Drifting Embers
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[R&R]: 3. Copper Money
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 14:38:12 +0000 UTCI shivered against the cold night air of Gotham. There was an unnatural quality to it, the unsettling feel ofsomething creepy brushing against my skin. Sometimes, Gotham felt less like a city and more like a dank, mechanical beast—eating away at the desperation, hopelessness, and misery of the masses and breathing poison that choked us to death, slowly and agonizingly.
I was trekking down the road, on my way to Tricorner Yard—a place I had escaped from many nights before and a place I had so desperately avoided. Now I was returning to that place, because my latest power demanded it.
You might wonder whether I was under some influence from my power, but that wouldn't be right. The reason why I was returning wasn't only because my power needed me to, but also because I had to. It was a risk, but one borne of necessity. Live under the threat of death and starvation for weeks on the street, and you learn to take risks like these.
Besides, it was a risk I was moderately assured would pay off.
Scientist: Machinery, that was what my latest power was called. Unlike Bandit Gunsmith, which only offered technical insight and no knowledge, or Mechanic, which was geared toward keeping vehicle in top condition even with a set of basic tools, this ability offered real, tangible knowledge in a single field of science. In this case, Mechanical Engineering.
It was knowledge certified by my doctorate, because yes, I had supposedly studied, done research, solved problems, and likely published papers. And it was in the field of real science—not like the way Bandit Gunsmith worked, or the way Mechanic seemingly bent the rules of reality. Perhaps that was why there was so much to unpack with this new ability.
At last, it also offered a cognitive boost to my intelligence—not much, but enough to qualify me as a genius in a standard range.
It was the reason why I was suddenly walking toward a desolate place, in the middle of the night and taking huge risks. Bandit Gunsmith might provide technical insight, but Scientist: Machinery offered knowledge in support of that. Combine that with the Mechanic ability, and I was very well on my way to build a generator. All I would need was some scrap, some magnets, and a turbine. And of course, fuel—but that was for later.
Of course, building a generator was more of an arbitrary goal, with my main purpose being to collect as much usable junk as possible.
Tricorner Yard was in an industrial district with warehouses, containers, and shipyards. Considering it was also one of Gotham's maritime districts, that meant it was a hub of criminal activity for smuggling and trafficking.
It had been the first place I had woken up in, and that was probably why I distinctly recalled running past a salvage yard.
I turned around the corner, crossed a street, and walked alongside the railway track. Up in the distance, I could make out the night-black surface of the water—stirring with an ebb and flow.
To my right, I spotted a mesh wire fence, rusted all over and with a half-dozen signs hanging on it lopsided. The gate wasn't far from where I stood, but it was closed, and the sign hanging above read "Pickett's Salvage."
I swept a cautious gaze around me, and finding myself alone, I hooked my fingers in the mesh and started climbing. In less than half a minute, I had crossed over without making a single sound or alerting anyone.
The place looked every bit as derelict as I had come to expect of Gotham—grim and suffocating. After walking around a bit, all I found were some old cars, trucks, and larger vehicles that had been scrapped and left to rust. They were all broken down, with parts scattered about.
I decided to secure the area first, as I didn't want any lurking foe to ambush me or, worse, kill me on the spot. After all, I was essentially stealing, and if this turned out to be a base of some criminal, they might think I was snooping around for something specific—in which case I wouldn't be allowed to offer any justification.
Touring the place also let me mark the locations with some prospective junk—nothing fancy, just some gears, panels, and engine parts.
By the time I had finished walking around the place and finding it empty, I was left shivering from the cold breeze blowing from the river surface. I decided to get to work on recovering anything usable. But then came the moment of truth.
Stealing from a junkyard wasn't like stealing from a jewelry shop. I couldn't just stuff my pockets and still get away with thousands of dollars. If I wanted this excursion to prove even remotely fruitful, I had to use one thing at my disposal that I had refrained from touching up until now.
I took a deep breath, turned toward the empty wooden shack, and started walking. Within my pocket, I gripped my fist around the small metallic structure—my Access Key.
As I halted before the door and held out my key, I hesitated for a brief moment before inserting it into the lock. The lock wasn't technically built into the door, more a padlock meant to secure the latch, yet I knew it would still work.
