Wake 1.15

2010, September 25: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I woke up this morning to a changed world.

Okay, maybe not exactly, but my specialization had changed and with it, my tinkering potential.

I remained in bed for a good half hour, lying dead to the world to process the storm of possibilities that threatened to overwhelm my mind. I knew more about maritime navigation than I'd ever wanted to. I could build a compass pointed at absolutely any island rated for the worst hurricane in the world. Hell, even if Magneto somehow popped up in Earth-Bet and flipped the magnetic poles around, this compass would point to the same place. Was it even a compass at this point?

I could make hundreds of varieties of boats, each with their unique quirks. I could build a caravel that could be sailed by five sailors or fewer. Designs for a yellow submarine, a boat shaped like a pizza, or even a carp-boat that could expand into a combat stage came to mind. I could, given enough time, outfit a wooden ship with a cannon so large that it could launch said ship like a rocket through the sky.

I could make hyper-efficient engines fueled by soda, cannons and ammunition that could wipe out city blocks, cyborgs, mecha, and bioengineered radio-snails. Most of all, I saw in my mind the designs for the single vilest tasting fruit in all existence.

There was no question as to the identity of my new specialization.

"One Piece," I breathed, almost reverent, "my power is going to be One Piece for the next four weeks."

"Porygon?" SAINT trilled his question, our bond pulsing.

"Yeah, buddy, I'm okay. It's just… a lot to handle all at once." I had no idea how to process the shift.

I held out hope that it'd get easier as the months went by, but this was my first shift. It felt momentous in a way I couldn't explain, like I'd suddenly found myself atop the peak of Everest. It should be a landmark occasion, but I hadn't done a single thing to get here. I went downstairs to join Sierra and mom for a breakfast of southwestern-style omelets and potatoes.

"Morning," I mumbled through a mouthful of cheesy scrambled eggs.

"Morning, sweetie, do remember not to talk with your mouth full," mom said. She was looking over the daily paper. "Are you not going out for a run today?"

"I will, I guess I woke up late because of last night."

"You've been at this for a month now. I don't think I've seen you miss a day, bro. Good on you."

"Thanks, Sierra." I shoveled a forkful of potatoes in my mouth and gave it a chew. "What's in it? It tastes a little different."

"There are little bits of goat cheese and spinach," mom replied. "Do you like it?"

"Weird. Not bad, but weird. Can I get some hot sauce with this?"

Sierra rolled her eyes but reached for the fridge and passed me the bottle. "You're so weird."

"That's because you still have no class."

"Whatever, baby bro."

We managed to finish breakfast without crawling down each other's throats. After taking out the trash, I went on a jog with SAINT. It started as a way to stay in shape for my inevitable cape outings, but I found that running helped me clear my head.

'Okay,' I thought, 'before getting to what I can build, let's start with what I might have lost. Can I still operate the TM Interface and Downloader? Good. How about using aura? Excellent. What about SAINT? Can I upgrade his code or make any edits?'

I frowned when I received a mixed answer.

The answer was a tentative yes, but I was no longer as confident as I'd been. SAINT, for the purposes of my power, qualified as a piece of tinkertech. I could repair and maintain any tinkertech I built, including him, but I could no longer make upgrades to SAINT since I lacked a corresponding specialization. Perhaps if I had a specialization that excelled in highly intelligent AI creation such as HALO, Mass Effect, or Marvel's Iron Man, but not as I was.

This made the Upgrade I had in a USB drive in the bottom drawer of my desk all the more valuable. I'd present him with the option to evolve when he mastered the various moves he learned.

Additionally, I found that I could still make more expanded bags, Expansion Suits, and PokéNavs, but not other things I'd drawn blueprints for. Anything I'd made before, I could make again and even add some adjustments such as with Labyrinth's shawl, but I had to have physically completed at least one example of the item in question for it to be retained in my power's internal archive.

