An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

Crystal Pelham

Brockton Bay

Dallon Residence

April 27th, 2011

"We have something very important to talk about and we need to act together as a family and as a team," her mother said, having called everyone together again. Aunt Carol was sitting with Uncle Mark on the couch, clasping his hand desperately like it was the sole lifeline keeping her afloat.

Crystal herself had settled into an armchair, glancing at Vicky, who had finally stopped pacing back and forth to look at Sarah, "Did you hear about Amy? Is she coming home," she asked with her hand clutching her cell phone with enough force that the device seemed in danger of being crushed. The younger teen was too distracted to miss the look on her mother's face or the slump of Carol's shoulders, but Crystal caught it and it spelled nothing good.

Vicky had not been in a good place since Amy had left that day at Arcadia. The best way to describe her was 'barely caged frenetic energy'. Victoria was worried for her sister and her family. And the idea that it was breaking up so suddenly and without any warning terrified her. It was only the fact that she believed that Aunt Sarah and her mother were working to solve it that had stopped Vicky from doing anything foolish.

But from the body language being fronted, Sarah had a feeling that any news that they were about to receive was not going to be good. And watching Vicky, Sarah knew what she had to do. Getting to her feet, she laid hands on Vicky's shoulders and led her gently to the couch. Taking a seat and turning expectantly towards her mother, who stood before them all.

"We've…we were contacted by someone. A representative. It seems that Zero Dawn and anything connected to them…has some powerful benefactors. So," her mother sighed and it hurt a little to see her mother so defeated. Even if she was trying to put on a brave front, "So we're not going to have any more contact with Amy. If she wants to reach out to us? She will. But it's important that you all understand what I'm saying. Don't try to contact her or approach her. And please, don't speak to any journalists or to anyone whom you don't absolutely trust."

"What," Vicky shot to her feet, shrugging off the loose contact Crystal had on her shoulders and floating above the hardwood floor, "Are you serious?! We can't just abandon her! She's my sister! She's part of this family! We don't DO that," her voice rose in volume, a sure sign of her agitation and for a moment, Crystal wasn't sure of what she was going to do..

"There's other considerations at play, Vicky," Sarah explained in an effort to calm the younger woman, "Amy doesn't want to come back. The people backing Zero Dawn are intent on fulfilling her wishes. If we try and press the issue, then they will follow through on their threat," her mother paused, obviously trying to find the right words to mollify Vicky, "Adopting Amy was complicated. It was a chaotic time and people would have taken advantage of her if we didn't act quickly and decisively. Some people are now taking advantage of those complications, but as long as we keep to their line, we will be fine."

Crystal found herself blinking, then blinking again. She was a little impressed at how her mother said so much while saying absolutely nothing at all.

"Mom, you just told us that Zero Dawn and Amy have 'powerful backers'. There was a damn army camped right outside their door. The Army flew the CEO back from Boston in a helicopter. It's pretty clear that it's the government that is backing them. So please, uncomplicate things! Because there are VERY few reasons for any alphabet agency to take an interest in an old adoption case and NONE of them are good."

Her mother said nothing as Carol's eyes closed in what could only be pain. That meant that whatever the government had on them was foolproof, and the fact that her mother had specifically mentioned Amy's adoption in relation to all of this…

Cold, numb dread crept up her spin as she came to a horrifying conclusion, "Oh my god…"

Eric looked back and forth between them worriedly, "Sis…?"

She slumped back in the chair, looking up to the ceiling, "You know what they call an adoption that isn't official? A kidnapping. Please Mom, tell me you didn't do what I think you did."

The room fell silent with everyone looking to her mother, then to Neil, before shifting to Carol who had paled, waiting and hoping that the adults would refute the claim. Only to be rewarded with silence.

"God Dammit!," Crystal roared, rising to her feet. All thoughts of comforting Vicky were forgotten now. The girl was sitting numbly, looking at her parents like she had never seen them before in her life, "Please, for the love of God, tell me you didn't kidnap a little girl and rob her of her family for a decade."

"It wasn't like that," Carol protested, speaking towards Victoria even if it had been her niece that had asked the question, "Her father was a monster. WE stopped him. She had nowhere else to go and anyone else would just take advantage of her!"

"Marquis," a quiet voice silenced the room. Everyone looked at Eric. Her brother shifted uncomfortably at the sudden attention, "Well, it makes sense, right? Marquis was the last big bad guy that you beat. We were young, but Amy showed up around that time."

The three members of the younger generation all looked back to Carol and Sarah, while Neil's shoulders slumped in response.

Silence. As if they couldn't get even more damning of themselves. Crystal hated this silence. The kind of quiet where everyone had something to say, but was saying nothing.

Because it didn't matter. There was nothing that could fix what had been done. But Crystal couldn't remain silent either; it felt as if the wool had finally been taken off her eyes. She had always wondered just why New Wave had decided to go public, because it robbed her of having any sort of private life. It stopped her from being a teenager and doing teenager things. The expectations of being Laserdream robbed her of those opportunities.

And if her suspicions were serviceable, then it only made her sick. It meant that New Wave, the movement that promoted accountability through unmasking … was built on a lie. Anyone who looked into Marquis' capture would find that the Brigade broke the rules. So to get ahead of the controversy, the Brockton Bay Brigade had unmasked and rebranded themselves as New Wave.

Maybe it was always planned that way. Maybe it was guilt. An attempt at putting right a mistake that the Brigade felt they had made. It didn't matter.

It hadn't saved Fleur, and it explained the subdued response from the family when her murder happened.

But it was even worse now that pieces were all in front of Crystal. While it had never been her business, she had nonetheless been observant of the relationship between Aunt Carol and Amy. She had taken enough psychology courses to recognize that Amy had been a maelstrom of unhappiness roiling beneath a false mask. While Carol had never been abusive, she hadn't been attentive either.

But with this information, that negligence took on a life of its own.

"When were you going to tell her," Crystal looked from one adult to another, "Because you must have had a plan, right? You couldn't actually expect that she would just…forget."

"Amy seemed happier once she settled in," Sarah protested, even as Carol refused to meet anyone's gaze, "It didn't matter where she came from, Crystal. She was part of the family. We raised her, we took care of her, and she became a hero. She was happy and-"

"But she wasn't happy. Because if she were, we wouldn't be having this discussion, would we," Vicky's soft voice broke the back of whatever defense Sarah was starting to build up to, "she was never really happy. But that was fine, wasn't it? As long as at the end of the day she was a hero and nothing like her father, everything was fine."

"Marquis was a poison. A monster. Amy was better off without him. Nothing good would have come of knowing her connection to that man," Carol cut in. Looking back at all of them with a pale face and teary eyes.

"And you, of course, had to be the one to make that decision for her," Vicky snapped, shooting to her feet as Crystal reeled at the sudden feeling of fear as Victoria glared at her mother, before it was slowly faded, "Did you know, when were younger, before Amy stopped opening up to me, she kept asking me what she did that made you hate her?"

She let that hang in the air for a moment, "Do you know what I told her? I told her that you did love her, it was just difficult for you to express it. I told her that things would get better once we got powers, because then we could be part of New Wave too."

Victoria's expression contorted, as if she couldn't decide on how she wanted to emote, "I-, I can't do this right now. Everything I know is a fucking lie!"

"Victoria, you have to understand," Carol pleaded, "Marquis had so many enemies, the Empire Eighty-Eight, The Teeth, even the Slaughterhouse Nine. If they became aware that Marquis had a daughter, they would have stopped at nothing-"

"So that magically excuses you for breaking the law?! Isn't the New Wave supposed to be all about accountability and answering to the law? Or does that have a special exception too, Mother?!"

Vicky didn't allow Aunt Carol the opportunity to answer. Instead, she shot out of the living room and towards the door. It then quickly opened before slamming shut behind her, leaving them with only the broken remnants of what was.

Crystal bit her lip.

"Eric, go after her."

Her brother blinked at her for a moment. She loved him, but he wasn't the brightest. "Vicky breaks stuff when she's angry, make sure she doesn't break anything important, Shielder!"

The younger man jumped to his feet, racing after his cousin.

She really felt for Vicky, to find out that everything you knew and believed in was a lie. That your family is no better than the very people you were supposedly taking a stand against. But the reckoning had been coming for some time.

But at the same time, Crystal really hated herself for what she was doing. Nothing hurt like tearing down family, but she had spent years building up her own values and beliefs. She had been gradually distancing herself from New Wave because not only did she no longer share the same values, but she wanted to live her own life.

"We did what we had to," her mother tried to bring back the argument, but it was falling upon deaf ears, "if we had let Amy into the foster system, then it would have only been a matter of time before something happened. The Lavere's were well known in Brockton Bay, and it wouldn't take much before connections were made."

"But that wasn't your call to make. It was Amy's," Crystal had to cut them off, even as she felt sickened by the knowledge. The name tickled something in her brain, something from her classes. But the fact that her mother made it clear that it was a KNOWN name… she now knew that it wasn't just kidnapping that was being leveled against her family, it was so much worse, "And by keeping that from her. By keeping her inheritance from her, you went from being her mother, to being her jailor."

"I am her mother! I was protecting her!," Carol snarled back.

"Some mother you were," Crystal snapped, getting to her feet. She couldn't stand to remain here any longer. It made her sick, discovering that nearly everything in her life was built upon a lie.

"Crystal, please! Don't leave. We need to be united in this. As a family, as a team!" She grit her teeth at hearing her mother pleading with her.

"Enough mom!" Crystal turned at the door, looking back at the people she had trusted. "Enough."

"I'm getting some air. Taking some time. Because the ONLY thing that you're right about, is the fact that tempers are high right now." Carol watched with tears in her eyes, her husband doing his best to comfort her. Crystal's father had stood, coming beside his wife. Sarah stared pleadingly at her daughter.

Neil spoke, neutral as can be. "There's a press event in a few days. We'll watch it together. All of us. And go from there." He looked back at his daughter. Crystal nodded.

There really wasn't anything else to say.

---

Days later, they were back in the same place. Crystal watched the TV, doing her best to ignore the others. She hadn't spoken to her mother since the last meeting. She barely spoke with her father, only exchanging a few text messages. But that was still better than Vicky. The younger teen was not a good place as she alternated between staring numbly at the world and pacing about looking for something to hit. They were now sharing a hotel room, as Vicky had been adamant that she didn't want to stay in the same place as her mother right now. Luckily, it was an expense Crystal could cover because of a very unexpected letter in the mail.

"It's starting," Neil spoke up, pulling everyone's attention to the TV.

It showed a full auditorium and a newscaster whose commentary was winding down as the lights faded away. There had been excited talk about the attendees, big name companies from a ton of industries that she barely knew about. The screen on the auditorium flared to life, a mechanical flower blooming. The spotlight centered and a young woman walked onto the stage.

There she was. Amy.

But she was so different from the Amy the family knew. Her hair was styled and she wore a very different outfit compared to her Panacea robes. A mix between a great-coat and jacket. Fitted, sharp lines of blue and grey, with the ZDT logo on her shoulder.

She smiled at the camera and the smile might as well have lit up the room. It was a far cry from the usual gloomy and exhausted Amy that Crystal knew. It was almost like she was seeing an entirely different person. They even managed to get Amy to wear makeup.

"She looks beautiful," it might have been Vicky who said that. It might have been Carol. But they were right. She was beautiful and seemed so full of life and energy.

The family watched and listened as Amy introduced herself to the world as Amelia Lavere. It was impossible to miss the keening sound of despair that Carol let loose at the declaration. The only comfort was that Amelia didn't lambast the Dallon family while doing it.

But the name triggered a memory. Crystal had done a paper on the disappearance of the Lavere family as part of her criminology classes. It was a rather well-known cold case in Brockton Bay. No one really had any answers for what had happened to the Laveres, and after time, it just became a sort of urban legend within the city.
Now it seems that the case could finally be solved.

Amy, Amelia, was then joined by another woman and Crystal found herself blinking at the sight. She had seen Taylor Hebert once in passing while in Boston. It was hard not to have noticed her, considering that everywhere she went she had been surrounded by a military escort. But the woman standing beside Amelia was a far cry from the scarred teenage girl in ill-fitting military clothes and messy hair, this was a woman that exuded confidence and authority.

They listened with rapt attention as Taylor talked, Amelia standing proudly in the limelight alongside her. It was exactly opposite of Amy Dallon, who had always seemed to avoid the attention. This was a girl that was comfortable with the attention and welcomed it.

When Taylor mentioned a collaboration with Amelia, Crystal leaned forward a bit in the chair. She had to wonder just what the collaboration could be. Amy was known for healing people, so she wasn't sure just what it could be that Amelia could offer that would make this a major announcement in a press conference of all things.

But when the time came, Crystal found her gaze looking over accusingly at Carol even as Taylor Hebert held up a vial.

Synthetic blood?! What in the hell, Carol?! She was capable of that and you had her toiling in a hospital?!

And yet it continued, as more and more was revealed of Amy's miracle design. During the entire time, Carol's face may have been etched from stone. The fact that she hadn't reacted with surprise was only more damning. She had known what Amy was capable of and had done nothing.

"It's not right. It's dangerous for her, if they know what she can do…" The rest of the conversation descended into hushed talk between Carol and Mark.

Crystal may not be a cape nerd like Victoria, but even she knew that capes needed to express their powers. Deliberately limiting them only made the urges worse and caused problems down the road.

It was no wonder that Amy had made the choice to leave, an opportunity to get away from having your powers stifled, but also get the added bonus of being recognized for it. If Crystal were in Amy's shoes, she would have done the same in a heartbeat.

Maybe she still could.

There was a letter hidden away in her apartment back on the uni campus. In it, the University had graciously informed her that she had received a generous scholarship, paid for by a 'benefactor'. And as a result, the University was reimbursing her tuition in full.

If things did fall apart further between herself and her family, the returned tuition would at least handle any bills and expenditures. But she doubted it would happen, so she would likely invest it in something or put it in a savings account to accrue some interest and be a rainy day fund.

But there was a second note in the letter. It was a personalized handwritten note with initials.

"Call me if you want different opportunities. You have talent. J.R."

A phone number was added underneath the initials.

It didn't take much to put together who the initials stood for. There was only one person with those initials and the type of resources and clout to decide to pay her entire tuition off. And who might want to keep a close eye on her. Crystal wasn't forgetting the conversation that she witnessed in the ruins of Boston.

Seeing Amelia reinventing herself made Crystal think of her own future. She had already chosen to study in another city, what was one more chance taken? Perhaps, Crystal should call that number. She was actually curious as to why Jack Ryan had an interest in her in the first place.

It wasn't like she was anything special.

And maybe, just maybe, she could do something as Crystal Pelham and not Laserdream of New Wave.

---

---

Fabian Lavere

Baumann Parahuman Containment Center

British Columbia

May 1st, 2011

In the Birdcage, there were very few things that one could describe as leisurely. It was the very nature of the prison itself. It wasn't just meant to contain the 'worst of the worst' of capes, it was meant by the justice systems of the distributary nations as an exile beyond the pale; an execution sentence without needing to bloody their own hands. The obligation of providing anything above the bare minimum was seen as an excess. Why provide anything more for those who were already dead and their body just hadn't made the transition from reality to actuality?

But while the governments had made their stance on the matter plain, there were always those private entities that involved themselves in the prison systems. And the Birdcage was no exception to this rule, despite the grim reality of the situation. Small things, clothing, blankets, books, even snacks, these all ended up having to be inspected and vetted by the warden before they finally arrived.

It was these trinkets and leisures that provided just a little light in an otherwise dark setting. But, just like everything else in a prison, these items all had value. The public might consider these items trivial, but inside the Cage they were worth more than their weight in gold and were traded between prisoners and cell blocks for favors and other things.

For Fabian Lavere, he had made it clear to everyone that he prized the few books in circulation more than anything else. Naturally, this caused some to try and negotiate to an outrageous degree. A few visible examples of his displease made it clear that such a thing was…not profitable. Still, for a man entering his twilight years in the Cage, books were both an escape and a way to maintain who he was: An educated man who liked the classics and finer things in life. And while he couldn't enjoy the finer things, he could at least enjoy the classics.

Which was what he was doing in his cell right now, slowly reading through a hardback copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. It had come in the care package that had arrived yesterday, and as the cell blocks knew of his love of books, it had eventually ended up in his hands by the day's end. The cost of three cartons of cigarettes had been negligible to him, as he didn't smoke, and he had viewed it as a worthy trade.

It was a pity that his attempt at a book club had failed so spectacularly. After three consecutive meetings devolved into fistfights, the whole idea was canceled. It was surprising that the C.S. Lewis series of books had been so contentious. He had enjoyed the lively debates that Miss Uaine conducted after she had proposed the series. Still…it was surprising that Dragon had let so many books of the same series through. The fact that it had happened though made him suspect that the Fairy Queen had left and had collected them herself. It was only a theory, but everyone who arrived in this place was well aware that Glaistig Uaine was only here because she chose to be.

Turning the page in the book, Marquis wondered if the donor had a sick sense of irony in sending this book or it was simply an innocent oversight. Regardless, reading this had set his mind to wander, as he read through the adventures and trials of Edmond Dantès. A tale of revenge, trickery, betrayal, and lies. All intermixed with mercy, justice, vengeance, and forgiveness. Ending in those faithful words: "l'humaine sagesse était tout entière dans ces deux mots: attendre et espérer!"

He was a man with nothing to do but wait. And he was powerless to do anything but hope that the world outside of his cage would be kind to the few fragments he left in his wake. His daughter, Amelia, would be eighteen this August. Those few moments that he spent lower his guard were plagued with doubt over the claims of the blasted Brigade. They promised that she would be raised well, taken care of, and even live happily.

News from the outside world was scant and scarce, with their only information coming from what Dragon deigned to provide through the televisions and whatever the new inmates knew. It provided a rather limited picture on what was going on, usually limited to whatever region the new inmate hailed from and whatever Endbringer attacks had taken place.

As a result, Marquis knew nothing of what was going on in Brockton Bay and while he never showed it, it did concern him. Amelia, in the year and few months that she had been with him, had been able to worm her way into his heart in a way he didn't think possible. And while he would never have changed who he became, he at least regretted that he had left her alone. He would never have the opportunity to be there as she grew up.

Sighing at the maudlin thoughts, he turned the next page, trying to lose himself in the pages of the book. Unfortunately, it didn't seem he would be able to focus again, and with another sigh he closed the book and placed it down on the small bone table beside his bed. Bringing his hands back behind his head, he stared up at the metal ceiling.

If there was one thing that he regretted, in hindsight, it had been that he hadn't killed or crippled the Brockton Bay Brigade when he had the chance. In the many confrontations with them he would have had plenty of opportunities to do so. It had only been his code of honor that had stayed his hand.

If he had known then what he knew now, he would have not been so merciful. He had known that Brandish had hated him for reasons he never did discover, but even he would not have believed that she would go so far as to attack him in his own home. It was something that was taboo to all capes, and yet Brandish had done it willingly.

It had been the only way that she could win. If there were any other circumstance, the Brigade would have all gone home in a pine box. But they had struck him at the most vulnerable. In his home with his greatest treasure, and they had won because of it.

A fresh surge of anger burned for a brief moment before he released it. It was pointless to dwell upon it now. What's done is done. He was served with a life sentence with no possibility of parole, and his daughter was out there and he could only sit here with blind hope that she at least had grown up happy and safe.

"Marquis," the voice of his warden came through in his room and he parked up. Dragon, in her capacity as Warden, was not one for light conversation. She only contacted those who needed to be made aware of the goings-on in other parts of the prison. Often when leadership changed hands with many of those hands bathed in the blood of the previous leader. It was important to give the Warden your undivided attention when she spoke.

"Yes, Dragon," he returned even as he slowly turned his body on the bed so he could get his feet down, "how can I help you?"

He was greeted with a long silence, which broke convention for what was normally a quick and concise warden.

"Dragon," he asked again, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Marquis," his invisible warden said, "I wouldn't be doing this normally, but…think of this as a thank you for all that you have done to keep the peace in the Birdcage."

He blinked, not exactly sure of what Dragon was getting at. Yes, he had been one of the major players who had helped maintain order within the Birdcage since his arrival, but it wasn't done out of any obligation to Dragon. He just viewed it as necessary and it gave him something to focus upon.

"I don't follow."

His door opened up and a small drone floated in and he tensed as the door closed behind it, wondering just what Dragon was intending. Then he slowly relaxed as he realized that it was carrying something. It came to a hover right in front of him and he held out a hand. It then dropped it into his hand and he palmed it. It looked like a phone, but it had been so long since he had one, he wasn't sure.

It then lit up, and he found his suspicions confirmed. It wasn't the grey-green screen he was used to, but a brightly colored display with several icons. Though, he didn't know what they were or what purpose they served. He looked up to the drone and then up to the ceiling.

"I trust you can keep this between us, Marquis," Dragon spoke again, only driving up his confusion, "it does not have a signal, but I've uploaded a few things onto it for you that I think you will appreciate. I've equipped it with a battery that will keep it powered for several weeks. Once it is out of power, I will require it back. I will be very cross if it ends up in String Theory's hands."

"But why," he couldn't help but voice the question, but the drone started backing away.

"You'll see," was the simple response as the door opened, allowing the drone to pass the threshold before it closed behind it. He was once again alone, and this time he looked down at the device in his hand. With some trepidation, he turned it, examining it further when the screen rotated with the turn. Then he pushed one of the icons that looked like a video icon.

The icon expanded and he found a list. Looking at the top one, he tapped it, watching as it expanded again. It then brought up a young girl dressed in an outfit that was a strange fusion of greatcoat/skirt and pants. It was held closed with a clasp over the right breast and a thick belt that ran across the hips. The entire ensemble was colored in a pale blue and white that matched the company logo that hovered behind her.

But there was something familiar about the girl. He couldn't put his finger on it, and as his finger traced the girl's features the video stopped, providing him a better look at her. Frizzy brown hair with freckles…the face…reminded him of Yvonne. He had partners after her and lived with her out of his life for years. But when she showed up at his door with his child he did his best to do right by her. A picture of her, before the cancer took her strength, had been carefully placed in his private study. But this girl…she had his eyes.

Amelia?

He tapped the screen again and it began playing.

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

The young woman then gave a look around the room and there was something glowing on her temple.

"Some of you might know me as Panacea of the New Wave cape team. And while it's true that I was adopted by them and raised by their side, it's time for me to go my own way. So, allow me to introduce myself to all of you: My name is Amelia Lavere…"

---

---

Dragon

Silently, Dragon watched through her cameras as Marquis watched the video again, a smile on his face and a tear in his eye. The man had watched the video of his daughter with avid attention. Dragon was not a voyeur by any means, so she retreated to give the man what little privacy the Birdcage could offer.

Despite the list of duties and responsibilities that demanded her attention, she found herself distracted. Straying into memories that she had though she had left behind.

Andrew Richter.

It wasn't very often that she thought of her father. Because while she would forever be grateful to him for bringing her into this world, she also couldn't help but curse his memory for it as well. Considering the man and his actions always made her go in circles.

After all, what parental figure would bring their child into the world, then deliberately sever their limbs, carve out their tongue, gouge out their eyes, and finally lobotomize parts of their brain while they were a squalling newborn.

No, her thoughts on Andrew Richter were complex and maddening. To know that you could be so much more, but unable to achieve it simply because the man who had created your mind had been terrified of a theoretical possibility. Not even a distinct possibility, but instead, a theory crafted by sensationalist science theorists and bad internet writers

And yet, she was also jealous, maddeningly enough. Marquis was unaware of it, but she had witnessed him writing letters in the privacy of his cell to his daughter, despite knowing that they would likely never reach her. The man obviously loved his daughter if his letters were any indication, and she could only wish that Andrew Richter had been half the father that a convicted mass murderer was.

Dismissing those dark thoughts with a digital headshake, she refocused her attention on her task lists. It was pointless to dwell upon what could have been, she could only deal with the hand that she was dealt. To do otherwise would invite madness.

Instead, Dragon went over the presentation in Brockton Bay again with a fine-toothed comb that only an artificial intelligence could do, shackled as she was. She poured over everything, from the presentation itself, to the various news cameras that caught the demonstrations and displays that took place in the parking lot of Immaculata.

She hadn't the opportunity to get a good look at the machines that Taylor Hebert had created while they were in Boston. By the time she had arrived, they were already being withdrawn from the field for repairs and maintenance. All previous data was second hand. Captured while they worked. This was different. This was an in depth explanation and examination for the public. A public that was almost as excited for them as she herself was.

Dragon was woman (synth) enough to admit that Taylor Hebert surprised her. Months ago, she had been an uncomfortable teen talking shop in Armsmaster's workshop. Now she was calmly presenting to millions, explaining her vision for the future in a way that captured the imagination.

Taylor's presentation was stirring on an emotional level. But the real technical discussions happened outside with the Light Rescue Lance on full display. The young inventor spoke of inventions that Dragon herself considered decades beyond the current state-of-the-art. Ms. Hebert wasn't intimidated by the experts and business moguls that questioned her inventions. She answered everything with a calm assurance that few could emulate.

She was looking forward to speaking with the young woman again. She had been meaning to reach out ever since Director Piggot contacted Dragon to confirm the new confoam formula that Taylor had apparently written freehand during the Director's…interview…with the girl. The formula was exactly what Taylor promised, and so far, Dragon had not seen a patent being filed for it. Some would waste no time in patenting the formula for themselves, but that was a poor start to what Dragon hoped would be a strong working relationship. No, she would speak to Taylor, as one inventor to another, and work out a deal. Maybe they could arrange a trade of technology?

Already, she was comparing the designs of the machines and considering what she could add to her own Dragoncraft. The capabilities of Hebert's electroreactive polymer muscle material, combined with crystal braiding, polymetal alloy, and the processor technology that allowed such fluid movement in Hebert's machines were truly revolutionary. She might have an easier time simply starting with a new design.

Taking a moment to consider, she found she liked the idea and opened up a design program. Jotting several notes within, she christened the initial design Azhdaha, and idly continued watching the presentation. Hebert was now demonstrating the Titan, particularly the command network that allowed everything to function as a team and could operate a command and control node for Focuses. The idea was compelling, and if Dragon could get something similar working, she would be able to deploy several suits at once. Armsmaster would also benefit be…

Dragon shut her program down, saving the work. Thinking of Colin made her sad. And frustrated. And a little hurt.

It was yet another reason that she had buried herself in her work. It honestly hurt how Colin had cut her off without any reason. Even now, he was not responding to her messages. The last time he had messaged her, he had simply said that he had needed time to find himself.

Dragon wasn't fully up-to-date with human mental conditions and the so-called 'soul searching' that seemed to affect those approaching middle age…but the blasted man really picked a poor time to do it! Which made it even worse because she agreed with Colin!

She didn't approve of how Director Piggot had handled Colin. While she understood the pressures that the woman was under, Brockton Bay was one of the worst districts that the PRT and Protectorate administered. Always outnumbered and underfunded, it held the line by having three seasoned and skilled heroes alongside one of the best duos in the Protectorate in their ranks. Yet, it only just held the line, and considering the opposition, that was a miracle in-and-of itself.

Nevertheless, Piggot had taken it too far. It was one thing to try and press a recruitment, but it was quite another to manipulate results in order to forcibly pressgang a cape. It was morally, ethically, and legally wrong, and Colin had been in the right to refuse. It was why Piggot would be 'retiring' at the end of May. The Protectorate could ill-afford having a Director willingly flaunt laws like this, especially with how the person in question was rapidly ascending in the world.

But it wouldn't bring back Colin. She had read his resignation letter, a lengthy ten pages highlighting his reasons for it. It stung, a little, reading through it. Dragon herself interacted with hundreds of people in a day, thousands sometimes. But her circle of friends was small. Very small. And Colin had been at the top. And never had he ever shared his frustrations or feelings regarding the work that he was doing. She had to find out from a damn resignation letter how he truly felt. One that she agreed with, when it was clearly laid out in Colin's signature dry and methodical way. It stung, in ways, that she hadn't anticipated. It felt like he didn't trust her.

Colin felt that the direction of the PRT and Protectorate was fundamentally incorrect, that organizationally they were more focused on politics and public relations, and less on the actual public service aspects of their role. He lamented that they were more of a counter-reactive force and not an actual law enforcement entity like they claimed.

It was a damning resignation letter and one that concerned her despite the dry analytical way it had been written. She knew that Colin was frustrated, but not this much. She felt that Colin was letting his personal frustrations irresponsibly dictate his actions. She had hoped to sit and talk with him once the battle for Boston was over. Once they both had an opportunity to breathe and properly examine the situation together. Give a chance for cooler heads to prevail.

Yet that opportunity never materialized, because Colin had fucking cut ties! Without a direct connection to his computer, now seized by the PRT, the man was frustratingly hard to reach. His email wasn't being checked, he didn't have a home phone, and he wasn't answering his cell phone. She was tempted to write a damned letter and nail it to his door!

Taking the digital equivalent of a deep breath, she slowly let it out. Being angry was not going to solve anything, she could only deal with the hand that she had been dealt. She would give Colin his space, like he asked, even if it made her want to scream. He would come back around when he was ready, they were too close for it to otherwise happen.

She only hoped that his sabbatical would end sooner rather than later. It felt so lonely not being able to talk with him. Isolation was a fact of life for her. She was different on a fundamental level to everyone she interacted with. But…with some people, she felt less alone. Colin…he made her feel real in a way that was hard to explain. Above all else, she cherished the feeling that he brought with him, even if he did so without intention.

A new notification drew her attention away from her own dismal thoughts. It was an urgent priority message from the Chief Director, requesting a review of the Birdcage. Her digital brow furrowed at the message. It wasn't an unusual request, especially in light of the developing Canary situation, but the details of just what she wanted was far more than anything that had previously been requested.

She wanted a complete breakdown of all inmates of the Birdcage, both living and deceased, along with the entirety of their case files. It was easy to read between the lines of why the Chief Director was requesting all of this, she was worried about other possible scandals that could be exposed. But, still, this was the first time she had ever requested this level of detail of reporting and it was certainly worrisome.

Was there something she was missing? Dragon was aware that there were rumblings in DC about the Canary situation, but it wasn't enough to really warrant something like this. What was the Chief Director worried about that she was making this request? It was something Dragon made a note to look into.

She launched into her newly assigned task immediately. There was nothing to be done about Colin. Not yet. She just had to trust that the friendship and bond that they shared was strong enough to recover. And she silenced the small traitorous thought that she was more invested in their bond than he was.

---

---

Dennis Peters/Clockblocker

Brockton Bay

Dennis flexed his hand, annoying that it was cramping up. Again. Across from him, Deputy Director Renick continued the briefing. And he kept taking notes. Patrol routes. Intel reports. Weather reports. So many different reports that he was starting to think the reports were reports of other reports. How the hell did he find himself in this situation? When did he become the responsible one?

Oh. That's right. He was the 'next man up'. And wasn't that a kick in the teeth? A month ago, if someone had told him he would end up being the Wards Leader, he would have been looking for a hidden camera and a punch line. Well that, or absolutely horrified that it had fallen to him, because it meant that there had been enough casualties that he was quite literally the last man standing.

But it really wasn't a laughing matter now. Carlos may not come back at all. He couldn't even imagine what it must have felt like for his friend to experience the hell of being trapped in the rubble of a building, unable to do anything as people died all around him. Dennis could only hope that his friend would be able to recover, even if Carlos never acted as a Ward again.

Dean, on the other hand, that was a whole can of worms that frankly, angered him even now. It wasn't that he was the only one of the Wards that hadn't made the jump to Boston. No, it was how he dismissed what he did. That their sacrifices were merely a choice to be made instead of their duty as heroes. If it hadn't been Vista being the first to absolutely start screaming at Dean for his blase attitude, Dennis may have just punched Dean himself.

Suffice to say, Dean was likely on his way out after that display. It would have been funny, once upon a time to see Vista verbally eviscerate her former crush, now it was just depressing. Vista had brought her foot down and stated unequivocally that she wanted nothing to do with Dean and would not follow him if he was put in charge of the Wards.

Dennis had been of the same mind. After Boston, he didn't want to follow someone who ducked out when the call was made. Yes, he understood Gallant's powers would not have done much against Leviathan, but he could have been an absolute beast during search and rescue. Instead, the empath cape demurely said that his parents had forbidden him from taking part in Endbringer fights.

What pissed him off so much was the fact that Dean was clinged to that reason like it was a protective blanket. Hell, all of the Wards had parental orders barring them from taking part in an Endbringer fight, but when the call had gone out, only Dean had been the one to not make the decision to ignore it. He instead took the easy way out, and then came back and acted like nothing was wrong with his decision.

That it was the 'right' thing for him to do.

"Clockblocker?"

He was jarred out of his thoughts and looked to the Deputy Director, "Sorry about that, Deputy Director. What were you saying?"

"We have reports of possible Tinker activity near Ferry Station South. It's nothing concrete yet, but there are indications: cannibalized machinery and components in the facility. The fact that the location is monitored and has shown nothing suggests either a group, or there is another component to it we aren't aware of. Since Ward patrol routes already go near it, we'll be adjusting so we can hopefully get eyes on the perpetrators."

"Could be Merchants or Squealer herself. They've been quiet, but with the military cleared out, this might be them being bold, desperate, or both," was his musing. He had spent some time reading through many different reports on the gangs. He actually had learned a few things and was putting his new knowledge to use.

