Scattered 5.9

2001, June 11: Washington, DC, United States

Morning found me in full armor, Isolde spinning on my finger and the Blitzshield clasped to my left forearm. I stood a training room set aside in the PRT building. I'd foregone my regular workout in lieu of this spar, a chance to test myself before a truly skilled opponent.

Across from me stood Collin Wallis, Armsmaster, in his armored glory. His armor was a matte midnight-blue, with silver streaks reminiscent of speed lines in racecars. I found it a little humorous that his logo was just a silhouette of his helmet and visor in blue over a silver hexagon.

'One day, that's going to be on the Queen's underpants,' I thought, then snorted to suppress a laugh.

"Hyunmu," he nodded in my direction. "You are ready."

"Good morning, Armsmaster," I said with a polite bow. Sometimes, the man needed a slight nudge to observe basic courtesies. "I'm good to go whenever you are."

"We will begin with a spar involving only martial arts. I will use my halberd. I take it you will use your… scissors?"

"Yeah. No active abilities?"

"None. I will refrain from using my taser, grappling hook, or other attachments and you will do the same. I will send a countdown signal to the monitor. When it hits zero, we will begin. The spar will end when one person yields or takes an otherwise debilitating strike. Am I understood?"

"You are."

"Good."

I saw Armsmaster make some signal with his eyes and a robotic voice rang out over the training room speakers. "Three. Two. One. Go!"

Despite the start of the spar, neither of us moved. I was too busy examining the way his armor's exoskeleton textured itself around his body. It was marvelous, the way it conformed to every twitch of his muscles. Just watching inspired new hextech projects in my mind. Miniaturization and efficiency were truly phenomenal specializations.

As for Armsmaster, he was content to wait. He believed he outclassed me greatly and so was taking a mentor's role. To be fair, were I in his shoes, I'd probably assume the same.

I wanted to shatter that bit of delusion.

I pumped my mana through my body, reinforcing It beyond human limits. He may have forbidden active use of tinkertech, but my spells weren't tinkertech. It was a secret I kept from pretty much everyone, that I could do things beyond the lab. True, I used the Minion Dematerializer in the Red Sands incident, but I also very clearly had the relic pistol and details of that incident were only ever fully disclosed to Hero and Metalmaru on the Protectorate side of things.

I decided to test him myself; I knew he was stronger in that armor, but I wasn't sure by how much. At his best, he was a man who could take on Leviathan in single combat. Sure, a jobbing Leviathan, but that was still more than most could claim. On the other hand, for all I knew, he hadn't built his anti-Leviathan kit yet. In fact, I was positive he at least didn't have his combat algorithm, meaning this would truly be a contest of martial skill.

I went in for a textbook thrust, stomping forward with my right leg and twisting my hip simultaneously for better leverage. He dodged it of course; it'd have been rather disappointing if he couldn't.

The thrust turned into a sweep that spread my arm outward. But before he could take advantage of my open torso, my shield-hand trailed behind to cover the momentary vulnerability. I continued on the offense, stomping forward into his guard. Every weapon had an optimal "strike zone" and a halberd's was further afield. Unable to swing his halberd at full length, his strength was effectively halved, whereas Isolde could change shape to suit me no matter the distance.

That wasn't to say he was an easy mark by any means. He initially made a light jab towards my chest but when that slid off the Blitzshield, he allowed the parry, following it until the halberd rotated a full hundred eighty degrees. Even as I stepped into his guard, the weighted tail of his trusty weapon was careening for my chin, forcing me to duck to avoid it.

That he could aim for my chin so accurately despite my awkward height was impressive.

But I was already in his space. My shield-hand twisted up into a punch, though it was a little slow because of how large the shield was on my diminutive frame. He had plenty of time to catch my uppercut on his armored forearm.

He twisted to the side, forcing my arm to go wide. He choked up on his halberd grip and made to jab towards my shoulder, but that was a feint.

Then, he kicked me. It was a textbook snap kick taught in every karate and taekwondo dojo. But given my size and his augmented strength, it was enough to send me flying.

Isolde shrank to the size of a dagger, allowing me to maneuver my right hand into a spiral and roll along the arm as Lee Sin taught his acolytes. I snapped back into ready position, Isolde spinning in my fingers.

"Are you unhurt?" Armsmaster asked, a trace of concern in his otherwise mechanical tone.

I tapped my breastplate. "Yeah, fine. My armor can take a lot more than you can dish out," I replied with a smirk. "I'm not even winded. I'm surprised you went for a kick though, didn't know you knew how to do that."

"Most opponents are caught off guard when I know different techniques beyond the halberd. It is logical to prepare for opponents who can get into my guard."

"Makes sense. I should have expected it."

