Legendary Tinker (Worm/LoL)

Charmed 3.2

2000, July 3: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I returned to the common room after my discussion with Poundtown. A part of me felt bad for the older Ward. Not because of his name or costume, there wasn't anything egregiously wrong with a Viking theme, even if the historically inaccurate horns were a bit over the top.

I felt bad because his power made him a bog-standard brute, and a relatively weak one at that. He was technically a breaker or changer who turned his body into hard, rubber-like foam. In that state, he could absorb and redirect kinetic energy, letting him hit a bit harder than his minor brute rating would imply. The problem was that he couldn't remain in that form for long, nor was the durability high enough to keep up with stronger brutes.

A mover could always run and pick his battles. A blaster had range. A master had proxies. But when a brute wasn't strong enough…

A part of me also envied him in a way. He was a simple man who liked making kids smile and had a simple power. No one expected much of him, not even himself. There was no great expectation that he would change the medical field or kill Scion as I knew I one day must. He could live his life as a hero to children, never even entertaining the possibility of having to compromise his morals for "the greater good."

My musings about my colleague ended as I stepped into the common room. I saw Hat Trick on console. It was a rare enough sight these past few weeks. As our resident jack of all trades, she was always busy and console seemed like a waste of her talents. She waved me over.

"Yo. What's up, chico?" she said with an easygoing smile, but I could see the slight bags under her eyes.

"Hey, Hat Trick," I greeted. "Odd to see you on console these days."

She slumped and let out a small sigh. "Yeah, I'm taking a break. Even I need one of those every now and then."

"You deserve it," I said reassuringly, "but wasn't Bandit supposed to be on?"

"She got reassigned, temporarily, I mean. There was this big fire in Prescott National Forest and the rangers and firefighters wanted her flying with them for a bit. She's the best at rescuing estupido campers and whatnot, you know?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I could see that." It was more than just that. Masked Bandit's power was simple in theory, but had a wide variety of applications. She could easily move tree trunks and other detritus towards herself, creating fire breaks in minutes. She could even be flown roughly to the center of the fire, where she could draw in burning wood into a focused location. "She must be pretty popular with the rangers, huh?"

"You have no idea. She's an honorary ranger already. Has the badge and everything. She even got invited to their annual dinner last year."

Then a worrying thought occurred to me. "Say, doesn't it seem a little convenient that a forest fire ignites within days of a mass prison break?"

She mulled it over before laughing. "Chico, you're seeing shadows that aren't there. Wildfire season's May to July around here. It's honestly a surprise that it hasn't happened earlier this year. She did the same thing last year, too. Besides, who'd start a forest fire just to pull away a Ward?"

"Yeah, maybe you're right…"

She shrugged helplessly. "Ehh, you know how it is. When it rains, it pours."

X

2000, July 4: Phoenix, AZ, USA

As many had predicted, the tenuous peace in our sunny city didn't last. Both gangs must have felt greatly emboldened by their recent swell in numbers, because six separate raids were documented last night alone. Twenty-one people died in a single night, not all of them gang soldiers. Two buildings burned to the ground and a few more suffered significant fire and water damage. With firefighters already pressed to contain the wildfire minutes from the Phoenix Metro Area, the city had no choice but to rely on volunteers, most nowhere near as experienced as the professionals.

It didn't sound like a lot. In the grand scheme of things, it meant almost nothing. Twenty-one people seemed almost laughable compared to what an endbringer could do, never mind Scion. And yet, these deaths weren't caused by multidimensional abominations. These were caused by humans, and not even powered humans at that.

With fighting breaking out in the streets, it didn't take long for the city mayor to petition the governor for a declared state of emergency. I had it explained to me just what that would mean.

Already, there was a curfew enforced by the local law enforcement. Anyone out past six could and would be stopped and potentially arrested. Roads to and from the southeast were closed to all but emergency vehicles. It was up to the governor to deploy the National Guard, but I suspected that would happen soon enough.

"Heh, and it didn't even take us Leviathan showing up. Suck it Brockton," I chuckled mirthlessly. The thought that things would deteriorate so far in a decade that nothing less than an endbringer would qualify as a "state of emergency" was both morbidly funny and depressing..

"Did you say something, son?" mom asked as she flipped some bindae-tteok, a type of Korean mung bean pancake. Hers had a hodgepodge of seafood and kimchi in it. We ate it whenever it rained back in Korea. Here in Phoenix, she made it whenever she was feeling homesick.

"Nothing, mom."

Twenty minutes later, I'd just finished breakfast when I received an email from the director's office, calling the team back to base.

"I've got to head in," I said.

She gave me a hug. "Be careful."

"I'm not even on the front lines. There's nothing to worry about. Besides, you know I always keep a few potions for myself. If something does happen, I'm prepared."

