Legendary Tinker (Worm/LoL)

Antebellum 2.1

2000, May 22: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I sat in my brand-spankin' new lab at our headquarters, spinning on a swivel chair.

The lab was large, far too big to have just been empty space lying around. As I understood it, the space had been meant to be an underground garage and storage space. The PRT had recently purchased the lot next door to create a discreet entrance and so did not need this one for its original purpose.

Everything I'd ordered and been approved for had arrived and been installed by PRT technicians while I was at my debut conference. To one end was an industrial centrifuge, powerful enough to separate DNA strands and handle volumes that I couldn't possibly hope to fully utilize at my current connection to the World Rune. Next to it stood an electrolysis machine in case I needed to separate chemical solutions without relying on kinetic energy. On a wall running adjacent to that was a cabinet full of beakers, potion vials, Bunsen burners, scales, microscopes, and other smaller lab equipment. On the opposite wall was a computer, as high-tech as I could expect to have in 2000. Alongside it was a printer. It was monitored, they made no secret of it, but that was fine for my purposes. On the bottom, beneath one of the supply cabinets, was an oven that could heat things to over 2,200 degrees Fahrenheit, much like a professional kiln. Near that was a fridge that could store liquid nitrogen. There was still plenty of space for whatever else I might need in the future.

'They really went overboard, huh?' I thought ruefully. It was amazing what sort of budget I could get once it was confirmed that I could manufacture powers. "Right," I clapped, "time to get to work."

My agreement with the PRT was simple: I would make them a set number of potions per week and they would procure any materials I desired. If ever I wanted something that wasn't for tinkering, I would need it garnished from my wages. This did mean I'd have to disclose every recipe I used, but that was fine. It wasn't as though I was planning on building a Hextech Anivia or anything. Yet.

'Although, I might have to accelerate my timetable if the gang war gets out of hand,' I thought.

I didn't know everything. Really, I only knew as much as the local news talked about. Director Lyons was annoyingly insistent about keeping the Wards sheltered, especially the youngest one. Understandable, but incredibly inconvenient. All I knew was that my quota had risen from twenty-four to forty-two potions per week. Twenty-four of them were to be health potions alongside twelve Elixirs of Iron and six Elixirs of Wrath.

I sighed and got to work.

The first thing I did was drop glass cleaner fluid into the centrifuge to isolate active chemicals. I wanted to see if it was possible to make a concentrated dose of Oracle's Elixir. An hour and a half of pericognition wasn't the worst thing in the world, but it was a little annoying having to keep my tinkering on a schedule. The worst part about my elixir limitation was that I could only carry so much fluid on my person at a time. It wasn't as though I had a pocket dimension of my own.

'Heh, I'm going to make the PRT the largest sponsor of Windex in the state, aren't I?' The thought made me chuckle.

Next came the health potions requested by the local emergency room. That, that was honestly a bit of a doozy. No, not the order. The order itself was small, just a batch of twenty-four. I had enough Mana Crystals stockpiled from my months of inactivity that I could easily fill it. The order was so small because I was effectively pioneering the field of parahuman pharmacology. My drugs were effectively in the clinical trials phase. The PRT might be willing to rely on them in an emergency, but it was a different story for civilian distribution.

No, the problem came from the NEPEA-5. The infamous law was passed by Congress in 1998 and was derisively nicknamed the "Elite Bill" by vocal critics for having spawned the formation of the largest crime syndicate in the United States. On paper, it was a bill designed to curb parahuman involvement in the market, making it illegal for any cape or cape team to own a controlling share in a corporation. It also made the sale of "cape products," the phrase used to encompass more than just tinkertech, illegal should that product have the potential to upset the existing market or establish a monopoly.

I'd read it when it was first mentioned to me and the wording was disgustingly broad, to the point that I could only assume that it was intentional on the part of Cauldron. It intentionally left "disturbing the market" up for interpretation to the local PRT director and federal inspectors, leaving them a nice, legal precedent to browbeat rogues into submission.

I scoffed. 'No wonder Uppermost fucked right off and started a mob.'

