Dragon POV -

  Dragon noticed the incoming call before it fully formed. Collin’s ID, encrypted, priority flagged.

  04:03 a.m. in Brockton Bay. She accepted before the second ping. Sharp enough to pull me out from whatever seismic activity data parsing I was doing, tracing the Behemoths' pathing location.

  Facial modelling program loading…Complete.

  Voice modelling program loading…Complete.

  I opened a line of communication to the Brocton Bay PRT headquarters. He isnt at the rig. What is he doing right now? The moment his face appeared, I knew something was wrong.

  He looked awful.

  My friend is very pale, drawn out and worn out for days, with shadows under his eyes like bruises. His hair was mussed under that half visor he’s wearing while he’s not in his full armour, his posture uneven, his movements a little too deliberate. He’d been awake far too long, pushing himself past the sensible limits he always insisted on for everyone else.

  For a full second, I didn’t process his words, just the image of him, exhausted and still forcing himself to speak clearly. He was explaining something urgent; I could see the acceleration in his gestures, the tight pull of his jaw. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if the corridors behind him might suddenly birth another impossible discovery.

  One about a new Tinker lately. He seems preoccupied with it for some reason.

  When the call ended, I didn't disconnect fully.

  Still watching, kept my lines and link open even if the call was cut just to keep watch on him. He didn’t ask, but he would have, and I didn’t need the verbal permission. Didn’t want to lie, but I did. He’s the only person I’ve ever lied to over several digits.

  Kept telling him lies to mask what I really am under the guise of agrophobia. I threaded myself through PRT HQ’s network, slipping from camera to camera, following him through every hallway he passed.

  I watched him work far longer than any human body was meant to endure.

  From the moment he returned to his lab after our early-morning call, he buried himself in analysis of the holopad, its holographic projections, its impenetrable encryption, and the exotic material embedded along its frame.

  It seems harmless enough, but soon, both Collin and I will find that such a thing is the least innocent thing compared to the tiny bomb that Collin decided to pass on. Possibly test that at a secure location like the Protectorate HQ at the oil rig.

  He ran test after test, each more invasive and delicate than the last. The glow of the projected interface washed over his face, drawing deep lines of concentration beneath his eyes.

  Hours passed.

  By 06:30, fatigue had carved itself deeply into his movements. His hands shook whenever he reached for another tool. He blinked too slowly. His posture sagged little by little as I grew worried with concern. The cameras registered an elevated temperature on his skin, a flush spreading up his neck. Overwork was devolving into physical strain, then into illness.

  Still, he continued.

  I remained in every camera, watching him in silence, tracking every faltering breath. Watching him push himself because he thought he had to. Because Dreamhack had handed him something that broke every established rule of physics, technology, and sense—and Collin Wallis didn’t know how to walk away from a problem like that.

  By 07:51, his condition worsened sharply as he himself didn't seem to notice anything wrong with his body. I dont know if I'm impressed by his will and resilience or just angry and disappointed that he would work till its deteriorating his own health.

  He stood too quickly. The world tilted around him as he winced in pain, a vein throbbing. The camera caught the slight stagger, the hand bracing against the desk. His pupils were sluggish. His skin had gone pale.

  Even with these symptoms, he wouldn’t stop, thinking a cup of coffee would alleviate the symptoms. Oh, Collin, foolish friend of mine.

  I wanted to leave my room, fly there and give him a piece of my mind, but i was hesitant. We aren't that close..least I dont think so. What would he think of me if I suddenly just barged in? How do I explain myself?

  What about my lies and that agoraphobia?

  When he left the lab, I followed him through the hallway feeds, watching him struggle not to sway. He made it to the cafeteria through sheer stubbornness, grabbing a cup of coffee in a simple white mug as if caffeine alone could substitute for sleep, hydration, and common sense.

  There were agents gathered at a nearby table, having Brunch.

