Massive Disaster X

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Zedd slouched forward, complaining elbows digging into the workbench as the dim blue glow of his omnitool flickered against the dull light overhead. Wires, cracked circuit boards, tools scattered stared back at him in the mess of his workshop.

On the left, the battered husk of a Devlon Worker Bee Mk III drone twitched faintly as he poked at its wiring. It looked half-dead, the kind of junk even scrap rats would pass on, which made sense given it was at least seven years out of date. But he could see the potential, just waiting for the right hands.

His hands.

“Stubborn lil dickhead, aren’t you?” His voice came out muffled under the snug goggles perched over his face. No reply, obviously, but the faint whir of its diagnostics felt like it was talking back anyway.

He couldn’t tell if it was mocking him or just as tired as he was.

The goggles’ HUD flickered to life, syncing smoothly to his omnitool. Blue-tinted readouts crawled across his lenses, pulsing faintly in time with the drone’s gutted power core. Zedd tilted his head, watching the patterns. Something felt off there, but he couldn’t pin it yet. He reached for a salvaged regulator nearby, its edges worn smooth by years of use.

The plan wasn’t to just patch the drone up and call it a day.

Nah, that’d be boring.

This thing needed to be better—faster, smarter, built for more than what it was ever meant to handle. When he could tweak the core right—not if, when—maybe mix in some of Devlon’s hive programming, it’d save him hours down the line.

Delegation, right?

Let the bot handle the grunt work. He had bigger things waiting.

His gaze slid sideways to the pile of emitters tangled with wiring on his right. kinetic barriers, or what was supposed to be. They were the kind of crap designed to make civilians feel safe but never actually worked when it counted. Way too much power wasted trying to protect everything instead of focusing on what actually mattered. Not that popular for a reason, for anyone outside of basic no-brain civs.

The inefficiency made his teeth itch.

He flipped the goggles up onto his forehead, leaning back to rub at the bridge of his nose.

His eyes stayed locked on the emitters, though, like glaring at them hard enough might fix their stupid design flaws. “Gotta get you sorted sooner than later,” he muttered, mostly to himself. his thoughts jumped ahead, already picking at solutions. The shields didn’t need to cover everything—just the essentials.

Head, chest, thighs, maybe.

Saving power was better than trying to tank every hit.

Sure, it left him open in places, but if someone managed to tag him in the shin? “That's on me for standing still like a dumbass.”

His omnitool beeped softly, and he tapped in a quick note without looking. Stagger recharge cycle. Balance generator load. Stop frying the damn thing.

It wasn’t the first time he’d told himself something like that, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

His eyes flicked to the corner of the garage where his recently purchased half-wrecked sports car sat under the weak glow of the flickering light. Mr. Jaxon was nearly in tears when I transferred the credits over, he thought with a snort, thinking of the recently married couple one neighborhood over. Guess Mrs. Jaxon finally put her foot down after a bad financial decision merged with a bad driving decision.

The dented frame still looked fast somehow, even dead as it was. He hadn’t touched the engine yet—should’ve, but hadn’t.

Instead, half his morning had gone to sketching out upgrades he didn’t have the time or parts for. Turbochargers, hybridized drives, maybe even a kinetic barrier system just to make it into a juggernaut if he needed to.

Why not?

He snorted softly at his own thoughts, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the bench that synced up with the faint hum of the drone’s power core. The car wasn’t even close to running, but the ideas wouldn’t leave him alone. His brain kept pitching stuff like it had nothing better to do.

Jump jets.

The words hit like a punch out of nowhere, making his fingers pause mid-tap.

He let the thought sit there for a second, rolling it around in his head before testing it out loud.

“Jump jets.”

He glanced toward the shelves along the back wall, squinting through the weak light. Most of it wasn’t worth the effort, but… maybe.

With the right mods, he could throw together something light enough to use for short bursts.

Nothing crazy.

Just enough to get vertical when he needed it.

His fingers twitched like they wanted to grab something, but his attention slipped instead to another half-baked idea circling his head: software. He could link it all together—drone, barriers, hell, maybe even the car. One system pulling everything into a neat, usable package.

Maybe throw in a VI, something basic, to run it all.

Yeah, that’s what I need, he thought, the sarcasm sharp enough to cut. “A little voice nagging me about what I’m doing wrong,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching like it couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown.

Still, the thought stuck. It had a spark to it, something too solid to let go of even as he leaned back over the drone and flicked his soldering iron back on. “One thing at a time,” he reminded himself, more out of habit than actual conviction.