Pushing the door inward, I was greeted not by wooden walls and bare ground—though the floor was still bare, it wasn't earth. Instead, I saw a square room, or hallway in this case, being exactly 5 cubic meters or 16.4 feet in all directions. Not because I could measure it with a single glance, but because the power had informed me of it.
I took a step inside, past the portal. The surface of the walls, floor, and ceiling was white seeming like a minimalist art gallery. The texture was smooth to boot like matte ceramic.
Suddenly, I felt the Forge go active, and one of the near mid-sized splashes coated my canvas, leaving but the weak potential that would continue to grow. The power was called Scrapyard Skills, and I couldn't ignore the timing of it, as if the Forge had listened to my call and offered me the exact thing I needed.
Scrapyard Skills was by far the strongest power I had gotten access to, and it showed by what it seemed capable of. It offered a near-impeccable, and some might say reality-altering, insight into repurposing junk. And combined with Scientist: Machinery, I was essentially in business as long as I had access to a junkyard.
I smiled, looked back at the treasure trove waiting for me to indulge in, and went to work.
The first thing I decided I needed was a set of improvised tools. Even though I had scored a great set of powers, I wouldn't be able to get started without any tools. A wrench was the first thing to come to mind.
I walked around, wrenching car seat brackets and bicycle frames from beneath a pile of rusted metal. They broke easily, but my Scrapyard Skills power let me pick the ones that could be repurposed into something useful.
Twisting metal strips into the shape of a wrench, with a bolt and hinge to act as the pivot, gave way to my very first tool. I paused for a moment to admire the ugly piece of work and smiled when it didn't fall apart after hitting a rusted piece of bonnet.
The other tools were easy to follow. I built a soldering iron using nichrome wire from a toaster and insulated it with ceramic. The only problem was that I had no power source to run it.
Setting aside the problem for later, I started to collect hardened nails and spokes. I even found an Allen key in a puddle of engine oil. It was relatively new, probably thanks to having remained preserved in the oil from the elements. Unfortunately, I had no use for the oil itself—or did I?
In the end, I decided to put the entire container in my dimensional space.
I did find some old car batteries and power tool packs, but they were all unusable. Or they would've been for others—not me.
Even if most of them were dead, they could still act as trickle-charge reserviors to power low-draw circuits, or even act as voltage stabilizers. I could even scrap them for their parts, though lead wasn't that useful to my current self.
I was fairly certain that some of them might only be partially dead. In which case, I could drain the old electrolyte, add distilled water, and refill them with new electrolyte—a mix of sulfuric acid. With my Scrapyard Skills and the knowledge Scientist: Machinery provided—and thanks to Mechanic, which didn’t bother with what was reasonable when it came to vehicles—I could even build a desulfator circuit to break up lead sulfate crystals.
It was a lot of work, but I was absolutely sure of my skills. My power basically guaranteed it.
I spent some time looking for anything that I could repurpose into a tool, but most of them, while useful, could only offer the functionality I could already receive from other tools in my possession. Just when I was wondering if I should start focusing on something else, I caught sight of something buried beneath loads of plastic and fibers.
A refrigerator.
The very second I saw it, possibilities bloomed in my mind. And I found myself absentmindedly drawing nearer. This wasn't just a refrigerator to my eyes now—no, it was a generator. A thermoelectric generator, to be precise. I could use the Peltier plates found in the fridge to create the Seebeck effect; meaning I could provide heat in return for generating electricity.
The mini-fridge was easy to scavenge for parts like motors, fans, copper wires, and capacitors. I was unfortunately unable to find more than one Pelter plate, which would prove troubling, considering I would need four at minimum for the voltage capacity I hoped to generate.
I decided to store the materials I had in hand first. It was risky to keep my dimensional space open, but it was also the only way I could think of that wouldn't prove to be disastrous even in the case of getting discovered. If I had to run, all I had to do was remove the key and not bother with anything else. A cheap strategy, but the only one I could afford.
The surface of my personal dimension was cluttered with broken and rusted pieces of junk. It hurt to see the pristine white surface marred with dirt and rust, but cleaning was something I could accomplish once I was someplace less stressful. When I exited the portal, I took out my key and set about looking deeper into the junkyard.
