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An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

Reader mode
Foul cliffhanger begone!!! Thanks for the update. I don't know why but this chapter just felt shorter than normal even though it wasn't, I checked lol. Guess it was just that good of a read lol
 
sknoodle said:
The fuck is Lexy pulling here?
Does cauldron have a pathological need to make everyone their enemy?

Tftc
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I have no idea but if she wanted to actually stop it she wouldn't have waited until after Taylor explained things and Herres already had been convinced.

So while probably some dumb idea it doesn't include stopping the use of the Focus.
 
sknoodle said:
The fuck is Lexy pulling here?
Does cauldron have a pathological need to make everyone their enemy?

Tftc
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...

Short answer? Yes.

Longer answer? After all the crimes against humanity they've committed sacrifices they've made, they're the only ones who get to save the world, and it will be done their way or not at all. At best, they're all running on sunk-cost fallacies trying to make it all worth something. At worst, Contessa is running on similar logic as that dumb delusional brat, Ciara, and is actively sabotaging not just humanity but both Eden the Thinker and Zion the Warrior so that Abaddon the Wanderer can take Earth's multiverse for itself with minimal effort.

And then you've got David, who's just a more powerful Homelander and deserves a planet's worth of nut punches.
 
Will be giving responses later this weekend hopefully.

Anyways, wanted to get this out of the way because there have been some criticisms of Lexy, and upon further review, yeah, it's right. I'll admit I went a bit to ham on how Lexy handled the situation. This is a woman who has been the Chief Director of the PRT for almost two decades, and survived several administrations. This is not someone who doesn't know how to play the game.

But I also have to balance that with the fact that Taylor is essentially a New Wave type scenario that could play out if she gains traction. This is something that could challenge the primacy of the Protectorate. Maybe not now, but if Taylor is able to gain momentum, then that is a serious problem, and someone as politically capable as RCB/Alexandria it may as well be waving be waving a red flag.

Tie in the fact that Taylor has come in AFTER the Endbringer event. What capes do that? It's completely against the norm and standard that has been established for quite some time. It has Lexy on her back foot, because it's a new scenario and they are still trying to put a finger on just what Taylor is and what her threat to the greater narrative is. But at the same time, she cannot act like she's in charge or force a military officer to do what she wants, short of screaming M/S and then that opens an entirely different and uncomfortable set of worms. But nonetheless, she has to at least start establishing ground on undermining Taylor if she does start gaining traction, by creating doubts and questions.

So I have toned it down here, instead of forcefully trying to push the advantage, I changed it to where its an advisory, merely pointing out issues and situations. Which will look better for the Protectorate. Legend is good, but he doesn't have the steel necessary to make the play like she can. So that is why she intervenes and makes the move.

Finally, instead of acting aggressive, Lexy can still play both sides of the equation. If question, she can merely say she was 'doing her job' and that it wasn't personal, and 'no hard feelings'. This means she can portray the Protectorate as looking good, while keeping Taylor from going too hard on them for just doing their job. After all, someone like Taylor can understand why they would be cautious, especially in the light of Cranial.
 
Cauldron was idiotic in ever giving Alexandria any authority. Using her, sure. But in a leadership position? She canonically stopped aging directly after adolescency. So at most at her mid twenties. Emotional Maturity only really comes at the late twenties, early thirties. Not exactly the person to put in charge of a national "law enforcement" agency. She is immature
 
Just read the Lexy section again and she does seem a bit less retarded now. 👍
 
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sknoodle said:
The fuck is Lexy pulling here?
Does cauldron have a pathological need to make everyone their enemy?
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Voidlord said:
Yes. They believe only they can "save" humanity. Anyone else who has a chance, in their minds, doesn't, and needs to be "dealt" with.
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Balorak146 said:
Short answer? Yes.

Longer answer? After all the crimes against humanity they've committed sacrifices they've made, they're the only ones who get to save the world, and it will be done their way or not at all. At best, they're all running on sunk-cost fallacies trying to make it all worth something. At worst, Contessa is running on similar logic as that dumb delusional brat, Ciara, and is actively sabotaging not just humanity but both Eden the Thinker and Zion the Warrior so that Abaddon the Wanderer can take Earth's multiverse for itself with minimal effort.

And then you've got David, who's just a more powerful Homelander and deserves a planet's worth of nut punches.
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You guys are forgetting something. Mainly:

AlSmash said:
"The work that is necessary for Taylor Hebert to complete will change every single projection that we currently have," came the brunette's response after a bit, "what she will usher in will be the difference between surviving and thriving."

That cut off her rebuttal, instead she sat there contemplating what the other woman was hinting at. Contessa did not speak of events in such broad terms, so to hear her avoiding specificity in her statement was concerning.

"How?"

The other woman shook her head, "I can't tell you. If I did it would influence your actions and interfere with The Path."
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AlSmash said:
"If she is that important Contessa, then why aren't we taking charge of her?"

Of course, she was being polite in the description. Kidnapping was a dirty business, but it was an effective tool for Cauldron. That was, if other means of co-opting their target was not viable, but in this case, if Contessa's analysis was correct, it was the only option available.

"Taylor Hebert needs to grow in a certain way in order to flourish and reach the conclusion The Path suggests. If we were to bring her into Cauldron, then she would be unable to reach her full potential. Hebert values and will protect her newfound freedom. Kidnapping her would result in another Manton."
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AlSmash said:
"Then why aren't we taking a larger involvement with Hebert? If you want to ensure that she is to be successful, then we have the means to do it. We may not be able to loop her into Cauldron, but that doesn't mean we can't speed up the process."

"What Taylor Hebert has to do has to be natural. If the government provides her any special attention or considerations, it will inevitably become public. The last thing needed is for her to garner the attention of the wrong people."
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She's already part of a Contessa plot so while Cauldron is already interfering they're doing it to her direct benefit. It's just that the only ones who know that fact is Doctor Mother and Contessa. Unfortunately, some of that help is going to be in opposition and trials for her to climb over and prove herself

Also yeah, that Endbringer attack is way to Taylor made (heh) for her. We all know Contessa can't path Endbringers so the Simurgh is likely throwing her 2 cents into the pot as well
 
Sprout 3.1 Part 3
  • Threadmarks
    • Not a lot to say here, just that finally 3.1 is done with this part. Not a LARGE amount of movement, from what you are expecting, and some events are starting that snowball rolling into an avalanche. Not only on one front, but on another front. Like some people have said, there needs to be growth, and in this case, Taylor has cleared one hurdle, but she's stubborn about other hurdles, and developments are coming that are going to have to make her really look at herself in the mirror.

    Anyways, enough on the spiel. I know there is a sidestory chapter coming, not sure on the timeline yet, still working it out with others. Hopefully with the next two days off soon, we can iron out the details and release it.

    Sprout 3.1 Part 3

    Taylor

    7:09pm

    "So all of these machines run off combustion engines? Is fuel going to be a problem? What is their operational duration?" Lieutenant Adams peppered me with questions as we walked around the LRL. I was using the time to once again review their status, ensuring that everything was ready to go.

    I cast a surreptitious glance towards Colonel Herres who was currently speaking in low tones on the Focus that I had given him. It took every fiber of my being not to tap into the datastream and listen into the conversation. As much as I wanted to know what exactly was being said, I also knew that it would be a drastic breach of the tenuous trust I had already established with the Colonel for relatively little gain. I found myself frowning as once again a fault occurred with Burrower Number One, again in the main processor. It wasn't a major fault and it wouldn't impact overall performance, but it was strange in that every time I tried to clear it, it came back.

    Making a mental note to explore it once I returned to Brockton, I continued to answer Lieutenant Adams.

    "I use a special fuel mixture that I've developed called Blaze. It's a bit grandiose for a name I'll admit, but it does live up to it. It burns stronger and longer than anything currently on the market. And the best part of it all, it's not based on petroleum," I then went on to explain that the Charger and Titan worked in conjunction to produce Blaze from any organic material. I made sure to offer the same assurance that I had given to Vice President Ryan. All the while, the itch to send my machines to work continued to grow.

    We shouldn't even be here. We should be putting together a plan of what exactly needs to be done using the tools that we had to save lives. Instead, Herres had to talk with his superiors. Blasted hierarchy systems!

    It probably didn't help my mood that I had met my childhood hero and found her extremely disappointing. I had honestly expected more from Alexandria, she should have been at the forefront of saving as many lives as possible. Instead, Alexandria seemed to want to obstruct what I was trying to do! Add to it all, the female member of the Triumvirate was currently hovering nearby, her gaze having not left me since Herres had taken the Focus.

    Not to mention how odd she was when my Focus attempted to scan her. All that I was fed through it was a person-shaped void that hung in the air. I could hear what she said, I could pick up the details of her outfit… but her body? It was blank, to both the Ash Nazg and the Focus that Lieutenant Adams was now carrying. It was a problem that I was going to have to work on in future development, but it clearly pointed to the fact that Capes were weird.

    "Miss Hebert," Herres had come back from his conversation, "Does this device have a speaker? My superiors need to make an address."

    "Not through the device itself, but I can route it through the Titan," I responded, already bringing up the Titan, and adjusted a few settings. The Titan was meant to be the heart of the LRL, so I had included several systems designed for crowd control and communication, so it wasn't that difficult to link Herres' Focus to the Titan. I considered briefly for a moment to activate the holoprojector that was installed on the Titan, but then discarded it. The datastream was all audio, and it would likely only confuse people.

    "It's ready," I declared.

    Herres nodded, before saying words that caused me to momentarily freeze, "You're on, Mister President."

    What?!

    "My fellow Americans and every citizen of the world who attended to the defense of Boston. This is President Durling. I am speaking to you from the White House, where my advisors and I have been working to get as much aid headed to you as humanly possible. But the current reality is harsh and we must make harsh decisions in light of that."

    After my brief freeze, I immediately reconsidered my previous stance, instead accessing the system, all the while splicing a series of images together. In only a few moments, I had been able to put up a decent image of a photo of President Durling, with the presidential seal hanging under the image. As I was doing this, I was also enabling text-to-speech, enlarging a bubble so people in the distance who may not be able to clearly hear, could still see what was being said. People gathered around, pressing closer to hear. A few fliers hovered overhead.

    "Due to the devastation around Boston and the aftereffects of Leviathan's attack, only limited aid will be able to reach you within the next twelve hours. Within twenty-four hours, the full resources of the United States and whatever allies answer the call will be at your doorstep. Until then, hold strong, and do everything you can to save as many lives as possible."

    "In light of the loss of the governor and the entire line of succession of the State of Massachusetts, I am now forced to use powers no President has wielded since the civil war reconstruction era. Per Disaster Plan Snow, organized by the Pentagon, I am hereby placing the City of Boston and its surrounding areas under Martial Law. Every federal and local agency will answer to the military command of the area until elections can be organized."

    I blinked, not quite believing what I heard, but then after quickly reviewing it through the text-to-speech, I realized that no, it was not a hallucination.

    "Colonel Herres, your orders are simple to say, but monumental in their impact. Save everyone that you can. Secure and restore accessibility to Boston Harbor and Logan International Airport. Maintain Order. And rescue Vice President Ryan. Help is coming and the entire efforts of the country are focused on Boston. So hold the line until help arrives. Godspeed, and good luck to each and everyone of you."

    I numbly noted the dead silence as the link ended. What Durling was doing was something that had not been done since the Civil War, and here we were standing at ground zero of it all.

    "Alright," Herres' voice sounded through the Titan for all to hear, "we're all on the clock now. It has been six hours since Leviathan was pushed back. Night is about to fall, temperatures are going to drop, and we've got a lot of people who need our help. If you can't stay, then make yourself scarce. If you're staying, find someone you can partner with. Capes, that means someone who complements your skills and abilities. When you are done, report to Lieutenant Adams, who will record this. Legend and Alexandria, I want to talk with you. The rest of you, no more running off and doing things on your own. We need to coordinate all our efforts; it's how we are going to save lives. Let's get to it!"

    He then turned to me, "Miss Hebert, with me."

    I nodded, before falling in line and following him as he moved towards the tent. I idly noted that Legend and Alexandria were getting somewhat heated in an exchange, but from Legend's reactions, he didn't seem to agree with what Alexandria was saying. Alexandria seemed to realize this, as after a moment she nodded to Legend, and they both turned and headed in Herres' direction.

    As we entered the tent, I found myself confused as I spotted a group of politicians that were glaring at each other. What were they doing, and why were they even here to begin with?

    "Lieutenant Adams," Herres' voice rang out, "Please have Airmen Chalmers and Youst join us."

    One of the politicians seemed to notice our presence as he turned to us, "Colonel Herres, what are you-"

    He trailed off as the flap opened, and I found myself stepping aside as a pair of airmen with rifles stepped into the tent.

    "Gentlemen, President Durling has declared martial law for the City of Boston and its surrounding municipalities. Until further notice, I have been placed in charge of all matters pertaining to rescue and assistance. Now, I'm going to politely ask you to leave."

    "What do you think you are doing, Herres," one of them snarled.

    "I'm following my commander-in-chief's orders, Senator Furnham," Herres responded, his head moving to scan over the other politicians, "since there is no line of succession and you have all spent nearly three hours arguing who should be in charge, the President has been forced to take extreme measures in order to save American lives."

    "That's illegal."

    "That's for the courts to decide, Judge Reingold. Until ordered otherwise, this is now my operation. Now, I will ask one more time, then I will have you forcibly ejected, leave!"

    "Legend, you are the leader of the Protectorate-"

    "I'm sorry, but the President has made it clear who is in charge, Senator," Legend surprisingly shook his head, "if you hadn't been too busy arguing, you may have heard the announcement from the President himself."

    They obviously were not expecting such a response from Legend, though why they would think that a federal officer would actively undermine the President escaped me. They stood there, obviously calculating just what their options were, but finally, after another moment, it was Judge Reingold that first moved, getting up from a chair and walking towards them.

    He stopped, his eyes coming to rest upon me, his eyes blinking as if surprised to see me. Then he scoffed, moving past them and heading out of the tent.

    Realizing that their cause was obviously lost, despite the fact that they were opposing sides, they slowly followed after the Judge, offering barely any opposition in the face of futility.

    Then we were then left alone, just the five of us. Herres walked to a map that was sitting on the table, and turned to look at us.

    "Legend, Alexandria, and Miss Hebert, I'm going to be relying upon the three of you quite heavily in the days going forward. So, I'm going to cut to the chase. Whatever differences currently exist between the Protectorate, PRT, and you, Miss Hebert, are irrelevant in the face of my orders. If any of you have a problem with that then voice your objections now, because as soon as we start getting to work, I expect your total focus on the job."

    I glanced over at Alexandria's… void. If my Focus couldn't give me data, then judging her thoughts was impossible. But I didn't hear any fabric moving, so I'm assuming that she wasn't moving. Honestly, the Protectorate and PRT had become an afterthought up until Alexandria's sudden accusation. I just didn't really care. I was building far too much momentum, especially with the sudden interest of the Vice President, to really be bothered by whatever they were doing.

    Taking the silence as acquiescence, Herres nodded, "Well then, let's get to work on saving lives. Miss Hebert, do you have any other tricks up your sleeve to assist?"

    I blinked at the sudden non sequitur, before I quickly recovered, "Yes. One moment," I responded, even as I accessed Charger One, tasking it to approach the tent, bringing my laptop and its accessories stored in its saddlebag. I noted through its vision the sudden tension at the sight of the large machine approaching, but nobody did anything as I stepped out of the tent and proceeded to dig into the saddlebag, retrieving my laptop and turning back into the tent. I retasked the Charger to return back to its holding position, even as I placed my laptop down on the table over the map and linked it into the platform that I pulled from the bag.

    "If I may," I asked as I looked to Herres, who gave me a nod. I stepped back, sending a nudge through my link even as I accessed the laptop and platform, watching as the data began to be shared and projected through the device. It brought up a map of Boston that laid flat only a few inches over the projector and laptop, "this is an interactive reconstruction of Boston and surrounding areas, using data collated from search engines, government websites, and other sources."

    I then accessed a file, and I watched through the Focus as another overlay was placed over Boston, this time a deep shade of red ate into the city, consuming the beachfront, and all of the waterfront, before spearing into downtown and further beyond.

    "This is Scenario Boston-Theta, based upon simulations I had run over the last month," I announced, knowing I was probably stepping too far, but I had a feeling that this was the likely path and angle of attack that Leviathan had taken based upon what few reports I had been able to glean. All of this had been simulated by Sobek as further learning, but they didn't need to know about that. Nor did they need to know that I had hundreds of different simulations for cities up and down the eastern seaboard.

    I had a feeling that I was right based upon how Alexandria and Legend were staring at me. Herres on the other hand, was simply staring at the map, his thoughts as inscrutable as his expression.

    "Alexandria," he finally said, "is this an accurate summation of areas directly affected by Leviathan's attack?"

    "It is. Though," she stepped forward running her finger a little below the northern border of the estimated damage of the scenario, a bright blue line remaining in place where she touched the map, "the extent of the damage to the north only extends this far. Also, Fenway Park appeared to be still intact upon initial pass, albeit flooded at the moment."

    "What's the extent of damage at Logan and the debris in the bay?"

    "On my last pass, what is left of Logan is currently on fire in several sections, likely due to the destroyed aircraft and spilled jet fuel. The Bay is currently a mess at the moment, there is currently too much debris to safely traverse it."

    That fit with the scenario, I thought morbidly, even as Herres stared at the displayed map. As he did that, I adjusted the map to reflect Alexandria's damage assessment. I considered adjusting the look of downtown, but honestly, until I had imagery of the area it was probably unwise.

    "How many Foci have you brought, Miss Hebert?"

    "Five hundred, excluding my personal model and the model my father has," I answered automatically.

    "How many can you produce and ship here in a reasonable time frame?"

    "Realistically? Maybe another one to two hundred every three to four days if we really push it, but the issue I'm running into is that I've tapped out Zero Dawn's startup funds and my people are already exhausted. I have my Vice President reaching out to one of our original investors to see if we can get more funds, but she's doubtful we will get anything," I hesitated, "my other investor was at ground zero of Leviathan's attack."

    "So production comes down to money," Herres asked, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

    "All my people know what I've been spending money on, and they were hired exactly because they believe in the cause. They'll work if I ask them to. But noble causes don't put food on the table, and it doesn't buy me the materials that I need to make my devices." I shrugged, refusing to be cowed. "I am not proud of admitting it, but I've stretched my company too thin, too quickly, Colonel. The money that I have left is meant to keep the lights until the first large contracts bear fruit."

    "Alright then, we work with what we have for now. I'll see about getting you additional funding. You said you ran simulations? How in depth are we talking, and how good was your computer?"

