“After her!”

  Most people weren't as smart as they thought they were. And yes, I was including myself in that statement. Going off into a gang invested area of town looking for scrap metal to turn into a costume? I damn well should be including myself in that statement!

  A head start was all I had, and it was never going to last. That, and they still lagged a ways behind me. I would punch myself in the face, but that wasn't going to be productive. Turning left to find a dead end, I reached out with my hand, in an attempt to stop myself from hitting the metal container in front of me.

  Results were, mixed.

  My subconscious didn't want me to stop exactly. It wanted to get away from the threat. And my power reacted accordingly, metal glowing around my body like water. Opening my eyes, I found myself in the container.

  The shouting was getting louder. Reaching out with my hand, the metal quickly began to mend, any sign of my passage closing quickly. By the time they got to the intersection, the hole had completely mended.

  A frustrated sigh left my throat. What the hell was I even thinking with this shit? There was still a tickle at the back of my mind, my will shoving it back down. Far be it for my brain to decide it wanted to build things. I was a creative person. Writing, painting, and other things were how I dealt with stress!

  But I was also good at realizing what an intrusive thought sounded like. And this was very, very much an intrusive thought!

  Christ on a stick, this was horseshit! Genderbending, the snake, metal dream, superpowers? Bullshit! All of it! A steaming pile of shit!

  And yet still, my brain tickled. Still, the urge of my fingers to make, to build, scraped the inside of my brain.

  “Fine,” I groaned, despite nobody being around to hear me. “We'll do it your way.”

  My fingers touched metal, the mere grace of my skin smoothing out imperfections in the material. Soon, the entire container was thrumming with my energy. Part of it I made shine, as much as I could, so it would be like a mirror. The rest?

  I didn’t know exactly what I wanted. Full body protection was a must. Ideally flexible enough to bend but thick enough to protect even the joints. Eye holes were needed to see, of course. Slots for my nose and mouth. I felt the metal wash over me, covering my body, only opening my eyes when I could feel it stop moving.

  “Wrong!” I forced it all down to my ankles. Objectively speaking, it was roughly what I described. A featureless bodysuit, with gaps to see and breathe through. It looked like one of those bdsm suits. Hence the burning in my face and sending it back down to the floor.

  Maybe the idea of an armored underlayer wasn't bad on paper. But I wasn't going out like that! I may have been a freak, but I wasn't that sort of freak!

  I closed my eyes, trying to picture it in my mind. Having an image and holding it in my head was not something I was good at. But I wanted, no, even kinda needed a suit of armor. Like a knight. Not just any knight. I didn't want to be a knight in shining armor. Because of course, Kaiser took to that trope like a preening asshole.

  Nazi's were good at taking iconography and twisting it for their own means. Disgusting as it was whenever they did so. The worst part was, he probably bought the allegory. That he was a real knight in shining armor. Disgusting. Revolting.

  If a villain was playing at being a knight, then what exactly would a hero be to the opposite of that?

  A fairly simple answer.

  Dragons. Knights slaying dragons was one of the most stereotypical things they would do. Of course, I wasn't a dragon. The amount of metal to make a shell like that would be staggering.

  But I could take notes. Fellow knights were another major foe. Combining the two shouldn't be hard. Thick plates of armor covered in scale-like texture. Armor that was less like shining polished steel, and more like burned or soot covered iron.

  Once again, the metal pulled its way up my body. At first, it felt like before. Like it was a skinsuit made of metal. But more metal began to pile on, weight added to my frame. By the time it feels safe enough to open my eyes?

  It was better. While the metal was against my skin, leaving my mouth and nose open to the air, the helmet covered them. Instead of a thin slit or visor to protect my eyes, there were almost tinted armored lenses. There were decorations, the area around the edges rimmed with spikes. Almost like an open maw.

  The chestplate still followed my figure, but it felt practical. Not like some of those fantasy armors that made you question why they existed. The leg plate was almost fused to the chestplate, leaving a tiny gap that exposed the second layer. Raising it up, I felt a shift in the skinsuit layer, it was molding and shifting. I could move like I wasn't wearing armor at all. Plate armor was something I knew was far more flexible than many shows and movies made it seem. But seeing it in action?

  Almost left me giddy. I could even make out the small pattern of scales upon this layer, making it look less like a skintight bodysuit, and more like a second layer of armor. Which it was.

  My shoulders and arms looked almost mundane next to the rest. I closed my hand, testing it as the metal flowed and bent around my fingers, allowing for the movement. It was similar to the gauntlet I had created last night, complete with what looked like small talons.

  Realistically? It should be too much. My powers had to be doing something to help lessen the load upon my shoulders. Plate armor may have been good at distributing the weight, but I would hardly call myself particularly strong.

  It had to be adrenaline keeping me standing. That was the only logical explanation. That and my stupid brain. Looking back at the reflective surface, my brain was being very, very stupid. Not just because I could hardly recognize myself. I hardly could without the armor in the first place.

