Well... Shit.

She was this close to joining the Wards no matter what trouble they were going to throw her into, to have a tinker friend. And now that can't happen.

She goes home and has another argument with her parents. The ultimatum is - either join the Wards, or permanently grounded, absolutely no tinkering, too dangerous. Even if she was a big hero and tried to save the day - far too dangerous, she almost died. They find her basement stash, what's left of it, and hide it all away from her. They spend all day with her, no chance to run off.

She tries to stick out the grounding - one day, two days, then she finds herself starting to take apart her school locker's lock to make - something for stabbing, her power told her - and that evening she tells her parents that, fine, she'll join the Wards.

Her father calls the Protectorate office's public line.

"Protectorate ENE, this is Anne speaking, how can I help?"

"Hello, Anne. I - er, don't know how often you hear this, but my daughter is a parahuman - calling herself 'Vertigo' - and after a family discussion we've decided together that she should join the Wards program for her safety, and I'd like to know what we need to do to make that happen."

"—oh! I see. The best idea would probably be for a PRT representative to go to you rather than the other way around, so as to keep identities secret, and then details can be discussed. Are there any specific questions I can answer or worries I can assuage before that?"

"That makes sense. The only thing we need to talk about now is... She got into some trouble with you a few weeks ago - caused an explosion by accident, it was on the news. Of course some kind of consequences are necessary, but she's worried sick you're going to have her locked up. It seems... It seems like she can't stand being away from her, er, tinkering for more than a day or two."

"I'm sure something can be worked out about that, she doesn't need to worry."

"Can you give me an example of how something like this was worked out in the past? Concrete examples would be much more reassuring, you know."

"Well it's not talked about much, but if you look up the Snatchers online you will find the story of Chevalier."

"I'll be sure to do that. When should we arrange a visit? We'll want it to be in the evening, ideally, because of work and school..."

"We can work around your schedule, whenever's best for your family."

They arrange a time and mention that their daughter asked that Armsmaster not be involved, at least at first, and then that time comes.

All three of them are sitting in their living room, looking serious, when the doorbell rings. Her father opens it and asks, "Hello?"

They see the familiar armored suit Dauntless wears. "Good evening, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dauntless."

"Nice to meet you. Er... I wasn't expecting an actual hero. More like a bureaucrat. Ahem. I'm George Hampson. My wife Leah and my daughter Walta... Do come in, please."

Walta gives a shy, twitchy little wave. "Hi. Don't have my mask or s-suit today."

He steps inside and removes his helmet, revealing a handsome black-haired young man. "I suppose I'm Mark. I think it makes sense to send a hero, we know more about what it's like than the bureaucrats do, and we can answer questions better without worrying about all that nonsense."

"I'll get to tinker whenever?"

Her parents give her looks - one irritated, one anxious. 

"Not on whatever I want, there's safety rules I know, but I'll get a chance to every day?"

"Definitely. You'll have your own office and the Protectorate will supply you with materials."

Her mom clears her throat. "The important question in my mind is... She'll be safer from the gangs this way." It's not really a question. "It's only a matter of time, given..."

"Leah, we don't need to bother him about that."

"No, it's totally reasonable to bother me about that, that's what I'm here for. Now, I can't promise she'll be one hundred percent safe, but... being a tinker at all, she will always be a target. Tinkers are too valuable. The Protectorate is probably the best chance she'll get; we can get her actual high-quality materials, a safe environment to invent what she needs, backup in any conflict that arises, and a real team she can count on. We all know what it's like to be a parahuman, and that helps tremendously over having only people without powers around. No offense intended, ma'am."

"Shoelaces and dental floss and zip-ties and cardboard... At first, anyway."

"None taken. It's just... Oh, come on George. If she has to face up, you can too."

"I don't see how that's relevant. We can talk about this later."

"No, like you said, you have to admit you're at risk to get safer. Mr. Dauntless, it's not just the fact that Walta is a- A tinker, was it? There's a batch of thugs after my husband, and not for no reason."

"Leah!" He quietly seethes, fists clenched... Looking shamed.

"—I see. We can keep her protected from them, too, and—we have accommodations at the HQ to host you two, if you would so prefer. We cannot keep this house under 24/7 surveillance but we can keep a more careful eye around the area..."

