[Player Log Start!]

[Log Holder: Lucky Paine]

[Level: 2 (Sub-Level)]

“So, can you help me fix it?” Lucky held up the glass fragments up for Paterson to see.

He hummed, stroking his chin, “I was under the impression that bangles came separately, and not one long, very risky spiral.”

“They do.” She confirmed, “But these ones are slightly different. And need repairing as soon as possible. You are the one doing most of the repairs around town, right? I could use your equipment if you have got anything to work with glass. And if you have any experience with something like this, then the help would be very much appreciated.”

Paterson shrugged, “I don’t do glass repair work.” He replied, turning around to walk back into his workspace. Lucky picked up on the nonverbal cue and followed him in. There were a bunch of stations, all very well organized, based on materials. There was woodworking and metalworking and painting and hydraulics, and between all of that, there in the corner, there was a small bench undeniably for glass.

“But I do make most of the town’s glass things myself.” He finished proudly, “If you find any of this useful, please don’t hesitate to take it.”

Lucky took a deep breath in, looking around at all the small, finicky cutters, perfect for molding hot glass. Was there anything special about Asadullah’s glass, except being tempered to all hell? Because otherwise she could skip the trouble of trying to salvage what was clearly unsavable.

“You’re trying to see if the secret to the machine lies in the material that it uses.” Paterson noted from beside them.

Lucky squared their shoulders, “Maybe so.” They didn’t admit to anything, even as their finger stroked the edge of the glass that seemed too clear and unstained to be anything except plain glass.

“Here, let me help.” Paterson reached over and placed a hand on another part of the band.

[Peter Paterson is Applying Inspect!]

[The material’s properties are being Inspected!]

He hummed thoughtfully to himself as he read more boxes that Lucky couldn’t see, “Okay, the, it appears to be plain tempered glass, with a small sprinkling of cobalt oxide to give it a faint blue gradient at some bits, and flecks of blood coating the inside, though I doubt that that was from when it was first built. The real magic comes from the metal around it.”

And that would be much easier to repurpose. She let out a sigh of relief, “Okay, good. I can handle it from there.” She told him, wheeling herself back to the glassblowing station with a newfound sense of purpose. And then she stopped, craning her neck to look back at Paterson, “Where do you keep the glass here?”

The man laughed slightly, but quickly went to point them in the right direction.

Lucky made quick work of the bangles, finding a suitable mold for the correct size of glass tubing, and then coiling it by hand and tool when the glass was still slightly warm. Tempering the glass would be a must, but the main worry was if there was any magic in the original. She couldn’t replicate that.

For a while, it was silent, except for the hissing and clinking sounds that were the norm of a workshop like this. It wasn’t exactly like the one she had back home, but they allowed themself to relax, slightly, sinking into the feel of sweltering heat and the smell of burning wood and scorched metal.

Again, they thought of the Tracklands. How they might be doing in that world. How, without her expertise and newly unlocked abilities, the people were surviving.

They weren’t a fool. They knew that getting rid of the Developers’ and their Harbingers’ influence over the place didn’t completely erase all problems in there.

At the end of the day, each person who did a bad thing – who stole, and looted, and terrorized – chose to do those things. Driven to the edges of desperation, sure, but still an active choice. How did you pull yourself back from the brink once you’ve already crossed the line once?

How did you force yourself to play Happy Families and pretend that everything would be alright when the promises of improvement were so surface level?

Maybe some of her worries were more of a reflection of her current situation. But it did not mean they were not reasonable things to fear.

“Working while anxious is a bad idea, you know?” Paterson’s voice barged into their internal monologue, and the steady pace with which they were dripping glass into the mold faltered. Lucky cursed, setting the mold to the side to clear it out again.

“It weakens the material.” He continued glibly.

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“And I suppose you have a mind-reading Ability, too?” Lucky asked, twisting her chair around to look around at him.

He laughed mildly, “Nothing quite that extreme. I am fortunate enough to have an Aura-Reading one. Unlocked it during a summer campaign of sorts, a few years back. It helps me tell if someone is stressed or angry, or feeling especially violent. That sort of stuff.”

“What is the point of it in Delica?” They pointed out, eager to pull at the first rotten root she found, “The purpose of this place is to be a haven of the good and the peaceful, is it not?”

If there was a chance that the Mitts, Danny, and everyone else here had lied to them all about the nature of Delica, she was determined to find out. There was nothing wrong with asking, if it really was so wonderful. Paterson, however, didn’t give her what she wanted.

“That’s what it is, yes.” He agreed, “But most people here aren’t from Delica. They’re from worlds ravaged senselessly, and were the only few with the means to escape. That type of trauma lingers on your psyche, and it is perhaps good for a friend to be able to know when someone needs a shoulder to cry on.”

