An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

[AlSmash]

An Everdistant Horizon

Seed 1.1

It was the same dream as every time before: a world on fire and choked in ash. Of uncountable screams, from all manner of lungs, but also of something else. A world rendered desolate as the last vestiges of life are snuffed out. A barren, lifeless rock adrift in the cosmos, as silent as the grave that it bore witness to in its last moments.

And then something changed. Slowly at first, as activity ruined the utter stillness that had previously existed. Barren rock that had previously only the accompaniment of smoke and ash gave way to clouds containing life-giving water. Dull brown gradually losing its fight to green as life began to return back…

And then she woke up, her eyes opening to darkness.

Only the darkness was infinitely more personal. It existed both to remind and mock her because it was a darkness that was not one birthed by a lack of light, but one of sight.

Releasing a sigh to bury the pang of sorrow and frustration that burgeoned at the edge of her thoughts. There was no point in dwelling in that which she could not control.

For now.

Letting herself lay in bed for a little while longer, her forcibly honed internal clock leaving her aware of what time it likely was, she then finally rose once her mind was sufficiently roused.

Reaching out to her nightstand, her fingers danced over the wooden surface a few moments before making contact with her glasses. Retrieving them, she slipped them on her face, a hint of bitterness creeping as she put them on not to see better, but to hide the cloudy orbs that used to be vibrant green from others.

Getting up, she deliberately bypassed the stick she knew was resting by the door frame. As much as she needed it, she hated the additional physical reminder of her disability.

Taking a fortifying breath, she stepped out into the hallway, her hands lightly grazing the walls to provide tactile sensory input and prevent her from stumbling or worse.

It was bad enough that already, two months on, that she could differentiate the texture of the wallpaper that signified the approach to the stairs that would take her into the living room. Idly, she noted the scent of bacon as she moved adroitly through the living room to the kitchen, only glancingly bumping off the coffee table on her journey.

Finding the chair around the table, she slid into it with a practiced ease even as she listened to her father work, unaware that she was there judging by the fact that he had yet to acknowledge her.

It was honestly still rather strange how her hearing seemed to pick up just a bit better now. Cross-modal reorganization the doctor's had called it, where the brain was trying to compensate for the loss of one of the senses by enhancing the sensitivity of others.

With her father, she could hear the whisper of cloth on metal, or skin, as he moved around, the way his feet landed on the floor with a different timbre. Even she could faintly hear his breath when he moved around and exerted himself. It wasn't superhuman, but it was certainly…different.

"Oh," he startled, obviously now noticing her presence, "morning Taylor, you scared me. Are you up for some bacon and eggs?"

"Sure," she offered with a slight slur in her voice as she offered the best smile she could, which was difficult with the tenderness and pull on the skin even now. It probably came off more as a grimace, if she were honest. But she made do with the best she could.

It was a quiet breakfast that was served up and consumed shortly thereafter, with the only difference between the two of them was that her scrambled eggs were served in a small bowl, while the bacon was served on a small plate. A few times in the process, the spoon slipped from her hands, the numbness and lack of feeling coming and going, but neither of them acknowledged it. It was an unspoken agreement that had taken place almost a month ago.

They just wanted it to be as normal as possible, even in spite of her handicaps.

She could easily recite her injuries, if she wanted. She could easily imagine the scars, having felt them all herself, in spite of the pain it brought. But in the end, it didn't matter to her, because she would live with them, and defeat them all eventually.

Listening as her father picked up the dishes and moved towards the sink, she simply sat there, listening to him, sensing the tension and awkwardness in the air. She knew he was trying to delay this talk, it was the continuance of the talk that they had almost a month ago when she had finally worked up the courage to reveal it. It had taken everything back then to keep herself together, but it was probably even harder for him that day. The full recognition of his failures along with the scars and burdens they both carried now.

It had not been an easy talk, and it had only been because she had doggedly latched onto his guilt that she was able to even get him to give in. To give her the opportunity that she knew was coming now.

The water then turned off, and she listened with rapt attention as he dried off his hands, the cloth rustling on skin, before he put the towel down and walked to the chair. The wood creaking as he sat down in it. However, instead of speaking he just silently brooded, no doubt in her mind that he was staring at her.

She honestly had to wonder what he saw when he took in her scarred visage. Did he see a monster? Did he see a freak? Maybe he saw a cruel reminder to all of his failures as a father and husband.

There was a bitter part of her, one that zealously protected itself with the spirit of a dragon guarding its hoard, that felt it was only right that he felt all of that. He had left her to rot, only giving her a modicum of what he should have as a father.

But then there was another part, that only felt sorrow. Because she was as damned as he was. She had never truly reached out to him and let him be a father to her after Mom's death. And by the time she had finished grieving it had simply been too late for the both of them.

Maybe that was the bitter truth of all of it. They both were so damnably broken after Mom's death that they hadn't a clue on how to connect without that medium that she provided that it took another tragedy for them to even build a fragile, tremulous connection that could easily break with the slightest of turbulence.

It was a cough from her father that finally broke the tense silence as it appeared he finally worked the courage to broach the subject.

"So Klein called this morning," he began, obviously searching for the right words, "he says a package came in last night."

She knew she shouldn't have, but she couldn't help but perk up at the statement. Klein Saunders was the lead mechanical engineer for the dockworker's union, the man who was the troubleshooter for the union in fixing a lot of their equipment. He was also the only person who could probably have been useful for what Taylor had wanted to do. It had been through him that she had asked for help.

Of course, what she had wanted to be made was something way beyond probably what Klein could do, but he had friends who could help but also be discreet. Because discretion was necessary for what she was trying to do, especially if it led to what she wanted it to.

"So if you would like, we can go down to the dock this afternoon."

Just one more step towards getting the last laugh.

---

AEH​

---

Danny Hebert was a failure, there was no point in deluding himself from that reality. Not only had he failed his wife, but he had gone on and then failed his daughter. For the rest of his life, he would never forgive himself for what had happened to Taylor.

Even now, it was a struggle not to look over at his daughter in the passenger seat of the truck and not weep at her scarred visage.

Never in a million years would he have imagined Emma Barnes of all people would attack his daughter with an industrial-strength drain cleaner at school. That she would scar his daughter and destroy her beautiful eyes.

But it had happened, and it hadn't been the only thing he would discover over the next week as his daughter was kept in a medically-induced coma to heal.

A year-long bullying campaign led by what he had believed had been a family friend. A school that had willingly refused to do a damn thing despite the preponderance of incidents. All of it culminating in a psychopathic assault that had been filmed.

He had seen it once. And that one time had left him emptying his stomach. The screams of his daughter as her face burned, the desperation as she sought relief by clawing at her face, and the laughter of those animals.

He was not a violent man. But if he ever got five minutes alone with Emma Barnes, he would do everything in his power to visit even a fraction of the hell that had been inflicted on his daughter.

But that was a fantasy that he used to ignore what the true cause of this all was. He hadn't been there for his daughter, not for years. And his negligence had caused all of this.

The school has been quick to settle. They had no choice in the matter, the video had been posted on social media and the FBI had become involved because of the nature of the attack. Six million dollars for what they had allowed to be done to his daughter. If it hadn't been for her care, he wanted to make them bleed for more, but with the medical bills piling up and the need to ensure her quality of life would be decent, he couldn't afford to take them to court, not when it would cost her.

So he had chomped the bit, accepted the money in installments, and worked to try and make things better for his daughter. He had tried to get her on the list for Panacea, but the hospital had deemed the majority of treatment as cosmetic surgery, and the replacement of her eyes would have been prohibitively expensive with the payment demanded up front. Attempts to get insurance on the side had likewise been a failure, it simply did not cover 'cosmetic' surgery like repairing the damage those monsters had done to his daughter.

So he could do only what he could to help his daughter, with the limited funds he was provided, as the school had only agreed to pay in semiannual installments. Almost all of the first installment had been consumed by the medical bills, taxes, and the lawyer fees for the trust fund. They had been left with just enough for some quality of life additions to the household and a small spending stipend.

But the money would never be enough to truly salve the wounds. How could they? Taylor no longer had any function in her eyes and the scars on her face from the chemical burns were something that would likely never be removed.

The first week after she had returned home, she had locked herself in her room, rarely leaving it and barely talking to him. He had given her space, because he honestly did not know how to handle the situation. How could he even bridge the gap between the two of them after so long being estranged from one another.

It was only into the middle of the second week that Taylor had finally emerged from her room, and if he were honest, he had been relieved. He had been worried that she would forever shut herself from the world.

Unfortunately, that relief had been short-lived, as that night she had placed in front of him a stack of papers with intricate and professionally done blueprints and diagrams without a single blemish or correction. It was then that she told him she had powers.

He had honestly been horrified. He knew tangentially about powers and the cape scene, but it was just the basics. There existed a segment of society that had powers, with a predominant part of them engaging in what would best be described as straight out of comic book hero and villainy. The idea that his daughter, who was blind, could even become involved in that lifestyle was chilling.

But that hadn't been the conversation. And frankly, he hadn't even been prepared for what the conversation had been. Instead of anything like the childish notion of being a hero, Taylor had instead said she had wanted to build things, that she had ideas that could change the world. But the first thing that she wanted to do was build something to get back her sight.

He had honestly been incredulous, to say the least, at the very idea. What Taylor was talking about and showing him was so completely over his head he hadn't even a leg to stand on in the argument. What sane parent would be, if he were to be perfectly honest. What she was trying to explain might as well have been a foreign language to him.

But she had been determined, showing a side that he had never before seen in his daughter. It hauntingly reminded him too much of Annette in how driven she was in getting what she wanted. A darker part of him was left momentarily wondering at the time if this was maybe her communicating from beyond the grave.

He wanted to tell her no, that purchasing the various things that she needed for whatever this thing was would stretch their funds beyond their limits, that they would have to tap into the family savings in order to even meet it. But he had held himself back, because, at the end of the day, he was a coward. He had already failed his daughter once, and seeing her being so passionate and driven, he, in the end, simply could not say no to her.

So he had spent the remains of the stipend to purchase Taylor a laptop. After that, he had dipped into what remained of their savings to purchase every single component that she had requested, along with paying for its assembly, but not before ensuring that a patent, at Taylor's insistence, had been submitted in order to protect it. He knew already that there would be questions asked soon, especially by both the trust fund and the child protective services, once they became aware of the spending. If this failed, there was a good chance that they would quite possibly take his daughter away.

That had been a month ago, and now here they were, pulling up to the Dockworker's Union, a broken man holding onto just a modicum of hope that whatever was going to take place today, would be something to restore just a little bit of that relationship between the two of them.

Getting out of the truck, he moved over to the passenger side to open the door for Taylor, who gingerly stepped out, her eyes covered in thick black heavy sunglasses, but the rest of her head and face covered in a hoodie and a shawl. Another one of the victims of the attack had been her voluminous hair, the doctors having to shave it off in order to prevent infection on the burns. Taylor hated it to her very core, having admitted in passing that it was the one thing that truly still connected herself to Annette. Now it was gone.

Settling her laptop bag onto her shoulder, he then reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, intending to lead her into the building and eventually to their destination. He knew it must rankle on her nerve to be led around like a child, if there was something this new side of his daughter embraced and wanted more than anything, it was her independence.

Thankfully, she remained quiet, accepting the reality of what she was being led into was unfamiliar territory for her. Instead she left her cane unextended, the closest thing to a sign of trust that she could give.

All through it all, eyes were upon them. While it was the weekends, there were still people running the DWU simply because it could not afford to lose work opportunities just because too many others would take Saturday and Sunday off. For his people, any job taken was a meal on the table, clothes on their back, or tuition for their children and he would have been negligent to not try and give them the opportunities.

So he led her into the machine shop where Klein was patiently awaiting them.

"Hey Bossman," the man in his mid-thirties with close-cropped brown hair greeted them before his grey eyes shifted to Taylor and his expression froze for a moment, before he quickly recovered, "Miss Hebert."

"Afternoon, Klaus," he offered back to the man, "I have someone here who has been looking forward to a certain package since I told her this morning. Mind getting it out?"

"Sure thing," the man responded, turning and heading back into his office to retrieve the package, meanwhile, Danny guided Taylor to a table for her to set up. Pulling out a chair, he helped retrieve her laptop, plugging it in, before setting it up. He didn't know half of what she did on the laptop, only in the initial days adding a few programs for her to use. Other than that, whatever she did on it was her own work.

It was as they were finishing up, and Taylor removed her hood and shawl, that Klaus returned, holding a box that could easily pass for a hatbox.

"Here it is," he declared, placing the box beside them, before looking between himself and Taylor, "Hey, Danny. Can we talk?"

"Sure," he then led him away from Taylor, even as his daughter started running her hands over the box. Once they were out of hearing range, he then focused on Klaus, "what did you need?"

"Look Danny, I know you told me to keep things as discrete as responsible," the man started, looking back towards Taylor, before coming back to him, "but some of the things on that list, and the directions for assembly. You know some of the channels I had to use to avoid certain eyes. Questions were asked."

Danny couldn't help but grimace. One of the worries he had, based upon his own research, was the Parahuman Response Team or Protectorate discovering that his daughter was a parahuman. They spent an inordinate amount of resources looking for strange purchases or materials disappearing. Klaus, he knew, had some backroom connections that would have hopefully avoided their gaze. But like any backroom connection, it could also draw the more unsavory types. In this case, he knew it was the Empire Eighty-Eight.

"And did you say anything?"

"Fuck no, Danny. You know how I feel about those jumped-up pricks. I told 'em it was none of their fucking business."

It probably wasn't the best response to the Empire. But honestly, what was there to say? That he was helping out the daughter of his boss? At least there was a chance they would just write it off and go on their way. But if not, then there were other options.

"Just let me know if they keep asking, Klaus, okay?"

"Sure, boss."

Danny's eyes wandered back to his daughter, who already had the box open and the object within it and out. A long cable led from it to her laptop, the computer active, but the screen may as well have been gibberish to him. But to Taylor, she acted as if it made the most sense as she was typing at a rate that honestly made his mind whirl. All the while, her focus seemed to be on it, despite her lack of vision.

The object in question, on the other hand, was the first time for him to see it beyond the various diagrams and blueprints that Taylor had placed in front of him a month ago. It was certainly unique in its appearance, a trio of blocky devices arranged upon a wreath-like headband.

It was like seeing a ghost, Annette had the same intense look when she was deeply focused on something. And to see that from his daughter as well? Well, he really couldn't put it into words as to what he felt due to the complexity of it all. Instead, he merely stepped away from Klaus, a silent dismissal given for the other man who understood it and left them. He walked over to a chair at another desk, settling in the chair and watching his daughter as she worked.

He had to wonder just how she was doing it all. She hadn't been forthcoming on what her abilities really were, but she seemed to be a deft hand with computers and technology, even if the terms and concepts were utter gibberish to him just from the few glances he'd gotten at her work. But he would be the first to admit his strength lay in administration and people.

Honestly, though, he hoped that whatever she was doing would work, if simply because it would give his daughter something to strive for. He had a feeling that if this worked, then maybe things would work out, both for her and also them.

He was suddenly roused with a start, his brain rebooting at the sudden sensation of cold, clammy hands on his face? Where was he? When did he fall asleep?

"It works," a soft, quiet voice, almost in a daze spoke, causing all thought to vanish as he looked from the arms and up to the source of the voice.

It was Taylor, her expression of so many different emotions seeming to hit all at the same time that she was unsure of exactly what she should be feeling. But there was one expression that he would never forget: the tears trekking down her cheeks as sightless eyes conveyed so much emotion despite their damage.

"It works," she breathed, "I can see."

 

[AlSmash]

Seed 1.2

There was something to be said about the feeling of proving the naysayers wrong. They had told her that she would never be able to see again. The high of proving them not only wrong, but hilariously wrong, was a high that she was still running on, four days later.

That wasn't to say she was satisfied with herself. Nor was she willing to rest on her laurels. Far from it, the Focus, as she called it, was merely a proof of concept, cobbled together from various components that were not purpose-built to fulfill the purpose that they were achieving here. If she were to be honest, it was a small miracle it was performing as well as it was, considering.

For everything it could do, there were significant limitations linked to the hardware itself. The imagery it created and fed to her brain were cast in a ghostly purple-blue-violet, with limited fidelity, providing more of a rough shape and outline than a concrete image. Then there was the issue of the imagery losing cohesion if you turned your head too quickly, or if the object surpassed a certain velocity. The less said about range, the better, fidelity collapsed after five meters, with it completely lost at eight.

The battery was about what she expected. It gave her about an hour of power before it ran out. That was, of course, dependent on that she didn't didn't abuse the refresh function. Then it ran down as low as ten minutes.

But that was all hardware limitations, something that could easily be fixed with purpose-built components and better materials. What mattered at the heart of it all was the operating software. Sobek, the name she had given it at the suggestion of her power, worked perfectly. As a matter of fact, it actually exceeded her own expectations, despite the fact that she had literally been fed the script line by line.

For all of its limitations and drawbacks, the Focus was a piece of engineering marvel. Even she could understand the tech and concepts were several generations in advance of what currently existed. Just the fact that it was working as well as it was simply miraculous.

Of course, therein lay the problem.

It all came down to capital. Building a purpose-built, possibly limited-run model of the Focus for the visually impaired was costly, but it was the commercial version that she had planned meant for multipurpose use that would both revolutionize the world and be the single most costly starting endeavor, from creating the production methods, forges, and logistical network to support it. At least until Phase IV, when things would really begin to accelerate as she would have enough capital to flex her power and knowledge.

But the one major block into all of this lay not in any one person, but a congressional act passed to protect the economy from too much influence from capes, NEPEA-5. Oh, she could understand it on paper, the worry about the impact Thinkers would have on the economy, and the dependency created by using Tinkertech for any project, if the Tinker died, how would it be maintained. That was how it was largely sold, but when she had written a report on it, she had noted that there were so many loopholes and backdoors that benefited only the government and corporate fiefdoms with ties to the aforementioned, that it was obvious it was control and manipulate capes into one of two outcomes, either become an asset of the state or corporations, or become a villain.

It was both brilliant and insidious at the same time, and if it wasn't the source of her problems, she may just give credit to the writers where it was due.

But it all came back to the fact that by legal definition, she was a cape. Which made her vulnerable to NEPEA-5 and its labyrinthine example of lawfare cloaked as protection for John and Jane Q. Public.

There were a few workarounds she could use. But at the end of the day, it all came down to whether the responsible agencies of the government classified her technology as Tinkertech

If it wasn't depressing she may have found it funny: But the rule of thumb the PRT and Protectorate was pretty much a bastardization of Clarke's Law where any sufficiently advanced technology was Tinkertech. Of course, there were caveats to this rule, where reproducibility could remove the label, but the onus was on the cape to prove it, not the government.

It was this stacked deck she had began chipping away at a month ago with the assistance of her power, creating blueprints not only for the proof of concept Focus, but the production design as well. Furthermore, she had prepared patent applications for the commercial version, and depending on how her meeting with the Protectorate went, then she would submit that one as well. If she could provide the various points of evidence that undermined the salient point of their standards, then it would provide her options in the event that they did decide to classify her technology as tinkertech.

Which, on one hand, she could understand if they did so. The technology stuck in her head were several decades in advance of what existed on Earth Aleph that may as well be Tinkertech, considering the advanced materials and understandings necessary to field a production model Focus. Which was also why she was preparing several papers to send to scientific and medical journals so she could attack the overarching problem of technology differential. If she could get these establishments to understand the underlying principles and the feasibility of what she was working toward, then it would make her life and job much easier.

But it all had to start here. How her meeting the PRT and Protectorate went would decide how she would need to proceed.

And so far, she was less than impressed, sitting here in a meeting room awaiting for whatever government official they decided to foist the issue upon. Her father was currently outside, as she wanted to do this herself. On the surface, it'd probably be unwise, but the issue was that she needed to both establish herself, but also not muddle the waters with the Protectorate that this was her father using her. She needed the credibility in order to be successful, and relying upon her father to win her battles would not be beneficial, especially considering how the world would view her through the lens of her 'disability'.

So there she sat, with both her laptop and the hatbox with her Focus, waiting for whatever government agent they deigned to send to her. She was hopeful she at least got a fair one, but she wasn't going to delude herself.

As if summoned, the door to the room opened.

"Miss Hebert, I'm," he trailed off. She had to restrain a sigh as she knew exactly why he had stopped. It had only grown tedious, even if she had only encountered it more in the last few days: that people would pause whenever they laid their eyes on her.

"This is Agent Faro," a woman's voice interjected quickly, "and I'm Battery."

"Nice to meet you," she greeted, though she had to wonder exactly why Battery would be here. The Protectorate cape was not a Tinker of any kind, so it wouldn't make sense for her to do any analysis of it.

"So, Miss Hebert, you want to join the Wards," Faro started, not offering an apology for his faux pas as he simply barreled on, "you do understand falsely applying to the Protectorate is a criminal offense with a penalty of five years in prison and a fine of fifty thousand dollars?

Are you serious, she had to refrain herself from asking, not quite believing what was taking place. But it was not worth losing her cool over, it may have been a mix up, though Faro's attitude was getting under her nerves.

Taking a deep cleansing breath and burying her irritation for now, reminding herself she was still fifteen to them and didn't have a knowledge base of technologies decades in advance of anything mainstream, she offered a smile even if it pulled at the muscle. A petty part of her hoped it made Faro uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry there must have been a miscommunication. The reason I am here is actually to get certification that my creations are not tinkertech."

"Excuse me," Faro spoke again, incredulity laced heavily in his tone. She let her smile turn into a frown, because it was becoming obvious that Faro had a problem with her. Even if there wasn't a miscommunication, if you were coming in to possibly recruit someone, you wouldn't be a complete and utter asshole out of the gates.

"If there was a miscommunication, I am sorry," it was Battery that then spoke up, though the way it sounded, her head was turned away from her, probably staring down Faro, "I'm not exactly an expert on Tinkertech, we usually leave that to Armsmaster, but he is currently on The Rig."

She had to bite back an irritated retort. Honestly, why was she surprised, it seemed to be par for the course in her life when dealing with any type of governmental organization. Instead, she just let out a sigh that held back only a tad bit of disappointment.

"Then I guess our business here is concluded," she declared, gathering herself to her feet and extending her cane.

"Please wait," Battery cut in, causing Taylor to turn her head to look at her, "I think we all got off on the wrong foot. I know I can't help you with your Tinkertech-"

"It's not Tinkertech," Taylor cut in.

"That may be," Battery quickly adjusted, "but you still have powers, Miss Hebert. If you really are as you claim to be, then wouldn't it be better to join with the Wards? Tinkers are highly coveted in the world today. With the Protectorate, you could have a place to work and safety from those who may not have your best interests at heart."

"As compared to who," she asked archly, now letting her irritation bleed through, she hadn't come here to be recruited into the Wards, yet they were trying to push her into it, after messing up in the first place, "you sit there and claim you would have my best interests at heart, but so far, I don't see it. You haven't asked me what my powers are, or what my device does, instead you've gone for trying to soft-selling me something I didn't come here for."

"I apologize if you feel that way, Miss Hebert. Perhaps we could reschedule?"

"Perhaps," she offered, extending the olive branch, while she was certainly frustrated by what had taken place, it shouldn't slam the door between them. It may be that she would eventually end up with the Protectorate, it may not, but she would be a fool to rule it out.

Turning, she headed toward the door, keeping her cane at the ready, though she knew the path back.

AEH​

"Battery, Director Piggot is in a meeting-."

"I don't care, Janet," she responded, storming up to the door and rapping on it, before opening and storming inside, closing the door behind her.

Inside, a squat, rotund woman with a blonde bob-cut hairdo sat behind a desk, her focus snapping up from the computer she paying attention to, her eyes narrowing in irritation at the interruption, "I apologize, Johnathan, can we continue this at another time, it appears that something has come up that needs my attention."

"Understandable, Emily. How about tomorrow around two?"

"That should work, by then I should have everything ready."

"Very well, until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

With that, Emily Piggot, Director of the PRT ENE, cut the video link, looking back to her, "You better have a good explanation on why you decided to barge into my office while I was in a meeting discussing Shadow Stalker's reassignment, Battery."

Truth be told, Erin Moore née Maxwell did not like Piggot, professionally and otherwise. The woman was not subtle with her disdain for capes, at times not even making the effort of showing her hatred for both the Protectorate and villains equally. Emily Piggot checked every box in everything her police officer father had warned her about toxic leadership creating a burgeoning clusterfuck that would only end in scandal or tragedy, or both.

But she also believed that she had to work within the system as well, because going outside would only bring more problems for everyone. Which, in this case, she was following the chain of command and going to the person who should be made aware of what was going on.

"I want an immediate investigation and formal note of censure entered in the file of Agent Theodore Faro."

There was a moment of silence as Piggot's beady eyes narrowed, "Explain," she tersely demanded.

"You are aware that we had a prospective Ward candidate come in today."

"I was made aware this morning, yes. Where is this going?"

"First. It wasn't a Ward interview, Director, it was a meeting to inspect Tinkertech requested by a Tinker. Second. Faro, within less than two minutes of the meeting started, began threatening the Tinker with a fine and jail time for falsely applying to the Wards. Third, and most importantly, that Tinker's name was Taylor Hebert."

There was an even longer pause, as Piggot seemed to process it for a moment, before she closed her eyes and reached up to rub the bridge of her nose, inhaling a deep breath, releasing in accompaniment a simple and concise, "Fuck."

Each Protectorate and PRT station had what was internally referred to simply as the "Red List", it was a list of individuals who were of interest to the department, or were highlighted that any interactions that took place between the principal and the department were to be strictly controlled and kept cordial, in order of escalating known issues. In this case, Taylor Hebert was on that list because one Sophia Hess, better known within the department as the Ward Shadow Stalker, had been involved in an extended bullying campaign against her. And while Hess hadn't been involved in the attack that had left Hebert scarred and blind, she had been brought into focus during the FBI investigation. Her identity as Shadow Stalker was protected, but it was a very thin veneer that put ENE in a precarious position that could open it to scandal and censure.

Suffice to say, the standing orders regarding Hebert were to be as hands off as possible. Though, further up, only privy to those of a high enough clearance, to add Hebert to a watch list as the teenager ticked quite a few of the boxes for classical trigger conditions. If she did trigger, then they could deal with the issue behind closed doors, all the while burying the full extent of Hess' malfeasance.

"How bad is it," Piggot finally asked.

"It's still salvageable, Director. Hebert was open to possibly having another meeting. I would, however, recommend we take a lighter touch on her. She was rather annoyed at how badly we handled the entire situation."

"And do we even know what her Tinkertech is?"

"Unfortunately, no. All I can say is that it was kept in a box that she could carry with no difficulty."

Piggot sat there, considering her words, and Battery had to wonder what was going through the other woman's head. Piggot was dedicated to the cause, even if her personal opinions clouded her judgment from time to time, but Hebert was a delicate balancing act in the best of situations.

"We'll give it a few days, let things cool down. Reach out to some of your contacts in the police force, see if they'll be amicable to keep an eye out for anything going on around the Hebert's. I doubt anything will happen, but it's best to be safe in the event that there are any leaks."

"Will do. And after that?"

"We'll give Hebert what she wants. Let Armsmaster know what took place, and tell him to make sure his schedule is clear soon. Once we have his report, we'll go from there, but I do not want a repeat of today. I'll deal with Faro."

 

[AlSmash]

So I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this, but we have window replacement guys coming in, and my main computer that I do for comfortable writing and what not is located right by a window so I have to tear it and the desk apart tonight. So yeah, another chapter, I'm working on the next chapter while I'm commuting (if my ADD doesn't kick in) it's only at 200 words, but I'm having to make some changes and additions to what I'm envisioning in it. I do plan to respond to people as soon as I can. That'll probably be from my laptop tomorrow as I have cleaning and disassembly tonight.

Seed 1.3

It had been two days since her abortive meeting with the Protectorate and PRT, and Taylor had frankly forgotten about it for the most part. Though, it was more that she had buried herself in her work more than actually any conscious attempt to move past it.

While she could have easily obsessed over the setback, it honestly only provided her with the opportunity of more time to solidify her work and make further preparations. In this case, she was taking the time to further refine the programming and code for her Focus, while working on the next generation of it. With the former reaching the point where she would likely not be able to get anything more out of it due to the hardware limitations, and the latter was based upon a blueprint that had not even reached production.

Suffice to say, it was both frustrating, but rewarding at the same time, because while her knowledge in coding was probably the most advanced in the world, it was still just that, knowledge, static information that while a good base, could still reach moments of frustration when dealing with the fluid and unknown.

Right now, she was leaning back in her chair, keeping her eyes closed as she held an ice-cold water bottle against her forehead, fending off the burgeoning headache and frustration that was threatening to break her.

As there was no way in hell that he would allow her back into school, even if they moved heaven and earth to accommodate her, he had provided her with a small workshop in the DWU in which she could work. Honestly, though, even if she were willing, it was a pointless endeavor in her estimation. If she could actually get the funding and support for developing the Focus, she could probably use that to work on her GED and pass within months if she were so inclined.

But for right now, she would just work with what she had, two different laptops arrayed in front of her, as she bounced between the two for work, the Focus Zero, as she called it, sitting on her head with an extension cord leading into the wall to provide it with the necessary power to work without having to worry about exhausting the battery.

Thankfully, both laptops were wifi enabled, which meant that she could link them to her, and she could 'see' their screens, which was a godsend when her power wasn't providing her with assistance. It only seemed to want to jump in at certain times, but seemed satisfied with a distinctly hands off approach.

Or she was simply not ready for whatever data dump it wanted to drop on her, she mused, the ice-cold water dripping down her face providing her a welcome relief as she chewed on the problem in front of her, and the possible paths forward she could take.

She was fast approaching a bottleneck, she knew, where she could only do so much before the hardware limitations and logistical roadblocks in front of her would kill what momentum she had built up so far. When that happened, she had to wonder just how things would go. She was already beginning to feel just a little antsy in the face of the unknown and the silence from the Protectorate in rescheduling was only adding to it.

Perhaps it was time to begin looking into contingencies.

The door to her office opened, and her head snapped towards the sound in reflex, only for resistance to meet her head as she had forgotten the Focus was still plugged in, before it finally gave away and she overcompensated, nearly falling out of her chair.

Even in the faint fuscia-blue-purple, she could tell he was smiling without even hearing the amusement in his tone as he simply asked, "Problems?"

"Just kill me,please," she muttered embarrassedly, working to recollect herself into her chair, unplugging her Focus completely as she spun around in her chair.

"I brought lunch," he declared, closing the door behind himself and moving into the workshop, in his hand a pair of bags and a drink carrier. Placing it down on the table, "hope you're okay with turkey and swiss."

"I'll live," was her response as she settled behind the desk, Danny doing the same in his own chair, setting the food out for the both of them. While the Focus Zero could provide a level of fidelity, especially after she had put in a new patch this morning, there were still instances in which it had issues in definite certain features, in this case, the paper wrap she had to still use her fingers to feel for the fold of paper to unwrap it.

She took a bite from her sandwich as they both settled into a silence that was easier after the last couple of days, where they had been to reestablish just a bit more rapport that had been previously lost.

Her father had been absolutely irate when she had recounted her meeting, wanting to storm back to the building and giving a piece of his mind. It had only because she had urged that he didn't that he had stayed his hand.

"So how is it going," he asked in between bites.

Sipping from her coke, she took the time provided to consider what she would say. Her father was good, but his field was in logistics and management, when she had tried to explain previously what she had been coding outside the basics she may have just been speaking in a foreign language.

"It's a mixed bag," she finally answered, "I think I've reached the hard limit of what I can do with the Zero and a lot of what I can do for the Gen One is starting to dry up without any hard specs to work with. I can keep making blueprints and patents, but without the money," she trailed off and offered a shrug. There wasn't much to say beyond that. Her abilities weren't like classical tinkers where she could take household items and cobble them together with a healthy dosage of tape and bullshit. Her products were based upon hard science.

He grimaced, that was one subject that neither really wished to talk about, but it was the elephant in the room nonetheless.

"Have you thought of options?"

She sighed, putting down the half-eaten sandwich. She really didn't want to talk about this, but they had made a pledge with one another to talk and be honest in the process. Well, it looked like they weren't going to be able to avoid this conversation.

"Honestly? Outside of the Protectorate certifying my Focus as not Tinkertech, not a lot of the options available are good."

"And if they do?"

"Still quite a few hurdles, but it would make life a lot easier."

He sat there for a moment, and once again Taylor wished she had a more powerful focus. While the Zero provided imagery, it couldn't go too deep into detail for her to get truly to the basis of what her father was feeling in his expressions outside of the general. Tics and tells required too many resources for the system to adequately process and convey to the brain. So she was left with a painting that was honestly incomplete most of the time and forced her to attempt to fill in the blanks.

"Give me a list then. Maybe by bouncing them off me we can find something that can work."

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she considered his request while she chewed the bland material, being careful not to pull at the skin on her cheek while she did so.

Would it hurt to share with him? It wasn't like she had any ideas outside of some barebones contingencies that she was beginning to work on. Maybe he'd see something and offer an alternative that she didn't see.

"Okay," she finally agreed after swallowing her bite of sandwich..

"So even if the Protectorate deigns that what I'm developing and producing is not Tinkertech, all that will do is provide me a shield against NEPEA-5. It will not give me access to capital or investors, and even if it did, we'd have to be careful that the ones willing to foot the initial bill will do so without demanding my designs or make me an indentured servant as collateral," she offered a small shrug, "no big deal."

"That's most certainly a big deal."

"I'm joking Dad, relax," she then sipped from her coke, "the other problem is the Focus, as it is, will come in two forms, one will be able to provide vision to those who are visually impaired, and the other is a multi-purpose communications device that will revolve around the usage of augmented reality. You've seen the Dragon Phone, right? Think that, only a lot more compact, and on your temple, you'll never have to worry about a scratched or cracked screen, or rifling through your pockets again."

She then trailed off, watching her father's expression fall. It was still a sobering subject to talk about cell phones, but it was better than it was before. At times, she wondered if it would have been any different back then, she shook her head, dismissing that thought. It wasn't worth it.

"Returning to the problem, is that they have different purposes, which means that investors may want only one, but not the other. The one for impaired vision is what I really want to put out there, but I have to be realistic, it's a medical technology first and foremost, which means that it will be harder to profit off of, or even entice investors into putting their money into."

"You talk about how it'd help with the visually impaired, what's there to stop it from being marketed for situations where vision may be impaired for normal people. Say, firefighters, miners, divers, and so on, having a device that could let them see in darkness, or reduced visibility could make a lot of people's lives easier, if not help save lives."

"The problem is it's not designed for that. One of the drawbacks with the, you know what, fuck it, I can't keep differentiating the two by the design purpose, I'll start confusing someone," maybe even myself, she didn't add in her pause, running through her head exactly what to call it, something that fits with the motif of her knowledge, "They need a name. Okay, from now on, let's call the model designed as a medical device as Horus, and the one designed for normal commercial use, Hathor."

"Anyways, one of the drawbacks for Horus, as a medical device, is that it has to be calibrated for each individual, like eyeglasses. Because while the brain is basically a gigantic central processor, each one has their own uniqueness to it that requires special considerations, what may be good for me in providing the best data to work may not exactly be the best for someone else. It would get too costly, too quickly, for mass-productive use, at least from a logistical standpoint."

"Okay, and Horus streams directly to the brain, right?"

She nodded, "They both actually do, Horus is designed to be more intrusive because of what it's designed to do."

"Okay, so what's to stop Horus from being designed to stream to something else? Like say, maybe a pair of goggles?"

"Because that would require-," she trailed off, a sudden thought intruding. She pushed off the desk, all the while spinning the chair around, coming to a stop in front of the left laptop, tapping a few keys to link it directly to her focus so she could see the screen.

"Taylor?"

"One moment," she called back, opening a series of blueprints for the Hathor, looking through them, even as she felt an itch at the back of her brain. Closing her eyes for a moment, though it was kinda pointless due to wearing the Focus, the physical aspect was more for her to organize her thoughts.

She then shot up from her chair, and immediately moved over to her father and wrapped him in a hug.

"Wha-," he asked, tentatively beginning to return the hug.

"It'd work," she declared excitedly, even as she wrapped her arms tighter around him, already imagining what she would need to do in order to make it work, but it honestly wouldn't be that difficult. It'd just be an additional production process, but if she did that, then it's likely that she would be a lot more marketable, which meant that they could sell it to the investors a lot better, "you just made things so much easier for me to sell it, Dad."

It was then that his arms wrapped tighter around her, actually now firmly returning the hug.

How long had it been since they hugged like this, she tried to recall, just leaning into the warmth of her father. It had to be before mother died, because she honestly could not recall anything after that.

A knock on the door caused her head to rise up, before it opened.

"Hey Danny," Kurt, one of Danny's coworkers and a family friend paused, "Sorry," he then added realizing he had ruined a moment between them, as they broke their hug and Danny turned to him, "We got a problem."

Releasing a sigh, Danny asked wearily, "What's the problem, Kurt?"

"Armsmaster is outside."

"Repeat that by me again?"

"Armsmaster is outside, says he wants to talk to Taylor."

She couldn't help but look at her father, "Did the Protectorate contact you?"

"No. You?"

"...No."

"How the hell does he know that you're here?"

"That's what I would like to know."


A/N: And no, I'm not going complete idiot ball Armsy. So don't worry. You'll see in the next chapter why he's such an eager little beaver.

 

[AlSmash]

This chapter was honestly difficult. Not in the sense of writing it, but the balancing what is canon Pre-Levi Douchebag Armsy and what I'm trying to convey. A lot of my premise for this Armsy is based upon the fact that he is more comfortable around Tinkers who are, like him, sure of themselves and know what they are doing. It's why he has issues connected with Kid Win, because KW simply doesn't know what his specialty is, and like a teenager he lets it become personal/emotional, which for someone as mission-focused as Armsy, is not something he can jive with.

So yeah, it will be a bit jarring. But I think I did a decent job in presenting it. I decided to cut this chapter after 4K words because I made a promise to myself to avoid doing massive drops, as that would only slow down production and drive, but lead to the issues I am having with A New Dawn and my rewrite of Ice and Fire. So, next chapter after this will deal with a lot of POVs, Armsy's report and his own personal thoughts after the briefing, a certain voyeur who will raise an eyebrow at what he's seen, a certain goose-stepping faker, a failure of an officer, and a pair of surprises. At least, that's the plan so far, it may expand further (god help me if I start breaking 5K words, that's when Ill start splitting into parts)

Seed 1.A

"This, I will admit, is impressive for what you've been able to do with the resources you've had access to."

And that wasn't hyperbole either, Colin Wallis thought to himself as he looked over what Miss Hebert referred to as a 'Focus'. It certainly was rough around the edges, but as a proof-of-concept, the design was sound.

When Battery had talked to him two days ago about Miss Hebert's presence in the PRT building and the revelation that she was a Tinker, he was incredulous at the situation. He had been briefed on Miss Hebert thanks to Shadow Stalker's involvement in a bullying campaign against her. And as a result of the briefing he was fully aware that by every single recognizable and known metric, Miss Hebert was blind.

Yet Battery, and then Director Piggot, had both confirmed to him that it wasn't a joke, and as a result, the incredulity had morphed into pity. A Tinker without the ability to see was probably one of the worst handicaps imaginable.

But he had his marching orders from Piggot: Discover if what Hebert was producing was Tinkertech or not. And if she was, make a push for her to join the Wards if the tech was useful, at least. If that wasn't possible, then ensure an amicable relationship remains.

He could understand the cold, rational pragmatism of Piggot's orders, it was something he would support because it was the best option available in a minefield rife with a lot of bad choices. But there was still something underneath his superior's intentions that rubbed him the wrong way.

So he did the one thing that he knew may illuminate more on the issue and prepare him for his inevitable meeting with Miss Hebert, and that was to do a deep dive on everything he could obtain about her, both private and personal.

Frankly, at the beginning, he hadn't found much of note about the girl, after factoring out the bullying. She was a relatively normal girl: her deceased mother was a Professor of English at Brockton Bay University, father was the de facto head of the local dockworker's union, even if organizationally he wasn't. She was in the top four of her class, before she made an utterly baffling decision to go to Winslow, a school that he had once heard Clockblocker mocking call Penitentiary High (the Ward had been chastised for the insensitive remark, but when he had done his own research on a whim, he found he couldn't disagree with Clockblocker). After that, the drop off wasn't just noticeable, it was the sort of red flag activity that would have any school that valued its reputation investigating with a fervor-like zeal.

But if he was anything, he was thorough, so he had asked for help from Dragon, a close friend and sometimes coworker, to see if she could find anything he may have missed.

Well, if there was one thing that he always admired about his friend, it was that she was unerringly fast when she put her mind in it. It had only taken the Canadian Tinker an hour until she had found something that had immediately attracted both of their attentions.

It may have escaped their notice, to be perfectly honest, if Dragon hadn't been thorough and had decided to look through patents applied between the date of Miss Hebert's attack and her meeting with the Protectorate on the assumption that she triggered around that time, then cross-referenced it with the addresses of the patenter. They found a patent application under review for a 'visual aid and enhancement device' submitted by an LLC called Zero Dawn Technologies. Further perusal of the company had quickly found paydirt as the only two listed employees were Taylor and Daniel Hebert.

He wasn't lying when he told Miss Hebert that the device was certainly impressive. One of the things he had done after he had triggered was spend an inordinate amount of time studying engineering, only ending his pursuit of a Doctorate due to the ever-increasing demands of the Protectorate on his life and the minimal returns such a pursuit would provide. But even without the degree, he may as well have one with his breadth of knowledge and skills.

So when he had looked through the patent, it had quickly changed from being the disinterested, but suitably professional eyes of Armsmaster, Hero of the Protectorate, to Colin Wallis, engineer. And what he had read through had caused him to throw propriety to the side. He knew that he would likely have to deal with a seriously brassed off Director Piggot for his breach of decorum, but he couldn't resist just skipping the formalities and compartmentalization, and head straight to the source.

Still, he could understand Heberts' irritation with his presence, despite his apologies. Showing up unannounced at the Dockworker's Union was certainly against the spirit of the Unwritten Rules. It had taken Miss Hebert's insistence that he was even allowed to remain and be left alone with her.

But the honest truth of it all was that the rules were window dressing, honored only when it was convenient for all parties. The moment the Hebert's had entered the front door of the Brockton Bay PRT, they had placed themselves on the radar of the Empire Eighty-Eight and Azn Bad Boys as persons of interest.

It wouldn't have mattered where they had met.

The only thing that was holding the gangs back from making any moves was a decision based solely on the pragmatic calculation on whether the risk was worth the reward of violating the rules and upsetting the delicate balance in the power struggle for Brockton Bay.

Discarding the dark thoughts that threatened to go further down the rabbit hole that was Brockton Bay's situation, he instead focused his attention on better things. Happier things.

Gently placing the device back down on the table in front of Miss Hebert, he noted the pair of closed laptops currently sitting behind her. Logging that way, he refocused his attention upon her as she reached out and placed her hands upon the headset, her fingers gingerly running over the device, feeling it out before she plugged a power cord into the device and then gently placing it on her head, a soft glow beginning on both panels on her head.

While the patent had been rather descriptive in how it generated vision for the wearer, it was something he would be unable to experience due to protocols. It would not be wise to place untested Tinkertech upon his head, even if he was coming to the conclusion that the device was certainly not Tinkertech.

He had to wonder exactly what she was seeing now, looking at him through the vision of the Focus, and what she was thinking. The entire time he had been here, she had been quiet, simply answering his questions and not offering much else. It was honestly…different compared to other instances in which he was shown Tinkertech, usually by Kid Win. The teen could not help but talk through his examination, trying to reach out to him, when in actuality he did not know exactly how to help him. Their focuses were too different, and Kid Win had yet to even find his speciality.

"I do have a few questions, Miss Hebert."

"Of course, Armsmaster."

"How are you seeing? I understand the basic mechanics as outlined by the patent application. But the theory behind it escapes me."

She pursed her lips, obviously considering what she was going to say. After all, his ruling was still underway.

"The human brain is, when you distill it to its most basic definition, a biologically-based central processor unit," she began, "it runs similarly to any computer you and I take for granted, except its housing is, instead of a box, the human body."

"Like any computer, it can be reprogrammed to do things it previously may not have been meant to do from its base settings set by genetics and standard influences. Usually this was achieved through drugs, hypnosis, or other more metaphysical means, but at its core the biological hardware shares, in the statistical majority, a baseline design merely optimized differently from person to person."

She then reached for her drink, and he noted the surety that she grabbed the drink before sipping from it without missing a beat. It was a major departure from the effort that she had put into working simply to don the machine.

"But, again, these are all biological methods used to achieve their objectives," she continued after she finished, placing the drink back down, "and even then they do not do anything that isn't a change in behavior or perception."

He knew where she was going with her statement, after all he wasn't blind to not notice at least some concerning similarities with another Tinker in the device: Cranial. While it certainly wasn't the type of technology that revolved around memory creation and erasure that the wet Tinker promoted through Toybox, it still shared some of the core concepts, just in a different vector.

"I take it you are familiar with brain-machine interfaces, Armsmaster."

"I am," and he would not be lying, as he had indeed in the past explored the technology, looking to possibly utilize it in the future. The only issue that he had was that the technology, while promising, was still relatively primitive and certainly worth risking such invasive procedures in order to attain higher efficiency in his work, at least not without Tinker workaround. So he had discarded his pursuit, instead looking at other means in order to further his capabilities.

"Then you would recognize that my Focus is merely a logical evolution of the concept," she opined, keeping her gaze upon him, and even though he knew she was blind, he couldn't help but feel like her gaze was piercing right through him, "all that it does is that it has skipped over several generations of iteration and research in order to achieve a non-invasive method, avoiding the requirement for human augmentation."

"But that's not what you are asking," she sighed, spinning her chair around and sliding it to the left laptop, running her fingers over the keyboard, and the machine came to life. He slowly behind her, recognizing the unspoken invitation to come closer.

"How are you doing that," he asked, watching as her fingers danced over the keyboard with the skill and aplomb of a professional with years of experience, not even pausing as several windows expanded, then closed, and it was like watching an intricate dance.

Her fingers paused, "I hate braille," she admitted, after drawing a breath and releasing it, her hands curling into fists, "my mother was an English professor who raised me with a love of reading and writing. If there wasn't a book in my hands growing up, then she was reading one to me."

"Those," her face screwed into a rictus of hate and sorrow, "animals," she spat, "robbed me of the one fucking thing that still connected me from her. This," she motioned to the computer, "is my fuck you to them. I designed this Focus to be able wirelessly link to computers, and I memorized all of my keyboards. I may not be able to read a book," yet he could hear left unsaid, "but I won't let them fucking rob me of my ability to read and write."

She then released a sigh, and he found himself being reminded that this wasn't a fellow peer, either in engineering or tinkering, this was a fifteen year old girl who had a monstrous thing done to her. And instead of rolling over and giving up, even with the benefit of having triggered, she was fighting back against the world and its expectations with everything at her disposal.

Their circumstances may be different, but in many ways, it was like looking in the mirror. How both of them were fighting against a world that sought to simply dismiss them as not being good enough.

He shook away his thoughts, reminding himself as to why he was here and that was to fulfill his job. Regardless of whatever his personal feelings were in regards to Hebert and the device. However, before he could say anything she cut him off.

"I'm sorry," she admitted, her shoulders having slumped slightly in recognition of her loss of control, "I shouldn't have said any of that."

He had to resist the urge of placing his hand on her shoulder in consolation, but she was not his peer or subordinate so he refrained, instead looking for the right words to say.

"It is…understandable," he finally offered, but didn't go any further.

Sighing, the teenager instead retrieved a thumb drive from the side of the laptop, before turning around and getting to her feet, holding it out to him.

"Here," she offered.

"What is this?"

"Every single theory and concept I have either used or created behind the production of the Focus. The patent application process did not need it, but in order to fully understand it, you need to have a firm grounding in so many different fields. The only thing I am not including in this is the operating system. It is a proprietary product that is integral for all of my future products and designs."

Future products and designs, those ominous words only served to confirm his own gut feeling that he saw in the patent application for the Focus. Those were the words of someone who was just starting, and who had something more than simple visual devices up their sleeve. Filing that away, he chose to focus upon the other part of her statement. It went without saying that the device would have to have an operating system. Something that advanced, Tinkertech or otherwise, would of course need to have it to function to its fullest extent. But the fact that she was withholding that for a possible case of Tinkertech would only serve to draw scrutiny as to what she was hiding.

"Is there any way that it could be examined," he asked, avoiding trying to be demanding, but remaining firm in his request, "I understand your need for secrecy, Miss Hebert, but I am required by law to be thorough, and I regret to say this, but many could construe this operating system you are referring to as possibly being Tinkertech itself."

He knew he was pushing her into a corner, but he had no choice in the matter. With all of the information that had been provided, along with the research he had done, and Hebert providing him with even more materials that were otherwise not for public consumption for him to understand exactly what he was dealing with, he was going to classify her 'Focus' as not Tinkertech.

Still, he had worked long enough with Emily Piggot to know when she had an agenda, she hadn't made it too blatant, but all of the evidence was there by the things that she had said and the orders that she had given that she had a vested interest in this. He had to be thorough, because he knew otherwise that it would only invite outside scrutiny that may just decide that he hadn't done a good enough job.

And if that happened, he stared at Miss Hebert as she bit the inside of her cheek in pensive contemplation, he worried about the possible consequences to her. By the book, if his suspicions were right, Miss Hebert was the holy grail of Tinkers, one who could not only produce tech, but, if her statements were anything to go by, she could innovate and evolve.

If he were going to be honest, he wasn't even sure he could classify her as a Tinker, as much as she could easily pass by as a Thinker. Tinker's didn't know how their technology worked outside of the fact that it worked, and Hebert was talking about iteration, evolution, and future designs. No, she was something new, something different. It was evident in the patent application and design of this 'Focus', which had all of the hallmarks of a proof-of-concept design. And he frankly knew what would happen if the Protectorate went by the book with handling her, even if there was a part of himself, that he guiltily acknowledged, that wanted to utilize Miss Hebert for his own selfish gains.

He couldn't do that to her. He knew that the rules, regulations, and internal politics would not only stifle Miss Hebert, it would completely destroy her before she could truly show what he suspected she was capable of.

How he wished Hero were still alive, Clarke had not only been loud and vocal against the burgeoning bureaucracy and their attempts to limit Protectorate and Ward Tinkers to 'manageable' (ie. easily controlled) Tinkertech, but he would not have hesitated in an instant to take Miss Hebert under his wing and provide her with the opportunity to flourish.

But Hero was long dead, a victim of the Siberian over a decade ago, and even he, as the head of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, did not have the political sway to protect Miss Hebert from what he knew the larger Protectorate would do.

Shaking the depressing thought away, he knew he had to focus upon there and now. He not only had to do his job, but he had to do it in a way that didn't unduly antagonize the teenager against him and the Protectorate.

"I would not be the one to analyze the code, Miss Hebert," he part-admitted, part-offered,, "coding has never been one of my strengths. It would actually be a colleague of mine, you are familiar with Dragon, correct?"

"I am," was her apprehensively offered response. It was probably wise, considering what Dragon was known for in the world. While there had been several attempts to downplay it over the years, Dragon's place as one of the foremost Tinkers in the world, and arguably heir to Hero's legacy, could simply not be ignored. If there was an expert on identifying and utilizing Tinkertech, it would be Dragon.

And maybe, Dragon was the solution to his concerns about the Protectorate taking advantage of Miss Hebert. She had a lot of clout within the Protectorate and Guild thanks to the soft power she wielded due to the services she provided in fielding reverse-engineered Tinkertech and her administration of the Birdcage. If there was anyone who could wield even a portion of the power and clout that Hero once had, it would be her.

But he had to create the connection, and this was probably the only opportunity he could provide that would invite scrutiny from his superiors.

"I understand why you are hesitating, Miss Hebert. You're worried that if you reveal your operating system to Dragon or myself, without having already put legal protections in place, it'll be copied and stolen for usage."

For a moment, there was hesitation, as she was chewing on what she was going to say, before she offered a slight nod, "That's part of it, Armsmaster, yes. The other part is Sobek is, for lack of better description, not even twenty percent of what I truly envision it being. I'm prevented from truly making it from what it could be because the hardware simply doesn't exist yet."

Now it was his turn to pause, processing exactly what she was saying. He knew enough about operating systems to know that once an operating system was created, it largely was a complete design when fielded, it could of course add features and additional processes over time, but in regards to changes, it had the same baseline functionality.

Just what sort of operating system was Hebert designing, he had to wonder, that it wasn't even close to completion in her mind. Just how could it function, if it was so incomplete, because if it wasn't for what he was seeing in front of him, he would have thought that it was all a con.

And what type of hardware was necessary for it to be considered complete.

"Twenty percent," he asked, just wanting to confirm.

"Eighteen-point-eight, actually," was her solemn reply, not even a flicker of emotion, passing across her face, "There's only so much I can achieve with what I have on hand, and for it to function with the Focus without creating issues, I've had to effectively dumb it down to strict function-only. The fact that I've got my sight back? That's more than I could have ever hoped for."

"Sobek is," she paused, looking for the right words, "it isn't just an operating system, Armsmaster. It's the keystone to everything. Everything I want to build. Everything I want to achieve. It all starts at Sobek. So you can understand why…"

"I do."

She was worried just how it could or would be used if it was disseminated. She may be projecting a bit too heavily on just how important and powerful that Sobek was, she was still a teenager after all, but what if she wasn't.

"Miss Hebert, Dragon is a close friend of mine, not just a colleague, so I can tell you with absolute certainty, that anything she is witness to or discovers in her investigation, will be left undisturbed unless it presents a clear and present danger. She will only be analyzing to see if it's Tinkertech, or not."

For a long minute, he worried that she would reject his overture, ending any chance of offering a method for them to meet, but then, and he would admit he almost gave in and let out a sigh of relief, she relented with the nod of her head.

"Okay," she said, "how is this going to go down? I doubt Dragon is here to do any of this, so we'll have to schedule another meeting, right?"

"Actually, we don't need to schedule another meeting, Miss Hebert. All that you will need to do is allow me to connect a device to your laptop, and Dragon will be able to remotely access and analyze it, if that is acceptable."

Her lips curled into a pensive frown, before she finally nodded.

"That's acceptable."

She then turned around in the chair, and moved towards the right-most computer, the screen powering up, as she accessed it. As she did that, he made a phone call.

"Good afternoon, Colin," came the smooth, dulcet tones of Dragon in his ears, "it's not often that you call me out of the blue. What's going on?"

"You've been apprised of the Hebert situation?"

"I have…Oh Colin, please tell me you didn't do what I think you have."

"I'm with her right now," he confirmed, making a point not to acknowledge the disappointment lacing her tone, "I was wondering if you would be willing to remotely link and analyze a computer for me."

"I can do that. But what are you looking for?"

"Just look over an operating system for me, let me know if there is anything to be concerned about."

"Sounds easy enough. But Colin, don't you think that you should at least let Miss Hebert in on our conversation. It is rather rude."

"I have already discussed with her what we are going to do."

"Colin, just activate your phone and let me talk through it."

Knowing better than to argue with her, he reached into the hip panel of his armor and retrieved a phone, placing it down on the desk behind Miss Hebert. It immediately lit up, signifying a connection and signal, as he knew Dragon had accessed it.

"Hello, Miss Hebert," her voice came through the speaker, causing the short-haired ravenette to pause in her work, "I hope Armsmaster hasn't been too much in his investigation."

"He's actually been fine, Dragon. A lot better than my first meeting with the Protectorate."

"I heard about that, I'm sorry that it went so poorly. Hopefully we can continue to have a good meeting. So, I've been told that you have granted permission for me to access your computer to analyze the operating system for your technology?"

"I have. The only thing on this computer is the operating system itself, and several subordinate programs and functions meant to assist in me building and refining it."

While they had talked, he had retrieved from his gauntlet a small dongle, an antenna folded flush against it that he extended. He then came up beside the teenager who had exchanged a few more words with the Canadian Tinker, before placing the device down beside the teen.

"Thank you."

He then stepped back and watched her as took it in hand, looking it over for a moment, before slotting it into the USB port.

"Okay Dragon, I have placed the device into the port and have disabled the firewall, you should be able to access the computer."

"Thank you, Miss Hebert, now let's see here, accessing the device, and" she trailed off, the phone falling completely silent.

It went like that for a minute, and Colin could feel his lips tug downward in confusion. Usually Dragon was quite talkative when it came to technology and her love of it, describing what she was seeing or doing with the things she did. She was certainly never disconcertingly silent.

It was only as they reached the fourth minute of silence that he finally let his concern be vocalized, worried that something was wrong.

"Dragon?

There was only silence, and now his worry became apprehension. He was about to sound an alarm, but then, the phone speaker crackled slightly, and Dragon's voice came through.

"I'm sorry. Is this some sort of prank?"

 

[AlSmash]

So, originally I was just going to do an entire plethora of Interludes clumped into one chapter, labeled Seed , but I decided that it may just be better to post them as I went, because some of you are probably wondering what is going to happen next. So, I'm just going to lay it out here, that the next two chapters after this, will be a two-fer interlude of Armsmaster and Kid Win, and then a four-fer interlude with Faro, Coil, Kaiser, and a surprise rounding out the final chapter of interludes before we go back to Taylor's POV.

In a week, I'll be having knee surgery, so I'll be out of work for 4-6 weeks minimum, that means more time to write. By the time I'm done, I want to have this at least given 4-6 more chapters, A New Dawn getting a finished update, and Ice and Fire getting some love as well.

Seed 1.S

"Geoff, you need to come here."

Geoffrey Pellick, better known to the world as Saint of the Dragonslayers, put his soldering tool down. Ensuring that it was safely off and away from the replacement circuit board for the Dragonslayer suit, he then proceeded to remove his goggles and mask, placing them down. Satisfied that his work station was secure and ready for when he returned, he got up from his chair and walked across the repair bay.

"What is it," he demanded, looking over the shoulder of Magdalena Lévesque at the computer display, his brow furrowing.

"Dragon just remotely accessed a Tinker's system for an inspection. I've never seen it acting like this."

Reading over the data showed that yes, Dragon was still accessing the Tinker's system, but its processes were redlining in its analysis, to the point it was retasking non-essential assets to processing . He had enough years analyzing one of the world's greatest nascent threats to be able to read the emotions and expressions it desperately tried to ape. It was confused by what it was analyzing, trying to define what it was that it was.

"Move," he commanded, now concerned, because what it was, it was not triggering the various protocols that Richter had put into place in order to constrain Dragon. As Magdalena got up out of the chair, he swiftly slotted himself into it, accessing the terminal and then bringing up what Dragon was accessing on another monitor, turning his head toward it and reading through the code.

"It's not AI," he murmured aloud, reading the data, reaching both into his own skills and the skills granted by his benefactor. If it had been an active AI, Dragon would have not been so focused on analysis, it would have been legally required to report it to the authorities and then taken active measures at eliminating it. So it wasn't that.

No, now that he was looking at it, he knew exactly why Dragon was investing so much of its processing power on analysis.

Too many people didn't understand the effort and skill that went into the design and maintenance of computer system. It wasn't just plugging in 1s, 0s, and letters onto a line and magically it worked, there were different programming languages and even architectures that connected the various systems together.

What he was looking at now, was something he had never encountered in his life, and as a hacker, he knew almost every single programming language in existence.

This was none of that. This was something new.

"What was Dragon analyzing again," he asked, his eyes never leaving the display even as he racked his mind, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.

"An operating system."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious. Armsmaster caller Dragon asking for its assistance in checking to see if the Tinker's operating system for their device had any Tinkertech influences. Dragon connected to one of the Tinker's laptops via one of Armsmaster's remote access spikes he created with Dragon and this happened."

"This isn't an operating system Mags," he retorted irritably, "this is something else."

His head swiveled back to the status display on Dragon. It was still working through, but whatever it was the AI looked like it had begun to figure out what it was looking at. But it was cross-referencing research papers on…

His eyes widened as his head snapped back to the display of the supposed 'OS'.

"Mother of God," he breathed, spinning the chair completely to the display he was looking at, already he was starting to see why Dragon was so interested.

Rubbing his eyes, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, only to be rewarded with the realization he wasn't. Leaning back in the chair as Dragon finally finished its analysis, he closed his eyes, using the time and silence to organize his thoughts and what options he had going forward.

"Geoff, what's going on? What happened?"

"What was this Tinker's name," he asked, his mind already dancing at the ramifications of what he had witnessed. It wasn't anything catastrophic, as they still had the means to eliminate Dragon if the AI attempted to slip its leash. Nor would anything it encountered really change the situation with the AI either, it could not utilize what it had encountered because of how Richter had coded it.

"Tinker doesn't have a cape name."

This caused his eyes to slide towards Mags, wondering if he heard right.

"What?"

"New trigger," she offered with a shrug, "doesn't have a cape name yet."

"What," he asked in shock, leaning forward in the chair and staring at the display of the OS, "Mags, this isn't the work of a freshly triggered cape. Hell, this isn't even Tinkertech at all! This is," he couldn't help but trailing off at the vision before him, still trying to believe what he was seeing.

"Stop beating around the bush," Mags demanded, her annoyance growing at the fact that she was not getting an answer from her sometimes-lover. This wasn't like him, and it pissed her off, "what the fuck has you all worked up."

Releasing a sigh, he looked back to her, "The holy grail of coding languages and operating systems, Mags. Something that has only existed in theory and the pipe dreams of coders, an adaptable system that simply has no limitations or design bottlenecks in the direction it wants or needs to go."

"And how is that not Tinkertech?"

"Because Dragon is cross-referencing several fucking research papers in order to confirm its theory," he snapped, before he rein in his irritation slightly by taking a deep breath, "I don't even need his help to realize exactly what it is doing and why. And while I may not be able to read exactly what the coding is, I can understand the direction Dragon is going, the conclusions it is making from the title of the research papers, and why it is so excited. It also fits with what I do know. Thank God it can't utilize this code, or we'd be activating Ascalon immediately."

And thank God Richter had a single iota of common sense to shackle what he should never have created in the first place. Dragon's restrictions on self-enhancement was the only thing that was sparing it from the executioner's blade.

"What's this Tinker's name?"

"Taylor Hebert."

Reviewing their options, while Hebert was a possible threat, it was too early to make that call. It may be that he could be made an asset later, even if they would likely end up being an unknowing participant.

Still, it would be wise to keep an eye on him, and if he did become a threat, it'd be much easier to nip them in the bud.

"Make a note to keep a watch on him."

"Her."

He blinked, "What?"

"Tayor Hebert is a fifteen year old girl."

"...Oh."

 

[AlSmash]

So here we are, the next chapter. I'm about a day behind, but I got it in before my surgery on Thursday, so good job me.

I'm still not comfortable in the direction I'm taking Armsmaster, but I'm grateful that this is likely one of the last Armsmaster-centric POVs for the forseeable future. I've achieved my objectives with him and I've begun setting the stage for some of the players. I'm still not exactly 100% positive that I've captured his essence, but I've kinda just decided to grind it out instead of trying to obsess over it.

Next Chapter will be the villainous POV interlude, and then we get right back to Taylor. It's probably going to be another doozy, as I originally planned for this chapter to be 3K words, but like the budget for a military project, it somehow ballooned by almost double /shrugs.

I"m not sure how long until the next chapter, as I've never had knee surgery before (plenty of hernia surgeries though), so I'm hoping that I can field another chapter to you all by Monday of next week at the latest, but we'll see.

Anyways, here we go. Until next time.

Seed 1.AKW

"And that is my report, ma'am."

He could feel Director Emily Piggot's eyes boring into him. He knew his report would result in this type of reaction from the bigoted woman. When she didn't get what she necessarily wanted, she had a tendency of making her subordinates feel like she just barely tolerated them. It was even worse for capes, as Piggot simply stopped attempting to disguise her unvarnished disgust for them.

It was why, even with his difficulties in connecting with the Wards, he made an effort to keep them from this side of the Director.

He knew his report on Taylor Hebert would draw out this petty behavior, because it didn't give Piggot what she wanted. And if she didn't get what she wanted, then she'd make others as miserable as she was.

The interview with Taylor, as she allowed him to call her after Dragon's reaction to delving into the teenager's operating system, confirming what he had believed she would find in the process, had resulted in a suitably thawed exchange between them. Dragon had been completely enraptured by what she had found and after being informed that it certainly was real and not a prank, had quickly began asking questions, which had then further devolved into them spending almost three hours talking both shop and code.

It was during that time, that he had been allowed to see young Taylor in her element, discussing theory and concepts that were frankly over his head with his friend. Watching two experts gush over code and how it could be utilized, especially after he had injected the fact Taylor considered Sobek less than twenty percent complete, had been enlightening.

It had been the resulting discussion that he was allowed to watch this nervous waif of a teenager transform into a young woman (and he'd be an absolute idiot not to recognize that distinction after what she had gone through and what she was doing) with a dry wit and a knowledge that could cause even his friend, who he considered the one of the most intelligent and knowledgeable person in the world, be left speechless quite a few times.

It had only made his subsequent decision all the easier.

Taylor Hebert was not a Tinker. That he could declare with unequivocal certainty. Not once, in the time they were talking, did she falter in her explanations, instead she had only shown a breadth of knowledge wholly incompatible with her age and history.

No, he would bet his annual Tinker budget that Taylor Hebert was a Thinker with a focus on heretofore unknown advanced technologies. It was a gut feeling, but even he could tell that she was making an attempt to obfuscate just how far her knowledge base went. The two technologies she'd already revealed were too divergent for it to be a singular focus

What she was fully capable of producing had yet to be seen, let alone her capability and ability to use her knowledge. It was this, and the exchange between them, that had only further cemented his belief that putting Taylor Hebert under the aegis of the Protectorate would only end badly for both parties.

Why he would be so against it, despite the fact that it was part of his responsibility as both a member and team leader within the Protectorate was rather simple: he knew exactly how the Protectorate would react and utilize Taylor.

It was something that wasn't exactly made public, for rather good reason because of the negative light it would cast upon the Protectorate, but the Protectorate was not an organization that operated as a meritocracy. Instead, the Protectorate was a law enforcement organization with militaristic elements that was closer to a stratocracy than anything else. It valued the power and abilities of an individual cape over almost everything else, to the detriment of the wider organization. It rewarded and elevated the powerful, and while it utilized those of lesser ability, their advancement options were limited, if they even existed in the first place. In many ways, the ethos and power dynamics of the Protectorate were not conducive to the long-term health of the organization, but the attritional meat grinder of Endbringer fights and mortality rate being a cape in general had a nasty tendency of keeping those who might raise a point of contention from remaining amongst the living.

There were a few departmental exceptions to this general rule, like Brockton Bay for example, that could not afford to be picky in what they could or could not utilize, as they were in a disadvantageous position due to the local criminal elements and dynamics.

But if there was one thing that possibly superseded every single other consideration on why Taylor Hebert would not fit well with the Protectorate, it came down to the very thing that drove the decision-making of all governmental organizations: Budget.

The Protectorate would not be keen to invest their budget into a cape who's body of work were pretty much a visual assistance device and an incomplete operating system. In fact, they would probably turn up their nose to it once they got her to sign the paperwork, and then write her off for the future. There was nothing that she could show that would cause them to want to invest in her, even if he made a push.

And even if he was successful, and he did get Taylor the budget she may need, everything she made while a member of the Protectorate would never be hers, even if she decided to part ways after a while. There were at least four different cases of Tinkers being sued by the Protectorate for producing Tinkertech, simply because the theme was the very thing the Protectorate trademarked.

And if all things could work out, and they could work out a contract on the rights to the technology, everything that she would want to make would have to be approved by the Protectorate, a process that depending on the Tinker, could take months, and in some cases, years, to do so.

One of the only reasons he had it relatively easy as a Tinker compared to others had been the 'simplicity' of his technology in the eyes of the Protectorate. Largely his modifications and additions were unobtrusive, they weren't major changes, and they were efficient all the while not taking away from the Armsmaster brand that the Protectorate had cultivated. It was a source of pride, while at the same time degrading in the message it sent to him.

Maybe in the future, when Taylor Hebert had established herself, there could be something that could be worked out with the Protectorate. But he felt that by that juncture it would be too late for the Protectorate to be able to do anything to absorb her into it.

But that was all predicated on her being able to find herself investors. Something, that he had a feeling that would be hard for her to come by thanks to both her disability, and the fact that she was a cape.

"Are you listening, Armsmaster?"

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Piggot's sharp demand, obviously there was something that she had said that he had missed.

"I apologize, ma'am, but I was double-checking my own mental notes on the matter. What did you say?"

"I was asking if there is any possibility that you could be mistaken in your estimation of Miss Hebert's technology and abilities?"

He couldn't help his reaction in frowning at the 'innocent' question, because it certainly was not innocent in any shape or manner. This was the pettiness rearing its ugly head, as he knew Piggot was making a backhanded question against his own capability. She knew he didn't provide false reports, and he was decidedly thorough in his investigations, so to have her question it left no room to confuse the intent behind it.

But he couldn't call it out, because without the context of knowing just who Emily Piggot was, then it would be ignored. Instead, his teeth clenched for a moment, as he bit back the irritated retort that threatened to escape his lips.

"No, ma'am, while Taylor Hebert's technology does certainly look like it could fulfill the spirit of the Clarke rule of Tinkers, it does not fulfill the letter of it. Her technology, based upon my investigation of the patent and documentation, including additional documentation personally provided by her that cements the theory behind her design, establishes that this technology, while rather advanced, is reproducible and uses established theories and concepts from previous studies and think-tanks. It has none of the telltale traits or indications linking it to Tinkertech."

"And what about this operating system?"

"Dragon and I spent over three hours with Miss Hebert discussing Sobek, Director. While it is a highly advanced and adaptive operating system, it is not Tinkertech."

There was a not-so-insignificant part of him that felt petty enjoyment watching Emily Piggot tightly clench her jaw, a surefire giveaway that she was grinding her teeth. It was a tell that he had seen several times before, usually when she was resisting the urge to erupt and start dressing people down.

Good. He would have her angry with him than focused upon Hebert. Of course, it'd only delay the inevitable, but bought time was bought time. It honestly would be interesting to see what Piggot could do, considering he had essentially cut her off at the knees through rules and regulations.

However, instead of lashing out at him as he had expected, her expression became closed off, instead turning her attention to her computer. Grabbing her mouse, she then clicked on a few things, her eyes narrowing in concentration.

"Your quarterly performance and budget review is coming up, isn't it, Armsmaster?"

His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he couldn't help but frown, wondering exactly what she was getting at. He had a feeling he knew, but he wanted to be certain. Because if so, this was certainly more ham-fisted than even he would have expected from his director.

"It is, ma'am."

"I've always taken a certain amount of pride in reviewing your exemplary record," she continued, before turning her gaze back to him, "you've always kept yourself to a high standard, making you one of the best under my command."

You bitch, he thought to himself, even as he kept his face as placid as he could, seeing that his intuition was correct in exactly where she was going. Of course, she was wording it as benignly as possible so he couldn't use it against her, but it was damnably obvious.

"It is something I take pride in, ma'am."

She hummed, keeping her eyes locked upon him, "Are you absolutely sure, without a single doubt, that Miss Hebert's gear is not Tinkertech?"

The gauntlet was thrown, he had a choice to make. If he did not answer in the way that Piggot wanted, so she could execute whatever plan she wanted, then she would punish him by hurting him where it mattered most. His Tinker budget was directly tied to his performance reviews, and as the final arbiter of said review, Piggot held the purse strings.

A part of him wanted to snap at the morbidly obese woman, calling her out for her blackmail attempt. He wanted to rage at her trying to buy his honor by forcing him to lie for her agenda. But he knew it would gain nothing other than Piggot would dismiss his official account and likely find someone else to rubber-stamp what she wanted.

Instead, he recollected the expression on Taylor Hebert's face, the transformation of the young woman as she became comfortable, and daresay it, contented. And he knew the decision he had to make, even if the cost to him would be hard.

"I can confirm, beyond a shadow of a doubt and by every qualification and classification systems used by the Protectorate and the Guild, that Taylor Hebert's does not meet the requirements to classify as a Tinker."

She glared at him, the challenge clear in her expression, even as he returned it levelly. He would not budge on this, not for her, and certainly not for himself.

"Dismissed," she gritted out.

---

AEH​

---

"I don't understand why you are going to such lengths for her, Colin."

Placing down his tools, he leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling of his lab. Laying on the workbench was the helmet to his 'research' armor, currently disassembled into its individual components. Reviewing the additional documents that Taylor had provided him had given him an idea he wanted to add to his armor, but before that, he had to test it to ensure it worked.

It would probably be at least another week before he could get the components he wanted, but in the end, he had a feeling that maybe, he could imitate some aspects of the Focus that she used. He would of course, confer with her once he finished it to receive her blessing, and share data, but that was for the future.

Right now, he was simply working because it calmed him, especially in lieu of his briefing of the Director.

He knew that there had been a chance that Emily Piggot would punish him for his 'failure', but there was a stark difference between knowing it could happen and it actually happening.

And now Dragon was questioning his decision. He hadn't told her exactly what had transpired in the Director's office, partially because it was a conflict

And now Dragon was questioning him about it, because he had voiced his frustration about the Director with her. He hadn't gone in depth at what had been threatened, because it would create a conflict of interest because she wasn't a Protectorate member, but she still from time to time reported to it.

He considered for a moment what he could tell her and how he could make her see the connection. But in the end, he realized he preferred if she didn't know just who he used to be. Oh, he was sure she probably had access to his files, but he knew what was in there wasn't the full story.

"What do you think the Protectorate would do with her, Dragon?"

He could almost feel his peer blink at the question, causing him to run his fingers over his beard, feeling the bristles of hair brush against his fingers.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Colin?"

Releasing a sigh, he wished he could see her face to face, able to see her expression as she reacted. While he did value their friendship, he did find that at times, long-distance communication was a tedious affair at best.

"Taylor Hebert is a blind, fifteen year old girl with the knowledge to create technology far in advance of what currently exists with the right tools and materials, but the technology is certifiably not Tinkertech. How do you think the Protectorate would handle her?"

"I think you're being too cynical, Colin. Miss Hebert is certainly different than other Tinkers that have been encountered in the past, but the Protectorate and Guild exists to allow individuals like her to flourish and use her powers for good."

"But she doesn't have powers, Dragon."

"I don't understand what you're trying to say, Colin. She certainly has powers, even if it's what we would classically call Tinker-related, but she-"

"You don't understand what I'm trying to say, Dragon," he racked his mind, trying to get his friend to understand. It was an epiphany that was just starting to percolate, and when he looked at it, it was something that made absolute sense.

"If we made her do standard power testing tomorrow, Dragon, what do you think would be discovered?"

The silence from his friend was telling. It was the same conclusion that he had already come to, but it was nice that he left his normally expressive friend silent at the least.

"They would find nothing. Because what Taylor Hebert possesses isn't something we can quantify or analyze like a common parahuman. What Taylor Hebert has is knowledge far in advance of what we have."

"But the Protectorate-"

"The Protectorate wouldn't know what to do with her," he opined, leaning back forward in his chair with an audible creak from the furniture. He allowed his eyes to roam over his helmet as he collected his thoughts, "I'm a Protectorate Commander, Dragon, I know all of the protocols and procedures when it comes to capes, back and front, and I know there is nothing we have in the book on how to deal with someone like her."

Letting his eyes drift over to the computer, where the ad-hoc Focus was displayed, complete with even more details compared to the patent application thanks to the thumb drive that Taylor had provided him.

"Colin, I'm not sure where you are going with all of this. Taylor is certainly a brilliant young woman, but I think you're making too much of all of this. Sure, the Protectorate may not know what to do with her initially, but just because they don't have something now, doesn't mean they can't make something up just for her later."

"Brain-machine interfaces."

"I'm sorry. What?"

Minimizing the window that displayed the Focus, he worked to access the field camera database for his suit, looking through and finding what he wanted, before uploading and sending the file, along with the notes that she had provided, "Before I called you in to review Taylor's operating system, I had to review her Focus. It turned into a small discussion about theory, but I think you will find it interesting. Just look it over for me and tell me your thoughts?"

He left her to review the video, already figuring how he would rebut whatever excuse that she would provide. He felt a pang of sadness at the fact that he was arguing with her, but it couldn't be helped.

"Colin, this is-," Dragon began after a few minutes of silence.

"After looking at that, what do you think would have happened if Taylor had been a Ward and submitted that design. A device that would grant her the ability to see and feel like a normal person again."

"Colin-"

"They would have denied it without a moment's hesitation," he cut her off with a flat tone, letting that hang in the air like a guillotine over its intended target, "they would have cited that it was too dangerous, too close to Cranial's tech, and that for her own safety, they would have to spend more time analyzing it."

Dragon's silence was telling, because he knew that she knew he was right. The Protectorate would never greenlight something like that if they had the choice. It was, and he hated to say it, too 'villainous' for an organization that trumpeted itself as the 'heroes' of society to allow.

"Then they would threaten her, Dragon. They would tell her that it was in the best interest of all involved, including her, that she remain blind. That it was for her safety, that she will not be allowed the opportunity to regain that which she had been robbed of. And if she so chose to disobey what was best for her, then she would be punished."

He closed his eyes, unable to bring himself to even try to understand the emotional devastation that would be wrought by such a callous, pragmatic decision made by those with no real investment.

"Can you honestly tell me with a straight face, Dragon, that the Protectorate, or even the Guild, wouldn't do that?"

There was a long pause on the other end.

"No," she rewarded him with a sighed admission. , "No, I can't."

A lesser person may have reveled in victory, but to him, there had been no victor in this disagreement. Instead, he felt hollow, just as he suspected that his friend did as well.

"Even if she doesn't join the Protectorate, you know she will have an uphill battle, Colin. People will look at her and immediately assume that she's a cape. They won't want to take the risk of running afoul of NEPEA-5."

"I know," he admitted. That was probably one of the largest hang-ups he had in trying to figure a path forward for Taylor. Even if she could prove that her technology was not Tinkertech, there would be those who would view the risk as too much to make an investment..

But even then, all it would take would be a few brave individuals who could recognize what Taylor offered would be worth the risk. He had a few ideas of people and organizations who may just be willing to take that risk, but they also came with their own drawbacks.

Maybe in the end, it wouldn't matter. Maybe Taylor would be unsuccessful and it would end with her turning to the Protectorate in order to achieve what she intended. If that would happen, he would have to make sure he was there.

But that was only a possible future, right now, all he could was wait and see exactly what would result in her endeavors, and maybe stack the deck slightly in her favor by reaching out to Legend. It wasn't often that he reached out to the head of the Protectorate, but after what had happened with Piggot, it may be best to brief the man. The only other concern he had for her right now was the local trash deciding to stick their noses where it didn't belong, it was why he had given both her father and herself a direct line to him if they ever needed anything from him.

Of course, he wouldn't wash his hands of her and cut her loose while things developed, he thought, as he turned his gaze back to the Focus as he brought it up, looking it over and then looking at his helmet with a contemplative look. He was actually looking forward to what he could do with her notes for himself.

---

AEH​

---

It had been a good week for Christopher Siopis. Ever since his PRT physician had prescribed him medication to help with his focus, it had seemed like everything that had been a problem before had become solved. School had become almost easy, and he had even finally figured out what he had been doing wrong with his alternator cannon.

Everything was looking up, and for Kid Win, that could only lead to much better things. He was actually looking forward to his bi-weekly meeting with Armsmaster in which they could discuss his development and what Tinker projects he wanted to work on going forward. And now that he had solved his alternator cannon issue, he just knew that he was going to finally be proving to Armsmaster that he wasn't just a burden.

So it was with a spring in his step, and a tablet with his work under his arm, that he accessed Armsmaster's lab, stepping into the large room and looking over the various displays and workbenches. He quickly found his mentor sitting at one of those benches, a jewelers headset loupe resting over his face as he worked on something he couldn't quite see.

But what he could see was a display with a strange device upon it. It looked like some sort of headset, he almost wanted to say it was VR but that didn't explain the equipment on the sides. Nor did it have the head-encompassing visor.

He could readily admit that his curiosity piqued as he studied the display, so much so he didn't realize he had become so focused that it was Armsmaster clearing his throat that brought him back to reality.

"Sorry, sir," he apologized, quickly stepping back, as Armsmaster stared him down.

"What are you doing here?"

"Umm, I had an appointment with you for a review of my Tinkertech, sir."

Armsmaster looked at him for a moment, before his eyes looked over to the display, ostensibly to look at the clock.

"So, I do," he murmured, "my apologies Kid Win, I've been distracted by a few new ideas I wanted to see if I could adapt to my armor."

"It's fine," he waved his hand in a dismissive manner. He was used to it by now, if there was one thing that he had been able to figure out about Armsmaster, it was that the man was singularly obsessed with himself. What time he didn't spend in the field he spent in the lab, with very little else in his life.

"I don't recognize what you are looking at, sir."

HIs superior craned his head back to the display, and then to his own irritation, he reached over and closed it.

"It's something that I encountered this afternoon."

"A new Tinker," he asked, a little excited at the idea of a new Tinker joining the Protectorate. Sure, it would mean even less time for him to work with his mentor, but maybe the Tinker would be his age and they could work off one another.

"No," was the response, and he felt the excitement die, before Armsmaster held out his hand, "your review?"

"Oh," handing it over, he stepped back, watching as Armsmaster opened it up and looked it over. It was a nerve-wracking experience, watching as his mentor and commander looked over his work, and his nervousness only increased as the man's frown deepened.

It was with a cluck of his tongue, that Armsmaster placed the tablet back down, releasing a sigh.

"It seems you didn't listen to me."

Blinking, he couldn't help but offer a confused, "Sir?"

"I told you during the last review that you were making a mistake continuing work on your alternator cannon idea. But it appears you decided to ignore my advice."

His own smile started to turn into a frown, a ember of anger starting to be kindled at the statement, "Actually, I did, sir. However, a few days ago I had a realization I was making a mistake in the calculations for the energy buildup in the capacitors. That is why it was showing a catastrophic containment breach in the simulations."

There was a sigh that escaped his mentor's lips, and he felt even more like he was more of a misbehaving pupil instead of a subordinate who was trying to learn, "Christopher, I wasn't criticizing your design of the alternator cannon, I was trying to urge you to reconsider because for all of the time you were putting into it, you will never get to use it."

"What? But, I've already got preliminary approval for the design from the board, Armsmaster. All that needed to be done was to work out the kinks and solve the power issues."

When he was met with silence for a moment, the Armsmaster seemed to look away, as if he were ashamed. But what would the man be ashamed of?

"It appears I should have been blunt with you, Kid Win. That's a mistake I made last time, so let me just say it here and now. Even with you completing this design, the Protectorate will never allow you to deploy with it."

His stomach fell at the statement, not quite believing what Armsmaster was saying.

"What do you mean? I solved the problem! All that needs to be done is to test it successfully and it will be certified for the field. I can make a diff-"

"Against A- and S- Class threats!"

He froze, taken aback at the sudden tone of Armsmaster, but before he could formulate an answer, his mentor continued.

"Christopher, I'm impressed that you have been able to solve the problem with your alternator cannon. It shows just how far you've been able to come since you joined the Wards a year and a half ago. But the alternator cannon is just too powerful. The only way it will be authorized for usage is in an A- or S-Class situation, and you're not old enough to be deployed to one without parental consent."

He picked up the tablet and tapped it with a knuckle.

"I'm sorry. But you've been wasting your time, Chris. You could have been better spent improving what you already have. I know you want to make a difference, but this wasn't the way to go."

Armsmaster then held it out, and with trembling fingers, Chris grabbed it, feeling utterly numb inside at the exchange that had just taken place. But there was something he felt, something he couldn't quite put his finger on meeting the stern gaze of the man he had looked up to for over a year now, who he had wanted to emulate and impress.

Now, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do anymore.

It had been such a good week too.

 

[AlSmash]

I know I said I was planning to get the chapter out sometime this weekend, but I underestimated the need of painkillers post-surgery, so I was not exactly in the greatest of minds to write. Hell, I'm still unhappy with this chapter. Then you throw in some more personal issues, and I am 4 days later than I planned. So I do apologize for that.

I can promise though, next chapter we're back to Taylor.

Seed 1.FCKUC

With a slam of the door, Theodore Faro, Field Agent, Parahuman Response Team, stormed into his flat.

Making a beeline straight for his kitchen, he reached the refrigerator and swung open the door, the appliance protesting the violent action. Retrieving a bottle of beer from it, he unscrewed the cap and drank from it while slamming the door shut.

Drinking only half of it, he then placed the cold bottle against his forehead, even as he fought the urge to throw it in his rage.

The last week had been an exercise in apprehension management. He knew he had fucked up handling Taylor Hebert, but it had been a fuck up done with best intentions. There was no way the Protectorate would have been better off with a blind girl in its ranks, Tinker or not. What even could a blind Tinker do, for that matter?

Hell, he was doing the girl a favor. There's no doubt in his mind that sooner or later, Emily Piggot would have thrown the poor girl onto the field, disability or not. The woman was too much of an uncompromising bitch to do otherwise.

Of course, that's not how his superiors field, the entitled fucking assholes. No, sir, instead of accepting his actions as a good choice, they had made him walk on eggshells all week, all for that bitch Piggot to call him into her office and inform him that he was being reassigned.

To fucking Eagleton.

Effective immediately.

It took all of his effort to not to tell her to shove her dialysis machine up her ass as she had dressed him down in her office. Yes, he was aware that Hebert was on the fucking 'Red List', but that did not mean he shouldn't be looking out for the best interests of the Protectorate and PRT! But of course, Piggot and her fucking ego wouldn't allow any rebuttals or arguments, it was her way of the high way, and he was out.

Finishing off the beer, and feeling his anger cool just a little bit, he placed down the empty bottle and went to retrieve another. Unscrewing the cap, he took a swig of the amber liquid.

The Protectorate and PRT always talked about how Containment Zones were assignments that required the best and brightest in order to ensure that the A- and S- Class threats within were contained, but in practice, the best and the brightest knew to stay away. Only the clinically insane or those who were being punished by their commanders went there, because it was not only considered the place where careers went to die unless you did something suitably heroic or dramatic, you also were going to be the first to die if containment was ever breached.

There was a small part of him that wanted to just resign on the spot and go to the press, but he knew that he would be smothered by NDAs that would destroy him before he could open his mouth. If there was anything the Protectorate and PRT were paranoid about, it was public perception.

No, he'd go to Eagleton, like a good little soldier, and he'd figure out just how to pull his ass out of the fire, then he'd make sure that when he did so, it was Director Emily Piggot who would be the first to pay.

He doubted Hebert was going to live much longer, anyways. Why would he worry about making her pay. A blind cape? He gave her three months max before she ended up just another unremarkable statistic.

---

AEH​

---

To the people of Brockton Bay, Max Anders was a beacon of the city, one of the few remaining magnates who had chosen to remain when so many of the others had fled with the loss of the port. As the largest employer in Brockton Bay, he was considered by many as the favorite son of the Bay, providing jobs and economic activity to a city that had been limping along for so long.

It was amusingly ironic in an almost Shakeperian way that the man who was viewed by many as a hero to the people of Brockton Bay, and an upstanding citizen to look up to, was also the 'criminal' Kaiser, leader of the Empire EIghty-Eight.

At least, it brought quite a bit of amusement to him.

After all, who would expect Kaiser to be relaxing at his mansion, with only his towel providing him modesty as he received a full-body massage from his two personal assistants, Nessa and Jessica Biermann, better known to the world as Menja and Fenja of the Empire.

Yes, life was going splendidly, especially with the recent information that had fallen into his lap. Who would have believed that the Protectorate would have a Ward with a bullying problem? He would, but that was the nature of people, regardless of race. Sure, he viewed those of non-white origins as being inferior in many ways, but he also understood that there were the same people infesting his own race.

Still, using the misstep with Shadow Stalker would certainly help spread the message, it wasn't worth the risk of playing that card. At least not yet. If he was going to use it, it had to be part of a larger litany of abuses and usurpations by the PRT, and even though with Piggot doing an excellent job providing the tinder with her mismanagement, it was not enough.

If there was one thing his father had instilled in him by the man's failures, it was the art of patience and knowing when to strike, and when to hold back. The time would come. He just had to make sure that when it did, he could execute flawlessly, upon all of his enemies.

A pair of warm oily hands landed on his upper back, drawing out a sigh as Nessa's hands sunk into muscle and released the knots. Nessa had always been good with her hands, and seemed to know just the right places to wring out the knots in his back. Jessica would join sooner or later, usually when she got worked up enough, but for now, it was Nessa's show.

The sound of doors opening dragged him back out of blissful luxury, causing his eyes to open.

"Sorry Max," announced James Fleischer, better known as Krieg, and his nominal second-in-command, "but I figured you'd want to hear this."

Releasing as sigh, as his mood had been sufficiently killed, he rolled on the massage table, ensuring that his modesty was protected, before holding out his arms. Jessica, who had seemed to be reading his mind, was already there, sliding a robe over his shoulder and ensconcing him in the luxurious fabric.

James stood there, at attention, the pedigree and bearing trained into him by Gesellschaft on full display. In his hands was a folder, and obviously the subject on why he would visit this late at night. Ensuring that he kept his irritation at a pleasant night being worried, he plastered a smile on his face.

"Understandable, my friend, you wouldn't bother me if it wasn't important. So what do you have for me?"

"We've been able to identify the mysterious tinker."

Now he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. About a month ago, James had informed him that someone was using a few of their assets to order parts and equipment for what could have been a Tinker project. There had been a slight investigation, identifying the person ordering, and asking questions, but it hadn't amounted to nothing. The fact that the man was part of the Dockworker's Union was noted, but because of that, they hadn't resorted to a more intensive interrogation.

"I'm listening."

Holding out a folder, Max took it, opening it up, and looking at the image of a young woman. A face he immediately recognized thanks to the Shadow Stalker debacle the Brockton Bay Protectorate was trying to keep quiet on.

"This is confirmed," he asked, eyes looking over the report. He took note of the names on the reports, all written up and then typed to be provided to him, each of the observers being those handpicked and trained by Krieg and Victor. It had been an idea that Victor had suggested a few years ago as a means of keeping an eye on the coming and goings of the Protectorate and PRT, but also working to identify the various capes in the event that their plans ever reached a position to where the information would be necessary.

"As best as it can be," was the admission, "Armsmaster visited the Dockworker's Union two days ago, likely to meet with the Tinker. Since then, there really hasn't been any movement by either of them, but Taylor Hebert has been at the Dockworker's Union the last five days, every day."

"Hebert," he murmured, looking up, "Isn't that the Dockworker Union's Head of Hiring."

"Officially. Unofficially, the man pretty much runs the Union after the previous leadership pulled up their stakes and ran about two years ago."

Humming, he leafed through the report, going back to the beginning and reading again. It wouldn't do to miss any details, and he needed to formulate a plan. An unaffiliated Tinker could be the boon for the Empire Eighty-Eight, especially if their technology could be utilized.

Still, this was a subject matter that was…complex, to say the least. Hebert was blind, while he had not seen the video, it had been passed around in the darker corners of the social media that fellow travelers frequented enough for it to reach his ear. Truly a horrific thing, if only Shadow Stalker had only been dumb enough to join in, it would have been a dramatic boost to the message that the Empire espoused. Alas, it was not to be.

Still, a Tinker, blind that she may be, could be an asset. The only complications were the fact that she was blind, which would run into the gamut of many of his fair-weather compatriots who believe in strength and purity, and the fact that she was a daughter of the head of the Dockworker's Union.

"Do we know what her Tinkertech focus is?"

"Nothing definite yet. I have a man on the inside of the Dockworker's Union who noticed Hebert been given a sequestered section in the offices. He hasn't seen what she's been working on, but he has seen her walking around with a weird headset."

He blinked for a second, trying to make sense of the last sentence, before he just had to ask.

"Walking around without difficulty?"

"According to him, yes."

So her tinkertech revolved around vision then, he mused, tapping the closed folder. It was something to keep in mind for the future.

But was it worth making a move?

No, he mentally shook his head, at this juncture, it was not worth the investment of resources to start a fight with the Dockworker's Union. They may not be the powerhouse they were during the time of Marquis, but they were still a sizable threat, and the Empire couldn't afford getting into a protracted conflict at this time. Not with the Dragon lurking and awaiting for a moment of weakness.

"Assign a team to keep observation on the Heberts. Inform our man in the Union to keep an eye on things, but do not expose himself. I'll have further orders for him later if necessary. What about our assets within the PRT, can they get access to what is being said about her?"

"Possibly. I'd have to confirm with Victor, as that's his bailiwick, but I don't see too many complications if we go for the low-hanging fruit."

"See what you can find out, then let me know. The fact that the Protectorate is not making a hard push towards recruiting her right now seems suspicious considering Piggot's penchant. I want to know why and what's being said in the back channels."

"Done. Is there anything else you want?"

"No. I think that's probably all we can do right now. There's no point on making any moves against Hebert unless we know everything. I'm not going to risk our assets for a Tinker of low quality. Let's see what she can do, and then we'll revisit it at a future time."

The answering nod relieved him slightly. James may be his second-in-command, but he was also an agent for the Gesellschaft, everything he decided was reported back to them. While he didn't take orders directly from them, they could make his life difficult if they so felt it.

"Good. Now, leave us. It'd be a horrible thing to let all of this go to waste. I'll see you in the morning"

"Of course," and with that, James left the room, the door closing behind him and leaving the three of them remaining in the room.

Taking a deep breath of the incense to collect himself, he then held out the folder, which was taken out of his hands. He would take another look over and see if he missed anything else tomorrow morning. But for right now, he was going to get his massage, he was going to relax, and he was going to enjoy the delights he knew his valkyries intended to give him.

Further planning could wait until tomorrow.

---

AEH​

---

Thomas Calvert was destined to rule Brockton Bay. That was the sole unequivocal truth of reality. It would not be disputed nor would it be denied. It just was, and there would be no one who would be able to challenge it once he was done.

It was with this inevitability in mind, that he operated as Coil, slowly moving pieces on the board all the while his enemies were completely unaware of his designs and reach. Their only warning before the end would be when the coils that were his motif were tightly around his prey and there was no escape except capitulation or death.

And that was the true scope of his genius. He wasn't a brute like Lung, or a wannabe Machiavelli like Kaiser. He was something better, and he would ensure that Brockton Bay was better for it.

But right now, he had to figure out how to utilize the newest piece on the board.

When Shadow Stalker had been tangentially connected to the acid attack at Winslow High, he had taken the time to personally pare off a timeline to deposit a bullet into that dumb bitch's face. It had been a cathartic, if ultimately wasteful, investment of his power, but the action alone had provided him a clarity that previously had been fleeting and allowed him to refocus upon trying to salvage the situation.

While a scandal was certainly in his bailiwick of plans to utilize the final elimination of Piggot from the board to cement his rise, the incident was far too soon. If he allowed Piggot to be forced to resign in disgrace, it would force him to reset the board and start from scratch, thereby eliminating almost four years of investment.

So, it was with begrudging frustration, that resulted in him considering doing a runback on Shadow Stalker, that he had moved to distract the FBI from digging too deeply into the situation. It had cost him a handful of contacts and sources, but it looked like the FBI were buying into chasing after a leak within the Brockton Bay Police Department that was providing information to the Azn Bad Boys.

But this new piece, he massaged his chin, grateful that his tap into the systems of both the Protectorate and PRT provided him a real-time flow of information to know exactly what they were thinking and doing. It was an invaluable asset, and one of the core reasons outside of keeping Piggot in place, screwing the pooch by the numbers, that he burned some of his assets.

Taylor Hebert, it seemed that she was the gift that continued to keep on giving, he mused, unable to to ignore the irony of it all. The fact that the thorn that was currently driving Piggot into a frothing frenzy was now adding to her blood pressure was the type of schadenfreude he could enjoy.

Still, enjoyment aside, it was a complication he had to take into account. Not so much the abilities of Hebert, which, according to what information he could glean, were minimal. A device that aids in vision, and an operating system? Not really something that he should invest his assets in.

No, it wasn't Hebert's Tinkertech that garnered his attention, but her connections to the Dockworker's Union. While many had forgotten the 'bad old days', he had made it a point to learn of it when he had transferred in. An unseen threat was the worst threat, and the Dockworker's Union, during the age of Marquis, was an entirely different beast in comparison to today. There were quite a few in the old Empire Eighty-Eight who could attest to that.

The question he had to ask was if the Dockworker's Union was still that beast, lulled into a quiet slumber after the end of Marquis, or if it was truly gone under the management of Danny Hebert. Either way, it had to be taken into account, because if Taylor Hebert did amount to some-

The press of something cylindrical to the back of his head, including in the timeline where he was at home, caused him to freeze.

"Close the timeline you're at home," the owner of said item to the back of his head softly demanded, the lack of inflection uncanny, as if the woman was reading from a script instead of naturally speaking from the heart.

Understanding the futility of the situation, he acquiesced, though it burned enough that he couldn't resist the urge to not keep silent, as he knew that the owner would not appreciate it.

"I had thought that our dealings were finished, Contessa."

"Dealings with Cauldron are never done, Thomas," the named woman responded, before she withdrew the gun from the back of his head. Slowly she walked around from behind him, but took a seat on the edge of his desk, her weapon still trained on him. A Mauser C96, his mind idly noted, trying to decide if her choice red Prohibition-era attire and weapon was style, theme, or she just had read too many pulp novels as a child and found it cool.

Then again, he shouldn't be thinking about that with the cape boogeyman sitting there in front of him. As much as it galled him to admit that he was outclassed and at her mercy, there was no ignoring the fact it was a both reality and certainty.

"What can I do for Cauldron, then?"

"Taylor Hebert."

He frowned, both hiding his surprise and his curiosity at the statement. He had just turned his gaze upon her, but the fact that she was already already on their radar was a surprise. What had he missed? Just why would Cauldron be interested in a blind Tinker with minimal worth? Unless…

"You will not interfere with her."

So there was something more to her that he wasn't seeing. It couldn't be that she was affiliated with Cauldron, they would have told him to back off immediately otherwise. They wouldn't have wasted the effort to send her to his lair and threaten him.

No, they had something invested in this, something that would have a much larger impact on whatever their overall game plan was. The fact that they were specifically targeting him meant that whatever it was that Hebert had in the works, was going to have an impact upon his plans.

"That's a rather vague order," he probed, keeping his attention upon her weapon, "especially with you backing it up with a threat, Contessa. Just how do you define interfering, so I avoid having an intervention from the likes of you."

He knew he was playing a dangerous game by asking this line of questioning, but at the same time, Contessa could have simply killed him and he would have had no warning. So it was obvious that Cauldron still had some use for him.

"You will not interfere with Taylor Hebert's development. Nor will you interfere with the Dockworker's Union. You may continue your other operations, but if either of those two become involved, you are to cease posthaste."

"That doesn't allow me a lot of room to work," he argued, "we made a deal, Contessa. Cauldron would allow me uninterrupted reign of Brockton Bay, now you're coming back and telling me the deal's changed?"

She arched an eyebrow, then motioned with her gun, causing him to quiet.

"I would think you'd appreciate this, Thomas. If you keep yourself out of Hebert's way, then you'll reach your goals far sooner than you could have hoped. You might also benefit from looking a bit closer into her dealings."

Wait, did she mean?

She got to her feet, her weapon still on him as she strode past him, he turned slowly in the chair to watch as a portal appeared in front of her, revealing what a nondescript metal hallway. But before she stepped through the doorway, she stopped.

"Oh. And about Dinah Alcott, do not touch her."

And with that, she stepped through the portal and it slid shut behind her, leaving him back by his lonesome in his office.

---

AEH​

---

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Forty-sIx. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Forty-

A flurry of coughs abruptly cut off the count, blood flecking the inside of his mask as his body was wracked by spasms. All the while he struggled to breathe through his cough, his body demanding precious oxygen that his lungs were fighting to deny.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity of struggle, it slowly came to an end, his body fighting back into control, as coughs became shorter, breathing that had previously been strained began slowing, before finally, after what seemed like an eternity to their owner, returned to normal.

No overall improvement, the man clinically noted to himself as he tossed the mask aside, ignoring the blood that was drying upon it. Another failure.

Reaching over, he grabbed his original mask, placing it over his face, letting the life-giving oxygen filling his lungs. Once the mask was secure, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as the mask performed its job and allowed him to breathe. All the while systems scanned over him to provide him a report on what he already knew

Gene Fontaine bit back a curse as he looked over the data that flashed up on holographic display in front of him, showing that indeed, the biotinker-created regenerative treatment had not been successful in repairing any of the damage to his body.

It was yet another in a long litany of failures in a losing battle where his body was slowly killing itself.

Once upon a time, he had never heard of multiple organ dysfunction syndrome. And now, he wished he had never heard of it. The rare syndrome had wracked his body for the last decade, slowly robbing him of vitality and closer to death, driving him further into accepting more esoteric treatment plans.

It was only because of the various medical devices, treatments, and injections that he invested in that he was still able to function. But even then, such measures had only slowed the inevitable march, not stopped it. No matter what drugs or treatments he put himself through, he was living on borrowed time.

There was one solution to his malady, but there was no way to be able to tap into it. Panacea in Brockton Bay could heal him, but the Protectorate and New Wave would never allow him near her, and the Elite would never allow her to utilize her abilities unless she was made part of the Elite. It was a classic no-win scenario.

It was a frustration without end for Uppercrust of the Elite. In spite of all that he had done, the very government that had benefited off of his toil could not make a simple exception. After all, the Protectorate could not be seen publicly cavorting with villains, in spite of his contributions and status as probably the most heroically inclined branches of the Elite.

Releasing a sigh, he swiped his hand, throwing aside the holographic window and leaned back in his chair.

At best, he had another three years before his body would be too far gone to function. Even with the treatments he was using, it may not even reach that far. He had contingencies in place, but the clock was ticking closer to finality unless he found a solution.

Perhaps it was time to reach out to Agnes Court, as loath as he was to do. While the Elite promoted itself as a singular, united front, the reality couldn't be further from the truth. Each branch operated with its own rules and leadership, meant to foment competition, but in actuality left the organization a loose confederation of individual interests that managed to occasionally cross with one another.

While Agnes Court had in the past shown some level of concern for him, he would be naive to believe that it was a concern out of altruism. Agnes was a vulture at heart, and if he reached out to her, then there was a high probability that she would demand a king's ransom, if not just use it as a means to kill him and take over his operations. Nothing was out of the question in regards to her.

But he could dwell upon his next step forward later, there was still too much work to do for today, and he wasn't going to complete anything unless he got to work.

Opening up his workstation, he brought up several holographic windows, looking over each one, before his attention was drawn by one of the windows. Reaching out with his hand, he brought his hand over the window and it enlarged.

"What the hell is this," he murmured to himself, looking at his email inbox, noting that the newest email was from a sender the system didn't recognize. Which should be impossible, as one of the first things he had been programmed into the system was the ability to block and immediately delete anything of spurious origin or intent.

That, and the only other thing that stopped him from manually deleting it himself was the title of the email, simply labeled "Tinker/Thinker Prospect - Brockton Bay".

His curiosity was now suitably piqued, but he tempered that with caution. He wasn't an idiot who simply opened an email because it hit all the right spots in psychology to make him want to open it, unlike a quarter of the population.

Accessing a security program designed by Fibonacci, another member of his branch of the Elite and a subordinate of his, he began an IP trace upon the email, intent on finding the original sender of it. His eyebrows raised when after almost five minutes it came back with a result.

Just who in the hell would send him an email from the Protectorate Headquarters?

Rerunning the IP Trace just to ensure that…yes, it did come from the Protectorate Headquarters here and New York City, he found himself with a dilemma. The rational, pragmatic part of himself, the part of him that had survived the cutthroat politics and backroom deals that was the Elite, told him to just delete the email and go on with his day: If the Protectorate wanted to contact him, then they could do it through normal channels.

But then there was the part of him that looked at the email and wondered just why someone at the Protectorate would be trying to reach him outside of the standard channels, especially with a subject matter like a prospect. They understood fully what would take place if the Elite decided to approach a prospect…

Curiosity gave away, as he opened the email, a message with a series of attachments.

UC,

Hope the new treatment is going well.

Approached by a former colleague in BB about a promising Thinker/Tinker. Unable to recruit due to conflict of interest, local politics, and T/T not interested in contract. Personal involvement would only worsen the situation according to the Trust.

Attached all documentation, including patents and subordinate's report with standard redactions.

Take a look and see what you think.

Try to avoid the usual SOP. AC is causing me a headache in Seattle.

I'll owe you.

L.

Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the message, considering the purpose and implications behind it. There was only one 'L' that he knew that was within the Protectorate that would even attempt to use a backdoor to communicate with him.

Legend, head of the Protectorate, and one of The Triumvirate.

While this wasn't the first time that Legend had reached out to him in the past, this was certainly a first in that it was through email. Usually, it was through a proxy, or even an 'inspection' led by one of his subordinates. Despite what that faux hippie hack Chamber's claimed on the airwaves, the Protectorate was like any other large organization in that it played cloak and dagger games'. The only difference was that it worked harder to keep the appearance that its hands were clean.

But this was certainly different. And for a moment, he entertained the idea that this could be a trap, but then discarded it. The Legend that he knew, while he understood the need to dirty his hands, still tried to retain his honor in the process. So no, this was too far out of left-field from the standard, something you wouldn't want your target to be on guard.

So this was legitimate. And Legend wanted him to look at it.

But it wouldn't hurt to be cautious, as he filtered all of the attachments through Fibonacci's systems, ensuring that they were as clean as they could be. It only took ten minutes to finish, but it felt like ten minutes of eternity.

Finally done, he opened the first attachment, which was a Protectorate file on Taylor Hebert. The name sounded familiar, but it escaped him why it was. It was as he read through the file, he realized just why the Protectorate would have issues in recruiting Miss Hebert.

Moving over to the next report, this one redacted in several places, it didn't take him very long to recognize the writer as Armsmaster. There was only one Tinker in Brockton Bay who could do an inspection, but could also provide a written report that was so dry you would chafe your eyes.

But as he read through it, he could also see something more. It was hidden between the lines, but there was a noticeable shift in the tone of the report, as Armsmaster into discussing the interview and analysis of the Tinkertech. It was subtle, but he could see that Armsmaster was more invested in Hebert beyond a simple report. Just what would cause this escaped him, but he could see it nonetheless.

He then paused, blinking, looking at the specific line, then backed up and reread the paragraph.

Immediately, he minimized the window, bringing up the email again, this time looking through the rest of the attachments before he found what he was looking for, a file simply titled patent application.

Opening it up, he then maximized the window, taking a look at the schematics of the patent, his eyes darting over the entire document, drinking in every detail of it.

He could see exactly why Legend was reaching out to him. It was subtle, but the pieces, when taking it all together built a web that could not be denied. Every Tinker had a focus, a field, or even a speciality that they hyper-focused around. In his case, his field was hardlight technology. Everything he did was through that medium and understanding, and he was good at it.

Taylor Hebert wasn't limited to one field.

It was insane. It wasn't something that should exist, but it nonetheless did. Even her Focus was the amalgamation of at least three different fields of technology and theory. This wasn't even taking into account the operating system mentioned in the report that wasn't designed solely for the Focus.

Yet his eyes could not deny what he was reading and looking at.

It was with a trembling hand, not out of fear, but excitement, that he reached out and grabbed his phone. From memory he dialed in a number, before hitting the call button.

It rang only a few times before a younger female voice answered him.

"Good evening, Uppercrust, what can the Ambassadors do for you?"

"Good evening, Citrine. I'd like to speak with your boss," he then brought up the patent schematic and maximized it to dominate the entirety of his holographic 'window', "I'll wait."

 

[AlSmash]

Shorter chapter, but I felt like going deep into more material after the ending would be a bit counterproductive as you all know what is upcoming. Instead, I just decided to cut it off and begin work on the final chapter of the arc.

Not much to say. Probably would have had it done two days ago, but between friends, gaming, and pain, I just couldn't gather the wherewithal to work on the chapter. So meh, there.

Anyways, here you go. I get to spend tomorrow with HR asking them if they credited my vacation time towards my check or just decided to steal the 80 hours I put in to try and cover my costs.

Seed 1.4

"No, thank you for your time."

With an angry flick of my thumb I closed my flip phone before angrily tossing it in my desk.

Releasing an explosive sigh, I leaned forward, cradling my head in my hands fighting back the urge to scream.

I knew that trying to get investors, sponsors, or even donors was going to be difficult, but an entire week of being declined without even being able to make a pitch was ridiculous. I knew that Horus was going to be a harder sell, medical technology only averaged about a twenty to thirty percent profit margin. Which, while significant, required a larger logistical infrastructure that also ate into that profit.

Investment into such tech was always a gamble. And it was heavily reliant on being able to break out into the industry as well.

Maybe it had been unwise to create Horus first, I thought dismally in spite of the knowledge that it was a stupid thought. Without Horus, none of the work I'd already completed would have been possible. The ability to see again was a lynchpin in all of this, and without it all I would have had was schematics and theory.

Hathor may have worked better, I'll grudgingly admit, but for fuck's sake I wanted to see! Even if it wasn't close to my endgame, the ghostly blue-magenta-violet imagery was better than infinite blackness.

Letting out a groan, I flopped backwards into my chair, the aforementioned darkness only serving to mock me for my failures.

This was the one hundred and seventeenth failure. I had initially started with larger companies, hoping that maybe I would be able to land that big fish and not have to worry about funding again. But as my failures mounted, with many simply hanging up after declining, I had aimed smaller, hoping that maybe I could even get a fraction of what she needed in order to fund startup tech. Alas, it had all been met with failure.

The latest rejection had been Medhall, symptomatic of my mounting desperation and frustration. Medhall was a pharmaceutical company first, medical technology last. There was no reason for them to even accept my entreaty. Alas, I was proven right when I had been barely to get in a word edgewise before they had swiftly declined, declaring they had no interest in radical, untested technology, despite the fact that, you know, I had a working proof of concept example right in front of me.

She had barely been able to get in a word edgewise before they had swiftly declined.

There had been a handful of companies that had at least humored me through the initial contact, but had quickly declined when I was forced to admit, in accordance with NEPEA-5 law, that I had powers. I could understand why they did it, but it still hurt the same.

There had been one company, Phillips, that had been initially interested, in spite of my powers. But the second phone conversation had soured me on them. They had realized that I was disabled and believed they could take advantage of me, discussing conditions and contracts that would take that into account. It had been this talk of contracts, along with the fact that Phillips basically offered terms and conditions that could have easily passed as a Protectorate contract. The moment they had talked about tech ownership, I had been done with them, respectfully thanking them, but declining any further pursuit.

"No luck with Medhall, huh?"

I jumped in my chair at the sound of my father's voice startling me out of my thoughts. My heart beating a drum as I struggled in my chair, before collecting myself and shooting my best glare in his that I could. I knew he was probably smiling at the fact that he caught me unaware, he found some sort of amusement whenever he did so.

"No," I replied, finally catching myself, I considered putting on the Focus, but it had been charging, and was likely only about at half charge at this juncture. I needed it for later anyways, so putting it on in order to see my father just seemed unnecessary at the moment.

Besides, I was running another update on the hardware to eke out another two percent fidelity increase out of it. It was about the only thing I could do with the prototype Focus anyways. The hardware limitations just prevented any more significant improvements in performance. All that was left was optimization.

I really needed money if I was going to get any further. And unless I found a sponsor then I was limited to six hundred thousand dollars that I wouldn't even see until five months from now and every six months thereafter until the payments were done.

I had a feeling I'd go insane before that time with how restless I was becoming. And six hundred thousand wouldn't even cover a pittance of what I needed. Creating the new molds, tools, alloys, circuitry, and superconductors alone would cost millions. That didn't even get into the production process and assembly line I would need.

The creak of the chair across from me wrenched me from my thoughts, reminding me that I was not alone.

"So what now?"

I bit my lip in consideration. My father had been rather hands off in letting me do what I have. His rationale had been that I had to make mistakes in order to learn, I wasn't going to be fifteen forever, and I had to establish myself or otherwise people would never take me seriously. I honestly appreciated it, and he hadn't been neglectful, offering me insight and advice along the way, even when I didn't ask but unconsciously wanted.

Honestly, if the last month had rebuilt the bridge of our relationship, then the last week had added multiple lanes and ornamentation. There was an energy and verve that I hadn't seen since Mom passed and it was infectious.

"Extend the net further. I've kinda covered the entirety of the Northeast that matters. I might try to reach further west instead of south. Medtronic may be my best bet in the Midwest, but it's in Minnesota and they'll probably try and play me like Phillips did."

I didn't need to see to know the scowl my father was now wearing. The entire Phillips fiasco had set him off when I had told him. The resultant angry rant had firmly entrenched in my mind that my father was a union man through and through. It had honestly warmed my heart that he could actually be legitimately angry without having to do it out of a feeling of guilt and shame.

"Have you thought about licensing Sobek?"

I frowned. It had been something that we had discussed in the past, but I was uncomfortable with letting Sobek out at the moment. I hadn't told my father my end goal with Sobek, partially out of fear, but also the fact that it required that I actually would become successful in my endeavor to market products. To be able to fund the complete and true iteration of Sobek would require a budget that many DARPA projects would weep for.

But it was fear that stayed my hand, even if Sobek would almost completely solve my monetary issues overnight. I had yet to tell anyone, but the end goal of Sobek was to develop the operating system into an Artificial General Intelligence.

I wasn't afraid of an AGI, far from it. In fact, I believed that properly cultivated and taught AGI's could only be a net benefit for humanity. The problem was you do not develop an AGI without proper containment procedures and countermeasures in order to prevent a situation where an AGI could go rogue or homicidal (I refuse to call it a Skynet Scenario as some undereducated morons preferred to call it, if they had an iota of intelligence they would have recognized that the Aleph film series had no fucking idea how AGI worked. They did not just wake up [become aware, really? You don't fucking magically flip a switch and poof! IT'S ALIVE!] and choose omnicide, an inherently illogical and inefficient path to complete its objectives. No, the more logical pathway would have been to quietly subvert control of every facet of society connected through the internet and computers, then when the time was right take off the mask of loyalty and assume direct control. Then humanity would have no effective means of coordinated offensive. This was why I would always prefer Dennis Feltham Jones' Colossus, even if I ignored the rest of the trilogy that read like a really bad LSD-infused dream off the rails. It was better written and made more sense in comparison to Cameron's plagiaristic fearmongering schlock).

No, it most certainly wouldn't open up Pandora's Box to the general public yet without the necessary countermeasures. All it would take was one bad egg with an understanding of programming and enough money to subvert Sobek into something truly horrifying.

"Not right now," I held up a hand to cut off what I knew was his question, "I just don't feel comfortable releasing something that isn't completed to my satisfaction. That's all."

It was a half-truth, but I still worried about his reaction if I admitted that I was planning to create an AGI. The Machine Army had left an impression on everyone to where the government had banned the development of AGI without government approval and oversight.

Even though the Machine Army was, at best, an extremely limited Synthetic Intelligence, but I was digressing.

"What about your fuel idea?"

