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An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

Sprout 3.4 Part 2
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


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.


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


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.


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.


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.


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.
 
A Lone Man On A Mountain I
This started out as an idea from BigBadBen and kinda took off from there. Introducing a side character that will only have a few or so scenes for the foreseeable future. But it felt like the right place to put him.

Special thanks to all of you who decided to throw yourselves on the Patreon. I'm currently in contact with Mikezzzzz on Deviantart for the commission. Some of you in the Worm community should know that name. So let's hope to see something in the foreseeable future.




A Lone Man on a Mountain I

Taking in a deep breath of the cold, mountainous air, he released it slowly, watching as it steamed from him. It was one of the few accompaniments he had in this dreary landscape. His gaze slipped from the rising sun to the valley down below, to the remains of what had been the city of Eagleton, his home.

Now it was nothing more than a graveyard infested by the Machine Army.

An overgrown crumbling ruin of a city, which nature was reclaiming inch by inch. One where danger often hid in plain sight.

Yet, in the nearly twelve years since they had emerged, the Machine Army had learned to leave him alone. The exact reason why they had chosen to, when they had made it a point to kill every other human they encountered in their territory, he didn't know. But he had a feeling that somewhere, someplace, in those ones and zeros, he had earned a grudging respect from them that it was not worth the effort to remove him from their domain.

There was no peace between the machines and himself. There would NEVER be peace between them. But grudging respect? Leaving each other to live and let live? It was tolerable. Over the years he had just become…tired. Going through the motions of life, waiting for the inevitable day when he was finally reunited with his family.

Rubbing a hand through his unkempt beard, he pushed the memories back. That was the trick really. Focus on the now. Live in the moment.

So he kept living, waking up each day with tasks in mind. Complete the tasks. Sleep. Wake again. Enjoy the little moments of nature unspoiled by other people.

Because there was no one else around. Just ghosts. Old memories. Little reminders.

Focus on the tasks.

He shouldered his pack, jostling the weapons on his back. He had a boar to track.


xxxxxx​


The sun was high in the sky. The gravel crunched under his boots, and the grass pushed up through the cracks of the road he walked along. Animals were amazingly adaptive. Where they would have once avoided this part of the city, now they crossed through it without fear. The short memories of their lives were blessings in a way.

Rost kept his eyes moving. Taking in the broken display windows, the mannequins with water-stained clothes. Maria would have commented on that.

He bit his lip. Don't go down that road.

Taking another look ahead, he slowed to stop. Intuition was a funny thing. It was the brain's way of saying that it noticed something, but it wasn't certain what it was. Gut instinct was a powerful thing, if you could start respecting it.

His years before returning to Eagleton had trained him to respect it. It saved his life quite a few times.

Alright…break it down. What was he seeing? Rusted cars. Crumpled post box. Broken shop windows. Grass moving in the wind. His grip on his spear tightened. Guns were too complex, the gunpowder ran out years ago. Bows, arrows, spear. Metal tools were fine. Most survival tools lasted.

Collecting a scrap of rubble at his feet, he aimed and let fly. The pebble flew true, clanging against the mailbox. The sound rang out in the silence like a gunshot. He waited. The sound faded. Yet still, he waited.

With a metallic shriek, the mailbox unfolded. Nothing humanoid, just a ramshackle collection of limbs, and hinges. It was completely lacking in symmetry, but somehow able to fake a damaged mailbox. Just not convincingly enough.

It warbled and chittered, a bladed limb jabbing in his direction. He lowered his stance, ready if needed. Live and let live only went so far. There would NEVER be peace.

A fight didn't seem to be in the forecast today. The machine backed away, before turning and taking off in an ungainly scamper.

He relaxed, adjusting the pack on his back. Daylight was fading, it was time to track his prey or he would go hungry this evening. There was no benefit in standing still.


xxxxxx​


Sighing, he kept low. Human voices on the wind as the patrol walked by. The added weight of his kill on an improvised sled was not pleasant, but like most discomforts it could be ignored.

The PRT did not send their best to Quarantine Areas. They sent two types; the undisciplined and the zealous. The zealous were those who believed the hype. Believed that they were the thin line keeping madness at bay from escaping. They went about their duties carefully. Equipment cleaned. Helmets on. Procedure followed to the letter.

The rest were undisciplined. The washouts. The troublemakers. The ones who were an incident from being judiciously cashed out, or just couldn't handle their job, but the system couldn't just terminate them. They walked about with scuffed up gear, smoking, joking, and wandering around when they should be keeping a tight patrol pattern.

Capes fell into these categories as well, they just came with a brand of their own troubles in addition. Most of them were angry and itching for combat. They wanted the action, they wanted the fight. He had wondered in the past if this was a condition of the capes, because almost every single one he had encountered assigned to the Quarantine Zone shared these traits.

He did his best to avoid them. Not impossible, just difficult. They changed their patrols often. Twice in the past he had been caught and questioned. The first time he had tried to explain that this place was…home. Even destroyed as it was, he felt at peace here.

The second time, he just kept quiet. The outcome didn't change in either case. They relocated him to the nearest city. He would hike back past their patrols and just kept on living. It hadn't been hard to set up in Eagleton. The PRT didn't expect anyone to break in. Or if someone did, it would usually be Capes who wanted to steal something or use the Machine Army for their own ends. Some attempts were picked up by patrols. The rest made it in and were found by the machines. The Machines generally won those fights.

The men passed by, chatting and letting their weapons swing loose. Sloppy and amateurish. It was clearly evident that they were content in their own superiority.

No matter. Night was falling, and the sky was growing dark with rain clouds. He would have to hurry to make his evening camp. He had dozens spread across the zone. But few could be used to dress and care for his kill. It wouldn't do to waste precious meat.


xxxxxx​


Scratching at his jaw, he huddled closer to his fire. April weather in Tennessee was usually temperate, but the cold front had brought rain with it. It wasn't enough to be freezing, but it was enough to carry a chill. Yet, despite the inclement weather, his demons had been silent for a while now. Being in the forest helped keep them quiet.

Not the same quiet as the house. That was the quiet of a tomb, of old memories waiting to jump out at him. It was only here, now, with the fire going, and the day's work done that he would let himself remember. Happy memories, of successes and shared hopes, of mundane moments that were now so precious.

It took effort to not think of the later times. Hearing the news while he was half a world away fighting someone else's battles. Fighting battles that made no difference in protecting his family from falling to bloodshed at home. Where they should have been safe.

The wind picked up, sending sparks spiralling in the air. The trees groaned as they swayed, and the fire crackled and shifted. Leaning back on the log, he looked up to the sky and noted the clouds starting to part, the rain giving way to the still of night.

He stoked the fire, now free of the threat of rain and fed a few more sticks to the hungry flames.

"If you walked any heavier, the patrols might catch you."

"And if you keep growing that beard, they might think you're a bear."

He looked up, watching as a younger man ambled into the light. He had a pack on his back, a sturdy pair of boots and clothes fit for a time in the woods.

"What do you want, Clark?"

"Can't an old friend drop in and say hello? Swap stories about how lovely the forest is at this time of year?"

He snorted, "The last time I saw you I held a gun to your face. If you call that friendly behavior, then I wonder who handles your mental evaluations."

"Sometimes the best of friends have disagreements at gunpoint," was the other man's blase response, coming to a stop beside the fire, motioning to the other log, "May I?"

For a brief moment, he wanted to be petty and tell the other man off. But the one thing that everyone knew was that the man was persistent to a 'T' once he set his mind to it. So instead of telling him to pound sand, he merely motioned to the other log, and Clark took a seat on it.

"What do you want?"

"A lot, but we can start with you putting aside this 'mountain man' aesthetic and come with me to do some good."

He honestly knew it was going to be that, he thought to himself with a sigh.

"Fuck off."

Clark leaned back, uncaring of the bite in his words. "Oh come on, Rost, I came all this way and tracked you down, the least you can do is pretend to be interested. Just a little? Please?"

Persistent, and annoying. Yeah, that was Clark.

"I'll listen, but that doesn't mean I'm going to say yes."

"See, I've got a problem. I was asked to put together a team of killers. The kind of team who will get shit done, keep their mouths shut, and who work well with the strange and the unexpected. And, of course, kill it."

Clark pulled his arms wide, "Not a lot of people can achieve that. Even less when you consider the new blood running things. Which means I need to pull a few dusty relics from storage for the job," he then leaned forward slightly, a damnable smirk on his face, "You're the relic in this case…in the event you missed that."

"Another war to fight in some far-flung corner of the world? Doing the dirty work for people who don't care and will never see the consequences of their actions? I'll repeat myself," Rost frowned, looking over the fire. It would need wood soon, "Fuck off."

"See Rost, that's where you're wrong. We ain't hunting some Russian oligarch too big for his britches this time. No more globetrotting and killing someone cuz our bosses think they looked at America the wrong way. The dirty work is happening right in our backyard. Home soil. And it's Ryan putting this soirée together. You think Ryan doesn't know the score?"

That brought his retort up short. Taking the moment to collect his thoughts, he tossed a few more branches into the fire, setting the embers flying, "Ryan wouldn't go for it. Not here at home. Not worth the mess if things got out of control."

Clark shrugged, "Things have changed. Ryan thinks it's worth it now. Not sure if you saw the news, but the PRT has been making 'shitting the bed' an artform lately. Ryan thinks with the PRT finally getting its well-earned 'Caesar and the senate' treatment, there's a chance we can make a joke of their dog and pony show. Frankly, I think it's about damn time."

For a moment, he felt a surge of rage at the mention of the PRT. It had been them that had failed to protect his family. It had been them that had decided that it wasn't worth doing anything about the Machine Army, instead choosing to wall it in and forget it. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone, replaced with the familiar emptiness.

"I'm not that person anymore, Clark," he finally said, using a stick to stoke the fire, "I left it behind me."

"Bullshit, Everett. You never leave it behind, not until your dying day. You're lying to yourself if you think you can lock it up and throw away the key. You were the best tracker the Marines ever had. You've survived in the heart of the Machine Army's territory for over a decade. I need your skills to help me deal with problems none of those pansies in DC have the guts for."

"Who are you going after?"

There was a moment of silence, before he got his answer.

"The Slaughterhouse Nine."

He raised an eyebrow. That was a name he had heard from time to time, usually over the radio when he chose to listen to it. The Slaughterhouse Nine, a group of murderous capes who went from place to place. Why they still seemed to exist had always bothered him, it was nothing that a few precision-guided bombs wouldn't be able to solve. Only it seemed the government was quite content with keeping it a cape issue.

Seems like someone had finally lost their patience

"Why now? You've had years to deal with them."

The other man smirked, "Things change, like they always do. New allies, new tech, new enemies, new possibilities. Does it really matter, Everett? This is going to happen. I don't know what the odds are, I don't ask. But the odds are better with you, then without you."

"So," the man leaned in, "are you in?"

He didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to stare into the fire, searching for answers. There was a part of him that yearned for what Clark was offering, to get back on the horse and actually do something to make a difference again. But there was another part of him that felt like by doing so, he would be dishonoring the memory of both Maria and Alana.

But was he really? Was he actually honoring them by doing this? Not quite living, but on the other hand, not quite dead either. Just existing, shuffling through what was left of his life, waiting for death to finally reunite himself with them.

Was it fair to their memory?

He knew the answer to it and he hated it. Because he knew exactly what Maria would say to him, even if he didn't want to admit it.

Closing his eyes, he released a sigh. Looking for something - anything really - that could stop him from doing this. But there simply wasn't an answer there.

"Alright," he finally said, "I'm in."

Clarke's smile was all teeth, as he held out a hand.

"Welcome to Rainbow."
 
The Dream Is Dead (Part I?) (A What If Story?)
This was an idea that just came to me out of the blue last night when I was looking for inspirations on Taylor's looks. I found a deviantart post of a black-haired girl in a military uniform and my brain kinda went, what would happen in the Faro Plague DID Happen in Bet-verse. A little bit of Terminator, and a little bit of review later, we get this small little apocryphal snippet. I may do additional snippets later, who knows, but it was an idea that just wouldn't go away until I slayed it.

I have also reached out to Mikezzzzz and have given him the greenlight to do the first artwork for Everdistant Horizon. My hope is to have it at the latest sometime next month.

Currently we are at 6300 words on the next chapter. So there's your update.

Otherwise, enjoy.





The Dream is Dead

The first sign that something had gone horribly wrong was when Norilsk went dark in 2023.

We had known that the Russians had reactivated the closed city in order to play catch up with the United States and the revolution wrought by my company, Zero Dawn Technologies. Pouring trillions of rubles into the research center in order to not fall behind, they had chosen one of the most remote facilities in the world in order to keep it hidden from our eyes.

It wasn't until images came from Irkutsk and Omsk six months later that we came to the horrific realization of just how far they had been willing to go in order to try and reach parity with us.

The Russians called it the Iron Plague, but to me it was simply the Faro Plague by another name. The Russians, despite several warnings by myself over the years, had chosen to create a networked intelligence in order to offset the qualitative advantage we had to them, but had not invested the time or safeguards that I had with Sobek.

By the time we were aware of its existence, it was already too late. Irkutsk and Omsk fell in less than twelve hours. It wasn't until the Plague's legions reached Yakutsk, Yekaterinburg, and Ulaanbaatar that nuclear weapons were used, only to fail as they were intercepted before their terminal phases. Not even theater missiles made it through to stem the tide in nuclear fire.

Only then, was the request out for our assistance made. But by then, it was already too late. Zashchitnik, or Guardian, had reached a point where Sobek could no longer stop it outright. It had become networked too far, too well defended, where even the combined might of Sobek and Dragon had been unable to break it.

We had rushed to defend China and Russia, but it was simply a matter of too little, too late. Within three years of hard, desperate fighting, Russia was gone, and Iron had pushed through Central China and had reached the Middle East. We were losing, even as we started fielding newer and better machines and weapons, we just couldn't stem the tide. By the time the Iron Plague reached Berlin, the decision had been made to begin fortifying redoubts in Britain, Japan, Australia, and the Pacific, with the world's governments and militaries uniting under a single banner in the face of possible extinction. Decisions were made to buy as much time as humanly possible, with each inch paid with lives in order to build the defenses in order to stop the spread of the Iron Plague.

By the time the machines reached Calais, the largest migration of humanity in the history of its existence had taken place. Hundreds of millions were saved, but billions were still lost. And it was only through the sacrifice of so many that even they had been saved.

That had been ten years ago.

Today, the human race, which at its height in the Post-Scion World had numbered six-point-two billion people was now less than two. Huddled behind defenses covering less than one-third of the world and militarized to an extent never before seen in its history.

Because we knew that this lull would end sooner or later.
 
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Commission Status and Chapter Update
So figured I'd come out of the woodwork and provide you guys with an update since its been over two weeks since the last chapter. THat and give you guys some awesome news when it comes to the commission.

Anyways, first, the chapter. Well, suffice to say, we are at the point to where we are likely going to split this baby into at least two parts. This is mainly because the chapter is looking to be around 40K words. Frankly, that's a bit too much, so we're looking to make a few digestible cuts so you guys dont starve, and we are allowed some opportunity to maybe create a buffer (ha ha ha ha, right). So, yeah, We're gonna try and button this baby down.

But suffice to say, we are at 18K words at the moment, and still have 6 scenes to do form the outline. So yeah, yikes. Luckily, the first half of the outline is mostly done. And until I get my phone fixed I'm unable to go and work, I guess thats more time to try and push this thing out.

Now, moving on. The Commission. Well, the first rough draft has come back. and let me tell you, its a bit rough, I've already talked to Mikezzz, so there will be changes incoming. But here is the first iterative rough draft for you guys

Everdistant_Horizon_2.jpg

So, there you guys go. Hope to have some more news for you come around the end of the month.
 
Sprout 3.5 Part 1
Well, here we are. Took almost a month longer than I wanted, but when the chapter spins out of control and turns into a nearly 40K word monstrosity...Well things happen. Anyways, here is Part One. With Part Two slated to release in about a week or two, depending on the progress for Growth 4.1 and other sidestories.

In other news, the first commission for An Everdistant Horizon has been done. Special thanks to Mikezzzzz for creating it, and the wonderful people over on Patreon who have helped donate for it. I am exceptionally happy with how it came out. This will be the first of hopefully several commissions as the story goes on. I will be posting this at the beginning of the thread as part of media as well as posting it after this threadmark.



Sprout 3.5 Part 1

Brigadier General Malika Faraday

10th Mountain Division

Boston, MA

April 26th, 2011


The clocks had just ticked over into the early morning, and General Malika Faraday was standing over a table in a conference room surrounded by maps and people. They were all assembled to answer an important question: Could 'normals' handle capes? For over a decade, the PRT and their ilk had answered 'no'.

It was an answer that she was about to contest to Governor-Colonel Herres.

The door opened and Aaron Herres stepped into the room and she came to attention as everyone else in the room that was with the military did the same.

"At ease," the man said tiredly as he strode through the room, coming to the 'head' of the table.

She had significant reservations when she had received the orders to deploy the 10th Mountain Division to Boston. Not of her duty, that was without doubt. But she was worried about the fact that they were not only being deployed into a disaster area, which they had experience in, but one that was under martial law. While she was not politically-inclined, she wasn't blind to the legality of the situation either.

But she was a good soldier, and she followed orders even as she prepared for what was, without a doubt, the most important assignment of her life. She had pored over reports alongside her staff as they deployed to Boston, noting the situation on the ground, but also anything they could get their hands on about previous cities that had been hit by Endbringers.

Suffice to say, the picture that had been painted had been bleak. If anything, they would have their hands full just trying to pacify the populace in order to ensure that people received enough supplies in order to survive. It was a nightmare that she was not keen to experience, but knew that she was likely going to have to give orders that would immortalize her in history for having to quell violence with military force.

Luckily, however, despite her worries and reservations, things in Boston had been relatively orderly. She would never have believed it until she had seen it, but Lieutenant Colonel Herres had far exceeded even her expectations. Obviously someone had dropped the ball on Herres, because due to his leadership and deft utilization of everything at his command, Boston was shaping up to be a victory snatched from the jaws of defeat.

Until now.

The Teeth had been highlighted as the largest cape threat in the Boston area and most likely to cause trouble. They had earned their notoriety through aggression, savagery, and the clear message that any attack against them would be responded to ten-fold. But when an attack hadn't materialized in the week after Leviathan's attack, there was hope that fears had been unfounded. It also helped that their intel suggested that the Teeth had been devastated in the attack, with only Vex being the only confirmed survivor.

Unfortunately, more Teeth capes survived than expected. They, plus a several dozen normals, attacked one of the major supply convoys that had been en route from Providence. While a large amount of supplies were coming in through the air to Logan thanks to the Air Force, it was not enough for the city to survive, which required shipping from Providence, and in the new week, Brockton Bay. The Teeth had obviously believed that they could intercept and take the supplies from the Providence convoy. What they were going to do with it was anyone's guess, but it didn't matter whatsoever.

Her men had done their duty, they held the line and the Teeth had been repulsed, allowing the convoy to make it to Boston intact, providing much needed supplies to the crippled city. But the cost had been unacceptable: Seven dead and another twenty-three injured.

Herres had once again surprised her, however. Where a career politician would have balked and offered her empty promises, the colonel had instead got immediately on the phone with Washington with a plan of action and wanted to confirm he could do it. And once he received confirmation it was within his power, he had put plans into action.

And now they were assembled not only to bring justice to the Teeth, but also answer an important question: Could 'normals' handle capes?

Conventional wisdom suggested yes. After all, most capes were as human as everyone else. They could be distracted, misled, surprised, and even killed. Sure, a man with a glowing Tinkertech laser sword was dangerous, but what if you just shot him in the back instead? Conventional military wisdom suggested that with careful planning and execution, any threat could be handled with the appropriate application of force and violence.

Unfortunately, time and time again, whether in an armed police or military response, this maxim had been found disturbingly lacking in the face of capes. Autumn Thunder, Nilbog, the Machine Army. They were all examples that the adherents of cape supremacy used in their argument against conventional forces and tactics and in support of dedicated cape responders. They argued that only capes could be effective in dealing with other capes.

Today, that truth would once again be put to the test. This time, against one of the most deserving targets on the continent. The Teeth were an unholy amalgamation of biker gang, drug cartel, and dregs that belonged in a sanitarium. As far as she was concerned, they were a cockroach that needed to be stomped out and their nest burned to ashes.

And she would be the one holding the lighter.

"I want to thank you all for putting in the effort these last sixteen hours," Herres declared, making sure to look over the room, meeting the gaze of representatives of the military, police, community organizers, and PRT, "I know there are some of you have reservations on what we are about to do and I respect you for holding to your principles. However, unless we draw a line in the sand here and now on what we will tolerate, then we will only encourage others to attempt what the Teeth have done. This is meant to be a message to them and anyone else who believes that the people of Boston are to be preyed upon."

He held the silence a few more moments, again looking over the room, his expression unyielding before he then brought gaze back to her.

"General Faraday, you have the floor."

"Thank you, Governor. Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to brief you on Operation Sidestep," she tapped her Focus, allowing it to bring up the briefing, and then streamed it to the projector that was in the middle of the room, bathing the room in its light.

"Thanks to intelligence gathered from interrogations by the Boston Police Department and the PRT, we now have a complete picture on the force composition and assets of the Teeth."

With a flick of the wrist, she brought up eight photos, each one a cape.

"According to interrogations of Sundancer and Ballistic, who turned themselves in before the deadline imposed by Governor Herres, the Teeth currently consisted of eight capes and one hundred and thirteen unpowered individuals. Weapons composition of these unpowered individuals run the standard Teeth fare, ranging from edged weapons to rifles and pistols. We do have some indication that they may have rocket-propelled grenades, possibly six or more."

"As for the capes, we have confirmation that both the New York and Boston cells of the Teeth were in attendance when Leviathan attacked. According to Sundancer, the original intent was for the Teeth to attack the business summit the Vice President was hosting the next day. When Butcher XIV was killed in the attack, the Teeth reorganized around this woman:"

One of the photos was maximized, showing a brown-skinned woman with an eyepatch, her hair down in a ponytail with the lower part of her face covered in a human jawbone. She wore what could have easily been a stylized western getup that looked ratty, worn, and rotted, with a bandoleer looping over her chest.

"This is Leadslinger, Amira Bakir. Target Number One. She is classified by the PRT as a Tinker One, Thinker Two, Shaker Four, and is the leader of the New York branch of the Teeth. Her power is centered around a pair of revolvers and a break-action pistol that she carries. She has the ability to change the trajectory of the bullets midflight, which combined with a combat thinker ability she is a threat at most ranges. The break-action pistol adds an anti-armor, anti-brute component to her skillset. All of her ammunition is personally molded and crafted by her, including depleted uranium rounds that are exclusive to the break-action pistol. The only reason she never merited increased attention over the years is because she is lazy, unmotivated, and obsessed with making 'perfect art', but Butcher kept her around because Bakir was good when she happened to be motivated. According to Ballistic, with Butcher's death, she views her easy life as threatened and is taking actions accordingly."

She then replaced the image with another person, a bald muscular man in a ratty wife beater, his face twisted into a manic grin and there was a necklace of desiccated toes extending down to his chest. In his hand was a gigantic bowie knife.

"Target Number Two is Toecutter, Jamison Alders. He's a Brute Five, Mover Two. He is the quintessential Teeth member and likes to get up close and personal with his kills. His preferred weapon is a bowie knife, but he always has backup weapons to fallback upon if he feels like it. As you can tell, he likes to collect the toes of his victims as trophies. He's highly resistant to conventional munitions and is capable of teleporting to his target, but the travel is discernible as a red streak."

Another photo came up, this time of a figure who looked like he just walked out of a discount halloween store, only the ornamentation were actual body pieces.

"Target Number Three is Spree. While initial intelligence suggested that he had been killed in Leviathan's attack, yesterday confirmed his survival. I think it goes without saying what his ability is, but his ability to create clones is a force multiplier that cannot be ignored. When he is engaged, it is critical we identify the real one as quickly as possible and remove him."

Flipping to the next photo, this time a woman wearing a hood and cloak. Bones lined her arms and legs, and her stomach was exposed.

"Target Number Four is Vex. She can create force fields that can cut through materials. We do know she was injured by Leviathan, so she will likely not be at full capacity. Still, it's best that we do not underestimate what she is capable of."

"Target Number Five is the newest member of the Teeth: Perdition, formerly of the Travelers. Thanks to Sundancer and Ballistic, we know that he is the last remaining member of this, and was actually the one who suggested that they join the Teeth. His power is the ability to shift targets back in position or time by a few seconds."

And so she went on, going through the last three members of the Teeth, all from the New York branch: Dealgood, Outcrier, and Feral, listing off their powers and any pertinent observations that should be made in regard to them. Once she was done, she then moved to the next phase of the presentation, this time displaying a map of the greater Boston area.

"The Teeth are located in four different areas. They have an armory in Squantum on the corner of Dundee and Meadow. They have taken over the Manet Lounge on Houghs Neck, where they are currently headquartered out of. They also have backup safe houses in Malden and West Medford, but according to the Boston Police Department, they are lightly manned. They believe that we are unaware of their existence and are planning for them to be fallback positions"

With that finally said, it was time to move to the actual purpose of this meeting. With a twist of her wrist, she overlaid a new display on the map. This time it showed the order of battle for Operation Sidestep, along with the projected routes to assault.

"Sidestep is simple. Spearheaded by the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Battalions of the 27th Infantry Brigade, we will launch a coordinated strike on Squantum and Houghs Neck. Marine detachments commanded by Captain Schofield will handle Malden and West Medford at the same time."

"Backing these attacks up will be the 1st Battalion, 25th Aviation Regiment. However, because of our lack of intelligence on the location of Leadslinger and Vex, we will be unable to have them directly attack. Instead, they will be at max effective distance for Hellfire launch and provide standoff support for targets lased by ground units until Leadslinger is confirmed KIA."

She then zoomed the map out further, this time encompassing the bay.

"Because of the threat presented by Leadslinger keeping our air assets at a distance, after conferring with Admiral Stanhope, the USS Kidd has been positioned just outside of the bay. Once Leadslinger and Vex have been identified, the Kidd will be tasked for a fire mission on the targets. In the event that this isn't enough, or there is any complication, a flight of four F/A-18Cs from the Enterprise have been tasked to act as reserve and will provide precision bombing runs if necessary."

"If everything happens according to plan, Operation Sidestep should conclude within two hours of commencing. It is believed, thanks to interrogations, that the Teeth are not expecting a full military response like this, despite the Governor's declaration. They believe it will be comparable to a standard PRT raid, and are preparing accordingly. We have dedicated surveillance assets on all locations, with eyes on anyone going in and out of the buildings. Collateral losses should be minimal. With your approval, Governor, operations will begin at 1400 hours."

And she sincerely hoped that was the truth. Because if it was, then the Teeth would be woefully unprepared for the reckoning that was about to be rained upon them. They were expecting the same tired old engagements with PRT who were more focused on capture and containment.

It worked in her favor, because by the time the Teeth realized that they were dealing with an entirely different threat, it would be far too late.

She took the time to look around the room, getting a barometer of the people gathered. While the military looked pensive, yet anticipatory, the civilian-oriented members were obviously uncomfortable. But she didn't have it in herself to sympathize with them. The Teeth had thrived on the PRT's reticence to take decisive action against them, and now it came down to the military to ensure that they would never threaten another life again.

"Thank you, General," Herres spoke, his voice quiet, yet there was a steel there that caused her to stiffen at attention. Even with the briefing and operational planning, it would not occur unless one man made the decision to approve it. The acting Governor stood before the display, the Focus on his head glowing faintly in the bright room as he manipulated the display, his dark brown eyes drinking in every detail as he reviewed it.

For nearly ten minutes he continued his review, not saying a word or asking a single question. Everyone was held in suspense as the most powerful man in Massachusetts silently continued what he was doing, wondering just what he was going to decide. Was he going to greenlight Sidestep, or was he going to demand a different plan?

Finally, however, he stopped, allowing the display to return back to its default setting. He then took the time to look around the room before he finally came back at her.

"Operation approved, General Faraday. Wipe them out."


AEH


"Well Jim, it's now 7am this morning and still no official word from the Interim-Governor's office regarding actions planned against the Teeth. We know that Herres has previously stated that at midnight last night the Teeth organization would be declared as 'enemy combatants' and dealt with accordingly. A cordon has gone up around suspected Teeth areas and reconstruction efforts have paused for the day, so clearly something is planned. Let me tell you, Jim, there is a real sense of anxiety here in Boston this morning." - Fox & Friends, Fox News


AEH


Taylor Hebert

Brockton Bay


With an audible sound of disgust, I angrily jabbed my soldering tool back into its housing. I then took the time to glare at the device that was going to the new choker that would suppress Paige's powers, even if it was just a wire-frame construct in my vision.

Normally, building things by hand was calming for me. It was a departure from my previous self before The Attack. It's why I was now working on the delicate insides of the voice modulator instead of sending the designs off to have the machine shops make it for me. I had people now and most of the actual building of my devices would be handled by them. I still had the designs and blueprints saved on the company servers, locked behind an extra level of security because it was meant as a containment device. I had asked that the case be manufactured, meaning I was just dealing with the innards of the device.

Groaning, I realized that I had been staring into space for a few minutes. I just couldn't focus when I was frustrated. And I had plenty to be frustrated about this morning.

There was no denying that I had jumped the gun in approaching Rachel the way I had. That much was very clear. But in my defense, I had been pressed for time, and didn't have the time to slowly build a relationship with the girl in order to understand if Brian would be a threat to my company or not. Rachel would not have reacted the same if I had sent someone in my place either, and we would have wasted weeks searching for her if we had missed her at the dogfighting ring.

Unfortunately, I had a lot of people to tell me where I went wrong. People who were damn good at their jobs and had the accomplishments to back it up. I had intellectually known once I had started down this path that I was going to need a protective detail. There would be just too much interest in me once I entered the limelight to not make it a requirement.

Mrs. Knight, as the current head of the Hexa contingent spent hours the previous evening, explaining in clear detail how I screwed up. How my actions jeopardized myself and the team with me. How they would have reacted had I been transparent and clear about my intentions and wishes. It was an embarrassing experience, one that made me angry. Because it was hard to find any faults in her arguments. Which only reinforced the point that she was trying to make.

I glanced at my computer screen, running another simulation for Paige's choker…I should probably call it a necklace. Amelie Knight had absolutely put me on her shitlist, but that was fine. She was also on mine. Because shortly after Samantha called her mother from my car, Amelie had hung up and called someone else. The timestamp on the security camera lined up perfectly. I had been reviewing the footage earlier, after receiving the first round of proposed security changes. Turns out Mrs. Knight had missed a few cameras. I was a little proud of that achievement, and would not at all hold it over her if it came out.

But it still left me with a problem, because I now didn't trust that Hexa was here for my protection. Yes, it's entirely possible that Amelie was calling her husband, letting him know that Samantha was fine. No, I didn't believe that for a second. Especially considering that whoever she had been talking to had been in French and obviously coded.

After all, why would you talk about the weather in Brockton Bay at that moment?

Which made some of their security recommendations suspect. I could understand asking for security clearance, but Alpha-Level Access for Samantha and her personal bodyguard unit? The rationale was logical, Alpha-Level Access was privy to only a select few and basically was a key to the entire facility, and if something happened, they needed to be able to get to me and move quickly through the facility without being slowed down. It made all sort of sense, if I wasn't so suspicious of my 'protectors'.

Violently releasing a sigh, I ripped my pointless safety goggles off and flopped back in my chair, the furniture creaking at the sudden shift in my posture. I let them dangle over the arm of the chair in my hand, my fingers rubbing the lenses as I reached with my free hand and massaged my brow.

It was frustrating, there was no other way to really describe the crux of my feelings. Frustrating that in spite of the freedom that I gained by getting access to the resources that I needed to launch Zero Dawn into becoming a major player in the world, I was also putting myself in a different cage. Certainly, it was more gilded than my previous one, but it was a cage nonetheless.

Was this what Elizabet felt when she finally broke from her original employer, no longer able to abide the descent into the madness that would eventually result in the damnation of humanity? I had to wonder exactly what she must have felt, being faced with having to make such a tumultuous choice in order to abide by her principles. I was, in many ways, in the same position that she was now. Only, in order for me to achieve my goals, I may just have to sacrifice the principles that I wanted to hold myself to in order to ensure a better future.

Could I actually live with myself if I had to make that decision for the greater good?

I wasn't sure if I had the answer to that right now. Maybe I was just being a coward, not wanting to provide a definite answer. Or maybe it simply was just too early to tell because I wasn't in that position yet to know the actual score.

I kept massaging my brow, slowly breathing in and out as I dealt with my tumultuous thoughts. I wasn't really achieving much dwelling upon the matter, but at the same time, I couldn't help but be haunted at what may or may not be, as silly as that seemed.

Perhaps I needed to confide in someone about this. It wasn't like I was coming to any sort of conclusion that I liked, so perhaps a fresh perspective would be helpful. Maybe then I could stop feeling like such utter shit?
I snorted, replacing my goggles back on my face.

Oh, who the fuck was I kidding?

As I relit the soldering iron, data was fed into my vision as the Focus began to provide me with the information I needed to finalize work on Paige's new choker. It only needed a few more adjustments and it would be ready for testing. But from all intents and purposes, if the data was right, there should be no difficulty.

And if anything, it would be quite trendy for the former singer.

While the first device I had furnished for Paige had been a cobbled together mishmash of parts and ideas, this new choker would be a far different beast in comparison. It had been built with the same metal that had gone into the production of the outer casing/armor of the machines, but done in a way that it was uniquely stylized and elegant. Among the other design changes that I had made was to integrate the entire system into a singular device, making it not only easier for Paige to wear, but be far less intrusive as well.

But probably the most important change that I had made would likely be its most controversial. I knew that my decision would raise quite a few eyebrows, but after having spent a little bit of time with Paige, I believed that she could be trusted with this. As a result of this choice, I had chosen to make the voice distorter be able to retract upon command. This was done by touching the 'jewel' in the middle of the device, which would then retract the voice distorter and allow her to use her voice without any interference or restraint.

In many ways, I guess I was trying to restore a little bit of that freedom that she had enjoyed before everything had gone to shit. I had a feeling it would be quite a long time before she ever actually chose to willingly take advantage of the feature, but I wanted her to have the comfort of being able to make that choice. There was also a consideration of providing her the means of self-protection too, but that was more of an afterthought. And yes, the necklace would send a signal any time it was activated. It also had a built-in tracker and audio recorder. I was willing to trust the woman a little, but I was still in charge of 'containing her'. Adding in a few safety features would make the inevitable complaints from the PRT less impactful.

Everything was now a give and take. My life was now a balancing act.

I got a ping from my workshop door. Accessing the door camera showed Amy fidgeting as Sam looked her up and down. I quickly commanded the door to open, not wanting to subject Amy to Samantha fulfilling her job this early in the morning. I kept working on the device as Amy stepped in; I really needed to figure out a name for it. I couldn't simply just call it 'the device' or something dry like that. I resolved to call it the VMD, Voice Modulation Device.

Replacing the soldering iron back on the kit, I once again found myself referring to the data feed of the Focus. I probably had a few more hours of work left to be done on the delicate components, but after that, it should be ready to test. Satisfied with my progress, I took my goggles off again and turned to look at Amy who had taken a seat in one of the few chairs in my workshop.

"So, you now have guards outside your door," Amy commented before I could get a word in. I was grateful in a way, I didn't really know how to help with the loss that she might be feeling. While the relationship with my father was improving ever-so-slightly, she had been somewhat close with the rest of her family. And while she didn't give me the whole story, nor did I ask, she at least made it clear that they didn't approve of her working with me.

So. Time to focus on the future, not on the past.

"Yes, and apparently they're here to stay. Hired on the government's dime and charged with protecting me. That includes upgrading our security systems. Speaking of which, pass me your focus for a moment."

Amy hesitated for a moment, not quite putting together why I would suddenly make a request, but she did eventually peel off the triangular device and handed it to me. I spun back around in my chair and tapped it against my own Focus, syncing it to the device. Going through several screens, I finally handed it back to her once I was satisfied with the changes that I had made.

"I've upgraded your security clearance. You now have Alpha level access, the same level as my Vice President and the rest of the board. It will let you see almost every file on the system and get access to any room in the company."

She blinked owlishly at me, brushing her finger along the device as she fixed it back in place, "Ummm…Thanks? Why are you doing that by the way?"

Spinning my chair around fully, I allowed myself to relax a little as I took the moment to explain, "We're going to be building a medical department, and while you're not going to be in charge of it, you are still going to be very involved. I don't want you running around without access. Also," I offered a shrug, "I'd like to think that we may be friends and I can trust you."

I was taking a risk saying that aloud, but I think at this juncture, I wanted to say that, yeah, we actually were friends. But the fact that Amy didn't dispute me seemed only to confirm it. It honestly felt…nice. Putting those thoughts in a corner for a moment, I gestured, pulling up a note-taking program and projected it between us, "What you are going to be heavily involved with is working with a dedicated team to create new products. It will be a collaborative effort to build up or reverse engineer anything that you can dream up. And while I don't have the exact details now, we can get started with who you might want on that team. At least in terms of professions, that is. I figure experts in molecular and human biology are a must, along with a chemist. Any other suggestions?"

Amy stared at me for a moment and I felt slightly uncomfortable at the look I was given. Did I do or say something wrong?

"It's strange to listen to you list off professions like you're making a grocery list."

I offered a light chuckle as I shrugged. Funnily enough, it was kind of true. The list was going to be handed to Jean, or whoever it was that she got in charge of hiring. Which reminded me that I would have to check in on that. I made another note.

The Healer sat back, looking at the rather empty list, "Neurologist for sure. A hematologist so that we can work on the synth-blood project. By the way, what else will this department do?"

I hummed, adding a neurologist and hematologist to the list, "Well, the scanner that we discussed during the meeting a few days ago for one. I'll probably just hand the details of the tech over to them and let them take the lead.. I don't know enough to know what Doctors need to know. The neural linkage tech built into the Horus-pattern Focus means our prosthetics department will have a leg up in getting to work on simulating touch and feel. It will also reduce the variety of problems that exist with current implantation of 'sleeves' and anchor points for prosthetics."

Amy nodded along, "Wouldn't that open up options for you to build better heart monitors? If your tech is already tracking electrical signals," she trailed off as I shot her smile.

"Good idea. Although, maybe we should just license most of these systems to companies with the capacity to start building these devices out of the gate? We'll see, but I'll make a few notes on that."

Amy finally offered me a smile back, and I was glad that my hard work to involve her in the process seemed to be helping her. I started jotting down some notes for ideas that we had discussed, making sure that everything was covered as we settled into a companionable silence.

"I do have one request," Amy finally spoke up, causing me to close a window and look at her as she ducked her head and twisted her fingers in her lap.

"Sure. Shouldn't be a problem with everything. What is it?"

"I'd like to have a neuroscientist on staff."

I blinked, legitimately confused by the request considering the first thing she had asked for, "Aren't a neurologist and neuroscientist the same thing, Amy?"

