[R&R]: 4. Winds of Change

I didn't run into anything troublesome after running away from the alley. For whatever reason they had let me leave, I was grateful.

Instead of returning to the train yard, I found a covert spot that was empty for the moment. Normally, taking risks like these wasn't something I'd advise—least of all to myself. But given the nature of the work and the briefness of it, I was likely to be done before anything untoward happened.

My aversion to using the Access Key like this—where I risked the chance of someone stumbling upon me—came from the dread of the fallout. Of the repercussions I would have to face. I wasn't the least bit thrilled to suffer from something like that.

Yet, I was willing to take this risk. If it meant I could kickstart my career in this brand new world and open the world of possibilities, I had no choice but to accept the risk associated with it.

Finding the door with a lock turned out to be an easy process. I inserted the key, turned the knob, and pushed inward. The white room was there to greet me once again; so were the rusty parts, makeshift tools, and ugly inventions.

I crossed through the portal and looked at the grease-stained floor. Grimacing, I sat on my hunches and started gathering items—mostly steel.

I set them aside, including even a couple of tools that I had created. Judging by their size and the feel of their weight, they had to weigh a few kilograms. I would need only a kilogram and a half, maybe even less than that.

The next thing to follow was using the engine oil to draw a transmutation circle on the floor. Instead of using the objects I had gathered, I rifled through my pockets to pull out fibers of all kinds. They were torn, shredded, and marred with dirt and grime—and they were perfect for what I had in mind.

Simple and Advanced Formulae as powers had come from the domain of Alchemy, one of the few to house a high number of powers. Despite already being relatively powerful, they were actually the weakest in the entire pallet. Despite that, the potential they promised couldn't be ignored.

Alchemy was an ancient art of transmutation, but unlike the olden tales, it wasn't centered around turning lead into gold. In fact, it was simply impossible to turn lead into gold using the principles I had been taught—particularly the concept of Equivalent Exchange. Unless I was willing to give up something of equal value to gold, it just wasn't possible.

That said, I could still keep the fibers as fibers, but with the added benefit of shaping them in any way I desired.

I put the pile of fabric in the center the circle and concentrated. I could actively guide the process of shaping the cloth, and thanks to my ability, I could very easily follow through.

Light shone from the symbol on the floor, bathing my surroundings in an eerie glow. The darkness of Gotham seeping inward and the light pushing outward melded the two into a scene straight out of some horror movie.

The next instant, the light died down. The process was finished just as it had started, and instead of torn pieces of fabric stacked in the middle of the circle, I was greeted by a pair of gloves.

They were pristine white and looked like normal gloves. Except, they weren't normal gloves at all.

Using the transmutation process, I had finely tuned the fabric layered within to form the shape of a circle. Now, both of these gloves could act as a focus for alchemy practice.

The right glove had the circle for Matter Analysis and Deconstruction, while the left glove had the Reconstruction and Reshaping circle. Using both at the same time would prove combat efficient and overall better focuses than drawing one hastily on the ground.

The next step to follow was the process of creating a gun.

A very specific one I had in mind was the Colt M1911. Certainly not something one would be looking for specifically, given its rather ancient history. But given the circumstances, it was possible that people would buy it either way. The model was mostly to turn the supplier into an uninteresting aspect.

Of course, that was when the Celestial Forge decided to jerk me awake. Literally and figuratively.

I stood stock still as the entire space around me rattled like an earthquake had taken place, and I was left speechless when I spotted a door where there hadn't been a door before. I knew the reason for its existence, though.

The power to arrive came from the Toolkits domain—the very first connection to a new pallet. It wasn't a single power, more like a bundle of them. One of them, called Civilian Equipment Package, provided me with a cramped room, evident by the door that had suddenly manifested in the hallway.

Feeling a little jittery, I opened the door to glance inside. It was like stepping from the cold sterile environment into a junky old shop. The power hadn't just offered me a small room, but also a set of clothing and basic household belongings.

Normally, when you think of household belongings, a lot of things will come to mind. It seemed my power had a similar thought, as I could see the floor mattress folded to one side, a small table and stool to the other. There was a kitchen-ish setup too, with an electric hotplate, a cooking pot, and a jug cluttered on the floor.