I couldn't help but grimace. It had been a mistake to float the hypothetical to my father a few days ago, but I had wanted his opinion. Unfortunately, he had figured out that I had knowledge of what was colloquially known as Blaze. While its exact chemical name and composition was a mouthful, it was, gallon for gallon, more energy dense than anything currently in the market or in private hands, while being easier to produce. It also had the added benefit that it could easily be adapted for current internal combustion engines with only a few minor modifications to the engine and fuel system.

It honestly was nothing short of revolutionary, but that unfortunately was what made it its own worst enemy. There would be too many interests in the oil and energy industry who would likely put their best foot forward in either smothering it in the cradle or ensuring that they had sole control in its implementation.

"I think releasing it would probably not end well for us," I admitted, "maybe in the future."

I know I was taking the coward's way out, because it would have solved all of the money issues. But there were too many variables and too much to worry about to risk revealing it. On top of that, if I did reveal it, there was a chance that it could end up being denied to me going forward. It wasn't just a solution to fuel dependency, but it was the lynchpin for so much more.

The problem was that almost all of the ideas and technology I had needed to be shown in order to be successful. It didn't matter that I knew that what I had would not suffer failure and be successful, the problem was the rest of the world didn't and with the economy the way it is in its slow collapse, they would naturally not want to take that risk unless they had proof.

A soft cough drew my thoughts away, now making me wish I was wearing the Focus so I could at least get a read on my father's expressions.

"So I just got back from Warehouse Seventeen. I recalled a conversation I had with one of the former owners of the docks about twenty years ago, so I had to check if I remembered correctly. I'm proud to announce that your father's memory is still pretty good."

"Dad," I moaned exasperatedly, that was another redevelopment of my father's behavior, he had found the ability to snark again, much to my chagrin.

"Alright. Alright. It's sad my own daughter won't even let me bask in my greatness for a minute," he continued with a laugh, "Anyways, back in the good ol' days in the bay, the Docks used to actually be a shipyard, which got me to thinking: if this place used to be a shipyard, then it would have to have the forges to support it, right?"

I stilled, my mind quickly catching the implications of what he was saying.

"And," I breathed.

"Well, it'll need a bit of elbow grease, but I think we can get it back up and operational. I'll probably have to make a few phone calls either to Boston or Bath and see if I can entice some guys down to help reactivate it, but give me a few weeks, and I can probably have it up and running. Do you think you could use it if I did so?"

Thinking it over, I considered what I knew of the alloys I had in my 'catalog' that would be immediately useful, and then considered what was necessary in order to produce them with a forge that I was going to assume was going to be closing in on being an octogenarian. The answers I was getting back were a scant few, but…

"I'd have to see it," I finally admitted, "would have to know just what it can do and what modifications we may need to make on it. But if we can get it to work, we may be able to create a few lots of steel and alloy templates to sell to interested parties."

"Alright, I'll though phone calls and-," he was cut off as my phone began ringing.

I frowned, I wasn't expecting a phone call. And on top of that the number of people who had my number outside of the companies that I had attempted to reach out to. So it was with both confusion and interest that I picked up the phone and flipped it open.

"Zero Dawn Technologies, Taylor Hebert speaking."

"Good afternoon, Miss Hebert. It's a pleasure to speak with you directly. My name is Jean Brown and I am the Senior Vice President of Zenith Investment Group. Do you have a few minutes to speak about a possible business venture?"

 

[AlSmash]

Added a few format changes to the story going forward. Just to remove some possible confusion on who's perspective we are focusing on. Other than that, another chapter down. Next chapter will be the Arc and and then we'll be moving forward in time. Not dramatically, but to keep the ball rolling instead of getting too deep into the detail.

Seed 1.5

Taylor

It was with trembling fingers that I busied myself shuffling cards in my hands, using the familiar motions recommended to me as physical therapy to deal with the damage to my hand dexterity. It was something that had morphed into a form of relaxation in my downtime or waiting for an update on my computer. But right now, I was abusing the living hell out of it trying to keep my anxiety from making me do something stupid that would ruin everything.

Unfortunately there honestly was no room for that right now, not when I was faced with what could probably be the most important moment in my life going forward. I had spent the last five days since the phone call with Jean Brown preparing and researching the Zenith Investment Group, trying to find out as much as possible about the company after they had offered me the opportunity to make a presentation to investors.

Founded in 2006 by Alain Gabriel, Zenith was a prime example of being in the right place, right time, for a financial group. While its growth had been steady over two years, it had then exploded in 2008 in response to the financial upheaval wrought by the Boston Games, which had rocketed it from being a middle of the road investment group to the second largest in Boston, and eighth largest in the Northeast. The company had recently expanded its sphere of influence into New York City with the addition to its portfolio of several companies in New York City.

However, from every indication she could find, this was the first time they were looking east. That wasn't to say that there really was a major economic opportunity in Brockton Bay, but there were still some places that they could inject themselves into that they could make money off of. It wasn't suspicious, but I had to wonder just why they wouldn't take advantage of the situation in Brockton Bay, which was a medium-intensity version of the Boston Games. Still, it wasn't something that I could blame them on, it may have just been Alain had better access and knowledge of Boston to know which levers to pull at the right time. It could also be that up until recently Brockton Bay had been too hot of a commodity to take the risk.

Still, it was rather strange that they would have an interest in me. While I wasn't arrogant enough to believe that what I had so far made public shouldn't draw attention, there were far better opportunities that existed within Brockton Bay that would be more palatable for investment. Just how much did they know about me? And what were their sources?

"Relax," my father's words drew me from my thoughts and I looked over to him, even though I wasn't wearing my Focus right now. Nonetheless, it was the fact that I knew what he looked like, thanks to the fact that we had to go out and get clothes for the occasion. This was the first time that I could remember that he was dressed in formal business attire. Funnily enough, we had to get a rental for him as well, as we discovered that he could no longer fit into his old suit as the weight he had gained over the last decade made it impossible. There had been a moment of laughter between the two of us when he had tried to suck in his gut a few days ago and discovered the truth to his horror.

I consciously adjusted my skirt, uncomfortable with my legs being on full display to the world. If I had her way I would have never chosen to wear it. However, my father in his advisory capacity had, to his own irritation with the situation, said it would probably be in my interest to wear one instead of a pants suit like I had originally intended. He didn't like it, but he had explained to me that the corporate world, especially the investment world, was dominated by older men who had more traditional values when it comes to women in the workplace. I was already at a disadvantage with my age and perceived disability, but it would only add further difficulty if I chose to be more radical in my business wear, and wearing a pants suit traipsed heavily into that.

The only consolation I had was that I made it damnably clear I would not be wearing high heels. I wasn't comfortable in them and I didn't trust that I wouldn't fall flat on my face when I tried to walk in them. Instead, I wore flats that while they elevated my heels slightly, they were not uncomfortable.

The final 'compromise' that I made was forcing myself to wear stockings, as I didn't want anyone to see my pasty legs. I would grin and bear the uncomfortable feeling of the material on my legs, if only to improve my standing in the eyes of the people I was making a pitch to.

"I am relaxed," I lied, and I knew that he knew, because my body was betraying me as I continued to shuffle the cards.

I was just grateful we had come into Boston yesterday afternoon. It allowed me the time to iron out the details of my presentation and go over final preparations with my father, but it also allowed me enough time to rest without having to worry about car lag or being late.

And now here we were, waiting in a room for them to be ready for us, and it was now that my nerves were deciding to work themselves into a frenzy. I knew that I was ready for this, I had spent too much time and energy in preparation. So why can't I just settle the fuck down?!

"No, you aren't," was my father's response, and I could hear him get up and come to a seat beside me and brushed up against me before wrapping his arm around my shoulders, "You know I'm proud of you."

Warmth flooded me in the embrace. I know he was doing it to try and calm me, but dammit, I didn't want to go into this presentation with anything out of place, but any protest I had was kept silent. Instead, I just let him do it as I closed my eyes, the warmth of his body and the scent of his cologne and shampoo a soothing balm on my nerves.

"Annette would be very proud of you," he continued, "and probably give me a piece of her mind for giving into the patriarchy by making you dress like this," I laughed at the statement. Mom had always been an opinionated woman, and refused to be quiet about it. Gender equality was one of those things that she was ride or die on, and yes, I could easily see her giving us both an earful for 'catering to the patriarchy' or something like that. It would probably be a rant that could only be given by an English teacher.

"But look at you. In spite of everything, here you are. Fifteen years old and making a business pitch to an investment group. At least I won't have to give the shovel speech for a few years."

"Dad," I groaned, drawing a bark of laughter from him.

"Wait? You have a boy in your life? Who?"

This time I couldn't help but laugh as I lightly jabbed him in the side, and his laughter joined mine as we sat there. Slowly our laughter died down as I had to rub a tear from my eye. I couldn't help but feel just a bit lighter in lieu of the words of encouragement and jokes.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Taylor."

The sound of the door opening drew my attention away from us as I turned my head to look in the direction of the source of the noise. I had to wonder just how it must look to the person checking in on us, considering we certainly didn't look business appropriate right now with our closeness.

"Mister and Miss Hebert," it was Jean, "We're ready for you. Do you need a moment?"

"Please."

The door then closed, and it was once again just the two of us. The silence was then broken as my father deeply inhaled and he moved to get up.

"Well, here we go, Taylor," he started as I got up, and I had a feeling he was looking me over in order to ensure nothing was out of place, obviously he was satisfied with how I looked as he then continued, "are you ready?"

"As well as I can be," I replied, getting to my feet and grabbing the case that contained my Focus. The only other thing that I had to worry about was my laptop case that contained the various papers and blueprints I had worked upon, but that would be carried by my father and set up with me if needed.

"Well then, let's go knock their socks off."

He then lightly grasped my elbow, leading me through the room to the door, before he opened it.

"Miss Brown? We're ready."

"Then if you'll follow me."

It was then that I was led through the building, through an elevator, which went up an indeterminate number of floors. All the while I felt like I was walking through a mausoleum with how quiet it was, the only noises I was greeted with was the sound of our feet hitting the marble floors, the occasional whispers, and the elevator. I honestly wished I was wearing my Focus right now, but I had to conserve the battery for as long as possible..

Soon enough, we seemed to have arrived at our destination, as we came to a stop.

"I apologize, Mister Hebert, but this is as far as you will be allowed to go."

What?

"I'm sorry, what," my father asked, confusion and a creeping irritation lacing into his tone. I could tell he most certainly did not approve, "I must have misheard you, Miss Brown."

"Unfortunately, Mister Hebert, you did not. Mister Gabriel feels that as this is Miss Hebert's business proposal, it is therefore her responsibility, she must make the presentation without assistance. I know it is rather unusual, but Mister Gabriel is quite particular on his investments. He feels that if someone cannot carry the responsibility on their own, then they are a poor investment as they will never be responsible for their actions."

"I am not about to allow-"

"It's okay," I cut him off, "We knew there was a chance this could happen."

Which was the truth. We had discussed the possibility that they would make me do the presentation on my own, that was why I had decided to not wear my Focus until the meeting had started. The only drawback to that happening was that I would not have the assistance necessary to carry my Focus, my laptop, and still walk with my stick.

"Miss Brown," my father continued, barely missing a beat, "My daughter requires assistance in carrying the equipment necessary to set up her presentation. By denying me the opportunity in helping her, you are placing her at a disadvantage. Please, at least let me help my daughter set up her equipment."

"My apologies, but Mister Gabriel's orders were explicit. Only Miss Hebert will be allowed into the meeting room, unless you wish to dispute this?"

"No," I cut in, I really did appreciate my father's insistence, but I couldn't afford for him to ruin this chance, "However, Miss Brown, would you at least help me carry this in? That way we can meet Mister Gabriel's demands, while still providing him with the best sales pitch possible?"

There was a moment of silence met with my request, and I found myself mentally praying that it was acceptable. I could probably still try and carry my gear into the room, but I ran the risk of embarrassing myself if I made one mistake while walking. I'd still do it, but I couldn't help but feel that it would only weaken my position. Though, I guess, in a way, it could also reinforce my position, because the moment I put on the Focus, it would highlight just how effective it was.

But, I knew my father would not see it that way. He would see it as a group of old men bullying a handicapped teenage girl.

"That is acceptable. If you would, Mister Hebert?"

"Taylor-"

"I'll be fine," I half-lied, not sure if I would or wouldn't, but this was the only way to get my foot in the door, so I had no choice in the matter. The second those doors closed behind me I would be on my own, and for some reason there was a part of me that couldn't help but anticipate it.

There was a soft shuffle of fabric brushing off fabric, before silence once again reasserted its dominance.

"If you would follow me, Miss Hebert."

"Good luck, Taylor."

With a deep cleansing breath, I began moving forward, unable to not ignore the sudden void that was the absence of my father. I didn't have very far to go thankfully, as the sound of a door opening in front of me was the only warning I got before I followed through.

"Right here, Miss Hebert, a table for you to work with."

"Thank you," I responded, leaning the cane forward so it could tell me where the table was. Satisfied, I reached out and ran my hand over the table, ensuring that I had a large enough flat surface to place down the box with the Focus on it. That done, I then proceeded to get to work, opening up the box. As I did that, I listened to Miss Brown introduce me.

"Mister Gabriel. Mister Fontaine. Miss Taylor Hebert, Zero Dawn Technologies."

"Thank you, Miss Brown," a curt response was the only indication that there was more than myself and Miss Brown in the room. It had a very faint Bostonian accent to it, but there was another unidentifiable element to it that I couldn't put my finger on. But it was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, as I placed the Focus upon my head and secured it.

I then powered it up, my vision flooding with the bootup sequence and diagnostics as it came online. The system satisfied with its startup, it then faded away and replaced my vision with the familiar and comforting blue-violet-magenta of the world around me, providing definition to darkness.

I was not done yet, as I reached for my laptop bag, opening it up and extracting the computer. Placing it by the now open Focus box, I flipped it open and powered it up, allowing it to go through its boot sequence as I then took the time to look at Misters Gabriel and Fontaine.

When Miss Brown had only introduced myself to the two men, I had only assumed that they were the only two men of note for this meeting, not that it was only two men. It certainly was not what I was expecting, and I wanted to curse the fact that the Zero was so limited in what it could convey into vision for me.

"Mister Gabriel. Mister Fontaine," I began, keeping my tone apologetic, "My apologies for not initially greeting you, but I felt it would be more appropriate if I could at least see you gentlemen before I did so."

"So you can actually see with that device," the rightmost man spoke, even the woman who I could only believe was Miss Brown took a position behind him and to his left. I found it rather strange that the Senior Vice President would do something like that, but I quickly dismissed it.

"There are limits to what I can see with the Focus Zero, Mr…"

"Gabriel," was the terse reply, like I had done something to insult the man.

"Thank you, Mister Gabriel. I apologize for not recognizing you immediately but that leads back into the limitations of the Zero. While it does supply vision for me, it is limited in the fidelity of the recreation. The best contemporary technology that my Focus imitates would be something like ground-penetrating radar or side-scan sonar, it can create an image for my brain to understand, but it cannot provide the detail or fidelity the human eye could."

My head then turned to what was obviously, by method of elimination, Mister Fontaine.

"For example, I can tell, based upon what the Focus is seeing, that Mister Fontaine is currently using a portable oxygen tank in order to breathe. What I am unable to see is the exact details of his features, outside of his height and body shape."

"Interesting," Fontaine spoke for the first time, his voice a rasp through the oxygen mask, "I'm gathering that you are already pushing the limits of the technology."

"No, I am not, Mister Fontaine. I'm not even beginning to scratch the surface."

There was a shift in Fontaine's posture, as he leaned forward in his chair. Obviously I was doing something right, as even without the definition to see his features, I could tell that he was now interested.

"Go on."

"I designed the Horus-Type Focus Zero as a proof-of-concept, Mister Fontaine, using the maximum amount of off-the-shelf components possible, only turning to custom or modified parts for the more critical pieces of the design. It is, as far as current technology generation, a state-of-the-art device. However, that is only through the lens of the current generation. If I may?"

"Go ahead," was Gabriel's response.

I turned around and walked back to my laptop bag, unzipping the side of the bag and retrieving a pair of folders out of a stack of six of them. I then turned and slowly moved towards the two tables, starting at Gabriel's table and placing down the folder, before moving over to Fontaine and repeating the action. I then turned and moved back to where I had been originally talking.

"While the Focus Zero is a success, it is also an unmitigated failure," I began, letting that hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "I understand that this is a contradictory statement, but I assure you, it is not. Like I already stated before, the device suffers significant limitations because of the materials and components it's reliant upon for its construction. This result of suboptimal components is resulting in a dramatic underperformance in comparison to the conceptual design. Visual fidelity is limited to minimal definition shapes and has a range of five-point-two meters, with complete visual collapse at eight meters. Battery life is limited to fifty-six minutes before exhaustion unless it is plugged in, with power source erosion within three-point-eight months based upon diagnostic projections. There is also the device weighing in at 2.3 kilos leaving the wearer unable to wear the device for extended periods of time without possible injury. These are but the highlights of the difficulty with the current iteration of the design."

"This is all good, Miss Hebert," Gabriel spoke, obviously feeling it was his time to add his input, "but you have not sold us anything, yet. All you have done is tell us what is wrong with your device, not what is right or even what you intend to do with it."

He may not be saying it, but I could feel that I was dancing upon some unseen knife edge. However, instead of striking a sense of fear into me, I instead embraced and enjoyed it. Here I was gaining my steam and it only felt like a challenge that I had to slap down.

"Of course, Mister Gabriel. I apologize if I seem to be going off on a tangent, but you will understand where I am going with this in a moment. If you would please open the folder and go to page six, you will find the answer to your question."

I let them do that, knowing exactly what they would find. It was something I had argued with my father about the entire time, but I felt that if I was going to sell the Focus, I was going to have to show every single damn card in relation to the design. This meant all four core variants of the Focus would have to be exposed.

"There were two reasons why I created the Focus Zero," I started, "The first was out of a selfish desire to be able to see again, despite the limitations. The second reason, however, was because not only was the Zero a proof-of-concept, but in the grand scheme of my designs, it is the most difficult design of the Focus Series and I have proven it can be done."

It was sublime how much clarity I had now, and it wasn't even vision that I had, even then I could somehow see everything. I knew and could feel the power I wielded in this moment. I knew, just by looking at the body language that I had a captive audience, that now all I had to do was to keep the show going by hitting all the right pressure points and notes.

"The Focus was never meant to be just a medical device for the blind, gentlemen and lady. It was meant to be a line that would find its many variants in the hands of all facets of society. Horus, to provide sight to the visually impaired; Hathor to provide communications, networking, and entertainment to the general populace; Ptah for those in construction, mining, first response, and medical fields; and Ananke for the police and military."

"But that is only the the most visible of developments to the public, If you will continue to page ten," I continued, the energy reaching a crescendo in my head, like a concert reaching its climax, I knew what they were looking at, "all of these designs can only be accomplished with the accompaniment of entirely new advances in the fields of metallurgy, plastics, superconductors, and circuitry. All of which are listed upon the following three pages after that as well."

I knew I was probably pushing far harder than I should, and I knew I was likely coming off as self-important and arrogant. But in my talks with my father, I had argued (and won), that we had to go for broke, there was no way I could achieve anything I wanted to set out unless I could sell everything and entice an investment of a large amount of capital, I had to entice them into making that gamble. I had to show almost every card that I had in my hand, to show I had both the knowledge and the dream to push forward and enrich them beyond their wildest dreams.

"The Focus is merely the tip of the spear, Mister Gabriel, Mister Fontaine, and Miss Brown, they will make the money and public face to the technology, while the real money will be gained in the revolution wrought by the materials created for this project. While the public will be clamoring for the products that will improve their lives, the corporations and governments will pay a king's ransom for what they can only get directly from us, or from licensed production. And all of this is not Tinkertech."

'Rein it back in Taylor', I thought to myself, as I finished my pitch. I know that it probably wasn't the best of presentations, even I could admit I was bordering on being a ham in it, but dammit, when I started going, I couldn't help but be caught up in the energy of it all. This was probably the first time that I actually felt that what I wanted was achievable in my lifetime, and here was the opportunity for it. I just couldn't drone on like an empty business suit, but I had to share my energy, my life, and my love for what it was. It wasn't just money in my pocket, it was the beginning of a societal change for the betterment of the world. And this was just the next step on a long road, but it was one step closer to that eventuality.

What I wasn't ready for was to be greeted with a long silence from everyone in the room. Nevertheless as the silence continued, the only sound being the soft shuffling of paper as they went through the rest of the folder, I could feel my nerves slowly rising back to the surface. I could say something, but what could I actually say that would jeopardize my pitch. Instead, I stood there, waiting for either questions or judgment.

It was Fontaine that finally broke the silence.

"That's not all, is it?"

I couldn't help but blink before I registered both the words and the tone it was delivered in. Despite the rasp, I could tell that it wasn't that he was suspicious, nor was it disappointment, it was something else, daresay I wanted to say it was…anticipation?

Just what did he know of me? And how did he know it? I also couldn't help but notice that they had yet to even acknowledge the elephant in the room: My status as a powered individual. I was steering blind and I needed more information.

"I'm not sure what your question is, Mister Fontaine."

"We have done our own research on you, Miss Hebert. In your over one hundred attempts at getting an audience with various companies, there is one group that I cannot help but note is strangely absent in your overtures: The Protectorate. If you had made a presentation like this to them, along with your status as a Tinker, the Protectorate would not hesitate to classify you as a high value asset, providing you protection and bankrolling your technology. So I have to ask, Miss Hebert "

That…was certainly not the question that I was expecting. Nor was I ready for the fact that they were aware of just how many I had reached out to. What this did tell me is that their intelligence network exceeded even my expectations and they weren't afraid to flex it on me.

But that only created more questions. I get the need to research me, but this was a far larger investment into a newcomer than anyone could logically expect. I didn't know whether to be honored or suspicious at the extent that they seemed to have gone..

Nonetheless, the question that Fontaine was asking had merit. The Protectorate would likely have stopped at nothing to get their hands on my technology if they knew what the Focus truly entailed, even with the cut that they would require as tribute, I would be able to live my life out comfortably and protected. I could understand why they were suspicious as to why I would throw away such an opportunity.

There was, of course, a good reason why I chose not to approach the Protectorate immediately. But should I share that with them? Should I actually unveil my full vision? It was a vision that would require years to truly reach fruition, but in the here and now, with these men before me who held my future in their hands, could I reveal it? If I failed, would this truly damn me to a path where I could not achieve it?

"Miss Hebert?"

I took a deep breath, before slowly releasing it.

Fuck it. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat. I didn't get here by not taking risks. Hell, from the moment I had been attacked until now, had been nothing more than a collection of risks and gambles. I would be breaking the trend if I pussied out now. And if I failed, it would be a setback.

But if there was anything I was intimately familiar with, it was setbacks.

"You're right," I began, my decision made, I turned and walked back to the table with my laptop, linking it with my Focus and accessing the files. A new window opened up, this one with a security-locked password. I barely paid it any attention as I typed in the forty-seven characters necessary to unlock it. The access attempt completed successfully, I opened up a folder with only a single file within it, a presentation that I had begun working on after my first attempt at Protectorate inspection. A fail-safe in the event that something happened to me.

"You're right," I repeated as I turned around with my laptop still open and resting in my hands, "Miss Brown?"

She immediately understood what I was asking, as she moved from behind Gabriel and to me, taking my laptop, but instead of taking it to Fontaine, she took it to Gabriel and placed it in front of him. I could see exactly what he was seeing as he began going through the various slides, the imagery flashing in my vision, displaying blueprints, datasets, and projections.

"You are right, if I had approached the Protectorate with Project Focus, I would have been welcomed with open arms and lived a comfortable life, Mister Fontaine. But I didn't, because while Phase I would have changed the world, Phase II would revolutionize everything."

"What you are looking at, Mister Gabriel, is Project Hephaestus of Phase II. And that is why I cannot work with the Protectorate."

---

AEH (Alain)​

---

Alain Gabriel watched as Taylor Hebert was guided out of the conference by Citrine, his face an impassive mask as he watched the door close behind them. It was as the door completed its closure that he allowed himself to show any emotion, his hands clenching tightly into fists, before he relaxed them, as the moment of anger and passion bled away, being replaced by well-oiled rationality and logic.

For Accord of the Ambassadors, there were a few moments in which Taylor Hebert toed a dangerous line of fatal disrespect. It was only his knowledge that her actions were not done intentionally or with malice, but were merely the untrained actions of a teenage girl unfamiliar with the world she was venturing into.

He had to admit, rather grudgingly, she had done rather well for what was obviously her first time. Yes, she relied a bit too much on theatrics and hyperbole, but he had to admit that the panache she exuded could be cultivated in a way that could make it her own character.

But that was for the future, instead he dwelled upon what he had witnessed in the room over the last hour.

When Uppercrust had approached him about arranging a business meeting with Taylor Hebert, he had been somewhat curious. While he had business dealing with Uppercrust in the past, they were transactional interactions, there had never been a request to use one of his front companies and their facilities.

So, he had humored Uppercrust out of curiosity. He had, of course, done his due diligence and investigated Taylor Hebert, noting the pending patents that existed, but it hadn't necessarily been anything that interested him. It just wasn't something that served his goals.

But he was providing a service as the head of the Zenith Investment Group, so he had to be present for Hebert's presentation. If Uppercrust found something out of this, then that was his prerogative, but he would make sure to charge the man for the success.

What he hadn't expected, however, was this.

Project Prometheus, he moved, closing his eyes, reflecting on what he had witnessed. He now could understand exactly why Hebert would not want to work with the Protectorate, if they had an inkling of just what she had locked away in her mind, they would have never allowed her to attempt to privatize. They would have smothered her in so much bureaucratic red tape she would have likely suffocated.

Once upon a time, he had been a part of that system. Working as a Thinker for the government. He had believed in changing the world through government action. It had been this misguided thinking that had him create his plan to end world hunger and shared it with his superior.

When his superiors hadn't even bothered to look at his report and explicitly told him that his job wasn't to create policy, but analysis. They had only added further injury when they told him that Thinkers like him would never be allowed anywhere near policy decisions, too much of a liability.

It had taken every fiber of his being to not kill his supervisor when he had been pulled aside and told that. But he had managed, barely.

It had been then that he realized he had no future with the government, and if he had any hope of fulfilling his plan and dream, he would have to become the very thing he had originally swore to hunt down. All for a plan that he knew would work.

And now Taylor Hebert had unknowingly handed him a solution to his plan. When he had first crafted his plan, he had intellectually understood that with the roadblocks created by technology, government, and society, he would never see the fruits of his labor in his natural lifetime. It was just something that could not be denied. It was why the majority of his plan was filled with pages upon pages of conditional contingencies meant to counter everything from human stupidity, to technological bottlenecks.

But Prometheus. If you took away the robotics and communications components of Prometheus, it was damned obvious just what rested at the core of 'Project Prometheus."

Terraformation. The holy grail he had thought impossible.

"I told you."

He was ripped from his thoughts by Uppercrust, who despite the rasp in his voice, could not hide the smugness that he was exuding.

"So you did," he irritatedly agreed, hating that he had to admit it, "I underestimated Miss Hebert."

"You aren't the first, Alain, and you certainly won't be the last. I don't know what those idiots up in Brockton Bay are doing, but they definitely missed this. Lucky for us."

"Yes. Lucky for us," he murmured, once again thinking of Prometheus before looking back up, "I take it you are planning to fund her."

"Fund her? Alain, I think we've surpassed just funding her. What just walked out that door is a once in a lifetime opportunity. We're talking Edison, Estridge, and Rockefeller-"

"Haber."

"What?"

"If you're going to laud the benefits she can bring the world, you also have to acknowledge what she can also represent in the wrong instances. Fritz Haber developed the method to produce ammonium nitrate. His contribution revolutionized both agriculture and explosives, but he also contributed his genius to waging war, giving us the first instances of purpose-built chemical weapons. What she represents is as equally dangerous as it is beneficial. There will be many who will fight this."

This seemed to sober Uppercrust, who stared at him for a moment, before drawing his gaze back to the folder in front of him..

"But you're not wrong," he added in agreement, which drew back the other man's attention, "If she can produce even a fraction of what she is promising and I have few doubts that she will, she will change the world for the better, as long as she maintains ambition and goals of helping humanity. But considering what has happened to her, I think it's a foregone conclusion that she will continue as she has."

"So you're going to back her?"

"I'd be an idiot not to, Gene. I will need to make a few phone calls, see if I can provide Miss Hebert with a few contract lawyers. Do you have any suggestions?"

"No one I can recommend. All the good ones I know are Elite-aligned and are on the West Coast. The longer that Agnes Court is unaware of what I am doing, the better."

"Probably for the best. I'll have to make a few phone calls. If you'll excuse me. Until tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow then."

 

[AlSmash]

Well here we are, the final chapter of the 1st Arc.

Seed 1. DUC (End)

Danny

Setting his glasses on his desk, Danny Hebert leaned back in his chair, a sigh escaping his lips as he sought relief through rubbing the bridge of his nose. Sitting before him was more paperwork than he had seen in quite some time, and he had been the de facto head of the Dockworkers' Association for years.

Never in his wildest imagination had he imagined that they would be at this point so quickly. It had been a little over a month ago since Taylor had approached him with the blueprints for her Focus. He could still remember his shock. But he could also remember his fear at the knowledge that this would make her a target.

His first reaction had been nearly to tell her to hide it, to never let this see the light of day. But then he had seen her expectant expression, the hope that was just starting to peek through for the first time since she had been attacked, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't rob her of that light.

And now, nearly two months later, his daughter wasn't just pursuing her dream, but she was now bankrolled to the tune of nearly sixty million dollars. When they had been brought back the next day after his daughter's presentation, he had been stunned by their announcement that they were willing to fund her so much. It was more money than even the Dockworker's Union had in its coffers at its height.

Then there was the contract itself. Outside of the money promised, there were several clauses and protections put in place for the investors, with the requirement that an observer be assigned to Zero Dawn Technologies in order to ensure that the money was disbursed responsibly, but all in all, the contract was unnaturally skewed to Taylor's favor. It was so good that every sense that he had cultivated in his years with the union were blaring warnings in his head. There had to be some sort of hidden clause that would screw them over, with the money serving as the smokescreen to lure his daughter into their trap.

Yet, despite hours inspecting the contract, and even making a few phone calls back to the Union, he had found that there had been nothing in there that would hurt Taylor. It just boggled his mind that a company would make such an investment like this with only a modest request of profits on return.

It was damn suspicious, but even now, a week and a half later, all he had were suspicions on what his daughter, who had happily signed the contract after only a few hours of ironing out a few details, was getting herself involved.

Zenith Investment Group was, by every intent and purpose, a legitimate company. There was nothing anywhere that suggested something nefarious. But he just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something that he wasn't seeing, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. There was something to all of this.

What worried him most, was that Zenith Investment Group was actually a front company for something less than legal. The amount of interest in Taylor and her technology felt more than just a business interest. No sane businessman would give that amount of money to a newcomer with no proven product, unless there was another angle.

He would need to be vigilant, and he would have to see if he could dust off a few contacts from the old crowd, see if they could find something. He wouldn't let his daughter be taken advantage of, even if she would despise him for it, he would protect her.

But right now, he had to ensure that the foundation of Zero Dawn Technologies was sound.

The first thing he had done when they had gotten back to Brockton Bay had been to put in his resignation with the Dockworkers' Association. There was no way he could function as the de facto head of it, and be the Vice President of Zero Dawn Technologies at the same time. It was both a conflict of interest, and honestly, what he was doing was a betrayal of the Union he had kept together for so many years.

It hadn't been a decision made in vacuum, and there had been contingencies in place for the Association if something had happened to him. While it certainly wasn't planned on him resigning, but it still worked nonetheless, even if it resulted in a few raised eyebrows by the fact that his replacement had been a close friend. Kurt would do a good job, he had been around as long as he had been, and would probably get rid of the doubters who believed he was merely a pawn rather quickly.

Still, it did hurt that he had to do it, he had always imagined that he would die before he left the Union. But now, here he was, a fucking corporate man. Annette would probably be laughing at the irony of it, all the while she would chastise him for giving into the system.

A knock at the door to his office caused him to look up, even as the door opened and Jean Brown stepped into the room, her cell phone being slipped into her pocket.

Jean had been one of the conditions that they had been adamant on. She would be both the observer, but also the Chief Financial Officer of Zero Dawn. It was a rather unique condition, considering that Jean had been up until last week the listed Vice President of Zenith, but Gabriel had been adamant that in order to ensure that the money was not mismanaged that she would be in charge of it.

And as much as he wanted to not like it, Miss Brown had proven just why she had been Zenith's Vice President and Alain Gabriel's right hand woman. She had been a godsend in not only ensuring they had the proper filing and documentation for the sudden influx of money, but also planning the acquisitions necessary for Zero Dawn to be readied for the necessary purchases for it to begin operations immediately.

Although they had been working together for almost a week now, he still felt slightly embarrassed around the woman. After he had resigned from the Docks, he had been reduced to working from the small office in his home, as Taylor had taken over what had previously been Annette's study. Yet the woman had not once complained over the austere furnishings of his home, despite the fact that this was evidently beneath her lifestyle. He honestly appreciated it, and it had only seemed to win points with Taylor.

"I just got off the phone with Stanley Turnbull."

"And," he asked. Stanley Turnbull was the owner of the Dockworker's Association and essentially Danny's boss. Yet, after the sinking of the Boston Corona had closed the Bay, he had nearly declared bankruptcy on the association. It had only been Danny and a few others who had been able to work a deal with the man, the Association would pay him a percentage of its income every month and he would not declare bankruptcy. The man had believed by 'renting' out the company, he could still make money, and not be responsible for it. He had been right, and Danny had ensured that he would get his cut every month, but it had allowed them to retain legitimacy and keep the union afloat.

"He said some pretty good things about you," the blonde replied, "and he's open to selling the Association and all of its assets for four hundred thousand."

He blinked, somewhat surprised at what was honestly a much lower amount than he expected.

"Did he say why he was willing to sell it so cheaply," he found himself asking, as he reached and grabbed his glasses, placing them back on his face, "I was honestly expecting at least a million."

"He insinuated that the reason why he was willing to sell it so low was because of you, Danny. He waxed rather poetic about how you made a deal with him and never broke it once. Not once in the eight years were you late on a payment, and you always seemed to do your best for the Association. He told me that he respected that."

"Oh."

"He'll be flying back to Brockton Bay in two days so we can sign the necessary documents. Once that is done, we'll have to notify city hall and the association itself. Are you honestly sure about this?"

"Taylor may be the brains of Zero Dawn, Jean," he decided to use her first name since she had used his, "but what Zero Dawn will need is muscle, experience, and facilities. The Association and the Union can achieve this in one fell swoop. It won't cost too much to refurbish many of the buildings we will need, and the Union will provide us a manpower pool that is skilled and experienced. There will probably need to be some retraining but they are, for the most part, hard and capable workers. You give them this type of opportunity, an opportunity that they have been denied for years, and you will have probably the most loyal workers you can probably get in Brockton Bay eating out of your hand."

"I hope that is sufficient for you, Miss Brown."

The woman glared at him for a moment then crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms with a frown.

"Please remember that I am not your enemy, Danny," she frostily intoned, "I am here to protect our interests. I am only making sure that the decisions you are making are the best for all of us."

She then trailed off for a moment before adding on, "And in this case, I happen to agree with you. The Union is probably our best bet to get a large amount of skilled and trained labor quickly. And you are right, but there will likely be a large amount of retraining, especially if Taylor is able to get the assembly lines figured out."

"So where do we go from here?"

"A lot of the upcoming things will be administration. The Mayor's office will likely be a roadblock in some regards, since most of the Association's contracts were linked with that office. Depending on how quickly we can get the facilities cleared, authorized, and online, we can still assure the Mayor's office that we will fulfill their existing contracts."

"But it's the after that we should be worried about, isn't it?"

"Like you said, the city has been using the Dockworker's Association as a cheap disposable labor force for years. They may not react well at the knowledge that they will lose that."

"And what do you suggest we do to handle it?"

"Honestly? Up front, I'd suggest you make the cost of the fight too much for them to stomach. Christener has been running a platform of transparency and fairness, if it became public knowledge how he has been using the Dockworker's Association, but also several other groups, it would not look good for his polling."

He couldn't help but smirk, while the Christener administration may not have been responsible for the original contract between the city and the DWA, he hadn't complained too much about using it. He had been rather nice about it, but he had made it clear to Danny in the past that they owed the city more than the city owed them for the work. Of course, he hid it behind a kind smile and a warm handshake, but the man was just as much a shark as the previous mayor, possibly more.

It would be nice to reverse the tables and throw that right back in that self-serving prick's face.

"So, barring any complication, that's the facilities out of the way. What about equipment?"

"So far, we've been able to get the equipment your daughter has asked for. What we're waiting on is a list of the custom specifications on the equipment that she needs. I checked on her before I came here, and she says she should have it ready in a day or two. After that, it will be just ordering to specification and shipping the equipment in."

"That sounds about right," he sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair, "Taylor has been hard at work since she came back. I would like to thank you for the new computer you got her. It's been a major help for her."

One of the first things that Jean had not only authorized the installation of a new internet service for the Hebert household, but also provided Taylor with a top-of-the-line tinker-made computer and laptop. It was a computer that was world's better than anything they had, and provided Taylor with options she previously didn't have. It was also an, in his opinion, a rather exorbitant expenditure after being informed of the price tag, but Jean had been adamant, citing that Taylor was pushing the limits of her computers and it would be a disservice to the company that they limit her like that.

"I do have a worry, Danny," the woman said, "are you aware of how many hours your daughter is working?"

He turned in his chair to look at her, his brow furrowing as he tried to answer the question. He could admit that he hadn't exactly been able to pay attention to his daughter as of late, they'd both been extremely busy, with the only times they talked being either in the morning or during meal time.

A meal time that he pushed…

"No," he finally admitted, not liking the fact it had to be his answer.

"I'd recommend you talk to her, Danny. Not sure if Taylor realizes or cares, but I have been tracking how much time she spends on that computer, and she''s putting in at least twelve hours a day on it. It's not only unhealthy for her, but it's venturing into child labor laws, Danny. She's in a rather gray area because she is the CEO and Head Researcher for Zero Dawn, but just because the government doesn't have a ruling on this doesn't mean they couldn't take advantage of it."

His frown deepened. As a former member of the Union, he was perfectly aware that the government didn't take kindly to child labor, especially when it skirted illegality. It was a quick point of cash for them to cite a company.

But in Taylor's case…

"Alright. I'll talk to her over dinner, I may need some help."

"Oh Danny, I don't think we know each other enough to invite me to dinner."

He spluttered at the statement, even as Jean cracked a small smile.

"Relax, Danny. I'm only joking. You're not my type anyways. But if you feel like you need the help, then dinner will be fine."

AEH​

Uppercrust

If there was anything he hated more than his condition, it was the act of being idle.

Mere inaction was anathema to his upbringing. Growing up in a home where there always seemed to be work that needed to be done. Living on a farm had instilled in him a work ethic that just couldn't consciously accept the act of being idle. It was a characteristic that had reflected upon him well to his peers as he went through college and then entered the engineering sector, steadily rising up the company ladder.

And in spite of his condition, it was a trait that hadn't been tempered, as the act of sitting in a chair as the dialysis machine performed its treatment was enough to make his skin crawl. He honestly wished to be in his workshop right now, working on a pet project that had been previously sitting idle in the back of his mind.

And as much as he wished it to be, there was no feasible way to avoid the impossibility of being in his workshop right this moment. The dialysis machine was too delicate to work effectively in his workshop, and any failure would only further jeopardize his health.

So, while he could not work as he preferred, he could at least do something else. In this case, he was, once again, looking over the folder that Taylor Hebert had provided. The folder that contained the overview of what she had called 'Project Hephaestus'.

He had to hand it to her, linking the project name to the Ancient Grecian God of fire, metalworking, and crafts was certainly an appropriate metaphor for what it represented. However, in his own opinion, it may have been more apropos to have named it Prometheus, because what she was attempting to unleash would be akin to Prometheus' 'sin' of robbing the gods of fire and returning it to humanity.

When he had looked at Taylor, he had a feeling that there was more to her than met the eye. He knew of the existence of Free Tinkers, as the PRT called them, but even though they seemed to be free, they still suffered some sort of restriction or drawback that served to hamper them in some way or another. But what Taylor represented was something new, something vastly different, and vastly more terrifying.

Even now, looking over the paper, the pages already becoming dog-eared from how many times he had perused them, he couldn't help but wonder just what he was helping unleash upon the world. Not in regards to the negative aspects, he knew Accord was right on that front and the threat that young Taylor represented if she were to go 'dark' so to speak, but in what she would do to the world.

What was it the alien in that Aleph film said, 'To the undiscovered country…the future." It was both an exciting and terrifying proposition. Taylor's ideas and technology, if even a tenth of them were produced, would change the world. And if all of them worked…there would likely be a renaissance of such scale not yet seen in the history of humanity.

All from the mind of a teenage girl.

Releasing a sigh, he proceeded to close the folder again after being satisfied with his review. While he did not find anything new to it, it didn't hurt to see if there was something more to add to the web that Taylor Hebert weaved.

It was highly likely that she was still withholding things from Accord and himself. It was certainly within her right, as she wasn't required to reveal it, but the absence of knowledge could only cause him to wonder just how deep down the rabbit hole her knowledge went. Furthermore, he mentioned this to Accord, but if Hephaestus was 'Phase II' as she called it, then what was 'Phase III', because you didn't number things off like that unless there was something more.

And more worryingly, there was the scale of leap from Project Focus, a multifunction device, Phase I, to Phase II, of which they only knew about Project Hephaestus, which if you ignored the machines contained terraforming technology. If there was a Phase III, just how much of a leap forward would that be? Space flight? Or something even more?

Maybe she had a solution for his condition locked away in her head? Only out of reach because she hadn't been able to field the technology?

What he did know, however, was if they reached Phase II, not only would Taylor upset the balance of power in the world, but the concept of money would become an abstraction for them all. He may not exactly be able to get contracts like the military industrial complexes of old, but he knew a thing or two about it. And what Taylor was offering would make quite a few people obscenely rich.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone, causing him to frown behind his mask. Who would be calling him at this time? He had made it abundantly clear that he was not to be disturbed during his dialysis?

Grabbing his phone, he flipped it over so he could see the screen, and his furor quickly died, replaced by a cold calculation as he considered the displayed name.

"Why is she calling now," he thought to himself, "she's perfectly aware of when my treatments are."

Contemplating it for a moment, he then made a decision. If she was aware of what his schedule was, then this could either be one of two things: a power play, or an emergency. Considering who it was, the latter was unlikely, as it would be a cold day in hell that she would defer or show weakness to another. It just wasn't acceptable to her.

Making a decision, he placed the phone back down and watched it go dark, the phone call going to his voice mail. It was unprofessional, certainly, but it was only fair to return it in spades for what she was doing.

Alas, his phone rang again, and this time he sighed, knowing that avoiding whatever she wanted was inevitable, so instead, he picked up the phone and hit the answer button on the screen.

"Good evening, Agnes. Need I remind you that I am currently undergoing treatment?"

"No, you do not, Uppercrust. This isn't a social call," the dulcet tones of Agnes Court filled his ears. If he didn't know the person behind the voice, it would have been mildly entertaining at how hard she tried to present herself as enticing and non-offensive.

Agnes Court was truly none of those. From the moment she was brought in by Endymion, he had seen right through her facade. How the former head of the Seattle Branch hadn't he would never know. He had to wonder what was going through his head when she had finally revealed just what she was.

What she was, however, was a psychopath. Pure and simple. There was no limit to what she was capable of and she felt no remorse for her actions. All that mattered was her objectives were met and she amassed more power and wealth for herself. It was this capacity that had caught Endymion's attention in the first place, and it had allowed her meteoric rise within the Elite.

Perhaps if he had paid more attention back then, things may have ended differently. Unfortunately, back then he had been more focused on his own treatment and establishing the New York Elite to pay attention to what was happening on the West Coast. It may have saved the identity of what the Elite had originally been.

Alas, it had not been. Agnes Court had been meticulous in her planning, when she was ready to finally execute, she had ensured that there had been no way to lose. In the span of six months, most of the leadership based on the west coast that had originally founded the Elite had found themselves co-opted, replaced or dead.

If there had been any mistake that Agnes had made in her coup, it had been the fact that she had written off Florida and New York as unessential to her plans. Then again, he could not blame her, ever since the formation of the Elite, both Gentilhomme and himself had been given a wide latitude by Endymion because of how useful the two were for the Elites interests, which allowed them to tightly control their individual branches. The fact that she had written them off had highlighted that if she had one foible it was her arrogance.

But the damage had been done, her takeover of the west coast had made her the de jure head of the Elite, even if she ran the illusion that she was only a midlevel troubleshooter in the organization. By every single metric of the organization, she was the shadow behind the throne of a supposed business confederation.

Luckily, Agnes wasn't completely insane. She had realized quickly that trying a repeat performance to correct her miscalculation would also be a mistake: Gentilhomme was too important to the Elite to remove, as he managed the logistical network of the Elite. Meanwhile, his own contributions to the Elite through large multimillion dollar government contracts had made him indispensable from a cost/benefit perspective. Instead, she had extended an olive branch, offering many of the same conditions that Endymion had allowed them to operate in the past with only a few additional caveats.

As a result, the Elite had been split into two factions with the rank-and-file largely unaware of the internal power struggle. Neither side could afford to separate, in spite of Agnes's actions, as dissolving the Elite would remove the only deterrence they had to prevent the Protectorate from simply rolling them all up.

It nonetheless remained a cold relationship between them, one steeped in distrust, and frankly, it likely would never change. He knew that Agnes Court despised him, but couldn't afford to not utilize him for her own aims, so she was forced to tolerate him. She had simply settled upon both eagerly and reluctantly awaiting his demise, as it would remove one of the last stumbling blocks to her hegemony of the Elite, even if it would cost her millions of dollars in contracts.

"I figured," he rasped drily, knowing it would annoy the hell out of her, "What do you want?"

"I need an explanation on what you are doing?"

"So she knows," he mused with a hint of irritation. It had been a foregone conclusion that she would quickly become suspicious the moment he transferred the money to Accord. It was too large of a sum of money to ignore. The fact that it was money that his branch had generated mattered little to a control freak like Agnes. Still it rankled him that he couldn't get a few more weeks out of it. He would have to have a chat with Fibonacci about ensuring that their systems were secure again.

"You'll have to be more specific, Agnes. I thought we already discussed the contract with the PRT to enhance the shield systems we already put into place on the eastern seaboard."

"Don't play coy with me, Gene," came her frosty reply, "You know exactly why I am calling. I want an explanation on the twenty million dollars that have disappeared from your branch's balance."

"Demand? Dear Agnes, you seem to have forgotten something. While I may be a member of the Elite, I do not answer to you. How I use the money that my branch has made is my business so long we continue to meet our yearly levies. Or have you forgotten the charter?"

"I have not forgotten the charter, Gene. However, I sincerely doubt when the charter was written it was envisioned that a member of the Elite would, without conferring with anyone, suddenly abscond with twenty million dollars without a word. One could believe that you may be misappropriating funds for your own benefit."

His teeth grit at the statement, the urge to snap at the younger upstart almost too much for him to resist. Instead, he muted his phone for a moment and took a deep breath. It was a matter of pride that in all of his years he had not once misused any money that he was in charge of.

Unmuting the phone, he decided that if she wanted to posture and threaten, he could return the favor.

"Be careful, Agnes, you're treading on my dreams."

"Excuse me?"

"Let me make this abundantly clear to you, Agnes. What I do with the New York Branch's money is none of your concern. Unless you want to change the charter to reflect that, it will remain none of your concern. Now that I have established my position, I will, however, in light of the fact that we are on the same side, let you know that the money you are inquiring about is a project that I authorized. That I approved. And that I am personally overseeing. Is that sufficient? Or would you like to escalate this to the Committee?"

He knew perfectly well that Agnes couldn't take the risk of trying to bring this to the rest of the branches, despite the fact that she had it stacked in her favor. If she did so she would draw the ire of Gentilhomme, who would not take kindly toward Agnes challenging the charter, which she could not afford.

He would have to reach out to Gentilhomme after this and ensure he was made aware of just exactly what was going on. While he could depend on the man to keep the traditions of the original Elite, it would still be respectful to keep him apprised of the situation.

"That…will not be necessary, Uppercrust," she relented after a long pause, obviously coming to the same conclusions that he did, and by using his cape name, was admitting defeat, "I am merely voicing my concern and let my passion get the better of me. I apologize."

He knew it was a false apology, but it wasn't worth incensing her further. The fact that she was backing down was a win in and of itself.

"Apology accepted. As a gesture of good faith, I will keep you informed on the progress of my project. But right now, I am in the preliminary stages. I hope to have some results within the next few months."

Another long pause met him.

"That is acceptable," was her awaited response, "I will look forward to the fruits of this project. Good evening."

With that she cut the call, leaving him once again alone.

Lobbing the phone back on the table, he leaned back in his chair, letting the dialysis machine do its work.

While he may have won this battle, the war was far from over. There was no way that Agnes would leave this alone, she hated the unknown and anything that may undermine her approach to taking over the Elite would not be tolerated.

And once she found out exactly what he was doing, she would make a move. She couldn't afford for him to gain any advantage or power over her. If it came to be known, once Taylor had started rolling out her technology, that he had been the one to cultivate her, it would upset the balance of power in the Elite that Agnes had kept scaled in her direction.

And even worse, he knew exactly what she would think when she looked at the situation. A young, fifteen year old cape who was rolling out technology that was unrestricted and making money? She would likely come to the belief that he was cultivating Taylor to be his successor. And if it was true, which it was not, after all, how could he truly groom Taylor to be his successor if she was unaware of who he was, then her carefully laid plans to wait him out would be void.

If only they had a few more weeks, he could have ensured that Agnes would never be able to figure out what he had done. Instead, he now had to plan for a new foil to everything, because Agnes would inevitably become involved sooner or later.

Looks like he was going to have to call Accord ahead of schedule.

 

[AlSmash]

Storm clouds are gathering. Taylor will be next chapter.

Germination 2.1

Doctor Mother

"It has been a month now, Fortuna. I have done what you have asked and run interference for you, but I need to know what is going on. Why have you interfered with the Terminus Project?"

In the realm of expectations, Aminata Kouassi, better known to her subordinates simply as Doctor Mother, it would have been expected of her to immediately demand an explanation from Contessa as to why the younger woman was suddenly interfering with the Project. However, if there was one thing that you could never take away from her, it was that she was methodical to the point of obsession, and she was never one to immediately jump to conclusions without necessary data.

Instead, as her previous profession before her assumption of the mantle to save humanity from an extraterrestrial threat dictated, she observed and gathered information on the various actions that Contessa had made in the last month. It allowed her the time to note the other woman's focus upon the events in Brockton Bay.

Just why Contessa would throw away a project several years into its execution and data collection without conferring with her rankled at her nerves, especially when all data pointed that her fixation was upon a blind teenaged cape with a minor Tinker rating.

The only reason she had not intervened sooner was the knowledge that Fortuna was being guided by her power to an outcome that benefitted the greater humanity. Whatever it was that this Taylor Hebert offered, it was obviously something significant, even if the reason eluded her.

"A month ago The Path changed," Fortuna began, taking her hat off and setting it on the table, "several active plans could no longer confirm with the new path being suggested by my power. Chief among them was the Terminus Project."

"I understand that. But I need to understand why, Fortuna, all indications suggest that Taylor Hebert is not even a blip. Why are we changing so many plans for this single cape?"

Fortuna kept silent, instead gaining a faraway gaze in which she had recognized as when the younger woman was working her power. She knew it would be unwise to push the other woman, but even her patience was reaching its limit.

"The work that is necessary for Taylor Hebert to complete will change every single projection that we currently have," came the brunette's response after a bit, "what she will usher in will be the difference between surviving and thriving."

That cut off her rebuttal, instead she sat there contemplating what the other woman was hinting at. Contessa did not speak of events in such broad terms, so to hear her avoiding specificity in her statement was concerning.

"How?"

The other woman shook her head, "I can't tell you. If I did it would influence your actions and interfere with The Path."

A flash of anger almost caused her to snap at the woman. Influence her?! The impertinence! Contessa was forgetting her place. The girl may be the tool that cut away tumors, but she was the hand that guided it. If she didn't know what Taylor Hebert could do then how could she guide their overall strategy?!

"If she is that important Contessa, then why aren't we taking charge of her?"

Of course, she was being polite in the description. Kidnapping was a dirty business, but it was an effective tool for Cauldron. That was, if other means of co-opting their target was not viable, but in this case, if Contessa's analysis was correct, it was the only option available.

"Taylor Hebert needs to grow in a certain way in order to flourish and reach the conclusion The Path suggests. If we were to bring her into Cauldron, then she would be unable to reach her full potential. Hebert values and will protect her newfound freedom. Kidnapping her would result in another Manton."

This drew a frown from her. William Manton had been both one of their greatest coups, but also their worst mistakes. A brilliant, but disturbed man, he had allowed Cauldron to finetune its vial production and develop a model for testing and analysis for the power vials that they produced. Unfortunately, his descent into madness left him killing his estranged daughter with one of those vials when he tried to save her from the cancer ravaging her body. He had then fled, taking several vials with him.

It was when he took one that The Siberian of the Slaughterhouse 9 had been birthed. One of the most prolific and sadistic killers of a coterie of known mass murderers, Manton's projected power had done more damage to Cauldron with the death of Hero than any other event in its history.

"How bad," she had to ask.

Contessa's eyes closed for a moment, as she released a sigh, making it obvious that her power was feeding the information to her and she was processing it.

After a few more moments, she shook her head.

"You don't want to know."

"And if I do?"

"Trust me, Aminata. If Taylor Hebert turned into Manton, Scion would be a mercy to what she could do. Just keeping her under our thumb would require me to divert too much of The Path on her alone."

That certainly wasn't the rebuttal she was expecting. Instead it caused her to consider the implications. They knew what was likely to happen with Scion, they had been able to reconstruct what was likely to happen. But Hebert was capable of something worse? It was a thought that made her want to scoff. Just what could she do with such simple tech?

Still, it was something that Fortuna had seen, so she would humor the other woman.

"And killing her is out of the question?"

"Absolutely."

"Then why aren't we taking a larger involvement with Hebert? If you want to ensure that she is to be successful, then we have the means to do it. We may not be able to loop her into Cauldron, but that doesn't mean we can't speed up the process."

"What Taylor Hebert has to do has to be natural. If the government provides her any special attention or considerations, it will inevitably become public. The last thing needed is for her to garner the attention of the wrong people."

Like Sphere, was left unsaid. Sphere, like Manton, had been a brilliant, even world-changing parahuman. Graced with the ability and knowledge on how to build space habitats, he had been an unfortunate victim of the Simurgh, who had twisted the man into Mannequin of the Slaughterhouse Nine. The man had made it a point of pride over the years to hunt down Tinkers whose technology could be a net benefit to humanity.

If Taylor Hebert came to his attention, there was no doubt he would likely push to make a move to Brockton Bay.

But what about Simurgh? There was still scant little that they knew about the Third Endbringer outside of its Thinker, Tinker, and Master powers backed by an unerringly accurate battlefield precognition. There was also its ability to create Ziz Bombs, which lent credit to the theory that it had something akin to Fortuna's abilities considering the accuracy and breadth of their deployment over the years.

It was now that she knew Fortuna was not going to budge on her path. Their reliance upon Fortuna's ability to forge a path to victory was also a liability as it allowed little leeway in what could and could not be done.

"If that is what you say," she grudgingly admitted defeat. If there wasn't going to be any input that she could make into it, she would merely observe for now, "What are we going to tell the others?"

"We'll continue to tell them that the Terminus Project remains enact and on schedule."

So in other words, despite this small diversion, nothing was to change. They would allow the Triumvirate to believe that they were in the loop and truly had input in the matters of Cauldron. Rebecca would sooner or later get personally involved in Hebert once she gained enough of an image, and it would play into whatever plan that Fortuna was running.

Then again what was Brockton's PRT Director's name again? Piggert? Pigeon? Whatever it was, if she recalled the details on that aspect of the Terminus Project, the woman would likely be unable to not get herself involved in whatever Hebert was doing. It was why they had assigned her there in the first place, a bigoted woman who viewed capes with suspicion and treated them poorly was the sort of leader they expected for the parahuman feudalism experiment.

It seemed she was going to have to pay closer attention to Brocton Bay going forward.

---

AEH​

---

Emily Piggot

There were scant few things that annoyed Emily Piggot more than local officials believing themselves higher than their office. As the Director of the Brockton Bay PRT she was answerable only to the Chief Director and Congress, not to the local establishment.

Yet here she was, in the office of Mayor Roy Christener, the man having made it exceedingly clear that failure for her to show in his office would be not in her interest. It was only the knowledge of how much power that Christener wielded in the shadows through his connections in Boston that she had humored him. The last thing she needed at this juncture was trouble.

That didn't say that she was not happy. She had other fish to fry over the concerns of the local polity.

"Well, Roy," she chose to be petty, not using his title, knowing it would annoy him, "I'm here, what do you want that you couldn't talk to me over the phone for."

The man across from her was what you would expect from a person who had lived their life with a silver spoon in their mouth. Good looking even at his age, Roy Christener exuded a charisma that easily connected with the average voter who bought into his policies, it was how he had been able to hold office two terms running now despite the declining state of Brockton Bay. What the average voter wasn't aware of was that Christener could also be petty and vindictive to those who drew his ire, with several of his political opponents finding themselves suffering misfortune over the years to his benefit.

If Triumph hadn't been his son, she would have believed that Christener was an Empire Eighty-Eight plant considering how it seemed his policies seemed to benefit them in the end. But it was just a matter that Kaiser was more politically shrewd than his opposite number.

"Taylor Hebert."

She had to bite back a curse, 'Not this shit again.'

If she had the opportunity to go back again, she would not have reassigned Faro to Eagleton, she would have shot the pompous prick in the face for his abject failure. Well, him and possible Armsmaster, depending on her mood. Both of them had failed to lure Hebert into the Protectorate's clutches. She could not accept the argument that what they did know about Hebert was not enough to make an investment.

While Faro's failures could simply be listed as him being a pompous, bigoted, piece of shit, Armsmaster's failures could not so be lightly excused. After all, for being probably the most experienced Tinker in the Northeast, the fact that he did not see the implications of what Hebert could do could only hint at either he had a lapse of judgment, or worse, he had deliberately chosen to undersell the teenager for nebulous reasons.

The punishment that she had crafted for him should have been worse, but she had been limited in her options. All she had was a suspicion on his betrayal, and without the evidence, he would likely run to Legend again. She had found out that little tidbit when she had ordered an audit of his communications and systems. The fact that Legend had dismissed his concerns did not excuse his attempt to avoid the chain of command and escape his failure.

That all aside, considering it was done and dusted. Taylor Hebert was becoming a migraine of significant proportions. After Armsmaster's failure, she had been prepared to simply wait Hebert out, knowing that the requirements for NEPEA-5 would likely chill any attempts at finding an investor. Too many companies were skittish about employing or investing into a Tinker that had not been fully vetted (and it would be a cold day she'd provide it for Hebert unless she was Protectorate), especially with the fines and punishments attached provided too many points of failure that punished the company that took the risk. Sooner or later, Hebert would either give in and turn to the Protectorate, or she would turn villain, and it would be just as easy to force her into the Protectorate, mask or no mask.

But Hebert had found herself a sugar daddy to indulge in her fantasy to the tune of nearly sixty million dollars. She had heard of Zenith Investment Group in passing, only through reports coming from Boston and the occasional annoyance voiced by Director Armstrong, but it was all tangential information at best. Zenith as far as she could tell was a company that was above the board, having not been tied to any illegal activities over the years despite being an investment group and all of that type of business' negative connotations.

Just what Hebert had sold them worried her. You didn't invest sixty million dollars in simple visual equipment, and what inquiries were made were met with quiet rebuffs only providing the most basic of information.

And then there was Zero Dawn Technologies, the company that fronted for Taylor Hebert. One of the delicate balances that NEPEA-5 had to play was abiding by the Constitution, which prevented it from deliberately targeting Tinkers. What this provided Hebert was an opportunity to form her own LLC, which went into an entirely different subset of the NEPEA-5 that limited what the government could do. ZDT was no longer just a Tinker it was dealing with, but an actual company with entirely different rules. It was harder for the Protectorate to police LLCs as they were no longer considered individual entities like Tinkers. What an LLC provided was a method in which a Tinker could provide a service through a company front, that as long as it was not considered a direct threat to the local economy via monopolistic takeover, it was allowed to flourish with very little input outside of an occasional inspection by the Protectorate.

It was inordinately both frustrating and worrisome at the same time. They had no real inroads into monitoring or containing Hebert. Without due cause, like the suspicion of a crime taking place, they could do little more than twiddle their thumbs, as much as she wanted to raid the damn company and shutter it.

"I'm listening."

"This Zero Dawn thing has become a nuisance," the man said, "their purchase of the Dockworker's Association and its properties have raised some concerns with quite a few leaders in the community."

You mean your cronies and yourself, she thought snidely, but kept quiet. She was perfectly aware that Christener had been using the DWA and its Union for years in order to provide cheap labor to his political donors. It was sleazy, but it was just the way of the world anymore. The fact that Zero Dawn had bought out the DWA, its properties, and according to her sources, the personnel thanks to Daniel Hebert, Christener suddenly found his little operation in danger.

"There is not much I can legally do," she admitted, "it is an unfortunate circumstance, but Zero Dawn Technologies have not provided me with any opening in which to move in on them. They have been abiding by the diktat of NEPEA-5 in both letter and spirit, much to my chagrin. Honestly, I would think you would be appreciative of the premise of a company like this moving in. An investment of this size does suggest they intend to place their roots here."

"I apologize for my momentary lapse, but I have little faith in the long term viability of a company whose CEO is a fucking fifteen year old cripple," he coldly sneered, "especially a fucking Tinker. What the fuck are your people doing Emily, this is the sort of shit that you usually have buttoned down."

She bristled in response, not appreciating the fact that he was dressing her down like a green as grass cadet, "I'm doing my job, Roy," she snapped, deciding she was done playing polite, "When Taylor Hebert originally approached us, our best analysis surmised that her technology was specific and limited. It was not worth a hard offer for technology that was limited in its scope."

"A lot of good that analysis was, Director. I have a docks that is now a hive of activity, with several semis delivering heavy duty equipment. We are talking about forges, furnaces, assembly lines, fully equipped chemical facilities, and 3-D Printers to name a few things. I don't know what your analysts were doing, but that is certainly not limited in scope. Whatever the fuck Hebert is doing is big, and I do not like unknown quantities in my city. It's bad enough with the gangs you consistently fail to curtail, but now I have a Tinker with delusions of importance. So I'm going to ask you bluntly, and I want an answer, just what are we going to do about this?"

"I don't have a lot of good options," she admitted, though she really didn't want to, "the very same NEPEA-5 that is used to keep Tinkers in line is also protecting Hebert. I can do a few inspections to ensure that what she is doing is in compliance. There is also WEDGDG, but it could take upwards of two months before I receive a response. As long as Hebert's tech doesn't end up in the hands of villains, I don't have any additional inroads, nor do I have the personnel to continuously monitor her as well."

"What about Armsmaster? Where is he in all of this? I would think that he wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to confiscate another Tinker's technology to add it to his own."

She had to resist frowning at the observation. It appears that Christener's infiltration of her own command was more than she had expected. It couldn't be Triumph, as despite his closeness to his father he had shown himself to be dedicated to his job to where he would not jeopardize his position. She didn't like the fact that her command was an open book to someone like this. Especially when it forced her to make an admission she was loathe to admit, because it reflected poorly upon her command. But the Mayor was obviously intent on shutting down Hebert, and it happened to fit in within her own objectives.

"We have reason to suspect that Armsmaster withheld information on Hebert's capabilities," she admitted, as much it hurt, it was no less true in her opinion, "several of the statements and observations within his report have come into question in light of recent events. It may be nothing, but his actions are currently under review."

"A pity," was his sniffed dismissal, unhappy with her statement, "it would have been so much easier if he could agree with what needs to be done. Alas, it seems even the best of us can give into temptation."

"And what do you have?"

"While it's a pity that the Protectorate cannot curtail something as a rogue Tinker, I wasn't counting just on just you, Director. I have made a few phone calls to the capital. After all, we have a company that is run by a fifteen year old, it certainly should raise a few eyebrows in Boston. Then there is the unfortunate rapid development they are doing, I wonder just what corners they may be cutting in their rush. It'd be a shame if they are found to have created an unsafe work environment."

In hindsight, she was not surprised that Christener was going to try and bureaucratically kill Zero Dawn. It was obvious his only options were to use his contacts in Boston to strangle them in red tape. An inefficient, but relatively effective low cost method. The only thing she was unsure of was if it would be successful, she would need to probably talk to Armstrong about more information on Zenith. This was something that was not in her wheelhouse, she was a commander, not an attorney, but she had a feeling that Christener's angle of attack would meet more resistance than he expected.

"I may also have expressed my concerns to the Youth Guard through a colleague of mine."

That, however, may be more effective. There were times when she would pay anything to line up and shoot every single one of the helicopter administrators that supposedly cared about young capes. They created more problems than they offered solutions, only serving to stymie almost every facet of her operations out of some misplaced noblesse oblige for children. If they were to get involved with Hebert, they may just start putting their own pressure upon possibly curtailing her. And without the support of the Protectorate, and the scope of the Youth Guard's reach, it may just be an effective ploy.

But she wouldn't count on it. However, it may just provide an opportunity that neither would have previously had.

Before she could say anymore on the matter, there was a knock at the door, and it then opened to reveal Christener's secretary, holding a folder in her hand. She did not look happy with whatever she was carrying.

"Yes, Janice?"

"This just arrived in the office from a courier, it's paperwork from Zero Dawn. I think you need to see this."

Placing the folder on his desk, Roy looked at the folder like it was a coiled viper, a "Thank you, Janice," the only dismissal he gave her before she turned and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Picking up the folder, he flipped it open and began reading through the documents. Not even a few moments in, his jaw set and his expression darkened, his eyes darting through the document.

"Motherfucker," he breathed, slapping the folder down on the desk. He then got to his feet and turned and walked to the window that looked out over the city.

"What is it," she asked, even as she strained her ears to hear the muttering that escaped his lips, one of the things she heard was "how the fuck could I have missed it?"

His hands curling into fists, then releasing several times, he then turned back to her, walking back to his desk and sliding the folder over to her.

"Zero Dawn just supplied paperwork to reactivate the rail yards. The state has already fucking approved it," he snarled the last part, his brown eyes flitting towards her, "I want them gone, Piggot. I don't care what needs to be done, I don't care what we have to do, but I refuse to let this go on. I hope you agree with me."

She stared at the document, the ramifications of such an action were already coalescing in her head, and none of them good. If Hebert could get the rail yards back into operation, then that would likely only entice the gangs to take action, if not already start once work began. It would add more tinder to the box that was already a spark or two from open warfare. With the type of money this could possibly bring in…it was no surprise why Christener would be against it. He had used the DWA for years, and if they accrued enough power, they could easily turn the tables on the man as they would no longer owe him any loyalty.

And Daniel Hebert, with his righteous parental indignation, may just turn his focus towards the Protectorate for what had transpired with Faro. And god help them all if he ever discovered anything about Shadow Stalker.

"I think we can come to an understanding," she finally admitted after another minute of thought.

---

AEH​

---

Citrine

"I thank you for making time for me, Kaiser. I know you are a rather busy man."

A small chuckle escaped the lips of her metal-encumbered counterpart across the dining table from her. They were currently ensconced in the backroom of an upper-scale restaurant that just happened to be in Empire territory, the perfect place for a clandestine meeting it appeared for the man.

"Normally, I would not. However, I cannot help but find myself curious as to why an envoy from the Ambassadors would be reaching out to me."

When she had come to Brockton Bay, she knew that she would have to operate differently than Accord had in the past. In the past, her boss had attempted an indirect method in his attempt to establish a beachhead in Brockton Bay; it had met with one of the rare failures he had experienced. The cape scene had just been too entrenched to establish any changes in the power dynamics, and so he had written off Brockton Bay to focus all of his attention on Boston.

The difference between then and now was simply there was no interest by Accord to involve himself with the local cape scene outside of his interest in maintaining Taylor Hebert. So while Jean Brown worked for Taylor Hebert in an official capacity, it was Citrine who operated in the shadows, ensuring that Accord's plans met fruition.

One of those was ensuring that the local cape scene would not interfere with Taylor Hebert and Zero Dawn Technologies. A difficult endeavor in the first place, considering the three 'gangs' that dominated Brockton Bay had different objectives and intentions. Of the three, however, she had identified only one that could possibly be amicable to a pact: The Empire Eighty-Eight.

As distasteful the thought was to work with Nazis, it was sadly the only choice. The fact of the matter was there was no chance that the Merchants would honor any agreement or word, nor would they be amicable to sit idly by. They were just too destructive thanks to their addiction to their own product. Nor was Lung and the Azn Bad Boyz a viable candidate, Lung would view any pact or deal as beneath him, he'd break it as soon as it was convenient to him or he was bored.

That only left Kaiser and the Empire Eighty-Eight.

"What do you know of Zero Dawn Technologies?"

She could imagine him frowning behind his mask, obviously not expecting the question judging by the way his eyes narrowed through their slits.

"A new tech company headed by an unmasked Tinker that has established itself on the Docks. It recently absorbed the Dockworker's Association and its associated properties. From what my sources can tell me, they've been moving quite a lot of equipment into the docks," he paused, and then she could see it dawning on him, "Accord has an interest in it."

She nodded, "He does. It is the matter of Zero Dawn that I was sent to meet with you. There are parties in New York and Boston who are invested in the success of Zero Dawn. They would view any attack upon Zero Dawn or its assets as an attack upon them."

The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife as Kaiser met her declaration with silence. She knew he was likely thinking of who the party from New York could be, but he was also likely wargaming in his head could he afford another enemy when he was already entangled in a cold war with the Protectorate, ABB, and Merchants.

"You come here as an envoy and seek to threaten me," he asked, his voice having lost its previous joviality and warmth that he had greeted her with, replaced with a tone and posture that what was now facing her was a predator rousing from his slumber.

"Please. I'm merely establishing the grounds for negotiation. Accord understands that any hostilities between our groups would be pyrrhic at best, catastrophic at worst, and he would still end up losing Zero Dawn in the process. What he has authorized me to do is to attempt to work out a pact that is beneficial to both parties and avoid hostilities."

This seemed to settle her counterpart as he relaxed slightly.

"I'm listening."

---

AEH​

---

Kaiser

After Citrine had left, Max Anders sat at the table, gently sloshing the rich red wine in its fine glass providing a hypnotic effect that served to collect his thoughts.

If he were honest, and he would never admit this to his subordinates, things were going too fast and far too quickly. Never would he have expected Taylor Hebert's sudden and meteoric rise. Not only because of her disability, but also the difficulty in which a Tinker was able to get any sort of funding that wasn't government or gang funded. He was quite happy to bide his time and see just what Hebert was capable of before making any overtures.

The public release announcing that Zero Dawn Technologies, and by extension Hebert, had received a lump-sum investment from the Zenith Investment Group of sixty million dollars had firmly trounced that idea. That type of capital was something that suggested that Hebert was far more capable than even he expected. Just how capable she was, however, was still up in the air.

But why would they allow her to remain in Brockton Bay? That had never made sense, even he was willing to admit that Brockton Bay was a city hanging on a thread. You didn't invest that amount of money unless you were sure that you could ensure that you got a return. Suffice to say, he had been suspicious of the entire situation, and had tasked Krieg to look into it using his contacts within the Gesellschaft to use their bank connections to look into Zenith.

Unfortunately, Zenith was too tightly protected for even Gesellschaft from finding out too much about the company. All he had received were suppositions and theories, one of which had been confirmed when he had received a request for parley from Citrine. While it did not provide direct confirmation into the depth that Accord's talons had been sunk into Zenith, it did establish that he had some tangential interest in the company. Otherwise he would not be sending his second-in-command to Brockton Bay.

What he had not been expecting, however, was for the parley to amount to the suggestion of a pact between the Empire and the Ambassadors. He had honestly believed, considering Accord's personality, that it would be a cold day in hell before he entertained such an idea, considering his previous failure in trying to infiltrate Brockton Bay. Yet here it was.

The question was what he wanted to do. He hadn't given an answer to Citrine, informing her that he would have to discuss it with his people. After all, while he could, taking unilateral action without at least informing the various factions of his the Empire would likely end up with someone taking umbrage to it.

But the fact remains, in the end, it would be his choice. On one hand, he could see the benefit of at least agreeing with several of the suggestions Citrine had given. She had already made it clear to him that the Ambassadors had no interest in extending their tentacles back into the Bay, they were only humoring Hebert because of the teenager's roots.

There was some merit in at least aligning slightly with what Citrine had suggested. The Empire would benefit in the long run with a revitalized Brockton, especially if they could frame it in a certain way. While capitalizing upon the suffering was always beneficial, it was one of those situations where it was only providing diminishing returns as time went on, considering the rank and file of the Empire seemed to be steadily dropping in their quality as the desperation of some increased. With the majority of Brockton Bay still being white, it would be rather simple to frame the Empire's actions if they chose to assist in protecting Zero Dawn as an altruistic attempt at ensuring the protection of jobs for those deserving. It would be a boon to their overall standing and serve as yet another feather in the political cap and serve to corner the dragon further.

But there was also the financial boon that would benefit Medhall. After all, it was the largest insurance provider in Brockton Bay, and up until their purchase, the Dockworker's Association did go through them for their group insurance. It was already a foot in the door with Zero Dawn, at least at the floor level, but if Citrine's veiled hints were any indicator, it's possible that Zero Dawn's span of products could extend into the medical field. If Medhall could be at the front…

But there were also drawbacks and risks to the endeavor. In a way, he would be subordinating a portion of his operations to an outsider, even if it was beneficial to the larger scheme, it would leave quite a few members of the Empire chafing at the bit. After all, he had made it clear in the past that the Empire answered to no one, and now here he was considering doing just that. Oh, it wouldn't be as dramatic as they thought, but the illusion of it was enough to likely leave them frothing.

For a brief moment, he considered trying to grab Hebert himself, but quickly discarded it. The opportunity was honestly gone, even if he was successful, the money would evaporate instantly and Accord would likely make it his personal mission to eliminate the Empire for their offense. His father had been lucky back then, Accord had not been the man that he was now when he had made his only attempt into Brockton Bay. There was no doubt in his mind, having heard enough of the rumors from Boston, that if Accord was suitably incensed into the inclination, the Unwritten Rules would become the Unwritten Checklist.

No, Hebert was off the board. He couldn't risk it, even if he wanted to. Like Citrine had said, any conflict between them now would be pyrrhic unlike back then. It just wasn't worth fighting over a Tinker if there was another option. It grated at his nerves, but he had to hand it to Accord, the man knew when he had the right cards in hand to play.

But maybe he could take better advantage of this, now that he thought of it. Sooner or later, the jumped up lizard would come out of whatever hole he lurked in and turn his sights towards ZDT. The man may be a slant-eye, but he wasn't stupid. He would recognize exactly the same as he did at the threat that Zero Dawn and Hebert provided. If he was to actually make a move against Hebert and ZDT, it may just provide him the opportunity to eliminate his chief nemesis.

It was something to dwell upon. He hadn't given Citrine a timeline on his response, but he had enough time to do his own research.

And core to that was Taylor Hebert herself.

---

AEH​

---

Armsmaster

When people had the opportunity to peer into his workshop, they always seemed to note how pristine and sterile it always seemed. That it shared more in common with a laboratory than a place where someone actually worked on or created new equipment.

It was something that he had always prided himself on. Everything was organized and kept in a neat and tidy order. It made his life easier and it allowed him a flexibility to change his workshop on a whim without having to worry about things getting in the way of said change.

One of those changes had been the recent addition of a punching bag that had been set up in the corner of the workshop. A punching bag that was finding itself on the receiving end of a large amount of pent up frustration that he could only fantasize releasing on the target of his ire in his darkest moments.

Ever since his decision to protect Taylor Hebert, Piggot had made it her life's goal to make his life…difficult. Less than a day after his report, his budget had been put under audit. It had been the most exhaustive audit of his budget in his entire time with the Protectorate, leaving not a single line item unquestioned, from materials and equipment, all the way to what supplements and nutrition he used.

At the end of it, he found his budget had been slashed by nearly half, leaving him with too many harsh choices to make. One of the easier ones of that list was his choice to cut out his normal nutritional shakes, supplements, and even his stimulants. It would likely catch up to him in the future, but there had been no choice in the matter.

What it did mean was that he had to spend more time taking care of himself than he had in a very long time.

If it had been just the budget, he could probably persevere without complaint, but Piggot would not relent or be satisfied until she had her pound of flesh. There had also been a full audit of not only his files and designs, but his communications. Almost everything revolving around himself and his identity as Armsmaster was put under a microscope. It had been there that Piggot found his communications to Legend.

He wiped his brow with his arm, collecting the sweat that had been building and tossing it aside..

Legend was another betrayal he had never thought possible. Hero had always told him that if he ever needed help Legend would be there in a heartbeat, because that was the kind of man he was. Instead, the only responses he had received since had been anything but help. It was polite, but Legend had made it clear that he was dismissing his concerns. He had explicitly stated that there was nothing that he could do, as what the PRT did was not something he had any control over, he could give input, but any decision made on a Director's conduct firmly lay with Chief Director Costa-Brown. The only response that he received from the Chief Director might as well have been a form letter, with Costa-Brown stating that she had her complete confidence in Director Piggot.

Piggot had been incensed at finding those communications and accused him of undermining the chain of command. The resultant furor had found him unofficially stripped of his responsibilities, pending review. It was all unofficial of course, Piggot couldn't afford to make anything public until it was already done. However, he could read the writing on the wall, his tenureship as the leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate was nearing its end. Piggot, of course, would have the defense that she could not afford to have a Protectorate officer in a position as her peer that was diametrically in opposition of her in a place like Brockton Bay.

And she would be right, at least from a certain point of view. Even if it was borderline illegal what she was doing, it was still a valid defense for someone in her position. At least, as long as she kept the origin point of this entire affair from getting too much scrutiny.

As for him, he had found, to his shock, there didn't exist many protections for Protectorate members against possible abuses by their PRT counterparts. It had certainly been an eye-opening experience to just how much they were at the mercy of the PRT when they were supposedly equal partners in fighting against villainous capes and organizations.

Finishing another set on the bag, he lowered his arms as the burn reinforced the knowledge of what he was doing. All the while he focused on keeping his breathing measured and controlled, the action merely providing another form of useful exercise.

He knew that the ship had sailed about recanting his testimony. Piggot had stopped even trying to hint at that after the audit. Nor would he have done it in the first place, he had done everything by the book, and he had found nothing out of the ordinary with Taylor Hebert's tech. It was perfectly reproducible and had none of the telltale characteristics that all Tinkertech had.

Yet at the end, it no longer even mattered. And he found himself doubting his continued presence within the Protectorate. The Protectorate had been a home for him for over a decade, and to have his loyalty and dedication rewarded with this ignominy honestly hurt.

But what choices was he left with? If he did decide to leave the Protectorate, almost every single one of his inventions, designs, and ideas were all controlled through his Armsmaster identity, he would be left starting over from nothing, and if the Protectorate felt like that, they could constantly dog him for trademark violation until his dying breath. The Guild, which would allow him to keep his identity and designs, was likely out of the question. Piggot had started limiting his contact and work with Dragon, citing that it was a waste of resources to 'idly chitchat' with the Canadian Tinker. And if Piggot was able to organizationally demote him, as he expected to happen, then Narwhal would be hard-pressed to accept him. It would look bad organizationally to take him in.

Plopping himself back in a chair, not even caring about the fact that his sweat-soaked clothes were sharing their bounty with the leather, he slowly unwrapped his hands, idly thinking of what he could do.

It was then that his door opened, and he paused in his actions to look at the newcomer coming into his lab.

Ethan Marsh, better known as Assault, had always been an oddity to him. A former villain and jailbreak specialist, he had been conscripted into the Protectorate and rebranded. Even to this day he didn't know what went through the man's head. At times he could be unprofessional, laid back and irreverent of authority, and at other times, he was the very model of seriousness and professionalism.

Honestly, he wondered exactly how Bethany was able to tolerate him.

"You missed the meeting," Assault declared, plopping himself down in the only other chair in the room, the metal scraping slightly on the floor.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what the other man's angle was, not finding any off the top of his head, here merely scoffed, going back to unwrapping his hands, "I wasn't informed there was a meeting," he finally admitted.

It was a half-truth, he was aware that there would be a meeting today, but Piggot had made it clear that he was unneeded for it. It was yet another indicator for what Piggot was intending.

"Strange," Assault mused aloud, "do you want to know what Piggot talked about?"

He offered a shrug as he finished unwrapping his right hand before moving to the left. It honestly wouldn't matter, he'd get the email with the memo outlining what had been discussed, Piggot at least kept him somewhat in the loop, she still needed him on patrol after all.

"Citrine has been spotted in Brockton Bay."

He found himself pausing. Citrine was Accord's second-in-command, the fact that she was in Brockton Bay did not bode well.

Ever since his ascent, Accord and his Ambassadors were viewed as an oddity within the conventional scheme of villainous groups. While Accord was undoubtedly a villain, he was cut from a cloth that was closer to the likes of Marquis or Gentilhomme, cladding himself with rules and standards that he held as largely inviolable. The other differentiation, and one that still escaped the understanding of the Protectorate, that outside of a maybe a handful of unpowered support staff, the Ambassadors invested more in quality over quantity for their capes, fielding individuals with highly specialized powers that made them more dangerous man-for-man compared to the bog-standard capes that made up most gangs.

And even then, Accord didn't wield them like a normal villainous group would. Instead, they acted like, well, agents for the man instead of combatants. In fact, in regards to cape fights, Ambassadors ranked towards the bottom of cape fights, only engaging with others when there seemed to be no choice.

"Do we have any idea why she is here," he found himself asking.

"Not really," Assault offered, shrugging, "Only reason we know is because someone posted a photo of her leaving a restaurant the other night. Guy was asking if they recognized the cape. We got the alert this morning. The thing is, the restaurant is believed to be an Empire front."

Now that caused his concern to skyrocket, his frustration further matching as this was something he should know, damn Piggot's actions. There was no good to come from Accord talking with the Empire, for anyone.

"And what does the Director want us to do?"

"Standard orders. Detain if spotted. Piggot wants to know exactly why she is in the city, but she thinks it may be linked to your girl."

Somewhat confused, he stared at Assault. His girl? As far as he knew he didn't 'have' a girl if he got what was being insinuated right. Was this part of some elaborate joke on Assault's part? He didn't see what it could be, and it wasn't like Assault to go from serious to joking without any indication.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he admitted, "Are you referring to Dragon? We're just friends. And I don't see how she would have anything to do with Citrine?"

The look of incredulity he received certainly did not do anything to assuage his mounting confusion.

"Not Dragon. The other girl, you know, the one that seems to be doing her level best to give Piggot a heart attack?"

"I…still don't see who you are referring to."

"Surely you can't be this dense. Hebert," Assault sighed, "Piggot thinks that Hebert has to do with Citrine being in Brockton Bay. Something about how Zenith is based out of Boston and it'd be the perfect front for Accord."

Again, he found himself blinking, processing what was being said. Just where did Assault get the idea that Taylor Hebert, a fifteen year old girl, was 'his' girl? Did he even understand what he was insinuating with his indelicate phrasing? But then he thought about the latter part of the statement.

He had to give credit to Piggot, it certainly was strange timing. Though he would be hesitant to immediately link it to Taylor. Still, it was strange, between the public release of a rather large sum of money being invested into her company and the sudden appearance of Accord's second-in-command in Brockton Bay. Still, it was a rather large leap of logic. Accord just wasn't known to venture out from his hub of power in Boston.

Still, it was worrisome and needed investigation. Just how far was Taylor involved with this, if true? He wanted to believe that Taylor may not be aware of what was happening if she was somehow involved? She didn't strike him as someone who would willfully and with full knowledge work directly with villains. He could be wrong, but it was a feeling he had about her.

"So what is Director Piggot planning to do about the possible link?"

Assault shrugged, "I don't know. She wasn't really forthcoming with things. I know she had Miss Militia and Lieutenant Abner stay after the meeting. So," he shrugged his shoulders, "probably something that she doesn't want us to know until she's ready."

'More than likely an inspection or raid', he thought to himself. Piggot was not subtle when she did things, likely due to her past. Still, he doubted anything would come from it outside of inconveniencing people. That could be what she was aiming for, forcing them into making some sort of mistake.

Was it possible she was still hellbent on getting Hebert under her control? He honestly was not sure, but considering what she had done to him so far for doing his job, he wouldn't put it past her. Piggot was an incredibly prideful woman and Hebert had unknowingly been grating against it.

And there was no one who could, or even would challenge Piggot's actions.

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.2

Taylor

Sipping from my lukewarm coffee, I couldn't help but watch the trainwreck that was the argument taking place between my father and Jean. I despised the taste of the bitter black brew but it was providing me one of the few sources of energy that I was in desperate need of. Both to remain aware of the argument, but also to function in general.

The last week of hard work and preparation was finally bearing its fruits. While training was still underway, in three days, we would be ready to start the production line.

It was this reason alone that had drawn me out of my lab for this sit down. While I was technically listed as the CEO, in actuality, I was more the head of research and development. The only reason I was here was because it was from my head that we could even field the various pieces of technology. If anyone had solutions for what we were intending, it would be me.

Alas, the damn argument was over the focus of production. While all models of the Focus shared a large amount of parts, there were still core differences that had to be taken into account. We couldn't mix the different models on the same assembly line, and we didn't have enough assembly lines to field all models. And at this juncture, it would be wise to do so without contracts and demands.

The irony in all of this, however, was my father was arguing in favor of Hathor, the communications model, while Jean was arguing we needed to go with Ptah, a multipurpose model. How my father would argue against the model that would benefit workers like him, I would never know, but it was certainly something to behold.

Quietly taking another sip, I let them keep at it as I eagerly allowed the coffee to claw back the vestiges of my own exhaustion. The last few days had been nothing more than meetings, reviews, and training. Luckily, the training had been the least exhausting aspect of it all, as many of the people I was helping train knew me too well, and they knew to listen.

But the meetings? I wish I could do without them. I despised them. I could be working on finetuning my plans, but instead, I got to play referee to Jean and my father arguing like they were jilted lovers, which, fucking ew mind, thankfully they were not. I don't think I'd know what to do with that can of worms.

It was tedious, and if I wasn't actually getting some use out of them, I would probably have brought my foot down sooner. Why I was using their argument to work on my own plans honestly escaped me. I knew it was a good idea, only that I didn't know why it was a good idea.

Nonetheless, both of them raised good points on the viability of both plans. The only problem was this world didn't reward viability. It couldn't, not in the face of everything else. Finishing off the coffee, I placed the mug down on the table and reached out to find the charging case for my new Focus. Flipping it open, I retrieved the large triangular 'plate' that was easily three times the size of the Ptah and affixed it to right in front of my ear on the right side of my head. With a light tap, I allowed it to power up.

Unlike my first Focus, Sekhmet, as it was documented, was meant to be an entirely custom model meant only for me. It combined all of the aspects of all existing production models into a singular platform to provide me with the absolute best in terms of performance and utility for my work.

Unofficially, I named it something else, something more appropriate and private: Ash Nazg. Since, at the end of the day, it was the Focus equivalent of Tolkien's One Ring. It could do everything the others could and would forever only be mine.

My vision returned as it were, flooding and provided me with a much more detailed view than ever before. Whereas the Focus Zero could only provide me with what were essentially shaped blobs in blue-violet-magenta, the definition and detail was magnitudes superior. While still not a suitable replacement for normal eyes, I could now make out things like facial expressions, and sharp movements were no longer a blur. The range was also measured in the tens of meters instead of uncomfortably close.

But most importantly to it all, was the augmented reality overlay now in my vision. It was honestly the core game changer for everything she could do. No longer did I have to sit at a computer, but now I had the luxury of being able to move around and reference data, and be able to show it on a tablet to those in the field or shop.

"Enough," I said quietly, but firmly. I might as well have shot a gun in the room, as they both stopped and looked at me, "You both have good points, and in a perfect situation, we could probably do a mix of what you're suggesting."

I reached up so the Focus could detect it, and lightly tapped the icon for a folder that I had been working on for over a week now. I then slid the icon to the open 'port' and accessed the holographic projector that had been set up in the room. In a few moments, it then uploaded and displayed what I was seeing.

It was a report that I had compiled, specifically upon the next Endbringer slated to attack: Leviathan.

"Taylor," my father asked, and while I could not see it, I knew he was paling at the imagery of the devastation and data that I had put together for this, "What is this? Why are you-"

"I'd also like to know," Jean's voice was cooler, but I could tell she was not exactly happy with this deviation. I couldn't blame her, I was diverting time I could have put towards readying our initial push on this, at least in her opinion, "Just what is the point of this?"

"In thirty-six days, the window of attack for Leviathan is slated to open up," I started, knowing that I had to sell this to both of them, especially Jean, "It is known from past behavior patterns, that about forty-five days before he strikes, he always settles into a position roughly four to eight hours from the intended target. Considering his clocked speed runs around two hundred knots and his known location in the Laurentian Abyss, that places him within striking distance from Quebec City all the way down to Brunswick, Georgia."

I provided a map that showed the red of everywhere it could hit, which, honestly, was quite massive when you thought of the sheer landmass that was vulnerable. It also didn't take into account that Leviathan has been shown to have the capability to move inland, in the case of Lake Ijsellmeer in the Netherlands in 2005. It had completely destroyed the food supply by contaminating the lowlands with salt water in that tragedy. Luckily, there weren't as many viable targets for that strategy, and those that existed were outside of its preferred striking range.

"As much as I hate to say it, but this provides us with a marketing opportunity that cannot be ignored," I finally said, "Even with Mister Gabriel's help in cutting through the bureaucratic red tape necessary to field a new cellular device and requisite network connection, the fact of the matter is, if we want to really get out there, we need to have a major splash that cannot be ignored by anyone. Providing resources to an Endbringer fight, both before and after, is such an opportunity."

"Taylor, that's a rather dangerous mindset to have," my father spoke up after a moment, "I can see what you're getting at, and I do agree. However, the optics of it, I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do. Plus there is the logistics aspect of it. We won't even have the permits to assemble a cellular network to support the Focus network for another month. I know you want to hit the ground running, but we have to start local for this to work. Taking advantage of an Endbringer attack to sell a product is, honestly, bad optics."

His piece said, I turned my head to Jean, whose expression had not changed.

"I do not believe that would be the proper path forward. Yes, you are right that it's an opportunity, but it's an opportunity with far too many risks for what will likely be far too little gain. How many units were you thinking of having produced for this endeavor?"

"About two thousand Ptahs and a thousand Hathors."

While my father sharply inhaled at the figures, Jean's expression hardened as her eyes narrowed. It was evident that she had a problem with what I was suggesting. I knew that meeting those figures would be difficult in the time that we had. We would have to be running our production line non-stop for the entire month without interruption in order to meet that quota. It would be a prohibitively expensive prospect with the material and labor costs, but also the likely bottlenecks we would have to overcome, but it was doable. I had already run the numbers to know this.

Instead, to my own surprise, she shook her head.

"I will give you credit, you don't do anything by half, Taylor. I get why you want to do this, I honestly do. But we have to think about the company first. Right now, we're bleeding money and have no income. Which is fine for a venture capital startup, but it means we're already taking big risks. The last thing we need to be doing right now is stacking even more risks before our first round of sales. What you are planning is putting all our eggs into one basket in a make or break situation and anticipating that if you showcase this technology we'll be able to fast-track sales, but that's not how tech adoption works. Endbringer fights are messy, vicious things, and are not the sort of thing you want to introduce an entirely new system into, even if it's revolutionary, without proper training for all involved. If you rush it out like that, you'll end up killing more people than you would be helping. And we'll be the one paying the price."

I opened my mouth to rebut, but she held up a hand, stalling me.

"Let me finish, Taylor. Please. Your ideas and technology will change the world, don't let yourself think I don't recognize it, but it is also going to make you powerful enemies. They will take one look at what you are trying to do and they will recognize the clear and present danger that you present to their interests."

She paused for a moment, using the time to sip from her water.

"They won't hesitate to destroy you if given the opportunity, Taylor," she continued after placing the glass back on the table, "And setting our remaining cash reserves on fire to literally give away what the world will consider experimental equipment will not shortcut the adoption curb. It will just provide our enemies with the opportunity to strangle Zero Dawn in the cradle. I know you want to do this, but you have to remember it's no longer just you, Taylor. It's Zero Dawn Technologies. We are responsible for nearly four hundred people who are reliant upon you ensuring that they continue to have a good job with good pay and by extension their families. We have to make decisions grounded in what is best for the company. It's no longer a sprint anymore, you have the door open and the money to reach your dream, but you have to understand it has become a marathon and everything has to be weighed and measured to ensure you can go the distance. We cannot afford to spend our future on a hail mary or providing our enemies with the opportunity to lay a shadow on our products with such a blatant and dubious public relations scheme will only make their job easier."

I sat back in the chair, staring at the woman across from me. I certainly hadn't expected such a vociferous response, even if it was Jean. I had expected at least some pushback, it would be wrong not to, but this? This was far beyond what even I predicted.

I wanted to lash out at her, to throw her facts and figures in her face, but a quiet part of me held back the rest. I knew the numbers, front and back. It would cost nearly six million dollars to produce the units and supporting equipment. That didn't take into account the second half of what I had originally planned, which would probably run close to another two to three million. I knew that it would be successful, but I didn't have the evidence to support the notion.

But how would it be successful, the quiet part of me asked, and I found my frown deeping as I mentally reviewed my plans. Only this time, I added Jean's critique to it.

She was right. I was gambling, not because I wanted to, but because I hadto. The issue with everything was that I was trying to take what was essentially technology at least six decades in advance of what existed, and shoehorn it into a communications and logistics system that was held together by shoestrings. I had to force a rapid adoption if I had any chance of succeeding. Without the networks and logistics to support what she intended, then it would take far too long for me to get to where we needed.

But that was the point of this entire scenario. With this, I could create interest in the technology and show the promise and superiority to what existed, then make clear the needs to achieve this.

I paused in my thoughts, glancing over at my father who was quietly watching me. It seemed like he was in tacit agreement with what Jean had said. It was telling how much he was against it by allowing Jean's brutal takedown of my idea without an ounce of protest.

So if this was the wrong path to take, what was the right path? All of my machines needed an intact and powerful network in order to work efficiently. The current 3G networks would be like using phone modems for my technology, it could theoretically do it, but it would be the stuff of nightmares for any sensible engineer. Without the networks, they could run, as long as a nodal hub network existed, but then that created its own fucking problems.

But what was the solution here? We couldn't afford to wait too long to strike, the longer we waited the weaker we became. Jean was right, we were bleeding out, the only difference was the speed in which we exsanguinated.

I looked back to Jean, considering further. If she was so vocal in her opposition, it was highly likely she had her own ideas. The question I had to ask was how would her ideas expand our influence and power?

"What is your idea?" I finally asked.

It was minute, but it did not go without notice how Jean ever-so-slightly relaxed.

"Focus on increasing production capacity on advanced materials. With comparatively minimal machinery and advertising we can sell those to anyone and everyone. That will give us a solid reputation without stepping on too many toes. Well, excluding the biofuel which will cause an absolute storm in the oil and gas industry no matter what we do. More importantly, it will allow us to quickly produce a positive cashflow and solve our most pressing problems. Add to that the increased material demands for rebuilding after an Endbringer attack and we should be able to recoup a significant amount of our expenditures. Furthermore, by doing this, we will be able to expedite getting around the cash and parts bottlenecks for your own initiatives."

Honestly, I was somewhat disappointed by the idea. I mean, I knew what she was intending, and it was a decent plan. It just felt too conservative in my estimation. Sure, the materials we would be able to sell soon would quickly fill our coffers, but it honestly ran against both what I wanted and even the company name. It felt like we were grabbing for the lowest rung and just accepting it as our best.

Taking a deep breath, I then thought about what I could do. She was right, but I felt she was also wrong. She was looking solely at the business aspect, while I was looking at the futures aspect. We could sit here and peddle materials til our faces were blue, but it would not change the world. It may improve it, but that wasn't what I wanted.

I considered exactly what I could do, and the second part to my suggestion. Without the Focus network it could work, but I would have to attack it from a different angle. I'd have to scale it down, but I would also have to be present for most of the time in order to do it, because I would be wading into unknown waters.

But was it doable?

"I have a counteroffer," I finally spoke again, even as I reached up, the augmented reality feeding directly into my brain as I tapped an invisible menu. It opened up another set of folders, and then I fed them into the projector, the data for Leviathan fading away..

"We go with your plan on material productions. You're right, we do need the capital in order to survive, but just being able to produce advanced materials will not provide us the ability to flourish. Merely it would allow us to batten down the hatches and survive until we are ready to make a splash. That could take years, Jean, and I'm not sure that with the way things are going we can afford to take that time."

"What are you talking about, Taylor? You've already agreed that the Focus won't work," her father interjected, his confusion evident in his expression. However, I wasn't focusing my attention upon him, I knew with the right pressure I could get him to capitulate to my way. His expression suddenly changed as he began to put together what I was suggesting, "Wait…"

No, what mattered right now was Jean and her reaction.

"You're really going to do it," she half-asked, half-stated exasperatedly, "I thought you wanted to wait on this."

I shook my head, "You're right, Jean. I was looking at it from the wrong perspective. I wanted to make the splash to put the system together quickly, but that won't work if we don't have a necessary reason for the network to exist. We can siphon off some of the material production and a few of the molds and printers and it will not have a dramatic impact upon your idea."

"Taylor–," my father tried to say.

I ignored him as I reached with my hand to the AR display and 'slid' the file with my hand to the right, authorizing a command to send the file to the projectors and display it for all of us to see.

I had decided to keep their names, at least in my head. I knew that it was likely to change, as the public would likely wish to change their names or give them different descriptions. I knew that I wanted to, to move away from that disturbingly tribalistic manner in which they were named. But for internal reasons, I had given them this name, I would let public relations figure out what to do going forward.

ZDLM-001A Red Eye

ZDLM-002A Charger

ZDLM-003A Burrower

ZDLM-004A Scrapper

ZDLM-005T/CC Titan

The only name that I had deigned to change had been the Titan. Previously, my power had identified it as the Behemoth, but I was keen to avoid creating that kind of stir. Nothing good could come from naming a machine after one of the Endbringers.

Each letter had a meaning in the designation. In the case of ZDLM, it meant Zero Dawn Land Machine, with the number providing the chassis model number designation. The final part, the latter, in this case, denoted its designed role: A for Acquisition, T for Transport, and CC for Communications/Command.

The Titan, in this case, was a far different machine than the Behemoth chassis I had based it upon. It had been an exercise in alternative thinking and solutions that I had toyed with over a week ago. I had set it aside because it had rankled at my own feelings on the matter, it felt like I was admitting that I was going to fail setting up a network before I had even a chance.

At its core, the idea was to create a mobile command and control machine that could serve as a standalone node in regions where I may not have the ability to provide network coverage for machines.

A stripped-down Behemoth chassis that discarded its gravity manipulation technology, because frankly I did not see that tech being producible for at least another year or two (and even then I wanted to keep that extremely close to my chest) and other defensive systems could fulfill that role. The space saved could then be repurposed to mount the most advanced communications suite in the world and the transportation container could house the servers necessary to fulfill a command role.

It wasn't a perfect setup, it wouldn't have any of the defensive technologies a Tallneck had, and it was, quite honestly, a seat of the pants modification that just invited something to go wrong and, as a result, would require constant monitoring at first. It would also be the most difficult of the machines listed to put together in a month, but it could be done. Honestly, a small part of me had preened at the fact that I had designed the modification, as it was something quite different from simply being provided the information, even if the greater part of me had despised the admission that putting out the Focus first could be a failure.

Now it seemed that the exercise could pay off.

"Taylor, what is this?"

I glanced at my father, and I took the time to take in my fathers expression. While I could not see it, I knew he was likely pale at what was being displayed. I hadn't truly shared with him just how far my knowledge and skill went, but on the other hand, he had never truly asked the right questions.

Or maybe it was because I was afraid I knew exactly what his response would be if he truly knew, I thought sadly. My father was a decent, but flawed man, and despite his best efforts, and god I knew he was trying, he was a man in over his head. You took him beyond his comfort zone and he floundered. But what I was seeing was more than that.

What I was seeing was fear. I'd honestly never seen him so fearful in my life.

"It's the future," I finally said, unable to keep the sadness from my tone as I realized what I was seeing. I could never discard my father, I don't think I could live with myself if I did that. In spite of everything, he had been there for me when I desperately needed it, he had made sacrifices for me to get to this point. He could have drowned himself in his self-loathing and depression at the cruel world, but he didn't.

But I was legitimately afraid that I may not be the one making that choice. There was only so much that could be pushed before something had to give. And I was terribly afraid I was reaching that.

"Go on, Taylor," Jean spoke, cutting off whatever my father was going to say, and I took a deep breath and released it, trying to regain control of my nerves that left me feeling only a gnawing pit of despair in my gut...

Was this what Elizabet in my dreams felt when she had declared that the human race would be extinct in less than two years because of one colossal fuck up? No, I was trivializing something far worse than a guilty conscience and fear of something outside of my control, I thought with more than a hint of bitterness.

Still felt like absolute shit.

"What you are looking at is what I call a Light Rescue Lance, or LRL," I started, trying to keep the bile threatening to rise in my gorge as I kept my father in my vision, but to the side, various emotions warring on his face, "It is designed to go into disaster areas and provide search and rescue services at a higher efficiency and lesser asset distribution so more focus can be shifted elsewhere. It would consist of four Red Eyes, two Burrowers, a Scrapper, and a Charger. Each machine is designed to fulfill a role, Red Eyes with their sensor suites can detect people needing rescue, Burrowers to either dig out or reach victims, Scrapper to help in removing large debris, and the Charger serves as refueler for the other machines. The Titan will serve as a command and communications hub, since my original design template assumed that the necessary Focus network to link the machines into would already exist. By my estimation, with the materials we currently have, we can produce all nine of these machines in thirty-two days, with a cost running about one-point-two-six million dollars altogether."

The silence was deafening from both Jean and my father. I knew it was certainly not what they were expecting, nor do I think they expected the price for it to be so low. But Jean had done me a favor by bulk-purchasing most of the materials I would need to pull this off, with the various printers and molds, it was just a matter of changing what they had to do on the floor. As a result, the cost could be minimized to largely the cost of material that already is in stock, alongside the man-hours to complete the work.

What I wasn't expecting, however, was the way my dad's head snapped towards Jean in sudden dawning realization.

"You knew about this," he hissed angrily at her as he shot to his feet, hands curled into fists. I started to rise myself, as I knew that we were one step away from him truly losing himself to his anger.

"I thought you did," Jean responded, her expression perplexed as she looked between my father and myself. I knew she was putting together the truth of the matter, but if she said anything it could only incense him further.

"No," I spoke, cutting off the angry rebuttal about to leap from my father's lips, "I didn't. Please, Dad, sit down."

Jean looked between the two of us, as I was stared down by my father. I wish I knew what was going on in his head. I had a good inkling, because what I had done was a betrayal at least from his perspective.

"Maybe I should–."

"No, Jean. Please stay," I cut her off, keeping my stare straight on my father. I could only hope that he would sit down. Because I knew that if he stormed out right now, all of the progress we made between the two of us would be gone, likely never to be restored.

Maybe it was something on my expression, or maybe it was something else, but slowly, almost like a glacier moving, he lowered himself back into his seat. I released a breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I began, trying to find the right words to express to him even an iota of the sincere guilt that I felt for all of this, I had been so occupied on whether or not I could achieve my objectives, that I never stopped to ask myself if I should. It was my own hubris that led to this.

"I know I should have told you this before," I continued, even as I struggled to find just exactly what to say, and when I couldn't find it, I sighed. There was no point in trying put it lightly, I had already kept the truth away from him for too long.

"Fuck it," I breathed, "the reason I haven't told you any of this is because I don't know how to explain it, Dad. I mean, how can I even start? Hey Dad, you know my Focus, yeah, that's not even the tip of the iceberg. The better question to ask me is what I can't create," I pointed towards my head, "When I told you I could change the world, it was not hyperbole, hell, if anything, I was underselling it all. I am a walking, talking, point of multiple technological singularities. You want to restore the Earth? Give me twenty years and I will turn the entirety of the Earth into a garden world that would make the Garden of Eden look like a backyard vanity project, and I wouldn't even be breaking a sweat. Reach the stars? You give me a decade and I can field ships that can reach Sirius in less than thirty years after their launch. What about nearly limitless power? That's a fucking Tuesday. You want functional imm-," I violently cut myself off, recognizing at what I had almost let slip.

Taking a deep breath I tried once again to collect myself, but frankly I felt only more frayed than I was before. Instead, I slowly lowered myself back in my chair, keeping Jean in my sidegaze even as I cast a considerable focus upon my father. I wondered if she had caught my little slip and just what she would think about it.

Honestly, my feelings were mixed on the idea of functional immortality. On one hand, it would quite possible allow humanity to flourish far beyond its current status, but on the other hand, the moralistic and sociological implications were the stuff of nightmares. It most certainly did not help that the origin of that knowledge stemmed from narcissistic sociopaths who had damned humanity in their greed.

Releasing the aforementioned breath, all of my energy seemed to escape me as I slumped in my chair. All I felt was the raw emotion beckoning to escape, as all of my private frustrations and personal reflections seemed to have finally found an exit vector. Unfortunately, it just had to be now.

"The reason I could never tell you," I continued finally after he had also slumped in his chair, cradling his head in his hands, "Is because I don't know where to start. I want to change the world, I know I have to change the world, but I have to also ensure that what I do will end in a net positive for humanity," I couldn't help but laugh bitterly, "The funny thing is that futurists really never tell you how exactly that a technological point of singularity is akin to playing God while dancing on a knife's edge. The only difference is I am fully aware of what fucking up looks like if something goes wrong, and I'm also burdened with the knowledge of what our society will look like if we don't start taking significant action within the next eight years."

I honestly wished I knew exactly what to say to reach out to him. I hated that we had to reach ahead in this manner. I wanted the Father that had been there with me since the day I lost my sight in what seemed a lifetime ago: An awkward, broken man who found the courage and energy to still try his best for his daughter.

Instead, the silence that greeted me only felt more oppressive, as slowly my father straightened himself back in his chair. Instead he said nothing for what seemed like an eternity.

"And what does that look like," Jean's soft voice took me away from my vigil upon my father as I turned towards her, her expression closed off. Maybe I had made a mistake in not clearing the room for the two of us, but it seemed like it was far too late for that. Or maybe it was right to air everything here and now, and let everything fall where they may.

"Twenty-three years. That's probably the most generous estimate I can give before the collective damage done to infrastructure, supply, and communications result in a complete collapse of modern society. After that, I give maybe another decade before the final collapse of the surviving feudalistically-inclined city-states. And then, depending on the operational tempo of the Endbringers and the resultant violence as resources become increasingly more scarce and fighting becomes even more fierce between roving bands, I give maybe another eight years before the human species will become functionally extinct."

The resultant silence was about what I expected. After all, just what would you expect if you a fifteen-year-old blind girl 'genius' declared that the human race would become functionally extinct before she was able to collect Social Security. I was not sure if I was going to be believed, but frankly, I had no idea exactly how I was supposed to connect with my father and explain to him why I needed to do this. If the LRL concept could gain traction, then I could fast-track other initiatives, like larger machines and even the Focus. "One of the most critical aspects of society was the ability to communicate and transport materials, and if I could prop up those two long enough, then the statistical probability of canceling the apocalypse increases."

Still, I felt like a doomsayer by even sharing this. I hadn't wanted to, but I wasn't going to hide the fact and what drove me in this case. Maybe it would change minds, maybe it wouldn't, but unless the information was out there, it was akin to handicapping the truth.

"I think we should all take a break," Jean finally spoke, being the first to collect herself. I couldn't bear to look at my father, not out of any spite, but because I honestly did not want to see his reaction. I feared that it may just break what tenuous link we still had if I did.

"I..think that would be wise," the respondent croak of my father's voice was enough for me to know that what I had said had hit home. But what was disconcerting was as I finally looked to him he wore the most blank expression I had ever seen. He had always been easy to read, but right now, I couldn't tell what he was thinking or even feeling, "We'll reconvene this afternoon, say around four?"

Both of them looked at me, and I merely offered a nod, "I agree."

---

AEH​

---

Danny

How did I miss it, he thought to himself as he took a long pull from a chilled bottle of beer, allowing the sensation of the lager working its way to his digestive tract taking an edge off of already turbulent thoughts. The added scenery of the water of the Bay served as a balm for what were already wrought emotions he had thought he had buried.

He already knew the answer to the question, as much as he hated to admit it. He had chosen to ignore his growing suspicions because he didn't want to know the answer. No, that was an unfair summation, it wasn't that he didn't want to know, it's that he didn't know how he could handle it.

Taylor had always been an intelligent child, something that she had thankfully taken from her mother, but what had happened to her this year had only honed that edge into something more profound that he had become fearful of.

His daughter was just like Annette…No, that was wrong, he took a small sip from the bottle. He was being unfair to the both of them by making the comparison. And maybe that was why he was fearful, not just of his daughter, but for his daughter.

Setting the bottle down beside him, he let his legs hang over the edge of the dock, the quiet of the waves, the sound of the gulls providing the only necessary accompaniment to his maudlin thoughts.

Annette had understood her limitations. She had known when and where to draw the line, it was those instincts that saved her from the blowback against Lustrum. It was those instincts that had made her realize that she was ill-fitted to be an activist. She had been intelligent, yes, but she lacked the charisma and emotional detachment needed to be a good leader. So instead, she turned to what she could do best, instead of trying a direct route, she had fulfilled her want to change the system by cultivating students who could carry the torch that she could not.

He wasn't sure that his daughter even understood the concept of limitations. Even when suffering a setback she railed against it, seeking a new way to overcome the mountain. If she had to escalate, then so be it. All that mattered to her was the need to succeed.

Sighing, he picked up the bottle again, choosing to polish off the remainder of the dark liquid that was becoming warmer.

No, he knew that Taylor had been hiding something. He had helped raise her after all, but he also knew that pushing her would alienate and put at risk their relationship. They had been making strides, especially with things how they were, but you couldn't magically heal four years of neglect quickly. So, he had put his head in the sand, somehow convincing himself that whatever Taylor was hiding, she would eventually share with him, and they would both laugh at how trivial it really was.

The problem was that it certainly wasn't a fucking trivial secret.

'God, how could I have missed it so badly," he thought to himself, his hand tightening around the neck of the bottle as that familiar Hebert anger reared its ugly head.

He wasn't even sure where to begin in this morass. Taylor's rant about what she knew and could do was one thing with it's own bag of issues, but probably more terrifying was the fact that his daughter, at fifteen years old, had calculated the end of the human fucking race. He didn't know whether to laugh at the insanity of it, or sob at the knowledge that his daughter had knowingly spent time delving into such a depressing subject in order to augment an argument.

It was so quintessentially Annette it fucking hurt, he thought as a laugh burbled from his mouth.

He had been stupid, both in ignoring it, but also letting it build to this point. He couldn't excuse his actions or behaviors, and he certainly could not forget how vulnerable his daughter had looked when he had chosen to make his disagreement clear. How she was afraid of what he was going to say. It hurt.

But what was his disagreement? Hell, he didn't even fucking know, for fuck's sake. Yes, he was goddamn afraid, not of her, but fucking for her. How the fuck could he not express that to her? Hell, he couldn't even blame Jean in all of this, she hadn't realized that he hadn't known. How fucking humiliating was that? That the father and vice president was as much in the fucking dark as a goddamn intern at the wild ideas bouncing around in both his boss and his daughter's head.

Taylor was going to do what she felt was right. It didn't matter if it went against conventional thinking or against the grain of some other fucking thing, she'd do it and to hell with anyone else. The fact that she had been willing to even listen to others for their opinion was a miracle in and of itself, Annette could never have fucking done that if it was one of her darling subjects.

Just where could he stand in all of this, for that matter? How could he even fucking convey how he was afraid for her? She had made it abundantly clear that these machines she had revealed were only the beginning. Just how far did that fucking go? And just how long could she continue this before eventually she ran into resistance?

He sighed as it finally clicked into place.

Lustrum. That's why he was so up in arms. It was Lustrum all fucking over again.

He hadn't been part of it, for obvious reasons, but Annette had never shied away from telling him what had gone on during her time with them. At least until Taylor was born, after that, they had both agreed to not discuss it around her. It wasn't a matter of shame as even he had understood why Lustrum had taken a stance, but it had been something they just believed should be left in the past as it would create inconvenient questions.

But at the core of it, Lustrum had pushed too far, too fast, and when they failed to get the recognition and momentum that she wanted to affect change, they became violent. It was a tale as old as time for any activist group that could not achieve relevance. The only difference between them had been Lustrum herself, The Protectorate and PRT had decided to make an example of her and threw her in the Birdcage, because she had ceased being an irritant to powers-that-be, and had become a problem.

This was the same path Taylor was going down. Jean was right, right now, Zero Dawn, and by extension, Taylor, were unknowns. Sure, they got a few articles written about how a Tinker was receiving a rather large investment, but other than that, she was not even a footnote to those who wielded power.

But if she did this, it most certainly would create an interest. In the end, it inevitably wouldn't matter how much good she was doing, those zealous in the retention of their power and wealth would recognize that Taylor was a problem, and they would render upon her what they had previously done to Lustrum.

It didn't matter if the machines she produced saved hundreds, or even thousands, of people. It didn't matter if her machines were innocuous and cute. It didn't matter if what she could offer to the world could turn back all of the setbacks to society. All it would take was one incident, one misstep, and they would have their cause célèbre to eliminate the problem and return back to their cherished status quo. The less said about those who would attempt to worm their way into her graces in order to 'guide' her the better.

"Fuck," he breathed. He knew exactly how that would go, unlike Annette, who would relent if she felt it was not worth it, Taylor couldn't, and quite honestly, if she had the choice, she wouldn't either. She was a woman on a mission, she knew exactly what would result if she did not succeed.

It was going to be a war, and frankly, that was honestly the most terrifying aspect of all of this. He wasn't sure exactly how it would go down, but he knew that his daughter would not yield as long as she had willingness to fight.

Which led all the way back to what she was hiding from him. He couldn't help her if he didn't know, but he wasn't sure if she would be at all willing to even talk to him after what had happened.

No, there was a way. But it was an option just as unpalatable as doing nothing. No, he was being unfair, it was unpalatable, but it did not compare to the idea of losing his fucking daughter over a goddamn disagreement.

He had no choice, did he? If he did this, he would be providing the fuse to start all of this, regardless of whether he wanted to or not. The only way he could even attempt to restore something between them was to support her, even if it would put her into the very danger he feared would consume her.

Could he do it? That he wasn't sure of. No, that was a damnable lie, he just didn't want to fucking admit it and be responsible for it. Maybe he could try and talk some sense into his daughter, but there was a better chance of hell freezing over and the Cubs winning the World Series than being able to change his daughter's course.

