22nd July Tuesday - 4.00 pm - Command Centre

  "Ya ever notice that nobody ever comes back to the barracks?"

  I always figured that Terrans are constantly sending down supplies from space ships where the mules come from, including men. The barracks are like a training camp. Even real soldiers train when they are stationed.

  Oh, how wrong I was, huh.

  Game logic doesn't translate so well to real-life logic. The part where they automatically train people? Yeah. I'm missing the crucial part that makes a marine, a medic or even those really squishy Reapers. I wonder how squishy they are here. Some of the game knowledge I have? Don't exactly translate well to the modern knowledge I received in my brain, nor does it collaborate well with the UED database after discussing with Monica

  "So you're suggesting…cloning?"

  Monica justly replied with "Affirmative, Commander. Castanar have the means to build a cloning facility with every stored memory of a Terran officer that fell during the war. Test subject 405-GLTV3 was the alphanumeric designation for a hybrid held in stasis at a space platform orbiting Castanar. It was cloned numerous times and its successors labelled accordingly. The gene splicing technology was technologically far more advanced than current timeline technology, alluding that the Dominion Republic had outside help"

  At some point between the end of the Brood War and the start of the Second Great War, the resurrected UED Admiral Alexei Stukov was brought to Skygeirr station, where he was tortured and experimented on by Narud. During this time, Stukov learned about Narud's true identity, as well as his connection to Amon. Eventually, Stukov escaped and contacted Sarah Kerrigan.

  So the tech from that campaign survived, huh?

  The technology is based on the Skygeirr. Xelnaga Terran tech.Hmm..I didn't think too much about that and couldn't come to a decision just yet. Sophia and I had just worked part-time and were a little tired, even if our stomachs were full.

  We stepped into the Command Centre still smelling faintly of beef broth and fryer oil. Shadow Stalker walked a half-step behind me, hoodie up, mask off, like she was expecting someone to jump her even in the middle of my supposedly secure base. Even the sound of a whirling SCV going past unnerves her. She's probably fretting about going to the PRT. I can only assume she's that jumpy because I was about to send her there under the PRT's direct oversight forcefully.

  The lights of the holo screens washed over her face as she scanned the room with a quiet, predatory curiosity.

  Monica was already waiting at the central console, arms behind her back in that perfectly straight Dominion-style posture she adopted when she was calculating something and trying not to show it. She could just build a body for herself, but without explicit orders from me, she wouldn't. An A.I was fully leashed under the UED protocol. That got me thinking about Dragon a little.

  A few drones hovered nearby, tools in their manipulators, as if she had paused mid-task the moment she sensed me arrive. That…? I didn't order her to build any drones. Still, it was a good Idea to build any to help with surveillance and in-house work. There are some protocols and autonomy she seems to be able to decide on herself without me ordering her.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. The lingering exhaustion from the lunch rush was settling in. My arms still felt like they were tossing noodles, but my mind was already shifting gears into thinking about my next move and build like a Starcraft Player.

  "Monica," I said, stepping up beside the primary projection table, "we need to start production on a Tech Reactor."

  Her eyebrow lifted a few millimeters, her version of a gasp.

  "A Tech Reactor Commander?" she echoed, her voice flat but tinted with the edges of analytical concern. "Commander, that module is a tier-two infrastructure upgrade. Current energy allocation and Neosteel refining capacity are insufficient for immediate deployment. The reactor will require extensive modification of our existing structure matrix."

  I exhaled slowly. Exactly what I expected, but hearing it aloud still sucked. If only we had raw minerals. Fewer headaches. The Catalyst itself is far more simpler; instead, we had to do the conversion ourselves and thus making the process far more longer than it needs to be.

  Shadow Stalker leaned an elbow on the console, eyeing the holoprojection as it blossomed into view: the spinning model of a Dominion-standard Tech Reactor, glowing blue conduits snaking through machinery meant to instantly double production capacity. And I need the tech aspect to work on the Tech Lab so we could streamline certain processing capacity in building advanced armoured Units like the Marauder, Firebats and Hellions. Oh damn..a transformer like a Car/motorcycle that could turn into a mech. What's not to like,e yeah?

  The cool factor alone will put me on the map as one of the Tinkers to look out for. Shadow Stalker didn't say anything, but I could tell she was impressed. Even she wasn't jaded enough not to be intrigued by power.

  I crossed my arms, trying to focus. "We need it, Monica. We can't keep running on single-output structures forever. The barracks are finished, but without the ability to mass-produce armour or gear for people, it's basically a very expensive shed. I will think about the recruiting later. But about that conversation we had?"

  Monica processed that. I could almost hear the calculations running behind her eyes. "Yes, Commander. Shall I proceed to build the facility? We will have enough resources in roughly two days."

  I pondered for a moment and thought if two days is fine. "Alright. In the meantime, see if we can slot in a factory as soon as possible. Tech Reactor first, then a Factory and then build me that facility"

  Shadow Stalker glanced at me, a small twitch at the corner of her mouth. She could tell I was tired physically from work, but still, seeing me work like this is exhausting mentally from everything else. Maybe even frustrated. It didn't escape her.

  Monica finally spoke.

  "I can reprioritise resources. If we divert SCVs from the refinery expansion and delay the fabrication of the second Reactor within the Command Centre, it will be possible to begin Tech Reactor construction tonight." She paused. "But you will need to acquire more personnel soon. Producing armaments without operators is… inefficient."