    "My computer is top-of-the-line and the simulations were very thorough."

    "So you have suggestions on next actions?"

    I briefly hesitated. I was not afraid of making suggestions, but even I wasn't so obtuse to not recognize that I was technically stepping into a situation I had neither the experience or expertise in. I had done research, I had dumped quite a bit of effort in my downtime to learn as much as I could, but it wasn't something that I could legitimately sit here and claim I was the foremost expert.

    But on the other hand, he was asking for my honest opinion and lives were on the line.

    "Yes," I finally answered, girding myself for treading deeper into the waters.

    Herres nod of approval buoyed me as he crossed his arms, "Alright, walk me through it. Quickly."

    I cast a quick glance to the other pair but they kept their peace, choosing instead to watch me intently. Taking a deep breath, I began to manipulate the display, even as I tapped into the confidence that I previously had shown.

    "Colonel, we need three things right now: Shelter, food, and storage for the dead."

    I paused as a few men shuffled into the tent, setting up tables and placing maps of the local area down. I took a few moments pause to further organize my thoughts.

    "Endbringer shelters are not meant for comfortable habitation longer than forty-eight hours. We need a clear location for people to gather, " I highlighted three locations on the map, placed north, west, and south of the downtown area. "I would suggest moving to the main campus at Boston College and using it as the central hub for disaster relief and operations. There is enough space to handle a large influx of people, and if power can be restored, it has the facilities to further coordinate everything. As for secondary command centers, I would suggest using campuses of Tufts University to the north, and Milton Academy to the south."

    I then proceeded to highlight several locations, making sure that all of them were outside of the disaster zone.

    "We then need to utilize every undamaged recreation center and hotel for shelter, prioritizing families - especially those with small children - and the elderly for these locations. Everyone else can be placed in tents placed on open fields and in stadiums. After that, we need to track down as many city engineers and water treatment specialists as we can; the water system is either contaminated with saltwater brought in by Leviathan, or broken because of the fighting. We need to do a damage assessment and get an estimate on how long it will take us to at least restore running water. The same goes with sewage, we need to get that contained as quickly as possible or disease is going to skyrocket."

    Taking a deep breath, noting I hadn't been interrupted once, I decided to keep going. If they had an alternative, then they would likely interrupt me.

    "Food is the next critical thing. We are going to need runners or fliers to find every grocery store or supermarket in the local area. Then we'll need to send trucks and other assets to go there and grab everything they can. Start with fresh foods. We're going to have to host one of the largest barbecues anyone has ever seen."

    "This hardly seems like the time, Miss Hebert," Legend interjected in a neutral tone, causing me to frown before I looked at him.

    "As the old saying goes, civilization is only four square meals from being cast aside. I'd rather not have Boston become confirmation of that. There is enough food in the city to feed every resident the minimum healthy caloric intake for three days. But without power and the ability to preserve this food, it is going to go bad within twenty-four hours. Cooking it now preserves a lot of it and reduces locations that could be looted, and most importantly," I allowed myself to pan my gaze over the room, making sure to keep my head held high, "it keeps people busy. Busy means people are too distracted to have the time to panic, start trouble, or break down over loss. We have to keep people moving and give them purpose to avoid this event as long as possible. It doesn't matter what they are doing, as long as we keep them active and their activities have or appear to have a point, we buy more time before the inevitable crash."

    "Furthermore, with the temperature dropping, having hot food will help keep morale up. And we can keep rescue work going without distractions," Legend was nodding consideringly now, watching as notes and icons appeared on the floating map, Sobek quietly picking up some of the slack for me.

    Thank you, Sobek, I sent a quiet message through the link, wondering if Sobek was self-aware enough yet to recognize my gratefulness. It would probably be years until that point, until we truly would be able to actually confer with one another, but it was the thought that counted in my mind.

    Colonel Herres seemed to agree with his own nod, "Make them too tired or busy to complain. I like it. And the rest?"

    This was the part I really didn't want to discuss, but I knew that I had to regardless. Even if the fact that it was distasteful because it was a reflection of failures not of my own, but a failure nonetheless.

    "Find the nearest ice rinks. If the cooling is safe and working, they will serve as the morgue for now. We'll start," I hesitated again, before forcing myself to continue, "... we'll catalogue the dead there. Identify them if possible, comparing them to public records once we have access so we can inform the next of kin."

    Quickly transitioning away from the morbid subject, I adjusted the map again, looking to change back to something more my comfort, "We're going to need to start stockpiling organic material. Spoiled food from the supermarkets should be the initial focus; after that, trees, branches, and large piles of leaves."

    "I understand the need for wood for fuel. But why would we be collecting food waste?"

    "Because food waste would require the least amount of time and energy to process into Blaze," I glanced up from the map, locking Herres under my gaze, "without Blaze, the LRL will be unable to operate, and there are no substitutes available. Blaze can be processed from other organic material, but the 'softer' it is the better."

    I waved my hand over the map, and dozens of dots appeared over the map, highlighting large grocery stores, "Currently, the LRL has enough fuel for operation for seven days, once the trucks get here, but if we can get the Charger to work immediately, we can build a large enough stockpile to then use it for other means, like fuel for cooking or just fires for warmth."

    "That has the potential to be extremely hazardous, Alloy. Humans are organic afterall," Alexandria spoke up, her tone neutral, but I could almost taste the challenge in her tone. I turned my head toward her, making sure that I nonverbally conveyed my annoyance at not only the power play, but the fact that I was being forced to look at the void again.

    "That is why there are several safeguards in the programming to prevent such an occurrence," I returned, keeping my tone as tight as possible, but I knew it would be obvious to everyone else I was irritated with her. "It's hard-coded into them to ignore anything matching a human signature or biological makeup. The only way to override it is to physically hack the machine directly, wipe, and then reprogram it. I'm an engineer, Alexandria, not a Tinker on a power trip. I take appropriate precautions and I know my product intimately."

    "Enough, Alexandria," Legend's voice cut off whatever retort Alexandria had ready, and both of our heads snapped to the leader of the Protectorate who looked none-too-pleased, though I was unsure if it was the fact that he was overriding his second-in-command, or the fact that he was siding with me, "Miss Hebert, please continue."

    I didn't feel a bit of petty victory, I swear, because I immediately continued with barely an acknowledgement to the head of the Protectorate, "Once we are able to organize our efforts, we need to put some effort into clearing the roads into and out of the city. The reason for this is two-fold. With the roads cleared, those who can leave will take the opportunity, which reduces the overall logistical burden. Also, having clear in and outs lets us track and direct supplies and support that will be coming into the city.."

    "We also need to reopen Logan at all costs. It is going to be the keystone for immediate relief. Having semi trailers is good, but we are going to desperately need an airfield for heavy lift capacity, and Logan is our best and only option. If we can operationally restore Logan, we can turn it into the core logistical hub and staging point for the rest of the city."

    I took a deep breath and then released it, trying to calm my nerves for what I was going to suggest next. It wasn't that I was uncomfortable with it, I believed that it was a good step forward, but the fact of the matter was, it was revealing yet another card in my deck that I simply hadn't had the time for because I was already stretched so damnably thin.

    It certainly also didn't help that so far, Herres was asking for my opinion, and what I was going to say next was certainly not an opinion of diagnosis. For a moment, I thought about not suggesting it, but I was already far too deep than I could have ever imagined. I had figured I would be in the field by now, saving lives, not doing any of this.

    Clenching my hands into fists, then releasing them, I reached up, knowing it looked quite weird to those who could not see what I was looking at, and tapped it. Immediately it began downloading from the lab in Brockton Bay, even as I started again.

    "Finally, I need a direct line to Dragon."

    "Why, Miss Hebert?" Legend asked, and I was grateful for it. I don't know if I would have been able to respond professionally to Alexandria if she had decided to do whatever it was she was angling at. I still didn't understand her animosity towards me. It wasn't like I had ever met her before or had done anything to earn her ire in the first place.

    "Dragon is probably the closest that I have to a peer in robotics and technology in North America. She also has a production capacity that frankly dwarfs what Zero Dawn can achieve at this time. If we're going to save Boston, we're going to need her production lines."

    "Thank you for your input, Miss Hebert, but let's focus on the immediate problems using what we have at hand," Herres rejected. I bit back a retort, worried that I had overstepped myself, but I seemed to be mistaken as Herres then looked over to Legend.

    "Legend, you said your people had already searched some areas?"

    The man in blue stepped forward, pointing out several buildings, "Yes, I personally led a team to search what was left of city hall. I believe a second team searched through here," he pointed at another place, and here, "But they have yet to report back. Then we had another team do a quick pass in this area…"

    The more Legend spoke, the more I realized just how much coordination was lacking when it came to post-Endbringer response. Search patterns were spotty and uncoordinated, information was unreliable, and reports as a result were inconsistent at best. Is this how an Endbringer fight was done? How did they even survive?! Resisting the urge to sigh and feeling the ever-pressing gaze of Alexandria on me, I continued to update the map as Legend continued speaking.

    As Legend began to wrap up his report, I prepared myself for what was going to happen next. Herres was going to make a decision based upon all of the information he had. While I didn't know exactly what he was going to decide, I knew he had no choice but to deploy me. It would be foolish to not use your best search and rescue asset. Already, I was preparing the LRL for deployment, ensuring that all of the units were fully fueled and ready to move at a moment's notice.

    I refocused now as Legend finished, Herres' gaze focused upon the holographic map, and I readied for the word to be given.

    "Miss Hebert. Are you capable of monitoring all of your Foci in real-time?"

    "Yes," I found myself instantly responding, even though I felt a bout of curiosity as to why he would be asking that question. I would have thought it would have been obvious to him, but it was just as likely he was confirming instead of making the assumption.

    "Alright." Herres nodded, then his gaze moved to the two Protectorate leaders. "Legend, organize your capes into teams. I need a flight team to head for the Kidd and deliver Focus devices and link them into communication with us. I need Alexandria and a team of Brutes to clear the Harbor enough to bring the Kidd into dock. I need another team to pair up with my men and start heading over to Logan to clear the runways. The facilities come second, but if they need to be destroyed, please clear it with me first. We'll need Movers and Flyers checking the roads in and out of the city and have them report back on any blocked or broken areas. Finally, I need another team of Movers to start spreading the word that we are reorganizing at Boston College, Milton College, and Tufts University."

    His initial piece said, Herres then turned to me. "Miss Hebert, I need you to contact your people and tell them to divert to the Boston College campus if they can. If not, then one of the other locations will have to suffice. After that, transfer nominal control of the LRL over to Lieutenant Adams; he will be leading the push into the Downtown area where the Vice President was last reported."

    "What," I spoke aloud, not quite believing what I was hearing, but then I realized that I in fact had not misheard him, "No! These are my machines! I know them best! I can help! I came here to help!"

    Herres leaned over the table, before looking over the room.

    "Legend, Alexandria, go organize your teams. We'll be setting out soon. Everyone else, clear the room. Miss Hebert, please stay."

    I clenched my jaw. Clearly, he didn't want any witnesses when he argued with me. It only took a short time, but we were finally alone, with the glowing display of the city resting between the two of us. If I wasn't so angry with the colonel, I'd probably find some sort of symbolism in this.

    "Miss Hebert. No," he corrected himself with a shake of the head, "Taylor, I know how you feel. You want to go out there and make a difference, because you believe you alone can solve the issue," he then held up a hand and cut me off before I could offer a rebuttal, "Just, listen to me for a minute, okay?"

    I relented, and he took my silence as permission.

    "Taylor, let me be clear. In this tent, you are a logistical mastermind and tech expert. But out there? You are a young girl without brute powers who can only see the world as a wireframe. That's a liability. And one of the first things they teach you about search and rescue is that you should never add to the number of people needing help. Your machines are great, a miracle of engineering, really, and I have no doubt they will save many lives. But the issue in all of this is not your machines, but you. There is a saying - infantry wins battles, logistics wins wars. It's a little off the subject matter, but the essence still applies. You can go out there, Taylor, as the infantry, and you can maybe win a few battles here and there, but is it really winning the war?"

    I wanted to rage against him, that he was wrong, I wasn't a liability, but I stopped myself, the words sinking in. Just what he was trying to imply, and he didn't stop even as I ran the words over and over in my head.

    "And we are fighting a war here, Taylor. And the best thing that you brought with you that could stem the tide of this war, is your Foci and the network they run on. And I need you here, running that network and ensuring that it is maintained so that everyone is able to communicate and know what to do without fail. Because within the next hour, people are going to start showing up and looking to help. They will have the best of intentions, but if they do not know where to go and what to do, how are they going to save lives?"

    Damn you. I ground my teeth as I realized exactly what he was building toward. The worst part of it all was that I was finding myself in agreement, even though I tried to poke holes in his argument. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was not only wrong, but he was throwing away lives for his own perceived read… but I couldn't.

    "Then, as time goes on, the largest mobilization of men, machines, and supplies are going to hit this city in numbers not seen since Behemoth hit New York. But the longer those people, supplies, and machines stay idle, the more people will suffer."

    He motioned to the map that floated before us, only twisting the knife harder into any argument that I could offer.

    "The information you can provide is the logistics we need to win this war, Taylor. You can save more lives here, coordinating everything, than you could ever could out in the field with the LRL digging through rubble. Because in my opinion, the LRL is not the machines, they are but one facet to it. No, the true heart of the LRL is everyone linked into the Focus network, guided with purpose and knowledge."

    He walked around the table, dropping a hand on my shoulder as my fists shook, my jaw aching from how much I wanted to tell him that he was wrong. But I couldn't. Goddamn him, I just fucking couldn't!

    "But you have to choose, Taylor. I can order you, but I would likely be causing more harm than good in the long run. So instead, I'm going to put it to you and tell you that this is what leadership looks like. It's about utilizing the best of people's skills and abilities for a goal. It's about making the hard and sometimes selfless choices. You came here wanting to do the hands-on stuff, but you're more useful as a coordinator and leader. I'll give you a few minutes to decide before we move out, Taylor, but I think you already know what you need to do."

    His hand then dropped off my shoulder and he strode past me.

    It was as the canvas of the tent rustled back into place behind me as he exited that the dam finally broke, and my fist impacted the table, rattling the laptop and holotablet and causing the map to briefly flicker.

    AEH​

    11:47pm

    8hr 2min remaining until reinforcements arrive

    The next few hours flew by in a blur of slowly creeping exhaustion mixed with adrenaline. In the end, I had acquiesced to Herres' request. The man had been right, as much as I wanted to deny it. There was no doubt that I could make a larger difference managing the network than I could have possibly done by going out. It still sat poorly with me, but what could I do in lieu of the honest admission.

    Instead of raging at the injustice of reality, I chose distraction by burying myself in work. First, preparing for the transfer to the Boston College campus, but then training people in the usage of the Focus. The latter was more taxing than the former, with so many people with different questions and having to basically be a one woman tech support for the device.

    I winced as I sipped from a can with a lukewarm energy drink, I refocused on the new task that I had been given. My hands were clammy; the temperature outside was dropping as night wore on, but inside was sweltering with so many people coming and going. Around me dozens of people spoke into radios, worked over maps, made lists on whiteboards and chalkboards that had been rolled into this conference room. In front of me, dominating the table, the holotablet projected a map of Boston. Dozens of icons flashed and updated as data came in and orders went out. Our refugee camps were set up, and slowly taking people in. Large communal kitchens had been set up in sheltered tents, keeping off the slow rain that had started up again. Aid and volunteers were being intercepted at the borders of the city, then being redirected to different parts, keeping the roads clear. The Kidd has safely docked in the Harbor, and was leading rescues on the water and up and down the coast. Dozens of smaller boats, privately owned and commercial, had begun arriving. The Navy was in charge of their organizing and deployment.

    I cursed slightly as I missed a key, backspacing a few times and inputting the correct information. I shook my hands out, annoyed at the slight shake that had developed. It would pass.

    Logan International was a wreck, but the runway was clear. The teams were working to get the roads into the city in working order, and rig up a rudimentary Radar and Tower Control.

    Dad had arrived, and quickly organized most of the city workers he could find. He had them working to get the storm drains and sewer system unblocked. He might not know anything about plumbing, but he did know people and how to put their talents to efficient use. The frantic pace and setting honestly seemed to be doing him some good.

    Every single focus I had brought with me was now handed out, some to individuals and some to teams. By the calculations of the professors here at the College, radios should clear up soon, at least enough that the incoming rescue efforts the President promised would be able to use handhelds.

    All the while, the data feed from the LRL played in the corner of my vision. Even if I couldn't be there with them, I could still monitor them and ensure that they performed well.
    Herres had chosen well, much to my chagrin. Lieutenant Adams was a hard driver, but he was also slow and methodical in how he approached everything. It honestly felt daunting in how well he was controlling the LRL.

    I took a breath, annoyed at the pinch in my chest and the exhaustion that battered at my synapses. It was good that I didn't need eyes to see, they would probably be closed with how tired I felt. I reached for my drink. I needed to finish this. A sudden shock ran through me and I could feel my hand spasm, knocking the can over. I stared at it for a brief moment, not quite comprehending what I was witnessing, before my mind caught up and I shot to my feet, intent on cleaning up the mess.

    Only, my mind sputtered and hitched at the sudden feeling of light-headedness. That was easy to fix, my foggy mind supplying the answer, and I braced myself against the table. But why was that pinch making it difficult for me to gather enough air to breathe?

    As I pondered the reason, my legs gave out from under me and my chin smacked down on the table, momentarily filling my vision with stars.

    But strangely, I could still see, even if everything felt like it was covered in a strange film. I had never experimented with how the Focus would translate data if the wearer experienced head trauma. To my surprise, the Focus continued beaming images into my brain despite what happened. Herres stood over me, shouting at the door.

    I tried to breathe again, that damnable pinch seeming to mock me further even after it had brought me low. Everything felt so heavy…

    Why were we moving? Everything was a blur…

    Why were we running…?

    Why couldn't I…..

    AEH​

    Crystal Pelham

    1:28am

    6hr 1 min until reinforcements arrive

    Crystal Pelham was no stranger to pain. Cape life wasn't exactly free of scrapes and bruises, but most of the time she didn't hurt for long. It was one of the perks of having the legendary Panacea as a cousin. It had guaranteed her a college life where she didn't have to worry about the blemishes, injuries, and pains that had accumulated in her career as Laserdream.

    She had thought that she would have an easier time in retirement! Sure, she'd use her powers to show off a little at parties, but nothing too crazy. Picking a fight with gangbangers was in the past, and most certainly not getting involved in an Endbringer fight.

    Which was, of course, the reason why her everything currently hurt!

    Without moving too much, she breathed, trying to focus herself and release some tension as…

    "Son of a bitch," she snarled, her teeth bared like a feral animal.