"I don't want to be a bother. It's just a - a disagreement."

"With a loan shark who has lackeys with machetes and guns."

He looks at Walta's father directly. "I would strongly recommend going into protective custody, Mr. Hampson, but I understand it is ultimately your choice."

"It's not a small choice. It's giving up our neighbors and house and some of our pride and quite possibly my job." Sigh. "But it might be for the best. Clean cut. Fresh start."

"I vote yes, at any rate, Dad. Clean start, rebuild... I can probably actually show you some of what I can do once we're further from that gang."

"Do you have any reason to expect anyone to target you soon? Tonight-soon?"

Dad sighs and looks frustrated. "No, not tonight. This weekend at the earliest - and if I have even just fifty dollars for him then he'll leave me alone for another week."

Mark pauses then reaches into his armor and hands him two fifty-dollar bills.

"No. No, I have enough for a few weeks, I don't need your money. The protective thing might be a good idea if you can't arrest Lian Zhou and his thugs at some point, but I don't need to take a hero's money directly."

He withdraws the offer and nods. "Lian Zhou. That name's familiar."

"No capes in his gang, at least. Not that that makes him harmless."

"Is he one of the Asian gangs?"

"Yep. Active between here and 9th, lost ground to E-88 over the last four weeks but there was some kind of shakeup and now I'm not sure what's happening."

"Walta, since when do you know so much about the gangs?" Her mother asks reprovingly.

"I go to Winslow and pay attention, mom."

"Then... that might just be under our purview, yeah."

"I haven't made any gear specifically for spying. Yet. So I don't know if I can help too much."

He nods. "Are there any more questions you'd like me to answer?"

"From what I hear, stuff I make for the Protectorate is not my property. Which is... Fine. Will I, uh patrol a lot?"

"The intellectual property details are unfortunately not something I'm intimately acquainted with. Your patrol schedule will depend on exactly how your powers are best deployed on the field and seniority."

"We do not want her to be as endangered in the Wards as she would be on her own, Mr. Dauntless. That's the whole point. So I would hope the crazy, reckless kind of heroics are kept to a minimum."

"Crazy and reckless will certainly be absent," he says, seriously. "She will have a comm device with which to request backup, and she won't patrol on her own until she has much more experience on the field."

"Well, I'd rather she just makes things and never gets into actual fights," Walta grimaces in distaste, "...But we've already had that conversation with her, so 'with backup and guidance' will have to do."

He nods then reaches into a pocket behind his armor that contains a contract. "Can you fill this out, please?" he asks Walta.

"As long as it doesn't secretly sign over the rights to my soul or something."

"Good common sense, that's my daughter. Don't sign anything without reading it."

...So she starts reading it.

It's in fact fairly straightforward. Everything she creates while working with the Protectorate is reviewed by them, and they can decide to leave ownership or partial ownership to her. If the Protectorate decides to keep the rights to an invention of hers, it will pay her for it as if purchasing them, and she will receive an extra bonus in addition to the allowance all the Wards get for parts and materials.

And the rest of it - 'image and branding', the rules she'd be under, staying in school, is all acceptable too. She fills out the thing.

"Can you two sign it, too?" he asks her parents.

They do so. "So what now?" Asks her mother. "Does she need to go downtown and get oriented? Do we?"

He shakes his head. "Tomorrow we'll call you to schedule her first visit, and then she will meet with some departments and have a get-together with the team to everyone will get to know her and vice-versa."

"Sounds like a plan. If she could transfer schools at some point I think we'd appreciate it. Winslow isn't exactly the best school in the city."

Vertigo - Walta - nods her agreement with that statement.

"She'll be able to be transferred to Arcadia High, yes, we have an agreement with the school. It should wait a while, though, so as not to make it suspicious that a new hero appears just as a new student is transferred."

Everything seems to be in order. That was surprisingly smooth and easy. The rest can wait for tomorrow, it's kind of late.

"I will stop bothering you, then. Have a nice evening!"

And away he goes, putting his helmet back on before leaving the house.

"Good night and good luck!"

Her parents un-ground her, and even let her tinker a little - in plain sight of them, of course. It calms her down enough not to be antsy while trying to sleep.