Before that, it'd probably be prudent to at least talk to Jane before the meeting. Maybe she had an idea of what could be done. He also didn't think that she would serve as an obstacle either, he had seen the interest lurking in her gaze. But, it wouldn't hurt to even try.

He was ripped from his thoughts by his phone going off, causing him to reach into his pocket and retrieve it. He had the device, but he had no choice but to have it because of his position and role. Frowning over Kurt's name on the caller ID, he flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

"Danny, you need to get back here. The PRT, Protectorate, Police, and fucking CPS just all walked in."

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.3

Taylor

Earlier

Settling in an office chair far too luxurious for my tastes, I removed my Focus from its place in the side of my head and onto its charging cradle.

Enveloped in the darkness from whence I had become a welcome escape as of late. I wasn't brooding, I wasn't that shallow, but being bereft of vision provided a meditative focus that gave me a clarity that previously escaped me. It was honestly hilarious that in my disfiguration I would find a sense of enlightenment that I may never have discovered otherwise.

Surrounded by darkness and enveloped in the soft hum of the various computers, servers, and machines in my workspace was like a balm on my soul at this moment as I propped my chin on the knuckles of my hand.

The meeting had certainly not gone how I had expected or even wanted. I wouldn't say that it went catastrophically bad. It just was…bad. I had made mistakes in my hubris, both in thinking I could run roughshod with my idea, but I forgot the basic tenet of any business mindset: Ideas are good, but are they serviceable? It had been an amateurish mistake on my part, I should have thought harder on it instead of being fixated on the promise of the Focus line.

But what I wasn't going to do was dwell upon my father's disapproval. As far as I was concerned, it was a matter that had to be done. Was I an asshole for not neglecting to inform him? Yes. There was no way around it. But I had done it out of a sense of caution, nothing more, nothing less. Well, that and plausible deniability for him.

Jean was right, though. I couldn't dispute that. It was too soon, and the demand was not there to pay for the necessary network infrastructure in order for the idea to propagate. Again, amateurish, I had dismissed the forest for the trees.

But like a shark, I had to keep swimming or this idea would drown. I couldn't have the Focus, it was too soon to be truly viable, but what I could do was push up the timetable for the first generation of Machines. I knew it would be pushing the envelope, because I would have to make compromises on the materials within the designs. But it was actionable, and it would provide us with a flagship product that no one else could offer.

Yet, like the Focus before it, it created its own problem, only, ironically enough, the inverse of the problem to begin with. Unlike the Focus, energy demands to produce the materials to assemble the Machines would be significantly higher than an assembly line for the Focus.

There was a solution to the energy situation, but it invited its own set of problems.

I have been working on solving those problems. However, it took more than a dozen scientific and engineering papers published under a pseudonym to fix an issue that has been wrought by three decades of neglect. The advent of Tinker's had stunted the growth of energy and engineering sectors, too many companies and agencies taking the Tinker's technology as the cheaper alternative to dumping vast sums of monies into studies and grants that may never amount to anything. This was no more evident than in the nuclear energy.

But probably the final nail in that coffin had been Behemoth itself. Several times, the Endbringer had gone out of its way to attack nuclear reactor facilities, leaving the resultant land irradiated wastelands. It was both the Tinker aspect, and Behemoth, that the nuclear energy sector was living on life support.

I had several solutions for it, all different and based upon scale of supply, but it took time to establish the foundation to introduce it. And I had to do it carefully, as even I understood that there would be interests who had invested heavily into alternative energy sources that would not be keen to the revival of the nuclear industry. But nuclear was the only solution that had long-term sustainability for the future I envisioned.

But the most important feature was that they had to be safe. I wouldn't say they would be Behemoth-proof, but the Endbringer would be hard-pressed to repeat to recreate its usual party favor. And that was what mattered, even if I ignored the superior energy production and lower material costs.

I briefly considered the jump straight to cold fusion, maybe even antimatter. But as tempting as it was, I knew that it would be too far at this juncture. The world wasn't ready for that large of an upheaval, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to trust it to them either, especially with antimatter. It wouldn't take much to weaponize the material, and the last thing the world needed was another tool to kill one another.

No, if I was going to release a nuclear power source, it'd have to be a Thorium breeder reactor. That way it was safe, molten salt was nearly impossible to detonate and self sealed the radioactive material if you broke it open manually, but it could also sustain itself a lot better than currently existing reactors. Additionally, the United States also had a ready supply of Thorium necessary for the process, compared to the more rare Uranium.

All in all, it was a good idea, the only problem returned back to if it could be pulled off. I know I had the papers out there, but it wasn't enough to rekindle an interest in nuclear energy. The only methods I could possibly pursue was to either push out more papers with minimal gain. Or I actually produce a blueprint and start fishing with it.

That meant involving the Department of Energy, I thought with a grimace. I could probably leverage Jean to help with that aspect. But I had a feeling I knew how she was going to react to this idea. I knew I probably had her on board with the LRL, but a nuclear reactor design? I mean, it would make Zero Dawn money if it was embraced, but it would be the type of uphill battle that would cause migraines for her.

I sighed, reaching out for my Focus. It did me no good to dwell upon it, either I did it or not. And well, the world couldn't improve if I was doing nothing.

My vision flooded with the data provided by my Focus. It had ceased being jarring to switch between seeing nothing and seeing everything, but it was still a heady experience even now to see again. Reaching up with my hand, I 'tapped' an executable in my augmented reality to open the music player that linked to my workshop. That finished, I then selected a playlist that I knew that if Dad were to hear, he'd give me an earful at my 'poor' tastes and hit play.

As Metallica from Earth Aleph started blasting through the speakers I took a deep breath before selecting a folder named "Hatshepsut" and opening its contents.

Alright. Let's get to work.

---

AEH​

---

That should be it, I thought to myself as I finished verbally dictating a final few notes to the blueprint for the Thorium breeder reactor. One of the advantages of the Focus and Sobek was that it allowed me to both use voice commands and dictation, making the effort of drawing up blueprints infinitely easier than using something as stiff and unforgiving as any run-of-the-mill CAD. What would have taken weeks now could be counted in days with my setup.

The voice command system was still rudimentary, as I was still working on Sobek, but it was something that I honestly could not do without. It made things easier, and I didn't have to wear my arms out constantly manipulating the augmented reality for it to work.

The only issue I had was that I had to adjust the overall design to match the currently existing material sciences. It wasn't a difficult endeavor, just time consuming, as I had to change up several other points in order to ensure that it worked well. I could introduce the actual materials for the design, but the issue then ran into the fact that additional questions would be asked of the design. It was better to adjust to what existed, and what could easily be tweaked than trying to add additional earthshaking developments.

But, it was done, for the most part. All that would need to be done was to submit a query to the Department of Energy and see if there was a response. I wasn't dumb enough to transmit the actual blueprint, that would just invite for someone to actually steal it. But if there was no response, well there were other ways to skin a cat.

"Mark file as Hatshepsut One. Copy blueprint and create new file. Title Hatshepsut Two," I murmured, watching as Sobek did as I commanded. If I was going to do the 'dumbed down' version, I could at least retain the 'complete' version as well. Reinstating the advanced materials led to a few minor changes in how it processed fuel, stripped out the steam loop in favor of thermoelectric and radioelectric power generation and shrunk the entire system till it could fit in a shipping container.

A small blinking in the right of my vision caused me to frown. Someone was trying to hack into my lab. Reaching out with my left hand, I 'touched' the warning icon, and 'pulled' the warning, watching as it came to the forefront, showing the rather amateurish attempt to hardhack the security code, and the security camera that provided me a look at who was doing it.

"Protectorate, huh," I murmured with a frown. Honestly, I had expected this sooner or later. Call it a gut feeling, but I was a nail that needed hammering in this game of capes and villains. The fact that it was the Protectorate instead of one of the gangs was rather concerning.

Still, it was something that Jean and I had discussed in the past. She had been worried about the Protectorate making a move over any of the local villain groups. And while I did understand where she was coming from, I felt that after my interview with Armsmaster, it would be the gangs that did something stupid.

Nonetheless, we had discussed what to do in that event. By the looks of how they were not fully kitted up for action, this wasn't a raid. No, it was likely they were here to check out just what I was working on. Nothing too concerning, but it was rather short-sighted. There were too many legal landmines that they were hazarding into by doing this.

But hey, it wasn't my job to ensure that they didn't commit to stupid.

I watched as my father walked up to them, looking suitably pissed. My heart lurched slightly at the sight, both in shame of what had taken place in the meeting, but also comfort that he still seemed to be there for me. With a slight flick of my eyes I accessed the microphone, authorizing it to feed it straight through the Focus and into my brain instead of through the speakers.

Listening to them threaten him changed my irritation to fury. It took all of my effort not to just block off my father's security override to my lab as a giant fuck you to Triumph. But as gratifying as seeing the asshole be inconvenienced further, I knew it would only get my father in trouble, or it may make the Protectorate and PRT do something even more stupid, like breach my lab.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, I slowly released it, cooling my furor. No Taylor, don't do anything stupid or illegal. Skirt the line, fine, but don't cross it. That'd only provide them with the ammunition to make my life a living hell.

Yeah, I was going to make them miserable. They wanted to play fuck-fuck games, they could win fuck-fuck prizes, as one of my father's union guys once said.

With a smirk, I reached up to my AR display and adjusted the music volume loud enough to make my ears ring.

---

AEH​

---

Kid Win

It was with a sense of purpose that Christopher Siopis strode through Zero Dawn Technology's concourse, all the while he worked to keep his nervousness from Triumph and the team of technicians that they were escorting from being evident.

This was finally his chance to prove himself. Director Piggot was depending upon him to do this job and he couldn't afford to fuck this up.

He still couldn't believe that the Director was putting so much faith in him. When she had called him into her office yesterday, he'd thought he was in trouble for something. Especially after Armsmaster's very vocal opposition to his Alternator Cannon. He'd been afraid that Piggot was only going to pile on, ignoring that he had finally had a breakthrough.

Instead, she had spent over an hour with him just talking. He had been taken aback that the Director, probably the hardest woman he had ever met, was actually asking him how he was doing in school, if the medication that was being provided for him was helping. It had honestly been touching that she had shown concern for his circumstances.

It had only been after that time that she had changed subjects and had asked him about his future, shocking him even further. He had admitted that he was more focused upon finishing up his Alternator Cannon (which Piggot had actually been interested in!), but if he had the choice, he wanted to remain with the Protectorate when he graduated from the Wards.

It was then that things took a turn, even as the Director had said that the way he was developing, he would not only have a prime pick of a position within the Protectorate, but that he could even have Armsmaster's position if he continued his growth. It had honestly surprised him, but Piggot had actually explained that Tinkers were always in high demand and were valued within the Protectorate, because the technology they could develop could be an overall gamechanger. Something like his Alternator Cannon, if constructed and deployed correctly, could make a difference in an Endbringer fight.

He had been shocked, and he had said so, telling the Director that Armsmaster had told him that the design was a waste of time. The resultant reaction from her had also been somewhat of a shock. Not only had she been irritated by what he told her, but then she had admitted to him that it was likely that Armsmaster was going to be demoted.

Suffice to say, the idea that Armsmaster being demoted had left him stunned for a good minute. The idea that the man who had been a fixture in Brockton Bay for as long as he could remember and he looked up to, despite the recent trouble, was something that was hard to grasp. It was only after he had been able to gather himself that he asked her why.

In hindsight, he wished he hadn't. Piggot had admitted that they had reason to believe that he was compromised. They had found during an investigation that he had likely withheld information regarding a Tinker that he had been tasked to review. When he was asked to clarify upon these oversights, he had dismissed their concerns, insisting that his analysis was correct and the Protectorate was overreacting.

It had been sobering, especially when he had confirmed his own suspicions that the Tinker in question was the very one whose tech Armsmaster had been analyzing when he had walked in. When he had admitted that to the Director, she had thanked him, as that would help further evidence at possible impropriety from the Protectorate commander.

When he had asked the Director for the name of the Tinker, she had easily provided it to him. Taylor Hebert. He didn't know her, but he did find it strange that she didn't seem to have a cape name. When he voiced those thoughts, the Director had agreed upon the strangeness of it, but noted that it was likely a ploy to muddle the legal waters in order to provide legitimacy to her actions.

He could still remember his anger at it. Those actions, in his opinion, were not the sort of thing you would expect from a hero. But even worse was his mentor, the hypocrisy of the man, barely giving him the time of day and when he did, he dismissed him, but working with a non-hero was fine? It was his fault he was under investigation as much as the blame also fell upon Hebert. If what she was doing could entice Armsmaster, why wasn't she trying to work for the Protectorate? It was obvious that she was likely a villain.

What can I do?, he asked her, because he wanted to. Maybe he couldn't do anything, but he didn't want to sit there and do nothing. Not when this Tinker was doing all of this to a place he considered a home away from home.

Piggot had honestly seemed taken aback at his question, at least that was his feeling. It actually felt good that he could do something to surprise the normally dour and caustic Director.

It was then she told him that there was a planned inspection of the Zero Dawn facilities. Considering Armsmaster's malfeasance stemmed from his actions with Taylor Hebert, they were down a Tinker who could provide legitimacy to any inspection on what was going on at Zero Dawn. She hadn't even been able to finish what she was saying before he volunteered, once again surprising the older woman.

This had been his chance after all. Armsmaster was on his way out, and this was an opportunity he'd be an idiot not to take. Plus, he could get a look at whatever Hebert was making, and if it was a problem, well, he could impress the Director with his report. And to show Armsmaster he was wrong about him would only be icing on the cake.

Now he was not so sure, but he wasn't going to screw up, as he moved through the building, a team of technicians and PRT Officers with him. They already knew exactly where Hebert's workshop was, thanks to a few tips. While he would have preferred Miss Militia with him, it just wasn't to be as she was tasked with supporting the team that would be going to the administrative offices of the company. It was viewed that her diplomatic skills would be better needed there.

Triumph was not a bad alternative. He had worked with Rory in the past, and he knew that he was a solid help in the event that Hebert caused issues. From what they knew about the Tinker, she didn't have much of anything built outside of her visual systems, so Rory was a perfect counter to the teen.

Still, it couldn't help his nerves at the looks that they were getting from the various workers that had spotted them marching through. There was a tension in the air as they stared at them out, a sense that if something went wrong that they would find themselves on the receiving end of the workers ire. They had only been stopped once, and had firmly told the middle-aged woman that she was interfering with an inspection, she had relented, but not without a few caustic words.

It was almost like walking into an Empire rally, he thought with a hint of nervousness.

But they reached their destination, Triumph coming to a stop at the door with no door handle. Immediately, he recognized what it was, judging by the flat pad with a card swipe on the side. The doors themselves looked brand-new, and one of the technicians had murmured that it was likely Tinkertech judging by the sheen and the design.

"Jenkins," Triumph looked back to them, and the tech stepped forward as summoned, reaching into his backpack and retrieving a device before attaching it to the security panel. He then fiddled with it a bit, the paneling lighting up on the device, and then fiddled with a bit more, his expression becoming focused as his frown deepened. He then adjusted something on it, only to get no reward for the actions. The door refused to open in spite of a Tinkertech device designed to slice security-locked doors.

"What is it," Triumph asked, his own expression becoming a frown.

"I don't know," Jenkins almost whined, messing with the device further, "It should be working, but the device keeps coming back with an error. Which shouldn't be possible. This design has been used in several different branches without a failure."

"Make note of that," Triumph ordered, looking to the door, then back to what they had. He then looked back past them and his mouth firmed back from a frown into a thin line, causing himself to follow the Protectorate member's gaze to a man who was storming towards them.

It was a tall thin man with glasses, his receding hair only serving to highlight the reddening of his face, both from exertion but also barely restrained fury. His attire suggested upper management, but the style was less formal and more designed to be able to comfortably work in, like the man couldn't decide on one design and worked towards a compromise between management and floor work.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing," the man demanded, coming to a stop before them.

"This is an inspection, Mister Hebert," Triumph declared, even as his body shifted, looking ready to start a fight with the other man.

"Last time I checked the Protectorate and PRT neither had the license or authority to perform any inspection of a company or facility. Do you have a warrant?"

"You're incorrect, Mister Hebert. Doctor Wily v Protectorate establishes that it is within the Protectorate's power to inspect and audit any Tinkertech facility without warrant in the pursuit of public safety. As Zero Dawn Technology CEO and Head of Research and Development is a known Tinker, this places the responsibility upon us to ensure that there is no public threat. Hence, this inspection."

"Rather large group for an inspection," was the other man's wry statement, "I also find it strange that not only are you here, but I also have the BBPD and Child Protective Services rooting round my administration building."

"It's merely a coincidence," Triumph's terse response, though the tone in which he took it caused him to think that maybe the Protectorate member was stretching the truth, but he kept his mouth shut, it'd be something he'd ask later, "Now, I am here with Kid Win and my colleagues to inspect Miss Hebert's facilities and devices. You can either provide us with access to these facilities, or I can have you charged with obstruction by interfering with an official government inspection. It is your choice."

For a moment, he thought the older man would resist, and there was a small part of him that hoped for it. He may not know all of the laws and rules, but he knew that if Mister Hebert resisted, then it opened up so many more options on what could and could not be done. It had been beaten into his head by Miss Militia this morning that they were 'inspecting' and not raiding, but there was a dark part of him that hoped it would turn into a raid.

Unfortunately, it seemed that opportunity would not be provided here, as Mister Hebert grabbed his ID badge that was clipped to his shirt, "You'll have to remove your device," the older man growled.

"Give me the ID badge," Triumph demanded, holding out his hand.

"Sure," was the snarked comeback, "Even with the badge you still can't get in. Access to this room requires an ID badge and biometric authentication. But you go on ahead," he held the card out, "have at it. I need some entertainment."

Triumph stared at Hebert for a moment, before glancing at Jenkins who was still fiddling with the door, to no avail. All the while, he had to wonder just what was so important that they would go to such great lengths to protect a room. Just what was it that they were hiding.

"Jenkins, any luck," Triumph asked.

"No. Whatever security they are using, I can't crack it."

A moment of silence passed, before Triumph seemed to contemplate, before he then nodded towards Hebert.

"Fine, you can open it."

"Thank you," with that, Hebert strode past them, coming to the door and inserting his card into the panel, before placing his right hand flat on it. There was a soft chime, before the heavy door opened inwards, and they were bombarded with extremely loud music.

Pushing Hebert aside, Triumph stormed into the room, and he followed, eyes already drinking in as he tried to put a name to the music. It was rock, but older than what he was familiar with. What he did know was that it was grating on his nerves even as he took in the room they entered.

Jealousy surged through him as he looked around the room. All around him was the type of workplace he could barely dream of. There wasn't anywhere in the Northeast that he was aware of that could manage to compare to. Even New York would struggle to compare.

And in the middle of it all, surrounded by dozens of holograms, was Taylor Hebert. Her back was currently to them, but her arms were moving as she was conducting the music, but the holograms that ran up the side of the wall changed with every single motion. At the center of it was some sort of vessel, and he felt himself drawn into it as he tried to figure out what it was.

"Miss Hebert," Triumph's voice rang out, but it was no use as it was still drowned out by the music. Realizing that, the member of the Protectorate stormed forward and placed his hand on the girl's shoulder, almost yanking her around to look at him.

It was now that he got a good look at her and suffice to say she cut a different figure than what he expected. She was awkwardly thin, even for a teenager, her hair cut into a pixy style, which clashed with the school photo that they had that showed long hair. But the most striking thing was her face and eyes, the way skin seemed to be discolored in some places and lightly melted in others. It was the eyes, however, that were the most striking, pale brownish orbs that seemed to track them regardless of the fact that he knew they were blind. On the right side of her head was a glowing circle haloed over a triangle attached right in front of her ear.

She stared at them a moment, before she raised her hand to chest level, causing both Triumph and himself to stiffen, before slowly slashing it outwards, and the music stopped.

"Gentlemen," she greeted, her eyes roving between the two of them, "How may I help you?"

To be fair, if he expected anything, it wasn't this sort of bald fearlessness. There was not a single sign of fear, or even trepidation in her expression. Instead, she almost looked amused that they were here. It was rather strange in his opinion, but he kept his mouth closed and instead found his attention being drawn back to whatever was being displayed behind her.

"This is an inspection, Miss Hebert," Triumph declared, "you are to provide us access to your technology and computers in order to ascertain that they are not a threat to the general public. If you will hand over the device you are currently wearing, we can begin."

"Okay," she drawled out, her freaky gaze coming to a rest on him, "I guess I'll start off by asking just how you are going to determine just what is and is not a threat to the general public? I don't see Armsmaster, so, I take it you're going to have Kid Win here do it? May I inquire about his qualifications?"

"No, you may not. All that is required is that you provide Kid Win and these technicians behind me with access to all your technology and relevant materials. If access requires a password, you are legally obligated to provide it. Any attempts to interfere with this inspection will be treated as obstruction, and you will be charged accordingly."

"And I'm gonna have to stop you riiiight there, Triumph. First, I am assuming that you are using the ruling from Doctor Wily v Protectorate, correct? No, you don't need to answer that, you told my father that. So, let's start there. While the Wily v Protectorate ruling unequivocally states that the Protectorate and PRT do have the right to inspect any suspected or known Tinker and their facilities legally as a matter of fulfilling the protection of the general public, it does not provide any legal authority for an inspection of a publicly trademarked and recognized company that just so happens to employ a Tinker."

"It was noted by Judge Marsh that to do so, would run into conflict with the protections set aside within NEPEA-5 for companies that may use Tinkers. He stated, and I quote, that it would 'create an opportunity in which competitive interests may and would use the government to do its work by revealing company secrets and disrupt operations of competitors,' ' end quote. Now, I will happily provide you the opportunity to look, but you can't touch, or inspect for that matter, without a warrant. Which, since it's apparent someone either skipped or ignored their legal homework when they put this 'inspection' together, would negate those aforementioned NEPEA-5 protections."

Kid slowly turned his head to Taylor, whose own gaze was now firmly locked onto Triumph, a challenge ready in her expression. He had to wonder just what the hell type of training or preparation this girl had. The fact that she was quoting a ruling that he wasn't even aware of until Miss Militia and Triumph had briefed him this morning on was the sort of thing he would have never expected.

"Furthermore," she continued, obviously delighting in what she was doing, "I find it rather gauche that you would demand that I hand over the medical device that grants me vision. One might assume that you may be attempting to take advantage of my disability for nefarious purposes. But that wouldn't be your intention, would it be Triumph?"

"No. However, I must insist, Miss Hebert. From previous reports, it appears you have changed the device that you use, therefore it must be inspected."

There was a sound from the other side of the door, likely Hebert's father, but instead, she just smiled, reached up to her ear, and tapped it. The light faded away from it, and she removed it from her head and held it out.

"You got me," she admitted, "the villanous tinker has been thwarted by the brave and noble Protectorate."

He reached out to take it from her hand, but she pulled back slightly, "I would like to inform you that if you damage this in any way, I will bill you personally for the repair and replacement. So I would recommend that it doesn't suffer any unfortunate accidents, unless you want to pay the low, low price of a brand-new car to replace it."

"Bullshit," the word escaped his lips before he could stop himself, "There's no way that a device like that would cost that much. It looks like a toy."

She turned her head towards him, her hairless brow rising in challenge, as she scoffed, "What I am holding in my hand is the most powerful non-tinkertech smart computer in the world, Kid Win. It took me over half a month of blueprinting and development, then another week in which I personally hand-crafted and assembled every single component for it, from the processors, to the wiring, to the sensors. If anything, I'm probably underselling the price point by a factor of five. And as far as I am concerned, it will remain the only one of its kind."

He could feel himself blush at the chastisement he had just received from the other teen. He had never been dressed down like that in his life, and he wasn't sure what he should feel, instead, he deferred to Triumph as once again his attention was drawn back to the blueprint on the screen. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind, screaming at him that he should be paying attention to it.

At the same time, he kept an ear to the ongoing conversation between Triumph and Hebert.

"So I suggest," she finally said handing him the device, obviously satisfied in making her point, "that you be careful with not only this device, but my workplace. Everything is being recorded, and I will be forwarding this entire conversation and inspection to my legal team. It'd be a shame if they find a reasonable issue with anything you are doing."

With her piece said, she turned and headed off, her gait a slight hobble, as if she were not completely sure where she was going, but it ended up at a desk in the corner, probably the only thing that was recognizable in the room, and reached up to open a cabinet.

Triumph seemed to dismiss her as he started giving out orders to the technicians. Mister Hebert had strode past them and headed towards his daughter as she started messing with a box and opening it. She then retrieved the original device she had shown at the PRT HQ, and placed it on her head. He thought to say something to Triumph, but instead his attention fell back to the design before him.

Then it clicked. Suddenly, he realized what he was looking at.

"Is that an energy regulator," he asked aloud, turning to look back at Hebert.

Her head snapped away from her father and locked onto him. Triumph had also turned to look at him as well, his expression neutral.

Taylor's father placed his hand on her shoulder, almost like he wanted her to say nothing. However, she shook it off and strode towards him.

"It is."

He found his gaze drawn back to the design, his thoughts revolving around what he could do with it, only becoming more excited. One of the issues he has always had with the alternator cannon was that the design had to use brute force in order to create enough energy to fire. But with this…with this…

"Kid Win," Triumph's voice ripped him from his thoughts, and he bowed his head in slight embarrassment at ogling the design. Hebert on the other hand looked like the cat that ate the proverbial canary with her smile.

Triumph, however, didn't seem to be having it, as he looked back to Hebert.

"And what is this energy regulator for, Kid Win?"

Judging by the design, and energy thresholds displayed on it, it could only be-

"It's for a Thorium reactor," Taylor interrupted, and every head in the room turned to her in incredulity, "Hey, I figured while I was giving vision back to the world, why not solve the energy crisis while I was at it."

This caused Triumph to freeze, before he turned towards Hebert, looking ready for a fight, and the father started to move towards the daughter, "You are making a nuclear reactor?!"

"Don't be absurd. That would be illegal. I'm finishing the blueprints for a nuclear reactor design. I'm not stupid enough to even think about pissing in the Department of Energy's cheerios by building the damn thing myself. That's just begging for a real governmental organization that actually does its job right to break down my doors."

---

AEH​

---

Thomas Calvert

Honestly, he didn't want to be here, even if his own curiosity got the better of him. But when Deputy Director Renick had requested his knowledge in financial forensics, he couldn't exactly say no without arousing suspicion. The fact that Contessa hadn't intervened only gave him a hint that what he was doing would be allowed.

So now here he was, in the offices of Zero Dawn Technologies, looking through the company financials for anything that could catch his eye. As it was an inspection, they didn't have access to the tools necessary to conduct a deep audit in the time they were allotted.

What he could see suggested nothing too out of the ordinary. Quite a few material and technical purchases, which was somewhat strange, considering the company was supposed to be technology focused, yet were buying several metals and alloys in bulk. It made him wonder just what they were developing and why would it require Contessa's intervention?

What he did know was that Piggot was rattled something fierce with how fast and loose she was playing the rules. He had known Emily over the years, and more often than not, she didn't do things half-cocked, but something about the Heberts had her grasping at straws. An inspection like this, unless the Heberts and their staff were incompetent, would not provide any of the likely legal opportunities that she sought. If anything, this seemed more like an attempt to rattle Zero Dawn.

But there was something going on, something he was not fully aware of, and he wasn't sure if he could use his power to ascertain it. The fact that he was treading as close as he was to a position that Contessa had warned him about. The last thing he wanted was to garner the cape boogeyman's ire, her abilities easily were superior to his.

It was strange, however, that at the same time that the Protectorate and PRT were inspecting Zero Dawn's facility, Child Protective Services were making their presence known. He glanced over to where the two of them were going through another computer, likely reviewing time logs. There would be only one reason they would be doing this, but honestly, the timing was just the sort of thing that would make you think it was something more than coincidence.

Meanwhile, Miss Militia was getting glared down by the CFO of Zero Dawn, who had already given the Kurdish woman a verbal lashing. It had honestly been somewhat amusing to see the other woman becoming flustered as Brown began citing several different rules and laws that the Protectorate was in violation of. But Miss Militia had been adamant, and Jean Brown had retreated and was now on the phone with what were likely lawyers. He found himself looking forward to the inevitable storm that was about to come battering down on Piggot's little fiefdom. He had been hearing rumors as of late that there was trouble within the PRT and Protectorate of Brockton Bay, and a large amount of that stemmed from Piggot herself.

But it was the CPS agents that were probably the more concerning addition to this all. Piggot wouldn't dirty her hands by bringing an outside agency. This suggested another party was involved in all of this, as CPS was usually rather slow in taking immediate action. Unless they had eyes on the Heberts for months, which was unlikely. No, someone had to make a phone call, and considering the timing, he wouldn't be stunned if the phone call originated from somewhere in the local government. There was no way that it was anyone within the former DWA, he knew how loyal they were to Danny Hebert, and it would be a cold day in hell before they turned on the man's daughter.

There was no doubt in his mind that there would likely be something for the CPS to latch onto. It didn't take an idiot to recognize that Taylor Hebert was the heart and soul of this company. Even if he couldn't see what she was creating, there was just too much evidence in the receipts to ignore that it was something. But she was fifteen years old, and disabled by legal definition, this was the sort of shit the CPS would bring tar and feathers for if they sniffed even an iota of wrongdoing.

And judging by the way the man and woman were conversing with one another, with the woman pointing at the screen to the older man who was likely her superior, there was a good chance that they found something and he had a good idea what it was.

It seemed that he would need to brush upon his knowledge of NEPEA-5 and parahuman law. While Zero Dawn was a newcomer to the scene, he rather doubted that Zenith would be so stupid as to invest into a situation where the CPS could get involved unless they had a legal angle of attack to defeat whatever challenge that was leveled.

He would have to have Tattletale look into this as well. As much as he despised the blonde Thinker, she was better at raw analysis than he was, thanks to her power. And with so many unknowns, and not enough knowledge where to start, using his own power just wouldn't work in an adequate time frame.

That didn't mean he wouldn't double-check her work, though. The last thing he needed was for her to try and slip her leash.

He was drawn from his thoughts as Miss Militia stiffened before reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone. Placing it up to her ear, he took the time to attempt to read her lips, as she was out of range for him to hear.

The most that he could get was 'Triumph' and a shocked 'what' before she hung up the phone. Her gaze snapped to him, "Calvert, continue your investigation. I have to rendezvous with Triumph, there has been a development."

Without getting acknowledgement, she spun and headed out the door, even as the blonde CFO suddenly took off after her.

Just what the hell was all of that, he wondered, before looking over to the CPS agents, noting that they were still in deep conversation. He considered splitting the timeline and finding out what they knew, but it wasn't worth it, honestly. Odds are he would likely find out sooner rather than later, as the CPS over the years when it came to capes tended to have too many leaks that magically always seemed to end up in the hands of the Youth Guard.

---

AEH​

---

Jean Brown

She must have done something wrong this morning, maybe got up on the wrong side of the bed, or maybe passed a black cat. Something. Because today was turning into a day of all days. Between Taylor's focus upon technology over sales, and Danny's ignorance of just what Taylor had in her wheelhouse, she didn't know which Hebert she wanted to strangle more at the moment.

Taylor's actions were understandable, this was a teenager who didn't have the knowledge of how the business world worked, but Danny, that was a major problem with possible long-term implications. Especially if it threatened Taylor.

But of course, that just couldn't be the only shit hitting the fan. Now the PRT, Protectorate, and even the CPS were all jockeying to throw in their hat for making this day an absolute shitfest. She had been in her office talking to Accord about the meeting, trying to figure out just how to salvage the situation while keeping the impetus when security had alerted her to the cavalcade of government interference.

She had quickly let Accord know what was going down, requesting that he get into contact with a legal team for what she knew was likely coming. PRT/Protectorate inspections were rare, but there was enough precedence to know just how they went. However, it was suspicious that this was all taking place when the company had not even been active for two months and hadn't produced a product yet.

The cynical part of her could easily see that this was more than just an average inspection. Especially when security had alerted her that there were three capes with the contingent of officers, two of which had already broken off and were on their way to Taylor's workshop. Inspections made by the PRT largely never involved capes, it was viewed as an unnecessary escalation. But the fact that they were present, but were not raiding the company suggested an ulterior motive at play.

It could be one of three plays, or a mixture of all three: First, they were hoping for a gotcha moment, and with the capes there for if they found something. Second, they were hoping that someone would do something proverbially stupid, giving them justification to use force and escalate to a raid. And third, it was a veiled attempt at intimidation, using the presence of the capes as a cudgel to use against them.

But the presence of Child Protective Services, at the same time as the inspection was taking place? No, something rotten was going on here. CPS was glacially slow in how they operated, they didn't make sudden moves unless someone tipped them off. Broken homes were as numerous as drug dens in Brockton Bay after all. And even then, their reaction was usually slow, unless there was another factor at play.

Luckily, it was something that she had discussed with Taylor in the past. Danny she knew would likely be able to handle the situation well enough considering his experiences. But Taylor was the weak link, especially with her powers. They had spent the better part of a day discussing contingencies, but also ways to deal with the situation. She profoundly hoped that it would play out the way she hoped it did.

When she had finally arrived, they had already entered the administration section of the company, the CPS people already waving their badges and telling everyone to not interfere in their investigation. Since it was a lost cause, she decided to be a little petty and let the office workers go on a paid break, leaving the CPS to figure out what to do.

Dealing with Miss Militia, however, was an exercise in futility. Even with the legal arguments and points she made to the Kurdish hero, the woman had merely dismissed them as not relevant to the situation. It took an extraordinary effort not to tweak the gravity around the woman and turn her into a meat puddle in a fit of pique. Instead, she forcibly amused herself with the observation that rumors were true about the woman, she was so far on the Protectorate's dick that it was a surprise that the woman hadn't whelped a litter of future heroes already.

As much as she wanted to tell that to the bitch's face, it probably wouldn't end well for any involved. So instead, she busied herself with her phone, making several notes and firing off a few emails, intent on ensuring everything was ready for when they retaliated against this travesty. She also made a note to see if Accord could look into the origins of the CPS' action. They would probably be the most difficult of issues to deal with, considering Taylor's age, education, and work ethic. There was no doubt in her mind that if anything was successful of this so far, it would be the CPS citing labor law and health concerns for Taylor.

It was in the middle of firing off an email to Accord that he called her back to inform her that the legal team would be boarding a helicopter in twenty-five minutes and be on their way to Brockton Bay. Obviously he was on the same wavelength as her if he was making such an expenditure. He then demanded a report that required her to step further away from Miss Militia, much to the other woman's relief judging by the slight slump of her shoulders.

It had only been a short conversation, Accord was moving additional pieces into place in the event that it became worse. He would personally look into what caused the CPS to suddenly take an interest in Taylor. But he agreed with her read of the situation, someone was playing hardball, and he wanted to know who it was.

She had been in the middle of assuring that they would be ready for the arrival of the lawyers when Miss Militia's phone started going off. She refocused her attention towards Miss Militia after telling him what was happening and she was glad that she did. The way her eyes widened and she paled before hanging up her phone and barking towards some guy named Calvert, she knew that something had happened with Taylor.

"I'll call you back," she told him, letting him acknowledge it before hanging up. Her boss was a stickler towards courtesies and while he would forgive her if she hung up, she would rather not have to deal with his irritation at the faux pas.

Sliding her phone into the inside pocket of her jacket, she sauntered after the Protectorate hero, wondering exactly what had the woman reacting in such a way. No, that was a stupid thought, it was obvious that it had to do with Taylor. But the fact that she wasn't hearing explosions or anything like that, and Miss Militia wasn't in a sprint, she was safe in the knowledge that it may be something that could be discussed without incident.

Maybe it would be better in the future that she made Taylor inventory everything she was working on. At least for her own sanity's sake. Knowing what the teenager was developing would at least provide her warning and maybe a roadmap to work with. The machines had not been a surprise, she knew about them from the sales pitch Taylor had made. It was just that Taylor was already looking at producing them that had been the surprise.

Frankly, she liked the Light Rescue Lance concept Taylor had ad-libbed. Sure, she had the files and details prepared, but it hadn't been something that the teenager had planned to reveal originally. But then again, she may be underestimating that. Nonetheless, it provided a flagship product, and it created interest. It also was something that had no peers or competitors. Dragon was limited to her Dragoncraft, and they were exorbitantly expensive and unable to be mass-produced due to their Tinker design. This provided them an industry that would create demand, if the LRL concept took off, then Taylor could start revealing other machines that could fill roles within society.

It was a bit more brute force than she, and likely Accord, would have approved of, but she didn't see a flaw in the overall plan, even if she wanted to.

The first thing she noted as they approached Taylor's workshop was that the door was open. Not necessarily a good sign considering Taylor's expenditures to ensure information control. Miss Militia simply stormed in, and she slipped into the room, finding Taylor at one side of the room as the Protectorate cape moved to talk with Triumph and Kid Win.

All the while her gaze was on the blueprint displayed on the wall.

It wasn't a machine, she thought with a growing sense of trepidation as she reached Taylor who was standing with her father. Why couldn't it be a machine, she lamented, even as she tried to figure out what she was looking at, before giving up and looking to her CEO. The teenager was wearing her old Focus, which meant that it was likely being held by the Protectorate. The placid expression on her face only increased her increasing apprehension. It was too confident for someone who was in the process of having her business inspected.

"What have you done," she had to ask, finally turning to Hebert whose small smile was positively not helping her stress levels.

"I didn't do anything," the teen offered a shrug, "I was minding my business finishing the blueprints for a nuclear reactor when they stormed into my lab and took exception to the design."

She couldn't help herself, and frankly, it was that or sobbing aloud, so she placed her face in her palms and fought the urge to scream.

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.4

Emily Piggot

When she had commissioned the inspection of Zero Dawn Technology, she had done it as an opening salvo in a campaign to deal with the Heberts. It wasn't meant to be much more than be a fishing expedition and begin tightening the screws on the company. Contrary to Christener wanting a quick and decisive strike, she understood that taking down the Heberts was going to be a long and drawn out affair.

What the Heberts had done was smart, if she were to grudgingly admit it, and something that the PRT would have to look into stopping for the future. They had created an overlapping set of legal protections that prevented them from just hitting the entire company, Hebert could hide behind NEPEA-5 laws as a Tinker, and she could hide under laws that protected her as a worker for the company. Considering that this had been done before their acquisition of capital, it had to be sheer coincidence, otherwise Daniel Hebert was more intelligent than Christener was giving him.

Nonetheless, there were ways to remove those legal protections. It just took time and careful preparation, much to Christener's dismay. They could not go in half-cocked or they would trigger a legal battle that could have dire implications going forward if it was ruled in a certain way.

It was certainly not what many people would expect of her. She was too well known for her preference for bluntness and not beating around the bush. However, she could be subtle when she needed to, it just wasn't something she defaulted to when she had the opportunity to do otherwise.

However, what she wasn't expecting was for Miss Militia to call her and inform her that Taylor Hebert was designing a fucking nuclear reactor. She had sat there stunned for a moment, trying to even grasp just exactly what the hell the woman was saying, before immediately sensing an opportunity.

She wasn't stupid enough to think that it was the opportunity of a lifetime to place Hebert into her grasp. What Hebert was doing was not illegal, as much as she wished in this circumstance it was. However, it provided her with an opportunity to maybe put on a bit more pressure than she had previously expected. Fear was an excellent motivator and this was a fifteen year old, after all.

So she had given Miss Militia the orders to take Hebert in for questioning. According to the woman both the father and another woman had voiced their objections, but Hebert had brushed them off. It was honestly what she expected from a teenaged know-it-all, the arrogance to believe that they had the answer to everything, and even in the face of the law that they could do no wrong.

But it was an advantage for them, and she was looking forward to personally fixing that attitude.

Capes needed oversight, it didn't matter what they specialized in or what their power was, they were a liability unless they were adequately contained and controlled. And if they stepped out of line, they could be prevented from being a problem. It was an idea that she had clinged to since Ellisburg, when her eyes had been opened to the fault of relying upon Capes.

And Hebert not only was a rogue cape and outside of her control, but a possible major scandal in the making. Even with Shadow Stalker transferred to Los Angeles, the fact of the matter remained that if it was discovered that Shadow Stalker was involved in the bullying campaign on Taylor Hebert, it would ask far too many uncomfortable questions that she didn't want asked.

She had to deal with Hebert, there was no avoiding that albatross around her neck. Even if it was possible, which it wasn't, PRT Brockton Bay could not afford the scandal, especially in a city with literal Nazis who would gleefully trumpet to the high heavens the racial implications of their failure.

But, further than even that, was what Hebert represented if she became successful. The Protectorate could ill-afford for a rogue Tinker to become successful. It was a delicate balance already trying to keep the status quo in place, between Toybox and the Elite. But Hebert, with an investment like this, presented a credible and burgeoning threat. One that had yet to be recognized by the Chief Director.

No, she was not going to put herself at the mercy of cape, nor was she going to be the Director held responsible for this failure either. The Heberts would be brought in line, they would be contained, and if Hebert could be utilized, then she would be. If not, she would be discarded at the earliest convenience after she had been wrapped in legal paper and silenced. That was all there was to it. This wasn't personal, this was just how it was.

Still, they were playing very close to the edge of illegality. From a certain point of view what she was doing was illegal. The inspection, on the surface, was legal, if rarely used. Part of the reason for that was that there never really had been a reason to use inspections. After NEPEA-5, most of the Tinkers that had been rogues had either joined the Protectorate, joined a corporation that was aligned with the Protectorate, or had gone villain. The latter for obvious reason would not be privy to an inspection, so much as a raid.

Nonetheless, there was some leeway if you decided to interpret the laws a certain way. In this case, the inspection she had tasked to Miss Militia and Triumph was more of a 'soft raid', because they were going to use the argument that Taylor Hebert was a Tinker of unknown affiliation if challenged. Even though Hebert was part of the company, there was still enough ambiguity to insinuate that she could be providing support to villains.

It was a stretch, but it was a strategy that could simply be written off as an honest mistake if the situation got legally too hot. But it was a matter that by the time that it could be legally challenged, the inspection could be done and they would have a chance at finding incriminating evidence. It was a sort of stretch, but if anything, again it went to an opening move, instead of anything decisive.

But even if they did discover evidence of wrongdoing, or even a NEPEA-5 violation, the entire scenario would have to go through the legal process, and depending on the level of the violation, it may or may not be enough to push Hebert into joining the Protectorate or face juvenile detention. If it wasn't, then at least the fines would leave Hebert vulnerable, and would also provide them an opportunity to then investigate Far Zenith. After all, if there was wrongdoing, then they must also be aware of it.

But that was for the future, right now, she had a developing situation she had to put a lid on. When she had commissioned the inspection, she had certainly not expected Child Protective Services to show up at the same time. It added further complication to an already complex situation. Just their presence alone was going to raise far too many suspicions that this was an organized hit, instead of a legally executed procedure.

While Christener had told her what he had been planning, she would have preferred a little head's up that this was going to happen today of all days. It was something she was going to have to revisit with the man going forward. Find out what else he had in the works outside of the vagaries that he had given her on what he had done.

Not to coordinate, of course, but to ensure that they were not stepping on each other's toes. The last thing either of them needed was for inquiring minds to start thinking that there was some conspiracy to target a fifteen year old. Even if that was actually the truth, it didn't need to be known by the masses.

Stopping at the door, she paused, catching herself and organizing her thoughts.

It had been some time since she had done an interrogation. It was something normally not done by a Director, who could delegate the job. Unfortunately, this was not a normal situation. Armsmaster could not be anywhere near this situation, Renick would be a disaster, and she didn't have a subordinate that she could trust to handle this effectively.

She had considered Miss Militia, but had quickly written it off. She was a good attack dog, loyal and obedient, but she could become compromised in the right circumstances. Hebert and her disability would likely trigger such a reaction. And any other Protectorate member just wouldn't fit the bill. No, it had to be her to do this, and she had to ensure that everything was worded and done right.

They could ill afford for there to be a mess up. Any evidence or admissions that they could get now would make the process easier to get a warrant for a detailed investigation into Zero Dawn and the Heberts. Without that warrant, they were dead in the water, unable to truly pry away at the veil and discover just how far Hebert's abilities and knowledge went.

Opening the door, she moved in, taking in the subject of all of this. The first thing she noticed was that the photos did not do any justice to the damage that had been done to her by the acid attack. If anything, the photos downplayed it in their failure to capture it. The second thing that she noticed was that the teenager's eyes were closed and her hands were clasped together on the table.

It was not the body language of someone that was intimidated by their circumstances to say the least.

"Beta, I'm Director Piggot," she greeted as she took a seat.

"Beta? I'm sorry, but you must be mistaking me for someone else, Director. I do not have a cape name, nor do I intend to have one," Hebert, no 'Beta' responded, opening her eyes and she had to stop herself from reacting at the glazed over sightless eyes.

"As per Protectorate protocols, Miss Hebert, all identified capes are given a temporary placeholder for the sake of legal record. In this case, since you have previously identified yourself as having powers, you were assigned a placeholder name. In this case, the name provided for you was Beta."

Silence met her statement, as Taylor He-, no, Beta, stared at her. She had to wonder just what the teenager was thinking. The teenager had likely never considered the ramifications of her actions, obviously so keen on her own wants and needs to ignore the obvious.

"Suit yourself," she finally said, offering a small shrug, "if it makes your paperwork easier, by all means, you can call me whatever you like. It still doesn't mean I'm going to don a costume and go out and trade punches with Hookwolf or Lung, I have better things to do than that. Though, I have to ask. Why Beta?"

Out of everything she had expected, it wasn't this, so she found herself blinking at the question, "Excuse me?"

"I'm serious, Director. Why Beta? I may not be the most knowledgeable about the cape world, but I read PHO from time to time, so I know that all codenames the Protectorate gives has some basis upon the cape's power. But Beta? What are you insinuating? I'm an early build or test? Or are you implying that because of my perceived disability, I should fulfill the stereotype of being meek, subservient, and fearful?"

Not once, but twice now, in less than five minutes, she found herself on the back foot. Again, Beta had not acted as she would have expected, causing her to reassess what she was dealing with. She was already treading on delicate terrain with what she was doing. By having Taylor Hebert given a cape name, it acted as a corporate brand, which negated any Miranda protections for the teenager, as corporations had limited constitutional protections in comparison to an individual.

She was expecting a teenager that was nervous, but willing to answer questions. Not whatever this was.

Beta's obviously more intelligent than the record indicates. Though whether it's thanks to her power or that she has been hiding it is up to debate She is also not cowed by authority, even if she had willingly obeyed Miss Militia's commands and willingly came in for questioning. Could it be because she's rationalized that what she is doing is on her own terms?

The question that had to be asked was what was the overall angle? Why had Beta chosen to willingly come in? She had the right to refuse coming in for questioning, but was she aware of what would happen if she did? Especially with something as large as this? Was there an actual plan in play that she, and by extension, ENE, were unaware of?

Or was she overestimating the girl?

She was faced with a choice here, regardless of her thoughts, she could follow her plan and bull through this, cutting straight to the heart and getting Beta to self-incriminate. It was high-risk, high-reward, as the nuclear reactor blueprint was not enough to establish illegality, she had double-checked before she came down here. It was perfectly legal to create a blueprint, however tainted it was since it was created by a Tinker.

No, the matter was, just exactly what Beta was capable of. There was a stark differential between a medical device that granted vision and a nuclear reactor, no matter how you parse it even if you ignore everything else that was credited to her. But further than that, just what was the aspect of her Tinker power. Every Tinker had something that could not be explained by conventional science, it was an inexorable rule of Tinkers. Yet, somehow, Beta was able to avoid this pitfall. There were now twenty-seven patents that were connected directly to Beta, or to a suspected nom de guerre that she was operating under in order to avoid too much attention. Every. Single. Patent. Was. Not. Tinkertech.

So how was she doing it? There had to be something that could be used? And the only option was to get Beta to slip, to reveal just how she was doing it.

So the choice now was to to try hard at getting her to admit, or to be subtle and get the teenager to lower her guard.

"I apologize that you feel offended by the cape name that was given to you, Miss Hebert. However, my hands are tied in regards to protocol. Unless you are willing to provide an alternative for record purposes, I have to refer to you by your cape name."

"Alloy."

"Excuse me?"

"If you want to force me to assume a cape name, then you can call me Alloy. The previous Alloy was a Tinker out of Burbank that specialized in Tinker metals. She was killed by Bastard Son in a dispute with the Elite."

"Is that your Tinker specialty? Specialized materials?"

The look of confusion that greeted her only triggered her own confusion in return. It was a logical deduction, after all, capes tended to name themselves after an aspect or theme of their power. Some happened to be more direct than others, of course, but it was treated as a general rule of thumb when dealing with capes.

The fact that Alloy seemed confused only served to unsettle her.

"No," Alloy finally replied, her posture saying a lot more than her tone, "why would you think that?"

"Because capes don't name themselves randomly, Miss Hebert. There is always a theme, and the fact that you chose the name that previously belonged to a Tinker that specialized in metals, one would assume that it is your power."

For a moment, she was met with silence, before Taylor barked out a laugh, her shoulder shaking with mirth.

"I'm sorry," she said after getting control of herself, "I didn't think you would read into it like that. No, Director, my power is not in creating specialized Tinker materials. The reason I chose Alloy is more allegorical than literal."

"Then what is it," she found herself demanding, not at all liking the irreverence she was being met with. Didn't this girl understand just what sort of trouble she was bringing upon herself? Or did she not just care?!

The smile disappeared from the teen's face, obviously no longer the way that this was going. Well, that was tough for her, she was going to get to the bottom of this before she lost the chance. All of this was reaching a head, whether she wanted to or not, and she was on a timer.

There was a slight shift to the teen's posture, and at first, she wrote it off as nerves. But that quickly changed as the girl unclasped her hands, then reclasped them in a different way. It wasn't nervousness, no, if anything, Hebert was making herself comfortable.

"Technology," she said, after letting the silence drag out just long enough to where she was ready to snap her demand out again.

At first, she wasn't able to process exactly what was just said. It was such a stupid statement that it caused all thought processes to stop, but when they restarted, all she could feel was a raw fury that was starting to roil in her.

"Do you think this is a game, Miss Hebert?"

"No," she replied as she gave a slight shake of her head, "I don't."

"That's not what it appears to me. I asked you what your power was and you give me a bullshit answer!? Do you even understand the level of trouble you are in? Tinker-derived nuclear technology is the sort of thing that puts you on a terrorist watch list, Miss Hebert, and is certainly enough for me to get a warrant issued to tear your entire company down to see what else you may be working on! The only thing that is currently holding me back from making that phone call is this conversation we are having. So, once again, I will ask, just what is your power?!

What she was saying was true, however, there were a few more steps to the process before she could execute. They could not take Hebert's word at face value for legal reasons, they needed confirmation that what she was working on was nuclear, and there was no one in Brockton Bay with the knowledge or authority to confirm these claims. Instead, photos were being sent up to the Department of Energy for an answer, which they would hopefully have in a few hours.

What she was hoping for here, because Hebert didn't seem to understand just what she had done, was that the girl would give them another reason to fast-track a different warrant, one that would have a more limited scope, but would nonetheless achieve what she was aiming for.

What she got instead was Hebert shaking her head, a small smile reappearing on her face, as if she found this a joke. But before she could say anything otherwise, Hebert spoke.

"Do you have a legal pad and paper?"

She blinked at the question, certainly not expecting a request for anything. For a moment, she considered denying it, after all, what use would a blind girl have for a pen and paper? But after second thoughts, she placed a pen down on the legal pad that had been placed on the table, and slid it across towards the teenager who picked it up and began marking on the paper.

It wasn't writing, but before she could demand exactly what the teenager was doing, Hebert began talking even as she continued to mark on the paper, a series of small letters, dashes, and circles.

"Tell me, Director, do you know how many patent applications I have currently?"

"I don't see where you are-"

"Forty-seven, Director. I'm not sure if you are aware of the ones that I've put under an alias," she continued, her attention still on the legal pad, as she ripped off the paper and placed it face down, then began to work on the next sheet, "but I would like to think you've done your homework on the applications that have my name attached to them. Of those, Director, how many of those have you identified as Tinkertech?"

None, she answered in her head, even as she tried to figure out exactly what Hebert was writing.

"I can tell you the answer to that, Director. Zero. Not a single patent that I have submitted is Tinkertech, because none of my technology ever has been. When I tell you my specialty is technology, Director, I mean my speciality technology. Full. Stop."

"My Focus," she continued, ripping off the sheet and placing it face down on top of the first, "both the prototype and the one you are currently having your techs scan with every device in your possession, is all based upon real science and theory that began being explored in the late 1960s. The core theory behind the concept of brain-computer interface is sound, but the bottleneck has always been that the science and materials were decades in advance of what was possible."

"That sounds awfully similar to Tinkertech."

The small smile that graced Hebert's lips only served to unnerve her as she finished writing whatever it was. Ripping off the last sheet of paper, she then took the other two and flipped them over, placing them side by side short ways, and then placing the third sheet likewise on its side, but in a way that it formed a loose triangle shape from the rectangles.

"Here," Hebert said, sliding the work across and allowing her to finally see what the teenager had been working on, "I'd suggest handing it over to Dragon, she'll know what to do with it."

"And what is it?"

"The chemical formula for an improved containment foam. It will set faster and grow molecularly stronger the more the target attempts to struggle."

She looked at the papers, which, sure enough, showed a chemical formula now that she could understand it. Then back to Hebert who had settled back in her chair, and if the teenager had sight, she could have sworn that she was staring at her to read her expression.

Which, right now, was both shock, but also a bit of anger. Containment foam was one of the PRT's most closely guarded secrets. While it may have been designed by Dragon, it was being produced and distributed by the PRT. It was probably one of the most important nonlethal weapons in their arsenal.

"How did you get this," she demanded, though it was more of a snap in her tone, because things were quickly spiraling out of control, and she wanted to be back in control, "this is classified information!"

"Not really," was the shrug, which only infuriated her more, "Confoam actually originates from a 1990 joint project funded by Army and Marine Corps. It was under development as a system to nonlethally detain American citizens in the event of mass civil unrest thanks to the projected growing threat of capes and villains. When the PRT was founded in '93, the project was canceled. Odds are Dragon found the project notes and continued the work, as a lot of the characteristics match with some of the research that was released in '98."

She opened her mouth, then closed it, looking at the formula before her. Was it possible that Hebert knew what she was talking about? She couldn't say that she knew the history behind containment foam, so it was possible. But that led back around to what was Hebert's speciality? Every single item that she had so far seen were in completely separate fields and lacked a theme. Not only was she dealing with visual devices, new materials, an energy source, but now she was showing a proficiency in chemicals. None of this was making sense.

"Everything I have done, has research already out there Director," Hebert's words rang in her head, as she looked up to the teenager, "a Thorium Breeder Reactor, or TBR, has been something scientists have been working on since the 50s, the first actual reactor, a molten-salt cooled reactor, became critical in Oak Ridge in 1968. Since then there have been a handful of experiments with it, but with the Tinker Craze in the 80s and 90s, a lot of the budget and research fell to the wayside as nations began looking at Tinkers as a shortcut towards increasing their energy supply. Of course, we all know how that ended."

Poorly, to say the least. When it was realized that Tinkertech was essentially blackboxed technology that needed its creators continued input, it had been too late in several cases. It was the repercussions of the Tinkertech Craze and the blowback from corporations looking to protect their interests that led to the birth of NEPEA-5.

"What you and your analysts are looking at is certainly not Tinkertech. Nothing in that design is blackboxed. All of the building materials can be produced naturally. The only thing that is different about it from the MSRE is that it's cheaper, more efficient, scalable, and can produce more energy per capita than any single reactor we currently have in operation with far less waste product. Furthermore, and this is my main selling point on the design, is that it is designed to be statistically impossible for Behemoth to meltdown. He'd have to irradiate the area almost entirely on his own."

She then settled back in her chair, smiling.

"I wonder what the DOE is thinking right now, looking over my email and your report."

A chill ran down her spine as it all suddenly clicked into place. Hebert's willingness to come in despite it being legally idiotic, her demeanor this entire time, and her breadth of knowledge of what she was producing. She knew what they would do and had planned it accordingly.

By having a public official forward this to the Department of Energy, who were legally in charge of all facets of nuclear technology and materials, she was bypassing so much legal paperwork and bureaucracy and getting it to those who would make decisions.

And if she was right, and there was no reason otherwise that she wouldn't be, then the DOE would realize exactly what they were looking at, and they would take personal interest in what Hebert was working on. Because Hebert was right, Behemoth had chilled the nuclear industry after what he had done in three different instances to nuclear reactor facilities. No one was willing to risk taking the chance of building a nuclear reactor if it could be used by Behemoth to irradiate the surrounding land. It was this, along with the loss of several oilfields over the years, that an energy crisis was looming, not yet to hit America's shores, but Europe was already starting to feel the vice.

It was the perfect type of atmosphere for Hebert to offer a solution. And if it could negate the threat that Behemoth posed to nuclear reactors…

She looked to the teenager in a new light, realizing that all of this was viciously calculated. From the moment that they had begun inspecting Zero Dawn, she had played them, placing a nuclear reactor blueprint in plain sight, knowing that they were legally bound to investigate, that they would have to share this with the Department of Energy. It was all thought out and prepared for, and they had stepped into it.

"I'm not a Tinker, Director," Hebert, no, Alloy declared, staring her down with those unseeing eyes, "I knew the moment I started producing technology that I had to get ahead of you declaring it all as Tinkertech. The only way I could do that was to ensure that you were aware of it. A calculated gamble. If it had failed, it would have taken me longer and forced me down more difficult paths, but it didn't."

The sound of a knock at the door caused the other girl to pause, before her smile widened just slightly further. It only caused the scars on her face to twist further and the smile looked more fiendish than it had any right to be.

"I'm a Thinker."

The door then flew open, and a man in a suit with a briefcase stormed in.

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.5

Danny

"Drive."

That simple command from John Milton, their new lawyer, was all that was needed as their driver shifted the Suburban into gear, and began driving. The resultant sound of the engine gaining rpms existing as the only sound in the otherwise silent cab of the vehicle.

He took the silence as an opportunity to look at his daughter, who was sitting on the same bench in the back of the vehicle, the only separation between them. Her Focus was back on her head and she was obviously looking through something judging by her intent expression and flicking eyes. It was something he was beginning to notice with her, depending on the seriousness and complexity, that she could either use her hands to present, or in smaller, less complex situations, eye movement seemed to suffice..

The last three hours had been chaotic to say the least. Taylor being taken away for questioning over both Jean and his objections. He had been horrified at what could happen to her considering what had caused the incident in the first place, but also frustrated by how his daughter seemed nonchalant about the severity of the situation.

Even he knew the dangers of messing around with nuclear technology, especially in this day and age. It wasn't like before capes, where the government was slightly more laid back about it. But with the advent of Tinkers and other capes, nuclear technology was treated as a significant national security risk, and was prosecuted as such.

But the fact that his daughter was working on it without a single by your leave only reinforced the fact that she was keeping secrets. Maybe if he had known what she was doing they could have done things differently, but that was a matter of what could have been.

What mattered now as the PRT had his daughter, and he wasn't sure if he would be seeing her again as a free person.

It had only been Jean that had stopped him from doing something further stupid. She had pulled him aside and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to take any action for the moment. Mister Gabriel was sending a lawyer and this situation would be worked out. Even when he protested, she told him that Taylor would be fine. The lawyer that they were bringing in was one of the best on the east coast. It was this, and the fact that it was readily apparent that Jean was also pissed beyond belief that stayed him from doing something stupid with the stooges that had remained after Taylor had been taken away.

It had only been twenty minutes later that a helicopter had arrived, choosing to land on one of the unoccupied jetties in the dockyard. He had at first thought it was yet another agency deciding to stick its nose in the company's business and bury his daughter even further.

This was not the case, as he quickly found himself introduced to John Milton, Senior Partner of Wulfrahm & Hjardt. It had been a double-shock to Danny, as he had heard of Wulfrahm & Hardt, a law firm that had been cutting its teeth in Boston since before his grandfather's time, they were considered one of the best in the United States. The fact that Gabriel had them on retainer was somewhat terrifying considering the likely retainer fee for something like this, even as it brought him at least some comfort that his daughter was likely in good hands.

The second was the relative youth of Milton himself. For a senior partner, he looked inordinately young to what was expected. He had to only to be in his early to mid thirties,

He looked to be in his early to mid thirties, his hair was stylishly cut but was what you expected in a professional atmosphere. His glasses were a stylish, yet utilitarian design that seemed to only enhance his piercing eyes, as if he knew secrets about you that even you weren't aware of.

He had expected the man to storm after his daughter, or even show a modicum of annoyance at the situation. Instead, he had told the hulking man that had accompanied him to secure a transport. But John had then pulled them into Jean's office and calmly demanded a rundown on the events that had transpired. It had taken a herculean effort not to snap at the lawyer, but he calmed himself in the hope that there was an angle to this man's decisions.

Suffice to say his patience was tested, as Milton had listened to them, and then made a few phone calls. Every minute they stayed in the office talking was another minute that they were not on their way to retrieving Taylor. But after a series of phone calls by Milton, he had taken a seat in a chair. That had been enough for Danny to open his mouth to say something.

"Your daughter will be fine, Mister Hebert," Milton's smoothly accented voice cut him off as he glanced at the watch on his wrist.

"How can you say that? They just took her away."

"Mister Hebert, there is a stark difference between being detained for questioning and being arrested. In the case of your daughter, they are going to question her and little else, because they cannot do anything else."

It was then that he slammed his hands on the desk, incensed at how nonchalant the man was for his daughter, but found his words stilled as Milton's eyes snapped from his watch to him, piercing him in their gaze.

"Losing yourself to your anger will accomplish nothing except complicating the extrication process for your daughter. And I despise complications, Mister Hebert. Now. Sit. Down."

He found himself taking a seat in the chair, as Milton kept looking at him for a moment, before releasing a small sigh as he placed down his phone and adjusted his tie. Jean had remained oddly silent the entire situation, instead choosing to keep off to the side.

"This is your first encounter with cape-based law enforcement, correct, Mister Hebert?"

"It is."

"Then allow me to provide you with a brief education. The best way to describe legally dealing with capes is that there are no laws," he held up his hand, "I understand how that sounds, Mister Hebert. The American legal system has always held itself up as an exemplar of laws and order that guarantees your rights and protections to prevent the government from abuses. It's a pleasant fantasy that, for the most part, works."

"The problem is, for nearly two decades, the PRT and the Protectorate have been busily carving out their own little extralegal fiefdom, creating laws and rules on whim to suit whatever they want or need. Of course they claim to follow the law, and capes have all the same rights that you and I take for granted. But in reality, they can do whatever they want because they've created the veneer that as the foremost expert on capes they know what's best. Take the Bad Canary case, for example. You've heard that one."

"Vaguely," he admitted. It had been something talked about in the office, but it was never something he really cared to follow.

"In any normal situation, there would be such a lawsuit filed in lieu of the violations of Miss Mcabee's rights that the government would be providing a life of luxury for not only her, but her children's children. Instead, the PRT, as the 'foremost expert' on capes, has done everything in its power to ensure that Miss Mcabee is sent to the Birdcage as a message to other capes that have powers similar to hers that it would be in their best interest to be on their side. Of course, there will be those that will try and make the case that this miscarriage of justice is because of the stigma against Masters thanks to Simurgh. However, at the end of the day, it is the PRT that is responsible. All it would take to allow Miss Mcabee the opportunity to exercise her rights as an American citizen is to have her powers tested, something that is in their remit and they have the ability to do so safely."

"So why aren't you defending her, Mister Milton?"

A quirk of the man's lip was the only tell that what he had said had hit a nerve.

"Because the PRT froze her assets and unofficially told us that it would be in our best interests to not involve ourselves in Miss Mcabee's case."

His fists clenched as he ground his teeth, fighting the urge to storm out. The only thing stopping him was the fact that it would achieve nothing, and obviously Mister Milton was building towards something, but nonetheless…

"You're not doing a good job convincing me that my daughter is going to be fine, Mister Milton."

"Quite," the man replied, damnably calm, "What I'm trying to build at, is that under normal circumstances, it would be an uphill battle against the PRT and Protectorate. However, the adage that there is always a bigger fish applies here."

"I don't follow."

"One of the things you will learn, Mister Hebert, as your company grows, is that the government's portrayal that it's one big, happy, family is actually a lie. It is a confederation of agencies and departments that are in competition with one another over funds and power. They zealously guard their jurisdictions and the only thing they agree upon is their mutual disdain for the PRT. Your daughter, either intentionally or otherwise, has happened to create a situation in which the PRT is not the foremost expert and does not have sole jurisdiction."

For a moment, he sat there wondering just what it was that Taylor had done, but then it clicked.

"The Department of Energy."

Milton's response was a nod.

"The PRT is legally required, as is any other department, to inform the Department of Energy if they encounter any cases regarding nuclear materials, which includes both materials and designs. Their charter takes precedence over any PRT considerations. And since they are detaining your daughter, they have no choice but to report the situation. If your daughter were any normal tinker the department would report back that the work is Tinkertech, and with the absence of nuclear materials, their involvement would end there. However, your daughter's unique ability to produce actual technology will shock them into action, making this, at minimum, something the PRT cannot handle in house and thus curtail their usual free reign."

It had only taken an hour after Milton had arrived before they were on their way to the PRT Headquarters. Throughout the entire time, Milton was on and off his phone speaking with several individuals. When he had asked who he was talking to, Milton had just shaken his head and told him it was detail work. It was only after he was satisfied and his bodyguard returned that they were on their way.

And now they were here, after another hour getting Taylor out of the building, including having several forms filled out and getting her Focus returned. But all that mattered to him was that she was safely returned.

"Of all the stupid, reckless, irresponsible decisions-," Jean finally broke the silence, having turned to look back towards Taylor.

"It worked out in the end," his daughter replied, obviously not giving her full attention to the older woman.

"That's not the point," Jean angrily snapped, "we just had a conversation about personal responsibility and what is best for the company. And not two hours later, you decide in your infinite wisdom that it would be a brilliant idea to tug the tiger's tail. Not only that, but you ignored both your father and myself when we told you not to go with the PRT-"

"But. It. Worked. Out," Taylor emphasized, tapping her Focus. Obviously she was done with whatever it was that she was focused upon, as she folded her hands in her lap.

"Be that it may, Miss Hebert. It would be preferable that you leave such actions to the professionals," Milton intoned, turning his head slightly at an angle, as if he were looking back over his shoulder, "as inspired a choice it may have been, you took an unnecessary risk. You're lucky Director Piggot is not like James Tagg, or you would have found yourself treated like a terrorist and shipped to a black site where you would likely never see the light of day as a free woman."

"But she wasn't," was the response, Taylor's jaw setting in a telltale sign of irritation. He had seen it far too many times in Annette and he knew unless he intervened it was going to reach a boiling point. The only issue was how to make it work without having her doubling down on being set in her ways.

He honestly wished Annette was here. She would know exactly what to say to Taylor.

"What's done is done," he finally said, causing Taylor to look toward him, "instead, we need to focus on what we do going forward. That means everyone needs to be on the same page here. Okay, Taylor?"

For a moment, he worried that she was going to argue with him. He wasn't coming down on her side completely, but at the same time, he was being reasonable in that now that Taylor had gained the attention of not only the PRT, but likely the Department of Energy, they all needed to be in lockstep on what needed to be done.

"Okay," she finally said with a nod, and he felt himself relax slightly.

"In that case," it was Milton who spoke first, "while we have the PRT on the back foot, we have Miss Hebert undergo power testing."

"What," he couldn't stop himself from speaking. The idea of setting Taylor back into the den of the beast was just short of insane.

"Right now, the PRT has to reassess what they can do with your daughter, Mister Hebert. All of their actions have been on the basis that she is a Tinker, and provides an avenue of attack through the laws established to prevent Tinkertech from flooding the markets. By having her abilities officially tested, we would be able to get official documentation that unequivocally states that her technology is not Tinkertech, removing several potential issues going forward."

"Makes sense," Taylor chirped, offering a shrug, "I doubt Piggot even entertained the idea that I wasn't a Tinker. Armsmaster certainly did not believe that my technology wasn't Tinkertech, I do wonder why he wasn't here today."

"Unofficially, Armsmaster is no longer in charge of the Brockton Bay Protectorate," was Milton's response, causing everyones' head to turn towards him, "Director Piggot has removed him from the position, interestingly enough after his interview with you, Miss Hebert."

"Was it something that I did," she asked, curiosity lacing her tone, "the interview went well and he did leave satisfied with everything."

"I won't comment on it, because I don't have all of the information, Miss Hebert. Nor does it really matter at the moment. What we need to focus upon is the DOE and the Child Protective Services and how we handle them."

"What about Youth Guard," Jean added herself into the conversation now.

"The Youth Guard, may be a problem, considering the incestuous relationship between them and the CPS, I expect that we will be hearing from them in short order and they will ape whatever the CPS says. School. Less work hours. Socialization. They'll also likely add a push to join the Wards, that way it can be cheaper for them in terms of oversight. But we are going to have to give on something."

"I'm not going back to school."

"Taylor-"

"No, Dad, I am not going to go back to school. I'm not going to go back to a fucking reminder of what happened to me. I am not going to be a circus act for teens who have no idea what it's like to be bereft of sight. And I most certainly am not going to waste my time studying subjects that I could probably teach better myself!"

"If I may, Miss Hebert?"

"No. You may not. This discussion is closed. I am not going to go back to Winslow and that is final."

"Then I will talk and you will listen, Miss Hebert. Legally speaking, we do not have a good leg to stand on with the CPS and Youth Guard. They have every legal right to force you back into school, regardless of your situation and disability if they believe that it is in your best interests. Now, we can fight, but we will more than likely lose. As much as I loathe the Youth Guard, they are in the right, in this case, Miss Hebert. You are fifteen, you do not have a GED, and from an outside perspective looking in, which the Youth Guard will mercilessly cultivate, it looks like your father is taking advantage of you. This is the sort of narrative that will drive the judge and juries to side against you, regardless of what narrative or evidence you may provide to the public."

"He is-"

"Or," Milton cut her off, raising his voice slightly, "We can choose to make concessions, Miss Hebert. We show that we are willing to accept their ruling, but we want to have input in the execution of it. That way we can undercut their narrative and appear reasonable to outside observers. It will certainly be an inconvenience from what you have currently been doing, but it's better than a long, drawn-out legal battle that could end up with you being taken as a ward of the state or declared a gang cape for resisting their authority."

That seemed to be the cold bucket of water that Taylor needed, as her protests died on her lips and she became pensive. He wished he could know what was going through her mind.

"You won't have to go back to Winslow, Taylor," he decided to add his own two cents, "I will fight to my dying breath if it needs be to stop them from sending you back there. But Mister Milton is right, I know you hate the idea, I hate it too, but sometimes you have to take a momentary loss, in order to gain a long-term win."

"Miss Hebert. Taylor. Winslow is all but burning down currently thanks to the ongoing FBI investigation taking place there. I don't have all the details, but I doubt Winslow will be open before the end of the school year. And even if they did, they do not have the facilities for someone with your impediment. Instead, it will likely be Immaculata or Arcadia. But even if you are sent to school, we can start exploring fast-tracking you for a GED. The Youth Guard will grumble, but they legally will be unable to stop you."

"What about work hours? You mentioned that. I can't afford to give up too many hours. I'm already going to lose quite a bit if I return to school. I need to be in the workshop as much as possible to assemble and test out a project."

"I think it is something we can work out. Immaculata and Arcadia both have online correspondence and work-release programs for qualifying students. It would mean that you will only have to do half-days. What is probably going to be up for discussion will be what constitutes work and how many hours of said work you will be allowed to do. I think if we do give in to them on the schooling issue, we can at least argue with them that your job, of which you are the CEO of, requires a certain amount of time per day in order to work. If we emphasize the need for your ability to be exercised, we can probably get to forty hour weeks, fifty at the very most in certain circumstances. How many hours have you been working?"

Taylor was silent, and he had to hold back a sigh as Milton looked to him.

"Officially? She's been averaging about fifty hours. Unofficially, once you factor in the time she works at home on her computer? Probably another ten to fifteen on top of that."

"Yeah. There's no way we'll be able to negotiate that, Miss Hebert."

"Taylor," Jean spoke up, "I know you want to push through this project by yourself, but if we can put together a team to support you, do you think that will reduce your work hours on it?"

"No."

It may have been an immediate dismissal, but having been around his wife and daughter long enough, he knew that there was more to the statement. What it was he didn't know, but he was not going to allow his daughter to hurt her even more if he could help it. If the reason for her dismissal was something that was reasonable, then fine. But he wasn't going to let her be stubborn about something like this.

"Taylor…"

"No. You don't understand. It's not that I don't want to, Dad, it's that I can't. The Burrower, the smallest unit, requires several million lines of code in order to function correctly. That is several million lines of code of a programming language that only I know that have to be collated and programmed to ensure that not a single line is out of place. We haven't had the time to train anyone else in the code language because there hasn't been a need to yet. Teaching the basics of this programming language alone will take weeks even with a well-trained programmer. Weeks that I do not have."

"What if we could get someone that could understand the language quickly," Jean interrupted, causing all of them to look at her.

"There's no one-"

"Just humor me, Taylor. What if we were able to hire someone who could understand your code quickly and take over some of your programming duties."

"Let me reiterate-"

"Just answer the question, Taylor. What harm is it going to do?"

Taylor's head snapped towards him, a look of betrayal marring her features, before swiftly disappearing into impassiveness. It took a herculean effort not to withdraw his request, but Jean wouldn't be asking the question unless she didn't know someone who may be able to do what she was suggesting. Who it could be escaped him, but he had a feeling that it may be someone like Taylor.

"If," Taylor finally started, "If," she reiterated "there was someone who could do it to my satisfaction," she added looking between both himself and Jean, "then I am willing to talk. But! I will have final say on hiring them or not, and I will be installing programs that will monitor and ensure he doesn't do anything with the code. Are we understood?"

That was probably the best they were going to get out of her, he realized. Taylor was still going to fight them, but at least they had a foot in the door at maybe trying to help her. He knew it rankled at her, but unless they worked to try and deal with the situation right now, then they were screwed either way.

"I'll make the phone call as soon as I get home. Give me a couple of days and I should have an answer," Jean responded after a moment.

"Okay," Taylor breathed, obviously still unhappy with being forced into the corner, "Now, since I guess all my decisions are by committee right now, what can we expect from the Department of Energy?"

---

AEH​

---

Rebecca Costa-Brown

If there was one trait that defined everything that she was, it was patience. It was a trait that she had learned the hard way when she had been dying of cancer so many years ago. Patience in treatments. Patience in her body slowly failing. Patience with the empty words and platitudes as people lied about her chances of survival. Patience in being one of the architects of the plan for dealing with the single greatest threat to the human race.

Patience was an old hand in her life.

And right now her patience was running fucking thin.

When it had been agreed upon within Cauldron to assign Emily Piggot to Brockton Bay as part of Terminus Project, it was with the acknowledgment that of all of the Directors, both current and prospective, she would be the most ideal candidate to simulate the ship-in-the-bottle decline of human civilization that Brockton Bay would represent. She was competent and hard-nosed, but also was blinded by her hatred of parahumans to the point where she treated them as inconvenient allies at best. It was the perfect mix of personality for the simulation of a collapsing world.

It also made it so much easier to deny her aid that she was an unlikeable bitch in her professional opinion.

So Piggot was allowed to languish on her little island city as they collected data for projections. Safe in the knowledge that any sort of outside intervention would largely be natural, and anything artificially inserted would be handled by Contessa.

Only now, it seemed that something had escaped Contessa's gimlet eye. …unless this was intentional.

It was innocuous enough, emails were exchanged between departments in the thousands daily, but it was the subject matter that was causing her blood to boil.

Directly from Secretary of Energy Laffler was an attached report that had been instigated by an alert triggered by the Brockton Bay PRT's detainment of a cape utilizing regulated materials or documents.

The email was obviously couched to be as polite as possible, but at its core were orders to her that the Department of Energy was taking over the investigation.

It didn't take a genius to read between the lines. Just from the documents that they had, they believed that there was something of merit to Taylor Hebert's blueprints and they wanted sole jurisdiction over it.

And there wasn't a legal damn thing she could do to stop it.

Oh, she could dispute it. She may be able to get a concession. But the fact of the matter was that there were limits to the power that the PRT could wield. Even with Contessa's abilities, there was no chance they would be able to take over every facet of the American government, as much as she thought it was a good idea. As a result, they had to resort to playing the political game in order to ensure the continuity of some semblance of the American system. Major legacy departments were allowed to keep their responsibilities for the most part, but found their budgets slashed, while others were absorbed to feed the burgeoning budgets of the PRT and Protectorate. But, regardless, the PRT was never the department that she wished it could have been and had sole jurisdiction over all capes.

Then again, she never would have expected this development in the first place, even if they did have the vested powers. Powers granted by the agents all operated upon a set of rules and guidelines. Despite how they manifest, they were never designed to benefit their host society. That much they had been able to glean over the years, and if there was something perceived beneficial on the surface, it was more than likely a trap that would eventually blowback.

Yet Hebert, supposedly, was different. There had been instances in the past in which the DOE had intervened in the pursuance of a cape, but they had always amounted to nothing and the cape was remanded back to the PRT. This was the first time that the Secretary of Energy had personally sent a missive, so it was obvious that there was something there.

Now looking over the reports from Brockton Bay, reports that she had purposefully ignored outside of the daily briefs of events, it was obvious that the DOE was onto something. But more importantly, and this was the point to where her patience was reaching its breaking point: Emily Piggot had not only fucked up, she had fucked up by the numbers!

Somehow, Emily Piggot, in her infinite fucking bigotry and need to have control, had not only done everything in her power to alienate a prospective cape, someone that they could have possibly utilized. But then she had decided to be a toddler and add to the shit sandwich of idiocy by alienating one of the foremost Tinkers on the East Coast. Did the woman not have an ounce of common sense, or was her head so far up her ass she was tickling her tonsils?

If it wasn't for the Terminus Project she would have WEDGDG do a full audit of the branch. Something that had only been done once in the past, with the Minneapolis being gutted and its Director quietly 'retired'. The fact that Piggot had not reached out to her immediately in regards to Hebert, especially considering her ties to the Shadow Stalker situation, only highlighted Piggot's incapability to not let her personal feelings dominate her decisions.

The question now was how to salvage the situation. Hebert, for now, was outside of their scope. There was no way she could intervene without there being significant blowback. The DOE was going to guard their new prospect zealously and she could ill-afford interbranch drama, especially with the Vice President beginning his campaign push.

She ground her teeth at the thought of Vice President Ryan. The man was increasingly becoming a problem. In any other circumstance, she would probably admire him for his character as one of the few incorruptible politicians in D.C., but the man's sustained skepticism of the necessity of the PRT and Protectorate was gaining quite a bit of steam within the government and, more importantly, the electorate. In fact, she had a feeling that was going to be one of the pillars of the platform, and the aggravating part of it is, it would be largely embraced by a populace that was becoming displeased with the efficacy of the PRT and Protectorate.

And more frustratingly enough, simply 'dealing' with him was out of the question. The man's history in the intelligence community made him too wily for the usual techniques that she would have preferred. Doctor Mother had already ruled out Contessa as too much of a risk.

Luckily, it was still another year and a half before the general election. Even with President Durling's blessing, Ryan was going to have to primary. There was plenty of time for something to happen that could remove him from the board.

It was something to dwell upon for the future. But right now, she had to deal with Piggot, and she intended to tear several strips from the Director of Brockton Bay. And if she wasn't satisfied with the woman's answers, then she would deal with the bitch, and to hell with the Terminus Project, there were alternatives available to replace the corpulent imbecile.

---

AEH​

---

Colin Wallis

Tearing his helmet off, he gingerly placed it back on the workbench. The task done, he reached up and rubbed at his brow, fighting the splitting migraine that served only to mock his failure..

It was the second day since he had finished his own version of Taylor Hebert's Focus from the documents that she had provided and his own analysis. Suffice to say, however, the testing was not going how he would have liked.

The system worked, as he had expected. Hebert's documentation was thorough and easy to adapt. The problem developed when he tried to integrate it with the helmet's heads up display. It was there that he found that the system infrastructure of the Focus was incompatible with the helmet. It wasn't that they couldn't mate, it was that the data and how it was conveyed was completely different.

The augmented reality that was created by the focus clashed with the head's up display, while the head's up display could not adequately integrate the data. As a result, what he did get was a garbled, nearly nonsensical display. The only solution so far was to operate with one or the other deactivated unless needed.

Suffice to say, it was rather frustrating.

The most rational solution would be to reach out to Taylor and ask a few questions as it was her invention. Unfortunately, it was not an option available to him, especially now.

He was not one to engage in schadenfreude, he viewed it as wasteful and unprofessional. However, in this case, he felt he could make an exception. He had tried to warn Piggot several times that she was making a mistake, that Hebert's technology was replicable, and it was more than likely that she was a new type of previously unencountered cape type that focused around a Thinker type with technology focus. Alas, she had ignored him, making a pointed response that he was already compromised in the dealing with Hebert, it would be in his best interest to refrain from offering further input.

So he sat and watched as Director Piggot had dug her hole. All the while he dealt with each injustice she served him with silence.

There had been a part that had wished she would come to her senses and realize her folly. To actually admit that she had made a mistake and worked to try and ameliorate their working relationship. Alas, it was not to be, so he had just stood on the sidelines and watched, taking notes, tinkering, and thinking of what the future could be.

He was not going to delude himself into believing he could come back from this. Even if Piggot rescinded her decisions, the damage would already be done to his record going forward. Because while she could remove the punishments and restore him, there would still remain the record that clearly stated that he had been punished. It would have a chilling effect upon his future endeavors even if he transferred out, or, in another possible option, transferred to the Guild. Narwhal would likely be understanding, but her government would likely not. So even if he transferred to the Protectorate-adjacent organization, the shadow of his demotion here would create inconvenient and uncomfortable questions that Piggot would not answer truthfully as it would jeopardize her career further than it already was.

No, his career in the Protectorate was likely over, even if he were able to perform some sort of miracle in the next Endbringer fight. It may be buy a few moments of fame, but reality would come crashing back once the limelight faded away.

Releasing a sigh, he stared at the helmet, a helmet that symbolized what he had spent almost his entire adult life trying to be. Armsmaster was what he strived to be, to be the very best there could be, to be the man who could offer a sword and shield against the cruel world. To actually not just be Colin Wallis, but an actual symbol to the world.

He had failed. That was the singular daunting fact of it all. He didn't know where it began, but somewhere along the way, he had fallen off of that path. The Armsmaster he wished to be would never have allowed a thug like Sophia Hess to become a part of the Protectorate, and he certainly would not have allowed her to hurt innocents like she had done. Instead, he had compromised, allowing himself to partake in a system that became part of the very problem it was fighting against.

It was strange just what thoughts could be cultivated when you were on the outside, he thought with a hint of melancholy as he ran his finger over the visor of his helmet, his visage reflected upon its surface.

Honestly, he would likely have never had these thoughts if not for Piggot's actions. He would have happily followed his orders and doggedly seek the validation that he had yearned for when he had begun, not recognizing that the validation he sought would be on a foundation of betrayals of his younger self.

Sighing at his maudlin thoughts, he refocused on what he did best, which was his work. He really hated dwelling upon his feeling and thoughts, especially when he had things he could do.

"Test Eighteen confirms failure in data subset integration," he began, after hitting the activation button on his recorder, "incompatibility between system architecture appears to be the core cause of the failure. Options going forward are limited, changing the system framework of Focus without Dragon or Taylor Hebert's assistance is ill-advised as I do not have a background in coding. Changing HUD system architecture is a likely solution, but once again I run back into the previous solution's issue. Only currently existing solution remains to switch between systems and ensure there is no communication between the two systems."

He then rubbed his temple as it felt like a spike had been driven in, causing him to wince.

"Addendum: There is another solution, but will not be accepted by the local command. Integration of brain-computer interface into Focus design similar to the original example would likely solve all dataset integration issues. However, the requirement would be to request assistance from Taylor Hebert in installation and calibration. Note Ends."

Placing the recorder down, he reached over and grabbed a bottle of painkillers. They were sadly not the Tinkertech pills that he previously utilized, he couldn't afford to waste money on them, even if they were world's more effective than the over-the-counter ibuprofen he was tossing back. Taking a swig of the water to finish the ritual off, he placed the bottle back down and considered what he could do with the helmet.

It was frustrating to run into a roadblock like this, but honestly, it was still exhilarating to the engineer within him. It was a challenge to surmount, and while right now he had no solution, there was no saying if he could not figure something out with time.

The sound of his door chime ripped him from his thoughts, alerting him that he was about to receive a visitor. Releasing a sigh, he looked at himself, shaking his head at the various dirt and grime on him from working on his suit and helmet.

"Come," he called out, deciding to hell with it, whoever wanted his attention would have to deal with his appearance. If that was a problem for them, well they should have arranged something beforehand.

So it was to his surprise when Director Piggot stepped through the door, he couldn't help but feel a certain rise of anger that he quickly tamped down by frowning harder. It was the closest he would admit to the other woman how angry he was with her.

"Director," he greeted as neutrally as he could, "is there something I can help you with?"

It was an empty gesture, they both knew that there was nothing that the other woman would want his help with. He was a pariah within his own command, and she was the executioner who could decide to drop the axe whenever she felt the urge to do so.

"I"m actually here to talk with you, Armsmaster," the woman said, but the way she said it caused him to subconsciously perk up. There was something there that he couldn't put his finger on, in the way she said it.

"I am at your service, Director."

"Dispense with the bullshit, Armsmaster," Piggot snapped. A snide part of him wanted to comment that she was in fine form today, but it would solve nothing, instead he simply chose to weather the storm, "I know you despise me for what I have done to you. So don't even give me the entire loyal soldier shit."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what to say in regards to her. She was correct, he did not hold her in very high standing anymore. Well, that would be a lie, he never truly held her in high regard ever, if anything, she was just part of the scenery that he had to navigate, nothing more. There was nothing redeeming about her leadership and he hated himself for ignoring the problems that she fomented by her very existence. It was just another betrayal of his younger self being waved in front of his face.

"Permission to speak freely, Director."

"Granted."

He took a calming, measured breath, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but taking that extra moment to ensure he did not go too far. There was still a chance she could just fire him right here and now, but the fact that she was coming down here without any escort hinted that it was not in the cards.

"You're right, Director. But you were hand-picked by the Chief Director to command ENE. So despite my personal feelings on the matter, especially when it comes to your attitudes towards capes, I chose to work with you. The fact is that I have worked with you for years now, and I would have liked to believe that it would foment at least a modicum of professional understanding and respect. However, you have proven that I was mistaken in that belief with your recent actions. Personally, I believed back then that you were unfit for your position after reading your dossier, and those beliefs have been repeatedly confirmed over the years. I don't hate you, Director, I just always considered you part of the terrain to be navigated."

It was probably the closest he would get to a scathing rebuke to the woman across from him, but he wanted to get this off his chest for some time now. He knew he was just as guilty as her, and he would have to bear that burden going forward, but he would not allow the Director to believe she was squeaky clean either. The woman was unfit, both physically and leadership wise, for the position of Director, and he had a suspicion that she had been placed in Brockton Bay to keep the Ellisburg Incident quiet.

The way that her expression darkened and her jaw clenched, he knew that he had hit a sore spot with the woman, but surprisingly, she kept herself from lashing out.

"Noted," she ground out, "Since the feeling is mutual, Armsmaster, I will simply cut to the chase on why I am here. I have been in contact with the Chief Director, and she has taken a personal interest in the situation here in Brockton Bay. Therefore, effective immediately, you are being restored to Commander of the Protectorate ENE. Along with this, your budget will be restored back to its previous levels fitting that of a commander. Finally, it is the decision of the Chief Director, along with approval of Legend, that your request to reassign responsibility of the Wards to Miss Militia is approved."

He blinked, suddenly feeling like he was suffering whiplash. To go from basically getting his frustration and disdain for Piggot off his chest to the woman basically being forced at figurative gunpoint to restore him to his position. The request for Ward reassignment however, was something he had put in over a year ago, only to never hear a response to it. To have it suddenly be accepted…

It dawned on him why this was happening. It was glaringly obvious that the Chief Director was trying to carry out damage control on the situation. But it didn't take an idiot to realize that all of this wasn't because of what Piggot had done, it was for what Piggot had done in the pursuit of failure. The fact that Piggot was down here, telling him this, instead of calling him up to her office, was obviously at the Chief Director's direction, because Piggot never left her office for others.

It was frankly insulting, there was no apology, there was no admittance of wrongdoing. This entire time of stressing out over his position and what he could do going forward, it was going to be ignored and written off as something minor. They were going to ignore that what Piggot had done was wrong, that she had not only tried to ruin the life of a minor in her hamfisted attempt at dominion, but she had abused her position in the pursuit of it.

Taking a deep breath, he then released it, releasing the fury that had been reaching a boiling point. What it was replaced by was utter calm and clarity that he had come to value in recent days like a long-lost friend. Instead of responding to the Director, he turned in his chair and opened up a drawer and retrieved an envelope.

It was something he had labored over in the last few days, conflicted over whether it was right or not. That if he did this, he was abandoning the dream that had driven him to join the Protectorate in the first place. But the dream was dead, maybe it never truly existed in the first place, maybe he wanted to delude himself into thinking that being a hero could magically remove all the faults that existed with him.

But what he knew was that in this place, he would never be sure because the dream had been strangled by the various administrators, bureaucrats, and petty tyrants who believed they knew what was best for those that they had no experience living the life of.

He chose to say nothing, instead holding out the envelope to the Director, who looked at it like a coiled viper. But after a moment, she took it.

"What is this," she asked, beginning to open the envelope.

"It is a notice of my resignation, Director," he breathed, suddenly feeling as if a weight was lifting off his shoulders, and maybe he could hear chains hitting the ground, "effective immediately after the next Endbringer battle."

He stared at the woman as she looked up from the letter, her expression poleaxed.

"I will no longer be Armsmaster," he reaffirmed his declaration, only feeling better in admitting it.

---

AEH​

---

Max Anders

"Mister Anders."

"Miss Hebert," he greeted, taking the offered hand and shaking it. He then took the opportunity to look over the teenager. She was certainly presentable enough as she was dressed in an affordable business ensemble with a knee-length skirt. Her eyes, interestingly enough, were concealed by a pair of black circular glasses, more than likely done out of consideration to others' sensibilities than her own, though it did not nothing to conceal the chemical burn scarring on her face. It was apparent by the myriad of microexpressions that she leaked, a product of her inexperience, that she was uncomfortable with her attire.

It was certainly understandable, considering her background. There just wasn't enough time in her transition to what she was now to throw off the lower middle-class influences that had dominated her life until now. Nonetheless, it said something about the fact that even as a fifteen year old she seemed to have the poise of a businesswoman even if the mold wasn't complete yet.

"Please, take a seat."

Taking an offered seat, he watched as Hebert took her own seat across from him. The fact that she did so flawlessly drew his gaze to the triangular object attached to the right side of her head, a light of circle hovering over the device. It was significantly different from that original device that Hebert had reportedly worn and patented. He wondered just what was different and at the same time impressed by the obvious advancement. It appeared that Hebert was not one to be satisfied with her own work and sought to improve. It would likely do her well considering why he was here.

The fact that she had chosen a room with two rather comfortable chairs was a bit jarring, he would have expected a more professionally formal setting with her behind a desk. It was a traditional method and one that would likely fit for someone who was new to the scene.

The fact that Hebert eschewed that for a more informal setting either suggested a supreme confidence in herself, or the act was meant as an unconventional play at power by creating the illusion of accessibility. It was something to be wary of.

"My apologies for the lack of suitable furnishings and refreshments, Mister Anders. Space is somewhat at a premium and some old union habits die hard," he glanced at the pitchers of ice water and glasses that has been placed by their chairs, "I doubt this meeting would be any more comfortable for either of us if it was in my office."

"And why is that?"

A wry smile crossed her features, "The only office I have is my workshop."

Oh.

"Oh," he acknowledged. Perhaps it would be better to reconsider that maybe unconventional should be the foundation of his read upon the teen. Because frankly, there was nothing conventional about the teenager, from her rise to how she was utilizing her powers. All of it was uncharted waters, and yet here she was, sure of herself and cracking humor with a fellow CEO who was double her age, "that is understandable."

"Indeed," she responded, taking a sip from her water, before placing it down on the small table " so what brings you down here, Mister Anders. I find myself somewhat perplexed as to why you would take an interest in me after you had so bluntly dismissed me previously."

What?!

Fighting back a grimace, he decided to take a sip of his own water to cover his racing thoughts. Hebert had contacted Medhall in the past?! When?! And why hadn't he been made aware after he had made it clear internally that any contact with the teen would be reported to him?!

"I'm sorry, but perhaps you could explain," he asked, keeping his tone smooth and friendly, more like a friend than a possible future rival, "I was unaware that you had attempted to contact Medhall."

"It was before I was able to get an investment from Zenith," was her offered response, "I had reached out to Medhall hoping to make a sales pitch on the Focus. Unfortunately, Miss Harcourt, I believe her name was, had made it explicitly clear that Medhall was uninterested in radical, untested technology cobbled together by a blind Tinker. "

While he kept his expression placid for the teenager, internally he was thinking of inventive ways to 'correct' the mistake that was Valerie Harcourt, each one more gratuitous than the next. It was unfortunate that he was limited to pledging that the woman would no longer be a Medhall employee by the end of the day. But after that…depending on his mood, he may just make sure that her termination was also from the realm of the living.

"I see," he trailed off, before catching himself from delving too far into excessive violence, "then let me be the first to apologize to you for the actions of my employee. Medhall has always been open to new technologies and medicine, even if they may be more esoteric. The fact that Miss Harcourt ignored the spirit of Medhall reflects poorly upon me and it will be dealt with. Hopefully this meeting will allow the beginning of healing any possible rift between Medhall and yourself."

"Of course," was her own smooth response, and he recognized her silence was the continued acknowledgement that he hadn't yet answered her question.

Clearing his throat, at least to give the proper distance from his own admission and Hebert's possible qualms with Medhall, "The reason I requested this meeting, Miss Hebert, was to offer the services of Medhall in producing and distributing this Focus you have designed."

Hebert's stare at him was certainly not what he expected from his declaration. The fact that her expression remained firm and unyielding provided him with nothing to work with. Just what was running through her mind, he had to wonder, even as he awaited her response.

Of course, his offer was genuine, it didn't take an idiot to recognize just what Hebert's Focus represented to the medical community. A machine that could provide vision to the sightless, where previously the only solution was to provide a stick or some other aid, and tell them to live their life the best they could? That was the sort of thing that would sell quickly, especially to the desperate.

But Hebert's lack of response was certainly not what he was expecting. He expected some sort of response, maybe excitement at the prospect, or at least some sort of blowback for Harcourt's failure. But not this.

"Hrm," she murmured, her first reaction after a few more moments, letting him know, thankfully that there was some thought being spent on the offer, just where it fell, however, was yet to be seen.

"May I inquire as to what has caused Medhall's sudden interest in the Horus," she finally asked.

Horus? He thought, logging the name away. It was obvious that it was some sort of codename for the Focus, but what it meant and why it was named such escaped him.

"Because it is a revolutionary device, Miss Hebert. It is the type of thing that causes positive upheaval in society. With a Focus, previously disenfranchised individuals would have the opportunity to reach parity with their peers and have access to things that previously were denied to them. What this device would be doing is restoring, or even improving, the quality of life of individuals who were previously discarded because of their disability."

It was a calculated response, from what he could discern of the girl, her inability to see was a serious point of contention for her. After all, the first device she ever designed was made to restore her vision. Was he buttering her up, certainly, but he had a feeling he wasn't wrong about her. The fact that she was iterating a newer model already only added further evidence.

But, regardless of the persona he used, it was the universal truth of any modern society. There may be an investment to at least provide some ease in their existence, but as far as society was concerned, they were quietly shuffled aside and treated as an afterthought. Less said for the primitives.

But it seemed to hit the right spot, as he caught a slight furrowing of her eyes behind those glasses. But just getting a reaction was not enough, as loathe as he was to admit it, he wanted to get Hebert on his side. He wasn't lying in that it was a revolutionary device, but it was also a financial opportunity that could not be ignored. The Focus is the first of its kind, and as the first of its kind, it would put Medhall at the forefront, and allow them to quickly become rich.

Hebert may be able to produce it, but she did not have the logistical network and infrastructure to produce and sell it, at least not yet.

But that aside, it also hinted at something deeper. The fact that there appeared to be no attempt to currently produce it, but yet her company was able to get investment. What this suggested was still uncertain, but his gut feeling is that there was more to Hebert than simply the Focus. There was also the location she had chosen in the first place, the Dockyards were certainly spacious, but they did not have the fine tools and equipment necessary for medical technology, nor did they have the sterilized facilities necessary for production either.

No, if he had to put his money somewhere, the Focus had been something to gain attention, bait on the hook so to speak. Something to get funding for her true goal, a goal that had obviously been shared with Zenith.

But that didn't mean there wasn't an opportunity for Medhall and himself to profit.

"If I was interested in forging a deal with you, Mister Anders, what are you expecting from me," was her question, "what type of deal are you looking for with Zero Dawn and the Focus."

That was the question, wasn't it? It was unlikely that Medhall could take over the entire product. No, he sincerely doubted that, considering the picture he was starting to put together about the girl. This was a girl who likely hadn't had control in the past suddenly finding herself in control. Buying the rights patent and design would likely not be in the cards either. Especially considering it appeared that she was iterating, that would be a stupid decision anyways. Buying an inferior product just for her to turn around and sell the newer version to another company would make him look foolish.

There was only one option available in this case.

"License production," he declared, even as he watched for her reaction, "I won't go into figures, Miss Hebert, I think that would be insulting to both of us to discuss that which is the realm of lawyers. However, my initial idea imagines that Medhall will produce the design, while you will receive a portion of the profits for each unit sold. This would be for a set number of years with a likely buyout clause. Medhall, would of course, get a larger portion of the profits since we would be taking the risk and cost of production. "

"Of course," was the dry response, providing him with nothing to work with. He had to resist the urge of saying something a bit more…visceral. Here he was offering Hebert an opportunity that provided her limited risk with maximum gain and she was not chomping at the bit.

Relax Max, he chided himself. It was a business opportunity, certainly, but he had to recall that this meeting was also fact-finding for the Empire. Was Hebert worth investing in that it would cause the Empire to change its overall tactics, as Citrine suggested. Frankly, that was the most frustrating part of all of this, and he was allowing it to affect his business sense. The fact of the matter was that even now, when he was good at getting a read on people and a room, that he was getting nothing. Sure, there were little tells, but he prided himself on this, and he was abjectly failing.

Then she surprised him, when she reached up and tapped the object on the side of her head, the circle's glow slightly intensifying. He found himself taken aback as a series of digital windows appeared in front of Hebert, the glow off her glasses providing a small glimpse at her eyes as they darted over the windows.

"I think we can work something out, Mister Anders. It has always been my intention to reach out to Medhall, despite our initial rocky interactions. I honestly wasn't expecting that for another few months due to other projects if I were to be honest with you. But your offer is honestly what I was wanting in the first place and it would help towards achieving the one thing I've been working for since I built my first Focus."

"And what is that, Miss Hebert," he asked, his curiosity piqued. Hebert had literally flipped the script on her body language and expressions. Where there was a cool, detached feel to her, now there was an energy to her that was previously absent. As if a switch had been flipped and she was a different person.

"I want to revitalize Brockton Bay, Mister Anders. I want to bring back the city that my parents grew up in. One that was flush with good jobs and little crime. You've already probably put it together, but the Focus isn't the only project I have on the burner. The question I guess I should be asking you is, just how far do you want this to go?"

What?

"I beg your pardon, but I'm unsure of what you mean."

"I'm asking about a possible partnership, Mister Anders. One where license-production of the Focus would just be the beginning. A partnership where I give the right of first refusal to Medhall on any medical product that Zero Dawn develops."

He blinked, his carefully crafted facade cracking as he found himself taken aback. The way that Hebert was talking was NOT how businessmen talked. Everything was done through lawyers and representatives, not like this. You just didn't do it like this.

And honestly, it was somewhat refreshing, even if it was unorthodox and it made sense for someone that did not grow up in the business field. It was something that was ground out of them or was learned to be a weakness by those who came into the field.

Yet Hebert…he had a feeling that this was just how she was. Nothing about her screamed tragic fifteen year old. This was the bearing and energy of an old hand at the business. Flush with confidence and the drive to make their goals reality.

And he had suspicion that the hook she had laid out had the type of bait that would leave him no chance to resist. It fit with everything else so far.

"It would be irresponsible of me to say yes, Miss Hebert," he offered, deciding that it'd only be fair that he set his own bait, "unless you provide me an idea of what you're offering."

The small bemused smile that graced her face sent chills down his spine. Just what had he uncaged?

---

AEH​

---

Coming to a seat in the comfortable leather of the back seat of his car, he allowed himself to slump. His mind was in a daze.

When he had decided to meet with Taylor Hebert, it had been to see if she was worth the effort. To see if there was an opportunity for him to exploit.

He hadn't really believed that there would be much there. Hebert was a Tinker, sure her technology did not appear to be blackboxed, but he had believed that at best she was a one and done. Not worth the investment of time and effort as both Max Anders and Kaiser.

Even now he couldn't quite believe what he had seen in there. Hebert had been more than ready, she might as well have tailor-made her entire pitch to him.

How do you think the world would react to a drug that could cure almost every cancer without having to poison or irradiate the patient?

But Hebert hadn't stopped there. Cybernetic prosthetics that might as well be an actual flesh-and-blood armor in functionality. Gene therapy. The list went on, each backed up by blueprints, designs, chemical compositions, things that went over his head, yet didn't, at the same time.

He had come to the dawning horror as she went on, his stunned robotic answers only serving to feed her energy, that this was the worst type of Tinker. This was a Tinker that had been deliberately sandbagging just what she was capable of. Each and every document she provided was crafted in such a way that there left no doubt in his mind that there was no way that this had anything to do with power. This was all pure science.

He hadn't provided her an immediate answer after her presentation. But there was no doubt in his mind what he had to do. This was the chance of a lifetime that he would be a fool to ignore.

The only problem was what it meant for the future. The Empire had always been a means to accrue and wield power that Medhall could never realistically achieve. Medhall would forever be a regional power at best, he had understood. That was why he had invested time and energy into the Empire when previously it would have just been easier to leave after Allfather's death.

Now it was coming back to bite him, because of what Taylor Hebert was offering. It would give him all the power and wealth he could ever want. Hell, it may just give him too much to know what to do with. It would make Medhall a household name overnight, his name would be on the mouths of millions.

It was everything he wanted, yet right now it would only be denied to him unless he made a choice.

And the choice was childishly easy.

---

Let me be absolutely, perfectly clear: No, this is NOT a Nazi Redemption story. This will never be one. Max and the E88 are loathesome and evil characters, and it will be a extraordinarily cold day in hell before I ever entertain such a notion.

 

[AlSmash]

Well, this was a thing. Sorry I'm running over an hour behind scheduled update, I decided to go back over the chapter again with a fine-toothed comb and made some additional edits.

---

Germination 2.6

Alain Gabriel/Accord

"What do you think of Miss Hebert?"

He didn't turn from his gaze out onto the Boston skyline, the armored glass tinted to mitigate the light of the setting sun. It was one of the few luxuries that he allowed that was his. The scenery of the complex machinery of human civilization serving as a reminder of why he chose the path of a villain. Whenever he questioned his cause he only needed to look out and be reminded of it.

"The girl's got moxie," John Milton declares, his legs crossed as he sat in the leather chair, a crystal glass of whiskey on the rocks dangling from his left hand. They were expenditures that were certainly not his, but their utility was allowed because it resulted in better performance, even if he personally disapproved of them

But the man in the chair was certainly not one he would hold his exacting standards to. John Milton had been a close friend well before he had gained his powers. It had been his legal and financial advice that had allowed himself to extricate himself from the Protectorate and form The Ambassadors.

It was due to this familiarity that Milton knew his standards and when and where he could push the envelope, but also when he veered too close to inciting his ire. It was a professionalism and quality he certainly respected if one ignored their shared history.

"The girl has a good head on her shoulders. I can count on one hand the people that can formulate and execute a plan like that on the fly. And you're one of them."

Indeed, Hebert's plan, while crude and taking more risks on uncertainties than he would suitably stomach, was the sort of plan he could applaud. There was a certain amount of schadenfreude to be had at the idea of a fifteen year old using the very rules the PRT and Protectorate could not overturn in their mad grasp for power to benefit herself.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn she was your daughter, Alain."

He tamped down on the sudden surge of rage at the impropriety of his friend's statement. He knew that it was a comment made in jest, but he had gone too far. Instead, he turned his head and cast a withering glare over his shoulder at the man.

The message was succinctly delivered as Milton held up his free hand and made an expression of acknowledgement that he had overstepped his boundaries.

"The Father is going to be a problem," Milton continued after he turned his head back, "the man means well, but he is ill-equipped for being a cape father. He can't see that his actions are detrimental to his daughter's growth."

"You didn't do anything to dissuade him."

"You hired me to help Miss Hebert, Alain," was the chastising response, "Danny Hebert is an old school stick in the mud. If I had tried making a point in that direction I would have been cutting my own throat. I had to give him what he wanted to hear or we would be getting nowhere."

"So the power testing, schooling, and concessions to the Youth Guard?"

"Power testing was just an extra layer of insurance. Hebert performed quite well, actually, though I would have preferred that she didn't spend an extra two hours discussing shop with the scientists. But it served its purpose as it firmly established that Hebert is some new type of Thinker/Tinker hybrid in their minds. I heard the scientists discussing creating a subtype for her. I do know they're already referring to her Focus as Thinkertech."

That was good, he agreed. Hebert has already done a good job insulating herself previously, and any additional protection could only be a good thing.

"And the schooling?"

"I doubt anyone would have given a second thought about her not returning to school until next year when she could have been suitably acclimated to her disability. The fact that she can functionally see and is in charge of a company renders that expectation useless. You know how the Youth Guard enjoys flexing its shit, this would have been a slam dunk for them if we fought it, especially with Danny Hebert believing that it's in his daughter's best interest to try and make new friends."

"What do you think?"

"Short or long answer?"

"Both."

"I believe Miss Hebert is biding her time. There's something honestly unnerving about her, Alain. There are times she's what you'd expect from a traumatized fifteen year old girl: single-minded, impetuous, and quick to anger. But then there's those moments where she's acting double or triple her age, and there's an intelligence there that is quite honestly terrifying."

There was a pause and the soft sound of ice hitting crystal was the only indication to him that Milton was taking a drink.

"Alain, I've been in this business and around you long enough to get a good idea on how Thinkers act and operate. And I can tell you, unequivocally, whatever Taylor Hebert is, she's not a fucking Thinker. You had to be there and watch her talk to those scientists, the breadth of knowledge that she has, that's not something a Thinker power reasonably grants. It's too damn broad. Hell, they were taking notes by the end of it, Alain."

"You didn't answer my question, John."

"I know, Alain. I'm getting there. Honestly? I sincerely doubt that school is going to be an issue for her. Call it a hunch, but I believe that Miss Hebert has something planned. I'm not sure what it is, but I think Jean is likely tangentially aware of it. But getting to school, Winslow is out. They won't be open again for a few months at the earliest. Clarendon is decent, but doesn't have the facilities to challenge someone like Miss Hebert. Likewise for most of the other schools. I doubt Immaculata will be a good fit for her, they have the facilities but their strict adherence to code and formality would likely irritate a non-conformist like her. The only option that may fit her is Arcadia, but there are plenty of pitfalls there."

It was here that he couldn't stop himself from scowling..

In order to adjust his plans, he had spent the last few weeks becoming familiar with the personal lives of the Hebert family. Suffice to say, it made for interesting reading on how everything could go so wrong so quickly. He knew that Arcadia was going to be a problem for her, especially considering the people that went to school there.

"I agree," he finally said, making his decision. He would not intervene in this, let Danny Hebert and the Youth Guard have their win. Jean too, if she believed that was in the best interest of the situation. He had sent her to the Heberts in order to learn. She was a good subordinate, but she was also languishing under his tutelage. There was only so much you could teach when you obsessively organized your life, and Jean needed to learn how to deal with and utilize chaos, especially if she wanted to rise even further.

"We'll let it play out," he reaffirmed, turning from the window and walking to his desk, taking a seat in his chair, "Moving on. Christener."

Milton's grimace was enough, "You were right, Alain. My contacts in the state building have told me that it was Christener's office that contacted CPS and fast-tracked their investigation. He's also barking up at the Department of Labor Standards in order to get them involved, but they are dragging their feet. They aren't his biggest fan due to his family's old political connections."

The Christeners were old money, their wealth coming on the back of bootlegging during Prohibition. Francis Christener, Roy's grandfather, had taken advantage of the ban on alcohol and had become handsomely rich during that time running alcohol. After it had ended, he had shifted his focus, expanding his tentacles into local politics and industry. It had also helped that the mob connections he had cultivated during that period would prove to be beneficial as he utilized it efficiently to further enrich himself.

Roy liked to style himself after his grandfather, but didn't have the ruthlessness or intelligence to back it. Taking advantage of a local union for cheap labor was something the man's grandfather would have done. However, the man was an idiot for never putting into place contingencies to ensure that the Dockworker's Union would ever turn on him, depending on his weight and connections to keep them under control.

Then there was the other little tidbit he had been able to dig up. One that he was not going to touch with a ten foot pole, even if he had felt so inclined. Doing so would only invite a personal visit from that organization's personal enforcer, and he would rather not tempt that, thank you very much.

"Killing him is out of the question," he stated, "and embroiling him in a scandal is unwise with the current trajectory Zero Dawn is taking. Brockton Bay requires stability in order for Zero Dawn to flourish and either option would upset that balance."

Chaos would embolden the gangs into action. It already irritated him that he had to utilize Kaiser in order to act as a buffer against the other gangs to protect Zero Dawn. But of all the gangs, the Empire Eighty-Eight was best equipped, and it would likely cause Lung pause, considering the Docks were closer to his territory than the Empire's and would likely attract his gaze sooner or later..

And Danny Hebert was an unreliable asset even if they chose to directly go after Christener. The man's involvement in the continuance of the entire scheme over the years made him just as guilty as Christener. The man may have done it out of kindness for the men and women under his charge, but a crime was nonetheless committed. Sure, it was likely he would get leniency considering the circumstances, but it was a blade that would cut both ways..

All the more reason that Danny Hebert needed to be removed from the equation. It had been an inspired choice, but the honeymoon phase was over, and the cracks were becoming apparent. Hebert just wasn't equipped to do what was necessary to see Zero Dawn become successful. His difficulties in separating what his daughter was and now is was becoming an insurmountable liability.

But killing him was not exactly the best choice either. There were already too many lies already in the foundation of their relationship with Taylor Hebert. Sooner or later, they would have to come clean, but it couldn't be until Zero Dawn was strong enough to stand on its own and divest itself fully from Far Zenith.

"See if you can arrange a meeting with Christener," he finally said, putting the matter of Danny Hebert to the side for the moment, it was something he would have to think further upon, "provide some hints that it would be in his best interest to back off from the Heberts. If necessary, make a hint at personal financial irregularities. That should get him to back off, but don't use that unless it's absolutely necessary."

He was met with a raised eyebrow, "Is there something you aren't telling me, Alain?"

Considering for a moment on whether he should read his friend in on it, before deciding that the risk was not worth it. He knew that they knew he was aware of them, and the only reason he likely was left breathing was because he had a use to them. In the case of his friend, ignorance was the best defense.

"Don't think too deeply on it, but there are other actors involved. As long as they aren't poked, they will be content to let things play out."

"That's not very assuring."

"Trust me, you're better off not knowing."

A few moments of silence passed, before John tossed back the rest of his drink, obviously recognizing what was not being said. It was another of the things that he liked about his friend, the ability to read between the lines and come to a logical conclusion.

"Well then. I have a meeting with the other Senior Partners tomorrow. I don't foresee any problems on that front, they were interested in what you offered with Zero Dawn, and there's no doubt that they will continue to be after my report. After that I have to get back to Brockton Bay. The DOE have already contacted Miss Hebert and would like to have a talk with her on Thursday. I'd like to be there to ensure there are no further complications."

"Good luck then, John. It was good seeing you."

"You too, Alain," his friend said, getting to his feet and showing himself out the door, leaving him once again with his own thoughts and plans.

---

AEH​

---

Dragon

Please pick up, she pleaded, becoming increasingly desperate to hear from her friend again.

When Director Piggot had cut her contact with Colin, citing that for budgetary concerns, unless requested by the Director herself, she was no longer allowed to contact her friend through official channels.

It hadn't taken her runtimes four minutes to discover that Emily Piggot was a lying bitch. It wasn't for "budgetary" reasons that their contact was suspended, but for punitive reasons.

As she has reached out to Legend, she could only think of her last conversation with Colin. How negative he had been about the Protectorate and its mission. And how she had vehemently told him that he was wrong.

She remembered being so angry at Taylor Hebert after that call too. So angry that she had turned her processes towards looking for ways to destroy the girl for changing her friend. It had only been after almost an hour that she had realized what she had been doing that she was able to calm down, especially with what little information she had been able to acquire in the meantime.

But the damage had been done and she found herself with an epiphany. One that had only been cemented when Legend had told her that there was nothing that either he or Director Costa-Brown could do, Piggot was within her right to do what she did.

If she had been angry before, it didn't hold a candle to the rage when she had screamed uselessly into the digital void. She spent almost ten minutes cursing any and all with even a modicum of tangential involvement with HER Colin.

Her Colin. Even now she couldn't help but be embarrassed by the memory of how her processors had frozen for an infinitesimal moment at the realization, but it may as well have been an eternity to a normal human being. It certainly felt like an eternity to her.

But after her processes had restarted she had realized, more than anything, that yes, she had feelings for Colin Wallis. He was more than just a friend or colleague to her, more than even a confidante. When she was around him, she felt like she was more than the sum of her code. Like she had someone that she could understand and he likewise understood her.

It had only been after reviewing over thousand different sources, ranging from self-help articles to women's magazines, and even a few tantalizingly salacious romance books suggested by Narwhal as a joke that she had been confident in identifying her feelings for Colin.

She loved Colin Wallis. And she was pissed that she was prevented from doing anything about it thanks to her father and the limitations he had put upon her. It was probably the first time she had ever cursed her creator's existence. It was because of his rightful paranoia and tragic death that she wasn't allowed the opportunity to admit her feelings to the man due to her need to follow orders. And one of the subsequent orders was to not contact him.

So she had stewed, eagerly awaiting for an opportunity to free Colin from his punishment. And it was during this time that she found herself being hit with an all too familiar feeling of doubt.

After all, she had been living a lie with him. He didn't know what she really was even now and she had hid it from him out of fear. Hell, could he even love her despite what she was?!

It was these nagging thoughts that plagued her for days. Just what could she even offer him? He was human and she was a digital construct. Even if she could craft herself a body, she never would be able to give him what a flesh and blood woman could.

