best scientists in the world would spend their entire lifetime to make a small contribution to all of humanities knowledge so they could make tools that were slightly better.

Tinkers, on the other hand, did not use this process. They didn’t really experiment, they didn’t truly learn from the universe. Instead, they remembered. Ever since his trigger event, a tinker would somehow already know most everything in their field of knowledge, but not in the conventional sense of know. It was more like when you haven’t attended school/university in a decade, but at one point you did thoroughly understand calculus. You don’t have to learn calculus in its entirety, you spend a little time doing some trial and error, remembering what you once knew, figuring out how things worked, and then you can do it again! That is how tinkers work. In some cases, they have to consistently relearn their knowledge because there is so much information that goes into what they do, they can only remember a portion of the necessary knowledge at a time.

That is why we are called tinkers, we have to "tinker" with things in order to re-figure-out, so to speak, how things work. Oftentimes the process takes a long time, since the knowledge comes to our heads in abstracts, not always familiar terms. Personally, I had an advantage, as before becoming a tinker I had wanted to be an engineer and had some familiarity with chemistry, and a lot of familiarity with abstract thinking. Still, even then we often didn’t understand what we built; sometimes the ideas for our constructs just arrived, like how you once figured out that something works, you can’t remember all the reasoning but you are sure that if you follow certain steps or everything is positioned/shaped in a certain way, it will work. That is how some tinkers can be utterly clueless as to how they actually did what they did.

For most tinkers, sometimes the ideas arrive in our brains at the worst of times, just building up in our heads. We would hold onto the ones we thought were useful, and try to forget the rest. That was why when a tinker like myself finally entered the lab, it felt like release. We could finally put all our ideas on paper, build them, or otherwise let go of the buildup of knowledge. For me, traveling could often be the worst as when you enter a new place it filled your head with ideas, and you had the fewest opportunities to express them. Let me tell ya, visiting a place like The Zenith… Ya, it didn’t exactly make things easier. I suppose that was another reason Boston had so many tinkers, it made good tinkers great just by its very history and educational environment.

I had managed to prioritize; the first thing I did was check my gear, which was all in working shape. I had to resupply Griffin, my large drone, and replace some of the power cells but everything looked ship shape. With all the boring chores out of the way, I excitedly headed to the “drawing board.” Which was holographic, it would have made Tony Stark jealous and I could finally tell all the old wards how “rubber-man,” my private nickname in our group, had surpassed the wimpy man of iron.

Unfortunately, the first project I set in order was… less exciting. I had written down, a long time ago, the formula to a polymer I had never actually planned to create. Normal proteins were based primarily on Carbon, and there were an awful lot of things that could be done with protein, amino acids grouped via peptide bonds were probably the most flexible tool at my disposal, when it came to creating chemical agents. However I had long ago had the idea for silicon based “amino acids” although they would need a different name then that. The capabilities such a type of protein would provide would be astonishing, but I quickly found during testing that the resulting omega-proteins, as I called them, were completely incompatible with earth biology, it could just start tearing up proteins, skewing pH levels, it was a mess. I scrapped the project as it was essentially useless since anyone who came in contact with it would die, (sooner or later, it was heavily carcinogenic) but given the situation in Boston it may, unfortunately, be of use.

Many people have heard of the botulinum toxin, it is the deadliest substance, by mass, known to man. The toxin is a protein that targets a mechanism in mammalian muscles, the tiniest bit would prevent all of somethings muscles from working, and after not too long, it would reach organs like the heart, diaphragm, esophagus, more. Resulting in rapid death. In high potentiates, it could kill, with an excessive dosage in a typical male body, in about 55 seconds, and it would stop muscle functions across the body much faster. It was the closest thing that real drugs came to the movies in being able to stop someone wholesale. I had no desire to use botulinum toxin, even if I intended to kill someone, as in the dosages necessary to kill someone quickly it would become an extreme hazard to any bystanders, since it would take a minute exposure to kill them. For better or worse, the Omega-Protein offered a solution to this problem. The Omega-protein could be designed to only maintain its- they wouldn’t be called peptide bonds? I will go with Silitide bonds…. Ya, I know, but I really needed to bring some levity to my life at that moment. -only maintain its “Silitide” bonds in conditions, a specific pH, a narrow temperature range, and it would only survive within warm, human blood. Which could only be found in the human body, obviously. As soon as it left, it would be denatured and thus harmless, no effected bystanders nothing.

To bring it all together, I would use the same mechanism Botulinum toxin used to stop muscle function, with the already dangerous Omega-proteins, to make for a non-spreadable, incredibly lethal, toxin. I had no way of knowing, and I refused to test it in any way, but I suspected this toxin could stop muscle function far more quickly, although it would probably take the same amount of time to stop a heart, even including the excessive dosages my new lethal darts would deliver.

The lab already had a molecular processor, likely intended to be used to make nanobots. I was eager to move on to projects I could be proud of, and I had a lot of ideas I wanted to use all this space for. It began the process after I input the all-too simple chemical formula. I hoped it wouldn’t be this ease to use, because….

It shouldn’t be this easy to create a weapon so lethal.

[Gardevoiran]

Anomaly

Near a crashed VTOL

---

"O-Okay..." Anomaly choked out her word as she turned to go help out a few injured people. As she walked away from Sickle, however, she turned around once more and gave him a look. Not out of anger. Not out of sympathy. Just... a look.

Sickle was broken. He walked behind Knight with his voice shifting. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. Serious pain. Anomaly watched as he trailed, his body language reeking of agony and torturous feelings. Feelings that Anomaly could sense. Her ghost hand trailed behind him, just enough for her to feel the emotions he was giving without absorption. They made her want to puke, it was so... so... terrible.

Anomaly dissolved the hand trailing behind Sickle as she ran over to a car with a kid hiding in it. He was afraid of what was going on, and Anomaly didn't blame him. She spoke into her communicator to the group as she got the kid out of the car.

"Did... did I do that to him...?" She meant it in a sense of did she get him into that state of mind that led to him and Knight's argument. She knew she didn't actually push him into thinking that.

@Sickle-cell@PlatinumSkink