    The man hummed, but otherwise didn't offer any other comment as he expertly tied and tightened the tourniquet on her leg with the casual ease of someone almost too familiar with the task. She really wanted to hit him, but that would probably be unwise. After all, while striking the Vice President for his poor bedside manner might be warranted, she doubted the authorities would take exception once they got out of there.

    If we get out of here. She quickly quelled that errant thought. She refused to think like that, not after everything so far.

    Instead she adjusted her arm, the numbness receding back into a dull and throbbing ache. She hadn't been able to move her arm much in the hours since they had been trapped here. The small shield that she had manifested and now maintained was their only buttress against the support that threatened to give away and crush them, and also served as the only light source within their little alcove.

    "All done, Miss Pelham. Don't worry, you'll be back on those pretty legs of yours in no time."

    "Normally, that would be good to hear," she quipped with a smile, the levity serving as a distraction from their plight. Though, in the end it failed, as the dust on her lips slipped past the cracks. "But I'm not sure how I should feel about a politician of your stature making such remarks about my legs. Especially considering your predecessor."

    Ryan chuckled as he shuffled back, leaning his back against a collapsed beam, "Hey, I'd like to think I'm a step above the former Vice President Matthews. I'm in the prime of life," he then leaned slightly forward, as if he was going to share a secret, "And I'm certainly better looking."

    Despite the absurdity of the fact that she had the Vice President trying to act suave to someone half his age, she found herself laughing, which caused her to hiss as her ribs protested at the action. She ignored the wet feeling soaking her jeans. It was just water.

    "While you may find this amusing, do remember to keep calm. Aim to conserve oxygen."

    She resisted the urge to sigh as she was reminded that they were not alone. And of course, their accompaniment would be their actual downer of it all. She turned her head slightly over her shoulder, shifting her fist to brighten the other half of this little crawl space. She had to admit, it hurt to see such a nicely cut suit in such a sorry state of disrepair. On the plus side, at least it was an inconvenience to the unrepentant villain, if only monetarily.

    It was like the start of a bad joke, a hero, a super villain, and the Vice President of the United States trapped in the collapsed remnants of a business hall. She wasn't sure what the build-up would be, but she knew that the punchline was going to be killer. At least she'd have something to joke about at parties when she got out of her.

    If I get out of here, that damnable killjoy whispered in her head. No, I'm going to get out of here!

    "The human desire for companionship is a strange and powerful thing, Mr. Accord. After all it led you to me, instead of seeking shelter during an Endbringer attack."

    A soft click of the tongue came from Accord, as his attention refocused away from her and back to him. It was strange, yet no surprise, that the turning gears on his mask were now dead, having been choked to death by the dust and debris, "Pure self-interest," the villain retorted. "On multiple levels, saving you was the most efficacious path forward."

    "I think Miss Pelham here had a big part to play in things."

    Accord glanced at her, mouth twisting in distaste, before he quickly dismissed her to her irritation as he looked back to Ryan, "She contributed, but she was also a detriment. It would have been less complicated if she hadn't thrown too many random variables in the mix."

    "Those random variables," she hissed, "are called people! You don't get to just write off dozens of lives simply because they are inconvenient!"

    Because that was the thing. Even with the three of them trapped in this little bubble of wreckage, there were others who had been less fortunate. Some of them they could still hear from time to time, plaintively crying out for help; sometimes when it was really quiet, they could hear whispered prayers. But then there were others that were not even answering anymore.

    "Miss Pelham. Contrary to what most Hallmark cards will tell you… not everyone matters. It's a simple fact that their positions, their actions and ambitions, and even their birth, will deny them the opportunity to ever have the chance of influencing the people and world around them. They will live out their lives, content with their simplistic dullness. But the world? It's made up of complex systems, and there are people who exist as levers to wield those systems. The Vice President here is an accomplished statesman and high official. Though his words and actions alone, the fates of nations can change. So yes, he is more important than them, than you, or even myself."

    She may not fight anymore, but she remembered her mom's stories. About how there were different kinds of villains. Some were desperate. Others were out for the thrill of it. But of all villains, the worst were the true believers. The ones with a cause. She had never really understood why that was until now, staring into those cold eyes as this man calmly explained why people didn't matter. It was good that Ryan chose to speak up at that moment, because she wasn't sure what to say, or even, what she may do otherwise.

    "And you're looking to influence what exactly? This plan does seem to carry an element of risk. It's not everyday that willfully getting a building dropped on yourself is considered a good option."

    She grimaced at the flash of the memory of the desperate attempt to escape Leviathan's devastation. Of the alarms blaring and people rushing about without a clue of what to do. Not even herself. Then her arm being grabbed and she was pulled along after Boston's preeminent crime lord. Then being told to follow him even as walls began collapsing and pillars gave way as they moved. Accord shouting at Ryan, even as his security detail tried to evacuate him. Herself shouting for people to follow closely, all the while Accord was shouting at her, and Ryan shouting at Accord as she blasted a path with her lasers.

    Then hearing the groan as the building came down around them, leaving her to wonder if she would live to see her mom again.

    "A gesture of trust. I would hope by doing this, you would consider me truthful when I give you certain information."

    Ryan waved a hand, and she transferred her shield to the other arm, ignoring the growing pressure behind her eyes. She had never held a shield up for so long before, and it was slowly becoming an increasingly unpleasant strain.

    "No time like the present. Secrets shared in a foxhole and all that."

    The resultant glance at her caused her to quickly realize that whatever Accord wanted to share was not something he wanted people to know. Well, that was too bad for him, because as soon as she got out of her, she would make it a point of sharing it.

    If you get out of here, that traitorous voice whispered in her head, making her want to scream.

    There must have been some sort of unspoken message exchanged between the two men, as Accord seemed to decide to ignore her once again. Whatever it was, it was making him talk.

    "It is my understanding that you met recently with a promising young woman. One who might have a significant impact upon the world in the future. I wish to make it clear that when I was originally approached for funding, it was under my civilian persona and done strictly in a business capacity. I was the investor with no interest beyond seeing a return upon my investment."

    "Understandable. The fact remains that it was a significant investment, one that will naturally attract further scrutiny as her star rises. Especially as your investment has only grown since. Clearly your goals have changed. What brought this on?"

    Accord cocked his head to the side, "You could say that I fell in love."

    "I would remind you, sir, that the girl in question is fifteen." Ryan's voice grew deadly quiet, and Crystal shivered at the implicit threat that lurked within that simple sentence and tone.

    "Spare me your condemnation. I have never been interested in the biological attraction that fascinates so many people. No, what I came to admire was her vision. Tell me honestly, how many people do you believe could fulfill the promise for the new world that she envisions and is striving towards?"

    Before she realized what she was doing, because this was getting a little too weird for her tastes, she threw her own two cents into the mix.

    "You know, when people start talking about things like 'new world' and 'vision', nothing good usually comes from it. The Eighty-Eight crazies from my hometown come first to mind."

    The disapproving look that she garnered from Accord made her wilt slightly. How a villain of all things could suddenly make her feel like she was an idiot child eluded her, but the feeling still remained the same. Carol could take points from him.

    "You will find in history, Miss Pelham, that change always comes to the detriment of someone else. Whether it be those that cling to the comfort of the status quo, or those who simply are unfortunate enough to be in the way of progress. But, like treating any wound or infection, sometimes the pain wrought by change is necessary to feel better afterwards."

    She couldn't help but feel sick. There was truth in what he was saying, and no matter how much she wanted to deny it, he had hit a chord within her. Whether he knew it or not, his statement hit too closely to the New Wave's reality. She wasn't old enough to have been part of its initial rise, but she unfortunately knew why the Brockton Bay Brigade became New Wave. It had been a sobering experience to know the actual truth, and it had only helped to assist her in making the decision to leave New Wave and attend college instead of staying.

    Luckily for her, Ryan decided to respond to Accord, saving her from either having to offer an answer or admit that Accord was right.

    "It would be safe to assume then, that you plan to continue supporting her and her endeavors?"

    The villain shifted, taking the time to wipe his sleeves off in a futile attempt to clean them.

    "Yes, I do. While my assets have certainly become diminished given the likely state of Boston, they are not exhausted. I will rally what I can, along with the allies that I can muster, and devote everything possible to ensuring that she succeeds. In fact, just prior to this debacle, I learned that there is a new threat that is poised to possibly threaten her goals."

    "It seems we may have a common thread then, Accord. Perhaps we can talk further in the future, I would be curious to know more."

    What the actual fuck?!

    "Maybe we shall," her head spun at what she was hearing. Who was it that the Vice President and Accord were talking about? Who was so important in their opinion that they would be conspiring to support? And who was it that wanted to change the world…presumably in ways that were painful, disruptive, dangerous, or some combination of all three.

    She may be out of the loop on the cape side of things, but even then, if there was someone who was that powerful and important, then she should have heard of them. But there was absolutely no one who came to mind who would cause these two men to work together.

    "Who the hell are you talking about," she demanded.

    Both men turned their heads toward her, and she felt suddenly she was ill-equipped for the situation, even if she was the one literally keeping them all alive. They then exchanged a look between the two, and Ryan merely shrugged his shoulders, and she had the gut feeling that the message exchanged was one that already dug her in deeper than she could ever imagine.

    "I am rather surprised you don't already know her by now, Miss Pelham," Ryan said, "after all, the young woman in question is from Brockton Bay."

    But before she could ask anything further, a sound caused them all to freeze. For a brief moment, she was wondering if it wasn't a collective hallucination brought on by the slowly diminishing oxygen supply. But then it came again, only it was different from the creaks and groans that had been their accompaniment for hours, a sound of metal scraping over concrete.

    A slight rumble sounded again, as something moved amongst the concrete. She tensed, ignoring the twinges of pain that shot through her body as she prepared for whatever it was. Because the sound was getting closer and more clear, a methodical grinding sound mixed with metallic scraping.

    Finally the sound was near enough it was harsh on her ears. With a dull roar, a metallic head pushed its way through the concrete, ballooning dust into their chamber. She winced as rock splinters pinged against her shield, only adding to her pangs of pain. But as the dust cleared, she got her first look at whatever it was that had done what it did.

    Blue lights glared in the darkness, but it was subdued enough for her to make out a metallic face. Only it wasn't a human face. It did not have a mouth, instead with a long vertical blue light bar running down the middle of the face, with a pair of blue 'eyes' on either side of the bar. Three grinding rotors snapped back, clearing the machine's field of view. It perked its head up, looking at her, before then scanning around the room. It then released digital noise that sounded almost like a warble, before it suddenly pulled itself out of the hole and clambered into their chamber, the damn thing chittering excitedly now.

    It was then that she got a good look at the machine; her hand twitched with the urge to do something about the machine as it warbled again and stamped its two front feet back and forth in what she could only swear was glee. It had a long ferret-like body with sharp claws and a tail, its head bobbing and weaving as it looked between them all again, before it refocused upon her.

    It then scampered over to her.

    "Hey!"

    But before she could say anything more, it looked intently at her injured leg before laying its metallica head on her uninjured leg. It twisted slightly, turning its optics to stare up at her with its tail thumping back and forth on the ground.

    "A very promising young woman indeed," Accord commented silently, even as she stared at the machine that did everything in its power to look adorable. Releasing a sigh, she gave into the temptation, using her free hand to pat the strangely lifelike machine on the head, making sure to keep her hand away from the grinders. In response, its tail thumped harder and it seemed to shiver up and down its frame.

    "Well," Ryan mused, dusting himself off and slowly getting to his feet, "it seems we're going to be rescued sooner rather than later."

    He was proven to be right. Within moments thereafter, the strange machine raced back into the hole it had made, and they could hear commotion coming their way. Debris being shifted, rescuers calling out, and the sound of cutting and grinding as obstacles were removed. The entire time she kept her shield up, the pounding behind her eyes firmly ignored now that the rescue was so close.

    Soon they were brought out, men and women stained with dirt, caked in dust, and with great smiles of relief on their faces as they were gently led through the maze of collapsed rubble. It was cold, with rain having turned the ground into a muddy morass. Yet to her, it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

    She found herself helped into a waiting tent, where a man quickly and efficiently cleaned and bandaged up her leg. With the strain of her plight ending, she could feel herself drifting off.

    Only for that to end as Ryan walked in, soldiers hovering protectively at his side. A few quiet words had them moving back outside, leaving the two of them alone.

    "Miss Pelham," he began after looking at her for a moment, "I want to clarify something with you. About what you might, or might not have heard while trapped. It's important, because according to everyone's testimony you didn't hear anything. You don't remember anything. If anyone, and I mean anyone asks, you will tell them it was all a blur."

    Gone was the friendly, joking figure that she was trapped with. She could tell immediately that this was the Vice President of the United States acting in his official capacity.

    "I hope we understand each other, Miss Pelham."

    She wet her lips. Even after two bottles of water, they still felt dry.

    "Or else?" she asked.

    He grinned, but it was not a friendly one.

    "I sincerely hope that we don't get to that, Miss Pelham. But yes, unfortunately. 'Or else'."

    She nodded quietly, and Ryan left. Laying back down on her cot, she resolved herself to just put all of this behind her. She didn't want to deal with intrigue and secret deals between powerful people. She didn't want to deal with Endbringers or picking up after them. All she wanted to do was go home, hug her mom and hang out with her brother.

    She just wanted to be done with today.

    AEH​

    Jack Ryan

    5:22am

    2 Hours, 27 Minutes until reinforcements arrive.

    "We have confirmation that there are people trapped in the subway lines in several air pockets. I requested support and in the last forty-five minutes, we've had elements of the 5th and 10th Special Forces Groups arrive in the city. We're going to need their training and expertise in clearing out the subway lines."

    He sat back in the chair, soup mug cradled in his hands, looking over the holographic display. He had known that Taylor Hebert had holographic technologies, but he hadn't expected in the span of months she would be fielding something that could provide a battlespace projection.

    It was only further confirmation of his opinion that she would need to be protected and nurtured, because if this was the work of only a few months, he could only imagine what it would be in a few years. Especially considering Taylor's own admissions, she was putting a lot of her technology together with 'inferior' materials and workarounds in order to field them now instead of later.

    "Is digging equipment an option," he asked, earning a shake of the head from Herres.

    "We drill down and the air will rush out, causing the water to rise. If the air pressure is too high, we risk a blowout which will certainly kill everyone we're trying to rescue. We wait too long and they'll die from hypoxia, or hypothermia, or the currents will overwhelm them with the new rain. We've got every civil engineer we can find along with plenty of hands working to clear out the storm drains, but it's slow going. The darkness and the weather aren't helping."

    Taking another slow sip, he once again considered the holographic map of Boston. Shades of red and yellow dotted the holoscape, representing damaged areas and cleared roads respectively. Pins highlighted critical locations like emergency shelters, mustering areas, storage yards, and more.

    "What's the local response been like?"

    "We've had a steady flow of volunteers coming in, civilians and capes, surprisingly. Mostly we've been able to intercept them at the city border and direct them where they are needed, with a few caveats that are still awaiting my decision. I've been in contact with the state governors of Maine, New York, and Pennsylvania, they're recalling reserves and organizing aid. I'm waiting to hear back from Texas and Florida as well. But even with their assistance, it'll be days before we see any meaningful support. Right now," Herres sighed, the exhaustion obvious in his demeanor, "We're doing the best we can with what we got. Hopefully the first wave of FEMA and disaster relief that the President is sending our way will help stem the tide, because we are balancing everything on a knife's edge at this point, and all it will need is one thing going wrong to wipe away all of our effort at maintaining the peace."

    "Are you going to be able to handle the influx," he asked, his eyes shifting over to where Logan was located. Large swathes of that location were red, but interspersed in that were yellow, and surprisingly…green.

    "The airfields at Logan are cleared according to the latest reports I have. The facilities are a writeoff, but we've been able to establish an ad-hoc staging and dispersal hub there. The roads are cleared and the trucks are standing by for loading. The Harbor is still a mess, but we've been able to get the Kidd to make it to dock. The Navy is several hours behind, but we should have enough time to solve the harbor issue if the capes that have come in can be utilized."

    "What's the problem with them?

    Herres sighed, running a hand through his hair.

    "The issue is the political ramifications. The majority of capes that have arrived? They are from the Empire Eighty-Eight."

    "Great, just what we need! The Führer Fanclub coming to save the day," he resisted the urge to massage his brow, understanding exactly the dilemma facing Herres perfectly. It was a situation where if he utilized the Nazi-sympathizing capes, it would create bad optics for quite a lot of people, especially when the Colonel was already going to be facing an uphill battle once things were done. But on the other hand, if he didn't utilize them, what would that cost them in lives saved?

    It was a shitty situation to save the least. With pros and cons going both ways. But at the end of the day, it would have to be a decision made by Herres himself. He could advise the Colonel, but he could not make the decision for him.

    Still, it would probably be best for him to at least offer him a sounding board.

    "What are you thinking, Colonel?"

    "I think I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't, Mister Vice President," Herres finally said after a brief pause, "Kaiser chose probably the best people he could to help with search and rescue. All of them had a legitimate use, and they can actually speed up the process. It's just the fact that I damn well know what the reaction is going to be, and that these people are going to use it for propaganda value."

    "But…"

    "But I made a pledge to save lives," Herres released a sigh, "and frankly, I've already pretty much declared to hell with the politics by taking control of the situation. So, what's one more instance of thumbing my nose? I can use the Endbringer Truce to utilize them. And if they cause problems, then I'll crush them under those same rules. Simple as that. Besides," his lips twitched in momentary amusement, "it's probably gonna piss them off that they are going to have to take orders from a black man."

    He snorted. Yeah, that would probably rile up quite a few of them. But the reality that they both likely knew was that as amusing as prospect it would be, it would likely still amount in a net negative politically. Still, throwing away lives for callous political calculation was not something he, nor apparently Herres, would accept.

    Drinking from his soup now that it had cooled slightly, he gestured with his mug to the holoprojector.

    "And the tech? Zero Dawn and its little inventor."

    Herres actually scowled for the first time.

    "The tech's been an absolute godsend. Her focus devices are simplistic and easy to use, and the system it runs on is damn near perfect for entering, tracking, and displaying data. The Machines are exactly as she advertised, too. They are sturdy, respond well to commands, make smart decisions if left on their own, and while they have been banged up a bit, they haven't broken down. The Blaze fuel may not work in our vehicles, but it burns nicely. Heating, cooking, and signal fires are all currently being done with Blaze."

    The Colonel then rose, folding his arms. "The largest problem with the tech? It's the one that is running it. The girl…"

    "How is Miss Hebert?"

    "Stable and resting. A cape healer that calls herself Panacea got hands on her in under a minute and confirmed that no permanent damage was done. The girl also swore like a Marine and said that, and I quote, "I've seen healthier forty-year-old smokers who work eighty hour weeks."

