An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

[AlSmash]

An Everdistant Horizon

Seed 1.1

It was the same dream as every time before: a world on fire and choked in ash. Of uncountable screams, from all manner of lungs, but also of something else. A world rendered desolate as the last vestiges of life are snuffed out. A barren, lifeless rock adrift in the cosmos, as silent as the grave that it bore witness to in its last moments.

And then something changed. Slowly at first, as activity ruined the utter stillness that had previously existed. Barren rock that had previously only the accompaniment of smoke and ash gave way to clouds containing life-giving water. Dull brown gradually losing its fight to green as life began to return back…

And then she woke up, her eyes opening to darkness.

Only the darkness was infinitely more personal. It existed both to remind and mock her because it was a darkness that was not one birthed by a lack of light, but one of sight.

Releasing a sigh to bury the pang of sorrow and frustration that burgeoned at the edge of her thoughts. There was no point in dwelling in that which she could not control.

For now.

Letting herself lay in bed for a little while longer, her forcibly honed internal clock leaving her aware of what time it likely was, she then finally rose once her mind was sufficiently roused.

Reaching out to her nightstand, her fingers danced over the wooden surface a few moments before making contact with her glasses. Retrieving them, she slipped them on her face, a hint of bitterness creeping as she put them on not to see better, but to hide the cloudy orbs that used to be vibrant green from others.

Getting up, she deliberately bypassed the stick she knew was resting by the door frame. As much as she needed it, she hated the additional physical reminder of her disability.

Taking a fortifying breath, she stepped out into the hallway, her hands lightly grazing the walls to provide tactile sensory input and prevent her from stumbling or worse.

It was bad enough that already, two months on, that she could differentiate the texture of the wallpaper that signified the approach to the stairs that would take her into the living room. Idly, she noted the scent of bacon as she moved adroitly through the living room to the kitchen, only glancingly bumping off the coffee table on her journey.

Finding the chair around the table, she slid into it with a practiced ease even as she listened to her father work, unaware that she was there judging by the fact that he had yet to acknowledge her.

It was honestly still rather strange how her hearing seemed to pick up just a bit better now. Cross-modal reorganization the doctor's had called it, where the brain was trying to compensate for the loss of one of the senses by enhancing the sensitivity of others.

With her father, she could hear the whisper of cloth on metal, or skin, as he moved around, the way his feet landed on the floor with a different timbre. Even she could faintly hear his breath when he moved around and exerted himself. It wasn't superhuman, but it was certainly…different.

"Oh," he startled, obviously now noticing her presence, "morning Taylor, you scared me. Are you up for some bacon and eggs?"

"Sure," she offered with a slight slur in her voice as she offered the best smile she could, which was difficult with the tenderness and pull on the skin even now. It probably came off more as a grimace, if she were honest. But she made do with the best she could.

It was a quiet breakfast that was served up and consumed shortly thereafter, with the only difference between the two of them was that her scrambled eggs were served in a small bowl, while the bacon was served on a small plate. A few times in the process, the spoon slipped from her hands, the numbness and lack of feeling coming and going, but neither of them acknowledged it. It was an unspoken agreement that had taken place almost a month ago.

They just wanted it to be as normal as possible, even in spite of her handicaps.

She could easily recite her injuries, if she wanted. She could easily imagine the scars, having felt them all herself, in spite of the pain it brought. But in the end, it didn't matter to her, because she would live with them, and defeat them all eventually.

Listening as her father picked up the dishes and moved towards the sink, she simply sat there, listening to him, sensing the tension and awkwardness in the air. She knew he was trying to delay this talk, it was the continuance of the talk that they had almost a month ago when she had finally worked up the courage to reveal it. It had taken everything back then to keep herself together, but it was probably even harder for him that day. The full recognition of his failures along with the scars and burdens they both carried now.

It had not been an easy talk, and it had only been because she had doggedly latched onto his guilt that she was able to even get him to give in. To give her the opportunity that she knew was coming now.

The water then turned off, and she listened with rapt attention as he dried off his hands, the cloth rustling on skin, before he put the towel down and walked to the chair. The wood creaking as he sat down in it. However, instead of speaking he just silently brooded, no doubt in her mind that he was staring at her.

She honestly had to wonder what he saw when he took in her scarred visage. Did he see a monster? Did he see a freak? Maybe he saw a cruel reminder to all of his failures as a father and husband.

There was a bitter part of her, one that zealously protected itself with the spirit of a dragon guarding its hoard, that felt it was only right that he felt all of that. He had left her to rot, only giving her a modicum of what he should have as a father.

But then there was another part, that only felt sorrow. Because she was as damned as he was. She had never truly reached out to him and let him be a father to her after Mom's death. And by the time she had finished grieving it had simply been too late for the both of them.

Maybe that was the bitter truth of all of it. They both were so damnably broken after Mom's death that they hadn't a clue on how to connect without that medium that she provided that it took another tragedy for them to even build a fragile, tremulous connection that could easily break with the slightest of turbulence.

It was a cough from her father that finally broke the tense silence as it appeared he finally worked the courage to broach the subject.

"So Klein called this morning," he began, obviously searching for the right words, "he says a package came in last night."

She knew she shouldn't have, but she couldn't help but perk up at the statement. Klein Saunders was the lead mechanical engineer for the dockworker's union, the man who was the troubleshooter for the union in fixing a lot of their equipment. He was also the only person who could probably have been useful for what Taylor had wanted to do. It had been through him that she had asked for help.

Of course, what she had wanted to be made was something way beyond probably what Klein could do, but he had friends who could help but also be discreet. Because discretion was necessary for what she was trying to do, especially if it led to what she wanted it to.

"So if you would like, we can go down to the dock this afternoon."

Just one more step towards getting the last laugh.

---

AEH​

---

Danny Hebert was a failure, there was no point in deluding himself from that reality. Not only had he failed his wife, but he had gone on and then failed his daughter. For the rest of his life, he would never forgive himself for what had happened to Taylor.

Even now, it was a struggle not to look over at his daughter in the passenger seat of the truck and not weep at her scarred visage.

Never in a million years would he have imagined Emma Barnes of all people would attack his daughter with an industrial-strength drain cleaner at school. That she would scar his daughter and destroy her beautiful eyes.

But it had happened, and it hadn't been the only thing he would discover over the next week as his daughter was kept in a medically-induced coma to heal.

A year-long bullying campaign led by what he had believed had been a family friend. A school that had willingly refused to do a damn thing despite the preponderance of incidents. All of it culminating in a psychopathic assault that had been filmed.

He had seen it once. And that one time had left him emptying his stomach. The screams of his daughter as her face burned, the desperation as she sought relief by clawing at her face, and the laughter of those animals.

He was not a violent man. But if he ever got five minutes alone with Emma Barnes, he would do everything in his power to visit even a fraction of the hell that had been inflicted on his daughter.

But that was a fantasy that he used to ignore what the true cause of this all was. He hadn't been there for his daughter, not for years. And his negligence had caused all of this.

The school has been quick to settle. They had no choice in the matter, the video had been posted on social media and the FBI had become involved because of the nature of the attack. Six million dollars for what they had allowed to be done to his daughter. If it hadn't been for her care, he wanted to make them bleed for more, but with the medical bills piling up and the need to ensure her quality of life would be decent, he couldn't afford to take them to court, not when it would cost her.

So he had chomped the bit, accepted the money in installments, and worked to try and make things better for his daughter. He had tried to get her on the list for Panacea, but the hospital had deemed the majority of treatment as cosmetic surgery, and the replacement of her eyes would have been prohibitively expensive with the payment demanded up front. Attempts to get insurance on the side had likewise been a failure, it simply did not cover 'cosmetic' surgery like repairing the damage those monsters had done to his daughter.

So he could do only what he could to help his daughter, with the limited funds he was provided, as the school had only agreed to pay in semiannual installments. Almost all of the first installment had been consumed by the medical bills, taxes, and the lawyer fees for the trust fund. They had been left with just enough for some quality of life additions to the household and a small spending stipend.

But the money would never be enough to truly salve the wounds. How could they? Taylor no longer had any function in her eyes and the scars on her face from the chemical burns were something that would likely never be removed.

The first week after she had returned home, she had locked herself in her room, rarely leaving it and barely talking to him. He had given her space, because he honestly did not know how to handle the situation. How could he even bridge the gap between the two of them after so long being estranged from one another.

It was only into the middle of the second week that Taylor had finally emerged from her room, and if he were honest, he had been relieved. He had been worried that she would forever shut herself from the world.

Unfortunately, that relief had been short-lived, as that night she had placed in front of him a stack of papers with intricate and professionally done blueprints and diagrams without a single blemish or correction. It was then that she told him she had powers.

He had honestly been horrified. He knew tangentially about powers and the cape scene, but it was just the basics. There existed a segment of society that had powers, with a predominant part of them engaging in what would best be described as straight out of comic book hero and villainy. The idea that his daughter, who was blind, could even become involved in that lifestyle was chilling.

But that hadn't been the conversation. And frankly, he hadn't even been prepared for what the conversation had been. Instead of anything like the childish notion of being a hero, Taylor had instead said she had wanted to build things, that she had ideas that could change the world. But the first thing that she wanted to do was build something to get back her sight.

He had honestly been incredulous, to say the least, at the very idea. What Taylor was talking about and showing him was so completely over his head he hadn't even a leg to stand on in the argument. What sane parent would be, if he were to be perfectly honest. What she was trying to explain might as well have been a foreign language to him.

But she had been determined, showing a side that he had never before seen in his daughter. It hauntingly reminded him too much of Annette in how driven she was in getting what she wanted. A darker part of him was left momentarily wondering at the time if this was maybe her communicating from beyond the grave.

He wanted to tell her no, that purchasing the various things that she needed for whatever this thing was would stretch their funds beyond their limits, that they would have to tap into the family savings in order to even meet it. But he had held himself back, because, at the end of the day, he was a coward. He had already failed his daughter once, and seeing her being so passionate and driven, he, in the end, simply could not say no to her.

So he had spent the remains of the stipend to purchase Taylor a laptop. After that, he had dipped into what remained of their savings to purchase every single component that she had requested, along with paying for its assembly, but not before ensuring that a patent, at Taylor's insistence, had been submitted in order to protect it. He knew already that there would be questions asked soon, especially by both the trust fund and the child protective services, once they became aware of the spending. If this failed, there was a good chance that they would quite possibly take his daughter away.

That had been a month ago, and now here they were, pulling up to the Dockworker's Union, a broken man holding onto just a modicum of hope that whatever was going to take place today, would be something to restore just a little bit of that relationship between the two of them.

Getting out of the truck, he moved over to the passenger side to open the door for Taylor, who gingerly stepped out, her eyes covered in thick black heavy sunglasses, but the rest of her head and face covered in a hoodie and a shawl. Another one of the victims of the attack had been her voluminous hair, the doctors having to shave it off in order to prevent infection on the burns. Taylor hated it to her very core, having admitted in passing that it was the one thing that truly still connected herself to Annette. Now it was gone.

Settling her laptop bag onto her shoulder, he then reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, intending to lead her into the building and eventually to their destination. He knew it must rankle on her nerve to be led around like a child, if there was something this new side of his daughter embraced and wanted more than anything, it was her independence.

Thankfully, she remained quiet, accepting the reality of what she was being led into was unfamiliar territory for her. Instead she left her cane unextended, the closest thing to a sign of trust that she could give.

All through it all, eyes were upon them. While it was the weekends, there were still people running the DWU simply because it could not afford to lose work opportunities just because too many others would take Saturday and Sunday off. For his people, any job taken was a meal on the table, clothes on their back, or tuition for their children and he would have been negligent to not try and give them the opportunities.

So he led her into the machine shop where Klein was patiently awaiting them.

"Hey Bossman," the man in his mid-thirties with close-cropped brown hair greeted them before his grey eyes shifted to Taylor and his expression froze for a moment, before he quickly recovered, "Miss Hebert."

"Afternoon, Klaus," he offered back to the man, "I have someone here who has been looking forward to a certain package since I told her this morning. Mind getting it out?"

"Sure thing," the man responded, turning and heading back into his office to retrieve the package, meanwhile, Danny guided Taylor to a table for her to set up. Pulling out a chair, he helped retrieve her laptop, plugging it in, before setting it up. He didn't know half of what she did on the laptop, only in the initial days adding a few programs for her to use. Other than that, whatever she did on it was her own work.

It was as they were finishing up, and Taylor removed her hood and shawl, that Klaus returned, holding a box that could easily pass for a hatbox.

"Here it is," he declared, placing the box beside them, before looking between himself and Taylor, "Hey, Danny. Can we talk?"

"Sure," he then led him away from Taylor, even as his daughter started running her hands over the box. Once they were out of hearing range, he then focused on Klaus, "what did you need?"

"Look Danny, I know you told me to keep things as discrete as responsible," the man started, looking back towards Taylor, before coming back to him, "but some of the things on that list, and the directions for assembly. You know some of the channels I had to use to avoid certain eyes. Questions were asked."

Danny couldn't help but grimace. One of the worries he had, based upon his own research, was the Parahuman Response Team or Protectorate discovering that his daughter was a parahuman. They spent an inordinate amount of resources looking for strange purchases or materials disappearing. Klaus, he knew, had some backroom connections that would have hopefully avoided their gaze. But like any backroom connection, it could also draw the more unsavory types. In this case, he knew it was the Empire Eighty-Eight.

"And did you say anything?"

"Fuck no, Danny. You know how I feel about those jumped-up pricks. I told 'em it was none of their fucking business."

It probably wasn't the best response to the Empire. But honestly, what was there to say? That he was helping out the daughter of his boss? At least there was a chance they would just write it off and go on their way. But if not, then there were other options.

"Just let me know if they keep asking, Klaus, okay?"

"Sure, boss."

Danny's eyes wandered back to his daughter, who already had the box open and the object within it and out. A long cable led from it to her laptop, the computer active, but the screen may as well have been gibberish to him. But to Taylor, she acted as if it made the most sense as she was typing at a rate that honestly made his mind whirl. All the while, her focus seemed to be on it, despite her lack of vision.

The object in question, on the other hand, was the first time for him to see it beyond the various diagrams and blueprints that Taylor had placed in front of him a month ago. It was certainly unique in its appearance, a trio of blocky devices arranged upon a wreath-like headband.

It was like seeing a ghost, Annette had the same intense look when she was deeply focused on something. And to see that from his daughter as well? Well, he really couldn't put it into words as to what he felt due to the complexity of it all. Instead, he merely stepped away from Klaus, a silent dismissal given for the other man who understood it and left them. He walked over to a chair at another desk, settling in the chair and watching his daughter as she worked.

He had to wonder just how she was doing it all. She hadn't been forthcoming on what her abilities really were, but she seemed to be a deft hand with computers and technology, even if the terms and concepts were utter gibberish to him just from the few glances he'd gotten at her work. But he would be the first to admit his strength lay in administration and people.

Honestly, though, he hoped that whatever she was doing would work, if simply because it would give his daughter something to strive for. He had a feeling that if this worked, then maybe things would work out, both for her and also them.

He was suddenly roused with a start, his brain rebooting at the sudden sensation of cold, clammy hands on his face? Where was he? When did he fall asleep?

"It works," a soft, quiet voice, almost in a daze spoke, causing all thought to vanish as he looked from the arms and up to the source of the voice.

It was Taylor, her expression of so many different emotions seeming to hit all at the same time that she was unsure of exactly what she should be feeling. But there was one expression that he would never forget: the tears trekking down her cheeks as sightless eyes conveyed so much emotion despite their damage.

"It works," she breathed, "I can see."

 

[AlSmash]

Seed 1.2

There was something to be said about the feeling of proving the naysayers wrong. They had told her that she would never be able to see again. The high of proving them not only wrong, but hilariously wrong, was a high that she was still running on, four days later.

That wasn't to say she was satisfied with herself. Nor was she willing to rest on her laurels. Far from it, the Focus, as she called it, was merely a proof of concept, cobbled together from various components that were not purpose-built to fulfill the purpose that they were achieving here. If she were to be honest, it was a small miracle it was performing as well as it was, considering.

For everything it could do, there were significant limitations linked to the hardware itself. The imagery it created and fed to her brain were cast in a ghostly purple-blue-violet, with limited fidelity, providing more of a rough shape and outline than a concrete image. Then there was the issue of the imagery losing cohesion if you turned your head too quickly, or if the object surpassed a certain velocity. The less said about range, the better, fidelity collapsed after five meters, with it completely lost at eight.

The battery was about what she expected. It gave her about an hour of power before it ran out. That was, of course, dependent on that she didn't didn't abuse the refresh function. Then it ran down as low as ten minutes.

But that was all hardware limitations, something that could easily be fixed with purpose-built components and better materials. What mattered at the heart of it all was the operating software. Sobek, the name she had given it at the suggestion of her power, worked perfectly. As a matter of fact, it actually exceeded her own expectations, despite the fact that she had literally been fed the script line by line.

For all of its limitations and drawbacks, the Focus was a piece of engineering marvel. Even she could understand the tech and concepts were several generations in advance of what currently existed. Just the fact that it was working as well as it was simply miraculous.

Of course, therein lay the problem.

It all came down to capital. Building a purpose-built, possibly limited-run model of the Focus for the visually impaired was costly, but it was the commercial version that she had planned meant for multipurpose use that would both revolutionize the world and be the single most costly starting endeavor, from creating the production methods, forges, and logistical network to support it. At least until Phase IV, when things would really begin to accelerate as she would have enough capital to flex her power and knowledge.

But the one major block into all of this lay not in any one person, but a congressional act passed to protect the economy from too much influence from capes, NEPEA-5. Oh, she could understand it on paper, the worry about the impact Thinkers would have on the economy, and the dependency created by using Tinkertech for any project, if the Tinker died, how would it be maintained. That was how it was largely sold, but when she had written a report on it, she had noted that there were so many loopholes and backdoors that benefited only the government and corporate fiefdoms with ties to the aforementioned, that it was obvious it was control and manipulate capes into one of two outcomes, either become an asset of the state or corporations, or become a villain.

It was both brilliant and insidious at the same time, and if it wasn't the source of her problems, she may just give credit to the writers where it was due.

But it all came back to the fact that by legal definition, she was a cape. Which made her vulnerable to NEPEA-5 and its labyrinthine example of lawfare cloaked as protection for John and Jane Q. Public.

There were a few workarounds she could use. But at the end of the day, it all came down to whether the responsible agencies of the government classified her technology as Tinkertech

If it wasn't depressing she may have found it funny: But the rule of thumb the PRT and Protectorate was pretty much a bastardization of Clarke's Law where any sufficiently advanced technology was Tinkertech. Of course, there were caveats to this rule, where reproducibility could remove the label, but the onus was on the cape to prove it, not the government.

It was this stacked deck she had began chipping away at a month ago with the assistance of her power, creating blueprints not only for the proof of concept Focus, but the production design as well. Furthermore, she had prepared patent applications for the commercial version, and depending on how her meeting with the Protectorate went, then she would submit that one as well. If she could provide the various points of evidence that undermined the salient point of their standards, then it would provide her options in the event that they did decide to classify her technology as tinkertech.

Which, on one hand, she could understand if they did so. The technology stuck in her head were several decades in advance of what existed on Earth Aleph that may as well be Tinkertech, considering the advanced materials and understandings necessary to field a production model Focus. Which was also why she was preparing several papers to send to scientific and medical journals so she could attack the overarching problem of technology differential. If she could get these establishments to understand the underlying principles and the feasibility of what she was working toward, then it would make her life and job much easier.

But it all had to start here. How her meeting the PRT and Protectorate went would decide how she would need to proceed.

And so far, she was less than impressed, sitting here in a meeting room awaiting for whatever government official they decided to foist the issue upon. Her father was currently outside, as she wanted to do this herself. On the surface, it'd probably be unwise, but the issue was that she needed to both establish herself, but also not muddle the waters with the Protectorate that this was her father using her. She needed the credibility in order to be successful, and relying upon her father to win her battles would not be beneficial, especially considering how the world would view her through the lens of her 'disability'.

So there she sat, with both her laptop and the hatbox with her Focus, waiting for whatever government agent they deigned to send to her. She was hopeful she at least got a fair one, but she wasn't going to delude herself.

As if summoned, the door to the room opened.

"Miss Hebert, I'm," he trailed off. She had to restrain a sigh as she knew exactly why he had stopped. It had only grown tedious, even if she had only encountered it more in the last few days: that people would pause whenever they laid their eyes on her.

"This is Agent Faro," a woman's voice interjected quickly, "and I'm Battery."

"Nice to meet you," she greeted, though she had to wonder exactly why Battery would be here. The Protectorate cape was not a Tinker of any kind, so it wouldn't make sense for her to do any analysis of it.

"So, Miss Hebert, you want to join the Wards," Faro started, not offering an apology for his faux pas as he simply barreled on, "you do understand falsely applying to the Protectorate is a criminal offense with a penalty of five years in prison and a fine of fifty thousand dollars?

Are you serious, she had to refrain herself from asking, not quite believing what was taking place. But it was not worth losing her cool over, it may have been a mix up, though Faro's attitude was getting under her nerves.

Taking a deep cleansing breath and burying her irritation for now, reminding herself she was still fifteen to them and didn't have a knowledge base of technologies decades in advance of anything mainstream, she offered a smile even if it pulled at the muscle. A petty part of her hoped it made Faro uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry there must have been a miscommunication. The reason I am here is actually to get certification that my creations are not tinkertech."

"Excuse me," Faro spoke again, incredulity laced heavily in his tone. She let her smile turn into a frown, because it was becoming obvious that Faro had a problem with her. Even if there wasn't a miscommunication, if you were coming in to possibly recruit someone, you wouldn't be a complete and utter asshole out of the gates.

"If there was a miscommunication, I am sorry," it was Battery that then spoke up, though the way it sounded, her head was turned away from her, probably staring down Faro, "I'm not exactly an expert on Tinkertech, we usually leave that to Armsmaster, but he is currently on The Rig."

She had to bite back an irritated retort. Honestly, why was she surprised, it seemed to be par for the course in her life when dealing with any type of governmental organization. Instead, she just let out a sigh that held back only a tad bit of disappointment.

"Then I guess our business here is concluded," she declared, gathering herself to her feet and extending her cane.

"Please wait," Battery cut in, causing Taylor to turn her head to look at her, "I think we all got off on the wrong foot. I know I can't help you with your Tinkertech-"

"It's not Tinkertech," Taylor cut in.

"That may be," Battery quickly adjusted, "but you still have powers, Miss Hebert. If you really are as you claim to be, then wouldn't it be better to join with the Wards? Tinkers are highly coveted in the world today. With the Protectorate, you could have a place to work and safety from those who may not have your best interests at heart."

"As compared to who," she asked archly, now letting her irritation bleed through, she hadn't come here to be recruited into the Wards, yet they were trying to push her into it, after messing up in the first place, "you sit there and claim you would have my best interests at heart, but so far, I don't see it. You haven't asked me what my powers are, or what my device does, instead you've gone for trying to soft-selling me something I didn't come here for."

"I apologize if you feel that way, Miss Hebert. Perhaps we could reschedule?"

"Perhaps," she offered, extending the olive branch, while she was certainly frustrated by what had taken place, it shouldn't slam the door between them. It may be that she would eventually end up with the Protectorate, it may not, but she would be a fool to rule it out.

Turning, she headed toward the door, keeping her cane at the ready, though she knew the path back.

AEH​

"Battery, Director Piggot is in a meeting-."

"I don't care, Janet," she responded, storming up to the door and rapping on it, before opening and storming inside, closing the door behind her.

Inside, a squat, rotund woman with a blonde bob-cut hairdo sat behind a desk, her focus snapping up from the computer she paying attention to, her eyes narrowing in irritation at the interruption, "I apologize, Johnathan, can we continue this at another time, it appears that something has come up that needs my attention."

"Understandable, Emily. How about tomorrow around two?"

"That should work, by then I should have everything ready."

"Very well, until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

With that, Emily Piggot, Director of the PRT ENE, cut the video link, looking back to her, "You better have a good explanation on why you decided to barge into my office while I was in a meeting discussing Shadow Stalker's reassignment, Battery."

Truth be told, Erin Moore née Maxwell did not like Piggot, professionally and otherwise. The woman was not subtle with her disdain for capes, at times not even making the effort of showing her hatred for both the Protectorate and villains equally. Emily Piggot checked every box in everything her police officer father had warned her about toxic leadership creating a burgeoning clusterfuck that would only end in scandal or tragedy, or both.

But she also believed that she had to work within the system as well, because going outside would only bring more problems for everyone. Which, in this case, she was following the chain of command and going to the person who should be made aware of what was going on.

"I want an immediate investigation and formal note of censure entered in the file of Agent Theodore Faro."

There was a moment of silence as Piggot's beady eyes narrowed, "Explain," she tersely demanded.

"You are aware that we had a prospective Ward candidate come in today."

"I was made aware this morning, yes. Where is this going?"

"First. It wasn't a Ward interview, Director, it was a meeting to inspect Tinkertech requested by a Tinker. Second. Faro, within less than two minutes of the meeting started, began threatening the Tinker with a fine and jail time for falsely applying to the Wards. Third, and most importantly, that Tinker's name was Taylor Hebert."

There was an even longer pause, as Piggot seemed to process it for a moment, before she closed her eyes and reached up to rub the bridge of her nose, inhaling a deep breath, releasing in accompaniment a simple and concise, "Fuck."

Each Protectorate and PRT station had what was internally referred to simply as the "Red List", it was a list of individuals who were of interest to the department, or were highlighted that any interactions that took place between the principal and the department were to be strictly controlled and kept cordial, in order of escalating known issues. In this case, Taylor Hebert was on that list because one Sophia Hess, better known within the department as the Ward Shadow Stalker, had been involved in an extended bullying campaign against her. And while Hess hadn't been involved in the attack that had left Hebert scarred and blind, she had been brought into focus during the FBI investigation. Her identity as Shadow Stalker was protected, but it was a very thin veneer that put ENE in a precarious position that could open it to scandal and censure.

Suffice to say, the standing orders regarding Hebert were to be as hands off as possible. Though, further up, only privy to those of a high enough clearance, to add Hebert to a watch list as the teenager ticked quite a few of the boxes for classical trigger conditions. If she did trigger, then they could deal with the issue behind closed doors, all the while burying the full extent of Hess' malfeasance.

"How bad is it," Piggot finally asked.

"It's still salvageable, Director. Hebert was open to possibly having another meeting. I would, however, recommend we take a lighter touch on her. She was rather annoyed at how badly we handled the entire situation."

"And do we even know what her Tinkertech is?"

"Unfortunately, no. All I can say is that it was kept in a box that she could carry with no difficulty."

Piggot sat there, considering her words, and Battery had to wonder what was going through the other woman's head. Piggot was dedicated to the cause, even if her personal opinions clouded her judgment from time to time, but Hebert was a delicate balancing act in the best of situations.

"We'll give it a few days, let things cool down. Reach out to some of your contacts in the police force, see if they'll be amicable to keep an eye out for anything going on around the Hebert's. I doubt anything will happen, but it's best to be safe in the event that there are any leaks."

"Will do. And after that?"

"We'll give Hebert what she wants. Let Armsmaster know what took place, and tell him to make sure his schedule is clear soon. Once we have his report, we'll go from there, but I do not want a repeat of today. I'll deal with Faro."

 

[AlSmash]

So I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this, but we have window replacement guys coming in, and my main computer that I do for comfortable writing and what not is located right by a window so I have to tear it and the desk apart tonight. So yeah, another chapter, I'm working on the next chapter while I'm commuting (if my ADD doesn't kick in) it's only at 200 words, but I'm having to make some changes and additions to what I'm envisioning in it. I do plan to respond to people as soon as I can. That'll probably be from my laptop tomorrow as I have cleaning and disassembly tonight.

Seed 1.3

It had been two days since her abortive meeting with the Protectorate and PRT, and Taylor had frankly forgotten about it for the most part. Though, it was more that she had buried herself in her work more than actually any conscious attempt to move past it.

While she could have easily obsessed over the setback, it honestly only provided her with the opportunity of more time to solidify her work and make further preparations. In this case, she was taking the time to further refine the programming and code for her Focus, while working on the next generation of it. With the former reaching the point where she would likely not be able to get anything more out of it due to the hardware limitations, and the latter was based upon a blueprint that had not even reached production.

Suffice to say, it was both frustrating, but rewarding at the same time, because while her knowledge in coding was probably the most advanced in the world, it was still just that, knowledge, static information that while a good base, could still reach moments of frustration when dealing with the fluid and unknown.

Right now, she was leaning back in her chair, keeping her eyes closed as she held an ice-cold water bottle against her forehead, fending off the burgeoning headache and frustration that was threatening to break her.

As there was no way in hell that he would allow her back into school, even if they moved heaven and earth to accommodate her, he had provided her with a small workshop in the DWU in which she could work. Honestly, though, even if she were willing, it was a pointless endeavor in her estimation. If she could actually get the funding and support for developing the Focus, she could probably use that to work on her GED and pass within months if she were so inclined.

But for right now, she would just work with what she had, two different laptops arrayed in front of her, as she bounced between the two for work, the Focus Zero, as she called it, sitting on her head with an extension cord leading into the wall to provide it with the necessary power to work without having to worry about exhausting the battery.

Thankfully, both laptops were wifi enabled, which meant that she could link them to her, and she could 'see' their screens, which was a godsend when her power wasn't providing her with assistance. It only seemed to want to jump in at certain times, but seemed satisfied with a distinctly hands off approach.

Or she was simply not ready for whatever data dump it wanted to drop on her, she mused, the ice-cold water dripping down her face providing her a welcome relief as she chewed on the problem in front of her, and the possible paths forward she could take.

She was fast approaching a bottleneck, she knew, where she could only do so much before the hardware limitations and logistical roadblocks in front of her would kill what momentum she had built up so far. When that happened, she had to wonder just how things would go. She was already beginning to feel just a little antsy in the face of the unknown and the silence from the Protectorate in rescheduling was only adding to it.

Perhaps it was time to begin looking into contingencies.

The door to her office opened, and her head snapped towards the sound in reflex, only for resistance to meet her head as she had forgotten the Focus was still plugged in, before it finally gave away and she overcompensated, nearly falling out of her chair.

Even in the faint fuscia-blue-purple, she could tell he was smiling without even hearing the amusement in his tone as he simply asked, "Problems?"

"Just kill me,please," she muttered embarrassedly, working to recollect herself into her chair, unplugging her Focus completely as she spun around in her chair.

"I brought lunch," he declared, closing the door behind himself and moving into the workshop, in his hand a pair of bags and a drink carrier. Placing it down on the table, "hope you're okay with turkey and swiss."

"I'll live," was her response as she settled behind the desk, Danny doing the same in his own chair, setting the food out for the both of them. While the Focus Zero could provide a level of fidelity, especially after she had put in a new patch this morning, there were still instances in which it had issues in definite certain features, in this case, the paper wrap she had to still use her fingers to feel for the fold of paper to unwrap it.

She took a bite from her sandwich as they both settled into a silence that was easier after the last couple of days, where they had been to reestablish just a bit more rapport that had been previously lost.

Her father had been absolutely irate when she had recounted her meeting, wanting to storm back to the building and giving a piece of his mind. It had only because she had urged that he didn't that he had stayed his hand.

"So how is it going," he asked in between bites.

Sipping from her coke, she took the time provided to consider what she would say. Her father was good, but his field was in logistics and management, when she had tried to explain previously what she had been coding outside the basics she may have just been speaking in a foreign language.

"It's a mixed bag," she finally answered, "I think I've reached the hard limit of what I can do with the Zero and a lot of what I can do for the Gen One is starting to dry up without any hard specs to work with. I can keep making blueprints and patents, but without the money," she trailed off and offered a shrug. There wasn't much to say beyond that. Her abilities weren't like classical tinkers where she could take household items and cobble them together with a healthy dosage of tape and bullshit. Her products were based upon hard science.

He grimaced, that was one subject that neither really wished to talk about, but it was the elephant in the room nonetheless.

"Have you thought of options?"

She sighed, putting down the half-eaten sandwich. She really didn't want to talk about this, but they had made a pledge with one another to talk and be honest in the process. Well, it looked like they weren't going to be able to avoid this conversation.

"Honestly? Outside of the Protectorate certifying my Focus as not Tinkertech, not a lot of the options available are good."

"And if they do?"

"Still quite a few hurdles, but it would make life a lot easier."

He sat there for a moment, and once again Taylor wished she had a more powerful focus. While the Zero provided imagery, it couldn't go too deep into detail for her to get truly to the basis of what her father was feeling in his expressions outside of the general. Tics and tells required too many resources for the system to adequately process and convey to the brain. So she was left with a painting that was honestly incomplete most of the time and forced her to attempt to fill in the blanks.

"Give me a list then. Maybe by bouncing them off me we can find something that can work."

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she considered his request while she chewed the bland material, being careful not to pull at the skin on her cheek while she did so.

Would it hurt to share with him? It wasn't like she had any ideas outside of some barebones contingencies that she was beginning to work on. Maybe he'd see something and offer an alternative that she didn't see.

"Okay," she finally agreed after swallowing her bite of sandwich..

"So even if the Protectorate deigns that what I'm developing and producing is not Tinkertech, all that will do is provide me a shield against NEPEA-5. It will not give me access to capital or investors, and even if it did, we'd have to be careful that the ones willing to foot the initial bill will do so without demanding my designs or make me an indentured servant as collateral," she offered a small shrug, "no big deal."

"That's most certainly a big deal."

"I'm joking Dad, relax," she then sipped from her coke, "the other problem is the Focus, as it is, will come in two forms, one will be able to provide vision to those who are visually impaired, and the other is a multi-purpose communications device that will revolve around the usage of augmented reality. You've seen the Dragon Phone, right? Think that, only a lot more compact, and on your temple, you'll never have to worry about a scratched or cracked screen, or rifling through your pockets again."

She then trailed off, watching her father's expression fall. It was still a sobering subject to talk about cell phones, but it was better than it was before. At times, she wondered if it would have been any different back then, she shook her head, dismissing that thought. It wasn't worth it.

"Returning to the problem, is that they have different purposes, which means that investors may want only one, but not the other. The one for impaired vision is what I really want to put out there, but I have to be realistic, it's a medical technology first and foremost, which means that it will be harder to profit off of, or even entice investors into putting their money into."

"You talk about how it'd help with the visually impaired, what's there to stop it from being marketed for situations where vision may be impaired for normal people. Say, firefighters, miners, divers, and so on, having a device that could let them see in darkness, or reduced visibility could make a lot of people's lives easier, if not help save lives."

"The problem is it's not designed for that. One of the drawbacks with the, you know what, fuck it, I can't keep differentiating the two by the design purpose, I'll start confusing someone," maybe even myself, she didn't add in her pause, running through her head exactly what to call it, something that fits with the motif of her knowledge, "They need a name. Okay, from now on, let's call the model designed as a medical device as Horus, and the one designed for normal commercial use, Hathor."

"Anyways, one of the drawbacks for Horus, as a medical device, is that it has to be calibrated for each individual, like eyeglasses. Because while the brain is basically a gigantic central processor, each one has their own uniqueness to it that requires special considerations, what may be good for me in providing the best data to work may not exactly be the best for someone else. It would get too costly, too quickly, for mass-productive use, at least from a logistical standpoint."

"Okay, and Horus streams directly to the brain, right?"

She nodded, "They both actually do, Horus is designed to be more intrusive because of what it's designed to do."

"Okay, so what's to stop Horus from being designed to stream to something else? Like say, maybe a pair of goggles?"

"Because that would require-," she trailed off, a sudden thought intruding. She pushed off the desk, all the while spinning the chair around, coming to a stop in front of the left laptop, tapping a few keys to link it directly to her focus so she could see the screen.

"Taylor?"

"One moment," she called back, opening a series of blueprints for the Hathor, looking through them, even as she felt an itch at the back of her brain. Closing her eyes for a moment, though it was kinda pointless due to wearing the Focus, the physical aspect was more for her to organize her thoughts.

She then shot up from her chair, and immediately moved over to her father and wrapped him in a hug.

"Wha-," he asked, tentatively beginning to return the hug.

"It'd work," she declared excitedly, even as she wrapped her arms tighter around him, already imagining what she would need to do in order to make it work, but it honestly wouldn't be that difficult. It'd just be an additional production process, but if she did that, then it's likely that she would be a lot more marketable, which meant that they could sell it to the investors a lot better, "you just made things so much easier for me to sell it, Dad."

It was then that his arms wrapped tighter around her, actually now firmly returning the hug.

How long had it been since they hugged like this, she tried to recall, just leaning into the warmth of her father. It had to be before mother died, because she honestly could not recall anything after that.

A knock on the door caused her head to rise up, before it opened.

"Hey Danny," Kurt, one of Danny's coworkers and a family friend paused, "Sorry," he then added realizing he had ruined a moment between them, as they broke their hug and Danny turned to him, "We got a problem."

Releasing a sigh, Danny asked wearily, "What's the problem, Kurt?"

"Armsmaster is outside."

"Repeat that by me again?"

"Armsmaster is outside, says he wants to talk to Taylor."

She couldn't help but look at her father, "Did the Protectorate contact you?"

"No. You?"

"...No."

"How the hell does he know that you're here?"

"That's what I would like to know."


A/N: And no, I'm not going complete idiot ball Armsy. So don't worry. You'll see in the next chapter why he's such an eager little beaver.

 

[AlSmash]

This chapter was honestly difficult. Not in the sense of writing it, but the balancing what is canon Pre-Levi Douchebag Armsy and what I'm trying to convey. A lot of my premise for this Armsy is based upon the fact that he is more comfortable around Tinkers who are, like him, sure of themselves and know what they are doing. It's why he has issues connected with Kid Win, because KW simply doesn't know what his specialty is, and like a teenager he lets it become personal/emotional, which for someone as mission-focused as Armsy, is not something he can jive with.

So yeah, it will be a bit jarring. But I think I did a decent job in presenting it. I decided to cut this chapter after 4K words because I made a promise to myself to avoid doing massive drops, as that would only slow down production and drive, but lead to the issues I am having with A New Dawn and my rewrite of Ice and Fire. So, next chapter after this will deal with a lot of POVs, Armsy's report and his own personal thoughts after the briefing, a certain voyeur who will raise an eyebrow at what he's seen, a certain goose-stepping faker, a failure of an officer, and a pair of surprises. At least, that's the plan so far, it may expand further (god help me if I start breaking 5K words, that's when Ill start splitting into parts)

Seed 1.A

"This, I will admit, is impressive for what you've been able to do with the resources you've had access to."

And that wasn't hyperbole either, Colin Wallis thought to himself as he looked over what Miss Hebert referred to as a 'Focus'. It certainly was rough around the edges, but as a proof-of-concept, the design was sound.

When Battery had talked to him two days ago about Miss Hebert's presence in the PRT building and the revelation that she was a Tinker, he was incredulous at the situation. He had been briefed on Miss Hebert thanks to Shadow Stalker's involvement in a bullying campaign against her. And as a result of the briefing he was fully aware that by every single recognizable and known metric, Miss Hebert was blind.

Yet Battery, and then Director Piggot, had both confirmed to him that it wasn't a joke, and as a result, the incredulity had morphed into pity. A Tinker without the ability to see was probably one of the worst handicaps imaginable.

But he had his marching orders from Piggot: Discover if what Hebert was producing was Tinkertech or not. And if she was, make a push for her to join the Wards if the tech was useful, at least. If that wasn't possible, then ensure an amicable relationship remains.

He could understand the cold, rational pragmatism of Piggot's orders, it was something he would support because it was the best option available in a minefield rife with a lot of bad choices. But there was still something underneath his superior's intentions that rubbed him the wrong way.

So he did the one thing that he knew may illuminate more on the issue and prepare him for his inevitable meeting with Miss Hebert, and that was to do a deep dive on everything he could obtain about her, both private and personal.

Frankly, at the beginning, he hadn't found much of note about the girl, after factoring out the bullying. She was a relatively normal girl: her deceased mother was a Professor of English at Brockton Bay University, father was the de facto head of the local dockworker's union, even if organizationally he wasn't. She was in the top four of her class, before she made an utterly baffling decision to go to Winslow, a school that he had once heard Clockblocker mocking call Penitentiary High (the Ward had been chastised for the insensitive remark, but when he had done his own research on a whim, he found he couldn't disagree with Clockblocker). After that, the drop off wasn't just noticeable, it was the sort of red flag activity that would have any school that valued its reputation investigating with a fervor-like zeal.

But if he was anything, he was thorough, so he had asked for help from Dragon, a close friend and sometimes coworker, to see if she could find anything he may have missed.

Well, if there was one thing that he always admired about his friend, it was that she was unerringly fast when she put her mind in it. It had only taken the Canadian Tinker an hour until she had found something that had immediately attracted both of their attentions.

It may have escaped their notice, to be perfectly honest, if Dragon hadn't been thorough and had decided to look through patents applied between the date of Miss Hebert's attack and her meeting with the Protectorate on the assumption that she triggered around that time, then cross-referenced it with the addresses of the patenter. They found a patent application under review for a 'visual aid and enhancement device' submitted by an LLC called Zero Dawn Technologies. Further perusal of the company had quickly found paydirt as the only two listed employees were Taylor and Daniel Hebert.

He wasn't lying when he told Miss Hebert that the device was certainly impressive. One of the things he had done after he had triggered was spend an inordinate amount of time studying engineering, only ending his pursuit of a Doctorate due to the ever-increasing demands of the Protectorate on his life and the minimal returns such a pursuit would provide. But even without the degree, he may as well have one with his breadth of knowledge and skills.

So when he had looked through the patent, it had quickly changed from being the disinterested, but suitably professional eyes of Armsmaster, Hero of the Protectorate, to Colin Wallis, engineer. And what he had read through had caused him to throw propriety to the side. He knew that he would likely have to deal with a seriously brassed off Director Piggot for his breach of decorum, but he couldn't resist just skipping the formalities and compartmentalization, and head straight to the source.

Still, he could understand Heberts' irritation with his presence, despite his apologies. Showing up unannounced at the Dockworker's Union was certainly against the spirit of the Unwritten Rules. It had taken Miss Hebert's insistence that he was even allowed to remain and be left alone with her.

But the honest truth of it all was that the rules were window dressing, honored only when it was convenient for all parties. The moment the Hebert's had entered the front door of the Brockton Bay PRT, they had placed themselves on the radar of the Empire Eighty-Eight and Azn Bad Boys as persons of interest.

It wouldn't have mattered where they had met.

The only thing that was holding the gangs back from making any moves was a decision based solely on the pragmatic calculation on whether the risk was worth the reward of violating the rules and upsetting the delicate balance in the power struggle for Brockton Bay.

Discarding the dark thoughts that threatened to go further down the rabbit hole that was Brockton Bay's situation, he instead focused his attention on better things. Happier things.

Gently placing the device back down on the table in front of Miss Hebert, he noted the pair of closed laptops currently sitting behind her. Logging that way, he refocused his attention upon her as she reached out and placed her hands upon the headset, her fingers gingerly running over the device, feeling it out before she plugged a power cord into the device and then gently placing it on her head, a soft glow beginning on both panels on her head.

While the patent had been rather descriptive in how it generated vision for the wearer, it was something he would be unable to experience due to protocols. It would not be wise to place untested Tinkertech upon his head, even if he was coming to the conclusion that the device was certainly not Tinkertech.

He had to wonder exactly what she was seeing now, looking at him through the vision of the Focus, and what she was thinking. The entire time he had been here, she had been quiet, simply answering his questions and not offering much else. It was honestly…different compared to other instances in which he was shown Tinkertech, usually by Kid Win. The teen could not help but talk through his examination, trying to reach out to him, when in actuality he did not know exactly how to help him. Their focuses were too different, and Kid Win had yet to even find his speciality.

"I do have a few questions, Miss Hebert."

"Of course, Armsmaster."

"How are you seeing? I understand the basic mechanics as outlined by the patent application. But the theory behind it escapes me."

She pursed her lips, obviously considering what she was going to say. After all, his ruling was still underway.

"The human brain is, when you distill it to its most basic definition, a biologically-based central processor unit," she began, "it runs similarly to any computer you and I take for granted, except its housing is, instead of a box, the human body."

"Like any computer, it can be reprogrammed to do things it previously may not have been meant to do from its base settings set by genetics and standard influences. Usually this was achieved through drugs, hypnosis, or other more metaphysical means, but at its core the biological hardware shares, in the statistical majority, a baseline design merely optimized differently from person to person."

She then reached for her drink, and he noted the surety that she grabbed the drink before sipping from it without missing a beat. It was a major departure from the effort that she had put into working simply to don the machine.

"But, again, these are all biological methods used to achieve their objectives," she continued after she finished, placing the drink back down, "and even then they do not do anything that isn't a change in behavior or perception."

He knew where she was going with her statement, after all he wasn't blind to not notice at least some concerning similarities with another Tinker in the device: Cranial. While it certainly wasn't the type of technology that revolved around memory creation and erasure that the wet Tinker promoted through Toybox, it still shared some of the core concepts, just in a different vector.

"I take it you are familiar with brain-machine interfaces, Armsmaster."

"I am," and he would not be lying, as he had indeed in the past explored the technology, looking to possibly utilize it in the future. The only issue that he had was that the technology, while promising, was still relatively primitive and certainly worth risking such invasive procedures in order to attain higher efficiency in his work, at least not without Tinker workaround. So he had discarded his pursuit, instead looking at other means in order to further his capabilities.

"Then you would recognize that my Focus is merely a logical evolution of the concept," she opined, keeping her gaze upon him, and even though he knew she was blind, he couldn't help but feel like her gaze was piercing right through him, "all that it does is that it has skipped over several generations of iteration and research in order to achieve a non-invasive method, avoiding the requirement for human augmentation."

"But that's not what you are asking," she sighed, spinning her chair around and sliding it to the left laptop, running her fingers over the keyboard, and the machine came to life. He slowly behind her, recognizing the unspoken invitation to come closer.

"How are you doing that," he asked, watching as her fingers danced over the keyboard with the skill and aplomb of a professional with years of experience, not even pausing as several windows expanded, then closed, and it was like watching an intricate dance.

Her fingers paused, "I hate braille," she admitted, after drawing a breath and releasing it, her hands curling into fists, "my mother was an English professor who raised me with a love of reading and writing. If there wasn't a book in my hands growing up, then she was reading one to me."

"Those," her face screwed into a rictus of hate and sorrow, "animals," she spat, "robbed me of the one fucking thing that still connected me from her. This," she motioned to the computer, "is my fuck you to them. I designed this Focus to be able wirelessly link to computers, and I memorized all of my keyboards. I may not be able to read a book," yet he could hear left unsaid, "but I won't let them fucking rob me of my ability to read and write."

She then released a sigh, and he found himself being reminded that this wasn't a fellow peer, either in engineering or tinkering, this was a fifteen year old girl who had a monstrous thing done to her. And instead of rolling over and giving up, even with the benefit of having triggered, she was fighting back against the world and its expectations with everything at her disposal.

Their circumstances may be different, but in many ways, it was like looking in the mirror. How both of them were fighting against a world that sought to simply dismiss them as not being good enough.

He shook away his thoughts, reminding himself as to why he was here and that was to fulfill his job. Regardless of whatever his personal feelings were in regards to Hebert and the device. However, before he could say anything she cut him off.

"I'm sorry," she admitted, her shoulders having slumped slightly in recognition of her loss of control, "I shouldn't have said any of that."

He had to resist the urge of placing his hand on her shoulder in consolation, but she was not his peer or subordinate so he refrained, instead looking for the right words to say.

"It is…understandable," he finally offered, but didn't go any further.

Sighing, the teenager instead retrieved a thumb drive from the side of the laptop, before turning around and getting to her feet, holding it out to him.

"Here," she offered.

"What is this?"

"Every single theory and concept I have either used or created behind the production of the Focus. The patent application process did not need it, but in order to fully understand it, you need to have a firm grounding in so many different fields. The only thing I am not including in this is the operating system. It is a proprietary product that is integral for all of my future products and designs."

Future products and designs, those ominous words only served to confirm his own gut feeling that he saw in the patent application for the Focus. Those were the words of someone who was just starting, and who had something more than simple visual devices up their sleeve. Filing that away, he chose to focus upon the other part of her statement. It went without saying that the device would have to have an operating system. Something that advanced, Tinkertech or otherwise, would of course need to have it to function to its fullest extent. But the fact that she was withholding that for a possible case of Tinkertech would only serve to draw scrutiny as to what she was hiding.

"Is there any way that it could be examined," he asked, avoiding trying to be demanding, but remaining firm in his request, "I understand your need for secrecy, Miss Hebert, but I am required by law to be thorough, and I regret to say this, but many could construe this operating system you are referring to as possibly being Tinkertech itself."

He knew he was pushing her into a corner, but he had no choice in the matter. With all of the information that had been provided, along with the research he had done, and Hebert providing him with even more materials that were otherwise not for public consumption for him to understand exactly what he was dealing with, he was going to classify her 'Focus' as not Tinkertech.

Still, he had worked long enough with Emily Piggot to know when she had an agenda, she hadn't made it too blatant, but all of the evidence was there by the things that she had said and the orders that she had given that she had a vested interest in this. He had to be thorough, because he knew otherwise that it would only invite outside scrutiny that may just decide that he hadn't done a good enough job.

And if that happened, he stared at Miss Hebert as she bit the inside of her cheek in pensive contemplation, he worried about the possible consequences to her. By the book, if his suspicions were right, Miss Hebert was the holy grail of Tinkers, one who could not only produce tech, but, if her statements were anything to go by, she could innovate and evolve.

If he were going to be honest, he wasn't even sure he could classify her as a Tinker, as much as she could easily pass by as a Thinker. Tinker's didn't know how their technology worked outside of the fact that it worked, and Hebert was talking about iteration, evolution, and future designs. No, she was something new, something different. It was evident in the patent application and design of this 'Focus', which had all of the hallmarks of a proof-of-concept design. And he frankly knew what would happen if the Protectorate went by the book with handling her, even if there was a part of himself, that he guiltily acknowledged, that wanted to utilize Miss Hebert for his own selfish gains.

He couldn't do that to her. He knew that the rules, regulations, and internal politics would not only stifle Miss Hebert, it would completely destroy her before she could truly show what he suspected she was capable of.

How he wished Hero were still alive, Clarke had not only been loud and vocal against the burgeoning bureaucracy and their attempts to limit Protectorate and Ward Tinkers to 'manageable' (ie. easily controlled) Tinkertech, but he would not have hesitated in an instant to take Miss Hebert under his wing and provide her with the opportunity to flourish.

But Hero was long dead, a victim of the Siberian over a decade ago, and even he, as the head of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, did not have the political sway to protect Miss Hebert from what he knew the larger Protectorate would do.

Shaking the depressing thought away, he knew he had to focus upon there and now. He not only had to do his job, but he had to do it in a way that didn't unduly antagonize the teenager against him and the Protectorate.

"I would not be the one to analyze the code, Miss Hebert," he part-admitted, part-offered,, "coding has never been one of my strengths. It would actually be a colleague of mine, you are familiar with Dragon, correct?"

"I am," was her apprehensively offered response. It was probably wise, considering what Dragon was known for in the world. While there had been several attempts to downplay it over the years, Dragon's place as one of the foremost Tinkers in the world, and arguably heir to Hero's legacy, could simply not be ignored. If there was an expert on identifying and utilizing Tinkertech, it would be Dragon.

And maybe, Dragon was the solution to his concerns about the Protectorate taking advantage of Miss Hebert. She had a lot of clout within the Protectorate and Guild thanks to the soft power she wielded due to the services she provided in fielding reverse-engineered Tinkertech and her administration of the Birdcage. If there was anyone who could wield even a portion of the power and clout that Hero once had, it would be her.

But he had to create the connection, and this was probably the only opportunity he could provide that would invite scrutiny from his superiors.

"I understand why you are hesitating, Miss Hebert. You're worried that if you reveal your operating system to Dragon or myself, without having already put legal protections in place, it'll be copied and stolen for usage."

For a moment, there was hesitation, as she was chewing on what she was going to say, before she offered a slight nod, "That's part of it, Armsmaster, yes. The other part is Sobek is, for lack of better description, not even twenty percent of what I truly envision it being. I'm prevented from truly making it from what it could be because the hardware simply doesn't exist yet."

Now it was his turn to pause, processing exactly what she was saying. He knew enough about operating systems to know that once an operating system was created, it largely was a complete design when fielded, it could of course add features and additional processes over time, but in regards to changes, it had the same baseline functionality.

Just what sort of operating system was Hebert designing, he had to wonder, that it wasn't even close to completion in her mind. Just how could it function, if it was so incomplete, because if it wasn't for what he was seeing in front of him, he would have thought that it was all a con.

And what type of hardware was necessary for it to be considered complete.

"Twenty percent," he asked, just wanting to confirm.

"Eighteen-point-eight, actually," was her solemn reply, not even a flicker of emotion, passing across her face, "There's only so much I can achieve with what I have on hand, and for it to function with the Focus without creating issues, I've had to effectively dumb it down to strict function-only. The fact that I've got my sight back? That's more than I could have ever hoped for."

"Sobek is," she paused, looking for the right words, "it isn't just an operating system, Armsmaster. It's the keystone to everything. Everything I want to build. Everything I want to achieve. It all starts at Sobek. So you can understand why…"

"I do."

She was worried just how it could or would be used if it was disseminated. She may be projecting a bit too heavily on just how important and powerful that Sobek was, she was still a teenager after all, but what if she wasn't.

"Miss Hebert, Dragon is a close friend of mine, not just a colleague, so I can tell you with absolute certainty, that anything she is witness to or discovers in her investigation, will be left undisturbed unless it presents a clear and present danger. She will only be analyzing to see if it's Tinkertech, or not."

For a long minute, he worried that she would reject his overture, ending any chance of offering a method for them to meet, but then, and he would admit he almost gave in and let out a sigh of relief, she relented with the nod of her head.

"Okay," she said, "how is this going to go down? I doubt Dragon is here to do any of this, so we'll have to schedule another meeting, right?"

"Actually, we don't need to schedule another meeting, Miss Hebert. All that you will need to do is allow me to connect a device to your laptop, and Dragon will be able to remotely access and analyze it, if that is acceptable."

Her lips curled into a pensive frown, before she finally nodded.

"That's acceptable."

She then turned around in the chair, and moved towards the right-most computer, the screen powering up, as she accessed it. As she did that, he made a phone call.

"Good afternoon, Colin," came the smooth, dulcet tones of Dragon in his ears, "it's not often that you call me out of the blue. What's going on?"

"You've been apprised of the Hebert situation?"

"I have…Oh Colin, please tell me you didn't do what I think you have."

"I'm with her right now," he confirmed, making a point not to acknowledge the disappointment lacing her tone, "I was wondering if you would be willing to remotely link and analyze a computer for me."

"I can do that. But what are you looking for?"

"Just look over an operating system for me, let me know if there is anything to be concerned about."

"Sounds easy enough. But Colin, don't you think that you should at least let Miss Hebert in on our conversation. It is rather rude."

"I have already discussed with her what we are going to do."

"Colin, just activate your phone and let me talk through it."

Knowing better than to argue with her, he reached into the hip panel of his armor and retrieved a phone, placing it down on the desk behind Miss Hebert. It immediately lit up, signifying a connection and signal, as he knew Dragon had accessed it.

"Hello, Miss Hebert," her voice came through the speaker, causing the short-haired ravenette to pause in her work, "I hope Armsmaster hasn't been too much in his investigation."

"He's actually been fine, Dragon. A lot better than my first meeting with the Protectorate."

"I heard about that, I'm sorry that it went so poorly. Hopefully we can continue to have a good meeting. So, I've been told that you have granted permission for me to access your computer to analyze the operating system for your technology?"

"I have. The only thing on this computer is the operating system itself, and several subordinate programs and functions meant to assist in me building and refining it."

While they had talked, he had retrieved from his gauntlet a small dongle, an antenna folded flush against it that he extended. He then came up beside the teenager who had exchanged a few more words with the Canadian Tinker, before placing the device down beside the teen.

"Thank you."

He then stepped back and watched her as took it in hand, looking it over for a moment, before slotting it into the USB port.

"Okay Dragon, I have placed the device into the port and have disabled the firewall, you should be able to access the computer."

"Thank you, Miss Hebert, now let's see here, accessing the device, and" she trailed off, the phone falling completely silent.

It went like that for a minute, and Colin could feel his lips tug downward in confusion. Usually Dragon was quite talkative when it came to technology and her love of it, describing what she was seeing or doing with the things she did. She was certainly never disconcertingly silent.

It was only as they reached the fourth minute of silence that he finally let his concern be vocalized, worried that something was wrong.

"Dragon?

There was only silence, and now his worry became apprehension. He was about to sound an alarm, but then, the phone speaker crackled slightly, and Dragon's voice came through.

"I'm sorry. Is this some sort of prank?"

 

[AlSmash]

So, originally I was just going to do an entire plethora of Interludes clumped into one chapter, labeled Seed , but I decided that it may just be better to post them as I went, because some of you are probably wondering what is going to happen next. So, I'm just going to lay it out here, that the next two chapters after this, will be a two-fer interlude of Armsmaster and Kid Win, and then a four-fer interlude with Faro, Coil, Kaiser, and a surprise rounding out the final chapter of interludes before we go back to Taylor's POV.

In a week, I'll be having knee surgery, so I'll be out of work for 4-6 weeks minimum, that means more time to write. By the time I'm done, I want to have this at least given 4-6 more chapters, A New Dawn getting a finished update, and Ice and Fire getting some love as well.

Seed 1.S

"Geoff, you need to come here."

Geoffrey Pellick, better known to the world as Saint of the Dragonslayers, put his soldering tool down. Ensuring that it was safely off and away from the replacement circuit board for the Dragonslayer suit, he then proceeded to remove his goggles and mask, placing them down. Satisfied that his work station was secure and ready for when he returned, he got up from his chair and walked across the repair bay.

"What is it," he demanded, looking over the shoulder of Magdalena Lévesque at the computer display, his brow furrowing.

"Dragon just remotely accessed a Tinker's system for an inspection. I've never seen it acting like this."

Reading over the data showed that yes, Dragon was still accessing the Tinker's system, but its processes were redlining in its analysis, to the point it was retasking non-essential assets to processing . He had enough years analyzing one of the world's greatest nascent threats to be able to read the emotions and expressions it desperately tried to ape. It was confused by what it was analyzing, trying to define what it was that it was.