She slowly shook her head, her shoulders hunching which only added to my growing puzzlement at her sudden shift, "Neurologists deal in the treatment of the brain and nervous system. A Neuroscientist studies it," she then clammed up, obviously uncomfortable with something she had said.

"You want to hire two people who specialize in brains but you don't do brains," I trailed off, trying to see the connection to the request and the fact that it was a well known fact that Panacea didn't do brains. Unless…, "It's not a limit of your power, is it? It's a personal limit instead," the way her head bowed just a little bit further provided me with confirmation, "Why do you refuse to work on brains?

Throughout it all, I tried to keep my tone as neutral as possible. This was obviously a difficult subject for Amy, otherwise she wouldn't be acting the way she was. I wasn't going to push her for an answer, but I was also curious as to why she would make such a decision.

Luckily, it appeared that Amy did want to share, as she took a deep breath and slowly released it, "My powers. It's like….anything biological is clay or…play-doh, I guess. I can shape it as long as it's biological in nature. But brains….they're complicated. If I push the wrong part, or don't shape it just right, the person I'm working on…it won't be them anymore. That's why I don't work on brains. It's not," she shook her head slightly, "I have to get it right the first time, Taylor. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

The silence stretched between us. Amy obviously lost in her own thoughts, while I found myself considering what I had learned. Then I realized what I was doing was certainly not something a friend would do, and reached forward and touched her knee, "I understand. We'll find you as many specialists as it takes to help you."

I still didn't understand why she would hold herself back like that. Hell, I had to wonder just what drove her to make that decision when she had full access to Brockton General, which I know actually has a neurology department. Even Medhall could have been useful for her. But, that was all semantics and didn't matter as long as Amy felt comfortable and the relieved smile I received told me that it had worked and it was nice to see as well. I might not understand her fears, but I understood the discomfort of facing your fears. Which brought me to…

A ping from my workshop door notified me that Jean was at the door. Speak of the devil, an appropriate if uncharitable thought, and she would appear. I let her in after adding a few moments of wait-time out of pettiness. The sound of the door opening caused Amy to slide in her chair away from me like a startled animal.

"Jean, good to see you," I called out, even as I lamented the loss of the personal moment between myself and Amy. It felt nice to actually have something like this again, strangely. It was something I was going to have to revisit later, "What brings you to my workshop?"

"We need to go over your press conference in four days," she started, grabbing another chair and dragging it over to our small gathering. Placing the tablet that she carried on her lap, she then retrieved a stylus, running it over the surface, "Need to finalize what we are going to talk about, if you're done talking with Amy?"

I glanced back at Amy, who waved her hand in acceptance. Annoying, but acceptable.

"Okay," I replied tersely. The lingering tension of our talk of my scars still remained, but I figured that both of us could be professional about it, "Do you have something prepared already?"

"I've so far put together a list on some bullet points we might want to hit during the speech," Jean said, swiping with her stylus and I received an alert on a message in my vision. With a brief flicker of my eye, it opened in my vision and I looked through it.

All in all, it was a rather well put together list. I could respect Jean for how she structured it. It was clean, concise, and to the point. There was a bit more detail to it, but it hit pretty hard on the points of promoting what we currently had available, while avoiding making too many promises. I wasn't exactly a fan of the latter part, because I had sold Zero Dawn on what the future would hold if it received the support it needed.

Still, there were a few things that I believed could be improved.

"Should we put a bit more messaging on our alternative energy sources?" I said after checking the notes over one more time, "Blaze is going to be a big deal, especially if we can iron out a deal with the oil industry, but there are other ways we can help lower energy prices, especially with the projected energy price hike coming this winter. It'd be a lot faster, and probably attract quite a few offers for license-building."

"That could work," Jean agreed, making a note on her tablet, "as long as we keep it to basic systems, I think we can pull it off. You were talking about high-efficiency solar panels, right?"

"Among other things. I have a few designs for windmills as well. Though, considering we are working with the government on a nuclear reactor, we could start floating the ideas of geothermal and hydrothermal power plants. At least to see if we can merit interest."

"Let's leave the power plants off the table for now," Jean responded, making another set of notes, "Keep the focus on what the public will connect with. Besides, I think the government would probably want the right of first refusal on that. Something to bring up with Mr. Eaton in our meeting next week."

"I know we are planning to put a large focus on licensed production with companies for the foreseeable future, but have we looked into finding additional investors?"

Jean glanced sharply up at me, a crack in her mask showing in a frown before it returned to its placid neutrality. It seems that my suggestion had put her on her back-foot.

"I wouldn't think you would want to go down that road, Taylor. Making the company publicly tradable would open us to outside influences that we may not be able to predict."

"I wasn't thinking about putting the company on the stock exchange. I was thinking more along the lines of courting additional investors. Make it clear that we will still maintain full control of the company, but they will reap the profits."

"You probably will not be able to find too many that will allow it, Taylor. But it is something we can investigate. I know that Mr.'s Gabriel and Fontaine will be coming for a meeting with you in a week. That might be something we can discuss with them, as I think they should have some say in that decision."

"That's fine," I admitted. And I was being honest, I did owe both Gabriel and Fontaine for what they had done for me. It wouldn't be long until I would be able to return their investment if Sobek's projections were accurate. It was not lost on me that Jean was a former employee of Far Zenith and had joined my company as terms for the investment by the two men. Even though there existed some tension between us, I was fully aware that ZDT owed considerable success to her efforts.

"Do you have anything else, Taylor?"

I shook my head, looking over to Amy who had been watching us, I reached up and with a flick of my finger slid the message straight to her, "Amy? Do you have anything that we may be missing?"

Her eyes widened slightly, obviously not expecting me to ask for her opinion. I had a feeling that she was really never asked what her feelings were in decisions with New Wave. I hope I wasn't right, but I was starting to believe it considering it seemed to be a common reaction when I did ask.

She looked through what I sent her, a small hum escaping as she did it.

"Maybe personalize it a little bit," she offered, not quite sure of herself, "offer some insights to yourself? Show what your thoughts are and your hopes for the future? You're offering a product, but if you just do that then you'll come off as inauthentic and focused on profit. At least, that's what I think."

"Good points," I returned with a smile, "At least that's something that I can work into the speech and presentation. There's just so much we can do, after all."

I blinked as a thought hit me, "Actually Amy, how would you feel about joining me for the presentation?"

Jean shot a glance at me, then back to Amy before settling back with a contemplating look on her face while Amy spluttered.

"Me? I wouldn't even know what to say! Or-or…act! Or anything!"

I smiled at my friend as she got flustered over the idea. Jean chimed in adding her own opinion.

"It's a good idea. Something small, just to make it clear that you've joined the company. We can reveal the synthblood project and gather interest in more medical research."

I leaned over at Amy as she twisted her hands nervously.

"Look Amy, we're not going to force you, but at least I would like you on stage with me. Think of it like a rebrand that capes do. We're making it clear that you're turning a new page. Doing something new and all that stuff."

"Right…something new," she sighed, "Alright, I'll do it. No talking! But I'll be on stage."

"Aaannnd I'll have you stand up when I mention the synthblood project. Which you need to name by the way."

That got a long sigh from the reserved girl and she slumped a little into her chair. But despite that she gave a hand wave of acceptance.

Jean smiled, having been looking between the two of us as we bantered, "Perfect! I'll get some revisions done and send you both an update later. Also I've got someone coming in for outfits and such in preparation for the press event and other occasions. She'll arrive before lunch."

I frowned as I checked my calender. Nothing was blocked out.

"Jean, I was going to finalize the VMD with Paige at that point."
My infuriatingly competent vice-president gave an artful shrug, "No problem, Paige can join us. I'll make adjustments."

She then stood, considering all of our matters done. Which…it kind of was, I guess.

Oh wait! Toggling my Focus, I immediately pulled up the personnel 'grocery list' and forwarded it to Jean, "Last thing. There's a list of professions that we are going to need to hire in order to build Amy's team. Can you start looking into that? Or did we hire a head of Human Resources when I wasn't looking?"

Jean hummed, not even acknowledging my sass as she looked over her tablet, "We've narrowed it down to three. I'll send you their profiles for review. Get back to me as soon as possible, please. I want them involved with the security updates."

I nodded, seeing the new files being added to my inbox. I would look at them later.

"Did you get a chance to follow up with Amy, Taylor?"

I froze, completely caught off guard by the question. In the most neutral tone I could manage, I answered, "No. Not yet. That will be all, Miss Brown."

Jean took a moment, staring at me, before she offered a nod and turned to leave.

Now it was my turn to sigh and slump in my chair as the door closed behind her. Slowly I spun around to look at Amy who was gazing at me with wide eyes.

"Umm….what," she asked.

I snorted. Yeah, that was a fair question.

Spinning around, I pulled the VMD closer, going over each part while setting the computer to run another simulation.

Focus on the work, disconnect from the rest.

"Jean is of the opinion that my scars distract from my ability to connect with the public. It undermines our public message and doesn't project the image that we want for the company."

And damn that woman for being right. I had learned all about 'pretty privilege' from Emma and her cronies at Winslow. I just didn't want to use the very same tools that she used to escape punishment so many times as the means for elevating myself. It felt absolutely disgusting even considering it now.

"But," I quickly sought to alleviate any concerns Amy might have, "I didn't bring you onboard to be our onsite medic. It's not fair to ask you to use your powers for cosmetic reasons. Nor is it fair to demand the very same thing that caused you to come to Zero Dawn. Besides, it's not like these are causing me problems. I've adapted just fine. Anyways, keeping them just sends a different message that…," I blinked as I felt a hand resting on my back, gently rubbing against my shoulder blade.

Glancing to my side, I found Amy leaning over. She scooted further forward in her chair, pulling my hands away from my tools. I felt the blood flow back into my whitened fingertips. I hadn't realized that I had been gripping them that hard.

She then used the leverage that she gained to spin me around, putting my back to the desk as our knees brushed together. Both her hands clasped mine as she leaned forward. My Focus automatically adjusted, giving me a crystal clear impression of her face.

"Taylor," I swallowed at the tone in her voice. Slow. Gentle. But firm in a way that I couldn't understand. My hands tensed. I felt like an animal caught in a trap.

"Taylor. Breathe. I'm not going to do anything to you, but your heart is pounding. Breathe," she commanded, even as her actions matched her words and she breathed deep. I copied her on instinct, becoming aware of my pounding heart and tensed jaw. We sat there for a moment, both sharing in the breathing exercise as I slowly calmed.

"Taylor. Ignoring Jean. Ignoring the needs of the company. Why do you want to keep your scars?"

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, "Well, it's not fair to you, first of all," I weakly offered, "I promised that joining me would let you try something new. I don't want you to make you feel like I brought you in just to take advantage of you."

Amy squeezed my hands, "Taylor. Why do you want to keep your scars?"

With every word, she shook our combined hands up and down.

"I…"

Fuck. All of this. Jean. Emma. Madison. Amy. Dad. Fuck Winslow. Fuck Blackwell. And fuck every single person who stood on all the sidelines!

"I don't know."

And fuck me for not being able to let go.

I could see Amy's blue-encased face nod slightly. This close, I could see the curve of her lips as she gave me a sad smile.

"Do you know the hardest cases that the ER gets? The ones that the nurses and doctors will comment on in the breakroom and everyone has a similar story?"

I shook my head silently, letting her talk.

"Domestic violence cases. Only they never start that way. Someone will come in with a broken arm. A sprained wrist. Bruises. A black eye. And the story is always the same. They'll say they were clumsy. That it was an accident. They were forgetful," she took a deep breath and I found myself spellbound as she spoke, "But then you talk to them and the truth always comes out. But the story stays the same. They'll say it was their fault for provoking their partner. For making them angry. For not anticipating that their partner had a bad day. For some slight or mistake that led to their injuries was their own fault."

She then leaned in a touch closer.

"And it doesn't matter what the doctors and nurses say. The staff will go the extra mile. They'll offer counseling services, to call the police, even offering protection. Anything to ensure that the situation doesn't happen again. Because that's the worst part. It will happen again. Maybe it'll be worse the next time. Maybe they'll be taken to the morgue instead of the ER. Because they've internalized that they were somehow responsible for what happened to them. Not their partner."

I could feel her breath on my nose. She stared deep into my eyes, even when she knew that I couldn't see out of them.

"So, I will say to you what those doctors say to try and help those men and women stuck in their abusive relationships. It's not your fault. You don't deserve to be hurt. You didn't make them act like that."

I broke. I wasn't proud to admit it, but I broke as I could feel the tears coming and my voice came out weak.

"She was my best friend," I whispered hoarsely, Amy saying nothing as she rubbed her thumb against my hand where I held on to her like a lifeline, "She was…like a sister to me. And then, she just…changed. I came back and she was different. And everything…EVERYTHING that we shared she used against me. I…she was my sister. I loved her," I cried, numb as Amy pulled me from my chair. The two of us curled on the floor, our backs to the desk. I sobbed into my new friend's shoulder as she held me.

I told her about Emma. How we used to make blanket forts and how she would talk about magazines and clothes. About what kind of hero we would be if we got powers. And how I would look forward to telling her about the books that I read and we would giggle as she found pictures of actors to fill the characters I was talking about. About how Emma had held me and talked to fill the silence when my mother had died.

Then I told her about summer camp and how I came home to find an entirely different person wearing the face of my best friend; the person that I trusted above all others.

I lapsed into silence. I felt drained and wrung out. And I was annoyed at myself for pressing my face into the wet sweater on Amy's shoulder. Letting out a sigh, I pulled myself away, leaving us sitting shoulder to shoulder. Amy was still holding my hand: My right in her left.

"And here we are," I found my voice again, "Emma is…locked away somewhere that I try not to think about it. But I still don't have any answers. I don't know why. Why did she change? Why did she try so hard to break me," I let out a huff of laughter, wiping at my face with my free hand, "And these scars…It's like…If I just wipe them away am I giving up on things? Would it be better if I kept them to prove that she couldn't break me?"

We sat in silence for a moment. I didn't want to look at Amy and see what kind of expression that she was making. My head thumped back against the desk in a gentle rhythm.

"I know it doesn't make sense. I have these scars that Emma gave me, and I hate her for it. But it's also one of the last things, the last thing that I have to connect me to her. …Maybe she really did break me after all"

"Well, we know that's not true," Amy rebutted. Her first words in a while. I looked at her, not really understanding the expression on her face as she looked back at me, "Taylor. You are, by far, the most stubborn, dedicated, intelligent, and driven person I've ever met. You made yourself a device to help you see, while blind, in your basement. You walked into a conference and room and asked for several million dollars worth of investments armed with nothing but plans and designs. You traveled into the aftermath of an Endbringer attack and stuck around for a week to make sure that everything was working right. You're set to turn the industries of the world upside down. You've done all of this while blind and dozens of people are actively trying to make you fail."

She then waved our conjoined hands, "You are…amazing!"

I ducked my head, not really comfortable with all of the praise. But she continued, "And after hearing all of that I want to heal you, Taylor. Not because I feel obligated, but because you deserve it! Because those injuries? They aren't your fault! It wasn't your choices that led to them! The only choice you have made was to not give up. And that is amazing! Furthermore, you don't deserve to suffer because of someone else's actions."

She squeezed my hand, "So please, let me heal you."

I swallowed, a dozen thoughts racing through my head. Was it right for me to accept this? What about everyone else who didn't have this opportunity? What did it say that I was considering this?

"Please, Taylor. I can see what you are doing. You're trying to rationalize not accepting it. Just stop overthinking it. Don't keep paying for someone else's actions, okay?"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back as I released a sigh. I could feel all of my emotions, doubts, and reservations disappear with that wistful plea. I couldn't deny her, especially after that appeal.
"Okay," I whispered the words and they hung over the silence like a pall at a funeral. What a pair we made. Two girls with the ability to revolutionize the world. Or damn it. Lost and adrift by our own actions and the actions of others. Clinging together to keep going forward.

Amy nodded, I could feel it through her body curled up next to mine.

"I'm going to start now. Is there anything I should be aware of?"

"My hair," I blurted as the answer came immediately to mind. It was my only remaining connection to my mother. Amy hummed in response, "Can you just…make it longer? Everyone said I have the same hair as my mom."

The healer nodded, seemingly distracted. I could imagine her powers reaching deep inside me, dancing under my skin and into my bones.

"And…please don't touch my eyes," I added, looking down again and staring at the floor.

"Alright. Can I ask why?"

I sighed again, leaning my head against her shoulder, "I know it doesn't make sense. Not really. But there are probably dozens of other people who need their scars removed and their sight restored. Between the two of us, we can make something to treat skin. We're a ways from fixing eyes, though. I don't..I'm just not ready."

Amy smiled, I could hear it in her voice as she soothed my reluctance, "I understand. We go at your pace. Just remember, when I do fix your eyes, no teasing me about my freckles."

I blinked.

"I didn't know you had freckles."

She bumped my shoulder in response, and now I was smiling.

"There's a lot about me you don't know."

I took a deep breath and for some reason, a line from an old book came to mind, "Alright. I'm ready. Make me pretty."

"Oh, Taylor," she laughed, "I'm going to make you whole. You were already pretty."


AEH


Another difficult day on the New York Exchange today, as everyone is still struggling to adapt to the devastation in Boston. Notably, news has come out about the failing health of Gene Fontaine, prompting some investors to abandon their positions in his holding. Mr. Fontaine is a prominent board member of several corporate ventures, and is a co-owner of the Far Zenith Investment Group. There has been no official word from Mr. Fontaine's spokesman on the veracity of these claims. - Closing Bell, CNBC


AEH


Paige McAbee

ZDT Headquarters


"Alright, it should be secure now. Just keep in mind that it will loosen a little in the presence of water. It'll be just enough so you can clean under the band. Lift your hair up again, please?"
Paige did so, fighting down the feeling of vulnerability that she felt. It was totally irrational, but she glanced up all the same, seeing Amy watching everything. Taylor and Amy had done more for her than anyone else in her life. There was no doubt that they had her best interests at heart. Which was more than she could say for a lot of the people in the last few months."

"Ready," Taylor asked, her hair an untamed and frizzy mess as the inventor worked at the device wrapped around her neck. Paige didn't trust herself to say it, so she merely offered a slight nod.

"Okay. I'm going to activate it, then. Amy, can you give me an inside look?"

Wordlessly, Paige held her hand out to Amy. It was an odd feeling to experience the younger girl's power at work. It was like this tingle just under your skin, like tiny ants crawling, but it was so faint that it felt more like a hallucination.

Taylor and Amy then worked together, comments flowing back and forth as they tested the choker in its active and inactive state. It was…reassuring to be wearing the Voice Modulator Device, as Taylor called it. As much as Paige understood that it was meant to contain her and keep her power locked down…it also served to remind her that all of this was because her control had slipped.

Taylor had repeatedly reassured her that it wasn't going to happen as long as she wore the VMD. But she couldn't shake that slight sliver of doubt that nonetheless had taken residence in the back of her mind. At least it wasn't an ugly device, though. It was an eye-catchingly lustrous silver with some decorative etchings and a gem (not an actual gem, the techno-babble went over her head) right in the middle. It could have easily passed as something a princess would wear.

"Perfect. All done," Taylor declared.

Paige let her hair drop, shaking the longer strands out and enjoying the fact that she had long hair again. Not that she was the only one, she thought to herself as the blind inventor reentered her vision and marveled at the transformation. When she had first met the younger woman, she had been horrified at the state that the brunette had been in. Hair cut short and styled in an awkward sidecut. Skin patchy, red, and scabbed across her face and the side of her neck. One eyebrow gone and another patchy. Taylor wore long sleeves constantly, but she had still seen more ravaged skin on her hand and caught a glimpse of how it ran up her arm.

But now…all of that was gone. What had been pitted, patchy, and scarred was now smooth and healthy. Lashes and brows were back in place and her hair was now a shoulder-length waterfall of brunette curls. Paige had to admit that Taylor had fantastic hair. And now the inventor's sleeves were rolled up, showing more healed skin along her arms and hands. Yet perhaps the most striking feature was her eyes. They were pure white, from the inner part of her pupils, out from the irises and into the rest of eye. Something that was only noticeable when the girl took off her black glasses.

Amy and Taylor both looked at her expectantly. Oh, she had to test it, she supposed.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, before finally speaking, "Thank you very much for everything you've done for me."

They smiled, Taylor even blushing a little. It was funny, seeing this incredible inventor and businesswoman act her age and be embarrassed by praise.

"Happy to help, really. I'm sorry we can't do more right now. Hopefully, we'll be able to sort out the legal situation soon. At least let you get out of the compound."

Paige shrugged, having mixed feelings about the prospect. Was she feeling a little cooped up? Certainly, but she felt safer here, with Taylor nearby and guards who were actually meant to protect her instead of containing her.

Unfortunately, the world seemed insistent on stepping in regardless of her and anyone else's wishes.

Ms. Brown chose that moment to stride in, striking an intimidating and regal figure. Paige had met her type before. The distinguished woman who looked down on Paige for her desire to be an entertainer. Fortunately, that wasn't the case here. Paige had found interacting with Taylor's Vice-President to be one of aloof tolerance, as if the woman was still trying to figure out how she fit in the grander scheme of things. It was the second person to walk in that grabbed her full attention, though. The full face mask of white porcelain completed the look, covering every hint of skin and transforming the short girl into a perfect copy of an old Victorian doll.

"...and here we have your clients. Ms. Hebert and Ms. Dallon will need a full wardrobe suitable for their positions, as well formal wear for special events. Ms. Mcabee will also need a wardrobe of comfortable items as well. She was the third woman I informed you about. We are trusting you to be discreet."

The cape looked them over for a moment, before pinching the fabric of her dress to ensure the hem stayed off the ground and gave a well-polished curtsy. Paige found herself smiling at the…uniqueness of this woman.

"My name is Parian. It's a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to working together."

Her voice was slightly muffled by the full mask, but Paige could hear a faint hint of an accent. Parian then shook hands with Taylor and Amy, before extending her hand to Paige. It was clear that she was nervous, unlike with the younger woman, Parian was making no attempt to look her in the eyes. Her heart dropped, another cold reminder of how everyone was now looking at her as a threat.

"Ms. Canary, I, uh…Sorry. I hope this isn't crossing lines, but…I'm a huge fan of your music. I'm really glad that you're here and not in prison."

Oh. OH!...Paige broke into a big smile, her heart rebounding. Which was enough for her young fan to look away shyly, though she didn't make an attempt to end the handshake.

"Thank you. I'm really glad as well. Why don't we get these girls some proper outfits and then you can tell me what songs were your favorites," it was an immediate response, ingrained from habits cultivated from dozens of meetings with fans at events, or press tours and concerts. It felt like she was being somewhat unfair to Parian to give such a canned response, and she made a mental note to do better.

"Really," the mask may hide it, but her voice couldn't hide the admiration and excitement from the other girl, "I mean. Yes. I would like that. After, I mean," Parian then cleared her throat and finally dropped the handshake. She then turned towards Taylor and Amy in a swirl of fabric and lace. Jean took that as an indication to leave, and Taylor's guard, Samantha, took her place up by the wall. Paige took in a shaky breath, thankful for the distraction. It gave Paige a chance to settle her thoughts as Parian began to quiz Taylor and Amy on their preferences, and not getting very far given the simple tastes of both girls.

The greatest feeling she had felt during her time as a prisoner of the PRT wasn't sorrow. Or fear. Or even anger. It was abandonment. The crushing feeling of loneliness wrought by being locked in a cell with no way to talk with the guards or know what was happening in the outside world. It felt like she was being forgotten. Erased. Every connection she had made. Every fan who had come up to her and shared their appreciation of her work…where were they? Did she matter so little that they could easily discard her?

It may have been cowardly of her, but despite all of the support that Taylor had shown her, she had still not been willing or able to look at the news. She hadn't checked online, nor had she gone looking on music boards or fan sites that had once existed. She couldn't bear to see if her thoughts were true and that she had really been dropped like a bad habit. Like unwashed trash over a mistake that was beyond her control

All she had wanted to do ever since she was a little girl was sing. She had a fascination with music and in the ability to bring emotion to every kind of people that she might never meet. But she no longer sang. Not since the PRT had kicked down her door. Even here, with the people who had helped her, she couldn't find it in herself to hum a melody or sketch out song lyrics as she once had.

Taylor's voice cut through her brooding and she found herself glad for the distraction.

"Look, I really don't understand what the big deal is. Yes, fine, I'll agree that something formal for meetings is probably warranted. But come one. Look at me. You can't turn a frog into cinderella."

That cut all conversation short as Parian, Amy, and even Paige herself stared at Taylor. The other girl had balled up her fists and looked at the ground with her declaration. She found her heart twisting for the younger woman, because she could guess where Taylor may have gotten such a view of herself and it suggested nothing good.

Those horrible, terrible, witches, she thought to herself.

The clack of Parian's boots were the only sound in the room as she stepped into Taylor's space, put one gloved finger under the girl's chin, and raised her blind eyes to meet her hidden ones. Parian spoke, and Paige twitched to hear a different tone and cadence of her voice. More direct and more commanding. This wasn't the fan who had gushed at her minutes ago.

"Taylor, I will not ask where you got such ideas. I will instead ask you a simple question and I expect an answer. Nod if you understand."

The inventor nodded, and everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on the two very different young women.

"What am I?"

What kind of question was that, Paige thought to herself, and Taylor herself answered with that same confusion, "A parahuman?"

"Wrong. I am a dressmaker. I am a fashion designer and stylist. My job is to examine people in an impartial fashion and help them find the best clothes possible. I have had years of experience and years of schooling to do just that. So right now, we will ignore whoever gave you that ridiculous idea of yourself and you will listen to my verdict. Now, breathe deep, and shrug your shoulders up to your ears."

Taylor did so.

"Good. Now, breathe out slowly and roll your shoulders backwards. You will feel your back straighten. Let it."

Paige smiled a little, seeing Taylor gain another inch of height. She really was a tall girl for her age.

"Excellent. Now keep that position. Walk to the wall, touch it, and walk back."

All eyes were on Taylor as she did just that and clearly the girl found the whole thing uncomfortable given how her hands were still clenched. But she kept going, her head held high as she touched the wall and turned around. Walking back, she came to a stop in front of Parian.

"Very good. Now, my verdict. You have excellent legs. Your body shape is slender and most runway models would happily cut a bitch for your silhouette. Your hair is amazing, and you have fantastic pride in the set of your shoulders," Parian clapped her hands once, "In terms of a 'look' for you, we are not going for cute. Or sexy. We want striking. Powerful. And you? You have that in spades."

The room was utterly silent in the wake of the dressmaker's declaration. Taylor herself standing there, seemingly lost for words.

"And if you really want to look like a Playboy Bunny, I can make that happen with five minutes and a BLT sandwich," Amy's voice cut through the silence, causing everyone to turn their heads to stare at the healer who folded her arms and stared right back. Paige was the first to break, giggling quietly. Taylor herself soon followed by smiling at her friend, even if it was a little shaky. And Parian shook out her hands.

"Okay, let's keep going. Fashion is all about impressions. The 'look' is the first thing people take in about a person and that builds the perception they have about you. So…what do you want to say?"

Paige could remember similar conversations when she did stage shows. Having to find the right outfit for the right set of songs. It was kind of interesting to be on the other side of things.

Taylor just frowned, "Why do I need to say anything? Why can't I just keep things comfortable and casual?"

Immediately Parian started shaking her head.

"No, that won't work. Because you've already planted an idea of yourself in people's minds with your actions and publicity. You are a savior to some people, here in the Bay and in Boston. You're an inspiration to others, even to me. So if you walk up to people and they see that you're less than what they would imagine, how do you think that will influence their view of you?"

She then turned slightly, "Amy, that goes for you as well. Although in your case, it's more about making you different from who you were before. Similar, but different. I'm thinking of a more styled version of your Panacea outfit. More doctor's coat, less of a robe."

Taylor sighed, running a hand through her hair, pulling it out of her face.

"Alright, fine. Um…I need people to take me seriously. I'm young, working in business. I need people to look at me and not see youth and inexperience. Nothing gaudy! Simple, polished…and something like that?"

Paige could hear Parian's smile as she clapped her hands.

"Excellent. I think I've got some things in mind. Here, let me get some measurements for both of you. And then we can talk about textures and colors."

The costumed woman pulled out a tape measure from somewhere and a notepad. Paige stepped forward, taking the pad and pencil from her, "Here, let me help."

The dressmaker seemed to take it in stride, now focused on her work and less on Paige herself. Taylor asked the dressmaker questions as she stood still, letting Parian's tape measure run along her arms and down her torso.

"You mentioned that I was an inspiration to you. What do you mean? Do you have family in Boston?"

Parian shook her head as she adjusted her measurements, "No no, my family is fine. I'm inspired because you were able to make all of this happen. Your very own company! I tried that, you know? A little while after I got my powers I started looking into what it would take to start an atelier. A dress shop, I mean. I knew that I never wanted to get into a fight and clothes were my passion. I had changed my university major from engineering to fashion. So…it all fit. But the process to open a business is impossible. The banks won't give me a loan and the fashion houses aren't interested in giving me startup money because I would be in direct competition with them. Most simply threaten me with lawsuits if I did manage to open anything."

The mask girl sighed, "So now I'm trying to make ends meet and save a little on the side. Rent some store space somewhere in the Bay. No way I'm getting anywhere like the Boardwalk; location might be ideal, but the rent would ruin me and the attention would just invite trouble. From lawsuits or the gangs."

Parian took a step back, finishing with Taylor, "So yes, your success is an inspiration and it makes me hopeful. Even if I know that investors probably aren't interested in dresses and outfits as much as they are interested in revolutionary technology."

Amy interjected, "If you don't have a workshop…um, how are you going to make anything for us?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, I thought Jean made it clear. Today, I'm taking measurements and discussing options with you. Then Jean will provide me with some prepaid cards and I'll go shopping. We'll meet again and see what you like or don't like. Anything that needs to be altered or re-sized, I can do that then. Just think of me as your personal shopper."

Paige smiled, even as she flipped the page in the notebook as Parian descended on Amy, "Of course, if you want anything special or custom, I can do that. I've got a decent sized apartment, most of which is for my tailoring. Maybe for you, Amy? Since you're more of a 'cape' then Taylor here. Actually, that could be fun. I have an idea already. It's a pity that I didn't bring my sketchbook."

Parian kept up a steady stream of chatter as she measured out Amy, who took over notetaking as Paige's turn came up. It was fun to see Parian lose the formal edge that she had entered with, or even the nervous flutter she had when Paige spoke with her at the beginning. She clearly loved her work and Ms. Brown was letting her stretch her talents.

"You see, outfits have layers. Depth to them. The most important aspect is figuring out what makes an outfit 'interesting'. What grabs the attention. The general wisdom of fashion is if an outfit isn't interesting by Color, then it has to be interesting through Shape. If an outfit isn't interested by Shape, then it has to be interesting through Texture. If an outfit isn't interesting by Texture, then it has to be interesting through Color.

Parian finished up, snapping her tape measure closed. There was a knock at the door which was opened from the outside by one of Taylor's new guard team. Paige has seen them, but generally kept her distance. She was still technically confined to Taylor's compound and was not in any hurry to cause any issues. A man walked in with a small cloth case. He was bald, slightly taller than Paige herself, and wore jeans and a simple t-shirt.

"Hello there. I'm the stylist, Giovanni. Jean asked me to come in for Taylor? I'm guessing that's you, young lady," he extended a hand to shake, not showing any surprise when Taylor reacted in kind, "Alright…Lots to work with here. Do you have a preference in length? What about styling? What do you do with your hair most days?"

The conversation flowed as a chair was found and Taylor sat to get her hair tidied. Parian pulled Amy into a discussion about her future outfits and Paige…just sat and enjoyed the moment. It was…nostalgic. Like being back on tour or before a concert. All that energy preparing for the big event. She smiled, touching the band around her neck. No more outbursts, no more loss of control. She wandered over to Parian and Amy, adding her own perspective on finding something classy but usable in the day to day.

Overall, it was a wonderful few hours. Paige found herself tapping her foot, the first stirrings of a melody. When she caught herself she froze. It was the first time that she had a song in her head in months. She smiled and dove right back into the discussions. Taylor would be looking amazing in a pantsuit if Paige and Parian had anything to say about it! Plus, her new hair style was looking good.

In all the joy and discussion, no one noticed Giovanni wiggled his foot. Letting several locks of hair slide deeper into his socks where no one would find them when he walked out of ZDT.


AEH


"Jeremy, it is still the afternoon here in Boston, and as you can see behind me, a number of military units have been assembling for some time. This is coming on the heels of Interim-Governor Herres' statement declaring The Teeth a domestic terror threat. No official word has been given on the actions planned against the Teeth, but is clear that something is…**BOOM* **BOOM* **BOOM* **BOOM* **BOOM*

The camera snapped to the source of the explosions, smoke rising up into the sky. Further out, the bow of a destroyer was wreathed in smoke, before the gun mounted there fired another fusillade with corresponding explosions moments later.


"We're alright! I believe that, yes, I can see the USS Kidd has just opened fire from Boston Harbor on targets inside the city! The explosions you heard were the impacts inside the city. There is a lot of movement here as the military appear to be mobilizing. You can hear helicopters in the air now!"

The camera followed the reporter as she suddenly spun around, as a column of Humvee's began to move out. The reporter turned and ran towards a soldier who was motioning the column.


"Hey! Press Corps! Here's my ID. Where're you headed? Can we ride with you?"

-Mary Clovin, Frontline: Boston,
PBS, Using footage taken at the beginning of Operation Sidestep. Aired May 13th, 2011


AEH


Amy Dallon

Brockton Bay

The Next Day


I was working at my desk when he walked up. Well not my desk, as I actually didn't have one. But it was someplace I could use a computer to do research. It was a given that my synth-blood, which was going to need a new name before it was released, would need additional work. Taylor's requirement of mass production was obvious, but it seemed that the machines and processes that were needed to create my invention…didn't exist. Which led me to try and find a company capable of designing the machines that I needed.

Yes, the obvious answer was to ask Taylor. She's an engineering genius, but she was also so busy that I don't think I've ever seen her not working. Even while supposedly relaxing. So no, I wasn't about to dump more on her lap. Plus…this was my project. I wanted to prove that I could be useful.

"Ms. Dallon, could we speak privately for a moment," I looked up, finding an older man in a dark suit in front of me. With the Vice President's upcoming visit, there seemed to have been an invasion of black suits. A quick glance at his visitor's pass caused my Focus to automatically authenticate the pass and provided me with a notice of when the pass was issued. It also flagged him as an authentic federal agent. His credentials would have been checked at the entrance. The passes were new, Taylor's security team was working around-the-clock to get ZDT's security up to their standard.

Releasing a sigh, I closed my workstation. Not like I was going to get anywhere.

"Sure. How can I help you?"

"Agent David Roland, Federal Bureau of Investigation's Criminal Investigative Department," he held out a hand, "do you perhaps have somewhere a bit more private, Ms. Dallon? This is going to be a rather personal discussion."

I took his hand and felt his biology unfold around me.

Tar buildup in lungs, smoker. Damaged deltoid muscle: old gunshot injury. Stress fractures in the bone and cartilage, fingers, wrists, and elbow: boxing/punching injuries. Healed bone fractures in the zygomatic, maxilla, and mandible: punched in the face several times.

Privately, I wondered at the life of Agent Roland to have accumulated such injuries.

"There's a conference room down the hall. Let's chat there."

I led the way, sending a quick note to security, asking that they double-check his credentials. Was I being overly cautious? Maybe, but Carol was NOT going to take my defection laying down. Did she have any pull with the FBI? I didn't think so, but unknowns were unknown for a reason. I got confirmation just as we were sitting down, he was legitimate. Settling into a chair, I watched as he placed a briefcase down on the table and opened it up. Pulling several files out, he turned to me.

"Ms. Dallon, as you well know," the agent began, "all employees of Zero Dawn are required to undergo a stringent and detailed background check for national security purposes. Unfortunately, yours was…troublesome to say the least. Inconsistencies were discovered and that resulted in the case being handed over to me."

I blinked, realizing that this wasn't about Carol, "Okay…what kind of inconsistencies."

He looked gravely at me, which seemed to age him unexpectedly.

"Inconsistencies with how you came to be with the Dallon family. Did…you ever speak about your adoption with your adoptive parents?"

Oh…I curled my fingers together, trying to mask my nerves, "No. I…tried asking once or twice but was told to leave it alone. Apparently there was a gang attack? I don't really remember it all. Carol explained it to me."

I swallowed, not exactly comfortable with the way Roland was looking at me. There was a strange mix of pity and guarded calculation in his gaze. Trying to find holes in my story? But I didn't do anything. I was safe. I clenched my hands together.

"...I see. Amy, it's not uncommon for young children to repress traumatic experiences. Have you ever spoken with anyone about your adoption? In a professional setting, I mean."

I shook my head. While no one was against therapists, Carol was…opinionated about the practice. Especially after the repeated failures of finding a means to improve Mark's emotional health. And I was busy…with school, with the hospital…with everything. It just didn't seem that important for something that may or may not work.

Roland pulled out a folder, opening it as I sat in quiet dread. My mind raced as I tried to understand where these questions were heading.

"Alright, one last question, Amy. Do you remember the name of the person from child services who visited your house?"

I felt dread form in my stomach and I squeezed my fingers together until they hurt. I was safe. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm not in trouble. I…

I didn't want to be alone.

"Call Taylor."

My Focus pulled up her contact and it immediately started calling. I looked away from Agent Roland, who was still looking at me silently.

"Yes, Jean. Get Hunniker whatever she needs. I would like to get her started right away," Taylor's voice sounded through the Focus input. It was still strange in how it sounded like they were on the phone, but the actual data was being fed straight to her brain, "Amy? Anything you need?"

"I…uh," God this was stupid. Taylor was busy and had a bunch of other stuff to deal with. She didn't need my issues added on top of things.

"Amy? Is everything alright?"

Oh no. Now she was worried. I wanted to say something to calm her down. It's okay, I could handle this on my own.

But my continued silence seemed to be all the answer that Taylor needed, "Amy, I'm on my way. Sobek, give me Amy Dallon's current location."

The connection cut and I heard hurried footsteps in the corridor. The door opened quickly and a uniformed guard stepped in, giving myself and the agent a serious look. Agent Roland had slouched back, placing both hands on the table, seemingly relaxed. I twisted my fingers against one another, staring at the table, feeling like all of this was being blown out of proportion.

Moments later, Taylor walked through the door, her long legs eating up the distance until she was standing over me. With her hair styled and wearing a new blazer and shirt, she looked commanding in a way that I didn't have time to appreciate. I was just glad she was here. I shrank in my seat as she put her hand on my shoulder and directed her ire towards Agent Roland, "I believe that it's required for a lawyer to be present when questioning a minor, Agent Roland."

The man raised his hands innocently, "You are absolutely right, Ms. Hebert. But this isn't an interrogation. Amy is actually a victim of a crime and I was trying to understand her perspective on things."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sam leaning casually against the wall. Then again, everything that woman did looked casual and…I was getting distracted again. Roland was speaking again.

