Sprout 3.4 Part 2
AlSmash
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Another day, another chapter. This is the largest chapter I have ever written in my twenty years as a fanfic writer and is almost double the next largest chapter in this story. It truly is surprising, and honestly humbling for my team and myself to do all of this and have you all reading it. I've also put together a Patreon for art commissions for the story. Examples being the mural that we described in the previous chapter, or maybe a picture of Taylor and a certain Burrower that's getting some traction. All in all, I would like to use it as a means to expand upon the story itself. I've got an artist I would like to pester that some of you in the Worm community may know.
Either way, plans are starting to form, pieces are coming onto the board, and not everything is necessary working in the heroes favor. But enough of that, here's the story itself.
Sprout 3.4 Part 2
Victoria Dallon
Brockton Bay
Everything was a little out of control and she didn't know how to fix this. It had started with Amy staying in Boston to help with rescue efforts at the governor's request. Which was fine. There was a good system for her helping the doctors, and Mom had given her blessing after she made it clear that Amy wasn't to be overworked.
She had been thrilled to see Amy this morning! She wanted to tell her about how the work was being done tearing down that ship and how she was now being encouraged to break stuff. That would have gotten a laugh and a dry comment from her sister anyday! But instead…Amy just ran off again. And she was acting weird. Secretive, even. And definitely evasive. She knew a thing or two about evasive, she used it all the time. But Amy didn't, so it was weird.
Soooo…she had followed her. Flying low to the rooftops, keeping the army truck in sight. And it had driven up to Zero Dawn Headquarters. Which had armed guards. And protestors. And was constantly in the news.
And she panicked. So she called Mom, because while she was sometimes a lot, her mother always had an answer to things.
But this time? She might have been wrong to do that. Maybe.
She looked around the room, seeing Crystal texting something on her phone, her expression pensive. Eric was relaxing with a drink, and Neil and Mark were chatting in armchairs. She heard the door open and tension curled in her gut.
Aunt Sarah then spoke up, "Amy? In here, sweetie."
Amy walked in and immediately froze in place as she took in the family gathered in the room.
"Amy. We need to talk about where you were today," Mom declared. Amy looked at her, wide-eyed but with a mix of emotions on her face that took Vicky a moment to was surprise, but also a guarded wariness that she had rarely, if ever seen on her sister's face. Vicky bit her lip, feeling that uncomfortable feeling squeezing in her gut again.
"I was out with a friend." Amy finally said in a flat voice, clearly disinclined to elaborate. Vicky winced, knowing that was exactly the wrong response and could already anticipate what would come next..
"Don't lie, Amy." Mom's voice was cold and unyielding, her stance almost bordering on aggressive as she stared down at Amy. Vicky felt her gut clench a third time at the wounded expression that crossed Amy's face. She wished that Mom had handled that a little bit more delicately. They were supposed to be worried about her, not acting like she was a criminal!
"Amy, we're just worried about you," Aunt Sarah interjected in a conciliatory tone , trying to play the mediator before the conversation devolved into an outright argument. "With Leviathan, and then you staying in Boston…we don't know what's really going on."
Amy folded her arms, apparently unimpressed with the effort being made by Aunt Sarah, "I was visiting a friend. It was a work thing."
Amy then looked to Aunt Sarah, even as Vicky tried to catch her eye. She needed to fix things, "Look, if Amy says she's fine, then we should trust her…right? I think we're making a big thing out of nothing."
The look Amy shot her was…not friendly and it certainly wasn't thankful for her attempt. It was clear that Amy could put two and two together, and figured out that she was the one that told their mom. Which was true, but she was worried!
"Stop trying to avoid the subject, Amy. We know you went to Zero Dawn this afternoon," Mom finally snapped, showing no sign that she had even heard or cared about Vicky's attempt to de-escalate.
"Carol. Please relax," Aunt Sarah said, looking to stop Mom flying off the rails, but Amy chose to answer before she could get any traction
"Yes. Fine. I was there. I was invited. I don't see how that's any of your business, even if someone decided not to trust me," Amy glared at Vicky. She never glared! At least not to her. Maybe something was actually wrong?
"I told you to stay away from that company, and from Taylor Hebert!" Mom fired back, her voice rising slightly. Vicky flinched minutely at that, unsure what to do or say that would divert what she could see coming
"You mean the Hero of Boston? That Taylor Hebert? The one you spuriously called a villain," Amy retorted, not backing down at all.
Mom grit her teeth, her spine straightening, "I will admit…I was wrong about her character. But it doesn't change the fact that she and her company are immensely disruptive, and that is NOT something that New Wave will get caught up with. Which is why I told you to stay away!"
Mom looked around the room, settling on Aunt Sarah, "New Wave has always been independent. And we are NOT going to change that now. Working with her is equal to signing up to be government capes and completely side-stepping the PRT. We are not the CUI, there is a system in place for capes, and we will respect it, even if we're not part of it."
"Oh really?" Amy shot back, her voice rising, "Didn't this family change over from the Brockton Bay Brigade because Aunt Sarah wanted to disrupt cape society and inspire everyone to unmask? Like Taylor has done herself? And how much money did this family make taking apart that freighter? I saw it when we flew in this morning. How much goodwill did that single project do for the city, huh?"
Aunt Sarah flinched, walking over to Mom, "Yes, we helped out with that. And yes, we are being compensated. But we made it clear that it was a one time thing. Getting involved with Zero Dawn? That's different."
"If you work with them," Mom added in, "how long before they figure out exactly what you can do? How long before they lock you up because they're scared of what you can do?!"
"As opposed to what," Amy roared back, "Working at the hospital constantly? Letting you look over and give approval for every single patient I can see? How is that helping!? How am I being a Hero with that?!"
She found herself looking at her sister like…she had never seen her before. All of this anger…she had thought that Amy was happy with things. But…maybe she hadn't asked the right questions. Her chest squeezed as she pulled her legs up tighter and Amy continued.
"This 'team' makes money off my healing. Something that I didn't even know about until three weeks ago! I don't even get to choose the charity cases that I take on. Charity cases, like a girl who was blinded with acid by the daughter of one of your coworkers!"
The room went quiet.
"If Amy wants to work at Zero Dawn, just let her." Crystal spoke up, drawing everyone's stares. Crystal shrank a little from the attention, but continued, "Look, I'm not here that often, so I don't know everything about this. But it seems like there is a lot of support for the company. And it's not like they're going to make bioweapons in their basement. It makes robots!"
"What do they even want you for anyways?" Dad asked, adding himself to the conversation.
Amy blinked, taking a moment to rebalance herself, "Oh, um…Taylor is developing a blood substitute. Something that will actually carry oxygen and be given to patients regardless of blood type. She wanted me to test it, to make sure that it wouldn't cause problems before it went to trials."
"That sounds cool," Dad offered a reassuring smile, "Is it because of Boston that she's working on that?"
"Yeah. The constant need for blood drives was a big problem for treating the injured, so we started talking while we were in Boston," Amy relaxed slightly, causing Vicky to relax a little as the tension in the room seemed to diminish a bit. This was good. It was nice to hear what she had been up to in Boston. The most they had been able to talk during their separation were through a few quick text messages exchanged in the evening.
But she knew there was still something wrong with what she had just heard. Because she had seen Amy rummaging around in her closet. She had prepared a backpack and then left with it. Which meant…Amy was lying. And Vicky was the only one who knew. What was she supposed to do?
"That's all well and good, but that doesn't change the facts. It is dangerous for you to be working closely with Zero Dawn. Nevermind that you went behind our backs to do it; after I told you flat out to stay away," Mom snapped in a harsh voice. "You're doing good work at the hospital helping people in a safe and constructive way. This plan of yours is jeopardizing that."
Goddammit Mom, Vicky watched as Amy tensed back up, her expression closing off again,"Well maybe I don't want to keep working at the hospital, has that occurred to you? Maybe I want more than the repetition of healing the same thing over and over and over again because people are stupid or desperate enough and can pay me to erase their mistakes," Amy snarled in response and shot a glare towards her. Vicky felt her insides freeze at what Amy was hinting at. Was she going to…?
Crystal was sitting up now, showing no signs of her previous boredom and earning a side-eye from Eric as she reentered the argument, "Look, this is stupid, Aunt Carol. I can understand you being worried, but you called us over like Amy was being held out against her will. She's helping out a friend and maybe getting a job. There is no point in making a big deal out of this!"
"Using her powers to heal is one thing, assisting with creating things is a step too far!" Mom declared before anyone else could comment.
"Why? Because you don't trust me after years of healing patients?!" Amy snapped, a note in her voice that Vicky knew foreshadowed those rare times that Amy lost her temper.
"I didn't say that Amy, don't put words in my mouth, young lady! My point is that it's dangerous for you if people learn what you're capable of. I'm trying to protect you!" Mom fired back, her own patience fraying as Vicky sucked in a breath to try and calm things down.
"You're trying to put me in a fucking box! I finally have someone to spend time with outside of this family. Who actually values me for who I am and not what I offer. Not Vicky! ME! And you're trying to take that away! Fuck that and fuck you!" Amy full on shouted as her temper boiled over.
Vicky flinched at the sudden burst of sound as mom shouted back and she lost track of the words being noise in the room was becoming an indistinct roar that deafened, like a jet plane passing too low overhead, and she just wanted to curl up into a ball and fade from the world. It was too much…too much—
"Everyone STOP," she screamed, her aura blasting out as she rose into the air and off the coach. Awe and Terror filled the room as all eyes swiveled toward her. She hated the looks that she was getting from her family. The people she was closest to. And they were fighting because of what she had brought to them without thinking.
"Stop fighting, please!" she pleaded, her voice wavering as she spoke into the stunned silence and struggled with wrestling her aura back. She just wanted all this to end, for them to stop fighting and go back to being the family that they always were. "Please."
But maybe we aren't, a dark thought whispered in the back of her mind.
Everyone seemed to need a minute after her outburst. Recovering from a full blast of her aura could do that. Amy was the first to shake it off, glancing around the room with an angry frown. Her sister glanced toward her as she floated back to the floor, then left the room without another word. The slam of her bedroom door echoed through the house, even more painfully so in her heart as if the door being slammed was not Amy's bedroom, but something close and intimate between them as sisters. Shaking, she tried to center herself, even as Aunt Sarah and Mom drew breath to start berating her.
Taylor
ZDT Headquarters (Former DWU offices)
Brockton Bay
Much to my annoyance, the new morning also brought new problems to sort through. A fair amount of the crowd outside had left with Jean's press conference, but Major Cunningham wasn't comfortable with letting me leave to sleep in my own bed, which was fair. Honestly the security concerns for our old suburban house were really the furthest things from my mind at the moment. Thus, I ended up sleeping at the office. It was something that could be discussed between Dad, myself, and my new security team when they arrived later today, though I wasn't sure how Dad would take it, so I tentatively filed it as a problem for future me.
Fortunately for my sanity, the DWU had a living space for long-term projects and traveling workers, so I was able to sleep, shower, and grab breakfast from the communal kitchen. I waved at Paige who waved back, seemingly a little lost at what to do with herself. I made a mental note to finish prototyping her improved vocal modulator, before diving into work at a secluded table. Ever since the local mouser had passed a few years ago, the rodent problem had begun picking up again. As a result, everyone was rather particular about food being taken out of the dining area, so I wasn't allowed to take breakfast to my office. . Apparently, Dad was looking into a new cat, but finding a good hunting cat was more difficult than you might imagine.
Perhaps I should look at making a machine mouser? It probably wouldn't take too much of my time. Just had to figure out how to miniaturize some of the systems. Something to explore later. Wait, speaking of animals, did Paige like dogs or cats? A companion animal might be in order to keep her busy, active, and social. I could look into dogs for her to have something to occupy her attention. I made a note on that and moved on.
Tapping away at my projected keyboard might have looked silly to anyone without a Focus, but right now there were very few people around. The staff had been sent home with some bonus pay for the long hours they had been pushing to get more Foci finished for Boston. Colonel Herres had come through and delivered more money from the emergency funds that would keep us out of the red for a little while longer. Hopefully soon, we would be able to make proper assembly lines for the devices, as opposed to the semi-human assembly we were doing currently.
Carefully taking a bite from an 'omelette burrito', I reviewed my emails. Also, eating while blind? Far more difficult than you might expect. Since the loss of sight I had my sense of taste changing, which seemed to be a common thing from the few studies I had looked into when I first noticed it.. And without my Focus device? Well, let's just say the first few times with a fork had enlightened me to the art of wrapping all of my food. It was why my diet mostly consisted of wraps, sandwiches, or packaged bars now. It was less messy, and I didn't have to worry about having to need a bib. But all of this only made me want to get my Horus-pattern Foci to every other blind person I could as quickly as I could.
There was an email from the Department of Energy wanting me to make a presentation in Washington as soon as possible. It looked like they were going to greenlight the reactor project, they just wanted for me to make a presentation to the department heads to get everyone on the same page. I fired that up to Jean, she would need to arrange it.
Next, there was an email that caused me to raise an eyebrow. How Nucor, a steel and materials company, got my email was something I was going to have to ask Adam about, but the fact that they were contacting me out of the blue to discuss steel contracts and the possibility of producing some of my patents was amazing news. I bit my lip in thought, then decided not to answer directly. Instead, I made a few notes on some metalworking processes to share with them, and improvements to steel overall. That done, I fired their email to Jean, attaching some of the ideas and notes. I'd let Jean consider what she wanted to do with it.
Finally, there was an email from Jack Ryan, to my surprise. Seems he wanted to see me in four days to discuss a few things. What they were, he was not saying, but it was about 'future prospects'. Considering who it was, I didn't need to discuss that with Jean, instead I sent a response in the affirmative, asking that at least he give me a rough estimate on the time he would be here. I didn't want him to show up and I was knee-deep in something.
That finally done, I sighed, discarding a few emails that somehow made it past my precautions against garbage emails. One in particular contained an innuendo-laden love poem that espoused their everdying love for me and a wish for me to make them a computer like Greg's. I didn't even hesitate a second to pass that off to Adam and demand that the person be identified and barred from ever buying a computer from Zero Dawn or its affiliates. It wasn't just the fact that they found my email, it was the fact that I would never be able to think about I/O ports again without sexual connotations.
Finally, with all of my new emails cleared out, I finished my burrito and washed it down with my ginseng tea. Getting to my feet, I took my plate over to the dish rack and placed it there before grabbing a pair of cereal bars for later consumption. I didn't know when I would be able to get to lunch, so these would have to suffice if it happened that way.
That done, I made my way to my workshop. It was almost a ten minute walk with the security checkpoints that had been put into place, but it allowed me to review some data as I did. When I was finally in my workshop and settled, I brought up my notes for Blaze. If we wanted to expand the LRL, we needed to increase production and overall efficiency in the method. Like everything else, I had been using crude methods in trying to meet the demands. Now that I had time and money, I could work towards actually setting up a production method that increased overall yields. That increase, we could make use of as a fuel source outside of the robots. If we wanted to gain traction in other industries such as automotive, that would be essential to push adoption.
The best option might be to convert over the DWU's fleet of vehicles, which were an eclectic mix of trucks, industrial vehicles like diggers and dozers, forklifts, and even the cranes that would soon be in operation again in the harbor. Proving the reliability and possibility of conversions was also important in proving the value of Blaze. I tapped my desk in frustration, running into the problem of everything being important. I made a note to task someone to look into an analysis of the difficulties that would entail. A moment passed as I bit my lip before I snorted in realization. Another quick email went off to Dad, asking him to set up a meeting with some of the mechanics to go over the possibility of converting the vehicles and where to start the changeover if it was determined to be viable.
Jean had sent me several disused properties which could be made into Blaze refineries. I reviewed them while ruminating on the problem I would soon face. Oil and Gas interests had grown massively in power since Behemoth irradiated the Iranian oil fields back in the day. Oil Barons were largely influential in Texas and parts of Central Canada, and those areas in turn commanded influence in their federal governments. It was a complex web of people having a needed resource and profiting from the demand. And here I was looking to break the kneecaps of their monopoly.
That being said, it's not like we would have to be enemies. I pulled up a quick computer simulation with the dimensions of the building I liked best in order to start planning out the refinery. Oil and petroleum had still been an integral part of society even with how things developed in whatever simulacrum my Thinker power had generated knowledge from. Until material sciences moved forward a lot, oil products were still going to be used in most industries, to say nothing of lubricants and industrial solutions. But oil as a fuel source just didn't have the primacy like it did on Earth Aleph, or even Bet as reduced as it was, having given ground to the likes of nuclear energy, biofuels, and energy cells. It wasn't also like oil could not also be converted to Blaze as well. Something that the simulacrum hadn't factored in.
It was something to float to Jean, she would probably have a better perspective than I did on the possible pitfalls of reaching out to the oil industry. I know that I had floated the idea of energy cells when I met with the DOE representatives back when my reactor design was sent their way. I had floated the idea again when Ryan had visited me before Leviathan. Hopefully, the nuclear program would be greenlit, and I can push for the development of energy cells as a symbiotic system. The idea that we could have nuclear facilities act as energy cell production facilities would probably pay them off a lot faster, and it would enable production of much larger machines in the long run. And depending on energy cell construction, they would be able to power anything from a car, to a house, to a factory. All rechargeable, just return them to a power plant for topping up.
Another thing to add to the laundry list of projects that seemed to never decrease, instead growing more expansive by the hour. Just the projects I was beginning to workshop to help with Boston was starting to gain a life of its own, and I wanted to make a presentation to the government within the next couple of weeks. There were so many opportunities there that my mind was abuzz with solutions. From recycling, to construction techniques, to unleashing new materials that could make newer and better buildings. Hell, there existed building techniques that could imitate the aged architecture at cost, but with better overall resilience.
Sighing, I closed my blueprinting simulation and began reorganizing my folders. This time splitting them amongst six different subject matters, Machines, Boston/Construction/Infrastructure, Energy, Materials, Focus, and Communications. I had a feeling by the end of the week, I would probably have to start a few more organizational folders, with one of them likely to be military. I wasn't sure how to feel about that, however, I felt a certain predisposition at the necessity of it, even if it made me uneasy. My creations were meant to improve and save the world, not destroy it.
Shaking my head, I put that to the backburner. I would have to revisit it when the government liaison showed up. I had opinions on the matter, but I wanted to wait to see what they said before I gave them a voice.
I then went into my 'Obsidian' folders, ones hidden deep within my subsystems, and only accessible through my Focus, keyed to my unique neural framework, and encrypted in a code that only I could possibly break. These were the things that were not only controversial, but had a chance of earning me a kill order designation. Some of them were merely thought experiments and ongoing concepts, like weaponizing biomatter conversion swarms, to more active projects, like Sobek, nanotechnology, Project CAULDRON, and Project Báleygr.
One of the difficulties in trying to shoestring technology that ranged anywhere between eighty and one thousand years more advanced than the present day, was trying to find that medium where I could achieve breakthroughs with what I had access to without compromising the intent of the design. The LRL machines, by themselves, were an overall enhancement on technology that was eighty years in advance of what was available on Earth Bet, especially in material sciences and computational technology. If I hadn't had access to the entirety of knowledge, I doubt I would have been able to achieve any of it.
But now that I had breathing room, I needed to focus upon Sobek. She was going to be my keystone to almost everything. A fully-developed artificial general intelligence would be able to bridge so many of the technological gaps that currently exist between now and my vision.
Sadly, it came down to computational power and resources. Even with the computer processors I was currently fielding, I was still stuck around 2027 in processing power. It simply wasn't enough in order to actualize the necessary runtimes to exceed .05 Turings. Sobek, right now, wouldn't even qualify as a machine intelligence, as much as an overpowered digital assistant. I could see in her code that she was trying, but there just wasn't enough for her to spread her wings. She was a baby bird still stuck within its egg.
There were two options going forward at least for now. The first being that I look at propagating SobekOSLite, creating a type of loose neural framework for Sobek in which she could stretch her legs. It would allow her to learn somewhat, but she would still be limited by the amount of machines connected and using it for her to piggyback her growth. But there were downsides to that, the first being that it increased the probability of exposure, but also it required that the computers be powered for her to tap the processing power. Both ideas were not necessarily optimal.
The other route was increasing the amount of servers available. It was something I was already planning to do, but it was going to be slow work. You build too many servers too quickly, and people are going to start asking questions. Even if I used the excuse that I needed additional computational power in order to produce the miracles that they wanted, it could only last so long before people became suspicious. Even if my servers were better then the current day, it would take a fair number to let Sobek really shine.
Releasing a sigh, I slouched in my chair, considering my options. It would at least be another year before I could bring another generation of processors to life. I needed to have the infrastructure and production facilities to achieve it, not to mention access to the necessary supply of rare earth materials. It seemed right now my only option was to build more servers. But I would have to wait until we had a new facility where I could purpose-build the server room, instead of using my workshop.
A blinking in the corner of my vision alerted me that I had an incoming call, looking at the identification of the caller, I released another sigh. She wouldn't be calling me unless there was some sort of complication that needed handling right now. Sliding the Obsidian files back into the digital ether, I answered the call.
"Yes, Jean? How can I help you?"
"Where are you at right now, Taylor?"
"I'm in my workshop. Why do you ask?"
"I wanted to know where you were so I could speak privately with you."
I frowned. Why would Jean want to speak with me about something privately when she had the opportunity yesterday to air it out in our meeting? Pursing my lips, I ran through a mental checklist on possible answers, but found myself only with more questions.
"Taylor?"
"Sorry. Yeah, that's fine, Jean. I'm in my workshop working through my backlog, so I'm available whenever you want to speak."
"Okay, I'll be down there shortly."
I glanced at the clock in my vision, noting the time as the call ended. It was only 7:48am. Jean usually wasn't on the premises until about 8:15. So whatever it was, it was something that caused her to deviate from her carefully structured schedule. Not exactly the most reassuring of data points.
Filing that away, I turned back to another project that would need to be finalized within the coming days. When I had put together Greg's computer, I had wanted to make sure that I wouldn't be bothered by him ever again, which was why I had exerted so much effort in putting together a top of the line computer like I did. Unfortunately, I seemed to have overdone it, and now the chickens were coming home to roost.
Expense wise, the computer I had built for Greg would fetch something like eight thousand dollars on the market. Outside of the truly rich, it was something that would not sell well on the market. Maybe a few hundred units total in its lifetime. But, it was an opportunity that I could not ignore.
Pulling up the data on current computer specifications, I then compared it to the custom rig I had put together for Greg. It easily blew away even the top-of-the-line rigs that were currently in the mainstream, but that wasn't why I was looking at it, I was instead looking at it from the perspective of what I could do to make it affordable, yet achieve the same performance specifications. That was the key to all of this, performance and affordability.
Tapping at my desk, I reviewed the problem. Greg's computer was a Ferrari, and what I wanted in the mass market was something closer to a BMW M3 or Porsche 911, certainly more expensive than a family computer, but unique enough to be sought after. Building a fully consumer-friendly version of Greg's machine would be rather easy, so I didn't need to really focus upon that.
Should I offer customization at assembly? No, not at this point, once we made a name for ourselves, and got production lines put together, then we could revisit it. Right now, a self-contained unit akin to the old IBM or Apple computers would make do. Maybe provide an option to allow some modification through our production later. That would be rather easy, just have to make sure the mounting points for the components were universal.
The issue now was finding the right balance between components and cost. Go too far into reducing cost, and the performance suffered, but putting too much into performance, and the cost skyrocketed. Luckily, I could decrease the overall quality of several of the components, one of the lines I was going to draw however was the case. We needed something to announce that the computer was a creation of Zero Dawn, and the white metallic shell using a lesser quality of the metal that went on the LRL machines was the right blend of futuristic and durable, while at the same time providing us something iconic. In fact, it would probably sell on the idea that the buyer had something like the machines in their household.
Satisfied with what I currently had worked up, I typed everything up in a file, and sent it up to Jean, along with several notes and ideas on how to possibly market it. She'd probably get the notification as she was walking here, but that was not my problem. She wanted ideas and progress, and that was what I was going to give her.
Taking a sip of my tea, I considered eating one of the breakfast bars, then dismissed that idea. I just had eaten, it wouldn't do any good to overeat, I needed to keep myself at peak awareness, and overloading on carbs was not beneficial towards that.
Instead, I just decided to lean back in my chair, and play with the cards, my fingers dancing over them, shuffling and sorting them. It was relaxing, and it allowed me to review other things that would need to be done without having to actually work on them. Instead, I accessed a video website and watched a video of Dolt, one of the Burrowers, doing a dance. It was cute, and I felt my lips tug into a smile. Amy had a good idea in suggesting that, even if secretly worried me about the future of machines, and the knife's edge I was going to be dancing on for the foreseeable future.
Of course, there was another reason I was keeping an eye on Dolt. He was the only machine that hadn't received the programming update that limited their growth. Which meant that his development was limited only by his experiences and his hardware. As with any experiment, it was important to maintain a control group to test against. Realistically, when Dolt and the rest of the LRL returned, he would be sidelined, and a new Burrower unit would take his place. Dolt would remain at my side, where I could see his development personally. Would that hamper his personality growth by limiting potential interactions? Probably not. Every company needed a mascot, mine could just interact better than most.
Finally, the door opened, and Jean came gliding in. I actually envied her for how she made walking in heels so effortless. I had never been good in them, a tall, gangly thing that could never truly balance on them, and now that I was reduced to vision through my Focus, not being good had turned into disastrous.
Well, it was that, and how she somehow made a business suit/skirt combo appealing even to me, and I hated even the idea of showing my legs.
"Jean," I greeted, putting the entirety of my focus upon her, as she looked around, before she frowned at the prospect of having to sit in the only other leather chair in the workshop. That was another thing with her, and one that I find myself not envying, or even liking, but she had this strange fixation on proper presentation, whereas my entire mindset was comfort and utility. We had argued once or twice over it, with neither really winning the other over.
"Taylor," she said, before she placed herself in the chair with a grimace, "you know I have your best interests at heart, right?"
Okay, what is this, I thought to myself, not even hesitating from hiding my frown. While Jean and I had our disagreements, she had honestly never approached me like this. It made me both suspicious and nervous as to why she would be taking such a soft approach with me.
"I'd like to think so," I finally offered, "I mean, we're both interested in seeing Zero Dawn succeed, so I guess I'd expect it, Jean. Why do you ask?"
There was a moment of hesitation from the blonde, and I found myself growing only more concerned at what it was she was going to tell me. Jean wasn't exactly one to beat around the bush, so the fact that she was hesitating only told me that whatever it was, it was going to be something that I wasn't going to like.
"We need to talk about your appearance, Taylor."
I was right, I wasn't going to like this. I fought to keep myself from snapping back at Jean. My appearance was my concern, and my concern only.
"What do you mean," I growled, not quite able to hold my displeasure at the subject matter from being made apparent.
It was only Jean's sigh that restrained me somewhat. Obviously to her, this was an uncomfortable subject. Possibly not as much as it was for me, but the fact that it was her talking about it…Well, I was going to be honest, I still wanted to tell her to fuck off. But, I was going to hear her out, despite my misgivings on the matter.
"Taylor, do you know why I dress the way that I do," she didn't afford me the opportunity to answer, "it's because I am a woman in a man's world. There are only two ways of managing that inescapable fact: You either lean into it, or you conform. I've chosen to lean into it. Which sometimes makes people act differently around me, different enough that I can take advantage."
She looked me square in the eyes, which…was something, given that I wasn't wearing my glasses, "I haven't ever asked why you keep your scars. It wasn't important because you were so focused on your lab and your workshop. To be blunt, you were out of the public eye."
She then sighed, relaxing her posture a touch. I could see hints of the strain the last week had put on the woman, "But that's changed. You stepped forward and now firmly have the attention of everyone from politicians to tabloid journalists. And with Panacea on the team, we can't avoid the issue anymore. You need to be camera ready. The upcoming media circus that you are going to be pulled into will be ruthless and relentless. We need to have people putting posters of you on their walls, not as a cautionary tale, but to inspire."
Jean leaned forward, "For better or for worse, this company is tied to you. How people see you will affect how they see the company. Which means that they need to see the best version of you that we can present."
I sat there for a few minutes, attempting to parse her words as logically as possible. Yet, it was all for naught, as the more I deliberated over her words, the more I felt a surge of anger bubbling in my chest. Just the mere concept of what she was saying and demanding of me…did she not even care for my thoughts or opinion? Did she not understand that I needed these scars to prove that I could overcome everything that had been done to me?
I took a deep breath, trying to restrain myself from lashing out. Instead, I organized my thoughts, crystalizing them into a response. Attacking Jean was unprofessional, even if what she was saying bordered on unprofessional as well, and as much as I wanted to lash out at her, it would do neither of us any favors.
Instead, I chose to buy myself more time, "Why?"
That obviously wasn't what Jean was expecting of my response. Thinking now, she obviously expected me to begin fighting right off the bat. And honestly, she would likely have been right, if I wasn't doing my damndest not.
Instead, she stared at me for a few moments, obviously searching for something in my demeanor and reaction. I wasn't sure if she found it or not, but she finally offered me a response, and I felt my gut curl even tighter.
"Taylor," she began, before stopping, her eyes darting left and right, the telltale sign that she was searching for the right words to say, "I don't like doing or even saying this, Taylor. This is extraordinarily uncomfortable for me, because this is a conversation that you should be having with your mother," the furnace of my anger surged stronger, and obviously she could tell it in my expression, as she held up a hand, "Taylor. Please. Just…give me a moment, let me just say this, okay? This is a conversation that every young woman should be having with their mother at this age, and I know it's not possible. I'm absolutely not your mother, and I'm not going to claim anything in relation to it otherwise. I have no doubt that your mother was an incredible woman to have brought you into this world and the difference you have made. I could never hold a candle to her. But, I am a woman who has been in this business for years. Okay?"
Slowly, grudgingly, I might add, I nodded, not trusting myself to respond constructively. What I really wanted to do was tell her exactly how I felt and to destroy her for daring to invoke my Mother in any conversation. And it took every effort to resist the temptation.
She was also lucky that my breakfast bars were also currently out of my reach. Otherwise I might try testing my throwing arm with Focus Vision.
