Destruction brings the ability to create something new. No matter what: Metal, wood, or flesh, there's always the opportunity to destroy it, forcing it to adapt. Damaging it will result in something more beautiful, more intricate, more tough. More useful. Or at least that's what you've heard. Time and time again—On those motorcycle trips where the sun always seems to seek rest behind the buildings of shimmering cities, or the trees with golden leaves just waiting to blow away with the flower petals below, Joe would always echo the same sentiment. To destroy brings the opportunity to create.

This is usually the case when somebody, especially you, asks about his callouses. Anyone can feel the tough skin through the gloves, a consequence of his experience. He usually says, “Hey, it's no biggie. I wouldn't be able to do all the things I can do in the workshop now, if I don't have these. They help a lot more than you think! It's just a bit uneasy and rough to the touch.” He always makes it seem like the callouses are just as useful as the other things that came from the art of a forger's destruction, whether or not it was actual optimism or a blanket statement to make you feel less concerned.

The hallway of the suitcase was decorated with vines and a cozy color, holding doors that led to many rooms: One of them being Joe's workshop. Shoving through the door was his most cherished workshop, one that you were helping sort and sift materials through and fro desks as he welded in a different room. However, your task was abruptly cut short, and you found yourself next to Joe's side after hearing a loud crash and a stifled yelp behind you. His arm was practically throbbing in pain. His knotted eyebrows and his slight frown told you he was putting on a strong face. “C'mon now, it's no big deal, it'll heal up just fine in a few days—! I'll be okay, bud. I don't want to distract you over something so tiny,” he attempts to persuade, however making no effort to pull away his arm from you as you inspect his burn closely.