X

I found myself alone in the common room minutes after arriving. We had a brief meeting with Stingray and some faceless PRT captain. He introduced himself and everything, but I forgot his name the moment he left my perception field. The meeting, which included a message from the city council, boiled down to: The cops can't handle this alone and it'll take a few days for the National Guard to mobilize. We know unpowered crime isn't in your wheelhouse, but please send cape support.

We were deputized, I still didn't know if that was the right term, to act in the same capacity as Protectorate heroes for the duration of the conflict. Essentially it just meant we'd keep doing what we were already doing, but with more frequency and permissions.

Stingray, Ranchero, Diamondback, and Wildshot were authorized to engage in combat with unpowered gang members on their own prerogative with minimal oversight and arrest criminals so long as they had video evidence, which was already a must anyway. Actual Protectorate would still focus on caped gang members. Hat Trick would work with the paramedics again.

The big change was that the gear that Director Lyons had confiscated for being unapproved, Stingray's Petricite knuckles and Ranchero's armor plating, were handed back. The PRT was very image-conscious, but nothing would ruin their PR-friendly reputation faster than a Ward who got killed because they weren't allowed protection they already had access to. That, and Director Lyons seemed mostly like an alright sort; I didn't expect her to be so hung up on bureaucracy as to deny them an advantage and was happy to be proven right.

As for me, I was ordered to make as many Elixirs of Iron as I could for protection, steering me away from the primarily health potion focused path I was on before. They were no good against even a mid-tier cape, but being highly bullet-resistant went a long way in scenarios like this. So, that's what I did.

I got into the office at nine-thirty in the morning and spent the entire day making potions out of distilled iron supplements and energy drinks. There was a sense of urgency in my actions now that I knew for a fact that my friends would be out there fighting. More than once, my hand reached down to my lower back, to the relic pistol hidden by my long robes.

"Not yet," I told myself. "I can do more good back here than I can by being another gun."

I loathed the feeling that I wasn't contributing enough and threw myself into potions-making. It was all the more frustrating because had I not hidden what I could do, I could conceivably be out there fighting with them. Yes, building armor for myself came with its own problems and potions still had more impact overall than one more body in the field, but the need to do something felt like a palpable pressure on my mind.

I was only shaken from my self-induced fugue when Agent Morrison came down to get me.

"Rubedo, squirt," he shook me as I was condensing another Mana Crystal in my hand.

Startled, I turned and hurled the half-formed crystal at him, barely missing his head. The crystal sailed out the door and exploded against the opposite wall. It sounded deafening in the cramped corridor.

"Please don't do that, Agent Morrison," I said as calmly as I could. "Tinkers don't take well to being shaken awake."

I didn't have normal fugues, but found myself in a similar boat regardless. Meditation wasn't just clearing my thoughts or breathing deeply for me. It was a literal and metaphysical dive into my soul to draw out the World Rune. It was easy to lose track of my surroundings, Oracle's or no, and I tended to be jumpy.

He let out a low whistle. "Geez, kid, that stuff supposed to explode?"

I nodded. The Mana Crystal was just that, a crystal. It needed a specific structure to retain solid form otherwise, it tended to disperse into the atmosphere. Violently. "If it's half-formed, yes. Otherwise, it's stable. How can I help you?"

"You're going home," Agent Morrison said in his best dad-voice.

I looked up at the digital clock on my desk: Eight. "It's not that late," I argued.

"It is for you. Your mom called already."

"I can still make more potions."

"Nope. I'm betting you didn't have lunch either."

"I did," I whined, pointing to my trash bin, immaculate save for two granola wrappers and an empty bag of chips. "See?"

"That ain't lunch," he drawled flatly. He then grabbed me by my not-a-hood and yanked me to my feet. "Come on, kid. I know you're worried about your friends, I appreciate it, 'specially seein' how one's my son and all, but you can't burn yourself out like this."

"I-" I was interrupted by my own body betraying me. A tired yawn forced itself from my throat.

"No. I'm taking you home. I'm already goin' to get chewed out by your mother."

"She needs to speak English for that," I grumbled.

"Don't give me none of that lip, son," he warned. "Lord knows I get enough from David."

I was waging a war on two fronts and knew I couldn't keep arguing with Agent Morrison and my own body. I trudged along behind him as he led me to the lockers so I could change into my civvies. Even with the enhancements offered by the Tear of the Goddess, this body simply lacked the stamina I was used to as an adult.

X

As expected, mom chewed me out and hit me upside the head with a wooden spoon. She'd cooked up a small feast for me from worry despite her own tiredness. I apologized for worrying her, ate a delicious meal of grilled Korean mackerel and gaeran-jjim , took a quick shower, then retired to my room for the night.

But I couldn't sleep.