She emails Glam that she's joined the Wards, mostly on her parents' insistence.

She's excited and eager for the trip to the new headquarters the next day.

Oh, good luck! Tell me how it goes.

It was either join the wards or grounded until I'm 18, kind of a rock-and-hard-place choice, but I'm sort of relieved and looking forward to it now that my folks got me to actually make the leap.

It's much better for tinkers, yeah. How's stuff with that one fire guy?

Total silence. And now if I ever hear from him again I can just report it and ignore him probably - I'll have parts.

Yeah that's good. Shady character.

I don't know what's keeping you out of the Wards but I'll let you know how they treat me. Might be a good option for you if things change. Who knows?

It's complicated. I'll explain next time we run into each other. But yeah, good luck.

Hey, I'm not prying. Good luck to you too. Bye for now.

Talk to you later!

The Hampson family goes to sleep, all of them thinking about the Wards program.

They schedule her first visit for Saturday morning, and Saturday morning then arrives.

The ground floor of the Protectorate HQ is spacious and pretty, with banners of heroes and statues, a big reception area, a store occupying a quarter of its area, and PRT officers here and there.

Pretty impressive place, actually. Of course, it's designed to be. And of course there's a store.

Her parents go up to a receptionist and say, "We're the Hampsons, here for an appointment at eleven?"

"Ah, yes, welcome. If you'd wait there for a few minutes?" the receptionist asks, gesturing towards a sofa.

They wait. Walta scribbles notes into a little pad of paper, only slightly twitchy.

And after a few minutes: "Hampson family? Would you come with me, please?" says receptionist, walking over to them and gesturing towards the glass elevators.

They follow docilely and quietly.

Receptionist gestures towards elevator. "Second floor, they'll be waiting for you."

(This is clearly the nicest elevator any of them have ever been in. They're almost afraid to touch the walls. Though Walta is actively wondering how the mechanics of it work. Seems like a tinker elevator.)

It is! It's glass and barely feels like it has any acceleration, the ride is so smooth and soundless. They reach the second floor and the doors open, revealing a corridor and a person in a PRT suit. "Hampson family? Please come with me."

"Of course. We- Walta, come on," her dad calls. She stops peering at the buttons. "-Thank you for having us here."

The officer walks them to a room, knocks twice, and enters without waiting for a response. It's an office, and there's a woman on the other side of the desk there, and three chairs in front of it. "Hello, welcome. I'm Director Emily Piggot. Please, do sit."

They sit.

Walta's mother says, "Thank you for - well, for the program being here, I suppose. We were hesitant about it, but it's really the safest option for a parahuman in the end."

(Walta looks dubious at that but doesn't say anything.)

"Yes, that's true, especially for a young tinker. I wouldn't be surprised if other teams and people had already approached her."

"Yep. Fire guy, never got his name. Kaiser. There's also this guy called Glam, but he's nice. Didn't want stuff."

"So, yes, being openly with the Protectorate grants a measure of protection even not taking into account the allowances and backup. She should be wholly safe."

"Kaiser- You didn't tell us about that, young lady."

She shrugs. Her parents sigh. "Well, you'll be safer now. Thank you for taking the time to meet us, too, Director."

"It's no trouble. The next meetings she will have today should be unaccompanied by parents, however."

"...We'd really prefer to learn as much about her new - situation - as possible."

"I understand your concern, and it is of course only natural as parents of a young parahuman, but I assure you Waltana will be in very capable hands, here. And some of the parts of these meetings include some team bonding, and it would be a bit awkward to have adults hovering, don't you think?" She asks that with a fixed but very well-practiced smile.

"Call me Walta. Please."

"That makes sense," her father comments. "Perhaps we could talk to someone else while she's in these meetings? We actually do have a lot of questions, and we wouldn't want to take up too much of your time."

"What sorts of questions would those be? Perhaps I could direct you to someone who could best answer them."

The new tinker's parents are mostly concerned about her education and gang activity near their home.

"I wanna know if I can bring in some of my old stuff. I'm sure you'll inspect it for safety or whatever, but I made a lot of tools already..."

"You can have someone inspect it off-site before bringing it here. As for education and gang activity, I believe Mr. Hammond already said your family could move here? And Walta can decide whether to go to Arcadia first and then only come out as a hero later, or vice-versa."