I managed to scrape together a couple more items, ending up with a few more Peltier plates. Some of them were damaged, but I decided to keep everything. It helped that I snagged a couple more DC motors and a serviceable wheel for a bicycle. I had initially decided that I wanted to build a generator, and this could help with that.
By the time I arrived back at the wooden shack, it was past midnight, and my head was starting to feel heavy. I dumped everything inside, focusing on salvaging as much as possible before the fatigue overwhelmed me.
Of course, that was when I picked up some voices. They were distant, near whispers to my ears, and the only reason I could hear them was the dead silence of my vicinity. I hastily looked about and found a corner to hide in. The voices were getting closer.
"...Which wouldn't have been our problem had you not decided to be a hero." The voice carried complaints.
"You mean a villain?" someone else asked.
"Whatever, man. Point is, you ain't getting your full share today," the first voice replied.
I heard someone else follow up, the voices getting louder. But I tuned them out, focusing inward. The Forge was moving again.
The power to arrive was called Medicine, but perhaps that was an underestimation of the effect here. It might've been called Medicine, but what it offered was beyond that.
Medicine gave me the skills, together with a lot of hands-on experience, of a surgeon, first responder, and a pharmacist. That too, a combat medic—taught to field operate. It even boosted my learning capabilities for new tools and techniques and provided me with precise and quick reflexes.
For some reason, it also provided me with knowledge of mutated and inhuman physiology, like mutants and cyborgs. It was a lot to take in, especially the experience and skills. I found myself subconsciously applying those skills to my current situation, feeling calmness take root.
Thankfully, the men had moved straight into the deeper parts of the junkyard without paying attention to the haphazard mess of scrapped items. Though considering it was dark and everything was technically scrapped here, it was reasonable to assume why they had ignored it. Either way, I wasn't about to push my own luck.
I moved out from my hiding place and, after glancing around for a bit, decided to leave. I had gotten lucky tonight.
Instead of returning to my cohort, I stopped midway and boarded an abandoned train. It was a complete wreck, with seats torn open and surfaces dented and marred. I had tried my luck at some place similar to this; needless to say, I had ended up with bruises and a sore chest for the next couple of days. Unfortunately, the sleepiness was overwhelming me, and I attributed the effect to the accumulation of fatigue from the past couple of weeks. Finally unable to resist, I slumped against the side and closed my eyes.
Darkness welcomed me all too readily.
I woke to sunlight streaming through the broken window and took deep inhales of the crisp morning air. Perhaps it was the sea breeze, but Gotham smelled relatively fresh every morning, even if the days wore down on it.
For the moment, I was alone. A period of peacefulness when everyone had decided to rest in their beds or cots. I, instead, decided to spend it on something fruitful.
Finding a service compartment turned out to be difficult, since I was looking for a relatively intact one. A relatively intact door, to be precise. Thankfully, I managed to find one under the ten-minute mark. Though if we were looking along multiple cars, the probability tipped in your favor.
I used my Access Key, and the door opened to reveal my modestly sized personal space. Instead of wasting time marveling at its application, I went to work. The first thing on my mind was to build a generator. I used the DC motors, capacitors, the bicycle wheel mounted on a bicycle frame, and attached a repurposed vacuum cleaner belt. I had constructed the frame using worn-out and rusted pipes.
To anyone following my example, this would undoubtedly remain a piece of junk. Though considering that I was in a comic book verse, I couldn’t be sure of that statement. Point was, though it looked like a rigged uncertainty, my Scrapyard Skills power along with the Mechanic promised that yes, it would indeed work.
All I had to do was pedal.
Next to follow was the thermoelectric generator. It turned out to be a bulky project, but given its application, it was worth it.
When I finally finished, the junk had been piled into a neat stack and no one had chanced upon me. I took a look around, paused at the plastic container containing engine oil, and frowned. I couldn’t use it to power my generator. It was pretty much useless besides acting as fuel to light things up. I could build a drip-fed smithy or something, but that would require more resources than I had access to at the moment.
