Massive Disaster IV (Patreon)

Zedd stepped out into the open, the transport doors closing behind him with a pneumatic hiss. Cold morning air bit at his exposed hands, his breath puffing out in ephemeral clouds that dissipated quickly. Note to self: invest in some damn gloves. The colony buzzed around him, gradually waking up to a steady, mechanical hum. Like the machines were finding their own rhythm, just like the people.

Gravel crunched under his boots as he made his way down the corridor, the sound oddly satisfying in its regularity. Prefab buildings lined up on either side, all neat and tidy, like they had been stamped out of some giant, industrial machine. Cookie-cutter living at its finest. Pipes and wires snaked along the walls, exposed conduits and circuitry forming intricate patterns. Wild how it all comes together, an engineer's wet dream.

The sounds of the morning shift filtered through the crisp air—the clank of metal on metal, the rising thrum of power conduits coming online, the occasional burst of static-laced voices over the comm channels. Zedd let it all wash over him, his mind wandering with the cacophony of noise. Some things never changed, no matter where you ended up. The background music of life, work and routine all mixed up together.

A loader bot caught his eye as he passed a storage unit, the machine's movements clumsy and erratic as it struggled to right itself. The bot's servo whined pitifully, the sound standing out amidst the colony's steady rhythm. Motherfuck… who’s the dickhead who designed this thing, all of them like this? 

His fingers twitched at his sides, eager to get in there and tinker, to puzzle out the problem and devise a solution. Nah, stay focused. Gotta get to the hub. Not my circus, not my fucking monkey.

Still, it fucked with his head seeing the thing. Don’t even know how to tinker like that for real, he frowned as he walked. What’s up with me?

The maintenance building loomed ahead, all exposed scaffolding and industrial girders, like some mad architect had decided to showcase the bones of the structure. Practically screams post-apocalyptic chic. Guess even the future's gotta have its own style, something to set it apart from all the shiny chrome and holo-interfaces.

A few workers milled around outside the entrance, all scuffed boots and grease-stained clothes, their postures relaxed but purposeful. Probably been at this longer than I've been alive. Zedd adjusted his grip on his toolkit, the weight still feeling foreign on his shoulder. Like he was some kid playing dress-up, pretending to be one of them. Fake it till you make it, right? Same game, different players, different time. Adapt or get left behind.

Inside, the maintenance hub was all business, a hive of activity. Exposed pipes and conduits crisscrossed the ceiling, consoles flickering with diagnostic readouts and system alerts. The buzz of advanced tech and the chatter of the morning shift all mixed up together into a oddly harmonious chaos. Zedd caught snatches of conversation as he made his way deeper into the complex—complaints about shifty equipment, jokes to break the monotony, the usual bullshit that made the day go by.

In the middle of it all stood a hard-ass looking dude, all coiled intensity and authority. Gray hair, face like a clenched fist, eyes that had seen some shit. Boss man, has to be. He's got that 'don't fuck with me' vibe down, the kind of guy who's been in charge since before I was even a twinkle in my daddy's eye.

Those steely eyes landed on Zedd as he approached, scanning him up and down like he was a human barcode. Assessing, calculating, trying to figure out if he was going to be an asset or a liability. "You're the new guy?"

No shit, really? What gave it away? The shiny new toolkit or the big-eyed look of someone who has no fucking clue what’s up? Zedd fought the urge to roll his eyes, plastering on his best 'totally meant to be here' smirk instead. "Zedd Victors, reporting for duty."

The boss man grunted, the sound somehow managing to convey a whole holo-book’s worth of skepticism and resignation. "Elias. Chief engineer. You're with me, kid."

Oh good, I get a babysitter. This is going to be a blast. Zedd just nodded, not trusting himself to keep the sarcasm out of his voice

"Good," the older man replied, crossing his arms. His voice came off like gravel and rust, like a machine that hadn't been oiled in years. He used to be a miner? Zedd wasn’t sure why the thought popped up but it made as much sense as anything else. Why not smoker though?  Elias cleared his throat, the sound of old man mucus squicking him out enough to make him blink as it drew him out of his thoughts. "R-right. Here's how it works: you listen, you learn, and you don't fuck up and kill all of us. We clear?"

