“It’s tinkertech. It’s science that gets at least some of its functionality from interdimensional fuckery, built by cooperation between you and the unfathomable, menacing thing that chose you as its host.”

“It’s a camera, Chris. It records and projects.”

“It’s a camera built with collaboration between you and a unknowable, violence-driven multiversal horror.”

“My multiversal horror is pretty tame, I think. She just likes to build things and gather information,” Kenzie pressed buttons on the side of the box. A triangle between reinforcing bars lit up.

A hologram appeared a number of feet away. A potbellied rat with a crooked nose.

“…And you’re using it to make cartoons,” Chris said.

“Plump Rat King,” Sveta said. “Some of the kids at the hospital liked that one.”

“It’s okay,” Kenzie said. “Only the first season was really any good.”

“What’s it good for?” Ashley asked. She was taking things a step further than Chris’s wearing of the same shorts. She wore the same dress she had worn at the meeting, the damage at the corner mended imperfectly. One of the straps, I realized, had been damaged and patched, but her hair masked much of it. She had a black mask in her hand, but she hadn’t put it on.

“Stuff. Loads of stuff. I’ll show you some later,” Kenzie said. She started opening boxes.

Tristan, much like Kenzie, was unpacking a bag. His costume was armor. It struck a balance between function and appearance, but it looked like it was a pretty good quality. Each segment was framed with goat’s heads and horns, spirals and ridges. Where it wasn’t brushed metal, things were painted or tinted red or light red. He saw me looking and smiled.

“Byron is the fish theme, then?” I asked.

“Water as much as fish. Yeah,” Tristan said.

“You have some kind of superstrength, right?”

“A very small amount. Helps when you’re wearing armor as heavy as this, or when you’re using a power that can make heavy things.”

“Seems like a good place to get us started,” I said.

Tristan turned around, seating himself firmly on the sloped ground, his armor partially unpacked and arranged beside him. Some bits were already fastened into place on his arms and legs, over a bodysuit that seemed designed to go between him and his armor.

He held up his hand, and produced three motes of orange-red light. As each one moved through the air, it left a trail behind it, like the afterimage of a sparkler waved through the darkness. They traced a circle and as the moving points of light connected to the end of each trail, a shape came to life. A discus, with a slight peak on one side.

I extended a hand, and he passed it to me.

Dense, heavy, very solid. Matter creation.

“You can throw it,” he said.