PmWiki | HDG / Legs

Keen paced around his workshop, the click and hiss of his temporary, hastily-built cybernetic legs echoing against the metal floor. They were functional—barely. Just good enough to get him up and moving after his last escapade, but not nearly up to his own standards. The workshop, only built weeks ago in a hidden valley, was already a mess of half-finished projects, scattered tools, and spare parts—organized chaos, just how he liked it.

He had a plan. He always had a plan. And this time, it was to build a "proper" pair of cybernetic legs, something worthy of his genius. Keen had already considered several options: legs with boosters for speed, or maybe ones with an extra strong kick. Hidden compartments for tools or, if he was feeling particularly paranoid, some kind of weapon. Claws, rocket launchers, why not both? But as he ran his hands over the skeleton beginning to take shape, he felt a moment of hesitation.

What did he really want? He paused, looking out through the grimy window of his workshop into the vast expanse of night beyond. His mind drifted back to the Affini invasion—their towering forms, their condescending tones, always looking down on him. Physically, sure, but also metaphorically. They saw him as a curiosity, an oddity, something to be studied and managed. It irked him. He didn’t want to be looked down on anymore.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "Extendable. Make ‘em tall enough to look ‘em in the eye."

He could see it now: legs that could stretch, lifting him up to eye level with an Affini. That would wipe the smug looks off their faces, make them see him as an equal. But then, as he tinkered with the idea, his mind wandered again, this time to the Rinans. They were small, barely three feet tall, and yet full of energy and spirit. Every time he’d towered over them, he’d seen a flash of something in their eyes. Not fear, exactly, but a kind of wariness. He didn’t want that, either. Not from them.

A change in perspective was good, he realized. Seeing things from different heights, different angles—it could make a world of difference. The Rinans saw the world differently from down there. Maybe he could, too.

"Retractable," he murmured. "Extendable AND retractable. Up to Affini height, down to Rinan height, and anywhere in between."

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. It wasn’t about power or intimidation or showing off. It was about understanding. Connecting. He’d spent so much of his life trying to outsmart, outwit, and outfight everyone around him. Maybe now it was time for something different.

He picked up a wrench and started replacing the rods on the prototype with more flexible elements. Of course, this would leave no room for other enhancements. He could almost hear the sarcastic voice in his head—was he really giving up on boosters and hidden rocket launchers for this? But he didn’t care. Those things weren’t that important anymore.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered to himself. "Laugh all you want, light behind my eyes. You can come out to play again, but on my terms, and not today."

He worked with a renewed focus, welding and soldering with the deftness of someone who had been doing it for decades—because he had. His hands moved with precision, attaching the new actuators and gears that would allow his legs to extend and retract at will. Up to Affini height, down to Rinan. A range of perspectives. A way to see the world through different eyes.

By the time he finished, his temporary legs were starting to ache, so he switched over. He locked the last piece into place, tested the range of motion, and smiled to himself. It wasn’t about being the strongest, the fastest, or the most dangerous anymore. "Go go gadget legs!"

He stood up, feeling the smooth, seamless extension of his new legs lifting him higher, higher, until he was at Affini height. The room looked different from up there, smaller, more intimate. Then he lowered himself down, until he was almost crouching, at eye level with a Rinan. The world changed again— bigger, more ripe for exploration.

"That’s more like it," he said to himself, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment, much greater than this fairly routine technical achievement would warrant. "That’s better."

No boosters, no claws, no hidden rocket launchers. Instead, an array of new perspectives. Probably healthier. And... just what's needed for the next phase of the kekaku.

Klang3