Damn him and his obnoxiously cheerful fantasy land.

“So where are you from?” She asked, “If you’re not from here.”

Paterson shrugged, “A world classified as L-35, and perhaps they changed the classifications, but in my time, it was called the Tra-”

“Tracklands.” Lucky added, breath hitching slightly in their excitement.

Paterson blinked in surprise for a second before cracking a smile, “So I see that they didn’t change it. Just as well, those unsightly train tracks were very memorable.”

“We added more, since the end of the World. If you were there for that.” They felt slightly uncomfortable in their skin now, faced with the reality that Paterson and her actually had something in common. Had probably walked along the same streets or went to the same colleges. And now where meeting in another dimension for the very first time.

Here Paterson frowned a little, “I- I believe that I was not.” He said, as if he was trying to gather his thoughts, “Must have left long before that. The Console I’m using was a gift from a friend. The skies were blue then. The Developers change the color of the sky when they gain control over a realm. It’s their way of marking their territory.” He added, as if she wouldn’t understand the significance of that.

Lucky had figured as much.

“Must have been a good friend.” She remarked carefully, not wanting to upset or confuse the old man more. He had seemed stable for a while there, but with recounting the story, he had begun frowning more, gnarled hands curling into fists and grasping at nothing. She didn’t need an Aura-Reading Ability to know when a sensitive topic had been brought up.

Paterson wasn’t helped by that. He just frowned and nodded, clearly displeased, “She was- she was alright, I suppose. Brilliant beyond her years. And strategic, too. But a bit of a meddler.”

He was pacing now, and Lucky had clearly not steered the conversation into safer waters.

“She did something.” Paterson declared with a frown, “She did something to me. What was it?”

“How about we take a breather?” Lucky decided, breaking him out of his funk as quickly as it had come over him. Paterson jumped a little, and it was as if a cloud had passed over his face. He was back to being his regular, smiling self.

“Yes, of course, that’s probably for the best.” He agreed, pulling at his collar, “My history with friends is… fraught. Perhaps that paranoia is the real reason behind my Aura Reading.”

Lucky laughed him off and quickly returned to her project. Hypnotism was a strong contender for what just happened in front of her. But did she want to get involved? Perhaps there was a reason why Paterson was being kept hypnotized. She didn’t know.

But it didn’t matter what the reasoning was. This level of control was never okay.

“Hey, Paterson?” She called over her shoulder, “I can be your friend if you want. A less fraught one, hopefully.”

There was silence for a moment, before Paterson replied from the depths of his workspace, “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Lucky hummed, and then moved their focus back to the project at hand, scraping the ruined chunks of glass off the mold. She moved the glass back into the fire, waiting for it to liquify again.

For the next try, she made sure to keep her breathing steady and still, gripping the handle with both hands as she poured it into the thin tube mold. It fitted perfectly, with no overflow. A few seconds were given for the heat of the glass to subside.

She pulled it out of the mold with two pairs of clamps, and began to twist the tube into a coil while it was just malleable enough.

Lucky was completely invested in winding it around properly, with no structural damage or unevenness. She didn’t have time to take note of the rest of the world, letting it all melt into the background.

What brought them back to the real world was a soft plink of a tiny piece of metal landing on concrete. Like a pin drop.

There were three more such clatters.

Lucky put the now completed glass tubing to the side, rolling her chair out of the station as she turned to investigate the sound.

“Paterson, what are you-” Her words died in her throat as she stared at the notification that hung over his head.

[Converting User…]

[Docility Status Reverted!]

And in his hands, he held her Console, with the back pulled open, guts shiny for the world to see. Paterson had a screwdriver out, and his eyes were shiny. He looked at her, but there was no regret on his face as he said, “I had to. I need to know what their tech is.”

“I just declared us to be friends.” She pointed out, futilely.

“That’s not as important as pure Harbinger tech.” He replied firmly, “Goodbye, Lucky. Have fun in the Tracks.” His fingers flicked over the back, reconnecting the power source to the Harbinger core.

Lucky braced herself for a moment, half convinced that she would be sent spiraling back into the Tracklands. But nothing happened. She remained standing there.

Even Paterson looked surprised.

She took advantage of that hesitation and pushed herself off her chair, planting a fist directly into his jaw. Paterson screamed, staggering back to the shelves lining the walls. Probably to fetch some kind of weapon, but Lucky didn’t care. Her fingers curled around her Console, making sure not to jolt anything too badly, as she wheeled her chair out and sat back in it, wheeling herself madly towards the cottage she had just begun considering a home.

The screen of her Console was lit up, carefully booting up back in Harbinger mode.

She didn’t know why she wasn’t loaded back in her world. She didn’t know what was going to happen when the Console came back online. But this was their ticket out, and dammit, she would take it.

[Log End!]