The solder hissed as it hit the connection, a thin trail of smoke curling upward. The drone hummed to life under his hands, trembling just enough to let him know its systems were spinning up like they should. Zedd bit his lip, wiping a streak of grease off his cheek with the back of his wrist. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

He glanced over at the sportscar again, parked like some wounded animal in the corner of the garage. The crumpled hood caught the faint overhead light, gleaming like a challenge. There were a hundred ways to mess with it, a hundred problems waiting to be solved, and for now, they’d all have to wait.

The drone was done, the barriers still needed work, and his brain was already kicking around half a dozen ideas about how to make the jump jets actually fly.

Clink.

The faint sound of a tool hitting the workbench barely registered. His focus was tangled up in the logistics of energy dispersion, heat regulation, and how to keep the jets from cooking the user alive mid-flight. His goggles had slipped down around his neck at some point, and he was running his thumb along the edge of the drone’s reinforced frame when the voice cut through his thoughts.

“You gonna light yourself on fire or what?”

Zedd’s head snapped up, the voice smooth and too familiar, tinged with just enough teasing to make him roll his eyes before he even looked. Kira leaned against the doorframe like she owned the place, looking at him like he was a shiny new toy..

He groaned, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t you knock?”

“Door’s open,” she shot back, pushing off the frame with that lazy kind of confidence that was all hers. “That’s basically an invitation.”

“Yeah, well, next time I’ll put up a sign. No Kira allowed.”

“You’d miss me,” she said, the expression on her widening as she glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the sportscar. She let out a low whistle, shaking her head like she couldn’t decide if she was impressed or horrified. “What’s this? You buy this piece of junk, or did it crash through your garage on its own?”

Zedd snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Ten credstacks. Worth every single one.”

“Ten…” Kira raised an eyebrow, the disbelief plain on her face. “Even for a roadster, that’s a bad call.”

“So, like every project I start.”

“Uh-huh.” She wandered closer, her eyes flicking over the mess of tools and parts on the workbench. She picked up a battered soldering iron, twirling it between her fingers like it was a toy. “You ever think about working on one thing at a time?”

Zedd tilted his head, pretending to think about it. “Nah. Too boring. Chaos keeps me sharp.” And the money coming in.

“Funny. Chaos usually just blows people up.” Her tone stayed light, but something flickered across her face—quick, faint, almost too subtle to catch.

Concern.

Weird, coming from her.

It threw him off, just for a second. Kira didn’t usually hang out in his garage like this. Holo-calls, sure, but being here, in person, made the air feel heavier somehow.

Different. Awkward, even, now that she’d been showing up more lately.

It wasn’t like when Adele or Devraj had tagged along, either.

Without them, it just felt… tense.

“Worried about me, Baby Blue?” Zedd let the grin soften just enough to take the edge off his words, leaning back further and letting his arms drape over the chair’s armrests.

Kira snorted, not missing a beat. “Someone has to be.” She twirled the soldering iron once more before pointing it at him like a warning. “Especially since you’re apparently one misstep away from turning this place into a firework.”

“Be one hell of a show, though,” Zedd said, not quite looking at her, the edges of his mouth tugging wider. “Bet you’d be front row.”

“Hard pass.” Kira set the soldering iron down with a click that echoed sharper than it needed to. Her arms crossed, her expression landing somewhere between a glare and one of those looks teachers used when they wanted to roast you in front of the whole class. “Seriously, though. Slow down. Or, like, focus on one thing before you accidentally blow a hole in the wall.”

He shrugged, flicking a glance at the drone like it had an answer to give. “Can’t help it. Too many ideas bouncing around.”

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“Yeah, yeah,” she said, dry as hell, though there was a glint of humor there, buried under the scolding. Her eyes swept over the room again, landing on the sportscar like it had personally offended her. “So, what’s the plan with that? You gonna fix it up, or is it just here to flex on your other junk?”

“Fixing it,” Zedd answered back as he tightened a micro-screw with his multi-tool. There was no way he wasn’t gonna buy it once he found the thing; it being half a wreck didn’t really do much to change where he stood either way. A real aggressive looking sportscar was a rare find, especially on a colony, what with most of them looking like sleek little toys to copy the pattern of Mass Effect using spaceships and aircars. “Eventually. Might mod it, too.”

“Mod it,” Kira repeated, raising an eyebrow like he’d just suggested putting wings on it. Which… wasn’t a bad idea. “Coming from the guy who can’t touch anything without turning it into a walking hazard.”

“It’s a talent,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the bench. “Besides, wasn’t it you who went full missile during training? Don’t throw shade when you’re out there trying to become an actual projectile.”

“It’s called practice,” she shot back. “You should try it sometime.”

“Don’t need it.” Zedd shot back like the smartass he was. “Natural talent.”