"Women are judged on their appearance. This is an inescapable fact. And we're judged most often and more harshly by other women. And not only is it not going to stop before you become a matron, it'll only grow worse the higher that you climb up the ladders of power and influence."
"I know that," I hissed, finally unable to stop myself from injecting myself into the conversation. I also didn't want Jean to think she could simply talk over me and get me to agree to anything that she said, "What is your point, Jean. That I'm too ugly? Is that fucking it?"
"Have you been looking at the media attention you've been getting, Taylor?"
I shook my head no.
"I have. While we've all seen a huge surge of support and popularity, there is an underlying issue that we need to get ahead of."
She waved a hand, and then she swung it towards me, a window popped up in front of me. It was a news snippet from one of the major networks.
"Taylor, a young victim herself, was moved by the plight of those affected by Leviathan's rampage and was quick to offer aid. Her actions highlight a level of selflessness and bravery that many of us should hold up as an example to follow."
I didn't see anything wrong with that, and my lips curled into a sneer, but before I could say anything, she threw another one at me.
"Look, I'm worried about this girl, alright? I mean look at her, she's scarred from her attack, and this company is spending millions of dollars on fancy robots? Why not take care of the inventor? Help her feel better in her skin. No young woman deserves to look like she does!"
And another.
"She even looks like a villain. Come on guys! She has this whole, 'Look at me, I've got scars, you can't stop me' thing going on."
"Seriously, what is wrong with this girl? Does she not recognize how ugly those scars make her? Instead, she runs around acting like they are some sort of war wounds or something. I mean, I've heard of stolen valor but this is a new low. "
"I think it's disgraceful that her father is putting so much effort into this company, and not any into his daughter who is obviously still traumatized by the—"
"Enough," I snarled, flicking off the open sharing, even as I tried to control my breathing. Jean watched me for a moment as I raged against the emotions inside me. I was angry, hurt, shocked, appalled, enraged, and grief-stricken rolled into this big ball of….something that was raging in my chest right now. I wanted to punch Jean. I wanted to punch the wall until it broke. Or I did. I wanted to crawl into a corner and fade away from the world.
"Taylor. 'They', whoever 'they' are, will always judge you by your appearance first. It's not fair and it's not right. But it's a sad fact of life that you, I, and everyone else needs to live with. They will see what they want to see, and what they see is an opportunity to hold you back."
She then leaned forward, and I flinched as her hand came to a rest on my ruined cheek, and I froze, even as I felt my eyes beginning to moisten, "Taylor, you proved those girls wrong with Boston. You've shown the world that what they've done did not hold you back, but forged you into something better. Something greater. It's now time to leave them in the past, Taylor. You may never forget it, but you should not let it haunt your next steps as you prove the world wrong."
Her hand then slowly withdrew, and I stared at her, watching as concern flickered on her face. This was probably the most emotive I had ever seen Jean, and even in spite of my own feelings, my own rage and my own inadequacy warring within me, I could not ignore the vulnerability she was showing.
"If you don't want to talk to Panacea about it, then I can. But please, think about what I have said, Taylor," she then stood up. She spared me one more look, opening her mouth to say something more, but then closed it. Then she turned and walked out. Leaving me to the quiet, even as the angry frustrated tears began running down from my ruined eyes.
Brian Laborn
ZDT Headquarters
With a grunt of exertion, he finally was able to budge the heavy load into place on the dolly. Double-checking the delivery instructions he then started pulling. Work at Zero Dawn was starting to pick up again after the two days leave granted to the staff. It had been a mad scramble before then, preparing for and then dealing with the Endbringer attack in Boston. But it was good to be back, because it meant he was making money.
It was decent money too, and he had the added benefit of working with decent people as well. He wasn't sure if he was going to stay though, the military showing up and sticking around was almost enough for him to leave in a hurry. But the pay was better than decent and not a single person had given him flak about the color of his skin. In Brockton Bay, that was an exceptional rarity, considering what it was home to. And he would have not found this place if it hadn't been—
He shook his head, focusing his attention back on the moment as he pulled into the warehouse.
"Where's that heading, Kid," the floor manager barked out.
"Bay-7," he shouted back.
That was another thing about Zero Dawn: they ran an incredibly tight ship when it came to where everything was.
The floor manager nodded, making a note on his clipboard. Like many of the upper management members, he was wearing a Focus that was linked into the company network. From what he had figured out through casual conversation, it meant that an entry had just been entered into the central system saying that these parts were now available in Bay-7. And if anyone went looking for the parts and didn't find them the first person they would ask was him.
"Hey Kid," the manager hollered out after him, "See Ricky when you're done."
Raising a hand in acknowledgment, he aimed to get this delivered quickly and then hurry over to his boss.
A short while later, he polished off a bottle of ice-cold water, making sure to throw it in the necessary receptacle, before he knocked on the door frame to his boss's office. That done, he stuck his head inside, "You want to see me, sir?
"Brian," Ricky looked up from his computer, "Yes," he then grabbed a small stack of forms, and held them out to him. Brian took them and looked them over.
They were his application forms for certifications. With Zero Dawn and the Dockworker's separating soon, that meant that certification for different positions were being offered. He had put himself down for forklift and light machine handling, amongst a few others. Nothing to do with cranes though, he wasn't particularly a fan of heights.
"Take these down to the main building, Brian. They want to talk to you about a few things."
"Right now?" he found himself asking, looking up from the forms, "My break doesn't start for another forty-five."
His boss shrugged, "Finish up with them, count it as company time. Take a break after, then come back. Just come find me when you do, I'll point you where to go."
"Sure thing, boss," Brian carefully folded the papers and made his way out. Mindful of the walking lines, he made his way over to the main building, all the while trying to keep himself from bolting. There were plenty of rational reasons for this, right down to it being the truth that the head office wanted to talk to him about his certification. Leaving now would mean getting investigated, because there was no way he was getting out without using his powers. And even then, the military probably weren't the type to hesitate because of his smoke. It stopped light and sound, not bullets.
This meant he had to do what he had always done. Keep himself under control, keep his feelings reined in, and manage to make it work. This job was exactly what he needed for Aisha. It would work out, it had to. Reputation mattered and he had built himself a reputation of hard work, respect, and commitment.
He kept telling himself that as he made his way into the building, got directions from the receptionist, knocked on the requisite door, and walked in. Then froze because the person he was meeting was absolutely not who he was supposed to be meeting. The CEO was in the office, along with Adam Jensen standing off her right shoulder looking even more irritated than his usual.
Brian had seen Taylor Hebert walking around the lot a few times, often surrounded by engineers, staff members, and so on. Tall for a girl, but willowy thin, with black hair that was just starting to approach her shoulders in some parts. When he first saw her, she had a longer-style pixie cut, so she was letting it grow. She always wore black glasses, and up close it was easy to see the discoloration across her face. Everyone talked in very quiet tones about what happened to her. Since it was on the news, and her father was well known among the staff, it wasn't a secret. Still, she didn't seem that impressive.
He knew that she was some big-shot inventor, but didn't realize how big until he got word about Leviathan hitting Boston and the subsequent media attention on her machines, her tech, and the impact it was having. Coming to work and finding military vehicles parked outside and servicemen patrolling everywhere, and then being told that a rush order was being made up because the new Governor of the State was asking for them? That was enough for him to fully understand that he had stepped into something far larger than he expected.
"Mr. Laborn. Come in! I was hoping to talk with you," she greeted, her gaze unerringly locked straight on him. Which considering she was blind, was a terrifying visual for him. Only adding to that was the glowing blue circle on the side of her head.
Yeah, scratch that. From a distance, she never seemed that impressive. But here, right now, she cast a very intimidating presence for a girl who probably didn't even weigh a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet.
Running now would be a mistake. It would make him look guilty. So after a brief moment, he walked in, put his papers on the desk, and took a seat. Ignoring the fact that Jensen's glower only seemed to deepen.
"So, Mr Laborn, how do you find working at Zero Dawn," Taylor asked.
"Fine, ma'am. It's a good job," it felt strange referring to someone two years younger than him with such a title, but he didn't know how to answer it any other way.
"That's good. I've got reports here from Mr. Steadman on your performance. He's been speaking of you in glowing terms about your work ethic and energy."
"I'm glad to hear that, Ms. Hebert," just where was she going with this? This didn't seem like the thing a CEO, especially one that was being called the 'Hero of Boston' would be involving herself with. And why was Jensen watching him expecting him like he expected something bad to happen.
Did they know?
"So, Mr. Laborn, can I call you Brian?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Thank you. So Brian, you probably pay attention to the rumor mill around here, so you've probably heard some talk about how things might be changing around here, correct?"
"I believe so? I really haven't been paying too much attention, if I'm honest."
The small flicker of her lips up to a smile before it disappeared caused the pit in his stomach to increase. He had a keen sense when things were going to go bad, it was a survival skill one had to acquire while being black in Brockton Bay, and right now, there were alarms going off in his head.
"Well, let me be the one to confirm those rumors, Brian. The Government feels that Zero Dawn can be of tremendous help for developing new technologies and new industries. What this means is that the government has a vested interest in the growth and value of the company and myself. But with that comes a few other things, like in-depth security checks on all workers in order to ensure that there are no glaring issues that could compromise the security of the company."
While he tried to keep himself expressionless, it was an entirely different story internally. Already, he was preparing to make a break for it. Not only would it burn his identity, but it would jeopardize Aisha, but being detained might as well do the same.
"For the last couple of days, we have been performing our own detailed background checks, Brian," Taylor continued, to his mounting dread, "partially to allow us an idea on if there may be some people in which the government may take umbrage to continued employment within Zero Dawn. Unfortunately, in the process of that, we encountered an anomaly with you."
He wet his dry lips. He was compromised, there was no doubt about it. He had done his best to ensure that he would pass a background check, but he knew that it would not pass if someone looked too deeply into it.
"I—"
"Please," Ms. Hebert held out a hand, "Before you say anything else or do anything rash, just let me talk, Brian. Can you do that for me?"
He didn't trust his voice to answer her, so instead he nodded his head.
"We know who you are, Brian. Out of respect, I will not unmask your actual cape identity. Well, that and the fact that I'm not sure exactly if that would violate the unwritten rules if I did. For something so unofficially codified, there are several vagaries that create unnecessary complications. But I digress, as an unmasked cape myself, let me inform you that the official stance of Zero Dawn Technologies is that we do not care who you are, cape or no cape."
He found himself blinking, not quite sure that he had heard correctly.
"I-," he wet his lips again, "I'm confused. You pulled me aside, and you're telling me you know who I am. But, you don't…care?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Brian. But my problem is that while I might be able to ignore your activities off the cloak, I can't ignore them if they are criminal in nature. So that leaves us with two options: Option one, I give you a modest severance, a glowing reference letter from myself and Mr. Steadman, then Mr. Jensen here walks you to the gates, and that's the end of it."
She then leaned forward, staring him down with those dark glasses. He once again adjusted his view on Taylor Hebert. The girl had an intensity to her as well, "Option two is you convince me of your good intentions. Maybe you're trying to turn things around. Lately, I've found myself coming around to the idea of second chances. So…this one might be yours. But only if you tell us why you are here."
He hesitated, not exactly sure how to answer or even react. Hell, how should he react? He had just been told that they knew that he was Grue, without saying his name aloud. But instead of calling the PRT, or even trying to extort him, they were offering him two week's pay and a good reference? Make it make sense.
"I-," he stopped, thinking exactly what to say, before sighing, looking for the right words, "I need this job Ma'am."
She nodded, leaning back slightly in the chair, "I understand. Times are tough. Why do you need this job in particular, Brian?"
He sighed, deflating a little as the tension left him. There was no good way out of this. Time to lay the cards on the table and see where they fall.
"It's for my sister. Aisha. I need to get custody of her. And.."
"It requires a lawyer and a lot of money," Hebert said, interrupting him, "and you have to prove that you can be a suitable guardian for your sister as well. That means a stable income, along with suitable housing, and the ability to provide for your sister. None of which is cheap."
He nodded, thankful that she filled in for him, "A man approached me offering to help. But in return, I would run a team for him. He would pay me and smooth things over so that the custody would go through. Did a few jobs for him, but then he dropped completely off the grid. That's when I applied here. I need this job, ma'am."
"What about family? How do they feel about your plan?"
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject but he was too far deep into things to stop now, "Dad is quietly supportive. He's more comfortable raising soldiers and boxers, not teenage girls. And certainly not girls like Aisha. He knows his limits and made sure that we were all on the same page."
He took a deep breath, before releasing it, "Mom is the problem. Drugs and a string of boyfriends who all enable her habit to some degree. No way she lets Aisha leave because she's a meal ticket. Still got ideas on how she'll turn her life around and we'll be a happy family again. It never lasts long, just long enough before she starts jonesing for her next fix."
It burned talking about things like this. Exposing himself to complete strangers. But this was his shot. Where everything else had failed, this had to work.
"I understand, Brian. That's a lot to go through, especially alone."
He shrugged, trying to roll the comment off his shoulders. It was a lot, but he couldn't let it get to him, "I turn eighteen in June. I just need a solid reference, steady pay, and I'll figure out the rest from there. I don't want charity, ma'am. I just want an opportunity."
"Fair enough, Brian," she shifted her face to the side, her Focus glowing, "Alright…without going into specifics. Is your former team going to be a problem?"
"No Ma'am. We're pretty much done. The blond isn't taking my calls. The other boy split town when the money dried up. The other girl…she just wants to be left alone."
Did it bother him how quickly the Undersiders fell apart? Sure, but everyone knew the score. They'd been assembled for a job, there had been no real natural bonding between them outside of the job.
"It's hard to leave her alone with a murder charge in the wind. That doesn't look good to anyone, Brian."
He was shaking his head as soon as she started speaking. It always came back to the same thing.
"With respect, ma'am, Rachel isn't all there. Not that she's crazy, she just doesn't understand people. Words confuse her sometimes and she needs things explained simply and clearly. Short sentences, unambiguous words. She isn't good at telling people things, so she expects people to judge based on body language. Which is exactly what she does with everyone around her. This is why she likes working with dogs so much. Dogs make sense to her far more than people do. The best way to interact with her is to treat her like a dog."
"Dogs that she can control and empower, making her a fairly big threat if pushed."
"That's wrong, ma'am. She's not a Master, she's a Striker/Changer. She trained those dogs, hours at a time, so they can act on command. Yeah, an untrained dog with her power-up is more dangerous to everyone. But that's why she only uses her powers on dogs that she's trained and keeps close."
His current boss sighed, leaning back in her chair and glancing over her shoulder at Jensen, who had kept an unwavering eye on him the whole time, "Which means that the PRT is running after someone with faulty information. Just great," she frowned, "I'm guessing that the murder charge against her is also suspect?"
Brian shifted, not entirely comfortable giving this in-depth of information away, even on a former teammate, "Yeah. The…blonde on the team seemed to think so. Said it wasn't murder. Just a bad foster parent who caused Rachel to trigger, resulting in Rachel using her powers on a puppy. Puppy wasn't trained, so it went out of control to try and protect her. Cops showed up and she ran. They took that as a confession and the rest is history."
If anything, it suddenly felt more intense as she stared at him. His reflection in her black glasses made him feel like a gavel was about to slam down on him, "Do you have any idea of what she's up to now?"
That was easy. Rachel was fairly predictable once you got to know her, "Hookwolf was running a number of dogfighting rings. With him dead now, Rachel's looking to hit them all and rescue the dogs."
The gaze shifted as she gave a distracted nod, and she began tapping away at the desk like it was a keyboard. He assumed that it was a Focus thing.
After a few minutes, in which the tension in his gut knotted further and further, she finally spoke again, "Alright Brian, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to give you a paid week's leave. I'm going to follow up with what you have told me. In the meantime, I'm going to get in touch with a law firm who might contact you with more details about your case. Don't worry about the cost, they'll cover it pro-bono. They owe me that much."
Relief his system so hard he felt lightheaded for a moment.
"Do you have anything else you would like to mention, Brian?"
He shook his head, Taylor nodded towards Jenson, "Alright, Mr. Jensen will show you to the gate. You still have a job, Brian, so we will see you in seven days. We'll send you materials for your certifications, so study up. And…thank you for your honesty."
She reached over the desk, and he shook her hand. Delicate hands for a young girl who was holding his future safe. He hoped she was up to it.
Mr. Jensen walked him to the gate, giving him a handshake as well, "Here's to second chances, kid."
Brian found himself giving a nod, understanding the score. Jensen was the head of security. It was the man's job to be paranoid and he would be on his radar for a long time after everything he had said. But for a chance for everything to work out? He would deal with it.
Riding the bus home in the middle of the day was odd, but he quickly lost focus on that when got a call from a number he didn't recognize. Answering carefully, he was floored by the voice on the other end.
"Hello, Mr. Laborn? My name is Justin Allrecht. I'm a junior associate with Wulfrahm & Hardt. The firm represents Zero Dawn Technologies and I've been asked to look into assisting you. I understand you're having some legal trouble?"
Quickly clearing his throat, he started to explain all over again, buoyed by the forward movement on a problem that had plagued him for years.
"Yes! Uh, it's a custody issue for my younger sister. I'm turning eighteen in a few months and I'd like to take us both out of our mother's orbit…"
He spent most of the rest of the day on the phone. But it was still one of the best days in a while.
Taylor Hebert
ZDT Headquarters
"Mr. Eaton, welcome to Zero Dawn," I greeted the man who had entered my office. Rising to my feet, I walked to him and shook his hand, "I hope your trip to Brockton Bay was without incident."
The man warmly shook my hand, offering me a smile, "There were a few hiccups, Ms. Hebert, but I can't complain too much."
"Glad to hear that," I replied, offering the chair across from my desk. I still was not comfortable with the office that had been furnished for me. Maybe it was my personal feelings, but I just felt I was achieving nothing in this room other than making it a glorified meeting area. But, Jean was adamant that I receive Mr. Eaton in my office in a professional manner.
Which meant that I had been forced to change into a somewhat more presentable skirt, blouse, and jacket combination. Jean had fussed with my hair, before declaring it good enough. We absolutely didn't talk about our previous conversation, but I felt it weighing on the interaction between us. Yes, I was thinking about it. But there were more important things to deal with right now. Like securing a good impression with the government liaison that would allow me to expand in a major way.
Moving back behind my desk, I took a seat, casting a momentary glance over at Adam. Since yesterday, the man had assumed the role of my bodyguard. I wasn't informed on the reason why, only that it had been discussed with Major Cunningham, and whatever had transpired, Adam had made the decision to shadow me while I was at the facility.
It was something I was going to have to look into apparently. Jean had taken a seat off to the side, having shown the man to the office. She would be on hand for the meeting, although she had made it clear that she would defer to me in order to cement my position within the company.
"So, Mr. Eaton, I understand you're going to be staying with us for the foreseeable future serving as the liaison between us and the government. I suppose then, the only thing I need to know is…what can Zero Dawn deliver for you today?"
The man smiled slightly, pulling several files from his briefcase, "Well, we are all very curious as to what you'll unveil next. However, you are right, I've had dozens of private and public interests asking for access to your parts and processes. Any plans to start licensing anytime soon?"
I shot a look at Jean, getting a small smile in return.
"We've already started. My Vice President is hard at work organizing agreements, while I've been planning out production lines. It might not be as soon as everyone would like, but we will have a steady production of everything from wiring, to computer chips, to advanced materials within the next few weeks."
"Excellent! Now, Colonel Herres has been singing your praises since he started working in Boston. And a number of his superiors have been listening. Apparently, your Focus network would be a game changer for battlefield awareness and control. We would like to know if you would be willing to develop such a system. We would arrange for the required military experts to assist you in its development, of course."
And there it was. The military requests. While it was a foregone conclusion that it was going to happen, it was still rather annoying to be honest. Does every company that works with the federal government produce weapons? No. But it was almost inevitable that someone would look at my tech and think, 'I wonder what kind of gun she could make'.
For the moment, I was still trying to make up my mind on where I stood on weapons development. I knew how the people in my memories felt on the matter, going so far as to create an entirely new company in response to it. Still…I had always intended for the Ananke-Pattern Focus to be a military/police variant. The government was probably going to request a more refined version of it, but it was something that I had already begun planning for, if I were to be perfectly honest. And creating a dedicated system to pull everything together?
"Yes, that would be possible. IN fact, I already have a Focus model already in the works for military use. So assistance in refining the final product would certainly be appreciated. At the end of the day, you make what the customer wants first and foremost, And," I tapped a few keys that I could only see in the vision of my Focus, activating the screen on the wall. We all turned to look over the designs I had finalized last night. Turns out ignoring emotional turmoil and throwing myself into work resulted in increased productivity. I can see why Dad did it so much.
"The first example I have is what I've been calling the 'Buzz Drone'. It's small, light, and compact enough that it can easily be carried in a backpack. This would be something used to scout the immediate area around a rescue team. It is remote controlled, so some level of user training is needed."
It really wasn't that complicated of a product. It only took me less than an hour to put it together. And the funny part of it all, was that a lot of the components could be found with minimal usage of newer materials. It's just that people didn't think as laterally as they should. I somewhat blamed the Tinkers, but it just came down to there sadly wasn't the possibility necessary to drive innovation.
Still it was rather sad that what was basically little more than a camera with rotors sticking out of four corners. I needed a better name, and no, Snitch was not up for consideration. Even if it was a ball with wings. Rotors. Whatever.
"A step up from the Buzz Drone would be this, currently I call it the Oracle Reconnaissance and Surveillance Platform," I pulled up a boxy design with rounded edges. Three thruster fins gave it lift, two on the side, one on the back, "A low altitude drone, most of the internals are taken up by the scanner. It is not remotely operated like the Buzz Drone, but it still requires user input and monitoring to function."
I then brought up a new image, replacing the futuristic design of the Oracle with something that would elicit a more primal response. It was a machine modeled after the Archaeopteryx, only increased significantly in size in order to provide the necessary lift and equipment to fulfill its purpose.
"Then we get to the first autonomous machine: The Skydrifter. Low to mid-level flight, it serves as both a communication relay and reconnaissance platform. It's light, agile, and can see for miles with its high-resolution camera. Originally developed for urban and semi-urban search and rescue, it carries an enhanced version of the same scanning system carried by the Watcher. It would be the first pair of eyes in the sky for this theorized battlefield control system."
Mr. Eaton kept his composure, but his wide eyes gave away his shock. I would assume he was expecting a development time of months or years. That was the standard procedure for the military industrial complex, not many companies would actually have designs and plans ready for the customer before the customer even knew what they wanted. Yet, here I was, throwing all convention to the side.
I displayed the next machine that I was working on. It had a much larger wingspan compared to the Skydrifter, with a long thin beak and head. It closely resembled a Pterosaur.
"This is the larger cousin of the Skydrifter, the Sunwing. Named as such for its wings, which are high-efficiency solar panels. It is designed to fly at high altitudes and use its high-resolution, variable-zoom camera to provide instant and accurate photo-reconnaissance, all the while being able to keep aloft upwards of days based upon availability of sunlight. While it doesn't have the scanning ability of the Skydrifter, it's not built for that. It's designed to spot anything between it and the horizon and pass that information on to local command."
"And how did you come up with these? I only got the request from the Pentagon two days ago," he finally voiced what I already knew what was going through his head. I smiled, happy to unbalance the man. While it paid to be underestimated sometimes, in this case, I needed to deliver, because I was going to be asking for a lot from the government soon.
"One of the key problems in Boston was the lack of information. We had to rely on parahuman fliers and helicopters to relay information back to us in order to make maps. The Skydrifter was conceptualized to serve as support for the Light Rescue Lance, able to scan buildings or cars for trapped survivors. The Sunwing was designed to give us a full overview of the city with a significant loiter team and it would be useful to search the sea. While the Navy did a tremendous job with what was available, the requirement to get helicopters to search the water for miles meant that they weren't able to help with supplies and reconnaissance. All four of these machines were designed to fill these gaps."
"Amazing," He reviewed his notes, taking a pen and filling in some information. I took a small sip of water, not reacting as a ping came in from Jean. I was rather impressed, as I hadn't seen her do that.
"This is going very well," Well, I'm glad she approved.
"Speaking of Boston," Mr. Eaton continued after the brief pause, "A number of agencies have requested access to the software you used to predict the damage to the city. It would be invaluable for disaster relief and prediction in the future."
I hummed, putting my drink to the side. Sobek had done most of the number crunching and I was certainly not giving her out. But…, "It would take some doing, but I think we can manage something. The predictions were done on our in-house computer system with computer models we are not yet ready to share. My computer expert is returning from Boston soon, so let me speak with him and we'll see about getting something put together."
"Yes…your computers. A lot of noise has been made in certain tech circles about the capabilities of your robots and the computer power they would require. Several agencies have asked for an upgraded computer system similar to your design."
"I can provide that, however it would be delayed. Several months, at least. The production lines are not active yet, and the early products will be funneled right into getting my robotics lines activated. So my answer would be yes, but not right now."
"Well, I can understand that. You have tremendous expansion to complete and I have no doubt you have plans of your own."
I was certainly glad he had brought that up, because it provided me an opportunity to make my first big request.
"Yes, and in fact, you can help with that, Mr. Eaton. You see, the Focus device functions off a shared wireless network. In Boston, I had the communication system built into one of my machines in order to make it mobile. But for general use, a larger installation would be needed to broadcast the signal across the area in order to integrate all devices together, but also provide wireless access to anyone with a receiver. As you can imagine, this would be disruptive to the profits of the telecommunications companies. Ideally, Zero Dawn would like to broker a deal with them, allowing the current companies to profit alongside us. I would like your help in brokering that deal."
Mr. Eaton, from the file I had received on him, was an accomplished economist and political commentator. Unlike some, he spoke from a position of knowledge when it comes to the interactions inside economies. From the look on his face, he understood how devastating a blow I was about to deliver to an entire industry. It was unfortunate, but I knew going into this that change was going to be unpleasant at times.
From: Director James Tagg, PRT Pittsburgh
To: Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, PRT DC
Subj: Butcher XV
Rebecca,
Since the creation of the Teeth, there has always been a noted collapse and fragmentation of The Teeth that corresponded with the death of Butcher. After reviewing the data from Boston, I think it's safe to say after the events this morning in Boston that we should start preparing for Butcher XV
It's unlikely that there will be anything left of the Teeth organization by the time the 10th Mountain is done with them. So the actions of Butcher XV may be unpredictable as they try to rebuild their gang.
Also, I would suggest that we look into the battlefield technologies that let the Army gather such a perfect recollection of the battle. It could be valuable for PRT teams in the field.
James Tagg
Director, PRT Pittsburgh
Victoria Dallon
Arcadia High School
Vicky bit her lip as she paced in front of the gates of Arcadia. Nothing was right about this. She was waiting for Amy, which was normal. However, she was waiting for her because Mom wanted her to drop Amy off at the hospital. And then stay with her to make sure she got home! Normally, she would be ecstatic to spend time with her sister, but Mom was treating Amy like she was going to run away. This was not okay!
Feeling her calm slipping, she thumped her back against the wall. Her aura was out of control, constantly trying to burst out of the tight little ball she was keeping it in. And it was only made worse that everything seemed to be getting worse by the minute!
How could have things gone so bad? She had only been worried about Amy? How could that concern be turned into Amy being treated like a common criminal and everyone refusing to talk?!
Sighing, she thumped her head against the wall, trying to think of some way she could fix the problem. Amy had spent the entire day avoiding her, despite her best efforts to corner her sister. It was bordering on frustrating, because she wanted to try and explain herself. If she could just get one minute, she could explain herself and hopefully Amy would understand, if not forgive her.
She just needed a single opportunity, that's all she needed. One chance, and she could maybe salvage all of this. Get Mom to understand that all she was doing was driving Amy away. And maybe then they could figure something out that could satisfy everyone. Because she had never seen Amy so animated and willful before, so it must be something she really wanted, right?
She glanced over the school yard again, seeing Dean chatting with Dennis by the doors. They were both trying not to be obvious that they were watching her, but weren't doing a good job of it. Chris hadn't come back to school yet, his parents were keeping him home from what Dean had told her. They had gotten news that Carlos had been found alive, which was amazing, but no one knew anything beyond that.
Then Amy came through the doors and they locked eyes. She stopped for a moment, almost like she wanted to go back into the school building. Instead, she adjusted her backpack and marched closer.
Vicky expected a greeting or something. Instead her sister walked over and stood waiting by the roadside. Silently. Ouch…she really was getting the cold shoulder.
"Amy! Look, I know you're mad at me and I totally understand why. I shouldn't have gone to Mom first. I should have talked things over with you. I was just worried! And I didn't think that—"
"That's your problem, Vicky. You don't think," Amy snapped, rounding on her. She recoiled, shocked that Amy was taking that tone with her.
"Amy, look…I know you're frustrated, but I didn't know Mom was going to react like that! She totally blew things out of proportion. I'm sure we can go home and fix all of this."
Amy angrily wiped her eyes and ground her teeth. She found her heart sink at how affected Amy was over all of this, "You think I'm angry with Carol? You just don't get it, do you?! It's you, Vicky! I'm angry with you!"
She felt cold creep up her fingers, dropping ice into her belly as Amy continued, venting all of her frustrations in her direction.
"All those times you dragged me out to 'meet friends' or set me up with some lame date. All those times that you threw me at people in the name of 'expanding my circle'. And then! When I finally find somewhere I'm actually happy? When I find someone who I enjoy spending time with? You step all over it! Like you can't stand for me to have anyone other than you in my life! I was gone for a week, Victoria!"
She bit her lip and looked to the ground in shame. Yes, she had overreacted. But now she was trying to make things right. Why couldn't Amy see that?!
"I know that you're angry, and hurt, and a whole bunch of things that I don't have names for…but we can fix this. I can be better, Amy, you'll see. We just need to go home."
Amy looked back at her, slowly shaking her head, "That's not possible, Vicky. Not right now. Carol isn't going to let me do anything except what she wants. She's too set on being safe. But it's not about being safe anymore. It's about making a difference."
She was about to respond to Amy, because Amy was wrong, but the roar of an engine coming down the road cut that short. It was decidedly different from the usual cars that hung around Arcadia and she glanced up to see what it was, worried that it might be something dangerous.
