by wildbow
It was easy enough to picture. Any time the suit took enough damage, it reforged itself into a different shape with the reserve components deep inside its body, or it shed its outer layer, ensuring that it was always in pristine fighting condition. Give it an opportunity and it harvested metal for raw materials, and it would keep going until its battery ran out.
With the kind of stuff a tinker like Dragon could make, cold fusion reactors and self-sustaining energy sources, that battery could have one hell of a long life.
Either way, it wasn’t a new model. That meant it wasn’t the Azazel suit Piggot had told us about.
“You could have explained,” I said.
“I did,” Bitch answered, glowering at the smoking suit. “I said it won’t fucking go down.”
“You could have explained why.”
“I don’t understand why!”
The reforging process had killed every bug I had on the thing, and it had burned through the silk cord I’d leashed it with. I was left wondering what the black market price would be for something like Armsmaster’s EMP device. Something that would serve as a get-out-of-a-fight-with-a-tinker-card.
Tinkers had so many options that they brought to the table, a crazy synergy with any teammates, and an ability to customize their approach to counter specific threats or individuals. I, on the other hand, was pretty screwed if I went up against anyone with flame powers, cold powers, electricity powers, enough durability to shrug off my bugs or a way to clear out large numbers of bugs at once. I’d managed thus far by thinking on my feet, but it sort of pissed me off that tinkers existed as the antithesis of that.
Yes, I was aware that tinkers had to put in hours upon hours of work, and that I only ever really experienced the end results of that investment. I didn’t care. Whether they had vat grown monsters, clockwork lairs, impenetrable suits of armor, jetpacks and exploding guitars or programs to tell them how to win a fight, tinkers were a fucking pain in the ass.
“New plan,” I announced. “We hit it hard enough to slow it down and then we scram.”
“You want to run?” Bitch asked.
“We don’t have a choice.”
“We do,” she said, still glowering at the suit. “We gotta kill this thing sometime anyways, so you come up with a plan like you usually do, we’ll make it happen, and I won’t have to give up territory to this armor asshole.”
I stared at her, trying and failing to process how she was looking at the situation. Then it dawned on me. This was why Dragon and Armsmaster had pit this suit against her. It wasn’t that it countered her power, exactly. It was that it was set up to work against her stubborn nature. With the way her mind worked, she couldn’t back down from a fight she subconsciously felt like she was winning. It didn’t matter that we were losing in the long run, she was focused on the fact that we could do damage, and walking away would be a forfeit.
Barker was screaming a long series of invectives at the suit, detonating them. With four legs solidly on the ground, it wasn’t budging, and Barker’s shouts weren’t doing much to the armor.
“Look at it this way,” I said, trying to stay calm, “We just defeated it. Heck, every time you’ve forced it to change like that, that’s been a win for you. How many times was that?”
“Four.”
“Four times, you’ve kicked its ass. If you walk away, that’s five wins total and one loss, if you can even call that a loss. But we can’t afford to stay much longer, or one of your dogs is bound to get hurt.”
As if to give evidence to my statement, Bentley howled as he grappled with the suit, trying to tear into its neck while the suit attempted to wrestle him down to the ground. Biter leaped onto the machine’s back, his hands with the spiked knuckles worked into the gloves growing larger so he could tear the armor plates away. Bentley joined in, setting his teeth at the lower part of the armored suit’s ‘spine’, for lack of a better word.
Her eyes narrowed. “We run?”
“We have to stop it from following first. One more time, guys! Regent, stand ready! We need as much glass as you can spare!”
The suit turned our way. Three masters, standing in the back lines while we sent our bugs, dogs and lunatic supervillain thrall into the fray.
It began to glow, steaming, and Biter virtually yelped as he threw himself off of its back. Bentley was slower to react, but he fell back, shaking his head violently as flesh sizzled around his muzzle.
We backed up a few paces as it advanced one step. It whipped its head up until it almost pointed to the sky, then opened its mouth. Blue flame streamed over our heads to pool behind us, cutting off our retreat. We had to scramble for cover before any droplets or sparks landed on us. I wasn’t sure if it was flame at a temperature I wasn’t used to seeing, if it was a liquid accellerant that just happened to be on fire or if it was plasma, but I didn’t want to touch it and find out the particulars.
All of us, dogs, Barker and Biter included, headed inside a building to seek further cover. The structure rumbled as the suit climbed the side and settled on the roof. The A.I.s liked high places, it seemed.
“Need to hit it hard,” I said, my voice pitched low so the suit wouldn’t overhear. “One good hit.”
“We don’t have one good hitter,” Imp said. I turned my head to see her crouching by the vet and one wounded dog. “Maybe Shatterbird, but everyone else is about a lot of littler hits.”
“We need one good hit from someone who isn’t Shatterbird,” I clarified.
“Can’t,” Biter said. “Limit to how big I can grow myself before I do permanent damage.”
“Define permanent damage.”
“Stretch marks, scarring, permanent aches and pains. I have some in my midsection, all day, every day, it hurts.”
“Okay,” I said. “Barker?”
“I can’t hurt the fucker.”
