The Electrician

The Electricians talk a little quieter than everyone else. Not because they're shy. Because that's how you talk near a live panel. Their oath: respect the current, because it never forgives. Power is invisible right up until it isn't.

Every Electrician starts as a Wire Puller. You drill studs, pull homeruns, and learn to count wires in a box the way other people count change. You also learn the golden rule of the walls: never staple a wire where the Finisher's screws are going to land. The Finisher will find out. Everyone will find out.

Power comes into the building through one gate, the service, and the Electrician decides how big that gate needs to be before anything else happens. Then they spin a web through the walls: boxes, circuits, low voltage, all neat, all labeled.

That's when the Arc Wraith shows up. It's thin and crackly, yellow-white, built out of tangled wire, with two breaker toggles for eyes and a little scorch mark trailing behind it like a bad smell. It lives in loose connections, overloaded circuits, missing nail plates, and panels nobody ever labeled. It flickers the lights to say hi.

Electricians don't chase the Wraith in the dark. That's how you get zapped. They lock it out. They test it dead with the Singing Wand, which chirps happily near live voltage like a tiny bird that really wants you to be okay. Only then do they go hunting.

The patient ones become Circuit Foremen, who rough a whole floor and pass inspection the first time. The legends are the Lords of the Panel. They write a panel schedule so clear anyone can read it, flip the main, and the whole tower glows. The Wraith has nowhere left to hide.

Lock it out. Test it dead. Label everything.