Unlike my dimly lit hallway, this place was lit under the light from a battery-powered lamp. Thanks to that, I managed to spot a water basin, some cleaning rags, and a mirror scrap mounted on a wall—exactly what you would expect of a scrapyard shack.

If that had been all, I would've had an easier time dealing with it. Indeed, the weapon dubbed Heirloom Weapon had caught my attention for more than a brief moment before it was ensnared by something else.

The powers had arrived in a bundle. The other power to connect was called Cyber-doctor Equipment Package, and it provided me with powered tools for operating on cyborg bodies—like surgical lasers, bone saws, and hydraulic manipulators. It also offered 10 kg of spare parts, mostly mechanical components, artificial nerves, and cybernetic interface chips. Mounted on the wall was a bulky diagnostic computer for scanning and analyzing biological and mechanical systems.

Much like how the previous power had provided me with the Heirloom Weapon on top, this power offered me a 3D fabricator. It could mill out custom mechanical parts like joints, brackets, actuators, and servos, provided that I offered it the materials and the blueprints.

Of course, that wasn't where the functionality of this fabricator ended. It was possible to print circuits so that I could create cybernetic implant chips. It could even work in conjunction with the diagnostic computer to print out the damaged parts.

The best part of all this was that everything—from the computers and tools to the fabricator—was offered its own space, which was connected to the room I had been provided.

Something to take note of was that this power showed an impeccable synergy with the Medicine ability I had gotten yesterday. It was as if they drew from the same source, and everything that power taught me could be applied using this equipment.

Of course, these were powers that exhausted my potential. The ones to come bundled free included a Rocket Hammer and a Medic Equipment Package. The former was an awesome piece of equipment that I had half the urge to just take a swing with, while the latter included a high-tech material jumpsuit that actively resisted contamination. It was both blood and dirt repellent, meaning I didn't have to worry about my clothes carrying blood-borne pathogens. It also included a facemask with a filter and a first responder's kit, which contained tourniquets, sealants, trauma patches, syringes, and the like. There was an assortment of drugs and painkillers, and some texts on human and mutant care. Thanks to my Medicine ability, I knew exactly how to make practical and efficient use of these.

At last, I directed my focus on the Heirloom Weapon—the one that arrived free with the Civilian Equipment Package.

It was a bone saw, but unlike the one that had arrived with the Equipment Package, this was many times more advanced. The blade edge was monomolecular, for one—able to cut through nearly anything. That meant it would wear out quickly too, but that was something for the future me to deal with.

The circular saw was also retractable and came equipped with ultrasonic vibration. It doubled as both surgical equipment and a combat weapon.

The last power to arrive was more practical. It was the theoretical and practical experience of a form of combat called T'ai Chi Chuan. The core principles of the technique included form, breath, balance, intention, and timing. The art itself focused on control, deflection, and counterattack. A simplistic yet practical form of combat.

It also dealt with the concept of Chi—but that was more of a kind of inner physics than any quantifiable energy.

All in all, I was immensely satisfied with this set of powers. Though its arrival meant I would have to change my plans. Again.

I sighed, glanced back at the junk lying on the floor, and started hauling it up. The first step was still to exchange the old metal for new. For that, I used my gloves to deconstruct everything and reconstruct it back into more compact shapes. Next to follow was feeding the metals into the fabricator and inputting the blueprints for some basic tools.

It was too bad that I had no blueprints for a gun—otherwise I could've just printed one out. Though I could create a new blueprint, I decided it was better to simply make a new one using alchemy.

I still needed money, and for that, I needed to put something up for sale.

With everything organized, I went to work.

Creation of the gun included the formation of parts individually—the frame, barrel, trigger, springs, firing pin, and whatnot. They were all made from steel with a slight matte finish and a number of faint scratches that I could emulate thanks to my high knowledge of alchemy, passing it off as an old piece of weaponry. I then started assembling the pieces into a compact gun, and the weight of it settled in my palm.