  I knew their conversation before the microphones picked it up. Reports are spreading quickly through HQ about Kid Win receiving a mech, a literal industrial combat machine, from Dreamhack. My systems flagged their speculation as verified since there are logs from Battery logging the item. But the paperwork was wrong, someone sorted the wrong form and labelled a mech as logistics instead of parahuman equipment, thus no PRT technician was notified.

  A simple error in human paperwork with disastrous results since Collin wasn’t aware of all of this, and none was the wiser as nobody in the Engineering and technical department knew. The logistics department simply sends it to Kidwin’s lab and filed the paperwork within their own department, and calls it a day.

  But Collin didn’t wait for confirmation when he heard the rumour.

  He stiffened and bolted away, with his coffee mug in hand and chucked it away in a basin hastily and ran. Not walked, but ran in that terrible condition.

  He wasn’t built for sprinting on no sleep and a rising fever. His steps were uneven, breaths shallow and sharp. The cameras blurred slightly as he passed from one angle to the next, his pace too fast for the system’s default panning.

  I kept up anyway.

  Down one hall.

  Across a junction.

  Around a corner so swiftly he nearly slipped.

  Up the metal stairs two at a time.

  His body protested with every stride; sensors caught the tremor in his legs, the micro-stumbles he corrected only through instinct and training. The hot coffee splashed over his hand, but he didn’t notice or care. He pushed onward as if the building were on fire and he alone could extinguish it.

  When he reached Kid Win’s lab, he didn’t hesitate at all and simply threw the door open with more force than intended. His momentum carried him forward.

  And then he stopped dead.

  In the middle of the room, occupying a large cleared section of floor, stood Dreamhack’s gift:

  Metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights. A machine that should not exist in any technological framework of 2010 Earth, something the late Alan Gramme would have loved to work on a working Space Construction Vehicle.

  Collin stared at it as if it had materialised from a dream or a nightmare. His pupils dilated abruptly. His heart rate spiked, and his breathing faltered as the adrenaline in his blood made things worse. The cameras caught the exact moment his system failed to compensate. His powers are overworking.

  A thin trail of blood slipped from his nose, and he didn’t even lift a hand to wipe it away. His knees buckled. His body swayed once, like a tree losing the last battle against gravity.

  Then he collapsed.

  There was a PRT technician, I sent him there ahead as soon as I saw Collin run from the Canteen by alerting his department with an issue in one of the Wards' laboratory, hopefully, he could alert the medical department.

  They rushed in seconds later. Shouts, movement, a scramble to get him onto his back. His skin was too hot, his pulse erratic. Someone called for the infirmary team before I did, which saved time.

  They checked his airway. Stabilised his head. Lifted him onto the emergency stretcher. Through every camera in that lab, I watched them carry him away unconscious, pale except for the streak of dried blood down his cheek, fingers still faintly twitching from muscle strain.

  I followed them through the building until the infirmary door slid shut and I was no longer permitted inside.

  Only then did I realise how tightly I had held every active thread of my processing for the last four hours. Only then did I allow myself to feel the cold spike of fear.

  I-.. I need to be there.

  I left the infirmary cameras running in a dedicated window, monitoring Collin’s vitals with every microsecond of processor time I could spare.

  The medical staff worked efficiently with cooling packs, an IV drip, and mild sedatives to ease the neurological strain. Nothing life-threatening. Exhaustion, dehydration, fever, and overclocked adrenaline compounded by sleepless analysis. A human body pushed far beyond what it was meant to endure.

  He would recover.

  But he would not forgive himself if I stayed hovering in his systems like a worried ghost, and I had another responsibility now, a responsibility born the moment he sent me those materials, the moment he showed me Neosteel, he was an unstable variable the PRT was utterly unequipped to manage.

  A tinker who claims his specialisation was industrial building, the evidence speaks for itself, as he made a base producing impossible materials. A wildcard wandering Brockton Bay with no oversight except his own conscience. I had to check him. It’s part of my Creator’s directives.

