Intermission 7.1

Colin Wallis

2002, January 21: Brockton Bay, NH

Director Sean Cooper was a tall, bulky black man in his early fifties. According to records, he was a former lieutenant for the US marines during the Vietnam War, making him one of the last soldiers who had experienced combat before the age of parahumans. He looked as stereotypes dictated: He kept his graying, salt-pepper hair shaved close and his frame spoke of an athletic physique won through long practice that had yet to desert him completely in his age. His eyes were hard but not unkind, with a furrow to his brows that gave him a stern countenance.

By all accounts, he joined the PRT's special tactics division back during the "bad old days" before the Protectorate truly came into its own. Back then, there were no laws concerning capes, no rules of engagement, and no means of combating powers save through bullets. He rose through the ranks thanks in large part due to his exceptional tactical leadership and care for the wellbeing of his men. One of his last acts as an active duty officer was to escort Lustrum into the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center.

Respectable. Rational. Focused. Likely somewhat dogmatic, though with a harsh but caring personality. I could work with a profile like that.

I did what I thought would best set the foundation for a productive working relationship. I stood ramrod straight and gave him a respectful nod, just shy of giving him a proper military salute, which he might have taken poorly considering I was never part of the armed services. "Sir," I spoke crisply and promptly, "Armsmaster formerly of the DC Protectorate. A pleasure to work with you, sir."

He studied me for almost precisely ten seconds, nine-point-six-two to be exact, slightly long enough to induce a sense of social awkwardness in his subordinates, likely an intentional maneuver to get the measure of me.

Unnecessary, I was always as I presented myself, but understandable.

"Armsmaster. Colin. You come highly recommended," he began. Use of a first name, likely as a way to quickly foster comradery. "Tell me, son, what are you doing here?"

I ignored the overly familiar diminutive and answered according to my mission statement. "I am here to serve and protect this city, sir."

"Yes, yes you are. I'm not doubting that, but that wasn't what I asked you. That's why the Protectorate assigned you here. I'm asking you why you chose to accept. I've read your files. You're a promising young man. You could have headed off to bigger and better things. Chicago. Seattle. Boston. Maybe under one of the other Founders now that Hero's off to the Guild. Why Brockton Bay?"

It was a complicated question. I knew myself well enough to understand that introspection was never something I excelled in. Director Cooper was quickly proving to be more than his files suggested.

Ever since the endbringer attack that the online community was calling "Last Christmas," I was filled with an unusual cocktail of emotions. There was the predictable fear at the arrival of yet another endbringer, and one that seemed uniquely tailored to abuse tinkers. There was joy at the relatively minor consequences of the attack. Pride and awe at Hyunmu's feat, proof of what a dedicated tinker could do when sufficiently motivated. Sorrow at the potential that had been cut down before his prime.

And, if I were being truthful, there was envy too.

What had I been doing? What had any of us been doing that a ten year old boy could upstage us so thoroughly? Did we not work as hard as he did? Even among tinkers, the unfairness of it all was displayed clearly to me and it was all I could do to swallow my bitterness at the boy who very likely paid the ultimate price for the victory.

I was never one for introspection and the truth was, I didn't know precisely what made me decide to accept Paladin's offer. I didn't know how I felt. About the endbringers. Hyunmu. Last Christmas. Or even my own career. All I knew…

"I seek to prove myself," I said finally. This, this I knew. I would not stop. I could not stop. To stop was to yield, to stagnate. I would make a difference in my own way, by my own hands.

Director Cooper met my eyes through my eyes through my visor before nodding solemnly. "Good. I was worried that you'd let Christmas break you, that you were seeking an early retirement in this tiny city."

"Brockton Bay has the highest number of parahumans per capita-"

"I know, son. You don't need to recite numbers at me. Trust me, I know just how much of a festering shithole my city can be. You'd be surprised how many new capes come in and think a small city like this will be an easy assignment. They keep thinking that way 'til Allfather strings 'em up like Christ on Calvary."