Director Lyons mentioned it to me because my potions potentially fell in violation of that law. If I provided them for free, not that I would, there was real concern that my potions could cut into profits in the medical industry. We both found the consideration of lives as "profits" revolting, but nonetheless, even the director was forced to tread carefully.

In the end, this meant that my potions would be made in small batches, perfectly fine with me as it'd give me time to tinker on other projects, and the PRT would charge local hospitals a price that had yet to be negotiated for each bottle.

'That's the US for you,' I scoffed, 'even charity is needlessly complicated.'

With focused meditation, I could generate a Mana Crystal every ten minutes or so. Most nights, I meditated for roughly an hour and a half to net myself nine each day. The production rate had risen a little from my previous limit when I deepened my connection to the World Rune and got Time Warp Tonic. I'd been building up a reserve of Mana Crystals since long before this lab was ready, so I was ready to mass produce, at least for a while. I'd even kept a solid store of crystals in my room at home, both to hide my true production rate and to hopefully start an independent project of my own.

"Hello~" I was brought out of my ponderings by Raquel's singsong voice. She had her giant, fuzzy hood down, revealing a shock of auburn hair and large, mischievous, doe-like eyes. "What's up, Andy!" Her nose immediately scrunched up in disapproval. "Eww, this place looks exactly like my school lab."

"Maybe because it is a lab?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but… I was expecting something… you know… cooler…"

"Sorry, my lead cauldron and pickled frog eyes haven't arrived in the mail yet," I replied sardonically.

"Boo! I demand cauldrons!" She slapped her hand on the table.

"You know, for a girl who hates her costume, you sure like acting childish."

"Only when it's fun. Besides, I hate looking like I'm in my pajamas getting ready to be tucked into bed. I don't mind a little childishness. And, I'm five years older than you. Aren't Koreans supposed to respect their elders?" she sniffed haughtily.

I laughed and pat her head. "Not when they're legal midgets."

She slapped my hand away with a surly glare. "I'm not a midget. I'm still growing!"

"Sure, sure, I'm sorry, noona, how could I be so disrespectful?"

"Noona?"

"Korean word for 'older sister' used by younger boys. It can be used by any two people when the girl is older than the boy though."

"Yes, ha! That's right, I'm your noona now."

I smiled and made a show of banging my head against the table. "I regret this already."

"So, make anything cool?"

"Getting ready to make some Elixirs of Iron."

"Ooh, I read the brief on that. It makes your skin metal, right?"

"Right, and makes you a little taller." I grinned teasingly. "Sorry, not permanent."

She elbowed me in the ribs, making me wince. The girl had some bony elbows. "Jerk."

"Sorry, too much snark. If it makes you feel better, I'm going to try and talk the director into giving all Wards the Elixir of Iron as an emergency provision. You know, just in case someone decides to chuck a car at you."

"Awesome! Thanks, Andy," Raquel squealed and gave me a tight hug.

"You're welcome." She was skipping her way out of my lab when I called out. "Raquel?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like my paperweight back please. It's in your pocket."

"Ah!" She fumbled with the small snowglobe. It had a generic Asian tiled house inside, with little flecks of white that could be swirled around to mimic snowstorms. Mom got it for me. "I'm sorry! I thought it looked pretty and didn't even notice."

"It's fine. Now that I know to be on the lookout, I can tell when an object around me teleports to your pockets."

"Huh… Say, Andy? Rubedo? Buddy ol' pal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could give me a dose of your pink juice? Maybe if I had the same awareness you do, I would notice when my power popped off and I could give it back on my own."

"It takes a lot of practice to get used to the extra sense, you know. And it almost gave the scientist who tested it out a seizure. It got pretty bad."

"Damn…"

"Don't worry," I said comfortingly. "I might have something that can regulate your powers for you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

X

2000, June 5: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I sat around at recess mulling over the past two weeks. It wasn't as though I could join in a game of kickball or anything. On my lap was a book in braille so I could pretend to be reading.

When I first debuted, Rubedo was the talk of the city, or at least, the talk of the school. It wasn't often that a new Ward joined up, especially not one as young as me. Now, only two weeks later, I was old news. I didn't patrol or punch bad guys so children didn't take an interest in me. Sure, I was a model Ward, saving lives without putting my own in jeopardy, but that just meant I was boring. Coupled with the urgency of flaring gang violence, my name got swept up to the wayside rather quickly.