It wasn't my first time holding a gun, but there was something different about it this time. I chalked it up to the weirdness from the Bandit Gunsmith perk and stood up. I was about to leave my modest, if slightly cramped and rusty, workshop when the Forge lit up.

The chance was a miss, and I walked out of my personal domain.

I took extra caution walking my way back to Coventry. Instead of heading to my usual spot though, I wandered even deeper, past an underpass and arrived near the bridge. Even this late into the night, I could hear raucous laughter ringing in the distance.

I ran my hand along the grip of my gun and steeled my heart. There was no turning back.

When I arrived by the desolate road, the first thing I noticed was the fire burning in a trashcan. Men gathered around in a circle, talking and laughing while clinking beer bottles. I spotted Jack.

As I drew near, some of the men looked my way. “Who’s this?” one of them commented.

“Hey Jack,” I said, raising a hand.

Jack glanced between me and his companions—friends?—and offered a nervous chuckle. “I gotta see what this is about, guys. I’ll be back.”

I didn’t hear the rest of them as Jack grabbed me by the arm and hauled me away. “I said to find me when you came to a decision, but I didn’t mean follow me here,” he said accusingly.

“I didn’t follow you here, though,” I replied.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “What, you just happened to chance upon us? That place is kind of a secret spot.”

I looked back at the gathering and the fire lit in their midst and shook my head. “It kind of is not.”

“Wait, you're telling me you already knew where I would be?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Damn. How did you find out?” he asked.

I couldn’t understand why he would be so rattled by something like this. It wasn’t as if the rest of the neighborhood didn’t already know about their supposed secret spot. I had once asked an old man where I might find Jack, and he mentioned this place.

“That’s not important,” I said, stealing a glance back. “Look, I gotta tell you something.”

“Is this about what I told you the day before yesterday?”

“No, but this is equally important,” I replied.

“Shoot.”

“Right,” I said, a little stiffly. “So, you’re deep with those guys over there, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Ahem. If you had to sell something, that wouldn’t raise too many questions, would it?”

“Depends on what I’m selling,” he replied, frowning. “What’s this about, man? You wanna sell something?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, turning my back toward the men laughing in the distance and took out my gun. “This.”

“Holy...!” Jack exclaimed, stumbling back a little. “You got a gun!”

I gave him a critical eye and motioned with my finger. “Quiet,” I whispered.

“Dude, that’s a gun,” he whispered back, pointing at the weapon in my hand. “Is it real?”

“What do you think?” I smiled. “So, you think you can get someone to buy this thing? I’m not asking for free, of course—you get to take your share.”

“How did you get it?” Jack asked.

“Doesn’t matter. Can you do it or not?”

Jack put on a thoughtful expression, looking me over and over and finally gave it back. “That’s old; won’t sell for much.”

“You know about guns?” I raised a brow in surprise.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I’ve just seen the same gun with one of the guys. Didn’t like it, he said. But you gotta take what you got.”

I nodded. “How much do you think it would sell for?”

He shrugged and said, “A couple hundred maybe?”

“Too cheap.”

“I’m being generous.”

I pretended to consider for a second and then nodded. “Alright,” I said. “Give me 200, you keep the rest.”

“I get to keep nothing if all it sold for is 200. Besides, why would you even trust me? I could choose not to give you anything.”

“True,” I said, nodding. “But then, you'd lose future business opportunities. I’m offering you a deal—take it or leave it, your choice.”

“200 is too much though. How about 150?”

I sighed. “Listen, Jack. I owe you, and that’s why I even bothered with you. 200 is already too low, and the gun isn’t even that old.”

“Fine,” Jack replied begrudgingly. “About what I asked you before, you give it any thought?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “It’s good, but I’ll pass.”

He nodded, took the gun, and tucked it into his pocket. As I watched him leave, I recalled the day when Jack had offered to induct me into his gang. Not his technically, but the gang he was part of.

Since I had no intention of playing punchy-punchy with Batman—and even less intention of being underneath someone like Penguin—I had declined.

It was no wonder Jack had mistakenly assumed that I had changed my mind and intended to join him. He was a good man, but goodness could only last so long in this city.