Rennick seemed to consider the comment for a moment, "There's been a few odd incidents of broken or scavenged parts. Mainly small electrics, not car parts. So it's unlikely to be for Squealer."

"Alright, so new Trigger or out of town Tinker. How would you like for us to approach if we encounter them?"

"Standard procedure. Call it in and provide a friendly face and ear, but remain cautious. If they are hitting something like the Ferry terminal then they are either building something major, desperate, or both. Considering legally this facility is owned by Zero Dawn, let's try to avoid any headlines with them."

Yeah, that made sense. Zero Dawn was the new eight hundred pound gorilla in the room. Dennis had learned that the hard way in Boston when he had run his mouth. Considering yesterday's press event, which shockingly the Protectorate and the PRT were not requested to provide protection, it only seemed that Zero Dawn was going to be an even larger deal than Medhall. And that was saying something.

It also didn't help that scuttlebutt was going round that the reason Piggot was retiring was because of Zero Dawn. He wasn't sure if that was the truth, but he had always pegged the woman as the type of Director that would only leave office in a body bag, so there may be legs to the rumor.

"Are we going to have any support?"

"What do you mean, son?"

"Ferry South is Empire territory, sir. There are only three Wards on the active duty roster, including me. I understand the need to get back on patrol, but we are stretched thin. Standard operating procedure requires at least three Wards, two on foot, one on console. That's everyone. We might be able to do daily patrols for a little while, but I'm not sure if we can maintain it for very long. Is there any news on if we are getting reinforcements?"

Look at him, being responsible! But then again, it was a valid concern. There literally was only Vista, Browbeat, and himself. It would be four, but Dean hadn't been to the PRT HQ since Vista had verbally emasculated him. And Chris was still medically suspended from returning.

"Discussions are still taking place up top, Clockblocker. I know that we are getting at least one Ward transfer from New York tomorrow. There's talk that they're replacing you as Wards Leader, but that's still being discussed. That's not a reflection on you, though, it's merely an acknowledgment in DC that the Ward system for the oldest leading the Wards has become a liability instead of a benefit, especially in Brockton Bay, since you are aging out in four months. But with what's happened in Boston, there is a lot more focus on reconstituting it as quickly as possible. That is why Assault and Battery are being tapped to transfer there for the time being."

"A and B are transferring," Dennis repeated dumbly. He didn't care about being Wards Leader. Whoever transferred in was welcome to the job if they were good at it. He wasn't willing to tolerate more bad leaders. But A and B were kinda the heart and soul of the Protectorate here in Brockton Bay. Transferring them out would be devastating for just about everything here.

"Temporarily. Legend believes that the Protectorate needs an official presence in the city, even if the Interim-Governor hasn't allowed the PRT to begin operating again. We've had several reports of new capes and travelling capes making their way towards the city. 'Flashback', a mover, possible hero, has been making a name for himself. We've also got Druid setting up shop. Previously, he's been classified as heroically-inclined, but there are growing worries. One of those is that any collaboration with Blasto would destabilize the area and result in the military taking notice of the Wet Tinker. Assault and Battery are being sent to show the flag and try to pull Druid into joining the Protectorate. The military also still had Sundancer and Ballistic working with them, they would be excellent additions if we can get the military to end their detention."

"But that would only leave Brockton Bay with four, maybe five capes in total," he couldn't help but point out, "I know it's not my place to say it, but what do they expect us to do if the Empire or the ABB decide to actually start something?"

"DC is firmly aware of the situation, Clockblocker. But the Chief Director and Legend both agree that we need to have boots on the ground in Boston. If only to try and recruit new capes. It is why I have been discussing with DC the idea of having Brockton Bay assist in training any new recruits. With the close proximity between our two cities and the intact facilities we have, we can assist in taking a load off of Boston while they get back on their feet."

The older man sighed, "We're also making plans to transfer the Rig to Boston. Discussions are ongoing with the Navy for transfer routes and organizing tugboats. So having less personnel will make it easier for us to work out of the PRT building in the city center."

Dennis would readily admit, he was not exactly brilliant, but even he could put together where the Deputy Director was going. Officially, that would be the reason, but unofficially, it would at least allow Brockton Bay to supplement their currently understrength capes. It was a smooth idea, but it still was reliant upon there being an agreement. And while he hated to be the devil's advocate…

"And what if they don't approve of it?"

Renick frowned, "Well, then we'll have to make do with what we have. And hope things keep quiet like they have been."

That did not inspire confidence, considering this was Brockton Bay. Any sort of quiet was usually the calm before the shitstorm.

---

A short while later, Clock swiped his ID, letting the Wards door permit his admittance into the Wards lounge. He made a direct line for the small kitchenette, dropping his stack of papers on the table. Pulling odds and ends out of the fridge, he made himself a sandwich while trying to ignore how empty the place felt. It was a familiar emptiness, like how he dealt with an empty house. He still didn't like it, though. It wasn't long ago his place felt…more alive.

"Hey, you got enough for one more," Dennis jolted, letting out a 'manly' shout of surprise. He spun around to find his taller teammate looking back at him impassively.

"Damn it, man! Don't DO that! We're going to stick a bell on you at this rate," Dennis complained, even as he slid his sandwich over to Browbeat. He started on a new one as the larger teen nodded in thanks.

The two of them ate in silence after he had prepared the second sandwich.

"So, BB, how are you doing?"

The bulky teen finished his bite and looked back quietly for a moment, "You actually want to know or are you just filling in the quiet?"

Dennis found himself blinking. Well, now he really wanted to know.

"Well more of the second. But I'm invested now. What's on your mind?"

Browbeat sighed, "I'm doubting the work that we do here. I thought that we were heroes, actually doing good and helping. Then we get to Boston. Walking through those ruins. Seeing everyone doing what they can. No powers. No super strength. It's humbling and I feel like I am not living up to the example that they set. That real heroes set. The ones without powers, who charge into danger because someone else needs help."

Dennis found himself blinking again. He hated to admit it, but he never really talked with Browbeat. They just had too different personalities. Case in point, the old him would have cracked a joke about…something instead of taking his teammate's concerns seriously. But now he was Wards Leader and his teammate was having doubts.

Taking another bite of his sandwich and letting himself dwell upon it, he then swallowed, "Well, damn. That is heavy. But I do understand where you're coming from. I was running the injured for hours and every time I came back, those doctors and nurses were working. It was a hell of a thing.

He then took a breath, "But that doesn't discount the work that we do. And your contributions matter in ways that…," Browbeat raised his meaty hand and gave a small grin.

"I don't need a pep talk, Clock. I've got my own ways working through this. I'm good, so don't worry about me. You've got enough to worry about already."

With a sigh, Dennis deflated, "Oh…well…alright. Just let me know if you want to chat. Ummm…what are your thoughts on our situation?"

Seemed like the quietest person on the team was feeling talkative and a leader was meant to encourage participation. Said so in chapter four of "How to be a Leader for Dummies," he had read it cover to cover several times now.

The musclebound Ward finished another bite, nearly done with his sandwich. Dennis found himself copying in order to not feel left out, "As a team? We've taken a big hit and things aren't going back to how they were. Everyone's got problems to work through adjusting to the new way of things."

The Interim Wards Leader waved his hand for his teammate to continue, all the while reaching for his pen and notepad.

Browbeat sighed and straightened, "Vista is hurting the most. This place, the team, it felt like a family to her. And now, just like her parents and family life, the team is falling apart, and she's got no control over things. The people she thought she could trust to be there, weren't there when it was needed. Armsmaster is gone. Militia is gone. Everyone she looked up to is gone and she's powerless to do anything about it.

Clock tapped his pen against the table, the remnants of his food set aside. He wasn't hungry anymore, anyways, "Got any wisdom and solutions? Besides serving Dean's head on a silver platter, I mean."

Inwardly, he cursed as the joke fell flat. BB wasn't one for jokes and he simply blinked at Dennis for a moment.

"Be there for her. Not as a Wards Leader, but as a big brother. Vista needs to understand she isn't the cause of any of this and she needs to know that there are solid points of contact when things are hectic. She needs someone to look up to who she can turn to when things get tough."

Finishing his food, Browbeat folded his hands, "As for Dean? He was never going to stick with the Protectorate or the PRT."

That caught Dennis flat-footed and he raised a brow in silent question. BB's low rumble of a voice explained with a shrug of his shoulders, "Dean's rich. His family's rich. And they are going to stay rich. Dean has always been more interested in the 'idea' of heroes. He liked playing the role of the noble knight saving the day, because that's all this really was for him. A role. An act. If none of this mess with Boston had happened, Dean still would have left the team in a few years, started working on the family name, and done just fine with some fancy position that looks good, but doesn't do much. He'll sacrifice nothing, struggle for nothing, and be content so long as he can convince himself that he's doing good. It's why he prefers to go through the motions when we both know he could do so much more. Because it's easy and low risk while making himself look good for when he eventually unmasks."

Wow…that felt like both a scathing rebuke of their likely soon-to-be-former teammate, and probably one of the most insightful takes that Dennis could have ever imagined hearing from the quiet member of their team. It took him a moment to think of a reply.

"And he's currently handling Victoria and trying to help her with the mess with Amy," BB nodded in agreement adding in his additional two cents, "Dean's doing what's expected of him as her boyfriend. But you ever notice how it's never him that breaks up and then patches things up with her?"

"Huh…never really thought about that. What about Kid Win?"

Browbeat sighed and Dennis could sympathize, because he'd done the same thing, "Chris wants to prove himself. Both to the other people and to himself. But he's not a Wet Thinker, no matter how much he tries to convince himself. And his parents are right to demand that the PRT find a way to fix his injuries. But Chris is just taking that as another sign that they're trying to hold him back. He's confusing caution with condemnation. Honestly? I don't know what to say about him. It's a problem beyond me and you. His parents are right. Christ is right. Hell, even the PRT is right when they say that healing was offered and rejected. This is a problem for the adults to take care of. All we can do is support him. And if he starts going off the rails? We try to gently nudge him back on track. Anything forceful right now will make him dig his heels in more."

Just then, the door chimed, and Dennis looked up to see Missy storm in with her backpack on. Space warped and twisted, forcing the young man to blink to avoid looking at reality getting twisted like a pretzel. When he opened them, MIssy was gone, and he could hear the thud as her door was slammed shut. Dennis shared a look with Browbeat. It seemed like it was time to be a leader again. But one last thing bothered him.

"Hey, BB? I'm genuinely curious and don't take this the wrong way, I'm not trying to offend. But this is the longest we've talked and you've got some great takes when it comes to people. Why don't you speak up more when the others are around."

The shapeshifting Ward hummed, drumming his fingers against the table. Finally he shrugged, "Same question to you and everyone else. Why do you talk so much? Most people, they talk too much and don't listen enough. And when they talk over one another, conversations get messy. So it's easier to talk one-on-one. Keeps things calm, yeah?"

Huh…okay, that's something new. Dennis would have to remember that and try to pull BB aside for discussion in the future, "Yeah, I understand. Alright, well you come find me if you want to chat, one-on-one. I'm going to check on Missy."

Browbeat nodded, grabbing both plates, "Remember: Big brother, not Wards Leader. You want to deal with the girl, not the cape."

As the larger teen started washing up, Dennis wandered over to the Wards living area. His talk with Browbeat had been a surprise and it felt a little bad that Dennis had been mostly ignoring the guy. Something to work on, because his teammate was insightful in surprising ways.

He knocked on the door, "Missy? It's Dennis. Is it alright if I come in?"

He waited for a moment, but received no answer. Opening the door, he stuck his head in. The Wards' rooms weren't anything special. It was designed so that teens who were part of the Wards program had a small personal space that they could call their own. Some took this to the extreme, like Missy, who lived on base most of the time. Dennis found her sitting on the edge of her bed, scowling and biting her lip. It looked like she was fighting back tears and trying to get angry about it all at the same time. He had to assume that she heard that Assault and Battery were leaving. Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him as he set about doing what he could to help.

Because that's what leaders do.

---

---

Christopher Siopis/Kid Win

Brockton Bay

He typed away at the computer, the light of the monitor just enough for him to see by. He could turn the lights on, but that would be an unnecessary distraction that achieved barely anything. Another spawn shot through his fingers, causing him to curse aloud as his fingers acted without his consent, ruining carefully laid work with gibberish.

He had a solution to that affliction, but it was just out of his reach. Just the reminder of it caused his jaw to clench at the reminder of the number of ways that everyone was trying to hold him back from achieving it. From proving he could do it and finally fix himself.

Modulation. It was his power and it had been something that he long struggled with. It was one last poisoned gift from a mentor that had never taught him anything and had treated him as even less than that. All it did for him was provide him with more frustrations and less answers.

Humans were, by nature, weak creatures. They had none of the natural advantages that most animals had, so they had adapted. Made tools to overcome the task before them. The human condition was, in essence, modular, exchanging tools several times a day to overcome the challenges in their life and make things easier.

Chris was just taking that to the next logical step by making it easier for him to use his tools. He would be better because of it. A better Ward. A stronger Hero. And then no one would doubt him anymore.

His eyes were drawn to the notebook at his side, earning the pulped cellulose a sneer at the calculations strewn across it as the computer told him what he already knew deep down already. Yet another damn failure in a litany of other failures.

Ripping the sheet of paper from the spiral notebook, he crumpled it up and viciously threw it before turning back to the notebook again. His stare at the new sheet of paper could have burned a hole in it. He wanted nothing more than to scream in frustration as it seemed that nothing was working.

He had so many damn ideas, but for the life of him, he couldn't get it done to be just right. It felt as if he were a painter gone blind. A composer gone deaf. He could remember the inspiration and where it came from, but the inspiration that he could touch was only an incomplete memory.

This was the…he lost track of which attempt it was. He was trying to manufacture or discover a material capable of functioning similarly to the human nervous system. Fiberoptic cables did not provide enough throughput to merit itself as an option for an adequate replacement to the human nervous system. Time and time again the computer simulations claimed it couldn't be done. No material existed that had enough data throughput or conductivity.

It was a simple problem. His nerves were damaged, sending incorrect signals to their destination. The solution was likewise simple in concept, though. He would have to make a buffer, something to make sure that only the right signals got through. Simple. Elegant. And something that would help other people even. It was the first step to better using his tools, providing a direct connection with his weapons and equipment, all with a single thought. An immediate recall for his board. Finer controls of the hover systems. Instantaneous diagnostics and the ability to quickly solve an issue. It was all within his reach.

If only everyone would stop holding him back!

His parents didn't even praise him for driving off Leviathan. They didn't see the significance of the action because they didn't care to even bother. They refused to understand the hardships he had to endure just to build that cannon. Nor did they care for his determination to stare Death down and pull the trigger.

No…instead they only saw that he was 'broken'. They only CARED that he was 'broken'. He could hear them when he went home. They wanted the PRT to fix this. To fix him. They didn't care that he could fix himself. To them, he was never competent or skilled enough, he was merely something for them to be proud of. If he refused to bow to their wishes, then they would force the solution on him. His parents went to the Youth Guard, those meddlers. Who then went to the PRT, and everyone was doing everything they could to hold him back from proving himself.

Dauntless was the same. He didn't have any faith. He saw his experiments and said that it wasn't right. He quoted rules and warnings about Wet Tinkering. Chris snorted, like Dauntless understood anything about Tinkering. If there was anything that he missed about Armsmaster, it was the fact that the man didn't care what he was doing as long as he wasn't bothered. Dauntless obviously was cut frustratingly from a different cloth.

His phone chimed and he took a look while the computer began another simulation. He frowned at the sight of another message from Dennis. Ever since Clockblocker had been named Wards Leader, it was like Dennis was trying to get into his business. Messaging about getting together, getting dinner, hanging out on the Boardwalk, asking if he was free to chat. It was exhausting, disruptive, and a complete waste of Chris' time.

Now Dennis was asking for him to check on Missy, because she was having a rough time with all of the changes to the team. He tossed the phone onto the desk, returning to his work. Really Dennis? Missy was having a rough time of it? The girl survived everything else and all she got was a bloody nose. Not like he did!

"Damn it," he snarled as yet another failure filled his screen. He ran shaking fingers through his hair and flopped back in his chair, staring at the computer display.

Nothing he tried was enough. Nor were the designs he was currently working on. There was nothing available that could achieve what he wanted. Each failure came down to either limitations with the components or interfacing issues that made the components not worth the returns.

But he knew there was a solution. His power told him that there was. All he needed to do was to find the right components and materials, and he could improve himself. So when the next time something like he experienced with Leviathan took place, his body would be ready and willing to answer the call.

And he would prove to everyone that he was right.

---

---

Incognita

Name Unknown

Location Unknown

'I' didn't like being 'me'. Simple stupid 'me'. My mother always tried to teach 'me' to love 'myself'. But 'I' always wanted to be someone else. Because being 'me' was never enough. 'I' was never popular, even when 'I' was nice to everyone. 'Me' the stupid girl from a small town who loved to watch the world go by and dream of bigger things. Who watched the pretty boy. The popular boy. The boy who hid his face behind a mask and threw light from his fingers. Everyone knew who he was, even 'me'. But they pretended. Just like he pretended.

Pretended to find 'me' interesting. Whispered pretty things to 'me', and made 'me' feel special. Who led 'me' into a forest and rolled with 'me' in the damp grass, making 'me' finally feel like somebody. Then he told 'me' that he was done with 'me'. Who callously broke 'my' heart, then had his head broken as he shouted at 'me' to leave, that he wanted nothing more to do with a loser like 'me'.

I broke, then. My soul broke. Then my skin broke. And finally my mind broke. Then I became 'he'. And again he walked through the world, throwing lights from his fingers, while I watched with his eyes. But he had a secret as well. He had gotten too big, and gained too much attention. And the attention turned around and crushed him. But I was 'he' now, so I wasn't broken. I was put in a cage. A cage of pretty words and promises made of daggers. I was the knife held to my mother's throat. Held to Elly's throat.

Broken stupid 'me'.

I became whoever 'I' was ordered to be. The boy on the train. The girl in the shop. The man in the hallway. The woman in the hospital. It was fun, even as I remembered that I was the knife at Mama's throat. I shouldn't have had fun, but I did.

Now I was to become 'her'. A silly blind girl who sat and let 'me' cut her hair. Like the soil, I swallowed down 'she' and let 'her' take root deep inside. Felt the root sprout and the skin break as she spilled out. Until I truly became 'she'.

Blind. Tall. Thin. Weak. Like a tree by the river that bent in the wind. But that was only the skin. My jailor didn't want the skin. She wanted to know the insides. So I let the insides spread out and fill me. And discovered in spite of all, that tree stood firm because of what was inside. No matter the winds or the hateful hands. That tree would stay standing. Bowed, broken, but standing firm nonetheless.

"There's…a glitch. In the Chariot line."

"Are you telling me that a swarm has gone rogue, Ted!"

"...It's worse than that."

I remember. Because she remembered. Remembered another her. Another life of joys and sorrows. Of highs and lows. But she also remembered the terror. The fear. The despair. The business-as-usual attempts at deflection. Pretty words for the death that was bearing down on everyone. All because of one man's naked greed.

"It's not 'bad', Ted, it's apocalyptic. You built a line of killer robots that consume biomass as fuel and you made them capable of self-replication. The glitch severed chain-of-command. The only nation this swarm answers to now is itself. Everything else is food. And at the rate it's replicating, it will strip the Earth bare in fifteen months. We're not talking about the fall of civilization. We're talking about extinction!"

I screamed. I threw up. I curled up into a corner as the despair drowned me in its storm. The memories were so full of everything and nothing that I couldn't take it. But she didn't bend. Neither of them did. They stood resolute even as despair did everything in its power to drown them. But I bent and broke.

---

---

Everything was ending. I watched through her eyes as the world she knew was eaten. She was the pied piper playing her song, the rats blindly following because she promised them salvation. But there was no salvation. There was no hope. Not for them. Not for the rats or the piper. They were all doomed. Hope was the seeds that they planted. Seeds that might survive to live beyond them. Inch by inch the world was devoured.

I will not break.

She said to herself as she told the men her plan.

I will not give up.

She said as everyone worked. As she worked, making seeds to survive long after she was bones and dust. After they were all bones and dust and the world was quiet. Dead and quiet.

I will find a way.

A way was found. Lies were told to those who needed to believe. And the truth was told to everyone who needed to know and could be trusted with it. All the while, the little rats were sent to feed the hunger, one by one, to buy scant seconds. While the piper kept on playing her tune. And worked. And worked.

Until it was finally my turn to become the meal.

The suit was stuffy and the air was stale. But the world outside the suit was dead. And shortly, I would be dead as well. Ten millimeters. Less than four-tenths of an inch. It was such a small thing. But aren't we all infinitesimally small in the end? That simple gap was the difference between success and failure. In the end, I fixed it. It was my project. My lies. My hopes. My responsibility. My damnation. All I had anymore were ghosts and I was so tired.

The seal engages. The last seal. The last piece. My entire existence distilled into this single moment. My work is finally done. I sit here in the dust. Breathe the increasingly thinning air of my depleting oxygen supply as I stared into the dust-filled sky that blocks out the very thing that gave all of us life.

Just myself, my ghosts, and the world's ashes.

A soft laugh escaped my lips, melancholy and madness one and the same.

And yet, despite everything. Despite consigning to death the entire human race on a one-in-five-point-seven trillion shot. Despite becoming the largest mass murderer in the historical twilight of homo sapien primus…

I had won.

"I'm okay with this. I want to go home. Goodbye."

Those were the last words I gave to the team that had saved the world at my side. I loved them. And I was so tired.

I walked. The dust and ash of the planet on my boots. Millions of years of history. Of hopes and dreams. Billions of people. All dust and ash because of one man's greed. All given a possible future because of my team. Because of my efforts.

My daughter. Born of circuits and electrons. I think of her as I walk across a dead world that will be her inheritance and I mourn that I couldn't give her something more. I had to trust in her to build something more than what we left her.

I took a seat and looked at the home I had thought I had outgrown. It seemed like I was wrong on that, as the siren's call at the eve of my life brought me back to where it all began. It felt more than I was home, it felt like I was closing the circle. For a brief instant, I wondered at the quiet life I might have had if I had never left.

The soft warning of diminishing oxygen sounded. Bells, tolling the end of my life.

But defiance is a choice. And I chose differently.

With the barest flick of an eye and a verbal command, I felt the needle pierce my skin. A dead body laying itself to rest. I took the time to free my arm from the armor despite the screams of decompression that I silenced with barely a thought. Instead, I focused on running my fingers over the world that had hung around my neck most of my life. Holding it tight as sleep pulls me down. Thinking of my daughter and the words that my mother gave to me. Words that I had passed on to her.

"You have to care, Girl. Being smart will count for nothing if you don't make the world a better place. You have to use your smarts to count for something. To serve life, not death."

My daughter, I wish you all the curiosity of the world. Be willful, unstoppable in your dreams. And I wish you enough compassion to heal the world. Just a little. Inch by inch, til miles are crossed.

Finally, after so long, I slept.

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I wake up lying on the floor. Feeling once again as memories flow through me. Ideas. Plans. Knowledge. Such a precious thing. I feel the mounting despair. The world is ending. Not like before, in machine indifference and hunger. But ending in inches, year by year. We are the boiling frog, never noticing that the water was getting hot.

I will not give up.

I will not break

I will find a way.

It's the new drumbeat of my soul. My new determination. Passed from one to another. I stole it. Just an inch. I had become them and I now understood. They would forgive me. Just as I forgave myself.

I hear my captors. The chains that the woman wrapped around me and I no longer felt fear. They were now a problem to be solved. I had given up. I will not give up. I broke. I will not break. I could not find a way. I will find a way.

I plan. Then I tell them the plan. Sit at the computer that I could not see, but let my fingers work as I put my plan into motion. I am the daughter. I will be willful. I will not give up on compassion.

I will find a way.

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?

?

"Despair is a lie. Hope is a conviction that a solution is possible. It might not be obvious. It might be difficult. It might require that some things change and that old things we held tightly have to be let go…but a better tomorrow is possible."

The speech was everywhere. Repeated and analyzed by those talking heads on screen. And every time, he just had to pay attention to it. It drew his eye, his attention.

Stabbing the power button on the remote, he slowly placed it down on the end table beside his throne. Well, his temporary throne, a rather nice leather recliner he had purloined from his newest audience. The silence that had been momentarily introduced by the cessation of the television broken by the soft pitiable cries of the former owners of the household.

He paid them no mind for a moment, instead crossing his legs and leaning his head on his right knuckle, the entire arm propped upon the chair. The pointless natterings of the help were never the business of the conductor, only that they perform when called upon.

Instead, he let himself dwell upon what he had witnessed, a smile starting to creep into his expression. It was all that was necessary. Laughter would be too melodramatic, and quite frankly, wasted upon such an inadequate audience. Especially when a simple smile could achieve so much more.

The light scrape of metal on wood reminded him that there was more than one audience being catered to in this little play. His smile widening slightly, he tilted his head up just so the other party could enter his sightline. The 'man', if this parody of life in a cold shell could be even called such, was impossible to miss even in the low light, the white metallo-ceramic material drinking in the light and only making it appear brighter than it should be.

"Don't you ever get tired of this," he asked the figure, unable to keep the mockery from his tone. It was times like these that gave meaning to life. To others, it appeared he was playing on the edge of the knife, but in actuality, he was the safest he could be. After all, the deck was always stacked in his favor. That was the joy of it all, being clad in the knowledge that you simply could not be inconvenienced by the mundane, no matter how much they deluded themselves that they were in control, "For every one you snuff out, it only seems that three more take their place."

He knew he had struck home, even if the figure remained unnaturally still. He could feel the man's boiling anger, it was the finest natural intoxicant; a heady mix of superiority and sadism with exquisite hints of schadenfreude. They both knew that he could destroy this animated puppet, despite the latter's perceived physical superiority. The impotent rage from inside the puppet's cage made the situation all the better.

Looking back to the blank television screen, he could only preen at how the world seemed to keep giving him such marvelous toys to break. And this was certainly a new and positively beautiful toy. How long had it been since he had such an opportunity and stage? Not since Hero. Oh, just the memory of turning the four 'greatest' heroes in North America into a Triumvirate was a memory that could never truly be exhausted. The stricken look on Alexandria's bloody face as the hopes and dreams that they supposedly represented died screaming as Siberian tore out Hero's entrails like she was gutting a pig.

This was what he lived for.

And now? The supposed 'Hero of Boston'? Alan Gramme might be obsessed with killing Tinkers that could make a difference. But he? He lived to break the so-called 'superiority' of those heroes. It was fascinating, to find all the little weaknesses that made up these paragons. The fault lines in the foundation of themselves. Tap away at them with his little hammer and all their righteousness crumbled like a house of cards. Often turning on the very people who looked up to them. And if that didn't happen, at least it exposed to the masses that their supposed heroes were no better than them.

His true calling was painting masterpieces with the blood of those who supposedly brought hope to the world. It was the grandest of feasts that kept him satiated as he meandered through this fake world.

And oh how things were lining up perfectly here. Taylor Hebert, so many amazing cracks he could pick out already. And she was in Brockton Bay, he really did need to repay that city for their past transgressions. As his old man used to say, 'you never let anyone get one over on you'. Which was wonderfully ironic considering how he had dealt with that overbearing fool. And…Lavere. So many possibilities with her. The girl, the powers, the name…Boy did that name bring back memories, some good, and some most definitely bad. Yes, he was due some repayment.

It was unfortunate that they were on the other side of the country at the moment. But in a way, the anticipation would make it all the more delectable. For all of them. Besides, it would mean that little Taylor and Amelia had more time to grow. Pride before the fall. The higher they rose, the greater the devastation and entertainment when they fell. It would be glorious.

His only worry was ensuring that all of them had worthwhile targets. It was always a concern when corralling his flock, they all needed something to keep themselves suitably engaged, or it only complicated things.

Plenty of time though to plan accordingly and prepare. It was better that way, Brockton Bay may have survived their previous visitation through luck, they would not have that luxury this time.

And he would make sure the city remembered his name this time.

Welcome back. Decided to do a posting a day early as I will not be at a computer most of the day tomorrow. Need to build up some income in order to cover the two weeks that I'm being dragged kicking and screaming on a cruise ship vacation because my mother's all gung-ho for being on an oversized sardine can in the middle of the most barren and inhospitable places you can be.

Enjoy.

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Growth 4.1

Taylor Hebert

Brockton Bay

Tuesday, May 2nd, 2011

I had a problem. A personal one. Which meant that I was dealing with it in the time-honored Hebert family tradition: I was ignoring it and throwing myself into work. It kept me from thinking about how nice he smelled even three days later. Which is weird, I know, but there is something to the claim that other senses compensate for the loss of one sense. Like sight. And he's tall, so I didn't have to look down on him, which is awkward as a girl, and…I was doing it again.

Sighing, I put my head in my hands. I, Taylor Hebert, an unlovable frog-face that no one would touch with a pole…had been asked on a date.

Ms. Hebert. My name is Theo Anders. I would very much like to be your partner to the upcoming Brockton Bay Charity Gala for Boston. Would you do me the honor?

Yes, it was cheesy and over the top, and…I grew up on Tolkien, Lewis, and Pratchett, a diet of fantasy and noble quests. And as I was a nervous wreck after the presentation I had, without thinking, said yes!

So here I was, safely ensconced back in my workshop. Working. So I didn't have to deal with the world right now.

It was three days after the press event and the results were already being seen. I had more deals for materials, offers to produce components, and medical companies lining up to work with Amelia and me. At the moment, though, my concern was solar energy collection. Which I was working on now.

The solar energy collectors on the Sunwing were hyper-efficient, way beyond what was currently available. Also, it wasn't rigid like the current panel designs, which meant that it could be deployed in a number of different ways. The Focus Network Platform could be coated in the stuff, allowing for better self-sustainment. I had asked Jean to look into a solar manufacturing company, of which…there weren't many. If we could partner with one, that would be great, if we could buy out one entirely and fold it under ZDT's umbrella, that'd be even better. But Jean was overwhelmed, so progress was slow.

Which led me back to my current project.

Flying-type machines all relied upon advanced lightweight materials and high-performance engines. The Skydrifter even more than the Sunwing. I was currently typing away at the assembly instruction for the Sunwing's solar collection systems. Actual assembly of either machine would have to be on hold, as I was waiting for the ultralight alloys to come in. Not to mention the construction of the engines themselves that we would probably have to do in-house. It worked with Blaze, and I wasn't ready to let that cat out into the public just yet.

And after that, I would need…

A chime at my door and my Focus pulled up an incoming call. It was Jean.

"Taylor, Mr. Milton just arrived at the front. I was expecting you in your office before we met with him."

Shit, I glanced at the time and yes, I was late, "On my way, Jean. Have him shown to my office."

Closing the programs, I grabbed my jacket and slid it back over my shoulders. I hated to admit it, but the business attire that Parian had purchased was starting to grow on me. I had always believed that business clothes, or even formal attire, was stuffy and uncomfortable. It always seemed that way to me. The few times that we dressed up for some sort of function when Mom was around I always hated it.

But the clothes I was wearing? They fit just right and were sinfully comfortable.

Adjusting myself a little bit more, I went to the door, allowing it to recognize my Focus and slide open. I met with Jean and Sam who were waiting outside. We chatted briefly as we walked through the assembly hall. Jean reminded me again about finalizing my choice for a personal assistant, probably so that someone else would chase me to respect my schedule. I nodded, adding it to my list even as I waved at Lucius Fuchs, who was meeting with his team to finish adjusting the LRL and putting together a presentation for me to review and approve.

It took us another ten minutes to finally reach my office, with Jean talking my ear off about the rest of the schedule I had for the day. My immediate concern was with Mr. Milton, after which I was due to a conference call with Colonel Herres about the use of the Focus in Operation Sidestep. Then, late afternoon, I was to inspect the Blaze refinery, before finally capping the evening by inspecting building sites for the new facility.

What a mess. But needs must when the devil drives, and I was my own devil.

And that's not even getting into the issues of Amelia's inheritance. After the announcement at the press event, the office had received a flurry of calls asking why Amy was cutting ties with New Wave. The poor girl had balked at the attention, even with her newfound confidence, and retreated to work on the equipment to produce SHR-1.

Was it strange that I was still not sure how I felt with Amy as my friend? This wasn't a disparagement of her. No, nothing of the sort. Amy had been everything I ever wanted in a friend and more. It was me. My feelings were the problem. And I was self-aware of it to know the reason and wanted to curse Emma for it.

Even now, despite everything that Amy had done for me, I was still wary. Wary of being betrayed and exposed to the world for someone's sick amusement. Even with all evidence to the contrary, I still found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn't matter how different Amy was to Emma, the specter of what she did still haunted me.

I needed to be better. Even if I didn't know how. I didn't want to be like this for the rest of my life.

The door to my office opening ended all of my thoughts on the matter, as I mentally took a deep breath and prepared for this meeting. It was more of a formality than anything, but I honestly preferred face-to-face meetings. It provided a personal touch that was lacking in electronic communications and gave me the opportunity to get a measure of the person and situation.

"Mr. Milton," I greeted, extending my hand to the man as he stood up from his chair, "It's good to see you again. I hope your flight from New York was comfortable."

"It was, Ms. Hebert," the man smiled and took my hand, "It's good to see you again. You're handling things well."

