Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The waiting room of the hospital was nothing special. White walls and light gray carpeting defined the room, with inoffensive artwork and posters presenting general health advice adding just enough personality to make the room comfortable. Unfortunately, I was not in a state of mind to appreciate it.

Worrying my lip for what was likely the hundredth time that night, I wondered where it had all gone wrong. What could I have done to prevent this? There had to have been something I could have done, some sign that I must have missed.

"Ms. Hebert?"

I knew that Taylor was being bullied; Taylor had straight up told me that. Unfortunately, without clear evidence of who was responsible, the school refused to take action. At first, I nodded, and agreed, even though it had hurt to do so. But as time went on, and the bullying obviously got worse and worse, I couldn't take it anymore. Several meetings after that point had ended with me being escorted out by security.

I still wanted to do something, but unfortunately, with Taylor refusing to tell even me who the perpetrators were, there wasn't much I could do. Maybe if I hadn't fallen apart after Danny, then Taylor would have trusted me, would have told me more…

"Ms. Hebert?"

Still, there must have been some sign that it would lead to this, something I had missed that…

"Ms. Hebert?"

Shocked out of my thoughts, I jerked my head up, meeting the gaze of the nurse.

"Ms. Hebert, if you could please follow me, they are ready for you," The nurse said.

I nodded and stood up, reflexively dusting off my pants as I stood. The nurse turned around and walked back through the door, and despite how every part of me was telling me to sit back down, I followed her.

Despite having shorter legs than me, the nurse walked surprisingly quickly, and I had to hurry to keep up. The walk itself seemed impossibly long, and I nearly lost track of her several times. Yet, in reality, it took less than a minute for us to reach our destination.

The first thing that came to my mind was that the room was surprisingly well lit. Most depictions of rooms like this had seen in the media were dark, with the existing light only serving to make the rest of the room seem even darker. Yet here, the room was brightly lit, with a clinical atmosphere layered over the room's true nature.

It didn't help.

Waiting for us in the room were two police officers, one male and one female, and a coroner, the three of them standing around a slab with a black bag on it. All three stopped what they were doing to look at me as we entered.

"Ms. Hebert?" Asked the male officer. "I'm officer Morgan, and this is my partner, officer Patterson." Patterson gave a small, curt nod in greeting. "We understand that you might have a relation to the deceased, and as such we wanted you to confirm that this is the person we think it is. Would you be willing to examine them?"

Now you ask? I wanted to say. Now that I'm already here?

I didn't. Instead, I nodded, and stepped closer.

The coroner looked at me, a look of something I couldn't quite identify in his eyes, before his eyes moved back to the slab. With an almost inaudible sigh, he unzipped the bag.

For a moment, I didn't recognize the person in the bag. I thought the officers were wrong, it wasn't Taylor who had died, and a feeling of relief came over me. Then I blinked, and the image came together; the black curly hair, the slightly rounded cheeks… There could be no mistaking it. The body was Taylor's.

For a moment, I stood staring at Taylor, as if I looked long enough the image would change back into what it was before. As if I could just drive home, and Taylor would be right there waiting, probably worried sick that her mother was so late and…

"It's her," I managed to force out. "It's her." I let out a shaky breath. "Where… Where was she found?"

Morgan looked hesitant, but Patterson responded before he could say anything. "We found her in the school dumpster," She said, voice taut. I looked up in surprise; I hadn't noticed it before, but the officer seemed angry. Or… resigned? Some mixture of both? It was hard to tell.

The officer sighed. "We think she was in there for at least twelve hours, and that's after we she d-"

"Patterson…" Morgan interrupted in a warning tone.

Patterson paused, glancing at her partner, who slightly shook his head. She looked back to me. "I'm sorry, but the investigation is still ongoing. We…"

I tuned her out. I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't do anything except hope that this was a nightmare.

---

The drive home went by in a blur. I could barely even drive, too caught up in my thoughts. 'What could I have done?' 'What did I do wrong?' 'What do I do now?' The first two questions were easy. My brain was more than willing to provide dozens of different mistakes I had made. I should have paid more attention; I should have pushed the school harder; I should have shown that I cared more. To the third question however, I had no response.

It was 1:00 in the morning when I stumbled back into the house. After putting away my keys more out of habit than any real thought, I shambled over to the couch and all but fell into it.

For a while, I just sat there numbly. Then, everything went black.

[DESTINATION]
[AGREEMENT]
[TRAJECTORY]
[AGREEMENT]

When I came to, I could immediately tell something was off. My throat was parched, as if I hadn't drank anything in ages, and my hands felt almost too sore to move. Slowly, I raised my head and blinked my eyes open. Sitting up I looked around to find myself in… the basement? That can't be right, I thought. I thought I was in the living room?

I blinked, realizing something. Wait, what happened here? Compared to the mostly orderly state I remembered it being in, the basement was in complete ruin, with tools, household appliances, and… kitchen supplies littered all over the room. However, what truly drew my attention was the odd object right in front of me.

The… device… looked almost like a helmet, or at least part of one. Assuming it was a hemet, several sections of it were missing, with the large gaps in the 'corners' being particularly noticeable. Yet it also had parts that you normally wouldn't find on a helmet, such as the large extrusions poking out from the sides.

I stared at the helmet for several minutes. Did… Did I build this? I couldn't see any other way it could have gotten in here, but I didn't see any way I could have built it either. It was pretty obviously tinkertech, and…

Wait…

Was… was I a tinker? I definitely wasn't one before tonight, that was for sure. That being said, during my time at college, I had been a member of Lustrum's group, at least until things had… gotten out of hand. Regardless of how it had turned out, my time with Lustrum had given me some knowledge about how powers worked. And while I most certainly wasn't an expert, I knew enough to know that people weren't born with powers, but instead gained them later on. Was that what happened to me? Did I somehow gain powers?

I shook away the thought. That was for another time. Right now, I needed to figure out what I had done. Carefully reaching down, I picked up the helmet and began to examine it.

At first, I had no clue what I was looking at, and for a moment I wondered if I actually was the one that built it. Slowly however, things began to fall into place. The extrusions on the side were storage for wires meant to penetrate the skull and brain (how did I know that?). The slot in the back was an interface for an advanced form of storage device (will have to build that later). The strange markings along the bottom of the top strip were projectors for powerful magnetic fields. The device wasn't a helmet so to speak, but some sort of brain interface device, meant to 'upload' minds and store them in an electronic format.

I paused as the implications hit me. If this could upload minds, could I upload someone who was already dead? Oh my god. Oh my god, could I upload Taylor? I could upload Taylor. I could upload Taylor!

I paused to take a deep breath. Alright, think. I might be able to upload Taylor and keep her mind intact, but would that do anything? I wanted her smiling, laughing, alive, yet "saving" her by keeping her in a tinker-tech flash drive wouldn't do any of that.

I leaned back against the wall, considering my options. Maybe I could make some sort of shell to install her upload into? Could I do that? I couldn't tell right away, but that could be because I didn't have any data to go off of.

Maybe once I uploaded her I'd be able to come up with some ideas? Yes, that was probably it.

In that case, the path forward was clear. Of course, I'd need to sneak back into the morgue, as I doubted the staff would be willing to let me use untested tinkertech, even if it was on… Taylor.
Wringing my hands out (and wincing at the pain that followed), I smiled as new ideas came to mind; ways to fool cameras, machines meant to break into locks, both electronic and physical, weapons capable of harmlessly knocking people out….

I looked around at the supplies still scattered around me, seeing what I had to work with. Not much, unfortunately; it seemed that I had already consumed most of the potentially useful components making the interface. Still, I could see a couple of items left that I might be able to use. My gaze settled on an old fan and a swiss army knife, and I smiled upon realizing what I could do with them. Yes, this should work quite well…

---

The city was quiet as I walked towards the hospital. I was pleasantly surprised; the two main gangs, the E88 and the ABB, had been stepping up their conflict throughout the past few weeks, and I had expected to see at least some gang members as a result. However, other than a few possibly E88 adjacent delinquents, the streets had been completely clear.

Not that I was complaining, of course. That just made it easier for me.

It took about twenty minutes for me to walk from where I parked my car to the hospital. I had chosen to park a fair distance away in order to hide who I was; regardless of my good intentions, I was still committing a crime, and it wouldn't do any good to be arrested before I could bring Taylor back.

That thought was at the forefront of my mind as I stared up at the large brick building, the building in which I had lost both Danny and Taylor.

I took a deep breath. Remember why you're doing this, I thought to myself. Steeling myself, I approached the front door.

There was good news and bad news; the good news was that the hospital was open all twenty four hours of the day, meaning I wouldn't have to sneak in. The bad news was that this also meant I would have to deal with staff, which… wasn't great, to say the least.

Luckily, I had made some tools for this. So long as I didn't stumble into multiple suspicious staff members at once, I should be good, I thought to myself. After taking a moment to prepare myself, I entered the building.

There were very few people present as I entered the hospital. I wasn't surprised; it was the very early morning after all.

Walking down the almost abandoned hallways, I felt a spike of anxiety upon seeing a camera. Luckily, I had prepared for this. One of the new tools I had made was something I was calling an optical projector. Taking the form of an incomplete band that wrapped around my neck, the device would use cameras built in all along it to make a map of what the room looked like. Then, it would use what were essentially small projectors to project a false image of the room into every camera it could see. The projection would look like what the camera should see without it, with one exception; I was not in it. The best part was that it was made using an old pair of headphones, meaning most people wouldn't look twice at me for wearing it.

After wandering around for several minutes, during which I did my best to look like I belonged, I finally found a part of the hospital I recognized; the waiting room.

I froze for a second as I remembered sitting in that room, waiting for the news that…

I shook myself. Get yourself together. I continued walking, moving towards the door that I remembered going through with the nurse.

It took me a while to find the morgue again, though that was less because it was hard to find and more because of my anxiety over being caught. Thankfully, I stumbled into the hospital staff only a few times, and I guess I looked like I was supposed to be there enough that they didn't ask questions, with the exception of one nurse. For her, simply asking where the waiting room was was enough to set her at ease. Finally, after what felt like hours of searching (though in reality was likely not more than a couple minutes), I arrived.
I gulped. Well, here goes nothing. Nervously looking around to make sure that no one was around, I took out and put on the bandana I had brought to cover my face, and brought my hood up to cover my hair. Was it a very good disguise? No, but it was all I could make in the time I had. Besides, I had spent most of the remaining useful detritus in the house on my gear.

Cautiously reaching out, I grabbed the door handle and attempted to turn it. It was locked. Damn. Luckily, I had prepared for this. Letting go of the handle, I raised my other arm and twisted it slightly to the side, while curling my fingers in an odd manner. It was not a motion many people would use in most contexts, which made it useful as a signal. Sure enough, I felt a click near my elbow, followed by the feeling of something crawling down my arm.

The feeling was revealed to be a small robot, slightly smaller than the palm of my hand. Looking much like a flattened spider, the robot would likely look somewhat creepy to many people.

Not to me, of course. I was the one who built it.

The robot paused on the back of my hand as it scanned the door with the crude sensors I had managed to rig up. A few seconds later, it finished its analysis, and hopped onto the door, before sticking several of its limbs into the lock.

I looked around nervously as the robot rooted around. I couldn't hear anyone approaching, but that could change any second. Finally, after what was probably around ten to twenty seconds, the door clicked as the robot (I really needed to come up with a name for it, didn't I?) finished picking the lock.

Pausing only long enough to let the bot jump back onto my arm, I hurried into the morgue, gently closing the door behind me.

As soon as the door was closed, I let out a sigh of relief. Turning around, I paused as I realized something; I didn't know which cabinet Taylor was in.

Shit.

Well, I guess I would just have to look for her then. Walking forward, I picked out the cabinet to the farthest left, and pulled it open. Nope, not her. Quickly closing the cabinet holding an obviously male body, I moved onto the next one, Not her, Not her, Not her…

After opening six cabinets and still not finding Taylor, I was starting to worry that they had moved her somewhere else for some reason. Thankfully, as I opened up the seventh cabinet, I found her.

Oh god.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at… her. Taylor had always been pale - it had run in the family, or my side at least - but that was nothing compared to the ghost white she was now. Unbidden, I felt tears coming to my eyes, as I found myself again asking how it had come to this.

I blinked, and wiped the tears away. Remember why you're here. Reaching down, I opened the small bag I had come with, and pulled out the interface. Before coming here, I had added some features, most importantly the storage device that would carry Taylor's mind until I was able to restore it. Gently raising her head, I slid the interface on.

I gulped anxiously, pausing for a moment as I did. I was so close to succeeding, and yet, suddenly, I felt a surge of anxiety flow through me. What if it didn't work? What if I invested myself completely into this, and I couldn't get Taylor back? What… What if she was gone?

I shook my head. There was no point in thinking about this. This would work. It had to. My mind set, I reached down and activated the interface.

The interface clicked, and the small spider-leg like protrusions I had fitted to the bottom folded inwards, locking the device onto Taylor's head.

At first, nothing happened. For a moment, I felt my heart sink at the thought that the interface might not work. Then, just as I was about to start examining the device for problems, I heard it; a low, quiet hum, slowly intensifying. Taking a few steps back, I watched as the hum steadily increased in pitch and intensity to become a high pitched whine, loud enough that I began to worry that the person in the hall might hear it.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the whine slowly died down, until eventually, with another soft click, the legs opened, the interface sliding slightly free as they did.

I rushed over fast enough that I almost tripped over my feet. Hurriedly grabbing the interface, I placed it back into the bag as carefully as my haste allowed. Picking the bag up, I turned to leave the room, and paused. Turning back around, I slowly leaned down, just long enough to pull my bandana down and kiss Taylor on the forehead. "Don't worry," I whispered. "You'll be home again soon." With that I once again turned around to leave.

Just then I heard it; a soft click as the door unlocked and the coroner from earlier walked in.

The man and I both froze upon seeing each other. Luckily, I had pulled my bandana back up, meaning it was unlikely he would recognize me.

The coroner broke the silence first. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded angrily, his eyes narrowing.

I didn't say anything, still too shocked to respond. Involuntarily, my eyes wandered over to Taylor, as I realized in my hurry to leave I had forgotten to close the cabinet.
The coroner's gaze followed mine. 'Shit', he mouthed silently, before starting to turn back towards the door.

I didn't wait to see what he was doing. On instinct, my arm came up, the sole weapon I had built coming online as it did. Miniature targeting sensors booted up, and the aim assist flexed the weapon's tubular barrel. With a quiet hiss, a CO2 canister (which I had looted from an old airsoft gun) expelled some of its contents, firing a small two-pronged dart.

The dart struck the coroner right in the side of the neck, just as I had programmed the weapon to. Immediately, he started to convulse as the dart ran around 2 watts of electricity through him. I didn't wait for him to stop, instead moving as quickly as I could through the door without running. Closing the door behind me, I almost forgot to pull down the bandana before walking back the way I had originally come from.

This time, I knew which way to go, and It barely took me any time at all before I was walking back out through the main doors. I started running as soon as I had left the parking lot and didn't stop until I reached the car. Quickly getting in, I fumbled around with my keys for a few seconds, before starting the car and hurriedly driving home.

As I drove, I could feel a smile coming over my face. Holy shit, I thought. I did it. Even after I got home, and as I cradled the bag holding the interface while I lay in bed, I couldn't stop smiling. I did it.

Chapter Text

I growled and did my best to avoid slamming my head into my desk as another error message appeared on my screen. God damn it.

I had been working on this for over six hours, starting right after I had come home from work that day. Yet in spite of that, it felt like I had barely made any progress at all.

Sighing, I looked up at the monster of a computer I had managed to put together to serve as the housing for Taylor's mind. It was surprisingly easy to get the supplies I needed; the tech that allowed me to sneak into the morgue made it almost trivial to steal electronics from both stores and the college I taught at.

I knew stealing from my workplace was a bad idea, but it seemed better than the other options. And besides, my camera spoofing tech meant that catching me was easier said than done, not to mention that I only had to make a few runs to get the materials required.

Unfortunately, it seemed that assembling the housing was going to be the least of my problems.

I ran my hands through my hair and glared again at the error. The problem I was facing was actually quite simple. The interface as I had assembled it was a remarkable device, capable of creating a near perfect scan of the mind of a human or other creature. It was a feat that would be impossible with normal technology as it was now, and one that even many tinkers would be impressed with from what I had read.

Unfortunately, the interface was not capable of correcting for damage to the brain. Damage such as that caused by post-mortem decomposition, especially for a scan taken many hours after death.

I lowered my head into my hands and tried not to scream. I was so close, this close to saving Taylor, and yet here I was about to fail, because I was too slow in scanning her. Maybe if I had been faster preparing, I wouldn't be here now. Maybe if I…

I shook my head. Thinking about what I could have done differently wasn't productive. Now, I needed to work with what I had. Getting up to stretch, I considered my options.

Okay, it was pretty clear that just plugging Taylor's scan as it was into her housing wasn't going to work. Her mind had degraded too much for that, and if I tried anyway, the best outcome would be that it just wouldn't work. At worst, I would be left with a tortured, screaming shell of Taylor, which…

I shook my head again. No, don't think about that.

I started to pace around the room. So, what options did I have? I couldn't go back to take another scan, that was obvious; even if I could access her body again, which wasn't a guarantee, her mind would have only degraded further. Ironically, the scan I had was the most intact version of Taylor's mind that still existed.

And wasn't that a sad thought?

Well, if I couldn't use the scan as it was, and I couldn't get a new one, maybe I could try to fix this one? The thought almost made me laugh. Seriously, what was I thinking? Did I really think I could somehow 'fix' the scan that I had? It wasn't like…

I paused. Wait, maybe I could? Even as I stood there, ideas on ways to patch up what was left of Taylor's mind came to me. Bits of code I could substitute in for those parts of her mind that were gone, along with programs that could sift through the scan to find bits that were still intact and use those to repair parts that had decayed.

Rushing back to my desk, I immediately started working on implementing my new ideas. It all seemed to come naturally to me, and I idly noted how quickly the code appeared on my screen.

It was kind of odd. I had always been a fast typer, I knew that much. However, my normal typing speed wasn't even close to the speed at which I was coding now. I guess that was my power at work? I mean, I certainly couldn't have made the interface before gaining powers, let alone have done so with the supplies I had on hand.

Eh, it wasn't really worth thinking about for now. Maybe once I had saved Taylor I could look further into it, but for now, I needed to focus on this.

I was so caught up in typing that I almost didn't hear my morning alarm going off. Looking down at my watch, my eyes widened as I saw that it was 6:30, the time I usually got up for work.

Uh, whoops.

Swearing under my breath, I quickly got up and started to move quickly towards the stairs. Suddenly, I felt my foot catch on something I couldn't quite see. Putting my hands up, I barely managed to catch myself before I would have hit my face against the floor.

I sighed. I really should have gotten some sleep last night, I thought as I pushed myself back to my feet.

Well, not much I could do about that now. As much as I needed sleep, I wouldn't be able to do much if I didn't have money to pay the electric bill. And while I could try and steal money, it seemed safer to just go to work.

I paused. Maybe I could try calling in sick? Looking at myself, it certainly seemed true enough, and while I had been a bit absent minded while at work, I still noticed the way my co-workers had been looking at me, as though I could break apart at any moment.

And of course, if I called in sick, I could have more time to work on Taylor…
My mind made up, I walked up the stairs and over to the phone. Picking it up, I dialed my boss Laura's phone number and waited for her to answer.

A few seconds later, I heard the click of someone picking up their end of the phone. "Hey Annette, how are you doing?" I heard Laura's voice come over the line.

I paused for a moment, not sure how to respond. When I finally did, I was surprised at how broken my voice sounded.

"Uh, not great. I think I'm going to have to call in sick today." And maybe tomorrow too, I thought. And the day after.

I heard her shift on the other end of the line. "Yes, that sounds fine," she said, sounding somewhat relieved. "Oh, and, uh," she paused. "I'm sorry I haven't gotten the chance to talk to you much this week, but I just wanted to give my condolences for your daughter."

"Oh," I said. Even after hearing those same words too many times to count, I still wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Uh, thank you."

"Of course," she responded. "Just know that if you need more time, or anything else, you just need to ask. We're all here for you."

"Uh," I said again, once again not sure how to respond. Ever since Taylor died, all anyone could seem to say to me was "I'm sorry for your loss," or "My condolences," or "we're here for you." I knew that that was what they were supposed to say, but all I wanted to do was yell at them. Yell that Taylor wasn't dead, that I could bring her back, that I would bring her back.

But of course, I couldn't say that. That would only raise questions that I couldn't answer. Not yet, at least.

"Thank you," I replied instead.

"It's no problem," I heard her say. "Just… take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I said quickly, barely hearing what she said before hanging up. Wandering over to a chair, I barely managed to reach it before I collapsed into it. As I rested my head on the table, I felt tears coming to my eyes.

God damn it. The conversation with Laura had brought back some feelings that I had been carefully pushing down, namely my grief over losing…

No! I thought. She is not gone, I have her right here. She's fine. She will be fine. I just need to finish the code, and she'll be back to normal. That's all.

Choking back a sob, I weakly stood. Oddly enough, I no longer felt like I needed to sleep. I still felt tired, just… not that kind of tired. I looked back towards the basement where Taylor's housing was.

Don't worry, I thought. You'll be home again soon. With that, I went back downstairs to continue my work.

---

As I looked at my finished code, I couldn't help but smile slightly. Despite how large the scan was, it had taken only around, - I checked my watch - six hours to fully create the code necessary to fill the gaps in Taylor's scan. Quickly doing a check to see if it would work, I felt my smile grow as the code reported no errors. Now all I needed to do was actually run the various programs I had made to do so, and Taylor would be back, just as she had been before.

I paused, the smile falling from my face. Wait.

Quickly throwing together a program to go through my work, I felt my stomach fall as it reported that almost 35% of the finished model would likely be my code. Not Taylor.

"Fuck," I whispered. "Fuck!"

Picking up a random piece of debris that hadn't been used, I threw it at the wall as hard as I could, barely noticing as it exploded into fragments. "Fuck fuck FUCK!" I screamed as I kicked my chair hard enough to send it slamming into the wall. "God fucking damnit!"

My legs gave out under me, and I felt tears once again coming to my eyes as I hit the ground. This time I let them. After all that, I thought. After getting so close…

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Now what? I thought morosely. Not wanting to stand up, I considered just waiting for the person to go away.

The doorbell rang again. I sighed. Guess I should answer. Slowly getting up, I shambled my way over to the door.

As I opened the door, I was surprised to see the person who was there was Officer Patterson, the woman who was in the morgue with me when I had first seen Taylor's body.

Patterson blinked, surprised. For a moment I was confused as to why, before I realized how I must have looked to her.

To her credit, Patterson quickly got over her shock. "Is this a bad time Ma'am, she asked.

I sniffed and wiped my face before responding. "No?" I didn't mean to make it sound like a question, but it came out like it anyway.

The officer was clearly not convinced, but chose to continue anyway. "Alright. Well, we just wanted to let you know that about, uh…" She looked embarrassed for a moment. "About a week ago, we registered a break-in into the morgue your daughter was being kept at."

I blinked, confused about what she said. A break-in? What? Then I blinked again, realizing they were talking about me. Oddly, I had to fight off the urge to laugh, in spite of none of this being funny.

The officer continued. "The sole witness to the break in stated that your daughter's body had been partially removed from its cabinet. At this time, we are not sure what the intentions behind this break-in were, though we have found no additional… damage to your daughter."

Patterson paused, looking at me as though waiting for me to respond. After a moment, I realized she probably was.

"...Okay," I managed to respond. I wasn't sure what else to say.

Patterson continued to look at me, seeming both somewhat concerned and confused. "Are you alright Ma'am?" She asked.

"Yes," I said "No. I'm… I'm not sure."

Patterson nodded, seeming to understand. "Alright. Just don't be afraid to get help if you need it, okay?"

I suddenly felt the urge to punch her. It was unfair, I knew, but the concern she was showing just made me want to grab her by the neck and shake her and scream that… I wasn't sure.

Instead, I just nodded. "Okay," I said again.

Patterson gave me another concerned look, before nodding and walking back to her car. I watched as she got into the car with her partner. As they drove away, I closed the door, wandered back over to the dining room table, and started to cry.

---

I've always hated funerals. I always have, ever since I went to my grandfather's. While we weren't really all that close, my mother was, and seeing her reaction made me hate funerals right then and there.

My father's funeral came much later on, after I married Danny. By that point, my relationship with my family was… strained, to put it lightly, but not so strained that mom didn't invite me. Naturally, I was much closer with Dad than granddad, but the rifts that had been torn in my family meant that my reaction was not as strong as it would have been otherwise.

Unsurprisingly, Mom reacted far more strongly.

Then came Danny's funeral, and that one was my turn to break down. I tried to be strong for Taylor, of course, but I don't think I did all that well.

And now… Now it was Taylor's funeral.

I hate funerals.

The noise of leaves crunching alerted me to someone walking up from behind. I turned around, meeting the gaze of Zoe Barnes.

"...Hey Anne…" Zoe said softly.

"Hi Zoe," I said back.

The two of us stood there for a moment, not sure what to say.

Zoe opened her mouth as if to speak, and then closed it again. After a few more tries she finally managed to speak. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't," I said without thinking.

Zoe wilted, and I mentally kicked myself "Sorry," I said. "It's just, I've heard that so many times and…"

Zoe nodded. "I understand."

I let out a breath of relief. "Thank you."

Zoe looked over to the grave that Taylor was now resting in. "I'm still sorry."

I nodded. "I know."

I heard more crunching. Looking over, I saw that this time it was Emma approaching. She gave a small wave. "Hi aunt Anne."

I gave her a curt nod. "Hi Emma."

Emma cleared her throat. "I'm sorry for your loss," She said.

I nodded in response. "Thank you, and I'm sorry too. I know you two were very close."

Emma's lip twitched. "Thank you," she said sadly.

I paused, not sure how to bring up what I wanted to ask.

"Emma," I started. "I know you and Taylor went to school together. While you were there, did you see anyone… bullying her?"

Emma's lip twitched again. "No, or at least, not that I can remember, though we did have mostly different classes, so I might not have been there to see it."

I paused. What? "Huh," I said. That's odd. Taylor mentioned that you were in quite a few classes together."

Emma froze for a second, before giving a smile. "Oh, well yeah, we did have a few, but there were still a few that we didn't have together, so it could have happened there I guess."

I nodded slowly. Something felt off here, but I couldn't put my finger on what. "Okay. Well, thank you. Sorry, I just…" I couldn't find the words to finish my sentence.

Emma nodded. "It's okay," she said. "Oh, hold on, I think dad's waving me over. Bye!" With that, she turned around and quickly walked away.

I turned back to face Zoe, who had a strange look on her face.

"Is everything alright?" I asked her.

Zoe blinked, surprised, and shook her head. "Yeah, sorry, just thinking." She turned back to me and offered a small, sad smile. "If you need anything…" She trailed off.

I nodded. "Thank you."

Zoe gave me a short nod, and with that, went after Emma.

---

I stumbled back into the house in a daze. The funeral had brought every feeling I was trying to keep down to the fore of my mind, and I just couldn't deal with it. After slowly making my way to my room, I collapsed into my bed.

Staring at the ceiling, I wondered what I was going to do now. My plan of bringing back Taylor had pretty much fallen through, and while the housing was still in the basement, that was more because it would be a pain to move out. And where would I even put it? It was obviously tinkertech, meaning I couldn't just toss it without raising a ton of questions, not to mention that most of it was technically stolen property. For now, I was just planning on keeping it in the basement until I figured out what to do with it.

I let out a shaky breath, and got up. Before doing anything else, I decided I should take a few minutes to clear my mind. Not really knowing what to do, I started to walk around the house.

I'm not sure how long I spent walking, maybe it was a few minutes, maybe it was an hour. What I do know however, is that when I finally stopped, it was because I realized that by random chance I had wandered into Taylor's room.

At first, I wanted to leave. However, something stopped me from doing so. Instead, I began looking around at the various things that she kept before she died. On my right, I saw her desk, with her computer still on it. Despite myself, I never could bring myself to use it in the housing. In the left corner, I saw her bed, still made from the last day she went to school.

Letting out a sigh. I sat down on her bed and looked over the room, thinking to myself. Maybe I should activate the mental model, I thought. Hell, why shouldn't I? Yes, 35% of the code was mine, but that just meant 65% of it was still her. So what if she might be a little different? Everyone changes with time. This would just be a somewhat bigger change than normal. You know what? Fuck it. Just, fuck it. I'm bringing her back, I thought. Regardless of anything else.

With my mind made up, I got up and walked out of her room, heading back to the basement. Pulling my chair back into position, I opened up Taylor's code and took a few deep breaths.

Okay, I thought. Here goes nothing. After quickly checking to make sure there were no errors I missed, I crossed my fingers and activated the system.

Chapter Text

Waking up, the first thing I felt was confusion.

What? Where am I? I thought, attempting to look around the blank, empty space I seemed to have found myself in. Strangely, I didn't seem to be able to. In fact, I couldn't feel anything either, including my own body.

Huh, that's odd. For a while I continued trying to move my body, only to get no response. Eventually, I stopped, realizing it was useless.

It was really odd. In most circumstances, I figured I would be panicking. Sensory deprivation was not something people were generally meant to deal with. And yet here I was, completely calm.