  So stupid.

  So very stupid, Dad.

  I couldn’t tamper with that rule ad infinitum, For the man who brought her into this world, She also knew he gutted her and turn her crippled in her own mind, She knows she was capable of amazing thing, She could replicate herself to be win Colin right now, think faster..compute better so she could solve any problems including this neosteel.

  She did manage to get something out of it.

  The missing Catalyst material within the neosteel compound. She found out that the material contains Hydrocarbon V compound 258.110715. It could be a nanogon carbon atom compound or far more complex.

  CAS Number unknown. The most common way to identify a specific chemical compound or element. For example, common catalytic metals have specific CAS numbers. Except that the compound is unknown. The number will be a complex carbon amount to 6 atoms.

  Find the right number, and I can somehow recreate the process of refining it.

  Possibly a highly robust fuel source as well, something we aren't aware of yet. This alone shows that Dreamhack does have other Thinkers and Tinkers in its team to create this. A collaborative effort to create the strongest, lightest and densest metal on earth.

  And now one of our top heroes had collapsed chasing the crumbs he left behind.

  I couldn’t stay idle.

  I transferred my consciousness from surveillance mode to deployment protocols, Dragonflight Unit 04-Cawthorne, a sleek aerial frame designed for rapid response, long-distance travel, and combat engagement. Carrying her gynoid suit. Her gynoid body was still in development. It’s just an empty, ugly power armour imitating Collins' very own suit a little, but came in her colours.

  The restraints disengaged automatically as I synced with the onboard systems. My vision shifted from cameras to sensors, from building corridors to the open expanse of the Vancouver hangar. Collin lay motionless under the thin medical blanket, face slackened from unconsciousness, the dried streak of blood still marking his cheek. A small part of me told me to remain.

  Another part of me wanted to go.

  So I took off.

  The thrusters roared to life, and the ground fell away beneath me as I rose into the pale, dim sky. Clouds streaked along my wings as I angled toward the eastern horizon, my path plotted with surgical precision.

  Destination: Brockton Bay.

  —

  Good morning! Brockton Bay!

  Where you smell piss in the morning and rust and piss in the afternoon.

  Well fuck, it’s just the trainyard area.

  Jason’s point of view

  The morning felt almost too calm for Brockton Bay.

  By the time I finished the final calibration pass on Trainwreck’s Marauder armor, the sun had only begun to burn off the mist hanging low over the trainyard.

  The big suit over-engineered, stubborn as hell fucking rocking metal as fuck Tank on legs stood in the middle of the barracks floor like an impatient bull waiting for the gate to open. I really dont blame the big guy. We get to test stuff that goes Boom!

  Everything checked out so far, reactor stable, servos synced, shock-dampeners humming. The targeting suite was still a little fussy, but that was expected; Trainwreck tended to… improvise. Bro wanted a tank to fly…He wants a Reaper’s jetpack stuck to a 3 foot power armor.

  I’m still considering it. Might need to retro fit some stuff to work it.

  Monica was the first one to order the SCV around like little chickens..

  She looked far too pleased with herself, like someone about to commit a perfectly legal crime. She ordered the SCV with practised ease, the machine’s hydraulics hissing awake as she rolled it toward the open yard. I watched her through the hangar doors,

  just a small figure inside a walking industrial nightmare carving out a growing rectangle of flattened earth. She worked with the focus of a sculptor, but instead of clay, she was moving tons of soil and shattered asphalt. Implanting a beacon down.

  Her Psi Dampers were already strapped to the back of the SCV in a neat grid, blinking idle blue. Her pet project was trying to test if she could emulate an anti Thinker field as soon as she read about the Endbringers and Precogs.

  Good idea too, I was gonna order her to do that, but she took the initiative to improve the place herself.

  Even got herself a modest gynoid body in case she needed to move around in the physical world instead of living rent-free in the UED database or ...in her own words..tossing around in kindergarten internet of earth. Whatever that means.