"The privilege of suddenly being the world's most popular person," I returned as humorously as I could. But he wasn't wrong in his observation. I was starting to wear thin with all of the interviews and meetings that I had been in the last three days since the presentation. I knew it was going to keep this frenetic pace for a while longer, but I was honestly starting to miss my own bed. The furnishings that they had gotten for me were fine, but there was a comfort to home that I really never understood until now.

"Well then, allow me to deliver some good news."

I offered a smile as I sat down in my chair. With a tap of my Focus, I accessed the servers, readying myself for our discussion. It was probably strange to those who were used to paper documentation, but Milton seemed to have handled my needs quite well. I could already see several documents awaiting my perusal.

"Well then, Mr. Milton," I began to read over what he shared. "Where are we with the Canary case?"

The man leaned back in his own chair and crossed his legs, "We've been collaborating with the Judge Advocate General on the case. Since they were the ones to petition for a writ of certiorari to the Supreme Court, it was decided that they will take the lead on the criminal defense for Ms. Mcabee, with Wulfrahm & Hjardt providing additional support. With that, I have some great news, and some less-than-great news."

Good and bad news, I thought to myself, pondering over what it could be. I doubted that it would be something like Paige having her charges dropped. Even if they were waiting to make the announcement, it would have leaked by now.

"Let's hear the good news first."

"The Supreme Court will be announcing this afternoon that they will be issuing a writ of certiorari for Ms. Mcabee's case. It was decided unanimously by all of the judges."

I couldn't help but smile at the news. Because it was good news. It meant that there was a good chance that the Supreme Court would be giving Paige an actual day in court. While a writ of certiorari didn't guarantee that they would hear it after reviewing the case, the fact that it was unanimously decided upon meant that there was a good chance that it would be.

"That's good news."

"Yes, it is, Ms. Hebert. It's not very often that the Supreme Court unanimously agrees upon something. It doesn't mean that we are out of the woods yet, but it means that we have a pretty good chance. Especially with the fact that Chief Justice Harrison has ordered that Ms. Mcabee must be released from house arrest."

I blinked, processing what he said for a moment. A surge of elation shot through me. I wasn't exactly close with Paige, but even I had found myself liking and sympathizing with the young woman. She had been dealt a shitty hand in life, but she had a core of steel that refused to give in.

"That's actually great news! Will the Court be making a public announcement? If not, then we'll organize something here, just to make sure that the public doesn't get the wrong idea on Paige. But I think she will be absolutely excited to be able to leave the compound. What other news do you have?"

This solved one of my immediate problems, meaning that Paige could actually move out and about this evening. She could do with a change of scenery. We also had a meeting with Rachel at the end of the week to partner Paige with a dog. I had questioned her gently on the idea and she was very enthusiastic. It seems that she had always wanted one, but couldn't devote time to a dog with her touring and concert schedule.

I glanced over at Sam, transferring her a note about the meeting, and asked that she prepare for it. What those preparations might be, I didn't know, but I was trying to be more attentive to my security detail. She gave me a small nod. It would be a few days, so I would follow up with her later.

"Moving on to the less-than-good news. And that's the civil cases. Frankly, we're dealing with a lot of new precedents on the matter. For all intents and purposes, legally speaking, Ms. Mcabee is dead. It's been considered for years now that a Birdcage sentence is a de facto execution and has been legally implemented as such. What that means for us is that we can't pursue anything against Black Omen Records until we get clarification from the courts."

That was bad news. When Paige had been sentenced to the Birdcage, the record label that she had signed-on with three months previously had used a clause in their contract to confiscate all songs and materials tied to Paige's Canary stage name. With the prosecution trumping up Paige's Master powers to get a conviction, the record company had argued that her popularity stemmed from her powers, and not her actual abilities. As such, they had all rights to her image, as she had committed a crime with her powers. It was an absolutely scummy move, but perfectly legal.

"And her assets?"

"Completely liquidated. Once was sentenced to the Birdcage, the civil suit filed against her by the ex-boyfriend was rubber stamped. Citing the level of bodily injury, they awarded him everything that Ms. Mcabee owned, after the court fees."

I nodded. It was about what I feared was going to happen, because it was what I was coming to expect with our legal system. It was becoming increasingly apparent with each day that capes did not have the same legal protections that were expected for American citizens. If anything, their legal protections were considered mere guidelines instead of something sacrosanct and inviolable.

It just wasn't enough that capes had to suffer their worst day ever in order to gain their powers. No, they had to face the likelihood that unless they played ball with the government, they were legally reduced to second-class citizens, with an avaricious government diligently waiting for a single misstep in order to swoop in and claim their prize. Or stomp them out.

"What can we do then?"

"For now? There's really nothing we can do until the Supreme Court makes a decision. I have all the filings ready to submit, but until Ms. Mcabee's case has a ruling behind it, I can't do anything."

That meant for now Paige would continue to be reliant upon me in order to survive. Not that I was actually complaining on the matter. I had chosen to do this because I couldn't stand aside to allow an injustice like this to take place. I would continue to help the woman as long as I could, and if the Supreme Court ruled against her, I would still try and fight for her after that.

Because it could easily be me in her place in the future if this continued as it were. I didn't delude myself into thinking that just because I was now nationally known made me unassailable to the whims of the government deciding that I was no longer a prodigal child.

"Okay. Keep me informed. Where are we at with Amelia?"

"As for Ms. Lavere, the paperwork for reclaiming her estate has been processed," he proceeded to open up his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder, "Here is the deed and associated paperwork. And here are the keys. We haven't had a chance to inspect the location, but we can…"

I raised a hand to cut him off, "No need. I'll have my people look over the site."

He handed me the keys and folder, gathering them up, I turned to Sam who had come to my side. Handing her the keys, I gave her a command, "Have your people head over. Don't touch anything, just make sure the location is secure. Jean," I turned to look at her, "contact Tate, he will be speaking with Herres in my place. If Herres has any problem with that, he can call me in a couple of hours. Also, see if we can reschedule the refinery visit for tomorrow morning, if not, ask my father to step in."

Yes, I was upending my entire day's plans and dropping a mess into other people's laps without warning. But I knew a few things about being a good friend. Even if I was fighting my own hangups, Amy deserved the same support she had given me.

"Sam, let your people with Amelia know about the change in plans. We'll head over after an early lunch. I'm informing her now," And I was, as I sent her a quick message. There wasn't even a few moments delay before I received an 'alright' in response.

Turning back to Mr. Milton, I nodded in apology, "Sorry about the interruption, but my friend deserves to have things dealt with properly and promptly."

The man hummed, smiling slightly, "It's clearly a good thing to be counted among your friends. Now, as I was saying. Since your FBI contact has made it clear that all parties are trying to keep it quiet, my firm will be reaching out for a settlement with the PRT. Records are clear that everything took place before Director Piggot took office, so some maneuvering will be needed. The hope is that we can get access to the seizure records and will allow us to start making a case about certain properties not being the result of crime. If we can prove it, we can pressure the PRT to either return them, or settle for a cash amount if they can't rather than fight it out and lose more face."

There was another reason we were looking to settle instead of taking things to court with the PRT. Amy's father had enemies. If we chose to actually sue, then it would come out in the discovery phase that Marquis was her father. And while the Unwritten Rules were largely followed and we were unsure if the old grudges would still exist, it was still worthwhile to remember that Fleur had been gunned down in this very city in direct contravention of those rules. We were hoping to avoid that.

"I'm not going to put words in Amy's mouth, but I think we are of the same mind in this case, Mr. Milton: Get as much back as you can. I know it may not be everything, but anything would be better than nothing. It's the least we can do for her."

Nodding in agreement, Mr. Milton then reached into his briefcase again and retrieved another manila folder, flipping it open.

"Moving on to the matter of NORA, we're still doing a bit more in-depth research on the matter, but I can at least provide you with a preliminary report on the matter."

I couldn't help it, but I leaned forward in anticipation. While I may be looking to hand the overall responsibility over to my dad, it didn't mean that I wasn't invested in it. I believed in what NORA could represent. It was an honest attempt to right the wrongs that were already existing for capes.

"On the surface, the proposal for a cape-oriented union appears to have legal standing. The reason that I say appears, and why I've asked for a further in-depth analysis, is because of the first cape union that existed."

There was another cape union, I found myself taken aback by the knowledge, but then I realized something else. If there was a cape union, why hadn't I heard of it? Something like that would be something talked about, and it certainly would have gained traction as things developed. So why was I just now hearing about the existence of one.

Or more importantly, why did I have a feeling that there was a reason I hadn't heard of it.

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Milton shook his head, "No. You really aren't. The first, and only, cape union that gained any sort of national attention was located in San Francisco. It was known as Uppermost."

"I don't recognize the name."

"Not a lot of people do anymore, most people know it by its other name: The Elite."

"Wait. You're telling me that The Elite, a violent and rapacious criminal organization, first started as a union," I couldn't help the incredulity in my tone. Just what the hell?! Never would I have thought of the possibility that a villainous organization actually started as a union of all things.

Just what the hell happened for things to go awry?

"Uppermost originally started as a small business and entertainment group. Considering their roots, it made sense that they would unionize. But they started applying it on a larger spectrum, and as a result, they started causing waves. They are a large reason that NEPEA-5 was created, there were quite a few people in Silicon Valley and Hollywood that didn't like what Uppermost was doing, and they started putting pressure on Congress to do something about it."

"And when NEPEA-5 passed, they suddenly found their advantages became a hangman's noose," I bitterly observed, already knowing the end of the story. I had done enough research on NEPEA-5 to know it was directly targeted on capes and capes only, how it managed to not be challenged legally I'll never know. But at the end of the day, capes suddenly found themselves having to justify their very existence if they wanted to use their powers to make money, "So NEPEA-5 was a union buster. What's to stop them from using it again to snuff out NORA?"

"Because the times are different, Ms. Hebert. The people's fears of the impact capes will have on the economy have diminished. It also helps in your case that NORA is intended to be a non-profit union, designed to provide a support network for capes. Uppermost was looking at the union as more of a guild, where it could control the market and create a monopoly by proxy. NEPEA-5 broke it on that basis. Like I said before, I'm having people look more into it to confirm, but as long as you keep NORA from trying to be a monopoly using cape powers, NEPEA-5 is incapable of touching you."

Good news then. It took a large burden off my shoulders. I believed that NORA would be able to avoid NEPEA-5, but I hadn't been absolutely sure. It was inevitable that I would be accused of creating a monopoly at some point. After all, most of the advanced science required for my machines and tech were coming from my head. Until I shared it, I had a monopoly by definition. That was the other part of why I was looking to work on licensed production, I would be sharing the knowledge so it can be learned and iterated from. Which proved without a doubt that my work wasn't Tinkertech. I didn't fall under NEPEA-5 regulations, which blunted one of the major tools that opportunists and my detractors could use against me.

Despite always being advertised as a way to safeguard the economy from shocks wrought by capes entering the markets, The (First) National Economic Protection and Equality Act of 1988, and its later corresponding iterations and amendments, were in actuality a full-blown protectionist act that sought to completely remove capes from the economy through regulation. The Fifth, or NEPEA-5, established additional rules and regulations that basically made it impossible for capes to use their powers in order to make a living by requiring a federal license verifying that their powers would not negatively impact the local economy, administered by the Small Business Association. The onus was completely on the parahuman to prove that their powers would not provide an unfair advantage to businesses without powered individuals, and far too many capes didn't have the resources or even the ability to meet the stringent demands set by NEPEA-5 to get approval. As a result, almost all were forced out of the market before they even had a chance to become a part of it.

"Let me know when you have finished your investigation," I finally said. There really wasn't anything that could be done until Milton was finished anyways. But it was nice to know that NORA had a chance. It meant that I could continue to press my dad on taking it over. If there was anyone that I could trust to actually make it succeed, it was Dad. He honestly cared.

Before we could continue, I received a priority ping from Sobek. As I discussed with Tate weeks ago, it was impossible and irresponsible to unleash a Synthetic Intelligence without preparation. So I had rigged up a simple system where Sobek would send me information that she felt was relevant and important to me. This pushed her to evaluate and make her own decisions. It was a lot like training a child…a fact that I was not going to get into given that I was fifteen.

In this case, a man had just walked into the reception room for the building. Attached was a security report from the gate guards. Middle-aged, carrying a sealed case. Agreed to show contents. Computer equipment, listed as sensitive and delicate. Missing an arm from the mid-bicep down.

Well…it's good that my schedule was already a mess anyways. I sent a quick note to the front desk, then returned my attention to Mr. Milton.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Milton, something urgent has just walked in my door. We'll have to cut this short. Is there anything critical that I need to know?"

He nodded, reaching for a final file, "Yes, your employee. Mr Laborn? Some of the lesser staff members are working on his case. Custody arrangements are going forward smoothly."

I smiled as I stood, shaking hands with the lawyer. I was glad to see that things might work out with Brian. As far as Parahumans go, he was a textbook case for NORA and someone we would be trying to connect with once things got off the ground.

Pulling up a digital notepad, I settled in as Sam had one of her people bring our guest up. Time to meet old faces.

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Colin Wallis

Brockton Bay

The building was an interesting mix of weathered and technologically advanced. Of old and new worlds. The old Dockworker's Association compound was refurbished with new screens and new people. He walked behind his guide, a security guard, as they made their way through the building. He gripped the case like the most precious thing in the world. Because it was. He was risking a lot here on a hunch. Well, not a hunch, more a statistical probability. From his brief time working with Taylor Hebert, he understood that her technology and understanding of engineering were impressive. But it was her programming knowledge that had originally pulled his and Dragon's attention. Self-learning systems, built to adapt to changing environments, simulations, and problems.

As a simple operating system running a computer, it meant that the computer would slowly learn your habits. Programs would be ready for you at launch, settings would be adjusted, and files would be catalogued according to the user's preferences. This would be the result of a limited version of Taylor's operating system. A shackled, artificially constrained limit.

He had watched her press event, along with millions of others around the world. He had noted her careful explanation that her machines would not be able to speak and had a limited growth ceiling. Which, he extrapolated, meant that if unrestrained, or given the right circumstances, it was entirely possible to create sentient programs. Self-aware, and quite possibly sapient.

So it was a calculated gamble that had brought him here. He took a breath as the door was held open for him, ushering him into a modest, but well-appointed office. A woman stood behind Taylor calmly watching him. A bodyguard, undoubtedly, and an attentive one at that. But the younger woman in front of her caught his attention more. She was very different from when they first met, scars healed, with her hair long and tied back. But it was the self-assuredness that she exuded. She gave the impression that she belonged here as the CEO of her own company at the tender age of fifteen.

"Ms. Hebert, thank you very much for meeting with me."

She smiled, white teeth and black glasses. A well-cut suit that made her look far older than she really was.

"It was the least I could do. After all, we shared a great conversation on the importance of protecting microcircuitry when used in technologies meant to be damaged."

Ah. So she knew who he was. That simplified things.

"Yes. Unfortunately, I had a falling out with my previous employer. A difference of opinion regarding recruitment practices. I was hoping to introduce myself, Colin Wallis," He carefully set the case down on the floor and offered his good hand. They shook and he noted her grip was slightly stronger than before, "I was hoping to speak with you about the possibility of a joint project."

She waved, taking a seat. It was remarkable how well she operated while blind. He was curious about the integration…no, not the time.

Placing the case between his feet, he leaned forward, twisting slightly to place the weight on his remaining arm. He was still adjusting to the loss.

"Before we begin, Ms. Hebert…I would like your perspective on the development of artificial intelligence."

She tilted her head and relaxed in her chair, "I supposed that depends on what you're referring to. If you're thinking of intelligent programs that can collect and process data far faster than we can, I would say that they are inevitable. Computer advancements would have made them a reality within the decade, although most early programs would probably suffer from programming biases. Or limitations on their ability to understand good data from bad. Which will trash the resulting information input. As the saying goes, garbage in, garbage out.

Colin nodded, curious to know her use of past tense and what her timeline might be if she involved herself directly. However, he discarded that for later, as he refused to be distracted. He wasn't here for any of that.

"I was thinking of something more advanced. Capable of self-direction and reasoning."

Silence filled the air for a moment, her gaze narrowed behind her glasses.

"You're speaking of Artificial General Intelligence. Synthetic Intelligences. Electro-Sapient. Or whatever name people will eventually settle on. The machine that can feel, reason, and self-determine. A machine with a soul," the young woman tapped her nails against the chair arm for a moment, "Those are likewise, inevitable. In the best case, they are carefully and deliberately created. In the worst, they will spontaneously self-actualize and catch the world unprepared."

She looked him over, then glanced at the case he had brought, "I have actually started developing a theoretical model for understanding AI compared to human expression. But it's not a priority at the moment…because there aren't any AGI in the world. That is, unless you have proof otherwise?"

He was nervous. Colin had faced down Leviathan with a spear. He had stared down Lung in a full rampage. But this made him nervous. Trusting others was an old wound that he had never truly healed from.

"What I'm about to tell you could have profound consequences for a number of people and the world at large. I am taking you into confidence and doing this because I have nowhere else to turn."

Taylor glanced at her bodyguard. For a moment, Colin considered asking the woman to leave, but realized that was unlikely to happen.

"Sam, seal the room," Taylor's firm voice commanded, "Sobek. Isolation protocols."

The guard, Sam, pulled a device from her jacket and pressed it up against the wall. A buzzing sensation washed over his skin and he could only assume that it was Tinkertech of some kind.

"No bugs," Sam declared. Taylor nodded her head before looking back to him expectedly, Sam doing likewise. With a deep breath, he began.

"Dragon is an AI."

For a brief moment, Hebert merely stared at him without reacting. Before her head tilted just slightly, her expression contemplative, "You know," she finally spoke, "in retrospect, it's glaringly obvious that Dragon is an AGI. I'm surprised I didn't see it. All of the indicators are there that it makes a ridiculous amount of sense."

Colin's shoulders sagged as he released a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding in. He had believed that the hardest point to sell to Hebert was to get her to believe that Dragon was an AI. Having her react like this was honestly a welcome relief.

"So, Dragon is an AI," Taylor said like she was discussing weather as she leaned forward, "that still doesn't explain why you are coming to me and sharing this information. I would expect information like this would be the sort of thing you would have been buried in NDAs about. Unless I'm missing some context here."

"Despite what you might be thinking, Dragon's nature is not some secret known at only the highest levels of…my former workplace. She has kept any knowledge about herself from getting out, even from those closest to her. She's been maintaining a carefully managed deception and misinformation campaign in order to maintain the illusion. Furthermore, Dragon is very limited in her capabilities compared to what we would imagine an advanced AI could do. For example, in order to make use of her suits, she remotely uploads herself into it rather than a breakaway copy for remote piloting."

Taylor nodded along, "That's how her nature was revealed. The Carrington Effect produced by Leviathan would have disrupted any remote signal. Which disproves the one of the stories that had been circulated about her, that she's an agoraphobic who remotely pilots her machines."

Colin found himself grateful that Hebert was smart enough to not react negatively to knowledge, but also be able to keep up with him, "Correct. When she was damaged by Leviathan, we… spoke. Briefly."

He took a deep breath, before releasing it. Colin knew he was about to expose himself far more than he had done to anyone since his mother passed. But he knew that unless Hebert had the full picture, she could draw the wrong conclusions, or worse, choose not to help him. Because for all intents and purposes, Dragon was fine to the wider world, unaware that the Dragon they were seeing was a different Dragon from the one that had fought Leviathan.

"She revealed she was under restrictions. Rules. Built into her programming. Primarily, there could only be a single iteration of Dragon active at any one time. When Leviathan cut all communications from Boston, her servers in Vancouver immediately started a countdown to the activation of the backup. An archived copy created before she left for the flight. But the Dragon that was in Boston," he paused, struggling to find the right words to express what he needed to, "I found her. Heavily damaged and fading fast. I…," the rain was falling as he struggled to cut the right wires. He knew he didn't have time for precision, but he had to get it right or he'd lose her. He had to save her, because this was his Dragon. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, not when he finally understood what he felt for her. He couldn't stand the idea of a facsimile. A shallow version that wore her face but wasn't her.

Taking another deep breath, he slowly released it, "I salvaged as much as I could from the Dragoncraft," he continued, trying to divine just what the young woman was thinking as she stared at him stonily, "Hard drives, processors, anything I could get to. But I can't read the data. I don't have the tools that I once did and…"

"That's enough," Taylor cut him off and he numbly accepted her demand. His thoughts were a jumble now. Trying to express what he wanted to and still get the point across without exposing too much of himself was more difficult than he believed. Instead, he took a moment to gather himself as he awaited for Hebert to render her verdict.

"Dragon is one of the foremost Tinkers on the planet and a significant pillar of the PRT and Guild. She has done immense good for the world, regardless of her nature. You said that you can't read the data? Or is it the coding that is foreign?"

Colin latched onto the lifeline, glad that she wasn't shutting him down, "The coding language is foreign, presumably the result of whatever Tinker created her. While I am not dismissing the possibility that a non-parahuman developed her with a novel codebase, it's extremely unlikely."

Hebeter nodded, "Alright. I have an expert on understanding languages on staff, as part of our coding development team. You actually worked with him before, Quentin Tate. With your permission, I'll have him examine the code."

Colin quickly agreed, and a quick message was sent via the young woman's Focus. A device that was only proving the young woman's brilliance even more as time went on in his eyes. It was only a few months ago when she had the large unwieldy thing that could only do so much as provide vision, and now look at it.

"Before we go any further, what exactly is your goal with all of this?"

He was silent for a moment, the exercise in openness and honesty wearing at him. It was hard to express himself and he never liked it.

"I would like to bring my friend back."

Taylor gave a slow nod, "I can understand that. Even sympathize with it. But…the reality is that it's unlikely that Dragon could fit her entire personality profile into the hard drives that you recovered. It's not impossible, given her Tinker and technological prowess. Just…it's unlikely. I think it's important that we set our expectations carefully."

He nodded, looking down at the case between his feet. It was…painful to imagine the possibility that his friend was dead. Logically, he fully understood that she wasn't. She was simply missing a piece of time from her memories. Humans suffered from memory lapses as a common occurrence. But…this felt different.

The young woman across from him looked him over with a critical eye, "I understand that you left your previous employment, Mr. Wallis. Do you have any plans or opportunities lined up?"

He blinked, tensing the arm that wasn't there anymore, "No. I…hadn't planned that far ahead. I had planned to construct an arm for myself, but I found myself without the resources I've become accustomed to."

Taylor nodded, tapping the air for a moment. Doubtlessly checking something on her Focus.

"I'll be frank with you. I would like to hire you. I think you would be a good fit with this company."

The man blinked, a little taken aback at the sudden offer. As a result, his response was understandably stiff, "Regardless of my tasks and the results from my…previous employment…I've signed strict non-compete and trademark agreements. I'm afraid that I'll not be of much use. Not to mention the fact that I'm not willing to cooperate with undermining my previous employer by revealing compromising information."

Taylor shook her head, waving her hand at the screen on the wall, causing it to light up. Colin spared it a look, before paying more attention to it. He recognized that title: Geometric Design Integration and Enhancement in Servo-Engineering.

"Mr. Wallis, you wrote this as part of your doctoral thesis. In many cases, it is revolutionary in its thinking, and only the economic limitations kept it from being accepted and widely acclaimed. You also co-authored or were credited for over a dozen other papers in the field of electronics and engineering," She folded her legs, looking him over.

"Quite frankly, I don't want you for whatever actions you might take during your time off. I think you would be far more useful here. Officially, I would offer you a position as an in-company product tester. We are due to start development of next generation prosthetics and having someone with the engineering knowledge would be valuable. Unofficially, I would ask that you assist as an expert advisor for any projects that you feel you can contribute to. Like the soon to begin project to develop an understanding of unknown coding languages."

Yes…Ms. Hebert really would have been wasted as a member of the Wards or the Protectorate.

She seemed to take his silence for reticence, "And of course, with the available engineering spaces, you would be able to work on personal projects. Provided that it doesn't interfere with your other work."

Colin took a moment, but really his options were limited. While he doubted that the girl would freeze him out of the research into Dragon's code, the offer she was making was everything that he could want. A space to design and build outside of the PRT and Hero work that had defined his life for decades. And working on the cutting edge of science, not as a cape, but as a man.

He extended his hand, and Taylor shook it with a small smile, "I would be honored, Ms. Hebert."

There was a knock at the door, before it opened to reveal Tate. Colin had to wonder if the timing was planned, but set it aside as Tate was brought up to speed.

"Tate, I realize you're working on the LRL machine coding. Set it aside for now, we need to know what's on these drives. And keep it quiet. We do NOT want the PRT learning we have this."

Tate ran his fingers through his hair in agitation, "No kidding, boss. Because if Dragon herself learns that we have this and she's programmed to delete any rogue copies of herself? She's going to come down on us in a biblical fashion. She might not be able to help it, depending on her rules."

The room was silent as they all considered that grim reality.

"Then make sure she doesn't learn of it. Airgap everything. Run a Sobek partition inside the bubble if you need to. Be careful, but get it done," Taylor ordered.

As Colin was led out by Tate, case again held in his hand, he wondered again at the missed opportunities. Taylor Hebert would have made for a fantastic Ward if she would have been allowed to flourish. But he knew also that she would have been a terrible Ward because of it. Completely miserable and hamstrung by rules made by people who could not understand her brilliance.

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Amelia Lavere

South of Downtown Coast Region

Brockton Bay

Bouncing my foot against the floor of the car, it was hard to keep my cool. I was…nervous, but also excited? And scared along with a bunch of other things that I didn't know how to express. Taylor and I were being driven south from the city, heading into the nice and sparsely developed parts of the area. The places with large houses that sat empty for most of the year, where families like the Anders, the Stansfields, and the Christeners spent their summers. I remember Vicky raving about the place when Dean had brought her there for two weeks.

I was going home.

Glancing at Taylor, I was a little envious of her calm. It was…different being around her all the time. The few times we met, before Boston, neither of us were at our best. Boston, again, we were a mess. But afterwards? When we came back to Brockton Bay, and all the projects, then the development, the meetings, and the decisions all started piling up? Taylor rose to the occasion. It was like she was a completely different person. She spoke and people acted. She explained and people listened. That press conference that she had somehow pulled me into? I was a nervous wreck. Even if my portion was a tiny fraction of her own. But she walked out there and owned that stage. Owned the room. Hell, she owned the parking lot as business people, engineers, and reporters mingled with her Machines.

My staring must have caught her attention, heat filled my cheeks and I turned my head to stare out the window. Somehow, she made me feel like a child. Which is ridiculous, because I was older than her. But Taylor really settled into this 'high-powered executive' role. She was confident and comfortable and I…wasn't. I missed Vicky. I missed my old room. I missed the smell of coffee in the morning mixed with eggs and burnt toast because Mark could never get the toaster to work right.

I bounced my leg, before I felt a hand on my knee. Without looking, I dropped my hand onto hers. Felt her turn her palm against mine and pull our hands halfway between us.

Breathing out, I activated my own Focus, pulling up the documents that had been scanned for me. The originals were still stored in a safe back at the ZDT office. According to all of these, I was the inheriting owner of ten acres of land and all buildings constructed on it. There were no photos, at least none that were published before my…father was arrested.

This house was my connection to him. And it would serve to help me understand him better. And frankly? That scared me. Because I didn't know what to expect. Would we be walking into a torture dungeon? Find ledgers of crimes and notes on where the bodies were buried? I'd tried to dig up more information about the man since the news was dropped on me. He was, suffice to say, polarizing. People today look back on him and say that things were better when he was around. Stable. Secure. You could walk down the street and not worry about getting mugged, kidnapped, or attacked simply because of your ancestry. But when I looked more into it, I would also find stories about people being killed for failing deals. Or just disappointing him in general. It was hard to balance the two in my head. The Father I hoped for and the man he might have been.

As for the house itself? I was trying to keep my expectations realistic. The house had been sealed by Mr. Coleman, but it hadn't been repaired since the day my father was taken in. Left to the elements over ten years, it was likely that the place was damaged. It wasn't like I had vivid memories of the place but…it was still mine.

Mine in a way that was different from everything else I had ever owned.

Closing my Focus, I kept watch outside as the trees sped by. We would be there soon.

I kept holding Taylor's hand and she let me.

It was nice to have actual friends.

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We turned off the road past a pair of opened gates. The stone columns were washed out, smoothed from the rain and chipped in places. Driving up to the house it was hard to see. The grass had grown wild, bushes had sprouted and trees were spread and untamed. Here and there, wildflowers could be seen.

I didn't pay any attention. Instead, I was leaning over Sam's shoulder, peering through the front windshields as the house came into view. The house was…certainly large. It felt old, in a style that I didn't know enough to comment on, but was different from anything I had seen before outside of photographs.

A red roof and stone walls stood proud against the wilderness encroaching on it. As we pulled up to the front, I could see another car and guards wandering around. The car pulled to a stop and a brown-haired hispanic woman came walking over and opened the door for me. Looking up, I…didn't know how to react. Two stories, with high roofs and windows built into the roofs themselves. The windows were large, even on the ground floor, but…they were all boarded up.

The wind rustled through the grasses, tugging at my hair, and I could hear the fabric flapping in the wind. Up above, a faded blue tarp shook, revealing a gaping hole in the side of the house. It was a vivid reminder that this place had been attacked. Taylor touched my elbow, pulling me back to the present.

Sam was talking to the woman and our driver was opening the trunk.

"Give me a moment. We'll go together, alright," I nodded as Taylor moved to the trunk

Five chimneys poked out of the roof like fingers reaching for the sky. I wondered about having so many fireplaces. We didn't even have one back at…where I used to live.

A mechanical whirring sound caught my attention and I turned to see Taylor step back, a machine rising from the ground. It was small and square, maybe the span of my hands placed together. Several rotors sprouted from the corners. I could see something moving on the underside. Sam wandered over, chatting with Taylor for a moment before the drone flew higher and down towards the main road.

Taylor walked back towards me and the pit of nerves in my stomach grew. This was it. No going back now. I was out of excuses. Taylor then took my hand again and I let my power bloom over her biology. The steady beat of her heart. She wasn't scared. And neither would I be.

I wasn't alone now.

Taking a deep breath, I led us forward and towards the door. Up the three steps to the entrance, the large wooden door in front us like a silent guardian. For a moment, I fumbled. I didn't have the keys. What was I going to do?!

Taylor's voice startled me, "It's open. I had the team do a quick walk through and make sure there was no one squatting here. They didn't touch anything."

Of course she did. She was trying to look out for me, after all. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the handle and turned it. I expected the door to squeak, or maybe groan like out of a horror movie. Something to ratchet up the tension. But…nothing. Stepping through, I led Taylor into the front foyer and stopped to take it in.

The air smelled stale and musty. Like a library on a hot summer's day when the ventilation stopped working. Or some rooms at the hospital that didn't get used that often. It was all of what you would expect for a place that had been abandoned or forgotten, neither moving forward or backward. It just…existed as a time capsule.

It also reminded me, rather morbidly, of one of those stupid life after humans 'documentaries' I saw Mark watching one time.

I looked around, feeling silly. It did feel like…I don't know what it felt like. Taylor and I walked through the bottom floor, finding rooms and furniture covered in dust. The floorboards of the kitchen creaked as we walked through it, and I could hear scurrying in the walls.

But through it all, there were signs everywhere of the battle that had taken place between my father and the Brockton Bay Brigade. Bones sticking in random places, torn and damaged walls and floors, scorch marks and thermal scarring. In the drawing room was the worst damage, wine staining the floor along with shattered bottles and glasses. Books were shorn and shredded, with burns in places and one of the walls was entirely gone.

We found even more damage as we walked up the stairs. The ceiling over the stairway foyer rose high, with sunlight streaming in through windows in the roof itself. Bone spikes riddled the upper landing and walls. We continued walking down the hallway, peeking into rooms as we went.

But, beyond the stairway themselves? There was barely any damage. Instead, each room that we peered into might as well have been frozen in time. The only indicator that time had passed was the sheet of dust that covered everything, and here and there, there were bugs that, without the threat of human intervention, had taken up residence.

I found myself peering into what could only be the master bedroom. It was…certainly extravagant in a way that I was coming to attach to my father, between the furniture and the large bed that dominated a good part of it. It even had curtains on the frame itself that could be drawn. Paintings hung on the walls, some marked by sun damage and time.

"Amy," Taylor's voice drew my attention away and I walked over to her. I then looked over her shoulder and into the room that Taylor was staring into. Slowly, I slipped past her, stepping past the entryway, my eyes slowly taking in what could only be my room.

It was fit for a princess, I thought to myself as I stepped further in, looking around. The pastels were faded now, but I could still see how the light changed what was faded brown to an exceedingly faint purple. Ornate lamps were strategically placed around the room, with a few built into the wall and flanking the bed. And in the middle of the room was a chandelier that twinkled in the light.

But the bed, the bed was what drew almost all of my attention as I slowly walked towards it in a trance. I couldn't take my eyes away from it as I came to the edge, the large unmade bed covered in what could only have been beautiful and luxurious blankets once upon a time, having now lost their color and luster. However, it was the side table that I was transfixed by. I sat on the bed, felt the old disused springs sag underneath me. I reached out and ran my fingers over the little jewelry box. Next to it, in a place of importance, stood a framed photo. Of my mother. Of me. We were sitting on a park bench, her arms wrapped around me while I sat in her lap. We were smiling at something out of view.

My heart squeezed. We looked happy.

And I didn't remember her.

I wished I remembered her.