“Yeah, yeah,,” Kira said, rolling her eyes but still somehow failing to hide the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Natural talent doesn’t stop explosions.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” He looked back at the drone, his fingers idly tapping the bench. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Her laugh caught him off guard, light and quick, like she hadn’t meant for it to happen. He glanced up again, catching the way her eyes softened, slipping closer to something real before she shook her head and brushed a strand of blue hair out of her face. She moved closer, leaning against the edge of the workbench, her movements slower than usual.

“You’re impossible,” she said, voice low but laced with just enough exasperation to sell it.

“You love it,” Zedd said before he could think better of it. The words slipped out too easily, and he almost regretted them.

Almost.

Kira’s eyes narrowed, that unbothered look snapping back into place like armor. “Careful, Victors. Keep that up, and I might think you actually like having me around.”

“Maybe I do,” he said with a shrug, keeping his tone casual even as his brain started running the math on whether that had sounded too much like flirting. “Or maybe I’m just too busy to kick you out.”

She snorted, but there was a flicker of pink on her cheeks as she turned her focus to the kinetic barriers. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun,” he echoed, trying not to grin at her throwing his own words back at him. “What kind of fun are we talking about?”

Kira leaned forward, just a little, her smirk softening again. Her eyes locked on his, and for a second, there was something quieter in the air, something heavier.

Neither of them moved to fill the silence, for once.

“Kir—”

Zedd flinched as the sound of footsteps cut through the driveway, shattering whatever moment had been building. He bit back a curse, straightening instinctively as Kira stiffened beside him.

She stepped back fast, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t, looking just as unbothered and cool as before. “Looks like you’ve got company,” she said, tone too light, too casual.

But her eyes lingered, a half-second longer.

Zedd slowly scratched the back of his neck, trying not to let the awkward crawl too far under his skin. “Don’t miss me too much, Blue.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she called over her shoulder, brushing past the figure stepping into the garage. Her voice was steady, but the quickness of her exit gave her away.

The man in the doorway moved slowly, his steps deliberate, like he thought walking with purpose might earn him a gold star. His jacket caught the overhead light, clean lines and subtle tailoring making it look more expensive than practical. The kind of outfit for someone who wanted you to think they were both.

Zedd tossed his gloves onto the bench, leaning back against it with his arms loosely crossed.

His eyes swept the man’s face—mid-40s, sharp features, the kind of stress lines that came from too many late nights.

“Mr. Victors, I presume,” the man said, his words clipped and precise, like he’d spent too much time practicing them.

Zedd tilted his head, one brow raising. “Depends who’s asking.”

The stranger’s lips tugged into what could’ve passed for a polite smile, but it never touched his eyes. “James Takahashi,” he said, hand extended. “Senior engineer for the colony’s central operations division.”

Zedd gave the outstretched hand a glance, more curiosity than hesitation, before gripping it with just enough pressure to keep things even. “Senior engineer, huh? This about a fine? ‘Cause I’ll save you the trouble—I don’t even know if I need a business license.”

Takahashi let out a small chuckle, the kind that was more for show than anything else. “No fines. Not today, anyway. I heard about your work—specifically from Lieutenant Rourke.”

Zedd blinked, his eyebrow sliding up. “Man’s still going on about that? It’s been months since I fixed up his Armax.”

“‘Fixed,’” Takahashi repeated like he was testing the word. There was something almost skeptical in the way he said it, like he was measuring it against a checklist in his head.

Zedd didn’t bother hiding the raised brow he shot back. The hell was that about?

“Anyway,” Takahashi continued, his tone smoothing out. “Word travels. People talk. And from what I’ve heard, you made quite an impression.” His gaze drifted to the cluttered bench behind Zedd, taking in the tangled mess of tools and half-finished projects.

“Pragmatic, efficient, and—if Rourke’s report is accurate—miles ahead of what most engineers could manage in similar circumstances.” He paused, eyes flicking back to Zedd’s face. “I wanted to see for myself what someone with no formal training could accomplish.”

Zedd leaned back slightly, keeping his posture loose. “Formal training’s overrated. Got a few certs, though.” He lied as easily as he breathed, feeling no need to mention the certs were about as real as a Krogan beauty pageant. It was so last minute he couldn’t even get the forger to change his name which was… another issue. But, honestly, getting passage onto a colony when your actual education ended at thirteen was… tricky, even when you had money to buy passage.

Takahashi tilted his head, his curiosity sharpening as he gave Zedd a once-over. “Certifications or not, your results suggest someone with... a great deal of hands-on experience… which your age wouldn’t imply.”

Zedd held his gaze steady, no flinch, no tell. “Lots of practice.”

There was a quiet hum from Takahashi, something like approval, as he took a step closer. His attention shifted back to the workbench. “And all of this?” he gestured vaguely at the scattered projects. “Is the practice?”

Zedd shrugged, tilting his head over to the disassembled drone in front of him. “What’s the point of having tools if you’re not gonna use ’em?”