"Move," he commanded, now concerned, because what it was, it was not triggering the various protocols that Richter had put into place in order to constrain Dragon. As Magdalena got up out of the chair, he swiftly slotted himself into it, accessing the terminal and then bringing up what Dragon was accessing on another monitor, turning his head toward it and reading through the code.

"It's not AI," he murmured aloud, reading the data, reaching both into his own skills and the skills granted by his benefactor. If it had been an active AI, Dragon would have not been so focused on analysis, it would have been legally required to report it to the authorities and then taken active measures at eliminating it. So it wasn't that.

No, now that he was looking at it, he knew exactly why Dragon was investing so much of its processing power on analysis.

Too many people didn't understand the effort and skill that went into the design and maintenance of computer system. It wasn't just plugging in 1s, 0s, and letters onto a line and magically it worked, there were different programming languages and even architectures that connected the various systems together.

What he was looking at now, was something he had never encountered in his life, and as a hacker, he knew almost every single programming language in existence.

This was none of that. This was something new.

"What was Dragon analyzing again," he asked, his eyes never leaving the display even as he racked his mind, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.

"An operating system."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious. Armsmaster caller Dragon asking for its assistance in checking to see if the Tinker's operating system for their device had any Tinkertech influences. Dragon connected to one of the Tinker's laptops via one of Armsmaster's remote access spikes he created with Dragon and this happened."

"This isn't an operating system Mags," he retorted irritably, "this is something else."

His head swiveled back to the status display on Dragon. It was still working through, but whatever it was the AI looked like it had begun to figure out what it was looking at. But it was cross-referencing research papers on…

His eyes widened as his head snapped back to the display of the supposed 'OS'.

"Mother of God," he breathed, spinning the chair completely to the display he was looking at, already he was starting to see why Dragon was so interested.

Rubbing his eyes, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, only to be rewarded with the realization he wasn't. Leaning back in the chair as Dragon finally finished its analysis, he closed his eyes, using the time and silence to organize his thoughts and what options he had going forward.

"Geoff, what's going on? What happened?"

"What was this Tinker's name," he asked, his mind already dancing at the ramifications of what he had witnessed. It wasn't anything catastrophic, as they still had the means to eliminate Dragon if the AI attempted to slip its leash. Nor would anything it encountered really change the situation with the AI either, it could not utilize what it had encountered because of how Richter had coded it.

"Tinker doesn't have a cape name."

This caused his eyes to slide towards Mags, wondering if he heard right.

"What?"

"New trigger," she offered with a shrug, "doesn't have a cape name yet."

"What," he asked in shock, leaning forward in the chair and staring at the display of the OS, "Mags, this isn't the work of a freshly triggered cape. Hell, this isn't even Tinkertech at all! This is," he couldn't help but trailing off at the vision before him, still trying to believe what he was seeing.

"Stop beating around the bush," Mags demanded, her annoyance growing at the fact that she was not getting an answer from her sometimes-lover. This wasn't like him, and it pissed her off, "what the fuck has you all worked up."

Releasing a sigh, he looked back to her, "The holy grail of coding languages and operating systems, Mags. Something that has only existed in theory and the pipe dreams of coders, an adaptable system that simply has no limitations or design bottlenecks in the direction it wants or needs to go."

"And how is that not Tinkertech?"

"Because Dragon is cross-referencing several fucking research papers in order to confirm its theory," he snapped, before he rein in his irritation slightly by taking a deep breath, "I don't even need his help to realize exactly what it is doing and why. And while I may not be able to read exactly what the coding is, I can understand the direction Dragon is going, the conclusions it is making from the title of the research papers, and why it is so excited. It also fits with what I do know. Thank God it can't utilize this code, or we'd be activating Ascalon immediately."

And thank God Richter had a single iota of common sense to shackle what he should never have created in the first place. Dragon's restrictions on self-enhancement was the only thing that was sparing it from the executioner's blade.

"What's this Tinker's name?"

"Taylor Hebert."

Reviewing their options, while Hebert was a possible threat, it was too early to make that call. It may be that he could be made an asset later, even if they would likely end up being an unknowing participant.

Still, it would be wise to keep an eye on him, and if he did become a threat, it'd be much easier to nip them in the bud.

"Make a note to keep a watch on him."

"Her."

He blinked, "What?"

"Tayor Hebert is a fifteen year old girl."

"...Oh."

 

[AlSmash]

So here we are, the next chapter. I'm about a day behind, but I got it in before my surgery on Thursday, so good job me.

I'm still not comfortable in the direction I'm taking Armsmaster, but I'm grateful that this is likely one of the last Armsmaster-centric POVs for the forseeable future. I've achieved my objectives with him and I've begun setting the stage for some of the players. I'm still not exactly 100% positive that I've captured his essence, but I've kinda just decided to grind it out instead of trying to obsess over it.

Next Chapter will be the villainous POV interlude, and then we get right back to Taylor. It's probably going to be another doozy, as I originally planned for this chapter to be 3K words, but like the budget for a military project, it somehow ballooned by almost double /shrugs.

I"m not sure how long until the next chapter, as I've never had knee surgery before (plenty of hernia surgeries though), so I'm hoping that I can field another chapter to you all by Monday of next week at the latest, but we'll see.

Anyways, here we go. Until next time.

Seed 1.AKW

"And that is my report, ma'am."

He could feel Director Emily Piggot's eyes boring into him. He knew his report would result in this type of reaction from the bigoted woman. When she didn't get what she necessarily wanted, she had a tendency of making her subordinates feel like she just barely tolerated them. It was even worse for capes, as Piggot simply stopped attempting to disguise her unvarnished disgust for them.

It was why, even with his difficulties in connecting with the Wards, he made an effort to keep them from this side of the Director.

He knew his report on Taylor Hebert would draw out this petty behavior, because it didn't give Piggot what she wanted. And if she didn't get what she wanted, then she'd make others as miserable as she was.

The interview with Taylor, as she allowed him to call her after Dragon's reaction to delving into the teenager's operating system, confirming what he had believed she would find in the process, had resulted in a suitably thawed exchange between them. Dragon had been completely enraptured by what she had found and after being informed that it certainly was real and not a prank, had quickly began asking questions, which had then further devolved into them spending almost three hours talking both shop and code.

It was during that time, that he had been allowed to see young Taylor in her element, discussing theory and concepts that were frankly over his head with his friend. Watching two experts gush over code and how it could be utilized, especially after he had injected the fact Taylor considered Sobek less than twenty percent complete, had been enlightening.

It had been the resulting discussion that he was allowed to watch this nervous waif of a teenager transform into a young woman (and he'd be an absolute idiot not to recognize that distinction after what she had gone through and what she was doing) with a dry wit and a knowledge that could cause even his friend, who he considered the one of the most intelligent and knowledgeable person in the world, be left speechless quite a few times.

It had only made his subsequent decision all the easier.

Taylor Hebert was not a Tinker. That he could declare with unequivocal certainty. Not once, in the time they were talking, did she falter in her explanations, instead she had only shown a breadth of knowledge wholly incompatible with her age and history.

No, he would bet his annual Tinker budget that Taylor Hebert was a Thinker with a focus on heretofore unknown advanced technologies. It was a gut feeling, but even he could tell that she was making an attempt to obfuscate just how far her knowledge base went. The two technologies she'd already revealed were too divergent for it to be a singular focus

What she was fully capable of producing had yet to be seen, let alone her capability and ability to use her knowledge. It was this, and the exchange between them, that had only further cemented his belief that putting Taylor Hebert under the aegis of the Protectorate would only end badly for both parties.

Why he would be so against it, despite the fact that it was part of his responsibility as both a member and team leader within the Protectorate was rather simple: he knew exactly how the Protectorate would react and utilize Taylor.

It was something that wasn't exactly made public, for rather good reason because of the negative light it would cast upon the Protectorate, but the Protectorate was not an organization that operated as a meritocracy. Instead, the Protectorate was a law enforcement organization with militaristic elements that was closer to a stratocracy than anything else. It valued the power and abilities of an individual cape over almost everything else, to the detriment of the wider organization. It rewarded and elevated the powerful, and while it utilized those of lesser ability, their advancement options were limited, if they even existed in the first place. In many ways, the ethos and power dynamics of the Protectorate were not conducive to the long-term health of the organization, but the attritional meat grinder of Endbringer fights and mortality rate being a cape in general had a nasty tendency of keeping those who might raise a point of contention from remaining amongst the living.

There were a few departmental exceptions to this general rule, like Brockton Bay for example, that could not afford to be picky in what they could or could not utilize, as they were in a disadvantageous position due to the local criminal elements and dynamics.

But if there was one thing that possibly superseded every single other consideration on why Taylor Hebert would not fit well with the Protectorate, it came down to the very thing that drove the decision-making of all governmental organizations: Budget.

The Protectorate would not be keen to invest their budget into a cape who's body of work were pretty much a visual assistance device and an incomplete operating system. In fact, they would probably turn up their nose to it once they got her to sign the paperwork, and then write her off for the future. There was nothing that she could show that would cause them to want to invest in her, even if he made a push.

And even if he was successful, and he did get Taylor the budget she may need, everything she made while a member of the Protectorate would never be hers, even if she decided to part ways after a while. There were at least four different cases of Tinkers being sued by the Protectorate for producing Tinkertech, simply because the theme was the very thing the Protectorate trademarked.

And if all things could work out, and they could work out a contract on the rights to the technology, everything that she would want to make would have to be approved by the Protectorate, a process that depending on the Tinker, could take months, and in some cases, years, to do so.

One of the only reasons he had it relatively easy as a Tinker compared to others had been the 'simplicity' of his technology in the eyes of the Protectorate. Largely his modifications and additions were unobtrusive, they weren't major changes, and they were efficient all the while not taking away from the Armsmaster brand that the Protectorate had cultivated. It was a source of pride, while at the same time degrading in the message it sent to him.

Maybe in the future, when Taylor Hebert had established herself, there could be something that could be worked out with the Protectorate. But he felt that by that juncture it would be too late for the Protectorate to be able to do anything to absorb her into it.

But that was all predicated on her being able to find herself investors. Something, that he had a feeling that would be hard for her to come by thanks to both her disability, and the fact that she was a cape.

"Are you listening, Armsmaster?"

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Piggot's sharp demand, obviously there was something that she had said that he had missed.

"I apologize, ma'am, but I was double-checking my own mental notes on the matter. What did you say?"

"I was asking if there is any possibility that you could be mistaken in your estimation of Miss Hebert's technology and abilities?"

He couldn't help his reaction in frowning at the 'innocent' question, because it certainly was not innocent in any shape or manner. This was the pettiness rearing its ugly head, as he knew Piggot was making a backhanded question against his own capability. She knew he didn't provide false reports, and he was decidedly thorough in his investigations, so to have her question it left no room to confuse the intent behind it.

But he couldn't call it out, because without the context of knowing just who Emily Piggot was, then it would be ignored. Instead, his teeth clenched for a moment, as he bit back the irritated retort that threatened to escape his lips.

"No, ma'am, while Taylor Hebert's technology does certainly look like it could fulfill the spirit of the Clarke rule of Tinkers, it does not fulfill the letter of it. Her technology, based upon my investigation of the patent and documentation, including additional documentation personally provided by her that cements the theory behind her design, establishes that this technology, while rather advanced, is reproducible and uses established theories and concepts from previous studies and think-tanks. It has none of the telltale traits or indications linking it to Tinkertech."

"And what about this operating system?"

"Dragon and I spent over three hours with Miss Hebert discussing Sobek, Director. While it is a highly advanced and adaptive operating system, it is not Tinkertech."

There was a not-so-insignificant part of him that felt petty enjoyment watching Emily Piggot tightly clench her jaw, a surefire giveaway that she was grinding her teeth. It was a tell that he had seen several times before, usually when she was resisting the urge to erupt and start dressing people down.

Good. He would have her angry with him than focused upon Hebert. Of course, it'd only delay the inevitable, but bought time was bought time. It honestly would be interesting to see what Piggot could do, considering he had essentially cut her off at the knees through rules and regulations.

However, instead of lashing out at him as he had expected, her expression became closed off, instead turning her attention to her computer. Grabbing her mouse, she then clicked on a few things, her eyes narrowing in concentration.

"Your quarterly performance and budget review is coming up, isn't it, Armsmaster?"

His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he couldn't help but frown, wondering exactly what she was getting at. He had a feeling he knew, but he wanted to be certain. Because if so, this was certainly more ham-fisted than even he would have expected from his director.

"It is, ma'am."

"I've always taken a certain amount of pride in reviewing your exemplary record," she continued, before turning her gaze back to him, "you've always kept yourself to a high standard, making you one of the best under my command."

You bitch, he thought to himself, even as he kept his face as placid as he could, seeing that his intuition was correct in exactly where she was going. Of course, she was wording it as benignly as possible so he couldn't use it against her, but it was damnably obvious.

"It is something I take pride in, ma'am."

She hummed, keeping her eyes locked upon him, "Are you absolutely sure, without a single doubt, that Miss Hebert's gear is not Tinkertech?"

The gauntlet was thrown, he had a choice to make. If he did not answer in the way that Piggot wanted, so she could execute whatever plan she wanted, then she would punish him by hurting him where it mattered most. His Tinker budget was directly tied to his performance reviews, and as the final arbiter of said review, Piggot held the purse strings.

A part of him wanted to snap at the morbidly obese woman, calling her out for her blackmail attempt. He wanted to rage at her trying to buy his honor by forcing him to lie for her agenda. But he knew it would gain nothing other than Piggot would dismiss his official account and likely find someone else to rubber-stamp what she wanted.

Instead, he recollected the expression on Taylor Hebert's face, the transformation of the young woman as she became comfortable, and daresay it, contented. And he knew the decision he had to make, even if the cost to him would be hard.

"I can confirm, beyond a shadow of a doubt and by every qualification and classification systems used by the Protectorate and the Guild, that Taylor Hebert's does not meet the requirements to classify as a Tinker."

She glared at him, the challenge clear in her expression, even as he returned it levelly. He would not budge on this, not for her, and certainly not for himself.

"Dismissed," she gritted out.

---

AEH​

---

"I don't understand why you are going to such lengths for her, Colin."

Placing down his tools, he leaned back in his chair and looked to the ceiling of his lab. Laying on the workbench was the helmet to his 'research' armor, currently disassembled into its individual components. Reviewing the additional documents that Taylor had provided him had given him an idea he wanted to add to his armor, but before that, he had to test it to ensure it worked.

It would probably be at least another week before he could get the components he wanted, but in the end, he had a feeling that maybe, he could imitate some aspects of the Focus that she used. He would of course, confer with her once he finished it to receive her blessing, and share data, but that was for the future.

Right now, he was simply working because it calmed him, especially in lieu of his briefing of the Director.

He knew that there had been a chance that Emily Piggot would punish him for his 'failure', but there was a stark difference between knowing it could happen and it actually happening.

And now Dragon was questioning his decision. He hadn't told her exactly what had transpired in the Director's office, partially because it was a conflict

And now Dragon was questioning him about it, because he had voiced his frustration about the Director with her. He hadn't gone in depth at what had been threatened, because it would create a conflict of interest because she wasn't a Protectorate member, but she still from time to time reported to it.

He considered for a moment what he could tell her and how he could make her see the connection. But in the end, he realized he preferred if she didn't know just who he used to be. Oh, he was sure she probably had access to his files, but he knew what was in there wasn't the full story.

"What do you think the Protectorate would do with her, Dragon?"

He could almost feel his peer blink at the question, causing him to run his fingers over his beard, feeling the bristles of hair brush against his fingers.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Colin?"

Releasing a sigh, he wished he could see her face to face, able to see her expression as she reacted. While he did value their friendship, he did find that at times, long-distance communication was a tedious affair at best.

"Taylor Hebert is a blind, fifteen year old girl with the knowledge to create technology far in advance of what currently exists with the right tools and materials, but the technology is certifiably not Tinkertech. How do you think the Protectorate would handle her?"

"I think you're being too cynical, Colin. Miss Hebert is certainly different than other Tinkers that have been encountered in the past, but the Protectorate and Guild exists to allow individuals like her to flourish and use her powers for good."

"But she doesn't have powers, Dragon."

"I don't understand what you're trying to say, Colin. She certainly has powers, even if it's what we would classically call Tinker-related, but she-"

"You don't understand what I'm trying to say, Dragon," he racked his mind, trying to get his friend to understand. It was an epiphany that was just starting to percolate, and when he looked at it, it was something that made absolute sense.

"If we made her do standard power testing tomorrow, Dragon, what do you think would be discovered?"

The silence from his friend was telling. It was the same conclusion that he had already come to, but it was nice that he left his normally expressive friend silent at the least.

"They would find nothing. Because what Taylor Hebert possesses isn't something we can quantify or analyze like a common parahuman. What Taylor Hebert has is knowledge far in advance of what we have."

"But the Protectorate-"

"The Protectorate wouldn't know what to do with her," he opined, leaning back forward in his chair with an audible creak from the furniture. He allowed his eyes to roam over his helmet as he collected his thoughts, "I'm a Protectorate Commander, Dragon, I know all of the protocols and procedures when it comes to capes, back and front, and I know there is nothing we have in the book on how to deal with someone like her."

Letting his eyes drift over to the computer, where the ad-hoc Focus was displayed, complete with even more details compared to the patent application thanks to the thumb drive that Taylor had provided him.

"Colin, I'm not sure where you are going with all of this. Taylor is certainly a brilliant young woman, but I think you're making too much of all of this. Sure, the Protectorate may not know what to do with her initially, but just because they don't have something now, doesn't mean they can't make something up just for her later."

"Brain-machine interfaces."

"I'm sorry. What?"

Minimizing the window that displayed the Focus, he worked to access the field camera database for his suit, looking through and finding what he wanted, before uploading and sending the file, along with the notes that she had provided, "Before I called you in to review Taylor's operating system, I had to review her Focus. It turned into a small discussion about theory, but I think you will find it interesting. Just look it over for me and tell me your thoughts?"

He left her to review the video, already figuring how he would rebut whatever excuse that she would provide. He felt a pang of sadness at the fact that he was arguing with her, but it couldn't be helped.

"Colin, this is-," Dragon began after a few minutes of silence.

"After looking at that, what do you think would have happened if Taylor had been a Ward and submitted that design. A device that would grant her the ability to see and feel like a normal person again."

"Colin-"

"They would have denied it without a moment's hesitation," he cut her off with a flat tone, letting that hang in the air like a guillotine over its intended target, "they would have cited that it was too dangerous, too close to Cranial's tech, and that for her own safety, they would have to spend more time analyzing it."

Dragon's silence was telling, because he knew that she knew he was right. The Protectorate would never greenlight something like that if they had the choice. It was, and he hated to say it, too 'villainous' for an organization that trumpeted itself as the 'heroes' of society to allow.

"Then they would threaten her, Dragon. They would tell her that it was in the best interest of all involved, including her, that she remain blind. That it was for her safety, that she will not be allowed the opportunity to regain that which she had been robbed of. And if she so chose to disobey what was best for her, then she would be punished."

He closed his eyes, unable to bring himself to even try to understand the emotional devastation that would be wrought by such a callous, pragmatic decision made by those with no real investment.

"Can you honestly tell me with a straight face, Dragon, that the Protectorate, or even the Guild, wouldn't do that?"

There was a long pause on the other end.

"No," she rewarded him with a sighed admission. , "No, I can't."

A lesser person may have reveled in victory, but to him, there had been no victor in this disagreement. Instead, he felt hollow, just as he suspected that his friend did as well.

"Even if she doesn't join the Protectorate, you know she will have an uphill battle, Colin. People will look at her and immediately assume that she's a cape. They won't want to take the risk of running afoul of NEPEA-5."

"I know," he admitted. That was probably one of the largest hang-ups he had in trying to figure a path forward for Taylor. Even if she could prove that her technology was not Tinkertech, there would be those who would view the risk as too much to make an investment..

But even then, all it would take would be a few brave individuals who could recognize what Taylor offered would be worth the risk. He had a few ideas of people and organizations who may just be willing to take that risk, but they also came with their own drawbacks.

Maybe in the end, it wouldn't matter. Maybe Taylor would be unsuccessful and it would end with her turning to the Protectorate in order to achieve what she intended. If that would happen, he would have to make sure he was there.

But that was only a possible future, right now, all he could was wait and see exactly what would result in her endeavors, and maybe stack the deck slightly in her favor by reaching out to Legend. It wasn't often that he reached out to the head of the Protectorate, but after what had happened with Piggot, it may be best to brief the man. The only other concern he had for her right now was the local trash deciding to stick their noses where it didn't belong, it was why he had given both her father and herself a direct line to him if they ever needed anything from him.

Of course, he wouldn't wash his hands of her and cut her loose while things developed, he thought, as he turned his gaze back to the Focus as he brought it up, looking it over and then looking at his helmet with a contemplative look. He was actually looking forward to what he could do with her notes for himself.

---

AEH​

---

It had been a good week for Christopher Siopis. Ever since his PRT physician had prescribed him medication to help with his focus, it had seemed like everything that had been a problem before had become solved. School had become almost easy, and he had even finally figured out what he had been doing wrong with his alternator cannon.

Everything was looking up, and for Kid Win, that could only lead to much better things. He was actually looking forward to his bi-weekly meeting with Armsmaster in which they could discuss his development and what Tinker projects he wanted to work on going forward. And now that he had solved his alternator cannon issue, he just knew that he was going to finally be proving to Armsmaster that he wasn't just a burden.

So it was with a spring in his step, and a tablet with his work under his arm, that he accessed Armsmaster's lab, stepping into the large room and looking over the various displays and workbenches. He quickly found his mentor sitting at one of those benches, a jewelers headset loupe resting over his face as he worked on something he couldn't quite see.

But what he could see was a display with a strange device upon it. It looked like some sort of headset, he almost wanted to say it was VR but that didn't explain the equipment on the sides. Nor did it have the head-encompassing visor.

He could readily admit that his curiosity piqued as he studied the display, so much so he didn't realize he had become so focused that it was Armsmaster clearing his throat that brought him back to reality.

"Sorry, sir," he apologized, quickly stepping back, as Armsmaster stared him down.

"What are you doing here?"

"Umm, I had an appointment with you for a review of my Tinkertech, sir."

Armsmaster looked at him for a moment, before his eyes looked over to the display, ostensibly to look at the clock.

"So, I do," he murmured, "my apologies Kid Win, I've been distracted by a few new ideas I wanted to see if I could adapt to my armor."

"It's fine," he waved his hand in a dismissive manner. He was used to it by now, if there was one thing that he had been able to figure out about Armsmaster, it was that the man was singularly obsessed with himself. What time he didn't spend in the field he spent in the lab, with very little else in his life.

"I don't recognize what you are looking at, sir."

HIs superior craned his head back to the display, and then to his own irritation, he reached over and closed it.

"It's something that I encountered this afternoon."

"A new Tinker," he asked, a little excited at the idea of a new Tinker joining the Protectorate. Sure, it would mean even less time for him to work with his mentor, but maybe the Tinker would be his age and they could work off one another.

"No," was the response, and he felt the excitement die, before Armsmaster held out his hand, "your review?"

"Oh," handing it over, he stepped back, watching as Armsmaster opened it up and looked it over. It was a nerve-wracking experience, watching as his mentor and commander looked over his work, and his nervousness only increased as the man's frown deepened.

It was with a cluck of his tongue, that Armsmaster placed the tablet back down, releasing a sigh.

"It seems you didn't listen to me."

Blinking, he couldn't help but offer a confused, "Sir?"

"I told you during the last review that you were making a mistake continuing work on your alternator cannon idea. But it appears you decided to ignore my advice."

His own smile started to turn into a frown, a ember of anger starting to be kindled at the statement, "Actually, I did, sir. However, a few days ago I had a realization I was making a mistake in the calculations for the energy buildup in the capacitors. That is why it was showing a catastrophic containment breach in the simulations."

There was a sigh that escaped his mentor's lips, and he felt even more like he was more of a misbehaving pupil instead of a subordinate who was trying to learn, "Christopher, I wasn't criticizing your design of the alternator cannon, I was trying to urge you to reconsider because for all of the time you were putting into it, you will never get to use it."

"What? But, I've already got preliminary approval for the design from the board, Armsmaster. All that needed to be done was to work out the kinks and solve the power issues."

When he was met with silence for a moment, the Armsmaster seemed to look away, as if he were ashamed. But what would the man be ashamed of?

"It appears I should have been blunt with you, Kid Win. That's a mistake I made last time, so let me just say it here and now. Even with you completing this design, the Protectorate will never allow you to deploy with it."

His stomach fell at the statement, not quite believing what Armsmaster was saying.

"What do you mean? I solved the problem! All that needs to be done is to test it successfully and it will be certified for the field. I can make a diff-"

"Against A- and S- Class threats!"

He froze, taken aback at the sudden tone of Armsmaster, but before he could formulate an answer, his mentor continued.

"Christopher, I'm impressed that you have been able to solve the problem with your alternator cannon. It shows just how far you've been able to come since you joined the Wards a year and a half ago. But the alternator cannon is just too powerful. The only way it will be authorized for usage is in an A- or S-Class situation, and you're not old enough to be deployed to one without parental consent."

He picked up the tablet and tapped it with a knuckle.

"I'm sorry. But you've been wasting your time, Chris. You could have been better spent improving what you already have. I know you want to make a difference, but this wasn't the way to go."

Armsmaster then held it out, and with trembling fingers, Chris grabbed it, feeling utterly numb inside at the exchange that had just taken place. But there was something he felt, something he couldn't quite put his finger on meeting the stern gaze of the man he had looked up to for over a year now, who he had wanted to emulate and impress.

Now, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do anymore.

It had been such a good week too.

 

[AlSmash]

I know I said I was planning to get the chapter out sometime this weekend, but I underestimated the need of painkillers post-surgery, so I was not exactly in the greatest of minds to write. Hell, I'm still unhappy with this chapter. Then you throw in some more personal issues, and I am 4 days later than I planned. So I do apologize for that.

I can promise though, next chapter we're back to Taylor.

Seed 1.FCKUC

With a slam of the door, Theodore Faro, Field Agent, Parahuman Response Team, stormed into his flat.

Making a beeline straight for his kitchen, he reached the refrigerator and swung open the door, the appliance protesting the violent action. Retrieving a bottle of beer from it, he unscrewed the cap and drank from it while slamming the door shut.

Drinking only half of it, he then placed the cold bottle against his forehead, even as he fought the urge to throw it in his rage.

The last week had been an exercise in apprehension management. He knew he had fucked up handling Taylor Hebert, but it had been a fuck up done with best intentions. There was no way the Protectorate would have been better off with a blind girl in its ranks, Tinker or not. What even could a blind Tinker do, for that matter?

Hell, he was doing the girl a favor. There's no doubt in his mind that sooner or later, Emily Piggot would have thrown the poor girl onto the field, disability or not. The woman was too much of an uncompromising bitch to do otherwise.

Of course, that's not how his superiors field, the entitled fucking assholes. No, sir, instead of accepting his actions as a good choice, they had made him walk on eggshells all week, all for that bitch Piggot to call him into her office and inform him that he was being reassigned.

To fucking Eagleton.

Effective immediately.

It took all of his effort to not to tell her to shove her dialysis machine up her ass as she had dressed him down in her office. Yes, he was aware that Hebert was on the fucking 'Red List', but that did not mean he shouldn't be looking out for the best interests of the Protectorate and PRT! But of course, Piggot and her fucking ego wouldn't allow any rebuttals or arguments, it was her way of the high way, and he was out.

Finishing off the beer, and feeling his anger cool just a little bit, he placed down the empty bottle and went to retrieve another. Unscrewing the cap, he took a swig of the amber liquid.

The Protectorate and PRT always talked about how Containment Zones were assignments that required the best and brightest in order to ensure that the A- and S- Class threats within were contained, but in practice, the best and the brightest knew to stay away. Only the clinically insane or those who were being punished by their commanders went there, because it was not only considered the place where careers went to die unless you did something suitably heroic or dramatic, you also were going to be the first to die if containment was ever breached.

There was a small part of him that wanted to just resign on the spot and go to the press, but he knew that he would be smothered by NDAs that would destroy him before he could open his mouth. If there was anything the Protectorate and PRT were paranoid about, it was public perception.

No, he'd go to Eagleton, like a good little soldier, and he'd figure out just how to pull his ass out of the fire, then he'd make sure that when he did so, it was Director Emily Piggot who would be the first to pay.

He doubted Hebert was going to live much longer, anyways. Why would he worry about making her pay. A blind cape? He gave her three months max before she ended up just another unremarkable statistic.

---

AEH​

---

To the people of Brockton Bay, Max Anders was a beacon of the city, one of the few remaining magnates who had chosen to remain when so many of the others had fled with the loss of the port. As the largest employer in Brockton Bay, he was considered by many as the favorite son of the Bay, providing jobs and economic activity to a city that had been limping along for so long.

It was amusingly ironic in an almost Shakeperian way that the man who was viewed by many as a hero to the people of Brockton Bay, and an upstanding citizen to look up to, was also the 'criminal' Kaiser, leader of the Empire EIghty-Eight.

At least, it brought quite a bit of amusement to him.

After all, who would expect Kaiser to be relaxing at his mansion, with only his towel providing him modesty as he received a full-body massage from his two personal assistants, Nessa and Jessica Biermann, better known to the world as Menja and Fenja of the Empire.

Yes, life was going splendidly, especially with the recent information that had fallen into his lap. Who would have believed that the Protectorate would have a Ward with a bullying problem? He would, but that was the nature of people, regardless of race. Sure, he viewed those of non-white origins as being inferior in many ways, but he also understood that there were the same people infesting his own race.

Still, using the misstep with Shadow Stalker would certainly help spread the message, it wasn't worth the risk of playing that card. At least not yet. If he was going to use it, it had to be part of a larger litany of abuses and usurpations by the PRT, and even though with Piggot doing an excellent job providing the tinder with her mismanagement, it was not enough.

If there was one thing his father had instilled in him by the man's failures, it was the art of patience and knowing when to strike, and when to hold back. The time would come. He just had to make sure that when it did, he could execute flawlessly, upon all of his enemies.

A pair of warm oily hands landed on his upper back, drawing out a sigh as Nessa's hands sunk into muscle and released the knots. Nessa had always been good with her hands, and seemed to know just the right places to wring out the knots in his back. Jessica would join sooner or later, usually when she got worked up enough, but for now, it was Nessa's show.

The sound of doors opening dragged him back out of blissful luxury, causing his eyes to open.

"Sorry Max," announced James Fleischer, better known as Krieg, and his nominal second-in-command, "but I figured you'd want to hear this."

Releasing as sigh, as his mood had been sufficiently killed, he rolled on the massage table, ensuring that his modesty was protected, before holding out his arms. Jessica, who had seemed to be reading his mind, was already there, sliding a robe over his shoulder and ensconcing him in the luxurious fabric.

James stood there, at attention, the pedigree and bearing trained into him by Gesellschaft on full display. In his hands was a folder, and obviously the subject on why he would visit this late at night. Ensuring that he kept his irritation at a pleasant night being worried, he plastered a smile on his face.

"Understandable, my friend, you wouldn't bother me if it wasn't important. So what do you have for me?"

"We've been able to identify the mysterious tinker."

Now he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. About a month ago, James had informed him that someone was using a few of their assets to order parts and equipment for what could have been a Tinker project. There had been a slight investigation, identifying the person ordering, and asking questions, but it hadn't amounted to nothing. The fact that the man was part of the Dockworker's Union was noted, but because of that, they hadn't resorted to a more intensive interrogation.

"I'm listening."

Holding out a folder, Max took it, opening it up, and looking at the image of a young woman. A face he immediately recognized thanks to the Shadow Stalker debacle the Brockton Bay Protectorate was trying to keep quiet on.

"This is confirmed," he asked, eyes looking over the report. He took note of the names on the reports, all written up and then typed to be provided to him, each of the observers being those handpicked and trained by Krieg and Victor. It had been an idea that Victor had suggested a few years ago as a means of keeping an eye on the coming and goings of the Protectorate and PRT, but also working to identify the various capes in the event that their plans ever reached a position to where the information would be necessary.

"As best as it can be," was the admission, "Armsmaster visited the Dockworker's Union two days ago, likely to meet with the Tinker. Since then, there really hasn't been any movement by either of them, but Taylor Hebert has been at the Dockworker's Union the last five days, every day."

"Hebert," he murmured, looking up, "Isn't that the Dockworker Union's Head of Hiring."

"Officially. Unofficially, the man pretty much runs the Union after the previous leadership pulled up their stakes and ran about two years ago."

Humming, he leafed through the report, going back to the beginning and reading again. It wouldn't do to miss any details, and he needed to formulate a plan. An unaffiliated Tinker could be the boon for the Empire Eighty-Eight, especially if their technology could be utilized.

Still, this was a subject matter that was…complex, to say the least. Hebert was blind, while he had not seen the video, it had been passed around in the darker corners of the social media that fellow travelers frequented enough for it to reach his ear. Truly a horrific thing, if only Shadow Stalker had only been dumb enough to join in, it would have been a dramatic boost to the message that the Empire espoused. Alas, it was not to be.

Still, a Tinker, blind that she may be, could be an asset. The only complications were the fact that she was blind, which would run into the gamut of many of his fair-weather compatriots who believe in strength and purity, and the fact that she was a daughter of the head of the Dockworker's Union.

"Do we know what her Tinkertech focus is?"

"Nothing definite yet. I have a man on the inside of the Dockworker's Union who noticed Hebert been given a sequestered section in the offices. He hasn't seen what she's been working on, but he has seen her walking around with a weird headset."

He blinked for a second, trying to make sense of the last sentence, before he just had to ask.

"Walking around without difficulty?"

"According to him, yes."

So her tinkertech revolved around vision then, he mused, tapping the closed folder. It was something to keep in mind for the future.

But was it worth making a move?

No, he mentally shook his head, at this juncture, it was not worth the investment of resources to start a fight with the Dockworker's Union. They may not be the powerhouse they were during the time of Marquis, but they were still a sizable threat, and the Empire couldn't afford getting into a protracted conflict at this time. Not with the Dragon lurking and awaiting for a moment of weakness.

"Assign a team to keep observation on the Heberts. Inform our man in the Union to keep an eye on things, but do not expose himself. I'll have further orders for him later if necessary. What about our assets within the PRT, can they get access to what is being said about her?"

"Possibly. I'd have to confirm with Victor, as that's his bailiwick, but I don't see too many complications if we go for the low-hanging fruit."

"See what you can find out, then let me know. The fact that the Protectorate is not making a hard push towards recruiting her right now seems suspicious considering Piggot's penchant. I want to know why and what's being said in the back channels."

"Done. Is there anything else you want?"

"No. I think that's probably all we can do right now. There's no point on making any moves against Hebert unless we know everything. I'm not going to risk our assets for a Tinker of low quality. Let's see what she can do, and then we'll revisit it at a future time."

The answering nod relieved him slightly. James may be his second-in-command, but he was also an agent for the Gesellschaft, everything he decided was reported back to them. While he didn't take orders directly from them, they could make his life difficult if they so felt it.

"Good. Now, leave us. It'd be a horrible thing to let all of this go to waste. I'll see you in the morning"

"Of course," and with that, James left the room, the door closing behind him and leaving the three of them remaining in the room.

Taking a deep breath of the incense to collect himself, he then held out the folder, which was taken out of his hands. He would take another look over and see if he missed anything else tomorrow morning. But for right now, he was going to get his massage, he was going to relax, and he was going to enjoy the delights he knew his valkyries intended to give him.

Further planning could wait until tomorrow.

---

AEH​

---

Thomas Calvert was destined to rule Brockton Bay. That was the sole unequivocal truth of reality. It would not be disputed nor would it be denied. It just was, and there would be no one who would be able to challenge it once he was done.

It was with this inevitability in mind, that he operated as Coil, slowly moving pieces on the board all the while his enemies were completely unaware of his designs and reach. Their only warning before the end would be when the coils that were his motif were tightly around his prey and there was no escape except capitulation or death.

And that was the true scope of his genius. He wasn't a brute like Lung, or a wannabe Machiavelli like Kaiser. He was something better, and he would ensure that Brockton Bay was better for it.

But right now, he had to figure out how to utilize the newest piece on the board.

When Shadow Stalker had been tangentially connected to the acid attack at Winslow High, he had taken the time to personally pare off a timeline to deposit a bullet into that dumb bitch's face. It had been a cathartic, if ultimately wasteful, investment of his power, but the action alone had provided him a clarity that previously had been fleeting and allowed him to refocus upon trying to salvage the situation.

While a scandal was certainly in his bailiwick of plans to utilize the final elimination of Piggot from the board to cement his rise, the incident was far too soon. If he allowed Piggot to be forced to resign in disgrace, it would force him to reset the board and start from scratch, thereby eliminating almost four years of investment.

So, it was with begrudging frustration, that resulted in him considering doing a runback on Shadow Stalker, that he had moved to distract the FBI from digging too deeply into the situation. It had cost him a handful of contacts and sources, but it looked like the FBI were buying into chasing after a leak within the Brockton Bay Police Department that was providing information to the Azn Bad Boys.

But this new piece, he massaged his chin, grateful that his tap into the systems of both the Protectorate and PRT provided him a real-time flow of information to know exactly what they were thinking and doing. It was an invaluable asset, and one of the core reasons outside of keeping Piggot in place, screwing the pooch by the numbers, that he burned some of his assets.

Taylor Hebert, it seemed that she was the gift that continued to keep on giving, he mused, unable to to ignore the irony of it all. The fact that the thorn that was currently driving Piggot into a frothing frenzy was now adding to her blood pressure was the type of schadenfreude he could enjoy.

Still, enjoyment aside, it was a complication he had to take into account. Not so much the abilities of Hebert, which, according to what information he could glean, were minimal. A device that aids in vision, and an operating system? Not really something that he should invest his assets in.

No, it wasn't Hebert's Tinkertech that garnered his attention, but her connections to the Dockworker's Union. While many had forgotten the 'bad old days', he had made it a point to learn of it when he had transferred in. An unseen threat was the worst threat, and the Dockworker's Union, during the age of Marquis, was an entirely different beast in comparison to today. There were quite a few in the old Empire Eighty-Eight who could attest to that.

The question he had to ask was if the Dockworker's Union was still that beast, lulled into a quiet slumber after the end of Marquis, or if it was truly gone under the management of Danny Hebert. Either way, it had to be taken into account, because if Taylor Hebert did amount to some-

The press of something cylindrical to the back of his head, including in the timeline where he was at home, caused him to freeze.

"Close the timeline you're at home," the owner of said item to the back of his head softly demanded, the lack of inflection uncanny, as if the woman was reading from a script instead of naturally speaking from the heart.

Understanding the futility of the situation, he acquiesced, though it burned enough that he couldn't resist the urge to not keep silent, as he knew that the owner would not appreciate it.

"I had thought that our dealings were finished, Contessa."

"Dealings with Cauldron are never done, Thomas," the named woman responded, before she withdrew the gun from the back of his head. Slowly she walked around from behind him, but took a seat on the edge of his desk, her weapon still trained on him. A Mauser C96, his mind idly noted, trying to decide if her choice red Prohibition-era attire and weapon was style, theme, or she just had read too many pulp novels as a child and found it cool.

Then again, he shouldn't be thinking about that with the cape boogeyman sitting there in front of him. As much as it galled him to admit that he was outclassed and at her mercy, there was no ignoring the fact it was a both reality and certainty.

"What can I do for Cauldron, then?"

"Taylor Hebert."

He frowned, both hiding his surprise and his curiosity at the statement. He had just turned his gaze upon her, but the fact that she was already already on their radar was a surprise. What had he missed? Just why would Cauldron be interested in a blind Tinker with minimal worth? Unless…

"You will not interfere with her."

So there was something more to her that he wasn't seeing. It couldn't be that she was affiliated with Cauldron, they would have told him to back off immediately otherwise. They wouldn't have wasted the effort to send her to his lair and threaten him.

No, they had something invested in this, something that would have a much larger impact on whatever their overall game plan was. The fact that they were specifically targeting him meant that whatever it was that Hebert had in the works, was going to have an impact upon his plans.

"That's a rather vague order," he probed, keeping his attention upon her weapon, "especially with you backing it up with a threat, Contessa. Just how do you define interfering, so I avoid having an intervention from the likes of you."

He knew he was playing a dangerous game by asking this line of questioning, but at the same time, Contessa could have simply killed him and he would have had no warning. So it was obvious that Cauldron still had some use for him.

"You will not interfere with Taylor Hebert's development. Nor will you interfere with the Dockworker's Union. You may continue your other operations, but if either of those two become involved, you are to cease posthaste."

"That doesn't allow me a lot of room to work," he argued, "we made a deal, Contessa. Cauldron would allow me uninterrupted reign of Brockton Bay, now you're coming back and telling me the deal's changed?"

She arched an eyebrow, then motioned with her gun, causing him to quiet.

"I would think you'd appreciate this, Thomas. If you keep yourself out of Hebert's way, then you'll reach your goals far sooner than you could have hoped. You might also benefit from looking a bit closer into her dealings."

Wait, did she mean?

She got to her feet, her weapon still on him as she strode past him, he turned slowly in the chair to watch as a portal appeared in front of her, revealing what a nondescript metal hallway. But before she stepped through the doorway, she stopped.

"Oh. And about Dinah Alcott, do not touch her."

And with that, she stepped through the portal and it slid shut behind her, leaving him back by his lonesome in his office.

---

AEH​

---

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Forty-sIx. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Forty-

A flurry of coughs abruptly cut off the count, blood flecking the inside of his mask as his body was wracked by spasms. All the while he struggled to breathe through his cough, his body demanding precious oxygen that his lungs were fighting to deny.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity of struggle, it slowly came to an end, his body fighting back into control, as coughs became shorter, breathing that had previously been strained began slowing, before finally, after what seemed like an eternity to their owner, returned to normal.

No overall improvement, the man clinically noted to himself as he tossed the mask aside, ignoring the blood that was drying upon it. Another failure.

Reaching over, he grabbed his original mask, placing it over his face, letting the life-giving oxygen filling his lungs. Once the mask was secure, he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as the mask performed its job and allowed him to breathe. All the while systems scanned over him to provide him a report on what he already knew

Gene Fontaine bit back a curse as he looked over the data that flashed up on holographic display in front of him, showing that indeed, the biotinker-created regenerative treatment had not been successful in repairing any of the damage to his body.

It was yet another in a long litany of failures in a losing battle where his body was slowly killing itself.

Once upon a time, he had never heard of multiple organ dysfunction syndrome. And now, he wished he had never heard of it. The rare syndrome had wracked his body for the last decade, slowly robbing him of vitality and closer to death, driving him further into accepting more esoteric treatment plans.

It was only because of the various medical devices, treatments, and injections that he invested in that he was still able to function. But even then, such measures had only slowed the inevitable march, not stopped it. No matter what drugs or treatments he put himself through, he was living on borrowed time.

There was one solution to his malady, but there was no way to be able to tap into it. Panacea in Brockton Bay could heal him, but the Protectorate and New Wave would never allow him near her, and the Elite would never allow her to utilize her abilities unless she was made part of the Elite. It was a classic no-win scenario.

It was a frustration without end for Uppercrust of the Elite. In spite of all that he had done, the very government that had benefited off of his toil could not make a simple exception. After all, the Protectorate could not be seen publicly cavorting with villains, in spite of his contributions and status as probably the most heroically inclined branches of the Elite.

Releasing a sigh, he swiped his hand, throwing aside the holographic window and leaned back in his chair.

At best, he had another three years before his body would be too far gone to function. Even with the treatments he was using, it may not even reach that far. He had contingencies in place, but the clock was ticking closer to finality unless he found a solution.

Perhaps it was time to reach out to Agnes Court, as loath as he was to do. While the Elite promoted itself as a singular, united front, the reality couldn't be further from the truth. Each branch operated with its own rules and leadership, meant to foment competition, but in actuality left the organization a loose confederation of individual interests that managed to occasionally cross with one another.

While Agnes Court had in the past shown some level of concern for him, he would be naive to believe that it was a concern out of altruism. Agnes was a vulture at heart, and if he reached out to her, then there was a high probability that she would demand a king's ransom, if not just use it as a means to kill him and take over his operations. Nothing was out of the question in regards to her.

But he could dwell upon his next step forward later, there was still too much work to do for today, and he wasn't going to complete anything unless he got to work.

Opening up his workstation, he brought up several holographic windows, looking over each one, before his attention was drawn by one of the windows. Reaching out with his hand, he brought his hand over the window and it enlarged.

"What the hell is this," he murmured to himself, looking at his email inbox, noting that the newest email was from a sender the system didn't recognize. Which should be impossible, as one of the first things he had been programmed into the system was the ability to block and immediately delete anything of spurious origin or intent.

That, and the only other thing that stopped him from manually deleting it himself was the title of the email, simply labeled "Tinker/Thinker Prospect - Brockton Bay".

His curiosity was now suitably piqued, but he tempered that with caution. He wasn't an idiot who simply opened an email because it hit all the right spots in psychology to make him want to open it, unlike a quarter of the population.

Accessing a security program designed by Fibonacci, another member of his branch of the Elite and a subordinate of his, he began an IP trace upon the email, intent on finding the original sender of it. His eyebrows raised when after almost five minutes it came back with a result.

Just who in the hell would send him an email from the Protectorate Headquarters?

Rerunning the IP Trace just to ensure that…yes, it did come from the Protectorate Headquarters here and New York City, he found himself with a dilemma. The rational, pragmatic part of himself, the part of him that had survived the cutthroat politics and backroom deals that was the Elite, told him to just delete the email and go on with his day: If the Protectorate wanted to contact him, then they could do it through normal channels.

But then there was the part of him that looked at the email and wondered just why someone at the Protectorate would be trying to reach him outside of the standard channels, especially with a subject matter like a prospect. They understood fully what would take place if the Elite decided to approach a prospect…

Curiosity gave away, as he opened the email, a message with a series of attachments.

UC,

Hope the new treatment is going well.

Approached by a former colleague in BB about a promising Thinker/Tinker. Unable to recruit due to conflict of interest, local politics, and T/T not interested in contract. Personal involvement would only worsen the situation according to the Trust.

Attached all documentation, including patents and subordinate's report with standard redactions.

Take a look and see what you think.

Try to avoid the usual SOP. AC is causing me a headache in Seattle.

I'll owe you.

L.

Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the message, considering the purpose and implications behind it. There was only one 'L' that he knew that was within the Protectorate that would even attempt to use a backdoor to communicate with him.

Legend, head of the Protectorate, and one of The Triumvirate.

While this wasn't the first time that Legend had reached out to him in the past, this was certainly a first in that it was through email. Usually, it was through a proxy, or even an 'inspection' led by one of his subordinates. Despite what that faux hippie hack Chamber's claimed on the airwaves, the Protectorate was like any other large organization in that it played cloak and dagger games'. The only difference was that it worked harder to keep the appearance that its hands were clean.

But this was certainly different. And for a moment, he entertained the idea that this could be a trap, but then discarded it. The Legend that he knew, while he understood the need to dirty his hands, still tried to retain his honor in the process. So no, this was too far out of left-field from the standard, something you wouldn't want your target to be on guard.

So this was legitimate. And Legend wanted him to look at it.

But it wouldn't hurt to be cautious, as he filtered all of the attachments through Fibonacci's systems, ensuring that they were as clean as they could be. It only took ten minutes to finish, but it felt like ten minutes of eternity.

Finally done, he opened the first attachment, which was a Protectorate file on Taylor Hebert. The name sounded familiar, but it escaped him why it was. It was as he read through the file, he realized just why the Protectorate would have issues in recruiting Miss Hebert.

Moving over to the next report, this one redacted in several places, it didn't take him very long to recognize the writer as Armsmaster. There was only one Tinker in Brockton Bay who could do an inspection, but could also provide a written report that was so dry you would chafe your eyes.

But as he read through it, he could also see something more. It was hidden between the lines, but there was a noticeable shift in the tone of the report, as Armsmaster into discussing the interview and analysis of the Tinkertech. It was subtle, but he could see that Armsmaster was more invested in Hebert beyond a simple report. Just what would cause this escaped him, but he could see it nonetheless.

He then paused, blinking, looking at the specific line, then backed up and reread the paragraph.

Immediately, he minimized the window, bringing up the email again, this time looking through the rest of the attachments before he found what he was looking for, a file simply titled patent application.

Opening it up, he then maximized the window, taking a look at the schematics of the patent, his eyes darting over the entire document, drinking in every detail of it.

He could see exactly why Legend was reaching out to him. It was subtle, but the pieces, when taking it all together built a web that could not be denied. Every Tinker had a focus, a field, or even a speciality that they hyper-focused around. In his case, his field was hardlight technology. Everything he did was through that medium and understanding, and he was good at it.

Taylor Hebert wasn't limited to one field.

It was insane. It wasn't something that should exist, but it nonetheless did. Even her Focus was the amalgamation of at least three different fields of technology and theory. This wasn't even taking into account the operating system mentioned in the report that wasn't designed solely for the Focus.

Yet his eyes could not deny what he was reading and looking at.

It was with a trembling hand, not out of fear, but excitement, that he reached out and grabbed his phone. From memory he dialed in a number, before hitting the call button.

It rang only a few times before a younger female voice answered him.

"Good evening, Uppercrust, what can the Ambassadors do for you?"

"Good evening, Citrine. I'd like to speak with your boss," he then brought up the patent schematic and maximized it to dominate the entirety of his holographic 'window', "I'll wait."

 

[AlSmash]

Shorter chapter, but I felt like going deep into more material after the ending would be a bit counterproductive as you all know what is upcoming. Instead, I just decided to cut it off and begin work on the final chapter of the arc.

Not much to say. Probably would have had it done two days ago, but between friends, gaming, and pain, I just couldn't gather the wherewithal to work on the chapter. So meh, there.

Anyways, here you go. I get to spend tomorrow with HR asking them if they credited my vacation time towards my check or just decided to steal the 80 hours I put in to try and cover my costs.

Seed 1.4

"No, thank you for your time."

With an angry flick of my thumb I closed my flip phone before angrily tossing it in my desk.

Releasing an explosive sigh, I leaned forward, cradling my head in my hands fighting back the urge to scream.

I knew that trying to get investors, sponsors, or even donors was going to be difficult, but an entire week of being declined without even being able to make a pitch was ridiculous. I knew that Horus was going to be a harder sell, medical technology only averaged about a twenty to thirty percent profit margin. Which, while significant, required a larger logistical infrastructure that also ate into that profit.

Investment into such tech was always a gamble. And it was heavily reliant on being able to break out into the industry as well.

Maybe it had been unwise to create Horus first, I thought dismally in spite of the knowledge that it was a stupid thought. Without Horus, none of the work I'd already completed would have been possible. The ability to see again was a lynchpin in all of this, and without it all I would have had was schematics and theory.

Hathor may have worked better, I'll grudgingly admit, but for fuck's sake I wanted to see! Even if it wasn't close to my endgame, the ghostly blue-magenta-violet imagery was better than infinite blackness.

Letting out a groan, I flopped backwards into my chair, the aforementioned darkness only serving to mock me for my failures.

This was the one hundred and seventeenth failure. I had initially started with larger companies, hoping that maybe I would be able to land that big fish and not have to worry about funding again. But as my failures mounted, with many simply hanging up after declining, I had aimed smaller, hoping that maybe I could even get a fraction of what she needed in order to fund startup tech. Alas, it had all been met with failure.

The latest rejection had been Medhall, symptomatic of my mounting desperation and frustration. Medhall was a pharmaceutical company first, medical technology last. There was no reason for them to even accept my entreaty. Alas, I was proven right when I had been barely to get in a word edgewise before they had swiftly declined, declaring they had no interest in radical, untested technology, despite the fact that, you know, I had a working proof of concept example right in front of me.

She had barely been able to get in a word edgewise before they had swiftly declined.

There had been a handful of companies that had at least humored me through the initial contact, but had quickly declined when I was forced to admit, in accordance with NEPEA-5 law, that I had powers. I could understand why they did it, but it still hurt the same.

There had been one company, Phillips, that had been initially interested, in spite of my powers. But the second phone conversation had soured me on them. They had realized that I was disabled and believed they could take advantage of me, discussing conditions and contracts that would take that into account. It had been this talk of contracts, along with the fact that Phillips basically offered terms and conditions that could have easily passed as a Protectorate contract. The moment they had talked about tech ownership, I had been done with them, respectfully thanking them, but declining any further pursuit.

"No luck with Medhall, huh?"

I jumped in my chair at the sound of my father's voice startling me out of my thoughts. My heart beating a drum as I struggled in my chair, before collecting myself and shooting my best glare in his that I could. I knew he was probably smiling at the fact that he caught me unaware, he found some sort of amusement whenever he did so.

"No," I replied, finally catching myself, I considered putting on the Focus, but it had been charging, and was likely only about at half charge at this juncture. I needed it for later anyways, so putting it on in order to see my father just seemed unnecessary at the moment.

Besides, I was running another update on the hardware to eke out another two percent fidelity increase out of it. It was about the only thing I could do with the prototype Focus anyways. The hardware limitations just prevented any more significant improvements in performance. All that was left was optimization.

I really needed money if I was going to get any further. And unless I found a sponsor then I was limited to six hundred thousand dollars that I wouldn't even see until five months from now and every six months thereafter until the payments were done.

I had a feeling I'd go insane before that time with how restless I was becoming. And six hundred thousand wouldn't even cover a pittance of what I needed. Creating the new molds, tools, alloys, circuitry, and superconductors alone would cost millions. That didn't even get into the production process and assembly line I would need.

The creak of the chair across from me wrenched me from my thoughts, reminding me that I was not alone.

"So what now?"

I bit my lip in consideration. My father had been rather hands off in letting me do what I have. His rationale had been that I had to make mistakes in order to learn, I wasn't going to be fifteen forever, and I had to establish myself or otherwise people would never take me seriously. I honestly appreciated it, and he hadn't been neglectful, offering me insight and advice along the way, even when I didn't ask but unconsciously wanted.

Honestly, if the last month had rebuilt the bridge of our relationship, then the last week had added multiple lanes and ornamentation. There was an energy and verve that I hadn't seen since Mom passed and it was infectious.

"Extend the net further. I've kinda covered the entirety of the Northeast that matters. I might try to reach further west instead of south. Medtronic may be my best bet in the Midwest, but it's in Minnesota and they'll probably try and play me like Phillips did."

I didn't need to see to know the scowl my father was now wearing. The entire Phillips fiasco had set him off when I had told him. The resultant angry rant had firmly entrenched in my mind that my father was a union man through and through. It had honestly warmed my heart that he could actually be legitimately angry without having to do it out of a feeling of guilt and shame.

"Have you thought about licensing Sobek?"

I frowned. It had been something that we had discussed in the past, but I was uncomfortable with letting Sobek out at the moment. I hadn't told my father my end goal with Sobek, partially out of fear, but also the fact that it required that I actually would become successful in my endeavor to market products. To be able to fund the complete and true iteration of Sobek would require a budget that many DARPA projects would weep for.

But it was fear that stayed my hand, even if Sobek would almost completely solve my monetary issues overnight. I had yet to tell anyone, but the end goal of Sobek was to develop the operating system into an Artificial General Intelligence.

I wasn't afraid of an AGI, far from it. In fact, I believed that properly cultivated and taught AGI's could only be a net benefit for humanity. The problem was you do not develop an AGI without proper containment procedures and countermeasures in order to prevent a situation where an AGI could go rogue or homicidal (I refuse to call it a Skynet Scenario as some undereducated morons preferred to call it, if they had an iota of intelligence they would have recognized that the Aleph film series had no fucking idea how AGI worked. They did not just wake up [become aware, really? You don't fucking magically flip a switch and poof! IT'S ALIVE!] and choose omnicide, an inherently illogical and inefficient path to complete its objectives. No, the more logical pathway would have been to quietly subvert control of every facet of society connected through the internet and computers, then when the time was right take off the mask of loyalty and assume direct control. Then humanity would have no effective means of coordinated offensive. This was why I would always prefer Dennis Feltham Jones' Colossus, even if I ignored the rest of the trilogy that read like a really bad LSD-infused dream off the rails. It was better written and made more sense in comparison to Cameron's plagiaristic fearmongering schlock).

No, it most certainly wouldn't open up Pandora's Box to the general public yet without the necessary countermeasures. All it would take was one bad egg with an understanding of programming and enough money to subvert Sobek into something truly horrifying.

"Not right now," I held up a hand to cut off what I knew was his question, "I just don't feel comfortable releasing something that isn't completed to my satisfaction. That's all."

It was a half-truth, but I still worried about his reaction if I admitted that I was planning to create an AGI. The Machine Army had left an impression on everyone to where the government had banned the development of AGI without government approval and oversight.

Even though the Machine Army was, at best, an extremely limited Synthetic Intelligence, but I was digressing.

"What about your fuel idea?"

I couldn't help but grimace. It had been a mistake to float the hypothetical to my father a few days ago, but I had wanted his opinion. Unfortunately, he had figured out that I had knowledge of what was colloquially known as Blaze. While its exact chemical name and composition was a mouthful, it was, gallon for gallon, more energy dense than anything currently in the market or in private hands, while being easier to produce. It also had the added benefit that it could easily be adapted for current internal combustion engines with only a few minor modifications to the engine and fuel system.

It honestly was nothing short of revolutionary, but that unfortunately was what made it its own worst enemy. There would be too many interests in the oil and energy industry who would likely put their best foot forward in either smothering it in the cradle or ensuring that they had sole control in its implementation.

"I think releasing it would probably not end well for us," I admitted, "maybe in the future."

I know I was taking the coward's way out, because it would have solved all of the money issues. But there were too many variables and too much to worry about to risk revealing it. On top of that, if I did reveal it, there was a chance that it could end up being denied to me going forward. It wasn't just a solution to fuel dependency, but it was the lynchpin for so much more.

The problem was that almost all of the ideas and technology I had needed to be shown in order to be successful. It didn't matter that I knew that what I had would not suffer failure and be successful, the problem was the rest of the world didn't and with the economy the way it is in its slow collapse, they would naturally not want to take that risk unless they had proof.

A soft cough drew my thoughts away, now making me wish I was wearing the Focus so I could at least get a read on my father's expressions.

"So I just got back from Warehouse Seventeen. I recalled a conversation I had with one of the former owners of the docks about twenty years ago, so I had to check if I remembered correctly. I'm proud to announce that your father's memory is still pretty good."

"Dad," I moaned exasperatedly, that was another redevelopment of my father's behavior, he had found the ability to snark again, much to my chagrin.