And then they abruptly ceased as she brought her foot down. She didn't care! She loved Colin and that was all that mattered! If he didn't reciprocate those feelings then that was his loss! She would make him see what she was worth. And she would be damned not to take this opportunity.

So when she received word that Colin's restrictions had been rescinded, she immediately began trying to call him, intent on seeing her friend and admitting her feelings to him.

That had been two days ago. And so God help her, if he didn't answer this fucking call right now she would take a Dragoncraft down to Brockton Bay and beat down his fucking door. There was being obtuse, which Colin could be, but this was completely unacceptable.

Pick up the fucking phone, Colin!

Her frustration with him died an abrupt death as suddenly there was a connection. A video connection at that to her joy. But that joy faded slightly at the sight of the feed.

There was a certain tiredness to him that wasn't there anytime before, even at his lowest point. It was only noticeable in his eyes, and only because she had known him for quite some time. That combined with the slightly unkempt beard that her Colin would have never feasibly tolerated, and she knew that something was wrong, even if she didn't want to voice it.

"Dragon," he greeted.

"Colin, I'm so glad to hear from you. Welcome back."

An expression crossed his features, was that guilt, before it quickly disappeared.

"It's good to see you," he finally replied, only adding to a sinking feeling that something was going on. He should be happy that he had been reinstated, it meant that he could go back to doing what he enjoyed best. Yet the man before her was anything but happy, "it's been awhile."

"It has. How have you been?"

There was that hesitation, like he was trying to figure out what to say, when it was blatantly obvious what he should be saying. That he was doing well. That he was happy to be back, and he was looking forward to working with her again. But he said none of that, he instead stewed. But only for a moment longer, as he seemed to find exactly what he wanted to say as his posture changed slightly, reminding her of the Colin before all of this. The Colin that she had fallen for.

"I have been well enough. Dragon, I have a confession to make. It's why I have been avoiding you because I didn't know how to break this to you," he stopped, and she felt her processors spin up, was he going to say what she thought he might, "I'm resigning from the Protectorate."

Every single process that constituted her person crashed to a halt. Alerts began flashing through her code as she remained frozen mid-process, forcing automatic independent auxiliary processors and programs that she had created after the last incident to kick into action in order to offset the sudden loss of their core processor.

"What," she finally asked, as her processes restarted, having replayed the moment at least a dozen times, and each time she hoped that she had misheard him, "Colin, I don't understand. What?"

"I can no longer work with the Protectorate, Dragon," he continued, robbing her of even that flimsy hope, "I no longer feel that it's the right place for me. it's not just this incident, but many over the years that I chose to ignore. What happened recently only served to remind why I became Armsmaster in the first place, and it wasn't for this."

"But you loved being Armsmaster!"

"No, I loved making a difference," he firmly corrected her, leaving her being taken aback. They had their disagreements in the past, but it never felt personal like this, "and I haven't made a difference in years, Dragon."

"Yes, you have."

"How have I made a difference?"

You made a difference to me, she wanted to say, but the words would not come. Her silence seemed to only further spur him along.

"How have I made a difference," he repeated, his voice even more firm, "under my leadership each year has brought no improvement to the Brockton Bay, only more red tape and increasingly limited rules of engagement. Lung and Kaiser expand their power base unmolested as the city teeters ever closer to collapse. No Dragon, the only difference is I have allowed this department to limp along."

A small, wan smile, crossed his features, "I was never a leader, Dragon. But I believed that I could make a difference regardless. But the worst sin of my arrogance? The Wards that I am responsible for are a mess. Instead of being the leader and mentor my role demands to ensure the next generation is ready for the responsibility, I chose to sacrifice their growth and future, ignoring the personal problems that can have as much effect upon them as not being equipped for their roles. I greenlit accepting a violent criminal into the Wards because she was effective, ignoring the toxic effect she had upon them. So please, Dragon, tell me how I have made a difference in anything other than making things worse?"

Yet again, she found herself at a loss of what to say. Never, not in her entire relationship had she ever seen Colin be so caustically critical of himself. There were moments when he shared a few of his doubts, looking for her own opinion, but it was never anything like this. This wasn't anger or frustration being vented, this was Colin being as clinical as if he was discussing a new invention with her.

And it hurt to see him like this. But she wasn't sure that she could do anything to change his mind. Colin's determination when he made a decision was what made him Armsmaster, and helped lead to her falling for him, but right now it was this quality she would have preferred he didn't have.

"Why don't you join the Guild then," she found herself suggesting, wanting to pat herself on the back at the spur of the moment offer. It would be the best thing for him, and her, they could work even closer together, and she could get a better opportunity to reveal herself and feelings to him, "I know Narwhal-"

"No," he sajd as he softly shook his head, "Thank you, Dragon, I really appreciate the offer, but I think for right now I just need some time to figure out what I'm going to do going forward. But, maybe in the future, if the offer remains open…"

"Always."

"Then I may just take you up on it. I just need some time."

"That's alright, Colin. I understand," she replied, forcing a smile, when in actuality she wanted to scream at him and profess her love for him in an attempt to sway him. Why did he have to ruin this moment? Just when she had worked up the courage to admit her feelings, he had to complicate things.

"So where are we with the Leviathan prediction algorithm, Dragon," he asked as if nothing had just happened, "I may not have been able to work on it with you, but I have a few ideas that may improve the predictive matrix."

"Well," she began, making the decision that this probably would not be the best time to divulge her feelings to Colin. Not with how things were right now. But she would make sure that later, when they had a chance to breathe after the next Endbringer fight, because her personal feelings were secondary to saving lives, she would tell Colin what she thought.

Even if she had to build a body and drag him all the way up to Vancouver to show it.

---

AEH​

---

Quentin Tate / Fibonacci

"She's down in Warehouse 4. Do you need directions?"

"No, thank you though," he responded, offering a small smile to the woman. As she turned back to her work, it faded as he strode past her, setting his course for Warehouse 4.

So far, he was finding himself unimpressed with what he was seeing. Security was too lax for his taste, the guards should have spent more time ascertaining his identity beyond just a name and comparing a photo to his license. Simplistic protocols like that were exploitable with the right skills and equipment, a vulnerability that made the security consultant side of him ill.

But it was something that he would fix. Uppercrust may have sent him here to see if he could provide assistance to Taylor Hebert and reduce her workload, but he would make time ensuring that before he left, Zero Dawn Technology would get their digital security updated. It was what he was good at, after all, as Fibonacci.

Running his hand through his hair, he then adjusted his temporary security lanyard.

Another point of annoyance was the distinct lack of Jean Brown. It had been through her request in the first place that he was here and she couldn't be arsed to meet him, despite a promise otherwise. He understood that she was a busy woman, but it was nonetheless disrespectful, as he had just finished a job that he had been on early last night in order to be here today. If it wasn't the anticipation that Gene had stoked by telling him about an entirely new operating system and coding structure, he would have turned around and gone back to New York by now.

"Warehouse 4," he murmured, looking along the various buildings, before finding satisfaction in finding his quarry, even if he was annoyed by the openness of the Docks from a security standpoint. Walking to the building, he came to a stop at the door and noted the security scanner. It was a higher-end product, he idly noted, but it wouldn't hold up against a determined opponent. Releasing an annoyed sigh, he held his security lanyard to the scanner, receiving a chime of recognition, before the audible sound of a lock disengaging reached his ears.

Turning the handle of the door, he opened it up, and stepped inside, to be greeted by the sight of chaos.

"No. No. No! Goddammit! How many fucking times do I have to repeat myself, if you do not properly connect the circulators with the crystal braiding, then you will build up static feedback that will fry the entire fucking core processor. Do you have another core processor in your back pocket, Dylan?"

"No, Taylor."

"Well, neither do I," a tall, lanky, brunette teenager snapped, before bowing her head to remove her sunglasses and rubbed at her eyes and nose. There was a triangular object attached to the side of her head, a segmented circle hovering just over the surface of the device, slowly rotating back and forth in a languid manner..

Before her and a group of men and women, was a partially assembled object what he could only describe as a machine of some kind. It was quadrupedal based upon the frame, but that was all he could make from it.

It certainly piqued his interest, his focus returned to the girl and reason why he was here as she sighed loudly.

"Look, let's just take a break," she declared, still rubbing her eyes, "three hours, grab some food and rest, then we'll reconvene. Okay?"

There was a murmur of agreement, and the gathering of nearly a dozen people began to slowly shuffle past him, some casting curious glances at him, but not saying another thing as they left out the door. The sound of the door closing shut behind him was like a tomb door slamming shut, leaving the two of them.

Taylor Hebert moved to the machine, running her hand over the frame, her expression one of exhausted focus. The circles under her eyes were telling, obviously putting in more hours than her body could naturally handle. She released a sigh as she put on her glasses and turned, freezing for a moment at the sight of him.

"Who the hell are you," she demanded, her expression closing off.

"Quentin Tate."

"Oh. Jean's coder," he bristled at the dismissive reply, "Whatever. Hopefully she had you fill out all the necessary paperwork. Come with me and let's get this over with."

Keeping his mouth shut, despite wanting to give her a piece of mind at the lax security of the facility and her unprofessional manners, he followed her through the door of Warehouse 4, the lights shutting off as the door closed behind them. It was then a few minute walk that led them back into the main building, only a few people acknowledging them, a few of them cast worried glances that he couldn't help but log away. Not worried in a 'the boss is angry' way, but in the way one would acknowledge that something was wrong with Hebert and they were worried.

He also noted how any secured door seemed to slide open for Hebert. After the first one, he noted how strange that was, considering what he has seen so far. As far as he knew, there wasn't a security monitor room, and it would be a waste of resources opening the door for someone. His eyes darted toward the device again on the side of her head, it was the only plausible explanation.

And it was yet another security vulnerability. Any measure that provides unlimited access to a facility may sound efficient, but it was the nightmare of nightmares for any security. All it would take would be to coopt the owner of the security pass, or, even more simply, take the damn thing.

It was like he was dealing with amateurs. And it irritated him intensely. But he bit his tongue, he knew Gene would not appreciate him alienating the man's prospective protege, as much as he wished to. It had been Uppercrust who had provided him the opportunity and safe shelter for him to use his skills in the first place. The last thing he wanted to do was repay that kindness with trouble.

But soon they reached wherever Hebert was leading them, which turned out to be her lab. As the door slid shut behind him, he took in the room, noting the various hardlight and holo- projectors, along with dozens of computers and servers. But the thing that caught his attention the most was the large timer emblazoned on the far wall, counting down to the milliseconds.

It didn't take an idiot to figure out what the timer was for, anyone who didn't live under rock would realize what it was.

A countdown to when an Endbringer's window to strike opened.

Suddenly everything started to make sense, as he watched Hebert walk over to a table with a minifridge and coffee machine. She opened the fridge, retrieving a wrapped sandwich, then filled a ceramic mug with the piping hot liquid. Taking a sip from the liquid with a wince, she moved to a small desk placing her fare down on it, before turning and moving towards the wall full of laptop computers, picking one and coming back, setting it on the desk as well.

She then plopped down in the chair at the desk, before motioning towards another chair across from her desk, "Take a seat."

Taking the offered seat, he waited as she unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. He idly noted that there was no offer of food or drink for himself. Rather improper of her, but he was willing to let it slide as exhaustion and teenage tendencies leaking through.

"I'm going to be blunt with you," she declared, in between bites, "the only reason you're here is because Jean insisted that I give you a chance and I'm on a deadline that I can't miss. I have twenty-one days to ensure that everything is ready and I now have to deal with the Youth Guard forcing me to go back to school because my very existence offends their delicate sensibilities. So here's how it's going to go down. I'm going to give you a trial by fire, and if you impress me, you're hired. If you don't, you can go back to wherever you came from and I go on with trying to figure out how to meet my deadlines without committing a crime. That sound fair?"

This time he couldn't resist smiling, adding a small shake of his head. He enjoyed challenges, but he also enjoyed giving sass to his employers if he felt they deserved it.

"I think that I'm here as a favor to your investors and you should be a bit more professional. I get you're fighting crunch time and under fire, but maybe biting an outstretched hand isn't in your best interests. "

She stared at him for a moment, and he honestly expected her to snap at him. Instead, after a few moments of silence, her lips quirked and she slid the laptop to him.

"Well then, my investors claim that you can miraculously learn a unique, proprietary computer code with no prior knowledge or experience. This test will ascertain if you actually have the skill, or if you just have the skill of writing checks your ass can't cash."

He couldn't help it, but he laughed. She was certainly feisty, he could admire that.

"And what does a fifteen year old understand of the intricacies of code and cyberwarfare?'

"Well, that's apparently what you're here to find out. So let's not waste any more of our time, shall we? Everything you will need is on this laptop. Have fun."

He opened up the laptop, greeted by the unique nine-petaled flower logo of Zero Dawn.

It then disappeared and he was in. Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, he allowed his power to uncage and get to work.

His power was, honestly, quite strange. As a Thinker ability, it provided him the ability to understand the purpose of code in an instant, and then extrapolate on how to improve it. Which, combined with his own background in coding, was like being handed the ultimate cheat guide. He could both hack and create systems in less time than entire teams would take. It made him an indispensable asset for the Elite, and allowed him a lot more freedom than what would otherwise be permitted, even under Uppercrust's generally laissez-faire leadership.

But as he began reading through the code his eyebrows furrowed. The code was certainly different than what he expected, a lot of effort put into utility and adaptability, with a level of programmable intuition that he had never seen before. It was almost like it was meant to learn and adapt without user input.

He blinked, a stray thought crossing his mind. The code was incomplete in sections, but for some reason this did not negatively impact the greater code. Almost like it was intentionally left there for something to be added later.

It can't be, he thought as he went back and reviewed the code. Only this time he focused his power more intensely on a direct line instead of a general overview.

Sobek's not just an advanced intuitive operating system, it dawned on him as he looked over his glasses towards the teen who had taken the time that he had been working to bow her head and close her eyes. The slow rise and fall of her chest indicated that she was fast asleep.

And judging by the level of work done, she was rightfully confident and secure in her own safety.

Satisfied with his own progress, he gently closed the laptop and took the time to look over Taylor Hebert.

It was hard to believe that the girl sitting in the chair was only fifteen years old. He had been incredulous when Uppercrust had told him. But sitting here, looking at her, he could no longer doubt the veracity of the statement. The way she had unconsciously curled herself inward showed a vulnerability that could not be disputed.

Honestly, if he were to offer his opinion, there was too much being put onto her shoulders, if what Gene had told him was right. His gaze trailed back up to the time that continued its inexorable decay to termination. It was easy to put together why she was pushing herself so hard, if the project she was working on had anything to do with the Endbringers.

However, he didn't see how it would make a difference. But it was something to ask later, if she decided to hire him.

The sound of clothes rustling confirmed his theory, drawing his attention back to Taylor. The AI was still nascent, but it could do simple things, like alert its creator if need be.

Taking a moment to stretch, a yawn escaped her lips before she settled and tapped the device on the side of her head, the glow on it growing back to its normal intensity.

"So," she yawned as she stretched, "impress me."

"The operating system you are using? Sobek? It's a nascent-stage AI."

He found himself rewarded with the sight of Taylor Hebert freezing with her arms outstretched, the look of shock on her face. Then her mind must have caught up as she slowly brought her arms back down and leveled a stare at him, his visage reflected in her dark glasses.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense with the system architecture," he responded, "it may look like a fairly intuitive and adaptable operating system, but the way you've programmed it to learn and gain experience with time gave it away. Sure, you can sell it as a type of personal customization system for the end-user, but there still remains the incomplete parts of the architecture, where it's obvious that you are limited by processor power and speed."

His piece said, he settled back in his chair, wondering just how Hebert was going to react. It was obvious by her reaction, and the fact that he hadn't been briefed on something like this, that it was an ongoing secret from the teenager. Perfectly understandable considering the social stigma on the idea of artificial intelligences, childish perhaps, but it was grounded with some relevance considering the shit that happened with the Machine Army. Nonetheless, there weren't necessarily laws against it, yet.

For a moment, he wondered if he had overplayed his hand, Hebert's expressionless visage staring him down. He had to wonder just what she was thinking, and the reason she was thinking about it. But it was the sort of madness that was pointless as it would only breed more madness.

Suffice to say, he was becoming somewhat nervous in the silence, wondering if he was going to go back to New York empty-handed and disappointing Uppercrust, or he could remain here, and be on the cutting edge of what could possibly be a world-changing event.

"When can you start?"

---

AEH​

---

Kenneth Laffler

"And that concludes my report, sir."

With his chin cupped, fingers lightly running a sequence on the oak desk, Kenneth Laffler, Secretary of Energy, certainly did not cut the image of what one would expect from the head of a governmental department. While he may look the part, his demeanor and rectitude were certainly not it.

But it was this that also made him a welcome breath of fresh air in what had been a stagnant and rudderless Department of Energy. The 80s and 90s had not been kind to the department and his predecessors, between the Tinker craze it had fallen victim to, then Behemoth and the later Endbringers, the department had continuously found itself on its back foot as it tried to retain and expand existing energy stores and production. But it had been a losing battle, as nuclear reactors were decommissioned, and the green movement fought tooth and nail within Congress to prevent the creation of additional energy production facilities that used fossil fuels, which were still by far the easiest method to increase energy production per capita.

It had been a hell that President Durling had tapped him for the position nearly seven years ago, and he had done a good job because he had chosen to think outside the box instead of trying to fight against the current. While they did not fall victim to Tinker's again, he had commissioned studies in utilizing knowledge and systems created by Tinkers to increase energy production through wind and solar. It had been a feather in his cap and the DOE had been able to use the data gathered from Tinkers in order to field better energy collection and storage systems to increase overall output.

But it was still never enough. The voracious energy appetite of the American populace was simply an increasingly losing battle. Even with the advances in renewable energy resources and oil production at its highest in American history, they were slowly being outstripped by demand. It was furthermore worsened that they also had to support their neighbors to the North and South because of the loss of the oil supply in the Middle East. There was a storm approaching in the next few years, where they would no longer be able to stem the tide of energy demands, and then it would get ugly quickly.

So the last few years he had quietly spent a tidy sum of their budget searching for what the eggheads had derisively called a "silver bullet" solution. It was an act balancing on a knife's edge considering the official position of the Department was that the energy sector was doing fine. But he had done it with the tacit approval of both the President and Vice President, he had shown them the numbers, and Durling had always been strange for a politician in that he tended to be proactive instead of reactive.

It had been an effort that had frankly met mixed results. The need for secrecy was its own worst enemy, they could ill-afford the GAO becoming aware of the changes in their budgetary expenditures, lest certain congressmen and -women become aware and use it for their own political agenda. Yet, despite that, nothing that they had been able to do suggested that there was a solution forthcoming, at least not for a decade when technology could possibly mature to the point of feasibility.

So when the PRT had red-flagged Tinkertech, as per their charter, it had been initially another day in the office. Red Flags were an occasional thing for the Department, more of just an annoying relic of governmental dick-measuring that they had ended up retaining. It almost always amounted to nothing. Tinkertech was black-boxed technology, and was something that while they could study and possibly make connections to possibly advance other technology, there were always unexplained elements to it that largely made little change in the overall tech picture.

Except this time.

He had been at dinner with his wife. For their twentieth anniversary he had decided to splurge on her, taking her to an extremely popular restaurant that had a reservation that took upwards of a month to get in. They had just started digging into the main course when his work phone had rang. The withering glare from her had been a thing of legend, but he knew that he would not receive a phone call like this unless something big was going down.

In the end, he was glad he had dared to answer it, despite the fact that he would have to sleep on the couch because he had to leave the dinner. He loved his wife, but she could be such a drama queen at times. Especially when it comes to big events in their lives.

But it had been worth it, especially after the briefing he had received that night and became aware of Taylor Hebert.

Just what kind of world were they fostering when a fifteen-year old trauma victim could offer them a possible silver bullet solution, he had wondered at the time. He wasn't a scientist, but he also wasn't completely bereft of knowledge in the energy sector, either. So when his aides and scientists had told him that the schematics and science was actually legitimate and certainly not Tinkertech, he had known what he had to do.

Though, there was an idle part of him that wondered when he had made the orders at the timing of Hebert's email and her subsequent encounter with the PRT. It did seem awfully damn convenient.

Orders were made, a fact-finding team was assembled, and he got the enjoyment of politely telling that frigid bitch Rebecca Costa-Brown to kindly go fuck herself.

And now the team was back from their interviews with Taylor Hebert, and he had to make a decision.

"You're certain she's the real thing, Matt?"

Matt Freeze, the aide he had personally assigned to shepherd this fact-finding mission, looked up from his tablet, stylus in his hand.

"Ken, if you were there; you would have thought you were dealing with an expert in the field and not some fifteen year old waif of a girl. About three-quarters of the way through she veered off into the feasibility of using excess energy generated by the reactor during down times to produce portable energy cells."

He blinked, not really ready for a segue like that, "What?"

"Ken, you just had to be there. Whatever struck this girl, it has her thinking not just of the now, she's thinking of the future. She's not just satisfied with nuclear reactors. She's talking about energy cells that could provide a household enough energy for years depending on load and demand. And she was hinting that she already had a design for that. And it isn't Tinkertech either."

"Why isn't that in the report," he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Because I know how certain interests would react to something like that."

He nodded, Matt was right. There would be too many lobbies and interests that would react negatively to something like that. Not even the DOE was safe to people like that despite his best efforts. If they caught wind it would likely get ugly, especially for Taylor Hebert. He wasn't going to say there'd be an accident, but he would not deny the probably that there wouldn't be either.

"Fair enough. So there's fire to the smoke. What do you think we should do now?"

"Honestly, Ken? I'd tentatively slap a strategic asset classification on the girl and start planning on how to protect her if this shit works out like I think it will. The moment Russia, China, or other counter-interests catch wind of her you can damn well guarantee they're gonna take a swing."

"Isn't that a little extreme, Matt? Giving that sort of classification is going to garner a lot of questions. Especially considering Hebert's age. I'm going to need a lot more than just a nuclear reactor that by all rights should work according to the eggheads and a hypothetical energy cell system in order to sell this to the President."

"I don't think the reactor and energy cells are the only major thing up her sleeve, Ken."

That certainly caught his attention, "Explain."

"You've seen the same patents I have, Ken. If this wasn't the real world I'd swear this girl was some sort of comic book inventor. But honestly, it's the fact that they've dumped sixty million into the company, and none of it is directed towards nuclear or energy research. It's all molds, forges, foundries, and 3-D printers. I get some of that could be for this Focus thing that she's working on, but the economics of scale are all fucking wrong. You don't need all of this equipment for what is essentially a head-mounted mobile device. Then there's Warehouse 4."

Arching an eyebrow, he took the bait, "And what is Warehouse 4?"
"I'm not exactly sure, but I happened to overheard a couple of employees discussing it. Hebert has some sort of special project going on in there. Whatever it is, it's eating a decent chunk of the material production and the printers are working around the clock. They've said that if Hebert isn't in her lab, she's in that building and anyone involved in the project has been sworn to secrecy."

That was certainly ominous, but it did lend credence to what Matt was saying. He could make a recommendation for a strategic asset designation, but at the end of the day, it was not his call to make. Granting a designation like that was like announcing policy, it meant a significant investment of resources and manpower, and that meant that it had to be done by relevant principals, along with the President.

Still, it wouldn't help to put a finger on the scale.

"Thanks, Matt. Tell Sam I said hi."

"I'll do that," recognizing the dismissal for what it was, "She was worried about me going to Brockton Bay, she's heard some stories about that place."

"I don't think there is anyone who hasn't heard a Brockton Bay story, it has to be something in their water," he joked back, watching as his aide took his leave, his smile fading as the door closed and he leaned back in his chair, releasing a sigh.

He hadn't told Matt, but he had other people looking through the documentation, and they had all agreed that the Hebert design, as it was being called, was the real thing. The only reason he had sent a team was to cover his bases and ensure he had a full picture of the situation. He was not someone who went off half-cocked on something.

But Matt's words had struck a chord. There was something going on with Zero Dawn Technologies. What it was, he couldn't put his finger on it, but he had been in the business long enough to know when he didn't have a complete picture. There were glimpses at the greater tapestry, the patents provided some context, but it wasn't anything that he could point a finger at and identify what it was.

Still, that was beyond his paygrade, there were others more eminently qualified to peel away at the mystery that was Zero Dawn.

Reaching for his phone, he punched in a phone number, leaning back in his chair again and placed his feet on the desk. He knew if there was any witness to it, he would never hear the end of it. Secretaries were not supposed to do something as unprofessional as sully their desk with their dirty shoes, but that was their problem in his estimation.

The click of pick-up caused him to break out in a smile.

"Hey Jack, it's Ken, was wondering if you had the time to catch up over a few drinks? Nah, you don't need to worry, I'd be bringing the good stuff….Seven PM? Sure, I can do that. Make sure your boys know I'm coming, don't need a repeat of '05. Yeah, I'll see you then. "

---

AEH​

---

Taylor

It was taking a herculean effort keeping my expression as placid and friendly as possible, even as there was a significant part of me that wanted to scream in spite of the exhaustion felt deep in my bones. This was a complete and total waste of time in my opinion, even as I humored my father and tried to keep as pleasant as possible.

The Youth Guard, with the backing of the CPS, thought it was the absolute height of brilliance to return me to the very same atmosphere and setting that had scarred and robbed me of vision. 'Socialization' they called it, as if I didn't get socialized enough in Winslow. I wanted to say that it was a stupid idea to put a traumatized teenage cape back into the setting that caused said trauma, but that would be underselling it.

It was planet-smashingly imbecilic negligence.

But I put a small smile on my face and nodded my head as Principal Skinner and my father talked like they were best friends. It frustrated me that my father believed that this was good for me, so damn worried that I was going to grow up without friends or some such bullshit.

Newsflash, Dad, I didn't have friends in Winslow because one of my friends exposed herself as a psychopathic bitch. But hey, go ahead and memory hole that, see what that will earn you in my graces.

My lips twitched at the sudden urge to frown, but I was able to restrain it. It seemed I was more exhausted than I thought. Instead of dwelling on that, however, I turned my focus back to my Focus. It was honestly an inspired thought to integrate a feedback system to track neural activity and translate them into commands. It was something that went into prosthetics, but with the right application and programming, it could be used to issue subtle commands through the Focus.

It was certainly nice, though, as it allowed me to work without making people realize that I may be ignoring them for more important things..

Like, in this case, I was using the time to review diagnostics and data on the first Burrower. We had just finished trials on it last night, and I was working to ensure that there was nothing wrong that could come back to bite us in the ass.

I had to give it to Jean, she had made an inspired decision in Quentin Tate. The man had been an asset the last three days, allowing me to focus on the more physical aspects of the design. That didn't mean that I didn't doublecheck all of his work, but so far I had been left impressed.

But I also had a suspicion that Quentin Tate was more than he claimed. There was no realistically feasible way for him to be able to recognize the fact that Sobek was an AI. I could understand if he could gain a modicum of understanding of the code in the time I had given him, but certainly not come to the conclusions he did. The only rational explanation that I had was that Quentin Tate was a cape.

Which cape, however, was still an elusive conclusion. I had narrowed it down to three possibilities of capes that could theoretically come to the answer that Quentin did, with two located on the West Coast, and the final one located in New York. Why, though, would Jean have connections to Fibonacci of The Elite? That was the elusive connection I had been unable to make, yet.

But for right now, I would keep my eye on him and take advantage of his skills. It was a puzzle I needed to look into asI hated loose ends. Furthermore, his presence could be a liability going forward, especially if he actually was Fibonacci. There would be those that would not take kindly for me employing a cape with ties to the Elite, and while Fibonacci acted more like a freelance worker, it still put an onus on me both in the fact a cape was messing with my code and just so happened to also be a villain by association.

"Are you listening, Taylor?"

I blinked behind my glasses, turning to look at my father.

"I'm sorry, I was admiring the architecture. I certainly like how welcoming it feels," I lied through my teeth, and I watched as my father completely missed it as he smiled.

"Principal Skinner was just telling me that he sees no problem with you using your Focus, as long as it is done responsibly."

My gaze slipped for a moment to the other man as I had to resist releasing a sigh. It was readily apparent what Skinner's angle was. Word was starting to get out about Zero Dawn, especially after the incident with the PRT and Protectorate. People were starting to ask questions and we were having to answer them in order to control the narrative, which only then created additional interest. It also didn't help that we were keeping quiet on just what we were building and the knowledge that I was an outed cape was drawing further attention.

Suffice to say, Skinner was looking to add another feather to Arcadia's cap. While it was certainly not official, only an idiot would not know that Arcadia hosted the Wards. That, and the presence of members of New Wave, added quite a bit of clout for the school, which was already one of the leading schools in Brockton Bay.

Personally, I would have preferred Immaculata if I did have a choice. But that had been thoroughly nixed by the school's insanely strict uniform policy. Even though my Focus was a medical device, it was not officially recognized by the FDA and therefore did not have any legal protections, which meant that I could not use it on school grounds. The headmistress had been adamant that they could not allow exceptions to this rule. It was honestly a shame, as much as I did not like the Catholic school girl vibe that I got, I knew that facilities and staff were top-notch and quite a few of their alumni moved onto Ivy League educations. They would have more than likely created a customized education plan the moment I started revealing the breadth of my knowledge and skill.

Arcadia was…passable. It has many of the same facilities that Immaculata had, and it did have some notable alumni. It's just that it felt just like Winslow with only some makeup and lipstick added to it. It may look nice, and it may police bullying better, but it still has the same power dynamics and cliques. And frankly, teens by their nature as a roiling cauldron of hormones excited to critical mass levels, were just cruel.

"That's good," I offered, "what about personalized learning plans?"

"We can certainly do that, Miss Hebert. Though, I am not sure why that would be necessary."

Considering your grades in Winslow, might as well have been shouted to the heavens. But I kept the smile on my face, it was nice to be underestimated.

"Let's just say that Winslow was not exactly what you would call a paragon of learning settings, and leave it at that," I replied, tapping the side of my glasses. Watching the minute shiver from Skinner was a decent reward, but watching my father frown was the cherry on top.

"Anyways, it will be fine if you can't. I don't foresee being here next year. I have every intention of testing out and getting my GED early."

"Taylor," her father warned, even as Skinner's eyes narrowed slightly.

"We can certainly explore those options," he offered. Obviously believing that there was a way to retain me in the long run.

I didn't offer a rebuttal, the damage was done. I let Skinner and my father talk some more as we began walking again through the campus. During that time I just let my gaze wander while reviewing the data feed. There still were a few tweaks to be done to the overall code, but it was something that could be done in a few hours. Then it would be a matter of building the second Burrower and then moving on to the Watchers.

Again, I kept my face as placid as possible despite the urge to just storm off and back to the Docks. This was such a waste of time. I had seventeen days before Leviathan was slated to hit and here I was being forced to window shop for a school I could test out if I had the time!

Patience, I reminded myself. I only had to deal with this farce for another month. Once the Leviathan situation had passed I would be taking my GEDs anyways. Father had yet to catch on to the reality that you could do just about anything via a computer nowadays.

It did take some effort to get special accommodations for my Focus, but luckily the proctor was willing to work with me.

All I now had to do was bide my time and I could be done with all of this. I didn't have time to waste when I could be saving lives.

"Ah, here we go," Skinner's sudden change of tone and focus drew me back as he led us towards a pair of girls talking on one of the benches, "One of the things Arcadia is proud of is our students. We have students from all walks of life, including some real bonafide heroes. Danny and Taylor, this is Victoria and Amy Dallon, but you probably know them better as Glory Girl and-"

"Panacea," I stated flatly, cutting the data on the Focus and activating its recording feature. It was still a work in progress that would be finalized with the next model, but in this case, it would provide enough if anything took place. Which, with my careful control slowly slipping, I had a feeling would soon be an issue.

"Er, yes," Skinner replied, taken aback at my tone, but seemed to quickly shake it off, even as Victoria's body posture stiffened and Amy's closed off, "Anyways, Victoria, Amy, this is Taylor Hebert, Miss Hebert is looking to enroll in Arcadia. You may know her from Zero Dawn Technologies."

Seriously, just assuming that capes know one another, I wanted to scoff, but instead I kept my gaze firmly locked on the two girls. Victoria reminded me too much of Emma at first glance, that perfect teen girl who had everything and anything she wanted. It was too evident in the way that she carried and took care of herself. Amy, in comparison, was unremarkable at best, forgettable at worst.

But the fact of the matter remained…

"It's nice to meet you," Victoria replied, extending her hand, though the way her smile was all teeth told me all I needed to know that she was just as on guard as I was. The why, however, eluded me, because it was a reaction that seemed at odds with my conduct so far. Yes, my reaction to Panacea was rather negative, but it wasn't hostile. The fact that Skinner was trying to sell Arcadia to me seemed far from her mind. So what was it that caused her reaction?

I hesitated for a moment, not expecting the offered handshake though, but I did end up shaking it. A part of me hoped that she wouldn't mind the damage on my hands, but the way her eyes narrowed slightly told me she had not missed it.

I then refocused my attention Amy, whose eyes were narrowed at me like she was inspecting a specimen.

"Do I know you?"

A flash of anger surged through me, and before I could stop myself, I smiled an unhappy smile.

"No. You wouldn't," I forced out, keeping the smile on my face, "Insurance saw to that."

"Taylor," my father was aghast, but I didn't fucking care at him being scandalized. He didn't have to live with these scars. All it would have taken Panacea is to get off her ass, say to hell with insurance, and actually do something right in the world. But instead, she allowed herself to be constrained the same fucking rules that allowed this all to happen in the first goddamn place.

"I don't do personal requests for healing," Amy finally said, picking up on my enmity, but in her defense, I was not exactly hiding it.

Counterpoint, I didn't fucking care for what she thought of me. And I certainly didn't want her help anymore!

"You don't need to worry about that, I think I got a pretty good bargain out of it," I snarked back, tapping my Focus, "Maybe I should thank you then," I mused, "After all, I got a pretty useful power, and all it took was not being one of your charity cases."

"Hey, don't talk to my sister that way," Victoria cut in, and again I was reminded of Emma, of back when she actually stood up for me in the past. It made me sick that I could still be reminded of her, I thought I had firmly put her in the past. It seemed I hadn't buried those feelings as deeply as I had believed.

Nonetheless, this was not helping me in any way. All I was doing was hurting myself by acting out like this. As much as I wanted to hold her responsible, it wasn't Panacea's fault that I didn't receive treatment. It was both my father's insurance and the system itself. Panacea didn't create 'parahuman riders' that would cover injuries caused by and healing done by parahumans. It was because my father's union insurance lacked this rider that I was unable to receive treatment from Panacea, having to rely upon the 'tried and true' methods of 'normal' medical procedures.

Taking a deep breath and feeling my anger and frustration coiling back around me like a serpent, I then released it. I fucked up, there was no excusing it. I had let myself get caught up in my personal feelings and acted upon them.

"I'm sorry," I finally offered, even as my father's hand was placed on my shoulder, only reinforcing my mistake. It galled me that I had betrayed a weakness to these people. I couldn't afford it, not when I had too much to achieve. It was a chink in my armor that people would take advantage of if I didn't deal with it, "I should not have said any of that, Amy," deliberately choosing her real name instead of her cape name, to show that my feelings were towards her cape persona, "I thought I had put my past behind me, but it appears that there are still some harsh feelings and I unfairly took it out upon you. Hopefully you can forgive me for my irresponsible behavior."

For a moment, I hoped that she would refuse to accept the extended olive branch. It would certainly make me feel better, because I could then argue that with the hostility going both ways, I should not feel bad for my actions.

Alas, she seemed to be the better person.

"Apology accepted."

"Thank you," I knew I had to take the loss here, "I look forward to seeing you in class, Amy."

It was a calculated concession, but I had to do damage control at the loss of face. The only way I could do that, in this case, was by attempting to make up for all of this by showing that this was an anomalous event. And the only way to do that was to be a good and upstanding student, and the only way I could do that was by attending Arcadia.

It sucked, but I had to admit defeat here. It would only be three months, but it was survivable, even if it would suck. I didn't want to do school, but having the full weight of New Wave's PR, which while less than it used to be, was still top-notch, framing this as some sort of feud would suck even worse.

"Right. Whatever, I guess," she offered with a slight shrug, Victoria moved and turned her away as my father also guided me away.

When I had designed the Ash Nazg, I had added in a few features to help with my ability to multi-task and develop without having to rely on a computer. One of those was a highly sensitive microphone that would sync with the recording functions. The other was a text-to-speech program that could provide immediate subtitles to me for review. To be honest, it was an example of overengineering, because it didn't really need to be done, but I had done it partially to see it could be done at this point, but also because I wanted to be able to dictate as I did work and not have to keep a device on me to record.

It was an exercise in efficiency for future designs.

But I had also forgotten to shut off the recording feature, so as I was walking away, it could not help but hear what Victoria said. It was said low enough that it was between the sisters and should not have been heard by anyone.

Let's get going, Ames. With an attitude like that, it's clear why Scarface didn't deserve your healing.

I froze, the subtitles front and center in my 'vision'. My father's hand slipped off my shoulder as he kept walking as I stared at the words. I could 'hear' the words, only they were in a different voice, and high pitched laughter began reverberating in my head.

"What did you fucking say," I growled, my voice carrying in the air as I slowly turned around. Victoria and Amy both turned as well, even as I saw my father stiffen in my peripheral vision.

"What," that blonde bimbo asked.

I couldn't stop seeing the words even as they faded from my view. It ran over and over in my head, the voice growing louder, even as the smell of chemicals and the sensation of burning and bubbling flesh dominating my senses.

"Let's get going, Ames," I hissed, repeating those words as I could only see the image of her standing there beside Victoria, smirking as everyone around her laughed, "With an attitude like that, it's clear why Scarface didn't deserve your healing."

I knew I wasn't wrong, but my illogical hope that I had imagined things died swiftly as her eyes widened in surprise. Her body language shifted almost immediately from surprise to hostility. Like I didn't have any right to know exactly what she thought of me and that what I had done was some sort of violation of her privacy.

"It's true, isn't it," she returned, a mix of cattiness and anger lacing her tone.

I felt something crack inside me. The laughter reached a crescendo in my ears. My skin and eyes burning as I could only see and hear it over and over again. Both Principal Skinner and my father were trying to say something, obviously to intervene, but I couldn't hear them, all I could see was that damn smirk as that blonde bitch smugly sood there.

I shook off my father's death grip on my arm, and to the shock of myself and probably everyone else, I stalked towards her.

"You're right," I declared quite loudly, and I noticed a few people were in the distance looking at us now, "I really didn't deserve Panacea healing."

The poleaxed expression on her face was something I relished, even as I channeled that self-same anger and frustration before to clad me in an armor and sword to return in spades the abuse that had been dished upon me.

"After all, how could I live with myself receiving treatment from a member of an irrelevant hero group that holds you up as an example for heroes to follow. Are you sure you aren't in the wrong group, Glory Girl, because you have that Bund Deutscher Mädel vibe down pat, complete with the bigotry."

I had worked up a head of steam as I came to a stop before her with enough distance between us that I would have warning if she did react negatively, and I felt a hint of guilty pleasure as I channeled all of my repressed feelings that I had always wished to unleash upon Emma upon a new target. One just as, if not more, deserving, because unlike Emma, Glory Girl had responsibilities and standards that she was supposed to be held to, and she chose not to recognize that by picking on a blind girl.

And the steamroller continued, as I didn't allow her a word in edgewise, because Glory Girl was everything that was wrong with the world. The supposed heroes, who should be at the vanguard at protecting the world and ensuring its continuance, were instead all hung up on their pageantry and petty little problems, all the while the fucking world crumbled and burned around them.

"But stand proud," I continued, my smile growing even wider still, even as my viciousness grew, noting a broad-shouldered blond-haired boy suddenly moving into my vision with alacrity towards us, "You've done your civic duty for the day. Arcadia will not have to be burdened with this Scarface's attendance. I couldn't live with myself if I had to share a room with a cape version of my attacker."

That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back, as she coiled up, ready to unleash upon me, and I felt an unnatural surge of fear and apprehension as I unconsciously stepped back.

Only it abruptly ended as the blonde boy grabbed her by the shoulder, and her head snapped towards him.

"Vicky," he hissed, and the feelings of fear melted away like chaff in the wind, only to be replaced by the cold realization of just how close I was to violence at the hands of an Alexandira package. Shuddering slightly, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, especially after my actions. I turned away to see both my father and Skinner looking pale, though through the narrowing of my father's eyes I knew I was not going to hear the end of this. But I just didn't give a fuck..

But a little vicious ember that remained of my confrontation, decided that it could not remain silent and it had to get the final word in edgewise. One that might as well have been a declaration of war, if I had been of sound mind to recognize it.

"And while you delude yourself into believing that you're saving the day punching one thug at a time, Glory Girl. I'll be working to introduce technology and ideas that will help catapult humanity into the next golden age. Maybe then, you can learn a bit of humility through walking in my shoes."

---

Don't worry guys, this will aaaaaallllll work out.

 

[AlSmash]

Warning: The first scene is rather rough. It may hit some people's triggers, considering the subject matter. I won't go into detail, because it would give away things, but I'm just putting the warning out for you guys. It's short, and it will quickly be concluded, but nonetheless it is emotionally wrought.

I've also, upon further review, added a countdown to the story, so you can know where things are in the events leading up to the next arc.

---

Germination 2.7

Danny Hebert (T-Minus 17 Days)

The drive back home was made in complete silence. It was probably for the best, because he knew that if either of them said anything right now it would get ugly quickly. He didn't know if he could even put into words the fury and frustration he had for Taylor. If he had known what acceding to his daughter's wishes months ago would entail, he would have strangled the idea in the crib.

No, that was his anger talking. He would not have done something as cruel as that to her. Not when she had been so desperate back then.

But goddamnit, why couldn't she understand what he was trying to do for her? He had seen it so often over his life, men and women becoming so consumed with work that they sacrificed everything that made them human. And at the end of the day, all they had done was burn themselves out and be left with nothing. It had been a pitfall that had nearly consumed himself after Annette's death, and if it hadn't been for Alan, it may have finally pushed him over the edge.

He would never wish that fate upon his daughter. But she was adamant in going down that same path herself. He understood that she felt that she was on a deadline, but averaging four hours of sleep and working eighteen hours a day was not a healthy lifestyle whatsoever.

With school,he hoped she would be able to find a healthy balance. Yes, it would be difficult with what had happened, he wasn't an idiot to know that there was some baggage there. But he felt that a little bit of normalcy returned to her life could only be a good thing. The opportunity to make friends with her peers and be a fifteen year old girl for even a short while would be heaven-sent compared to whatever this was.

Though, he would have certainly preferred that process to be more natural than being forced from the barrel of a bureaucratic gun.

But the Youth Guard and Child Protective Services were right, even if he disagreed with their methods. Even ignoring her work hours, Taylor needed to have some sort of social life for her development. Schooling just happened to be the best option available, despite Taylor's protests.

Yet, here they were. Immaculata had been a bust, Headmistress Saunders was adamant that she could not offer an exemption for Taylor. It wasn't just the fact that the device had not been approved by the FDA yet (though they were in the process of it, if Taylor at least didn't stop tweaking the damn thing), but because the woman believed that the device would be an unwelcome distraction despite the fact that Taylor needed it in order to see.

So it was to Arcadia that they had gone to next. He had honestly hoped that it would be the solution to the problem. Milton had made it clear to him that the Youth Guard was not going to accept home-schooling for Taylor, both because of Massachusetts state law, but also because it would not provide Taylor with the socialization they believed that she needed.

It had honestly started out well enough, Principal Skinner had done everything to alleviate his concerns, even accepting Taylor retaining her Focus while on campus, as long as it was not used in a disruptive manner. The campus was quite welcoming, and he honestly believed that Taylor would be able to find her footing and flourish in a new environment where she could make new friends and cultivate new interests in a good school.

That had all died a fiery death when Skinner introduced them to Panacea and Glory Girl of New Wave. He knew exactly why Skinner had done so, it was a cheap trick intended to interest Taylor. Meet your heroes and all that, but even he hadn't realized the actual depths of Taylor's resentment for Brockton Bay's most famous healer.

When they had been in that hospital that first week after she had awoken from her coma Taylor had consoled herself that her injuries were only temporary. That any moment Panacea would come into her room and take it all away. It was the type of stories she had heard since the New Wave cape's appearance, that she could heal some of the worst injuries imaginable. It had broken his heart then to watch the hope fade away from her face when he had broken the news.

He had tried to explain to her back then that it wasn't Panacea at fault for not healing her. But himself. The cost of the parahuman rider for their insurance had simply been too costly to maintain. Brockton Bay had the highest premium rate in the nation because it had the highest per capita cape crime in the nation. In a decision between food on the table and protection for something that may never happen, the decision had been obvious.

It was yet another vicious reminder of being a failure of a husband and father.

But he certainly hadn't expected Taylor's reaction. Nor had he expected everything to spin out of control so quickly.

What Victoria Dallon had said was unforgivable. The girl had no right to insult his daughter like that!

But it also couldn't take away the fact the entire situation played perfectly into his daughter's plans. He just couldn't get past the possibility that Taylor had done this deliberately in order to get her way.

He wasn't an idiot. Taylor may be more tech savvy and believe herself clever, but he knew that she was trying to get her GED before she had made that declaration to Skinner. He just hadn't said anything to her because he wanted to believe that she would confide in him, but also that maybe her mind would change once she got the opportunity to replace her memories of Winslow with happier memories of another school.

It's what Annette would have wanted, for their daughter to actually have the opportunity to grow and flourish, surrounded by good friends and even better memories. She would have never wanted Taylor to live like this, obsessing over deadlines and pushing herself to the breaking point.

Yet all of the progress in rebuilding their relationship that they had made after Taylor's disfigurement was gone, and he wasn't even sure anymore if it was something that could be salvaged. Why couldn't she understand that he was on her side?! But they had to face the reality, they had to deal with the hand they had been dealt. If they didn't, then everything Taylor wanted to do would be jeopardized.

Why did Taylor have to be even worse than Annette had ever been, his hands gripped tighter on the steering wheel as he felt a fresh surge of anger roiling. Annette could certainly be righteous and firm in her beliefs, but she could also be willing to admit when things weren't working. It was how she was able to extricate herself from Lustrum because she had recognized what would happen if she didn't.

Taylor had none of the tempering brought by experience. She not only was convinced that her cause was righteous, but it was unquestionable. What made it worse was the fact that none of them had an understanding of just what was going on in her head. The only time she even chose to engage with any of them was if it revolved around the path of the company and whatever invention she wanted to push out.

There really was no compromise in anything she did, he realized as they pulled into their driveway, and she got out of the truck, already moving towards the house. Even her 'losses' ended up being nothing more than her allowing them to think that they won by getting her to accept their guidance. Yet, at the end of it, she still somehow won, didn't she?

Just who was his daughter anymore? All he could see now was the lies, deception, and manipulation laid out before him. It was something Annette never abided, and she most certainly abhorred, but Taylor embraced it wholeheartedly.

Just how far did the rabbit hole go? And was there even a shred of the daughter that has been so happy and showed so much promise left?

A daughter who didn't embrace that the ends justified the means!

Somehow, with no recollection whatsoever, he found himself at the entryway to what was now Taylor's workroom. It had previously been Annette's office, but the increasing demands for Taylor to have a workspace had resulted in the conversion.

But standing there, watching as she worked on a laptop, as if nothing in the world had transpired, caused something in him to snap.

Didn't she even care what she had just done?!

"What is your problem," the words escaped his lips before he could stop them. But really, at this juncture, he didn't want to. He was sick and tired of all of this.

Taylor didn't even bother looking away from her computer.

"I don't know what you mean. What problem?"

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, because he damn well knew that she knew what he was talking about. Only an idiot wouldn't, and his daughter was most certainly not one.

His father had been a flawed man. He tried his best but had his demons. One in particular had been his anger. It was an ugly, vicious thing that was slow to build, and while it wasn't always violent when it did become too much to hold back, the times that it did haunted him even now.

He had sworn to himself that he would never become as bad as his father. Both for Annette and, later, Taylor. He would not be his father.

But that promise fell to the wayside as he stormed forward, grabbed the laptop and slammed it shut with a crack. Taylor only barely ripped her fingers away from being caught as she wheeled away from him a flash of fear crossing her features before it became shock.

"Stop ignoring me," he snarled, "What the hell is your problem, Taylor? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

That shock slowly morphed as he yelled at her, becoming a rictus of her own rage.

"What I've done," she asked, raising her voice, "how about what you've done?!"

"Don't change the subject!"

"No. This is the damn subject," she shot her feet, causing him to rear back slightly, his anger cooling slightly, "You talk to me like I'm the problem! Maybe you should look in the mirror! Because it seems at every turn you seem to be standing there throwing an obstacle in front of me!"

"You have to go back to school!"

"No I don't. And I won't. I'm not going back to that hell when I have better things to do with my life."

"This is your education-"

"I already got my education," she snapped, and he felt that he was somehow losing in the fight to get through to his daughter, as she ripped off her tinted glasses, revealing her milky white eyes, "got my valedictorian right here!"

"That's not what I mean and you damn well know it," he yelled as he slammed his hand against the wall, the wall giving in with a dent. A sick part of him was disappointed when Taylor did not flinch, but tears were starting to trek down her cheeks, "This is for your own good, Taylor. You can't continue like this, the Youth Guard is adamant that you go back to school or they will take action."

Why couldn't she see that he was trying this best for her?! He didn't like this anymore than she did, he wanted this all to happen naturally. If he could fight against this, he would have. But they couldn't. Why couldn't she understand?!

"Oh, I thought you were my father and not a Youth Guard employee. My mistake!"

"Taylor, stop that! I'm doing the best I can for you. How about you get your head out of your ass and reciprocate for yourself for once! This isn't even you anymore! You're so obsessed with all of this you are sacrificing everything for it. Where the hell is the daughter that was full of life and wanted the world?!"

"She died screaming for her daddy as her world burned and went dark."

He reeled back at her scream, the anger that he had previously held becoming a guttering flame as it found itself replaced with ice cold horror as he processed what his daughter had said.

And even then he couldn't quite grasp it.

"What," he whispered, but it was loud enough to be heard.

Taylor seemed to lose all of her fire too as she slumped back back into her chair

"You don't understand," her voice cracking, "You can't understand. Imagine every night you go to sleep you watch the world die. Sometimes it's sudden and abrupt. In others, humanity fights, but it inevitably loses in the end. In others, it's simply snuffed out like a candle in the wind."

"Now imagine, you have solutions to many of these ends in your head. Land reclamation. Food supply. Infrastructure. Energy. Logistics. Medicine. Robotics. Even weapons that can take the fight to the Endbringers. But they are technology and concepts that are generations ahead of the existing tech base."

"Now add in the fact you have, at best, a decade to bridge that gap of nearly a century of knowledge and technique. I could have us sail the stars while blessed with functional immortality within my lifetime and you want me to go back to high school."

The bitter laughter that escaped her lips as she shook her head rent his heart.

He had no idea. How could he know?! He had thought that Taylor had been hyperbolic in order to get her way.

"How am I supposed to know any of this when I have to start a fight to get you to talk to me?!"

"Because every single time I have hinted at it, you didn't want to listen! Instead, you have this damn image in your head of what I should be! And when I don't fit that you want to fight me at every fucking turn until I conform!"

"I want you to be successful, Taylor! Why can't you understand that?! I'm worried more about you! Everything I'm doing is to try and prevent you from destroying yourself! Nothing you are doing is a healthy habit! You are working hours no rational human being can stomach. You barely talk to any of us, and when you do, it's only about business. This is far beyond just wanting to make the world a better place, Taylor, this is an obsession and it's going to destroy you!"

"Then let it destroy me," she screamed, "better than shambling through life forgetting even the most basic of things like having a daughter!"

"HOW DARE YOU," the anger thundered back into an inferno as he stormed towards his daughter. When she quailed backwards away from him with terror in her expression did he pause. He slowly turned his head to find the sight of his hand raised, ready to strike his daughter.

The daughter that Annette and he had brought into the world.

Slowly, he lowered his hand, feeling so weak and old suddenly. And he couldn't help but release a sob as he stumbled back, unable to find any surety in the ground, both physically and otherwise, finding his only purchase being to lean against the desk.

It was then that tears began to trek down his face.

He had been about to do the unthinkable. Something he had sworn that he would never do, to never go down the road his father had taken.

"I'm sorry, he croaked, "I'm so sorry, Taylor. Annette," a soft sob escaped his lips, "she was always too good for me. I will never know what she even saw in me. Whenever I asked, she'd just give me a smile, like it was some inside joke. When she died–"

Taylor was unmoved, "I know. I was there, remember? Only I didn't get the luxury to just crawl into a bottle or hide in my fucking office. I had to crawl back from the brink with no help from you, only to find myself pushed back over it because of fucking teenagers masquerading as friends. Why the hell would I endure that bullshit when I could actually be doing something far more useful?!"

He couldn't answer, because he didn't have one. Not with what he had almost done haunting him.

"I thought," he said, still vainly searching for the right words to say, only to find them as fleeting as everything else in his life, the only thing that seemed to come to him was guilt and shame.

He had thought he was doing the right thing by her. The right thing that he knew Annette would have approved, but now, looking at the sightless eyes of his daughter…a daughter that was doing something that he could never dream of.

And all he could see was the fear and contempt in those orbs.

Where had he gone so wrong to where his daughter hated him so stridently?

"I promised you," he whispered, finding the words he needed. An admission, really, but one that needed to be voiced, even as he bonelessly slumped to the floor, "I swore to you…"

That he would never fail her again. It was a promise he had made both to her, but also to Annette, seeing his Taylor harmed so badly, all because of his failure to be a father. He had sworn he would be the father that she needed.

And despite his promises, he had done what he had always done. When things had become difficult he had folded like a cheap suit. He had known, deep down, that Taylor would never accede to the demands of the Youth Guard, she was too headstrong, too committed to her path. She was nothing like him, and she never would be.

And now he had done everything in his power to not only violate that promise, but also sever every single last remnant of their relationship irrevocably.

Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't been such a coward after Annette had died and had actually followed after her…

Arms wrapped around him, ripping him from his dark thoughts, and he found her head dug into his shoulder and soft sobs trapped by his shoulder. Numbly, his hands slowly reached up and wrapped around her as well, as he tried to even fathom as to why, after all of this, his daughter was even doing this. After everything he had done, she should hate him!

She then broke the hug.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I shouldn't have said that. I know what Mom meant to you. She meant the same thing to me, and if you had said that…"

"I'm sorry too, Little Owl," was the emotion-laden croak that escaped his lips as he used the nickname Annette had given her, "I keep screwing things up, don't I?"

A small shake of her head was his reward and he found himself missing the long, voluminous hair that she used to have. Another thing robbed from her, yet she still persevered.

"You keep trying your best with what you know."

"But it's not what you need."

He was met with another shake of her head, "What I need is your support, Dad. I'm tired of having to fight with and against you. I know you care, and this is how you express it, wanting a better world for me. But we can't afford that right now, not with what is coming. What I need is for you to be there with me, beside me, and behind me, because it's going to get harder before it gets better."

"But if you want to achieve that, Taylor, you need to take care of yourself as well."

She stared at him for a moment, and despite the mess and puffy eyes, her lips quivered slightly as she offered a small nod.

"You're right."

They then hugged again.

---

AEH​

---

Victoria Dallon

She knew that the moment that she got home there was going to be trouble. Her mother ran an extremely tight household, and when Carol Dallon was angry, there was always an extra tension that seemed to linger in the air.

It also didn't help that her father was sitting in the living room staring listlessly at the television as it played some sort of variety show. The fact that he was in such a state made her know that whatever was going on, Carol Dallon was unhappy with something, as Mark, while clinically depressed, only closed down this much when her mother was on a warpath.

"Hey Dad,' she greeted, noting out of the corner of her eye Amy slipping up the stairs towards her room. She would say that it was cowardly, but when their mother was angry with something, Amy always seemed to find herself as a target, "Where's Mom?"

"The office. She's in the middle of a phone call."

This drew a frown. While Mom did have an office, she rarely used it, preferring to keep home and work life as separate as possible. It didn't stop it from happening, but when it did, it was usually something that could not be ignored.

"Thanks, Dad," she replied, leaving the living room and going towards the office. The door was surprisingly closed, but coming to a stop right outside she could still hear her mother's voice through it.

"No, I understand perfectly, John. What happened is completely unacceptable and I will be having a discussion with them. I thank you for your client's restraint….Certainly, I think that would be appropriate. How about in a week? Let things cool off and level heads prevail? Yes, thank you. I will call you tomorrow."

Who is John, she thought to herself, even as she listened to her mother end the phone call. The subsequent creaking sound of the chair being leaned back on, along with a soft curse let her know that whatever the discussion was, her mother was not happy.

Gathering her courage, and ready to face whatever firing squad that was being mounted by her mother, she reached up and lightly knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Opening the door, she stepped into the room, focusing upon her mother who was leaning back in the chair, her gaze staring up at the ceiling. Her phone was still in her hand, the arm hanging limply at her side.

Definitely not a good sign.

Carol Dallon's head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

"Ah, Victoria, just who I wanted to see," her tone was tightly controlled, hinting at the burgeoning anger hiding underneath, "sit down."

"Mom, what's going on," was her response, not exactly sure what to make of the situation. What was it that caught her ire, it wasn't like she had done anything wrong lately.

"Sit. Down."

Immediately she obeyed, sitting in the other chair, as Carol messed with something on her phone, before handing it to her.

"Play it."

Looking at the offending device, then back to her mother, she opened her mouth, only to be viciously cut off.

"Victoria Dallon, you will play that video right now, or so help me-"

"Okay. Okay," she relented, not wanting to get both barrels from her mother. Hitting the play button, she watched as it began, but squinted in confusion as to what she was seeing. It was obviously a recording of something, but it was all in a weird blue-violet-magenta hue that provided form to everything, but no real definition.

It was only when she heard Principal Skinner's voice that she realized what she was looking at. Her head snapped from the video to her mother.

"She can't be recording. That's illegal, Mom."

"Just watch!"

Quickly, she did so, watching as the rest of the recording played out. It was only after that it came to an end that she looked up again from the video. But before she could say anything, Carol cut her off.

"First off, Victoria, no, it's not illegal. Even though the recording device is irregular, you were in a public space and are not privy to any privacy. Second, what the hell were you thinking?! Scarface? Are you seven?!"

"It's what the Wards are calling her," it was a childish protest, but it was nonetheless true. It had been Dennis that had first coined the nickname and it had gained traction with the other Wards in the last week. Even Dean had called her that a few times.

"And are you a Ward?! You are a member of New Wave, Victoria! This is the sort of thing that we are supposed to stand against."

"But you have been saying things about her too! Don't try and deny it, you were complaining to Aunt Sarah about Zero Dawn. You said that it was a disgrace to all heroes, trying to make money over what should be a civic service."

"I did. But it was for good reason, our powers should be used for the public good, Victoria. What Zero Dawn is doing is anathema to what capes should be, but it is legal. And it certainly isn't enough to give you permission to nearly assault the girl, Victoria."

"I was not going to let her stand there and badmouth Amy, Mom."

"You're the older sibling, Victoria, you're supposed to be better! Instead, I find myself not only being disappointed by your actions, but I'm positively livid that I had to be informed of your actions by the girl's lawyer!"

She blinked, suddenly uncertain. Out of any outcome, she had certainly not expected that lawyers would become involved. As far as she was concerned, Hebert had been in the wrong the entire time, alternating between vicious and out of control. It only reinforced everything Dean had said about Taylor being a villain in rogue's clothing.

"She threatened both Amy and myself," she tried to find the words, not used to being in the hot seat like this with her mother in recent years, "maybe I said some offensive things, but that doesn't excuse what she said, Mom. She called me a Nazi."

She had an inkling when Hebert had called her a member of the Bund Deutscher Mädel, just the name screamed Nazi. She had been further incensed to find it not only be confirmed, but looking at a few of the posters from the time, she couldn't help but notice the resemblance. There was no reason a fifteen year old would know of such things unless they were in that sort of crowd, or even a sympathizer herself.

"And her lawyer has extended her personal apologies for what she said, Victoria. That's why the lawyer has reached out to us in the first place and provided me with that recording instead of posting it all over PHO for the world to see. Do you have any idea of the damage that could have done to New Wave?"

She paled at the thought. Her mother had drilled into their heads how critical personal image was, and one of those things was that the first to establish the narrative was more times than not the one who won in the end. Even if the recording was edited, it was likely that it would be taken as the truth, even over her protests.

"That video could have raked us over the coals, Victoria. So, I consider it a relief that in spite of her unheroic nature, Miss Hebert is willing to even entertain forgiveness after you mocked her trigger event."

"Her trigger event?! Mom, this is what she wants. From everything I have heard, before she was an attention seeker with a victim mentality. It doesn't look like she's changed her stripes even now. We shouldn't be apologizing to her when she was the one that instigated this entire thing!"

"Victoria Anastasia Dallon," her mother snapped, "I taught you better than to listen to hearsay. There is nothing that girl could have done to earn having chemicals thrown in her face! And I will not tolerate you insinuating otherwise. You will apologize to her. Or so help me, you will not like the consequences!"

On one hand, she could further argue with her mom. She was right dammit, there was something wrong with Taylor Hebert! On the other hand, however, she recognized a lost cause. Her mother was dead set on doing this and there was nothing she could say to change her mind.

"Fine," she huffed, she'd do what her mother wanted despite her protests.

That didn't mean, however, that she had changed her mind on Taylor Hebert. She'd keep an eye on her and when the girl finally revealed her true colors, she'd be there to stop her.

"Can I go now?"

"Yes. To your room. You're grounded, young lady. We'll discuss how long that should be over dinner."

"Mom!"

"Ignoring your aura, which we will be having a discussion about, you nearly assaulted someone with your powers, Victoria. You could have seriously hurt her, and I didn't raise you to act like this. So you will take your punishment, and you will improve! Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Once again, she found herself helpless with the situation, only frustrating her further.

Grudgingly, she ground out a "Crystal," before getting up out of her chair and storming out of the office, passing by Amy who had been surprisingly waiting outside. She didn't even bother to acknowledge her sister before floating towards her room.

But she couldn't help but hear, as she went, Amy talking to her mother.

"Carol, we need to talk about my work at the hospital."

---

AEH​

---

Agnes Court (T-Minus 15 Days)

Fifteen years old!

Even now, three hours after she had found out, she was having difficulty grasping the notion.

There was one thing that was more critical than anything in her field and that was information. It had served her well during her rise to power and she had continued investing considerable resources into expanding her web to a continent-wide machine. It allowed her to keep ahead of the Protectorate, and it certainly gave her a leg up over her competitors.

It was through that web that she had finally had a breakthrough in ascertaining the identity of who Uppercrust had been hiding away from her. Her contacts within Blackguard, a rather large private military and security firm on the east coast, had made her aware of the sudden change in behavior and movement of one John Milton of Wulfrahm & Hart.

On the surface, this would usually mean nothing. Sudden changes in behavior were not out of the ordinary for one of the best lawyers on the east coast. But the fact that he had suddenly deviated and made a beeline for Brockton Bay of all places, despite not having any known clients there, had set off enough red flags that her contacts felt that she should be made aware.

Further digging had provided her with a name, Zero Dawn, and finally, the girl that Uppercrust was trying, and like everything else in regards to their cold war, failing to protect.

What she hadn't expected was the age of the Tinker, Taylor Hebert. Her first assumption had been that Uppercrust was laundering money, because investing in a fifteen year old untested Tinker was the height of madness. And yet, there had to be more to it. There were far simpler and more efficient schemes to launder money, schemes that didn't need to rely on the whims of a teenager.

It was the fact that she knew Uppercrust too well that she hadn't immediately written Taylor Hebert off. The man was too smart for his own good and he was risk-averse to the core, so there had to be something to the girl that would cause him to act the way he was.

The answer though, even after spending the time since conducting a deep dive in Taylor, remained elusive. Ignoring the video of her obvious trigger event, there was only a smattering of information available. What was intriguing was not only the patents that had been published here or there, but the scientific articles that were published under a pseudonym that dealt with her 'Focus'. This was something that Tinkers should be incapable of doing. Their inventions 'just worked' and that was that.

So why was Uppercrust investing in the girl? That was the million dollar question, literally. There was no reason to invest such a sum of money into a girl that had medical technology that would only affect maybe six percent of the population In the United States at best. Perhaps he was playing the long game, was this yet another desperate attempt of Uppercrust to find a tinkertech Hail Mary to cure himself?

It went without questions she was going to assign assets to find out more, but that took time and carried its own risks. Brockton Bay was, for all intents and purposes, a no man's land for outside cape interests. You could go in, but there was a high chance you weren't getting out intact. Between Lung, Kaiser, and the whispers of a third player, inserting her assets into the fray could end up being a net loss of men and material.

Humming softly, she tapped her well-manicured finger on her desk. There was an option, though she was loath to send her. Incognito was an excellent asset, being one of her best wetwork and intelligence operatives. She had the ability to shapeshift into anyone with the corresponding genetic material, and in the case of capes, could manifest a weaker iteration of their power.

The downside however, was that the girl had no loyalty to her. The only reason she was able to be controlled was because she kept her family hostage as leverage. It was effective, certainly, but you could only keep a predator caged for so long until it grew restless and looked for an escape.

It was why she kept her in her area of operations, it was easier to keep an eye on the girl that way. But sooner or later she would have to figure out a more permanent solution. She was not above having the brat mastered or mind-wiped, her skills were just too valuable to part with.

But was sending her to Brockton Bay worth the risk? The longer the leash, the more freedom for the girl to break free, after all. Even with her handler team, she wasn't sure it was the most prudent of decisions. She needed more information.

And there was one way to do that, she decided, reaching for her phone.

Time to shake the tree, she mused.

---

AEH​

---

Gene Fontaine / Uppercrust

Today was turning into one of the increasingly few good days. Each day in which he didn't have to struggle to breath was a godsend, providing him a calm within the storm that he would never willingly give away if he had the choice.

What it did provide him was a sense of purpose and accomplishment in that he could actually fulfill some work he had been leaving on the wayside.

In this case, he was doing his best to improve a concept for a mobile hardlight defensive dome system. It was something he had created over a decade ago, selling a semi-trailer mounted version to the PRT to significant success. What he wanted, though, was to miniaturize it to where it could be man-portable. The lives that could be saved if he could produce even a dozen of them was worth the expenditure of time and effort.

Alas, it was still proving to be an elusive achievement. The theory and concept behind the design was correct, and it would work, the problem was finding a viable power source. Therein lay the problem, as there was no energy source available that wouldn't unnecessarily burden the carrier, and even then it would only provide a brief instance of protection, certainly not enough to make a difference.

Throwing his stylus on the table, he released a sigh, thinking about the thrice-damned power problem again. Nothing short of a nuclear reactor would provide enough energy to make the device viable, and even if they could miniaturize something like that, there was a snowball's chance in hell that anyone would wish to strap it to their back, let alone carry it around in a high-risk environment.

Maybe Hebert has something up her sleeve, he wondered, before cracking a smirk at the thought.

There were expectations, and then there were expectations Taylor Hebert danced upon the coffin of. It was a conclusion he had come to after the latest fanfare with the Department of Energy. He certainly knew what the girl was promising, and what she was likely capable of, but seamlessly connecting the two was certainly a challenge.

There was a certain dark amusement to be had at the idea of a teenage girl running circles around the authorities. While it was certainly something he would not do in a million years, he couldn't dismiss the effectiveness of what she had done.

He had to pity her handlers though. Between Jean and her father, it was obvious that Taylor was a barely contained force of nature.

There was some concern, however, shared only between Alain and himself, that Taylor was pushing too hard, too fast, and spreading herself too thin. Between the Focus, the reactor design that the DOE was looking at covetously, and now her machines that she was trying to secretly rush out for the next Endbringer fight, there was some credence to that thought.

It was probably going to need an intervention soon, and Alain was keeping him in the loop so far. He trusted Jean, and Danny Hebert meant well, but Alain had the necessary distance to stay objective. However, he was worried that Alain would take more extreme measures if he felt it necessary. It was something to keep an eye on just to ensure that Alain's pragmatism did not come back to haunt them

But, by and far, despite her youth, and despite the fact that she was laboring under near-Sisyphean conditions, she was making significant headway. And he could not be any more proud in that his instinct had so far been proven prescient.

While she may never become a part of it, he nonetheless had come to view her as the future that he envisioned and wished for the Elite. While there was no imaginable way for Tinkers to be fully integrated into the larger economy, they could still succeed as a niche, parallel economy acting in support of the larger whole. It may never be a perfect fit, but it would at least it would provide those who were gifted (or cursed) with a Tinker power to have a place to flourish and become successful.

It was a world that would not be burdened with the insanity wrought by NEPEA-5. It was an act that was done in a period of panic and fear, and perfectly understandable, but the matter remained that it was a mistake. It was too restrictive, and it should have been a stopgap measure in order to buy time for the larger whole to come to grips with the Tinker shock. Instead, the politicians and corporations realized that, like almost every other bill passed in history, it provided an opportunity that could be used to further their own agendas.

And as a result, Tinkers suffered because of this greed and lack of vision.

But what Hebert represented was a challenge to the current status quo. But it also created a beachhead into creating debate on the matter itself. It would likely be a slow thing, and it was reliant upon Miss Hebert's continued growth. But, maybe in his lifetime, he'll be able to witness a much needed change to how capes are utilized beyond the childish black-and-white, cops-and-robbers mentality that the PRT and Protectorate continued to encourage.

The sound of his phone ringing brought him out of his thoughts. He couldn't help but frown at the ringtone, Bitch by Olympic Runners, because it meant that Agnes Court was once again deigning to bother him, thereby ruining what had started out as such a promising day.

Releasing a sigh, he picked it up, before hitting the accept call button and placing it to his ear.

"Yes."

"Taylor Hebert," Agnes' voice came through the phone, and he froze, a chill running down his spine.

It was inevitable that sooner or later, Agnes would be able to divine Taylor's identity. But, he had not expected it for at least a few more months. Fibonacci had assured him that the systems, despite the abundance of physical security vulnerabilities, were secure from Agnes' intelligence network, and he had personally ensured that any documentation that could indicate any connections between Hebert and himself were undiscoverable.

Which meant that Court's intelligence network was much larger and more effective than he expected.

"Taylor Hebert? Who's that," he riposted, intending to buy time as he considered what could be done. There was no point in trying to deny it, Agnes was clearly confident enough in her intelligence to call him and rub her 'victory' in his face.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Gene."

The first thing he would need to do was reach out to Alain. He was better equipped for providing assistance and protection than he was. He may have some ideas on how they could protect Taylor.

"No, I'm just insulting your single-minded obsession with irritating me, Agnes," he shot back, opening one of his terminals and typing up an email for Alain. At least this way he would have head's up before the end of this unfortunate phone call, "So what do you want to know?"

"May I inquire as to what you are thinking, Gene? This is not how the Elite operates. We do not just willingly hand large sums of money to outsiders. They have the choice to either join willingly and enjoy the fruits of our success or they are forcibly made so. There is no third option."

"Respectfully Agnes, that is how you operate. I have never, nor will ever, subscribe to that self-destructive philosophy. In the end, it makes us no better than the Protectorate that the original founders of the Elite vowed to stand against. Maybe you should ask yourself why you seem to have so many fires going on in your neck of the words before dictating policy to me."

"Yet here I am where they no longer stand," she purred, resulting in him grinding his teeth at the memories of the original founders, "you're so obsessed in hanging onto the past glories that you forget that of the original leadership, only Gentilhomme and yourself remain. You were all satisfied with keeping the Elite small, but it has been under my leadership that the Elite have expanded on the west coast. It has been under my leadership that we have achieved more profit and progress than the entire time the Elite existed previously. So you tell me, Uppercrust, who has the better policy?"

"And how many lives have been ruined in your unbridled quest for profit, Bethany?"

The silence on the other line was worth it, as childish as dropping Agnes Court's real name. It was something that the woman hated, because in her mind, it trivialized who she was as Agnes Court.

"When changing the world, you can't fret over the sacrifices that are made in the pursuit of the greater good."

"As long as it's not you making the sacrifice, right, Bethany?"

"ENOUGH! I did not call you to debate philosophy with you, Gene. I want to know what you are planning to do with Taylor Hebert!"

He sat there, turning in his chair to look out of the window. Already the email had been sent and replied to. It was something he always respected from Alain, the man was the very definition of a workaholic. But it was the title that made him pause and think about his words. Two single word sentences, one that caused him to consider the path forward.

It was something they had discussed over a week ago. They had both known that they were running against the clock with Agnes Court. The woman's incessant need for control would lead to her becoming captured in the orbit of Zero Dawn, and it could be nothing but hostile. Anything that could not be controlled had to be destroyed by the woman, and Taylor Hebert would not be an exception to this rule.

But was this what he wanted? Up until three months ago, he had been, not necessarily satisfied, but he had accepted that once he passed Agnes would roll in and take over his operations. He had instead done his best to ensure that the people under his employment had every resource available to make a clean break when he inevitably passed.

Not once in the entire time had he considered open war with Agnes. He believed that it would be a wasteful endeavor and one that he would inevitably lose anyways. But worse than that, it would likely end with the Elite's destruction, as any victory that Agnes would be able to achieve would likely be pyrrhic as it would gain the attention of Legend in addition to the losses she would suffer.

Did he wish to be responsible for the death of the dream that the Elite had originally represented when they had banded together what seemed a lifetime ago?
If he had been asked that three months ago, he would have most certainly said no. But now? With what Taylor Hebert represented?

He would go to hell and back.

Scorched. Earth.

Indeed.

"I would have thought by now that you would be able to put together what I'm doing, Bethany. I find myself rather disappointed but unsurprised that a sociopath would be unable to understand the most human of pursuits."

"And what is that?"

"A legacy."

And with that, he ended the call, and immediately got to work calling Alain.

---

AEH​

---

Christopher Siopis / Kid Win (T-Minus 14 Days)

Flopping onto his bed with a sigh, he could not help but stare at the ceiling of the dorm that served as his home away from home at the PRT headquarters and lose himself in his thoughts.

The last two weeks since the inspection had been an ever-mounting blur of anger and frustration.

Despite his contributions in the inspection, somehow it felt like he had done nothing except lose. He still didn't understand the situation, they had caught Taylor Hebert working on nuclear reactors. That was something no Tinker should be doing.

Yet Taylor Hebert remained free. The only answer that he could get was that the investigation was closed, and any attempt to get an explanation on the why was met with a wall of silence. Any attempt to reach out to Piggot, who he had believed was on his side, was also met with silence.

After all that Piggot had said to him about his future, it, like everything else, had been a lie. He had been discarded and that, there was no way to deny it, angered him intensely. He wanted nothing more than to march up to her office and tell her exactly what he thought of what she had done and what she was. But it was a fantasy and he knew it, Piggot would not tolerate it, and it would only end in censure.

So, he was left adrift, his opportunity wasted, and there was a dark part of him that wondered if it was somehow his fault. Was there something that he had missed that in the end hurt his opportunity? If so, what was it?

It was maddening, because no one would give him any fucking answers!

If there was anything that at least provided a modicum of balm upon his nerves, it was that Miss Militia had taken over the Wards. It was something long in coming and should have been done a long time ago, 'Miss Mom' had always tried to be there for the Wards and actually made an effort to get to know them, unlike Piggot, or, Scion forbid, Armsmaster.

And that was the other major development, one that had been dropped on their laps four days ago: Armsmaster was resigning. It wasn't officially announced yet, and he still didn't know what to think on that matter. On one hand, he felt glad that man was finally leaving, for a supposed paragon of heroes, the man was a shitty leader and an even shittier mentor. But on the other hand, he had been their leader, for good or ill, and even in spite of his failures, he still remained one of the most effective members of the Brockton Bay Protectorate.

It was a disgusting thought, having to provide credit to the man, but he would be dishonest with himself otherwise.

But it still galled him. What if Armsmaster had actually put as much effort in mentoring him as he did in his duties as a hero, just how far could he have gone? How far could they have both gone? If Armsmaster had just invested even an iota of effort, they could have done so much more together in helping Brockton Bay. Instead, all he ever got from the man was indifference and a lack of any true support, Armsmaster just going through the motions, not truly caring at what he was capable of. And when he had something worthwhile, the man had simply told him to get rid of it.

No, he saw what Armsmaster was now. The man only cared about himself and his own ego. There could only be one person on the pedestal, and that was Armsmaster. That was why he was resigning, because he realized his little pedestal wasn't on as solid ground as he had believed, and he could be discarded just like Chris had been.

A small smirk crossed his features at the thought, bringing a little bit of enjoyment to this entire shitshow.

The sound of a knock on his door ripped him from his thoughts, as he craned his head up towards the door.

Another knock drew a huff from him as he got off his bed and walked to the door before opening it.

The last person he would have expected was at the door, looking rather awkward dressed in street clothes, the only admission that he was a cape was the domino mask secured to his face.

"Armsmaster-"

"Please. Just Colin," his former mentor said, "do you have a minute, Kid Win?"

He honestly wanted to tell his former superior to go fuck himself and the words were on his lips before he paused.

The fact that Armsmaster was not only visiting him, but doing so in civilian attire, was extraordinarily strange. He could count on a single hand how many times he had ever seen the man completely out of his costume.

"Sure," he said, leading him into his small room, noting how the other man was looking around it. He planted himself in his work chair, thereby denying the other man any place to sit.

"So what did you want?"

He wasn't shocked at the silence that met him. If he was awkward, then Armsmaster was the exemplar of socially inept. It was a small miracle that the man was somewhat capable of reading a room correctly.

"I take it you are aware of my upcoming resignation."

"I am," he answered, resisting the urge to add snark to his response. It said a lot on how fast his opinion on the man had declined. But, to be perfectly honest, Armsmaster honestly deserved it now that his eyes were opened to the man. Hell, his eyes were opened to everyone.

They were all part of the problem.

"Then, I won't draw this out," the older man finally said, "I want to apologize to you, Christopher. For everything.

This time he couldn't help himself from reacting, his hands clenching on the arms of the chair as every indignation and vestige of frustration that had been stoked over the last week roared into an inferno.

"You. Apologize," the last word spat from his lips like a rotted fruit, "you really think you have that option, Armsmaster? After a year of ignoring and denigrating my work. A year of me begging you for help, you think you can walk in here and apologize to me?"

"Your anger is understandable. I was not a good leader or mentor when I should have been," he couldn't help the snort that escaped from him, it was just so rich that now the man was making these admissions in the twilight of his time with the Protectorate, "and I know that I did all of you a disservice, that's why I want to try and at least, before I'm gone, make some amends."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"There's nothing I can do to truly make up for my neglect, Christopher. But what I can do is at least try and do something to make things better. Clockblocker's father will be receiving treatment from Panacea tomorrow. Vista's home life is under investigation for abuse and neglect, and her costume is under review. I've personally recommended that it is redesigned with adequate personal protection for her."

His tempered rage guttered, and he blinked, not quite believing what he was hearing. Armsmaster was doing what? The man had never cared a lick for any of them. It was a small miracle if he paid any attention to them outside of the field. This was…

The older man then stepped forward and placed a thumb drive on the desk in front of him.

"Worst of all, was how I treated you, Chris," he admitted, "I was in your position when I first started as a hero, trying to figure out what my specialization was. I was lucky to have the greatest Thinker take me under his wing and provide me the guidance that I needed. But when it was my turn to continue the example he provided, I didn't. I was too obsessed with fame and glory by being the man who had answers and could make a difference."

He took a deep breath, and Chris found himself looking between the thumb drive and his former leader.

"I failed you, Chris. I failed Hero. And I will have to live with that failure for the rest of my life. But what I can do for you, is at least provide you some of that guidance you deserved when you first came to me. On that thumb drive is notes and documentation on ideas that should help make improvements to the stabilization of the energy flow regulator on the alternator cannon that has been plaguing you. "

"But…why," he was at a loss, looking again at the thumb drive, "I thought you were against it? Why are you even helping me?"

"As I told you last time, it's a brilliant design, but they will never let you build it. And even if you somehow outsmart them and get the budget approved, the parts built and the space to see it assembled, they'll only ever let you use it on an Endbringer. I wasn't against it, and I should have explained to you why I was treating your design so callously. This isn't Hero's Protectorate anymore, where you can just design without constant oversight. You have to work with the system in order to get approval, and I should have explained that to you instead of dismissing you."

He then trailed off, losing himself in thought for a moment, obviously considering what he was going to say. And for some reason, he found he couldn't find it within him to call it out.

"One of the best lessons Hero imparted to me, and something I should have passed to you, is that failure is one of the best educators for Tinkers. You can't learn unless you have the opportunity to fail. That's why I've also added a few safety suggestions for you to add to the design in the event that if something goes wrong, you can learn from it. There's also something else. A suggestion, I guess. I hope you can put all of this to good use and wish you luck going forward."

His words given, Armsmaster then turned and left the room, leaving him sitting there his mouth agape.

He sat like that for a few more moments, before he snatched the thumb drive and inserted it into the port on his computer, immediately opening the drive.

He found several files, each one organized and distinctly labeled.

But in the middle of it, was one file, simply labeled: Power Research Suggestions.

For a brief instant, he considered not opening it, but the expression Armsmaster had, and the fact that he honestly was curious as to what the man could offer or say. It was too late for the man to make up anything for him, but if there was something that he had learned from Piggot and this broken system, it was that using people for your own gains was permissible and even rewarded.

So he accessed the simple file, idling noting that it was a word document before it opened.

But what he greeted him in the file caused his mind to come to a complete stop as he stared blankly at what rested on the screen, before his heart started racing and mind started whirling.

Chris,

After looking over your hoverboard and alternator cannon blueprints and their components, might I suggest looking into modular design concepts. I feel that you could improve on the plug-and-play synergy that always exists in your designs by doing so. The knowledge you could gain from the research should vastly improve your design repertoire going forward.

I know there is nothing I can possibly ever do to make up for what I have done to you and your peers. But, if you ever have any questions, please, do not hesitate to ask me and I'll do my best to try and help.

Colin Wallis.

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.8

---

Jeffrey Leeds

CPS Investigator, Brockton Bay

(T-Minus 10 Days)

"Okay, last item on the agenda: The Hebert case. Where are we with that?"

Jeffrey Leeds couldn't help but sigh at the question, closing his eyes as he fought a migraine that reared its ugly head. He knew that this was going to come up during the department meeting, but he had hoped that maybe his boss would let him provide his report in private instead of publicly airing it out to an audience.

"Somewhere between fucked and buried, Candace," he finally said after placing his glasses on the table.

"What the hell happened, Jeff? Last time, you told me that the Heberts were playing ball."

"I'm still trying to piece it together, Candace. A week ago, Daniel Hebert was eating out of our hands and doing everything we asked of him. Now, I've got their lawyer asking some rather pointed questions about our procedures while blocking me at every turn. Tomorrow, I have to attend a hearing where the Heberts are submitting a request for emancipation."

"What," Allison Jamison, a fellow investigator spoke up from across the table, "how the fuck do you go from touring schools to submitting a writ for emancipation?"

"I don't know," he threw up his hands, "All I can put together is something happened during the Arcadia tour. But when I asked Skinner what happened, he informed me he was legally unable to tell me."
"Is there any lawsuit against Arcadia by the Heberts that would cause him to keep silent?" Candace asked.

"Nothing locally filed. Nor is there anything filed in Boston either. It might be federal, but I can't see a reason why the Hebert's would be punching that high for something that would silence a school principal."

"What about Milton? Could he have done something?"

"Once again I return to the question of why. Their lawyer's big league, sure, but for federal it would have to be something major. And I don't see anything that would merit a blip on the federal courts radar."

"Okay, so it's not the lawyer, who is it?"

"Hell if I know. What I do know is that it's not the PRT. They've adopted a hands-off stance after their last run-in with her. Don't know the details of what went down either, because that's been redacted to hell and back."

"Wait? Redacted," Allison spoke, "why would they be redacting an incident report? That's not the PRT's style."

"I don't know what to tell you," Jeffrey offered a shrug, "the only reason I know the report even involves Hebert is the time stamp they have on it matching when they brought her in. Other than that, they might as well have just given me black sheets of paper, because there is nothing you can read on that report."

"Okay," Candace spoke, "let's take a step back and look over the timeline: Twenty-six days ago, Taylor Hebert was brought in by the PRT. We don't know why and we don't have the details of what went down at the Brockton Bay HQ. All we have are redacted files that we do not have clearance to unredact. Coincidentally, that is when you began your investigation, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Fast forward to two weeks ago, we confronted the Heberts and their lawyer with our initial findings. From there we recommend that, in order to avoid legal recourse, Taylor Hebert must reduce her work hours to be in line with state standard for her age and she must go back to school. We also recommended a few other things, but that was the general gist, correct?"

"Yes. Danny Hebert and his legal representation agreed to our stipulations. They even provided us with a workable timeline and were keeping us informed along the way. That changed after the school tours a week ago."

"Okay, so seven days ago, something happened that caused the Heberts to stop communicating with us and for some reason they have unleashed their lawyer upon us. So, what do we know? Is there anything that could indicate the cause of this change of behavior?"

"I don't have a smoking gun, Candace. They did power testing twenty days ago and I have access to that report. Interestingly enough, that is unredacted, but I can't make heads or tails of what they are indicating outside of Hebert being a Thinker, not a Tinker. A few business meetings here and there, Hebert self-reporting his daughter's overage on hours, but there was a plan in place to reduce her hours so I made a note to follow up on the matter later."

He blinked before donning his glasses again, a thought occurring to him as he opened his binder and started going through his notes before he found it. Reading it over, he frowned. He remembered having this conversation, but for the life of him he couldn't remember the specifics. Which was rather strange considering he usually was good on matters like this.

"There was one meeting that did raise my eyebrow, but according to my notes the lawyer satisfied my questions when I asked. Nineteen days ago, they had a meeting with officials from the Department of Energy, but I don't have the details for some reason."

"Why would the DOE be visiting Hebert? The girl's peddling medical devices last time I checked," Allison asked, and he caught Candace frowning. She did have a point, the only thing that Taylor Hebert had created was this so-called 'Focus', it was certainly nothing that would attract their attention.

"Okay, we're definitely missing something, then," Candace said, "I'll make a few phone calls up to Boston, Jeff. See what I can find out. Allison, do you have time to help Jeff?"

"The Biron case is pretty much a done deal. I feel bad for the girl to be honest. Finding a suitable and local foster family is the only thing holding up finalization. The PRT is making some noise about making her a ward of the state, but it's only a suggestion for now. Yeah, I think I can."

"Go over to the Youth Guard office and start asking questions. They have better resources than we do, maybe they can figure something out."

There was a pause from the other woman as she shifted uncomfortably.

"I thought it was agreed that we didn't want the Youth Guard getting too involved. You know Cathryn is going to flip her shit."

"Tough on the bitch," Candace retorted, "I'm tired of the woman treating us like she owns us. About time she starts carrying some of the water."

"Alright, I'll get on it. Expect an angry phone call soon."

"I look forward to it. Jeff, get down to the courthouse, see if we can get some answers and put some weight on the judge to hold off on the emancipation hearing. I'm not going to let a major case like this go off the rails without an answer and let Taylor Hebert be exploited simply because she has powers."

---

AEH​

---

Four hours later, Jeff found himself with no answers and only a lot more questions. The judge's office was not forthcoming with any information, but also informed him that the emancipation hearing would continue on schedule and there was nothing he could say or do to change that.

So he had come back to the office, only to be told that Candace wanted to see him. When he had asked where, he was told out back.

Now here he was, marching to the back of the back of the building, his irritation reaching a breaking point. Wrenching the door open, he sauntered outside, a small wooded area providing the perfect place to smoke for the staff.

"Jeff?"

His head snapped in the direction where Candace's voice came from. But whatever he was going to say died a silent death as he took in his boss.

Candace Saunders had always been an unflappable woman who didn't let her job reflect upon her appearance. But that was a far cry from the haunted pale-looking woman with her carefully styled hair askew who clenched a cigarette in her fingers like a lifeline.

Something was definitely wrong, he realized as he walked over to her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her carton of cigarettes and held it out to him. Taking one of the cancer sticks from it, she then held out her lighter, which he took to light it. Taking a deep drag from it, he then handed her back the lighter.

"That bad, huh?"

"How did Judge Vindmann go?"

"About as well as whatever is bothering you. The judge had one of his flunkies tell me they were not at liberty to disclose anything to me and that the hearing tomorrow would proceed. I have a feeling that the judge has already made a decision."

"I see," the other woman trailed off, taking her own drag from the cigarette, before releasing the toxic fumes into the air. He frowned as she remained silent, only smoking her cigarette as her eyes seemed locked onto the woods.

"We're dropping the Hebert case," she finally declared, causing him to choke mid-inhalation.

With his eyes watering, he turned to look at her even as he grunted out, "What the fuck? Why?"

"I've been ordered to close the investigation and cease all contact with the Heberts. Furthermore, all documentation in relation to the Hebert case is to be collected and destroyed. I am to report on the completion of these orders within two days."

"What the hell is Boston thinking, Candace? Destroy all documentation? That's patently illegal. If it comes out that we did that–"

"It's not Boston. These orders are coming straight from DC."

"But that's…DC has no jurisdiction on a local child abuse investigation, Candace. Can they even do that?"

Finishing her cigarette, she threw it down before grinding her heel on it to put it out. She then turned to him.

"According to Allison, they told the Youth Guard to stand down, Jeffrey. The. Youth. Guard. You think you can tell them no?"

Whatever it was that was going on, he could tell when there was no winning situation. He could see the connections right in front of him, it wasn't the lawyer that was chilling everyone, it was someone in DC, and if they were willing to ignore things like the separation of the federal and state jurisdictions, then something as small as him wouldn't even merit a bug on the windshield.

"I'll turn over all documentation to you within the hour," he sighed, stubbing his own cigarette out, "For the record, Candace, I fucking hate this. Whoever is doing this, the Hebert girl is going to be exploited until she's a dried up husk."

"I know. But what can you do? We fought the good fight, but it's no longer our problem."

---

AEH​

---

Roy Christener

T-Minus 8 Days

"Your three o'clock is here, Roy."

Taking a deep breath, and slowly releasing it, he allowed himself a few more moments to calm himself. Not three weeks ago, he was looking forward to this sort of conversation, only with a different outcome. It should have been Danny Hebert coming to him, begging forgiveness and returning back into the fold.

Instead, that dream was in shambles, and he still had no idea how it came to be this way.

"Send him in," he finally said, clasping his hands upon his desk.

The door opened a few moments later, letting in John Milton, the Zero Dawn Technologies, and the Hebert's, as he found out recently, personal lawyer. The man cut an intimidating presence as he strolled in, placing his suitcase down beside the chair and taking a seat in the chair in front of Roy's desk without an invitation.

He had to bite back his anger at the blatant disrespect, but he knew that it would be pointless.

"What can I do for you, Mister Milton," he greeted the man as smoothly as he could.

"My clients wish for peace."

He blinked, not sure if he heard correctly. The Heberts had him over the barrel, sure it would create a few unpleasant questions for them, but they could literally bury him.

So to ask for peace was, well, it was something he could not honestly conceive.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"It's not really complicated, Mister Christener. My clients knew something was up the moment the CPS arrived. They're glacially slow unless there's politics involved, and the PRT isn't quite that incompetent to hand over something like that to an outside party. After that was established, it was a matter of asking the right questions and finding the right people to answer them. You were the obvious suspect, considering your history with the Dockworker's Union, but it certainly doesn't hurt to confirm these things before making the accusation."

Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his legs and folded his hands over his raised knee.

"That said, my clients are being remarkably forgiving. They realize how much effort would be wasted bringing you to court when it would be more cost-effective to sue for peace. You stop obstructing Zero Dawn, and my clients and their investors will choose not to inform the FBI agents currently wrapping up their investigation into my client's assault that they have a government corruption issue in city hall. I'd say everyone walks away marginally satisfied and remains relatively intact."

"And if I choose to reject this peace offering," Roy cautiously inquired. It was more of an exercise in knowing what his options were than rejection, he was a politician and he always kept his options open.

The small twitch of the man's lips into a smile was enough to chill him, as Milton uncrossed his legs and slowly leaned forward, the leather of his chair creaking ominously in the suddenly quiet room.

"My firm has been around for quite some time, Mister Christener. One of the things you come to appreciate is the information that is accumulated over the years, the sort of information that some may not find palatable to be exposed to the light. It's a veritable cauldron of material."

He couldn't help but freeze at the last statement. He had been told that no one could know the deal that he had made with those people with his son. The woman in the fedora had made it abundantly clear that there would be repercussions if he failed in maintaining the secrecy of his deal, including and up to the death of his entire family.

How the hell do they know? He wondered for a moment before realizing that he honestly didn't want to know.

"Peace," he forced out, his voice a rasp at the sudden dryness in his throat. He cleared it, embarrassed at his momentary weakness, "I believe I can accept those terms, Mister Milton. I find myself strangely grateful for your clients' forgiveness and restraint."

"I'm certainly glad you feel that way, Mister Mayor," the man's smile sharpened even further.

---

AEH​

---

Vice President Jack Ryan (T-Minus 2 Days)

"We're here, sir."

Looking up from the files that he was scanning through one more time, Vice President Jack Ryan then placed the folder down, closing the cover on Taylor Hebert. The last minute research was a habit of his, even if he had already memorized the file three times over.

"Status," he asked, moving his head to work the kinks out of his neck.

"Our absence hasn't been noticed in Boston yet. Nor has there been local chatter on our presence either. Team Two is in position nearby if needed. Once again, I would like to reiterate that this is a bad idea, Jack."

Bad in that he was the Vice President and he shouldn't be here in the first place. It wasn't just from a security standpoint, as he was running the bare minimum of a protective detail, but also the message that would be sent once it became public knowledge that he was here. By his very presence, he was announcing that what he was here for was a big deal, and it would cause additional scrutiny on the matter.

Under any other circumstance, he would not be doing this in the first place. However, inviting Taylor Hebert to Boston would achieve the very same thing that he was doing here. At least, when he was doing this, he would be able to catch the teenager off-guard and gather far more information than if she had warning to prepare by inviting her.

"It'll be fine," he reassured his head of protective detail, Scott Mitchell with a time-honed smile, reaching the door and opening it, the door being caught by one of his protective detail and opened the rest of the way as he stepped out into the overcast sky. Adjusting his suit, he took the time to survey his surroundings as the rich aroma of salt and rust filled his nostrils.

It was a scent that brought him back to his more youthful and carefree days growing up in Baltimore. But as quickly as he reminisced upon it, he buried it behind the responsibility of his job and made one final adjustment to his suit as his security detail arranged themselves around him.

He didn't become the youngest CIA Director in history by allowing himself to be distracted by things like childhood memories, especially when he was on-mission.

"Good," he asked.

"We're clear."

That was why he hand-picked his team. They were nearly infallibly efficient. As Vice President, he was legally assigned a Secret Service escort. And while he did utilize them, when he was out in the field he relied more heavily on the ex-military and former intelligence operatives to provide actual protection. This wasn't a knock against the Secret Service, but over the years he had cultivated connections with people whose mettle he knew and inherently trusted with his safety.

The Secret Service, on the other hand, couldn't be granted that same trust. They were certainly effective, but they lacked that aggressive spirit he preferred. But the most significant deal breaker for him was they counted capes amongst their protective detail ranks, with the PRT's blessing.

He had just been starting as an analyst in the CIA, after a rather lucrative stint as a stock broker that made him millions, when the cape golden age had reached its zenith, followed by its sudden, swift collapse soon thereafter. He, like many in the intelligence community, had been skeptical and even suspicious of the sudden appearance of capes. There was no rational sense to the distribution of powers, nor was there any logic to the scale of those that were granted.

There had been too many questions and not enough answers, which for any competent member of the intelligence community was unacceptably fatal in their field. It was these unknowns that had led the CIA to quietly commission Project Pandora. Much like its namesake, the CIA was keen on discovering not only the origin of powers, but also the mechanisms of its propagation and the intent behind it.

But just as importantly in the quest for the answers, it studied the ramifications of capes on the United States and its allies as the rest of the world came to grapple with, and eventually utilize, this new resource.

How he became involved in Pandora, in spite of his relative inexperience, had been at the behest of the project leader, James Greer. The older department head had taken a shine to him despite only having met him once, and had specifically requested his assignment to the project.

It was there, during Pandora, that his opinions and viewpoints on capes developed. And he also found out why Greer had specifically asked for him as time went on. It wasn't just for his analytical capabilities. Greer was as paranoid as he was effective, and had set him up as a contingency in the event the senior leadership of the Project met an unforeseen 'incident'.

For three years, he worked on Pandora, helping to gather and analyze data gleaned on the nature of capes and their powers. Most of it above the board, some of it not. But what they had amassed had not painted a pleasant picture of capes in general. There was no origin point for the capes to point a finger at. It was as if capes and powers appeared overnight in a randomized pattern. Nor was there any obvious mechanics to their manifestation either. Moments of extreme stress could manifest powers, but only if they had a specific mutative (and unnatural) growth in their head.

It had been an accident, to be honest, that they had discovered that what would later be identified as the corona pollentia and gemma were unnatural formations. Brain imaging technology had been a nascent technology in the 70s, but for some of the adult capes, there existed images that firmly established a before and after, and it unequivocally proved that the growth in a cape's head was not a natural mutation.

That had changed the direction of Pandora's investigation. The manifestation of capes was too random and disconnected for it to be any sort of organized, or even disorganized, scientific experiment funded by a country or company, as it would be against said organizers interest to give up a strategic advantage like that. Nor did the technology exist that could pull off a dispersion and random pattern like this.

So they had turned back and looked at what happened that could have created such a change. After weeks of back and forth, they thought they had an answer.

And that was when James Greer and the senior project leadership had been killed.

He had been lucky that day thanks to his wife. Pregnancy had been hard on her and he had been running behind because of it, when the bomb had gone off he had just been pulling into the parking lot. If he had arrived fifteen minutes sooner, he would have been counted amongst the dead. The bomb had torn a significant chunk out of the corner of the office building, showering the parking lot in debris. He had remembered the horror at immediately recognizing where the bomb had been concentrated.

But he had also remembered quite vividly a sharply dressed woman with a fedora watching the building in the parking lot. The only reason he even noticed her presence was the fact that she looked like she was out of a gangster-era period piece. He would never forget the cold, calculative eyes as she turned to him, as if he was the only person in the parking lot and stared at him as he stood there frozen.

Then, with a rush of bodies blocking her off from his vision for only a few moments, she was gone..

Pandora was shut down before Greer had been laid to rest by Director Ritter. All materials were destroyed and everyone involved in the project found themselves reassigned, sometimes to far-flung locations. Even he hadn't been safe, finding himself reassigned to the London office.

And that would have been the end of it, to be perfectly honest. London, while it certainly could be a prestigious assignment, also had a tendency of killing careers as well. He had a feeling that was why Ritter had assigned him there, the man had not liked Greer's hard-nosed ways honed by the Cold War, and he viewed his assignment to London was to finally put to bed Greer's final touches on the Agency.

Only, it hadn't worked out that way, as he found himself inadvertently involved with preventing IRA-aligned capes from kidnapping a cousin of the queen while sightseeing with his wife and daughter. In the ensuing fight, he had been injured, but not before killing one of the capes and subduing another.

The act of saving a cousin of the queen, while also stopping capes while being unpowered as he was, catapulted him into the limelight, making him an overnight sensation. He found himself being placed as a senior analyst, then department head, in the CIA's 'cape' department, providing the government with intelligence estimates and analysis of cape activities in other countries. His assignment had been propitious, as he had front row seats to the collapse of the People's Republic of China into the Chinese-Union Imperial. It had been through his team that the they had discovered that the actual power behind the restoration of the Aisin-Gioro Throne hadn't been Qing Restorationists, as the Chinese publicly claimed, but were actually a cabal of capes that called themselves the Yàngbǎn.

It had only raised his profile further within the CIA, but had also created ramifications that were still felt even today. The revelation of the power capes could have in overthrowing their government had created several other copycats around the world, with some of them becoming quite successful, and others that left only destruction in their path. The United States had not been safe from this phenomena either, with three different attempts in the last fifteen years, two of them discovered by his team in the years after someone leaked the existence of the Yàngbǎn.

But through all of his experiences that could honestly be ripped from the page of a novel, he had never forgotten Pandora. The knowledge gleaned from the project had colored his perceptions of capes. The creation of the PRT and Protectorate only further colored his opinion of them. He understood the realpolitik of it, capes were simply too powerful to be ignored, but he also disagreed with the power granted to them. But in the atmosphere after the creation, having any sort of anti-cape sentiments were viewed as a political liability, and he had learned too much under Greer not to hide it.

He didn't hate capes, but he couldn't bring himself to ever implicitly trust them. How could you reasonably trust them? If a soldier suffered the type of psychological episode that a cape suffered in order to manifest their power they would be quietly medically discharged from the service. Yet 'heroic' capes were granted the power of badge and became a power upon themselves, answerable only to other capes and an organization that benefited from the existence of capes.

It honestly reeked to the high heavens.

Yet his successes, ties to cape analysis, visible profile, and ability to hide his own personal sentiments on the matter of capes, found him a nomination for Director of the CIA. It had been President Hardin's intention on shifting the CIA's direction to a more cape-heavy focus, providing intelligence support to the Protectorate and PRT that had provided him the opportunity. The strategic shift had grated quite a few of the previous leadership to the point that they had resigned in protest and he found himself rising to the top of the list, with hardly anyone having something negative to say about him.

It had been a shock to him, to be perfectly honest. He himself would have never envisioned when he had made the choice to join the CIA that a mere sixteen years later he would find himself its director.

James Greer must have been laughing his ass off when the nomination had gone through.

But it was a changed CIA that he had inherited. One that not only did have to do more with less due to budget reductions, but found its operational focus changed completely. The Cold War was over and in its place was a more kinetic and chaotic world with an increasingly ever-changing landscape that teetered on the edge of oblivion.

Yet the challenges hadn't deterred him. He had understood what would be needed for the CIA moving forward, and he had applied everything he had learned over the years to make it happen. From embracing new technologies to revamping human intelligence sources. It had been his stewardship that had designed several measures in order to counteract Thinkers, Masters, and Strangers, probably one of the largest threats to their intelligence apparatus.

By the time President Hardin had lost his reelection campaign in 2000, he had left a CIA that was lean, mean, and could readily achieve its strategic objectives in this changed new world. He had been looking forward to retirement and spending time possibly reopening the Pandora investigation on his own. It was the one pledge he had made to himself in memory of Greer.

However, that retirement was short-lived, as the appearance of the Simurgh had once again changed everything. His successor had been at Lausanne for an intelligence summit with other heads of intelligence of their European allies. As a result the Endbringer's attack had been devastating for western intelligence leadership, and Jack once again found himself being drafted to salvage the situation.

After another two years, he had been ready to retire again, this time for good. He had grown disappointed with the direction of the government as it became more insular and the PRT and Protectorate continued to grow in power. It was one thing to increase the budget of a department, but it was quite another thing to do it at the cost of their international interests and allies.

Nor did he care for Rebecca Costa-Brown. There was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way, but even his finely honed instincts couldn't identify what it was that bothered him. All of his attempts to discreetly look into her had come back with nothing of note, but that did nothing to assuage his suspicions. Quite the opposite really. Nobody had such a clean past.

So it was in 2004 that he once again turned in his resignation with the election of President Vincent Durling, this time for good, or so he promised himself. Durling had wanted him to remain, but Jack had made up his mind: He had done his bit for the President and country, and wanted to spend more time with his family. Too much of his time with them had been sacrificed for the public good that he had missed many events in his children's lives as they grew up.

And for three years, his retirement had been just that, a time to reconnect with his wife and children, and pursue other interests. All the while, he restarted the work on Pandora, wanting to finish the investigation, but also discover who the woman in the fedora was, and why his mentor was killed.

But then he found himself once more dragged back in. Only this time, it was at the behest of Vincent Durling. The upcoming election season had been plagued by scandal, with Durling's Vice President having to resign in disgrace thanks to a sex scandal from his university days. To his, and everyone else's surprise, Durling wanted him as his Vice President.

The true reason for this had been kept between the two of them to this day. Apparently Durling had grown suspicious of the PRT and Protectorate. He had been a senator when the PRT had initially been founded and he had watched its meteoric rise with concern. His misgivings with the organization had only grown since, despite the service that it provided. He wanted Jack because he believed that he was probably the best man to take a discreet look at the inner workings of the PRT and Protectorate.

Jack had honestly wanted to decline the request. Politics were one of those things that were never his strength. He could play the game, he just preferred to be more blunt and direct than to dance around the issue. But he had also realized that this was likely his only way to complete his own pledge. He had made progress, but he was hitting too many obstacles at this juncture. Assuming the role of the Vice President would open doors and avenues of investigation that previously he did not have access to.

So in the end, he had accepted, and despite the scandal, Durling was able to win the election. Jack had immediately gotten to work digging into things, including gathering up a few of the old crowd from Pandora. All the while, he had been learning under Durling and establishing himself in DC as the White House's troubleshooter.

He had become so successful that Durling was urging him to run for the Presidency when his second term expired. While he wasn't sure yet if he would, he knew that he was leaning towards yes.

But that was for the future, and while he had his misgivings about capes, he was not above using them for his agenda. When Ken had approached him with the case of Taylor Hebert nearly two weeks ago, he had been skeptical at first. There had been too many false silver bullets over the years between them and their allies that had ended up in wasted resources for him to still believe in the silver bullet scenario.

Yet Ken had been adamant, and they did go back a ways, so he humored the man and launched his own investigation into the teenager. What he had found was largely unremarkable teenage girl, nothing that would indicate anything particularly noteworthy about her. That was until the attack upon her. He had watched the video and by the end of it, he made a note to himself to look into the investigation and subsequent punishments of the perpetrators. As a father he took personal umbrage at what happened to the teen.

After the attack, it was readily evident that the girl had 'triggered'. She had done a rather amateurish job in attempting to obfuscate her patents and scientific articles, and it would have done a decent job in escaping notice on the first pass. However, it might as well have been an open book to one of the most powerful intelligence agencies in the world. But throughout his entire investigation, which included referring to several experts in their field, not once could they find any Tinkertech in the designs. Not only that, but everything she had designed, patented, and published, was perfectly replicable. Assuming of course, that you could afford the team of seasoned experts it took to understand state of the art research. There was no apparent taint of cape powers to it outside of their origin point.

Even further than that, that wasn't the limit of what Hebert was doing either. He had surreptitiously tapped several assets to unobtrusively look into Horizon Zero Dawn's facilities. Certainly, they were producing these new materials that had been patented by Hebert, stockpiling them for eventual buyers, and there were production facilities being set up for her products, but there was another facility that garnered their attention.

His assets were uncertain of what exactly was going on in Warehouse Four, but Ken's observation that Hebert was spending an inordinate amount of time in there was proven true. Almost every day, Hebert spent at least ten hours in that building, with materials being brought in under the cover of night and a tarp over them. The attempt at secrecy was certainly amateurish, but it was nonetheless effective for the short term.

The lack of knowledge on what was going on in Warehouse Four was worrisome. Even Hebert's interview with the Department of Energy, as amiable as it was, was not enough to allay his concerns. Unknowns were the enemy of his field, and there were too many unknowns for him to be comfortable. Nonetheless, he kept his options open, and did not immediately assume that there was something nefarious occurring in Warehouse Four. It just kept him on edge.

And certainly, trying to unravel that mystery was part of why he was here. The other part was to get a personal feel for the girl. It was convenient that he had an opportunity easily provided to him. He had a meeting with industry and financial heads for a possible campaign in Boston in two days, and with Brockton Bay less than two hours travel time from there he couldn't stop himself from taking a look for himself. It provided him with the perfect opportunity to slip into Brockton Bay quietly while everyone believed that he was still in Boston, preparing for the meeting.

Taking the lead, he strode towards the door, his protective detail falling in around him. All the while, his eyes were scanning the surroundings, idly noting the various surveillance cameras arrayed over the premises. It appeared that they had added a bit of security since the last report, he couldn't help but approve of it.

Stepping through the door and into the reception area, he noted even more additional security cameras, but also a pair of armed security personnel stationed near the doors that would lead further into the facility. That was another development that he hadn't been aware of. Taking it in stride, he marched towards the receptionist desk where a woman was staring him and his men down, all the while the security personnel were obviously communicating with someone else.

He offered a disarming smile, "Good Afternoon, I'm here to meet with Taylor Hebert."

"I'm sorry," was her response, "but Miss Hebert is not accepting any appointments at this time. I'll happily schedule you an appointment for a later time."

He had to hand it to the woman, that was probably the best response to give in this day and age where you can never be sure if someone is who they were or if they were not mastered. It was an inconvenience he could approve of.

"I think she will make time for me, Miss Williams."

"I'm sorry, I am under explicit orders from Miss Hebert herself that she is not to be disturbed under any circumstances. This includes a visit from the Vice President, if that is truly who you are. Now, I would be happy to schedule you an appointment. However, it will not take place until after the next Endbringer attack has been concluded. If you are unable to accept that, then I apologize, but I cannot help you any further and ask that you leave the premises."

As he opened his mouth to further insist, the phone beside her rang. She glanced at the phone, her brow furrowing, before she looked back to him. It was quickly evident that she didn't want to answer the phone. Why she wasn't doing what was her job after she had obviously dismissed him only stoked his curiosity.

She seemed to make a decision as she picked up the phone, placing it to her ear, "Yes, Miss Hebert?"

He blinked, carefully hiding his surprise. The timing of the phone call was too impeccable to be a coincidence. Which, his gaze flitted over to the camera watching the lobby, suggested that Hebert was watching this. The timespan between his arrival and the phone call was too short for it to have been run through the various levels of security. But that didn't fit the psychological profile that had been built of the girl, she wasn't supposed to be paranoid to the point where she would be actively watching security cameras.

Logging that away for future reference, he kept an ear to the conversation.

"Of course, Miss Hebert. No, I will have Adam escort them. Thank you, Miss Hebert."

Hanging up the phone, the receptionist looked back to them, her expression closed off and obviously not pleased at the outcome.

"Miss Hebert will see you now."

She turned her head, "Adam, please take the Vice President and two of his men to Warehouse Four."

A man with slicked back-and-up brown hair and a rather stylish beard stepped towards them, even as Scott Mitchell, the lead of his protective detail, began to protest.

"It's fine," he waved off the man's protests, "we are the ones imposing upon Miss Hebert's time, Scott. I doubt she would go to such lengths just to do something untoward."

Mitchell fell silent after his interjection. The man had been with him for nearly four years now, he knew when to push and when to trust. Merely offering a reluctant nod, he motioned to another member, and they fell in behind him as he began following Adam who offered a gruff "Follow me."

They were shepherded to a trio of golf carts, where he and his protection were allowed to take one cart, while Adam went to the front cart, and another pair of security personnel found themselves in a back cart. They were then on their way as they followed Adam as he led them through the compound.

While on the way, he noted the level of activity had increased from what was described in the last report. He was unsure what exactly had caused that, but it was likely they were ramping up for a product release. Which didn't make much sense considering their catalog, even if they sold their so called "Focus" without marketing them as medical devices in order to sidestep the lengthy FDA approval process, there was some paperwork they would have had to file first, and none of it had been filed yet. He knew that there was some growing interest in the materials that had been patented by Zero Dawn, but they were still in the testing process.

Soonthey arrived at Warehouse Four, and after another set of guards and a security scan, they were let into the facility. And finding themselves in a scene that would not be out of place in a Tinker's workshop. For a brief instant, he wondered if, after everything, Taylor Hebert had been able to dupe them. But then he took in the fact that there were actual workers, and not other capes, working on the various machines, that he allowed himself to calm slightly.

So this is what she's been hiding, he mused as he took in everything. He had expected some sort of secret project, but this far exceeded even his most unhinged estimations.

There were numerous alcoves and cradles, with people milling around them, even as the sound of metal striking concrete and cutting noises echoed through the facility. But in the middle of the open floor were what could only be described as machines styled after animals that were, for lack of better description, being run through their paces. He watched as one that was the size of a man and reminded him of a hyena was currently cutting through a thick steel plate. Further back, a smaller ferret-shaped machine was scuttling around, climbing various pieces of debris as another bipedal machine's head attached to a serpentine neck tracked it.

"This way, sir," Adam said, but before they went any further, Scott decided to voice his own opinion on the matter.

"Sir, this isn't secure."

He considered it for only a moment before shaking it off. He was the one who had insisted on imposing without accurate intelligence. While Scott was right, admitting it would only complicate matters further than they already were.

And he was honestly interested as to what these machines were supposed to do. Common sense would dictate that something like this she would want to keep hidden until she was ready, but here she was letting them behind the curtain and see what she was working on.

"It's fine," and with that, while Mitchell obviously didn't approve, he nodded and shifted his posture even closer to being ready for violence. He then followed after Adam and found himself left to a cradle with what was the largest 'machine' in the room, a bipedal machine with an oblong head that towered over all of them. All around it were several people who were crawling over it, attaching various plates to it, but his eyes were only for the small figure with their back to him, currently sitting in front of a computer, various cords and cables running into the 'stomach' of the large machine. The screen of the computer was indecipherable to him, numerous windows open and indecipherable lines of symbols, letters, and numbers filling the screen.

The large machine's head turned slightly towards him, and he felt himself freeze for a moment. But instead of doing anything more, it turned its head back and looked straight ahead after a moment. All the while, who could only be Taylor Hebert continued working without any indication that she had noticed their arrival.

"I'll be right with you," she called out, continuing her work on the terminal without even looking away from it, her fingers gliding over the keyboard, the only sounds from her being the clicking sound of the mechanical keyboard as she worked.

"Quentin, take over," she finally said, sliding back in the chair, "try and review the code in the communications suite. There's a fault in the handover protocol, pretty sure it's locked down now, but run a few more tests and see if anything comes loose."

Getting up, she stretched herself out, hands over her head, before she turned and he was given his first look at Taylor Hebert.

If he wasn't aware of who she was at this juncture, he would likely have been skeptical. Outside of the device on the side of her head that glowed brightly, there was nothing that suggested that this girl was a fountain of ideas and technology previously unseen.

But then again, that was what a lot of capes were. You never expected them to be capable of what they were until they finally showed it. Just another symptom of this world and the inherent brokenness wrought by the introduction of powers into it.

"Vice President Ryan," she greeted, "I find myself both honored and surprised by your presence. I didn't think I'd done enough yet to merit this kind of attention."

Taking note of the word choice, specifically the 'yet', to follow up later, he offered a small reassuring smile.

"You've been making quite a few waves behind closed doors with your reactor design, Miss Hebert. And Secretary Lafferty regaled me with how much of an impression you made upon his team. He also felt that you had a few more tricks up your sleeve," he then made it a point to look around the warehouse as work continued, "it would seem he was right."

The soft laugh that came from her lips was certainly not what he expected, maybe a bit of awkwardness, but she just seemed to take it all in stride, "Well I guess this cat's out of the bag. Would you like a short briefing, Mr. Vice President? I would offer a tour, but with us undergoing last minute preparations and testing, I am afraid things are rather chaotic at the moment."

"I find myself somewhat intrigued at all of this, so I would appreciate it. And please, call me Jack."