"You use your shield in interesting ways. I do not believe they are optimal techniques. You leave yourself too vulnerable. The shield is best suited for a stationary, defensive combat style, but you seem to prefer an agile, aggressive martial art."

"I know. I'm hoping I'll grow into it eventually. Originally, the Blitzshield was meant to be a little larger than a bucker on an adult frame. It's a bit too big for me right now, but I don't want to just neglect it. The EMP and power-draining effects on the shield are some of the best tools I have if I ever need to take on a tinker or blaster."

"Solid points, but the air resistance alone makes your punches with that hand rather slow and its size is throwing off your center of balance ever so slightly. You seem to be able to compensate using your augmented strength, but it is not optimal. Experienced fighters like myself will make note and exploit the vulnerability."

I nodded. "My armor can drain powers, the outer scales and plates are made of Neo-Petricite, but I'm not keen on trying to grapple people, not with my size. And honestly? The EMP is too useful to ignore, especially when you consider that most people tend to send tinkers to fight other tinkers in the hopes of getting new tech or inspiration."

He smiled appreciatively. "You've been studying Protectorate combat records. Good. But that still means your shield is a niche tool. Unless you can miniaturize your shield, carrying it as your sidearm is inefficient."

"What do you suggest?"

"Lose the shield," he said flatly. "You can either move the shield to your back and make a quick-deploy mechanism of some variant, or remove the EMP function and add it to something smaller like a bracer."

I unhooked the Blitzshield from my wrist and tossed it to the side. "You might be right. I'm probably going to keep the shield though, mostly because I want to enchant it with Barrier, a personal forcefield."

"Do your… 'enchantments' need to be on the shield?" he asked. I could tell he loathed calling them enchantments but acquiesced to the whims of a child's fancy.

"No, but my armor is already as loaded as I can get it," I said. And it was true. In the same way that anyone not named Armsmaster had to balance what could be fitted onto their limited kit, I had to balance which enchantments went where for optimal effect. Generally speaking, the more an item could do, the less effective it was at each task, versatility versus specialization. The exception was a masterwork like my eyes, something I'd built with the express intention of future upgrades.

This winter solstice, Winter's Approach would become Fimbulwinter, a legendary armor that could help make me even more of a juggernaut. It could fit several enchantments, but its primary function was a matrix that converted momentum and motion into mana to fuel a barrier of frost around my person. It was designed to be a direct upgrade to my current cryokinesis.

"Your specialization is baffling as always."

"Yeah, shall we continue?"

He nodded and took his stance again.

We went several more rounds, some with pure martial arts and others with more of our tech in play. We found out that when it came to martial arts, we were surprisingly even. No, I dared say I even had the edge in technique, a byproduct of being indirectly taught by the equivalent of xianxia masters.

However, I still lost seventy percent of the time because of my stature and lesser strength. I could close the gap in reach by extending Isolde, but after a certain point, it became too long to be wielded properly and the cumbersome weapon would lead to him running circles around me. In terms of strength, I found out that Armsmaster's armor made him roughly thrice as strong as he would be without it, edging out my physical reinforcement in a straight contest.

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When we added our tech into the mix, I found out that his ranged options were relatively limited. He could extend his halberd another two feet forward, but that meant little when I kept playing tag with my relic pistol. His grappling hook was a nasty surprise for me, especially when I found out he could direct its flight using his visor, but my eyes made tracking it trivial.

I also found out that he couldn't see through the Hallowed Mist and we quickly banned it as a tool in our spars.

Neither of us were willing to use anything more than that. He didn't want to drug someone so small with his tranq darts or bring out his plasma weapons and I wasn't about to cut his armor or halberd on purpose.

In the end, it was good practice for the both of us and we agreed to do this semi-regularly.

X

I sat in my lab after a morning of heavy exercise. Getting my ass handed to me repeatedly wasn't fun, but at least I could hold my own. It was better practice than working with the other Wards.

More than that, working with Armsmaster gave me the chance to look at his armor in greater detail. Not to fanboy too hard, but it was a work of art. I promised myself again that I would spend more time with the more mechanical side of Runeterra's tech tree; it was one I'd unfortunately neglected until now.

I was currently leaning over a large swathe of drafting paper, pencil in hand, trying to decide what I wanted to do with my Blitzshield.

One option was to do as Armsmaster said, to simply lose it until I could use it properly. But a part of me loathed the idea of simply tossing something I made aside. I'd never once used Sobriety, but it was still sheathed on my hip no matter what. Powell and I had a shouting match about that. Was it weird that my comfort blanket was a knife that fucked up powers?

The Dream Blossom Censer was something reserved for special scenarios, situations where stealth was paramount. I could understand the need to not carry it, but my shield…?