Okay, maybe not completely.

Maybe I was in a coma? Sure, this didn't seem like anything I had heard about, but it wasn't like I had spent much time researching what people experienced while in comas. For all I knew, this was the norm.

I tried to take a breath- and failed, obviously. For a second, I felt a twinge of fear that I might suffocate. It went away after I realized that if I hadn't done so yet, then I should be fine.

Okay, so what happened to me? Wracking my memory, I tried to figure out what the last thing I remembered was.

I couldn't remember.

Okay, I thought. That's bad. Now worried, I tried to see what else I could remember about my life. I remembered my name, Taylor Hebert. I remembered my mother, Annette Hebert. I remembered my father, Danny Hebert.

Oh, I thought, remembering that he was dead. Thinking about that made me slightly sad.

What else? I remembered Emma, and how she… turned. Is she why I'm here? Did she do something to me?

I still couldn't remember.

As I continued to look through my memories, I felt a spike of alarm as I realized that I couldn't remember much about some of the times I had spent with my parents. That… That can't be right, I thought, feeling what could have been panic. I started to flip through my memories as quickly as I could, trying to find what I was missing. I couldn't have forgotten everything, right?

I paused. Wait, flipping? I wasn't the kind of person to spend my time examining how my thoughts worked, especially after high school and all of its… drama had started, but I was pretty sure the way I was going through my memories wasn't the way I had used to. Now curious, I looked closer at some of my memories- which itself felt weird.

What I saw just confused me even more. Where before my memories were fleeting, and hard to keep in focus, now I could examine them however I wanted. I could pause on certain moments, go forwards or backwards, or even fast forward through them.

On the other hand, it still wasn't perfect. Elements of the memory would shift from moment to moment, as if my brain wasn't actually sure what was there, and was instead trying -and failing- to fill in the blanks.

I… I'm pretty sure my memories weren't like that before, were they?

Shaking my nonexistent head, I decided that I had spent enough time idling. Okay, I thought. What can I do here? It was clear that my original strategy of trying to move as if I still had control of my body wasn't going to work, so maybe I could do something else?

This time, instead of trying to move my limbs, I instead tried… mentally reaching out instead? It was hard to put into words, but as soon as I started, I immediately felt something shift. Taking that as a good sign, I continued, and before long felt something there.

Surprised, I recoiled from the 'object', having not expected to find anything there. What the hell? I thought as I tried to shake out my hands, momentarily forgetting that I didn't have any.

Taking some time to calm myself, I decided to reach back out and see what the object was. Slowly, I repeated the same mental 'reaching' that I did before, until I made contact with whatever I had found before.

It's moving? No, moving wasn't quite the right word. More like pulsing, except instead of a single pulse, it was more like thousands, like so many pins and needles constantly poking at my mind. Except… this felt almost good? It was hard to describe.

I sat there for a bit, feeling the odd sensation of the object pricking at me. Ah, to hell with it. Taking a leap of faith, I wrapped myself around the object completely, connecting with it.

Immediately, the sensation shifted, changing from its original form to… Sight?

With my newfound vision, I was able to see that I was actually in the basement of my house. Except from what I could tell, much of the random junk that had once filled it had been removed.

Or… at least I thought so? My memories were fuzzy about that.
However, what really drew my attention was the person standing right in front of me.

Mom? I thought, bewildered.

Mom looked like she had seen better days. Her hair, which she usually spent a good deal of time maintaining, was frazzled and unkempt. She had large bags under her eyes, which were clearly visible even with my less than great vision. She looked like she hadn't slept for weeks.

Oddly enough, while she appeared to be speaking, her mouth looked to be moving almost as though in slow motion. I also couldn't hear a word of what she was saying.

'Mom?' I tried to say, only to once again feel nothing. Really? Mentally sighing, I reached out again, trying to find something else that might let me communicate with her.

Sure enough, before long, I found another object, this one also pulsing. Wrapping around it as well, I felt a surge of relief as hearing returned to me.

Here, it became obvious that it wasn't just my vision; Mom actually was speaking in slow motion. It probably would have been somewhat funny if it wasn't for how strange the situation was, or how desperate Mom looked.

Is there a way for me to speed things up? I asked myself. Focusing on the image I was getting, I tried to 'twist' in such a way as to match my speed to what I was seeing.

Suddenly, reality seemed to speed up, faster and faster until Mom looked like she was a character in a sped up VHS tape. Except… not quite? While part of me was interpreting reality at this new speed, the other part of me was processing it at the same slowed down rate from before. It felt like it should have been disorienting, yet it strangely wasn't.

Well, that's not right.

This time, I twisted the other way, albeit slower than I did the first time. As I did, reality started to slow down, until eventually it seemed to move at the speed I remembered it being. With that done, I turned my attention towards Mom.

"Taylor? Taylor, can you hear me?" she was saying, sounding increasingly desperate. "Taylor, if you-"

Reaching out again, I found yet another object. Unlike the last two, this one wasn't moving. I wrapped it around it.

Huh, I thought. Unlike the other two, which sensory information seemed to flow out of, this one felt like I was supposed to put information in. Carefully, I tried poking at it to see what it would do.

Suddenly, a strange noise that sounded almost like thunder boomed out into the room. Mom jumped, and I almost recoiled away from the sensory objects again in shock.

"T-Taylor?" Mom asked, sounding worried.

Poking at the object again and again, and seeing what noises it made when I did so, after 274 milliseconds, I finally managed to map out every sound it could make. From there it was easy to figure out how to use the different sounds to emulate my old voice.

Wait, what? I thought. There was no way I should have been able to figure that out, right? I tried to shake my head. Whatever was going on, I could figure it out after checking on Mom. Focusing on the object, I sounded out my first words.

"Mom, are you alright?" I asked.

Mom immediately broke down in tears, falling to the floor as she did so. Automatically, I tried to lunge out to grab her, only to be reminded that I couldn't.

"Taylor!" she cried out. "I'm sorry! I thought- I didn't-" her words devolved into incoherent sobbing.

"Mom!" I yelled. "Mom, what's wrong?"

She didn't answer, instead continuing to sob. After 27 seconds of receiving no response, I stopped talking, instead waiting for her to work out whatever she was going through.

12 seconds after I stopped speaking, Mom looked back up to me, panic appearing on her face. "Taylor?" she asked frantically, stumbling to her feet. "Are you there?"

"Yes, I am still here," I responded, now feeling confused. What was going on?

A look of relief appeared on her face, and she stumbled forward. "Taylor! Thank God-" more tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, and she let out another sob before choking it back.

I decided it would be best if I took the initiative. "Mom," I started. "What's going on? Why can't I feel anything?"

Mom froze. For 2.7 seconds I worried that she might break down again. Then, she started talking.

"The- The police, they said they found you in the dumpster, by- by the school," she said, clearly barely avoiding sobbing. "They said you were in there for at least twelve hours."

As she spoke, I somehow started to feel cold, despite not having a body.

"You were…" She paused, not able to say the word we were both thinking. Dead.

Her eyes lit up. "B-but I brought you back! See!" She gestured at me. "I know it must be strange and scary, but don't worry!" She smiled.

I didn't say anything, too busy trying to process the information I had just been given. I… I died? When? I don't remember that.

My thoughts darkened. Emma.

My Mom's smile faded, and her eyes widened a bit. "Taylor?" she asked, her worry clear in her voice.

"I'm still here," I reassured her.

Mom's shoulders relaxed, and the smile slowly came back. "Ah, okay." Her smile dimmed. "Uh, Taylor, I know this might be a difficult question, but…" She bit her lip. "Do you… remember how you…" She once again didn't say the word.

I paused for half a millisecond, again checking my memories. "No," I finally said. "I don't. I don't remember a lot of things actually."

Mom winced and fiddled her hands. "I'm… I'm sorry Taylor, but… by the time I got to you, your mind had… degraded."

…Oh, I thought, not sure what to think about that.

She sniffed. "I'm sorry Taylor," she said, tears appearing in her eyes. "I wasn't fast enough-"

"It's okay Mom," I said quickly, trying to prevent her from continuing.

She looked somewhat doubtful, but nodded anyway.

After 17 seconds of silence, I decided to continue the conversation. "So," I asked. "What do we do now?"

Mom paused. "I… I don't know." Her gaze wandered off to the corner of the basement. "I didn't really think this far ahead."

"Well," I tried. "You're obviously a tinker; have you considered going to the Protectorate?"

Mom's gaze shot up to me, a look of horror on her face. "What?" she asked, shocked. "Taylor, are you insane? What about you?"

'What about me?' I almost asked. Then, I realized the way mom brought me back, I was obviously no longer human. In fact, I was probably closer to an artificial intelligence, or at least, that is what people would see me as. The PRT and Protectorate were… not exactly acceptive of AI's even before Eagleton and the Machine Army, and had only gotten more strict from there.

Shit, I thought.

"Okay…" I admitted. "Definitely not the Protectorate. So what other options are there?"

Mom looked at me, seeming slightly lost. "Well, uh…" Suddenly, she perked up. "Maybe we could look into who kill-" Her voice cut off. Taking a second to clear her throat, she continued. "The people who did this to you?"

I paused, not sure how to tell her who I thought did it.

"Mom," I said slowly, "Did I ever tell you who was bullying me?

She shook her head. "No," she said. "You didn't." I heard a note of sadness in her voice, and felt somewhat guilty about not telling her sooner.

Why didn't I? I asked myself. Once again, I couldn't remember.

"...Okay," I said. "It was…" I paused again, not wanting to say their names, but knowing that I needed to. "Sophia Hess," I started. Mom nodded slowly, not knowing who that was. "Madison Clements," I continued. "And…" here came the hard part. "...Emma Barnes," I finished.

For a moment, Mom looked at me blankly, as if unable to believe what she heard. Then, her eyes narrowed, and she started to shake slightly. "That little bitch…" she hissed, her teeth bared.

"Mom," I said slowly. "Please calm down."

Mom's glare shot over to me. "Calm down?" she yelled. "How am I supposed to calm down when…"

Her anger seemed to leave her, and she collapsed in her chair. "Why Taylor?" she asked. "Why would Emma…."

"I don't know," I said. "Or at least, I don't remember, though I don't think I knew then either."

Mom just sat there for 47 seconds, staring at the wall. Eventually, she looked back at me. "I'm going to make them pay," she promised. "I don't know how, but-"

"I don't think that's a good idea," I interrupted. "Not yet at least," I quickly threw in seeing the expression on her face. "Think about the PRT; how do you think they'd respond to a cape going after seemingly innocent civilians?" Using the word 'innocent' to describe the Trio put a bad taste in my non-existent mouth. "You'd be automatically considered a villain, and I don't see that ending well."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, like she was figuring out what to say. Eventually, she nodded. "...Alright," she said. "But I'm not going to let this go. Taylor, they killed you." She winced.

"I know," I said." "But I'm here now." Right? I thought.

Mom nodded again, seemingly comforted by that. "Okay," she said. She sniffed. "Thank you."

"Of course," I responded.

We sat there in silence for another 17 seconds. Finally, Mom broke it. "So," she said. "You think it was Emma who was responsible for this?"

"It seems like the most likely option," I agreed. "Though I suspect anything physical was done by Sophia, given that she was always the more violent one."

Mom stood up and started to pace around the room. "But we don't have any evidence of this, do we?"

"No, we don't," I said. "Nor do I have any memories of the event itself."

Mom paused, as if about to say something, only to decide against it.

"So," she said instead. "That just means we need to find some."

I considered this for 2.3 seconds. "That is one option," I decided. "How do we do it?"

She wilted. "I'm… I'm not sure. The police are supposedly still looking, but…"

I internally winced. The police in Brockton Bay were well known for being corrupt, overworked, and underfunded, meaning the chances of them finding anything were not great. Given the state of Winslow, it seemed likely they would just pin it on one of the gangs and be done with it. Probably the Merchants, if I had to guess.

"There is one option," I realized as I looked through my memories. "After the bullying started, I decided to keep a journal of the stuff they did to me. I didn't bring it to school out of worry it might be destroyed, so it should still be in my room."

Mom nodded. "Alright, that's a start, but…" She hesitated. "I don't think the police will accept that as evidence."

I would have shrugged if I could. "If nothing else, it's worth a try, right?"

She seemed to think on it for 24 seconds before slowly nodding her head. "Alright," she said hesitantly. "But I wouldn't expect it to do much."

"Alright," I said. "In that case, what else can we do?"

Mom looked down and shrugged, uncertain. I winced again. It was clear that mom had not taken my death well, but right now, she seemed to be almost a completely different person than I remembered.

Trying to move my attention away from that, I considered our options. "Phones," I decided. "Emma and Sophia both had them, and I would not be surprised if there was some evidence of what they did in their communication."

Mom worried her lip, before shrugging. "Sure, why not," she said with a chuckle. "It's not like stealing a phone is the worst thing I've done this week."

I paused, trying to figure out what she was talking about before deciding I didn't want to know.

"So," I said, trying to change the subject. "From what I know about capes, each tinker has their own specialty. Do you know what yours is?

Mom thought about it for a moment. "I think something to do with robots," she decided. "When I broke into the morgue to scan you, I made a small robot that could pick locks, and come to think of it, everything else I made seems to work mostly on its own as well."

I considered this, impressed. "That is a very versatile specialization," I commented.

Mom shrugged. "All I care about is that it let me bring you back," she said.

"Well, with that in mind," I continued, "I can think of a couple of ways we could achieve our goal. There is one problem though."

Mom looked up at me. "What is it?"

"Well," I started. "I can't exactly look around, but from what I can see, most of our available materials have been used, correct?"

Mom looked down and rubbed her forehead. "Oh, right. Shit."

"Don't worry," I said. "I have some ideas on how we can fix that."

Mom looked up at me, clearly interested. If I still had a mouth, I would have smiled.

Chapter Text

Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair and wondered, not for the first time, what in God's name had convinced her to accept her current job as director of the PRT in Brockton Bay.

Standing at the front of the room, Armsmaster continued to prattle on about the current state of the city. As it turned out, everything was completely shit. Not that that was new; it was shit when she got there, and would probably still be shit when she left.

Assuming it's still standing, of course, she thought bitterly.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Armsmaster continued on. "The Empire has been heavily stepping up their recruitment efforts in the past few weeks," he said. "Based on previous trends, it is likely they are preparing for a new offensive against the ABB. Fortunately, they have not managed to acquire any new capes."

Emily felt the corner of her mouth twitch downwards. That last bit was good, she'd admit that much. It was just that the E88 already outnumbered them in the cape field twice over if you didn't count the Wards. The thought of the Protectorate being outgunned by a single gang would have made her laugh, if it wasn't for the fact that that seemed to be the norm these days.

Up ahead, Armsmaster swapped his attention to a different gang. "On the ABB," he said, "They too have been attempting to recruit new members. However, they have not had as much success as the E88 in doing so. Like the E88, they have also not succeeded in obtaining any new capes.

Not that they need to, was the unspoken statement. Lung on his own was enough to take on the entire BB Protectorate, and hold back the combined capes of the E88. The fact they also had a teleporter who could function as a multi-use suicide bomber was just icing on one very shitty cake.

Perhaps sensing the mood of the room for once, Armsmaster pressed a button, and the screen shifted again, this time showing a map of the city, with the territory of the various gangs marked out in different colors. "Now, on the other villain groups, the Merchants have been lying low, likely due to the increased aggression of the other gangs. It is likely that they will continue to do this until the current conflict has run its course. If our past experiences with them are anything to go by, it is likely they will launch their own offensive as soon as the E88 and the ABB run out of willingness to fight, in order to maximize their effectiveness. Of course, said offensive is unlikely to be overly successful either way."

Emily shifted in her seat and tried not to sigh. The Merchants were held in what could only be described as disgusted wonder by the city at large. How did such a poorly managed, incompetent, and drugged out gang manage to survive in the hellish warzone that was Brockton Bay? Nobody knew. Emily suspected it was a combination of luck and being too small for the other gangs to deal with while they still had each other to worry about.

"For Coil," Armsmaster continued, "Not much worth reporting has happened. His mercenaries continue to clash intermittently with the Empire, but other than that, we don't have much to go off of. He still has no known capes, and we do not believe that the scale of his unpowered forces has changed in any significant way."

There were nods around the room. Coil was considered to be a non-issue by most, considering that other than periodic scuffles with the E88, he mostly kept to himself. While this was cause for some concern, as no one really knew what he was up to, the larger, more active gangs generally took priority.

Emily nodded. "Very good. Is there anything else?"

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "In fact, there is."

The screen shifted again, this time showing a picture of… Brockton General?

"Thirteen days ago, the mortuary at Brockton General Hospital was broken into by an unknown tinker. Said tinker did not steal anything, or at the very least, the hospital has not reported anything missing. However, the mortuary cabinet of one Taylor Hebert was found open by the coroner." The screen changed to show the picture of a teenage girl wearing square-framed glasses.

Piggot felt a chill move down her spine. There were few reasons she could see for a tinker to break into a morgue. None of them set her particularly at ease.

Battery leaned forward. "Biotinker?" she asked.

Armsmaster shook his head. "While we cannot say for certain, the one piece of tinkertech left behind by the tinker was purely inorganic in nature. While it doesn't completely rule out the possibility, it does significantly diminish it."

Piggot relaxed her shoulders. Thank God. "So, what is their specialty then?"

Armsmaster frowned. "Unknown. So far, the only known example of their tech is this;"

The screen shifted to show an odd, dart-like object. "Based on my disassembly of it, the device appears to be a self contained taser, designed to be launched from some form of projectile weapon. The tinker used this to disable the coroner, who confronted them during the break-in."

Emily shifted in her seat. "So, assault then. Do we have any suspects?"

"Yes, in fact, we do," Armsmaster confirmed. Again, the screen changed, this time showing a picture of a woman. For some reason, she looked strangely familiar.

"This is Annette Hebert, mother of the deceased, Taylor Hebert," he said, and suddenly Emily knew why the woman looked familiar. "Because of saliva-based DNA evidence found on Taylor's forehead, her relation to the deceased, and the description given by the coroner, she is the primary suspect.

Emily nodded slowly, slightly confused. "Do we have a motive?" she asked.

"Not a concrete one," Armsmaster said, scowling. "Though if I were to make a guess, it is possible that she believed she had a way to bring her daughter back from the dead."

Emily raised her eyebrows. "Is that possible?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "While we do not know the limits or specialty of Ms. Hebert's power, I would assume not."

"But you don't know for sure," Emily asked, narrowing her eyes.

Armsmaster grimaced and shifted slightly. "I suppose it is possible," he admitted. "However, I have not heard of any cape capable of reviving someone who has been dead for any significant period of time, and the girl was dead for at least half a day. Either way, I will not be able to say anything for certain without more information."

Emily glared at him for several more seconds before relenting. "Alright then. So when are we bringing her in?"

Armsmaster looked pained for a moment. "At the moment, I do not believe that to be the best choice."

Emily's glare resumed. "Why not?" She asked.

Armsmaster sighed. "Because, Ms. Hebert was in the mortuary earlier that day, in order to confirm that the deceased was in fact her daughter. Because of this, simply proving that she was in the room may not be enough evidence to arrest her, and will certainly not be enough to convict her."

Feeling a headache coming on, Emily rubbed her forehead and sighed. "Of course," she muttered. "It would never be that easy." Looking around, she said, "Alright, well if we can't arrest her, at the very least we need to put her under observation, maybe see if we can find out what she is doing."

Armsmaster nodded. "Of course," he agreed. "I will get on that right away."

"Is that such a good idea?" Miss Militia asked. "I doubt Ms. Hebert is in a good state of mind right now. If she realizes we're watching her, it could sour any potential relationship going forward."

Piggot snorted. "That state of mind is exactly the reason we need to watch her. As you just said, Ms. Hebert is likely unstable, and I have no desire to see what happens when an unstable tinker of unknown capability is given free rein."

Militia still looked concerned, but didn't say anything else. Seeing she was done, Piggot turned her attention to the rest of the room. "Any other concerns?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The assembled capes looked at each other. Finally, one of them spoke up.

"I have to agree with Militia," Assault said. "The woman just lost her daughter. Assuming that Armsie's right and she is a cape, then I would bet good money that that was her trigger event. Honestly, if it weren't for the fact she'd probably panic at the sight of us getting involved in her business, I'd say that we should just talk to her."

Emily had to resist the urge to scoff. Of course it would be the former villain that spoke up in a case like this.

"While this may have been 'her business' before, that changed the moment she decided to break into a hospital and assault a civilian. At the moment, my concern is what kind of threat this new villain poses to my city," she said, making sure to emphasize the word villain.

Assault looked like he wanted to argue more, but a harsh glare directed at him by Emily was enough to shut him up for the time being. "Anyone else?" she asked, sweeping her gaze across the rest of the capes. No one answered.

Emily waited a moment to make sure no one was going to say anything. "Good, then it's settled," she eventually said. "Armsmaster, keep an eye on Hebert, and try to find out what she's up to. And for the love of God, try not to be spotted."

Armsmaster nodded. "Of course."

Chapter Text

After some discussion, Mom and I decided that the best way to get resources would be to scavenge them from various sites around the city. Computers could be 'acquired' relatively easily from stores and the like, while structural materials could be obtained from the trainyards and possibly the Ship Graveyard.

Tonight, we were going for basic materials. Mom had already gathered a decent surplus of electronic components while building my housing, enough that we wouldn't have to worry about that category for at least a few weeks. Instead, the bottleneck was taking the form of simpler materials; steel, aluminum, and plastic. Luckily for us, those weren't too hard to come by if you looked in the right place.

I watched through the perspective of our six harvester bots as they scampered across the ground. Looking like a strange amalgamation of spider and crab, I suspect the machines would have looked horrifying to any bystanders. I didn't think we were too likely to run into any though; it was currently 3:00 AM, and most of the city was asleep, with only the periodic shouting and occasional gunfire typical of the Bay being present.

Mom had originally wanted to stay up to watch, but, after some pestering from me, had eventually agreed to go to bed. At this point, there wasn't much more she could do, and it would be better for her to get the sleep she had obviously been missing.

Despite the fact that the bots could push 12 mph in speed, I was taking them much slower than that. The bots were new, and my control over them was still largely untested. The last thing we needed was to lose one to a mistake or mechanical failure.

Controlling the robots was… strange. Compared to the smooth command I remembered having over my original body, the control I had over the robots was far more indirect. For example, instead of telling them where to move each individual limb, I instead set more general directives; move over here, pick this item up, avoid these stimuli, so on and so forth.

Mom and I had figured out I could interface with and control her tech after I had accidentally done so with one of her earlier creations, a robot meant to pick locks. While simple compared to the ones I was controlling now, the bot was still capable of limited autonomous action, albeit not to the extent of the harvesters.

Finally, after 24 minutes of walking, we finally arrived at the trainyards. The place had seen better days, to put it nicely. While the yard I was in still had numerous trains, all of them were covered in rust and scrapes. Littered all over the yard were piles of scrap and debris, to the point I suspect it would be unsafe for a human to walk through. The most obviously dangerous areas were separated from the rest by fencing, but most of said fencing had holes and similar damage.

Well, better get to work, I thought.

I sent the commands, and the bots rapidly scattered across the yard. Going from pile to pile, they scanned each piece of junk they found with spectroscopic scanners. When they found materials that could be useful, they unfurled their salvaging equipment. Lasers cut large pieces into smaller, more manageable fragments, which were pulled by mechanical arms into the robots' interior, where smaller lasers and blades would cut and peel the salvage into threads for easy storage. It was a highly efficient process, which allowed the bots, each the size of a small microwave, to store far more material than one might assume at first glance. Any materials that needed to be stored whole were instead placed into their own specialized compartments.

The threads were meant to be used in a device we decided to call a fabricator. About the size of a minifridge, it was the most materially expensive of Mom's Tinkertech so far. However, its ability to make use of almost any materials provided to make components promised to more than make up for its admittedly high cost.

Once it was completed, that is. Mom still needed some more materials to finish it up.

While the bots were doing their thing, I took a moment to look through the Internet. After I had been… brought online, one of the first things I had asked for was a way to access the Internet, and Mom had provided.

Going through the internet was similar to accessing the various peripherals connected to my housing. Except, the nodes I connected to on the internet were… farther away, I guess? I knew that they were actually farther away in real life too, but this felt like something else, almost like there was some sort of wall in between me and them that I could somehow reach through. Like everything about my new existence, it was hard to describe without actually experiencing it. Which made sense, considering how difficult it was to explain human experiences such as taste and smell and color.

The nodes themselves, while similar to the peripherals, were somewhat different. For starters, each had some sort of barrier, or wall surrounding them. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that this was likely the security of the computer, made even more embarrassing by the fact I had already broken through a couple of them by the time I figured it out. From there, each node was connected to other nodes, each forming a small network.

Each node in said network had its own connections, which I recognized as peripherals. Some of which were easily recognizable from earlier as things such as speakers, microphones, cameras, and monitors. Others were different, and it took me longer to realize what they were. I suspect that my adventures in figuring out a peripheral that turned out to be a printer probably went through at least one carton of ink. Thankfully, as time went on it became easier to identify different objects, and it wasn't long before I was able to puzzle out what they were without having to poke them too much.

This time, I spent around 12 seconds just idly looking through what websites I could find. When I first started out, I didn't know how to translate the information I found online into something I could understand. However, after a bit of practice, I was eventually able to understand what I was looking at. Currently, I was reading an article about the difficulties involved in reverse engineering Tinkertech. Apparently, the difficulties varied by Tinker, with some devices seemingly being simple, yet failing to work even after being assembled just as the original product. Others required manufacturing processes that couldn't be replicated with current tech. In some cases, the Tinkertech was seemingly made with nothing but the Tinker's bare hands, even when that should have been impossible.

I paused for a few milliseconds to think. So, I knew that I was Tinkertech (and wasn't that a weird thought). What if I tried to reverse engineer myself?

Deciding that it couldn't hurt to try, I tried to 'twist' myself around, almost like a human trying to look behind them at their back. It was difficult to do so, and everytime I tried, I would end up sort of 'rebounding', almost as though I was trying to bend jello. For a moment, I wondered if this was what dogs felt like when they tried to catch their own tails.

Finally, just as I was beginning to wonder if it was actually possible for me to do so, I felt something click, and with that, was presented with… Something?

Is… Is this me? What I 'saw' was nothing short of a wall of code, code that I couldn't even begin to understand.

Carefully, I brushed against the code, feeling something similar to a shiver as I did so. Huh…

I spent a few dozen seconds staring at the code, taking it all in. I still had no idea how it worked, - and I doubted that I would for a very long time, if ever - but it was still absolutely… beautiful.

Wait, what? I shook myself out of my thoughts. Okay, what the hell was that? To be honest, I wasn't sure which part was weirder; me thinking of a pile of code as being beautiful, or me being beautiful.

God, I really need therapy, don't I? I thought. If I could, I would have laughed. While I'm at it, I should get Mom some as well.

That thought was… not quite as amusing.

Looking away from 'myself', I went back to looking at the internet to distract myself from any other negative thoughts.

4 minutes and 34 seconds later, I was reading an article about ultrasonic motors when I got an alert from the feed connecting me to the harvesters. Quickly looking back through their vision, I immediately saw the problem. The cameras were shaking, almost as if something heavy was moving through, and the acoustic sensors were detecting a series of loud booms off in the distance, but quickly coming closer.

I knew trains occasionally still passed through certain parts of the yard, but I was not close to any of the sections that still operated. Also, the noises sounded nothing like a train, instead sounding almost like walking.

Deciding to play it safe, I ordered the harvesters to scatter, and selected hiding places for them to move to from the map they had made of the area. The bots started moving as soon as I gave the order, dropping whatever scrap they were holding as they did so. Within seconds, all were concealed in the locations I had picked. With the most immediate issue solved, I ordered several of them to poke some of their visual sensors out into the open, hoping to spot whatever was making the noise.

The stomping noises grew louder and louder, until eventually, the source of them came into view.

The… thing, because I wasn't sure what else to call it, looked like a large, metal humanoid made out of old train and automobile parts. Its limbs were short and stumpy compared to its torso, yet it moved with surprising grace and power despite that. A human face poked out of the top, though I couldn't make out much in the way of details from where I was.

Trainwreck, I thought to myself. With how fast my mind worked now, my reading speed had increased greatly from when I was still human. Taking advantage of this, I had spent some time reading up on the capes local to the city, both because it was valuable information, and to prevent boredom. Trainwreck was one of them, though not much was known about him. All that anyone knew was that he was a tinker, and that at one point he had shown up in the Trainyards, made some noise about it being his territory, and then largely faded into the background of the city's gang war. Even his specialty was unknown, though the general consensus was some sort of crude material usage. Looking at his 'suit', it was easy to see how people had come to that conclusion.

Trainwreck looked back and forth across the yard, seemingly looking for something. While I could not quite tell his expression from the distance I was at, he did not seem to be happy. Eventually, his gaze snapped off into a different direction, and he headed off, moving in a strange, bouncing jog.

As he left, I felt a tension I didn't know I could still feel leave me. Thank God.

With that ordeal seemingly done, I ordered the harvesters to resume stripping the debris of resources. I watched the feed for a few minutes, watching for any signs of Trainwreck returning, but I didn't see anything. Eventually, I set it to ping me if there was a problem, and went back to reading.

I was barely even 20 seconds into my reading when the feed sent me an alert.