Sighing, I turned and walked out. They might have turned out to be great inventions by my standards, considering the material in question, but they were far from what I could do. Scientist: Machinery alone, despite being mundane, offered multiple opportunities. All that was holding me back was the lack of resources.
Scrapyard Skills was supposed to solve that problem, but even with a junkyard placed right in front of me, unless I was offered uninterrupted access, expectations of any sort would only render into uncertainties.
I was on my way back to Coventry when a distant boom caught my attention. A cloud of dust kicked up to the high heavens and a chorus of noises—a mix of car honks and people screaming—filled the air. I stopped, cursing under my breath and wondering which moron decided to herald the day by blowing up a city square.
Batman would surely be on his way—and probably the rest of the Bat Family. I hadn’t personally sighted Robin or Oracle, or even others, but I had heard rumors of their activities.
I stood at an impasse now—leave and avoid getting involved in whatever was about to unfold, or stay and get a firsthand lesson in how things are done in this city. It would be a lie to say that I wasn’t the least bit interested in those responsible. I was tempted to stay, but it came at the risk of getting caught in the crossfire.
Batman and his family did their best to extend as much protection to the civilians as possible, but that wouldn’t hold if someone marched headfirst into the fire. I might have the skills and experience of a field-trained doctor, but that required a set of tools. Even better if it wasn’t myself that I had to operate on.
I ruminated on the possibility for a long moment when suddenly the Forge whirred to life.
A river of cosmic paint brushed close to my canvas, but the potential was too weak to actually keep its hold. Still, I managed to wrench two weaker colors through, while the behemoth careened past into the depths of my mind.
Alchemy at its core focused on the idea of change—the process of giving shape to matter in its potential form. It was a breath of transformation, meant to reshape reality as one saw fit.
Despite the near-magical probability, the alchemy I was lauded for was an art of mystical value, yet of scientific make. At its basics, it allowed me to understand the world in a way that nothing had before. I could understand the connections between parts, the structure and flow of materials on a deep level.
And I could, using what was called a transmutation circle, reshape matter and even entire terrains. That was a core part of the power I had been bestowed: Transmutation.
The art of shaping the world as you saw fit. Now, you might think that bordered on straight-up reality-altering, like how magic affects the world. But I would assure you that that wasn’t the case here at all.
Simple Formulae, as that was the name of the power, made my alchemy circles less complex, more efficient, and overall quicker to make. I could even scale them for terrain, environmental, or infrastructure-level effects.
It was a great power, but what made it even greater was the power that came bundled with it. Advanced Formulae was everything its predecessor promised, except at a vastly improved rate. It made alchemy super easy, where I needn’t even bother with the calculations anymore. I could perform high-level transmutations with ease. But most importantly, I could use the two to make multipurpose combat alchemy.
What made the alchemy possible might look like a transmutation circle on the surface, but I understood that the core lay somewhere deeper. Nonetheless, that wasn’t a problem I was equipped to solve at the moment. No, I had far more serious matters of matters to tend to.
Transmutation itself was limited by the Equivalent Exchange. It was divided into parts called The Law of Conservation of Mass and The Law of Natural Providence.
The former meant that I couldn’t simply create something from nothing, nor could I destroy something into nothing. But the latter proved to be more troublesome, as it limited the potential of my transmutation. It was probably also why, despite being such a complex and reality-shaping art, it still fell in the realm of science. Very advanced and nearly magical, but science still.
The Law of Natural Providence dictated that a material of a particular makeup could only be transmuted into another object with the same basic composition and properties. I wasn’t turning rock into gold or water into fire, per se.
That said, the knowledge bestowed by Scientist: Machinery allowed me a deep understanding of materials—their structure and properties.
That threw the entirety of my plans into a lurch once more. I didn’t have to look for a job now, and neither did I have to wander around The Narrows to stalk a potential buyer and pressure them into buying my ugly products. I had a far better method now.
I was jarred out of my thoughts by a rude shove, and suddenly the world came back into focus. The streets around me were mayhem made manifest, and people darted about in panic and desperation. I realized what they were running from when I saw the armored truck barreling down the road—unbidden and unconcerned with the local populace still trying to move out of the way.
Batman was hot on their tails in his iconic Batmobile, and seeing that piece of machinery left me salivating. I moved out of the way before I could be turned into Swiss cheese; those spikes looked more threatening than any gun the Red Hood was using to deter Batman.