"All things considered, this isn't so bad," I said with a huff as I leaned against a park bench to catch my breath.

"Po?" SAINT's cyber birdlike trill came from my earphones.

"I kept all the applied knowledge from my last specialization. Now the better question is what I can do with this one." I placed one foot on the bench and stretched to give myself some more time to breath. "What exactly can One Piece get me?"

On my jog back, I decided to separate the technology of One Piece into three general categories: stuff used by ships, stuff used by individuals, and bioengineering. There was a lot of overlap, but I was broadly forced to abandon most of the first and third categories, the first because I didn't have a ship and the third for the same reason I didn't make myself an army of genesects with the Pokémon specialization. There were some exceptions, but I wouldn't be turning myself into a cyborg or anything anytime soon.

By the time my house was in sight, I'd narrowed down the surprisingly large list of buildable tech to three essentials and many, many wishes.

At home, I mumbled a greeting to my mom and ran upstairs to jot down my ideas. There were several things I could only build with more space and specialized equipment, but there were also some things I could work on in my own room.

To start, I wanted to upgrade the Expansion Suit. The Vinsmoke family wore specialized raid suits that both augmented their not inconsiderable combat capabilities and provided incredible protection. Its creation involved sheathing individual cloth fibers in a special carbon polymer, something impossible to do in my room, but I could at least work on the quick-change aspect.

The Vinsmokes stored their suits in a can. The can would spin at high speeds and release a plume of smoke. The suits would then automatically fit themselves onto the wearer, kind of like the power rangers Oda based them off. While it wouldn't improve my combat capabilities in any way, being able to carry my costume at all times in a way that didn't draw attention would let me react to any situation.

I sank into a fugue for three hours and emerged only when SAINT zapped me awake with a minor Thunder Wave. Mom was calling for lunch and giving her cause to come into my room at the moment was out of the question.

My room was littered with several tools, an air pump, and some kind of aerosol can, all things I'd pilfered from the junkyard during the night I met Newter. According to sketches, it would apparently become the base for the quick-change canister. I had no idea how it would aerosolize an entire outfit and have it "remember" my form, but ehh; it made as much sense as a CD player downloading pokémon moves into my brain.

X

"Mom, you're more excited for the dance than I am," I complained as she tightened the navy tie like a noose. I wriggled it loose the moment she let go and stoically ignored her stink-eye.

"Bryce, this is your first dance and I expect you to treat Amy like a gentleman," she chided.

The three of us were in the living room. I was ready by four-thirty to go to the Dallon home, but she insisted on going over my outfit with a fine-tooth comb. Sierra held out her phone, no doubt recording my humiliation for posterity. "Are you having fun, sis?"

"Oh, yeah. Sabah's going to love this. She helped you pick out the outfit so she deserves to see how it looks, right?"

"Stop using her as an excuse to gather blackmail on me. If you're planning to embarrass me, the least you can do is be honest about it," I griped.

"Oh, fine. Yes, Bryce, you look adorable and this will forever be held over your head," she said with a chipper grin.

'At least I finished the quick-change canister,' I thought. Mom finally stepped away and nodded with satisfaction. "Lovely, let's get tonight over with."

"Oh stop being a grouch, Bryce."

"Your sister's right, dear. No one wants to dance with a grump."

"All the more reason to keep this up," I drawled.

I shuffled to the car like a condemned man marching to the hangman's noose.

Despite the attitude, I had to admit, a part of me was looking forward to this. I had no romantic interest in Amy, not least because of her many, many, many issues, but she'd grown on me over the month as more than just that one character I admired.

"Sierra, stop by a flower shop," mom called as my sister revved the engine.

"Sure thing!"

"Please don't tell me you're going to make me bring her roses."

"Of course we are."

I sighed and got in the car. "I feel like you're just trying to make me do all the things you wish your dates did for you in high school. It's not my fault your taste in men is awful so stop taking it out on me."