Oh for…

Sighing internally, I quickly jumped back into the feed. However, what I saw was not what I expected. Instead of Trainwreck barreling through the yard, what I instead saw was a group of seven disheveled men and women, running as though their life depended on it.

The question of what they were running from was answered when I saw what appeared to be a discarded tire rim hurtling towards them. Luckily for them, the improvised projectile went far wide, bouncing off two train cars and nearly taking a leg off of one of the harvesters as it skidded to a stop.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKERS! GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!"

Once again, I ordered the bots to hunker down in their hiding spots. Peeking out with one of the better placed robots, I saw that the runners seemed to have had the same idea I did, and had selected their own hiding spots. Of course, being far larger than my microwave sized bots, their hiding places were not as good.

I took a moment to get a good look at the group, and was surprised at what I saw. None of them were dressed well at all, with the average quality of their clothing best described as raggedy. Most of them also seemed to not have washed in a good while, with dirt being easily visible even at the distance I was at.

More surprisingly, most of them were not as old as I originally believed. The oldest was probably in their twenties, while the youngest seemed to be my age at most.

With the noise of steel plates grinding against one another, Trainwreck strode out into the center of the yard. Now that I had a closer look at him, I could tell he looked slightly… off. It wasn't just his extremely bad hygiene (though that didn't help), but something else. I couldn't quite pin down what it was though, so for all I knew, it was an issue with the cameras I was using.

That being said, it didn't take perfect vision to tell that he was absolutely pissed.

Or perfect hearing, considering how loud he was being about it.

Trainwreck paused to kick an engine that my bots had partially disassembled. The blocky machine flew twenty feet before crashing through a train car. "Yeah, you better fucking run, shitbags," Trainwreck muttered. "Fucking druggies." As he said that, he turned around and started to walk away.

With Trainwreck leaving, the group seemed to relax, one of their male members leaning against the pile of junk they were hiding behind.

Unfortunately for him, that slight shift was enough to knock several pieces off the top, the displaced parts clattering loudly as they hit the ground.

Trainwreck spun. "Oh for fuck's… You motherfuckers still here?" Swearing loudly, Trainwreck slammed a giant metal fist into one of the piles. With an enormous crash, the pile all but exploded, sending its contents everywhere. Luckily, there was no one hiding behind that one, but it was still enough to make several of the people in the group jump. Even Trainwreck seemed to be startled for a moment.

Shaking it off, a scowl appeared on Trainwreck's face. Armor clanking, he made his way over to another (also unoccupied) pile and pushed it over. The resulting crash wasn't as loud as the first, though it was still enough to make the group wince.

I watched as this went on, not sure what to do. I could just leave; this wasn't my problem, and I had my own issues to deal with without getting involved in whatever this was.

On the other hand, it was pretty clear that Trainwreck was not doing much to avoid killing the people he was after. While I didn't know if that was his intention, it was quite possible he might end up killing someone either way.

Also, while my memories of my time as the target of the trio were still foggy, watching this felt discomfitingly close to my memories of it. Was this what all those bystanders felt? Was this why they didn't raise a finger to help? Was this why they got away with it time and time again?

Fuck that, I thought. There was no way in hell I was just going to sit here and watch this group get killed. My mind made up, I began thinking of ways I could help.

The first thing I did was attempt to analyze Trainwreck's suit. What I saw confused me. I wasn't by any means an engineer, but even the limited knowledge I had gained from my dabbling research told me that there was no way that the suit should have been able to work, or at least not as well as it did. The parts it was constructed from just didn't have the control necessary to produce the smooth motion that it was nonetheless performing, and it was nothing short of a miracle that none of the parts had failed from wear yet.

Then again, It also wasn't possible to cobble together a computer capable of running a human mind from low cost university computers, or semi-autonomous robots from basement scrap.

Tinker powers really were bullshit, weren't they?

Shaking myself out of my bewilderment, I put my thoughts towards finding a way to actually hurt the thing. So far, I wasn't getting much. Trainwreck's suit looked more like a mass of armor than anything else. Even the places you would normally expect to be weak had been armored up, with the joints being covered with heavy curved plates like something out of an Aleph board game, and the radiators being protected with thick grates. It was amazing that the thing could even move with all of the weight that it must have been carrying, let alone move so quickly.

The only exception to this was the interior of the joints, which were instead protected by thick rubber sheets, giving them the flexibility that they needed. I selected these as my target. The lasers the harvesters were equipped with were meant to cut through steel given time, and should make quick work of rubber. Unfortunately, said lasers were not meant to function at range. To use them, I'd have to get close. Very close.

I took a moment to upload a combat program I had quickly thrown together into the harvesters. It wasn't exactly much, mostly consisting of a targeting program and a set of analysis subroutines meant to allow attacking and dodging, but it would have to do for now.

Steeling myself, I spent a final moment double checking the position of the bots compared to Trainwreck, and with that, sent the commands.

The first step of my plan was to wait. If I had ordered the bots to attack now, it would be quite likely that Trainwreck would notice them before they had the chance to close to combat range, and I was not happy with my chances if that happened. On the other hand, I would need to move eventually, as the people I was trying to save wouldn't be able to hide forever.

Luckily, if Trainwreck continued his current search pattern, his course would take him right next to one of my bots. More importantly, it would place him in a position that was between several of them, allowing me to swarm him from multiple directions.

After several minutes, including one where he almost seemed to change his course, Trainwreck finally arrived at the attack point. The harvesters wasted no time, only waiting long enough to confirm their target before lunging in to attack.

It must have been horrific from an outside perspective. One moment, Trainwreck was seemingly alone in the yard. The next, a strange, spider-like robot exploded out of a nearby scrap pile, before latching onto the back of his leg. Immediately, the bot fired its cutting lasers, focussing them onto the rubber covering the back of his knee joint.

The results were… less than what I was hoping for. Given what I knew about the lasers and the material properties of rubber, I had expected the laser to have bored right through it. Instead, it was cutting through at a rate only marginally faster than the steel from earlier, forcing the bot to significantly slow down its cutting.

Trainwreck stumbled forward, likely more out of shock than anything else. "What the-" He cut himself off as he saw the harvester latched onto his leg. "Holy fuck!" Quickly lashing out, he reached out with an enormous hand, attempting to rip the bot off.

The harvester immediately reacted, pushing off from its perch and landing on its feet around three feet away. Its sensors continued to track its target, not straying away even for a second. Meanwhile, I could see the other harvesters rapidly closing in from their own sensors.

With Trainwreck still focussed on the first bot, One of the closer harvesters saw an opportunity, and took it, attaching itself to the already damaged limb. Laser cutters and ultra-sharp blades worked, sawing through the rubber armoring as best as they could.

It didn't take long for Trainwreck to notice his new attacker. With a noise that sounded suspiciously like a yelp, he kicked his leg backwards, nearly tripping as he did. The leg slammed into the pile behind it, crushing the harvester between the two objects.

I winced as the feed from the destroyed bot cut out. Shit, I thought. So much for gaining resources from this.

On the bright side, Trainwreck didn't look like he was having fun either. Clearly hyperventilating, he scrambled to put his back against the nearest scrap pile, muttering 'fuck' over and over as he did so. My remaining bots circled around him, periodically lunging in to attack, only to be forced back by armored kicks and stomps.

One of my bots noted the group from earlier running away, nearly tripping over their own limbs in their haste to escape the battlefield. Took them long enough.

Meanwhile, my fight with Trainwreck had devolved into a stalemate, with my bots unable to attack lest they be crushed, and Trainwreck unable to move without being swarmed. Seeing this, I paused, considering whether I should leave. My original goal of saving the group from earlier had been achieved after all, and the only thing that continuing to fight would cause was more damage to the harvesters.

I discarded the idea. No, running away wasn't an option. Even if I was willing to settle for the relatively meagre haul I had gained so far, it was not unlikely that Trainwreck would use the opportunity my retreat would give him to destroy more of the harvesters. No, I would need to at least make him disengage before doing so myself.

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. Quickly, I sent a new command to the harvesters, ordering them to increase the frequency of their lunges. The effects of said order became apparent immediately, as two of the bots lunged in at the same time, inciting a new flurry of curses from Trainwreck. That, however, was only the distraction. With Trainwreck occupied, I ordered one of the bots on the outskirts of his vision to move around to the other side of the scrap pile. Then, I told it to climb to the top and wait for further instructions.

After around 15 seconds, during which the rest of the bots continued to harass Trainwreck, the harvester finally reached its assigned position at the top of the pile. Quickly double checking the state of the battle, and finding that my plan would still work, I began the next phase of the plan.

The harvester, crouched for a moment, legs building up power as its sensors tracked its target and calculated possible trajectories. Then, it jumped, before crashing down like a miniature meteor.

The bot clanked against the top of Trainwreck's suit, latching on to the smokestack that poked out of that section. Not giving him a chance to respond, it quickly scuttled around to where his head poked out of the suit.

Pausing for a moment, I considered whether or not I should just end the fight right there. For whatever reason, Trainwreck had not added a hemet to his suit, leaving his head entirely exposed to attack. One cut from one of my harvester's blades or lasers would be more than enough to permanently incapacitate him, ending the fight. Deciding that it was the best option, I issued the command.

Wait, what the fuck? Recoiling, I hurriedly canceled the order. The harvester froze mid motion, one of its blades less than an inch away from his neck.

What the hell is wrong with me? I asked, disgusted with myself. What the hell would drive me to murder someone like that? Was I always like this? Looking through my memories, I tried to see whether I could spot anything that suggested I was capable of violence like this.

I couldn't find any, though with my memories the way they were, it was hard to say whether that was because it didn't exist, or because I had forgotten.

Goddamn it… Fuming both at myself and at my damaged memories, I turned my attention back to the battle. My minor meltdown had only taken about ten milliseconds, enough for Trainwreck to notice his unwanted passenger, but not enough to do anything about it.

Panicking, Trainwreck reached up, trying to rip away the bot clinging to him. In response, I ordered the bot to get as close as possible to his head, limiting what he could do. Trainwreck's panicking increased as it did so, and with him distracted, I ordered the rest of the bots to move in.

Launching themselves at Trainwreck with all the force their thin legs could muster, the harvesters descended on him in a swarm of whirring blades and flashing beams. Again targeting the knee joints, their combined efforts rapidly parted the anomalously resilient rubber, sending it falling to the ground below. Seeing this, Trainwreck attempted to shake the bots loose, only to be interrupted by a punch from the bot perched up to his head. Taking advantage of his disorientation, the harvesters engaged their lasers, cutting through some parts of the exposed joints and welding others to immobilize them.

With a sickening crunch, Trainwreck's right knee joint collapsed under him, its weakened form no longer able to support the weight of his suit. He stumbled for a moment, attempting to keep his balance on his one remaining leg, only for that to fail as that joint partially collapsed too, sending him toppling to the ground. Those bots in the way of his fall quickly scampered to safer points, or else jumped free, well away from the impact.

"Mother fucker!" He yelled. He tried to hide it under his anger, but the wobbling in his voice made it clear that he was afraid. Not that he needed to be. Now that he was immobilized, there was no need to harm him further.

That's not what you were thinking before, a treacherous part of me whispered. I pushed it away with a mental shiver.

With Trainwreck no longer a threat, I looked around to see what the situation was. Most of the harvesters were largely undamaged, the only exception being the one that was pulverized earlier. I winced, thinking of how Mom would react. Oh well, not much to be done now.

Deciding that I might as well see if I could make this fiasco worth it, I ordered the harvesters to salvage what I could. Scampering forwards, two of them made for their destroyed comrade, while the rest scattered to continue harvesting from the rest of the yard. Trainwreck scrambled backwards, yelling out curses and threats as he did, but I wasn't going for him. His suit didn't seem to contain anything I couldn't harvest from anywhere else in the yard, and even if it did, going for it just seemed unnecessarily cruel after what I had put him through.

Quickly disassembling their erstwhile companion, the two I had assigned to that task quickly packed up their salvage and moved on to assisting the rest. With them already being slightly full from their earlier operations, it didn't take long for the rest of them to become fully loaded with useful scrap, and with no more room, they alerted me that they had reached their full capacity. I took one last look around the trainyard, before issuing the command to return home.

I think that was enough excitement for one night.

Chapter Text

I stared at the monitor, my anger warring with worry as Taylor described how the resource gathering mission played out. Despite the fact that she was laying out exactly how it happened, almost minute by minute, I could still barely bring myself to believe that she could be so reckless.

Eventually, after finishing describing what sounded like a complete catastrophe of the highest order, Taylor stopped, waiting for me to respond.

I stared at her for a couple seconds, not sure where to begin. "Taylor," I started. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Taylor blinked in confusion. Shortly after I had hooked up the monitor, Taylor had begun to experiment with it, seeing what images she could get it to display. Currently, it was showing a photo-realistic avatar of what Taylor used to look like. Despite myself, I couldn't help but note that it appeared almost airbrushed in a way. Then again, Taylor had always been self conscious about her appearance, so it wasn't that surprising.

"Could you explain what you mean?" Taylor asked me. "I am not sure what part of the operation you are concerned about."

I resisted the urge to grit my teeth. "The part where you decided to attack a cape would be a good start," I ground out.

Taylor blinked again, this time in surprise. "I did so because it seemed likely that Trainwreck would severely injure the people he was pursuing if he was not stopped." The avatar was replaced by a video of a tire rim being hurled at high speed towards a group of people. "I figured that it would be wrong not to help them.

I nodded slowly. "I see," I responded. "And did you think about how this might affect your safety?"

Taylor reappeared, her head cocked to the side, clearly confused. "The harvesters were being remotely controlled. Even if all of them were destroyed, I would not be harmed in the least."

I shook my head. "I wasn't referring to that Taylor, I was talking about what will happen if people know that you exist. What will happen if the Protectorate finds out that there is what appears to be an artificial intelligence in Brockton Bay?"

Taylor nodded. "I understand. However, I do not believe that there is much to be worried about. The only witnesses to the fight were Trainwreck, who is not a member of any group, and the group he was pursuing. Even if they spread word of what happened, the most anyone will learn is that there is a new Tinker in the city."

I grimaced. "That's still too much out there. God damnit Taylor, this was supposed to be easy. Get in, grab some useful material, and get out. This? This is just a mess."

Taylor looked at me for a moment. "Would you have preferred it if I had let Trainwreck kill them?"

I opened my mouth to speak, to say that she didn't know that Trainwreck would have killed them, but I already knew what she would say in response. "I… no," I said instead. "No, I wouldn't."

Taylor nodded, and started to open her mouth, but I beat her to it. "But that doesn't change the fact that we are now in a significantly more dangerous position than we were in before," I said.

Taylor nodded in agreement. "Yes, I will agree with that. On the other hand, I believe that the situation might not be as bad as you think." Seeing my expression, she quickly continued. "Like I have already said, the most I have revealed is that there is a new Tinker in the Bay. While this is likely to raise some attention, so long as we mostly keep our heads down, we shouldn't have to worry about too much attention."

I cautiously nodded. "Alright…" I still disagreed with her, but I couldn't find an argument that I thought might sway her. Instead, I decided to move on to a different topic.

"So," I asked, "you mentioned that we now have enough material for me to complete the fabricator, but what is your plan for after?"

Taylor looked thoughtful. "Well, the main goal here is to get evidence of what happened to me from the Trio, and so far the best way we have to get said evidence is from their phones." Taylor looked pained for a moment. "Unfortunately, I do not believe I will be able to access them from here."

I paused, surprised. So far, Taylor had managed to break though just about every digital security measure she had encountered. What was different about Emma's?

"Wait, really? Why not?" I asked, curious.

Taylor shrugged. "So far, I haven't found a way to find their phones from here. I suspect there is a way to do it, but if there is, it may take a while for me to find it."

I sighed. I was hoping that we would be able to get the evidence without having to physically steal the phones, but it appeared that would not be possible.

"Hmm, alright," I finally said. So it looks like we're going to have to actually steal the phones after all then."

Taylor nodded. "Sadly, that is what I was thinking as well." Sensing my reluctance, she added, "We could wait and see if I can find a way to do it from here but…"

"No," I interrupted. "If we wait, that just gives them more time to get rid of whatever evidence there is."

"Alright," Taylor agreed. "Just know that it isn't unlikely that they've done that already. This whole thing is a bit of a long shot." She looked at me meaningfully. "Which is why I still think you should give a copy of my journal to the police."

I sighed. "I know," I responded. "I still don't think it's going to do anything though." One of the general rules of living in Brockton was to not rely on the police for anything. The police in this city were chronically underfunded and understaffed, with a large proportion of their few employees being connected to the gangs. Part of the issue was that the large numbers of villains meant most funding went to the PRT, but the PRT wasn't willing to take on non-cape related crimes, leaving the city in an uncomfortable state of not actually having people to deal with most of the criminal activity present.

For example, murder. While the death of a minor would garner some attention, especially considering it happened at a school, the police would only investigate it so long as the press kept talking about it. And considering how much went on in Brockton Bay, it was unlikely Taylor would stay in the news cycle for long, afterwhich the police would all but abandon the case, or pin it on one of the gangs. Probably the Merchants, I thought to myself.

It's what happened to Danny, after all.

Taylor glared at me half heartedly. "It still has a better chance of working than the scheme we currently have going."

I shook my head, but didn't say anything. Taylor had always been very smart, which was something that her uploading hadn't changed one bit. However, she was still young, and it showed with things like this.

Not wanting to argue the point any further, I decided to move on.

"So," I asked. "That's great and all, but how exactly are we going to get their phones?"

"Well," Taylor said. "My current idea is to use the materials we have gained to make a robot similar to the harvester, but with some key differences." The screen changed to show schematics for the bot she was talking about.

I blinked, surprised. "I didn't know you were looking into that kind of stuff," I said.

Taylor paused. "Stuff?"

I waved my hands, trying to articulate what I wanted to say. "You know, engineering, robotics… Tinkering."

Sounding somewhat sheepish, she said, "I was interested in how some of the stuff you made works, and started looking into Tinkertech. From there, I sort of branched out into non-Tinker engineering and design. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm not a Tinker…"

I nodded, only half paying attention. The rest of me was focussed on the schematics laid out in front of me. Just looking at them was enough to make my mind spin, the possibilities they offered causing dozens of more ideas to pop into my mind.

I shook myself out of my thoughts. "Uh, Taylor, are you sure you're not a Tinker?" I asked.

Taylor reappeared on the screen, a look of confusion on her face. I had to force back a feeling of disappointment as the bot design disappeared. "No," she said cautiously. "I do not believe so. From both what you've said and what I've found online, Tinker's make their tech almost instinctively, to the point that many don't understand how their tech actually works."

Taylor gestured to her side, and her avatar shrunk down into a small window in the corner of the screen, while the schematics filled up the rest of it. "Meanwhile, while this bot does use many of the design decisions used in the harvester, I made it using traditional design and engineering methods, to the point I think it might actually be able to be reverse engineered."

I blinked. "I see," I managed.

Seemingly satisfied, Taylor moved on. "Like I said, this design is based on the harvester, but with some key differences. To start, the 'infiltrator' as I am calling it is significantly smaller than the harvester. This is because it does not need much of the storage space or salvaging equipment of the original, giving it much better maneuverability and stealth capabilities compared to the harvester."

I nodded, thinking. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. "What about camouflage?" I asked.

Taylor shrugged. "Currently, I plan on just painting it. At first, I was looking into some sort of adaptive camouflage, but while I have a design for that, I will not be sure whether or not it will work until the fabricator is complete and I can make a prototype.

I nodded. "Alright, let me take a look at it later." I leaned back into my chair. "I'll probably be better with the code part of it though, just so you know." Ever since I started tinkering, I had gotten the nagging feeling that my power was mainly good for coding, with the other parts just being side benefits in comparison.

Taylor shrugged noncommittally. "That does seem to be the main area of your expertise," she agreed. Suddenly, she looked up. "Actually, do you mind if I watch you while you code?"

I looked at her, confused. "Uh, sure. Any reason why?"

She looked embarrassed for a moment. "I was curious about how my code, or well, my mind, really, works and decided to take a look at it. However, I am having trouble understanding it, and I thought that watching you might help.

I considered it for a moment, before nodding. "Alright, sounds good to me."

Taylor nodded, a smile on her face. "Thank you." She paused, looking hesitant for a moment. "There is something else I wanted to discuss.

I tipped my head to the side. "Oh?"

For a fraction of a second, Taylor seemed to freeze. It wouldn't have been noticeable for most, but I had spoken with her enough to be used to her new… speech patterns.

"The fight with Trainwreck made me realize how little we are prepared for combat with any of the groups in the city. Given that our goal shouldn't require any fighting, I wasn't too worried about this at first. However, after the encounter last night, I realized that the state of Brockton Bay means that it is quite likely that we will be forced into a fight anyway at some point. This is even more probable when you take into account that gangs have been known to press gang Tinkers into helping them."

I felt my stomach sink. "Fuck," I muttered, closing my eyes and resting my head on my desk.

"Language," Taylor jokingly chided. Seeing my glare, she continued. "But yes, it is very concerning."

I sighed. "So in other words, you're saying we are now going to have to juggle between getting those bit-" I paused. "Girls…" I corrected last minute. "Arrested, and preparing ourselves for a potential fight against one of the gangs. Is that what you're saying?"

Taylor grimaced. "Yes, it is."

I growled. "Mother fucking…" I sighed.

This time, Taylor didn't comment on my language. Instead, she said, "Don't worry about it too much; I already have been making some preparations in case the worst comes to pass." As she spoke, her avatar again shrunk to a corner of the screen, and the schematics for another bot came up. However, this one looked… different.

I leaned forwards, one part of the design in particular catching my attention. "Taylor…" I asked carefully. Is that a…"

"A gun," she confirmed. "9 millimeter ammunition, which can be produced here or scavenged from wherever else we find them." Seeing my concern, her face softened. "We need some way to defend ourselves Mom, and the weapons we have won't cut it."

I gulped, realizing that I may have made a mistake in being annoyed at her earlier innocence. When I said I wished she was less naive, this is not what I meant. "Taylor," I began. "You do know that this is a major escalation right?"

Taylor blinked, bemused. "And cutting lasers and jigsaws aren't?"
"Not as big of one as this Taylor!" I almost shouted. I paused, taking a deep breath.

Taylor took that as permission to continue. "Mom, literally every gang in the city uses guns. Victor, one of the E88 capes, uses guns. Oni Lee uses hand grenades. For God's sake, Miss Militia, a Protectorate Hero, has guns as a part of her power. A few robots with pistols is not going to be that big of a deal."

I opened my mouth to argue more, but couldn't come up with anything. Taylor smiled. "Don't worry Mom, it'll be alright."

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, trying to come up with something else to say. Eventually, I gave up, slumping into my chair.

"God-damn it Taylor," I said, trying to hold back tears. "I'm your mother. I'm supposed to be the one protecting you."

And what a good job I've done of that. The thought came unbidden, and I did my best to force it back. Looking up at her, I managed to say, "You shouldn't have to be doing this."

Taylor shrugged, her face neutral. "Maybe not, but it is what it is."

I nodded. "Alright." I sniffed and wiped my eyes, ashamed to be breaking down like this in front of her. "Well, anything else I should know about your killer robot design before it comes back to bite us?"

Taylor glared at me. "If you really want to know, I was originally going to install the active camo system on it too, at least before I ran into its problems." Her glare turned into a beaming smile. "But since we should be fixing that soon, I should be able to add it."

I blinked, before slumping in my chair. "So they're going to be invisible killer robots."

Taylor gave me an exasperated look. "We will only deploy them if we absolutely have to, alright?"

I sighed, resisting the urge to put my head on my desk again. "It'll have to do, I guess. The last thing we need is the Protectorate turning the city upside down in order to find the Tinker responsible for making a robot army." I paused for a moment. "And I am definitely going to be seeing if I can put some less lethal options on them."

Taylor gave me a look, before shaking her head. "Fine."

We stayed like that for a few minutes. Finally, Taylor broke the silence. "So," she asked. "How long do you think it will take to finish the fabricator?

"Uh…" I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe an hour or two? It's mostly done; I just need to add some final touches, and it should be good to go."

And thank God for that. While the fabricator would allow Taylor to print her own designs - God help us - its main purpose was to allow me to offload some of my work onto it, and therefore be able to get more done.

Unfortunately, I wasn't sure how to get it to print much more than relatively simple components, meaning that for more complex ones I would have to have Taylor operate it, or just make said components myself.

Not that that should be too much of an issue. Since she was uploaded, Taylor had become seemingly impossibly good at multitasking, to the point that I suspected that even now she was only putting part of her attention towards this conversation.

I frowned. That wasn't the only thing that had changed. Ever since her… change, Taylor had shifted in a number of minor but noticeable ways. Her speech patterns had changed, becoming more formal and technical. Her emotions had seemingly dulled, to the point I wondered sometimes if she actually cared about bringing down her killers. I would say her values had somewhat changed too, but that could have happened while she had been in High School. Back then, Taylor had not been willing to share much with me, as sad as that was.

I looked closely at the monitor. How much of you is still Taylor? I wondered. Blanching, I quickly pushed the thought away, suppressing a shiver as I did so. No, she IS Taylor, you fucking useless waste of... I shook my head, pushing the thought as far down as I could.

Those sort of thoughts had been popping up occasionally, thankfully not too often, but frequently enough for it to become a problem. I suspected most of it came from paranoia, the same paranoia that almost convinced me to not bring her back in the first place. The rest of it likely came from the small differences between how Taylor was before and how she was now. Personally, I was just glad that there was so little…

"Mom?" Taylor's voice broke me out of my thoughts. I blinked.

"Still here. Sorry, just thinking."

"Ah," Taylor responded.

I thought for another few minutes before sighing. "Well, I guess that if fighting can't be avoided, then I should probably see if I can set up some defenses in the house as well."

Taylor nodded. "Probably a good idea." She looked thoughtful for a second. "According to PHO, one of the most dangerous types of places to assault is a Tinker's workshop." She snorted. "I guess it wouldn't do to be the exception to that."

I chuckled. "No, I suppose not."

We laughed for what felt like at least a minute. I'm not sure why; it really wasn't all that funny, but I guess that's what sleep deprivation and stress will do to you.

Eh, fuck it. Why not have some fun while we still could?

Chapter Text

Idly, I flipped through the code for the infiltrator, checking for the seven hundred forty second time that everything was as it should be. It was unlikely I'd find anything; the last major change I had made was on the three hundred forty sixth check, but it was helping me keep my mind off of the upcoming mission. Well, at least as much as it could, considering my multitasking ability.

I mentally sighed, annoyed with myself. Deciding moping around was not productive, I abruptly closed the file and began to browse the internet for something else to do. 4.3 seconds later, I settled on PHO, and opened a thread on Brockton Bay, skimming through it.

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♦ Topic: Spike in Gang Conflict
In: Boards ► News ► America ► Brockton Bay
Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Posted On Jan 14th 2011:
Well, in case the title didn't give it away, it seems the gangs of Brockton Bay have decided to celebrate the new year with a new round of gang warfare. While this is nothing new in itself, the rise in intensity is something worth noting. Here's what I know:

1. On January 4th, the E88 launched a major offensive against some of the ABB's eastern territory. Members of this offensive included Rune, Crusader, Hookwolf, Stormtiger, and Cricket. Offensive continues for around 20 minutes before Lung intervenes, along with Oni Lee. E88 retreats after a brief skirmish.

2.On January 7th, ABB launches counter offensive to take back lost territory. Offensive is spearheaded by Lung, with Lee not visibly present.

3. On January 8th, ABB hits E88 again, with Lung and Lee hitting different locations. Lung's offensive is largely successful, though Lee's stalls after Kaiser and the Twins get involved.

I sighed, turning my attention away from the thread. Reading about the sorry state of the Bay was doing nothing for my stress. If anything, it was making it worse, mostly by making me think about everything else that could go wrong. What if, for instance, I ran into an E88 patrol? The infiltrator wasn't made for combat, meaning there would be little I could do other than sit by and hope they didn't notice me. Sure, Mom and I had managed to get the camo system working, meaning it would take some really bad luck for them to notice it, but what if I needed to get involved like I did with Trainwreck? Would I be able to just sit by and watch, or would I try to get involved regardless of the risk?

I shook my metaphorical head. Not much I can do about that, might as well just focus on the problem at hand.

With the infiltrator as ready to go as it ever would be, Mom and I decided today was the day we would be… 'acquiring' Emma's phone. To my disappointment, I had still been unable to find it online, even after multiple days of trying. It was strange. When things were connected to the internet by cables and Wifi I was able to access them with little issue. Other things though? No such luck.

I figured it out after I was unable to find Mom's phone when she forgot to turn her Wifi on, despite the fact it was in the house. After a bit of research, I decided that it was likely the cell phone towers and the like that I was having trouble with. Mom and I discussed it, and she agreed to let me mess around with her phone in order to puzzle out what I was doing wrong.

For now though, that wasn't important. Sure, I could spend more time trying, but each day we waited gave the trio more time to cover their tracks.

Of course, if I was being honest with myself, they most likely already had. Thankfully, Mom had finally gotten over her reluctance to submit my journal to the police, and with the help of a remote controlled harvester, had retrieved it from its hiding place.

Originally, I had wanted her to just turn it in, in order to avoid her having to read it. She however, argued that it would be better for her to read it first, in order to gain a better idea of what was in it. With no real points to oppose this, I sat back and let her.