Crystal. 

"Clear," Zedd said aloud, meeting Elias's gaze with a calm smile. Not about to bend the fucking knee to some old guy with a power trip.

Not on day one.

Elias gave a tight nod, almost military, then turned to face the rest of the crew. "This here's the spacer kid they sent us. He's gotta earn his keep like the rest of ya, so don't go breakin' him on the first day."

A ripple of snickers passed through the group—some amused, some not. 

Not a spacer. I’m an Earthborn. Zedd let it slide off him like water on wax, eyes darting around to take everyone else milling around. The workers were a mix of ages and backgrounds, their uniforms bearing the marks of long wear. Patches on patches, fraying seams, scorch marks that never quite washed out. Their hands told stories too, more than their faces. 

Calluses, nicks, scars. 

Legacies of hard labor.

Just fit in. Just fit in. Zedd shifted his shoulders under the unfamiliar weight of his own uniform, feeling the rough fabric scratch against his skin. Elias was already moving, leading him toward a bank of flickering monitors. 

Diagnostics, looked like. 

Power grid stuff.

"Your job's simple," Elias said, jabbing a finger at the screens. "Watch the readouts. If somethin' ain't right, you flag it. Repairs come later. Got it?"

"Yeah. I got it." Zedd leaned in, eyes scanning the scrolling columns of data. Numbers, ratios, fluctuations in the current. It was almost hypnotic, the steady pulse of information. Tap in, tune out.

But something snagged his attention. A blip. Subtle, but there. His eyes tracked back, zeroing in on the anomaly. "That conduit's running low," he said, pointing. "Output's dipping below standard."

“Yeah, okay, sure, it i-” Elias paused mid-snort as the older man squinted at the display, eyebrows knitting together like a pair of aging very hungry caterpillars. "Huh. Well, shove a hand up my ass and call me Bert.”I’d rather not. Zedd’s own eyebrows bunched together.“Not bad, kid." It came out grudging, but there was a hint of something else there. Approval, maybe. 

Or just surprise at the fact he wouldn’t have to babysit a newbie.

Zedd tilted his head. Maybe a little of both.

The hum of the monitors filled the space between them, undercut by the distant clank and hiss of the power plant's inner workings. Elias barked an order to another worker, his voice carrying over the ambient noise. The crew moved around them in practiced rhythm—checking gauges, tightening valves, trading tools and terse remarks.

Zedd let his gaze drift, picking up details of the other workers, only for his eyes to slowly trail over the small girl at the far console who looked about his age from where he stood, with light brown skin and a bodysuit maybe a size too tight requiring actual effort for him to look away. Bad Zedd.

His eyes flicked back to the monitors, catching another flicker in the readouts. Huh… Same conduit as before. “That… that thing’s not just low," he muttered, half to himself. "Looks like it's cycling out of sync,” he narrowed his eyes. “What? Losing efficiency, maybe?"

"Lemme see." Elias leaned in, distracting Zedd as he had almost forgotten the man was there. The older man stepped into his personal space, close enough that Zedd had to keep his mouth from turning down into a frown as he could smell the chemical tang of the cleanser on his uniform. "Where?"

Zedd tapped the screen, pinpointing the fluctuation. "Here. Levels are all over the place. Not enough to trip the alarms, but it ain't right."

"Good eye." Elias straightened up, fixing Zedd with a look that was almost appraising. "You keep watchin' that one. Might have to bump it up the priority list."

Priority list. Right. Zedd fought the urge to roll his eyes. As if a bunch of frayed wires and leaky plasma conduits weren't all top priority in a place like this. 

But hey, it was a win. 

A tiny fucking win, but he'd take it.

The next couple tasks were more of the same—junction checks, valve inspections, all the routine maintenance that kept the place from falling apart at the seams. It was almost meditative, in a way. 

Lose yourself in the work, in the flow of energy and data. Machines made sense. They had rules. Patterns. 

Just like people.

Huh. He couldn’t help but wonder how easy all this was coming to him. Haven’t done anything seriously tech-wise in like… four years, he clicked his tongue. In both lives, even. Not like taking apart old 2000s PCs would be much help here.

