Chapter 9
Signals and Shadows
==========
???
The Forge Dreamscape
Time: Unknown
Alessa blinked into consciousness again with no warning—no explosion, no fire, no sirens in her ears this time. Just… stillness.
She stood barefoot on warm metal, cool mist curling around her ankles. The air smelled faintly of ozone and wildflowers. Not real ones, certainly none she recognized anyway, not that she was a florist, a botanist or whatever so she could easily be mistaken. Having said that, she was pretty sure nothing on Earth smelled like this amazingly, but somehow familiar. Like memory filtered through instinct.
The ruins had changed.
The overgrown temple from her first dream still rose at the center, but now it had grown larger, more structured. New stairways and terraces spiderwebbed outward like the whole complex had expanded while she wasn't looking. Vines wrapped archways carved with unfamiliar runes, and the once-crumbling copper rails now gleamed, half-repaired and humming with latent energy. The Forge was… rebuilding itself. In sync with her.
"Alright," she muttered to herself, "so we're back in weird dream temple land. At least I've got clothes this time."
She looked down—dark, form-fitting clothes trimmed with subtle lines of glowing gold, like her previously makeshift workshop gear had gotten an upgrade from a fantasy blacksmith. Her gloves were fingerless. Her hands felt… ready. A thought dawned on her then after admiring her current attire for a few seconds, and Alessa groaned out, "Damn... I should make some actual workshop gear. That embarrassing thought aside, this is definitely still weird."
A soft chuff of breath drew her attention.
The black fox was there again, perched on a ledge above, tail curled over its paws. Its red eyes locked with hers, intelligent and amused. Unlike last time, it didn't bark or run. It just watched. Then, slowly, it turned and leapt down to a lower tier, disappearing behind a staircase that hadn't existed the last time she was here.
Alessa followed, having grown to tentatively trust the strange animal.
The deeper she walked, the more alive the ruins felt. Pipes throbbed faintly beneath her feet. Tiny lights blinked along the walls like embedded circuit traces. In one alcove, she caught a glimpse of something moving—a spider-like drone clambering along a wall before vanishing into a crevice. It looked suspiciously like one of the helper bots she'd started prototyping just yesterday.
"Huh," she said aloud. "Guess the Forge has been watching my homework."
No answer, of course. Just the hum of machines too big to see.
She reached a wide platform—one that hadn't been there before. It overlooked a massive new structure: a sealed gate, far larger than the first one she'd seen. Tall, twin doors of deep bronze engraved with concentric rings of glyphs and interlocking mechanical symbols. No glowing runes this time. No portal. Just potential. At the center, etched into the door's surface in lines of silver and steel, was an abstract spiral—almost like a stylized eye, or maybe a forge vent.
She stepped forward, feeling an odd déjà vu that tugged at the edges of her mind. Like that ripple of golden light from the corridor… when the oil tanker first called to her.
That memory from days ago, of the Forge temple bleeding into the waking world, of a room forming itself—flared bright for a moment. This wasn't just a dream. It hadn't been then, and it wasn't now. Whatever the Forge was, it existed with her, not apart from her.
The fox was waiting again, sitting directly in front of the sealed gate. Its gaze flicked to her, then back to the gate. Then, with a deliberate huff, it pawed at the ground once.
There—something half-buried in the metal beneath its feet. She crouched and pulled it free.
A fragment. Like a piece of a gear or coin, shaped like a puzzle piece. On it were three things: a strand of DNA, an old-style capacitor, and a tiny rune etched in the shape of a flame.
She didn't know what it meant, but her fingers tingled as soon as she touched it.
Behind the door, something pulsed once. A heartbeat. Mechanical. Patient.
Waiting.
She glanced at the fox. "I'm guessing this is the part where you don't explain anything, and just expect me to figure it out?"
The fox sneezed, the sight rather adorable as it was unhelpful.
Alessa stood with a sigh, and tucked the fragment into a pouch she hadn't realized she had. The fox turned, flicked its tail once, and walked off toward a new pathway descending beneath the platform.
Before she could follow, she paused.
A distant sound drifted up through the walls—not a voice, but words. Faint, overlapping, like echoes of thoughts she hadn't had yet.
"Initiating research pathway... genome scaffold accepted..."
"Voiceprint verified. Operational priority confirmed."
"World's Maker active. Crafting subroutine synchronized."
"Awaiting directive."
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Just awe.
The Forge wasn't just dreaming with her.
It was listening.
There was a time, not long ago, when she thought dying in a fire was the worst thing that could happen. She'd been so, so wrong.
Just before she turned to follow the fox, the sealed gate pulsed again—softer this time. Welcoming.
Alessa shivered.
Then the world faded in a slow wash of golden mist, and she awoke.