    Herres then sighed heavily, "According to Panacea, it's a miracle that it was just a heart attack; too many stimulants, too little sleep for days, stress, malnutrition, and dehydration are just a few of the things that she diagnosed. The energy drinks that Hebert was tossing back only hastened the collapse. The medics have her hooked up to IV for fluids, and Panacea is making sure that she stays asleep so she can recover. She'll wake up in a day or so, hungry as anything, but it's better than dead. But thankfully her machines and systems work without her, and the team she brought from Brockton Bay included a programmer and technicians. Something breaks, they can fix it."

    "Good to hear," he was silent, taking another moment to look over the display, noting how even now it was changing as they spoke, "Now. The elephant in the room."

    Herres nodded gravely, "Yes, Sir. Martial Law."

    "Exactly. Does the President have the power to declare it? That's going to be argued for months, and more than likely years. But, at the end of the day, it was you that suggested it and acted upon it. You know they are going to crucify you for this. They have to, the fools."

    Herres answered him with silence, choosing instead to stare at the holographic display. The only sound that did penetrate the tent they were in were the quiet murmurs of the other staff moving around and talking with one another, and the sounds from outside.

    "I was part of Autumn Thunder," the other man spoke finally, "A 15C jock with the 33rd. I had a front seat to how powerless we were in the face of that…thing. Even now, I wonder if I was one of the unlucky ones to survive, or just was unfortunate enough to be one of those damned to watch sixty years of tradition be set aside to rot. But throughout all of that, the uniform still means something. Diminished, maybe, but our oath to defend the people is still in effect. Besides, at least this way we'll have a fighting chance not to surrender another city to those things. This won't be the end of Boston, sir. Not on my watch."

    And that was good enough for him. Maybe it was divine providence, but it appeared that somehow, some way, out of all of the men that could have ended up here, it was a good one like Herres. It only made his course going forward all the more important. He wasn't exaggerating what was likely to come next. Herres had done something not done since the Civil War, and there was a reason there were several laws on the books that prevented what Durling and Herres had done.

    Yet, in spite of that; They had done it regardless.

    Durling was without a doubt done. Even if he survived the likely impeachment that was coming, this was his second term. At least the man had chosen to go out the right way, instead of what too many politicians would have done.

    But that still left Herres. The man was going to need as much help as he could, because if the politicians in DC didn't get Durling, they were going to go for the 'weaker' prey in order to make themselves look good, and Herres would make for the perfect patsy. For either party.

    He stood, and reached across the table with an open hand. Herres took his hand with a firm shake.

    "Thank you for your service, Colonel Herres. You're a credit to the uniform."

    "Thank you, sir."

    "Now, I probably need to get back to DC. I'm no good stuck here. Do you have a Focus you can give me?"

    He wasn't shocked at Herres hesitating. The fact of the matter was, the man needed as many of these Focuses as possible for here. To give one away could have a negative impact on the ongoing efforts to save lives. It meant that there would be one person unable to communicate that would previously have had an opportunity to do so.

    "I have a strategic reserve of one hundred," Herres started, bowing his head slightly in contemplation, "That is out of the five hundred that Miss Hebert brought with her. But, Mister Vice President, I need more and Zero Dawn doesn't have the money to produce more at this time. Miss Hebert wasn't explicit, but I have a feeling that she may have damaged her position with her investors to pull this off. And I'll need as many Foci as I can get in the days to come. If I send you one, can you take my pleas directly to the President?"

    "How much are we talking, Colonel?"

    "I don't exactly have a figure, Mister Vice President. But, any money would likely be able to start their production line. These Focuses aren't just a game-changer, they flip the entire table. And not just in disaster relief, but for about every facet of our society. Just speaking for the military, the Pentagon is going to be knocking down Miss Hebert's door once I provide an AAR. A mobile C3I device that has its own datalink system and can sync with an established network, sharing audio, visual, and data securely? The better question to ask is who wouldn't be offering their firstborn for such a device."

    While outwardly he reflected a calm visage, internally he was not exactly surprised by the vociferous support of Herres. Just looking at the display told an entire tale of how integral the Focus had been to the success of the initial search and rescue efforts. But the fact that Herres was already looking at the future implications of the technology, well, it certainly added to the meeting he had with Miss Hebert only yesterday.

    No, there was no doubt in his mind that Miss Hebert was going to earn a strategic asset designation. If not by the time he arrived at DC, then by the time he met with the President. It would be absolutely incompetent and negligent to the point of possibly being treasonous to do otherwise.

    The answer was disturbingly simple for such a complicated request. Because this was going to be akin to pouring molten aluminum down the anthill that had already been kicked over.

    "You have my guarantee, Colonel. We're in this together. If anyone gives you any trouble, you call me. We're going to make this a success story, even if I have to sit on the bean counters and dig the skeletons out of the closet myself."

    That seemed to relieve the other man, his shoulders sagging just enough to notice, as if some of the burden he was under was taken off his shoulders.

    "I'll have one provided and have one of my men walk you through using it. It's surprisingly intuitive and even has its own tutorials for how to wield it. For being so young, Miss Hebert seems to be fairly forward thinking."

    "Except in regards to her health."

    "Except that," Herres sighed. "What do we do with her?"

    That was a complicated question. Especially with the storm that was about to come. He had no doubt in his mind that in addition to the recognition she was about to receive, she was probably going to be the focal point of a lot of politicians, especially of the PRT-bent. But that was in the future, right now there was a different hand that should be applied to her.

    "When she wakes up, teach her what you can about delegation! But that aside, I think you are firmly aware of just how vital that girl is going to be, going forward. So I want you to do everything in your power to keep her safe and on friendly terms with the government. That little gadget alone is going to change how we do things," he said sternly, motioning to the holographic display and the information being displayed and updated on it.

    "On that we agree, sir."

    He then reached and shook the Colonel's hand, his mind already whirling as to what next needed to be done. His return to DC was going to be tumultuous, and every bit was going to be needed in order to skew things in their favor.

    So he looked around the room, taking in the various personnel milling about, "Can one of you show me to the medical tent? I need to dress the part."

    This earned a raised eyebrow from the Colonel, "Walking wounded?"

    He nodded, smiling slightly, "Walking wounded. Nothing like a wounded hero surviving through impossible odds. The press will love it, and hopefully we can elicit enough support to stack the deck in our favor."

    Herres chuckled slightly as he ordered someone to lead him to the medical tent. Then Colonel turned back to the table and went back to work as he exited.

    AEH​

    7:49 AM

    As dawn slowly inched closer, rescue crews were rotated, with food and water being handed out. All the while, the machines of the LRL headed out again and again. They searched through the debris that clogged the roads with a mechanical grace. Watchers shopped around, their heads moving constantly, scanning everything within their gaze. Burrowers scampered over, under, and through buildings, cars, and rubble searching for any sign of people. And they found people, calling back to their human attendants as hundreds were found in need of rescue.

    The Scrapper - dog-like thing that it was - often found itself at the vanguard of the pack, using its powerful jaws to cut people free. In other cases, it used its head as a wedge to get into spaces, and lifted debris to free those trapped inside or underneath. The ram-headed Charger often helped to support the weight even as it provided fuel to its herd, and sometimes warmth for those who needed it.

    The lumbering Titan, with its massive bulk, cut an intimidating figure to many. But its contribution was unmatched when it came to sheer strength. A photographer would snap the iconic image of the Titan yoked to a flatbed, hauling supplies behind it like the sturdy beast that it was modeled after.

    And they didn't stop, moving only deeper into the city. People called down from rooftops and windows. Cape teams flew across the sky directing survivors to shelters set up to receive them. Time and time again, the machines proved their worth in silence. Cars and debris stood no chance against the Titan as it cleared the road. The Scrappers' grinders tore through fallen beams, telephone poles, broken doors, and more to get access to survivors. Burrowers and Watchers kept up a frenetic and desperate pace, checking every inch of Boston for more people in need of rescue.

    Throughout it all, it was the humans that fell behind, as the work intensified and they wore out from exhaustion. Not that the machines escaped unharmed. The Scrapper lunged and covered a survivor with its body when a ceiling collapsed unexpectedly. The Titan's previously pristine white armor now bore scrapes and drag marks from pressing up against stone and concrete, keeping buildings from collapsing. A Burrower suffered optic damage when it jumped into a fire, looking for a shut off valve to a gas line. But still they continue inexorably forward. And to the cold, the frightened, the lost, and the wounded of Boston, the first sign of hope they saw was a warm, blue glow of the Light Rescue Lance headed their way, with human companions following closely behind them.

    Somehow, word of the machines spread amongst both the rescuers and the rescued, becoming a point of unity. The refugee camp buzzed with news, as each new rescue came in. Of how the Titan stood against raging waters and carried people to safety. How the Scrapper would nudge its head against tired rescuers, seemingly to offer comfort. How the perky Burrowers would roll and play in the shallows, but always returned to work.

    Unfortunately, not every story ended happily. And as time marched on, the attrition slowly built as the Machines were called to do more and more things that they were never initially envisioned to do in this build. Taylor had to cut corners in their design in order to meet the deadline, and it showed in the materials used in the design, far below the spec for the finalized product that she envisioned. Armor plating broke, optics cracked and degraded, rotors strained from wear and tear as tolerances were continuously exceeded, and electronics inevitably faltered as their load limits were challenged. But this truth was known only to a select few. To the people of Boston, the machines' perseverance was a comfort. And as dawn finally peaked over the horizon, the near silence was broken by the droning of large and powerful engines as heavy aircraft began their approach for landing at Logan. And as the first C-5 Galaxy landed, the people of Boston held one truth close to their hearts even in the desperation of the situation.

    In the darkness of the previous night, hope was a shining blue light.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • AlSmash said:
    Logan International was a wreck, but the runway was clear. The teams were working to get the roads into the city in working order, and rig up a rudimentary Radar and Tower Control.
    Click to expand...
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    With a clear runway, the US Army Corp of Engineers with the US Air-force will have a functional airport running within 24 hours. All the equipment they need should already be packaged ready to go, it just needs the order to be given.

    And I do like that Crystal just found out that nice "normal" VP Jack Ryan can be one of the scariest SOB's on the planet.
     
    Dracophage said:
    and with that clear runway, they will start to be able to do shit like airlift in Burger Kings and Mc-Donald's.
    American Logistics are dammed powerful
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    Logistics Command will have a battalion and their supplies there within 24 hours. The seebees will have an entire base and power up within 18 hours. Unless the nearest naval bases were hit, the seebees should already be there
     
    BanzEye said:
    Say what you will about Americans, but their logistics are the work of black magic, blood sacrifices, and probably a few miracles.

    They're just…ungodly good.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    While true, solely praising American logistics is inaccurate. There were mainly American and British planes and pilots on that side. And the Germans got better and better at rapidly unloading cargo planes. There were former Luftwaffe ground crews and other personnel who voluntarily offered their services on the receiving side. And without whose work it would never have succeeded as well as it did. Logistics is a chain, every single link is important

    Random aside: "Ich bin ein Berliner", was correct use of German. Most Germans would have no idea people would even think otherwise. At that, the pastry isn't called Berliner in Berlin. No, they call it Pfannkuchen there.
     
    Sprout 3.2 Part 1 New
  • Threadmarks
    • Another split chapter. This is becoming commonplace, so I'm going to explain the purpose of it. Basically, the ongoing head decisions is, when it has multiple parts, it has multiple perspectives that all fall in line with the subject of the chapter, or the timetable that exists within the chapter itself. In this case, while Kaiser's POV will span over two days, it still relates to the overall focus of the chapter itself.

    Hopefully that helps answer for some of you exactly what there are Parts. Thank you.

    Now on to the story.

    Sprout 3.2 Part 1

    Max Anders

    Brockton Bay, Medhall

    (Minutes after Taylor hangs up on Jean)

    All change involved sacrifice. The more drastic the change, the greater the required sacrifice. Decisive action was essential in times of change in order to maintain control. But more importantly, a steady hand was necessary in order to ensure the right change came to pass.

    It was the only lesson his father had impressed upon him that actually had some use. There were others, but like the late Richard Anders, they were as shortsighted as the man himself. It was why Allfather was but a distant memory of Brockton Bay, and Kaiser was ascendant.

    Max considered this as he watched the gentle rain fall on Brockton Bay. His office in Medhall was exactly as he had intended it to be; a symbol of power and wealth, and a place of contemplation. From here, he overlooked what would be his city. With all the opulence and comfort that he was entitled to; by circumstance of his birth, his lineage, and his efforts.

    He had always considered Medhall to be a means to an end. That the Empire Eighty-Eight was a weapon that he would wield to create a place of power for himself and those loyal to him. But things had changed… and said change now required a change of sacrifice. Medhall would be the vehicle of his ascension, and for that to be true, the Empire would have to be… pruned. Reformed. To better fit the coming future.

    And if necessary, sacrificed root and branch.

    He drank slightly from his glass, a rich ten-year-old bourbon, with the sound of the falling rain the only accompaniment to the glass returning to the metal table at his side. Leaning back in the plush chair, he watched the rain, and thought.

    Leviathan had hit Boston. In the scramble to respond to the PRT's emergency summons… certain Empire members were… delayed. Others? He made sure they made the teleporter's jump to Boston. Hookwolf, Stormtiger, Alabaster, Cricket. They were necessary sacrifices. Radical elements that had always rallied around Hookwolf. The man's savagery and simplicity had always been a useful tool to be used. But much like the Sturmabteilung had been for Hitler, Hookwolf's usefulness had come to an end for him. The brute would be a detriment to the future that he was building.

    But at least he could serve one final use until his demise. His death, along with those of his cohorts, would help pave the way for the necessary change for the Empire. They would be memorialized for their 'sacrifice', of course, just long enough for the rest of his ilk to join the others in the refuse pile.

    A soft knock at his office door pulled his attention away from his musings.

    "Yes," he asked curtly. He had given clear instructions that he was not to be disturbed. The fact that someone dared to violate those orders was an irritant that had best be ameliorated by a good reason. Otherwise there would be consequences.

    His secretary leaned her head in, appropriately deferential and apologetic in her body language.

    "Pardon me, sir. Ms. Brown of Zero Dawn Technologies is very insistent on meeting with you. She claims it's urgent."

    He took a moment to enjoy the woman standing in his door. Deferential, wearing a flattering outfit with a skirt that was professional, yet teased possibilities. Good. It appeared that she was far more pliable than the last one. She might just last longer because of it.

    "Very well. Send her in."

    He took the moment to place his drink on the desk.. Rich wood contrasting nicely with a pair of polished metal art pieces that flanked it. In walked the woman that had deigned to demand his attention. Her heels struck a steady beat, her dress immaculate, and her hair an artistic tangle that looked effortless. By all accounts, he may have considered courting her. But an Emperor did not share his throne; he had no need for equals.

    She sat, placing her slim briefcase on the floor beside her. Reaching across the desk, she took his offered hand.

    "Mr. Anders, thank you for meeting me so promptly. I am hoping to secure your assistance in a matter of some urgency."

    He smiled, already sensing an opportunity, even if it was currently nebulous in its detail. He had pegged based upon his few interactions that Miss Brown was a slow, methodical manager, and to have her show up at his doorstep without the usual trappings of a fellow executive, certainly suggested that negotiations would be in his favor.

    "I'll certainly help if possible. Our two companies would assuredly benefit from a closer relationship."

    Her lips twitched for a brief instant.

    "Indeed," she intoned, before she reached down, bending slightly, the fold at the top of her dress providing a tantalizing glimpse of flesh. It was a calculated move, meant to innocently tease. He certainly enjoyed the view, even if it was a blatant trap. But once a trap was spotted, it lost its bite.

    She then placed a yellow stone on his desk. He glanced at it, not understanding what purpose it served. Though there was a niggling feeling that he should know what it meant.

    Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, exuding the confidence of a woman who felt in control of the situation, "My employer is a dedicated and methodical man," she declared, "he spent quite a lot of resources and energy in crafting me into the woman I am today. When he finally deemed that my training was sufficient enough to serve him, he gave me this memento and my name."

    Her name?

    His eyes snapped up from the stone and to her, body tensing as things clicked into place. Jean Brown was employed as the Vice President of Zero Dawn, doubling as the manager of their finances. But before that, she was the Vice President of Far Zenith, a hedge fund out of Boston. And there were only a handful of gemstones that were gold.

    One of which was Citrine.

    Her head turned slightly towards the window, gazing out at the rain-battered city, "I will admit, Mr. Anders, you have quite the view of your office. One could think of himself as a Kaiser overlooking this city from here."

    His fists clenched, feeling the metal shiver around him in reaction. He was on the backfoot now, a position that he always hated. It was time to retake the initiative in this and show this woman that he was not some fool to push around with a simple threat of unmasking.

    "I can imagine the difficulty in being caught between two masters," he probed, looking for an opportunity to strike. It seemed that Citrine, and by extension Accord, were not interested in any sort of escalation, with the information they had, it would be child's play to irrevocably damage both Medhall and himself, so there was another angle at play. One that he was not yet aware of.

    And furthermore, was this all some sort of elaborate trap sprung by Accord? Tempt him into a bountiful future for Medhall, while breaking the Empire in the process? It was the sort of plot that he would expect from the Bostonian cape, but this lacked the elaborate preparations that were a hallmark of the man. So could this be just a happy coincidence, or was there a different plan being executed?

    The responding smile, a slight thing that felt more like a reaction to an inside joke than something funny, only served to ratchet up his tension, "In many circumstances, their intentions align perfectly. Like today, for example."

    He realized he was not going to get the information that he wanted, at least through normal means, he was on his backfoot and he couldn't see just what playbook that she was operating from. So there was only one solution to the matter that may bring the advantage back to his side.

    He stood, leaning over toward her, letting his power manipulate the metallic sculptures in his office, slowly twisting them into blades. It was not quite explicit yet, but it was enough to warn Citrine that he was not in the mood for games.

    "What do you want," he growled, wanting to see her flinch. Only for his rage to grow further stroked when she met his threat without a reaction.

    "Peace Mr. Anders. Peace," she raised her palms, "There's no need for violence. This is a deal between equals over mutual self-interest," she reached and palmed the gem, twisting it between her slim fingers with a thoughtful expression, before looking back to him, "The instructions from my patron were clear, I am to ensure that Zero Dawn succeeds. As you are no doubt aware, Miss Hebert is talented, driven, and innovative. But at the same time, that very drive is also her detriment, pushing her to take risks you and I would consider reckless, even for a company."

    He settled back in his chair, willing the metal back to their former places with nary a thought.