An hour or so later, Zedd found himself on his knees, metal digging into them as he crouched by the power conduit, the grating leaving impressions he knew without a fucking doubt he’d definitely pay forlater. His hands moved with a certainty that didn’t really feel like his own, sure of themselves in an instinctive way, fingers working carefully and thoughtlessly over connections that felt weirdly right despite not really knowing how. The air hummed with electricity, tingling against his skin as he tightened another coupling. Just like riding a bike... I guess.

A comm unit crackled nearby, static cutting through his focus like nails on chrome. "Line three's surgin' again," the voice sounded garbled, distorted enough to grate his ears. "Connor, what ya thinkin'?"

Conner’s response came quick and only a little hurried as he stood up to speak through his omni-tool, voice carrying that edge of exhaustion Zedd was starting to recognize as standard for maintenance crew, or at least this maintenance crew. "Probably that primary eezo core."  The tech's crew cut looked fresh despite the sweat beading on his tan skin and a few droplets falling on his patched-up uniform, almost like he'd just stepped out of some Systems Alliance recruitment vid. 

Made the bags under his eyes stand out even more. "Damn thing's been acting up all week."

Zedd kept his focus on the conduit in front of him, but something about Connor's words caught his attention. Week-long power issues? That's... His eyes narrowed as he focused. That’s not great. His grip tightened instinctively on the hydro-spanner as the conduit's hum steadied under his touch.The sound smoothed out, power evening into something that felt right. Didn't know how he knew that either, but... Sure, why not? Add it to the list of shit that makes no sense.

"Looks good." Elias's gravel-rough voice came from behind, close enough that Zedd had to fight the urge to wince and snap an instinctive elbow back into the man’s jaw. Fucking hell, man. 

As it was, he was close enough that he could literally smell the cheap synthi-caf on the boss’s breath. Can’t even spring for a fucking Pressi, big man? The older man loomed over his shoulder, calloused fingers prodding at fresh connections like he was expecting them to fall apart.

“Thanks, Big Boss,” Zedd nodded and grabbed the rag from his belt, wiping engine grease off his hands. The cloth was already going a darker gray from one half-day’s of work in the colony's guts, probably a health hazard all on its own. Better than using the uniform though. He glanced around again, one eyebrow raised as he took in dirty grease finger-printed clothes.. Like some of these guys.

"Don't get cocky." Elias's words carried an edge of humor that was about as worn as the old man’s boots. "One fix doesn't make you a pro."

The smirk came easy to Zedd's face, automatic as breathing. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Between tasks, the crew's dynamics wrote themselves out like a vid playing in slow motion. Connor owned every step despite looking ready to drop, that weird mix of exhaustion and authority that had the others giving him space without being obvious about it. His orders came wrapped in grins that took the edge off, making commands feel like suggestions.

Nina worked the calibration station like she was conducting an orchestra, tiny frame often hunched over diagnostic screens that painted her caramel skin in harsh blues. Her fingers never stopped moving, expertly dancing over circuits with the kind of precision that screamed experience. Those sharp eyes caught everything too, little lines around them aging her a few years past what he'd first thought. 

When she stretched, the tremor in her hands was barely there... but Zedd caught it anyway.

"You're not bad, spacer kid." 

"I do my best, you know." Zedd kept his tone light, matching her energy while giving nothing back.

Hours bled together, one repair flowing into the next until his toolkit stopped feeling like dead weight. The crew's stares shifted from outright judging to something closer to evaluating, but he could still feel them watching. 

Always watching.

Waiting for him to fuck-up.

They didn’t have to wait long.

The fuck-up came right before lunch when he misread a diagnostic screen, almost treating a minor fluctuation like it was about to blow. Elias caught it before he could act, the correction stinging more from Zedd's own annoyance than anything else. Rookie mistake. Real fucking rookie mistake.

"Don't overthink it." Elias's steady gaze said more than the words did.

Zedd pushed through the rest of the task, movements mechanical as his mind churned. The error scratched at his thoughts like a bad itch, refusing to let go.

"Take a break." Elias's voice snapped him back, the man jerking his head toward a cluster of beaten-up benches that passed for a break area.