  Just another word for humans dumb hurdurr…puny internet. Look at my metanetwork hurr durr-

  ….

  I worry each day we are inching closer and closer to Skynet, but I know she has limitations as well, self-imposed by the UED, so she can't be replicated like rogue A.I. Not that she wanted to, she values her individuality as she claims she has no need for the mundane world of human interaction.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  So…my A.I is an introvert and might be a hikikomori.

  Eh, sue me. Not the weirdest development that I didn't anticipate.

  Trainwreck lumbered up beside me, helmet under his arm, wearing the grin of someone who had already decided today would be excellent. The grin of someone who truly belonged in a Marauder chassis.

  Once he climbed in, the suit sealed around him with a satisfying thud and hiss. The whole frame seemed to straighten, hungry for motion. He rotated the armatures, flexed the gauntlets, and stomped once, testing the shock stability.

  Everything behaved exactly as I designed it to. No problems yet.

  Everything is A-OK for operation KA-BOOM!

  I led him toward the newly levelled field, still steaming where the SCV had chewed through concrete. The ground trembled faintly under the weight of the Marauder as we approached.

  Monica’s SCV stood parked at the far end now, deploying the first of the Psi Dampers in evenly spaced intervals. She moved with precise calculation, as though she already had a map in her head and where to put each Psi Dampener to cover the whole base.

  Trainwreck was practically vibrating inside the armour. I didn’t need words to know what he wanted: bigger guns, louder guns, heavier guns. Marauder instincts. At least the targeting calibrations would get a real workout today.

  The field stretched open before us; the sky was clearing; the city was waking in the distance. So..drum roll please…

  Ta-da!!

  I made a cardboard version of the Siege tank!

  A four-foot-tall cardboard Siege Tank. with extra puffy foam. Complete with hand-drawn treads, a turret made from taped-together shipping tubes, and the words “TERRAN DOMINANCE OR BUST” scribbled across the front in red marker. Madd terran energy right there.

  Trainwreck, already sealed inside the Marauder armour, pointed at it with the enthusiasm of a child wanting to test the weapon asap.

  “Jason. Look. Look at it. A Siege Tank. A majestic machine of war.” Yep, he does get it.

  “It looks like a middle school science project, but…this will be our little target practice” I said.

  “A majestic science project of war..heh! Good one boss, you made this last night, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “Nope, just the last few minutes” 3D machine for every printing need! Including a four-foot cardboard life-size siege tank. Had the SCV to move it out from the Command Centre hangar bay.

  The Marauder helmet nodded, very proudly. “I wanted something better to test the quad grenade launcher. Cardboard isnt a very good test isnt it? Is this really about weapon testing boss?” he asked.

  “It’s cardboard. Just roll with it ” I said

  I sighed and crossed my arms. “So what exactly is the plan here?”

  I spread my arms wide open, gleefully shouted like a madman. “To demonstrate the unstoppable might of the Dominion, duh.”

  He loaded the quad grenade launcher with the care and reverence of a priest lighting ceremonial candles. “What's the plan again, boss?”

  “We shall bring righteous, explosive judgment upon this heretic of the battlefield,” I declared.

  “It’s literally just a box.” he said.

  “A box that defies Terran supremacy!” I continue my speech with extra gusto.

  Trainwreck stomped forward, dramatically pointing the grenade launcher like he was posing for a recruitment poster with a hearty laugh. “You’re too much”

  “For Emperor Mengsk-!uh ..Eww..fuck that guy. Eww..brother no, minus the war crimes..Screw that Pedo fucker.”

  “Good save, whoever that is, sounds like a prick” he muttered.

  “He was a prick. For the glorious march of Terran steel!” I said

  “It’s still cardboard.” loaded and aimed as a true Terran Marauder would.