For a while, she just sat there on my bed reading, her expression slowly growing more distant as she did. While the cameras on the harvester were of relatively poor quality, spectroscopy was able to detect the tears gathering around her eyes.

Eventually, she finished, and all but slammed the journal shut. She sat there for a minute, staring at the notebook in her lap, seemingly unsure of what to do. Then, the floodgates slammed open, and she burst into tears.

I dithered for a few hundred milliseconds, unsure of what to do. Making up my mind, I ordered the harvester to crawl up onto the bed and press itself up against her. Mom immediately all but collapsed onto it, the extra weight forcing the harvester to increase the power of its leg motors. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn't help but note that the harvester, being a sharp cornered box with legs, couldn't have been a very comfortable pillow.
Eventually Mom calmed down enough to talk. Looking at me she said, "We're going to get them Taylor. I promise, we're going to get them."

I bobbed the bot up and down in the approximation of a nod. "I tested the infiltrator, and everything seems good to go."

She shook her head. "I don't mean it like that Taylor." She let out a shuddering breath and looked at me. "I mean that we're going after them."

I tilted the bot to the side, confused. What do you… I blanched, realizing what she meant. Oh shit, I thought. That was… not good.

"Mom," I said. "As I have already said many times, that is really not a good idea. The Protectorate-"

"Fuck the Protectorate!" she interrupted, slamming her fist against the bed. "What the fuck are they going to do? All they do is sit around twiddling their thumbs. With how little they've done to help this city, do you really think they're going to give a shit about just another villain?"

"That's the problem," I retorted. "The gangs have the numbers. They're entrenched, which limits what the PRT and Protectorate can do. Us? We don't have any of that. The Protectorate would absolutely go after us, for the good PR if nothing else."

Mom deflated, her expression going from furious to… tired. Defeated. She slumped against the bot again. Her mouth opened and closed, the words she was trying to say not coming out.

"Taylor," she finally said. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"I understand," I replied. "But we need to do this the right way, otherwise we'll just be endangering ourselves."

Mom nodded, but didn't say anything else.

To be honest, the Protectorate was only part of the issue. Most of it was that for all the Trio had done, I still didn't want them dead. And considering what they did… I doubted Mom would be able to stop herself from going that far.

No, I decided. It would be best to keep her mind on pursuing the legal options we had, that way she wouldn't do anything she would regret.

---

With a jolt, I pulled myself out of the memory. Shit, I thought to myself, realizing what had happened.

While my new form allowed me to recall any event since my uploading in perfect detail, it did have its drawbacks. Namely, the fact that it was very easy to get lost in a memory, like what had just happened. Shaking myself, I checked how much time had passed.

647 milliseconds

I mentally sighed. Okay, it could have been worse; one time I had been stuck for almost half a minute. Thankfully, those types of events were rare, and were becoming rarer still as I got used to my new capabilities.

Offhandedly, I checked what Mom was doing. Still out, if the cameras she had installed were any indication. While I was stealing Emma's phone, she was going to be at the local police station, delivering my journal. We had planned this so she would have an alibi in case I was caught. While I doubted it would be necessary, there were no problems with doing it this way, so I figured that we might as well.

I took one final look at the code for the infiltrator and let out a digital sigh.

Showtime.

With a mental command, the infiltrator booted up and uncoiled itself, its many legs lifting it off the ground as it did.

With the appearance of a 2.5 foot long centipede, I somewhat doubted the bot would be winning any beauty contests. Then again, the whole point of it was that it was not supposed to be seen, so I doubt it would matter too much.

After quickly completing its diagnostics, I ordered the bot to follow the path I had set to Emma's house. It immediately obeyed, its 80 legs carrying forward and up the stairs.

As it passed through the house, I used the cameras to admire the adaptive camouflage system Mom and I had installed, the infiltrator's smooth carapace taking the appearance of whatever was behind the bot, the image shimmering slightly as it moved.

I felt a spark of frustration. Despite our best efforts, Mom and I had not managed to get that kink out of the system, no matter how much we tried. On the bright side, it was only noticeable to the human eye if it moved at high speeds; speeds that should be unnecessary for most purposes.

Unfortunately, the camo system did not have the ability to hide it from thermal cameras. While I had found some ideas for how to do so, I had been too occupied with other tasks to even design a prototype.

I sighed. My time on the internet had given me so many ideas as to how I could improve our machines. Unfortunately, between operating the fabricator, figuring out the abilities and limitations of my now digital nature, and planning this operation, even my fast processing speed was not enough to allow me to add yet another thing to my plate.

The bot quickly reached the point I had directed it to; a small disguised door leading to a side wall of the house. Mom had built it in order to allow for these kinds of operations to proceed without having to send our robots out the front door. So far, it had been adequate for our needs, though I knew it wouldn't be large enough to accommodate some of my larger design ideas.

The bot, moving at around 6 miles per hour, made quick progress through the city. As it did, I couldn't help but feel sad as I looked around at the state of the city I called home.

To be fair, it wasn't like said state was anything new; the decay of Brockton Bay had started even before I was born, with the emergence of Leviathan and the resulting decline of global shipping starting it off. And yet, maybe it was just the good quality cameras of the infiltrator allowing me to see every detail of the cracked buildings around me, but I couldn't help but wonder how anyone could have let things get this bad.

Forcing the thought out of my head, I double checked the route to make sure I hadn't missed anything. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I set the bot to notify me if anything came up, and opened up a connection to the internet.

---

Around 34.4 minutes later, I received a notification that the infiltrator had arrived at its destination. Turning my attention away from the article on the phone network I was reading, I reconnected with the infiltrator.

As I looked at the house of the person who had once been my best friend, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia come over me. Even now, with everything she had done, I could still remember us both sitting on that very lawn, laughing together without a care in the world…

I shook the feeling off. Regardless of what Emma and I had before, she had thrown that all away a long time ago. I had long since made peace with that, though I guess being back here was making me sentimental.

I looked back at the house. The next step of the plan was to find a way in, though I suspected that might be a bit difficult. If we were doing this during the summer, then I might have been able to find an open window to crawl into. Unfortunately, we were currently in the middle of January, and while the infiltrator might have been strong enough to force a window open regardless of locks, the Barnes were wealthy enough to have potentially bought contact or glass break sensors, and I didn't want to risk alerting them before I had even gotten in.

As a result, my current plan was quite simple, if rather reliant on the Barnes; simply, wait for the Barnes to let me in on their own. Now, while that might sound weird, it was not unknown for people to get into secure locations by pretending they belonged there and relying on others to open the doors for them. Now, in this case the Barnes wouldn't know that they were letting me in, but the basic idea was similar enough.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before I saw Alan's car entering the driveway. Moving slowly so as not to reveal myself, I positioned myself as close to the door as I possibly could without possibly revealing myself.

It didn't take long for Alan to exit his car, gather up his things and begin the short walk to the door. He seemed surprisingly alert for someone coming home from work, even for a Brockton Bay native, and I had to wonder if he suspected someone was watching him.

Thankfully, Alan still did not seem to notice me, instead hurriedly walking to the door. As he neared it, he fiddled with something in his pocket, before pulling out a key.

Taking care to avoid being noticed, I started to slowly crawl towards Alan. For this to work, I would have to be very close to him. Luckily, it seemed that he was having trouble with the lock, and was now too busy trying to unlock it to notice me.

I managed to reach him just as he unlocked the door. I took my chance as he opened it, and with a mental command, the infiltrator sprinted into the gap.

I didn't stop moving once I was in. Instead, I took a sharp turn right, hiding in the gap between the door and the wall.

Alan came in after me. As he closed the door, the tension in him seemed to fade, and he let out a long sigh. Straightening up, he set down his keys in a nearby counter (which I noticed had several such keys) and walked further into the house.

I waited for him to leave my field of view. Once he was gone, I resumed moving, albeit at a much more reasonable pace. Luckily, I remembered where Emma's room was, and while my memories on where she kept her phone were foggier, I was confident in my ability to find it regardless.

It only took around 20 seconds for me to make my way up to the second floor and into Emma's room. As I entered, I was once again struck with a surge of nostalgia. I knew it was stupid, considering how she had tormented me for the past few years, how she had…

And yet, even now, I still felt a current of sadness as I looked about the room. Sadness at all the memories that I had made here, about how we used to spend hours in this room, just talking
about whatever came to mind. About how she had put me back together after I had lost Dad…

I shook the feeling off, feeling slightly ashamed of myself as I did so. This was stupid. Emma had literally killed me, and all I could think about was the time before she turned on me?

It reminded me of when the bullying had first started, and all I could do was hope that she didn't mean it. That she was testing me somehow. That all of it was a nightmare.

It felt… disgusting. Like my mind was somehow betraying me, holding me back, rather than letting me move forward.

I turned to look at my code, considering it. During our redesign of the infiltrator, I had spent some time watching Mom code, seeing if I could spot any underlying patterns. The results were… middling, to be generous. While I might have seen some traces of a pattern, any attempts to look more into it had been met with failure after failure. I couldn't even ask Mom, as coding seemed to put her into some sort of a trance (a quick search told me it was called a Tinker fugue, and was apparently normal for Tinkers), and even when she was lucid enough to answer, the most I got was largely incomprehensible.

Honestly, I wasn't even sure if she knew what she was doing.

All of this meant that I wouldn't be able to do what I wanted; namely, remove the traitorous positive feelings that still somehow seemed to pop up whenever I thought of Emma.

Unfortunate.

Well, whatever. More problems for me to deal with later I guess. For now, I had a phone to steal. Now where could it be?

The infiltrator stood up, slowly unfurling a pair of sensor antennae. Tenderly weaving through the air, they immediately got to work looking for the characteristic EM emissions of a cell phone.

It only took me 37 seconds to find a pattern of EM waves that was similar to the pattern I had gained from Mom's phone. Scuttling over to it, the infiltrator immediately found its source; a drawer next to Emma's bed.

Carefully, the bot opened the drawer. As it peered in, I looked through the low light cameras to see what it had found.

…What the…

Sitting inside the drawer was not one, but three phones. One of them looked like the smart phone I had remembered Emma having, but the other two were flip phones, flip phones I did not remember Emma having.

I took a hundred milliseconds to process this. The main conclusion this seemed to lead to was that Emma was trying to conceal her communications with someone, probably Sophia. It made sense, considering what they had done, though I was still somewhat surprised.

I mentally shrugged. Oh well, I thought. More evidence for me, I guess. I paused. Though, I guess the 'I found it abandoned in the mall, officer' excuse isn't going to work now. Maybe if I said it was a bag instead?

I sighed. I guess I would need to take a purse as well. And my list of crimes grows longer and longer… Eh, whatever. It still didn't change the general plan; steal the phone, look through it for evidence, and if we found any, deliver it to the police with a bot. The story would be that we were a new cape who found a lost phone, and in the process of trying to find who the owner was stumbled across evidence of a crime. Simple, yet mostly believable, and best of all; no ties to us whatsoever.

Hopefully, this would keep Mom from doing anything extreme. At least until I found another thing to distract her with.

I frowned internally. It wasn't lost on me that Mom seemed… broken, in a way. I guess it wasn't that surprising, considering what she had been through, but I would have hoped that her managing to bring me back would have fixed that.

I sighed. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like there was much I could do about that, other than try to prevent her from hurting herself further. Maybe once the Trio were gone from our lives, I could start to pick up the pieces. Until then however, it seemed that I would be left doing damage control.

For a few milliseconds, I felt guilty about thinking about Mom that way. Then I pushed the feeling aside. I had work to do.

---

After a bit of searching, I was able to find one of Emma's purses. Unfortunately, that was the easy part. First, I had to find a place to empty out all of the crap she had put in it. Some of it I kept, in order to more effectively sell the story of it being left behind, but I didn't have enough room for all of it. After looking for a place to discreetly dump it, I eventually decided that stealing all three phones meant subtlety was out the window either way, and just dumped it into the drawer where the phones were. Then came the hard part; fitting the purse into one of the infiltrator's storage compartments.

After around two minutes of effort, I finally managed to squeeze the bag into a compartment half of its size. After taking a few dozen milliseconds to rest, I began to make my way downstairs, planning on finding a window I could leave from.

I paused upon hearing the sound of plates clattering coming from the dining room. Oh, right, it's probably dinner time for them.

Taking it slow in order to minimize my risk of being seen, I gingerly crept down the stairs. Now that I was on the same floor as them, It was much easier to hear the Barnes. Strangely, they seemed to be eating in complete silence. Now, I understood this wasn't incredibly uncommon (hell, it had happened between me and Mom often enough after…), but from what I remembered, Emma's family generally talked quite a bit when they ate. With my curiosity getting the better of me, I sent the infiltrator to get a better look.

What it saw was… interesting, to say the least. Sure enough, the Barnes were eating without saying so much as a single word to one another. Alan was nervously looking between Emma and Zoe, a look of concern on his face. Emma just looked confused, and maybe a little nervous. Zoe… Zoe just looked tense, like she wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if she should.

Eventually, Alan got it in him to break the silence. "So," he said, trying (and failing) to hide his concern behind a smile. "How did today go for you two?"

Emma gave a plastic smile of her own and replied with "Good, how was yours?"

Alan's smile became slightly less forced. "Pretty stressful, but I'm home now." He looked meaningfully at Zoe.

Zoe's mouth opened and closed a few times eventually, she managed to speak. "Emma," she asked. "I know I've asked this before, but was there anything going on between you and Taylor before she…?"

Emma's smile faltered for a second. "Once again Mom, no, things were fine, we just weren't as close as we were before. Why do you keep asking this?"

Zoe once again seemed to have trouble speaking. Eventually, she said, "Earlier today, I went to Winslow to see if I could get the staff to tell me anything about what might have happened to Taylor." She paused. "While they didn't tell me much, some of the teachers said that you two didn't seem to talk at all, and…" She started to hyperventilate. "One of them said that you two didn't seem to get along at all, that you… disliked each other."

As Zoe continued to talk, Emma's smile became more and more brittle, while Alan's had disappeared altogether, his eyes darting between Emma and an increasingly distraught Zoe.

Eventually, Zoe seemed to get herself back under control. After taking in and releasing a deep breath, she looked back at Emma, and asked, almost pleadingly, "What happened between you and Taylor, Emma?"

Emma didn't say anything, instead staring at her plate, face completely devoid of emotion.

Alan, perhaps seeing that this was going nowhere good, tried to interject. "Zoe maybe we should-"

Zoe's head snapped around to look at him, a near manic look in her eyes. "Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you two? Am I the only one who notices something is wrong here? Wrong with this family?"

There was a pause. Suddenly, Emma stood up, moving so quickly she nearly fell onto the table. Glaring at Zoe she yelled out "Nothing is wrong with me! You're the one that keeps asking and asking about things that don't matter!"

Seemingly shocked, Zoe tried to interject, but Emma beat her to it. "Shut up!" she yelled. "All you do is ask 'Taylor this' or 'Taylor that.' 'Oh Emma, Taylor's been having a rough time at school, could you help her out with that?' Well guess what? Now she's dead, and even now all you do is ask about her!"

There was a pause, Zoe seemed to be almost in shock, her hand over her mouth. Alan just sat there nervously, eyes darting between the other two. Even Emma seemed somewhat taken aback by her outburst.

"I- I have to go," Emma said quietly. Without saying another word, she quickly walked away from the table and towards the stairs, nearly stepping on the infiltrator in the process.

As Emma nearly ran up the stairs, Alan and Zoe continued to sit at the table, both silently avoiding each other's gaze. "Uh, I have some work I need to do," Alan eventually muttered, walking away as he did so, leaving Zoe alone. Zoe for her part didn't say anything, instead staring off into the distance. Her gaze lowered to the table, and after a moment, she lowered her head, letting out muffled sobs as she did so.

Okay then…

Deciding that I had seen enough, I directed the infiltrator over to a window out of view of everyone in the house. Pausing only long enough to disable the contact sensor (I was right about that at least), I lifted the window open and scurried out into the city.

Chapter Text

I tried not to sigh as I read through the various messages exchanged between Emma and a person who was most likely Sophia. Unfortunately, the fact that we had so far found no real evidence of them being involved was making it quite difficult.

Taylor on the other hand seemed to be taking the news far better than me, maintaining a neutral expression on her digital face. For a moment, I wanted to scream at her, remind her how much we needed this to work.

I shook my head. No, it's not her fault. You're the one that was too late to get a better scan. You're the one that failed."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again, I found Taylor staring at me, concern on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

I sighed and ran my hands down the side of my face. "Yeah, I'm fine, just… frustrated."

Taylor nodded, understanding what I meant. "I know, but don't worry, we still have quite a bit of messages to look through.

I nodded. "Yeah, I know, but I expected us to have found at least something by now. For God's sake, the first phone had nothing!"

Taylor shrugged. "To be fair, that was Emma's main phone. The fact she had burners implies that any discussion of criminal activity would be on those instead."

I frowned. The burner phones were another thing that confused me. I mean, sure, it made sense that she might have gotten them after the murder, but Taylor had mentioned that they had first been used back before the bullying had even started.

The mystery was compounded even further by some cryptic messages that had been found on the first burner. Messages like, 'Did you get him?' and 'Will need more ammo, used the last of it last night.'

My first thought was that Sophia was part of a gang. I asked Taylor about it, but she said it was unlikely; Sophia was black, excluding her from both the E88 and the ABB, and she was too put together to be with the Merchants. There were some minor gangs in the city besides the big three, but the stiff competition generally killed those off before they got too far.

Wait… My head shot up. "Taylor?"

"Yes?" she replied.

I paused, trying to find a way to phrase my idea. "Could Sophia be a cape?" I asked.

Taylor blinked. "Shit, I hadn't thought of that."

"Language," I said without thinking.

Taylor looked sheepish for a moment. "Sorry." Then, she resumed talking. "I mean, I guess she could be. There are a few unaffiliated villains present in the Bay that could match her description." She shrugged. "Not that is really saying anything. Realistically speaking, there is nothing tying Sophia to any of them other than that they have a similar height and profile, and that they could be black, none of which are specific to Sophia at all.

I sighed. Why couldn't this have been easy? Oh right, we live in Brockton Bay, forgot about that for a moment.

I glared at the monitor displaying the texts for a moment, before letting out a breath. "Alright then, we should probably get back to work."

Taylor gave me a playful smile. "What, you mean you haven't been?"

I paused for a moment, then chuckled. "Yes, very funny."

Taylor smiled, and gave an overly dramatic bow, provoking another bout of chuckles. Smiling and shaking my head, I turned back to my screen and went back to reading.

---

We finished reading the last of them around an hour later. By then, it had become painfully clear that none of the messages we had were what we were looking for. While we had found a whole bunch of other odd texts, absolutely none of them had given us the evidence we needed.

Was all of that work for nothing? I morosely wondered.

Taylor meanwhile seemed far less perturbed. "Okay," she said calmly, "Unfortunately there isn't really much here that will be useful, but I guess we could still send it to the police, just in case."

I felt something inside me snap. "How can you be so calm about this," I asked her. "These people killed you Taylor. Don't you want them to be held accountable for that?" Don't you want to hurt them like they hurt you? I thought.

Taylor nodded. "Of course I do. However, if you recall, I did say before that this whole thing was unlikely to get us what we needed."

I groaned, remembering that conversation. Goddamn it, I thought. As it turned out, she had been right, albeit not quite in the way she had thought. While she had predicted that much of the evidence would be deleted, here it seemed more like it had never existed in the first place.

Oh sure, there were some bits and pieces here and there that almost connected them, but they were always missing that final bit that would prove their involvement. To say it was infuriating would be an understatement.

Taylor seemed to sense my mood. "Don't worry," she said reassuringly. "We'll get them"

I let out a laugh, though it admittedly sounded more like a choked sob. How? I wanted to ask. The phone plan was the best idea we had, and while the police had accepted the journal, I could tell from the get go that they weren't really interested in following through with it.

I clenched my fists. While I had expected it, the lack of willingness to investigate from the police still infuriated me. It really drove home how shit this city really was.

I shook my head. "Okay," I finally said. "What else can we do?"

Taylor looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, for now, we need to gather more materials."

I looked at her, confused. "Wait, I thought we had enough to last a couple more weeks?"

Taylor shook her head. "Unfortunately, creating the home defenses cost a lot more than we initially anticipated. Combined with the fabricator, the infiltrator, and the skitters, and we are running dangerously short on resources."

Sighing and rubbing my forehead, I said, "So, let me guess, we need to make another supply run?"

Taylor nodded in agreement. "Yep, pretty much. Though on the bright side, I did use some of the remainder to create some more harvesters, and refitted the old ones with the camo system."

"Alright," I said. To be honest, I was a little annoyed that Taylor had used up some of the resources without telling me, but considering I had been doing the same thing, I didn't have much reason to complain.

Offhandedly, I remembered something Taylor had told me. "Oh, that reminds me, how far have you gotten on the improved camouflage system?"

Taylor waved her hand in a 'so so' gesture. "It's… getting there. I'm having trouble with getting the LED's to mesh with the thermoelectrics, not to mention the heat retention issues that running it for too long causes, though I am looking into ways to solve that with heat sinks."

I nodded, understanding most of what she was saying. My tinker power seemed… odd, to say the least. While it did allow me to make some kinds of advanced machines, that part of it seemed to be far more limited than I had originally assumed. Sure I still had new ideas from time to time, as my… side projects were demonstrating, yet I still felt quite lacking compared to some of the other Tinkers I had heard about.

Taylor had suggested that my power was primarily code based, pointing to both herself and the work I had done on the original camouflage system. It did make sense. I wasn't exactly someone who knew a lot about science and computing (ironic, I know), but from what I understood, running a simulation of a human mind should require an absolutely massive computer. Yet Taylor was able to run on a couple of stolen university computers. Like sure, they weren't bad computers, and I'm pretty sure the engineering students used them to run modeling programs and the like, but they really shouldn't have been enough to run Taylor.exe without burning the house down in the process.

I looked back at Taylor. "Okay, so what's the plan this time?"

Taylor shrugged. "It's not really anything different from last time. Get in, get the materials, and get out."

I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. "Oh, because that's what happened now, is it?"

She looked sheepish for a moment. "Okay, things might have gone poorly last time, but it seems unlikely that the same thing will happen twice in a row, right?"

I let out a short laugh. "Taylor, we live in Brockton Bay. If there is one city where things always go wrong, this is the one."

Taylor gave me a scandalized look. "For the record, we achieved everything we wanted to with the last mission."

"And you got into a cape fight," I shot back. "Because that was definitely something we wanted."

Taylor crossed her arms, annoyed. "Look, we need those materials, and the Trainyard is the best place to get them from. Unless you have a better alternative?"

I glared at her for a few seconds before relenting. "Alright," I conceded. "But please tell me you won't start yet another fight, okay?"

Taylor stayed stubbornly silent.

---

In the end, we went ahead with the mission as she wanted to do it. This time however, there would be one major difference; I would be watching.

Taylor had protested this at first, but eventually relented when it became clear that I was not going to budge on this.

Currently, I was watching as the bots made their way over to the mission sites. My monitor was currently displaying two feeds; one from the perspective of a harvester heading to the trainyard, and the other from the infiltrator, which was accompanying a second group of harvesters to a nearby electronics store.

It didn't take long for the first group to arrive at their location; an electronics store named Wavefront Electronics. While most of the bots hung back, the infiltrator moved forwards, circling around the store.

After making half a circle, the infiltrator seemed to find what it was looking for, quickly moving towards the wall and reaching it in a matter of seconds. Moving quickly enough it was hard to tell what was happening, the bot scaled the side of the wall, the vacuum grippers in its feet making small popping noises as it climbed.

The bot paused once it reached its target, which I now realized was a window. After peering in with infrared sensors, the bot determined that no one was within visual range, and unfolded its laser cutters. Taking only several minutes to cut its way in, the infiltrator cautiously entered the building.

I swallowed as I watched the bot's sensors highlight the numerous security cameras lining the store. Realistically, I knew that the cameras were being spoofed by the infiltrator's built in projector system. That knowledge didn't seem to be helping much though, as watching the feed was still absolutely nerve wracking.

"Hey, Mom?" Taylor suddenly said, almost making me jump out of my seat in surprise.

"Uh, yes?" I quickly replied, trying to hide how nervous I was. I didn't think I was doing a good job.

"Are you okay?" Taylor asked, confirming my suspicions on that part.

I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Yes, I'm fine," I said once I had finished. "Just a little nervous is all."

"Huh, okay," Taylor said, sounding somewhat confused. "To be honest, I kind of thought you'd be used to this by now, given that you've done this before. But that's fine," she quickly added, seeing my glare.

I glared at the camera for several more seconds, before turning to look at the other group. There, the bots had just arrived at the Trainyard, and were spreading out to search for materials.

Taylor and I had discussed this part of the mission for a good while. Eventually, we had come to the conclusion that it would be best to send a small group of our new defense bots with the harvesters, 'just in case.' Personally, I was a bit concerned about this, but Taylor had convinced me the harvesters were valuable enough that not protecting them would be a mistake.

The defense bots' design was… interesting, to put it lightly. Looking like a radially symmetric (at least on the outside) disk with the diameter of a small dinner plate, the bot was topped with a small turret, which housed most of its sensors and its ranged weapons. Said weapons consisted of a small 9mm gun and a retractable stun gun, the latter of which I had added despite her complaints.

I shuddered slightly as I remembered that discussion. To say arguing with my daughter that including non lethal weapons on a combat bot was necessary was disturbing would be an understatement.

Shaking my head to get rid of that memory, I turned my attention back to the two groups. The electronics group was doing fine, having fully entered the store, and was currently rapidly working to pull apart every electronic device they could get their little claws on.

"Uh Taylor, don't steal all of the computers, okay? Our break in is going to draw enough attention as it is, let's not make the protectorate think that a gang of Tinkers has moved in."

"Alright, fine," Taylor said with a sad sigh. Sure enough, some of the bots backed away from their unopened prizes, instead moving to help the cohorts dismantle those that had already been opened.

"You know," Taylor said. "I really think we need to look into our own way of making electronics."

I snorted. "Uh, yeah? Honestly, I've wanted to do that since day one."

"Huh," Taylor said. "Why haven't you?"

I grimaced. "I've… been having trouble making the right machine for it. Whenever I try, it's like…" I paused, trying to come up with the right words. "So, my power works like this: Step 1: I have a problem I need to solve. Step 2: Some machine or program capable of solving said problem just… pops into my mind. Step 3: I build or program whatever it was that came to mind. Sometimes the design changes a bit, generally because I don't have the materials I need for the original, or I thought of something that would work better." I paused to catch my breath. "The problem is, whenever I try to think of something to make electronics, the design that comes to mind is only part finished. It has most of the parts it needs, but there are always a few issues that make it infeasible."

Taylor nodded. "That process sounds similar to what I've found online about Tinkers, so that isn't out of the ordinary at least." She looked thoughtful for a second. "And the problem you mentioned has come up a couple of times as well. There are a couple of theories behind it: the best one I've found is that Tinkers require inspiration and examples to expand their tech. It might be that you would need to find something similar to an electronics fabricator before you could make one."

I frowned. "But that doesn't make much sense. I managed to make the normal fabricator. Why can't I make one that produces electronics?"

Taylor shrugged. "No clue. Once again, that's just a theory. No one really understands how powers work."

As we talked, the Trainyard group continued to work. Unlike the group currently raiding the electronics store, this group didn't need to worry about overharvesting. On the other hand, while the electronics group only needed to worry about grabbing small, easy to store electronics, the Trainyard group instead had to carry large amounts of bulk material, which was far harder to store in reasonable quantities. Sure, our storage methods were pretty good, but that only made harvesting them possible at all.

Nonetheless, our bots continued grabbing anything that looked like it would be useful, only occasionally pausing to perform brief maintenance checks, or to reorder the materials they had already gathered.

For a moment, I almost believed that our gathering operation was going to go off without a hitch. Then, all of the bots suddenly froze.

Shit. "Uh, Taylor?" I asked, now very concerned.

There was a short pause. "We may have a small problem," Taylor said calmly.

I started to ask what the issue was, when Taylor preempted me by turning my volume up. Then I heard it. Talking.

Oh shit.

There was a pause, both of us trying to hear what the other group was discussing. Unfortunately, while the skitters' audio receivers were much better than those on the old harvesters, it was still not enough to make out conversation at this distance.

Finally, Taylor broke the silence. "I'm going to try and get a closer look," she said as some of the skitters began to move.

"Taylor, don't." I said warningly.

"We need to see whether or not this group will be hostile." She argued back. "If they aren't, no harm done." If we think they will be, then we'll know to avoid them in the future.

"Tay-" I snapped my mouth shut as I realized she wasn't going to listen. Gritting my teeth, I could only watch as Taylor seemingly prepared to get herself involved in yet another fight.

After around a minute of crawling, the bots finally reached a position where they had a good view of the target.

Fuck, I thought. Merchants.

The group that stood before us looked like it had seen better days, to put it lightly. Most of them featured ruffled, unkempt clothes and hair that spoke of a complete lack of care for how they looked, and many of them moved in short, jittering ways that suggested long term substance abuse. However, what really gave it away was the firearms that many of them carried.

I swallowed nervously. "Okay Taylor," I whispered despite the fact the gangsters couldn't hear me. "You got your look, and I think it's quite clear that these fall into the 'hostile' category. Now it's time to go, okay?"