==========
Watson Residence, guest bedroom
November 29th, 2008, Saturday
9:52 AM…
Alessa stirred beneath the guestroom blankets, blinking blearily at the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. Her body felt heavy, warm, and real again. The hum of the Forge faded, leaving only the soft creak of the old house settling and distant kitchen clinks—Belinda, probably starting breakfast.
She stretched, rubbed her eyes, and sat up only to freeze.
There, sitting on her desk like it had always been there, was a small, jagged-edged microchip.
Charred. Burnt around the edges. Half-melted from some long-past explosion.
She recognized it instantly.
"No," she whispered, slipping from the bed and crossing the room on instinct alone. "No no no no—how the hell did this get here?!"
It was the chip. The damaged one. The corrupted core from the Skynet database entry in the Forge. The same computer ran defense system that would gain self awareness in another time, another reality, and end all of humanity.
And now it was just... here. Sitting on her desk. Like a party favor from a machine god.
She picked it up carefully, as if afraid it might bite her.
It didn't, but it hummed faintly in her palm, just once. Like a sleeping predator exhaling.
Alessa let out a shaky breath. "Well. That's horrifying."
There was a knock on the doorframe. "You okay in there?" Alice's voice called.
Alessa turned, chip still in hand. "Yeah. Just... found something I really didn't expect."
Alice stepped in, sleepy-eyed in her pajamas, brushing a hand through messy curls. She eyed the chip in Alessa's hand and immediately frowned. "That doesn't look like breakfast."
"It's not."
"Is it... safe?"
"Define 'safe,'" Alessa said flatly.
Alice stared at her. "Okay, so no. Should I be worried?"
Alessa hesitated, then extended the chip in lieu of an actual answer. "Can you hide this for me? Just for now. Somewhere nobody but you could find it. I need to figure out what to do with it, but not yet because this is just... way too much for me right now."
Alice took it without question. "Sure. I'll bury it under my old metal albums and that one cursed Lisa Frank trapper keeper from third grade."
Alessa gave her a half feigned glare at that, "I knew you kept that thing."
"I never throw away effective hexcraft." Alice proudly retorted without missing a beat.
They shared a look, a beat of levity softening the existential dread.
Then Alice gestured toward the hallway. "C'mon. Belinda's making waffles. If we don't get in there soon, she'll start fretting and burn the whole house down."
Alessa gave one last glance to the empty desk, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Let's go pretend life is normal for ten minutes."
They left the room together, but Alessa couldn't help glancing over her shoulder.
Even out of sight, the chip's presence still lingered.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like the gate.
At least the gate felt far safer than that thing given what Alessa knew what Skynet was capable of. Sure, she and her dad had jokingly pretended that the movies past the second one didn't exist, as any sensible fan did, but that didn't remove the danger that that little broken chip represented. Trying to explain to the PRT she had the same destructive capabilities available to her now as Skynet did/would possess in said alternate timeline would be nightmarish, and it just made her even more glad that she'd yet to come out as... whatever the Hell she was now. That aside, if she ever mentioned she could make a TDE, she'd have every member of the Triumvirate knocking down her door, wanting her to bring Hero back, at bare minimum. That thought made Alessa pause mid-step though as a horrible realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
She could time travel!
=========
Belinda's voice floated in from the kitchen, along with the smell of waffles and bacon. "Waffles'll be ready in five. Hope you two are hungry."
"We're always hungry," Alice called back, already wandering off in the direction of food. Alessa followed, though her steps were a little slower. The existential dread hadn't left, just coiled up tighter inside her gut. She did her best to bury it under a neutral expression as she stepped into the kitchen.
Belinda glanced up from the waffle iron, eyes narrowing as soon as she saw her. "You alright, sweetie? You look pale. Paler than her, which is saying something."
Alessa gave a tired smile. "Didn't sleep great. Weird dream. Long night."
"Mmhmm." Belinda didn't press, but the nurse instincts were clearly activated.
Alice coughed softly behind her juice glass. "Weird dreams'll do that."
Belinda returned to the waffle iron with a raised eyebrow. "Well, sit. Eat. No saving the world on an empty stomach."
"Not planning to," Alessa muttered.
Belinda eventually left to check the laundry, humming to herself as she wandered off.
As soon as she was gone, Alice leaned in across the table. "Okay. Now that we're alone. Are we gonna talk about your new murder chip?"
Alessa groaned, setting her fork down. "I don't know what to do with it. It's like waking up next to a nuclear warhead and being told, 'Good luck, kid.'"
"Do you think it's... aware?" Alice asked, her voice low.
"No. Not yet. I think. I hope not. But even inert, the tech in there makes my brain ache just thinking about it. I mean, it's Skynet, Alice. Literal Judgment Day shit."
"Well," Alice said with a sardonic smile, "at least now we know what kind of Forge surprises you get for good behavior."
Alessa put her face in her hands with a pitiful sounding groan of, "Kill me."