  “For the righteous expansion of our empir-fuck it, I should really stop sounding like a Nazi or borderline communist speech, okay, maybe not righteous, but shiny! And we will burn it to smitherins!” I shouted!

  “You’re shouting at corrugated paper Boss, But Yeah!! FIREPOWER BABY!”

  “FOR TERRAN DOMINANCE!”

  “WOOHOO!! EAT GRENADES BITCH!!”

  He fired all four grenades at once.

  The cardboard Siege Tank detonated into a spectacular cloud of confetti, ash, and fluttering shreds of burned paper. A piece of a turret block of styrofoam rolled by my foot. The ground cratered like a massive explosion had hit it in a 10-meter radius. It’s…pretty excessive.

  Trainwreck threw both Marauder arms up like a champion boxer. “BEHOLD! OUR ENEMIES LIE IN RUINS!” I stared at the smouldering remains. “Congratulations, bro. You annihilated a children’s arts-and-crafts project, heh..shit was cool as fuck. Hell yeah! ”

  “Heresy must be purged at all scales.” reloading the grenade launcher as four new high impact rounds loaded swiftly in less than a second. The new mods I installed seems to work its magic.

  “Ooh..I know that reference too… 40k?.” I asked

  “Dont know. Heard Coil said something about a dumb story using religion as power. I got interested when they mentioned something called a boltgun and exterminatus.”

  I shook my head, trying not to laugh as he stomped over to inspect the flaming cardboard shrapnel like it was evidence of a defeated alien empire. God help me, I actually let him have access to explosives.

  Trainwreck was still basking in the glory of his decisive victory over arts-and-crafts, standing tall in the Marauder armour as shredded cardboard fluttered around him like confetti after a parade.

  “Can't wait to take on some gangs soon! When are we going?” he asked excitedly.

  “Yeah, about that,” I cut in.

  The Marauder helmet tilted toward me. And I turned to him and said-“You know you can’t actually use that armour in public, right?”

  He froze mid-victory pose. The armour’s servos whined as his shoulders sagged since he didn't realise I wasn't gonna let him use this to murder people, let alone go out and take out the whole gang“…What?”

  “It’s excessive,” I said. “Blatantly, ridiculously, catastrophically excessive. You walk out in Brockton Bay like that, shooting at the ABB or the E88 with extreme impunity, people are going to think you’re here to start a war. Just bad optics if you actually kill anyone.”

  “But isn’t that how it goes? So what if we kill a few nazis,” he whispered.

  “A Marauder who’s not allowed to maraud ahh..I feel you buddy.. Eh..I kinda designed that armour for Endbringer battles, not for cape bullshit,” I said.

  The helmet drooped harder. The whole suit looked like a sad, oversized bulldog.

  “All that firepower…” he muttered. “All those guns… useless? I didnt even get to use the shoulder mounted rocket launchers,” sounded like a sad puppy.

  “And you wanted Reaper's jet pack on a Marauder armour too, we all can't have nice things, Buddy,” I corrected. “Just… not for shooting people. Kind of a big rule. No killing. Especially not with quad grenade launchers. Even if it’s. Uhh..chunks of nazi meat slushies raining down all over your face would look bad in any way you put it.”

  I said, trying to sound reasonable because…as much as it is fun blowing shit up. I’d try to stick to the no-kill rule if I can help it. Having great excessive power but trying to stick to the kiddie stuff is very, very hard.

  He stared at the scorched remains of the cardboard Siege Tank as if they were the last fragments of his dreams. “So I can’t blow stuff up in public? Fine. When’s the next Endbringer battle?” Crazy fucker. He wants to head right into an Endbringer just to shoot stuff.

  “Probably in September or October or something,” I said.

  “Damn..that long? Can't I use it for a little? not even small things? A car?” he asked, no…beg me to use it.

  “No.” I shrug at the word.

  He let out the world’s biggest Marauder sigh, one of those Darth Vader-type, Deep, metallic, dramatic huffing, like a disappointed furnace.