Cold metal pressed against Zedd's back as he leaned against one of the benches, unwrapping a ration bar that looked about as appetizing as it probably tasted. His eyes drifted toward the power grid monitors glowing in the distance, their pulse steady. This shit seems way too easy, though, he thought with a frown. Like, I know I faked my papers for a better job…The ration bar tasted like chalk in his mouth as Zedd considered the reality of his situation. Getting this gig hadn't exactly been simple, what with colonies being picky about who they hired. Because, being fucking honest, colonies weren't all that eager to hire dropouts, even if said dropout had enough money for almost twenty tickets. His forged papers weren't anything special - just intermediate core with basic repair certification - but they'd done the job. Nothing crazy, right?

The thought made his mouth quirk up at one corner despite the cardboard taste filling it. A job was a job, and maintenance paid better than most starter positions in this metal-plated excuse for a city.

Forty-five hundred credits a month gleamed in his mind like a beacon. Sure, five hundred went straight to his bare-bones housing unit, and another five hundred for the first month covered food and utilities, but the math still worked out better than anything else he could've landed. Still, though... it's fucking weird.

The grid's constant hum pressed against his ears as his thoughts drifted back to bridge core. He'd blazed through the advanced engineering track back then, before the streets started looking better than classrooms. Before his 'friends' became his whole world. But that was four years ago.

Metal creaked overhead as someone adjusted an air recycler, the sound mixing with the ever-present buzz of power conduits. Brown eyes narrowed as Zedd watched diagnostics scroll past on a nearby monitor. Why isn't this harder?

Movement caught his attention – Elias and Connor huddled against a support beam, heads close together as they spoke in low tones. The older man's weathered face was set in hard lines while Connor's eyes darted around the room between words. Wonder what they're talking about.

The recycled air tasted stale on his tongue as he breathed in deep, letting himself sink into the symphony of machinery around him. Voices murmured in the background, techs calling readings to each other while servos whined and power cells hummed their endless song.

"Back to work, people." Elias's voice cut through it all like a knife, sharp enough to make Zedd's shoulders tense.

His joints popped as he pushed himself up, muscles already anticipating the weight of his toolkit. The familiar heaviness settled into his grip as one thought surfaced: Definitely beats being a street soldier.

Though to be fair, that was a choice, more than anything else.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Power thrummed through the walls, a constant vibration that worked its way up through the soles of Zedd's boots and settled somewhere in his chest. The maintenance corridor stretched ahead, junction boxes scattered along its length like checkpoints in some half-remembered game. His toolkit bounced against his hip with each step as he trailed behind Elias and Connor, the weight already feeling more natural than it had any right to.

"Keep up, spacer," Connor tossed over his shoulder, his smirk visible even in profile.

Earthborn. The correction itched at Zedd's throat but he swallowed it down, matching their pace instead. His boots struck metal in time with the grid's pulse, the sound echoing off walls lined with conduits that glowed faint blue in the artificial light.

The group halted at a junction marked "7-Delta," its casing worn down to bare metal in places where countless hands had worked before. Elias dropped into a crouch, fingers finding the release catches without looking. The old man's movements carried the kind of certainty that only came from years of repetition.

"Node's been running hot." Elias's words came gruff as he pulled the casing free, gesturing Zedd closer with a quick jerk of his chin.

Zedd knelt beside him, eyes scanning the exposed components. Everything sat arranged in neat rows, but something caught his attention - a subtle darkening on one circuit that shouldn't have been there. The discoloration nagged at him, triggering knowledge he couldn't remember learning.

"I'm thinking... hmmm, overvoltage, maybe?" He tilted his head, studying the way the damage pattern spread across the connections.

A grunt of approval rumbled from Elias's chest as he nodded, eyes narrowing as he studied Zedd's face. "...good eye. Grab the replacement from the kit."

The part felt right in Zedd's hand as he passed it over, its weight familiar despite never having held one before today. While Elias worked, Zedd let his attention drift, taking in the crew's positions like pieces on a board.

Connor held up the nearest wall, arms crossed over his chest in what looked like relaxation but wasn't. His eyes never stopped moving, tracking everyone's movements with the kind of attention that spoke of experience. A younger tech - Caleb - shifted his weight nearby, fingers fidgeting with gloves that looked barely broken in.