"Nope. You're gonna live long enough to figure out what the hell to do with that thing. And maybe not scream into your pillow for an hour first." A grinning Alice oh so helpfully retorted.
Giving her a flat, unimpressed glare, Alessa muttered, "...No promises."
Alice tilted her head, serious now. "Is it active though? Like, could it actually do anything on its own?"
Alessa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "No. I mean, not yet. It's not an AI. Not exactly. It's more like... a database. A corrupted one. There's no consciousness in there unless I build one, and give it space to grow. I'd have to put in serious time and resources to even get it functional."
"So it's not going to start nuking cities while we're eating waffles." While Alice's response came out neutral enough, there was no mistaking the relief just audible to Alessa's ears.
"No. That part's not automatic. Thank Christ." Alessa groaned as she exhaled a shuddering breath as her heartrate calmed down enough it didn't feel like it was trying to force its way through her ribcage not unlike the original T-101 had punched a hole clean through some random thug's chest.
Alice leaned back in her chair, clearly relieved. "Still, you basically asked me to hide the recipe for the apocalypse in my room."
Alessa nodded grimly. "Yeah. And it came gift-wrapped. Lucky me."
==========
Brockton General, ICU ward
11:13 AM…
"C'mon, kiddo. You keep dragging your feet, and your dad's gonna wake up and think you turned into a snail." Belinda's voice cut through Alessa's haze with just enough warmth and dry humor to make her smile faintly. The hospital's walls were the same dull eggshell color they always were, the antiseptic smell burned her nose a little, and the floors felt like they hadn't been waxed since the last Bush administration. But it was familiar. Familiar was safe, especially with how crazy things had been ever since this mess started.
"I'm coming," Alessa said, adjusting her hoodie as she hurried to catch up. "Just… nerves."
Belinda glanced back, reading her easily. "He's stable. No change since the last time you were here, but that's better than the alternative."
"Yeah," Alessa murmured followed by a shaky nod of agreement. "Better than the alternative."
They walked in silence for a few more steps before Belinda added gently, "You don't have to say anything when you're in there. Just sit. Let him feel you nearby. Sometimes that's more important than anything else."
Alessa nodded again, throat tight.
Room 306. She recognized the number before she saw the door. Her heart did that annoying stutter thing again.
Belinda opened it quietly. "I'll give you a few minutes. I'll be right down the hall if you need me, okay?"
"Thanks, B." Somehow, her voice didn't crack or shake.
The room was dim, curtains drawn against the midday glare. The heart monitor beeped in slow, steady rhythm beside the bed where Richard Dawson lay, still and pale but very much alive. Tubes ran from his arms. A line fed into his nose while the ventilator tube had been removed at some point. As such, he merely looked like he was sleeping.
Except… she knew better.
Alessa stepped closer and sat in the plastic chair beside him, fidgeting with her sleeves.
"Hey, Dad," she said softly, not sure if her voice would reach wherever his mind was hiding. "Sorry I haven't visited in a few days. Been a little crazy lately. Y'know, school stuff. Almost died. Again." She gave a short, bitter laugh. "That's kind of our thing now, huh?"
Silence.
She let her head fall forward, hands clasped in her lap. "I miss you. So goddamn much. You're the only one who ever really got me. Even when you didn't understand, you tried, more than she ever did, and that meant everything."
There was a pause. Then—
A twitch.
Alessa's head snapped up. Her father's fingers had moved. Just barely. Once.
"Dad?" she whispered.
Another twitch. A hand this time. Then his eyelids fluttered.
A choked gasp left her throat. She reached for the call button, slamming it twice before grabbing his hand. "Hey! Hey, it's me. Alessa. I'm here. You're okay. You're safe."
His steely gray eyes opened. Just a crack, but she still exhaled sharply at the wonderful sight.
"…fire?" he rasped, voice hoarse and weak.
She laughed, tears spilling freely now, her voice trembling but full of joy at this miraculous turn. "Yeah. There was a fire. But we made it out. We're both okay."
Footsteps thundered in from the hall. Nurses. A doctor. Belinda right behind them, eyes wide with amazement.
"I—he's waking up," Alessa managed.
Belinda's hand landed on her shoulder, firm and grounding. "Then let's make sure he stays that way."
Alessa didn't let go of his hand once—not even when they started the barrage of checks, questions, and flashing lights. She just kept holding on because for the first time in what felt like forever…
He was holding back.
She sat with him for a long while after the professionals had left and things had quieted again. Belinda came back in with a small cup of coffee for her and a bottle of water for Richard, setting both down without a word.
"Do you need a minute?" Belinda asked softly.
Alessa shook her head. "I just… want to be here."
Belinda smiled faintly. "Good. Then I'll go find a vending machine that won't eat my change. I'll be back soon."
Once she was gone, Richard's eyes fluttered open again, more steadily this time. "You okay, kiddo?"