"Shut up, brat. You're going to get Amy a bouquet and you're going to like it. Besides, your father was the perfect gentleman."

"Stopped clock, mom. Stopped clock."

X

More than just a superhero, Carol Dallon was one of the founders and managing partners of a major law firm and their home reflected that. The Dallon home was a three-story affair with a large yard and garage fit for two cars. It was almost painfully "American dream," with baby-blue walls, white picket fence, and a manicured lawn that looked like someone named Jose mowed it for a premium every Tuesday morning. Two rows of mulch-brown dirt dotted with bushes of orange perennials framed the driveway. The driveway was perfectly slotted with interlocking red bricks with not a single blade of grass between them.

Dean and Victoria were already making kissy faces in front of Dean's Acura while Eric and Grace stood off to the side chatting about something or other. I looked around. My own date was nowhere to be seen. Dean noticed our car first and I wondered if our emotions bled outward in a fog around the car. He tapped Victoria on the arm and motioned our way.

"I can't believe you bought churros," Sierra grumbled as she parked her Focus on the sidewalk.

"I can't believe you made me buy roses," I countered.

"It's tradition!"

"They're delicious!"

"Hello, you must be Bryce's sister," Dean said, ignoring our ribbing with the unflappable patience of a man who worked with Clockblocker. "I think Amy is still getting ready upstairs."

"Hi, I'm Sierra. Nice to meet you."

"Dean, and this is Vicky." Victoria hovered a foot in the air. Her dress was reminiscent of her costume, though with a longer skirt and teal blue instead of golden accents. She'd done away with the tiara in favor of a French braid and bun that I just knew took hours to prepare. I didn't doubt that she'd be wearing the homecoming queen's tiara by the end of the night anyway.

She looked radiant and for once, I wasn't the one who had to be snapped out of the trance.

I elbowed my sister. "Sierra, stop gawking at Vicky."

"Huh? Oh, sorry."

"Hi, Sierra. Don't worry, Bryce did the whole spacey look when he first met me too. Let me go get Ames!" she chirped, then zoomed off into the house.

I stepped outside the car and nodded to Eric and Grace. "Eric. Grace. How're things?"

"Pretty great," Grace said with a dry smirk. "Dopey didn't get me roses though. Where are my roses, Eric?"

I proffered the bouquet to the snarky girl. "Actually, he did. He wanted me to get them for you so he could surprise you."

"Bryce!" Sierra shouted, indignant.

"Trust me, she'll appreciate this more," I said, jostling the box of mini-churros I got from a place called Burrio Barrio. The owners were a couple from Texas who moved to the east coast following the 2004 Leviathan attack on Corpus Christi. They just might be the only couple in Brockton who knew how to make a goddamn burrito right.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Whatever they were going to say was put on hold as my date stepped through the door, her sister not far behind. Seeing them side by side, it was obvious Vicky had a hand in picking the outfits. The dark blue did flatter Amy much more than teal.

Behind the two, Carol Dallon looked on with a neutral expression.

She looked like an older version of Vicky, with a short bob cut instead of her daughter's flowing locks. She wore a sharp looking dress suit and I could see a lawyer's briefcase laid out on the coffee table in the living room. If I had to guess, she had a weekend meeting with a client. I raised my estimation of her a notch for being willing to entertain her daughters despite her busy schedule.

Though to be fair, Worm fanon had not been kind to her so there was nowhere to go but up.

I cleared my throat and walked up to Amy. "Here, one obligatory bouquet, delivered. I'm pretty sure Sierra's trying to apologize to your cousin vicariously by making me treat you like a 'proper lady.'"

"Hey!" Sierra squawked, but went ignored.

Amy tried to look offended and failed miserably. "Are you saying I'm not a proper lady?"

"Of course. You're more of a ball of thistles and snark vaguely shaped like a functional human being."