Briefly energized from the dinner and a hot shower, I pulled up a pillow and sat down to meditate once again. They could pull me from my lab, but they couldn't keep me from preparing for the day ahead. Every Mana Crystal was a potion that could stop bullets or heal a lethal wound. Time lost its meaning in short order as my breathing became deeper and I sank into the depths of that mystical well in my soul.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with my young body and I fell asleep at three in the morning, still leaning against the wall in a vague semblance of meditation.

X

2000, July 5: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I woke up to the sound of my alarm with a hell of a crick in my back. Young or not, humans weren't meant to sleep sitting down. I did my best to at least pretend to be alert, a cold shower helped with that, and shared a quick breakfast of leftovers with mom before seeing her off to work. Luckily, anyone who could afford a housekeeper was also likely to live in more affluent, safer neighborhoods. Mom was in minimal danger.

Afterwards, I fought through my exhaustion and forced myself to do my stretches and forms, entering a sort of moving meditation while I dumped mana into the Tear. The motions were barely remembered, hazy like a long-forgotten dream. They weren't from any particular style, though the Shojin, Wuju, and Kinkou orders as well as various military knighthoods and similar all practiced a form of calisthenics. After all, general fitness, balance, and flexibility were always boons, regardless of the specific martial art.

As I progressed through the motions, I felt myself become more alert. It wasn't noticeably supernatural, there wasn't a mystical shroud of blue aura empowering me or anything, nor was I any stronger or faster. The best way I could describe it was that I had more "oomph" to my actions, like a man walking with purpose and determination, an energy derived from intent instead of some supernatural force.

I came down from my workout high and knew that it'd be a long, long while before I could do anything even the most amateurish acolyte could manage.

After my morning exercise, I gave Agent Morrison a call. He was a few minutes late to pick me up.

"Hello? Rubedo?" he answered on the fifth ring.

"Good morning, sir. I'm calling because you're a little late picking me up. Is everything alright?"

"Not a problem. I had someone else to pick up this morning as well. She's an independent consultant who specializes in crisis management for the PRT. You'll love her. Don't worry about your identity, she's signed so many NDAs that I'm pretty sure even she's lost track."

I wasn't fully comfortable with meeting someone new before I'd put on my mask, but if a senior liaison like Agent Morrison said it was fine, it probably was. She likely knew my identity from dossiers anyway. "Great, when should I expect you?"

"You sure you wouldn't like the day off, kid? A gang war's no place for little heroes like you."

"I need to do this, sir. Besides, even if I stay home, there's only so much music I can listen to before I go stir crazy. I'd end up tinkering anyway," I assured him.

"Fine, kid. Have it your way. We'll be there in a few minutes, so do you mind waiting out by the curb?"

"No problem, sir. Thank you as always. I'll see you then."

I hung up and grabbed my relic pistol along with the twenty-six Mana Crystals I'd made last night. Looking at them reminded me how tired I was, but I powered through. I tucked the pistol in my backpack and saw the quart of holy water I'd received from Father Manuel. I hadn't had a chance to do more with the material, but I was hoping to get more time later. I didn't want to keep him waiting so I shrugged and left it there alongside my bottle of Oracle's. Three minutes later, I was out on the curb waiting for Agent Morrison and the new consultant.

I "saw" them before they arrived. Agent Morrison looked as he always did, though his tie was a bit crooked.

'I guess I'm not the only one tired,' I thought.

What really caught my attention was the vision of beauty sitting in the back.

She wore a classy, charcoal-gray pantsuit with a white shirt that hugged her generous curves. Her outfit was perfectly pressed, with not a crease out of place. The only thing that broke her professional appearance was a thin, blue choker around her neck. She was short, a foot taller than me, though no one would mistake her for a little girl. She had flawless caramel skin and wavy brown hair held in a ponytail. Twin bangs framed a perfectly heart-shaped face with large, almond eyes and pouty lips that seemed both innocent and playful.

I opened the door and bowed to her respectfully. "Hello ma'am," I began. "I'm told you know who I am?"

"Yes," she said. She had an almost magically charming voice, sultry yet soothing all at once. "Rubedo, right? It's a pleasure to meet another one of the Wards."

"Another, ma'am?" I asked curiously. She wouldn't be the first to travel around different PRT offices as needed. I knew that in canon, Dr. Jessica Yamada did something similar, doing her best to put Band-Aids on the psyches of broken heroes.

"I travel often and have met quite a few of them, though I hope you'll forgive me if I don't say just who. Rules, you understand?" she winked.

"Of course. I wouldn't want you telling anyone else about me," I said back. "What does a crisis management specialist do?"

"Well, cutie, I travel around and tell people how to do their jobs. Every branch is a bit different, so my job is a bit different depending on where I am. When things get messy, I show up and do my best to make things better. It means I can deal with troopers, Wards, Protectorate, or even the local police force. There isn't any uniformly consistent thing I do. And please," she smiled beatifically, "call me Camille."

Author's Note

Well then… How much do you trust Agent Morrison?

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.