Money changes people.
Give a man a meal, and he's grateful. Give him five hundred Chits in a place where a life costs fifty, and he starts looking at the world differently. He stops looking at the floor. He starts looking at price tags.
I sat on my bunk, the small bag of plastic coins heavy in my hand. Jaren and Lyra sat opposite me, their eyes wide. To them, this was a fortune. To me, it was startup capital for a war.
"We can buy so much food," Jaren whispered, practically drooling. "Real food. Not the sawdust bars. We could buy meat. Or those algae-cakes from Sector 2."
"We aren't buying food," I said, tucking the bag away. "Well, not just food. We need gear. We need tools."
"We have tools," Lyra argued, gesturing to our battered pickaxes.
"We have sticks with metal bits," I corrected. "I need something that hits harder."
"Harder than deleting a rock?" Lyra asked pointedly.
I winced. She wasn't going to let that go.
"That," I said, pointing a finger at her, "is a trade secret. And it hurts. I need something that doesn't try to liquefy my own bones every time I use it."
I stood up. My shoulder was stiff but functional, thanks to Elara's vibration therapy.
"Tonight," I announced, "we go to the Tinker's Market."
The Tinker's Market was less of a shop and more of a technological graveyard run by hoarders. Located in a carved-out cavern near the ventilation shafts, it was where stolen tech went to die or be reborn. It was a chaotic mess of wires, rusted metal, and questionable electronics.
We arrived just as the 'night' cycle began, the moss-lights dimming to a deep, blood-red. The market was bustling. Scavengers, thieves, and off-duty guards haggled over piles of scrap.
I walked straight to a stall in the back corner. It was run by an old Solarii named Vix. Vix was a Tier 4 Static with eyes that had seen too much welding flash. He was blind in one eye, grumpy in both, and famously paranoid.
"What do you want, Dim?" Vix grunted, not looking up from the circuit board he was soldering. His hands were shaking, a sign of nerve damage from flux fumes.
"I need parts," I said, leaning on the counter. "High-tensile springs. A gyro-stabilizer from a mining droid. And a kinetic capacitor."
Vix stopped soldering. The silence stretched. He put the iron down and reached under the counter. When his hand came back up, it was holding a rivet gun modified to fire jagged metal spikes. He pointed it at my chest.
"That's a specific list," Vix said, his voice dropping to a rasp. "Capacitors are restricted tech. Guard level only. You asking for that means you're either a spy or an idiot. Which is it?"
Jaren squeaked and tried to hide behind Lyra.
I didn't flinch. I looked at the rivet gun. Safety was off.
"I'm a customer who knows you skim parts from the repair bay," I said calmly. "And I know the capacitor you stole from the wreckage of Hauler 7 is sitting in your back room, gathering dust because you're too scared to fence it."
Vix's good eye widened. "How do you know about Hauler 7?"
I knew because in five years, Vix would get drunk and tell everyone before Merrick had him recycled.
"I hear things," I lied. "I'm offering you an out. Get rid of the evidence. Get paid."
I dropped a handful of Chits on the counter. Fifty.
Vix looked at the money. He looked at the rivet gun. He looked at my eyes. He realized I wasn't bluffing.
"Back room," he muttered, lowering the gun. "Third shelf. Don't touch the red box. It bites."
I went into the back. The capacitor was exactly where I remembered. It was small, heavy, and hummed with contained violence. It was the heart of the Impact Gauntlet.
In my future life, I had designed these gauntlets out of necessity. My Kinetia was strong, but my body couldn't handle the recoil of punching through tank armor. I needed a buffer.
I grabbed the parts and some scrap metal sheets.
I walked back to the counter. "Pleasure doing business."
Vix swept the coins into a drawer. "If you blow your arm off, don't come crying to me. I don't give refunds on limbs."
Back in the barracks, while the others slept, I went to work.
I didn't have a forge. I didn't have a welder. I had physics and a lot of pain tolerance.
I sat on the floor, working by the light of a stolen glow-rod. I stripped the metal sheets, my uncalloused fingers bleeding as I wrestled with the sharp edges.
To bend the metal, I had to use Kinetia. I pressed my fingers against the alloy and vibrated them at a molecular frequency. It generated heat—intense, searing heat.
My skin blistered. I gritted my teeth, forcing the metal to curl around my forearm. It smelled like burning hair and ozone.
