Infiltration continued

The Games We Play​

Infiltration (Cont.)​

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True to my word, we'd been shifting through trash within the hour. The simple fact of the matter was that people threw out a lot of stuff without thinking about it. Company or not, you'd be amazed at what people put in the garbage—even ignoring the little stuff which can add up a lot if you put some work into it, there's the stuff they throw out just to get it out of the house. A few years pass and the family upgrades their scrolls or hologram projectors or whatever; what do they do with the old ones? All sorts of things. They can leave them somewhere to gather dust or give them to a friend or try to sell them or any number of other things.

But a lot of the time, people just throw them out.

Thanks to Crocea Mors' guidance and some long poles to poke around with, we had found a lot of stuff even before the others showed up. I checked my scroll and saw that Blake had forwarded me a fair number of emails which seemed promising, as well as a steadily growing list of usernames and passwords, which brightened my day somewhat. By the time the next car pulled up, Adam and I were carrying a large hologram generator that must have been relatively new, but had somehow been cracked. At the fourth place we checked, we found a set of scrolls that might have been a few years old at most—I assumed a family had gotten new ones and thrown the old ones out. With the White Fang working together and following my orders carefully, we soon had a small mountain of devices in various states of disrepair.

Those were half my interest in this, but that was for later. For now, I was more interested in the scrap metal we'd gathered en masse. It was easy enough to gather to get any number of forms. Aluminum, of course, was trivial to find in large quantities and iron and steel were pretty much everywhere, and in short order I had all the metal in the world to play with.

And after several days of grinding Crocea Mors, I was ready to play.

"Blake get what you wanted?" Adam asked as I got everything ready.

"More or less," I replied absently. "Plenty of email accounts and that's a goldmine on its own. I'll have to search through to see what I can find, though, and I'll make a few calls once it gets late enough to make people feel really bad for a put upon new guy. It shouldn't be an issue, though, and with any luck we won't even have to set foot on company property."

"And if we do?"

"We'll handle that as we come to it," I promised easily. "I'd prefer not having to actually go on site, but if it becomes necessary, it shouldn't be a problem. In all likelihood, though, someone emailed themselves a copy to work on at home or something and it's just a matter of patience. If we do have to, though, we'll run some reconnaissance, steal a scroll, and I'll walk into the building with a clipboard, a box of donuts, a coffee-holder, and a confident stride. If even that's not enough, we'll have to take a few chances. But for now, let's cross our fingers and hope that it won't be an issue; we don't want to risk anything if we don't have to."

He grunted

"What are we going to do now, then?"

"We'll prepare for what's ahead. Remember, Adam, that whatever happens, whatever difficulties arise, this is going to be the easy part. For now, we have the advantage of being proactive, because no one even knows they're supposed to be fighting us," I said. "As soon as they do, though, things are going to get hectic and that's what we need to be ready for, because our only advantage then is going to be the fact that we had time to prepare ourselves. So if you'll excuse me, Crocea Mors and I have something to do."

I knelt beside the pile of junk we'd gathered into the hideout, gauntleted hand touching the floor. I closed my eyes and focused on the image in my head. I imagined aluminum cans and metal parts liquefying into a wide, controlled puddle before beginning to move—and then felt my Aura flowing out of me as if through a sieve. When I opened my eyes at a crumbling, crunching sound, I saw cans being crushed and flattened, a broken toaster cracking along the edges, parts tearing free of old toys, and screws twisting free. As they did, as metal parts and pieces clattered to the floors, they all but jumped in place, several pieces hoping up and down. After a few seconds, gleaming droplets seemed to almost condense on their sides before flowing free, crawling across the floor towards me until they touched my armored hands and began to climb up them with increasing speed.

The flowing metal was surprisingly cold as it touched my skin and climbed up my arms. More drops of metal joined the stream with every second, leaving tracks of metal across my bare skin. I began my work just above my elbows, building my armor as the metal progressed. I flexed my arms as I did, making sure I knew exactly how wide each piece needed to be, and they constructed it based on that, the metal alternatively tight against my skin and giving it room. In places where solid armor wouldn't work and beneath it, I thought smaller, of links of chain so small they could barely be seen, fine enough to be almost like cloth. I guiding the metal over my feet, next, and up my legs, before four streams converged upon my chest, before it went up my neck and over my head. I built the helmet around the mask I wore now and covered my lower face as well with air holes built into the mask.

It wasn't fancy, even though my control over metal gave me a great advantage. Most of the materials I used weren't ideal, either. Ignoring the metallic cloth, it was nothing but smooth surfaces and hard, heavy plates. Maybe when this was over and my affinity for metal even greater, I'd work on something stronger and more detailed, but that wasn't the purpose of this. Even protecting me wasn't really the point, though the defense rating was decent and I was sure Crocea Mors would put it to good use. I was only after the training it would provide.

Even with the stat boost of my Aura, getting to my feet was a bit of an effort, as unused to the new weight I was carrying as I was. Counting Crocea Mors, I must have been carrying sixty kilos and it was weighing upon me in ways I'd never had to deal with be for, changing how I had to do even basic things like balance myself—and it was going to take time to get used to that.

I glanced at the windows that appeared before me, informing me of the levels I'd gained in Craft by making the armor and the new blueprint I'd created, and then turned to look at Adam who'd waited silently while I worked.

"What do you think?"

"I've seen worse," He said, looking me up and down. "But you don't seem to have any way to take it off."

"I'll have to melt it every time," I said, voice muffled slightly by the piece in front of my mouth. "Both to take it off and put it back on. Figured it'd be good Crafting experience. I'll change it once I grind that some, but making it hard to remove is fine for now, since I don't intend to remove it unless I have to."

Adam hummed in understanding, pushing himself off the wall and striding closer to me. He knocked on my chest plate with a fist and then nodded to himself about something.

"You sure you're gonna be able to fight in that?"

"Only one way to find out. Feel like going for a spin in the Bullhead?"

Adam grunted again.

"First you wanted me to help you move trash. Now you want to go play with monsters," He said. "No offense, but hanging out with you isn't much fun."

"Hey, if it's fun you want, I'll be happy to oblige," I smiled. "I never got to fly an aircraft before. Let's see if we can find a Nevermore or something to practice on, yeah?"

Adam just sighed.

XxXXxX​