"Well, since you did bring me a bouquet, I guess I'm obligated to accept it." She took it from my hand, then immediately walked back inside to toss it on the sofa. "There, accepted. You, sir, have fulfilled your obligations to be a proper gentleman. I now feel like a proper lady."

"Heh. Alright, now that that's done with and since I'm not hilariously cliché like my sister, I brought you churros." I offered the white carry-out box to my date. She took it with far more enthusiasm than the roses.

"Burrio Barrio? Fuck yes." She opened the box and stuffed a mini-churro in her mouth. "Cinnamon sugar and almonds, nice."

"Language," Carol chided.

"See, Sierra? Told you she'd like the churros more."

"Yeah, yeah, you can stop being smug now."

"Hello, Mrs. Dallon," I greeted with a proffered hand. "My name is Bryce Kiley and I'm a friend of Vicky and Amy's."

She shook it coolly. "A pleasure, young man. Victoria has mentioned you."

I turned to her daughter with a frown. "Vicky, what did you tell your mom?"

"That Amy's date is just as adorably snarky as she is," she replied with a smile that wouldn't melt butter.

"She also mentioned you were an honor student and quite responsible. I trust you will be a perfect gentleman tonight?"

"Of course, Mrs. Dallon, wouldn't dream otherwise." We ignored the brunette's grumblings about it not being a date.

"Good. Let's be along then."

After some obligatory group photos, we bid Sierra goodbye and piled into the Dallon family minivan. I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I first met Carol Dallon. Fandom usually depicted her as a heavily damaged woman with unreasonable expectations of her adopted daughter. I didn't know if this was the case, but at least this evening, she paid no mind to either me or Amy beyond that customary greeting.

Arcadia's gymnasium was packed by the time we arrived. There was a vertical poster cutout of a white rabbit in a tophat out front, with teachers and parents who had volunteered to act as chaperones taking down names. The trimmed hedges surrounding the building had been laden with teacup props and playing cards.

"Alice in Wonderland?" Grace hummed. "Not bad, but you realize this means you need to feed us, right? I will be immensely disappointed if you didn't prepare little cakes and tea."

"'Welcome to Wonderland,' but yes," Dean replied. "And yes, we have a bunch of finger food along one end of the gym. The cafeteria tables have been moved out into the quad so people can sit down and eat there. I heard the weather is going to be quite pleasant tonight."

I stepped out of the minivan and bowed to Amy with a flourish. "Shall we, milady?"

"Sure, whatever," she scoffed. She still took my hand so I considered it a win. "Where are Chelsea and Stephanie?"

Vicky looked up from her phone. "Chelsea is with Brian and Steph in the quad. They're waiting for Steph's date apparently."

"Who's Brian?" I asked. The only Brian I knew was a dastardly villain and I seriously doubted Grue would frequent a high school dance.

"The varsity running back," Eric teased, "It's almost like you don't care about football, Bryce."

"I'm sure he's great when you look past all the concussions." I gently tugged Amy towards the quad. "Well, let's go wait with them."

It took us a moment to find our friends. The two were hanging out with several other teens I'm pretty sure were from the football team. A tall, brown haired boy I took to be Brian stood with an arm around Chelsea. Looking them over, I felt a bit overdressed in a good way. Sabah really knew what she was doing.

"Hey, guys," Vicky shouted, her voice ringing over the music. She flew over, hovering a foot above the ground to avoid having to walk in her heels.

"Hey, Vicky," Chelsea said with a hug. "You know Brian, right?"

"Yeah, we had world issues with each other for two years." She mock-frowned, leveling Brian with a stern glare. "If you make Chelsea cry, I'm going to twist you into a pretzel."

"Really? The shovel talk, Vicky?" Amy groaned.

"Let me have my fun, Ames."

Most of our temporarily expanded circle were members of the football and cheer teams so the group descended into a banal conversation about last night's game. Watching the quarterback griping about the ref was almost nostalgic. It reminded me of some of the Superbowl parties I'd been to. Even back in my past life, I was mostly an accessory rather than an active participant.