"Stupid weak body," I hissed, plunging my hand into a bucket of dirty water to cool it off. Steam hissed up.
I wired the capacitor into the knuckle plate. I attached the gyro-stabilizer to the wrist using copper wire and sheer stubbornness. I rigged the springs to amplify the impact. It was ugly. It was crude. It looked like something an Orc would wear to a formal dinner.
By the time the shift whistle blew for the morning, I was exhausted. My stamina bar was flashing red in my vision. My fingers were raw.
But it was done.
I slid my arm into it. The metal was cold against my burnt skin. I tightened the straps with my teeth.
I clenched my fist.
VMMMM.
The capacitor whined to life. The gyro spun up, stabilizing the weight. It felt heavy. It felt dangerous.
System Notification:
[New Item Crafted: Prototype Impact Gauntlet (Common).]
[Stats: +15 Strength. +60% Kinetic Damage. Flaw: Heat Sink inefficient. May cause burn damage to user.]
[Durability: Low. Don't punch anything harder than a skull.]
"Good enough," I whispered.
Jaren woke up, took one look at the jagged metal monstrosity on my arm, and paled. "Kael... you look like you're trying to cosplay a murder-bot."
"It's insurance," I said, pulling my sleeve down to hide it. It barely fit. "Let's go."
We walked to the mess hall. The mood was tense. News of the 'Laser Malfunction' had spread, and Bront's humiliation was the talk of the sector.
Bront was there. He was sitting at his usual table, surrounded by his lackeys. His chest was wrapped in bandages. When he saw me, his eyes narrowed.
He stood up. The chatter in the hall died instantly.
Bront walked over. He didn't look scared anymore. He looked desperate. A bully who loses face has to earn it back in blood.
"You," Bront growled, blocking my path to the nutrient dispenser.
"Me," I agreed, looking bored, though my right arm was throbbing under the weight of the gauntlet.
"You think you're smart," Bront spat, stepping closer. "You think because you got a lucky shot, you run this place?"
"I think I'm trying to eat breakfast," I said. "Move."
Bront grabbed my shoulder. My right shoulder. The one with the gauntlet hidden under the sleeve. He squeezed.
"I'm talking to you, Dim!"
I stopped. I felt his grip tightening on the metal plate under the fabric.
"Mistake," I said.
I triggered the capacitor.
VMMMM.
The whine was audible this time. Bront frowned, hearing the sound coming from my arm.
I spun. I didn't punch him. I backhanded his hand off my shoulder.
CLANG-CRACK.
The metal of the gauntlet connected with his wrist. The impact was disproportionate. It wasn't just a hit; it was a kinetic discharge.
Bront screamed. He snatched his hand back, cradling it. His wrist wasn't just broken; it was shattered. The force had traveled up his arm, popping his elbow.
"What the hell is under your shirt?" he howled, backing away.
Smoke curled from my sleeve. The cheap fabric had caught fire from the heat of the discharge.
I ripped the sleeve off, revealing the ugly, sparking gauntlet clamped around my arm. The capacitor glowed with a menacing blue light.
The mess hall went silent. This wasn't a mining tool. This was a weapon of war.
"Mining modification," I said, my voice cold. "Custom built. Merrick approved."
The lie hung in the air. Mentioning Merrick was a power move. But the sparks flying from the gauntlet told a different story.
Bront looked at the weapon. He looked at his ruined arm. He realized that even if he used his Stone Skin, that metal fist would crack him open like an egg.
"You're crazy," he whispered.
"I'm efficient," I corrected. "Now, sit down. Eat your sawdust. And if you touch me again, I won't use the back of my hand."
I walked to the food dispenser, the heavy metallic thud-thud-thud of my new arm echoing in the silence. My skin burned where the metal touched it, but I didn't flinch.
Jaren scrambled after me, grinning like a maniac.
"That," Jaren whispered, "was terrifying. Can I hold it?"
"No," I said, grabbing a tray with my left hand. "It's overheating. I need to calibrate the heat sink before it cooks my arm."
I looked down at the gauntlet. It was ugly, dangerous, and painful to wear.
It was perfect.
I had money. I had a team. I had a weapon.
Step one of the plan was complete.
Now it was time for Step Two: Taking over the water supply. And for that, I needed to have a very aggressive conversation with a pipe.