I sighed, shook my head, and walked away. Involving Jack was risky business, but I couldn’t leave it up to the Forge to decide my future. Besides, I would’ve had to involve myself with the darker elements of this city sooner or later anyway. Now was as good a time as any.

Hands tucked in my pockets, I strolled through the quiet streets of Gotham City.

I felt the Celestial Forge light up once more, but this time it was the palette that had stayed mostly dormant until now. It had a number of paints, and more than a few of them were of the same strength as Simple Formulae or Mechanic had been—so it was time to score one of the powers.

The power was called Workshop, and the domain it belonged to was called Personal Reality—an entire domain meant to add to, modify, and change my personal reality, the one accessible to me through the Access Key. And now, it was expanding once more.

The power was fairly mundane in that, alongside providing me with a workspace, it also offered a stash of basic materials—soft metals like aluminum, copper, and steel, some welding and cutting tools, and basic parts like nuts and bolts. The cool part about these materials was that I didn’t have to worry about running out of them. I could keep using them indefinitely, and they would replenish after some time had passed.

Though one thing worth noting was that anything built inside the workshop was fiat-backed and would be restored after 48 hours. Which meant I could have something obliterated into subatomic particles, and it would be whole again after a two-day period. It might not be effective invincibility—or anything even remotely close to that—but it was an awesome power nonetheless.

That, however, also put certain restrictions on anything I built inside the workshop. I wouldn’t be able to sell them like the gun I had earlier—that would no doubt oust the supernatural influence behind my creations. Though I could rig something together outside and sell that without any follow-up consequences.

Then again, I might not have to.

As plans took form and I found myself contemplating the future, the fatigue of the day was wearing down on me. Finding a corner to hole up in was easy enough, and in seconds, I was asleep.

...

Gotham is a fascinating city, a mix of urban metropolis and urban wasteland. It's hard to notice the difference when you spend most of your days in the Narrows or sleeping under bridges. The urban sprawl is lit like a disco stage at night. Even during the day, the city itself is crawling with humans—their hopes and lifeblood.

You'd think people would learn to avoid coming to this city, but people in general prefer to ignore the problem rather than confront it. It's easy to delude yourself into believing that there's a future for this city, a future for yourself, but honestly, you're just running away from the truth.

Gotham changes you. Living here, being a part of its existence means being a part of its misery. It breaks you, forces you to either forgo your morals or keep holding onto them with manic desperation. That's why the moral distinction between the inhabitants of this city is so stiff.

Either you're a good man, or you're a criminal. There's no in-between.

Rainy days are my favorite, ever since my arrival here. It's like a personal camouflage, kind of like a mask of nature to keep you hidden. I like rain, and in Gotham City, it rains more often than not.

I had found a relatively intact awning to hide under. The shop was closed—had been closed since some guy decided to burn it to the ground. The fire hadn't spread outward, and the awning had fared better than the goods inside.

Across the street was the Big Belly Burger joint, in the midst of getting robbed. There were three men; one of them had a gun, pointed straight at the cashier. It was fascinating—not the robbery itself, but the way the cashier was handling herself. There was fear there, no doubt, but a lot of it was overshadowed by fatigue. A kind of tiredness I recognized.

It's rare to see a robbery underway during the daytime; most of the criminals were a nocturnal lot. That said, rare didn't mean impossible. Maybe the robbers thought the rain provided excellent cover, or maybe it was just a coincidence. Either way, I found the show pretty intriguing to watch.

As I might've mentioned before, I didn't hate the criminals of this city—not like the people here did. Most of that actually stemmed from the fact that I didn't understand the nature of their crimes, hadn't lived through them. But I was beginning to.

Raindrops clattered on the asphalt, breaking into a thousand little pieces. My eyes remained narrowed as the criminals slung their bags over their shoulders and turned to leave. And that's when the hero decided to make his entry.

Robin rode in on a motorcycle, wearing his iconic red and black suit with the hooded cape blowing behind him. Say what you will about comic book heroes, but I thought even as a barely teenage hero, he looked cool.