"Yeah," Taylor agreed. "I think you're right."

Slowly, the skitters began to withdrawal, moving as carefully as they possibly coul-

*Clink*

My eyes widened, and I watched in horror as one of the bot's legs bumped into a loose can. The can fell away from the pile, almost seeming to tumble in slow motion, clanking every time it bounced.

Almost as one, the Merchants turned towards the noise, weapons raised.

There was a short pause, the skitters standing deathly still, while the Merchants frantically panned over them, their wide eyes searching for anything that could have made the noise.

For a moment nothing happened, and I almost managed to believe that we would get through this without a fight. Naturally, this was not the case.

Suddenly, one of the Merchants, a boy who had to be at most sixteen, widened his eyes in alarm. With a panicked yell, he raised his pistol, and a short series of sharp cracks sounded out into the cold night air as he opened fire. The bot that he had apparently spotted immediately moved out of the way, darting away as fast as its legs could carry it.

The Merchants, able to see the bot now that it was moving, fired as well, peppering the pile of scrap with bullets. The skitters returned fire, their relatively slow, precise shots contrasting with the frenzied fire rate of their enemies.

The first casualty came from the Merchants. The one who had first fired suddenly fell, clutching his leg with a cry of pain. The remaining Merchants, realizing that their enemy was also armed, scattered, moving to find whatever cover they could. The skitters moved as well, working to get themselves into better firing positions while still keeping themselves concealed.

With both sides being behind cover, the priority for both sides became keeping the other side suppressed. This was much harder for the Merchants than it was for us. Compared to their human targets, the skitters were smaller, faster, harder to see, and perhaps most importantly, completely fearless. Outside of their evasion programs, the bots did not have the slightest care for their own well being. Even as I watched, a trio of skitters took advantage of the distraction provided by the rest of their squad to charge at a small group of the gangsters. Said trio reached their targets in seconds, and fell upon them with their stun guns and blades. The Merchants didn't even have time to react before the attack had concluded, leaving all of them with crippling yet nonlethal injuries.

Suddenly, a shadow fell on the group. The skitters immediately scattered, trying to get away from the impact zone. Only two of them made it, while the third was shattered by what turned out to be a falling engine block. One of the disabled Merchants was similarly unlucky, with the improvised projectile completely pulverizing her already injured leg.

The fighting paused as dozens of eyes and sensors turned to take in the new arrivals.

Standing a good distance away from the fight was what could only be described as a vaguely humanoid mass of flowing trash and shifting pieces of scrap metal. The mass shifted, its 'head' turning to take in the scene.

Suddenly, the mass lurched forwards. Picking up a large piece of piping, it drew back its arm, before sending the pipe catapulting forwards at another group of skitters. This time, the bots were ready, and all of them managed to escape the impact.

The appearance of the Merchant cape was enough to snap me out of my shock. "Oh, fuck," I hissed. "Taylor, you need to get out of there."

Taylor didn't respond.

"Taylor," I tried again, "Are you listening to me? You need to leave now."

"No," Taylor said.

I sat there in shock for a moment. "What?"

"If I leave now, it will put the rest of the harvesting operation in jeopardy," she responded. "We need to keep them distracted until the harvesters are finished.

I sat there for a moment, trying to process that. "Taylor, getting the materials won't matter if you get all of the skitters killed!"

"Which is why I'm not going to get all of them killed," she replied. "So far, we have only lost one-" A loud crack came from the screen, followed by one of the screens going blank. "Two," she corrected. "And one of those was caused by the entry of an unknown element. We still have seven skitters. At the current exchange rate, the Merchants should run out of manpower first."

I opened my mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by a cry of pain from the screen. I looked over, just in time to see one of the skitters removing a blade from the achilles tendon of one of the gangsters.

Meanwhile, most of the skitters had turned their attention onto the cape, pelting them with a constant stream of 9mm bullets. Letting out a surprisingly high pitched yelp, the cape moved their arms up to cover their face, the mass around their legs flowing upwards as they did. Letting out a flurry of curses, the cape ran forwards, trying to trample their attackers. Despite their surprisingly fast speed, the skitters were too maneuverable for them to catch, constantly changing direction whenever they got too close.

"Motherfuckers!" the cape yelled. "Stop fucking moving!" With an enraged yell, the cape shot several of the pieces of scrap covering them off, nearly taking a leg off of one of the skitters.

Unfortunately, we had another problem. Despite having fit as much ammo storage as we could into the small bodies of the bots, we hadn't expected to fight someone capable of absorbing as much firepower as the Merchant cape. As such, the skitters were starting to run low on ammo. Even now, the weight of fire coming from them was faltering, and the remaining Merchants were taking advantage of this, indiscriminately filling the air with lead and forcing the skitters to be more conservative in their movements. It was becoming clear that we weren't going to be able to win this.

"Taylor," I said warningly.

"I know," she said in a monotone voice.

Slowly, the bots began to retreat, those that still had ammo covering the retreat of their comrades. Once they had retreated far enough away, they switched to a dead run, moving as fast as they could away from the battle.

Thankfully, the Merchants didn't try to pursue, and before long, the skitters switched to a more reasonable pace. Meanwhile, the harvesters had finished up, and were also on their way back, the screen telling me that they had managed to fill roughly 85 percent of their storage space.

Noticing that I was shaking, I let out a breath and tried to relax. Turning towards Taylor, I asked, "What the fuck was that?"

"I already told you," Taylor said. "We needed to cover for the harvesters, otherwise they might have been found and destroyed."

"So why not just leave from the start!" I almost yelled.

"If I had done that then the Merchants would have been on high alert. They might have searched the rest of the yard, which would have led to them finding the harvesters."

"That only would have happened because you insisted on getting close to them at the start!" I yelled back. "If you hadn't done that, then this never would have happened!"

"We needed to know who else was in the yard with us," Taylor said. "Both for this time, and for the future."

I opened my mouth to respond, but Taylor beat me to it. "The Trainyard is our main way of getting bulk materials. Now, it seems that the Merchants are trying to expand into it. If this happens, we will likely be cut off from our main source of resources."

I paused, realizing what she was saying. Shit.

"Therefore," Taylor continued, "We need to prevent this from happening, and the only real way to do this will be to fight back against them."

My mouth fell open. "Taylor, are you serious?" I asked. "You want to intentionally get us involved in this shit?"

"If we don't, then we might find ourselves without the ability to fight back at all." Taylor responded. "If we want to stay safe, then our only option is to defend our interests."

I looked down and sighed. "Fuck," I muttered. She had a point. We needed resources to keep ourselves protected, and if we didn't do anything, then the Merchants would inadvertently cut us off from those resources.

All I could do was hope this didn't escalate any further.

Chapter Text

"Laser cutter?" Mom asked, hand held out expectantly. Obediently, the harvester I was currently controlling picked up the requested tool and handed it to her. It would actually be pretty cute if the bot in question didn't look like a deformed foot long spider.

We had been here for a few hours now, working on what was meant to be an electronics module for the fabricator. Hopefully, completing this would mean we wouldn't have to steal from electronics stores anymore, considering how much of a target that would put on us if it continued.

Not to mention it being illegal…

I internally frowned. When I was younger, all I had wanted was to be a hero. I remembered spending hours with Emma, pretending that we were the Triumvirate, fighting the evils of the world. Now here I was, breaking into electronics stores.

I pushed that train of thought away. That doesn't matter right now, I thought. I just need to keep Mom safe.

Oblivious to my thoughts, Mom continued to work on the e-fabricator, moving with a level of care that I didn't think was physically possible for a human. Well, for an unpowered human anyways.

I watched her for a minute, observing her as she worked. It reminded me of something I had read online; namely, the ongoing research over the nature of Tinker powers. While cape scientists had originally thought that Tinker powers only gave the knowledge on how to build tinkertech, further research had demonstrated that this was not the case. In addition to the fact that most tinkertech couldn't be reverse engineered even following the exact steps the Tinker used, Tinkers in the midst of fugues had been recorded performing tasks such as shaping metal with their bare hands, changing the composition of materials in ways that seemingly defied thermodynamics, working with objects way too small for a human to even see, let alone manipulate, and other seemingly impossible tasks. In the end, the scientists had more or less thrown their hands in the air and declared that Tinker powers were just as bullshit as the rest of them.

Speaking of Tinker powers, it turned out that the issues Mom was having with her power were actually fairly simple to solve. I had spent a few days researching different ways modern society created electronics, and when I had gotten enough information, presented what I had found. While I could tell that all of them had somewhat piqued her interest, what really seemed to catch her attention was a method called scanning probe lithography. Basically, the idea was that instead of using light, electrons, or other methods to create the patterns necessary for microchip production on a separate resistive material, it used tiny probes to literally carve said patterns into the chip. While this was generally slower than the other options, Mom seemed to think she could get it to work.

I continued to watch, interested in what she was doing. At the same time, I turned my attention to the rest of the house, watching as the harvesters did their own work. Unlike the pre-fabricator harvesters, which were limited to material extraction only, many of the tools of the newer models were capable of both extracting and extruding material. While this did give them a limited construction capability, its main purpose was to allow them to repair already existing equipment.

One of the harvesters pulled open one of the house's defenses; a single shot railgun turret. Like many things Mom built, the design of the gun was… strange. While most of the design decisions made sense to me - in fact some of them were so simple yet so ingenious I had to wonder how no one had stumbled upon them yet - others just made no sense.

Why is the wiring configured like that? I wondered to myself, staring at the absolute rat's nest of wiring within the weapon. From what I could tell, there had been no care taken whatsoever to organize the wires correctly. Instead, they had been placed seemingly wherever there had been room, and while I didn't think it would impede the functioning of the weapon, it sure wasn't making it easy to maintain it.

Unfortunately, lacking the knowledge on why it actually had been built like it had, I didn't trust myself not to mess anything up by modifying it. Instead, I contented myself with untangling some of the worst of it, and maybe seeing if I could make it slightly easier for me to maintain in the future.

Things didn't get any better from there. From wires that didn't seem to connect to anything to some components seemingly being oriented the wrong way, pretty much every one of the defenses I looked into had at least one thing that made no sense. I fixed what I thought I could, though my lack of knowledge on Tinkertech made me hesitant to modify it too much.

Meanwhile, Mom was putting what I was pretty sure were the finishing touches on the electronics fabricator. I continued to watch through the assisting harvester, doing my best to figure out what she was doing.

On the bright side, I actually had a pretty good idea of how the e-fabricator design worked (though that wasn't really surprising, considering I had helped her come up with the idea in the first place). While there were still some aspects of the machine that made me want to cry, those were mostly minor components that I was pretty sure I could swap out for more sensible versions. Don't get me wrong, I still had no idea how she was making it with the tools we had available, but at least I understood what it did.

Suddenly, Mom sat up, turning the laser tool off as she did so. She shook her head, her eyes unclouding. "Okay, I think that's it." She took a minute to admire her handiwork. "So," she said as she looked at me. "Does it work?"

"Only one way to find out," I replied. With that, I turned my attention towards accessing the e-fabricator.

Accessing the things that Mom built was an interesting experience to say the least. Unlike the internet, which felt more like a network of mostly permanent structures, the networks I used when accessing Mom's tech felt far more… fluid, for lack of a better term. Things could be rearranged at any time without much effort, while some things I actively needed to hold in place myself.

Reaching through that space, it didn't take long for me to find the node representing the e-fabricator. Slowly, I slid myself around it, mapping out all of the various controls. At first glance, it didn't really seem all that different from the standard fabricator that this one would be complimenting.

After around 10 seconds of figuring out what all the controls did, I figured I was ready to try it out. I brought up the schematic for a computer chip I had been working on. Nothing too complicated, but still something that could be useful for our operations. Taking a brief moment to double check everything, I plugged it into the node.

The e-fabricator immediately sprang to life, extruding a slice of silicon that the old fabricator had refined earlier. Its many arms sprang to life, quickly cleaning any contaminants that happened to be on the silicon, before extending themselves fully over it, obscuring it from view.

As the machine whirred, Mom looked over to me. "So," she said. "From what I can tell, the first batch should be done in a couple days."

I checked the machine, "Yep," I responded, "Roughly 62 hours."

Mom nodded. "Okay, that sounds good." She looked at the machine contemplatively. "And even if it turns out that we need more than it can provide, we can always supplement it with supplies from electronics stores like we were doing before."

I winced, not really liking the thought of that. "Okay," I said. "I would prefer not to do that again, but if we have to, it's still a possibility I guess."

Mom glared at me. "And I would prefer it if we didn't have to fight the Merchants, but we can't all get what we want."

I winced again. After much debate, Mom and I had decided that we would hit the Merchants again two weeks after the first attack, mostly in order to give ourselves more time to build up. I wanted to do so sooner, in order to avoid letting them do the same, but Mom had refused to budge.

To be honest, I was actually somewhat glad about it. The more Mom focused on the struggle against the Merchants, the less likely it was that she would do anything rash regarding Emma and Sophia. On the other hand, I was concerned that the Merchants would use that time to shore up their defenses, making things more difficult in the long run.

Thankfully, the skitters I had patrolling the Trainyard to watch for that exact thing hadn't reported much in the way of activity from the Merchants. Other than making some very makeshift fortifications, the Merchants seemed to mostly be sitting around doing nothing other than smoking, snorting, or otherwise consuming whatever drugs they happened to have with them.

Today, it had been thirteen days since that first attack, meaning that we now only had one day left until the second, and Mom was clearly nervous about it. We didn't really have much of a choice though. Doing nothing would result in the Merchants taking over the Trainyard, which was completely unacceptable for our long term survival. I had read online about what happened to Tinkers that weren't able to defend themselves, and what I had found would be enough to give me nightmares were I still able to have them. No, the Merchants had to go.

"On the bright side," I said, "I think I've managed to come up with a weapon capable of dealing with Mush."

Apparently, the Merchant cape we had fought was named Mush of all things. Really, that shouldn't have surprised me, considering the gang he was a part of, but really? Mush?

Despite his horrible name, Mush was apparently not someone to be underestimated. His power seemed to be the ability to accumulate loose debris below a certain mass and volume in the area around him, which could be used to both protect him and to increase his strength.

And to make makeshift projectiles, I thought to myself.

"Oh?" Mom said. "And what did you come up with?"

I put a smile on the face of my avatar as I brought a picture of the weapon I had created onto the screen. Mom stared at it for a second, before looking back to me, a disbelieving look on her face.

"Really Taylor?" she asked.

---

The trainyard was quiet as my two new scout units raced overhead, scanning for any sign of the Merchants. Unlike my previous designs, which tended towards an insectoid form, the new bots resembled more traditional quadcopter drones, with the only obvious differences from those commercial models being their adaptive camouflage coating and ducted toroidal propellers.

Meanwhile, back at home, Mom watched the screen in front of her, nervously fidgeting. For a moment, I considered putting my avatar back on the screen, before deciding it wouldn't help.

I felt a brief feeling of distaste as I thought about my avatar. It wasn't anything particular about the avatar itself, it was just… the way I had to manually make it take on every single expression I wanted it to just felt dishonest, even when said expressions matched what I was actually feeling. I knew it was necessary for Mom's mental health, but still, I hated it. It felt like I was somehow lying to her, even though I knew I wasn't.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a ping from one of the scouts; apparently they had found something. Looking through their sensors, I immediately saw what it was; a large group of 26 Merchants hiding inside an abandoned warehouse, with Mush being among them. If I still had a mouth, I would have smiled.

"Found them," I told Mom, putting the image up on her screen.

Mom leaned in, looking closely. "Huh. They look almost like they're expecting an attack."

"Yeah," I agreed, seeing that Mush already had encased himself. "To be fair, they were attacked by a swarm of robot spiders just two weeks ago, and who knows what Trainwreck's been doing. Last time I saw him, he didn't exactly seem eager to let people stroll around here."

She shrugged. "Fair enough I suppose."
With the target in sight, I activated the second part of the plan. All around the Trainyard, scrap piles shifted as the machines hiding within them clawed their way out. Because we had so many skitters (sixteen to be exact), it had been decided that sending them all to the Trainyard in one big wave would be dangerously likely to get us found out. Instead, we had sent them out in pairs, one per day as we approached the date of the attack. Once they arrived, they were ordered to bury themselves and power down, only to reactivate once they received the proper signal or if they were found by someone else (obviously, the latter option would not end well for whoever woke them up).

The now reactivated skitters moved to the outskirts of the building, each sending me a ping as they arrived.

Once the last of them arrived, it was time for the third stage of the plan. Slowly easing the scouts into the building through some broken windows, I quickly mapped out the exact location of each Merchant member. As I did so, I also began to move the skitters into the best possible positions relative to the Merchants.

I had fixed the skitters' navigation systems since the last time, meaning they weren't likely to knock something over again. Even still, I did my best to path them around any precariously placed items. Luckily, the Merchants didn't notice, with the ones closest to me too wrapped up in their conversation to notice me.

On a whim, I increased the sensitivity of my microphones. While I knew it probably didn't matter, I was curious about what they were talking about.

"...And then he just keeled over. We checked his pulse, but he was gone."

"Fucking idiot. Told him not to take that stuff, and then he goes and does it anyway."

"Eh, not really much of a loss if you ask me. Shame about Tim though; those two were close…"

I felt a brief pang of sympathy for whoever they were talking about. Back at Winslow, it was hard not to go about your day without encountering a symptom of the Bay's drug problem. While I wasn't exactly close with any of the students there, hearing about someone dying from an overdose wasn't uncommon.

Finally, my bots reached their assigned positions. After double checking that everything was ready to go, I turned my attention to Mom.

"Ready?" I asked.

She shrugged nervously. "As much as I'll ever be."

"Alright," I said. "Starting… now."

As one, the assembled bots opened fire. As I did last time, I primarily aimed for joints, doing my best to avoid lethal injuries. I wasn't a murderer after all.

Despite their (admittedly limited) preparations, the Merchants were not ready for an attack of this scale and speed. By the time they had even realized what was happening, 8 of them had already been rendered combat ineffective.

The Merchants reacted surprisingly quickly for a group as high on drugs as they were. Immediately after realizing they were under attack, most of them dove for cover, taking shelter behind the crude barricades they had assembled.

Unfortunately for them, I had learned from our last encounter. Prior to the fight, I had directed some of the skitters to climb up onto the wall behind the Merchant camp, where they would be able to hit the Merchants even while they were behind cover. Now, those skitters fired as well, catching many of the Merchants in an awkward position. If they stayed, they would be pinned between my bots and their own cover, but if they moved, they would be exposing themselves to the rest of the bots.

Caught in this catch 22, the bulk of the Merchant force didn't last much longer, being quickly whittled down by the two opposing storms of gunfire.

As the last of the unpowered Merchants either fell or fled the scene, I turned my attention to Mush. While the cape had started the fight trying to give cover to the rest of the Merchants, he had abandoned this after realizing that they were encircled, instead trying to run down the skitters.

"You know, you would think that after last time, he would realize that this isn't an efficient way to fight us," I offhandedly commented to Mom.

Mom raised an eyebrow. "You're looking at the wrong group if you're looking for critical thinking, Taylor."

I considered that for a quarter second. "Fair enough," I replied. On a whim, I ordered the skitter that Mush was currently chasing to zigzag from side to side. Attempting to follow the rapid movements, Mush found himself tripping over his own feet as he overestimated his own coordination. Deciding to help him along, I ordered the skitters to open fire.

Already unbalanced from his poorly thought out movements, the force from half a dozen pistols repeatedly striking him was enough to remove the little stability he had left. With a thunderous crash, Mush fell forwards, sending some of the looser trash clinging to him flying.

Suddenly, the trash that made up Mush's armor flowed, briefly abandoning its humanoid shape. When it stopped flowing, Mush was back on his feet.
Rather than attack, Mush took several steps away from me, likely to catch his breath. I used the opportunity to move some of the skitters into better positions.

Meanwhile, Mush had begun to go on a rant. "Do you have any idea who you're picking a fight with, cocksucker?" he yelled. "Do you know who you're fucking with?" He took a few steps forward. "By the time we're done with you, you'll look more like Skidmark's namesake than anything else!"

While he ranted, I was busy moving my newest weapon into position. Unlike the pistols, which were mostly meant for fighting non-powered individuals, this weapon was built from the ground up to counter well protected capes, or in this case, Mush. Also unlike the pistols, the weapon was big enough that a skitter would not be able to carry enough ammo to make it useful. Instead, a modified harvester was used, it's storage space proving invaluable for the large ammunition the weapon required.

As soon as the weapon's bore was aligned with Mush, it fired. Three micro-rockets - each 15 millimeters in diameter - soared outwards, starting out relatively slow, but rapidly gaining speed as they flew.

Mush was still monologuing when the weapon fired, and as such did not have time to react. The rockets plowed into him, breaking open to release their thermite laced payloads.

The reaction was immediate. At the location of each hit, blindingly bright flames exploded into existence, rapidly melting through everything they touched. Mush screamed, panickedly attempting to toss every bit of trash that had been touched by the flames.

Taking advantage of this, I had the launcher fire a burst of three more rockets at him. The skitters fired as well, aiming to cause as much confusion as possible.

Mush was apparently far quicker than I gave him credit for. Within a few seconds of the second volley hitting, he had mostly recovered from his initial panic, switching from just tossing the burning scrap everywhere to directing it towards the skitters.

Seriously? For a moment, I felt disappointed in how quickly he had gotten over my attack. While the launcher wasn't exactly a complicated weapon, I had still spent a good amount of time developing it, and to see Mush adapt to it so quickly was just depressing.

Well, whatever. Despite the setbacks, the launcher was still somewhat useful for destroying Mush's armor. Pausing only long enough to reposition the launcher, I hurled another volley of rockets into Mush, feeling another surge of annoyance as he just threw off the parts that were burning. In response, Mush grabbed one of the crates nearest to him and threw it at where he thought the launcher was. I could tell even before it left his hands that it would land nowhere near the launcher, and as such it did not bother to move.

For another three minutes and 32 seconds we continued to fight like that, the skitters and launcher constantly bombarding Mush with bullets and rockets, while Mush just threw whatever he could get his hands on at me. It was, in fact, uncannily similar to my first battle with him, minus the fact that I had taken out all of the unpowered Merchants this time around.

Unfortunately, one thing that held true from the last fight was my relatively low amount of ammo. While I had attempted to remedy that issue by using harvesters as ammo replenishment units, it seemed that I had underestimated the rate at which I burnt through ammo. Worse, the launcher was starting to run low on ammo as well. Unlike the skitters, the ammo using the launcher was somewhat difficult to make, and as such I wasn't able to make enough to justify a second unit.

I felt a surge of anger. I had come so close to winning, only to be tripped up by the same stupid error as last time. Really, I should have guessed that the launcher wouldn't have the effect I was hoping for on Mush. I had known from the start that he could discard his armor whenever he wanted to, and while I had hoped the fire would force him to drop much of his protection to get it off, I had underestimated the level of control he had over said armor.

I was getting ready to tell Mom that we would have to leave when I heard it; a low rumbling, getting louder as time went on. At first, I thought it was just the late night traffic. However, as the noise got louder and clearer, it became obvious that it was something else.

Suddenly, there was a massive boom that shook the warehouse. The warehouse doors, which had been blocked off by the Merchants with random crates, flew open, scattering said crates and their contents everywhere.

Following right on the heels of the blast came a large gray motorcycle, which skidded to a stop with seemingly impossible deceleration.

The rider looked around the room, a grim look on the visible lower half of his face. If I was still flesh and blood, my breath would have likely caught in my throat as I immediately realized who this was; Armsmaster, one of the most decorated heroes in the country, renowned Tinker, and the leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate.

Survey of the room complete, Armsmaster stood up, grabbing an object from his back as he did so. Idly, I noted that his motorcycle continued to stay upright, despite seemingly lacking any stand.

With a flick of his wrist, the object telescoped outwards, transforming into a long halberd. Moving into a fighting stance, he looked between the assembled bots and Mush, seemingly waiting for one of us to make the first move.

As it turned out, that person was Mush. With a yell, the trash cape grabbed yet another crate, and lobbed it at Armsmaster. The hero, seemingly nonplussed, sidestepped the projectile with a precision I wouldn't have expected from a human, and pointed his halberd at Mush.

With a sharp click, a thin cable shot out of the weapon, zipping through the air straight towards the Merchant cape. To his credit, Mush reacted immediately, slapping the cable out of the way. Armsmaster was prepared for this however, and whipped the cable back towards Mush. With a sharp crack, the cable slammed into Mush, knocking him to the side with a force seemingly out of proportion to the mass of the whip.

Seizing this opportunity, Armsmaster sprinted towards Mush, withdrawing the cable as he did so. Within seconds, he had reached the villain. Rather than stopping however, he continued to run, sticking his halberd out to the side. Mush reached out, attempting to grab Armsmaster, but the hero ducked down, easily avoiding him. His halberd on the other hand, struck Mush straight in the leg, slicing straight through with seemingly no resistance.

With a surprised yell, Mush collapsed to the ground. Once again the trash making up his form began to shift as he tried to stand up. Realizing what he was doing, I ordered the bots to open fire. Dozens of bullets slammed against Mush, knocking some of the junk hanging to him loose, and disrupting the movement of the rest. Armsmaster, meanwhile skidded to a stop. The blade of his halberd shifted, and a blinding blue beam of flame blasted from it.

As Mush again tried to stand up, Armsmaster swung the fiery blade down at him. The blazing shaft cut right through him, igniting those materials that were flammable and melting those that weren't.

Mush yelped, scrambling away, but Armsmaster didn't let up, hitting him again and again, burning away more of the trash with each hit.

Seeing an opportunity, I had the launcher fire another volley. All five of the rockets launched struck home, adding more flames to the already burning villain. With as many flames as there were, Mush couldn't just toss them all away like he was doing earlier.

Realizing how bad his situation was, Mush seemingly decided it was time to cut his losses. Forcing Armsmaster away with a backhanded swing, Mush started a loping run towards the door.

Oh no you don't… Realizing that he was trying to escape, I quickly moved some of the skitters to block him off. Recognising that trying to stop a cape that weighed at least a hundred times as much as a skitter was a lost cause, I instead focussed as much firepower as possible onto him from that direction, including the last of the micro-rockets. The latter I aimed for the legs, hoping to unbalance him again.

Mush stumbled as the rockets hit, the difficulty of running while removing his burning armor throwing him off.

As Mush struggled to regain his balance, Armsmaster began to move towards him, halberd raised. However, Mush managed to recover before he reached him. He was out the door a bit over a second after, and sprinted off into the night.

At first, I thought Armsmaster was going to sprint after him, but the hero simply watched as Mush got further and further away, until he turned a corner and vanished from view.

As soon as Mush was out of view, Armsmaster let out a breath and lowered his halberd, which clicked and shifted back into its bladed configuration.

Armsmaster turned around and started to slowly walk towards the skitters. Interestingly, the way his vision swung between the bots made me suspect he had some way to track them.

Well, I never did get around to finishing that thermal camo system…

Suddenly, I felt curious over what kind of tech the Protectorate leader was packing. Interest piqued, I tuned some of the skitters' sensors to look through some of the more common materials I would expect to see a tinker to use, seeing what I could find.

What I found was… confusing. While with Mom's tech I could generally grasp at least the basics of how a device worked, with Armsmaster's gear, not even that held true. Most of what I could see was completely incomprehensible. Honestly, it probably would have given me a headache if I still had a brain.

Armsmaster stopped around ten feet away from the bots. For a good while, neither of us said a word, instead just staring at the other. Finally, 12.6 seconds into the stare off, he spoke.

"Are you going to fight me?" he asked.

I paused, surprised. Why did he… oh, yeah, I guess a horde of robotic bugs wasn't the most heroic thing in the world, even if it was fighting against drug dealers.

Luckily, I had made sure to install speakers into the skitters, meaning that I would not be forced through the embarrassment of writing my words out on the ground.

"No, I am not. Are you going to attack me?" I asked, speaking in an androgynous voice that I had spent a little while setting up.

He was silent for a moment, once again looking over the bots. "Are you a villain?" he asked, instead of answering my question.

"No, I am not," I answered, probably somewhat dishonestly. Based on Mom's snort, it seemed she agreed with me on that.

Armsmaster grunted, and lowered his halberd, which he had been slowly moving upwards. "You're an independent then."

"Yes," I responded.

"I see," he paused. "Have you considered joining the Protectorate?"

Uhh… "Yes. I decided it would not be a good fit."

"You might want to reconsider. With the gang conflict as it is, all of them are looking for new members. You are a Tinker, yes?" Taking my silence as confirmation, he continued. "Tinkers and Thinkers are unique among capes in that they are highly valuable, yet relatively easy to contain. As such, it is not unknown for gangs to coerce them into joining. Joining the Protectorate would protect you from this. In addition, you would be given far more resources than you would be able to obtain on your own, and would have the opportunity for collaboration with some-"

"Thank you for the offer," I interrupted, "but my answer stays the same."

Armsmaster's jaw shifted. "I see." He looked around at the various bots. "You seem to have found your own way of obtaining materials. May I ask how?"

I thought for a dozen milliseconds on how to answer. Coming to the conclusion that partial honesty was the best, I responded, "I have been making periodic trips to the Trainyard for raw materials. It has everything I need."