  "That's an understatement," I muttered.

  It was the problem that had been gnawing at me for days. I could build the structure. I could manufacture armour. Weapons. Gear that would make top-tier capes nervous. But I had no soldiers. Until that cloning Facility is built, I won't even have proper Terran natives to help me out.

  "Start it," I said. "Tech Reactor, highest priority. We'll figure out manpower later.I have some Ideas."

  Monica nodded once. "Acknowledged, Commander. Construction protocols will begin immediately."

  As she turned, drones humming to life around her, the projection dimmed. Twenty-two SCVs.You'd think that would feel like a lot. It wasn't. Not when every single one had a job, a sub-job that includes looking for Underground gas mines and even a metal deposit or a mine in the middle of friggin Brocton Bay. Not to mention, he needed to avoid the city so the SCVs could only scout outside Brocton Bay Perimeter. Other than the one Gas inlet near the Graveyard docks from a few days ago, they haven't found any. So far, that is the primary source of his butane/ Vespene conversion.

  I stood in the Command Centre, hands on my hips, watching one of the SCVs load a chunk of processed Neosteel onto a pallet. Looked like a miniature tower of dull silver slabs, nothing fancy, but enough for the PRT's tinker labs to run diagnostics on.

  I bet Armmaster would love the gift after checking this alloy out.

  Maybe even try to find out the formula for Elemental Catalyst. He won't be able to replicate it. Dragon might be able to? If she has the necessary tech to emulate the process, sure. Neosteel isnt the best Armour the Terrans can provide. There are still several grades above, like Vanadium.

  Getting it to them was the problem.

  "Alright," I muttered, rubbing my temples, "SCV-12, manual transport to the PRT ENE. I want it delivered while you're piloting me in it.Do NOT smash into anyone's car. Or building. Or dog."

  "SCV-12 reporting! yoouu ggoott iit, coommaannderr."

  The SCV waddled out of the Supply Depot bay with the Neosteel pallet strapped to its back like a stubborn robot mule. Shadow Stalker watched from the walkway railing above, mask clipped to her belt, the faintest smirk tugging at her mouth.

  "I'm guessing I gotta ride those happy-go-lucky Mechs," she said. "So you're sending a construction bot to carry metal across half the city? That's… wow. Talk about subtle."

  "Pain in the ass, Subtle can kiss my Terran butt if I have any say in it. Kinda too late to play stealth mode with the giant building I'm in right now," I grumbled. "This is me bribing Assmaster."

  She leaned her elbow on the railing, trying to suppress a laugh

  "Assmaster pfft! What's with the bribe then? Planning to join the PRT yourself? Or just bribing them with super-metal and hoping they don't arrest you?"

  I shot her a look. "First of all, it's a goodwill sample. Second… joining isn't off the table. Not exactly the plan, but not now, third? I'm using free gifts as a negotiation tool for you.."

  She snorted lightly, her version of a laugh. "Yeah, sure. PRT's gonna lose their minds." Looking at the pile of grav bombs, a datapad and other stuff, I intend to give it to them just because this stuff is practically harmless.

  Before I could respond, the door hissed open.

  Trainwreck lumbered in, massive, gleaming, and carrying three trays stacked with steaming Terran synth-food. Not Kitza, it's some sort of stew nutrient rolls, someone's been busy gorging around in the Canteen. Everything the fabricators could pump out that didn't taste like MRE I guess.

  He'd been holding up in the canteen these past few hours, alternating between working out, eating, eating again, and… apparently… making things too, using some of the workbench tools according to Monica's report.

  His new cybernetic arm whirred softly as he set the trays down on a console.

  "Food break, Lunch time was satisfying here," Trainwreck announced casually. "Also…uh. Don't freak out."

  He lifted his right arm. A small section of plating irised open like mechanical eyelids. Inside the arm? Someone's been busy tinkering while I work part-time. It's a compact, beautifully engineered grenade launcher barrel, complete with a rotating miniature drum loaded with micro-charges.

  Honestly? I wasn't exactly surprised he's started building with whatever junk I had around. Power wants to be used after all, even with a broken shard. Although it didn't nag his head like an active shard, Case 53's powers are still not widely researched among most researchers. "…You built that." It's as if building something normal stabilises his powers from cannibalising himself.

  "Yeah." He shrugged. "Your bombs were good material. I had a good sense in my head, and I just reached towards it. Had a feeling it'd fit. So it fits."

  Shadow Stalker stared at him, eyebrows slowly raising. "You put a grenade launcher inside your arm?..that's heavy metal as fuck."

  Trainwreck nodded. "Yup."

  "And that seemed normal to you," I said, stating the obvious, of course.

  "…Yup." He grinned with that big, goofy, lopsided smile.

  Terran cybernetics plus Tinker instincts plus unfiltered creativity. Wonderful. Beautiful. Horrifying.But mostly beautiful. I straightened.

  "Okay. Great. Amazing. Just uhh no using that indoors unless we're under attack. And definitely not while eating."

  Trainwreck was already chewing on a nutrient roll. "Wasn't planning to."

  Shadow Stalker tapped the railing with a finger, still eyeing the built-in arm cannon. "What the hell are you even eating?"

