HC: Handyman | Ch. 210 - Strike 1

It had taken seven hours of non-stop crafting, but Jack had finally completed not just the chestplates for the soldiers, but the bottom pieces as well.

Ten full sets of armor now rested in neat rows on the pavement. The chestplates were familiar by now—reinforced along one side with bone bars, woven securely into the rope mesh. 

The bottoms were simpler from a bone carving perspective: three bone bars ran along the form of each thigh, anchored in place by twisted cords. The sheen would remain covered by the previous armor pieces. Shaping the rope to mimic pants had been tricky at first, but he’d managed to get the fit right. 

Together, the armor gave a wild, asymmetrical look—half-protected, half-bare.

I still can’t believe we were able to finish up this quickly!

It was all thanks to Esther. She’d already woven all the available grass, so Jack had kept her nearby. While he wove rope into chest and leg pieces, she cut and sanded bone—and vice versa. Their tag-team work had nearly doubled the crafting speed.

Now, Esther sat cross-legged off to the side, methodically trimming any loose bits of grass to make the armor look a little neater.

“What do you think, Esther? Are we ready?”

She took a deep breath. “I think so, sir.” Though she had worked with care, she was quiet. Even now, whenever soldiers passed by on patrol, she looked the other way.

Jack offered her a smile. “Alright. I’ll call them.” He gestured to the nearest patrolling soldier. “Hey, can you call the others? I’ve got something for you.”

The soldier saluted and jogged off. Soon, ten men stood at attention before the armor.

“You called us, sir?” Edric asked, stepping forward, throwing the occasional glance at the armor on the floor.

“I did,” Jack said. “I made these for you. Help yourselves.”

They hesitated, eyeing the gear. Bone and rope weren’t exactly standard-issue for trained infantry. But they’d worn Jack’s bone greaves and bracers for several hours without complaint—and those had held up well. Their doubts melted quickly.

They moved forward, kneeling beside the sets and beginning to gear up. The soft sound of rope brushing against cloth mixed with the dull clack of bone against bone. Occasionally, someone muttered under their breath or gave a short whistle of appreciation.

One soldier held up a chest piece. “Strange. Only half of it’s reinforced.”

“It’s because your shield covers the rest,” another explained, strapping on his own chestplate.

Soon, Edric stood fully geared. He walked around and then swung his mace tentatively a few times.

“It’s comfortable, sir,” he reported.

“And super light!” another soldier added, doing a half-squat to test mobility.

“Feels like I could sprint in this all day,” someone else said with a grin.

Edric circled the group, tightening straps and adjusting fits. The rest of the squad bantered lightly, trading tips and jokes, their voices rising with energy. 

Jack watched them with quiet satisfaction.

They had come a long way. When Amari had first found them, they were a ragtag bunch of deserters, huddled in a cave, carrying the weight of their choices. Jack hadn’t met them until they arrived at the fortress—but back then, they kept their heads low, like men waiting for punishment. Now, they stood tall. There was pride in their posture. A sense of belonging.

The armor helped. Horace’s oval shields on their backs, maces at their hips. Jack’s earrings and necklaces added a tribal touch, and now the chest and leg gear completed the transformation. They looked like warriors from a forgotten land—primitive, but united. A proper troupe.

One of the soldiers looked back at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jack answered.

A few others echoed the sentiment.

Jack nodded, warmth rising in his chest. Even though they were just code, their gratitude felt real. And that was enough.

“Good. You’re still missing shoes and helmets, but I’ll get to those when I can. For now, resume patrol.”

“YES, SIR!”

They moved out in formation, their new armor clinking softly with every step.

Jack exhaled slowly.

He didn’t know how many waves the Breach held. But one thing was certain: having soldiers properly equipped would make a difference. Hopefully.

He turned to Esther. She had stood off to the side, not even looking at the soldiers.

“You okay, Esther?” he asked gently.

She gave a small nod, eyes on her work. “Yes, sir. It’s just… hard. I still haven’t forgiven them. For walking out.”

Jack didn’t reply right away.

“But I’ll keep working,” she added. “They need the armor. That’s enough for now.”

Jack gave her a nod. “You did great. Thank you. You can head back to pottery if you want.”

She stood up without looking at the soldiers, but she gave a faint nod in their direction as she passed them—silent acknowledgment, maybe even tolerance.

Jack checked the clock. Almost time to log out. Wave 34 loomed close, and they’d all agreed to exit just before it hit.

He didn’t mind logging off a little early. He’d been working for hours, and a long day of labor with his father waited on the other end. A short breather would help.

He opened chat. “Hi, everyone! Logging out. I’ll be back tonight. Thanks again for being cool with me taking the day off.”

“No worries, Jack. I’ve got videos to edit anyway,” Amari replied.

“Yeah. I could use a day off, too,” Marie added.

Horace and Rob responded with a thumbs-up.

Jack opened the menu and logged out.

*

Jack opened his eyes. His mind felt cloudy, as if it hadn’t fully caught up with his body yet. 

He glanced at the clock. 6:00 AM. Still plenty of time before he had to head out with his dad. He shuffled to the bathroom and paused. Today would mean hard work—hands-on, dirty. Did it even make sense to shower now? He shrugged. Might as well. He had the time.