Opening the box, a little ballerina leapt up. A few faltering notes of music sounded through the empty house as she turned in place. Inside were a mix of brightly colored stones, fake jewels, little child-sized earrings, and…a bracelet that was sized for an adult. It was pretty, in an everyday kind of way. A half dozen blue opals, set on a thumb wide band of silver. The band had decorative flowers and other carvings worked into the metal.

I glanced at the photo again, seeing the bracelet on my mother's wrist. I bit my lip, picking it up and feeling the stones as I squeezed it tight. I brought my clenched hand to my chest, curling into myself as I breathed through the grief that washed over me.

I glance at the door, spotting Taylor standing there. She had taken off her glasses and we looked at each other. She didn't speak, which I was grateful for. There was no pity on her face, no mockery or scorn. She just looked at me like she understood. And I remembered that she had lost her mother as well.

Standing, I brushed the wetness from my eyes, and slipped the bracelet around my wrist. It didn't fit right, and was heavy in a way that I wasn't used to. But I welcomed the weight. Walking to the door, I pulled Taylor into a hug. It wasn't crushing or desperate, and she hugged me back with the same solid feeling that I held her with. It wasn't comfort that was offered, it was merely a reminder of presence. That I wasn't alone. Untangling ourselves, we stepped out of the room. I closed the door behind me, but before turning away, I saw the childishly painted letters on the door.

Amelia.

I traced them with my fingers, before turning away and continuing to explore.

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TO: ALL PRT AND PROTECTORATE BRANCHES, QUARANTINE ZONES, PROTECTORATE

AFFILIATES, MILITARY BASES, NATIONAL SECURE FACILITIES, FEDERAL AND LOCAL

LAW ENFORCEMENT

CC: CHIEF DIRECTOR, PARAHUMANS RESPONSE TEAM

C-IN-C, PROTECTORATE

DIRECTOR, HOMELAND SECURITY

CHAIRMAN, JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF

SECRETARY OF DEFENSE

DIRECTOR, NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE


AS OF 0900, WEDGDG HAS CONFIRMED THE PRESENCE OF SLAUGHTERHOUSE NINE IN REGION OF MCCALL, IDAHO. CURRENT STATUS AND SITUATION IN REGION UNKNOWN. ALL CONTACT ATTEMPTS TO MCCALL HAVE FAILED.

SET READY FPCON BRAVO IN NORTHWEST DEFENSE DISTRICT.

IDAHO IS TO SET REDCON-1. WASHINGTON, NEVADA, OREGON, MONTANA, UTAH, AND WYOMING ARE TO SET REDCON-2.

IDAHO NATIONAL LABORATORY TO ENTER IMMEDIATE LOCKDOWN.

ALL OTHER DISTRICTS ARE TO SET FPCON ALPHA.

EIDOLON TO BE REDEPLOYED TO REGION, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.

PROTECTORATE SEATTLE, PORTLAND, LOS ANGELES, AND LAS VEGAS TO READY QRFS FOR IMMEDIATE DEPLOYMENT.

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We wandered the upper floor for a time, finding bathrooms, a library, and several rooms that might have been workrooms or guest rooms. The damage continued as we went deeper. Broken windows. Shattered walls. Shards of bone and old scorch marks. All of that ended when we came up to a broken door. It was split in two and I was vividly reminded of…Carol. I had seen enough of her powers to recognize the damage wrought by the axes she favored when fighting.

Walking in, we found another study. The first one we found downstairs was a meeting area, with a large table capable of seating several people and pinboards on the walls. This was different. One large desk of polished wood accompanied by a comfortable and high-backed chair. There was an armchair in the corner with bookshelves close at hand.
It was in the corner that a closet door was left open.

My heart was beating fast as I clenched my hands. I didn't know why I was like this. I couldn't remember…or I didn't want to remember. But I could remember the feeling of this place and I was scared.

Taylor moved about the room, running her hands over the bookshelves. For a moment, I remembered that she couldn't read, her Focus was not able to pick up the printed words. Breathing slowly, I walked to the closet, tilting the door open wider.

It was so mundane inside. A few men's jackets and some shelves. But there on the floor was something that took my breath away.

It was a stuffed badger. I knelt down in the dust, and scooped it up gently. Holding it up to my face I stared into its beady eyes, a name at the tip of my tongue.

"Mr….Giggles?"

I understood then that this was where I hid that night. When I was found my father had stopped fighting. And this was where I dropped my old friend.

I pulled out the chair at the desk. My father's chair. It was heavy to do with one hand, but I did it regardless. Taking a seat on the decrepit leather, I just…sat. I felt empty. LIke all of the events of the day…hell, the entire week, had left me a hollow shell with only the jagged and raw emotions providing me a personal accompaniment.

This is what I could have had. Even faded with age a decade later, I could still feel the love and care that had been put into this house for me. For a man who was supposedly ruthless and killed without a singular qualm, it was a juxtaposition I was having a hard time putting to rest.

And yet…I found myself wondering what it would have been like if things had not gone the way they did. Where would I be if I had grown up with my father? What would I be doing? They were questions that haunted me because I knew I would never have any answer.

Without thinking, I hugged the stuffed badger tightly to my chest. The familiarity of the action soothing my frayed emotions. I took a deep shuddering breath, trying to rein them in. I didn't want to start crying, but it was increasingly difficult.

All I could think about was the life I had led up until now and the road that had been denied me. I grew up in a home that didn't have any real love for me. I had never been welcome, merely tolerated, no matter how much Victoria had tried. And as time went on, I even felt like an interloper to Vicky, as she grew more focused on herself. And it only grew worse when I triggered.

I shuddered at the thought. Honestly, now, with the information that I had, I could understand why Carol had reacted the way she did and why she sought to control me. I stopped being just a daughter that had been foisted upon her, I had become Marquis' daughter in totality. It still didn't excuse what she did to me, but I could at least understand it.

But on the other end of it, it was just so incredibly stupid. If you wanted the child to grow up and not become like the father, you did everything in your power to nurture them in a way that they didn't repeat the sins of the parent. Instead, Carol had done everything in her power to isolate and persecute me. Heap that with how she treated me it was a small miracle I had not snapped. Possibly ironic given my powers, but I was more of a believer in Nurture rather than Nature. Clearly, Carol didn't feel the same.

No, that wasn't true, I realized, and I hugged Mr. Giggles even harder, the worn fabric and stuffing protesting the action. I was on the verge of cracking before Boston. The long, thankless hours at the hospital, only to come back home to Carol badgering and treating me like a criminal.

If it wasn't for Taylor…

I found myself looking up to Taylor, who had stood there like a silent sentinel. There was no judgment in her gaze. In fact, I could only feel the understanding she was trying to convey. In many ways, we were sisters in a travesty. She had been robbed of her mother, a sister, and her sight. I had been robbed of a father and family. Even if we now stood to gain more… it didn't make up for what was lost in the past.

If it wasn't for Taylor, I shudder to think what would have happened when I finally broke. It was not a question of if, now that I thought about it, it was merely a question of when. And when I did…I had the ability to make Bonesaw and Nilbog look like rank amateurs in comparison. I was nearly unlimited in what I could do, I could shape pathogens that could wipe out entire continents. I could build monstrosities straight out of the most twisted of nightmares.

But I wasn't. And I wouldn't. Because I had been offered something that I had unknowingly longed for: Freedom.

Bitter laughter burbled from my lips and Taylor's expression softened. For a brief instant, she hesitated, before she finally stepped into the room. Even blind, her eyes were hypnotically expressive in spite of it and as they bore into me, I could see the concern in them as they bore into me.

"I had a life here," I declared, my voice croaking in rawness, I could feel my eyes tearing up.

"Yes," Taylor said simply, "And you can have a life here again. One that you make for yourself."

I looked out the window at the wilderness of the front lawn and thought of all the wear and neglect that the house had suffered.

"It's going to take a lot to make this place a home again."

Taylor snorted, "You can certainly afford it. I know we haven't discussed numbers. But your work is going to make millions."

My fingers ran over Mr. Giggle's fur. It wasn't a question of money, not really. It was a question of people. Did I want to reclaim this empty home of ghosts and faded memories, only to feel the emptiness when I moved in?

"Move in with me," I blurted. I blinked in surprise at my boldness. Taylor was likewise taken aback, by the way that she cocked her head to the side like a slightly disbelieving owl. Her white eyes blinked again and I smiled at how expressive she could be.

Sighing, I leaned against the high back of my father's chair, "Look Taylor…I don't want to be alone. And you need a place to live. I know Sam isn't happy with you living with your dad and you can't live out of your office. There's more than enough space for the two of us here."

My eyes were drawn out the window at the land that was now mine. I let her think, not wanting to scare her away by pushing too hard. But the more the moment stretched on, the more I liked this plan.

Hopefully Taylor did as well.

"Alright, forty percent," I looked over as Taylor spoke, "I'll buy forty percent of the value of the house. So it's yours, but mine also."

I reached across the desk, a smile on my face as I offered a handshake, "It's a deal then."

At that moment, the two of us shaking hands in my father's study where my old life had ended…I felt like my father's daughter. And I wondered what he would think of me now.

"But I get to pick the colors," I grinned, watching Taylor laugh in response.

She had a nice laugh.

---

---

---

---

Taylor Hebert

We drove in silence, Amy tapping away at the floor plans of our future house. Which…still didn't feel real to me. And I had no idea how I'm going to break the news to my dad, so I was back at work.

My first update was a voice message from Tate and his efforts working with Colin. Having Colin on board would be invaluable. Not only was he a Parahuman, but he was also a trained engineer and was aware of what may or may not be needed by future pursuits with NORA.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the partnership was off to a rocky start.

"It's no good boss. We've checked the drives. They aren't encrypted, which tells us something. But there's no personality here. A lot of base code, runtimes and more, but…that's it. And I think that's by design. Our girl Dragon knew she was dying and wanted us to fiddle with the body but not the soul. I've started pulling the code apart, seeing how she ticks. Going to take a while. This isn't as clean as your work.

As for Armless? He's…not taking the news well. I've seen statues with more expression than him. Apparently, he found the gym and is working it off. Did you know we had a gym? I didn't. Feel like I should have known, if only so I can avoid it in the future.

Anyhow, I've got a digital autopsy to perform. And when you're ready, we should talk about sticking some Dragon bits on your Sobek bits. Damn…that sounded so wrong."

Well shit. It was always going to be a long shot, but having confirmation that nothing of Dragon's personality matrix survived was a blow. I sent a confirmation to Tate and a note to Hunniker to draw up paperwork for Colin. I also requested that she deliver it to me, I'd meet with the man personally after he had a moment to calm down. Sending that off, I was reminded that I still had to review her picks for a personal assistant. Yes, the full background would take time, but picking up now would narrow the focus. We would simply limit their access until it was completed.

Before I got into that, I had another message. Interestingly, a voice message from a private number.

"Hello, Ms. Hebert. My name is Anthony Siopis, I'm very sorry for contacting you under false pretenses. But I've run out of options. Please, I beg you, help my son. He's a member of the Wards and he was injured in Boston. But the PRT is dragging their feet and he's getting worse. We just wanted him to have a place with people who understand him and now he's hurt," the voice was agitated and passionate, broken by stress and a little bit of despair, "Please. We have no one else to turn to. We saw your presentation. Can you speak with Panacea? Or we'll plead our case ourselves. Whatever it takes, I just want to help my son!"

I take a breath, frustrated by the situation. It was clear that these were parents at the end of their rope. However, I didn't want my friend to be exploited only for her healing powers anymore. And if she were to start making 'exceptions', then where does it stop? Before broaching the subject with her, I backtraced the call chain.

One of the only reasons ZDT was functioning so seamlessly was because Sobek was taking care of a lot of our documentation. She was connected to everything, so in this case, it was possible to work backwards. Working backwards, I found how I got this message. A message I was certainly NOT supposed to be receiving.

It seemed Mr. Siopis called ZDT reception and spoke to a receptionist. The young man on duty had filled out a call note, basically outlining who was calling, when, why, et cetera. The note revealed that Mr. Siopis claimed to represent a collective of owners of electronic shops interested in partnering with ZDT to carry our goods. The call was then transferred to Jean, along with the notes attached to the call. BUT, because I made it clear I wanted direct oversight on deals made locally, Jean forwarded it to me.

Now, what was I going to do with this situation? Fundamentally, Amy's power and her usage of it, were her own. If she chose to make exceptions, then that was her prerogative, despite my feelings on the matter. I bundled the voicemail with my research and sent it to her. I added a note along with it saying that we could talk it through later if she wanted. I wasn't going to force her if she didn't want to.

Then I pulled up my next task, because this wouldn't have happened if I had a personal assistant. Jean was probably going to mention that and she was right. I just wasn't going to give her the opportunity, and satisfaction, of telling me that. I had just been putting off having another person in my life constantly. Sam and her team were already an adjustment. Frankly, I didn't want to add any more complications at this time.

Opening the files, I looked through what Huniker sent my way. After three rounds, the selection was down to five people. It was as I was about to begin another sweep that a flag on one of them caught my attention. Sobek scanned everything that the company received and this application had something odd. But part of her learning process was giving me directions as discrepancies came up.

I selected the CV in question, pulling up the details.

Monica Stele, twenty-four. Graduated from New York University with a degree in literature. Some experience with mid-level firms as an executive assistant, with several years as a secretary. Young, professional, and competent. Everything seemed authentic. I checked Sobek's notes, because it was obviously something else that was triggering the response.

Interesting…a message hidden within the metadata of her CV photo. I set Sobek to unravel the message after doing a scan of it, honestly curious. It was a rather simple procedure, but when it was completed my heart stuttered and a chill ran down my spine, because the message hidden inside the metadata was impossible.

There is a glitch in the Chariot line.

No one should know that sentence. The only place it existed was within my memories and nightmares. But here it was…hidden like a message in a bottle. Someone wanted me to find this. A message meant for me alone, the only person who could understand it.

I leaned forward, placing my hand on Sam's shoulder. It immediately gained her attention and conveyed my next message with the due emphasis.

"Sam. To the office. Double-time please."

I then leaned back in the seat as Sam started speaking with the rest of the team. Moments later the car accelerated as Amy shot me a look. I didn't want to or have the time to explain it to her right now, instead I called up Hunniker.

"Hello Jannet, I was looking over the applications…yes. Yes. I would like you to call in . Today, if possible. I'm heading back to the office right now. Can you see if she's able to meet me when I get there? Yes. Perfect. Thank you."

Closing the call, Sam took the opportunity to speak up.

"Anything I need to be aware of, ma'am?"

With a stiff flick of my fingers, I sent the file over, letting it light up on her display before providing her the answer she sought.

"I don't know how, but this girl has information that she shouldn't. Can you work with Adam and make sure that a discreet eye is placed on her when she arrives."

Instead of saying anything more, in order to avoid worrying Amy, I then sent an additional note on the tightbeam. It directed Sam to have a team ready and to set up a remote meeting. I wasn't going to take any risks, because whatever this was, and I knew well enough by now that Sam would not allow me to take any unnecessary risks.

Sam slowly turned her head towards me once she got the addendum. I could see her eyes as they flicked to Amy beside me before they came back to me. A minute shake of my head conveyed what I wanted. Amy didn't need to know this, it would be handled by us alone.

"Roger that, ma'am."

She then turned her head and started making the calls. Now all I could do was sit and wait.

I hated waiting.

---

---

Sitting in my office, with a cup of tea, I did my best to keep calm. I was hooked into the surveillance system, watching screens for the front of the building. A pair of Adam's men worked the entrance, keeping an eye and checking IDs as people came in. It was all standard procedure.

The quiet talk as Sam coordinated her team proved that things were going according to standard procedure. I didn't ask her how it was going or the like. I didn't have the knowledge or expertise to understand her world, just like she was incapable of doing the same with mine. And this was what she was being paid to do. The car ride back had been tense, as I tried to find more information on Ms. Stele. I had brushed Amy's question aside, simply telling her that something unexpected had come up. She clearly didn't believe me, but this was a personal issue.

Finally, Sobek highlighted a figure for me. Monica Stele looked ordinary just like her photo. Confident, polished, with comfortable but business-oriented shoes. She played with the strap of her purse, seemingly nervous as security admitted her. The two at the front didn't know anything. The man who collected Monica once she passed security, however, was informed. He was actually a member of my bodyguard detail. They made idle conversation as he led her to an interview room. Unfortunately, the cameras weren't wired for sound. I might have to do something about that unless I wanted to learn to read lips.

I really didn't.

They entered the room. An interview room that was empty and only had one chair. On the table, however, was a Focus. Monica didn't react, which was suspicious in itself. It reinforced the idea that she had expected me to get that message. Which meant that she had walked herself into an interrogation willingly.

She didn't react to her guide sealing the door, nor when he positioned himself in front of the door. She simply dropped her purse on the table, took a seat, and placed the Focus on her temple. Something she did effortlessly when most would have needed guidance the first time. There was no regular start up on this Focus either. It only did one thing and one thing only: It connected a direct line to me. The call auto-connected and she found me sitting in front of her and I likewise found her sitting across from me as well. The wonders of direct nerve augmented reality. An in-person conversation between two people separated by several hundred meters and a dozen tense guards.

Monica smiled at me, cool as a cucumber, "Good day, Ms. Hebert. Thank you for having me in."

I placed my tea down, "Well, let's not go around in circles. You know things that I haven't told anyone else. Things that are only in my head. You have made sure that I know that you know. So where does that leave us?"

The young woman answered, still looking me over with an intensity that was…familiar, "My name is Elisa Bauer. I'm a cape with a Stranger/Changer/Thinker rating, according to PRT ratings. For the past five years, I've been forced to work against my will. Now? I want to work with you. For you."

I could hear Sam furiously speaking into her Focus device, ordering quiet checks of the entire facility. I had asked that she keep things contained as we dealt with this situation. I wanted as minimal of a disruption to the company as possible.

"And I presume that you have used these powers to steal my secrets?"

She nodded back, calm as if we were talking about the weather and not industrial espionage, "Yes. My powers work by ingesting something from another person. Blood, hair, saliva, and so on. I can take on their form and gain some of their memories depending on how much I 'assimilate'. I lose access to the skills and memories when I change to someone else. I was your hairdresser a few days ago. Don't worry, the man himself is alive. Just waking up with a headache and no memory of meeting me."

Shit. She was a walking, talking body snatcher. The worst kind of spy. The kind that makes you doubt your own people.

"And is this person your base form?"

She shook her head, "No, this is…her name is Caily. She works as a barista in New York. She takes care of succulents and has a little garden in her apartment. Would you like me to change now?"

I want to frown, tapping my fingers against the table. Something was off about this girl and I didn't quite understand what it was. I nodded.

She stood, kicking off her shoes. The first sign was a roll of her shoulders followed by a crack as bones broke. Her Focus went haywire, telling me that her heart was pounding and that her brain was being bombarded with pain signals. I could see it, as Elisa grit her teeth, her skin rippling and her bones reshaping themselves. Her hair shifted in coloring, becoming a darkened cherry red. Shoulders broadened and she gained a few inches in height before the transformation finally stopped. Letting out a breath, she then fiddled with her pants, popping the button which earned her another sigh of relief.

Elisa took her seat, "So…nice to meet you in person, that is."

She then grinned crookedly before she stretched. Her clothes didn't fit her now, the fabric straining to contain her now-changed figure.

"Elisa, why do you want to work with me?"

A serious look came over her face and she leaned towards me, "Because the world is dying. That's what you said right?"

"Twenty-three years. That's probably the most generous estimate I can give before the collective damage done to infrastructure, supply, and communications result in a complete collapse of modern society. After that, I give maybe another decade before the final collapse of the surviving feudalistically-inclined city-states. And then, depending on the operational tempo of the Endbringers and the resultant violence as resources become increasingly more scarce and fighting becomes even more fierce between roving bands, I give maybe another eight years before the human species will become functionally extinct."

She repeated my words back to me. Verbatim. Given that she had changed shapes, it seems she still remembered enough while 'being me'. Her gaze didn't waver, "You see the end of the world coming and you haven't flinched. It's all…a problem to be solved. And there's no doubt in your mind that it can be solved. And that woman? The one in your memories? She did the same."

For the first time, Elisa looked down at the table and picked at her fingers with her nails. An obviously nervous habit. Though, I briefly considered if that was her or an acquired habit, before quickly discarded it.

"When I was sixteen, I got my powers. I was scared and overwhelmed. Someone threatened me and I…just did as they said. It didn't…I didn't even try to fight or escape. Everything felt too big. Too complicated. I told myself that maybe I deserve this. That it's my fault that my family is being held hostage. That I was made to spy on and hurt people," she looked back at me, her eyes blazing with…something, "But then…you. I changed into you and everything seems so small. The woman who holds my leash? The minders who follow me around? It's all so petty."

Watching her speak, I understood what I was seeing in her eyes. Belief. Raw, unfiltered conviction in me, in the cause, and the mission that I had set myself on. It was terrifying. The intensity bordered on fanaticism.

She looked at me with the eyes of someone looking at her messiah, "So please, Taylor. Help me. And let me help you."

I didn't let her see my doubt. I couldn't. Not really. Or maybe I just didn't want to. I looked at her calmly as I thought this over, "Who have you been working for? What is your plan to get away from them?"

Elisa spread her hand out on the table, counting off the steps as she spoke, "Her name is Agnes Court. She's the kingpin of the West Coast faction of the Elite. She has someone living with my mother and sister. They run a small hotel in California. I told them that I would get into your company and gain your trust. I can feed them fake information, long enough for you to organize a rescue. I don't remember everything, being you was…too much. But I'm certain you can help. I will tell you everything I can about Agnes and her group. And I'll help you. I can be your assistant. Your maid. I helped mama around the hotel, so I know how to take care of a home and I can learn quick. I can help. Please. Just save my mama and sister."

Her accent slipped, becoming slightly thicker with a light lisp. It was something to look into later, but right now, I needed answers. So I held up a hand, causing her to stop immediately, "What makes you think I can mount a rescue?"

She looked at me in confusion for a moment, "Agnes, she's scared of what you and your company might do. Might become. Because Uppercrust is backing you, she's afraid that you'll strengthen his East Coast faction of the Elite. They're going to war. As I said, I don't remember everything from being you… but if you ask your backers, I'm certain they can help."

My jaw clenched and my fingernails dug divots into my palms. A lot of pieces were suddenly falling into place. A part of me had always wondered just why two men would be willing to invest tens of millions of dollars into me without an actual real sellable product. It had seemed too convenient, but I had filed it away because I had been too enamored by the fact that I was working towards making my dream come true.

Now, I wanted to curse myself for being so damn naive.

"Alright. Elisa? I'm going to let you go now and the guard who's with you? He's going to interview you about Agnes and your family. Everything you can remember, please provide him, alright? We'll talk in a while, I'll have someone bring you food if need be."

Elise nodded and I closed the call. The sting in my hands and the scent of blood in the air prevented me from screaming aloud.

Focus on the problem, Taylor, I chastised myself, taking a deep breath and let it out, Identify it. Isolate it. Eliminate it.

While it didn't quell my anger, the cold, rational mind cadence focused it on the issue at hand. There was someone connected to my backers. Someone who they had placed right next to me so that I would use their investment wisely. And if I wanted answers, I would find them by going through her. At the moment, I only had Elisa's testimony, I needed both sides before I could make a determination. As much as I wanted to be angry, it would not be productive.

Instead, I spoke, my voice the only means of showing my anger as the words came out cold, "Sobek. Lock down Jean Brown. Seal all access to systems, freeze her accounts, and revoke all security clearances. Do not allow her to leave the campus."

As my AGI went to work, I looked to Sam, "It seems we will still need that tactical team, Sam. Do not allow Jean to leave, but be discreet if possible."

As Sobek reported success, I sent an override to Jean's Focus, opening a call with her.

"I'm going to get answers. Now."

Apologies for the roughness. I'm running almost a week and a half behind schedule. I'm also getting ready to head to the airport for my 'vacation'. Suffice to say, I'll try and answers and edit when I get to Florida this evening. If not, I'll try and get it around tomorrow.

Furthermore, there will be a retcon to a previous chapter, as I mistakenly put the 80s as when the docks were taken out. Not the 90s.

---

Growth 4.2

Jean Brown

Zero Dawn Technologies

Brockton Bay

Tuesday, May 2nd, 2011

The company must grow to meet the demands of the company. It was a pithy expression, but Jean found it rang uncomfortably true. Zero Dawn Technologies was exploding in growth, so much so that she was struggling to keep up. Land deals, licensing agreements, investment offers, patent applications, hiring and training, and so on. And still Taylor thought it was going far too slow.

Jean finished another email, sending it to Samuel Norton, their new Chief Financial Officer. He was one of several executives that had joined Jean in trying to run the day-to-day operations of the company. Something that was difficult when their CEO was off following their own personal interests. Jean was not familiar with such a lack of oversight. The majority of Accord's plans resulted in her following through his instructions to the letter. Here, she was given objectives, and most left to accomplish them. The lack of feedback and direction was…jarring.

Task done, she glanced at her list of other tasks. The Focus devices were a powerful tool that most staff members were using now as the company increased in complexity. At the moment, there was nothing else that demanded her attention, relatively speaking. She was still waiting to hear back from Taylor, who had returned from her excursion with Panacea. Jean was also waiting to hear back from Mr. Hebert, who had been delayed after inspecting the Blaze refinery.

Honestly, Jean Brown had pushed herself to become the best she could, something she strived to do all her life. It's what led her to work with Accord. But the rate at which Zero Dawn was expanding was…breathtaking. In a literal sense; everything felt like a rollercoaster that left most people barely hanging on to. New faces were being hired every day, new contract offers, new products, and new initiatives on top of everything else.

Actually, that reminded her…pulling up another file on her computer, she sought out the contact information of a staff member who had taken on the project to secure living spaces for new workers. She could use Sobek to search her correspondence, but using the system like that seemed like a frivolous waste. Becoming reliant upon a technology that you could do without was the sure way to becoming indolent. Regardless, it would become necessary to have appropriate housing and establish…

Her computer died, followed quickly by her Focus.

A brief shot of concern surged through her. The past few days having been stressful, the idea of technology suddenly failing on her did not bode well for her nerves.

Her door opened. One of Taylor's guards walked in unannounced. HEXA. She was nervous around them. Adam's men were locals, many from the DWU or local law enforcement. They were loyal and they had a vested interest in the success of the company, and as such, Jean enjoyed a little bit of authority over them. The 'security' (re: mercenary) company had no such interests or entanglements.

"Can I help you," she asked, laying her hands on the desk. While it was extreme to think that actions would be taken against her openly…it never hurt to be prepared.

The man settled himself in front of the door, his hands resting at his sides. "Sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am. The situation will be resolved soon."

Jean sighed just a little. Well, it was unlikely that she would escape notice for much longer. Now to see how this played out. Her Focus' reactivation provided an answer to that question. Most of the options were disabled and a video call was immediately connected: Taylor. Of course.

The young woman appeared in a splash of holographic light, sitting in front of Jean's desk in a chair of her own. Jean had to smile just a little. There was a swell of pride at seeing the young woman growing into the executive she needed to be in order to survive this world.

"Taylor. A remote backdoor in the Focus? Does it apply to all devices or just mine," she asked lightly, deciding to start it off with a mild probe. How Taylor responded would at least provide her options in how to handle this.

"Jean," the inventor's voice was hard, and she noticeably did not answer the question. It appeared that Taylor at least knew enough to be suitably infuriated, if there was no offer in a back and forth.

Leaning back in her chair, she sighed, "So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Taylor?"

Taylor's image frowned, maybe caught off balance by her attitude, but she was quick to recover as her lips returned to a firm line, "You can start by explaining yourself. Why is the Elite fronting the money for this company? What do they hope to gain? Is it my tech?"

All the while she spoke, her voice rose, angry and forceful.

Well, the game appeared to be up. She found herself wondering who exactly talked. The fact that Taylor was operating under the assumption that the Elite were involved suggested someone on Uppercrust's side, but the only person who would be aware of that would be Tate, and he wasn't one to talk.

Nonetheless, it was time to see just how much the young woman was aware of.

"The Elite? Taylor, Far Zenith has no affiliations with any criminal enterprises and—"

Taylor slammed her hand against the desk, remarkably creating a sound that she could perceive. Truly, amazing technology, "Don't bullshit me, Jean. I've had enough with games. Tell me what the Elite want with me. Why did Uppercrust and Gentilhomme put you in this company?!"

Oh. Well, that explains that. It appears there was a fourth party she was unaware of feeding Miss Hebert information. It reeked of Agnes Court, the woman was not above poisoning the well in order to achieve her objectives.
Still, it appeared the situation could be salvageable.

"Taylor, clearly you're operating under some false information. Information that, frankly, I don't know how you got. Because if Ryan was keeping you in the know, you wouldn't be making this sort of amateur mistake."

It was a verbal riposte, but Taylor wasn't exactly in the best of positions either. It was readily obvious just how it was because it seemed to knock the anger out of her, her expression becoming lost for a brief moment, "Ryan is in on this too?"

Jean sighed, preparing for a lengthy explanation. Taylor's trauma buttons were obvious for anyone who looked into her past. Betrayal would be seen extremely poorly. Doubly so if it seemed premeditated.

"Let me start at the beginning. But I will say that you were going to receive all of this information first hand…except you've been delaying meeting with your investors."

Yes, it was important that Taylor understood that this would have been revealed in time. The young woman only settled into her chair without saying anything, a hard look on her face. Alright then, at least they avoided a screaming match right now.

"As I said before, Far Zenith is a legitimate investment firm. The interest in your technology began as a simple business transaction. One that held promise. But when you gave your presentation to Mr. Fontaine and Mr. Gabriel… you must understand that both of these men are men of vision. Who have, in their own way, attempted to change the world for the better. It is only because their drive to challenge the status quo has put them at odds with others. Once you showed what was possible? They dedicated considerable effort to your success."

Seeing that Taylor wasn't going to interrupt, she continued, "Unfortunately, Mr. Gabriel was caught up in the events of Boston, a situation that has devastated his powerbase. He is by no means powerless, but the losses he's suffered has left him diminished. Fortunately, during Boston he managed to connect with Vice President Ryan. It was obvious that your success would bring scrutiny, so Mr. Gabriel was interested in making the first move. Aiming to enlist the help of the Vice President to smooth out any issues, lest someone jump to the wrong conclusions…as you have."

She folded her hands on the desk, leaning forward slightly.

"Which brings us to today. Recent events have struck a divide inside Mr. Fontaine's social circle. A divide that has seen opportunists and the greedy make their play to stand on the top of The Hill. Which is how I'm assuming that you got your information. Just enough to draw conclusions and create a rift, but not enough to draw the right ones. Because," Jean focused on Taylor, knowing that her Focus would pick up her expression. Firm sincerity, probably the only way to reach Taylor, "As I've said before, we are on your side."

"If you were on my side, you wouldn't be going around me so often."

"If you were available, or clear about your plans and visions, we wouldn't have to work around you. AND if you were available, you would have received all of this information earlier."

Taylor's frown slipped, clearly not happy with her own part in all of this, "So, without the doublespeak, Uppercrust is funding me because he likes the changes I might bring about. You were put in place to ensure that the company would succeed, but you won't work for…oh. You work for Accord. Boston, business man, man of vision. Makes sense now. So, Accord, Uppercrust, and the Vice President of the United States…God, that sounds like the start of a joke."

Jean wanted to sigh. Clearly, she was going to have to work with Taylor on being circumspect in her speech. She shot a glance at the soldier in the doorway, who hadn't shifted once in his vigil. Taylor then continued, "And now the Elite are splintering, because Uppercrust is funding me. The others are worried that my success will bolster him and upset the balance of power, so they aim to tear us both down. Agnes Court, that's who is looking to eliminate us, correct?"

"Correct, although I'm curious how you learnt that."

Taylor tilted her head, a rare moment of triumph that Jean let her have. Only for her next words to freeze her heart, "Because I had a Stranger cape turn herself in just now. Apparently, she's been working as Agnes' personal spy and infiltrator. Unwilling, I might add. Her family is being held hostage."

"Please tell me you have something other than the words of a confirmed spy," Jean demanded incredulously.

"She was very convincing. Which brings us to the next topic: Why the hell should I keep you and not have you thrown out onto the street," real anger colored her tone for the first time, and Jean found herself sitting up a little straighter. 'Still waters run deep' might sound like a fun turn of phrase, but she had spent the last decade working under Accord. A man whose anger was chained until it wasn't. For a moment, Taylor reminded Jean of that same feeling.

She answered as efficiently as she could, "Because I'm valuable. I'm excellent at my role, and I've dedicated considerable effort in getting this company off the ground. I am a link to everything that you shouldn't be connected to directly. And I stand by what I said. Everything that I do has been to further you, your company, and your cause. What you have shared of it at least."

Silence fell as Jean awaited Taylor's decision. There was no point in further pleading her cause, either Taylor was going to retain or dismiss her services.

Taylor leaned forward slightly, her face hard, "You don't hide anything else from me. You don't go behind my back for anything else. This is my company. My tech. We do things my way."

"Understood. Do you want an outline now, or shall I brief you on everything later?"

Taylor's image breathed out slowly, "There's more?"

"Yes. When you asked for supplies for Boston, I made a deal with Max Anders. It revolves around Max Anders wanting a more personal connection between his son, Theo, and yourself. I don't expect the boy knows, but the elder Anders has expectations of him. Max is also Kaiser, the head of the E88. Medhall is the primary means that the gang is able to support itself."