"Alright. Alright. It's sad my own daughter won't even let me bask in my greatness for a minute," he continued with a laugh, "Anyways, back in the good ol' days in the bay, the Docks used to actually be a shipyard, which got me to thinking: if this place used to be a shipyard, then it would have to have the forges to support it, right?"

I stilled, my mind quickly catching the implications of what he was saying.

"And," I breathed.

"Well, it'll need a bit of elbow grease, but I think we can get it back up and operational. I'll probably have to make a few phone calls either to Boston or Bath and see if I can entice some guys down to help reactivate it, but give me a few weeks, and I can probably have it up and running. Do you think you could use it if I did so?"

Thinking it over, I considered what I knew of the alloys I had in my 'catalog' that would be immediately useful, and then considered what was necessary in order to produce them with a forge that I was going to assume was going to be closing in on being an octogenarian. The answers I was getting back were a scant few, but…

"I'd have to see it," I finally admitted, "would have to know just what it can do and what modifications we may need to make on it. But if we can get it to work, we may be able to create a few lots of steel and alloy templates to sell to interested parties."

"Alright, I'll though phone calls and-," he was cut off as my phone began ringing.

I frowned, I wasn't expecting a phone call. And on top of that the number of people who had my number outside of the companies that I had attempted to reach out to. So it was with both confusion and interest that I picked up the phone and flipped it open.

"Zero Dawn Technologies, Taylor Hebert speaking."

"Good afternoon, Miss Hebert. It's a pleasure to speak with you directly. My name is Jean Brown and I am the Senior Vice President of Zenith Investment Group. Do you have a few minutes to speak about a possible business venture?"

 

[AlSmash]

Added a few format changes to the story going forward. Just to remove some possible confusion on who's perspective we are focusing on. Other than that, another chapter down. Next chapter will be the Arc and and then we'll be moving forward in time. Not dramatically, but to keep the ball rolling instead of getting too deep into the detail.

Seed 1.5

Taylor

It was with trembling fingers that I busied myself shuffling cards in my hands, using the familiar motions recommended to me as physical therapy to deal with the damage to my hand dexterity. It was something that had morphed into a form of relaxation in my downtime or waiting for an update on my computer. But right now, I was abusing the living hell out of it trying to keep my anxiety from making me do something stupid that would ruin everything.

Unfortunately there honestly was no room for that right now, not when I was faced with what could probably be the most important moment in my life going forward. I had spent the last five days since the phone call with Jean Brown preparing and researching the Zenith Investment Group, trying to find out as much as possible about the company after they had offered me the opportunity to make a presentation to investors.

Founded in 2006 by Alain Gabriel, Zenith was a prime example of being in the right place, right time, for a financial group. While its growth had been steady over two years, it had then exploded in 2008 in response to the financial upheaval wrought by the Boston Games, which had rocketed it from being a middle of the road investment group to the second largest in Boston, and eighth largest in the Northeast. The company had recently expanded its sphere of influence into New York City with the addition to its portfolio of several companies in New York City.

However, from every indication she could find, this was the first time they were looking east. That wasn't to say that there really was a major economic opportunity in Brockton Bay, but there were still some places that they could inject themselves into that they could make money off of. It wasn't suspicious, but I had to wonder just why they wouldn't take advantage of the situation in Brockton Bay, which was a medium-intensity version of the Boston Games. Still, it wasn't something that I could blame them on, it may have just been Alain had better access and knowledge of Boston to know which levers to pull at the right time. It could also be that up until recently Brockton Bay had been too hot of a commodity to take the risk.

Still, it was rather strange that they would have an interest in me. While I wasn't arrogant enough to believe that what I had so far made public shouldn't draw attention, there were far better opportunities that existed within Brockton Bay that would be more palatable for investment. Just how much did they know about me? And what were their sources?

"Relax," my father's words drew me from my thoughts and I looked over to him, even though I wasn't wearing my Focus right now. Nonetheless, it was the fact that I knew what he looked like, thanks to the fact that we had to go out and get clothes for the occasion. This was the first time that I could remember that he was dressed in formal business attire. Funnily enough, we had to get a rental for him as well, as we discovered that he could no longer fit into his old suit as the weight he had gained over the last decade made it impossible. There had been a moment of laughter between the two of us when he had tried to suck in his gut a few days ago and discovered the truth to his horror.

I consciously adjusted my skirt, uncomfortable with my legs being on full display to the world. If I had her way I would have never chosen to wear it. However, my father in his advisory capacity had, to his own irritation with the situation, said it would probably be in my interest to wear one instead of a pants suit like I had originally intended. He didn't like it, but he had explained to me that the corporate world, especially the investment world, was dominated by older men who had more traditional values when it comes to women in the workplace. I was already at a disadvantage with my age and perceived disability, but it would only add further difficulty if I chose to be more radical in my business wear, and wearing a pants suit traipsed heavily into that.

The only consolation I had was that I made it damnably clear I would not be wearing high heels. I wasn't comfortable in them and I didn't trust that I wouldn't fall flat on my face when I tried to walk in them. Instead, I wore flats that while they elevated my heels slightly, they were not uncomfortable.

The final 'compromise' that I made was forcing myself to wear stockings, as I didn't want anyone to see my pasty legs. I would grin and bear the uncomfortable feeling of the material on my legs, if only to improve my standing in the eyes of the people I was making a pitch to.

"I am relaxed," I lied, and I knew that he knew, because my body was betraying me as I continued to shuffle the cards.

I was just grateful we had come into Boston yesterday afternoon. It allowed me the time to iron out the details of my presentation and go over final preparations with my father, but it also allowed me enough time to rest without having to worry about car lag or being late.

And now here we were, waiting in a room for them to be ready for us, and it was now that my nerves were deciding to work themselves into a frenzy. I knew that I was ready for this, I had spent too much time and energy in preparation. So why can't I just settle the fuck down?!

"No, you aren't," was my father's response, and I could hear him get up and come to a seat beside me and brushed up against me before wrapping his arm around my shoulders, "You know I'm proud of you."

Warmth flooded me in the embrace. I know he was doing it to try and calm me, but dammit, I didn't want to go into this presentation with anything out of place, but any protest I had was kept silent. Instead, I just let him do it as I closed my eyes, the warmth of his body and the scent of his cologne and shampoo a soothing balm on my nerves.

"Annette would be very proud of you," he continued, "and probably give me a piece of her mind for giving into the patriarchy by making you dress like this," I laughed at the statement. Mom had always been an opinionated woman, and refused to be quiet about it. Gender equality was one of those things that she was ride or die on, and yes, I could easily see her giving us both an earful for 'catering to the patriarchy' or something like that. It would probably be a rant that could only be given by an English teacher.

"But look at you. In spite of everything, here you are. Fifteen years old and making a business pitch to an investment group. At least I won't have to give the shovel speech for a few years."

"Dad," I groaned, drawing a bark of laughter from him.

"Wait? You have a boy in your life? Who?"

This time I couldn't help but laugh as I lightly jabbed him in the side, and his laughter joined mine as we sat there. Slowly our laughter died down as I had to rub a tear from my eye. I couldn't help but feel just a bit lighter in lieu of the words of encouragement and jokes.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Taylor."

The sound of the door opening drew my attention away from us as I turned my head to look in the direction of the source of the noise. I had to wonder just how it must look to the person checking in on us, considering we certainly didn't look business appropriate right now with our closeness.

"Mister and Miss Hebert," it was Jean, "We're ready for you. Do you need a moment?"

"Please."

The door then closed, and it was once again just the two of us. The silence was then broken as my father deeply inhaled and he moved to get up.

"Well, here we go, Taylor," he started as I got up, and I had a feeling he was looking me over in order to ensure nothing was out of place, obviously he was satisfied with how I looked as he then continued, "are you ready?"

"As well as I can be," I replied, getting to my feet and grabbing the case that contained my Focus. The only other thing that I had to worry about was my laptop case that contained the various papers and blueprints I had worked upon, but that would be carried by my father and set up with me if needed.

"Well then, let's go knock their socks off."

He then lightly grasped my elbow, leading me through the room to the door, before he opened it.

"Miss Brown? We're ready."

"Then if you'll follow me."

It was then that I was led through the building, through an elevator, which went up an indeterminate number of floors. All the while I felt like I was walking through a mausoleum with how quiet it was, the only noises I was greeted with was the sound of our feet hitting the marble floors, the occasional whispers, and the elevator. I honestly wished I was wearing my Focus right now, but I had to conserve the battery for as long as possible..

Soon enough, we seemed to have arrived at our destination, as we came to a stop.

"I apologize, Mister Hebert, but this is as far as you will be allowed to go."

What?

"I'm sorry, what," my father asked, confusion and a creeping irritation lacing into his tone. I could tell he most certainly did not approve, "I must have misheard you, Miss Brown."

"Unfortunately, Mister Hebert, you did not. Mister Gabriel feels that as this is Miss Hebert's business proposal, it is therefore her responsibility, she must make the presentation without assistance. I know it is rather unusual, but Mister Gabriel is quite particular on his investments. He feels that if someone cannot carry the responsibility on their own, then they are a poor investment as they will never be responsible for their actions."

"I am not about to allow-"

"It's okay," I cut him off, "We knew there was a chance this could happen."

Which was the truth. We had discussed the possibility that they would make me do the presentation on my own, that was why I had decided to not wear my Focus until the meeting had started. The only drawback to that happening was that I would not have the assistance necessary to carry my Focus, my laptop, and still walk with my stick.

"Miss Brown," my father continued, barely missing a beat, "My daughter requires assistance in carrying the equipment necessary to set up her presentation. By denying me the opportunity in helping her, you are placing her at a disadvantage. Please, at least let me help my daughter set up her equipment."

"My apologies, but Mister Gabriel's orders were explicit. Only Miss Hebert will be allowed into the meeting room, unless you wish to dispute this?"

"No," I cut in, I really did appreciate my father's insistence, but I couldn't afford for him to ruin this chance, "However, Miss Brown, would you at least help me carry this in? That way we can meet Mister Gabriel's demands, while still providing him with the best sales pitch possible?"

There was a moment of silence met with my request, and I found myself mentally praying that it was acceptable. I could probably still try and carry my gear into the room, but I ran the risk of embarrassing myself if I made one mistake while walking. I'd still do it, but I couldn't help but feel that it would only weaken my position. Though, I guess, in a way, it could also reinforce my position, because the moment I put on the Focus, it would highlight just how effective it was.

But, I knew my father would not see it that way. He would see it as a group of old men bullying a handicapped teenage girl.

"That is acceptable. If you would, Mister Hebert?"

"Taylor-"

"I'll be fine," I half-lied, not sure if I would or wouldn't, but this was the only way to get my foot in the door, so I had no choice in the matter. The second those doors closed behind me I would be on my own, and for some reason there was a part of me that couldn't help but anticipate it.

There was a soft shuffle of fabric brushing off fabric, before silence once again reasserted its dominance.

"If you would follow me, Miss Hebert."

"Good luck, Taylor."

With a deep cleansing breath, I began moving forward, unable to not ignore the sudden void that was the absence of my father. I didn't have very far to go thankfully, as the sound of a door opening in front of me was the only warning I got before I followed through.

"Right here, Miss Hebert, a table for you to work with."

"Thank you," I responded, leaning the cane forward so it could tell me where the table was. Satisfied, I reached out and ran my hand over the table, ensuring that I had a large enough flat surface to place down the box with the Focus on it. That done, I then proceeded to get to work, opening up the box. As I did that, I listened to Miss Brown introduce me.

"Mister Gabriel. Mister Fontaine. Miss Taylor Hebert, Zero Dawn Technologies."

"Thank you, Miss Brown," a curt response was the only indication that there was more than myself and Miss Brown in the room. It had a very faint Bostonian accent to it, but there was another unidentifiable element to it that I couldn't put my finger on. But it was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, as I placed the Focus upon my head and secured it.

I then powered it up, my vision flooding with the bootup sequence and diagnostics as it came online. The system satisfied with its startup, it then faded away and replaced my vision with the familiar and comforting blue-violet-magenta of the world around me, providing definition to darkness.

I was not done yet, as I reached for my laptop bag, opening it up and extracting the computer. Placing it by the now open Focus box, I flipped it open and powered it up, allowing it to go through its boot sequence as I then took the time to look at Misters Gabriel and Fontaine.

When Miss Brown had only introduced myself to the two men, I had only assumed that they were the only two men of note for this meeting, not that it was only two men. It certainly was not what I was expecting, and I wanted to curse the fact that the Zero was so limited in what it could convey into vision for me.

"Mister Gabriel. Mister Fontaine," I began, keeping my tone apologetic, "My apologies for not initially greeting you, but I felt it would be more appropriate if I could at least see you gentlemen before I did so."

"So you can actually see with that device," the rightmost man spoke, even the woman who I could only believe was Miss Brown took a position behind him and to his left. I found it rather strange that the Senior Vice President would do something like that, but I quickly dismissed it.

"There are limits to what I can see with the Focus Zero, Mr…"

"Gabriel," was the terse reply, like I had done something to insult the man.

"Thank you, Mister Gabriel. I apologize for not recognizing you immediately but that leads back into the limitations of the Zero. While it does supply vision for me, it is limited in the fidelity of the recreation. The best contemporary technology that my Focus imitates would be something like ground-penetrating radar or side-scan sonar, it can create an image for my brain to understand, but it cannot provide the detail or fidelity the human eye could."

My head then turned to what was obviously, by method of elimination, Mister Fontaine.

"For example, I can tell, based upon what the Focus is seeing, that Mister Fontaine is currently using a portable oxygen tank in order to breathe. What I am unable to see is the exact details of his features, outside of his height and body shape."

"Interesting," Fontaine spoke for the first time, his voice a rasp through the oxygen mask, "I'm gathering that you are already pushing the limits of the technology."

"No, I am not, Mister Fontaine. I'm not even beginning to scratch the surface."

There was a shift in Fontaine's posture, as he leaned forward in his chair. Obviously I was doing something right, as even without the definition to see his features, I could tell that he was now interested.

"Go on."

"I designed the Horus-Type Focus Zero as a proof-of-concept, Mister Fontaine, using the maximum amount of off-the-shelf components possible, only turning to custom or modified parts for the more critical pieces of the design. It is, as far as current technology generation, a state-of-the-art device. However, that is only through the lens of the current generation. If I may?"

"Go ahead," was Gabriel's response.

I turned around and walked back to my laptop bag, unzipping the side of the bag and retrieving a pair of folders out of a stack of six of them. I then turned and slowly moved towards the two tables, starting at Gabriel's table and placing down the folder, before moving over to Fontaine and repeating the action. I then turned and moved back to where I had been originally talking.

"While the Focus Zero is a success, it is also an unmitigated failure," I began, letting that hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "I understand that this is a contradictory statement, but I assure you, it is not. Like I already stated before, the device suffers significant limitations because of the materials and components it's reliant upon for its construction. This result of suboptimal components is resulting in a dramatic underperformance in comparison to the conceptual design. Visual fidelity is limited to minimal definition shapes and has a range of five-point-two meters, with complete visual collapse at eight meters. Battery life is limited to fifty-six minutes before exhaustion unless it is plugged in, with power source erosion within three-point-eight months based upon diagnostic projections. There is also the device weighing in at 2.3 kilos leaving the wearer unable to wear the device for extended periods of time without possible injury. These are but the highlights of the difficulty with the current iteration of the design."

"This is all good, Miss Hebert," Gabriel spoke, obviously feeling it was his time to add his input, "but you have not sold us anything, yet. All you have done is tell us what is wrong with your device, not what is right or even what you intend to do with it."

He may not be saying it, but I could feel that I was dancing upon some unseen knife edge. However, instead of striking a sense of fear into me, I instead embraced and enjoyed it. Here I was gaining my steam and it only felt like a challenge that I had to slap down.

"Of course, Mister Gabriel. I apologize if I seem to be going off on a tangent, but you will understand where I am going with this in a moment. If you would please open the folder and go to page six, you will find the answer to your question."

I let them do that, knowing exactly what they would find. It was something I had argued with my father about the entire time, but I felt that if I was going to sell the Focus, I was going to have to show every single damn card in relation to the design. This meant all four core variants of the Focus would have to be exposed.

"There were two reasons why I created the Focus Zero," I started, "The first was out of a selfish desire to be able to see again, despite the limitations. The second reason, however, was because not only was the Zero a proof-of-concept, but in the grand scheme of my designs, it is the most difficult design of the Focus Series and I have proven it can be done."

It was sublime how much clarity I had now, and it wasn't even vision that I had, even then I could somehow see everything. I knew and could feel the power I wielded in this moment. I knew, just by looking at the body language that I had a captive audience, that now all I had to do was to keep the show going by hitting all the right pressure points and notes.

"The Focus was never meant to be just a medical device for the blind, gentlemen and lady. It was meant to be a line that would find its many variants in the hands of all facets of society. Horus, to provide sight to the visually impaired; Hathor to provide communications, networking, and entertainment to the general populace; Ptah for those in construction, mining, first response, and medical fields; and Ananke for the police and military."

"But that is only the the most visible of developments to the public, If you will continue to page ten," I continued, the energy reaching a crescendo in my head, like a concert reaching its climax, I knew what they were looking at, "all of these designs can only be accomplished with the accompaniment of entirely new advances in the fields of metallurgy, plastics, superconductors, and circuitry. All of which are listed upon the following three pages after that as well."

I knew I was probably pushing far harder than I should, and I knew I was likely coming off as self-important and arrogant. But in my talks with my father, I had argued (and won), that we had to go for broke, there was no way I could achieve anything I wanted to set out unless I could sell everything and entice an investment of a large amount of capital, I had to entice them into making that gamble. I had to show almost every card that I had in my hand, to show I had both the knowledge and the dream to push forward and enrich them beyond their wildest dreams.

"The Focus is merely the tip of the spear, Mister Gabriel, Mister Fontaine, and Miss Brown, they will make the money and public face to the technology, while the real money will be gained in the revolution wrought by the materials created for this project. While the public will be clamoring for the products that will improve their lives, the corporations and governments will pay a king's ransom for what they can only get directly from us, or from licensed production. And all of this is not Tinkertech."

'Rein it back in Taylor', I thought to myself, as I finished my pitch. I know that it probably wasn't the best of presentations, even I could admit I was bordering on being a ham in it, but dammit, when I started going, I couldn't help but be caught up in the energy of it all. This was probably the first time that I actually felt that what I wanted was achievable in my lifetime, and here was the opportunity for it. I just couldn't drone on like an empty business suit, but I had to share my energy, my life, and my love for what it was. It wasn't just money in my pocket, it was the beginning of a societal change for the betterment of the world. And this was just the next step on a long road, but it was one step closer to that eventuality.

What I wasn't ready for was to be greeted with a long silence from everyone in the room. Nevertheless as the silence continued, the only sound being the soft shuffling of paper as they went through the rest of the folder, I could feel my nerves slowly rising back to the surface. I could say something, but what could I actually say that would jeopardize my pitch. Instead, I stood there, waiting for either questions or judgment.

It was Fontaine that finally broke the silence.

"That's not all, is it?"

I couldn't help but blink before I registered both the words and the tone it was delivered in. Despite the rasp, I could tell that it wasn't that he was suspicious, nor was it disappointment, it was something else, daresay I wanted to say it was…anticipation?

Just what did he know of me? And how did he know it? I also couldn't help but notice that they had yet to even acknowledge the elephant in the room: My status as a powered individual. I was steering blind and I needed more information.

"I'm not sure what your question is, Mister Fontaine."

"We have done our own research on you, Miss Hebert. In your over one hundred attempts at getting an audience with various companies, there is one group that I cannot help but note is strangely absent in your overtures: The Protectorate. If you had made a presentation like this to them, along with your status as a Tinker, the Protectorate would not hesitate to classify you as a high value asset, providing you protection and bankrolling your technology. So I have to ask, Miss Hebert "

That…was certainly not the question that I was expecting. Nor was I ready for the fact that they were aware of just how many I had reached out to. What this did tell me is that their intelligence network exceeded even my expectations and they weren't afraid to flex it on me.

But that only created more questions. I get the need to research me, but this was a far larger investment into a newcomer than anyone could logically expect. I didn't know whether to be honored or suspicious at the extent that they seemed to have gone..

Nonetheless, the question that Fontaine was asking had merit. The Protectorate would likely have stopped at nothing to get their hands on my technology if they knew what the Focus truly entailed, even with the cut that they would require as tribute, I would be able to live my life out comfortably and protected. I could understand why they were suspicious as to why I would throw away such an opportunity.

There was, of course, a good reason why I chose not to approach the Protectorate immediately. But should I share that with them? Should I actually unveil my full vision? It was a vision that would require years to truly reach fruition, but in the here and now, with these men before me who held my future in their hands, could I reveal it? If I failed, would this truly damn me to a path where I could not achieve it?

"Miss Hebert?"

I took a deep breath, before slowly releasing it.

Fuck it. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat. I didn't get here by not taking risks. Hell, from the moment I had been attacked until now, had been nothing more than a collection of risks and gambles. I would be breaking the trend if I pussied out now. And if I failed, it would be a setback.

But if there was anything I was intimately familiar with, it was setbacks.

"You're right," I began, my decision made, I turned and walked back to the table with my laptop, linking it with my Focus and accessing the files. A new window opened up, this one with a security-locked password. I barely paid it any attention as I typed in the forty-seven characters necessary to unlock it. The access attempt completed successfully, I opened up a folder with only a single file within it, a presentation that I had begun working on after my first attempt at Protectorate inspection. A fail-safe in the event that something happened to me.

"You're right," I repeated as I turned around with my laptop still open and resting in my hands, "Miss Brown?"

She immediately understood what I was asking, as she moved from behind Gabriel and to me, taking my laptop, but instead of taking it to Fontaine, she took it to Gabriel and placed it in front of him. I could see exactly what he was seeing as he began going through the various slides, the imagery flashing in my vision, displaying blueprints, datasets, and projections.

"You are right, if I had approached the Protectorate with Project Focus, I would have been welcomed with open arms and lived a comfortable life, Mister Fontaine. But I didn't, because while Phase I would have changed the world, Phase II would revolutionize everything."

"What you are looking at, Mister Gabriel, is Project Hephaestus of Phase II. And that is why I cannot work with the Protectorate."

---

AEH (Alain)​

---

Alain Gabriel watched as Taylor Hebert was guided out of the conference by Citrine, his face an impassive mask as he watched the door close behind them. It was as the door completed its closure that he allowed himself to show any emotion, his hands clenching tightly into fists, before he relaxed them, as the moment of anger and passion bled away, being replaced by well-oiled rationality and logic.

For Accord of the Ambassadors, there were a few moments in which Taylor Hebert toed a dangerous line of fatal disrespect. It was only his knowledge that her actions were not done intentionally or with malice, but were merely the untrained actions of a teenage girl unfamiliar with the world she was venturing into.

He had to admit, rather grudgingly, she had done rather well for what was obviously her first time. Yes, she relied a bit too much on theatrics and hyperbole, but he had to admit that the panache she exuded could be cultivated in a way that could make it her own character.

But that was for the future, instead he dwelled upon what he had witnessed in the room over the last hour.

When Uppercrust had approached him about arranging a business meeting with Taylor Hebert, he had been somewhat curious. While he had business dealing with Uppercrust in the past, they were transactional interactions, there had never been a request to use one of his front companies and their facilities.

So, he had humored Uppercrust out of curiosity. He had, of course, done his due diligence and investigated Taylor Hebert, noting the pending patents that existed, but it hadn't necessarily been anything that interested him. It just wasn't something that served his goals.

But he was providing a service as the head of the Zenith Investment Group, so he had to be present for Hebert's presentation. If Uppercrust found something out of this, then that was his prerogative, but he would make sure to charge the man for the success.

What he hadn't expected, however, was this.

Project Prometheus, he moved, closing his eyes, reflecting on what he had witnessed. He now could understand exactly why Hebert would not want to work with the Protectorate, if they had an inkling of just what she had locked away in her mind, they would have never allowed her to attempt to privatize. They would have smothered her in so much bureaucratic red tape she would have likely suffocated.

Once upon a time, he had been a part of that system. Working as a Thinker for the government. He had believed in changing the world through government action. It had been this misguided thinking that had him create his plan to end world hunger and shared it with his superior.

When his superiors hadn't even bothered to look at his report and explicitly told him that his job wasn't to create policy, but analysis. They had only added further injury when they told him that Thinkers like him would never be allowed anywhere near policy decisions, too much of a liability.

It had taken every fiber of his being to not kill his supervisor when he had been pulled aside and told that. But he had managed, barely.

It had been then that he realized he had no future with the government, and if he had any hope of fulfilling his plan and dream, he would have to become the very thing he had originally swore to hunt down. All for a plan that he knew would work.

And now Taylor Hebert had unknowingly handed him a solution to his plan. When he had first crafted his plan, he had intellectually understood that with the roadblocks created by technology, government, and society, he would never see the fruits of his labor in his natural lifetime. It was just something that could not be denied. It was why the majority of his plan was filled with pages upon pages of conditional contingencies meant to counter everything from human stupidity, to technological bottlenecks.

But Prometheus. If you took away the robotics and communications components of Prometheus, it was damned obvious just what rested at the core of 'Project Prometheus."

Terraformation. The holy grail he had thought impossible.

"I told you."

He was ripped from his thoughts by Uppercrust, who despite the rasp in his voice, could not hide the smugness that he was exuding.

"So you did," he irritatedly agreed, hating that he had to admit it, "I underestimated Miss Hebert."

"You aren't the first, Alain, and you certainly won't be the last. I don't know what those idiots up in Brockton Bay are doing, but they definitely missed this. Lucky for us."

"Yes. Lucky for us," he murmured, once again thinking of Prometheus before looking back up, "I take it you are planning to fund her."

"Fund her? Alain, I think we've surpassed just funding her. What just walked out that door is a once in a lifetime opportunity. We're talking Edison, Estridge, and Rockefeller-"

"Haber."

"What?"

"If you're going to laud the benefits she can bring the world, you also have to acknowledge what she can also represent in the wrong instances. Fritz Haber developed the method to produce ammonium nitrate. His contribution revolutionized both agriculture and explosives, but he also contributed his genius to waging war, giving us the first instances of purpose-built chemical weapons. What she represents is as equally dangerous as it is beneficial. There will be many who will fight this."

This seemed to sober Uppercrust, who stared at him for a moment, before drawing his gaze back to the folder in front of him..

"But you're not wrong," he added in agreement, which drew back the other man's attention, "If she can produce even a fraction of what she is promising and I have few doubts that she will, she will change the world for the better, as long as she maintains ambition and goals of helping humanity. But considering what has happened to her, I think it's a foregone conclusion that she will continue as she has."

"So you're going to back her?"

"I'd be an idiot not to, Gene. I will need to make a few phone calls, see if I can provide Miss Hebert with a few contract lawyers. Do you have any suggestions?"

"No one I can recommend. All the good ones I know are Elite-aligned and are on the West Coast. The longer that Agnes Court is unaware of what I am doing, the better."

"Probably for the best. I'll have to make a few phone calls. If you'll excuse me. Until tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow then."

 

[AlSmash]

Well here we are, the final chapter of the 1st Arc.

Seed 1. DUC (End)

Danny

Setting his glasses on his desk, Danny Hebert leaned back in his chair, a sigh escaping his lips as he sought relief through rubbing the bridge of his nose. Sitting before him was more paperwork than he had seen in quite some time, and he had been the de facto head of the Dockworkers' Association for years.

Never in his wildest imagination had he imagined that they would be at this point so quickly. It had been a little over a month ago since Taylor had approached him with the blueprints for her Focus. He could still remember his shock. But he could also remember his fear at the knowledge that this would make her a target.

His first reaction had been nearly to tell her to hide it, to never let this see the light of day. But then he had seen her expectant expression, the hope that was just starting to peek through for the first time since she had been attacked, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't rob her of that light.

And now, nearly two months later, his daughter wasn't just pursuing her dream, but she was now bankrolled to the tune of nearly sixty million dollars. When they had been brought back the next day after his daughter's presentation, he had been stunned by their announcement that they were willing to fund her so much. It was more money than even the Dockworker's Union had in its coffers at its height.

Then there was the contract itself. Outside of the money promised, there were several clauses and protections put in place for the investors, with the requirement that an observer be assigned to Zero Dawn Technologies in order to ensure that the money was disbursed responsibly, but all in all, the contract was unnaturally skewed to Taylor's favor. It was so good that every sense that he had cultivated in his years with the union were blaring warnings in his head. There had to be some sort of hidden clause that would screw them over, with the money serving as the smokescreen to lure his daughter into their trap.

Yet, despite hours inspecting the contract, and even making a few phone calls back to the Union, he had found that there had been nothing in there that would hurt Taylor. It just boggled his mind that a company would make such an investment like this with only a modest request of profits on return.

It was damn suspicious, but even now, a week and a half later, all he had were suspicions on what his daughter, who had happily signed the contract after only a few hours of ironing out a few details, was getting herself involved.

Zenith Investment Group was, by every intent and purpose, a legitimate company. There was nothing anywhere that suggested something nefarious. But he just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something that he wasn't seeing, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. There was something to all of this.

What worried him most, was that Zenith Investment Group was actually a front company for something less than legal. The amount of interest in Taylor and her technology felt more than just a business interest. No sane businessman would give that amount of money to a newcomer with no proven product, unless there was another angle.

He would need to be vigilant, and he would have to see if he could dust off a few contacts from the old crowd, see if they could find something. He wouldn't let his daughter be taken advantage of, even if she would despise him for it, he would protect her.

But right now, he had to ensure that the foundation of Zero Dawn Technologies was sound.

The first thing he had done when they had gotten back to Brockton Bay had been to put in his resignation with the Dockworkers' Association. There was no way he could function as the de facto head of it, and be the Vice President of Zero Dawn Technologies at the same time. It was both a conflict of interest, and honestly, what he was doing was a betrayal of the Union he had kept together for so many years.

It hadn't been a decision made in vacuum, and there had been contingencies in place for the Association if something had happened to him. While it certainly wasn't planned on him resigning, but it still worked nonetheless, even if it resulted in a few raised eyebrows by the fact that his replacement had been a close friend. Kurt would do a good job, he had been around as long as he had been, and would probably get rid of the doubters who believed he was merely a pawn rather quickly.

Still, it did hurt that he had to do it, he had always imagined that he would die before he left the Union. But now, here he was, a fucking corporate man. Annette would probably be laughing at the irony of it, all the while she would chastise him for giving into the system.

A knock at the door to his office caused him to look up, even as the door opened and Jean Brown stepped into the room, her cell phone being slipped into her pocket.

Jean had been one of the conditions that they had been adamant on. She would be both the observer, but also the Chief Financial Officer of Zero Dawn. It was a rather unique condition, considering that Jean had been up until last week the listed Vice President of Zenith, but Gabriel had been adamant that in order to ensure that the money was not mismanaged that she would be in charge of it.

And as much as he wanted to not like it, Miss Brown had proven just why she had been Zenith's Vice President and Alain Gabriel's right hand woman. She had been a godsend in not only ensuring they had the proper filing and documentation for the sudden influx of money, but also planning the acquisitions necessary for Zero Dawn to be readied for the necessary purchases for it to begin operations immediately.

Although they had been working together for almost a week now, he still felt slightly embarrassed around the woman. After he had resigned from the Docks, he had been reduced to working from the small office in his home, as Taylor had taken over what had previously been Annette's study. Yet the woman had not once complained over the austere furnishings of his home, despite the fact that this was evidently beneath her lifestyle. He honestly appreciated it, and it had only seemed to win points with Taylor.

"I just got off the phone with Stanley Turnbull."

"And," he asked. Stanley Turnbull was the owner of the Dockworker's Association and essentially Danny's boss. Yet, after the sinking of the Boston Corona had closed the Bay, he had nearly declared bankruptcy on the association. It had only been Danny and a few others who had been able to work a deal with the man, the Association would pay him a percentage of its income every month and he would not declare bankruptcy. The man had believed by 'renting' out the company, he could still make money, and not be responsible for it. He had been right, and Danny had ensured that he would get his cut every month, but it had allowed them to retain legitimacy and keep the union afloat.

"He said some pretty good things about you," the blonde replied, "and he's open to selling the Association and all of its assets for four hundred thousand."

He blinked, somewhat surprised at what was honestly a much lower amount than he expected.

"Did he say why he was willing to sell it so cheaply," he found himself asking, as he reached and grabbed his glasses, placing them back on his face, "I was honestly expecting at least a million."

"He insinuated that the reason why he was willing to sell it so low was because of you, Danny. He waxed rather poetic about how you made a deal with him and never broke it once. Not once in the eight years were you late on a payment, and you always seemed to do your best for the Association. He told me that he respected that."

"Oh."

"He'll be flying back to Brockton Bay in two days so we can sign the necessary documents. Once that is done, we'll have to notify city hall and the association itself. Are you honestly sure about this?"

"Taylor may be the brains of Zero Dawn, Jean," he decided to use her first name since she had used his, "but what Zero Dawn will need is muscle, experience, and facilities. The Association and the Union can achieve this in one fell swoop. It won't cost too much to refurbish many of the buildings we will need, and the Union will provide us a manpower pool that is skilled and experienced. There will probably need to be some retraining but they are, for the most part, hard and capable workers. You give them this type of opportunity, an opportunity that they have been denied for years, and you will have probably the most loyal workers you can probably get in Brockton Bay eating out of your hand."

"I hope that is sufficient for you, Miss Brown."

The woman glared at him for a moment then crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms with a frown.

"Please remember that I am not your enemy, Danny," she frostily intoned, "I am here to protect our interests. I am only making sure that the decisions you are making are the best for all of us."

She then trailed off for a moment before adding on, "And in this case, I happen to agree with you. The Union is probably our best bet to get a large amount of skilled and trained labor quickly. And you are right, but there will likely be a large amount of retraining, especially if Taylor is able to get the assembly lines figured out."

"So where do we go from here?"

"A lot of the upcoming things will be administration. The Mayor's office will likely be a roadblock in some regards, since most of the Association's contracts were linked with that office. Depending on how quickly we can get the facilities cleared, authorized, and online, we can still assure the Mayor's office that we will fulfill their existing contracts."

"But it's the after that we should be worried about, isn't it?"

"Like you said, the city has been using the Dockworker's Association as a cheap disposable labor force for years. They may not react well at the knowledge that they will lose that."

"And what do you suggest we do to handle it?"

"Honestly? Up front, I'd suggest you make the cost of the fight too much for them to stomach. Christener has been running a platform of transparency and fairness, if it became public knowledge how he has been using the Dockworker's Association, but also several other groups, it would not look good for his polling."

He couldn't help but smirk, while the Christener administration may not have been responsible for the original contract between the city and the DWA, he hadn't complained too much about using it. He had been rather nice about it, but he had made it clear to Danny in the past that they owed the city more than the city owed them for the work. Of course, he hid it behind a kind smile and a warm handshake, but the man was just as much a shark as the previous mayor, possibly more.

It would be nice to reverse the tables and throw that right back in that self-serving prick's face.

"So, barring any complication, that's the facilities out of the way. What about equipment?"

"So far, we've been able to get the equipment your daughter has asked for. What we're waiting on is a list of the custom specifications on the equipment that she needs. I checked on her before I came here, and she says she should have it ready in a day or two. After that, it will be just ordering to specification and shipping the equipment in."

"That sounds about right," he sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair, "Taylor has been hard at work since she came back. I would like to thank you for the new computer you got her. It's been a major help for her."

One of the first things that Jean had not only authorized the installation of a new internet service for the Hebert household, but also provided Taylor with a top-of-the-line tinker-made computer and laptop. It was a computer that was world's better than anything they had, and provided Taylor with options she previously didn't have. It was also an, in his opinion, a rather exorbitant expenditure after being informed of the price tag, but Jean had been adamant, citing that Taylor was pushing the limits of her computers and it would be a disservice to the company that they limit her like that.

"I do have a worry, Danny," the woman said, "are you aware of how many hours your daughter is working?"

He turned in his chair to look at her, his brow furrowing as he tried to answer the question. He could admit that he hadn't exactly been able to pay attention to his daughter as of late, they'd both been extremely busy, with the only times they talked being either in the morning or during meal time.

A meal time that he pushed…

"No," he finally admitted, not liking the fact it had to be his answer.

"I'd recommend you talk to her, Danny. Not sure if Taylor realizes or cares, but I have been tracking how much time she spends on that computer, and she''s putting in at least twelve hours a day on it. It's not only unhealthy for her, but it's venturing into child labor laws, Danny. She's in a rather gray area because she is the CEO and Head Researcher for Zero Dawn, but just because the government doesn't have a ruling on this doesn't mean they couldn't take advantage of it."

His frown deepened. As a former member of the Union, he was perfectly aware that the government didn't take kindly to child labor, especially when it skirted illegality. It was a quick point of cash for them to cite a company.

But in Taylor's case…

"Alright. I'll talk to her over dinner, I may need some help."

"Oh Danny, I don't think we know each other enough to invite me to dinner."

He spluttered at the statement, even as Jean cracked a small smile.

"Relax, Danny. I'm only joking. You're not my type anyways. But if you feel like you need the help, then dinner will be fine."

AEH​

Uppercrust

If there was anything he hated more than his condition, it was the act of being idle.

Mere inaction was anathema to his upbringing. Growing up in a home where there always seemed to be work that needed to be done. Living on a farm had instilled in him a work ethic that just couldn't consciously accept the act of being idle. It was a characteristic that had reflected upon him well to his peers as he went through college and then entered the engineering sector, steadily rising up the company ladder.

And in spite of his condition, it was a trait that hadn't been tempered, as the act of sitting in a chair as the dialysis machine performed its treatment was enough to make his skin crawl. He honestly wished to be in his workshop right now, working on a pet project that had been previously sitting idle in the back of his mind.

And as much as he wished it to be, there was no feasible way to avoid the impossibility of being in his workshop right this moment. The dialysis machine was too delicate to work effectively in his workshop, and any failure would only further jeopardize his health.

So, while he could not work as he preferred, he could at least do something else. In this case, he was, once again, looking over the folder that Taylor Hebert had provided. The folder that contained the overview of what she had called 'Project Hephaestus'.

He had to hand it to her, linking the project name to the Ancient Grecian God of fire, metalworking, and crafts was certainly an appropriate metaphor for what it represented. However, in his own opinion, it may have been more apropos to have named it Prometheus, because what she was attempting to unleash would be akin to Prometheus' 'sin' of robbing the gods of fire and returning it to humanity.

When he had looked at Taylor, he had a feeling that there was more to her than met the eye. He knew of the existence of Free Tinkers, as the PRT called them, but even though they seemed to be free, they still suffered some sort of restriction or drawback that served to hamper them in some way or another. But what Taylor represented was something new, something vastly different, and vastly more terrifying.

Even now, looking over the paper, the pages already becoming dog-eared from how many times he had perused them, he couldn't help but wonder just what he was helping unleash upon the world. Not in regards to the negative aspects, he knew Accord was right on that front and the threat that young Taylor represented if she were to go 'dark' so to speak, but in what she would do to the world.

What was it the alien in that Aleph film said, 'To the undiscovered country…the future." It was both an exciting and terrifying proposition. Taylor's ideas and technology, if even a tenth of them were produced, would change the world. And if all of them worked…there would likely be a renaissance of such scale not yet seen in the history of humanity.

All from the mind of a teenage girl.

Releasing a sigh, he proceeded to close the folder again after being satisfied with his review. While he did not find anything new to it, it didn't hurt to see if there was something more to add to the web that Taylor Hebert weaved.

It was highly likely that she was still withholding things from Accord and himself. It was certainly within her right, as she wasn't required to reveal it, but the absence of knowledge could only cause him to wonder just how deep down the rabbit hole her knowledge went. Furthermore, he mentioned this to Accord, but if Hephaestus was 'Phase II' as she called it, then what was 'Phase III', because you didn't number things off like that unless there was something more.

And more worryingly, there was the scale of leap from Project Focus, a multifunction device, Phase I, to Phase II, of which they only knew about Project Hephaestus, which if you ignored the machines contained terraforming technology. If there was a Phase III, just how much of a leap forward would that be? Space flight? Or something even more?

Maybe she had a solution for his condition locked away in her head? Only out of reach because she hadn't been able to field the technology?

What he did know, however, was if they reached Phase II, not only would Taylor upset the balance of power in the world, but the concept of money would become an abstraction for them all. He may not exactly be able to get contracts like the military industrial complexes of old, but he knew a thing or two about it. And what Taylor was offering would make quite a few people obscenely rich.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone, causing him to frown behind his mask. Who would be calling him at this time? He had made it abundantly clear that he was not to be disturbed during his dialysis?

Grabbing his phone, he flipped it over so he could see the screen, and his furor quickly died, replaced by a cold calculation as he considered the displayed name.

"Why is she calling now," he thought to himself, "she's perfectly aware of when my treatments are."

Contemplating it for a moment, he then made a decision. If she was aware of what his schedule was, then this could either be one of two things: a power play, or an emergency. Considering who it was, the latter was unlikely, as it would be a cold day in hell that she would defer or show weakness to another. It just wasn't acceptable to her.

Making a decision, he placed the phone back down and watched it go dark, the phone call going to his voice mail. It was unprofessional, certainly, but it was only fair to return it in spades for what she was doing.

Alas, his phone rang again, and this time he sighed, knowing that avoiding whatever she wanted was inevitable, so instead, he picked up the phone and hit the answer button on the screen.

"Good evening, Agnes. Need I remind you that I am currently undergoing treatment?"

"No, you do not, Uppercrust. This isn't a social call," the dulcet tones of Agnes Court filled his ears. If he didn't know the person behind the voice, it would have been mildly entertaining at how hard she tried to present herself as enticing and non-offensive.

Agnes Court was truly none of those. From the moment she was brought in by Endymion, he had seen right through her facade. How the former head of the Seattle Branch hadn't he would never know. He had to wonder what was going through his head when she had finally revealed just what she was.

What she was, however, was a psychopath. Pure and simple. There was no limit to what she was capable of and she felt no remorse for her actions. All that mattered was her objectives were met and she amassed more power and wealth for herself. It was this capacity that had caught Endymion's attention in the first place, and it had allowed her meteoric rise within the Elite.

Perhaps if he had paid more attention back then, things may have ended differently. Unfortunately, back then he had been more focused on his own treatment and establishing the New York Elite to pay attention to what was happening on the West Coast. It may have saved the identity of what the Elite had originally been.

Alas, it had not been. Agnes Court had been meticulous in her planning, when she was ready to finally execute, she had ensured that there had been no way to lose. In the span of six months, most of the leadership based on the west coast that had originally founded the Elite had found themselves co-opted, replaced or dead.

If there had been any mistake that Agnes had made in her coup, it had been the fact that she had written off Florida and New York as unessential to her plans. Then again, he could not blame her, ever since the formation of the Elite, both Gentilhomme and himself had been given a wide latitude by Endymion because of how useful the two were for the Elites interests, which allowed them to tightly control their individual branches. The fact that she had written them off had highlighted that if she had one foible it was her arrogance.

But the damage had been done, her takeover of the west coast had made her the de jure head of the Elite, even if she ran the illusion that she was only a midlevel troubleshooter in the organization. By every single metric of the organization, she was the shadow behind the throne of a supposed business confederation.

Luckily, Agnes wasn't completely insane. She had realized quickly that trying a repeat performance to correct her miscalculation would also be a mistake: Gentilhomme was too important to the Elite to remove, as he managed the logistical network of the Elite. Meanwhile, his own contributions to the Elite through large multimillion dollar government contracts had made him indispensable from a cost/benefit perspective. Instead, she had extended an olive branch, offering many of the same conditions that Endymion had allowed them to operate in the past with only a few additional caveats.

As a result, the Elite had been split into two factions with the rank-and-file largely unaware of the internal power struggle. Neither side could afford to separate, in spite of Agnes's actions, as dissolving the Elite would remove the only deterrence they had to prevent the Protectorate from simply rolling them all up.

It nonetheless remained a cold relationship between them, one steeped in distrust, and frankly, it likely would never change. He knew that Agnes Court despised him, but couldn't afford to not utilize him for her own aims, so she was forced to tolerate him. She had simply settled upon both eagerly and reluctantly awaiting his demise, as it would remove one of the last stumbling blocks to her hegemony of the Elite, even if it would cost her millions of dollars in contracts.

"I figured," he rasped drily, knowing it would annoy the hell out of her, "What do you want?"

"I need an explanation on what you are doing?"

"So she knows," he mused with a hint of irritation. It had been a foregone conclusion that she would quickly become suspicious the moment he transferred the money to Accord. It was too large of a sum of money to ignore. The fact that it was money that his branch had generated mattered little to a control freak like Agnes. Still it rankled him that he couldn't get a few more weeks out of it. He would have to have a chat with Fibonacci about ensuring that their systems were secure again.

"You'll have to be more specific, Agnes. I thought we already discussed the contract with the PRT to enhance the shield systems we already put into place on the eastern seaboard."

"Don't play coy with me, Gene," came her frosty reply, "You know exactly why I am calling. I want an explanation on the twenty million dollars that have disappeared from your branch's balance."

"Demand? Dear Agnes, you seem to have forgotten something. While I may be a member of the Elite, I do not answer to you. How I use the money that my branch has made is my business so long we continue to meet our yearly levies. Or have you forgotten the charter?"

"I have not forgotten the charter, Gene. However, I sincerely doubt when the charter was written it was envisioned that a member of the Elite would, without conferring with anyone, suddenly abscond with twenty million dollars without a word. One could believe that you may be misappropriating funds for your own benefit."

His teeth grit at the statement, the urge to snap at the younger upstart almost too much for him to resist. Instead, he muted his phone for a moment and took a deep breath. It was a matter of pride that in all of his years he had not once misused any money that he was in charge of.

Unmuting the phone, he decided that if she wanted to posture and threaten, he could return the favor.

"Be careful, Agnes, you're treading on my dreams."

"Excuse me?"

"Let me make this abundantly clear to you, Agnes. What I do with the New York Branch's money is none of your concern. Unless you want to change the charter to reflect that, it will remain none of your concern. Now that I have established my position, I will, however, in light of the fact that we are on the same side, let you know that the money you are inquiring about is a project that I authorized. That I approved. And that I am personally overseeing. Is that sufficient? Or would you like to escalate this to the Committee?"

He knew perfectly well that Agnes couldn't take the risk of trying to bring this to the rest of the branches, despite the fact that she had it stacked in her favor. If she did so she would draw the ire of Gentilhomme, who would not take kindly toward Agnes challenging the charter, which she could not afford.

He would have to reach out to Gentilhomme after this and ensure he was made aware of just exactly what was going on. While he could depend on the man to keep the traditions of the original Elite, it would still be respectful to keep him apprised of the situation.

"That…will not be necessary, Uppercrust," she relented after a long pause, obviously coming to the same conclusions that he did, and by using his cape name, was admitting defeat, "I am merely voicing my concern and let my passion get the better of me. I apologize."

He knew it was a false apology, but it wasn't worth incensing her further. The fact that she was backing down was a win in and of itself.

"Apology accepted. As a gesture of good faith, I will keep you informed on the progress of my project. But right now, I am in the preliminary stages. I hope to have some results within the next few months."

Another long pause met him.

"That is acceptable," was her awaited response, "I will look forward to the fruits of this project. Good evening."

With that she cut the call, leaving him once again alone.

Lobbing the phone back on the table, he leaned back in his chair, letting the dialysis machine do its work.

While he may have won this battle, the war was far from over. There was no way that Agnes would leave this alone, she hated the unknown and anything that may undermine her approach to taking over the Elite would not be tolerated.

And once she found out exactly what he was doing, she would make a move. She couldn't afford for him to gain any advantage or power over her. If it came to be known, once Taylor had started rolling out her technology, that he had been the one to cultivate her, it would upset the balance of power in the Elite that Agnes had kept scaled in her direction.

And even worse, he knew exactly what she would think when she looked at the situation. A young, fifteen year old cape who was rolling out technology that was unrestricted and making money? She would likely come to the belief that he was cultivating Taylor to be his successor. And if it was true, which it was not, after all, how could he truly groom Taylor to be his successor if she was unaware of who he was, then her carefully laid plans to wait him out would be void.

If only they had a few more weeks, he could have ensured that Agnes would never be able to figure out what he had done. Instead, he now had to plan for a new foil to everything, because Agnes would inevitably become involved sooner or later.

Looks like he was going to have to call Accord ahead of schedule.

 

[AlSmash]

Storm clouds are gathering. Taylor will be next chapter.

Germination 2.1

Doctor Mother

"It has been a month now, Fortuna. I have done what you have asked and run interference for you, but I need to know what is going on. Why have you interfered with the Terminus Project?"

In the realm of expectations, Aminata Kouassi, better known to her subordinates simply as Doctor Mother, it would have been expected of her to immediately demand an explanation from Contessa as to why the younger woman was suddenly interfering with the Project. However, if there was one thing that you could never take away from her, it was that she was methodical to the point of obsession, and she was never one to immediately jump to conclusions without necessary data.

Instead, as her previous profession before her assumption of the mantle to save humanity from an extraterrestrial threat dictated, she observed and gathered information on the various actions that Contessa had made in the last month. It allowed her the time to note the other woman's focus upon the events in Brockton Bay.

Just why Contessa would throw away a project several years into its execution and data collection without conferring with her rankled at her nerves, especially when all data pointed that her fixation was upon a blind teenaged cape with a minor Tinker rating.

The only reason she had not intervened sooner was the knowledge that Fortuna was being guided by her power to an outcome that benefitted the greater humanity. Whatever it was that this Taylor Hebert offered, it was obviously something significant, even if the reason eluded her.

"A month ago The Path changed," Fortuna began, taking her hat off and setting it on the table, "several active plans could no longer confirm with the new path being suggested by my power. Chief among them was the Terminus Project."

"I understand that. But I need to understand why, Fortuna, all indications suggest that Taylor Hebert is not even a blip. Why are we changing so many plans for this single cape?"

Fortuna kept silent, instead gaining a faraway gaze in which she had recognized as when the younger woman was working her power. She knew it would be unwise to push the other woman, but even her patience was reaching its limit.

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

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

"How?"

The other woman shook her head, "I can't tell you. If I did it would influence your actions and interfere with The Path."

A flash of anger almost caused her to snap at the woman. Influence her?! The impertinence! Contessa was forgetting her place. The girl may be the tool that cut away tumors, but she was the hand that guided it. If she didn't know what Taylor Hebert could do then how could she guide their overall strategy?!

"If she is that important Contessa, then why aren't we taking charge of her?"

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

"Taylor Hebert needs to grow in a certain way in order to flourish and reach the conclusion The Path suggests. If we were to bring her into Cauldron, then she would be unable to reach her full potential. Hebert values and will protect her newfound freedom. Kidnapping her would result in another Manton."

This drew a frown from her. William Manton had been both one of their greatest coups, but also their worst mistakes. A brilliant, but disturbed man, he had allowed Cauldron to finetune its vial production and develop a model for testing and analysis for the power vials that they produced. Unfortunately, his descent into madness left him killing his estranged daughter with one of those vials when he tried to save her from the cancer ravaging her body. He had then fled, taking several vials with him.

It was when he took one that The Siberian of the Slaughterhouse 9 had been birthed. One of the most prolific and sadistic killers of a coterie of known mass murderers, Manton's projected power had done more damage to Cauldron with the death of Hero than any other event in its history.

"How bad," she had to ask.

Contessa's eyes closed for a moment, as she released a sigh, making it obvious that her power was feeding the information to her and she was processing it.

After a few more moments, she shook her head.

"You don't want to know."

"And if I do?"

"Trust me, Aminata. If Taylor Hebert turned into Manton, Scion would be a mercy to what she could do. Just keeping her under our thumb would require me to divert too much of The Path on her alone."

That certainly wasn't the rebuttal she was expecting. Instead it caused her to consider the implications. They knew what was likely to happen with Scion, they had been able to reconstruct what was likely to happen. But Hebert was capable of something worse? It was a thought that made her want to scoff. Just what could she do with such simple tech?

Still, it was something that Fortuna had seen, so she would humor the other woman.

"And killing her is out of the question?"

"Absolutely."

"Then why aren't we taking a larger involvement with Hebert? If you want to ensure that she is to be successful, then we have the means to do it. We may not be able to loop her into Cauldron, but that doesn't mean we can't speed up the process."

"What Taylor Hebert has to do has to be natural. If the government provides her any special attention or considerations, it will inevitably become public. The last thing needed is for her to garner the attention of the wrong people."

Like Sphere, was left unsaid. Sphere, like Manton, had been a brilliant, even world-changing parahuman. Graced with the ability and knowledge on how to build space habitats, he had been an unfortunate victim of the Simurgh, who had twisted the man into Mannequin of the Slaughterhouse Nine. The man had made it a point of pride over the years to hunt down Tinkers whose technology could be a net benefit to humanity.

If Taylor Hebert came to his attention, there was no doubt he would likely push to make a move to Brockton Bay.

But what about Simurgh? There was still scant little that they knew about the Third Endbringer outside of its Thinker, Tinker, and Master powers backed by an unerringly accurate battlefield precognition. There was also its ability to create Ziz Bombs, which lent credit to the theory that it had something akin to Fortuna's abilities considering the accuracy and breadth of their deployment over the years.

It was now that she knew Fortuna was not going to budge on her path. Their reliance upon Fortuna's ability to forge a path to victory was also a liability as it allowed little leeway in what could and could not be done.

"If that is what you say," she grudgingly admitted defeat. If there wasn't going to be any input that she could make into it, she would merely observe for now, "What are we going to tell the others?"

"We'll continue to tell them that the Terminus Project remains enact and on schedule."

So in other words, despite this small diversion, nothing was to change. They would allow the Triumvirate to believe that they were in the loop and truly had input in the matters of Cauldron. Rebecca would sooner or later get personally involved in Hebert once she gained enough of an image, and it would play into whatever plan that Fortuna was running.

Then again what was Brockton's PRT Director's name again? Piggert? Pigeon? Whatever it was, if she recalled the details on that aspect of the Terminus Project, the woman would likely be unable to not get herself involved in whatever Hebert was doing. It was why they had assigned her there in the first place, a bigoted woman who viewed capes with suspicion and treated them poorly was the sort of leader they expected for the parahuman feudalism experiment.

It seemed she was going to have to pay closer attention to Brocton Bay going forward.

---

AEH​

---

Emily Piggot

There were scant few things that annoyed Emily Piggot more than local officials believing themselves higher than their office. As the Director of the Brockton Bay PRT she was answerable only to the Chief Director and Congress, not to the local establishment.

Yet here she was, in the office of Mayor Roy Christener, the man having made it exceedingly clear that failure for her to show in his office would be not in her interest. It was only the knowledge of how much power that Christener wielded in the shadows through his connections in Boston that she had humored him. The last thing she needed at this juncture was trouble.

That didn't say that she was not happy. She had other fish to fry over the concerns of the local polity.

"Well, Roy," she chose to be petty, not using his title, knowing it would annoy him, "I'm here, what do you want that you couldn't talk to me over the phone for."

The man across from her was what you would expect from a person who had lived their life with a silver spoon in their mouth. Good looking even at his age, Roy Christener exuded a charisma that easily connected with the average voter who bought into his policies, it was how he had been able to hold office two terms running now despite the declining state of Brockton Bay. What the average voter wasn't aware of was that Christener could also be petty and vindictive to those who drew his ire, with several of his political opponents finding themselves suffering misfortune over the years to his benefit.

If Triumph hadn't been his son, she would have believed that Christener was an Empire Eighty-Eight plant considering how it seemed his policies seemed to benefit them in the end. But it was just a matter that Kaiser was more politically shrewd than his opposite number.

"Taylor Hebert."

She had to bite back a curse, 'Not this shit again.'

If she had the opportunity to go back again, she would not have reassigned Faro to Eagleton, she would have shot the pompous prick in the face for his abject failure. Well, him and possible Armsmaster, depending on her mood. Both of them had failed to lure Hebert into the Protectorate's clutches. She could not accept the argument that what they did know about Hebert was not enough to make an investment.

While Faro's failures could simply be listed as him being a pompous, bigoted, piece of shit, Armsmaster's failures could not so be lightly excused. After all, for being probably the most experienced Tinker in the Northeast, the fact that he did not see the implications of what Hebert could do could only hint at either he had a lapse of judgment, or worse, he had deliberately chosen to undersell the teenager for nebulous reasons.

The punishment that she had crafted for him should have been worse, but she had been limited in her options. All she had was a suspicion on his betrayal, and without the evidence, he would likely run to Legend again. She had found out that little tidbit when she had ordered an audit of his communications and systems. The fact that Legend had dismissed his concerns did not excuse his attempt to avoid the chain of command and escape his failure.

That all aside, considering it was done and dusted. Taylor Hebert was becoming a migraine of significant proportions. After Armsmaster's failure, she had been prepared to simply wait Hebert out, knowing that the requirements for NEPEA-5 would likely chill any attempts at finding an investor. Too many companies were skittish about employing or investing into a Tinker that had not been fully vetted (and it would be a cold day she'd provide it for Hebert unless she was Protectorate), especially with the fines and punishments attached provided too many points of failure that punished the company that took the risk. Sooner or later, Hebert would either give in and turn to the Protectorate, or she would turn villain, and it would be just as easy to force her into the Protectorate, mask or no mask.

But Hebert had found herself a sugar daddy to indulge in her fantasy to the tune of nearly sixty million dollars. She had heard of Zenith Investment Group in passing, only through reports coming from Boston and the occasional annoyance voiced by Director Armstrong, but it was all tangential information at best. Zenith as far as she could tell was a company that was above the board, having not been tied to any illegal activities over the years despite being an investment group and all of that type of business' negative connotations.

Just what Hebert had sold them worried her. You didn't invest sixty million dollars in simple visual equipment, and what inquiries were made were met with quiet rebuffs only providing the most basic of information.

And then there was Zero Dawn Technologies, the company that fronted for Taylor Hebert. One of the delicate balances that NEPEA-5 had to play was abiding by the Constitution, which prevented it from deliberately targeting Tinkers. What this provided Hebert was an opportunity to form her own LLC, which went into an entirely different subset of the NEPEA-5 that limited what the government could do. ZDT was no longer just a Tinker it was dealing with, but an actual company with entirely different rules. It was harder for the Protectorate to police LLCs as they were no longer considered individual entities like Tinkers. What an LLC provided was a method in which a Tinker could provide a service through a company front, that as long as it was not considered a direct threat to the local economy via monopolistic takeover, it was allowed to flourish with very little input outside of an occasional inspection by the Protectorate.