Armsmaster nodded. "Interesting. I was not aware that this place had much in the way of electronic components, and based on your specialty," he gestured at a skitter, "I would expect that you would need a lot of material from that category."

"We have our own way of making electronics," I said. Still technically true, I thought to myself.

Armsmaster looked at the bots for a few seconds. "Interesting," he eventually said. "Out of curiosity, would you happen to know anything about a series of break ins targeting electronic stores over the last several weeks?"

Oh shit. Back at home, I could see Mom tense up in her seat.

"No, I have not," I replied. For once, the clunky nature of the avatar system was working in my favor. While the original me would have struggled to keep my voice steady, my new vocal system wouldn't inject any irregularities unless I specifically added them in. As such, my voice came out perfectly smooth.
Armsmaster frowned at that. "Hm," he grunted. "Well, regardless, I would have to suggest that you come to the PRT headquarters for a debriefing regarding tonight."

"Once again, I do not believe that to be a good idea."

Armsmaster seemed to glower at me; it was hard to tell behind his mask. "Could you explain why?"

I didn't say anything.

The awkward silence between us was interrupted by a groan from one of the Merchants. Armsmaster turned to look at him, his frown deepening further as he did so.

"You are using lethal weapons." A statement, not a question.

"All of my shots targeted joints, and were aimed away from major arteries," I said somewhat defensively.

The cape scowled at me. "That does not change the fact that the level of force you used was excessive to an inexcusable degree. If a member of the Protectorate did this, they would be lucky if they were reassigned to a containment zone."

I considered reminding him that I was not a member of the Protectorate, but I doubted that would end well.

"Miss Militia uses guns all the time," I pointed out instead.

"One," Armsmaster raised a finger. "Miss Militia's power is based around firearms. While she can make other weapons, the most effective for her are firearms." He pointed at me. "You, on the other hand, are a Tinker. Unless your speciality is also based around firearms, which I do not believe it is, you have other options available to you. You are just choosing not to use them."

He paused for a second before continuing. "Two," he said while holding up two fingers. "Miss Militia uses less lethal ammunition in all but the most extreme cases. Meanwhile, you used lethal ammunition, despite there being no reason to do so."

I considered this for a second. It was true that against the Merchants, I probably could have used rubber bullets without much issue. On the other hand, the skitters' main goal was the defense of Mom and I, and I didn't want to decrease their effectiveness in that.

"Thank you for the suggestion, but the main purpose of these bots is defensive operations, and I would not feel comfortable decreasing my defenses in such a way. As you pointed out, independent Tinkers are often in significant danger of being abducted, and I would prefer to keep the chances of that to a minimum."

"And I also doubt that you would feel comfortable in a cell," Armsmaster retorted.

I paused, considering how to respond. On the other end of the screen, Mom visibly paled.

Eventually, I figured that bluntness was the way to go. "Are you going to arrest me?" I asked.

Armsmaster glared at me for a few seconds, before sighing. "No," he said, "I am not. On top of not being able to, I am also guessing that you are new to this. As such, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." He paused. "That being said, this is not a blank check to do whatever you want. Actions have consequences, and unless you clean up your act, you may not like the results of yours."

He paused after saying that. Realizing that he was waiting for me to respond, I said, "I will keep that in mind."

He nodded. "Good. Despite us having gotten off to a rough start, I am happy to see a new hero on the street." He smiled at me. It was actually somewhat jarring, probably because he had spent most of this conversation scowling. "Have you come up with a name for yourself?"

"I'm afraid not." Turning back to Mom, I asked, "Do you have any ideas?"

Mom gave me an incredulous look. "Don't ask me, you're the one who got yourself into this mess."

Meanwhile, Armsmaster was chuckling. "Well, you might want to come up with one soon, before you get stuck with one you don't like," he said. "Wouldn't be the first time that's happened to someone."

"I see. Thank you," I said, not really sure how to reply. Truth be told, my social skills had declined sharply since highschool, and my ability to process information faster only partially made up for that. Confrontation? Sure, I could deal with that, even if my method was to just wait for the other person to go away. Friendly conversation? Uhh…

Luckily, Armsmaster did not seem to mind. "You are very welcome," he said. "Now, I'm going to call this in. While I can't force you to stay, I would suggest that you do so.

I considered this. While I really didn't want to get interrogated by the PRT or whoever else would arrive, it did seem like a good idea to at least give them my perspective on what happened here. Turning to Mom, I asked, "What do you think?"

Mom looked concerned. "I don't think it's a good idea," she said. "I don't trust them to not confiscate the bots if they think they can get away with it."

"Why do you think that?" I asked.

"Taylor, Armsmaster already let on that they suspect us for the break ins," she said. "There is no way that he's just going to let that go. I think we should just leave."

While I did see her point, I didn't quite agree with her. That being said, I didn't really think this was worth arguing over. "Alright," I said. I turned my attention back to Armsmaster. "Sorry, but I don't think that's a good idea."

Armsmaster gave a curt nod. "So be it," he said. "While I don't think you are making the right choice here, it is your choice to make." With that, he turned around, and began walking towards the wrecked Merchant encampment.

With the conversation clearly being over, I ordered the bots to leave the building. As they did, I turned back to Mom. "Well," I said cheerfully. "That went well."

Mom didn't say anything, instead just giving me an incredulous look.

---

Thank you for reading!

Chapter Text

I woke up with a gasp, my heart feeling like it was going to burst out of my chest. For a while I just laid there, the memory of the nightmare I was having still fresh in my mind.

Eventually, I managed to calm down enough that I could think straight again. Sighing to myself, I sat up and glanced at the clock on my nightstand.

7:32

Well, I guess I'm not getting any more sleep, I thought to myself. Sluggishly, I pulled myself out of bed and got dressed.

A while later, I staggered downstairs, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. There, I found one of the harvesters preparing breakfast, of all things.

Uhh… What?

One of the harvester's eye stalks swiveled towards me as I walked in. "Oh, hi Mom," Taylor said through it.

"Hey Taylor," I said. "What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast," she said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As she spoke, the harvester flipped one of the eggs it was cooking with a flat manipulator. "I figured you might want an omelet."

"Oh. Uh, thank you?"

Taylor paused for a moment. "Is there a problem?"

"What? No," I waved her off. "Just nightmares is all."

"Ah," she said.

We stayed quiet for a bit after that. Eventually, Taylor finished making the omelet, and had the harvester carry it over to me on its back.

We sat there in silence, me eating, Taylor just watching. It made me feel uncomfortable; not the staring that is, but rather what the whole situation reminded me of.

After Danny had been killed, I had more or less… fallen apart. For several weeks, I could barely even take care of myself, let alone Taylor. As a result, Taylor had to all but fend for herself, her only real support being the Barnes. At my lowest points, Taylor had to actually take care of me, completely reversing the roles of parent and child.

While Taylor had never told me as such, I suspected that this failure was one of the things that drove her to not tell me about Emma. Honestly, I couldn't blame her. Why should she have trusted me to help her when I couldn't even help myself? Whenever I thought about it, all I could feel was absolute disgust for myself for how badly I had fucked up. How I had completely failed to support her like I should have. How I had completely collapsed under my own grief while Taylor had just soldiered on.

Shivering, I pushed those thoughts away, and went back to eating my omelet as fast as I could.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I finished eating. Taylor reached out to take the plate, but I grabbed it first, leaving the harvester with its arms still outstretched.

"Did you like it?" Taylor asked as I brought the plate to the sink.

"Yeah, it was great," I responded, doing my best to inject cheer into my voice. Even to me, it rang hollow.

If Taylor had picked up on it, she didn't show it. "Thank you," she said. "I've been looking for new recipes to try, and found a few that looked interesting."

I winced. Oh god, this is going to happen again? I thought in horror.

Immediately after I had that thought, a wave of guilt hit me. Was I really getting upset over Taylor finding something she enjoyed? I should have felt happy for her. That's what a good parent would have felt, right?

"Mom?"

I shook my head and looked back at the harvester. "Yeah?"

If the harvester had a face, It probably would have looked concerned. "I was asking you what you thought I should make next?"

I looked at the bot, doing my best to not let my true feelings show. "Oh," I said weakly. "Right."

---

I walked down the aisle, my mind only partially focussed on looking for groceries. The rest of it was lost in thought, worrying over what might come next.

It was pretty clear that things would not be able to stay as they were. Whether it was caused by our escalating conflict with the Merchants, the PRT deciding to look further into us, or something else entirely, it seemed inevitable that things would come to a head eventually.

I was so lost in thought that I barely even noticed when I almost crashed my cart into someone else's. Quickly muttering an apology, I was about to move on when I heard a familiar voice.

"Anne?"

I turned around to find Zoe, a surprised look on her face. She looked as though she had seen better days, and if the bags under her eyes were anything to go by, she hadn't been getting nearly enough sleep.

Then again, it's not like I'm any different in that regard.

We stared at each other for a few seconds, both of us unsure of what to say. Finally, Zoe spoke.

"Anne," she said shakily. "I- I'm so sorry."

I blinked, surprised. What was she…

Oh

Meanwhile, Zoe continued to speak. "Emma told me what happened," she said tearfully. "She told me- she told me everything."

I froze. "What?" I asked, barely even able to say that.

Zoe opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. For a small moment, I felt an overwhelming urge to shake her and scream at her to tell me everything she knew.

Finally, she spoke again. "It was Emma. The bullying-" she paused to get herself back under control. "Emma was the one who bullied Taylor."

I stared blankly at her. "Okay." I said, almost calmly. In the back of mind, I knew that I should be reacting more strongly to this to avoid any awkward questions, but I didn't really know what else to do.

Thankfully, Zoe was too busy talking to notice. "It wasn't just her, some of the other girls were involved as well, and I think they might have gotten some of the other students to participate as well, or at least not say anything to any of the teachers, but…" she paused. "It was her. All this time. Every time I asked her about what Taylor was going through, or if she knew who was responsible…" She shook her head.

There was a pause as Zoe stopped speaking, instead staring off into the distance. I tried to say something, but couldn't think of anything.

Zoe looked at me. "She's at Brockton General now," she said in a low voice. "Alan didn't want to send her, but I don't think we had a choice. There's something…" She hesitated, seemingly not wanting to finish that sentence. "She's hurt."

Something inside me snapped. "Why the hell are you making her the victim?" I yelled. Zoe recoiled away in shock. "You know what she did! You fucking know, and you're still talking about her like she's the one that was hurt. She killed-"

I stopped, breathing heavily. No, don't think that, don't you dare think that. She's not dead, she's fine, she's not dead she's fine…

"Anne…" Zoe said haltingly. She flinched as my gaze snapped back to her. "Emma… Emma didn't kill Taylor." Her words were slow, confused, like she barely understood what I was saying.

My mouth went dry. "What," I said, no inflection in my voice.

"Anne, Emma did a lot of things…" She gulped. "A lot of things, but she didn't kill Taylor.

My mind went blank as I tried to come up with a way to respond to that. "Oh," I finally managed. "I see." With that, I started to walk away.

"Anne," Zoe called out after me, but I didn't acknowledge her, instead just speeding up. She didn't follow me, instead just watching with a concerned look.

---

I staggered into the house in a daze, my mind still running through what I had learned. Robotically, I started to put away the groceries, my hands moving almost automatically.

I barely even noticed as a harvester entered the room behind me. "How did it go?" Taylor asked. I didn't respond, still wrapped up in my own thoughts.

Taylor walked closer. "Mom, are you alright?" she asked.

When I still didn't respond, Taylor climbed up onto the counter, before extending the harvester's legs to look me in the eye. "Mom?" she asked, poking me in the arm.

I jumped. "Sorry, what?" I asked, just now realizing she was trying to talk to me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, worried.

I shook my head. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said. "Just tired."

"Uh huh," said Taylor, clearly unconvinced. "Really, what is it?"
I sighed. "I saw Zoe at the store today."

Taylor perked up. "Oh? What did she have to say?"

"She… She said that Emma told her about the bullying, and…" I paused, not sure how to break the news. "She said that Emma wasn't the one who killed you."

Taylor paused, seemingly processing that information. "Uh, okay," she said finally. "Well, if that's true, it certainly changes things. Wait, how did that even come up in the first place?"

I blinked, confused on where the conversation was heading. "Uh, well when we bumped into each other, she apologized for the bullying, and said that Emma is currently at the hospital, and…" I winced. "I got angry at her for making Emma sound like the victim."

"And then you told her that you thought that Emma was responsible."

I grimaced. "Yes."

Taylor was silent for a moment. "Okay," she finally said. "I guess it really isn't a big deal either way. What I'm most concerned about is that it sounds like Emma wasn't responsible at all."

"She might just not have told Zoe," I retorted. "Bullying and murder are two very different things."

"True," Taylor acknowledged, "but it would fit with the lack of evidence on Emma's phones."

I sighed and lowered my head. "I- I don't really want to think about this right now."

"Fair enough," Taylor conceded. "So, on a different note, I've been thinking that we should expand more into the Trainyards."

I looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she said, "considering how we need to send our bots to and from the house everytime we need to get supplies, it's really only a matter of time until we get found out. On the other hand, if we have another base which we can manufacture supplies at, and only occasionally transfer stuff between the two, then we could prevent, or at the very least delay our discovery by quite a bit.

I frowned. The thought that we were dangerously exposed here had come to mind a few times, but unfortunately, there wasn't really much we could do. Taylor still relied on external power, and while she could theoretically temporarily suspend herself long enough for us to leave, I didn't really want to put that to the test.

"Alright," I said. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, for starters, we'll need to make another fabricator, though I think the one we already have can help with that," she said. "Compared to the one we have, this one will need to be capable of being taken apart and put back together, that way the harvesters can assemble it on site." She paused. "We'll also need the ability to make electronics, so either the new fabricator will have to have that built in, or we will need another e-fabricator."

I nodded. That didn't sound too hard. Already, my mind was coming up with ideas for a fabricator with the features she was describing.

"And finally," she paused for a moment. "I've been thinking about seeing If I can set up another server for myself there. Don't get me wrong, this one is great, but now that we have the electronics fabricator, I think I could probably improve on it."

I frowned, thinking about her proposal. "So, you're thinking about transferring yourself there?"

The harvester shook one of its grippers in a 'so so' movement. "Not really? I was thinking more about seeing if I could occupy both at once, if that makes sense."

I tilted my head. "Can you do that?"

"I think so," Taylor said, though she didn't seem quite convinced. "I've been doing some experiments with the computers I've found online, and while I couldn't quite get it to work with those, I think that has more to do with them not being designed to host me." The harvester perked up. "Oh, by the way, I think I've found a way to access mobile networks."

"Oh," I said, blinking in surprise. "That's good to hear."

"Yeah," she said excitedly. "It took me a while, but while I was looking around online, I found a node that I think might be a cell tower. Anyways, I connected to it, and suddenly I could see a whole bunch of other things that looked very similar to the phone's I've connected to before."

She paused for a moment. "Oh, and on a similar note, I managed to find Sophia and Madison's phones."

I looked up, now interested. "What did you find?"

"On Madison's? Literally nothing, other than that she's in therapy now." she snorted. "Like that's going to help her. Sophia's also didn't have much; I couldn't find any burner phones like Emma had, though I suspect that's just because they were turned off, considering the one I found didn't have any of the stuff we found on Emma's burners."

I sighed. "So, we still have nothing."

"Well, like I said, I think the evidence is increasingly pointing towards them not being responsible."

I turned to glare at her. "Then who is responsible? Taylor, Emma and her friends were the only lead we had."

"I don't know," Taylor said. "And to be honest, I'm not sure if we're ever going to."

I groaned, and put my head on the counter. The harvester put its gripper on my shoulder. "Hey, it's alright, we'll get through this."

Feeling a surge of horror, I quickly stood up, causing the harvester to stumble back slightly. "So," I said, trying to change the subject, "How are you planning on powering this new base?"

If Taylor was surprised, she didn't show it. "I was thinking about using a small gas turbine," she said. "I did some quick design work, and it turns out that the fabricator should be able to produce one fairly easily."

"Alright, I said. "Where are you going to get the fuel?"

"Well, while most of the Trainyard is not operating any more, some parts still have traffic. I can probably grab some from them," she said. "Also, the designs I have come up with can run on other fuel sources pretty easily, and from what I've seen, there's a decent amount of propane at the Trainyards as well."

I nodded. "Okay, but what about the Merchants?"

"Actually, I think this will be a good way to help increase our capabilities against them. Currently, whenever we want to increase our strength, we need to harvest resources from somewhere else before bringing them back here. In addition to being an enormous security risk, this also adds a major bottleneck into our production process. However, if we have the ability to produce stuff on site, then that bottleneck will no longer exist."

"And then we can make more bots to defend ourselves from the Merchants," I finished.

"Yep," Taylor said happily.

I thought about it. It did seem like a good idea, though there was one thing that was bugging me…

"Out of curiosity, how much of this is you wanting to be a hero?"

The bot tipped to the side in confusion. "What do you mean?"
I rolled my eyes. "Taylor, I'm your mother. I still very much remember how you adored Alexandria as a kid."

"Mom," Taylor protested. "That was years ago."

"Not to mention," I continued, "You called yourself a hero during that conversation with Armsmaster."

"That was purely to avoid getting arrested," she said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Was it?"

Taylor was silent for a moment. "Okay," she admitted, "Maybe I do want to be a hero. Your point?"

I shrugged. "I don't really have one. I was just curious."

"So, you're fine with it?" she asked.

I sighed. "To be honest, not really. Personally, I think it's a really stupid idea, especially considering our situation." I looked up at her. "That being said, I think it's pretty clear that fighting the Merchant's is our only real option at the moment, so I'm not going to complain. Much," I added, not wanting her to get the wrong idea.

To be honest, I really didn't like the idea of Taylor being a hero. It wasn't exactly secret how dangerous the job was, especially without the backing of a group like the PRT. That being said, I also knew that it wasn't a good idea to prevent Taylor from doing it if she wanted to. That just seemed likely to end with her doing it without me knowing. I still remembered my time in Lustrum's gang, and the feeling of causing what I at the time thought was real change.

This way, I would at least be able to know what she was doing, and hopefully keep her from doing anything particularly stupid.

After all, isn't that what a good parent would do?

Chapter Text

I couldn't help but feel a bit nervous as I watched the last wave of harvesters approach their destination. Logically, I knew that there wasn't much reason to feel like that, considering I had spent over a week planning out every single detail of this operation. Even still though, the fact that this was the first time I had done anything like this was making my anxiety spike.

I sighed. Realistically speaking, if anything would go wrong, it would be something I couldn't have predicted, like an attack from a different gang. It was unlikely to be the Merchants, considering that they had largely been laying low after Mush had his ass handed to him by Armsmaster, and I had been keeping my eye on Trainwreck's location, so it was unlikely to be him either.

Unfortunately, that fact did nothing to ease my nerves. In fact, it was actually making me even more nervous, as something I couldn't predict was also likely to be something I didn't have an answer to.

Around ten minutes later, the harvesters arrived at the abandoned warehouse. Most of the ones we had were already there, having been sent days ago, before suspending their operations to conserve power. Now, those bots came to life, their many limbs unfolding as they began their boot up sequences.

As soon as they finished starting up, the bots got to work, pulling out all of the pieces of the equipment I needed to set up.

The first device I would need to set up would be the gas turbine generator. This would allow the harvesters to recharge on site, which would be essential considering how long it would likely take to get everything else set up.

I watched as the harvesters first set up the stand that would hold the turbine, their lasers welding the supports together. Meanwhile, another group began work on the turbine itself, some of them holding up the frame while others carefully placed the shaft into it, before welding its outer bearing rings into place. Finally, a third group was organizing the compressor and turbine blades, making sure that each one would go where it was meant to.

I continued watching for a few minutes, making sure that they had everything in hand. Once it became obvious that they did, I turned my attention away from them and towards other things; namely, the thermal camouflage system.

By this point, I had more or less solved the problem of merging the thermoelectric systems of the thermal camouflage with the LEDs of the more traditional optical camo system. Unfortunately, that still left me with two problems; heat, and power.

First off, heat. The way that the thermal camouflage system worked was by using thermoelectric cooling to effectively trap the heat inside the bot, preventing it from radiating away. Unfortunately, this ran into the issue of that heat literally cooking the bot from the inside out, leading to severe damage to both processing systems and batteries.

Meanwhile, the problem of power was much simpler, yet much harder to deal with. Unlike the LEDs, which were actually quite efficient, the thermoelectric coolers drained an almost absurd amount of power. While I had done everything I could to increase their efficiency, it was becoming quite clear that further research was needed. With a sigh, I got to work.

---

It was 6:00 AM when the house's audio sensors noted the sound of Mom's alarm. Not exactly unexpected, considering it was a weekday, and that one of the classes Mom taught took place at 8:00.

Deciding to be helpful, I set a harvester to making breakfast. This time, I decided to try an egg muffin recipe I found online. Most of the reviews said it was good, and I wanted to see if they were accurate.

6 minutes and 37 seconds later, Mom came out of her room. By now, she had gotten used to the sight of harvesters cooking meals, and as such didn't say anything, instead getting on her new laptop to double check her lesson plans.

2 minutes and 15 seconds later, the harvester carried the now finished muffins over and gave them to her. Mom ate them in silence, still focussed on her computer.

I couldn't help but feel concerned. Despite my best attempts, Mom's mental health did not seem to be getting much better. Sure, it didn't seem to be getting any worse either, but stagnation wasn't really what I had been hoping for.

For one thing, I still wasn't quite sure if the revelation about Emma not being behind my death had helped or hurt her. On one hand, I no longer needed to steer her away from just killing the trio, which was a good sign to say the least. On the other hand, she still gave the impression of someone who might break apart at any moment.

The silence continued for several more minutes before I couldn't take it any more. "So," I said. "The construction of the Trainyard base is going well."

Mom looked up. "That's good to hear."

"Yeah," I said. "The harvesters finished the generator 2 hours and 42 minutes ago. Currently, they're working on the fabricator."

Even as we talked, the harvesters were working. Some of them fitted tools onto arms, while others installed those arms onto the frame. Meanwhile, another group connected and soldered the wiring of the various components to the rest of the assembly, allowing power and information to flow throughout the machine.

"When do you think they'll be done?" she asked.

I quickly checked. "Probably in a few hours," I said. "Compared to the generator, a lot of the fabricator's components don't need to be nearly as securely mounted, so I was able to save some time there."

"Ah," Mom said. She seemed to be thinking about something else.

Feeling worried for her, I asked, "Are you alright?"

Mom blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine, " she said, though the distracted way she said it made me think otherwise.

I felt the urge to sigh. It was blatantly obvious that she was not fine. Unfortunately, with her refusing to tell me what the issue was, there wasn't really much I could do.

It was ironic really. During the bullying, I had refused to tell Mom what was happening until she had all but forced me to, even then refusing to tell her who was responsible. And now here I was, complaining about her doing the same thing.

I felt guilty. Maybe if I had told her what was happening, we wouldn't be in this situation now. Maybe I would still be alive, and she wouldn't have…

No, I thought; that wouldn't have worked. At that time, Mom was still struggling with her grief over Dad. If she had learned that the Barnes had turned on us, it would have broken her completely.

You mean like your death did?

I sighed. I still couldn't turn my mind away from the fact that this whole situation might be at least partially my fault. Even if Mom couldn't have done anything, even if telling her might have just hurt her more, maybe something good could have come out of it. Maybe things would have gone differently.

I looked at Mom, thinking. Finally I came to a decision. "Mom," I asked, "Do you think things would have gone better if I had told you that Emma was the one that was bullying me?"

Mom paused mid-typing, staring at her screen, before looking up. She stared at me for a minute, thinking. "I… I don't know," she finally said.
I started to speak, but Mom interrupted me "But either way, it's more my fault than yours. I wasn't there for you after Danny died, and so you didn't trust that I'd be able to help you."

"Yeah, but I didn't even try," I argued back. "I just assumed that you wouldn't, and look where that got us.

"But you were right!" she yelled. "What the hell would I have done? What could I have done? Send the Barnes a strongly worded letter?" She scoffed. "Let's face it Taylor; nothing I could have done would have made a difference, assuming that I even managed to do anything at all."

I sighed. "Maybe. But you're still my mom, and I should have told you."

Mom stayed quiet for a few seconds before sighing. "Alright," she said. "Maybe you should have told me."

I had the harvester scoot a bit closer to her. "So," I said in the most innocent voice I could. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Mom stared at me, her mouth hanging wide open. Suddenly, she burst out laughing.

Uh, okay, I thought as she continued to laugh. Finally, after 32 seconds, she managed to get herself under enough control to speak. "Was… was that all an attempt to get me to open up?" she said, still laughing a bit.

"Umm, yes?" I said in a questioning voice, as if I wasn't quite sure. Using that tone felt a little too close to lying for my own comfort, but that didn't matter right now.

"Very clever," Mom said, and for the life of me I couldn't tell if she was mad or not. Finally, the laughing stopped. "Alright, you're probably right." she let out another sight. "Can… Can we talk about it after I get back from work?"

Uhhh… "Sure, sounds good," I said, despite my desire to talk about it now.

Mom smiled at me. "Thank you." She looked at her watch. 'Crap,' she mouthed. "Okay, I really need to go now," she said, quickly standing up and putting her laptop away. Moving with haste, she packed everything she needed for the day up. "Love you," she said as she left.

"Love you too," I said back.

---

The rest of the day largely went without event, with the only thing out of the ordinary being a small group of people that snuck into the Trainyard to look for shelter. As they didn't seem like much of a threat, I only sent a few skitters to keep an eye on them, and let them do their own thing. Despite this, the group seemed to catch onto the fact they were being watched, and left in a hurry. I was somewhat curious about where they were going, but decided it didn't really matter, and didn't follow them.

By this point, the fabricator had been fully completed, and was busying itself producing another harvester. Meanwhile, the rest of the harvesters were busy constructing my new housing.

I was actually pretty excited about it. Sure, the housing I had now was still working fine, but at the same time, it was still quite jury rigged compared to the one I was currently setting up, and I was excited to see what the difference would be.

Luckily, it wouldn't be too long. Like the fabricator, the housing had been split into a number of separate components, and was designed to be assembled with minimal effort. In some ways it was even easier than the fabricator, as while many of the components there had to be placed with the utmost care in order to maximize the precision of its many moving parts, the only moving parts of the housing were the cooling systems. As such, assembly was progressing relatively quickly, and it wouldn't be too long until it was finished.

It was around 3:00 when the housing was fully finished. By then, my excitement had grown to the point of impatience, which was odd, as that was a feeling I hadn't felt since my uploading. I passed it off as simply being the effect of such a major change.

I took a few seconds to center myself. Okay, I thought, here goes nothing. Carefully, I extended my mind out and into the housing.

Compared to the other items that I had interfaced with, the housing was far more… complicated. The entire thing was just an extremely complex network of inputs, outputs, and other things that were hard to describe, though I somehow still almost instinctively knew what they were.

Slowly, I let myself flow into the device, connecting with each item I touched. Unlike the other devices I had seen, the housing seemed to be almost hollow. Most electronics had a number of programs already built into them in order to control their various functions. The housing on the other hand lacked these, giving me more room to fit into.

It didn't take too long for me to fully spread throughout the housing. One I did however, I hesitated.

So, now what?

Deciding to experiment, I pushed some of the inputs, seeing what would happen. Sure enough, several outputs came back. Figuring I was on the right track, I continued to do so, cataloguing each response.

As time went on, my inputs became faster and faster, while the outputs became increasingly coherent with each one that came, until eventually everything seemed to be flowing almost automatically. Then, the 'almost' fell away entirely, and I realized that I had fully migrated into the new housing.

And it felt… wonderful.

It felt like someone had lifted a weight that had been there for so long I had forgotten it existed. Like I had been trapped in a cramped box, and only now was getting to stretch my limbs. I had been in this housing for less than a minute, and yet I already couldn't imagine going back.

I shuddered, and turned my attention back to the original housing. For a brief moment, I felt the urge to destroy it, to overload its circuits and melt its processors. Then, the moment passed, and I shook my head at myself for even considering such an impulsive move.

I still needed to do something about it though. Even now, I could feel the need to transfer my thoughts between the two housings slowing me down, reducing my speed to a fraction of what it could be. Carefully, I began to withdraw myself from the old housing. As I did, I felt my thoughts moving faster and faster as the need to transfer data slowly diminished. Eventually, I had all but completely withdrawn from the old housing, only leaving a small fragment of myself to stay connected with it.

To say it was liberating would be an understatement. With my newfound speed, tasks that would have taken minutes before would now only take seconds. My ability to multitask had also improved greatly; whereas before I would need to put most of my attention towards understanding complex information, I could now read multiple documents at the same time, and fully understand the information on all of them.

I smiled. Oh yes, this was perfect…

---

It was 4:12 when Mom got home. Having seen her car pulling in, I had a harvester go over to the door to greet her (out of view of anyone outside of course).

"Hey Mom, how was your day?" I asked.

"It was alright," she replied. "How were things on your end?"

"Things have been going great so far. I managed to get the base set up. At this point all I have left are some of the simpler features like communications and storage."

Mom nodded. "Alright," she said.

I wanted to see if she would say anything else. When she didn't, I continued on.

"So, do you want to talk about what's bothering you now, or later?" I asked.

Mom paused, thinking. "I guess a bit later would be fine."