The robbers had barely left the building when they spotted him, and without a shred of hesitation, opened fire. They didn't seem to care whether someone might accidentally get caught up in the crossfire. As if the moment a hero involved themselves, all the responsibility shifted to them. And given what I knew of the typical comic book universe, it sort of did.

The follow-up events were something straight out of a comic book. Though the gang acted with remarkable coordination—more than could be expected of thieves of their caliber—Robin managed to disarm them with smooth efficiency before tying them up to a lamppost. He returned the cash to the joint, showed a haughty smirk, and departed on his admittedly nice motorcycle.

The rain showed no signs of hampering.

Police arrived, stowed the men in the back of their cars, took a statement from the cashier, and left. Anywhere else, this would've been the local news headline. Here, in Gotham, it was a daily occurrence.

I exhaled softly, then inhaled the crisp air of the city. The only other reason I liked the rain was the air afterward was always fresher.

Celestial Forge missed a connection just as I heard the sound of footfalls growing closer. I looked from the corner of my eye as Jack walked closer before sliding against the wall beside me. We let the silence simmer for a while before I finally spoke.

"Well?" I asked, looking ahead.

"Deal is done," he replied.

"And?" I pressed.

"Your money." He tossed me a rolled-up bundle of bills. "All of a hundred and eighty."

"Ten dollar bills, seriously?" I started counting by the corner. "That's it? Where's the rest?"

"There's no rest," he said. "Look, man, I had to go through another channel, and I swear I didn't take more than thirty. I know this is a shitty deal, but it was the only one I got."

I sighed and tucked the money in my pocket. "Fine."

"Right," Jack said, leaning forward. "I got to go. You got anything else?"

I knew what he was asking of me; it was a risk I had known and accepted. "No," I said with a shake of my head. "I'll inform you if I need you."

"Alright, cool." He nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets and turning to leave. I watched him go for a moment before standing and leaving myself.

My first stop came at a thrift store where I spent eighteen dollars and sixty cents on a dark blue hoodie, cargo pants, and some underwear. I still looked homeless, but at least I wouldn't get kicked out of an establishment right away.

My hair was grimy and sticky, sitting in messy tangles. Three weeks hadn't been enough to grow my beard past half a fingernail's width, but it had caught a ton of dust. And the less said about my body, the better.

Next, I went to a grocery store where I ended up purchasing some canned goods like tuna and beans, and some hard-boiled eggs. I picked up a loaf of bread, crackers, granola bars, and some bagels as well. At last, I even packed milk and some fruits to last me through at least a week. None of these would require me to cook them or anything—the reason for their purchase. It ended up costing me about thirty-five dollars.

I was feeling hungry as I walked down the street, so I took to munching on a granola bar. By the time I had arrived in the Burnside district, it was nearing late evening.

Finding a cheap motel is easy in Gotham if you're willing to risk it in the Narrows or the Bowery. I wasn't willing to risk someone chancing upon me if I could help it. Many a villain—and even Batman as a hero—rarely seemed to respect privacy. Often bursting straight into the middle of someone's private time. Considering much of those incidents took place at locations infested with the crime mob, my reluctance was justifiable.

In comparison, the Burnside district appeared somewhat isolated from the insanity of Gotham. The presence of crime was intimate to the city of Gotham, but there were variations in intensity. Burnside appeared to be a milder host in this case.

It took me half an hour to finally find a motel that seemed to fit my budget. It was small, with flaking plaster and rundown energy. I spotted the owner the moment I stepped foot inside. He was a portly man, with a receding hairline and a perpetual frown. He glared my way as I paced toward him, seemingly unhappy.

"Good evening," I greeted, forcing a smile. "I would like to rent a room for five days."

The man looked me up and down, set aside his magazine, and leaned forward.

"Five days?" he asked. I nodded.

"That'll be 150."

"150?" I raised a brow, glanced around at the apparent state of this place, and chuckled. "You're kidding, right? Thirty dollars a day for this place is too much."

"If you think so." He shrugged. "They sell it cheaper in the north."