Alessa choked on a laugh and wiped her face. "You're the one who was in a coma. Don't pull the dad card on me right now."
He gave a slow, tired smirk. "Hard habit to break."
"Yeah, well… don't. I missed it."
He squeezed her hand weakly. "Missed you too."
She sniffled again, brushing her knuckles under her eyes. "You had me worried, y'know. Thought I was gonna have to start haunting old family videos just to hear your voice again."
He gave a raspy chuckle. "Bet I looked like crap."
"You did. Total mess. But hey, you're conscious now, so that's already an improvement." It was easy, making light of it all now that her dad was back.
His eyes softened as he looked at her. "How've you been holding up?"
Alessa hesitated, eyes drifting to the floor. "It's… complicated. Been dealing with some stuff. Weird stuff. Not really the kind of thing I can explain without sounding like I belong in a straightjacket."
He smiled faintly. "Try me later. You always did have a way of surprising me."
"Yeah, well… I think this one might take the cake." Alessa dryly retorted, but her smile returned, too filled with joy over her dad waking up to let even the Forge's craziness to drag her down.
The room had gone comfortably quiet again. Just the steady beep of the monitor, the low hum of recycled air, and the softer, slower sound of Alessa's breathing. She hadn't moved from her spot by the bed, fingers still loosely wrapped around her father's, anchoring them both.
Richard let out a slow exhale, his eyelids drooping again but not quite shutting.
"She still hovering?" he asked, voice rough with sleep and just a hint of his usual dry humor.
"You're damn right I am," came Belinda's voice from the doorway, wry and warm. She stepped inside holding a foam cup in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. "Don't think for a second I'm gonna let you flatline again just to make us all cry. Once is enough, Mister Dawson."
He smiled faintly, lips cracking a bit from dryness. "Well, hell. Looks like you're still bossy."
"And you're still too stubborn to die, so I guess we're even." She set the water down on the bedside table and passed the cup of coffee to Alessa with a look that said Drink this or I swear I'll hook you to an IV myself.
Alessa mouthed a "thank you" and took a sip, the warmth grounding her even more.
Belinda turned back to Richard, hands settling on her hips. "So. Since you're awake and not trying to pull any dramatic exits, I think it's time we had a talk."
"Oh?" he rasped, one brow weakly lifting. "About what?"
"About how every time I see her push herself too hard for someone else, or hear her repeat that line about kindness, I think of you. 'Kindness doesn't cost a damn thing.'" Her voice softened at the end, and she gave him a small, fond smile. "Looks like that stuck."
Richard blinked slowly, his gaze drifting to Alessa. "She say that?"
Alessa flushed, trying not to smile. "Maybe. Once or twice. Or... all the time."
He let out a short, rusty chuckle, a proud smile pulling at his lips. "Didn't think she was listening half the time."
"She was," Belinda said simply. "And she turned out just fine. Weird, but fine."
"Hey," Alessa objected with mock offense.
"She's a Dawson. Of course she's weird," Richard mumbled, voice still weak but teasing.
Belinda laughed. "Well, now that you're awake, you can help keep her in check."
He smirked, tired but happy in his own way. "Not sure I ever could."
"Nope," Alessa said, smiling at him over her coffee cup. "But I appreciated the effort."
Belinda gave Richard a long look, one of those nurse stares that assessed everything from hydration level to hidden sarcasm, and then gently patted his shoulder. "You rest. I'll keep watch for a while longer. And no more scaring your girl half to death, Richie."
Richie, Alessa hadn't heard that nickname for her dad in far too damn long. It made her feel like everything was truly back to some semblance of normal at long last even if the Forge was still lingering in her soul.
In any event, he nodded, the motion slow and small. "Wasn't planning on it."
"Good," she said softly, then turned to Alessa. "I'll be right outside. Yell if he starts getting ideas about standing up and being heroic. I'll sedate him."
Alessa rolled her eyes. "You'd have to get in line."
"I may be retired, but I've still got syringes and the attitude. I am the line." Belinda winked and stepped out, leaving behind warmth, quiet strength, and just enough sass to remind them both who really ran the ward.
Alessa turned her attention back to her dad, watching as his eyes drifted shut again, slower this time—peacefully, not in pain. She felt the difference in his breathing immediately: deeper, more rhythmic. Her instincts and all that recently dumped medical knowledge told her he was just sleeping. Nothing dangerous. No warning signs.
She gently adjusted his blanket and gave his hand a final squeeze. "Sleep easy, Dad. I've got things covered."
And for once, she actually believed it.
=========
The Boat Graveyard, Oil Tanker Base
5:18 PM…
The steady thrum of the ocean was a faint background note beneath the whirring buzz of a dozen active drones, each one zipping or crawling along the interior catwalks of the repurposed oil tanker. Sparks danced from a welding rig as Alessa crouched near a bench lined with component pieces, her gloves smudged and eyes sharp with focus.