"First thing, I think. Get me used to tinkering with rules and making some nice stuff and knowing the team. Get me a break, too. Also there's a lot of 'it'. Though I lost scads of it to Leviathan."

(Her parents wince.)

The Director nods. "Then we could have her heroing at the earliest in about a month. We will also need a cover story for why she moved, but that should be easy enough."

"Also, the accident I caused a while ago. I - it was my fault, pretty much. I'm sorry. But I'm glad it doesn't sound like I'll be going to jail over it. I can't stand to not tinker at least a bit for more than eight hours at a time. In juvie you wouldn't let me at any tools, for uh obvious reasons, and that would literally drive me insane probably."

"—did someone make it sound you were going to be arrested?"

"Armsmaster did, yes. Though admittedly I was, uh, very nervous and anxious at the time."

"At worst you would have been fined."

"State I was in then, I'd wonder if I could sell y'all stuff to pay back the fine, as I don't have much of any other way to. And if you do fine me you can take it out of the Wards pay, now. I wouldn't resent it one bit, ma'am, it was a stupid miscalculation that seriously hurt people, even if I was panicked."

Her father says, "I want to set up an appointment to discuss moving here, but it's not urgent on a scale of days. And I'd like to get my daughter's school arrangements taken care of immediately if possible. Other than that, I think we've covered everything for now."

"We can call you to schedule this appointment, and your daughter's education will be dealt with with utmost priority," she assures them. "We should have all the paperwork ready by tonight."

That seems to be everyone's concerns taken care of. Her parents thank Director Piggot for her time again.

Walta should go see Branding today, and later the team will want to meet her and show her around and then go out for dinner.

"Sounds like a plan."

Her parents decide they will do paperwork and then come back at 6 to get her.

...she is supposed to go to dinner with them, it's a team building dinner.

Well, their family always has dinner early. At least on weekends. 6:30?

They could reschedule if the time is not good, but the Director believes they had a reservation at a restaurant.

Well then their daughter can borrow someone's phone when she needs to be picked up.

Have fun!

Walta will have a meeting with Branding, now. It's in this room.

"Sure. My stuff always seems to come out pretty creepy-looking, though. At least the mechanical bits." She follows directions to Branding.

It's this one office in the upper floor.

Off she goes, mildly lost and slightly nervous.

It's easy enough to find, the door is an ordinary door like the others in this hallway but it's marked 'Branding' and there's a lot of wall space between this door and the next.

So she... Knocks?

"Come iiinnn!" says a voice in much too high a pitch to regularly pass safety requirements.

She does so.

"Uh... Hi. I'm a - a new Ward. They said to go here."

"Oh, welcome, welcome, dear!" says a woman sitting at the desk in the middle of an extremely spacious and empty room, wearing an absurd purple dress with a purple bow on her head, typing into her computer using pencils instead of her fingers, probably not to ruin the carefully manicured hands. "Come in, come in, you must be Walta, please close the door after you."

...Okay then. She shouldn't judge. She shuts the door. "Yeah, Walta. Tinker. I don't have any of my stuff today, they've gotta safety-check it all."

"Oh, I know, I know, dear, but we couldn't have you going out in that thing again, that wouldn't do."

"I did try making it look nicer. The paint helped. About everything I can get ideas for is triple-jointed and jerky. But it's pretty much fried anyway, so... Yeah, guess not."

"Was any of that material-limited?"

"...Prooobably not? I mean, with better materials I can at least make things smaller, and then maybe put big plastic cases on it to disguise the janky bits?"

Her hand twitches towards a notebook but she doesn't actually grab it and open it.

"No, no, dear, grab it, I want to see the design you have in mind. If it's quick."

"It's never quick, done proper. I'd have to, like... Hmm... Just one leg, show you the idea I guess?"

She opens the notebook and start scribbling with a pencil.

She watches intently.

And in one minute and forty-five seconds she turns it around and hands the notebook over.

Two rough sketches: The first one a spindly, insectoid-looking leg with gears and spars and wires jutting out all over that forks two-thirds of the way down to land on three little 'feet'.