North of Gotham was where Crime Alley, The Bowery, and the Burnley were located. While he wasn't wrong to mention that, I couldn't help but feel a little aggravated.

I sighed and said, "Alright, you've made your point. But I can't afford that much. How about a hundred for four days?"

"Three," he replied.

"I'll throw in five more," I said, gritting my teeth.

He looked at me for a moment, silent, and finally nodded. "Fine," he said. "But pay upfront."

I paid, got my key, and found my room. The inside was cramped, as I expected. The bathroom was a shared one in this establishment, and aside from a single cot and a nightstand, there was only a closet to keep my clothes in. Not that I had any.

I decided to take a shower first and shave my beard. When I finished, the sense of liberation was nearly enough to overwhelm me. I took a deep breath, smiled, and walked back into my room.

For the next couple of hours, I found comfort on the dirty, hard mattress. It was the first time in weeks when I had slept in absolute serenity, without some drunkard cursing near my head or some dog barking its lungs out. The former always managed to irk me more than the latter.

It was nearly nighttime when I opened my eyes. I could feel my stomach doing flips from the ache and hunger, so I decided to sate my hunger first. When I finished, I looked around me and felt the reassuring presence of Celestial Forge. For the first time in weeks, things were starting to look up.

Finally, I could let loose without the fear of being discovered.

Jumpchain abilities this chapter:

Civilian Equipment Package (GUNNM) (100): Cramped room in the Scrapyard, basic household belongings, clothing, one Heirloom Weapon for free. If you are employed, attached is enough space to setup a workshop, clinic, studio or whatnot.

Heirloom Weapon (GUNNM) (Free with Civilian Equipment Package): Everyone in the Scrapyard carries something. Yours is a lot better than most, something that an actual professional might carry. Firearms are illegal on penalty of death - but outside the Scrapyard anything goes. As an heirloom, it has seen hundreds of years of loving use and its craftsmanship compares very well to modern technology. To the right person, it could be worth a lot.

Cyber-doctor Equipment Package (GUNNM) (200): As Medic, plus powered tools for cyborg disassembly and repair. Bulky diagnostic computer, ten kilograms of miscellaneous spare parts, very rare compact 3D fabricator capable of milling custom components and printing or repairing circuitry. Free Rocket Hammer.

Medic Equipment Package (GUNNM) (Free with Cyber-doctor Equipment Package): One clean blood-and-dirt-repellent jumpsuit, facemask, kit equivalent to a modern first responder’s kit. Assorted drugs and painkillers, and a few roughly bound texts on mutant and human care.

Rocket Hammer (GUNNM) (Free with Cyber-doctor Equipment Package): A two-handed warhammer with chisel-shaped head mounting a rocket booster that activated by a switch on the shaft. It can be disassembled and comes with a rolling case and replacement parts. A rare weapon in the Scrapyard, while very difficult to control it performs superbly against heavy cyborg armour and is fully legal despite the firearms ban.

Single Style (GUNNM) (Free): Solid theoretical and practical experience of a single form of personal combat. In the wasteland, what martial arts survive are pragmatic descendants of old world teachings. In the Scrapyard however, there are genuine schools of combat, though they are often overlooked – most human styles are ineffective against the crudest cyborg brawler, and the emphasis is to strike fast and run away faster.

T’ai Chi Chuan – This art is rarely taken seriously, owing to its firm rooting in qigong breathing techniques and ideas about chi, internal balance and fluid control of defence and counterattacks that have little appeal to cyborg fighters. However many elements of it have influenced the most advanced cyborg combat styles, and the therapeutic version is popular enough with the elderly that the original forms survive.

Workshop (Personal Reality) (100): Each purchase of this adds to your Personal Reality Workshop needed to perform specific type of craft, which is to be specified when purchase is made. It comes with basic set of tools and supplies. Good for fixing or creating all sorts of things, although any complex parts or nonstandard supplies will have to be brought in from outside. Additional purchases can add different types of Workshops to your Personal Reality or expand existing ones. Anything built in one of those workshops is fiat backed to be restored to its original condition within 48 hours if damaged or destroyed.