She barely glanced up when Alice's voice rang out, melodramatic and pouty as ever.
"I still can't believe you didn't let me go in and see him! That's, like, emotional sabotage, you monster."
Alessa snorted without looking up. "He was barely awake. I didn't want him overloaded with more beautiful women than he could handle."
"Tch. Flattery won't distract me from this betrayal," Alice huffed, flopping onto a nearby stool. "You and Aunt B got the touching moment. And I didn't even get to see the new foxbot you're supposedly working on. You did say you were gonna make me something cute for moral support, remember?"
"You'll get your foxbot soon enough," Alessa muttered, carefully slotting a shimmering metallic plate into the chassis of one of her new aerial drones. "And you're the one who said I needed more emotional depth in my 'hero origin arc,' remember? This is it. Welding, whining, and waffles."
She tapped the side of her newly created, AR interfaced goggles, and brought up the World's Maker interface. Raiding an electronic store's trash bin earlier that afternoon on their way to the Boat Graveyard had been annoying, but totally worth it. She'd also taken a couple hours after their arrival to make a set of protective gear that also felt pretty comfortable after recalling the outfit she'd had on during her latest Forge temple dream. Finding the materials to make said protective gear had been a challenge, but the results were worth it. Her setup now included a reinforced charcoal-gray work jacket with built-in heat shielding and a few magnetized tool loops stitched along the chest and sleeves. Beneath it, she wore heavy-duty utility pants—durable but surprisingly comfortable—tucked into steel-toed boots that had been painted to match her gloves: royal purple with black accents. A pair of noise-dampening earbuds hung around her neck, and her custom goggles had been upgraded with a breathable face shield that slid down with a tap when soldering or grinding. Functional, protective, and just stylish enough to make Alice jealous.
Which, of course, she was.
"Okay, seriously? When are you gonna make me one of those outfits?" Alice said, leaning closer and giving Alessa's jacket a mock-inspecting squint. "That's like... tinker-chic meets cyberpunk rebel and I want it."
Alessa smirked without looking up. "You'd get motor oil on it in five minutes and cry."
"And you say that like it wouldn't be worth it." Alice retorted with a shit-eating grin on her lips that made Alessa laugh warmly right back.
As the chant echoed faintly in her mind—My inspiration is unending. My creations are peerless...—a glowing set of tools shimmered into existence around her workstation, their forms shifting and settling into exactly what she needed. A low magical pulse ran through her hands and into the materials before her, guiding them with supernatural finesse as reality itself bent to her will. This was the effect of the World's Maker perk in action.
Then came the sound. A whisper. No—not quite sound. Not really. More like… tone. Resonance.
She paused.
Her hand rested on a thin filament of conductive alloy. And she could hear it. A soft humming harmony. Clear. Purposeful. A song of heat conductivity and tensile memory.
Alessa blinked, then gave a soft, awed laugh. "Okay, that's new."
"What?" Alice leaned in, immediately intrigued.
"The metal," Alessa said. "It's… singing. Not literally, but I think it's that perk, the Voice of Ingredients. Only instead of food, I'm getting it from the alloys. Like they're guiding me toward their best purpose."
Alice looked both intrigued and faintly concerned. "So you're saying you can now psychically vibe with your materials. Because that doesn't sound like the beginning of a supervillain arc at all."
Alessa grinned. "Relax. I'm not growing a metal mustache or cackling into a lightning storm. Yet."
Another drone snapped together with an elegant click, its trim outlined in glowing gold filigree—sleek, futuristic, and almost beautiful, a clear product of the Aesthetics perk she'd picked up from that weird Terraria-flavored Forge boon, whatever Terraria was anyway. Aesthetic enhancements courtesy of her Terraria perk had been subtle at first, but now? Now her creations were becoming artwork. Terrifying, efficient artwork.
She leaned back, admiring the finished piece with a contented sigh.
Then her gaze shifted to the corner of the workbench, where a smaller project lay half-complete—a fox-shaped drone about the size of a housecat. Its sleek frame had soft contours, expressive LED eyes, and a little tail that twitched whenever the proximity sensors were tripped. She hadn't finished calibrating the taser systems hidden in its mouth yet, but the darts were already forged, and the non-lethal voltage had been fine-tuned to just the right level of 'sit your ass down.'
It was adorable, and it was going to be Alice's.
"Just a few more tweaks," she murmured, tapping a knuckle against its nose. "And then you'll be her new emotional support murder-puppy."
Alice, still lounging nearby, immediately perked up. "Hey, if you're making me a foxbot, you might as well finish the look. I want a matching outfit. Ears, tail, the whole thing."
Alessa looked up, incredulous. "What, like a fox onesie?"
"Not a onesie, you maniac—something stylish! Tinker-core, but make it fox girl. Faux fur, obviously. I'm not a monster."