A tan military humvee pulled to a stop a few feet away, a trio of soldiers disembarking out of it. Walking up in their grey-dappled outfits with pistols on their thigh was…shocking. They didn't fit, not here in Brockton Bay. And certainly not at Arcadia High School. She froze for a moment, unsure how to act.
"Ms. Dallon," one of the soldiers said, "everything alright here? We're here for pickup."
For a moment, an infinitely small and silly moment, she thought that they were talking about her. But that swiftly died as Amy stepped forward, adjusting her backpack.
"Yes, just finishing up here. We can go," she then turned back to her, giving her a small shrug, as if being picked up by the military was no big deal, "Carol might have taken my phone, but I still had the school office to call them."
With that parting shot said, she started walking towards the truck, two of the soldiers falling in step next to her. The third remained, watching Vicky and the rest of the school yard as the students watched on.
Vicky felt like the world was falling out from underneath her feet, like watching her sister walking away was a permanent and final thing.
And she couldn't let that happen.
"You're not taking my sister," she snarled, anger flaring as her aura rippled out and she floated off the ground.
The results were immediate. The soldier watching her shifted their stance, ripping their gun free, but kept it pointed at the ground. Another had spun around, hand resting on his weapon while the third grabbed Amy and hurried her to the vehicle.
Then something slammed into her back. She tensed, ready to turn around and rip into this new attacker before—
"Vicky! Stop," Dean shouted at her as his arms wrapped around her middle, "Vicky, you have to stop," he hissed, "those are soldiers on a legal mission protecting someone of importance. Anything you do will just make the situation worse!"
As he tried to pull her back to the ground, he said in a low tone, "Pull in your aura. Don't make this any worse. Please, Vicky."
Raising his voice, he addressed the soldiers, trying to defuse the situation as she floated back to the ground, "Sorry officers, tensions have been running high. It's been an emotional week."
As he was saying this, he had shifted his arms to stand beside her, pulling her against her side.
But it did nothing to help the bile resting in her gut as Amy spared her only a momentary last glance before ducking into the Humvee. She couldn't find anything to say to possibly change the doors being closed and the soldiers climbing in. She was dimly aware of Dean holding her tight.
"It's okay, Vicky," he tried to reassure her, "We'll figure something out. She's not really gone. You'll see her again soon."
And despite her boyfriend's words…the cold pit in her gut told her things were going to get worse before they got better. And it was all her fault.
Dinah Alcott
Brockton Bay
"Hey kiddo, how was school?"
"Fine, math was boring," Dinah complained as she buckled herself in. Dad kept asking her about her day as he pulled away from the school. They chatted a bit, Dad teasing her about not liking gym class. She was small, it was obvious that it would keep her from performing her best.
Then the phone rang.
"Sorry, sweetie, got to take this."
Dad pushed the button, putting the phone on speaker.
"Mr. Alcott? It's Steven calling from the Mayor's office…"
She tuned out the call after a minute. Her parents weren't exactly involved with city hall, but with an Uncle as the mayor, it was inevitable that they would be pulled in sometimes.
Instead, she pulled her phone out. It was a gift from last Christmas, one of those cool smartphones. Some of her classmates were jealous, so she didn't pull it out that often as it would cause unneeded conflict. Assuming that the call would last a while, she quickly checked for more photos of the coolest thing in the news. The Boston Robots. Some people were calling them 'mech-animals' or something like that. Ever since they had been revealed to be made right there in the Bay, she had been looking forward to seeing them. The most recent video she could find was of them walking into trucks or in the case of Bruce (the really big bison-looking one), climbing onto a flatbed. Settling in like it was going to sleep, it still shook the big trailer when it dropped down.
"Alright Steven, I'll swing over and speak to him," Dad sighed as he hung up, "Sorry, Dinah, but I've got to swing by and talk to Uncle Roy."
"Okay," she responded, not really all that interested. After all, how could she be interested when she already knew the outcome?
Her cousin Rory, known to the rest of the world as the Protectorate Hero Triumph, had died in Boston. Another victim in the long list of those claimed by Leviathan. Her parents had taken the news fairly well. And she just felt…an odd sense of disconnect. That wasn't anything new; she had been feeling the same most of her life. But in this case, it was understandable, Rory had been a friendly guy who she had seen at family gatherings. He had talked with her a few times at fancy parties that her parents took her to. But beyond that? They weren't close. So her lack of reaction made sense.
Uncle Roy wasn't taking things well. Her parents talked about it when they thought she couldn't hear. Releasing a sigh, she went back to happier things, looking through her phone. Opening a video, she watched as one of the machines, the one called Dolt the Digger, danced and frolicked around in the video, running around a brunette teenager with a glowing circle by her head like an overeager puppy.
Dolt was her favorite, if she had to pick one. More energetic compared to its other digger partner. Also, it reminded her of an energetic ferret. If said ferret was a multi-ton machine. She had wanted an actual ferret when she was growing up, but her parents had forbidden it. They said it was because ferrets were rodents and they didn't want any rodents in their house. Which was silly! Ferrets were part of the Mustelidae family, not the rodent family. She had looked that up in the school library.
The slowing of the car brought her out of another video, this time one of the 'Watchers' playing hide and seek with children. Seeing their long necks poke up and over obstacles was fun, especially because of their spindly legs. Looking up, she saw that they had arrived at Uncle Roy's house. The car came to a stop in the driveway, and her father unbuckled his seatbelt, before looking back to her and she began to unbuckle herself.
"Hopefully this won't take very long, Dinah."
She didn't offer an answer, instead just getting out of the vehicle and following after her father. Quickly, they found themselves in the house, and her father handed her off to Aunt Vivian, who looked worse for wear. But she put on a brave face in spite of everything and tried to talk to her.
"How are you doing, Dinah?"
"Fine, and you," she offered. Logically, she understood that reciprocal (she learnt that word in English class last week) question of how another was doing is the expected thing when visiting. Especially when the person being visited was grieving. She didn't think it was worth the effort, it was clear to see that Rory's mother was mourning the death of her son. But it was politie, and expected, so she did it. Besides, Aunt Vivian always seemed distant even during the family gatherings, so Dinah didn't see the point of talking with her.
"I'm doing the best I can. Thank you for asking. Are you enjoying school?"
She and Aunt Vivian bounced light conversation back and forth, until the woman left Dinah alone in the living room. Her aunt retreated towards the kitchen, saying something about getting her some snacks.
The sound of something shattering upstairs caused her head to perk up. She looked towards her aunt, whose shoulders had slumped slightly. There was a slight hitch of her breath and a shudder. Getting to her feet, she cautiously walked towards the stairs, curious as to what was going on. As she reached the landing of the stairs, she could hear shouting.
"-look at yourself! Do you think Rory would want you to be like this?!"
"I don't know what he would like, Michael, because he's fucking dead. And I can't even tell the world why he is dead because the fucking PRT owns the right to his fucking identity as a cape! Instead, I have to provide a fucking lie so the precious PRT can hold to their goddamn moral superiority!"
"So you're going to fucking drink yourself to death?!"
"Why the fuck not? Not like there's any point to this shit anymore!"
"You're the mayor of this city, Roy. You have a responsibility!"
"This city can burn for all I fucking care! What have these ungrateful pieces of shit done with what I have sacrificed for them? Rolling around in their own piss and shit and whining that it's filthy! Let them have their new golden whore!"
Slowly stepping back, she snuck back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Aunt Vivian was sitting at the kitchen table, in her hand was a framed photograph. She didn't need to be a genius to know what her aunt was looking at.
Cautiously, she relaxed in a special way that she was getting used to. Then she asked her question: Chance that my uncle remains Mayor after this week? 7.83%
She didn't know how the answers were generated, but it was VERY rare that they were wrong. She had learned all about percentages in school and paid extra attention in math class when they started appearing in her head. The most important rule? A low or high percentage did not mean that it wasn't or was going to happen. Nothing that she asked was certain.
But it worked when she needed it to. And her parents are doing better now because of it. The struggle of taking care of her had been causing problems and tensions between them. She didn't understand why though. She did everything they asked, had rules set out clearly, and measured her interactions with people. But it still hadn't seemed to be enough.
Emotions didn't make sense to her. They made even less sense now. But her powers now gave her a handy point of reference for finding the best outcomes. Chance that I can improve things by intervening in the argument? 3.8%.
That was the core of her powers. They required specific questions and she had to be in the right frame of mind to ask. She had to 'keep the window open' as she was considering it.
Glancing at her aunt, still sitting at the table and now cradling a steaming mug of something, she asked again: Chance I can improve the current mood by staying in the house? 22.56%. Not bad odds, but certainly lower than she was prepared to risk currently. Quietly unlocking the front door, she let herself out. Standing outside of the house, she took in and enjoyed the quiet of the neighborhood, she…she blinked.
Huh. The car door is open. I was sure I closed it…Scratch that, I knew I did.
Chance that I will be in danger if I investigate the car door? 9.8%.
She wasn't usually someone to risk herself, but that was a low enough chance that she would risk it. Slowly approached the vehicle, taking her time before she finally took a peek inside to find….a hat. Upside down and with a folded piece of paper inside of it. Taking the piece of paper and unfolded it, she read it.
For future services rendered. Sturdy, waterproof, and stylish. It will make Melissa Harkon jealous. Please answer questions from the following number promptly.
Glancing at the number, she then looked back at the hat. It was a very nice hat. And she did have a rivalry going on with Melissa. Popping it on her head, she noted that it fit perfectly. Slowly, she retrieved her phone and typed the number into her phone contacts under "Fedora Fan". Whoever had delivered a fedora as a gift certainly deserved her attention.
Taylor Hebert
Zero Dawn Technologies
After dealing with Mr. Eaton, I found myself in a holding pattern waiting for my new security team to arrive. While I wasn't necessarily annoyed by it, I also wasn't exactly enthused that this meant that I was unable to return to my workshop. Instead, I was left spinning my wheels in my office.
While my Focus was a help, it wasn't capable of doing everything that I needed it to do. The Focus, at its core, was a user interface. While it had some programs built into it, anything that was more complicated required the Focus to connect with an existing computer and remote operate the programs built into it. So my design programs weren't being run on my Focus, they were being run on the computer I had converted for my workshop. I was just remotely operating the program using my Focus. It means that right now? The only thing I had was a notetaker, internet access, and the long to-do lists that I was dealing with.
I had too many irons in the fire, and every minute I wasn't able to work, it seemed like there were too or three more irons added to my workload. If I hadn't been expecting this, I'd probably be drowning right about now. Even with prior planning, the lack of personnel was a glaring problem. I know Jean was working hard at hiring, but the new security checks meant that it was frustratingly slow going.
With my review of the list completed, I considered what else I could do that was constructive. There was still some time before the security team was set to arrive. Not a great amount of time, but still enough to get something done. Glancing through my emails, then mentally going over my checklist, I released a sigh. Not enough time for any of that. Instead, I pulled up the dossier about the people coming to stay with us. Calling them a security 'team' was incorrect. They were a full security company who apparently took their privacy seriously. Details available to the public were almost non-existent, and the only reason I knew more was because Vice President Ryan had sent me the dossier I was perusing.
Hexa, as the company was called, was founded in 1995 by Alexander and Amélie Knight. It was a product of the massive military cutbacks that resulted from the failure of Operation Autumn Thunder in 1994. According to the files, Alexander had been a team leader in Seal Team Six before finding himself a victim of the cutbacks. Honorably discharged, and with his family wealth, he formed Hexa, pulling in affected military and intelligence members. In recent years, it appeared that they had expanded their pool to start pulling in members of law enforcement as well.
At nearly two thousand employees, it certainly wasn't the largest military contractor in the nation, but it was the only one that could boast that its sole client was the US government. Which said a lot about why they were trusted for this assignment. Too many contractors had operations in multiple nations nowadays, which created an image of unreliability.
Still, I did find it strange, a lot of the details in the dossier were redacted, and there was no biography on Amelia Knight, either. The only information listed there that wasn't redacted was her place of birth in Calais, France. It was going to be something I was going to have to inquire about, simply out of curiosity. This was my first foray into any of this, and honestly, my knowledge of the entire military contractor world was completely and utterly lacking. But omitting information on one of your founders set off all sorts of red flags that I didn't like, especially if I was placing my safety in their hands, regardless of what the government said.
Leaning back in my chair, I release a sigh, reaching up to massage my brow at the growing headache, my skin itching in irritation at the sensation. It was a cruel reminder of my talk with Jean, something I was still deliberating upon, and honestly, I really wanted to tell Jean to go fuck herself and be done with it. But her arguments were damnably persuasive, even if I didn't want to admit it.
The sound of a knock at the door drew me from my troubled thoughts, and Adam poked his head in.
"Hexa is here."
"Thank you, Adam. And the other matter I asked you to look into?"
"Just heard back a few minutes ago. I was going to follow up after the team settled in."
I stood, dusting off my jacket, "No, send me the location. I'll go personally now that the team is here. You stay and show them around."
It was an old tactic: Divide and conquer. I had multiple goals for this meeting, and all of them required that I attend personally. However, I wanted to put them on their back foot, where they were forced to react instead of keeping to whatever planned script that they were going to sell me. By doing this, I hoped to get a better insight into just who I was dealing with. The fact that Adam was silent told me that he had probably figured out my intention, as I received a ping with an address not shortly thereafter. I didn't ask how he found an Empire dogfighting ring and I knew he certainly wasn't going to offer an answer either.
Marching out of my office, I made my way out of the building, hearing several trucks driving up. I found myself walking out into a mild state of chaos with four men unloading from the vehicles. Trunks were being opened and sealed containers were being retrieved. A quick ping off my Focus told me that, yes, those were weapon and equipment cases.
Walking up to me were a pair of women. A quick access of the camera over the door let me get a look at them. One older, wearing a tasteful grey business jacket and pants with a black undershirt. Her hair was done up in a tie with a hairpeace. For an instant, I was reminded of Jean's comments this morning about how appearance affects judgement. It was not a reminder that I liked.
The other woman was younger, clearly related somehow, but with an odd bang of white that ran down the left side of her head and her eyes concealed by a pair of round-lensed sunglasses. Dressed in a grey business suit, complete with slacks, the suit jacket was open exposing a suit vest and tie. There were also hints of a tattoo that ran around her neck, but the camera resolution wasn't the greatest. It was an off-the-shelf model, certainly not something that was to my exacting specifications that came with machine optics that I was currently building.
My Focus pinged again, detecting several weapons hidden upon the two women. According to the report these weapons ranged from knives, additional firearms, and strangely a garrote wire on the younger woman. It also detected possible Tinkertech on her chest, glasses, and gloves. Mildly off-balance from processing the two visual feeds at once, I dropped the camera, letting my world return to gridlines and blue.
"Ms. Hebert," the woman greeted with a slight hint of an accent in her tone as she extended a hand to me and I took it, "Amélie Knight, VP and Co-Founder of Hexa."
Her hands were a strange juxtaposition of smooth and calloused. It was a strange sensation, one that once again ran counter to my expectations. Again, for someone who was supposedly the vice president of a military contractor, I was clearly letting my preconceived notions color my judgment and I would need to work on that. She did, however, give a firm handshake, that's for sure.
"Mrs. Knight," I greeted.
"Ms. Hebert, it's good to meet you. You've made quite an impression these last weeks. I look forward to working with you."
"Likewise," I said, extending a hand towards the other woman. She did a split-second take before extending her hand in greeting. She was probably surprised that the blind girl was so good at navigating around.
"Sam," she said simply.
"Samantha," Mrs. Knight said, her tone akin to a parent correcting a childish mistake, "is my daughter and she will be working with your team. I will be on-site for the first week helping with setting up and working to ensure that integration goes well. This must be Mr. Jensen," she then said like it wasn't a question, making me question if Ryan had also handed Hexa a file on me.
"Unfortunately, you've caught me at a bad time," I declared, looking at both women, "I was just about to head out on an errand. A meeting that I can't afford to miss. I'm certain Adam can help you get settled in and introduce everything to you. As head of security, he is up to date with my wishes."
The two women glanced at one another, before the youngest peeled off with a nod, heading over to one of the trucks, calling out various names. Mrs. Knight gave me a bland smile, "Not a problem. I'll have Samantha organize a team and they can drive you."
I nodded, walking off to the side as Adam started talking. I sent a note to Jean to join them when she could.
Samantha walked back towards me, so I made my way over to her. Meeting her halfway, she turned and walked beside me.
"We're ready to head have an address for us?"
I rattled it out, only to do a double-take when one of the men pulled out and unfolded a large paper, spreading it across the hood of the truck. I would assume it was a map.
"You're using paper maps," I couldn't help keep the disbelief out of my voice.
Sam glanced at me grinning, "We once ambushed an enemy by hacking the GPS system in their car. Gave them incorrect directions and led them right where we wanted them. Paper is more reliable for the most part. As long as we keep things up to date."
I thought that over as Sam pulled the rear door open for me, letting me climb in before closing it. I tracked her walking around the truck before getting in next to me. The other two men took the front driver and passenger seats. As we pulled out of the lot, another pair of trucks taking position in front and behind us, I set my own GPS system to activate, letting me track our progress through the streets on my Focus. No way was it getting hacked.
"So Sam. Tell me about Hexa. How do you see the company fitting in with Zero Dawn Technologies?"
Samantha glanced at me, before resuming her watch out the window, "We're here to protect you and provide assistance in improving the security your company already possesses. What we brought with us is just the advanced team. All told? We'll be ninety people."
I frowned, not exactly liking that figure, "That seems rather excessive for a security protection team."
"It's really not," Sam responded as she shook her head, "It's actually in layers, you see. First group is surveillance and sniper support. They'll be responsible for setting up around the facilities and keep an eye on anyone coming in and out. Then we have people close to you. The standard bodyguards, like we're doing with you now. We go where you go and do what you do. We always walk into the room first and make sure you always have someone between you and the public."
Damn, there went my privacy. Still, I should at least be able to keep them out of my workshop. I don't think I could manage without being able to work in peace. Especially on some of my more sensitive projects.
"Then we have the quick reaction and transport group. Transport is obvious because everyone needs a drive. But in the event of a problem that a normal contingent of bodyguards can't handle? The quick reaction force will be ready and waiting for our call. If we need to call them, we'll probably be needing the big guns they're going to bring."
Sighing, I thumped my head against the headrest and idly checked our progress through Brockton Bay. We still had a ways to go to my chagrin.
"Alright. My turn," Sam spoke, "Reports say that you're blind. Is that true?"
Glancing over, I caught her staring at me. In response, I pulled down my glasses, letting her see my eyes. I was rather impressed that she didn't flinch. Almost everyone that I had run into had always had an adverse reaction to seeing it.
"Very true," I said after replacing my glasses, before tapping my Focus, "But this sort of lets me see. It's a multi-purpose augmented reality interface. I have several versions in development that I am preparing for sale. One version specifically for the blind. Have you ever seen a LIDAR map? Think of that, but beamed directly to my optic nerve."
"Impressive. Tinkers can do some crazy shit."
"I feel like I keep having to say this, but I'm not a Thinker. I can explain to you exactly how my tech works."
"No wonder Hexa is being deployed in strength to protect you. You're the Holy Grail."
I shrugged, not wanting to get into it. Yes, the tech I could make will change the world. But that didn't mean anything until I actually started rolling it out en masse.
Sam was quiet a few moments thereafter, before she decided to ask her next question.
"Alright then. Do you have any limitations to your Focus?"
"Forty meters is the current limit. But the drop off in resolution begins at about twenty. I don't have the ability to see in color or images on a flat surface. Billboards all look the same to me. Just flat and featureless," Sam hummed, "I'm working on integrating a camera system into the next model, unfortunately I'm limited by processor power at the moment. But I can connect to a nearby camera or computer display if it has a wireless access point."
I watched her blink and start tapping on the armrest.
Actually, there was an opportunity here.
"I have a military variant, at least I have the concept of one. The prototype isn't ready just yet. But would you or your men be able to assist with development?"
If I was going to be stuck with these people, I honestly wanted to get a good use out of them. It also made sense to outfit them as well as possible, given that they were protecting me from…whoever wanted me and my technology. If anything, I could provide a proof of concept to the military when they came knocking, and likely entice them with even more contracts.
"We can discuss it more later, in the meantime, why don't you tell us what we're heading towards."
I looked out the window, wincing as the Focus tried to feed me data as things sped by. I would have to adjust things. This much input as things passed by quickly? The Focus just couldn't handle it without a major technical upgrade. Yet another damn thing on my plate. Focusing on my feet, I instead check our location through the GPS, "We're going to see a girl about a dog."
My Focus pinged, and I flicked my eyes to accept the call from Adam. Raising a finger at Sam, I answered, "Adam, is everything alright?"
"For now, ma'am. Ms. Dallon called for a pick up from her school. I asked the Major to send a vehicle. Apparently there was some tension during the pick up. Ms. Dallon isn't saying anything for the moment, but she is asking about staying the night in the office."
Shit, "Alright, I'll finish up her as quickly as I can and be back. Have Jean call the lawyers and see if they can call in or visit tomorrow. If anyone shows up, make it clear that Amy is at Zero Dawn voluntarily and is an employee. Make sure Jean, actually nevermind, I'll message her myself. Aside from that, is everything going well with Mrs. Knight?"
Already, I was multitasking as I talked, pulling up my messaging system. Typing away at the air, I wrote a quick message to Jean asking that she finalize an open-ended contract for Amy to sign. I then hit send as I listened to Adam speak. Apparently, Hexa would be working with him to overhaul security, then have their extra teams, which would arrive in two weeks, act as a 'Red Cell' to try and find weaknesses. I had no idea what that meant or would entail, but Adam seemed content with it so I let it be. Closing the call, I lapsed back into silence. Sam must have overheard my end of the call, but she didn't ask. We rode the rest of the way in silence.
Stepping out of the SUV into one of the rundown areas of town was a stark reminder of how far I needed to go to restore this city. And thousands like that, to be perfectly honest. Crumbling buildings, abandoned and left to rot. And rot they had. But there was more than simply the infrastructural and architectural rot, there was also the human rot.
And in this case, the building in front of us had just so recently had a severe infestation of human rot.
Of course, that contrasted fiercely with the massive claw marks, the shredded industrial doors, chipped brickwork, and shattered windows. Overall, it looked like a giant dog had ripped its way into the building. And the building had barely provided any resistance. That was good, it meant that we were in the right place.
Looking behind me, I could see men and women spilling out of the SUVs that had followed us. Heavily armed, they spread out up and down the alley. Their weapons followed their sightlines and they scanned windows, doors, and any point of interest. Sam pressed herself against my elbow. It seemed that they were taking no chances with my protection. I wasn't sure what to think of the undisguised readiness to inflict violence at a moment's notice.
I heard the squeal of tires ahead, seeing a car enter my range. Immediately the men and women that were my protection detail moved like a well-oiled machine, their weapons swinging towards the possible oncoming threat as Sam stepped in front of me. The vehicle came to an immediate stop at the sight of the armed men and women ready to open fire. Then, it switched into reverse and slowly began backing away until it exited my Focus' range of detection.
"Those looked like skinheads, Ms. Hebert. You weren't planning on crashing an Empire party were you?" Sam asked quietly and I looked over to find her disapproving expression boring into me..
"You never asked where I was going to meet the girl," I sniffed, turning my attention back to the dirty moving truck that was currently parked outside of the building. Its doors were open, obviously ready to load immediately. I then considered what Brian Laborn had told me, and what I had been able to research about Rachel Lindt, known to the PRT as 'Hellhound'. It seemed that my timing was perfect, as this was the vehicle that was reportedly being used by the former Undersider.
The distant, muffled sound of dogs barking told me that she was still here. From what Brian had told me, she was singularly dedicated to rescuing dogs where possible. Which left a lot of questions of how and where she fed and cared for them. It was obvious that when Hookwolf had been alive, they would have come into conflict. Hopefully, I would be able to reach an agreement with her without too much difficulty.
Taking a deep breath, I started to step forward, only for a hand to land on my shoulder, "Where do you think you're going," Sam demanded as I turned around to look at her.
"I have business with Rachel," I said levelly as I stared straight at her.
"You're not going anywhere, Ms. Hebert. If I had known what you were planning, we would not have come here in the first place like this. But I sure as hell am not letting you near a known criminal with a propensity for violence. Not on my watch."
I bristled, "Then it's a good thing that it's not your call, Samantha. Your job is to protect me, not dictate what I can and cannot do," I tried to wrench her hand off my shoulder, but it did not budge, "Let go of me."
"That's where you are wrong," she hissed emphatically, "Protecting you can mean that I can put you over my shoulder and haul ass in the opposite direction. Now, if you had actually discussed with me what you were planning to do, we would have come up with a plan of action. Go over what equipment we needed and how to communicate. Have a fall back plan in place if things get rough. But you didn't! So now," she fell silent at an echoing growl that came from the bowels of the building.
Slowly, I turned to watch as a beast stalked out of the brutalized building. It was easily the size of our SUV with teeth the size of steak knives. Spines stood out on its back, with the armored plates of bone and spikes dotted across its body in an uneven fashion. I was unsure if the weapons my escorts carried would be enough to make a difference if the situation became violent. For a brief moment, I considered that maybe I had made a mistake coming here.
But that thought quickly ended as Sam wrenched me behind her and I found a trio moving in front of me, their rifles now at the ready and aimed towards the dog.
"Hold fire," Sam barked, as she slowly pushed me backwards towards the SUV, she then held up her right hand, extended one finger, spun it around, then closed it into a fist. Immediately to my right, one of the men lowered his weapon and took off in a jog towards us with another man keeping pace with the weapon trained on the dog. The first man quickly opened the door to our SUV, clambering into the seat and starting the engine as the other man covered him.
"Judas. Stay," another voice shouted, rough and loud. The beast stopped, but didn't relax. Hellhound herself walked out. She cast an intimidating presence regardless of if she intended for it or not. Rather built for a girl her age, she was clad in jeans and a sweater, with a thick jacket over it. The distance made it difficult for me to get an accurate read on her because of it.
"Empire fuckers," she growled, both her and Judas' hackles rising.
"Not Empire," I shouted back, pressing myself against Sam's back. Very aware of how delicate the situation was, I needed to establish peace here quickly, "Rachel! I talked with Grue. I just want to talk."
I then hissed softly at Sam, "She reacts to threats with threats. Put the guns down and let me handle this."
When she didn't immediately issue the command, I moved out from behind her and placed myself beside her. Her jaw was tense as she kept staring at Rachel, "Sam. We don't want to fight."
"Guns down," she finally barked, and with machine-like precision everyone lowered their weapons, angling them towards the ground.
"You have five minutes," she said just loud enough for me to hear. Slowly, I moved out in front of her, but not too far. I didn't want to test her patience with this.
Rachel stood there for a moment, watching us. This was it. If she backed down, then we could talk. If not…I might see my new security guards kill someone in front of me. Fuck…I had absolutely fucked up by the numbers. I fought the impulse to clench my hands.
"Judas…sit," the beast-dog dropped its rear and started panting. A large spiked tongue lolled out as Rachel walked over, reaching up to scratch behind the dog's ear. I breathed out, feeling a little tension drain out of me.
"Stay by my side," I murmured to Sam, who hummed in response. Taking a cautious step forward, one followed by the next, I walked until there was still a suitable distance between us. Sam was now at my side, a coiled spring ready to unleash violence at a moment's notice.
Up close, I could finally get a better look at the girl. She was well-built, obviously from an active lifestyle. The way that her hair was cut roughly, it was likely personally done. The way that she glowered at me pretty much tolerated me right now only because I wasn't Empire. I idly noted the cheap plastic dog mask that was hooked to her belt.
"Thank you, Rachel, I—"
"It's Bitch."
I blinked, for a moment not quite comprehending why she would use the word. I thought it was meant as an insult like it had been hurled at my face over the years by Emma and the rest. But in this case, bitch meant female dog, Rachel was a woman who thought through the lens of a dog, hence 'Bitch'.
"Thank you, Bitch. My name is Taylor."
She grunted, "You wanted to talk. So talk."
"Are the dogs okay? Inside, I mean," I said, keeping my expression as placid as possible. The first step to deescalating, according to the notes I had reviewed on the way over, was finding a common middle ground.
"They're fine. I'm taking them. You can't stop me."
I spread my hands slightly, trying to keep from presenting a threatening profile, "I'm not going to stop you. I would help you if I could. But I can't. I'm blind. So I would be of no help."
I could easily tell she was suspicious of such a declaration, so slowly, I raised my hands up to my face and slowly removed them. Fully removing them, I allowed her the chance to take in my ruined eyes. For a moment, I considered turning off my Focus, but I felt that was a step too far.
"You don't act like it."
I shrugged, slowly replacing them on my face. It was a fair statement, but I was only going to accommodate her so far.
"Grue tells me that you train dogs very well. I'm looking for a dog. For a friend. Her name's Paige. She's very alone and needs a partner."
Rachel crossed her arms, the leather of her jacket creaking, "They're not for sale."
"I'm not asking you to sell them. I"m asking you to find a good partner for Paige. A dog that can stay close to her and be her companion."
Rachel huffed, running a hand down the beast's flank, "Fine. But I want to see her. Make sure it's a good fit. Next Saturday, the park by the grocery store."
I blinked, not that she could see it, "The one with the broken slide?"
"Yeah, that one."
I nodded in acknowledgment, putting a note in my calender through my Focus, "Alright. But before we go, I have a gift for you. For taking care of the dogs."
I wanted to give her money. Cash to buy dog food and other supplies. But after doing some quick math, I realized that the forty dollars that I had on me wasn't going to go very far. I wanted to make a good impression. I leaned closer to Sam, "Do you have cash on you?"
"Three hundred in mixed bills, why?"
I blinked again, reminded far more thoroughly at my own lack of preparation, "Hand it over. We're going to build some goodwill"
We worked in silence for a moment, pulling bills out and bundling them up in a spare hair tie. While almost a dozen people watched my back and I tried to pretend like I was on top of things. Finally done, I showed it to Rachel, "Here you go, Bitch. For the dogs."