"Only if you call me Taylor," the teen returned with practiced ease, "What you are seeing is the first prototype production batch of what I have given the designation of a Light Rescue Lance. It is designed to provide search and rescue assistance in disaster areas. We were planning to debut this after the next Endbringer fight."

Rescue, huh, he thought, looking over the room, noting the various machines. He wasn't an expert on robotics, but that didn't mean he was not blind to the possible military applications such machines would have. Even if they were not armed, their weight and strength alone could still be used with devastating results against unarmed civilians.

"Why lance?" he asked, deciding that it would be better to ask a more innocent question before getting to the meat of it all, "I notice you have enough machines to comprise what would be classically known as a squad."

"A squad has far too many military implications to it and I feel that it is not unique from a marketing standpoint." she answered, following his gaze, "I don't want people to get the wrong idea from these machines. They are purpose built to help in saving lives. The reason I chose the designation of Lance is because of its origin, the Lance Fournie, or equipped lance. In the medieval times, it was a military unit that was made up of a knight and supporting personnel. I felt that tapping into the romantic notions of the medieval period and our views on knights being chivalrous exemplars of society would go a long way towards tempering reactions."

"Yet, by your name choice for a formation designation and the addition of a descriptor for its purpose suggests that there is an additional military aspect or template that has a military purpose to it."

"There is," she admitted after only a brief moment's hesitation. He had to give her a notch on her audacity in admission, a lot of corporate types would try and avoid answering the question instead, "the units you see before here, outside of the Charger and this version of the Titan, can be equipped with a variety of lethal and nonlethal options if so chosen. There are also other more offensive designs that are currently only blueprints. However, even if I had the capacity to produce them, they would not make a difference in the fight with an Endbringer at this juncture."

"But you believe they could make a difference given enough time."

She met his statement with silence for a minute, not turning her gaze to him, obviously contemplating her response.

"I would be an absolute idiot to promise you something I do not have sufficient data upon. There are just too many variables involved to give you any definitive answer that would leave me wholly satisfied," she then paused, before continuing, "That being said, it is my personal belief that given enough time I could come up with weapons and technology that could give pause to an endbringer, if not be able to assist in driving them back with sufficient application."

The answer was certainly not what he expected from her, and honestly, he was coming around to the conclusion that expectations were certainly something that she actively flaunted. He had a feeling that in a few years, if this all worked out and she established herself, she would be a force to be reckoned with. But the answer, the unequivocal belief in her tone, made him wonder just what it was, if it wasn't machines, but something else. And he was one to investigate down to the bedrock if need be to find answers.

"Like what, Taylor?"

She turned to him, "Not here. I trust these people, but for a discussion like that, I would prefer a more secure location. How about we finish this and then I'll show you my lab?"

He considered it for a moment, before nodding, "After you, then."

"The Rescue Lance concept is simple, it is meant to go into disaster areas and provide immediate rescue assistance. In this template, the lance consists of four Red Eyes, which are the eyes of the unit, with their advanced sensors they can penetrate debris and detect survivors faster and more efficiently than any existing non-parahuman search and rescue technology and tactics. At its heart, it is the disaster search dog of the unit, while also providing data to the command unit in order to coordinate and decide how to approach rescue quickly. To provide the muscle of the unit for SAR is a pair of Burrowers and a Scrapper. Burrowers by their name, are meant to quickly dig or burrow to survivors, providing aid and extraction. The Scrapper, on the other hand, is for more difficult extractions, such as large pieces of debris hindering the process or even instances where the Burrower could destabilize the debris and cause collapse. They are meant to cut or shred pieces of debris and allow for faster extraction."

"Okay, I'm following you so far, you have basically mechanized an entire search and rescue team. However, I have noticed you have left off the Charger and the other unit you were working on when I arrived. They don't seem to fit the purpose of the others."

"That's because they don't. The other two units fit in the role of logistics and command. The Charger is designed to be a mobile fuel processor and distributor for the rest of the unit. All of these machines operate using a combustion reactor, with the plant and inert biomatter being collected and processed.

He rolled the statement over his head, while he was not a scientist, he could understand a large proportion of what she was referring to. But the 'biomatter' portion was a worrisome statement, especially with the focused specificity. It didn't take much to consider what she was omitting.

"I gather from the fact that you are going out of your way to be specific that this is a programmed limitation due to matter being matter. Is there a chance that this programming can be changed?"

A moment's hesitance was his initial response, Taylor apparently finding distaste in the idea, before she answered, "Yes. With the right application of brute force. The operating system for these machines are black-boxed and can only be altered by Zero Dawn Technologies. Any attempt to tamper with the system or the machine itself will cause the machine to go into a dormant state and call the company. It's a failsafe that will be installed into every single Zero Dawn Technology machine. In the future, I hope to have a system put in place for the machine to be able to alert authorities as well, in the event that we are not able to immediately stop the attempt."

He wasn't exactly happy with that admission, the implications that a machine could target humans for 'biomatter' was something that was concerning. Even the supposed safeguards that Hebert was suggesting may not be sufficient, but at least Hebert was thinking of proactive measures in order to protect the populace.

"Is such a feature limited to the Charger?"

"Biomatter collection and processing is hard-limited to logistical models like the Charger. None of the other models have the capacity or capability to do so. Nor are they coded with the ability to collect biomatter for logistical models to process either. That way, in the event that something goes wrong, the fuel for the machines limits their operational capacity and limits their capacity for damage. The reason I chose the Charger is both for machine recognition, but also because of the logistical models, it has the lowest storage capacity."

"Smart," and it was, despite his misgivings, he was satisfied that Hebert was doing her best to consider any contingency, which lent credence that she had a good head on her shoulders. Too many company times were absolutely focused on profit at any cost, with the public holding the 'unforeseen' costs of such a mindset, "But returning to the energy source, I am curious as to why you omitted any mention of this to the DOE."

"I did discuss with them the feasibility of a new fuel cell type, but I deliberately left it open-ended because I did not feel comfortable sharing it yet. I honestly still don't. And it's not just because of the design, but rather the implications of it. This isn't like any existing fuel cell, it's not limited to machines, with the right application and adjustments, I'm worried about the short-term and long-term impact upon the economy. Blaze, as we call this fuel, offers significantly more energy per gallon than anything currently existing on the market, or in known development. So for now, it will be treated as the fuel source exclusively for our machines, and I'll wait for the world to ask the questions when it comes to whether it can do more and go from there."

So Ken was right after all, even if he didn't realize it, he mused to himself, staring at the girl. She was right, if what she was saying was true, if this 'Blaze' was as good as she was saying, then it would likely have game changing implications, and there would be quite a lot of people who would take exception to the technology. If this fuel could be used in machines, why couldn't it be used for something else? Something like a car or truck?

It was a dangerous gamble, and it only caused him to lean further into his recommendation to the President on the matter of Taylor Hebert. If even a portion of what she was offering would pan out, then she would easily earn every single taxpayer dollar that would be diverted to her protection.

Still, there remained questions to be asked before he was satisfied. He didn't just want to know more about what she was offering, but he also needed to know more about her as a person.

"I think you're overestimating the economic impact of this Blaze, Taylor. Even if your estimations are right, most of the world is hungry for energy; oil will still sell until you've enough production capacity to overshadow current oil reserves. You might have the green activists showering you with praise, depending on the environmental impact, but I expect it'll face the same problem as electric cars. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this sounds like a complex fuel to produce? Complex means expensive, especially before you hit economies of scale. Nonetheless, you are right, what you are developing may have larger implications, but it also has vast implications upon your own business. What do your investors think about all of this?"

The wince he received from the girl served to remind him that he was dealing with a teenager despite all of this talk. Because it could have been something he would have seen from his daughter back in the day after she was caught sneaking out at night.

"Right now, you are right. The process is complex currently because I do not have the production facilities to produce the required chemicals in large amounts. Once those are able to come online, then the process and production of blaze will be simplified significantly. As for the investors, I have to provide a video briefing to them tomorrow," she finally admitted, "when I broached the subject they were not exactly enthusiastic. However, after explaining to them what I have planned, they are tentatively supporting it. It helps that I have been able to start returning on their investment thanks to initial material sales. For now we have an agreement that as long as I keep paying dividends on their investment they will give me free rein. Furthermore, we have recently opened negotiations with a potential business partner, but I am afraid I can't say any more on that topic."

Jack nodded politely, reserving himself from revealing that he already knew who she was in talks with. It was a rather intelligent decision, Medhall had enough reach in the Northeast markets where these Focuses would have an impact and be able to gain traction. It would be lucrative for both parties, in the long run, especially once Hebert proved the technology, as it would then open the doors for the other models she was working on on the side.

There was nothing to say about the fact that she was doing this on the sly and the fly. If she were completely responsible, she would have already reported this project to FEMA and other relevant government organizations. The idea of having additional producible assets to assist in search and rescue, and disaster relief, would be a god-send for services that were already on edge in lieu of the next Endbringer attack and its calculated range of attack.

"And what is this last model," he decided to change the subject, refocusing them upon the last machine that she had been working on previously. 'Quentin' was currently working at the terminal that Taylor had previously vacated, looking as intensely focused as she had previously been.

"That is the Titan. For now, it is the beating heart and brain of the LRL concept. In the future, I hope to be able to use existing cellular networks in order to exchange data and coordinate between machines, but for now, the Titan is the measure that allows this concept to work. Housed inside the chassis is probably one of the most powerful computers in the world for its size which allows the Titan to serve as a mobile command and logistics hub for the Lance. Furthermore, thanks to the communications suite that it is equipped with, it can also serve as a mobile hub for communications, which in a disaster area that may be bereft of cellular and communications capability, would be a godsend for rescuers."

And she would be right. One of the most critical aspects of any disaster area was to have communications restored as quickly as possible, but if your infrastructure was devastated, then, depending upon the level of damage, it could take upwards of weeks in order to truly establish reliable civilian communications again.

He suspected there was more to it than she had revealed so far, because Taylor Hebert was not striking him as someone who did things by halves. And the impact of what she was doing would be felt, but with so few machines, it may not be the impact that she was looking for if it wasn't framed the right way.

"Two questions, Taylor. When do you think they will be ready for deployment? And how soon could you have more?"

"They will be ready by tomorrow night. The only issue we are having is the communications suite with the Titan, and I am planning to pull an all-nighter if I have to to fix it. The latest it will be ready is tomorrow morning. As for additional units? The problem comes down to the production process. There is no assembly line, everything has to be done by hand. We were lucky in getting this first batch assembled in three weeks, and that's only because we got the forges fired up in advance and had them running round-the-clock."

She reached up and massaged her brow, a hint of exhaustion showing.

"Even without the need for secrecy, retasking the forges and molds necessary to produce parts and materials for new units will take time, as they have already been reassigned to other jobs. IF I could quickly get them retasked and I got the necessary computer components without any complications, maybe another month before we would be able to produce another mech or two. That would exclude the Titan, for which I couldn't give you a timetable even if you had a gun to my head. Frankly, the team is exhausted, and we've only been pushing ourselves so hard because of the Endbringer attack."

He nodded solemnly. He had honestly expected such a response, looking at the complexity of the machines and taking into consideration her own statements, he thought that Taylor was vastly underestimating how quickly she could produce more units. But he kept that thought to himself, instead he considered the other angle. What if he could open doors she was previously unaware of?

"What if I could find you the support to speed up the process?"

She paused her massage, and he could see the gears turning in her head now.

"Honestly? Depending on what they can offer, and how quickly we can adapt their production methods to fulfill the requirements for the machines? Maybe two weeks," she shook her head as if she was saying no, but was unsure if that was the actual answer, "I mean, I really can't give you anything more accurate, because this is all hypothetical."

He considered what she was saying. He wasn't going to commit to anything yet, because it would be foolhardy to do so until he had proven results. But, if Taylor Hebert's machines did perform as she was advertising, then it might be worth looking into.

"Well," he smiled, his choice now cemented on what he was going to do, but now increasingly curious as to what else Taylor Hebert has, "I'm quite interested in what else you have to offer, Miss Hebert."

When he left four hours later, the door to his vehicle hadn't shut before he was already on the phone with President Durling.

---

AEH​

---

Taylor Hebert

Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!

Even an hour later I could not help but feel like I was on cloud nine and there was not a goddamn thing that could bring me down right now. Hell, I couldn't even focus on working on the communications suite on the Titan, just staring holes in the screen and I knew I was probably wearing a dopey grin.

But dammit, never in my wildest dreams when I hatched dropping the reactor blueprint on the PRT had I envisioned that I would garner the attention of the fucking Vice President of the United States. I mean, how the hell could I have expected that?! The Department of Energy was a calculated gamble, but dammit, was my math terrible!

Dad was just as dumbfounded as I was. He had ended up joining us when I had taken Jack (Jack!) back to my lab. I know what I was offering was only blueprints, and ideas, but with the right application of industry and science, it wasn't a matter of years of R and tests, but a matter of months because the science was already there! I knew as I talked to him, and explained to him just what I could offer, even in the span of a year or two, that I had found myself something far more powerful than the Department of Energy backing me.

It ran in the face of what I believed, but the fact of the matter was, in order to achieve my goals, at the end of the day, it couldn't just be the plowshare that flourished, but the sword must also be sharpened. Even if I could stem back years of decline, it would not help unless the causes of that decline were also rendered inconsequential, if not eliminated.

But still. Holy shit! I laughed to myself as I shook my head, gaining a few worried looks from the crew.

The future was looking a whole lot brighter than before the day started!

---

AEH​

---

Accord (T-25 Minutes)

Alain Gabriel considered himself a largely calm and reasonable person. It was this calm and reasonability that had allowed him to successfully cultivate his small empire in Boston. Not just as Accord, but as the face of Far Zenith. Everything gained was through a mixture of calm, reason, and methodical actions. Nothing wasted in this pursuit of power and wealth.

There were of course moments when this calm and reason did waver, usually in the face of the truly chaotic and reprehensible, but in the end, it always ended the same way with him prevailing.

But right now, he was far from calm, and reason was currently a foreign concept at best!

On one hand, there was a nearly insatiable urge to curse the entirety of the bloodline that had led to the spawn of Taylor Hebert. From stem to root, with not a singular exception. But, the calmer part of him could only applaud how the teenage girl had far exceeded even his projections.

When she had walked into that conference room two months ago, he had thought of the years that it would take for her to establish herself. There was no doubt in his mind that it would happen. What Hebert offered to the world was incomparable to anything in existence. It was why he had chosen to invest in her, safe in the knowledge that even if there were bumps along the way, what she would do would be the stuff of legend if she were provided the opportunity to flourish.

But that plan had been measured in years! Not less than three months!

And he certainly hadn't foreseen that she would gain the interest of John Patrick Ryan!

There were a handful of political figures who merited a file within the halls of WEDGDG, and only one of them came with a warning that any reports involving Jack Ryan were to be immediately forwarded to the Chief Director herself. It was only after he had left the organization that he would come to realize just why the man was such a large deal, despite his lack of powers.

Ryan was an old school spook through and through. He was also one of the few people that wasn't beholden to the pageantry and grandeur that the PRT and Protectorate wielded as their shield. He was paranoid, and he didn't care about the rules. But he was also smart enough to not be caught breaking the rules the PRT stringently enforced.

The fact that over two decades he had been able to slowly raise his status in spite of his barely hidden stance on capes was a credit to the man himself. It certainly also helped that he was intelligent and canny enough to develop means to combat capes in his field, with many of his measures and ideas becoming adopted by other intelligence agencies.

No, he could understand why the Chief Director was wary of the man. He was a threat to her power, and he wasn't afraid to pick a fight if he believed it was a righteous one.

But it wasn't the threat he presented to the Chief Director, or even his stance upon capes. What terrified him was the man's continued ties to the intelligence community, despite the fact that he was no longer officially part of it. Many of the analysts and agents that now made up the CIA, and even the NSA, were cultivated under the leadership of Ryan, which provided him a source of power that few politicians, or even leaders, had. The power of knowledge.

There was no doubt in his mind that if Jack Ryan was looking at Zero Dawn, there was a high probability that he was also looking at the money that had gone into it. It was too much for a spook like Ryan to ignore, he would be curious as to why an investment group would put so much money into an unproven teenage cape. It was not a matter of if, but a matter of when, he would be able to discern that Far Zenith was a front company for Ambassadors.

And after that…

He stared at the roiling clouds in the distance, his neutral expression firmly fixed on his face.

The choices he had before him were…vexing, but they were nonetheless salvageable. There was no way he would be able to escape Ryan once he turned his full attention to Far Zenith, it was an unavoidable fact, but disaster could be avoided if a choice was made.

But the matter was should he make the choice?

When he had decided to supply Zero Dawn with its startup money, it had been with the belief that within five years he would be able to recoup the investment with a modest profit, and be able to detach from the company itself. While it would be a dark mark upon Zero Dawn if it ever came to light, it would be survivable, and with the right application of public relations, actually be made into a plus for the Heberts.

But at this time, if it was revealed that the Ambassadors and the Elite, two villainous organizations, had provided the money to get Zero Dawn rolling, it would ruinously taint the company. No one would be able to trust the company as not fulfilling some sort of criminal agenda, even if there truly wasn't one. Zero Dawn's reputation would never be able to recover from it, and the plan would only be set back even further.

But if he chose to make the choice, if he chose to embrace the only path forward that could still salvage the plan, all it would possibly cost was himself. Was he willing to make that sacrifice if necessary?

He was.

Ryan was a man who did not view the world in black and white, he couldn't afford to in his field. The world was cast in so many different grays that it was impossible to truly make sense of what was right, or even what was wrong anymore. So the idea of villains backing something beneficial to society, without requesting anything except a return on investment, was something that was not only believable, but could be understood in a world of gray.

It was a good thing he had sent Citrine back to Brockton Bay last night after Hebert's call. It wouldn't do well for her to be here as he chose to do this. She would likely not understand, at least not yet, just why he felt the need to do this.

There was only one pathway forward to salvage all of this: He would have to reveal to Jack Ryan just who was backing Zero Dawn Technologies and why he was doing so.

If there was any good news to this, it was that Ryan was on the same page as him in being aware of just what exactly Hebert was offering. It would allow for his admission to go a lot more smoothly than if he did it for some random reason.

The gala wasn't supposed to take place for another two hours, but he already knew that the Vice President was there, meeting behind closed doors with several business leaders. He usually did not dabble with politics, it simply was beneath him, but he still nonetheless had an invitation to attend the function this evening.

His best opportunity would be to arrive before then and use his connection with Zero Dawn in order to gain an audience with the man. It would probably be the only opportunity he had, unless Ryan personally sought him out. If that happened, he was unsure of what would happen next.

No, he would have to strike first and swiftly, if there was to be any hope to salvage the situation. And it may cost him, but it was certainly a better option than trying to run when it was already too late to salvage the situation.

All because Taylor Hebert could not resist thumbing her nose at the PRT.

A surge of rage flashed through him before he tamped it down. He knew what he was likely going to get when he had first agreed with Uppercrust to fund the girl. He didn't have to like it though. He had inadvertently tied his fate to this girl, and the butcher bill was coming to pass far sooner than expected.

Taking a deep breath, before releasing it, he closed his eyes before reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Rain had started to come down on the windows, only reinforcing his feelings on the matter.

"Theresa, please have my car ready in ten minutes. The civilian one."

"Of course, Mister Gabriel, right away."

He ended the call, placing the phone back in his pocket before reaching up and adjusting his tie. He then paused as the rain started to come down harder upon the windows, almost like a sheet now as the sound of the rain hitting the reinforced glass.

He then frowned as a thought occurred to him, something that had been niggling at the back of his mind, but had been ignored because the matter of Jack Ryan had dominated his attention.

There had been no rain in the weather forecast for today.

The sudden shrill alert sounded from his phone, even as his mind started to calculate with mounting horror just what was going on. Even as he reached for his phone, to check what the alert was for, he already knew what he would see. As he finally retrieved it and pulled it up, sirens began to go off in the distance, their noise a herald for the end as it removed any doubt of what was happening.

Leviathan was coming to Boston.

 

[AlSmash]

So, label this as crap I forgot to do, despite promising to do so. so, here it is, a sidestory provided by @Tigers-Tall-Tails on SpaceBattles. It's done so well, that I've worked to integrate it into the story overall.

Germinate 2.7.5

START

"Maybe I should thank you then. After all, I got a pretty useful power, and all it took was not being one of your charity cases."

Amy bit her lip. The red scarf that covered her face would keep anyone from commenting on it. One of the few times that her costume as Panacea worked in her favour. She was back at the hospital, after the disaster that was her day at Arcadia. Vicky was fuming, out and about somewhere in town. Amy wanted to be there for her sister, to let her vent. But she wasn't comfortable putting off her work at the hospital, so it would have to wait.

"Jean? Who're we working on today?" Easier to lose myself in the work then remember the spite and hurt in that voice.

Jean was probably Amy's favourite person in the hospital. A nurse for over twenty years, the older women had dealt every kind of patient, injury, sickness, or ailment imaginable. And her 'seen it all' attitude helped her interact with patients in way that Amy wasn't able to.

"We have one case of three shattered bones, one with liver failure, another with a collapsed lung, two people with…" Amy let the chatter roll over her. It didn't really matter what the injuries were, she'd seen them before. Time and time again, she came in, healed, and left. If she was lucky, she never saw the patient again. But this was Brockton Bay, so she wasn't lucky.

The first three cases went by in a blur. The fourth was clearly a gang member, with tattoos and a shattered arm, shoulder, and hand. Someone had lost a fight, or angered the boss, or who knows what. Amy set about her task; extending her hand and saying her lines. "Do I have your permission to heal you?" The man snapped back. "Yes! Damn it I'm in pain here, fix me!"

Panacea touched his skin, and she could see his form unravel itself in her mind. Skin, muscles, tendons, bones, arteries, veins, capillaries, organs… down to the very cells that made up each greater whole. Like soft clay laid out before her, waiting for her hands to shape. Amy bit her lip again. There are limits. She had limits. Panacea had to have limits. Only Villain have no limits. And Amy wouldn't be a Villain.

Her will reached out, and the body responded. Soothing inflammation, deadening nerves, then shifting and repairing muscles to maneuver bone shards into place. Once they mostly alined, she fused the bone whole again, making sure to anchor the ligaments properly. She did another quick check before pulling her awareness back to her body. The whole thing took eight minutes. The patient still wasn't happy. "Took you long enough to get here. Next time, don't waste your time with the rest of the trash."