"I'll consider it," Alessa said, already regretting saying that much.
"You said it! It's legally binding now," Alice grinned. "Fox squad supremacy incoming."
Alessa groaned and rested her head briefly against the bench. "Why do I let you talk me into things?"
"Because you secretly love chaos and you know I'm adorable," Alice chirped.
Before Alessa could come up with a retort, her PDA buzzed sharply against her hip—an alert ping flashing across her goggles' HUD.
She frowned and tapped the interface. "...One of the long-range observers just sent back something weird. Looks like a delivery."
"Weird how?" Alice asked, instantly alert.
"Movement near Merchant territory. A convoy just pulled into that half-built high-rise near the old boardwalk. That skeleton of a condo project—looks like someone's moving in." Alessa's brows furrowed. "Could be their first major shipment of whatever new product they've been working on. And judging by the heat signatures, they're prepping for a party. A big one."
Her goggles flicked through the drone feeds, cycling between perspectives—perch-cam on a rusted crane, thermal overlay from a windowless top floor, and a low-hovering microdrone that zipped between skeletal rebar and debris piles. Half a dozen Merchants were unloading sealed crates from a pair of trucks, while others were rigging up tarps, floodlights, and scavenged speakers. Some were already half-naked and dancing to music blaring from a jury-rigged PA system, the kind of low-end dubstep that rattled teeth even over a drone mic.
Annoyingly, Alessa couldn't help but tap her boot to the beat—something deep, grimy, and pulse-pounding. The kind of dubstep that sounded like it had been stitched together from old rave tracks and dying car engines. She hated how catchy it was. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she made a mental note to track down the source—if only to make sure the Merchants weren't recruiting a DJ with actual talent. The track sounded suspiciously like Distance - Night Vision.
One corner of the open floor had been converted into what looked like a makeshift pharmacy, complete with a folding table, piles of plastic baggies, and a beefy guy counting stacks of cash.
Alessa zoomed out to a wide-angle view. The building itself was once intended to be luxury condos before the market crash gutted the project back in 2004. Situated a block off the old boardwalk, the high-rise had since become a nesting ground for rats, squatters, and now, apparently, the city's most chaotic gang of chemical degenerates.
"It's worse than I thought," she muttered. "They're turning that whole site into a distribution hub-slash-drug den from what I can tell. What's worse, it's the perfect place for them. Isolated, high up, plenty of cover, and no neighbors to call the cops. And judging by the heat signatures, they're prepping for a party. A big one."
Alice tilted her head. "So… we spying on them now?"
Alessa hesitated, her expression unreadable. "I didn't send those drones for hero work. Just wanted to know what the scumbags were up to. Curiosity, mostly."
"Uh huh. Totally not a burgeoning sense of moral responsibility or anything." Alice's tone of voice made it clear she didn't believe her.
Alessa rolled her eyes. "Shut up and hand me the screwdriver. The tiny one."
Alice passed her the screwdriver with zero hesitation and a grin that said I told you so without saying a word.
As Alessa leaned back over her foxbot, she muttered, "Still not a hero."
"Sure," Alice said, flopping dramatically into her chair this time. "Just a morally complex girlboss with an army of adorable death machines."
That earned a small laugh, but the mood shifted a little as the last image from the drone flickered across Alessa's HUD—a Merchant slumped against a rusted support beam, eyes glassy, tongue lolling. A dealer walked past him, tossing a bag of neon-pink powder to another strung-out partier.
Alice noticed the silence. "...That bad?"
"Bad enough," Alessa murmured, grimacing as she flicked her eyes toward the nearby LED monitor she'd wired to sync with her AR goggles. The feed mirrored her view perfectly, letting Alice see the same filth-streaked debauchery firsthand. "And that's not even including what I've already got from Winslow."
"Oh right, the Glowbug footage," Alice said, suddenly sitting up straighter although not before giving the footage a disgusted glare of her own. "Did you finish compiling it?"
"Mostly." She tapped a command on her goggles and brought up a holographic screen between them. "Check this out. This is from Thursday."
The feed played back a quick montage: Sophia Hess ruthlessly beating some poor kid's face in behind the bleachers, fists swinging with mechanical precision and zero hesitation. Blood splattered the concrete. The Glowbug that caught the footage flickered slightly as it adjusted for the low light, but the evidence was undeniable. Madison giggling as she walked away from a scene where someone had just tripped and slammed into a locker. And Emma Barnes? Her face lit up with mean delight as she whispered something inaudible to a pair of giggling underclassmen, her phone open to what looked like a group chat.
Alice's face darkened at the same time she sucked in a sharp breath. "Jesus. They're really that bold?"
"Because they know they've gotten away with shit before," Alessa said, voice low but steady. "That ends now."