It was inordinately both frustrating and worrisome at the same time. They had no real inroads into monitoring or containing Hebert. Without due cause, like the suspicion of a crime taking place, they could do little more than twiddle their thumbs, as much as she wanted to raid the damn company and shutter it.

"I'm listening."

"This Zero Dawn thing has become a nuisance," the man said, "their purchase of the Dockworker's Association and its properties have raised some concerns with quite a few leaders in the community."

You mean your cronies and yourself, she thought snidely, but kept quiet. She was perfectly aware that Christener had been using the DWA and its Union for years in order to provide cheap labor to his political donors. It was sleazy, but it was just the way of the world anymore. The fact that Zero Dawn had bought out the DWA, its properties, and according to her sources, the personnel thanks to Daniel Hebert, Christener suddenly found his little operation in danger.

"There is not much I can legally do," she admitted, "it is an unfortunate circumstance, but Zero Dawn Technologies have not provided me with any opening in which to move in on them. They have been abiding by the diktat of NEPEA-5 in both letter and spirit, much to my chagrin. Honestly, I would think you would be appreciative of the premise of a company like this moving in. An investment of this size does suggest they intend to place their roots here."

"I apologize for my momentary lapse, but I have little faith in the long term viability of a company whose CEO is a fucking fifteen year old cripple," he coldly sneered, "especially a fucking Tinker. What the fuck are your people doing Emily, this is the sort of shit that you usually have buttoned down."

She bristled in response, not appreciating the fact that he was dressing her down like a green as grass cadet, "I'm doing my job, Roy," she snapped, deciding she was done playing polite, "When Taylor Hebert originally approached us, our best analysis surmised that her technology was specific and limited. It was not worth a hard offer for technology that was limited in its scope."

"A lot of good that analysis was, Director. I have a docks that is now a hive of activity, with several semis delivering heavy duty equipment. We are talking about forges, furnaces, assembly lines, fully equipped chemical facilities, and 3-D Printers to name a few things. I don't know what your analysts were doing, but that is certainly not limited in scope. Whatever the fuck Hebert is doing is big, and I do not like unknown quantities in my city. It's bad enough with the gangs you consistently fail to curtail, but now I have a Tinker with delusions of importance. So I'm going to ask you bluntly, and I want an answer, just what are we going to do about this?"

"I don't have a lot of good options," she admitted, though she really didn't want to, "the very same NEPEA-5 that is used to keep Tinkers in line is also protecting Hebert. I can do a few inspections to ensure that what she is doing is in compliance. There is also WEDGDG, but it could take upwards of two months before I receive a response. As long as Hebert's tech doesn't end up in the hands of villains, I don't have any additional inroads, nor do I have the personnel to continuously monitor her as well."

"What about Armsmaster? Where is he in all of this? I would think that he wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to confiscate another Tinker's technology to add it to his own."

She had to resist frowning at the observation. It appears that Christener's infiltration of her own command was more than she had expected. It couldn't be Triumph, as despite his closeness to his father he had shown himself to be dedicated to his job to where he would not jeopardize his position. She didn't like the fact that her command was an open book to someone like this. Especially when it forced her to make an admission she was loathe to admit, because it reflected poorly upon her command. But the Mayor was obviously intent on shutting down Hebert, and it happened to fit in within her own objectives.

"We have reason to suspect that Armsmaster withheld information on Hebert's capabilities," she admitted, as much it hurt, it was no less true in her opinion, "several of the statements and observations within his report have come into question in light of recent events. It may be nothing, but his actions are currently under review."

"A pity," was his sniffed dismissal, unhappy with her statement, "it would have been so much easier if he could agree with what needs to be done. Alas, it seems even the best of us can give into temptation."

"And what do you have?"

"While it's a pity that the Protectorate cannot curtail something as a rogue Tinker, I wasn't counting just on just you, Director. I have made a few phone calls to the capital. After all, we have a company that is run by a fifteen year old, it certainly should raise a few eyebrows in Boston. Then there is the unfortunate rapid development they are doing, I wonder just what corners they may be cutting in their rush. It'd be a shame if they are found to have created an unsafe work environment."

In hindsight, she was not surprised that Christener was going to try and bureaucratically kill Zero Dawn. It was obvious his only options were to use his contacts in Boston to strangle them in red tape. An inefficient, but relatively effective low cost method. The only thing she was unsure of was if it would be successful, she would need to probably talk to Armstrong about more information on Zenith. This was something that was not in her wheelhouse, she was a commander, not an attorney, but she had a feeling that Christener's angle of attack would meet more resistance than he expected.

"I may also have expressed my concerns to the Youth Guard through a colleague of mine."

That, however, may be more effective. There were times when she would pay anything to line up and shoot every single one of the helicopter administrators that supposedly cared about young capes. They created more problems than they offered solutions, only serving to stymie almost every facet of her operations out of some misplaced noblesse oblige for children. If they were to get involved with Hebert, they may just start putting their own pressure upon possibly curtailing her. And without the support of the Protectorate, and the scope of the Youth Guard's reach, it may just be an effective ploy.

But she wouldn't count on it. However, it may just provide an opportunity that neither would have previously had.

Before she could say anymore on the matter, there was a knock at the door, and it then opened to reveal Christener's secretary, holding a folder in her hand. She did not look happy with whatever she was carrying.

"Yes, Janice?"

"This just arrived in the office from a courier, it's paperwork from Zero Dawn. I think you need to see this."

Placing the folder on his desk, Roy looked at the folder like it was a coiled viper, a "Thank you, Janice," the only dismissal he gave her before she turned and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Picking up the folder, he flipped it open and began reading through the documents. Not even a few moments in, his jaw set and his expression darkened, his eyes darting through the document.

"Motherfucker," he breathed, slapping the folder down on the desk. He then got to his feet and turned and walked to the window that looked out over the city.

"What is it," she asked, even as she strained her ears to hear the muttering that escaped his lips, one of the things she heard was "how the fuck could I have missed it?"

His hands curling into fists, then releasing several times, he then turned back to her, walking back to his desk and sliding the folder over to her.

"Zero Dawn just supplied paperwork to reactivate the rail yards. The state has already fucking approved it," he snarled the last part, his brown eyes flitting towards her, "I want them gone, Piggot. I don't care what needs to be done, I don't care what we have to do, but I refuse to let this go on. I hope you agree with me."

She stared at the document, the ramifications of such an action were already coalescing in her head, and none of them good. If Hebert could get the rail yards back into operation, then that would likely only entice the gangs to take action, if not already start once work began. It would add more tinder to the box that was already a spark or two from open warfare. With the type of money this could possibly bring in…it was no surprise why Christener would be against it. He had used the DWA for years, and if they accrued enough power, they could easily turn the tables on the man as they would no longer owe him any loyalty.

And Daniel Hebert, with his righteous parental indignation, may just turn his focus towards the Protectorate for what had transpired with Faro. And god help them all if he ever discovered anything about Shadow Stalker.

"I think we can come to an understanding," she finally admitted after another minute of thought.

---

AEH​

---

Citrine

"I thank you for making time for me, Kaiser. I know you are a rather busy man."

A small chuckle escaped the lips of her metal-encumbered counterpart across the dining table from her. They were currently ensconced in the backroom of an upper-scale restaurant that just happened to be in Empire territory, the perfect place for a clandestine meeting it appeared for the man.

"Normally, I would not. However, I cannot help but find myself curious as to why an envoy from the Ambassadors would be reaching out to me."

When she had come to Brockton Bay, she knew that she would have to operate differently than Accord had in the past. In the past, her boss had attempted an indirect method in his attempt to establish a beachhead in Brockton Bay; it had met with one of the rare failures he had experienced. The cape scene had just been too entrenched to establish any changes in the power dynamics, and so he had written off Brockton Bay to focus all of his attention on Boston.

The difference between then and now was simply there was no interest by Accord to involve himself with the local cape scene outside of his interest in maintaining Taylor Hebert. So while Jean Brown worked for Taylor Hebert in an official capacity, it was Citrine who operated in the shadows, ensuring that Accord's plans met fruition.

One of those was ensuring that the local cape scene would not interfere with Taylor Hebert and Zero Dawn Technologies. A difficult endeavor in the first place, considering the three 'gangs' that dominated Brockton Bay had different objectives and intentions. Of the three, however, she had identified only one that could possibly be amicable to a pact: The Empire Eighty-Eight.

As distasteful the thought was to work with Nazis, it was sadly the only choice. The fact of the matter was there was no chance that the Merchants would honor any agreement or word, nor would they be amicable to sit idly by. They were just too destructive thanks to their addiction to their own product. Nor was Lung and the Azn Bad Boyz a viable candidate, Lung would view any pact or deal as beneath him, he'd break it as soon as it was convenient to him or he was bored.

That only left Kaiser and the Empire Eighty-Eight.

"What do you know of Zero Dawn Technologies?"

She could imagine him frowning behind his mask, obviously not expecting the question judging by the way his eyes narrowed through their slits.

"A new tech company headed by an unmasked Tinker that has established itself on the Docks. It recently absorbed the Dockworker's Association and its associated properties. From what my sources can tell me, they've been moving quite a lot of equipment into the docks," he paused, and then she could see it dawning on him, "Accord has an interest in it."

She nodded, "He does. It is the matter of Zero Dawn that I was sent to meet with you. There are parties in New York and Boston who are invested in the success of Zero Dawn. They would view any attack upon Zero Dawn or its assets as an attack upon them."

The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife as Kaiser met her declaration with silence. She knew he was likely thinking of who the party from New York could be, but he was also likely wargaming in his head could he afford another enemy when he was already entangled in a cold war with the Protectorate, ABB, and Merchants.

"You come here as an envoy and seek to threaten me," he asked, his voice having lost its previous joviality and warmth that he had greeted her with, replaced with a tone and posture that what was now facing her was a predator rousing from his slumber.

"Please. I'm merely establishing the grounds for negotiation. Accord understands that any hostilities between our groups would be pyrrhic at best, catastrophic at worst, and he would still end up losing Zero Dawn in the process. What he has authorized me to do is to attempt to work out a pact that is beneficial to both parties and avoid hostilities."

This seemed to settle her counterpart as he relaxed slightly.

"I'm listening."

---

AEH​

---

Kaiser

After Citrine had left, Max Anders sat at the table, gently sloshing the rich red wine in its fine glass providing a hypnotic effect that served to collect his thoughts.

If he were honest, and he would never admit this to his subordinates, things were going too fast and far too quickly. Never would he have expected Taylor Hebert's sudden and meteoric rise. Not only because of her disability, but also the difficulty in which a Tinker was able to get any sort of funding that wasn't government or gang funded. He was quite happy to bide his time and see just what Hebert was capable of before making any overtures.

The public release announcing that Zero Dawn Technologies, and by extension Hebert, had received a lump-sum investment from the Zenith Investment Group of sixty million dollars had firmly trounced that idea. That type of capital was something that suggested that Hebert was far more capable than even he expected. Just how capable she was, however, was still up in the air.

But why would they allow her to remain in Brockton Bay? That had never made sense, even he was willing to admit that Brockton Bay was a city hanging on a thread. You didn't invest that amount of money unless you were sure that you could ensure that you got a return. Suffice to say, he had been suspicious of the entire situation, and had tasked Krieg to look into it using his contacts within the Gesellschaft to use their bank connections to look into Zenith.

Unfortunately, Zenith was too tightly protected for even Gesellschaft from finding out too much about the company. All he had received were suppositions and theories, one of which had been confirmed when he had received a request for parley from Citrine. While it did not provide direct confirmation into the depth that Accord's talons had been sunk into Zenith, it did establish that he had some tangential interest in the company. Otherwise he would not be sending his second-in-command to Brockton Bay.

What he had not been expecting, however, was for the parley to amount to the suggestion of a pact between the Empire and the Ambassadors. He had honestly believed, considering Accord's personality, that it would be a cold day in hell before he entertained such an idea, considering his previous failure in trying to infiltrate Brockton Bay. Yet here it was.

The question was what he wanted to do. He hadn't given an answer to Citrine, informing her that he would have to discuss it with his people. After all, while he could, taking unilateral action without at least informing the various factions of his the Empire would likely end up with someone taking umbrage to it.

But the fact remains, in the end, it would be his choice. On one hand, he could see the benefit of at least agreeing with several of the suggestions Citrine had given. She had already made it clear to him that the Ambassadors had no interest in extending their tentacles back into the Bay, they were only humoring Hebert because of the teenager's roots.

There was some merit in at least aligning slightly with what Citrine had suggested. The Empire would benefit in the long run with a revitalized Brockton, especially if they could frame it in a certain way. While capitalizing upon the suffering was always beneficial, it was one of those situations where it was only providing diminishing returns as time went on, considering the rank and file of the Empire seemed to be steadily dropping in their quality as the desperation of some increased. With the majority of Brockton Bay still being white, it would be rather simple to frame the Empire's actions if they chose to assist in protecting Zero Dawn as an altruistic attempt at ensuring the protection of jobs for those deserving. It would be a boon to their overall standing and serve as yet another feather in the political cap and serve to corner the dragon further.

But there was also the financial boon that would benefit Medhall. After all, it was the largest insurance provider in Brockton Bay, and up until their purchase, the Dockworker's Association did go through them for their group insurance. It was already a foot in the door with Zero Dawn, at least at the floor level, but if Citrine's veiled hints were any indicator, it's possible that Zero Dawn's span of products could extend into the medical field. If Medhall could be at the front…

But there were also drawbacks and risks to the endeavor. In a way, he would be subordinating a portion of his operations to an outsider, even if it was beneficial to the larger scheme, it would leave quite a few members of the Empire chafing at the bit. After all, he had made it clear in the past that the Empire answered to no one, and now here he was considering doing just that. Oh, it wouldn't be as dramatic as they thought, but the illusion of it was enough to likely leave them frothing.

For a brief moment, he considered trying to grab Hebert himself, but quickly discarded it. The opportunity was honestly gone, even if he was successful, the money would evaporate instantly and Accord would likely make it his personal mission to eliminate the Empire for their offense. His father had been lucky back then, Accord had not been the man that he was now when he had made his only attempt into Brockton Bay. There was no doubt in his mind, having heard enough of the rumors from Boston, that if Accord was suitably incensed into the inclination, the Unwritten Rules would become the Unwritten Checklist.

No, Hebert was off the board. He couldn't risk it, even if he wanted to. Like Citrine had said, any conflict between them now would be pyrrhic unlike back then. It just wasn't worth fighting over a Tinker if there was another option. It grated at his nerves, but he had to hand it to Accord, the man knew when he had the right cards in hand to play.

But maybe he could take better advantage of this, now that he thought of it. Sooner or later, the jumped up lizard would come out of whatever hole he lurked in and turn his sights towards ZDT. The man may be a slant-eye, but he wasn't stupid. He would recognize exactly the same as he did at the threat that Zero Dawn and Hebert provided. If he was to actually make a move against Hebert and ZDT, it may just provide him the opportunity to eliminate his chief nemesis.

It was something to dwell upon. He hadn't given Citrine a timeline on his response, but he had enough time to do his own research.

And core to that was Taylor Hebert herself.

---

AEH​

---

Armsmaster

When people had the opportunity to peer into his workshop, they always seemed to note how pristine and sterile it always seemed. That it shared more in common with a laboratory than a place where someone actually worked on or created new equipment.

It was something that he had always prided himself on. Everything was organized and kept in a neat and tidy order. It made his life easier and it allowed him a flexibility to change his workshop on a whim without having to worry about things getting in the way of said change.

One of those changes had been the recent addition of a punching bag that had been set up in the corner of the workshop. A punching bag that was finding itself on the receiving end of a large amount of pent up frustration that he could only fantasize releasing on the target of his ire in his darkest moments.

Ever since his decision to protect Taylor Hebert, Piggot had made it her life's goal to make his life…difficult. Less than a day after his report, his budget had been put under audit. It had been the most exhaustive audit of his budget in his entire time with the Protectorate, leaving not a single line item unquestioned, from materials and equipment, all the way to what supplements and nutrition he used.

At the end of it, he found his budget had been slashed by nearly half, leaving him with too many harsh choices to make. One of the easier ones of that list was his choice to cut out his normal nutritional shakes, supplements, and even his stimulants. It would likely catch up to him in the future, but there had been no choice in the matter.

What it did mean was that he had to spend more time taking care of himself than he had in a very long time.

If it had been just the budget, he could probably persevere without complaint, but Piggot would not relent or be satisfied until she had her pound of flesh. There had also been a full audit of not only his files and designs, but his communications. Almost everything revolving around himself and his identity as Armsmaster was put under a microscope. It had been there that Piggot found his communications to Legend.

He wiped his brow with his arm, collecting the sweat that had been building and tossing it aside..

Legend was another betrayal he had never thought possible. Hero had always told him that if he ever needed help Legend would be there in a heartbeat, because that was the kind of man he was. Instead, the only responses he had received since had been anything but help. It was polite, but Legend had made it clear that he was dismissing his concerns. He had explicitly stated that there was nothing that he could do, as what the PRT did was not something he had any control over, he could give input, but any decision made on a Director's conduct firmly lay with Chief Director Costa-Brown. The only response that he received from the Chief Director might as well have been a form letter, with Costa-Brown stating that she had her complete confidence in Director Piggot.

Piggot had been incensed at finding those communications and accused him of undermining the chain of command. The resultant furor had found him unofficially stripped of his responsibilities, pending review. It was all unofficial of course, Piggot couldn't afford to make anything public until it was already done. However, he could read the writing on the wall, his tenureship as the leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate was nearing its end. Piggot, of course, would have the defense that she could not afford to have a Protectorate officer in a position as her peer that was diametrically in opposition of her in a place like Brockton Bay.

And she would be right, at least from a certain point of view. Even if it was borderline illegal what she was doing, it was still a valid defense for someone in her position. At least, as long as she kept the origin point of this entire affair from getting too much scrutiny.

As for him, he had found, to his shock, there didn't exist many protections for Protectorate members against possible abuses by their PRT counterparts. It had certainly been an eye-opening experience to just how much they were at the mercy of the PRT when they were supposedly equal partners in fighting against villainous capes and organizations.

Finishing another set on the bag, he lowered his arms as the burn reinforced the knowledge of what he was doing. All the while he focused on keeping his breathing measured and controlled, the action merely providing another form of useful exercise.

He knew that the ship had sailed about recanting his testimony. Piggot had stopped even trying to hint at that after the audit. Nor would he have done it in the first place, he had done everything by the book, and he had found nothing out of the ordinary with Taylor Hebert's tech. It was perfectly reproducible and had none of the telltale characteristics that all Tinkertech had.

Yet at the end, it no longer even mattered. And he found himself doubting his continued presence within the Protectorate. The Protectorate had been a home for him for over a decade, and to have his loyalty and dedication rewarded with this ignominy honestly hurt.

But what choices was he left with? If he did decide to leave the Protectorate, almost every single one of his inventions, designs, and ideas were all controlled through his Armsmaster identity, he would be left starting over from nothing, and if the Protectorate felt like that, they could constantly dog him for trademark violation until his dying breath. The Guild, which would allow him to keep his identity and designs, was likely out of the question. Piggot had started limiting his contact and work with Dragon, citing that it was a waste of resources to 'idly chitchat' with the Canadian Tinker. And if Piggot was able to organizationally demote him, as he expected to happen, then Narwhal would be hard-pressed to accept him. It would look bad organizationally to take him in.

Plopping himself back in a chair, not even caring about the fact that his sweat-soaked clothes were sharing their bounty with the leather, he slowly unwrapped his hands, idly thinking of what he could do.

It was then that his door opened, and he paused in his actions to look at the newcomer coming into his lab.

Ethan Marsh, better known as Assault, had always been an oddity to him. A former villain and jailbreak specialist, he had been conscripted into the Protectorate and rebranded. Even to this day he didn't know what went through the man's head. At times he could be unprofessional, laid back and irreverent of authority, and at other times, he was the very model of seriousness and professionalism.

Honestly, he wondered exactly how Bethany was able to tolerate him.

"You missed the meeting," Assault declared, plopping himself down in the only other chair in the room, the metal scraping slightly on the floor.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what the other man's angle was, not finding any off the top of his head, here merely scoffed, going back to unwrapping his hands, "I wasn't informed there was a meeting," he finally admitted.

It was a half-truth, he was aware that there would be a meeting today, but Piggot had made it clear that he was unneeded for it. It was yet another indicator for what Piggot was intending.

"Strange," Assault mused aloud, "do you want to know what Piggot talked about?"

He offered a shrug as he finished unwrapping his right hand before moving to the left. It honestly wouldn't matter, he'd get the email with the memo outlining what had been discussed, Piggot at least kept him somewhat in the loop, she still needed him on patrol after all.

"Citrine has been spotted in Brockton Bay."

He found himself pausing. Citrine was Accord's second-in-command, the fact that she was in Brockton Bay did not bode well.

Ever since his ascent, Accord and his Ambassadors were viewed as an oddity within the conventional scheme of villainous groups. While Accord was undoubtedly a villain, he was cut from a cloth that was closer to the likes of Marquis or Gentilhomme, cladding himself with rules and standards that he held as largely inviolable. The other differentiation, and one that still escaped the understanding of the Protectorate, that outside of a maybe a handful of unpowered support staff, the Ambassadors invested more in quality over quantity for their capes, fielding individuals with highly specialized powers that made them more dangerous man-for-man compared to the bog-standard capes that made up most gangs.

And even then, Accord didn't wield them like a normal villainous group would. Instead, they acted like, well, agents for the man instead of combatants. In fact, in regards to cape fights, Ambassadors ranked towards the bottom of cape fights, only engaging with others when there seemed to be no choice.

"Do we have any idea why she is here," he found himself asking.

"Not really," Assault offered, shrugging, "Only reason we know is because someone posted a photo of her leaving a restaurant the other night. Guy was asking if they recognized the cape. We got the alert this morning. The thing is, the restaurant is believed to be an Empire front."

Now that caused his concern to skyrocket, his frustration further matching as this was something he should know, damn Piggot's actions. There was no good to come from Accord talking with the Empire, for anyone.

"And what does the Director want us to do?"

"Standard orders. Detain if spotted. Piggot wants to know exactly why she is in the city, but she thinks it may be linked to your girl."

Somewhat confused, he stared at Assault. His girl? As far as he knew he didn't 'have' a girl if he got what was being insinuated right. Was this part of some elaborate joke on Assault's part? He didn't see what it could be, and it wasn't like Assault to go from serious to joking without any indication.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he admitted, "Are you referring to Dragon? We're just friends. And I don't see how she would have anything to do with Citrine?"

The look of incredulity he received certainly did not do anything to assuage his mounting confusion.

"Not Dragon. The other girl, you know, the one that seems to be doing her level best to give Piggot a heart attack?"

"I…still don't see who you are referring to."

"Surely you can't be this dense. Hebert," Assault sighed, "Piggot thinks that Hebert has to do with Citrine being in Brockton Bay. Something about how Zenith is based out of Boston and it'd be the perfect front for Accord."

Again, he found himself blinking, processing what was being said. Just where did Assault get the idea that Taylor Hebert, a fifteen year old girl, was 'his' girl? Did he even understand what he was insinuating with his indelicate phrasing? But then he thought about the latter part of the statement.

He had to give credit to Piggot, it certainly was strange timing. Though he would be hesitant to immediately link it to Taylor. Still, it was strange, between the public release of a rather large sum of money being invested into her company and the sudden appearance of Accord's second-in-command in Brockton Bay. Still, it was a rather large leap of logic. Accord just wasn't known to venture out from his hub of power in Boston.

Still, it was worrisome and needed investigation. Just how far was Taylor involved with this, if true? He wanted to believe that Taylor may not be aware of what was happening if she was somehow involved? She didn't strike him as someone who would willfully and with full knowledge work directly with villains. He could be wrong, but it was a feeling he had about her.

"So what is Director Piggot planning to do about the possible link?"

Assault shrugged, "I don't know. She wasn't really forthcoming with things. I know she had Miss Militia and Lieutenant Abner stay after the meeting. So," he shrugged his shoulders, "probably something that she doesn't want us to know until she's ready."

'More than likely an inspection or raid', he thought to himself. Piggot was not subtle when she did things, likely due to her past. Still, he doubted anything would come from it outside of inconveniencing people. That could be what she was aiming for, forcing them into making some sort of mistake.

Was it possible she was still hellbent on getting Hebert under her control? He honestly was not sure, but considering what she had done to him so far for doing his job, he wouldn't put it past her. Piggot was an incredibly prideful woman and Hebert had unknowingly been grating against it.

And there was no one who could, or even would challenge Piggot's actions.

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.2

Taylor

Sipping from my lukewarm coffee, I couldn't help but watch the trainwreck that was the argument taking place between my father and Jean. I despised the taste of the bitter black brew but it was providing me one of the few sources of energy that I was in desperate need of. Both to remain aware of the argument, but also to function in general.

The last week of hard work and preparation was finally bearing its fruits. While training was still underway, in three days, we would be ready to start the production line.

It was this reason alone that had drawn me out of my lab for this sit down. While I was technically listed as the CEO, in actuality, I was more the head of research and development. The only reason I was here was because it was from my head that we could even field the various pieces of technology. If anyone had solutions for what we were intending, it would be me.

Alas, the damn argument was over the focus of production. While all models of the Focus shared a large amount of parts, there were still core differences that had to be taken into account. We couldn't mix the different models on the same assembly line, and we didn't have enough assembly lines to field all models. And at this juncture, it would be wise to do so without contracts and demands.

The irony in all of this, however, was my father was arguing in favor of Hathor, the communications model, while Jean was arguing we needed to go with Ptah, a multipurpose model. How my father would argue against the model that would benefit workers like him, I would never know, but it was certainly something to behold.

Quietly taking another sip, I let them keep at it as I eagerly allowed the coffee to claw back the vestiges of my own exhaustion. The last few days had been nothing more than meetings, reviews, and training. Luckily, the training had been the least exhausting aspect of it all, as many of the people I was helping train knew me too well, and they knew to listen.

But the meetings? I wish I could do without them. I despised them. I could be working on finetuning my plans, but instead, I got to play referee to Jean and my father arguing like they were jilted lovers, which, fucking ew mind, thankfully they were not. I don't think I'd know what to do with that can of worms.

It was tedious, and if I wasn't actually getting some use out of them, I would probably have brought my foot down sooner. Why I was using their argument to work on my own plans honestly escaped me. I knew it was a good idea, only that I didn't know why it was a good idea.

Nonetheless, both of them raised good points on the viability of both plans. The only problem was this world didn't reward viability. It couldn't, not in the face of everything else. Finishing off the coffee, I placed the mug down on the table and reached out to find the charging case for my new Focus. Flipping it open, I retrieved the large triangular 'plate' that was easily three times the size of the Ptah and affixed it to right in front of my ear on the right side of my head. With a light tap, I allowed it to power up.

Unlike my first Focus, Sekhmet, as it was documented, was meant to be an entirely custom model meant only for me. It combined all of the aspects of all existing production models into a singular platform to provide me with the absolute best in terms of performance and utility for my work.

Unofficially, I named it something else, something more appropriate and private: Ash Nazg. Since, at the end of the day, it was the Focus equivalent of Tolkien's One Ring. It could do everything the others could and would forever only be mine.

My vision returned as it were, flooding and provided me with a much more detailed view than ever before. Whereas the Focus Zero could only provide me with what were essentially shaped blobs in blue-violet-magenta, the definition and detail was magnitudes superior. While still not a suitable replacement for normal eyes, I could now make out things like facial expressions, and sharp movements were no longer a blur. The range was also measured in the tens of meters instead of uncomfortably close.

But most importantly to it all, was the augmented reality overlay now in my vision. It was honestly the core game changer for everything she could do. No longer did I have to sit at a computer, but now I had the luxury of being able to move around and reference data, and be able to show it on a tablet to those in the field or shop.

"Enough," I said quietly, but firmly. I might as well have shot a gun in the room, as they both stopped and looked at me, "You both have good points, and in a perfect situation, we could probably do a mix of what you're suggesting."

I reached up so the Focus could detect it, and lightly tapped the icon for a folder that I had been working on for over a week now. I then slid the icon to the open 'port' and accessed the holographic projector that had been set up in the room. In a few moments, it then uploaded and displayed what I was seeing.

It was a report that I had compiled, specifically upon the next Endbringer slated to attack: Leviathan.

"Taylor," my father asked, and while I could not see it, I knew he was paling at the imagery of the devastation and data that I had put together for this, "What is this? Why are you-"

"I'd also like to know," Jean's voice was cooler, but I could tell she was not exactly happy with this deviation. I couldn't blame her, I was diverting time I could have put towards readying our initial push on this, at least in her opinion, "Just what is the point of this?"

"In thirty-six days, the window of attack for Leviathan is slated to open up," I started, knowing that I had to sell this to both of them, especially Jean, "It is known from past behavior patterns, that about forty-five days before he strikes, he always settles into a position roughly four to eight hours from the intended target. Considering his clocked speed runs around two hundred knots and his known location in the Laurentian Abyss, that places him within striking distance from Quebec City all the way down to Brunswick, Georgia."

I provided a map that showed the red of everywhere it could hit, which, honestly, was quite massive when you thought of the sheer landmass that was vulnerable. It also didn't take into account that Leviathan has been shown to have the capability to move inland, in the case of Lake Ijsellmeer in the Netherlands in 2005. It had completely destroyed the food supply by contaminating the lowlands with salt water in that tragedy. Luckily, there weren't as many viable targets for that strategy, and those that existed were outside of its preferred striking range.

"As much as I hate to say it, but this provides us with a marketing opportunity that cannot be ignored," I finally said, "Even with Mister Gabriel's help in cutting through the bureaucratic red tape necessary to field a new cellular device and requisite network connection, the fact of the matter is, if we want to really get out there, we need to have a major splash that cannot be ignored by anyone. Providing resources to an Endbringer fight, both before and after, is such an opportunity."

"Taylor, that's a rather dangerous mindset to have," my father spoke up after a moment, "I can see what you're getting at, and I do agree. However, the optics of it, I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do. Plus there is the logistics aspect of it. We won't even have the permits to assemble a cellular network to support the Focus network for another month. I know you want to hit the ground running, but we have to start local for this to work. Taking advantage of an Endbringer attack to sell a product is, honestly, bad optics."

His piece said, I turned my head to Jean, whose expression had not changed.

"I do not believe that would be the proper path forward. Yes, you are right that it's an opportunity, but it's an opportunity with far too many risks for what will likely be far too little gain. How many units were you thinking of having produced for this endeavor?"

"About two thousand Ptahs and a thousand Hathors."

While my father sharply inhaled at the figures, Jean's expression hardened as her eyes narrowed. It was evident that she had a problem with what I was suggesting. I knew that meeting those figures would be difficult in the time that we had. We would have to be running our production line non-stop for the entire month without interruption in order to meet that quota. It would be a prohibitively expensive prospect with the material and labor costs, but also the likely bottlenecks we would have to overcome, but it was doable. I had already run the numbers to know this.

Instead, to my own surprise, she shook her head.

"I will give you credit, you don't do anything by half, Taylor. I get why you want to do this, I honestly do. But we have to think about the company first. Right now, we're bleeding money and have no income. Which is fine for a venture capital startup, but it means we're already taking big risks. The last thing we need to be doing right now is stacking even more risks before our first round of sales. What you are planning is putting all our eggs into one basket in a make or break situation and anticipating that if you showcase this technology we'll be able to fast-track sales, but that's not how tech adoption works. Endbringer fights are messy, vicious things, and are not the sort of thing you want to introduce an entirely new system into, even if it's revolutionary, without proper training for all involved. If you rush it out like that, you'll end up killing more people than you would be helping. And we'll be the one paying the price."

I opened my mouth to rebut, but she held up a hand, stalling me.

"Let me finish, Taylor. Please. Your ideas and technology will change the world, don't let yourself think I don't recognize it, but it is also going to make you powerful enemies. They will take one look at what you are trying to do and they will recognize the clear and present danger that you present to their interests."

She paused for a moment, using the time to sip from her water.

"They won't hesitate to destroy you if given the opportunity, Taylor," she continued after placing the glass back on the table, "And setting our remaining cash reserves on fire to literally give away what the world will consider experimental equipment will not shortcut the adoption curb. It will just provide our enemies with the opportunity to strangle Zero Dawn in the cradle. I know you want to do this, but you have to remember it's no longer just you, Taylor. It's Zero Dawn Technologies. We are responsible for nearly four hundred people who are reliant upon you ensuring that they continue to have a good job with good pay and by extension their families. We have to make decisions grounded in what is best for the company. It's no longer a sprint anymore, you have the door open and the money to reach your dream, but you have to understand it has become a marathon and everything has to be weighed and measured to ensure you can go the distance. We cannot afford to spend our future on a hail mary or providing our enemies with the opportunity to lay a shadow on our products with such a blatant and dubious public relations scheme will only make their job easier."

I sat back in the chair, staring at the woman across from me. I certainly hadn't expected such a vociferous response, even if it was Jean. I had expected at least some pushback, it would be wrong not to, but this? This was far beyond what even I predicted.

I wanted to lash out at her, to throw her facts and figures in her face, but a quiet part of me held back the rest. I knew the numbers, front and back. It would cost nearly six million dollars to produce the units and supporting equipment. That didn't take into account the second half of what I had originally planned, which would probably run close to another two to three million. I knew that it would be successful, but I didn't have the evidence to support the notion.

But how would it be successful, the quiet part of me asked, and I found my frown deeping as I mentally reviewed my plans. Only this time, I added Jean's critique to it.

She was right. I was gambling, not because I wanted to, but because I hadto. The issue with everything was that I was trying to take what was essentially technology at least six decades in advance of what existed, and shoehorn it into a communications and logistics system that was held together by shoestrings. I had to force a rapid adoption if I had any chance of succeeding. Without the networks and logistics to support what she intended, then it would take far too long for me to get to where we needed.

But that was the point of this entire scenario. With this, I could create interest in the technology and show the promise and superiority to what existed, then make clear the needs to achieve this.

I paused in my thoughts, glancing over at my father who was quietly watching me. It seemed like he was in tacit agreement with what Jean had said. It was telling how much he was against it by allowing Jean's brutal takedown of my idea without an ounce of protest.

So if this was the wrong path to take, what was the right path? All of my machines needed an intact and powerful network in order to work efficiently. The current 3G networks would be like using phone modems for my technology, it could theoretically do it, but it would be the stuff of nightmares for any sensible engineer. Without the networks, they could run, as long as a nodal hub network existed, but then that created its own fucking problems.

But what was the solution here? We couldn't afford to wait too long to strike, the longer we waited the weaker we became. Jean was right, we were bleeding out, the only difference was the speed in which we exsanguinated.

I looked back to Jean, considering further. If she was so vocal in her opposition, it was highly likely she had her own ideas. The question I had to ask was how would her ideas expand our influence and power?

"What is your idea?" I finally asked.

It was minute, but it did not go without notice how Jean ever-so-slightly relaxed.

"Focus on increasing production capacity on advanced materials. With comparatively minimal machinery and advertising we can sell those to anyone and everyone. That will give us a solid reputation without stepping on too many toes. Well, excluding the biofuel which will cause an absolute storm in the oil and gas industry no matter what we do. More importantly, it will allow us to quickly produce a positive cashflow and solve our most pressing problems. Add to that the increased material demands for rebuilding after an Endbringer attack and we should be able to recoup a significant amount of our expenditures. Furthermore, by doing this, we will be able to expedite getting around the cash and parts bottlenecks for your own initiatives."

Honestly, I was somewhat disappointed by the idea. I mean, I knew what she was intending, and it was a decent plan. It just felt too conservative in my estimation. Sure, the materials we would be able to sell soon would quickly fill our coffers, but it honestly ran against both what I wanted and even the company name. It felt like we were grabbing for the lowest rung and just accepting it as our best.

Taking a deep breath, I then thought about what I could do. She was right, but I felt she was also wrong. She was looking solely at the business aspect, while I was looking at the futures aspect. We could sit here and peddle materials til our faces were blue, but it would not change the world. It may improve it, but that wasn't what I wanted.

I considered exactly what I could do, and the second part to my suggestion. Without the Focus network it could work, but I would have to attack it from a different angle. I'd have to scale it down, but I would also have to be present for most of the time in order to do it, because I would be wading into unknown waters.

But was it doable?

"I have a counteroffer," I finally spoke again, even as I reached up, the augmented reality feeding directly into my brain as I tapped an invisible menu. It opened up another set of folders, and then I fed them into the projector, the data for Leviathan fading away..

"We go with your plan on material productions. You're right, we do need the capital in order to survive, but just being able to produce advanced materials will not provide us the ability to flourish. Merely it would allow us to batten down the hatches and survive until we are ready to make a splash. That could take years, Jean, and I'm not sure that with the way things are going we can afford to take that time."

"What are you talking about, Taylor? You've already agreed that the Focus won't work," her father interjected, his confusion evident in his expression. However, I wasn't focusing my attention upon him, I knew with the right pressure I could get him to capitulate to my way. His expression suddenly changed as he began to put together what I was suggesting, "Wait…"

No, what mattered right now was Jean and her reaction.

"You're really going to do it," she half-asked, half-stated exasperatedly, "I thought you wanted to wait on this."

I shook my head, "You're right, Jean. I was looking at it from the wrong perspective. I wanted to make the splash to put the system together quickly, but that won't work if we don't have a necessary reason for the network to exist. We can siphon off some of the material production and a few of the molds and printers and it will not have a dramatic impact upon your idea."

"Taylor–," my father tried to say.

I ignored him as I reached with my hand to the AR display and 'slid' the file with my hand to the right, authorizing a command to send the file to the projectors and display it for all of us to see.

I had decided to keep their names, at least in my head. I knew that it was likely to change, as the public would likely wish to change their names or give them different descriptions. I knew that I wanted to, to move away from that disturbingly tribalistic manner in which they were named. But for internal reasons, I had given them this name, I would let public relations figure out what to do going forward.

ZDLM-001A Red Eye

ZDLM-002A Charger

ZDLM-003A Burrower

ZDLM-004A Scrapper

ZDLM-005T/CC Titan

The only name that I had deigned to change had been the Titan. Previously, my power had identified it as the Behemoth, but I was keen to avoid creating that kind of stir. Nothing good could come from naming a machine after one of the Endbringers.

Each letter had a meaning in the designation. In the case of ZDLM, it meant Zero Dawn Land Machine, with the number providing the chassis model number designation. The final part, the latter, in this case, denoted its designed role: A for Acquisition, T for Transport, and CC for Communications/Command.

The Titan, in this case, was a far different machine than the Behemoth chassis I had based it upon. It had been an exercise in alternative thinking and solutions that I had toyed with over a week ago. I had set it aside because it had rankled at my own feelings on the matter, it felt like I was admitting that I was going to fail setting up a network before I had even a chance.

At its core, the idea was to create a mobile command and control machine that could serve as a standalone node in regions where I may not have the ability to provide network coverage for machines.

A stripped-down Behemoth chassis that discarded its gravity manipulation technology, because frankly I did not see that tech being producible for at least another year or two (and even then I wanted to keep that extremely close to my chest) and other defensive systems could fulfill that role. The space saved could then be repurposed to mount the most advanced communications suite in the world and the transportation container could house the servers necessary to fulfill a command role.

It wasn't a perfect setup, it wouldn't have any of the defensive technologies a Tallneck had, and it was, quite honestly, a seat of the pants modification that just invited something to go wrong and, as a result, would require constant monitoring at first. It would also be the most difficult of the machines listed to put together in a month, but it could be done. Honestly, a small part of me had preened at the fact that I had designed the modification, as it was something quite different from simply being provided the information, even if the greater part of me had despised the admission that putting out the Focus first could be a failure.

Now it seemed that the exercise could pay off.

"Taylor, what is this?"

I glanced at my father, and I took the time to take in my fathers expression. While I could not see it, I knew he was likely pale at what was being displayed. I hadn't truly shared with him just how far my knowledge and skill went, but on the other hand, he had never truly asked the right questions.

Or maybe it was because I was afraid I knew exactly what his response would be if he truly knew, I thought sadly. My father was a decent, but flawed man, and despite his best efforts, and god I knew he was trying, he was a man in over his head. You took him beyond his comfort zone and he floundered. But what I was seeing was more than that.

What I was seeing was fear. I'd honestly never seen him so fearful in my life.

"It's the future," I finally said, unable to keep the sadness from my tone as I realized what I was seeing. I could never discard my father, I don't think I could live with myself if I did that. In spite of everything, he had been there for me when I desperately needed it, he had made sacrifices for me to get to this point. He could have drowned himself in his self-loathing and depression at the cruel world, but he didn't.

But I was legitimately afraid that I may not be the one making that choice. There was only so much that could be pushed before something had to give. And I was terribly afraid I was reaching that.

"Go on, Taylor," Jean spoke, cutting off whatever my father was going to say, and I took a deep breath and released it, trying to regain control of my nerves that left me feeling only a gnawing pit of despair in my gut...

Was this what Elizabet in my dreams felt when she had declared that the human race would be extinct in less than two years because of one colossal fuck up? No, I was trivializing something far worse than a guilty conscience and fear of something outside of my control, I thought with more than a hint of bitterness.

Still felt like absolute shit.

"What you are looking at is what I call a Light Rescue Lance, or LRL," I started, trying to keep the bile threatening to rise in my gorge as I kept my father in my vision, but to the side, various emotions warring on his face, "It is designed to go into disaster areas and provide search and rescue services at a higher efficiency and lesser asset distribution so more focus can be shifted elsewhere. It would consist of four Red Eyes, two Burrowers, a Scrapper, and a Charger. Each machine is designed to fulfill a role, Red Eyes with their sensor suites can detect people needing rescue, Burrowers to either dig out or reach victims, Scrapper to help in removing large debris, and the Charger serves as refueler for the other machines. The Titan will serve as a command and communications hub, since my original design template assumed that the necessary Focus network to link the machines into would already exist. By my estimation, with the materials we currently have, we can produce all nine of these machines in thirty-two days, with a cost running about one-point-two-six million dollars altogether."

The silence was deafening from both Jean and my father. I knew it was certainly not what they were expecting, nor do I think they expected the price for it to be so low. But Jean had done me a favor by bulk-purchasing most of the materials I would need to pull this off, with the various printers and molds, it was just a matter of changing what they had to do on the floor. As a result, the cost could be minimized to largely the cost of material that already is in stock, alongside the man-hours to complete the work.

What I wasn't expecting, however, was the way my dad's head snapped towards Jean in sudden dawning realization.

"You knew about this," he hissed angrily at her as he shot to his feet, hands curled into fists. I started to rise myself, as I knew that we were one step away from him truly losing himself to his anger.

"I thought you did," Jean responded, her expression perplexed as she looked between my father and myself. I knew she was putting together the truth of the matter, but if she said anything it could only incense him further.

"No," I spoke, cutting off the angry rebuttal about to leap from my father's lips, "I didn't. Please, Dad, sit down."

Jean looked between the two of us, as I was stared down by my father. I wish I knew what was going on in his head. I had a good inkling, because what I had done was a betrayal at least from his perspective.

"Maybe I should–."

"No, Jean. Please stay," I cut her off, keeping my stare straight on my father. I could only hope that he would sit down. Because I knew that if he stormed out right now, all of the progress we made between the two of us would be gone, likely never to be restored.

Maybe it was something on my expression, or maybe it was something else, but slowly, almost like a glacier moving, he lowered himself back into his seat. I released a breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I began, trying to find the right words to express to him even an iota of the sincere guilt that I felt for all of this, I had been so occupied on whether or not I could achieve my objectives, that I never stopped to ask myself if I should. It was my own hubris that led to this.

"I know I should have told you this before," I continued, even as I struggled to find just exactly what to say, and when I couldn't find it, I sighed. There was no point in trying put it lightly, I had already kept the truth away from him for too long.

"Fuck it," I breathed, "the reason I haven't told you any of this is because I don't know how to explain it, Dad. I mean, how can I even start? Hey Dad, you know my Focus, yeah, that's not even the tip of the iceberg. The better question to ask me is what I can't create," I pointed towards my head, "When I told you I could change the world, it was not hyperbole, hell, if anything, I was underselling it all. I am a walking, talking, point of multiple technological singularities. You want to restore the Earth? Give me twenty years and I will turn the entirety of the Earth into a garden world that would make the Garden of Eden look like a backyard vanity project, and I wouldn't even be breaking a sweat. Reach the stars? You give me a decade and I can field ships that can reach Sirius in less than thirty years after their launch. What about nearly limitless power? That's a fucking Tuesday. You want functional imm-," I violently cut myself off, recognizing at what I had almost let slip.

Taking a deep breath I tried once again to collect myself, but frankly I felt only more frayed than I was before. Instead, I slowly lowered myself back in my chair, keeping Jean in my sidegaze even as I cast a considerable focus upon my father. I wondered if she had caught my little slip and just what she would think about it.

Honestly, my feelings were mixed on the idea of functional immortality. On one hand, it would quite possible allow humanity to flourish far beyond its current status, but on the other hand, the moralistic and sociological implications were the stuff of nightmares. It most certainly did not help that the origin of that knowledge stemmed from narcissistic sociopaths who had damned humanity in their greed.

Releasing the aforementioned breath, all of my energy seemed to escape me as I slumped in my chair. All I felt was the raw emotion beckoning to escape, as all of my private frustrations and personal reflections seemed to have finally found an exit vector. Unfortunately, it just had to be now.

"The reason I could never tell you," I continued finally after he had also slumped in his chair, cradling his head in his hands, "Is because I don't know where to start. I want to change the world, I know I have to change the world, but I have to also ensure that what I do will end in a net positive for humanity," I couldn't help but laugh bitterly, "The funny thing is that futurists really never tell you how exactly that a technological point of singularity is akin to playing God while dancing on a knife's edge. The only difference is I am fully aware of what fucking up looks like if something goes wrong, and I'm also burdened with the knowledge of what our society will look like if we don't start taking significant action within the next eight years."

I honestly wished I knew exactly what to say to reach out to him. I hated that we had to reach ahead in this manner. I wanted the Father that had been there with me since the day I lost my sight in what seemed a lifetime ago: An awkward, broken man who found the courage and energy to still try his best for his daughter.

Instead, the silence that greeted me only felt more oppressive, as slowly my father straightened himself back in his chair. Instead he said nothing for what seemed like an eternity.

"And what does that look like," Jean's soft voice took me away from my vigil upon my father as I turned towards her, her expression closed off. Maybe I had made a mistake in not clearing the room for the two of us, but it seemed like it was far too late for that. Or maybe it was right to air everything here and now, and let everything fall where they may.

"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."

The resultant silence was about what I expected. After all, just what would you expect if you a fifteen-year-old blind girl 'genius' declared that the human race would become functionally extinct before she was able to collect Social Security. I was not sure if I was going to be believed, but frankly, I had no idea exactly how I was supposed to connect with my father and explain to him why I needed to do this. If the LRL concept could gain traction, then I could fast-track other initiatives, like larger machines and even the Focus. "One of the most critical aspects of society was the ability to communicate and transport materials, and if I could prop up those two long enough, then the statistical probability of canceling the apocalypse increases."

Still, I felt like a doomsayer by even sharing this. I hadn't wanted to, but I wasn't going to hide the fact and what drove me in this case. Maybe it would change minds, maybe it wouldn't, but unless the information was out there, it was akin to handicapping the truth.

"I think we should all take a break," Jean finally spoke, being the first to collect herself. I couldn't bear to look at my father, not out of any spite, but because I honestly did not want to see his reaction. I feared that it may just break what tenuous link we still had if I did.

"I..think that would be wise," the respondent croak of my father's voice was enough for me to know that what I had said had hit home. But what was disconcerting was as I finally looked to him he wore the most blank expression I had ever seen. He had always been easy to read, but right now, I couldn't tell what he was thinking or even feeling, "We'll reconvene this afternoon, say around four?"

Both of them looked at me, and I merely offered a nod, "I agree."

---

AEH​

---

Danny

How did I miss it, he thought to himself as he took a long pull from a chilled bottle of beer, allowing the sensation of the lager working its way to his digestive tract taking an edge off of already turbulent thoughts. The added scenery of the water of the Bay served as a balm for what were already wrought emotions he had thought he had buried.

He already knew the answer to the question, as much as he hated to admit it. He had chosen to ignore his growing suspicions because he didn't want to know the answer. No, that was an unfair summation, it wasn't that he didn't want to know, it's that he didn't know how he could handle it.

Taylor had always been an intelligent child, something that she had thankfully taken from her mother, but what had happened to her this year had only honed that edge into something more profound that he had become fearful of.

His daughter was just like Annette…No, that was wrong, he took a small sip from the bottle. He was being unfair to the both of them by making the comparison. And maybe that was why he was fearful, not just of his daughter, but for his daughter.

Setting the bottle down beside him, he let his legs hang over the edge of the dock, the quiet of the waves, the sound of the gulls providing the only necessary accompaniment to his maudlin thoughts.

Annette had understood her limitations. She had known when and where to draw the line, it was those instincts that saved her from the blowback against Lustrum. It was those instincts that had made her realize that she was ill-fitted to be an activist. She had been intelligent, yes, but she lacked the charisma and emotional detachment needed to be a good leader. So instead, she turned to what she could do best, instead of trying a direct route, she had fulfilled her want to change the system by cultivating students who could carry the torch that she could not.

He wasn't sure that his daughter even understood the concept of limitations. Even when suffering a setback she railed against it, seeking a new way to overcome the mountain. If she had to escalate, then so be it. All that mattered to her was the need to succeed.

Sighing, he picked up the bottle again, choosing to polish off the remainder of the dark liquid that was becoming warmer.

No, he knew that Taylor had been hiding something. He had helped raise her after all, but he also knew that pushing her would alienate and put at risk their relationship. They had been making strides, especially with things how they were, but you couldn't magically heal four years of neglect quickly. So, he had put his head in the sand, somehow convincing himself that whatever Taylor was hiding, she would eventually share with him, and they would both laugh at how trivial it really was.

The problem was that it certainly wasn't a fucking trivial secret.

'God, how could I have missed it so badly," he thought to himself, his hand tightening around the neck of the bottle as that familiar Hebert anger reared its ugly head.

He wasn't even sure where to begin in this morass. Taylor's rant about what she knew and could do was one thing with it's own bag of issues, but probably more terrifying was the fact that his daughter, at fifteen years old, had calculated the end of the human fucking race. He didn't know whether to laugh at the insanity of it, or sob at the knowledge that his daughter had knowingly spent time delving into such a depressing subject in order to augment an argument.

It was so quintessentially Annette it fucking hurt, he thought as a laugh burbled from his mouth.

He had been stupid, both in ignoring it, but also letting it build to this point. He couldn't excuse his actions or behaviors, and he certainly could not forget how vulnerable his daughter had looked when he had chosen to make his disagreement clear. How she was afraid of what he was going to say. It hurt.

But what was his disagreement? Hell, he didn't even fucking know, for fuck's sake. Yes, he was goddamn afraid, not of her, but fucking for her. How the fuck could he not express that to her? Hell, he couldn't even blame Jean in all of this, she hadn't realized that he hadn't known. How fucking humiliating was that? That the father and vice president was as much in the fucking dark as a goddamn intern at the wild ideas bouncing around in both his boss and his daughter's head.

Taylor was going to do what she felt was right. It didn't matter if it went against conventional thinking or against the grain of some other fucking thing, she'd do it and to hell with anyone else. The fact that she had been willing to even listen to others for their opinion was a miracle in and of itself, Annette could never have fucking done that if it was one of her darling subjects.

Just where could he stand in all of this, for that matter? How could he even fucking convey how he was afraid for her? She had made it abundantly clear that these machines she had revealed were only the beginning. Just how far did that fucking go? And just how long could she continue this before eventually she ran into resistance?

He sighed as it finally clicked into place.

Lustrum. That's why he was so up in arms. It was Lustrum all fucking over again.

He hadn't been part of it, for obvious reasons, but Annette had never shied away from telling him what had gone on during her time with them. At least until Taylor was born, after that, they had both agreed to not discuss it around her. It wasn't a matter of shame as even he had understood why Lustrum had taken a stance, but it had been something they just believed should be left in the past as it would create inconvenient questions.

But at the core of it, Lustrum had pushed too far, too fast, and when they failed to get the recognition and momentum that she wanted to affect change, they became violent. It was a tale as old as time for any activist group that could not achieve relevance. The only difference between them had been Lustrum herself, The Protectorate and PRT had decided to make an example of her and threw her in the Birdcage, because she had ceased being an irritant to powers-that-be, and had become a problem.

This was the same path Taylor was going down. Jean was right, right now, Zero Dawn, and by extension, Taylor, were unknowns. Sure, they got a few articles written about how a Tinker was receiving a rather large investment, but other than that, she was not even a footnote to those who wielded power.

But if she did this, it most certainly would create an interest. In the end, it inevitably wouldn't matter how much good she was doing, those zealous in the retention of their power and wealth would recognize that Taylor was a problem, and they would render upon her what they had previously done to Lustrum.

It didn't matter if the machines she produced saved hundreds, or even thousands, of people. It didn't matter if her machines were innocuous and cute. It didn't matter if what she could offer to the world could turn back all of the setbacks to society. All it would take was one incident, one misstep, and they would have their cause célèbre to eliminate the problem and return back to their cherished status quo. The less said about those who would attempt to worm their way into her graces in order to 'guide' her the better.

"Fuck," he breathed. He knew exactly how that would go, unlike Annette, who would relent if she felt it was not worth it, Taylor couldn't, and quite honestly, if she had the choice, she wouldn't either. She was a woman on a mission, she knew exactly what would result if she did not succeed.

It was going to be a war, and frankly, that was honestly the most terrifying aspect of all of this. He wasn't sure exactly how it would go down, but he knew that his daughter would not yield as long as she had willingness to fight.

Which led all the way back to what she was hiding from him. He couldn't help her if he didn't know, but he wasn't sure if she would be at all willing to even talk to him after what had happened.

No, there was a way. But it was an option just as unpalatable as doing nothing. No, he was being unfair, it was unpalatable, but it did not compare to the idea of losing his fucking daughter over a goddamn disagreement.

He had no choice, did he? If he did this, he would be providing the fuse to start all of this, regardless of whether he wanted to or not. The only way he could even attempt to restore something between them was to support her, even if it would put her into the very danger he feared would consume her.

Could he do it? That he wasn't sure of. No, that was a damnable lie, he just didn't want to fucking admit it and be responsible for it. Maybe he could try and talk some sense into his daughter, but there was a better chance of hell freezing over and the Cubs winning the World Series than being able to change his daughter's course.

Before that, it'd probably be prudent to at least talk to Jane before the meeting. Maybe she had an idea of what could be done. He also didn't think that she would serve as an obstacle either, he had seen the interest lurking in her gaze. But, it wouldn't hurt to even try.

He was ripped from his thoughts by his phone going off, causing him to reach into his pocket and retrieve it. He had the device, but he had no choice but to have it because of his position and role. Frowning over Kurt's name on the caller ID, he flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

"Danny, you need to get back here. The PRT, Protectorate, Police, and fucking CPS just all walked in."

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.3

Taylor

Earlier

Settling in an office chair far too luxurious for my tastes, I removed my Focus from its place in the side of my head and onto its charging cradle.

Enveloped in the darkness from whence I had become a welcome escape as of late. I wasn't brooding, I wasn't that shallow, but being bereft of vision provided a meditative focus that gave me a clarity that previously escaped me. It was honestly hilarious that in my disfiguration I would find a sense of enlightenment that I may never have discovered otherwise.

Surrounded by darkness and enveloped in the soft hum of the various computers, servers, and machines in my workspace was like a balm on my soul at this moment as I propped my chin on the knuckles of my hand.

The meeting had certainly not gone how I had expected or even wanted. I wouldn't say that it went catastrophically bad. It just was…bad. I had made mistakes in my hubris, both in thinking I could run roughshod with my idea, but I forgot the basic tenet of any business mindset: Ideas are good, but are they serviceable? It had been an amateurish mistake on my part, I should have thought harder on it instead of being fixated on the promise of the Focus line.

But what I wasn't going to do was dwell upon my father's disapproval. As far as I was concerned, it was a matter that had to be done. Was I an asshole for not neglecting to inform him? Yes. There was no way around it. But I had done it out of a sense of caution, nothing more, nothing less. Well, that and plausible deniability for him.

Jean was right, though. I couldn't dispute that. It was too soon, and the demand was not there to pay for the necessary network infrastructure in order for the idea to propagate. Again, amateurish, I had dismissed the forest for the trees.

But like a shark, I had to keep swimming or this idea would drown. I couldn't have the Focus, it was too soon to be truly viable, but what I could do was push up the timetable for the first generation of Machines. I knew it would be pushing the envelope, because I would have to make compromises on the materials within the designs. But it was actionable, and it would provide us with a flagship product that no one else could offer.

Yet, like the Focus before it, it created its own problem, only, ironically enough, the inverse of the problem to begin with. Unlike the Focus, energy demands to produce the materials to assemble the Machines would be significantly higher than an assembly line for the Focus.

There was a solution to the energy situation, but it invited its own set of problems.

I have been working on solving those problems. However, it took more than a dozen scientific and engineering papers published under a pseudonym to fix an issue that has been wrought by three decades of neglect. The advent of Tinker's had stunted the growth of energy and engineering sectors, too many companies and agencies taking the Tinker's technology as the cheaper alternative to dumping vast sums of monies into studies and grants that may never amount to anything. This was no more evident than in the nuclear energy.

But probably the final nail in that coffin had been Behemoth itself. Several times, the Endbringer had gone out of its way to attack nuclear reactor facilities, leaving the resultant land irradiated wastelands. It was both the Tinker aspect, and Behemoth, that the nuclear energy sector was living on life support.

I had several solutions for it, all different and based upon scale of supply, but it took time to establish the foundation to introduce it. And I had to do it carefully, as even I understood that there would be interests who had invested heavily into alternative energy sources that would not be keen to the revival of the nuclear industry. But nuclear was the only solution that had long-term sustainability for the future I envisioned.

But the most important feature was that they had to be safe. I wouldn't say they would be Behemoth-proof, but the Endbringer would be hard-pressed to repeat to recreate its usual party favor. And that was what mattered, even if I ignored the superior energy production and lower material costs.

I briefly considered the jump straight to cold fusion, maybe even antimatter. But as tempting as it was, I knew that it would be too far at this juncture. The world wasn't ready for that large of an upheaval, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to trust it to them either, especially with antimatter. It wouldn't take much to weaponize the material, and the last thing the world needed was another tool to kill one another.