  But there was confidence in my stance. Almost radiating an air of fuck around, find out. Even with my slim figure, I looked powerful. Like I was a threat.

  Stolen story; please report.

  I felt like I was a threat. And honestly? That felt good.

  “Let go of me!”

  Shouting snapped me from my thoughts. That didn't sound good. The voice didn't sound particularly feminine, but it didn't need to. That the people chasing me had found someone to take their anger out on was painfully clear.

  To an extent, that was a chilling realization. Two days, two different gangs. Two groups of people that wanted me dead. Their reasons may have been their problem. But the consequences it had on others? Was in this case, part of mine.

  I marched forward, placing my hand against the wall. My power conducted through the suit just as well as it did my own skin, the metal pulling away, like I was a butterfly escaping their cocoon.

  No, that sounded like the wrong metaphor. More like, a snake that finished shedding its skin.

  Finding them wasn't hard. Even with the winding maze of derelict train cars and other scrap metal. It was actually easy. Metal warped under my touch, allowing me to climb the piles of scrap with relative ease.

  A good half dozen men, holding improvised weapons of various sorts. Wooden and metal bats, crowbars, those sorts of things that functionally worked, but didn't have the money or need more reach than a knife. They all surrounded a single man. I couldn't make out their features well, but he looked injured.

  I knew things wouldn't be great, but if they wanted to take one, they had a hostage. There was nothing I could do about that though. Ideally I'd be able to get him out of harm's way, but that wasn't in the cards today.

  “Halt!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, using the metal beneath me to almost slide down, landing on my feet. “You are all under arrest!”

  My voice came out muffled, but I was loud enough to get their attention. Several of them stepped backwards, surprised by my appearance. Good, if I could get them away from the man, it would give him time to run.

  “The fuck is this? The Empire has a new Cape now?” I scowled under my helmet as the large guy spoke. Maybe he was the leader?

  “Do I look like I enjoy the taste of boot?” I ground out, low and dangerous. I was already in a loose stance. In my rush, I'd forgotten that I needed a weapon.

  Could I siphon off part of my armor to make one? That sounded like a risky idea. Still, fighting unarmed didn't have much of an appeal. Two crowbars, three metal bats, and a single wooden one was a lot of blunt force.

  But it was a fair bit of metal. Could I?

  “She wouldn't be saying we're under arrest if she was with the Empire, Charles!” One of the other men shouted. “She's got to be some sort of hero. Skidmark might give us a nice reward. Merchants need more Capes, after all.”

  Part of me wanted to vomit at that. Disgusting little freaks. Though I guess that confirmed this was the Merchants.

  “Well, when you say it like that!” The man, Charles, rushed at me, swinging the wooden bat in his hands in a downward arc. Old muscle memory that had been neglected for close to a decade kicked in as I raised my armored arm to meet it.

  Crack!

  Pain flared up in my arm as the bat slammed into it. The blow was felt despite two layers of armor, even though it held firmly. But the crack wasn't from my arm. It just hurt. Nowhere near enough to be broken.

  The crack was from the bat. Wood shattered, bending around my arm as splinters began to fill the air. Even as pain reverberated up and down my left arm, I pulled back with my right.

  My fist connected right below the side of his ribs. Surprise was replaced by pain as he fell backwards, landing his ass, broken handle of the bat still hanging in his hands.

  On one hand, that was kinda bad ass. On the other hand? Trying to fight people while being armed with nothing but your fists? Harder than it looked!

  “Get her!” He tried to shout, but it came out as a cough. Yeah, screw this. I needed a weapon. But what?

  There was a moment of hesitation between the other five men, before they found their wits, advancing on me.

  Sword was the most obvious answer, but I dismissed it. I didn't have any idea how to use a sword, and now seemed like a terrible time to learn. Axes were much the same. Unlike a certain man, I didn't know how to lop off someone's hand without severing an artery. Or wanted too, for that matter.

  I stepped back, dodging and weaving as a crowbar swung directly at my head. Metal armor or not, taking a blow to the head was a terrible idea. My mind churned, balancing dodging and staying out of reach with a weapon to defend myself with.

  Mace? Hammer? Simple to use, easy to master, but had too much bone crushing force. Flail? Metal whip? Too dangerous.

  I stepped back, another blow coming too close for comfort. Each man was attacking without any coordination with his fellows, but that made them more dangerous, not less.

  I needed a weapon I knew enough about how to use, that wasn't too lethal. A grunt of pain slipped through my lips as a crowbar connected with my shoulder. Already, I could feel my power connect through my armor.

  Screw this. Really, really screw this! It wasn't something most would consider a weapon, but I'm not going to let myself be pushed into a corner while I overthink things! The crowbar was ripped out of the man's hands as I pulled on it with my power, the metal traveling down my arm into the palm of my hand. It pooled there for a singular moment, before forming into a thin metal pole.