  Trainwreck looked at the last piece of the nutriel roll and rolled his shoulders "Dont know. Taste like bacon and tomatoes though. It's like a mini pizza" and gulped the last one.

  "So," she said to me after ignoring Trainwreck food indulgence, "you've got twenty-two robots, a guy with a grenade arm, a supercomputer AI, and a growing base. Tell me again why you're even considering joining the PRT in the future?"

  I sighed. What do I say? The world is going to shit? I can't do all of this by myself. Does she really think I wanna go the villain route? I dont wanna go on either route, but might as well join the supposedly good guys, even if my meta knowledge tells me they just wanna press you under their damn bureaucracy.

  Instead, I just rubbed my forehead and watched the SCV outside slowly and awkwardly trundle down the road with the Neosteel strapped on its back. That's enough Neosteel I suppose. Dont need to give alot, just a sample for them to tinker around. Part of me also wanted to know what the old Beardmaster could build with neosteel with Dragon.

  "So what," she said, crossing her arms, "you're trying to butter up the PRT now? Trying to get on their good side? Wearing a shiny badge and shaking hands at press conferences?"

  I raised an eyebrow. "Please. You've seen me. Do I look like I want more paperwork in my life? And you better keep quiet about what's inside the base. No mention of Supercomputer A.I at all got it? Do I need to remind you what they do to A.I's here?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Whatever.You tell me. You're the one sending them gift baskets made of fancy metal."

  "It's a really nice gift basket," I said, hands up defensively. "It's a sample. Good relations matter. Fewer misunderstandings. Less trigger-happy troopers if something weird happens near my base."

  She scowled, but she didn't deny it. I leaned back against the console, crossing my arms in return.

  "Look," I said, "The PRT isn't perfect, but they're still the official people keeping the city from exploding. And with everything I'm building… the last thing I need is them treating me like some tinker warlord. Cooperation makes things smoother."

  She lifted a brow. "But you're not signing up."

  "I don't need to," I said. "Independent contractors exist with the PRT. Tinkers consult all the time. I can help them, they can help me, nobody's forced into anything."

  Sophia narrowed her eyes, trying to read between the lines like I was a villain giving an interview.

  "…So you're basically freelancing hero work."

  I shrugged. "I really dont do all this pageantry with the hero vs villains bullshit."

  "That's stupid," she muttered, looking away. "You either go all-in or you don't. Predators don't half-hunt."

  I gave her a dry look. "I ain't hunting. It's politics. Super boring, super necessary politics. The kind where I shake hands with smarmy foxes and snakes. While making peace with the sheep and cows, without any thought that something is wrong. None of that predatory talk no."

  She huffed again, clearly annoyed that my answer made sense. Trainwreck lumbered by with another step as he sat down slowly on the bench. "Jason's just trying not to get nuked by bureaucracy. Coil used to grumble about playing nice with idiots. Said it was necessary," he said through a mouthful, completely missing the tension.

  I turned to Sophia and said, "See? Even supervillains play stupid politics because it's necessary. Let me deal with the subterfuge stuff, you just stick to Sniping idiots in the head when there's a problem," Sophia snorted despite herself.

  "I'm not joining the PRT. But I am building something big. And the more connections I have, the easier it'll be to keep things under control. Nobody gets hurt that way. Not them, not us. Soon? I'll be involving some civilians, too."

  Sophia clicked her tongue but didn't argue. "Why? What do they have to do with cape stuff?"

  I smiled and then got to thinking how I should do it, "Offer them legit jobs. Make the city better. Got a lot of tech to move around without any personnel. For now? It's just an idea. Ya know..I dont need to be a supervillain to rule over a city. Come on.. It's time to go. I'll explain on the way."

  I waved at Trainwreck as we left "See ya later, T. I'll be back once I settle her accounts"

  Trainwreck waved back, "Okay, boss, I'll guard the place while you're gone. Hey, mind if I use the holo to watch some TV?"

  I thought about it and wondered if we really do have TV. Monica chimed in and said, " The holoview can be recalibrated to receive terrestrial electromagnetic waves and receive it." I then nodded, "Sure thing. Enjoy whatever is on these days. That reminds me..I really gotta sit down and watch some TV"

  Sophia finished adjusting the last strap on her Dominion armour, the matte plating catching the Command Centre's lights with a subtle, predatory sheen. She looked every bit the hunter she imagined herself to be.

  Just… with better tech than anything on Earth Bet, she does remind me of Widow Maker if she had a sniper instead of a crossbow with a little more protection and armour, of course.

  Meanwhile, I stood in front of the mirror in the armoury alcove, tugging the collar of my newly fabricated Terran officer coat into place. It's time for a makeover. I can't exactly wear a hoodie, now would I? Gotta dress the part too. No more kiddie wear.

  Dark navy fabric, reinforced seams, subtle command insignia at the shoulders, formal enough to look official, not so flashy that I'd look like a warlord attending a gala. At least I dont look like I belong in the E88. The military outfit does make me look like I belong in some Gundam series, though. ZAFT commander in gold and dark navy blue. Hah! Another Mech series I wish I could emulate. I had my visor on with a halfplate covering my face, too.

  The only odd thing that stands out is the DAF logo. Dominion Armed Forces. The Pseudo Ghost Mask slid over my face with a soft hiss, HUD flickering to life in ghost-white runes. If I were walking into the PRT with a cart full of space steel, I might as well look like I belonged to the universe that created it.