'Guess some things don't change no matter the age,' I mused. Instead, I turned to Amy. "So, why didn't I get the shovel talk from Vicky?"

"She's gotten it into her head that we'd make a cute couple."

"Why?" I asked, honestly baffled. "We keep saying we're not."

"Fuck if I know. Apparently, being a pair of snarky asses makes us perfect for each other."

"No offense, but I'm pretty sure I'd pull my hair out if I had to date you for real. Trying to get all romantic with you sounds exhausting."

"Same. I still can't believe she convinced me to be here."

"You really love her." Her eyes snapped open wide at that, hand reaching for my own. She relaxed minutely when she saw that I meant it as a sibling. My heart flew into my throat. I had to stop myself from jerking my hand away, a fully charged Thunder Wave on my lips. There were very few things in this world more intimidating than a reckless Amy.

'Damn, I think I almost died there.'

"Yeah," she laughed, a bit shaky. "She's great."

"Hey, even if I can't replace hanging out with Vicky, this beats the ICU, right?"

"I should be there," she said glumly.

"No, you shouldn't. You're not a machine. Even you need a break. You've been an active heroine for over a year now, right?" She nodded tentatively. "You should have seen it for yourself by now. Doctors and nurses in the ICU have some of the highest turnover rates out of any career. Burnout's a real thing, Ames."

"I'm not a doctor."

"You sure as hell work like one. You're not a doctor," I agreed. "You're a seventeen year old girl with more power than you know what to do with, so much power that it's a curse. You're someone who could save anyone, and so deluded yourself into thinking you have to save everyone."

"What do you know?" she said bitterly but did not refute the point.

I put an arm around her and steered her back inside. "Let's go get some food."

I motioned to Victoria that we were headed back in and she sent us a thumbs up before rejoining the group conversation. The interior of the gym was filled with loud music, lights that pulsed with the beat, and teenagers who pretended they knew how to dance. Off in one corner, I saw Coach Miller chatting with one of the parent chaperones. Judging by the wild hand waving, neither of them could hear much of what the other was saying.

Amy's question really took me back.

Once upon a time, I was a physician's assistant working at the biggest hospital in Los Angeles. I knew plenty about turnover rates in major hospitals. I felt the pressure of being a trauma surgeon's PA and it felt like the weight of the world pressing down on me. Back when I first started, more than forty percent of nurses quit or transferred to a different department in a single year. Because yes, the ICU was that terrible. It was hell and Amy volunteered for it every fucking day.

That was what made her my favorite hero. If true evil could be found in the banality of life, then maybe true heroics was the tenacity to decide to do good every day.

Sure, her tenacity was fueled by teen angst and spite, but damn if it wasn't impressive.

"I don't have magic healing hands," I said simply, "but I do know what unrealistic pressure feels like." And it was true. As much as I kept telling myself I'd let the chips fall where they may, the fact was that I knew the future. I knew the secrets of this reality that no one else could begin to guess at. And with those secrets came a compulsion to help, to make the world a bit less shitty.

I… I didn't want to… but I couldn't fully ignore the pressure either.

'Maybe I'm lying to myself. Maybe I just don't want the responsibility of playing the savior, playing the hero.'

"You?"

"You don't have to be so skeptical, Ames," I said with a watery laugh. I hadn't expected this conversation with Amy to shine a mirror on myself so clearly. I ushered her to a shaded corner of the gym, away from the pulsing lights and the DJ's booth, where the music could hide our conversation. "Everything is about balance, Ames. Moderation."

"I don't need you to tell me to take a break," she snapped.

I took her hand in mine. I needed her to feel my honesty in a way she couldn't deny. "You don't, but I'm more than happy to play the part anyway. I care about you. I admire you. Most of all? I'm your friend. And that means not letting you burn yourself out because a bunch of idiots put you on a pedestal thanks to a power you never asked for."