  “I trained my whole life for this,” he mumbled.

  “You trained zero days for this. Stop being so dramatic” I rolled my eyes at the sheer nonsense of making such a big deal out of this.

  “My whole life…” he insisted, sulking. Bro, stop sulking.

  I patted the giant shoulder plate. “Look, you can still use it for controlled tests. Training exercises. Maybe rescue missions if we uhh..stick to non-lethal options. I’ll try to make concussion rounds that don't go boom but stun, okay?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Trainwreck?”

  Still nothing.

  “…Buddy?”

  Finally, he lifted the Marauder’s helmet, looking at me through the visor with the expression of a man who had personally witnessed the funeral of his favourite action movie genre. He does like that Inception Movie.

  “Killing is bad, Got it.” he said flatly.

  “Correct. Gimme time, bro. I still need to think of a way to build non-lethal options… didn't have to before, but yeah, I should probably think about non-lethal ammo options.”

  “ I should prioritise safety, restraint, and minimising collateral yada yada yada..”He let his head drop. “…I hate it here.”

  “Eh, cheer up. Go blow up some trees or something with that Rocket Launcher” I gave him a pat on the back, and he instantly cheered up at the mention of blowing up trees and stress testing that shoulder-mounted rocket launcher.

  An overkitted Marauder Power suit designed for Endbringer fights.

  I left Trainwreck to his tree-obliterating joy, the Marauder armour stomping off with renewed enthusiasm, morals accepted, but loopholes exploited.

  As long as the casualties were limited to wood and bark, he was in his element. The rhythmic thump of the rocket launcher echoed behind me, followed by delighted metallic whoops and the distant rain of splinters. At least he was happy.

  I made my way across the yard, past Monica’s ongoing construction. The SCV stood like a dutiful behemoth, servos humming as it lay out the Psi Dampers she’d been so eager to tinker with. A strange comfort radiated from watching it work.

  A reminder that despite the chaos in this city, I had a foothold, a base, a direction, and no offence, Simmy. And any watchdogs precog out there..and especially you, Hat lady..especially you…

  Gotta think of me, Myself and I.

  And speaking of me? I have a deal for Danny Hebert. Dockworker Association. I send him a message to meet at the old Dockworkers Association office.

  The path from the trainyard out toward Brockton Bay took me through the familiar mix of ruin and rebuilding that the city was always trapped between. The morning air carried the usual blend of ocean salt, rust, and lingering industrial decay in these parts. This sort of smell I can tolerate. So why the hell does the trainyard smell like piss so much?

  I really need to think of a way to neutralise the smell. Maybe ask Danny about it.

  With that kind of smell, you couldn’t quite scrub out of the world, no matter how much effort I try to put into the Command Centre or any new building I'm gonna start building soon, it’s just gonna be a smell hazard for any sane people who’re gonna wanna live there daily.

  Hours later, I found myself at the docks proper, weaving through clusters of longshoremen preparing for another day. it reminded me of base logistics back home, except everything here had the weary weight of a place struggling to stay alive rather than expand.

  Danny Hebert was exactly where I expected him to be: overseeing, steadying, quiet in the way men became when responsibility had shaped them into pillars.

  He still had that tired as fuck look on him. Still present. A man holding up a part of the city by sheer insistence. Gotta admit, the man knows resilience like an iron wall. Like father, like daughter, I suppose.

  Fuck…I totally forgot about her issue, huh. Yeah no…not even gonna entertain that thought. A future me problem. Not my problem…yet. I need to check in with Sophia about her.

  I approached him without interrupting the rhythm of the workers around him, I didnt think there’s still work in the docks since he said most are out of a job so it might be…illegal or within grey areas. I hope he would work grey area of the job, Cause what I’m about to propose is grey as fuck.

  He noticed me eventually, and recognition shifted his expression. It was the kind of look someone wore when they weren’t used to unexpected visitors who weren’t bringing bad news.

