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An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

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.
 
Some delicious reactions to recent events! Loving the shape of the unfolding story to come! Incognita was an angle I hadn't seen coming, and am delighted to see progress.

Also, during Browbeat's talk with Dennis where he's saying everyone's right in their own way, I think you meant to type "Chris is right," rather than Christ.

Thanks for writing and sharing, AISmash!
 
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

Modularity*

Modulation is something different.
 
While I know that this isn't going to be that kind of story, I would love for Jack to run afoul of a combat machine and have absolutely nothing for his power to work with as it tears him apart. A Thunderjaw would be glorious, a Clawstrider or two would be fun as well (clever girl), but a Scrapper or Scrounger pack would probably be the best Taylor could come up with in the next few weeks.
 
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.
Pretty sure these Sarah's are supposed to be Crystal's
 
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."
 
Thx for the early chapter it was a great read, also enjoy the sushi at least there's plenty of it where your going
 
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."
Did I miss something? Why isn't Sam happy with Taylor living with her father?
 

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