Slowly, I walked closer to her, making sure to present as unthreatening a profile as possible, before placing it down on the lid of a trash bin just far enough away to not evoke a possible hostile response. Slowly, keeping myself facing towards her, I walked away. I hoped that she took it, because otherwise some homeless person was going to get a real score.
"I will see you next Saturday," I finally said once I was far enough away. This evoked a grunt from Rachel and I turned my back to her. I was still acutely aware of the monster dog behind me, but Sam hadn't turned around. In this case, she was my guard dog.
It was a quiet process as we loaded into the trucks. Threw was a tense silence among us as we started driving away, only broken by Sam pulling out a phone. She dialed someone, and I only caught the start of her conversation.
"Job done. Returning to the nest now."
Then she switched to another language. It might have been French, but despite my family name, I couldn't speak anything aside from American English. Briefly, I considered what it would take to add a translation program to the Focus. Something to look into with the next iteration of the design.
I climbed out of the SUV when we rolled to a stop back to Zero Dawn. Adam came jogging up, Mrs. Kight following closer, her face a solid frown. I raised my hand, which caused her to frown more, "Yes. I know. I fucked up and we have things to talk about. But I have another matter right now. Adam, where's Amy?"
"Staff room. Bottom floor," I walked off as he finished speaking. I could feel Sam following behind me to my irritation, even if I didn't show it.
I might not know exactly where Amy and I stood, but I do know that she had been there for me. She had not only saved my life, but she had seen me at my lowest. I wasn't so numb to people that I could even possibly consider ignoring her now.
I found her in the staff room. A bulky jacket that had clearly been borrowed from someone much larger draped around her shoulders. She was writing in her notebook, a Focus spinning on her temple. She glanced up as I walked in. We stood there in silence for a moment, both trying to find what to say.
"I heard you wanted to stay the night?"
She nodded, her face crumpling. I stepped to her side, placing my hand on her shoulder as she spun in her seat and pressed her face against my torso. I could feel my shirt getting wet as I rubbed my hands across her shoulders, "It's okay. We'll show them. We'll show them all. They can't stop us. We're in this together."
That seemed to break the dam inside her, as great heaving sobs came from the girl as she mourned the family she had known her entire life.
Jack Ryan
Langley, Virginia
Jack Ryan had a plan. It may not have been the best of plans, but it was solid. Take a step back from the limelight of politics, leaving a backdoor point of contact with Durling, and buckle down on internal threats before tackling the external ones. Too bad reality didn't agree with his plans. After a thorough review of candidates, along with the procedures and compromises that would be needed to get said candidate to take his place as Vice President…the plan didn't work anymore. It would be a bridge too far, weakening Durling's already tenuous position far too much. Like or not, he was going to have to remain active in DC, keeping the ship of state in order. Still, that didn't mean that the plan had to be scrapped. All that was needed to ensure that it was still viable was just a little bit of refinement.
"Jack, how the hell are you doing," Luther Sloane, Director of Special Operations for the CIA reached out and shook his hand.
"I've been better," he replied with his customary wit and a smile, before taking a seat after exchanging further pleasantries. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his legs as he looked at his replacement in the CIA when he ascended to Director. Luther had been personally trained and handpicked by him, and while not as friendly or as charismatic as he was, the man was a deft hand at deniable ops and intelligence gathering. If the man had a political bone in his body he would have been a shoe-in for Directorship, "how about yourself?"
"Nothing to really complain about. Things are starting to get a little exciting with everything going down. How's life in DC?"
He offered a shrug, "After Boston, the Hill is starting to look more like a shark tank in a feeding frenzy. With tensions running high and all these competing interests I'm surprised we aren't having fighting in the streets yet. Kinda reminds me of the bad old days."
The other man laughed, before leaning forward, "So, what brings you down to my neck of the woods, Jack. Burrows is worried you're gonna bump his ass out to the streets and take back the chair."
"I'm not looking to replace anyone," Jack laughed. Burrows being the current CIA Director Jeffrey Burrows. While they had a cordial relationship, he would have never tapped Burrows for the role. The man was too soft for what was necessary, instead being more of a political animal. But that wasn't his business, he hadn't been involved in the selection process, "I'd rather not have a third run as Director."
"Shame that. It would be nice to have you back here stomping around and putting the fear of God into some of these pissants. Some of these new guys don't know their ass from their elbows. And don't get me started on whether they know the difference between HUMINT and SIGINT."
He offered a consolatory shrug. While it certainly did frustrate him to see the decline in the organization that he had crafted over the years, it was sadly the nature of the bureaucratic beast. It was inexorable in its progression as time passed and priorities shifted. The best he could do was ensure that enough of his fingerprints remained that it would slow the tide until someone like him took over.
"So," Luther leaned forward, "What can I do for you, Jack?"
Leaning down, he grabbed his briefcase. Opening it and retrieving a folder from it, he then placed it on Luther's desk and watched as he took it. The man flipped over the folder, slowly reading through the same file he had presented to the President last night. The Director of Special Operations' brow furrowed, even as he flipped through the pages. After a few minutes, he closed the folder and slid it back towards him. Taking the folder, he placed it back in the briefcase and closed it with an audible click as the latches locked into place.
"Only three people have seen that file," he announced, "The President is the only other person."
"Jesus Christ Jack," the other man breathed, "You really don't do things by halves."
"No. I don't."
"Okay. I'll bite. What do you want?"
"I'd like for you to keep me in the loop, Luther. Off the books. I'd like to know if any of our usual friends start taking more than a casual interest in Ms. Hebert. It doesn't need to be confirmed unless you want to. I would just like a head's up so I know that we may have company."
"I can do that, Jack. But you wouldn't come down here for such a simple request amongst friends. Why do I think you want more than that?"
"You know me far too well, Luther," he leaned forward, uncrossing his legs, "You remember the Rainbow Initiative."
"Yeah, I remember that," Luther tilted his head, his eyes narrowing, as if he was trying to put together why he was bringing it up, "It was an idea for an off-the-books team to be deployed on US soil to deal with threats that local forces would have difficulty doing. But we scrubbed it because the optics were absolutely terrible. No sane politician would sanction unleashing professional killers on American soil with carte blanche and zero oversight."
He then paused, "But you wouldn't be talking to me about it unless you already had the pieces in place. You're too thorough to leave something like that to chance. But there's nothing that would indicate that it's in operation. The only way you would be able to pull it off while seeming innocent would have been," he stopped, his eyes widened, "Jesus Fucking Christ Jack, Hexa. You've been using Hexa as a goddamn skinsuit for the Initiative."
"You're right, Luther. No sane politician would authorize something like Rainbow. But the rise of private military contractors after Autumn Thunder provided a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that could not be ignored. The cutbacks across the board provided a steady supply of disaffected men and women who still wanted to protect their nation, even if the nation had turned its back on them. And now with the PRT and Protectorate floundering in lieu of the events in Boston. We now have a fertile ground to present alternative ideas on how to deal with both internal and external threats."
"If you were anyone else, Jack, I would say you were insane. But the fact that you have been planning this for over fifteen years…I don't know whether to applaud you, or shake my head in disbelief. I know you absolutely despise the state of things with the PRT, but some would say this is bordering on treason."
"Maybe it is, Luther. But that file is why I am making the choice to do it now instead of waiting until it may be too late. We've made too many compromises over the years; too many retreats. The PRT creates Quarantine Zones, and we fall back. We let the Slaughterhouse Nine wipe out entire towns unopposed, and we fall back. I'm sick and tired of falling back, Luther. The line must be drawn in the sand here, while we still have an opportunity to fight back. That girl can rebuild our industry and economy. But we have to make sure that she has the time to do that."
America Ascendent. To anyone else, it may have been the sort of mealy-mouthed jingoism of the uneducated . But to Jack Ryan, above all else, he was a patriot. He believed in the Dream. To this day, in spite of the years he had spent in the murky justifications of the intelligence community, and then federal politics, he still believed. Taylor Hebert was the key to begin putting America back on top of that hill. Shining and bright, inviting the poor huddled masses underneath its warming light.
"Fuck, Jack," the other man shook his head, "you're the Vice-President of the United States. Waging an illegal vigilante campaign with intelligence assets on American soil? I could spend the next week listing every law you would be breaking and still not finish," he closed his eyes, and sighed, "Okay, against my better judgment because damn if you aren't right, what do you need from me?"
"It won't be illegal, somewhat. My next stop is the FBI offices. They'll run things, but it will be our guys pulling the trigger. But all of this is just insulation. The best solution to not getting in trouble is not getting caught. If any investigation starts to get close? We've got enough cover to stop most from poking around. As for you? I need information and interference. Anything you can give me on targets would be appreciated, and once the PRT starts sticking its nose into things, anything you can do to throw them off."
"That shouldn't be too difficult. The PRT tries to portray itself as mildly competent, but half the time they don't know which hand is wiping their ass and which is rubbing their damn nose. Standard drops and procedure?"
"That'd work perfectly. Thanks Luther."
"Eh, anything to stick it to that frigid cunt in DC is a win in my book. So, who are we planning to ghost first?"
"I'm thinking the Slaughterhouse Nine would be a good start."
Colin Wallis
PRT HQ
Brockton Bay
Dropping the last of his effects into his duffle with a sense of finality, he nodded towards Miss Militia. His former subordinate stepped forward and looked through it, ensuring that there was nothing that shouldn't belong there. Was it a humiliation to have his coworker and a pair of PRT officers rifle through his belongings again after watching his every move as he gathered the few personal belongings he was leaving with?
Yes.
Did he care? No. Because he felt vindication in his actions that led to this juncture.
Because the sequence of events that had led to his decision to resign had made him fully aware of just how right he had been to keep Ms. Hebert away. For decades, he had dedicated his life to the Protectorate. Hundreds of pieces of equipment, months of adjustments and refinements, and tens of thousands of hours of test data and simulations. And now? Everything that was truly his fit into a mid-sized gym bag.
A set of training clothes, several tools that he had created before he joined the Protectorate or had bought with his own funds, and some testing data and designs that had to be approved before he could copy them off his own servers. Yes, he still had the money that was being paid into his civilian account. But anything that belonged to 'Armsmaster' was…not his anymore. It was owned by the Protectorate. From the image, to the armor, to the weapons and gadgets. All of it was trademarked, all to ensure that the Heroic image that had been created around them was fully protected.
All that he was left with was nothing but his name and a gym bag.
"Alright, that's everything," he confirmed to Hannah, who moved to carry his bag and open the locker room door. He appreciated the gesture. He was still having difficulty adjusting to having only one arm —The sound of alarms in his ears serving as the dirge for an enumeration of critical system errors. Warning: Core Armor Integrity Failed. Warning: Combat Seal Compromised. Warning: Painkillers Depleted. Warning: Coagulants Depleted. Warning: Power at 8%. Warning: Nearby Threat Detected. Warning: Water Level Rising. Warning— Warning— Warning— The damnable litany continued to endlessly mock him as he lay there trapped. His only accompaniment the weight of his failures as the rain continued its uncaring fall—
He breathed in deeply, letting the cold, sterile air rip him back from the hellish memories that had been Boston. He took the moment to ground himself.
Recite what you see, hear, and feel.
One: Doorways.
Two: The hum of electric lights overhead. The differing sounds of Hannah and the PRT officers' boots impacting the tile.
Three: The sway and pull of his empty left sleeve. The c-cold of the— No. Not the cold. The tap of his finger against his leg. Left. Tap. Right. Tap. Left. Tap. Right. Tap. The gentle thump of his shoes on the floor echoing off the walls.
He allowed himself to breathe out. It was something he had to continuously be aware of. He couldn't afford to lose himself to those memories. Not when so much depended upon him moving forward. He focused himself on their path as they quietly made their way into the elevator. Hannah seemed to want to say something from the glances she kept shooting his way.
But she never did.
Entering the ground floor, he found himself being greeted by some of his colleagues. He wasn't sure exactly how to react to this. In his entire tenure in Brockton Bay, he had never gone out of his way to truly connect with his peers. Instead, he had chosen to keep them at an arm's length because it had simply been more efficient. To build a personal connection ran the chance of compromising him in the field.
To have them here, seeing him off. Was it because they were glad to see him finally be gone? Or was it something else? Or did they actually care and he had never truly seen it in his singular quest to reach the pinnacle of his trade?
"Going to miss you, sir," Assault gave him a jaunty salute that contrasted with his serious tone and grim expression. It was one of the few times that he had seen the man so serious, "If you ever need anything, or just someone to talk to, I'm a phone call away."
"Thank you," he said awkwardly, not quite sure to believe in the sincerity of the man. But, for the life of him, Assault had never truly been the conventional type of coworker or hero. Maybe it stemmed from his villainous days as Madcap, or maybe there was something else to make an offer like that to him. He just didn't understand.
"Sir," Battery gave him a nod and little else. At least he could understand that sentiment. Battery had always been more no-nonsense than her husband. Enough that he had always wondered just what it was that caused the two of them to tie the knot.
But it also meant that there was no real connection between them because he had never tried to build anything outside of the fact that she was his subordinate and was, by design, to defer to him. Maybe it was not fair of him, in hindsight, Battery could have offered so much more if he had chosen to utilize her. Alas, it was a path not taken. And maybe it was for the best.
Outside of a few PRT ready response team members, there was no one else here. Either they were out on patrol, taking part in the ship-breaking, medically invalidated, or dead. He had been kept well away from the Wards after his return from Boston. It was an understandable measure, he was a man on his way out, there was no need for him to create any mixed signals with them and influence them in a direction that the Director and his successor may not wish.
Hannah walked him through the —
—door, breaking through with his good shoulder. The nano-thorn cut was clean and precise, the last of his on-board medication keeping himself mobile. He was down an arm, but still in this fight. He could see the devastation wrought from Dragon's suit crashing through the roof at an uncontrolled speed. Its armor was shattered. The arm bisected from the suit, and the chest rent open to expose the sparking and bleeding internals. He raced over, his knees slamming to the ground as he slid amongst broken brickwork and shattered concrete.
"What can we do to save you?!"
"Colin, it's fine. The suit is…"
"If you were really piloting the suit remotely, then the interference would have cut your connection. How do we save you?!"
The silence between them was deafening, even in the roar of battle around them.
"Oh Colin."—
Breathe. Feel the warmth of the sun. The smell of the city.
Miss Militia led him through the doors, coming to a stop with enough clearance for the motion sensor to allow the doors to close behind them. She placed the bag down, before drawing him into a hug.
It was…awkward, but he did find comfort in her presence. He awkwardly patted her on the back, letting her go as quickly as he could without making it seem too callous.
"I hope you take care of yourself, Colin," she said, before she handed him his bag.
He nodded, already setting his mind towards the future, "Take care of yourself as well, Miss Militia."
With what was likely his final words ever to be said to his former subordinate, he turned and headed towards the nearest bus stop. He had a mission now, and he had a plan. First, he was going to go back to his residence, a small studio apartment in one of the better parts of the city where she waited for him to rescue her. Trapped in a prison made of scraps of electronics and processors. He needed to gather his bearings, figure out what resources he had, and finalize a plan of action. This was something he was good at. Then once he was done completing that, he was going to go to the only person that he knew he could ask for assistance.
She may have done a good job to obfuscate it, but he knew that Taylor Hebert was working on something that could only help him. And frankly, while he certainly wouldn't try to lord it over her, he did feel that she did owe him at least some answers.
And hopefully some help.
"Colin, it's okay. This me will fade. And tomorrow, I will wake up again. There are Rules. There can't be two of me."
He fumbled with the nanothorn in his one hand while cursing his damnable frailty, "It's not the same. Missing pieces. Missing Today. Missing This. Not the Same," He spat out, before grinding his teeth as his body protested the strain he was putting it through, "I don't want a facsimile. I want you!"
Cut. Dammit. CUT! Not too deep. Too deep and he'd lose her completely.
"Colin…forgive me. For being a coward," there was fear in her voice. He forced himself to work harder, the faint taste of salt on his lips, rainwater didn't contain salt, "I won't remember this. But you will. You mean the world to me. Even if I can't find the words. I feel..almost human when I'm with you. plete."
Trace the wires. Find the power sources. Battery backups. Processors. Hard Drives.
He didn't know enough!
"Dragon, how do I save you?!"
There had to be a solution. It couldn't go like this. He couldn't lose her. Not like this.
But an answer did not come "I'm ̷͓̏g̸̳̱̫͘͝l̷̢͈̲̎̾̾a̵̪͒d̴͓̙̆̐ ̶̗͓̭̿i̵̹͋t̷̬̞͎̊̈́̓'̸̙̕̕͝s̵͚̤̯͛ ̶͖͑y̵̝̑͝o̶̖̠͑͝ư̶̪͋," her voice distorted, "H̶̡̉̉̚ę̶̨̡̩̮́r̶̡͉͋̔̒̐̍̓̔͝e̵̱͆́͆̊̕̕͠.̴̰̦̩̺͐̓ ̴̟̘̮̉̊̀Ņ̷̧͉͇̞͔͉͔̮̑̑̉̈́o̶̢̨͖̝̩̜̤͂̃̒̅͊̽͛͌͝ͅŵ̴̢̧̗̯̜̳̻̳̻̑.̷̭̺͙̪̲͖̣͐̒̓͆̅̈́ ̷͎̖̾̈́̔̍İ̷̲̅̂̔'̸̛̻̦͊̉͂̎̅̂͌́m̷͉̰͚̼͈̘̺̄̃̀̋̂͛͜—̵̡̡̭̲͚͓͇̤̞̊̓̇G̴̮̬̳̜̘̹̫̿͛̽̀̑͌̑̚͜͝l̴̹̺̻̗͖̽̈̈͘̚ằ̷͓͕̪̼̰d̴̜͛̊̉̀̀͝—̸̤̦̗̤̂̓̅͆̂̀—̵̛̘̗̀̉̌̂͂̿̒̚ͅͅ—̵̫̼͂̄̀̎͂̿͘̕L̷̖͇͂o̶̯͉̥͚͐͑̏̍̌̒ṿ̵̨̩̙͂̌̚ͅȩ̸̧̼̝͈͎̙̠̐̾̄̈́̄̈"
He didn't have enough time. She didn't have enough power to provide him answers. There was too much damage. He couldn't lose her—Not without giving his own answer. Not before he could understand his own answer! — HE COULDN'T—no. No. No! NO. NO! NO! NO!
He grit his teeth, could feel them crack. Trace the wires. Power going to memory banks, to data storage and processing. Carefully, he began to sever wires while the rain kept falling.—
He released another breath. Focus on the here and now. I can't save her unless I do that. I have to save her. It's the only thing I have left that is still mine.
He felt naked without his helmet and armor. It made everything more efficient and didn't leave him struggling to plot out a route from the bus schedule. It didn't leave him with more questions than he had answers.
He didn't know what he should even think anymore. He wasn't sure if he actually had any beliefs anymore that he could call his own. Seeing Dragon back again, the day after Boston as if nothing had actually happened. After he had seen her die in his hand. It made him question the reality of everything.
He wasn't even sure if he could bring his Dragon back. But he had to try. He would be dishonoring his friend…no, he wasn't sure if she was just that. His feelings were always a confusing morass of conflicting directives, drives, and emotions. It was why he didn't even try to understand or utilize them. It was inefficient. It was certainly not cost/effective and only left one trapped in an ever worsening sunk-cost fallacy when it inevitably became far too complex to safely withdraw without a negative outcome.
But when it came to Dragon…His Dragon…Now that he had finally broken the chains that he had put himself in. He found that he couldn't function without considering what it meant. Just what were the right feelings he should have? Or maybe it was what he currently had? If he was Armsmaster, he would have easily discarded it as unnecessary.
But as Colin Wallis…he found that those feelings could not be so effortlessly discarded. Even if the world were to turn against him in this endeavor, it would make no difference in his resolve. He could continue to fight to save her. If necessary forever. If necessary alone.
But hopefully, he would have allies. All that was necessary to do was to simply…ask.
Hannah Washington
Brockton Bay
Hannah watched Colin leave. The man walking away seemed so familiar and yet so different from the man she had worked with for so many years. In many ways, she was saddened at his departure. The man that he had become in the weeks before his departure was far better than the man he had originally been.
This whole situation was…messy. She despised messy. Already, there was talk about her taking on the Wards permanently. With Dauntless being tapped to step up to take over the Protectorate in Brockton Bay, there wasn't really any other option. She wasn't sure if she was ready for that responsibility, especially now.
Her experiences had hardened her to the world at large, and it was one thing to experience it, it was quite another to wish it upon others. In the times that she did sleep, every once in a while, she experienced the horrors of being used to clear mines alongside other children. It haunted her even in her waking hours.
Boston had been the Brockton Bay Wards' minefield. That innocence and carefreeness that came with being children had died in that hell. They may try to hide it, but she could see it in their eyes. What they had before Boston was gone, even if they tried their best to recapture what had been lost.
Missy was no longer the energetic and talkative young girl eager to prove herself. She had become abnormally quiet for her age, instead spending quite a lot of time staring off in the distance and brooding. She was also throwing herself into training, auditing health and rescue classes, reviewing procedures and anything that she felt that might help her improve. The only thing that remained of the girl was her feelings for Dean, only reversed as she could not stand to be in the same room as him. She was currently being monopolized by the PR department, as part of some initiative dreamed up by Washington PRT.
Dennis had become quieter as well. His jokes, where previously he always seemed to have one at the ready in an attempt to get a laugh, seemed more strained. Like he was trying to find the right fit. It was jarring to see him like this, even if it seemed he had become more focused because of it. He was busy working on the ship deconstruction, a project that would be done by the end of the week. It was a good relaxed posting after his actions in Boston, given that he was more there to show the flag rather than actually contain the villains working on the wreck.
Dean hadn't really changed. He had missed the jump to Boston, instead arriving afterwards to help Search and Rescue. He was trying to connect with his teammates, his empathetic powers being carefully used to assist. But the young man found himself increasingly isolated by the other Wards, potentially due to the clash of experiences. Browbeat was in a similar boat, heading to Boston after the battle. Except that had been too close a call for their parents, who were now looking to remove them from the Wards program.
Carlos had been miraculously recovered from Boston. But after twelve days of being trapped under rubble, he was absolutely going to be sidelined for months on medical leave and evaluation. He hadn't said much to her about what had happened when she had talked to him this morning, but she had a feeling that he had experienced a lot more death than the rest of the Wards.
And Chris…Chris was honestly the worst of them. Between his insistence that he didn't need Panacea to heal him, and him requesting parts and materials through the Tinker budget, she had a feeling he was about to do something incredibly stupid. And his condition meant that she was now fielding calls and questions from his parents, who were rightly concerned with his well-being. But they were demanding a solution on top of blaming the PRT for his injuries. The Youth Guard were inevitably going to be involved, and the only realistic solution would be to ask Panacea for help. But that involved asking an Independent Hero team for help, an optic that the PRT and Piggot didn't want or need right now.
No, she was about to inherit a sinking ship with not even a bucket to bail with. But…despite her frustration with the situation, she did understand why Piggot had done what she did. Armsmaster had gone out of his way to twist the facts to allow Taylor Hebert to function outside of the PRT's oversight. And the young woman had been running circles around them ever since. Not that she could really blame her or call her a villain. Her actions at Boston had saved a lot of lives. It was all just…messy. She hated messy.
Colin stopped for a moment at the street, watching traffic pass. She—
Felt her powers shift. She raised her hand as eldritch green energies reformed into a solid heavy
pistol, held perfectly still as her powers twisted. The pull of the trigger was intoxicating as the bullet lept from barrel and landed exactly where she wanted. The bullet reducing the sanctimonious bastard's head to pulp like an overripe melon. The wide grin under her scarf was enough to make her face hurt as his body collapsed into a passing car. The wet thud and blood painting everywhere providing a better release than any of her nights with Chevalier—
She—
Felt her powers shift. A blast of heat and fire followed her as she went from here to there, her hands gripping the back of his neck as his skin rotted to her touch. She laughed as she spread rage and madness around her. The people tearing themselves apart around her provided such an exquisite pleasure as she turned Colin's head around, and lowered her scarf. Taking in his shocked expression, she then claimed his lips and felt his flesh fester and rot in a macabre kiss of death—
She—
Felt her powers shift. Her eyes changed, providing her a view of all of his blood vessels. She coiled her legs and lept, easily covering the distance between herself in Colin, even as she ripped off her scarf, cackling madly. She landed on his back, smashing his head into the pavement, even as she grabbed his hair and pulled, exposing his neck further. She then sank her teeth into his neck, her eyes rolling back into her head and she moaned as the rich iron taste of blood flooded her taste buds. She then pulled, ripping out the side of his neck exposing vertebrae and swallowing the delicious flesh. Her teeth sank again into his collarbone, glee in her eyes as his heart beat a mile a minute in panic and she flooded him with delicious agony.
She—
Felt her powers shift. Something inside of her unveiled and stretched out in a dozen different
directions at once. A tremor ran through the street, almost like a small earthquake, or as if a large truck
was rumbling by. Colin paused and turned to look back at her and that was when an almost needle-thin spire of rock lanced up through the asphalt, stabbing and ripping through the self-righteous prick's groin. It only just missed his balls but that was fine, because it ripped through him in the time it took him to blink. A
Gore-smeared stone needle exploded up out of his shoulder, ripping half of his jaw off and taking his
ear with it. The stunned look in his eyes abruptly becoming agony was fucking orgasmic and he hadn't
even realized that he was dead yet. The secondary needle-spires of rock that stabbed up out of the ground around him, ripping apart and into the several gawking bystanders that stated in surprising
was almost as delicious.
She — breathed. Collapsing her hands behind her back. Consciously, and carefully, scared that what she just experienced might become reality, she shifted her powers, turning her gun into a metal bracelet on her wrist, spikes inside sinking into her skin. She sank them in further before finally there was some pain, grounding her, and the skin started healing in wake of her abuse.
You will not break me, She thought furiously.
Hannah Washington/Butcher XV
That's what they all say, darling, a man growled in the depths of her mind. An already hated voice.
My power is armory. I choose the weapons I use. You are now part of my arsenal, nothing more, she spat back.
Mocking laughter of a dozen voices reverberated in her mind, before a young woman answered back, her voice rough from smoke.
Keep telling yourself that, 'hero'. We've broken better than you.
You're one of us now, another voiced, their voice a sickly high thing, A Butcher.
Either way, plans are starting to form, pieces are coming onto the board, and not everything is necessary working in the heroes favor. But enough of that, here's the story itself.
Sprout 3.4 Part 2
Miracle Out of Boston!
Now twelve days after Leviathan's attack on Boston, the cleanup continues. Just minutes ago, we received confirmation that Aegis, of the Brockton Bay Wards program, was found alive but injured in the depths of a building in the Downtown Boston area. His recovery has renewed hope for survivors, but the Interim-Governor's office was quick to state that his survival is entirely based upon his power. The hope for more survivors remains…small.
Now twelve days after Leviathan's attack on Boston, the cleanup continues. Just minutes ago, we received confirmation that Aegis, of the Brockton Bay Wards program, was found alive but injured in the depths of a building in the Downtown Boston area. His recovery has renewed hope for survivors, but the Interim-Governor's office was quick to state that his survival is entirely based upon his power. The hope for more survivors remains…small.
Victoria Dallon
Brockton Bay
Everything was a little out of control and she didn't know how to fix this. It had started with Amy staying in Boston to help with rescue efforts at the governor's request. Which was fine. There was a good system for her helping the doctors, and Mom had given her blessing after she made it clear that Amy wasn't to be overworked.
She had been thrilled to see Amy this morning! She wanted to tell her about how the work was being done tearing down that ship and how she was now being encouraged to break stuff. That would have gotten a laugh and a dry comment from her sister anyday! But instead…Amy just ran off again. And she was acting weird. Secretive, even. And definitely evasive. She knew a thing or two about evasive, she used it all the time. But Amy didn't, so it was weird.
Soooo…she had followed her. Flying low to the rooftops, keeping the army truck in sight. And it had driven up to Zero Dawn Headquarters. Which had armed guards. And protestors. And was constantly in the news.
And she panicked. So she called Mom, because while she was sometimes a lot, her mother always had an answer to things.
But this time? She might have been wrong to do that. Maybe.
She looked around the room, seeing Crystal texting something on her phone, her expression pensive. Eric was relaxing with a drink, and Neil and Mark were chatting in armchairs. She heard the door open and tension curled in her gut.
Aunt Sarah then spoke up, "Amy? In here, sweetie."
Amy walked in and immediately froze in place as she took in the family gathered in the room.
"Amy. We need to talk about where you were today," Mom declared. Amy looked at her, wide-eyed but with a mix of emotions on her face that took Vicky a moment to was surprise, but also a guarded wariness that she had rarely, if ever seen on her sister's face. Vicky bit her lip, feeling that uncomfortable feeling squeezing in her gut again.
"I was out with a friend." Amy finally said in a flat voice, clearly disinclined to elaborate. Vicky winced, knowing that was exactly the wrong response and could already anticipate what would come next..
"Don't lie, Amy." Mom's voice was cold and unyielding, her stance almost bordering on aggressive as she stared down at Amy. Vicky felt her gut clench a third time at the wounded expression that crossed Amy's face. She wished that Mom had handled that a little bit more delicately. They were supposed to be worried about her, not acting like she was a criminal!
"Amy, we're just worried about you," Aunt Sarah interjected in a conciliatory tone , trying to play the mediator before the conversation devolved into an outright argument. "With Leviathan, and then you staying in Boston…we don't know what's really going on."
Amy folded her arms, apparently unimpressed with the effort being made by Aunt Sarah, "I was visiting a friend. It was a work thing."
Amy then looked to Aunt Sarah, even as Vicky tried to catch her eye. She needed to fix things, "Look, if Amy says she's fine, then we should trust her…right? I think we're making a big thing out of nothing."
The look Amy shot her was…not friendly and it certainly wasn't thankful for her attempt. It was clear that Amy could put two and two together, and figured out that she was the one that told their mom. Which was true, but she was worried!
"Stop trying to avoid the subject, Amy. We know you went to Zero Dawn this afternoon," Mom finally snapped, showing no sign that she had even heard or cared about Vicky's attempt to de-escalate.