  Sophia whistled low when she saw me. "…Okay. You look like you're about to annex Brockton Bay." I ignored that. Mostly because she wasn't exactly wrong.

  We stepped into the loading bay where SCV-12 and SCV-13 were prepped like two metal draft horses. Neosteel samples, reinforcement plates, and a crate of smaller tech pieces were strapped securely behind SCV-12. Riding in a Mech three times my size, towering like a two-story house.. SCV-13 towered beside it, cockpit open, waiting for Sophia.

  The two machines hummed in readiness, their helms turning slightly as if acknowledging us. Sophia tapped the side of her visor, snapping it into place with a decisive click.

  Her whole posture shiftedShadow Stalker mode was fully engaged.

  She climbed into SCV-13 with practised ease, leaning back into the pilot couch as if this was just another rooftop stakeout.

  "Try not to run over any cars," I called out, climbing into SCV-12. The cockpits sealed shut. A heartbeat later, the engines rumbled, and both SCVs rose off their stabilisers. The Command Centre gates parted.

  Sunlight spilt across the concrete as we stepped out as two industrial titans marching through the train yard, each thudding footstep rattling metal debris. Civilians ducked out of sight as they saw two mechs moving at more than 120 miles per hour using boosters. It's been my third time riding this, but the SCV does make a good ride, if only it doesn't scrape the ground unless it lifts off and boosts forward. A few gang lookouts scrambled to radio their bosses. Probably ABB since we are still in their territory. Heading into downtown now as we passed by a couple of cars.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  A pair of giant construction mechs casually walking toward downtown? Definitely not a normal Tuesday in Brockton Bay. Sophia's SCV strode slightly ahead, posture almost cocky despite being a 3-ton machine. Mine followed, crate secured and humming with energy.

  The PRT ENE HQ rose in the distance, white-and-blue fa?ade gleaming under morning sun.

  Sophia's voice crackled through comms.

  "So what do you think?" she asked. "They're gonna freak out?"

  "Oh, absolutely," I said. "Someone's definitely hitting an alarm."

  "…Fuck me…," she said but I can clearly feel the grin on her face.Whatever else she was, Shadow Stalker loved getting reactions. The street widened into the plaza before the PRT building. SCV-12 and SCV-13 came to a slow halt, hydraulic joints hissing, shadows stretching long across concrete and armored glass.

  Paper-pushers would take a minute.

  Which meant I had a little time before someone demanded IDs, permits, blood samples, or a notarised document explaining why my existence violated local zoning laws. Inside the cockpit, I leaned back and let the hum of the engines settle my thoughts.

  Sophia's voice crackled into my comms dry, impatient.

  "Hey, Commander Cosplay. You look like you're about to declare martial law. What's the plan here, really?" I watched a couple of PRT troopers whisper at a distance, hands inching near their holsters but not quite touching them.

  "Keep calm and stay cool. Just keep up that Shadow Stalker persona and let me do the talking." I said. There was a beat of silence from her end, the kind where I could practically hear her raising an eyebrow behind her visor.

  "Okay," she said slowly. "Then what? You're going to just talk?I thought you said you aint a hero and shit. What's the deal then? "

  I snorted."No. I'm not going to be a villain. Or a hero."

  "…Those are the only two options, noodle boy, So I dont really get the answer." she frowned. Not really getting an answer out of me. I let my words settle, watching a pair of Wards scurry past the PRT lobby windows like startled pigeons.

  "I'm going to rule the city," I said quietly. "Just not in the way you're thinking." Sophia choked. "Rule? You what-huh?"

  "You're thinking about ruling like I'm some sort of King or a Mayor? You're still thinking too small. Im not gonna rule as some cape climbing on a soapbox gloating like a villain in a base like a bad spy movie. And definitely not by putting on black armor and yelling about justice."

  "Could've fooled me," she muttered.

  "I'm going to rule like how Steve Jobs and Elon Musk rule the world, with Jobs. Actual solutions. Providing a service and becoming the expert and monopoly in that area. Corporate gangs that do things by the book. None of that Nepea5 stuff, real tangible stuff. Money isnt an equation if everything is self-sustainable and we provide for ourselves."

  She didn't respond, which for Sophia meant she was listening harder than she wanted to admit.

  "You've seen the Trainyard. That was dead land for a decade. Now it's active. Producing. Expanding. If I put just twenty SCVs on the Docks? I could restore everything the city gave up on, like repair cranes, dredge out the shipping lanes, rebuild warehouses."

  Through the cockpit viewport, I watched a civilian pull out his phone, filming the two SCVs with wide eyes. "Restoring the Dockworkers association, restoring the Docks. Fix up the areas that need fixing, roads, buildings, increase the real estate value here, but also holding the chips to those places"

  "Don't need to worry bout food or Maslow's Hierarchy. Terran agriculture is even easier," I added. "Hydroponics, nutrient injectors, automated harvesters. I could feed entire districts. Create supply chains that don't rely on smugglers or gangs. I would even supply the shelter for people. Free homes for the needy under the guise of charity. "

  Sophia finally muttered, "…You're talking like a man planning a takeover. Some of the plans seem a little too insane to be true."