No, if I was going to release a nuclear power source, it'd have to be a Thorium breeder reactor. That way it was safe, molten salt was nearly impossible to detonate and self sealed the radioactive material if you broke it open manually, but it could also sustain itself a lot better than currently existing reactors. Additionally, the United States also had a ready supply of Thorium necessary for the process, compared to the more rare Uranium.

All in all, it was a good idea, the only problem returned back to if it could be pulled off. I know I had the papers out there, but it wasn't enough to rekindle an interest in nuclear energy. The only methods I could possibly pursue was to either push out more papers with minimal gain. Or I actually produce a blueprint and start fishing with it.

That meant involving the Department of Energy, I thought with a grimace. I could probably leverage Jean to help with that aspect. But I had a feeling I knew how she was going to react to this idea. I knew I probably had her on board with the LRL, but a nuclear reactor design? I mean, it would make Zero Dawn money if it was embraced, but it would be the type of uphill battle that would cause migraines for her.

I sighed, reaching out for my Focus. It did me no good to dwell upon it, either I did it or not. And well, the world couldn't improve if I was doing nothing.

My vision flooded with the data provided by my Focus. It had ceased being jarring to switch between seeing nothing and seeing everything, but it was still a heady experience even now to see again. Reaching up with my hand, I 'tapped' an executable in my augmented reality to open the music player that linked to my workshop. That finished, I then selected a playlist that I knew that if Dad were to hear, he'd give me an earful at my 'poor' tastes and hit play.

As Metallica from Earth Aleph started blasting through the speakers I took a deep breath before selecting a folder named "Hatshepsut" and opening its contents.

Alright. Let's get to work.

---

AEH​

---

That should be it, I thought to myself as I finished verbally dictating a final few notes to the blueprint for the Thorium breeder reactor. One of the advantages of the Focus and Sobek was that it allowed me to both use voice commands and dictation, making the effort of drawing up blueprints infinitely easier than using something as stiff and unforgiving as any run-of-the-mill CAD. What would have taken weeks now could be counted in days with my setup.

The voice command system was still rudimentary, as I was still working on Sobek, but it was something that I honestly could not do without. It made things easier, and I didn't have to wear my arms out constantly manipulating the augmented reality for it to work.

The only issue I had was that I had to adjust the overall design to match the currently existing material sciences. It wasn't a difficult endeavor, just time consuming, as I had to change up several other points in order to ensure that it worked well. I could introduce the actual materials for the design, but the issue then ran into the fact that additional questions would be asked of the design. It was better to adjust to what existed, and what could easily be tweaked than trying to add additional earthshaking developments.

But, it was done, for the most part. All that would need to be done was to submit a query to the Department of Energy and see if there was a response. I wasn't dumb enough to transmit the actual blueprint, that would just invite for someone to actually steal it. But if there was no response, well there were other ways to skin a cat.

"Mark file as Hatshepsut One. Copy blueprint and create new file. Title Hatshepsut Two," I murmured, watching as Sobek did as I commanded. If I was going to do the 'dumbed down' version, I could at least retain the 'complete' version as well. Reinstating the advanced materials led to a few minor changes in how it processed fuel, stripped out the steam loop in favor of thermoelectric and radioelectric power generation and shrunk the entire system till it could fit in a shipping container.

A small blinking in the right of my vision caused me to frown. Someone was trying to hack into my lab. Reaching out with my left hand, I 'touched' the warning icon, and 'pulled' the warning, watching as it came to the forefront, showing the rather amateurish attempt to hardhack the security code, and the security camera that provided me a look at who was doing it.

"Protectorate, huh," I murmured with a frown. Honestly, I had expected this sooner or later. Call it a gut feeling, but I was a nail that needed hammering in this game of capes and villains. The fact that it was the Protectorate instead of one of the gangs was rather concerning.

Still, it was something that Jean and I had discussed in the past. She had been worried about the Protectorate making a move over any of the local villain groups. And while I did understand where she was coming from, I felt that after my interview with Armsmaster, it would be the gangs that did something stupid.

Nonetheless, we had discussed what to do in that event. By the looks of how they were not fully kitted up for action, this wasn't a raid. No, it was likely they were here to check out just what I was working on. Nothing too concerning, but it was rather short-sighted. There were too many legal landmines that they were hazarding into by doing this.

But hey, it wasn't my job to ensure that they didn't commit to stupid.

I watched as my father walked up to them, looking suitably pissed. My heart lurched slightly at the sight, both in shame of what had taken place in the meeting, but also comfort that he still seemed to be there for me. With a slight flick of my eyes I accessed the microphone, authorizing it to feed it straight through the Focus and into my brain instead of through the speakers.

Listening to them threaten him changed my irritation to fury. It took all of my effort not to just block off my father's security override to my lab as a giant fuck you to Triumph. But as gratifying as seeing the asshole be inconvenienced further, I knew it would only get my father in trouble, or it may make the Protectorate and PRT do something even more stupid, like breach my lab.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, I slowly released it, cooling my furor. No Taylor, don't do anything stupid or illegal. Skirt the line, fine, but don't cross it. That'd only provide them with the ammunition to make my life a living hell.

Yeah, I was going to make them miserable. They wanted to play fuck-fuck games, they could win fuck-fuck prizes, as one of my father's union guys once said.

With a smirk, I reached up to my AR display and adjusted the music volume loud enough to make my ears ring.

---

AEH​

---

Kid Win

It was with a sense of purpose that Christopher Siopis strode through Zero Dawn Technology's concourse, all the while he worked to keep his nervousness from Triumph and the team of technicians that they were escorting from being evident.

This was finally his chance to prove himself. Director Piggot was depending upon him to do this job and he couldn't afford to fuck this up.

He still couldn't believe that the Director was putting so much faith in him. When she had called him into her office yesterday, he'd thought he was in trouble for something. Especially after Armsmaster's very vocal opposition to his Alternator Cannon. He'd been afraid that Piggot was only going to pile on, ignoring that he had finally had a breakthrough.

Instead, she had spent over an hour with him just talking. He had been taken aback that the Director, probably the hardest woman he had ever met, was actually asking him how he was doing in school, if the medication that was being provided for him was helping. It had honestly been touching that she had shown concern for his circumstances.

It had only been after that time that she had changed subjects and had asked him about his future, shocking him even further. He had admitted that he was more focused upon finishing up his Alternator Cannon (which Piggot had actually been interested in!), but if he had the choice, he wanted to remain with the Protectorate when he graduated from the Wards.

It was then that things took a turn, even as the Director had said that the way he was developing, he would not only have a prime pick of a position within the Protectorate, but that he could even have Armsmaster's position if he continued his growth. It had honestly surprised him, but Piggot had actually explained that Tinkers were always in high demand and were valued within the Protectorate, because the technology they could develop could be an overall gamechanger. Something like his Alternator Cannon, if constructed and deployed correctly, could make a difference in an Endbringer fight.

He had been shocked, and he had said so, telling the Director that Armsmaster had told him that the design was a waste of time. The resultant reaction from her had also been somewhat of a shock. Not only had she been irritated by what he told her, but then she had admitted to him that it was likely that Armsmaster was going to be demoted.

Suffice to say, the idea that Armsmaster being demoted had left him stunned for a good minute. The idea that the man who had been a fixture in Brockton Bay for as long as he could remember and he looked up to, despite the recent trouble, was something that was hard to grasp. It was only after he had been able to gather himself that he asked her why.

In hindsight, he wished he hadn't. Piggot had admitted that they had reason to believe that he was compromised. They had found during an investigation that he had likely withheld information regarding a Tinker that he had been tasked to review. When he was asked to clarify upon these oversights, he had dismissed their concerns, insisting that his analysis was correct and the Protectorate was overreacting.

It had been sobering, especially when he had confirmed his own suspicions that the Tinker in question was the very one whose tech Armsmaster had been analyzing when he had walked in. When he had admitted that to the Director, she had thanked him, as that would help further evidence at possible impropriety from the Protectorate commander.

When he had asked the Director for the name of the Tinker, she had easily provided it to him. Taylor Hebert. He didn't know her, but he did find it strange that she didn't seem to have a cape name. When he voiced those thoughts, the Director had agreed upon the strangeness of it, but noted that it was likely a ploy to muddle the legal waters in order to provide legitimacy to her actions.

He could still remember his anger at it. Those actions, in his opinion, were not the sort of thing you would expect from a hero. But even worse was his mentor, the hypocrisy of the man, barely giving him the time of day and when he did, he dismissed him, but working with a non-hero was fine? It was his fault he was under investigation as much as the blame also fell upon Hebert. If what she was doing could entice Armsmaster, why wasn't she trying to work for the Protectorate? It was obvious that she was likely a villain.

What can I do?, he asked her, because he wanted to. Maybe he couldn't do anything, but he didn't want to sit there and do nothing. Not when this Tinker was doing all of this to a place he considered a home away from home.

Piggot had honestly seemed taken aback at his question, at least that was his feeling. It actually felt good that he could do something to surprise the normally dour and caustic Director.

It was then she told him that there was a planned inspection of the Zero Dawn facilities. Considering Armsmaster's malfeasance stemmed from his actions with Taylor Hebert, they were down a Tinker who could provide legitimacy to any inspection on what was going on at Zero Dawn. She hadn't even been able to finish what she was saying before he volunteered, once again surprising the older woman.

This had been his chance after all. Armsmaster was on his way out, and this was an opportunity he'd be an idiot not to take. Plus, he could get a look at whatever Hebert was making, and if it was a problem, well, he could impress the Director with his report. And to show Armsmaster he was wrong about him would only be icing on the cake.

Now he was not so sure, but he wasn't going to screw up, as he moved through the building, a team of technicians and PRT Officers with him. They already knew exactly where Hebert's workshop was, thanks to a few tips. While he would have preferred Miss Militia with him, it just wasn't to be as she was tasked with supporting the team that would be going to the administrative offices of the company. It was viewed that her diplomatic skills would be better needed there.

Triumph was not a bad alternative. He had worked with Rory in the past, and he knew that he was a solid help in the event that Hebert caused issues. From what they knew about the Tinker, she didn't have much of anything built outside of her visual systems, so Rory was a perfect counter to the teen.

Still, it couldn't help his nerves at the looks that they were getting from the various workers that had spotted them marching through. There was a tension in the air as they stared at them out, a sense that if something went wrong that they would find themselves on the receiving end of the workers ire. They had only been stopped once, and had firmly told the middle-aged woman that she was interfering with an inspection, she had relented, but not without a few caustic words.

It was almost like walking into an Empire rally, he thought with a hint of nervousness.

But they reached their destination, Triumph coming to a stop at the door with no door handle. Immediately, he recognized what it was, judging by the flat pad with a card swipe on the side. The doors themselves looked brand-new, and one of the technicians had murmured that it was likely Tinkertech judging by the sheen and the design.

"Jenkins," Triumph looked back to them, and the tech stepped forward as summoned, reaching into his backpack and retrieving a device before attaching it to the security panel. He then fiddled with it a bit, the paneling lighting up on the device, and then fiddled with a bit more, his expression becoming focused as his frown deepened. He then adjusted something on it, only to get no reward for the actions. The door refused to open in spite of a Tinkertech device designed to slice security-locked doors.

"What is it," Triumph asked, his own expression becoming a frown.

"I don't know," Jenkins almost whined, messing with the device further, "It should be working, but the device keeps coming back with an error. Which shouldn't be possible. This design has been used in several different branches without a failure."

"Make note of that," Triumph ordered, looking to the door, then back to what they had. He then looked back past them and his mouth firmed back from a frown into a thin line, causing himself to follow the Protectorate member's gaze to a man who was storming towards them.

It was a tall thin man with glasses, his receding hair only serving to highlight the reddening of his face, both from exertion but also barely restrained fury. His attire suggested upper management, but the style was less formal and more designed to be able to comfortably work in, like the man couldn't decide on one design and worked towards a compromise between management and floor work.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing," the man demanded, coming to a stop before them.

"This is an inspection, Mister Hebert," Triumph declared, even as his body shifted, looking ready to start a fight with the other man.

"Last time I checked the Protectorate and PRT neither had the license or authority to perform any inspection of a company or facility. Do you have a warrant?"

"You're incorrect, Mister Hebert. Doctor Wily v Protectorate establishes that it is within the Protectorate's power to inspect and audit any Tinkertech facility without warrant in the pursuit of public safety. As Zero Dawn Technology CEO and Head of Research and Development is a known Tinker, this places the responsibility upon us to ensure that there is no public threat. Hence, this inspection."

"Rather large group for an inspection," was the other man's wry statement, "I also find it strange that not only are you here, but I also have the BBPD and Child Protective Services rooting round my administration building."

"It's merely a coincidence," Triumph's terse response, though the tone in which he took it caused him to think that maybe the Protectorate member was stretching the truth, but he kept his mouth shut, it'd be something he'd ask later, "Now, I am here with Kid Win and my colleagues to inspect Miss Hebert's facilities and devices. You can either provide us with access to these facilities, or I can have you charged with obstruction by interfering with an official government inspection. It is your choice."

For a moment, he thought the older man would resist, and there was a small part of him that hoped for it. He may not know all of the laws and rules, but he knew that if Mister Hebert resisted, then it opened up so many more options on what could and could not be done. It had been beaten into his head by Miss Militia this morning that they were 'inspecting' and not raiding, but there was a dark part of him that hoped it would turn into a raid.

Unfortunately, it seemed that opportunity would not be provided here, as Mister Hebert grabbed his ID badge that was clipped to his shirt, "You'll have to remove your device," the older man growled.

"Give me the ID badge," Triumph demanded, holding out his hand.

"Sure," was the snarked comeback, "Even with the badge you still can't get in. Access to this room requires an ID badge and biometric authentication. But you go on ahead," he held the card out, "have at it. I need some entertainment."

Triumph stared at Hebert for a moment, before glancing at Jenkins who was still fiddling with the door, to no avail. All the while, he had to wonder just what was so important that they would go to such great lengths to protect a room. Just what was it that they were hiding.

"Jenkins, any luck," Triumph asked.

"No. Whatever security they are using, I can't crack it."

A moment of silence passed, before Triumph seemed to contemplate, before he then nodded towards Hebert.

"Fine, you can open it."

"Thank you," with that, Hebert strode past them, coming to the door and inserting his card into the panel, before placing his right hand flat on it. There was a soft chime, before the heavy door opened inwards, and they were bombarded with extremely loud music.

Pushing Hebert aside, Triumph stormed into the room, and he followed, eyes already drinking in as he tried to put a name to the music. It was rock, but older than what he was familiar with. What he did know was that it was grating on his nerves even as he took in the room they entered.

Jealousy surged through him as he looked around the room. All around him was the type of workplace he could barely dream of. There wasn't anywhere in the Northeast that he was aware of that could manage to compare to. Even New York would struggle to compare.

And in the middle of it all, surrounded by dozens of holograms, was Taylor Hebert. Her back was currently to them, but her arms were moving as she was conducting the music, but the holograms that ran up the side of the wall changed with every single motion. At the center of it was some sort of vessel, and he felt himself drawn into it as he tried to figure out what it was.

"Miss Hebert," Triumph's voice rang out, but it was no use as it was still drowned out by the music. Realizing that, the member of the Protectorate stormed forward and placed his hand on the girl's shoulder, almost yanking her around to look at him.

It was now that he got a good look at her and suffice to say she cut a different figure than what he expected. She was awkwardly thin, even for a teenager, her hair cut into a pixy style, which clashed with the school photo that they had that showed long hair. But the most striking thing was her face and eyes, the way skin seemed to be discolored in some places and lightly melted in others. It was the eyes, however, that were the most striking, pale brownish orbs that seemed to track them regardless of the fact that he knew they were blind. On the right side of her head was a glowing circle haloed over a triangle attached right in front of her ear.

She stared at them a moment, before she raised her hand to chest level, causing both Triumph and himself to stiffen, before slowly slashing it outwards, and the music stopped.

"Gentlemen," she greeted, her eyes roving between the two of them, "How may I help you?"

To be fair, if he expected anything, it wasn't this sort of bald fearlessness. There was not a single sign of fear, or even trepidation in her expression. Instead, she almost looked amused that they were here. It was rather strange in his opinion, but he kept his mouth closed and instead found his attention being drawn back to whatever was being displayed behind her.

"This is an inspection, Miss Hebert," Triumph declared, "you are to provide us access to your technology and computers in order to ascertain that they are not a threat to the general public. If you will hand over the device you are currently wearing, we can begin."

"Okay," she drawled out, her freaky gaze coming to a rest on him, "I guess I'll start off by asking just how you are going to determine just what is and is not a threat to the general public? I don't see Armsmaster, so, I take it you're going to have Kid Win here do it? May I inquire about his qualifications?"

"No, you may not. All that is required is that you provide Kid Win and these technicians behind me with access to all your technology and relevant materials. If access requires a password, you are legally obligated to provide it. Any attempts to interfere with this inspection will be treated as obstruction, and you will be charged accordingly."

"And I'm gonna have to stop you riiiight there, Triumph. First, I am assuming that you are using the ruling from Doctor Wily v Protectorate, correct? No, you don't need to answer that, you told my father that. So, let's start there. While the Wily v Protectorate ruling unequivocally states that the Protectorate and PRT do have the right to inspect any suspected or known Tinker and their facilities legally as a matter of fulfilling the protection of the general public, it does not provide any legal authority for an inspection of a publicly trademarked and recognized company that just so happens to employ a Tinker."

"It was noted by Judge Marsh that to do so, would run into conflict with the protections set aside within NEPEA-5 for companies that may use Tinkers. He stated, and I quote, that it would 'create an opportunity in which competitive interests may and would use the government to do its work by revealing company secrets and disrupt operations of competitors,' ' end quote. Now, I will happily provide you the opportunity to look, but you can't touch, or inspect for that matter, without a warrant. Which, since it's apparent someone either skipped or ignored their legal homework when they put this 'inspection' together, would negate those aforementioned NEPEA-5 protections."

Kid slowly turned his head to Taylor, whose own gaze was now firmly locked onto Triumph, a challenge ready in her expression. He had to wonder just what the hell type of training or preparation this girl had. The fact that she was quoting a ruling that he wasn't even aware of until Miss Militia and Triumph had briefed him this morning on was the sort of thing he would have never expected.

"Furthermore," she continued, obviously delighting in what she was doing, "I find it rather gauche that you would demand that I hand over the medical device that grants me vision. One might assume that you may be attempting to take advantage of my disability for nefarious purposes. But that wouldn't be your intention, would it be Triumph?"

"No. However, I must insist, Miss Hebert. From previous reports, it appears you have changed the device that you use, therefore it must be inspected."

There was a sound from the other side of the door, likely Hebert's father, but instead, she just smiled, reached up to her ear, and tapped it. The light faded away from it, and she removed it from her head and held it out.

"You got me," she admitted, "the villanous tinker has been thwarted by the brave and noble Protectorate."

He reached out to take it from her hand, but she pulled back slightly, "I would like to inform you that if you damage this in any way, I will bill you personally for the repair and replacement. So I would recommend that it doesn't suffer any unfortunate accidents, unless you want to pay the low, low price of a brand-new car to replace it."

"Bullshit," the word escaped his lips before he could stop himself, "There's no way that a device like that would cost that much. It looks like a toy."

She turned her head towards him, her hairless brow rising in challenge, as she scoffed, "What I am holding in my hand is the most powerful non-tinkertech smart computer in the world, Kid Win. It took me over half a month of blueprinting and development, then another week in which I personally hand-crafted and assembled every single component for it, from the processors, to the wiring, to the sensors. If anything, I'm probably underselling the price point by a factor of five. And as far as I am concerned, it will remain the only one of its kind."

He could feel himself blush at the chastisement he had just received from the other teen. He had never been dressed down like that in his life, and he wasn't sure what he should feel, instead, he deferred to Triumph as once again his attention was drawn back to the blueprint on the screen. Something was gnawing at the back of his mind, screaming at him that he should be paying attention to it.

At the same time, he kept an ear to the ongoing conversation between Triumph and Hebert.

"So I suggest," she finally said handing him the device, obviously satisfied in making her point, "that you be careful with not only this device, but my workplace. Everything is being recorded, and I will be forwarding this entire conversation and inspection to my legal team. It'd be a shame if they find a reasonable issue with anything you are doing."

With her piece said, she turned and headed off, her gait a slight hobble, as if she were not completely sure where she was going, but it ended up at a desk in the corner, probably the only thing that was recognizable in the room, and reached up to open a cabinet.

Triumph seemed to dismiss her as he started giving out orders to the technicians. Mister Hebert had strode past them and headed towards his daughter as she started messing with a box and opening it. She then retrieved the original device she had shown at the PRT HQ, and placed it on her head. He thought to say something to Triumph, but instead his attention fell back to the design before him.

Then it clicked. Suddenly, he realized what he was looking at.

"Is that an energy regulator," he asked aloud, turning to look back at Hebert.

Her head snapped away from her father and locked onto him. Triumph had also turned to look at him as well, his expression neutral.

Taylor's father placed his hand on her shoulder, almost like he wanted her to say nothing. However, she shook it off and strode towards him.

"It is."

He found his gaze drawn back to the design, his thoughts revolving around what he could do with it, only becoming more excited. One of the issues he has always had with the alternator cannon was that the design had to use brute force in order to create enough energy to fire. But with this…with this…

"Kid Win," Triumph's voice ripped him from his thoughts, and he bowed his head in slight embarrassment at ogling the design. Hebert on the other hand looked like the cat that ate the proverbial canary with her smile.

Triumph, however, didn't seem to be having it, as he looked back to Hebert.

"And what is this energy regulator for, Kid Win?"

Judging by the design, and energy thresholds displayed on it, it could only be-

"It's for a Thorium reactor," Taylor interrupted, and every head in the room turned to her in incredulity, "Hey, I figured while I was giving vision back to the world, why not solve the energy crisis while I was at it."

This caused Triumph to freeze, before he turned towards Hebert, looking ready for a fight, and the father started to move towards the daughter, "You are making a nuclear reactor?!"

"Don't be absurd. That would be illegal. I'm finishing the blueprints for a nuclear reactor design. I'm not stupid enough to even think about pissing in the Department of Energy's cheerios by building the damn thing myself. That's just begging for a real governmental organization that actually does its job right to break down my doors."

---

AEH​

---

Thomas Calvert

Honestly, he didn't want to be here, even if his own curiosity got the better of him. But when Deputy Director Renick had requested his knowledge in financial forensics, he couldn't exactly say no without arousing suspicion. The fact that Contessa hadn't intervened only gave him a hint that what he was doing would be allowed.

So now here he was, in the offices of Zero Dawn Technologies, looking through the company financials for anything that could catch his eye. As it was an inspection, they didn't have access to the tools necessary to conduct a deep audit in the time they were allotted.

What he could see suggested nothing too out of the ordinary. Quite a few material and technical purchases, which was somewhat strange, considering the company was supposed to be technology focused, yet were buying several metals and alloys in bulk. It made him wonder just what they were developing and why would it require Contessa's intervention?

What he did know was that Piggot was rattled something fierce with how fast and loose she was playing the rules. He had known Emily over the years, and more often than not, she didn't do things half-cocked, but something about the Heberts had her grasping at straws. An inspection like this, unless the Heberts and their staff were incompetent, would not provide any of the likely legal opportunities that she sought. If anything, this seemed more like an attempt to rattle Zero Dawn.

But there was something going on, something he was not fully aware of, and he wasn't sure if he could use his power to ascertain it. The fact that he was treading as close as he was to a position that Contessa had warned him about. The last thing he wanted was to garner the cape boogeyman's ire, her abilities easily were superior to his.

It was strange, however, that at the same time that the Protectorate and PRT were inspecting Zero Dawn's facility, Child Protective Services were making their presence known. He glanced over to where the two of them were going through another computer, likely reviewing time logs. There would be only one reason they would be doing this, but honestly, the timing was just the sort of thing that would make you think it was something more than coincidence.

Meanwhile, Miss Militia was getting glared down by the CFO of Zero Dawn, who had already given the Kurdish woman a verbal lashing. It had honestly been somewhat amusing to see the other woman becoming flustered as Brown began citing several different rules and laws that the Protectorate was in violation of. But Miss Militia had been adamant, and Jean Brown had retreated and was now on the phone with what were likely lawyers. He found himself looking forward to the inevitable storm that was about to come battering down on Piggot's little fiefdom. He had been hearing rumors as of late that there was trouble within the PRT and Protectorate of Brockton Bay, and a large amount of that stemmed from Piggot herself.

But it was the CPS agents that were probably the more concerning addition to this all. Piggot wouldn't dirty her hands by bringing an outside agency. This suggested another party was involved in all of this, as CPS was usually rather slow in taking immediate action. Unless they had eyes on the Heberts for months, which was unlikely. No, someone had to make a phone call, and considering the timing, he wouldn't be stunned if the phone call originated from somewhere in the local government. There was no way that it was anyone within the former DWA, he knew how loyal they were to Danny Hebert, and it would be a cold day in hell before they turned on the man's daughter.

There was no doubt in his mind that there would likely be something for the CPS to latch onto. It didn't take an idiot to recognize that Taylor Hebert was the heart and soul of this company. Even if he couldn't see what she was creating, there was just too much evidence in the receipts to ignore that it was something. But she was fifteen years old, and disabled by legal definition, this was the sort of shit the CPS would bring tar and feathers for if they sniffed even an iota of wrongdoing.

And judging by the way the man and woman were conversing with one another, with the woman pointing at the screen to the older man who was likely her superior, there was a good chance that they found something and he had a good idea what it was.

It seemed that he would need to brush upon his knowledge of NEPEA-5 and parahuman law. While Zero Dawn was a newcomer to the scene, he rather doubted that Zenith would be so stupid as to invest into a situation where the CPS could get involved unless they had a legal angle of attack to defeat whatever challenge that was leveled.

He would have to have Tattletale look into this as well. As much as he despised the blonde Thinker, she was better at raw analysis than he was, thanks to her power. And with so many unknowns, and not enough knowledge where to start, using his own power just wouldn't work in an adequate time frame.

That didn't mean he wouldn't double-check her work, though. The last thing he needed was for her to try and slip her leash.

He was drawn from his thoughts as Miss Militia stiffened before reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone. Placing it up to her ear, he took the time to attempt to read her lips, as she was out of range for him to hear.

The most that he could get was 'Triumph' and a shocked 'what' before she hung up the phone. Her gaze snapped to him, "Calvert, continue your investigation. I have to rendezvous with Triumph, there has been a development."

Without getting acknowledgement, she spun and headed out the door, even as the blonde CFO suddenly took off after her.

Just what the hell was all of that, he wondered, before looking over to the CPS agents, noting that they were still in deep conversation. He considered splitting the timeline and finding out what they knew, but it wasn't worth it, honestly. Odds are he would likely find out sooner rather than later, as the CPS over the years when it came to capes tended to have too many leaks that magically always seemed to end up in the hands of the Youth Guard.

---

AEH​

---

Jean Brown

She must have done something wrong this morning, maybe got up on the wrong side of the bed, or maybe passed a black cat. Something. Because today was turning into a day of all days. Between Taylor's focus upon technology over sales, and Danny's ignorance of just what Taylor had in her wheelhouse, she didn't know which Hebert she wanted to strangle more at the moment.

Taylor's actions were understandable, this was a teenager who didn't have the knowledge of how the business world worked, but Danny, that was a major problem with possible long-term implications. Especially if it threatened Taylor.

But of course, that just couldn't be the only shit hitting the fan. Now the PRT, Protectorate, and even the CPS were all jockeying to throw in their hat for making this day an absolute shitfest. She had been in her office talking to Accord about the meeting, trying to figure out just how to salvage the situation while keeping the impetus when security had alerted her to the cavalcade of government interference.

She had quickly let Accord know what was going down, requesting that he get into contact with a legal team for what she knew was likely coming. PRT/Protectorate inspections were rare, but there was enough precedence to know just how they went. However, it was suspicious that this was all taking place when the company had not even been active for two months and hadn't produced a product yet.

The cynical part of her could easily see that this was more than just an average inspection. Especially when security had alerted her that there were three capes with the contingent of officers, two of which had already broken off and were on their way to Taylor's workshop. Inspections made by the PRT largely never involved capes, it was viewed as an unnecessary escalation. But the fact that they were present, but were not raiding the company suggested an ulterior motive at play.

It could be one of three plays, or a mixture of all three: First, they were hoping for a gotcha moment, and with the capes there for if they found something. Second, they were hoping that someone would do something proverbially stupid, giving them justification to use force and escalate to a raid. And third, it was a veiled attempt at intimidation, using the presence of the capes as a cudgel to use against them.

But the presence of Child Protective Services, at the same time as the inspection was taking place? No, something rotten was going on here. CPS was glacially slow in how they operated, they didn't make sudden moves unless someone tipped them off. Broken homes were as numerous as drug dens in Brockton Bay after all. And even then, their reaction was usually slow, unless there was another factor at play.

Luckily, it was something that she had discussed with Taylor in the past. Danny she knew would likely be able to handle the situation well enough considering his experiences. But Taylor was the weak link, especially with her powers. They had spent the better part of a day discussing contingencies, but also ways to deal with the situation. She profoundly hoped that it would play out the way she hoped it did.

When she had finally arrived, they had already entered the administration section of the company, the CPS people already waving their badges and telling everyone to not interfere in their investigation. Since it was a lost cause, she decided to be a little petty and let the office workers go on a paid break, leaving the CPS to figure out what to do.

Dealing with Miss Militia, however, was an exercise in futility. Even with the legal arguments and points she made to the Kurdish hero, the woman had merely dismissed them as not relevant to the situation. It took an extraordinary effort not to tweak the gravity around the woman and turn her into a meat puddle in a fit of pique. Instead, she forcibly amused herself with the observation that rumors were true about the woman, she was so far on the Protectorate's dick that it was a surprise that the woman hadn't whelped a litter of future heroes already.

As much as she wanted to tell that to the bitch's face, it probably wouldn't end well for any involved. So instead, she busied herself with her phone, making several notes and firing off a few emails, intent on ensuring everything was ready for when they retaliated against this travesty. She also made a note to see if Accord could look into the origins of the CPS' action. They would probably be the most difficult of issues to deal with, considering Taylor's age, education, and work ethic. There was no doubt in her mind that if anything was successful of this so far, it would be the CPS citing labor law and health concerns for Taylor.

It was in the middle of firing off an email to Accord that he called her back to inform her that the legal team would be boarding a helicopter in twenty-five minutes and be on their way to Brockton Bay. Obviously he was on the same wavelength as her if he was making such an expenditure. He then demanded a report that required her to step further away from Miss Militia, much to the other woman's relief judging by the slight slump of her shoulders.

It had only been a short conversation, Accord was moving additional pieces into place in the event that it became worse. He would personally look into what caused the CPS to suddenly take an interest in Taylor. But he agreed with her read of the situation, someone was playing hardball, and he wanted to know who it was.

She had been in the middle of assuring that they would be ready for the arrival of the lawyers when Miss Militia's phone started going off. She refocused her attention towards Miss Militia after telling him what was happening and she was glad that she did. The way her eyes widened and she paled before hanging up her phone and barking towards some guy named Calvert, she knew that something had happened with Taylor.

"I'll call you back," she told him, letting him acknowledge it before hanging up. Her boss was a stickler towards courtesies and while he would forgive her if she hung up, she would rather not have to deal with his irritation at the faux pas.

Sliding her phone into the inside pocket of her jacket, she sauntered after the Protectorate hero, wondering exactly what had the woman reacting in such a way. No, that was a stupid thought, it was obvious that it had to do with Taylor. But the fact that she wasn't hearing explosions or anything like that, and Miss Militia wasn't in a sprint, she was safe in the knowledge that it may be something that could be discussed without incident.

Maybe it would be better in the future that she made Taylor inventory everything she was working on. At least for her own sanity's sake. Knowing what the teenager was developing would at least provide her warning and maybe a roadmap to work with. The machines had not been a surprise, she knew about them from the sales pitch Taylor had made. It was just that Taylor was already looking at producing them that had been the surprise.

Frankly, she liked the Light Rescue Lance concept Taylor had ad-libbed. Sure, she had the files and details prepared, but it hadn't been something that the teenager had planned to reveal originally. But then again, she may be underestimating that. Nonetheless, it provided a flagship product, and it created interest. It also was something that had no peers or competitors. Dragon was limited to her Dragoncraft, and they were exorbitantly expensive and unable to be mass-produced due to their Tinker design. This provided them an industry that would create demand, if the LRL concept took off, then Taylor could start revealing other machines that could fill roles within society.

It was a bit more brute force than she, and likely Accord, would have approved of, but she didn't see a flaw in the overall plan, even if she wanted to.

The first thing she noted as they approached Taylor's workshop was that the door was open. Not necessarily a good sign considering Taylor's expenditures to ensure information control. Miss Militia simply stormed in, and she slipped into the room, finding Taylor at one side of the room as the Protectorate cape moved to talk with Triumph and Kid Win.

All the while her gaze was on the blueprint displayed on the wall.

It wasn't a machine, she thought with a growing sense of trepidation as she reached Taylor who was standing with her father. Why couldn't it be a machine, she lamented, even as she tried to figure out what she was looking at, before giving up and looking to her CEO. The teenager was wearing her old Focus, which meant that it was likely being held by the Protectorate. The placid expression on her face only increased her increasing apprehension. It was too confident for someone who was in the process of having her business inspected.

"What have you done," she had to ask, finally turning to Hebert whose small smile was positively not helping her stress levels.

"I didn't do anything," the teen offered a shrug, "I was minding my business finishing the blueprints for a nuclear reactor when they stormed into my lab and took exception to the design."

She couldn't help herself, and frankly, it was that or sobbing aloud, so she placed her face in her palms and fought the urge to scream.

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.4

Emily Piggot

When she had commissioned the inspection of Zero Dawn Technology, she had done it as an opening salvo in a campaign to deal with the Heberts. It wasn't meant to be much more than be a fishing expedition and begin tightening the screws on the company. Contrary to Christener wanting a quick and decisive strike, she understood that taking down the Heberts was going to be a long and drawn out affair.

What the Heberts had done was smart, if she were to grudgingly admit it, and something that the PRT would have to look into stopping for the future. They had created an overlapping set of legal protections that prevented them from just hitting the entire company, Hebert could hide behind NEPEA-5 laws as a Tinker, and she could hide under laws that protected her as a worker for the company. Considering that this had been done before their acquisition of capital, it had to be sheer coincidence, otherwise Daniel Hebert was more intelligent than Christener was giving him.

Nonetheless, there were ways to remove those legal protections. It just took time and careful preparation, much to Christener's dismay. They could not go in half-cocked or they would trigger a legal battle that could have dire implications going forward if it was ruled in a certain way.

It was certainly not what many people would expect of her. She was too well known for her preference for bluntness and not beating around the bush. However, she could be subtle when she needed to, it just wasn't something she defaulted to when she had the opportunity to do otherwise.

However, what she wasn't expecting was for Miss Militia to call her and inform her that Taylor Hebert was designing a fucking nuclear reactor. She had sat there stunned for a moment, trying to even grasp just exactly what the hell the woman was saying, before immediately sensing an opportunity.

She wasn't stupid enough to think that it was the opportunity of a lifetime to place Hebert into her grasp. What Hebert was doing was not illegal, as much as she wished in this circumstance it was. However, it provided her with an opportunity to maybe put on a bit more pressure than she had previously expected. Fear was an excellent motivator and this was a fifteen year old, after all.

So she had given Miss Militia the orders to take Hebert in for questioning. According to the woman both the father and another woman had voiced their objections, but Hebert had brushed them off. It was honestly what she expected from a teenaged know-it-all, the arrogance to believe that they had the answer to everything, and even in the face of the law that they could do no wrong.

But it was an advantage for them, and she was looking forward to personally fixing that attitude.

Capes needed oversight, it didn't matter what they specialized in or what their power was, they were a liability unless they were adequately contained and controlled. And if they stepped out of line, they could be prevented from being a problem. It was an idea that she had clinged to since Ellisburg, when her eyes had been opened to the fault of relying upon Capes.

And Hebert not only was a rogue cape and outside of her control, but a possible major scandal in the making. Even with Shadow Stalker transferred to Los Angeles, the fact of the matter remained that if it was discovered that Shadow Stalker was involved in the bullying campaign on Taylor Hebert, it would ask far too many uncomfortable questions that she didn't want asked.

She had to deal with Hebert, there was no avoiding that albatross around her neck. Even if it was possible, which it wasn't, PRT Brockton Bay could not afford the scandal, especially in a city with literal Nazis who would gleefully trumpet to the high heavens the racial implications of their failure.

But, further than even that, was what Hebert represented if she became successful. The Protectorate could ill-afford for a rogue Tinker to become successful. It was a delicate balance already trying to keep the status quo in place, between Toybox and the Elite. But Hebert, with an investment like this, presented a credible and burgeoning threat. One that had yet to be recognized by the Chief Director.

No, she was not going to put herself at the mercy of cape, nor was she going to be the Director held responsible for this failure either. The Heberts would be brought in line, they would be contained, and if Hebert could be utilized, then she would be. If not, she would be discarded at the earliest convenience after she had been wrapped in legal paper and silenced. That was all there was to it. This wasn't personal, this was just how it was.

Still, they were playing very close to the edge of illegality. From a certain point of view what she was doing was illegal. The inspection, on the surface, was legal, if rarely used. Part of the reason for that was that there never really had been a reason to use inspections. After NEPEA-5, most of the Tinkers that had been rogues had either joined the Protectorate, joined a corporation that was aligned with the Protectorate, or had gone villain. The latter for obvious reason would not be privy to an inspection, so much as a raid.

Nonetheless, there was some leeway if you decided to interpret the laws a certain way. In this case, the inspection she had tasked to Miss Militia and Triumph was more of a 'soft raid', because they were going to use the argument that Taylor Hebert was a Tinker of unknown affiliation if challenged. Even though Hebert was part of the company, there was still enough ambiguity to insinuate that she could be providing support to villains.

It was a stretch, but it was a strategy that could simply be written off as an honest mistake if the situation got legally too hot. But it was a matter that by the time that it could be legally challenged, the inspection could be done and they would have a chance at finding incriminating evidence. It was a sort of stretch, but if anything, again it went to an opening move, instead of anything decisive.

But even if they did discover evidence of wrongdoing, or even a NEPEA-5 violation, the entire scenario would have to go through the legal process, and depending on the level of the violation, it may or may not be enough to push Hebert into joining the Protectorate or face juvenile detention. If it wasn't, then at least the fines would leave Hebert vulnerable, and would also provide them an opportunity to then investigate Far Zenith. After all, if there was wrongdoing, then they must also be aware of it.

But that was for the future, right now, she had a developing situation she had to put a lid on. When she had commissioned the inspection, she had certainly not expected Child Protective Services to show up at the same time. It added further complication to an already complex situation. Just their presence alone was going to raise far too many suspicions that this was an organized hit, instead of a legally executed procedure.

While Christener had told her what he had been planning, she would have preferred a little head's up that this was going to happen today of all days. It was something she was going to have to revisit with the man going forward. Find out what else he had in the works outside of the vagaries that he had given her on what he had done.

Not to coordinate, of course, but to ensure that they were not stepping on each other's toes. The last thing either of them needed was for inquiring minds to start thinking that there was some conspiracy to target a fifteen year old. Even if that was actually the truth, it didn't need to be known by the masses.

Stopping at the door, she paused, catching herself and organizing her thoughts.

It had been some time since she had done an interrogation. It was something normally not done by a Director, who could delegate the job. Unfortunately, this was not a normal situation. Armsmaster could not be anywhere near this situation, Renick would be a disaster, and she didn't have a subordinate that she could trust to handle this effectively.

She had considered Miss Militia, but had quickly written it off. She was a good attack dog, loyal and obedient, but she could become compromised in the right circumstances. Hebert and her disability would likely trigger such a reaction. And any other Protectorate member just wouldn't fit the bill. No, it had to be her to do this, and she had to ensure that everything was worded and done right.

They could ill afford for there to be a mess up. Any evidence or admissions that they could get now would make the process easier to get a warrant for a detailed investigation into Zero Dawn and the Heberts. Without that warrant, they were dead in the water, unable to truly pry away at the veil and discover just how far Hebert's abilities and knowledge went.

Opening the door, she moved in, taking in the subject of all of this. The first thing she noticed was that the photos did not do any justice to the damage that had been done to her by the acid attack. If anything, the photos downplayed it in their failure to capture it. The second thing that she noticed was that the teenager's eyes were closed and her hands were clasped together on the table.

It was not the body language of someone that was intimidated by their circumstances to say the least.

"Beta, I'm Director Piggot," she greeted as she took a seat.

"Beta? I'm sorry, but you must be mistaking me for someone else, Director. I do not have a cape name, nor do I intend to have one," Hebert, no 'Beta' responded, opening her eyes and she had to stop herself from reacting at the glazed over sightless eyes.

"As per Protectorate protocols, Miss Hebert, all identified capes are given a temporary placeholder for the sake of legal record. In this case, since you have previously identified yourself as having powers, you were assigned a placeholder name. In this case, the name provided for you was Beta."

Silence met her statement, as Taylor He-, no, Beta, stared at her. She had to wonder just what the teenager was thinking. The teenager had likely never considered the ramifications of her actions, obviously so keen on her own wants and needs to ignore the obvious.

"Suit yourself," she finally said, offering a small shrug, "if it makes your paperwork easier, by all means, you can call me whatever you like. It still doesn't mean I'm going to don a costume and go out and trade punches with Hookwolf or Lung, I have better things to do than that. Though, I have to ask. Why Beta?"

Out of everything she had expected, it wasn't this, so she found herself blinking at the question, "Excuse me?"

"I'm serious, Director. Why Beta? I may not be the most knowledgeable about the cape world, but I read PHO from time to time, so I know that all codenames the Protectorate gives has some basis upon the cape's power. But Beta? What are you insinuating? I'm an early build or test? Or are you implying that because of my perceived disability, I should fulfill the stereotype of being meek, subservient, and fearful?"

Not once, but twice now, in less than five minutes, she found herself on the back foot. Again, Beta had not acted as she would have expected, causing her to reassess what she was dealing with. She was already treading on delicate terrain with what she was doing. By having Taylor Hebert given a cape name, it acted as a corporate brand, which negated any Miranda protections for the teenager, as corporations had limited constitutional protections in comparison to an individual.

She was expecting a teenager that was nervous, but willing to answer questions. Not whatever this was.

Beta's obviously more intelligent than the record indicates. Though whether it's thanks to her power or that she has been hiding it is up to debate She is also not cowed by authority, even if she had willingly obeyed Miss Militia's commands and willingly came in for questioning. Could it be because she's rationalized that what she is doing is on her own terms?

The question that had to be asked was what was the overall angle? Why had Beta chosen to willingly come in? She had the right to refuse coming in for questioning, but was she aware of what would happen if she did? Especially with something as large as this? Was there an actual plan in play that she, and by extension, ENE, were unaware of?

Or was she overestimating the girl?

She was faced with a choice here, regardless of her thoughts, she could follow her plan and bull through this, cutting straight to the heart and getting Beta to self-incriminate. It was high-risk, high-reward, as the nuclear reactor blueprint was not enough to establish illegality, she had double-checked before she came down here. It was perfectly legal to create a blueprint, however tainted it was since it was created by a Tinker.

No, the matter was, just exactly what Beta was capable of. There was a stark differential between a medical device that granted vision and a nuclear reactor, no matter how you parse it even if you ignore everything else that was credited to her. But further than that, just what was the aspect of her Tinker power. Every Tinker had something that could not be explained by conventional science, it was an inexorable rule of Tinkers. Yet, somehow, Beta was able to avoid this pitfall. There were now twenty-seven patents that were connected directly to Beta, or to a suspected nom de guerre that she was operating under in order to avoid too much attention. Every. Single. Patent. Was. Not. Tinkertech.

So how was she doing it? There had to be something that could be used? And the only option was to get Beta to slip, to reveal just how she was doing it.

So the choice now was to to try hard at getting her to admit, or to be subtle and get the teenager to lower her guard.

"I apologize that you feel offended by the cape name that was given to you, Miss Hebert. However, my hands are tied in regards to protocol. Unless you are willing to provide an alternative for record purposes, I have to refer to you by your cape name."

"Alloy."

"Excuse me?"

"If you want to force me to assume a cape name, then you can call me Alloy. The previous Alloy was a Tinker out of Burbank that specialized in Tinker metals. She was killed by Bastard Son in a dispute with the Elite."

"Is that your Tinker specialty? Specialized materials?"

The look of confusion that greeted her only triggered her own confusion in return. It was a logical deduction, after all, capes tended to name themselves after an aspect or theme of their power. Some happened to be more direct than others, of course, but it was treated as a general rule of thumb when dealing with capes.

The fact that Alloy seemed confused only served to unsettle her.

"No," Alloy finally replied, her posture saying a lot more than her tone, "why would you think that?"

"Because capes don't name themselves randomly, Miss Hebert. There is always a theme, and the fact that you chose the name that previously belonged to a Tinker that specialized in metals, one would assume that it is your power."

For a moment, she was met with silence, before Taylor barked out a laugh, her shoulder shaking with mirth.

"I'm sorry," she said after getting control of herself, "I didn't think you would read into it like that. No, Director, my power is not in creating specialized Tinker materials. The reason I chose Alloy is more allegorical than literal."

"Then what is it," she found herself demanding, not at all liking the irreverence she was being met with. Didn't this girl understand just what sort of trouble she was bringing upon herself? Or did she not just care?!

The smile disappeared from the teen's face, obviously no longer the way that this was going. Well, that was tough for her, she was going to get to the bottom of this before she lost the chance. All of this was reaching a head, whether she wanted to or not, and she was on a timer.

There was a slight shift to the teen's posture, and at first, she wrote it off as nerves. But that quickly changed as the girl unclasped her hands, then reclasped them in a different way. It wasn't nervousness, no, if anything, Hebert was making herself comfortable.

"Technology," she said, after letting the silence drag out just long enough to where she was ready to snap her demand out again.

At first, she wasn't able to process exactly what was just said. It was such a stupid statement that it caused all thought processes to stop, but when they restarted, all she could feel was a raw fury that was starting to roil in her.

"Do you think this is a game, Miss Hebert?"

"No," she replied as she gave a slight shake of her head, "I don't."

"That's not what it appears to me. I asked you what your power was and you give me a bullshit answer!? Do you even understand the level of trouble you are in? Tinker-derived nuclear technology is the sort of thing that puts you on a terrorist watch list, Miss Hebert, and is certainly enough for me to get a warrant issued to tear your entire company down to see what else you may be working on! The only thing that is currently holding me back from making that phone call is this conversation we are having. So, once again, I will ask, just what is your power?!

What she was saying was true, however, there were a few more steps to the process before she could execute. They could not take Hebert's word at face value for legal reasons, they needed confirmation that what she was working on was nuclear, and there was no one in Brockton Bay with the knowledge or authority to confirm these claims. Instead, photos were being sent up to the Department of Energy for an answer, which they would hopefully have in a few hours.

What she was hoping for here, because Hebert didn't seem to understand just what she had done, was that the girl would give them another reason to fast-track a different warrant, one that would have a more limited scope, but would nonetheless achieve what she was aiming for.

What she got instead was Hebert shaking her head, a small smile reappearing on her face, as if she found this a joke. But before she could say anything otherwise, Hebert spoke.

"Do you have a legal pad and paper?"

She blinked at the question, certainly not expecting a request for anything. For a moment, she considered denying it, after all, what use would a blind girl have for a pen and paper? But after second thoughts, she placed a pen down on the legal pad that had been placed on the table, and slid it across towards the teenager who picked it up and began marking on the paper.

It wasn't writing, but before she could demand exactly what the teenager was doing, Hebert began talking even as she continued to mark on the paper, a series of small letters, dashes, and circles.

"Tell me, Director, do you know how many patent applications I have currently?"

"I don't see where you are-"

"Forty-seven, Director. I'm not sure if you are aware of the ones that I've put under an alias," she continued, her attention still on the legal pad, as she ripped off the paper and placed it face down, then began to work on the next sheet, "but I would like to think you've done your homework on the applications that have my name attached to them. Of those, Director, how many of those have you identified as Tinkertech?"

None, she answered in her head, even as she tried to figure out exactly what Hebert was writing.

"I can tell you the answer to that, Director. Zero. Not a single patent that I have submitted is Tinkertech, because none of my technology ever has been. When I tell you my specialty is technology, Director, I mean my speciality technology. Full. Stop."

"My Focus," she continued, ripping off the sheet and placing it face down on top of the first, "both the prototype and the one you are currently having your techs scan with every device in your possession, is all based upon real science and theory that began being explored in the late 1960s. The core theory behind the concept of brain-computer interface is sound, but the bottleneck has always been that the science and materials were decades in advance of what was possible."

"That sounds awfully similar to Tinkertech."

The small smile that graced Hebert's lips only served to unnerve her as she finished writing whatever it was. Ripping off the last sheet of paper, she then took the other two and flipped them over, placing them side by side short ways, and then placing the third sheet likewise on its side, but in a way that it formed a loose triangle shape from the rectangles.

"Here," Hebert said, sliding the work across and allowing her to finally see what the teenager had been working on, "I'd suggest handing it over to Dragon, she'll know what to do with it."

"And what is it?"

"The chemical formula for an improved containment foam. It will set faster and grow molecularly stronger the more the target attempts to struggle."

She looked at the papers, which, sure enough, showed a chemical formula now that she could understand it. Then back to Hebert who had settled back in her chair, and if the teenager had sight, she could have sworn that she was staring at her to read her expression.

Which, right now, was both shock, but also a bit of anger. Containment foam was one of the PRT's most closely guarded secrets. While it may have been designed by Dragon, it was being produced and distributed by the PRT. It was probably one of the most important nonlethal weapons in their arsenal.

"How did you get this," she demanded, though it was more of a snap in her tone, because things were quickly spiraling out of control, and she wanted to be back in control, "this is classified information!"

"Not really," was the shrug, which only infuriated her more, "Confoam actually originates from a 1990 joint project funded by Army and Marine Corps. It was under development as a system to nonlethally detain American citizens in the event of mass civil unrest thanks to the projected growing threat of capes and villains. When the PRT was founded in '93, the project was canceled. Odds are Dragon found the project notes and continued the work, as a lot of the characteristics match with some of the research that was released in '98."

She opened her mouth, then closed it, looking at the formula before her. Was it possible that Hebert knew what she was talking about? She couldn't say that she knew the history behind containment foam, so it was possible. But that led back around to what was Hebert's speciality? Every single item that she had so far seen were in completely separate fields and lacked a theme. Not only was she dealing with visual devices, new materials, an energy source, but now she was showing a proficiency in chemicals. None of this was making sense.

"Everything I have done, has research already out there Director," Hebert's words rang in her head, as she looked up to the teenager, "a Thorium Breeder Reactor, or TBR, has been something scientists have been working on since the 50s, the first actual reactor, a molten-salt cooled reactor, became critical in Oak Ridge in 1968. Since then there have been a handful of experiments with it, but with the Tinker Craze in the 80s and 90s, a lot of the budget and research fell to the wayside as nations began looking at Tinkers as a shortcut towards increasing their energy supply. Of course, we all know how that ended."

Poorly, to say the least. When it was realized that Tinkertech was essentially blackboxed technology that needed its creators continued input, it had been too late in several cases. It was the repercussions of the Tinkertech Craze and the blowback from corporations looking to protect their interests that led to the birth of NEPEA-5.

"What you and your analysts are looking at is certainly not Tinkertech. Nothing in that design is blackboxed. All of the building materials can be produced naturally. The only thing that is different about it from the MSRE is that it's cheaper, more efficient, scalable, and can produce more energy per capita than any single reactor we currently have in operation with far less waste product. Furthermore, and this is my main selling point on the design, is that it is designed to be statistically impossible for Behemoth to meltdown. He'd have to irradiate the area almost entirely on his own."

She then settled back in her chair, smiling.

"I wonder what the DOE is thinking right now, looking over my email and your report."

A chill ran down her spine as it all suddenly clicked into place. Hebert's willingness to come in despite it being legally idiotic, her demeanor this entire time, and her breadth of knowledge of what she was producing. She knew what they would do and had planned it accordingly.

By having a public official forward this to the Department of Energy, who were legally in charge of all facets of nuclear technology and materials, she was bypassing so much legal paperwork and bureaucracy and getting it to those who would make decisions.

And if she was right, and there was no reason otherwise that she wouldn't be, then the DOE would realize exactly what they were looking at, and they would take personal interest in what Hebert was working on. Because Hebert was right, Behemoth had chilled the nuclear industry after what he had done in three different instances to nuclear reactor facilities. No one was willing to risk taking the chance of building a nuclear reactor if it could be used by Behemoth to irradiate the surrounding land. It was this, along with the loss of several oilfields over the years, that an energy crisis was looming, not yet to hit America's shores, but Europe was already starting to feel the vice.

It was the perfect type of atmosphere for Hebert to offer a solution. And if it could negate the threat that Behemoth posed to nuclear reactors…

She looked to the teenager in a new light, realizing that all of this was viciously calculated. From the moment that they had begun inspecting Zero Dawn, she had played them, placing a nuclear reactor blueprint in plain sight, knowing that they were legally bound to investigate, that they would have to share this with the Department of Energy. It was all thought out and prepared for, and they had stepped into it.

"I'm not a Tinker, Director," Hebert, no, Alloy declared, staring her down with those unseeing eyes, "I knew the moment I started producing technology that I had to get ahead of you declaring it all as Tinkertech. The only way I could do that was to ensure that you were aware of it. A calculated gamble. If it had failed, it would have taken me longer and forced me down more difficult paths, but it didn't."

The sound of a knock at the door caused the other girl to pause, before her smile widened just slightly further. It only caused the scars on her face to twist further and the smile looked more fiendish than it had any right to be.

"I'm a Thinker."

The door then flew open, and a man in a suit with a briefcase stormed in.

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.5

Danny

"Drive."

That simple command from John Milton, their new lawyer, was all that was needed as their driver shifted the Suburban into gear, and began driving. The resultant sound of the engine gaining rpms existing as the only sound in the otherwise silent cab of the vehicle.

He took the silence as an opportunity to look at his daughter, who was sitting on the same bench in the back of the vehicle, the only separation between them. Her Focus was back on her head and she was obviously looking through something judging by her intent expression and flicking eyes. It was something he was beginning to notice with her, depending on the seriousness and complexity, that she could either use her hands to present, or in smaller, less complex situations, eye movement seemed to suffice..

The last three hours had been chaotic to say the least. Taylor being taken away for questioning over both Jean and his objections. He had been horrified at what could happen to her considering what had caused the incident in the first place, but also frustrated by how his daughter seemed nonchalant about the severity of the situation.

Even he knew the dangers of messing around with nuclear technology, especially in this day and age. It wasn't like before capes, where the government was slightly more laid back about it. But with the advent of Tinkers and other capes, nuclear technology was treated as a significant national security risk, and was prosecuted as such.

But the fact that his daughter was working on it without a single by your leave only reinforced the fact that she was keeping secrets. Maybe if he had known what she was doing they could have done things differently, but that was a matter of what could have been.

What mattered now as the PRT had his daughter, and he wasn't sure if he would be seeing her again as a free person.

It had only been Jean that had stopped him from doing something further stupid. She had pulled him aside and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to take any action for the moment. Mister Gabriel was sending a lawyer and this situation would be worked out. Even when he protested, she told him that Taylor would be fine. The lawyer that they were bringing in was one of the best on the east coast. It was this, and the fact that it was readily apparent that Jean was also pissed beyond belief that stayed him from doing something stupid with the stooges that had remained after Taylor had been taken away.

It had only been twenty minutes later that a helicopter had arrived, choosing to land on one of the unoccupied jetties in the dockyard. He had at first thought it was yet another agency deciding to stick its nose in the company's business and bury his daughter even further.

This was not the case, as he quickly found himself introduced to John Milton, Senior Partner of Wulfrahm & Hjardt. It had been a double-shock to Danny, as he had heard of Wulfrahm & Hardt, a law firm that had been cutting its teeth in Boston since before his grandfather's time, they were considered one of the best in the United States. The fact that Gabriel had them on retainer was somewhat terrifying considering the likely retainer fee for something like this, even as it brought him at least some comfort that his daughter was likely in good hands.

The second was the relative youth of Milton himself. For a senior partner, he looked inordinately young to what was expected. He had to only to be in his early to mid thirties,

He looked to be in his early to mid thirties, his hair was stylishly cut but was what you expected in a professional atmosphere. His glasses were a stylish, yet utilitarian design that seemed to only enhance his piercing eyes, as if he knew secrets about you that even you weren't aware of.

He had expected the man to storm after his daughter, or even show a modicum of annoyance at the situation. Instead, he had told the hulking man that had accompanied him to secure a transport. But John had then pulled them into Jean's office and calmly demanded a rundown on the events that had transpired. It had taken a herculean effort not to snap at the lawyer, but he calmed himself in the hope that there was an angle to this man's decisions.

Suffice to say his patience was tested, as Milton had listened to them, and then made a few phone calls. Every minute they stayed in the office talking was another minute that they were not on their way to retrieving Taylor. But after a series of phone calls by Milton, he had taken a seat in a chair. That had been enough for Danny to open his mouth to say something.

"Your daughter will be fine, Mister Hebert," Milton's smoothly accented voice cut him off as he glanced at the watch on his wrist.

"How can you say that? They just took her away."

"Mister Hebert, there is a stark difference between being detained for questioning and being arrested. In the case of your daughter, they are going to question her and little else, because they cannot do anything else."

It was then that he slammed his hands on the desk, incensed at how nonchalant the man was for his daughter, but found his words stilled as Milton's eyes snapped from his watch to him, piercing him in their gaze.

"Losing yourself to your anger will accomplish nothing except complicating the extrication process for your daughter. And I despise complications, Mister Hebert. Now. Sit. Down."

He found himself taking a seat in the chair, as Milton kept looking at him for a moment, before releasing a small sigh as he placed down his phone and adjusted his tie. Jean had remained oddly silent the entire situation, instead choosing to keep off to the side.

"This is your first encounter with cape-based law enforcement, correct, Mister Hebert?"

"It is."

"Then allow me to provide you with a brief education. The best way to describe legally dealing with capes is that there are no laws," he held up his hand, "I understand how that sounds, Mister Hebert. The American legal system has always held itself up as an exemplar of laws and order that guarantees your rights and protections to prevent the government from abuses. It's a pleasant fantasy that, for the most part, works."