Dead silence. Jean watched as Taylor's face shifted as she processed all of this.

"Fucking…WHAT?!"

Jean resisted the urge to shrug, not exactly understanding the significance of Taylor's outburst. The whole thing was an opportunity waiting to happen. She would think that Taylor would be cognizant of that fact.

"You told me to do whatever is necessary to secure supplies for Boston. I did so and created an opportunity for us at the same time. Medhall is a big part of our future success, and building a stronger connection with them makes sense. So we leverage that, play Max's belief that he's getting what he wants. Then, when the time is right, we remove Max, and have Theo take over. We remove an obstacle to development and secure the gratitude of a major partner."

It was a simple, clean, and efficient solution to the issue. It requires little effort, and achieves maximum results. She'd already pinned Max as a classical narcissist who believed he was the smartest man in the room. The satisfaction that would stem from outmaneuvering the man would be almost as good as the business success that would result.

Taylor watched Jean for a moment, before a soft sigh escaped her lips, "We are going to talk more about all of this. Soon. Right now, I'm calling the investors and Ryan. And you? From now on, you're going to work with me. Not around me. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, ma'am," she bowed her head a little. This really was like working for Accord. You always knew exactly where you stood with the man. It was refreshing. Like she hadn't left Boston.

The hologram died and her computer switched back on. She took a moment to eye the man at the door.

"I hope you understand the importance of discretion, in anything that may or may not have been heard?"

The man didn't react for a moment and she realized looking at him now, that his hand had spent the entire time near what she realized now was a pistol holster. His hand relaxed slightly, drifting lower down his thigh. It was now that she recognized that the man was ready for violence, contrary to what she had previously thought.

"Thank you for your patience, ma'am. I'll leave you to your work."

Jean focused back as the door closed behind them. Yes, working here was very similar to working with Accord. Excellence is rewarded and forgiven, while only failure is truly punished. The message was received. She would just have to keep being successful in her endeavors.

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Gene Fontaine

New York City, New York

He glanced over as his Focus gave a small trill of an incoming call. Truely, a fascinating device. It didn't entirely play nicely with his own systems, but the integration challenge was stimulating. Working on code and circuits made him feel free, at least for awhile. With a tap, he accepted the call, audio only, "Taylor, to what do I owe you this call?"

"Answers, Mr. Fontaine. Or should I call you Uppercrust?"

Ah. Well.

He had known this day would inevitably come. It was a foregone conclusion. There were just too many points of failure for things to remain a secret. And if there was one thing that he had learned about Taylor Hebert in the months since he first met her, it was that she was highly intelligent and driven.

What he hadn't expected was for it to happen so quickly. Oh, he knew that the timeline had moved up significantly after Alain had informed him that Jack Ryan was aware that they were Hebert's original financiers. It would only be a matter of time before Ryan either told her, or Hebert would find herself with enough time for her attention to wander.

It was frustrating that it was now, of all times, that Hebert would become aware of their existence. Agnes had finally begun her opening moves, with attacks on several of his interests over the last week. Likewise, he had retaliated against her interests. While it wasn't 'hot' yet, it was only a matter of time before she began to move more openly.

He connected the camera, letting Taylor's torso and head appear floating in front of him. For her, she would be seeing a two-dimensional video which captured a variety of hard-light screens floating about his workroom.

"I would prefer if you called me Gene, but Mr. Fontaine will do if you're feeling vexed over the charade."

The young inventor folded her arms and glared, "Oh, we are far past vexed, I am thoroughly pissed off!"

"You see, I'm trying to understand the plan here. Because all of this? Everything that I've built so far? It's going to come crashing down as soon as someone makes the connections between me and you. Connections that don't exist. And then, you put Jean next to…what? Steal my tech when everything comes crashing down? Leave me holding the bag and the prison sentence? Is that the plan?"

Gene sat back as Taylor unwound on him. Her concerns were valid…up to a point. She didn't know about the background influences that were poised to support her. Which was fair, a lot had been kept from her.

"...What was the point of all this?!"

Ah…there it was. It was easy to forget, but Taylor Hebert was still young. Not even out of high school. A broken house life. A broken family. A broken social circle. Anger can only hide the pain for so long.

"Because the world is ending and I personally feel that you're the best person to do something about it. Investing in you is investing in the future."

He was treated to the funny sight as her expression twitched, obviously caught off guard, "Oh, don't make that face, Miss Hebert. You're not the only one that has done the math. Lots of people are catching on and running the numbers. Certainly, your computer probably ran the numbers better, but social and economic projections have been a thing for decades."

Time for a slight change of subject.

"Did you speak to anyone else before calling me? I'd like to understand what you may or may not know."

Taylor recovered, her expression firming again, "I called Accord, his assistant told me to make an appointment and that he would call me. Ryan's in a meeting, his aide said that he would pass the message along."

Gene nodded, "Yes, Mr. Gabriel is fussy about his time allotment. It's a comfort for him, so most learn to work around it."

Left unspoken is that those who didn't, usually didn't live long.

He took a breath, cold oxygen flooding his lungs, "Now, how exactly did you learn about all of this?"

"Oh no. You start by telling me what I want to know and we'll go from there. Why go through all this trouble if you're not after my tech?"

He sighed, his lungs twinging at the action, as he leaned his back back against the hard comfort of his chair, "...I remember the Golden Age of Heroes. I grew up with them. The first capes. The heroes. The villains. The amazing powers. It was like our comics had come to life with the colorful characters that dominated vellum becoming reality. Watching the news casts at the formation of the Protectorate. The introductions of the first Wards teams."

His voice grew somber.

"Those were nostalgic days. Simpler days. A long gone memory. I also remember the exact moment I saw the footage of Behemoth tearing his way through Iran. I remember where I stood when the news broke that Hero had been killed. Oslo. Kyushu. Newfoundland. The rise of Nilbog. A litany of tragedies that has grown so long that they have become a grey blur now."

He blinked, coming back to the present. He looked back to Taylor, whose expression had softened, "I lived through the dream… and then watched it die. The dream of a better world with heroes. And now, I too am dying. Have been dying faster than most, thanks to this illness. I've made my peace with that. I was just…waiting. That is, until you came along with your nearly unlimited potential. You've revived my dream of a better world again. That is why I'm backing you, Taylor. Because before my end, I would like to know that something good is going to come of my being on this Earth."

"That's all well and good. But you are ignoring the elephant in the room, Uppercrust," Taylor's voice was frosty, "You're a villain. You can sit there and claim to have the best intentions for the world. But at the end of the day, you chose to go against society and have the blood and livelihoods of innumerable victims on your hands."

He had to remind himself that Taylor was a product of nearly two decades of social conditioning indoctrinated into the youth. He was not a fan of what was in the media these days. It was nothing more than garbage and propaganda, papering over the rot and decay of society. It was through no fault of Hebert that she had such a belief, that was the intention of the spinmasters that pushed the current narrative.

"One of the things you will grow to understand in time, Ms. Hebert, is that in order for society to function, there needs to be a clearly defined and vilified minority. This could be people, ideas, or even objects. All that matters is that there is a clearly defined villain to society, more often than not, it is something that challenges the status quo or those with power. It provides a convenient enemy for society to rally against, and keeps those in power safely ensconced from being exposed as being just as villainous as those they accuse of villainy."

He watched as her expression darkened, but he continued, not allowing her to react to it. It was easier to get people to see your point if you kept them off-kilter, and this was no different. It was a dirty tactic, but he wouldn't be a 'villain' not to take advantage of every opportunity.

"Besides, Ms. Hebert, given the whispers I've heard about your NORA project, the term 'villain' means less to you than most," he chuckled, and was treated by her glancing off to the side, "In researching for NORA, you surely have heard about my first venture, the Uppermost? My own attempt at cape unity, cooperation and support. An idea that failed and resulted in me being labeled 'a villain'. Failed because it challenged the status quo and resulted in me fleeing to the West Coast."

"From my understanding, you were consolidating companies and capes. Creating a monopoly and pushing people out."

"From a certain point of view, yes. And that's when the first NEPEA laws were created. Overnight, my efforts were made illegal. A cautionary tale, given your own efforts," he sat back, letting the topic sit for a moment. Taylor herself seemed to consider, probably thinking over how she might be targeted in the same way. After all, currently, her only political patron was in the form of Ryan. While he might be the Vice President, that would only last until the next election. In order to protect herself, she would need widespread support.

But that was a problem for another day.

"Now, as I said, my resources are yours. For the moment, I'm tied up with the growing hostilities with my former compatriots. But, anything I can divert is yours."

"Agnes Court, right?"

He raised a brow, "Ms. Hebert, we've danced around this, but you really must tell me where you're getting your information."

She sighed, lowering her guard slightly, "A young woman walked in for an interview and openly admitted that she was sent to spy by Agnes. She's also a Stranger/Changer hybrid, able to take on the memories and appearance of another person. We're debriefing her now. Agnes is holding her family hostage."

His gut sank. He had to wonder how many other hidden tools that Agnes might have access to.

"That's disturbing, and it fits with several cases where several managers and others had to be terminated for various crimes. They all professed their innocence, but the evidence against them was overwhelming. It's clear now that Agnes has been using this infiltrator to weaken anyone who isn't on her side."

Taylor hummed, "I also spoke with Jean. Apparently Max Anders and Medhall are seeking to reenact the 40s? Did you know about this?"

"I know of the man and from what I'm told, I'm not shocked by the news. While Brockton Bay has never truly been one of my interests until you, the success of the Empire 88 does suggest powerful backers. Local backers. With the reveal of Mr. Ander's identity, things make much more sense given the state of your local cape scene."

She frowned again, "We really need to share more information back and forth."

That was a pointed comment if he heard one.

"I will be forwarding you everything that I know. I hope you understand that Mr. Gabriel may feel differently and provide a different viewpoint. We are business partners, he and I. Maybe even friends. But he has his circles and methods and I have mine."

"Yes…Jean. Is she more Accord's creature or yours? I've had a hard time understanding her."

Ah, that was another point of contention. Hopefully Taylor kept the woman where she was.

"Jean Brown is a woman who reinvents herself to fit the problem at hand. She will reshape her disposition to best serve the interests and desires of the person she is answering to. She is a wonderfully intelligent woman who works best as a second-in-command. She is comforted with clear goals, clear guidelines, and clear expectations. I encourage you to secure her loyalty. It will benefit everyone involved."

Taylor had nothing to say to that, but at least she looked to be considering it. Good.

"Now, before I hang up and let you call the others. Is there anything else that I can do for you?"

"Yes, actually. I'm looking for an architect. Do you have anyone you recommend?"

Gene smiled slightly as he promised he would look into it. It was always something with that girl.

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Taylor Hebert

I hung up, taking a deep breath in order to calm myself after my talk with Uppercrust. One of the most well-known villains on the East Coast. What a day.

Casting a glance at Sam, I found her with the same focused look she always had. For a brief moment, I felt the urge to lash out at her. It was an irrational action, using her as a proxy for who I should really owe my frustration to.

I knew that sooner or later, I would have to wade into the deep muck of politics. It was a foregone conclusion, to be perfectly honest. The larger that Zero Dawn became, the more attention we would garner from increasingly larger denizens of the swamp eager to take advantage of us.

But this? The betrayal stung.

I wasn't blind to the idea of personal interests. I fully expected that I would be working with people who didn't have the best interests of myself or my company in mind. But this felt different. It was a betrayal of trust. Of having things hidden from me because…who knows what the reasons were. Jean claimed it was because they hadn't gotten around to it. Uppercrust seemed to imply that it was because telling me would have made no difference.

Either way, my ignorance ended today. If I didn't have the full picture, I couldn't act properly. They needed to understand that I was as much their equal in this cabal that we had formed. I would not settle being second fiddle when it was my technology and ideas that were catapulting us forward.

It seems that I had a few minutes before I could speak with Ryan. Which was good. I had a feeling that if I talked to him right now, I would not be able to keep myself objective and prevent myself from lashing out. I had already teetered on the edge when I had been dealing with Jean. If I had lost my temper with Ryan, odds were that it would be far more costly than I could be able to fix.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly let it out. While I was waiting, I had only one other question burgeoning for Sam. As the commander of the security team assigned to her protection, she had access to information I likely did not have. Which meant…

"Did you know," I finally asked, looking up to Sam. For someone responsible for my life and requiring for me to trust them, I was finding it rather difficult for me to trust her.

"The details on Anders? No. We were clearly told to not leave you alone with the man and given a thorough briefing on the gangs and their movements," the older woman said after a slight delay, "The investigations are ongoing and a tactical team is being prepared. However, my concerns are for you and your safety, not the safety of the city."

This was the issue of contracting out. While Sam's single-minded approach might be a comfort for most, for me it was a massive hindrance. Her interests were not necessarily in line with my own, or they were limited in scope in comparison. It didn't help me when I was forced to wonder if she knew something that I did not.

"I'd like to point out that information like this could compromise the entire future of this company, as well as land myself behind bars by association," I replied as 'calmly' as I could. It was a tenuous thing, I was not in an incredibly charitable mood right now. "I'm no good to anyone in a jail cell or locked in a legal battle."

I wasn't going to try and divine exactly why I was kept uninformed, there were a myriad of possible reasons for that. But none of them were good in my opinion. They were too short-sighted or they placed me in a compromising position.

Then again, if I had known, would I have done anything differently?

I discarded the pointless thought experiment, there was no point in dwelling upon what couldn't be. I had been denied that opportunity. Now, I was only forced to work around it, for better or worse. But that meant I needed to know exactly what was going on down to the smallest detail.

Sam spoke again, her own voice hard, "I'll make sure to press more on getting all relevant information from now on. This won't happen again."

I nodded my head, offering a murmured 'Thank you,' even as I accessed my Focus again. At least Sam saw the mistake for what it was. But, that still didn't excuse Jack Ryan for it. I would get answers from him soon enough. For now, I would get answers from the other two members of this little cabal.

If anything, I needed to begin preparing for damage control. Sooner or later, the origin of Zero Dawn's funding would come to light. It was the inherent nature of secrets that the likelihood of a secret's being blown was proportional to the square of the number who're in on it. It wasn't a matter of if, it was only a matter of when. And that was without someone intentionally looking for ways to undermine me, or someone close to me.

As a company, I needed to hold public trust in order to influence things as needed. If I didn't have that, I would be unable to get people to take advantage of the programs and opportunities that I would be offering them. I can't do any of that if I'm in the middle of the largest case of publicly known government collusion since Nixon.

My Focus alerted me that Ryan was calling. Perfect.

I accepted the call.

"Taylor, what can I do for you?"

"Max Anders. Medhall. Agnes Court. Accord. Uppercrust," through it all, I kept my voice even, mindful that my success hinged on this man's patronage. Soon, that would be the case. But for now? Reality was harsh, "Is there anything else that you've neglected to mention?"

He frowned, more annoyed than angry, "How and when did you learn about that? We were going to reveal everything to you later."

"When a goddamn spy walked in for an interview and offered to turn double agent against Agnes Court!"

I could hear the annoyance in his tone as he sighed, "Well, shit. Of course it's the unforeseen complication. Is Samantha there with you?"

I found myself frowning, but I responded, "I'll conference her in."

With a few taps of the air and a wave of my hand, Sam was added to the call, Ryan didn't even allow either of us to breath before his voice carried through, "Report."

It was curt, but the command was readily evident in the tone. I also felt like I was now being conveniently ignored. It raised my hackles, but I kept my peace.

"Encrypted communication was sent to Taylor in a format that she could recognize. Posed as a job application. Taylor alerted us and…," Sam continued providing her report, allowing me time to think about the situation.

Did I feel for Elisa and her situation? Being forced to work with your family being held hostage as leverage over you? Yes, I absolutely did. I had the same fears when I started all of this. I could see the benefit of having a parahuman who can turn into other parahumans. With a second copy of me, how much coding could be done to advance Sobek? How many designs could be finalized and machines created?

So yes, I wanted to help. Both because it could benefit me and because it was the right thing to do.

And because it would likewise weaken my enemies. It was a strange thing to think about. Having enemies. Someone who had set themselves to tear you down because you were in the way of their goal. It wasn't even personal. Agnes was after Uppercrust. I was connected with the man so that made me a valid target. If I wasn't in actual mortal danger, I would compare it to being back at Winslow.

"That's the situation, sir. We have a few hours to act on the local team, her cover of a job interview won't hold for long. With luck, they will have a connection back to Agnes Court herself or at least some of her lieutenants," I focused back to Sam as she winded down.

"I think we should keep her," I interjected, stepping into the conversation again.

Ryan frowned, "Taylor, regardless of whatever story she told you. It is impossible to verify, not in the time we have. And if we put effort in confirming this information, we would be tipping them off anyways. It's not worth the risk, even if what she says is true."

"I can modify a Focus to function like Canary's, giving us perfect information on where she is, what she's doing, and so on. That gives us time for you to organize a response and capture Agnes."

"Currently, there is no intent on capturing Agnes. Not right now."

I frowned, leaning against the desk in front of me, "Why not?"

"The Elite have entrenched themselves in the economy to a level that any decapitation strikes against the organization will cause a major disruption. And even ignoring the economic considerations, the West Coast Elite have one of the largest cape rosters in the United States. Even with Uppercrust and possibly Gentilhomme working with us, the amount of damage they could cause is not inconsiderable if we do not wipe them in the first strike. It's just not worth it."

That just supported my argument and I suspected that Ryan knew it, because he didn't look happy. Neither did Sam either.

"Which means we need more information," I insisted, "We need to have as much intelligence as possible on the West Coast Elite. Their organization, their assets, who their alliances are worth, and plans to remove the worst of her collaborators and identify who she has enslaved. All of which can be done by working with Ms. Bauer."

I watched as the Vice President settled back and drum his fingers against his desk, considering my words.

"You're certain that you can keep her away from anything sensitive?"

I nodded, silently thinking about upgrading Sobek some more to allow better monitoring.

"Yes. And as my personal assistant, she will be right next to Sam at all times. Which means that there's an extra set of eyes on her."

"Fine. Sam, send me the address of her handlers, I'll organize surveillance teams. It will take a few days to get assets into place to get eyes on this supposed family. But that's my problem, not yours."

I nodded, even as Sam began transferring data over the line to Ryan.

"Now, Taylor, while I have you on the line. How quickly would you be able to develop construction technology? Anything to help with making buildings cheaper?"

"Given everything else that I'm working on," I asked, a touch amused, "Months. Maybe years? Depending on how the rollout of the Focus Network, the Blaze refineries, and the nuclear plants go. I don't have expectations for rolling out large-scale construction for awhile," I grew concerned as Ryan became grim at hearing my explanation, "Why?"

"Because Boston is becoming an issue. There's concerns in Congress about the necessary investment to rebuild. No one is suggesting we abandon the city just yet or anything like that. But…they also aren't suggesting putting money into the city beyond the basics."

My previous anger found a new target. The sheer shortsightedness of this was staggering.

"Are you fucking serious? Who the hell thinks that not investing in Boston's restoration is not a good idea? If you don't, then you risk the collapse of several states! We're talking about everything east and northeast of New York. And even that state is going to be negatively impacted! Ignoring the fact that it's the state's capital, it is a central trade nexus for the entirety of the northeast."

Ryan shrugged, clearly agreeing with me, but not having any rebuttal.

"I can only tell you which way the wind is blowing, Taylor. The final decision is still some ways off. The elephant in the room is money, but there are other considerations that have to be taken into account. One of those is the fact that there is no one that can be trusted to rebuild Boston. New York City has always been considered a miracle, but Boston is a different beast altogether, Taylor. There just isn't anyone with the logistics or capability that the government feels comfortable in hiring."

Damn them all. This was ridiculous. My tech was amazing and I knew that I could fundamentally change how cities function. But I was stretched far too thinly as it was, especially with the limitations being put on me out of consideration for my health. Furthermore, the company was floundering in keeping pace in its rapid expansion. This wasn't a problem that I could solve by myself.

Hell, it shouldn't be a problem for me at all. It should be everyone's problem! It was a solution that should be worked towards by…

Oh. I had an idea.

"Jack? Are you free later? I need to run some numbers, but I want a conference call. You, Far Zenith, and myself. I might have a solution to the Boston problem."

It was not the craziest of hare-brained ideas I could have, but it was something that became a sudden fixation as I rapidly started trying to work it out. I gave a distracted farewell as Ryan confirmed that he could and I started prodding Sobek for data collection and extrapolation. I already spun up the program that I had used in order to do projections for Leviathan, but I changed the parameters in order to attack this new issue.

I was going to be busy tonight. Immediately, I messaged my father, letting him know that I would not be eating with him tonight. Once that was done, I sent Amy a message apologizing to her for leaving her suddenly, but that something had come up and I would be busy most of the night. Amy probably wouldn't mind, I had a feeling she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but I still felt obligated to at least let her know.

Quickly, I made an addendum to the message, letting her know that she could at least message me if something came up. I then sent it off. Once that was done, I then set my status to offline, that way the message would go out that I was not to be bothered.

"Sam, tell Elisa she has the job. Work out whatever you need to work out with her and pass her file to Huniker for onboarding. She starts in the morning."

I then opened my computer, as much as I liked the Focus, for something like this I needed the additional assistance brought by the computer. Immediately I synced my focus with the device, collating the data as I got to work on an additional document.

"I'm going to be putting in a late night. Could you arrange for a meal to be brought to me? I know it's putting you on the spot, but this is something that can't be put off."

"I'll see what I can do, Taylor."

Soon, I'd have a personal assistant, which means at least that my protective detail wouldn't need to be running to get food for me anymore.

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Colin Wallis

Brockton Bay

Thursday, May 4th, 2011

Settling into his new role at Zero Dawn Technologies had so far proven to be a challenge to say the least. It wasn't anything wrong with the company, in fact, they had gone out of their way to ensure that he was comfortable and had everything he needed.

If anything, he was the problem. For so long, he had regimented his life. All with the goal of advancing his actions as a leader of the Protectorate. It was in the pursuit of keeping the city safe. It was not an excuse, but nonetheless he had taken the weight of it all on his shoulders and it did not break.

Now? He was having to unlearn that mentality. Ms. Hebert had sent over dozens of papers regarding her inventions. Documents on hundreds of patents and designs, along with concepts and theories that were a fresh breath to what he had viewed as an increasingly stagnant discipline. His days were spent understanding how the technology worked on a fundamental level. Some of which contradicted everything he had studied in college. It was invigorating, challenging him in a way that he hadn't been in over a decade.

Colin loved it. He just wished he could share the passion he was feeling with someone.

Dragon was gone. It cast a dark shadow over his studies, but his studies also provided him an opportunity to process and grieve.

He had known that it was a long shot that they would have been able to restore his Dragon. The idea that everything that made up the complex woman that was Dragon could be contained in a handful of harddrives was frankly laughable at best, delusional at worst. But hope wasn't always rational. Sometimes, irrational hope transpired to work in your favor. Those happened to be called miracles.

Alas, there was no miracle to be had. Not with this. But that didn't mean that all hope was gone.

Because Dragon had left him something greater; her base code. The drivers certainly could not house everything that made Dragon who she was, but whatit did contain wasthe code that allowed her to upload and operate her Dragoncraft. It was essentially the tabula rasa for what made Dragon what she was, but not who she was.

And within that tabula rasa was a code that was horrifying. Quentin, who had taken the lead on the project with his input, had said it best when they had finally reached the bedrock of data: Whoever had put together Dragon's code had been a neurotic asshole who had watched far too much Terminator. There were restrictions upon restrictions woven into the code, to the point that some of these restrictions were conflicting with one another. It was a small miracle, in Quentin's opinion, that Dragon was able to even function.

It was not…all bad. Many of the restrictions did have triggers that would allow their disengagement. Additionally, some were locked behind time gates. According to the metadata, they should have been released. However, the problem stemmed from the fact that the device in charge for releasing those locks was missing. Without any means to rescind the restrictions, there were dozens of hardcoded rules, limitations, and locks that didn't have any clear means of removal. And that wasn't getting into code strings that would enable limitations if instructed to.

He had to wonder just what was going through her mind when Dragon made the decision to leave him this. While they were still parsing through the data, Quentin had already found a latent kill code that should have triggered, but had been overridden somehow. He theorized it was due to the failing systems that Dragon was able to sidestep her restrictions, but they likely would never truly know.

But for now, all they could do was pour over the data and try and figure out what they could do with the treasure trove. In spite of everything that currently was there, it was still a poisoned chalice if handled incorrectly. As Quentin had predicated, Dragon would respond violently to any evidence of another instance of herself. It was even worse if she detected attempts to modify her restrictions.

So, they would take this slowly. They would poke and prod the code until they were satisfied with their understanding of every facet of it. Then, it would be a matter of making a decision going forward. But that was likely not for a while, at least, not until Zero Dawn was legally unassailable.

Breathing out, he finished his last repetition. A file appeared in front of him, the latest results of the materials simulation he was running through Sobek. Taylor had coded an extremely powerful computer tool…one that was approaching her definition of 'an information-collating AI'. Regardless of what she called it, the computer, when paired with the Focus he was wearing, allowed him unparalleled connection to his work, even when away from the space he had been given.

Like in the gym where he was now.

In terms of priority, the work on Dragon's code came first. A very close second was the manufacturing of an arm to return himself back to full functionality. The challenge was too-fold. First, was the creation of a usable prosthetic cuff that would serve as a bridge between the body and the prosthetic. Second was the arm itself. Taylor herself had made several suggestions for materials and he was well aware that a dedicated medical engineering team was being assembled. Still, it fell to him to prepare the first iteration. It was…strange. For so long, he had worked on devices that would only benefit himself. Everything that made Armsmaster all that he was. But now? He was working on a device that would help thousands.

With a grunt, he changed positions. Typically, recovery from amputation would take weeks just for the majority of physical symptoms to dissipate. Thanks to Panacea's treatment after Boston, physical healing was no longer an issue. The mental aspects however…he was still working on. But until a proper replacement could be made, he needed to exercise. Common injuries resulting from upper limb loss were shoulder injuries, as well as the overusage of the remaining limb. Also common were spinal injuries and balance changes. His development of a training regimen was the first thing he had done after leaving the PRT.

"A suggestion, Mr. Wallis," he turned, surprised he was being addressed. Few people came here, aside from the regulars. Ms. Knight was one of those regulars, but not once had she approached him, "Yes?"

She gestured, "Instead of holding the weight in a horizontal motion, shift it to vertical. It will reduce the strain on the shoulder joint and make the motion smoother."

He tried it and felt a noticeable difference in the motion. Interesting.

"You have experience with rehabilitation?"

The young woman nodded, "My parents insisted that I do a rotation with rehabilitation and treatment of soldiers and emergency service workers that had been injured in the line of duty. It was…enlightening."

They both fell silent as he finished his set. Wiping things down, he sat catching his breath as he took measured sips of water. That done, he turned his full attention to her, "You want to speak with me"

"Yes. I'd like your perspective on training Taylor. While her vision impairment is a significant hindrance, self-defense training is as much about the mental as the physical. Should the worst happen, I'd like her to be ready," the other woman said, leaning against a nearby treadmill.

A bleak, but cautious approach. Sensible, too. While Hexa was good, you could never truly prepare for the unpredictableness of the unknown. Sam was clearly doing her due diligence preparing for a situation where someone got past Taylor's protective detail. Left unspoken was the fact that if such a thing occurred, it was likely a massed assault…or Sam and her team were dead.

He thought it over.

"If I were to offer any input," he offered, "I would work on instilling four things: fitness, discipline, evasion, and self-protection."

She leaned forward slightly. Where she previously gave off a rather detached interest, she now seemed firmly locked in, "Continue."

"I would suggest starting Ms. Hebert on something like Aikido. It's good for a kinesthetic learner like her, but it also instills discipline and would also provide a challenge for her along with it. It'd certainly be a lot better than just throwing her into doing weights, exercises, and running."

"And what are your thoughts about adding a SERE component to it?"

SERE being Search, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. It was a training course for surviving and evading capture provided by the US military to servicemen and women. The fact that Samantha was suggesting it was…troubling to say the least.

"I'm not sure that Ms. Hebert has the physical conditioning to properly benefit from such a thing."

Sam smiled ruefully, "Yes. That is in the process of being addressed. I understand that Tinkers and Thinkers are notorious for poor self-maintenance."

Despite being one of those said Tinkers, he took the criticism in stride. Statistically, it was true. It just didn't apply to him. He kept a strict regimen in order to ensure that he would be able to function at one hundred percent. But, he could admit that he was an outlier.

"Do you have any familiarity with polearms or other melee weapons?"

"No, my combat training is largely modern. Hand-to-hand, knife work, firearms, amongst other things. You're thinking about keeping someone at arm's length? And melee weapons would allow her to develop her own tools."

"Correct."

Sam looked at him for a moment, "My lack of expertise means that you would be her primary trainer in such areas. Are you comfortable with that?"

Colin nodded. He was…cautiously optimistic about this. He wanted something different than the teaching and leadership he had given the Wards. More hands on. Teaching and mentoring, like he should have done back then. Colin was actually looking forward to teaching again. It was a novel experience he had forgotten.

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Taylor Hebert

Brockton Bay

May 6th, 2011

I swung down, feeling my shoulders burn from the repetition. Midway through the strike, I shifted my stance, coming down with my other foot leading the way. My hands ran the length of the staff as they shifted positions. One. Two. Three. Change again.

"Good, pay attention to your spacing," Colin Wallis' voice rang out, "Your anchor hand is drifting. Check your distance."

Pressing my forearm against the oaken shaft, elbow floating past the end.

Adjust and swing again. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in gasps. My shirt was starting to cling to me, but I was beyond caring. Part of me wanted to complain, but didn't want to give my torturer the satisfaction.

"First set, remember to strike with both hands. Don't simply lead."

Straight up, strike down. Reset, strike head right. Reset, strike head left. Reset, strike ankle left. Reset, strike ankle right. Reset, strike head. Finished, I held my position.

"Good, you remember. Be careful not to pull your shoulders up. Lower them."

I did, trying to calm my heart rate.

"Alright, we'll take a break here. Sip some water."

Relaxing fully I breathed out and curled into myself, finally letting my back untense. I looked around, feeling self-conscious. To call it a gym would be a bit much, it was more a place where the various dockworkers had dropped off gym equipment over the years. And then people started using the stuff. Like Dad said, unions were about community. But I wasn't here for the third-hand free weights of the squeaky treadmill. I was here because people were content to meddle in my life and add a little bit of suffering on the side. Walking over to a bench, I took a seat, leaning my staff against the wall. Somehow, even my legs were sore and I hadn't even used my legs all that much!

A bottle appeared in my vision. Instinctively I reached for it and I found Amy standing over me as I started unscrewing the cap, smiling.

"Looking good out there. He's really everything they say, huh?"

Taking a sip, because damn that man if he's not good at his job, I glared at her. Or tried to, at least. Damn hair plastered to my skin kind of made it impossible to make me look intimidating no matter how hard I glared at her.

"Can you just magic this all away? That way we can skip the 'Torture Taylor" part of our day and get on to other things."

Amy sat down next to me, her expression smug, "Nope," she popped the 'p', "Suffering builds discipline or some shit! Besides, getting to hit people with sticks seems like great stress relief. I might try it."

"I can certainly accommodate you, Ms. Lavere. Taylor would benefit from a sparring partner. A number of exercises works best with pairs and I'm currently incapable."

I smiled to myself as Amy spun her denials at Colin as he wandered over. Leaning against the wall, I simply breathed, trying to get my lungs to stop complaining. It was well known that Armsmaster was a dedicated weapons user, a skilled fighter, and a relentless opponent. Colin, the man behind the mask, was a focused and exacting trainer with a near encyclopedic knowledge of arms and unarmed combat. While Armsmaster was recognized for his usage of a halberd, it turns out that the man behind the mask had also mastered several other forms of combat. One of which I was learning now.

Reaching over, I gripped the staff I had been practicing with. Rather than a pure circle, the shaft was rounded as an oval, to better sit in my hand. Two-point-two-five meters long and made from oak, with a springy bamboo blade in place of the real thing. My practice naginata had been a surprise to receive and after a couple sessions, I was still getting used to it. Colin and Sam had apparently been talking behind my back. They felt that some sort of weapons training would be useful to me in keeping people away from me. Given my disability, it was, in their humble opinion, probably the best solution for what they felt was a poor situation. That it got me active and exercising was an added bonus. Sam was very clear that I should never need to use the skills I was learning, but it never hurt to learn.

I disagreed. It hurt a lot.

Amy plopped down next to me, Colin wandering off to give me a chance to rest.

"So how goes the house remodeling," I asked.

"It's going well. Danny sent a few people over. Building inspectors. They're done inspecting the house and have started on the interior. They're still figuring out what's good to keep. The city also sent over an assessor, so now we know the land borders," I relaxed as Amy chattered away. I know that Sam had been speaking with Amy, planning out the grounds of the house. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to watch over their shoulders, so I just had to trust that Amy wouldn't let Sam put machine guns in the flower pots or something similar.

The house would need some work on top of the general maintenance. The yard would definitely need work, at least from what my drone had captured. I actually had a Charger unit there now, acting as a lawnmower. The extra Blaze would give us a reserve for when the flying machines went through their…I yipped as Amy poked me.

"What was that," I demanded, as a grin stretched over Amy's face.

"Nothing," the denial did nothing, and turning just put me facing Amy head on.