Looking around, I realized that many of the people stood stock still, even as the chase rushed past them. They had come close to dying, so I wouldn’t blame them if they started cursing or fainting. But you gotta give it to the comic book populace—these people did not relent.
I saw some adjusting their ties, heaving exasperated breaths, and moving on about their work. Some took out their phones to shoot videos, and others acted like a high-speed death vehicle hadn’t just nearly flattened them into pancakes.
Either way, I had just missed the show of the Red Hood gang bombing a city square and having a showdown with Batman. Getting absorbed in understanding my new powers could prove disastrous. I’d have to practice a level of restraint and keep my head in the game.
I sighed, looked about, and turned to leave. I had a task to complete.
Sirens blared all around the neighborhood, the police doing their best to catch the Red Hood gang. I tuned out the noise and turned into an alley. There was so much to deal with, but I couldn't act careless. I had to plan this out properly, make sure not to be noticed by some lunatic.
I could go without food for a couple of days, but any more and I would be risking weakness. A couple of days to turn my life around.
My walk took me to the Finger River. From here, it was easy to make out City Hall, looming in the distance. Leaning against the railing, I allowed cold air to fill my lungs, offering a much-needed respite.
The sun was shining brighter in the sky now, but Gotham City carried itself with the same slump I had grown used to. There was a tired energy to this city, even more so than the others where superheroes were a norm. It was as if just living here made them fatigued.
Suddenly, I felt the Forge move again and miss. I didn't pay it any more attention and turned to leave. The first step to my plan involved getting as much junk as possible. I might not be able to turn stone into diamond, as that would require conditions my transmutation circle would need to emulate that were simply absurd. But I could turn metal into… well, metal.
I could take rusted, brittle metal and turn it into shiny new metal. Not useful by itself, but given that I could also shape it into my desired form, it would allow me the freedom to create tools.
I already had some idea of what I wanted to create, given that the alchemy wasn't just limited to production stuff. It literally mentioned that it could be used in combat also, and given that I was an expert at this, I might've just found myself some self-defense options.
Of course, that all depended on two things. One, I get to salvage much junk from the scrapyard, and two, I get to use my personal domain uninterrupted.
I decided to take a systematic approach to this.
What I would do first was get myself some alone time, like today, and open the dimensional box. Then I would use transmutation to build a simple but working gun. I could create all the parts I needed with the materials I had at hand. I might've had to salvage some copper from the tools that I had already built, but it was a cost worth paying.
A gun of the make I had in mind would sell for some amount in this city, without drawing too much heat to myself. Besides, I already had plans around that.
For the rest of the day, I set about gathering pieces of junk or fabric and stuffing them in my pockets. I had no money and no time for begging, so by the time evening rolled around, I could feel my belly aching in protest.
Whatever crime had been underway in the city seemed to have passed over, and people walked about as if nothing noteworthy had taken place. From their perspective, it might as well have been nothing.
As the darkness shrouded Gotham under its omnipresent blanket, I pulled my hands into my pockets and started walking, a destination in mind. I turned a corner, and then another. Passed an alley littered with trash and another smelling of rotten fish and sewage. But then, just as I had turned into another alley, I stopped dead in my tracks.
There were four of them, two leaning against the wall smoking. One sitting in a sprawled-out posture and another with his head down. They had heard the sound of my footfalls and were all looking in my direction. They didn't speak, just looked. I could've turned back and run, but something told me that would be unwise.
Instead, I swallowed the lump in my throat and started walking. Just act nonchalant, I reminded myself. They'll lose interest.
Act natural.
Big mistake.
"Hey man," one of them called—one leaning against the wall. "You in a hurry or something?"
He held his cigarette between his thumb and index finger, his posture relaxed and a gloating smirk stretched across his lips. I recognized that look—the same look a spectator had when they were about to watch something funny. The same crazed smirk when a man indulged in some liberating craft. The same eyes when you're about to beat someone for the heck of it.
I need to run, I told myself. Look around, find an easy path.
I did. I looked and found two of them blocking my only way out.