I wasn't complaining; the past two weeks went as smoothly as I could expect. When I wasn't filling the weekly potions quota, plus a bit extra since I had nothing else in my pipeline, I was taught various things a Ward ought to know. At the top of that list was console training along with other PRT procedures and regulations. After that, I was ushered into a room where one of Ms. Youngston's PR interns taught me how to smile, laugh, and generally be expressive in front of the cameras while wearing a mask that completely hid the upper half of my face.

Those were the lessons I hated most. On one hand, I understood fully where they were coming from: What else would they do with an eight year old besides make him the team mascot? On the other, the lessons did not come naturally to me and I could understand why child actors felt the need to lash out.

At least one good thing came of them though: When I became noticeably less cooperative, the intern tried to bribe me with candy. I instead asked for lessons in first aid, something I could use to make a tangible difference. I now had those every Tuesday and Friday, just one more lesson to add to my workload.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Hmm?" I turned towards the voice.

"Oh, sorry, it's Mrs. Owens, sweetheart," my teacher said.

"No problem, Mrs. Owens. Should I come inside?"

"No, you still have a few more minutes of recess. You just looked like you weren't really reading."

Caught out, I pressed the braille book closed. "Ah, yeah… just thinking."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong."

"Okay, Andy, but if you want to talk, you can tell me anything," she promised reassuringly. "I think you've been doing an amazing job, picking up English so quickly. It's not an easy language to learn." Especially if you're blind, she didn't say.

"Thank you, I have a lot of great teachers."

"Flatterer. Is the gentleman who drives you from school one of them?"

"Who? Mr. Morrison?" I asked, panicking a little.

"Yes, he seemed like a nice man. Is he a neighbor?"

The few seconds gave me enough time to blurt out the PRT approved response. "He's a family friend. David, his son, is in high school and babysits me sometimes."

"Oh, that's sweet. What do you do together?"

"We play music," I said, digging deep up my own ass. I tried to change the topic. "Say, Mrs. Owens? Did you know mom is a musician?"

"Oh? Really? That's great!" To her credit, she sounded genuinely excited. If I lacked the mind of an adult, I doubt I'd have been able to notice her digging for information. "What kind of instrument does she play?"

"She was classically trained in piano and violin. Grandpa and grandma were rich so she got to study abroad in Germany."

"That's wonderful. Do you like classical music, Andy?"

"No, I'm more into jazz. I like how much improvisation there is in things like the saxophone."

"You can play the saxophone?" I didn't need the Oracle's Elixir to know she had an eyebrow raised.

"No, but I like to listen. Maybe I'll try one day."

"Oh… Well I'm sure you'll make a wonderful musician," she said, patting my head. I suppressed the urge to slap her hand away and counted it as a win. Distraction successful.

X

"My teacher asked about you," I said as I hopped into Agent Morrison's car.

"Oh? What'd she say?"

I buckled my seatbelt and picked out a bottle of elixir I kept in back. "Nothing big, but she was digging into my family situation. Asked if you were my neighbor so I told her that David babysits me sometimes and you're a family friend."

"Good, great job sticking to cover, Andy."

"Yeah, well, I told her I wanted to learn to play the saxophone. Ugh… I feel so stupid…"

"Hey, it's not impossible. Why'd you say that anyway?"

"Mom's a musician. It was the first excuse that popped into my head," I huffed.

"Don't worry, you did good. It's our job to make sure that the questions don't get too intrusive."

"Who exactly knows I'm a Ward anyway?"

"At school?"

"Yeah."

"The principal."

"And?"

"The principal."

"Seriously? No one else? What if there's an emergency?"

"You tell me," he said with a sly grin. "This was one of the things you should have learned already."

"The principal will call me into her office. When we're alone, she'll tell me that my uncle has passed away and that I'm being pulled from school. You or another agent will meet me out front in as normal an appearance as possible," I said by rote. This was in one of the procedural handbooks. "If a different agent, they will include the words 'home,' 'hope,' and 'safe' in their greeting to confirm their identity. After this, they will take me to Wards HQ, where I can dress as Rubedo and await dispatch."