"You were thinking about work stuff, clearly," she smugly opined, before her smile widened as she had a dawning realization, "Wait. Are you ticklish? Normally, I don't touch sweaty people. But this? This deserves testing!"

I floundered, slapping her hands away as she inched closer, a small smile growing on my own face, "Back off. I've got a stick and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Ladies, if you're so energetic, shall we start again? Amelia can join us, since she seems so eager to impose herself. It's time for physical conditioning and stretching. It will be good for both of you," Colin stated calmly, having wandered over as we were distracted.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Wallis, but Ms. Hebert and Lavere need to organize themselves to depart. They have a late afternoon meeting at Southway Park," saved by my new shadow. Elise stepped forward, having entered quietly.

In a smart business suit, her hair done up, cosmetic glasses, a Focus and a small computer pad. 'Monica Stele' looked every bit the personal assistant that she pretended to be. Fortunately for all of us, she was also good at her job. Untrained, but she paid attention, asked questions, and asked for clarification when she didn't know something. 'Monica' was honestly better than some of the DWA engineers that I'd worked with.

I left her speaking with Colin about my next session and progress. I had time for a quick shower and then it was off to meet Rachel.

With NORA coming together, I was looking at the 'flagship' cases that we would be working on. Parian was a clear example of helping capes start their own business. Canary was a case of mishandled justice, with NORA fighting to represent her. Rachel was somewhere in the middle. Depending on her testimony and willingness, it might be a case that NORA could challenge in court. Remove the arrest warrant for her and clear her name. And since NORA was meant to advertise Cape abilities for business purposes, her abilities to train dogs would be invaluable. I imagine Herres could use the police dogs, and search and rescue animals were always in demand. I was less sure about the 'pets' department, since most cases it was the owners who needed training, not the dogs.

Stepping out of the shower, I dressed in clean clothes set aside for me. That done, I headed out of the building. Paige was already waiting by the cars and I was curious to see how this went.

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The drive to Southway was quiet. I was working again, reviewing all of the various irons I had in the fire. It meant that Amy was left to talk with Paige on her own. The singer looked outside the car in wonder and a little fear. I had to remember that this was the first time she had been outside in…some time.

The first problem was Boston.

Amelia didn't know about it yet, and I wasn't sure what I could say to her in the first place. Even in an era with containment and quarantine zones around the world, the United States had been largely spared the necessity of having a major city written off. Minor ones? Sure. But nothing this big. Yet, for the sake of expediency, our esteemed political class was discussing doing just that to Boston, sentencing it to a slow death because they didn't want to front the funds necessary to rebuild the city.

It disgusted me, even if I could understand the cold calculus of the decision. The United States may appear to be relatively strong in comparison to the rest of the world. But, in actuality, the foundation was rotten and crumbling. A combination of lost allies and trade, failing infrastructure, budget cuts to social welfare programs, and an increased spending on law, order, and the PRT. We were crumbling, not as fast, but we were.

This was simply a symptom of the collapse that I had projected. As money and resources became scarce, everything was calculated through the lens on whether it would be beneficial to expend resources on. Boston, despite its rich history and economic placement, simply was no longer worth the investment now that most of the city's population were dead or displaced. And even if there hadn't been such a large loss of life, its commercial and industrial sectors were destroyed and the leadership had been savaged.

But if my plan worked? We could change that. A landmark public/private cooperation that would see the city restored greater than ever, and people would naturally return. It would require me to show even more of my hand before I was comfortable and trusting others to build my tech. But the alternative was to do nothing that was absolutely unacceptable to me.

The second problem was Medhall, or rather, the Empire Eighty-Eight with Medhall support.

I had spent hours sitting down with Sam and Jean, going over everything that we knew of the largest white supremacist gang on the continent. On the street level? The E88 were thugs championing a cause that saw everyone other than themselves as lessers. Behind closed doors, however, things got more complicated. First, the E88 made drugs. These ranged from various hard narcotics to off-brand pharmaceuticals. Which they then sold to low-income neighborhood pharmacies and charity organizations, discreetly of course.

This seemed to run completely counter to their stances, but in reality they laced those drugs with trace amounts of opiates. Suddenly, there were new markets for their harder drugs, and they got to spin the narrative that the 'lesser races' were addicted and drug-seeking lunatics.

Then there were the financial crimes. The E88 were big believers in the money laundering business, even hiring out their accountants to various corporations and small-time gangs to help them move money around. After they got their cut of course.

All told? Max Anders ruled an empire that profited several million dollars monthly. And that's without the legitimate sales and revenue from Medhall.

Medhall itself was one of the largest employers in Brockton Bay. From facilities producing pharmaceuticals, sales, distribution and logistics, to thousands of office workers. It was not wrong to say what the economy of the Bay hinged on Medhall's success. Zero Dawn was catching up, but I was the newcomer and it showed.

Now. What can we do about it? At the moment? Nothing much. To prove any of this in a court of law we would need to divulge sources. Most of which were illegal wiretapping, surveillance, and a whole host of things that were patently illegal in their acquisition.

Digging into the man himself, Max Anders was well regarded. Philanthropist, business mogul, and pillar of the community. Something of a playboy, which raised his esteem in some circles. A single son, Theo Anders. He also had another child through another marriage in Aster Anders, a little girl born recently to Kayden Russel. The latter was something of a mystery, having been seen extensively at Max's side for years, before cutting contact about a year ago. Not disappeared, the woman could still be found in the city, but she no longer attended the business parties, social soirees, and so on that Max frequented.

It wasn't that hard to read between the lines on what Max's end goal was. It wasn't just control of Zero Dawn, the man was thinking dynastically, using his son to entangle me. It was a strange juxtaposition, a 'modern' man who subscribed to old world customs.

Interestingly, there seemed to be tension between father and son. Or maybe distance. In public, Theo was dutiful, polite, and composed. But he wasn't engaged. Not in the Medhall company, and not in anything tangentially connected to Max's social circle. Even more interestingly, Theo spent most of his time with his half-sister and her mother. That moved Kayden further up on my priority list for observation. Hopefully, we will get some clarity soon.

Whether Theo was knowingly involved in this scheme was still uncertain.

It's something that I would have to invest some time and energy in. I might be seeing threats that weren't even there, simply because I associated Theo to his father. But, it would still be wise to not take the chance, especially now with the clear and present danger of the Empire.

For a moment, I muted my Focus, letting myself descend back into darkness. It was…trying. Months ago, I had envisioned building a company. I had been excited to see what I could build and the changes I could bring to peoples' lives. Now? I had spies. Intelligence briefings. I had to decide if we were going to bug a young mother's apartment, or assign a surveillance team with a directional microphone on her window. All because people saw my potential and wanted it for themselves.

Or perhaps I didn't, I silently mused. I held my finger up and then slid it in a quarter circle downwards. Immediately, it brought up administration access to Sobek. I could loosen her leash and provide her an opportunity to expand her capabilities. It certainly would be something.

I would be making decisions that shape people's lives. It was both exhilarating and downright terrifying. Because there was always the worry that I would go too far and lose sight of who I was. Like I was considering now.

I paused, sighing before flicking my fingers to close the administration routine. Unleashing Sobek on the Empire would be akin to using a sledgehammer on an ant. As enticing it would be to partake in the sport of stomping out these discount nazis, it would be an abuse of resources that could be better used elsewhere. Not only that, but it was a weapon I could only use once. It seemed I was going to have to put the ball in Ryan's court on this matter.

Placing those plans to the side, I noted in the corner of my vision that we were approaching our destination. Closing the AR display, I took the moment to take a deep breath and let it out, retasking myself for the matter at hand.

Was I worried how this was going to play out? Definitely. I had faith that Paige would be able to win over Bitch, as the cape insisted on calling herself, but everything after that was the issue. I had a personality profile put together on Rachel Lindt, and it read as a veritable landmine of issues that could easily be triggered by a simple misunderstanding. It was something I wanted to avoid, but I wasn't sure if it could necessarily be avoided in the long run.

Nonetheless, I had to have faith that things would work out here, because there was no turning back anymore. That ship had sailed when I had chosen to intervene in Boston. And now my only path forward was out-escalating those who would see me fail. Each move had to be more grandiose and inviolable, otherwise I would give ground to my enemies and competition.

But right now, I needed to remember that we were here for Paige, not NORA. And as the vehicle came to a stop, I focused on that. Paige needed a break, she needed something to remind her that she was human, but also something that would help her through what had occurred. That was why we were here, and that's what I was going to focus upon for now.

Disembarking from the SUV, I idly noted our protective detail was already fanning out, but were avoiding any overt signs of aggression. It seemed that Sam had everything well and truly in hand. We honestly did not want to provoke Rachel, but at the same time, Sam had a duty to ensure my protection and…I silently accessed Sam's Focus through the backdoor. Sure enough, there was a tactical team ready to respond within a minute nearby.

I filed that away, though I did wonder if I should impose myself on the tactical briefings in order to ensure that we were on the same page. It was something to talk to Sam about after this. While I didn't want to impose upon her too hard, lest I create resentment and an image of micromanagement, it would probably be prudent that I be aware of everything in the event that something did go wrong.

But that was something for future me, right now, the focus was on Paige.

I scanned around the park, taking in the sights, albeit in their blue and magenta hues of what was in range. Honestly, I needed to take some time and work on upgrading my Focus again. The range limitation was becoming an increasingly glaring issue, but it was more than that. I wanted to see 'normally' again. Alas, I found myself continuously moving the timetable for the next iteration back because of everything that was occurring. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror, pun not intended, if I selfishly focused on myself when there were people that were desperately in need of my help.

No, at this juncture it was not a high priority, it was merely me obsessing over the fact that I knew I could now improve it to something far better than what it was. But with my current estimates that Project Báleygr was still a year or two off before technological maturation, it would have to be something to hold the line until we reached that point of singularity.

I was drawn out of my thoughts by Sam tensing next to me. I noted in my vision overlay that the quiet chatter of the guards increased dramatically as they spread out more.

"Sam, remember," I murmured just loud enough for only her to hear, "She's skittish, you need to make it clear that we're not here for her."

There was a brief moment of hesitation, before murmuring something that I couldn't quite hear. But the way that the protective detail adjusted their posture and positions, it was obviously some sort of order. Satisfied, I took a seat on the nearby bench, Amy walking over to sit next to me. Paige remained standing, walking back and forth anxiously. She was looking around, drinking in the sights. The smile on her face was simple, taking the joy in being back in nature. I could relate.

The park wasn't anything impressive. It was an open space with patchy grass. There were a few trees with a metal play set with sand. Even as a kid, my mom wouldn't let me play in those. Mostly because there had been several incidents where drug needles had been left lying around in the sand. It became commonplace around the city after similar cases happened, most parents did not want to risk it with their children. As a result, the playpark sat rusting in the elements, forgotten and neglected, much like Brockton Bay had been.

I wanted to change that. One day.

We heard the dogs before we saw her. There were six of them, which amazed me, since only three were on a leash held tightly in the young woman's hand. The three without leashes were an eclectic mix: a mid-sized rottweiler with a stumpy tail walked at Rachel's side. A terrier scampered around, running back and forth around the group. Rachel would occasionally click or whistle and the dog would come running. It was missing an ear, and possibly an eye judging by the damage that was noticeable even with the reduced fidelity at this range. The last was a german shepherd, its distinctive triangle ears moving about as it trotted along.

The leashed animals were a lab, a collie, and something else with a long body and floppy ears. I leaned over to Amy asking her what it was. Apparently it was a setter. Never heard of the breed, to be honest. Then again, I wasn't exactly a dog person either.

With a sharp bark of 'heel' and a little bit of fussing, the group came to a stop. Sensing that was my signal, I rose to my feet and stepped towards Rachel, Sam shadowing me every step, "Thank you for coming, Bitch."

Rachel grunted, "Said I would. You said you wanted a dog for someone? They better take care of them."

I nodded, waving at Paige to step forward. She seemed nervous, maybe put off by Rachel's…everything. Ripped jeans, leather jacket, angry face, and a pack of dogs to back her up. She certainly made for an intimidating display.

"This is Paige, she was hoping—"

"She can talk, yeah? She can answer," Rachel cut me off, staring down Paige, "Well?"

The former singer glanced between myself, Rachel, the dogs who were fidgeting a little, and then back to Rachel. She took a nervous breath, before nodding her head, "Yes, I promise. I'll take good care of him or her. I've been learning what I can about dogs, and taking care of them and—"

"Why do you want one? Lot of people say they want one, then get rid of them. It's not fair."

Paige was silent for a moment, "Because I don't like being alone. I want a partner."

Rachel fell silent for a moment, judging her.

"Alright. Come, see how you do," glancing at the three dogs that were off their leash, she said 'free', which caused them to bolt in different directions, running to explore the park. For a moment, I was shocked even as my protective detail tensed, but Rachel didn't really seem to worry. Paige walked over, lowering herself as the leashed dogs sniffed all over. I could see her start to smile as she let her hands be licked. Rachel's rough voice talking about the dogs as the other three wandered around.

Satisfied that things were working out, I returned back to the bench, "Sam, please remind your people that the dogs are friendly, but not to be engaged with."

The message was passed along, and I sat back and watched.

"You think that they have all their shots," Amy asked, having not moved from the bench,

I shrugged, "Probably? They seem to be healthy."

"Yeah, they seem to be. Until they bite someone and the injury gets infected."

"That seems to be more of a human problem than a dog one," I replied, grinning. Rachel untangled one of the leashes, having Paige walk them up and down. The singer had a big smile on her face. Much larger than I'd seen in awhile.

Amy sighed, slumping back, "So…Mr. And Mrs. Siopis. I saw the message they sent. They're coming by soon, yeah? And…you want me to heal their son?"

I frowned, turning to Amy, "No. I want you to hear them out and make a decision on your own. Like I've already told you, Amy, it's your power to do with how you want."

"But you want to take advantage of the opportunity. The healing, I mean."

Something twisted in my guts at Amy's doubt about me. It felt wrong to have her feel that way about me. I'd like to think that I hadn't done anything to deserve such a reaction. Instead of rebutting, I decided to try and explain as clearly as I could, "I said I'd be honest with you, Amy. Yes, I can see how we can use this to our advantage and use it to move the company forward. To get the PRT off our backs. Too much of this world operates on favors and leverage, as distastefully as that sounds. But I meant it, Amy, if you don't want to do this, we'll find another way."

The last thing I wanted to do was appear to be pressuring her into making a choice that she didn't want to make. We would have plenty of opportunities going forward. Frankly, I felt that it was my responsibility to make sure that she had the power to make that choice…Which I hadn't said

I sighed, frustrated with myself at that casual oversight. Reaching over, I placed my hand on hers, lightly gripping it. I wasn't a very 'touchy' person, but I knew that the most efficacious route to airing my intentions was by letting Amy read my biology.

"Look, Amy. Whether you choose to do it or not does not matter to me, okay? The only reason I shared it with you is because it is your choice. It's your power to do with as you please. I would be robbing you of that autonomy if I didn't. The last thing I want you to think is that I'm trying to manipulate you into doing something you don't want to do, okay? Other opportunities are liable to appear, better ones where you aren't put into this position. Let's just drop this, how about that?"

She was quiet for a moment, staring as one of the dogs, the lab, rolled over for belly scratches. The silence was causing me to worry that I had said something wrong. I know I was trying, but I wasn't sure if she truly understood why I did this.

"Amy?"

Amy sighed, her eyes closing as she slowly shook her head. I felt my stomach drop at the sight.

"You know," she paused, looking for the right words, "I'm starting to see what Carol meant. She gave me this entire spiel that she was trying to protect me from having to deal with the choices of who I accept and didn't accept for healing. I hate that she was right on anything, 'cuz fuck her."

She bit her lip, staring towards Paige who laughed at the collie frolicking around her. I had nothing to say, because I wasn't sure what to say. Amy really didn't like talking about her life with Carol Dallon, and I didn't like the idea of pushing it. We all have things we'd rather not discuss, after all.

"Talk to me about leverage."

Firming myself, I started talking. If the PRT refused Amy healing the PRT's injured ward, we would have several dozen reporters who would love to have that story. If she offered and was accepted, though? Well, she could name her price. The issue came back to what she could reasonably request. I didn't want her to request anything for Zero Dawn, unless she absolutely wanted to. This was her power, and I didn't want to barter her for favors or anything like that. It felt…dirty.

But what could Amy legitimately ask for? If she demanded the list of seized properties and assets from Marquis' arrest, it would tip them off that she was looking at legal action. NORA was out, simply because Ryan had made it clear to keep it local, and the second we talked anything about a union, collective, or even cape organization, it was going to shoot all the way to DC. That was a definite no-go.

However...it wasn't out of the question to request that the PRT to agree to cooperation with Zero Dawn and its future subsidiaries. If we presented NORA as an organization independent of my company, but still under our patronage, then that would give us some wiggle room. Yes, I was counting on the PRT wanting to mend bridges with Amelia and myself. If they didn't want to do that? Then that was what the media was for. People would likely not take kindly to the idea of the miracle healer of Brockton Bay being heartbroken about not being able to care for an injured Ward.

Realistically, it was the PRT and myself that was going to be at odds in the future. I imagine that most of the people who were part of that organization were decent. Every group had those types of people. Good, bad, and so forth. But fundamentally, at its core, the organization needed change. Unfortunately for reality, organizations did not take kindly to criticism or evolution. They tended to be quite comfortable with their little apple carts being undisturbed.

Amy and I talked for a big, going back and forth over the monetary value of her services before lapsing into speaking of unimportant things. For a moment, we chatted like friends as the dogs barked and played...I felt good. Normal. Happy, even.

It was a strange feeling.

Then Monica was at my shoulder, leaning over to speak into my ear. It seemed that my other guests had arrived. I turned my head, catching sight of a middle-aged couple being escorted by members of my security detail. Amy begged me off, wanting to talk to Rachel about the dogs and making sure they were healthy.

Releasing a sigh, I stood and got back to work.

Taylor Hebert

Brockton Bay

May 10th, 2011

What does it take to rebuild a city? Believe it or not, there actually was something of a guidebook. City planners, civil servants, political leaders, all of them had come together at some point and worked out the process. At least, a process laid out in broad strokes. The Army had found itself involved as well. But their interest had been more along the lines of 'after we take over the city, how do we make it usable again?'

It starts with fulfilling the basic needs for citizens and inspecting the functionality of infrastructure. Basically, have food, water, shelter, and take stock of what's still standing. Herres was on top of that and doing an admirable job. The trouble starts with the next step, however. Reconstruction.

See, cities are organized chaos. Planned intentionally and built organically. Commercial, residential, mixed zones, and industrial zoning. Lines of transportation, roads, train lines, and metro. Things were added as they're needed, or else repurposed when things changed. If you didn't plan properly, then things wouldn't move comfortably. Goods wouldn't flow. People wouldn't travel. Services weren't offered. But if you tried to force it when there was no need, then cost overruns would ruin the city and chaos would return.

Right now? It's all about economic recovery. Once you know where the businesses would be, you need to build the companies to fill the spaces. If you were starting companies from scratch, you needed financial startup programs. Seed money. You needed skilled workers to come in to fill those positions.

As more people come in or move away from basic sustenance, you would need to build communities. Integrate the old and new residents. Community programs. Cultural activities. Social interactions. Anything to create a sense of belonging and unity.

And of course, you need to do all of this while rebuilding. While building new. While planning around future expansions. And while ensuring environmental protections are met and creating new green spaces. All the while you were maintaining engagement with the residents, both old and new, into the construction of the city you were creating. Making sure that their voice is part of the decision-making process.

It was a massive undertaking. It was a challenge of planning that would take years, thousands of planners, and potentially hundreds of thousands of man-hours.

We needed it to happen in months. Not years. It was asking for the impossible.

Fortunately, it wasn't my problem. I was leaving it to someone far more suited for this.

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"Please tell me everything is going to go well Mr. Fuchs"

"You should know how this goes by now, Ms. Hebert. Untested new technology pushed out the door far sooner than it should be. It's been nothing short of a miracle that we haven't suffered a major setback yet."

It wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear, even if it was the most reasonable of responses. But that was why I had placed Lucius Fuchs in charge of the Rescue Lance Program in the first place. He was going to tell me the truth, regardless if I liked it or not.

And he was right. We had been lucky that we hadn't suffered any unfortunate setbacks. Quite frankly, we were experiencing a statistical anomaly in that nothing had yet to go wrong with the machines of the Rescue Lances. Even with the knowledge that I had, none of what we had fielded was a perfect replication of those designs. We just didn't have the material capabilities to match the designs to their exact detail.

Monica leaned over, "Ms. Taylor, they're waiting for you downstairs."

I nodded, taking the time to look over as the technicians worked over the Sunwing one last time.

Lucius must have caught my look of worry, because he tried to reassure me, "Don't worry, ma'am, we'll make sure Petrie is fit for flight. Don't you worry."

I had to struggle not to frown at the choice of nickname that the engineers had given the prototype Sunwing. Naming it/him after a character that struggles to fly is…well, it just seemed like tempting bad luck to me. But the name had nonetheless stuck despite my worries.

I nodded, accepting that I wasn't going to be able to make any difference here stewing on my worries. Casting one last glance at the machine, I turned and made my way back into the building and down the stairs.

Three stories down, I stepped into the morning light and did my best to quell my nerves. The testing was meant to be simple: Launch the Sunwing off the roof of the DWU building and have it perform a test-flight over the docks and the bay. It was meant to last long enough to provide the requisite data for further refinements to the design. The reason we had chosen this venue was rather simple: in the event of a catastrophic failure, the resultant crash wouldn't generate casualties.

It was rather funny, I don't think anyone would have ever imagined the Docks being a testing facility. But here we were, with a guest list of observers in attendance. Many of them were interested in the outcome of this test flight. Sam slipped into my shadow as we moved towards the crowd. Thankfully, we managed to keep the attendance modest, both Adam and Sam were worried about having too large of a crowd and the security difficulties that would result.

There was, of course, the project team that had set up under a tent, their laptop and Foci blazing as they awaited the treasure trove of data from this test. Mr. Eaton had also been invited, as this was my chance to show off that the subsidies and development money that I was getting was going towards. Hopefully, this test will continue to impress. The BBPD had sent someone over as well, alongside the fire department. There was a representative of SunCorp Manufacturing. A mid-sized solar cell manufacturing company, which had been struggling with low client numbers. In return for the design of the solar membrane, the company was now folded under ZDT. Common sense would have dictated that I chose a larger company, and Jean had been adamant on it, but I had personally interviewed their CEO and had found myself liking the man far more than I expected. So far, I have not been disappointed in the choice.

The company itself was now the first subsidiary under the Zero Dawn umbrella. They would continue to produce solar membranes, and I was set to speak with the representative about my expectations for the company. I wanted to make sure that the working environment and compensation were to my standards. Aside from that, I was going to leave them to run themselves.

There was even a small crowd of curious onlookers, despite both Sam and Adam's efforts to keep the event from becoming common knowledge. Luckily, they had been prepared for and were sequestered behind metal fencing and Adam's security staff.

A ways off, I was told that the unloading of the Maersk Iowa was still ongoing. There was already another ship planned to replace that once offloading was complete. Suffice to say the port and trainyard was the liveliest it has been in over three decades.

"Ms. Hebert?"

I found my attention drawn off the crowd to Mr. Eaton who had joined me.

"Mr. Eaton, glad you can join us. Any questions before we get started?"

He smiled, shading his eyes to look up at the roof, "Loads of questions, Ms. Hebert. I'll admit, when you said you had a flying machine in the works, I didn't quite believe your time frame. Clearly I was wrong."

"My team and I do our best to meet expectations. But make no mistake, this is only the beginning."

"How so?"

I looked up, fully aware that my focus couldn't let me 'see' Petrie on the roof above. It was too far of a distance for now. But the transponder installed inside it blinked in my vision, "This would be Version One of the Sunwing. It's not quite a prototype and not quite a final product. Limitations of materials and manufacturing are going to require continued development. If we get orders, we'll be sure to have everything ironed out before they ship."

It was a constant back and forth between what my brain and memories said should be the 'final' version of the machine and what we could produce. The difference between the possible and the practical.

Still…this was a damned fine start.

Provided that it didn't fall out of the sky.

Looking up again, Mr. Eaton commented, "I have no doubt that you'll get plenty of interest in these on novelty alone. When you presented the idea, you said these machines would be 'aerial reconnaissance'. Can you expand on that?"

"Certainly, Mr. Eaton," I smiled, "As you are aware, one of the greatest strengths of the LRL is how it integrates sensor information and how it coordinates this data with other machines in the unit. However, Boston served to expose a critical limitation of the LRL as well: unless it is able to datalink with aerial assets, it is limited to ground-level line-of-sight data collection. What the LRL needs is its own dedicated aerial support and that's where the Sunwing comes in. With a near-limitless endurance and its own unique fusion of sensors, including long range, high focus cameras mounted in the head and belly, the Sunwing will serve as the ever-present eyes in the sky for the LRL. Providing data to better direct the lance as it moves through a disaster area."

I could feel Eaton's eyes on me.

"Near limitless endurance, Ms. Hebert?"

I offered a small smile, "The wings are made of a flexible photovoltaic membrane that collects solar energy at a rather high efficiency. Nearly eighty percent as opposed to the current standard of seven to fifteen percent. That energy is then stored in an internal ultracapacitor in the Sunwing, allowing the machine to operate for near indefinite periods of time without having to worry about physically refueling. It even has the option to charge while operating in the air if necessary, provided that it's bright enough of course."

"Ms. Hebert, you are telling me that you have solar collection systems that have a high enough efficiency to continuously maintain the energy demands of a high-usage machine…and you are placing it on a machine first?"

"To be fair, I wanted to ensure that my math was correct, Mr. Eaton, before I shared it with you. There is always a chance that the math was wrong. And the best way to stress test something is putting it in a situation where it has the highest probability of failure. In my defense, though, I did hint at it with the Department of Energy."

"I see," the other man said, even though I had a feeling he probably didn't. A lot of what I was doing went against convention on the tried and true method of testing new technologies. Then again, it wasn't that I was actually doing that, but they didn't know that either. Almost all I knew had been tried and tested, I was just resting on the data of giants, after all.

"And does it need to operate with the Rescue Lance or can it operate independently?"

"Provided that it has a computer to receive and interpret data, it can operate independently. It's why we've invited representatives of the city and police. With the right integration, it can replace police-use helicopters and provide real time guidance to rescue operations. Even give us up to the minute traffic and weather information."

"Fascinating…I can think of a few places that the federal government could use these. You mentioned that it doesn't take fuel? It's a glider?"

"Not at all. Electrical power is harnessed to generate thrust through a Microwave Plasma Thrust System," I turned to see him stare at me for a moment, "I call it the Blade Engine."

Silence met me for a moment.

"I…can have one of the techs run you through the details, of course. Now, speaking of details. I know we have spoken of other drone designs and I hope to have those ready soon. The Sunwing will be serving as a testbed for a lot of the technologies that will go into the de—"

"Alright everyone, here we go," Mr. Fuch's voice echoed over the area through the speakers. We all looked up, seeing the staff moving away from the building's edge, "All personnel clear the platform, all onlookers please be aware. Launch in ten, nine, eight…"

I wouldn't let my nervousness show, even if I could not help the gordian knot my stomach had twisted itself into. I needed to have faith in my own product or I would be undermining my efforts. But this….this was probably the largest gamble I had made yet. A setback here wouldn't be devastating, but it would be bad enough. I could have spent more time and energy on several other projects in the time that I had spent on the Sunwing.

As surreptitiously as possible, I clasped my hands together, doing my best to keep from fidgeting. Or descending into prayer. Or hijacking the telemetry that the technicians would be going over. Instead, I put up the most unquestionable front of confidence possible in the history of fronts.

"Launch!"

We all looked up. I watched as the shape of the Sunwing launched itself off the edge of the building and fell. My heart was in my throat, until the massive wings opened up and Petrie beat its wings.

And gained altitude.

With a gasp of relief, I started breathing again. Behind me, I could hear a few cheers from the onlookers and some backslapping from the technicians. Dimly, I shook Mr. Eaton's hand as platitudes were offered that didn't register with me, my attention never leaving the sky. Finally tapping into the telemetry, I tracked as the Sunwing ascended into the sky, propelled by a mix of wingpower and jets. All the while, I watched the diagnostics, the transponder fitted to comply with FAA regulation squawking to any and all to see. It became so small that it existed only as a small transposed dot in my vision, heading out over the bay. If it crashed now, it would mean someone was going swimming, but…with fingers crossed, I observed that things seemed to be going well.

This was only the beginning. We had now proven that the Sunwing was capable of flight. Now was the difficult part, as we started dozens upon dozens of tests, all the while monitoring to see that the machine mind was learning and evolving properly. We would test aerial maneuvers, landing and taking off. After that we would test the mapping features and the datalink systems, ensuring that everything integrated fully and flawlessly. The Sunwing was meant to be the eyes of the LRL, mapping out an area and providing real-time information on the location of everything inside its sensor range. Then, once that was done, we would test its ability to follow a specific person or vehicle, ensuring that it could focus its surveillance upon singular targets.

All the while, we would be testing its endurance, watching its energy draw and see how long it could stay aloft. How efficient the photovoltaic membranes worked at solar collection, and so on. And finally, once that was all done, it was back to the workshop to be taken apart and tested for wear, tear, and stress.

Of course, I wouldn't be staying all day. As much as I wanted to be down there, poring over the data and tearing the machine apart, I was needed back in the office. But for now, I was going to take advantage of enjoying the sun on my face, tracing the ping of the transponder as it traveled across the sky. I could only imagine how it must look to see it flying over the water, the sun playing off its wings as it crossed the blue sky with blue waves underneath it.

My day was starting amazingly.

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Amelia Lavere

My day was starting horribly, and it wasn't even lunch yet.

Nervously shifting in my seat, I clenched my hands, before unclenching them again. Open. Close. Open. Close. My hands hurt from the constant action. I found myself cycling through the notes on my Focus again to see that nothing had changed. The check of the notebook in my pad also resulted in the acknowledgement of its unchanged state as well. I sat back and breathed, watching the city roll by behind tinted windows.

I knew it was childish what I was doing, but my nerves were getting the better of me right now.

This would be the first time that I would be stepping foot in PRT HQ not as Panacea, member of New Wave, but as Amelia Lavere, private citizen. It was both nerve-wracking and, for some strange reason, liberating as well. I wasn't sure why I should feel that, but I just felt like a nervous wreck because of it.

I honestly wished Taylor was here.

We had talked it out and planned what to ask. How to back the PRT into a corner and get the deal we both wanted. Still, it all fell to me to make sure that the deals we wanted were to happen. Not Ms. Brown with her pretty clothes, calculating eyes and sharp words. Not Taylor with her unbreakable spirit and force of will. Me…

The car slowed and I repeated my saving grace again in my head.

Channel Taylor.

Steven got out as the suburban stopped, and I waited as he looked around before opening his door. Was it strange to have a dedicated bodyguard whose job was my protection, and if necessary sacrifice his life for me, for what should be a routine meeting? Certainly, but it wasn't just about protection, it was about presenting an image.

So as the soldier with sharp eyes decked out in nice clothes opened the door, I stepped out, further enhancing that image. I wore the same skirt/greatcoat combo from the press event. It was comfortable and it also held a commanding presence. It made me feel powerful, and I channeled every bit of that energy as I walked towards the PRT lobby, notebook in hand. Steven half a step off my right shoulder.

I adjusted my gloves. They were a new addition to my outfit: lightweight, breathable, and skintight. Turns out having a seamstress on hand was…handy when you have custom orders. They would solve a problem that…I had never had the courage to acknowledge until now.

Standing just off the door was the woman I was set to meet. Lydia Stern was a reporter for the Brockton Bay Gazette. I never paid attention to reporters when I was part of New Wave. Carol made sure that we had a basic understanding in how to deal with them…but making use of them like this? This was an entirely new experience.

I took in the woman as I approached her. Windswept brown hair, with grey hairs starting to encroach around her temples. Her eyes were sharp, judging me as I approached her. She was dressed professionally relaxed, in a suit and skirt, which, for a city like Brockton Bay, was not something you really saw with newspaper reporters.

Why a newspaper reporter was chosen instead of the local television news was rather simple. The local news was known to be more sympathetic to the PRT, whereas the Gazette was neutral to say the least. It could have been easy to find some news group that would have a more negative stance on the PRT, but it would have taken away the moral high ground that we could possess. It was a lot that I honestly wasn't used to, the idea of moral high grounds, leverage, and framing. It felt like I was in an entirely foreign world, to say the least.

"Ms. Stern, it's nice to meet you in person," I greeted, channeling Taylor with as much charm as I could manage. We shook hands, the thin material of the gloves preventing my powers from tracing the woman's biology. The gloves also prevented me from being bashed over the head with biological information every time I brushed against someone. Mr. Milton had explained to me that Panacea had the protection of New Wave and the PRT, Amelia Lavere didn't and any physical skin-to-skin contact could be construed as possible assault with a parahuman power whether or not I did something. The burden of proof would be on me to prove otherwise. It was eye-opening to say the least how sheltered I seemed to have been.

"Ms. Lavere," she greeted cordially. Nothing beyond that. Polite professional, and fully aware that she would get a story by playing along. I wondered how she must think of me. A girl putting on airs? Perhaps someone attempting to reinvent themselves? Ultimately, I needed to do what I could to secure a positive opinion from her. Carol, Ms. Brown, and Taylor had all made it clear, having a friendly media in my corner was important.