"Come on, don't be nervous," the other guy said. "We won't bite. We just wanna hear about your day, is all."
They didn't want to hear about my day, or anything about me. They looked at me as if I were a piece of meat that they could tear up whenever they wanted. I could feel my palms getting sweaty within my pockets.
"I uh..." I gulped, looking around. "I'm just passing through, got to be somewhere."
"Alright," the first guy said. "So, you think that being with us is a waste of time. That we're wastin' our time. Is that it?"
"No, I—" I meant to speak when the second guy raised his hand.
"Hey jerk," he said, "we just wanted to have a little chat, why gotta be a jerk, huh?"
What? I couldn't quite make out their reasoning. Oh—and they were suddenly moving closer.
"Easy, boys," a tired voice called from behind. The man sitting on the ground was looking at me. "Give him a little space, will ya?"
He pushed himself off the ground, groaned, and stretched his body. Though his men retreated a couple of steps back, I wasn't the least bit at ease. If anything, I found myself more nervous suddenly.
"What's your name?" he asked me.
"Allen," I replied. I didn't want to give out my real name, and given my current appearance—with a scruffy beard and dirt-marred skin—it would be hard to associate David Foster with Allen, the homeless.
"Well, Allen," he said, "what do you have to say about yourself?"
I sighed. "I'm not looking for trouble, alright," I replied.
"Thing is...," the man said, moving closer, "trouble's already found you, buddy."
I suddenly found myself in the middle, the thugs flanking my left and right, with the man—which I presumed to be their leader—looking me dead in the eye.
"Let's see what he's got in those pockets," the thug on my right said.
"Might be somethin' nice..." the thug on my left added.
I gritted my teeth and, for the briefest moment, considered using the alchemy. With my near-inhuman proficiency and all the dirt coating the surface, it would be too easy to draw a circle and spear the trio of them through their nethers.
Wait, trio... There were four though.
"Hmm, smells like you haven't bathed in years." The voice passed like a whisper to my ears. Too close. I turned around just in time as the Forge missed another connection and looked at the tall man.
"The fuck?" he said, holding a dirty piece of rag. "That's what you were carryin' in your pockets? You a fuckin' weirdo or somethin'?"
He scrunched his nose and threw the rag in my face. "Fuck off before I stuff that thing down your throat." He looked at the others. "As for you fucks, what part of stop being loud is your brain too hard to understand?"
I had been wrong to assume the other man was the leader. Seeing the tall man looking irate and overall annoyed, I decided to avoid pushing my luck and bolted out of the alley.
I had gotten lucky—too lucky, in fact, that I was wondering whether I had used the last of it on those thugs and might be under serious threat of some inevitable calamity. Shaking my head, I calmed my rapidly beating heart and walked away.
The Forge had missed two connections by now, which meant I had a higher probability of scoring something better the next time.
But first, I had a mission to accomplish.
Jumpchain abilities this chapter:
Scrapyard Skills (Swat Kats) (300): Where others see junk, you see treasure just waiting to be utilized. You can make far more use out of scrap metal and tossed out electronics, repurposing them for many different tasks. That washer machine might have the parts needed to help spin an engine turbine, or that piston tube might be JUST the right size to refashion into a grappling hook launcher... it's all in how you use it and how you repurpose things.
Medicine (GUNNM) (100): You have the skills of a surgeon, first-responder and pharmacist, all roughly bundled together with a lot of hands-on experience with the worst injuries the wasteland has to offer. Your hands are steady, your focus unperturbed by the sight and stench of gore and viscera, and you have the precise and quick reflexes necessary to swat a fly with a scalpel. You also have a fair bit of experience with slightly inhuman and mutated physiology, and are very quick to pick up on new techniques and tools.
Simple Formulae (Fullmetal Alchemist) (100): You understand the connections between parts. You can make large alchemy circles far more easily and far less complex than others. You can combine this with Advanced Formulae for multipurpose combat alchemy.
Advanced Formulae (Fullmetal Alchemist) (100): Alchemy comes to you as easily as breathing does. Your greater understanding allows you to perform more complex alchemy. you can combine this with Simplified Formulae for multipurpose combat alchemy.
Comments
Katherine
Awesome! Thanks for the chapter! :D