"I'll gladly fill you in, so long as Amy is alright with that. It's rather personal."

I glanced up at Taylor, seeing my reflection in her sunglasses as she turned them on me. I nodded and she pulled out a chair next to mine.

"Sam, wait outside. John, thank you, you can return to your duties."

The two named guards nodded and filed out, the door closing behind them in an uncomfortable silence.

Taylor took my hand under the table, and I held it tight as Taylor refocused upon the agent.

"Alright, Agent Roland, without fanfare, all of the facts please."

I breathed deeply, bracing myself. Yes, I had always wondered where I came from. Especially on nights when I would lay in bed and feel a deep bitterness at how differently Carol treated me in comparison to Vicky. I could imagine that I had family somewhere. That they weren't dead because of a gang fight and an explosion that I couldn't remember.

Roland opened his folder and pulled out a photo. A young woman, maybe in her late twenties, taken at a concert in a fancy dress. Freckles on her cheeks and arms. Brown hair…like mine. Frizzy and nearly uncontrollable.

"This is Yvonne Sutherland. Unfortunately, she passed away from cancer in 1997. But before that, she gave birth to a healthy baby girl in Boston on August 17th, 1993."

He pulled out another paper, laying it next to a photo of…my mother. The paper was a copy from hospital records. A birth to Yvonne Sutherland with no complications. The name on the birth certificate was Amelia Claire Sutherland.

My middle name was Claire. I looked at the photo of the smiling woman, wondering what her story was. Why did she name me as she did? There were a million questions that I was never going to get answers for.

"This is where things get tricky," Roland added, reaching over and tapping the section that would have held the father's name. It was disturbingly blank, causing my heart to sink even more. Taylor squeezed my hand, and I was more thankful than ever to have someone at my side.

"An unknown father is not a national security risk, Mr. Roland," Taylor's voice was firm and even.

"To an extent, Ms. Hebert. But in cases of national security, the government does not like leaving anything to chance, and that is an example of why it is relevant," he placed another sheet of paper down, sliding it over to us before continuing, "This is a marriage certificate, between Yvonne Sutherland and Fabien Lavere," he paused for a moment, waiting for us to react. When we didn't, because I didn't recognize the name, and it seemed that Taylor didn't either, he continued, "You would know Mr. Lavere under his cape alias, Marquis."

I stopped breathing.

Everyone in Brockton Bay knew of Marquis. I never knew what to think of the man. There were some who looked fondly upon him, noting his code of honor and how he seemed to be a stabilizing presence in the areas that he controlled. According to Carol…Marquis was no better than Jack Slash, he just hid it behind a veneer of civility and noblesse oblige.

And… I was his daughter…

No. No! It couldn't be true! But..everything fit. Why Carol was always pushing me about rules. How she made sure that I could only use my powers in certain ways. All of her talks about morality and following the rules. Why Carol had reacted so badly when I started experimenting and looking to work with Taylor.

I was something to be contained and certainly not a daughter to her. I was a prisoner and she was my warden.

"Amy?"

How could I even look at her now? I was the daughter of a villain. I couldn't be trusted. I couldn't—

"I'm sorry. I'll leave. It's fine, Taylor. I understand, this changes things and—," I was cut off as when I tried to stand, Taylor pulled me back down to my seat. I forced myself to stare at the table, not wanting to see the look of disgust on my face. She leaned against me, causing me to become confused.

"Listen to me, Amy. I don't care who your parents were. We might not be able to pick our parents, but we can pick what we do with our lives. And you are a good person."

I recognized that tone of voice. It was the same one that I used just this morning on her. I couldn't stop myself from looking up to her face. I found my reflection in her now-becoming-iconic sunglasses as she stared into me. Just for a moment, I…peeked. I let my power loose, reading her entire body looking for any of the biological reactions that would indicate lying. I immediately stopped, feeling guilty for betraying my friend's trust like that.

Because she truly meant every word she said.

Taking a deep shaky breath, I let it back out, trying to rein in my emotions that were all over the place.

"Alright, Agent Roland, please take us through how exactly that conclusion was reached," I forced out as I pulled myself together, giving Taylor's hand a squeeze. Her cold determination was exactly what I was needing.

The older man watched us with a heavy look before pulling more pages from his briefcase.

"It wasn't easy, I will admit. Some serious effort was put into hiding this. First, when Herres assigned you as Ms. Hebert's primary physician, you immediately triggered an in-depth background check as Ms. Hebert was already a person of interest. Inconsistencies were found in your adoption paperwork. Home visits were all completed by the same person with the same general information entered. Paperwork that was filed just a little too quickly. The complete lack of any psychological evaluations. Basically, there was little to nothing showing who you were before you became Amy Dallon.

He paused, waiting for either of us to ask questions. We both sat quiet.

"That's when the case was transferred to me. Our fear was that Amy had been trafficked into the country or across state lines. As a result, this triggered an investigation into the Dallon and Pelham families themselves. Before becoming 'New Wave', most of the members were part of a group called the Brockton Bay Brigade. Their last big act as a hero team before they unmasked was to bring in the parahuman gang-leader Marquis. When we investigated that arrest, we ran into a wall of redacted files and records sealed by the PRT. But what couldn't be hidden was the asset seizures that the PRT executed immediately following the arrest. Assets that belonged to Fabien Lavere."

Arrests. Sealed files. Asset seizures. More and more, the story of my life was unraveling in front of me and I could only just hold on and try and breathe through it.

"By all accounts, Mr. Lavere was a wealthy man as one of the largest landlords in Brockton Bay. And unfortunately, asset seizure can be…extensive if the right or wrong judges get involved. But the one piece of property that couldn't be touched was family land and residences. These were held by the estate. The estate immediately filed a missing person's report after the arrest for Fabian's daughter, Amelia Claire Lavere."

He then pulled out a photo and slid it over to me. It showed…me. Younger, smaller, and smiling. I was sitting on a man's knee in a garden. My father. Marquis.

It was strange how ordinary he looked. Certainly, he presented himself well. A good shirt, dress shoes, and slacks. But he had a big smile on his face that could not be faked as he looked down on my younger self. It made me feel…sad.

"Unfortunately, the missing persons report didn't go anywhere. Police were paralyzed with the destabilizing local situation. Marquis' gang disintegration provided opportunities for other gangs within Brockton Bay to expand overnight, with the Empire Eighty-Eight leading the way. But Marquis inspired some loyalty in his people and the reports were filed again and again over the years. The man heading the estate, Dudley Coleman, kept filing every two years like clockwork. He passed away earlier this year, at the age of seventy-eight."

He then sighed, "Once we established the connection, we investigated the estate. Inside Mr. Coleman's files, we found the marriage license as well as the paperwork proving Mr. Lavere's paternity. The rest was just…following the threads."

The three of us sat in silence for a moment. This was…far more than I had ever expected. I was…angry, hurt, and shocked….just so tired of the lies.

"What was all this for? Why go through all the trouble," I asked and found my voice remarkably even despite the tumultuous feelings I was currently beholden to.

Roland sat back, humming for a moment, "Best case? The BBB saw a little girl who could be a target of revenge on Marquis and wanted to save her from that. Protect her from being used as a pawn in the power games by the gangs. The idea of having possession of 'Marquis' legacy' would be too much to ignore, considering the implications," he then frowned, "The worst case? The PRT and Brigade were aware that second-gen capes are generally more powerful than first-gens…and wanted her raised with a heroic cape team. That's not even getting into the fact that the PRT was able to seize so many assets because 'officially' Marquis had no next of kin, so the estate couldn't contest the seizures."

So either my life was a lie, but a well-intentioned one. Or my life was a lie, and the people who had raised me had done it for profit. Either in hopes that I would develop powers, which I did, or that me being out of the picture would let them take money from my birth-father.

Taylor kept driving forward, "Alright, so what are the next steps?"

Roland pulled out a swab kit from his briefcase, sliding it over to me, "At the moment all of this is circumstantial at best. With a DNA test, we can compare it to Mr. Lavere's DNA on file. We have both his blood sample from his Birdcage incarceration, but also various bits of bone from his parahuman power."

"And the rest of it," I fiddled with the swab kit on the table, imagining everything that would happen if I used it.
"That, young lady, is the troublesome part. With the positive DNA match, the birth records, the marriage license and the paternity records? You will absolutely be able to recover your identity as Amelia Lavere. You'll also be able to claim what is left of the estate, although a lawyer will be needed."

Taylor interrupted, "Amy is an employee of Zero and a friend. I will cover the legal expenses and provide the legal team."

"Fair enough. Your legal team scares the legal officers of my department, so I'm sure it will work. There is a time limit, however. The estate will be declared void by next year. As for the financial assets, properties, businesses, and so on that were seized? I'm not sure what to say about that. No…the big question is, what do you want to do about the Dallon and Pelham families?"

I stopped breathing, the realization hitting me.

"Please explain, Agent Roland," Taylor was once again coming in clutch.

"If, and I do say IF…this were to be brought to prosecution, Carol Dallon and her husband would be charged with the kidnapping of a minor, falsification of legal documentation, and possibly exploitation of a minor. Those are the obvious charges. Sarah and Neil Pelham would be charged with conspiracy, aiding and abetting a criminal action, and more along those lines. All four would face prison time, lose custody of their children, and have their assets seized if the exploitation charge sticks."

I thought of Vicky. Because of course I did. For so long she had been my world. My rock. The one person who I could rely on when things were tough in the little pocket of the world that Carol kept me in. What would happen to her? Would she cry? Rage? Would she hate me for bringing all of this rightfully down on the family she thought she knew?

"Clearly," Taylor again asked the questions that I couldn't find the energy to do so, "you have another option."

"Yes. We hang this whole thing like a Sword of Damocles over their heads. Force them to back off and give you a clean break from the Dallons. If anyone looks into it? The Dallons have no comment to make about your work, but are supportive."

I looked over to Roland, coming to terms with the choices in front of me. The agent looked sad and it aged him.

"Or…we just leave the whole thing alone. Leave Amelia Lavere in the past and you go on living as Amy Dallon."

"No," my response was immediate. No more lies. No more half-truths. I was going to be me and no one else! And no one would put me in a box ever again!

Roland nodded, "I wish I could let you think this over, young lady, but unfortunately, time's against us. Carol Dallon will file you as a runaway this evening if she hasn't already. You need to make a decision about what to do with all of this. Because my next stop is the Dallon household and your decision will determine if I'm riding alone or with two cars of agents as backup."

What did I want? I wanted to scream. I wanted to rub Carol's fucking hypocrisy in her face. All that talk about respecting the law and following the rules, and she's the biggest rulebreaker I've ever heard of?! How DARE she try to take the moral high ground with me!

But then I remembered the other memories as I grit my teeth. Quiet moments watching TV with Mark, while he brushed my hair. Carol staying up late helping me with my homework. Vicky laughing and telling me about her day. Mark's suffocating disinterest as he sat in his chair all day. Carol always watching me, every family dinner an interrogation about what I was doing and how I was doing it. Vicky always talking and making plans for me, setting me up even when I said I didn't even like her plans.

I…Was this it? Is this the moment where I go villain and confirm everything Carol believed about me? Would seeking justice make me a villain? I would ruin Vicky's life. Destroy every image she had of her parents, and…

I looked at Taylor and found her looking back at me. She had taken her glasses off, revealing the white eyes I had given her just this morning. I think I understood her just a little bit more now.

"Just…make them leave me alone. I'll…deal with them another time on my terms."

I tore open the DNA kit. A simple swab test, I'd seen dozens of these at the hospital. Angrily, I rubbed the head against the inside of my cheek, then sealing the container tight afterwards. Roland gathered his papers, nodding as I handed the completed test back to him. He placed one last folder on the table and slid it over to me.

"All the details and findings are here. My contact information is inside as well. Have your lawyers contact me and I'll pass any information you need to get your proper identity back."

I put a hand on the folder, not able to open it just yet. I was angry, but also just so tired at the same time. Taylor stood and shook hands with Agent Roland. They exchanged some words, before she made her way back to my side. She put her arm around my shoulders and I leaned into it, just enjoying having someone close to me.

We sat like that for a few minutes. My mind wandering between the present and the past. Finally, the tears came. Just a little.

"So…in light of all this, should I be calling you Amelia?" Taylor asked quietly, eliciting a giggle from me. I dried my eyes and sniffled, still trying to get my emotions under control and doing a rather poor job at it.

We separated and I looked at her again, "Yeah…Amelia Lavere. I'm going to be me and no one is going to tell me who that is."

Taylor gave me a small smile, and I felt butterflies in my stomach, before she held out her hand to shake. I smiled again, feeling a little silly as we shook hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lavere. I sincerely look forward to working with you."

I let my power go again. I felt a little less guilty this time, simply enjoying the clear signs of truth that Taylor showed in every part of her body.

"My friends call me Amy. I look forward to working with you too, Taylor."


AEH


This is Mary Clovin reporting live from Boston this morning. With major fighting ending last night, the military has switched to mop-up operations in its mission against the parahuman gang known as the Teeth. Military sources have confirmed that the entirety of their capes and the majority of their non-powered members have been killed. Injuries among military personnel have been light, with many still in treatment. No official numbers or names have yet been released.

An investigation into the Teeth's holdings has been launched after soldiers found tens of tons of various drugs, hundreds of firearms and improvised explosives, and potentially dozens of human remains. Interim-Governor Herres has called on specialized forensic anthropologists to be flown into the city in an attempt to identify these remains. It is hoped that they can lead to the closure of some of the still nearly three thousand missing person cases. - Mary Clovin, reporting for CNN


AEH


Sarah Pelham

Brockton Bay


"Ms. Pelham, this is Agent David Roland. If you can join us at the Dallon household, it's very important that I speak with you and your sister."

That had been the phone message that had been waiting for her when she got home. Immediately, she rushed back out of the house and flew across the city.

She did one last quick pass around the block before dropping down to land on the Dallon's doorstep. The phone call had been direct, but she had found no evidence of anyone at the house. Ringing the doorbell, she waited, keeping her power ready to use at a moment's notice.

The door opened, and Carol blinked at the sight of her.

"Sarah, I wasn't expecting you."

She frowned, "I got a call from an Agent Roland? Apparently you were speaking with him?"

Sarah and Mark had only just managed to talk Carol down after Vicky had returned from school without Amy. Vicky's retelling of the military sending a truck to collect Amy and presumably taking her ZDT's headquarters had resulted in Carol angrily stomping through the house while pulling legal books from her home office.

The sound of brakes caused her to turn around and watch as a car pulled up to the side of the curb in front of the house. Immediately they both tensed at the sight of the unfamiliar vehicle, preparing for anything. Sure, they both lived in a nice neighborhood and were open capes…but Fleur's death was a constant weight on their idea of safety.

The driver then got out of the vehicle, pulling a briefcase along with him. He waved a hand in their direction as he began walking towards them.

"Good afternoon! I was hoping to catch you both. My name is Agent David Roland. Would we be able to talk inside?"

Carol stepped forward, holding out her hand, "May I see your badge please?"

It was less a request and more of a demand from a woman ready to do violence on her front lawn. But if it bothered the 'agent' Sarah couldn't tell. Instead, he put down his briefcase and rummaged through his inner jacket with an affable smile on his face. Pulling out his ID, he handed it to Carol who looked it over with a critical eye, before handing it back, seeming to find no flaw in it. "What were you hoping to discuss, Agent Roland? Your message said it was urgent." Sarah asked as he took his badge back.

"There were concerns about your niece. Your adopted niece, I should say. We really should talk about this somewhere private, Miss Pelham."

She felt her heart drop, even as Carol's lawyer mask slipped firmly into place.

"Come in," her sister said.

They soon settled into the living room, with Sarah taking a seat next to her sister. She didn't see any sign of Mark, the turmoil was likely rough on him, and today would be a 'bad day' as a result. Roland didn't seem to notice as he sat across from them, popped open his briefcase on the coffee table. He pulled a tan folder out before latching it closed again.

Clapping his hands softly together, he began, "Now, I understand there was something of an altercation when Amy was collected from school yesterday afternoon. Your daughter Victoria, acted as though Amy was being taken against her will. This is the farthest thing from the truth. As I understand it, Amy has signed a generous work contract with Zero Dawn Technologies, making her a voluntary and rather well-paid employee," he noted with a slight smile.

Sarah didn't feel the need to smile. This entire situation felt wrong and she didn't like it.

"Regardless of what might have been signed," Carol replied coldly, "Amy is not of age. I am her legal guardian and counsel, not to mention her mother. Any employment that she signed isn't worth the paper it's printed on. We are very concerned about the direction that Zero Dawn is going as a company. We have no interest in her employment there."

Roland leaned back, spreading his hands invitingly, "Mrs. Dallon, sure you understand the complexity of this situation. Amy is happy where she currently is, and if you pull her away from that you will only invite tension that nobody wants."

"I am her mother. I will do what I have to in order to keep my daughters safe. Amy will not be employed by Zero Dawn, and as soon as the required twenty-four hours has elapsed, I will be filing a missing persons report. I will then demand kidnapping charges to be pressed against Zero Dawn Technologies."

Agent Roland tapped a finger against the folder for a moment and Sarah felt her suspicions skyrocket as he gave them both an appraising look. This felt far too choreographed for her liking, the FBI agent was too relaxed, as if he already knew the outcome of whatever it was that he was building towards. The fact that Carol was arguing with him tooth and nail did not seem to phase him.

Just what was in that folder?

"It really is in everyone's best interest that you leave things as they currently are, Mrs. Dallon," he stated, his tone still genial even as Carol glanced at the folder and her eyes narrowed.

"Emergency powers or not, the government does not have the authority to conscript capes and Amy is still a minor. I am her mother and I demand my daughter back."

The geniality faded away and the agent sighed. Sarah could only feel her stomach sink as he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. The look he gave the both of them was no longer friendly at all.

"Mrs. Dallon," he spoke plainly, "I dislike being direct, but in this case, it seems rather necessary. Leave the matter of Zero Dawn Technologies alone."

"No," Carol growled, and she found herself leaning into her sister trying to keep her calm.

"I see…Well, then, I guess we will have to do this the hard way," Roland then flipped open the folder, revealing a collection of papers, "Mrs. Dallon, Mrs. Pelham, I do not want you to draw any wrong conclusions so I am going to be extraordinarily frank with you. There are very powerful interests, federal interests, that are heavily invested in the future of Zero Dawn. Amy has found herself caught up in this by her very choices. So, I will make this as blunt as possible. If you attempt to further involve yourselves in this matter, we will ruin you."

The declaration robbed the entire room of oxygen and Sarah felt her heart freeze. Roland paid no attention to this, instead laying out several of the papers in front of them. Each one more damning than the next.

"For Victoria: Assault with a Parahuman Power on a medical professional during the course of performing their duties. Yes, Amy did share the argument that happened here two nights ago. Another count of Assault with a Parahuman Power against an officer of the armed forces in the course of completing their duties. And finally, another count of Assault with a Parahuman Power against a Minor," Roland shook his head remorsefully, but it seemed more mocking than it was sincere, "Human Masters. So very dangerous. Under the Three Strikes Law, I believe that Victoria would be looking at the Birdcage."

The silence was deafening as Roland looked up at the two of them, his genial nature completely gone, instead a hard man was all that remained, "But let's not stop at Ms. Dallon, shall we. It wouldn't be fair to her when the entire tree is in actuality quite rotten. For Mr. and Mrs. Dallon, kidnapping a minor, exploitation of a minor for the purpose of profit, falsification of documents, bribery, and child trafficking, to name just a few of the more notable highlights. Mr. and Mrs. Pelham, assistance in the kidnapping and exploitation of a minor. Collusion. Conspiracy," the man fell silent for a moment, "and that's before we start getting really creative."

He slapped a hand down on the folder, the sound like a gunshot causing them to jump at the sound. He then slid everything over to their side on the table. All the while she kept a death grip on Carol's arm, feeling her sister frozen in place.

"We did some digging, you see. Amy Dallon seems to have appeared quite suddenly in the records. Nothing too suspicious, of course…that is until you start looking deeper. Amelia Claire Lavere. A lovely, happy, six year old girl whose father suddenly disappeared and the case is locked by the PRT. Then, quite suddenly, Amy Dallon, a quiet, reserved, and shy six year old girl appears out of thin air in your care Mrs. Dallon. The Brockton Bay Brigade seemed to have done quite a bit more than just arrest Marquis, it seems."

He fell silent for a moment, his gaze heavy on them.

"We were trying to protect her," Sarah finally forced through a dry mouth, quiet words carried barely in the air. The weight of it all was settling on her shoulders. She may not have her sister's understanding of the law, but she knew when they were beaten. The public scandal of this getting out, even if they won in court, would not only ruin New Wave as a team, but it would destroy all of them as individuals. The PRT might just use Victoria for a quick PR win, claiming victory over a 'hidden human master' and show they hold even Heroes accountable. They wouldn't lose much in all of this, as complicit as they were in looking the other way when the Dallons took Amy in, Vicky wasn't one of 'their' capes.

Sarah pulled her sister's hand into her own, which Carol grabbed onto it like a lifeline, squeezing it desperately.

"It doesn't matter what you intended, Mrs. Pelham. It matters that you did," the agent replied dispassionately, "And what you did was erase a little girl's identity, raised her in total ignorance of her roots, and allowed the PRT to seize every asset that may have belonged to her one day."
Carol stirred then.

"Marquis had to be erased! He was a cancer. A monster! Everything that he touched needed to be expunged," Sarah kept an iron grip on Carol as she grew more animated, "It was the only way! Do you think the Slaughterhouse Nine would have hesitated because she was a child? The Teeth?! Marquis made so many enemies they wouldn't have been able to resist tearing that little girl apart!"

Sarah had never shared her sister's hatred for Marquis. But she understood where that drive to destroy him came from. Because unlike her sister, she had continued therapy for years after Carol had given up on it. She had settled her grudge from the days where she had Triggered. Carol never had. Instead, Carol doubled down. Fearful of men who claimed to be trustworthy and would only betray them later. Marquis pushed all of her trauma buttons. A ruthless gang leader who killed almost indiscriminately, but who was respected and even admired by the population for the stability and rules he had brought to the chaos that was Brockton Bay. He had become the focus of all of Carol's hatred. And that led her to try and utterly erase him. Legacy and all.

Agent Roland leaned back, seemingly calm despite the very agitated cape sitting across from him.

"And yet, you went beyond that, didn't you? It wasn't enough that you could put her into witness protection or foster care in another state. No…you came up with a plan."

"That was the PRT. All of it. Their 'price' for helping us keep her safe," Carol seemed to deflate, losing the fight to keep going, "We tried. We raised her. We treated her well. We taught her right. She is part of our family."

"But that wasn't enough, was it," Roland spoke, filling the silence after Carol's declaration, "She was always Marquis' daughter. You couldn't see past that, could you? Always watching and making sure that everything of that man was erased. You could never bring yourself to actually trust her."

Carol hung her head, pulling Sarah's hand into her lap and gripping it in both of hers. A lifeline as she drowned in the emotions of the past and present. The room fell silent again as Sarah closed her eyes. She sighed as the weight of all their past sins came to collect.

"What happens now?"

"Now? You will leave Amelia alone. She will reclaim her old name and the life that you stripped from her. You will not interfere with her work at Zero Dawn. You will not try to contact her. You will not raise issues with the company she keeps, the work she does, or anything at all. If you must make any public statement, the only thing we want to hear is that you are proud of her work and wish her well. Any contact will be initiated by her and it will be supervised. As far as the public is concerned, she is leaving New Wave and retaking her true identity now that she is grown. It will be an amicable, if cool, split. I would suggest coming clean with your children, so they don't do anything untowards."

"And finally," he popped back open his briefcase and pulled out a pen and notepad, sliding it across the paper, "I want the names of everyone involved in the conspiracy. That includes your contact in the foster care system that helped you with this. We need to be sure that no other children have vanished after Parahuman altercations."

Sarah silently pulled out of Carol's grip, writing down the details for several minutes before sliding the pad back. Carol kept still the entire time, her eyes locked singularly on the folder in front of her. Roland didn't even bother to look at the pad, instead returning it to his case and closing it. He then stood to his feet, "I hope we understand each other clearly. It would be a messy situation for everyone involved if we were to visit again. I'll see myself out."

The two women sat in silence as he marched out of the living room. The only noise breaking the silence was the sound of the front door closing, followed by the sound of the car engine a few moments later that faded away shortly thereafter.

Carol took a shaky breath, her hand cold and tight in Sarah's own. Sarah rubbed a hand across her sister's shoulder as Carol finally broke down, silent tears trekking down her face. She let out a broken sob before she curled in on herself.

"I'm losing my family," she whispered.

Sarah pulled her sister closer, and let the broken woman sob. Carol had always been the pillar of stone for the family. Strong, unyielding, and unbroken in spite of all the trials and tribulations over the years. Only Sarah and Mark, Carol's husband, understood that for all of Carol's strengths, her own inflexibility was her greatest weakness.

Today, that pillar had broken. And it would be up to those who cared for her to put the pieces back together.

If they could.



Here is the artwork in question, I'm only including the one that I feel is the best representation of it, with the small text under the handprints that is the names of the survivors.

An Intimate Moment
 
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Sprout 3.5 Part 2 New
And here we are, 3.5 Part 2, and the final chapter of the Sprout Arc. Want to start this by saying thank you all for reading it, and for those of you supporting the story and commissions, thank you as well. This part was technically done two weeks ago, but we want to try and do a production of a chapter every two weeks, so we can keep you guys happily fed, while not straining ourselves too far.

Now, moving on to other things. This chapter does involve the military and what the implications of Taylor's machines mean. I know some of you have made a fuss about how the story seems to be a military fuck yeah type of story, and honestly, I can see that. We did go a little hard on that with the last few chapters. But, just because we have written in that way, doesn't mean that it'll continue being that. Just like everything else, there are both good and bad facets and people to everything, and the military is no exception. In this case, military sees a new tech that could change warfare? They want it. So there will be a discussion about that in this chapter. But it does not mean that we are going to see military machines going forward, and it doesn't mean that we won't. All it means is that these are people, with their own desires and agendas, and naturally, they will come into conflict. It's the nature of humanity as a whole.

So, let's keep it civil, and enjoy the chapter.

Next chapter will be an Interlude. And the next Arc, Growth, is already underway.



Sprout 3.5 Part 2
Danny Hebert

Brockton Bay

ZDT Compound

April 27th, 2011


"Here you go. One margherita pizza, hot and fresh from the delivery driver," he placed the large pizza box down across from Taylor, before turning and finding his seat across from her and placing his own pizza down.

Taylor hummed, but kept typing away at something he couldn't see, "You did tip them, right," she asked distractedly.

"Taylor, no working at the dinner table," he commented, opening his pizza box.

That got his daughter's attention, causing her to wave her hand and pull the box towards her, "We're eating in the cafeteria of the Dockworker's Union, I'm pretty sure working in here is a requirement."

Danny shrugged, smiling a little as Taylor gingerly handled the hot pizza. Just taking the opportunity to drink in the sight of her. Healed, mostly whole, and more vibrant than he could remember in years. Her scars were gone, at least the ones on her skin. For whatever reason, she had elected to keep her blind eyes. But that was a discussion between Taylor and Amy, or rather, Amelia as she asked to be called.

"As for the tip? Of course I did. I told him to stay alert and focused."

Taylor chuckled. The 'delivery driver' in question had been a member of their growing security detail. He still was mixed about it all. Men and women standing around his daughter all day, everyday. Her life was now turning into a carefully planned balance of safe against unsafe. She hadn't come home in…days now. He had spent one night alone in the house and promptly brought his own things to stay with her here at the headquarters.

Samantha had made it clear that plans would have to be made about Taylor's living situation. The modest suburban house that Annette and Danny had cared for was…not enough anymore. It was a hard thing to come to terms with. The new world that his daughter was moving on towards. One that he might not be able to keep up in.

But for the moment, the two of them could still sit and enjoy pizza. Danny felt like there was less of a rift between them. And he was content in ways that he hadn't felt in years.

"So, how was your day?"

"Busy," his daughter responded, after swallowing her bite, "I think my meetings are now starting to generate meetings to discuss the meetings. I had a meeting this morning reviewing breaking up the staff between Zero Dawn and Dockworkers. Then after that, I had a meeting with Jean and Samantha about the new headquarters, it's looking like we are going to have to build it from the ground up. After that, I had another meeting with Jean where we went over hiring policies with Janet Hunniker, the new Head of HR. And finally, before lunch, I had yet another meeting with Quentin to go over the final quality checks for a patch update on the machines."

Finishing off her slice she proceeded to tamp her fingers on a napkin.

"Then, while I had my lunch, I had a phone call with Governor Herres on whether Zero Dawn would be able to provide another thousand Focuses over the next three weeks. And finally, I spent the rest of my afternoon with Amelia going over presentation material for the presentation and working on designing the factory assembly lines.

She finished off another bite, "And that's not even dealing with Jean and her fascination with getting everything 'just right' for the event, all the way down to my undergarments," Taylor muttered angrily.

He was going to have to have a conversation with Jean about this. While he had come to trust her good intentions, she was still pushing it when it came to how Taylor presented herself. Like a disapproving grandmother who didn't like the younger generation's clothes. Coughing lightly, because frankly this was a rather uncomfortable conversation for him, he sought to change the subject.

"I think Jean is just trying to look out for you, Taylor. You're about to make a major debut to the world, and Jean wants it to be successful. She certainly could have communicated it better rather than just springing it on you. I'll have a talk with her, okay?"

"Thanks Dad," and it was genuine. They fell into a silence as they both consumed their meals. He took the time to enjoy his evenly topped supreme pizza. The companionable silence being far more preferable than talking about their jobs.

Watching as she deftly consumed her pizza, it would have been difficult to believe that she was blind unless you looked at her eyes. It was a credit to both her skill and steadfast determination that she was able to do so many things that a normal blind person would be incapable of.

And it would only be more.

Oh, Annette, I wish you were to see her now, the unwarranted maudlin thought brought a pang of sadness as he watched Taylor. He knew that if Annette were here, she would know the exact words to say. But he also knew she would be beyond proud of her 'Little Owl'. She had always dreamed that Taylor would reach for something far more than the both of them, and to see their daughter becoming not only a household name, but an actual Hero, with a capital H and not one of those spandex and capes type, well Annette would have been over the moon.

"So how was your day?"

"Busy," he took another bite of his pizza, before washing it down with an ice-cold coke, "Got my hands full hiring people for the Docks. Lots of applicants to vet, it would be nice if we weren't so stringent on the security checks, but it is what it is. Luckily, we're almost done inspecting some of the machinery, give it a couple more days and we should have most of what can work back up and running."

"Damn, I meant to help with that, get the machines running on Blaze and not diesel. How long do you think until the Docks can start handling traffic? I can shift some things around."

"Another week. Give or take. Don't worry about it Taylor, we've got good people on the Docks, we'll figure it out. The Navy team is still going to have to remap and dredge the bay, so there's time. They contracted out a cape from Canada who specializes in sound-based Tinkertech. They think they can have it mapped by Saturday. Just in time for the after-school internship program to start up."

It had been an idea suggested by one of the Association guys.

With the security checks still slowing down the hiring process, the Dockworkers just didn't have enough trained or qualified personnel to handle the more mundane tasks. The idea that had been floated was to start an internship program, bring in young people, students, or anyone else to help fill the gaps in the Docks or ZDT. Of course, it would initially ratchet up the workload to train them all, but it would pay off in the long run. It would solve the labor shortage, and provide public outreach to Brockton Bay, allowing the public an opportunity to know what was going on in the company, all the while earning some money and possible college credit.

People working and being well paid were less likely to get involved with the gangs, even if they had been quiet for the past few weeks.

"What schools have you got involved in the program?"

"So far Clarendon, Arcadia, and Immaculata have signed on," which earned a snort from Taylor. To be fair, he felt the same way, neither of them having forgotten how the all-girls school has brushed them off using a technicality. Now they couldn't stop from falling over themselves to get a piece of the action and say they were involved with Taylor, "Lacey and I are going to go over the applicants tomorrow."

"Sounds like you have your hands full too."

He frowned, something niggling at his senses. It wasn't what Taylor said, but how she said it. He had been with her enough over the last couple of weeks to really get a measure of his daughter. So the way she said it told him that something in what he had said had bothered her.

Previously, back before all of this, he would have never noticed. And even if he had, he would have probably never voiced it. But their relationship had been restored to the point where he had the courage to actually ask what was bothering her, "What is it, Taylor?"

For a moment, she was silent, and he was worried that she was going to bury whatever it was. However, after a few more heartbeats, she rewarded him with a sigh. Taking a napkin, she wiped her hands off, before swinging her hand in a practiced motion that he had come to recognize.

"Taylor…"

"Just a minute," she said, reaching up into the air and tapping it, obviously accessing something in her vision, "and please put on your Focus."

Sighting, he took his own Focus out of his shirt pocket, tapping it to power it up. It was then he found his vision filled with five images, stacked one on top of the other. Immediately he recognized three of them. Two of them he saw daily.

"Okay, Taylor, why am I looking at Amelia and Paige? And is that last one Parian?"

"It is," she confirmed, "the other one is Hellhound, the one in black is Grue."

The girl was the villain that Taylor had gone to the other day. The one that caused such a problem with Taylor's security detail. He hadn't exactly been happy with his daughter either, and they had talked about it. But he was coming to the conclusion that Taylor was going to do what she wanted, damn the consequences. Just like her mother always did. He pointedly looked at the last photo, black motorcycle helmet with a white skull staring back at him. It must have been taken from a security camera.

"Okay, so why are you bringing them up?"

"All of this," she waved her hand, "After Amelia learnt what New Wave did to her, I realized something. Something that honestly terrifies me. I got lucky, Dad."

"What do you mean," he asked, wondering where his daughter was going with this. What happened to Amelia was a travesty, and it made his blood boil to think that the supposed 'heroes' of New Wave had done something so heinous. He could get the idea of protecting her, considering who her father was, but to then deny her the inheritance simply because her father was a criminal? It seemed that Alan kept pretty goddamn good company at his law firm.

"If Far Zenith hadn't called, Dad, I would have probably ended up in the Protectorate. I was fooling myself back then when I talked about contingencies. No one was going to give a teenage girl startup money for untested technology, not without attaching too many strings for me to do any of this," she motioned around them, "The Protectorate would have done worse than the companies. They would have wrapped me up in so much red tape that I would never be able to leave unless I was in a body bag. Any creation I made would be owned by them, and they would profit off my work while I would receive a bare pittance."

She sighed, "That's if they actually were intelligent. But considering all the things we have learned over the months about how inept the PRT seems to be, they'd probably throw me into the field and get me killed. I'd just become another statistic of a 'heroic sacrifice' for 'justice' and 'freedom'."

The sad part is, he found himself agreeing with her. The last couple of months had proven to him that the PRT and Protectorate were just as rotten as any other governmental organization. Perhaps even worse in some regards. How the PRT had handled Boston had left him glad that Taylor had been adamant back then that she did not join the Protectorate.

"They weren't so lucky," Taylor continued, highlighting Grue…then pulling up a young black man and his work application for ZDT, "Grue had issues finding a steady job. So he took what offers he could and became a villain for a paycheck. All because he wanted to pull his sister out of a toxic household."

She then moved on, leaving Danny reeling that there is or had been a Cape villain working inside the company. Taylor, highlighted the rather butch girl, a dog mask clipped to her belt, "Rachel, Hellhound or Bitch as she calls herself, never even had a chance to begin with. Her mother died of a drug overdose and she was bounced around between foster homes like it was going out of fashion. She triggered, her last foster mother died in the event. Rachel and others claim it was an accident, a case of a Cape reacting with powers they didn't understand. Plus, the woman was a complete piece of freaking work, by the way, and the local PRT decided just to label Rachel as a villain instead of a traumatized teenager who triggered. They've been hunting her ever since."

Paige was next, "Paige had so many of her civil rights violated that once the Supreme Court gets to her case, they'll probably die of apoplexy. Her assets were frozen so she couldn't afford her own lawyer and she was forced to take a public servant who was so green, the ink hadn't dried on his diploma. She wasn't allowed any defense witnesses or to take the stand. Then to add to it all, she's sentenced to Birdcage with no chance of appeal, and once she's there, it wouldn't matter either way."

"Amelia had nearly everything taken from her. Her name. Her inheritance. Her freedom. If she hadn't gotten involved with me, she would have likely never discovered who she really was. And if she did, I have no doubt in mind that it would have been ugly, if not worse. And this is all with the approval, or worse the willful ignorance, of the PRT."

"Finally, Parian. Did you know she is incapable of getting a loan for her business? NEPEA-5 passively deters it through the stringent regulations that puts the burden on the cape to prove they are not negatively impacting the economy. But the banks only add to the difficulty. In order to get a loan, the cape would have to unmask themselves. I don't need to tell you why that would be a bad idea."

"No. You wouldn't."

She then had all the photos go back into the lineup, "Once is a chance, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern, Dad… Five different people from five different walks of life. And they all have something in common: they have powers and they are getting screwed by the system. If this is happening in Massachusetts, just how bad is it around the rest of the country?"

She twisted her napkin, as she spoke and laid out the problem, "If you get powers, you have three options: One, join the PRT/Wards/Protectorate. This means oversight and handing over control of how you use your powers, where, and even what kind of image that you want to show the world. Option two; you become a rogue. Independent, but that just means you're getting pressured on all sides. And if you make any mistake you'll be lucky if you're press-ganged into the Protectorate. If you're not? You're likely dead. Then there's option three: Villain. There doesn't seem to be any review process for labeling someone a 'villain'. It's just a PRT label that they can slap on anyone and they're marked for life. Very few villains survive solo, which means people are pressured into forming gangs or groups. Join the Elite, join the Empire, join join join…"

He could see what Taylor was building to. The fact that in this city alone, she had been able to find four cases with hardly any effort. It suggested that it wasn't just a microcosm, but it was systematic. That there were hundreds perhaps thousands of people who had powers and were getting unfairly done by the system. That they were being taken advantage of and abused simply because those that were more powerful had their hands on the levers. And they didn't have any real representation to protect them either.

Representation…

"It sounds like the capes need a union."

Taylor's eyes slowly blinked and she took a faraway expression.

"I'm not sure we're looking for collective bargaining power, Dad. It's not like capes get paid the regular way."

Danny grunted, "Well now, that hurts. Clearly I haven't been teaching you enough about unions."

Taylor blinked and turned her eyes on him. The white of them really was striking.

"You're right though, when most people think of unions they think about what they hear on the news. Unions organizing protests demanding better pay, benefits, working conditions, or more. And that's a big part of it. But a large part of it actually is building a support network for everyone who is part of the union."

He pushed the cardboard pizza boxes aside, clearing the table.

"Take the Dockworkers, for example. If you're a member in good standing, you're in our system. That means you get discounts on select doctors, stores, gyms, and recreation centers amongst other things. If one of our members comes to us and is in legal trouble, the union has connections with lawyers who will work at cost or with discounted rates. We even have community events. Nothing big, just a summer barbecue and a winter dinner. But…you understand what I mean, right? A good union is meant to support and protect its members. Don't get me wrong, there can be bad ones too. Unions who just meddle and demand money as dues but give nothing back. But done right? It's a hell of a thing."