The second one has the same overall shape, but covered with wide, smooth curved bits of shell that cover most of the gaps and jutting-out bits, even forming one single (if large) foot. More 'alien machinery' than 'junkyard nightmare robot'.

"I like that second one, if we could make it white and very slightly translucent I think it would be a nice effect, don't you?"

"Yeah, that'd look cool... Part of it, like, I would kick this part out for a moment to use the inertia to help move some other part... I can probably get the twitchiness down, make it move more smoothly. There's always tradeoffs though? Making it look good will probably make it do less even with better materials?"

"There's the image tradeoff, though. You're a hero, now! People won't trust that if you look like the creation of some villain from a hedgehog cartoon."

"I'd like to think I was a hero before. I figured out a new villain - teleporting clones guy. I brought someone he stabbed to the hospital twice as fast as an ambulance could've. I rescued people from Leviathan and used my scanner - totally destroyed, by the way - to help other capes dogpile him."

"My point stands. Part of being a hero is people trusting you and feeling reassured by your presence."

"I guess so. Oh, I can't do anything with computers, by the way. My old suit was one hundred percent simple circuits, clockwork, and manual controls. If the translucent plastic techy look doesn't turn out well... Have you heard of 'steampunk'?"

"Yes, I have." Her expression is carefully neutral.

"I bet I could make stuff steampunk without compromising much."

"I'm not sure..."

"Well, the white plastic thing will work okay. I'm not looking forward to it but I can do it, if that's what you say I should do."

"You named yourself Vertigo, right? What made you choose that name?"

"Because when I make stuff that moves, it's all janky, like I said. I can go places, vertically. And I actually don't get vertigo as easy now, I think."

"Would that be hindered by the plates?"

"...I think I'd have to try it to be sure. I don't think so. The white would be a bit odd with the Vertigo look maybe?"

"Odd how?"

"Vertigo is... The Vertigo look needs to be imposing and slightly disorienting. White's not as much of that as neon green."

"...slightly disorienting. That's inspiring."

"I... Can't tell if you really mean that or you're being sarcastic? Sorry?"

"No, dear, not sarcastic at all. I'm having a vision in mind. Tell me more about it."

"Okay. So, I sort of think I have two specialties? One is electrical... Sorta. One is moving around. I can make things that climb, run, jump, leap, scuttle, change directions, whatever it takes. And it's - I heard in World War Two ships used dazzle camoflauge? Jagged lines everywhere. It didn't actually hide the ship, it just made it hard to tell where it is and where it's moving, so submarines would miss 'n stuff? Bright green, maybe red or blue, zig-zags... I don't know. Can you look up the pictures I put on PHO?"

She does.

The early ones are very much 'junkyard nightmare', but later versions find a jarring sort of aesthetic of neon lines and zigzags. Mostly once she started painting them.

"This has style. I think we can do better with better materials and paint, but it definitely has style."

"Oh, great! Yeah, if I had some really shiny paint... This is literally just spraypaint."

She politely refrains from grimacing in a way that makes it extremely clear that is exactly what she's doing.

"How much control exactly do you have over how these... protruding bits... move?"

Grimacing? She did something wrong didn't she.

"Hmm. They need to move a lot for it to work right. I can try to keep it down but that cuts performance big time. I can, like, move them behind a big panel instead of in front of it like we talked about? I could probably do multiple modes, not-creepy-mode and full throttle mode?"

"Useful. Both ideas are useful. Give me a moment," she says, and types something into her computer that causes its screen to be projected onto a wall. She grabs a stylus and starts sketching.

...Okay. She sits and sketches, herself, thinking about a compact stun grenade.

The sketch is quickly projected onto the wall: white plates, looking like they could almost seamlessly integrate with each other in a large suit. She moves that drawing to the left in what is clearly a more detailed sketch of the suit in action, white plates extended and battle-ready and only the barest hint of the whirring machinery underneath. A third sketch, the suit fully deployed, angular lines and protruding bits and pointy joints everywhere, the previously-humanoid robot-suit now has an almost insectoid appearance, but it somehow flows well with the outer carapace, like a shiny beetle rather than a mess of cables and parts.