After rinsing off, he threw on a faded sweater and a pair of jeans that had definitely seen better days. No sense ruining good clothes. As he headed downstairs, the smell of coffee met him halfway. The pot was already brewed.

Dad’s probably up already.

Jack smiled faintly and poured himself a cup. On the counter, a plate waited—toast and scrambled eggs. The yolks were broken and the bread a little scorched, as if the toaster had been left unattended. 

Did he make it for me?

He spotted a plate with crumbs and bits of egg in the sink. His father must have already eaten his.

Jack dug in. The toast crackled slightly as he bit into it, still warm. The eggs were rubbery, but they filled the gap in his belly. He devoured it. He’d need the fuel today.

This wasn’t the first time he’d tagged along with his father for work. A few years ago, when his dad injured his arm, Jack helped out. He’d been a teen then. His clearest memories were of a merciless sun beating down on him and afternoons spent digging in stubborn dirt.

I wonder if we’ll be doing that again today. Raking autumn leaves, maybe.

Even if it turned out to be something simple, the knot in his stomach wouldn’t go away. His father had given him more than a few speeches over the years—about hard work, responsibility, and what it meant to earn your keep.

What if today turns into another one of those lessons? What if he looks at me and decides the game’s not teaching me real skills? What if he pulls his support?

“You’re up,” came his father’s voice. He was walking down the stairs, already dressed in his usual oil-stained overalls.

“What, did you think I’d forget?” Jack asked.

“No, no. I reminded you yesterday, just figured you might oversleep. You’re not usually up this early. I was ready to go knock on your door.”

“Well, here I am,” Jack said, standing a little straighter.

“Good. If you’ve eaten, let’s head out. No harm in being early.”

“I thought we were leaving at seven.”

His father grabbed his thermos. “Sooner we go, sooner we finish. Less traffic, too.”

Jack gulped the last of his coffee and followed him out to the hovervan parked by the curb.

It was an old, dependable machine, its matte gray body dulled by time and work. Jack slid into the passenger seat. His father started the engine, and the van gave a low, steady hum as it lifted off the ground. 

They drifted through the dark, empty streets of the early morning, the hovervan gliding silently above the pavement. The air outside was cool and still, with a faint mist clinging to the edges of the curb. Streetlights cast long, sleepy shadows, the city still caught in the last quiet stretch before sunrise.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” Jack asked. “Are we going to that hotel you mentioned before?”

His father gave him a sideways glance and a cryptic grin. “Ever heard of the ten labors of Hercules?”

Jack frowned. “It rings a bell.”

“What about the ten plagues of Egypt?”

Jack gulped dryly. “...What?”

His father chuckled, his bushy mustache twitching. Jack couldn’t tell if he was being serious or just playing around. 

The city gradually stirred to life outside the window—lights flickering on, delivery bots humming down side alleys. His father finally broke the silence again.

“I do still work with that small hotel. The manager and I go way back. But lately, I’ve been getting more work from Airbnbs. They don’t keep full-time maintenance staff, so they call me to fix things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Depends. Could be a leaky faucet, busted lights, paint touch-ups. We’ll know once we get there.”

“They don’t tell you ahead of time? So that you can prepare?”

His father snorted. “That would be too easy. I show up, figure out what’s broken, and fix it because if I don’t, the next guy gets the call.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Jack said.

“Not if you know what you’re doing.”

They reached their first stop just as the sun crested the horizon, casting the streets in soft gold. The building was modest, an apartment complex with a freshly painted brick façade the color of ripe cherries. A small plaque near the entrance read “Red Brick BnB.”

Inside, the lobby was simple but tidy, the kind of place that aimed to be comfortable rather than impressive. A receptionist looked up from her desk and lit up with a smile.

“Mr. Sousa! How are you today?”

Jack noticed the respectful tone she used to address his dad. There was a quiet confidence there.

“Hello. Good, thank you,” his father said. “What do you have for me to fix today?”

“The boilers are acting up again. Some guests say there’s barely any hot water. A few light bulbs in the hallways need replacing, too. Oh—and some small stuff in the rooms, but we’re waiting for the guests to check out.”

“Alright. I’ll start with the stuff in communal spaces. Let me know when the units open up?”

“Of course.” Her eyes flicked to Jack. “Oh! You brought help?”

“This is my son,” his father said before Jack could answer. “Sometimes we team up.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said warmly.

Jack straightened a little, suddenly aware of his worn clothes and the way she looked at him. Just try not to look useless, he thought.

Jack offered a polite smile. “Likewise.”

Just then, the phone rang. She raised a finger in apology and turned to answer it. “Red Brick BnB. How can we help?”

His father started toward the car. 

“Wait. Aren’t we going to check the boiler? Or the halls,” Jack asked.

His father furrowed his brow. “And what will we fix it with? Our teeth?” he laughed at his own joke. “Tools, son. We need tools. Don’t you use tools in your game… I mean, work?”

He was so used to having an inventory to carry his stuff in that he’d almost forgotten that he had to carry stuff for real out in the real world.

“Of course,” Jack said. 

“Ay, ay, ay. Let’s go get some tools.” 

Jack followed meekly. Something about the heavy sigh from his father told him that this had been strike 1.

Ch. 209 - When Is a Bar Not a Plate?

INDEX

Ch. 211 - Tests