They slipped into a rhythm—questions from Takahashi, answers from Zedd, the conversation picking up a beat as the stranger’s inquiries got more specific. More technical.

“How do you handle heat dispersion when space for cooling is limited?” Takahashi asked, his voice dipping into something sharper, more precise.

Zedd leaned forward, his finger tapping one of the exposed thermal layers on the open barrier beside him. “Thermal conductors...layered over each other, simple as. Mining rigs scraps, being honest. Do the job, though. Compact, durable, so they handle all that strain without wasting space with more bulk.”

“...Impressive,” Takahashi said, his tone neutral, but the pause carried weight.

Zedd smirked faintly, letting the silence hang for a second. “Glad we agree on something.”

Takahashi’s gaze landed on the cluster of kinetic barriers stacked on the bench. “Localized shielding emitters?”

Zedd straightened, pointing toward the devices with a casual flick of his hand. “Yeah. Full-body shields just suck power. These focus on heavy zones—head, chest, arms. Keeps you alive without wasting energy on dumb stuff, like your shins.”

Takahashi’s brow furrowed as his curiosity sharpened further. “And you’re confident the redistribution won’t destabilize under sustained fire?”

Zedd tapped his temple lightly, a cocky grin sliding back into place. “Nah, math checks out, for the most part. Worst case, system overloads but that gives you less reverb than a push. Not the neatest fix, but it’ll hold.”

Takahashi nodded, the motion slow and deliberate, before his attention drifted toward the drone at the edge of the bench. “And this? Repair job or custom build?”

“Started as a repair,” Zedd said, following the man’s gaze. “But I’m tweaking it. Added modular features, so I can swap parts out instead of patching them up every time something fries.”

“Pragmatic,” Takahashi said, a hint of approval threading through his tone. “You’ve clearly got a sharp mind for innovation. Lieutenant Rourke’s Omnitool alone was...” He trailed off, searching for the right word. “...Unexpectedly sophisticated.”

Zedd let out a dry chuckle, his shoulders relaxing. “That’s one way to put it.”

Takahashi’s voice dipped, quieter now, more deliberate. “How did you manage to integrate military-grade protocols into civilian hardware without destabilizing the shielding matrix?”

Zedd leaned back, his fingers drumming idly against the edge of the bench. “Trade secret.”

Takahashi raised an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Zedd relented, rolling his eyes. “It’s just power flow. Combat Omnis already do a lot at once—shields, scans, the whole works. That’s how they fry themselves, which is really why most people fuck up converting civ Omnis for use in combat, ’cause civ Omnis are technically doing a lot more in the background that soldiers don’t need, and you can’t really turn that off without all-new core soft. Rewired it so it could dynamically shift resources. Keeps it focused on a few tasks at a time without burning out.”

The faint flicker of admiration in Takahashi’s eyes barely registered before his expression shifted back to its usual careful neutrality. “You figured that out on your own?”

Zedd let his smile stretch just enough to read as cocky, leaning into the bench like he wasn’t taking the question seriously. “It’s a gift.”

Takahashi didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile.

Instead, he kept digging, each question sharper than the last, poking at Zedd’s answers like he was trying to see where the cracks might be. Zedd played it cool, kept his responses short when he needed to, detailed when it counted.

Half the time, he didn’t even think about the answers before they left his mouth—just instincts pulling the right threads. Still, something about the way Takahashi asked things made his skin prickle.

He’s not here for small talk, Zedd realized quickly. He’s testing me.

Trust wasn’t automatic, and that was fine by him. The guy was an engineer, sure, but the way his eyes darted from the workbench to the drone to the half-finished barriers screamed more than just technical curiosity.

When Takahashi finally stepped back, there was a flicker of something on his face. Respect, maybe… but Zedd half-doubted it. “You’re... an enigma, Mr. Victors.” His tone was dry, like he wasn’t entirely happy admitting it.

Zedd snorted, crossing his arms loosely. “I’ve been called worse.”

The faintest trace of a chuckle slipped from Takahashi, polite and detached, the kind of laugh people gave when they didn’t want to seem rude. “Pragmatic. I can appreciate that.” He glanced around the cluttered space one last time, then flicked his wrist. His Omnitool lit up, casting his hand in a dark blue glow as he keyed in a quick message.

Zedd’s own Omnitool chimed softly a second later, the notification glowing faintly on his wrist.

His eyes darted to it before lifting back to Takahashi.

“There’s a gathering in two weeks,” the engineer said, the polished tone slipping back into his voice. It felt rehearsed, almost clinical. “An event for innovators, entrepreneurs, and other prominent colonists. A chance to exchange ideas.” He paused, letting the weight of the invitation settle. “I’d like you to attend.”