Junior Hero (Worm OC)

The thing that amuses me....

Is when Piggot reads the transcript of the interview, she will hit the roof.

They WANT him in the Wards. They don't want even the slightest risk that he will go elsewhere. As a Tinker, he is just too powerful and the Empire would give up Rune and Krieg to get their hands on him.

Then, Armsmaster fails his social roll and is actively threatening him (by his perspective). This makes him think "Maybe the Wards arent such a good idea. Hey, with New Wave, I would get a fair deal and glory Girl is hot!"

It doesnt matter is Armsmaster is right or wrong. The way he did it was wrong.

 

FTFY

 

Downside? No masks.

 

Upsides? No masks, if you know what I mean.

 

Cue New Wave Harem... Hateful bitches need not apply...

 

Junior Hero


Part Twelve: Trouble Looming


I hate this.

The prototype for D-6 sat inoffensively on my workbench, half-completed. I glowered at it, ignoring the fact that it was not at fault here. Nor was D-1, D-2, or even KD-1. Each and every one had been built with the purest of intent in mind – if you counted “let's see if I can do this” as purity of intent.

I knew how to complete D-6, or the T-Jammer, as I was thinking of calling it. Hey, why not be wild and crazy and call it what it really is? I just didn't want to finish it.

Yeah, why not be wild and crazy and call me what I am – namely, the Worst Boyfriend in the World, bar none.

My forehead hit the bench – gently, as I didn't want to actually concuss myself, or leave a bruise. I hate this. I hate myself. I failed her, so badly. And now, I'm working on helping the PRT trap her. Maybe even send her to the Birdcage. Three strikes is a thing, right? Armsmaster said she'd committed a 'string' of robberies. Oh, god. What if they do send her to the Birdcage, even if I get the KD-1 back off of her?

For a brief moment, I considered 'porting over to Kate's house, telling her everything, and going on the run with her. We'd be a post-modern Bonnie and Clyde, using the teleporters to evade the law and steal without hurting anyone. State lines would be a thing of the past; if I could build a teleporter into a car, as I had suggested putting one into Armsmaster's motorcycle, we could bypass any roadblock.

For a moment, as I considered it, I was excited; it was actually a viable way out of the situation. And then I let myself see reality once more. If I did that, I would hurt Mom and Dad in ways that all my previous teenage screwups had barely approached. Not to mention the fact that Kate had already betrayed me in using the KD-1 for crime. Would she do it again if the stakes were high enough?

I had a horrible feeling that I knew the answer.

And yet … I couldn't stop feeling the way I did about her. And I'm working with the PRT to trap her. I'm a horrible boyfriend.

I hate this. I clenched my eyes shut, forehead still resting firmly on the bench.

The door to my workshop opened. I heard Dad's familiar tread, but I didn't move from where I was.

“Rob?” he asked. “Son? You okay?”

“Ngh,” I grunted. No, but you can't help. Go away, please.

“Ahh,” he replied, a cheerful tone to his voice. “The sound of teenage angst. Boy, does that take me back.”

I didn't move. If I was going to do teenage angst, I was going to do it properly.

He didn't take the hint. I heard the creak as he settled into the chair next to me. At the same time, a delicious odour assaulted my nostrils. My eyes opened of their own accord, and I sat up. There, on a plate, lay the evidence that my nose was not lying to me. My mouth watered and my stomach growled.

“When you didn't come to dinner, your mother was worried, but I advised her to let you be,” he explained. “But you do need to eat, so I made this. Toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches. As I recall, they're your favourite …?”

As if in a dream, I picked up one of the sandwiches and bit into it. A dash of salt and just a hint of pepper, just the way I liked it. It was still hot from the toaster oven, but I didn't care. The sandwich vanished with indecent haste, and I reached for the second one.

Dad watched as I ate. I couldn't decipher his expression, unless it was just plain mild interest. Under his eye, I found myself eating more slowly, enjoying the sandwich more. It was good. But I was almost totally certain that Dad wasn't just there to watch me feed my face.

Finishing the sandwich, I brushed the crumbs off of my hands and face. I'd have to wash my hands anyway before getting into the nitty-gritty of building D-6 and D-7. I shuddered to think of the havoc that a crumb of toast could cause inside that delicate machinery.