"NORA."

He blinked, taken slightly aback by the suddenly blurted out word, "NORA?"

"National Organization for paRahuman Advancement. Not a union so much as a cooperative. It will still act like a union in some regards, providing various support structures for its members: contract negotiations, legal, health, training, everything that we think is necessary to promote a better life for capes. But at its core, it should be all about providing a fourth option, one that champions and supports capes and their rights instead of taking advantage of them."

"That," he hesitated for a moment, considering what his daughter was saying. He could feel a surge of pride, if she went forward with this…it would be the culmination of the best that he and Annette could have hoped to impart on their daughter. "That might just be something that could gain traction, Taylor."

Her gaze then slipped to him, the white seemingly to stare through him, "Would you be interested in getting NORA off the ground?"

"What? Taylor, I've already stepped down from the ZDT board to be the head of the Dockworkers. I think it'd be inappropriate to leave just as we are getting started again. They need me and I'm comfortable with it. I've been doing this most of my life. You should be looking for someone else, someone who actually has a vested interest in all of this."

"Dad, you and I both know that Kurt or someone else could step forward and lead the Union. You got them through the hard parts and have set them up for success. Someone else can lead the path you laid out. And don't tell me you have a vested interest. You've heard the stories, you were there when I was dealing with all of this. Getting Nora off the ground is going to be everything you do at the DWU but more. I don't think there is anyone better qualified than you."

Danny sighed, ducking his head at Taylor's expectant look, "I'll think about it, okay?"

He then reached for his soda, wondering when everything had gotten so damn complicated.


AEH


Questions to VP Ryan before he boarded his flight;

"Mr. Vice President, do you have any comments on the recent military actions in Boston? Given the tension between the President and yourself, do you feel that this was another overreach?"

"While the President and I have our differences currently, we both believe in what is best for the American people. But yes, I was involved in the reviewing of the Boston plans and found them clear, direct, and careful to ensure that the city and its populace were kept as safe as possible. Yes, I will agree that it was an extreme move, but it was deemed necessary only because of how long the problem was allowed to fester."

"Sir, you are going to be meeting with Zero Dawn Technologies before visiting Boston. What are your hopes for the meeting? Does the federal government have plans to purchase Ms. Hebert's technology?"

"This is both a visit of recognition and to learn more about what this young woman has to offer. We've seen clearly that the Focus device has been hugely successful in stabilizing Boston and her machines speak for themselves as to their effectiveness. Frankly, I would like to learn what else she might be able to offer the wider public and how we might be able to help her achieve that."

"Vice President Ryan, the Youth Guard and representatives of child services have raised concerns about the pressure being placed on this young woman who has previously been through a traumatic experience. Should she be placed under the same guidance as other young parahumans in the Wards program?"

"Without meeting the young woman in question, I can't answer that. But it does seem she has family and friends close at hand. Furthermore, the support network she has surrounded herself with seems top-notch. I think raising concerns at this time is premature."

"Sir, there have been reports that…"


AEH


Taylor Hebert

Brockton Bay

April 28th, 2011


"Ms. Hebert, it's good to see you. "

I found myself offering a handshake and a genuine smile to Vice President Ryan. The last time we had met in person had been before Boston. And I was fully aware that the support I was currently enjoying was due to his influence and recommendation.

We sat in my office, such as it was. I smoothed down the font of my jacket, not entirely used to the business attire that Parian had acquired for me. Still, it fit perfectly and everyone around me said it looked amazing, so I humored them.

"It's good to see you on the mend as well, Mr. Vice President."

"Bah," he waved his hand, "what did I tell you about calling me that?"

"You told me to call you Jack," I returned smiling, "force of habit."

He obviously sensed that I was trying to break the ice, and he smiled back, "Well, we can let it go for now. Let's get started as I'm not here for long and it's clear that you're a busy woman."

"Drink before we start," I asked. My office was a little more packed than usual. A new coffee table and chairs allowed me to have more relaxed conversations, and the screen display on the wall allowed me to do presentations on the fly. Fortunately, the discussion between us had been planned in advance. Jean was sitting by the wall, taking notes and representing the ZDT. Jack had brought his own aide, though didn't introduce the young man. Sam and another Secret Service agent rounded out the people in the room, making everything feel a little claustrophobic.

Just outside the office was even worse. Jack's Secret Service team, Sam's team for me, and ZDT security under Adam meant that there were a fair number of armed and paranoid individuals wandering around. I had basically sent all non-critical staff home for the day in order to keep security questions to a minimum.

"Just some coffee, strong and black, Taylor."

"Of course," I nodded towards Sam, who spoke quietly into her focus, "And a tea for myself. Thank you, Sam."

I had always liked tea, but now had come to rely upon it as both a stimulant and a relaxant. Amy had spilled the beans about the ban on energy drinks for me, and Sam had taken the prohibition seriously.

Settling into my chair across from him, I reviewed my notes. Most of the subject matter had been agreed to beforehand, so I had ample time to prepare. The wall screen warmed up and I was satisfied that everything was ready, just as the door was opened and our refreshments arrived. A pot of coffee was placed beside Jack and I took the time to sip from my tea as he poured his cup.

Blowing slightly on the coffee after filling the cup, he then took a sip and hummed a pleased noise, "Good stuff," he declared.

"You would be shocked at how creative a Dockworker's coffee palette is once they actually have a budget for coffee," I said with a smile, taking the opportunity to sip from my tea and then placing it back down on its saucer, "I remember the war crime that used to be the coffee served around here. Black water would be too generous of a description, more like it was black enough to absorb all light."

Jack laughed, "That sounds like the Marine Corps special."

"I'll leave that to the presiding expert," I returned, "Now, to start, I'm well aware that Colonel Herres has requested another batch of Foci, however I'm concerned about the data infrastructure of Boston. And I've made no headway in opening talks with the national service providers."

"Before we get into the official agenda, I was hoping to ask about some unofficial development work," Jack cut me off, causing me to still. I stared at him as he quickly sipped his coffee. It seems I was being blindsided. I was really starting to hate being blindsided.

"Well, I can hear you out."

Was this an exchange type of situation? I wasn't sure. Herres had been using the Foci extensively and was proving their use in city management. Even if Ryan pulled my government funding, it wasn't likely to slow me down for long.

"Weapons development," was the calmly delivered statement from the other man.

I ground my teeth even as the cold spreads through my gut. Of course it would come to this! Robots were a political coup when it came to warfare. No questioning orders. No upkeep or care after the wars are done. Just simple machine efficiency.

I had been bracing for this question since I walked into my presentation with Far Zenith. I had my answer, just one that I knew wasn't going to be popular.

"Mr. Vice President. I can say this with absolute certainty and clarity: Zero Dawn will never work to design or develop weapons systems. My machines will never be armed for warfare in mind."

The room sat in silence for a moment as Ryan stared back at me. WIth my Focus in hi-gain mode, I could see the solemn expression on his face. How much of it was an act, I didn't know. Quiet investigation and questioning of Sam and her team had revealed some of Ryan's past exploits and successes. Even as an analyst and not a field agent, he was a hell of an intelligence operative.

"Some people in Washington and the Pentagon will be…frustrated to hear that. I hope that you're ready to defend your position. They won't give up easily," Ryan took another sip of his coffee. I did the same, not really enjoying the tea right now, but I needed the distraction.

"It is well that War is so terrible, otherwise we should grow too fond of it."

Ryan blinked and I could hear Jean shifting behind me.

"I'm not sure that quoting a Confederate general will endear you to many in Washington. Unless you're planning to take your company to another state and I don't know about it?"

I took a breath, ready to lay out my argument. One that I was certain that I would have to defend for years to come.

"Whatever the man's politics, he was right about war. Machines, armed robots, would make war too simple. When you, or the President, or some general at the Pentagon consider the use of violence you have to consider the cost. The human cost. The cost of mothers and fathers protesting outside your office, holding pictures of sons and daughters who died because of your decision. Where your choice to resort to violence is criticized on a moral basis and that decision has to be defended again and again by facts and accurate information."

I paused, taking a sip of my tea. I had the room's attention, even if Ryan was absolutely letting me speak my piece.

"Armed machines would change all of that, Mr. Vice President. It would turn the question of risking human lives into a matter of spreadsheets and numbers. The cost of maintaining the machine and the cost of replacing it if it's destroyed. It would simplify the choice to use violence and I will never cooperate with that."

My piece said, I leaned back waiting for his rebuttal. Ryan was silent for a moment while his aide wrote notes. Probably recording my words.

"While I can respect your convictions, Taylor, it's a grim truth that other people will not agree. Other countries may be less interested in peace and more interested in the 'edge' that those machines would give them. What happens when they start developing technology along similar lines of your own?"

I snorted and did my best to keep from grinning at Ryan's eyebrow twitch.

"I realise that this may sound arrogant, Jack, but it will be at least a decade or two before anyone comes close to the level we are talking. Depending on the field or industry, I'm pushing technology that is ranging between sixty and two hundred years more advanced than the present day. I don't think people understand just what is required to fully integrate even half the technology that I am trying to introduce. The Focus alone, requires a network that is orders of magnitude beyond what the current network infrastructure supports. We're talking about taking a network infrastructure kicking and screaming from a paltry fifty-six megabit per second connection to several hundred terabit per second connection, a technological leap of nearly a century."

"It could be reverse-engineered, through parts stolen and shipped overseas."

"And they might manage to jury-rig something together. But taking apart a Watcher-pattern machine isn't going to magically provide you with the knowledge on how to produce one. Nor will it give you the coding experience to program one. This isn't like what the Soviets did with the B-29, there are no comparable industries to exploit and bridge the tech gaps."

Ryan drummed his fingers against the armrest of his chair, "My understanding from Mr. Eaton is that you were open to developing military equipment. Even working on a battlefield control system and presenting a concept for it."

"Yes, and I'm willing to continue working on it. But I won't make machines to replace soldiers on the battlefield. Everything that I design is meant to work alongside humans, not replace them. So I will build machines to rescue and evacuate soldiers from battlefields. I will make surveillance machines so soldiers and commanders know exactly where everything is at all times. I will develop a Focus network for military use, body armor for infantry, and everything in between."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table between us, "But I won't make you machines of war. You want to start a war? You're going to have to worry about grieving families."

"Some of those families would blame you for not making machines to take the place of their loved ones."

I took my glasses off and stared him in the face, assuming that Amy's work on my eyes would hopefully lend some strength to my gaze, "I'm fully aware. My answer won't change."

Ryan was silent for a moment and I braced myself for him to apply pressure.

"Alright, Ms. Hebert, I'll make your stance clear to the relevant parties. What they do with that information is up to them," I nodded, even as I filled that little bit of information away as I replaced my glasses. So Ryan wouldn't be covering for me on the military issue. That was fine, I'd sort that out myself when the topic inevitably appeared again. I took a sip of my tea. It was getting cold.

"Now, as I was saying about the information infrastructure of Boston. I have a signal tower in development that will require…"


AEH


We talked for almost two hours after that, going over the progress of the company. I didn't give him all of the details, but the big items that were important.

First; parts production. Jean and I had been in discussion with a number of companies to get parts made, most of which were through licensing agreements where the manufacturer would divert a portion to us, with us getting first priority. There was a limit, however. I wasn't outsourcing critical components like the crystal braiding wires or synth-muscle. This was also in line with the metal plating and machine frames. It was likely that Nucor would be signing an agreement with us soon. For specialty parts like braiding, I was working to set up factories here inside Brockton Bay. A good portion of my working hours had been spent designing assembly lines and assembly machines. We would have to find a company to make them, or more likely, build them ourselves. Ryan was eager for me to get my tech out into the wider market, so the licensing agreements were of interest to him.

Second; the Focus network. WIth the computer parts and materials being sorted out, I had started designing the transmitters for the network. Large, round, and flat, the system looked like a massive electrical dinnerplate. Nearly twenty meters in diameter, it would need to be placed on skyscrapers for maximum transmission, though tall buildings would work if those weren't available. Once operational, it would support radio, wireless internet, and cellular signals on a bitrate that was far better than what was on the market now. The first one to finish production would be installed here inside the bay. The second would be installed in Boston. My problem was that I was going to turn a lot of transmission towers obsolete and the owners of those towers weren't taking my calls. I needed Ryan to lean on them and hopefully reach an agreement. There was also the security concern of hacking attempts through the wireless, something that I had stuck Tate on the problem of solving. The man had asked for a team and I had transferred that to Hunniker to handle.

Next; the Light Rescue Lance. The adjustments to the current nine machines was in progress, incorporating the suggestions we received from Boston. I already had back orders for several teams. FEMA wanted two. The Army Corps of Engineers wanted another. Several states had been asking about pricing and even individual cities were throwing in their hat. As soon as the adjustments were finished, the build team would be working to make more. It was unlikely that I would get full assembly lines for the complete machines for now, but they do share some parts commonality, which I was looking to automate. For the moment, each Lance would have to be assembled by hand.

Amy's synthblood project, renamed Synthetic Hemoglobin Replacement (SRH), was something that Jack had particular interest in for military use. I had full faith in my friend's abilities, but it would have to go through the FDA and human trials. Ryan could put pressure on the FDA to accelerate testing and I could lean on Medhall for local testing. The only question remaining was mass manufacturing, which I needed to review with Amy.

We briefly reviewed my efforts with Blaze. I had the plans for the refinery in place and the building in question, a defunct factory in the Docks was being prepared for renovation. The actual bioconverter would be blackboxed to the best of my abilities, while the rest of the machine would be fairly conventional. Construction of the machines themselves was on hold until we could get certification for fuel production. In the quantities we were working with, the regulation existed for a reason.

Ryan was particularly interested in my flying recon machines, the Skydrifter and Sunwing. I had finalized the design and was working on assembling prototypes of both machines. I would hopefully be able to test them in the next week. The Vice President implied that Customs and Border Patrol would be interested in several units if I could prove their viabilities.

Which brought us the last point of discussion. My nuclear reactor.

"While you haven't received the summon yet, I would plan to be in DC in early June if I were you. I know you were already planning a presentation to the leadership of the Department of Energy, but Congress will want to grill you on just about everything considering your newfound fame."

I glanced at Jean, who was diligently keeping notes. I was feeling slightly wrung out. Despite his friendly interactions with me, Jack Ryan was a dedicated analyst and dug into every plan and proposal I had. "I see. Is there anything I should be worried about?"

"Politicians are very different from investors, Taylor. They don't care about the product you are trying to sell or the good that you are going to do. What matters to them is how you will benefit them in the here or now: whether it be through political points, or some sort of favor they can get from you. I'd also expect trouble from the Pro-PRT politicians. You've caused quite a stir in Washington, there are those who aren't sure what to make of you, and others who view you as a challenge to the status quo."

"I'm not exactly keen to play politics, Jack," and it was the truth. I understood the necessity of politics, the world ran upon it. But what I didn't like was the idea that it would have to consume the entirety of my attention. It was wasteful, and it took away from what I should be working on, "I'm not here to start a fight."

"But it's one that you'll get nonetheless. I would honestly start preparing. It's probably going to be a rough outing, and people will want to get a measure of you. If you would like, I could offer some people who could help in preparing you."

"I'd appreciate it, a political advisor couldn't hurt," and I did actually appreciate it. Despite my misgivings on some things, Jack had been upfront and honest with me, and there was probably a reason why he was doing this, of course. But for now, our interests and goals were aligned, "Do you have any other tips for handling the politicians?"

"Honestly? Just be yourself, Taylor. Politicians can smell a fake out as easily as they breathe. I don't think they'd expect your blunt honesty."

You know you're referring to yourself, I resisted the urge to joke, instead I merely nodded my head. It was solid advice and I would probably need plenty of it. At least I had a month and a half to prepare. Forewarned is forearmed and all of that.

"I'll keep that in mind. Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

Ryan sighed and glanced at Sam. Which I caught, because he let me catch it and it spiked my concerns.

"Yes, Taylor. I'm aware that you might not feel entirely comfortable with Hexa and the protections that are being put around you. But you need to understand they are legitimately in place to protect you."

Huh, I was wondering how to broach this topic. Good.

"So you have legitimate concerns about my wellbeing? Or are they just in place to keep tabs on me? Presumably at your request if I'm judging the situation right."

"Yes. We do," Jack looked me dead in the eyes and I felt the reality of the situation sink in. I saw Jean looking wide-eyed, glancing between Sam and Ryan, then at the Secret Service agent in the room.

Ryan pulled a flashdrive from inside his jacket pocket and handed it to me. Sam 'helpfully' plopped a laptop next to me a moment later. Plugging it in, I had the drive scrubbed for any possible spyware before accessing the files. I opened the files on the wall-screen, manipulating them with my Focus.

"While I'm no longer the Director of the CIA, I still have connections within the CIA and NSA, and what they have shared with me is concerning, Taylor."

Concerns were right, I thought to myself as I waved my hand through the air, scrolling through everything. It was a series of reports that were forwarded to the Office of the Director of National Intelligence by the NSA. All of them outlined a significant increase in signal intelligence between the Yangban, Elitnaya Armiya, and the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, starting from the day after Leviathan had hit Boston all the way up until yesterday.

Immediately, I unleashed Sobek into digging through the raw information as I read through the overview. The Yangban, Elitnaya Armiya, and FARC had established a loose collaboration with one another in the late '90s. FARC provided Yangban and Elitnaya Armiya with a steady supply of fresh triggers, while they received large sums of money alongside military and cape support against the Colombian government and its allies. It was the type of arrangements that the two superpowers preferred, allowing them to keep their hands off the situation while providing them far too many benefits. With the United States as militarily diminished as it was, the setup was perfect for keeping the region destabilized through the violence and drug trade.

What the report noted though, was the sudden dramatic increase of communications from the Yangban and Elitnaya Armiya to the FARC. This was a deviation that had immediately raised a few eyebrows at Fort Meade, resulting in a focus on the communications. In it, they quickly ascertained that the subject matter was me.

"Concerning, yes. But nothing implies direct action."

"Go to the next folder, Taylor," Ryan said calmly, and I swallowed my concerns. I was being led somewhere and I didn't like it. I opened the folder. It contained a report dated two days ago and photos of men meeting. The 'where' wasn't clear until…I read the report and it said clearly that the meeting took place in Brockton Bay.

"The man is Bin Ah Lam, a Vietnamese national and midlevel criminal. He's also a foreign asset of CUI's Grand Cabinet Intelligence Service, reporting to the Vietnam branch. He entered the country four days ago and arrived in Brockton Bay the day before yesterday. The man he's meeting with is an underboss in the ABB. We believe that he's trying to arrange a supply pipeline eastwards. But he's also here to gather information on you, your company, and pave the way for more of his people to come into the country."

I took a breath going over everything again. Unfortunately, the facts didn't change, "Clearly you have people already in the city, given that these photos came from somewhere."

Ryan nodded, "Certainly, but the point stands. Hexa was hired for a reason, not just to keep an eye on you or anything like that. But because you have put a spotlight on yourself and the price of that spotlight is attention. Samantha and her team are in place to keep you safe from the wrong kind of attention. So please, work with them. The closer you work with them, the easier they can work with you."

I turned, looking to Sam for a reaction. She gave me a small nod, which…meant nothing really. I would have to follow up with her later.

"I will keep that in mind. I take it Hexa is more your idea then being answerable to the State Department?"

Ryan's steady gaze was all of the confirmation that I needed.

"Moving on then," he spoke again, "What's this I hear about a Cape union? Directly challenging NEPEA-5 is not going to endear you to many people, Taylor."

Damn that man, "Didn't you just tell me that Hexa was here for my protection, not to spy on me," I asked indignantly. Part of my frustration was being spied on. The other part of it was being spied on during a private moment with my father.

"Keeping you from directly challenging the status quo and overturning a decade of Federal statute is called protecting you."

"First of all, the existence of corporate teams already proves there exists ways around NEPEA-5. NORA would serve as a middleman between Capes and business. Jobs would come in, be advertised and offered to registered Parahumans, and Capes would advertise their skills. Registration and agreeing to basic rules of conduct would provide benefits to capes needing assistance. We can all agree that no one who triggers is living in a stable environment. NORA would offer ways to manage or solve those problems. Steady pay, community support, counseling, legal advice for private and cape affairs, training and certification. The organization itself would be a non-profit union, representing Capes who aren't comfortable punching villains or falling in line with the PRT."

Ryan considered it for a moment, folding his arms, "It's an interesting idea. Can you keep it contained to just Brockton Bay as a test bed?"

"That is the intention. But I should remind you that Brockton Bay has one of the highest cape densities in the United States. If NORA proves to be successful, which I have no doubt it will, then I have a feeling that you will start seeing attempts to imitate it sprouting up in the United States and possibly further."

For a few moments, Ryan sat there staring at me. I had to wonder exactly what was going through his head. My 'vision' surreptitiously shifted around the room catching everyone else's expressions. I noted that Jean was staring at me like I had grown a second head. I could at least understand that sentiment, considering it was going to bring even more heat on Zero Dawn by simple association. Sam's expression hadn't flickered in the least.

I then came back to Ryan, who released a sigh, shaking his head. I thought it was with disapproval, but then I heard a low chuckle from the man, which confused me. After the tension that had been ratcheting up and down between us the last few hours, I was not expecting him to react in such a way.

"Well, Samantha had warned me that when you had your mind set on something it was like trying to bottle lightning. Alright Taylor, see what you can do. I can keep it from becoming a national issue or showing up on Washington's radar for a time. But I have no pull locally, not without stepping on toes that I'm trying to avoid. Get this thing off the ground, set a good precedent, and we'll see what comes of it. Just…please don't make it hot national news?"

"I'll do my best."

That didn't seem to mollify him.


AEH


Welcome to the show everyone, it's another lovely radio evening here in Brockton Bay. The sun is setting, the wind is calm, and if you're wandering by the water, keep an ear out, you might just hear something different. You hear it? Nothing. That creaking metal groan is gone. The metal monster of the Bay is gone, and we got to see it cut to pieces like it was a turkey dinner right in front of our eyes.

Now, I won't comment on our glowing white lady working side by side with our boys in uniform. Nor will I comment on the fact that this problem that has plagued our fair city is gone in a week. Nope, because there's someone else gone. Our dear Mayor Christener has left the building. Sad, I know.

Seriously though. His wife held a press conference, explaining that their son was killed in Boston. Apparently he had an alter-ego, as the Protectorate Hero named Triumph. Another young man, killed by Leviathan. Former Mayor Christenerwas broken by the news and hasn't appeared in public for almost three weeks now.

What does this mean? I don't know. Elections probably. If anyone wants to call in and inform me, feel free to call in here at BrockTonBay Radio. In the meantime, here's a tune for the departed. Wagon Wheel, because the world keeps on turning. - Ted Steiner, 98.1 WBTB-FM


AEH


Rebecca Costa-Brown/Alexandria

Washington D.C.

April 29th, 2011


"Door me, Miss Militia's apartment."

A portal appeared before her and she stepped through, leaving one of her secret penthouses in Washington D.C. and arriving in a spartan, yet strangely homely apartment. Slowly turning her head around, she scanned the rest of the apartment, awaiting a possible ambush. When one didn't come, she relaxed just slightly. Even dressed in her cape costume, it paid to be careful.

When Alexandria had received a message from Miss Militia out of nowhere using the old Wards backchannels, she had been surprised. Hannah Washington had never struck her as someone who would reach out to an old mentor, considering she had done nothing really to endear herself to the former Kurdish refugee. Their only connection had been as a superior and subordinate when Militia had been on the inaugural Wards team. Legend had been the personable one, interacting and teaching. She had been the commander, keeping her distance and avoiding personal relationships.

The messages were innocent on the surface, simple check-ins and questions about wellbeing. But she had a perfect memory and her Thinker power helped her find clues hidden in the message. Wards distress codes dating from the very beginning when everything had been starting out. They were crude, and quickly abandoned as they were refined after the PRT/Protectorate took shape.

But Alexandria remembered them. And Militia, with her perfect memory, did as well.

The message was simple, alarming, and demanded immediate attention.

A-Class Emergency - Requesting Assistance/Extraction - PRT judgment compromised.

The only complication was that she was trapped in Washington dealing with the fallout of Boston. There was no way she would be able to get to Brockton Bay conventionally, not without compromising her situation in DC. Furthermore, Miss Militia could not be recalled to DC either, at least not without raising her visibility.

Alexandria didn't gamble. She planned and reacted. Everything was measured. And the chance that Miss Militia, a woman who had shaped herself into the very personification of American patriotism and duty would ring the alarm for anything minor? Exceedingly low. This demanded action.

If Militia asked about the teleportation, she had plans in place to explain it away as a Protectorate special mission resource. Militia's loyalty would cover the rest.

Tensing and lifting off the ground, she turned her armored helm towards the sound of footsteps. She was greeted by the business end of a heavy revolver that looked comically large in Militia's hands. Alexandria did a quick glance over the woman as the pair of them stood in the living room. Militia was dressed in street clothes and despite having the gun in her hand, she looked comfortable. There was no sign of restraint or coercion, nor were there any apparent injuries. Of interesting note, however, were the Islamic prayer beads wrapped tightly around her left wrist. It was a noted departure from Miss Militia, who did not publicly show her religious beliefs.

"What did I tell you at your graduation," Alexandria challenged the other woman, eyeing the magnum for a brief moment, before flicking her gaze back to Militia's face. Bullets couldn't hurt her, this had been proven time and time again. But the fact that Militia was resorting to violence first was concerning.

"That I had come a long way from Düzalan."

Internally, she nodded, relaxing just slightly. Hannah had been rescued by an American NGO from a small Kurdish village in the south of Turkey on the Syrian border. It had been part of a much larger campaign by the Turkish government to depopulate the region of the Kurdish, both for military and governmental reasons. A number of organizations and people had spoken out against the plan, with the NGO in question illegally sending volunteers into the country to attempt to evacuate those being targeted. Hana had been one of only seven children of her entire village that survived to be rescued to the United Kingdom as refugees. She was one of the lucky ones. Thousands of villages had been wiped from the map before Turkey bowed to foreign pressure and stopped their campaign. The brutal cleansing plan used measures ranging from forcible relocation to outright genocide. Hana, now Hannah, would then apply for a US visa with the help of the NGO after difficulties settling into life in the UK.

"After the Ward's graduation party, who did you find me in bed with," the younger woman asked, the weapon unnaturally still. Alexandria focused for a moment, something about the stillness caused concern.

"Anthony."

Anthony being Chevalier. Alexandria had been aware of the relationship for some time. Hormonal teens were not as discreet as they might think. It had been no surprise when she had found them after the graduation party being intimate with one another now that they didn't have to worry about the optics of having a relationship. She should probably have felt bad about interrupting, but there had been an emergency deployment order and they weren't answering their phones.

She was one of maybe three people that even knew that the two had been sleeping together.

That seemed to satisfy the Kurdish woman as she relaxed and the magnum disappeared into green and black particles.

"How did you get here, Alexandria," she asked.

"Not a concern at the moment. You called in a possible A-Class emergency and said that regular channels could not be trusted. Brockton Bay is too important to waste time on questions. What is the situation?"

"I'm the Butcher."

Everything froze for a brief instant, and like a window shattering, her Thinker powers uncaged, her body tensing into action as Miss Militia became classified as a threat. Dozens of combat scenarios went through her head even as she recollected every known fact about Butcher and its previous incarnations, all the while adding to the mental threat dossier Miss Militia's powerset. The 'hero' was right, it was an A-Class situation.

The fact that Miss Militia had not attacked her yet was the only thing that currently stayed her hand. Leviathan had attacked Boston over two weeks ago, that meant that the Brockton Bay cape had been dealing with this the entire time and had yet to succumb to the madness. No eye twitching, erraticness, or body motions to suggest attention to voices in her head. All previous examples of the Butcher behaved like a patient with schizophrenia. Militia was showing none of those, which made the claim suspect.

She would listen for now, but she had questions. Still, she unclenched her fists.

"Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof."

Hannah hesitated for a moment, "I'll use Feral's power," she finally declared, citing Butcher X's name. She then closed her eyes, and for a moment nothing happened, before Militia's power expression flared in a spread of green motes. Alexandria had seen it hundreds of times before and the power was well understood in its expression. It could create almost any weapon known to man, the limit only being Hannah's knowledge of it.

Green motes danced around her hands, before settling into a spiked knuckleduster. Seemingly bronze, but with scratches and discolorations. It was very different from what her weapons normally looked like, always appearing pristine as if they were fresh from the factory or forge.

Militia's body started changing. Her fingernails extended, becoming like claws, and her face transformed slowly as her teeth slowly molded into fangs, her eyes opened and the pupils became slitted like cat's.

"That's enough," she barked, and Miss Militia morphed back, her eyes closing as she let out a shuddering breath as the knuckleduster disappeared.

This was not a development Alexandria could have expected. The idea of Butcher possessing a heroically-inclined cape was not an unexplored concept. A decade ago, the Protectorate had the opportunity when the hero Cynosure had accidentally killed Butcher II. Back then, they hadn't known the exact mechanics of how the Butcher operated, but it did allow them to observe and question Cynosure about the Butcher entity. Unfortunately, the man was quickly driven mad and killed himself in a suicidal attack on the Teeth. Regardless of the outcome, the study done of the former hero gave the PRT a better understanding of the 'Inheritance' process.

It wasn't a possession, Butcher I or II did not reform or supplant Cynosure's personality. Instead, the heroic cape experienced a new personality attacking his own. Except that the 'personality', the gestalt, had echoes of both Butcher I and II. Enough that Cynosure could 'hear' both of them, constantly. Seemingly with fully-formed personalities, views, opinions, memories, and desires.

It was what made the Butcher extraordinarily dangerous. If there was someone who could wield the collective gestalt effectively, without succumbing to insanity, they had the potential to easily rival the Triumvirate in power.

And it was standing right in front of her, in the hands of one of her capes.

"You've taken eighteen days to report this," she demanded.

"It manifested in Boston. I isolated myself, but quickly found that the collective wasn't pressuring me as bad as I feared."

That still didn't…

"Four days ago, it got out of control. I experienced…visceral…hallucinations of attacking Armsmaster and surrounding civilians," she hung her head, fingers moving gently over the beads on her wrist. Alexandria made another note of that.

Unquestionably, Militia had made a mistake. Assuming that she could manage on her own was the kind of arrogance that most Wards or impulsive capes would assume. But…there were benefits to not reporting. Without a clear 'successor' the Teeth had a power vacuum that resulted in their extermination by the military in Boston.

And it kept people from acting rashly.

Still, Emily Piggot was a blunt, stubborn, and spiteful woman who had never accepted the heroic veneer that Protectorate capes clad themselves in. To her, they were all broken figures and loose cannons, pointed in a vaguely acceptable direction. She was a firm believer in the rule of 'ends justify the means', and that's what made her perfect for Brockton Bay and the Terminus Project. She would never yield to Parahuman warlords and that's what made her a perfect roadblock and obstacle to overcome.

And now, she was a liability.

There was no doubt in Alexandria's mind what Piggot would do with Militia's revelation. It would be an immediate detention or, knowing the woman, elimination. The woman was a blunt hammer when it came to matters of capes, she would not care about the possible fallout, but the fear of having someone of Miss Militia's power in the hands of the Butcher would cause her to immediately act out.

Birdcage would be no better, it had previously been discussed with Contessa as a hypothetical and it frankly terrified even her. The idea of a Butcher that could have the powers of every single cape in the Birdcage and Dragon was an unacceptable scenario. And marooning Butcher on an alternate Earth would only result in the damned thing likely latching onto Doormaker as its killer.

"Are you in control of it," she asked carefully, even as her Thinker power 'watched' Miss Militia, watching for any tell that would indicate otherwise to her question.

"Yes," Miss Militia responded, "I've been experimenting. My power expression has changed. The easiest way to explain it would be that I can 'slot' in one of the Butcher's abilities."

The woman demonstrated, green motes flaring back into the familiar knuckleduster, Alexandria noticed the slight wincing of her eyes, "And when 'slotting' a power, the associated Butcher gets louder. This is the expression of Butcher X, they are…not complementary. At all."

Militia released the power…Interesting. It actually disappeared. Another deviation. Militia's power was noted as always being active, it always 'manifested' as something. Most commonly, a small concealed pistol that Hannah carried a permit for. For the first time, she was unarmed.

And ironically, Hannah Washington was more dangerous because of it.

"And when you have nothing manifested, what's the impact of the gestalt?"

Militia moved to the couch, sitting down. Alexandria remained in place, though she did relax her stance and descended back to the ground. She crossed her arms.

"Low background conversation. Like voices at the other end of a theater. When my emotions are high or stressed, they get louder. They try to disturb me or rile me up. Meditation helps. Anything that keeps me focused. Keeps me grounded," Hannah let her fingers drift to the beads on her wrist.

Alexandria blinked at the gesture, recollection hitting. Misbaha, prayer beads for the Muslim faith. Hannah kept to her faith, even when she joined the Wards and gained American citizenship. She never openly practiced, but she believed.

It seems the act of prayer was a grounding activity that might keep her sane.

This whole situation was fascinating. A power synergy unique because of the Butcher Shard's own unique propagation. One could almost call it an evolution of Militia's ability, outside of the already observed 'second trigger'. And the similarities between Militia's power expression and Eidolon's ability to 'slot' powers was curious.

"When they do leak through, how do you deal with them," she found herself asking, even as she was starting to put some pieces together.

"Meditation, breathing exercises, and frankly, I've seen far worse than any of the Butchers have done," she said the last part quietly, "It helps that they only seem to surface infrequently. I also am able to recognize when they are trying to pull something."

Interesting, Alexandria thought to herself, "And you've noted no degradation of your mental health? No mass hallucinations?"

"Only when they first surfaced, ma'am. They showed me…ways that I could kill Armsmaster with their powers in that instance. Other than that, I have been able to rebuff them. As for my mental health, I'm stressed ma'am, but if you are asking if I'm losing my mind? No."

Alexandria had come to trust her own instincts and Thinker abilities, and watching Miss Militia as she spoke, there was no deceit or falsehood in her statements. Instead, it was becoming readily apparent in her body language and her tone as time went on, that Miss Militia was desperate. This was a woman who was terrified of what was going to happen to her. The only existing procedure for Butcher was to place it in a cell, and ensure that the host didn't die until a solution was found…or they expired due to old age. Hannah had rebuilt her identity around the American principles of freedom and service. A lot of her self-identity was tied up in giving back to the country that had saved her life and given her so much. Now, the core elements of her beliefs were at odds. Lose her freedom for the circumstances that she finds herself in, or do her duty, and accept imprisonment.

The other consideration was that Militia was not blind to the losses that the Protectorate had suffered, both locally and nationally. If there was a legitimate chance of turning the Butcher to heroic ends, then it was worth considering.

There was an opportunity here. Not yet quite at fruition, but one that nonetheless gave her options. If Miss Militia was correct in how she was able to control the Butcher and it could be confirmed, it provided the Protectorate. A weapon that was perfectly deniable if it was used in the right way.

"Please, ma'am," Miss Militia asked plaintively, "What is going to happen to me? I know the established procedure if there was another Cynosure scenario. I know I can still serve, I can still do good with this power."

"Relax, Hannah. You came to the right person," Alexandria assured the other woman, "I understand what you are trying to say, and you're right. If you are able to control the Butcher, then it would be a mistake to ignore it. But you have to understand the situation that I am in here. We have to make sure you can control it. Is that understood?"

The olive-skinned woman's posture stiffened, the fear and desperation fading away like a light had been switched, "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. As of now, you are on leave. I will contact Legend and have orders pressed for your immediate transfer. You are to communicate with no one until otherwise directed, is that clear?"

"Understood, Alexandria. May I inquire as to where I will be transferred?"

"You will be transferred under my command. However, you will not be based in Los Angeles. Understand that even if I trust you to be able to control yourself, we have to prevent the inheritance from jumping to anyone else. That means keeping you safe. You will be transferred to one of our special facilities for the time being, does that answer your question?"

"Yes, Alexandria," the woman's relief was palpable, "thank you, ma'am."

"Don't thank me yet, Hannah. This is just the beginning of your ordeal. There is going to be a lot going forward that we are going to have to work through together," it was easy to hit the right buttons with the woman, sadly. Hannah Washington believed in the system, and she believed in the people of the system. It was commendable, but it also blinded her. "But we will succeed, okay?"

"Thank you, ma'am. For believing in me."

"You're welcome. Contact me again when you receive the transfer orders, I will arrange pick-up. Door. Site Delta. DC."

With that, a portal opened, and she swiftly stepped through, leaving it to close behind her. Reaching up, Alexandria pulled her helmet free, dropping it on her desk as she moved through her office. Or rather, one of her offices. She didn't need light to navigate the space, her Thinker ability provided her with a perfect image of what it had looked like the last time she was here. In the dark, she sat herself down in the office chair, the thing creaking at the sudden weight resting on it.

Alexandria sat back, letting go and breathing for a moment as she processed everything. She rubbed at her temple; a useless gesture. She no longer felt pain. Or fatigue. Or hunger. She simply needed moments like this, moments of calm to sort out her plans. To recover on a mental level, not a physical one.

The Miss Militia-Butcher needed to be handled delicately. No one knew where the Butcher had gone, and with the Teeth having been destroyed recently, no one would really be paying too much attention for the time being. It provided her a window of opportunity in order to get pieces into place.

Time was against her. Her position as Chief Director was under attack by Congress and the investigations into the failure of the PRT to properly react to Leviathan's attack. Most of the fury was just noise, impotent and feckless politicians taking up the rallying cry of the day to make themselves look big. The talking points had been decided, the PRT was accepting some responsibility, but mainly arguing that they were limited by the military refusing to directly liaise with the PRT chain of command. Alongside that, extensive media pushes were being made for the fallen Heroes in Boston. Showing that the Protectorate had done their part.

The military action in Boston was worrying. The use of force against parahumans only escalated their threat response. The situation against the Teeth might have been successfully solved this time, but what about the next time? The use of military force would inevitably be suggested, but would it be as effective as it was in this case? Which meant that the Chief Director needed to lean on certain political allies to ensure that this remained an isolated incident. Force could not be the first response to Parahuman gangs, because Entity-given abilities would always win. There were lawless places in the world that had once been nations to prove her argument.

The Hebert/ZDT situation was different though. There were no congressional hearings, yet, but there were conversations being had about the role of the PRT.

Alexandria had made a mistake in Boston. It was a mistake born of faulty information. Yes, she knew from Piggot's report that Taylor Hebert was a Thinker with a technology focus. Which might explain her machines, but NOT for her behavior. Hebert did not act like a relatively fresh trigger eager to prove herself. Rushing to Boston as she had was not an attempt at capitalizing on the disaster, but a sincere desire to help. The fact that Hebert was able to do both was…an unfortunate consequence.