"The problem is, for nearly two decades, the PRT and the Protectorate have been busily carving out their own little extralegal fiefdom, creating laws and rules on whim to suit whatever they want or need. Of course they claim to follow the law, and capes have all the same rights that you and I take for granted. But in reality, they can do whatever they want because they've created the veneer that as the foremost expert on capes they know what's best. Take the Bad Canary case, for example. You've heard that one."

"Vaguely," he admitted. It had been something talked about in the office, but it was never something he really cared to follow.

"In any normal situation, there would be such a lawsuit filed in lieu of the violations of Miss Mcabee's rights that the government would be providing a life of luxury for not only her, but her children's children. Instead, the PRT, as the 'foremost expert' on capes, has done everything in its power to ensure that Miss Mcabee is sent to the Birdcage as a message to other capes that have powers similar to hers that it would be in their best interest to be on their side. Of course, there will be those that will try and make the case that this miscarriage of justice is because of the stigma against Masters thanks to Simurgh. However, at the end of the day, it is the PRT that is responsible. All it would take to allow Miss Mcabee the opportunity to exercise her rights as an American citizen is to have her powers tested, something that is in their remit and they have the ability to do so safely."

"So why aren't you defending her, Mister Milton?"

A quirk of the man's lip was the only tell that what he had said had hit a nerve.

"Because the PRT froze her assets and unofficially told us that it would be in our best interests to not involve ourselves in Miss Mcabee's case."

His fists clenched as he ground his teeth, fighting the urge to storm out. The only thing stopping him was the fact that it would achieve nothing, and obviously Mister Milton was building towards something, but nonetheless…

"You're not doing a good job convincing me that my daughter is going to be fine, Mister Milton."

"Quite," the man replied, damnably calm, "What I'm trying to build at, is that under normal circumstances, it would be an uphill battle against the PRT and Protectorate. However, the adage that there is always a bigger fish applies here."

"I don't follow."

"One of the things you will learn, Mister Hebert, as your company grows, is that the government's portrayal that it's one big, happy, family is actually a lie. It is a confederation of agencies and departments that are in competition with one another over funds and power. They zealously guard their jurisdictions and the only thing they agree upon is their mutual disdain for the PRT. Your daughter, either intentionally or otherwise, has happened to create a situation in which the PRT is not the foremost expert and does not have sole jurisdiction."

For a moment, he sat there wondering just what it was that Taylor had done, but then it clicked.

"The Department of Energy."

Milton's response was a nod.

"The PRT is legally required, as is any other department, to inform the Department of Energy if they encounter any cases regarding nuclear materials, which includes both materials and designs. Their charter takes precedence over any PRT considerations. And since they are detaining your daughter, they have no choice but to report the situation. If your daughter were any normal tinker the department would report back that the work is Tinkertech, and with the absence of nuclear materials, their involvement would end there. However, your daughter's unique ability to produce actual technology will shock them into action, making this, at minimum, something the PRT cannot handle in house and thus curtail their usual free reign."

It had only taken an hour after Milton had arrived before they were on their way to the PRT Headquarters. Throughout the entire time, Milton was on and off his phone speaking with several individuals. When he had asked who he was talking to, Milton had just shaken his head and told him it was detail work. It was only after he was satisfied and his bodyguard returned that they were on their way.

And now they were here, after another hour getting Taylor out of the building, including having several forms filled out and getting her Focus returned. But all that mattered to him was that she was safely returned.

"Of all the stupid, reckless, irresponsible decisions-," Jean finally broke the silence, having turned to look back towards Taylor.

"It worked out in the end," his daughter replied, obviously not giving her full attention to the older woman.

"That's not the point," Jean angrily snapped, "we just had a conversation about personal responsibility and what is best for the company. And not two hours later, you decide in your infinite wisdom that it would be a brilliant idea to tug the tiger's tail. Not only that, but you ignored both your father and myself when we told you not to go with the PRT-"

"But. It. Worked. Out," Taylor emphasized, tapping her Focus. Obviously she was done with whatever it was that she was focused upon, as she folded her hands in her lap.

"Be that it may, Miss Hebert. It would be preferable that you leave such actions to the professionals," Milton intoned, turning his head slightly at an angle, as if he were looking back over his shoulder, "as inspired a choice it may have been, you took an unnecessary risk. You're lucky Director Piggot is not like James Tagg, or you would have found yourself treated like a terrorist and shipped to a black site where you would likely never see the light of day as a free woman."

"But she wasn't," was the response, Taylor's jaw setting in a telltale sign of irritation. He had seen it far too many times in Annette and he knew unless he intervened it was going to reach a boiling point. The only issue was how to make it work without having her doubling down on being set in her ways.

He honestly wished Annette was here. She would know exactly what to say to Taylor.

"What's done is done," he finally said, causing Taylor to look toward him, "instead, we need to focus on what we do going forward. That means everyone needs to be on the same page here. Okay, Taylor?"

For a moment, he worried that she was going to argue with him. He wasn't coming down on her side completely, but at the same time, he was being reasonable in that now that Taylor had gained the attention of not only the PRT, but likely the Department of Energy, they all needed to be in lockstep on what needed to be done.

"Okay," she finally said with a nod, and he felt himself relax slightly.

"In that case," it was Milton who spoke first, "while we have the PRT on the back foot, we have Miss Hebert undergo power testing."

"What," he couldn't stop himself from speaking. The idea of setting Taylor back into the den of the beast was just short of insane.

"Right now, the PRT has to reassess what they can do with your daughter, Mister Hebert. All of their actions have been on the basis that she is a Tinker, and provides an avenue of attack through the laws established to prevent Tinkertech from flooding the markets. By having her abilities officially tested, we would be able to get official documentation that unequivocally states that her technology is not Tinkertech, removing several potential issues going forward."

"Makes sense," Taylor chirped, offering a shrug, "I doubt Piggot even entertained the idea that I wasn't a Tinker. Armsmaster certainly did not believe that my technology wasn't Tinkertech, I do wonder why he wasn't here today."

"Unofficially, Armsmaster is no longer in charge of the Brockton Bay Protectorate," was Milton's response, causing everyones' head to turn towards him, "Director Piggot has removed him from the position, interestingly enough after his interview with you, Miss Hebert."

"Was it something that I did," she asked, curiosity lacing her tone, "the interview went well and he did leave satisfied with everything."

"I won't comment on it, because I don't have all of the information, Miss Hebert. Nor does it really matter at the moment. What we need to focus upon is the DOE and the Child Protective Services and how we handle them."

"What about Youth Guard," Jean added herself into the conversation now.

"The Youth Guard, may be a problem, considering the incestuous relationship between them and the CPS, I expect that we will be hearing from them in short order and they will ape whatever the CPS says. School. Less work hours. Socialization. They'll also likely add a push to join the Wards, that way it can be cheaper for them in terms of oversight. But we are going to have to give on something."

"I'm not going back to school."

"Taylor-"

"No, Dad, I am not going to go back to school. I'm not going to go back to a fucking reminder of what happened to me. I am not going to be a circus act for teens who have no idea what it's like to be bereft of sight. And I most certainly am not going to waste my time studying subjects that I could probably teach better myself!"

"If I may, Miss Hebert?"

"No. You may not. This discussion is closed. I am not going to go back to Winslow and that is final."

"Then I will talk and you will listen, Miss Hebert. Legally speaking, we do not have a good leg to stand on with the CPS and Youth Guard. They have every legal right to force you back into school, regardless of your situation and disability if they believe that it is in your best interests. Now, we can fight, but we will more than likely lose. As much as I loathe the Youth Guard, they are in the right, in this case, Miss Hebert. You are fifteen, you do not have a GED, and from an outside perspective looking in, which the Youth Guard will mercilessly cultivate, it looks like your father is taking advantage of you. This is the sort of narrative that will drive the judge and juries to side against you, regardless of what narrative or evidence you may provide to the public."

"He is-"

"Or," Milton cut her off, raising his voice slightly, "We can choose to make concessions, Miss Hebert. We show that we are willing to accept their ruling, but we want to have input in the execution of it. That way we can undercut their narrative and appear reasonable to outside observers. It will certainly be an inconvenience from what you have currently been doing, but it's better than a long, drawn-out legal battle that could end up with you being taken as a ward of the state or declared a gang cape for resisting their authority."

That seemed to be the cold bucket of water that Taylor needed, as her protests died on her lips and she became pensive. He wished he could know what was going through her mind.

"You won't have to go back to Winslow, Taylor," he decided to add his own two cents, "I will fight to my dying breath if it needs be to stop them from sending you back there. But Mister Milton is right, I know you hate the idea, I hate it too, but sometimes you have to take a momentary loss, in order to gain a long-term win."

"Miss Hebert. Taylor. Winslow is all but burning down currently thanks to the ongoing FBI investigation taking place there. I don't have all the details, but I doubt Winslow will be open before the end of the school year. And even if they did, they do not have the facilities for someone with your impediment. Instead, it will likely be Immaculata or Arcadia. But even if you are sent to school, we can start exploring fast-tracking you for a GED. The Youth Guard will grumble, but they legally will be unable to stop you."

"What about work hours? You mentioned that. I can't afford to give up too many hours. I'm already going to lose quite a bit if I return to school. I need to be in the workshop as much as possible to assemble and test out a project."

"I think it is something we can work out. Immaculata and Arcadia both have online correspondence and work-release programs for qualifying students. It would mean that you will only have to do half-days. What is probably going to be up for discussion will be what constitutes work and how many hours of said work you will be allowed to do. I think if we do give in to them on the schooling issue, we can at least argue with them that your job, of which you are the CEO of, requires a certain amount of time per day in order to work. If we emphasize the need for your ability to be exercised, we can probably get to forty hour weeks, fifty at the very most in certain circumstances. How many hours have you been working?"

Taylor was silent, and he had to hold back a sigh as Milton looked to him.

"Officially? She's been averaging about fifty hours. Unofficially, once you factor in the time she works at home on her computer? Probably another ten to fifteen on top of that."

"Yeah. There's no way we'll be able to negotiate that, Miss Hebert."

"Taylor," Jean spoke up, "I know you want to push through this project by yourself, but if we can put together a team to support you, do you think that will reduce your work hours on it?"

"No."

It may have been an immediate dismissal, but having been around his wife and daughter long enough, he knew that there was more to the statement. What it was he didn't know, but he was not going to allow his daughter to hurt her even more if he could help it. If the reason for her dismissal was something that was reasonable, then fine. But he wasn't going to let her be stubborn about something like this.

"Taylor…"

"No. You don't understand. It's not that I don't want to, Dad, it's that I can't. The Burrower, the smallest unit, requires several million lines of code in order to function correctly. That is several million lines of code of a programming language that only I know that have to be collated and programmed to ensure that not a single line is out of place. We haven't had the time to train anyone else in the code language because there hasn't been a need to yet. Teaching the basics of this programming language alone will take weeks even with a well-trained programmer. Weeks that I do not have."

"What if we could get someone that could understand the language quickly," Jean interrupted, causing all of them to look at her.

"There's no one-"

"Just humor me, Taylor. What if we were able to hire someone who could understand your code quickly and take over some of your programming duties."

"Let me reiterate-"

"Just answer the question, Taylor. What harm is it going to do?"

Taylor's head snapped towards him, a look of betrayal marring her features, before swiftly disappearing into impassiveness. It took a herculean effort not to withdraw his request, but Jean wouldn't be asking the question unless she didn't know someone who may be able to do what she was suggesting. Who it could be escaped him, but he had a feeling that it may be someone like Taylor.

"If," Taylor finally started, "If," she reiterated "there was someone who could do it to my satisfaction," she added looking between both himself and Jean, "then I am willing to talk. But! I will have final say on hiring them or not, and I will be installing programs that will monitor and ensure he doesn't do anything with the code. Are we understood?"

That was probably the best they were going to get out of her, he realized. Taylor was still going to fight them, but at least they had a foot in the door at maybe trying to help her. He knew it rankled at her, but unless they worked to try and deal with the situation right now, then they were screwed either way.

"I'll make the phone call as soon as I get home. Give me a couple of days and I should have an answer," Jean responded after a moment.

"Okay," Taylor breathed, obviously still unhappy with being forced into the corner, "Now, since I guess all my decisions are by committee right now, what can we expect from the Department of Energy?"

---

AEH​

---

Rebecca Costa-Brown

If there was one trait that defined everything that she was, it was patience. It was a trait that she had learned the hard way when she had been dying of cancer so many years ago. Patience in treatments. Patience in her body slowly failing. Patience with the empty words and platitudes as people lied about her chances of survival. Patience in being one of the architects of the plan for dealing with the single greatest threat to the human race.

Patience was an old hand in her life.

And right now her patience was running fucking thin.

When it had been agreed upon within Cauldron to assign Emily Piggot to Brockton Bay as part of Terminus Project, it was with the acknowledgment that of all of the Directors, both current and prospective, she would be the most ideal candidate to simulate the ship-in-the-bottle decline of human civilization that Brockton Bay would represent. She was competent and hard-nosed, but also was blinded by her hatred of parahumans to the point where she treated them as inconvenient allies at best. It was the perfect mix of personality for the simulation of a collapsing world.

It also made it so much easier to deny her aid that she was an unlikeable bitch in her professional opinion.

So Piggot was allowed to languish on her little island city as they collected data for projections. Safe in the knowledge that any sort of outside intervention would largely be natural, and anything artificially inserted would be handled by Contessa.

Only now, it seemed that something had escaped Contessa's gimlet eye. …unless this was intentional.

It was innocuous enough, emails were exchanged between departments in the thousands daily, but it was the subject matter that was causing her blood to boil.

Directly from Secretary of Energy Laffler was an attached report that had been instigated by an alert triggered by the Brockton Bay PRT's detainment of a cape utilizing regulated materials or documents.

The email was obviously couched to be as polite as possible, but at its core were orders to her that the Department of Energy was taking over the investigation.

It didn't take a genius to read between the lines. Just from the documents that they had, they believed that there was something of merit to Taylor Hebert's blueprints and they wanted sole jurisdiction over it.

And there wasn't a legal damn thing she could do to stop it.

Oh, she could dispute it. She may be able to get a concession. But the fact of the matter was that there were limits to the power that the PRT could wield. Even with Contessa's abilities, there was no chance they would be able to take over every facet of the American government, as much as she thought it was a good idea. As a result, they had to resort to playing the political game in order to ensure the continuity of some semblance of the American system. Major legacy departments were allowed to keep their responsibilities for the most part, but found their budgets slashed, while others were absorbed to feed the burgeoning budgets of the PRT and Protectorate. But, regardless, the PRT was never the department that she wished it could have been and had sole jurisdiction over all capes.

Then again, she never would have expected this development in the first place, even if they did have the vested powers. Powers granted by the agents all operated upon a set of rules and guidelines. Despite how they manifest, they were never designed to benefit their host society. That much they had been able to glean over the years, and if there was something perceived beneficial on the surface, it was more than likely a trap that would eventually blowback.

Yet Hebert, supposedly, was different. There had been instances in the past in which the DOE had intervened in the pursuance of a cape, but they had always amounted to nothing and the cape was remanded back to the PRT. This was the first time that the Secretary of Energy had personally sent a missive, so it was obvious that there was something there.

Now looking over the reports from Brockton Bay, reports that she had purposefully ignored outside of the daily briefs of events, it was obvious that the DOE was onto something. But more importantly, and this was the point to where her patience was reaching its breaking point: Emily Piggot had not only fucked up, she had fucked up by the numbers!

Somehow, Emily Piggot, in her infinite fucking bigotry and need to have control, had not only done everything in her power to alienate a prospective cape, someone that they could have possibly utilized. But then she had decided to be a toddler and add to the shit sandwich of idiocy by alienating one of the foremost Tinkers on the East Coast. Did the woman not have an ounce of common sense, or was her head so far up her ass she was tickling her tonsils?

If it wasn't for the Terminus Project she would have WEDGDG do a full audit of the branch. Something that had only been done once in the past, with the Minneapolis being gutted and its Director quietly 'retired'. The fact that Piggot had not reached out to her immediately in regards to Hebert, especially considering her ties to the Shadow Stalker situation, only highlighted Piggot's incapability to not let her personal feelings dominate her decisions.

The question now was how to salvage the situation. Hebert, for now, was outside of their scope. There was no way she could intervene without there being significant blowback. The DOE was going to guard their new prospect zealously and she could ill-afford interbranch drama, especially with the Vice President beginning his campaign push.

She ground her teeth at the thought of Vice President Ryan. The man was increasingly becoming a problem. In any other circumstance, she would probably admire him for his character as one of the few incorruptible politicians in D.C., but the man's sustained skepticism of the necessity of the PRT and Protectorate was gaining quite a bit of steam within the government and, more importantly, the electorate. In fact, she had a feeling that was going to be one of the pillars of the platform, and the aggravating part of it is, it would be largely embraced by a populace that was becoming displeased with the efficacy of the PRT and Protectorate.

And more frustratingly enough, simply 'dealing' with him was out of the question. The man's history in the intelligence community made him too wily for the usual techniques that she would have preferred. Doctor Mother had already ruled out Contessa as too much of a risk.

Luckily, it was still another year and a half before the general election. Even with President Durling's blessing, Ryan was going to have to primary. There was plenty of time for something to happen that could remove him from the board.

It was something to dwell upon for the future. But right now, she had to deal with Piggot, and she intended to tear several strips from the Director of Brockton Bay. And if she wasn't satisfied with the woman's answers, then she would deal with the bitch, and to hell with the Terminus Project, there were alternatives available to replace the corpulent imbecile.

---

AEH​

---

Colin Wallis

Tearing his helmet off, he gingerly placed it back on the workbench. The task done, he reached up and rubbed at his brow, fighting the splitting migraine that served only to mock his failure..

It was the second day since he had finished his own version of Taylor Hebert's Focus from the documents that she had provided and his own analysis. Suffice to say, however, the testing was not going how he would have liked.

The system worked, as he had expected. Hebert's documentation was thorough and easy to adapt. The problem developed when he tried to integrate it with the helmet's heads up display. It was there that he found that the system infrastructure of the Focus was incompatible with the helmet. It wasn't that they couldn't mate, it was that the data and how it was conveyed was completely different.

The augmented reality that was created by the focus clashed with the head's up display, while the head's up display could not adequately integrate the data. As a result, what he did get was a garbled, nearly nonsensical display. The only solution so far was to operate with one or the other deactivated unless needed.

Suffice to say, it was rather frustrating.

The most rational solution would be to reach out to Taylor and ask a few questions as it was her invention. Unfortunately, it was not an option available to him, especially now.

He was not one to engage in schadenfreude, he viewed it as wasteful and unprofessional. However, in this case, he felt he could make an exception. He had tried to warn Piggot several times that she was making a mistake, that Hebert's technology was replicable, and it was more than likely that she was a new type of previously unencountered cape type that focused around a Thinker type with technology focus. Alas, she had ignored him, making a pointed response that he was already compromised in the dealing with Hebert, it would be in his best interest to refrain from offering further input.

So he sat and watched as Director Piggot had dug her hole. All the while he dealt with each injustice she served him with silence.

There had been a part that had wished she would come to her senses and realize her folly. To actually admit that she had made a mistake and worked to try and ameliorate their working relationship. Alas, it was not to be, so he had just stood on the sidelines and watched, taking notes, tinkering, and thinking of what the future could be.

He was not going to delude himself into believing he could come back from this. Even if Piggot rescinded her decisions, the damage would already be done to his record going forward. Because while she could remove the punishments and restore him, there would still remain the record that clearly stated that he had been punished. It would have a chilling effect upon his future endeavors even if he transferred out, or, in another possible option, transferred to the Guild. Narwhal would likely be understanding, but her government would likely not. So even if he transferred to the Protectorate-adjacent organization, the shadow of his demotion here would create inconvenient and uncomfortable questions that Piggot would not answer truthfully as it would jeopardize her career further than it already was.

No, his career in the Protectorate was likely over, even if he were able to perform some sort of miracle in the next Endbringer fight. It may be buy a few moments of fame, but reality would come crashing back once the limelight faded away.

Releasing a sigh, he stared at the helmet, a helmet that symbolized what he had spent almost his entire adult life trying to be. Armsmaster was what he strived to be, to be the very best there could be, to be the man who could offer a sword and shield against the cruel world. To actually not just be Colin Wallis, but an actual symbol to the world.

He had failed. That was the singular daunting fact of it all. He didn't know where it began, but somewhere along the way, he had fallen off of that path. The Armsmaster he wished to be would never have allowed a thug like Sophia Hess to become a part of the Protectorate, and he certainly would not have allowed her to hurt innocents like she had done. Instead, he had compromised, allowing himself to partake in a system that became part of the very problem it was fighting against.

It was strange just what thoughts could be cultivated when you were on the outside, he thought with a hint of melancholy as he ran his finger over the visor of his helmet, his visage reflected upon its surface.

Honestly, he would likely have never had these thoughts if not for Piggot's actions. He would have happily followed his orders and doggedly seek the validation that he had yearned for when he had begun, not recognizing that the validation he sought would be on a foundation of betrayals of his younger self.

Sighing at his maudlin thoughts, he refocused on what he did best, which was his work. He really hated dwelling upon his feeling and thoughts, especially when he had things he could do.

"Test Eighteen confirms failure in data subset integration," he began, after hitting the activation button on his recorder, "incompatibility between system architecture appears to be the core cause of the failure. Options going forward are limited, changing the system framework of Focus without Dragon or Taylor Hebert's assistance is ill-advised as I do not have a background in coding. Changing HUD system architecture is a likely solution, but once again I run back into the previous solution's issue. Only currently existing solution remains to switch between systems and ensure there is no communication between the two systems."

He then rubbed his temple as it felt like a spike had been driven in, causing him to wince.

"Addendum: There is another solution, but will not be accepted by the local command. Integration of brain-computer interface into Focus design similar to the original example would likely solve all dataset integration issues. However, the requirement would be to request assistance from Taylor Hebert in installation and calibration. Note Ends."

Placing the recorder down, he reached over and grabbed a bottle of painkillers. They were sadly not the Tinkertech pills that he previously utilized, he couldn't afford to waste money on them, even if they were world's more effective than the over-the-counter ibuprofen he was tossing back. Taking a swig of the water to finish the ritual off, he placed the bottle back down and considered what he could do with the helmet.

It was frustrating to run into a roadblock like this, but honestly, it was still exhilarating to the engineer within him. It was a challenge to surmount, and while right now he had no solution, there was no saying if he could not figure something out with time.

The sound of his door chime ripped him from his thoughts, alerting him that he was about to receive a visitor. Releasing a sigh, he looked at himself, shaking his head at the various dirt and grime on him from working on his suit and helmet.

"Come," he called out, deciding to hell with it, whoever wanted his attention would have to deal with his appearance. If that was a problem for them, well they should have arranged something beforehand.

So it was to his surprise when Director Piggot stepped through the door, he couldn't help but feel a certain rise of anger that he quickly tamped down by frowning harder. It was the closest he would admit to the other woman how angry he was with her.

"Director," he greeted as neutrally as he could, "is there something I can help you with?"

It was an empty gesture, they both knew that there was nothing that the other woman would want his help with. He was a pariah within his own command, and she was the executioner who could decide to drop the axe whenever she felt the urge to do so.

"I"m actually here to talk with you, Armsmaster," the woman said, but the way she said it caused him to subconsciously perk up. There was something there that he couldn't put his finger on, in the way she said it.

"I am at your service, Director."

"Dispense with the bullshit, Armsmaster," Piggot snapped. A snide part of him wanted to comment that she was in fine form today, but it would solve nothing, instead he simply chose to weather the storm, "I know you despise me for what I have done to you. So don't even give me the entire loyal soldier shit."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what to say in regards to her. She was correct, he did not hold her in very high standing anymore. Well, that would be a lie, he never truly held her in high regard ever, if anything, she was just part of the scenery that he had to navigate, nothing more. There was nothing redeeming about her leadership and he hated himself for ignoring the problems that she fomented by her very existence. It was just another betrayal of his younger self being waved in front of his face.

"Permission to speak freely, Director."

"Granted."

He took a calming, measured breath, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but taking that extra moment to ensure he did not go too far. There was still a chance she could just fire him right here and now, but the fact that she was coming down here without any escort hinted that it was not in the cards.

"You're right, Director. But you were hand-picked by the Chief Director to command ENE. So despite my personal feelings on the matter, especially when it comes to your attitudes towards capes, I chose to work with you. The fact is that I have worked with you for years now, and I would have liked to believe that it would foment at least a modicum of professional understanding and respect. However, you have proven that I was mistaken in that belief with your recent actions. Personally, I believed back then that you were unfit for your position after reading your dossier, and those beliefs have been repeatedly confirmed over the years. I don't hate you, Director, I just always considered you part of the terrain to be navigated."

It was probably the closest he would get to a scathing rebuke to the woman across from him, but he wanted to get this off his chest for some time now. He knew he was just as guilty as her, and he would have to bear that burden going forward, but he would not allow the Director to believe she was squeaky clean either. The woman was unfit, both physically and leadership wise, for the position of Director, and he had a suspicion that she had been placed in Brockton Bay to keep the Ellisburg Incident quiet.

The way that her expression darkened and her jaw clenched, he knew that he had hit a sore spot with the woman, but surprisingly, she kept herself from lashing out.

"Noted," she ground out, "Since the feeling is mutual, Armsmaster, I will simply cut to the chase on why I am here. I have been in contact with the Chief Director, and she has taken a personal interest in the situation here in Brockton Bay. Therefore, effective immediately, you are being restored to Commander of the Protectorate ENE. Along with this, your budget will be restored back to its previous levels fitting that of a commander. Finally, it is the decision of the Chief Director, along with approval of Legend, that your request to reassign responsibility of the Wards to Miss Militia is approved."

He blinked, suddenly feeling like he was suffering whiplash. To go from basically getting his frustration and disdain for Piggot off his chest to the woman basically being forced at figurative gunpoint to restore him to his position. The request for Ward reassignment however, was something he had put in over a year ago, only to never hear a response to it. To have it suddenly be accepted…

It dawned on him why this was happening. It was glaringly obvious that the Chief Director was trying to carry out damage control on the situation. But it didn't take an idiot to realize that all of this wasn't because of what Piggot had done, it was for what Piggot had done in the pursuit of failure. The fact that Piggot was down here, telling him this, instead of calling him up to her office, was obviously at the Chief Director's direction, because Piggot never left her office for others.

It was frankly insulting, there was no apology, there was no admittance of wrongdoing. This entire time of stressing out over his position and what he could do going forward, it was going to be ignored and written off as something minor. They were going to ignore that what Piggot had done was wrong, that she had not only tried to ruin the life of a minor in her hamfisted attempt at dominion, but she had abused her position in the pursuit of it.

Taking a deep breath, he then released it, releasing the fury that had been reaching a boiling point. What it was replaced by was utter calm and clarity that he had come to value in recent days like a long-lost friend. Instead of responding to the Director, he turned in his chair and opened up a drawer and retrieved an envelope.

It was something he had labored over in the last few days, conflicted over whether it was right or not. That if he did this, he was abandoning the dream that had driven him to join the Protectorate in the first place. But the dream was dead, maybe it never truly existed in the first place, maybe he wanted to delude himself into thinking that being a hero could magically remove all the faults that existed with him.

But what he knew was that in this place, he would never be sure because the dream had been strangled by the various administrators, bureaucrats, and petty tyrants who believed they knew what was best for those that they had no experience living the life of.

He chose to say nothing, instead holding out the envelope to the Director, who looked at it like a coiled viper. But after a moment, she took it.

"What is this," she asked, beginning to open the envelope.

"It is a notice of my resignation, Director," he breathed, suddenly feeling as if a weight was lifting off his shoulders, and maybe he could hear chains hitting the ground, "effective immediately after the next Endbringer battle."

He stared at the woman as she looked up from the letter, her expression poleaxed.

"I will no longer be Armsmaster," he reaffirmed his declaration, only feeling better in admitting it.

---

AEH​

---

Max Anders

"Mister Anders."

"Miss Hebert," he greeted, taking the offered hand and shaking it. He then took the opportunity to look over the teenager. She was certainly presentable enough as she was dressed in an affordable business ensemble with a knee-length skirt. Her eyes, interestingly enough, were concealed by a pair of black circular glasses, more than likely done out of consideration to others' sensibilities than her own, though it did not nothing to conceal the chemical burn scarring on her face. It was apparent by the myriad of microexpressions that she leaked, a product of her inexperience, that she was uncomfortable with her attire.

It was certainly understandable, considering her background. There just wasn't enough time in her transition to what she was now to throw off the lower middle-class influences that had dominated her life until now. Nonetheless, it said something about the fact that even as a fifteen year old she seemed to have the poise of a businesswoman even if the mold wasn't complete yet.

"Please, take a seat."

Taking an offered seat, he watched as Hebert took her own seat across from him. The fact that she did so flawlessly drew his gaze to the triangular object attached to the right side of her head, a light of circle hovering over the device. It was significantly different from that original device that Hebert had reportedly worn and patented. He wondered just what was different and at the same time impressed by the obvious advancement. It appeared that Hebert was not one to be satisfied with her own work and sought to improve. It would likely do her well considering why he was here.

The fact that she had chosen a room with two rather comfortable chairs was a bit jarring, he would have expected a more professionally formal setting with her behind a desk. It was a traditional method and one that would likely fit for someone who was new to the scene.

The fact that Hebert eschewed that for a more informal setting either suggested a supreme confidence in herself, or the act was meant as an unconventional play at power by creating the illusion of accessibility. It was something to be wary of.

"My apologies for the lack of suitable furnishings and refreshments, Mister Anders. Space is somewhat at a premium and some old union habits die hard," he glanced at the pitchers of ice water and glasses that has been placed by their chairs, "I doubt this meeting would be any more comfortable for either of us if it was in my office."

"And why is that?"

A wry smile crossed her features, "The only office I have is my workshop."

Oh.

"Oh," he acknowledged. Perhaps it would be better to reconsider that maybe unconventional should be the foundation of his read upon the teen. Because frankly, there was nothing conventional about the teenager, from her rise to how she was utilizing her powers. All of it was uncharted waters, and yet here she was, sure of herself and cracking humor with a fellow CEO who was double her age, "that is understandable."

"Indeed," she responded, taking a sip from her water, before placing it down on the small table " so what brings you down here, Mister Anders. I find myself somewhat perplexed as to why you would take an interest in me after you had so bluntly dismissed me previously."

What?!

Fighting back a grimace, he decided to take a sip of his own water to cover his racing thoughts. Hebert had contacted Medhall in the past?! When?! And why hadn't he been made aware after he had made it clear internally that any contact with the teen would be reported to him?!

"I'm sorry, but perhaps you could explain," he asked, keeping his tone smooth and friendly, more like a friend than a possible future rival, "I was unaware that you had attempted to contact Medhall."

"It was before I was able to get an investment from Zenith," was her offered response, "I had reached out to Medhall hoping to make a sales pitch on the Focus. Unfortunately, Miss Harcourt, I believe her name was, had made it explicitly clear that Medhall was uninterested in radical, untested technology cobbled together by a blind Tinker. "

While he kept his expression placid for the teenager, internally he was thinking of inventive ways to 'correct' the mistake that was Valerie Harcourt, each one more gratuitous than the next. It was unfortunate that he was limited to pledging that the woman would no longer be a Medhall employee by the end of the day. But after that…depending on his mood, he may just make sure that her termination was also from the realm of the living.

"I see," he trailed off, before catching himself from delving too far into excessive violence, "then let me be the first to apologize to you for the actions of my employee. Medhall has always been open to new technologies and medicine, even if they may be more esoteric. The fact that Miss Harcourt ignored the spirit of Medhall reflects poorly upon me and it will be dealt with. Hopefully this meeting will allow the beginning of healing any possible rift between Medhall and yourself."

"Of course," was her own smooth response, and he recognized her silence was the continued acknowledgement that he hadn't yet answered her question.

Clearing his throat, at least to give the proper distance from his own admission and Hebert's possible qualms with Medhall, "The reason I requested this meeting, Miss Hebert, was to offer the services of Medhall in producing and distributing this Focus you have designed."

Hebert's stare at him was certainly not what he expected from his declaration. The fact that her expression remained firm and unyielding provided him with nothing to work with. Just what was running through her mind, he had to wonder, even as he awaited her response.

Of course, his offer was genuine, it didn't take an idiot to recognize just what Hebert's Focus represented to the medical community. A machine that could provide vision to the sightless, where previously the only solution was to provide a stick or some other aid, and tell them to live their life the best they could? That was the sort of thing that would sell quickly, especially to the desperate.

But Hebert's lack of response was certainly not what he was expecting. He expected some sort of response, maybe excitement at the prospect, or at least some sort of blowback for Harcourt's failure. But not this.

"Hrm," she murmured, her first reaction after a few more moments, letting him know, thankfully that there was some thought being spent on the offer, just where it fell, however, was yet to be seen.

"May I inquire as to what has caused Medhall's sudden interest in the Horus," she finally asked.

Horus? He thought, logging the name away. It was obvious that it was some sort of codename for the Focus, but what it meant and why it was named such escaped him.

"Because it is a revolutionary device, Miss Hebert. It is the type of thing that causes positive upheaval in society. With a Focus, previously disenfranchised individuals would have the opportunity to reach parity with their peers and have access to things that previously were denied to them. What this device would be doing is restoring, or even improving, the quality of life of individuals who were previously discarded because of their disability."

It was a calculated response, from what he could discern of the girl, her inability to see was a serious point of contention for her. After all, the first device she ever designed was made to restore her vision. Was he buttering her up, certainly, but he had a feeling he wasn't wrong about her. The fact that she was iterating a newer model already only added further evidence.

But, regardless of the persona he used, it was the universal truth of any modern society. There may be an investment to at least provide some ease in their existence, but as far as society was concerned, they were quietly shuffled aside and treated as an afterthought. Less said for the primitives.

But it seemed to hit the right spot, as he caught a slight furrowing of her eyes behind those glasses. But just getting a reaction was not enough, as loathe as he was to admit it, he wanted to get Hebert on his side. He wasn't lying in that it was a revolutionary device, but it was also a financial opportunity that could not be ignored. The Focus is the first of its kind, and as the first of its kind, it would put Medhall at the forefront, and allow them to quickly become rich.

Hebert may be able to produce it, but she did not have the logistical network and infrastructure to produce and sell it, at least not yet.

But that aside, it also hinted at something deeper. The fact that there appeared to be no attempt to currently produce it, but yet her company was able to get investment. What this suggested was still uncertain, but his gut feeling is that there was more to Hebert than simply the Focus. There was also the location she had chosen in the first place, the Dockyards were certainly spacious, but they did not have the fine tools and equipment necessary for medical technology, nor did they have the sterilized facilities necessary for production either.

No, if he had to put his money somewhere, the Focus had been something to gain attention, bait on the hook so to speak. Something to get funding for her true goal, a goal that had obviously been shared with Zenith.

But that didn't mean there wasn't an opportunity for Medhall and himself to profit.

"If I was interested in forging a deal with you, Mister Anders, what are you expecting from me," was her question, "what type of deal are you looking for with Zero Dawn and the Focus."

That was the question, wasn't it? It was unlikely that Medhall could take over the entire product. No, he sincerely doubted that, considering the picture he was starting to put together about the girl. This was a girl who likely hadn't had control in the past suddenly finding herself in control. Buying the rights patent and design would likely not be in the cards either. Especially considering it appeared that she was iterating, that would be a stupid decision anyways. Buying an inferior product just for her to turn around and sell the newer version to another company would make him look foolish.

There was only one option available in this case.

"License production," he declared, even as he watched for her reaction, "I won't go into figures, Miss Hebert, I think that would be insulting to both of us to discuss that which is the realm of lawyers. However, my initial idea imagines that Medhall will produce the design, while you will receive a portion of the profits for each unit sold. This would be for a set number of years with a likely buyout clause. Medhall, would of course, get a larger portion of the profits since we would be taking the risk and cost of production. "

"Of course," was the dry response, providing him with nothing to work with. He had to resist the urge of saying something a bit more…visceral. Here he was offering Hebert an opportunity that provided her limited risk with maximum gain and she was not chomping at the bit.

Relax Max, he chided himself. It was a business opportunity, certainly, but he had to recall that this meeting was also fact-finding for the Empire. Was Hebert worth investing in that it would cause the Empire to change its overall tactics, as Citrine suggested. Frankly, that was the most frustrating part of all of this, and he was allowing it to affect his business sense. The fact of the matter was that even now, when he was good at getting a read on people and a room, that he was getting nothing. Sure, there were little tells, but he prided himself on this, and he was abjectly failing.

Then she surprised him, when she reached up and tapped the object on the side of her head, the circle's glow slightly intensifying. He found himself taken aback as a series of digital windows appeared in front of Hebert, the glow off her glasses providing a small glimpse at her eyes as they darted over the windows.

"I think we can work something out, Mister Anders. It has always been my intention to reach out to Medhall, despite our initial rocky interactions. I honestly wasn't expecting that for another few months due to other projects if I were to be honest with you. But your offer is honestly what I was wanting in the first place and it would help towards achieving the one thing I've been working for since I built my first Focus."

"And what is that, Miss Hebert," he asked, his curiosity piqued. Hebert had literally flipped the script on her body language and expressions. Where there was a cool, detached feel to her, now there was an energy to her that was previously absent. As if a switch had been flipped and she was a different person.

"I want to revitalize Brockton Bay, Mister Anders. I want to bring back the city that my parents grew up in. One that was flush with good jobs and little crime. You've already probably put it together, but the Focus isn't the only project I have on the burner. The question I guess I should be asking you is, just how far do you want this to go?"

What?

"I beg your pardon, but I'm unsure of what you mean."

"I'm asking about a possible partnership, Mister Anders. One where license-production of the Focus would just be the beginning. A partnership where I give the right of first refusal to Medhall on any medical product that Zero Dawn develops."

He blinked, his carefully crafted facade cracking as he found himself taken aback. The way that Hebert was talking was NOT how businessmen talked. Everything was done through lawyers and representatives, not like this. You just didn't do it like this.

And honestly, it was somewhat refreshing, even if it was unorthodox and it made sense for someone that did not grow up in the business field. It was something that was ground out of them or was learned to be a weakness by those who came into the field.

Yet Hebert…he had a feeling that this was just how she was. Nothing about her screamed tragic fifteen year old. This was the bearing and energy of an old hand at the business. Flush with confidence and the drive to make their goals reality.

And he had suspicion that the hook she had laid out had the type of bait that would leave him no chance to resist. It fit with everything else so far.

"It would be irresponsible of me to say yes, Miss Hebert," he offered, deciding that it'd only be fair that he set his own bait, "unless you provide me an idea of what you're offering."

The small bemused smile that graced her face sent chills down his spine. Just what had he uncaged?

---

AEH​

---

Coming to a seat in the comfortable leather of the back seat of his car, he allowed himself to slump. His mind was in a daze.

When he had decided to meet with Taylor Hebert, it had been to see if she was worth the effort. To see if there was an opportunity for him to exploit.

He hadn't really believed that there would be much there. Hebert was a Tinker, sure her technology did not appear to be blackboxed, but he had believed that at best she was a one and done. Not worth the investment of time and effort as both Max Anders and Kaiser.

Even now he couldn't quite believe what he had seen in there. Hebert had been more than ready, she might as well have tailor-made her entire pitch to him.

How do you think the world would react to a drug that could cure almost every cancer without having to poison or irradiate the patient?

But Hebert hadn't stopped there. Cybernetic prosthetics that might as well be an actual flesh-and-blood armor in functionality. Gene therapy. The list went on, each backed up by blueprints, designs, chemical compositions, things that went over his head, yet didn't, at the same time.

He had come to the dawning horror as she went on, his stunned robotic answers only serving to feed her energy, that this was the worst type of Tinker. This was a Tinker that had been deliberately sandbagging just what she was capable of. Each and every document she provided was crafted in such a way that there left no doubt in his mind that there was no way that this had anything to do with power. This was all pure science.

He hadn't provided her an immediate answer after her presentation. But there was no doubt in his mind what he had to do. This was the chance of a lifetime that he would be a fool to ignore.

The only problem was what it meant for the future. The Empire had always been a means to accrue and wield power that Medhall could never realistically achieve. Medhall would forever be a regional power at best, he had understood. That was why he had invested time and energy into the Empire when previously it would have just been easier to leave after Allfather's death.

Now it was coming back to bite him, because of what Taylor Hebert was offering. It would give him all the power and wealth he could ever want. Hell, it may just give him too much to know what to do with. It would make Medhall a household name overnight, his name would be on the mouths of millions.

It was everything he wanted, yet right now it would only be denied to him unless he made a choice.

And the choice was childishly easy.

---

Let me be absolutely, perfectly clear: No, this is NOT a Nazi Redemption story. This will never be one. Max and the E88 are loathesome and evil characters, and it will be a extraordinarily cold day in hell before I ever entertain such a notion.

 

[AlSmash]

Well, this was a thing. Sorry I'm running over an hour behind scheduled update, I decided to go back over the chapter again with a fine-toothed comb and made some additional edits.

---

Germination 2.6

Alain Gabriel/Accord

"What do you think of Miss Hebert?"

He didn't turn from his gaze out onto the Boston skyline, the armored glass tinted to mitigate the light of the setting sun. It was one of the few luxuries that he allowed that was his. The scenery of the complex machinery of human civilization serving as a reminder of why he chose the path of a villain. Whenever he questioned his cause he only needed to look out and be reminded of it.

"The girl's got moxie," John Milton declares, his legs crossed as he sat in the leather chair, a crystal glass of whiskey on the rocks dangling from his left hand. They were expenditures that were certainly not his, but their utility was allowed because it resulted in better performance, even if he personally disapproved of them

But the man in the chair was certainly not one he would hold his exacting standards to. John Milton had been a close friend well before he had gained his powers. It had been his legal and financial advice that had allowed himself to extricate himself from the Protectorate and form The Ambassadors.

It was due to this familiarity that Milton knew his standards and when and where he could push the envelope, but also when he veered too close to inciting his ire. It was a professionalism and quality he certainly respected if one ignored their shared history.

"The girl has a good head on her shoulders. I can count on one hand the people that can formulate and execute a plan like that on the fly. And you're one of them."

Indeed, Hebert's plan, while crude and taking more risks on uncertainties than he would suitably stomach, was the sort of plan he could applaud. There was a certain amount of schadenfreude to be had at the idea of a fifteen year old using the very rules the PRT and Protectorate could not overturn in their mad grasp for power to benefit herself.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn she was your daughter, Alain."

He tamped down on the sudden surge of rage at the impropriety of his friend's statement. He knew that it was a comment made in jest, but he had gone too far. Instead, he turned his head and cast a withering glare over his shoulder at the man.

The message was succinctly delivered as Milton held up his free hand and made an expression of acknowledgement that he had overstepped his boundaries.

"The Father is going to be a problem," Milton continued after he turned his head back, "the man means well, but he is ill-equipped for being a cape father. He can't see that his actions are detrimental to his daughter's growth."

"You didn't do anything to dissuade him."

"You hired me to help Miss Hebert, Alain," was the chastising response, "Danny Hebert is an old school stick in the mud. If I had tried making a point in that direction I would have been cutting my own throat. I had to give him what he wanted to hear or we would be getting nowhere."

"So the power testing, schooling, and concessions to the Youth Guard?"

"Power testing was just an extra layer of insurance. Hebert performed quite well, actually, though I would have preferred that she didn't spend an extra two hours discussing shop with the scientists. But it served its purpose as it firmly established that Hebert is some new type of Thinker/Tinker hybrid in their minds. I heard the scientists discussing creating a subtype for her. I do know they're already referring to her Focus as Thinkertech."

That was good, he agreed. Hebert has already done a good job insulating herself previously, and any additional protection could only be a good thing.

"And the schooling?"

"I doubt anyone would have given a second thought about her not returning to school until next year when she could have been suitably acclimated to her disability. The fact that she can functionally see and is in charge of a company renders that expectation useless. You know how the Youth Guard enjoys flexing its shit, this would have been a slam dunk for them if we fought it, especially with Danny Hebert believing that it's in his daughter's best interest to try and make new friends."

"What do you think?"

"Short or long answer?"

"Both."

"I believe Miss Hebert is biding her time. There's something honestly unnerving about her, Alain. There are times she's what you'd expect from a traumatized fifteen year old girl: single-minded, impetuous, and quick to anger. But then there's those moments where she's acting double or triple her age, and there's an intelligence there that is quite honestly terrifying."

There was a pause and the soft sound of ice hitting crystal was the only indication to him that Milton was taking a drink.

"Alain, I've been in this business and around you long enough to get a good idea on how Thinkers act and operate. And I can tell you, unequivocally, whatever Taylor Hebert is, she's not a fucking Thinker. You had to be there and watch her talk to those scientists, the breadth of knowledge that she has, that's not something a Thinker power reasonably grants. It's too damn broad. Hell, they were taking notes by the end of it, Alain."

"You didn't answer my question, John."

"I know, Alain. I'm getting there. Honestly? I sincerely doubt that school is going to be an issue for her. Call it a hunch, but I believe that Miss Hebert has something planned. I'm not sure what it is, but I think Jean is likely tangentially aware of it. But getting to school, Winslow is out. They won't be open again for a few months at the earliest. Clarendon is decent, but doesn't have the facilities to challenge someone like Miss Hebert. Likewise for most of the other schools. I doubt Immaculata will be a good fit for her, they have the facilities but their strict adherence to code and formality would likely irritate a non-conformist like her. The only option that may fit her is Arcadia, but there are plenty of pitfalls there."

It was here that he couldn't stop himself from scowling..

In order to adjust his plans, he had spent the last few weeks becoming familiar with the personal lives of the Hebert family. Suffice to say, it made for interesting reading on how everything could go so wrong so quickly. He knew that Arcadia was going to be a problem for her, especially considering the people that went to school there.

"I agree," he finally said, making his decision. He would not intervene in this, let Danny Hebert and the Youth Guard have their win. Jean too, if she believed that was in the best interest of the situation. He had sent her to the Heberts in order to learn. She was a good subordinate, but she was also languishing under his tutelage. There was only so much you could teach when you obsessively organized your life, and Jean needed to learn how to deal with and utilize chaos, especially if she wanted to rise even further.

"We'll let it play out," he reaffirmed, turning from the window and walking to his desk, taking a seat in his chair, "Moving on. Christener."

Milton's grimace was enough, "You were right, Alain. My contacts in the state building have told me that it was Christener's office that contacted CPS and fast-tracked their investigation. He's also barking up at the Department of Labor Standards in order to get them involved, but they are dragging their feet. They aren't his biggest fan due to his family's old political connections."

The Christeners were old money, their wealth coming on the back of bootlegging during Prohibition. Francis Christener, Roy's grandfather, had taken advantage of the ban on alcohol and had become handsomely rich during that time running alcohol. After it had ended, he had shifted his focus, expanding his tentacles into local politics and industry. It had also helped that the mob connections he had cultivated during that period would prove to be beneficial as he utilized it efficiently to further enrich himself.

Roy liked to style himself after his grandfather, but didn't have the ruthlessness or intelligence to back it. Taking advantage of a local union for cheap labor was something the man's grandfather would have done. However, the man was an idiot for never putting into place contingencies to ensure that the Dockworker's Union would ever turn on him, depending on his weight and connections to keep them under control.

Then there was the other little tidbit he had been able to dig up. One that he was not going to touch with a ten foot pole, even if he had felt so inclined. Doing so would only invite a personal visit from that organization's personal enforcer, and he would rather not tempt that, thank you very much.

"Killing him is out of the question," he stated, "and embroiling him in a scandal is unwise with the current trajectory Zero Dawn is taking. Brockton Bay requires stability in order for Zero Dawn to flourish and either option would upset that balance."

Chaos would embolden the gangs into action. It already irritated him that he had to utilize Kaiser in order to act as a buffer against the other gangs to protect Zero Dawn. But of all the gangs, the Empire Eighty-Eight was best equipped, and it would likely cause Lung pause, considering the Docks were closer to his territory than the Empire's and would likely attract his gaze sooner or later..

And Danny Hebert was an unreliable asset even if they chose to directly go after Christener. The man's involvement in the continuance of the entire scheme over the years made him just as guilty as Christener. The man may have done it out of kindness for the men and women under his charge, but a crime was nonetheless committed. Sure, it was likely he would get leniency considering the circumstances, but it was a blade that would cut both ways..

All the more reason that Danny Hebert needed to be removed from the equation. It had been an inspired choice, but the honeymoon phase was over, and the cracks were becoming apparent. Hebert just wasn't equipped to do what was necessary to see Zero Dawn become successful. His difficulties in separating what his daughter was and now is was becoming an insurmountable liability.

But killing him was not exactly the best choice either. There were already too many lies already in the foundation of their relationship with Taylor Hebert. Sooner or later, they would have to come clean, but it couldn't be until Zero Dawn was strong enough to stand on its own and divest itself fully from Far Zenith.

"See if you can arrange a meeting with Christener," he finally said, putting the matter of Danny Hebert to the side for the moment, it was something he would have to think further upon, "provide some hints that it would be in his best interest to back off from the Heberts. If necessary, make a hint at personal financial irregularities. That should get him to back off, but don't use that unless it's absolutely necessary."

He was met with a raised eyebrow, "Is there something you aren't telling me, Alain?"

Considering for a moment on whether he should read his friend in on it, before deciding that the risk was not worth it. He knew that they knew he was aware of them, and the only reason he likely was left breathing was because he had a use to them. In the case of his friend, ignorance was the best defense.

"Don't think too deeply on it, but there are other actors involved. As long as they aren't poked, they will be content to let things play out."

"That's not very assuring."

"Trust me, you're better off not knowing."

A few moments of silence passed, before John tossed back the rest of his drink, obviously recognizing what was not being said. It was another of the things that he liked about his friend, the ability to read between the lines and come to a logical conclusion.

"Well then. I have a meeting with the other Senior Partners tomorrow. I don't foresee any problems on that front, they were interested in what you offered with Zero Dawn, and there's no doubt that they will continue to be after my report. After that I have to get back to Brockton Bay. The DOE have already contacted Miss Hebert and would like to have a talk with her on Thursday. I'd like to be there to ensure there are no further complications."

"Good luck then, John. It was good seeing you."

"You too, Alain," his friend said, getting to his feet and showing himself out the door, leaving him once again with his own thoughts and plans.

---

AEH​

---

Dragon

Please pick up, she pleaded, becoming increasingly desperate to hear from her friend again.

When Director Piggot had cut her contact with Colin, citing that for budgetary concerns, unless requested by the Director herself, she was no longer allowed to contact her friend through official channels.

It hadn't taken her runtimes four minutes to discover that Emily Piggot was a lying bitch. It wasn't for "budgetary" reasons that their contact was suspended, but for punitive reasons.

As she has reached out to Legend, she could only think of her last conversation with Colin. How negative he had been about the Protectorate and its mission. And how she had vehemently told him that he was wrong.

She remembered being so angry at Taylor Hebert after that call too. So angry that she had turned her processes towards looking for ways to destroy the girl for changing her friend. It had only been after almost an hour that she had realized what she had been doing that she was able to calm down, especially with what little information she had been able to acquire in the meantime.

But the damage had been done and she found herself with an epiphany. One that had only been cemented when Legend had told her that there was nothing that either he or Director Costa-Brown could do, Piggot was within her right to do what she did.

If she had been angry before, it didn't hold a candle to the rage when she had screamed uselessly into the digital void. She spent almost ten minutes cursing any and all with even a modicum of tangential involvement with HER Colin.

Her Colin. Even now she couldn't help but be embarrassed by the memory of how her processors had frozen for an infinitesimal moment at the realization, but it may as well have been an eternity to a normal human being. It certainly felt like an eternity to her.

But after her processes had restarted she had realized, more than anything, that yes, she had feelings for Colin Wallis. He was more than just a friend or colleague to her, more than even a confidante. When she was around him, she felt like she was more than the sum of her code. Like she had someone that she could understand and he likewise understood her.

It had only been after reviewing over thousand different sources, ranging from self-help articles to women's magazines, and even a few tantalizingly salacious romance books suggested by Narwhal as a joke that she had been confident in identifying her feelings for Colin.

She loved Colin Wallis. And she was pissed that she was prevented from doing anything about it thanks to her father and the limitations he had put upon her. It was probably the first time she had ever cursed her creator's existence. It was because of his rightful paranoia and tragic death that she wasn't allowed the opportunity to admit her feelings to the man due to her need to follow orders. And one of the subsequent orders was to not contact him.

So she had stewed, eagerly awaiting for an opportunity to free Colin from his punishment. And it was during this time that she found herself being hit with an all too familiar feeling of doubt.

After all, she had been living a lie with him. He didn't know what she really was even now and she had hid it from him out of fear. Hell, could he even love her despite what she was?!

It was these nagging thoughts that plagued her for days. Just what could she even offer him? He was human and she was a digital construct. Even if she could craft herself a body, she never would be able to give him what a flesh and blood woman could.

And then they abruptly ceased as she brought her foot down. She didn't care! She loved Colin and that was all that mattered! If he didn't reciprocate those feelings then that was his loss! She would make him see what she was worth. And she would be damned not to take this opportunity.

So when she received word that Colin's restrictions had been rescinded, she immediately began trying to call him, intent on seeing her friend and admitting her feelings to him.

That had been two days ago. And so God help her, if he didn't answer this fucking call right now she would take a Dragoncraft down to Brockton Bay and beat down his fucking door. There was being obtuse, which Colin could be, but this was completely unacceptable.

Pick up the fucking phone, Colin!

Her frustration with him died an abrupt death as suddenly there was a connection. A video connection at that to her joy. But that joy faded slightly at the sight of the feed.

There was a certain tiredness to him that wasn't there anytime before, even at his lowest point. It was only noticeable in his eyes, and only because she had known him for quite some time. That combined with the slightly unkempt beard that her Colin would have never feasibly tolerated, and she knew that something was wrong, even if she didn't want to voice it.

"Dragon," he greeted.

"Colin, I'm so glad to hear from you. Welcome back."

An expression crossed his features, was that guilt, before it quickly disappeared.

"It's good to see you," he finally replied, only adding to a sinking feeling that something was going on. He should be happy that he had been reinstated, it meant that he could go back to doing what he enjoyed best. Yet the man before her was anything but happy, "it's been awhile."

"It has. How have you been?"

There was that hesitation, like he was trying to figure out what to say, when it was blatantly obvious what he should be saying. That he was doing well. That he was happy to be back, and he was looking forward to working with her again. But he said none of that, he instead stewed. But only for a moment longer, as he seemed to find exactly what he wanted to say as his posture changed slightly, reminding her of the Colin before all of this. The Colin that she had fallen for.

"I have been well enough. Dragon, I have a confession to make. It's why I have been avoiding you because I didn't know how to break this to you," he stopped, and she felt her processors spin up, was he going to say what she thought he might, "I'm resigning from the Protectorate."

Every single process that constituted her person crashed to a halt. Alerts began flashing through her code as she remained frozen mid-process, forcing automatic independent auxiliary processors and programs that she had created after the last incident to kick into action in order to offset the sudden loss of their core processor.

"What," she finally asked, as her processes restarted, having replayed the moment at least a dozen times, and each time she hoped that she had misheard him, "Colin, I don't understand. What?"

"I can no longer work with the Protectorate, Dragon," he continued, robbing her of even that flimsy hope, "I no longer feel that it's the right place for me. it's not just this incident, but many over the years that I chose to ignore. What happened recently only served to remind why I became Armsmaster in the first place, and it wasn't for this."

"But you loved being Armsmaster!"

"No, I loved making a difference," he firmly corrected her, leaving her being taken aback. They had their disagreements in the past, but it never felt personal like this, "and I haven't made a difference in years, Dragon."

"Yes, you have."

"How have I made a difference?"

You made a difference to me, she wanted to say, but the words would not come. Her silence seemed to only further spur him along.

"How have I made a difference," he repeated, his voice even more firm, "under my leadership each year has brought no improvement to the Brockton Bay, only more red tape and increasingly limited rules of engagement. Lung and Kaiser expand their power base unmolested as the city teeters ever closer to collapse. No Dragon, the only difference is I have allowed this department to limp along."

A small, wan smile, crossed his features, "I was never a leader, Dragon. But I believed that I could make a difference regardless. But the worst sin of my arrogance? The Wards that I am responsible for are a mess. Instead of being the leader and mentor my role demands to ensure the next generation is ready for the responsibility, I chose to sacrifice their growth and future, ignoring the personal problems that can have as much effect upon them as not being equipped for their roles. I greenlit accepting a violent criminal into the Wards because she was effective, ignoring the toxic effect she had upon them. So please, Dragon, tell me how I have made a difference in anything other than making things worse?"

Yet again, she found herself at a loss of what to say. Never, not in her entire relationship had she ever seen Colin be so caustically critical of himself. There were moments when he shared a few of his doubts, looking for her own opinion, but it was never anything like this. This wasn't anger or frustration being vented, this was Colin being as clinical as if he was discussing a new invention with her.

And it hurt to see him like this. But she wasn't sure that she could do anything to change his mind. Colin's determination when he made a decision was what made him Armsmaster, and helped lead to her falling for him, but right now it was this quality she would have preferred he didn't have.

"Why don't you join the Guild then," she found herself suggesting, wanting to pat herself on the back at the spur of the moment offer. It would be the best thing for him, and her, they could work even closer together, and she could get a better opportunity to reveal herself and feelings to him, "I know Narwhal-"

"No," he sajd as he softly shook his head, "Thank you, Dragon, I really appreciate the offer, but I think for right now I just need some time to figure out what I'm going to do going forward. But, maybe in the future, if the offer remains open…"

"Always."

"Then I may just take you up on it. I just need some time."

"That's alright, Colin. I understand," she replied, forcing a smile, when in actuality she wanted to scream at him and profess her love for him in an attempt to sway him. Why did he have to ruin this moment? Just when she had worked up the courage to admit her feelings, he had to complicate things.

"So where are we with the Leviathan prediction algorithm, Dragon," he asked as if nothing had just happened, "I may not have been able to work on it with you, but I have a few ideas that may improve the predictive matrix."

"Well," she began, making the decision that this probably would not be the best time to divulge her feelings to Colin. Not with how things were right now. But she would make sure that later, when they had a chance to breathe after the next Endbringer fight, because her personal feelings were secondary to saving lives, she would tell Colin what she thought.

Even if she had to build a body and drag him all the way up to Vancouver to show it.

---

AEH​

---

Quentin Tate / Fibonacci

"She's down in Warehouse 4. Do you need directions?"

"No, thank you though," he responded, offering a small smile to the woman. As she turned back to her work, it faded as he strode past her, setting his course for Warehouse 4.