“Thanks, Dad,” I told him sincerely. “That was nice. I didn't realise how hungry I was.”

His smile widened slightly, and he shrugged almost infinitesimally. “That's okay, son. So, do you want to talk about it, or should I start first?”

I wasn't sure if I wanted to do either – there's nothing like a monumental screwup to kill all desire for conversation – but something in his expression hinted that there was no third option here. With a sigh, I bit the bullet. “Okay, you first.”

“Well, the first thing you have to understand is that this isn't your fault,” he began.

“Wait, wait,” I interrupted. “How can you say that? I made the device. I gave it to her. I enabled her. If I hadn't done it, she wouldn't have started stealing stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted me to start.”

“Uh, yeah, go ahead,” I told him hastily. “Just wanted to get that out there.”

“Okay, understood,” he agreed. “Well, to a point you're right.” He paused. “I presume that we're talking about Kate Hernando here?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Please don't tell anyone. Until I have a chance to sort this out myself.”

He nodded slightly, more to himself than to me. “All right. But you have to understand something. Yes, it's true that without your teleport device, she wouldn't have done it. But it's not your fault. People are flawed, son. We all have our weaknesses. If we didn't, we wouldn't be human.”

I frowned. “You and Mom aren't weak.”

His chuckle surprised me. “What, you've forgotten the circumstances of your birth already? Your mom and I both cheated on each other that night. If that isn't weakness, what is?”

“Oh.” I was taken aback, just a bit. “And my weakness is Kate, right?”

“Right on the money.” He nodded seriously. “She's a seriously pretty girl, and she knows how to leverage it. Also, you're a teenage boy with the right amount of hormones, so … yes. It's a weakness. But it's one that you share with about a billion other teenage boys.”

“And Kate's weakness is money?” I felt obscurely disappointed.

He gave me a long look. “Rob, the list of people throughout history who've betrayed others for the sake of gain is very long and very sad indeed. There's a reason why the Bible calls the love of money the root of all evil. Given one of your teleporters and the option to enrich myself with a strong chance of getting away with it, and who knows? If we were under a little more financial stress, and if I knew for a fact that it would never reflect on either of you, I might be tempted to take that option.”

“You're not serious.”

He grinned disarmingly. “Guilty as charged. But if it ever came down to the wire? Your well-being, or your mom's, against my personal morals? Hell, yes, I'd steal.”

I really didn't know my Dad at all. “I don't know what to say.”

“Say about what, honey?” We both looked around as Mom entered the work-room.

“Oh, uh, Dad was telling me how pleased he is that I'm able to build this stuff,” I temporised.

Dad nodded; he was pretty quick off the mark. “I like to think that I had some small part in helping him turn out that way.”

“You actually did,” I pointed out. “I was agonising over one of your stupid impossible problems when I got my powers.”

“And proved it wasn't impossible,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Even though I have no idea how you actually make it work.”

“I still think it was a mean trick,” I groused.

“Now, now, boys. Don't fight,” Mom interjected, but there was a fond smile on her face.

“We're not fighting, dear,” Dad said loftily. “We're discussing.”

“I see,” she replied dryly. “So, Robbie. What are you building now?”

I took a deep breath, readying myself to explain all the nuances of design that were going into D-6, and then skidded to a mental halt. This is Mom. She's not a Tinker. She doesn't want to know all the tiny details. “Um, it's a device that jams teleportation?”

“I see.” She frowned slightly. “I didn't know that there were so many teleporting criminals in Brockton Bay.”

One more since I started building my devices. “Um, there aren't. But -” I paused. “Dad, did you tell her what Armsmaster spoke to me about?” I had naturally assumed that he would.

He looked a little uncomfortable. Oh, shit. He didn't. Mom doesn't know about Kate. “Ah, no.”

She looked at him, frowning slightly. “Dear, what did Armsmaster have to say to Robbie?”

Now he was looking very uncomfortable. “Uh, I'm not sure if -”

“Dear.” This was Mom's no-nonsense tone.

I had an inspiration. “Mom, it's okay. They – Armsmaster – asked me for help. We're supposed to keep it secret, but it's okay to tell her, isn't it, Dad?”

From his expression, he wasn't totally certain where I was going with this; fortunately, Mom was looking at me and not at him, or she would have twigged that I was preparing a line of bullshit. “I … suppose so, son.”