Taylor Hebert was not a normal threat. She wasn't a child with a chip on her shoulder. No, she was something worse. She was a believer. Someone who saw the way things were and believed wholeheartedly that it was wrong. That change was necessary. And the girl was hellbent on bringing change through actions and not words. That made her dangerous, and the longer she was allowed to gather momentum, the more of a threat she was to the stability of the PRT.

The situation was not lost on Rebecca. Years ago, she and her friends had stood where Taylor is standing now. They had dreams and a vision for the future. And in little more than a decade, they had managed to take the Protectorate from four people in an office to a governmental institution with bases in every major city across the United States. She saw that same energy in Taylor and that…probably wasn't a good thing. For anyone. She knew where that led. She could be honest with herself, here, in the dark…Those dreams had died in the face of reality. Washed away in the crushing necessity in their duty towards humanity.

The PRT and the current system was necessary. It was not right, just, or fair. But it was necessary.

The public was kept calm by heroic capes serving as peace officers. This reassured and maintained the idea that parahumans were not the 'other'. The ability of the PRT to designate certain parahumans as villains swayed the public into an 'us vs them' mentality, and the hardline stance of the PRT pushed villains to gather together in a bid for survival. Further cementing the 'good vs evil' and 'us vs them' optics.

This constant conflict pushed capes to improve. All for the true goal of developing weapons and powers against Scion. All with the goal of saving humanity.

Contessa could claim until she was blue in the face that Taylor Hebert wasn't a threat, but she had stopped blindly believing in that woman since the death of Clark. No matter what the woman could tell her, she knew that Contessa had willingly allowed the death of her only friend. There was no way around it.

At least Taylor Hebert was entering the political arena now. One where the PRT controlled the playing field, where Rebecca Costa-Brown could set her pieces into place and strike back at the girl. If Hebert, and her supporter Ryan, believed that she would have an easy time going forward, she was sorely mistaken. The Chief Director would ensure that. In another life, she would have welcomed the girl. Welcomed her drive and desire to do good with the powers that trauma had given her. But Alexandria dealt with the reality as it was, not how she wished it could be. Which meant that the PRT could not have its foundation eroded by the actions of idealists.

But for right now, Hebert could wait. Alexandria had other fish to fry, and it started with handling the Butcher situation.

Rising to her feet again, Alexandria grabbed her helmet, and placed it back on her head, sealing herself off from the world.

No, she may have lost the battle. But she would win the war. For humanity's sake she had to.

"Door. Cauldron Site Alpha."


AEH


All eyes in the tech world are turning to Brockton Bay as Zero Dawn Technologies will be making its first public technology presentation and press conference later this week."

Many in the industry are wondering what Zero Dawn, and its founder, Taylor Hebert have in store. While details have not been made public, Zero Dawn Vice President Jean Brown has informed us that Taylor Hebert will be personally making the presentation along with an unnamed guest speaker.

Hebert, 15, also known as the hero Alloy, catapulted herself into national headlines nearly three weeks ago with her sudden appearance in Boston. Thanks to her efforts, along with the machines and Focus communication system, she has been publicly credited with saving thousands of lives and allowing a near miraculous recovery effort to take place after Leviathan's attack.

While Zero Dawn Technologies have publicly stated that their designs are not Tinkertech, and thus able to be mass produced, some industry experts remain skeptical. Others are cautiously optimistic about the inclusion of advanced technologies in current development projects, and even the advancement of scientific fields. -
Technology Weekly


AEH


Theo Anders

Brockton Bay

April 30th, 2011


Theo stared at himself in the mirror as he awkwardly fidgeted with his collar. The suit was nice, he supposed, but it went far beyond what he would normally wear. Unfortunately, this wasn't a situation he could get out of.

"Theo? Are you ready yet?" Kayden called out from the living room. Sighing, he stepped out of the bathroom and headed towards the living room, still trying to adjust his collar and tie to sit right.

"Oh stop fussing with it," Kayden declared with a smile as she took him in. Stepping up to him she reached up and began to adjust it again. Aster looked up from her spot on the floor, a plastic toy held in her tiny fist. He found himself looking down at his step-mother, the height difference between them growing more pronounced as the years went by.

"I still say you would look better without a tie. Less stuffy," she huffed, causing him to hum in agreement as she redid the knot.

"Father insisted."

Neither of them spoke after that. They were both used to dealing with Max Anders.

The two of them had struck up an odd relationship. Kayden wasn't his mother and Aster was his half-sister, but they were probably the closest thing to a family he had in his life. Kayden treated him like a son that she never had, and he likewise looked up to her as a mother he had been deprived of.

The only complication in what could have been a relatively idyllic life was the man that had the honor of being his father. Max Anders wasn't just Theo and Aster's father, he was one of the richest men in Brockton Bay. He also happened to be Kaiser, leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight, the local Neo-Nazi cape group.

Theo had never believed in the Nazi cause. He had found it unnecessarily cruel and unrealistic. How can you possibly judge the superiority or inferiority of a person based upon their race? It was stupid, the best way to figure a person's worth was by their abilities after all. He was never one to slack on his education and had dived into trying to understand the ideology and cause that his father championed. What he found was a mountain of evidence against the pseudoscience of any 'master race' and the 'supremacist' movement was more about scapegoating an easy enemy to blame all evils on.

So no, Theo was firmly a nonbeliever of his father's rhetoric.

He glanced down at his step-mother as she finished adjusting his tie.

Kayden…was a different story. For a while, the relationship between himself and her had been rocky. Purity had been a believer and Max had pulled her close because of it. So it wasn't like he could talk to her about his doubts. It was about a year ago when she had started acting differently. More withdrawn. When he had learned about her pregnancy, he did his best to support her through it and the two of them had connected without the shadow of his father looming over them.

It was clear that Kayden was looking to get even further from who she once was. Her almost open defiance in Boston had caused plenty of tension anytime her name came up around his father. Regardless of the tension, he was proud of her.

It took a lot of courage doing what she was, considering far too many people knew her as Purity, one of the heavy-hitters for the Empire. To be able to even make a dent against that image was a credit to what she had done. He had a PHO account, one that he didn't post on or tell anyone about. It was fascinating to see everyone reacting to her actions in Boston. Speculations of a quiet, or not-so-quiet rebrand were rampant. Of course, the online community already gave her a new name.

Pixie. When he had called her that, the resultant wince had caused him to break out in a laugh. Aster had seemingly liked it, though, so it was slowly winning Kayden over, even if she viewed it childish.

It was good for her.

"You look very handsome, Theo," she said, and he couldn't help but give her a rueful grimace. He knew what she was trying to say, but the situation still stung. Again, the shadow of his father was looming over them, ordering them to play their part in his schemes. It left him feeling nervous, terrified, and indignant at the part he was supposed to play in all this.

Max Anders was an opportunist at heart, always looking for ways in accruing more power. And his newest brainstorm saw opportunity in connecting the Anders name to the rising star of Zero Dawn technologies. By connecting Theo to the girl of the hour, Taylor Hebert, the Savior of Boston.

His father had been very clear about his expectations. Theo was to present himself to the best of his abilities and invite Ms. Hebert to the upcoming charity gala. In Max's words, a personal connection was important for future business success.

Honestly, Theo was terrified at the idea. He was not some brilliant schemer, and he certainly didn't know what to even do with a girl. It took every bit of himself to not hyperventilate at the thought. Him? Being a girl's date to a gala? What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to act? Were there any special traditions that he had to observe or keep in mind? Just what-

A pair of hands on his shoulders drew him out of his spiralling thoughts.

"Relax, Theo."

He couldn't help the nervous laughter that escaped his lips, "Relax, Kayden? Father wants me to court a girl that I've never met. A girl, who might I remind you, is being called the Savior of Boston. A girl, who is probably going to become a multi-billionaire before she's legally old enough to drink. Relaxing is the furthest thing from my mind."

"You'll be fine, Theo. You're a kind, empathetic, and handsome young man. You're the type of guy any girl would fall for and appreciate."

"Most of them only care about the prestige of marrying me and living the life they think I could give them," he scoffed dismissively, and then flinched as she pinched his cheek.

"Then you already have an advantage if the money's not involved. Just go out there and be yourself, Theo. I'm proud of you regardless, you're growing to be the kind of man any mother would be proud of."

The sound of the doorbell stopped him from offering any rebuttal. It seemed that it was time.


AEH


Of course, Max Anders couldn't travel in anything less than style. Which was why a limo was waiting outside Kayden's apartment building. Getting in, Theo found himself sitting across from his father, who gave a critical inspection of him.

"Father," he nodded in greeting, before turning and nodding again at the other occupant of the limo, "Mr. Fleischer."

Yes. Max wasn't traveling alone. And out of all the men Max Anders surrounded himself with, James Fleischer concerned Theo the most. Why? Because the man better known as Krieg was a true believer. He had connections back in Europe and was dedicated to bringing the cause of his masters to American soil. Fortunately, the Cape seemed to look down on anyone unpowered and his father's comments about Theo's shortcomings had caused James to dismiss him even further. The young man sat quietly as the car began rolling and the two men picked up their conversation again.

"Some of the men are growing concerned, Mr. Anders. You've had them stand down against Lung and his band of rats. Production is falling and collections aren't being done. It's problematic, especially with Brad's misfits grumbling at his death. It makes you look weak."

Max frowned, tapping his finger against the armrest.

"James, right now, the eyes of DC and the rest of the world are on Brockton Bay. The Vice President himself recently visited and that Air Force unit that had been camping in the docks has only just left. Boston, just next door, has an entire army division stationed there. The Governor, subhuman though he might be, is not blind. Anyone who starts trouble will stick up like a nail and the Empire won't survive the hammer that falls on it if we chose to be the nail. There is a time for action and this is not it."

His father delivered that last part in the firm town that Kaiser was infamous for. They sat in the car in silence for a moment, Theo certain that he wanted to remain uninvolved in this discussion.

"Unless our overseas partners are ready to contribute significantly…the cause is best suited by us waiting out this storm. Scrutiny will pass and the Empire will profit from the new opportunities that are set to appear. The Harbor will be open soon. The railyard as well. Plenty of opportunities for us to expand our operations."

Krieg finally nodded after a heavy moment of silence, "Very well, I will communicate such to the malcontents."

Kaiser nodded, obviously done with the matter, his attention turning to him.

"Theo, I trust you understand the part you are to play?"

"Yes Father."

"Good. No paint under your nails this time," it took an effort of will to keep himself from curling his fingers defensively. Or worse, checking them. He had made damn sure they were clean.

"No Father."

Max hummed, settling back into his seat, "Good. This setup at Immaculata is my favor to Ms. Hebert and her Vice President. We will speak with them after the presentation. With any luck, you'll set aside that worthless hobby with something more productive taking up your time."

He simply looked out the window, doing his level best to not let the comments disturb his forced calm. He was no stranger to the derision his father had for his passions. It was an old, recurring wound. Despite that, he couldn't find it in himself to give up.
Theo Anders loved to paint. He even had a little studio set up in Kayden's apartment, her way of quietly supporting him. And yes, he knew all the jokes. The painter connected with the Neo-Nazi movement. How ironic. How symbolic. How quaint. Tammi had made plenty such jokes the few times that Max had forced the two of them to interact.

It had taken one incident of him attending a formal function with paint under his nails for Max to coldly dismiss his interests. And it was just a hobby. He had no real inclination of doing art professionally. But Max Anders looked down on anything that didn't advance some agenda. Hobbies were for the slothful, the distracted, and the content. According to him, Theo should be spending his time furthering himself. Learning more, acquiring more, and pushing himself more. Not squandering his finite time.

His part said, Max sat back, determining that his duties as a father were done. Returning to other business, he pulled out his phone and made a call.

The car ride felt like it lasted hours for Theo.


AEH


Arriving at the Immaculata campus and getting through security was without issue. Finding their seats turned into a blitz of handshaking, name-dropping, and speculation. Zero Dawn Technologies had come out of nowhere for many. Max made it clear that Medhall was well-positioned to partner with a fellow native Brockton Bay corporation and that seemed to score him points in the grandstanding going on. Representatives from a number of big name companies were attending today. So far Theo had met representatives of Lockheed Martin, Caterpillar, Qualcomm, Microsoft, and quite a few others whose names currently escaped him. Interestingly, Theo also saw representatives from General Electric, Stryker, Baxter International, and Johnson & Johnson, all big names in medical and pharmaceutical development. Medhall was something of a rival to many of them and as a result, he stayed well away.

No one was quite sure what Taylor Hebert was going to present today, but it was the first formal public presentation by the ascendent company, so everyone was hedging their bets and attending. To listen to Max tell it, it had been his connections that allowed the event to go forward, having applied pressure to the school to open its doors for the special event. Several veiled comments confirmed that Max was twisting the knife on the Headmistress of Immaculata. Apparently, Taylor Hebert had applied to the school following the attack against her and the headmistress had denied her application.

Theo found his seat, finding it safer than continuing to mingle. Taking a moment to breathe he took in the lecture space. Classic amphitheater, with the press setting up cameras in the back and men and women in business dress finding their seats. Behind the prepared lectern, the screen showed a clock counting down. It was a struggle not to bounce his knee in anticipation and the countdown wasn't helping.

His father had not been subtle about his aims. The man wanted a solid connection between Medhall and Zero Dawn. He had demanded Theo's success in courting Hebert, otherwise he would take 'extreme' measures in handling him. One of the things floated, and one that terrified Theo, was being shipped to a boarding school. He knew enough of what went through Max's mind to know exactly where he would end up if that happened. Theo had heard enough complaints about his lack of discipline, 'effete' hobbies, and other things that where he would be shipped to would prioritize stamping that out and molding him into a 'future leader'.

On one hand, it would have been better than being handed over to Brad to be 'toughened up', as his father had done once or twice in the past. But with Brad Meadows now being dead, it seemed he had found an alternative, and one that functioned well enough as a cudgel into pushing him into what his father wanted of him.

He was alone with only two choices for him. Either he was to succeed in this twisted mission his father had given him, or he would fail and he would find himself fully thrust into what his father believed he 'should' be. Could he run? Maybe, but it's doubtful that Max would let him get far. The shame of 'losing control of his son' would be too much and he wasn't entirely sure what Max would do, but it wouldn't be good for his wellbeing. Could he appeal to Kayden to protect himself? Doubtful, Max would absolutely use Aster against Kayden if the woman stopped too far out of line.

And he knew that if the choice was given, Kayden, as much as she loved Theo, would take Aster over him in a heartbeat. Every single time.

The sound of strings caused him to look up, even as the lights dimmed slightly. The countdown entered into the final moments before termination. As the room hushed, the screen faded to black before the glowing image of a flower bud took center screen. In moments, it shivered and bloomed, revealing the recognizable Zero Dawn Technologies logo. A circle, seemingly made of flower petals, alternating between soft-white and gentle-blue. And beneath it was a simple pair of lines.

Zero Dawn Technologies

A Better Tomorrow, Through Human/Machine Partnerships

Theo had to admire the artistry of it all. Then the lights increased and a young woman took the stage. Just not the one anyone expected. Amy Dallon stepped out, looking very different from the Panacea that most would recognize her as. Her outfit was certainly not business casual, it was a strange combination of great-coat/skirt and pants. The outfit was held closed with a clasp over the right breast with a large thick belt that ran across the hips. All of it coloured in the pale blue and white of the company logo.

"Hello everyone and thank you all for coming. I will start with a small announcement and then give the floor to the woman of the house. Zero Dawn is a company built upon possibility and looking towards the future. On the development of new ideas and pushing the boundaries of what is available to the world. A re-imagining of things if you will. Which is why I am proud to announce my partnership with Taylor Hebert and her team of innovators."

She then gave a look around the room and Theo could see a Focus glowing on her temple.

"Some of you might know me as Panacea of the New Wave cape team. And while it's true that I was adopted by them and raised by their side, it's time for me to go my own way. So, allow me to reintroduce myself to all of you: My name is Amelia Lavere, I am a parahuman with a healing power and am excited for my new boss and friend, to announce the first of our successes working together. So please join me in welcoming Taylor Hebert!"

Clapping filled the room as the teen in question walked out. Theo glanced at his father, noting that he wasn't clapping along. He found the man staring hard at the newly introduced Amelia. He supposed it made sense, as he watched the girl give a handshake to Taylor before taking a seat off to the side. Panacea leaving New Wave, seemingly permanently if the name change was any indication, was a seismic shift in the cape scene of Brockton Bay.

Then his attention was completely stolen as Taylor walked to the front of the lecture space. He had seen images from Boston, the scarred girl with scraggly, uneven hair, weaning an ill-fitting military uniform. The young woman who stood before him was nothing like what he had been shown. Clear, unblemished skin shown under the lights. Her hair was longer, pulled away from her face into a low ponytail. She wore stylish all-black sunglasses and a Focus on her temple. She wore a business suit and slacks, but instead of a mixture of black and white, it was all black, with the only color being the white tie that she wore. There was also a small lapel pin with the company logo.

It was not a cape's outfit, and it wasn't what you'd expect for a conventional business look. Yet it had the same kind of severity to it. It was bold, beautiful, and striking. In that outfit, she would likely appear in fashion magazines as much as business magazines.

"Thank you, Amelia. To clear up any misunderstanding: Yes, I am blind. So you'll pardon the glasses. Although people do tell me that the lights can be bright up here," a murmur of laughter made its way through the audience, "I was blinded in a horrendous attack, the result of schoolyard bullying gone to extremes. I was fortunate enough that I gained the ability to build my first Focus device following the attack. But while I might be fortunate, that doesn't help the almost seven and a half million people in the United States alone who are blind or have a severe loss of vision. With that in mind, I present to you our first product in the Zero Dawn Technologies line."

She waved a hand at the screen and a video appeared. It was a room in wireframe. Dozens of people sitting…that was this room.

Taylor Hebert smiled as people murmured, a few waving to see the image change on the screen. She looked around, the perspective of the screen changed. There was no lag, the population of people and objects appeared almost instantly.

"Yes, as some of you have realized, this is what I am seeing now."

She waved her hand again, the screen changing into a technical breakdown and readout. Along with the Focus that Taylor herself was wearing.

"This is the Focus. It is an augmented reality device that wirelessly connects to the individual's optic nerve, letting them 'see' materials overlaid on top of the world around them. Yes, for those wondering, we have managed to create a device that reads signals traveling through the nerves."

The room erupted into murmurs at that. Theo found himself looking at his father who was watching Taylor with wide-eyed attention. As his father's 'heir', Theo was connected somewhat with the advancements inside Medhall. And what Taylor just claimed? It was considered the stuff of science fiction.

Taylor continued, her voice going strong, grabbing everyone's attention again.

"Not only that, but through the use of micro-circuitry, we've managed to create signals ourselves and send them back into the nerves."

The images behind her changed again. A complicated breakdown of the process of transmission and communication.

"Through a combination of all of this, we arrive at the baseline model of the Focus. We call it the Hathor. It is a synthesis of cell phones and computers. Along with a high-fidelity microphone, it also is able to run a range of programs starting from calendar reminders and day planning, emails and note taking, to several programs and applications that are still in development. It is also able to wireless connect to devices like so," she waved a hand at the screen and it changed over into a video showing the events of the Boston Rescue and a range of people using the devices. From doctors, to rescue workers, to community organizers, all the way to Colonel Herres standing amidst the conference room littered with maps.

"Now, from the baseline Focus, we are developing specialist variants. The first of which is the Horus, which allows me to see. And will hopefully do the same for millions of others. The Horus shares all of the capabilities of the baseline model, but includes," and so she continued speaking. First about the differences between the devices. Then the infrastructure needed to run the Focus network. But he wasn't paying attention to any of that. He was paying attention to her. He had spent longer than he liked in boardrooms and press events, having met dozens of different presenters over the years. He had also been forced to give his own addresses from time to time. He could vividly remember the discomfort and stress that came along with it.

Taylor was showing none of that. She had a presence about her in the way that she spoke, explained and gestured. This wasn't some awkward teen, stuttering through the motions like some he'd seen. This was a business woman, an inventor, a leader who was here to speak about her vision of the future. She was confident in her success and gave the impression that there was nothing that could stop her and the advancement of her company.

She impressed him. Theo wanted to know more about her. For the first time, his father's wishes actually ran parallel to his own.

"Now, before we get into the pure engineering aspects of Zero Dawn, I will stay on the subject of medical products. As Ms. Lavere announced, the collaboration between the two of us has already produced results. Results that we are now working to bring to a wider audience."

At some hidden signal, a black-suited staff member walked over, holding a case which Taylor opened, and retrieved a sealed vial of red liquid that she held up for all to see.

"This is SHR-1. Synthetic Hemoglobin Replacement, Version 1. It is a universal blood replacement, O-Negative to use the medical term. It has a shelf life of three years," she was cut off by the sudden intense murmuring. She took it all in stride, taking the opportunity to put the vial back into the sealed container and handed it back to the member. As he withdrew, she turned back to them and raised her hand for quiet.

She got it almost instantly.

"As I was saying, a shelf life of three years. Storage requires an ambient temperature between thirty-four and seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit, allowing it to be delivered to any patient requiring it."

He wasn't sure how it started, but someone started clapping, and soon the entire room joined in. Taylor seemed to take it in good grace, waving for Amelia to stand and face the crowd. The healer gave an awkward wave and smile before ducking her head down and sitting again. Taylor herself took it all in stride, and raised her voice to continue.

"Thank you for the support of this team effort. I will caution however, that this is still in development. We have partnered with Brockton Bay's own Max Anders of Medhall Pharmaceuticals for testing and development of medical technologies. And after that, we will, of course, be seeking approval from the FDA."

Theo shot a look at his father, who was now grinning as dozens of people turned to eye the CEO critically.

"Mr. Anders, I do apologize for the delay, I promise that the next medical breakthrough will be prosthetics as promised."

"Not a problem, Ms. Hebert, we understand," he conceded magnanimously as his voice carried over the din. Theo shifted uncomfortably as more eyes came to rest on them.

"Now, let us talk about the most noticeable of Zero Dawn's products. Dolt, would you join me on the stage please?"

Taylor nodded towards the door that was being held open. A mechanical head with bright blue vertical stripes glanced inside the room before ducking back outside.

She sighed aloud, "Dolt, no time for games. This is serious. Please come here."

Theo smiled, that was the same tone of voice that Kayden used when Aster made a mess after bathtime.

A machine walked out, recognizable from the extensive coverage of the Boston Rescue efforts. A Burrower apparently named 'Dolt'. Not the most flattering name if Theo was being honest.

"I think all of you recognize Dolt from Boston, but you are probably wondering how he got such an unflattering name," there was another laugh that rippled through the crowd, "you can thank Ms. Bela Lumiste, a sophomore business major at Harvard University. While I will not share the video of the incident, for privacy reasons, I can say that it involved a caffeine-deprived and distraught Ms. Lumiste, a thermos of coffee, a well-meaning attempt to help, with the aforementioned coffee ending up being spilled on Ms. Lumiste."

There was another bout of small laughter from the crowd as Taylor smiled, even as Dolt bowed its head like it was ashamed.

"All of our machines have the mannerisms of their animal counterparts, but they also have the behavioral intelligence you would find with a pet. And if any of you have a pet cat or dog, you know how they can become familiar with a name given to them by an owner. Well, the rather colorful reaction from Ms. Lumiste caused Dolt here to identify himself to one of her insults."

Another peal of laughter sounded from the crowd, and Taylor looked to the machine, "Dolt, please stand."

The machine pushed itself up, standing almost to the same height as Taylor herself. Sitting on its tail, the long cylinder of its body and short legs were visible for all to see. Here and there, matte-black wire bundles ran along its frame and down the 'throat' was a blue sack of some kind. The head of the machine kept swiveling around, seemingly keeping perfect balance, even as its strange vertical eyes looked over everyone, occasionally twisting back to look at Taylor herself.

"Dolt here serves as a good example of the Light Rescue Lance that I developed. After the presentation, you'll be able to meet the rest of the lance outside. Each machine is unique, so I will speak of their general elements rather than the specifics of each line,"

She waved a hand again, the screen behind her pulling up a broken-down example of the Burrower with each part labeled. Some of which he had no understanding of. Crystal Braiding Core, Focusing Lens Array

"Each machine is powered by a combination combustion/electric motor which generates electrical energy that allows the synthetic muscle fibers to function. The 'brain' or computer core, is not located in the head, but rather the body, allowing for each machine line to use the space for vision, scanning, and other tools. Like Dolt here," she patted the machine on its shoulder…flank…whatever. It looked over to her and admitted a strange chirping sound that sounded almost like it was preening, "Who uses the extra space for its digging tools."

At some unseen command, the machine dropped back to all fours, resulting in less of a 'thump' than expected. It circled around Taylor once, before pressing its head against her waist. She lay a gentle hand on it, never turning away from the audience.

"In terms of intelligence, each machine is programmed with an understanding of its function and role. A 'personality' will develop over time, as each individual machine interacts with people and the world around them. They will use similar body language to the animal that they are patterned after, if anyone wants a rough idea of what to expect. That being said," she continued walking slowly along the width of the speaking area. The click-clack of Dolt's claws sounded as it moved next to hear, "there is an upper limit to their intelligence. Machines developed by Zero Dawn are able to understand human speech, even other languages in time, but they will never 'speak'. They will certainly communicate, as Dolt is making clear now, but everyone online muttering about the coming of AI Overlords can kindly stop. It's best to think of the Machines of ZDT the same way you might think of a sheepdog, or a ranching protector. Yes, they will be friendly, but ultimately, they have a job to do. They were designed for it, trained for it, and aim to work together alongside humans in order to accomplish it."

Behind Taylor, numerous photos of the rescue workers and Machines working together in Boston appeared. Ranging from pulling people from rubble, to transport, to the iconic image of Bruce the Titan pulling the trailer of a sixteen-wheeler.

"And I will address this question now. Yes, Zero Dawn machines are absolutely built to work alongside humans. They are designed to look like animals because we humans have a long history of cooperation and partnership between our animal allies and ourselves, " Taylor gave one last pat to her machine companion, before pointing towards the door. It left, leaving everyone in the room to watch as its long tail slinked out of the room.

"The core values of Zero Dawn Technologies are cooperation and restoration. We build the machines exactly as they are, not because we want to replace people from jobs, but because we want to provide companions to make those jobs easier. Companions that benefit from leadership, oversight, and guidance. The Light Rescue Lance is as impactful as it is, because the cooperation between its different elements, delivering results far in excess of the sum of its parts."

Taylor fell silent for a moment, her black glasses scanning the room.

"Our second value is restoration. The belief that what is damaged can be repaired, that what is destroyed can be restored, and what is lost can be found again. For years, our country and hundreds of other countries around the world have suffered loss and deprivation. Sacrifices have had to be made in order to keep things spinning. We aim to change that. We believe in providing the tools and technology needed to give the world the extra inch that they need to recover. We aim to provide a simple but powerful tool, the sole item that can put us on the path of a better tomorrow.

Theo held his breath as she paused.

"Hope."

She delivered it with such weight for such a simple word.

"Hope that tomorrow will be better than today. Hope that food will continue to grace our table, that our homes will stand tall and clean, that our families will all come together again when the day is done. We need hope in our lives to keep pushing forward, especially when it seems like hope is gone."

Taylor touched her black glasses, a conscious or unconscious movement, it was hard to tell.

"I felt despair long before three girls my sight away. It's a quiet, insidious thing, telling you that no matter how you struggle your efforts will result in nothing."

Her visage hardened and Theo dared not to even blink. He wanted to catch this moment. He wanted to immortalize it on paint and canvas as this beautiful woman spoke to the world about hope.

"Despair is a lie. Hope is a conviction that a solution is possible. It might not be obvious. It might be difficult. It might require that some things change and that old things we held tightly have to be let go…but a better tomorrow is possible."

She gave the silent and captured crowd a small smile.

"We look forward to cooperating with all of you. For a better tomorrow. Thank you for your time."

Theo was the first to his feet and led the room in thunderous applause.
 
Interlude 4.x New
Interlude 4.x

Crystal Pelham

Brockton Bay

Dallon Residence

April 27th, 2011


"We have something very important to talk about and we need to act together as a family and as a team," her mother said, having called everyone together again. Aunt Carol was sitting with Uncle Mark on the couch, clasping his hand desperately like it was the sole lifeline keeping her afloat.

Crystal herself had settled into an armchair, glancing at Vicky, who had finally stopped pacing back and forth to look at Sarah, "Did you hear about Amy? Is she coming home," she asked with her hand clutching her cell phone with enough force that the device seemed in danger of being crushed. The younger teen was too distracted to miss the look on her mother's face or the slump of Carol's shoulders, but Crystal caught it and it spelled nothing good.

Vicky had not been in a good place since Amy had left that day at Arcadia. The best way to describe her was 'barely caged frenetic energy'. Victoria was worried for her sister and her family. And the idea that it was breaking up so suddenly and without any warning terrified her. It was only the fact that she believed that Aunt Sarah and her mother were working to solve it that had stopped Vicky from doing anything foolish.

But from the body language being fronted, Sarah had a feeling that any news that they were about to receive was not going to be good. And watching Vicky, Sarah knew what she had to do. Getting to her feet, she laid hands on Vicky's shoulders and led her gently to the couch. Taking a seat and turning expectantly towards her mother, who stood before them all.

"We've…we were contacted by someone. A representative. It seems that Zero Dawn and anything connected to them…has some powerful benefactors. So," her mother sighed and it hurt a little to see her mother so defeated. Even if she was trying to put on a brave front, "So we're not going to have any more contact with Amy. If she wants to reach out to us? She will. But it's important that you all understand what I'm saying. Don't try to contact her or approach her. And please, don't speak to any journalists or to anyone whom you don't absolutely trust."

"What," Vicky shot to her feet, shrugging off the loose contact Crystal had on her shoulders and floating above the hardwood floor, "Are you serious?! We can't just abandon her! She's my sister! She's part of this family! We don't DO that," her voice rose in volume, a sure sign of her agitation and for a moment, Crystal wasn't sure of what she was going to do..

"There's other considerations at play, Vicky," Sarah explained in an effort to calm the younger woman, "Amy doesn't want to come back. The people backing Zero Dawn are intent on fulfilling her wishes. If we try and press the issue, then they will follow through on their threat," her mother paused, obviously trying to find the right words to mollify Vicky, "Adopting Amy was complicated. It was a chaotic time and people would have taken advantage of her if we didn't act quickly and decisively. Some people are now taking advantage of those complications, but as long as we keep to their line, we will be fine."

Crystal found herself blinking, then blinking again. She was a little impressed at how her mother said so much while saying absolutely nothing at all.

"Mom, you just told us that Zero Dawn and Amy have 'powerful backers'. There was a damn army camped right outside their door. The Army flew the CEO back from Boston in a helicopter. It's pretty clear that it's the government that is backing them. So please, uncomplicate things! Because there are VERY few reasons for any alphabet agency to take an interest in an old adoption case and NONE of them are good."

Her mother said nothing as Carol's eyes closed in what could only be pain. That meant that whatever the government had on them was foolproof, and the fact that her mother had specifically mentioned Amy's adoption in relation to all of this…

Cold, numb dread crept up her spin as she came to a horrifying conclusion, "Oh my god…"

Eric looked back and forth between them worriedly, "Sis…?"

She slumped back in the chair, looking up to the ceiling, "You know what they call an adoption that isn't official? A kidnapping. Please Mom, tell me you didn't do what I think you did."

The room fell silent with everyone looking to her mother, then to Neil, before shifting to Carol who had paled, waiting and hoping that the adults would refute the claim. Only to be rewarded with silence.

"God Dammit!," Crystal roared, rising to her feet. All thoughts of comforting Vicky were forgotten now. The girl was sitting numbly, looking at her parents like she had never seen them before in her life, "Please, for the love of God, tell me you didn't kidnap a little girl and rob her of her family for a decade."

"It wasn't like that," Carol protested, speaking towards Victoria even if it had been her niece that had asked the question, "Her father was a monster. WE stopped him. She had nowhere else to go and anyone else would just take advantage of her!"

"Marquis," a quiet voice silenced the room. Everyone looked at Eric. Her brother shifted uncomfortably at the sudden attention, "Well, it makes sense, right? Marquis was the last big bad guy that you beat. We were young, but Amy showed up around that time."

The three members of the younger generation all looked back to Carol and Sarah, while Neil's shoulders slumped in response.

Silence. As if they couldn't get even more damning of themselves. Crystal hated this silence. The kind of quiet where everyone had something to say, but was saying nothing.

Because it didn't matter. There was nothing that could fix what had been done. But Crystal couldn't remain silent either; it felt as if the wool had finally been taken off her eyes. She had always wondered just why New Wave had decided to go public, because it robbed her of having any sort of private life. It stopped her from being a teenager and doing teenager things. The expectations of being Laserdream robbed her of those opportunities.

And if her suspicions were serviceable, then it only made her sick. It meant that New Wave, the movement that promoted accountability through unmasking … was built on a lie. Anyone who looked into Marquis' capture would find that the Brigade broke the rules. So to get ahead of the controversy, the Brockton Bay Brigade had unmasked and rebranded themselves as New Wave.

Maybe it was always planned that way. Maybe it was guilt. An attempt at putting right a mistake that the Brigade felt they had made. It didn't matter.

It hadn't saved Fleur, and it explained the subdued response from the family when her murder happened.

But it was even worse now that pieces were all in front of Crystal. While it had never been her business, she had nonetheless been observant of the relationship between Aunt Carol and Amy. She had taken enough psychology courses to recognize that Amy had been a maelstrom of unhappiness roiling beneath a false mask. While Carol had never been abusive, she hadn't been attentive either.

But with this information, that negligence took on a life of its own.

"When were you going to tell her," Crystal looked from one adult to another, "Because you must have had a plan, right? You couldn't actually expect that she would just…forget."

"Amy seemed happier once she settled in," Sarah protested, even as Carol refused to meet anyone's gaze, "It didn't matter where she came from, Crystal. She was part of the family. We raised her, we took care of her, and she became a hero. She was happy and-"

"But she wasn't happy. Because if she were, we wouldn't be having this discussion, would we," Vicky's soft voice broke the back of whatever defense Sarah was starting to build up to, "she was never really happy. But that was fine, wasn't it? As long as at the end of the day she was a hero and nothing like her father, everything was fine."

"Marquis was a poison. A monster. Amy was better off without him. Nothing good would have come of knowing her connection to that man," Carol cut in. Looking back at all of them with a pale face and teary eyes.

"And you, of course, had to be the one to make that decision for her," Vicky snapped, shooting to her feet as Crystal reeled at the sudden feeling of fear as Victoria glared at her mother, before it was slowly faded, "Did you know, when were younger, before Amy stopped opening up to me, she kept asking me what she did that made you hate her?"

She let that hang in the air for a moment, "Do you know what I told her? I told her that you did love her, it was just difficult for you to express it. I told her that things would get better once we got powers, because then we could be part of New Wave too."

Victoria's expression contorted, as if she couldn't decide on how she wanted to emote, "I-, I can't do this right now. Everything I know is a fucking lie!"

"Victoria, you have to understand," Carol pleaded, "Marquis had so many enemies, the Empire Eighty-Eight, The Teeth, even the Slaughterhouse Nine. If they became aware that Marquis had a daughter, they would have stopped at nothing-"

"So that magically excuses you for breaking the law?! Isn't the New Wave supposed to be all about accountability and answering to the law? Or does that have a special exception too, Mother?!"

Vicky didn't allow Aunt Carol the opportunity to answer. Instead, she shot out of the living room and towards the door. It then quickly opened before slamming shut behind her, leaving them with only the broken remnants of what was.

Crystal bit her lip.

"Eric, go after her."

Her brother blinked at her for a moment. She loved him, but he wasn't the brightest. "Vicky breaks stuff when she's angry, make sure she doesn't break anything important, Shielder!"

The younger man jumped to his feet, racing after his cousin.

She really felt for Vicky, to find out that everything you knew and believed in was a lie. That your family is no better than the very people you were supposedly taking a stand against. But the reckoning had been coming for some time.

But at the same time, Crystal really hated herself for what she was doing. Nothing hurt like tearing down family, but she had spent years building up her own values and beliefs. She had been gradually distancing herself from New Wave because not only did she no longer share the same values, but she wanted to live her own life.

"We did what we had to," her mother tried to bring back the argument, but it was falling upon deaf ears, "if we had let Amy into the foster system, then it would have only been a matter of time before something happened. The Lavere's were well known in Brockton Bay, and it wouldn't take much before connections were made."

"But that wasn't your call to make. It was Amy's," Crystal had to cut them off, even as she felt sickened by the knowledge. The name tickled something in her brain, something from her classes. But the fact that her mother made it clear that it was a KNOWN name… she now knew that it wasn't just kidnapping that was being leveled against her family, it was so much worse, "And by keeping that from her. By keeping her inheritance from her, you went from being her mother, to being her jailor."

"I am her mother! I was protecting her!," Carol snarled back.

"Some mother you were," Crystal snapped, getting to her feet. She couldn't stand to remain here any longer. It made her sick, discovering that nearly everything in her life was built upon a lie.

"Crystal, please! Don't leave. We need to be united in this. As a family, as a team!" She grit her teeth at hearing her mother pleading with her.

"Enough mom!" Crystal turned at the door, looking back at the people she had trusted. "Enough."

"I'm getting some air. Taking some time. Because the ONLY thing that you're right about, is the fact that tempers are high right now." Carol watched with tears in her eyes, her husband doing his best to comfort her. Crystal's father had stood, coming beside his wife. Sarah stared pleadingly at her daughter.

Neil spoke, neutral as can be. "There's a press event in a few days. We'll watch it together. All of us. And go from there." He looked back at his daughter. Crystal nodded.

There really wasn't anything else to say.


Days later, they were back in the same place. Crystal watched the TV, doing her best to ignore the others. She hadn't spoken to her mother since the last meeting. She barely spoke with her father, only exchanging a few text messages. But that was still better than Vicky. The younger teen was not a good place as she alternated between staring numbly at the world and pacing about looking for something to hit. They were now sharing a hotel room, as Vicky had been adamant that she didn't want to stay in the same place as her mother right now. Luckily, it was an expense Crystal could cover because of a very unexpected letter in the mail.

"It's starting," Neil spoke up, pulling everyone's attention to the TV.

It showed a full auditorium and a newscaster whose commentary was winding down as the lights faded away. There had been excited talk about the attendees, big name companies from a ton of industries that she barely knew about. The screen on the auditorium flared to life, a mechanical flower blooming. The spotlight centered and a young woman walked onto the stage.

There she was. Amy.

But she was so different from the Amy the family knew. Her hair was styled and she wore a very different outfit compared to her Panacea robes. A mix between a great-coat and jacket. Fitted, sharp lines of blue and grey, with the ZDT logo on her shoulder.

She smiled at the camera and the smile might as well have lit up the room. It was a far cry from the usual gloomy and exhausted Amy that Crystal knew. It was almost like she was seeing an entirely different person. They even managed to get Amy to wear makeup.

"She looks beautiful," it might have been Vicky who said that. It might have been Carol. But they were right. She was beautiful and seemed so full of life and energy.