Nerves. The observation came automatic as Zedd watched Caleb's gaze bounce between Elias and the floor, shoulders tight with unspoken tension.

"You planning to do something useful, Caleb?" Elias's words cut through the air without him looking up from his work.

The younger man's face flushed red enough to show through colony-pale skin. "Yes, sir," he muttered, scrambling forward to hold a light steady over the open panel.

Connor's smirk widened but he kept quiet, the hierarchy writing itself out in silent nods and careful distances. Authority flowed down from Elias through Connor, leaving the rest of them to figure out where they fit.

"Done." Elias pushed himself up, dusting off hands that had seen more repairs than Zedd could count. "Let's move."

They fell into formation almost naturally, checking systems with a rhythm that felt practiced even though Zedd had only just learned it. His hands worked while his mind cataloged everything - crew dynamics, repair patterns, the way certain techs avoided certain areas.

The day bled away until amber light started streaming through narrow corridor windows, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow. The color hit different through the reinforced panes, reminding Zedd this wasn't Earth's sun at all. Especially when there’s two of the bastards in the sky. He clicked his tongue. Two summers and I have no idea where the pool is.

"Wrap it up," Elias barked, his tone carrying the weight of shift's end.

Sweat stung Zedd's eyes as he straightened, muscles protesting from hours of climbing and crouching. The ache felt earned though, like proof he'd actually accomplished something.

Connor's hand landed heavy on his shoulder as they packed up. "Not bad for a rookie," he said, voice almost reaching friendly.

"High praise," Zedd shot back, matching his earlier tone with Elias.

“Again,” Connor's chuckle scraped low and rough. "Don't let it go to your head."

The maintenance station hummed with end-of-shift energy as the crew filtered out, goodbyes hanging in the recycled air like old smoke. Metal creaked underfoot as workers dispersed, their nods and muttered farewells painting pictures of exhaustion. Zedd hung back near a support beam, watching Elias punch numbers into a battered terminal that looked older than the colony itself.

"You're picking this up quick." Elias's fingers never stopped moving across the keys, his words almost lost under the click-clack of ancient plastic.

"Just trying not to screw up." The response came automatic, Zedd's shoulders loose despite the weight of the older man's attention.

A snort escaped Elias, the sound rough as engine grease. "You'll screw up eventually. Question is, will you learn from it?"

Zedd let the words settle, offering only a slight nod before pushing off from his spot. The exit beckoned, promising fresh air – or whatever passed for it on this rock.

Colony night hit different than Earth dark. Artificial light bathed everything in soft blue, harsh edges of prefab buildings softened into something almost dream-like. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving only its ghost painted across clouds that looked wrong somehow.

Streets pulsed with shift-change energy as workers spilled out from a dozen different facilities. Families clustered in doorways and along walkways, their voices mixing with the ever-present hum of machinery until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Something about the whole scene felt more real than the sterile corridors of the spaceport – rough and unpolished but alive.

The day's work settled into Zedd's muscles, a satisfying ache that wrote stories of crawl spaces and power conduits across his shoulders. First day down, and his body was already adapting to the rhythm of colony life.

"Hey, spacer!"

Nina's voice cut through the ambient noise, her boots scraping metal as she jogged over. Her dark hair had escaped its ponytail in places, framing a face that managed to look both tired and energized at once. Grease streaks painted abstract patterns across coveralls that hugged curves in ways that demanded attention, the fabric worn but well-fitted.

"You coming to the bar later?" The casual question carried an edge of invitation, her eyes almost glowing in the artificial light as she looked up at him.

"Bar?" His eyebrow lifted on instinct.

Nina's grin flashed bright enough to rival the overhead lights. "Yeah, crew usually hits up a spot after work. Good way to unwind. You should come."

Drinking age is twenty... No, it's eighteen. The thought tangled itself up, memory fighting reality for a moment. "You know I'm seventeen, right?"

Her grin stretched impossibly wider, teeth gleaming in the colony twilight. "Welcome to the colonies, earthboy. You could be drinking a year ago." She cocked her head, that smile turning into a challenge. "So, you coming with me?"