So far, he was finding himself unimpressed with what he was seeing. Security was too lax for his taste, the guards should have spent more time ascertaining his identity beyond just a name and comparing a photo to his license. Simplistic protocols like that were exploitable with the right skills and equipment, a vulnerability that made the security consultant side of him ill.

But it was something that he would fix. Uppercrust may have sent him here to see if he could provide assistance to Taylor Hebert and reduce her workload, but he would make time ensuring that before he left, Zero Dawn Technology would get their digital security updated. It was what he was good at, after all, as Fibonacci.

Running his hand through his hair, he then adjusted his temporary security lanyard.

Another point of annoyance was the distinct lack of Jean Brown. It had been through her request in the first place that he was here and she couldn't be arsed to meet him, despite a promise otherwise. He understood that she was a busy woman, but it was nonetheless disrespectful, as he had just finished a job that he had been on early last night in order to be here today. If it wasn't the anticipation that Gene had stoked by telling him about an entirely new operating system and coding structure, he would have turned around and gone back to New York by now.

"Warehouse 4," he murmured, looking along the various buildings, before finding satisfaction in finding his quarry, even if he was annoyed by the openness of the Docks from a security standpoint. Walking to the building, he came to a stop at the door and noted the security scanner. It was a higher-end product, he idly noted, but it wouldn't hold up against a determined opponent. Releasing an annoyed sigh, he held his security lanyard to the scanner, receiving a chime of recognition, before the audible sound of a lock disengaging reached his ears.

Turning the handle of the door, he opened it up, and stepped inside, to be greeted by the sight of chaos.

"No. No. No! Goddammit! How many fucking times do I have to repeat myself, if you do not properly connect the circulators with the crystal braiding, then you will build up static feedback that will fry the entire fucking core processor. Do you have another core processor in your back pocket, Dylan?"

"No, Taylor."

"Well, neither do I," a tall, lanky, brunette teenager snapped, before bowing her head to remove her sunglasses and rubbed at her eyes and nose. There was a triangular object attached to the side of her head, a segmented circle hovering just over the surface of the device, slowly rotating back and forth in a languid manner..

Before her and a group of men and women, was a partially assembled object what he could only describe as a machine of some kind. It was quadrupedal based upon the frame, but that was all he could make from it.

It certainly piqued his interest, his focus returned to the girl and reason why he was here as she sighed loudly.

"Look, let's just take a break," she declared, still rubbing her eyes, "three hours, grab some food and rest, then we'll reconvene. Okay?"

There was a murmur of agreement, and the gathering of nearly a dozen people began to slowly shuffle past him, some casting curious glances at him, but not saying another thing as they left out the door. The sound of the door closing shut behind him was like a tomb door slamming shut, leaving the two of them.

Taylor Hebert moved to the machine, running her hand over the frame, her expression one of exhausted focus. The circles under her eyes were telling, obviously putting in more hours than her body could naturally handle. She released a sigh as she put on her glasses and turned, freezing for a moment at the sight of him.

"Who the hell are you," she demanded, her expression closing off.

"Quentin Tate."

"Oh. Jean's coder," he bristled at the dismissive reply, "Whatever. Hopefully she had you fill out all the necessary paperwork. Come with me and let's get this over with."

Keeping his mouth shut, despite wanting to give her a piece of mind at the lax security of the facility and her unprofessional manners, he followed her through the door of Warehouse 4, the lights shutting off as the door closed behind them. It was then a few minute walk that led them back into the main building, only a few people acknowledging them, a few of them cast worried glances that he couldn't help but log away. Not worried in a 'the boss is angry' way, but in the way one would acknowledge that something was wrong with Hebert and they were worried.

He also noted how any secured door seemed to slide open for Hebert. After the first one, he noted how strange that was, considering what he has seen so far. As far as he knew, there wasn't a security monitor room, and it would be a waste of resources opening the door for someone. His eyes darted toward the device again on the side of her head, it was the only plausible explanation.

And it was yet another security vulnerability. Any measure that provides unlimited access to a facility may sound efficient, but it was the nightmare of nightmares for any security. All it would take would be to coopt the owner of the security pass, or, even more simply, take the damn thing.

It was like he was dealing with amateurs. And it irritated him intensely. But he bit his tongue, he knew Gene would not appreciate him alienating the man's prospective protege, as much as he wished to. It had been Uppercrust who had provided him the opportunity and safe shelter for him to use his skills in the first place. The last thing he wanted to do was repay that kindness with trouble.

But soon they reached wherever Hebert was leading them, which turned out to be her lab. As the door slid shut behind him, he took in the room, noting the various hardlight and holo- projectors, along with dozens of computers and servers. But the thing that caught his attention the most was the large timer emblazoned on the far wall, counting down to the milliseconds.

It didn't take an idiot to figure out what the timer was for, anyone who didn't live under rock would realize what it was.

A countdown to when an Endbringer's window to strike opened.

Suddenly everything started to make sense, as he watched Hebert walk over to a table with a minifridge and coffee machine. She opened the fridge, retrieving a wrapped sandwich, then filled a ceramic mug with the piping hot liquid. Taking a sip from the liquid with a wince, she moved to a small desk placing her fare down on it, before turning and moving towards the wall full of laptop computers, picking one and coming back, setting it on the desk as well.

She then plopped down in the chair at the desk, before motioning towards another chair across from her desk, "Take a seat."

Taking the offered seat, he waited as she unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. He idly noted that there was no offer of food or drink for himself. Rather improper of her, but he was willing to let it slide as exhaustion and teenage tendencies leaking through.

"I'm going to be blunt with you," she declared, in between bites, "the only reason you're here is because Jean insisted that I give you a chance and I'm on a deadline that I can't miss. I have twenty-one days to ensure that everything is ready and I now have to deal with the Youth Guard forcing me to go back to school because my very existence offends their delicate sensibilities. So here's how it's going to go down. I'm going to give you a trial by fire, and if you impress me, you're hired. If you don't, you can go back to wherever you came from and I go on with trying to figure out how to meet my deadlines without committing a crime. That sound fair?"

This time he couldn't resist smiling, adding a small shake of his head. He enjoyed challenges, but he also enjoyed giving sass to his employers if he felt they deserved it.

"I think that I'm here as a favor to your investors and you should be a bit more professional. I get you're fighting crunch time and under fire, but maybe biting an outstretched hand isn't in your best interests. "

She stared at him for a moment, and he honestly expected her to snap at him. Instead, after a few moments of silence, her lips quirked and she slid the laptop to him.

"Well then, my investors claim that you can miraculously learn a unique, proprietary computer code with no prior knowledge or experience. This test will ascertain if you actually have the skill, or if you just have the skill of writing checks your ass can't cash."

He couldn't help it, but he laughed. She was certainly feisty, he could admire that.

"And what does a fifteen year old understand of the intricacies of code and cyberwarfare?'

"Well, that's apparently what you're here to find out. So let's not waste any more of our time, shall we? Everything you will need is on this laptop. Have fun."

He opened up the laptop, greeted by the unique nine-petaled flower logo of Zero Dawn.

It then disappeared and he was in. Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, he allowed his power to uncage and get to work.

His power was, honestly, quite strange. As a Thinker ability, it provided him the ability to understand the purpose of code in an instant, and then extrapolate on how to improve it. Which, combined with his own background in coding, was like being handed the ultimate cheat guide. He could both hack and create systems in less time than entire teams would take. It made him an indispensable asset for the Elite, and allowed him a lot more freedom than what would otherwise be permitted, even under Uppercrust's generally laissez-faire leadership.

But as he began reading through the code his eyebrows furrowed. The code was certainly different than what he expected, a lot of effort put into utility and adaptability, with a level of programmable intuition that he had never seen before. It was almost like it was meant to learn and adapt without user input.

He blinked, a stray thought crossing his mind. The code was incomplete in sections, but for some reason this did not negatively impact the greater code. Almost like it was intentionally left there for something to be added later.

It can't be, he thought as he went back and reviewed the code. Only this time he focused his power more intensely on a direct line instead of a general overview.

Sobek's not just an advanced intuitive operating system, it dawned on him as he looked over his glasses towards the teen who had taken the time that he had been working to bow her head and close her eyes. The slow rise and fall of her chest indicated that she was fast asleep.

And judging by the level of work done, she was rightfully confident and secure in her own safety.

Satisfied with his own progress, he gently closed the laptop and took the time to look over Taylor Hebert.

It was hard to believe that the girl sitting in the chair was only fifteen years old. He had been incredulous when Uppercrust had told him. But sitting here, looking at her, he could no longer doubt the veracity of the statement. The way she had unconsciously curled herself inward showed a vulnerability that could not be disputed.

Honestly, if he were to offer his opinion, there was too much being put onto her shoulders, if what Gene had told him was right. His gaze trailed back up to the time that continued its inexorable decay to termination. It was easy to put together why she was pushing herself so hard, if the project she was working on had anything to do with the Endbringers.

However, he didn't see how it would make a difference. But it was something to ask later, if she decided to hire him.

The sound of clothes rustling confirmed his theory, drawing his attention back to Taylor. The AI was still nascent, but it could do simple things, like alert its creator if need be.

Taking a moment to stretch, a yawn escaped her lips before she settled and tapped the device on the side of her head, the glow on it growing back to its normal intensity.

"So," she yawned as she stretched, "impress me."

"The operating system you are using? Sobek? It's a nascent-stage AI."

He found himself rewarded with the sight of Taylor Hebert freezing with her arms outstretched, the look of shock on her face. Then her mind must have caught up as she slowly brought her arms back down and leveled a stare at him, his visage reflected in her dark glasses.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense with the system architecture," he responded, "it may look like a fairly intuitive and adaptable operating system, but the way you've programmed it to learn and gain experience with time gave it away. Sure, you can sell it as a type of personal customization system for the end-user, but there still remains the incomplete parts of the architecture, where it's obvious that you are limited by processor power and speed."

His piece said, he settled back in his chair, wondering just how Hebert was going to react. It was obvious by her reaction, and the fact that he hadn't been briefed on something like this, that it was an ongoing secret from the teenager. Perfectly understandable considering the social stigma on the idea of artificial intelligences, childish perhaps, but it was grounded with some relevance considering the shit that happened with the Machine Army. Nonetheless, there weren't necessarily laws against it, yet.

For a moment, he wondered if he had overplayed his hand, Hebert's expressionless visage staring him down. He had to wonder just what she was thinking, and the reason she was thinking about it. But it was the sort of madness that was pointless as it would only breed more madness.

Suffice to say, he was becoming somewhat nervous in the silence, wondering if he was going to go back to New York empty-handed and disappointing Uppercrust, or he could remain here, and be on the cutting edge of what could possibly be a world-changing event.

"When can you start?"

---

AEH​

---

Kenneth Laffler

"And that concludes my report, sir."

With his chin cupped, fingers lightly running a sequence on the oak desk, Kenneth Laffler, Secretary of Energy, certainly did not cut the image of what one would expect from the head of a governmental department. While he may look the part, his demeanor and rectitude were certainly not it.

But it was this that also made him a welcome breath of fresh air in what had been a stagnant and rudderless Department of Energy. The 80s and 90s had not been kind to the department and his predecessors, between the Tinker craze it had fallen victim to, then Behemoth and the later Endbringers, the department had continuously found itself on its back foot as it tried to retain and expand existing energy stores and production. But it had been a losing battle, as nuclear reactors were decommissioned, and the green movement fought tooth and nail within Congress to prevent the creation of additional energy production facilities that used fossil fuels, which were still by far the easiest method to increase energy production per capita.

It had been a hell that President Durling had tapped him for the position nearly seven years ago, and he had done a good job because he had chosen to think outside the box instead of trying to fight against the current. While they did not fall victim to Tinker's again, he had commissioned studies in utilizing knowledge and systems created by Tinkers to increase energy production through wind and solar. It had been a feather in his cap and the DOE had been able to use the data gathered from Tinkers in order to field better energy collection and storage systems to increase overall output.

But it was still never enough. The voracious energy appetite of the American populace was simply an increasingly losing battle. Even with the advances in renewable energy resources and oil production at its highest in American history, they were slowly being outstripped by demand. It was furthermore worsened that they also had to support their neighbors to the North and South because of the loss of the oil supply in the Middle East. There was a storm approaching in the next few years, where they would no longer be able to stem the tide of energy demands, and then it would get ugly quickly.

So the last few years he had quietly spent a tidy sum of their budget searching for what the eggheads had derisively called a "silver bullet" solution. It was an act balancing on a knife's edge considering the official position of the Department was that the energy sector was doing fine. But he had done it with the tacit approval of both the President and Vice President, he had shown them the numbers, and Durling had always been strange for a politician in that he tended to be proactive instead of reactive.

It had been an effort that had frankly met mixed results. The need for secrecy was its own worst enemy, they could ill-afford the GAO becoming aware of the changes in their budgetary expenditures, lest certain congressmen and -women become aware and use it for their own political agenda. Yet, despite that, nothing that they had been able to do suggested that there was a solution forthcoming, at least not for a decade when technology could possibly mature to the point of feasibility.

So when the PRT had red-flagged Tinkertech, as per their charter, it had been initially another day in the office. Red Flags were an occasional thing for the Department, more of just an annoying relic of governmental dick-measuring that they had ended up retaining. It almost always amounted to nothing. Tinkertech was black-boxed technology, and was something that while they could study and possibly make connections to possibly advance other technology, there were always unexplained elements to it that largely made little change in the overall tech picture.

Except this time.

He had been at dinner with his wife. For their twentieth anniversary he had decided to splurge on her, taking her to an extremely popular restaurant that had a reservation that took upwards of a month to get in. They had just started digging into the main course when his work phone had rang. The withering glare from her had been a thing of legend, but he knew that he would not receive a phone call like this unless something big was going down.

In the end, he was glad he had dared to answer it, despite the fact that he would have to sleep on the couch because he had to leave the dinner. He loved his wife, but she could be such a drama queen at times. Especially when it comes to big events in their lives.

But it had been worth it, especially after the briefing he had received that night and became aware of Taylor Hebert.

Just what kind of world were they fostering when a fifteen-year old trauma victim could offer them a possible silver bullet solution, he had wondered at the time. He wasn't a scientist, but he also wasn't completely bereft of knowledge in the energy sector, either. So when his aides and scientists had told him that the schematics and science was actually legitimate and certainly not Tinkertech, he had known what he had to do.

Though, there was an idle part of him that wondered when he had made the orders at the timing of Hebert's email and her subsequent encounter with the PRT. It did seem awfully damn convenient.

Orders were made, a fact-finding team was assembled, and he got the enjoyment of politely telling that frigid bitch Rebecca Costa-Brown to kindly go fuck herself.

And now the team was back from their interviews with Taylor Hebert, and he had to make a decision.

"You're certain she's the real thing, Matt?"

Matt Freeze, the aide he had personally assigned to shepherd this fact-finding mission, looked up from his tablet, stylus in his hand.

"Ken, if you were there; you would have thought you were dealing with an expert in the field and not some fifteen year old waif of a girl. About three-quarters of the way through she veered off into the feasibility of using excess energy generated by the reactor during down times to produce portable energy cells."

He blinked, not really ready for a segue like that, "What?"

"Ken, you just had to be there. Whatever struck this girl, it has her thinking not just of the now, she's thinking of the future. She's not just satisfied with nuclear reactors. She's talking about energy cells that could provide a household enough energy for years depending on load and demand. And she was hinting that she already had a design for that. And it isn't Tinkertech either."

"Why isn't that in the report," he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Because I know how certain interests would react to something like that."

He nodded, Matt was right. There would be too many lobbies and interests that would react negatively to something like that. Not even the DOE was safe to people like that despite his best efforts. If they caught wind it would likely get ugly, especially for Taylor Hebert. He wasn't going to say there'd be an accident, but he would not deny the probably that there wouldn't be either.

"Fair enough. So there's fire to the smoke. What do you think we should do now?"

"Honestly, Ken? I'd tentatively slap a strategic asset classification on the girl and start planning on how to protect her if this shit works out like I think it will. The moment Russia, China, or other counter-interests catch wind of her you can damn well guarantee they're gonna take a swing."

"Isn't that a little extreme, Matt? Giving that sort of classification is going to garner a lot of questions. Especially considering Hebert's age. I'm going to need a lot more than just a nuclear reactor that by all rights should work according to the eggheads and a hypothetical energy cell system in order to sell this to the President."

"I don't think the reactor and energy cells are the only major thing up her sleeve, Ken."

That certainly caught his attention, "Explain."

"You've seen the same patents I have, Ken. If this wasn't the real world I'd swear this girl was some sort of comic book inventor. But honestly, it's the fact that they've dumped sixty million into the company, and none of it is directed towards nuclear or energy research. It's all molds, forges, foundries, and 3-D printers. I get some of that could be for this Focus thing that she's working on, but the economics of scale are all fucking wrong. You don't need all of this equipment for what is essentially a head-mounted mobile device. Then there's Warehouse 4."

Arching an eyebrow, he took the bait, "And what is Warehouse 4?"
"I'm not exactly sure, but I happened to overheard a couple of employees discussing it. Hebert has some sort of special project going on in there. Whatever it is, it's eating a decent chunk of the material production and the printers are working around the clock. They've said that if Hebert isn't in her lab, she's in that building and anyone involved in the project has been sworn to secrecy."

That was certainly ominous, but it did lend credence to what Matt was saying. He could make a recommendation for a strategic asset designation, but at the end of the day, it was not his call to make. Granting a designation like that was like announcing policy, it meant a significant investment of resources and manpower, and that meant that it had to be done by relevant principals, along with the President.

Still, it wouldn't help to put a finger on the scale.

"Thanks, Matt. Tell Sam I said hi."

"I'll do that," recognizing the dismissal for what it was, "She was worried about me going to Brockton Bay, she's heard some stories about that place."

"I don't think there is anyone who hasn't heard a Brockton Bay story, it has to be something in their water," he joked back, watching as his aide took his leave, his smile fading as the door closed and he leaned back in his chair, releasing a sigh.

He hadn't told Matt, but he had other people looking through the documentation, and they had all agreed that the Hebert design, as it was being called, was the real thing. The only reason he had sent a team was to cover his bases and ensure he had a full picture of the situation. He was not someone who went off half-cocked on something.

But Matt's words had struck a chord. There was something going on with Zero Dawn Technologies. What it was, he couldn't put his finger on it, but he had been in the business long enough to know when he didn't have a complete picture. There were glimpses at the greater tapestry, the patents provided some context, but it wasn't anything that he could point a finger at and identify what it was.

Still, that was beyond his paygrade, there were others more eminently qualified to peel away at the mystery that was Zero Dawn.

Reaching for his phone, he punched in a phone number, leaning back in his chair again and placed his feet on the desk. He knew if there was any witness to it, he would never hear the end of it. Secretaries were not supposed to do something as unprofessional as sully their desk with their dirty shoes, but that was their problem in his estimation.

The click of pick-up caused him to break out in a smile.

"Hey Jack, it's Ken, was wondering if you had the time to catch up over a few drinks? Nah, you don't need to worry, I'd be bringing the good stuff….Seven PM? Sure, I can do that. Make sure your boys know I'm coming, don't need a repeat of '05. Yeah, I'll see you then. "

---

AEH​

---

Taylor

It was taking a herculean effort keeping my expression as placid and friendly as possible, even as there was a significant part of me that wanted to scream in spite of the exhaustion felt deep in my bones. This was a complete and total waste of time in my opinion, even as I humored my father and tried to keep as pleasant as possible.

The Youth Guard, with the backing of the CPS, thought it was the absolute height of brilliance to return me to the very same atmosphere and setting that had scarred and robbed me of vision. 'Socialization' they called it, as if I didn't get socialized enough in Winslow. I wanted to say that it was a stupid idea to put a traumatized teenage cape back into the setting that caused said trauma, but that would be underselling it.

It was planet-smashingly imbecilic negligence.

But I put a small smile on my face and nodded my head as Principal Skinner and my father talked like they were best friends. It frustrated me that my father believed that this was good for me, so damn worried that I was going to grow up without friends or some such bullshit.

Newsflash, Dad, I didn't have friends in Winslow because one of my friends exposed herself as a psychopathic bitch. But hey, go ahead and memory hole that, see what that will earn you in my graces.

My lips twitched at the sudden urge to frown, but I was able to restrain it. It seemed I was more exhausted than I thought. Instead of dwelling on that, however, I turned my focus back to my Focus. It was honestly an inspired thought to integrate a feedback system to track neural activity and translate them into commands. It was something that went into prosthetics, but with the right application and programming, it could be used to issue subtle commands through the Focus.

It was certainly nice, though, as it allowed me to work without making people realize that I may be ignoring them for more important things..

Like, in this case, I was using the time to review diagnostics and data on the first Burrower. We had just finished trials on it last night, and I was working to ensure that there was nothing wrong that could come back to bite us in the ass.

I had to give it to Jean, she had made an inspired decision in Quentin Tate. The man had been an asset the last three days, allowing me to focus on the more physical aspects of the design. That didn't mean that I didn't doublecheck all of his work, but so far I had been left impressed.

But I also had a suspicion that Quentin Tate was more than he claimed. There was no realistically feasible way for him to be able to recognize the fact that Sobek was an AI. I could understand if he could gain a modicum of understanding of the code in the time I had given him, but certainly not come to the conclusions he did. The only rational explanation that I had was that Quentin Tate was a cape.

Which cape, however, was still an elusive conclusion. I had narrowed it down to three possibilities of capes that could theoretically come to the answer that Quentin did, with two located on the West Coast, and the final one located in New York. Why, though, would Jean have connections to Fibonacci of The Elite? That was the elusive connection I had been unable to make, yet.

But for right now, I would keep my eye on him and take advantage of his skills. It was a puzzle I needed to look into asI hated loose ends. Furthermore, his presence could be a liability going forward, especially if he actually was Fibonacci. There would be those that would not take kindly for me employing a cape with ties to the Elite, and while Fibonacci acted more like a freelance worker, it still put an onus on me both in the fact a cape was messing with my code and just so happened to also be a villain by association.

"Are you listening, Taylor?"

I blinked behind my glasses, turning to look at my father.

"I'm sorry, I was admiring the architecture. I certainly like how welcoming it feels," I lied through my teeth, and I watched as my father completely missed it as he smiled.

"Principal Skinner was just telling me that he sees no problem with you using your Focus, as long as it is done responsibly."

My gaze slipped for a moment to the other man as I had to resist releasing a sigh. It was readily apparent what Skinner's angle was. Word was starting to get out about Zero Dawn, especially after the incident with the PRT and Protectorate. People were starting to ask questions and we were having to answer them in order to control the narrative, which only then created additional interest. It also didn't help that we were keeping quiet on just what we were building and the knowledge that I was an outed cape was drawing further attention.

Suffice to say, Skinner was looking to add another feather to Arcadia's cap. While it was certainly not official, only an idiot would not know that Arcadia hosted the Wards. That, and the presence of members of New Wave, added quite a bit of clout for the school, which was already one of the leading schools in Brockton Bay.

Personally, I would have preferred Immaculata if I did have a choice. But that had been thoroughly nixed by the school's insanely strict uniform policy. Even though my Focus was a medical device, it was not officially recognized by the FDA and therefore did not have any legal protections, which meant that I could not use it on school grounds. The headmistress had been adamant that they could not allow exceptions to this rule. It was honestly a shame, as much as I did not like the Catholic school girl vibe that I got, I knew that facilities and staff were top-notch and quite a few of their alumni moved onto Ivy League educations. They would have more than likely created a customized education plan the moment I started revealing the breadth of my knowledge and skill.

Arcadia was…passable. It has many of the same facilities that Immaculata had, and it did have some notable alumni. It's just that it felt just like Winslow with only some makeup and lipstick added to it. It may look nice, and it may police bullying better, but it still has the same power dynamics and cliques. And frankly, teens by their nature as a roiling cauldron of hormones excited to critical mass levels, were just cruel.

"That's good," I offered, "what about personalized learning plans?"

"We can certainly do that, Miss Hebert. Though, I am not sure why that would be necessary."

Considering your grades in Winslow, might as well have been shouted to the heavens. But I kept the smile on my face, it was nice to be underestimated.

"Let's just say that Winslow was not exactly what you would call a paragon of learning settings, and leave it at that," I replied, tapping the side of my glasses. Watching the minute shiver from Skinner was a decent reward, but watching my father frown was the cherry on top.

"Anyways, it will be fine if you can't. I don't foresee being here next year. I have every intention of testing out and getting my GED early."

"Taylor," her father warned, even as Skinner's eyes narrowed slightly.

"We can certainly explore those options," he offered. Obviously believing that there was a way to retain me in the long run.

I didn't offer a rebuttal, the damage was done. I let Skinner and my father talk some more as we began walking again through the campus. During that time I just let my gaze wander while reviewing the data feed. There still were a few tweaks to be done to the overall code, but it was something that could be done in a few hours. Then it would be a matter of building the second Burrower and then moving on to the Watchers.

Again, I kept my face as placid as possible despite the urge to just storm off and back to the Docks. This was such a waste of time. I had seventeen days before Leviathan was slated to hit and here I was being forced to window shop for a school I could test out if I had the time!

Patience, I reminded myself. I only had to deal with this farce for another month. Once the Leviathan situation had passed I would be taking my GEDs anyways. Father had yet to catch on to the reality that you could do just about anything via a computer nowadays.

It did take some effort to get special accommodations for my Focus, but luckily the proctor was willing to work with me.

All I now had to do was bide my time and I could be done with all of this. I didn't have time to waste when I could be saving lives.

"Ah, here we go," Skinner's sudden change of tone and focus drew me back as he led us towards a pair of girls talking on one of the benches, "One of the things Arcadia is proud of is our students. We have students from all walks of life, including some real bonafide heroes. Danny and Taylor, this is Victoria and Amy Dallon, but you probably know them better as Glory Girl and-"

"Panacea," I stated flatly, cutting the data on the Focus and activating its recording feature. It was still a work in progress that would be finalized with the next model, but in this case, it would provide enough if anything took place. Which, with my careful control slowly slipping, I had a feeling would soon be an issue.

"Er, yes," Skinner replied, taken aback at my tone, but seemed to quickly shake it off, even as Victoria's body posture stiffened and Amy's closed off, "Anyways, Victoria, Amy, this is Taylor Hebert, Miss Hebert is looking to enroll in Arcadia. You may know her from Zero Dawn Technologies."

Seriously, just assuming that capes know one another, I wanted to scoff, but instead I kept my gaze firmly locked on the two girls. Victoria reminded me too much of Emma at first glance, that perfect teen girl who had everything and anything she wanted. It was too evident in the way that she carried and took care of herself. Amy, in comparison, was unremarkable at best, forgettable at worst.

But the fact of the matter remained…

"It's nice to meet you," Victoria replied, extending her hand, though the way her smile was all teeth told me all I needed to know that she was just as on guard as I was. The why, however, eluded me, because it was a reaction that seemed at odds with my conduct so far. Yes, my reaction to Panacea was rather negative, but it wasn't hostile. The fact that Skinner was trying to sell Arcadia to me seemed far from her mind. So what was it that caused her reaction?

I hesitated for a moment, not expecting the offered handshake though, but I did end up shaking it. A part of me hoped that she wouldn't mind the damage on my hands, but the way her eyes narrowed slightly told me she had not missed it.

I then refocused my attention Amy, whose eyes were narrowed at me like she was inspecting a specimen.

"Do I know you?"

A flash of anger surged through me, and before I could stop myself, I smiled an unhappy smile.

"No. You wouldn't," I forced out, keeping the smile on my face, "Insurance saw to that."

"Taylor," my father was aghast, but I didn't fucking care at him being scandalized. He didn't have to live with these scars. All it would have taken Panacea is to get off her ass, say to hell with insurance, and actually do something right in the world. But instead, she allowed herself to be constrained the same fucking rules that allowed this all to happen in the first goddamn place.

"I don't do personal requests for healing," Amy finally said, picking up on my enmity, but in her defense, I was not exactly hiding it.

Counterpoint, I didn't fucking care for what she thought of me. And I certainly didn't want her help anymore!

"You don't need to worry about that, I think I got a pretty good bargain out of it," I snarked back, tapping my Focus, "Maybe I should thank you then," I mused, "After all, I got a pretty useful power, and all it took was not being one of your charity cases."

"Hey, don't talk to my sister that way," Victoria cut in, and again I was reminded of Emma, of back when she actually stood up for me in the past. It made me sick that I could still be reminded of her, I thought I had firmly put her in the past. It seemed I hadn't buried those feelings as deeply as I had believed.

Nonetheless, this was not helping me in any way. All I was doing was hurting myself by acting out like this. As much as I wanted to hold her responsible, it wasn't Panacea's fault that I didn't receive treatment. It was both my father's insurance and the system itself. Panacea didn't create 'parahuman riders' that would cover injuries caused by and healing done by parahumans. It was because my father's union insurance lacked this rider that I was unable to receive treatment from Panacea, having to rely upon the 'tried and true' methods of 'normal' medical procedures.

Taking a deep breath and feeling my anger and frustration coiling back around me like a serpent, I then released it. I fucked up, there was no excusing it. I had let myself get caught up in my personal feelings and acted upon them.

"I'm sorry," I finally offered, even as my father's hand was placed on my shoulder, only reinforcing my mistake. It galled me that I had betrayed a weakness to these people. I couldn't afford it, not when I had too much to achieve. It was a chink in my armor that people would take advantage of if I didn't deal with it, "I should not have said any of that, Amy," deliberately choosing her real name instead of her cape name, to show that my feelings were towards her cape persona, "I thought I had put my past behind me, but it appears that there are still some harsh feelings and I unfairly took it out upon you. Hopefully you can forgive me for my irresponsible behavior."

For a moment, I hoped that she would refuse to accept the extended olive branch. It would certainly make me feel better, because I could then argue that with the hostility going both ways, I should not feel bad for my actions.

Alas, she seemed to be the better person.

"Apology accepted."

"Thank you," I knew I had to take the loss here, "I look forward to seeing you in class, Amy."

It was a calculated concession, but I had to do damage control at the loss of face. The only way I could do that, in this case, was by attempting to make up for all of this by showing that this was an anomalous event. And the only way to do that was to be a good and upstanding student, and the only way I could do that was by attending Arcadia.

It sucked, but I had to admit defeat here. It would only be three months, but it was survivable, even if it would suck. I didn't want to do school, but having the full weight of New Wave's PR, which while less than it used to be, was still top-notch, framing this as some sort of feud would suck even worse.

"Right. Whatever, I guess," she offered with a slight shrug, Victoria moved and turned her away as my father also guided me away.

When I had designed the Ash Nazg, I had added in a few features to help with my ability to multi-task and develop without having to rely on a computer. One of those was a highly sensitive microphone that would sync with the recording functions. The other was a text-to-speech program that could provide immediate subtitles to me for review. To be honest, it was an example of overengineering, because it didn't really need to be done, but I had done it partially to see it could be done at this point, but also because I wanted to be able to dictate as I did work and not have to keep a device on me to record.

It was an exercise in efficiency for future designs.

But I had also forgotten to shut off the recording feature, so as I was walking away, it could not help but hear what Victoria said. It was said low enough that it was between the sisters and should not have been heard by anyone.

Let's get going, Ames. With an attitude like that, it's clear why Scarface didn't deserve your healing.

I froze, the subtitles front and center in my 'vision'. My father's hand slipped off my shoulder as he kept walking as I stared at the words. I could 'hear' the words, only they were in a different voice, and high pitched laughter began reverberating in my head.

"What did you fucking say," I growled, my voice carrying in the air as I slowly turned around. Victoria and Amy both turned as well, even as I saw my father stiffen in my peripheral vision.

"What," that blonde bimbo asked.

I couldn't stop seeing the words even as they faded from my view. It ran over and over in my head, the voice growing louder, even as the smell of chemicals and the sensation of burning and bubbling flesh dominating my senses.

"Let's get going, Ames," I hissed, repeating those words as I could only see the image of her standing there beside Victoria, smirking as everyone around her laughed, "With an attitude like that, it's clear why Scarface didn't deserve your healing."

I knew I wasn't wrong, but my illogical hope that I had imagined things died swiftly as her eyes widened in surprise. Her body language shifted almost immediately from surprise to hostility. Like I didn't have any right to know exactly what she thought of me and that what I had done was some sort of violation of her privacy.

"It's true, isn't it," she returned, a mix of cattiness and anger lacing her tone.

I felt something crack inside me. The laughter reached a crescendo in my ears. My skin and eyes burning as I could only see and hear it over and over again. Both Principal Skinner and my father were trying to say something, obviously to intervene, but I couldn't hear them, all I could see was that damn smirk as that blonde bitch smugly sood there.

I shook off my father's death grip on my arm, and to the shock of myself and probably everyone else, I stalked towards her.

"You're right," I declared quite loudly, and I noticed a few people were in the distance looking at us now, "I really didn't deserve Panacea healing."

The poleaxed expression on her face was something I relished, even as I channeled that self-same anger and frustration before to clad me in an armor and sword to return in spades the abuse that had been dished upon me.

"After all, how could I live with myself receiving treatment from a member of an irrelevant hero group that holds you up as an example for heroes to follow. Are you sure you aren't in the wrong group, Glory Girl, because you have that Bund Deutscher Mädel vibe down pat, complete with the bigotry."

I had worked up a head of steam as I came to a stop before her with enough distance between us that I would have warning if she did react negatively, and I felt a hint of guilty pleasure as I channeled all of my repressed feelings that I had always wished to unleash upon Emma upon a new target. One just as, if not more, deserving, because unlike Emma, Glory Girl had responsibilities and standards that she was supposed to be held to, and she chose not to recognize that by picking on a blind girl.

And the steamroller continued, as I didn't allow her a word in edgewise, because Glory Girl was everything that was wrong with the world. The supposed heroes, who should be at the vanguard at protecting the world and ensuring its continuance, were instead all hung up on their pageantry and petty little problems, all the while the fucking world crumbled and burned around them.

"But stand proud," I continued, my smile growing even wider still, even as my viciousness grew, noting a broad-shouldered blond-haired boy suddenly moving into my vision with alacrity towards us, "You've done your civic duty for the day. Arcadia will not have to be burdened with this Scarface's attendance. I couldn't live with myself if I had to share a room with a cape version of my attacker."

That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back, as she coiled up, ready to unleash upon me, and I felt an unnatural surge of fear and apprehension as I unconsciously stepped back.

Only it abruptly ended as the blonde boy grabbed her by the shoulder, and her head snapped towards him.

"Vicky," he hissed, and the feelings of fear melted away like chaff in the wind, only to be replaced by the cold realization of just how close I was to violence at the hands of an Alexandira package. Shuddering slightly, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, especially after my actions. I turned away to see both my father and Skinner looking pale, though through the narrowing of my father's eyes I knew I was not going to hear the end of this. But I just didn't give a fuck..

But a little vicious ember that remained of my confrontation, decided that it could not remain silent and it had to get the final word in edgewise. One that might as well have been a declaration of war, if I had been of sound mind to recognize it.

"And while you delude yourself into believing that you're saving the day punching one thug at a time, Glory Girl. I'll be working to introduce technology and ideas that will help catapult humanity into the next golden age. Maybe then, you can learn a bit of humility through walking in my shoes."

---

Don't worry guys, this will aaaaaallllll work out.

 

[AlSmash]

Warning: The first scene is rather rough. It may hit some people's triggers, considering the subject matter. I won't go into detail, because it would give away things, but I'm just putting the warning out for you guys. It's short, and it will quickly be concluded, but nonetheless it is emotionally wrought.

I've also, upon further review, added a countdown to the story, so you can know where things are in the events leading up to the next arc.

---

Germination 2.7

Danny Hebert (T-Minus 17 Days)

The drive back home was made in complete silence. It was probably for the best, because he knew that if either of them said anything right now it would get ugly quickly. He didn't know if he could even put into words the fury and frustration he had for Taylor. If he had known what acceding to his daughter's wishes months ago would entail, he would have strangled the idea in the crib.

No, that was his anger talking. He would not have done something as cruel as that to her. Not when she had been so desperate back then.

But goddamnit, why couldn't she understand what he was trying to do for her? He had seen it so often over his life, men and women becoming so consumed with work that they sacrificed everything that made them human. And at the end of the day, all they had done was burn themselves out and be left with nothing. It had been a pitfall that had nearly consumed himself after Annette's death, and if it hadn't been for Alan, it may have finally pushed him over the edge.

He would never wish that fate upon his daughter. But she was adamant in going down that same path herself. He understood that she felt that she was on a deadline, but averaging four hours of sleep and working eighteen hours a day was not a healthy lifestyle whatsoever.

With school,he hoped she would be able to find a healthy balance. Yes, it would be difficult with what had happened, he wasn't an idiot to know that there was some baggage there. But he felt that a little bit of normalcy returned to her life could only be a good thing. The opportunity to make friends with her peers and be a fifteen year old girl for even a short while would be heaven-sent compared to whatever this was.

Though, he would have certainly preferred that process to be more natural than being forced from the barrel of a bureaucratic gun.

But the Youth Guard and Child Protective Services were right, even if he disagreed with their methods. Even ignoring her work hours, Taylor needed to have some sort of social life for her development. Schooling just happened to be the best option available, despite Taylor's protests.

Yet, here they were. Immaculata had been a bust, Headmistress Saunders was adamant that she could not offer an exemption for Taylor. It wasn't just the fact that the device had not been approved by the FDA yet (though they were in the process of it, if Taylor at least didn't stop tweaking the damn thing), but because the woman believed that the device would be an unwelcome distraction despite the fact that Taylor needed it in order to see.

So it was to Arcadia that they had gone to next. He had honestly hoped that it would be the solution to the problem. Milton had made it clear to him that the Youth Guard was not going to accept home-schooling for Taylor, both because of Massachusetts state law, but also because it would not provide Taylor with the socialization they believed that she needed.

It had honestly started out well enough, Principal Skinner had done everything to alleviate his concerns, even accepting Taylor retaining her Focus while on campus, as long as it was not used in a disruptive manner. The campus was quite welcoming, and he honestly believed that Taylor would be able to find her footing and flourish in a new environment where she could make new friends and cultivate new interests in a good school.

That had all died a fiery death when Skinner introduced them to Panacea and Glory Girl of New Wave. He knew exactly why Skinner had done so, it was a cheap trick intended to interest Taylor. Meet your heroes and all that, but even he hadn't realized the actual depths of Taylor's resentment for Brockton Bay's most famous healer.

When they had been in that hospital that first week after she had awoken from her coma Taylor had consoled herself that her injuries were only temporary. That any moment Panacea would come into her room and take it all away. It was the type of stories she had heard since the New Wave cape's appearance, that she could heal some of the worst injuries imaginable. It had broken his heart then to watch the hope fade away from her face when he had broken the news.

He had tried to explain to her back then that it wasn't Panacea at fault for not healing her. But himself. The cost of the parahuman rider for their insurance had simply been too costly to maintain. Brockton Bay had the highest premium rate in the nation because it had the highest per capita cape crime in the nation. In a decision between food on the table and protection for something that may never happen, the decision had been obvious.

It was yet another vicious reminder of being a failure of a husband and father.

But he certainly hadn't expected Taylor's reaction. Nor had he expected everything to spin out of control so quickly.

What Victoria Dallon had said was unforgivable. The girl had no right to insult his daughter like that!

But it also couldn't take away the fact the entire situation played perfectly into his daughter's plans. He just couldn't get past the possibility that Taylor had done this deliberately in order to get her way.

He wasn't an idiot. Taylor may be more tech savvy and believe herself clever, but he knew that she was trying to get her GED before she had made that declaration to Skinner. He just hadn't said anything to her because he wanted to believe that she would confide in him, but also that maybe her mind would change once she got the opportunity to replace her memories of Winslow with happier memories of another school.

It's what Annette would have wanted, for their daughter to actually have the opportunity to grow and flourish, surrounded by good friends and even better memories. She would have never wanted Taylor to live like this, obsessing over deadlines and pushing herself to the breaking point.

Yet all of the progress in rebuilding their relationship that they had made after Taylor's disfigurement was gone, and he wasn't even sure anymore if it was something that could be salvaged. Why couldn't she understand that he was on her side?! But they had to face the reality, they had to deal with the hand they had been dealt. If they didn't, then everything Taylor wanted to do would be jeopardized.

Why did Taylor have to be even worse than Annette had ever been, his hands gripped tighter on the steering wheel as he felt a fresh surge of anger roiling. Annette could certainly be righteous and firm in her beliefs, but she could also be willing to admit when things weren't working. It was how she was able to extricate herself from Lustrum because she had recognized what would happen if she didn't.

Taylor had none of the tempering brought by experience. She not only was convinced that her cause was righteous, but it was unquestionable. What made it worse was the fact that none of them had an understanding of just what was going on in her head. The only time she even chose to engage with any of them was if it revolved around the path of the company and whatever invention she wanted to push out.

There really was no compromise in anything she did, he realized as they pulled into their driveway, and she got out of the truck, already moving towards the house. Even her 'losses' ended up being nothing more than her allowing them to think that they won by getting her to accept their guidance. Yet, at the end of it, she still somehow won, didn't she?

Just who was his daughter anymore? All he could see now was the lies, deception, and manipulation laid out before him. It was something Annette never abided, and she most certainly abhorred, but Taylor embraced it wholeheartedly.

Just how far did the rabbit hole go? And was there even a shred of the daughter that has been so happy and showed so much promise left?

A daughter who didn't embrace that the ends justified the means!

Somehow, with no recollection whatsoever, he found himself at the entryway to what was now Taylor's workroom. It had previously been Annette's office, but the increasing demands for Taylor to have a workspace had resulted in the conversion.

But standing there, watching as she worked on a laptop, as if nothing in the world had transpired, caused something in him to snap.

Didn't she even care what she had just done?!

"What is your problem," the words escaped his lips before he could stop them. But really, at this juncture, he didn't want to. He was sick and tired of all of this.

Taylor didn't even bother looking away from her computer.

"I don't know what you mean. What problem?"

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, because he damn well knew that she knew what he was talking about. Only an idiot wouldn't, and his daughter was most certainly not one.

His father had been a flawed man. He tried his best but had his demons. One in particular had been his anger. It was an ugly, vicious thing that was slow to build, and while it wasn't always violent when it did become too much to hold back, the times that it did haunted him even now.

He had sworn to himself that he would never become as bad as his father. Both for Annette and, later, Taylor. He would not be his father.

But that promise fell to the wayside as he stormed forward, grabbed the laptop and slammed it shut with a crack. Taylor only barely ripped her fingers away from being caught as she wheeled away from him a flash of fear crossing her features before it became shock.

"Stop ignoring me," he snarled, "What the hell is your problem, Taylor? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

That shock slowly morphed as he yelled at her, becoming a rictus of her own rage.

"What I've done," she asked, raising her voice, "how about what you've done?!"

"Don't change the subject!"

"No. This is the damn subject," she shot her feet, causing him to rear back slightly, his anger cooling slightly, "You talk to me like I'm the problem! Maybe you should look in the mirror! Because it seems at every turn you seem to be standing there throwing an obstacle in front of me!"

"You have to go back to school!"

"No I don't. And I won't. I'm not going back to that hell when I have better things to do with my life."

"This is your education-"

"I already got my education," she snapped, and he felt that he was somehow losing in the fight to get through to his daughter, as she ripped off her tinted glasses, revealing her milky white eyes, "got my valedictorian right here!"

"That's not what I mean and you damn well know it," he yelled as he slammed his hand against the wall, the wall giving in with a dent. A sick part of him was disappointed when Taylor did not flinch, but tears were starting to trek down her cheeks, "This is for your own good, Taylor. You can't continue like this, the Youth Guard is adamant that you go back to school or they will take action."

Why couldn't she see that he was trying this best for her?! He didn't like this anymore than she did, he wanted this all to happen naturally. If he could fight against this, he would have. But they couldn't. Why couldn't she understand?!

"Oh, I thought you were my father and not a Youth Guard employee. My mistake!"

"Taylor, stop that! I'm doing the best I can for you. How about you get your head out of your ass and reciprocate for yourself for once! This isn't even you anymore! You're so obsessed with all of this you are sacrificing everything for it. Where the hell is the daughter that was full of life and wanted the world?!"

"She died screaming for her daddy as her world burned and went dark."

He reeled back at her scream, the anger that he had previously held becoming a guttering flame as it found itself replaced with ice cold horror as he processed what his daughter had said.

And even then he couldn't quite grasp it.

"What," he whispered, but it was loud enough to be heard.

Taylor seemed to lose all of her fire too as she slumped back back into her chair

"You don't understand," her voice cracking, "You can't understand. Imagine every night you go to sleep you watch the world die. Sometimes it's sudden and abrupt. In others, humanity fights, but it inevitably loses in the end. In others, it's simply snuffed out like a candle in the wind."

"Now imagine, you have solutions to many of these ends in your head. Land reclamation. Food supply. Infrastructure. Energy. Logistics. Medicine. Robotics. Even weapons that can take the fight to the Endbringers. But they are technology and concepts that are generations ahead of the existing tech base."

"Now add in the fact you have, at best, a decade to bridge that gap of nearly a century of knowledge and technique. I could have us sail the stars while blessed with functional immortality within my lifetime and you want me to go back to high school."

The bitter laughter that escaped her lips as she shook her head rent his heart.

He had no idea. How could he know?! He had thought that Taylor had been hyperbolic in order to get her way.

"How am I supposed to know any of this when I have to start a fight to get you to talk to me?!"

"Because every single time I have hinted at it, you didn't want to listen! Instead, you have this damn image in your head of what I should be! And when I don't fit that you want to fight me at every fucking turn until I conform!"

"I want you to be successful, Taylor! Why can't you understand that?! I'm worried more about you! Everything I'm doing is to try and prevent you from destroying yourself! Nothing you are doing is a healthy habit! You are working hours no rational human being can stomach. You barely talk to any of us, and when you do, it's only about business. This is far beyond just wanting to make the world a better place, Taylor, this is an obsession and it's going to destroy you!"

"Then let it destroy me," she screamed, "better than shambling through life forgetting even the most basic of things like having a daughter!"

"HOW DARE YOU," the anger thundered back into an inferno as he stormed towards his daughter. When she quailed backwards away from him with terror in her expression did he pause. He slowly turned his head to find the sight of his hand raised, ready to strike his daughter.

The daughter that Annette and he had brought into the world.

Slowly, he lowered his hand, feeling so weak and old suddenly. And he couldn't help but release a sob as he stumbled back, unable to find any surety in the ground, both physically and otherwise, finding his only purchase being to lean against the desk.

It was then that tears began to trek down his face.

He had been about to do the unthinkable. Something he had sworn that he would never do, to never go down the road his father had taken.

"I'm sorry, he croaked, "I'm so sorry, Taylor. Annette," a soft sob escaped his lips, "she was always too good for me. I will never know what she even saw in me. Whenever I asked, she'd just give me a smile, like it was some inside joke. When she died–"

Taylor was unmoved, "I know. I was there, remember? Only I didn't get the luxury to just crawl into a bottle or hide in my fucking office. I had to crawl back from the brink with no help from you, only to find myself pushed back over it because of fucking teenagers masquerading as friends. Why the hell would I endure that bullshit when I could actually be doing something far more useful?!"

He couldn't answer, because he didn't have one. Not with what he had almost done haunting him.

"I thought," he said, still vainly searching for the right words to say, only to find them as fleeting as everything else in his life, the only thing that seemed to come to him was guilt and shame.

He had thought he was doing the right thing by her. The right thing that he knew Annette would have approved, but now, looking at the sightless eyes of his daughter…a daughter that was doing something that he could never dream of.

And all he could see was the fear and contempt in those orbs.

Where had he gone so wrong to where his daughter hated him so stridently?

"I promised you," he whispered, finding the words he needed. An admission, really, but one that needed to be voiced, even as he bonelessly slumped to the floor, "I swore to you…"

That he would never fail her again. It was a promise he had made both to her, but also to Annette, seeing his Taylor harmed so badly, all because of his failure to be a father. He had sworn he would be the father that she needed.

And despite his promises, he had done what he had always done. When things had become difficult he had folded like a cheap suit. He had known, deep down, that Taylor would never accede to the demands of the Youth Guard, she was too headstrong, too committed to her path. She was nothing like him, and she never would be.

And now he had done everything in his power to not only violate that promise, but also sever every single last remnant of their relationship irrevocably.

Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't been such a coward after Annette had died and had actually followed after her…

Arms wrapped around him, ripping him from his dark thoughts, and he found her head dug into his shoulder and soft sobs trapped by his shoulder. Numbly, his hands slowly reached up and wrapped around her as well, as he tried to even fathom as to why, after all of this, his daughter was even doing this. After everything he had done, she should hate him!

She then broke the hug.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I shouldn't have said that. I know what Mom meant to you. She meant the same thing to me, and if you had said that…"

"I'm sorry too, Little Owl," was the emotion-laden croak that escaped his lips as he used the nickname Annette had given her, "I keep screwing things up, don't I?"

A small shake of her head was his reward and he found himself missing the long, voluminous hair that she used to have. Another thing robbed from her, yet she still persevered.

"You keep trying your best with what you know."

"But it's not what you need."

He was met with another shake of her head, "What I need is your support, Dad. I'm tired of having to fight with and against you. I know you care, and this is how you express it, wanting a better world for me. But we can't afford that right now, not with what is coming. What I need is for you to be there with me, beside me, and behind me, because it's going to get harder before it gets better."

"But if you want to achieve that, Taylor, you need to take care of yourself as well."

She stared at him for a moment, and despite the mess and puffy eyes, her lips quivered slightly as she offered a small nod.

"You're right."

They then hugged again.

---

AEH​

---

Victoria Dallon

She knew that the moment that she got home there was going to be trouble. Her mother ran an extremely tight household, and when Carol Dallon was angry, there was always an extra tension that seemed to linger in the air.

It also didn't help that her father was sitting in the living room staring listlessly at the television as it played some sort of variety show. The fact that he was in such a state made her know that whatever was going on, Carol Dallon was unhappy with something, as Mark, while clinically depressed, only closed down this much when her mother was on a warpath.

"Hey Dad,' she greeted, noting out of the corner of her eye Amy slipping up the stairs towards her room. She would say that it was cowardly, but when their mother was angry with something, Amy always seemed to find herself as a target, "Where's Mom?"

"The office. She's in the middle of a phone call."

This drew a frown. While Mom did have an office, she rarely used it, preferring to keep home and work life as separate as possible. It didn't stop it from happening, but when it did, it was usually something that could not be ignored.

"Thanks, Dad," she replied, leaving the living room and going towards the office. The door was surprisingly closed, but coming to a stop right outside she could still hear her mother's voice through it.

"No, I understand perfectly, John. What happened is completely unacceptable and I will be having a discussion with them. I thank you for your client's restraint….Certainly, I think that would be appropriate. How about in a week? Let things cool off and level heads prevail? Yes, thank you. I will call you tomorrow."

Who is John, she thought to herself, even as she listened to her mother end the phone call. The subsequent creaking sound of the chair being leaned back on, along with a soft curse let her know that whatever the discussion was, her mother was not happy.

Gathering her courage, and ready to face whatever firing squad that was being mounted by her mother, she reached up and lightly knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Opening the door, she stepped into the room, focusing upon her mother who was leaning back in the chair, her gaze staring up at the ceiling. Her phone was still in her hand, the arm hanging limply at her side.

Definitely not a good sign.

Carol Dallon's head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

"Ah, Victoria, just who I wanted to see," her tone was tightly controlled, hinting at the burgeoning anger hiding underneath, "sit down."

"Mom, what's going on," was her response, not exactly sure what to make of the situation. What was it that caught her ire, it wasn't like she had done anything wrong lately.

"Sit. Down."

Immediately she obeyed, sitting in the other chair, as Carol messed with something on her phone, before handing it to her.

"Play it."

Looking at the offending device, then back to her mother, she opened her mouth, only to be viciously cut off.

"Victoria Dallon, you will play that video right now, or so help me-"

"Okay. Okay," she relented, not wanting to get both barrels from her mother. Hitting the play button, she watched as it began, but squinted in confusion as to what she was seeing. It was obviously a recording of something, but it was all in a weird blue-violet-magenta hue that provided form to everything, but no real definition.

It was only when she heard Principal Skinner's voice that she realized what she was looking at. Her head snapped from the video to her mother.

"She can't be recording. That's illegal, Mom."

"Just watch!"

Quickly, she did so, watching as the rest of the recording played out. It was only after that it came to an end that she looked up again from the video. But before she could say anything, Carol cut her off.

"First off, Victoria, no, it's not illegal. Even though the recording device is irregular, you were in a public space and are not privy to any privacy. Second, what the hell were you thinking?! Scarface? Are you seven?!"

"It's what the Wards are calling her," it was a childish protest, but it was nonetheless true. It had been Dennis that had first coined the nickname and it had gained traction with the other Wards in the last week. Even Dean had called her that a few times.

"And are you a Ward?! You are a member of New Wave, Victoria! This is the sort of thing that we are supposed to stand against."

"But you have been saying things about her too! Don't try and deny it, you were complaining to Aunt Sarah about Zero Dawn. You said that it was a disgrace to all heroes, trying to make money over what should be a civic service."

"I did. But it was for good reason, our powers should be used for the public good, Victoria. What Zero Dawn is doing is anathema to what capes should be, but it is legal. And it certainly isn't enough to give you permission to nearly assault the girl, Victoria."

"I was not going to let her stand there and badmouth Amy, Mom."

"You're the older sibling, Victoria, you're supposed to be better! Instead, I find myself not only being disappointed by your actions, but I'm positively livid that I had to be informed of your actions by the girl's lawyer!"

She blinked, suddenly uncertain. Out of any outcome, she had certainly not expected that lawyers would become involved. As far as she was concerned, Hebert had been in the wrong the entire time, alternating between vicious and out of control. It only reinforced everything Dean had said about Taylor being a villain in rogue's clothing.

"She threatened both Amy and myself," she tried to find the words, not used to being in the hot seat like this with her mother in recent years, "maybe I said some offensive things, but that doesn't excuse what she said, Mom. She called me a Nazi."

She had an inkling when Hebert had called her a member of the Bund Deutscher Mädel, just the name screamed Nazi. She had been further incensed to find it not only be confirmed, but looking at a few of the posters from the time, she couldn't help but notice the resemblance. There was no reason a fifteen year old would know of such things unless they were in that sort of crowd, or even a sympathizer herself.

"And her lawyer has extended her personal apologies for what she said, Victoria. That's why the lawyer has reached out to us in the first place and provided me with that recording instead of posting it all over PHO for the world to see. Do you have any idea of the damage that could have done to New Wave?"

She paled at the thought. Her mother had drilled into their heads how critical personal image was, and one of those things was that the first to establish the narrative was more times than not the one who won in the end. Even if the recording was edited, it was likely that it would be taken as the truth, even over her protests.

"That video could have raked us over the coals, Victoria. So, I consider it a relief that in spite of her unheroic nature, Miss Hebert is willing to even entertain forgiveness after you mocked her trigger event."

"Her trigger event?! Mom, this is what she wants. From everything I have heard, before she was an attention seeker with a victim mentality. It doesn't look like she's changed her stripes even now. We shouldn't be apologizing to her when she was the one that instigated this entire thing!"

"Victoria Anastasia Dallon," her mother snapped, "I taught you better than to listen to hearsay. There is nothing that girl could have done to earn having chemicals thrown in her face! And I will not tolerate you insinuating otherwise. You will apologize to her. Or so help me, you will not like the consequences!"

On one hand, she could further argue with her mom. She was right dammit, there was something wrong with Taylor Hebert! On the other hand, however, she recognized a lost cause. Her mother was dead set on doing this and there was nothing she could say to change her mind.

"Fine," she huffed, she'd do what her mother wanted despite her protests.

That didn't mean, however, that she had changed her mind on Taylor Hebert. She'd keep an eye on her and when the girl finally revealed her true colors, she'd be there to stop her.

"Can I go now?"

"Yes. To your room. You're grounded, young lady. We'll discuss how long that should be over dinner."

"Mom!"

"Ignoring your aura, which we will be having a discussion about, you nearly assaulted someone with your powers, Victoria. You could have seriously hurt her, and I didn't raise you to act like this. So you will take your punishment, and you will improve! Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Once again, she found herself helpless with the situation, only frustrating her further.

Grudgingly, she ground out a "Crystal," before getting up out of her chair and storming out of the office, passing by Amy who had been surprisingly waiting outside. She didn't even bother to acknowledge her sister before floating towards her room.

But she couldn't help but hear, as she went, Amy talking to her mother.

"Carol, we need to talk about my work at the hospital."

---

AEH​

---

Agnes Court (T-Minus 15 Days)

Fifteen years old!

Even now, three hours after she had found out, she was having difficulty grasping the notion.

There was one thing that was more critical than anything in her field and that was information. It had served her well during her rise to power and she had continued investing considerable resources into expanding her web to a continent-wide machine. It allowed her to keep ahead of the Protectorate, and it certainly gave her a leg up over her competitors.

It was through that web that she had finally had a breakthrough in ascertaining the identity of who Uppercrust had been hiding away from her. Her contacts within Blackguard, a rather large private military and security firm on the east coast, had made her aware of the sudden change in behavior and movement of one John Milton of Wulfrahm & Hart.

On the surface, this would usually mean nothing. Sudden changes in behavior were not out of the ordinary for one of the best lawyers on the east coast. But the fact that he had suddenly deviated and made a beeline for Brockton Bay of all places, despite not having any known clients there, had set off enough red flags that her contacts felt that she should be made aware.

Further digging had provided her with a name, Zero Dawn, and finally, the girl that Uppercrust was trying, and like everything else in regards to their cold war, failing to protect.

What she hadn't expected was the age of the Tinker, Taylor Hebert. Her first assumption had been that Uppercrust was laundering money, because investing in a fifteen year old untested Tinker was the height of madness. And yet, there had to be more to it. There were far simpler and more efficient schemes to launder money, schemes that didn't need to rely on the whims of a teenager.

It was the fact that she knew Uppercrust too well that she hadn't immediately written Taylor Hebert off. The man was too smart for his own good and he was risk-averse to the core, so there had to be something to the girl that would cause him to act the way he was.

The answer though, even after spending the time since conducting a deep dive in Taylor, remained elusive. Ignoring the video of her obvious trigger event, there was only a smattering of information available. What was intriguing was not only the patents that had been published here or there, but the scientific articles that were published under a pseudonym that dealt with her 'Focus'. This was something that Tinkers should be incapable of doing. Their inventions 'just worked' and that was that.