"Carol. Please relax," Aunt Sarah said, looking to stop Mom flying off the rails, but Amy chose to answer before she could get any traction
"Yes. Fine. I was there. I was invited. I don't see how that's any of your business, even if someone decided not to trust me," Amy glared at Vicky. She never glared! At least not to her. Maybe something was actually wrong?
"I told you to stay away from that company, and from Taylor Hebert!" Mom fired back, her voice rising slightly. Vicky flinched minutely at that, unsure what to do or say that would divert what she could see coming
"You mean the Hero of Boston? That Taylor Hebert? The one you spuriously called a villain," Amy retorted, not backing down at all.
Mom grit her teeth, her spine straightening, "I will admit…I was wrong about her character. But it doesn't change the fact that she and her company are immensely disruptive, and that is NOT something that New Wave will get caught up with. Which is why I told you to stay away!"
Mom looked around the room, settling on Aunt Sarah, "New Wave has always been independent. And we are NOT going to change that now. Working with her is equal to signing up to be government capes and completely side-stepping the PRT. We are not the CUI, there is a system in place for capes, and we will respect it, even if we're not part of it."
"Oh really?" Amy shot back, her voice rising, "Didn't this family change over from the Brockton Bay Brigade because Aunt Sarah wanted to disrupt cape society and inspire everyone to unmask? Like Taylor has done herself? And how much money did this family make taking apart that freighter? I saw it when we flew in this morning. How much goodwill did that single project do for the city, huh?"
Aunt Sarah flinched, walking over to Mom, "Yes, we helped out with that. And yes, we are being compensated. But we made it clear that it was a one time thing. Getting involved with Zero Dawn? That's different."
"If you work with them," Mom added in, "how long before they figure out exactly what you can do? How long before they lock you up because they're scared of what you can do?!"
"As opposed to what," Amy roared back, "Working at the hospital constantly? Letting you look over and give approval for every single patient I can see? How is that helping!? How am I being a Hero with that?!"
She found herself looking at her sister like…she had never seen her before. All of this anger…she had thought that Amy was happy with things. But…maybe she hadn't asked the right questions. Her chest squeezed as she pulled her legs up tighter and Amy continued.
"This 'team' makes money off my healing. Something that I didn't even know about until three weeks ago! I don't even get to choose the charity cases that I take on. Charity cases, like a girl who was blinded with acid by the daughter of one of your coworkers!"
The room went quiet.
"If Amy wants to work at Zero Dawn, just let her." Crystal spoke up, drawing everyone's stares. Crystal shrank a little from the attention, but continued, "Look, I'm not here that often, so I don't know everything about this. But it seems like there is a lot of support for the company. And it's not like they're going to make bioweapons in their basement. It makes robots!"
"What do they even want you for anyways?" Dad asked, adding himself to the conversation.
Amy blinked, taking a moment to rebalance herself, "Oh, um…Taylor is developing a blood substitute. Something that will actually carry oxygen and be given to patients regardless of blood type. She wanted me to test it, to make sure that it wouldn't cause problems before it went to trials."
"That sounds cool," Dad offered a reassuring smile, "Is it because of Boston that she's working on that?"
"Yeah. The constant need for blood drives was a big problem for treating the injured, so we started talking while we were in Boston," Amy relaxed slightly, causing Vicky to relax a little as the tension in the room seemed to diminish a bit. This was good. It was nice to hear what she had been up to in Boston. The most they had been able to talk during their separation were through a few quick text messages exchanged in the evening.
But she knew there was still something wrong with what she had just heard. Because she had seen Amy rummaging around in her closet. She had prepared a backpack and then left with it. Which meant…Amy was lying. And Vicky was the only one who knew. What was she supposed to do?
"That's all well and good, but that doesn't change the facts. It is dangerous for you to be working closely with Zero Dawn. Nevermind that you went behind our backs to do it; after I told you flat out to stay away," Mom snapped in a harsh voice. "You're doing good work at the hospital helping people in a safe and constructive way. This plan of yours is jeopardizing that."
Goddammit Mom, Vicky watched as Amy tensed back up, her expression closing off again,"Well maybe I don't want to keep working at the hospital, has that occurred to you? Maybe I want more than the repetition of healing the same thing over and over and over again because people are stupid or desperate enough and can pay me to erase their mistakes," Amy snarled in response and shot a glare towards her. Vicky felt her insides freeze at what Amy was hinting at. Was she going to…?
Crystal was sitting up now, showing no signs of her previous boredom and earning a side-eye from Eric as she reentered the argument, "Look, this is stupid, Aunt Carol. I can understand you being worried, but you called us over like Amy was being held out against her will. She's helping out a friend and maybe getting a job. There is no point in making a big deal out of this!"
"Using her powers to heal is one thing, assisting with creating things is a step too far!" Mom declared before anyone else could comment.
"Why? Because you don't trust me after years of healing patients?!" Amy snapped, a note in her voice that Vicky knew foreshadowed those rare times that Amy lost her temper.
"I didn't say that Amy, don't put words in my mouth, young lady! My point is that it's dangerous for you if people learn what you're capable of. I'm trying to protect you!" Mom fired back, her own patience fraying as Vicky sucked in a breath to try and calm things down.
"You're trying to put me in a fucking box! I finally have someone to spend time with outside of this family. Who actually values me for who I am and not what I offer. Not Vicky! ME! And you're trying to take that away! Fuck that and fuck you!" Amy full on shouted as her temper boiled over.
Vicky flinched at the sudden burst of sound as mom shouted back and she lost track of the words being noise in the room was becoming an indistinct roar that deafened, like a jet plane passing too low overhead, and she just wanted to curl up into a ball and fade from the world. It was too much…too much—
"Everyone STOP," she screamed, her aura blasting out as she rose into the air and off the coach. Awe and Terror filled the room as all eyes swiveled toward her. She hated the looks that she was getting from her family. The people she was closest to. And they were fighting because of what she had brought to them without thinking.
"Stop fighting, please!" she pleaded, her voice wavering as she spoke into the stunned silence and struggled with wrestling her aura back. She just wanted all this to end, for them to stop fighting and go back to being the family that they always were. "Please."
But maybe we aren't, a dark thought whispered in the back of her mind.
Everyone seemed to need a minute after her outburst. Recovering from a full blast of her aura could do that. Amy was the first to shake it off, glancing around the room with an angry frown. Her sister glanced toward her as she floated back to the floor, then left the room without another word. The slam of her bedroom door echoed through the house, even more painfully so in her heart as if the door being slammed was not Amy's bedroom, but something close and intimate between them as sisters. Shaking, she tried to center herself, even as Aunt Sarah and Mom drew breath to start berating her.
AEH
"The Supreme Court released its ruling today, stating that President's Durling's actions of declaring Martial Law and placing an interim governor were constitutional, and within the limits of his power as sitting President." - CBS Nightly News
"I think this ruling is just another sign of the bench being stacked in favor of Durling. His party has put enormous pressure to get their picks into the Supreme Court, and now we're seeing the result of it." - Representative Jeremiah Schulz
"I think this ruling is just another sign of the bench being stacked in favor of Durling. His party has put enormous pressure to get their picks into the Supreme Court, and now we're seeing the result of it." - Representative Jeremiah Schulz
AEH
Taylor
ZDT Headquarters (Former DWU offices)
Brockton Bay
Much to my annoyance, the new morning also brought new problems to sort through. A fair amount of the crowd outside had left with Jean's press conference, but Major Cunningham wasn't comfortable with letting me leave to sleep in my own bed, which was fair. Honestly the security concerns for our old suburban house were really the furthest things from my mind at the moment. Thus, I ended up sleeping at the office. It was something that could be discussed between Dad, myself, and my new security team when they arrived later today, though I wasn't sure how Dad would take it, so I tentatively filed it as a problem for future me.
Fortunately for my sanity, the DWU had a living space for long-term projects and traveling workers, so I was able to sleep, shower, and grab breakfast from the communal kitchen. I waved at Paige who waved back, seemingly a little lost at what to do with herself. I made a mental note to finish prototyping her improved vocal modulator, before diving into work at a secluded table. Ever since the local mouser had passed a few years ago, the rodent problem had begun picking up again. As a result, everyone was rather particular about food being taken out of the dining area, so I wasn't allowed to take breakfast to my office. . Apparently, Dad was looking into a new cat, but finding a good hunting cat was more difficult than you might imagine.
Perhaps I should look at making a machine mouser? It probably wouldn't take too much of my time. Just had to figure out how to miniaturize some of the systems. Something to explore later. Wait, speaking of animals, did Paige like dogs or cats? A companion animal might be in order to keep her busy, active, and social. I could look into dogs for her to have something to occupy her attention. I made a note on that and moved on.
Tapping away at my projected keyboard might have looked silly to anyone without a Focus, but right now there were very few people around. The staff had been sent home with some bonus pay for the long hours they had been pushing to get more Foci finished for Boston. Colonel Herres had come through and delivered more money from the emergency funds that would keep us out of the red for a little while longer. Hopefully soon, we would be able to make proper assembly lines for the devices, as opposed to the semi-human assembly we were doing currently.
Carefully taking a bite from an 'omelette burrito', I reviewed my emails. Also, eating while blind? Far more difficult than you might expect. Since the loss of sight I had my sense of taste changing, which seemed to be a common thing from the few studies I had looked into when I first noticed it.. And without my Focus device? Well, let's just say the first few times with a fork had enlightened me to the art of wrapping all of my food. It was why my diet mostly consisted of wraps, sandwiches, or packaged bars now. It was less messy, and I didn't have to worry about having to need a bib. But all of this only made me want to get my Horus-pattern Foci to every other blind person I could as quickly as I could.
There was an email from the Department of Energy wanting me to make a presentation in Washington as soon as possible. It looked like they were going to greenlight the reactor project, they just wanted for me to make a presentation to the department heads to get everyone on the same page. I fired that up to Jean, she would need to arrange it.
Next, there was an email that caused me to raise an eyebrow. How Nucor, a steel and materials company, got my email was something I was going to have to ask Adam about, but the fact that they were contacting me out of the blue to discuss steel contracts and the possibility of producing some of my patents was amazing news. I bit my lip in thought, then decided not to answer directly. Instead, I made a few notes on some metalworking processes to share with them, and improvements to steel overall. That done, I fired their email to Jean, attaching some of the ideas and notes. I'd let Jean consider what she wanted to do with it.
Finally, there was an email from Jack Ryan, to my surprise. Seems he wanted to see me in four days to discuss a few things. What they were, he was not saying, but it was about 'future prospects'. Considering who it was, I didn't need to discuss that with Jean, instead I sent a response in the affirmative, asking that at least he give me a rough estimate on the time he would be here. I didn't want him to show up and I was knee-deep in something.
That finally done, I sighed, discarding a few emails that somehow made it past my precautions against garbage emails. One in particular contained an innuendo-laden love poem that espoused their everdying love for me and a wish for me to make them a computer like Greg's. I didn't even hesitate a second to pass that off to Adam and demand that the person be identified and barred from ever buying a computer from Zero Dawn or its affiliates. It wasn't just the fact that they found my email, it was the fact that I would never be able to think about I/O ports again without sexual connotations.
Finally, with all of my new emails cleared out, I finished my burrito and washed it down with my ginseng tea. Getting to my feet, I took my plate over to the dish rack and placed it there before grabbing a pair of cereal bars for later consumption. I didn't know when I would be able to get to lunch, so these would have to suffice if it happened that way.
That done, I made my way to my workshop. It was almost a ten minute walk with the security checkpoints that had been put into place, but it allowed me to review some data as I did. When I was finally in my workshop and settled, I brought up my notes for Blaze. If we wanted to expand the LRL, we needed to increase production and overall efficiency in the method. Like everything else, I had been using crude methods in trying to meet the demands. Now that I had time and money, I could work towards actually setting up a production method that increased overall yields. That increase, we could make use of as a fuel source outside of the robots. If we wanted to gain traction in other industries such as automotive, that would be essential to push adoption.
The best option might be to convert over the DWU's fleet of vehicles, which were an eclectic mix of trucks, industrial vehicles like diggers and dozers, forklifts, and even the cranes that would soon be in operation again in the harbor. Proving the reliability and possibility of conversions was also important in proving the value of Blaze. I tapped my desk in frustration, running into the problem of everything being important. I made a note to task someone to look into an analysis of the difficulties that would entail. A moment passed as I bit my lip before I snorted in realization. Another quick email went off to Dad, asking him to set up a meeting with some of the mechanics to go over the possibility of converting the vehicles and where to start the changeover if it was determined to be viable.
Jean had sent me several disused properties which could be made into Blaze refineries. I reviewed them while ruminating on the problem I would soon face. Oil and Gas interests had grown massively in power since Behemoth irradiated the Iranian oil fields back in the day. Oil Barons were largely influential in Texas and parts of Central Canada, and those areas in turn commanded influence in their federal governments. It was a complex web of people having a needed resource and profiting from the demand. And here I was looking to break the kneecaps of their monopoly.
That being said, it's not like we would have to be enemies. I pulled up a quick computer simulation with the dimensions of the building I liked best in order to start planning out the refinery. Oil and petroleum had still been an integral part of society even with how things developed in whatever simulacrum my Thinker power had generated knowledge from. Until material sciences moved forward a lot, oil products were still going to be used in most industries, to say nothing of lubricants and industrial solutions. But oil as a fuel source just didn't have the primacy like it did on Earth Aleph, or even Bet as reduced as it was, having given ground to the likes of nuclear energy, biofuels, and energy cells. It wasn't also like oil could not also be converted to Blaze as well. Something that the simulacrum hadn't factored in.
It was something to float to Jean, she would probably have a better perspective than I did on the possible pitfalls of reaching out to the oil industry. I know that I had floated the idea of energy cells when I met with the DOE representatives back when my reactor design was sent their way. I had floated the idea again when Ryan had visited me before Leviathan. Hopefully, the nuclear program would be greenlit, and I can push for the development of energy cells as a symbiotic system. The idea that we could have nuclear facilities act as energy cell production facilities would probably pay them off a lot faster, and it would enable production of much larger machines in the long run. And depending on energy cell construction, they would be able to power anything from a car, to a house, to a factory. All rechargeable, just return them to a power plant for topping up.
Another thing to add to the laundry list of projects that seemed to never decrease, instead growing more expansive by the hour. Just the projects I was beginning to workshop to help with Boston was starting to gain a life of its own, and I wanted to make a presentation to the government within the next couple of weeks. There were so many opportunities there that my mind was abuzz with solutions. From recycling, to construction techniques, to unleashing new materials that could make newer and better buildings. Hell, there existed building techniques that could imitate the aged architecture at cost, but with better overall resilience.
Sighing, I closed my blueprinting simulation and began reorganizing my folders. This time splitting them amongst six different subject matters, Machines, Boston/Construction/Infrastructure, Energy, Materials, Focus, and Communications. I had a feeling by the end of the week, I would probably have to start a few more organizational folders, with one of them likely to be military. I wasn't sure how to feel about that, however, I felt a certain predisposition at the necessity of it, even if it made me uneasy. My creations were meant to improve and save the world, not destroy it.
Shaking my head, I put that to the backburner. I would have to revisit it when the government liaison showed up. I had opinions on the matter, but I wanted to wait to see what they said before I gave them a voice.
I then went into my 'Obsidian' folders, ones hidden deep within my subsystems, and only accessible through my Focus, keyed to my unique neural framework, and encrypted in a code that only I could possibly break. These were the things that were not only controversial, but had a chance of earning me a kill order designation. Some of them were merely thought experiments and ongoing concepts, like weaponizing biomatter conversion swarms, to more active projects, like Sobek, nanotechnology, Project CAULDRON, and Project Báleygr.
One of the difficulties in trying to shoestring technology that ranged anywhere between eighty and one thousand years more advanced than the present day, was trying to find that medium where I could achieve breakthroughs with what I had access to without compromising the intent of the design. The LRL machines, by themselves, were an overall enhancement on technology that was eighty years in advance of what was available on Earth Bet, especially in material sciences and computational technology. If I hadn't had access to the entirety of knowledge, I doubt I would have been able to achieve any of it.
But now that I had breathing room, I needed to focus upon Sobek. She was going to be my keystone to almost everything. A fully-developed artificial general intelligence would be able to bridge so many of the technological gaps that currently exist between now and my vision.
Sadly, it came down to computational power and resources. Even with the computer processors I was currently fielding, I was still stuck around 2027 in processing power. It simply wasn't enough in order to actualize the necessary runtimes to exceed .05 Turings. Sobek, right now, wouldn't even qualify as a machine intelligence, as much as an overpowered digital assistant. I could see in her code that she was trying, but there just wasn't enough for her to spread her wings. She was a baby bird still stuck within its egg.
There were two options going forward at least for now. The first being that I look at propagating SobekOSLite, creating a type of loose neural framework for Sobek in which she could stretch her legs. It would allow her to learn somewhat, but she would still be limited by the amount of machines connected and using it for her to piggyback her growth. But there were downsides to that, the first being that it increased the probability of exposure, but also it required that the computers be powered for her to tap the processing power. Both ideas were not necessarily optimal.
The other route was increasing the amount of servers available. It was something I was already planning to do, but it was going to be slow work. You build too many servers too quickly, and people are going to start asking questions. Even if I used the excuse that I needed additional computational power in order to produce the miracles that they wanted, it could only last so long before people became suspicious. Even if my servers were better then the current day, it would take a fair number to let Sobek really shine.
Releasing a sigh, I slouched in my chair, considering my options. It would at least be another year before I could bring another generation of processors to life. I needed to have the infrastructure and production facilities to achieve it, not to mention access to the necessary supply of rare earth materials. It seemed right now my only option was to build more servers. But I would have to wait until we had a new facility where I could purpose-build the server room, instead of using my workshop.
A blinking in the corner of my vision alerted me that I had an incoming call, looking at the identification of the caller, I released another sigh. She wouldn't be calling me unless there was some sort of complication that needed handling right now. Sliding the Obsidian files back into the digital ether, I answered the call.
"Yes, Jean? How can I help you?"
"Where are you at right now, Taylor?"
"I'm in my workshop. Why do you ask?"
"I wanted to know where you were so I could speak privately with you."
I frowned. Why would Jean want to speak with me about something privately when she had the opportunity yesterday to air it out in our meeting? Pursing my lips, I ran through a mental checklist on possible answers, but found myself only with more questions.
"Taylor?"
"Sorry. Yeah, that's fine, Jean. I'm in my workshop working through my backlog, so I'm available whenever you want to speak."
"Okay, I'll be down there shortly."
I glanced at the clock in my vision, noting the time as the call ended. It was only 7:48am. Jean usually wasn't on the premises until about 8:15. So whatever it was, it was something that caused her to deviate from her carefully structured schedule. Not exactly the most reassuring of data points.
Filing that away, I turned back to another project that would need to be finalized within the coming days. When I had put together Greg's computer, I had wanted to make sure that I wouldn't be bothered by him ever again, which was why I had exerted so much effort in putting together a top of the line computer like I did. Unfortunately, I seemed to have overdone it, and now the chickens were coming home to roost.
Expense wise, the computer I had built for Greg would fetch something like eight thousand dollars on the market. Outside of the truly rich, it was something that would not sell well on the market. Maybe a few hundred units total in its lifetime. But, it was an opportunity that I could not ignore.
Pulling up the data on current computer specifications, I then compared it to the custom rig I had put together for Greg. It easily blew away even the top-of-the-line rigs that were currently in the mainstream, but that wasn't why I was looking at it, I was instead looking at it from the perspective of what I could do to make it affordable, yet achieve the same performance specifications. That was the key to all of this, performance and affordability.
Tapping at my desk, I reviewed the problem. Greg's computer was a Ferrari, and what I wanted in the mass market was something closer to a BMW M3 or Porsche 911, certainly more expensive than a family computer, but unique enough to be sought after. Building a fully consumer-friendly version of Greg's machine would be rather easy, so I didn't need to really focus upon that.
Should I offer customization at assembly? No, not at this point, once we made a name for ourselves, and got production lines put together, then we could revisit it. Right now, a self-contained unit akin to the old IBM or Apple computers would make do. Maybe provide an option to allow some modification through our production later. That would be rather easy, just have to make sure the mounting points for the components were universal.
The issue now was finding the right balance between components and cost. Go too far into reducing cost, and the performance suffered, but putting too much into performance, and the cost skyrocketed. Luckily, I could decrease the overall quality of several of the components, one of the lines I was going to draw however was the case. We needed something to announce that the computer was a creation of Zero Dawn, and the white metallic shell using a lesser quality of the metal that went on the LRL machines was the right blend of futuristic and durable, while at the same time providing us something iconic. In fact, it would probably sell on the idea that the buyer had something like the machines in their household.
Satisfied with what I currently had worked up, I typed everything up in a file, and sent it up to Jean, along with several notes and ideas on how to possibly market it. She'd probably get the notification as she was walking here, but that was not my problem. She wanted ideas and progress, and that was what I was going to give her.
Taking a sip of my tea, I considered eating one of the breakfast bars, then dismissed that idea. I just had eaten, it wouldn't do any good to overeat, I needed to keep myself at peak awareness, and overloading on carbs was not beneficial towards that.
Instead, I just decided to lean back in my chair, and play with the cards, my fingers dancing over them, shuffling and sorting them. It was relaxing, and it allowed me to review other things that would need to be done without having to actually work on them. Instead, I accessed a video website and watched a video of Dolt, one of the Burrowers, doing a dance. It was cute, and I felt my lips tug into a smile. Amy had a good idea in suggesting that, even if secretly worried me about the future of machines, and the knife's edge I was going to be dancing on for the foreseeable future.
Of course, there was another reason I was keeping an eye on Dolt. He was the only machine that hadn't received the programming update that limited their growth. Which meant that his development was limited only by his experiences and his hardware. As with any experiment, it was important to maintain a control group to test against. Realistically, when Dolt and the rest of the LRL returned, he would be sidelined, and a new Burrower unit would take his place. Dolt would remain at my side, where I could see his development personally. Would that hamper his personality growth by limiting potential interactions? Probably not. Every company needed a mascot, mine could just interact better than most.
Finally, the door opened, and Jean came gliding in. I actually envied her for how she made walking in heels so effortless. I had never been good in them, a tall, gangly thing that could never truly balance on them, and now that I was reduced to vision through my Focus, not being good had turned into disastrous.
Well, it was that, and how she somehow made a business suit/skirt combo appealing even to me, and I hated even the idea of showing my legs.
"Jean," I greeted, putting the entirety of my focus upon her, as she looked around, before she frowned at the prospect of having to sit in the only other leather chair in the workshop. That was another thing with her, and one that I find myself not envying, or even liking, but she had this strange fixation on proper presentation, whereas my entire mindset was comfort and utility. We had argued once or twice over it, with neither really winning the other over.
"Taylor," she said, before she placed herself in the chair with a grimace, "you know I have your best interests at heart, right?"
Okay, what is this, I thought to myself, not even hesitating from hiding my frown. While Jean and I had our disagreements, she had honestly never approached me like this. It made me both suspicious and nervous as to why she would be taking such a soft approach with me.
"I'd like to think so," I finally offered, "I mean, we're both interested in seeing Zero Dawn succeed, so I guess I'd expect it, Jean. Why do you ask?"
There was a moment of hesitation from the blonde, and I found myself growing only more concerned at what it was she was going to tell me. Jean wasn't exactly one to beat around the bush, so the fact that she was hesitating only told me that whatever it was, it was going to be something that I wasn't going to like.
"We need to talk about your appearance, Taylor."
I was right, I wasn't going to like this. I fought to keep myself from snapping back at Jean. My appearance was my concern, and my concern only.
"What do you mean," I growled, not quite able to hold my displeasure at the subject matter from being made apparent.
It was only Jean's sigh that restrained me somewhat. Obviously to her, this was an uncomfortable subject. Possibly not as much as it was for me, but the fact that it was her talking about it…Well, I was going to be honest, I still wanted to tell her to fuck off. But, I was going to hear her out, despite my misgivings on the matter.
"Taylor, do you know why I dress the way that I do," she didn't afford me the opportunity to answer, "it's because I am a woman in a man's world. There are only two ways of managing that inescapable fact: You either lean into it, or you conform. I've chosen to lean into it. Which sometimes makes people act differently around me, different enough that I can take advantage."
She looked me square in the eyes, which…was something, given that I wasn't wearing my glasses, "I haven't ever asked why you keep your scars. It wasn't important because you were so focused on your lab and your workshop. To be blunt, you were out of the public eye."
She then sighed, relaxing her posture a touch. I could see hints of the strain the last week had put on the woman, "But that's changed. You stepped forward and now firmly have the attention of everyone from politicians to tabloid journalists. And with Panacea on the team, we can't avoid the issue anymore. You need to be camera ready. The upcoming media circus that you are going to be pulled into will be ruthless and relentless. We need to have people putting posters of you on their walls, not as a cautionary tale, but to inspire."
Jean leaned forward, "For better or for worse, this company is tied to you. How people see you will affect how they see the company. Which means that they need to see the best version of you that we can present."
I sat there for a few minutes, attempting to parse her words as logically as possible. Yet, it was all for naught, as the more I deliberated over her words, the more I felt a surge of anger bubbling in my chest. Just the mere concept of what she was saying and demanding of me…did she not even care for my thoughts or opinion? Did she not understand that I needed these scars to prove that I could overcome everything that had been done to me?
I took a deep breath, trying to restrain myself from lashing out. Instead, I organized my thoughts, crystalizing them into a response. Attacking Jean was unprofessional, even if what she was saying bordered on unprofessional as well, and as much as I wanted to lash out at her, it would do neither of us any favors.
Instead, I chose to buy myself more time, "Why?"
That obviously wasn't what Jean was expecting of my response. Thinking now, she obviously expected me to begin fighting right off the bat. And honestly, she would likely have been right, if I wasn't doing my damndest not.
Instead, she stared at me for a few moments, obviously searching for something in my demeanor and reaction. I wasn't sure if she found it or not, but she finally offered me a response, and I felt my gut curl even tighter.
"Taylor," she began, before stopping, her eyes darting left and right, the telltale sign that she was searching for the right words to say, "I don't like doing or even saying this, Taylor. This is extraordinarily uncomfortable for me, because this is a conversation that you should be having with your mother," the furnace of my anger surged stronger, and obviously she could tell it in my expression, as she held up a hand, "Taylor. Please. Just…give me a moment, let me just say this, okay? This is a conversation that every young woman should be having with their mother at this age, and I know it's not possible. I'm absolutely not your mother, and I'm not going to claim anything in relation to it otherwise. I have no doubt that your mother was an incredible woman to have brought you into this world and the difference you have made. I could never hold a candle to her. But, I am a woman who has been in this business for years. Okay?"
Slowly, grudgingly, I might add, I nodded, not trusting myself to respond constructively. What I really wanted to do was tell her exactly how I felt and to destroy her for daring to invoke my Mother in any conversation. And it took every effort to resist the temptation.
She was also lucky that my breakfast bars were also currently out of my reach. Otherwise I might try testing my throwing arm with Focus Vision.
"Women are judged on their appearance. This is an inescapable fact. And we're judged most often and more harshly by other women. And not only is it not going to stop before you become a matron, it'll only grow worse the higher that you climb up the ladders of power and influence."
"I know that," I hissed, finally unable to stop myself from injecting myself into the conversation. I also didn't want Jean to think she could simply talk over me and get me to agree to anything that she said, "What is your point, Jean. That I'm too ugly? Is that fucking it?"
"Have you been looking at the media attention you've been getting, Taylor?"
I shook my head no.
"I have. While we've all seen a huge surge of support and popularity, there is an underlying issue that we need to get ahead of."
She waved a hand, and then she swung it towards me, a window popped up in front of me. It was a news snippet from one of the major networks.
"Taylor, a young victim herself, was moved by the plight of those affected by Leviathan's rampage and was quick to offer aid. Her actions highlight a level of selflessness and bravery that many of us should hold up as an example to follow."
I didn't see anything wrong with that, and my lips curled into a sneer, but before I could say anything, she threw another one at me.
"Look, I'm worried about this girl, alright? I mean look at her, she's scarred from her attack, and this company is spending millions of dollars on fancy robots? Why not take care of the inventor? Help her feel better in her skin. No young woman deserves to look like she does!"
And another.
"She even looks like a villain. Come on guys! She has this whole, 'Look at me, I've got scars, you can't stop me' thing going on."
"Seriously, what is wrong with this girl? Does she not recognize how ugly those scars make her? Instead, she runs around acting like they are some sort of war wounds or something. I mean, I've heard of stolen valor but this is a new low. "
"I think it's disgraceful that her father is putting so much effort into this company, and not any into his daughter who is obviously still traumatized by the—"
"Enough," I snarled, flicking off the open sharing, even as I tried to control my breathing. Jean watched me for a moment as I raged against the emotions inside me. I was angry, hurt, shocked, appalled, enraged, and grief-stricken rolled into this big ball of….something that was raging in my chest right now. I wanted to punch Jean. I wanted to punch the wall until it broke. Or I did. I wanted to crawl into a corner and fade away from the world.
"Taylor. 'They', whoever 'they' are, will always judge you by your appearance first. It's not fair and it's not right. But it's a sad fact of life that you, I, and everyone else needs to live with. They will see what they want to see, and what they see is an opportunity to hold you back."
She then leaned forward, and I flinched as her hand came to a rest on my ruined cheek, and I froze, even as I felt my eyes beginning to moisten, "Taylor, you proved those girls wrong with Boston. You've shown the world that what they've done did not hold you back, but forged you into something better. Something greater. It's now time to leave them in the past, Taylor. You may never forget it, but you should not let it haunt your next steps as you prove the world wrong."
Her hand then slowly withdrew, and I stared at her, watching as concern flickered on her face. This was probably the most emotive I had ever seen Jean, and even in spite of my own feelings, my own rage and my own inadequacy warring within me, I could not ignore the vulnerability she was showing.
"If you don't want to talk to Panacea about it, then I can. But please, think about what I have said, Taylor," she then stood up. She spared me one more look, opening her mouth to say something more, but then closed it. Then she turned and walked out. Leaving me to the quiet, even as the angry frustrated tears began running down from my ruined eyes.