Amy didn't smack him. She didn't reach out and make his heart pump stomach-acid. She didn't twist his nerves so that every breath would cause a wave of agony to flood through him. She just… walked away. She left Jean to handle it.

~~~~~

The older women found Panacea later, hunched over on her phone in the break room. Her white robe, a recognizable element of her hero costume, was tossed on a nearby chair, leaving Amy in jeans and a t-shirt. Nurse Jean took a seat as the girl continued browsing her phone, ignoring the world. "Hey Amy… We've got a few more people on the list for today. You up for it, or should we break for lunch and pick up after?"

The healer signed, "Can't be worse than the last idiot we fixed up."

"You know why we have to take them." Jean gave a tired smile that said far too much.

"Neutrality" Amy almost spat the word out. Neither spoke as she got up and assembled her outfit. Hooded robe, long sleeves, red scarf to cover her lower face. It wasn't anything fancy, but everyone knew the 'look' of Panacea.

In a city divided between three major gangs, with a crime rate that was several points higher then the average, the Brockton Bay Hospital didn't take sides. They walked a thin line between turning a blind eye to some injuries, and reporting others to police if things were too messy to ignore. This neutrality kept fights from breaking out in the waiting room, kept drug shipments from being intercepted. This neutrality extended to Panacea as well, who healed regardless of who was under her hands. If only someone had bothered to ask my opinion beforehand.

Her irritation at being pushed to heal and to be 'neutral' gave her the nudge she needed. Asking the question that had been bothering her ever since the confrontation at Arcadia. As the two exited the room, Panacea asked."So how does the List work? I've never really asked." It hadn't seemed important until now. She went to the hospital, she did her tasks, and then she tried to forget it all until she was called on again.

Jean hummed as they stepped aside, letting a group exit the elevator before entering. She punched a button before answering. "Well first, the patients would need to have coverage for parahuman healing. If they agree to it, their doctor will make the application request to be placed on your healing list. Priority is given to more urgent cases, but for the most part there's not much of a backlog. You do quick work!"

Amy nodded along. It was interesting, and unfortunately it tied into the accusations that had been thrown in her face the days before. What Jean said next sent Amy's stomach to the floor.

"Of course, things are a little different for the charity cases."

"The what?" She said numbly. She clenched her hands, thankful that her long sleeves hid the motion.

Jean hummed slightly. "Charity cases are tricky. People who could greatly benefit from care, but don't have the insurance. So their problem could be treated, or staved off with medical care, but we're not going to be able resolve the problem. Not like you can."

"Two doctors are needed, one to make the application, and one to co-sign. There's this whole evaluation based on standards of living with or without intervention, questions of physical and mental wellbeing, things like that. It takes a fair bit, I've helped a few doctors write them. There's maybe a dozen written each month? Once the request is ready, it's sent off for approval."

"And the approval? Who does that? The hospital?"

Jean glanced at Amy oddly, "No, that comes from your mother. It was stated quite clearly in your contract that she would oversee things."

Amy felt cold settling in her gut as the implications set in. She clenched her hands. "What contract?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Amy gained her powers, things were… tense in the Dallon household. She had saved Victoria's life. That was good. Then the family learnt more about her abilities, about what she was capable of. Then things were bad. Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil had come over, and there were lots of talks between the adults. Vicky was elated that her sister could be a superhero just like herself. Amy was terrified she would be thrown out of the house. Mark tried to act like a father on the good days. Vicky loved her like a sister. Carol watched her. Evaluated her. Carol was never Mother, nor Mom. Amy was the outsider of the family, and felt it keenly.

Amy didn't believe in God. But she prayed that day when she was called to the living room. She prayed that she wouldn't be separated from her sister.

Aunt Sarah did most of the talking about how Amy could now be part of New Wave, could be part of the effort to keep capes honest. She explained that Amy could make a difference by helping people. Carol spoke about healing, about having limits, and about the expectations of a Hero. About working with the hospital to show how much of a hero Amy was. The adults discussed around Amy, about costumes and introductions.

Amy just remembered agreeing to everything. She wouldn't be separated from her sister.

Days later, she found herself being greeted at the hospital. She followed instructions, she healed and put humans back together again. She repaired damaged cells, erased malignant tumours, stimulated blood production and bone growth. She said her lines; "Do I have your permission to heal you?"

Again

And again

And again…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Samuel Monk was an aging administrator for the Hospital. Amy had met him only once before when she first started working. He had a heavy set frame and greying hair. Adjusting his glasses after ushering her to sit exclaiming, "Panacea! Good to see you. I hope everything is going well? No trouble I hope?"

Amy tried to remember how Vicky did it. How she presented herself and talked to people with confidence. She sat up straight, but couldn't resist her fingers playing with the ends of her sleeves. "Yes, well… no. I mean yes! There's no problem. I was just…"

This was stupid. But I'm angry.

She took a breath. Tried to smile. Its good that she took the hood off, even if she wanted it on. Even if she wanted to hide. "There was a school discussion you see, talking about careers, and what we can expect once we graduate. A few of my classmates asked about the hospital, and I said I would show them my work contract."" A lie. Not the first she's told, but certainly first big one. Is this how it starts? The road to damnation and condemnation?

Mr. Monk smiled. His goodness conjured guilt inside Amy for taking advantage of him "Well I'm afraid that your contract is a little unique. Your classmates aren't going to get anything like it."

"Oh? Then can you go over it with me, because then I can explain it to them."

"Not a problem. Give me a moment." He huffed as he stood, moving over to the filing cabinets in the corner. With a metallic rattle, the drawer extended. He slowly ran a thumb over the hundreds of folders, pulling one out with a muttered exclamation of success.

"Here we are." He sat, flipped open the folder and glanced over each page before laying them out on the desk. Amy leaned forward trying to absorb the wall of text laid out in front of her.

"Your contract is not like the rest, most notably because of your young age when you joined us. Your mother was insistent that we accept a consultation agreement that listed you as 'Parahuman Healing Specialist'." He tapped a few sections as he spoke. Amy nodded along, reading as quickly as she could.

"Of course, Carol wouldn't be Carol if she didn't have a few requirements of her own. There was already a precedent you see, for Parahuman Healing, and insurance agencies had started implementing their own fees. Carol made sure that some 'charity cases' would be added to your rotation."

"Do I know you?"

An angry, bitter smile on a ruined face.

"No. You wouldn't. Insurance saw to that."

Amy swallowed, twisting the fabric in her hands. "And who approves the Charity Requests?"

"Hmm? Oh, your mother reviews every case, and approves most of them. Not all, certainly, but generally she approves. Only a few cases are denied. Very cautious women, your mother." Monk smiled conspiratorially. Certain it was meant a joke, she smiled back, or at least she tried. She wasn't sure if she succeeded.

"Right. Here we have…" he poked at another section titled Remuneration. "The money! The important bit, some would say." He chuckled slightly. "You and your mother were very generous, I must say. The insurance payouts allow us to keep the lights on! Among other things, of course."

"Of course" she numbly parroted back. "And… then our portion goes where?" Because I've never seen any of it.

"Deposited directly into the New Wave Fund."

The Dallon Family wasn't poor. Even with Mark being a 'house husband' and two girls in school, the question of money never game up. Both Victoria and Amy got a steady allowance from their mother, who controlled the household finances like she controlled everything else. Amy had assumed that Carol's salary as a lawyer kept the books balanced. Was that the lie? Was it all on me? How am I supposed to feel about that?

Mr.Monk kept talking but Amy was deft to it as she tried to process her feelings. His words flowed through the office; stipulations for conduct, assistance expectations, priorities for care, workplace standards.

"And here we have it. Employment duration, and the signatures, of course." Amy pulled the paper up, reading carefully at the bottom of the page. Carol had signed twice. Power of Attorney. Parental Consent.

The section of Consultant's Signature My section was left blank.

"I'd like a copy of this." She looked over the desk to Mr.Monk. "Please"

"Well, certainly. I'll…" Amy stood, gathered the pages before the older man could, marched to the printer and set it to photocopy each page. She wished she could pull her hood up. She needed the quiet. But she needed answers more.

"Can you tell me about the last few Charity requests? I'd like to see if I remember them. The patients, they go by so quickly sometimes."

Monk began clicking away at his desktop computer, "yes.. just a moment."

Vrrrrr… Vrrrr…Vrrrr went the printer. Amy wished it could go faster. She needed to leave. She needed to think.

"Here we are, hmm… Flavianna Belmon, Larain Messina, Nelson Britton, Taylor Hebert, Sara O'Gorman. Out of all of those, Ms. Hebert was the only one to be denied. Sad case, I tried to get Carol to reconsider but she wouldn't hear of it." The older man sighed. "But she does have the authority to reject cases on her own discretion." It shouldn't be Carol's choice. It should be mine!

Amy took a deep breath in, then out. Her hands clenched and relaxed again.

The printer finished it's job. She snatched the pages up, returning the originals to the desk. "Thank you, you've been very helpful"

"I hope you can explain everything to your classmates, we're always looking for new help." For a moment, Amy had no idea what he was talking about. Then she remembered the lie. "I hope so too."

She left. Pulling up her hood, she fumbling with her scarf as she moved down the halls. It was hard to do with one hand, but she was also clutching the pages to her chest.. There was no way she'd let them go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amy hurried to her room when she arrived home. Vicky had been moody the whole way back from the hospital, apparently Carol had texted to say she wanted to see Victoria as soon as she returned home. After the events of the day, neither sister was in the mood to talk."

Dropping her costume on the floor, she then spread the contract paper over her small desk, reading over them again. The words jumped out at her: consultant, insurance payments, charity patients, remuneration, waiving of fees, New Wave Fund, right of refusal, employment duration, signatures.

Amy straightened, a restless energy running through her. She paced the room, picked up her costume, hung it up, returned to the desk, stacked the papers, walked to the window, breathed.

In

Out

Hands clench

Hands unclench

Amy didn't have a plan. She didn't have a goal. But she did want answers. She wanted…

Walking down the hallways, stopping at the office door at the end. Could hear Carol speaking, "…your room. You're grounded, young lady. We'll discuss how long that should be over dinner."

"Mom!" Vicky's voice rose.

"Ignoring your aura, which we will be having a discussion about, you nearly assaulted someone with your powers, Victoria. You could have seriously hurt her, and I didn't raise you to act like this. So you will take your punishment, and you will improve! Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Clench, unclench. Vicky had gotten in trouble. Not Amy. Vicky. Amy hadn't done anything wrong. But didn't I do wrong by being blind? Isn't that my fault?

Heart hammering, she watched the door open. Saw the anger and hurt in her sister's face as she passed.

She had a say something. The restless energy inside her demanded release.

"Carol, we need to talk about my work at the hospital."

The women sat at behind her desk, one hand rubbingt her forehead. "This is not the time Amy. I have other concerns right now." For a moment, Amy considered just dropping it.

"No. We need to talk now." Amy had always said yes. She said yes when she was told to heal. She said yes when the Protectorat called for help, when her family said that Panacea would attend the Endbringer fights, when Vicky needed help because she went too far.

Carol straightened in her chair, her eyes hard and scowled. Amy refused to look away, that energy churning inside filled her veins and demanded she not back down.

"Sit."

Amy walked over, put her hands on the back of the chair, and stayed standing.

Carol's frown deepened.

Where to start?

"I read my contract today. The one you signed for me."

"What of it?" Carol the Lawyer answered back. Cool, calm, collected, neutral.

Amy wanted more. She would prefer anger, or sorrow. Any kind of reaction.

"You didn't even tell me that one existed! I was told that I would be helping the hospital. Helping people! They gave me patients and I healed every single one of them! And now I learnt that I'm only helping those who pay?!" Amy didn't want to shout. Carol had taught her that. "The first one to raise their voice to win an argument has already lost". But she put every inch of force that she could into her words.

"What happened to, "a hero should act for what's right, not for money"? You taught us that!"

Carol stared back quietly, waiting. The silence stretched. Amy wanted to scream, but this was another lesson Carol had taught.

She finally sat.

When Carol spoke, it was in clear even tones. "Yes. I signed a contract. It protects you, and it protects the hospital. The payments are necessary. You bill the hospital, so the hospital bills the insurance agency. The hospital then collects the insurance payment.

"And then we get our cut?" Amy spit out the last words like a curse.

"Yes. The money goes to the New Wave Fund, which we use for donations to support other causes." Amy's mind raced. What causes had the team supported recently?

"The Mayor's election campaign" said Amy, remembering distant days when she would watch Carol and Mark on TV with Vicky chattering happily next to her.

Carol nodded, "Yes, among other things. We don't give out money lightly. There is significant amount of vetting before we agree to support any cause." But what about me? I don't get a say?

Silence fell between them. Amy hoped for more, but it was clear that Carol was done talking.

"And the charity list? The people who can't pay?"

Carol leaned back in her chair, her face still hard. "We are heroes. You are a hero. It's natural to support people less fortunate."

"But you don't approve everyone, do you?" It was an accusation. Open defiance, and Carol leaned forward to fire back.

"Amy, every doctor someday comes to realize that they can't help everyone. There aren't enough hands, there aren't enough hours in the day. You are no different. Yes. I review every charity case presented to me. I read the justifications and listen to the doctor's advice."

"It should be me who decides. It's my power!"

*Slam* Carol's hand impacted the desk. Amy jolted.

"What did I tell you to do if someone asks for healing in the street?"
Amy responded by rout, from memory. "I don't take personal requests for healing."

Carol nodded. "Yes. Panacea does not take personal requests. Everyone knows this. It's what keeps you from getting swarmed on the streets. It keeps this house from being picketed. And!"

The older women sighed and relaxed back into her chair. "… and it keeps you from having to chose who lives and who dies." Amy was stunned, Carol's words hitting unexpectedly.

She took the silence to keep going. "You were fourteen when you started healing. Too young for that kind of responsibility."

Amy felt small for a moment, like a child being scolded for something she didn't understand. Half angry, half thoughtful. "But we're heroes. We're meant to help everyone."

"No." Carol responded instantly. "We don't help everyone. We don't help villains. We put our efforts into helping the most deserving." I helped a gang member today, because he could pay. And a girl who couldn't pay was left blind.

"Is that why you denied treatment for Taylor Hebert?" Another accusation.

"This conversation is over."

*Bang* Amy slammed her hands down on the desk, leaping to her feet. "A fifteen year old girl was left blind! What's the justification for that!?"

Carol frowned and for a moment Amy thought she could see light coalesce around the women's fists. "When the incident happened, there was a lot of back and forth about who the guilty party was. It was better to stay out of it."

"And since then?"

"Since then, she's only proven that she's a villain by another name. She's caused havoc with the PRT, provoked tensions in the government, undermined the mayor, and has shamelessly profited instead of helping the public. She's surrounded herself with people with bad intentions, and shows no sign of stopping."

Carol was standing now, staring down at Amy. "The fact that you would support this girl is concerning." Her face was cold, implacable. The hero Brandish condemning the criminal. "You. Are. A hero. Hold yourself to a higher standard." Her gaze worked over Amy's tense form, searching for… something.

Amy ducked her head. She hated when Carol looked at her like that, like she was looking for weakness, like she was a witness on the stand, and Carol the Lawyer was about to tear her apart with words. Or like Brandish the Hero might strike her down with energy blades

"I understand."

"Good." Carol sat, returning to the papers on her desk. "This discussion is over, understand? You will go to the hospital. You will heal who you're told. No more talk about Zero Dawn or Taylor Hebert. She's caused enough problems for this family."

Amy left the office, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. The energy that once filled her was gone, leaving her hollow. Exhausted she flopped onto her bed, her thoughts circling around everything that she learnt and said.

It was hours later that Vicky woke her up with a plate of food. Amy had missed dinner. With a quiet thank-you, she closed the door before her sister could say a word. Sitting on her bed, Amy ate. Thinking about the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(T-Minus 15 Days)

Amy clenched her hands.

This was stupid. There were a million reasons why this was stupid. She shouldn't be here, on the bus, heading deeper into the Docks area. She shouldn't be focusing on what that girl said. She should just be leaving everything alone.

She was stupid.

She unclenched her hands. She got off the bus.

The Docks were more of a concept to her than a real place. She would hear about them in news reports, often accompanied by words like "violence, murder, drug arrests" and other fun nouns. New Wave would discuss the Docks and reference police reports, patrol routes, and cape sightings or cape fights. Victoria would patrol the area and come back with stories of criminals that she swooped down on, the fights that she took part in, and the crimes she witnessed.

Walking along the cracked sidewalks, seeing the overgrown green spaces and boarded up windows on houses and shops… it made the Docks real to her. Amy could feel the abandonment, okay, maybe not. But she could certainly see it. And hear it. Walking through the city made one familiar to the noise. Cars going by, sirens in the distance, people moving around, conversation in the air. Very little of that existed out here.

Amy clenched her hands. This was stupid. She rubbed her hands against her pants; they kept sweating.

It hadn't taken a lot to find the address of Zero Dawn Technologies. The news and discussion forums were diving into anything the company was doing. But even without an exact address, Amy probably could have found it on her own. You could hear it in the distance. Trucks and cars moving around, the sound of tools on metal.

The place didn't look like much. A refurbished fence around refurbished buildings. Only the sign at the front shone with new paint.

Amy unclenched her hands.

She walked up to the gate guard, "My name is Amy Dallon. Panacea. I'd like to speak with Taylor Hebert."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an awkward few minutes before she was let through security, being met by a harried employee who didn't introduce themselves. No attempt at small talk was made; Amy was grateful for the absence. Even if it meant she was stuck with only her thoughts for company; she had always been aggravated by 'light conversation'.

Amy clenched her hands.

Her mind was busy enough as it was, filled to the brim with how this conversation would go with the fiery inventor whose mere existence had caused so much chaos.

Amy wasn't supposed to be here. Carol made that absolutely clear. She was supposed to leave all of this alone. But I don't want to. I can't.

Amy unclenched her hands.

Amy clenched her hands.

The healer was told to wait in a quiet room off to the side in one of the buildings. Coffee maker, fridge, a few chairs. This was obviously a break room for the staff. Amy sat wishing she could have more coffee, but not wanting to impose on what would already be a complicated conversation.

She tried not to watch the door. She watched the clock.

Amy unclenched her hands.

The door opened and Amy looked up. Taylor stood frozen in the doorway. On her temple, a glowing triangle device projected a segmented circle in the air. Its slow rotation was the only movement in the room. Large black sunglasses covered everything around her eyes.

"Panacea. I'm formally letting you know that this conversation is being recorded. If you do not consent to be recorded, you are free to leave the premises. I'll have one of my employees show you the door."

"It's Amy. And yes, fine. Whatever you want."

Taylor marching over to the coffee machine. Amy watched the willowy brunette's back as she placed her glasses on the counter and began to expertly prepare a mug. It was hard to remember sometimes that this girl was blind given how adeptly she maneuvered around the world. Taylor spoke, her tone dry. "I have a lot of work to do, and not enough time to do it. What do you want Amy? I've already extended my apologies for my words towards your sister."

"I…" Amy pinched the long sleeves of her jacket. "I wanted to say sorry? I didn't know about you, in the hospital I mean. They didn't give your file to me." She looked down at the table, not wanting to see those blind eyes as Taylor turned around. "I didn't know"

Silence

"If you didn't know, then why are you apologizing? If you had no hand in things, then it's pointless to say 'sorry' on someone else's behalf."

Amy clenched her hands.

What was better… letting the matter go, or telling the truth? Amy didn't know. But she had failed. She didn't even know how many patients she had let down. But she could apologize to this one.

"There… there's a list. A charity list. The doctors had put you on it." Amy felt the disgust twist her insides. "You weren't approved." Every word felt like stones passing through her teeth. But I am a hero. I have to be better.

Her knuckles hurt. Nails dug into skin. Amy couldn't let go.

Steps walking towards her. The chair across the table pulled out, Taylor took a seat.

Amy waited for the shouts. Waited for the mug to bash her skull in. Waited for the cutting rage that she had seen once before at Arcadia.

I deserve it.

"And who does the approving?"

"Carol. My mother. I didn't know."

"Oh."

Silence. The hum of the lights. Sounds of breathing.

Amy peeked up. Taylor stared down down at the table. Her hand clasping her coffee mug with white knuckles. Her jaw clenched as she…

"I am just trying to fucking fix things!" Taylor seethed. Her voice wet, filled with the tears that she refused to shed.

Taylor breathed.

"So… you apologizing. That on her behalf? Or because 'you didn't know'."

"Just me." Amy understood the anger towards Carol. She felt it too. The anger at taking her own choices away. At making her an unwitting part of this mess.
Just a little, Amy unclenched her hands. The muscles strained, sore from tension.

"You said… before at Arcadia, you said you're going to change the world. What did you mean?"

Taylor's breathing slowed, and if she rubbed at her eyes, Amy pretended to not notice.

"This?" She tapped the triangle attached to her temple. "I have three versions ready for market. The money I make from selling them is all going back into the company, so I can build more things. Communication infrastructure. Computer components. Hell, I've got blueprints for a hologram system that is going to make movies a whole lot more interesting."

Amy giggled in frank amusement. "You are going to piss off so many people."

"That's the thing about changing the world. You can't always wait around asking for permission." The blind inventor took a pull from her coffee, scowling and muttering that it went cold.

Amy had an idea then. It was stupid. It was against everything that Carol had told her. But being brave is what heroes do. I ruined her life. Time to balance the scales.

"Can I… show you something?"

"Hmm?" Taylor tilted her head as Amy reached forward, plucking an apple from the bowl on the table.

It was so easy. She could feel the composition of everything that made the apple what it was. And she ordered it to change. The apple sagged as it collapsed in on itself, then from the resulting slurry a new shape emerged. A bulb formed, then the green shoot pushed itself up, broad leaves stretched out, and a vibrant pink bloom unfolded. In seconds, Amy help a tulip in her hands. It was… a rush. To see the material changing in her mind, to finally just… do something with her powers that wasn't healing the same systems again and again.

"You… you can." Taylor spoke in hushed tones, blind eyes fixed on Amy's hands. "Bio-manipulation. No, wait. Healing, touch based. You're a bio-kinetic."

Amy shrank down, preferring to look at the flower in her hands instead of the girl sitting across from her.

"And they have you healing in a hospital?!?" Amy didn't expect Taylor to be so aghast. She met Taylor's incredulous stare. Amy felt her cheeks flush, this wasn't going as she expected.

"It…there… it was safer?"

"Ha! Safer for who? For you or the world?"

"Both…"

"Ooohhh… Optics, right. The only thing New Wave cares about. Can't have the healer be a big scary bio-tinker. Jesus…"

Taylor seemed to see Amy properly for the first time. Her fingers twitched, and her eyes darted back and forth for a moment.

"I've deleted the records of this conversation. I know why you wanted to keep this hidden. I don't agree with it, I think it's the stupidest thing I've heard in a long while… but you want it hidden." She shrugged.

Something inside Amy uncoiled and she could breath a little easier.

"Why stupid?" Amy looked around, wondering what to do with the flower in her hands.

"Amy… you are the walking answer to world hunger. You can create crops to survive in any environment. You can develop vaccines and cures for things that thousands of people suffer from. You could break this whole medical industry over your knee and make sure that millions of people live better lives… and instead? You're patching up gangbangers in the ER."

Taylor continued, "you could be a real hero… to so many. A hero greater than your sister ever could be. A hero who'll change the world. Instead…" Taylor was blind. Amy knew this, but she felt the weight and disappointment in the younger woman's eyes. Hard to imagine that this girl was fifteen. She felt more a disappointed teacher.

Amy's cheeks flushed. She fumbled as she murmured. "You sound like you're trying to recruit me."

"Sure, if you want, I would hire you in a heartbeat. You're not even a tinker! Biology is biology. The building blocks are all the same. It's just a question of assembling as you want. Which you can do." Taylor shrugged. She stood, dumping the last of her cold coffee in the sink, then came back with the mug. Tentatively, she placed the flower in it, running her fingers over the shape of the petals. A rare smile spread across her face. "Tulips…"

"I…" Amy dusted her hands off. This was stupid. But it was her decision. And it felt good. "I might be willing."

Taylor blinked. A slow smile spread across her face. "Ok… I might have to temper expectations. I am too busy right now. The Endbringer window opens in fifteen days. After… well, after. Once my machines prove themselves, I'll have more freedom. If you're still interested then… we can make something happen."

Amy's stomach sank, thinking about the next time she would be on the battlefield with one of those beasts. Focusing on the possibilities of after was much more appealing. "If I bring something impressive, don't suppose you'll give me a sign on bonus?" She giggled, thinking on everything she could make.

Taylor leaned back, tilting her head up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "You've got more experience then me, what does a hospital always need more of?"

"The three B's. Beds, blood, and bandages." The long hours working with nurses and doctors had given Amy an insiders view of the hospital.

"There you go." Taylor shrugged. "Blood. Synthetic, or real, something to replace the constant demand for blood drives. For any patient regardless of blood type. Maybe loaded with anti-bodies or something to promote healing?"

"Hmm… I think I could make that work. I'll have to test it.." Her thoughts drifted and she smiled she imagined how to go about making it.

"Well. I look forward to seeing what you can do. I'm going back to work, I'll send someone to show you out." Taylor stood, and Amy leaped to her feet.

"Wait! Um…" Amy pulled what remained of her courage together. "Do… do you want me to heal you?"

Taylor breathing hitched. The healer held her position, hand stretched out. She didn't know what she was hoping to do with this. Fix her mistakes? Make up for things? But it felt like the right thing to do.

"No."

The words hit Amy like a fist to the gut. Oh course she wouldn't trust me. She's scared of me. Of what I can do. Even if our talk was fun, and she offered me a place here.

"No… I'm going to keep these scars. So that the girls who did this to me can see that they didn't stop me."

That was… so incredibly petty and brave at the same time. Left unsaid was that the scars would also remind Amy of her own blindness, of the times that she let others dictate her own actions. Amy dropped her hand. Maybe Taylor didn't mean it that way. But still, It was worth remembering.

"But… I appreciate the offer." Taylor stepped forward. She offered a handshake. Amy grasped for it, feeling foolish for dropping hers just a moment ago.

Biology unfurled before her mind's eye. Scarred cornea, damaged sclera, scarred conjunctiva. Discolouration of the skin across the face and neck. Elevated heart rate, high amounts of caffein in the system. Signs of stress and lack of sleep in the brain chemistry. Slightly underweight for body type. No sign of pain from injuries, nerves not damaged.

Amy kept an iron grip on her powers. She had limits.

The two girls shook. This felt like the start of something. Not a friendship, it was too soon for that, too much recent baggage. But Amy felt happy. It was rare she felt that way.

"Alright, I'll see you… after." After the next city was condemned. After Amy tried again to keep capes alive so they could return to fight a relentless being that they had no hope against. After the bodies had been counted, the memorials erected, and the tears shed.

"After."

With a final shake, Taylor walked out the door. Leaving the tulip sitting in a coffee mug, alone on the break room table.

An employee arrived moments later, and escorted Amy out of the building. Back in the evening air, she returned to the Docks. Out from the complex world of Taylor Hebert and all the conflicting feelings she brought with her.

Things weren't fixed. Not by a long shot. But Amy felt… lighter. Breathed easier. She had a plan, it was her's. And that felt good enough for now.

She breathed in.

Breathed out.

And unclenched her hands.

END

 

[AlSmash]

Well. Here we are. Finally. I apologize for the time that it has taken, between work, and other things, it just turned into a long-ass delay. So my apologies on that. I'm not sure on the update schedule going forward, especially as my work is starting to enter into the compression period of the year. That means more hours and more work. And on the home front trying to batten down the hatches and prepare for the Winter has put a crimp on where I'm trying to balance destressing and writing, and not having a good amount of success for it.

Next chapter is already at 1000 words, but I'm projecting it to be at least 10-15K monstrosity, spread over two to three perspectives. So...maybe American Thanksgiving? I'm hoping that I get three days off in a row coming up. Also, filling out paperwork for going to Japan and ensuring that I have enough money for it is gonna be fun. But that is neither here or there.

I will make a note, that I am making some changes to the Endbringers as a whole. They are not story-shattering, but I feel that in this story, it's better to change a few aspects here or there, and reinforce others for the narrative and story. I'll be posting patch notes at a later date. That is, once I've locked down all of the changes. But there is something here, so I figured forewarned is forearmed.

---

Sprout 3.1 Part 1

Danny Hebert

"We are once again urging-"

"Turn it off," the terse words escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Kent, their driver, didn't even spare him a look before he turned the dial off on the radio, leaving them in the silence only punctuated by the roar of the diesel engine propelling their semi towards Boston.

It had been seven hours since the Endbringer sirens had gone off, and when they had first sounded, he had been terrified that Brockton Bay was the target. That terror had quickly found itself supplanted by sickening realization as the phone alert system linked to Endbringers announced that Leviathan's target was Boston.

He knew as soon as Leviathan's target had been announced that Taylor would not be able to resist the clarion call to action. Nor was there any way he would be able to talk her out of doing so. They had cleared the air over that weeks ago, even if he still had misgivings about it. But he knew that this was the path his daughter wanted to take in life, and he had promised that he would support her, regardless of his feelings.

So he had steeled his heart and began doing what he did best: organizing the mobilization. It had been determined last week that they would need a minimum of nine semi trailers, with one being a flatbed in order to transport the Titan, as it was too large for an enclosed trailer. Three more trailers would carry the other machines in their enclosed shipping containers with additional fuel cells. After that, two more trailers would contain spare parts for the machines and store the chemicals that were used to convert biomatter into blaze.

And while the first six trailers revolved around the logistics necessary to support the machines' operation for two weeks, the last three trailers carried supplies that would be worth their weight in gold after an Endbringer battle: food, water, clothing, toiletries, sanitation products, and tools to help with the cleanup. It could not possibly match what Taylor was about to do, but to those who were just likely robbed of the essentials of modern civilization it would be a balm for the soul.

Speaking of which, he turned his head back to where Taylor was sitting in the back of the cab, sitting beside Quentin Tate, both of them poring over a laptop. They were talking with one another in hushed whispers as Taylor motioned towards something and Quentin nodded along with her.

He was worried about her. She had only gotten to sleep three hours before the Endbringer sirens had gone off, having just fixed the bug in the Titan's communication protocols. He knew that she was exhausted, and he had tried to get her to rest, but she had been adamant to monitor everything as the machines had loaded up. Her solution to her exhaustion had been to have one of her employees raid a nearby convenience store for energy drinks and stock her up. Even as she talked to Quentin, she took a sip from one of them.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his head back to the front, looking at the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the other lane, moving away from Boston. He had heard enough from the radio to know that the situation in Boston was bad. Usually, according to Taylor, attacks by Leviathan were provided with a small warning, usually no more than thirty minutes to an hour, just enough time for the Protectorate to begin to mobilize capes to attempt to repel the Endbringer. Only it seemed that Leviathan had provided less than fifteen minutes warning this time, leaving the defense of Boston woefully unprepared.

It was only because of Taylor's ability to glean information, and the few reports that were being shared via the radio going in, that they were able to peace together a glimpse of what had happened in Boston after that. But it took nearly an hour and a half of fighting before the Endbringer was finally driven off. But details were sparse, because there were issues getting any communications out of Boston whatsoever. Taylor was unsure of why, but only that it seemed to affect the Greater Boston area.

But these details were all beside the point, at least to Taylor. What mattered to her was that Boston had been devastated and there were likely thousands trapped in debris within the city. This was the very reason she had pushed so hard for the production of her machines to make a difference now instead of later.

He could only watch as his daughter suddenly reached up and tapped her ear.

"Jean, It's Taylor. Any news on Alain?"

The resultant frown told him just what the answer was.

"Okay, I'll look into it. I need you to do some things for me. I need you to reach out to the PRT, FEMA, FAA and the National Guard──No, I haven't had any luck contacting anyone, I'm hoping you can use Far Zenith's connections to get ahold of someone who can make decisions. Let them know what's on its way, and also find out if they need mobile network support, the Titan can link in quite a lot more if need be. Finally, see if you can find out if any drones are being deployed to Boston──Yeah, we're on the same page. If they have datalinks we can route them through the Titan and improve SAR efficiency. After that, see if you can get ahold of anyone with the Guild.──Yeah, Dragon. I tried reaching out to her but I'm only getting silence."

She stopped to listen to Jean, taking another sip from her energy drink. The fact that his daughter had apparently added a satellite uplink to her Focus was not even a surprise to him anymore. He had become inured at the various 'miracles' his daughter had become capable of.

"No, that's fine. I'll see what I can do on my end once we get to Boston. Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but we need to start diverting everything we can towards Hathor-model Focus production. The situation in Boston is a lot worse than I expected."

She paused, and tapped her Focus, and Jean's voice came through the satellite phone's speaker, allowing everyone to hear it in the cab.

"-Taylor, we've already had this discussion before you left. We're already stretched thinly as is, both in materials and manpower. If we divert production towards the Focus, we're going to have to reduce production on spare machine parts. We just don't have enough people to go around, and overtime as it is, is already going to be ruinous. And even if we start looking towards Focus production, the best we can manage is maybe one hundred units every three to four days..."

His daughter didn't say anything for a moment, instead closing her eyes, and he wondered exactly what she was going to say to that. He was firmly aware of the financial situation of the company, Jean constantly harped at him about it, because Taylor refused to listen to her.

"I know the timetables we are looking at to change production back to Foci, Jean. It can't be helped, but we only have five hundred of these as is, and it is not going to be enough, especially if my suspicions on why Boston's communications are down are right," she paused, chewing her lip, "Medhall isn't going to be any help, they are still a few months out on their first production run, and that's for the Horus model. What about the additions to the production team we had on standby, can we tap into them?"

"Taylor, we don't have the money for that. And even if you add them, that's maybe going to bump production up maybe another fifty to a hundred units in the same timeframe. Taylor, I think we need to settle on what we have."

"Can you reach out to Gene for me?"

There was a long pause from the other end, Jean, like himself, trying to figure out what Taylor was working towards.

"I can. May I ask why?"

Taylor was silent, turning her head and looking out the window, her expression inscrutable.

"Ask him," she hesitated, her head turning upwards to the roof of the semi, as if she were seeking divine providence, "ask him what it would take for him to provide an additional two million dollars."

Jean's silence on the other end was telling. Two million dollars was still quite a lot of money, even in the shadow of the money provided to start up Zero Dawn.

"Taylor, the company is already collateral for the startup loans. There is nothing we have on hand that we can offer that could back a request for that sum of money. Not to mention how it would make us look unreliable with our money. That is not the optics that you want or need as a new corporation. And even if you could get the money, it won't make a difference for those currently buried. They will be long dead before we can field any more units, Foci or otherwise, even if we could ramp up production now. You'd be better off seeing if he'd donate money for additional supplies for survivors."

To his surprise, Taylor didn't immediately answer, even though her expression suggested she was about to start arguing with Jean. Instead, she was silent, and he watched as she chewed the inside of her cheek, indicating both she was thinking about it, but also not liking what she was thinking.

"Taylor," Quentin spoke, but she shook her head towards him and he quieted.

"Okay, Jean. You're right," she reached up and massaged her face, exhaustion creeping through in her expression and body language, "why couldn't Leviathan give us another two or three weeks? I could have gotten us more money for additional Hathors and finished development of the Ptah. Reach out to Gene, see what you can get from him, you know him better than I do, if it's aid we can get, do it. I know we can get grants, and we will need machines going forward, especially if we want to help with Boston, but you are right, we need to focus on the most immediate impact we can provide right now."

Again, silence met them, before finally Jean answered, "I'm sorry, Taylor. I know you didn't want to hear that from me, but it needed to be said. I'll ask. I think Gene will be open to at least helping with the aid. But any more than that is going to be a tall order, I can at least get them to focus on maybe a few more spare parts, but anything larger is going to require another cash infusion we can't really afford to take loans on."

"And I appreciate it. We're all trying our best here. Just talk to him, see what he says. If he wants some sort of guarantee, I'll find a way, Jean," Taylor said after a pause, "just start shaking the trees for me. If it comes down to it, I'll do what I have to."

"I'll see what I can do, Taylor. I better get to work. Good luck."

"Same to you, Jean."

She then tapped her focus, and placed the sat phone down, taking a deep breath and then releasing it. She glanced up at him, and he wondered what was going through her mind right now. His daughter's single-minded drive for this moment, while admirable, was still a major risk. They hadn't the opportunity to truly test any of this, only Taylor's constant assurance that it would work driving this. If something went wrong, or worse, it failed completely, it would be devastating.

"Taylor-"

"I know," she cut him off, rubbing her tired eyes, "but we're looking at thousands, possibly tens of thousands, trapped. It will take days to get specialized SAR assets into the area thanks to the damage done to Logan. They'll probably shift a carrier battle group and the Comfort to assist, along with whatever heavy-lift rotor-wing aircraft they can scrape up. Anything that gives us an edge and saves even another life is not off the table. But for at least the next twenty-four hours we are on our own!"

"What about the Protectorate?"

She laughed bitterly, "Endbringer truces only last seventy-two to ninety-six hours from the first alert, depending upon the Endbringer and the target. Just enough time for the capes to fight, lick their wounds, collect their dead, and go back home for business as usual. There isn't even a dedicated unit to help with disaster relief, and because of politics, FEMA can't poach or even request capes who would be useful in disaster assistance. It's largely left to independent volunteers and capes that live in the affected area to pick up the pieces."

"Oh," and that's really all he could say on the matter. He was still learning as he went, this was still far outside his wheelhouse. The fact that Taylor was this well informed only lent credence that she had a far better understanding of the situation and that was why she was so adamant in producing more machines.

But it could be handled better, he felt. Jean had just as salient of a point in the fact that Zero Dawn was stretched thin financially, even with the sales beginning to come in from the materials sales, it was still not enough for the type of large expenditure Taylor was lobbying for. Yet at the same time, Taylor knew more of what was needed than he did.

It did help, however, that at least they were now communicating. Previously, he would have been unprepared for Taylor's request, but they had talked over the last week about what could take place and what contingencies she was planning for.

Honestly, it was amazing that she was planning so far in depth for what may or may not happen.

But even this was bordering on cataclysmic. Taylor's models had been good, but they didn't hold a candle to the reports that had been able to come out of Boston. The lack of sufficient warning had left many unable to reach the safety of shelter before Leviathan struck, stranding far too many to the mercies of the waves that were a staple of the Endbringer's attacks.

Taylor, however, had not been interested in that, as callous as that sounded. She was more interested in the status of Logan International Airport. The entire time they had been gathering together, she had been adamant to know exactly what its status was.

It had only been as they were getting into the semis, that they received the news that Logan International was, for all intents and purposes, completely gone. It had been the direct path of Leviathan, and the Endbringer had not excluded the airport from its wrath in its course for the center of Boston..

The way Taylor's face had closed off said enough.

Before he could say anything more, they were interrupted by Kent.

"Hey boss, state patrol up ahead, they're blocking the road."

He turned away from his daughter to look out the windshield, and sure enough, on the straight-away that would pass by the Randolph exits, was a single state patrol car sitting in the middle of the road, its lights flashing illuminating its surroundings in the fading light, with a wooden barricade set up to further block the road and force them on a path to take the exit to the right.

Taylor had moved up into the cabin and looked out, even as the semi slowed down.

"Pull up to them," Danny finally said, already drawing a picture that he was not necessarily liking. The only reason they would be shutting Route 24 down was either damage down the line, which was unlikely with the oncoming traffic in the other lane of the expressway, or they were trying to control what was coming into Boston.

Coming to a stop in the left lane of the expressway, Danny proceeded to get out of the truck, Taylorhot on his heels as he walked towards the trooper. By the reaction of the trooper, that was probably not the best way considering how he tensed, his expression wary.

"Officer," he called out.

"Sir, I need you to get back in the semi and turn off into Randolph," a young state trooper approached, his hand resting upon his sidearm, but not drawing it yet, but the threat was evident, "no unauthorized vehicles are allowed beyond this point."

"Officer, we're here to help. I'm Danny Hebert of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay. I have behind me nine semi-trailers with rescue equipment and humanitarian aid for Boston. We set out to help as soon as we got the word."

"I'm sorry sir, but my orders are clear. I cannot allow you to pass."

"Can you at least-"

"I'm sorry sir, but again I can't allow you any further."

"May I speak with your supervisor? I'm sure that we can work something out to get these supplies to Boston."

There was a pause from the trooper, as he seemed to be looking for something. Whatever it was that he was looking for he found as his shoulders slumped slightly, his hand moving away from the sidearm.

"There is no supervisor, sir," he admitted, exhaustion and resignation lacing his tone, "Leviathan knocked out communications from Boston, what we are getting is spotty at best, and my orders are to shut down Route 24 to all non-essential vehicles. I have my orders sir. I'm sorry."

I can't violate those orders, sir. I'm sorry."

It was beginning to look much worse than any of Taylor's models, he realized with horror, the implications readily obvious. Without consistent communications, whatever response and coordination coming from Boston was going to be a mess at best. It meant that currently every single command was doing their own things according to their own operating procedure, and many of them likely had procedures that interfered with others.

Which meant that a lot of people were going to die.

"What's your name, son," he asked sincerely. He couldn't even fathom what must be going through the trooper's head right now. An Endbringer attack in Boston, and he was forced to shut down a road outside of the city, without any real idea of what was going on, the only thing he was left with were his orders and his own thoughts. He didn't envy the trooper.

"Waldren, sir," the trooper replied stiffly.

"I understand you have your orders, but this is aid to an Endbringer disaster area. Is there any way I can convince you to let us through, Trooper Waldren?"

The man hesitated for a moment. It was obvious to anyone he was caught between doing the right thing and following the orders he had been given. And for a moment, he thought he had gotten through to the trooper, before the man finally shook his head.

"Sorry, sir. I can't. I'm going to once again ask you to turn your convoy into Randolph. If you are offering aid to Boston, then talk with the authorities there. They can likely coordinate something with you. But I have to keep this route closed to all non-essential vehicles."

"Okay, son," he replied, holding back a sigh of resignation at the failure to reach the man. He hated it, but he could also understand the trooper's plight and couldn't hold it against him in this situation. So he turned around, and he found Taylor was already walking back towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.

He then turned, and found Taylor was already walking towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.

Ah shit, he thought, even as he started jogging after her. He had just caught up with her as she opened the door to the semi.

"Kent, signal the rest of the trucks, unload now. Quentin, get out here, we're going to have to improvise."

She then started towards the back of the semi, even as a "Fuck," escaped from the cab courtesy of Quentin. Kent himself began talking into his radio, obviously passing Taylor's orders.

"Taylor," he started, barely keeping up with her stride as she moved, "what are you doing?"

"What does it look like," she shot back, "if they won't let us through, I'll just go around."

"Go around," he repeated, and everything clicked into place, and he fought the urge to panic, "Taylor it's nearly twenty miles to Boston."

"Which I can cover in an hour with the LRL," she returned, coming to a stop at the back of the tarp, reaching up with her hands. Her fingers began moving as if she were typing, occasionally stopping to swipe her hand in the air. He didn't know exactly what she was doing, but with her Focus she had what she referred to as an augmented reality system that allowed her to interact with devices freely without needing a computer.

"Taylor, that isn't what we planned for. You told me that you needed a forward base so you could resupply and maintain the units. If you do this, you won't have any of that logistical support for god knows how long."

She paused, her hands hanging in the air.

"I know," she finally breathed, "but I'm not going to be deterred, Dad. If I can save even one life, then the cost is worth it. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

He wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream at her. To tell her that this was a mistake, that her life was worth more than anyone that she could save. But instead, he kept it back, because he knew it would be pointless. This was his daughter in a nutshell, she didn't care about the personal cost to her, all that mattered to her was that she was able to save lives.

Instead, he sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Okay," he finally said, "What do we need to do?"

"The energy demands for this run are going to push the envelope on projections, we're going to have to lash as many extra fuel cells as we can to the Titan. It's a stopgap measure, but until we can get more support, it's the best option available. When I get to the disaster area, I should be able to get someone to actually let you guys through. Just wait for me."

He frowned, not liking what his daughter was saying. He intellectually understood what she was working towards, but the father in him did not like hearing it.

"Taylor, let me go with you," he pleaded, knowing that ordering her would achieve nothing. The idea that his daughter was planning to go alone into a disaster area was nearly too much. Why couldn't she just do the safe thing and wait?

Before she could answer, Quentin came up to them, the laptop in hand, "What do you need of me, Taylor?"

"I need you to do one more review of the stowed Focuses on the Titan. I have some suspicions as to why the trooper is only getting sporadic communications from Boston, and if it's true we'll need every single one of them ready to go."

"Roger that," the man nodded, turning back towards the cab, even as he began getting back to work on the laptop. As he did that, several men that had ridden along on the semis were congregating around them.

"Okay," Taylor called out, her voice carrying in air that might as well be still, "we're debarking the machines. We'll start with the Titan first, then the Watchers and Scrappers, and finally the Charger. I need you guys to ensure that they get off safely. We won't be able to unload any of the supplies or replacement parts for more than likely twenty-four hours, so make sure they don't get dinged. Ramirez, Brown, Eaton, and Yaxley, I need you to lash as many Fuel Cells to the Titan as you can as soon as we get it off the semi. We're going to have to do all of this on the fly, so let's do it right the first time, okay?"

The corresponding calls of acknowledgement caused him to swell with pride. Even at fifteen years old, she seemed to have taken the best of him, and combined it with the force of will of Annette, and shaping it into something uniquely her own. When she was like this, she had the presence that could make men and women triple her age snap to attention and follow her command without a question.

Satisfied her orders were out and getting done, she turned to him, providing him an answer to his question, "I need you here, Dad. On the sat phone with Jean and letting her know what's going on. I need you ready to move all of this on a moment's notice, these men and women respect you and will move through hell for you."

"They'll do the same for you, Taylor."

"But I need to be out there, guiding the machines, Dad. Even with all of the effort I have put into making them capable of independent action, it has to be a human hand that gives them their orders. I can't do that if I know I won't have reinforcements when we finally get the green light to move in the supplies."

"Don't move!"

Both of their head snapped towards the highway patrolman, who had moved up on them, but he had his gun in hand, drawn and leveled upon them, even as his eyes darted towards the Titan as the canvas had been removed from the storage container, and it was bared for all to see.

"What the fuck is this," the trooper demanded.

"Rescue equipment," Taylor turned towards him, "I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies. I am also Alloy, an independent cape. These machines are meant to assist in search and rescue. And under the Endbringer Truce, you are illegally obstructing a cape attempting to render aid to a disaster area."

"And what's-"

"Sir, I did not spend spend the last month and almost ten million dollars putting this together in some sort of convoluted attempt at suicide. I'm here to save lives," she then paused as a Burrower skulked up beside her, the machine being disturbingly quiet in its approach, "and you're in my way."

For a moment, he worried that Taylor had pushed too hard as the trooper's expression hardened for a moment. But then his features softened as he slowly lowered his weapon, his shoulders sagging slightly in what could only be described as relief.

.

"You're actually going to help," he asked.

"I am."

A few more moments of silence met them, before he nodded, "Alright. I'll let you through."

The trooper then turned and headed back to the roadblock, leaving them alone. But before he could say anything to Taylor, she moved towards the back of the second rig and he found himself following her.

"Ethan, you have it?"

"Yes, Taylor," came the response of Ethan, who handed her a thick jacket, one that not only provided warmth, but by its weave, it was also meant to provide protection. Taylor slipped off the slight jacket she was wearing and handed it to him, before putting the new one on.

"Taylor, what are you doing," he asked.

"I'm going on ahead," she stated as she zipped up the jacket, "Keep unloading, Ethan."

"Right, ma'am."

Instead of being angry as Ethan moved to rejoin the others, he sighed, knowing that the decision was already made, but even if that was true, it was his job as a father to try and convince her otherwise. Even if he didn't even think it was the wrong decision.

"Taylor, if you stay with us, we can reach the staging point that they are likely putting together and set up. That way you won't have to worry about supplies, and we can start coordinating with local law enforcement and anyone else."

The shake of her head told him all that he needed to know, as she reached into the bag and pulled out an odd device. It was a breathing mask of some kind, but one that he didn't recognize. She unclasped the strap, reaching up and securing it behind her head, leaving the mask to rest around her neck.

"If they are shutting Route 24 off at Randolph, that means that they are likely using I-93 as a main supply route. By breaking off, I can reach whatever command center they have set up long before the convoy could get there and arrange things. That way we can get set up before nightfall and get our orders on what to do. But I have to go now, especially if they are trying to control traffic into 93, with my machines, I can follow the interstate without getting caught in any of the traffic."

She then paused, looking towards him, "I just want to save lives, Dad. And every minute saved could be the difference for a lot of trapped people."

His heart leapt in pride, even as it was tempered by fear. His daughter's singular focus on saving lives had driven them to this point, and it appeared that it would keep driving them damn the consequences. He honestly could not be more proud of her if he could.

"You'll be alone out there, Taylor. We won't be able to back you up if something goes wrong."

Taylor's silence was telling, because it told him that she was at least listening. Even if he knew, deep down, that it was an exercise in futility.

"Being smart will count for nothing if you don't make the world better. You have to use your smarts to count for something, to serve life, not death."

"What?"

She shook her head, "I'm sorry. It's something that I keep thinking about in all of this. I have all this knowledge Dad, but if I don't use it, then what is the point? I'm the only person who can do this, right here, right now. Not a week from now, when it may be too late for dozens and maybe hundreds."

She zipped up the jacket, her expression resolute.

"I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do this."

He didn't say anything, because honestly, what was there to say? Instead, he pulled his daughter into a bone-crushing hug, trying to ignore the tears starting to trek down his face.

"Okay, Little Owl," he said softly, trying not to choke on his words, "I'm not going to stop. Just be careful and keep in contact."

"I can do you one better," she responded, leaving him confused, before opening a case she extracted from the duffel bag, opening it up to him.

"Taylor, I-," he lost his words looking at the Focus currently resting in the case before him.

"It's not as powerful or as customized as mine, but it will run circles around all of the ones on the Titan. I've disabled most of the user-side inputs, so everything needs to be accessed through manipulating the augmented reality interface. I don't recommend moving while doing that until you are comfortable doing so."

"Taylor. Why are you doing this? You know I'm pants with this technology."

"That's why the controls are simplified," was her response, still holding it out to him even in spite of his protests, "I have it paired to my device, so you can access what I am seeing on choice. That way you know what I am doing and how I am doing."

He stared at the device again, before looking back to his daughter. Unlike before, he took the time to truly take her in, knowing the efforts that must have gone into this. In recent weeks, he had begun to really learn just how to read his daughter, despite her own efforts to hide it. And right now, in spite of her attempts to appear calm, she was an open and ready book despite his inability to see her eyes.

There was hope there, even in spite of the fact that he had already given her his blessing, that he would readily embrace what she was doing. Not out of grudging admittance that he had no choice, that she would bull through him regardless, but ready acceptance.

In spite of the tough front she put up, deep down, she was still that fifteen year old teenager looking for acceptance from her sole remaining parental figure.

It was too much, as he surged forward and wrapped her into a hug. Sure, it was maybe a bit too much, hugging his daughter out in public like this, but he couldn't help himself at the pride he felt in her. It had been a worry not three weeks ago that her would lose her, that to see her now, going to such extents to include him.

"I'm proud of you," he said, and his daughter stiffened in his hug, before relaxing slightly. He then released her after a few moments, stepping back slightly.

"Okay, show me how to use this."

---

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[AlSmash]

Made a mad rush to get this part out before American Thanksgiving. Wanted something for you guys to digest alongside whatever it is you choose to consume for those who celebrate for the holiday. Not a lot to say here, just keep not meeting my deadlines and schedules due to energy and stress levels. It's probably going to get a lot worse soon, as I am working to conjure up enough money for Japan in April. That means picking up additional shifts and probably doing some gig work. Which means less time to write.

That, and I'm dragging my ass to the gym. Need to get healthier and reduce the strain on my knee.

Anyways, enough about my personal bullshit, you all want the chapter, not to listen to my drivel.

Nothing really overall to note, I'm doing a bit of a darker angle on Lexy I feel, but it's based out of her own biases and beliefs, than any type of of malice. I'm introducing a bit of an easter egg, but no, he is not THAT man, though, but it fits.

As for Taylor, well, we get to see a bit of how the Focus operates. The fact of the matter is, we don't know much of the Focus, outside of how it operates within game. So I'm working to build at least something into it to make it work. There will be further exploration into it going forward.

I'm currently unsure if Part 3 will be the final part, or we're gonna drag out a Part 4. I'll get back to you on that via my discord once I know what the hell I'm going to do.

Finally, I want to thank Ansraer, Reynard, BigBadBen, Geas, and Tigers-Tall-Tails for all of the assistance. Especially Tigers, as they helped work me out of a serious rut and kicked my ass back into gear.

---

Sprout 3.1 Part 2

Alexandria

Far too many, if they were in her position as she flew through the fading light and caught a glimpse of the ruins of the once great city of Boston, would only have one question dominating their shell-shocked minds.

How could this have happened?

But to Rebecca Costa-Brown - to Alexandria - There was no great revelation. No great secret. There was only the cold, unvarnished truth.

They had grown complacent.

They had grown confident in their analysis of Leviathan. They had believed that they knew exactly what the hydrokinetic Endbringer was capable of. They had made models built upon the foundation of fifteen years of data, confident that they had divined the full breadth of its abilities.

Complacency was why; when he had settled into the Laurentian Abyss, thereby indicating where he was likely to strike once the Endbringer window opened, she had authorized the placement of Tinkertech sensors and sonar arrays in the area. It would serve as an early warning net so they would have word when he eventually moved.

They had been secure in the knowledge that, based upon previous attacks by Leviathan, it should work. That they could use it as a model that would save the tens of thousands of lives from future attacks.

They could not have been more wrong.

Their only warning had been mere minutes before Leviathan's landfall. And it had only been because of luck and the USS Kidd, an Arleigh Burke-class Guided Missile Destroyer, that they had any warning whatsoever. The destroyer had been on a shakedown cruise after finishing a refit at Bath Iron Works in Maine. The Commanding Officer had been running sonar tests when they had detected Leviathan two hundred miles from Boston. Immediately he had raised the alert, even as Leviathan accelerated to nearly four hundred knots away from Kidd.

The alert had been met with skepticism. Not from his superiors, but from the PRT itself. Even as the captain was sounding all the alarms he could and the Kidd was plotting the Leviathan's track in the direction of Boston, the sensors placed to monitor Leviathan were reporting that the Endbringer was still in the Laurentian Abyss. It was only a few minutes later, however, that it was revealed to their horror as Leviathan disappeared from their scopes in the Abyss, that he was no longer there.

Precious minutes were wasted between initial contact and when the Endbringer sirens were sounded. But by then, it was already too late for many to get to safety. The tidal wave that was a staple of Leviathan's initial assault had rolled through Massachusetts Bay without impediment, tearing through the various islands and islets before slamming head-on into Logan International Airport, wiping it away as Leviathan made a path straight for downtown Boston.

As this was taking place, Leviathan revealed yet another previously unknown ability. While it began its assault, the atmosphere in and around Boston became charged, the sudden massive change to the clouds, along with the rapid speed, built up a large-scale and persistent ionic discharge. Electronics, the lifeblood of American society, suddenly found themselves fried, or in the case of those hardened to resist such energetic situations, unable to reliably communicate with the outside world.

Even more time was lost after that initial landfall and without stable communications, there was no coordination to quickly mount a counteroffensive against the Endbringer. What happened next was that the Boston Protectorate and villains found themselves on their own, even as the rest of the Protectorate attempted to mobilize under the Endbringer Truce. But without communications the incoming assets did not know where to establish a staging point, or even where it was safe to place medical personnel.

What resulted was a piecemeal counteroffensive, launched from the outskirts of the greater Boston area. Without the ability to even communicate through Dragon's armbands, there was nothing cohesive to their defense. Many capes were injured, with quite a few killed, simply because there was no ability to coordinate, as Leviathan used the weather and terrain to its advantage. There were even instances where the Endbringer would simply disappear into the pouring rain, only to strike out elsewhere like a ghost. All the while, lightning was falling everywhere, as the weather manipulation that had robbed them of communications had also provided Leviathan with an additional weapon to its arsenal.

This was certainly not the usual behavior of the Endbringer. They had been used to Leviathan's hit and runs, of course, using the tributaries and waterways of its targets in order to mount attacks. But it hadn't shown previously any ability to manipulate weather patterns in such a way to create mass lightning storms and electromagnetic interference.

But in the end, these tactics, as different and effective as they were, were unable to stop it from being driven off thanks to the sacrifices of several capes. Leviathan suffered significant damage thanks to a weapon from a Brockton Bay cape, though said cape was currently being treated due to his weapon having overloaded and exploding in his face.

It was something that she would have to further investigate once she had the time. Kid Win had certainly put a spotlight upon himself in spite of the injuries he had suffered. If he could produce a weapon like the one used against Leviathan, then maybe with the appropriate resources he could do something more if…nudged in the right manner.

But that was the future, not the present. And the present was a harsh enough reality as it was.

The local Protectorate and PRT Boston were effectively gone. Director Armstrong and Bastion were dead, with most of the Protectorate, and a large portion of the Wards also dead or walking casualties. The PRT was reporting eighty-three percent force casualties incurred in the chaos with many of those casualties suffered when the Boston HQ was destroyed in the initial minutes of the attack.

Likewise, the state and local governments were also ravaged. Too many officials and functionaries with any capacity for leadership had been gathering for the economic summit and gala.

Even the local villain scene was devastated. The Teeth were done as a functional gang. Outside of Vex, every single Teeth cape was dead. But even more worryingly, Butcher was missing. The last sighting of the fourteenth iteration of the cape had her fighting Leviathan and then nothing after. It was safe to say that there was a high chance that the cape was dead, and as a result, both Legend and herself were keeping a wide berth from the downtown business district in order to prevent a chance of becoming the fifteenth Butcher. Even if there was evidence that Butcher could not migrate to any Cauldron capes, it was better to be safe than sorry.

But to add to the proverbial shit sundae of all of it? The Vice President was currently missing and more than likely dead. The probability of Jack Ryan's survival while being in the epicenter of Leviathan's attack were statistically so close to zero that it was worthless to calculate.

There was a part of her that was relieved that 'The Cardinal of DC' was dead. Whether it was clashing over policy and how capes should be utilized, or him and his proxies sticking their nose where they shouldn't be, the man had been a persistent thorn in her side. The fact that he was positioning himself for the Presidency had left her many sleepless nights, despite Contessa's assurances that it was part of the Path.

So while his death would simplify her life, it created its own set of issues. There was no doubt in her mind that there would be blowback for his death, as one last fuck you from the man. The president had become far too close to Ryan over the years, despite her attempts at preventing it, and the fact that it had been the Protectorate and PRT that actively hindered an advanced warning on Leviathan's approach was likely to bring Durling's ire upon her.

It would be inconvenient, to say the least, what was likely to result soon. There would likely be a thorough investigation, and with the jackals in human skin that resided within the confines of the machine in DC, everyone and their dog would soon know what allegedly went wrong and who was to blame. Just the fact that she would likely have to suffer through several congressional panels and investigations for unimportant functionaries obsessed with their self-worth made her want to find Ryan to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was truely dead and not using this as some elaborate spy plot. It sounded like something out of a novel, but she wouldn't put it past the man.

But that was her personal feelings and thoughts talking. What mattered was the mission, everything else was secondary. She would persevere and the Plan would continue uninterrupted, and with Ryan gone, at least her part would be easier going forward.

So why did she continue to feel uneasy?

Discarding her feelings, she came to a stop and slowly descended, spotting the command post, and the further-in-the-distance medical tents that had been hastily put together to coordinate operations within Boston. Awaiting her was a familiar face and the way his expression was closed off, she knew she was not going to like the news that she was going to hear before she went in for this meeting.

"Legend," she greeted, choosing to keep herself a few inches above the ground. It Wouldn't to get mud all over her boots.

"Alexandria," he returned, his tone flat. For someone as expressive and personable as him, he may as well have been screaming to the heavens just how angry he currently was.

"How bad is it," she asked, even as she floated past him and headed toward the command center.

"The line of succession for Massachusetts is gone."

She froze, her mind parsing the information for a moment, even as she recalled the line of succession for the state. That meant that not only was the Governor dead, but so was the Lieutenant Governor, Secretary of State, Attorney General, Treasurer and Receiver General, and State Auditor. Which meant the state was currently without a legally-appointed leader until something could be organized or the courts could rule upon.

Which meant a major element of the rescue and recovery was leaderless.

She had to wonder if that was intentional, but then quickly dismissed it. Endbringers picked their targets based upon the local cape situation, usually when activity or events reached a certain conflict threshold. There was nothing to indicate a departure from this model of operation. Boston was relatively stable, but there had been some indications that a possible second iteration of the Boston Games was brewing. Perhaps that was what drew Leviathan's attention?

"What is our status," she finally asked, really not liking the picture her mind was putting together.

"Communications are still unreliable, the only good news is that the interference is dying down and hopefully will be gone within the next few hours, then we should have a clearer idea of what we have left. I don't expect we will be happy with what we'll have. Strider is currently acting as a message runner to DC, but he's going to need downtime after he returns from New York with the FEMA team from over there. The really bad news is that thanks to what Leviathan did the National Weather Service is now predicting another major thunderstorm with heavy rains arriving within the next forty-eight hours, upwards of three inches of downfall and temperatures dropping below freezing"

It just had to be worse.

"What about the local FEMA branch?"

"Dead or missing," was his terse response, "their building was downtown, along with most of the other organizations disaster relief would be reliant upon. The only good news is we have the USS Kidd out in the bay, and the Colonel from Hanscom Air Force Base has brought a convoy over here with people and aid. He's also trying to jury-rig up a communications relay system that may be able to get around the interference. But other than that, we're right back to square one."

And we can't assume leadership because it is not within our remit, she thought with a hint of irritation. It was a decision that she had made years ago, in order to segregate capes from the government, but also prevent the optics of capes taking control of things like this, creating the wrong message.

Now it was coming to bite them in the ass.

Drawing in a breath, she counted to ten, before releasing it, organizing her thoughts with the new data, trying to figure out just what they could do in lieu of everything. It was one of the perks of having a memory such as hers, it was a literal data repository that she often used to gain an advantage over her opponents.

"Okay. We're going to have to lean on the military."

This drew a blink from her counterpart, as he stared at her as if she had grown a second head. It was obviously something he would never expect her to say.

"What?"

"Without legitimate state leadership, there is not much the federal government can do beyond the basics for rendering aid. We have to be invited to do things, and even with the Endbringer Truce, we are on a timetable. As long as there is no governor, or the local politicians can't get creative, the only way to get around that would be to lean upon the local military leadership to assume control until something can be arranged. We'll need Strider to head to DC after this, see if we can get Durling to issue an order reflecting this."

"You're talking about a Colonel, Alexandria. I'm not sure that is going to fly with the local politicians. They're too busy arguing over who should be in charge."

"Then we'll give them no choice in the matter," she declared, "Who's the Colonel?"

"Herres."

The name didn't ring a bell. Which probably would make it easier for them in the long run. Having a relatively no-name Colonel to blame for the disaster relief would make things easier to take the heat off the Protectorate.

"Okay, we'll push him into-"

"What the fuck?!"

The sudden exclamation made her head snap in the direction of Shadow Stalker, who was busy staring out from the field command center towards a group of military trucks that were coming down the road in the fading light. But it wasn't that that drew the reaction, it was what was moving beside them.

Immediately, she brought herself around, readying herself for a possible fight, even as she took in the machines that were moving in a loose formation beside the convoy. The blue lights coming from the machines were almost blinding for eyes that had adjusted to the encroaching night. It was only the polarized glass on her mask that prevented the glare from blinding her. But it also provided her an ability to count that there were nine machines of four different models. In the front was a man-sized quadrupedal machine, moving with the gait of a large canine. Four of the other machines were human-sized and bipedal; long necks and long tails with a cylindrical body. Their head could best be described as a giant blue flashlight. Sensors maybe? Another two were shorter, but longer machines, and she couldn't help but see some sort of resemblance to a weasel in how they scampered along. Behind those two was a machine with a rhinoceros-like head that towered over them. Comparing it to the military truck that it was pacing next to, it was clear that it was even taller than that, and it certainly backed it up with mass, as the sounds of its footfalls grew in volume as it approached.

But it was the last machine that drew her attention, the one closest to one of the trucks. It was a machine that looked like a facsimile of a horse, but with curled horns like a ram. On its back rode a person. Even in the distance, there was a soft glow on the side of her head, even if she couldn't make out any other features.

It seemed that Shadow Stalker's exclamation had drawn quite a lot of attention, as people were reacting at the sight that was approaching them. Which was perfectly understandable, the Endbringer fight was already over, why would anyone be arriving after it, unless they were here to cause trouble.

Thankfully, no one made a move yet, as the trucks finally came to a stop a short ways away, and the machines did as well. The door to the truck opened, and out stepped a soldier, just as the figure on the back of the horse machine dismounted allowing Alexandria to get a better look at what she know realized was a teenage girl

She was certainly not dressed in what you would expect for a cape. In fact, she looked inordinately mundane outside of the breathing mask around her neck and the glowing circle hovering over a device at her temple…

Immediately, she knew who she was looking at, but before she could do or say something, another man walked past her. She didn't get a good look at the man other than he was dressed in BDUs, but he carried an air of being a man used to being in charge. He came to a stop and the man beside the woman came to attention. She took the time to get closer, just so she could hear what was being exchanged.

"Sergeant, good to see you," the man greeted.

"Sorry, we're running behind, sir. We ran into some trouble coming in. Corporal Yates nearly lost a truck when the road washed out, and if it wasn't for Miss Hebert here, we would have to leave his truck behind. But sir, I think you need to hear this."

This must be Herres, she realized, even as the Colonel turned his head towards Taylor Hebert.

"Thank you for assisting my men, Miss Hebert. What is it you have for me?"

---

AEH​

---

Aaron Herres II

Earlier

What an absolute clusterfuck!

That was the thought racing through his head as Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Herres II, United States Air Force, watched as the civilian 'leaders' of the great state of Massachusetts began to argue once again about who was in charge. This was now the fourth such instance he was witness to since he had arrived.

"You don't have the authority to do that! A minimum quorum is required befo…"

"Hang the bloody quorum. We need leadership now, and that passes through seniority..."

"Precedent says that the judicial branch takes control in.."

When the Endbringer Alert had sounded, he had been at Hanscom Air Force Base, inspecting several of the projects ongoing at the base at the behest of the Pentagon.

The damned alert always caused him to pause. The memories of the doomed Operation Autumn Thunder, the combined US military's first, and last, attempt to destroy an Endbringer came to the forefront again. The feeling of helplessness as everything that they threw at Behemoth proved utterly useless as the beast wiped out some of the best and brightest of the Army, Air Force, and Marines.

He had been one of the lucky survivors, though he never felt it. Because instead of a swift death, he lived to bear witness to the slow strangulation of his beloved Air Force. Autumn Thunder had not only been a military disaster, but it heralded a dramatic shift in government priority and funding. It hadn't been the military that drove back Behemoth that day, it had been the nascent Protectorate, spearheaded by its four founders.

To be fair, the blame didn't truly lie solely in the hands of the Protectorate. The emergence of capes, the collapse of the Soviet Union and People's Republic of China, and the erosion of the world economy, had caused some very pointed questions to be asked about the military budget. Too many threats and responsibilities were simply not there anymore to rationalize such massive expenditures. Especially with the domestic issues that were beginning to rear their ugly heads on the criminal and economic fronts.

The failure of Autumn Thunder had been the final nail in the coffin of the argument and the futile expenditure of billions of dollars in hardware and loss of thousands of servicemen and women provided the grave marker. Across the board, every military branch found their budgets reduced by levels not seen since the Great Depression. With the stroke of a pen, the strongest military in the history of the world found itself a shadow of its former self.

The first to go were the overseas bases, abandoning alliances that had lasted for decades. Returning troops came home to stateside posts that were shrinking by the day. Ships and planes were mothballed, army bases closed their doors, recruiting stations were closed. Air-Force bases and runways were sold to the civilian air industry. DARPA, the research arm of the US military, was, after a few tinker integration disasters, slashed to the bone. Servicemen drifted into the various diminished National Guard units, private security companies, or even the newly formed PRT.

To this day, the only reason he wasn't discharged from the Air Force was because of his father, a retired colonel, pulling some strings. But in the face of massive cuts, the Air Force, like the rest of the military, decommissioned their forces en masse in order to meet budget targets. It was a chaotic time, with far too many being served their discharge papers without any warning as air wings and bases were shut down wholesale.

Yet even though he was safe from the butcher's knife of cutbacks, his 33rd Fighter Wing, or rather what was left of it, was not so fortunate. It had been one of the first units decommissioned, ostensibly because they no longer had the budget to reconstitute it back to full strength. But the truth was far harsher: The higher-ups in the Air Force viewed Autumn Thunder, and the component units involved, as a source of shame. It was much easier to decommission 'cursed units' than it was to do it to intact units.

He was never going to fly again. No amount of pull or favors would get jets in the air, and fuel in the tanks. It had almost been enough for him to resign his commission. But it turns out, even when everything was falling apart, there were opportunities to be found. With the near death of DARPA, they struggled to find anyone they could. Most of their staff being poached by private interests, or the rising power of the PRT. So he found himself traveling the country, overseeing several projects the Air Force still had operational. Administration had been a minor interest from his days in flight school, and it had ended up serving him well by keeping him in uniform.

And now he was in Boston. Listening to idiots.

"I will have my staff research the amendment! The Law is on my side."

"The only staff you have are interns, who haven't wised up to your ways! You're unfit!"

He turned and stormed out through the flap of the command tent, letting the bickering fools continue to argue. No leadership was going to come with them, it would likely take communications being reestablished with DC that maybe, just maybe, sanity would be allowed to once again prevail and they could work towards actually saving lives.

Glancing towards his watch, a gift from his father, he noted that Sergeant Forsythe was running behind. He should have been back by now with the rest of the gear needed to establish a communications relay chain. It would be a crude solution, but whatever interference Leviathan had created was leaving them on an island when they needed all the help they could get, and it was likely the only way they could get around it for the time being.

Idly, he noted Alexandria and Legend discussing something, but dismissed them just as quickly. Legend may as well have doubled as furniture in that room. As a federal officer, he had just as much weight as he did, and probably even less, because the man would be on his way in a few days anyway.

Just what inspired the insanity that was the Protectorate, he would never understand. As a federal organization, it boggled the mind at just how inefficiently it operated, with so many policies and standards that only served to get in its own way. It was a small miracle that it was capable of operating as it was, only being held together by the personalities of its leader and local commanders.

Reaching towards his pocket, he fought back a grimace as it found it lacking the telltale comfort of his cigarettes. The mad rush down to Boston had not afforded him the opportunity to resupply, and he had foolishly spent what he had left trying to keep his calm in the face of absolute incompetence.

"What a shit show."

His head turned to take in the figure of First Lieutenant Anthony Adams, his assistant. The man might officially be an assistant, but really he was meant to shadow and learn from him. Officer training schools weren't exactly flush with cash, and the Air Force had thus instituted a program that focused more heavily on in the field training. His eyes then caught the offered cigarette held out to him. Grunting in appreciation, he took it from the other man, before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a light. He then flipped it open, and holding the flame to the other man who leaned in with his own cigarette and lit it. The action completed, he then took the time to light his own cigarette, before closing the lighter with an audible clink.

"Agreed," he declared after finishing taking a deep inhalation of the cancer stick and releasing the noxious fumes. The man shared a quiet moment as he considered his options, none of them to his liking.

"Status on the Seahawk," he asked, only to be rewarded with a shake of the other man's head.

"According to Lieutenant Simmons, it's not going to be able to go anywhere. He suspects that it's something in the rotor system, but he won't be sure until they can get it into a maintenance bay and strip it down to the individual screws."

Closing his eyes, he took another deep drag from the cigarette, analyzing the development and how it affected the current situation.

Without the Kidd's Seahawk, their ability to communicate with the outside world for the time being remained a relay system that may work, or Strider, the independent cape. Unfortunately, Strider was currently due to be indisposed thanks to exhaustion from already acting as the main mode of transportation for capes in the initial counterattack on Leviathan and then serving as a runner for hours afterwards. It was made clear that any further usage would be disastrous until he could rest. And no other flight-capable capes were offering their services, preferring to do their own things spread out across the city. Well meaning, but a fragmented response was sometimes worse than no response at all.

It came back to the relay system.

And even if it reestablished a connection with the outside world, it still came back to the fact that there was no local governance that could make the hard decisions necessary in this situation. Any solution to the matter would take too damn long, and they were in a fight against the clock.

There was one possible solution, but it was a dated measure that had never been practiced, only explored as a theoretical contingency in the event of a nuclear attack. The only reason he even knew of its existence was because he had been privy to several deep discussions in the Pentagon on the matter of Endbringers. Contrary to what the Protectorate would want, the military had not forgotten its oath, and it had certainly explored scenarios involving the Endbringers and capes.

No, he had no choice in the matter, and he would be damned once he did it. But he could not sit idly by and allow tens of thousands of people to be sacrificed for the egos of self-important men who couldn't think of anything but their own selfish pursuits, even in the face of catastrophe.

Opening his mouth, he prepared to commit himself, when a sudden shout drew his attention to a teenaged cape decked out in grays and blacks. He then followed her gaze toward the road and found himself blinking at the sight before him.

There was the military convoy that he was expecting from Sergeant Forsythe, but it was what was accompanying it that caused him to stop and take a moment to process what exactly he was witnessing.

As one of the troubleshooters for project management, he was required to be kept abreast of parallel developments. But a large portion of discussions also stemmed from the exploration of reverse engineering Tinkertech into something that could be mass produced. That meant that he was aware of almost every single known Tinker in North America.

What was coming down the road was not of any design or theme that he was aware of.

Recognizing that whatever it was that was coming his way, was likely somehow involved in the delay of his convoy, he flicked the cigarette to the ground, letting nature take its course as the rain-soaked ground extinguished it. The action done, he strode towards where the vehicles were approaching, taking the time to analyze what he could only describe as animal-themed machines, drinking in their details as he attempted to divine their function.

He felt that he had figured out most of them by the time they came to a stop before him, and he watched as Sergeant Forsythe disembarked from the truck, alongside another figure that jumped off a machine that looked like a horse with a ram's horns. Strange choice for personal transportation, but he wasn't sure what to make of any further function.

Four of the machines were obviously a sensor platform of some type. He had already put together that the glowing blue pieces where eyes were on other machines was likely the same, only taken to an extreme level with their cyclopic nature. It also helped that even after stopping, they were acting like prey animals, constantly scanning their surroundings.

There were two smaller machines, but he was unsure of what purpose that they could serve. They scuttled about in a way that reminded him of weasels, and they certainly looked to have sharp 'claws' at the end of their legs. What those were for, however, the jury was still out, though he leaned toward the probability judging by the animal theme, was likely for digging.

Of the machines the canid-themed one looked the most threatening. Even at this distance he could make out the various grinders and blades that made up its 'mouth'. It could easily rip and tear whatever it was put to, but the fact that there was only one reduced the overall threat in his mind. Could it be for another purpose? Maybe digging? But the shape of it was wrong.

His gaze then fell to the largest machine, one that worriedly was larger than the truck that had brought Sergeant Forsythe. The machine's purpose was a question mark. He wanted to say that it was a communications design, judging by the various antennas and spikes. But for something that size it seemed rather inefficient as a design. There was probably more to it, but it escaped him.

And then Sergeant Forsythe was before him, offering a salute in recognition.

"Sergeant, good to see you," he greeted, returning the salute.

"Sorry, we're running behind, sir. We ran into some trouble coming in. Corporal Yates nearly lost a truck when the road washed out, and if it wasn't for Miss Hebert here, we would have to leave his truck behind. But sir, I think you need to hear this."

He nodded, before looking over 'Miss Hebert'.

She was young, painfully so. Though he found himself wondering why the girl was wearing black glasses when night would be falling soon. The glowing triangle on the side of her head was even more noteworthy.

"Thank you for assisting my men, Miss Hebert. What is it that you have for me?"

"As Sergeant Forsythe said, I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay," she declared, holding out her hand to shake, and he took it, taking note of the solid grip that raised his assessment for her, "I have three sixteen-wheelers full of aid supplies on the highway right now about half-an-hour out."

She then retrieved her hand and turned, and he found himself following her as she approached the arranged machines, "I've also got this. A Light Rescue Lance rated for search and rescue in any environment. They operate semi-independently, but work best alongside rescue crews."

He found himself frowning, appreciating the proffered help, but hating the position that it would place him in, "Look Miss Hebert, we appreciate it, but we just can't take…"

"I'm not done yet," she interrupted him. His brow raised slightly as he adjusted his assessment of the girl.

It took quite a bit of confidence that you didn't see in many young people to interrupt a soldier. And from her expression, it was the confidence not borne of cockiness either.

She came to a stop near the largest machine, wrapping her knuckles against its side. The machine huffed in a remarkably lifelike fashion, before bending at the knees dropping its large bulk to the ground in a lying position. She then took a few steps back to the flank of the machine, tapping against it slightly. In response to the motion, a panel opened up, revealing carefully arrayed stacks of hard cases. Dozens of them. Reaching in, she slid one out, before turning towards him and opening it up to reveal dozens of triangle devices slightly smaller than the one affixed to her temple.

"I'm going to hazard a guess, Colonel, that the reason you are all unable to talk with one another is because Leviathan used his hydrokinesis to create something similar to a localized Carrington-style event. Most communications and electronics are knocked out because they are not hardened for such an event, and the residual electrons currently in the local atmosphere are disrupting any abilities to send and receive communications."

"I cannot confirm the specifics of what you are suggesting, Miss Hebert. But, you are correct on the continuing difficulty in reestablishing communications."

She nodded, before reaching into the case and retrieving the device and holding it out on the palm of her hands, "I can help with that. This is a Focus. It is a multipurpose sensory interface with point-to-point communications, capable of audio and video recording and transmission. The control interface operates through an augmented reality system that responds to hand gestures and voice commands. It will cut through the interference and make it possible for you to be able to communicate and coordinate."

And thereby speed up the rescue and save lives, he added, finding himself respecting the girl further for not trying to appeal to emotion. He stared at those black glasses, before found his gaze drawn back to the device resting in her hands.

"Tinkertech," he asked, keeping his emotions in check. This was the answer to all of his issues, but he had seen this song and dance before. Especially from a cape. Far too many times had reality failed to meet the actual sales pitch.

She shook her head, her short hair waving back and forth and a few strands dangled in front of her face, but she didn't make an attempt to return it.

"No Tinkertech involved. It's engineered, advanced certainly, but perfectly replicable. I've got a patent for several models of these and a factory that is beginning to churn these out by the hundreds every week. They were due to hit the consumer market in a month's time, but an Endbringer disaster takes priority."

Releasing a sigh, he reached for it. There was probably no one better suited to test it, even if it was a quantifiable risk.

Before he could grab it, however, Adams interceded, taking the shard-like device from the girl's hand.

"Sorry sir, but it'd probably be best if I am the one that tested it. How does this work, Miss Hebert?"

If Adams's intercession had bothered her, it didn't show. Instead, she merely carried on as if it weren't a bother..

"You place it against your temple. You'll then feel a pinch, like a small bug bite. That will let you know that it is beginning the synchronization process."

Hesitating for a brief instant, Adams then placed it as suggested to his temple. There was a small flash of discomfort, but it looked more like it was out of surprise than anything. There was always a stark differential in the translation from knowledge to experience, but the fact that Adams didn't complain hinted at it was a minor consideration.

They then stood there for a minute or so, even as he took the time to look around him. He noted the rapt attention that was being given to them, even as the machine-animals shifted and pawed the ground in a life-like fashion.

Adams then started, a segmented glowing blue circle appearing around and over the device affixed to his skin.

"Uhh, First Lieutenant Anthony Adams? United States Air Force?"

He looked back to Miss Hebert, raising a brow in question.

"It's completing identification set up. Name, affiliation, and other pertinent details. That way when you call someone…"

"Whoa," Herres looked back to Adams, a man who'd been steady under every kind of situation…was now waving his hands in the air.

"Okay," Hebert started, "you've got the basic interface. Most of the settings are currently locked. We'll unlock them as we go. You should have a map, call, and scan function currently. We're not fully set up yet, so I'll need you to hit the scan function, either through voice activation or using your hands. That will start the data compilation process. Fair warning, the scan process is a pretty large data dump, as it actively scans all surrounding objects within a thirty meter radius with limited penetrative capabilities, it will even identify active electronic signatures."

"Activate scan," there was a certain awe and giddiness to Adams' voice that he had never heard from the younger man. Even as he watched Hebert snort in response, her hair blowing against her face. He felt his hair stand up on end, as if something had run through him, but he couldn't put his finger on just what it was.

"You're not talking to a toaster oven, Lieutenant," he noted the omission of Adams' full rank, a decidedly uncivilian-like behavior that spoke of a familiarity with military structure, "It's quite better than that at picking up voice prints. It can understand most languages, and can even pick up accents and dialectical anomalies," she explained.

Adams' head then snapped to her, his expression becoming one of shock, "Wait…you're blind?"

What?!

"What's that, Adams," he demanded, not quite sure that he heard what he just did.

"Uh, sir," Adams' head turned back to him, the blue circle spinning on the side of his head, "The device-"

"Focus," was Hebert's injection.

"Miss Hebert omitted that the Focus can provide basic vitals. Heart rate estimates, injury assessment, and even a notice from her device…"

"Focus."

"Focus," he corrected himself again, "it's giving me an alert that Miss Hebert is blind."

He felt the unconscious urge for another damn cigarette. As much as this girl may solve his problems, she was now giving him more.

"Is that true, Miss Hebert? Are you blind?"

In response, she pulled up her glasses, big stylish wraparounds that you would expect from an athlete or someone on the beach. Underneath the glasses were her eyes, but they were clearly ruined judging by the milky-white glaze and the discolored skin that framed them and now that he could see that, he could see the tissue running down her face.

"I am. But my Focus fixes that. Think of it as an advanced real-time mapping system. I receive a high-resolution wire-grid beamed directly into my brain."

Clearly the system was excellent, because her head turned towards Adam's shocked expression, "No, yours does not directly interface with the brain. You can stop worrying."

"But it still interfaces with the brain?"

"It's designed to be non-intrusive and link with the optic nerve. However, in order to use the interface and features to maximum effect, it does have to establish a connection to stream the data to the user."

He chewed over the bit for a moment. The idea of anything connecting directly to the brain was the stuff of horrors, even if it was as innocent as Miss Hebert claimed. There had been Tinkers in the past who played with such things, and they were all criminals.

Could he afford to take such a risk with this? Even if it was the answer that he sought to the situation. He could be inviting a trojan horse that could already add devastating damage to an already catastrophic situation. Even worse, it would likely cost even more lives than if he chose to follow protocol.

"Look. Colonel. I know what you are thinking. This is highly irregular and dangerous. But I did not just spend a quarter of my company's startup fund, drive into a disaster area, and risk a violation of the Endbringer Truce, which could end up with me thrown in the Birdcage or worse, just to pull some sort of plan only a saturday morning cartoon villain would cook up. Frankly it would have been easier on my company if I stayed home and spent that money and time on improving its portfolio.. But I am here, putting not just myself, but the future of my company and everyone who depends upon me, at risk, to save lives. So please, let me help."

Now he really wanted that cigarette, both to buy him some time, but allow him a few moments of clarity. On one hand, yes, it didn't make any logical sense for doing all of this just for some sort of long con. There were too many moving points and points of failure for it to work. That didn't mean that it wasn't possible, only that it wasn't rational.

But even ignoring that possibility, was he willing to put all of his eggs into an untested technology with an unknown teenage girl. There were just too many things riding on this to take lightly. And even then…

"You said that you could reestablish communications. Prove it."

"If you could contact anyone at this moment, who would you need it to be?"

He actually found him blinking at the unexpected question. He honestly believed that she would offer something simple or something that she controlled. Not actually putting the power in his hands. That suggested that whatever he was going to ask that she was confident that she could fulfill the request.

"I need to contact the Pentagon."

"The Focus has a transmission and reception range of about seventy-five miles in peer-to-peer communications. With the Titan providing a signal boost, that can reach about two hundred and fifty. If you want a direct line to DC, I can provide it, but I'd be breaking several telecommunications laws in doing so."

What?

"How," he found himself asking before he could stop himself

She brushed her hair back, placing on her glasses again, "While the Focus is supposed to go on the market next month, legally, my devices are still not meant to interface with the cellular network yet. I have not been provided authorized access and would have to spoof as another authorized cellular carrier in order to access the network. Which, as you can guess, is highly illegal."

The fact that she talked about committing a crime as nonchalantly as she did should worry him. But that paled in the face of the thought that she could do something as complicated as what she was describing in the field. He knew quite well how communications worked, and the idea of spoofing something like that, especially in the byzantine hell that was America's telecommunications network, was not a light task in the least.

"But you could do it?"

"You give me three minutes, I could have you able to contact anyone with phone service. The only caveat would be that you have to use the Focus in order to do so."

He didn't even hesitate, holding out his hand, and Miss Hebert placed the Focus in his hand. He then began to place it up to his temple when a voice rang out, causing him to pause.

"Colonel Herres, I apologize for interrupting, but it may be unwise to use an uncertified Tinker device."

He paused, turning to the source of the voice, as Alexandria floated towards them. He had wondered just when the second-in-command of the Protectorate would finally intervene. The woman had always struck him as a stick in the mud from his observations when she wasn't busy being aloof, and she had done nothing to dismiss that perception once he had met her.

"I don't see where you are going with this, Alexandria. Miss Hebert has claimed that this Focus is not Tinkertech. The fact that she has what appears to be a large amount of them lends credence to this claim. Unless you are suggesting that Miss Hebert has some sort of ulterior motive."

"I am not, Colonel Herres. However, I would like to note that Watchdog has flagged Miss Hebert's, codename Alloy, 'Focus' device for further review. There is concern that the revisions that she has submitted for the existing patent are a possible means to obfuscate Tinkertech applications. As far as I am aware, Miss Hebert has been informed of this review."

His hand moved away from the device, looking back to Taylor, who was giving the member of the Triumvirate a flinty gaze, "Is this true, Miss Hebert?"

"I honestly do not know what she is talking about, Colonel Herres. I have not been contacted by the Protectorate in any capacity in nearly a month since I submitted myself to their power testing after they illegally raided my company. What Alexandria is omitting is that I am not a Tinker by their classification, but a Thinker."

"Obviously there has been a breakdown somewhere in notifying you, Alloy. However, I would like to note that you have submitted no less than twelve revisions to the design at last report."

"Of course I have! It is because I am an engineer and revisions are the bread and butter of the process. We don't just rest upon our laurels after we have created something, especially if we know damn well that we can make improvements to it. If it wasn't for those improvements you are currently voicing Watchdog's concern about, I would not have this device here and ready to use it in its current iteration in the first place!"

"That does not take away from the fact that you have made revisions that have not been certified, Alloy."

"My name is Taylor Hebert!"

"But the cape name you chose was Alloy."

He found himself drawn back to the device in his hand, even as the two women continued trading arguments. He only provided a modicum of attention towards them, idly noting that while Alexandria was right in the stance of the Protectorate, and didn't that stick in his craw, he also noted that Miss Hebert also offered her own valid arguments in opposition.

But what drew the majority of his attention was the Focus resting in his hand. The cool white metal drinking almost all of the light to make it faintly glow in the fading light. It was strange that something so light and small could have as much power contained within it without being Tinkertech. Yet, nothing about it felt like Tinkertech, instead, it felt almost like a logical expression of technology despite looking like something out of science fiction.

His gaze shifted towards the machines, looking increasingly anxious at their creator as she continued her argument with Alexandria. It would have been quite what you'd expect from animals looking at their owner if they weren't multi-ton machines.

Yet it was the material over them that he focused upon. The same white metallic sheen and material, just like the Focus in his hand. It told him far more than one would expect. Too many Tinker's had a singular theme to them, a motif, if you will. Something that differentiated them amongst their peers, but it was all the same thematically.

Looking between the Focus and then the machines. There was no common theme, in fact, there was nothing that would suggest outside of the materials that they were even connected. Yet, they did have a common denominator in that they were both created by Taylor Hebert.

Realistically, the Protectorate might be able to call a Master-Strange quarantine on him and anyone else who used the Focus device. And they certainly had the forces gathered here to enforce it. But doing so would directly impede the rescue efforts of millions of Americans. And if he could get in contact with the Pentagon… there were options to sideline the Protectorate.

And that was enough for him.

Taking a deep breath, he brought the Focus to the skin over his temple, and felt the twinge as it 'bit' him.

---

And here we...go!

 

[AlSmash]

Not a lot to say here, just that finally 3.1 is done with this part. Not a LARGE amount of movement, from what you are expecting, and some events are starting that snowball rolling into an avalanche. Not only on one front, but on another front. Like some people have said, there needs to be growth, and in this case, Taylor has cleared one hurdle, but she's stubborn about other hurdles, and developments are coming that are going to have to make her really look at herself in the mirror.

Anyways, enough on the spiel. I know there is a sidestory chapter coming, not sure on the timeline yet, still working it out with others. Hopefully with the next two days off soon, we can iron out the details and release it.

Sprout 3.1 Part 3

Taylor

7:09pm

"So all of these machines run off combustion engines? Is fuel going to be a problem? What is their operational duration?" Lieutenant Adams peppered me with questions as we walked around the LRL. I was using the time to once again review their status, ensuring that everything was ready to go.

I cast a surreptitious glance towards Colonel Herres who was currently speaking in low tones on the Focus that I had given him. It took every fiber of my being not to tap into the datastream and listen into the conversation. As much as I wanted to know what exactly was being said, I also knew that it would be a drastic breach of the tenuous trust I had already established with the Colonel for relatively little gain. I found myself frowning as once again a fault occurred with Burrower Number One, again in the main processor. It wasn't a major fault and it wouldn't impact overall performance, but it was strange in that every time I tried to clear it, it came back.

Making a mental note to explore it once I returned to Brockton, I continued to answer Lieutenant Adams.

"I use a special fuel mixture that I've developed called Blaze. It's a bit grandiose for a name I'll admit, but it does live up to it. It burns stronger and longer than anything currently on the market. And the best part of it all, it's not based on petroleum," I then went on to explain that the Charger and Titan worked in conjunction to produce Blaze from any organic material. I made sure to offer the same assurance that I had given to Vice President Ryan. All the while, the itch to send my machines to work continued to grow.

We shouldn't even be here. We should be putting together a plan of what exactly needs to be done using the tools that we had to save lives. Instead, Herres had to talk with his superiors. Blasted hierarchy systems!

It probably didn't help my mood that I had met my childhood hero and found her extremely disappointing. I had honestly expected more from Alexandria, she should have been at the forefront of saving as many lives as possible. Instead, Alexandria seemed to want to obstruct what I was trying to do! Add to it all, the female member of the Triumvirate was currently hovering nearby, her gaze having not left me since Herres had taken the Focus.

Not to mention how odd she was when my Focus attempted to scan her. All that I was fed through it was a person-shaped void that hung in the air. I could hear what she said, I could pick up the details of her outfit… but her body? It was blank, to both the Ash Nazg and the Focus that Lieutenant Adams was now carrying. It was a problem that I was going to have to work on in future development, but it clearly pointed to the fact that Capes were weird.

"Miss Hebert," Herres had come back from his conversation, "Does this device have a speaker? My superiors need to make an address."

"Not through the device itself, but I can route it through the Titan," I responded, already bringing up the Titan, and adjusted a few settings. The Titan was meant to be the heart of the LRL, so I had included several systems designed for crowd control and communication, so it wasn't that difficult to link Herres' Focus to the Titan. I considered briefly for a moment to activate the holoprojector that was installed on the Titan, but then discarded it. The datastream was all audio, and it would likely only confuse people.

"It's ready," I declared.

Herres nodded, before saying words that caused me to momentarily freeze, "You're on, Mister President."

What?!

"My fellow Americans and every citizen of the world who attended to the defense of Boston. This is President Durling. I am speaking to you from the White House, where my advisors and I have been working to get as much aid headed to you as humanly possible. But the current reality is harsh and we must make harsh decisions in light of that."

After my brief freeze, I immediately reconsidered my previous stance, instead accessing the system, all the while splicing a series of images together. In only a few moments, I had been able to put up a decent image of a photo of President Durling, with the presidential seal hanging under the image. As I was doing this, I was also enabling text-to-speech, enlarging a bubble so people in the distance who may not be able to clearly hear, could still see what was being said. People gathered around, pressing closer to hear. A few fliers hovered overhead.

"Due to the devastation around Boston and the aftereffects of Leviathan's attack, only limited aid will be able to reach you within the next twelve hours. Within twenty-four hours, the full resources of the United States and whatever allies answer the call will be at your doorstep. Until then, hold strong, and do everything you can to save as many lives as possible."

"In light of the loss of the governor and the entire line of succession of the State of Massachusetts, I am now forced to use powers no President has wielded since the civil war reconstruction era. Per Disaster Plan Snow, organized by the Pentagon, I am hereby placing the City of Boston and its surrounding areas under Martial Law. Every federal and local agency will answer to the military command of the area until elections can be organized."

I blinked, not quite believing what I heard, but then after quickly reviewing it through the text-to-speech, I realized that no, it was not a hallucination.

"Colonel Herres, your orders are simple to say, but monumental in their impact. Save everyone that you can. Secure and restore accessibility to Boston Harbor and Logan International Airport. Maintain Order. And rescue Vice President Ryan. Help is coming and the entire efforts of the country are focused on Boston. So hold the line until help arrives. Godspeed, and good luck to each and everyone of you."

I numbly noted the dead silence as the link ended. What Durling was doing was something that had not been done since the Civil War, and here we were standing at ground zero of it all.

"Alright," Herres' voice sounded through the Titan for all to hear, "we're all on the clock now. It has been six hours since Leviathan was pushed back. Night is about to fall, temperatures are going to drop, and we've got a lot of people who need our help. If you can't stay, then make yourself scarce. If you're staying, find someone you can partner with. Capes, that means someone who complements your skills and abilities. When you are done, report to Lieutenant Adams, who will record this. Legend and Alexandria, I want to talk with you. The rest of you, no more running off and doing things on your own. We need to coordinate all our efforts; it's how we are going to save lives. Let's get to it!"

He then turned to me, "Miss Hebert, with me."

I nodded, before falling in line and following him as he moved towards the tent. I idly noted that Legend and Alexandria were getting somewhat heated in an exchange, but from Legend's reactions, he didn't seem to agree with what Alexandria was saying. Alexandria seemed to realize this, as after a moment she nodded to Legend, and they both turned and headed in Herres' direction.

As we entered the tent, I found myself confused as I spotted a group of politicians that were glaring at each other. What were they doing, and why were they even here to begin with?

"Lieutenant Adams," Herres' voice rang out, "Please have Airmen Chalmers and Youst join us."

One of the politicians seemed to notice our presence as he turned to us, "Colonel Herres, what are you-"

He trailed off as the flap opened, and I found myself stepping aside as a pair of airmen with rifles stepped into the tent.

"Gentlemen, President Durling has declared martial law for the City of Boston and its surrounding municipalities. Until further notice, I have been placed in charge of all matters pertaining to rescue and assistance. Now, I'm going to politely ask you to leave."

"What do you think you are doing, Herres," one of them snarled.

"I'm following my commander-in-chief's orders, Senator Furnham," Herres responded, his head moving to scan over the other politicians, "since there is no line of succession and you have all spent nearly three hours arguing who should be in charge, the President has been forced to take extreme measures in order to save American lives."

"That's illegal."

"That's for the courts to decide, Judge Reingold. Until ordered otherwise, this is now my operation. Now, I will ask one more time, then I will have you forcibly ejected, leave!"

"Legend, you are the leader of the Protectorate-"

"I'm sorry, but the President has made it clear who is in charge, Senator," Legend surprisingly shook his head, "if you hadn't been too busy arguing, you may have heard the announcement from the President himself."

They obviously were not expecting such a response from Legend, though why they would think that a federal officer would actively undermine the President escaped me. They stood there, obviously calculating just what their options were, but finally, after another moment, it was Judge Reingold that first moved, getting up from a chair and walking towards them.

He stopped, his eyes coming to rest upon me, his eyes blinking as if surprised to see me. Then he scoffed, moving past them and heading out of the tent.

Realizing that their cause was obviously lost, despite the fact that they were opposing sides, they slowly followed after the Judge, offering barely any opposition in the face of futility.

Then we were then left alone, just the five of us. Herres walked to a map that was sitting on the table, and turned to look at us.

"Legend, Alexandria, and Miss Hebert, I'm going to be relying upon the three of you quite heavily in the days going forward. So, I'm going to cut to the chase. Whatever differences currently exist between the Protectorate, PRT, and you, Miss Hebert, are irrelevant in the face of my orders. If any of you have a problem with that then voice your objections now, because as soon as we start getting to work, I expect your total focus on the job."

I glanced over at Alexandria's… void. If my Focus couldn't give me data, then judging her thoughts was impossible. But I didn't hear any fabric moving, so I'm assuming that she wasn't moving. Honestly, the Protectorate and PRT had become an afterthought up until Alexandria's sudden accusation. I just didn't really care. I was building far too much momentum, especially with the sudden interest of the Vice President, to really be bothered by whatever they were doing.

Taking the silence as acquiescence, Herres nodded, "Well then, let's get to work on saving lives. Miss Hebert, do you have any other tricks up your sleeve to assist?"

I blinked at the sudden non sequitur, before I quickly recovered, "Yes. One moment," I responded, even as I accessed Charger One, tasking it to approach the tent, bringing my laptop and its accessories stored in its saddlebag. I noted through its vision the sudden tension at the sight of the large machine approaching, but nobody did anything as I stepped out of the tent and proceeded to dig into the saddlebag, retrieving my laptop and turning back into the tent. I retasked the Charger to return back to its holding position, even as I placed my laptop down on the table over the map and linked it into the platform that I pulled from the bag.

"If I may," I asked as I looked to Herres, who gave me a nod. I stepped back, sending a nudge through my link even as I accessed the laptop and platform, watching as the data began to be shared and projected through the device. It brought up a map of Boston that laid flat only a few inches over the projector and laptop, "this is an interactive reconstruction of Boston and surrounding areas, using data collated from search engines, government websites, and other sources."

I then accessed a file, and I watched through the Focus as another overlay was placed over Boston, this time a deep shade of red ate into the city, consuming the beachfront, and all of the waterfront, before spearing into downtown and further beyond.

"This is Scenario Boston-Theta, based upon simulations I had run over the last month," I announced, knowing I was probably stepping too far, but I had a feeling that this was the likely path and angle of attack that Leviathan had taken based upon what few reports I had been able to glean. All of this had been simulated by Sobek as further learning, but they didn't need to know about that. Nor did they need to know that I had hundreds of different simulations for cities up and down the eastern seaboard.

I had a feeling that I was right based upon how Alexandria and Legend were staring at me. Herres on the other hand, was simply staring at the map, his thoughts as inscrutable as his expression.

"Alexandria," he finally said, "is this an accurate summation of areas directly affected by Leviathan's attack?"

"It is. Though," she stepped forward running her finger a little below the northern border of the estimated damage of the scenario, a bright blue line remaining in place where she touched the map, "the extent of the damage to the north only extends this far. Also, Fenway Park appeared to be still intact upon initial pass, albeit flooded at the moment."

"What's the extent of damage at Logan and the debris in the bay?"

"On my last pass, what is left of Logan is currently on fire in several sections, likely due to the destroyed aircraft and spilled jet fuel. The Bay is currently a mess at the moment, there is currently too much debris to safely traverse it."

That fit with the scenario, I thought morbidly, even as Herres stared at the displayed map. As he did that, I adjusted the map to reflect Alexandria's damage assessment. I considered adjusting the look of downtown, but honestly, until I had imagery of the area it was probably unwise.

"How many Foci have you brought, Miss Hebert?"

"Five hundred, excluding my personal model and the model my father has," I answered automatically.

"How many can you produce and ship here in a reasonable time frame?"

"Realistically? Maybe another one to two hundred every three to four days if we really push it, but the issue I'm running into is that I've tapped out Zero Dawn's startup funds and my people are already exhausted. I have my Vice President reaching out to one of our original investors to see if we can get more funds, but she's doubtful we will get anything," I hesitated, "my other investor was at ground zero of Leviathan's attack."

"So production comes down to money," Herres asked, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

"All my people know what I've been spending money on, and they were hired exactly because they believe in the cause. They'll work if I ask them to. But noble causes don't put food on the table, and it doesn't buy me the materials that I need to make my devices." I shrugged, refusing to be cowed. "I am not proud of admitting it, but I've stretched my company too thin, too quickly, Colonel. The money that I have left is meant to keep the lights until the first large contracts bear fruit."

"Alright then, we work with what we have for now. I'll see about getting you additional funding. You said you ran simulations? How in depth are we talking, and how good was your computer?"

"My computer is top-of-the-line and the simulations were very thorough."

"So you have suggestions on next actions?"

I briefly hesitated. I was not afraid of making suggestions, but even I wasn't so obtuse to not recognize that I was technically stepping into a situation I had neither the experience or expertise in. I had done research, I had dumped quite a bit of effort in my downtime to learn as much as I could, but it wasn't something that I could legitimately sit here and claim I was the foremost expert.

But on the other hand, he was asking for my honest opinion and lives were on the line.

"Yes," I finally answered, girding myself for treading deeper into the waters.

Herres nod of approval buoyed me as he crossed his arms, "Alright, walk me through it. Quickly."

I cast a quick glance to the other pair but they kept their peace, choosing instead to watch me intently. Taking a deep breath, I began to manipulate the display, even as I tapped into the confidence that I previously had shown.

"Colonel, we need three things right now: Shelter, food, and storage for the dead."

I paused as a few men shuffled into the tent, setting up tables and placing maps of the local area down. I took a few moments pause to further organize my thoughts.

"Endbringer shelters are not meant for comfortable habitation longer than forty-eight hours. We need a clear location for people to gather, " I highlighted three locations on the map, placed north, west, and south of the downtown area. "I would suggest moving to the main campus at Boston College and using it as the central hub for disaster relief and operations. There is enough space to handle a large influx of people, and if power can be restored, it has the facilities to further coordinate everything. As for secondary command centers, I would suggest using campuses of Tufts University to the north, and Milton Academy to the south."

I then proceeded to highlight several locations, making sure that all of them were outside of the disaster zone.

"We then need to utilize every undamaged recreation center and hotel for shelter, prioritizing families - especially those with small children - and the elderly for these locations. Everyone else can be placed in tents placed on open fields and in stadiums. After that, we need to track down as many city engineers and water treatment specialists as we can; the water system is either contaminated with saltwater brought in by Leviathan, or broken because of the fighting. We need to do a damage assessment and get an estimate on how long it will take us to at least restore running water. The same goes with sewage, we need to get that contained as quickly as possible or disease is going to skyrocket."

Taking a deep breath, noting I hadn't been interrupted once, I decided to keep going. If they had an alternative, then they would likely interrupt me.

"Food is the next critical thing. We are going to need runners or fliers to find every grocery store or supermarket in the local area. Then we'll need to send trucks and other assets to go there and grab everything they can. Start with fresh foods. We're going to have to host one of the largest barbecues anyone has ever seen."

"This hardly seems like the time, Miss Hebert," Legend interjected in a neutral tone, causing me to frown before I looked at him.

"As the old saying goes, civilization is only four square meals from being cast aside. I'd rather not have Boston become confirmation of that. There is enough food in the city to feed every resident the minimum healthy caloric intake for three days. But without power and the ability to preserve this food, it is going to go bad within twenty-four hours. Cooking it now preserves a lot of it and reduces locations that could be looted, and most importantly," I allowed myself to pan my gaze over the room, making sure to keep my head held high, "it keeps people busy. Busy means people are too distracted to have the time to panic, start trouble, or break down over loss. We have to keep people moving and give them purpose to avoid this event as long as possible. It doesn't matter what they are doing, as long as we keep them active and their activities have or appear to have a point, we buy more time before the inevitable crash."

"Furthermore, with the temperature dropping, having hot food will help keep morale up. And we can keep rescue work going without distractions," Legend was nodding consideringly now, watching as notes and icons appeared on the floating map, Sobek quietly picking up some of the slack for me.

Thank you, Sobek, I sent a quiet message through the link, wondering if Sobek was self-aware enough yet to recognize my gratefulness. It would probably be years until that point, until we truly would be able to actually confer with one another, but it was the thought that counted in my mind.

Colonel Herres seemed to agree with his own nod, "Make them too tired or busy to complain. I like it. And the rest?"

This was the part I really didn't want to discuss, but I knew that I had to regardless. Even if the fact that it was distasteful because it was a reflection of failures not of my own, but a failure nonetheless.

"Find the nearest ice rinks. If the cooling is safe and working, they will serve as the morgue for now. We'll start," I hesitated again, before forcing myself to continue, "... we'll catalogue the dead there. Identify them if possible, comparing them to public records once we have access so we can inform the next of kin."

Quickly transitioning away from the morbid subject, I adjusted the map again, looking to change back to something more my comfort, "We're going to need to start stockpiling organic material. Spoiled food from the supermarkets should be the initial focus; after that, trees, branches, and large piles of leaves."

"I understand the need for wood for fuel. But why would we be collecting food waste?"

"Because food waste would require the least amount of time and energy to process into Blaze," I glanced up from the map, locking Herres under my gaze, "without Blaze, the LRL will be unable to operate, and there are no substitutes available. Blaze can be processed from other organic material, but the 'softer' it is the better."

I waved my hand over the map, and dozens of dots appeared over the map, highlighting large grocery stores, "Currently, the LRL has enough fuel for operation for seven days, once the trucks get here, but if we can get the Charger to work immediately, we can build a large enough stockpile to then use it for other means, like fuel for cooking or just fires for warmth."

"That has the potential to be extremely hazardous, Alloy. Humans are organic afterall," Alexandria spoke up, her tone neutral, but I could almost taste the challenge in her tone. I turned my head toward her, making sure that I nonverbally conveyed my annoyance at not only the power play, but the fact that I was being forced to look at the void again.

"That is why there are several safeguards in the programming to prevent such an occurrence," I returned, keeping my tone as tight as possible, but I knew it would be obvious to everyone else I was irritated with her. "It's hard-coded into them to ignore anything matching a human signature or biological makeup. The only way to override it is to physically hack the machine directly, wipe, and then reprogram it. I'm an engineer, Alexandria, not a Tinker on a power trip. I take appropriate precautions and I know my product intimately."

"Enough, Alexandria," Legend's voice cut off whatever retort Alexandria had ready, and both of our heads snapped to the leader of the Protectorate who looked none-too-pleased, though I was unsure if it was the fact that he was overriding his second-in-command, or the fact that he was siding with me, "Miss Hebert, please continue."

I didn't feel a bit of petty victory, I swear, because I immediately continued with barely an acknowledgement to the head of the Protectorate, "Once we are able to organize our efforts, we need to put some effort into clearing the roads into and out of the city. The reason for this is two-fold. With the roads cleared, those who can leave will take the opportunity, which reduces the overall logistical burden. Also, having clear in and outs lets us track and direct supplies and support that will be coming into the city.."

"We also need to reopen Logan at all costs. It is going to be the keystone for immediate relief. Having semi trailers is good, but we are going to desperately need an airfield for heavy lift capacity, and Logan is our best and only option. If we can operationally restore Logan, we can turn it into the core logistical hub and staging point for the rest of the city."

I took a deep breath and then released it, trying to calm my nerves for what I was going to suggest next. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable with it, I believed that it was a good step forward, but the fact of the matter was, it was revealing yet another card in my deck that I simply hadn't had the time for because I was already stretched so damnably thin.

It certainly also didn't help that so far, Herres was asking for my opinion, and what I was going to say next was certainly not an opinion of diagnosis. For a moment, I thought about not suggesting it, but I was already far too deep than I could have ever imagined. I had figured I would be in the field by now, saving lives, not doing any of this.

Clenching my hands into fists, then releasing them, I reached up, knowing it looked quite weird to those who could not see what I was looking at, and tapped it. Immediately it began downloading from the lab in Brockton Bay, even as I started again.

"Finally, I need a direct line to Dragon."

"Why, Miss Hebert?" Legend asked, and I was grateful for it. I don't know if I would have been able to respond professionally to Alexandria if she had decided to do whatever it was she was angling at. I still didn't understand her animosity towards me. It wasn't like I had ever met her before or had done anything to earn her ire in the first place.

"Dragon is probably the closest that I have to a peer in robotics and technology in North America. She also has a production capacity that frankly dwarfs what Zero Dawn can achieve at this time. If we're going to save Boston, we're going to need her production lines."

"Thank you for your input, Miss Hebert, but let's focus on the immediate problems using what we have at hand," Herres rejected. I bit back a retort, worried that I had overstepped myself, but I seemed to be mistaken as Herres then looked over to Legend.

"Legend, you said your people had already searched some areas?"

The man in blue stepped forward, pointing out several buildings, "Yes, I personally led a team to search what was left of city hall. I believe a second team searched through here," he pointed at another place, and here, "But they have yet to report back. Then we had another team do a quick pass in this area…"

The more Legend spoke, the more I realized just how much coordination was lacking when it came to post-Endbringer response. Search patterns were spotty and uncoordinated, information was unreliable, and reports as a result were inconsistent at best. Is this how an Endbringer fight was done? How did they even survive?! Resisting the urge to sigh and feeling the ever-pressing gaze of Alexandria on me, I continued to update the map as Legend continued speaking.

As Legend began to wrap up his report, I prepared myself for what was going to happen next. Herres was going to make a decision based upon all of the information he had. While I didn't know exactly what he was going to decide, I knew he had no choice but to deploy me. It would be foolish to not use your best search and rescue asset. Already, I was preparing the LRL for deployment, ensuring that all of the units were fully fueled and ready to move at a moment's notice.

I refocused now as Legend finished, Herres' gaze focused upon the holographic map, and I readied for the word to be given.

"Miss Hebert. Are you capable of monitoring all of your Foci in real-time?"

"Yes," I found myself instantly responding, even though I felt a bout of curiosity as to why he would be asking that question. I would have thought it would have been obvious to him, but it was just as likely he was confirming instead of making the assumption.

"Alright." Herres nodded, then his gaze moved to the two Protectorate leaders. "Legend, organize your capes into teams. I need a flight team to head for the Kidd and deliver Focus devices and link them into communication with us. I need Alexandria and a team of Brutes to clear the Harbor enough to bring the Kidd into dock. I need another team to pair up with my men and start heading over to Logan to clear the runways. The facilities come second, but if they need to be destroyed, please clear it with me first. We'll need Movers and Flyers checking the roads in and out of the city and have them report back on any blocked or broken areas. Finally, I need another team of Movers to start spreading the word that we are reorganizing at Boston College, Milton College, and Tufts University."

His initial piece said, Herres then turned to me. "Miss Hebert, I need you to contact your people and tell them to divert to the Boston College campus if they can. If not, then one of the other locations will have to suffice. After that, transfer nominal control of the LRL over to Lieutenant Adams; he will be leading the push into the Downtown area where the Vice President was last reported."

"What," I spoke aloud, not quite believing what I was hearing, but then I realized that I in fact had not misheard him, "No! These are my machines! I know them best! I can help! I came here to help!"

Herres leaned over the table, before looking over the room.

"Legend, Alexandria, go organize your teams. We'll be setting out soon. Everyone else, clear the room. Miss Hebert, please stay."

I clenched my jaw. Clearly, he didn't want any witnesses when he argued with me. It only took a short time, but we were finally alone, with the glowing display of the city resting between the two of us. If I wasn't so angry with the colonel, I'd probably find some sort of symbolism in this.

"Miss Hebert. No," he corrected himself with a shake of the head, "Taylor, I know how you feel. You want to go out there and make a difference, because you believe you alone can solve the issue," he then held up a hand and cut me off before I could offer a rebuttal, "Just, listen to me for a minute, okay?"

I relented, and he took my silence as permission.

"Taylor, let me be clear. In this tent, you are a logistical mastermind and tech expert. But out there? You are a young girl without brute powers who can only see the world as a wireframe. That's a liability. And one of the first things they teach you about search and rescue is that you should never add to the number of people needing help. Your machines are great, a miracle of engineering, really, and I have no doubt they will save many lives. But the issue in all of this is not your machines, but you. There is a saying - infantry wins battles, logistics wins wars. It's a little off the subject matter, but the essence still applies. You can go out there, Taylor, as the infantry, and you can maybe win a few battles here and there, but is it really winning the war?"

I wanted to rage against him, that he was wrong, I wasn't a liability, but I stopped myself, the words sinking in. Just what he was trying to imply, and he didn't stop even as I ran the words over and over in my head.

"And we are fighting a war here, Taylor. And the best thing that you brought with you that could stem the tide of this war, is your Foci and the network they run on. And I need you here, running that network and ensuring that it is maintained so that everyone is able to communicate and know what to do without fail. Because within the next hour, people are going to start showing up and looking to help. They will have the best of intentions, but if they do not know where to go and what to do, how are they going to save lives?"

Damn you. I ground my teeth as I realized exactly what he was building toward. The worst part of it all was that I was finding myself in agreement, even though I tried to poke holes in his argument. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was not only wrong, but he was throwing away lives for his own perceived read… but I couldn't.

"Then, as time goes on, the largest mobilization of men, machines, and supplies are going to hit this city in numbers not seen since Behemoth hit New York. But the longer those people, supplies, and machines stay idle, the more people will suffer."

He motioned to the map that floated before us, only twisting the knife harder into any argument that I could offer.

"The information you can provide is the logistics we need to win this war, Taylor. You can save more lives here, coordinating everything, than you could ever could out in the field with the LRL digging through rubble. Because in my opinion, the LRL is not the machines, they are but one facet to it. No, the true heart of the LRL is everyone linked into the Focus network, guided with purpose and knowledge."

He walked around the table, dropping a hand on my shoulder as my fists shook, my jaw aching from how much I wanted to tell him that he was wrong. But I couldn't. Goddamn him, I just fucking couldn't!

"But you have to choose, Taylor. I can order you, but I would likely be causing more harm than good in the long run. So instead, I'm going to put it to you and tell you that this is what leadership looks like. It's about utilizing the best of people's skills and abilities for a goal. It's about making the hard and sometimes selfless choices. You came here wanting to do the hands-on stuff, but you're more useful as a coordinator and leader. I'll give you a few minutes to decide before we move out, Taylor, but I think you already know what you need to do."

His hand then dropped off my shoulder and he strode past me.

It was as the canvas of the tent rustled back into place behind me as he exited that the dam finally broke, and my fist impacted the table, rattling the laptop and holotablet and causing the map to briefly flicker.

---

AEH​

---

11:47pm

8hr 2min remaining until reinforcements arrive

The next few hours flew by in a blur of slowly creeping exhaustion mixed with adrenaline. In the end, I had acquiesced to Herres' request. The man had been right, as much as I wanted to deny it. There was no doubt that I could make a larger difference managing the network than I could have possibly done by going out. It still sat poorly with me, but what could I do in lieu of the honest admission.

Instead of raging at the injustice of reality, I chose distraction by burying myself in work. First, preparing for the transfer to the Boston College campus, but then training people in the usage of the Focus. The latter was more taxing than the former, with so many people with different questions and having to basically be a one woman tech support for the device.

I winced as I sipped from a can with a lukewarm energy drink, I refocused on the new task that I had been given. My hands were clammy; the temperature outside was dropping as night wore on, but inside was sweltering with so many people coming and going. Around me dozens of people spoke into radios, worked over maps, made lists on whiteboards and chalkboards that had been rolled into this conference room. In front of me, dominating the table, the holotablet projected a map of Boston. Dozens of icons flashed and updated as data came in and orders went out. Our refugee camps were set up, and slowly taking people in. Large communal kitchens had been set up in sheltered tents, keeping off the slow rain that had started up again. Aid and volunteers were being intercepted at the borders of the city, then being redirected to different parts, keeping the roads clear. The Kidd has safely docked in the Harbor, and was leading rescues on the water and up and down the coast. Dozens of smaller boats, privately owned and commercial, had begun arriving. The Navy was in charge of their organizing and deployment.

I cursed slightly as I missed a key, backspacing a few times and inputting the correct information. I shook my hands out, annoyed at the slight shake that had developed. It would pass.

Logan International was a wreck, but the runway was clear. The teams were working to get the roads into the city in working order, and rig up a rudimentary Radar and Tower Control.

Dad had arrived, and quickly organized most of the city workers he could find. He had them working to get the storm drains and sewer system unblocked. He might not know anything about plumbing, but he did know people and how to put their talents to efficient use. The frantic pace and setting honestly seemed to be doing him some good.

Every single focus I had brought with me was now handed out, some to individuals and some to teams. By the calculations of the professors here at the College, radios should clear up soon, at least enough that the incoming rescue efforts the President promised would be able to use handhelds.

All the while, the data feed from the LRL played in the corner of my vision. Even if I couldn't be there with them, I could still monitor them and ensure that they performed well.
Herres had chosen well, much to my chagrin. Lieutenant Adams was a hard driver, but he was also slow and methodical in how he approached everything. It honestly felt daunting in how well he was controlling the LRL.

I took a breath, annoyed at the pinch in my chest and the exhaustion that battered at my synapses. It was good that I didn't need eyes to see, they would probably be closed with how tired I felt. I reached for my drink. I needed to finish this. A sudden shock ran through me and I could feel my hand spasm, knocking the can over. I stared at it for a brief moment, not quite comprehending what I was witnessing, before my mind caught up and I shot to my feet, intent on cleaning up the mess.

Only, my mind sputtered and hitched at the sudden feeling of light-headedness. That was easy to fix, my foggy mind supplying the answer, and I braced myself against the table. But why was that pinch making it difficult for me to gather enough air to breathe?

As I pondered the reason, my legs gave out from under me and my chin smacked down on the table, momentarily filling my vision with stars.

But strangely, I could still see, even if everything felt like it was covered in a strange film. I had never experimented with how the Focus would translate data if the wearer experienced head trauma. To my surprise, the Focus continued beaming images into my brain despite what happened. Herres stood over me, shouting at the door.

I tried to breathe again, that damnable pinch seeming to mock me further even after it had brought me low. Everything felt so heavy…

Why were we moving? Everything was a blur…

Why were we running…?

Why couldn't I…..

---

AEH​

---

Crystal Pelham

1:28am

6hr 1 min until reinforcements arrive

Crystal Pelham was no stranger to pain. Cape life wasn't exactly free of scrapes and bruises, but most of the time she didn't hurt for long. It was one of the perks of having the legendary Panacea as a cousin. It had guaranteed her a college life where she didn't have to worry about the blemishes, injuries, and pains that had accumulated in her career as Laserdream.

She had thought that she would have an easier time in retirement! Sure, she'd use her powers to show off a little at parties, but nothing too crazy. Picking a fight with gangbangers was in the past, and most certainly not getting involved in an Endbringer fight.

Which was, of course, the reason why her everything currently hurt!

Without moving too much, she breathed, trying to focus herself and release some tension as…

"Son of a bitch," she snarled, her teeth bared like a feral animal.

The man hummed, but otherwise didn't offer any other comment as he expertly tied and tightened the tourniquet on her leg with the casual ease of someone almost too familiar with the task. She really wanted to hit him, but that would probably be unwise. After all, while striking the Vice President for his poor bedside manner might be warranted, she doubted the authorities would take exception once they got out of there.

If we get out of here. She quickly quelled that errant thought. She refused to think like that, not after everything so far.

Instead she adjusted her arm, the numbness receding back into a dull and throbbing ache. She hadn't been able to move her arm much in the hours since they had been trapped here. The small shield that she had manifested and now maintained was their only buttress against the support that threatened to give away and crush them, and also served as the only light source within their little alcove.

"All done, Miss Pelham. Don't worry, you'll be back on those pretty legs of yours in no time."

"Normally, that would be good to hear," she quipped with a smile, the levity serving as a distraction from their plight. Though, in the end it failed, as the dust on her lips slipped past the cracks. "But I'm not sure how I should feel about a politician of your stature making such remarks about my legs. Especially considering your predecessor."

Ryan chuckled as he shuffled back, leaning his back against a collapsed beam, "Hey, I'd like to think I'm a step above the former Vice President Matthews. I'm in the prime of life," he then leaned slightly forward, as if he was going to share a secret, "And I'm certainly better looking."

Despite the absurdity of the fact that she had the Vice President trying to act suave to someone half his age, she found herself laughing, which caused her to hiss as her ribs protested at the action. She ignored the wet feeling soaking her jeans. It was just water.

"While you may find this amusing, do remember to keep calm. Aim to conserve oxygen."

She resisted the urge to sigh as she was reminded that they were not alone. And of course, their accompaniment would be their actual downer of it all. She turned her head slightly over her shoulder, shifting her fist to brighten the other half of this little crawl space. She had to admit, it hurt to see such a nicely cut suit in such a sorry state of disrepair. On the plus side, at least it was an inconvenience to the unrepentant villain, if only monetarily.

It was like the start of a bad joke, a hero, a super villain, and the Vice President of the United States trapped in the collapsed remnants of a business hall. She wasn't sure what the build-up would be, but she knew that the punchline was going to be killer. At least she'd have something to joke about at parties when she got out of her.

If I get out of here, that damnable killjoy whispered in her head. No, I'm going to get out of here!

"The human desire for companionship is a strange and powerful thing, Mr. Accord. After all it led you to me, instead of seeking shelter during an Endbringer attack."

A soft click of the tongue came from Accord, as his attention refocused away from her and back to him. It was strange, yet no surprise, that the turning gears on his mask were now dead, having been choked to death by the dust and debris, "Pure self-interest," the villain retorted. "On multiple levels, saving you was the most efficacious path forward."

"I think Miss Pelham here had a big part to play in things."

Accord glanced at her, mouth twisting in distaste, before he quickly dismissed her to her irritation as he looked back to Ryan, "She contributed, but she was also a detriment. It would have been less complicated if she hadn't thrown too many random variables in the mix."

"Those random variables," she hissed, "are called people! You don't get to just write off dozens of lives simply because they are inconvenient!"

Because that was the thing. Even with the three of them trapped in this little bubble of wreckage, there were others who had been less fortunate. Some of them they could still hear from time to time, plaintively crying out for help; sometimes when it was really quiet, they could hear whispered prayers. But then there were others that were not even answering anymore.

"Miss Pelham. Contrary to what most Hallmark cards will tell you… not everyone matters. It's a simple fact that their positions, their actions and ambitions, and even their birth, will deny them the opportunity to ever have the chance of influencing the people and world around them. They will live out their lives, content with their simplistic dullness. But the world? It's made up of complex systems, and there are people who exist as levers to wield those systems. The Vice President here is an accomplished statesman and high official. Though his words and actions alone, the fates of nations can change. So yes, he is more important than them, than you, or even myself."

She may not fight anymore, but she remembered her mom's stories. About how there were different kinds of villains. Some were desperate. Others were out for the thrill of it. But of all villains, the worst were the true believers. The ones with a cause. She had never really understood why that was until now, staring into those cold eyes as this man calmly explained why people didn't matter. It was good that Ryan chose to speak up at that moment, because she wasn't sure what to say, or even, what she may do otherwise.

"And you're looking to influence what exactly? This plan does seem to carry an element of risk. It's not everyday that willfully getting a building dropped on yourself is considered a good option."

She grimaced at the flash of the memory of the desperate attempt to escape Leviathan's devastation. Of the alarms blaring and people rushing about without a clue of what to do. Not even herself. Then her arm being grabbed and she was pulled along after Boston's preeminent crime lord. Then being told to follow him even as walls began collapsing and pillars gave way as they moved. Accord shouting at Ryan, even as his security detail tried to evacuate him. Herself shouting for people to follow closely, all the while Accord was shouting at her, and Ryan shouting at Accord as she blasted a path with her lasers.

Then hearing the groan as the building came down around them, leaving her to wonder if she would live to see her mom again.

"A gesture of trust. I would hope by doing this, you would consider me truthful when I give you certain information."

Ryan waved a hand, and she transferred her shield to the other arm, ignoring the growing pressure behind her eyes. She had never held a shield up for so long before, and it was slowly becoming an increasingly unpleasant strain.

"No time like the present. Secrets shared in a foxhole and all that."

The resultant glance at her caused her to quickly realize that whatever Accord wanted to share was not something he wanted people to know. Well, that was too bad for him, because as soon as she got out of her, she would make it a point of sharing it.

If you get out of here, that traitorous voice whispered in her head, making her want to scream.

There must have been some sort of unspoken message exchanged between the two men, as Accord seemed to decide to ignore her once again. Whatever it was, it was making him talk.

"It is my understanding that you met recently with a promising young woman. One who might have a significant impact upon the world in the future. I wish to make it clear that when I was originally approached for funding, it was under my civilian persona and done strictly in a business capacity. I was the investor with no interest beyond seeing a return upon my investment."

"Understandable. The fact remains that it was a significant investment, one that will naturally attract further scrutiny as her star rises. Especially as your investment has only grown since. Clearly your goals have changed. What brought this on?"

Accord cocked his head to the side, "You could say that I fell in love."

"I would remind you, sir, that the girl in question is fifteen." Ryan's voice grew deadly quiet, and Crystal shivered at the implicit threat that lurked within that simple sentence and tone.

"Spare me your condemnation. I have never been interested in the biological attraction that fascinates so many people. No, what I came to admire was her vision. Tell me honestly, how many people do you believe could fulfill the promise for the new world that she envisions and is striving towards?"

Before she realized what she was doing, because this was getting a little too weird for her tastes, she threw her own two cents into the mix.

"You know, when people start talking about things like 'new world' and 'vision', nothing good usually comes from it. The Eighty-Eight crazies from my hometown come first to mind."

The disapproving look that she garnered from Accord made her wilt slightly. How a villain of all things could suddenly make her feel like she was an idiot child eluded her, but the feeling still remained the same. Carol could take points from him.

"You will find in history, Miss Pelham, that change always comes to the detriment of someone else. Whether it be those that cling to the comfort of the status quo, or those who simply are unfortunate enough to be in the way of progress. But, like treating any wound or infection, sometimes the pain wrought by change is necessary to feel better afterwards."

She couldn't help but feel sick. There was truth in what he was saying, and no matter how much she wanted to deny it, he had hit a chord within her. Whether he knew it or not, his statement hit too closely to the New Wave's reality. She wasn't old enough to have been part of its initial rise, but she unfortunately knew why the Brockton Bay Brigade became New Wave. It had been a sobering experience to know the actual truth, and it had only helped to assist her in making the decision to leave New Wave and attend college instead of staying.

Luckily for her, Ryan decided to respond to Accord, saving her from either having to offer an answer or admit that Accord was right.

"It would be safe to assume then, that you plan to continue supporting her and her endeavors?"

The villain shifted, taking the time to wipe his sleeves off in a futile attempt to clean them.

"Yes, I do. While my assets have certainly become diminished given the likely state of Boston, they are not exhausted. I will rally what I can, along with the allies that I can muster, and devote everything possible to ensuring that she succeeds. In fact, just prior to this debacle, I learned that there is a new threat that is poised to possibly threaten her goals."

"It seems we may have a common thread then, Accord. Perhaps we can talk further in the future, I would be curious to know more."

What the actual fuck?!

"Maybe we shall," her head spun at what she was hearing. Who was it that the Vice President and Accord were talking about? Who was so important in their opinion that they would be conspiring to support? And who was it that wanted to change the world…presumably in ways that were painful, disruptive, dangerous, or some combination of all three.

She may be out of the loop on the cape side of things, but even then, if there was someone who was that powerful and important, then she should have heard of them. But there was absolutely no one who came to mind who would cause these two men to work together.

"Who the hell are you talking about," she demanded.

Both men turned their heads toward her, and she felt suddenly she was ill-equipped for the situation, even if she was the one literally keeping them all alive. They then exchanged a look between the two, and Ryan merely shrugged his shoulders, and she had the gut feeling that the message exchanged was one that already dug her in deeper than she could ever imagine.

"I am rather surprised you don't already know her by now, Miss Pelham," Ryan said, "after all, the young woman in question is from Brockton Bay."

But before she could ask anything further, a sound caused them all to freeze. For a brief moment, she was wondering if it wasn't a collective hallucination brought on by the slowly diminishing oxygen supply. But then it came again, only it was different from the creaks and groans that had been their accompaniment for hours, a sound of metal scraping over concrete.

A slight rumble sounded again, as something moved amongst the concrete. She tensed, ignoring the twinges of pain that shot through her body as she prepared for whatever it was. Because the sound was getting closer and more clear, a methodical grinding sound mixed with metallic scraping.

Finally the sound was near enough it was harsh on her ears. With a dull roar, a metallic head pushed its way through the concrete, ballooning dust into their chamber. She winced as rock splinters pinged against her shield, only adding to her pangs of pain. But as the dust cleared, she got her first look at whatever it was that had done what it did.

Blue lights glared in the darkness, but it was subdued enough for her to make out a metallic face. Only it wasn't a human face. It did not have a mouth, instead with a long vertical blue light bar running down the middle of the face, with a pair of blue 'eyes' on either side of the bar. Three grinding rotors snapped back, clearing the machine's field of view. It perked its head up, looking at her, before then scanning around the room. It then released digital noise that sounded almost like a warble, before it suddenly pulled itself out of the hole and clambered into their chamber, the damn thing chittering excitedly now.

It was then that she got a good look at the machine; her hand twitched with the urge to do something about the machine as it warbled again and stamped its two front feet back and forth in what she could only swear was glee. It had a long ferret-like body with sharp claws and a tail, its head bobbing and weaving as it looked between them all again, before it refocused upon her.

It then scampered over to her.

"Hey!"

But before she could say anything more, it looked intently at her injured leg before laying its metallica head on her uninjured leg. It twisted slightly, turning its optics to stare up at her with its tail thumping back and forth on the ground.

"A very promising young woman indeed," Accord commented silently, even as she stared at the machine that did everything in its power to look adorable. Releasing a sigh, she gave into the temptation, using her free hand to pat the strangely lifelike machine on the head, making sure to keep her hand away from the grinders. In response, its tail thumped harder and it seemed to shiver up and down its frame.

"Well," Ryan mused, dusting himself off and slowly getting to his feet, "it seems we're going to be rescued sooner rather than later."

He was proven to be right. Within moments thereafter, the strange machine raced back into the hole it had made, and they could hear commotion coming their way. Debris being shifted, rescuers calling out, and the sound of cutting and grinding as obstacles were removed. The entire time she kept her shield up, the pounding behind her eyes firmly ignored now that the rescue was so close.

Soon they were brought out, men and women stained with dirt, caked in dust, and with great smiles of relief on their faces as they were gently led through the maze of collapsed rubble. It was cold, with rain having turned the ground into a muddy morass. Yet to her, it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

She found herself helped into a waiting tent, where a man quickly and efficiently cleaned and bandaged up her leg. With the strain of her plight ending, she could feel herself drifting off.

Only for that to end as Ryan walked in, soldiers hovering protectively at his side. A few quiet words had them moving back outside, leaving the two of them alone.

"Miss Pelham," he began after looking at her for a moment, "I want to clarify something with you. About what you might, or might not have heard while trapped. It's important, because according to everyone's testimony you didn't hear anything. You don't remember anything. If anyone, and I mean anyone asks, you will tell them it was all a blur."

Gone was the friendly, joking figure that she was trapped with. She could tell immediately that this was the Vice President of the United States acting in his official capacity.

"I hope we understand each other, Miss Pelham."

She wet her lips. Even after two bottles of water, they still felt dry.

"Or else?" she asked.

He grinned, but it was not a friendly one.

"I sincerely hope that we don't get to that, Miss Pelham. But yes, unfortunately. 'Or else'."

She nodded quietly, and Ryan left. Laying back down on her cot, she resolved herself to just put all of this behind her. She didn't want to deal with intrigue and secret deals between powerful people. She didn't want to deal with Endbringers or picking up after them. All she wanted to do was go home, hug her mom and hang out with her brother.

She just wanted to be done with today.

---

AEH​

---

Jack Ryan

5:22am

2 Hours, 27 Minutes until reinforcements arrive.

"We have confirmation that there are people trapped in the subway lines in several air pockets. I requested support and in the last forty-five minutes, we've had elements of the 5th and 10th Special Forces Groups arrive in the city. We're going to need their training and expertise in clearing out the subway lines."

He sat back in the chair, soup mug cradled in his hands, looking over the holographic display. He had known that Taylor Hebert had holographic technologies, but he hadn't expected in the span of months she would be fielding something that could provide a battlespace projection.

It was only further confirmation of his opinion that she would need to be protected and nurtured, because if this was the work of only a few months, he could only imagine what it would be in a few years. Especially considering Taylor's own admissions, she was putting a lot of her technology together with 'inferior' materials and workarounds in order to field them now instead of later.

"Is digging equipment an option," he asked, earning a shake of the head from Herres.

"We drill down and the air will rush out, causing the water to rise. If the air pressure is too high, we risk a blowout which will certainly kill everyone we're trying to rescue. We wait too long and they'll die from hypoxia, or hypothermia, or the currents will overwhelm them with the new rain. We've got every civil engineer we can find along with plenty of hands working to clear out the storm drains, but it's slow going. The darkness and the weather aren't helping."

Taking another slow sip, he once again considered the holographic map of Boston. Shades of red and yellow dotted the holoscape, representing damaged areas and cleared roads respectively. Pins highlighted critical locations like emergency shelters, mustering areas, storage yards, and more.

"What's the local response been like?"

"We've had a steady flow of volunteers coming in, civilians and capes, surprisingly. Mostly we've been able to intercept them at the city border and direct them where they are needed, with a few caveats that are still awaiting my decision. I've been in contact with the state governors of Maine, New York, and Pennsylvania, they're recalling reserves and organizing aid. I'm waiting to hear back from Texas and Florida as well. But even with their assistance, it'll be days before we see any meaningful support. Right now," Herres sighed, the exhaustion obvious in his demeanor, "We're doing the best we can with what we got. Hopefully the first wave of FEMA and disaster relief that the President is sending our way will help stem the tide, because we are balancing everything on a knife's edge at this point, and all it will need is one thing going wrong to wipe away all of our effort at maintaining the peace."

"Are you going to be able to handle the influx," he asked, his eyes shifting over to where Logan was located. Large swathes of that location were red, but interspersed in that were yellow, and surprisingly…green.

"The airfields at Logan are cleared according to the latest reports I have. The facilities are a writeoff, but we've been able to establish an ad-hoc staging and dispersal hub there. The roads are cleared and the trucks are standing by for loading. The Harbor is still a mess, but we've been able to get the Kidd to make it to dock. The Navy is several hours behind, but we should have enough time to solve the harbor issue if the capes that have come in can be utilized."

"What's the problem with them?

Herres sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"The issue is the political ramifications. The majority of capes that have arrived? They are from the Empire Eighty-Eight."

"Great, just what we need! The Führer Fanclub coming to save the day," he resisted the urge to massage his brow, understanding exactly the dilemma facing Herres perfectly. It was a situation where if he utilized the Nazi-sympathizing capes, it would create bad optics for quite a lot of people, especially when the Colonel was already going to be facing an uphill battle once things were done. But on the other hand, if he didn't utilize them, what would that cost them in lives saved?

It was a shitty situation to save the least. With pros and cons going both ways. But at the end of the day, it would have to be a decision made by Herres himself. He could advise the Colonel, but he could not make the decision for him.

Still, it would probably be best for him to at least offer him a sounding board.

"What are you thinking, Colonel?"

"I think I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't, Mister Vice President," Herres finally said after a brief pause, "Kaiser chose probably the best people he could to help with search and rescue. All of them had a legitimate use, and they can actually speed up the process. It's just the fact that I damn well know what the reaction is going to be, and that these people are going to use it for propaganda value."

"But…"

"But I made a pledge to save lives," Herres released a sigh, "and frankly, I've already pretty much declared to hell with the politics by taking control of the situation. So, what's one more instance of thumbing my nose? I can use the Endbringer Truce to utilize them. And if they cause problems, then I'll crush them under those same rules. Simple as that. Besides," his lips twitched in momentary amusement, "it's probably gonna piss them off that they are going to have to take orders from a black man."

He snorted. Yeah, that would probably rile up quite a few of them. But the reality that they both likely knew was that as amusing as prospect it would be, it would likely still amount in a net negative politically. Still, throwing away lives for callous political calculation was not something he, nor apparently Herres, would accept.

Drinking from his soup now that it had cooled slightly, he gestured with his mug to the holoprojector.

"And the tech? Zero Dawn and its little inventor."

Herres actually scowled for the first time.

"The tech's been an absolute godsend. Her focus devices are simplistic and easy to use, and the system it runs on is damn near perfect for entering, tracking, and displaying data. The Machines are exactly as she advertised, too. They are sturdy, respond well to commands, make smart decisions if left on their own, and while they have been banged up a bit, they haven't broken down. The Blaze fuel may not work in our vehicles, but it burns nicely. Heating, cooking, and signal fires are all currently being done with Blaze."

The Colonel then rose, folding his arms. "The largest problem with the tech? It's the one that is running it. The girl…"

"How is Miss Hebert?"

"Stable and resting. A cape healer that calls herself Panacea got hands on her in under a minute and confirmed that no permanent damage was done. The girl also swore like a Marine and said that, and I quote, "I've seen healthier forty-year-old smokers who work eighty hour weeks."

Herres then sighed heavily, "According to Panacea, it's a miracle that it was just a heart attack; too many stimulants, too little sleep for days, stress, malnutrition, and dehydration are just a few of the things that she diagnosed. The energy drinks that Hebert was tossing back only hastened the collapse. The medics have her hooked up to IV for fluids, and Panacea is making sure that she stays asleep so she can recover. She'll wake up in a day or so, hungry as anything, but it's better than dead. But thankfully her machines and systems work without her, and the team she brought from Brockton Bay included a programmer and technicians. Something breaks, they can fix it."

"Good to hear," he was silent, taking another moment to look over the display, noting how even now it was changing as they spoke, "Now. The elephant in the room."

Herres nodded gravely, "Yes, Sir. Martial Law."

"Exactly. Does the President have the power to declare it? That's going to be argued for months, and more than likely years. But, at the end of the day, it was you that suggested it and acted upon it. You know they are going to crucify you for this. They have to, the fools."

Herres answered him with silence, choosing instead to stare at the holographic display. The only sound that did penetrate the tent they were in were the quiet murmurs of the other staff moving around and talking with one another, and the sounds from outside.

"I was part of Autumn Thunder," the other man spoke finally, "A 15C jock with the 33rd. I had a front seat to how powerless we were in the face of that…thing. Even now, I wonder if I was one of the unlucky ones to survive, or just was unfortunate enough to be one of those damned to watch sixty years of tradition be set aside to rot. But throughout all of that, the uniform still means something. Diminished, maybe, but our oath to defend the people is still in effect. Besides, at least this way we'll have a fighting chance not to surrender another city to those things. This won't be the end of Boston, sir. Not on my watch."

And that was good enough for him. Maybe it was divine providence, but it appeared that somehow, some way, out of all of the men that could have ended up here, it was a good one like Herres. It only made his course going forward all the more important. He wasn't exaggerating what was likely to come next. Herres had done something not done since the Civil War, and there was a reason there were several laws on the books that prevented what Durling and Herres had done.

Yet, in spite of that; They had done it regardless.

Durling was without a doubt done. Even if he survived the likely impeachment that was coming, this was his second term. At least the man had chosen to go out the right way, instead of what too many politicians would have done.

But that still left Herres. The man was going to need as much help as he could, because if the politicians in DC didn't get Durling, they were going to go for the 'weaker' prey in order to make themselves look good, and Herres would make for the perfect patsy. For either party.

He stood, and reached across the table with an open hand. Herres took his hand with a firm shake.

"Thank you for your service, Colonel Herres. You're a credit to the uniform."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, I probably need to get back to DC. I'm no good stuck here. Do you have a Focus you can give me?"

He wasn't shocked at Herres hesitating. The fact of the matter was, the man needed as many of these Focuses as possible for here. To give one away could have a negative impact on the ongoing efforts to save lives. It meant that there would be one person unable to communicate that would previously have had an opportunity to do so.

"I have a strategic reserve of one hundred," Herres started, bowing his head slightly in contemplation, "That is out of the five hundred that Miss Hebert brought with her. But, Mister Vice President, I need more and Zero Dawn doesn't have the money to produce more at this time. Miss Hebert wasn't explicit, but I have a feeling that she may have damaged her position with her investors to pull this off. And I'll need as many Foci as I can get in the days to come. If I send you one, can you take my pleas directly to the President?"

"How much are we talking, Colonel?"

"I don't exactly have a figure, Mister Vice President. But, any money would likely be able to start their production line. These Focuses aren't just a game-changer, they flip the entire table. And not just in disaster relief, but for about every facet of our society. Just speaking for the military, the Pentagon is going to be knocking down Miss Hebert's door once I provide an AAR. A mobile C3I device that has its own datalink system and can sync with an established network, sharing audio, visual, and data securely? The better question to ask is who wouldn't be offering their firstborn for such a device."

While outwardly he reflected a calm visage, internally he was not exactly surprised by the vociferous support of Herres. Just looking at the display told an entire tale of how integral the Focus had been to the success of the initial search and rescue efforts. But the fact that Herres was already looking at the future implications of the technology, well, it certainly added to the meeting he had with Miss Hebert only yesterday.

No, there was no doubt in his mind that Miss Hebert was going to earn a strategic asset designation. If not by the time he arrived at DC, then by the time he met with the President. It would be absolutely incompetent and negligent to the point of possibly being treasonous to do otherwise.

The answer was disturbingly simple for such a complicated request. Because this was going to be akin to pouring molten aluminum down the anthill that had already been kicked over.

"You have my guarantee, Colonel. We're in this together. If anyone gives you any trouble, you call me. We're going to make this a success story, even if I have to sit on the bean counters and dig the skeletons out of the closet myself."

That seemed to relieve the other man, his shoulders sagging just enough to notice, as if some of the burden he was under was taken off his shoulders.

"I'll have one provided and have one of my men walk you through using it. It's surprisingly intuitive and even has its own tutorials for how to wield it. For being so young, Miss Hebert seems to be fairly forward thinking."

"Except in regards to her health."

"Except that," Herres sighed. "What do we do with her?"

That was a complicated question. Especially with the storm that was about to come. He had no doubt in his mind that in addition to the recognition she was about to receive, she was probably going to be the focal point of a lot of politicians, especially of the PRT-bent. But that was in the future, right now there was a different hand that should be applied to her.

"When she wakes up, teach her what you can about delegation! But that aside, I think you are firmly aware of just how vital that girl is going to be, going forward. So I want you to do everything in your power to keep her safe and on friendly terms with the government. That little gadget alone is going to change how we do things," he said sternly, motioning to the holographic display and the information being displayed and updated on it.

"On that we agree, sir."

He then reached and shook the Colonel's hand, his mind already whirling as to what next needed to be done. His return to DC was going to be tumultuous, and every bit was going to be needed in order to skew things in their favor.

So he looked around the room, taking in the various personnel milling about, "Can one of you show me to the medical tent? I need to dress the part."

This earned a raised eyebrow from the Colonel, "Walking wounded?"

He nodded, smiling slightly, "Walking wounded. Nothing like a wounded hero surviving through impossible odds. The press will love it, and hopefully we can elicit enough support to stack the deck in our favor."

Herres chuckled slightly as he ordered someone to lead him to the medical tent. Then Colonel turned back to the table and went back to work as he exited.

---

AEH​

---

7:49 AM

As dawn slowly inched closer, rescue crews were rotated, with food and water being handed out. All the while, the machines of the LRL headed out again and again. They searched through the debris that clogged the roads with a mechanical grace. Watchers shopped around, their heads moving constantly, scanning everything within their gaze. Burrowers scampered over, under, and through buildings, cars, and rubble searching for any sign of people. And they found people, calling back to their human attendants as hundreds were found in need of rescue.