    Perhaps it was not a trap, he thought, considering the implications in what Citrine had said, both subtle and otherwise. The fact that she was admitting, albeit in a roundabout way, that working with Miss Hebert was difficult. And the admission certainly fit with his overall perspective of Miss Hebert as well. The girl was direct to a fault, preferring the use of her personality and technology to impose her will. She had used shock and awe on him in order to gain his allegiance. It was certainly effective, if brutish, to use concepts and blueprints to ensnare him.

    A dark part of him found amusement that his father and her would have likely gotten along like a house on fire, if they were able to set aside their ideological differences. They both seemed to subscribe to the same playbook on the imposition of will.

    "Yes, your little inventor certainly is impressive, I'll admit. The deal worked between our two companies stands to benefit us both. However, I do not see what would cause you to take the drastic action as you have today. You are risking quite a bit for something that appears to have little gain for you."

    "Because Mr. Anders, my 'little inventor' as you call her, has decided to bet everything on the success of another one of her inventions that you have not been privy to. One that has placed her in one of the most challenging work environments possible."

    Ah. Now the pieces were coming together, even as he fought the urge to smirk. It would not do well to resort to such base childishness, as tempting as it was to enjoy a bit of schadenfreude at turning the tables upon the woman.

    "Boston."

    "Yes, Boston. Ms. Hebert will no doubt have her machines as central as possible. If this venture pans out as she believes that it will, and the subsequent cleanup and recovery of Boston succeeds, then Zero Dawn's name will rise accordingly. If it fails? Then my patron's investment will likely suffer a significant setback," she then leaned forward, a hard look in her eyes, "I am not a woman comfortable with failure, Mr. Anders. I will ensure that Boston is a success story. You can help me do that."

    Now, he couldn't help but smile, but it was certainly not polite. Here, he was on more stable ground now, and this was a negotiation. One where the situation was to his advantage.

    "I believe I can. After all, Medhall has the resources and allies to call upon. But as you said, 'mutual self-interest', so I have to ask the rather droll question, 'what's in it for me?'"

    The bland expression he received only heightened his amusement, he knew that she knew he had her over the barrel. She obviously knew she would have to offer something, but the fact that she didn't know what he wanted only made it better.

    "As I said," she began, "Ms. Hebert is a woman of singular focus. I can ensure that her focus remains on projects beneficial to Medhall's interest."

    His smile grew impossibly wider. Time to really test the waters.

    "Considering what Ms. Hebert has done with this other project, I doubt the veracity of your pledge. And even if you were able to, those projects would still take time to develop. An eventual payoff, certainly, but that is not guaranteed either."

    The way her expression twisted was worth it. It served the bitch right.

    "What do you want?"

    He pretended to think for a moment, but he already knew what he wanted to do. It was something he had been exploring since his first meeting with Ms. Hebert. And now, he could use it to kill three birds with one stone.

    "Ms. Hebert is single right now, isn't she," he asked, already knowing the answer to that, but playing it up just to twist the knife, knowing that a woman like Citrine would be disgusted by the action. But she would not have a choice, because this was the price he was going to demand, "I know of a fine young man who might make for a good partner for her. Perhaps you could…lend your weight in encouraging the two to interact?"

    Certainly, it was a stroke of genius. His son, Theo, was of the right age, and he could certainly benefit from female accompaniment. There was no doubt in his mind that a personality like Ms. Hebert would season the boy into finally asserting his preordained masculinity. And if it didn't necessarily work outright, there were other means to place his thumb on the scale if Theo was found to be insufficient in acquiring Ms. Hebert's hand. All that matters would be that the relationship be made fruitful.

    Oh yes, there were plenty of opportunities to be had.

    But he had named his price, and he knew that if Citrine was this desperate to make a play, then she had no real choice in the matter. He had to wonder just who had given the orders, if there were orders, or if this was her own initiative. He doubted that Accord would be so willing to make a deal like this, the man never struck him as one to operate from a disadvantage. No, this reeked of female decision-making, too emotional and bereft of logic. She had come in her clad in her supposed superiority and he was going to take pleasure in breaking her of that illusion.

    Just the visual of her expression becoming strained was exhilarating. She knew she was in no position to negotiate, and she had worked herself into a corner with barely a push from himself. If she wanted his support for Boston, she would have to ensure further future projects to Medhall and pressure Ms. Hebert into interaction with his chosen partner.

    "Much of this will depend on the conduct of your 'fine young gentlemen'," she spat out, as if she were tasting something foul, "but yes, I think that will be acceptable."

    She then reached across the desk, and he shook her hand sealing their pact.

    In the end a Kaiser always won.

    AEH​

    "Protests continue today in the wake of President Durling's declaration of Martial Law..." - Good Morning America

    "And I will continue to fight against this kind of blatant government overreach, and with your support we can win this fight!" - Senator Shaw speaking to rallying supporters

    "First images out of Boston show devastation, and tragedy. Survivors share their stories… - Dateline NBC    ​

    AEH​

    Boston

    Two Days After Initial Relief's Arrival

    Kaiser

    With a flex of will, swords worthy of the Colossus of Rhodes exploded from the river before him. As they came to a halt, myriad more blades sprouted from them where the engineers indicated ships could still pass with clearance, forming the frame of a roadway over which cars would pass. More titanic blades appeared adding support that his work would not be quickly undone, while smaller protrusions fractaled out to create the road-bed itself.

    Looking around, he could see the industrious hard at work. While he had never been one for dumb labor, he was not blind to the necessity of such. So he treated them as they should be treated, giving clear instructions, rewarding the diligent, and punishing the indolent.

    He suppressed a wince as metal screeched against stone, and turned to see his Valkyries hard at work. Fenja and Menja were in their larger forms, clearing the roads of cars that had crashed themselves together from the waves of Leviathan's attacks. Their legs, hands and arms were stained with motor oil, mud and other things. Regrettable… he foresaw several large expenses for spa days in the future. As the girls liked to say 'beauty must be maintained', and if he wanted to take advantage of said beauty, he would be the one paying for the maintenance.

    "Sir! I have news!"

    Finally!

    He turned to see Victor hopping off one of Runes' flying platforms. It supported dozens of gaping civilians and several tons of supplies bound for other locations. He felt a sense of satisfaction at their awe, even as the teen herself scowled and left without comment; continuing her tour of the city. Another one of his capes who would need to be placated following this. He waited impatiently as Victor jogged over.

    "What do you have for me?"

    "Othala is working with the wounded. I've asked among the Capes; no word yet on Hookwolf and the others. What survivors I can find are unsure of events. By all accounts, it was a very chaotic battle against the beast."

    Unfortunate… it would be inconvenient to martyr Hookwolf and the others only to have them return. "Keep looking, openly if you need to. Most capes will be sympathetic to us finding our dead after an Endbringer battle."

    If they weren't dead already…well; he would have to make sure they did not miss their date with matyrdom.

    "Yes, understood. Sir… have you heard about the machines?"

    When Citrine had told him that Taylor Hebert had gone into Boston with 'machines' for rescue, he had expected something simple, perhaps even novel, considering what she had already shown him. Something that would certainly garner enough attention to override the fact that it would make minimal difference in the grand scheme of rescue.

    Unfortunately, he found, to his increasing chagrin in regards to Ms. Hebert, that he had once again underestimated her.

    No, that was minimizing just what she had done. What he was currently bearing witness was orders of magnitude beyond simple underestimation. He might as well have not guessed at all just what she had wrought upon Boston. Never once, under any circumstance, would have envisioned Taylor Hebert creating what she had.

    "I've heard of them, and only observed a few at a distance. What have you heard?"

    "It's all anyone can talk about amongst the camps. Rescue workers and the refugees. They compare stories, comment on where to see the creatures as they enter and exit the camps. Vandals are painting their likeness on the rubble, and the police are letting them. And most of all…" Victor leaned close. "They say that a parahuman made them, but they're being operated by regular people. They say the inventor could be the next coming of Dragon."

    The next Dragon? No. It was worse than that. It took weeks for Dragon to assemble a new machine from scratch. Taylor Hebert created all of these machines with a team of non-capes using blueprints and schematics in a month! And each machine was unique in its own way, suggesting a depth and understanding of robotics far in excess of just about anyone he was aware of.

    If there had been any doubt on the value of the girl before, it was safe to say that it no longer existed. In fact, it only emphasized the need to assimilate her into his orbit. Theo would need to be impressed upon the fact that failure was not an option. He didn't care how the boy did it, but Taylor Hebert must be brought into the fold and made pliable to his ambitions.

    Before he was done, Taylor Hebert would become Taylor Anders. He would not accept anything less of this opportunity. Not when it was so close within his grasp.

    Her keen intellect and creativity, guided with his firm hand, would achieve a legacy that would enshrine the Anders name in the annals of history that would be spoken of for generations. All that was needed now was for his son to finally become an Anders and grasp his destiny with both hands.

    "Yes, I'm aware of these rumours. Plans are in motion, we'll talk more when we've left this city."

    Needless to say, the Empire-88 had received a cool welcome. While Colonel Herres was not in a position to turn away their aid, he had done what he could to split up the help offered. It was inconvenient, but it did not matter in the end. While all eyes were upon him, Victor could serve as his eyes and ears in Boston, providing him with needed reports.

    "Has anyone spotted her?"

    He was rewarded with a shake of a head from his subordinate, "Nor has anyone seen her father in the last day. They likely have her holed up in the command center at Boston College. Herres is not allowing anyone in the facility that has not been vetted or is not authorized military personnel."

    It was disappointing, but to be expected. Herres came across as undeniably competent at his job, considering his progress and success so far. The man obviously realized just how critical Ms. Hebert was to his operations, considering it was from her mind that the machines came from. It would be the height of idiocy not to zealously protect such an asset. Pulling Daniel Hebert to a position where he was not vulnerable only solidified the choice.

    If this were Brockton Bay, he would have likely had no problem slipping some of his people in and putting eyes on the Heberts. But alas, it was not, so it was best not to dwell upon something outside of his control.

    They would have plenty of opportunities once this was over. And he had other issues to deal with.

    Namely Krieg, or James Fleischer.

    The Gesellschaft liaison was on his way back from London, but the man was already asking questions. Which meant that his masters were getting curious as to why he was involving himself in Boston. It wouldn't be much longer until they would be able to put the pieces together, if they hadn't already with the news reports that were no doubt starting to leak out from Boston.

    They would no doubt realize the opportunity presented through the union of Medhall and Zero Dawn and began demanding of him things that he may or may not be able to provide at significant risk. At the heart, Gesellschaft's leadership were rich industrialists, and the specter of Taylor Hebert's ingenuity would no doubt incite them to take anything they could in order to further their own aims.

    He had always planned to rid himself of the shackles of Gesellschaft, it was always a question of when it was the right opportunity to do so. And with the way things were developing it would certainly be sooner than he had originally planned.

    But for now, that could be put on the backburner. He had time to prepare his response for Krieg when he returned back to Brockton Bay. For now, he would show the flag here, planting that seed of doubt in the heads of those of weaker disposition.

    "Return to Othala," he commanded Victor, watching as the man nodded and quickly took off in a jog. He then turned his attention towards Massachusetts Bay, taking in the massive shape of the USS Enterprise. It had just arrived into the bay this morning, and it was a hive of activity, with helicopters landing and taking off constantly, all the while every once in a while, it was launching and retrieving combat aircraft.

    There was a quiet part of him that wondered if this was not a portent for the future. This was one of the first times that he could recall that there was an organized military response to anything. Even the New York response paled in comparison to the amount of men and material that were pouring into the ravaged city.

    He then mentally shook his head, dismissing the thought. It was all theater as far as he was concerned, this was the military's last gasp to maintain their relevancy. It would not make a difference, and he was making a mountain out of an anthill. They could enjoy this moment, because at the end of the day, it will not save them from their final disposition. Capes were the future, not mortal men.
    He had a future to work towards.

    AEH​

    Christopher Siopis

    Kid Win

    Hospitals have a certain smell. And it's everywhere, so when something smells different, you notice. So when his teammate walked in holding a bag which smelled of food, and drink? Chris sat up as quickly as he could. Which he regretted, because OW! Bandages rubbed against burns, and skin pulled in funny ways that made everything even more painful.

    "Kid, you look more well done than this sandwich I saved for you." Clock jokes, his helmet replaced with a small domino mask.

    "Yeah, sure. Hand me the food you jokester." Even talking hurts, a kind of scrape to his voice. Maybe it made him sound more mature?

    Clock sat at the end of the bed, laying out items from his bag. Chris reached for it, making the effort. Clock paused, staring as his arm and hand shook in place. He clenched his fist, willing it to stop, which it did… somewhat. Now it was just a small tremble.

    "Wow, you're more jittery than Vista on coffee! Remember that time when she brought in that flavored coffee that she got from.." Chris tuned out Clock a little, as he worked around the trembling of his fingers, unwrapping the packaging of a, admittedly, delicious looking and smelling barbecue sandwich. Clock hated hospitals. He made that clear enough. Chris never learnt why, but was touched that his teammate was making the effort to visit him. Clock also deflected serious topics with humour. So he let the older teen tell his story, and nodded along absently as he ate.

    And it was serious. The nurse had called it periphery nerve damage. It was something that Panacea could have healed, but hadn't. It was a decision from on high that Panacea would only perform enough healing to stabilize a patient before moving on. The rationale being that she could always return back to them once things settled, and that time spent on fully healing one person could be better spent partially healing several.

    On one hand, he could understand why they made the decision. It made sense. But there was a quiet part of himself scared out of his mind, asking himself "How am I going to Tinker with shaky hands like this?"

    Because for the first time, Kid Win felt like a proper Tinker. Capital T included! His inventions were powerful, unique, and utterly unlike anything that had come before. It was… amazing. Armsmaster's final parting gift had unlocked a whole new world of designs, ideas and plans for him to explore. Even if the man had been a bad mentor previously. He had come through at the finish line.

    "So have you got any idea on when you're getting out of here?" Clock asked, munching away at his own snack.

    "They haven't told me," he said, before taking a bite from the sandwich, his taste-buds luxuriating in the departure from the cracker and peanut butter sandwiches that had been his meals since he had awakened. He was interrupted by his enjoyment by the sound of rotors reverberating off the building.

    "What's going on out there," he finally asked as the sound faded.

    "Man, it's like an old war movie out there," Clock sighed, "choppers coming in, dropping things off, then flying off right away. They've turned the football field into a landing zone, and someone went around with a cutting tool and removed the fencing. Now trucks are rolling in and out of there, loading up supplies and heading out of there."

    "I've been working with the hospitals on critical cases, running patients back and forth. You're kind of lucky you're getting the prime treatment. Most of the hospitals are chock full and the urgent cases are being shipped to Panacea here. Oh!" The other Ward leaned forward, a boyish grin on his face, "you'll never guess who I've been paired up with."

    He blinked, trying to figure out who Clockblocker, the eternal jokester, would be amused by being paired up with, because he obviously found it funny based upon his expression, "Who?"

    "Rune."

    "Bullcrap."

    "Yep," Clock declared with a pop then chuckled, "I'm working with Sabrina the Teenage Nazi."

    Sabrina the Teenage Nazi? What?

    Clock must have seen his confusion before laughing, "One of the military guys called her that. I'm honestly embarrassed that I didn't think of it. Blonde, kind of cute in a 'as long as she keeps her mouth shut you can introduce her to your parents' kinda way, and can fly around? I need to take some pointers from the military, methinks. They have some untapped creativity."

    He finished chuckling along with his friend before putting the remains of his sandwich down.

    "So… what happened after I was knocked out? Most people don't really have time to talk. Just keep saying that it's chaos and they don't know who's where."

    Clock dropped his eyes, taking a long sip from his drink. His heart sank; it wasn't good news if this was Clock's reaction. Did he not do enough? Was the Alternator Cannon not enough?

    "Yeah," Clock's voice was soft, previous joviality completely gone, "It was a mess, man. With Dragon down, we didn't know where anyone was, you know? You hit Leviathan really good Kid, you did. I saw the flash from across the city. But… Velocity didn't make it."

    "Oh…," suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore. Someone he worked with, who was friendly and talked to him about his inventions was just… gone. And here he was in a hospital bed. A few inches from also being gone.

    "And the others?"

    He really didn't want to know, but he couldn't resist. He had to know, because that was what a hero does, right? Take all of the bad news at once and get it over with?

    His fellow Ward leaned back, sighing deeply. He pulled off his mask, and Chris was a little shocked by how drained his friend looked. Black smudges under his eyes, mud or maybe blood on his cheek. Rubbing his forehead, Clock continued.

    "Vista made it, but she's out cold, sleeping it off in one of the tents. She was helping move people to chase Leviathan most of the fight. Damn near fried her brain doing it. Armsmaster was found last night, but now he's arm-master… he lost an arm in the rubble." Clock tried to smile, but he couldn't follow through. It should have been a solemn moment. A quiet moment. Like… rain, and gloom at a funeral. But… overhead another copter roared in, truck engines roared outside as they moved supplies. All this loss, and not a moment to stop.

    "Who else?"

    Browbeat hadn't made the jump from the Rig to Boston. Aegis was missing, somewhere in the rubble of downtown. Gallant was alive. Assault and Battery were fine, nothing beyond sprains and lots of bruises. Miss Militia was fine as well, but he hadn't seen her, she was trying to coordinate what was left of the Brockton Bay contingent.

    They found Triumph's body this morning.

    "If we didn't have those ZD machines, I'm sure things would be a lot worse."

    "The what?"

    "Oh man, they're really cool. You know Scarface? From the Bay? Well she rolled into Boston with a bunch of supply trucks, and this whole team of these… animal-looking machines. All built for rescue work. And they really work! Scanning, digging, the whole kit. And somehow they're not Tinkertech, so even the army guys are going around giving the machine-team orders."

    Just then, there was a quick knock at the door, before it was thrown open. There stood Rune. And here he was in a hospital bed wearing a hospital gown. Then again, the girl didn't look good either. Her green dress was stained with mud and other things. It was torn, all the way up to her thighs, showing the long basketball shorts she wore underneath her outfit. Her hood was missing, and her blond hair tied up in a messy bun.

    "Come on, shit pants, we've got to go. Break's over."

    Clock didn't even try to put his mask back on, just sighing and running a hand through his hair before standing and stretching. "Copy that Grumpy-Cat, let's go be heroes."

    He turned to Chris, holding out a fist to bump. "You get some rest, yeah? Be good to see you on your feet in a few days." Chris bumped back, ignoring the way his biceps spasmed.

    "Jeasus, can you two save your gay buddy-buddy shit for another time?! Let's go, we're back on the clock, Clock-boy!"

    "Clock-man if you please," he retorted, finally placing on his mask, "And speaking of pleasure, can I say that your legs look great? The mud really brings out the tone of those calves of yours. And those boots!"