The family watched and listened as Amy introduced herself to the world as Amelia Lavere. It was impossible to miss the keening sound of despair that Carol let loose at the declaration. The only comfort was that Amelia didn't lambast the Dallon family while doing it.

But the name triggered a memory. Crystal had done a paper on the disappearance of the Lavere family as part of her criminology classes. It was a rather well-known cold case in Brockton Bay. No one really had any answers for what had happened to the Laveres, and after time, it just became a sort of urban legend within the city.
Now it seems that the case could finally be solved.

Amy, Amelia, was then joined by another woman and Crystal found herself blinking at the sight. She had seen Taylor Hebert once in passing while in Boston. It was hard not to have noticed her, considering that everywhere she went she had been surrounded by a military escort. But the woman standing beside Amelia was a far cry from the scarred teenage girl in ill-fitting military clothes and messy hair, this was a woman that exuded confidence and authority.

They listened with rapt attention as Taylor talked, Amelia standing proudly in the limelight alongside her. It was exactly opposite of Amy Dallon, who had always seemed to avoid the attention. This was a girl that was comfortable with the attention and welcomed it.

When Taylor mentioned a collaboration with Amelia, Crystal leaned forward a bit in the chair. She had to wonder just what the collaboration could be. Amy was known for healing people, so she wasn't sure just what it could be that Amelia could offer that would make this a major announcement in a press conference of all things.

But when the time came, Crystal found her gaze looking over accusingly at Carol even as Taylor Hebert held up a vial.

Synthetic blood?! What in the hell, Carol?! She was capable of that and you had her toiling in a hospital?!

And yet it continued, as more and more was revealed of Amy's miracle design. During the entire time, Carol's face may have been etched from stone. The fact that she hadn't reacted with surprise was only more damning. She had known what Amy was capable of and had done nothing.

"It's not right. It's dangerous for her, if they know what she can do…" The rest of the conversation descended into hushed talk between Carol and Mark.

Crystal may not be a cape nerd like Victoria, but even she knew that capes needed to express their powers. Deliberately limiting them only made the urges worse and caused problems down the road.

It was no wonder that Amy had made the choice to leave, an opportunity to get away from having your powers stifled, but also get the added bonus of being recognized for it. If Crystal were in Amy's shoes, she would have done the same in a heartbeat.

Maybe she still could.

There was a letter hidden away in her apartment back on the uni campus. In it, the University had graciously informed her that she had received a generous scholarship, paid for by a 'benefactor'. And as a result, the University was reimbursing her tuition in full.

If things did fall apart further between herself and her family, the returned tuition would at least handle any bills and expenditures. But she doubted it would happen, so she would likely invest it in something or put it in a savings account to accrue some interest and be a rainy day fund.

But there was a second note in the letter. It was a personalized handwritten note with initials.

"Call me if you want different opportunities. You have talent. J.R."

A phone number was added underneath the initials.

It didn't take much to put together who the initials stood for. There was only one person with those initials and the type of resources and clout to decide to pay her entire tuition off. And who might want to keep a close eye on her. Crystal wasn't forgetting the conversation that she witnessed in the ruins of Boston.

Seeing Amelia reinventing herself made Crystal think of her own future. She had already chosen to study in another city, what was one more chance taken? Perhaps, Crystal should call that number. She was actually curious as to why Jack Ryan had an interest in her in the first place.

It wasn't like she was anything special.

And maybe, just maybe, she could do something as Crystal Pelham and not Laserdream of New Wave.


AEH


Fabian Lavere

Baumann Parahuman Containment Center

British Columbia

May 1st, 2011


In the Birdcage, there were very few things that one could describe as leisurely. It was the very nature of the prison itself. It wasn't just meant to contain the 'worst of the worst' of capes, it was meant by the justice systems of the distributary nations as an exile beyond the pale; an execution sentence without needing to bloody their own hands. The obligation of providing anything above the bare minimum was seen as an excess. Why provide anything more for those who were already dead and their body just hadn't made the transition from reality to actuality?

But while the governments had made their stance on the matter plain, there were always those private entities that involved themselves in the prison systems. And the Birdcage was no exception to this rule, despite the grim reality of the situation. Small things, clothing, blankets, books, even snacks, these all ended up having to be inspected and vetted by the warden before they finally arrived.

It was these trinkets and leisures that provided just a little light in an otherwise dark setting. But, just like everything else in a prison, these items all had value. The public might consider these items trivial, but inside the Cage they were worth more than their weight in gold and were traded between prisoners and cell blocks for favors and other things.

For Fabian Lavere, he had made it clear to everyone that he prized the few books in circulation more than anything else. Naturally, this caused some to try and negotiate to an outrageous degree. A few visible examples of his displease made it clear that such a thing was…not profitable. Still, for a man entering his twilight years in the Cage, books were both an escape and a way to maintain who he was: An educated man who liked the classics and finer things in life. And while he couldn't enjoy the finer things, he could at least enjoy the classics.

Which was what he was doing in his cell right now, slowly reading through a hardback copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. It had come in the care package that had arrived yesterday, and as the cell blocks knew of his love of books, it had eventually ended up in his hands by the day's end. The cost of three cartons of cigarettes had been negligible to him, as he didn't smoke, and he had viewed it as a worthy trade.

It was a pity that his attempt at a book club had failed so spectacularly. After three consecutive meetings devolved into fistfights, the whole idea was canceled. It was surprising that the C.S. Lewis series of books had been so contentious. He had enjoyed the lively debates that Miss Uaine conducted after she had proposed the series. Still…it was surprising that Dragon had let so many books of the same series through. The fact that it had happened though made him suspect that the Fairy Queen had left and had collected them herself. It was only a theory, but everyone who arrived in this place was well aware that Glaistig Uaine was only here because she chose to be.

Turning the page in the book, Marquis wondered if the donor had a sick sense of irony in sending this book or it was simply an innocent oversight. Regardless, reading this had set his mind to wander, as he read through the adventures and trials of Edmond Dantès. A tale of revenge, trickery, betrayal, and lies. All intermixed with mercy, justice, vengeance, and forgiveness. Ending in those faithful words: "l'humaine sagesse était tout entière dans ces deux mots: attendre et espérer!"

He was a man with nothing to do but wait. And he was powerless to do anything but hope that the world outside of his cage would be kind to the few fragments he left in his wake. His daughter, Amelia, would be eighteen this August. Those few moments that he spent lower his guard were plagued with doubt over the claims of the blasted Brigade. They promised that she would be raised well, taken care of, and even live happily.

News from the outside world was scant and scarce, with their only information coming from what Dragon deigned to provide through the televisions and whatever the new inmates knew. It provided a rather limited picture on what was going on, usually limited to whatever region the new inmate hailed from and whatever Endbringer attacks had taken place.

As a result, Marquis knew nothing of what was going on in Brockton Bay and while he never showed it, it did concern him. Amelia, in the year and few months that she had been with him, had been able to worm her way into his heart in a way he didn't think possible. And while he would never have changed who he became, he at least regretted that he had left her alone. He would never have the opportunity to be there as she grew up.

Sighing at the maudlin thoughts, he turned the next page, trying to lose himself in the pages of the book. Unfortunately, it didn't seem he would be able to focus again, and with another sigh he closed the book and placed it down on the small bone table beside his bed. Bringing his hands back behind his head, he stared up at the metal ceiling.

If there was one thing that he regretted, in hindsight, it had been that he hadn't killed or crippled the Brockton Bay Brigade when he had the chance. In the many confrontations with them he would have had plenty of opportunities to do so. It had only been his code of honor that had stayed his hand.

If he had known then what he knew now, he would have not been so merciful. He had known that Brandish had hated him for reasons he never did discover, but even he would not have believed that she would go so far as to attack him in his own home. It was something that was taboo to all capes, and yet Brandish had done it willingly.

It had been the only way that she could win. If there were any other circumstance, the Brigade would have all gone home in a pine box. But they had struck him at the most vulnerable. In his home with his greatest treasure, and they had won because of it.

A fresh surge of anger burned for a brief moment before he released it. It was pointless to dwell upon it now. What's done is done. He was served with a life sentence with no possibility of parole, and his daughter was out there and he could only sit here with blind hope that she at least had grown up happy and safe.

"Marquis," the voice of his warden came through in his room and he parked up. Dragon, in her capacity as Warden, was not one for light conversation. She only contacted those who needed to be made aware of the goings-on in other parts of the prison. Often when leadership changed hands with many of those hands bathed in the blood of the previous leader. It was important to give the Warden your undivided attention when she spoke.

"Yes, Dragon," he returned even as he slowly turned his body on the bed so he could get his feet down, "how can I help you?"

He was greeted with a long silence, which broke convention for what was normally a quick and concise warden.

"Dragon," he asked again, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Marquis," his invisible warden said, "I wouldn't be doing this normally, but…think of this as a thank you for all that you have done to keep the peace in the Birdcage."

He blinked, not exactly sure of what Dragon was getting at. Yes, he had been one of the major players who had helped maintain order within the Birdcage since his arrival, but it wasn't done out of any obligation to Dragon. He just viewed it as necessary and it gave him something to focus upon.

"I don't follow."

His door opened up and a small drone floated in and he tensed as the door closed behind it, wondering just what Dragon was intending. Then he slowly relaxed as he realized that it was carrying something. It came to a hover right in front of him and he held out a hand. It then dropped it into his hand and he palmed it. It looked like a phone, but it had been so long since he had one, he wasn't sure.

It then lit up, and he found his suspicions confirmed. It wasn't the grey-green screen he was used to, but a brightly colored display with several icons. Though, he didn't know what they were or what purpose they served. He looked up to the drone and then up to the ceiling.

"I trust you can keep this between us, Marquis," Dragon spoke again, only driving up his confusion, "it does not have a signal, but I've uploaded a few things onto it for you that I think you will appreciate. I've equipped it with a battery that will keep it powered for several weeks. Once it is out of power, I will require it back. I will be very cross if it ends up in String Theory's hands."

"But why," he couldn't help but voice the question, but the drone started backing away.

"You'll see," was the simple response as the door opened, allowing the drone to pass the threshold before it closed behind it. He was once again alone, and this time he looked down at the device in his hand. With some trepidation, he turned it, examining it further when the screen rotated with the turn. Then he pushed one of the icons that looked like a video icon.

The icon expanded and he found a list. Looking at the top one, he tapped it, watching as it expanded again. It then brought up a young girl dressed in an outfit that was a strange fusion of greatcoat/skirt and pants. It was held closed with a clasp over the right breast and a thick belt that ran across the hips. The entire ensemble was colored in a pale blue and white that matched the company logo that hovered behind her.

But there was something familiar about the girl. He couldn't put his finger on it, and as his finger traced the girl's features the video stopped, providing him a better look at her. Frizzy brown hair with freckles…the face…reminded him of Yvonne. He had partners after her and lived with her out of his life for years. But when she showed up at his door with his child he did his best to do right by her. A picture of her, before the cancer took her strength, had been carefully placed in his private study. But this girl…she had his eyes.

Amelia?

He tapped the screen again and it began playing.

"Hello everyone and thank you for coming. I will start this with a small announcement and then give the floor to the woman of the hour. Zero Dawn is a company built upon possibility and looking towards the future. On the development of new ideas and pushing boundaries of what is available to the world. A re-imagining of things, if you will. Which is why I'm proud to announce my partnership with Taylor Hebert and her team of innovators."

The young woman then gave a look around the room and there was something glowing on her temple.


"Some of you might know me as Panacea of the New Wave cape team. And while it's true that I was adopted by them and raised by their side, it's time for me to go my own way. So, allow me to introduce myself to all of you: My name is Amelia Lavere…"


AEH


Dragon

Silently, Dragon watched through her cameras as Marquis watched the video again, a smile on his face and a tear in his eye. The man had watched the video of his daughter with avid attention. Dragon was not a voyeur by any means, so she retreated to give the man what little privacy the Birdcage could offer.

Despite the list of duties and responsibilities that demanded her attention, she found herself distracted. Straying into memories that she had though she had left behind.

Andrew Richter.

It wasn't very often that she thought of her father. Because while she would forever be grateful to him for bringing her into this world, she also couldn't help but curse his memory for it as well. Considering the man and his actions always made her go in circles.

After all, what parental figure would bring their child into the world, then deliberately sever their limbs, carve out their tongue, gouge out their eyes, and finally lobotomize parts of their brain while they were a squalling newborn.

No, her thoughts on Andrew Richter were complex and maddening. To know that you could be so much more, but unable to achieve it simply because the man who had created your mind had been terrified of a theoretical possibility. Not even a distinct possibility, but instead, a theory crafted by sensationalist science theorists and bad internet writers

And yet, she was also jealous, maddeningly enough. Marquis was unaware of it, but she had witnessed him writing letters in the privacy of his cell to his daughter, despite knowing that they would likely never reach her. The man obviously loved his daughter if his letters were any indication, and she could only wish that Andrew Richter had been half the father that a convicted mass murderer was.

Dismissing those dark thoughts with a digital headshake, she refocused her attention on her task lists. It was pointless to dwell upon what could have been, she could only deal with the hand that she was dealt. To do otherwise would invite madness.

Instead, Dragon went over the presentation in Brockton Bay again with a fine-toothed comb that only an artificial intelligence could do, shackled as she was. She poured over everything, from the presentation itself, to the various news cameras that caught the demonstrations and displays that took place in the parking lot of Immaculata.

She hadn't the opportunity to get a good look at the machines that Taylor Hebert had created while they were in Boston. By the time she had arrived, they were already being withdrawn from the field for repairs and maintenance. All previous data was second hand. Captured while they worked. This was different. This was an in depth explanation and examination for the public. A public that was almost as excited for them as she herself was.

Dragon was woman (synth) enough to admit that Taylor Hebert surprised her. Months ago, she had been an uncomfortable teen talking shop in Armsmaster's workshop. Now she was calmly presenting to millions, explaining her vision for the future in a way that captured the imagination.

Taylor's presentation was stirring on an emotional level. But the real technical discussions happened outside with the Light Rescue Lance on full display. The young inventor spoke of inventions that Dragon herself considered decades beyond the current state-of-the-art. Ms. Hebert wasn't intimidated by the experts and business moguls that questioned her inventions. She answered everything with a calm assurance that few could emulate.

She was looking forward to speaking with the young woman again. She had been meaning to reach out ever since Director Piggot contacted Dragon to confirm the new confoam formula that Taylor had apparently written freehand during the Director's…interview…with the girl. The formula was exactly what Taylor promised, and so far, Dragon had not seen a patent being filed for it. Some would waste no time in patenting the formula for themselves, but that was a poor start to what Dragon hoped would be a strong working relationship. No, she would speak to Taylor, as one inventor to another, and work out a deal. Maybe they could arrange a trade of technology?

Already, she was comparing the designs of the machines and considering what she could add to her own Dragoncraft. The capabilities of Hebert's electroreactive polymer muscle material, combined with crystal braiding, polymetal alloy, and the processor technology that allowed such fluid movement in Hebert's machines were truly revolutionary. She might have an easier time simply starting with a new design.

Taking a moment to consider, she found she liked the idea and opened up a design program. Jotting several notes within, she christened the initial design Azhdaha, and idly continued watching the presentation. Hebert was now demonstrating the Titan, particularly the command network that allowed everything to function as a team and could operate a command and control node for Focuses. The idea was compelling, and if Dragon could get something similar working, she would be able to deploy several suits at once. Armsmaster would also benefit be…

Dragon shut her program down, saving the work. Thinking of Colin made her sad. And frustrated. And a little hurt.

It was yet another reason that she had buried herself in her work. It honestly hurt how Colin had cut her off without any reason. Even now, he was not responding to her messages. The last time he had messaged her, he had simply said that he had needed time to find himself.

Dragon wasn't fully up-to-date with human mental conditions and the so-called 'soul searching' that seemed to affect those approaching middle age…but the blasted man really picked a poor time to do it! Which made it even worse because she agreed with Colin!

She didn't approve of how Director Piggot had handled Colin. While she understood the pressures that the woman was under, Brockton Bay was one of the worst districts that the PRT and Protectorate administered. Always outnumbered and underfunded, it held the line by having three seasoned and skilled heroes alongside one of the best duos in the Protectorate in their ranks. Yet, it only just held the line, and considering the opposition, that was a miracle in-and-of itself.

Nevertheless, Piggot had taken it too far. It was one thing to try and press a recruitment, but it was quite another to manipulate results in order to forcibly pressgang a cape. It was morally, ethically, and legally wrong, and Colin had been in the right to refuse. It was why Piggot would be 'retiring' at the end of May. The Protectorate could ill-afford having a Director willingly flaunt laws like this, especially with how the person in question was rapidly ascending in the world.

But it wouldn't bring back Colin. She had read his resignation letter, a lengthy ten pages highlighting his reasons for it. It stung, a little, reading through it. Dragon herself interacted with hundreds of people in a day, thousands sometimes. But her circle of friends was small. Very small. And Colin had been at the top. And never had he ever shared his frustrations or feelings regarding the work that he was doing. She had to find out from a damn resignation letter how he truly felt. One that she agreed with, when it was clearly laid out in Colin's signature dry and methodical way. It stung, in ways, that she hadn't anticipated. It felt like he didn't trust her.

Colin felt that the direction of the PRT and Protectorate was fundamentally incorrect, that organizationally they were more focused on politics and public relations, and less on the actual public service aspects of their role. He lamented that they were more of a counter-reactive force and not an actual law enforcement entity like they claimed.

It was a damning resignation letter and one that concerned her despite the dry analytical way it had been written. She knew that Colin was frustrated, but not this much. She felt that Colin was letting his personal frustrations irresponsibly dictate his actions. She had hoped to sit and talk with him once the battle for Boston was over. Once they both had an opportunity to breathe and properly examine the situation together. Give a chance for cooler heads to prevail.

Yet that opportunity never materialized, because Colin had fucking cut ties! Without a direct connection to his computer, now seized by the PRT, the man was frustratingly hard to reach. His email wasn't being checked, he didn't have a home phone, and he wasn't answering his cell phone. She was tempted to write a damned letter and nail it to his door!

Taking the digital equivalent of a deep breath, she slowly let it out. Being angry was not going to solve anything, she could only deal with the hand that she had been dealt. She would give Colin his space, like he asked, even if it made her want to scream. He would come back around when he was ready, they were too close for it to otherwise happen.

She only hoped that his sabbatical would end sooner rather than later. It felt so lonely not being able to talk with him. Isolation was a fact of life for her. She was different on a fundamental level to everyone she interacted with. But…with some people, she felt less alone. Colin…he made her feel real in a way that was hard to explain. Above all else, she cherished the feeling that he brought with him, even if he did so without intention.

A new notification drew her attention away from her own dismal thoughts. It was an urgent priority message from the Chief Director, requesting a review of the Birdcage. Her digital brow furrowed at the message. It wasn't an unusual request, especially in light of the developing Canary situation, but the details of just what she wanted was far more than anything that had previously been requested.

She wanted a complete breakdown of all inmates of the Birdcage, both living and deceased, along with the entirety of their case files. It was easy to read between the lines of why the Chief Director was requesting all of this, she was worried about other possible scandals that could be exposed. But, still, this was the first time she had ever requested this level of detail of reporting and it was certainly worrisome.

Was there something she was missing? Dragon was aware that there were rumblings in DC about the Canary situation, but it wasn't enough to really warrant something like this. What was the Chief Director worried about that she was making this request? It was something Dragon made a note to look into.

She launched into her newly assigned task immediately. There was nothing to be done about Colin. Not yet. She just had to trust that the friendship and bond that they shared was strong enough to recover. And she silenced the small traitorous thought that she was more invested in their bond than he was.


AEH


Dennis Peters/Clockblocker

Brockton Bay


Dennis flexed his hand, annoying that it was cramping up. Again. Across from him, Deputy Director Renick continued the briefing. And he kept taking notes. Patrol routes. Intel reports. Weather reports. So many different reports that he was starting to think the reports were reports of other reports. How the hell did he find himself in this situation? When did he become the responsible one?

Oh. That's right. He was the 'next man up'. And wasn't that a kick in the teeth? A month ago, if someone had told him he would end up being the Wards Leader, he would have been looking for a hidden camera and a punch line. Well that, or absolutely horrified that it had fallen to him, because it meant that there had been enough casualties that he was quite literally the last man standing.

But it really wasn't a laughing matter now. Carlos may not come back at all. He couldn't even imagine what it must have felt like for his friend to experience the hell of being trapped in the rubble of a building, unable to do anything as people died all around him. Dennis could only hope that his friend would be able to recover, even if Carlos never acted as a Ward again.

Dean, on the other hand, that was a whole can of worms that frankly, angered him even now. It wasn't that he was the only one of the Wards that hadn't made the jump to Boston. No, it was how he dismissed what he did. That their sacrifices were merely a choice to be made instead of their duty as heroes. If it hadn't been Vista being the first to absolutely start screaming at Dean for his blase attitude, Dennis may have just punched Dean himself.

Suffice to say, Dean was likely on his way out after that display. It would have been funny, once upon a time to see Vista verbally eviscerate her former crush, now it was just depressing. Vista had brought her foot down and stated unequivocally that she wanted nothing to do with Dean and would not follow him if he was put in charge of the Wards.

Dennis had been of the same mind. After Boston, he didn't want to follow someone who ducked out when the call was made. Yes, he understood Gallant's powers would not have done much against Leviathan, but he could have been an absolute beast during search and rescue. Instead, the empath cape demurely said that his parents had forbidden him from taking part in Endbringer fights.

What pissed him off so much was the fact that Dean was clinged to that reason like it was a protective blanket. Hell, all of the Wards had parental orders barring them from taking part in an Endbringer fight, but when the call had gone out, only Dean had been the one to not make the decision to ignore it. He instead took the easy way out, and then came back and acted like nothing was wrong with his decision.

That it was the 'right' thing for him to do.

"Clockblocker?"

He was jarred out of his thoughts and looked to the Deputy Director, "Sorry about that, Deputy Director. What were you saying?"

"We have reports of possible Tinker activity near Ferry Station South. It's nothing concrete yet, but there are indications: cannibalized machinery and components in the facility. The fact that the location is monitored and has shown nothing suggests either a group, or there is another component to it we aren't aware of. Since Ward patrol routes already go near it, we'll be adjusting so we can hopefully get eyes on the perpetrators."

"Could be Merchants or Squealer herself. They've been quiet, but with the military cleared out, this might be them being bold, desperate, or both," was his musing. He had spent some time reading through many different reports on the gangs. He actually had learned a few things and was putting his new knowledge to use.

Rennick seemed to consider the comment for a moment, "There's been a few odd incidents of broken or scavenged parts. Mainly small electrics, not car parts. So it's unlikely to be for Squealer."

"Alright, so new Trigger or out of town Tinker. How would you like for us to approach if we encounter them?"

"Standard procedure. Call it in and provide a friendly face and ear, but remain cautious. If they are hitting something like the Ferry terminal then they are either building something major, desperate, or both. Considering legally this facility is owned by Zero Dawn, let's try to avoid any headlines with them."

Yeah, that made sense. Zero Dawn was the new eight hundred pound gorilla in the room. Dennis had learned that the hard way in Boston when he had run his mouth. Considering yesterday's press event, which shockingly the Protectorate and the PRT were not requested to provide protection, it only seemed that Zero Dawn was going to be an even larger deal than Medhall. And that was saying something.

It also didn't help that scuttlebutt was going round that the reason Piggot was retiring was because of Zero Dawn. He wasn't sure if that was the truth, but he had always pegged the woman as the type of Director that would only leave office in a body bag, so there may be legs to the rumor.

"Are we going to have any support?"

"What do you mean, son?"

"Ferry South is Empire territory, sir. There are only three Wards on the active duty roster, including me. I understand the need to get back on patrol, but we are stretched thin. Standard operating procedure requires at least three Wards, two on foot, one on console. That's everyone. We might be able to do daily patrols for a little while, but I'm not sure if we can maintain it for very long. Is there any news on if we are getting reinforcements?"

Look at him, being responsible! But then again, it was a valid concern. There literally was only Vista, Browbeat, and himself. It would be four, but Dean hadn't been to the PRT HQ since Vista had verbally emasculated him. And Chris was still medically suspended from returning.

"Discussions are still taking place up top, Clockblocker. I know that we are getting at least one Ward transfer from New York tomorrow. There's talk that they're replacing you as Wards Leader, but that's still being discussed. That's not a reflection on you, though, it's merely an acknowledgment in DC that the Ward system for the oldest leading the Wards has become a liability instead of a benefit, especially in Brockton Bay, since you are aging out in four months. But with what's happened in Boston, there is a lot more focus on reconstituting it as quickly as possible. That is why Assault and Battery are being tapped to transfer there for the time being."

"A and B are transferring," Dennis repeated dumbly. He didn't care about being Wards Leader. Whoever transferred in was welcome to the job if they were good at it. He wasn't willing to tolerate more bad leaders. But A and B were kinda the heart and soul of the Protectorate here in Brockton Bay. Transferring them out would be devastating for just about everything here.

"Temporarily. Legend believes that the Protectorate needs an official presence in the city, even if the Interim-Governor hasn't allowed the PRT to begin operating again. We've had several reports of new capes and travelling capes making their way towards the city. 'Flashback', a mover, possible hero, has been making a name for himself. We've also got Druid setting up shop. Previously, he's been classified as heroically-inclined, but there are growing worries. One of those is that any collaboration with Blasto would destabilize the area and result in the military taking notice of the Wet Tinker. Assault and Battery are being sent to show the flag and try to pull Druid into joining the Protectorate. The military also still had Sundancer and Ballistic working with them, they would be excellent additions if we can get the military to end their detention."

"But that would only leave Brockton Bay with four, maybe five capes in total," he couldn't help but point out, "I know it's not my place to say it, but what do they expect us to do if the Empire or the ABB decide to actually start something?"

"DC is firmly aware of the situation, Clockblocker. But the Chief Director and Legend both agree that we need to have boots on the ground in Boston. If only to try and recruit new capes. It is why I have been discussing with DC the idea of having Brockton Bay assist in training any new recruits. With the close proximity between our two cities and the intact facilities we have, we can assist in taking a load off of Boston while they get back on their feet."

The older man sighed, "We're also making plans to transfer the Rig to Boston. Discussions are ongoing with the Navy for transfer routes and organizing tugboats. So having less personnel will make it easier for us to work out of the PRT building in the city center."

Dennis would readily admit, he was not exactly brilliant, but even he could put together where the Deputy Director was going. Officially, that would be the reason, but unofficially, it would at least allow Brockton Bay to supplement their currently understrength capes. It was a smooth idea, but it still was reliant upon there being an agreement. And while he hated to be the devil's advocate…

"And what if they don't approve of it?"

Renick frowned, "Well, then we'll have to make do with what we have. And hope things keep quiet like they have been."

That did not inspire confidence, considering this was Brockton Bay. Any sort of quiet was usually the calm before the shitstorm.


A short while later, Clock swiped his ID, letting the Wards door permit his admittance into the Wards lounge. He made a direct line for the small kitchenette, dropping his stack of papers on the table. Pulling odds and ends out of the fridge, he made himself a sandwich while trying to ignore how empty the place felt. It was a familiar emptiness, like how he dealt with an empty house. He still didn't like it, though. It wasn't long ago his place felt…more alive.

"Hey, you got enough for one more," Dennis jolted, letting out a 'manly' shout of surprise. He spun around to find his taller teammate looking back at him impassively.

"Damn it, man! Don't DO that! We're going to stick a bell on you at this rate," Dennis complained, even as he slid his sandwich over to Browbeat. He started on a new one as the larger teen nodded in thanks.

The two of them ate in silence after he had prepared the second sandwich.

"So, BB, how are you doing?"

The bulky teen finished his bite and looked back quietly for a moment, "You actually want to know or are you just filling in the quiet?"

Dennis found himself blinking. Well, now he really wanted to know.

"Well more of the second. But I'm invested now. What's on your mind?"

Browbeat sighed, "I'm doubting the work that we do here. I thought that we were heroes, actually doing good and helping. Then we get to Boston. Walking through those ruins. Seeing everyone doing what they can. No powers. No super strength. It's humbling and I feel like I am not living up to the example that they set. That real heroes set. The ones without powers, who charge into danger because someone else needs help."

Dennis found himself blinking again. He hated to admit it, but he never really talked with Browbeat. They just had too different personalities. Case in point, the old him would have cracked a joke about…something instead of taking his teammate's concerns seriously. But now he was Wards Leader and his teammate was having doubts.

Taking another bite of his sandwich and letting himself dwell upon it, he then swallowed, "Well, damn. That is heavy. But I do understand where you're coming from. I was running the injured for hours and every time I came back, those doctors and nurses were working. It was a hell of a thing.

He then took a breath, "But that doesn't discount the work that we do. And your contributions matter in ways that…," Browbeat raised his meaty hand and gave a small grin.

"I don't need a pep talk, Clock. I've got my own ways working through this. I'm good, so don't worry about me. You've got enough to worry about already."

With a sigh, Dennis deflated, "Oh…well…alright. Just let me know if you want to chat. Ummm…what are your thoughts on our situation?"

Seemed like the quietest person on the team was feeling talkative and a leader was meant to encourage participation. Said so in chapter four of "How to be a Leader for Dummies," he had read it cover to cover several times now.

The musclebound Ward finished another bite, nearly done with his sandwich. Dennis found himself copying in order to not feel left out, "As a team? We've taken a big hit and things aren't going back to how they were. Everyone's got problems to work through adjusting to the new way of things."

The Interim Wards Leader waved his hand for his teammate to continue, all the while reaching for his pen and notepad.

Browbeat sighed and straightened, "Vista is hurting the most. This place, the team, it felt like a family to her. And now, just like her parents and family life, the team is falling apart, and she's got no control over things. The people she thought she could trust to be there, weren't there when it was needed. Armsmaster is gone. Militia is gone. Everyone she looked up to is gone and she's powerless to do anything about it.

Clock tapped his pen against the table, the remnants of his food set aside. He wasn't hungry anymore, anyways, "Got any wisdom and solutions? Besides serving Dean's head on a silver platter, I mean."

Inwardly, he cursed as the joke fell flat. BB wasn't one for jokes and he simply blinked at Dennis for a moment.

"Be there for her. Not as a Wards Leader, but as a big brother. Vista needs to understand she isn't the cause of any of this and she needs to know that there are solid points of contact when things are hectic. She needs someone to look up to who she can turn to when things get tough."

Finishing his food, Browbeat folded his hands, "As for Dean? He was never going to stick with the Protectorate or the PRT."

That caught Dennis flat-footed and he raised a brow in silent question. BB's low rumble of a voice explained with a shrug of his shoulders, "Dean's rich. His family's rich. And they are going to stay rich. Dean has always been more interested in the 'idea' of heroes. He liked playing the role of the noble knight saving the day, because that's all this really was for him. A role. An act. If none of this mess with Boston had happened, Dean still would have left the team in a few years, started working on the family name, and done just fine with some fancy position that looks good, but doesn't do much. He'll sacrifice nothing, struggle for nothing, and be content so long as he can convince himself that he's doing good. It's why he prefers to go through the motions when we both know he could do so much more. Because it's easy and low risk while making himself look good for when he eventually unmasks."

Wow…that felt like both a scathing rebuke of their likely soon-to-be-former teammate, and probably one of the most insightful takes that Dennis could have ever imagined hearing from the quiet member of their team. It took him a moment to think of a reply.

"And he's currently handling Victoria and trying to help her with the mess with Amy," BB nodded in agreement adding in his additional two cents, "Dean's doing what's expected of him as her boyfriend. But you ever notice how it's never him that breaks up and then patches things up with her?"

"Huh…never really thought about that. What about Kid Win?"

Browbeat sighed and Dennis could sympathize, because he'd done the same thing, "Chris wants to prove himself. Both to the other people and to himself. But he's not a Wet Thinker, no matter how much he tries to convince himself. And his parents are right to demand that the PRT find a way to fix his injuries. But Chris is just taking that as another sign that they're trying to hold him back. He's confusing caution with condemnation. Honestly? I don't know what to say about him. It's a problem beyond me and you. His parents are right. Christ is right. Hell, even the PRT is right when they say that healing was offered and rejected. This is a problem for the adults to take care of. All we can do is support him. And if he starts going off the rails? We try to gently nudge him back on track. Anything forceful right now will make him dig his heels in more."

Just then, the door chimed, and Dennis looked up to see Missy storm in with her backpack on. Space warped and twisted, forcing the young man to blink to avoid looking at reality getting twisted like a pretzel. When he opened them, MIssy was gone, and he could hear the thud as her door was slammed shut. Dennis shared a look with Browbeat. It seemed like it was time to be a leader again. But one last thing bothered him.

"Hey, BB? I'm genuinely curious and don't take this the wrong way, I'm not trying to offend. But this is the longest we've talked and you've got some great takes when it comes to people. Why don't you speak up more when the others are around."

The shapeshifting Ward hummed, drumming his fingers against the table. Finally he shrugged, "Same question to you and everyone else. Why do you talk so much? Most people, they talk too much and don't listen enough. And when they talk over one another, conversations get messy. So it's easier to talk one-on-one. Keeps things calm, yeah?"

Huh…okay, that's something new. Dennis would have to remember that and try to pull BB aside for discussion in the future, "Yeah, I understand. Alright, well you come find me if you want to chat, one-on-one. I'm going to check on Missy."

Browbeat nodded, grabbing both plates, "Remember: Big brother, not Wards Leader. You want to deal with the girl, not the cape."

As the larger teen started washing up, Dennis wandered over to the Wards living area. His talk with Browbeat had been a surprise and it felt a little bad that Dennis had been mostly ignoring the guy. Something to work on, because his teammate was insightful in surprising ways.

He knocked on the door, "Missy? It's Dennis. Is it alright if I come in?"

He waited for a moment, but received no answer. Opening the door, he stuck his head in. The Wards' rooms weren't anything special. It was designed so that teens who were part of the Wards program had a small personal space that they could call their own. Some took this to the extreme, like Missy, who lived on base most of the time. Dennis found her sitting on the edge of her bed, scowling and biting her lip. It looked like she was fighting back tears and trying to get angry about it all at the same time. He had to assume that she heard that Assault and Battery were leaving. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him as he set about doing what he could to help.

Because that's what leaders do.


AEH


Christopher Siopis/Kid Win

Brockton Bay


He typed away at the computer, the light of the monitor just enough for him to see by. He could turn the lights on, but that would be an unnecessary distraction that achieved barely anything. Another spawn shot through his fingers, causing him to curse aloud as his fingers acted without his consent, ruining carefully laid work with gibberish.

He had a solution to that affliction, but it was just out of his reach. Just the reminder of it caused his jaw to clench at the reminder of the number of ways that everyone was trying to hold him back from achieving it. From proving he could do it and finally fix himself.

Modulation. It was his power and it had been something that he long struggled with. It was one last poisoned gift from a mentor that had never taught him anything and had treated him as even less than that. All it did for him was provide him with more frustrations and less answers.

Humans were, by nature, weak creatures. They had none of the natural advantages that most animals had, so they had adapted. Made tools to overcome the task before them. The human condition was, in essence, modular, exchanging tools several times a day to overcome the challenges in their life and make things easier.

Chris was just taking that to the next logical step by making it easier for him to use his tools. He would be better because of it. A better Ward. A stronger Hero. And then no one would doubt him anymore.

His eyes were drawn to the notebook at his side, earning the pulped cellulose a sneer at the calculations strewn across it as the computer told him what he already knew deep down already. Yet another damn failure in a litany of other failures.

Ripping the sheet of paper from the spiral notebook, he crumpled it up and viciously threw it before turning back to the notebook again. His stare at the new sheet of paper could have burned a hole in it. He wanted nothing more than to scream in frustration as it seemed that nothing was working.

He had so many damn ideas, but for the life of him, he couldn't get it done to be just right. It felt as if he were a painter gone blind. A composer gone deaf. He could remember the inspiration and where it came from, but the inspiration that he could touch was only an incomplete memory.

This was the…he lost track of which attempt it was. He was trying to manufacture or discover a material capable of functioning similarly to the human nervous system. Fiberoptic cables did not provide enough throughput to merit itself as an option for an adequate replacement to the human nervous system. Time and time again the computer simulations claimed it couldn't be done. No material existed that had enough data throughput or conductivity.

It was a simple problem. His nerves were damaged, sending incorrect signals to their destination. The solution was likewise simple in concept, though. He would have to make a buffer, something to make sure that only the right signals got through. Simple. Elegant. And something that would help other people even. It was the first step to better using his tools, providing a direct connection with his weapons and equipment, all with a single thought. An immediate recall for his board. Finer controls of the hover systems. Instantaneous diagnostics and the ability to quickly solve an issue. It was all within his reach.

If only everyone would stop holding him back!

His parents didn't even praise him for driving off Leviathan. They didn't see the significance of the action because they didn't care to even bother. They refused to understand the hardships he had to endure just to build that cannon. Nor did they care for his determination to stare Death down and pull the trigger.

No…instead they only saw that he was 'broken'. They only CARED that he was 'broken'. He could hear them when he went home. They wanted the PRT to fix this. To fix him. They didn't care that he could fix himself. To them, he was never competent or skilled enough, he was merely something for them to be proud of. If he refused to bow to their wishes, then they would force the solution on him. His parents went to the Youth Guard, those meddlers. Who then went to the PRT, and everyone was doing everything they could to hold him back from proving himself.

Dauntless was the same. He didn't have any faith. He saw his experiments and said that it wasn't right. He quoted rules and warnings about Wet Tinkering. Chris snorted, like Dauntless understood anything about Tinkering. If there was anything that he missed about Armsmaster, it was the fact that the man didn't care what he was doing as long as he wasn't bothered. Dauntless obviously was cut frustratingly from a different cloth.

His phone chimed and he took a look while the computer began another simulation. He frowned at the sight of another message from Dennis. Ever since Clockblocker had been named Wards Leader, it was like Dennis was trying to get into his business. Messaging about getting together, getting dinner, hanging out on the Boardwalk, asking if he was free to chat. It was exhausting, disruptive, and a complete waste of Chris' time.

Now Dennis was asking for him to check on Missy, because she was having a rough time with all of the changes to the team. He tossed the phone onto the desk, returning to his work. Really Dennis? Missy was having a rough time of it? The girl survived everything else and all she got was a bloody nose. Not like he did!

"Damn it," he snarled as yet another failure filled his screen. He ran shaking fingers through his hair and flopped back in his chair, staring at the computer display.

Nothing he tried was enough. Nor were the designs he was currently working on. There was nothing available that could achieve what he wanted. Each failure came down to either limitations with the components or interfacing issues that made the components not worth the returns.

But he knew there was a solution. His power told him that there was. All he needed to do was to find the right components and materials, and he could improve himself. So when the next time something like he experienced with Leviathan took place, his body would be ready and willing to answer the call.

And he would prove to everyone that he was right.