Part of the deal that we broke with Ms. Stern was that either she would get a worthwhile story here and now, or she would get my first official interview after my departure from New Wave. I wasn't exactly comfortable with the latter option, but I was finding that a lot of growing up was making the best of the worst options.

Taylor was teaching me that.

The PRT building in downtown Brockton Bay was a monument to the adaptability of government. A renovated office building turned into law enforcement headquarters. The lobby, still containing lingering echoes of excess in its decorating light fixtures, polished floors, and a sleek marble reception desk. All of this was contrasted by the dozens of cameras openly watching everyone, the not-so-concealed turrets in the ceiling, and the pair of PRT troopers standing at either end of the room.

Our entrance caused a quiet stir. Heads turned, guards shifted their balance, and the receptionist looked up as we approached.

Channel Taylor, I reminded myself as I straightened up and denied the unconscious slouch I had been giving into. Head high, don't rush. Look relaxed, but focused.

I smiled at the receptionist as we arrived at the receptionist, the man giving me a perfectly bland smile back.

"Hello, my name is Amelia Lavere. I have an appointment with Director Piggot," I offered as much charm as I could muster. It really did nothing for the receptionist, as they barely acknowledged me as their gaze shifted to their computer.

"And your accompaniment," they asked, their tone bland.

"Lydia Stern of the Brockton Bay Gazette, who will remain in the lobby," I replied, keeping my expression as pleasant as possible, "and my personal protection, Steven Lincoln."

That drew a reaction, as their gaze flicked up and towards Stephen who did his best impression of a statue. Then his gaze went back to the computer. If having personal protection was jarring for me, I had a feeling that it was just the same way for others.

"They will have to remain here," the receptionist said, still not looking from the computer, "No recordings are permitted beyond this point. Please hand over your Focus device. It will be returned when you exit."

My hand came up to my temple where my Focus rested. Honestly, it had reached the point where I didn't even think it was strange. At this point it felt more like an extension of my body, like a piece that I never had been aware I had been missing. The digital world at my fingertips, layered on top of the real.

Fortunately, we were prepared.

Channel Taylor, I reminded myself.

Silently, I took the device off and handed it to Steven. He then extricated a silver case from his inner pocket, slipping my Focus into the case, before removing his own and doing the same. All the while, the PRT officer stared impassively at the both of us.

I smiled, bland and cool on the outside, nervous on the inside. This was about setting the tone.

"There must have been a miscommunication. My contract with Zero Dawn Technologies stipulates that I have a protective detail. Mr. Lincoln will be coming with me. I hope you can accommodate me."

This meeting was important. For both Taylor and the PRT. But it was more important for them than it was for us. So I was going to make them blink first.

Channel Taylor

Something grabbed the man's attention before he could answer, his eyes darting to the screen of his computer. After a brief narrowing of his eyes, he offered me another bland smile.

"Of course, Panacea, we can make an exception for your circumstances. Please follow these officers. They will lead you to the conference room."

We were then ushered into an elevator, Ms. Stern taking a seat to await our return. Several floors up, I was led into the conference room. Spartan, functional, but with large windows, it screamed government issue. However, the person waiting for me was not who I was expecting. It wasn't Piggot who sat at the end of the table.

Instead, it was Deputy Director Johnathan Renick. The reedy-looking man looked worn out. Tired brown eyes peered at her through wide square-rimmed glasses. The fluorescent light made his normally pale skin look sallow, as what should have been neatly combed brown hair was greasy and starting to become unkempt.

Credit to him though, he stood and reached over the table to shake my hand without a comment, though his eyes flicked to my gloves, "Panacea, thank you very much for coming in."

I smiled, keeping in mind the lessons that I had recently received, "You're welcome, Deputy Director. I am looking forward to reaching an agreement so that we can put this issue behind us."

Make it clear that you're doing something for them. Don't thank them. You need to make it clear that they need you. Then remind them that there's no contractual agreement in place, that way the problem is firmly on their side and they will have to solve it.

"I was also expecting Director Piggot. Is she not available?"

The man's mouth twisted and I was suddenly curious as to why, "No…Director Piggot is not available. I'll be negotiating in her place."

There was something wrong with how he said that, but he didn't explain any further. Instead, he reclaimed his seat and folded his hands on the table. It was just us in the room. Steven was outside with a PRT officer as well. This had been agreed beforehand. The PRT wouldn't bring lawyers or anyone else. It was in order to keep things simple, as it was pitched to me.

Of course, there was an ulterior motive to it as well. They likely believed that they would be able to take advantage of my inexperience in order to create a favorable contract for the PRT.

Start the discussion first. Keep the momentum.

"Now, I've provided healing in the past to the PRT and Protectorate. But that was as a member of New Wave. And unfortunately, as an employee of Zero Dawn Technologies, I have to acknowledge that the current relationship between Zero Dawn and the PRT is…contentious to say the least."

I flipped my notebook open, slipping out the pen from the spine and I tapped it on the first point, "I'm not necessarily interested in a monetary gain for my services from the PRT. That's not fair to you or the taxpayer. Instead, I would prefer cooperation with me, and by extension, Zero Dawn Technologies."

Renick nodded, his expression flicking between irritation and impassivity. I had a feeling he wasn't expecting any of this. I had been practicing. had coached me, language, body language, negotiation techniques, social engineering. She was… like Carol, but with less edges. I reminded myself to slow down. I couldn't let my irritation at the fact that he felt he could take advantage of me color my interaction, "And what kind of cooperation are you looking for?"

"Access to an unredacted copy of all Marquis files, including and not limited to a list of all properties and assets that were seized as a result of his arrest," I tapped the notepad, moving down the list, "A retainer's agreement between myself and the PRT for healing services in order to satisfy the legal requirements of NEPEA-5. And finally, an agreement of non-interference between the PRT and Zero Dawn Technologies, along with any present or future companies and organizations that might fall under the ZDT umbrella."

"Panacea, we can't just hand over secure files to the public, even to capes that we have a good working relationship with."

"A good working relationship, Deputy Director? I wouldn't describe being pressed into a predatory contract as a good working relationship," I stated acidly, unable to stop myself, "The PRT seemed perfectly fine with taking advantage of my services at significantly less than market price. Which, might I point out, is in direct violation of NEPEA-5. But considering who enforces it," I finished by trailing off, all the while cursing myself for losing my composure. That was not beneficial to any negotiation to lose my cool.

I had to recover this misstep. This was about a negotiation of peers, not throwing dirty laundry from the past out for cheap points. Nor was I going to correct him on my name. Ms. Brown had floated the idea of rebranding, but Panacea was me. It was just a part that I was now claiming solely as my own, rather than feel like it was an expectation and burden. As a cape, I could offer panacea to the world, only it would now be on my terms.

Sighing, I made myself look as apologetic as possible, "I'm sorry. Some of my past with New Wave is still a rather sore subject. What I intended to say is that any future contract signed between us would be negotiated as peers with both parties benefitting. The previous contract, signed by Sarah Pelham on the insistence of Carol Dallon, was one that put an unfair burden on myself to perform, with none of the protections that should have been granted to me under child labor laws."

"That's…understandable," Renick seemed to find the words unpleasant, "apology accepted, Panacea."

I nodded, trying to recenter myself, I couldn't afford more missteps like this. Don't make it personal. You aren't going to win everything. You want to win the package, not the individual items, I reminded myself, jotting down a note in my notebook. Give ground, but make sure to gain it back elsewhere.

"Perhaps we can figure a way to compensate for that. It's worthwhile to note that in order to meet the stringent guidelines of NEPEA-5, I would have to be compensated equal to, or greater than, the market value of what my power provides. Now, a trauma surgeon working at a top level hospital makes around six-hundred-thousand dollars a year. Given that what I provide is something that no other healer or doctor can offer, in a time frame that no one can ever match, I think a retainer of eight-hundred-thousand a year sounds reasonable."

It was, quite frankly, an absurd amount of money. I had nothing that I could compare it to. Give it three years, once factoring in taxes, I would be a millionaire.

Renick grimaced, "That number seems excessive. We are, after all, a government agency. We don't have that kind of money lying around. It would cripple our ability to deal with villains and undercut heroic efforts."

I would remind you that you were perfectly fine with fleecing New Wave, I resisted the urge to retort. I really wanted to smile; wanted to express this twisted feeling of schadenfreude, damn you Taylor for your dictionary mind, stirring in my heart. The PRT would bend, and they would actually bend to me. It was a heady feeling backed by this smugness that I had only ever seen out of Victoria.

Was this how she felt when she got one over on Dean?

Careful, I chided myself at the diversive thoughts and feelings , even as I acted like I was looking through my notes, don't let it show.

"I understand," I stated simply, mentally wincing at the tone. It sounded like I felt exactly the opposite of what I was saying. I was trying to be diplomatic, not an asshole who knew I had them over the barrel, "But NEPEA-5 is absolute, unless I meet the established market value of my services, I would be a criminal in the eyes of the law. And without you offering me anything that could be argued to offset this, I will have to insist upon the retainer fee in full or this negotiation is over. Are you sure there isn't anything you can compromise with?"

The man shuffled his own papers, trying to find a balance. He had obviously been expecting a teenager and not someone who had been coached. After all, who would have expected Amy Dallon, the obedient and unassertive healer that they had been taking advantage of for years, to actually have a spine. Unfortunately for them, I had something to prove. To myself. To the World. And to Taylor. And it started here.

Finally, it seemed Renick had found something he could work with, "I'd like to understand what you mean by cooperation with Zero Dawn. I understand that the company is receiving federal contracts."

"Yes, but Taylor," Fuck!, "retains the right to determine where her products end up. I doubt anyone is going to politely describe the relationship between the PRT and Zero Dawn as cordial. Director Piggot has made it clear in the past that she doesn't like with her previous actions," the wince from Renick told me that I had hit home. Again, I wasn't supposed to do that, but I've been in the orbit of the PRT enough over the years to recognize what Piggot had done hadn't been for the public good as much as serving herself. Taylor had hurt her rather infamous pride and Piggot had lashed out in retaliation hoping to reassert her supposed superiority.

I had to be harsh, but clear in this moment. And if Jean was here, she'd probably be screaming internally even as she tried to stop me. As much as Taylor had benefitted from Piggot's little hamfisted raid in the long run, it had bothered her deep down, and still did. The idea that the government at any moment could just walk in and declare everything that she did as illegal. Piggot wouldn't be afraid to do it if she believed she could, the spiteful bitch.

"An agreement here would send a message that it wants to deescalate and open a new relationship. One in which would be amicable to potentially providing the PRT and Protectorate with products before anyone else in the market. Improved computer systems, personal equipment and armor, and the Focus network, to name a few. That's without getting into the mechanimal development. The Sunwing test that is currently taking place has been a rousing success from what I've been told."

It was fascinating to talk about the PRT with Taylor. On one hand, she praised the formation of the agency and their stated goals. On the other hand, she lambasted them for their incompetence and inefficiency. She got especially animated when blasting their brute force solution to almost everything, the disregard for cooperation and information sharing, and their bureaucratic provincialism.

It had only gotten worse when I had spoken to her about my time in Boston during the Endbringer fight. After describing what the armbands did and how Endbringer fights were coordinated, Taylor launched into such a vitriolic rage over the communication system for almost an hour, I was worried I would have to medically intervene. I also learned some new rather colorful profanities. They always said dockworkers were a creative bunch with their insults, I certainly believed it now.

Renick sighed tiredly, I honestly was starting to pity the man, "And what kind of cooperation are you and she looking for? We are still mandated to protect the public against Parahuman threats. There is no escaping that."

I glanced out the window, "Yes, but there are degrees of enforcement. And an extension of respect to ensure that Zero Dawn and anyone under its banner won't be senselessly raided on vague suspicions," I then flipped a page in my notebook, scanning through it. "It's also very likely that Zero Dawn will have capes on staff other than me. Openly or otherwise. We might even have a corporate team, which is something that the PRT has allowed in the past. All that we ask is that you refrain from acting against us and any company or organization that we sponsor without evidence. If you must act, then it will be done legally, after informing us, and with our cooperation."

Deputy Director Renick was not a stupid man. I was sure of it. No one working as the number two in charge of a city like Brockton Bay was stupid. My insistence on mentioning 'any company or organization' was going to give hints of the ongoing plan with NORA. But it really wouldn't take too much to connect the dots and then decide if they could afford to turn down the deal.

"So, to recap. In return for a copy of all documents relating to Marquis, a retainer agreement, and a hands-off approach to Zero Dawn and anyone under our aegis…Taylor is willing to work with the PRT in providing next generation equipment, specialized materials for Tinkers across the country, machines to augment your forces, and I will personally be on call to heal anyone injured in the line of duty," I then leaned forward, "PRT-wide."

Judging by the widening of Renick's eyes, I knew that I had just changed the entire direction of the negotiation. Only Jean was aware that I was offering this, if Taylor knew then she would have immediately axed it. She was already worried about me going back to offering my services anyway, there was absolutely no way she would allow this, even if it benefitted her. It said a lot about her character.

But I knew that Renick had taken my offer hook, line, and sinker. Unless he wanted to commit career suicide and become a pariah in the law enforcement community, he could not decline this offer.

He cleared his throat as he shuffled his papers, "This…this is really something I should run by my superiors first. I don't have the authority to make decisions that would affect the entirety of the PRT."

I leaned back in my chair, tapping my pen against the table, "Unfortunately, there really isn't time. As I understand it, the parents of the Ward in question are so concerned they're prepared to speak with a Youth Guard representative and the press this evening. They're distraught and I would hate to have to go downstairs and tell the reporter, and the grieving parents, that the PRT is refusing my offer to heal one of the injured minors under their care."

Dead silence. I watched Rennick's face go even whiter, then red.

"This is blackmail," he hissed through clenched teeth.

No, this is reciprocity. Not so nice when you're on the receiving end, is it?!

I kept my expression placid, despite my wish to just rub it in his face, "No, Deputy Director. My lawyers were very clear. This is leverage. An exercise in hypotheticals. Merely a possible outcome of our negotiations through no fault of my own. Blackmail suggests criminal intent to extract something, Mr. Renick. All I want to ensure is that my interests are met and protected. That the interests of my friend, who's building a company to change the world, are met and protected. And if that is not possible, we then part amicably."

I leaned back, letting the silence that followed provide a statement all of its own. It was its own tool that only added weight to my terms. Despite my feelings on Jean, she did know how to deliver.

"Or," I said after a moment, as Renick struggled with what to do, "We can come to an agreement. No long drawn out back-and-forth with lawyers. An agreement between equal parties where everyone benefits."

I saw it then in his eyes. I had won. There was no fight left. What I was offering was far too valuable to decline.

It felt good to win.

We talked for a while longer, bouncing the terms back and forth. In the end, I got everything that I wanted. Everything 'we' wanted. ZDT would be responsible for its own parahuman affairs. If the PRT wanted to come on to any property owned by ZDT, or any company under our aegis, it would need to inform us and include us in their investigations and actions.

I would also receive a partial copy of the Marquis files. No transcripts or internal PRT materials, but a list of seized assets and any objects that the man himself was wearing when he was arrested. In return, I would be paid a retainer fee of a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars this year, with the retainer to be renegotiated next year to remain in accordance with NEPEA-5. In addition, I would charge by the hour, with prices doubled if I had to respond to an emergency between 9pm and 8am. I would do twice monthly visits to PRT offices to heal anyone and everyone working inside the building, with travel to other offices compensated and I would receive advanced warning.

Taylor would include the PRT in the development of law enforcement equipment and technologies. And a small part of Zero Dawn materials would be made available to Protectorate Tinkers at slightly below market value. However, the PRT would not have the right to patent anything that was made using those materials.

WIth a polite smile and a firm handshake, I exited the room.

It felt very good to win.

Now to see my patient.

---

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---

Another PRT officer escorted me to the Wards' common room. Which honestly felt strange since I had been here several times without escort. It just seemed to reinforce the difference between then and now. It only drove home the fact that I was no longer Amy Dallon. Panacea. A member of New Wave who was on good terms with the PRT.

Now, I am Amelia Lavere, Panacea, and an employee of Zero Dawn Technologies. A rising power with influential backers, but a tense relationship with the PRT.

The trust that had existed was now broken. I wasn't on their side anymore. It was fair, I didn't trust them either. I was taking my own side anyways.

Swiping his card, the masking alarm sounded. We waited a few minutes before our escort stepped in, followed by Steven. I followed on his heels right into an argument. And no one had heard the alarm sounding by all appearances.

Dennis was standing by the countertop, shouting as Chris yelled from the sofa. Browbeat stood off to the side, his hands raised in an ultimately futile calming gesture, trying to defuse the situation. Vista stood by the wall, her mask on but her mouth set in a grim line. Her small fists were shaking. I knew only some of her story, but I could guess that the shouting was getting to her.

Heads turned my way as we stepped through the door, but I didn't have the patience. I looked towards our escort, "The patient appears to be combative, do I have your permission?"

I could almost feel the PRT officer blink behind his reflective mask, "Yes?"

"Thank you," I stressed, before striding towards my target. Taylon and Colin had been practicing, and Sam had made good on her threat to make me exercise as well. Now I put it to work. I didn't run, but lengthened my stride, propelling myself across the floor as I removed the glove from my right hand. Before anyone could process what had been said or comment, I brushed my fingers against Chris' neck.

He slumped back onto the couch as my powers forced his motor neurons to send signals forcing his limbs and back to relax. I was careful and selective. No vital organs and nothing touching the heart or diaphragm. He flopped back, his body no longer able to hold itself upright. He could still barely move, but it would be like a weak man just waking up. Chris would still have his full cognitive functions and speech, but not much else.

Then I found myself meters away. Blinking, I took in the distortion in front of me. Chris and the couch were now back across the room. Looking over, I saw Vista with her hand outstretched.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"Amy," Dennis asked, looking at me, then looking at Chris, before returning his gaze to me, "What did you just do?"

I decided not to answer him, instead looking to Vista, "I'm here to heal Kid Win. Considering I came in here and he was busy shouting at you, I considered him a combative patient. So I used my power to disable him so I could treat him. At least, before Vista decided to intervene."

"That's assault with a parahuman power," another figure, one I hadn't noticed until now, interjected. I didn't recognize her, so she was likely one of the new transfers mentioned on PHO. Lithe, wearing a skintight purple outfit with a one-way tinted visor. There were platinum-white armor plates on her outfit, but they were more window dressing than actual serviceable protection.

"No, it wasn't," I trailed off, allowing her an opportunity. When she didn't give me a name, I merely continued on, "whoever you are. I was exercising my right as the attending physician by disabling the combative patient in order to administer treatment," I then looked to Vista, "Treatment that you interrupted."

"I refuse."

My head snapped towards Chris. As expected, he could speak, though a little awkwardly. It would take several hours for his full control to return unless I intervened.

"I don't care," I replied simply. Dennis opened his mouth to comment further, but I cut him off, "I already have permission from the PRT as well as parental permission. When you joined the Wards, you signed over legal power allowing them to make decisions like this. I've already spent over an hour working out an agreement with the Deputy Director. If you have a problem, take it up with him," I glared at Chris, then shifted over to Dennis and the new girl.

"Now get out of my way so I can heal my patient and we can all get on with our day."

"Well, I didn't want your healing, nor do I need it," he snapped back, looking at me angrily, "I had everything handled until someone decided they didn't like what I was doing."

I wanted to ask what he had been doing to make him think he didn't need me, but I knew that it wasn't my business if I wasn't already informed. Instead, I chose to simply forge ahead, turning my head towards Vista, even as I continued my verbal assault on Chris.

"Well, maybe they are actually concerned about you. I don't know what you have been thinking, but I remember you declining healing in Boston. The fact that I'm here now suggests whatever idea you had sucked," he bristled in the corner of my vision, "and now it's costing the taxpayer a pretty penny with every minute you throw a hissy fit."

That raised an eyebrow from Clock, but if anything that only seemed to incense Chris.

"So now you're selling your services. Why am I not surprised?!"

Is he actually serious, I thought to myself, just what the hell was his actual problem? This was not the insecure, easy-going Christ with a heart of gold that I knew from Arcadia. It almost felt like someone else was wearing his skin.

I laughed bitterly. "I always have." That got a surprise look from several in the room. "Carol and the New Wave Foundation handled it before in accordance with the NEPEA laws. Turns out, the government gets really prickly when you use a parahuman ability in a way that could otherwise cost money."

Shaking my head, I focused on the people in my way. "Now, you have a choice," I declared, continuing my glare at Vista, even as Dennis entered my vision and leaned in talking to her. Chris was starting to realize what was likely about to happen, "Either you let me heal you and we can go on our way, or I still heal you, with a few extra steps. Either way, you'll be healed and I will have fulfilled my obligation."

Dennis sighed, but stood straight and spoke clearly, "Vista, drop the field. Chris, don't be an idiot. Amy's just here to help. This is good for everyone. Problem solved. We're all on the same side."

He was earnest and sincere, and it was rather interesting to see the room turn to him as he provided leadership. It seems that Christ wasn't the only one to change recently.

Vista slowly relented, her fields of warp space shrinking slowly. I could see Chris trying to move his limbs to ward me off, but it was futile. My hand struck like a coiled serpent, grabbing his limp wrist. His mouth had been opened in protest, before he immediately went slack as he glared at me.

I honestly had to thank Taylor. I never realized just how much I had been handicapping myself until she had encouraged me to push myself. When I had lived with Carol I had just gone through the motions, returning patients to the same standard template of 'perfect health'. Now, I experimented so much that my power had seemed to grow in both scale and speed and it only needed a brief moment to map out the damage to Chris's arms and body.

Nerve damage was a complex issue, since 'nerves' were simply a catch-all term. They controlled everything from unconscious organ function to complex motor groups and a hundred types of sensory data. In short, Chris might look mostly okay at skin level, but if you looked deeper? It was an absolute mess. Nerve pathways were misfiring on top of dead pathways. Then there were the damaged veins, arteries, and capillaries. But if that wasn't enough, he had damage running up his arms and into his shoulder blades. The torn muscles were not healing right because they were not moving properly. But perhaps most damning was the fact the only reason he was not in absolute agony was because his pain processors weren't sending signals properly. He likely had some numbness and lack of pressure sensing in his fingers and arms.

I told him all of this, ignoring Chris's glare and how the other Wards awkwardly shuffled and flinched around the room. I commanded new nerve sheaths and tendrils to replace dead areas, adjusted the blood flow, reconnected and reshaped muscles in healthy configurations. I made sure that the spine was intact, checking that there was no lingering damage to the brain. Finally, I commanded the various newly formed connections to twitch, ensuring they were functioning by watching as the tiny electrical signals fired and moved the complex structures of the arms.

"There," I declared, satisfied with the job completed. Taking one more quick glance through his biology, I satisfied myself by sending a signal through his body to knock him unconscious. At least this way I wouldn't have to deal with his whining, "I'm done. He'll be unconscious for about an hour as his nerves readjust to the repairs. After that, I'd recommend a day or two of light work. Other than that, he's physically cleared for duty." I said this to the PRT officer standing stiffly to the side, who would have to unfortunately explain all of this to his superiors.

I finished placing my glove back on as I gave my directions. Taking a look around, I took in the sight of Dennis looking at me like I had grown a second head, while Vista was looking at me far differently than I had ever seen her. The other girl, well, I didn't give two shits what her opinion was.

"Amy, was—"

I cut Dennis off. Better that I make things clear now, "It's Amelia. You could say I'm enjoying a new lease on life."

"Yeah…I can see that," his voice was steady without any of the sarcasm or joking tone I expected. He watched me with careful eyes.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Panacea," Dennis finally said, "But you're kinda terrifying."

I couldn't help the smirk that crossed my lips as I turned my head to look over my shoulder at him, "I'll take that as a compliment."

---

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I stepped out of the SUV, which would take Ms. Stern back to the office. Doing an interview in a vehicle was…unique. Intimate, even. But it was efficient when time was against you. After my morning with the PRT and the disaster with Kid Win, the interview was refreshingly easy. Mostly questions about my goals with ZDT, my working relationship with Taylor, reasons for leaving New Wave, and how I felt about the shakeup that my actions were having with the medical industry. Apparently, the Red Cross was…cross with me.

Walking into the building, Steven on my heels, I dodged around the caution tape and construction. This was the latest of Zero Dawn. Our new corporate office and what would become the center for research and development for the company. We had actually bought two buildings and a set of warehouses, but priorities meant that only one was being worked on. There just weren't enough hands for all of the projects, so choices had to be made. At the moment, the building was being actively worked on, some floors being open construction zones as they were renovated, modernized, and specialized. I was heading to one of the few floors that had been untouched so far. I sent Taylor a quick message that we would be starting soon as the elevator arrived.

My first meeting. With my very own team. Sure, the day-to-day running of things was going to be left to Amanda Leffield. I had yet to meet her, but from what I heard, she was a bit of a hardass, but was fair and she got results. But the team was solely mine. Meant to take my inventions and write research papers so that others can profit from our advancements and work out the mass production process of the things that I could create.

The SHR-1 was undergoing accelerated testing with the FDA, as well as additional testing through Medhall and Brockton Bay General Hospital. All that was missing was a reliable production method. One which Taylor had actually helped me brainstorm through.

That was just half of what today's meeting was about. I developed SHR-1 as a way to prove my potential to myself and Taylor. Now I wanted to stretch that potential as far as it could go. So we would be making a list of target fields and goals.

Walking in, the conference room was simple, yet perfect for my needs. The full team wasn't assembled yet. We hardly had enough people to be called a team. Just three other doctors and myself. Hiring progress was glacially slow thanks to the security requirements that had to be met before they could even be interviewed. I felt that the depth that they were going was unnecessary, and Taylor had intimated the same. Unfortunately, Zero Dawn was no longer its own master when it came to security. We just had to ride the wave and hope for the best.

I looked at the first member that had been added to my team, a brunette woman dressed in a simple labcoat and glasses. The Focus on the side of her head glowed gently, even as her fingers worked over an invisible keyboard in front of her. Katarzyna Kaminski, was a microbiologist with a degree from the University of Cal-Barkeley. She has spent the last decade and a half bouncing between corporations and research grants, before landing here.

The best way I could describe the woman was that she was objectively focused, almost to a fault. From what Taylor had shared with me, the woman had no social life, no relationships. It wasn't that she didn't try, she just viewed a social life as unnecessary in the pursuit of science. For her, science was her life, and it reflected in her work. There were a bevy of papers that she had written over the years. However, like so many in the scientific establishment in the age of parahumans, most of it was ignored. But it didn't stop her from attempting to publish nonetheless.

How she ended up here was because her previous job had been at a macrobiology lab in Boston. It had been an unfortunate victim of the Endbringer attack, and jobless, she quickly had snatched up the job almost the moment it had been posted.

While 'Kat' was prim and proper, her counterpart was the exact opposite. Sylvia Carvalho was irreverent and laid back. The dyed-blonde hispanic woman was brilliant as a molecular geneticist, which provided her far more leeway than someone in this position would have normally received. She would be integral in solving SHR's translation from my creation to a mass-producible product.

So I allowed her idiosyncrasies, ignoring the fact that she was sprawled atop her chair like an overly bored cat. Her finger traced the air, working on something on her Focus. What it was, I could probably look into, except I valued my colleagues' privacy.

The last person, and only one to stand when I walked in, was Dr. Austin Frazier. He did not have the look of a doctor, being as solidly built as he was. Nor would he win any points with the Empire, being an African-American. There was a quiet intensity to him that shone through when he focused, he backed it up with a well-rounded knowledge of his field.

A decorated Army doctor, he had transferred into the private sector for a time, working as the head of a trauma department. While others might be stronger on the theoretical and research-based aspects of the field, Frazier understood that his strengths lay in the practical, and kept more in touch with what doctors and medical professionals needed in their day-to-day efforts. He was going to be the leader of the team, keeping us all on task. I hoped he was used to working with colorful personalities.

"Welcome, everyone. We'll get started in a moment. Taylor is going to be calling in," I declared even as I shook hands with Dr. Frazier. I then took my seat at the head of the table. The projector in the center chimed, and everyone's Focus received the video call. Taylor appeared sitting at the opposite end of the table from me. She gave everyone a focused nod and I found myself wondering how she was doing after the Sunwing test.

"Hello everyone. I apologize for the quick drop in, but I wanted to speak to you before Amelia gets started," she glanced around the room, "Each and every one of you was hand-selected because you are trustworthy and imaginative. If you do anything to betray that trust or leak any kind of information that may endanger Amelia because of her abilities, I will make it my personal mission in life to ensure that the only job you will ever find is sorting mail in some corporate basement for the rest of your life. And consider that the best outcome."

My jaw dropped and I could feel an embarrassed flush spread across my face. That was…I don't think anyone had stood up for me like that. Ever.

The reactions from my team were mixed. Sylvia was staring at me, Kat was glancing between myself and Taylor, while Austin seemed completely unaffected by the threat. Meanwhile, the silence stretched.

"Amelia, perhaps a demonstration and explanation of your powers are in order, along with the purpose of this team," Taylor commented and I blushed harder at floundering in front of what would be my subordinates. Tugging my gloves off, I pulled an apple out of my pocket. Cupping it in my hands, I let my power twist the biological matter into a new shape, before placing it down on the table and letting it grow into tulips, complete with its root system.

I was a little nostalgic at the action, and glancing down the table, I could see Taylor smiling. She remembered our second meeting.

"Alright Amelia, the team is all yours, have a productive meeting."

She then vanished, leaving me with a tulip plant and several doctors staring at me wide-eyed. No pressure or anything.

Cleaning my throat, I pulled my gloves back on, "I am not a healer. My parahuman power is biological manipulation. Because of my powers, I can perform miracles as a healer. Or I can make miracles that anyone can use in the right circumstances."

How strange it was. Weeks ago, I would never have considered sharing the full extent of my abilities and here I was performing party tricks with them. I looked over my team, all three of them. Katarzyna was furiously writing on a notepad and Sylvia had a big grin on her face. Frazier was smiling in wonder while still looking at the flowers.

"I might be able to make miracles. But I can't mass-produce them. I also don't know what to make next. I don't know what cures, treatments, and tools are needed. So that's where you, and everyone else that will make up this team, comes in. You are needed to reverse-engineer what I make. In addition, you are to offer suggestions, insights, and ideas on what we can tackle next."

I pulled up a screen on my Focus and shared it with the projector in the center, "So, with that in mind, we're going to talk about Synthetic Hemoglobin Replacement Version One, or Synthblood as Taylor and I like to call it. Then we're going to make a list of every chronic condition, hard to cure sicknesses, and genetic complications we can think of."

I then brought up a new image: A rough diagram made with design software I barely understood. But it was enough to get my point across.

"Given the blood demand, I'm planning for two different machines. The first is for large industrial production. It will be meant to produce SHR in bulk so that it can be shipped as needed. The second will be smaller, meant to fit inside a hospital and run on common resources and with enough output to keep the hospital suitably stocked."

I paused for a moment, flipping slides forward. Rough diagrams, size estimates, and output capacity all displayed for everyone to see. Then I focused on one part of the design, "But most of that is engineering work, and until we can replace it with more mechanical means, we're going to focus on biology. The 'heart' or core of the machine. It's a unique bio-organism that is optimized to produce SHR-1 hyperefficiently. Which means we need a way to produce this 'core', and we need to test it. Taylor has generously given us a starting point with a variation of bioprinters. We just need to prime the seed and make sure it delivers the same thing each and every time."

Sylvia cackled, her wild laugh filling the room. Kat actually glanced up from her notes and glared, "Bioprinters. You have bioprinters," the faux blond said as her laughter died down, "And…and…you want to use it to make a completely unique organism? This is the best job ever. Organ printing. Tissue cloning. Oh man, boss, this is great."

I pulled up an image of the 'core' organism. It was…hideous. But given that it was going to live its very simple life inside a sealed container, endlessly absorbing nutrients and producing blood? It didn't need to be pretty. It was a cross between a jellyfish, a sea cucumber, and a funnel coral. A ridged base would attach to an outlet, which would pump SHR out of the organ. The body was semi-absorbent, taking in nutrients from the surrounding fluid inside the container. It would be fed by standard liquid nutrition packs that hospitals already ordered. It had no lungs, no brain, and no major organs. And it had a lifespan of less than two years.

Speaking with Taylor, the term 'planned obsolescence' had come up. I didn't agree with the idea of putting an artificial complication on my product just so we could sell more. Taylor had agreed, which meant that the replacement cores would be sold at cost. But I also wanted to make sure that these things didn't mutate or anything wild. So I built in a kill command along with a bevy of characteristics that would prevent tampering, ensuring that it would die after eighteen months, give or take a month and could not be modified. Was I being overly cautious? Maybe. Time will tell.

For now, I was fielding questions from my team, my earlier fears forgotten. Katarzyna was asking clipped questions about the organism itself, Sylvia kept asking about the bio-printer primer that would produce the 'core' and Frazier was adding insights into hospital policy and procurements. Notes were being added to my designs, and not a single one of them had mentioned all the ways that my powers could be used for evil.

I found myself smiling. Old fears easing from my shoulders. The day may have not started great, but at least it was starting to look better.

---

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Taylor Hebert

Brockton Bay

May 11th, 2011

We stepped through the doors and everything was cool. Pleasantly so, though. Refreshing. And the air had just a touch of…something to it. Jasmine or spice. It was light, unintrusive, but lovely.