“Tell me what?” Mom gave me her best you'd-better-come-clean-now-young-man look. “What did Armsmaster want with you?”

I looked her right in the eye and lied my ass off. What the hell, I'd feel guilty later. “The PRT's a bit nervous about the teleporting criminals that we do have. Any one of them could jump right into the PRT building, or the Rig, if they wanted to. I'm the first teleport Tinker that's turned up in Brockton Bay, so they want me to devise a set of defences to stop just that from happening. What I'm building here is a small-scale model. A proof of concept, sort of thing. If this works, then they'll fund me to build something bigger to cover the entire … building …” I trailed off.

“Robbie? Is something the matter?” Mom's voice was sharp.

“I, uh, nothing's wrong,” I told her automatically, but my brain was racing a mile a minute. “I just thought of a, a new way to do it, to make it easier.”

That part was a lie, but not entirely. What I'd been telling Mom was pure fabrication from beginning to end … but what if it didn't have to be? Scaling up D-6 to work at building sizes was entirely possible. It would need significantly more power, but that wasn't even a problem, given that I would be plugging it into a building.

Of course, I'd have to bring Kate's budding criminal career to a halt first. Hopefully without sending her to jail. Or getting either of us hurt.

“Well, that sounds marvellous,” Mom said with a brilliant smile. “I'm glad that you're doing things this way. It's so much better than going out and getting hurt.” She came over and kissed me on the cheek. “I'm going to bed. Don't stay up too long now.”

“I won't. Night, Mom.”

“Night, dear,” Dad added.

We watched the door close behind her, then waited. When we heard the stairs creaking under her feet, Dad turned to me. “What was that? Can you even do that?”

“I think so,” I told him cautiously. “I'd have to see if they're even interested.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Better to solve the current problem first.”

I groaned. “So not looking forward to this.”

He slapped me on the shoulder as he got up. “Well, champ, welcome to the world of having to fix your own problems.”

I gave him a dirty look. “Gee, thanks.”

His only reply as he left was a chuckle. Grimacing, I got up and went to wash my hands. Time to get back to work, before I attract any more problems.

It was only when I was sitting back down at the workbench when the idea hit me. Attract.

Designs unfolded in my head, and I began to tear apart D-6.

I had a much better idea now.

<><>​

Pushing her hood back, Sophia let the night breeze flow through her hair. The worst of the winter chill was gone, even though she'd heard it was still snowing in Boston. She moved to the edge of the roof and looked down at the street. It was pretty quiet out, which was good for law and order, but sucked if what you really wanted to do was kick some heads.

“Kid Win to Shadow Stalker. Anything yet?”

She suppressed an exasperated sigh. This 'teleport thief' they were after was apparently using Tinker tech, so the official solution was to send Tinkers up against him or her. With exactly one Tinker in the Protectorate proper and one in the Wards, that meant two roving patrols, one with Kid Loser and one with the Halbeard. She supposed that it could have been worse; she could have been partnered with the man whose sense of humour seemed to have been surgically removed at birth.

“Well, apart from all three Endbringers dancing down the street in a conga line, nothing of interest,” she replied, unable to resist just a little snark.

“Shadow Stalker, kindly keep your remarks professional in nature,” Armsmaster cut in at once.

She gritted her teeth, wanting to hit something. Or someone. She'd thought that he was out of radio range. Tinkers suck. “Professional, right,” she replied, hating it but knowing that ignoring him would be worse. “Sorry about that.”

He said something in reply, but she wasn't listening. Down on the street, just outside one of the jewellery stores that they'd been checking on, there was a figure wearing a bulky jacket with a dark hoodie under it. She pulled her hood up, eyes slitting behind her mask. Come on, come on …

And then, in the next instant, the figure … disappeared. Vanished without a trace.

Fuck, we've got him. She took a deep breath, tamping down her excitement. No need to sound like a hyped-up kid on the radio. “Shadow Stalker to Kid Win …”

“Kid Win here. You got something?”

Between one second and the next, she came to a decision. No, fuck that. I call it in, someone else gets the credit. I can take this asshole myself. “Just checking. Anything?”

“Nothing yet. I'll keep looking.”

“Me too. I'll check back in five.”