I liked it. At the end of the day, that was all it boiled down to: I liked my shield. I wanted to level it up alongside me. So, it would have to change in function.

Armsmaster was right. My fighting style was a bastardized fusion of several different martial arts, all of them far more agile than a traditional shield wall.

My go-to answer was to make it a projectile, much like Captain America. If nothing else, I had plenty of references to draw on. By engraving it with rune matrices for Mark and Dash, I should be able to have the Blitzshield mark targets using its stun function then auto-aim with Dash. I could then use it either like Cap's frisbee or let it drag me forward into a shield bash. After all, there wasn't a reason for Mark to only be usable with snowballs as the medium. And with Dash, repeated casts could let me hit multiple targets from unexpected directions.

But that was the limit of the Blitzshield's enchantment capacity. It would mean foregoing Barrier and reconfiguring my shield so I could trigger its spells from a distance, but given the Hallowed Mist's defensive properties, that shouldn't be too much of a sacrifice.

So decided, I began to tinker. With a combination of Cosmic Insight and Unsealed Spellbook feeding me formulas and matrices, it didn't take me long. Four hours later, I had it, a shield that could move with me, one I wouldn't feel bad about dropping on a dime for some extra agility.

With that minor bit of work out of the way, I was about to finish up my shoes, jokingly called White Walkers, when I received an email from Brickhouse letting me know to expect a patrol after lunch.

X

"Hyunmu, you're here," he called as I joined him, Gold Rush, and Verdeer in the Wards common room. "You'll have a patrol with Gold Rush this time. Take a tour around the Gallery Place and Chinatown areas before trailing southeast to Union Station then back north to the H Street corridor. You're going to finish up at the intersection of H Street and Maryland Avenue. Clear?"

"Clear," we said simultaneously.

It was all routine by now. The H Street route was the "thrill route" as far as the Wards were concerned. The neighborhood was destroyed in the 1968 riots long before Scion came into the picture. Although it was once a major business district in DC, lovingly called the "Swampnoodle," whatever the fuck that meant, it became the kind of place known for bars, clubs, and maybe a few robberies and muggings thrown in for flavor. It wasn't the "worst" neighborhood in DC, but it was the worst neighborhood that Wards were allowed to patrol alone.

I thought it was mostly bullshit. From what Pyro was telling me, it had some of the best live music venues in the city, not that I was old enough to enjoy those scenes.

"Where're you two going?" I asked my illustrious leader and our cervid friend.

"I've got another date with the Humane Rescue Alliance," Verdeer said with a grin. The man really loved animals.

"I'm going to be locked in a classroom for the rest of the day," Brickhouse said with a mock groan. "I turned eighteen in March so they're slowly grooming me for Protectorate stuff."

Gold Rush eyed her superior enviously. "Lucky. I can't wait to graduate."

"It's really not that fun, mostly just some SOPs and what to do in certain situations. Actually, Hyunmu, didn't you have to take a bunch of classes on lab ethics?"

"Don't remind me. Hero made me do it."

"What happened?"

'I saved Hero's ass with some definitely-not-suspicious blood magic,' I thought but didn't say. Instead, I shrugged. "It's just some certification some bigwig thought all tinkers should get. I have it so it's one less thing people can ride my ass about, you know?"

"Ah, like, 'See, an eight year old can pass it. It's no big deal,' kind of thing?"

"Nine. But yes."

"Alright, you two go off now. Don't keep Agent Mitchell waiting."

Gold Rush and I got in the car with Agent Jeremy Mitchell hovering in our ears. I'd met the man several times before and we weren't fond of each other. He was of the opinion that a Ward was still a child and should be treated like one. The Youth Guard was still a young organization, but he was heavily involved in their affairs.

Agent Mitchell was the main reason why the rest of the Wards had relatively light schedules and he and Costa-Brown had argued more than once about whether or not I should be held to the same standard. In the end, the fact that I already had my diploma meant there wasn't a whole lot he could do. What was he going to do? Insist I went to school?

We were halfway through our tour when Gold Rush decided to stop. "Hey, let's grab something from there," she pointed. It was a sign that read, "Jumbo's Jerk." The logo was of an overweight black man with thick dreads and a chef's hat strangling a rather upset looking chicken. It even had cartoon tears rolling down its wattles. How that was supposed to make me want some of their food was beyond me, but I followed her lead.

"Is this okay, Console?" I asked.

"It's fine. Gold Rush requires more calories than a normal person her size because of her brute rating. Did you have lunch, Hyunmu?"

"I did, but I suppose I could always go for a snack."

"Good. Try to be personable, both of you. You can bill the PRT after your patrol so save the receipt."