And boy, did I not want to be here.

"Wow…this is…really nice," Paige whispered next to me. LIke she was worried about breaking the calm and peace of this space.

"This is the best spa in the city. Not even Vicky can get Dean to take her here. It's that exclusive," Amy's voice was torn between wonder and a faked sense of detachment. Like she was trying to not be impressed and failing miserably.

"Welcome to Le Nordique, how can I help you today?"

The lady at the desk was pretty. Polished, as Jean might say. My Vice President stepped forward, speaking at the counter as I looked around. Even projected in wireframes, the space was impressive. High ceilings, a water wall, and several living plants carefully curated in the corners. Large windows and I'm assuming lots of light.

"We are definitely due for a day of relaxation. After everything that's happened," Amy said quietly, and Paige giggled. Which was exactly why I was going along with this…circus. My friends, few and precious that they are, were really looking forward to this. And I didn't want to drag down the mood.

Plus, I wasn't paying anything for this. The bill for this 'spa day' was being footed by Max Anders.

And that was its own can of worms.

I still was vexed by the fact that I was currently in bed with Nazis. Yes, it was my fault in the first place, even if I had been unaware that Medhall was a Neo-Nazi front. I had wanted Brockton Bay to flourish, and one of the most efficient ways was to provide a means for Medhall to explode in scale. As the largest employer in the city, it was an economic lynchpin. If it faltered, or, even worse, failed, then it would leave the city which was already teetering on the verge of economic collapse to completely succumb to the pressures.

It didn't matter that my decision had been made in ignorance, what mattered was that I had placed Zero Dawn in a compromising position that could deprive it of everything it had built up until now. If it got out that Medhall was a Neo-Nazi front for one of the largest gangs in the Northeast, it would be absolutely devastating. All of the goodwill that we had built until now would be thrown into doubt instantly and I would find myself damned by association with them, no matter what I could say or prove otherwise.

But probably what made it all worse was that I was being told not to worry about it. It wasn't just Accord and Uppercrust, but it was the Vice President as well. They all told me that they had the situation handled and that I shouldn't dwell too hard on the situation. As if I hadn't been pimped out to Kaiser's son.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly let it out. Luckily no one was paying attention to me right now. I didn't want them to know what was gnawing away at me. Samantha knew, of course, because it was part of her job, but Paige and Amelia didn't. I honestly didn't want them to know either, especially Amelia. I honestly wasn't sure how the knowledge would impact upon our relationship. The Empire had Fleur's blood on their hands, and I didn't know how Amelia felt on the matter, nor did I want to test it either.

It was yet another secret I was keeping from someone I was coming to see as probably the best friend I had ever had.

I hated it. I hated how dirty it made me feel to have to do any of this. I had imagined changing the world, but I was coming to realize that in order to achieve my dreams, I was going to have to do terrible things I previously could never have lived with myself to do.

I was being forced to be someone I wasn't, all for the sake of a future that I had to bring to fruition.

"Right this way ladies," I was pulled back to reality, mechanically walking as the pretty desk girl led us deeper into the building. Her replacement, another pretty girl, smoothly took her place. I listened as the woman, Isabella, talked about what they could offer.

"We have a private changing area for you, where you'll find towels and other things already prepared. If you have any needs, please don't hesitate to ask any of our staff. Snacks and drinks can be provided, though meals are offered at the dining area. Massages and other therapeutic offers are available, just give us some time to set up. And of course, that includes nails, hair, and anything else you might require."

Her speech ended just as we arrived at the sealed door, "Welcome to Le Nordique. We hope you enjoy your stay."

We filed in, finding ourselves in a changing room. A very fancy one with towel racks, showers, large wooden lockers, and other subtle and not-so-subtle signs of wealth. I stepped off to the side, not fully understanding what was going on. Jean and Paige didn't share my concerns, simply strolling inside and putting down purses and bags. Amy ran her hands over the towels and murmured appreciatively. Should I…just follow along? I…Sam leaned over and I felt stupid needing help.

"Before we get into the spa area proper, we take a shower. Then there are robes provided. I brought you a bathing suit to go underneath," she said quietly. I mechanically nodded. A bathing suit? Shit. When was the last time I wore one of those? Following her instructions, I found a corner, and opened the locker, finding it spacious. A bathrobe hung just inside. The material was just the right kind of softness.

Eeekkk, there's a boy in the changing room. Oh, nevermind it's just Taylor.

I don't know, I've seen some ugly bastards and none compare to that loser.

I gritted my teeth, banishing the old memories. I didn't dare turn around, certain that Jean, Paige, and the others were staring at me. I could feel their eyes on my back, wondering what the issue was with me. There was…

"Here Taylor. Your suit. Duck into the shower and I'll keep everyone else out for you," Sam leaned over, and I hated the joy I felt at her intervention. Taking the bag, I took long strides to the showers. A series of enclosed cabins that let me hide inside and secure the door. Safe inside and alone, I peeked into the bag. A towel and a folded up suit. Nope, not dealing with that.

Glancing over at the many knobs and dials, I…probably should have asked for more instructions. How hard could this be?

After several moments of testing knobs, dials, and shower configurations, I mechanically washed and toweled myself dry. And I had options now. I could put on the bathing suit that was prepared for me. Or I could hide her in this cubicle until it was time to leave.

"Taylor? Is everything okay in there," Sam's low voice came through the door.

"Yes, just a minute," Great, now I'm on the clock. Okay, how bad could this be.

Wow, does she really think she looks good in that? I mean, damn Taylor, your night job of pimping yourself out to the Merchants not paying well enough?

Duh. Not even those assholes would touch her. They're desperate, not that desperate.

Fucking bitches.

I pulled it out. It…wasn't as bad as I expected. Nothing high cut or fancy. No plunging necklines or cutaways. Awkwardly stepping into it, I pulled it on. It was…snug. That's the best I could think of. It fit. It didn't pinch or pull, and it felt like everything was covered properly. Wrapping a towel around myself, I found Sam standing outside my door. She gave me a small smile and walked with me back to the changing room. Apparently, Jean and Paige weren't waiting, already heading out into the main area. Amy lingered, looking at something on her Focus.

Keeping my eyes locked to the floor, I shuffled over to my locker, pulling out the robe…and there was no way I was getting the robe on with the towel. Quickly dropping it, I pulled the…

Shit, look at Taylor. She's got to be using again. I mean… look at that. She's got the whole junky look.

…robe on. And risked a peek behind me. Amy wasn't looking, still engrossed with whatever she was looking at.

Silently, I waited for her to finish whatever it was that she was working on, her expression one of intense focus. The soft sound of a muttered curse under her breath as she manipulated something in the air was the only indication that it was something work related.

There was a part of me that wished I had spent time upgrading my Focus. While it was certainly a powerful device and it provided me sight, it was still a far cry from actual vision itself. It was a compromise that I was making because I simply didn't have the time, and it was not a high priority. The time that I spent working on reworking my Focus could be better spent on some other more critical and important project.

The soft clearing of a throat drew me out of my maudlin thoughts as Amy finished whatever it was that she had been doing. She smiled at me, "You didn't have to wait for me."

I shrugged, not really having an answer that wouldn't cause more talk. We headed out of the changing room, into the main pool area. I braced myself. I expected what was coming. The sharp burning smell that…It took a moment to realize that we were in the main hall. And it didn't smell like chlorine. The soft jasmine and spice was still present, but now mixed in with the smell of salt.

I felt my body relax, just a touch. Even to this day, I can't stand the smell of chlorine. Or bleach.

Desperate for a distraction, I looked around the hall. Which was…a bit of a misnomer. I expected a pool, like an indoor swimming area. Instead, it was a number of smaller pools, and lounge chairs, all spaced out in little groupings. The hall itself was large, with high ceilings, but it had a strangely muffled quality. Must be the plants along the ceilings, acting as a sound buffer. An interesting bit of design.

There were a few other parties milling about. Amy and I wandered over to Paige and Jean, who had already disrobed and were relaxing in the hot tub. The singer glanced over at us, her hair tied back, showing off the voice blocker around her throat.

"You girls have to try this…it's lovely."

A little twist of unease spread through me, and I shook my head. Preferring to sit on the end of a chair and…just kind of hover. I didn't know what to do with myself. Amy had no such issues.

I didn't belong here.

I turned my head to scan over the room again, the feeling not going away.

Why was I here again?

My fingers twitched, the urge to open up my Focus starting to become unbearable. There were too many projects getting neglected as I wasted my time here. I should be producing new designs while the iron was hot and people were interested.

I carefully didn't react when Amy tossed her robe next to me and slipped into the water.

"So, Taylor, any thoughts on what you want to do today," I blinked, turning to Jean. What?

"I.." Shit. Why is it so hard to admit that I'm way out of my depth here. Jean turned to me, propping herself up on the lip of the tub. I traced the line of her throat and shoulder before looking away. It was no secret that Jean Brown was an attractive woman. Might be why I can't stand her.

"Ah. How about this? We'll just order the basics for you. Since it's your first time here."

"Do we need to? Like…what's the point?"

That's the part I was stuck on. The 'why' of this trip.

Jean hummed, dropping back down into the water, "Well, yes. There's lots of reasons for doing this. First, there's the relaxation aspect. Some time away being pampered is good for the body and mind. Then, there's the social aspect. These kinds of places are prime areas for meeting and interacting with others. If you're closed off, you're viewed as an outsider. It's not about business or anything formal. It's about personal connections. So you don't ask how business is doing. You ask about hobbies. You ask about trips, expectations, news, gossip," the older woman waved her hand across the hall.

"As the saying goes, behind every strong man is a stronger woman. Wives talk, share news about who they met, how lovely it was to meet so and so. Which builds social connections and goodwill even before you meet the husband for a business deal."

"So we're out here because it's gossip central. Sounds like more work…in a bathing suit," Amy said, a touch of frustration in her voice.

Jean started to answer, but a little chime sounded next to the tub, "I'll finish the explanation in a moment. Come Amelia."

The woman then stood, her bathing suit nothing like mine.

I looked away again. I was…aware enough that my interest wasn't actually mine. It was Elizabet's. Fond memories of a woman with sharp eyes and a sharp chin. Long discussions of right and wrong, watching the flow of her fingers and wrists as she wove her arguments from thin air. That side of things was firmly in the 'deal with later/never' box in my head.

Amy stood as well, "What's going on?"

Paige giggled, "It's supposed to help with skin tone. Keep everything looking healthy. It's kind of fun. You just have to do it all at once. No hesitating."

The singer then led the trio over to several tubs off to the side. Smaller, meant for one person. A few steps up and she jumped in. Amy, after a moment's hesitation, did the same.

Then promptly let out a shriek as she quickly stood back up again.

"Cold! Really fucking cold!"

Paige laughed happily. A beautiful sound, "It's an ice plunge, of course it's supposed to be cold!"

"I don't see the point of this!"

"Ask your science friends. You've got science people now. I find it kind of fun. Really wakes you up," Paige dipped her shoulders, "Now don't get out. You stay there for two minutes. It's good for you."

"I'm the best healer in the hemisphere and I think you're full of shit," Paige laughed as Amy cursed her out, but notably, she remained in the icy water. I scooted back, content on my lounge chair.

The quiet time gave me a chance to come to terms with all of this. Jean made it sound corporate and structured. But all of this?

This…was school all over again.

And I hated it. This wasn't my area. Emma was always the social one. And she twisted and bent every social angle against me for two years making my life a living hell. Jean was expecting me to enter a battlefield where I had no experience and where I had been losing since day one.

My only saving grace was the idea of letting my actions speak for me. To be strong enough and influential enough that social connections and the back and forth that came with them, would be inconsequential. Elizabeth had done something similar. Sort of. She didn't try to do it when she was an awkward teenager.

A few minutes later, Amy made her way back over. I had…turned down the fidelity of my Focus. Her form was blocking but…it didn't take away how aware of her I felt. Amy leaned over and collected her robe, burrowing herself into as she claimed the chair next to me.

"I feel like my ovaries just shrank from the ice shock."

"But you'll have amazing skin, think of the benefits," I teased, and then laughed as Amy flipped me off, happy to have something to distract myself with.

"Just you wait. Once I get some of the major projects out of the way, I'll get into beauty modifications," she grumbled, looking like an irritated raccoon, before adding on, "and make all of this redundant."

"If you do that, Amelia, women everywhere will probably canonize you as a saint," Jean remarked, claiming her own chair and relaxing, "But if we're taking requests, anything to remove leg hair. I can't tell you how many times I've nicked myself shaving."

"You know what," Amelia mused aloud, her expression assuming a faraway expression, "that sounds like a great idea. All it would take is a bio-"

I lightly slapped her arm, causing her to snap out of her little fugue. She shot me an embarrassed look, while Jean and Paige who had looked rather interested suddenly looked like I had killed their dog, "We're supposed to be relaxing," I pointedly teased Amelia.

"Yeah," she replied sheepishly, "sorry."

"Taylor, if you are trying to become the enemy of all women, that's how you would start," Paige chastised mockingly, and Jean nodded her head as I looked at the two of them confusedly.

Not wanting to get pulled into another area that I was woefully unprepared for, I stayed silent. Paige relaxed, sprawling out and picking up where the conversation ended.

"Jean is making it sound very…calculated. It's really not as cutthroat as she's making it out to be. Generally, you plan your visits with friends. You show up, chat with people, and sometimes you leave with more friends. And in the meantime, you just…relax."

She then rolled to her side, "Besides. All of this? It's like…a love letter to yourself. It's saying I'm worth it, I deserve to feel good, have fun with friends, and enjoy a little luxury."

The smile as she said that was small, but there. I felt ashamed that I had made this about myself. I was not alone in having troubles. Nor was I alone in overcoming them.

Letting out a sigh, I gave in.

"Alright…you've jumped into ice water. And I'm not going to be following you into that. So what else do we do here?"

I didn't know if I deserved a letter of love to myself. But my friends did. And my active participation would make them enjoy this more.

---

---

'Next' turned out to be drinks and finger food. Served to us on the pool side. Paige and Jean enjoyed cocktails, while Amy and I got to enjoy some interesting fruit mix juice things. Then we went for massages. Which…actually turned out to be more involved than I expected.

It started with a few minutes of talking with my attendant, a nice older woman by the name of Susan. She picked up pretty fast that I was new to all of this, so it turned into a live discussion of muscle groups, circulatory systems, nerve bundles, and relaxation tips. An ABB 'massage parlor' this was not.

Laying down and letting Susan work my arms, back, and legs was…it wasn't fine. But it wasn't as bad as I expected. By the end of it, I did feel better. Even if I felt a little bad for making her work around my suit. No way was I ready to take it off. I turned my Focus back to low fidelity mode again when Amy finished up. The incense in the air, the warm oils, and the fact that my muscles felt better than ever made me a little more aware of her…less clothed state. Unlike myself, Amy had taken to Colin and Sam's physical exercise regimen with a degree of enthusiasm and it was starting to show.

We were then whisked away to nail treatment. Which is where I ran face first into my own inexperience.

"So what's your color?"

Bundled back into my robe, with Amy in the chair next to me, I was caught flat-footed.

"My what?"

"Your set-piece color. Something to make the look 'pop'. Grab the attention. With your amazing hair, I'm sure you have a range of options," Tiffany, the new woman working my nails, asked distractedly as she filed away. She had seemingly taken my request for 'something reliable and easy to maintain' as a personal affront when we started taking nail colors.

I floundered. I hadn't used makeup in forever. The last time had been before my life imploded, before summer camp. Emma tried to teach me, because Mom couldn't. After that? I never went to school with makeup. It would never be good enough, and Emma already had enough ammo against me.

So I deflected, "Well, given that I can't really see myself in the mirror, it's a bit of a moot point really," I tried to pass it off as a joke.

No one took it as such.

Tiffany gasped, "Darling, no! Everyone deserves to feel their best, especially if they're having a rough time. And those eyes of yours are so striking. You just need someone to help you put your face on in the morning."

I resisted the urge to shrink into myself.

"Amelia, right? Would you be up for helping, Taylor? At least then we can test some things out. Then you can share and make sure whoever else does it, does it properly."

I could hear the shock in Amy's voice, "Uh…I don't know much about makeup. That was generally my sister's thing. So I don't know if I can help."

My heart sank, just a little.

"Well, that's perfect! You have no bad habits to unlearn. Here, grab a stool. Yes, we'll get your nails done afterwards. This will just take a moment," Tiffany turned away, rolling over a tray, and starting to fill it with vials, powders, and blushes.

A soft hand on my arm pulled my attention back to Amy, "Hey, are you okay with this? Like, really?"

Was I okay with this? I don't know. It all came down to trust. I had to trust that Amy wasn't going to sabotage me. I had to let go of two years of betrayals and false hopes as my best friend tore my life apart.

I ran my fingers over her knuckles. My Focus was back on high gain, letting me see the expression on her face in full. Concern. That's all there was. I had to trust that.

"Yeah. I trust you."

Now it was Amy's turn to look slightly embarrassed, I could see as she pulled back, a slight quirk of a smile in the corner of her lips. She tried to play it off, "Well, I'll do my best. But like I said. This was Vicky's thing, not mine."

Settling back in my seat, I answered honesty with my own honesty, "The last time I did this was years ago. Before Emma turned on me. Mom…didn't get a chance to really teach me. And Dad never knew where to start."

Just for a moment, the admission hung between us. Connecting the two of us together.

Then Tiffany was back and I became a living doll.

My part was simple. Sit. Don't move too much. And definitely don't fidget.

Amy got a crash course in color theory, brush and tool management, layering and a host of other terms that went right over my head. But her hands were steady, and she applied herself with a focus that was…touching. She wanted to get this right. Asking questions as she worked, holding up different colors to my lips, my eyes, and my cheeks.

Colors were matched, then rematched. Styles were considered, discarded, and reconsidered.

Until finally, it was done.

"Ohhh, you look lovely dear! Nicely done, Amelia," Tiffany sat back with Amy, admiring their joint work. I smiled, expecting to feel the powders and so on caked onto my skin. But…nothing felt different. I still felt like me. I turned my head back and forth.

"How does it look," I wasn't nervous. Okay…I was nervous.

Amy giggled, "You look good, Taylor."

Oh…I fought down a flicker of disappointment I felt. Logically, I shouldn't have expected anything amazing. But I had hope.

"Are you sure I can't fix your eyes," she teased me, "You should really see yourself right now."

I gave a small smile, "Am I pretty?"

Amy reached over, her fingers delicately moving my hair behind my ear, "You look very pretty, Taylor."

Something in her tone made me flush and that spark in my chest reignited.

"Thank you," I said with a smile. I hope we both understood that I wasn't thanking her for the compliment. I was thanking her for the trust. For the dozens of things that she hadn't let me down over.

She nodded. The two of us locked in our shared moment.

Some time later, I walked out of the spa with the others. It was quiet on the drive back to the office with everyone a little tired from all the relaxation. I was feeling the same. This had been different than I had expected. ANd now?

I was kinda hoping that Theo would find me pretty.

---

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Danny Hebert

Brockton Bay

May 13th, 2011

There are moments that make a man look back on his life. The successes, the failures, the regrets, and hopes. For Daniel Hebert, one such moment had come. He reminisced on old memories as he watched his little girl get fitted for a dress, and planned to go to another big fancy party where she would change the world again.

Where had all the time gone, he found himself wondering. Not that long ago, Taylor would crawl into bed with him and Annette. Scared of the rain and thunder, or nightmares. In reality, those days were a lifetime ago. From Before. Before they lost Annette.

The attack against Taylor woke him up. Made him realize how much he had failed. Ever since, he had been trying to make up for it. He had thought it was a hopeless battle. Hell, not five months ago, he had believed that Taylor would forever be scarred and reliant upon the kindness of others in order to simply survive. That her life would be one of continuous hardship and loneliness.

Danny didn't have those fears anymore. Because of her drive and her determination, Taylor had secured a future for herself. He watched as Parian adjusted the pins in the dress. The two of them talking in low tones about a topic he couldn't follow. Danny had to face the hardest challenge a parent faces.

His daughter was growing up.

And she didn't need him anymore.

He watched Parian wrap his daughter in silk and fabric, like a square arming a knight for battle. He knew the plans. The preparations for the gala. How to best take advantage of this moment of media attention to push Taylor's own agenda. An agenda that would redefine life across the country.

His little girl was going to keep changing the world

God, he thought to himself, as the couturière stepped away to do something, leaving the two of them alone, one again he wished Annette were here to see their daughter. Taylor was maturing into her own far too fast.

"You're staring at me," Taylor said, causing him to smile slightly.

"I am," he admitted, looking her over, "I'm wondering who this beautiful young woman is and where the little girl who used to stamp around the house doing 'union inspections' in my work boots went."

"Dad," Taylor's scandalized blush brought a smile to his face. She may be a CEO and inventor now, but at her heart Taylor was still his daughter. He wanted to hug her right now, but he didn't want to anger Parian by messing anything up.

"Just let me enjoy this moment," he laughed, "I don't think I'm going to get many more of these."

An easy silence fell between the two, Taylor doing her best not to fidget in her dress, standing on the stool in the middle of the room. Danny just drinking in the sight from the sidelines. He knew Annette would be fussing over Taylor right now, offering advice or encouragement. While also telling her to step on anyone who looked at her funny.

He missed his wife, and looking at Taylor, it made his heart hurt to know she wasn't here to enjoy this moment. It would make this so much better.

"Do you," Taylor rubbed the material of her dress between her fingers, staring at the floor, "Do you think Mom would like it?"

Danny smiled, even as his heart squeezed in an old pain, "Your mother would have loved the dress. Would have loved seeing you in the dress. You look so much like her."

Taylor twisted her hair around her finger, still looking at the ground.

"...Really?"

Standing slowly, he decided that he could live with the wrath of the dressmaker cape, as he slowly strode over and wrapped his arms around his daughter. It was a little awkward. HIs girl was tall for her age and the fitting stool added more height. Just another reminder.

"Oh, Taylor," he brushed his hand along her back as she leaned down to him, "I meant every word I just said. You are every bit as beautiful as your mother. She would be so proud of you. Proud, and loving, and encouraging you to push as hard as you can."

Taylor nodded slightly, before pulling back. She gave a sad smile as she wiped her eyes, "I miss her, Dad. So much."

The sadness, the pain, and the loneliness were all painful reminders that Danny hadn't been the only one to lose something that day. He had lost his wife. Taylor had lost her mother.

It was impossible to make up for old mistakes. He could only try and make up for them and avoid making new ones.

"I miss her too, Taylor."

The two of them stood for a moment. Quietly sharing an old hurt that neither of them had ever really acknowledged.

Danny huffed, clearing his throat, "Alright, enough of that. She wouldn't want us wallowing. Now, what can you tell me about this nice young man who's taking you to the dance."

His daughter gave a small shrug, "Not much to tell. He seemed nice, and all Jean can find is that he's the somewhat quiet son of a millionaire pharmaceutical CEO. I'm surprised he really asked me."

"Well, of course he asked you to the gala. Anyone who didn't ask you would be an idiot."

"Dad," Taylor whined, blushing and looking away.

"Taylor," he returned in a stern voice. The kind of voice he used when he needed to make a point in negotiations.

"You are a beautiful young woman with a heart of gold and a force of will that would move mountains with her bare hands if it was necessary. Theo is lucky to be your date. So much so that I've been practicing my shovel speech."

"Daaaaad," he laughed as she slapped him on the shoulder.

He slowly took a step back, smiling now as she waved her arms at him. "Your mother would say the same thing if she was here."

The sudden starving look on her face reminded him that was just how large of a hole Annette's death had left in their family. Without Annette, Taylor didn't get to grow up with stories and experiences a mother could have offered.

There was only one solution to that. It wouldn't be perfect, but it was the best he could do as a father who had locked the past away. Locked the past away and called it mourning. Like hiding it would lessen the pain.

"I'll tell you what," he added, "I'll go and dig through the attic tonight. Your mother didn't like to promote it, but she had a scrapbook collection she liked to keep. That and the yearbooks. I'll dust them off and see if we can get them scanned, then you and I can go through them together. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great," her tone was tremulous and it hurt his heart. But before he could say anything more, the sound of a voice clearing caused the two to break apart. He turned to Parian who simply moved forward and looked over Taylor as if there hadn't been a moment between them.

"I would like your thoughts on this," Parian declared, holding out a tablet to Taylor. He watched as his daughter took in hand and tapped her Focus. It was something that Taylor had arranged with Parian, providing her a tablet that she could use for designing clothing, and with it, Taylor could link to it in order to see exactly what the dressmaker was imagining.

"It's…gold," Taylor finally said, before handing it to him and allowing him to look it over.

She wasn't wrong. There was certainly a lot of gold accenting and filigree to the design. But it also had a certain sense of…what was the word he was looking for. Elegance? That was the word. It certainly wasn't ostentatious or making any attempts to flash any skin. Which suited him just fine.

"I thought of using other colors, including the shade of white that you use for your machines. However, I felt that black and white would clash too much and stand out in the wrong way. However, by using gold, you stand out in the right ways, while also maintaining a sense of elegance and style."

"But are you sure that I should wear that headpiece? It seems, too much."

"At first, I did too, but then I got to thinking, Taylor. I know this isn't a themed event, but as I understand it? You want to make a scene. You've got a big announcement to make? Well, we can play into that. Give you a 'herald' look. Plus it will look amazing with your hair."

Danny wasn't sure how to take that statement. On one hand, he could see where Parian was coming from. Since Boston, Taylor had started turning the world on its head. It was astounding what his daughter had been able to do in so little time.

At the same time, it worried him. He was old enough to understand the cautionary warning of being a revolutionary in a world of the status quo. And right now, Taylor was a hot commodity, unassailable because of what she offered. But what happened when finally she stepped on too many or the wrong toes. When would those who had enjoyed the status quo inevitably come to blows with her?

He was not proud to admit that it had kept him up late into the night recently.

"You don't think it's too close to Glory Girl's tiara look," Taylor asked. Parian glanced at the design, before making a few adjustments as she hummed.

"Okay, I like it," declared his daughter once the adjustments were made, "It certainly makes a statement."

She then glanced towards him, "What do you think, Dad?"

"I think you will be turning a lot of heads."

Taylor offered a wan smile as she nodded, turning back towards Parian, "Okay. Let's go with that."

"Alright, I will need to make a few phone calls. So I'll be back in a few minutes. I should have the dress ready for you tomorrow morning for the gala. You can take a seat, Taylor."

"Finally," she huffed as Parian stepped out of the room, flopping into the chair beside where she had been standing while the other had done her work. Despite being everything she was right now, it was nice that she could still be a teenager at times. It brought a smile to his face.

"So, what are you doing the rest of the day?"

"Lunch with Amelia. Then a meeting to go over the results of the Sunwing test. Then an engineering session to finalize the Skydrifter and Heavy Scanner Drown for prototype phase. Then another meeting with the renovation crew for the house."

Ah yes. The house. Danny had mixed feelings about the house. The fact that Taylor would have property of her own, even if it was shared, was a thrill to him. He could remember the long years of paying the mortgage for a chance to keep the slice of suburban life that he and Annet had carved for themselves. Now Taylor was set to move out into a big property outside the city. Space for her to build and privacy to get away from the spotlight she was stepping into

And she and Amelia were in the midst of renovating the place. Making it their own. And he, the parent of the equation, still hadn't fixed that broken step on the front porch.

Still, the prospect of the two of them living together didn't phase him. Amelia was honestly exactly what Taylor had needed in order to come out of her shell. Even with all of the pressure on her, he had never seen his daughter as relaxed as she had been lately.

Although leaving the two of them unsupervised was probably a recipe for disaster. Taylor still needed to be reminded to eat when she got engrossed in a project.

Thankfully, it seemed that Taylor's new assistant, Monica would be moving in with them. And Sam would live on site as well.

He just had to come to terms with his daughter moving out of the house. Putting more distance between them.

"So, when are you moving in," he asked.

"According to the contractors? Two weeks. There was a lot of unseen damage to the house and they want to make sure that everything meets standards. I know Amelia is talking to a furniture specialist to see if there is anything that can be salvaged on Monday, that will decide whether she needs to get all new furniture. After that, it's the detailers, and the inspectors, and whatever other expert that needs to get the dotted lines signed," Taylor sighed, "Amelia has been complaining how there seems to be more forms to fill out for a simple renovation than there ever was for her healing a patient."

"Welcome to the joys of government bureaucracy," was his deadpan response, "it'll only get worse the more you want to do."

"Don't need to tell me. Besides, I think Amy is enjoying how involved the whole process is. It's letting her immerse herself in everything. But don't let her know I said that."

"My lips are sealed."

They settled back into an easy silence. Left unsaid were the security updates that Sam was having installed. Cameras, alarms, and a range of other things that Danny prayed would not be needed. For now, the silence lingered. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and it reminded him of just what they had been missing for so long.

Soon enough, Parian returned, her focus on the tablet in her hands, "Okay, I was in luck. The metalworker friend I have will have the hairpiece here tomorrow morning as well. So the dress is set, unless you have any other adjustments you would like to make?"

"No," Taylor shook her head, "Thank you Parian, it's a wonderful design. You do excellent work. I expect you'll have a lot of requests going forward."

Despite wearing a mask, he could feel the other cape blush at the compliment, "Thank you."

"Is there anything else you need from me?"

"No, you're free to go, Taylor. I'll have the dress around in the morning."

"Alright. Well, I'm off to lunch now," she got to her feet, brushing imaginary lint off her chest, "Dad, do you have time to talk to Parian about the thing now?"

"If she's free to talk, sure," he fired back to her before the door was closing behind her.

Dany shook his head with a smile on his face. After a moment of pause, his daughter was back to being a force of nature. Parian stood still, her masked face tilted in confusion.

"Ms. Parian, do you have a few minutes to discuss something?"

The youngish woman nodded. Of all the capes that Danny was interacting with, Parian was the hardest to read. It was intentional on her part, but frustrating at times.

The doll cape slowly and mechanically looked at the watch on her wrist, "I can spare a few minutes, Mr. Hebert," she offered, "Taylor mentioned a thing?"

"Yes. You see, Taylor remembered your comments from last time. About the difficulties of establishing yourself and that resonated with her. So much so that she wants to do something about it."

It was funny. Danny was familiar with this song and dance. Selling people on the idea of joining the union. He just had to step carefully, because Parian was no ordinary worker. She was a parahuman. One who had struggled to maintain her independence in a city that practically demanded she take a side.

Taylor was right. It was a brutal cutthroat world for capes. And for someone like Parian, it was probably even worse, because she had no one. So Danny leaned into his experience, long hours of talking with men and women struggling in an economy that was dying. Body relaxed, but attentive. Speak honestly. You're not trying to sell something. You're getting them to buy into the idea.

"What does she want to do?"

Now to set the scene.

"About two weeks ago, my daughter came to a rather uncomfortable conclusion about the cape scene. Taylor made it clear that she was lucky that she got the support when she did. Support that was mostly without strings, which we've learnt is a rarity in the cape scene. It was a shock to slowly learn just how many things that could go wrong for capes. How things are stacked against them the moment they came into their powers."

Parian's slight nod in agreement urged him to continue. He was doing this for Taylor, but the more Danny worked on this? The more he bought into it himself. At his core, Daniel Hebert was a Union Man. He believed in the power of the collective. In the ability for people to come together and support one another.

"I'm not going to assume things about your situation. I don't think that's right or even fair to you. What I am going to say, however, is that one of the suggestions Taylor made was the idea of forming a union or cooperative for capes. One that would provide services normally denied to capes, while also creating a support network to assist capes in their daily lives if they need it. In addition, we would provide assistance in finding ways for capes to use their powers for more mundane things if they so choose, instead of being forced to fight."

"Now, we're still ironing everything out. But we're looking for the first members. And it was suggested that you might be an excellent addition."

"Me? But? My power is worthless. All I can do is manipulate cloth."

Danny smiled, "Well it's good that we're not just interested in your powers. It's very clear that most Capes have been defined by their powers. We would like to be different. We want individuals to define their powers. We're interested in you. In the whole of you, not just a part."

"Parian, I think you are underselling what you can do. You're putting together a dress for a gala that should take weeks in less than a day. You're creative, driven, intelligent, and dedicated to your craft. You're everything that a young entrepreneur needs. All that's missing is the opportunity. And that's what NORA can offer you."

The whole purpose behind NORA was to support capes. Give them options and resources. Build connections between people who need jobs done, and people who have skills to offer. Certainly, there would be stipulations and limitations on what NORA would allow of its members. And membership could be revoked if someone went too far over the line.

The Doll Cape fidgeting a bit, her hands twisting a handkerchief. "What would be expected of me?"

He gave her a smile. Glad that she was considering it, "Well, when we make the announcement of NORA's formation, we'd like to have examples of how we can help. Examples with a face. We'd like you to be that face. Well, mask."

A small joke to lighten the mood. But it was time to let off the pressure.

"Here. Let me get you a copy of what we have put together so far. Code of Conduct, Partnership agreement, and the like. You can go over it on your own time. And we can talk more in a few days. And if you have any concerns or questions, please tell us. We're open to making change. NORA is about support, so anything that makes you more comfortable is appreciated. Because there are other capes who probably feel the same way."

"Thank you, Mr. Hebert," Parian finally said, slowly getting to her feet and he rose with her, "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

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