“You screamed something like three times, then detonated that smoke you make whenever you make noise. Can you do it more? More shouts, louder?”
“At my limit. Probably not.”
“Bentley’s hurt,” I said. “What about Bastard?”
“He’ll probably listen to me, but he might attack anyone else. He’s too dangerous when big.”
“And that suit’s dangerous too. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s either trying to beat us to a pulp so it can drag us into custody or it’s going to burn us alive. We have to use one of your dogs, and Bastard’s in the best shape. We have to use him.”
Bitch frowned, “How?”
I told her. “You’ve taught him to fetch?”
She nodded.
“Fetch something big, then,” I said. “Wait until my signal, hit him as hard as you can. Everyone else, let’s run for it.”
I could see Bitch tense. Her henchwoman, the vet, stood and nervously circled around the edge of the room to join us, giving Bitch a bit of space.
“You’re leaving me behind.”
“We’re counting on you,” I said. “Wait for my signal, then come with Bastard. More damage you can do, the better.”
All together, we bolted, Bentley following immediately behind us. I could feel the Dragon suit reorienting to face us, felt it angle its head before it spewed another stream of liquid fire.
In a residential area? This wasn’t an occupied area, but… well, the suit might know that. It might be another reason it was deployed here.
“Hard right!” I shouted. We turned to head for a nearby alleyway before the liquid fire even touched ground.
The suit leaped, and I grabbed Imp’s wrist, hauling her out of the way. It landed a short distance from us, then barreled through our group, sending Biter, Barker and the vet-in-training sprawling.
Controlled movements. Everything it’s doing, it’s all calculated. Even the more dangerous attacks were geared to hold back just enough to hurt, not to kill. Even the hurt was fairly minimal. If Biter had still been on the suit’s back when it turned red-hot, I was willing to bet it would have shaken him
off to avoid giving him terminal burns. There had to be something about that I could use. Trouble was, I wasn’t sure when or where the suits drew the line. I couldn’t trust that they’d follow the rules enough that I could offer my own life in the bargain, much less anyone else’s.
I signaled Bitch, and she was out of the building in a second. Bastard was as large as I’d ever seen him, and there was something about his appearance… he looked less wrong than the others. The spikes and ridges of bone that lined his body weren’t asymmetrical, and there seemed to be more art to the design. Drool flew out of the corners of his mouth as he bounded forward, fangs clamped around a wooden post.
The suit was halfway through turning around to face them when Bastard drove the end of the post into its stomach. It skidded, sparks flying as its claws dug into the pavement for traction.
“Pull it free!” I shouted. I didn’t wait for her to follow through before calling out the next order, “Regent, fill the hole!”
Bitch hauled on Bastard’s chain and he followed the direction, pulling back, the post still clamped in his mouth. When it came loose, it revealed a rent in the armor’s side, far less empty space than I’d hoped, and a dislodged joint where the leg met the pelvis.
Shatterbird called forth a stream of glass, shoving it into the hole. I didn’t need to give the next order. I realized she was using her power more through my bugs than any other sign, the telltale high-pitched noise that was above my human limits. A second later, the suit’s rear legs lost their traction on the ground. Its lower body collapsed.
The suit began struggling for footing. It was still operational. I swore under my breath, still backing away.
Shatterbird moved one arm, and the suit slid a few feet in that direction. She had a hold on the glass. More forcefully, she pushed it into the nearest building, then dragged it across the alleyway to slam it into the opposite wall.
She repeated the process two more times before the suit tried a counterplan. It began to reshape itself, glass shards pouring out of the openings as pieces slid in and out. A third form, something airborne.
Shatterbird slammed it into a wall before it was done reshaping. The fallen glass shards levitated into the air to find new nooks and crannies to slide into.
The suit was hot, naturally heating up as part of the reincarnation or reformation process. I watched as glass melted, running into holes and slats in the armor.
Shatterbird pushed again. The suit barely moved. She wasn’t so adept at moving molten silicon.
We continued backing down the alley. The suit raised its head, preparing to cut off our retreat with another pool of flame.
In her second jousting run, Bitch lanced the thing through the base of the neck. Fire spilled down around it, setting the post aflame, and the attack was stalled.
She wheeled Bastard around and shouted, “That’s six fucking wins to one! Go!”
We ran. I maneuvered my swarm behind me to watch for its approach, felt it step forward and then collapse, its legs giving way.
Even the forelegs? Okay, that was interesting.
The glass. It had melted, and it was cooling in the lower recesses, farthest from the body’s core.
I could have told Bitch she’d beat the suit, that we might have defeated it a hundred percent, but I kept my mouth shut. Didn’t need her acting on what might be a false assumption. If it freed itself, found a way of reconfiguring where all of the glass-affected areas were contained, or if it simply abandoned its legs in favor of a smaller form… too many possibilities. Better to leave it and cross our fingers.
Damn tinkers. What the hell was Dragon’s specialty? The ability to make stuff without half the time other tinkers would need? So many different suits, so many different projects and tasks, and it rarely interconnected, if ever.
We ran two or three blocks before we had to stop. Shatterbird sent glass shards into a nearby door, then tugged it free. A sled for Regent and Imp.