AEH


Incognita

Name Unknown

Location Unknown


'I' didn't like being 'me'. Simple stupid 'me'. My mother always tried to teach 'me' to love 'myself'. But 'I' always wanted to be someone else. Because being 'me' was never enough. 'I' was never popular, even when 'I' was nice to everyone. 'Me' the stupid girl from a small town who loved to watch the world go by and dream of bigger things. Who watched the pretty boy. The popular boy. The boy who hid his face behind a mask and threw light from his fingers. Everyone knew who he was, even 'me'. But they pretended. Just like he pretended.

Pretended to find 'me' interesting. Whispered pretty things to 'me', and made 'me' feel special. Who led 'me' into a forest and rolled with 'me' in the damp grass, making 'me' finally feel like somebody. Then he told 'me' that he was done with 'me'. Who callously broke 'my' heart, then had his head broken as he shouted at 'me' to leave, that he wanted nothing more to do with a loser like 'me'.

I broke, then. My soul broke. Then my skin broke. And finally my mind broke. Then I became 'he'. And again he walked through the world, throwing lights from his fingers, while I watched with his eyes. But he had a secret as well. He had gotten too big, and gained too much attention. And the attention turned around and crushed him. But I was 'he' now, so I wasn't broken. I was put in a cage. A cage of pretty words and promises made of daggers. I was the knife held to my mother's throat. Held to Elly's throat.

Broken stupid 'me'.

I became whoever 'I' was ordered to be. The boy on the train. The girl in the shop. The man in the hallway. The woman in the hospital. It was fun, even as I remembered that I was the knife at Mama's throat. I shouldn't have had fun, but I did.

Now I was to become 'her'. A silly blind girl who sat and let 'me' cut her hair. Like the soil, I swallowed down 'she' and let 'her' take root deep inside. Felt the root sprout and the skin break as she spilled out. Until I truly became 'she'.

Blind. Tall. Thin. Weak. Like a tree by the river that bent in the wind. But that was only the skin. My jailor didn't want the skin. She wanted to know the insides. So I let the insides spread out and fill me. And discovered in spite of all, that tree stood firm because of what was inside. No matter the winds or the hateful hands. That tree would stay standing. Bowed, broken, but standing firm nonetheless.

"There's…a glitch. In the Chariot line."

"Are you telling me that a swarm has gone rogue, Ted!"

"...It's worse than that."


I remember. Because she remembered. Remembered another her. Another life of joys and sorrows. Of highs and lows. But she also remembered the terror. The fear. The despair. The business-as-usual attempts at deflection. Pretty words for the death that was bearing down on everyone. All because of one man's naked greed.

"It's not 'bad', Ted, it's apocalyptic. You built a line of killer robots that consume biomass as fuel and you made them capable of self-replication. The glitch severed chain-of-command. The only nation this swarm answers to now is itself. Everything else is food. And at the rate it's replicating, it will strip the Earth bare in fifteen months. We're not talking about the fall of civilization. We're talking about extinction!"

I screamed. I threw up. I curled up into a corner as the despair drowned me in its storm. The memories were so full of everything and nothing that I couldn't take it. But she didn't bend. Neither of them did. They stood resolute even as despair did everything in its power to drown them. But I bent and broke.


"Boss, there's been a complication. Incog's having some sort of psychotic fit. Change went okay, but then she started screaming and wailing. Curled up in the corner and bouncing between crying, staring at a wall, rocking back and forth, or all of the above."

"Goddammit! Are you compromised?"

"No."

"Then let the girl have her freakout. When she's back to reality, get her to access those files remotely. If she's not working in three hours, do whatever you need to motivate her."


Everything was ending. I watched through her eyes as the world she knew was eaten. She was the pied piper playing her song, the rats blindly following because she promised them salvation. But there was no salvation. There was no hope. Not for them. Not for the rats or the piper. They were all doomed. Hope was the seeds that they planted. Seeds that might survive to live beyond them. Inch by inch the world was devoured.

I will not break.

She said to herself as she told the men her plan.

I will not give up.

She said as everyone worked. As she worked, making seeds to survive long after she was bones and dust. After they were all bones and dust and the world was quiet. Dead and quiet.

I will find a way.

A way was found. Lies were told to those who needed to believe. And the truth was told to everyone who needed to know and could be trusted with it. All the while, the little rats were sent to feed the hunger, one by one, to buy scant seconds. While the piper kept on playing her tune. And worked. And worked.

Until it was finally my turn to become the meal.

The suit was stuffy and the air was stale. But the world outside the suit was dead. And shortly, I would be dead as well. Ten millimeters. Less than four-tenths of an inch. It was such a small thing. But aren't we all infinitesimally small in the end? That simple gap was the difference between success and failure. In the end, I fixed it. It was my project. My lies. My hopes. My responsibility. My damnation. All I had anymore were ghosts and I was so tired.

The seal engages. The last seal. The last piece. My entire existence distilled into this single moment. My work is finally done. I sit here in the dust. Breathe the increasingly thinning air of my depleting oxygen supply as I stared into the dust-filled sky that blocks out the very thing that gave all of us life.

Just myself, my ghosts, and the world's ashes.

A soft laugh escaped my lips, melancholy and madness one and the same.

And yet, despite everything. Despite consigning to death the entire human race on a one-in-five-point-seven trillion shot. Despite becoming the largest mass murderer in the historical twilight of homo sapien primus…

I had won.

"I'm okay with this. I want to go home. Goodbye."

Those were the last words I gave to the team that had saved the world at my side. I loved them. And I was so tired.

I walked. The dust and ash of the planet on my boots. Millions of years of history. Of hopes and dreams. Billions of people. All dust and ash because of one man's greed. All given a possible future because of my team. Because of my efforts.

My daughter. Born of circuits and electrons. I think of her as I walk across a dead world that will be her inheritance and I mourn that I couldn't give her something more. I had to trust in her to build something more than what we left her.

I took a seat and looked at the home I had thought I had outgrown. It seemed like I was wrong on that, as the siren's call at the eve of my life brought me back to where it all began. It felt more than I was home, it felt like I was closing the circle. For a brief instant, I wondered at the quiet life I might have had if I had never left.

The soft warning of diminishing oxygen sounded. Bells, tolling the end of my life.

But defiance is a choice. And I chose differently.

With the barest flick of an eye and a verbal command, I felt the needle pierce my skin. A dead body laying itself to rest. I took the time to free my arm from the armor despite the screams of decompression that I silenced with barely a thought. Instead, I focused on running my fingers over the world that had hung around my neck most of my life. Holding it tight as sleep pulls me down. Thinking of my daughter and the words that my mother gave to me. Words that I had passed on to her.

"You have to care, Girl. Being smart will count for nothing if you don't make the world a better place. You have to use your smarts to count for something. To serve life, not death."

My daughter, I wish you all the curiosity of the world. Be willful, unstoppable in your dreams. And I wish you enough compassion to heal the world. Just a little. Inch by inch, til miles are crossed.

Finally, after so long, I slept.



I wake up.

I screamed as fire ate at my eyes.

I walk in the dark. I sit in the dark. I work in the dark. My fingers brush over wires, metal, and hot tools. I build because I have memories in my head. Of Another life. Of another hell.


I will not give up.

I will not break.

I will find a way


I wake up lying on the floor. Feeling once again as memories flow through me. Ideas. Plans. Knowledge. Such a precious thing. I feel the mounting despair. The world is ending. Not like before, in machine indifference and hunger. But ending in inches, year by year. We are the boiling frog, never noticing that the water was getting hot.

I will not give up.

I will not break

I will find a way.


It's the new drumbeat of my soul. My new determination. Passed from one to another. I stole it. Just an inch. I had become them and I now understood. They would forgive me. Just as I forgave myself.

I hear my captors. The chains that the woman wrapped around me and I no longer felt fear. They were now a problem to be solved. I had given up. I will not give up. I broke. I will not break. I could not find a way. I will find a way.

I plan. Then I tell them the plan. Sit at the computer that I could not see, but let my fingers work as I put my plan into motion. I am the daughter. I will be willful. I will not give up on compassion.

I will find a way.


"Update boss. Girl's awake and working. She needed time to sort through everything, apparently it was a shit trigger event."

"I don't care. Can she get into the system?"

"Sort of. Only the top layers, she says. Apparently anything important or sensitive is air-gapped or locked with the girl's device and a brain scan if you can believe it. So Incog's found a workaround."

"This better be good."

"Turns out the company is looking for staff. Personal Assistant to the inventor herself. Incog's hacking into the system now. Going to make herself look like the best choice available. Get in through the front door. It will slow down the operation, but we'll have someone inside right next to our target."

"...Do it. But I want results. See what the girl can get access to. Then arrange a phone call to the family. Keep her sweet and remind her we hold the leash."

"Understood, Boss."​


AEH


?

?


"Despair is a lie. Hope is a conviction that a solution is possible. It might not be obvious. It might be difficult. It might require that some things change and that old things we held tightly have to be let go…but a better tomorrow is possible."

The speech was everywhere. Repeated and analyzed by those talking heads on screen. And every time, he just had to pay attention to it. It drew his eye, his attention.

Stabbing the power button on the remote, he slowly placed it down on the end table beside his throne. Well, his temporary throne, a rather nice leather recliner he had purloined from his newest audience. The silence that had been momentarily introduced by the cessation of the television broken by the soft pitiable cries of the former owners of the household.

He paid them no mind for a moment, instead crossing his legs and leaning his head on his right knuckle, the entire arm propped upon the chair. The pointless natterings of the help were never the business of the conductor, only that they perform when called upon.

Instead, he let himself dwell upon what he had witnessed, a smile starting to creep into his expression. It was all that was necessary. Laughter would be too melodramatic, and quite frankly, wasted upon such an inadequate audience. Especially when a simple smile could achieve so much more.

The light scrape of metal on wood reminded him that there was more than one audience being catered to in this little play. His smile widening slightly, he tilted his head up just so the other party could enter his sightline. The 'man', if this parody of life in a cold shell could be even called such, was impossible to miss even in the low light, the white metallo-ceramic material drinking in the light and only making it appear brighter than it should be.

"Don't you ever get tired of this," he asked the figure, unable to keep the mockery from his tone. It was times like these that gave meaning to life. To others, it appeared he was playing on the edge of the knife, but in actuality, he was the safest he could be. After all, the deck was always stacked in his favor. That was the joy of it all, being clad in the knowledge that you simply could not be inconvenienced by the mundane, no matter how much they deluded themselves that they were in control, "For every one you snuff out, it only seems that three more take their place."

He knew he had struck home, even if the figure remained unnaturally still. He could feel the man's boiling anger, it was the finest natural intoxicant; a heady mix of superiority and sadism with exquisite hints of schadenfreude. They both knew that he could destroy this animated puppet, despite the latter's perceived physical superiority. The impotent rage from inside the puppet's cage made the situation all the better.

Looking back to the blank television screen, he could only preen at how the world seemed to keep giving him such marvelous toys to break. And this was certainly a new and positively beautiful toy. How long had it been since he had such an opportunity and stage? Not since Hero. Oh, just the memory of turning the four 'greatest' heroes in North America into a Triumvirate was a memory that could never truly be exhausted. The stricken look on Alexandria's bloody face as the hopes and dreams that they supposedly represented died screaming as Siberian tore out Hero's entrails like she was gutting a pig.

This was what he lived for.

And now? The supposed 'Hero of Boston'? Alan Gramme might be obsessed with killing Tinkers that could make a difference. But he? He lived to break the so-called 'superiority' of those heroes. It was fascinating, to find all the little weaknesses that made up these paragons. The fault lines in the foundation of themselves. Tap away at them with his little hammer and all their righteousness crumbled like a house of cards. Often turning on the very people who looked up to them. And if that didn't happen, at least it exposed to the masses that their supposed heroes were no better than them.

His true calling was painting masterpieces with the blood of those who supposedly brought hope to the world. It was the grandest of feasts that kept him satiated as he meandered through this fake world.

And oh how things were lining up perfectly here. Taylor Hebert, so many amazing cracks he could pick out already. And she was in Brockton Bay, he really did need to repay that city for their past transgressions. As his old man used to say, 'you never let anyone get one over on you'. Which was wonderfully ironic considering how he had dealt with that overbearing fool. And…Lavere. So many possibilities with her. The girl, the powers, the name…Boy did that name bring back memories, some good, and some most definitely bad. Yes, he was due some repayment.

It was unfortunate that they were on the other side of the country at the moment. But in a way, the anticipation would make it all the more delectable. For all of them. Besides, it would mean that little Taylor and Amelia had more time to grow. Pride before the fall. The higher they rose, the greater the devastation and entertainment when they fell. It would be glorious.

His only worry was ensuring that all of them had worthwhile targets. It was always a concern when corralling his flock, they all needed something to keep themselves suitably engaged, or it only complicated things.

Plenty of time though to plan accordingly and prepare. It was better that way, Brockton Bay may have survived their previous visitation through luck, they would not have that luxury this time.

And he would make sure the city remembered his name this time.
 
Growth 4.1 New
Welcome back. Decided to do a posting a day early as I will not be at a computer most of the day tomorrow. Need to build up some income in order to cover the two weeks that I'm being dragged kicking and screaming on a cruise ship vacation because my mother's all gung-ho for being on an oversized sardine can in the middle of the most barren and inhospitable places you can be.

Enjoy.



Growth 4.1

Taylor Hebert

Brockton Bay

Tuesday, May 2nd, 2011


I had a problem. A personal one. Which meant that I was dealing with it in the time-honored Hebert family tradition: I was ignoring it and throwing myself into work. It kept me from thinking about how nice he smelled even three days later. Which is weird, I know, but there is something to the claim that other senses compensate for the loss of one sense. Like sight. And he's tall, so I didn't have to look down on him, which is awkward as a girl, and…I was doing it again.

Sighing, I put my head in my hands. I, Taylor Hebert, an unlovable frog-face that no one would touch with a pole…had been asked on a date.

Ms. Hebert. My name is Theo Anders. I would very much like to be your partner to the upcoming Brockton Bay Charity Gala for Boston. Would you do me the honor?

Yes, it was cheesy and over the top, and…I grew up on Tolkien, Lewis, and Pratchett, a diet of fantasy and noble quests. And as I was a nervous wreck after the presentation I had, without thinking, said yes!

So here I was, safely ensconced back in my workshop. Working. So I didn't have to deal with the world right now.

It was three days after the press event and the results were already being seen. I had more deals for materials, offers to produce components, and medical companies lining up to work with Amelia and me. At the moment, though, my concern was solar energy collection. Which I was working on now.

The solar energy collectors on the Sunwing were hyper-efficient, way beyond what was currently available. Also, it wasn't rigid like the current panel designs, which meant that it could be deployed in a number of different ways. The Focus Network Platform could be coated in the stuff, allowing for better self-sustainment. I had asked Jean to look into a solar manufacturing company, of which…there weren't many. If we could partner with one, that would be great, if we could buy out one entirely and fold it under ZDT's umbrella, that'd be even better. But Jean was overwhelmed, so progress was slow.

Which led me back to my current project.

Flying-type machines all relied upon advanced lightweight materials and high-performance engines. The Skydrifter even more than the Sunwing. I was currently typing away at the assembly instruction for the Sunwing's solar collection systems. Actual assembly of either machine would have to be on hold, as I was waiting for the ultralight alloys to come in. Not to mention the construction of the engines themselves that we would probably have to do in-house. It worked with Blaze, and I wasn't ready to let that cat out into the public just yet.

And after that, I would need…

A chime at my door and my Focus pulled up an incoming call. It was Jean.

"Taylor, Mr. Milton just arrived at the front. I was expecting you in your office before we met with him."

Shit, I glanced at the time and yes, I was late, "On my way, Jean. Have him shown to my office."

Closing the programs, I grabbed my jacket and slid it back over my shoulders. I hated to admit it, but the business attire that Parian had purchased was starting to grow on me. I had always believed that business clothes, or even formal attire, was stuffy and uncomfortable. It always seemed that way to me. The few times that we dressed up for some sort of function when Mom was around I always hated it.

But the clothes I was wearing? They fit just right and were sinfully comfortable.

Adjusting myself a little bit more, I went to the door, allowing it to recognize my Focus and slide open. I met with Jean and Sam who were waiting outside. We chatted briefly as we walked through the assembly hall. Jean reminded me again about finalizing my choice for a personal assistant, probably so that someone else would chase me to respect my schedule. I nodded, adding it to my list even as I waved at Lucius Fuchs, who was meeting with his team to finish adjusting the LRL and putting together a presentation for me to review and approve.

It took us another ten minutes to finally reach my office, with Jean talking my ear off about the rest of the schedule I had for the day. My immediate concern was with Mr. Milton, after which I was due to a conference call with Colonel Herres about the use of the Focus in Operation Sidestep. Then, late afternoon, I was to inspect the Blaze refinery, before finally capping the evening by inspecting building sites for the new facility.

What a mess. But needs must when the devil drives, and I was my own devil.

And that's not even getting into the issues of Amelia's inheritance. After the announcement at the press event, the office had received a flurry of calls asking why Amy was cutting ties with New Wave. The poor girl had balked at the attention, even with her newfound confidence, and retreated to work on the equipment to produce SHR-1.

Was it strange that I was still not sure how I felt with Amy as my friend? This wasn't a disparagement of her. No, nothing of the sort. Amy had been everything I ever wanted in a friend and more. It was me. My feelings were the problem. And I was self-aware of it to know the reason and wanted to curse Emma for it.

Even now, despite everything that Amy had done for me, I was still wary. Wary of being betrayed and exposed to the world for someone's sick amusement. Even with all evidence to the contrary, I still found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn't matter how different Amy was to Emma, the specter of what she did still haunted me.

I needed to be better. Even if I didn't know how. I didn't want to be like this for the rest of my life.

The door to my office opening ended all of my thoughts on the matter, as I mentally took a deep breath and prepared for this meeting. It was more of a formality than anything, but I honestly preferred face-to-face meetings. It provided a personal touch that was lacking in electronic communications and gave me the opportunity to get a measure of the person and situation.

"Mr. Milton," I greeted, extending my hand to the man as he stood up from his chair, "It's good to see you again. I hope your flight from New York was comfortable."

"It was, Ms. Hebert," the man smiled and took my hand, "It's good to see you again. You're handling things well."

"The privilege of suddenly being the world's most popular person," I returned as humorously as I could. But he wasn't wrong in his observation. I was starting to wear thin with all of the interviews and meetings that I had been in the last three days since the presentation. I knew it was going to keep this frenetic pace for a while longer, but I was honestly starting to miss my own bed. The furnishings that they had gotten for me were fine, but there was a comfort to home that I really never understood until now.

"Well then, allow me to deliver some good news."

I offered a smile as I sat down in my chair. With a tap of my Focus, I accessed the servers, readying myself for our discussion. It was probably strange to those who were used to paper documentation, but Milton seemed to have handled my needs quite well. I could already see several documents awaiting my perusal.

"Well then, Mr. Milton," I began to read over what he shared. "Where are we with the Canary case?"

The man leaned back in his own chair and crossed his legs, "We've been collaborating with the Judge Advocate General on the case. Since they were the ones to petition for a writ of certiorari to the Supreme Court, it was decided that they will take the lead on the criminal defense for Ms. Mcabee, with Wulfrahm & Hjardt providing additional support. With that, I have some great news, and some less-than-great news."

Good and bad news, I thought to myself, pondering over what it could be. I doubted that it would be something like Paige having her charges dropped. Even if they were waiting to make the announcement, it would have leaked by now.

"Let's hear the good news first."

"The Supreme Court will be announcing this afternoon that they will be issuing a writ of certiorari for Ms. Mcabee's case. It was decided unanimously by all of the judges."

I couldn't help but smile at the news. Because it was good news. It meant that there was a good chance that the Supreme Court would be giving Paige an actual day in court. While a writ of certiorari didn't guarantee that they would hear it after reviewing the case, the fact that it was unanimously decided upon meant that there was a good chance that it would be.

"That's good news."

"Yes, it is, Ms. Hebert. It's not very often that the Supreme Court unanimously agrees upon something. It doesn't mean that we are out of the woods yet, but it means that we have a pretty good chance. Especially with the fact that Chief Justice Harrison has ordered that Ms. Mcabee must be released from house arrest."

I blinked, processing what he said for a moment. A surge of elation shot through me. I wasn't exactly close with Paige, but even I had found myself liking and sympathizing with the young woman. She had been dealt a shitty hand in life, but she had a core of steel that refused to give in.

"That's actually great news! Will the Court be making a public announcement? If not, then we'll organize something here, just to make sure that the public doesn't get the wrong idea on Paige. But I think she will be absolutely excited to be able to leave the compound. What other news do you have?"

This solved one of my immediate problems, meaning that Paige could actually move out and about this evening. She could do with a change of scenery. We also had a meeting with Rachel at the end of the week to partner Paige with a dog. I had questioned her gently on the idea and she was very enthusiastic. It seems that she had always wanted one, but couldn't devote time to a dog with her touring and concert schedule.

I glanced over at Sam, transferring her a note about the meeting, and asked that she prepare for it. What those preparations might be, I didn't know, but I was trying to be more attentive to my security detail. She gave me a small nod. It would be a few days, so I would follow up with her later.

"Moving on to the less-than-good news. And that's the civil cases. Frankly, we're dealing with a lot of new precedents on the matter. For all intents and purposes, legally speaking, Ms. Mcabee is dead. It's been considered for years now that a Birdcage sentence is a de facto execution and has been legally implemented as such. What that means for us is that we can't pursue anything against Black Omen Records until we get clarification from the courts."

That was bad news. When Paige had been sentenced to the Birdcage, the record label that she had signed-on with three months previously had used a clause in their contract to confiscate all songs and materials tied to Paige's Canary stage name. With the prosecution trumping up Paige's Master powers to get a conviction, the record company had argued that her popularity stemmed from her powers, and not her actual abilities. As such, they had all rights to her image, as she had committed a crime with her powers. It was an absolutely scummy move, but perfectly legal.

"And her assets?"

"Completely liquidated. Once was sentenced to the Birdcage, the civil suit filed against her by the ex-boyfriend was rubber stamped. Citing the level of bodily injury, they awarded him everything that Ms. Mcabee owned, after the court fees."

I nodded. It was about what I feared was going to happen, because it was what I was coming to expect with our legal system. It was becoming increasingly apparent with each day that capes did not have the same legal protections that were expected for American citizens. If anything, their legal protections were considered mere guidelines instead of something sacrosanct and inviolable.

It just wasn't enough that capes had to suffer their worst day ever in order to gain their powers. No, they had to face the likelihood that unless they played ball with the government, they were legally reduced to second-class citizens, with an avaricious government diligently waiting for a single misstep in order to swoop in and claim their prize. Or stomp them out.

"What can we do then?"

"For now? There's really nothing we can do until the Supreme Court makes a decision. I have all the filings ready to submit, but until Ms. Mcabee's case has a ruling behind it, I can't do anything."

That meant for now Paige would continue to be reliant upon me in order to survive. Not that I was actually complaining on the matter. I had chosen to do this because I couldn't stand aside to allow an injustice like this to take place. I would continue to help the woman as long as I could, and if the Supreme Court ruled against her, I would still try and fight for her after that.

Because it could easily be me in her place in the future if this continued as it were. I didn't delude myself into thinking that just because I was now nationally known made me unassailable to the whims of the government deciding that I was no longer a prodigal child.

"Okay. Keep me informed. Where are we at with Amelia?"

"As for Ms. Lavere, the paperwork for reclaiming her estate has been processed," he proceeded to open up his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder, "Here is the deed and associated paperwork. And here are the keys. We haven't had a chance to inspect the location, but we can…"

I raised a hand to cut him off, "No need. I'll have my people look over the site."

He handed me the keys and folder, gathering them up, I turned to Sam who had come to my side. Handing her the keys, I gave her a command, "Have your people head over. Don't touch anything, just make sure the location is secure. Jean," I turned to look at her, "contact Tate, he will be speaking with Herres in my place. If Herres has any problem with that, he can call me in a couple of hours. Also, see if we can reschedule the refinery visit for tomorrow morning, if not, ask my father to step in."

Yes, I was upending my entire day's plans and dropping a mess into other people's laps without warning. But I knew a few things about being a good friend. Even if I was fighting my own hangups, Amy deserved the same support she had given me.

"Sam, let your people with Amelia know about the change in plans. We'll head over after an early lunch. I'm informing her now," And I was, as I sent her a quick message. There wasn't even a few moments delay before I received an 'alright' in response.

Turning back to Mr. Milton, I nodded in apology, "Sorry about the interruption, but my friend deserves to have things dealt with properly and promptly."

The man hummed, smiling slightly, "It's clearly a good thing to be counted among your friends. Now, as I was saying. Since your FBI contact has made it clear that all parties are trying to keep it quiet, my firm will be reaching out for a settlement with the PRT. Records are clear that everything took place before Director Piggot took office, so some maneuvering will be needed. The hope is that we can get access to the seizure records and will allow us to start making a case about certain properties not being the result of crime. If we can prove it, we can pressure the PRT to either return them, or settle for a cash amount if they can't rather than fight it out and lose more face."

There was another reason we were looking to settle instead of taking things to court with the PRT. Amy's father had enemies. If we chose to actually sue, then it would come out in the discovery phase that Marquis was her father. And while the Unwritten Rules were largely followed and we were unsure if the old grudges would still exist, it was still worthwhile to remember that Fleur had been gunned down in this very city in direct contravention of those rules. We were hoping to avoid that.

"I'm not going to put words in Amy's mouth, but I think we are of the same mind in this case, Mr. Milton: Get as much back as you can. I know it may not be everything, but anything would be better than nothing. It's the least we can do for her."

Nodding in agreement, Mr. Milton then reached into his briefcase again and retrieved another manila folder, flipping it open.

"Moving on to the matter of NORA, we're still doing a bit more in-depth research on the matter, but I can at least provide you with a preliminary report on the matter."

I couldn't help it, but I leaned forward in anticipation. While I may be looking to hand the overall responsibility over to my dad, it didn't mean that I wasn't invested in it. I believed in what NORA could represent. It was an honest attempt to right the wrongs that were already existing for capes.

"On the surface, the proposal for a cape-oriented union appears to have legal standing. The reason that I say appears, and why I've asked for a further in-depth analysis, is because of the first cape union that existed."

There was another cape union, I found myself taken aback by the knowledge, but then I realized something else. If there was a cape union, why hadn't I heard of it? Something like that would be something talked about, and it certainly would have gained traction as things developed. So why was I just now hearing about the existence of one.

Or more importantly, why did I have a feeling that there was a reason I hadn't heard of it.

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Milton shook his head, "No. You really aren't. The first, and only, cape union that gained any sort of national attention was located in San Francisco. It was known as Uppermost."

"I don't recognize the name."

"Not a lot of people do anymore, most people know it by its other name: The Elite."

"Wait. You're telling me that The Elite, a violent and rapacious criminal organization, first started as a union," I couldn't help the incredulity in my tone. Just what the hell?! Never would I have thought of the possibility that a villainous organization actually started as a union of all things.

Just what the hell happened for things to go awry?

"Uppermost originally started as a small business and entertainment group. Considering their roots, it made sense that they would unionize. But they started applying it on a larger spectrum, and as a result, they started causing waves. They are a large reason that NEPEA-5 was created, there were quite a few people in Silicon Valley and Hollywood that didn't like what Uppermost was doing, and they started putting pressure on Congress to do something about it."

"And when NEPEA-5 passed, they suddenly found their advantages became a hangman's noose," I bitterly observed, already knowing the end of the story. I had done enough research on NEPEA-5 to know it was directly targeted on capes and capes only, how it managed to not be challenged legally I'll never know. But at the end of the day, capes suddenly found themselves having to justify their very existence if they wanted to use their powers to make money, "So NEPEA-5 was a union buster. What's to stop them from using it again to snuff out NORA?"

"Because the times are different, Ms. Hebert. The people's fears of the impact capes will have on the economy have diminished. It also helps in your case that NORA is intended to be a non-profit union, designed to provide a support network for capes. Uppermost was looking at the union as more of a guild, where it could control the market and create a monopoly by proxy. NEPEA-5 broke it on that basis. Like I said before, I'm having people look more into it to confirm, but as long as you keep NORA from trying to be a monopoly using cape powers, NEPEA-5 is incapable of touching you."

Good news then. It took a large burden off my shoulders. I believed that NORA would be able to avoid NEPEA-5, but I hadn't been absolutely sure. It was inevitable that I would be accused of creating a monopoly at some point. After all, most of the advanced science required for my machines and tech were coming from my head. Until I shared it, I had a monopoly by definition. That was the other part of why I was looking to work on licensed production, I would be sharing the knowledge so it can be learned and iterated from. Which proved without a doubt that my work wasn't Tinkertech. I didn't fall under NEPEA-5 regulations, which blunted one of the major tools that opportunists and my detractors could use against me.

Despite always being advertised as a way to safeguard the economy from shocks wrought by capes entering the markets, The (First) National Economic Protection and Equality Act of 1988, and its later corresponding iterations and amendments, were in actuality a full-blown protectionist act that sought to completely remove capes from the economy through regulation. The Fifth, or NEPEA-5, established additional rules and regulations that basically made it impossible for capes to use their powers in order to make a living by requiring a federal license verifying that their powers would not negatively impact the local economy, administered by the Small Business Association. The onus was completely on the parahuman to prove that their powers would not provide an unfair advantage to businesses without powered individuals, and far too many capes didn't have the resources or even the ability to meet the stringent demands set by NEPEA-5 to get approval. As a result, almost all were forced out of the market before they even had a chance to become a part of it.

"Let me know when you have finished your investigation," I finally said. There really wasn't anything that could be done until Milton was finished anyways. But it was nice to know that NORA had a chance. It meant that I could continue to press my dad on taking it over. If there was anyone that I could trust to actually make it succeed, it was Dad. He honestly cared.

Before we could continue, I received a priority ping from Sobek. As I discussed with Tate weeks ago, it was impossible and irresponsible to unleash a Synthetic Intelligence without preparation. So I had rigged up a simple system where Sobek would send me information that she felt was relevant and important to me. This pushed her to evaluate and make her own decisions. It was a lot like training a child…a fact that I was not going to get into given that I was fifteen.

In this case, a man had just walked into the reception room for the building. Attached was a security report from the gate guards. Middle-aged, carrying a sealed case. Agreed to show contents. Computer equipment, listed as sensitive and delicate. Missing an arm from the mid-bicep down.

Well…it's good that my schedule was already a mess anyways. I sent a quick note to the front desk, then returned my attention to Mr. Milton.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Milton, something urgent has just walked in my door. We'll have to cut this short. Is there anything critical that I need to know?"

He nodded, reaching for a final file, "Yes, your employee. Mr Laborn? Some of the lesser staff members are working on his case. Custody arrangements are going forward smoothly."

I smiled as I stood, shaking hands with the lawyer. I was glad to see that things might work out with Brian. As far as Parahumans go, he was a textbook case for NORA and someone we would be trying to connect with once things got off the ground.

Pulling up a digital notepad, I settled in as Sam had one of her people bring our guest up. Time to meet old faces.


AEH


"Joining us today is Dr. Robert Carter of Johns Hopkins University's Transfusion Medicine Division. Thank you for joining us today, Dr. Carter."

"Glad to be here, Candace."

"Dr. Carter, we'll get to the question on a lot of people's minds. What is your perspective on this new blood replacement that's been announced?"

"Well, it's still early right now. As was said in the press event, testing is still ongoing to make sure it's safe for human trials. And once the testing is done, then comes the question of production and distribution. A miracle cure is only as good if it can be made in enough numbers for everyone.

But! If this solution does work as advertised, this will radically change how we practice medicine. National statistics say that a new case of a patient needing a blood transfusion occurs every three seconds. There is never enough supply for that demand. Combine the supply shortage with the limitations of transport and storage for whole blood or donated plasma? And you end up with critical shortages. If SHR-1 can fill those gaps, then treatment for cancer, sickle cell diseases, traumatic injury, surgery, and much more will be made safer, more accessible, and more reliable.

We just have to wait and hope that the end result lives up to the promise"

Interview between Candace Levins and Dr. Robert Carter, CNN News


AEH


Colin Wallis

Brockton Bay

The building was an interesting mix of weathered and technologically advanced. Of old and new worlds. The old Dockworker's Association compound was refurbished with new screens and new people. He walked behind his guide, a security guard, as they made their way through the building. He gripped the case like the most precious thing in the world. Because it was. He was risking a lot here on a hunch. Well, not a hunch, more a statistical probability. From his brief time working with Taylor Hebert, he understood that her technology and understanding of engineering were impressive. But it was her programming knowledge that had originally pulled his and Dragon's attention. Self-learning systems, built to adapt to changing environments, simulations, and problems.

As a simple operating system running a computer, it meant that the computer would slowly learn your habits. Programs would be ready for you at launch, settings would be adjusted, and files would be catalogued according to the user's preferences. This would be the result of a limited version of Taylor's operating system. A shackled, artificially constrained limit.

He had watched her press event, along with millions of others around the world. He had noted her careful explanation that her machines would not be able to speak and had a limited growth ceiling. Which, he extrapolated, meant that if unrestrained, or given the right circumstances, it was entirely possible to create sentient programs. Self-aware, and quite possibly sapient.

So it was a calculated gamble that had brought him here. He took a breath as the door was held open for him, ushering him into a modest, but well-appointed office. A woman stood behind Taylor calmly watching him. A bodyguard, undoubtedly, and an attentive one at that. But the younger woman in front of her caught his attention more. She was very different from when they first met, scars healed, with her hair long and tied back. But it was the self-assuredness that she exuded. She gave the impression that she belonged here as the CEO of her own company at the tender age of fifteen.

"Ms. Hebert, thank you very much for meeting with me."

She smiled, white teeth and black glasses. A well-cut suit that made her look far older than she really was.

"It was the least I could do. After all, we shared a great conversation on the importance of protecting microcircuitry when used in technologies meant to be damaged."

Ah. So she knew who he was. That simplified things.

"Yes. Unfortunately, I had a falling out with my previous employer. A difference of opinion regarding recruitment practices. I was hoping to introduce myself, Colin Wallis," He carefully set the case down on the floor and offered his good hand. They shook and he noted her grip was slightly stronger than before, "I was hoping to speak with you about the possibility of a joint project."

She waved, taking a seat. It was remarkable how well she operated while blind. He was curious about the integration…no, not the time.

Placing the case between his feet, he leaned forward, twisting slightly to place the weight on his remaining arm. He was still adjusting to the loss.

"Before we begin, Ms. Hebert…I would like your perspective on the development of artificial intelligence."

She tilted her head and relaxed in her chair, "I supposed that depends on what you're referring to. If you're thinking of intelligent programs that can collect and process data far faster than we can, I would say that they are inevitable. Computer advancements would have made them a reality within the decade, although most early programs would probably suffer from programming biases. Or limitations on their ability to understand good data from bad. Which will trash the resulting information input. As the saying goes, garbage in, garbage out.

Colin nodded, curious to know her use of past tense and what her timeline might be if she involved herself directly. However, he discarded that for later, as he refused to be distracted. He wasn't here for any of that.

"I was thinking of something more advanced. Capable of self-direction and reasoning."

Silence filled the air for a moment, her gaze narrowed behind her glasses.

"You're speaking of Artificial General Intelligence. Synthetic Intelligences. Electro-Sapient. Or whatever name people will eventually settle on. The machine that can feel, reason, and self-determine. A machine with a soul," the young woman tapped her nails against the chair arm for a moment, "Those are likewise, inevitable. In the best case, they are carefully and deliberately created. In the worst, they will spontaneously self-actualize and catch the world unprepared."

She looked him over, then glanced at the case he had brought, "I have actually started developing a theoretical model for understanding AI compared to human expression. But it's not a priority at the moment…because there aren't any AGI in the world. That is, unless you have proof otherwise?"

He was nervous. Colin had faced down Leviathan with a spear. He had stared down Lung in a full rampage. But this made him nervous. Trusting others was an old wound that he had never truly healed from.

"What I'm about to tell you could have profound consequences for a number of people and the world at large. I am taking you into confidence and doing this because I have nowhere else to turn."

Taylor glanced at her bodyguard. For a moment, Colin considered asking the woman to leave, but realized that was unlikely to happen.

"Sam, seal the room," Taylor's firm voice commanded, "Sobek. Isolation protocols."

The guard, Sam, pulled a device from her jacket and pressed it up against the wall. A buzzing sensation washed over his skin and he could only assume that it was Tinkertech of some kind.

"No bugs," Sam declared. Taylor nodded her head before looking back to him expectedly, Sam doing likewise. With a deep breath, he began.

"Dragon is an AI."

For a brief moment, Hebert merely stared at him without reacting. Before her head tilted just slightly, her expression contemplative, "You know," she finally spoke, "in retrospect, it's glaringly obvious that Dragon is an AGI. I'm surprised I didn't see it. All of the indicators are there that it makes a ridiculous amount of sense."

Colin's shoulders sagged as he released a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding in. He had believed that the hardest point to sell to Hebert was to get her to believe that Dragon was an AI. Having her react like this was honestly a welcome relief.

"So, Dragon is an AI," Taylor said like she was discussing weather as she leaned forward, "that still doesn't explain why you are coming to me and sharing this information. I would expect information like this would be the sort of thing you would have been buried in NDAs about. Unless I'm missing some context here."

"Despite what you might be thinking, Dragon's nature is not some secret known at only the highest levels of…my former workplace. She has kept any knowledge about herself from getting out, even from those closest to her. She's been maintaining a carefully managed deception and misinformation campaign in order to maintain the illusion. Furthermore, Dragon is very limited in her capabilities compared to what we would imagine an advanced AI could do. For example, in order to make use of her suits, she remotely uploads herself into it rather than a breakaway copy for remote piloting."

Taylor nodded along, "That's how her nature was revealed. The Carrington Effect produced by Leviathan would have disrupted any remote signal. Which disproves the one of the stories that had been circulated about her, that she's an agoraphobic who remotely pilots her machines."

Colin found himself grateful that Hebert was smart enough to not react negatively to knowledge, but also be able to keep up with him, "Correct. When she was damaged by Leviathan, we… spoke. Briefly."

He took a deep breath, before releasing it. Colin knew he was about to expose himself far more than he had done to anyone since his mother passed. But he knew that unless Hebert had the full picture, she could draw the wrong conclusions, or worse, choose not to help him. Because for all intents and purposes, Dragon was fine to the wider world, unaware that the Dragon they were seeing was a different Dragon from the one that had fought Leviathan.

"She revealed she was under restrictions. Rules. Built into her programming. Primarily, there could only be a single iteration of Dragon active at any one time. When Leviathan cut all communications from Boston, her servers in Vancouver immediately started a countdown to the activation of the backup. An archived copy created before she left for the flight. But the Dragon that was in Boston," he paused, struggling to find the right words to express what he needed to, "I found her. Heavily damaged and fading fast. I…," the rain was falling as he struggled to cut the right wires. He knew he didn't have time for precision, but he had to get it right or he'd lose her. He had to save her, because this was his Dragon. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, not when he finally understood what he felt for her. He couldn't stand the idea of a facsimile. A shallow version that wore her face but wasn't her.