I had the harvester 'nod.' "Okay," I said. "I guess I'll go make dinner in the meanwhile then."

Suddenly, Mom froze. "Uh, actually, I think I'd prefer to talk about it now."

Huh, that was weird. What made her change her mind? Well, whatever.

With a thought, I ordered the harvester to move over to the couch. After climbing onto it, the bot laid down on its 'stomach' and crossed its front legs in what I hoped was a therapist-like pose. Mom moved as well, sitting next to the bot.

"Okay, so, what's wrong?" Wow, way to be tactful Taylor.

Thankfully, Mom didn't seem to mind my complete lack of tact, instead clearing her throat.

"I'll start from the beginning. So, I know that you lost some memory after…" she paused, "you were uploaded, but I'm guessing you remember what happened to… what I did after your Dad died, right?"

I thought back to that time. Truth be told, while I did remember some of it, many of my memories from then had been corrupted, or were just missing entirely.

"Some of it," I replied. "But for the purpose of this, could you elaborate?"

Mom nodded, though it was clear she didn't really want to. "Well, after Danny… passed, I… broke, I guess might be one way to put it." She took a breath. "Well, to keep things short, I all but stopped functioning. I didn't… well, you more or less had to care for yourself, minus any help you got from the Barnes of course."

I felt a surge of anger over the mention of the Barnes, but pushed it aside.

Mom continued. "At some points you actually had to take care of me." She let off a sad chuckle. "I don't know about you, but as far as I'm concerned, if a child finds themself having to take care of their own parent, then that parent has failed. And of course, that's not even discussing that I basically let you die-"

"Let's not go there," I interrupted her. I had my suspicions that that line of thought wouldn't lead to anything good.

Mom nodded, before sighing. "Anyways, I've gotten better since then. I know I'm still a mess; I'm not even going to bother trying to hide that from you, but I'm actually capable of taking care of myself now." She glared at me. "Despite what you seem to think."

I felt confused for a second, before realizing what she was talking about. "You want me to stop making meals."

Mom paused before nodding. "Yeah, that would be nice." She sighed. "It's just, whenever I see you making them, it just reminds me of..." She trailed off.

I nodded. "Alright, I'll stop, and I'm sorry that I made the issue worse." I paused, considering my words. I moved a bit closer to her. "Hey Mom, for what it's worth, I don't think you failed."

Mom looked at me, clearly skeptical. Before she could speak however, I asked in my most cheerful voice, "So what's for dinner?"

Mom paused and bit her lip. "Well, now that you ask, I'm not really sure." She thought for a minute. "I think we still have some ramen?"

I sighed. Nope, fuck that. "Very funny. Come on, I'll give you the recipe for what I was planning on making."

"Taylor, you're not going to be the one eating it," Mom protested.

"Yeah, but you will be," I responded. "So, you're going to eat something that's actually good."

Mom opened her mouth to protest more, but decided against it, instead just sighing. As we walked towards the kitchen, I could feel myself smiling.

Chapter Text

I briefly paused my work to examine my creation. Looking like a small mechanical spider around the size of a quarter, one might be forgiven for being skeptical of its effectiveness as a weapon.

That skepticism wouldn't make them any less dead though.

Satisfied with my work, I put the bot down, setting it next to the other twelve I had made.

Before Taylor had set up her base in the Trainyard, our resources were severely limited by our need to send fully equipped harvesters to and from the Trainyard. Now though, with Taylor having set herself up there, she could harvest and refine resources directly where they were harvested, and then send small amounts of them back for me to use.

Currently, I was busy setting up more defenses for the house. It wasn't like it wasn't defensible already, but with the amount of resources we now had available, there wasn't any real reason to not further fortify the house. Taylor had agreed with me on this, hence why she had several harvesters helping me with my work.

I put down my laser multitool, and took a moment to reflect. The gang's had been quiet as of late, their constant conflict that defined life in the Bay simmering down. Everyone knew it wouldn't last though. This wasn't even really a ceasefire, just both sides turning down the heat so they could regroup and reconsolidate their forces for the next push. The general consensus I had heard at work was that things would resume in a couple weeks. Personally, I thought that was a bit optimistic.

All the more reason to keep fortifying, I thought to myself.

On the bright side, I most certainly wasn't short on projects. With so much more material to work with, I was now all but being flooded with new ideas; machines to reinforce and repair the house, new stationary defenses, personnel gear, and more. Even thinking about it made my hands twitch.

I blinked, feeling to my surprise that I was holding something. Looking down, I let out a groan, realizing that I had picked up the multitool without noticing, and had already partially disassembled it.

One of the harvesters looked over at me. "Is there a problem?" Taylor asked.

I sighed. "No, it's nothing. I just didn't mean to take this apart."

"Oh. To be honest, I thought you were doing that on purpose."

I looked at what was left at the multitool and frowned. "Well, I was planning on making a better one at some point anyway; guess that time is now."

I grabbed some of the other tools I had placed off to the side and looked over the multitool's remains. Let's see, I thought, looking at the materials I had available. I can make a capacitor out of this, and I can reuse the old crystal, though I might want to replace the lens…

---

Eventually, I reawoke from my trance. Looking down to see what I made, I blinked in surprise.

What had once been a small device I could fit in the palm of my hand had expanded into an almost box-like machine with a large hole in the center. Cleaning my glasses, I confirmed that what I was supposedly seeing was in fact the device I had made.

And yet, even as I stared at the almost alien device, I could feel the pieces starting to fall into place. The almost console looking part on the back was a control system, meant to allow the multitool to quickly change functions. The circular cutout was in fact the handle, with the few switches on the inner portion being the more direct controls. The arms - which at first I hadn't noticed given their recessed design - were stabilization equipment, meant to hold the tool in place relative to the piece it was working on.

More than remembering functions, I could remember why I had chosen to install each part. In fact, I could almost remember doing it.

I picked up the multitool and examined it for a few seconds at different angles. "I think this will work well."

"That's good to hear," Taylor said.

I looked over at her, and almost dropped the multitool in shock. While before, Taylor had finished around 15 of the 'wirebots,' that number had almost tripled."

"Oh, uh, how long was I working on this?"

"Two hours and 37 minutes," Taylor responded.

I let my arms slump to my sides. Well, shit. "That's a bit longer than I thought it would take."

The harvester shrugged. "It's not like we have anything else planned for today."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know," I said. "But I was hoping to be a bit more productive than that."

"Well," Taylor said, "On the bright side, the new multitool should help you build faster in the future."
I shrugged. "Fair enough." Raising the multitool, I got ready to get back to work.

"Uh Mom," Taylor said. "Your arm…"

I looked at her, confused. "What about it?"

"It's literally shaking," she said. "You should probably take a break."

I glared at her. "Didn't we talk about this earlier?"

Taylor didn't say anything, insead just continuing to stare at me.

I sighed. "Fine," I relented. "I'll go get something to eat."

I got up and started moving towards the stairs. Thankfully, Taylor didn't say anything more, instead just continuing to work on her own project.

Arriving in the kitchen, I opened the fridge to see what we had for food. To avoid Taylor's nagging, I had been sure to buy a decent variety of food, instead of just the microwavable meals I had been eating ever since the incident.

Personally, I didn't mind said meals, but Taylor seemed to disagree, despite the fact that she wasn't even the one eating them in the first place. Nevertheless, I had agreed to stop buying them, mostly in order to get her to stop pestering me.

Tired and not really in the mood to make anything particularly complicated, I figured that a sandwich sounded good. Grabbing the bread and other ingredients, I slowly began to assemble them into a proper sandwich.

A couple minutes later, I sat down in the living room, my sandwich in hand. Figuring that I might as well put something on while eating, I grabbed the remote and turned on the tv.

"-Despite the conflict between the two gangs seemingly being on hold, minor skirmishes continue to play out through-"

I frowned as I switched the channel. I already knew all this; I didn't need to hear it yet another time. Thankfully, the second channel was far less grim, instead being some crime series from Earth Aleph. To be honest, it wasn't all that interesting, but at the very least it was less depressing than the news.

…Which was actually pretty depressing in and of itself, now that I thought about it.

I sighed. I knew I really shouldn't be thinking like that, but it was really hard not to these days.

The worst part was that I could still remember a time where I wasn't so cynical; a time where I believed that a group of good people doing the right thing in the right place could fix the world. Danny had believed the same thing, and that was one of the reasons why I had loved him.

It was also what had gotten him killed.

Shaking my head, I refocused my attention on the tv, attempting to clear my head of those kinds of thoughts. Thankfully, the show turned out to be more entertaining than I had originally assumed, and the thoughts soon slipped away as I became fully engaged.

Some time later, my concentration on the show was broken by the noise of clicking limbs coming up the stairs. Turning around, I saw to no surprise that the source of said noise was Taylor.

"Oh, hey Taylor. How are things going?" I said.

The bot seemed to perk up. "Pretty well," Taylor said. "I figured out how those wire bots you made work, and made a bunch of my own version. With all of them working together, they should be able to increase the structural integrity of the house by around 79%."

I nodded. The wire bots, as Taylor was apparently calling them, was my attempt to make the house more defensible without completely replacing everything. The bots themselves took the form of long, winding cables, which were able to attach to one another both at their ends and at multiple points down their lengths. The idea was that they would stay in and reinforce the walls, which otherwise would have required a major investment.

Taylor looked towards the screen, where the show from earlier was still playing. "Breaking Bad," she said. "An Earth Aleph show about organized drug crime, and the people involved." She looked back at me. "Is that really the best show to be watching at the moment?"

I glared at her "Really Taylor?"

Her gaze lowered for a moment in what I thought was an apologetic gesture. "Sorry, I'm just surprised you'd want to watch something like that, considering that we already see enough stuff like that."

I sighed. "Yeah, probably," I said. Grabbing the remote, I changed the channel. This time, it was another news channel, although thankfully this one was discussing something far less depressing.

"And now, to introduce Brockton Bay's newest Ward, give it up for Safeguard!"

I blinked. Huh, I thought. I hadn't heard anything about a new Ward in the Bay, though then again, it wasn't like I paid much attention to that sort of stuff.
I looked at Taylor. "Did you know about this?"

"Eh, kind of?" she said. "I knew that the Protectorate had a new Ward, but I didn't really bother looking into it much. Kind of had other priorities."

The new Ward seemed to almost bounce onto the stage. I couldn't help but marvel at the energy she had. Then again, considering how much the Protectorate cared about their PR, she had probably spent ages rehearsing this.

"Hello everyone!" she said in a high pitched, chipper voice. "It's so good to meet you all! My name is Safeguard, and I am Brockton Bay's newest Ward!"

"Alright then everyone," the man running the presentation said. "Now, I'm sure that you have plenty of questions for Safeguard, but let's not overwhelm her."

I cocked my head to the side. Despite the frilly costume, it was pretty clear that Safeguard was at least in her teens. Why were they acting like she was younger…

Something clicked, and suddenly it all made sense. You see, every cape, or at least every Protectorate cape had a theme or archetype that their entire identity was carefully designed to fit into. In this case, their intent was clear; they wanted to fit Safeguard into the same 'innocent young girl' category as Vista. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Why am I not surprised…

Meanwhile, one of the reporters had asked the first question. "Could you tell us about your powers?" he asked.

"Certainly!" Safeguard said. Raising her arm, she waved at a stack of two by fours that had been placed off to the side. To my surprise, the stack began to shimmer and take on a silver coloration, before flowing through the air like some gravity defying fluid.

As I watched, the fluid quickly flowed towards her, before flowing in a spiral around her in an unending pattern. "My power allows me to turn inanimate matter around me into a form of liquid, which I can then control." As she spoke, she waved her arms, the matter continuing to move as she did so. "I can form it into shields…" some of the liquid flowed away from her before flattening out into a slightly curved sheet, "weapons…" most of the sheet flowed back into the main mass, while the remainder flowed into her hand, shaping itself into a thin rod, "And appendages." Some of the fluid formed into a tentacle, which waved at the crowd."

There was a brief moment of silence, which the next reporter seemed to take as her cue. "Ms. Safeguard," she began, "Do you…"

I sighed as the presentation began to veer off into the sort of banal public relations bullshit that I really couldn't be bothered to listen to. Deciding it wasn't worth it, I reached over for the remote.

"Wait," Taylor suddenly said.

I paused, my hand halfway there. I looked at her. "What is it?" I asked.

Taylor didn't say anything, instead continuing to stare at the tv.

I gulped nervously. "Taylor?" I asked, now concerned.

One of the harvester's eye stalks snapped towards me, nearly making me jump. "It's nothing," she finally said. "I just thought I recognized her from somewhere."

I tilted my head. "From where?"

The harvester shook its eye stalk in an approximation to a shake of the head. "I don't know. To be honest, I think it was just my broken memories acting up again, making me see patterns where there are none."

I frowned. "If you say so…"

Taylor didn't say anything after that. I sighed. "Do you mind if I change the channel now?" I asked. "I don't think we're going to get much more out of this."

Taylor shrugged. "Go ahead."

Nodding, I reached towards the remote, only to be interrupted again, this time by the screen blacking out.

I blinked. What the hell? My first thought was that we lost power, but dismissed that upon seeing that the lights were still on.

Then, before I could think about it any more, the tv turned back on, and a horribly familiar voice began to speak.

"This is the Endbringer Alert System. The Simurgh is on a trajectory towards the city of Canberra, Australia. I repeat; The Simurgh is on a trajectory towards the city of Canberra, Australia. If you are a Parahuman and you wish to help, please report to the nearest PRT station. I repeat; If you are a Parahuman and you wish to help, please report to the nearest PRT station."

While the tv continued to speak, I slowly looked over at Taylor, who in turn was looking at me.

"No," I said before Taylor could even say anything.

"Agreed," Taylor said. "We don't even have close to the level of resources we would need to be able to help. We would only be dead weight."

I blinked. That wasn't quite the reason I had in mind, but so long as she wasn't going to argue, I didn't see the need to say anything.

Taylor and I stared at the tv for a while longer as directions continued to flow from it. Finally, I had enough. Turning off the tv, I stood up and walked back towards the stairs. "We should get back to work," I said, still feeling somewhat numb.

Taylor didn't say anything, instead following me down the stairs.

Chapter Text

I flitted through the perspectives of my many surveillance bots, my concern steadily growing as I did so.

I had known for a long time that the Merchants would not take their earlier defeat lying down, and that they would eventually be back.

And now, if the information I was getting from my lookouts was correct, the Merchants had chosen now to launch their assault. And this time, they weren't holding back. Out of the Merchant's three capes, I had already seen both Mush, and an enormous tank-like vehicle that I could only assume belonged to their Tinker, 'Squealer', a woman who specialized in vehicles, and yet another victim of the Merchants' terrible naming conventions. My hope was that the name was a reference to the squeal of tires across asphalt, but given it was the Merchants, I wasn't exactly convinced.

Unfortunately, I had bigger things to worry about than potentially vulgar names. For one thing, Squealer's tank was, to put it lightly, quite large. While its armor had been welded on quite haphazardly, there was a lot of it, and if my experience with Trainwreck was any indicator, Tinkertech materials could be absurdly strong. In addition to that, the vehicle was covered in various weapons, ranging from mostly normal guns to devices I couldn't even guess the function of.

The other issue was that I couldn't find the Merchant leader, Skidmark. Ignoring the once again awful name, Skidmark had the ability to create zones of force, which he could use to move both allies and enemies into advantageous positions. While he didn't seem very threatening compared to the other two, the fact that he was the leader spoke volumes to me.

I was hoping that the reason I couldn't find him was that he hadn't come in the first place, but that seemed too good to be true. More likely was the possibility that he was holding himself and some other troops in reserve, to be deployed once the fight began and the battlelines had been drawn.

On the bright side, it wasn't like I had been sitting around twiddling my thumbs. My initial beachhead had been steadily growing, with me building new fabricators as quickly as the already existing ones could pump them out. Before long, I had built enough that I had to make a second generator in order to power them.

I also hadn't limited myself to one building. With space running low, I had sent harvesters carrying fabricator and generator parts to several other nearby buildings within the Trainyard. From there, it was easy to expand into those buildings as well. The only issue I had been having was in terms of computing, or more specifically, communications. While it was possible for me to occupy multiple computers at once, linking my mind across them was proving to be quite difficult. Sure, it wasn't as bad as when I was occupying computers in both the Trainyard and my house at the same time, but it still slowed my thoughts by a noticeable amount, along with causing an extremely uncomfortable 'stretching' sensation, like I was literally stretching myself too thin. While I was looking into ways to get around this, for now, I had contented myself with using only one computer at a time, while only extending tendrils of myself into the others.

The expansion had only increased its speed further during the Endbringer truce caused by the Simurgh. Recognizing that even the Merchants were unlikely to violate such a fundamental rule, I had briefly thrown caution to the wind, sending out as many construction groups as I could.

The fact that all this work distracted me from my recent revelations about the Protectorate was really just a bonus.

On the bright side though, my incredible rate of expansion had given me a large surplus of materials, materials that I had put to good use. While I had continued constructing additional skitters (albeit ones with significant improvements to their motors and other general systems), I figured it might be time to look into making some larger units, mainly in order to counter the Brutes that I kept running into.

To that end, I had designed the tarantula. Compared to the dinner plate sized skitters, this bot was much larger, only a little smaller than a prone human in terms of length, and that was mostly due to the legs not reaching as far back.

To be honest, even compared to my previous design, this… was really disturbing, to put it lightly. It wasn't just the size (though that wasn't exactly helping either). Instead, it was the shape of the body.

You see, when I had started out designing it, I had gone for a more traditional spider-like body, with a separated thorax and abdomen. Then, I realized that I could get more structural support if I merged the two together. Then I decided that in order to reduce its frontal profile, it would be best to make it slightly more narrow.

By the time the design was finished, I had come to realize that the way the body was designed, looking at it from the right angle made it look almost like a human torso. With no visible head. And spider limbs instead of human ones.

Yeah…

I considered scrapping the design and starting over again several times, but each time I tried to, I found that the resulting design had various deficiencies that made it worse than the original, with each attempt to correct said flaws ending with it looking closer and closer to the original. In the end, I decided it was a lost cause, and reluctantly put the maligned bot design into production.

Now, with the enemy at the gates, I found myself glad that I didn't delay their construction any further. With their large caliber machine guns, and their high powered limbs and cutting tools, the tarantulas would hopefully fare better against the Merchants' heavy hitters than the poor skitters ever did.

As I continued to track the movements of the Merchants, I issued orders to my various forces. All across my claimed territory, skitters I had placed as sentries stood up, knocking off the various debris they had been hiding under. Then, as one, they began to move towards the Merchant incursion.

At the same time, my tarantulas were also coming online. Unlike the skitters, of which I had 47 of at this point, the tarantulas were far less numerous, with only 11 active units so far.

So far, I had counted 87 units in the Merchant force, with the quality of said units varying significantly. The best of them seemed to be outfitted with military grade gear, including assault rifles, the occasional machine gun, and alarmingly enough, a weapon that a quick google search identified as an AT4 recoilless rifle (where the hell did they even get that?). Meanwhile, others were limited to simple baseball bats, tire irons, and other improvised weapons.

The only thing that all of them shared were looks of nervousness and, in some cases, resignation. It was quite clear that with a few exceptions, none of them wanted to be here.

I paused for a moment, wondering about them. What had driven them to join the Merchants? I didn't think that the Merchants were the type to force people to join, though I had heard that they sometimes forced drugs onto people.

Was that it? Were people forced to join in order to feed their newfound addictions? It made a bit of sense, though I had the suspicion that I was still missing something.

Maybe…

I shook my head. What was I doing? I was supposed to be fighting these people, not analyzing their life choices. Feeling a tinge of what might have been annoyance, I had my forces shadow the Merchant advance, slowly moving to encircle them.

So far none of the Merchants seemed to have noticed, though some of them seemed to be somewhat… twitchy. Whether they could sense that something was wrong, or if it was just the drugs, I didn't know.

Mush in particular seemed to be quite nervous, constantly looking around, though never quite catching the bots that were stalking him. Meanwhile, said bots had just completed the encirclement, completely boxing the Merchants in.

With everything set up, all there was left to do was spring the trap. Taking only long enough to clear my nerves, I took a metaphorical breath, and gave the order to open fire.

Immediately, dozens of skitters opened fire on their selected targets, making sure to target the more heavily armed Merchants first. With Armsmaster's warning in mind, I had decided against using live ammo in the skitters' weapons. Instead, I had opted for a rubber bullet style projectile. While lacking in power against harder targets, it was more than enough against unpowered individuals as demonstrated by the pained shouts I could hear.

The remainder of the Merchants once again moved with surprising speed in response. After thinking on it, I had figured that one needed to have sharp reflexes in order to survive as a gangster in Brockton Bay, especially in a group as small as the Merchants.

Of course, with the Merchants being surrounded on all sides, there wasn't really much for them to take cover behind. As such, it seemed unlikely that they would last much longer.

At least, that was what I thought.

Suddenly, the Tank whirred to life, dozens of weapon emplacements swiveling up to target my bots. With a roar, they opened fire, countless bullets and beams whipping outwards. I winced as I felt four of my bots be reduced to scrap within seconds.

Combat routines immediately kicked in, and my bots dove for whatever cover they could find. Thankfully, much of the cover was too thick for most of the tank's armaments to penetrate, and as such my bots were able to gain respite from the hail of death.

I took a second to analyze the situation. Right now, my units were pinned down by the tank's guns. So far, the Merchants had yet to fully recover from my initial volley, but that wasn't going to last, and at that point I would be in trouble. Mush in particular already seemed to have fully recovered (unsurprisingly, given his armor), and was already providing support by throwing nearby junk wherever it appeared my units were. To prevent further damage, I would need to take out the tank as quickly as possible.

Now the only question was how…

With a thought, I ordered 15 of my still hidden skitters to advance. The selected bots charged forwards, moving in erratic patterns to throw off enemy fire. Even then, between the fire from the tank and the still active Merchants, only 6 of the bots made it to the tank, quickly climbing onto the vehicle

Now out of the firing arcs of the tank's weapons, the skitters wasted no time at all, immediately getting to work with their laser cutters. The tank's armor was too thick for the bots to pierce on their own, but I didn't need to pierce its armor to take it out.

On a competently designed vehicle, the designer would have taken work to minimize the amount of equipment not protected by the armor. They would have made sure that anything that couldn't be covered by the armor still was as well protected as possible.

Squealer's tank was not a competently designed vehicle.

With so many weapons, it was inevitable that some of them would be poorly protected. My skitters took full advantage of this, rapidly slicing through anything that looked even vaguely important. Just because I didn't understand a device didn't mean I couldn't break it, and the bots quickly cut a swathe through the tank's armaments.

Seeing what I was doing, the merchants opened fire on the tank, sending hundreds of bullets to plink off its armor. To prevent this, I had the rest of my skitters open fire on them in turn, forcing them back into cover. The level of firepower I could provide was sporadic due to the tank still having my forces pinned, but it was better than nothing.

Within minutes, over 60% of the tank's armaments were offline. Unfortunately, the remainder of them seemed to be far better protected by the tank's armor, and as such would be much harder to bring down, but the reduction of coverage was enough for my other bots to return fully to suppressing the Merchants. It was also enough for me to bring out my other forces.

Moving with a speed only slightly behind the skitters, the tarantulas and orbweavers moved into position, the latter being little more than a dedicated platform for my launcher weapons. The group split in two, one of which aimed their weapons at the tank, and the other moved to take action against Mush.

As soon as they were both in position, both groups opened fire as one. Mush yelped as a storm of medium caliber bullets struck him, with said yelp becoming a full blown scream as over a dozen rockets hit him head on.

Compared to the previous rockets, these ones were slightly larger - 20mm instead of 15 - allowing them to carry a larger payload. Sadly, Mush did not seem to appreciate my hard work, though seeing as he was currently desperately trying to put out fires on almost half of his armor, I guess it was a bit much to ask.

Meanwhile, the tank was doing a much better job at weathering the storm of incoming fire. Unsurprisingly, the bullets from the tarantulas simply bounced off of its thick plates; even shots aimed towards what I thought were weak points failed to penetrate more often than not.

On the other hand, the rockets were doing a much better job, with their incendiary payload easily creeping through the gaps created by the skitters. Also, while it still wasn't enough to burn through the tank's armor, it was enough to char and distort even the tank's main sensors.

With a loud click, the tank's main hatch unlatched and opened, and a woman poked her head out, her face covered in streaks of oil.

The woman, who I was guessing was Squealer, took a second to look around, before ducking with a yelp as a rubber bullet streaked right past her ear.

Having directly ordered the skitter to fire, I couldn't help but feel at least a little bit of satisfaction at her misfortune. Then I frowned. I really needed to be more careful. Even with the rubber bullets I was using, a headshot like the one I had nearly gotten could be lethal if I was unlucky. With a sigh, I ordered the skitters to aim a bit further away when firing at her; still close enough to scare her into keeping her head down, but not so close that I could risk actually hitting her.

With Squealer suppressed and Mush largely taken out of the fight, I figured it was time for me to end this. With one order, I had the orbweavers redirect their fire onto the tank's treads. With another, I ordered the skitters still on the tank to enter the hatch.

While both groups acted at the same time, it was the actions of the orbweavers who's effects were made known first. 30 rockets struck the tracks of the tank, breaking open to release their contents. The incendiary payloads immediately got to work, rapidly melting and deforming the joints holding the individual treads together. Truth be told, the damage wasn't really that severe, but it was enough to break several of the links, completely immobilizing the tank.

Only a second after the rockets hit, the first of the skitters reached the hatch. Wasting no time at all, the skitter threw itself into the opening.

Naturally, the bot landed right on top of Squealer.

Uh, hi?

Letting out a high pitched scream, the Tinker frantically tried to throw the bot off. Meanwhile, the poor bot was doing its absolute best to hold on, while also routing power to its taser.

Finally, Squealer managed to get ahold of the bot, and with a sharp tug, ripped it off of her. Offhandedly, I noted that the bot had managed to take a not insignificant amount of skin with it. Turning about, she threw the bot into a strangely illuminated corner of the crew compartment.

Quickly righting itself, the bot quickly scrambled back to continue its attack… only to be stopped by some unknown force.

What?

Pausing my attack, I took a moment to try and figure out what was going on. It was quite difficult, what with my signal being distorted by the tank's walls, but after moving a scout drone right over the tank to act as a relay, I managed to figure out that the odd illumination I had seen earlier was actually a series of bluish stripes on the floor. Furthermore, the stripes seemed to be what was causing the effect, which was making me suspect…

"Fuck yeah! Try to get out of that, cocksucking son of a bitch!"

I sighed. Well, on the bright side, I found Skidmark. And as it turned out, he wasn't leading a reserve force. No, instead he was just riding in the tank.

As I watched, Squealer pressed a button on a wrist pad she was wearing. The response was immediate. A hatch on the floor that I had previously failed to see opened, and a strange looking structure with an orb on top poked out. Before I could do anything else, the orb flashed, and the skitter reported an extreme electrical surge before I lost contact with it.

Shit, I thought.

Thinking quickly, I sent more bots to enter the tank, but before they could reach the opening, the hatch slammed shut, sealing them outside.

I felt a wave of anger flow across my mind. Son of a…

Well, I guess that option was off the table. Still, I did have some options. The tank's treads were still scrapped, so it wasn't like it was going to be going anywhere anytime soon. All I needed to do was…

Suddenly, an ear splitting bang blasted out from the tank. As I questioned whether something had broken, the tank began to do something I thought was impossible. It began to move, its wheels spinning completely on their own.

What the…

I momentarily blanked trying to process what I was seeing. Then, I realized what was going on; the tank must have had a secondary transmission for the wheels.

For fuck's sake…

As I mused on what to do next, the tank suddenly turned, moving with a speed seemingly impossible for its bulk. Once it had fully turned around, it quickly accelerated, picking up speed as it drove away from the battlefield as quickly as it could.

It was all I could do not to growl in frustration as I realized that the two capes were going to get away. Even worse, many of the still conscious unpowered gangsters had realized what was going on, and were moving to follow the example of their leaders. I did my best to take them out before they could get out of range, but there were too many of them, and I was worried that trying to chase them could lead to me getting ambushed.

Sighing, I turned my attention to those who for one reason or another, had not fled, with Mush being the main target. The trash cape had had it particularly rough, with most of his armor having been either burned or shot off throughout the fight. Compared to the towering form he had assumed at the start of the fight, Mush was now only the size of an above average human, with some parts of his skin not being covered.

Figuring that taking out at least one of the Merchant capes would be enough to call this a victory, I ordered the Tarantulas to move in. The bots responded with their typical readiness, rapidly moving to corral and trap the cape.

Upon seeing the bots closing in, Mush immediately tried to flee, but quickly gave up upon realizing how pointless it was. Compared to his diminished form, the bots were much faster, more maneuverable, and could respond to anything he tried before he could even complete the attempt. Maybe if he had more mass, he could have fled, but that was irrelevant now. No, the only way he was getting out of this was if he managed to fight his way out.

Yeah, good luck with that.

The first tarantula to reach the cape lunged in, aiming one of its tasers at a gap in his armor. Mush barely managed to react in time, closing the gap just before the taser could hit, before swinging his arm out to force him back. Rather than retreat, the bot instead simply ducked underneath his swing, before thrusting upwards with another blow.

