Lightforge collapsed into the pavement, glowing tools crashing down around him and shattering into motes of light. His vision swam and the world dimmed for a few moments. He bit the inside of his cheek to bring himself back to his senses and forced his unsteady legs back underneath him.
Gray Guardian arrived a moment later, surrounded by a shimmering sphere of soft white light that swept over the gadgeteer. Ever so slowly, his depleted AP started to return. He was still unable to recover on his own and had to rely on the healer to get him back in action every time he fell.
He only waited long enough to be able to resummon his tools before gently pushing his friend away. They had their own work to do, and he wouldn’t keep them from it. Unhappily the healer turned away and walked back to the lines of people waiting for their assistance.
They were on the street outside Lightforge’s shop, which had turned into a warzone. A gang of villains had torn through the street, attacking indiscriminately. He didn’t even know why they’d done it; apparently they’d wanted to send him a message, but it was about as clear as mud. And while backup had arrived to drive them off, that was small comfort to the civilians who had found themselves caught in the crossfire.
So while Gray Guardian tended to the wounded, Lightforge had set to work repairing what he could. Cars, roads, buildings, dumpsters, signs and more were lying about in twisted heaps or were simply missing chunks out of them. Given enough time, the damage would all undo itself without his intervention. He didn’t really have to do anything. But that process was incredibly slow, and he had the tools to make it go faster.
And so he stood on the street, using tools made of condensed light to help the repairs along. So long as he could get the pieces close enough to where they were meant to be, they would stick together on their own. The hard part was straightening out materials that had been warped or twisted out of shape. That was what he spent most of his time on, pounding with hammers and twisting with pliers to get things more or less straight.
It was solemn work, and the people around him left him to it. None of the civilians spoke to him, they just watched as he silently did what he could to help. In a way he was grateful for their distance; it was preferable to the alternative in his book. What would they say, but the truth? That this had been an unmitigated disaster, and it was his fault.
Paramedics had eventually shown up and were helping Gray Guardian patch people up, but not everyone was so lucky. He’d seen at least two people that the medics had been forced to give up on. Two people, possibly more, who were dead thanks to him. Did civilians come back to life in this game? He couldn’t remember. But then, this wasn’t a game anymore. He was living it and, presumably, so were they.
And it was all his fault.
Time and again he had brought conflict to this area. Sometimes it had come looking for him, and sometimes he’d stumbled into it and made things worse. Either way, he’d turned the area into a regular arena for super powered pissing matches. And he hadn’t just approved of the idea, he’d reveled in it. He had been so impressed with how ‘important’ and ‘untouchable’ he was making himself. He would antagonize people and push them around before hiding behind the flimsy shield of ‘neutrality.’
What a worthless protection that had turned out to be. The villains had stuck to his oh-so-important rules. They hadn’t attacked him or his shop or his customers. Instead they’d simply attacked everything and everyone else. He’d been arrogant enough to actually believe that no one would dare do such a thing, that his reputation was far too big and important to allow for it. He had been dead wrong, and the community had paid the price.
The absolute least that he could do was help to rebuild after the disaster. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t remove the hurt the way that Gray Guardian was. But he was a gadgeteer; a builder and fixer of things. This was what he could do. There would be time later to figure out his future plans and how to do better.
His vision blurred again as he once again found his AP completely drained. He groaned to himself and leaned against a wall for support. After a few seconds his head started to hurt, like someone was playing drums on the inside of his skull. His body and mind were both exhausted, but he refused to slow down. The physical needs and limits of his body were being subsumed by the more simplified needs of the system. While his body still required food, water, and sleep, the game system dictated that he could continue functioning so long as he had HP and AP.
The result of that contradiction was that he could push himself to keep going for as long as necessary, but he would eventually have to pay the price. His multi-day nap after going nuts while crafting was a perfect example of that; once he’d allowed himself to sleep his body had stayed down long enough to refresh itself all at once. The back end of this experience would be similar, though likely not as extreme.
A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, but no light shone around him this time. He looked and found himself staring at the dull mask of Gray Guardian. The healer was slowly shaking his head.
“We’ve done all we can here. It’s time to go get some rest.”
“I can keep going.”
“You really can’t. If I walk away right now you’ll pass out right here.”
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“Are you saying you won’t restore any of my AP?”
“I’m saying that I barely have enough left to give. I have enough energy for both of us to get back to our bases, and that’s it.”
“Then I can use that to help them.”
The slap that struck Lightforge across the face was shocking on multiple levels. For starters, he had never seen the healer hit anyone before. But the more worrisome surprise was that the blow nearly sent him toppling over. His legs trembled from the effort of keeping him standing from an attack that shouldn’t have even registered.