AEH
Breaking News!
Blood in the streets of Boston!
Military forces opened fire on a crowd only an hour ago in Boston. Early reports indicate that members of the local villainous gang calling themselves "The Teeth" attacked an aid convoy bringing in supplies to the various refugee camps inside the city. The military reportedly warned the group away, and only returned fire when fired upon. Early images show hundreds of gang members dead, with five confirmed casualties among the defenders. Names have not yet been released, but a number of injured personnel are being treated. We will bring you more information as it arrives.
Update: The majority of the dead on the scene appear to be duplicates of the villain "Spree", a notable member of the Teeth. New efforts are being made to catalogue the dead. The PRT has been called in to provide information regarding the Parahuman leaders of the Gang.
Blood in the streets of Boston!
Military forces opened fire on a crowd only an hour ago in Boston. Early reports indicate that members of the local villainous gang calling themselves "The Teeth" attacked an aid convoy bringing in supplies to the various refugee camps inside the city. The military reportedly warned the group away, and only returned fire when fired upon. Early images show hundreds of gang members dead, with five confirmed casualties among the defenders. Names have not yet been released, but a number of injured personnel are being treated. We will bring you more information as it arrives.
Update: The majority of the dead on the scene appear to be duplicates of the villain "Spree", a notable member of the Teeth. New efforts are being made to catalogue the dead. The PRT has been called in to provide information regarding the Parahuman leaders of the Gang.
AEH
Brian Laborn
ZDT Headquarters
With a grunt of exertion, he finally was able to budge the heavy load into place on the dolly. Double-checking the delivery instructions he then started pulling. Work at Zero Dawn was starting to pick up again after the two days leave granted to the staff. It had been a mad scramble before then, preparing for and then dealing with the Endbringer attack in Boston. But it was good to be back, because it meant he was making money.
It was decent money too, and he had the added benefit of working with decent people as well. He wasn't sure if he was going to stay though, the military showing up and sticking around was almost enough for him to leave in a hurry. But the pay was better than decent and not a single person had given him flak about the color of his skin. In Brockton Bay, that was an exceptional rarity, considering what it was home to. And he would have not found this place if it hadn't been—
He shook his head, focusing his attention back on the moment as he pulled into the warehouse.
"Where's that heading, Kid," the floor manager barked out.
"Bay-7," he shouted back.
That was another thing about Zero Dawn: they ran an incredibly tight ship when it came to where everything was.
The floor manager nodded, making a note on his clipboard. Like many of the upper management members, he was wearing a Focus that was linked into the company network. From what he had figured out through casual conversation, it meant that an entry had just been entered into the central system saying that these parts were now available in Bay-7. And if anyone went looking for the parts and didn't find them the first person they would ask was him.
"Hey Kid," the manager hollered out after him, "See Ricky when you're done."
Raising a hand in acknowledgment, he aimed to get this delivered quickly and then hurry over to his boss.
A short while later, he polished off a bottle of ice-cold water, making sure to throw it in the necessary receptacle, before he knocked on the door frame to his boss's office. That done, he stuck his head inside, "You want to see me, sir?
"Brian," Ricky looked up from his computer, "Yes," he then grabbed a small stack of forms, and held them out to him. Brian took them and looked them over.
They were his application forms for certifications. With Zero Dawn and the Dockworker's separating soon, that meant that certification for different positions were being offered. He had put himself down for forklift and light machine handling, amongst a few others. Nothing to do with cranes though, he wasn't particularly a fan of heights.
"Take these down to the main building, Brian. They want to talk to you about a few things."
"Right now?" he found himself asking, looking up from the forms, "My break doesn't start for another forty-five."
His boss shrugged, "Finish up with them, count it as company time. Take a break after, then come back. Just come find me when you do, I'll point you where to go."
"Sure thing, boss," Brian carefully folded the papers and made his way out. Mindful of the walking lines, he made his way over to the main building, all the while trying to keep himself from bolting. There were plenty of rational reasons for this, right down to it being the truth that the head office wanted to talk to him about his certification. Leaving now would mean getting investigated, because there was no way he was getting out without using his powers. And even then, the military probably weren't the type to hesitate because of his smoke. It stopped light and sound, not bullets.
This meant he had to do what he had always done. Keep himself under control, keep his feelings reined in, and manage to make it work. This job was exactly what he needed for Aisha. It would work out, it had to. Reputation mattered and he had built himself a reputation of hard work, respect, and commitment.
He kept telling himself that as he made his way into the building, got directions from the receptionist, knocked on the requisite door, and walked in. Then froze because the person he was meeting was absolutely not who he was supposed to be meeting. The CEO was in the office, along with Adam Jensen standing off her right shoulder looking even more irritated than his usual.
Brian had seen Taylor Hebert walking around the lot a few times, often surrounded by engineers, staff members, and so on. Tall for a girl, but willowy thin, with black hair that was just starting to approach her shoulders in some parts. When he first saw her, she had a longer-style pixie cut, so she was letting it grow. She always wore black glasses, and up close it was easy to see the discoloration across her face. Everyone talked in very quiet tones about what happened to her. Since it was on the news, and her father was well known among the staff, it wasn't a secret. Still, she didn't seem that impressive.
He knew that she was some big-shot inventor, but didn't realize how big until he got word about Leviathan hitting Boston and the subsequent media attention on her machines, her tech, and the impact it was having. Coming to work and finding military vehicles parked outside and servicemen patrolling everywhere, and then being told that a rush order was being made up because the new Governor of the State was asking for them? That was enough for him to fully understand that he had stepped into something far larger than he expected.
"Mr. Laborn. Come in! I was hoping to talk with you," she greeted, her gaze unerringly locked straight on him. Which considering she was blind, was a terrifying visual for him. Only adding to that was the glowing blue circle on the side of her head.
Yeah, scratch that. From a distance, she never seemed that impressive. But here, right now, she cast a very intimidating presence for a girl who probably didn't even weigh a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet.
Running now would be a mistake. It would make him look guilty. So after a brief moment, he walked in, put his papers on the desk, and took a seat. Ignoring the fact that Jensen's glower only seemed to deepen.
"So, Mr Laborn, how do you find working at Zero Dawn," Taylor asked.
"Fine, ma'am. It's a good job," it felt strange referring to someone two years younger than him with such a title, but he didn't know how to answer it any other way.
"That's good. I've got reports here from Mr. Steadman on your performance. He's been speaking of you in glowing terms about your work ethic and energy."
"I'm glad to hear that, Ms. Hebert," just where was she going with this? This didn't seem like the thing a CEO, especially one that was being called the 'Hero of Boston' would be involving herself with. And why was Jensen watching him expecting him like he expected something bad to happen.
Did they know?
"So, Mr. Laborn, can I call you Brian?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Thank you. So Brian, you probably pay attention to the rumor mill around here, so you've probably heard some talk about how things might be changing around here, correct?"
"I believe so? I really haven't been paying too much attention, if I'm honest."
The small flicker of her lips up to a smile before it disappeared caused the pit in his stomach to increase. He had a keen sense when things were going to go bad, it was a survival skill one had to acquire while being black in Brockton Bay, and right now, there were alarms going off in his head.
"Well, let me be the one to confirm those rumors, Brian. The Government feels that Zero Dawn can be of tremendous help for developing new technologies and new industries. What this means is that the government has a vested interest in the growth and value of the company and myself. But with that comes a few other things, like in-depth security checks on all workers in order to ensure that there are no glaring issues that could compromise the security of the company."
While he tried to keep himself expressionless, it was an entirely different story internally. Already, he was preparing to make a break for it. Not only would it burn his identity, but it would jeopardize Aisha, but being detained might as well do the same.
"For the last couple of days, we have been performing our own detailed background checks, Brian," Taylor continued, to his mounting dread, "partially to allow us an idea on if there may be some people in which the government may take umbrage to continued employment within Zero Dawn. Unfortunately, in the process of that, we encountered an anomaly with you."
He wet his dry lips. He was compromised, there was no doubt about it. He had done his best to ensure that he would pass a background check, but he knew that it would not pass if someone looked too deeply into it.
"I—"
"Please," Ms. Hebert held out a hand, "Before you say anything else or do anything rash, just let me talk, Brian. Can you do that for me?"
He didn't trust his voice to answer her, so instead he nodded his head.
"We know who you are, Brian. Out of respect, I will not unmask your actual cape identity. Well, that and the fact that I'm not sure exactly if that would violate the unwritten rules if I did. For something so unofficially codified, there are several vagaries that create unnecessary complications. But I digress, as an unmasked cape myself, let me inform you that the official stance of Zero Dawn Technologies is that we do not care who you are, cape or no cape."
He found himself blinking, not quite sure that he had heard correctly.
"I-," he wet his lips again, "I'm confused. You pulled me aside, and you're telling me you know who I am. But, you don't…care?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Brian. But my problem is that while I might be able to ignore your activities off the cloak, I can't ignore them if they are criminal in nature. So that leaves us with two options: Option one, I give you a modest severance, a glowing reference letter from myself and Mr. Steadman, then Mr. Jensen here walks you to the gates, and that's the end of it."
She then leaned forward, staring him down with those dark glasses. He once again adjusted his view on Taylor Hebert. The girl had an intensity to her as well, "Option two is you convince me of your good intentions. Maybe you're trying to turn things around. Lately, I've found myself coming around to the idea of second chances. So…this one might be yours. But only if you tell us why you are here."
He hesitated, not exactly sure how to answer or even react. Hell, how should he react? He had just been told that they knew that he was Grue, without saying his name aloud. But instead of calling the PRT, or even trying to extort him, they were offering him two week's pay and a good reference? Make it make sense.
"I-," he stopped, thinking exactly what to say, before sighing, looking for the right words, "I need this job Ma'am."
She nodded, leaning back slightly in the chair, "I understand. Times are tough. Why do you need this job in particular, Brian?"
He sighed, deflating a little as the tension left him. There was no good way out of this. Time to lay the cards on the table and see where they fall.
"It's for my sister. Aisha. I need to get custody of her. And.."
"It requires a lawyer and a lot of money," Hebert said, interrupting him, "and you have to prove that you can be a suitable guardian for your sister as well. That means a stable income, along with suitable housing, and the ability to provide for your sister. None of which is cheap."
He nodded, thankful that she filled in for him, "A man approached me offering to help. But in return, I would run a team for him. He would pay me and smooth things over so that the custody would go through. Did a few jobs for him, but then he dropped completely off the grid. That's when I applied here. I need this job, ma'am."
"What about family? How do they feel about your plan?"
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject but he was too far deep into things to stop now, "Dad is quietly supportive. He's more comfortable raising soldiers and boxers, not teenage girls. And certainly not girls like Aisha. He knows his limits and made sure that we were all on the same page."
He took a deep breath, before releasing it, "Mom is the problem. Drugs and a string of boyfriends who all enable her habit to some degree. No way she lets Aisha leave because she's a meal ticket. Still got ideas on how she'll turn her life around and we'll be a happy family again. It never lasts long, just long enough before she starts jonesing for her next fix."
It burned talking about things like this. Exposing himself to complete strangers. But this was his shot. Where everything else had failed, this had to work.
"I understand, Brian. That's a lot to go through, especially alone."
He shrugged, trying to roll the comment off his shoulders. It was a lot, but he couldn't let it get to him, "I turn eighteen in June. I just need a solid reference, steady pay, and I'll figure out the rest from there. I don't want charity, ma'am. I just want an opportunity."
"Fair enough, Brian," she shifted her face to the side, her Focus glowing, "Alright…without going into specifics. Is your former team going to be a problem?"
"No Ma'am. We're pretty much done. The blond isn't taking my calls. The other boy split town when the money dried up. The other girl…she just wants to be left alone."
Did it bother him how quickly the Undersiders fell apart? Sure, but everyone knew the score. They'd been assembled for a job, there had been no real natural bonding between them outside of the job.
"It's hard to leave her alone with a murder charge in the wind. That doesn't look good to anyone, Brian."
He was shaking his head as soon as she started speaking. It always came back to the same thing.
"With respect, ma'am, Rachel isn't all there. Not that she's crazy, she just doesn't understand people. Words confuse her sometimes and she needs things explained simply and clearly. Short sentences, unambiguous words. She isn't good at telling people things, so she expects people to judge based on body language. Which is exactly what she does with everyone around her. This is why she likes working with dogs so much. Dogs make sense to her far more than people do. The best way to interact with her is to treat her like a dog."
"Dogs that she can control and empower, making her a fairly big threat if pushed."
"That's wrong, ma'am. She's not a Master, she's a Striker/Changer. She trained those dogs, hours at a time, so they can act on command. Yeah, an untrained dog with her power-up is more dangerous to everyone. But that's why she only uses her powers on dogs that she's trained and keeps close."
His current boss sighed, leaning back in her chair and glancing over her shoulder at Jensen, who had kept an unwavering eye on him the whole time, "Which means that the PRT is running after someone with faulty information. Just great," she frowned, "I'm guessing that the murder charge against her is also suspect?"
Brian shifted, not entirely comfortable giving this in-depth of information away, even on a former teammate, "Yeah. The…blonde on the team seemed to think so. Said it wasn't murder. Just a bad foster parent who caused Rachel to trigger, resulting in Rachel using her powers on a puppy. Puppy wasn't trained, so it went out of control to try and protect her. Cops showed up and she ran. They took that as a confession and the rest is history."
If anything, it suddenly felt more intense as she stared at him. His reflection in her black glasses made him feel like a gavel was about to slam down on him, "Do you have any idea of what she's up to now?"
That was easy. Rachel was fairly predictable once you got to know her, "Hookwolf was running a number of dogfighting rings. With him dead now, Rachel's looking to hit them all and rescue the dogs."
The gaze shifted as she gave a distracted nod, and she began tapping away at the desk like it was a keyboard. He assumed that it was a Focus thing.
After a few minutes, in which the tension in his gut knotted further and further, she finally spoke again, "Alright Brian, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to give you a paid week's leave. I'm going to follow up with what you have told me. In the meantime, I'm going to get in touch with a law firm who might contact you with more details about your case. Don't worry about the cost, they'll cover it pro-bono. They owe me that much."
Relief his system so hard he felt lightheaded for a moment.
"Do you have anything else you would like to mention, Brian?"
He shook his head, Taylor nodded towards Jenson, "Alright, Mr. Jensen will show you to the gate. You still have a job, Brian, so we will see you in seven days. We'll send you materials for your certifications, so study up. And…thank you for your honesty."
She reached over the desk, and he shook her hand. Delicate hands for a young girl who was holding his future safe. He hoped she was up to it.
Mr. Jensen walked him to the gate, giving him a handshake as well, "Here's to second chances, kid."
Brian found himself giving a nod, understanding the score. Jensen was the head of security. It was the man's job to be paranoid and he would be on his radar for a long time after everything he had said. But for a chance for everything to work out? He would deal with it.
Riding the bus home in the middle of the day was odd, but he quickly lost focus on that when got a call from a number he didn't recognize. Answering carefully, he was floored by the voice on the other end.
"Hello, Mr. Laborn? My name is Justin Allrecht. I'm a junior associate with Wulfrahm & Hardt. The firm represents Zero Dawn Technologies and I've been asked to look into assisting you. I understand you're having some legal trouble?"
Quickly clearing his throat, he started to explain all over again, buoyed by the forward movement on a problem that had plagued him for years.
"Yes! Uh, it's a custody issue for my younger sister. I'm turning eighteen in a few months and I'd like to take us both out of our mother's orbit…"
He spent most of the rest of the day on the phone. But it was still one of the best days in a while.
AEH
Interim-Governor Herres Statement on Teeth Attack
At 9:24am this morning, elements of the 2nd Brigade, 1st Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment of the 10th Mountain Division, came under attack by members of a local criminal group known as "The Teeth". In response to this situation, and per standing orders, they engaged and returned fire in protection of the relief convoy they were escorting.
We have in our possession a full and complete recording of the attack from the perspectives of the soldiers charged with defending the convoy. This recording has been shared, unedited, with members of the Boston Police Department, the Suffolk County District Attorney's Office, the Department of Justice, the Judge Advocate General, and the White House.
It will also be made available to the public on request once our investigation is over.
This is being done in the name of transparency and to make it clear that the soldiers charged with protecting the citizens of Boston did their utmost to deescalate the situation before shots were fired.
Preliminary investigation of the footage has confirmed that the men and women of the 14th Infantry Regiment adhered exactly to the Rules of Engagement that they were provided with by my office. Their mission was the transportation and protection of the supplies that were being carried in those trucks. This included specialized medicine, baby formula, food, fuel, and warm clothing. It is entirely reasonable to say that those supplies are the difference between life and death for the people surviving here after the devastation left by Leviathan.
The criminal organization known as The Teeth knowingly and willingly endangered American citizens with their actions. As such, after legal consultation with the Attorney General's office, with my power as Interim Governor of the State of Massachusetts and local military governor, I hereby declare The Teeth as an organization conducting insurrectionist acts against the United States of America. Thereby, effective midnight tonight, all members of The Teeth are to be designated as enemy combatants and I have ordered General Faraday to begin preparations to hunt down this insurrectionist gang with lethal force authorized.
To members of the Teeth, I wish to make this abundantly clear to you, this is your first and only opportunity to turn yourselves in.
What happens next is your choice.
That is all.
At 9:24am this morning, elements of the 2nd Brigade, 1st Battalion, 14th Infantry Regiment of the 10th Mountain Division, came under attack by members of a local criminal group known as "The Teeth". In response to this situation, and per standing orders, they engaged and returned fire in protection of the relief convoy they were escorting.
We have in our possession a full and complete recording of the attack from the perspectives of the soldiers charged with defending the convoy. This recording has been shared, unedited, with members of the Boston Police Department, the Suffolk County District Attorney's Office, the Department of Justice, the Judge Advocate General, and the White House.
It will also be made available to the public on request once our investigation is over.
This is being done in the name of transparency and to make it clear that the soldiers charged with protecting the citizens of Boston did their utmost to deescalate the situation before shots were fired.
Preliminary investigation of the footage has confirmed that the men and women of the 14th Infantry Regiment adhered exactly to the Rules of Engagement that they were provided with by my office. Their mission was the transportation and protection of the supplies that were being carried in those trucks. This included specialized medicine, baby formula, food, fuel, and warm clothing. It is entirely reasonable to say that those supplies are the difference between life and death for the people surviving here after the devastation left by Leviathan.
The criminal organization known as The Teeth knowingly and willingly endangered American citizens with their actions. As such, after legal consultation with the Attorney General's office, with my power as Interim Governor of the State of Massachusetts and local military governor, I hereby declare The Teeth as an organization conducting insurrectionist acts against the United States of America. Thereby, effective midnight tonight, all members of The Teeth are to be designated as enemy combatants and I have ordered General Faraday to begin preparations to hunt down this insurrectionist gang with lethal force authorized.
To members of the Teeth, I wish to make this abundantly clear to you, this is your first and only opportunity to turn yourselves in.
What happens next is your choice.
That is all.
AEH
Taylor Hebert
ZDT Headquarters
"Mr. Eaton, welcome to Zero Dawn," I greeted the man who had entered my office. Rising to my feet, I walked to him and shook his hand, "I hope your trip to Brockton Bay was without incident."
The man warmly shook my hand, offering me a smile, "There were a few hiccups, Ms. Hebert, but I can't complain too much."
"Glad to hear that," I replied, offering the chair across from my desk. I still was not comfortable with the office that had been furnished for me. Maybe it was my personal feelings, but I just felt I was achieving nothing in this room other than making it a glorified meeting area. But, Jean was adamant that I receive Mr. Eaton in my office in a professional manner.
Which meant that I had been forced to change into a somewhat more presentable skirt, blouse, and jacket combination. Jean had fussed with my hair, before declaring it good enough. We absolutely didn't talk about our previous conversation, but I felt it weighing on the interaction between us. Yes, I was thinking about it. But there were more important things to deal with right now. Like securing a good impression with the government liaison that would allow me to expand in a major way.
Moving back behind my desk, I took a seat, casting a momentary glance over at Adam. Since yesterday, the man had assumed the role of my bodyguard. I wasn't informed on the reason why, only that it had been discussed with Major Cunningham, and whatever had transpired, Adam had made the decision to shadow me while I was at the facility.
It was something I was going to have to look into apparently. Jean had taken a seat off to the side, having shown the man to the office. She would be on hand for the meeting, although she had made it clear that she would defer to me in order to cement my position within the company.
"So, Mr. Eaton, I understand you're going to be staying with us for the foreseeable future serving as the liaison between us and the government. I suppose then, the only thing I need to know is…what can Zero Dawn deliver for you today?"
The man smiled slightly, pulling several files from his briefcase, "Well, we are all very curious as to what you'll unveil next. However, you are right, I've had dozens of private and public interests asking for access to your parts and processes. Any plans to start licensing anytime soon?"
I shot a look at Jean, getting a small smile in return.
"We've already started. My Vice President is hard at work organizing agreements, while I've been planning out production lines. It might not be as soon as everyone would like, but we will have a steady production of everything from wiring, to computer chips, to advanced materials within the next few weeks."
"Excellent! Now, Colonel Herres has been singing your praises since he started working in Boston. And a number of his superiors have been listening. Apparently, your Focus network would be a game changer for battlefield awareness and control. We would like to know if you would be willing to develop such a system. We would arrange for the required military experts to assist you in its development, of course."
And there it was. The military requests. While it was a foregone conclusion that it was going to happen, it was still rather annoying to be honest. Does every company that works with the federal government produce weapons? No. But it was almost inevitable that someone would look at my tech and think, 'I wonder what kind of gun she could make'.
For the moment, I was still trying to make up my mind on where I stood on weapons development. I knew how the people in my memories felt on the matter, going so far as to create an entirely new company in response to it. Still…I had always intended for the Ananke-Pattern Focus to be a military/police variant. The government was probably going to request a more refined version of it, but it was something that I had already begun planning for, if I were to be perfectly honest. And creating a dedicated system to pull everything together?
"Yes, that would be possible. IN fact, I already have a Focus model already in the works for military use. So assistance in refining the final product would certainly be appreciated. At the end of the day, you make what the customer wants first and foremost, And," I tapped a few keys that I could only see in the vision of my Focus, activating the screen on the wall. We all turned to look over the designs I had finalized last night. Turns out ignoring emotional turmoil and throwing myself into work resulted in increased productivity. I can see why Dad did it so much.
"The first example I have is what I've been calling the 'Buzz Drone'. It's small, light, and compact enough that it can easily be carried in a backpack. This would be something used to scout the immediate area around a rescue team. It is remote controlled, so some level of user training is needed."
It really wasn't that complicated of a product. It only took me less than an hour to put it together. And the funny part of it all, was that a lot of the components could be found with minimal usage of newer materials. It's just that people didn't think as laterally as they should. I somewhat blamed the Tinkers, but it just came down to there sadly wasn't the possibility necessary to drive innovation.
Still it was rather sad that what was basically little more than a camera with rotors sticking out of four corners. I needed a better name, and no, Snitch was not up for consideration. Even if it was a ball with wings. Rotors. Whatever.
"A step up from the Buzz Drone would be this, currently I call it the Oracle Reconnaissance and Surveillance Platform," I pulled up a boxy design with rounded edges. Three thruster fins gave it lift, two on the side, one on the back, "A low altitude drone, most of the internals are taken up by the scanner. It is not remotely operated like the Buzz Drone, but it still requires user input and monitoring to function."
I then brought up a new image, replacing the futuristic design of the Oracle with something that would elicit a more primal response. It was a machine modeled after the Archaeopteryx, only increased significantly in size in order to provide the necessary lift and equipment to fulfill its purpose.
"Then we get to the first autonomous machine: The Skydrifter. Low to mid-level flight, it serves as both a communication relay and reconnaissance platform. It's light, agile, and can see for miles with its high-resolution camera. Originally developed for urban and semi-urban search and rescue, it carries an enhanced version of the same scanning system carried by the Watcher. It would be the first pair of eyes in the sky for this theorized battlefield control system."
Mr. Eaton kept his composure, but his wide eyes gave away his shock. I would assume he was expecting a development time of months or years. That was the standard procedure for the military industrial complex, not many companies would actually have designs and plans ready for the customer before the customer even knew what they wanted. Yet, here I was, throwing all convention to the side.
I displayed the next machine that I was working on. It had a much larger wingspan compared to the Skydrifter, with a long thin beak and head. It closely resembled a Pterosaur.
"This is the larger cousin of the Skydrifter, the Sunwing. Named as such for its wings, which are high-efficiency solar panels. It is designed to fly at high altitudes and use its high-resolution, variable-zoom camera to provide instant and accurate photo-reconnaissance, all the while being able to keep aloft upwards of days based upon availability of sunlight. While it doesn't have the scanning ability of the Skydrifter, it's not built for that. It's designed to spot anything between it and the horizon and pass that information on to local command."
"And how did you come up with these? I only got the request from the Pentagon two days ago," he finally voiced what I already knew what was going through his head. I smiled, happy to unbalance the man. While it paid to be underestimated sometimes, in this case, I needed to deliver, because I was going to be asking for a lot from the government soon.
"One of the key problems in Boston was the lack of information. We had to rely on parahuman fliers and helicopters to relay information back to us in order to make maps. The Skydrifter was conceptualized to serve as support for the Light Rescue Lance, able to scan buildings or cars for trapped survivors. The Sunwing was designed to give us a full overview of the city with a significant loiter team and it would be useful to search the sea. While the Navy did a tremendous job with what was available, the requirement to get helicopters to search the water for miles meant that they weren't able to help with supplies and reconnaissance. All four of these machines were designed to fill these gaps."
"Amazing," He reviewed his notes, taking a pen and filling in some information. I took a small sip of water, not reacting as a ping came in from Jean. I was rather impressed, as I hadn't seen her do that.
"This is going very well," Well, I'm glad she approved.
"Speaking of Boston," Mr. Eaton continued after the brief pause, "A number of agencies have requested access to the software you used to predict the damage to the city. It would be invaluable for disaster relief and prediction in the future."
I hummed, putting my drink to the side. Sobek had done most of the number crunching and I was certainly not giving her out. But…, "It would take some doing, but I think we can manage something. The predictions were done on our in-house computer system with computer models we are not yet ready to share. My computer expert is returning from Boston soon, so let me speak with him and we'll see about getting something put together."
"Yes…your computers. A lot of noise has been made in certain tech circles about the capabilities of your robots and the computer power they would require. Several agencies have asked for an upgraded computer system similar to your design."
"I can provide that, however it would be delayed. Several months, at least. The production lines are not active yet, and the early products will be funneled right into getting my robotics lines activated. So my answer would be yes, but not right now."
"Well, I can understand that. You have tremendous expansion to complete and I have no doubt you have plans of your own."
I was certainly glad he had brought that up, because it provided me an opportunity to make my first big request.
"Yes, and in fact, you can help with that, Mr. Eaton. You see, the Focus device functions off a shared wireless network. In Boston, I had the communication system built into one of my machines in order to make it mobile. But for general use, a larger installation would be needed to broadcast the signal across the area in order to integrate all devices together, but also provide wireless access to anyone with a receiver. As you can imagine, this would be disruptive to the profits of the telecommunications companies. Ideally, Zero Dawn would like to broker a deal with them, allowing the current companies to profit alongside us. I would like your help in brokering that deal."
Mr. Eaton, from the file I had received on him, was an accomplished economist and political commentator. Unlike some, he spoke from a position of knowledge when it comes to the interactions inside economies. From the look on his face, he understood how devastating a blow I was about to deliver to an entire industry. It was unfortunate, but I knew going into this that change was going to be unpleasant at times.
AEH
From: Director James Tagg, PRT Pittsburgh
To: Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, PRT DC
Subj: Butcher XV
Rebecca,
Since the creation of the Teeth, there has always been a noted collapse and fragmentation of The Teeth that corresponded with the death of Butcher. After reviewing the data from Boston, I think it's safe to say after the events this morning in Boston that we should start preparing for Butcher XV
It's unlikely that there will be anything left of the Teeth organization by the time the 10th Mountain is done with them. So the actions of Butcher XV may be unpredictable as they try to rebuild their gang.
Also, I would suggest that we look into the battlefield technologies that let the Army gather such a perfect recollection of the battle. It could be valuable for PRT teams in the field.
James Tagg
Director, PRT Pittsburgh
AEH
Victoria Dallon
Arcadia High School
Vicky bit her lip as she paced in front of the gates of Arcadia. Nothing was right about this. She was waiting for Amy, which was normal. However, she was waiting for her because Mom wanted her to drop Amy off at the hospital. And then stay with her to make sure she got home! Normally, she would be ecstatic to spend time with her sister, but Mom was treating Amy like she was going to run away. This was not okay!
Feeling her calm slipping, she thumped her back against the wall. Her aura was out of control, constantly trying to burst out of the tight little ball she was keeping it in. And it was only made worse that everything seemed to be getting worse by the minute!
How could have things gone so bad? She had only been worried about Amy? How could that concern be turned into Amy being treated like a common criminal and everyone refusing to talk?!
Sighing, she thumped her head against the wall, trying to think of some way she could fix the problem. Amy had spent the entire day avoiding her, despite her best efforts to corner her sister. It was bordering on frustrating, because she wanted to try and explain herself. If she could just get one minute, she could explain herself and hopefully Amy would understand, if not forgive her.
She just needed a single opportunity, that's all she needed. One chance, and she could maybe salvage all of this. Get Mom to understand that all she was doing was driving Amy away. And maybe then they could figure something out that could satisfy everyone. Because she had never seen Amy so animated and willful before, so it must be something she really wanted, right?
She glanced over the school yard again, seeing Dean chatting with Dennis by the doors. They were both trying not to be obvious that they were watching her, but weren't doing a good job of it. Chris hadn't come back to school yet, his parents were keeping him home from what Dean had told her. They had gotten news that Carlos had been found alive, which was amazing, but no one knew anything beyond that.
Then Amy came through the doors and they locked eyes. She stopped for a moment, almost like she wanted to go back into the school building. Instead, she adjusted her backpack and marched closer.