Her cheeks flushed. I could see a mix of anger, indignation, gratitude, and her characteristic stubbornness to accept help all in one flash of warring emotions.

"Whatever, let's get some food." This time, she was the one who dragged me over to the refreshments table. She took one look at the spread and griped, "Whoever planned this didn't consider dresses."

The table was loaded heavily with a variety of finger food, from nachos and little sausages on toothpicks to miniature cupcakes. I noticed that most if not all of these would stain terribly. "I thought you didn't care?" I teased.

"Vicky picked out the dress. I'm not going to ruin it just because."

"Fair enough. The one who arranged for catering has clearly never been a high schooler. Half of us will leave with suspicious stains on our shirts."

"Guys have it easy. Do you have any idea how much dress rentals cost? If you ruin your shirt, it's just your shirt. For us, it's our whole outfit."

"More than I'd be comfortable paying, I'm sure." I popped a skewered sausage in my mouth. The treat was coated in a rich, savory sauce that was smoky with a sweet tang and the subtle warmth of cayenne. I bit down to a satisfying snap of casing. "It's good though. Want one?"

She opted for some crackers loaded with ham, cheese, and half of a cherry tomato. "This is about the only thing that won't stain."

"We could go grab something else to eat," I suggested.

"One dance. We need to dance at least once song or Vicky will fly over to drag us back."

"She wouldn't."

"Is she your sister or mine? Trust me, she will." Amy loaded up a plate with some pot stickers and warm pretzels. "We should also take a picture with her."

"We did that at your place."

"Yes, at my place. Here isn't there."

"As you wish." We found a bench out in the quad and stuffed ourselves on the finger food. Sure enough, not fifteen minutes later, Vicky flew over demanding pictures.

We were waiting around the photo booth when some kids started to point at the sky. I looked up to find a burnt-red shadow illuminated against the streetlamps.

"Steph, your date's here," Chelsea squealed.

"He is." The tall brunette's grin couldn't have spread any wider if she tried.

"Wait, you actually asked out Aegis?"

"Yeah, Bryce, she made a post on PHO asking Aegis to homecoming. It was super cute."

"Well that explains what you two have been whispering about at lunch. Brave. Respect."

Aegis landed and all conversation died.

Most of the student body had seen Aegis at one point or another, God knows he's done enough PR stunts around the school, but no one was expecting him to show tonight. In a way, we were all used to capes; the Newest Wave went to school here after all.

Still, this was Aegis, leader of the Wards. The costume had a gravitas that could almost be felt, settling like a comforting weight on our shoulders. Even knowing who was under the mask, I wasn't entirely unaffected. He stood an impressive six-two with burnt-red body armor trimmed with gray accents. His emblem sat proudly on the center of his chestplate, a knight's kite shield decorated with outlines of ornate vines. Add on his redundant biology and he cut an impressive figure. I noticed that he didn't have his toolbelt this time though. Normally, he carried a belt full of containment foam grenades, handcuffs, a stun baton, and other tools of the trade.

"Sorry I'm late; the patrol ran a bit long." His voice was muffled by his mask and what I recognized as a voice modulator. I would know; I used one myself.

"That's okay, thanks for coming." Her voice was surprisingly stable, but I could see her bounce from foot to foot like a shy child ready to ask Santa for her Christmas list. Steph was on cloud nine and I couldn't quite suppress the infectious smile.

One day, I would make up a reason to officially find out Aegis' secret identity. On that day, I swore I'd give him enough shit to bury the pyramids.

With a flourish that screamed of awkward practice in front of a mirror, he pulled out a single rose and handed it to her. "I always have time for such an earnest request. Would you like a dance or shall we take a picture first?"

"Picture, please," she squeaked.