  "I'm just thinking about the city while everyone's busy playing with cape culture. Like Panacea. She had the right idea. Could just go combat medic if she wanted to, play along with cape politics like glory girl and take out villains, instead she chose to work at the hospital, I heard, fixing up ordinary folks with cancer without any pay"

  altruistic to a fault, but with her problem, it's because she's a broken mess, she's thinking that if she doesn't do good, she's automatically a monster or something along that line..I forget.

  What a terrible mindset to have.

  I probably need to schedule a visit to see her as well, to see the future Red Queen and see if there's any problem to alleviate her mental symptoms so she won't think of depression. Panpan deserves better, of course. AS for her family? eh..I haven't thought that far, and honestly? I dont even wanna deal with the Dallons and the Pelhams.

  "Gangs rule because the city's falling apart. Fix the foundation, take away the leverage, and all those villains fighting over scraps? They've got nothing left to rule."

  "…That's actually not stupid coming from you", she said while mulling over her thoughts behind those masked thoughts.

  "High praise, coming from you." I grinned

  "Shut up," she snarled back at me. Of course. I smirked behind the mask, thinking about all the bullshit that's gonna come at me, at her… wondering if she's gonna do fine. I think she's gonna do fine. She's unlike the bully I know from the Canon. A person who can be reasonable isnt unreasonable. Not to mention she's still wearing the bracelet I gave her for the emergency defence matrix with the anger inhibitor. Even at the lowest setting, I can already see it's doing wonders for her. She's still prone to anger but less vindictive, more subtle and tempered. I rant on in the coms-

  "I don't want to be a cape playing politics or smashing heads. I want to be someone who provides a service so vital that the city naturally aligns with me. Not because they're scared. Not because I'm famous. But because I can give them something nobody else can."

  Sophia shifted in her seat.

  "Employment, huh…Mom could probably use a good job if she weren't around much." I listened and chimed in.

  "You never talked about that, so I didn't really wanna intrude. How's home?' She just blew out a breath. I didn't need to hear from the coms to know it is a heavy subject " The usual bullshit with how things are…"

  I didn't wanna pry into it since it has to do with her trigger. The PRT sergeant finally approached cautiously, waving for us to wait. Sophia cracked her knuckles. It's show time, we parked the SCV at the visitor spot. Not like the SCV could even park properly since it's for vehicles, not mechs. There's enough space for two mechs.

  Both of us dismounted, and I powered down SCV-12's Reactor, and the PRT guards scrambled to figure out what to do with two mech-suited weirdos parked in front of their building and simply entered the lobby with confidence, Shadow Stalker coming along with her upgraded Crossbow that kinda looked more like a Rifle than a crossbow after the various mods I had equipped.

  The lobby of the PRT ENE headquarters was colder than I expected.

  Not temperature-wise, no. The air conditioning was standard stuff. It's just the way the light reflected off polished metal, in the way the walls seemed purposefully sterile. Neutral colours, neutral lines, neutral atmosphere. Everything tasted like bureaucracy, even the air. Real boring stuff. What's that fashion called? Neo Militarism?

  Yeah whatever..I ain't a fashion enthusiast. My taste of sharp clothing involves looking like Thomas from Peaky Blinders. It ain't exactly high fashion when your fashion sense is based on 1920s clothing. That's the old man in me talking.

  The moment my boots hit the tile, I could feel eyes on me. PRT troopers at the security checkpoint tightened their stances, not threatening, but alert. They weren't used to mech pilots strolling through the front door, especially not ones wearing Terran officer uniforms and a pseudo-Ghost mask.

  Shadow Stalker glided out of SCV-13 behind me, her new Dominion armour looking almost too sleek for her usual posture. She moved like a shadow with weight now, the armour forming a sharper silhouette against the lobby lighting.

  No one recognised her. Not immediately. The gear transformed her from a brooding troublemaker to something far more professional, even dangerous.

  I walked first, automatic doors parting smoothly. The receptionist froze for a beat, eyes flicking from my mask to the two SCVs parked outside like someone had left tanks in the handicapped zone.

  The lobby was busy. Paperwork runners.

  PRT troopers escorting civilians. A couple of Wards in casual clothes walking toward the elevators, one doing a double-take at my mask before nudging the other. I think... one of them was Missy Byron? Hard to miss a young girl in a place like this.

  Cameras followed us, small mechanical irises adjusting, tracking movement with quiet precision. Shadow Stalker's posture never wavered. She scanned the room lazily, but I could tell she logged every exit, every vantage point, every potential threat. Predator instincts, dressed in high-tech armour.

  My boots echoed across the floor.

  A squad of troopers formed quickly near the elevators, not hostile, but ready for… something. Clarification. Orders. A situation report. There was a moment where everyone in the lobby seemed to hold their breath.

  A new cape walking in was unusual. Two capes walking in together were noteworthy.

  A Terran-style mech pilot parked outside with one of the cape-wearing military uniforms with medals and even some sort of organisational faction?

  That spells trouble.

  One of the troopers finally approached, slowly, cautiously, and gestured toward the visitor checkpoint. His body language said Please don't break anything. Or anyone. I just got the sense from another working man to another… He just wanna go home, clock in at 5 and watch football while eating his wife's homemade lasagna or something. I can relate to that.

  I nodded once, didn't need to say anything else.

  Shadow Stalker followed. She didn't fidget. She didn't posture. She simply walked, silent as a knife, helmet tilting just slightly as she caught reflections in the marble.