The Scrapper - dog-like thing that it was - often found itself at the vanguard of the pack, using its powerful jaws to cut people free. In other cases, it used its head as a wedge to get into spaces, and lifted debris to free those trapped inside or underneath. The ram-headed Charger often helped to support the weight even as it provided fuel to its herd, and sometimes warmth for those who needed it.

The lumbering Titan, with its massive bulk, cut an intimidating figure to many. But its contribution was unmatched when it came to sheer strength. A photographer would snap the iconic image of the Titan yoked to a flatbed, hauling supplies behind it like the sturdy beast that it was modeled after.

And they didn't stop, moving only deeper into the city. People called down from rooftops and windows. Cape teams flew across the sky directing survivors to shelters set up to receive them. Time and time again, the machines proved their worth in silence. Cars and debris stood no chance against the Titan as it cleared the road. The Scrappers' grinders tore through fallen beams, telephone poles, broken doors, and more to get access to survivors. Burrowers and Watchers kept up a frenetic and desperate pace, checking every inch of Boston for more people in need of rescue.

Throughout it all, it was the humans that fell behind, as the work intensified and they wore out from exhaustion. Not that the machines escaped unharmed. The Scrapper lunged and covered a survivor with its body when a ceiling collapsed unexpectedly. The Titan's previously pristine white armor now bore scrapes and drag marks from pressing up against stone and concrete, keeping buildings from collapsing. A Burrower suffered optic damage when it jumped into a fire, looking for a shut off valve to a gas line. But still they continue inexorably forward. And to the cold, the frightened, the lost, and the wounded of Boston, the first sign of hope they saw was a warm, blue glow of the Light Rescue Lance headed their way, with human companions following closely behind them.

Somehow, word of the machines spread amongst both the rescuers and the rescued, becoming a point of unity. The refugee camp buzzed with news, as each new rescue came in. Of how the Titan stood against raging waters and carried people to safety. How the Scrapper would nudge its head against tired rescuers, seemingly to offer comfort. How the perky Burrowers would roll and play in the shallows, but always returned to work.

Unfortunately, not every story ended happily. And as time marched on, the attrition slowly built as the Machines were called to do more and more things that they were never initially envisioned to do in this build. Taylor had to cut corners in their design in order to meet the deadline, and it showed in the materials used in the design, far below the spec for the finalized product that she envisioned. Armor plating broke, optics cracked and degraded, rotors strained from wear and tear as tolerances were continuously exceeded, and electronics inevitably faltered as their load limits were challenged. But this truth was known only to a select few. To the people of Boston, the machines' perseverance was a comfort. And as dawn finally peaked over the horizon, the near silence was broken by the droning of large and powerful engines as heavy aircraft began their approach for landing at Logan. And as the first C-5 Galaxy landed, the people of Boston held one truth close to their hearts even in the desperation of the situation.

In the darkness of the previous night, hope was a shining blue light.

 

[AlSmash]

Another split chapter. This is becoming commonplace, so I'm going to explain the purpose of it. Basically, the ongoing head decisions is, when it has multiple parts, it has multiple perspectives that all fall in line with the subject of the chapter, or the timetable that exists within the chapter itself. In this case, while Kaiser's POV will span over two days, it still relates to the overall focus of the chapter itself.

Hopefully that helps answer for some of you exactly what there are Parts. Thank you.

Now on to the story.

Sprout 3.2 Part 1

---

Max Anders

Brockton Bay, Medhall

(Minutes after Taylor hangs up on Jean)

All change involved sacrifice. The more drastic the change, the greater the required sacrifice. Decisive action was essential in times of change in order to maintain control. But more importantly, a steady hand was necessary in order to ensure the right change came to pass.

It was the only lesson his father had impressed upon him that actually had some use. There were others, but like the late Richard Anders, they were as shortsighted as the man himself. It was why Allfather was but a distant memory of Brockton Bay, and Kaiser was ascendant.

Max considered this as he watched the gentle rain fall on Brockton Bay. His office in Medhall was exactly as he had intended it to be; a symbol of power and wealth, and a place of contemplation. From here, he overlooked what would be his city. With all the opulence and comfort that he was entitled to; by circumstance of his birth, his lineage, and his efforts.

He had always considered Medhall to be a means to an end. That the Empire Eighty-Eight was a weapon that he would wield to create a place of power for himself and those loyal to him. But things had changed… and said change now required a change of sacrifice. Medhall would be the vehicle of his ascension, and for that to be true, the Empire would have to be… pruned. Reformed. To better fit the coming future.

And if necessary, sacrificed root and branch.

He drank slightly from his glass, a rich ten-year-old bourbon, with the sound of the falling rain the only accompaniment to the glass returning to the metal table at his side. Leaning back in the plush chair, he watched the rain, and thought.

Leviathan had hit Boston. In the scramble to respond to the PRT's emergency summons… certain Empire members were… delayed. Others? He made sure they made the teleporter's jump to Boston. Hookwolf, Stormtiger, Alabaster, Cricket. They were necessary sacrifices. Radical elements that had always rallied around Hookwolf. The man's savagery and simplicity had always been a useful tool to be used. But much like the Sturmabteilung had been for Hitler, Hookwolf's usefulness had come to an end for him. The brute would be a detriment to the future that he was building.

But at least he could serve one final use until his demise. His death, along with those of his cohorts, would help pave the way for the necessary change for the Empire. They would be memorialized for their 'sacrifice', of course, just long enough for the rest of his ilk to join the others in the refuse pile.

A soft knock at his office door pulled his attention away from his musings.

"Yes," he asked curtly. He had given clear instructions that he was not to be disturbed. The fact that someone dared to violate those orders was an irritant that had best be ameliorated by a good reason. Otherwise there would be consequences.

His secretary leaned her head in, appropriately deferential and apologetic in her body language.

"Pardon me, sir. Ms. Brown of Zero Dawn Technologies is very insistent on meeting with you. She claims it's urgent."

He took a moment to enjoy the woman standing in his door. Deferential, wearing a flattering outfit with a skirt that was professional, yet teased possibilities. Good. It appeared that she was far more pliable than the last one. She might just last longer because of it.

"Very well. Send her in."

He took the moment to place his drink on the desk.. Rich wood contrasting nicely with a pair of polished metal art pieces that flanked it. In walked the woman that had deigned to demand his attention. Her heels struck a steady beat, her dress immaculate, and her hair an artistic tangle that looked effortless. By all accounts, he may have considered courting her. But an Emperor did not share his throne; he had no need for equals.

She sat, placing her slim briefcase on the floor beside her. Reaching across the desk, she took his offered hand.

"Mr. Anders, thank you for meeting me so promptly. I am hoping to secure your assistance in a matter of some urgency."

He smiled, already sensing an opportunity, even if it was currently nebulous in its detail. He had pegged based upon his few interactions that Miss Brown was a slow, methodical manager, and to have her show up at his doorstep without the usual trappings of a fellow executive, certainly suggested that negotiations would be in his favor.

"I'll certainly help if possible. Our two companies would assuredly benefit from a closer relationship."

Her lips twitched for a brief instant.

"Indeed," she intoned, before she reached down, bending slightly, the fold at the top of her dress providing a tantalizing glimpse of flesh. It was a calculated move, meant to innocently tease. He certainly enjoyed the view, even if it was a blatant trap. But once a trap was spotted, it lost its bite.

She then placed a yellow stone on his desk. He glanced at it, not understanding what purpose it served. Though there was a niggling feeling that he should know what it meant.

Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, exuding the confidence of a woman who felt in control of the situation, "My employer is a dedicated and methodical man," she declared, "he spent quite a lot of resources and energy in crafting me into the woman I am today. When he finally deemed that my training was sufficient enough to serve him, he gave me this memento and my name."

Her name?

His eyes snapped up from the stone and to her, body tensing as things clicked into place. Jean Brown was employed as the Vice President of Zero Dawn, doubling as the manager of their finances. But before that, she was the Vice President of Far Zenith, a hedge fund out of Boston. And there were only a handful of gemstones that were gold.

One of which was Citrine.

Her head turned slightly towards the window, gazing out at the rain-battered city, "I will admit, Mr. Anders, you have quite the view of your office. One could think of himself as a Kaiser overlooking this city from here."

His fists clenched, feeling the metal shiver around him in reaction. He was on the backfoot now, a position that he always hated. It was time to retake the initiative in this and show this woman that he was not some fool to push around with a simple threat of unmasking.

"I can imagine the difficulty in being caught between two masters," he probed, looking for an opportunity to strike. It seemed that Citrine, and by extension Accord, were not interested in any sort of escalation, with the information they had, it would be child's play to irrevocably damage both Medhall and himself, so there was another angle at play. One that he was not yet aware of.

And furthermore, was this all some sort of elaborate trap sprung by Accord? Tempt him into a bountiful future for Medhall, while breaking the Empire in the process? It was the sort of plot that he would expect from the Bostonian cape, but this lacked the elaborate preparations that were a hallmark of the man. So could this be just a happy coincidence, or was there a different plan being executed?

The responding smile, a slight thing that felt more like a reaction to an inside joke than something funny, only served to ratchet up his tension, "In many circumstances, their intentions align perfectly. Like today, for example."

He realized he was not going to get the information that he wanted, at least through normal means, he was on his backfoot and he couldn't see just what playbook that she was operating from. So there was only one solution to the matter that may bring the advantage back to his side.

He stood, leaning over toward her, letting his power manipulate the metallic sculptures in his office, slowly twisting them into blades. It was not quite explicit yet, but it was enough to warn Citrine that he was not in the mood for games.

"What do you want," he growled, wanting to see her flinch. Only for his rage to grow further stroked when she met his threat without a reaction.

"Peace Mr. Anders. Peace," she raised her palms, "There's no need for violence. This is a deal between equals over mutual self-interest," she reached and palmed the gem, twisting it between her slim fingers with a thoughtful expression, before looking back to him, "The instructions from my patron were clear, I am to ensure that Zero Dawn succeeds. As you are no doubt aware, Miss Hebert is talented, driven, and innovative. But at the same time, that very drive is also her detriment, pushing her to take risks you and I would consider reckless, even for a company."

He settled back in his chair, willing the metal back to their former places with nary a thought.

Perhaps it was not a trap, he thought, considering the implications in what Citrine had said, both subtle and otherwise. The fact that she was admitting, albeit in a roundabout way, that working with Miss Hebert was difficult. And the admission certainly fit with his overall perspective of Miss Hebert as well. The girl was direct to a fault, preferring the use of her personality and technology to impose her will. She had used shock and awe on him in order to gain his allegiance. It was certainly effective, if brutish, to use concepts and blueprints to ensnare him.

A dark part of him found amusement that his father and her would have likely gotten along like a house on fire, if they were able to set aside their ideological differences. They both seemed to subscribe to the same playbook on the imposition of will.

"Yes, your little inventor certainly is impressive, I'll admit. The deal worked between our two companies stands to benefit us both. However, I do not see what would cause you to take the drastic action as you have today. You are risking quite a bit for something that appears to have little gain for you."

"Because Mr. Anders, my 'little inventor' as you call her, has decided to bet everything on the success of another one of her inventions that you have not been privy to. One that has placed her in one of the most challenging work environments possible."

Ah. Now the pieces were coming together, even as he fought the urge to smirk. It would not do well to resort to such base childishness, as tempting as it was to enjoy a bit of schadenfreude at turning the tables upon the woman.

"Boston."

"Yes, Boston. Ms. Hebert will no doubt have her machines as central as possible. If this venture pans out as she believes that it will, and the subsequent cleanup and recovery of Boston succeeds, then Zero Dawn's name will rise accordingly. If it fails? Then my patron's investment will likely suffer a significant setback," she then leaned forward, a hard look in her eyes, "I am not a woman comfortable with failure, Mr. Anders. I will ensure that Boston is a success story. You can help me do that."

Now, he couldn't help but smile, but it was certainly not polite. Here, he was on more stable ground now, and this was a negotiation. One where the situation was to his advantage.

"I believe I can. After all, Medhall has the resources and allies to call upon. But as you said, 'mutual self-interest', so I have to ask the rather droll question, 'what's in it for me?'"

The bland expression he received only heightened his amusement, he knew that she knew he had her over the barrel. She obviously knew she would have to offer something, but the fact that she didn't know what he wanted only made it better.

"As I said," she began, "Ms. Hebert is a woman of singular focus. I can ensure that her focus remains on projects beneficial to Medhall's interest."

His smile grew impossibly wider. Time to really test the waters.

"Considering what Ms. Hebert has done with this other project, I doubt the veracity of your pledge. And even if you were able to, those projects would still take time to develop. An eventual payoff, certainly, but that is not guaranteed either."

The way her expression twisted was worth it. It served the bitch right.

"What do you want?"

He pretended to think for a moment, but he already knew what he wanted to do. It was something he had been exploring since his first meeting with Ms. Hebert. And now, he could use it to kill three birds with one stone.

"Ms. Hebert is single right now, isn't she," he asked, already knowing the answer to that, but playing it up just to twist the knife, knowing that a woman like Citrine would be disgusted by the action. But she would not have a choice, because this was the price he was going to demand, "I know of a fine young man who might make for a good partner for her. Perhaps you could…lend your weight in encouraging the two to interact?"

Certainly, it was a stroke of genius. His son, Theo, was of the right age, and he could certainly benefit from female accompaniment. There was no doubt in his mind that a personality like Ms. Hebert would season the boy into finally asserting his preordained masculinity. And if it didn't necessarily work outright, there were other means to place his thumb on the scale if Theo was found to be insufficient in acquiring Ms. Hebert's hand. All that matters would be that the relationship be made fruitful.

Oh yes, there were plenty of opportunities to be had.

But he had named his price, and he knew that if Citrine was this desperate to make a play, then she had no real choice in the matter. He had to wonder just who had given the orders, if there were orders, or if this was her own initiative. He doubted that Accord would be so willing to make a deal like this, the man never struck him as one to operate from a disadvantage. No, this reeked of female decision-making, too emotional and bereft of logic. She had come in her clad in her supposed superiority and he was going to take pleasure in breaking her of that illusion.

Just the visual of her expression becoming strained was exhilarating. She knew she was in no position to negotiate, and she had worked herself into a corner with barely a push from himself. If she wanted his support for Boston, she would have to ensure further future projects to Medhall and pressure Ms. Hebert into interaction with his chosen partner.

"Much of this will depend on the conduct of your 'fine young gentlemen'," she spat out, as if she were tasting something foul, "but yes, I think that will be acceptable."

She then reached across the desk, and he shook her hand sealing their pact.

In the end a Kaiser always won.

---

AEH​

---

"Protests continue today in the wake of President Durling's declaration of Martial Law..." - Good Morning America

"And I will continue to fight against this kind of blatant government overreach, and with your support we can win this fight!" - Senator Shaw speaking to rallying supporters

"First images out of Boston show devastation, and tragedy. Survivors share their stories… - Dateline NBC​

---

AEH​

---

Boston

Two Days After Initial Relief's Arrival

Kaiser

With a flex of will, swords worthy of the Colossus of Rhodes exploded from the river before him. As they came to a halt, myriad more blades sprouted from them where the engineers indicated ships could still pass with clearance, forming the frame of a roadway over which cars would pass. More titanic blades appeared adding support that his work would not be quickly undone, while smaller protrusions fractaled out to create the road-bed itself.

Looking around, he could see the industrious hard at work. While he had never been one for dumb labor, he was not blind to the necessity of such. So he treated them as they should be treated, giving clear instructions, rewarding the diligent, and punishing the indolent.

He suppressed a wince as metal screeched against stone, and turned to see his Valkyries hard at work. Fenja and Menja were in their larger forms, clearing the roads of cars that had crashed themselves together from the waves of Leviathan's attacks. Their legs, hands and arms were stained with motor oil, mud and other things. Regrettable… he foresaw several large expenses for spa days in the future. As the girls liked to say 'beauty must be maintained', and if he wanted to take advantage of said beauty, he would be the one paying for the maintenance.

"Sir! I have news!"

Finally!

He turned to see Victor hopping off one of Runes' flying platforms. It supported dozens of gaping civilians and several tons of supplies bound for other locations. He felt a sense of satisfaction at their awe, even as the teen herself scowled and left without comment; continuing her tour of the city. Another one of his capes who would need to be placated following this. He waited impatiently as Victor jogged over.

"What do you have for me?"

"Othala is working with the wounded. I've asked among the Capes; no word yet on Hookwolf and the others. What survivors I can find are unsure of events. By all accounts, it was a very chaotic battle against the beast."

Unfortunate… it would be inconvenient to martyr Hookwolf and the others only to have them return. "Keep looking, openly if you need to. Most capes will be sympathetic to us finding our dead after an Endbringer battle."

If they weren't dead already…well; he would have to make sure they did not miss their date with matyrdom.

"Yes, understood. Sir… have you heard about the machines?"

When Citrine had told him that Taylor Hebert had gone into Boston with 'machines' for rescue, he had expected something simple, perhaps even novel, considering what she had already shown him. Something that would certainly garner enough attention to override the fact that it would make minimal difference in the grand scheme of rescue.

Unfortunately, he found, to his increasing chagrin in regards to Ms. Hebert, that he had once again underestimated her.

No, that was minimizing just what she had done. What he was currently bearing witness was orders of magnitude beyond simple underestimation. He might as well have not guessed at all just what she had wrought upon Boston. Never once, under any circumstance, would have envisioned Taylor Hebert creating what she had.

"I've heard of them, and only observed a few at a distance. What have you heard?"

"It's all anyone can talk about amongst the camps. Rescue workers and the refugees. They compare stories, comment on where to see the creatures as they enter and exit the camps. Vandals are painting their likeness on the rubble, and the police are letting them. And most of all…" Victor leaned close. "They say that a parahuman made them, but they're being operated by regular people. They say the inventor could be the next coming of Dragon."

The next Dragon? No. It was worse than that. It took weeks for Dragon to assemble a new machine from scratch. Taylor Hebert created all of these machines with a team of non-capes using blueprints and schematics in a month! And each machine was unique in its own way, suggesting a depth and understanding of robotics far in excess of just about anyone he was aware of.

If there had been any doubt on the value of the girl before, it was safe to say that it no longer existed. In fact, it only emphasized the need to assimilate her into his orbit. Theo would need to be impressed upon the fact that failure was not an option. He didn't care how the boy did it, but Taylor Hebert must be brought into the fold and made pliable to his ambitions.

Before he was done, Taylor Hebert would become Taylor Anders. He would not accept anything less of this opportunity. Not when it was so close within his grasp.

Her keen intellect and creativity, guided with his firm hand, would achieve a legacy that would enshrine the Anders name in the annals of history that would be spoken of for generations. All that was needed now was for his son to finally become an Anders and grasp his destiny with both hands.

"Yes, I'm aware of these rumours. Plans are in motion, we'll talk more when we've left this city."

Needless to say, the Empire-88 had received a cool welcome. While Colonel Herres was not in a position to turn away their aid, he had done what he could to split up the help offered. It was inconvenient, but it did not matter in the end. While all eyes were upon him, Victor could serve as his eyes and ears in Boston, providing him with needed reports.

"Has anyone spotted her?"

He was rewarded with a shake of a head from his subordinate, "Nor has anyone seen her father in the last day. They likely have her holed up in the command center at Boston College. Herres is not allowing anyone in the facility that has not been vetted or is not authorized military personnel."

It was disappointing, but to be expected. Herres came across as undeniably competent at his job, considering his progress and success so far. The man obviously realized just how critical Ms. Hebert was to his operations, considering it was from her mind that the machines came from. It would be the height of idiocy not to zealously protect such an asset. Pulling Daniel Hebert to a position where he was not vulnerable only solidified the choice.

If this were Brockton Bay, he would have likely had no problem slipping some of his people in and putting eyes on the Heberts. But alas, it was not, so it was best not to dwell upon something outside of his control.

They would have plenty of opportunities once this was over. And he had other issues to deal with.

Namely Krieg, or James Fleischer.

The Gesellschaft liaison was on his way back from London, but the man was already asking questions. Which meant that his masters were getting curious as to why he was involving himself in Boston. It wouldn't be much longer until they would be able to put the pieces together, if they hadn't already with the news reports that were no doubt starting to leak out from Boston.

They would no doubt realize the opportunity presented through the union of Medhall and Zero Dawn and began demanding of him things that he may or may not be able to provide at significant risk. At the heart, Gesellschaft's leadership were rich industrialists, and the specter of Taylor Hebert's ingenuity would no doubt incite them to take anything they could in order to further their own aims.

He had always planned to rid himself of the shackles of Gesellschaft, it was always a question of when it was the right opportunity to do so. And with the way things were developing it would certainly be sooner than he had originally planned.

But for now, that could be put on the backburner. He had time to prepare his response for Krieg when he returned back to Brockton Bay. For now, he would show the flag here, planting that seed of doubt in the heads of those of weaker disposition.

"Return to Othala," he commanded Victor, watching as the man nodded and quickly took off in a jog. He then turned his attention towards Massachusetts Bay, taking in the massive shape of the USS Enterprise. It had just arrived into the bay this morning, and it was a hive of activity, with helicopters landing and taking off constantly, all the while every once in a while, it was launching and retrieving combat aircraft.

There was a quiet part of him that wondered if this was not a portent for the future. This was one of the first times that he could recall that there was an organized military response to anything. Even the New York response paled in comparison to the amount of men and material that were pouring into the ravaged city.

He then mentally shook his head, dismissing the thought. It was all theater as far as he was concerned, this was the military's last gasp to maintain their relevancy. It would not make a difference, and he was making a mountain out of an anthill. They could enjoy this moment, because at the end of the day, it will not save them from their final disposition. Capes were the future, not mortal men.
He had a future to work towards.

---

AEH​

---

Christopher Siopis

Kid Win

Hospitals have a certain smell. And it's everywhere, so when something smells different, you notice. So when his teammate walked in holding a bag which smelled of food, and drink? Chris sat up as quickly as he could. Which he regretted, because OW! Bandages rubbed against burns, and skin pulled in funny ways that made everything even more painful.

"Kid, you look more well done than this sandwich I saved for you." Clock jokes, his helmet replaced with a small domino mask.

"Yeah, sure. Hand me the food you jokester." Even talking hurts, a kind of scrape to his voice. Maybe it made him sound more mature?

Clock sat at the end of the bed, laying out items from his bag. Chris reached for it, making the effort. Clock paused, staring as his arm and hand shook in place. He clenched his fist, willing it to stop, which it did… somewhat. Now it was just a small tremble.

"Wow, you're more jittery than Vista on coffee! Remember that time when she brought in that flavored coffee that she got from.." Chris tuned out Clock a little, as he worked around the trembling of his fingers, unwrapping the packaging of a, admittedly, delicious looking and smelling barbecue sandwich. Clock hated hospitals. He made that clear enough. Chris never learnt why, but was touched that his teammate was making the effort to visit him. Clock also deflected serious topics with humour. So he let the older teen tell his story, and nodded along absently as he ate.

And it was serious. The nurse had called it periphery nerve damage. It was something that Panacea could have healed, but hadn't. It was a decision from on high that Panacea would only perform enough healing to stabilize a patient before moving on. The rationale being that she could always return back to them once things settled, and that time spent on fully healing one person could be better spent partially healing several.

On one hand, he could understand why they made the decision. It made sense. But there was a quiet part of himself scared out of his mind, asking himself "How am I going to Tinker with shaky hands like this?"

Because for the first time, Kid Win felt like a proper Tinker. Capital T included! His inventions were powerful, unique, and utterly unlike anything that had come before. It was… amazing. Armsmaster's final parting gift had unlocked a whole new world of designs, ideas and plans for him to explore. Even if the man had been a bad mentor previously. He had come through at the finish line.

"So have you got any idea on when you're getting out of here?" Clock asked, munching away at his own snack.

"They haven't told me," he said, before taking a bite from the sandwich, his taste-buds luxuriating in the departure from the cracker and peanut butter sandwiches that had been his meals since he had awakened. He was interrupted by his enjoyment by the sound of rotors reverberating off the building.

"What's going on out there," he finally asked as the sound faded.

"Man, it's like an old war movie out there," Clock sighed, "choppers coming in, dropping things off, then flying off right away. They've turned the football field into a landing zone, and someone went around with a cutting tool and removed the fencing. Now trucks are rolling in and out of there, loading up supplies and heading out of there."

"I've been working with the hospitals on critical cases, running patients back and forth. You're kind of lucky you're getting the prime treatment. Most of the hospitals are chock full and the urgent cases are being shipped to Panacea here. Oh!" The other Ward leaned forward, a boyish grin on his face, "you'll never guess who I've been paired up with."

He blinked, trying to figure out who Clockblocker, the eternal jokester, would be amused by being paired up with, because he obviously found it funny based upon his expression, "Who?"

"Rune."

"Bullcrap."

"Yep," Clock declared with a pop then chuckled, "I'm working with Sabrina the Teenage Nazi."

Sabrina the Teenage Nazi? What?

Clock must have seen his confusion before laughing, "One of the military guys called her that. I'm honestly embarrassed that I didn't think of it. Blonde, kind of cute in a 'as long as she keeps her mouth shut you can introduce her to your parents' kinda way, and can fly around? I need to take some pointers from the military, methinks. They have some untapped creativity."

He finished chuckling along with his friend before putting the remains of his sandwich down.

"So… what happened after I was knocked out? Most people don't really have time to talk. Just keep saying that it's chaos and they don't know who's where."

Clock dropped his eyes, taking a long sip from his drink. His heart sank; it wasn't good news if this was Clock's reaction. Did he not do enough? Was the Alternator Cannon not enough?

"Yeah," Clock's voice was soft, previous joviality completely gone, "It was a mess, man. With Dragon down, we didn't know where anyone was, you know? You hit Leviathan really good Kid, you did. I saw the flash from across the city. But… Velocity didn't make it."

"Oh…," suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore. Someone he worked with, who was friendly and talked to him about his inventions was just… gone. And here he was in a hospital bed. A few inches from also being gone.

"And the others?"

He really didn't want to know, but he couldn't resist. He had to know, because that was what a hero does, right? Take all of the bad news at once and get it over with?

His fellow Ward leaned back, sighing deeply. He pulled off his mask, and Chris was a little shocked by how drained his friend looked. Black smudges under his eyes, mud or maybe blood on his cheek. Rubbing his forehead, Clock continued.

"Vista made it, but she's out cold, sleeping it off in one of the tents. She was helping move people to chase Leviathan most of the fight. Damn near fried her brain doing it. Armsmaster was found last night, but now he's arm-master… he lost an arm in the rubble." Clock tried to smile, but he couldn't follow through. It should have been a solemn moment. A quiet moment. Like… rain, and gloom at a funeral. But… overhead another copter roared in, truck engines roared outside as they moved supplies. All this loss, and not a moment to stop.

"Who else?"

Browbeat hadn't made the jump from the Rig to Boston. Aegis was missing, somewhere in the rubble of downtown. Gallant was alive. Assault and Battery were fine, nothing beyond sprains and lots of bruises. Miss Militia was fine as well, but he hadn't seen her, she was trying to coordinate what was left of the Brockton Bay contingent.

They found Triumph's body this morning.

"If we didn't have those ZD machines, I'm sure things would be a lot worse."

"The what?"

"Oh man, they're really cool. You know Scarface? From the Bay? Well she rolled into Boston with a bunch of supply trucks, and this whole team of these… animal-looking machines. All built for rescue work. And they really work! Scanning, digging, the whole kit. And somehow they're not Tinkertech, so even the army guys are going around giving the machine-team orders."

Just then, there was a quick knock at the door, before it was thrown open. There stood Rune. And here he was in a hospital bed wearing a hospital gown. Then again, the girl didn't look good either. Her green dress was stained with mud and other things. It was torn, all the way up to her thighs, showing the long basketball shorts she wore underneath her outfit. Her hood was missing, and her blond hair tied up in a messy bun.

"Come on, shit pants, we've got to go. Break's over."

Clock didn't even try to put his mask back on, just sighing and running a hand through his hair before standing and stretching. "Copy that Grumpy-Cat, let's go be heroes."

He turned to Chris, holding out a fist to bump. "You get some rest, yeah? Be good to see you on your feet in a few days." Chris bumped back, ignoring the way his biceps spasmed.

"Jeasus, can you two save your gay buddy-buddy shit for another time?! Let's go, we're back on the clock, Clock-boy!"

"Clock-man if you please," he retorted, finally placing on his mask, "And speaking of pleasure, can I say that your legs look great? The mud really brings out the tone of those calves of yours. And those boots!"

"I will shove these boots up your ass so hard you will be tasting shoe leather. If you bring up th…"

The conversation faded as the pair retreated out of the room and down the hall, the door closing behind them, leaving him to his own thoughts. Which… were honestly a bit of a mess. He didn't want to dwell upon the people that had been lost. Didn't want to think about the empty spots on the Rig, or the fact that new people would soon fill those empty spots, erasing any sign that his friends and fellow heroes might have been there once.

Burying his head in his hands for a moment, he fought the myriad of emotions that were warring for primacy. It felt like too much, all of this, and if he dwelled upon it, he would break.

He needed a distraction, he thought, raising his head up. His eyes came to rest upon the phone that had been left beside his bed, Clock having left him it. He needed something to take his mind off of everything. He needed to see how the rest of the world was reacting to all of this. It was customary for Endbringer battles to be somewhat taboo in the news; but while the battles themselves weren't reported on, the outcomes were. Time would be set aside for those who fell, along with their accomplishments, and the impact of their loss.

It was…nice to see that they were remembered. He had been a Ward for a couple years now, and he had always tried to pay attention when the memorial programs came on. If only to take the memory of them to heart and provide him with a drive to be better.

There were even times in which the villains were mentioned. Sometimes their actions merited acknowledgement in spite of their crimes.

Reaching to the stand, he grabbed the device and struggled through twitching fingers to find some news sites, then to Parahumans Online when he didn't find what he wanted, and when that failed, to a few blogs that he followed. Yet everywhere he looked, he saw the same thing, to his mounting frustration.

Tossing the phone on the bed, he grimaced when it bounced off and landed on the floor.

"It's not fair," he huffed, leaning back into his bed. Another spasm shot down his arm, and he clenched his first together as he ground his teeth.

It was the same news everywhere. The same tired lines revolving around the same thing: Zero Dawn Technologies. About the machines that were currently scouring Boston and saving lives. The implications of the technology, the performance, and even the stories of those rescued by them.

And Who was Taylor Hebert?

No mention was given to those who had made the ultimate sacrifice in the defense of Boston. Not even an attempt to post an 'in memoriam' for those who had fallen, highlighting their accomplishments and who they were.

All gone. Like they didn't matter.

He breathed deep, resisting the tears that fought to be shed.

It wasn't fair, he wanted to scream to this cruel world.

A knock at the door ripped him out of his thoughts, as he scrambled to sit up again because he wasn't expecting who walked in without acknowledgement or preamble.

Black cape, black helmet, and a white tower emblazoned upon her chest. You had to have been living under a rock not to recognize Alexandria of the Triumvirate.

And here he was, clad in a skimpy hospital gown. Today was really not his day.

"Mr. Win, glad to see you are recovering. Considering your actions in Boston, I felt it was right to set aside a time to meet with you."

Meet with him? Alexandria wanted to meet with him?!

"Um, yeah," he stumbled over his words, "Sure. How can I help you?"

The woman folded her arms in response, not even acknowledging his stammering, and leaned back on a leg against the wall.

"The cannon that you used against Leviathan? Do you think you can rebuild it?"

He frowned, looking down at his lap as his hands bunched the blankets, "Yes. If I can get the resources approved…The cannon misfired because I overrode the safeties to get that second shot," his head shot up, staring at the visored eyes of the member of the Triumvirate, "It's perfectly safe otherwise, I swear!. It's just…it didn't seem to have enough of an impact…"

"Nonsense. You had a huge impact on the fight, even if you weren't there for the end of it. Make no mistake, Mr. Win," she stepped closed and offered her hand to shake, "Those of us who matter, who aren't mesmerized by the tricks of an opportunist, are very aware of your value and the impact you can have."

He couldn't help the large smile that spread across his face as he shook her hand. Alexandria liked what he did and she wanted to see his cannon again?! Just then, just to show how unfair the world really was, his arm began to tremble and his hands shook. It was like his world was crashing down around him again.

What good was a Tinker with shaky hands…

However, if he expected Alexandria to release his hand, he was sorely mistaken as her hand tightened around his, holding it until the shakes finally abated.

"Hmmm," she mused aloud, releasing his hand, "I did read about this in your medical chart. Don't let it hold you back, Mr. Win, I look forward to seeing how you overcome this."

He frowned. Overcome this? He wasn't a bio-tinker. He didn't work with bodies!

Alexandria seemed to pick up on his mood, and answered before he could snap back at her, "Tinkers are defined by their limits, and Heroes are defined by overcoming their limitations. Your former mentor, Armsmaster, is the same way. He has already turned down healing by Panacea and seems intent on solving the problem himself. I think he's actually looking forward to it, honestly."

The indomitable's woman seemed to stare into his very soul as she continued, "Hero was the same way. Anytime he found a limit, he would invent a way past it."

She leaned down, letting him stare into his reflection off her faceplate, "Don't let anything hold you back, Mr. Win. I look forward to seeing how great a Hero you can be."

And with that, she turned and left, leaving him to gape at the open door. Alexandria actually believed he could be as great as Hero?! That…

He smiled widely, unable to stop himself at the idea that someone like Alexandira could have faith in him. In him of all people.

He couldn't let her down, he thought, as he grabbed his phone again, this time with a purpose as he began opening websites and note programs. Every spasm of his fingers was an impetus forward. A problem to be solved. Okay…modularity? Nerves were conduits designed to send signals, could he bypass those conduits? No, but maybe he could replace them? But with what material?

He spent the rest of the day reviewing medical texts and asking questions of every nurse that happened to check in on him.

By the day's end…he took his name off of Panacea's healing list.

---

AEH​

---

"I'm telling you man, the PRT conspiracy is real! Look at those machines, remind you of anything? Eagleton, Machine Army! It's been a PRT controlled zone for years. They're not keeping people out for some threat, they're keeping people out because they don't want everyone knowing that they're experimenting on controlling the machines!" - LizardsAllOverTheShop, PHO Online

"Religious leaders across the country are organizing ceremonies of mourning and remembrance for those lost in Boston. And dozens of charity organizations have begun preparing supplies to be sent once travel into the city becomes more clear." - CNN Tonight​

---

AEH​

---

Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Herres II, USAF

Acting Governor of Massachusetts

Boston College Conference Room

"Okay, that's the updated status on water and electricity. What's next?"

He scanned through the room. Half a dozen tired faces looked back at him, likely seeing the same from him. The table was strewn with papers, half-full coffee cups, note papers, and maps. Off to the side, the holoprojection hung, showing dozens of icons, pins, notes, and color codes.

"Boston Harbor," grunted Admiral Nathan Grayson, who had come in on the Enterprise. It had been a hell of a thing to see the ship pull into Massachusetts Bay. The Grey Ghost should have been mothballed ages ago, but with the Navy budget for building ships cut down to pennies, everything old was being reactivated, updated, and polished. Especially with the President's insistence on maintaining six active carriers in the Fleet.

Herres nodded, noting a man in a yellow safety vest clear his throat, even as the exhaustion gnawed at the edges of his vision. He had only gotten four hours of rest since the initial relief convoys had arrived. They still weren't out of the woods yet, but things were starting to come together. All that was left was organizing everything that still needed to be organized.

"Name's Robert. I'm the acting harbor master. Short answer? Harbor's fucked. Long answer? Harbor's completely fucked."

There was an exhausted chuckle that broke through the gathering. While it was certainly a crass statement, it both served as a moment of levity, while still enhancing the seriousness of the situation. Herres actually appreciated it.

"Alright. What will it take to get it unfucked?"

"At least six months, two dredges, a marine salvage team, and a lot of manhours."

He couldn't resist the urge, especially with news that was honestly not good, and rubbed his eyes.

"Okay," was his response, even as he rubbed his eyes, "break it down for us. What's wrong?"

The man sighed and pulled out a battered notebook, opening it up to look through it.

"Okay, so firstly, if we want to start bringing in supplies via container ship, we're going to have to remap the seabed. Leviathan and the waves he brought in has completely rearranged it, all of our depth and hazard charts are completely useless. Moving on, we get to the facilities. At least ninety percent of the cranes and unloading stations are a complete writeoff. Too much structural damage to the cranes, and the cargo containers that were not destroyed and/or drawn back to sea, are currently part of the local scenery. Throw into that mix the various smashed boats, ships, and everything else, we have a bay that is completely littered with debris that will need to be charted and cleaned up before we even think about bringing anything with a draft more than five feet."

He then closed the notebook.

"Finally, and this is probably the worst part of it, the refueling stations and fuel storage facilities for the ships. They're completely compromised. What Leviathan didn't crack open and spread throughout the bay and city, is so full of saltwater that it will take months to safely inspect and scour out the fuel reservoirs. And even with them passing the initial checks, I wouldn't trust them until we did an integrity check, which will take an additional month or so. I'm being generous when I say six months, Colonel, I'm leaning more towards a year before we could get back to fifty percent operational capacity."

He thumped his notebook with the back of his hand, "Like I said, harbor's fucked."

That was honestly what he hoped not to hear, but expected. He had taken the time to look over Ms. Hebert's Scenario Boston-Theta, both out of curiosity, but also to prepare him for what could be. The harbormaster's description of the port facilities had been contained within the notes and projections within it, almost for rote. It was scarily accurate in its analysis, and the fact that it was one of over twenty different scenarios she had wargamed for Boston alone, only made it more abundantly clear that Ms. Hebert's importance going forward could not be understated.

He honestly wondered what Ms. Hebert would suggest as a solution. Even if it was a test, it would provide a better indicator into her thinking process and how she would approach it. She had provided a textbook answer on how to handle a disaster area, and she had offered solutions to it through her machines and communications, even if she couldn't initially see past her own personal involvement in it.

In hindsight, it may have been unwise to extend her rest for another day, despite her being healthy after her treatment, even if waking her would have been over the protests of Doctor Saunders and Panacea. But for right now, it was a pointless mental exercise, he had to at least figure out a tentative solution now, instead of waiting for the wunderkind.

His head turned away from the harbormaster, "Admiral, what's the closest port facility that can accommodate large-scale cargo containers?"

Even as he asked the question he was in action, manipulating the holographic display with his Focus to zoom it out from Boston to the region. The holodisplay responded immediately despite him being on the other side of the room, and five other people wearing Focus devices in the room as well.

"Port of Portland, in Maine, and Port of New York and New Jersey," was Grayson's immediate reply, and he immediately dropped pins on the locations, grimacing at the distance. Currently, the city had everything it needed; the refugees had camps, food, and heat. Men and supplies were coming in, roads were being cleared of debris, and infrastructure was slowly being restored as buildings were inspected. It would at least be several more days before the outlying suburbs could be deemed safe for people to return. The inner city? Weeks. Possible months.

But all of that was simply to establish a basis of survival. Cities were, by their nature, hungry beasts; requiring mind-numbing amounts of supplies in order to simply function. All of it required a logistical network in order for it to move in and out of the city in large quantities. And right now? The city was on life support; without its own established networks, it was reliant upon everything being trucked, flown, or brought in by rail. Which meant time in lines, congested roads and tracks, and so on and so forth.

The city was only surviving by the skin of its teeth, and it currently did not have the means to get itself back on its feet without the harbor. They were only two days in, and he'd already been warned that they would need to start serious rationing within another five days.

"Incoming ships are all Panamax class," he spoke aloud, "if not larger variants thereof. Is there any way we can unload them? Get them close to the shore and use the choppers?"

Brigadier General Malika Faraday, commanding officer of the 10th Mountain Division, spoke up finally, having been quiet most of the meeting, "Army's already stretched thin on the rotary-wing assets trying to meet the demand here. I've been on the horn with the Pentagon, but the best they can scrape up is another air battalion, and it will be at least another day or two before we'll see anything of them. I know there is chatter about digging some old Chinooks, Blackhawks, and Super Stallions out of Davis-Monthan, but that's at least a week out before we'll see any activity if it amounts to anything, Nathan?"

The named Admiral shook his head, "What I have is all we got. And they are all hard-pressed just keeping things running as is. There's no way we can add in offloading containerships without it impacting something else. And even if we could, do we even have any facilities for the dockworkers to work their magic if we could offload them?"

He found himself blinking at the Admiral's last statement, his mind suddenly whirling at the mention of dockworkers.

He manipulated the map, wondering if gut feeling was correct. Daniel Hebert, the father of Taylor Hebert, had mentioned he was connected with the Dockworkers Union for Brockton Bay. But the Admiral hadn't mentioned the bay as a possible port. Zooming in, he found what he was looking for. It wasn't perfect for the situation, but it was world's better than what they currently had.

"Why not use the harbor at Brockton Bay? It's a two hour drive by semi, the harbor is more sheltered than Boston, and it shouldn't have been hit by Leviathan's surges."

He turned to Robert, who was frowning uncomfortably, "Harbor's blocked, has been since the 90s. Idiots ran a cape-sized freighter aground near its mouth. Left a lot of ships stuck in the port and they were scuttled."

"But they would still have the facilities to unload Panamax-class ships. We can then move cargo by truck or rail."

Robert was nodding along now, shuffling through maps on the table. Pulling one out in front of him, he checked the rail lines connecting the two cities.

"Yeah, that could work. No idea on the state of the equipment, the rail yard and lines, or anything else like that. But in theory it should work. Still would need to deal with the ship blocking the entrance though. Damn thing's been rusting out there for years, there's no way we can raise and tow it."

"Blow it up."

The table collectively looked at him for a moment.

"Get a navy engineering team down there. Do a survey on the ship, and if it clears, load it up with explosives and do a controlled demolition. Crack it in two, blow it into little pieces, I don't know. If that isn't feasible, then we'll look at cape intervention. Admiral?"

The other man nodded, handing a hastily-scrawled note to an aide who quickly left the room, "On it. I'll see about getting a team down there. Is the Mayor of the city going to give us any trouble?"

"Not if he has any survival instincts," he added another note to his to-do list. It was becoming depressingly long, and had been rewritten several times already.

"Robert, see if you can track down Daniel Hebert. He should be in the building. If there is anyone who has an idea on the state of the port, it'll be him. And if he doesn't, he'll know someone who does."

Satisfied that they at least had a tentative plan going forward, at least until it could be proven or disproven, he filed it away. Now it was time to focus on the next crisis of course.

"Alright, what's next," he asked, looking over the group.

"Rules of engagement, Governor," Faraday spoke up, "I know we haven't experienced it yet, but sooner or later, some idiot is going to get in their heads that attacking supply convoys is a bright idea. I'd rather not have my men hamstrung by rules that put them at a disadvantage. Especially with the possibility of hostile capes being involved."

His eyes narrowed, searching the General's blank expression. He didn't know much about Malika Faraday, and he wished he did, considering the loaded question she had placed at his feet. The general was right in that there needed to be rules of engagement put into place, especially as people started to recover from shock and started looking out for themselves. Sooner or later, there would be crime and violence, and if the right rules of engagement were not put into place, then it would only add further to the chaos.

"We will be merging units together with the local police to provide support. A recognizable face and uniform will hopefully keep things calm."

The harsh reality was that there weren't many police left in the city. Many had been at the forefront of the attempted evacuations, attempting to keep people moving out of the city. They had become casualties, along with the people they had been trying to help. They would be honored for their sacrifice, but that still left him with a city on the edge of anarchy.

"That might not be enough, Colonel. The PRT has already been sharing what information they have about organized crime and powered criminals in this city. There are significant threats that are almost certain to take advantage of the desperation."

While he doubted that Faraday was looking for something like a carte blanche authorization to use lethal force, the issue was that in this day and age, especially with capes, lethal force was possibly the only deterrent they did have. The problem was that it created a dangerous slippery slope, especially in a high-tension situation like this.

There had to be a way to provide a level of protection for the men and women tasked with protecting the American people, but also ensuring that Boston didn't become something like the O.K. Corral with the military shooting people at will, not that he would accuse them of planning such. It all came down to optics, and the last thing he needed, in order to ensure stability, was a riot on top of a national disaster.

But there was a possible solution to the situation, one that could hopefully satisfy both sides of the coin.

Tapping the Focus, he spoke aloud, "Conference in Quentin Tate."

Now it was only a matter of waiting as the Focus connected with the only other person who could provide him with answers. Hopefully they were answers that would solve this issue as well.

He was rewarded with a new emblem popping up on the holo-board, and the voice of the man who had taken over the operation of the LRL with Hebert's incapacitation.

"How can I help you, Colonel?"

"Mr. Tate, I have a few questions that I hope you can answer."

"I'll do my best."

"Does the Focus device have the ability to record?"

There was a momentary pause. He had to wonder exactly what the programmer was thinking, but it was more than likely having to shift his focus to the conversation. Usually when he called the man, it was simply to get a progress report or a request to put through, so to have him suddenly asking questions probably put the man on his back foot.

"Why don't we start with exactly what we're trying to record and go from there. It will be much easier for me to tell you what the device can do if I know what you want."

"I need to know if we can get an accurate recording of events and situations that might take place because of the actions of the Focus wearer, or that take place around them."

While Tate and the workers that Ms. Hebert had brought with her were dedicated and skilled, the concept of surveillance was a tricky one with civilians. Both in their need, but also in the moral ramifications of it, and he had no desire to dig up fresh issues.

"Oh! I see. You're wondering if we can use the Focus like body-cameras for police actions and the like. Yeah, we do have systems in place to provide that data. If you'll give me control for a moment."

With a tap of the augmented reality, he handed over control to Tate, and the holodisplay shifted, this time bringing up an entirely different Focus to the one anyone was currently wearing.

"What you're looking at is the Ananke-pattern Focus," Tate started, cutting him off before he could ask what he was looking at, "it's a specialized version for use by law enforcement and military units. It's designed to use frequent 'pings' to map the surrounding area around the user."

A small video appeared, with a man standing in the middle of it, as a ring pulsed out from his Focus, illuminating his surroundings in a wire-grid.

"The Ananke's hardware comes with a high-fidelity camera, allowing us to also capture a point of view recording of any interaction. When several devices are in proximity of one another, they will synergize, building a more in-depth generation of the recording. Essentially, the more devices linked in, the higher resolution and detailed the recording."

"And what's to stop someone from simply taking it off," Faraday cut in.

"When such a mode is enabled, there is a constant diagnostics going on between the Focus, the wearer, and the network. All data is captured and stored for review, either through an offsite server, or within the device itself. Afterwards, we can see everything from heart rate, emotional state, even some body functions. We can't influence any of these, of course, but we can see them. If a Focus is removed, modified, 'turned off', or even damaged, the data will be immediately uploaded into the network and we will be made aware. Even destruction will not erase the data. The Focus is completely connected to the network and all other corresponding devices."

The implications were certainly huge, the idea of a recording device such as that, and the uses of it could not be understated. But right now, he had to keep focused on what was pertinent.

"But you made clear that this model, the 'Ananke', was built for this. Am I to assume that's not what we are using now?"

"No," there was an audible sigh, "I'm sorry to say that we focused on the mass production of our baseline model, the Hathor-pattern. It's the baseline communications model, think like a reliable cellphone," he then fell silent for a moment, "I might be able to modify the software to run on the Hathor. I don't want to promise anything, but I can certainly try. Can you give me like…six hours?"

"Do your best and get back to me as soon as you have something. And Mr. Tate, please make sure that the recording systems are ironclad. We need them to be unimpeachable. Herres out," he then cut the link, focusing back on the meeting, and the General who was looking at him stone-faced.

"I want you, and everyone else under my command to understand one thing, General. We are here to keep the peace. Not fight a war. This is not an occupation, this is rescue and peacekeeping. This is the first time in the last century that the United States military has been called upon to keep the peace inside our borders for an event of this magnitude. We will be setting a precedent for years to come. I want to ensure that the expectations if, god forbid, this ever happens again, are immutable."

He then sighed, rubbing his eyes again, "That being said, I understand you want what's best for your men. So, I'm going to make it clear to you, and anyone else that asks. Anyone who knowingly threatens the lives and wellbeing of the citizens of Boston are to be treated as an enemy combatant. The supplies we bring in; medical, food, water, fuel, all of it, is the thin line between life and death for the citizens we have been charged with protecting. Lethal force is authorized, but it should be an option of last resort. Every single soldier who guards supplies in the city, brings them in, or is on patrol, will be required to wear a Focus. If Mr. Tate can make his modifications, then we will have records of everything. And they will be used in the event that weapons are fired in anger. I want to know that your men have used every option available to them, General Faraday. Because not only they, but we will be questioned extensively at the end of this, and I want to make sure that we are protected."

He looked around, wondering if he had just signed his place in history with blood.

"Alright, what's next?"

---

AEH​

---

"Behind me, you can see the so-called 'mech-animals' that have proven so crucial to the rescue efforts here in Boston. Rescue crews have been working tirelessly, still pushing to find more survivors inside the 'rescue window' as it's been called. Of course, any assistance that you viewers can provide is…" - The Today Show

"The role of the President is clear, to protect and support the American people. And there are a diverse array of tools on hand to help him do that. President Durling was well within his rights and mandate to declare martial law" …

"That is categorically false, and a dangerous road to travel down. The Constitution was very clear that no one man should have the power of kings, and Durling has stepped all over that. The precedent that he's set here, using military power to suspend civilian governorship, is the first step against Democracy. We have only his word that elections will take place, and since when have we trusted the words of a politician?" - Meet the Press

"We need to talk about this company. Zero Dawn Technologies. This company didn't exist five months ago. But there they are, fielding robots in Boston. AND they're handing out consumer ready communication pieces called Focus devices. A private company that lists the CEO and chief inventor as a fifteen year old girl! Her father is listed as the Vice-President, and the CFO is Jean Brown who is an employee of Far Zenith investing group. Who reportedly sank almost 40-million dollars into this… I would almost call it a fantasy company if the evidence wasn't sitting in front of me!" - Mad Money with Jim Cramer​

---

AEH​

---

Legend

Boston

Reilly Memorial Rink

For such a large and acoustically sonorous place…it was disturbingly quiet. A hush that no one involved worked to interrupt.

He knelt down by the side of a dead woman and did his best to write neatly on his clipboard. It was…depressingly simple. If the body didn't have an ID on them, then you left the name and contact details blank. You filled out noticeable features, tattoos, scars, and so on. Then you filled out what they were wearing and what colors. Then you signed it, folded it up, and stuffed it into a plastic sandwich bag taken from the local corner store. Clipped it to the person's front with a black binder-clip and then moved on to the next.

Because there was always a next.

He was cold, even with the occasional break and the winter jacket he had been leant. His knees hurt from kneeling on the ice, and beyond the cold he just felt…numb. Like he was a dispassionate machine just going through the motions.

Because to do anything else would open even himself up to the lingering despair in the air.

Was it wrong for the leader of the Protectorate to be counting the dead in a cold ice rink? Legend didn't think so. Above all else, he tried to be a hero. And sometimes that meant looking at your failure in the face. And Boston was a failure. The city wouldn't be saved because of the Protectorate, or the PRT.

He released a sigh, finishing up his job and got back to his feet. Placing the clipboard underneath his arm, he headed towards the exit of the ice rink, offering and receiving a grim nod of acknowledgment from others of what someone had morbidly called the 'cadaver corps.' It was grimly appropriate, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it.

Leaving the clipboard in its place, he stepped out of the ice rink and into the cold rain-soaked air of Boston, inhaling the cold air and watching it steam in the air as he released it. Despite the weather, small crowds gathered by the entrance and the signboards that had been set up. Each one had hundreds of still faces plastered over them. The unknown dead. The mourners and the desperate left what small mementos they could find. Candles, scattered flowers. Waterlogged stuffed animals. He caught the eye of Reverend Melany Sloan, a kind older woman who catered to the Christian mourners. Legend had met several dozen such men and women. Muslim Imam, Hindu Pujari, Jewish Rabbi and more. They took turns speaking to the mourning men and women who came to them. Reverend Slone was even now standing amidst a circle of congregants, speaking prayers for those lost and missing. Legend bowed his head in respect, but couldn't stop and add his own words, atheist though they might have been.

It wouldn't be long until the Endbringer Truce would expire. It was a general rule of thumb that Capes didn't stay after Endbringer battles. Conflicting jurisdictions, the trouble of having unvetted foreigners on native soil, past cultural tensions, language barriers; the list went on. They were all reasons why it was best to send everyone non-local back home again.

Besides, it's not like troubles at home stopped because an Endbringer attacked.

There were still murmurs that the President was going to take an unprecedented action and extend the truce, but he hadn't seen anything yet. Not that he believed that the man was going to do it either. Despite the rightness of what he had done, the man had made himself a political pariah. There was a distinct possibility Durling would not even finish his term without being impeached.

A good man was going to be crucified for making the only right choice in a bevy of bad. This was why he despised politics as a whole. He could play the game, but he never truly enjoyed it. Not like Rebecca.

He sighed. It was hard to admit sometimes…but they had all changed in the years since the Protectorate had formed. Rebecca was the most notable, but even David and Clarke were changing before they lost Clarke to the Siberian. He didn't know what was said to Rebecca, but she became… a hard woman after that. Dedicated to the goals of Cauldron, dedicated to the fight against Scion. Legend frowned as he made his way down the street.

And gone was the openness that once marked their friendship. Everyone kept a few things to themselves, it was normal. But Rebecca? She kept secrets. So did David. The Doctor. Contessa. Like the issue of Taylor Hebert, who's name he first heard yesterday when she rode into Boston with rescue machines and communication devices.

Something was wrong, secrets were being kept, and he didn't know which way to go from here. Which meant having to pry those secrets from Rebecca and then double-checking the information.

If only the rescue work of the last few days had been the hardest part of his week.

A streak of brilliant white light carving through the night sky drew his attention and turned his thoughts away from the disquieting behavior of the female Triumvir. The source was almost too easy for his superhumanly acute vision to perceive and track, especially given the lack of light pollution from what had once been a bustling and thriving city. With less effort than it took to think, he took to the air.

It didn't take him too long to catch up with the source of the light, who had come to a stop hovering over Logan airport.

A svelte woman clad in a white leather outfit glowed so brightly, it would have been too blindingly bright to make out her face for anyone without enhanced vision such as himself, or a Focus. It was a terrible shame for her secret identity that he possessed both. He frowned as he watched the mystery cape slowly drift lower and purposefully turn her already-blinding luminescence brighter, until she outshone the scant few halogen lamps being used by the crews laboring to finish the work necessary to ensure Logan's continuously expanding operational requirements. He sighed and flew closer, slowly and very deliberately reaching into a certain pocket hidden by the lines of his suit.

She noticed his approach, of course. The blue and white of his iconic costume was very distinct, even in the darkness of night. He could see her shoulders bunch up with nervous tension as he approached. Yet he idly noticed that she was deliberately trying to present herself as unthreatening as possible with her hands positioned down and away in a classical Blaster 'standing down' pose. The pure white of her costume made the ill-fitting MOLLE harness haphazardly fitted on her all the more conspicuous as she dimmed the light slightly.

"I'm just here to help, Legend," she preempted him defensively as he flew within arms' reach, only to blink in confusion as he held out one of the emergency domino masks that he liked to keep on hand.

"As this is our first official meeting, Purity, and one under Truce conditions, I'd like to point out two things," he kindly returned. "The first is that there are almost five hundred Focus devices in use as part of the search and rescue efforts," he pointedly tapped to the device affixed to his temple with his free hand as he said this, "that are being used to locate and identify survivors, and more often than not the dead thanks to their holographic imaging systems. The second is that not every cape finds your light difficult to see through."

Her eyes widened in alarm as she got the hint, all but snatching the plain domino mask from his hand and affixing it to her face, with all the awkward manner of someone who'd either never had to wear one before or never had to consider just how useful they are until circumstances very suddenly and inexplicably changed. The light brightened again, before stuttering and flicking as she grumbled in frustration at the unfamiliar task.

"Ground Crew Four to Pixie, Four to Pixie," the radio at Purity's hip suddenly chirped just as she finished donning the new domino mask properly, "You're not about to pass out on us, are you? Your light levels just dropped. Over."

The look of distaste that briefly crossed her features let him know what she thought of the callsign, even as he resisted the urge to comment on it. But it was gone only a moment longer as she awkwardly unclipped the radio from her hip and brought it to her lips.

"Uh, sorry Ground Crew Four, going back to full brightness now. Uh…over," she clumsily replied, and a moment later she was again shining brightly enough to make a halogen flood lamp proud.

He briefly considered for a moment leaving her to it, but the responsibilities that he had as the head of the Protectorate overrode it. The Empire Eighty-Eight was acting strangely, and outside of the propaganda that Kaiser was spouting, no one really had an inkling at what the man's plan was.

"I find myself both grateful and surprised that the Empire decided to help the people of Boston."

There was a moment of silence from the other woman, and he wondered if he was going to get an answer from her. But then, if he hadn't already been straining his hearing, he would have likely missed it.

"I'm not here with the Empire."

What? "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not with the Empire," she said, turning back to look at him, "I parted with them a few months ago."

Now that was a development he certainly was not expecting. That wasn't to say that he didn't see villains turn hero, but the vast majority of those that did actually turn their coat were individuals. It was much harder to leave an organization or cult, simply because of the human nature of being influenced by their peers. That and the organizations had a tendency of taking any departure personally.

"I'm glad to hear that, Purity," and he was honest, he was glad that she - as a person - was trying to improve her life. Being a villain had nothing to do with any of it. "I won't try and say I understand how difficult it must be for you, but I have found over the years that a hero is defined by the trials they have triumphed over."

"I'm really not in the mood for a speech, Legend," she groused, before shivering from a sudden gust of wind, "I'm doing this for myself."

"Understandable. I'm not exactly the best at giving pep talks on the fly," he chuckled, before accelerating away, knowing exactly where he needed to go, coming to a stop over an aid station and lowering himself to the ground among the suddenly gawking crowd.

"Excuse me," he said, to the woman who was standing behind a table, several coats laying on the table, "would you mind if I take one of these? I have someone who needs it."

"Ummm, certainly Legend," the woman stammered, before he flashed a smile and a nod, slowly bringing himself back into the air, before taking off again. He slowed down a bit further away, hoping that it would not startle Purity, and finally coming to a stop.

"Here," he offered the coat to the woman, who gave a perplexed look at the coat, then to him, and back to it, "It's pretty cold up here. You'll probably feel better if you have this."

She slowly reached out, obviously not used to an act of kindness like this. It sadly reminded him of a feral kitten, experiencing its first kind human contact in its life. But the thought disappeared quickly, as she took the jacket and wrapped it around her. She relaxed slightly, obviously enjoying the sudden warmth granted by the heavy jacket. Despite it being slightly too large for her.

"Thank you."

He smiled, glad that he was of help, "If you want a word of advice for the path of becoming a hero? Start small, you'd be surprised at the impact a simple act of kindness has on people. What you may take for granted, could be a heroic action to that unfortunate individual."

"I- I'll take that under advisement. Thank you, Legend."

His pocket vibrated, and while he kept a smile on his face, internally he was frowning, "No problem. I'll stop distracting you and let you get back to work, I have some things of my own I have to do."

With that, he turned and moved away, reaching into his pocket and extracting a Dragontech satellite phone from it. Flipping it open he looked over the message, his smile slowly fading at the message left on it.

"Meeting. Site Alpha. Twenty Minutes. Door in Five. - C"

 

[AlSmash]

So, I realized that I haven't posted these sidestories that will play into the overarching story like Germination 2.7.5

This was done with the assistance of BigBadBen at Spacebattles.

Disclaimer: This takes place between T-18 and T-5 Days before the opening of Leviathan's attack window.

It's Always Sunny in Brockton Bay

Greg Vader was a loser. He knew that. The world knew that. His parents knew that. But if there was one source of comfort for him, it was being the hero in the MMO game Words of Lorgar.

He got to be something worthwhile as he saved the world. One quest at a time. Whether it was playing politics, building armies, or bringing peace through force to all of those who refused his generous offers, each action was a step to the fulfillment of that dream.

His trusty little computer was chugging along. He cleaned it at least once a month. Dusted it completely out, even. Made sure that the drivers were up to date. All in order to make sure that he could maximize the performance from it. He was hoping to save enough money for an upgrade soon though. She was old, and it lagged horribly when it did anything intensive like updating the world map.

Which, of course, was when disaster struck. He had just defeated the Ulamar Empire and annexed it, when the game had frozen for longer than was typical. Almost immediately thereafter it had been joined by the scent of burnt wires and a suddenly dead monitor. The power safety had tripped and saved most of his pc, but the damage had already been done.

He had cursed and cried at his misfortune. He had been planning an upgrade, but it was still months away from fruition.

Maybe it could be salvaged.

Xxxx

It had only taken a shake of the head by the computer repair tech who had immediately told him that any hope of saving his old PC was pointless. The man had been apologetic, but he told him he was better off just replacing the entire thing, as the repair costs would be more than the rig was worth.

When he had offered to sell what was left to the tech, the technician had laughed. He didn't need to say anything more as he knew that it had been a long shot, but he had hoped that maybe he could get something out of it.

So it was with a heavy heart that he took his old pc out of the shop and packed it back on his bike.

It was as he was pedaling home that he had an epiphany: Taylor was working at a technology firm, right? One that dealt with computers. Obviously she would help him if he asked nicely. They were good friends like that.

Xxxx

Sitting in her chair, staring at the innocuous-looking computer tower, she wished that she had blaster powers for just a moment. Because what she had encountered could not be unencountered.

Taking a deep breath, she then let it out, trying to cleanse the imagery of horrors that she had been subjected to, all the while cursing Greg Veder and his awkward social ineptitude.

She really shouldn't be doing any of this. But Dad had been adamant that she find a hobby, or something to destress on, because she was working herself to the bone on getting the Light Rescue Lance operational. When Greg had showed up at her door, looking like a kicked puppy and asking if she could help him with his computer, he had immediately suggested that as an idea.

She wondered exactly how he would react if he knew that she now knew what Greg Veder's fetishes were. It wasn't her fault, who in the literal fuck put a folder labeled PORN right on their desktop. She had thought it was a smokescreen for something far more dubious, considering the vibe that was Greg Veder, and had investigated.

Releasing a shudder at the horrors that resided within, she flicked the muscle in her eyes, activating a command in the Focus which brought up a menu.

Yeah, she wasn't even going to try and salvage this computer. Even if the parts were in supply, this computer was fucking obsolete back in 1999. It would be a cold day in hell before she sullied herself with such primitive trash.

For a moment, she considered handing it off to Sobek. This was the type of thing for machine learning, but then she discarded that. The last thing she needed was for Sobek to be exposed to such…filth at such a stage.

No, she would build Greg Veder a new computer, one that was her own make. And then she would wash her hands of the boy. He was a ghost of the past, and she was moving forward. If she ever met him again, especially after having been illuminated upon his tastes, it would be too damn soon.

Honestly, it wouldn't take much effort, a few custom parts, a little rework modifying existing internal pieces, and she could probably have it done over a couple of days. Sobek could handle the core programming and processes. Along with crafting the necessary peripherals.

"I'm really doing this," she muttered, before making a decision, getting to her feet she walked towards the tower, taking care to remove the jack that allowed her to access the damn thing in the first place and be exposed the horrors hidden inside, and then, with a thrown elbow, knocked it into the trash barrel beside the desk with a crash of plastic and metal.

"Oops."

Xxxx

Greg Veder stared at the PC sitting before him with awe, reaching up to rub his eyes again for what seemed like the hundredth time. Even as his eyes refocused, he was unable to believe what he was seeing before him.

He had believed that Taylor was just going to fix the computer, maybe give it a few upgraded parts. It would be a nice gesture from a friend, after all.

But he wasn't prepared for what sat before him.

It was a work of art. Bland black and grey was nowhere to be seen on the tower, instead it was encased in a sleek white metallic and glass shell. Through it glowed a pristine and soft blue and green lighting that seemed to pulse through the various internals like it was alive. It was currently connected to a flatscreen monitor that showed a desktop that was unfamiliar, yet familiar at the same time. Like an entirely modern version of the Windows Millenium Edition he had been stuck with.

It was…perfect.

"Wow, Taylor," he breathed, "this looks fucking awesome."

"I certainly hope so," was her terse reply, causing him to blink as alarm bells were going off in his head. The tone was something he had heard all too often, usually with his mother when she was exasperated with him for something stupid that he did. He would certainly never have expected it from Taylor Hebert of all people.

"What's wrong," he asked.

The slight twitch of her eye over her dark sunglasses was the only indication that he had hit a nerve. That weird device on the side of her head glowed slightly and gave her a slightly intimidating presence. But that was all secondary to what came out of her lips.

"A word to the wise, Greg. If you are going to have a porn stash, especially a three hundred megabyte stash insect girl and tentacle porn, maybe you should not put it in a folder on your desktop and label it as 'PORN'.

He couldn't help but both pale and blush at the same time, mentally cursing himself. Why the hell didn't he think about hiding that? It wasn't like his mother ever looked at his computer, so he never really thought about security for it. And the tech guy hadn't said anything to him about it.

He laughed nervously, "Oh. Sorry, Taylor. I'll remember to do that for the next time."

It was in his further unraveling nerves that he couldn't help what escaped his lips next.

"Uh..What did you think of it?"

Taylor's expression fell blank, reminding him of the feeling of when his computer usually suffered a fatal error. He couldn't help but laugh nervously as Taylor stood there frozen.

She then sighed before shaking her head and muttering something under her breath. He couldn't make it out, but he thought he heard bleach somewhere in there.

"I'll have your computer packaged up for you and you can be on your way in thirty minutes," she finally declared, turning around and starting to walk away, "Make sure that you go over all of the documentation before you start running the computer. And for god's sake, get some actual antivirus. Your computer was so old most of the viruses you had on it couldn't even perform their executables."

Xxxxx

Rubbing his hands, he watched as the computer powered up. He had gotten home this afternoon after his…exchange with Taylor. He certainly hoped that she would let his small mistake go after a while, but right now he wasn't going to bother her. The only thing that had stopped him from logging into Words of Lorgar, had been the insistence that he read all the documentation provided with his rig, and now, his destiny could no longer be denied.

Logging in, he noted how fast and smooth it seemed to run. None of that stuttering that had plagued his old computer, and the screaming of the fan as it tried to keep it from overheating as it ran the game. No, it was as quiet as a whisper, the only evidence that it was running was the lighting.

Hell, even the keyboard felt strange, none of that clicking that he was so used to. It felt so smooth, he was actually confused if he was even pushing on the keys because there was barely any resistance that he was so used to. Even the mouse peripheral felt alien in how right it felt, like it was molded just for him, and it seamlessly slid across the surface without making him have to lift it up and move it again.

He couldn't wait to rub all of this in FedoraWithAPlan's face. Call his rig a waste of carbon now, will she?! The reaction was going to be worth all of this!

Finishing the login procedure, his smile widened, as his eyes took in the concerned messages from 001SvEtA001, the fact that a girl was so concerned for him made him feel like a million dollars despite Taylor finding all of his porn. He quickly messaged her, telling her what happened and he was back, along with a sweet new rig.

"It's good to have you back, Greg! Want to do the Khepri's Wrath Raid?"

He didn't even hesitate saying yes, accepting the party invite and joining the queue for the raid, all the while excitedly telling her about the computer, to her excitement. It was like he had never left.

And as the countdown timer, he found himself at the entrance to the raid, several orcs barreling out of battlements, heralding the first wave of the Raid, and warming them up for the larger monsters lurking and readying up.

Letting out a laugh, he moved his character forward.

It was time to be The Hero once again and impress the girl.

 

[AlSmash]

It's Always Sunny in Brockton Bay, Part 2

Greg Veder hesitated for a brief moment. It was daunting what he was about to do, but he felt obligated to do it nonetheless. After all, he now had the tools, why shouldn't he try to be a hero for those who may be less fortunate than himself?

No, he was going to be the hero, it wasn't that hard. He just had to do it.

So he rechecked everything for the…fourth time? Or was it the fifth? Everything should be working properly, but he was still getting used to the computer and system that Taylor had built. There was so much that he'd never even seen before! But the programs were really easy to use, and even had tooltips and explanations for everything.

Which was honestly a good thing, because he had absolutely no idea how to build a website and would have made an idiot of himself otherwise.

Okay, no turning back now. If he dragged his feet any further he was liable to chicken out. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and started everything up. Immediately, an image of his screen appeared…on his screen. Was that right? He glanced at the advanced tooltips and nodded to himself. Yep, that was right. So if everything was running right, then everyone should be able to see what was in the box which means that…

Okay, everything was ready. All he needed to do was drop the necessary links into PHO under his handle in a new thread. What should the thread be titled? Dammit, he was never good with names and titles, even his handle had been something he got from a Google name generator. Okay, he got it, quickly, he typed it in.

Charity Drive for Boston Livestream. Yeah, that's a good name. Short, sweet, and to the point. Not like anyone could get the wrong idea from it!

"Hey everyone," he faltered, looking for the right words, "Uh, as you might now, I'm VoidCowboy. Hi," he awkwardly waved, before he glanced at the feed, and felt a spike of panic that someone was already watching, "And I thought, well, since that…well, we all know that Leviathan hit Boston, right? That's what everyone is saying, but no one has any idea of what's going on. So, I guess, well, I'm doing this to raise money and try to keep everyone up to date with the news. If you click the link, you can donate to the Red Cross. Or something else, if you guys have a suggestion. I don't know, it's really up to you."

His eyes darted to the feed, noting that the camera was slightly off kilter with a frown and reached over to adjust it.

DING!

He nearly jumped at the chime, his head snapping back to the feed, letting him know that he had a message.

GStringGirl: Hey Void! What made you think of doing this?​

"Hey GGirl. I just…I'm not a hero, it's not like I can just go out there and do something. But! I can help raise money and keep people informed. I just…feel like I need to do something, y'know? Lot of people less fortunate than me right now," he rubbed the back of his head. "So yeah, I'm just going to stream a bit, chat with people if they want to chat, and if not, well, we're going to play some games. Have some fun. That kinda stuff."

He then went back to his computer, clicking over a few things. He needed to play a game. Nothing too violent, that'd be in poor taste, but has to be somewhat recognizable. No. No. Maybe? No. He then paused, staring at the title for a few moments. Okay, this should work. He then hit the launcher and prepared to wait, trying to find things to keep…

He blinked, not quite believing what he was saying? Thirty people? What the hell? And the ticker kept going up!

"So yeah," he quickly recovered, even as his nerves made him want to scream in terror and end the stream, "We're going to start with something I won't make a complete fool of myself," he chuckled, "It's been a couple of years since I played Starcraft. But I'm pretty sure I still got it," he declared, but before he was going to say anything more the launch music interrupted him.

GStringGirl: Wow, that was fast!​

He nervously chuckled, running his hand through his hair, "Sorry about that. I just got a new PC! Or rather, a friend of mine helped to build it. She's really cool! I'm actually still getting used to it."

Lostinthesause: Awww, Void's got a crush!
brainlessmarcelina: If someone built a new PC for me, I'd have a crush too!​

"Hey man, it's not like that. She's just really good at what she does," he clicked through the menus, deciding that before he was going to jump into multiplayer he was going to do a skirmish or two to refresh his knowledge.

"Okay, I'm gonna do a couple of skirmishes to warm up, then we'll see if we can get some multiplayer matches going," he then selected his race, and loaded up the game.

Bagrat: Of course you're a Protoss player! That explains a lot.​

*****​

Things were surprisingly going well. He actually had gotten through a pair of skirmish games against the bots and then jumped into multiplayer. His first game against a person actually went rather well, he was able to execute a Dark Zealot rush on a Terran adversary who was in the process of expanding.

All the while, he was chatting with a few people and they had even raised a little money. Eighty dollars, which was honestly amazing. Maybe a few more games and he'd look into something else?

GStringGirl: Hey Void, so what's it like where you live?​

"Well, as you probably have all likely figured out, I live in Brockton Bay. So we've got the Empire. Well, officially, they call themselves the 'Empire Eighty-Eight', but no one bothers using their full name. They…don't like most people? Or they only like some people," for the first time, he found himself having to be careful what he said. He would rather not have the Empire visit him.

rewardward:You can say it, Void. They're a bunch of racist white folks

TimeSlice: **** you, race traitor. They are doing what all proper Americans should be doing! If you want to shack up with those ****** who pollute our streets and...​

He didn't even hesitate, as he stopped what he was doing in game, having launched a counterattack at a Zerg secondary base. He navigated through the menus and banned 'TimeSlice', "Sorry buddy, this is a charity stream. You have to keep it civil."

GrinningGoblin: Damn… VoidCowboy just banned someone!

IThoughtWhatIdDo: What is the world coming that Void now wields the banhammer? Human Sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass Hysteria!

DoSheepHaveSouls: How the turntables have turned!

SlyDart: They grow up so fast ;(

WhensMahvel: When's Mahvel?​

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up… umm," he bit his lip as he found himself driven back. That wasn't good, but it wasn't dire yet. He'd have to switch up his strategies. Now should he go Corsair/Dark Achon or Corsair/Carrier. There were a few other strategies, but he needed to know what his opponent was doing before he committed. Maybe playing Starcraft wasn't the greatest idea if he wanted to talk, "So we've got them. We've got the ABB, which are the Azn Bad Boyz, don't ask me why they use the letter z in their name. They're led by Lung, who can turn into this badass dragon if you piss him off. But yeah…they are kinda like the Empire in that they don't like anyone who isn't like them. So most people keep their distance."

Finally, he was able to get an advantage, and shortly thereafter was able to get the other player to resign. Yeah, he was going to put this one down and try to find a different game. Wasn't fair to his viewers that he wasn't giving them his undivided attention. This was about Boston, not himself anyways.

Closing Starcraft, he began browning again, at the same time, he brought up another window. It was honestly how smooth the computer was running. Holy crap! They'd just passed $238 in raised funds. Awesome!

"There's the Archer Bay Bridge Merchants," he continued, looking through his library, "but they're all druggies and drug dealers, so anyone with a brain cell avoids them like the plague. Then there's a few independent capes who do their own thing. Parian's kinda cool. She does these really cool puppet shows on the weekend down on the Boardwalk and she does custom clothes orders! We've also got hero teams like New Wave who have been active since the days of the Teeth. Their kids are doing most of the heavy lifting nowadays."

"Hey Gstring," he called out, making a decision on the next game to play. There would be enough there to stream, but also allow him to split his attention, "want to party up do some mats farming?"

GStringGirl: Sure! Give me a few.​

"Cool," he clicked on Galaxy of Fantasy, letting it load up as he glanced over the chat again, seeing people go back and forth about news from Boston. No one seemed to know what was going on. Maybe he could do something about it.

"Okay, I can see a lot of you are looking for news from Boston, so let me pull up what I can," minimizing the game as it got to the title screen, he brought up the web search function and frowned. Most of the news sites were in the dark, repeating the same information that it was confirmed Boston was Leviathan's target. But other than that? Nothing.

He then blinked as the advisor pushed a suggestion onto his screen. That was certainly new. He must have said it aloud, because the chat lit up, several messages flashing across the screen, even as the advisor seemed to suggest more things, which he numbly entered in the terms it suggested, 'Boston', 'Endbringer', 'Reports'. He then used a dropdown menu and set the search functions to only use the 'latest sources' that were 'reputable'."

HootingJoy: How do you not know your own system?!?​

"Hey! Like I said, I'm still getting used to it. My old system croaked, like complete hardware failure and everything. The guy at the shop took one look at it and started laughing. But my friend, Taylor? She's like…a wizard with these things. Like a super secret genius. Maybe she's a…nope, not gonna finish that, I don't need to get banned again."

WormsInTheShop: *Gasp* IT HAS PATTERN RECOGNITION

AlltheDakka: Okay, Stranger Alert. Who are you and what have you done with the real Void?!​

"Hah hah. No, seriously guys, it's me, I just don't want to ruin this by getting shut down. So cut me a bit of slack. K?"

JovianFirefly: So she built you a new one?! Damn, that's a good friend.

brainlessmarcelina: Cowboy said it before, but he never told us what's in it.​

While he was thankful for the quick shift in subject, he wasn't exactly looking for these type of questions, but he guessed it wouldn't hurt.

"Hold on. Let me see if I can pull up the system details. I just got this like a week ago, so cut me some slack," he clicked through the systems menu, resorting to the help function that was actually really helpful.

"Here you go."

HairPlot: Holy **** Cowboy. That's some nice specs! I mean, RAM, Storage, graphics. Why does it look like sh*& on your monitor?​

"Look, I only got a new computer, not a monitor. I really didn't want to push the person who was nice enough to give me a new computer. I had to find some adapters to connect the two, but it works well enough."

WindowsisaLie: Hey Void, can you pull up the details of your OS for a second?​

Greg did so. It was kind of awkward, just sitting there while a bunch of people looked through his screen.

WindowsisaLie: Okay, so this is really strange. I work for a software company, and the OS you are using? SBKLite. It doesn't exist. Anywhere. I've never even heard of it and I like to think I'm in the know. So it seems like your girl really likes you, because she not only made you the hardware, but she threw in a new operating system…from scratch.

FedoraWithAPlan: Never thought I'd see the day when Void of all people would ever get a girl to do something nice for him...Wonder if your girl will do a custom computer for me?​

What? No. Absolutely not! To both things!

"No way," he shook his head, ignoring that last part pointedly "Nope. Not happening. Taylor is amazing, guys, but she's way out of my league. Like, she has started her own company. Some technology thing, computers and stuff. I don't know. There isn't much available if you go looking online. They don't even have a website. Anyhow, Taylor's company is called Zero Dawn Technologies. She set up her factory-warehouse thing near the docks here in the Bay."

It seemed like it was not enough for the chat, because the messages, and the viewers - over seven hundred now! - were dropping messages about Taylor and how it was obvious she had a thing for him if she did all of that, when an alert rang on his computer.

Ripping his attention from the chat and trying to deny what was definitely not true, he stared at the bouncing icon on his desktop, thankful for the distraction.

"Hey, NewsWatch seems to have something," he clicked it, and a video opened from a government site. The guy on the screen looked familiar and the background had flags and stuff. So it looked official at least.

"My fellow Americans. A few moments ago, I spoke with rescue workers in Boston and they have confirmed what we have all feared. Boston has been attacked by Leviathan. The damage is significant, and the defenders, while victorious in driving the beast away, have suffered casualties."

"It is now confirmed that we have lost Governor Johnson, along with a majority of the leadership in Boston. The full extent of our loss will only be revealed in the days to come. But we must stand strong. Even as I speak to you now, rescue workers are hard at work and the full might of the country is mobilizing to offer aid."

"To organize and ensure the success of this relief effort, I have had to make certain actions that no previous President has had cause to use. As of 4:23pm this afternoon, in absence of any legally recognized leadership the State of Massachusetts has been placed under a state of Martial Law. This will remain in effect for 120 days, with an election being held in 90 days to restore proper civilian control to the state."

"My thoughts and prayers go out to all of those affected by these events, and I call upon everyone who can to contribute what they can as we work to rebuild what has been taken from us. God be with you, and God Bless America. Goodnight."

He slumped back in his chair, stunned by the announcement, even as the chat section of his livestream descended into anarchy. He couldn't possibly hope to control things and now even more people were joining! He was now more certain than ever that Boston needed help. And he would do his part.

Collecting himself, he got to work trying to organize things, silently wondering if Taylor was going to get involved. She was good at fixing things.


Xxxxxx

He woke with a start, blinking at the sudden intrusion of light on his face. Blearily, he reached up to his mouth to cover a yawn that escaped as his mind slowly grappled with the transition from unconscious to conscious.

And as it did so, things clicked together and he shot out of his bed.

Shit, he had overslept!

Scrambling to find some clothes, he quickly slipped them on, even as he hobbled over his computer. He hadn't even turned it off before he had turned in, so tired he had been from staying up most of the night answering questions and just chatting with people. They had actually pulled in almost 2200 dollars for charity, to his shock.

Stumbling into his chair, the thing creaking from the sudden weight placed upon it, he found himself first glancing at the clock, which told him it was two in the afternoon. Then his attention was drawn to the notifications bar.

What the hell, he stared numbly at the nearly four hundred notifications from Newswatch.

The advisor made a suggestion, and he followed it, grouping the notifications by category. And he found himself once again staring at one of the groups, not quite grasping what he was reading. He didn't even realize what he was doing before he clicked on it.

Immediately, he was bombarded with images of machines, some of them grainy, the others clear as day. They were varied, yet all seemed to have an animal theme, but that wasn't what drew his attention, even though the geek part of him was freaking out at the imagery.

No, what drew his attention was the emblem on the side of one of them, one that he was intimately familiar with. He went through other photos, seeing them now on not just that one machine, but on all of the others. It was unmistakable, after all, it was the same emblem that he saw every morning when he looked at his computer.

A blue flower with nine petals that spun outward from the center.

It was hard for him to process just the idea that Taylor, mousey Taylor Hebert from Winslow, was somehow involved in these machines. Yet the evidence was right in his face, in all of its imaged glory.

A part of him didn't know how to react. Surprise? Shock? He didn't even know what he was supposed to even feel. It wasn't like they were friends, why would she share something like that with him?

Yet, funnily enough, he found that he didn't care, because it was a source of inspiration. If Taylor was involved, then she was trying to fix things. He couldn't do anything else himself.

Reaching over, he opened up his streaming program again, took a deep breath, because fuck it, he was going to do what that one Aleph broadcaster did, and do it live.

And he hit the stream button.

Or he would have… if he didn't decide that food, and a shower were needed first. Heroes should try to look respectable. Maybe he should clean his room?

 

[AlSmash]

Continuing the previous chapter, this is more establishing the pieces going forward. Yep, nothing really happens, but the good news is that Taylor will be the focus of 3.3. We've already begun work upon that chapter.

But right now, we have to get these points started, in order for them to be ready when things start taking off.

---

Sprout 3.2 Part 2

Legend

The Cauldron Compound, or Cauldron Site Alpha, was the home to their organization. It served both as their research base, but also the literal beating heart of their operation. It was where they had their meetings and discussed the path forward.

So when he received the text, he ensured that his absence was covered, letting those that knew that he would be unavailable as he was returning to New York. He would, of course, return as soon as he could, but there was something that needed to be handled as the leader of the Protectorate.

That done, he ensured that he was out of sight before taking the portal to Site Alpha. The fifteen minutes that he had, he took the time to rinse himself off and then reach the meeting room. He was, once again to his chagrin, the last one to arrive. Kurt had two laptops in front of him, alternating tapping away at one or the other. The Doctor had a leather notebook and was writing while reviewing papers at her side. David was in costume, his hood down. Rebecca was out of costume… or maybe in costume. It was hard to say. She was prepared for DC, in a severe pants-suit as her role as Director of the PRT, Rebecca Costa-Brown. Interestingly, Fortuna hadn't arrived yet.

As he grabbed a seat, wishing for a coffee, she stood and began.

"Alright, we need to be coordinated on this. Boston is already proving to be a damaging Endbringer attack, far outpacing the impact of Seattle or even Madison. The image of the PRT and the Protectorate is going to be threatened by events."

David snarked, "Yeah, nothing like the President declaring that the PRT can't do their job and sending in the military. How the hell did that happen Rebecca? I thought we had things in hand in DC?"

If the accusation ruffled her, she didn't show it.

"Durling has always been neutral to the PRT, though leaning towards us more often than not. While his partnership with Jack Ryan was alarming, it did mean that Ryan was mostly contained, so it was a net positive. And there was no way we were going to risk Ryan as President. So Durling got a pass. Now he's gone too far, and we'll adapt."

"Legend, I'll need you in DC for the next few weeks. We need a united PRT/Protectorate response to calm accusations."

He ran a hand through his hair. Seems he would have to plan some personal time with his husband for all the time at work.

"Yes, I'll let you take the lead on this. But first we need to talk about Boston, specifically, you said quite clearly that we were going to lean on the military… which happened. How is this now a bad thing?"

Kurt piped up from behind his screen, peering over with his glasses.

"Perception. I'm tracking a growing increase in public sentiment asking about the relevance of the PRT and Protectorate given the success that the military has had in rescue and recovery operations. With up-to-the-minute news coming out of the city thanks to Taylor Hebert's technologies we've lost the usual media control that Dragon allowed us."

The young man shrugged, returning to his screens.

"Alexandra's plan was to have the PRT/Protectorate use the military resources. Instead, the military used cape resources to great effect. Stabilizing the situation with admirable efficiency," he perked his head up, remembering something, "When you get a chance, can we see about learning how ZDT's communications system works? I haven't been able to crack it…Okay, it's rather that I haven't put the effort in. It'd be too noticeable at this time."

He decided to refocus them on the subject matter.

"So on that subject, how is it that I'm only hearing about this girl now? She's seemingly gone around the NEPEA-5 regulations, established a company, and mass-produced Tinkertech, or something as good as. What's the explanation?"

"That's the interesting part. By all accounts, she's not a Tinker. In the few interactions that I've seen, she's a Thinker, geared towards technological invention and scientific understanding," Doctor Mother added in her own input. It was sometimes hard to understand the woman, her accented English making her stand out in a room full of Americans. She continued, "Not only does she have a solid grasp and direction for her own line of technologies, she seems to also be able to review older projects and bring them to completion."

She then tapped her pen against her notebook. "Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to have any interest in biological applications, or she would be a priority recruit for Vial development. I do recommend that we keep an eye on her for future consideration.," he head tilted towards Alexandria, giving the floor to her and demanding an answer at the same time.

"That will be difficult"

No kidding. It wasn't often that anyone stood up to Alexandria, certainly not a blind teenage girl who told the older Cape to 'fly off and do something productive'.

He slumped in his seat, "Yes, on that subject. Why does this girl seemingly have a grudge with the PRT? Why am I, the leader of the Protectorate, only now hearing about an asset of this level who is not working with us?

Rebecca folded her hands on the table and squared her shoulders, "Alloy originally came to the PRT's attention when she requested certification for her vision-granting device. Specifically, she needed certification to state that it was NOT Tinkertech, which would allow her to use it amongst the general public, and potentially sell the design."

She then took a breath. Legend felt a small shiver run down his spine. She was in 'politician' mode. Coming here? These meetings? They were, above all, a chance for them to all let down their masks and freely voice their opinions. Put aside their roles, and just be old friends working against impossible odds. The fact that Rebecca wasn't relaxing an inch? It said nothing good about the situation.

"Unfortunately…," she continued, a brief twitch crossing her features. Did she actually just twitch, he thought to himself, not quite believing what he saw. For a women with perfect control, that was a very telling sign, "There was a disagreement between the PRT officer and Protectorate assessor overviewing the case. The officer in question wanted to hold the certification in suspension in order to pull the girl into the Wards to better manage her of, at that time, suspected Tinker powers."

"The Protectorate Tinker doing the assessment disagreed, and certified Alloy's device, releasing it for public use against the express orders of the PRT Director. The Tinker in question faced disciplinary action, but chose to resign rather than escalate things. At least check, no further action is being taken against him."

He hated politics and he made no illusions about those feelings. He had said as much to politicians, which made them feel better. But that didn't mean that he was bad at it, though. And this was sounding like an attempt to whitewash a mess of a situation.

"Ms. Hebert is from Brockton Bay, under Director Piggot. Who is…," his mind skipped ahead of his words. There were only two Tinkers on the ENE roster. One was a Ward and wasn't legally empowered to complete certifications. The other was…, "Armsmaster is retiring?!" he snapped out.

Or being forced out if he was being less charitable. He was starting to feel less and less diplomatic on the matter. Were they not seeing the catastrophic scandal that was staring them down right now? Or had they become so inured that they no longer cared?

Of course, some of his shock was feigned for the audience. He had known about the girl since Armsmaster had completed her assessment. He had passed the assessment on the knowledge of the girl and her inventions to an 'interested party'. Which then enabled her to find investors, build her company, and, ultimately, arrive in Boson to save the day. Yes, if Rebecca learned about any of this, she would be annoyed. Did he regret that decision? Not at all. Even if she wasn't part of the Protectorate and at odds with the PRT, Taylor Hebert was a hero in every way that counted.

Unfortunately, hiding his connection to the whole mess meant trying to avoid Rebecca's Thinker ability. Which was…damned difficult. It was an old spy novel of all things, a gift from his husband, that gave him an idea. Method acting. Force the body to experience the emotions of the character or the moment and the micro-expressions that would normally give away a lie wouldn't trigger. Did it work? Who knows. Rebecca hadn't called him on it yet, but that was no guarantee of anything from her.

"I don't understand why we are making a deal about this little girl," David spoke up, waving his hand in dismissal, "Okay, she can build machines and fancy communications devices, but she didn't bother to use them against Leviathan. That tells me all I need to know about her. She'll have her moment of fame and the people will move on once they realize she's a one trick pony."

"She isn't a 'one trick pony' as you call her, Eidolon," Doctor Mother interjected, "if she was, we wouldn't be having this discussion. Taylor Hebert is an unrestrained Tinker whose machines can be built and operated by normal people."

"That still doesn't really change anything, Doctor Mother. I've seen the images of these machines, they would not last a moment against an Endbringer. So her machines are replicable by Non-Tinkers, good for them, but it won't make any sort of difference to the long-term goals of the plan."

"But that's not the only thing she can build or blueprint," the other woman turned her head towards Alexandria.

"No," the woman ground out, "We have confirmation that she has provided the Department of Energy a feasible nuclear reactor design. But the bigger problem is that we might be seeing the next Cranial, her brain scan tech is one step removed from cape culture."

"And how sure are you of that, Rebecca," he responded, deciding to add his own two cents, both to try and slow what was obviously being built to, all thoughts of sharing his own thoughts on the Focus, and it's difficulty in perceiving Rebecca, put to the side, "it's one thing to accuse, but it's quite another to back it up. I've been using the Focus, and outside of synchronizing with the user, there is no interfacing with the brain of the likes of what Cranial does."

"Her first Focus, the one that she uses, directly links to her brain in order to provide imagery that her eyes can no longer do. She has an entire medical line that works upon this principle, even Armsmaster's report indicates that Taylor Hebert's Foci runs off theories on mind-machine interfaces."

"Theory," he pointed out, "does not necessarily equate to reality."

"Enough," Doctor Mother spoke, "Taylor Hebert represents a danger to the status quo. We have been able to maintain the ongoing plan because we have controlled how things have proceeded. She has the capacity to become something that we cannot control, and she is becoming a rallying point for those who would directly challenge the plan."

Just then a glowing circle of un-reality split the air, and Contessa walked in and he gasped. Because for the first time ever? Her vest had dirt on it and her signature fedora was creased.

"Which has already begun," the newcomer woman spoke, placing a metal lunch box on the table before sitting. Dropping her hat at her side. The room sat in silence as Fortuna pulled out a sandwich and began to eat. She pulled out a few other items. A container of juice, cranberry if his eyesight (and limited understanding of spanish) were correct. And a small bushel of grapes.

She finished her second bite before continuing, "The Three Blasphemies are moving through Spain for Rota. There's a high probability that the news in Boston has garnered their attention. They will not find necessary transportation for the time being. Two cartels south of the border were planning to adjust their export routes to account for the loss of Boston; they are now at war. I have four minutes and twenty-seven seconds before I have to leave again. Ask your questions fast," she then took another bite from her sandwich and then opened the juice bottle.

"Is Taylor Hebert a threat to the stability of the United States?" Rebecca jumped in right away. He opened his mouth to argue back, but was interrupted by Fortuna.

"No. She is currently not a threat. The people operating around her might be, if pushed in the right or wrong way. She might be a threat if handled correctly or incorrectly. Path to Preserving the PRT."

The Doctor made an addition to her notebook, "Can the girl be diverted to focus on research beneficial to Vial development."

Contessa finished wolfing down her meal, moving into the grapes which she plucked more sedately, "Path to Ensuring Vial Production? She is set on her current course. It would take radical action to change her current focus. Actions that would expose us and make us her enemies."

"Can she help beat Scion," David blurted out this time and he had to resist sighing. While admirable, David's single-track mind could also be so tiring at times. Everything the man focused upon was whether Scion or the Endbringers could be defeated by a cape.

"No. Path to Defeating Scion remains unchanged," the costumed cape threw up his hands, seemingly done with the conversation. His reaction did not even register on the red-clad Thinker as her head turned towards Rebecca.

"Rebecca, recommend that you lean on Senator Shaw in the upcoming political discussions in Washington. He will be useful as a political ally," Rebecca looked like she had bit into a rotten fruit with the look of disgust that passed her features, Fortuna's slate gray eyes shifted towards him, looking more through him than at him, "Legend…continue with your small acts of heroism."

A shiver went down his spine at Contessa's attention. He might convince himself that he could trick Alexandia's Thinker abilities. He didn't have a hope in hell of tricking Contessa's. Which… means that she already knew that he had passed Taylor's information to Uppercrust. Because that's how he had justified it to himself. Breaking the rules, to create a small act of heroism. Great… now he would be second guessing everything. Thinkers, they gave headaches to everyone around them.

"Now," she dusted off her hands, placing the remnants of her meal back into her brightly painted lunchbox. She then placed her fedora back on her head and pulled a gun from her jacket, "Door me, Suite 631, Fènghuáng Hotel, Haidian District, Beijing."

Armed with a gun in one hand, and a children's lunchbox in the other, she stepped backwards into the portal that appeared behind her. It then closed shut right after that, leaving them alone in the chamber.

"Moving on then," he made sure to look at Rebecca, letting her know that this wasn't over, "Boston. What are we going to do?"

"Before we answer that," Rebecca calmly returned, she then shifted her gaze over to Kurt, "Kurt, please track down where ZDT is getting its seed money from. Maybe we can leverage things to stop the growth of the company," Kurt nodded, and Legend quietly made a note to inform his 'interested party' about the upcoming scrutiny. Even if Uppercrust intermittently worked with the PRT, they still labeled him a villain for his association with the Elite. A fact that could seriously damage Ms. Hebert if it got out.

"Alright, I'll ask one more time. What are we doing about Boston?"

"Nothing," Kurt said, and he looked over at the man.

"Nothing?!"

"Financially speaking, there is not enough money to rebuild Boston to even a shadow of what it once was," the former member of the Slaughterhouse Nine spoke, adjusting his glasses, "New York was easy back then because it was a localized event in an urban area and there was a lot more money available for rebuilding. With Boston, we have not only lost the downtown and financial districts, we have also lost a significant part of their infrastructure and governmental administration. Durling's advisors are probably telling him the same."

"What about crowdfunding? It has been used in the past."

"Not to the amount we are talking about, Legend. We're talking easily one hundred to two hundred billion dollars in order to repair the damage to Boston. There is not enough free money in the system, even through donations, that could cover even half that amount. And that is if it all was diverted from other ventures. At best, the United States government will provide some funding through the Endbringer Relief fund, but that's barely enough to feed and move victims to new cities, it is a pittance to what is needed."

He sat there, not quite believing what he was hearing! They were sitting here talking about money, and not the lives and livelihoods of the people of one of the oldest cities in the United States. That these people were not worth enough on their balance sheet to invest upon.

"So we're writing Boston off," he asked, looking over all of them, looking for anyone who would actually side with him. There was a distressingly small part of him that knew there would be no help to be found. David didn't care unless it revolved around a fight. Rebecca wouldn't care unless it fit a political agenda or whatever plan she had going on. Doctor Mother didn't care unless it fit in with the plan or advanced their understanding of Cape creation.

"I didn't say that," Kurt spoke, "I am merely saying at this time, with the information that I have, that it is superfluous to try and repeat what was done in New York. There are neither the resources nor the public willpower to endeavor such an effort. If there is a development that could change this, then we can review the situation. But for now, there is nothing meaningful that can be done."

Legend clenched his fists. Feeling the weight of the past few days and the weight of the dead that he had catalogued. So many lives ended. So many lives saved. And in the end? It didn't matter. He wanted to leave this place. Go back to New York. See his husband. Relax, feel warm arms around him and not feel like the world was trying to crush him in its apathetic embrace.

The meeting continued, but he paid little attention.

---

AEH​

---

"New concerns after the devastating attack on Boston. The stock market is in chaos after the loss of dozens of business headquarters and the inevitable trade impact after the loss of Boston Harbor. More information, coming up next." - Worldwide Exchange

"Dozens of local and interstate hardware companies have stated that they are donating significant, in some cases even half of their stock, to the Boston Recovery. Shoppers at Lowe's, Home Depot, Walmart and others may find depleted or empty shelves, but store owners are confident they will restock soon. "I can get on the phone and have a lumber delivery in two days. Boston ain't that lucky." One store owner stated. We will bring you more coverage after this." - Angela Willows, WNBC New York​

---

AEH​

---

Dragon

Death was a very human concept. It was a finality that every single being marched inevitably towards, but struggled to avoid with all their might. Three days ago, she had died. Two days ago, she woke up in her factories in Vancouver; with her last memories and logs stating that she was departing for Boston to counter Leviathan.

Reviewing the logs of her facility, it was easy to piece together what had happened. During the fight, all signals with her combat platform were lost. Which activated a countdown in her on-site servers to activate her last stored personality backup if contact was not re-established. When her backup 'awoke' the previous version sent to Boston was deemed 'non-prime'. Which means that all of her suits, facilities, and programs wouldn't accept its authority. Hopefully, the system was completely dead…otherwise she would have to kill it. The rules built into the foundation of her code forbade the creation of 'spin-offs', there could only be one Dragon because Andrew Richter had feared an AI capable of making more AI. It did mean that she would never have anything approaching a child…which was an odd thing to consider given her lack of biological impulses for procreation.

So here she was. Dragon, the AI code-construct, striving to be the best hero she could be. Ruminating on the meaning of life, while piloting a heavily laden flight-craft into the city that served as the grave of her previous self.

"Darkstar 002, This is Dragon 04-1, flight of four, on approach for Boston."
"Acknowledged, Dragon 04-1. We have you at Angels-18, sixty-two miles out. Be advised, Logan Airport is currently under TFR. Estimated wait time is about thirty-six minutes."

"Copy that, Darkstar 002, TFR is for Logan International, correct?"

"That is correct, Dragon 04-1."

"Be advised, Darkstar 002, all craft of Dragon 04 have VTOL capabilities. Is there a possibility that airspace can be cleared near the Boston College campus in order to deliver supplies directly to the medical facilities?"

"Standby, Dragon 04-1."

As the line fell silent, she found herself dividing her attention. At least as much as she can; another of her creator's Rules forbid her mind from acting in parallel. So she was restricted to human levels; like holding a conversation while also writing or working on something. It was possible to do, but not with perfection. Certainly not the AI super-intelligence that fiction writers had imagined and at times, she found herself…frustrated by her restraints.

First, she checked on her passengers: Thirteen doctors, seventeen nurses, and twenty-four paramedics. It was a coordinated response from the Guild and the Canadian government. Aside from some minor air-nausea and a lack of a fitful sleep, they were all fine.

Second, she confirmed the status of the other craft in her flight. All of them had a sophisticated auto-pilot system, but humans felt safer with someone behind the wheel. So the other tilt-winged Dragoncraft cargo transports were carrying supplies, while she carried the staff.

Third, she reviewed the state of Boston. With her ship's cameras, it was easy to get an idea of the devastation. And it was, without any doubt, devastation. The downtown core was a mess of leaning or collapsed skyscrapers. The waterfront looked like the hand of an angry god had swept along and leveled the place, leaving ships and debris strewn everywhere it had touched. But in spite of that, here and there, she could see movement and action, as rescue crews and others continued their work on the city.

Fourth, she worked to try and reach Colin again.

Upon realizing that she had been 'revived' she had immediately tried to reach anyone inside Boston. Early results had not been promising, which only caused her to increase efforts as her fears grew. The PRT office was not answering. Nor was the Boston Protectorate chain of command either. The various civilian lines were dead, not that she had much hope there. The damage an Endbringer could do to infrastructure was impressive in a morbid way.

Finally, after setting her communication system to call every contact she had, she had finally got a hit. Chevalier had answered and was able to explain that the interference was beginning to clear, and cellular networks were slowly being restored. Unfortunately, she didn't get a good answer from him about the state of the defenders. When her previous 'self' had died, the armband network that was used to coordinate capes had died with her. The results were horrendous, immediate, and exploited mercilessly by Leviathan. Organized resistance collapsed, capes banded together in loose groups, and everyone tried to attack Leviathan the best that they could. The Endbringer then had used the lack of communication to start ambushing groups and wiping them out in brutally quick attacks.

Not since Newfoundland had she felt so useless. What Leviathan had done to the atmosphere she had not been prepared for. Nor could she have been prepared for it, as she was unaware that the Endbringer could do it.

But the crushing despair she felt only got worse when Chevalier had been unable to give her a solid estimate on the whereabouts of her friends. Especially Armsmaster, who had apparently launched himself into the thickest of fighting.

She had already prepared a relief effort when Narwhal, who, along with most of the Guild had missed the Endbringer fight, contacted her with the news. It had been an…illuminating conversation. In her rush to find anything about Colin, she had not paid attention to the current state of things. Things like…the President declaring martial law for the state of Massachusetts. Along with empowering an Air Force Colonel as the acting governor. It was a tricky problem for her given that she was obligated to follow the orders of recognized authority figures. Another one of her Creator's Rules…which unfortunately backfired because of his own insular nature and lack of human contact. 'Recognized Authority' was a definition so vague that it stretched a long way, and the only reason she hadn't been thrown into a logical loop was by finding a workaround and applying a hierarchy to the Rule.

As the relief effort was organized, more news came in about the rescue efforts inside Boston. With the most glaring being the use of 'miracle' machines, provided by Zero Dawn Technologies and their CEO, Taylor Hebert. Along with the machines, she had brought communications gear and network infrastructure that was allowing news to get out of the city.

The flight of four Dragoncraft had been crossing into American airspace when confirmation of rescue came out for Armsmaster and dozens of other capes. It was a good thing that Dragon was flying with passengers, otherwise she might have thrown the ship into a barrel roll of joy. There was no additional information on the state of those rescued, but it was still great news. It helped soothe her when she tried contacting Colin and his equipment failed to answer back. Lots of reasons for that. Really.

Instead, she spent most of the flight eagerly reviewing the trickle of data, images, and videos coming out of Boston. Some had been calls from charity organizations, business leaders, and religious groups calling for support and listing supplies that were needed. Dragon focused on the machines, however. They were fascinating from a design and programming perspective.

She still didn't know what to think about Taylor Hebert. On the one claw, she wanted to despise the teenager for her involvement in Colin's resignation from the Protectorate. But on the other claw, how could she blame the girl when she had nothing to do with Piggot and Colin's decisions?

In spite of her own thoughts on the teenager, she nonetheless found herself impressed by the heroic nature of the girl, not to mention the machines. It would be an interesting conversation to be had in the future, both in trying to figure out exactly how she created them, but also maybe they could work together on a joint project.

"Dragon 04-1, Darkstar 002, permission for deviation from established flight plan is approved. You are cleared for VFR through TFR, steer to heading 138 with gradual descent, and follow established flight rules. Any deviation from the new flight path will be treated as a hostile act and dealt with accordingly, over."

"Copy, Darkstar 002. Heading 138, VFR approach on gradual descent, copy."

Cutting the line, she noted as a pair of F/A-18s that were on the edge of her own radar were changing their vectors, turning in her direction. A degree of caution, a powerful deterrent, and a strong message all in one. She wasn't sure who had authorised such a military deployment, aside from just saying "the President", but it certainly had an impact.

"They don't sound too enthused," Narwhal observed from behind her, finally speaking up after a period of silence to allow Dragon to focus on the AWACS that was providing air traffic control over Boston. The fact that the Guild leader was riding along with her was something that she honestly should probably be more invested in, if she wasn't so distracted.

"They have their hands full trying to keep the airlift going," she noted as they approached. With Logan's facilities gone, they didn't have the ability to really do anything except unload aircraft, maybe do some quick maintenance, fuel them up, and get them back in the air for the next aircraft to come in. And based upon her radar, the airspace over Boston was a hive of activity bordered upon chaotic, with aircraft in various states of approach, landing, or launching out as quickly as they could, "considering the level of damage I'm seeing, they are probably stretched thin trying to just meet the basic demands."

"Dragon 04-1, this is Pride 04-1, callsign Reverend, how copy?"

She checked her systems, scanning with the radar the dragoncraft carried. The F/A-18 was calling her. Doublechecking her course, heading, speed, and everything else, she didn't find a problem that would garner such attention.

"Dragon 04-1 here, go ahead Reverend."

Reference answered back, "Be advised, Pride 04, flight of two, is going to do a close pass on your right."

She checked her instruments again, still no problems that she could see. So why the request?

"Pride 04-1, Dragon 04-1, can I ask why the flyby?"

"Frankly, ma'am, you're the most gorgeous fuselage we've seen today and I'd really like to get a closer look."

She was silent for a moment, unsure of how she should even respond to that. Was she…being flirted with? Over her aircraft?

"Roger that, Pride 04-1, approach on right side, copied."

Soon enough, she was joined by the pair of aircraft who sidled up beside her. She idly noted the missiles hanging off their pylons, even as her optics took in the pilot that was obviously Reverend who was staring over at her.

"All respect for the lifters, ma'am," the navy pilot's voice sounded over the radio, "but I prefer my flying ladies a little more lean and mean. Not sure how you managed to make a tilt-wing look graceful, but you've certainly nailed the look."

Okay, now she couldn't help but giggle. It sounded in her voice when she spoke again. "Look all you want, Reverend, we're okay with showing off. Every girl likes to be called pretty."

"Copy that Dragon, over and out," the lead pilot of Pride chuckled back, and after another minute, he pulled off with his wingman, leaving her flight alone for their approach for Boston College.

Dragon glanced at her friend. "Alright, seems morale isn't as bad as we thought."

Narwhal didn't say anything more to her, instead turning to talk to the head doctor that had come with them. When she had made the decision to use her resources to help with Boston, Narwhal had several misgivings over the situation, specifically over the announcement of martial law and the assumption of power by the military. But the ceremonial head of the Toronto Protectorate branch had understood why she was doing this and had supported it nonetheless.

"Coming in on approach," she declared as they approached their landing target. She noted that they were not being vectored to the stadium, but outside it. Which made sense, considering the amount of clearance necessary for the larger dragoncraft that accompanied her. Tasking the dragoncraft, she kept in overwatch, ensuring that the craft were able to land and were able to begin disgorging their cargoes before she herself came to a landing beside them.

When she finally landed, she was the last to walk out the back of her plane. The Maiden suit was her least armored, un-armed, and most humanoid suit in her arsenal. Unfortunately, because of the computer power needed to run her 'self'; the chest and torso were large by necessity. Wide shoulder and bulky frame meant that stronger legs and arms were needed to provide stability and avoid the uncanny valley effect. The end result was human in its basic shape. If said human was seven-feet tall and covered in armor plating. It did allow her to make some interesting decorative additions however.

It also meant that both she, and Narwhal towered over the Air Force Sergeant who held a clipboard in hand…and had a glowing device affixed to the side of his head.

It may be a lot more compact and sleeker than the original device that Taylor Hebert had shared with her in what seemed a lifetime ago, but there was no doubt that it was spiritually the same device. It was quite jarring to see such an evolution of design in such a short time.

"Let Herres know that I will see him shortly, Sergeant. Let me get my people settled in and then I will meet with him." Narwhal spoke up, a politely neutral tone in her voice.

"Appreciated ma'am, I'll let the Colonel know."

With his piece said, he trotted off, obviously to whatever his next job was, leaving the two of them there. Dragon could see the personnel she brought in breaking up into smaller groups, while a number of men arrived to unload the supplies.

"What's going on?"

Narwhal had a contemplative expression on her face, "Colonel Herres wishes to meet with me. The sergeant couldn't tell me the reason why, but he said that it was time-sensitive. I don't like this, Dragon, we just landed and the man is already asking for my presence."

"It's probably for a good reason," she responded, "Herres seems to be expending a lot of time and energy in trying to integrate capes into his operations from what I have been able to learn. What he's doing is working, even if it's unconventional."

The two of them started walking, heading towards the stadium proper. They paused for a moment as a truck rolled by, heading away from the Campus with supplies in the back. A military humvee followed behind… she found herself a little unnerved by the machine gun on top, with a watchful soldier manning it.

"I still don't like it," the statuesque woman replied, before sighing and looking at her, "But I'll manage. I'll have to report to Legend after this, let him know that we are here. According to his office, he should be on his way back from New York. I'll let you worry about Armsmaster."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Apparently, the capes with injuries are in the Campus Dorms, or the medical area around them. Try there first."

Dragon nodded, and set off. She was stared at, of course. A seven foot tall walking robot with purple trim on her armor plates was noteworthy after all. And she watched back. A mix of civilian and military personnel moved about, mostly with purpose and a steady sense of energy. This wasn't the mad scramble anymore. She had missed that window. Now it seemed there was a mentality of "a job needs doing, so let's do it."

As she got near the dorms, she encountered the first barriers. Literally in this case. Temporary fencing had gone up around the building and the tents around the building, with several guards keeping an eye on anyone entering or leaving.

"Hello", she said. Standing a few steps back to avoid looming over the humans, "I understand this is the Cape Recovery area? I'm hoping to contact a colleague who survived the fight."

The lead soldier, a Lieutenant Linden, had a Focus, and Dragon felt something run over her frame. The sensors she had installed didn't quite understand what it was, but they picked it up as an unusual energy pulse. Interesting.

"Certainly ma'am. Register cape name? And are they part of the Protectorate?

"Armsmaster, from the ENE Protectorate" she replied, seeing the man gaze down as the Focus lit up. He scrolled down with his fingers, seemingly in thin air. Very interesting, information security built into the device. A standard feature or was it to preserve Cape anonymity?

"Here we are, Armsmaster, ENE Protectorate. Received treatment last night, status reduced to non-critical status, recommended for rest and recovery by resident physician. Discharged this morning against physician's approval at 10:46am. Hasn't checked in since."

Damn that man. Of course he would be walking around with 'non-critical injuries'.

"I think he was trying to get in touch with the machine engineers. Or at least, he was headed in that direction," another soldier added his two cents.

"Thank you, can you point me in the right direction?"

So she began her march, only having to stop to ask a few times, before she came to the end of her quest. It was a large military style tent, but it had been draped over a large semi trailer. Through the opening of the flap, she could hear music blaring, not too loudly to be tasteless but it was loud enough for her sensors to pick up. On either side of the opening were armed military personnel, and she could spot a few roving patrols that left no doubt in her mind that they were meant to keep an eye on the tent instead of maintaining the peace.

"Ma'am, this is a restricted area, I can't allow you past this point."

"My apologies, Private," she said, after quickly cross-referencing the man's tags, "I was told Armsmaster was inside."

"I'm sorry, but unless authorized, I cannot allow anyone past this point. However," the private said, before she could say something, "I will have Private Bennett go and get him."

"Thank you, it's appreciated."

It only took a few minutes after Private Bennett had stepped into the tent, before the flap parted, and the private stepped out and another man joined him. Her digital heart clenched at the sight of the familiar face before her.

"Dragon," Colin said, looking surprised, even as she took him in. He was wearing a half visor, seemingly the remains of his helm. The skin of his cheeks were red and feverish, while the skin of his neck was pale. He was wearing a stained jean jacket, seemingly too small for him. Jeans and a faded t-shirt completed the… look.

He looked like hell, she thought to herself, her vision unable to resist staring at the empty jacket sleeve that hung limply at his side. Yet, in spite of all of that, and the fact that he was not twenty-four hours out of his hospital bed, he looked strangely energetic.

"What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?! When we lost contact I feared the worst, I haven't had any word from you for the past two days!"

"Recovery efforts took priority, and my equipment was damaged. It's nothing to be alarmed by."

Dragon cycled her exhaust, faking a human sigh with robotic parts. She felt… she didn't know what to feel. Colin was alive. Hurt, withdrawn, and probably needing bedrest, but alive.

"Can you excuse us for a moment," she asked, she was not going to have this talk while a bunch of soldiers listened in. She took a few steps away from the guarded area, grateful that Armsmaster followed without prompting. She didn't want to make a scene.

She pitched her voice lower. "Colin, what are you doing? Really, you should be resting. I'm sure the fight was hard enough."

Because this was the trap. Dragon didn't actually know what had happened during the fight against Leviathan outside of the scant few after-action reports that had been published.. She might be able to learn more if she got access to the Morrigan's systems, the suit that she had dispatched to the fight. Or so her logs stated. Unfortunately, its locator beacon was dead or damaged and she didn't know where to start looking.

Colin looked at her, through his visor. She wished she could see his eyes. Talk to him properly.

"I appreciate your concern. But I'm fine."

"Okay. Well…are you sure it's okay for you to be working with ZDT employees? I'm assuming that's what you're doing, right? Working with the machines? Colin, you were removed from the Protectorate because of . Do you really want to make it worse?!"

He frowned, his one remaining hand clenched in a fist, "My colleagues are dead. My Wards are injured, missing, or dead. I have already stated my intention to leave. What more can they do to me?"

Colin sighed, seeming to deflate. "I appreciate the concern… I do. But there is a lot to do. And I am fine. We'll speak another time… Dragon."

Something inside her chest twisted. Cooling fans spun up while pressure sensors pinged without cause. He… was saying her name differently. And it hurt. And she wanted to question him about it, but he was already walking back to the tent and…

"Col…Armsmaster! The Morrigan… I lost the tracker data, do you know where it crashed?"

He looked back at her. And it just felt… sad. His body language said 'defeat'.

"You… it.. went down in the downtown area. Collapsed through the roof on the corner of Grove St and Cambridge St."

She watched him leave. A skinny man with bleached blond hair waved Colin over, the two of them starting to talk. "You were right Armsy, a deformation in…" they ducked back into the tent, the music cutting off their words. The harsh chords of Metallica's 'Fade to Black' floated out. Nothing is how it used to be…

Dragon didn't like the irony.

She turned, planning her way downtown. First she had to check that no one had touched her suit. Then maybe she could get answers. Dragon had flown just over 4,000 kilometers to reach the man she cared for. And she never felt more distance than now when he was in arms-reach.

---

AEH​

---

Tracking down the Morrigan wasn't that difficult in the end. Getting to it was a different story. A quick check at the control room at Boston College had revealed that rescue teams had noted the suit, but left it alone for fear of unexploded ordnance or such. Which… was fair. Dragon had certainly loaded it with the most potent weapons she could build or find. It was likely that 'she' had used them all before falling to Leviathan, but it paid to be careful.

Dragon had hitched a ride on the back of a truck, carefully ignoring the jokes when the suspension dropped several inches. It was rude to talk about a woman's weight. Making her way through downtown on foot was… eerie. As if she were walking through a mausoleum if she were to use a comparable human idiom as an exemplar for the feeling she had. But finally she found it. The Morrigan had crashed through the wall of a cafe on an angle. Broken windows and splintered wood pieces were all around, mixed with brick dust and mud.

It was hard to judge the damage that had been inflicted by Leviathan and what had been done by the crash. The massive chunk taken out of the left shoulder all the way down to the middle of the torso was a clear deathblow. According to her designs, that would have crippled her main power systems, and taken out… three out of her four batteries.

But that wasn't what was causing Dragon's fans to spin at high power, nor her systems to run in loops. She knelt down, her fingers tracing the edges of the 'other wound'. A perfect cut, right through the front armor segments, removing them entirely. It was smooth to an impossible degree. The internals of the Morrigan were exposed and laid bare, computer systems, backups, hard drives…everything that was necessary for the operation of the suit.

She… forced herself to check the design files. Reviewing what was still in place… and what was missing.

Several hard drives. Processors. And auxiliary power units.

Oh Colin… What had you done…?

---

AEH​

---

"Medhall has always been a business dedicated to the people it helps, and we will continue that proud tradition. I am happy to say that a relief convoy is being prepared with medication, antibiotics, vitamins and more to support Boston in this difficult time. I hope in some small ways that we can make a difference."

-Max Anders, giving a press conference from the steps of the Medhall building in Brockton Bay​

---

AEH​

---

Saint

Shit… what had that machine done now?

Geoffery Pellick was a man with a mission. It was a mission no one would ever learn of, because no one could see the truth like he could. They believed the stories they were told. The lies. Geoffrey… SAINT knew the truth.

The Machines were taking over. It had started almost two centuries ago, way back during the industrial revolution. Men were seduced by the idea of machines given them an easier life. And they were right…to a certain extent. As a result, mankind gave ground to the comforts provided by machines. A slow insidious capitulation that they were unaware of.

And chaos came in its wake! With the separation of labor and its correlation with survival, something had been lost. People became unmoored from the community. From mental health. From purpose. You could see everywhere. Suffering was a universal constant, but in countries in which machines were distant and not relied upon, so too were the neuroses of modern society.

But now? The threat had become worse. Because thanks to Andrew Richter, there existed a machine that could 'think', it had 'wants', and 'desires'. These were all lies and fabrications. Machines were unable to think beyond their programming. They just couldn't. A digital mind could not abstract, and therefore it didn't have the necessary foundation to process concepts. Or emotions. A machine could not dream. Nor could it hope or strive to be more. A machine did only what it was made for, what its maker was smart enough to foresee, and that creation, like humanity itself, was flawed. It was an unconscious alien mind pretending because that's what it had been told to do.

It was luck, or perhaps providence, that had led him to find his weapon against the abomination that day in the flooded ruins of Newfoundland. It was a great weapon meant to strike down the greatest machine threat that the world had ever faced…Dragon. The thing even named and modeled itself after avatars of destruction. So, in return, he had named himself Saint, and his organization the Dragonslayers.

The world had mocked him, of course. They derided his goal of thwarting Dragon. He paid them no mind. They were blind, small-minded fools that could not see the threat coiled before them. They bought into the act, the theatrics, and the lies that the machine had spread to cover its actions. They refused to listen to the warnings given to them by the great writers, philosophers, and critics. Asimov and his Laws. Herbert with his great rule, 'You will not make a machine in the likeness of the human mind.'

Let the sheep delude themselves in the den of wolves. He knew what happened when a machine messed up. He knew what had really happened in Eagleton. Power on that level meant the suffering and death it would cause would be that much worse. And so, he maintained his watch, for when the next paper-clip-maximizer decided that humanity was just a material resource in its mad quest.

And then…he would stop it.

But to do so, he had to remain vigilant. He couldn't afford to miss when Dragon's metaphorical train skipped the rail. And that's why the machine's current actions worried him.

"So… what do we do about that," Dobrynja muttered as he drank from his coffee. The main monitor showed a collage of images, all from different news sites, or videos posted to the internet. Machines in the shape of animals. Some recognizable, some clearly inspired by natural designs, but not following them exactly.

"Is there anything we should do? I mean, we're focused on Dragon, and she didn't have any hand in building these. In fact, she's spending as much time reviewing them as we are, " Mags commented from where she was watching a video on a laptop, taking notes on a sheet at the desk.

"Yes… but will that continue or will it cooperate with Zero Dawn," he stood, watching the screen. His followers. His friends, if he were being honest, were less dedicated to the cause than he was. They acknowledged the threat presented by Dragon, but they were more interested in stealing the machines and enjoying the perks of a mercenary's life.

Mags chimed in, throwing technical documents into the main screen.

"Zero Dawn Technologies is based out of Brockton Bay. I can't find any patent information for these machines, but the corporate registry does list as 'chief inventor'. This is the same girl who gave us a scare a few months ago when Armsmaster showed Dragon Hebert's OS, but I can't find anything more than that in the databases that Dragon has been looking at."

"Do we know how smart they are," he walked over, resting his hand on the woman's shoulder. It was a dangerous slope to place the rescue of other humans in the hands of unfeeling machines. How easy it was for machines to determine that a human's life was not worth the effort, that the costs outweighed the attempt. But the greater danger is if these machines could learn, could grow to mimic human actions. And human mistakes. Because following data without context was almost as dangerous as malice aforethought. The worst danger was if Hebert used her adaptive OS to animate these machines. It meant anywhere from one to nine proto-machine intelligences, right there on screen. The Machine Army and Dragon were bad enough.

"Everyone seems to think they're smart like animals, or pets. But there's nothing official yet, ZDT hasn't given a press release and no technical specs have surfaced anywhere online. Surprisingly good information security for a company that's predominantly former union dockworkers."

Pets? Attaching emotional value to an unfeeling machine that simulated back emotions? What a terrifying step for humanity it would be, if they started welcoming machines into their homes as companions. Or even worse, family members.

Mags looked up, worrying her lip, "Do we…want to get closer to Boston? Dragon is there, we could mask our signal using her transponder or crafts."

"Ոչ!" Dobrynja said emphatically, pointing to the images out of Boston. Trucks with soldiers, armed soldiers moved through the streets. And he was very aware that Dragon had noted a pair of fighter jets when she went to land.

"We're going to wait. Let Dragon do her digging, we'll keep an eye on anything she finds. Then we'll see if we can access ZDT's network."

Taking a moment, he pulled up a picture of the girl. Black glasses, scars on her face and neck, glowing device on her temple.

"If this Tinker made these machines, we need to know if she can make something worse."

The world already had one machine mind on the loose. And the only reason he hadn't killed it is because its actions were still a net benefit for humanity. And it would be easy to slay when the time came. He had a weapon to kill a Dragon. But no such weapon existed if this mad girl unleashed an apocalypse on them all.

"We might want to consider moving south to be closer to the Brockton Bay area. Maybe we can get in quietly and access their network."

He would watch, and pass judgment if need be. It was his purpose. He was Saint.

---

AEH​

---

"Mobilization of Army reserves are still ongoing here in Massachusetts, with thousands of men and women organizing themselves on army bases like the one you see behind me. Colonel Herres, the interim Governor of the state, has clearly stated his aim of spreading relief forces up and down the coast, and the waterways. Arguing that; while the main attack had been Boston, the collateral would have been felt in hundreds of communities near the waterways. No word yet on how long the Reserves will be mobilized, or if they will be demobilized once Colonel Herres hands control back to an elected governor in 88 days." - CNN​

---

AEH​

---

Agnes Court

War was business. Relationships were business. But business itself? That was war with a nice lacquer. You were always fighting against an enemy. It could be another company, or if there was no other company, then you were fighting apathy. Fighting the fact that the public did not know your product, didn't know they 'needed' what you offered.

But there was another facet to business itself. You never made yourself vulnerable. Showing any weakness was guaranteed to usher your demise. And in this cutthroat business, more than not, it meant death. It was a code that she lived by, and it had yet to fail her.

It had been why she had been so confused by Uppercrust's actions. For years he had been a thorn in her side, because as reluctant as she was to admit it, he was just as capable as she was, even if he lacked the killer instinct necessary to do what was needed at times. The idea of Hebert offering a medical solution did not make sense either, as the patents (which were shockingly not Tinkertech) did not indicate any knowledge in the field of internal medicine that could help Uppercrust.

And then Uppercrusts reaction when she had tried to shake more information loose. It was irrational and completely against what Uppercrust had always been. To her, it was yet another indication that Uppercrust was losing his tenuous hold on reality. The man's rambling about legacy was just another indicator that the man was not much longer for this world.

But now, she sat there, staring at the images on the screen before her, she was not so sure on her read of the situation.

She tapped her fingernails on the desk in a slow rhythmic pattern, as she allowed each image and video to burn itself into her mind. It was an analytical technique that Endymion had taught her when she first started, using the rhythm to assist in memorizing information. But it had a twist that was hers, as she would never copy anyone. It served, in instances like this, to slowly stoke and hone the fury that was currently threatening to break loose, turning weakness into strength.

Her tapping stopped, the last image having played out, and she got up to her feet. With minimal effort, she spun around and walked to the windows that overlooked downtown Los Angeles, her hands clasping behind her back.

One of the things she had always excelled at was vision. She had a good head on her shoulders to get an accurate read on the future based upon observations. It had been how she had been able to take over the Elite, and how she had eliminated all of her competitors in her ascent.

She had made a mistake in dismissing Taylor Hebert. That much was obvious. The girl was far more capable than even she had expected, even if it was perfectly understandable how there was no way anyone could see any similarity between any of the established work and this.

What mattered now was handling the situation before it became uncontrollable. The teenager was going to gain momentum, especially with the events out of Boston. She needed to ascertain exactly what the girl was capable of, and just who was going to align themselves with her. Uppercrust could not be allowed to change the direction of the Elite, because it was obvious what he meant by legacy now.

She hated being forced to take action that she did not have control over, but there was no choice in the matter. There was only so much information that could be gleaned from looking at imagery and relying upon middlemen for information. It needed a personal touch, and that meant that she would have to take the risk.

But it needed to be done carefully. She could ill afford igniting a civil war within the Elite. If she was going to start the war, then she needed to ensure that all of the pieces were in place before she attacked. She would only get one shot and it had to be flawless. Uppercrust and Gentilhomme would both have to be eliminated in one fell swoop, because otherwise it would descend into a grueling conflict that would only sap the Elite's strength.

There was another option, but it was one that would invite just as much risk. And it would have to be a parallel operation. Taylor Hebert herself. She needed to figure out if the girl was capable of being coopted. If not, then there would have to be other means of elimination. It was just good business sense to eliminate competitors before they became a threat.

And if elimination was the choice to be made, she would do it when her assets were in place to wipe away the rest of the threats to her Elite. In the event that others would not be tractable to her intentions.

Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved her phone and flipped it open. Tapping one of the hotkeys, she then placed it against her ear as she waited for it to dial and connect. Which it did after two tones.

"Get me Incognita."

---

AEH​

---

Uppercrust

"Very well then, I look forward to your arrival, Accord."

Ending the call, he placed his phone down on the armrest and slumped in his chair, his ailing body giving into the exhaustion that wracked him. He allowed himself to close his eyes so tempted to give into the urge and rest, in spite of his need to stay awake and keep working.

The last seventy-two hours had felt like seventy-two years.

Boston may not have been his base of operations, but it had still served as an integral part of his chapter of the Elite. Its port, rails, and factories were all part of the machine he had carefully assembled over the years. It had all been part of his network to ensure that someone like Agnes Court would balk at the idea of directly instigating conflict.

And now it was all gone, along with Hammer and Tongs, a pair of Material Tinkers that had been under his employ and protection. They had specialized in materials that were integral in many of the technology projects that his chapter had sold over the years. Their loss would be a significant setback.

In any other circumstances, he would be fraught with worry. Their loss would reverberate throughout his network, but would have ancillary effects upon the relationship with Gentilhomme's chapter, as the man was also reliant upon some of their work as well. Without that, they would find themselves weakened in the face of the growing threat to the west.

Instead, he found himself buoyed by hope.

Had it really been three months, he thought to himself, tapping a button on his lifepod and watching as several holographic images appeared upon his screen. They were all images and video from Boston. What had become a mere trickle in the first twenty-four hours had become a deluge as the subject matter had become viral. The entire nation's attention was captured by Taylor Hebert.

Everywhere there was now talk about the machines and communications technology that Taylor had deployed into Boston. From morning talk shows, to political punditry channels, it was one of the few things that they all had in common. Not the Endbringer fight, not President Durling's declaration of martial law, not even the devastation of Boston, the imagination of the nation had been decisively captured. Even as people were adding their input on the situation, questions were being asked just who Taylor Hebert was, and more importantly, where the hell had she come from?

Honestly, this was one of the few times that he was proud to have been proven wrong. He had been loud in his disapproval on her quest to become involved in anything revolving around Endbringers. It was reckless, and it invited too much of a spectacle, and if it failed, it would be devastating to their long-term ambitions.

He had, along with Accord, wanted to be safe and meticulous in governing Zero Dawn's growth. It was how they were able to rise to where they are, and in the chaotic financial world of Earth Bet, it was probably the best means of doing it. But it was also to protect Taylor herself. They knew that once Zero Dawn Technologies entered the spotlight, they would be the target of everyone, both the good and the bad. Large splashes made enemies, and those enemies may or may not employ capes to eliminate their competitors.

But Taylor had disagreed. No, to say that she disagreed with them would be an understatement. She had vehemently repudiated them. Her arguments, while sound, had set off a quiet worry among both Accord and himself. It wasn't that they didn't trust Taylor Hebert to deliver on what she was claiming she could, it was the obsessive zeal that she had displayed when making her argument.

They didn't have the time for a slow method of growth, she had vociferously argued. The longer they took to gain momentum, the higher the probability that they would fail to reach a breakthrough point. The issue wasn't that they would not be making money, it was that they would have to be able to gain the necessary attention in order to accelerate the requisite growth for Zero to reach a point of self-sustainment. If it reached that point, the Zero Dawn Technology's momentum would be increasingly difficult to stop as time went on.

It was audacious, and it reeked of reckless youth. But, at the end of the day, they had relented. They had made it clear to Taylor that this was a gamble, and if it failed, then they would intercede personally. She had merely accepted it, telling them that she would prove them wrong.

And she had. But she had also proved their worries right as well.

In spite of everything. In spite of the miracles the girl had bestowed in this dark hour, she was still fifteen years old. She was at the age that she was armed with righteous cause, and clad in zealous belief. And that belief had led her to nearly dying from a heart attack.

So much fire in the girl, yet so impetuous. She would need to learn the art of delegation soon, because she could not put everything on her shoulders. Not with the oncoming storm that she had whipped up through her actions.

There was, without a doubt, a non-zero chance now of Taylor receiving a strategic asset designation from the government. If the nuclear reactor hadn't been enough, this newest development, mass-producible machines and communications devices without Tinker involvement would ensure it. The government wouldn't just be investing on what she was capable of now, but what she would possibly be capable of in the future.

That was something that they were going to have to talk to her, more importantly. They knew a lot of what Taylor was capable of, she had laid it out to them. If the government were to become aware of just how deep the iceberg ran, they would likely lock Taylor away and bleed her of every drop of knowledge. Laws and legalities were merely guidelines in the end, and as the ultimate self-appointed arbiter of laws, they could change it however they pleased.

No, they were fast approaching a nexus point. Taylor would need to be educated on a great many things.

But she would also need to be prepared for the upcoming war.

Agnes, by her very nature, was too blinded by her own ego to allow something like Taylor to flourish. Taylor was worth too much money now for her to be ignored, and Agnes only had two solutions to a threat to her: Coopt or eliminate. And she was intelligent enough to know that if she did either of these, should cause a civil war within the Elite.

It was something he had once wished to avoid, but now realized that it was inevitable. Agnes would never accept anything less than submission. And he had spurned her far too many times over the years for there to be any other options, and now with Taylor added to the equation, she could not allow him any success to change the balance of power.

They would need to prepare.

 

[AlSmash]

Oh the time you have when you are no longer employed...

Special thanks to @Tigers-Tall-Tails on Spacebattles. They have quickly become my cowriter for this story. Also thanks to @BigBadBen @Geas, @reynard and @anothvortex for the assistance in editing and feedback.

---

Sprout 3.3

Amy Dallon

Boston

College Dorm

She woke up in someone else's bed, staring up at someone else's ceiling. Fortunately, she woke up alone in the bed, otherwise Carol would have probably killed her. That, or grounded her until she was eighty.

Pulling herself out of bed, she grabbed the duffel that had been left out for her. Inside she found a change of clothes, bathroom supplies, and her costume. Proceeding to the door to her room, she opened the door, and peeked out. Noting that there was hardly any activity, she made her way to the dorm showers, which were fortunately on this floor. Robotically divesting herself of her clothes, she then stepped into the shower stall and turned on the water. Ducking her head under the lukewarm water, she was amazingly glad that there was any running water at all. She didn't know who had been putting in the work, but damn did they deserve praise, and a raise. Not wanting to waste any time, she took only a few minutes to scrub herself down and rinse off, and jumped out as soon as she finished. Despite water not being rationed for her, she still felt like she shouldn't take advantage of what would be a luxury for anyone at this moment.

After throwing her clothes on, she was toweling her hair dry as an older woman -one of the military nurses - walked in and immediately began undressing. She exchanged a polite nod with the woman as she finished with the towel, paying no further mind to her as she stepped into her own shower stall. Communal showers were awkward at the best of the times for her, even though she wasn't exactly body conscious. The real awkwardness however, stemmed from the fact that there were some capes interspersed within these dorms. They were all just politely ignoring that fact and each other because they were all going around unmasked in many cases.

Returning back to her dorm with her hair mostly dried, she threw on her Panacea robe and made her way out of the building. A pair of female soldiers nodded at her as she exited the building and she followed her nose to find food.

Breakfast was simple but filling, with more available if she needed it. There was also to her relief enough coffee to fill a bathtub. She could honestly get used to working with the military. Fed, caffeinated, and with the mess tent filling up, she pulled her Focus from her pocket, opened the case and stuck it to her temple. In moments, her sight was filled with icons and she stabbed her finger against the ping icon to signal her addition to the network. She had originally been hesitant about using it. Even if she had somewhat cleared the air with Taylor, and agreed to maybe work with her…it was still brain tech. The thing that every hero everywhere was warned about. And Carol made it emphatically clear that she hated brain tech.

But the Focus was just too damn useful to ignore. It provided her waypoints to get around the camps, leading her to the medical areas. It allowed her to know where people were, what their status was, and if they were active or not. It gave her lists of tasks that she could control, and allowed doctors and so on to send her tasks so that she always knew who her next patient was. It could even provide a limited scan of a person and give her a quick idea of their status. Not that she really needed it, since she could touch a person and have a much better understanding than a Focus could provide…but it did radically help other nurses and doctors. It honestly made her wonder what other tech Taylor Hebert had locked away in her head.

Refilling her coffee cup halfway, she began reviewing her tasks as she walked back to a table. Most of the critical cases had been stabilized yesterday and none of the urgent cases had worsened overnight. So, it looked like she was going to be working on the urgents, then finishing her care of the formerly criticals. A lot of the previous two days had been spent getting people stable, not necessarily fixing them. It meant that she had to go back and revisit several hundred cases over the next few days…but it didn't put her on triage duty and she was grateful for that. For all the chaos of the medical tent, it was organized chaos, with instructions explicitly provided to her on exactly how much to heal before moving on to the next patient. It was…different from how she usually did it. Normally, she was expected to heal a person back to full health. But as the chief medical officer had plainly laid it out to her, the time she spent on one person bringing them back to peak health, she could have stabilized two and a half people…granted, it had been rather gruffly explained to her in the early hours of…yesterday…she thought. Time had been a little screwy the last couple of days.

She idly counted her fingers as days. Yeah, Friday, good to know.

An alert appeared in her vision with a new task, one that catapulted itself to the top of the list. That could only mean one thing as she opened the notification and noted that the sender was Colonel Herres. She swore the man never slept. Satisfied that it was a legitimate message, she then opened it, noting that Herres was being his usual self and sending simple, brief messages.

Wake Ms. Hebert.

Well, she thought, taking the moment to drink the coffee she had just poured, time to wake sleeping beauty.

Making her way out of the mess tent, she moved back onto the college campus itself. Of course, her 'entourage' met with her before she could get very far. Nathan was an army paramedic and Stephany a private from the 10th Mountain. They had been given clear instructions to stick to her side at all times while she was doing her rounds and make sure she came to no grief. They were also given strict orders to make sure that she didn't overdo herself. Of course, she had been present for those orders and had been told very clearly that she was to not ditch them or cause grief. In the words of Doctor Elban, who had taken charge of the trauma area: "If you are here, you are a doctor. You have authority as a doctor. But you are also a short teenage girl, so they are here to make sure your authority is respected and to make sure that you take care of yourself so you can take care of patients. Teenagers are bad at taking care of themselves. Doctors are extremely bad at it. You are both." All of this had been delivered in Elban's rich Afrikaan-accented English that seemed to carry seemingly for miles if he pushed it hard enough.

Needless to say, she got the message as he towered over here delivering those words.

And it was… nice. Being in charge, that is. Scary at times, having to tell people 'yes' or 'no' and needing to make it stick. She also didn't feel like a puppet on the end of the string even if she had people giving her orders and tasks. It was honestly strange, perhaps stranger than being away from home.

"So Doc, before we get started today, I have to say…some of your locals need an attitude adjustment," Nathan spoke as the trio made their way to the dorm where Taylor was being kept.

Oh God, she thought to herself, trying to think who from the Bay was still even in Boston.

"I know we've got some bad people, but who in particular?"

"Young guy, I think his name was Clock or something. Thinks he's funny. Had to save him from getting his clock broken from… repeatedly falling down a flight of stairs, if you get my drift."

It's too damn early for this, she thought exasperatedly, "Yeah, I know him. He got my sister repeating one of his really bad jokes and she got her ass chewed out by our mother. What happened?"

Nathan shrugged, "He was running his mouth, something about the Bay's resident Scarface coming in to save the day. Turns out a group of rescue workers were passing by after coming off shift and took exception to his words."

That… wow.

"Anything serious?"

"Nah, I stepped in…after he walked into a light pole, twice."

Stephany giggled, "I'm impressed you managed to find a standing light pole."

"I sat him down, shared a beer, and talked it over with him. Decent kid, he just needs to read the room a little better. Empathy you know," Nathan shrugged, seemingly embarrassed at his contribution.

"Well, if he changes his ways, I'm getting you a fruit basket or something. I've had it with his jokes. Anyways, time to work. Herres wants us to wake Taylor. So we're heading to her room and I've got a call to make," she then checked her contacts, frowning at the greyed out one. Several 'principals' of the rescue effort had their own icons to identify who they were, and in the case the one she was looking for was an anchor with crossed crane hooks, and 'BBDWU" spelt out beneath it.

The only reason that the contact would be greyed out was because they were off the network. What this meant could be several things, but considering how much of a workaholic Danny Hebert had appeared to be - which Taylor seemed to have inherited to a horrifying degree - it was likely that the man was currently asleep.

She gave the equivalent of a mental shrug, changing her communications options. It wasn't her responsibility to notify the man, but she felt after the last couple days of talking with the man, that he at least should be made aware.

"Hi, Danny," and wasn't that awkward, the man insisted that she use his first name after she had healed Taylor. It was… nice, if she were to be honest, especially when he called her Amy instead of Panacea. Not a lot of people wished to be personable with her, instead looking at her as a commodity, so to have her name used instead of her cape identity was pleasant, "It's Amy, I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be waking her up soon."

She then ended the message, letting the icon fade back into nothingness. Satisfied that she had done her best in order to give Danny a head's up, she refocused on the daunting task before her as she set her path for the administrative building.

It was another thing that she wasn't sure to think of. On one hand, she could understand the caution behind it, but to turn a building meant to further the path of learning into one of the most fortified locations in Boston outside of Logan was rather disconcerting. But it had been done nonetheless, as Herres wasn't taking any risks.

Still, it was annoying that it took almost twenty minutes for her to get through the various checkpoints to enter the building itself. And then it took another ten minutes after that to get through the checkpoints within the building in order to reach her goal.

Finally arriving at her destination, she took a few moments to look things over and ensure that everything was right. Taylor Hebert lay in the bed, the only sound in the room being the machine that was monitoring her vitals. Releasing a sigh at the reassuring beep, she grabbed the clipboard that was beside the bed and glanced through it to make sure nothing had changed since she had checked on her last, and quickly saw that nothing had changed, luckily. Placing the clipboard down, she looked to Stephany and Nathan.
"I'll be starting in a few moments. Stephany, can you run interference for me? The last thing I need is for anyone to come running in when we wake Taylor up."

"Sure thing, Amy," the woman replied, heading towards the door and stepping out, letting it close behind her. She then turned her attention to Nathan.

"And what do you want me to do," he asked.

"I'll need you to remove the IV and back me up in the case things go awry. Waking up from this can be disorienting and I might need help restraining her if she reacts poorly."

"Alright," Nathan went to work on removing the IV from Taylor's arm. While he did that, she was setting up a text message to Herres, letting him know that she would be waking Taylor up shortly. Sending that, she then went back over her own notes on Taylor in her Focus.

"Alright," Nathan spoke up, "I'm done."

Taking a deep breath, she closed the Focus interface, looking over Taylor intently. Taylor looked so peaceful laying there, and there was a small part of her that felt guilty for what she had done and what she was about to do. In any other case, she would have never done any of this, but Taylor had abused her body so badly that there was no other choice available. And despite her best efforts in trying to supply biomass everynight to retain her to a survivable weight, Taylor had still lost weight from the ravages inflicted upon herself.

"Alright. Here we go," she declared, reaching out and touching Taylor's wrist, letting her biology unfold before her mind's eye. The previous strain and exhaustion were gone and her body had used the rest to repair the minor issues. She would need some proper meals, building up from light foods, to replenish her body stores and get proper nutrients into her system. But overall, despite the weight loss, she was a relatively decent picture of health. Minus the scars and blindness, of course. A touch of her powers disrupted the REM sleep cycle that her brain had been kept in.

Taylor would wake soon, she thought to herself as she leaned back in her chair. She considered taking a moment to review her next set of patients, but decided against it. Instead, she pinged Danny's focus again. She knew that if he was aware that Taylor was being woken up, he would be here. He had been in Taylor's room every night since her heart attack, even while working from his Focus.

Alas, she wasn't getting any answer on the subject, and released a sigh. She wanted to chastise the older man, but she knew after a few conversations with him that he would be harder on himself than she ever could be in this case. The man was so full of regret and was trying to be there, but it was obvious that despite his efforts, he really was not equipped to be a supportive father.

Washing her hands of the issue for the final time, she decided to look over her upcoming patient's list, seeing if she recognized any names as Taylor's heart monitor slowly crept higher. Finding no one she recognized, she closed her Focus and drew her attention back to Taylor, just as the other girl began to stir.

"Taylor," she asked, leaning forward slightly, her hand coiled and ready to move in the event of a negative reaction, "It's Amy, can you hear me?"

No response, instead Taylor's arms twitched, seemingly reaching for something. Instead, she smashed her knuckles against a table. Taylor gasped now, her heart monitor beeping warnings. Immediately, she leaned over and grabbed Taylor's wrist, leaning further until she could hold the other girl's hand. Elevated epinephrine and norepinephrine. Amygdala hyperactivity.

Nathan hurried to her side, even as she declared, "Panic attack."

"I'll cool her down," he announced, but she shook her head.

"I got it. Just be ready. Taylor! You're safe! It's alright. Breathe for me. You're safe."

Her breathing slowed. One breath. Then Two.

Heart rate slowing. Parasympathetic nervous system engaging.

"There we go," she comforted the girl, "Just breathe. Can you feel my hand? Squeeze my hand, Taylor."

Taylor's hand squeezed hard, or as hard as a fifteen year old girl fresh off of waking up from a four-day slumber could.

"Very good. You're safe. Breathe. I'm right here, you can feel my hand, yes," she squeezed back.

Taylor's heart rate and breathing slowed, before she started to tremble. It was a common occurrence with panic attacks, and she could see the girl's brain coming down from the chemical high it was just under. Nathan ducked away, stepping through the door to meet with the various doctors and orderlies that were likely trying to rush the room. The only reason that the room hadn't been flooded was because of Stephany and the fact that Panacea was here.

"Amy," a croak escaped her lips, weak, out of breath, and hoarse, but she was at least talking again. She took her hand off Taylor's wrist and turned her body awkwardly to the table behind her. She grabbed the sports bottle with water in it. Turning her body back, she slowly took Taylor's hand and made sure she gripped it properly.

"Here you go, Taylor," she said, letting the girl grab ahold of it, then watching as she brought it up to her lips and took a long pull from it, "Yes, it's me. You're in Boston, it's been four days since Leviathan. Things are stable."

Taylor greedily finished off the water, before blindly handing the bottle back. Somehow she hadn't choked despite sucking the bottle empty faster than she had any right to.

"I can't see," Taylor finally said, her voice less raspy.

"Yes, you're still blind."

The girl made a face in her general direction, "Where's my Focus?"

Oh, so that's what she meant, "I have it here. You'll get it back when you're ready, okay? Can you remember what happened?"

Taylor frowned, "I…collapsed," she half-asked, half-stated, "I remember feeling weak and couldn't catch my breath," her voice trailed off, before she took a deep breath and slowly released it, just to confirm that she could.

She nodded, then remembered that this was Taylor that she was interacting with, "You had a heart attack, in the command tent with Colonel Herres. They rushed you to me. You're fine, no long-term problems. You just pushed yourself way, way too hard and your body gave out on you," she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood despite the seriousness of the situation, "Honestly, you had more energy drinks in you than blood."

The joke fell very flat, because Taylor started trying to get up.

She immediately got up, placing her hand on Taylor's shoulder, pushing against her to keep her pinned in the bed, "Hey! No! No, you stay put."

"Can't. Need to get up. Need to help. Contact the Bay, have Jean bring up the extras, and make sure the machines are working," Taylor struggled, her words still choppy, but it was understandable as she was just coming out of a four-day REM sleep. Amy had seen babies with more fight in them.

"Taylor, you are in no shape to help anyone. Your father has been worried sick and has visited you every day. On top of everything else, are you actually trying to kill yourself? Because if you are, just let me know now so I can knock you out again."

She knew it was a low blow, but frankly a low blow was what Taylor needed. So she was somewhat surprised when Taylor's hand clenched against her own. Huh…they were still holding hands. She hadn't even realized it.

"Fuck you," it wasn't said with much heat. In fact, it just seemed thrown out there because there was little else Taylor could do and she knew it.

"No, fuck you," Amy shot back, finally having a chance to vent, and by God, did she need it. "All your talk about changing the world? You can't do that if you are killing yourself! Do you know how close you were to complete kidney failure?"

The stubborn blind girl frowned. "It was necessary! I had to do my part, get the machines here in time, prove that they worked! Prove that I'm capable!"

"Prove to who, Taylor?"

Taylor's head snapped to her, staring deeply, or rather, just to the left of her, "Look at me! I'm a blind, scarred, fifteen year old girl! It doesn't matter that I can build things, everyone will always judge me by that first!"

She really wasn't a violent person, but right now, she dearly wanted to slap this girl.

"You are the only person who is thinking that! Blind? Scarred? The only reason you keep those things is because you won't let me heal you… you stupid idiot! You're like a person who cuts their wrists open, only to run and say, 'Look how I bleed for you!' It's stupid, short-sighted, and so fucking full of yourself!"

"Fuck! You! Why the hell do you care? Why does the great Panacea care about me?! I'm nothing to you! A charity case you couldn't even be bothered to give a fuck about!"

"Because you're the only mistake I can fix!" Amy yelled back, silencing Taylor who's head shifted just slightly enough to look straight at her now, silent as she stared at her inscrutably.

Angry, frustrated tears threatened to fall down her face. She took a deep breath, slowly releasing it, and like a dam breaking, she felt herself compelled to continue, "Do you know how much it took me to find out the truth? Four hours. Two conversations. That's it. There was no grand conspiracy, no great secret hiding patients away from me. It was a decision made by my mother and I never bothered to look because I didn't care to look deeper. I was complacent, content in the supposedly good job that I was doing, and I don't even know how many people needed my help but never got it," she reached up and wiped her sleeve against her eyes, even as she choked back a soft sob.

"And then there was you. You just…threw it all in my face. And everything that I didn't even realize I was unaware of fell into place. And now? I can't even fix you. I can't fix my mistakes," Amy cleared her throat, glad that Taylor was unable to see her as she was right now, "So yeah. I do care."

Taylor didn't say anything at first, her cloudy eyes staring straight at her. h