"Damn, kid," he whistled. "I didn't think you'd have that memorized."

"This still doesn't explain why none of the other teachers know."

"It does. We're not taking any chances with your identity. I suppose having a few more teachers know to help coordinate could be helpful, but it's not worthwhile. A single contact is enough for one Ward. It might be different if there were a number of Wards in the school, but there's just you."

"Yay for being the youngest."

"Why? Did you want to tell your teacher?"

"No, absolutely not. I just felt a little uncomfortable with the digging. She means well I think, but she's showing a lot of personal attention towards me because I'm the only blind kid in class and a man who is obviously not my father is picking me up from school."

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Yeah, I see where you're coming from. I'll have a chat with Director Lyons. We'll work something out to get her to stop."

X

I huffed and puffed as I cleared my first mile. A little over twelve minutes. It wasn't slow per se, but it definitely wasn't anything to write home about, especially given my flagging endurance. Dead average, but dead average for an eight year old would leave me dead for real.

"Off," David, Ranchero at the moment, said, motioning me from the treadmill. He had the same easygoing smile on his face, but there was a deeper undercurrent of tiredness even as he jogged on the machine next to me.

"Cooldown," I staggered out.

He rolled his eyes and pushed some buttons, slowing the pace way down. "Five minutes. It's not good to go full hog like that every day."

I nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Two minutes into my cooldown, I could feel Yasmine, Hat Trick, enter the gym. She popped her skateboard into an ollie and stashed her entire outfit into her cap with one fluid motion, replacing her outfit with workout clothes and a bandana. She made a beeline towards Ranchero and me.

"Twelve minutes? Damn, brat, you slow," Hat Trick teased, leaning in to see my time and ruffling my hair. She immediately recoiled. "Ugh, you're sweaty."

I rolled my eyes but kept jogging. "This is what hard work looks like. Try it sometime."

"Ooh, midget's got fangs."

"Keep it up and I'll turn you into a frog."

"Pfft, yeah right."

"Double double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble."

"What, you a bruja now, muchacho?"

"Alchemist," I corrected.

"Where did you learn Macbeth?" Ranchero cut in incredulously. "Little dude's got class."

"Wait, can you actually turn me into a frog?"

"No." As if to prove that the World Rune did in fact had a mind of its own, it decided that now was the best time to nudge forward an idea, a very purple idea. My vision faded into a psychedelic aurora of colors and tastes. Laughter, the sort filled with unbridled joy and all-consuming wonder, resounded in my ears. Colors became tastes and sounds became smells before the world twisted back into place.

I was brought out of my daze by Ranchero snapping his fingers. "Hello? Off the treadmill, Rubedo. Don't work out too hard at your age."

"Uh, yeah, sorry." I turned to Hat Trick. "Sorry, no frogs. How do you feel about squirrels?"

"Wait, was that a tinker fugue?"

"No, that wasn't. Those are much worse, more like full on trances than just daydreaming like that. I guess you gave me an idea."

"So you can turn me into a squirrel?" she asked, her brow nearly meeting her hairline. "Your powers are weird."

"No, no I can't turn you into a squirrel. Or any other creature. It was a joke, but you did give me an idea, so thanks." I snatched a towel I'd set aside and headed to the showers.

"Where're you off to?"

"Shower," I called back. "Then to fill out a few procurement forms." I couldn't enchant myself some pixie dust, or whatever the hell Lulu used to turn people into squirrels, but it was yet another good reminder that I should be looking outward, at more than just the twin cities. 'Yes… Polymorph isn't the only way to shut someone down…'

Author's Note

Slow war is slow, but don't worry. Andy's going to be busy in his own way. He's also hopscotching through the weeks bit by bit, though I can't call anything a timeskip per se.

Thank you for reading. Believe it or not, this is the seventh website I've crossposted to. I want to make sure this site catches up with the others, but it's slow, tedious work. Until then, other sites will have a much more updated library of my works. If you want to read ahead, or check out other stories I've written, you can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.