You could definitely get me to come. Zedd ran his tongue over a canine, fighting to keep his own grin in check. "Yeah, meet you there."

"Cool. Meet us at the corner of main and third in an hour." She turned and jogged off, boots ringing against metal plating with each step.

He watched her disappear into the crowd, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Wonder what else has a lower age limit.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

An hour later, Zedd found himself standing outside a low prefab structure with faded lettering above the door: Iron Tap. 

The building looked like it had been slapped together from spare parts and old ship hulls, its corners uneven and its exterior streaked with rust. But the muffled sound of laughter and clinking glasses suggested it was far from lifeless.

"This gotta be the spot, right?" he muttered under his breath, raising an eyebrow. He hesitated for a second before pushing the door open. Right.

Stale air hit Zedd's face as the door hissed open, carrying notes of synth-beer, machine oil and somethin that definitely wasn’t real tobacco. All in all, it was a medley of scents that screamed "colony dive" louder than the sign outside could. The Iron Tap's interior wrapped around him in shades of amber and shadow, overhead strips casting just enough light to navigate by without killing the mood. Almost like they're saving power... or hiding the wear.

A massive slab of scratched metal stretched along one wall, claiming to be a bar despite looking like it had been carved straight out of a derelict frigate. Behind it, a bartender built like a young  krogan — I need to look up these fucking aliens, how did giant turtles get to space — moved with surprising grace, thick fingers wiping down glasses through practiced patterns as he cleaned. The booths lining the opposite wall had clearly seen better decades, their occupants sprawled in various states of post-shift collapse. Boots propped up on chairs spoke volumes about the place's standards – or lack thereof. This place has only been a colony for ten years, what the hell?Oil-stained coveralls and scuffed boots painted a clear picture - working class through and through as he filled out a simple shirt that might have been white once, before colony life had its way with it. 

Nina's wave caught his eye from the back, her grin cutting through the dim like a beacon. She'd cleaned up some, though "clean" was relative when you worked colony maintenance. Connor lounged beside her, looking about as relaxed as a coiled spring. The third guy at their table was new – rail-thin with a military-grade buzz cut and ink crawling up his neck in patterns that looked more function than art.

"Thought you'd flake." Nina's words carried enough sass to fill the space between them as Zedd approached.

Metal scraped against polymer as he pulled out a chair, dropping into it with a smirk already in place. "Not my style."

"This the kid?" New guy's voice rumbled low, playful but measuring all the same.

Nina's hand waved between them, casual as breathing. "Zedd. That's Tommy. Works down in water treatment. Likes to think he's tougher than he is."

"Keep talkin', little girl." Tommy's grin flashed sharp in the low light. "We'll see who's tougher next time you need help lifting one of those filters."

Connor leaned back, synthetic whiskey caught the light as he tilted his glass. "So, Zedd, how'd the first day treat you? Elias give you hell?"

"Nah, not really." Zedd matched Connor's pose without thinking. "Bossman's pretty nice to me. Enough to make a kid feel special, you know." His shoulders protested the movement, memories of cramped maintenance tunnels written in muscle and bone.

Nina's glass rose in mock salute, amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Look at you, beginner's luck. You'll fuck up eventually and get barked at like the rest of us soon enough." The light caught her eyes as she tilted her head. "Or you'll quit and take up something easier. Your call."

A soft chuckle escaped Zedd as his attention swept the room, cataloging details like always. Laughter burst from nearby tables in sharp bursts, jokes flying like knives wrapped in cotton. Every worker wore the same edge though – that colony tension that never quite went away, even when drunk. Bodies angled toward exits, gazes sharp despite the alcohol.

Connor's eyes kept finding their way back to Zedd between sips, measuring him up against some standard only the older tech knew. The whole crew played their own game of hierarchy, and Zedd had just dropped himself right in the middle of it.

Heavy boots announced the bartender's approach, the man's upward nod carrying just enough respect to acknowledge a potential customer. "What're you having?"