"And… wait—how the hell did you get into their group chat?" Alice wondered, looking a touch concerned but mostly surprised, pleasantly so despite said concern.
Alessa smirked and brought up another feed. A grainy black-and-white shot from the outside of a two-story house. "One of them left their bedroom window cracked. I had a drone circle back that night. Slipped in, paired with the girl's phone, copied everything, and got out before anyone even noticed."
Alice stared, then gave a low whistle. "Damn. Remind me never to leave my laptop unattended."
"It's a good thing I like you then," Alessa countered with a smirk that was just a touch unnerving before she frowned, her brow furrowing as her gaze flicked back to the rest of the vid feeds that she'd since opened up. "I've got more than enough to bury them now. Group chat messages, hallway footage, audio recordings from the Glowbugs—they've slipped up in a lot of ways. Thing is, I can't just dump this all at once. Too risky. Gotta be strategic."
Before Alice could reply, another file opened unprompted—a clip from Friday afternoon. Sophia Hess, caught by a Glowbug nestled high up in a vent, ducked into a dark supply closet. Thirty seconds later, Shadow Stalker emerged. The figure was unmistakable: sleek black and violet armor molded like a second skin, reinforced at the shoulders and forearms, paired with a featureless black mask and a high-tech crossbow slung across her back. The costume looked like a blend of tactical utility and terrifying intimidation—every inch designed for mobility and menace.
Alice's jaw dropped. "No. Way."
Alessa just stared for a moment. "Well… shit."
Alice flailed her arms. "She's a Cape?! A Ward?! What the hell man?!"
Alessa's voice was flat. "That explains a lot."
Alice nodded rapidly. "And it's going to raise so many questions when this goes public, let alone violations," The normally cheerful goth added, suddenly growing serious. "The Unwritten Rules say you don't pull this crap in your civilian identity. You definitely don't use your powers to torment classmates. Even if she technically hasn't used her powers outside costume, the fact she's clearly using her combat training as a Ward to brutalize civilians? That's gonna burn the PRT's asses in a big way."
Alessa let out a dry huff in response. "While you're right, the Unwritten Rules? They're more like guidelines. Half the time, people only care about them when it's convenient, or when someone else breaks them." She shook her head before pressing forward. "It doesn't change the fact that the PRT let one of their own use government-funded combat training to beat the crap out of a kid, probably multiple kids really. That's not just negligence, that's liability with a badge and a paycheck." Alessa slowly leaned back as the weight of what they'd just uncovered began to fully set in. "Still, it's definitely going to raise all kinds of questions about her, about the PRT, and about who else knew."
Alice gave a sharp nod, but after a pause, her brow furrowed. "I mean… we are assuming the worst-case scenario here, right? What if the PRT didn't know about Sophia going off the rails like this? Or maybe they did try to rein her in, and she just ignored them?"
Alessa gave her a flat look. "And you really think they'd let that slide if it were anyone else?"
"No," Alice admitted, sighing. "Just… playing devil's advocate. I mean, you're right, but it helps to know how they'll spin it, you know? Gotta think two steps ahead."
Alessa nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're not wrong. We'll build the case airtight, leave them no wiggle room."
Alice hesitated again, then glanced at the paused frame of Shadow Stalker on the monitor. "We're talking about revealing a Cape's identity, Alessa. That's… a big line to cross. It could backfire. Hard."
Alessa's expression didn't waver. "It's only a big deal because the system makes it one. She crossed the line first, multiple times. I'm not revealing her identity out of spite, I'm doing it because she's weaponized her civilian status who knows how many times by now, and abused her position. That's a line I don't let people come back from."
"But legally—"
"Legally, it's murky. Morally?" Alessa gave a bitter laugh. "The system protects monsters if they've got the right badge, enough money, connections, or initials after their name. Screw that. If the PRT wants to cover for her, they get to eat the fallout too."
Alice sat with that for a few seconds, arms crossed. "...Okay. Still not thrilled about it, but you're right. If we're doing this, we make damn sure no one can say we faked a damn thing."
Alessa gave her a faint, approving nod. "Exactly." She decided to take the sting out of the whole thing a little though when she softly added, her visage becoming far less intimidating at the same time, "...I get it though, Alice. The PRT has done a lot to keep things from getting even worse. They've stopped cities from falling apart, they've fought back against Endbringers, hell, they've probably saved more lives than we'll ever know. But that doesn't give them a blank check. If they're enabling people like Sophia, or just looking the other way, then they don't get to skate by on past good deeds. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I let them avoid the same accountability they demand from everyone else."
Alice sighed in a mixture of relief and lingering disbelief. Then, more softly, she added, "Just promise me something, yeah?" Alessa tilted her head slightly, a silent prompt for her friend to go on. A prompting Alice gladly took. "If it ever gets to the point where you're crossing lines just to win? Let me stop you."