Vicky expected a greeting or something. Instead her sister walked over and stood waiting by the roadside. Silently. Ouch…she really was getting the cold shoulder.
"Amy! Look, I know you're mad at me and I totally understand why. I shouldn't have gone to Mom first. I should have talked things over with you. I was just worried! And I didn't think that—"
"That's your problem, Vicky. You don't think," Amy snapped, rounding on her. She recoiled, shocked that Amy was taking that tone with her.
"Amy, look…I know you're frustrated, but I didn't know Mom was going to react like that! She totally blew things out of proportion. I'm sure we can go home and fix all of this."
Amy angrily wiped her eyes and ground her teeth. She found her heart sink at how affected Amy was over all of this, "You think I'm angry with Carol? You just don't get it, do you?! It's you, Vicky! I'm angry with you!"
She felt cold creep up her fingers, dropping ice into her belly as Amy continued, venting all of her frustrations in her direction.
"All those times you dragged me out to 'meet friends' or set me up with some lame date. All those times that you threw me at people in the name of 'expanding my circle'. And then! When I finally find somewhere I'm actually happy? When I find someone who I enjoy spending time with? You step all over it! Like you can't stand for me to have anyone other than you in my life! I was gone for a week, Victoria!"
She bit her lip and looked to the ground in shame. Yes, she had overreacted. But now she was trying to make things right. Why couldn't Amy see that?!
"I know that you're angry, and hurt, and a whole bunch of things that I don't have names for…but we can fix this. I can be better, Amy, you'll see. We just need to go home."
Amy looked back at her, slowly shaking her head, "That's not possible, Vicky. Not right now. Carol isn't going to let me do anything except what she wants. She's too set on being safe. But it's not about being safe anymore. It's about making a difference."
She was about to respond to Amy, because Amy was wrong, but the roar of an engine coming down the road cut that short. It was decidedly different from the usual cars that hung around Arcadia and she glanced up to see what it was, worried that it might be something dangerous.
A tan military humvee pulled to a stop a few feet away, a trio of soldiers disembarking out of it. Walking up in their grey-dappled outfits with pistols on their thigh was…shocking. They didn't fit, not here in Brockton Bay. And certainly not at Arcadia High School. She froze for a moment, unsure how to act.
"Ms. Dallon," one of the soldiers said, "everything alright here? We're here for pickup."
For a moment, an infinitely small and silly moment, she thought that they were talking about her. But that swiftly died as Amy stepped forward, adjusting her backpack.
"Yes, just finishing up here. We can go," she then turned back to her, giving her a small shrug, as if being picked up by the military was no big deal, "Carol might have taken my phone, but I still had the school office to call them."
With that parting shot said, she started walking towards the truck, two of the soldiers falling in step next to her. The third remained, watching Vicky and the rest of the school yard as the students watched on.
Vicky felt like the world was falling out from underneath her feet, like watching her sister walking away was a permanent and final thing.
And she couldn't let that happen.
"You're not taking my sister," she snarled, anger flaring as her aura rippled out and she floated off the ground.
The results were immediate. The soldier watching her shifted their stance, ripping their gun free, but kept it pointed at the ground. Another had spun around, hand resting on his weapon while the third grabbed Amy and hurried her to the vehicle.
Then something slammed into her back. She tensed, ready to turn around and rip into this new attacker before—
"Vicky! Stop," Dean shouted at her as his arms wrapped around her middle, "Vicky, you have to stop," he hissed, "those are soldiers on a legal mission protecting someone of importance. Anything you do will just make the situation worse!"
As he tried to pull her back to the ground, he said in a low tone, "Pull in your aura. Don't make this any worse. Please, Vicky."
Raising his voice, he addressed the soldiers, trying to defuse the situation as she floated back to the ground, "Sorry officers, tensions have been running high. It's been an emotional week."
As he was saying this, he had shifted his arms to stand beside her, pulling her against her side.
But it did nothing to help the bile resting in her gut as Amy spared her only a momentary last glance before ducking into the Humvee. She couldn't find anything to say to possibly change the doors being closed and the soldiers climbing in. She was dimly aware of Dean holding her tight.
"It's okay, Vicky," he tried to reassure her, "We'll figure something out. She's not really gone. You'll see her again soon."
And despite her boyfriend's words…the cold pit in her gut told her things were going to get worse before they got better. And it was all her fault.
AEH
Dinah Alcott
Brockton Bay
"Hey kiddo, how was school?"
"Fine, math was boring," Dinah complained as she buckled herself in. Dad kept asking her about her day as he pulled away from the school. They chatted a bit, Dad teasing her about not liking gym class. She was small, it was obvious that it would keep her from performing her best.
Then the phone rang.
"Sorry, sweetie, got to take this."
Dad pushed the button, putting the phone on speaker.
"Mr. Alcott? It's Steven calling from the Mayor's office…"
She tuned out the call after a minute. Her parents weren't exactly involved with city hall, but with an Uncle as the mayor, it was inevitable that they would be pulled in sometimes.
Instead, she pulled her phone out. It was a gift from last Christmas, one of those cool smartphones. Some of her classmates were jealous, so she didn't pull it out that often as it would cause unneeded conflict. Assuming that the call would last a while, she quickly checked for more photos of the coolest thing in the news. The Boston Robots. Some people were calling them 'mech-animals' or something like that. Ever since they had been revealed to be made right there in the Bay, she had been looking forward to seeing them. The most recent video she could find was of them walking into trucks or in the case of Bruce (the really big bison-looking one), climbing onto a flatbed. Settling in like it was going to sleep, it still shook the big trailer when it dropped down.
"Alright Steven, I'll swing over and speak to him," Dad sighed as he hung up, "Sorry, Dinah, but I've got to swing by and talk to Uncle Roy."
"Okay," she responded, not really all that interested. After all, how could she be interested when she already knew the outcome?
Her cousin Rory, known to the rest of the world as the Protectorate Hero Triumph, had died in Boston. Another victim in the long list of those claimed by Leviathan. Her parents had taken the news fairly well. And she just felt…an odd sense of disconnect. That wasn't anything new; she had been feeling the same most of her life. But in this case, it was understandable, Rory had been a friendly guy who she had seen at family gatherings. He had talked with her a few times at fancy parties that her parents took her to. But beyond that? They weren't close. So her lack of reaction made sense.
Uncle Roy wasn't taking things well. Her parents talked about it when they thought she couldn't hear. Releasing a sigh, she went back to happier things, looking through her phone. Opening a video, she watched as one of the machines, the one called Dolt the Digger, danced and frolicked around in the video, running around a brunette teenager with a glowing circle by her head like an overeager puppy.
Dolt was her favorite, if she had to pick one. More energetic compared to its other digger partner. Also, it reminded her of an energetic ferret. If said ferret was a multi-ton machine. She had wanted an actual ferret when she was growing up, but her parents had forbidden it. They said it was because ferrets were rodents and they didn't want any rodents in their house. Which was silly! Ferrets were part of the Mustelidae family, not the rodent family. She had looked that up in the school library.
The slowing of the car brought her out of another video, this time one of the 'Watchers' playing hide and seek with children. Seeing their long necks poke up and over obstacles was fun, especially because of their spindly legs. Looking up, she saw that they had arrived at Uncle Roy's house. The car came to a stop in the driveway, and her father unbuckled his seatbelt, before looking back to her and she began to unbuckle herself.
"Hopefully this won't take very long, Dinah."
She didn't offer an answer, instead just getting out of the vehicle and following after her father. Quickly, they found themselves in the house, and her father handed her off to Aunt Vivian, who looked worse for wear. But she put on a brave face in spite of everything and tried to talk to her.
"How are you doing, Dinah?"
"Fine, and you," she offered. Logically, she understood that reciprocal (she learnt that word in English class last week) question of how another was doing is the expected thing when visiting. Especially when the person being visited was grieving. She didn't think it was worth the effort, it was clear to see that Rory's mother was mourning the death of her son. But it was politie, and expected, so she did it. Besides, Aunt Vivian always seemed distant even during the family gatherings, so Dinah didn't see the point of talking with her.
"I'm doing the best I can. Thank you for asking. Are you enjoying school?"
She and Aunt Vivian bounced light conversation back and forth, until the woman left Dinah alone in the living room. Her aunt retreated towards the kitchen, saying something about getting her some snacks.
The sound of something shattering upstairs caused her head to perk up. She looked towards her aunt, whose shoulders had slumped slightly. There was a slight hitch of her breath and a shudder. Getting to her feet, she cautiously walked towards the stairs, curious as to what was going on. As she reached the landing of the stairs, she could hear shouting.
"-look at yourself! Do you think Rory would want you to be like this?!"
"I don't know what he would like, Michael, because he's fucking dead. And I can't even tell the world why he is dead because the fucking PRT owns the right to his fucking identity as a cape! Instead, I have to provide a fucking lie so the precious PRT can hold to their goddamn moral superiority!"
"So you're going to fucking drink yourself to death?!"
"Why the fuck not? Not like there's any point to this shit anymore!"
"You're the mayor of this city, Roy. You have a responsibility!"
"This city can burn for all I fucking care! What have these ungrateful pieces of shit done with what I have sacrificed for them? Rolling around in their own piss and shit and whining that it's filthy! Let them have their new golden whore!"
Slowly stepping back, she snuck back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Aunt Vivian was sitting at the kitchen table, in her hand was a framed photograph. She didn't need to be a genius to know what her aunt was looking at.
Cautiously, she relaxed in a special way that she was getting used to. Then she asked her question: Chance that my uncle remains Mayor after this week? 7.83%
She didn't know how the answers were generated, but it was VERY rare that they were wrong. She had learned all about percentages in school and paid extra attention in math class when they started appearing in her head. The most important rule? A low or high percentage did not mean that it wasn't or was going to happen. Nothing that she asked was certain.
But it worked when she needed it to. And her parents are doing better now because of it. The struggle of taking care of her had been causing problems and tensions between them. She didn't understand why though. She did everything they asked, had rules set out clearly, and measured her interactions with people. But it still hadn't seemed to be enough.
Emotions didn't make sense to her. They made even less sense now. But her powers now gave her a handy point of reference for finding the best outcomes. Chance that I can improve things by intervening in the argument? 3.8%.
That was the core of her powers. They required specific questions and she had to be in the right frame of mind to ask. She had to 'keep the window open' as she was considering it.
Glancing at her aunt, still sitting at the table and now cradling a steaming mug of something, she asked again: Chance I can improve the current mood by staying in the house? 22.56%. Not bad odds, but certainly lower than she was prepared to risk currently. Quietly unlocking the front door, she let herself out. Standing outside of the house, she took in and enjoyed the quiet of the neighborhood, she…she blinked.
Huh. The car door is open. I was sure I closed it…Scratch that, I knew I did.
Chance that I will be in danger if I investigate the car door? 9.8%.
She wasn't usually someone to risk herself, but that was a low enough chance that she would risk it. Slowly approached the vehicle, taking her time before she finally took a peek inside to find….a hat. Upside down and with a folded piece of paper inside of it. Taking the piece of paper and unfolded it, she read it.
For future services rendered. Sturdy, waterproof, and stylish. It will make Melissa Harkon jealous. Please answer questions from the following number promptly.
Glancing at the number, she then looked back at the hat. It was a very nice hat. And she did have a rivalry going on with Melissa. Popping it on her head, she noted that it fit perfectly. Slowly, she retrieved her phone and typed the number into her phone contacts under "Fedora Fan". Whoever had delivered a fedora as a gift certainly deserved her attention.
AEH
Taylor Hebert
Zero Dawn Technologies
After dealing with Mr. Eaton, I found myself in a holding pattern waiting for my new security team to arrive. While I wasn't necessarily annoyed by it, I also wasn't exactly enthused that this meant that I was unable to return to my workshop. Instead, I was left spinning my wheels in my office.
While my Focus was a help, it wasn't capable of doing everything that I needed it to do. The Focus, at its core, was a user interface. While it had some programs built into it, anything that was more complicated required the Focus to connect with an existing computer and remote operate the programs built into it. So my design programs weren't being run on my Focus, they were being run on the computer I had converted for my workshop. I was just remotely operating the program using my Focus. It means that right now? The only thing I had was a notetaker, internet access, and the long to-do lists that I was dealing with.
I had too many irons in the fire, and every minute I wasn't able to work, it seemed like there were too or three more irons added to my workload. If I hadn't been expecting this, I'd probably be drowning right about now. Even with prior planning, the lack of personnel was a glaring problem. I know Jean was working hard at hiring, but the new security checks meant that it was frustratingly slow going.
With my review of the list completed, I considered what else I could do that was constructive. There was still some time before the security team was set to arrive. Not a great amount of time, but still enough to get something done. Glancing through my emails, then mentally going over my checklist, I released a sigh. Not enough time for any of that. Instead, I pulled up the dossier about the people coming to stay with us. Calling them a security 'team' was incorrect. They were a full security company who apparently took their privacy seriously. Details available to the public were almost non-existent, and the only reason I knew more was because Vice President Ryan had sent me the dossier I was perusing.
Hexa, as the company was called, was founded in 1995 by Alexander and Amélie Knight. It was a product of the massive military cutbacks that resulted from the failure of Operation Autumn Thunder in 1994. According to the files, Alexander had been a team leader in Seal Team Six before finding himself a victim of the cutbacks. Honorably discharged, and with his family wealth, he formed Hexa, pulling in affected military and intelligence members. In recent years, it appeared that they had expanded their pool to start pulling in members of law enforcement as well.
At nearly two thousand employees, it certainly wasn't the largest military contractor in the nation, but it was the only one that could boast that its sole client was the US government. Which said a lot about why they were trusted for this assignment. Too many contractors had operations in multiple nations nowadays, which created an image of unreliability.
Still, I did find it strange, a lot of the details in the dossier were redacted, and there was no biography on Amelia Knight, either. The only information listed there that wasn't redacted was her place of birth in Calais, France. It was going to be something I was going to have to inquire about, simply out of curiosity. This was my first foray into any of this, and honestly, my knowledge of the entire military contractor world was completely and utterly lacking. But omitting information on one of your founders set off all sorts of red flags that I didn't like, especially if I was placing my safety in their hands, regardless of what the government said.
Leaning back in my chair, I release a sigh, reaching up to massage my brow at the growing headache, my skin itching in irritation at the sensation. It was a cruel reminder of my talk with Jean, something I was still deliberating upon, and honestly, I really wanted to tell Jean to go fuck herself and be done with it. But her arguments were damnably persuasive, even if I didn't want to admit it.
The sound of a knock at the door drew me from my troubled thoughts, and Adam poked his head in.
"Hexa is here."
"Thank you, Adam. And the other matter I asked you to look into?"
"Just heard back a few minutes ago. I was going to follow up after the team settled in."
I stood, dusting off my jacket, "No, send me the location. I'll go personally now that the team is here. You stay and show them around."
It was an old tactic: Divide and conquer. I had multiple goals for this meeting, and all of them required that I attend personally. However, I wanted to put them on their back foot, where they were forced to react instead of keeping to whatever planned script that they were going to sell me. By doing this, I hoped to get a better insight into just who I was dealing with. The fact that Adam was silent told me that he had probably figured out my intention, as I received a ping with an address not shortly thereafter. I didn't ask how he found an Empire dogfighting ring and I knew he certainly wasn't going to offer an answer either.
Marching out of my office, I made my way out of the building, hearing several trucks driving up. I found myself walking out into a mild state of chaos with four men unloading from the vehicles. Trunks were being opened and sealed containers were being retrieved. A quick ping off my Focus told me that, yes, those were weapon and equipment cases.
Walking up to me were a pair of women. A quick access of the camera over the door let me get a look at them. One older, wearing a tasteful grey business jacket and pants with a black undershirt. Her hair was done up in a tie with a hairpeace. For an instant, I was reminded of Jean's comments this morning about how appearance affects judgement. It was not a reminder that I liked.
The other woman was younger, clearly related somehow, but with an odd bang of white that ran down the left side of her head and her eyes concealed by a pair of round-lensed sunglasses. Dressed in a grey business suit, complete with slacks, the suit jacket was open exposing a suit vest and tie. There were also hints of a tattoo that ran around her neck, but the camera resolution wasn't the greatest. It was an off-the-shelf model, certainly not something that was to my exacting specifications that came with machine optics that I was currently building.
My Focus pinged again, detecting several weapons hidden upon the two women. According to the report these weapons ranged from knives, additional firearms, and strangely a garrote wire on the younger woman. It also detected possible Tinkertech on her chest, glasses, and gloves. Mildly off-balance from processing the two visual feeds at once, I dropped the camera, letting my world return to gridlines and blue.
"Ms. Hebert," the woman greeted with a slight hint of an accent in her tone as she extended a hand to me and I took it, "Amélie Knight, VP and Co-Founder of Hexa."
Her hands were a strange juxtaposition of smooth and calloused. It was a strange sensation, one that once again ran counter to my expectations. Again, for someone who was supposedly the vice president of a military contractor, I was clearly letting my preconceived notions color my judgment and I would need to work on that. She did, however, give a firm handshake, that's for sure.
"Mrs. Knight," I greeted.
"Ms. Hebert, it's good to meet you. You've made quite an impression these last weeks. I look forward to working with you."
"Likewise," I said, extending a hand towards the other woman. She did a split-second take before extending her hand in greeting. She was probably surprised that the blind girl was so good at navigating around.
"Sam," she said simply.
"Samantha," Mrs. Knight said, her tone akin to a parent correcting a childish mistake, "is my daughter and she will be working with your team. I will be on-site for the first week helping with setting up and working to ensure that integration goes well. This must be Mr. Jensen," she then said like it wasn't a question, making me question if Ryan had also handed Hexa a file on me.
"Unfortunately, you've caught me at a bad time," I declared, looking at both women, "I was just about to head out on an errand. A meeting that I can't afford to miss. I'm certain Adam can help you get settled in and introduce everything to you. As head of security, he is up to date with my wishes."
The two women glanced at one another, before the youngest peeled off with a nod, heading over to one of the trucks, calling out various names. Mrs. Knight gave me a bland smile, "Not a problem. I'll have Samantha organize a team and they can drive you."
I nodded, walking off to the side as Adam started talking. I sent a note to Jean to join them when she could.
Samantha walked back towards me, so I made my way over to her. Meeting her halfway, she turned and walked beside me.
"We're ready to head have an address for us?"
I rattled it out, only to do a double-take when one of the men pulled out and unfolded a large paper, spreading it across the hood of the truck. I would assume it was a map.
"You're using paper maps," I couldn't help keep the disbelief out of my voice.
Sam glanced at me grinning, "We once ambushed an enemy by hacking the GPS system in their car. Gave them incorrect directions and led them right where we wanted them. Paper is more reliable for the most part. As long as we keep things up to date."
I thought that over as Sam pulled the rear door open for me, letting me climb in before closing it. I tracked her walking around the truck before getting in next to me. The other two men took the front driver and passenger seats. As we pulled out of the lot, another pair of trucks taking position in front and behind us, I set my own GPS system to activate, letting me track our progress through the streets on my Focus. No way was it getting hacked.
"So Sam. Tell me about Hexa. How do you see the company fitting in with Zero Dawn Technologies?"
Samantha glanced at me, before resuming her watch out the window, "We're here to protect you and provide assistance in improving the security your company already possesses. What we brought with us is just the advanced team. All told? We'll be ninety people."
I frowned, not exactly liking that figure, "That seems rather excessive for a security protection team."
"It's really not," Sam responded as she shook her head, "It's actually in layers, you see. First group is surveillance and sniper support. They'll be responsible for setting up around the facilities and keep an eye on anyone coming in and out. Then we have people close to you. The standard bodyguards, like we're doing with you now. We go where you go and do what you do. We always walk into the room first and make sure you always have someone between you and the public."
Damn, there went my privacy. Still, I should at least be able to keep them out of my workshop. I don't think I could manage without being able to work in peace. Especially on some of my more sensitive projects.
"Then we have the quick reaction and transport group. Transport is obvious because everyone needs a drive. But in the event of a problem that a normal contingent of bodyguards can't handle? The quick reaction force will be ready and waiting for our call. If we need to call them, we'll probably be needing the big guns they're going to bring."
Sighing, I thumped my head against the headrest and idly checked our progress through Brockton Bay. We still had a ways to go to my chagrin.
"Alright. My turn," Sam spoke, "Reports say that you're blind. Is that true?"
Glancing over, I caught her staring at me. In response, I pulled down my glasses, letting her see my eyes. I was rather impressed that she didn't flinch. Almost everyone that I had run into had always had an adverse reaction to seeing it.
"Very true," I said after replacing my glasses, before tapping my Focus, "But this sort of lets me see. It's a multi-purpose augmented reality interface. I have several versions in development that I am preparing for sale. One version specifically for the blind. Have you ever seen a LIDAR map? Think of that, but beamed directly to my optic nerve."
"Impressive. Tinkers can do some crazy shit."
"I feel like I keep having to say this, but I'm not a Thinker. I can explain to you exactly how my tech works."
"No wonder Hexa is being deployed in strength to protect you. You're the Holy Grail."
I shrugged, not wanting to get into it. Yes, the tech I could make will change the world. But that didn't mean anything until I actually started rolling it out en masse.
Sam was quiet a few moments thereafter, before she decided to ask her next question.
"Alright then. Do you have any limitations to your Focus?"
"Forty meters is the current limit. But the drop off in resolution begins at about twenty. I don't have the ability to see in color or images on a flat surface. Billboards all look the same to me. Just flat and featureless," Sam hummed, "I'm working on integrating a camera system into the next model, unfortunately I'm limited by processor power at the moment. But I can connect to a nearby camera or computer display if it has a wireless access point."
I watched her blink and start tapping on the armrest.
Actually, there was an opportunity here.
"I have a military variant, at least I have the concept of one. The prototype isn't ready just yet. But would you or your men be able to assist with development?"
If I was going to be stuck with these people, I honestly wanted to get a good use out of them. It also made sense to outfit them as well as possible, given that they were protecting me from…whoever wanted me and my technology. If anything, I could provide a proof of concept to the military when they came knocking, and likely entice them with even more contracts.
"We can discuss it more later, in the meantime, why don't you tell us what we're heading towards."
I looked out the window, wincing as the Focus tried to feed me data as things sped by. I would have to adjust things. This much input as things passed by quickly? The Focus just couldn't handle it without a major technical upgrade. Yet another damn thing on my plate. Focusing on my feet, I instead check our location through the GPS, "We're going to see a girl about a dog."
My Focus pinged, and I flicked my eyes to accept the call from Adam. Raising a finger at Sam, I answered, "Adam, is everything alright?"
"For now, ma'am. Ms. Dallon called for a pick up from her school. I asked the Major to send a vehicle. Apparently there was some tension during the pick up. Ms. Dallon isn't saying anything for the moment, but she is asking about staying the night in the office."
Shit, "Alright, I'll finish up her as quickly as I can and be back. Have Jean call the lawyers and see if they can call in or visit tomorrow. If anyone shows up, make it clear that Amy is at Zero Dawn voluntarily and is an employee. Make sure Jean, actually nevermind, I'll message her myself. Aside from that, is everything going well with Mrs. Knight?"
Already, I was multitasking as I talked, pulling up my messaging system. Typing away at the air, I wrote a quick message to Jean asking that she finalize an open-ended contract for Amy to sign. I then hit send as I listened to Adam speak. Apparently, Hexa would be working with him to overhaul security, then have their extra teams, which would arrive in two weeks, act as a 'Red Cell' to try and find weaknesses. I had no idea what that meant or would entail, but Adam seemed content with it so I let it be. Closing the call, I lapsed back into silence. Sam must have overheard my end of the call, but she didn't ask. We rode the rest of the way in silence.
AEH
Stepping out of the SUV into one of the rundown areas of town was a stark reminder of how far I needed to go to restore this city. And thousands like that, to be perfectly honest. Crumbling buildings, abandoned and left to rot. And rot they had. But there was more than simply the infrastructural and architectural rot, there was also the human rot.
And in this case, the building in front of us had just so recently had a severe infestation of human rot.
Of course, that contrasted fiercely with the massive claw marks, the shredded industrial doors, chipped brickwork, and shattered windows. Overall, it looked like a giant dog had ripped its way into the building. And the building had barely provided any resistance. That was good, it meant that we were in the right place.
Looking behind me, I could see men and women spilling out of the SUVs that had followed us. Heavily armed, they spread out up and down the alley. Their weapons followed their sightlines and they scanned windows, doors, and any point of interest. Sam pressed herself against my elbow. It seemed that they were taking no chances with my protection. I wasn't sure what to think of the undisguised readiness to inflict violence at a moment's notice.
I heard the squeal of tires ahead, seeing a car enter my range. Immediately the men and women that were my protection detail moved like a well-oiled machine, their weapons swinging towards the possible oncoming threat as Sam stepped in front of me. The vehicle came to an immediate stop at the sight of the armed men and women ready to open fire. Then, it switched into reverse and slowly began backing away until it exited my Focus' range of detection.
"Those looked like skinheads, Ms. Hebert. You weren't planning on crashing an Empire party were you?" Sam asked quietly and I looked over to find her disapproving expression boring into me..
"You never asked where I was going to meet the girl," I sniffed, turning my attention back to the dirty moving truck that was currently parked outside of the building. Its doors were open, obviously ready to load immediately. I then considered what Brian Laborn had told me, and what I had been able to research about Rachel Lindt, known to the PRT as 'Hellhound'. It seemed that my timing was perfect, as this was the vehicle that was reportedly being used by the former Undersider.
The distant, muffled sound of dogs barking told me that she was still here. From what Brian had told me, she was singularly dedicated to rescuing dogs where possible. Which left a lot of questions of how and where she fed and cared for them. It was obvious that when Hookwolf had been alive, they would have come into conflict. Hopefully, I would be able to reach an agreement with her without too much difficulty.
Taking a deep breath, I started to step forward, only for a hand to land on my shoulder, "Where do you think you're going," Sam demanded as I turned around to look at her.
"I have business with Rachel," I said levelly as I stared straight at her.
"You're not going anywhere, Ms. Hebert. If I had known what you were planning, we would not have come here in the first place like this. But I sure as hell am not letting you near a known criminal with a propensity for violence. Not on my watch."
I bristled, "Then it's a good thing that it's not your call, Samantha. Your job is to protect me, not dictate what I can and cannot do," I tried to wrench her hand off my shoulder, but it did not budge, "Let go of me."
"That's where you are wrong," she hissed emphatically, "Protecting you can mean that I can put you over my shoulder and haul ass in the opposite direction. Now, if you had actually discussed with me what you were planning to do, we would have come up with a plan of action. Go over what equipment we needed and how to communicate. Have a fall back plan in place if things get rough. But you didn't! So now," she fell silent at an echoing growl that came from the bowels of the building.
Slowly, I turned to watch as a beast stalked out of the brutalized building. It was easily the size of our SUV with teeth the size of steak knives. Spines stood out on its back, with the armored plates of bone and spikes dotted across its body in an uneven fashion. I was unsure if the weapons my escorts carried would be enough to make a difference if the situation became violent. For a brief moment, I considered that maybe I had made a mistake coming here.
But that thought quickly ended as Sam wrenched me behind her and I found a trio moving in front of me, their rifles now at the ready and aimed towards the dog.
"Hold fire," Sam barked, as she slowly pushed me backwards towards the SUV, she then held up her right hand, extended one finger, spun it around, then closed it into a fist. Immediately to my right, one of the men lowered his weapon and took off in a jog towards us with another man keeping pace with the weapon trained on the dog. The first man quickly opened the door to our SUV, clambering into the seat and starting the engine as the other man covered him.
"Judas. Stay," another voice shouted, rough and loud. The beast stopped, but didn't relax. Hellhound herself walked out. She cast an intimidating presence regardless of if she intended for it or not. Rather built for a girl her age, she was clad in jeans and a sweater, with a thick jacket over it. The distance made it difficult for me to get an accurate read on her because of it.
"Empire fuckers," she growled, both her and Judas' hackles rising.
"Not Empire," I shouted back, pressing myself against Sam's back. Very aware of how delicate the situation was, I needed to establish peace here quickly, "Rachel! I talked with Grue. I just want to talk."
I then hissed softly at Sam, "She reacts to threats with threats. Put the guns down and let me handle this."
When she didn't immediately issue the command, I moved out from behind her and placed myself beside her. Her jaw was tense as she kept staring at Rachel, "Sam. We don't want to fight."
"Guns down," she finally barked, and with machine-like precision everyone lowered their weapons, angling them towards the ground.
"You have five minutes," she said just loud enough for me to hear. Slowly, I moved out in front of her, but not too far. I didn't want to test her patience with this.
Rachel stood there for a moment, watching us. This was it. If she backed down, then we could talk. If not…I might see my new security guards kill someone in front of me. Fuck…I had absolutely fucked up by the numbers. I fought the impulse to clench my hands.
"Judas…sit," the beast-dog dropped its rear and started panting. A large spiked tongue lolled out as Rachel walked over, reaching up to scratch behind the dog's ear. I breathed out, feeling a little tension drain out of me.
"Stay by my side," I murmured to Sam, who hummed in response. Taking a cautious step forward, one followed by the next, I walked until there was still a suitable distance between us. Sam was now at my side, a coiled spring ready to unleash violence at a moment's notice.
Up close, I could finally get a better look at the girl. She was well-built, obviously from an active lifestyle. The way that her hair was cut roughly, it was likely personally done. The way that she glowered at me pretty much tolerated me right now only because I wasn't Empire. I idly noted the cheap plastic dog mask that was hooked to her belt.
"Thank you, Rachel, I—"
"It's Bitch."
I blinked, for a moment not quite comprehending why she would use the word. I thought it was meant as an insult like it had been hurled at my face over the years by Emma and the rest. But in this case, bitch meant female dog, Rachel was a woman who thought through the lens of a dog, hence 'Bitch'.
"Thank you, Bitch. My name is Taylor."
She grunted, "You wanted to talk. So talk."
"Are the dogs okay? Inside, I mean," I said, keeping my expression as placid as possible. The first step to deescalating, according to the notes I had reviewed on the way over, was finding a common middle ground.
"They're fine. I'm taking them. You can't stop me."