Zedd clicked his tongue and returned the gesture automatically, street instincts kicking in before conscious thought. "What do you have that's..."Metal creaked overhead as Tommy leaned forward across the table, synthetic beer sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass. The sharp chemical smell of the drink hit Zedd's nose even from where he sat, mixing with the lingering scent of machine oil and sweat that seemed to follow every worker in here. "Get anything but the synthbrew. Shit goes down like engine coolant." Tommy's eyes flicked up to Kenny, a drunken grin spreading across his face as overhead strips cast harsh shadows across his features. "No offense, bro."

The bartender's expression didn't shift an inch as he stared down at Tommy, massive arms folded over a chest that looked like it could stop small-arms fire. Light from the strips overhead caught the family resemblance between them - same sharp jawline, same way of holding tension in their shoulders, same look in their eyes that promised trouble if pushed. "Shut the fuck up, Tommy. I will throw you out again."

"B-but big bro..." Tommy's voice jumped several octaves, that earlier rumble vanishing as he spluttered. His buzz cut caught the dim light, making the growing flush on his neck more obvious as it crept past the edge of that intricate tattoo – some kind of tribal pattern that wrapped around his throat like a noose.

Huh, I can see the resemblance. Zedd's gaze bounced between them, noting the similar way they both shifted their weight when annoyed, how they both seemed to take up more space than they should.

Kenny's massive palm dropped onto Tommy's shoulder with enough force to make the smaller man wince, the gesture carrying more warning than affection. "Ma doesn't like you drinking anyway. Don't give me another fuckin’ reason, okay?" 

He turned back to Zedd, expression neutral again as his eyes performed the same evaluation Zedd had seen a thousand times before. "Now, what can I get for you?"

A smirk played across Zedd's face as he caught Nina watching the exchange, her fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against her glass. "Let me get a Hydropunch."

Kenny's eyebrow lifted slightly, but he kept quiet. The rest of the table wasn't so subtle - Nina nearly choked on her drink while Connor let out a snort that was half-laugh, half-something else entirely. Tommy just stared, his beer forgotten mid-sip as condensation dripped down the side of his glass onto fingers stained permanently black around the nails.

The harsh overhead lighting cut shadows across Tommy's face as he spoke, making him look older than he probably was. "Look, I know I called you a kid, but..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his glass.

Connor's shoulders shook as he laughed, the sound mixing with the constant background noise of glasses clinking and boots scraping against metal flooring. "What are you doing, Z? Fuckin' Hydropunch? That really what you drink?"

"Yeah, you ten or something?" Nina's voice carried that same teasing edge from earlier, a little bit harder now with a good bit of drink behind it. 

Zeke snorted, clicking his tongue as he glanced at each one of them in turn. "Trust me…. You… I…  I'm better off not drinking. I get weird when too deep under..." He paused, choosing his words carefully as his fingers traced patterns on the table. "Any influence, really. Couple beers won't do it, but I don't wanna risk it."

Tommy's eyebrow climbed higher, his earlier embarrassment forgotten as he exchanged glances with Connor. "Whatever you say, kid."

"All…right." Connor's tone suggested he was filing that information away for later.

Why? Zedd didn’t really know. He also didn’t particularly care.

Zedd turned toward Nina, catching the way she was trying not to smile as she toyed with her nearly empty glass. The constant hum of the bar's atmospheric processors provided a steady backdrop to their exchange. "Also, you can make jokes about me being a kid when you can high five me, deal?"

Nina's tongue stabbed against her cheek as she did her best to suppress a laugh. Suppressed or not, it was loud enough that it drew looks from nearby tables, the sound bouncing off salvaged hull plates. "Oh, newbie’s got jokes?"

"For days." The words came with a grin, carrying just enough challenge to make Nina's eyes widen as she leaned back in her seat.

Tommy's snort drew their attention back to him, his glass now significantly emptier as he set it down with more force than necessary. "By the way, heard you've got a knack for tech," he said, words carrying that careful casualness that meant anything but. His eyes had lost some of their drunken haze, replaced by something sharper. "That true, or just newbie hype?"

Zedd met his gaze evenly, noting the way Connor and Nina both tensed slightly at the change in topic. "Depends on who's hyping me."

Tommy's laugh boomed through the bar as he slapped the metal counter, the sound echoing off salvaged hull plates and making nearby patrons jump. "Fair enough." His grin turned sharp at the edges, all trace of drunken good humor vanishing. "Just don't mess with the water system, yeah? You screw that up, and you'll have the whole colony on your ass."