  Every eye in the room tracked us. And through it all, I kept my steps even and measured, professional, just like entering the stage for the public to see. E-sports taught me a little about facing the camera, being in the limelight, while brief, the lesson came through even after all these years.

  This was exactly where I needed to be.

  The PRT needed to see me not as a threat or a vigilante but as someone who belonged here, someone who could walk through their front door and command attention without raising a weapon.

  Behind the mask, I allowed myself a small breath.

  This was the first real step.

  I approached the front desk with heavy steps, the soft hum of the lobby lights reflecting off polished floors and glossy PRT insignias showing off that PRT ENE logo. The iconic shield and wings with PRT at the front.

  Shadow Stalker trailed just behind me, restless energy radiating off her in quiet, tense waves. The lobby attendant is young, impeccably dressed, and clearly new enough to still be nervous as she straightened as we stopped in front of the desk.

  Her eyes darted between my mask, my coat, and Sophia's armour, trying to decide whether to be alarmed or professional.

  "My name is Mr J, subject to change of course, I dont have a cape name," I said, letting the title fall with the weight of formality. "Formerly known under the alias Dreamhack. I'm here to register as an independent parahuman."

  The attendant blinked, recovered, and began tapping on her terminal, fingers moving with cautious precision. I could see the tremor she tried very hard to hide.

  "And," I continued before she could ask, "I'm also delivering Shadow Stalker for enrollment into the Wards program. She is here voluntarily. I'm ensuring her transition into PRT custody is conducted properly."

  The attendant froze for half a second while her brain went into exe. Mode, it was long enough to betray shock, but she recovered fast and then resumed typing, posture stiffening with sudden urgency, even as she muttered something I couldn't exactly make out.

  Sophia stood silent beside me. Her mask hid her expression, but the tension in her stance spoke volumes. This was the first time she had ever walked into the PRT building voluntarily, of course. The last three times they approached her, she rejected them outright.

  The attendant swallowed. "O-of course. I'll notify the appropriate department."

  She hesitated, of course. I wonder if we actually look that intimidating. She then glanced up at me again, visibly unsure whether she should question anything.

  I didn't give her reason to fear me, of course. Or maybe it's the uniform. It is the uniform, isnt it?

  "I will provide all necessary documentation regarding my powers, my intended operations within Brockton Bay, and my cooperative stance with the PRT."

  I said, tone professional enough to define the moment. "Shadow Stalker will undergo the usual intake procedures. I'm here to confirm her identity and condition for record purposes."

  The attendant nodded quickly, almost gratefully, having clear directions to follow.

  Shadow Stalker shifted her weight, the slightest scrape of her boot against the tile. Impatient. Irritated. But she stayed where she was. Because she had chosen to. Because she trusted me at least enough to let the process unfold.

  The attendant typed a final sequence, then gestured stiffly toward the security doors.

  "Please wait by the intake corridor. A team will arrive shortly to escort her."

  I inclined my head politely, then guided Sophia toward the designated area. Her steps were stiff but deliberate, echoing softly in the sterile hall. Everyone is so stiff in here. It's stifling even for me.

  Ugh…Do we really have to wait? How long does the Cape need to be here? Armmaster is probably busy tinkering or something. Shadow Stalker waited beside me, arms folded, shoulders squared as if she were annoyed. She wasn't enjoying this either. She radiated impatience, but she hadn't bolted. A step in the right direction.

  The security door at the far end clicked open with a hydraulic sigh.

  Armsmaster entered first, ask and ye shall receive!!

  helmet pristine like a super sentai, armour immaculate like one of those sleek super hero power armour from those action 80s anime, posture so precise it bordered on architectural. Behind him walked Miss Militia, symbol of everything that screams "Murrica" with those badass bandoliers and military fatigue and stars and stripes.

  She got that calm and steady look on her, too, followed by Assault and Battery, whose contrasting demeanours created a strange balance: one relaxed and grinning, the other composed and alert. The armour on those two looks like Saka borgs fully suit up in Corpo Elite battlegear. Assault with red Battle gear and a visor. The only thing missing is an Arasaka Logo. hah! The battery looks like a netrunner. white and dark grey costume with circuit-like cobalt blue lines on it to channel her powers. Contrasting how Assault looks compared to the less armoured looking of the quartet crew that's meeting me today.

  Their arrival shifted the air. Authority had a weight to it, and they carried it effortlessly. Perks of being part of the PRT leadership, I suppose? Or just seniority in the line of work. Armsmaster approached with the efficiency of someone who had already reviewed the situation with years of experience in the field. It shows.

  "Dreamhack," he said, voice synthesised but unmistakably measured. "I was informed you arrived with Shadow Stalker for Wards' induction, and that you intend to register as an independent."

  I inclined my head. "Call me Mr J and that's correct. I want clear channels with the PRT and no ambiguity regarding my operations in the city."

  Miss Militia's gaze slid to Sophia as she scanned her, assessing and evaluating her new gear, but not unkind. "It's unusual to see Shadow Stalker arrive voluntarily and with…an upgraded equipment."

  Sophia stiffened but remained silent. This wasn't bravado, this is... her being disciplined, I guess. Or the closest approximation she had ever attempted.

  I kept my tone neutral and focused on the matter at hand. "She's here because she chose to be. She will follow the PRT structure, oversight, and responsibilities. There are no circumstances of coercion, no disciplinary issues prompting the transfer. This is a clean entry."