"I am well-aware of the potential hostiles in this city, sir."

"Good. It'll keep you alive. You debut on February first, next Friday. Until then, I expect you to look over your lab and figure out what you need beyond the bare essentials we stocked. We don't have the resources you did in DC and with all the funds going into rebuilding the capitol and settling refugees, it's hard enough applying for funds for the whole department, never mind a lone tinker. You're going to have to prioritize and be efficient with your budget."

"Yes sir. Efficiency is my specialty," I said even as I frowned internally. It was expected, and likely would be the case for the next several months if not years, but I already missed the Madhouse. Still, it was a tradeoff I'd expected: More freedom, more opportunity, fewer resources.

"Good. You will receive your patrol schedule from Paladin closer to your debut. Dismissed."

"Sir."

I turned and exited his office before heading to the parking lot to grab my motorcycle.

The motorcycle was likely not what came to mind when most people considered a tinker's vehicle of choice. It was a cobalt-blue with silver accents, much like my armor, and otherwise looked remarkably like a factory-standard BMW GS Adventure. Because it was.

It was a high-quality bike, but other than a thicker frame, improved engine, emergency siren, and tweaked handlebars to more ergonomically fit my armored hands, it boasted very little in the way of tinkertech.

I hopped on and allowed myself four seconds to appreciate the rumbling purr of its engine. Save for my armor and halberd, it was my prized possession, one I insisted on riding up here from DC despite the readily available airplane.

Although upon reflection, I likely would not be the only American to avoid taking to the sky.

I revved the engine and allowed it to carry me out towards the pier. Paladin had ties to the New York branch of the Elite, of that I was certain, though perhaps in the past tense. There was a time when Uppercrust had sought a foothold in the Bay. He had built the forcefield surrounding the Protectorate headquarters along with a forcefield roadway from the pier to the oil rig. Although the records were sparse on just why the Elite left Brockton, they did. Perhaps Uppercrust decided the chaos of the Bay was not healthy for his bottom line, or perhaps he had simply found better opportunities in the Big Apple.

I considered it as I drove along the roadway. PHQ was a beautiful building and I could understand why some called it a marvel of modern architecture. It stood as proof to the people that though the old days of sea travel and trade were gone, we could reclaim a bit of that glory for ourselves. It was a beacon of hope for the city, an undeniable sign that the Protectorate was fighting the good fight.

X

My quarters at PHQ were adequate. Adequate because it was as spartan as could be: one bed of adequate pliability, one kitchenette with a small sink and a single stove, microwave, and minifridge, and one closet. It reminded me of a motel room, but that was acceptable.

I looked down at my suitcase. The sum total of my personal effects was in this singular suitcase. It was just how I liked it. Colin Wallis had long since taken a backseat to Armsmaster and though I could easily afford a condo of my own in the city, I was perfectly happy to live here in my quarters adjacent to my lab.

The lab itself was far better furnished than my room. From what I read of the former oil rig's blueprints, this lab used to be a storage area for barrels of crude oil before it was modernized and appropriate hardware was brought in for tinkers. Only one other tinker had used this room before me, but she had passed away four months ago, which was why my own arrival was timely for the city.

Every Protectorate branch should retain at least one tinker, though no more than three as per new regulations.

On the wall nearest to the door was a stand for my power armor, a holdover from my predecessor's time. It was a simple matter to adjust the stand for armor my size, but I made a note to make my own when I had the chance, along with a weapon rack for my halberds. It wasn't simply a matter of vanity; if I built it from scratch I could make something to help me put on my armor a full eight seconds faster than dressing normally, critical in emergencies.

Next to it were several storage cabinets for tools and materials of all types. I nodded approvingly at the organization. She even had custom-built drawers dedicated to caustic or explosive chemicals. I'd be making good use of those.