With some coaxing, I got the vet-trainee to climb onto Bentley’s back. The other henchman, the guy, climbed up behind me. Barker approached Bastard, and received a mean growl in response. We searched for an option for Barker and Biter before Regent and Shatterbird offered another door.
We made good time on our way to Ballistic’s lair. We’d planned to arrive by dusk, but the sun wasn’t even setting.
The others weren’t there. We double checked, then mobilized to find them, spreading out. With reluctance, I drew my relay bugs from the interior of my shoulderpad. I felt a twinge of disappointment as I handled them, gently passing them on to dragonflies that could carry them. They were dying.
Panacea hadn’t given the relay bugs a digestive system, and in my haste to save Atlas from a slow death by starvation, I’d neglected to pay attention to them. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways, probably, because Grue had only had so much time to work with.
The dragonflies sent my relay bugs out so I could keep in touch with the others as we searched for Grue, Trickster, Sundancer and Ballistic. Bugs were tough, natural survivors. I knew that cockroaches could survive lengthy periods of time without heads, that other bugs could be frozen solid and thawed and be little worse for wear. They subsisted on relatively little food considering their body size, and the relay bugs had held on this long with an inability to eat at all. Their physiology wasn’t quite the mess that Atlas’s was, and they retained some basic hibernation instincts, defaulting to a near-immobile state. It was a struggle to even get them to extend my power’s range for me.
I found the next dragon suit before I found the others, and I immediately knew it for what it was. It had to be Azazel.
Monarch 16.5
If I was remembering right, the Slaughterhouse Nine had introduced themselves to their prospective members roughly two weeks ago. I couldn’t be sure what had happened, but Piggot had alluded to the idea that Armsmaster had banded together with Dragon.
Two weeks, and they’d built this.
The other dragon suits had the general stylings of dragons, with claws, armor plating that resembled scales and heads or faces that resembled a reptile. In the end, though, they were still machines, and the theme was just that. A theme.
Rather than armor plates, the scales were fine, intricately detailed and arranged with a kind of natural sense to it, with denser scaling in the areas which saw the most movement, creasing and folding and heavier scales around the elbows, talons and face. There were wings, batlike, with openings at the base of each ‘finger’ that the membrane stretched between. The actual body was more like a lizard, but the angle of the forelimbs and shoulders resembled those of a human. When Azazel moved, its scaled exterior rippled with the shifting movements of the mechanisms underneath.
My bugs found their way inside, and I discovered it was very different from the machine we’d just fought. It wasn’t sturdily built, nor was it solid. The wires and internal mechanisms weren’t heavy-duty, reinforced or covered in chain mesh. They were so numerous and dense that I couldn’t hope to make any headway with every bug in the city committed to the task.
It was, just going by what I could tell from my swarm-sense, a machine as intricate and multilayered as a living, organic being.
But how? It didn’t make sense in terms of the timeframe. It would have taken time to make each individual, unique part with their condensed and intricate design, but he’d only had two weeks.
A thought dawned on me. It was a half-formed thought up until the moment I devoted some attention to it. Then it clicked. Tinkers had a knack, a specialty, be it a particular field of work or something they could do with their designs that nobody else could, and I knew Dragon’s. She could intuit and appropriate the designs of other tinkers.
It put everything in perspective. The machines she was using, half of them drew on ideas I’d seen other tinkers put to work. The drone model had used Kid Win’s antigravity generators and Armsmaster’s ambient taser, the wheel-dragon might have used the same theories as the electromagnetic ha
rness Kid Win had been packing when we attacked the PRT headquarters.
It also served to explain how she could invest the time to make the suits. If her power afforded her the brainpower and raw thinking power to understand and apply the work of other tinkers, then she could put all of her resources towards manufacturing. Armsmaster made the base design, she appropriated it and then turned artificial intelligence or her own power to creating the necessary variations.
I could imagine how she had worked herself into the Protectorate and the Guild for just this reason. It would get her the funding and raw materials she needed. Being a member of the team would give her access to the work of the various tinker heroes, in the name of oversight and security. Add the confiscated material from criminals like Bakuda, and she had unparalleled access to other tinkers’ work.
There were realizations that were kind of a ‘eureka’ moment, except not so much an inspiration borne of creativity or creation as being about finding that weak point, finding that way out of a corner. This wasn’t one of those. This was one of the realizations I wish I hadn’t had, because I could feel my own morale plummeting. If I was even close to being right, then Dragon was the incarnation of why tinkers were so dangerous.
Which didn’t change the fact that we had to find a way to stop her or everything we’d worked for would be for nothing.
I used the relay bugs to extend my search out further, and ran into a snag. My swarm died in droves, bugs being obliterated or having half their bodies sheared off as they approached too close to what the suit was building.
It slammed one claw down, and my bugs could sense a thin rod skimming along the surface of the ground, tracing bumps and depressions. The telescoping rod extended several hundred feet, crossing from the corner of one building to the base of a wall on the other side of the street. It stopped, and there was a pause as the suit moved on. Then the rod bloomed.