  Battery nodded once, accepting the statement without visible scepticism. Assault, predictably, tilted his head, curious but not openly intrusive.

  Armsmaster addressed Sophia directly. "Your decision to join the Wards program is noted. You'll undergo standard orientation, clearance, and baseline testing. From there, the Director will finalise your placement."

  Sophia gave a tight nod. The effort it took was visible only because I knew where to look.

  Miss Militia stepped forward, her tone reassuring. "You'll be given support, structure, and opportunities to develop. The Wards program is built for young capes who want to do better with themselves and the city."

  Sophia's throat bobbed with a swallow. She didn't meet the woman's eyes, but she didn't look away from the group either.

  Progress, I guess? She's really leaving all the talking to me, isn't she? I did tell her to.

  Armsmaster returned his attention to me. "Your independent registration will require an in-depth interview and documentation of your abilities, infrastructure, and operational intentions. Director Piggot will likely want a meeting."

  "That's expected," I said. Nothing new with that, I almost expected it too.

  "You also delivered a… crate," he added, pausing with the faintest hint of curiosity. "Your ride unit is currently outside assisting with placement."

  "Neosteel samples," I confirmed. "Officially offered to the PRT for research and logistical applications. Consider it a goodwill gesture." Everyone likes free stuff, right?

  Miss Militia's eyes warmed slightly in approval. Assault muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "sweet," earning a sharp elbow from Battery. I doubt it actually hurt, but the guy is full of drama and went with the punches, showing off faux pain.

  Armsmaster gestured toward Sophia. "If you're ready, we'll begin with power testing."

  Sophia inhaled slowly a bracing breath, then stepped forward with steady feet.

  I watched her go, flanked by Miss Militia and Battery, with Assault trailing behind, still curious. Armsmaster lingered a moment and then left with Shadow for her power testing. It's nothing much to test; her powers are pretty one-dimensional. They probably wanted to test the armour and new gear.

  "You've done something unusual," he said. "Shadow Stalker rarely listens to anyone," said Miss Militia as she walked closer to me.

  "She listened because she wanted to," I replied. Shadow stalker dont take answers from anyone unless said answer is agreeable with her. Hopefully, they can try to work with her, even with my meddling.

  Her expression was serious, businesslike, but I knew something was up, itching as she wanted to ask me something "Mr J, yes? I have a question," she started, lowering her voice so it wouldn't distract Sophia, "we've reviewed Shadow Stalker's file. With everything that's gone down, the PRT is planning to apprehend her and bring her in by force if necessary. She'll be enrolled in the Wards program whether she wants to or not."

  I frowned, tightening my grip on the railing. "She's here willingly. She hasn't done anything violent outside of self-defence, and she's working with you now. So what's the issue?"

  Miss Militia's eyes didn't waver. "Policy doesn't take willingness into account. The PRT doesn't leave high-threat capes unmonitored. Shadow Stalker's behaviour before joining voluntarily was an issue. We can't leave her unchecked like that."

  I shook my head, feeling the familiar tension coil in my chest. "It's precisely why I brought her here. She's cooperating, and she's under my supervision. Forcing her in isn't just going to make her hostile. Are you suggesting she's not going to get the proper treatment she deserves? Are you gonna treat her like she's some sort of delinquent?"

  Militia's voice was calm, almost clinical. "Trust is secondary to containment. You know that. But… we can discuss accommodations, maybe integrate her gradually. Still, she has to be observed. That's non-negotiable."

  I exhaled, staring down at Sophia as she phased through the concrete mock-ups. "I get the rules, but I'm not letting them strong-arm her. If you're planning to do this, it'll be on my terms, not theirs."

  Miss Militia tilted her head slightly, acknowledging my statement. "We can work with something when the Director is available if your terms are acceptable. But understand this: if she steps out of line-."

  I nodded grimly. "She's my responsibility a well. She was rejected three times before this. Your recruitment drive is a little too forceful."

  Miss Militia didn't say anything, but I know she was thinking about it.

  Sophia was moving through the phased concrete obstacles with a precision that made my chest tighten. Each step, each subtle shift of her body, left the walls and floor reacting in ways that I could monitor through my HUD, the readings spiking slightly every time she emerged from one phase to another. The armour holds up so far, not interfering with power interaction. We didn't get to test it extensively, so it's good to see that it holds up on repeated power use.

  I kept my eyes on her, making mental notes, while the PRT team. Armmaster, Assault, and Battery watched with professional detachment. Their notes were precise, almost clinical, but I could see their curiosity flaring every time Sophia executed a particularly difficult manoeuvre. High school athlete talent right there.

  "Good," Armmaster said quietly, not wanting to break her focus. "Try incorporating lateral movement while phasingkeep your momentum consistent."

  Sophia tilted her head, a little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I'm fine. I've got this."

  I smiled faintly. She might be defiant, but she was learning quickly, adapting faster than I expected. This would give her leverage with the PRT. If they saw her abilities paired with the armour's sensors, they'd understand she wasn't just a liability despite past issues; they'd see her potential.

  The drills continued, Sophia phasing through walls, floors, and obstacles with fluidity. Every time she emerged, I could see Armmaster taking rapid notes, calculating distances and phase intervals. Assault and Battery nodded at each other quietly, impressed.