    "I will shove these boots up your ass so hard you will be tasting shoe leather. If you bring up th…"

    The conversation faded as the pair retreated out of the room and down the hall, the door closing behind them, leaving him to his own thoughts. Which… were honestly a bit of a mess. He didn't want to dwell upon the people that had been lost. Didn't want to think about the empty spots on the Rig, or the fact that new people would soon fill those empty spots, erasing any sign that his friends and fellow heroes might have been there once.

    Burying his head in his hands for a moment, he fought the myriad of emotions that were warring for primacy. It felt like too much, all of this, and if he dwelled upon it, he would break.

    He needed a distraction, he thought, raising his head up. His eyes came to rest upon the phone that had been left beside his bed, Clock having left him it. He needed something to take his mind off of everything. He needed to see how the rest of the world was reacting to all of this. It was customary for Endbringer battles to be somewhat taboo in the news; but while the battles themselves weren't reported on, the outcomes were. Time would be set aside for those who fell, along with their accomplishments, and the impact of their loss.

    It was…nice to see that they were remembered. He had been a Ward for a couple years now, and he had always tried to pay attention when the memorial programs came on. If only to take the memory of them to heart and provide him with a drive to be better.

    There were even times in which the villains were mentioned. Sometimes their actions merited acknowledgement in spite of their crimes.

    Reaching to the stand, he grabbed the device and struggled through twitching fingers to find some news sites, then to Parahumans Online when he didn't find what he wanted, and when that failed, to a few blogs that he followed. Yet everywhere he looked, he saw the same thing, to his mounting frustration.

    Tossing the phone on the bed, he grimaced when it bounced off and landed on the floor.

    "It's not fair," he huffed, leaning back into his bed. Another spasm shot down his arm, and he clenched his first together as he ground his teeth.

    It was the same news everywhere. The same tired lines revolving around the same thing: Zero Dawn Technologies. About the machines that were currently scouring Boston and saving lives. The implications of the technology, the performance, and even the stories of those rescued by them.

    And Who was Taylor Hebert?

    No mention was given to those who had made the ultimate sacrifice in the defense of Boston. Not even an attempt to post an 'in memoriam' for those who had fallen, highlighting their accomplishments and who they were.

    All gone. Like they didn't matter.

    He breathed deep, resisting the tears that fought to be shed.

    It wasn't fair, he wanted to scream to this cruel world.

    A knock at the door ripped him out of his thoughts, as he scrambled to sit up again because he wasn't expecting who walked in without acknowledgement or preamble.

    Black cape, black helmet, and a white tower emblazoned upon her chest. You had to have been living under a rock not to recognize Alexandria of the Triumvirate.

    And here he was, clad in a skimpy hospital gown. Today was really not his day.

    "Mr. Win, glad to see you are recovering. Considering your actions in Boston, I felt it was right to set aside a time to meet with you."

    Meet with him? Alexandria wanted to meet with him?!

    "Um, yeah," he stumbled over his words, "Sure. How can I help you?"

    The woman folded her arms in response, not even acknowledging his stammering, and leaned back on a leg against the wall.

    "The cannon that you used against Leviathan? Do you think you can rebuild it?"

    He frowned, looking down at his lap as his hands bunched the blankets, "Yes. If I can get the resources approved…The cannon misfired because I overrode the safeties to get that second shot," his head shot up, staring at the visored eyes of the member of the Triumvirate, "It's perfectly safe otherwise, I swear!. It's just…it didn't seem to have enough of an impact…"

    "Nonsense. You had a huge impact on the fight, even if you weren't there for the end of it. Make no mistake, Mr. Win," she stepped closed and offered her hand to shake, "Those of us who matter, who aren't mesmerized by the tricks of an opportunist, are very aware of your value and the impact you can have."

    He couldn't help the large smile that spread across his face as he shook her hand. Alexandria liked what he did and she wanted to see his cannon again?! Just then, just to show how unfair the world really was, his arm began to tremble and his hands shook. It was like his world was crashing down around him again.

    What good was a Tinker with shaky hands…

    However, if he expected Alexandria to release his hand, he was sorely mistaken as her hand tightened around his, holding it until the shakes finally abated.

    "Hmmm," she mused aloud, releasing his hand, "I did read about this in your medical chart. Don't let it hold you back, Mr. Win, I look forward to seeing how you overcome this."

    He frowned. Overcome this? He wasn't a bio-tinker. He didn't work with bodies!

    Alexandria seemed to pick up on his mood, and answered before he could snap back at her, "Tinkers are defined by their limits, and Heroes are defined by overcoming their limitations. Your former mentor, Armsmaster, is the same way. He has already turned down healing by Panacea and seems intent on solving the problem himself. I think he's actually looking forward to it, honestly."

    The indomitable's woman seemed to stare into his very soul as she continued, "Hero was the same way. Anytime he found a limit, he would invent a way past it."

    She leaned down, letting him stare into his reflection off her faceplate, "Don't let anything hold you back, Mr. Win. I look forward to seeing how great a Hero you can be."

    And with that, she turned and left, leaving him to gape at the open door. Alexandria actually believed he could be as great as Hero?! That…

    He smiled widely, unable to stop himself at the idea that someone like Alexandira could have faith in him. In him of all people.

    He couldn't let her down, he thought, as he grabbed his phone again, this time with a purpose as he began opening websites and note programs. Every spasm of his fingers was an impetus forward. A problem to be solved. Okay…modularity? Nerves were conduits designed to send signals, could he bypass those conduits? No, but maybe he could replace them? But with what material?

    He spent the rest of the day reviewing medical texts and asking questions of every nurse that happened to check in on him.

    By the day's end…he took his name off of Panacea's healing list.

    AEH​

    "I'm telling you man, the PRT conspiracy is real! Look at those machines, remind you of anything? Eagleton, Machine Army! It's been a PRT controlled zone for years. They're not keeping people out for some threat, they're keeping people out because they don't want everyone knowing that they're experimenting on controlling the machines!" - LizardsAllOverTheShop, PHO Online

    "Religious leaders across the country are organizing ceremonies of mourning and remembrance for those lost in Boston. And dozens of charity organizations have begun preparing supplies to be sent once travel into the city becomes more clear." - CNN Tonight​

    AEH​

    Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Herres II, USAF

    Acting Governor of Massachusetts

    Boston College Conference Room

    "Okay, that's the updated status on water and electricity. What's next?"

    He scanned through the room. Half a dozen tired faces looked back at him, likely seeing the same from him. The table was strewn with papers, half-full coffee cups, note papers, and maps. Off to the side, the holoprojection hung, showing dozens of icons, pins, notes, and color codes.

    "Boston Harbor," grunted Admiral Nathan Grayson, who had come in on the Enterprise. It had been a hell of a thing to see the ship pull into Massachusetts Bay. The Grey Ghost should have been mothballed ages ago, but with the Navy budget for building ships cut down to pennies, everything old was being reactivated, updated, and polished. Especially with the President's insistence on maintaining six active carriers in the Fleet.

    Herres nodded, noting a man in a yellow safety vest clear his throat, even as the exhaustion gnawed at the edges of his vision. He had only gotten four hours of rest since the initial relief convoys had arrived. They still weren't out of the woods yet, but things were starting to come together. All that was left was organizing everything that still needed to be organized.

    "Name's Robert. I'm the acting harbor master. Short answer? Harbor's fucked. Long answer? Harbor's completely fucked."

    There was an exhausted chuckle that broke through the gathering. While it was certainly a crass statement, it both served as a moment of levity, while still enhancing the seriousness of the situation. Herres actually appreciated it.

    "Alright. What will it take to get it unfucked?"

    "At least six months, two dredges, a marine salvage team, and a lot of manhours."

    He couldn't resist the urge, especially with news that was honestly not good, and rubbed his eyes.

    "Okay," was his response, even as he rubbed his eyes, "break it down for us. What's wrong?"

    The man sighed and pulled out a battered notebook, opening it up to look through it.

    "Okay, so firstly, if we want to start bringing in supplies via container ship, we're going to have to remap the seabed. Leviathan and the waves he brought in has completely rearranged it, all of our depth and hazard charts are completely useless. Moving on, we get to the facilities. At least ninety percent of the cranes and unloading stations are a complete writeoff. Too much structural damage to the cranes, and the cargo containers that were not destroyed and/or drawn back to sea, are currently part of the local scenery. Throw into that mix the various smashed boats, ships, and everything else, we have a bay that is completely littered with debris that will need to be charted and cleaned up before we even think about bringing anything with a draft more than five feet."

    He then closed the notebook.

    "Finally, and this is probably the worst part of it, the refueling stations and fuel storage facilities for the ships. They're completely compromised. What Leviathan didn't crack open and spread throughout the bay and city, is so full of saltwater that it will take months to safely inspect and scour out the fuel reservoirs. And even with them passing the initial checks, I wouldn't trust them until we did an integrity check, which will take an additional month or so. I'm being generous when I say six months, Colonel, I'm leaning more towards a year before we could get back to fifty percent operational capacity."

    He thumped his notebook with the back of his hand, "Like I said, harbor's fucked."

    That was honestly what he hoped not to hear, but expected. He had taken the time to look over Ms. Hebert's Scenario Boston-Theta, both out of curiosity, but also to prepare him for what could be. The harbormaster's description of the port facilities had been contained within the notes and projections within it, almost for rote. It was scarily accurate in its analysis, and the fact that it was one of over twenty different scenarios she had wargamed for Boston alone, only made it more abundantly clear that Ms. Hebert's importance going forward could not be understated.

    He honestly wondered what Ms. Hebert would suggest as a solution. Even if it was a test, it would provide a better indicator into her thinking process and how she would approach it. She had provided a textbook answer on how to handle a disaster area, and she had offered solutions to it through her machines and communications, even if she couldn't initially see past her own personal involvement in it.

    In hindsight, it may have been unwise to extend her rest for another day, despite her being healthy after her treatment, even if waking her would have been over the protests of Doctor Saunders and Panacea. But for right now, it was a pointless mental exercise, he had to at least figure out a tentative solution now, instead of waiting for the wunderkind.

    His head turned away from the harbormaster, "Admiral, what's the closest port facility that can accommodate large-scale cargo containers?"

    Even as he asked the question he was in action, manipulating the holographic display with his Focus to zoom it out from Boston to the region. The holodisplay responded immediately despite him being on the other side of the room, and five other people wearing Focus devices in the room as well.

    "Port of Portland, in Maine, and Port of New York and New Jersey," was Grayson's immediate reply, and he immediately dropped pins on the locations, grimacing at the distance. Currently, the city had everything it needed; the refugees had camps, food, and heat. Men and supplies were coming in, roads were being cleared of debris, and infrastructure was slowly being restored as buildings were inspected. It would at least be several more days before the outlying suburbs could be deemed safe for people to return. The inner city? Weeks. Possible months.

    But all of that was simply to establish a basis of survival. Cities were, by their nature, hungry beasts; requiring mind-numbing amounts of supplies in order to simply function. All of it required a logistical network in order for it to move in and out of the city in large quantities. And right now? The city was on life support; without its own established networks, it was reliant upon everything being trucked, flown, or brought in by rail. Which meant time in lines, congested roads and tracks, and so on and so forth.

    The city was only surviving by the skin of its teeth, and it currently did not have the means to get itself back on its feet without the harbor. They were only two days in, and he'd already been warned that they would need to start serious rationing within another five days.

    "Incoming ships are all Panamax class," he spoke aloud, "if not larger variants thereof. Is there any way we can unload them? Get them close to the shore and use the choppers?"

    Brigadier General Malika Faraday, commanding officer of the 10th Mountain Division, spoke up finally, having been quiet most of the meeting, "Army's already stretched thin on the rotary-wing assets trying to meet the demand here. I've been on the horn with the Pentagon, but the best they can scrape up is another air battalion, and it will be at least another day or two before we'll see anything of them. I know there is chatter about digging some old Chinooks, Blackhawks, and Super Stallions out of Davis-Monthan, but that's at least a week out before we'll see any activity if it amounts to anything, Nathan?"

    The named Admiral shook his head, "What I have is all we got. And they are all hard-pressed just keeping things running as is. There's no way we can add in offloading containerships without it impacting something else. And even if we could, do we even have any facilities for the dockworkers to work their magic if we could offload them?"

    He found himself blinking at the Admiral's last statement, his mind suddenly whirling at the mention of dockworkers.

    He manipulated the map, wondering if gut feeling was correct. Daniel Hebert, the father of Taylor Hebert, had mentioned he was connected with the Dockworkers Union for Brockton Bay. But the Admiral hadn't mentioned the bay as a possible port. Zooming in, he found what he was looking for. It wasn't perfect for the situation, but it was world's better than what they currently had.

    "Why not use the harbor at Brockton Bay? It's a two hour drive by semi, the harbor is more sheltered than Boston, and it shouldn't have been hit by Leviathan's surges."

    He turned to Robert, who was frowning uncomfortably, "Harbor's blocked, has been since the 80s. Idiots ran a cape-sized freighter aground near its mouth. Left a lot of ships stuck in the port and they were scuttled."

    "But they would still have the facilities to unload Panamax-class ships. We can then move cargo by truck or rail."

    Robert was nodding along now, shuffling through maps on the table. Pulling one out in front of him, he checked the rail lines connecting the two cities.

    "Yeah, that could work. No idea on the state of the equipment, the rail yard and lines, or anything else like that. But in theory it should work. Still would need to deal with the ship blocking the entrance though. Damn thing's been rusting out there for years, there's no way we can raise and tow it."

    "Blow it up."

    The table collectively looked at him for a moment.

    "Get a navy engineering team down there. Do a survey on the ship, and if it clears, load it up with explosives and do a controlled demolition. Crack it in two, blow it into little pieces, I don't know. If that isn't feasible, then we'll look at cape intervention. Admiral?"

    The other man nodded, handing a hastily-scrawled note to an aide who quickly left the room, "On it. I'll see about getting a team down there. Is the Mayor of the city going to give us any trouble?"

    "Not if he has any survival instincts," he added another note to his to-do list. It was becoming depressingly long, and had been rewritten several times already.

    "Robert, see if you can track down Daniel Hebert. He should be in the building. If there is anyone who has an idea on the state of the port, it'll be him. And if he doesn't, he'll know someone who does."

    Satisfied that they at least had a tentative plan going forward, at least until it could be proven or disproven, he filed it away. Now it was time to focus on the next crisis of course.

    "Alright, what's next," he asked, looking over the group.

    "Rules of engagement, Governor," Faraday spoke up, "I know we haven't experienced it yet, but sooner or later, some idiot is going to get in their heads that attacking supply convoys is a bright idea. I'd rather not have my men hamstrung by rules that put them at a disadvantage. Especially with the possibility of hostile capes being involved."

    His eyes narrowed, searching the General's blank expression. He didn't know much about Malika Faraday, and he wished he did, considering the loaded question she had placed at his feet. The general was right in that there needed to be rules of engagement put into place, especially as people started to recover from shock and started looking out for themselves. Sooner or later, there would be crime and violence, and if the right rules of engagement were not put into place, then it would only add further to the chaos.

    "We will be merging units together with the local police to provide support. A recognizable face and uniform will hopefully keep things calm."

    The harsh reality was that there weren't many police left in the city. Many had been at the forefront of the attempted evacuations, attempting to keep people moving out of the city. They had become casualties, along with the people they had been trying to help. They would be honored for their sacrifice, but that still left him with a city on the edge of anarchy.

    "That might not be enough, Colonel. The PRT has already been sharing what information they have about organized crime and powered criminals in this city. There are significant threats that are almost certain to take advantage of the desperation."

    While he doubted that Faraday was looking for something like a carte blanche authorization to use lethal force, the issue was that in this day and age, especially with capes, lethal force was possibly the only deterrent they did have. The problem was that it created a dangerous slippery slope, especially in a high-tension situation like this.

    There had to be a way to provide a level of protection for the men and women tasked with protecting the American people, but also ensuring that Boston didn't become something like the O.K. Corral with the military shooting people at will, not that he would accuse them of planning such. It all came down to optics, and the last thing he needed, in order to ensure stability, was a riot on top of a national disaster.

    But there was a possible solution to the situation, one that could hopefully satisfy both sides of the coin.

    Tapping the Focus, he spoke aloud, "Conference in Quentin Tate."

    Now it was only a matter of waiting as the Focus connected with the only other person who could provide him with answers. Hopefully they were answers that would solve this issue as well.

    He was rewarded with a new emblem popping up on the holo-board, and the voice of the man who had taken over the operation of the LRL with Hebert's incapacitation.

    "How can I help you, Colonel?"

    "Mr. Tate, I have a few questions that I hope you can answer."

    "I'll do my best."

    "Does the Focus device have the ability to record?"

    There was a momentary pause. He had to wonder exactly what the programmer was thinking, but it was more than likely having to shift his focus to the conversation. Usually when he called the man, it was simply to get a progress report or a request to put through, so to have him suddenly asking questions probably put the man on his back foot.

    "Why don't we start with exactly what we're trying to record and go from there. It will be much easier for me to tell you what the device can do if I know what you want."

    "I need to know if we can get an accurate recording of events and situations that might take place because of the actions of the Focus wearer, or that take place around them."

    While Tate and the workers that Ms. Hebert had brought with her were dedicated and skilled, the concept of surveillance was a tricky one with civilians. Both in their need, but also in the moral ramifications of it, and he had no desire to dig up fresh issues.

    "Oh! I see. You're wondering if we can use the Focus like body-cameras for police actions and the like. Yeah, we do have systems in place to provide that data. If you'll give me control for a moment."

    With a tap of the augmented reality, he handed over control to Tate, and the holodisplay shifted, this time bringing up an entirely different Focus to the one anyone was currently wearing.

    "What you're looking at is the Ananke-pattern Focus," Tate started, cutting him off before he could ask what he was looking at, "it's a specialized version for use by law enforcement and military units. It's designed to use frequent 'pings' to map the surrounding area around the user."

    A small video appeared, with a man standing in the middle of it, as a ring pulsed out from his Focus, illuminating his surroundings in a wire-grid.

    "The Ananke's hardware comes with a high-fidelity camera, allowing us to also capture a point of view recording of any interaction. When several devices are in proximity of one another, they will synergize, building a more in-depth generation of the recording. Essentially, the more devices linked in, the higher resolution and detailed the recording."

    "And what's to stop someone from simply taking it off," Faraday cut in.

    "When such a mode is enabled, there is a constant diagnostics going on between the Focus, the wearer, and the network. All data is captured and stored for review, either through an offsite server, or within the device itself. Afterwards, we can see everything from heart rate, emotional state, even some body functions. We can't influence any of these, of course, but we can see them. If a Focus is removed, modified, 'turned off', or even damaged, the data will be immediately uploaded into the network and we will be made aware. Even destruction will not erase the data. The Focus is completely connected to the network and all other corresponding devices."