Alessa looked at her for a moment longer, and then smiled. It was moments like these that she was seriously glad she'd met Alice when she had, even if their friendship had begun with a frog skeleton in her locker about giving her a heart attack. So she meant it when she sincerely said, "Deal."
Alice relaxed with a small, lopsided grin. "Good. Now—so what's the plan?"
Alessa didn't answer immediately. She just looked out toward the horizon, past formerly rusted walls and creaking catwalks, all of it having been cleaned up and renewed in recent days, where the sun was starting to dip low into the ocean haze. "…We watch," she eventually said. "We listen. We prep. When the time comes…" She turned to Alice with a wicked little smirk. "…we pounce."
Her comm pinged softly moments later before the Thinker's voice cut in. "PRELIMINARY BREAKDOWN OF 'STRANGE FORMULA' NOW AT TWENTY-TWO PERCENT, MY QUEEN. ADDITIONAL FABRICATION PROJECT - DESIGN PARAMETERS FOR EXO-WOMB - READY FOR INITIATION UPON COMPLETION, QUEEN."
Alessa's lips curved faintly. Those could wait; there was a different storm brewing tonight. The Merchants were making their move, and when the chaos finally crested, she'd be standing in the eye, directing the lightning.
Several stealth drones whispered their feeds across her HUD. Grainy, low-light footage flickered—rows of half-finished concrete floors in the abandoned high-rise, walls scrawled with graffiti, shadows stretching under flickering work lights. A convoy of beat-up vans sat at the base, unloading crates and barrels under the eyes of jittery, strung-out guards. Among them, a few hard-faced lieutenants barked orders—one a scarred brute with a chain-wrapped bat resting across his shoulders, another a tall, wiry man with a snake tattoo curling up his neck, and a third with cold, calculating eyes behind mirrored shades even at night. These weren't just muscle—they were organizers, each keeping their corner of the chaos under control.
One drone's camera caught a flicker of movement on the periphery—a flash of steel, the faint gleam of a demonic oni mask, if her eyes weren't deceiving her. At her silent command, the feed zoomed in, framing a man in a tailored suit bristling with knives and grenades, crouched atop a crane arm high above the chaos. His stillness was deliberate, his posture predatory—a ghost in the night keeping his own watch over the scene. Alessa frowned at the sight since it appeared that another player had stepped onto the board which meant that tonight's game had gotten a lot more complicated.
At the same time, across the city in the PRT's Brockton Bay headquarters, Director Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair as a fresh intel packet arrived from Dragon. The report mentioned unverified sightings of possible stealth drones operating in several districts—always fleeting, always vanishing altogether from every attempt to track them down before confirmation could be achieved. Piggot's eyes narrowed. That, paired with a half-forgotten note from Agents Krause and Miller about a young woman present during a sudden, unexplained power surge that had endangered her father's life support—an incident they'd speculated might've been a Trigger Event—painted an interesting picture. A Tinker without an as-of-yet registered Cape identity, or something else entirely? Either way, she hated unknowns with a passion.
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Ch 9, Total World Count, 7,010 = 700 CP
Essence Spinner (600 CP) (Starcraft - The Zerg)
You know the essence and DNA and you know the exact strands with which to induce a variety of mutations and evolutions upon zerg organisms under your control. With a simple feather from a cliffjumping raptor or the acidic spit from a predatory beetle, you can break down the essence and proteins within each of these to their building blocks and re-assemble them into a strain fit for yourself and your minions. As a bonus, you can produce a simple silk-like screen that allows you to manipulate these strains and magnify them into a view capable of being seen from even a simple human eye. Said silk screen also allows you to manipulate these strands by hand.
Rapid Construction (50 CP) (Blazing Saddles)
You are not only a truly excellent carpenter, you are an exceptionally fast worker. Any form of construction or crafting will be completed in a tenth the time it would otherwise take, though your overall quality will suffer if you use this at full effect (times ten). At times two, you'll sacrifice none of the quality, but as you get closer to times ten, you'll sacrifice more and more of it.
Micromanipulators (50 CP) (A Certain Scientific Railgun)
These delicate gloves were meant for scientific purposes. They're reinforced with small motors and electrically contracting artificial muscles to allow you to perform delicate work on the scale of a micron. While they're definitely more suited to scientific experiments, they can be put to use in any situation that requires steady hands like aiming a rifle, conducting brain surgery, cooking, defusing a bomb, or even bypassing some redirection and shielding abilities. * Micron scale control
Pure Art (0 CP) (Destiny - Old)
The visual arts may not be your thing, but that doesn't mean you can't be good at it. With this, you will be able to adorn any object you possess with paint or some other kind of marker and make it look good. You can paint armor, vehicles and weapons. Depending on what you portray, it could evoke different emotions. From fear to inspiration. You must have some skill at drawing or painting, and something to draw or paint with.
600 - 50 - 50 - 0 = 0 CP
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