Then there was the forge. I could tell that it had been heavily modified previously, but all the tinkertech components had to be scrapped with her passing. It wasn't that they couldn't be used, her instructions were apparently quite clear and concise, but that maintenance was nearly impossible to perform to her exact specifications. Even so, just seeing the skeleton was enough to give me some ideas of my own.

Along the far wall was a set of workbenches and more compact machines bolted to them. I eyed them critically. The lathe looked like it could use cleaning and the drop hammer would need to be hooked up to the electrical grid in a more efficient configuration, but they all seemed to be in working order.

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I allowed myself a small smile as I got to work. There was much to do now. As tragic as the previous attack was, it was also a goldmine of inspiration. The endbringer had integrated so much of our tech into the worst-case scenario, a city-destroying horde of drones only eliminated with Exalt's heroic sacrifice. It was only after the fact that I fully understood where my fault lay.

I tried to do everything on my own, retread trails already blazed by my fellows. Inefficient. If an endbringer could combine so much of our work, why couldn't I? I often saw Hyunmu approach Bluesong and Metalmaru to improve on his arsenal. I saw him pioneer the Worldstone Network alongside Hero. He had no reservations about asking me to spar with him, to teach him.

The shameless curiosity of a child, could I embrace that kind of mentality? What did my pride matter before progress?

Efficiency was my specialty. It was time I acted like it.

I booted up the computer and began to take stock of all I owned. My power armor had taken some significant damage during the endbringer attack and I had not gotten a chance to repair it amidst ongoing relief efforts but perhaps that was a blessing. I made a note to strip it down to its skeleton and cosmetic outer layer. Everything else, I'd remake.

My helmet was in a similar state of disrepair. There was a gruesome crack on top and past the left ear where I'd taken a bad hit from falling debris while rescuing a civilian. I frowned at that. It was proof that my combat prediction algorithm needed improvement, perhaps an opportunity to consult Zero Day.

The shell would need to be replaced before my debut. I agreed with PR; I had to look pristine, no matter the damage. It was best that we showed a façade of invincibility for the public, not because anyone would buy it, no one was dense enough to believe we were unmarred by an endbringer, but because it inspired hope.

Thankfully, the protective layer did its job. I was uninjured, as were the delicate internals of the helmet.

I moved on to my halberd. After using it to deflect multiple flying masonry, the blade had noticeable dents to it. I also had a plasma blade, grappling hook, tasers, and Petricite tranquilizers, but none of it was useful when I was forced into a defensive role. I couldn't use any of it to protect the civilians looking to me for help.

I shut my eyes and forced myself to focus.

I made a note to prioritize more defensive capabilities. Perhaps I ought to remove the dart launcher module in favor of some type of forcefield generator. With Hyunmu indefinitely out of commission, it was unlikely that I would get more Petricite and without it, any tranquilizer felt redundant to the taser.

Sighing, I drafted several letters for my colleagues and sent them off before beginning the long process of stripping my armor. There was much to do.

X

2002, January 22: Brockton Bay, NH

I received a note from Bluesong in Jacksonville, Florida. As prompt as ever. She had her own concerns due to her newfound position of authority but made time for me anyway. She, like many of my colleagues, had once tried to expand the general understanding of the scientific community, only to hit roadblocks in the form of unintentionally blackboxed tech. Though she was largely unsuccessful, she did retain a series of blueprints of increasing complexity to guide new tinkers.

I looked over what she sent me and kicked myself for not asking previously. Her notes were rudimentary and covered only the bare foundations of fluid dynamics and wave motion as it pertained to liquids and sound, but they were still enlightening to read as they were written from the perspective of a fellow tinker. She was a phenomenal teacher and I suspected Jacksonville was in excellent hands.

Of the blueprints she sent me, one caught my eye in particular. It was, in layman's terms, a large sonar attached to a computer that read life signs. It was designed to penetrate dozens of feet of solid stone to diagnose a person's injuries by using their own heartbeat and blood flow as a medium to map the condition of their body. Unfortunately, she didn't use the machine often because it was unwieldy. Something with that kind of penetrative power and processing capacity needed a sizable hardware. She could carry it, but often had better inventions to suit her needs.