    The implications were certainly huge, the idea of a recording device such as that, and the uses of it could not be understated. But right now, he had to keep focused on what was pertinent.

    "But you made clear that this model, the 'Ananke', was built for this. Am I to assume that's not what we are using now?"

    "No," there was an audible sigh, "I'm sorry to say that we focused on the mass production of our baseline model, the Hathor-pattern. It's the baseline communications model, think like a reliable cellphone," he then fell silent for a moment, "I might be able to modify the software to run on the Hathor. I don't want to promise anything, but I can certainly try. Can you give me like…six hours?"

    "Do your best and get back to me as soon as you have something. And Mr. Tate, please make sure that the recording systems are ironclad. We need them to be unimpeachable. Herres out," he then cut the link, focusing back on the meeting, and the General who was looking at him stone-faced.

    "I want you, and everyone else under my command to understand one thing, General. We are here to keep the peace. Not fight a war. This is not an occupation, this is rescue and peacekeeping. This is the first time in the last century that the United States military has been called upon to keep the peace inside our borders for an event of this magnitude. We will be setting a precedent for years to come. I want to ensure that the expectations if, god forbid, this ever happens again, are immutable."

    He then sighed, rubbing his eyes again, "That being said, I understand you want what's best for your men. So, I'm going to make it clear to you, and anyone else that asks. Anyone who knowingly threatens the lives and wellbeing of the citizens of Boston are to be treated as an enemy combatant. The supplies we bring in; medical, food, water, fuel, all of it, is the thin line between life and death for the citizens we have been charged with protecting. Lethal force is authorized, but it should be an option of last resort. Every single soldier who guards supplies in the city, brings them in, or is on patrol, will be required to wear a Focus. If Mr. Tate can make his modifications, then we will have records of everything. And they will be used in the event that weapons are fired in anger. I want to know that your men have used every option available to them, General Faraday. Because not only they, but we will be questioned extensively at the end of this, and I want to make sure that we are protected."

    He looked around, wondering if he had just signed his place in history with blood.

    "Alright, what's next?"

    AEH​

    "Behind me, you can see the so-called 'mech-animals' that have proven so crucial to the rescue efforts here in Boston. Rescue crews have been working tirelessly, still pushing to find more survivors inside the 'rescue window' as it's been called. Of course, any assistance that you viewers can provide is…" - The Today Show

    "The role of the President is clear, to protect and support the American people. And there are a diverse array of tools on hand to help him do that. President Durling was well within his rights and mandate to declare martial law" …

    "That is categorically false, and a dangerous road to travel down. The Constitution was very clear that no one man should have the power of kings, and Durling has stepped all over that. The precedent that he's set here, using military power to suspend civilian governorship, is the first step against Democracy. We have only his word that elections will take place, and since when have we trusted the words of a politician?" - Meet the Press

    "We need to talk about this company. Zero Dawn Technologies. This company didn't exist five months ago. But there they are, fielding robots in Boston. AND they're handing out consumer ready communication pieces called Focus devices. A private company that lists the CEO and chief inventor as a fifteen year old girl! Her father is listed as the Vice-President, and the CFO is Jean Brown who is an employee of Far Zenith investing group. Who reportedly sank almost 40-million dollars into this… I would almost call it a fantasy company if the evidence wasn't sitting in front of me!" - Mad Money with Jim Cramer​

    AEH​

    Legend

    Boston

    Reilly Memorial Rink

    For such a large and acoustically sonorous place…it was disturbingly quiet. A hush that no one involved worked to interrupt.

    He knelt down by the side of a dead woman and did his best to write neatly on his clipboard. It was…depressingly simple. If the body didn't have an ID on them, then you left the name and contact details blank. You filled out noticeable features, tattoos, scars, and so on. Then you filled out what they were wearing and what colors. Then you signed it, folded it up, and stuffed it into a plastic sandwich bag taken from the local corner store. Clipped it to the person's front with a black binder-clip and then moved on to the next.

    Because there was always a next.

    He was cold, even with the occasional break and the winter jacket he had been leant. His knees hurt from kneeling on the ice, and beyond the cold he just felt…numb. Like he was a dispassionate machine just going through the motions.

    Because to do anything else would open even himself up to the lingering despair in the air.

    Was it wrong for the leader of the Protectorate to be counting the dead in a cold ice rink? Legend didn't think so. Above all else, he tried to be a hero. And sometimes that meant looking at your failure in the face. And Boston was a failure. The city wouldn't be saved because of the Protectorate, or the PRT.

    He released a sigh, finishing up his job and got back to his feet. Placing the clipboard underneath his arm, he headed towards the exit of the ice rink, offering and receiving a grim nod of acknowledgment from others of what someone had morbidly called the 'cadaver corps.' It was grimly appropriate, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it.

    Leaving the clipboard in its place, he stepped out of the ice rink and into the cold rain-soaked air of Boston, inhaling the cold air and watching it steam in the air as he released it. Despite the weather, small crowds gathered by the entrance and the signboards that had been set up. Each one had hundreds of still faces plastered over them. The unknown dead. The mourners and the desperate left what small mementos they could find. Candles, scattered flowers. Waterlogged stuffed animals. He caught the eye of Reverend Melany Sloan, a kind older woman who catered to the Christian mourners. Legend had met several dozen such men and women. Muslim Imam, Hindu Pujari, Jewish Rabbi and more. They took turns speaking to the mourning men and women who came to them. Reverend Slone was even now standing amidst a circle of congregants, speaking prayers for those lost and missing. Legend bowed his head in respect, but couldn't stop and add his own words, atheist though they might have been.

    It wouldn't be long until the Endbringer Truce would expire. It was a general rule of thumb that Capes didn't stay after Endbringer battles. Conflicting jurisdictions, the trouble of having unvetted foreigners on native soil, past cultural tensions, language barriers; the list went on. They were all reasons why it was best to send everyone non-local back home again.

    Besides, it's not like troubles at home stopped because an Endbringer attacked.

    There were still murmurs that the President was going to take an unprecedented action and extend the truce, but he hadn't seen anything yet. Not that he believed that the man was going to do it either. Despite the rightness of what he had done, the man had made himself a political pariah. There was a distinct possibility Durling would not even finish his term without being impeached.

    A good man was going to be crucified for making the only right choice in a bevy of bad. This was why he despised politics as a whole. He could play the game, but he never truly enjoyed it. Not like Rebecca.

    He sighed. It was hard to admit sometimes…but they had all changed in the years since the Protectorate had formed. Rebecca was the most notable, but even David and Clarke were changing before they lost Clarke to the Siberian. He didn't know what was said to Rebecca, but she became… a hard woman after that. Dedicated to the goals of Cauldron, dedicated to the fight against Scion. Legend frowned as he made his way down the street.

    And gone was the openness that once marked their friendship. Everyone kept a few things to themselves, it was normal. But Rebecca? She kept secrets. So did David. The Doctor. Contessa. Like the issue of Taylor Hebert, who's name he first heard yesterday when she rode into Boston with rescue machines and communication devices.

    Something was wrong, secrets were being kept, and he didn't know which way to go from here. Which meant having to pry those secrets from Rebecca and then double-checking the information.

    If only the rescue work of the last few days had been the hardest part of his week.

    A streak of brilliant white light carving through the night sky drew his attention and turned his thoughts away from the disquieting behavior of the female Triumvir. The source was almost too easy for his superhumanly acute vision to perceive and track, especially given the lack of light pollution from what had once been a bustling and thriving city. With less effort than it took to think, he took to the air.

    It didn't take him too long to catch up with the source of the light, who had come to a stop hovering over Logan airport.

    A svelte woman clad in a white leather outfit glowed so brightly, it would have been too blindingly bright to make out her face for anyone without enhanced vision such as himself, or a Focus. It was a terrible shame for her secret identity that he possessed both. He frowned as he watched the mystery cape slowly drift lower and purposefully turn her already-blinding luminescence brighter, until she outshone the scant few halogen lamps being used by the crews laboring to finish the work necessary to ensure Logan's continuously expanding operational requirements. He sighed and flew closer, slowly and very deliberately reaching into a certain pocket hidden by the lines of his suit.

    She noticed his approach, of course. The blue and white of his iconic costume was very distinct, even in the darkness of night. He could see her shoulders bunch up with nervous tension as he approached. Yet he idly noticed that she was deliberately trying to present herself as unthreatening as possible with her hands positioned down and away in a classical Blaster 'standing down' pose. The pure white of her costume made the ill-fitting MOLLE harness haphazardly fitted on her all the more conspicuous as she dimmed the light slightly.

    "I'm just here to help, Legend," she preempted him defensively as he flew within arms' reach, only to blink in confusion as he held out one of the emergency domino masks that he liked to keep on hand.

    "As this is our first official meeting, Purity, and one under Truce conditions, I'd like to point out two things," he kindly returned. "The first is that there are almost five hundred Focus devices in use as part of the search and rescue efforts," he pointedly tapped to the device affixed to his temple with his free hand as he said this, "that are being used to locate and identify survivors, and more often than not the dead thanks to their holographic imaging systems. The second is that not every cape finds your light difficult to see through."

    Her eyes widened in alarm as she got the hint, all but snatching the plain domino mask from his hand and affixing it to her face, with all the awkward manner of someone who'd either never had to wear one before or never had to consider just how useful they are until circumstances very suddenly and inexplicably changed. The light brightened again, before stuttering and flicking as she grumbled in frustration at the unfamiliar task.

    "Ground Crew Four to Pixie, Four to Pixie," the radio at Purity's hip suddenly chirped just as she finished donning the new domino mask properly, "You're not about to pass out on us, are you? Your light levels just dropped. Over."

    The look of distaste that briefly crossed her features let him know what she thought of the callsign, even as he resisted the urge to comment on it. But it was gone only a moment longer as she awkwardly unclipped the radio from her hip and brought it to her lips.

    "Uh, sorry Ground Crew Four, going back to full brightness now. Uh…over," she clumsily replied, and a moment later she was again shining brightly enough to make a halogen flood lamp proud.

    He briefly considered for a moment leaving her to it, but the responsibilities that he had as the head of the Protectorate overrode it. The Empire Eighty-Eight was acting strangely, and outside of the propaganda that Kaiser was spouting, no one really had an inkling at what the man's plan was.

    "I find myself both grateful and surprised that the Empire decided to help the people of Boston."

    There was a moment of silence from the other woman, and he wondered if he was going to get an answer from her. But then, if he hadn't already been straining his hearing, he would have likely missed it.

    "I'm not here with the Empire."

    What? "I'm sorry?"

    "I'm not with the Empire," she said, turning back to look at him, "I parted with them a few months ago."

    Now that was a development he certainly was not expecting. That wasn't to say that he didn't see villains turn hero, but the vast majority of those that did actually turn their coat were individuals. It was much harder to leave an organization or cult, simply because of the human nature of being influenced by their peers. That and the organizations had a tendency of taking any departure personally.

    "I'm glad to hear that, Purity," and he was honest, he was glad that she - as a person - was trying to improve her life. Being a villain had nothing to do with any of it. "I won't try and say I understand how difficult it must be for you, but I have found over the years that a hero is defined by the trials they have triumphed over."

    "I'm really not in the mood for a speech, Legend," she groused, before shivering from a sudden gust of wind, "I'm doing this for myself."

    "Understandable. I'm not exactly the best at giving pep talks on the fly," he chuckled, before accelerating away, knowing exactly where he needed to go, coming to a stop over an aid station and lowering himself to the ground among the suddenly gawking crowd.

    "Excuse me," he said, to the woman who was standing behind a table, several coats laying on the table, "would you mind if I take one of these? I have someone who needs it."

    "Ummm, certainly Legend," the woman stammered, before he flashed a smile and a nod, slowly bringing himself back into the air, before taking off again. He slowed down a bit further away, hoping that it would not startle Purity, and finally coming to a stop.

    "Here," he offered the coat to the woman, who gave a perplexed look at the coat, then to him, and back to it, "It's pretty cold up here. You'll probably feel better if you have this."

    She slowly reached out, obviously not used to an act of kindness like this. It sadly reminded him of a feral kitten, experiencing its first kind human contact in its life. But the thought disappeared quickly, as she took the jacket and wrapped it around her. She relaxed slightly, obviously enjoying the sudden warmth granted by the heavy jacket. Despite it being slightly too large for her.

    "Thank you."

    He smiled, glad that he was of help, "If you want a word of advice for the path of becoming a hero? Start small, you'd be surprised at the impact a simple act of kindness has on people. What you may take for granted, could be a heroic action to that unfortunate individual."

    "I- I'll take that under advisement. Thank you, Legend."

    His pocket vibrated, and while he kept a smile on his face, internally he was frowning, "No problem. I'll stop distracting you and let you get back to work, I have some things of my own I have to do."

    With that, he turned and moved away, reaching into his pocket and extracting a Dragontech satellite phone from it. Flipping it open he looked over the message, his smile slowly fading at the message left on it.

    "Meeting. Site Alpha. Twenty Minutes. Door in Five. - C"
     
  • New
  • Threadmarks
    • AlSmash said:
    Taylor Hebert must be brought into the fold and made pliable to his ambitions.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Taylor will crush this small minded idiot
    AlSmash said:
    Kaiser always won
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    He's going to die poor and destitute isn't he?
    AlSmash said:
    Nonsense. You had a huge impact on the fight, even if you weren't there for the end of it. Make no mistake, Mr. Win," she stepped closed and offered her hand to shake, "Those of us who matter, who aren't mesmerized by the tricks of an opportunist, are very aware of your value and the impact you can have."

    He couldn't help the large smile that spread across his face as he shook her hand. Alexandria liked what he did and she wanted to see his cannon again?! Just then, just to show how unfair the world really was, his arm began to tremble and his hands shook. It was like his world was crashing down around him again.

    What good was a Tinker with shaky hands…

    However, if he expected Alexandria to release his hand, he was sorely mistaken as her hand tightened around his, holding it until the shakes finally abated.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    I fucking hate Alexandria. She just can't stand not being in control.
     
    Arimai said:
    Taylor will crush this small minded idiot

    He's going to die poor and destitute isn't he?

    I fucking hate Alexandria. She just can't stand not being in control.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Why does she even want to stifle kid wins potential ????
    It's seems extremely counterproductive
     
    It's Always Sunny in Brockton Bay New
  • Extras
    • So, I realized that I haven't posted these sidestories that will play into the overarching story like Germination 2.7.5

    This was done with the assistance of BigBadBen at Spacebattles.

    Disclaimer: This takes place between T-18 and T-5 Days before the opening of Leviathan's attack window.

    It's Always Sunny in Brockton Bay

    Greg Vader was a loser. He knew that. The world knew that. His parents knew that. But if there was one source of comfort for him, it was being the hero in the MMO game Words of Lorgar.

    He got to be something worthwhile as he saved the world. One quest at a time. Whether it was playing politics, building armies, or bringing peace through force to all of those who refused his generous offers, each action was a step to the fulfillment of that dream.

    His trusty little computer was chugging along. He cleaned it at least once a month. Dusted it completely out, even. Made sure that the drivers were up to date. All in order to make sure that he could maximize the performance from it. He was hoping to save enough money for an upgrade soon though. She was old, and it lagged horribly when it did anything intensive like updating the world map.

    Which, of course, was when disaster struck. He had just defeated the Ulamar Empire and annexed it, when the game had frozen for longer than was typical. Almost immediately thereafter it had been joined by the scent of burnt wires and a suddenly dead monitor. The power safety had tripped and saved most of his pc, but the damage had already been done.

    He had cursed and cried at his misfortune. He had been planning an upgrade, but it was still months away from fruition.

    Maybe it could be salvaged.

    Xxxx

    It had only taken a shake of the head by the computer repair tech who had immediately told him that any hope of saving his old PC was pointless. The man had been apologetic, but he told him he was better off just replacing the entire thing, as the repair costs would be more than the rig was worth.

    When he had offered to sell what was left to the tech, the technician had laughed. He didn't need to say anything more as he knew that it had been a long shot, but he had hoped that maybe he could get something out of it.

    So it was with a heavy heart that he took his old pc out of the shop and packed it back on his bike.

    It was as he was pedaling home that he had an epiphany: Taylor was working at a technology firm, right? One that dealt with computers. Obviously she would help him if he asked nicely. They were good friends like that.

    Xxxx

    Sitting in her chair, staring at the innocuous-looking computer tower, she wished that she had blaster powers for just a moment. Because what she had encountered could not be unencountered.

    Taking a deep breath, she then let it out, trying to cleanse the imagery of horrors that she had been subjected to, all the while cursing Greg Veder and his awkward social ineptitude.

    She really shouldn't be doing any of this. But Dad had been adamant that she find a hobby, or something to destress on, because she was working herself to the bone on getting the Light Rescue Lance operational. When Greg had showed up at her door, looking like a kicked puppy and asking if she could help him with his computer, he had immediately suggested that as an idea.

    She wondered exactly how he would react if he knew that she now knew what Greg Veder's fetishes were. It wasn't her fault, who in the literal fuck put a folder labeled PORN right on their desktop. She had thought it was a smokescreen for something far more dubious, considering the vibe that was Greg Veder, and had investigated.

    Releasing a shudder at the horrors that resided within, she flicked the muscle in her eyes, activating a command in the Focus which brought up a menu.

    Yeah, she wasn't even going to try and salvage this computer. Even if the parts were in supply, this computer was fucking obsolete back in 1999. It would be a cold day in hell before she sullied herself with such primitive trash.

    For a moment, she considered handing it off to Sobek. This was the type of thing for machine learning, but then she discarded that. The last thing she needed was for Sobek to be exposed to such…filth at such a stage.

    No, she would build Greg Veder a new computer, one that was her own make. And then she would wash her hands of the boy. He was a ghost of the past, and she was moving forward. If she ever met him again, especially after having been illuminated upon his tastes, it would be too damn soon.

    Honestly, it wouldn't take much effort, a few custom parts, a little rework modifying existing internal pieces, and she could probably have it done over a couple of days. Sobek could handle the core programming and processes. Along with crafting the necessary peripherals.

    "I'm really doing this," she muttered, before making a decision, getting to her feet she walked towards the tower, taking care to remove the jack that allowed her to access the damn thing in the first place and be exposed the horrors hidden inside, and then, with a thrown elbow, knocked it into the trash barrel beside the desk with a crash of plastic and metal.

    "Oops."

    Xxxx

    Greg Veder stared at the PC sitting before him with awe, reaching up to rub his eyes again for what seemed like the hundredth time. Even as his eyes refocused, he was unable to believe what he was seeing before him.