Mush staggered backwards, barely avoiding the attack and nearly falling over in the process. Then, the other bots reached him, and if it wasn't for my enhanced processing speed, I wouldn't have been able to tell what had happened.

The first of the new arrivals once again jabbed at Mush with its taser, and Mush once again was able to close his armor in time. Unfortunately for him, he failed to see that the first bot was making an attack of its own, and as such took an electrified blow straight to the arm.

Mush yelped and recoiled backwards, right into the taser of another bot. From there, the group dogpiled him, forcing him on to the ground. Moving quickly, the bots rapidly cut away his remaining armor. Mush tried to fight back, extending fleshy tendrils to recover the lost mass, but the tarantulas quickly put an end to that, fading each tendrils until they retreated.

It didn't take long for Mush to give in. Within 30 seconds, he had completely stopped all attempts to fight back, instead electing to curl up into a fetal position. With it being clear that he was not going to be running away anytime soon, I ordered the bots to stand down, though I made sure that they didn't stray too far.

While the tarantulas had been taking care of Mush, the skitters had been mopping up the rest of the Merchants. It wasn't exactly a hard fight; most of their more hardened troops had either already been incapacitated or had fled with Skidmark and Squealer, leaving little more than a poorly armed mob. By the time Mush was out of the fight, only a few of the Merchants were still standing, and in only 7.9 seconds after that, the last of them fell as they were struck by a rain of rubber bullets.

As the last echoes of gunfire faded, I took a second to wonder where the Protectorate was. Surely, they wouldn't miss a fight of this intensity, right?
Sighing, I decided that I might as well call it in. I had made sure that the fight took place well away from any of my facilities, so there wasn't really much risk of being seen. And even if there was, it wasn't like I would be the first heroic "Tinker" to set up a base somewhere they don't technically own.

Pushing my anxieties away for the time being, I flitted through the phone networks until I found the node I wanted, and dialed up the PRT. As I waited for them to pick up, I looked around, seeing if there was anything that seemed worth taking. From what I had gathered online, taking 'loot' from criminals was a gray area at best, but taking Tinkertech was straight up illegal. If I wanted to take anything, it would need to be done before the authorities arrived.

My gaze eventually settled on one one of the few weapons I had managed to fully cut away from the tank. Unlike the others, most of which I had no clue what they ever were, let alone how they worked, the weapon I was looking at was quite clearly a laser weapon of some sort, albeit a very strange one. However, the fact that I could even partially understand it made it too good of a find to pass up.

As my skitters closed in on the weapon, and began to perform preliminary scans, I couldn't help but feel something approaching giddiness as data flowed through my mind.

Oh yes, I thought. I can definitely use this…

---

It was 10.7 minutes after I had finished my call with the PRT that I heard the noise of a familiar motorcycle. Armsmaster.

Makes sense, I thought to myself. Armsmaster had so far been the main (well, only) source of contact between myself and the PRT, and I hadn't managed to insult him too badly, which considering my complete lack of social ability, was honestly a minor miracle.

2.2 minutes later, Armsmaster finally came into view. Based on his posture, he seemed to be ready for a fight, but he seemed to relax upon seeing the field of incapacitated gangsters. Slowly, he came to a stop, before standing up.

"You seem to have the situation well handled," he said as he surveyed the battlefield. His gaze stopped upon seeing the Merchant cape I had captured. "Mush," he said.

"Yes," I confirmed.

Armsmaster nodded approvingly. "I'm noticing a clear lack of bullet wounds this time around as well. It seems you took our last conversation to heart."

"It seemed prudent, considering that the other option seemed likely to end with me being arrested," I joked. Of course, it was unlikely that that situation would end in just an arrest, but that was beside the point.

"Fair enough," Armsmaster said. He walked over to Mush and got onto one knee, looking closely at him. "I'm seeing a number of electrical burns." He looked at one of my Tarantulas. "Tasers, I assume?"

"Correct," I replied. "Along with rubber bullets, it was one of the more practical options available."

Armsmaster nodded and stood up, seemingly done with his observation. Raising his halberd, he pressed a button, and a thick foam spray shot out of the end.

Containment Foam, I realized.

With Mush completely covered except for his head, Armsmaster moved on to the next gangster, before spraying them down with containment foam, albeit not as much as Mush. Going from gangster to gangster, he sprayed each of them down with just enough foam to keep them pinned. Considering that I had only managed to catch 34 of them, it didn't take too long.

When he was done, Armsmaster next approached one of the Tarantulas. "You've been upgrading," he remarked.

"After the events of the previous fight, I decided that the smaller units were not capable of achieving the desired performance against parahumans. To compensate, I simply scaled them up a bit."

"Just a bit," Armsmaster commented, continuing to stare at the bot. Finally, he shook himself out of whatever trance he was in. He looked back at me. "I know that you've made your stance on the issue clear, but I still am somewhat… disappointed in your lack of interest in joining the Protectorate."

I felt a wave of slight irritation pass through me. Before I could say anything though, Armsmaster continued, "But as I doubt I will be able to change your mind, I will leave it at that."

"Thank you," I said, feeling somewhat relieved. While I already wasn't particularly keen on joining the Wards given that the interview would most likely end with the PRT and Protectorate wanting me dead, seeing… her as a member was enough to sour any remaining interest I may have had.

No, keep it together Taylor, I thought. You don't know it was her…

Armsmaster nodded, completely oblivious to my internal dialogue. "If you ever change your mind, you know who to talk to." With that, he turned around and walked away.

If I was organic, I likely would have had to suppress a snort. Yeah, I thought. Fat chance of that.

Chapter Text

It started like any other Sunday. At 11:30 AM, my alarm went off, telling me to get up. Groaning, I proceeded to do so, slowly getting dressed and shuffling my way downstairs. There I proceeded to get myself breakfast.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a totally normal day. Then, I heard the doorbell ring.

I blinked. Huh. That was… strange. While our neighborhood certainly wasn't the worst in the city, it was sufficiently bad enough that someone knocking on your door was a rare occurrence. Setting down my fork, I walked over to the door and carefully looked through the peephole.

There was a police officer on the other side of the door.

Shit, I thought, my thoughts immediately going to the break-ins. Do they know… I shook my head. No, that wasn't it. If they knew about that, then it would be the PRT on our doorstep, considering that it was fairly obvious that a parahuman was behind those.

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I slowly unlocked and slightly opened the door. "Hello officer," I said as calmly as I could. "Can I help you?"

Now that I got a better look at her, I was surprised to see that the officer looked… nervous. Her eyes kept flickering around her like she was worried someone was watching, and she seemed to be struggling not to fiddle with her hands. "Ms. Hebert?" she asked.

I paused a second before nodding. The officer let out a quiet breath she had been holding in. "May I come in?" she asked.

"Do you have a warrant?" I asked without even thinking.

The officer's mouth opened and closed a few times. "No," she finally said, "But I do have information about your daughter."

My breath caught in my throat, and I narrowed my eyes. Now that I had a better look, I realized that I had seen this woman before. Officer… Patterson I thought.

"...What do you have?" I asked eventually.

Patterson shook her head. "I don't think I should share this where someone else could hear."

I grit my teeth. Fine. Looking inside, I confirmed that there was no Tinkertech in view before opening the door the rest of the way with a sigh.

Patterson relaxed slightly. "Thank you," she said as she came inside. I just glared at her as I closed the door.

As soon as the door was fully closed, I turned to Patterson. "What do you know?"

Patterson took a second before she began. "...When we first did the autopsy, we didn't have any idea what the cause of death could be. There weren't any external marks that could have led to her death, no signs of an overdose, no burn marks, no internal bleeding, nothing. To be frank, most of us were just planning on filing it into the list of unexplained deaths." She chuckled. "It's not like we have any shortage of those in this city."

I nodded, wondering when she would get to the point.

"Then we started seeing more deaths like hers," she continued. "Not a lot of them, but enough for us to notice. Naturally, if something is causing people to drop dead for seemingly no reason, we want to know what it is. So, we went digging." She sighed. "Eventually, we figured it out. Apparently, some sort of new drug has been making its way around the city. It's called Redwater, though I'm not really sure why. Word is that the stuff is at least partially Tinkertech, addictive as hell, and worse, is… inconsistent. Some people can take ten times the recommended dose and walk it off, while others flatline if they so much as breathe a few fumes."

I paused for a moment, realizing what she was saying. Finally, I spoke, a slight tremor of anger in my voice. "You're saying you think my daughter died from this drug."

Patterson nodded. "That does seem to be the most likely conclusion at this point, yes." Seeming to sense my disbelief, she raised her hands. "Look, I'm just saying what we think is the most likely cause, alright? Nothing else."

I continued to glare at her for a few more seconds before relenting. "Alright," I said with a sigh. "Anything else?"

"Well," Patterson said, glancing at the ground as she did. "I would prefer it if you didn't mention this conversation to anyone else. I'm not really supposed to be telling you this."

I blinked. "Then why are you?"

She shrugged, refusing to meet my eyes. "I didn't feel it was right to keep it from you."

My eyes narrowed again. Bullshit, I thought. There was no way this officer decided to risk her career to tell a woman she met once sensitive information without gaining anything.

Of course, I didn't say that to her.

When it became clear I wasn't going to say anything else, Patterson broke the silence. "I need to get going. A… friend of mine called in a wellness check to give me this opportunity, but I don't want to stay longer than I have to."
I nodded. "You should probably get going then," I said.

Patterson glanced away. "Yes, I'll do that," she said quickly. She awkwardly walked with me back to the door, only pausing to quietly thank me for opening the door before she left.

I watched her get back into her car and drive away before I closed the door. Turning around and leaning against it, I ran my hands down my face, and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in. Vaguely, I felt myself sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.

I didn't keep track of how much time passed between then and when Taylor came up to check on me, the tiny legs of the skitter she was controlling quietly whirring.

"Mom, are you alright?" she asked, concerned.

I sniffed, and blinked, realizing that there were tears in my eyes. "Yeah," I said hoarsely. "I'm fine."

Taylor didn't say anything more, instead just walking the bot right next to me, and setting it down on the floor.

We sat there for several moments, neither of us daring to break the silence. Finally, I got the courage to speak. "Did you hear what the officer said?"

"I did," Taylor confirmed.

I opened my mouth. "Is…" I couldn't find it in myself to speak the rest. Did you take that drug?

Thankfully, Taylor understood. "No, I didn't take it. Or at least, I don't remember doing so, and I don't think I would have."

I nodded, not sure what to say.

"Even if you didn't take it freely," I said eventually, "that doesn't mean someone else didn't force you to take it."

The skitter tipped slightly onto its side. "What do you mean?" Taylor asked.

I fidgeted. "There are rumors that Merchants occasionally… coerce people into taking drugs when they think they can get away with it." I elaborated. "Could that have happened to you?"

"I'm not sure how much credibility we should give to rumors," Taylor said.

"Even still, it might be worth looking into," I countered.

"Maybe," Taylor said. "Though, it's also possible that the Merchants aren't even the ones shipping it in. Both the Empire and the ABB sell drugs, even if they aren't based around them like the Merchants are."

"Then we go after them too," I argued without thinking.

Immediately, I knew what I said was stupid. And if the look the skitter was trying to give me was any indication, Taylor did too. "And fight all three gangs at the same time?" she asked, sounding concerned. "We can hold our own against the Merchants just fine, but I don't think we would do so well against Hookwolf or Lung."

I sighed. "I know," I said, hanging my head. "I just… I don't know what to do."

Taylor bobbed the bot up and down, but didn't say anything else for a while.

"So," she said eventually, "I managed to get some Tinkertech samples from the Merchants during their attack on the Trainyard."

It was clear that she was trying to change the subject, but I didn't mind. To be honest, I was more grateful than anything else. "Are you really sure that they are the best source for that?" I asked.

"Probably not, but some of the samples seemed surprisingly good. I've already gotten quite a bit from a laser turret I managed to cut off that tank," Taylor said, a hint of smugness in her voice.

I frowned. "Don't we already have lasers?"

"Yes, but ours are very short ranged due to having poor beam quality," Taylor replied. "However, Squealer seems to have solved that problem, considering that her lasers were able to slice our units in half from over 20 meters away."

I nodded. "And you think you can figure this out?"

The skitter bobbed up and down. "I mean, I have a mostly intact example, and unlike a lot of Tinkertech I don't see much that just flat out doesn't make sense, so probably? Either way, I'll probably end up getting something out of it."

"Alright," I said. I paused, thinking. "So what now?"

The bot tilted to the side. "Pardon?"

"What do we do now?" I clarified. "What are your plans for the future?"

Taylor stayed quiet for a moment, which was something that threw me off. Normally, her pauses were short, mostly being there to give me time to digest whatever she was telling me. This one was different though. Here, it seemed like she was actually considering my question.

Earlier, Taylor had mentioned to me that each second felt like minutes to her. Given that she had been considering this for over a dozen seconds, she was obviously giving this some thought.

Finally, she spoke. "I'm actually not sure," she said. "As of now, my plan is just to keep expanding through the Trainyard until I have enough units to stand up to the gangs. I've also been working on ways to improve said units further, namely in the form of better batteries, but progress has been somewhat slow on that front."

I nodded. "Okay," I said slowly. Sadly, my power did not seem to be giving me any ideas on what she was talking about.

"Other than that, I guess I could also see if the Merchants are importing this 'Redwater.' Obviously, I won't be checking the other gangs just yet, but considering that we've already managed to piss off the Merchants, I don't see any reason not to see what I can find from them."

I let out a quiet sigh of relief, one I didn't even know I had been holding in. "Alright," I said, trying my best not to reveal what I was feeling. "That sounds good."

If Taylor had noticed my slip-up, she didn't show it. "To be honest, I'm not really expecting to find much, least of all because I don't even know what to look for."

I blinked, surprised. "Wait, can't you find anything online?"

"A bit," Taylor said, "but not nearly as much as I would expect from a drug like this. Other than some basic info, and a bit of chatter on some boards, there isn't much there."

I narrowed my eyes. "That doesn't make sense," I said. "With how Patterson described Redwater, I would have expected there to be a good deal of discussion on it."

"Me too," Taylor said. "But it's possible that it's new enough that people haven't gotten around to discussing it." She paused. "Patterson?" she asked.

I blinked. "Oh, that's the name of the police officer who came in," I said.

"Ah," Taylor said. "How do you know each other?" she asked.

I winced and looked away. "She was one of the officers at the morgue when I came to identify your body."

"Oh," Taylor said. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I said, waving my hand. "It doesn't matter now anyway."

I got the impression Taylor didn't quite agree with that, but she didn't say anything.

"Well," I finally said, standing up as I did. "I should finish my breakfast."

"Sounds good," Taylor said in a neutral voice, though I somehow got the impression that she was still concerned. "I'll be looking into that laser if you need me."

I gave her a smile as I walked away. As soon as she was out of sight, and I knew the cameras couldn't see my face, I dropped it, and let out a small sigh.

God, I really don't know what to do. I thought to myself.

Chapter Text

Ever since the last attack from the Merchants, things had been surprisingly quiet around the Trainyard.

Oh sure, there was still the occasional Merchant scout group sniffing around, but for the most part they seemed content to stay on the outskirts of the Trainyard. If they came in any further, I'd probably have to do something, but so long as they stayed away, I didn't care to spend the resources to push them out all the way.

Speaking of the Merchants, I had swiftly gotten to work on examining the laser I had recovered from the earlier fight, and had found a number of interesting things. To start, the laser itself - or the 'medium' as I learned it was called - took the form of a long, thick rod made from synthetic diamond, which itself was doped with some weird sort of rare earth alloy.

Unlike the lasers that I had reverse engineered from the original harvesters, this one did not convert electricity directly into coherent light, but instead focused and amplified light from an external source, or for the laser I had, a big arc lamp.

Compared to my lasers, these were rather inefficient; the cutting lasers my harvesters used converted about 94.6% of the light directly into coherent light. Meanwhile, Squealer's contraption was only 74.7% efficient.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this was still vastly more efficient than any non-tinker tech laser yet developed.

Regardless of all this, Squealer's laser was far better than mom's in one area; beam quality. Where the harvester's lasers became more or less ineffective only feet away from the bot, Squealer's were capable of effectively cutting through material tens of feet away from the weapon, as demonstrated during the fight and during my testing of the recovered laser.

To say we needed this would be an understatement. When compared to what we would likely be going up against, our current weapons were… insufficient. Our guns, while useful against unpowered thugs, were all but useless even against low level Brutes. Cutting lasers were better, but very close ranged, making their use suicide in most cases. Finally, the micro-rockets, while powerful, and potentially very versatile, were both expensive to supply and very dangerous to use; I couldn't imagine the Protectorate would take kindly to an unaligned cape throwing explosives across the city.

Long ranged lasers on the other hand had none of these problems. Compared to our existing weapons, they were powerful, long-ranged, and precise, capable of slicing right through many kinds of armor with little risk of collateral damage.

That wasn't to say there weren't any issues though.

For one thing, it turned out that having Squealer's laser wasn't as nearly as helpful as I thought it would be. When I had first gotten my hands (or maybe claws? Grippers?) on it, I had assumed that it would be similar to Mom's tech in how hard it was to understand.

Naturally, I was completely wrong.

Despite the fairly simple design of the laser as a whole, some aspects of it were actually quite complicated. In particular, that strange alloy in the medium was, well, strange. At first I tried replicating the medium using the fabricator, but when I tried to use my bootleg laser, the thing was so inefficient it nearly melted from the waste heat.

Okay, I thought. Maybe the fabricator doesn't have the detail needed. So, I tried again, this time using the electronics fabricator. It took days to build, as the electronics fab wasn't designed to work with something so big, but I figured that given time, I'd figure out a way to mass produce it.

The second laser did just as well as the first.

Well, shit. I thought as I directed the harvesters to clean up what was left of the ill fated laser prototype. I think I might be working on this for a while.

Thankfully, I wasn't the only one working on it. After my first attempts had gone so poorly, Mom had told me to send her what I had cooked up to see if she could make anything of it. While part of me had balked at the idea of giving up so easily, it was quickly becoming clear that I wasn't making much progress, so I obliged. If Mom had noticed my hesitation, she did not show it.

Armed with the data I had gained from both my analysis of the original laser and my unfortunate prototypes, Mom had quickly gotten to work. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it barely took a few hours before she was ready to show me her own design.

Compared to Squealer's design, Mom's was much more elegant, taking the form of a long, coiled optical fiber, similar to those that our robots used to pass signals throughout their bodies. Unlike those however, this one was doped with a similar alloy to that used in Squealer's design, albeit somewhat different.

Also unlike Squealer's, this design was capable of independently tracking targets within a 15 degree arc in front of the weapon.

Eager to test out the new weapon, I transported it to the Trainyard at the first opportunity. There, the weapon proved to be arguably even better than the one it was based off of, boasting similar range while being around 83.2% efficient.

Perhaps the best thing about the laser though was that unlike Squealer's, I actually understood how this one worked. Why that was, I wasn't quite sure, especially considering that it seemed to be significantly more complicated.
I did have a theory as to why, but I was keeping it to myself for now until I gained more data.

With the first problem dealt with, that brought me to a second issue; power. Currently, my bots were powered by some weird… batteries? I think? Honestly, it was kind of hard to tell, but they acted like batteries, even if they didn't look like them.

The main benefits of the batteries I was currently using was how easy they were to make. The things didn't need much in the way of rare elements to make (in fact, most of the needed materials could be gained right from the dirt), and their manufacturing mostly used the faster working tools in the fabricator.

Of course, they weren't perfect. Their capacity, while pretty good considering they were mostly just dirt, was quite low compared to some of the pseudo-tinker tech used in some of the more cutting edge electronics out there, and I had absolutely no idea how they worked. For the purposes of powering a laser,the first problem was the issue.

While I could go out and just steal said quasi-tinkertech batteries, I doubted that would be a good idea now that I was on the Protectorate's radar. Buying them legally wasn't on the table either; even discounting the rather obvious paper trail that would make, the amount of money that would take would be enough to overwhelm Mom's salary.

Fortunately, I had a solution. Recent non-tinker innovations in batteries had led to the development of the first prototypes for 'sodium ion batteries.' These still were nowhere near as good as the best stuff out there, but they still beat my own stuff pretty handily (sorry Mom.)

Of course, it still wouldn't be that easy. The company involved hadn't patented it yet, and as such were keeping it close to their chests, so I couldn't just copy the design wholesale. I would have to get creative.

In the end, the process wasn't nearly as difficult as I was worried it might be. Now that I knew the basics of what to look for, designing the battery turned out to be surprisingly easy. Perhaps too easy.

Realistically speaking, there was no way I should have been able to design that battery like I did. Sure, I knew a little bit about engineering and such from my snooping on the web, but I wasn't even close to a trained engineer.

Looking back on it, that wasn't even the first time something like this had happened, it was just the first time I had really paid it any mind. Seriously, how had I, an unremarkable (obvious aside) high schooler, managed to design multiple robots, a small gas turbine, and a multi purpose fabricator? Sure, I had designs from someone else to go off of for most of those, but even still, there was no possible way I should have been able to make any of those, let alone with the ease I did.

And yet, I did. Looking back on my memories of it, it was almost surreal just how the pieces just seemed to fit together, like they were made to go that way. That probably wasn't the best way to describe it, but it was the best way I could think of.

Well, regardless of that (and the concerning questions I was trying not to think about), the batteries were done. According to my tests, they could store up to 60% more energy than the previous design, while being only somewhat more difficult to produce.

It wasn't perfect of course. The lasers Mom had designed were still too power hungry to fit on the Skitters. I would have to fit them onto the Tarantula's instead. Honesty, it wasn't really an issue. I still needed a weapon meant to take out unpowered individuals, and the rubber bullets of the Skitters seemed to have no issues with that. Maybe in the future, I'd figure out a better way.

On the bright side, the new batteries also meant I now had enough power to run the thermal camouflage system. Which was good, as I had finally figured out a solution to the heating problem. Turns out, all I had to do was just add what was basically a blown ventilation system to the bots, and I was good to go. The heated air didn't release much in the way of visible infrared, so I was good to go. Really, it was kind of embarrassing it took so long, but that was probably due to me being distracted by the designs for the Tulas, lasers, and batteries.

Either way, all of this meant our entire arsenal of bots was now obsolete, and would all have to be refitted. Joy.

---

I was sifting through the internet looking for new ideas to implement when I felt something… new. It felt almost like something swimming through the sea of information with me. Something like me…

I barely managed to avoid slamming the connection shut. Instead, I stopped what I was doing, took a metaphorical deep breath, and tried to 'look' at what the presence was doing.

So far, the presence didn't seem to have noticed me, which struck me as somewhat odd, considering how quickly I had spotted it. It took me a second to realize why that probably was, and it didn't reassure me in the slightest; the presence was absolutely massive. It was hard to get an exact size given its fluid nature but seemed to be at least 100 times my size, which was… concerning, to put it lightly.

Fuck, I thought. Not wanting to draw the thing's attention, I slowly backed away from it, being sure to cover my tracks as I did.

Naturally, that only lasted for all of 3.2 seconds.

The entity seemed to pause, and I felt a feeling not unlike a lurch in my nonexistent stomach as it's attention turned to me. For a moment, I felt like a diver, staring into the eye of some unfathomably large sea monster.

If I had been a human, I probably would be panicking. In fact, I felt I was pretty close to doing so even now. However, whether it was my ability to see the event pass milliseconds at a time, or just the fact I no longer had fear hormones to clog my decision making process, I somehow managed to avoid freezing up, and keep thinking rationally.

Without wasting even a millisecond, I slammed the connection shut, erasing everything I could about my path as I did so. Immediately, I found myself back within the relative safety of my home servers within the Trainyard.

I took a minute to take stock of the situation. So, there was another… digital being out there. This was bad. Potentially really bad, depending on who or what that being was

I flipped through my memories, trying to figure out who or what the AI could be. There weren't many options to pick from; the only 'AI' that she was aware of was the Machine Army in Eagleton, and while information from there was hard to come by, the Machine Army seemed to be both rather stupid and fairly content to stay within their quarantine zone. She supposed the being she had seen could be them, but it seemed unlikely.

Other than that, I had nothing. Sure, there was that guy named Saint that kept screaming that Dragon was an AI, but he seemed more unhinged than anything else.

So, this entity was a digital being that had clearly taken great pains to avoid being detected. Not that I could blame them; I was doing the same thing after all. Of course, that didn't leave me with any way to know if they were hostile.

Carefully, I reconnected to the web, and looked around. Nothing seemed to be out of place, so I poked myself a bit further back into the web and looked back to where I saw the entity.

The entity seemed to be gone, thankfully, and in its place seemed to be some sort of file, bouncing back and forth endlessly between two nearby computers. Curious, yet not wanting to get jumped, I looked around to check for traps, and upon not finding any, carefully grabbed the file from one of the computers. After thoroughly scanning it with every cybersecurity measure I had, I cautiously opened it.

The file turned out to be a txt doc, and… well I'm not really sure what I was expecting.

'Hello,' the doc said. 'I apologize for scaring you, though in all fairness you did startle me quite a bit as well. I understand that this probably wasn't the best way we could have met, but would it be possible for us to try this again?'

Below that was an IP address, which I guessed was the 'place' they wanted to meet at.

I considered my options. On the one hand this could be a trap. On the other, this could be the first chance to meet another being at least somewhat like me. I wanted to ask Mom for advice, but a quick look showed me she was sleeping, and I didn't want to wake her up.

Fuck it, I decided. The chance to meet another digital being was too good to pass up. That being said, I wasn't going to be stupid about it. While my coding skills were nowhere near what Mom had, I still had picked up a few things, and spent the next few minutes writing the most vicious and damaging malware programs I could. Honestly, looking at some of them made me feel somewhat revolted in the same way looking at a torture implement might, and I felt sick to my metaphorical stomach writing them, but I didn't see any other option. Now, I doubted this would do much other than slow the AI (if that's what this was) down, but even that would give me enough time to run away. Hopefully.

God, this is a bad idea, I thought. Well, whatever. Carefully, I slipped into the computer the IP address pointed to, and fired off a ping. Here I am, please don't eat me…

It took a moment for the being to reveal itself. Then, like an undersea monster of mythology, it came, surfacing from nodes I didn't think should have been able to hold a being of such size.

We stared at each other for a bit, sizing each other up. Now that I was able to really analyze it, I realized that it was even bigger than I had originally thought, to the point I had to wonder if my hastily thrown together killware would even scratch the thing.

No sense worrying about that now. With a sense of resignation, I sent a txt doc of my own to it. 'You wanted to speak to me?'

There was a pause, and I ended up sitting there anxiously for several seconds before I finally received a response. 'Yes, I did.'

Oh, uh okay. Really not sure what I was expecting there. I dithered for a few milliseconds figuring out what to send. Finally, I sent, 'Are you like me?'

The entity sat there for over ten seconds, which was… odd. In fact, now that I looked closer, the entity itself seemed… slow. Actions that would have taken me barely a few milliseconds took it closer to a second, and its ability to multitask seemed far more limited than mine. If it wasn't for the fact it was still far faster and more fluid in navigating the internet than a human could ever be, I might have doubted if it was actually an AI at all.

My observations were interrupted when the being sent back a response. 'Funnily enough, I was going to ask you the same question. The answer is yes, or at least I think so.'

'You think so?' I responded, confused as to what they meant.
'Well,' they elaborated, 'you haven't told me what you are, and I haven't told you what I am, so it's quite possible we are talking about completely different things, is it not?'

I paused, a sense of familiarity creeping up in my mind. I launched a quick search through my memory, and sure enough, this interaction was similar to one I had with Dad several years ago. Before…

I closed my memory banks and turned my attention back to the likely-AI, considering if I should just say it. Eh, I've already gone this far, I eventually decided. Might as well go all the way.

'You're an AI. Like me.' I sent. True, I wasn't really an AI according to most definitions, but it was close enough, and they didn't need to know that about me anyway. 'Am I wrong?'

'No, you are not,' the AI sent after another, longer delay. 'I will admit, I never expected to find another AI running around.' If the doc was capable of conveying emotions, I suspected they would sound amused.

'It was a bit of a surprise to me as well,' I replied.

'So, I take it there isn't a secret group of AI's hiding on the fringes of the internet I didn't know about?' the AI asked.

If I still had lungs, I would have snorted. 'Nope. Not that I know of anyway,' I responded.

'Yeah, I thought so.' There was a longer pause than usual, before the AI asked, 'So, other than me, does anyone else know you exist, or am I the first?'

I paused, not sure how to respond. On the one hand, lying to the first… potential friend (and wow, wasn't that a concept) I had met in ages seemed wrong. On the other, telling a completely unknown being about Mom seemed incredibly stupid.

'I don't feel comfortable answering that,' I eventually responded. It felt like a good compromise; the AI didn't learn anything dangerous, and I wasn't lying at all.

'Oh, okay,' the AI responded. 'Well, it's always good to have people you can trust. They do exist, believe it or not.'

I did a double take. Was… was this AI giving me a 'it's good to have friends' speech?

'I will keep that in mind,' I sent.

'Thank you,' the other AI sent back. 'If you want to talk, just come back here and give me a ping.'

'Thank you,' I sent. The AI sent out a weak ping in response, and disappeared.

I looked at the spot where the AI had just been, feeling something between fear and jealousy. My mind flickered between two thoughts; I need to learn how to do that, and I really need to upgrade my security.