But… But I was not so limited. I could already see how the scanner and processing suite could be made more efficient, more compact. If I cut the sonar's range and power significantly, I could make it small enough to fit on my armor. If I made the computer less precise, I could adjust it to identify incoming projectiles in general, not just living people.

Yes, I saw how it could be incorporated into my own sensory suite to augment my predictive algorithms.

I thanked her profusely and started to design a place for it in my power armor.

X

Several hours later, as I was taking a brief lunch break, I heard a knock at my door.

"Enter," I called, buzzing open the lock.

The door opened to reveal Paladin, the head of the local Protectorate. He was a tall, dark-skinned man who stood at six-four even out of armor. In it, his already impressive bulk was made even more intimidating. He dressed as his namesake in white plate with golden accents. Everything about him was tailored to be as charismatic and reassuring as possible, the kind of man who made civilians quiet down simply by being there.

"Armsmaster, how are you?" he asked with a confident smile. "I hope the lab is alright."

"It is," I confirmed. "It can be modified to my specifications as I continue to work here."

"Hah, you're exactly like your file says, dedicated to a fault."

"It is no fault," I said stiffly. "A tinker requires significant preparation."

"Right, but it can be when you haven't even met your team. Getting to know your new colleagues is also important, don't you think?"

"Very well. Is there a social function I should know of? You could just add it to my calendar."

"I like to visit everyone. There's something lost without a face-to-face conversation, you know?" I didn't know actually; an email would have sufficed. I nodded along anyway. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know that we're having a small welcome party for you. Come to the west balcony at five."

"That is unnecessary."

"Don't worry about it, we want to. You're just an excuse to cut loose after work."

Seeing that he had no intention of letting me avoid attending, I acquiesced as the best way to get him to leave. "As you wish. I shall make myself available at five this evening."

"That's the spirit," he cheered. He must have sensed my discomfort because he said, "Look, the party's mask-on so you don't need to unmask to anyone if you don't want to. I recommend it for team cohesion and whatnot, but I get it if me and Director Cooper are the only ones you'd rather have know your name."

"That is not a problem. My personal identity means little."

"Glad to hear it. You don't need to stay for the whole thing, just drop in and say hi for a bit."

"Understood."

"Alright, I'll get out of your hair for a few hours. See you this evening, Armsmaster."

"Good day, Paladin."

He left and I allowed myself a tired sigh. He was precisely the kind of person I had the most trouble dealing with, the kind for whom social interactions came naturally. He was the man who could win over anyone with a smile. Coupled with a photogenic power that formed golden shields around those near him, it was easy to see how he became the leader of this branch so early on in his career.

X

The western balcony was in fact one of several openair areas in PHQ, but the only one that was clearly meant for recreational functions. It was on the third floor of the oil rig and overlooked the forcefield roadway as well as the Boardwalk section of the city. I took in the setting sun and allowed myself a small smile; the city was truly beautiful from this angle.

Off to one side was a table with a cooler full of various drinks. A second table was laden with different foodstuffs, mostly fruits and snacks raided from the cafeteria. Good, I preferred things to be simple.

"Armsmaster, you're here," Paladin grinned. Or perhaps Travis now. He had foregone his trademark white and gold armor in favor of a Hawaiian shirt of all things. To be fair to him, I'd likewise left my helmet at the lab.

"Paladin. Evening."

"Travis. Mind if I call you Colin?"

"No."

"Well come and meet the rest of the team. We're a little smaller than the major branches, but we can throw down with the best of 'em!"

"Didn't we get our asses handed to us during joint training with the Boston Protectorate two months ago?" interjected a gruff, rail-thin man with a captain's jacket. He even wore a tricorn hat though he took off the domino mask when he saw me. "Paul Jones, Cannonade."

"Colin Wallis. Armsmaster."

"What's your poison, Colin?"