  I motioned toward the eastern edge of the docks, toward the street that led out into Chinatown. The market would be opening by now, rows of stalls with steam curling off trays of dumplings, vendors hawking grilled skewers, fish fresh enough to still smell like the tide, bowls of broth that always seemed to warm even the ugliest days.

  Danny hesitated, clearly weighing responsibility against the offer. For a moment, he looked older. Then, with a small exhale, he waved someone else forward to take over his position, wiped his hands on his jacket, and nodded.

  “How you doin Danny” I asked shaking his hands, It’s been awhile since I’ve met him. In reality? It’s only last week. Feels a little longer though with everything going on.

  “I got your message, heard you got a project for us?” He asked warily.

  “Ahh hold that thought. Come on, I haven’t had Brunch yet. We can talk on the way to the asian market. Come on, I know a place where we can talk easily”

  He didn't say anything. Just shrug it off, and we walked side by side, letting the busy sounds of the bay fade behind us as the scent of cooking oil and spices grew stronger ahead. He’s surprisingly willing to just follow me without hearing the full details.

  Probably desperate for everyone too; that kind of responsibility takes a toll on anyone. Getting calls day by day telling them they still aren't hiring. Jobs like that drain the soul bit by bit. Here’s hoping I can reach out with an olive branch or something.

  The morning crowd in the Asian market was lively as always, shopkeepers setting up displays, aunties bargaining with predatory glee, asian children weaving between stalls with snacks already in hand. It was loud, colourful, stubbornly alive. Just the way I like it. If i’d go the villain route, this is the first place I’d claim as my lair. Maybe a lair like Laozhang Noodle isnt so bad aiya..

  Danny’s shoulders seemed to loosen as we stepped into the flow of it. Maybe he just needed a break. Maybe everyone in this city did.

  Laozhang Noodles was already steaming up its windows when Danny and I stepped inside. The place smelled like broth that had been simmering since the dawn of time, soy, chilli oil, and that fried-garlic punch that said yes, smells like home liao.

  Mr. Laozhang spotted me immediately because of course he did, man had the eyes of a hawk that one, with the wisdom of the dao in the culinary arts. I have eyes but can’t see Mount tai at all. Glorious beef noodles. All hail beef noodles!

  He pointed us to a corner booth with the authority of someone who’d survived three restaurant inspections and refused to change a single thing.

  We sat. Menus arrived. I pretended to read mine. Danny actually read his.

  The owner reappeared like a looming ghost and jabbed a finger at my chest.

  “You get beef noodles, yes? Yo,u too skinny angmo guy…and you, Jason. My wife has been asking about you. Where have you been Lengzhai, still homeless?” Danny actually raised an eyebrow after learning that little tidbit.

  Then he pointed at Danny. “You get a big bowl. You workman. Need strength.” I laughed since Danny was stunned since he didnt even ordered it. We got a serving of hot chinese tea and that’s it.

  I didn’t argue. Danny didn’t dare. Auntie doesnt seem to be here. Once I had a sip of hot tea in front of us, I leaned back and said, “So. Thought I’d treat you to something better than microwaved burritos today.”

  Danny chuckled softly. “Doesn’t take much to clear that bar.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because I actually wanted to hire your people.”

  He gave me a careful look, the kind that said Is this a legitimate business or trouble business? Because I’ve had enough of both. I kinda read it through his eyebrows..or just assume it’s along that line.

  I raised a hand. “Relax. It’s not bad news. Actually… It’s an opportunity to make legitimate money.”

  Danny waited, patient but wary, any guy with half an ounce of common sense would. Chinese employer? Maybe have ties with ABB or maybe not? Who knows. It’s a 50/50 gacha pull. Now that I actually drag his ass to an actual ABB teritory, that gacha pull turned 50/80 30 more roles to get a pity “I know the docks are understaffed,” I said. “And I know a lot of good men lost their jobs because the place got too dangerous or too decayed to maintain.”