  A staff, for all intents and purposes. Twisting my right wrist sent it up, my left hand catching it. Again, they stepped back as I held it in both hands.

  “It's just a metal stick!” Charles was shouting, but he didn't seem to be in a rush to rejoin the melee. I didn't hit him that hard.

  One advanced, bringing the bat down. Blocking it with my staff was child's play. As was using my power to rip the weapon out of his hands. I let most of it pool on my gauntlets, using the rest to extend my reach.

  Despite stepping backwards, the next man found my staff smacking against his knee. He dropped his weapon as he doubled over from pain.

  When it came to the last two, they were deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. Part of me wanted to pursue them. But four in the hand was worth far more than two in the bush.

  “I told you, you were all under arrest,” the next minute or so was spent making sure that all four men, including Charles, were all in something that resembled handcuffs.

  Then came time to check on the man they were attacking in the first place. Maybe that was something I should have done first? Making sure criminals didn't skulk off was important, yes. But wasn't helping people supposed to be the actual job description of a super hero?

  “Can't say I'm unhappy someone came to help,” the man groaned, partially up on his feet already, even as I pulled him the rest of the way.

  “Sorry, I'm a bit new to this,” I offered. He was taller than me, dark skin and brown hair. Pretty muscular, if I had to guess his age, he'd be mid to late thirties, maybe early forties.

  “I kinda figured as much,” he looked down on me. “I don't keep up with the Cape scene much, but I haven't heard of anyone with your powers before. Not as a hero, anyway.”

  I twitched at the unspoken implication. Maybe my idea wasn't as smart or clever as I thought it was.

  “Going to call the cops?” He asked, looking at the four over my shoulder.

  “I don't have a phone at the minute,” I admitted after a moment. It sucked. That drew his eyes to me, looking me up and down.

  “You don't look like you have a lot of places to hide one,” I was going to interpret that statement as generously as possible. “Anything I should call you before I talk to the police?”

  A hero name? I paused. Nothing came to mind. Nothing clever. Nothing snappy. Just one giant blank.

  “Still workshopping things,” I said as he began to dial.

  “Well, you might want to hurry that along. I've heard the PRT eventually comes up with a name regardless if someone takes too long,” great, more pressure and a timer. Lovely.

  “Stay safe!” I offered as I headed off.

  “In this city?” I almost missed the response, but by the time he turned around, he was already speaking with the police.

  x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  Over the rest of the day, I managed to slink my way into the boat graveyard. It was quiet. Maybe less so with the sun going down, but it didn't seem to have the traffic that the train yard did. My arm was definitely bruised. Nothing bad, but it still stung. All the people, from just regular homeless to gangs made the train yard a bad place to set up shop. No matter how much scrap metal there was to play around with, the risk of discovery was far too great.

  At the back of my head, a tickle, a twitch, an impulse had lodged itself into my head again. Making my armor had helped fend it off. But it was coming back with a vengeance. I wanted, no, needed, a safe place to set up shop. Somewhere where I could work undisturbed.

  So deeper into the boat graveyard I went. Deeper than was safe for even the desperate to reside. The smell of rust filled the air.

  It was perfect. A massive, derelict hulk, left out to rust like a beached whale was left to die. Once, it carved through the ocean waves. Now? It was a shell of its former self.

  But like any abandoned shell, it could be made to serve a new purpose.

  My armor, which I had shifted underneath my baggy clothes for safe keeping and discretion, reemerged. I didn't need this being tracked to my civilian identity.

  I couldn't restore the exterior too much. Metal opened, letting me slip inside. This is where I worked my magic. Rusted, decayed walls melded back into a solid interior. I wandered up and down the halls, rooms becoming large chambers. Deep in the bowls I fashioned living quarters, removing corroded machinery and sealing toxic dangerous chemicals in far off places that I would never visit. Deep inside the restructured tunnels, excess metal was sent.

  Describing what I was thinking would be difficult. I doubt I even had a thought process at that point. Living quarters were far too spartan. I hardly have anything, but I'd never make something that bare bones if I was in control of myself. It was just, satisfying, working the ship to suit my needs. My wants.

  Once I was satisfied. At least, the desire was satisfied, I followed the metal. Down into a chamber. Unlike what normally happened with my metal, it was almost a liquid. Shimmering, reflecting or glowing some light that I couldn't see the source of.

  I knelt down before the pool, hands reaching down at my armor peeled back, letting my arms sink into the shining, almost silver mass. My power was my guide at this point, reaching through the pool of metal. In my mind's eye, I could almost see it. What I needed. What I wanted.

  What it wanted to make.

  Deep inside the pool, my power began shaping a form. A body. Deep within the pool, a consciousness began to form. Linked to me. Connected by threads. My eyes were open.

  Yet, inside the pool, another set of eyes stirred.