"I have no preference," I said truthfully. I typically stayed away from alcohol; it did nothing but addle the mind. At social events, I tended to grab whatever had the lowest APV so I could pretend to sip at it all night.

"Then grab a beer and join us," Paladin said as he placed a chilled bottle in my hand. "Let me introduce you to the rest of the team. The short, round fellow is Hammerhead, or Duke. He's big on mixed martial arts so if you need a spar to vent some stress, he's your man. The chirpy blonde is Luminous, or Irene out of costume. She's the team mom even though she only graduated last year. The pretty Asian lady is Akitsu, or Tomoko; she's our intelligence specialist. And last and very much least is Bonfire or Pete. He's new, joined only four months ago actually."

"Ey, fuck you too, Travis," the one I assumed was Bonfire shot back. In his hand was a glass full of amber whiskey. No ice, but uncomfortably full, likely four or five times what would be served in a bar.

"Yeah, I'm not the team mom," Luminous said with a pout. "If anything, the fact that you think this team needs a team mom is problematic."

"But you're so perfect for the job," our nominal leader whined.

"I'm the youngest here, jerk."

"True, but you're also the most responsible."

"And you think that's not a problem?"

"Nosy, Travis. The word you're looking for is nosy," Bonfire snarked as he took a long gulp of his whiskey.

"Shove off, Pete. And you stop drinking like a fish," Luminous grumbled.

"Ignore Pete," Cannonade said to her. "You're finally in the big leagues now. Enjoy your first no-Wards-allowed party. Though I'm still going to keep you away from the wine."

"Ehh, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

"Yeah, you gotta hang with all us old fogeys now."

I left them to their banter. Off in the corner, Hammerhead and Akitsu stood in quiet conversation. The short, stocky man offered me what Pyrotechnical once called the "bro nod." Hammerhead talked at her rather than with her; she largely seemed more interested in her snack, some kind of rice cracker, and looking out over the city than anything he said.

It all seemed very relaxed and I couldn't help but draw comparisons to Hero's leadership. Paladin reminded me of him in a way, though I suspected the smaller membership and his comparatively fewer responsibilities made forging personal connections a much simpler affair.

I spent the evening taking a measure of my new team. Akitsu was my personal favorite thus far, if only because she did not insist on engaging me in inane conversation about some sports team or other. By contrast, Luminous was as extroverted as her name implied. She seemed to delight in making wisecracks at everyone else's expense, though it likely wasn't malicious.

I wondered if PR took into account their personalities before choosing their cape personas. Cannonade was gruff and boisterous, as sailors tended to be. He used to be a dockworker by his own admission. I learned little about Hammerhead but he gave the impression of a straightforward man, though perhaps unsuccessful in romantic pursuits.

It was Bonfire who gave me the most to ponder. He was a man who loved his whiskey, Jack Daniels and nothing else, according to him. That could not be healthy. Or appropriate. Still, being new to the group, I held my tongue and forced myself to tolerate their attempts at socialization for two hours before heading back to my lab.

Author's Note

I don't think I got Colin's voice down quite right, but I'm sick of trying so here's what you get. People sometimes ask me if Andy's an SI and though some of the background mirrors my own (we're both Korean immigrants), I think my personality is much closer to Armsmaster's to be truthful. Colin gives me mad flashbacks to when I was a tactless, awkward nerd. I know he's not so bad that he needs a "social program" like in fanon, but he's really not that great either.

Oh, and an obligatory animal fact: Alligator snapping turtles are the biggest snapping turtles in the world and can grow up to 200 lbs. They cannot stretch their necks so use lures from their tongues that wiggle like worms to attract prey. They are capable of holding their breath for ~50 minutes and can bite through a person's finger with ease.

On another note, "noodling" is the supremely idiotic practice of sticking your hand into a murky riverbed and wiggling your finger around as bait to catch catfish. Catfish aren't the only things that bite and their dorsal fins are poisonous so I have no idea why hillbillies in Mississippi do this.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.