"Mhm. So you can't work small-scale, then?"
There's a rush of heat, the wind catching Wreck's hair and clothing as she's gently lifted into the air, floating a few inches off the ground, enough to look Mechakoloss in the eye. "I'm pretty sure you know already, but I can handle getting hit with tools, 'n I can fly faster than most people can run. Right now, I beat you. There are going to be other capes with similar capabilities, it's fucking inevitable considering how many people can fly and shoot lasers. You're cool, you're presumably doing things right, it'd fucking suck if you wound up some psycho's pet tinker. You should really invest in a gun, or whatever personal-defense measures you can make."
She proceeds to place her hands on either side of the duffel bag, and twist it like she's closing a bag of sliced bread. The bag full of nails, bits of chicken-wire, and other scrap folds under her grip, squashing and warping until it's roughly half as long as it was previously, twisted into a hyperboloid, even the fabric squashing like rubber. "Even if you need to make it something you can keep with you." She pulls back her hands slowly, and the duffel bag untwists as it returns to normal. "I'm basically blind right now, and even I can see that being entirely unarmed as a tinker is tactical suicide."