    He had believed that Taylor was just going to fix the computer, maybe give it a few upgraded parts. It would be a nice gesture from a friend, after all.

    But he wasn't prepared for what sat before him.

    It was a work of art. Bland black and grey was nowhere to be seen on the tower, instead it was encased in a sleek white metallic and glass shell. Through it glowed a pristine and soft blue and green lighting that seemed to pulse through the various internals like it was alive. It was currently connected to a flatscreen monitor that showed a desktop that was unfamiliar, yet familiar at the same time. Like an entirely modern version of the Windows Millenium Edition he had been stuck with.

    It was…perfect.

    "Wow, Taylor," he breathed, "this looks fucking awesome."

    "I certainly hope so," was her terse reply, causing him to blink as alarm bells were going off in his head. The tone was something he had heard all too often, usually with his mother when she was exasperated with him for something stupid that he did. He would certainly never have expected it from Taylor Hebert of all people.

    "What's wrong," he asked.

    The slight twitch of her eye over her dark sunglasses was the only indication that he had hit a nerve. That weird device on the side of her head glowed slightly and gave her a slightly intimidating presence. But that was all secondary to what came out of her lips.

    "A word to the wise, Greg. If you are going to have a porn stash, especially a three hundred megabyte stash insect girl and tentacle porn, maybe you should not put it in a folder on your desktop and label it as 'PORN'.

    He couldn't help but both pale and blush at the same time, mentally cursing himself. Why the hell didn't he think about hiding that? It wasn't like his mother ever looked at his computer, so he never really thought about security for it. And the tech guy hadn't said anything to him about it.

    He laughed nervously, "Oh. Sorry, Taylor. I'll remember to do that for the next time."

    It was in his further unraveling nerves that he couldn't help what escaped his lips next.

    "Uh..What did you think of it?"

    Taylor's expression fell blank, reminding him of the feeling of when his computer usually suffered a fatal error. He couldn't help but laugh nervously as Taylor stood there frozen.

    She then sighed before shaking her head and muttering something under her breath. He couldn't make it out, but he thought he heard bleach somewhere in there.

    "I'll have your computer packaged up for you and you can be on your way in thirty minutes," she finally declared, turning around and starting to walk away, "Make sure that you go over all of the documentation before you start running the computer. And for god's sake, get some actual antivirus. Your computer was so old most of the viruses you had on it couldn't even perform their executables."

    Xxxxx

    Rubbing his hands, he watched as the computer powered up. He had gotten home this afternoon after his…exchange with Taylor. He certainly hoped that she would let his small mistake go after a while, but right now he wasn't going to bother her. The only thing that had stopped him from logging into Words of Lorgar, had been the insistence that he read all the documentation provided with his rig, and now, his destiny could no longer be denied.

    Logging in, he noted how fast and smooth it seemed to run. None of that stuttering that had plagued his old computer, and the screaming of the fan as it tried to keep it from overheating as it ran the game. No, it was as quiet as a whisper, the only evidence that it was running was the lighting.

    Hell, even the keyboard felt strange, none of that clicking that he was so used to. It felt so smooth, he was actually confused if he was even pushing on the keys because there was barely any resistance that he was so used to. Even the mouse peripheral felt alien in how right it felt, like it was molded just for him, and it seamlessly slid across the surface without making him have to lift it up and move it again.

    He couldn't wait to rub all of this in FedoraWithAPlan's face. Call his rig a waste of carbon now, will she?! The reaction was going to be worth all of this!

    Finishing the login procedure, his smile widened, as his eyes took in the concerned messages from 001SvEtA001, the fact that a girl was so concerned for him made him feel like a million dollars despite Taylor finding all of his porn. He quickly messaged her, telling her what happened and he was back, along with a sweet new rig.

    "It's good to have you back, Greg! Want to do the Khepri's Wrath Raid?"

    He didn't even hesitate saying yes, accepting the party invite and joining the queue for the raid, all the while excitedly telling her about the computer, to her excitement. It was like he had never left.

    And as the countdown timer, he found himself at the entrance to the raid, several orcs barreling out of battlements, heralding the first wave of the Raid, and warming them up for the larger monsters lurking and readying up.

    Letting out a laugh, he moved his character forward.

    It was time to be The Hero once again and impress the girl.
     
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    • It's Always Sunny in Brockton Bay 2 New
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    • It's Always Sunny in Brockton Bay, Part 2

    Greg Veder hesitated for a brief moment. It was daunting what he was about to do, but he felt obligated to do it nonetheless. After all, he now had the tools, why shouldn't he try to be a hero for those who may be less fortunate than himself?

    No, he was going to be the hero, it wasn't that hard. He just had to do it.

    So he rechecked everything for the…fourth time? Or was it the fifth? Everything should be working properly, but he was still getting used to the computer and system that Taylor had built. There was so much that he'd never even seen before! But the programs were really easy to use, and even had tooltips and explanations for everything.

    Which was honestly a good thing, because he had absolutely no idea how to build a website and would have made an idiot of himself otherwise.

    Okay, no turning back now. If he dragged his feet any further he was liable to chicken out. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his nerves and started everything up. Immediately, an image of his screen appeared…on his screen. Was that right? He glanced at the advanced tooltips and nodded to himself. Yep, that was right. So if everything was running right, then everyone should be able to see what was in the box which means that…

    Okay, everything was ready. All he needed to do was drop the necessary links into PHO under his handle in a new thread. What should the thread be titled? Dammit, he was never good with names and titles, even his handle had been something he got from a Google name generator. Okay, he got it, quickly, he typed it in.

    Charity Drive for Boston Livestream. Yeah, that's a good name. Short, sweet, and to the point. Not like anyone could get the wrong idea from it!

    "Hey everyone," he faltered, looking for the right words, "Uh, as you might now, I'm VoidCowboy. Hi," he awkwardly waved, before he glanced at the feed, and felt a spike of panic that someone was already watching, "And I thought, well, since that…well, we all know that Leviathan hit Boston, right? That's what everyone is saying, but no one has any idea of what's going on. So, I guess, well, I'm doing this to raise money and try to keep everyone up to date with the news. If you click the link, you can donate to the Red Cross. Or something else, if you guys have a suggestion. I don't know, it's really up to you."

    His eyes darted to the feed, noting that the camera was slightly off kilter with a frown and reached over to adjust it.

    DING!

    He nearly jumped at the chime, his head snapping back to the feed, letting him know that he had a message.

    GStringGirl: Hey Void! What made you think of doing this?​

    "Hey GGirl. I just…I'm not a hero, it's not like I can just go out there and do something. But! I can help raise money and keep people informed. I just…feel like I need to do something, y'know? Lot of people less fortunate than me right now," he rubbed the back of his head. "So yeah, I'm just going to stream a bit, chat with people if they want to chat, and if not, well, we're going to play some games. Have some fun. That kinda stuff."

    He then went back to his computer, clicking over a few things. He needed to play a game. Nothing too violent, that'd be in poor taste, but has to be somewhat recognizable. No. No. Maybe? No. He then paused, staring at the title for a few moments. Okay, this should work. He then hit the launcher and prepared to wait, trying to find things to keep…

    He blinked, not quite believing what he was saying? Thirty people? What the hell? And the ticker kept going up!

    "So yeah," he quickly recovered, even as his nerves made him want to scream in terror and end the stream, "We're going to start with something I won't make a complete fool of myself," he chuckled, "It's been a couple of years since I played Starcraft. But I'm pretty sure I still got it," he declared, but before he was going to say anything more the launch music interrupted him.
    GStringGirl: Wow, that was fast!​

    He nervously chuckled, running his hand through his hair, "Sorry about that. I just got a new PC! Or rather, a friend of mine helped to build it. She's really cool! I'm actually still getting used to it."

    Lostinthesause: Awww, Void's got a crush!
    brainlessmarcelina: If someone built a new PC for me, I'd have a crush too!    ​

    "Hey man, it's not like that. She's just really good at what she does," he clicked through the menus, deciding that before he was going to jump into multiplayer he was going to do a skirmish or two to refresh his knowledge.

    "Okay, I'm gonna do a couple of skirmishes to warm up, then we'll see if we can get some multiplayer matches going," he then selected his race, and loaded up the game.

    Bagrat: Of course you're a Protoss player! That explains a lot.​


    *****​

    Things were surprisingly going well. He actually had gotten through a pair of skirmish games against the bots and then jumped into multiplayer. His first game against a person actually went rather well, he was able to execute a Dark Zealot rush on a Terran adversary who was in the process of expanding.

    All the while, he was chatting with a few people and they had even raised a little money. Eighty dollars, which was honestly amazing. Maybe a few more games and he'd look into something else?
    GStringGirl: Hey Void, so what's it like where you live?​

    "Well, as you probably have all likely figured out, I live in Brockton Bay. So we've got the Empire. Well, officially, they call themselves the 'Empire Eighty-Eight', but no one bothers using their full name. They…don't like most people? Or they only like some people," for the first time, he found himself having to be careful what he said. He would rather not have the Empire visit him.

    rewardward:You can say it, Void. They're a bunch of racist white folks

    TimeSlice: **** you, race traitor. They are doing what all proper Americans should be doing! If you want to shack up with those ****** who pollute our streets and...    ​

    He didn't even hesitate, as he stopped what he was doing in game, having launched a counterattack at a Zerg secondary base. He navigated through the menus and banned 'TimeSlice', "Sorry buddy, this is a charity stream. You have to keep it civil."

    GrinningGoblin: Damn… VoidCowboy just banned someone!

    IThoughtWhatIdDo: What is the world coming that Void now wields the banhammer? Human Sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass Hysteria!

    DoSheepHaveSouls: How the turntables have turned!

    SlyDart: They grow up so fast ;(

    WhensMahvel: When's Mahvel?    ​


    "Yeah yeah, laugh it up… umm," he bit his lip as he found himself driven back. That wasn't good, but it wasn't dire yet. He'd have to switch up his strategies. Now should he go Corsair/Dark Achon or Corsair/Carrier. There were a few other strategies, but he needed to know what his opponent was doing before he committed. Maybe playing Starcraft wasn't the greatest idea if he wanted to talk, "So we've got them. We've got the ABB, which are the Azn Bad Boyz, don't ask me why they use the letter z in their name. They're led by Lung, who can turn into this badass dragon if you piss him off. But yeah…they are kinda like the Empire in that they don't like anyone who isn't like them. So most people keep their distance."

    Finally, he was able to get an advantage, and shortly thereafter was able to get the other player to resign. Yeah, he was going to put this one down and try to find a different game. Wasn't fair to his viewers that he wasn't giving them his undivided attention. This was about Boston, not himself anyways.

    Closing Starcraft, he began browning again, at the same time, he brought up another window. It was honestly how smooth the computer was running. Holy crap! They'd just passed $238 in raised funds. Awesome!

    "There's the Archer Bay Bridge Merchants," he continued, looking through his library, "but they're all druggies and drug dealers, so anyone with a brain cell avoids them like the plague. Then there's a few independent capes who do their own thing. Parian's kinda cool. She does these really cool puppet shows on the weekend down on the Boardwalk and she does custom clothes orders! We've also got hero teams like New Wave who have been active since the days of the Teeth. Their kids are doing most of the heavy lifting nowadays."

    "Hey Gstring," he called out, making a decision on the next game to play. There would be enough there to stream, but also allow him to split his attention, "want to party up do some mats farming?"

    GStringGirl: Sure! Give me a few.​

    "Cool," he clicked on Galaxy of Fantasy, letting it load up as he glanced over the chat again, seeing people go back and forth about news from Boston. No one seemed to know what was going on. Maybe he could do something about it.

    "Okay, I can see a lot of you are looking for news from Boston, so let me pull up what I can," minimizing the game as it got to the title screen, he brought up the web search function and frowned. Most of the news sites were in the dark, repeating the same information that it was confirmed Boston was Leviathan's target. But other than that? Nothing.

    He then blinked as the advisor pushed a suggestion onto his screen. That was certainly new. He must have said it aloud, because the chat lit up, several messages flashing across the screen, even as the advisor seemed to suggest more things, which he numbly entered in the terms it suggested, 'Boston', 'Endbringer', 'Reports'. He then used a dropdown menu and set the search functions to only use the 'latest sources' that were 'reputable'."

    HootingJoy: How do you not know your own system?!?​

    "Hey! Like I said, I'm still getting used to it. My old system croaked, like complete hardware failure and everything. The guy at the shop took one look at it and started laughing. But my friend, Taylor? She's like…a wizard with these things. Like a super secret genius. Maybe she's a…nope, not gonna finish that, I don't need to get banned again."

    WormsInTheShop: *Gasp* IT HAS PATTERN RECOGNITION

    AlltheDakka: Okay, Stranger Alert. Who are you and what have you done with the real Void?!    ​

    "Hah hah. No, seriously guys, it's me, I just don't want to ruin this by getting shut down. So cut me a bit of slack. K?"

    JovianFirefly: So she built you a new one?! Damn, that's a good friend.

    brainlessmarcelina: Cowboy said it before, but he never told us what's in it.    ​

    While he was thankful for the quick shift in subject, he wasn't exactly looking for these type of questions, but he guessed it wouldn't hurt.

    "Hold on. Let me see if I can pull up the system details. I just got this like a week ago, so cut me some slack," he clicked through the systems menu, resorting to the help function that was actually really helpful.

    "Here you go."

    HairPlot: Holy **** Cowboy. That's some nice specs! I mean, RAM, Storage, graphics. Why does it look like sh*& on your monitor?​

    "Look, I only got a new computer, not a monitor. I really didn't want to push the person who was nice enough to give me a new computer. I had to find some adapters to connect the two, but it works well enough."

    WindowsisaLie: Hey Void, can you pull up the details of your OS for a second?​

    Greg did so. It was kind of awkward, just sitting there while a bunch of people looked through his screen.

    WindowsisaLie: Okay, so this is really strange. I work for a software company, and the OS you are using? SBKLite. It doesn't exist. Anywhere. I've never even heard of it and I like to think I'm in the know. So it seems like your girl really likes you, because she not only made you the hardware, but she threw in a new operating system…from scratch.

    FedoraWithAPlan: Never thought I'd see the day when Void of all people would ever get a girl to do something nice for him...Wonder if your girl will do a custom computer for me?    ​

    What? No. Absolutely not! To both things!

    "No way," he shook his head, ignoring that last part pointedly "Nope. Not happening. Taylor is amazing, guys, but she's way out of my league. Like, she has started her own company. Some technology thing, computers and stuff. I don't know. There isn't much available if you go looking online. They don't even have a website. Anyhow, Taylor's company is called Zero Dawn Technologies. She set up her factory-warehouse thing near the docks here in the Bay."

    It seemed like it was not enough for the chat, because the messages, and the viewers - over seven hundred now! - were dropping messages about Taylor and how it was obvious she had a thing for him if she did all of that, when an alert rang on his computer.

    Ripping his attention from the chat and trying to deny what was definitely not true, he stared at the bouncing icon on his desktop, thankful for the distraction.

    "Hey, NewsWatch seems to have something," he clicked it, and a video opened from a government site. The guy on the screen looked familiar and the background had flags and stuff. So it looked official at least.

    "My fellow Americans. A few moments ago, I spoke with rescue workers in Boston and they have confirmed what we have all feared. Boston has been attacked by Leviathan. The damage is significant, and the defenders, while victorious in driving the beast away, have suffered casualties."

    "It is now confirmed that we have lost Governor Johnson, along with a majority of the leadership in Boston. The full extent of our loss will only be revealed in the days to come. But we must stand strong. Even as I speak to you now, rescue workers are hard at work and the full might of the country is mobilizing to offer aid."

    "To organize and ensure the success of this relief effort, I have had to make certain actions that no previous President has had cause to use. As of 4:23pm this afternoon, in absence of any legally recognized leadership the State of Massachusetts has been placed under a state of Martial Law. This will remain in effect for 120 days, with an election being held in 90 days to restore proper civilian control to the state."

    "My thoughts and prayers go out to all of those affected by these events, and I call upon everyone who can to contribute what they can as we work to rebuild what has been taken from us. God be with you, and God Bless America. Goodnight."

    He slumped back in his chair, stunned by the announcement, even as the chat section of his livestream descended into anarchy. He couldn't possibly hope to control things and now even more people were joining! He was now more certain than ever that Boston needed help. And he would do his part.

    Collecting himself, he got to work trying to organize things, silently wondering if Taylor was going to get involved. She was good at fixing things.


    Xxxxxx

    He woke with a start, blinking at the sudden intrusion of light on his face. Blearily, he reached up to his mouth to cover a yawn that escaped as his mind slowly grappled with the transition from unconscious to conscious.

    And as it did so, things clicked together and he shot out of his bed.

    Shit, he had overslept!

    Scrambling to find some clothes, he quickly slipped them on, even as he hobbled over his computer. He hadn't even turned it off before he had turned in, so tired he had been from staying up most of the night answering questions and just chatting with people. They had actually pulled in almost 2200 dollars for charity, to his shock.

    Stumbling into his chair, the thing creaking from the sudden weight placed upon it, he found himself first glancing at the clock, which told him it was two in the afternoon. Then his attention was drawn to the notifications bar.

    What the hell, he stared numbly at the nearly four hundred notifications from Newswatch.

    The advisor made a suggestion, and he followed it, grouping the notifications by category. And he found himself once again staring at one of the groups, not quite grasping what he was reading. He didn't even realize what he was doing before he clicked on it.

    Immediately, he was bombarded with images of machines, some of them grainy, the others clear as day. They were varied, yet all seemed to have an animal theme, but that wasn't what drew his attention, even though the geek part of him was freaking out at the imagery.

    No, what drew his attention was the emblem on the side of one of them, one that he was intimately familiar with. He went through other photos, seeing them now on not just that one machine, but on all of the others. It was unmistakable, after all, it was the same emblem that he saw every morning when he looked at his computer.

    A blue flower with nine petals that spun outward from the center.

    It was hard for him to process just the idea that Taylor, mousey Taylor Hebert from Winslow, was somehow involved in these machines. Yet the evidence was right in his face, in all of its imaged glory.

    A part of him didn't know how to react. Surprise? Shock? He didn't even know what he was supposed to even feel. It wasn't like they were friends, why would she share something like that with him?

    Yet, funnily enough, he found that he didn't care, because it was a source of inspiration. If Taylor was involved, then she was trying to fix things. He couldn't do anything else himself.

    Reaching over, he opened up his streaming program again, took a deep breath, because fuck it, he was going to do what that one Aleph broadcaster did, and do it live.

    And he hit the stream button.

    Or he would have… if he didn't decide that food, and a shower were needed first. Heroes should try to look respectable. Maybe he should clean his room?
     
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