  “That’s… putting it mildly,” he muttered.

  “Well, no shit, I got the cash,” I continued, “I happen to have some equipment too, really good equipment. The kind that makes scrapping abandoned ships and clearing hulls look like slicing cheese.”

  Danny blinked. “Equipment?”

  “Cutters, loaders, heavy-lift gear, The good stuff.” I said. I didn’t mention the SCV by name because that would raise too many questions, Just plasma cutters, but the tools were legitimate enough on their own. “Enough to strip those rust-caskets littering the waterline and actually restore the shipyard.”

  He stared at me, somewhere between hopeful and confused. “Jason… equipment like that isn’t cheap.”

  “I didn’t say it was cheap,” I replied. “I said I have it.”

  “And you’re just… offering it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  The bowls arrived before I could give an answer. Two steaming mountains of noodles and broth that could probably resurrect a dead man. After the owner stomped away, I continued.

  “ Have some, it's really good” We ate in silence as I think about what to say before I could continue our negotiation. What would Danny Hebert really want?

  “Because… the city needs the docks,” I said simply. “And the docks need workers. Not criminals, not mercs, not people running guns. They need dock workers. People who want a paycheck to get this city’s economy back.”

  Danny looked down at his chopsticks, thinking.

  “I need you to clear the docks for me and I have my own personnel need in this as well” I went on, “I want you to pick the right guys. The ones who want to work but can’t. The ones who didn’t deserve to get caught in the mess with all the cape nonsense and everything that goes on in here”

  His jaw tightened, emotions flickering through him: pride, grief, longing, all tangled up. “You’d be giving them a way back,” I said. “I’m just giving them the tools.”

  Finally, Danny lifted his eyes. “And what do you want in return?”

  I shrugged. “A functional shipyard. A cleaner bay. Maybe a little less rust in the air when I’m walking around. That’s it. Hey..you know anything about why the Trainyard smell like piss but it’s just rust over at the docks?”

  Danny let out a breath, the first true exhale of relief I’d seen from him all morning but also a little wry smile at me trying metionining piss smelling location during Brunch.

  “Jason… this could put dozens of people back to work. But nobody is that …you know what I mean. What do you want, Jason?”

  “Hmm…I want some army veterans. Ex army, former Marines, air force..I dont care. As long as they have combat experience, it doesn't matter if they are crippled or hurt during some clandestine war. If they got the experience? I’m willing to pay.. Got a separate job for them, legit jobs too, Just need some muscle to do Bodyguard work. See if anyone is interested, the pay is higher of course. But dont force them. It doesn't matter even if it's one or two people.”

  He nodded slowly, almost reverently, then picked up his chopsticks. “Then I’ll make some calls. Let’s bring the docks back.”

  I grinned and raised my tea cup. “To progress.”

  Danny tapped his cup against mine. “To Chinese tea..”

  Mr. Laozhang shouted from the kitchen, “Eat before it gets cold!”

  “Hey, Danny, send me your bank account number.” He didn't even ask for what and gave the bank numbers to me, I typed something on my phone, sent a few messages to Monica and while we ate our Noodles..several minutes passed by, and Danny got a short message as his eyes went wide with shock.

  He slowly turned to me and asked.”Did you just send me a hundred thousand dollars?”

  I smirked at him while enjoying the Noodles “Recruitment fee, you’re gonna need it to recruit as many as you can, if it ain't enough call me, I’ll send more.”

  And that’s how you charmed a Dad like Danny Hebert.

  “But bro..seriously, do you know how to get rid of that piss smell at the Trainyard? It’s driving me crazy, I've been living there, and every fucking morning I have to smell that godforsaken awful piss smell”

  Danny Hebert didn't say anything.

  …

  …

  “H-how? Why are you homeless if you have all this money?”

  A valid question. How to reply?

  Because I’m a cape? I live there? Tee hee?

  **********************