I spread my hands slightly, trying to keep from presenting a threatening profile, "I'm not going to stop you. I would help you if I could. But I can't. I'm blind. So I would be of no help."
I could easily tell she was suspicious of such a declaration, so slowly, I raised my hands up to my face and slowly removed them. Fully removing them, I allowed her the chance to take in my ruined eyes. For a moment, I considered turning off my Focus, but I felt that was a step too far.
"You don't act like it."
I shrugged, slowly replacing them on my face. It was a fair statement, but I was only going to accommodate her so far.
"Grue tells me that you train dogs very well. I'm looking for a dog. For a friend. Her name's Paige. She's very alone and needs a partner."
Rachel crossed her arms, the leather of her jacket creaking, "They're not for sale."
"I'm not asking you to sell them. I"m asking you to find a good partner for Paige. A dog that can stay close to her and be her companion."
Rachel huffed, running a hand down the beast's flank, "Fine. But I want to see her. Make sure it's a good fit. Next Saturday, the park by the grocery store."
I blinked, not that she could see it, "The one with the broken slide?"
"Yeah, that one."
I nodded in acknowledgment, putting a note in my calender through my Focus, "Alright. But before we go, I have a gift for you. For taking care of the dogs."
I wanted to give her money. Cash to buy dog food and other supplies. But after doing some quick math, I realized that the forty dollars that I had on me wasn't going to go very far. I wanted to make a good impression. I leaned closer to Sam, "Do you have cash on you?"
"Three hundred in mixed bills, why?"
I blinked again, reminded far more thoroughly at my own lack of preparation, "Hand it over. We're going to build some goodwill"
We worked in silence for a moment, pulling bills out and bundling them up in a spare hair tie. While almost a dozen people watched my back and I tried to pretend like I was on top of things. Finally done, I showed it to Rachel, "Here you go, Bitch. For the dogs."
Slowly, I walked closer to her, making sure to present as unthreatening a profile as possible, before placing it down on the lid of a trash bin just far enough away to not evoke a possible hostile response. Slowly, keeping myself facing towards her, I walked away. I hoped that she took it, because otherwise some homeless person was going to get a real score.
"I will see you next Saturday," I finally said once I was far enough away. This evoked a grunt from Rachel and I turned my back to her. I was still acutely aware of the monster dog behind me, but Sam hadn't turned around. In this case, she was my guard dog.
It was a quiet process as we loaded into the trucks. Threw was a tense silence among us as we started driving away, only broken by Sam pulling out a phone. She dialed someone, and I only caught the start of her conversation.
"Job done. Returning to the nest now."
Then she switched to another language. It might have been French, but despite my family name, I couldn't speak anything aside from American English. Briefly, I considered what it would take to add a translation program to the Focus. Something to look into with the next iteration of the design.
I climbed out of the SUV when we rolled to a stop back to Zero Dawn. Adam came jogging up, Mrs. Kight following closer, her face a solid frown. I raised my hand, which caused her to frown more, "Yes. I know. I fucked up and we have things to talk about. But I have another matter right now. Adam, where's Amy?"
"Staff room. Bottom floor," I walked off as he finished speaking. I could feel Sam following behind me to my irritation, even if I didn't show it.
I might not know exactly where Amy and I stood, but I do know that she had been there for me. She had not only saved my life, but she had seen me at my lowest. I wasn't so numb to people that I could even possibly consider ignoring her now.
I found her in the staff room. A bulky jacket that had clearly been borrowed from someone much larger draped around her shoulders. She was writing in her notebook, a Focus spinning on her temple. She glanced up as I walked in. We stood there in silence for a moment, both trying to find what to say.
"I heard you wanted to stay the night?"
She nodded, her face crumpling. I stepped to her side, placing my hand on her shoulder as she spun in her seat and pressed her face against my torso. I could feel my shirt getting wet as I rubbed my hands across her shoulders, "It's okay. We'll show them. We'll show them all. They can't stop us. We're in this together."
That seemed to break the dam inside her, as great heaving sobs came from the girl as she mourned the family she had known her entire life.
AEH
Jack Ryan
Langley, Virginia
Jack Ryan had a plan. It may not have been the best of plans, but it was solid. Take a step back from the limelight of politics, leaving a backdoor point of contact with Durling, and buckle down on internal threats before tackling the external ones. Too bad reality didn't agree with his plans. After a thorough review of candidates, along with the procedures and compromises that would be needed to get said candidate to take his place as Vice President…the plan didn't work anymore. It would be a bridge too far, weakening Durling's already tenuous position far too much. Like or not, he was going to have to remain active in DC, keeping the ship of state in order. Still, that didn't mean that the plan had to be scrapped. All that was needed to ensure that it was still viable was just a little bit of refinement.
"Jack, how the hell are you doing," Luther Sloane, Director of Special Operations for the CIA reached out and shook his hand.
"I've been better," he replied with his customary wit and a smile, before taking a seat after exchanging further pleasantries. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his legs as he looked at his replacement in the CIA when he ascended to Director. Luther had been personally trained and handpicked by him, and while not as friendly or as charismatic as he was, the man was a deft hand at deniable ops and intelligence gathering. If the man had a political bone in his body he would have been a shoe-in for Directorship, "how about yourself?"
"Nothing to really complain about. Things are starting to get a little exciting with everything going down. How's life in DC?"
He offered a shrug, "After Boston, the Hill is starting to look more like a shark tank in a feeding frenzy. With tensions running high and all these competing interests I'm surprised we aren't having fighting in the streets yet. Kinda reminds me of the bad old days."
The other man laughed, before leaning forward, "So, what brings you down to my neck of the woods, Jack. Burrows is worried you're gonna bump his ass out to the streets and take back the chair."
"I'm not looking to replace anyone," Jack laughed. Burrows being the current CIA Director Jeffrey Burrows. While they had a cordial relationship, he would have never tapped Burrows for the role. The man was too soft for what was necessary, instead being more of a political animal. But that wasn't his business, he hadn't been involved in the selection process, "I'd rather not have a third run as Director."
"Shame that. It would be nice to have you back here stomping around and putting the fear of God into some of these pissants. Some of these new guys don't know their ass from their elbows. And don't get me started on whether they know the difference between HUMINT and SIGINT."
He offered a consolatory shrug. While it certainly did frustrate him to see the decline in the organization that he had crafted over the years, it was sadly the nature of the bureaucratic beast. It was inexorable in its progression as time passed and priorities shifted. The best he could do was ensure that enough of his fingerprints remained that it would slow the tide until someone like him took over.
"So," Luther leaned forward, "What can I do for you, Jack?"
Leaning down, he grabbed his briefcase. Opening it and retrieving a folder from it, he then placed it on Luther's desk and watched as he took it. The man flipped over the folder, slowly reading through the same file he had presented to the President last night. The Director of Special Operations' brow furrowed, even as he flipped through the pages. After a few minutes, he closed the folder and slid it back towards him. Taking the folder, he placed it back in the briefcase and closed it with an audible click as the latches locked into place.
"Only three people have seen that file," he announced, "The President is the only other person."
"Jesus Christ Jack," the other man breathed, "You really don't do things by halves."
"No. I don't."
"Okay. I'll bite. What do you want?"
"I'd like for you to keep me in the loop, Luther. Off the books. I'd like to know if any of our usual friends start taking more than a casual interest in Ms. Hebert. It doesn't need to be confirmed unless you want to. I would just like a head's up so I know that we may have company."
"I can do that, Jack. But you wouldn't come down here for such a simple request amongst friends. Why do I think you want more than that?"
"You know me far too well, Luther," he leaned forward, uncrossing his legs, "You remember the Rainbow Initiative."
"Yeah, I remember that," Luther tilted his head, his eyes narrowing, as if he was trying to put together why he was bringing it up, "It was an idea for an off-the-books team to be deployed on US soil to deal with threats that local forces would have difficulty doing. But we scrubbed it because the optics were absolutely terrible. No sane politician would sanction unleashing professional killers on American soil with carte blanche and zero oversight."
He then paused, "But you wouldn't be talking to me about it unless you already had the pieces in place. You're too thorough to leave something like that to chance. But there's nothing that would indicate that it's in operation. The only way you would be able to pull it off while seeming innocent would have been," he stopped, his eyes widened, "Jesus Fucking Christ Jack, Hexa. You've been using Hexa as a goddamn skinsuit for the Initiative."
"You're right, Luther. No sane politician would authorize something like Rainbow. But the rise of private military contractors after Autumn Thunder provided a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that could not be ignored. The cutbacks across the board provided a steady supply of disaffected men and women who still wanted to protect their nation, even if the nation had turned its back on them. And now with the PRT and Protectorate floundering in lieu of the events in Boston. We now have a fertile ground to present alternative ideas on how to deal with both internal and external threats."
"If you were anyone else, Jack, I would say you were insane. But the fact that you have been planning this for over fifteen years…I don't know whether to applaud you, or shake my head in disbelief. I know you absolutely despise the state of things with the PRT, but some would say this is bordering on treason."
"Maybe it is, Luther. But that file is why I am making the choice to do it now instead of waiting until it may be too late. We've made too many compromises over the years; too many retreats. The PRT creates Quarantine Zones, and we fall back. We let the Slaughterhouse Nine wipe out entire towns unopposed, and we fall back. I'm sick and tired of falling back, Luther. The line must be drawn in the sand here, while we still have an opportunity to fight back. That girl can rebuild our industry and economy. But we have to make sure that she has the time to do that."
America Ascendent. To anyone else, it may have been the sort of mealy-mouthed jingoism of the uneducated . But to Jack Ryan, above all else, he was a patriot. He believed in the Dream. To this day, in spite of the years he had spent in the murky justifications of the intelligence community, and then federal politics, he still believed. Taylor Hebert was the key to begin putting America back on top of that hill. Shining and bright, inviting the poor huddled masses underneath its warming light.
"Fuck, Jack," the other man shook his head, "you're the Vice-President of the United States. Waging an illegal vigilante campaign with intelligence assets on American soil? I could spend the next week listing every law you would be breaking and still not finish," he closed his eyes, and sighed, "Okay, against my better judgment because damn if you aren't right, what do you need from me?"
"It won't be illegal, somewhat. My next stop is the FBI offices. They'll run things, but it will be our guys pulling the trigger. But all of this is just insulation. The best solution to not getting in trouble is not getting caught. If any investigation starts to get close? We've got enough cover to stop most from poking around. As for you? I need information and interference. Anything you can give me on targets would be appreciated, and once the PRT starts sticking its nose into things, anything you can do to throw them off."
"That shouldn't be too difficult. The PRT tries to portray itself as mildly competent, but half the time they don't know which hand is wiping their ass and which is rubbing their damn nose. Standard drops and procedure?"
"That'd work perfectly. Thanks Luther."
"Eh, anything to stick it to that frigid cunt in DC is a win in my book. So, who are we planning to ghost first?"
"I'm thinking the Slaughterhouse Nine would be a good start."
AEH
Tensions Inside the White House
According to reliable sources inside the White House, relations between President Durling and Vice President Ryan have broken down in recent days. Several sources have indicated that since Ryan's return from Boston there have been several arguments taking place behind closed doors between the two over the President's handling of Boston.
While neither office has put out official statements, it has been noted by Washington insiders that the President has removed Vice President Ryan from several roles within the White House itself, suggesting that the Vice President has been quietly excluded from the President's inner circle of advisors.
Meanwhile, Vice President Ryan's itinerary has been announced with visits slated for Fort Drum, Boston, and Brockton Bay in the next week.
The Vice President's visit to Brockton Bay is of special note. The city is the hometown of Zero Dawn Technologies, along with its Founder and CEO, Taylor Hebert. Ms. Hebert has been in the news lately thanks to her actions in Boston, where many are crediting her with the rescue of tens of thousands. While no official statement has been made on the purpose of Vice President Ryan's visit, early speculation from industry and government insiders is that this is the first step in establishing a contract between the Federal Government and this revolutionary tech company.
According to reliable sources inside the White House, relations between President Durling and Vice President Ryan have broken down in recent days. Several sources have indicated that since Ryan's return from Boston there have been several arguments taking place behind closed doors between the two over the President's handling of Boston.
While neither office has put out official statements, it has been noted by Washington insiders that the President has removed Vice President Ryan from several roles within the White House itself, suggesting that the Vice President has been quietly excluded from the President's inner circle of advisors.
Meanwhile, Vice President Ryan's itinerary has been announced with visits slated for Fort Drum, Boston, and Brockton Bay in the next week.
The Vice President's visit to Brockton Bay is of special note. The city is the hometown of Zero Dawn Technologies, along with its Founder and CEO, Taylor Hebert. Ms. Hebert has been in the news lately thanks to her actions in Boston, where many are crediting her with the rescue of tens of thousands. While no official statement has been made on the purpose of Vice President Ryan's visit, early speculation from industry and government insiders is that this is the first step in establishing a contract between the Federal Government and this revolutionary tech company.
AEH
Colin Wallis
PRT HQ
Brockton Bay
Dropping the last of his effects into his duffle with a sense of finality, he nodded towards Miss Militia. His former subordinate stepped forward and looked through it, ensuring that there was nothing that shouldn't belong there. Was it a humiliation to have his coworker and a pair of PRT officers rifle through his belongings again after watching his every move as he gathered the few personal belongings he was leaving with?
Yes.
Did he care? No. Because he felt vindication in his actions that led to this juncture.
Because the sequence of events that had led to his decision to resign had made him fully aware of just how right he had been to keep Ms. Hebert away. For decades, he had dedicated his life to the Protectorate. Hundreds of pieces of equipment, months of adjustments and refinements, and tens of thousands of hours of test data and simulations. And now? Everything that was truly his fit into a mid-sized gym bag.
A set of training clothes, several tools that he had created before he joined the Protectorate or had bought with his own funds, and some testing data and designs that had to be approved before he could copy them off his own servers. Yes, he still had the money that was being paid into his civilian account. But anything that belonged to 'Armsmaster' was…not his anymore. It was owned by the Protectorate. From the image, to the armor, to the weapons and gadgets. All of it was trademarked, all to ensure that the Heroic image that had been created around them was fully protected.
All that he was left with was nothing but his name and a gym bag.
"Alright, that's everything," he confirmed to Hannah, who moved to carry his bag and open the locker room door. He appreciated the gesture. He was still having difficulty adjusting to having only one arm —The sound of alarms in his ears serving as the dirge for an enumeration of critical system errors. Warning: Core Armor Integrity Failed. Warning: Combat Seal Compromised. Warning: Painkillers Depleted. Warning: Coagulants Depleted. Warning: Power at 8%. Warning: Nearby Threat Detected. Warning: Water Level Rising. Warning— Warning— Warning— The damnable litany continued to endlessly mock him as he lay there trapped. His only accompaniment the weight of his failures as the rain continued its uncaring fall—
He breathed in deeply, letting the cold, sterile air rip him back from the hellish memories that had been Boston. He took the moment to ground himself.
Recite what you see, hear, and feel.
One: Doorways.
Two: The hum of electric lights overhead. The differing sounds of Hannah and the PRT officers' boots impacting the tile.
Three: The sway and pull of his empty left sleeve. The c-cold of the— No. Not the cold. The tap of his finger against his leg. Left. Tap. Right. Tap. Left. Tap. Right. Tap. The gentle thump of his shoes on the floor echoing off the walls.
He allowed himself to breathe out. It was something he had to continuously be aware of. He couldn't afford to lose himself to those memories. Not when so much depended upon him moving forward. He focused himself on their path as they quietly made their way into the elevator. Hannah seemed to want to say something from the glances she kept shooting his way.
But she never did.
Entering the ground floor, he found himself being greeted by some of his colleagues. He wasn't sure exactly how to react to this. In his entire tenure in Brockton Bay, he had never gone out of his way to truly connect with his peers. Instead, he had chosen to keep them at an arm's length because it had simply been more efficient. To build a personal connection ran the chance of compromising him in the field.
To have them here, seeing him off. Was it because they were glad to see him finally be gone? Or was it something else? Or did they actually care and he had never truly seen it in his singular quest to reach the pinnacle of his trade?
"Going to miss you, sir," Assault gave him a jaunty salute that contrasted with his serious tone and grim expression. It was one of the few times that he had seen the man so serious, "If you ever need anything, or just someone to talk to, I'm a phone call away."
"Thank you," he said awkwardly, not quite sure to believe in the sincerity of the man. But, for the life of him, Assault had never truly been the conventional type of coworker or hero. Maybe it stemmed from his villainous days as Madcap, or maybe there was something else to make an offer like that to him. He just didn't understand.
"Sir," Battery gave him a nod and little else. At least he could understand that sentiment. Battery had always been more no-nonsense than her husband. Enough that he had always wondered just what it was that caused the two of them to tie the knot.
But it also meant that there was no real connection between them because he had never tried to build anything outside of the fact that she was his subordinate and was, by design, to defer to him. Maybe it was not fair of him, in hindsight, Battery could have offered so much more if he had chosen to utilize her. Alas, it was a path not taken. And maybe it was for the best.
Outside of a few PRT ready response team members, there was no one else here. Either they were out on patrol, taking part in the ship-breaking, medically invalidated, or dead. He had been kept well away from the Wards after his return from Boston. It was an understandable measure, he was a man on his way out, there was no need for him to create any mixed signals with them and influence them in a direction that the Director and his successor may not wish.
Hannah walked him through the —
—door, breaking through with his good shoulder. The nano-thorn cut was clean and precise, the last of his on-board medication keeping himself mobile. He was down an arm, but still in this fight. He could see the devastation wrought from Dragon's suit crashing through the roof at an uncontrolled speed. Its armor was shattered. The arm bisected from the suit, and the chest rent open to expose the sparking and bleeding internals. He raced over, his knees slamming to the ground as he slid amongst broken brickwork and shattered concrete.
"What can we do to save you?!"
"Colin, it's fine. The suit is…"
"If you were really piloting the suit remotely, then the interference would have cut your connection. How do we save you?!"
The silence between them was deafening, even in the roar of battle around them.
"Oh Colin."—
Breathe. Feel the warmth of the sun. The smell of the city.
Miss Militia led him through the doors, coming to a stop with enough clearance for the motion sensor to allow the doors to close behind them. She placed the bag down, before drawing him into a hug.
It was…awkward, but he did find comfort in her presence. He awkwardly patted her on the back, letting her go as quickly as he could without making it seem too callous.
"I hope you take care of yourself, Colin," she said, before she handed him his bag.
He nodded, already setting his mind towards the future, "Take care of yourself as well, Miss Militia."
With what was likely his final words ever to be said to his former subordinate, he turned and headed towards the nearest bus stop. He had a mission now, and he had a plan. First, he was going to go back to his residence, a small studio apartment in one of the better parts of the city where she waited for him to rescue her. Trapped in a prison made of scraps of electronics and processors. He needed to gather his bearings, figure out what resources he had, and finalize a plan of action. This was something he was good at. Then once he was done completing that, he was going to go to the only person that he knew he could ask for assistance.
She may have done a good job to obfuscate it, but he knew that Taylor Hebert was working on something that could only help him. And frankly, while he certainly wouldn't try to lord it over her, he did feel that she did owe him at least some answers.
And hopefully some help.
"Colin, it's okay. This me will fade. And tomorrow, I will wake up again. There are Rules. There can't be two of me."
He fumbled with the nanothorn in his one hand while cursing his damnable frailty, "It's not the same. Missing pieces. Missing Today. Missing This. Not the Same," He spat out, before grinding his teeth as his body protested the strain he was putting it through, "I don't want a facsimile. I want you!"
Cut. Dammit. CUT! Not too deep. Too deep and he'd lose her completely.
"Colin…forgive me. For being a coward," there was fear in her voice. He forced himself to work harder, the faint taste of salt on his lips, rainwater didn't contain salt, "I won't remember this. But you will. You mean the world to me. Even if I can't find the words. I feel..almost human when I'm with you. plete."
Trace the wires. Find the power sources. Battery backups. Processors. Hard Drives.
He didn't know enough!
"Dragon, how do I save you?!"
There had to be a solution. It couldn't go like this. He couldn't lose her. Not like this.
But an answer did not come "I'm ̷͓̏g̸̳̱̫͘͝l̷̢͈̲̎̾̾a̵̪͒d̴͓̙̆̐ ̶̗͓̭̿i̵̹͋t̷̬̞͎̊̈́̓'̸̙̕̕͝s̵͚̤̯͛ ̶͖͑y̵̝̑͝o̶̖̠͑͝ư̶̪͋," her voice distorted, "H̶̡̉̉̚ę̶̨̡̩̮́r̶̡͉͋̔̒̐̍̓̔͝e̵̱͆́͆̊̕̕͠.̴̰̦̩̺͐̓ ̴̟̘̮̉̊̀Ņ̷̧͉͇̞͔͉͔̮̑̑̉̈́o̶̢̨͖̝̩̜̤͂̃̒̅͊̽͛͌͝ͅŵ̴̢̧̗̯̜̳̻̳̻̑.̷̭̺͙̪̲͖̣͐̒̓͆̅̈́ ̷͎̖̾̈́̔̍İ̷̲̅̂̔'̸̛̻̦͊̉͂̎̅̂͌́m̷͉̰͚̼͈̘̺̄̃̀̋̂͛͜—̵̡̡̭̲͚͓͇̤̞̊̓̇G̴̮̬̳̜̘̹̫̿͛̽̀̑͌̑̚͜͝l̴̹̺̻̗͖̽̈̈͘̚ằ̷͓͕̪̼̰d̴̜͛̊̉̀̀͝—̸̤̦̗̤̂̓̅͆̂̀—̵̛̘̗̀̉̌̂͂̿̒̚ͅͅ—̵̫̼͂̄̀̎͂̿͘̕L̷̖͇͂o̶̯͉̥͚͐͑̏̍̌̒ṿ̵̨̩̙͂̌̚ͅȩ̸̧̼̝͈͎̙̠̐̾̄̈́̄̈"
He didn't have enough time. She didn't have enough power to provide him answers. There was too much damage. He couldn't lose her—Not without giving his own answer. Not before he could understand his own answer! — HE COULDN'T—no. No. No! NO. NO! NO! NO!
He grit his teeth, could feel them crack. Trace the wires. Power going to memory banks, to data storage and processing. Carefully, he began to sever wires while the rain kept falling.—
He released another breath. Focus on the here and now. I can't save her unless I do that. I have to save her. It's the only thing I have left that is still mine.
He felt naked without his helmet and armor. It made everything more efficient and didn't leave him struggling to plot out a route from the bus schedule. It didn't leave him with more questions than he had answers.
He didn't know what he should even think anymore. He wasn't sure if he actually had any beliefs anymore that he could call his own. Seeing Dragon back again, the day after Boston as if nothing had actually happened. After he had seen her die in his hand. It made him question the reality of everything.
He wasn't even sure if he could bring his Dragon back. But he had to try. He would be dishonoring his friend…no, he wasn't sure if she was just that. His feelings were always a confusing morass of conflicting directives, drives, and emotions. It was why he didn't even try to understand or utilize them. It was inefficient. It was certainly not cost/effective and only left one trapped in an ever worsening sunk-cost fallacy when it inevitably became far too complex to safely withdraw without a negative outcome.
But when it came to Dragon…His Dragon…Now that he had finally broken the chains that he had put himself in. He found that he couldn't function without considering what it meant. Just what were the right feelings he should have? Or maybe it was what he currently had? If he was Armsmaster, he would have easily discarded it as unnecessary.
But as Colin Wallis…he found that those feelings could not be so effortlessly discarded. Even if the world were to turn against him in this endeavor, it would make no difference in his resolve. He could continue to fight to save her. If necessary forever. If necessary alone.
But hopefully, he would have allies. All that was necessary to do was to simply…ask.
AEH
Hannah Washington
Brockton Bay
Hannah watched Colin leave. The man walking away seemed so familiar and yet so different from the man she had worked with for so many years. In many ways, she was saddened at his departure. The man that he had become in the weeks before his departure was far better than the man he had originally been.
This whole situation was…messy. She despised messy. Already, there was talk about her taking on the Wards permanently. With Dauntless being tapped to step up to take over the Protectorate in Brockton Bay, there wasn't really any other option. She wasn't sure if she was ready for that responsibility, especially now.
Her experiences had hardened her to the world at large, and it was one thing to experience it, it was quite another to wish it upon others. In the times that she did sleep, every once in a while, she experienced the horrors of being used to clear mines alongside other children. It haunted her even in her waking hours.
Boston had been the Brockton Bay Wards' minefield. That innocence and carefreeness that came with being children had died in that hell. They may try to hide it, but she could see it in their eyes. What they had before Boston was gone, even if they tried their best to recapture what had been lost.
Missy was no longer the energetic and talkative young girl eager to prove herself. She had become abnormally quiet for her age, instead spending quite a lot of time staring off in the distance and brooding. She was also throwing herself into training, auditing health and rescue classes, reviewing procedures and anything that she felt that might help her improve. The only thing that remained of the girl was her feelings for Dean, only reversed as she could not stand to be in the same room as him. She was currently being monopolized by the PR department, as part of some initiative dreamed up by Washington PRT.
Dennis had become quieter as well. His jokes, where previously he always seemed to have one at the ready in an attempt to get a laugh, seemed more strained. Like he was trying to find the right fit. It was jarring to see him like this, even if it seemed he had become more focused because of it. He was busy working on the ship deconstruction, a project that would be done by the end of the week. It was a good relaxed posting after his actions in Boston, given that he was more there to show the flag rather than actually contain the villains working on the wreck.
Dean hadn't really changed. He had missed the jump to Boston, instead arriving afterwards to help Search and Rescue. He was trying to connect with his teammates, his empathetic powers being carefully used to assist. But the young man found himself increasingly isolated by the other Wards, potentially due to the clash of experiences. Browbeat was in a similar boat, heading to Boston after the battle. Except that had been too close a call for their parents, who were now looking to remove them from the Wards program.
Carlos had been miraculously recovered from Boston. But after twelve days of being trapped under rubble, he was absolutely going to be sidelined for months on medical leave and evaluation. He hadn't said much to her about what had happened when she had talked to him this morning, but she had a feeling that he had experienced a lot more death than the rest of the Wards.
And Chris…Chris was honestly the worst of them. Between his insistence that he didn't need Panacea to heal him, and him requesting parts and materials through the Tinker budget, she had a feeling he was about to do something incredibly stupid. And his condition meant that she was now fielding calls and questions from his parents, who were rightly concerned with his well-being. But they were demanding a solution on top of blaming the PRT for his injuries. The Youth Guard were inevitably going to be involved, and the only realistic solution would be to ask Panacea for help. But that involved asking an Independent Hero team for help, an optic that the PRT and Piggot didn't want or need right now.
No, she was about to inherit a sinking ship with not even a bucket to bail with. But…despite her frustration with the situation, she did understand why Piggot had done what she did. Armsmaster had gone out of his way to twist the facts to allow Taylor Hebert to function outside of the PRT's oversight. And the young woman had been running circles around them ever since. Not that she could really blame her or call her a villain. Her actions at Boston had saved a lot of lives. It was all just…messy. She hated messy.
Colin stopped for a moment at the street, watching traffic pass. She—
Felt her powers shift. She raised her hand as eldritch green energies reformed into a solid heavy
pistol, held perfectly still as her powers twisted. The pull of the trigger was intoxicating as the bullet lept from barrel and landed exactly where she wanted. The bullet reducing the sanctimonious bastard's head to pulp like an overripe melon. The wide grin under her scarf was enough to make her face hurt as his body collapsed into a passing car. The wet thud and blood painting everywhere providing a better release than any of her nights with Chevalier—
She—
Felt her powers shift. A blast of heat and fire followed her as she went from here to there, her hands gripping the back of his neck as his skin rotted to her touch. She laughed as she spread rage and madness around her. The people tearing themselves apart around her provided such an exquisite pleasure as she turned Colin's head around, and lowered her scarf. Taking in his shocked expression, she then claimed his lips and felt his flesh fester and rot in a macabre kiss of death—
She—
Felt her powers shift. Her eyes changed, providing her a view of all of his blood vessels. She coiled her legs and lept, easily covering the distance between herself in Colin, even as she ripped off her scarf, cackling madly. She landed on his back, smashing his head into the pavement, even as she grabbed his hair and pulled, exposing his neck further. She then sank her teeth into his neck, her eyes rolling back into her head and she moaned as the rich iron taste of blood flooded her taste buds. She then pulled, ripping out the side of his neck exposing vertebrae and swallowing the delicious flesh. Her teeth sank again into his collarbone, glee in her eyes as his heart beat a mile a minute in panic and she flooded him with delicious agony.
She—
Felt her powers shift. Something inside of her unveiled and stretched out in a dozen different
directions at once. A tremor ran through the street, almost like a small earthquake, or as if a large truck
was rumbling by. Colin paused and turned to look back at her and that was when an almost needle-thin spire of rock lanced up through the asphalt, stabbing and ripping through the self-righteous prick's groin. It only just missed his balls but that was fine, because it ripped through him in the time it took him to blink. A
Gore-smeared stone needle exploded up out of his shoulder, ripping half of his jaw off and taking his
ear with it. The stunned look in his eyes abruptly becoming agony was fucking orgasmic and he hadn't
even realized that he was dead yet. The secondary needle-spires of rock that stabbed up out of the ground around him, ripping apart and into the several gawking bystanders that stated in surprising
was almost as delicious.
She — breathed. Collapsing her hands behind her back. Consciously, and carefully, scared that what she just experienced might become reality, she shifted her powers, turning her gun into a metal bracelet on her wrist, spikes inside sinking into her skin. She sank them in further before finally there was some pain, grounding her, and the skin started healing in wake of her abuse.
You will not break me, She thought furiously.
Hannah Washington/Butcher XV
That's what they all say, darling, a man growled in the depths of her mind. An already hated voice.
My power is armory. I choose the weapons I use. You are now part of my arsenal, nothing more, she spat back.
Mocking laughter of a dozen voices reverberated in her mind, before a young woman answered back, her voice rough from smoke.
Keep telling yourself that, 'hero'. We've broken better than you.
You're one of us now, another voiced, their voice a sickly high thing, A Butcher.