  I wish I could bring my sidearm, the P220, not because I expected trouble, but because I couldn't let anyone forget she was under my protection. The more control I demonstrated here, the better our position when the PRT tried to intervene with Shadow Stalker. To them, I might just seem like a harmless Tinker with Mechs and a giant building up in their backyard. Coming in here with no guns is just me doing my due diligence as a sign of respect.

  Finally, Sophia landed on the ground, breathing evenly, eyes sparkling with a mix of exhilaration and pride. She turned to me, giving a small nod. "That's the last set. You happy?"

  I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. "Very. You handled that like a pro. Keep this up, and when the PRT comes knocking, you'll have the metrics to show them exactly what you're capable of and why they can't force you into anything unprepared."

  Sophia grinned, brushing off her sleeves. "Good. I don't plan to be anyone's puppet."

  I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. Assault just watched while grinning, god knows what in his hand, probably some sort of joke. Man's got jokes for days and never seems that serious on the outside after all. I wondered if that's just a persona or his real outlook on things.

  The PRT could try to strong-arm Shadow Stalker or Sophia, but they'd quickly realise they were negotiating with people who knew their worth.

  For now, though, we'd keep training, keep building, and keep control in our hands. Everything else would come later. Armmaster's eyes swept over the collection I'd brought: the neatly stacked sheets of neosteel, a few grav bombs I'd fabricated, a holopad, and a single spare defence matrix. I could tell he was processing it all, trying to figure out where to slot me in.

  I could see the shine in his eyes, even if it's hidden by that helmet of his, and the only thing I could see is that glorious beard.

  Beardmaster indeed.

  "Your specialisation," he said, voice calm but carrying that subtle weight of authority, "is in structures, factories, repairs… so these items are outside your core focus?"

  I nodded, keeping my tone measured. "Correct. Buildings, manufacturing, and tech deployment are my primary interests. These other items are byproducts, things I made with my team. They're meant to show what my group can do when fully operational."

  I watched as his expression shifted. Subtle disbelief, then recognition. They hadn't expected me to mention a team. The weight of that realisation seemed to settle in the room.

  "Your team?" Armmaster asked, his voice tight with curiosity now. "How many… and what sort of coordination are we talking about?"

  Miss Militia and even Assault and Battery immediately look at my outfit, especially at the logo to the side of my arm, the DAF acronym.

  I gave a small shrug, letting the implication hang in the air. "Enough to operate independently if I'm not available. Enough to construct, defend, and deploy. They're trained under the same tech protocols as myself." Perhaps that's enough for them to stay off my lawn for a time. While I use said time to prep forward.

  The pause that followed was long enough for me to see Battery and Assault exchange quiet, astonished glances. No one had expected a single parahuman to have such infrastructure already in place. No one expected to anyway, according to common sense, even in this world's common sense. Me working in a team? Isnt too far-fetched to say..I made all these things myself. A little white lie that pays in dividends.

  Shadow stalker just scoffed at what I just said since she knew.

  "Impressive," Armmaster finally said, the word carrying both admiration and cautious respect. "If you can integrate that with the PRT protocols… this could change how we handle support units entirely."

  I let that statement sink in, knowing I'd just raised the stakes. Shadow Stalker, Sophia, and Trainwreck were all part of my broader capability. They weren't aware yet of the full scale, but showing even a sliver of it was enough to establish that I wasn't just another parahuman showing up with a single power, and I intend to recruit more people either way.

  He had his scanners scan the neosteel I brought him, engineered by Terran ingenuity. Armmaster moved closer to the stack of neosteel, his sensors whirring softly as he initiated a scan. I let him work, curious to see how much he could detect without me saying a word.

  The first readout made him pause. His eyes widened, and a faint hitch ran through his voice. "This… this isn't standard neosteel composition. The alloys… the structural integrity… it's,,, how?" He trailed off, shaking his head.

  He ran a second scan, slower this time, almost like he didn't want to believe the first. "These microstructures… they're reinforced at a subatomic level. Embedded nano-fibres…with elemental catalyst? Which element? These energy-diffusion matrices… Are you telling me this was fabricated?"

  I didn't say anything and just stared. Let him make his own opinion. The less I say, the better. His fingers danced over his console, pulling up readings, diagrams, schematics, and the data streaming from the neosteel itself. Every new page made his brow furrow, then his jaw slacken in disbelief.

  "I… I can't reconcile this," he muttered under his breath. "These alloys are stronger than standard military spec, lighter than expected, and… some of these signatures…" He trailed off again, staring at the stack as though it had grown legs and walked out of another dimension.

  He shook his head violently, almost like he was denying what his own sensors were telling him. "This… this shouldn't exist. The fabrication process… the integration… It's not something a single parahuman or even a small team should be capable of. Impossible." Now that got me really interested. Are you saying not even the great Dragon could do what I do? He's probably exaggerating, isnt he?

  His hands hovered over the console, frozen, as he stared at the material like he'd just seen magic. A quiet hum of awe and disbelief filled the room, the kind that comes when someone realises they're staring at something beyond the boundaries of everything they've ever been trained to expect.

  "Uhhh..What just happened?" I asked curiously…

  Did I short-circuit his Tinker shard?

  **********************

  A/N

  Hmm. I have a different, more confrontational episode in my mind, but it didn't translate well on the page. I still think I could do better. Maybe in the next chapter.