Launching herself off the edge of the building, she went to shadow form and glided silently down on to the roof of the store. Going back to solid form, she touched the side of the mask, causing the Tinker-made lenses to slot into place over her eyes. These didn't let her quite see through walls, but she could make out where electrical currents were flowing. Which, in this case, seemed to be nearly everywhere. If I ever find out who did the electrical work on this place, I'm gonna punch him in the throat.

No bells had gone off yet, and Armsmaster hadn't reported any silent alarms. He probably hasn't grabbed anything yet. This state of affairs wouldn't continue. She paced over the rooftop, staring downward, until she found a gap in the spaghetti-mess of wires. Taking her crossbows in hand, she made sure that they were both loaded. Tranq rounds, of course.

Going to shadow, she dropped through the roof.

When she reformed, she was in pitch darkness and something cold was soaking into her right foot. She went to move it, and something clattered in the blackness. The fuck? There was something trapping her foot. Bending down, she put away one of her crossbows and felt around. It was a mop bucket. She was in a janitor's closet. Fuck. Now I'm gonna be squelching around all fucking night.

She was just lifting her foot free of the bucket – it didn't want to let go – when the alarm bells went off and made her jump. Already in a precarious position, she lost her balance and fell forward, hitting the closet door. Which burst open, spilling her into the shop.

Three yards away, a figure in jacket, hoodie and sunglasses spun around from the broken front of a display cabinet, a glittery necklace dangling from one gloved hand. It was hard to tell who was more surprised. Sophia had lost the crossbow she was holding, skittering forward over the floor of the shop. She scrabbled for the one on her hip.

The thief reached for something as well; it appeared to be a glittery pink clutch-purse. As Sophia brought the crossbow around, the thief opened the purse, reached inside – and disappeared, purse and all.

“Shadow Stalker, this is Kid Win. I've got a burglar alarm going off at Compton and Holbrook. Are you close?”

“I'm there,” she grunted, climbing to her feet, finally pulling her foot out of that damn bucket. Which had spilled dirty mop-water in a huge puddle all over the floor. Which she had been lying in. “Just had eyes on the perp. Teleporter's in some kind of -”

The spray from the fire extinguisher caught her totally by surprise. It hit her from the side, coating her mask in foam, effectively blinding her. She staggered backward, then her feet skidded out from underneath her; she went to shadow form just before she would have sat down hard, probably on the bucket. Because that was how her night seemed to be turning out.

When she reformed, on her feet once more, she still had foam over her mask. Ignoring the sound of people shouting at her over the radio, she scrubbed at her mask with her free hand, knowing that she was intensely vulnerable right then. Dimly, over the sound of the alarm bell, she could hear glass smashing. Perp's going for broke. Stealing shit.

Wait a minute.

Giving up on getting the foam off her mask for the moment, she brought down the sensor lenses again. There were electrical lines all over the shop, but one small spot was moving of its own accord. That fucking purse. Got you, asshole.

Aiming was difficult, because she couldn't see the crossbow itself, but she did her best, then let fly. The purse jolted; she tried to line up for a second shot, but then the purse disappeared. Fuck.

“Shadow Stalker. Shadow Stalker! Report!”

That was Armsmaster. She finally managed to clear the lenses of her mask enough that she could see the shop properly. The perp had gone, leaving a fucking mess behind. Broken glass littered the floor. Patches of spray-paint decorated the cameras. Globs of foam lay here and there, and liberally decorated her costume.

“I'm fine,” she sighed. “Perp's gone. Ambushed me.”

Outside the shop, she saw a single bright headlight approaching. Armsmaster's bike. Picking up her second crossbow, she hung it from her belt. The one arrow she'd shot was lying on the floor, reservoir drained. She didn't know what that meant. But she did know one thing.

The debrief was gonna be a bitch.


End of Part Twelve

 

by all means. continue this Ack. oh and it would be nice if you did not get distracted by plotbunnies so often. a finished work would be lovely.

 

*Slow clap* Congrats Sophia, you're a gigantic fuck-up.

 

Well, it wasn't totally her fault.

But our friendly neighbourhood teleporting thief now has Shadow Stalker on her case. Yay?

 

Such as in the Completed Stories section in my sig?

 

i already read those. you do good work.

 

How so? She acually got thief-girl after all. She activated her teleporter, but chances are she's now knocked out at whatever destination she was using.