We made vague noises of assent and stepped into the store. I had to admit, the open kitchen where several spatchcocked chickens were grilling did far more to wet my appetite than their logo. I wasn't too familiar with Jamaican cuisine, but the aroma of roasting spice mix and poultry was phenomenal.

"Ey, we have some heroes in the house," said a heavyset black man with a full beard and set of dreadlocks wrapped into a ponytail, presumably the Jumbo in question. He had a wide, toothy smile as he flipped a chicken with his tongs. The man spoke with the heavy accent of a Jamaican native and it made me wonder what brought him here.

"Hello, sir," Gold Rush began.

"Nah, I'm not no 'sir,' little hero. I'm Jumbo the Jerk Master!" He flung his arms wide and tossed his head back in a booming laugh. I had no idea if he greeted anyone else this way or if us Wards were special, but the man could ham it up with the best of them. He reminded me of Penelope "Stingray Straight!" Myers.

"Is your name really Jumbo?" I couldn't help but ask.

He leaned forward and winked at me conspiratorially. "Nah, my friend, it's Josh." Then, he rose back up again, tongs stabbing into the air. "But Jumbo when I am behind this grill!"

It was hard not to smile with a man like that. He made it easy to get into my own act. So, I bowed deep with a soft smile of my own. "Far be it for me to begrudge a man his mask," I said calmly. "I cannot say I have ever had Jamaican food. Can you recommend a small snack?"

"Of course I can. You want something sweet or savory?"

"Something sweet, please."

"Then you have to try my sister's hummingbird cake, my friend. It's buttery, fruity, and not too heavy."

"Then I'll get a slice of that."

"I want a quarter chicken combo with Jamaican rice please."

"Coming right up, little heroes. You go ahead and take a seat, yeah?"

We made our way down the H Street corridor after Gold Rush's impromptu meal. She raced some kids for fun. We signed some autographs and posed for pictures with a handful of college kids. There was one heckler that made a pass at my partner, but she shot him down while making a joke of it and we moved quickly along.

Overall, the patrol was uneventful, as Mitchell and I liked it. He wanted Wards to be like a prep school and me, less action meant fewer reports to write afterwards.

X

I went home and began another major project. With Isolde and my eyes out of the way, I felt that it was time to load up my pipeline with yet another masterwork. Or at least, shape me as a person and a nascent Aspect.

A while back, I once asked Contessa and Clairvoyant to look for the oldest tree still living. They delivered, a disc from a gnarled branch of a bristlecone pine over six thousand years old. On Aleph, Methuselah was the oldest at four thousand eight hundred years; this one beat it by over a millennium. Hell, six thousand years ago was the neolithic age, way back when humans were still figuring out that this farming thing wasn't a fad.

As per my request, they'd ensured that the tree was still alive, taking the wood from a branch roughly three inches larger than my head in diameter.

I looked at the old wood with cautious reverence. It twisted on itself in countless ripples, so very distinctive compared to other woods. The pattern reminded me of rippling sand dunes in the desert. In my hands, this wasn't just an old piece of tinder. It had the potential to be so much more.

There was weight in life, and in death. The oldest living thing would be a worthy chain to bind us.

Slowly, with the kind of mindful purpose reserved for the most complex of Lee Sin's katas, I withdrew Isolde and began to carve. No machine would do. Nothing so impersonal would be acceptable, not here and not now.

With the soft scratching noise of hallowed blade on wood, the Mask began to take shape.

Author's Note

Another training scene, but this time with an actual opponent. I hope I did both Collin and Andy justice.

In canon, Collin did have his jealous streak over Dauntless, but I figured it'd be much more tempered with Andy because a) this is way before Armsmaster began to plateau and b) Andy is constantly working and doesn't have his power just handed to him.

Collin is also aware that he's Rubedo, and therefore the Red Sands Incident, if not the precise details. As far as he's concerned, Alexandria rescued Andy in a violent showdown. He's a little emotionally stunted, but he's not dumb enough to take out his own self-esteem issues on who he perceives to be a heavily traumatized second trigger.

H Street Corridor is a neighborhood in DC. It's 1.5 miles long and was considered the "other side of the tracks." Like stated in the story, it was trashed during the 1968 riots and the city government only began revitalization efforts in the 21st century. It's not an "emerging neighborhood" anymore, but until very recently, it wasn't the safest place to be at night. When renovations began, it sparked up some major conversations about the city "whitewashing" neighborhoods and keeping the original (mostly black) residents from affording housing there.

It was all kinds of fucked up. Best clubs in town for sure though.

In the interest of not pissing off any actual Jamaicans, I decided not to try for the shitty "ya feelin' me, mahn" accents.

What's the last scene?

No comment, though I'm sure other people who're fans of LoR will guess the reference.

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