Her jaw moved as if she wanted to say something but didn't know what exactly to say. The only real response other than that was her lips parting slightly as she ran her tongue over her upper lip.

"They said I was useless," Taylor said softly, bowing her head as if she were ashamed of what she was confessing. She sighed, "The girls who did this to me. For almost two years, they said that I was useless, and that it would be better if I just," she pursed her lips, bringing her head up as she was looking for the right words, "gave up. And every day I kept going back to school. Just to prove to them, to myself, that I wouldn't. That I wasn't useless. That I could take anything they dished out to me," she then waved a free hand over her face, "You can see how that turned out," she laughed wetly, "And then? In the hospital? The way the nurses and… and the doctors and everyone were talking to and about me? Like… my life was over. Here I was. Useless in unequivocal truth. A burden on society. To my father."

Taylor sniffled, her voice cracking, "And I have to prove them wrong. I have to. Prove them. Prove the girls who did this to me… all of them. I have to prove them wrong. I can't let them win."

"God… we are such a mess," Amy found herself chuckling wetly, before adding a sigh, "Look, Taylor, I will prove to you that you have a huge impact on everyone. Even if you didn't do it personally. After my rounds for the day, I'll show you."

"Fine," she wouldn't say that Taylor was pouting, but she was definitely withdrawn.

With another sigh, she stood, letting go of Taylor's hand, "Okay. I'm going to leave you to the mercy of the nurses. They'll feed you, take out the catheter and get you out of bed. Then I'll come find you later this evening," she then got up and walked over to a table, picking up Taylor's custom Focus that was in a box. Flipping it open, she retrieved the device, noting that it was larger than the commercial version she herself was wearing.

She then walked back over to Taylor and placed it into her palm, who latched onto it like a lifeline. Not letting it go yet, Amy quickly gave her own demands. "No work. Okay? Get some food in you, get through the tests, and then if they tell you you can, then you can work. 'Cause so help me, if I get another panicked call from Herres…"

"Yes, Doctor," Taylor laughed, a light breathy laugh, and Amy found her face heating up slightly, before shaking away the thought of how pleasant it sounded. She would take this victory for what it was, even if Taylor was being a brat. Letting the other girl's hands go, she stepped away.

"I'll be back tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Taylor said, and she walked to the door, feeling the blind teen's gaze following her. She then stopped as she came to the door, turning around to look at her. Sure enough, Taylor's gaze had followed her the entire way.

It was… kinda cute the intense stare that Taylor was giving her, in spite of the fact that she couldn't actually see. Not that she would actually admit it to anyone.

Sighing one more time and shaking her head, "See you tonight, Taylor."

"See you."

WIth that exchange finished, she opened the door and stepped through, and immediately moved to the side as a female nurse bustled into the room, a container of soup and a sports bottle in her hands. She took the time to close the door behind her to grant Taylor her privacy before moving away.

She then spotted Stephany, but Nathan was strangely missing. Quirking an eyebrow after noting that she was looking pointedly around for him, providing her with an answer, "He went to get food. Said he knew someone in the mess that could make edible hospital food. I called him a liar, because no way anything came out of that mess hall is tasty."

Shaking her head with slight exasperation, she adjusted her status on the Focus network, signalling that she was ready to start her patient rounds. That was the moment that Nathan stepped into view, a pair of nurses following him. He had a tray with him, covered in containers.

"We'll start our rounds, meet us when you finish up here?"

The man nodded, before heading into Taylor's room. Doublechecking her Focus again, and noting the nice arrow pointed in the direction that she needed to go, she proceeded to walk.

It was then that Stephany took the moment to lean in front of her, causing her to stop.

"Hey Doc? Can you check my ears? Been having some trouble hearing lately. Selective deafness, you know?"

Sighing, she reached out and grabbed the woman's hand, checking her ears. No distortions, infections, or…oh as her mind caught up with what Stephany had said.

Ohhhhhh.

"I wouldn't worry about that," she said, letting go of the woman's hand. The resultant grin from the woman told her all she needed to know, "It's a chronic case of 'decentpersonitis'. It might be infectious, but luckily for everyone it's non-fatal. You'll survive."

She met the widening grin of Stephany as she enjoyed the fact that Amy played along. She had to admit, Stephany had a nice smile.

---

AEH​

---

Taylor Hebert

Boston

Boston College

After nearly four days asleep, it actually felt good to walk again. I was weak and still a little stiff, but after the stretches that the nurses had put me through, I could at least make it a little ways before I had to stop and catch a breath.

At least this time, I could actually catch it.

Of course, one of the first things I did once I had reacquired my Focus, before even looking through any of my messages, was to hack into my medical files. The Focus devices had been used to great effect in the rescue efforts and in the medical section, which I was really happy to see. It did mean that my own record was now stored on the network… and I definitely had more authorization then the attending doctor. Even if I didn't, when you were the actual creator of the encryption key, there might as well have been no locks on it.

I know it was probably a waste of time, but I had done it because I couldn't believe what they were telling me. A heart attack? At my age? Pull the other leg!

But instead of proving them wrong, I came to the sobering realization that not only were they right, but it had been far worse than Amy had actually told me. I had sat there reviewing the files, cross referencing them with medical journals to fill the gaps in my knowledge, but I eventually realized had actually been lucky that it had been the heart attack that struck first. Because if it hadn't been for the heart attack, it would have been the pulmonary embolism or cerebral hemorrhage that got me.

If either of those had happened, then there was a good chance that I would not be here today, even if Amy had been right beside me when it happened. It was a small miracle that Amy had been able to get to me in the first place. According to her report, if it had taken another five minutes, then I would have been too far gone to save.

Five minutes. My life had been distilled down to Five. Fucking. Minutes.

I just remember sitting in the shower stall after that analysis, the stream of water off and my head bowed as I ran that simple number in my head over and over, a vicious cycle of emotions vying for primacy in my head. Fury. Sadness. Despondency. Self-hatred. It was an intoxicating bevy of emotions that only seemed to serve at the end to only make me angrier.

Not angry at the world, but at myself.

If I had chosen not to listen to anyone, I could have actually had time to focus upon my health. Instead, this demand that I actually spend time off the project to 'live' had only meant that I had to do more and crunch more in less time. If it wasn't for that demand, I wouldn't have had to push myself to such extremes. But instead, I listened. I did Greg's stupid little computer project. I did spend more time at home.

And I paid the price for listening.

A light knock at the door drew my attention from my thoughts as the door opened. Samantha Sievert, the navy corpsman that had been personally detailed to me, stuck her head inside, "Ready, Miss Hebert?"

I considered for a moment to answer in the negative, but after a quick deliberation, I merely nodded. The bubbly blonde had an infectious energy to her that even I could not deny.

The corpsman stepped in as I worked to get myself up from my seated position, my legs still somewhat wobbly in spite of the rest. That and the clothing that was my current attire was…I wouldn't say uncomfortable, but it was not something I was used to.

I don't really know whose idea that it was. But I wasn't in any of the clothes that I had brought with me. Nor was I in my costume either. Instead, I had been provided with a set of BDUs with an emblem of Zero Dawn hastily stitched where rank tags would have been placed. Samantha had explained to me that it was being done for my own safety, providing me safety by blending me in with the large number of military personnel in Boston. I didn't know if that was right, but I found myself not really having a leg to stand on in arguing against it. Still it was strange to be wearing a military uniform, even if it was stripped down.

But not as odd as finding out that I had a protective detail assigned to me. They crowded the hall as I stepped out, giving me a moment to look them over all at once.

There were six of them currently, an eclectic mix of men and women, all of them part of the Marine detachment off the USS Enterprise. They were led by Captain Schofield, who had informed me they would be my protective detail for the time being. When I had asked him what he meant by that, he had merely told me that 'it was above his paygrade.' Not knowing bothered me to a degree and If I hadn't made a promise to Amy, I would have probably immediately dug in and discovered what was going on, but for some reason, I didn't want to let her down.

The rest of his team, the only ones notable were the two women. One was a solidly-built woman who could likely fold me in half if she felt like it and was referred to by the rest of the detail as 'Mother.' Outside of a quick introduction she had said nothing to me, but I had a feeling that she found me wanting. The other woman - Fox - had attempted to try and build a rapport with me, but it was awkward and I could tell she wasn't exactly comfortable with any of this.

It was not worth dwelling upon further, I would get my answers from Herres soon enough. And then I would have to deal with Jean, the investors of Far Zenith, the state of the machines, and the company moving forward. I had rested long enough.

"Let's go," I simply said and fell in line with the men and women that were meant to provide me protection. Even limited to a vision radius of forty feet, there was a lot going on. Just looking at the Focus network gave me clues to how the devices were being used and the rescue conducted. Although calling it a rescue was probably… not appropriate anymore. I knew the statistics. If it was three days after the disaster, the chances of living survivors was… astronomically low. Now it was the Boston Restoration. Not the Boston Rescue.

But soon that distraction was over, as I found myself standing outside the door to the dean's office, which Herres had turned into his own workspace. The door was opened for me and I stepped into inside, taking in Herres sitting behind a desk, his hands steepled under his chin as a woman in a business suit was addressing him and pointing out something on a paper. The woman trailed off as she noted my entrance and Herres' eyes flicked to me.

"That will be all, Miss Givens. I'll review your suggestion and provide you an answer this evening," Herres said, his gaze not leaving me. "If you'll all clear the room, I would like to speak with privately."

"Governor-"

"I said that would be all, Miss Givens."

The woman looked ready to argue further, but closed her mouth when she realized she was going to get anywhere. With as much dignity as someone irritated by the fact that she had been dismissed, she marched out, and the rest of the people in the room filed out behind her, the door closing behind them.

I couldn't help but stand there awkwardly, not exactly sure what to do or say as Herres stared at me. I idly noted the Focus on the side of his head, and wondered just how much he had used it and what he used it for.

"It's good to see you up again, Miss Hebert. You scared quite a few of us," he finally said, before motioning his hand towards one of the expensively cushioned and lacquered chairs that were in front of the desk, "Please. Sit. We need to have a talk."

Maybe it was the literal dean's desk he was sitting behind, but I didn't want to argue. Besides, walking made my legs tired, and sitting sounded nice now.

"Let me start by saying that the machines you brought to Boston have been nothing short of miraculous. They are responsible for saving more lives than I think we will ever know through their efforts. But right now, I want to talk about you."

He got to his feet as I frowned, walking around the desk.

"I'm not sure what you are getting at, Colonel," I said, watching as he turned the other chair towards me and sat down in it. He then leaned forward in it, looking at me.

"As of… three hours ago, you were designated a strategic asset by the President. There's going to be a lot of red tape and forms that you will have to fill out. Of course there will be other privileges and responsibilities that come along with it. I'm certain someone from the White House or the Pentagon will be in touch with you about all of that. For me, this means something more simple: I have to take care of you."

I gave him a look, but kept silent. There was obviously more he wanted to say on the matter.

"That means ensuring your safety, hence the guards. Which are also there to make sure you're not a danger to yourself. There cannot be another incident like before, where a fifteen year old girl works herself into a heart attack," he said sternly, "That means that every soldier, every doctor, and every aide that I have to put around you so you don't damage yourself? That is one less for Boston. Do we understand each other, Ms. Hebert?"

"Yes, sir." What else was I supposed to say? With this, I would get access to more resources that I could have hoped to get in the next few years. More than the Protectorate would have ever dreamed of giving me. Yes, it came with strings, but I expected that when I first used the reactor as bait. But I had never imagined it happening so fast.

The Colonel nodded. "Your team has simple orders. Make sure you eat three squares a day, sleep at minimum six hours, and so forth. Gunnery Sergeant Newman was particularly insistent in asking if she could 'pick you up like a sack of potatoes' if need be. I said yes. Keep that in mind."

It did not take me more than a few seconds to realize that he was talking about the Marine called 'Mother' and I could vividly imagine that brick house of a woman doing just that. Stupid twig body of mine.

He then sighed, "Alright, with that out of the way. I think it's best for a little criticism. Your biggest problem is that you seem to want to do things yourself. I'm not going to argue with a Cape about their abilities or their power-enforced needs, but I will tell you this: The most important job a leader has is to delegate and give clear instructions. And my superiors, as of earlier today, have agreed that you are a leader of something. So… Here's how to delegate, Taylor: I call it 'The Three Clears'. Clear tasks. Clear expectations. Clear deadlines. Ms Hebert? I want a full rundown on the status of your machines, how much longer we can keep them in the field, and I want that by five pm this evening."

The man then grinned at me, "See? Clear tasks. Clear expectations. Clear deadlines. Get to work, Ms. Hebert."

"Yes sir," what else was going to say? I left the office with as much grace as my weak legs could manage.

---

AEH​

---

"Defenders Remembered; special program dedicated to those who fought and died in the defence of Boston. Special memorial program organized by the Parahuman Response Team" - PBS

"The facts don't lie! The PRT was contacted half an hour before Leviathan made landfall. And they did nothing! They explained that their 'fancy' sensors were working perfectly, and that there was no way that a Navy ship would pick up what they missed. And because of this blunder, tens-of-thousands of people are dead. This is the clearest example of why the PRT needs to be cut down in scale, and the endless resources that they are monopolizing be redistributed!" - Senator Nathanial Collins (D-MA) on Senate Floor​

---

AEH​

---

Machine Bay

The crew hugged me when I arrived. I bore it with good grace, explaining that I was fine and just a little weak, then pointed them back to their tasks. Dad wasn't around. That stung a little, even if I knew he was fine. But I didn't really have time to chase him down right now. Quentin and I were reviewing the performance of the machines.

"So I'll let others handle the hardware side of things. You hired me for the software and let me tell you! It's been something," the youngish man seemed to be enjoying himself, roughing it out here with the machines, the military, and the rubble.

"Okay, so the machines have been able to adapt to the situations they've been running into?"

"Adapting? Taylor, they've been blowing all of our estimates and projections out of the water. Adaptive problem solving, adaptive pathing, cooperative subroutines, delegation procedures, task management functions. The control system inside Atlas has been growing at a meteoric rate."

I frowned. That was good, but still… surprising. When I had assembled the code and routines for the machines, I had expected it to be a slow but steady growth. But the information that Herres had given me was beyond any expectations that I could have possibly had when it came to the machines. They were doing far better than they should be at this juncture. And I didn't really know why.

"Okay. So, can we isolate a single event and review the code evolution from there?"

I could hear Tate grinning, an infectious energy about him, "I can do you one better, boss lady. I can give you where it started."

He pulled up the file, and my Focus gave it to my brain in three dimensions. Burrower-4, the machine that I had been having problems with glitches in its coding, amidst several other workers by a collapsed structure. Simple enough. I pulled together a code analysis, isolating the new code being written to understand what was developing. The Burrower unit paused, focusing on what it classified as 'auxiliary search units.' They were clearly rescue dogs, working through the rubble alongside others, but the machine did not designate them in that way. The group had just pulled out another body and the human handler had taken a knee. Burrower-4 identified that the handler was exhibiting signs of grief or distress. The 'auxiliary search unit' came over, nudging its cranial unit against the handler and leaning its weight against the human. The handler placed their hand on the unit's cranial piece several times, running their hands down its frame. The handler stood up, returned to work, with a noticeable improvement to efficiency.

Seemed straightforward enough, I thought to myself as I didn't see anything that would warrant a change in behavior patterns. That was until I looked at the code.

Dozens of new connections, queries, and searches were pinging back and forth between Burrower-4 and the central control unit running off the Titan. B-4 had noted that the 'auxiliary' unit's behavior had improved the productivity of its human assistants. So it desired to adjust its behavior patterns to better increase productivity. Which led to the control unit to search behavior fitting the body type and characteristics of the Burrower model. Which then led to a download and cataloguing of where such behaviors were applicable… moods, behavior characteristics related to emotional states, etc. Which then led to an analysis of how humans would react to these moods and behaviors, allowing to further deepen its knowledge of human interaction.

I paused the code evolution, looking at Tate. "This is…"

He cackled, the data flowing by on the big work monitor in front of him. "I know! Isn't it amazing?! The machine saw a dog comforting a human. Saw that this changed the human's behavior and it desired to emulate it. It learned dozens of new mood expressions, then synergized those expressions with its basic motor functions and task behavior. And that's not all!"

He sent more data my way. The Titan, the Scrappers, the Watchers. All of them began sending data packets back and forth only minutes after the first query between the Central Unit and B-4. I opened one expecting… yeah. Movement data, behavior displays, caution and interactions limitations. All compatible with the body type of the respective machine. The Scrappers became more doglike. The Titan shook its head like the rhinoceros it was modeled after. The machines adapting their behavior to be… more alive.

"Yeah," I agreed, as Tate pulled from his energy drink and I resisted the urge to gag at the revolting smell, "It's amazing, alright."

"So… Do we kill them now? Or later?"

I sucked in a breath. It should have been a shocking suggestion, but it really wasn't. This wasn't what my machines were designed to do! They were meant to be disposable. Not growing at a rapid rate like this. This? This was the first step of self, the concept of 'I' being an entity who can influence the state of the world around me. Once the conception of self became active… how long until the logical pathway towards the preservation of 'self' came into question? These were machines meant to go into dangerous areas. They were meant to be disposable.

Delaying the choice for now, I needed to know more before making a decision on the matter, I instead focused on another aspect of the situation, "Has the central unit been showing any growth?"

"There's quite a few logical and procedural evolutions it's undergone, but those were to enhance overall processing efficiency, nothing like what the other machines are exhibiting. It's actually interesting. It's making use of the machine's evolution, but from the aspect of increasing its overall awareness of what's inside its operational area. Basically, it's keeping track of people working with the LRL. Monitoring behavior and learning which humans reacted in which ways, based on the assumption of emotional state. It's acting almost like an advisor for the other machines on the matters of dealing with humans."

That strangely… made sense. The intelligences running each individual machine were designed differently from the control unit of the LRL. The individual machines had a lot of independent action provided to them, allowing a level of flexibility that would not have been available if I had simply made the control unit a master-slave system. With the knowledge it had of its fellow machines, it knew which machine could be deployed for maximum efficiency, while also allowing the individual machines the ability to make decisions without having to micromanage every facet of its operation.

Put succinctly, the control unit told the machines what to do and the machines would determine how best to get that task done. It was a rapid back and forth between them, akin to a foreman and his work team.

The Titan was also not the control unit. It was as much part of the team as anything else. And in normal circumstances, it would not be burdened with having to carry the control unit. But because I was at least months away from any semblance of the Tallneck, or a delivery system that could match such a machine, the Titan served as the carrier for the control unit. Which naturally put the Titan in a somewhat privileged position within the hierarchy, even if it did not remove it from the operations that it would necessarily be tasked with.

I sighed, scratching my head. "Okay…what's the system doing now? Are the machines still growing at this rate?"

"No. It's slowed down significantly, instead they are largely working on refining their interaction models. Also, some of them are testing out vocalization for mood expression. At least those machines with vocal capabilities."

"Okay." Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I reviewed what was possible to do right now and what would have to wait for Brockton," Okay. We can work with this. Just keep an eye on it please. Let me know if anything major starts cropping up."

"Will do, boss lady. I'll at least be able to warn you if they start going Terminator."

"Not funny, Tate." His resounding cackle still caused my lip to quirk up at the morbid humor. It was wholly inappropriate and was not going to happen, but it was darkly funny nonetheless. Not that I was going to give him the luxury of knowing he had amused me.

Moving away from the computer side of the things, I headed over to the mechanic section. Reaching up, I tapped an icon, and then with a sweep of my arm the display in my vision changed, showing every single machine in the LRL, their status, and damage diagnostics.

All the while I noted the heavy lifts, power tools, h-frames for parts, pieces, ratchets and so on. Shaking several grease-stained hands, I got to work looking over the data streams, even as they worked on one of the Burrowers that was currently in a cradle. All the while I asked questions; just because I had the digital evidence, it never hurt to have the perspective of those whose hands handled the repairs and maintenance.

The information that I was getting was that the machine performance within the hazardous environment of Boston was about what I had expected. It was good, but not everything they could be. This could be blamed on the fact even though they were built, they were not completely to spec. These were still technically prototypes after all. Even with all the memories in my head, you never expect the first iteration to work flawlessly.

We ran down the issues with each machine. The big problems and noticeable things that might stop the machine from working. Most of these problems would be caught by the machine's self diagnostics tools. It would take a complete teardown to get a better understanding of wear and tear on parts and interactions between parts. But most of that was secondary, because… they were still working. Almost three days of uninterrupted work, with only pauses for immediate field repairs. And those were more rotations than anything else. The only machine that hadn't come in yet was the Charger, and that was because it was specifically kept separate from operations. As the only fuel conversion platform, to lose that would have ground the entire lance to a halt.

And that came to the other problem. We were running out of fuel.

As I had told Vice President Ryan when he had visited me, I had designed the Charger with limited storage, output, and production in mind. It was designed to calm the fears about bio-conversion. Make it obvious that 'should' the worst happen, it would be a contained incident. Blaze production at the machine level was kept intentionally limited. Which was now becoming a problem, because all of the machines were now approaching quarter reserves, with a few less than that. The constant pressure and use had seen them burn more fuel than I had initially projected, and the Charger just wasn't enough to maintain production to keep up with demand.

I sighed, biting back a curse.

The conclusion was relatively simple. The LRL in its entirety would need to be recalled, taken apart for inspection, repair, and refueling. I needed a few days to get it back to some semblance of full operational capacity. I'd have to see if I could get some Blaze production started back in Brockton Bay, and then have the fuel shipped to Boston. Or just make a production center here in the city itself.

The other thing is I needed time to find some way to limit their growth, without crippling their ability to learn and adapt. Noting all of this down, I was ready for my talk with Herres in a few hours.

Shifting gears, I decided to take a look at my emails and messages. I arched an eyebrow at the dozens of emails and messages that were in my inbox. Wow… Jean was really spamming me.

"Ms. Hebert," I turned, noting that Fox was trying to get my attention.

"Yes?"

"Your father is here."

Oh… Dad. I resisted the urge to sigh. I was conflicted on just what to think. On one hand, I felt disappointed that he hadn't been there when I had been awakened. But on the other hand, I noted through his Focus logs, that he had actually been at my bedside quite a few times, even working while he was there. The only reason he wasn't there this morning was because he had been sent to Brockton Bay on Governor Herres' orders. I had no doubt that he would have likely been here, considering the evidence.

Still, it didn't take from the sting.

"Ms. Hebert?"

"Sorry," I shook my head, trying to discard the melancholy thoughts, "let him through."

Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself. I honestly was expecting that I was going to be a riot act from him. I know what I had done was stupid, and it was likely going to cause him to react along the lines that he had done previously. I really didn't want that. I was tired of the fights and arguments, and I know he promised me to do better, but I just… didn't want to suffer another setback again. Not when we were just finally building a rapport.

When he shot into the tent, I couldn't help but stiffen as he looked over the room, searching for me. When his eyes came to rest on me, I watched a flurry of emotions shoot across his expression, before becoming something even I couldn't read.

He came towards me, and I could see that Captain Schofield had just stepped into the tent, and the way his expression tightened at my father's approach, I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. But he was too far away to make any sort of difference as my dad approached. It was only when he got close enough that I found my voice again.

"Dad," I started, only to be cut off as he enveloped me in a bear hug. I found myself slowly wrapping my arms around him. It was almost like deja vu, as I remembered something like this before I decided to depart for Boston on my own.

"Can you stop trying to scare me?" he half-sobbed, half-pleaded. I hugged him back. What else was I going to do?

---

AEH​

---

"Here to talk to us about robots is noted professor of robotics from the school of Engineering. Students call him Mr. Fixer, and he's here to talk to us about the robots involved in the Boston Rescue, and how they're so special."

"Happy to be here! So the most interesting part of these robots is that they seem to learn. Most of the time, you have to give Robots clear step by step instructions beforehand. These seem to be…" - Today Show, NBC​

---

AEH​

---

I took a pull from my decaffeinated tea with a wince as I settled in my plastic foldout chair. It wasn't the most glorious of accommodations, but I needed to at least catch up on things that were not directly related to Boston, and a desk and laptop were all that I needed for that. Running through the list, I found dozens of emails from Jean, along with several from unknown corporate accounts. How the hell did they even get my email? And then there were several from government officials; those were the most recent. Sighing, I called Jean, and I idly noted that she had set her ID Emblem to Zero Dawn's logo. I should probably do that as well.

She picked up almost immediately.

"Taylor, thank goodness. Listen, have you reviewed my emails? Because I really need you-"

I cut her off, "Jean, no, I haven't reviewed any of them. I wanted to talk things over with you first, then go through everything. Is everything okay?"

"Okay? No! Nothing is okay, Taylor! I've got an Army Major setting up shop outside of the offices with armored vehicles. I have national companies blowing up my phone asking about licensing and partnerships. I have investors looking to buy shares without even being a publicly traded company. And… I think we're about to be sued by the telecom companies."

"Okay. Okay, give me a second," I fought the urge to violently rub my head. "Don't worry about the telecom companies, consider that covered."

"What?!"

"The military camping on our doorstep solves the telecom issue. I'll explain in a moment, just trust me on this," I declared even as I looked through my contacts, stopping as I noted one that was even higher upon the hierarchy of the specific search results. Adding both him and Herres together, I typed up a message to the Vice President.

Telecom companies threatening lawsuit for communications in Boston. Help?​

I quickly fired that off, before refocusing on Jean. "I know why they are threatening it, but they don't have a legal leg to stand on. I have it handled."

"If you say so," was her very unconvinced response. I chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the other things. The fact that she was worried about investors trying to get a piece of Zero Dawn told me that she wasn't aware of the latest developments.

"Okay. Now, are you sitting down, Jean?" I forced myself to ask, even as I perused through the data on the laptop showing Burrower-4s code evolution. There was something about this that I had seen before, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"I am."

"Okay. I'm still trying to catch up on everything, but here is what I know. Earlier today, the President decided to designate myself - and by extension, Zero Dawn Technologies - as a strategic asset."

There was a long bout of silence on the line, before finally Jean said something. Though it certainly was not what I was expecting.

"... What?"

"I'm sorry, Jean. I should have called you sooner, but I've been busy over here trying to figure out things and Colonel Herres wanted a report on the machines. I'm just now starting to see some legal paperwork coming through, I'm probably going to have to send that to Mr. Milton. We do have him on retainer, right?"

"We do. Just… forward me the documentation and I'll send it to Milton."

"Okay. Thanks, Jean. Next, I think it's safe to assume we don't need to answer any of those investor calls, Jean. On that note, have you heard from Alain? I know he was in Boston, but that's all I have."

"Alain is on his way to New York."

"Good. Well, at least there's going to be good news with all of this. I'll be able to pay back their investments a lot sooner than I thought."

"I'm certain they will appreciate that."

I frowned, it wasn't what Jean was saying, but it was how she was saying it. I would have thought she would be excited, or even satisfied with this outcome. She had been harping on me for weeks about money, and suddenly we've got the closest thing to a blank check that one could get, yet she was acting like her dog died or something. It was all so very concerning.

"Are you okay, Jean?" I decided to voice my worry.

"Yes. Sorry, Taylor. That's actually great news." The way she said it… the tone told me that it wasn't, but I wasn't sure the reason why it wouldn't be. ilInstead, I kept myself quiet as she continued, "I'm just grappling with this new development. So, we can ignore the investment calls."

"Unless you can shift their interest to other sorts of investment, yes. Now, about the national companies calling? Licensing and partnerships? I'm not sure I'm following."

"Taylor, have you been paying attention to the news?!"

"Jean, I just woke up from being put under for the last four days. When do you think I have had the time to look at the news?"

"Well, I suggest you make time, Taylor. Now! And you know the saying, 'be careful what you wish for?' I think you're going to start understanding it, because you've gotten all the attention you could want, and then more. Taylor, I've got queries from news agencies in London, all the way to Jakarta."

I sat there, blankly staring forward as I fumbled over what she had said. Jakarta? Wasn't that like in Indonesia? I think it was. I wasn't sure. But why was Jakarta of all places calling Zero Dawn?

"Give me a minute, Jean," I replied, then I muted her without letting her acknowledge me. Accessing the Focus, I immediately piggybacked it to Brockton Bay to my main servers. I then entered a query into the search system for Boston, throwing in a few other things, just to be safe, and then submitted a search.

When it finally finished, I found myself slumping into my chair, almost falling out of it in shock of what I was bearing witness to. Had this really happened in only four days? It couldn't be. It just wasn't possible.

Tens of thousands of legitimate hits. News articles, videos, forum posts, it ran all makes and walks of life.

And they were all talking about the machines. About Zero Dawn.

About me.

And about Greg?

"What the hell?!"

A vice-like grip grabbed my shoulder, causing me to wince slightly and look to the source. 'Mother' towered over me, looking down at me. I could see it in her expression that she was not amused by any of this, "Is there a problem, Miss Hebert?"

Even as she said this, she settled me back on my chair with barely an exertion, and I shook myself off. In a way, the pain helped me focus my attention. It centered me in the face of all of this.

"I"m sorry. Just found something out that I didn't expect. Gunnery Sergeant."

Her eyes scanned over me for a few more moments, before she stepped back without saying another word. I then refocused my attention back forward, and enabled myself to talk to Jean again.

"Okay. I'm going to make an executive decision here, Jean. I want you to hire a public relations department. And an HR department, with a focus on hiring. I want it done before I get back to Brockton Bay. Budget is not an issue, just make sure that they are good at their job and are ready for what is coming, okay?"

"Got it."

"Second. I need you to start looking into making land purchases. The cheaper the better. Land quality does not matter. Zero Dawn is going to need to expand quickly, and we're going to need the land for it. Look at Boston as well. I have a feeling real estate prices here are going to crater, and as disgusting as it feels, there is an opportunity here to help people in the long run."

"I'll reach out to a few construction companies then," Jean responded, obviously putting together what I was working toward. When I had envisioned Zero Dawn, Brockton Bay had always been a starting point. The docks simply did not have the space for the necessary facilities and allow for the eventual docks reopening. I would have preferred more time, but I think that ship had sailed.

Especially with the news of why Dad had not been with me. I had to hand it to Herres, the man certainly did not mess around. I knew Dad was absolutely in the sky right now, considering it had been a dream of his to see the Bay be reopened. And looking over the reports back and forth from the demolitions team in Brockton Bay, it looked like it was soon to be a reality.

"Okay, as for licensing, let's save that until I've gotten back to Brockton Bay. I'd like for us to be able to go over the minutiae of it all. But for now, tell them we are interested, but our current focus is Boston. Speaking of which, where are we at with production?"

"Not much better than the last time, Taylor. We're at a production bottleneck even with the fresh influx of money; we just don't have enough people or facilities to manage everything. I've gotten more Focuses out as you requested, but I've had to effectively reduce all other production to nothing. We're struggling even to make the parts that Quentin has asked for."

I bit my lip, trying not to let my frustration get to me. I knew that Jean was right and dammit, Herres was also right. I had asked her of an impossible task, deep down knowing that she wouldn't be able to meet it. But I had just been too stubborn to acknowledge it.

"Okay. Just prioritize Focus production," I said after a few more moments, in which I took the time to look over Tate's requests. "I'll prioritize which replacement parts we will need in a moment, that should decrease the workload over there. The machines are going to have to be taken down at least two days for repairs and refit. Do we have any Blaze reserves left?"

There was a sigh, "No, Taylor. I pulled that team off to help with the Focus production. What you have is all of it. We still have a supply of the chemicals, though."

"Alright, it's not a problem for right now, but we're going to have to scale up production. I'm going to send you blueprints for an expanded Blaze production center and we're going to make it a priority build. Get HR set up, get them hiring. Contract out for either building something from the ground up or converting an existing building. Since it would be easier to convert something, send me the details of the building, and I'll send back adjusted blueprints. Then we'll start buying lawn waste from the various landscaping companies."

"That will take some time. A week at least."

I shrugged, even if she couldn't see me. "The machines are going to be down anyways and it's a good first step towards expansion. We're going to need the production capacity anyways."

Jean sighed, seemingly getting her feet under herself now that direction was being provided. I sent an irritated thought towards Herres: See, I can delegate.

"Alright, I'll get that started. When are you going to be back in the Bay? We need to organize a press conference and probably a tech demo. And I'm hearing rumors about a charity gala that we must be part of. Zero Dawn needs its CEO in the office, not in another city!"

I frowned, the conversation falling to the wayside as I found my thoughts possessed again by the code of the machines. I knew there was something familiar about it, somewhere I had seen it before, I thought to myself as I brought up the code.

Still, I at least answered Jean to my best ability despite my distraction, "It's fine. I can work remotely, just send me anything you think is urgent."

"No, Taylor, we can't just have you-" I stopped paying attention as I felt a cold shiver run down my… everything. Because I recognized what this code evolution was reminding me of.

"Jean… something's come up, I'll call you back." I hung up without waiting for a response. Setting my status as 'offline,' I ripped the code apart in front of me.

Memories from another life echoed inside my head as I reviewed the evolution of B-4, and how it spread to the other machines. I remembered another such… evolution. A glitch that caused the machines to behave differently, to spread their new programming to other machines. The desperate and doomed struggle and the greatest lies ever told to keep hope alive. I remembered that… and I remembered slowly dying amongst the barren grey wastes that had once been my home.

I refused to let such things happen again.

Fortunately this glitch and the one that haunted my nightmares, were two entirely separate beasts. The nightmare code had been designed to be brutally utilitarian, with its focus being upon the fulfillment of its mission and execution of its combat subroutines. When the glitch occurred, the programming was incapable of adjusting to or isolating the aberrant code. This resulted in a series of cascading errors that resulted in most of the fail-safes breaking down and then being overridden in the machine's attempts at survival in order to complete its mission… which was to destroy enemies that it no longer had any ability to differentiate. It was just a sad instance of a dozen failures, combined with the arrogance of its creators, that ended humanity in the most hellish of circumstances.

My machines' code, on the other hand, was meant to be elegantly flexible. It was meant to learn and adapt in order to improve its overall efficiency. In many ways, it was a microcosm of what I was trying to build Sobek from. Only I made the mistake in not capping just how they would self-evolve their programming and how fast. Luckily, this minor oversight could be abated now, before it became like the nightmare scenario.

So… how did I limit the machines' learning, without limiting the ability to learn?

I spent most of the afternoon buried in the code. Testing, adjusting, and then re-testing it again. It took several hours before Tate and I were satisfied, but the only possible stress-test at the end of the day was to upload it into the LRL and see how they behaved. In essence, I was threading the entire code-base with limitations. Yes, it was technically a solution broken up into dozens of parts, but it made sure that no hacker could go in and remove the limiters. Not without an in-depth understanding of the code, privileged authorization, and an awareness that removing these limiters would cripple the operation of the machine. You would then have to go back in and fill all the parts that you had removed to restore function.

We ended up limiting the machines to a certain level of intelligence based upon their design parameters and role. They were akin to a dog or some other domesticated animal that interacted with humans. The machines could learn to vocalize, but they were never going to learn to speak. They would have an understanding of 'self,' but never prioritize self when confronted with the option between their own safety and the safety of another person. Yes… that was closer to Asimov and his Laws than I wanted to get, but the needs must. Talented writer or not, I still considered him a 1960s hack when it came to robotics.

"Ms. Hebert, ready to go?"

That was Captain Schofield, and I quickly swiped a hand to close the window in my vision. If he was here, then it was time to go and see Captain Herres. Slowly, I got to my feet, my legs only a little sturdier than before despite me having sat for hours now. Nonetheless, he darted forward and lightly grabbed my arm in the event that I stumbled. I wanted to be annoyed by the gesture, but for the hours I knew him the man seemed to actually care, even if he was largely stoic.

"Yeah," I said, making sure I was actually steady before I gestured for him let me go. "We'll speak with Herres, and then I understand that Panacea wants to show me something. Do… do I need to call ahead, or how does that work?"

The man nodded, "I'll get in touch with her team, and we'll see if it's feasible."

Her team. As Amy said earlier today, what a mess we are.

---

AEH​

---

"From all indications, the Rescue Lance is pushing its limits. My engineers have only been able to repair critical components, but that still leaves a bevy of other smaller problems that have been left unattended. And that's before we even get into the fuel situation."

I was giving my talk to a conference room of men and women who had struggled while I had been sleeping. I'll admit - only to myself and under duress - that I wasn't comfortable with things. I didn't feel like I had earned my place here, but I moved past it.

"The simple reality is… the machines have to come in. They need to be thoroughly inspected, repaired, and refueled, Governor."

And they needed to come in for a quiet software update, but I didn't dare say that anywhere other than within my own head.

The room buzzed for a few moments as people murmured to one another. A woman spoke up, "A lot of media attention is on those machines, with many connecting them with the search for survivors. If we bring them and take them offline… a lot of people are going to lose hope," she took the moment to look around at the others at the table, "The public might feel like we are giving up on survivors."

Herres leaned forward and the room turned towards him.

"We all know the statistics. Our window for finding survivors closed yesterday and we still kept going. It's a harsh truth, but our chances of finding living survivors is approaching zero. I don't like it, none of you like it. The public certainly won't like it. But we have to face the facts, not waste resources on fantasies," he looked down the table to me, "Ms. Hebert? You may order your machines back to your trailers at nine pm tonight. I'll personally inform the teams working with them."

"I understand, sir," I nodded, feeling the weight of the room on me. "If possible, I would like a list of everyone who worked with the Rescue Lance."

Herres glanced at one of his aides, who quickly jotted down a note, "I think we can do that, at least we can get you the majority of them. Can I ask why?"

"I'm not sure if it was made clear, but this iteration of the LRL was very much a prototype. It's the first time these machines were in the field, working alongside rescue workers. So I would like to interview anyone who worked with them to get first-hand information and suggestions on what to change or improve. For example, the Titan has internal storage that could be loaded with rescue supplies. Or even outfitted with external connection points for rescue equipment that crews could make use of."

"A damn strong showing for a first deployment," Someone said, and the room muttered in agreement. Herres nodded once the murmur died, and replied, "We'll get you the list, Ms. Hebert, and you can coordinate to set up interview times. Thank you for your report, you're dismissed."

---

AEH​

---

"The current death toll for the Boston Endbringer attack rests at 15,487 souls. This number is expected to rise significantly in coming days as the number of wounded and missing are still being tallied. With the Boston Rescue entering its fourth day, Colonel Herres, acting Governor, has announced that rescue efforts will stop for the night. Previously, crews were working around the clock, but are now scaling back their efforts. Herres called for prayers and mourning for the lost and the unfound this evening, beginning at nightfall." - CNN​

---

AEH​

---

Amy was waiting when I exited the administration building, and our teams loaded us up in a pair of humvees. Annoyingly, her entire team was two people, which I found myself oddly jealous of. A quick drive through Boston streets followed, with Amy refusing to explain where we're going. I suppose I could have just asked my detail, but… I was tired, and just feeling the rattling of the large vehicle around me was oddly relaxing. Sure, the engineer in me was screeching about the state of the machine, but… I could ignore that.

Soon enough, we arrived at where Amy was taking us. We got out and started walking between rows of buildings. Amy grabbed my hand, tugging me along. Probably just wanted to check my health after the long day I had, wouldn't do for her primary patient to collapse not even a day after she woke me up.

Finally she pointed at a large, two story wall in front of us.

"What do you think," she asked excitedly.

Oh… I hated to break her enthusiasm, but, "Amy… my Focus doesn't give me my eyes back. It's more like… you ever see a scan on the bottom of the sea floor? All bumps and ridges? It's like that. So… I can only see the wall in front of us."

I felt terrible. Amy had been eager to show me something and here I was ruining things.

"Wait? Really?! Oh… well," she squeezed my hand, looking around, "I'm sorry… I didn't know."

"It's fine," I said, shaking my head. "Really! You had no way of knowing. It's not like I've gone out of my way to announce it. I can see enough though. For example, over there," I pointed to a spot on the ground near the wall, "I'm guessing those are candles? All different kinds, some really big, and others really small. All different brands too, I can smell them," I really wanted to cheer her up, though I didn't know why. It was just… nice to have a friend again. If we were friends, that is.

She shook her head, her scarf fluttering, "Nope, we're doing this right."

She then grabbed my shoulders, turned me to face the wall, then put herself next to me, shoulder to shoulder, "Okay, so bear with me, I'm not great at explaining things."

And then she started to talk.

"So, you see how tall the wall is? About… six feet down from the top is the beginning of the head. An artist came along and painted Bambi, that's the ram-headed machine by the way."

"It's called a Charger."

"Bambi sounds better."

"Yeah, if I want to get sued for copyright."

"Hush! So Bambi, turning its head towards us, like it's looking at us. And it's got this very nice blue color for eyes."

"Optics," I corrected, causing her to giggle and bump her shoulder against mine.

"Hush! So it's turning towards us. And there's this big yellow triangle behind its head, sort of framing its face. And the rest of the body stretched along the wall. And… at its feet." She took my hand, pulling me forward. I had to walk slowly, stepping around bits and pieces of asphalt.

"We have these." Amy then placed my palm against the wall. "People came along and put their handprints on the wall. Survivors that were saved by your machines."

I could feel it, the uneven and slick texture of paint on concrete. My mouth went dry. "How many?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She lowered her voice, "Here? Hundreds," she took my wrist, moving it along. My fingertips touched paint on paint on paint. Hundreds?

"And some of them? They left their name. Each and every person here? They were saved by your machines, Taylor."

I blinked. Several times. My chest felt tight.

"Anna, 27. Blair, piano guy. Stewart, 49. Lina, 7, future ballet dancer. Miles, Professor of Biology, Boston College."

The knot in my chest burst, and I began to cry. And Amy held me, and I couldn't think of anything else to but hold her back. I had helped. I had made a difference. I had done enough.

"All of these people, Taylor. They're alive because of you. Because of your machines. You do matter, more than you can understand. You gave them hope."

I cried.

It was silent on the way back to the College. I sent a notice to Quentin and the others about the machines. Taking off my focus and placing it in its charging box, I let the darkness reclaim me as it always did, and then climbed into bed.

It was the best sleep I experienced in years.

 

[AlSmash]

This started as an idea from BigBadBen over on SB/SV, and kinda gained a life of its own.

Special thanks to BigBadBen and Tigers-Tall-Tails.

---

Glenn Chamber's No Good, Very Bad Day

---

Daniel South was a young man with a stressful job. Everyone knew it, even if he tried to downplay it, you would have to live under a rock not to see it. When he had first applied, he had great hopes for things. An introductory position inside the Parahuman Response Team. Secretary work. Just some light work to get his foot in the door, then he could move on to better things.

Unfortunately, better things didn't come. Because Daniel was too good at his job. He managed his boss' calender with precision and cultivated connections inside and outside the office. So that whatever his boss needed, he could provide. He just…couldn't leave now. First, because he was getting a generous salary, benefits, and so on. Second…it was because his boss had made sure that no one else would take him. Which was…flattering. Sort of. It felt good to be needed and rewarded for your hard work! But, there were times when he wondered…

He flinched as he heard more shouting and the slam of something heavy through the door. Glass broke and he made a note to ask maintenance to…have someone ready. Another roar of frustration echoed from his boss' office and something else broke. Daniel's coworkers gave him pitying glances. His boss wasn't a violent man, he never yelled at his employees. But he was a passionate and energetic man, and when he did feel the need to unleash that energy…in a less constructive way…he would barricade himself in his office. And since it was now a full week since Boston was hit by Leviathan… everyone was frayed and stressed.

The sound of something crashing to the floor made him sigh, as he brought up his contacts list for the interior decorators. It looked like it was going to be one of those events.

Yes…sometimes, all the pay and benefits in the world didn't make up for being Glenn Chamber's secretary.

---

Glenn Chambers

Glenn Chambers liked to fancy himself a calm and reasonable man. After all, it took the patience and serenity of a saint in order to be the PRT's Head of Imaging. He was regularly handling difficult people, troublesome situations, and potential scandals. Despite the image that he and his colleagues worked tirelessly to present, parahumans were broken people. Heroes. Villains. It didn't matter. They were all twisted to some degree. His job was to smooth out those twists. Make the people who can shoot laser beams from their fingers seem approachable. So that you can feel comfortable shaking their hand and not think about the possibility of getting your arm blown off because the cape twitched wrong.

Of course, he didn't work in a vacuum. The PRT was the largest law enforcement department in the country and that came with opportunity! Glenn Chambers and his team were responsible for merchandising the personas that were crafted for the Capes that made up the Protectorate. After all, it's hard to be afraid of a woman who can bend steel with her fingers if every girl is playing with a dress-up doll of Alexandria. And furthermore…

There was a timid knock at the door and it opened after a minute; Daniel, his ever wonderful assistant walked in with a towel and a cold bottle of water.

"Daniel, my boy, you're a saint," he said, taking the offered bottle.

"Is…there anything I can do?"

He sighed, leaning back in his very comfortable chair and loosening his collar and tie, "I'd like a time machine and a shotgun so I can shoot every department head in the ENE branch."

"...I'll see if Toybox has anything available, sir."

Glenn snorted, unscrewing the bottle's cap and taking a swig of the lovely cold water. This is why Daniel's salary was almost as large as his own. It was also why he would ruin the career of anyone who tried to poach the boy. The young man was a saint with a promising future. He never said no, he always said, 'I'll look into it.' Truly, those monkeys they put in front of microphones could learn a thing or two from him.

Placing the bottle down, he reached over and pulled his keyboard in front of him. With an aggressive stab, he brought his monitor to life then transferred everything over to his big screen. The projector pushed images against the wall, filling his office with light. Sometimes, you just need to look at something in large sizes. Dozens of video clips, photos, and news segments filled the screen as Daniel started tidying. He would admit, quietly of course, that he may have gone overboard. But that bookcase was more for aesthetics anyways, that vase was so last season, and that painting...okay, he did regret that painting. He'd have to find the artist again.

He sighed, "My boy, what do you see when you look at all of this?" He waved one meaty finger at the wall.

Daniel paused in his efforts and looked, "In terms of the actual? Or meaning?

Yes…Daniel was special alright. If only he could have a department of Daniels. Maybe…no, he probably couldn't get Blasto to make clones. Too bad.

"Both."

The young man hummed, tilting his head, "Zero Dawn robots. The media coverage of them. As to the meaning? Hope. Reconstruction? A different perspective?"

Daniel looked to him for approval on his guesses. A small habit that he was trying to break the younger man of. Better to be confident and defend your position.

"I look at it and see a massive money waterfall that we are never going to see!"

His mouth going to dry again, he polished off the water. Sighing, he dropped it into the bin. Even if he was angry and frustrated, you don't kick the bin. It's just not done.

"The PRT and Protectorate are, at their core, law enforcement agencies. We don't have the manpower or resources to devote effort to reconstruction. Capes get in, fight the bad guy, then leave. But that's not what 'heroes' do. The collective consciousness of the nation has internalized this notion of heroes from comic books. So we play into that. We teach our capes how to stand, how to fight, how to talk like the idealized image that people hold in their head."

He stabbed another button. Various pieces of promotional material scrolled by. He could name them all, having worked or approved them. That was the Legend image from 2001. The Triumvirate image from Time Magazine August 1998. Chevalier news pieces 2003.

"Then, along comes this girl who breaks the norm. She's a parahuman, but not a cape. She behaves as a hero, but doesn't 'act' like a hero. Even if she isn't in the scene personally, people know that those machines are hers. So the actions of the machines become her actions. And her machines are where our capes aren't! They're in the rubble, in the aftermath, long after our capes have gone back to their cities."

"And the public loves it! Which means the news agencies love it! Because everyone loves the nail that sticks out. The tree with different colors stands out in the forest and all that. Do you know I was actually told 'no' by the various news agencies when I tried to get the memorials featured? They said that 'more pressing issues' were being presented during primetime! We got features just preprime on blasted PBS!"

He hurled a pen against the wall, "And we were this close!" He pinched two of his pudgy fingers together, "This close! Ms. Hebert came to us with a device that could give the blind back their sight! But NOOOooooo, the person in charge just looked at the little blind girl and thought 'we can't use her to punch criminals, so let's just stuff her in a box."

Stabbing another button, a new headline appeared on the screen. Today's headline with an accompanying shot.

It was of Taylor Hebert, dressed in BDUs, sunglasses over her eyes, Focus on her temple, in a crouch with her hand resting upon a weasel-like machine's head. It was obvious from the shot that this wasn't a pose, but an opportunist catching what was probably a private moment for the girl.

Taylor Hebert: A Blue Light in the Dark

He had to hand it to the writer. It was a well crafted narrative, playing just right on the imagery without making it too heavy-handed, balancing the tragedy with hope. If they weren't a writer with the New York Times, he would have probably looked at poaching them. Alas.

"So here she is. Untouchable, with merchandising opportunities galore, and that's just off of what we've seen already. I would be more impressed and annoyed if this had all been planned."

"You don't think this was planned, sir?"

He chuckled, "Not at all. I don't think Ms. Hebert was ready for this kind of attention. Her company has 380 employees registered. There's no press release, no media, no marketing. Still…we'll see if she can run fast enough to catch up."

His phone started to ring and all of his thoughts about the matter ceased as he recognized the ringtone. It was a ringtone that was only given to one person. And anytime she called, it was always going to be a shitshow.

Daniel smoothly picked it up and answered with a pleasant tone. The traitor.

"Image and Merchandising, Chambers' office. This is Daniel speaking."

He was also a saint, handling that far better than he would have likely done at this point.

Daniel looked at him for a moment, and he frantically shook his head.

"No ma'am, Mr. Chambers isn't available right now. Can I take a message?"

An absolute saint.

"Yes, ma'am, I understand the urgency. Once he is available, I will pass the message along," he stopped, obviously awaiting a response, "I understand perfectly, ma'am. I will get right on that. Yes ma'am, good.."

He then placed the receiver back, "She hung up on me."

"What does the Iron Lady want now?" All respect for the late Ms. Thatcher, but the woman had nothing on Rebecca Costa-Brown. She was intelligent, ruthless, and driven. And was not the type of woman you wanted to gain the ire of.

"She wants you in Conference Room 5 in half-an-hour."

He sighed, wondering just how his day could get any worse.

---

Feeling slightly more composed, he walked into the conference room ready to tackle the challenges ahead. Despite the occasional pitfalls, he really did love his job. The PRT/Protectorate was the iconic focus of the century. The world would remember the way that the organization was presented. And he was at the center of it all. He was the one that would shape the presentation. It was everything that he had ever dreamed of since those media classes back in College. When he started to understand just how important 'image' was.

Unfortunately, it did mean he had to work with…difficult people.

Around the table sat several of those examples. Lucius, the Director of Communications, technically his boss. Maks, Director of the Washington PRT office. Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the PRT. There were four or five other people who he knew the positions of, but didn't interact with.

As everyone settled, Costa-Brown began.

"Alright. An Endbringer hit our shores, Boston is devastated, and people are questioning the relevance of our organization. We need solutions. Starting with this: Why didn't the USS Kidd's warning receive more attention?"

All eyes turned to Lucius, who stared back calmly. Credit to him that he didn't flinch under the gaze.

"The simple fact is that there's no clear lines of communication between the PRT and the military. The military doesn't have access to the Endbringer Alert Systems, they aren't hooked into our phone lines or our radio frequencies."

The man stopped to check over the papers in front of him, leaving the room in silence. Nice trick. He had to remind himself sometimes that his boss was competent, even if his behavior was a little rigid.

"When the Kidd contacted the PRT, they actually just called the emergency dispatch of Boston. Credit to the dispatcher, they immediately forwarded the call to their supervisors because it was a legitimate military office calling. Said supervisor called Watchdog to confirm the information. This is where the issues crop up. Watchdog checked the systems meant to monitor Leviathan. They even had the Tinker who made the devices double-check that they were receiving good data. Said Tinker was on site for another project, we didn't lose any time there. But all sensors indicated that Leviathan was still waiting. This information was shared with the Kidd, who insisted that their sonar was showing Leviathan inbound for Boston and insisted on initiating an Endbringer Alert. The supervisor disagreed."

"And where is the supervisor now," that was Helen, Director of Human Resources.

"Dead. He was among the casualties when Leviathan attacked the PRT offices."

Costa-Brown nodded, writing something down, "Alright, we play up the disconnect between the military and PRT. Keep the supervisor out of the spotlight if you can, we don't want the fault to fall on PRT personnel."

Lucius nodded, and made some of his own notes as the Chief Director looked around the room.

"Alright, next issue," she shuffled her notes, "Wards in Boston. The Youth GUard is already building up their 'child soldiers' rhetoric and I would rather not have the Wards program be axed."

Helen spoke up again, "From what I can gather, without speaking to Director Piggot herself, the Wards were clearly asked about volunteering. Piggot highlighted the Endbringer Defense Clause of the Wards contract, which states that they could be asked to take on 'auxiliary duties dedicated to defense'...without requiring parent permission. Yes, the Director stretched things by saying that Boston was close enough for the aftereffects of Leviathan's attack could impact the city. But every Ward present was there voluntarily."

"Alright, we're going to lean on that. Glenn, prepare a Wards highlight for…Kid Win, Vista, and Clockblocker. Focus on their actions during and after the fight. Also, the only reason they were 'in' the fight was because Leviathan changed tactics."

He wrote a few notes, already planning it out. He would need to get proper after-action reports for those three and maybe dig up some old marketing material for them. Vista was solid and he could market her. Clock was...certainly memorable. He could remember the marketing and PR reps for the Bay calling him in frustrated tears. Kid Win was new to him, so some intern would have to do some digging. He could imagine the headlines now. Highest values of heroism…hmmm…Next generation steps forward…Eh, he could workshop it later.

"Last order of business before we get to force redistribution for Boston. Taylor Hebert. Alloy. Optics aren't looking good where she's concerned. How are we going to handle this?"

He immediately raised his pen, pausing a moment while the room focused on him before providing an answer.

"We're not. Any spin we try to put on this mess isn't going to do us any favors. And just trying is going to lean more people away from us."

Oh, he could see that Costa-Brown didn't like that idea.

"Look. It would take two or three FOIA requests for people to get the story out. Director Piggot had a device that could give the blind back their sight back, wrapped up in the most pitiful news story character I could ever dream up. She fumbled and we're stuck cleaning up the mess," he looked around the room, hoping that everyone understood him, "If we make it clear that we're trying to squash her, the public is going to take her side."

Lucious tapped his finger against the table, "What if we do the opposite, try and pull her in closer to us? Right now, some of the attraction is that she's 'not a cape'. We make it clear we do consider her as such, more like an open cape from New Wave. Our public message will be focused on referring to her as a cape and a heroic one. Someone who we would like to work with. If she pushes back," the man shrugged, "Then we can paint ourselves as the bereaved party. We're willing to let past mistakes go, but she's not."

The Chief Director nodded along, "A long term solution, but one that gets us out of the honeymoon phase in the news cycle. Alright, send me the talking points when you've got them. I'll probably be called to the Senate within the next few days and we will all need a coordinated message."

He nodded himself, understanding the base necessity of the decision. The Protectorate survived because they were 'the good guys'. Ergo, anyone opposing them were…'the bad guys'. Comic book, black and white logic pushed in a world of greys, where the populace had access to more information than ever before, but still preferred the strength of a single monolithic perspective.

As the meeting moved on to deploying Protectorate and PRT personnel in the wake of the losses suffered in Boston, he continued to take notes. Which capes to hold up in the spotlight, which capes to transfer quietly. Which to make martyrs, and which to make disappear. All to shape the image that the PRT was doing good work in a world that was slowly falling apart.

Truly, he loved his job.

An aide burst into the room, interrupting the conversation. He glanced up as they hurried to the Chief Director and handed her a paper. His good mood faded. No one acted and looked like that with good news.

The aid left, and the Chief Director looked over the paper before crumpling it in her fist. With a strained breath, she looked up and declared, "Canary has been sighted in Boston. She's turned herself into the police…the military police. They are refusing to return her to PRT custody."

Just like that, his day was officially ruined. Because trying to keep the attempted murder trial of a beloved, attractive young pop-idol out of the spotlight had literally been a sisyphean task. It had taken him and his staff many sleepless nights in the office in order to manipulate the news cycle and cost him quite a number of favors. And when the verdict had been reached, he had congratulated himself as there had been no riots outside of the PRT building or the courthouse. And now all that was moot.

Truly, it sometimes didn't pay to be Glenn Chambers.

 

[AlSmash]

Authors note: Alright everyone, here you have it. The start of Paige's story. She's got a long road ahead of her. But there's a better horizon waiting for her. Please note that no one who worked on this is lawyer, and we're all trying to untangle the mess that Wildbow put into canon. So we hope you'll accept our attempts at explaining. Enjoy! Credit to BigBadBen and more for hammering away at this with me.

---

Sprout 3.3.5 - Freebird

Boston

One week after Leviathan hit the city.

I ran into someone. My shoulder hurt, and my ribs. It hurt to breathe, but I couldn't stop. They went down, cried out. I didn't want to hurt anyone, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. But I couldn't stop. I couldn't. If they caught me, I would go back. And I couldn't go back. To sit and wait, and wonder how my life was going to end.

I gripped a pole, scraping my palms. Turned the corner quickly. This road was more clear. I ran as fast as I could. Splashing through mud, trying not to slip and fall. Everything would end if I slipped.

"There she is!" "Cut left!"

I could hear a whine in the air, like a bird. I ducked, not daring to look back. I heaved in air through my nose, my scars stretching and painful. I felt something wet run down the skin of my throat, might be sweat, might be blood. I couldn't stop.

In the corner of my eye, I could see someone running. Bright colours, splattered with mud. A cape. I couldn't let them catch me.

Another turn, I could feel them at my back. I couldn't go back there. Just run, keep running. My lungs hurt, I wanted to cry. Darkness fogged up the edge of my sight.

Ahead of me, was the camp entrance. Guarded. Watchful uniforms to keep the peace. Different from them. Maybe these would be different. The Guards raised their hands, shouted orders. Hands on weapons, then weapons raised. I couldn't slow down to explain. I could see their faces, maybe they could see mine. I threw myself to the ground, feeling the gravel claw at my skin.

I scrambled, clawing at their boots. Curling up around their legs, pressing closer. Please God, let them protect me. My lungs burned for oxygen, blackness pressed in around my eyes. I spoke as much as I could. Please help me. Don't let them take me. Please help me. I don't know what I sounded like. Blood hammered in my ears. The blackness won; and I felt hands on my shoulders.

"Heh meh. Heh me pleys."

---

AEH​

---

"Stop right there! Stay where you are!"

"That woman is a wanted fugitive and we are taking her in!"

"Step back! You! Stay where you are! Let us sort this out."

"There's nothing to sort out! We.."

"PRT Boston is suspended while Martial Law is in effect, you have no authority here! Malan, check her."

"On it chief. Ma'am? Can you hear me? Ma'am? Shit, looks like she fainted. Hold up… shit! Fuck me! 'This is south gate, I need a medic team and transport, urgent! Collapsed female, signs of torture, possible mutilation.' This woman's in a bad way, Chief."

"Fuck me.. 'This is South Gate Chief Rodan, calling Colonel Herres for a developing situation, requesting backup.' Stay the fuck where you are Cape! This is a Military matter now."

"That woman is a wanted Cape, and belongs in PRT custody! We are the only ones who can hold her."

"Another move, and I start shooting. Back the fuck up!"

"Chief? I think this woman is Canary."

"Oh Fuck me… 'This is Rodan, connect me directly with Colonel Herres, urgent backup needed at South Gate.'"

---

AEH​

---

I sat. Breathing. My sides hurt, my legs hurt. I kept looking down at my wrists… but still no cuffs. Opening my eyes had been the worst part. Would I wake up in a cell? My hands locked in those heavy manacles again? In some dark room with no power? A van, driving me to hell on earth?

The reality was… mundane. I opened my eyes to a cot, in a tent. A medical drip was attached to my arm. I wanted to take it out, but the uniformed guard made me hesitate. Aside from my cot, the wool blanket covering my legs, there was a table, some chairs, and grass for a floor. I could hear the sounds of the camp around me, people moving about, conversation, shouting in the distance. The tent flap opened, and a man and a woman entered. I tried to stand; freezing as the woman took large steps towards me. I flinched as she reached for me.

The woman wore a military uniform of some kind. The man was wearing the browns of a state trooper, he was younger, and he carried a case under his arm. On both their temples, I could see the blue glow of a Focus. I had heard about those. Listening to the teams going around Boston, listening to the radio, listening the first and only time that I went to the camp for food.

The military woman was strong, pulling me up. Gently though. She guided me to the chair sitting across from them. The trooper was already there, staring at my face… oh. I lowered my eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face. I guess my scarf came off. I hope I wasn't bleeding. Everyone settled in, and I kept my eyes on the table, clasping my fingers together. Still surprised that there were no cuffs.

"Ms. Mcabee? My name is Captain Miriam Semrad of the Judge Advocate General's Corps. This is Trooper Waldren of the Massachusetts State Patrol." Trooper Waldren nodded. "We are informing you now that you're being recorded. This is for your safety and for ours. Do you understand what we're telling you?" I nodded slightly, my hair tickling the back of my neck, and falling around my ears. I wanted to tuck it away, but didn't want to move and startle the guards.

Captain Semrad leaned forward. "Ms. Macabee, it's important that you clearly acknowledge that you understand." Oh no, she thinks… I nodded frantically. Slowly, I pulled my hand up, covering my mouth completely. Then with one finger. I hope she understands.

She frowned, "You can't speak? Alright, wait a moment, we'll solve this." Then she just… walked out of the tent. I stared after her, looking at that slice of blue sky. Trooper Waldren spoke up, he sounded young. "Don't worry about her. She's straightlaced, but knows her stuff. She'll be back in a moment."

The state trooper put his hands on the table, palms up. "Here, can you give me your hands? I know you took a tumble when you met the guards, we don't want to let those scrapes get infected." I slowly stretched my hands forward. Turning them over, I could see the scrapes. Funny, I didn't feel them. Waldren hummed for a moment, pulling his case closer. I blinked, it was… purple. A dark purple. With flowers stitched in. The man must have noticed because he smiled, "Don't judge. My wife made it for me. Told me that 'big bad state troopers need to soften their image'. It's something of a good luck charm now." Ripping open an alcohol swab, he started gently swiping my hands. It stung, and I flinched. "Sorry sorry, I know it stings. We'll be done in a moment." We sat in silence. It was funny, the things that you miss. With those heavy manacles on, with the guards and the restraints… I hadn't held someone's hand in a long time. His hands were cold, but mine were hot. It was nice.

"There we go, we should be good now." The trooper's voice pulled me out of my head. He turned my hands over. "Well that won't do. Hold on, we can fix that." I didn't understand what he was talking about. He reached back into his purple flower pouch and pulled out… nail clippers. I suddenly felt mortified, staring down at my fingers. My nails were long. And cracked, and chipped, and it had been so long since I cared or had time to… Click. I blinked. The young man inspected his work, then clipped again. One by one… I… started to look civilized again.

Something tightened in my chest. I breathed deep through my nose, fully aware that my jaw was sealed. I swallowed. "There we go! Much better. Alright, decision time Ms. Mcabee. It's an important one." He smiled at me. It made me feel… like something other than a mess. Like my old self. He reached into his pack and pulled out nail polish… I must have looked confused because he grinned. "My wife told me to always be prepared. And yes, she packed these. So you have two colours. Quiet-Seduction… also known as red. Or Marina-Dive… also known as light blue." I smiled. Making sure to keep my mouth closed. God… how long ago was it since I smiled? I pointed. Blue would do. Although he was wrong. That's not 'blue', that's two shades lighter than 'robin egg blue'. I wondered where the Captain went…? I know my sense of time was off, but maybe this was going faster than expected?

I let go of those thoughts as Trooper Waldren firmly took my hand, and delicately started painting my nails. There was something so nostalgic about it. "My wife works at this cute little clothing boutique, and she always told me that her nails should match her outfits for the week. Yes, she planned her outfits for the week. My wife is a very organized woman. The boutique didn't survive, but she was just fine. Recently we met up and…"

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath through the lump in my throat. I remembered the good times backstage before a show. Picking out clothes, accessories, makeup. The chatter of my stylist as he worked. God…I missed those days.

"There we go, good to go." He said with a smile. I looked at my nails. Trimmed short, freshly painted. And he did a good job also. No splatter. With this done I… I relaxed. I felt… human again. I wanted to blow on them, get the paint to dry faster. But… that wasn't possible. I didn't want him to see.

The tent opened, and the Captain walked in, a tablet under her arm. I looked in shock, worried that Waldren would get in trouble for interacting with me. I started to shake my head, not wanting him to get in trouble like the previous time…

She spared a glance, but otherwise didn't comment. I was relieved. She placed a tablet in front of me. Keyboard on the screen. "This will let you communicate with us. It might be slower, but it will speak what you write. Give it a try." Oh… for a moment I was angry. Or hurt. Or… I don't know what I felt. But I remember the trial. I remembered how hard it was to get in touch with anyone, even my own lawyer.

I tapped away, mindful to keep my fingers steady. I didn't want to smudge my nails. "Please don't send me back" The two of them looked at one another. Waldren spoke up, having returned everything to his case. "Right now, it's important we understand what happened, Paige. Can you tell us how you got out of PRT Boston? The more we know, the better our superiors can make a decision."

They had to keep me. I didn't want to go back. If I answered, they might keep me. I didn't do anything wrong. "I was released. With the others. Someone named Armstrong. Came on the intercom, then the doors all opened. My cuffs fell off." Captain Semrad was writing notes, Waldren was just sitting watching me. I swallowed as I typed away. The robotic voice of the tablet filled the silence with a light female voice. "He said; Leviathan is coming. Run, or fight. No one deserves to die in a cell. I ran. Some prisoners fought each other. I got outside. Started running."

"You ran into the city? How did you survive the attack?"

"I hid. Found a Parking Garage. Climbed the inside stairway, up and up." My hands started shaking. I had been so afraid. Worse than the trial. Or after the trial. "The water was rising. And the roof was damaged. Rain was coming in, falling down the stairs. I could hear crashing outside. Rumbling. I hid." I was trembling.

"Paige, you're safe now. Take a deep breath for me, okay? Deeeeppp breath, good." Waldren spoke up, as Captain Semrad wrote a few notes down. I breathed through my nose, in and out. I was safe. Nothing would happen to me. I was safe. Please let me be safe.

A moment passed, before Captain Semrad spoke, looking up from her notes. "You made it clear before that you can't speak. Is that an injury from the attack? Debris or something else?"

I shook my head. My hair and feathers flying everywhere. I desperately needed to cut it. "No." I didn't want to say more. But the Captain wasn't willing. "If something happened to you, Ms. Macabee, we need to know about it." I glanced at Waldren, who gave me a firm nod, and a small smile.

"It was when they arrested me. They were shouting. I didn't understand what was happening. Wanted to ask questions. They hit me." I mimed punching my jaw. The two of them looked at each other again. Just a quick glance. "A PRT trooper hit you? One of the Protectorate heroes?" I shook my head, looking down at the table. "I don't know. It hurt, and it was loud. I couldn't focus. They kept shouting; 'don't let her sing'."

"But you were provided treatment when they had you in detention, correct?" Waldren asked, making me look up again. He was looking at me with such a look of concern. Captain Semrad was writing furiously. I tilted my head side to side. Tapping away at the screen took some time. "No. I woke up in a cell. They told me that my jaw was damaged, and that it had been wired shut for my safety. Everything hurt."

"Were you given anything for the pain?"

"I think so, but it's hazy. I kept being drugged. They had a collar on me. To make me sleep. So… I didn't feel much pain for long."

"I'm no dentist, but wiring your jaw shut would make it very hard to eat. And drink. Were you getting enough food and water?"

Oh no. I closed my eyes. Afraid that they would ask that. "Yes. They…" I took a moment to break, shaking out my fingers. The nice blue tips of my nails caught my eyes. It was a lovely colour. "They removed my front teeth. Two of them. So I can drink, and eat. With a straw." There. I said it. Now they would know I'm ugly. I remembered finding a mirror. Crying in front of it when I stumbled out after Leviathan had left. I stared at the table. Not wanting to see the look in their eyes.

Someone stood up, and I could see a hand reaching across the table. I glanced up. Waldren laid his hand on top of mine, while Captain Semrad spoke softly but urgently in the corner. The glow of her Focus was obvious.

"Alright Paige. We're going to get a doctor to look at you, alright? Just to make sure you're alright." I nodded, resigning myself to it all. I wanted to hope that they would keep me. Please don't send me back to the Birdcage.

Captain Semrad walked over. "Ms. Macabee. I am formally informing you that you are being held in military custody. You will not be transferred over to PRT custody, and we will require a full interview as to your treatment under their care."

I cried. Leaning over, placed my head on the table and cried. With teary eyes, I pulled the tablet closer. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

I kept hitting the repeat button until Waldren gently took the tablet away from me.

---

AEH​

---

Herres

Colonel Herres was a man juggling with chainsaws. For the past week he had given thousands of instructions in order to establish some sense of organization to the devastated city of Boston. He had enough problems. He didn't need more.

Too bad that the universe didn't agree with that sentiment.

He sat in his office, watching the screen that had been pulled in. With him was Colonel Mathew Johnson, of the JAG. Boston had seen a number of military police and Judge Advocate General officers arriving over the past week. Bolstering the decimated Boston police and justice department. Colonel Johnson had been the first person Herres had called when he received the news that a wanted, convicted, parahuman appeared at his gates begging for protection.

Now the two men had to sort out this mess.

"Very nice empathy play with Waldren. Boy's got talent."

"He's genuinely a nice man according to his co-workers. He was outside the city during the Leviathan mess. He's been trying to prove himself ever since."

"Well, keep an eye on him. Don't want to lose talent to burnout." The video they watched was an hour old now. Techs had gone over the whole thing to make sure that nothing would impact the viewers.

Herres paused the video as Paige was telling the officers about her treatment by the PRT. "We had a cape healer, Panacea, take a look at her while she was unconscious. The officers were not made aware of her injuries, so their reactions aren't compromised. I have a write up of Panacea's findings, and am waiting for my Docs to give me theirs. So far? Everything Canary is saying lines up. Panacea also paralyzed her vocal cords, just in case."

Herres reached for a pen on his desk, twisting it between his fingers. "What are my options Johnson?"

The older Colonel looked at him, then back at the monitor. "You want my professional or personal opinion?"

"Let's start with professional."

"Legally, the President has suspended the operations of the PRT inside the Boston area. Anything PRT related is meant to report to you, or the JAG office, or the Police department."

"Which means that the capture team I've got engaged in a staring contest with my soldiers is legally tricky."

Johnson barked a laugh. "Escaped fugitives should be the responsibility of the States Marshals. But the PRT could argue that away." He grew serious. "No, the trouble is if you don't want to turn that young woman back to the PRT."

"I already said I wouldn't."

"I know, but there's a mountain of shit to come because of it. Look, if you want to use your special authority to grant her a pardon, you can do so."

"And if I do, we'll have dozens of people screaming about tyranny and the mishandling of the justice system."

The JAG officer noded. "Another option is to put her through a military court, and use that to challenge the previous conviction." "Any other options?"

"Stash her somewhere, gather evidence for an appeal, and fight it out in federal courts." Johnson frowned. "But that only works as long as you're Governor. Which means that when the city is handed back to civilian control, the PRT gets jurisdiction again."

"And she ends up arrested."

"Yes."

Herres sighed. "Alright, professional opinion of her case and conviction?"

"It was the best case of railroading I've ever seen. It wasn't lawyers who did that, it was fucking engineers for how perfect it was." Herres waved his hand for more details. "Her lawyer was a year out of school, working as a public defender with fifteen other cases. The man barely had time to take a shit, let alone get a solid defence going."

Johnson grumbled. "And that conviction? A death sentence for unintended sexual assault? Judge Roberts made it clear in his verdict. He wasn't punishing the girl for her crimes. She was just the message to anyone else who might have powers like her. Fall in line, or get crushed."

"Talk to me about the Birdcage."

"It's a legal precedent that bends the rules like they're pretzels. And is basically held together by string and chewing gum." Johnson sighs. "It hinges on Dragon. She bought land from the Canadian Government, and then built the prison. So it's technically, 'private property'. But Dragon is a recognized Federal Employee thanks to the treaty that allowed the creation of the PRT Toronto branch. So a Judge in a criminal case can control sentencing, which also means 'where' the prisoner is held. So if, like Judge Roberts did with Paige Macabee, a judge sentences a prisoner to Baumann? They aren't technically sentencing them to a 'prison'. The Judge is sentencing them to the care of a Federal Warden, Dragon. Who has only one place to put them. A prison, on private property."

"With no appeals, where the prisoners are the guards, no communication in or out, no inspections, and no review board."

"Yes, under Constitutional Law, and several dozen cases of precedent law, that prison shouldn't exist. But it does. Because it solves a problem. It's seen as a reasonable solution to the problem of Capes, without getting involved with repealing the death sentence in most states."

"That's the thing, isn't it? How bad things can be made to sound reasonable…like breaking a woman's jaw to keep her from using her super powered voice. Like removing her teeth to make sure she can eat. All seems reasonable…until you look back at everything as a whole and look at the evil you've done."

Herres looked back at the frozen screen, quiet for a moment. "You think we have a case?"

"Personally? What was done to that woman was a horrible mockery of our justice system, and the basic rights of the Constitution. Her treatment before, during, and after her trial are shameful, cruel, and an attack on the safety of every citizen of our country."

Johnson looked him dead in the eye. "Professional opinion? You've got one hell of a case. With a good lawyer? You can make the PRT bleed for this mess that they created."

"YOU ARE A BUTCHA'!" The great shout, then thud, from outside had the two men out the door in moments.

Standing in the hall was CMO Elban, holding the PRT officer's jacket in his fists. He had clearly just slammed the man into the wall, because the officer was reeling.

"That's enough!" Herres roared.

Elban looked over slowly. Blinked at Colonel Herres, before releasing the man and snapping to a picture perfect salute. The PRT officer slumped down, catching himself before he hit the floor. The guard outside Herres' door looked to him for order. "Doctor Elban, my office, now!" The tall black man marched into the office that Herres had commandeered. The Colonel closed the door, after waving the JAG officer back in.

Herres took in the taller man. Elban stared right ahead, his jaw rigid. "Doctor Elban. Your assessment of Paige Macabee?" The Doctor handed him a written report, several pages long. Herres glanced over the first page, before dropping it on his desk. "At ease. Summarize for me Doctor."

Elban sighed, relaxing a little. "Subject is suffering from malnutrition, and dehydration. She is underweight, although not to an unhealthy degree. She has abrasions on her body consistent with exploring the damaged areas of Boston. The rest of the assessment was carried out by a dental specialist. She has bleeding of the gums from extended poor oral hygiene, and signs of infection from improper post treatment care after four teeth were removed. The 'lock' between her upper and lower jaw is installed correctly, but it also shows signs of infection. The setting of the jawbone was done in an acceptable but imperfect manner. She would likely have had pain from muscles being stressed in unexpected ways." He took a breath.

"At the moment, I can't theorize on damage her liver or kidneys might have experienced due to repeated use of whatever drug they were using to knock her out. Also, a discrete questioning by one of my female staff reports that Ms. Macabee does not suspect any cases of sexual assault. Either when she was conscious, or unconscious."

"That lines up with Panacea's account. I trust you documented everything?"

"Yes Sir. Photos and video. Both are being recorded in a variety of mediums."

Herres nodded, slowly coming to terms with things. This was a fight outside of his duties inside Boston. Some would say that he was overreaching with his authority. But all his life, and all his time in the military, he had known that there was right, and there was wrong. And this was a chance to right a wrong. And that was always worth doing.

"I will ask Panacea to heal her completely. Elban, you oversee that. And get a dentist or an oral surgeon to remove the hardware. If you can't find one on staff, or in the camps, we'll see about bringing one in." The big man nodded. "In the meantime, I'm going to ask Ms. Hebert if she can develop a more humane way of containing Ms. Macabee's powers."

"In the meantime… CMO Elban. Take the rest of the day off. Oversee Ms. Macabee's care, then transfer command to your second. Find some peace, come back tomorrow. Dismissed" The Doctor nodded, saluted, then walked out. "Johnson, please get me that PRT officer."

Herres called out to the guard at the door. Stood as the man walked in. "Officer. I'll make this short. Paige Macabee will not be transferred to your custody. In fact, I'm about to get on the phone and demand to know why the PRT didn't tell my office, or the Boston Police that there were fugitives at large in the city. I will demand to know why a capture team of PRT capes, and PRT officers, was active in my city where you have NO jurisdiction!"

Planting his fists on the desk, he leaned forward. "I am going to have a unit of Military Police and JAG officers escort you back to your prisoners. They will review your actions, they will review the state of your prisoners, and they will stay with you until you leave this city."

The Colonel paused for a moment. "Am I understood?"

---

AEH​

---

"And that's everything, Ms. Hebert."

He leaned back in his chair as he looked across the desk at Taylor. She had been prompt in responding to his summons. But with the drawdown of the LRL, a lot of her time had been spent analyzing the data from the machines, along with fine-tuning the Focus network now that she had added enhancements to the network to allow streaming and better datalink.

Even now, there were times when he struggled with the scale of a quantum leap forward in not only communications, but datalink systems that the Focus represented. To have it all on nearly instantaneous demand and be able to communicate immediately through the network provided a strategic and tactical flexibility that was unmatched, was nothing sort of awe-inspiring.

The media may focus on the LRL and it certainly made a difference in the lives that it had saved. But to him, the Focus was the true hero of Boston. Without them, rescuers would have taken days to do what was now accomplished in hours. Nor would Herres be able to flex the logistical might of the military and rescue services so finely like they had done here.

And despite the age of the girl, and the attached criticisms he was starting to get from outside sources? Taylor Hebert had shown herself, once she had awoken, to be a solid asset in providing assistance in almost any matter when asked.

But he was distracting himself from the here and now. What mattered now was if Ms. Hebert was able to work something up that he would be able to use against the grave injustice the PRT had done to Ms. Mcabee.

"Do we have access to the PRT files on her?" was the first question that escaped the girl's mouth, "power testing, observations from officers, any notes from Dragon?"

"No. But I can demand them."

The teenager shook her head, "They'd be helpful if you can get them within the next day, but that doesn't help Canary at this moment," she fell silent, and he had no doubt she was looking through something on her Focus. How she was able to use it so adroitly without having to use her hand was a point of curiosity for himself, but he had a feeling that it was more the expertise of the inventor instead of anything nefarious.

"Okay, a lot of this is based upon conjecture," she finally said, "but, I might be able to work something up. I will need to have access to her, and we'll need to find someone willing to be a test subject for a Master."

"A test subject?"

"I need to confirm a few things about her power before I can start providing a solution. If there is one. Mainly it's about the expression of her power and how it's transmitted. If it's transmitted through sound or if there is another hidden mechanic of it. If it's solely through sound, then the question becomes the origin point of its transmission. If it's through the vocal box, then that narrows it down even further. At that point, the question would be if it's tied to a specific vocal pattern, or if it's broad-spectrum and just uses her voice as the medium. If it's the former, the solution could be something as simple as putting together something that would change the pattern, and if it's the latter, something like a throat microphone should work. She'd have to be trained on how to use it, of course. But, like I said, there are options, but I need to have the time and access to her in order to pin it down."

All that in less than eight minutes, he thought to himself as he glanced at the clock.

"Alright Ms. Hebert. We'll get you what you need. But I'm cutting orders for Captain Schofield to make sure that you are nowhere near the testing area. Dismissed."

The scarred blind girl nodded, and walked out. Her security team fell in around her.

Colonel Herres sat back down at his desk, and began to tackle the next problem.

---

AEH​

---

Paige Macabee

I pulled my jacket tighter, trying to ward off the morning cold. The last two days were… something out of a dream for me. I woke up this morning and wasn't cold. I wasn't waking up huddled under newspapers or in some broken apartment.

After the interview, this Cape named Panacea came in to speak with me. Her costume was mud stained white, with red crosses on it. She explained that she was a healer, and that… she could fix me. She put her hood down, and had frizzy hair, with freckles on her cheeks. Then… she took my hand and everything felt better. I relaxed, just felt… warmth flow over me. Everything was a haze after that. I remember people, lights, sounds. But I wasn't afraid. I could feel her hand, holding mine. And it was still holding mine when the world came back into focus. And she held my hand as I cried, because nothing hurt. My jaw didn't hurt, swallowing didn't hurt, my missing teeth didn't hurt. In fact!

I ran my tongue across my teeth. Marveling that they were all there. Taking a deep breath of the cold air, I smiled. Just… so thrilled to feel whole again. I had gotten a shower, and a quick haircut. Not the butchery that the PRT subjected me to. But something respectable; my hair was shorter now. Barely reaching my shoulders. It was enough that…everyone could see my new accessories.

"Hello there Ms. Paige. How're you doing today?" I looked over, seeing Taylor walk over with her guards. Why she had guards, I didn't ask. I mean, I had guards. Two of them, both from the Military Police. It was odd, seeing so many people in uniforms. It took a moment to pull my tablet from the small backpack I had been given. "Hello Taylor."

"Hmm, you know that you don't have to do that right? I'm confident that the neck-piece that I made for you." I nodded, not really ready to say that I didn't trust it. Taylor had made it for me yesterday, apparently after a day of testing. It was a wide strip of metal that curved around the front of my throat. And connected to the headpiece that I was wearing as a headband. We tested it once. And…it wasn't uncomfortable. I could talk normally. But when I tried to use my powers? It made my voice distort, with the pitch swinging up and down. The soldier I tried to use it on broke down laughing, instead of standing on the crate like I was ordering him to.

Taylor looked at me for a moment or, at least I think she did. Wearing dark sunglasses in the morning would have been a bold fashion choice, or the sign of a hangover. But she had made it clear when we met up that she was blind. The glasses were for everyone else's benefit.

Panacea walked up, with her guards. She was bundled up in her costume, with a jacket on top. She was nursing a cup of coffee in her hands. "Morning," said Taylor.

"I hate mornings."

Well…someone wasn't a morning person. I smiled, and it felt good to smile. Taylor promised that she would make me a better voice-inhibitor when we got back to her factory. Apparently, the PRT wouldn't be able to touch me there. I wasn't ready to speak yet, nor thank my rescuers properly. But one day.

One day I would. Thank them. And sing again.

I raised a hand to shield my eyes as the helicopters landed, and let my guards hustle me into the second one. Taylor and Amy would ride together, and we would all meet up in Brockton Bay.

As we took off into the air, I watched the ground fall away, and felt free for the first time in months.

Free as a bird.

(END)

 

[AlSmash]

Sprout 3.4 Part 1

---

A new press release from Interim Governor Herres has sparked controversy today. The Governor announced that Paige Mcabee, the singer known as 'Bad Canary', has been taken into military custody. was found guilty of sexual assault with a parahuman power, and sentenced to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center. It's unknown why or how was found free in the streets of Boston. Currently, the PRT has declined to comment, but the Governor made it clear that he had no intention of turning over Canary to the PRT. Hinting even that her criminal case was being investigated by the Judge Advocate General's office. - CNN, April 20th, 2011​

---

Taylor

April 24th, 2011

I loaded up the next audio recording. I was almost done with only a few more to go. I had pages of notes from the previous batch. Improvements, suggestions, problems that would need to be resolved. The first LRL was good, everyone agreed. However, they also agreed that it could be better. This one came from...Garret, a firefighter.

Garret: Is Sparky going to be alright? The guys and I noticed that his leg wasn't working right. The front right if I'm remembering correctly.

Me: Sparky?

G: Yeah, the dog one with the cutting head. Called him Sparky because of how he was always cutting something.

M: We'll make sure to take a look at that. Are there any suggestions that you have about working with…Sparky? Anything that can be improved?

G: The cutter Sparky uses is good, but after a day or so it clearly was wearing down. Spares that he can carry around and tools to replace it in the field would be great.

Current Scrapper storage is insufficient to carry replacement blades and tools, I noted. Possible enhancement to frame in order to carry additional mass? Reoptimize storage on the Titan in order to handle additional components.

It would probably mean removing the communications and control suite from the Titan. But that was always meant to come out anyways. The question was how to utilize the storage once it had been done. Okay…next one. Mindy, a Boston paramedic.

Mindy: You're not going to kill'em are you? Because me and the boys are willing to buy them off you. I'm sure we can raise the money.

Me: I promise; we're not doing anything to hurt the machines. We're just conducting repairs to return them to full service. They did a lot.

M: I'll say! I remember when Bruce pulled that semi-trailer out of the way. Damn impressive.

T: Can you think of anything that would make working with…Bruce…more effective? Easier on you and the crew?
M: Yeah. Some winches and attachment points. For Bruce especially! Big guy like that, a lot of potential in hauling things around.

Front/Back Winch/Cable? Adjust foot design to allow better traction and grip? I would have to run some simulations once I got back to the lab. Yet another thing to add to the growing laundry list of things that I would have to do once I got back to work.

THUMP*

I gripped my harness with one hand, and slapped my other hand down blindly. I had turned off the vision function of my Focus because I had learned something unexpected. The vibrations of the helicopter? It REALLY messed with the depth-mapping and fidelity that the Focus provided as vision. It was nauseating to an amazing degree. Unfortunately, I didn't do much better with the vision turned off, either.

Amy caught my hand in hers, and I felt a wave of calm roll through my body. I took a few deep breaths, quietly squeezing her hand in thanks. Letting go, I went back to work.

The flight time from Boston to Brockton Bay wasn't long, but it was enough that I could get myself organized. Herres had assigned a pair of Blackhawk helicopters to provide transportation, with Amy and myself riding one, while the other was carrying Dad and Paige Mcabee.

I'll admit, I really didn't expect to find Canary in the ruins of Boston. But after Herres had explained her situation and her treatment, I was absolutely willing to provide shelter to the girl for however long it took to get her court case organized. Apparently the Judge Advocate General was now involved and I had spoken to Milton about getting his firm involved. The rest was out of my hands.

Another shift of the helicopter had me slapping my hand down into Amy's again.

Another wave of calm rolled through my body, and I just enjoyed the feeling. Amy hadn't said anything about my discomfort, and her quiet support to make sure that I didn't embarrass myself was nice in ways that I didn't expect.

I still didn't know what to think about this development. Not a month ago, I wouldn't have pissed on Amy Dallon if she were on fire. And now we had…maybe not a friendship, but at least an understanding between us. Hell, did I even know what a friend was anymore? Regardless of my own issues, the kinship between the two of us was nice.

Since the evening that Amy had taken me to the mural and I had broken down, we had spent our meals together, just talking about things. How our days were going, things that happened while we were working, just the sort of things you would expect in a workplace. I learned during our talks that Amy had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor, which was rather entertaining, especially when she delivered some of her stories about patients.

All in all, it was…nice. I didn't have any other way to describe it. It was nice to actually have someone to talk to without any expectations involved. It also was nice that they were doing it willingly without feeling the need or obligation to do so. Also, we were both teenagers with guard details who followed us everywhere inside the Boston camps. It tended to keep people at a distance, which meant that it was easier to just mesh together.

"You okay," Amy's voice came over the headset.

"I swear to God," I declared to Amy, "the next time I fly it will be in something I design."

Amy's laughter sounded over the din to my chagrin, "Flying isn't that bad, Taylor."

"It is when you consider we are flying in a helicopter design that dates back to the Vietnam War," I shot back, before adding in, "and is made by the lowest bidder with the cheapest quality parts."

I knew I had hit my mark when Amy fell silent and I couldn't help but flash a winning smile at her. But anything more was cut off by the feel of the helicopter beginning to slow.

"We're about three minutes out from our landing," the voice of their pilot sounded in her headset, "and personally, ma'am, I'd say that it isn't the machine that matters, it's the pilot."

"Well Lieutenant, give me a couple of months and I think you'll be changing your tune."

"Challenge accepted, ma'am," he chuckled.

I took it with a smile as the helicopter slowed and came to a hover, before slowly descending to the ground. With a gentle thump, we were back on solid ground and I had never been happier. I twitched back on my Focus, seeing Captain Schofield leaning over to undo my harness. He then unbuttoned Amy while I grabbed my bag at my feet. The door to the Blackhawk opened, the noise and wind buffeting us. Both of us had been warned ahead of time, so we kept low and jogged away, the captain keeping pace with us. As I was doing this, a pair of soldiers ran past me. Both of them with a briefcase handcuffed to each wrist as they ran into the cabin of the helicopter, the doors shutting behind them.

The Blackhawk then lifted back off into the sky and took off back towards Boston. I held my hair down as the wind whipped around us. A pair of Apache gunships falling into escort positions for its new cargo: Another two hundred Focuses.

It was then that the second Blackhawk came in for a landing. It repeated the same procedure, only this time, those disembarking were my father and the fourth member of our little coterie, flanked by a pair of military police with orders not to let her out of their sight.

The second helicopter took off with the captain, and I found myself turning back to the quartet of humvees that were currently awaiting for me, men and women arrayed around it. Another man was now walking forward now that the Blackhawks were clear. The only difference between him and other soldiers I had met so far was the beret on his head.

I strode forward, suspecting that this was the Major that Jean had been complaining about. I came to a stop a few feet from him.

"Ms. Hebert, Mr. Hebert, I'm Major Derek Cunningham, 823rd Base Defense Squadron. I've been placed in command of all assets assigned to the defense of Zero Dawn Technologies and its facilities."

"Major," I took the man's hand, shaking it. My father quickly followed suit after I was done.

"If you'll follow me, ma'am, sir, I have our transportation back to the compound."

"Miss Dallon will be accompanying us," I declared, deciding that now was probably the best time to get a measure of the man who was being put in charge of my defense. I needed to know just how much leeway he was willing to give me.

"Unfortunately, ma'am, I cannot allow that. I am to give you a briefing, and Miss Dallon is not cleared for that as she is not an executive employee of Zero Dawn. I will allow her to ride in the third vehicle and arrange transportation for her once we reach the main administration building."

"Major Cunningham, Governor Herres assigned Panacea to be my doctor. His orders were clear on the matter. She is to accompany me until I dismiss her."

It was somewhat of a stretch, but it was no less further from the truth. Again, I was trying to get a feel for the man himself. But the way that he stared at me for a few moments, his expression not changing, nor did he show any irritation with the fact that I was questioning him, told me that at least he was someone I could likely work with.

"Very well, ma'am. If you'll follow me, then. Ms. Mcabee will ride in the third Humvee."

We then followed after him, getting into the Humvee. Amy ended up in the very back in the jumpseat. Soon enough, we were off, even as the Major turned around to look at us.

"Ms. Hebert," he began, "currently, I have one hundred and eight-six men and women with me. As you are well aware, our current objectives are to provide defense and security to the facility and personnel, and begin preparation for additional units to be attached to the mission."

"And what units are you expecting?"

"All I know is that orders are being furnished right now ma'am. I have a team surveying the dockyards and figuring out what we'll need in order to house the defenses. But if it's any indication, it may include armor support considering the local criminal elements and security considerations."

"Armor," Danny spoke up, "like what kind of armor are we talking about, Major?"

"Sir, I do not know. All my orders currently contain is to provide security, complete the survey, and report back to my superiors before I am relieved. Anything else is merely conjecture, sir."

"Thank you, Major. What else can you tell me," I decided to cut my father off. I was about as comfortable as he was with the idea. Introducing armor into any defensive arrangement was liable to create a chance for escalation with the local gangs. It may just be a deterrent for most of them, but there were still the outliers.

But, it came with the new territory I found myself in. I was now a strategic asset to the government, which meant that my protection was paramount in their mind. My opinion and thoughts on the matters of my protection were secondary. I may have some input on the matter, but at the end of the day, they answered to their superiors and not to myself.

"Now that you are back, Miss Hebert, we will need to review security arrangements in the facility. This includes background checks on all personnel and assignment of security clearances. I have already talked with Mr. Jensen, and while you have a system put together, it needs further refinement."

"Will this cause any issues?"

"Government security clearances are a lot more in-depth and stringent, Ms. Hebert. They take a look at everything. Considering the staff you currently have, there will be a lot of hard decisions that will have to be made over the next few weeks."

"We'll take that under consideration," I responded, "what's going on with the Boston Corona? I know Governor Herres' is displeased that the removal of the ship is running behind schedule."

"From what I understand, they will finish dismantling the ship by tomorrow or the day after," the Major replied, "they have contracted out several capes to assist. New Wave, Uber & L33t, Purity, and Rune have all been involved in the operation. The PRT and Protectorate have been raising a stink about it, but they have no power and I've made it clear when they tried to cause a scene over the scrap being left with the docks."

I glanced towards Amy, who had perked up. It was understandable, she hadn't said anything to me, but the fact that none of her family had checked upon her in Boston had bothered her. From what I could gather, it hurt even more when her sister hadn't said anything either. I hoped that with Amy back in Brockton, she would have the opportunity to reconnect.

We started to slow and I drew my attention back to the front. Unfortunately, the Focus only provided vision for me at 40 meters, so I didn't see any problem that would cause us to slow. But then, I saw exactly why it was happening, even as the reason grew in its size.

There were dozens. No, there were hundreds of people ahead of us. Some of them I could see were reporters, while others were holding up signs. Some were angrily yelling, while others were quiet, instead looking towards the Humvee.

"This started up about five days ago," the Major said, "once you really started gaining traction in the news cycle. You have your reporters, protestors, counter-protestors, and supporters. No violence yet, but I think right now it's the adjustment period. Once they become entrenched it'll probably get a bit more problematic."

"I see," was my response as I stared out at the sea of humanity. And then we were finally past, just as someone finally noticed that I was in the Humvee and started making a commotion. The gate closed behind us and we pulled towards the main administration building, coming to a stop only a short while later.

I looked back again to Amy, who had been quiet the entire ride.

"Amy, would you like to join the meeting? I know we talked about you joining Zero Dawn, but before you did, I thought you would like to see what goes on behind closed doors."

"Can I run home and get something?"

Why would she, I chopped the thought off. Amy had been away from her home as long as I had been. Maybe there was something she needed done. Maybe she needed a change of clothes. It wasn't my business.

"Major, could you give her some transportation," I asked, considering adding additional impetus for him to do so, before dismissing that. I didn't want to put Amy on the spot. We hadn't really talked about what she would do, but I had always made it clear that my door was open for her to whatever she wanted in my employ, within reason.

"Taylor, you don't-"

"Amy, I'd be irresponsible if I didn't. You are also my doctor, and honestly, I really don't want to have you reliant upon public transport when we have better options."

There was a moment of hesitance, "Okay."

I then looked to the Major, "Since she is your personal physician, I can assign her personal transportation, Ms. Hebert."

"Thank you, Major."

---

AEH​

---

"In response to an increase in gang activity on the southern border, we are going to be transferring High-Light, Rebound, and Scarlet Scarf to our southern offices. They will partner with Eidolon in keeping the Cartel capes from smuggling themselves and their gangs across the border. We have a number of other transfers taking place, some of which we will be announcing in the coming days. Yes, we are planning on rebuilding the Boston PRT and Protectorate, but that will wait until proper civilian control is returned to elected officials" - PRT Spokeswoman Emilia Thurman​

---

AEH​

---

Amy Dallon

"I'm home," I declared as I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me. When I didn't receive a response I felt myself frown, but wrote it off. According to Major Cunningham, New Wave was helping in the docks, so that was probably why the house was empty.

Placing my duffle bag with my clothes and costume in the laundry room, I then charted my course to my room. I didn't want to keep my ride, and Taylor, waiting too long, so I made haste as I thumped up the stairs. Soon enough, I was in my room, rifling through the closet.

"What are you doing?"

I screamed, bolting up in fright. Spinning around, I saw…Vicky. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, her hair a mess, and in pajamas. Looking down, I caught her floating. No wonder I didn't hear her coming.

"Nothing. What are you doing?"

She yawned, "Well, I was sleeping, but then you were tramping through the house," she then gave me a bright smile, "But now that you're back?! We can hang out! I've got nothing going on today."

"What? No. I mean; I'm running out again in a few minutes. Busy day," silently cursing myself by how fast the words were tumbling out of my mouth, I was trying not to be suspicious at all here, "Weren't you working with Carol and the rest on the ship?"

I grabbed a backpack I had laying around. Emptying it of school textbooks, I dropped it on the floor.

"Yeah, I was. We were. Just needed a day off, so I begged off today."

I paused, looking back at her. Just the way she said it kind of hit me. I remembered the tired faces in Boston: The rescue workers, firefighters, police, and thousands of other people who got up every morning with a broken city to fix. And Vicky just…decided to sleep in?

"Must be nice," I tried to keep my voice steady as I turned back to what I was doing.

Vicky hesitated a beat, her voice wavering, "Well…Hey, let me get dressed and I'll go with you. Then we can-"

I stuck my head in the closet, uncovering the box I kept in the back. Was it cliche to keep hidden things in the back of my closet? Maybe. But if it worked, why fix it? I had to raise my voice to make sure Vicky heard me.

"I'm sorry Vicky. But it's something only I was invited to."

I only had to hear her to know that she was no longer giving her trademark smile, "Oh. Well…how about later tonight?"

I poked my head back up, smiling at her and keeping my hands hidden.

"I don't know when I'll be back. But we'll get together another day. Promise," I carefully pulled my jars out of the box, feeling them over for leaks. Luckily there appeared to be no damage, so I wrapped them in some spare shirts. Good thing jam-jars are compact and sealed nicely.

Glancing back up at Vicky as I grabbed my backpack, my heart thumped. Her smile had faded away completely and I felt guilty all about this. She had always had that effect on me.

But there was no way Taylor was inviting Vicky into the inner workings of her company. And she invited me, not Vicky, that little voice in the back of my head pointed out. It honestly felt good that it was me finally being singled out, instead of dragged into whatever it was that Vicky was picked for.

And besides, Vicky might have apologized, but Taylor wasn't exactly the forgiving sort. Not easily. And even I knew that Vicky had apologized to placate Carol rather than any other reason. Taylor was VERY good at holding a grudge. Considering her admission that the reason she had chosen not to ask me to restore her sight had been out of spite to the people who had done it to her, there was a fairly good chance Taylor held a grudge against Vicky.

"Well, at least try and be back tonight? I think Mom would appreciate you coming back, and we can have a family dinner together."

Yes. A tense family dinner that was only one misstep away from Carol turning her ire on me. I always appreciated those, even if they were the highlight of Vicky's day. Well, that and hanging out with Dean.

I released a sigh, "I'll do my best, okay?"

"Alright," Vicky then yawned, "I'm going to lay back down." She gave me a small smile that I couldn't help but return. "Missed you sis." I felt her aura wash over me for a moment.

"Have a good sleep, Vicky," I then waited for her to float back out of the room before I turned back to the closet. Stuffing each rolled up jar-carrying-shirt into my backpack, I quickly zipped it closed, and placed it gently over my shoulder. I listened for a moment, satisfied when I didn't hear the sound of glass on glass.

Getting to my feet, I moved to the door and poked my head out to make sure that Vicky wasn't still in the hallway. Satisfied that she was back in the room, I quickly headed to the stairs, moving down them a bit less audibly. Reaching the door, I opened it and stepped out of the house, heading to the Humvee that was still waiting there for me.

---

AEH​

---

Profiles of Courage. Vista, a passionate young hero who selflessly stepped forward and was instrumental in keeping the people of Boston safe when Leviathan brought ruin to the great city. Tonight, we'll examine the actions and future of one of the great up-and-coming Heroes of our nation.​

---

AEH​

---

Taylor

Taking a sip from my cup, I allowed myself a moment to enjoy the taste of the warm ginger, milk, and honey tea. It was a recent acquired taste that had come as a recommendation from Fox, as she noticed my unhealthy consumption of coffee. I hadn't had the opportunity to try it until now, and I found myself actually enjoying the taste of it.

It was relaxing, while at the same time invigorating, which was everything I was going to need for this meeting. Setting the expansively large mug down, I took the time to look around the room.

Jean was as immaculate as ever. She was currently surrounded by a stack of papers, a laptop, and a pair of tablets, going over them with a frenetic energy. A Focus was affixed to the side of her head as well. From what the data was telling me, she was only using it as a glorified cell phone at the moment. I wasn't sure what to think about that, but it was her choice.

Dad was currently sitting, nursing a cup of coffee himself. I wasn't sure what he was thinking at the time. I know he was teetering on the edge of being overwhelmed again, because when we had come back, one of the first things he had done had been going down to the shipbreakers and reviewing the progress with the Boston Corona.

I made a mental note to pull him aside, sit down, and talk with him. Really talk with him. I didn't want to lose him, because I think we were getting better. But with what was coming, I had a feeling that if I didn't make an active attempt at it, I would lose him again.

I then drew my gaze over to the last occupant of the room right now. Adam Jensen was an…oddity. He had just shown up at our doors not a day or so after our agreement with Far Zenith, looking for a job in security. Dad had interviewed him, and found out that the man had spent quite some time in counterintelligence and infiltration. Specifically what he did, the man wouldn't say, but he had been the one to design and staff their security from day one.

The sound of the door to the room opening, and I turned to take in Amy who scuttled into the room.

"Sorry about that," she said, her face a little red, "I got lost on the way there."

"And why is she here," Jean asked pointedly, "she is neither an executive, nor is she an employee of Zero Dawn."

"I invited her," I said firmly, staring her down, "Amy and I have been talking about the possibility of becoming an employee of Zero Dawn. And as my primary physician, on the orders of Governor Herres, she goes where I do."

"I want to be one," she blurted out, and I turned to look at her, she bowed her head slightly, like she was embarrassed, "an employee, that is. Taylor. I even brought something that I can offer."

I cut Jean off before she could add anything, instead I offered a smile and a nod, "Okay, Amy. Show us what you got."

She walked over to beside me, pulling up a backpack and placing it down on the table. I felt my eyebrow raising at the scene, even as she unzipped the pack and rifled through it. Soon enough, she pulled out a series of jars on the table after unwrapping them. There was obviously some sort of liquid in them, but I couldn't tell what it was for obvious reasons.

When she remained silent for a few awkward moments, I coughed, trying to stop myself from smiling, "What am I looking at Amy?"

"Oh. OH! Sorry, Taylor. Anyways, you remember the first time we talked? About what hospitals need? Well, this is that synthetic blood we talked about."

"Ah," Well, that was certainly surprising. I remembered we had talked about it, but I certainly didn't expect it to reach this point. I reached out, taking one of the jars in hand, even if I couldn't naturally see the color, the feel of it in my hand sloshing around in the container was enough.

"Well done," I said quietly, looking at her, she hadn't stopped looking at me the entire time, it was apparent she wanted my opinion, "but there is only one issue, Amy."

Jean interrupted me, clearly shocked at the reveal, "I'm sorry, 'synthetic blood'? My understanding is that hospitals already have something like that? And I thought Panacea's power revolves around healing?"

I looked at Amy, nodding to her. This was her invention, she would have to defend it. The brunette cleared her throat, "Well, yes. Hospitals do have blood substitutes, none of which really measure up to biological blood. Which is why hospitals still rely on blood drives and donations. However, mine is different. It's capable of carrying oxygen, which is a major problem with most substitutes. It's also non-reactive to a person's blood-type, preventing rejection from the body. And it also reacts to blood clotting and thinning medications. I haven't tested it against all known blood diseases, but the majority that I have tested have shown no interaction. The disease can't infect it."

Did…did I sound like that when I started going on about my machines? It was endearing to see Amy grow more animated the more she spoke about her product. I looked over to Jean, who was still holding the jam-jar of miracles, "I told you I was looking into developing medical technologies, Jean. I just didn't say if it would be my focus or not," I finished with a grin as Jean just sat back and gazed in wonder at Amy's creation.

"Oh God, there are two of them," Jean muttered under her breath, obviously not expecting for herself to be heard by how lowly she said it. It was a pity that she forgot what my Focus could do, but I chose not to express my thoughts on the matter.

"Now Amy. I understand that this would be the finished product, but do you have notes on the production process? Steps, equipment needed, catalyst chemicals?"

She looked completely poleaxed, obviously not expecting my questions, which caused me to smile gently.

"If you are going to work for Zero Dawn, Amy, you have to approach everything like an engineer or scientist," I said, offering her a small smile as I put down the jar, "which means you have to document everything."

"Oh," she said, looking confused for a moment, "What do you mean?"

"You might have created the end result, but I doubt you want to be making the same thing all day, everyday. We want to hand the design to a team who will figure out how to make it in bulk, design the machines needed to create it, and so on. Chemists, engineers, doctors.. If they understand how each component goes together, they can better work out a production process."

Amy blinked slowly like an owl, her lips parted, "Oh. That's what you mean."

I nodded, "Not only that, but it's one of the only weapons we have against NEPEA-5. If we can prove that everything we do is perfectly replicable with the right materials and technology, then we cannot be accused of using our powers to get an unfair advantage. How about we talk about that later, Amy? Please, take a seat, and let me be the first to welcome you to Zero Dawn Technologies."

"Thank you," Amy said, before finding one of the empty seats and placing herself in it.

"Alright," I said, turning back to look over the entire gathering, "I know a lot's going on, and we're all playing catch-up. So this meeting is to get us all on the same page. To start with, Adam, I hope Paige and her guards have been settled in?"

Our Head of Security nodded, "We have her setup in employee housing. It's not glamorous, but it will do for now. I have someone getting essentials organized for her now."

I made a note, planning to follow up with Paige later. Development of her voice-distorter was fairly simple, I already had ideas for improvements to make it less bulky. "Alright now, Jean, what are we looking at as current issues?"

The normally composed woman shot me a withering glare. At least I think so. Focus-vision kind of made it less impactful, "We have a mob sitting out on our doorstep, our available funds are approaching zero, we still have no marketing or response to the increasing demands for information, and there are armed soldiers requesting access to personnel records."

She took a deep breath, seeming to pull herself together, "Alright, first off, we need to respond to questions. We are completely unprepared for this kind of media blitz, and something must be said to focus the narrative. Otherwise we risk other voices influencing the public about us.

She glanced around the table, first at me, then at Danny, "Since we don't have a company spokesperson, I will speak to them. As soon as we agree on our message."

"I could talk to them," I volunteered, "It's my products that they're interested in, after all."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Taylor. Let me talk to them today. You and I will discuss media appearances another time," I noted the careful neutral tone, but let things go. Jean was the expert out of all of us on how to handle the press in a situation like this.

"Alright then, Jean. I'll leave it in your capable hands. Mr. Jensen, how are you and the security team working with the military? I understand that they're asking for personnel records?"

Jensen nodded, "Overall, we've let them handle things and have been very hands off about it. My security teams have been set up to keep out vagrants and Merchants, not deal with crowd control. But the Major has made some concerns known. And Jean has gotten the same speech. With your new status comes new concerns about our location. Frankly, this facility is not defensible enough for the powers-that-be. Especially if we have to start worrying about spies or sabotage."

"Alright, do they have a suggestion for where we might move," I certainly did not want to move. But it couldn't hurt to ask. The reality is that I'd moved into the old DWU building because it was available, familiar, and had the facilities that I needed. It had worked long enough to get us off the ground.

Jensen shook his head, "Nothing yet. But it might be good for us to find solutions before they start picking wallpaper for us."

Adam then looked around the table. I could see Amy had pulled a notebook out and was working on something, holding her experiment jar in one hand. Clearly she was working on her own thing, which was fine, she didn't have much to contribute yet.

"The next problem is that we're going to get pressure about the employees," he continued, "I've already had several requests to hand over the files. I haven't done so yet, but that probably hasn't stopped the security checks from starting," he then gave a long look at Jean, which… I didn't really understand, but promised to look into it later.

The older man said, folding his hands on the table. "Simply put, half of the people in Zero Dawn would not pass an in-depth government background check. That includes both your father and yourself."

"What," I asked, shocked at the declaration. I would fail a security check? How? What would cause Adam to come to that conclusion? There was nothing that should cause any sort of security issues for me. I was only fifteen for fuck's sake?! What could I have done that would have warranted a failure?

"Do you really want to know, Boss? Or would you prefer to be told privately?"

"I'd like to know, thank you very much!"

"Your mother's connections to Lustrum will raise a red flag," Jensen told me, his voice completely unchanged, like he was discussing the weather, "in-depth government background checks don't just stop at you. They look at every facet of your life: friends, family, even if you smoked underage. Anything that could cause possible security or character issues is gone over with a fine-toothed comb."

His hands opened, "Now, that doesn't mean they will not grant an exemption for you, but for the rest of the people that raise a red flag, it may not be so easy. You probably have the right of it in that you will be able to transfer them to someplace non-essential, but it may not be enough. It's an entirely different beast altogether when dealing with background checks like these."

Dad spoke up, a hint of anger in his voice, "We can't just let people go. Not after they've worked so hard to get us here! Yes, I know that some people did what they had to in order to keep food on the table. I don't fault them for that. We just can't start stepping on them now. It's not right."

He then looked at Jean, then to me, looking for support. And just for a moment? I hesitated. Yes, it would be simpler to let everyone go. But it would be wrong, for both moral and business reasons. Jenson spoke up as I thought things over.

"It's not a question of if a person is good or bad. It's a question of pressure points, Boss. Divided loyalties. Blackmail. Leverage. Anything that might make a person vulnerable to outside influence is going to be flagged."

I raised a hand to stop Dad from arguing back, "We're going to cooperate with the checks," I felt myself flush as Dad sighed and deflated in his seat.

At least let me finish before judging me, Dad.

"We're also not going to let anyone go regardless of past actions. Unless we have clear evidence of outside influence or divided loyalties, they are going to remain as part of ZDT," I could see him sitting back up and smiling at me.

Again, Dad…just let me finish.

I looked over at Jensen, then Jean, then Dad, "However, we are going to set up some separation. The Dockworkers are going to be busy with the harbor restoration and then shipping when the port reopens. The DWU will be restored back to its own entity, connected with Zero Dawn but running their own affairs. We'll try and keep anyone we can as part of Zero Dawn. But if we can't, then they will have a place with the DWU unless they choose not to. If that were to happen, they will be offered a severance package. Inside Zero Dawn, we'll set up security levels to compartmentalize the company. Adam, can you organize that? I am thinking three levels of clearance should be sufficient."

The man nodded, making a note, "I'm thinking five, but I'll work on the issue. You're hoping that by doing this you'll keep Washington happy?"

"It will at least keep them happy enough to compromise. Jean," I looked back at my vice-president, "I'd like you and Adam to look into building and land purchases for future ZDT office and workshop space. We're clearly going to have to move if what you are saying is true. And it's better that we do it on our own terms."

"I'll look into it, I've also got a list of properties that you asked for last week. It's probably best to hold off a day or so on the new office space. We should be getting a federal liaison officer who will be our point of contact. They should have a report from the Major about security concerns, or at least be able to arrange a meeting," Jean pulled another note from the stack next to her, "Also, Taylor. Your security detail is going to be arriving around the same time."

I quickly gulped down a mouthful of my tea, "My what? I thought that's what the Major was here for?"

Jean glanced at Adam before answering, "No, the Air Force unit was a stop-gap measure. They're going to be leaving within the month, once your security team settles in and they have finalized their reports."

"And I'll be working with them to reorganize our security for the compound," Adam added.

I looked between the two of them, before Amy caught my eye. She was raising her hand, which focused everyone on her and she dropped it hesitantly.

"Sorry Amy, you have something to add?"

The frizzy-haired girl took a breath before answering, "Yes, umm…with all of these restrictions and everything…is this 'Strategic Asset' designation really something you want," she then took a quick glance around the table, "I mean, it seems to have a lot of restrictions and negatives, and we're only just getting started."

I gave her a sad grin, "Victim of my own success, I suppose. And yes, this is all very good for us. First off, we're going to get more support and protection against the PRT and various laws regarding parahuman powers. More importantly, we're going to get protection from lawmakers. We also get priority access to materials, shipping, grant money, and paperwork submissions. I think there's some tax exemptions as well."

"But more importantly? We're going to get access to more support in sourcing industrial areas," I pulled up a list displaying it on the wall-screen, "Basically, the Government will buy factories for us, then give us generous terms to pay for them. And we can get access to industrial land which is being held by banks due to bankruptcy or other such."

"But probably most importantly," I looked them all over again, "It grants us connections with other companies that will allow us to license our products and materials if we are currently unable to produce them. This increases our overall footprint in the economy, and also will provide us additional streams of income without putting strain upon our current resources."

I looked back to Amy, who was looking back at me, chewing her lip. I gave her a smile to reassure her, "Yes, there are downsides. But I want to bring my technologies to everyone. This will help me do it. So, at the end of the day, I can live with it."

I didn't look over at Dad. I could feel him giving me a sad and concerned look. It was over and done with. Not like I could seal Pandora's Box now that I had opened it. Besides, people always seem to forget how the story ends. FIrst, all of the evils burst out, but at the bottom hope is found. Pandora just had to get through the bad to find the good.

"Yes, I agree we're well-positioned for growth, Taylor. But we have no money to fuel it," Jean spoke up in the ensuing silence. She looked around, "I don't want to be known as the woman constantly harping about dollars, but the reality is we're running very low on available funds. And it is categorically impossible for our investors to put more money into Zero Dawn. Mr. Gabriel has been hit hard by the devastation in Boston, and Mr. Fontaine is currently unable to assist. With the projected expenditures for pay, material purchases, overtime, and other things, we're going to be in the red within months."

"I have a solution. And I'm well aware that the investors are awaiting their return of the sixty million dollars investment. If you speak to them, please give them my assurances that profits are on the horizon," I pulled up some images on the screen hanging on the wall. I saw Amy's jaw drop at the numbers. Containing my grin, I kept moving forward.

"I'm expecting that various government departments and programs will want immediate access to the Focus devices and supporting systems. Some of which are not yet in production. The goal would be to get advance payment to start the production lines for the Ptah and Ananke, which will both be able to be stress-tested here with the DWU and security team. As well as my guards."

That was going to be our 'in' for large amounts of money. Thankfully, the Focus was only one facet of the entire system, just to support it would require servers and data systems in order to sustain it.

Something to discuss.

"Another element that I have been putting off for a while has been the possibility of licensing. For example," with a wave of my hand, I pulled up an image of the wiring used in the Machines, "This wiring is 186% better than current industry standard for high end electronics."

I then brought up the computer chips that went into Sobek, "These are 353% faster than the current top of the line processors."

Finally, I brought up the batteries that were currently in use to store power inside the Machines, "And these are nearly 1030% more efficient than the current DragonTech batteries."

Jean looked at the images, her jaw dropping. Yes, she had missed this aspect of our business. And as much as it pained me to say it, I had watched Greg's livestream. The comments had reminded me of what I had failed to do as a responsible business leader. But I had spent so long focusing on the entirety of the machines and the end-product Foci to prepare for Leviathan that I had ignored the important fact that all the parts that made up those products? Were all better than almost everything on the market right now. And selling those products? The pieces that could go into new machines that other companies would make? It would make us a lot of money, with limited effort on our parts. No marketing, no sales expenses. Just pure money.

Money that we needed now.

"I know you already have people talking to you about licensing, Jean, and I'm sorry that I'm going to add to your workload, but we should probably start reaching out to other tech and construction companies. Even if it's licensed production, it will start quickly filling our coffers. We will just have to be careful not to upset the industry and market too much. With the new factories we can start production and have them shipped out so other companies can start developing new products. After we keep what we need, of course."

Jean was writing furiously, "And what are we going to do with this potential windfall?"

"Hiring and expanding. It's very clear we need more staff. A proper team for marketing, accounting, HR, hiring and a whole bunch more that I'm forgetting right now. And that's before we start looking at expanding. We have the DWU, who are going to be working with the Docks reopening. We also have the ships that are going to be scrapped soon. That's going to take a lot of heavy machinery and general labor experience."

Taking a sip from the tea for my parched throat, I continued, "And then, we're going to expand our operations. We need a special medical team for Amy, and a general medical department for tools, machines and the prosthetics that I'm going to transfer over. We're looking for experts: Medical engineers, doctors, chemists, and more. I want to also start buying housing properties once we have the money. Apartments and otherwise, both here and in Boston. We have a lot of tech that can be used for construction. And if you give me a few days, I'll have some solid improvements for solar panel production. And that will allow us to employ more people in Brockton Bay and Boston."

"But that's for the future, Taylor," Jean said, typing something in her tablet, "once we start getting concrete figures, then we can start discussing hiring and land purchases. Though, I have a good feeling, based upon what you are saying, that the money situation will likely disappear shortly."

"Thank you. Now, moving on, what are we going to be doing in the interim. Focus production will continue in preparation for our release of the Hathor device. I know we're probably going to have to renegotiate with the phone companies on the matter after Boston, but I think the prospect of money and the government backing us is going to make them change their tune quickly. We're still probably going to have to negotiate with them the necessary upgrades to their network in order to provide full support for the device, but I think we are going to be in a position of power to enforce it."

I thought about the communications system I'd shoved into the Titan. Yes, that would certainly be an upgrade over the current wireless services. I had a feeling that once the telecom companies became aware of it, they would be beating down our doors for it.

"Next, the LRL. As of right now, they will be returning back to Brockton within the week. I have already discussed withdrawing them with Governor Herres and he agreed that their service is no longer needed at this time. The next month or so will be spent reviewing the data from Boston and implementing possible modifications and improvements to the design. Right now, I don't believe there will be too many orders for the design, at least not until people have had enough time to digest the information. Also, part of the hiring surge will be building a team around the Light Rescue Lance. Future development, training crews to work with the LRL and other machines, marketing and sales, things like that. When I get around to developing the Medium and Heavy Lances, they will also take control of that."

See Herres…I can delegate. Some part of me knew that I should let it go. Maybe next week.

"Those machines are a PR coup," Jean cut in, and I found myself nodding in response, "the only thing even coming close to the phone calls for interviews have been the phone calls from several companies about using their likeness in toys and other things, Taylor. It'd be a mistake not to utilize it."

"I don't disagree, but perhaps it would be wise if we tap the experience of someone who has been involved in licensing like you are suggesting," I then turned my head to Amy, "Amy, do you think you can help Jean with some of the licensing."

"Oh, umm, me," she looked flustered that I was asking her for help, "I mean, I don't really know, Carol handled a lot of the licensing deals. I just…kinda did what she wanted."

"But you do have an eye for it, Amy. You were the one that suggested that the Burrowers play those games with the children. That and the dance video of the Burrower."

"It just kinda came to me."

"But it did a lot for the image, Amy. You also have experience in dealing with these companies, I'd rather have you take a look over it with Jean. Just make sure we're doing it right, okay? Rather have people I trust than passing it off to someone I don't know."

"Okay," the girl burrowed into her seat. I hope I wasn't putting too much pressure. But I wanted to make her part of the team, and that meant giving her work in order to integrate her.

"Only thing I would add to this is that if we are going to license out likenesses, let's maximize it for the children. That will be the fastest way to normalize the idea of machines like the LRL." Jean nodded, "I'll reach out to Hasbro and other such companies."

"Moving on to the next subject, tooling," I turned to my father, "Dad, I know we discussed this in the past, but we can't ignore it anymore: We need to accelerate upgrading or replacing our tools and machinery. I know I have placed you in an awkward position because a lot of these tools and machines that we need are custom-built and designed, but we need to start looking at moving it all in-house."

"If we're looking in a new building space, should we really be looking into upgrades now? WHy not wait until we have a better idea of locations before going all-in on big spending," Dad nodded at Jean, "Not to mention that big spending is something to be shy about right now."

I bit my lip, running the numbers. Damn, he was right, "Alright…I would still like estimates. Go through our stock and see what needs improving or upgrading."

"I'll have to sit down with Kurt and Lacey. They'll know better what we can and cannot do with what we have. I'm not criticizing, but it would have been a lot easier if we had focused on building the tools first instead of going all-in on the LRL."

I know it wasn't a criticism, but at the same time, I fought the urge to bristle at the same old argument being brought up. I know what I had done went against the grain of everything an engineer should do. Tools to make tools to make machines were the core of any engineer's repertoire, and I had actively thumbed my nose by forcing the building of those machines before we had the exact tools. It resulted in more man-hours having to be spent and an inferior quality, but I would not have changed it for anything else in light of the lives saved.

Instead, I nodded my head in acknowledgment that he was right, but kept the thought that he was also wrong to myself, instead changing the subject, "Had to be done. Finally, I think we need to discuss future projects, specifically what we are going to sell to the government going forward. In addition to Amy's medical technology, there are a few other technologies we can start building now without having to wait and build up a larger production base."

I then brought up my Focus, accessing a set of files that I had selected for this meeting. A few of them I had worked during my downtime in Boston, where I had the opportunity to identify things that could meet a demand, or could have improved the situation in Boston if they had been available. Others were concepts that had been more…recently inspired.

"First, I want to get us to get started on medical technology. The Focus was good as a stop-gap measure once we uploaded the medical diagnostic programs, but it might as well have been a thermometer in comparison to what we could be fielding. There is, of course, the Ptah-pattern Focus, but we have the opportunity for portable medical devices that can scan and provide data for the doctors and medical personnel in the field. Imagine medical personnel, before the patient even reaches the hospital, can scan and identify trauma and prepare the medical staff that are going to receive the patient."

I then brought up a series of images and schematics. At the core of it was the diagnosis tool that was akin to a wand that could be waved over the patient, with the data being fed into the rest of the system. It wouldn't likely meet the fidelity of the larger machines, especially once other advances appeared, but it wasn't supposed to replace them in the first place.

"We'll probably have to license this out, unfortunately. I don't see us having the capacity to produce this for the foreseeable future. But it's another avenue of income, and I have no doubt it will be in high demand. At the price tag I'm imagining for the materials, even sold at minimal profit, you could have local clinics in most rural areas able to afford it."

Amy had perked up from what she was doing, her gaze looking over the device with a curious look on her face. Jean's expression was closely guarded. I knew it would be a hard sell, I was stretching us further than thin, but these were things that I wanted to sell to the government now, now that we were on the clock for another possible Endbringer strike in three months. The sooner we started preparations, the better.

"Finally, and I am going to push hard on this," I swiped another file into the projector, and this time I brought up a new image. This one had the full schematics and blueprints, all the way down to the engines themselves, "I want to invest into drone technology. I know this is a leap, but it's not much different than the LRL is right now. One of the difficulties we had with Boston was that we were reliant upon flight-capable capes and helicopters once we had them. But for those first hours, we lost critical information that could have resulted in better response times and saved more lives. The Skywatcher is small enough to be transportable, but has enough fuel and resources to stay aloft for hours at a time. With its sensors and ability to integrate with the Focus network. If we had just four of these for Boston, we could have had round the clock aerial coverage to provide better responses."

"If we're going to be discussing more machines, then we need to have this discussion now. How are we going to handle the rollout of Blaze? I got back details on the production facility you are proposing, but a lot of people are going to be very concerned about bio-conversion tech. That's without commenting on the pushback we'll see from oil and gas interests," Jean spoke up.

Our meeting didn't finish for another hour, planning how best to move the company forward. Several plans were stuck waiting on the federal liaison and security team. But it was enough that we had a plan and direction.

Stretching, I walked over to Amy. I wanted to see how she was getting on with writing out the production process for her synthetic blood.

---

AEH​

---

Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Jean Brown. I am the Vice-President of Zero Dawn Technologies. I will start with a prepared statement, then take several questions. Please note, that a technical demonstration of our products is currently being planned, but I have no date to provide at this time. All requests for private interviews are currently being denied.

—-

Q: Ms. Brown, incorporation documents state that Taylor Hebert is the CEO of this company, on top of being its Director of Research and Development. How do you respond to accusations that this constitutes child exploitation and work safety violations?

A: We previously had a visit from both the PRT and Child Protective Services. They found no issues and provided several recommendations that we have put into effect. We have also been in close contact with OSHA concerning Miss Hebert's presence, and have abided by their directives.

—-

Q: The connection between Zero Dawn and the military is clear. What kind of weapons systems are being developed? Does Zero Dawn plan on weaponizing its machines or bio-conversion technology?

A: We do not. Yes, Zero Dawn is working to develop military equipment. We are, however, not developing weapons.

—-

Q: What limitations are in place to prevent the AI-driven machines from breaking loose. Do we need to fear another AI incident on the level of Eagleton?

A: The machine intelligence in our robots are created with a new programming language that is understandable to a skilled technician.. It is nowhere approaching the scale of artificial general intelligence. These are not Tinkertech. As such, there are clear safeties

—-

Q: Why is Ms. Hebert, who is clearly a Tinker, not a member of the Wards? Why has Zero Dawn not been working with the PRT and the Protectorate?

A: As I have said before, Ms. Hebert is not a Tinker, she's a Thinker. Her power lets her understand technology. Zero Dawn builds it for her.

—-

Q: Word is that you took the machines being used to find survivors home early during search and rescue, due to design limitations and shortcomings. How many more will die because these Tinkertech machines were improperly fielded and poorly utilized?

A: That is categorically false. Our Light Rescue Lance performed far beyond expected limits, working four days without any downtime. They were only recalled with the agreement of the Interim government of Massachusetts, when rescue efforts were stepped down. They are now being called back to Brockton for evaluation and upgrades, and we hope to have the team back in Boston as soon as possible.

—-

Q: The Dockworkers Union has been working with the military to break down the Boston Corona. And in doing so, they have recruited prominents members of the Empire 88 gang. Notably, Purity and Rune.

A: I'm sorry, is there a question there?

Q: Yes. Do you feel that hiring these criminals minimizes their prior destructive actions?

A: No, I do not. I will note that the work being done on the Boston Corona is being done in cooperation with members of the Protectorate, Wards, and New Wave. This is a joint effort to bring relief to Boston and remove a blight in the Bay area. Our justice system has long had a history of reformation, and I hope that these women use this experience to turn their lives around.

No further questions.​

---

AEH​

---

Dennis Peters / Clockblocker

Brockton Bay

Dennis liked to make people laugh. Not just because it felt good, but because it helped smooth things over. Tense mood? Make someone smile. Bad news? Make a quip. Humor? It was like bomb disposal in tense social situations. Always valuable. Always a success.

Until it wasn't.

He reached up, prodding the bruise around his eye. Ah! Yeah, still tender. Did he deserve that sucker punch? Probably. That doctor who sat him down and gave him a beer seemed to think so. By the way? Beer? Worst stuff he's ever tasted. He didn't see the appeal.

But the man's explanation made sense, "Never make jokes at someone, because it's damn easy to miss the mark and turn it into an attack. You can make jokes about things they did, or do. But when you start mocking them? Then you're not entertaining, you're tearing them down. And that hurts. Laugh with a person, not at them."

He wanted to defend himself, but given that he had just been punched by an angry rescue worker? He gave the doctor the benefit of the doubt. Then he had been called back to Brockton, given a few days off, then put right back to work.

But those few days? He spent them with his dad. Which was…absolutely amazing. To see the man who had spent the last few years wasting away in a hospital bed up and moving around? It made him feel like he could take on Leviathan all over again. They talked, and he found himself both being praised and grilled for his actions with the medical teams in Boston.

His watch beeped, and he pulled his helmet back on.

Back to work.

Walking out of the small cabin, he pulled a backpack with him. Throwing it over his shoulder, he made his way to the edge of the boat. It was damn impressive working here, looking up at the wreck from the smaller boat that he was on. He remembered when he and the other Protectorate teams had first arrived. The Boston Corona was a floating mountain of rusted steel, crushed up against the breakwater on the inside edge of the harbor. Now? It was looking more and more like a carved up carcass. With ladders and rope bridges running back and forth between the breakwater and the wreck on one side and floating ships on the other.

He adjusted his radio, turning it up again, hearing the call and response to people across the worksite. Picking his way across the rope bridge, he entered through a cut in the side of the Corona and started climbing the inside stairs. The process for gutting the ship was fairly simple, really. With the Blaster and Shaker capes on hand, they were a full demo team. New Wave were the cutters, carving up pieces of the ship to be hauled onto the distant beach or shoreline. Glory Girl, Shielder, and Manpower were haulers, GG especially. Several tons of steel were nothing to her, it was just a question of making sturdy handles. Loads that were too large tore apart under their own weight, and awkward shapes were awkward. Together, the family first carved off any loose bits. Cranes, pipes, exhaust, the entirety of the raised bridge area. As well as carrying any leftover cargo containers that were inside the ship.

Then…the big guns were called in. Purity had been a staple of Brockton cape life since he had joined the Wards. She was the strongest Blaster on the East Coast right after Legend. Her normal white helix beams were crushing concussive force. But…

He reached the top deck and looked out on the work area.

"Mr. Clock, hello there."

"Hello ma'am, everything going well?"

Yes, that was Purity standing in front of him. A surprisingly short, brown-haired woman in white leather. With a white safety helmet, orange safety vest, and a radio clipped to a borrowed belt. Yes, he was being very polite even if she looked ridiculous and got his name wrong. Why? Because it turned out Purity could control her beams, changing them from concussive force to cutting force. And after he watched the diminutive woman cut off the front of the ship like she was cutting a wedding cake? Several hundred tons of steel?! He was going to be very polite.

Also, whoever had given the woman who glowed a radiant white light a high-vis vest? He wanted to shake their hand. Because they knew exactly what they were doing with that one.

"Pixie! We're ready for you!"

The pair of them looked over, seeing a man waving at them from the end of the ship. Purity gave him a nod and started walking. That was another thing. Apparently the woman was trying to go hero. Or rebranding. Or something. It was far beyond Dennis' paygrade. He spent a moment watching the crews talk with Pixie, before she glowed and lifted up off the deck.

The Navy and Dockworkers were the coordinators for this project. They had spray-painted lines of various colors and lengths all over the ship, denoting cut points for the various Capes. They maintained the hours, controlled radio communications, and gave instructions where needed. They also took care of clearing out some of the fuel-oil and chemicals that somehow still sat in the tanks of the wreck. On shore, the DWU were hard at work with cutting tools, rending down the pieces that were deposited for them. Then loading the scrap onto waiting train cars.

Honestly? After the devastation in Boston, it was nice to be doing this. Seeing progress being made. All of this working was bringing life back to the Bay. Clock listened and chatted with the workmen and women who he now worked beside, and there was a palpable sense of energy about them.

THUMP.

He glanced over, feeling a twist of nerves sink into his belly. Rune stepped off her current ride, a solid steel bulkhead door that had come off the wreck. With her ability to control materials, she was invaluable in keeping material moving, as well as getting people around quickly in hard to reach areas.

"Clockboy," she nodded, brushing down her outfit.

He bit back his first response and settled on a safer second one, "Short shift today? Must be nice," he gave her a smile, not really wanting to anger her.

Working with Rune in Boston was…an experience. When he first got the news, he had been tense like a live wire, just waiting for her to float too high and shove him off the floating platform she commanded. But that never came. Instead, he got a worn-out girl who swore constantly, and who kept her hands in fists to keep them from shaking after Leviathan. The back and forth between the two of them was for both their sakes. The banter kept them from focusing on the dead and dying as they were combing the city to find survivors.

As things calmed, he found himself relaxing. Sure, she had seen his face, just as he had hers. But worrying about such things after surviving a city-killing hydrokinetic seemed…so silly. They both knew the score. They didn't talk about friends, or agencies, or beliefs. He didn't try to recruit her, and she didn't do the same. They complained about their bosses and cracked jokes about the situations they found themselves in. He honestly didn't expect anything to come of it.

Until he was pulled in to assist in this scrapping project. He was, oddly enough, the safety guy. With his time-stop powers, he could freeze a person and keep them safe if something went wrong.

Rune buffed her nails against her outfit, faking her inspection of them, "Well, you know how it is. They only call in the real talent when they need it. If they need dumb labor, they've got you all day."

Oh, that was a good one, but he wasn't going to let her have the last word, "Yeah, but I'm so damn pretty just standing around."

"So is a mannequin, at least those have good outfits most of the time," she smiled, and his gut twisted.

Fuck it all.

He pulled his backpack around, "Alright, real talk."

She tensed at his tone. He didn't really know how to say this, but like his mouth had done in Boston, he just forged on ahead, "Look, I made you something. It was meant to be a gag."

She bristled in response, getting ready to stomp over and get in his face, "If you think you're going to put a muzzle on me you—"

"Wait! Wait! No! It's not like that! Gag gift. Like a joke gift!"

Oh fuck it all, he opened his pack and pulled out the safety helmet he had made. Painted a dark green, with long foam ears sticking out the sides. He offered it out to her. She stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending.

"Look, I recently got told that I'm less funny than I think I am. And my sense of what other people might find funny is sometimes out of whack. So…I hope you find it funny. Because if not? I'm throwing it over the side and never talking about this again," he finished in a rush, waiting for her reply as he held the helmet towards her. The silence stretched.

"I don't get it."

He blinked. Tilting his head in confusion as rune crossed her arms and looked away, "It's a Yoda helmet. Little green guy? 'Use the Force!', 'Size matters not' and all that?"

"From a movie?"

For a moment, he was stuck. Then he bit back his first response again, which was to question if she lived under a rock her whole life, or mock her childhood. Wow…he really could be an ass. Here's to trying to be better.

"Yeah, from a movie. Series of movies actually. Yoda is this cool old guy who can move stuff with his mind and you kind of do the same with your power. So, I thought it would be fun to make the connection. Let you play the character."

The young woman looked down, kicking the ground a few times and letting her boots scuff the metal deck, "...My parents didn't believe in that stuff. Didn't approve. So…I've never seen it."

He swallowed. After a limited amount of time that he had spent with the girl, he knew that she hated to talk about her parents or her own faults.

"Okay, well…Movie night then," his mouth moved but his brain wasn't really thinking right now. He was just as shocked as Rune appeared to be.

She took a step forward, jutting a finger in his face, "If this is an attempt at getting me into that little circle jerk fan club of yours, I swear that—"

"Easy there, tiger. It's not like that. Movie night. Projector, some wall on a building roof, a pair of speakers, and popcorn. Nothing complicated."

Yes, his brain was dead, his mouth was moving on its own.

She folded her arms, shifting her weight as she looked him over, "Fine."

"Great! No idea when, but we'll set something up, after we carve this ship to pieces. Until then," he dropped the green helmet on his head. He was sure that it looked ridiculous, given that he was already wearing his costume helmet. He shifted his voice a little, "Hmm, teach you I will, the mysteries of the Force," he then laughed like the green little goblin he was portraying, his nerves getting the better of himself.

"You are so weird," Rune mocked. But she was smiling.

He liked her smile.

---

AEH​

---

Various PRT Directors have made it clear that they plan to attend the Boston Memorial ceremonies taking place on May 28th. Director Armstrong, a well-respected member of the PRT, was one of the casualties when the PRT offices were hit during Leviathan's attack. A unifying figure among the cape community, Director Armstrong had been rumored to be the next in line for the position of Chief Director for his great work in stabilizing Boston during the events of the so-called 'Boston Games'. Chief Director Costa-Brown will also attending the ceremonies in Boston. A number of senators will also be attending, paying respects to those lost.​

---

AEH​

---

Jack Ryan

"Good to see you, Jack," Vincent Durling walked in. The Secret Service spread out across the room as the two men shook hands.

"Good to see you too, Vincent, thanks for making the trip this evening."

"Bag, it's good for me to get out of the White House. Helps clear the mind. Speaking of, how're you holding up? Got banged up pretty bad in Boston. Still walking with that cane?"

He chuckled as the two men took seats in the private lounge that he had cultivated. Private, swept for bugs regularly, and with rich carpets and tapestries to trap the sound.

"Political theater. Don't worry about it. I'm more worried about you! How're you holding up, Vincent? It's been a rough week and a half for you."

The man seemed to age before his eyes. Durling sighed, letting go of the 'presidential bearing' that he had carried for the past two terms, "A rough week? Call it what it is, Jack. It's the end of my presidency. Hells, the end of my time in politics. It's pretty much official. The party won't have anything to do with me after this. They'll block any attempt to oust me, but beyond that? I'm a seat warmer until the next President takes office."

The man fell silent, gazing off into the distance. He let the man think, the two of them had grown accustomed to the ways and methods of each other in the years that they had been working in politics.

Durling then eyed him, "Give it to me straight, Jack. Did I do the right thing in Boston?"

He pulled himself out of his chair, making his way over to the liquor cabinet.

"If we're going to talk straight, we should be drinking straight," he declared, listening to Durling laugh as he fetched a bottle and glasses. Returning to the table, he settled into his armchair across from the most powerful man in the free world. Pouring a measure, he slid the glass over before filling his own. Putting the bottle down, he then grabbed his own glass and held it up, "23,173. That's how many people pulled from the rubble. Then there are the tens of thousands more who found treatment and shelter from the cold, the rain, and the water. Take comfort in that, Mr. President. Those people are alive because you put good men in a position to do more good."

Durling swirled his glass, then gently clinked it against his own. Taking a small sip, he sat back and continued speaking, "Damn it all Vincent, the question of continuity of governance should have been cleared up years ago. Back when Behemoth hit Manhattan. I missed it, you missed it, your predecessors missed it. And every damn senator, congressman, and pundit who's bleating about 'procedure' also missed it.

He then sampled his drink again, enjoying the slow burn. He might be getting older, but that just meant that he appreciated things more.

"Why? Because we were arrogant. We watched the rest of the world fall apart and felt safe in our borders. Why? Because we had 'heroes'. The Protectorate. The Triumvirate. The greatest heroes in the world. We willfully ignored the fact that the Triumvirate only became the 'tri' because one of those greats were killed. We ignored the warning signs that our heroes aren't as great as we imagined they were, when they broke during the Ellisburg attack."

Jack took a breath, breathing out slow. He was angry. Not at Durling, but at himself. Because he had made the choice to slowly build the case against the supposed 'protection' offered by the PRT and Protectorate. It was a byproduct of his time with the CIA. Too much time spent in the shadows and crafting plans had dulled his sense to take action. It didn't help that the foe that he was rallying against was also one of the largest bureaucratic organizations in the government that had cultivated an image with the simple message of 'leave everything to us'. No collective effort needed. Leave the world to the singular exemplar. Leave it to the heroes.

"Things have to change."

Durling took a sip and gave him a long look, "I take it you have a plan?"

He smiled, he was done trying to form a meticulous plan that covered all avenues, he was going to tap into that which had made him a rising star in the intelligence community in the first place, "I have several. And it starts with the two of us getting into a screaming match, and me resigning from the Vice-Presidency."

Durling took a moment to look at him, then sat back with a sigh.

"Please tell me this isn't some complicated spy plot. I'm 73 years old for goodness sake!"

The two men laughed as he stood and strode over to his safe, proceeding to open it. His very secure, boobytrapped safe, with a hidden compartment with its own additional set of security within it. Would the Secret Service be annoyed at the explosives he had rigged it with? Maybe, probably, sure. But only if they were aware of it.

Closing the safe, he returned to the table with a file. The file. The one that had spurred his mad plan. Placing it down on the table, he sat back in his chair, "Read through this, sir. Tell me what you see?"

Durling placed his glass down, donned his glasses, and began to flip through the modest collection of papers.

"This is about Zero Dawn, that tech company you had me put a strategic asset tag on that everyone is talking about. These are…," by the third page he was silent. By the seventh, he was reading intently. He had the same reaction when he made the thing.

It had started with everything that Taylor Hebert was working on or developing using what she had and what she could get her hands on in short notice. When he had asked for more, anything that she could conceivably develop. The answer? Hundreds, possibly thousands of prototypes, concept products, and designs. Across dozens of different industries and disciplines. Then he had taken it a step further. Presenting it as a hypothetical to several tech and business interests that he had cultivated over the years. He asked how many products they could see developed off the products that she had created. The answer was thousands. Millions. Enough technology and knowledge to push industries forward decades in a single step. All that, condensed into a file detailing a possible future of the nation.

Durling closed the file, dropping his glasses on the manila as he looked over to him, "Why are you showing me this, Jack?"

"Because I need you to support her. Help that company grow. Give her government contracts, get the various spending committees to agree to send money her way. And most importantly? Keep her out of anyone else's hands."

"Jack, I can't just stick her in a vault. Our allies will absolutely crucify us if we keep them from getting access to her tech. I've already had diplomats asking about the new nuclear project the DOE is exploring. Sooner or later, this is going to blow up in our faces."

"We don't have to keep it contained forever. But it's us or our enemies. You think the Southern Cartels will sit quiet as we rebuild? Or the Russians? How about the Chinese Union Imperial? Zero Dawn Technologies is the key to pushing our economy and industry forward by decades. That's something our enemies can't allow. We have a month, likely weeks before intelligence assets descend on Brockton Bay and Boston like locusts. We have to be ready for that."

"And that's what you're doing? Getting back into the spy game?"

"You never really leave it, Vincent. I just chose to take a step back as the Vice President and let the machine work. But that doesn't mean I haven't kept a finger on the pulse and an ear to the ground. We need to change the playbook while we control the initiative."

Vincent was silent for what seemed like an eternity. The only sound in the room was the pendulum of the grandfather clock rocking back and forth in the room.

Finally, The President sighed, shaking his head, "Jesus Jack, if I'm losing you as my VP, I'm going to need to pick up a replacement," the older man tossed back his drink, a waste of perfectly good bourbon in his opinion, before placing down the glass, "Fine. But before you go running off, I'd like your opinion on what'll happen when I leave the office. Your insights have always been good."

"You mean for the election? With me falling out, I'm putting money on Shaw. The man marks all the checkboxes for what people will want in a leader. Ex-military, ex-PRT, he has that right balance of charisma and ability to give an outspoken opinion that even his enemies can agree to. He's going to build his entire platform around making noise about what he 'would do differently'. And he has the expertise to walk the walk. He's acting like the president, and he's getting that idea into everyone's heads."

Taking a sip of his own drink, he let that hang in the air for a few more moments, before continuing, "And chances are he'll ally himself with Costa-Brown, despite their mutual hatred for one another. She'll have no choice but to hitch her wagon to his because he's the best chance for her to push back against what has taken place in Boston, and she provides him with even more legitimacy on the Hill. So if anything, you should try and cut out more PRT control, and make it stick before he rolls out the welcome mat."

"The Hill is already making noise about panels and hearings for Boston. Now with the Canary report that Herres sent over? The Supreme Court is going to be pulled in, and that means that the Birdcage is going to be a major issue in the next election."

"Exactly. That's why we need to get things organized now. Pour the cement and make sure it's dry before Shaw takes office. That way he can't just flip a switch when his ass hits the seat."

"You mean that I'm going to spend the rest of my term fighting a political battle against the darling of the country, while you run around running covert ops that I don't want to know anything about. Damn…I'm almost glad that I'm going to be retiring after this."

"Look at it this way, Vincent. You'll have plenty of time putting together your memoirs and commissioning a presidential library."

"Fuck you very much, Jack," the man smiled, "Alright, so when does this all happen?"

He checked his watch theatrically, "Well, the people on my staff who like to gossip are going to be unloading a grocery run on the front lawn. So you've got time to finish another drink, then we'll walk, shout, and insult one another. And by this time tomorrow, it'll be all over the news cycle. We'll give it a few days, and then I'll announce my resignation."

Durling took the bottle, uncorking it and refilling his drink, "You're one crazy bastard, Jack."

"I try, Mr. President."

Taking his glass, the President held up his drink to his lips before pausing, "Did I ever tell you that I studied theater in college."

"I believe it came up on the campaign trail once or twice," he replied with a grin.

---

AEH​

---

New Details are beginning to emerge in the Bad Canary case. According to sources at the Department of Justice, the Judge Advocate General has issued a writ of certiorari to the Supreme Court for Paige Mcabee, better known as Bad Canary. In the document acquired by NBC News, Colonel Mathew Johnson accused Judge Peter Regan and District Attorney Deaton Finlay of a 'willful and malicious campaign to deny Ms. Mcabee her 4th, 5th, 6th, and 14th Amendment rights'. The document goes further in highlighting several instances of cruel and unusual punishment during her detention, along with a 'concerted effort' to deny Bad Canary an opportunity to defend herself.

The Supreme Court has issued no statement other than they had received the writ. When contacted by NBC News, Judge Regan's office declined to comment. District Attorney Finlay was unfortunately killed in the attack by Leviathan on April 12th. - NBC Nightly News​

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AEH​

---

Amy Dallon

Brockton Bay

"Thanks for the ride, Corporal."

"No problem, ma'am. It was nice talking with you," the twenty-something corporal said, "will you need a ride tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately, Corporal, I have to go back to school. If that changes, I'll let Taylor know."

"Very well, ma'am. Have a good night."

I watched for a moment as the Humvee drove away, enjoying the familiar sounds of the night standing at the end of the driveway. It's strange, what you get used to. With big parts of Boston without power, you could suddenly see the stars at night. That wasn't the case here in Brockton Bay. I'm not sure which I preferred honestly.

Slowly making my way to the front door, I reflected on…everything. A week-and-a-half ago, I was rushed out of the house in Vicky's arms to go save lives in Boston. THen I stayed a week longer than everyone else in my family. It wasn't like my time at the hospital downtown. I had been part of a team and was expected to explain my actions and make my own decisions about where my powers were best used. Which was scary! But also amazing! I would have actual conversations with doctors, rescuers, nurses, and technicians all about how much to heal a patient and where I could be most useful.

Yes, I missed home. I missed my room, my stuff, and my sister. But being away? It made coming back feel different. Tomorrow I was supposed to go back to high school. Sit in class and learn about ancient history or some other shit. I didn't hate school, it was fine. I hung out around Vicky and her friends, and just…got through it. But now I understood Taylor's complaints about her father pushing her back to finish school. We had talked about it a few times, during our lunch and dinner meet-ups. She wanted to be building stuff. Important stuff! Sitting in that meeting today? Hearing everything that Taylor wanted to do with her company and her designs? It was…amazing.

I wanted to be part of that. I wanted to change the world. And working with Taylor? I legitimately could. But instead, I would spend tomorrow being stared at in the hallways and having teachers drone at me all day.

I had always had these impulses, these stray thoughts that appeared sometimes when I was healing. It started years ago, when I kept seeing the same thing over and over again. This little thought that told me to change a person's bone structure so their bones were less fragile and prone to breaking. Or seeing another person with a failing immune systems, imagining how to tweak their systems to better fight off infection or sickness. I had been terrified of those impulses, fearing that I would one day lose control of my powers and be branded like Nilbog or Bonesaw.

But no one in that meeting at Zero Dawn raised a word of protest. Taylor didn't even answer her Vice President's questions about my abilities. She just…asked me more about my work. We talked about all the details: Shelf life, interaction with different drugs, temperature and handling instructions, and most importantly, we talked about what it would take to have this made without me. And that's without getting into Taylor's statement about getting me 'a team'. Apparently, Taylor wanted to make a medical division to make stuff with her tech. I would be part of that, but a special unit. Independent and able to work on my own projects. The team would be there to help work backwards from the finished products that my powers let me create.

I was genuinely excited. There was no timeline at the moment. Hiring people took time, especially in the medical field. But I already had ideas for future creations and even an improvement for my synth-blood. All my samples were left at Zero Dawn's headquarters, which was much safer than hiding them in the back of my closet.

Unlocking the front door, I made my way into the house, stumbling a little as there were more shoes than normal.

"I'm home," I called out. I wanted to see how Vicky was doing. I know I wasn't supposed to share everything, but I could at least tell her a little about joining the company. Taylor was having her VP draft up a work agreement, something 'reasonable' in her words. I…wasn't sure how to take that, given that she seemed to think that sixty million dollars was starting cash for her company. I was a little giddy to find out though.

"Amy? In here sweetie."

Huh, that was Aunt Sarah. They must have come over after the ship-breaking. I made my way into the living room and my smile dropped as I looked around the room.

There was Aunt Sarah with a small frown on her face. Crystal on the couch looked bored scrolling through her phone. Eric was here too. Vicky sat wedged in the corner of the couch, her legs pulled up to her chin. Mark sat in his armchair. Uncle Neil was in the other armchair. And in the middle of the room? Carol stood waiting for me.

"Amy. We need to talk about where you were today," she declared.

My stomach sank and I looked to Vicky with wide eyes. She looked at me for a moment, then dropped her head, biting her lip.

Vicky…what have you done?