Despite not showing their eyes, Lightforge could feel the glare that Gray Guardian was giving behind the mask. The healer spoke clearly in a tone that allowed for no argument.
“Go home, Lightforge. Doctor’s orders. There will be plenty of people left to help in the morning.”
Lightforge grumbled, but he had lost the will to object. He barely managed a shrug before tiredly dragging himself away towards his base. Every step was heavier than the last, but they never matched the weight of what he had allowed to happen.
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It was noon by the time Lightforge woke up the next day. His body was still sluggish as it cried out for food and water, insistent that it no longer be ignored. He obeyed, but moved slowly. It all still felt so wrong.
His only hope was that things might be back to normal now that it was a new day. It was a thin hope, but it was all that he was holding onto at the moment.
He was wrong. When he arrived at the site of the previous day’s debacle, little had changed. Repairs were underway, but the destruction was still plain for all to see. The world’s self repair function apparently only had so much energy to throw around, so it would take a good long time for everything to truly go back to how it was.
He let out a long sigh and began summoning tools to continue his work from the night before. But he stopped when Lou Whitmore came hurrying out of the wreckage. The older man had been picking through his own shop, but had dropped what he was doing upon seeing Lightforge’s arrival.
Despite being much taller than the man, Lightforge felt small as he approached. Lou walked up with an inscrutable look on his face, clearly unhappy but otherwise masking his emotions.
Lou shook his head and said, “Quite the mess this turned out to be.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry for bringing this to your doorstep.”
“Don’t beat yourself up too much, kid. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
Lightforge’s head snapped up at those words, and he stared at the man in open confusion.
“Those guys were only here because of me.”
“I know. They weren’t exactly quiet, even before the action started.”
“But you’re not blaming me?”
“Would you like me to?”
“Wha- I- How are you so calm about this?”
Lou actually chuckled and raised an eyebrow in the gadgeteer’s direction. He waved broadly at the destruction around them.
“Kid, I live in Paramount City. Born and bred, actually. Even with all the heroes in the world, things get broken. Anger and blame don’t fix things. And I saw you yesterday. You did everything you could. That’s all that anyone can ask for.”
“You’re wrong. I’m a gadgeteer, a builder. There’s so much more that I could be doing. Instead I was focused on making weapons and making money.”
“Nothing wrong with either of those.”
“Maybe not, but I lost sight of things. I didn’t think that someone would attack innocent people just to get to me.”
Lou was silent for a long time, quietly studying him. Eventually he just shrugged and said, “Who knows? People all have their reasons for doing things. But me? I think you’re focusing on the wrong thing.”
“Oh? And what would you suggest?”
“Instead of wondering about why, ask yourself what you’re going to do about it next time. Because that’s the real trick to this city, kid: there’s always a next time. So get ready for it.”
“Thanks.”
The older man just nodded and walked away. Lightforge stepped forward and conjured his tools, setting to work on helping along the repairs to the street around him. This time he wasn’t stewing on the bad choices that had led him to this point. He wasn’t really thinking about anything; he let his mind wander as he lost himself in the simple act of bringing broken pieces together and watching them repair themselves.
As his thoughts wandered, he couldn’t help but consider Lou’s words. What was he going to do to be better prepared next time? If he’d been asked that question a few days earlier, he would have had the perfect answer. He would have waxed poetic about his never ending flow of ideas, about all of the incredible weapons and gadgets that he would build and use to prevent anyone from ever attacking him.
Now he wasn’t so sure. He’d gotten so cocky in recent days, only to have the illusion shattered right in front of his eyes. Some people truly didn’t care about the supposed role that he had to play in the area. They didn’t care that he was a unique resource for both sides. Some simply had an appetite for destruction, and thinking that he could single-handedly stop that had been both arrogant and stupid.
Now he needed to rethink his strategy from the ground up. He had been saying a lot of things, and only now was he realizing just how far he was from being able to back up his words with actions.
Somehow, in his arrogance, he’d started thinking too small. He had been so concerned about his own power, his own gear, his own shop, that he didn’t see all of the opportunities around him. It wasn’t enough to protect himself. It wasn’t enough to just help the people who made their way to his doorstep. That was a small dream, and one that he’d made peace with. But small dreams weren’t the reason why he’d fallen in love with this world.
He could feel his priorities shifting and settling into place in his mind. His work wasn’t about being the most powerful or the most well-equipped. Those were the fringe benefits to his position. But his true work was helping people; helping them to do the things that they couldn’t do.
Any Hero could save a person; it was their purpose for existing. But who else could give people the tools to save themselves? That was a gift that few, if any, had in this world. But he did have it, and it was far past time to stop squandering that gift.