The smirk stayed on Zedd's face as he leaned back in his own seat. "Noted." 

Nina's eye-roll could've powered the colony grid for a week. She jabbed a finger Tommy's way, nearly knocking over her glass in the process. "Ignore Tommy. He's just bitter because his system's held together with duct tape and prayers." The words came out sharp enough to draw a wince from nearby drinkers.

"Hey, if it works, it works." Tommy's defense came quick as he lifted his glass, amber liquid catching harsh light from overhead. Shadows played across his face as he drank, the tattoo on his neck seeming to writhe with the motion.

Something red flashed in Zedd's peripheral vision – a tall glass mug sliding across scratched metal with practiced precision. The liquid inside glowed like reactor coolant, though the smell hitting his nose was pure sugar and artificial fruit. His gaze tracked up to Kenny's massive frame, the bartender's slight nod carrying unexpected weight.

"First drink for a colony newbie," Kenny rumbled, massive arms crossed over his chest. "Always on the house."

Tommy cupped a hand over his mouth, voice carrying clear despite his attempt at subtlety. "He's lying. Your shit's just cheap."

"Tommy!" Kenny's voice sounded like a dog bark.

"Just talking work, bro!" Tommy's hands shot up in surrender.

Nina's elbows hit the table with enough force to make glasses rattle, her body leaning forward as her voice dropped low. "Hear about the pirates?" The question carried weight beyond its words, drawing immediate tension from the others.

Tommy's permanent grin vanished like someone had hit a kill switch. Connor's shoulders bunched under his shirt, easy slouch replaced by barely-hidden readiness. The whole table seemed to hold its breath.

"Pirates?" Zedd kept his tone neutral even as his mind spun through implications. The word hit different out here, two hundred light-years from anything resembling law enforcement.

Nina nodded, fingers drumming against her glass in an uneven rhythm. "Heard some chatter down by Omega. Crews hitting suppy routes. Nothing confirmed, but..." Her words trailed off as her expression hardened a bit.

"New Abraham’s a good bit from Omega. It’s the Traverse, we have laws here, not like the fuckin’ Terminus." Connor's voice came out barely above a whisper, every word measured. His eyes never stopped moving, scanning exits like he expected trouble to walk in any second. "But it's not like they've got borders out here. If they're desperate enough..."

Tommy's glass hit the table harder than necessary. "We've got militia." The words rang hollow even to him, his earlier buzz seeming to evaporate under harsh reality.

"Yeah." Nina's laugh could've stripped paint. "Because a handful of half-trained volunteers with secondhand gear are really gonna scare off pirates." Her fingers had stopped drumming, now wrapped white-knuckled around her glass.

Zedd blinked, eyes dulling as he felt another odd pull. What the hell is that?

"Anyway." Nina straightened suddenly and getting Zedd’s attention again, her grin too bright as she gestured for another round. Music throbbed through salvaged speakers, the bass line almost matching the colony's constant hum. "No point worrying about it now. We've got drinks and bad music. Let's enjoy it while we can."

Zedd grinned behind his glass.

5k Words (100 FP)

Roll Failed:Engineer's Notes: Avvenire (500 FP) [ARIA] {Database: Mundane): “You are a powerful Alchemist, able to infuse a Diamond with the power of Redstone and Glowstone to make a Philosopher's Stone. With such a stone in hand, you'll be able to create a Transmutation Tablet, allowing you to instantly convert matter from one form to another, possibly even converting ordinary dirt to valuable Diamonds... or even compressing the Diamonds further into Dark Matter or Red Matter.

Combining your transmutation skills with these exotic and vastly expensive forms of matter, you'll be able to produce Alchemical Chests with incredible volume, indestructible equipment with immense power, energy collector systems to generate additional resources from nothingness, and potentially become nearly immortal, burning vast quantities of resources instead of taking wounds. 

Your powers are all incredibly expensive to use, and you won't be able to max them out in your time here (especially if you don't have any advantages in harvesting resources!), but the raw potential of this path exceeds all others. "

Forge Points: 200