What should have been five minutes in front of the photo booth turned into more than twenty before Aegis finally put his foot down. "As much as I would love to entertain you all, tonight, I came to spend time with one special lady," he shouted to be heard above the rumbling crowd. "Now if you'll excuse us, I think I would like to take Stephanie for a dance."

I whistled, impressed by his demeanor. This was not Carlos. Carlos was serious and responsible, sure, but he also regularly joked with Dennis and loved to compete over everything. If I didn't know better, I'd have a hard time reconciling the boy who rushed off to the punching machine at the arcade with this young hero today.

"Feeling emasculated?" Amy snarked beside me.

"No, just very impressed with his ability to handle the crowd," I replied with an easy smile. "Either his powers come with a dose of super-charisma, or the 'PR' in PRT really does stand for 'public relations.'"

"He's okay."

"Jealous?" I teased.

"A little," she said with a wistful smile. "Ever wonder what it'd be like to have powers?"

We started walking aimlessly, drifting away from the group. "Who hasn't?"

"Well stop. Powers suck, no exceptions."

"I read about triggers."

"Nerd," she scoffed, but there was no bite to it. "I'm not talking about just that. Very few powers truly help the cape and often make things worse."

"A monkey's paw then," I nodded. "I've heard that too. I think Vicky might be the only cape I know of who really loves her power."

"Yeah, lucky her."

Before we knew it, we'd circled around to the northern quad. "Your power's pretty awesome though."

"You're free to it," she said bitterly.

"Amy, your powers are amazing. People just have a shitty habit of ruining every good thing in the world." I nudged her gently back towards the gym. "Come on; let's go rejoin your sister."

X

Truth be told, the dance was more enjoyable than I'd expected. Amy was funny, if in that dry, grumpy way that reminded me of an old, British war veteran. We danced, I taught her the foxtrot, then hung out with the group for a bit before making an excuse to head out as soon as was polite. After that, we wandered the Boardwalk before stopping by a sandwich shop for dinner.

'Maybe I would have enjoyed the high school dances in my past life if I stopped giving a damn about other people's opinions or trying to get laid,' I thought ruefully. 'Hindsight's twenty-twenty.'

We made it back to the school to catch our rides home.

"Bryce," Amy stopped me.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. Tonight wasn't… terrible," she said with a small smile.

"A glowing review," I said dryly. Then, more gently, "You're welcome, Ames. If you ever need an excuse to stay away from the ICU for an evening, let me know."

The moment I stepped foot in the house, mom and Sierra sat me down and drilled me on every single aspect of the dance. Perhaps it was my ongoing sleep deprivation, but I couldn't bring myself to do much tinkering that night and immediately collapsed into bed.

Author's Note

I did not roll for my first rotation. I decided to give myself Pokémon because I felt that the tech of that world goes unexplored much of the time. This time, I did honestly roll and my roll came up with One Piece.

I'm going to have to think about how to work this one in to the Tinker of Fiction powerset. There's a surprising amount of technology in One Piece that would qualify as tinkertech, and a frankly obscene amount that would fall under the biotinkering umbrella.

That said, Franky would be Bonesaw's ideal big brother. Fight me. Also, someone please make this a thing.

I decided that though this is Tinker of Fiction, I'm going to be taking some cues from the other multiversal tinker format, Celestial Forge, and grant some passive skills that are adjacent to tinkertech. For example, Bryce is currently the best navigator on the planet as understanding of navigation would be necessary to build a log pose. If he ever builds an eternal pose, his power will cement that knowledge so he will not lose it when his specialization shifts.

Same thing for the programming knowledge needed to upkeep SAINT. It's assumed that he retains the skill.

Was this an accurate depiction of Amy's many, many psychological issues? No. It's completely unrealistic to expect her to open up to a person she's known for only a month. Even if he could goad and manipulate her into talking about her vulnerabilities because he already knows about them, it's still implausible. I hope I showed that she's slowly softening up though.

Besides, it's more fun this way.

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.