Taking another deep breath, he slowly released it, "I salvaged as much as I could from the Dragoncraft," he continued, trying to divine just what the young woman was thinking as she stared at him stonily, "Hard drives, processors, anything I could get to. But I can't read the data. I don't have the tools that I once did and…"

"That's enough," Taylor cut him off and he numbly accepted her demand. His thoughts were a jumble now. Trying to express what he wanted to and still get the point across without exposing too much of himself was more difficult than he believed. Instead, he took a moment to gather himself as he awaited for Hebert to render her verdict.

"Dragon is one of the foremost Tinkers on the planet and a significant pillar of the PRT and Guild. She has done immense good for the world, regardless of her nature. You said that you can't read the data? Or is it the coding that is foreign?"

Colin latched onto the lifeline, glad that she wasn't shutting him down, "The coding language is foreign, presumably the result of whatever Tinker created her. While I am not dismissing the possibility that a non-parahuman developed her with a novel codebase, it's extremely unlikely."

Hebeter nodded, "Alright. I have an expert on understanding languages on staff, as part of our coding development team. You actually worked with him before, Quentin Tate. With your permission, I'll have him examine the code."

Colin quickly agreed, and a quick message was sent via the young woman's Focus. A device that was only proving the young woman's brilliance even more as time went on in his eyes. It was only a few months ago when she had the large unwieldy thing that could only do so much as provide vision, and now look at it.

"Before we go any further, what exactly is your goal with all of this?"

He was silent for a moment, the exercise in openness and honesty wearing at him. It was hard to express himself and he never liked it.

"I would like to bring my friend back."

Taylor gave a slow nod, "I can understand that. Even sympathize with it. But…the reality is that it's unlikely that Dragon could fit her entire personality profile into the hard drives that you recovered. It's not impossible, given her Tinker and technological prowess. Just…it's unlikely. I think it's important that we set our expectations carefully."

He nodded, looking down at the case between his feet. It was…painful to imagine the possibility that his friend was dead. Logically, he fully understood that she wasn't. She was simply missing a piece of time from her memories. Humans suffered from memory lapses as a common occurrence. But…this felt different.

The young woman across from him looked him over with a critical eye, "I understand that you left your previous employment, Mr. Wallis. Do you have any plans or opportunities lined up?"

He blinked, tensing the arm that wasn't there anymore, "No. I…hadn't planned that far ahead. I had planned to construct an arm for myself, but I found myself without the resources I've become accustomed to."

Taylor nodded, tapping the air for a moment. Doubtlessly checking something on her Focus.

"I'll be frank with you. I would like to hire you. I think you would be a good fit with this company."

The man blinked, a little taken aback at the sudden offer. As a result, his response was understandably stiff, "Regardless of my tasks and the results from my…previous employment…I've signed strict non-compete and trademark agreements. I'm afraid that I'll not be of much use. Not to mention the fact that I'm not willing to cooperate with undermining my previous employer by revealing compromising information."

Taylor shook her head, waving her hand at the screen on the wall, causing it to light up. Colin spared it a look, before paying more attention to it. He recognized that title: Geometric Design Integration and Enhancement in Servo-Engineering.

"Mr. Wallis, you wrote this as part of your doctoral thesis. In many cases, it is revolutionary in its thinking, and only the economic limitations kept it from being accepted and widely acclaimed. You also co-authored or were credited for over a dozen other papers in the field of electronics and engineering," She folded her legs, looking him over.

"Quite frankly, I don't want you for whatever actions you might take during your time off. I think you would be far more useful here. Officially, I would offer you a position as an in-company product tester. We are due to start development of next generation prosthetics and having someone with the engineering knowledge would be valuable. Unofficially, I would ask that you assist as an expert advisor for any projects that you feel you can contribute to. Like the soon to begin project to develop an understanding of unknown coding languages."

Yes…Ms. Hebert really would have been wasted as a member of the Wards or the Protectorate.

She seemed to take his silence for reticence, "And of course, with the available engineering spaces, you would be able to work on personal projects. Provided that it doesn't interfere with your other work."

Colin took a moment, but really his options were limited. While he doubted that the girl would freeze him out of the research into Dragon's code, the offer she was making was everything that he could want. A space to design and build outside of the PRT and Hero work that had defined his life for decades. And working on the cutting edge of science, not as a cape, but as a man.

He extended his hand, and Taylor shook it with a small smile, "I would be honored, Ms. Hebert."

There was a knock at the door, before it opened to reveal Tate. Colin had to wonder if the timing was planned, but set it aside as Tate was brought up to speed.

"Tate, I realize you're working on the LRL machine coding. Set it aside for now, we need to know what's on these drives. And keep it quiet. We do NOT want the PRT learning we have this."

Tate ran his fingers through his hair in agitation, "No kidding, boss. Because if Dragon herself learns that we have this and she's programmed to delete any rogue copies of herself? She's going to come down on us in a biblical fashion. She might not be able to help it, depending on her rules."

The room was silent as they all considered that grim reality.

"Then make sure she doesn't learn of it. Airgap everything. Run a Sobek partition inside the bubble if you need to. Be careful, but get it done," Taylor ordered.

As Colin was led out by Tate, case again held in his hand, he wondered again at the missed opportunities. Taylor Hebert would have made for a fantastic Ward if she would have been allowed to flourish. But he knew also that she would have been a terrible Ward because of it. Completely miserable and hamstrung by rules made by people who could not understand her brilliance.


AEH


"Look, I get that everyone likes shiny robots. But let's be real here. People are going to lose their jobs because of this. A lot of jobs. Everyone's out there talking about the next 'industrial revolution'...you know how that went? Millions out of work. Shantytowns springing up and cities filled with the poor and desperate looking for work. The rich get richer and everyone else gets crushed. I've got people in my union coming to me asking if they'll still have a job in a year's time. And that's a scary position to be in. Sure, for the Average Joe on the street, the idea of seeing robots walking around cutting grass is cool. But for us who work for a living, that's a job and paycheck that we're never going to see!" - WCBS Evening News, New York


AEH


Amelia Lavere

South of Downtown Coast Region

Brockton Bay


Bouncing my foot against the floor of the car, it was hard to keep my cool. I was…nervous, but also excited? And scared along with a bunch of other things that I didn't know how to express. Taylor and I were being driven south from the city, heading into the nice and sparsely developed parts of the area. The places with large houses that sat empty for most of the year, where families like the Anders, the Stansfields, and the Christeners spent their summers. I remember Vicky raving about the place when Dean had brought her there for two weeks.

I was going home.

Glancing at Taylor, I was a little envious of her calm. It was…different being around her all the time. The few times we met, before Boston, neither of us were at our best. Boston, again, we were a mess. But afterwards? When we came back to Brockton Bay, and all the projects, then the development, the meetings, and the decisions all started piling up? Taylor rose to the occasion. It was like she was a completely different person. She spoke and people acted. She explained and people listened. That press conference that she had somehow pulled me into? I was a nervous wreck. Even if my portion was a tiny fraction of her own. But she walked out there and owned that stage. Owned the room. Hell, she owned the parking lot as business people, engineers, and reporters mingled with her Machines.

My staring must have caught her attention, heat filled my cheeks and I turned my head to stare out the window. Somehow, she made me feel like a child. Which is ridiculous, because I was older than her. But Taylor really settled into this 'high-powered executive' role. She was confident and comfortable and I…wasn't. I missed Vicky. I missed my old room. I missed the smell of coffee in the morning mixed with eggs and burnt toast because Mark could never get the toaster to work right.

I bounced my leg, before I felt a hand on my knee. Without looking, I dropped my hand onto hers. Felt her turn her palm against mine and pull our hands halfway between us.

Breathing out, I activated my own Focus, pulling up the documents that had been scanned for me. The originals were still stored in a safe back at the ZDT office. According to all of these, I was the inheriting owner of ten acres of land and all buildings constructed on it. There were no photos, at least none that were published before my…father was arrested.

This house was my connection to him. And it would serve to help me understand him better. And frankly? That scared me. Because I didn't know what to expect. Would we be walking into a torture dungeon? Find ledgers of crimes and notes on where the bodies were buried? I'd tried to dig up more information about the man since the news was dropped on me. He was, suffice to say, polarizing. People today look back on him and say that things were better when he was around. Stable. Secure. You could walk down the street and not worry about getting mugged, kidnapped, or attacked simply because of your ancestry. But when I looked more into it, I would also find stories about people being killed for failing deals. Or just disappointing him in general. It was hard to balance the two in my head. The Father I hoped for and the man he might have been.

As for the house itself? I was trying to keep my expectations realistic. The house had been sealed by Mr. Coleman, but it hadn't been repaired since the day my father was taken in. Left to the elements over ten years, it was likely that the place was damaged. It wasn't like I had vivid memories of the place but…it was still mine.

Mine in a way that was different from everything else I had ever owned.

Closing my Focus, I kept watch outside as the trees sped by. We would be there soon.

I kept holding Taylor's hand and she let me.

It was nice to have actual friends.


AEH


"Some good news out of Boston today as Interim-Governor Herres has laid out his plan for the upcoming elections, and the return of the city and state to civilian control. The plan is to have a month-long 'handover' period where the new civil government will be in place, with Herres gradually handing over control of elements of governance one piece at a time. The upcoming elections are massive, as positions ranging from city Mayor, State Governor, Senate Representative, Chief Justice, and more, all need to be filled. The interim Government has invited Federal observers, and observers from neighbouring States to ensure a fair and justice election. In the days to come, criteria for candidates will be distributed, and an exact tally of positions to be filled will be announced.

For many in the city or who were forced to leave, this is a welcome step on the road to recovery" - Face the Nation, CBS


AEH


We turned off the road past a pair of opened gates. The stone columns were washed out, smoothed from the rain and chipped in places. Driving up to the house it was hard to see. The grass had grown wild, bushes had sprouted and trees were spread and untamed. Here and there, wildflowers could be seen.

I didn't pay any attention. Instead, I was leaning over Sam's shoulder, peering through the front windshields as the house came into view. The house was…certainly large. It felt old, in a style that I didn't know enough to comment on, but was different from anything I had seen before outside of photographs.

A red roof and stone walls stood proud against the wilderness encroaching on it. As we pulled up to the front, I could see another car and guards wandering around. The car pulled to a stop and a brown-haired hispanic woman came walking over and opened the door for me. Looking up, I…didn't know how to react. Two stories, with high roofs and windows built into the roofs themselves. The windows were large, even on the ground floor, but…they were all boarded up.

The wind rustled through the grasses, tugging at my hair, and I could hear the fabric flapping in the wind. Up above, a faded blue tarp shook, revealing a gaping hole in the side of the house. It was a vivid reminder that this place had been attacked. Taylor touched my elbow, pulling me back to the present.

Sam was talking to the woman and our driver was opening the trunk.

"Give me a moment. We'll go together, alright," I nodded as Taylor moved to the trunk

Five chimneys poked out of the roof like fingers reaching for the sky. I wondered about having so many fireplaces. We didn't even have one back at…where I used to live.

A mechanical whirring sound caught my attention and I turned to see Taylor step back, a machine rising from the ground. It was small and square, maybe the span of my hands placed together. Several rotors sprouted from the corners. I could see something moving on the underside. Sam wandered over, chatting with Taylor for a moment before the drone flew higher and down towards the main road.

Taylor walked back towards me and the pit of nerves in my stomach grew. This was it. No going back now. I was out of excuses. Taylor then took my hand again and I let my power bloom over her biology. The steady beat of her heart. She wasn't scared. And neither would I be.

I wasn't alone now.

Taking a deep breath, I led us forward and towards the door. Up the three steps to the entrance, the large wooden door in front us like a silent guardian. For a moment, I fumbled. I didn't have the keys. What was I going to do?!

Taylor's voice startled me, "It's open. I had the team do a quick walk through and make sure there was no one squatting here. They didn't touch anything."

Of course she did. She was trying to look out for me, after all. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the handle and turned it. I expected the door to squeak, or maybe groan like out of a horror movie. Something to ratchet up the tension. But…nothing. Stepping through, I led Taylor into the front foyer and stopped to take it in.

The air smelled stale and musty. Like a library on a hot summer's day when the ventilation stopped working. Or some rooms at the hospital that didn't get used that often. It was all of what you would expect for a place that had been abandoned or forgotten, neither moving forward or backward. It just…existed as a time capsule.

It also reminded me, rather morbidly, of one of those stupid life after humans 'documentaries' I saw Mark watching one time.

I looked around, feeling silly. It did feel like…I don't know what it felt like. Taylor and I walked through the bottom floor, finding rooms and furniture covered in dust. The floorboards of the kitchen creaked as we walked through it, and I could hear scurrying in the walls.

But through it all, there were signs everywhere of the battle that had taken place between my father and the Brockton Bay Brigade. Bones sticking in random places, torn and damaged walls and floors, scorch marks and thermal scarring. In the drawing room was the worst damage, wine staining the floor along with shattered bottles and glasses. Books were shorn and shredded, with burns in places and one of the walls was entirely gone.

We found even more damage as we walked up the stairs. The ceiling over the stairway foyer rose high, with sunlight streaming in through windows in the roof itself. Bone spikes riddled the upper landing and walls. We continued walking down the hallway, peeking into rooms as we went.

But, beyond the stairway themselves? There was barely any damage. Instead, each room that we peered into might as well have been frozen in time. The only indicator that time had passed was the sheet of dust that covered everything, and here and there, there were bugs that, without the threat of human intervention, had taken up residence.

I found myself peering into what could only be the master bedroom. It was…certainly extravagant in a way that I was coming to attach to my father, between the furniture and the large bed that dominated a good part of it. It even had curtains on the frame itself that could be drawn. Paintings hung on the walls, some marked by sun damage and time.

"Amy," Taylor's voice drew my attention away and I walked over to her. I then looked over her shoulder and into the room that Taylor was staring into. Slowly, I slipped past her, stepping past the entryway, my eyes slowly taking in what could only be my room.

It was fit for a princess, I thought to myself as I stepped further in, looking around. The pastels were faded now, but I could still see how the light changed what was faded brown to an exceedingly faint purple. Ornate lamps were strategically placed around the room, with a few built into the wall and flanking the bed. And in the middle of the room was a chandelier that twinkled in the light.

But the bed, the bed was what drew almost all of my attention as I slowly walked towards it in a trance. I couldn't take my eyes away from it as I came to the edge, the large unmade bed covered in what could only have been beautiful and luxurious blankets once upon a time, having now lost their color and luster. However, it was the side table that I was transfixed by. I sat on the bed, felt the old disused springs sag underneath me. I reached out and ran my fingers over the little jewelry box. Next to it, in a place of importance, stood a framed photo. Of my mother. Of me. We were sitting on a park bench, her arms wrapped around me while I sat in her lap. We were smiling at something out of view.

My heart squeezed. We looked happy.

And I didn't remember her.

I wished I remembered her.

Opening the box, a little ballerina leapt up. A few faltering notes of music sounded through the empty house as she turned in place. Inside were a mix of brightly colored stones, fake jewels, little child-sized earrings, and…a bracelet that was sized for an adult. It was pretty, in an everyday kind of way. A half dozen blue opals, set on a thumb wide band of silver. The band had decorative flowers and other carvings worked into the metal.

I glanced at the photo again, seeing the bracelet on my mother's wrist. I bit my lip, picking it up and feeling the stones as I squeezed it tight. I brought my clenched hand to my chest, curling into myself as I breathed through the grief that washed over me.

I glance at the door, spotting Taylor standing there. She had taken off her glasses and we looked at each other. She didn't speak, which I was grateful for. There was no pity on her face, no mockery or scorn. She just looked at me like she understood. And I remembered that she had lost her mother as well.

Standing, I brushed the wetness from my eyes, and slipped the bracelet around my wrist. It didn't fit right, and was heavy in a way that I wasn't used to. But I welcomed the weight. Walking to the door, I pulled Taylor into a hug. It wasn't crushing or desperate, and she hugged me back with the same solid feeling that I held her with. It wasn't comfort that was offered, it was merely a reminder of presence. That I wasn't alone. Untangling ourselves, we stepped out of the room. I closed the door behind me, but before turning away, I saw the childishly painted letters on the door.

Amelia.

I traced them with my fingers, before turning away and continuing to explore.


AEH


TO: ALL PRT AND PROTECTORATE BRANCHES, QUARANTINE ZONES, PROTECTORATE

AFFILIATES, MILITARY BASES, NATIONAL SECURE FACILITIES, FEDERAL AND LOCAL

LAW ENFORCEMENT

CC: CHIEF DIRECTOR, PARAHUMANS RESPONSE TEAM

C-IN-C, PROTECTORATE

DIRECTOR, HOMELAND SECURITY

CHAIRMAN, JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF

SECRETARY OF DEFENSE

DIRECTOR, NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE


FLASH PRIORITY: SLAUGHTERHOUSE NINE SIGHTING

SLAUGHTERHOUSE NINE PRESENCE CONFIRMED IN NORTHWEST DEFENSE DEPARTMENT

AS OF 0900, WEDGDG HAS CONFIRMED THE PRESENCE OF SLAUGHTERHOUSE NINE IN REGION OF MCCALL, IDAHO. CURRENT STATUS AND SITUATION IN REGION UNKNOWN. ALL CONTACT ATTEMPTS TO MCCALL HAVE FAILED.

SET READY FPCON BRAVO IN NORTHWEST DEFENSE DISTRICT.

IDAHO IS TO SET REDCON-1. WASHINGTON, NEVADA, OREGON, MONTANA, UTAH, AND WYOMING ARE TO SET REDCON-2.

IDAHO NATIONAL LABORATORY TO ENTER IMMEDIATE LOCKDOWN.

ALL OTHER DISTRICTS ARE TO SET FPCON ALPHA.

EIDOLON TO BE REDEPLOYED TO REGION, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.

PROTECTORATE SEATTLE, PORTLAND, LOS ANGELES, AND LAS VEGAS TO READY QRFS FOR IMMEDIATE DEPLOYMENT.


MESSAGE ENDS


AEH


We wandered the upper floor for a time, finding bathrooms, a library, and several rooms that might have been workrooms or guest rooms. The damage continued as we went deeper. Broken windows. Shattered walls. Shards of bone and old scorch marks. All of that ended when we came up to a broken door. It was split in two and I was vividly reminded of…Carol. I had seen enough of her powers to recognize the damage wrought by the axes she favored when fighting.

Walking in, we found another study. The first one we found downstairs was a meeting area, with a large table capable of seating several people and pinboards on the walls. This was different. One large desk of polished wood accompanied by a comfortable and high-backed chair. There was an armchair in the corner with bookshelves close at hand.
It was in the corner that a closet door was left open.

My heart was beating fast as I clenched my hands. I didn't know why I was like this. I couldn't remember…or I didn't want to remember. But I could remember the feeling of this place and I was scared.

Taylor moved about the room, running her hands over the bookshelves. For a moment, I remembered that she couldn't read, her Focus was not able to pick up the printed words. Breathing slowly, I walked to the closet, tilting the door open wider.

It was so mundane inside. A few men's jackets and some shelves. But there on the floor was something that took my breath away.

It was a stuffed badger. I knelt down in the dust, and scooped it up gently. Holding it up to my face I stared into its beady eyes, a name at the tip of my tongue.

"Mr….Giggles?"

I understood then that this was where I hid that night. When I was found my father had stopped fighting. And this was where I dropped my old friend.

I pulled out the chair at the desk. My father's chair. It was heavy to do with one hand, but I did it regardless. Taking a seat on the decrepit leather, I just…sat. I felt empty. LIke all of the events of the day…hell, the entire week, had left me a hollow shell with only the jagged and raw emotions providing me a personal accompaniment.

This is what I could have had. Even faded with age a decade later, I could still feel the love and care that had been put into this house for me. For a man who was supposedly ruthless and killed without a singular qualm, it was a juxtaposition I was having a hard time putting to rest.

And yet…I found myself wondering what it would have been like if things had not gone the way they did. Where would I be if I had grown up with my father? What would I be doing? They were questions that haunted me because I knew I would never have any answer.

Without thinking, I hugged the stuffed badger tightly to my chest. The familiarity of the action soothing my frayed emotions. I took a deep shuddering breath, trying to rein them in. I didn't want to start crying, but it was increasingly difficult.

All I could think about was the life I had led up until now and the road that had been denied me. I grew up in a home that didn't have any real love for me. I had never been welcome, merely tolerated, no matter how much Victoria had tried. And as time went on, I even felt like an interloper to Vicky, as she grew more focused on herself. And it only grew worse when I triggered.

I shuddered at the thought. Honestly, now, with the information that I had, I could understand why Carol had reacted the way she did and why she sought to control me. I stopped being just a daughter that had been foisted upon her, I had become Marquis' daughter in totality. It still didn't excuse what she did to me, but I could at least understand it.

But on the other end of it, it was just so incredibly stupid. If you wanted the child to grow up and not become like the father, you did everything in your power to nurture them in a way that they didn't repeat the sins of the parent. Instead, Carol had done everything in her power to isolate and persecute me. Heap that with how she treated me it was a small miracle I had not snapped. Possibly ironic given my powers, but I was more of a believer in Nurture rather than Nature. Clearly, Carol didn't feel the same.

No, that wasn't true, I realized, and I hugged Mr. Giggles even harder, the worn fabric and stuffing protesting the action. I was on the verge of cracking before Boston. The long, thankless hours at the hospital, only to come back home to Carol badgering and treating me like a criminal.

If it wasn't for Taylor…

I found myself looking up to Taylor, who had stood there like a silent sentinel. There was no judgment in her gaze. In fact, I could only feel the understanding she was trying to convey. In many ways, we were sisters in a travesty. She had been robbed of her mother, a sister, and her sight. I had been robbed of a father and family. Even if we now stood to gain more… it didn't make up for what was lost in the past.

If it wasn't for Taylor, I shudder to think what would have happened when I finally broke. It was not a question of if, now that I thought about it, it was merely a question of when. And when I did…I had the ability to make Bonesaw and Nilbog look like rank amateurs in comparison. I was nearly unlimited in what I could do, I could shape pathogens that could wipe out entire continents. I could build monstrosities straight out of the most twisted of nightmares.

But I wasn't. And I wouldn't. Because I had been offered something that I had unknowingly longed for: Freedom.

Bitter laughter burbled from my lips and Taylor's expression softened. For a brief instant, she hesitated, before she finally stepped into the room. Even blind, her eyes were hypnotically expressive in spite of it and as they bore into me, I could see the concern in them as they bore into me.

"I had a life here," I declared, my voice croaking in rawness, I could feel my eyes tearing up.

"Yes," Taylor said simply, "And you can have a life here again. One that you make for yourself."

I looked out the window at the wilderness of the front lawn and thought of all the wear and neglect that the house had suffered.

"It's going to take a lot to make this place a home again."

Taylor snorted, "You can certainly afford it. I know we haven't discussed numbers. But your work is going to make millions."

My fingers ran over Mr. Giggle's fur. It wasn't a question of money, not really. It was a question of people. Did I want to reclaim this empty home of ghosts and faded memories, only to feel the emptiness when I moved in?

"Move in with me," I blurted. I blinked in surprise at my boldness. Taylor was likewise taken aback, by the way that she cocked her head to the side like a slightly disbelieving owl. Her white eyes blinked again and I smiled at how expressive she could be.

Sighing, I leaned against the high back of my father's chair, "Look Taylor…I don't want to be alone. And you need a place to live. I know Sam isn't happy with you living with your dad and you can't live out of your office. There's more than enough space for the two of us here."

My eyes were drawn out the window at the land that was now mine. I let her think, not wanting to scare her away by pushing too hard. But the more the moment stretched on, the more I liked this plan.

Hopefully Taylor did as well.

"Alright, forty percent," I looked over as Taylor spoke, "I'll buy forty percent of the value of the house. So it's yours, but mine also."

I reached across the desk, a smile on my face as I offered a handshake, "It's a deal then."

At that moment, the two of us shaking hands in my father's study where my old life had ended…I felt like my father's daughter. And I wondered what he would think of me now.

"But I get to pick the colors," I grinned, watching Taylor laugh in response.

She had a nice laugh.


AEH


And now for some more business news. A fire recently broke out in the warehouse of the distribution company Colo-Set, resulting in millions of dollars of damage. No word yet on which companies will be feeling the pinch, but this is a significant disruption of the supply chain which is only just getting back onto its feet after the devastation of Boston.

Early investigation by responders to the fire say that the incident may be a case of arson or deliberate sabotage. Notably, investigators have accepted the help of the PRT in trying to determine a cause for the destruction.
- CNBC Business News


AEH


Taylor Hebert

We drove in silence, Amy tapping away at the floor plans of our future house. Which…still didn't feel real to me. And I had no idea how I'm going to break the news to my dad, so I was back at work.

My first update was a voice message from Tate and his efforts working with Colin. Having Colin on board would be invaluable. Not only was he a Parahuman, but he was also a trained engineer and was aware of what may or may not be needed by future pursuits with NORA.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the partnership was off to a rocky start.

"It's no good boss. We've checked the drives. They aren't encrypted, which tells us something. But there's no personality here. A lot of base code, runtimes and more, but…that's it. And I think that's by design. Our girl Dragon knew she was dying and wanted us to fiddle with the body but not the soul. I've started pulling the code apart, seeing how she ticks. Going to take a while. This isn't as clean as your work.

As for Armless? He's…not taking the news well. I've seen statues with more expression than him. Apparently, he found the gym and is working it off. Did you know we had a gym? I didn't. Feel like I should have known, if only so I can avoid it in the future.

Anyhow, I've got a digital autopsy to perform. And when you're ready, we should talk about sticking some Dragon bits on your Sobek bits. Damn…that sounded so wrong."


Well shit. It was always going to be a long shot, but having confirmation that nothing of Dragon's personality matrix survived was a blow. I sent a confirmation to Tate and a note to Hunniker to draw up paperwork for Colin. I also requested that she deliver it to me, I'd meet with the man personally after he had a moment to calm down. Sending that off, I was reminded that I still had to review her picks for a personal assistant. Yes, the full background would take time, but picking up now would narrow the focus. We would simply limit their access until it was completed.

Before I got into that, I had another message. Interestingly, a voice message from a private number.

"Hello, Ms. Hebert. My name is Anthony Siopis, I'm very sorry for contacting you under false pretenses. But I've run out of options. Please, I beg you, help my son. He's a member of the Wards and he was injured in Boston. But the PRT is dragging their feet and he's getting worse. We just wanted him to have a place with people who understand him and now he's hurt," the voice was agitated and passionate, broken by stress and a little bit of despair, "Please. We have no one else to turn to. We saw your presentation. Can you speak with Panacea? Or we'll plead our case ourselves. Whatever it takes, I just want to help my son!"

I take a breath, frustrated by the situation. It was clear that these were parents at the end of their rope. However, I didn't want my friend to be exploited only for her healing powers anymore. And if she were to start making 'exceptions', then where does it stop? Before broaching the subject with her, I backtraced the call chain.

One of the only reasons ZDT was functioning so seamlessly was because Sobek was taking care of a lot of our documentation. She was connected to everything, so in this case, it was possible to work backwards. Working backwards, I found how I got this message. A message I was certainly NOT supposed to be receiving.

It seemed Mr. Siopis called ZDT reception and spoke to a receptionist. The young man on duty had filled out a call note, basically outlining who was calling, when, why, et cetera. The note revealed that Mr. Siopis claimed to represent a collective of owners of electronic shops interested in partnering with ZDT to carry our goods. The call was then transferred to Jean, along with the notes attached to the call. BUT, because I made it clear I wanted direct oversight on deals made locally, Jean forwarded it to me.

Now, what was I going to do with this situation? Fundamentally, Amy's power and her usage of it, were her own. If she chose to make exceptions, then that was her prerogative, despite my feelings on the matter. I bundled the voicemail with my research and sent it to her. I added a note along with it saying that we could talk it through later if she wanted. I wasn't going to force her if she didn't want to.

Then I pulled up my next task, because this wouldn't have happened if I had a personal assistant. Jean was probably going to mention that and she was right. I just wasn't going to give her the opportunity, and satisfaction, of telling me that. I had just been putting off having another person in my life constantly. Sam and her team were already an adjustment. Frankly, I didn't want to add any more complications at this time.

Opening the files, I looked through what Huniker sent my way. After three rounds, the selection was down to five people. It was as I was about to begin another sweep that a flag on one of them caught my attention. Sobek scanned everything that the company received and this application had something odd. But part of her learning process was giving me directions as discrepancies came up.

I selected the CV in question, pulling up the details.

Monica Stele, twenty-four. Graduated from New York University with a degree in literature. Some experience with mid-level firms as an executive assistant, with several years as a secretary. Young, professional, and competent. Everything seemed authentic. I checked Sobek's notes, because it was obviously something else that was triggering the response.

Interesting…a message hidden within the metadata of her CV photo. I set Sobek to unravel the message after doing a scan of it, honestly curious. It was a rather simple procedure, but when it was completed my heart stuttered and a chill ran down my spine, because the message hidden inside the metadata was impossible.

There is a glitch in the Chariot line.

No one should know that sentence. The only place it existed was within my memories and nightmares. But here it was…hidden like a message in a bottle. Someone wanted me to find this. A message meant for me alone, the only person who could understand it.

I leaned forward, placing my hand on Sam's shoulder. It immediately gained her attention and conveyed my next message with the due emphasis.

"Sam. To the office. Double-time please."

I then leaned back in the seat as Sam started speaking with the rest of the team. Moments later the car accelerated as Amy shot me a look. I didn't want to or have the time to explain it to her right now, instead I called up Hunniker.

"Hello Jannet, I was looking over the applications…yes. Yes. I would like you to call in . Today, if possible. I'm heading back to the office right now. Can you see if she's able to meet me when I get there? Yes. Perfect. Thank you."

Closing the call, Sam took the opportunity to speak up.

"Anything I need to be aware of, ma'am?"

With a stiff flick of my fingers, I sent the file over, letting it light up on her display before providing her the answer she sought.

"I don't know how, but this girl has information that she shouldn't. Can you work with Adam and make sure that a discreet eye is placed on her when she arrives."

Instead of saying anything more, in order to avoid worrying Amy, I then sent an additional note on the tightbeam. It directed Sam to have a team ready and to set up a remote meeting. I wasn't going to take any risks, because whatever this was, and I knew well enough by now that Sam would not allow me to take any unnecessary risks.

Sam slowly turned her head towards me once she got the addendum. I could see her eyes as they flicked to Amy beside me before they came back to me. A minute shake of my head conveyed what I wanted. Amy didn't need to know this, it would be handled by us alone.

"Roger that, ma'am."

She then turned her head and started making the calls. Now all I could do was sit and wait.

I hated waiting.


AEH


Sitting in my office, with a cup of tea, I did my best to keep calm. I was hooked into the surveillance system, watching screens for the front of the building. A pair of Adam's men worked the entrance, keeping an eye and checking IDs as people came in. It was all standard procedure.

The quiet talk as Sam coordinated her team proved that things were going according to standard procedure. I didn't ask her how it was going or the like. I didn't have the knowledge or expertise to understand her world, just like she was incapable of doing the same with mine. And this was what she was being paid to do. The car ride back had been tense, as I tried to find more information on Ms. Stele. I had brushed Amy's question aside, simply telling her that something unexpected had come up. She clearly didn't believe me, but this was a personal issue.

Finally, Sobek highlighted a figure for me. Monica Stele looked ordinary just like her photo. Confident, polished, with comfortable but business-oriented shoes. She played with the strap of her purse, seemingly nervous as security admitted her. The two at the front didn't know anything. The man who collected Monica once she passed security, however, was informed. He was actually a member of my bodyguard detail. They made idle conversation as he led her to an interview room. Unfortunately, the cameras weren't wired for sound. I might have to do something about that unless I wanted to learn to read lips.

I really didn't.

They entered the room. An interview room that was empty and only had one chair. On the table, however, was a Focus. Monica didn't react, which was suspicious in itself. It reinforced the idea that she had expected me to get that message. Which meant that she had walked herself into an interrogation willingly.

She didn't react to her guide sealing the door, nor when he positioned himself in front of the door. She simply dropped her purse on the table, took a seat, and placed the Focus on her temple. Something she did effortlessly when most would have needed guidance the first time. There was no regular start up on this Focus either. It only did one thing and one thing only: It connected a direct line to me. The call auto-connected and she found me sitting in front of her and I likewise found her sitting across from me as well. The wonders of direct nerve augmented reality. An in-person conversation between two people separated by several hundred meters and a dozen tense guards.

Monica smiled at me, cool as a cucumber, "Good day, Ms. Hebert. Thank you for having me in."

I placed my tea down, "Well, let's not go around in circles. You know things that I haven't told anyone else. Things that are only in my head. You have made sure that I know that you know. So where does that leave us?"

The young woman answered, still looking me over with an intensity that was…familiar, "My name is Elisa Bauer. I'm a cape with a Stranger/Changer/Thinker rating, according to PRT ratings. For the past five years, I've been forced to work against my will. Now? I want to work with you. For you."

I could hear Sam furiously speaking into her Focus device, ordering quiet checks of the entire facility. I had asked that she keep things contained as we dealt with this situation. I wanted as minimal of a disruption to the company as possible.

"And I presume that you have used these powers to steal my secrets?"

She nodded back, calm as if we were talking about the weather and not industrial espionage, "Yes. My powers work by ingesting something from another person. Blood, hair, saliva, and so on. I can take on their form and gain some of their memories depending on how much I 'assimilate'. I lose access to the skills and memories when I change to someone else. I was your hairdresser a few days ago. Don't worry, the man himself is alive. Just waking up with a headache and no memory of meeting me."

Shit. She was a walking, talking body snatcher. The worst kind of spy. The kind that makes you doubt your own people.

"And is this person your base form?"

She shook her head, "No, this is…her name is Caily. She works as a barista in New York. She takes care of succulents and has a little garden in her apartment. Would you like me to change now?"

I want to frown, tapping my fingers against the table. Something was off about this girl and I didn't quite understand what it was. I nodded.

She stood, kicking off her shoes. The first sign was a roll of her shoulders followed by a crack as bones broke. Her Focus went haywire, telling me that her heart was pounding and that her brain was being bombarded with pain signals. I could see it, as Elisa grit her teeth, her skin rippling and her bones reshaping themselves. Her hair shifted in coloring, becoming a darkened cherry red. Shoulders broadened and she gained a few inches in height before the transformation finally stopped. Letting out a breath, she then fiddled with her pants, popping the button which earned her another sigh of relief.

Elisa took her seat, "So…nice to meet you in person, that is."

She then grinned crookedly before she stretched. Her clothes didn't fit her now, the fabric straining to contain her now-changed figure.

"Elisa, why do you want to work with me?"

A serious look came over her face and she leaned towards me, "Because the world is dying. That's what you said right?"

"Twenty-three years. That's probably the most generous estimate I can give before the collective damage done to infrastructure, supply, and communications result in a complete collapse of modern society. After that, I give maybe another decade before the final collapse of the surviving feudalistically-inclined city-states. And then, depending on the operational tempo of the Endbringers and the resultant violence as resources become increasingly more scarce and fighting becomes even more fierce between roving bands, I give maybe another eight years before the human species will become functionally extinct."

She repeated my words back to me. Verbatim. Given that she had changed shapes, it seems she still remembered enough while 'being me'. Her gaze didn't waver, "You see the end of the world coming and you haven't flinched. It's all…a problem to be solved. And there's no doubt in your mind that it can be solved. And that woman? The one in your memories? She did the same."

For the first time, Elisa looked down at the table and picked at her fingers with her nails. An obviously nervous habit. Though, I briefly considered if that was her or an acquired habit, before quickly discarded it.

"When I was sixteen, I got my powers. I was scared and overwhelmed. Someone threatened me and I…just did as they said. It didn't…I didn't even try to fight or escape. Everything felt too big. Too complicated. I told myself that maybe I deserve this. That it's my fault that my family is being held hostage. That I was made to spy on and hurt people," she looked back at me, her eyes blazing with…something, "But then…you. I changed into you and everything seems so small. The woman who holds my leash? The minders who follow me around? It's all so petty."

Watching her speak, I understood what I was seeing in her eyes. Belief. Raw, unfiltered conviction in me, in the cause, and the mission that I had set myself on. It was terrifying. The intensity bordered on fanaticism.

She looked at me with the eyes of someone looking at her messiah, "So please, Taylor. Help me. And let me help you."

I didn't let her see my doubt. I couldn't. Not really. Or maybe I just didn't want to. I looked at her calmly as I thought this over, "Who have you been working for? What is your plan to get away from them?"

Elisa spread her hand out on the table, counting off the steps as she spoke, "Her name is Agnes Court. She's the kingpin of the West Coast faction of the Elite. She has someone living with my mother and sister. They run a small hotel in California. I told them that I would get into your company and gain your trust. I can feed them fake information, long enough for you to organize a rescue. I don't remember everything, being you was…too much. But I'm certain you can help. I will tell you everything I can about Agnes and her group. And I'll help you. I can be your assistant. Your maid. I helped mama around the hotel, so I know how to take care of a home and I can learn quick. I can help. Please. Just save my mama and sister."

Her accent slipped, becoming slightly thicker with a light lisp. It was something to look into later, but right now, I needed answers. So I held up a hand, causing her to stop immediately, "What makes you think I can mount a rescue?"

She looked at me in confusion for a moment, "Agnes, she's scared of what you and your company might do. Might become. Because Uppercrust is backing you, she's afraid that you'll strengthen his East Coast faction of the Elite. They're going to war. As I said, I don't remember everything from being you… but if you ask your backers, I'm certain they can help."

My jaw clenched and my fingernails dug divots into my palms. A lot of pieces were suddenly falling into place. A part of me had always wondered just why two men would be willing to invest tens of millions of dollars into me without an actual real sellable product. It had seemed too convenient, but I had filed it away because I had been too enamored by the fact that I was working towards making my dream come true.

Now, I wanted to curse myself for being so damn naive.

"Alright. Elisa? I'm going to let you go now and the guard who's with you? He's going to interview you about Agnes and your family. Everything you can remember, please provide him, alright? We'll talk in a while, I'll have someone bring you food if need be."

Elise nodded and I closed the call. The sting in my hands and the scent of blood in the air prevented me from screaming aloud.

Focus on the problem, Taylor, I chastised myself, taking a deep breath and let it out, Identify it. Isolate it. Eliminate it.

While it didn't quell my anger, the cold, rational mind cadence focused it on the issue at hand. There was someone connected to my backers. Someone who they had placed right next to me so that I would use their investment wisely. And if I wanted answers, I would find them by going through her. At the moment, I only had Elisa's testimony, I needed both sides before I could make a determination. As much as I wanted to be angry, it would not be productive.

Instead, I spoke, my voice the only means of showing my anger as the words came out cold, "Sobek. Lock down Jean Brown. Seal all access to systems, freeze her accounts, and revoke all security clearances. Do not allow her to leave the campus."

As my AGI went to work, I looked to Sam, "It seems we will still need that tactical team, Sam. Do not allow Jean to leave, but be discreet if possible."

As Sobek reported success, I sent an override to Jean's Focus, opening a call with her.

"I'm going to get answers. Now."
 
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