"I'm, uh, not super great at aiming the look of stuff I make before I make it? Though... Hmm... Interlocking plates... I can work with interlocking plates like that. Keep everything bundled together and light-colored and clean. Also! My more electrical stuff can come in neat little bundles and have a smooth outside just fine, it's the kinetic stuff that looks like something a junkyard monster spat out."

"Perfect. I understand you may not be able to direct it well but if you had something like that in mind, I'm sure you could do it. I believe tinkers have forms they can fill out to request materials, and I can sign for an extra if you need it."

"I don't know when I'll start tinkering officially, I'm still in, like, orientation day? But it's good to have an idea in mind. What about the mask and costume? I had this bunny-ears thing before," she pulls up the picture, "Folds down. I thought they looked cool."

"Oh they'll let you tinker before you start going out, don't worry," she says with a vague wave of a delicately manicured hand. "What are the bunny ears for?"

"For looking cool! I mean, mostly, I put antennas and batteries in them because might as well, since I had space, and it balanced better because they're sorta folded back, see..." Sketchsketch, "But I could have made a helmet and done the same thing."

"Doesn't quite fit the image we're trying to project, though, does it. Something more sleek and polished could be much better and fit with the theme."

"The white plastic alien-tech thing? Yeah, I guess not. I do need room for some electronics. Make it a beetle-shell helmet, maybe?"

"Yes, that fits the aesthetic nicely, doesn't it?" She sketches it.

Walta also sketches.

"Somethin' like this might be easier to make, see the lines? My power likes segmented type stuff. This'd make it easier to put on and, like, shock absorbant."

She nods and makes the modifications they need, and eventually they have something workable.

"Can you give me an estimate for what materials you would need to build this?"

"Uhh, the tools I have in my old place, or stuff to make new ones, some wire and random electronic components, capacitors and stuff, titanium, hydraulic tubing, valves, pipes, rubber seals, thermoplastic, pressure tanks and maybe some liquid nitrogen, mangetrons, bleach and stuff I can use to make a plastic slurry... I'm used to working with what I find, not making a wish list, though?"

"You're with the Protectorate now, dear. Make a wishlist and email it to me."

"What's your email address? And, uh, okay. Part of my wish list is grabbing all the stuff I made before but I heard that you'll want to, like, safety-inspect it?"

"Yes, yes. My email is branding at protectorate hyphen ENE dot gov."

She writes this down. "Okay. I'll think about a wish list. I don't have an official email yet I think. D'you know where I'm supposed to go next?"

She shrugs. "Don't know, not my problem. Now, shoo."

She shoos. She looks around the hallway to see if anyone's here to tell here where to go next?

Hall's pretty empty actually.

She was supposed to go meet the rest of the Wards. Less Magnet Master, the one she was really looking forward to meeting, but still...

She goes back to the director's office, looking for the secretary. Knocking. Seems polite.

"Come in!"

She does!

"Hi again. I talked with... Branding? Didn't actually get her name. She shooed me. Uh, so basically, what now?"

"Oh! Now I believe Dauntless is meant to show you around, you can meet up with him in the Wards HQ."

"Okay. You know how I can get there? Should I, uh, find a mask? I was thinking about just forgetting about it, at least in the Protectorate's places."

"No need for a mask, they will probably be unmasked. Their HQ is in the top floor, immediately out of the elevator."

"Okay. I'll head over there. Thanks."

...It's kind of hard to be too cheerful going to the Wards area, since she automatically thinks about Magnet Master. Leviathan sucks. But she heads for the elevator and punches the button for the top floor anyway, biting down trepidation.

It once again slides up slowly and silently before opening up to what's probably the HQ. It's a large, spacious room with sofas, a couple of bookshelves, potted plants, and a desk surrounded by monitors and computers.

And a girl, about the same age as Walta, sitting there with her feet propped up on the desk, eating a bun of some kind and idly using (one of) the computer(s). She looks up from it casually, takes Walta in, looks back down, and then up again suddenly with a startled "eep!" which causes her to fall off the chair.

"Uh, sorry? Hi? I'm Walta. I'm... New ward? Er, a new ward?"

She quickly scrambles back up and grins. "Hi, Walta! I'm Willow! Echo, in costume."

"I'm Vertigo! Except I think they might rename me? Uh, hi. You okay?"