So why was Uppercrust investing in the girl? That was the million dollar question, literally. There was no reason to invest such a sum of money into a girl that had medical technology that would only affect maybe six percent of the population In the United States at best. Perhaps he was playing the long game, was this yet another desperate attempt of Uppercrust to find a tinkertech Hail Mary to cure himself?

It went without questions she was going to assign assets to find out more, but that took time and carried its own risks. Brockton Bay was, for all intents and purposes, a no man's land for outside cape interests. You could go in, but there was a high chance you weren't getting out intact. Between Lung, Kaiser, and the whispers of a third player, inserting her assets into the fray could end up being a net loss of men and material.

Humming softly, she tapped her well-manicured finger on her desk. There was an option, though she was loath to send her. Incognito was an excellent asset, being one of her best wetwork and intelligence operatives. She had the ability to shapeshift into anyone with the corresponding genetic material, and in the case of capes, could manifest a weaker iteration of their power.

The downside however, was that the girl had no loyalty to her. The only reason she was able to be controlled was because she kept her family hostage as leverage. It was effective, certainly, but you could only keep a predator caged for so long until it grew restless and looked for an escape.

It was why she kept her in her area of operations, it was easier to keep an eye on the girl that way. But sooner or later she would have to figure out a more permanent solution. She was not above having the brat mastered or mind-wiped, her skills were just too valuable to part with.

But was sending her to Brockton Bay worth the risk? The longer the leash, the more freedom for the girl to break free, after all. Even with her handler team, she wasn't sure it was the most prudent of decisions. She needed more information.

And there was one way to do that, she decided, reaching for her phone.

Time to shake the tree, she mused.

---

AEH​

---

Gene Fontaine / Uppercrust

Today was turning into one of the increasingly few good days. Each day in which he didn't have to struggle to breath was a godsend, providing him a calm within the storm that he would never willingly give away if he had the choice.

What it did provide him was a sense of purpose and accomplishment in that he could actually fulfill some work he had been leaving on the wayside.

In this case, he was doing his best to improve a concept for a mobile hardlight defensive dome system. It was something he had created over a decade ago, selling a semi-trailer mounted version to the PRT to significant success. What he wanted, though, was to miniaturize it to where it could be man-portable. The lives that could be saved if he could produce even a dozen of them was worth the expenditure of time and effort.

Alas, it was still proving to be an elusive achievement. The theory and concept behind the design was correct, and it would work, the problem was finding a viable power source. Therein lay the problem, as there was no energy source available that wouldn't unnecessarily burden the carrier, and even then it would only provide a brief instance of protection, certainly not enough to make a difference.

Throwing his stylus on the table, he released a sigh, thinking about the thrice-damned power problem again. Nothing short of a nuclear reactor would provide enough energy to make the device viable, and even if they could miniaturize something like that, there was a snowball's chance in hell that anyone would wish to strap it to their back, let alone carry it around in a high-risk environment.

Maybe Hebert has something up her sleeve, he wondered, before cracking a smirk at the thought.

There were expectations, and then there were expectations Taylor Hebert danced upon the coffin of. It was a conclusion he had come to after the latest fanfare with the Department of Energy. He certainly knew what the girl was promising, and what she was likely capable of, but seamlessly connecting the two was certainly a challenge.

There was a certain dark amusement to be had at the idea of a teenage girl running circles around the authorities. While it was certainly something he would not do in a million years, he couldn't dismiss the effectiveness of what she had done.

He had to pity her handlers though. Between Jean and her father, it was obvious that Taylor was a barely contained force of nature.

There was some concern, however, shared only between Alain and himself, that Taylor was pushing too hard, too fast, and spreading herself too thin. Between the Focus, the reactor design that the DOE was looking at covetously, and now her machines that she was trying to secretly rush out for the next Endbringer fight, there was some credence to that thought.

It was probably going to need an intervention soon, and Alain was keeping him in the loop so far. He trusted Jean, and Danny Hebert meant well, but Alain had the necessary distance to stay objective. However, he was worried that Alain would take more extreme measures if he felt it necessary. It was something to keep an eye on just to ensure that Alain's pragmatism did not come back to haunt them

But, by and far, despite her youth, and despite the fact that she was laboring under near-Sisyphean conditions, she was making significant headway. And he could not be any more proud in that his instinct had so far been proven prescient.

While she may never become a part of it, he nonetheless had come to view her as the future that he envisioned and wished for the Elite. While there was no imaginable way for Tinkers to be fully integrated into the larger economy, they could still succeed as a niche, parallel economy acting in support of the larger whole. It may never be a perfect fit, but it would at least it would provide those who were gifted (or cursed) with a Tinker power to have a place to flourish and become successful.

It was a world that would not be burdened with the insanity wrought by NEPEA-5. It was an act that was done in a period of panic and fear, and perfectly understandable, but the matter remained that it was a mistake. It was too restrictive, and it should have been a stopgap measure in order to buy time for the larger whole to come to grips with the Tinker shock. Instead, the politicians and corporations realized that, like almost every other bill passed in history, it provided an opportunity that could be used to further their own agendas.

And as a result, Tinkers suffered because of this greed and lack of vision.

But what Hebert represented was a challenge to the current status quo. But it also created a beachhead into creating debate on the matter itself. It would likely be a slow thing, and it was reliant upon Miss Hebert's continued growth. But, maybe in his lifetime, he'll be able to witness a much needed change to how capes are utilized beyond the childish black-and-white, cops-and-robbers mentality that the PRT and Protectorate continued to encourage.

The sound of his phone ringing brought him out of his thoughts. He couldn't help but frown at the ringtone, Bitch by Olympic Runners, because it meant that Agnes Court was once again deigning to bother him, thereby ruining what had started out as such a promising day.

Releasing a sigh, he picked it up, before hitting the accept call button and placing it to his ear.

"Yes."

"Taylor Hebert," Agnes' voice came through the phone, and he froze, a chill running down his spine.

It was inevitable that sooner or later, Agnes would be able to divine Taylor's identity. But, he had not expected it for at least a few more months. Fibonacci had assured him that the systems, despite the abundance of physical security vulnerabilities, were secure from Agnes' intelligence network, and he had personally ensured that any documentation that could indicate any connections between Hebert and himself were undiscoverable.

Which meant that Court's intelligence network was much larger and more effective than he expected.

"Taylor Hebert? Who's that," he riposted, intending to buy time as he considered what could be done. There was no point in trying to deny it, Agnes was clearly confident enough in her intelligence to call him and rub her 'victory' in his face.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Gene."

The first thing he would need to do was reach out to Alain. He was better equipped for providing assistance and protection than he was. He may have some ideas on how they could protect Taylor.

"No, I'm just insulting your single-minded obsession with irritating me, Agnes," he shot back, opening one of his terminals and typing up an email for Alain. At least this way he would have head's up before the end of this unfortunate phone call, "So what do you want to know?"

"May I inquire as to what you are thinking, Gene? This is not how the Elite operates. We do not just willingly hand large sums of money to outsiders. They have the choice to either join willingly and enjoy the fruits of our success or they are forcibly made so. There is no third option."

"Respectfully Agnes, that is how you operate. I have never, nor will ever, subscribe to that self-destructive philosophy. In the end, it makes us no better than the Protectorate that the original founders of the Elite vowed to stand against. Maybe you should ask yourself why you seem to have so many fires going on in your neck of the words before dictating policy to me."

"Yet here I am where they no longer stand," she purred, resulting in him grinding his teeth at the memories of the original founders, "you're so obsessed in hanging onto the past glories that you forget that of the original leadership, only Gentilhomme and yourself remain. You were all satisfied with keeping the Elite small, but it has been under my leadership that the Elite have expanded on the west coast. It has been under my leadership that we have achieved more profit and progress than the entire time the Elite existed previously. So you tell me, Uppercrust, who has the better policy?"

"And how many lives have been ruined in your unbridled quest for profit, Bethany?"

The silence on the other line was worth it, as childish as dropping Agnes Court's real name. It was something that the woman hated, because in her mind, it trivialized who she was as Agnes Court.

"When changing the world, you can't fret over the sacrifices that are made in the pursuit of the greater good."

"As long as it's not you making the sacrifice, right, Bethany?"

"ENOUGH! I did not call you to debate philosophy with you, Gene. I want to know what you are planning to do with Taylor Hebert!"

He sat there, turning in his chair to look out of the window. Already the email had been sent and replied to. It was something he always respected from Alain, the man was the very definition of a workaholic. But it was the title that made him pause and think about his words. Two single word sentences, one that caused him to consider the path forward.

It was something they had discussed over a week ago. They had both known that they were running against the clock with Agnes Court. The woman's incessant need for control would lead to her becoming captured in the orbit of Zero Dawn, and it could be nothing but hostile. Anything that could not be controlled had to be destroyed by the woman, and Taylor Hebert would not be an exception to this rule.

But was this what he wanted? Up until three months ago, he had been, not necessarily satisfied, but he had accepted that once he passed Agnes would roll in and take over his operations. He had instead done his best to ensure that the people under his employment had every resource available to make a clean break when he inevitably passed.

Not once in the entire time had he considered open war with Agnes. He believed that it would be a wasteful endeavor and one that he would inevitably lose anyways. But worse than that, it would likely end with the Elite's destruction, as any victory that Agnes would be able to achieve would likely be pyrrhic as it would gain the attention of Legend in addition to the losses she would suffer.

Did he wish to be responsible for the death of the dream that the Elite had originally represented when they had banded together what seemed a lifetime ago?
If he had been asked that three months ago, he would have most certainly said no. But now? With what Taylor Hebert represented?

He would go to hell and back.

Scorched. Earth.

Indeed.

"I would have thought by now that you would be able to put together what I'm doing, Bethany. I find myself rather disappointed but unsurprised that a sociopath would be unable to understand the most human of pursuits."

"And what is that?"

"A legacy."

And with that, he ended the call, and immediately got to work calling Alain.

---

AEH​

---

Christopher Siopis / Kid Win (T-Minus 14 Days)

Flopping onto his bed with a sigh, he could not help but stare at the ceiling of the dorm that served as his home away from home at the PRT headquarters and lose himself in his thoughts.

The last two weeks since the inspection had been an ever-mounting blur of anger and frustration.

Despite his contributions in the inspection, somehow it felt like he had done nothing except lose. He still didn't understand the situation, they had caught Taylor Hebert working on nuclear reactors. That was something no Tinker should be doing.

Yet Taylor Hebert remained free. The only answer that he could get was that the investigation was closed, and any attempt to get an explanation on the why was met with a wall of silence. Any attempt to reach out to Piggot, who he had believed was on his side, was also met with silence.

After all that Piggot had said to him about his future, it, like everything else, had been a lie. He had been discarded and that, there was no way to deny it, angered him intensely. He wanted nothing more than to march up to her office and tell her exactly what he thought of what she had done and what she was. But it was a fantasy and he knew it, Piggot would not tolerate it, and it would only end in censure.

So, he was left adrift, his opportunity wasted, and there was a dark part of him that wondered if it was somehow his fault. Was there something that he had missed that in the end hurt his opportunity? If so, what was it?

It was maddening, because no one would give him any fucking answers!

If there was anything that at least provided a modicum of balm upon his nerves, it was that Miss Militia had taken over the Wards. It was something long in coming and should have been done a long time ago, 'Miss Mom' had always tried to be there for the Wards and actually made an effort to get to know them, unlike Piggot, or, Scion forbid, Armsmaster.

And that was the other major development, one that had been dropped on their laps four days ago: Armsmaster was resigning. It wasn't officially announced yet, and he still didn't know what to think on that matter. On one hand, he felt glad that man was finally leaving, for a supposed paragon of heroes, the man was a shitty leader and an even shittier mentor. But on the other hand, he had been their leader, for good or ill, and even in spite of his failures, he still remained one of the most effective members of the Brockton Bay Protectorate.

It was a disgusting thought, having to provide credit to the man, but he would be dishonest with himself otherwise.

But it still galled him. What if Armsmaster had actually put as much effort in mentoring him as he did in his duties as a hero, just how far could he have gone? How far could they have both gone? If Armsmaster had just invested even an iota of effort, they could have done so much more together in helping Brockton Bay. Instead, all he ever got from the man was indifference and a lack of any true support, Armsmaster just going through the motions, not truly caring at what he was capable of. And when he had something worthwhile, the man had simply told him to get rid of it.

No, he saw what Armsmaster was now. The man only cared about himself and his own ego. There could only be one person on the pedestal, and that was Armsmaster. That was why he was resigning, because he realized his little pedestal wasn't on as solid ground as he had believed, and he could be discarded just like Chris had been.

A small smirk crossed his features at the thought, bringing a little bit of enjoyment to this entire shitshow.

The sound of a knock on his door ripped him from his thoughts, as he craned his head up towards the door.

Another knock drew a huff from him as he got off his bed and walked to the door before opening it.

The last person he would have expected was at the door, looking rather awkward dressed in street clothes, the only admission that he was a cape was the domino mask secured to his face.

"Armsmaster-"

"Please. Just Colin," his former mentor said, "do you have a minute, Kid Win?"

He honestly wanted to tell his former superior to go fuck himself and the words were on his lips before he paused.

The fact that Armsmaster was not only visiting him, but doing so in civilian attire, was extraordinarily strange. He could count on a single hand how many times he had ever seen the man completely out of his costume.

"Sure," he said, leading him into his small room, noting how the other man was looking around it. He planted himself in his work chair, thereby denying the other man any place to sit.

"So what did you want?"

He wasn't shocked at the silence that met him. If he was awkward, then Armsmaster was the exemplar of socially inept. It was a small miracle that the man was somewhat capable of reading a room correctly.

"I take it you are aware of my upcoming resignation."

"I am," he answered, resisting the urge to add snark to his response. It said a lot on how fast his opinion on the man had declined. But, to be perfectly honest, Armsmaster honestly deserved it now that his eyes were opened to the man. Hell, his eyes were opened to everyone.

They were all part of the problem.

"Then, I won't draw this out," the older man finally said, "I want to apologize to you, Christopher. For everything.

This time he couldn't help himself from reacting, his hands clenching on the arms of the chair as every indignation and vestige of frustration that had been stoked over the last week roared into an inferno.

"You. Apologize," the last word spat from his lips like a rotted fruit, "you really think you have that option, Armsmaster? After a year of ignoring and denigrating my work. A year of me begging you for help, you think you can walk in here and apologize to me?"

"Your anger is understandable. I was not a good leader or mentor when I should have been," he couldn't help the snort that escaped from him, it was just so rich that now the man was making these admissions in the twilight of his time with the Protectorate, "and I know that I did all of you a disservice, that's why I want to try and at least, before I'm gone, make some amends."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"There's nothing I can do to truly make up for my neglect, Christopher. But what I can do is at least try and do something to make things better. Clockblocker's father will be receiving treatment from Panacea tomorrow. Vista's home life is under investigation for abuse and neglect, and her costume is under review. I've personally recommended that it is redesigned with adequate personal protection for her."

His tempered rage guttered, and he blinked, not quite believing what he was hearing. Armsmaster was doing what? The man had never cared a lick for any of them. It was a small miracle if he paid any attention to them outside of the field. This was…

The older man then stepped forward and placed a thumb drive on the desk in front of him.

"Worst of all, was how I treated you, Chris," he admitted, "I was in your position when I first started as a hero, trying to figure out what my specialization was. I was lucky to have the greatest Thinker take me under his wing and provide me the guidance that I needed. But when it was my turn to continue the example he provided, I didn't. I was too obsessed with fame and glory by being the man who had answers and could make a difference."

He took a deep breath, and Chris found himself looking between the thumb drive and his former leader.

"I failed you, Chris. I failed Hero. And I will have to live with that failure for the rest of my life. But what I can do for you, is at least provide you some of that guidance you deserved when you first came to me. On that thumb drive is notes and documentation on ideas that should help make improvements to the stabilization of the energy flow regulator on the alternator cannon that has been plaguing you. "

"But…why," he was at a loss, looking again at the thumb drive, "I thought you were against it? Why are you even helping me?"

"As I told you last time, it's a brilliant design, but they will never let you build it. And even if you somehow outsmart them and get the budget approved, the parts built and the space to see it assembled, they'll only ever let you use it on an Endbringer. I wasn't against it, and I should have explained to you why I was treating your design so callously. This isn't Hero's Protectorate anymore, where you can just design without constant oversight. You have to work with the system in order to get approval, and I should have explained that to you instead of dismissing you."

He then trailed off, losing himself in thought for a moment, obviously considering what he was going to say. And for some reason, he found he couldn't find it within him to call it out.

"One of the best lessons Hero imparted to me, and something I should have passed to you, is that failure is one of the best educators for Tinkers. You can't learn unless you have the opportunity to fail. That's why I've also added a few safety suggestions for you to add to the design in the event that if something goes wrong, you can learn from it. There's also something else. A suggestion, I guess. I hope you can put all of this to good use and wish you luck going forward."

His words given, Armsmaster then turned and left the room, leaving him sitting there his mouth agape.

He sat like that for a few more moments, before he snatched the thumb drive and inserted it into the port on his computer, immediately opening the drive.

He found several files, each one organized and distinctly labeled.

But in the middle of it, was one file, simply labeled: Power Research Suggestions.

For a brief instant, he considered not opening it, but the expression Armsmaster had, and the fact that he honestly was curious as to what the man could offer or say. It was too late for the man to make up anything for him, but if there was something that he had learned from Piggot and this broken system, it was that using people for your own gains was permissible and even rewarded.

So he accessed the simple file, idling noting that it was a word document before it opened.

But what he greeted him in the file caused his mind to come to a complete stop as he stared blankly at what rested on the screen, before his heart started racing and mind started whirling.

Chris,

After looking over your hoverboard and alternator cannon blueprints and their components, might I suggest looking into modular design concepts. I feel that you could improve on the plug-and-play synergy that always exists in your designs by doing so. The knowledge you could gain from the research should vastly improve your design repertoire going forward.

I know there is nothing I can possibly ever do to make up for what I have done to you and your peers. But, if you ever have any questions, please, do not hesitate to ask me and I'll do my best to try and help.

Colin Wallis.

 

[AlSmash]

Germination 2.8

---

Jeffrey Leeds

CPS Investigator, Brockton Bay

(T-Minus 10 Days)

"Okay, last item on the agenda: The Hebert case. Where are we with that?"

Jeffrey Leeds couldn't help but sigh at the question, closing his eyes as he fought a migraine that reared its ugly head. He knew that this was going to come up during the department meeting, but he had hoped that maybe his boss would let him provide his report in private instead of publicly airing it out to an audience.

"Somewhere between fucked and buried, Candace," he finally said after placing his glasses on the table.

"What the hell happened, Jeff? Last time, you told me that the Heberts were playing ball."

"I'm still trying to piece it together, Candace. A week ago, Daniel Hebert was eating out of our hands and doing everything we asked of him. Now, I've got their lawyer asking some rather pointed questions about our procedures while blocking me at every turn. Tomorrow, I have to attend a hearing where the Heberts are submitting a request for emancipation."

"What," Allison Jamison, a fellow investigator spoke up from across the table, "how the fuck do you go from touring schools to submitting a writ for emancipation?"

"I don't know," he threw up his hands, "All I can put together is something happened during the Arcadia tour. But when I asked Skinner what happened, he informed me he was legally unable to tell me."
"Is there any lawsuit against Arcadia by the Heberts that would cause him to keep silent?" Candace asked.

"Nothing locally filed. Nor is there anything filed in Boston either. It might be federal, but I can't see a reason why the Hebert's would be punching that high for something that would silence a school principal."

"What about Milton? Could he have done something?"

"Once again I return to the question of why. Their lawyer's big league, sure, but for federal it would have to be something major. And I don't see anything that would merit a blip on the federal courts radar."

"Okay, so it's not the lawyer, who is it?"

"Hell if I know. What I do know is that it's not the PRT. They've adopted a hands-off stance after their last run-in with her. Don't know the details of what went down either, because that's been redacted to hell and back."

"Wait? Redacted," Allison spoke, "why would they be redacting an incident report? That's not the PRT's style."

"I don't know what to tell you," Jeffrey offered a shrug, "the only reason I know the report even involves Hebert is the time stamp they have on it matching when they brought her in. Other than that, they might as well have just given me black sheets of paper, because there is nothing you can read on that report."

"Okay," Candace spoke, "let's take a step back and look over the timeline: Twenty-six days ago, Taylor Hebert was brought in by the PRT. We don't know why and we don't have the details of what went down at the Brockton Bay HQ. All we have are redacted files that we do not have clearance to unredact. Coincidentally, that is when you began your investigation, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Fast forward to two weeks ago, we confronted the Heberts and their lawyer with our initial findings. From there we recommend that, in order to avoid legal recourse, Taylor Hebert must reduce her work hours to be in line with state standard for her age and she must go back to school. We also recommended a few other things, but that was the general gist, correct?"

"Yes. Danny Hebert and his legal representation agreed to our stipulations. They even provided us with a workable timeline and were keeping us informed along the way. That changed after the school tours a week ago."

"Okay, so seven days ago, something happened that caused the Heberts to stop communicating with us and for some reason they have unleashed their lawyer upon us. So, what do we know? Is there anything that could indicate the cause of this change of behavior?"

"I don't have a smoking gun, Candace. They did power testing twenty days ago and I have access to that report. Interestingly enough, that is unredacted, but I can't make heads or tails of what they are indicating outside of Hebert being a Thinker, not a Tinker. A few business meetings here and there, Hebert self-reporting his daughter's overage on hours, but there was a plan in place to reduce her hours so I made a note to follow up on the matter later."

He blinked before donning his glasses again, a thought occurring to him as he opened his binder and started going through his notes before he found it. Reading it over, he frowned. He remembered having this conversation, but for the life of him he couldn't remember the specifics. Which was rather strange considering he usually was good on matters like this.

"There was one meeting that did raise my eyebrow, but according to my notes the lawyer satisfied my questions when I asked. Nineteen days ago, they had a meeting with officials from the Department of Energy, but I don't have the details for some reason."

"Why would the DOE be visiting Hebert? The girl's peddling medical devices last time I checked," Allison asked, and he caught Candace frowning. She did have a point, the only thing that Taylor Hebert had created was this so-called 'Focus', it was certainly nothing that would attract their attention.

"Okay, we're definitely missing something, then," Candace said, "I'll make a few phone calls up to Boston, Jeff. See what I can find out. Allison, do you have time to help Jeff?"

"The Biron case is pretty much a done deal. I feel bad for the girl to be honest. Finding a suitable and local foster family is the only thing holding up finalization. The PRT is making some noise about making her a ward of the state, but it's only a suggestion for now. Yeah, I think I can."

"Go over to the Youth Guard office and start asking questions. They have better resources than we do, maybe they can figure something out."

There was a pause from the other woman as she shifted uncomfortably.

"I thought it was agreed that we didn't want the Youth Guard getting too involved. You know Cathryn is going to flip her shit."

"Tough on the bitch," Candace retorted, "I'm tired of the woman treating us like she owns us. About time she starts carrying some of the water."

"Alright, I'll get on it. Expect an angry phone call soon."

"I look forward to it. Jeff, get down to the courthouse, see if we can get some answers and put some weight on the judge to hold off on the emancipation hearing. I'm not going to let a major case like this go off the rails without an answer and let Taylor Hebert be exploited simply because she has powers."

---

AEH​

---

Four hours later, Jeff found himself with no answers and only a lot more questions. The judge's office was not forthcoming with any information, but also informed him that the emancipation hearing would continue on schedule and there was nothing he could say or do to change that.

So he had come back to the office, only to be told that Candace wanted to see him. When he had asked where, he was told out back.

Now here he was, marching to the back of the back of the building, his irritation reaching a breaking point. Wrenching the door open, he sauntered outside, a small wooded area providing the perfect place to smoke for the staff.

"Jeff?"

His head snapped in the direction where Candace's voice came from. But whatever he was going to say died a silent death as he took in his boss.

Candace Saunders had always been an unflappable woman who didn't let her job reflect upon her appearance. But that was a far cry from the haunted pale-looking woman with her carefully styled hair askew who clenched a cigarette in her fingers like a lifeline.

Something was definitely wrong, he realized as he walked over to her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her carton of cigarettes and held it out to him. Taking one of the cancer sticks from it, she then held out her lighter, which he took to light it. Taking a deep drag from it, he then handed her back the lighter.

"That bad, huh?"

"How did Judge Vindmann go?"

"About as well as whatever is bothering you. The judge had one of his flunkies tell me they were not at liberty to disclose anything to me and that the hearing tomorrow would proceed. I have a feeling that the judge has already made a decision."

"I see," the other woman trailed off, taking her own drag from the cigarette, before releasing the toxic fumes into the air. He frowned as she remained silent, only smoking her cigarette as her eyes seemed locked onto the woods.

"We're dropping the Hebert case," she finally declared, causing him to choke mid-inhalation.

With his eyes watering, he turned to look at her even as he grunted out, "What the fuck? Why?"

"I've been ordered to close the investigation and cease all contact with the Heberts. Furthermore, all documentation in relation to the Hebert case is to be collected and destroyed. I am to report on the completion of these orders within two days."

"What the hell is Boston thinking, Candace? Destroy all documentation? That's patently illegal. If it comes out that we did that–"

"It's not Boston. These orders are coming straight from DC."

"But that's…DC has no jurisdiction on a local child abuse investigation, Candace. Can they even do that?"

Finishing her cigarette, she threw it down before grinding her heel on it to put it out. She then turned to him.

"According to Allison, they told the Youth Guard to stand down, Jeffrey. The. Youth. Guard. You think you can tell them no?"

Whatever it was that was going on, he could tell when there was no winning situation. He could see the connections right in front of him, it wasn't the lawyer that was chilling everyone, it was someone in DC, and if they were willing to ignore things like the separation of the federal and state jurisdictions, then something as small as him wouldn't even merit a bug on the windshield.

"I'll turn over all documentation to you within the hour," he sighed, stubbing his own cigarette out, "For the record, Candace, I fucking hate this. Whoever is doing this, the Hebert girl is going to be exploited until she's a dried up husk."

"I know. But what can you do? We fought the good fight, but it's no longer our problem."

---

AEH​

---

Roy Christener

T-Minus 8 Days

"Your three o'clock is here, Roy."

Taking a deep breath, and slowly releasing it, he allowed himself a few more moments to calm himself. Not three weeks ago, he was looking forward to this sort of conversation, only with a different outcome. It should have been Danny Hebert coming to him, begging forgiveness and returning back into the fold.

Instead, that dream was in shambles, and he still had no idea how it came to be this way.

"Send him in," he finally said, clasping his hands upon his desk.

The door opened a few moments later, letting in John Milton, the Zero Dawn Technologies, and the Hebert's, as he found out recently, personal lawyer. The man cut an intimidating presence as he strolled in, placing his suitcase down beside the chair and taking a seat in the chair in front of Roy's desk without an invitation.

He had to bite back his anger at the blatant disrespect, but he knew that it would be pointless.

"What can I do for you, Mister Milton," he greeted the man as smoothly as he could.

"My clients wish for peace."

He blinked, not sure if he heard correctly. The Heberts had him over the barrel, sure it would create a few unpleasant questions for them, but they could literally bury him.

So to ask for peace was, well, it was something he could not honestly conceive.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"It's not really complicated, Mister Christener. My clients knew something was up the moment the CPS arrived. They're glacially slow unless there's politics involved, and the PRT isn't quite that incompetent to hand over something like that to an outside party. After that was established, it was a matter of asking the right questions and finding the right people to answer them. You were the obvious suspect, considering your history with the Dockworker's Union, but it certainly doesn't hurt to confirm these things before making the accusation."

Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his legs and folded his hands over his raised knee.

"That said, my clients are being remarkably forgiving. They realize how much effort would be wasted bringing you to court when it would be more cost-effective to sue for peace. You stop obstructing Zero Dawn, and my clients and their investors will choose not to inform the FBI agents currently wrapping up their investigation into my client's assault that they have a government corruption issue in city hall. I'd say everyone walks away marginally satisfied and remains relatively intact."

"And if I choose to reject this peace offering," Roy cautiously inquired. It was more of an exercise in knowing what his options were than rejection, he was a politician and he always kept his options open.

The small twitch of the man's lips into a smile was enough to chill him, as Milton uncrossed his legs and slowly leaned forward, the leather of his chair creaking ominously in the suddenly quiet room.

"My firm has been around for quite some time, Mister Christener. One of the things you come to appreciate is the information that is accumulated over the years, the sort of information that some may not find palatable to be exposed to the light. It's a veritable cauldron of material."

He couldn't help but freeze at the last statement. He had been told that no one could know the deal that he had made with those people with his son. The woman in the fedora had made it abundantly clear that there would be repercussions if he failed in maintaining the secrecy of his deal, including and up to the death of his entire family.

How the hell do they know? He wondered for a moment before realizing that he honestly didn't want to know.

"Peace," he forced out, his voice a rasp at the sudden dryness in his throat. He cleared it, embarrassed at his momentary weakness, "I believe I can accept those terms, Mister Milton. I find myself strangely grateful for your clients' forgiveness and restraint."

"I'm certainly glad you feel that way, Mister Mayor," the man's smile sharpened even further.

---

AEH​

---

Vice President Jack Ryan (T-Minus 2 Days)

"We're here, sir."

Looking up from the files that he was scanning through one more time, Vice President Jack Ryan then placed the folder down, closing the cover on Taylor Hebert. The last minute research was a habit of his, even if he had already memorized the file three times over.

"Status," he asked, moving his head to work the kinks out of his neck.

"Our absence hasn't been noticed in Boston yet. Nor has there been local chatter on our presence either. Team Two is in position nearby if needed. Once again, I would like to reiterate that this is a bad idea, Jack."

Bad in that he was the Vice President and he shouldn't be here in the first place. It wasn't just from a security standpoint, as he was running the bare minimum of a protective detail, but also the message that would be sent once it became public knowledge that he was here. By his very presence, he was announcing that what he was here for was a big deal, and it would cause additional scrutiny on the matter.

Under any other circumstance, he would not be doing this in the first place. However, inviting Taylor Hebert to Boston would achieve the very same thing that he was doing here. At least, when he was doing this, he would be able to catch the teenager off-guard and gather far more information than if she had warning to prepare by inviting her.

"It'll be fine," he reassured his head of protective detail, Scott Mitchell with a time-honed smile, reaching the door and opening it, the door being caught by one of his protective detail and opened the rest of the way as he stepped out into the overcast sky. Adjusting his suit, he took the time to survey his surroundings as the rich aroma of salt and rust filled his nostrils.

It was a scent that brought him back to his more youthful and carefree days growing up in Baltimore. But as quickly as he reminisced upon it, he buried it behind the responsibility of his job and made one final adjustment to his suit as his security detail arranged themselves around him.

He didn't become the youngest CIA Director in history by allowing himself to be distracted by things like childhood memories, especially when he was on-mission.

"Good," he asked.

"We're clear."

That was why he hand-picked his team. They were nearly infallibly efficient. As Vice President, he was legally assigned a Secret Service escort. And while he did utilize them, when he was out in the field he relied more heavily on the ex-military and former intelligence operatives to provide actual protection. This wasn't a knock against the Secret Service, but over the years he had cultivated connections with people whose mettle he knew and inherently trusted with his safety.

The Secret Service, on the other hand, couldn't be granted that same trust. They were certainly effective, but they lacked that aggressive spirit he preferred. But the most significant deal breaker for him was they counted capes amongst their protective detail ranks, with the PRT's blessing.

He had just been starting as an analyst in the CIA, after a rather lucrative stint as a stock broker that made him millions, when the cape golden age had reached its zenith, followed by its sudden, swift collapse soon thereafter. He, like many in the intelligence community, had been skeptical and even suspicious of the sudden appearance of capes. There was no rational sense to the distribution of powers, nor was there any logic to the scale of those that were granted.

There had been too many questions and not enough answers, which for any competent member of the intelligence community was unacceptably fatal in their field. It was these unknowns that had led the CIA to quietly commission Project Pandora. Much like its namesake, the CIA was keen on discovering not only the origin of powers, but also the mechanisms of its propagation and the intent behind it.

But just as importantly in the quest for the answers, it studied the ramifications of capes on the United States and its allies as the rest of the world came to grapple with, and eventually utilize, this new resource.

How he became involved in Pandora, in spite of his relative inexperience, had been at the behest of the project leader, James Greer. The older department head had taken a shine to him despite only having met him once, and had specifically requested his assignment to the project.

It was there, during Pandora, that his opinions and viewpoints on capes developed. And he also found out why Greer had specifically asked for him as time went on. It wasn't just for his analytical capabilities. Greer was as paranoid as he was effective, and had set him up as a contingency in the event the senior leadership of the Project met an unforeseen 'incident'.

For three years, he worked on Pandora, helping to gather and analyze data gleaned on the nature of capes and their powers. Most of it above the board, some of it not. But what they had amassed had not painted a pleasant picture of capes in general. There was no origin point for the capes to point a finger at. It was as if capes and powers appeared overnight in a randomized pattern. Nor was there any obvious mechanics to their manifestation either. Moments of extreme stress could manifest powers, but only if they had a specific mutative (and unnatural) growth in their head.

It had been an accident, to be honest, that they had discovered that what would later be identified as the corona pollentia and gemma were unnatural formations. Brain imaging technology had been a nascent technology in the 70s, but for some of the adult capes, there existed images that firmly established a before and after, and it unequivocally proved that the growth in a cape's head was not a natural mutation.

That had changed the direction of Pandora's investigation. The manifestation of capes was too random and disconnected for it to be any sort of organized, or even disorganized, scientific experiment funded by a country or company, as it would be against said organizers interest to give up a strategic advantage like that. Nor did the technology exist that could pull off a dispersion and random pattern like this.

So they had turned back and looked at what happened that could have created such a change. After weeks of back and forth, they thought they had an answer.

And that was when James Greer and the senior project leadership had been killed.

He had been lucky that day thanks to his wife. Pregnancy had been hard on her and he had been running behind because of it, when the bomb had gone off he had just been pulling into the parking lot. If he had arrived fifteen minutes sooner, he would have been counted amongst the dead. The bomb had torn a significant chunk out of the corner of the office building, showering the parking lot in debris. He had remembered the horror at immediately recognizing where the bomb had been concentrated.

But he had also remembered quite vividly a sharply dressed woman with a fedora watching the building in the parking lot. The only reason he even noticed her presence was the fact that she looked like she was out of a gangster-era period piece. He would never forget the cold, calculative eyes as she turned to him, as if he was the only person in the parking lot and stared at him as he stood there frozen.

Then, with a rush of bodies blocking her off from his vision for only a few moments, she was gone..

Pandora was shut down before Greer had been laid to rest by Director Ritter. All materials were destroyed and everyone involved in the project found themselves reassigned, sometimes to far-flung locations. Even he hadn't been safe, finding himself reassigned to the London office.

And that would have been the end of it, to be perfectly honest. London, while it certainly could be a prestigious assignment, also had a tendency of killing careers as well. He had a feeling that was why Ritter had assigned him there, the man had not liked Greer's hard-nosed ways honed by the Cold War, and he viewed his assignment to London was to finally put to bed Greer's final touches on the Agency.

Only, it hadn't worked out that way, as he found himself inadvertently involved with preventing IRA-aligned capes from kidnapping a cousin of the queen while sightseeing with his wife and daughter. In the ensuing fight, he had been injured, but not before killing one of the capes and subduing another.

The act of saving a cousin of the queen, while also stopping capes while being unpowered as he was, catapulted him into the limelight, making him an overnight sensation. He found himself being placed as a senior analyst, then department head, in the CIA's 'cape' department, providing the government with intelligence estimates and analysis of cape activities in other countries. His assignment had been propitious, as he had front row seats to the collapse of the People's Republic of China into the Chinese-Union Imperial. It had been through his team that the they had discovered that the actual power behind the restoration of the Aisin-Gioro Throne hadn't been Qing Restorationists, as the Chinese publicly claimed, but were actually a cabal of capes that called themselves the Yàngbǎn.

It had only raised his profile further within the CIA, but had also created ramifications that were still felt even today. The revelation of the power capes could have in overthrowing their government had created several other copycats around the world, with some of them becoming quite successful, and others that left only destruction in their path. The United States had not been safe from this phenomena either, with three different attempts in the last fifteen years, two of them discovered by his team in the years after someone leaked the existence of the Yàngbǎn.

But through all of his experiences that could honestly be ripped from the page of a novel, he had never forgotten Pandora. The knowledge gleaned from the project had colored his perceptions of capes. The creation of the PRT and Protectorate only further colored his opinion of them. He understood the realpolitik of it, capes were simply too powerful to be ignored, but he also disagreed with the power granted to them. But in the atmosphere after the creation, having any sort of anti-cape sentiments were viewed as a political liability, and he had learned too much under Greer not to hide it.

He didn't hate capes, but he couldn't bring himself to ever implicitly trust them. How could you reasonably trust them? If a soldier suffered the type of psychological episode that a cape suffered in order to manifest their power they would be quietly medically discharged from the service. Yet 'heroic' capes were granted the power of badge and became a power upon themselves, answerable only to other capes and an organization that benefited from the existence of capes.

It honestly reeked to the high heavens.

Yet his successes, ties to cape analysis, visible profile, and ability to hide his own personal sentiments on the matter of capes, found him a nomination for Director of the CIA. It had been President Hardin's intention on shifting the CIA's direction to a more cape-heavy focus, providing intelligence support to the Protectorate and PRT that had provided him the opportunity. The strategic shift had grated quite a few of the previous leadership to the point that they had resigned in protest and he found himself rising to the top of the list, with hardly anyone having something negative to say about him.

It had been a shock to him, to be perfectly honest. He himself would have never envisioned when he had made the choice to join the CIA that a mere sixteen years later he would find himself its director.

James Greer must have been laughing his ass off when the nomination had gone through.

But it was a changed CIA that he had inherited. One that not only did have to do more with less due to budget reductions, but found its operational focus changed completely. The Cold War was over and in its place was a more kinetic and chaotic world with an increasingly ever-changing landscape that teetered on the edge of oblivion.

Yet the challenges hadn't deterred him. He had understood what would be needed for the CIA moving forward, and he had applied everything he had learned over the years to make it happen. From embracing new technologies to revamping human intelligence sources. It had been his stewardship that had designed several measures in order to counteract Thinkers, Masters, and Strangers, probably one of the largest threats to their intelligence apparatus.

By the time President Hardin had lost his reelection campaign in 2000, he had left a CIA that was lean, mean, and could readily achieve its strategic objectives in this changed new world. He had been looking forward to retirement and spending time possibly reopening the Pandora investigation on his own. It was the one pledge he had made to himself in memory of Greer.

However, that retirement was short-lived, as the appearance of the Simurgh had once again changed everything. His successor had been at Lausanne for an intelligence summit with other heads of intelligence of their European allies. As a result the Endbringer's attack had been devastating for western intelligence leadership, and Jack once again found himself being drafted to salvage the situation.

After another two years, he had been ready to retire again, this time for good. He had grown disappointed with the direction of the government as it became more insular and the PRT and Protectorate continued to grow in power. It was one thing to increase the budget of a department, but it was quite another thing to do it at the cost of their international interests and allies.

Nor did he care for Rebecca Costa-Brown. There was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way, but even his finely honed instincts couldn't identify what it was that bothered him. All of his attempts to discreetly look into her had come back with nothing of note, but that did nothing to assuage his suspicions. Quite the opposite really. Nobody had such a clean past.

So it was in 2004 that he once again turned in his resignation with the election of President Vincent Durling, this time for good, or so he promised himself. Durling had wanted him to remain, but Jack had made up his mind: He had done his bit for the President and country, and wanted to spend more time with his family. Too much of his time with them had been sacrificed for the public good that he had missed many events in his children's lives as they grew up.

And for three years, his retirement had been just that, a time to reconnect with his wife and children, and pursue other interests. All the while, he restarted the work on Pandora, wanting to finish the investigation, but also discover who the woman in the fedora was, and why his mentor was killed.

But then he found himself once more dragged back in. Only this time, it was at the behest of Vincent Durling. The upcoming election season had been plagued by scandal, with Durling's Vice President having to resign in disgrace thanks to a sex scandal from his university days. To his, and everyone else's surprise, Durling wanted him as his Vice President.

The true reason for this had been kept between the two of them to this day. Apparently Durling had grown suspicious of the PRT and Protectorate. He had been a senator when the PRT had initially been founded and he had watched its meteoric rise with concern. His misgivings with the organization had only grown since, despite the service that it provided. He wanted Jack because he believed that he was probably the best man to take a discreet look at the inner workings of the PRT and Protectorate.

Jack had honestly wanted to decline the request. Politics were one of those things that were never his strength. He could play the game, he just preferred to be more blunt and direct than to dance around the issue. But he had also realized that this was likely his only way to complete his own pledge. He had made progress, but he was hitting too many obstacles at this juncture. Assuming the role of the Vice President would open doors and avenues of investigation that previously he did not have access to.

So in the end, he had accepted, and despite the scandal, Durling was able to win the election. Jack had immediately gotten to work digging into things, including gathering up a few of the old crowd from Pandora. All the while, he had been learning under Durling and establishing himself in DC as the White House's troubleshooter.

He had become so successful that Durling was urging him to run for the Presidency when his second term expired. While he wasn't sure yet if he would, he knew that he was leaning towards yes.

But that was for the future, and while he had his misgivings about capes, he was not above using them for his agenda. When Ken had approached him with the case of Taylor Hebert nearly two weeks ago, he had been skeptical at first. There had been too many false silver bullets over the years between them and their allies that had ended up in wasted resources for him to still believe in the silver bullet scenario.

Yet Ken had been adamant, and they did go back a ways, so he humored the man and launched his own investigation into the teenager. What he had found was largely unremarkable teenage girl, nothing that would indicate anything particularly noteworthy about her. That was until the attack upon her. He had watched the video and by the end of it, he made a note to himself to look into the investigation and subsequent punishments of the perpetrators. As a father he took personal umbrage at what happened to the teen.

After the attack, it was readily evident that the girl had 'triggered'. She had done a rather amateurish job in attempting to obfuscate her patents and scientific articles, and it would have done a decent job in escaping notice on the first pass. However, it might as well have been an open book to one of the most powerful intelligence agencies in the world. But throughout his entire investigation, which included referring to several experts in their field, not once could they find any Tinkertech in the designs. Not only that, but everything she had designed, patented, and published, was perfectly replicable. Assuming of course, that you could afford the team of seasoned experts it took to understand state of the art research. There was no apparent taint of cape powers to it outside of their origin point.

Even further than that, that wasn't the limit of what Hebert was doing either. He had surreptitiously tapped several assets to unobtrusively look into Horizon Zero Dawn's facilities. Certainly, they were producing these new materials that had been patented by Hebert, stockpiling them for eventual buyers, and there were production facilities being set up for her products, but there was another facility that garnered their attention.

His assets were uncertain of what exactly was going on in Warehouse Four, but Ken's observation that Hebert was spending an inordinate amount of time in there was proven true. Almost every day, Hebert spent at least ten hours in that building, with materials being brought in under the cover of night and a tarp over them. The attempt at secrecy was certainly amateurish, but it was nonetheless effective for the short term.

The lack of knowledge on what was going on in Warehouse Four was worrisome. Even Hebert's interview with the Department of Energy, as amiable as it was, was not enough to allay his concerns. Unknowns were the enemy of his field, and there were too many unknowns for him to be comfortable. Nonetheless, he kept his options open, and did not immediately assume that there was something nefarious occurring in Warehouse Four. It just kept him on edge.

And certainly, trying to unravel that mystery was part of why he was here. The other part was to get a personal feel for the girl. It was convenient that he had an opportunity easily provided to him. He had a meeting with industry and financial heads for a possible campaign in Boston in two days, and with Brockton Bay less than two hours travel time from there he couldn't stop himself from taking a look for himself. It provided him with the perfect opportunity to slip into Brockton Bay quietly while everyone believed that he was still in Boston, preparing for the meeting.

Taking the lead, he strode towards the door, his protective detail falling in around him. All the while, his eyes were scanning the surroundings, idly noting the various surveillance cameras arrayed over the premises. It appeared that they had added a bit of security since the last report, he couldn't help but approve of it.

Stepping through the door and into the reception area, he noted even more additional security cameras, but also a pair of armed security personnel stationed near the doors that would lead further into the facility. That was another development that he hadn't been aware of. Taking it in stride, he marched towards the receptionist desk where a woman was staring him and his men down, all the while the security personnel were obviously communicating with someone else.

He offered a disarming smile, "Good Afternoon, I'm here to meet with Taylor Hebert."

"I'm sorry," was her response, "but Miss Hebert is not accepting any appointments at this time. I'll happily schedule you an appointment for a later time."

He had to hand it to the woman, that was probably the best response to give in this day and age where you can never be sure if someone is who they were or if they were not mastered. It was an inconvenience he could approve of.

"I think she will make time for me, Miss Williams."

"I'm sorry, I am under explicit orders from Miss Hebert herself that she is not to be disturbed under any circumstances. This includes a visit from the Vice President, if that is truly who you are. Now, I would be happy to schedule you an appointment. However, it will not take place until after the next Endbringer attack has been concluded. If you are unable to accept that, then I apologize, but I cannot help you any further and ask that you leave the premises."

As he opened his mouth to further insist, the phone beside her rang. She glanced at the phone, her brow furrowing, before she looked back to him. It was quickly evident that she didn't want to answer the phone. Why she wasn't doing what was her job after she had obviously dismissed him only stoked his curiosity.

She seemed to make a decision as she picked up the phone, placing it to her ear, "Yes, Miss Hebert?"

He blinked, carefully hiding his surprise. The timing of the phone call was too impeccable to be a coincidence. Which, his gaze flitted over to the camera watching the lobby, suggested that Hebert was watching this. The timespan between his arrival and the phone call was too short for it to have been run through the various levels of security. But that didn't fit the psychological profile that had been built of the girl, she wasn't supposed to be paranoid to the point where she would be actively watching security cameras.

Logging that away for future reference, he kept an ear to the conversation.

"Of course, Miss Hebert. No, I will have Adam escort them. Thank you, Miss Hebert."

Hanging up the phone, the receptionist looked back to them, her expression closed off and obviously not pleased at the outcome.

"Miss Hebert will see you now."

She turned her head, "Adam, please take the Vice President and two of his men to Warehouse Four."

A man with slicked back-and-up brown hair and a rather stylish beard stepped towards them, even as Scott Mitchell, the lead of his protective detail, began to protest.

"It's fine," he waved off the man's protests, "we are the ones imposing upon Miss Hebert's time, Scott. I doubt she would go to such lengths just to do something untoward."

Mitchell fell silent after his interjection. The man had been with him for nearly four years now, he knew when to push and when to trust. Merely offering a reluctant nod, he motioned to another member, and they fell in behind him as he began following Adam who offered a gruff "Follow me."

They were shepherded to a trio of golf carts, where he and his protection were allowed to take one cart, while Adam went to the front cart, and another pair of security personnel found themselves in a back cart. They were then on their way as they followed Adam as he led them through the compound.

While on the way, he noted the level of activity had increased from what was described in the last report. He was unsure what exactly had caused that, but it was likely they were ramping up for a product release. Which didn't make much sense considering their catalog, even if they sold their so called "Focus" without marketing them as medical devices in order to sidestep the lengthy FDA approval process, there was some paperwork they would have had to file first, and none of it had been filed yet. He knew that there was some growing interest in the materials that had been patented by Zero Dawn, but they were still in the testing process.

Soonthey arrived at Warehouse Four, and after another set of guards and a security scan, they were let into the facility. And finding themselves in a scene that would not be out of place in a Tinker's workshop. For a brief instant, he wondered if, after everything, Taylor Hebert had been able to dupe them. But then he took in the fact that there were actual workers, and not other capes, working on the various machines, that he allowed himself to calm slightly.

So this is what she's been hiding, he mused as he took in everything. He had expected some sort of secret project, but this far exceeded even his most unhinged estimations.

There were numerous alcoves and cradles, with people milling around them, even as the sound of metal striking concrete and cutting noises echoed through the facility. But in the middle of the open floor were what could only be described as machines styled after animals that were, for lack of better description, being run through their paces. He watched as one that was the size of a man and reminded him of a hyena was currently cutting through a thick steel plate. Further back, a smaller ferret-shaped machine was scuttling around, climbing various pieces of debris as another bipedal machine's head attached to a serpentine neck tracked it.

"This way, sir," Adam said, but before they went any further, Scott decided to voice his own opinion on the matter.

"Sir, this isn't secure."

He considered it for only a moment before shaking it off. He was the one who had insisted on imposing without accurate intelligence. While Scott was right, admitting it would only complicate matters further than they already were.

And he was honestly interested as to what these machines were supposed to do. Common sense would dictate that something like this she would want to keep hidden until she was ready, but here she was letting them behind the curtain and see what she was working on.

"It's fine," and with that, while Mitchell obviously didn't approve, he nodded and shifted his posture even closer to being ready for violence. He then followed after Adam and found himself left to a cradle with what was the largest 'machine' in the room, a bipedal machine with an oblong head that towered over all of them. All around it were several people who were crawling over it, attaching various plates to it, but his eyes were only for the small figure with their back to him, currently sitting in front of a computer, various cords and cables running into the 'stomach' of the large machine. The screen of the computer was indecipherable to him, numerous windows open and indecipherable lines of symbols, letters, and numbers filling the screen.

The large machine's head turned slightly towards him, and he felt himself freeze for a moment. But instead of doing anything more, it turned its head back and looked straight ahead after a moment. All the while, who could only be Taylor Hebert continued working without any indication that she had noticed their arrival.

"I'll be right with you," she called out, continuing her work on the terminal without even looking away from it, her fingers gliding over the keyboard, the only sounds from her being the clicking sound of the mechanical keyboard as she worked.

"Quentin, take over," she finally said, sliding back in the chair, "try and review the code in the communications suite. There's a fault in the handover protocol, pretty sure it's locked down now, but run a few more tests and see if anything comes loose."

Getting up, she stretched herself out, hands over her head, before she turned and he was given his first look at Taylor Hebert.

If he wasn't aware of who she was at this juncture, he would likely have been skeptical. Outside of the device on the side of her head that glowed brightly, there was nothing that suggested that this girl was a fountain of ideas and technology previously unseen.

But then again, that was what a lot of capes were. You never expected them to be capable of what they were until they finally showed it. Just another symptom of this world and the inherent brokenness wrought by the introduction of powers into it.

"Vice President Ryan," she greeted, "I find myself both honored and surprised by your presence. I didn't think I'd done enough yet to merit this kind of attention."

Taking note of the word choice, specifically the 'yet', to follow up later, he offered a small reassuring smile.

"You've been making quite a few waves behind closed doors with your reactor design, Miss Hebert. And Secretary Lafferty regaled me with how much of an impression you made upon his team. He also felt that you had a few more tricks up your sleeve," he then made it a point to look around the warehouse as work continued, "it would seem he was right."

The soft laugh that came from her lips was certainly not what he expected, maybe a bit of awkwardness, but she just seemed to take it all in stride, "Well I guess this cat's out of the bag. Would you like a short briefing, Mr. Vice President? I would offer a tour, but with us undergoing last minute preparations and testing, I am afraid things are rather chaotic at the moment."

"I find myself somewhat intrigued at all of this, so I would appreciate it. And please, call me Jack."

"Only if you call me Taylor," the teen returned with practiced ease, "What you are seeing is the first prototype production batch of what I have given the designation of a Light Rescue Lance. It is designed to provide search and rescue assistance in disaster areas. We were planning to debut this after the next Endbringer fight."

Rescue, huh, he thought, looking over the room, noting the various machines. He wasn't an expert on robotics, but that didn't mean he was not blind to the possible military applications such machines would have. Even if they were not armed, their weight and strength alone could still be used with devastating results against unarmed civilians.

"Why lance?" he asked, deciding that it would be better to ask a more innocent question before getting to the meat of it all, "I notice you have enough machines to comprise what would be classically known as a squad."

"A squad has far too many military implications to it and I feel that it is not unique from a marketing standpoint." she answered, following his gaze, "I don't want people to get the wrong idea from these machines. They are purpose built to help in saving lives. The reason I chose the designation of Lance is because of its origin, the Lance Fournie, or equipped lance. In the medieval times, it was a military unit that was made up of a knight and supporting personnel. I felt that tapping into the romantic notions of the medieval period and our views on knights being chivalrous exemplars of society would go a long way towards tempering reactions."

"Yet, by your name choice for a formation designation and the addition of a descriptor for its purpose suggests that there is an additional military aspect or template that has a military purpose to it."

"There is," she admitted after only a brief moment's hesitation. He had to give her a notch on her audacity in admission, a lot of corporate types would try and avoid answering the question instead, "the units you see before here, outside of the Charger and this version of the Titan, can be equipped with a variety of lethal and nonlethal options if so chosen. There are also other more offensive designs that are currently only blueprints. However, even if I had the capacity to produce them, they would not make a difference in the fight with an Endbringer at this juncture."

"But you believe they could make a difference given enough time."

She met his statement with silence for a minute, not turning her gaze to him, obviously contemplating her response.

"I would be an absolute idiot to promise you something I do not have sufficient data upon. There are just too many variables involved to give you any definitive answer that would leave me wholly satisfied," she then paused, before continuing, "That being said, it is my personal belief that given enough time I could come up with weapons and technology that could give pause to an endbringer, if not be able to assist in driving them back with sufficient application."

The answer was certainly not what he expected from her, and honestly, he was coming around to the conclusion that expectations were certainly something that she actively flaunted. He had a feeling that in a few years, if this all worked out and she established herself, she would be a force to be reckoned with. But the answer, the unequivocal belief in her tone, made him wonder just what it was, if it wasn't machines, but something else. And he was one to investigate down to the bedrock if need be to find answers.

"Like what, Taylor?"

She turned to him, "Not here. I trust these people, but for a discussion like that, I would prefer a more secure location. How about we finish this and then I'll show you my lab?"

He considered it for a moment, before nodding, "After you, then."

"The Rescue Lance concept is simple, it is meant to go into disaster areas and provide immediate rescue assistance. In this template, the lance consists of four Red Eyes, which are the eyes of the unit, with their advanced sensors they can penetrate debris and detect survivors faster and more efficiently than any existing non-parahuman search and rescue technology and tactics. At its heart, it is the disaster search dog of the unit, while also providing data to the command unit in order to coordinate and decide how to approach rescue quickly. To provide the muscle of the unit for SAR is a pair of Burrowers and a Scrapper. Burrowers by their name, are meant to quickly dig or burrow to survivors, providing aid and extraction. The Scrapper, on the other hand, is for more difficult extractions, such as large pieces of debris hindering the process or even instances where the Burrower could destabilize the debris and cause collapse. They are meant to cut or shred pieces of debris and allow for faster extraction."

"Okay, I'm following you so far, you have basically mechanized an entire search and rescue team. However, I have noticed you have left off the Charger and the other unit you were working on when I arrived. They don't seem to fit the purpose of the others."

"That's because they don't. The other two units fit in the role of logistics and command. The Charger is designed to be a mobile fuel processor and distributor for the rest of the unit. All of these machines operate using a combustion reactor, with the plant and inert biomatter being collected and processed.

He rolled the statement over his head, while he was not a scientist, he could understand a large proportion of what she was referring to. But the 'biomatter' portion was a worrisome statement, especially with the focused specificity. It didn't take much to consider what she was omitting.

"I gather from the fact that you are going out of your way to be specific that this is a programmed limitation due to matter being matter. Is there a chance that this programming can be changed?"

A moment's hesitance was his initial response, Taylor apparently finding distaste in the idea, before she answered, "Yes. With the right application of brute force. The operating system for these machines are black-boxed and can only be altered by Zero Dawn Technologies. Any attempt to tamper with the system or the machine itself will cause the machine to go into a dormant state and call the company. It's a failsafe that will be installed into every single Zero Dawn Technology machine. In the future, I hope to have a system put in place for the machine to be able to alert authorities as well, in the event that we are not able to immediately stop the attempt."

He wasn't exactly happy with that admission, the implications that a machine could target humans for 'biomatter' was something that was concerning. Even the supposed safeguards that Hebert was suggesting may not be sufficient, but at least Hebert was thinking of proactive measures in order to protect the populace.

"Is such a feature limited to the Charger?"

"Biomatter collection and processing is hard-limited to logistical models like the Charger. None of the other models have the capacity or capability to do so. Nor are they coded with the ability to collect biomatter for logistical models to process either. That way, in the event that something goes wrong, the fuel for the machines limits their operational capacity and limits their capacity for damage. The reason I chose the Charger is both for machine recognition, but also because of the logistical models, it has the lowest storage capacity."

"Smart," and it was, despite his misgivings, he was satisfied that Hebert was doing her best to consider any contingency, which lent credence that she had a good head on her shoulders. Too many company times were absolutely focused on profit at any cost, with the public holding the 'unforeseen' costs of such a mindset, "But returning to the energy source, I am curious as to why you omitted any mention of this to the DOE."

"I did discuss with them the feasibility of a new fuel cell type, but I deliberately left it open-ended because I did not feel comfortable sharing it yet. I honestly still don't. And it's not just because of the design, but rather the implications of it. This isn't like any existing fuel cell, it's not limited to machines, with the right application and adjustments, I'm worried about the short-term and long-term impact upon the economy. Blaze, as we call this fuel, offers significantly more energy per gallon than anything currently existing on the market, or in known development. So for now, it will be treated as the fuel source exclusively for our machines, and I'll wait for the world to ask the questions when it comes to whether it can do more and go from there."

So Ken was right after all, even if he didn't realize it, he mused to himself, staring at the girl. She was right, if what she was saying was true, if this 'Blaze' was as good as she was saying, then it would likely have game changing implications, and there would be quite a lot of people who would take exception to the technology. If this fuel could be used in machines, why couldn't it be used for something else? Something like a car or truck?

It was a dangerous gamble, and it only caused him to lean further into his recommendation to the President on the matter of Taylor Hebert. If even a portion of what she was offering would pan out, then she would easily earn every single taxpayer dollar that would be diverted to her protection.

Still, there remained questions to be asked before he was satisfied. He didn't just want to know more about what she was offering, but he also needed to know more about her as a person.

"I think you're overestimating the economic impact of this Blaze, Taylor. Even if your estimations are right, most of the world is hungry for energy; oil will still sell until you've enough production capacity to overshadow current oil reserves. You might have the green activists showering you with praise, depending on the environmental impact, but I expect it'll face the same problem as electric cars. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this sounds like a complex fuel to produce? Complex means expensive, especially before you hit economies of scale. Nonetheless, you are right, what you are developing may have larger implications, but it also has vast implications upon your own business. What do your investors think about all of this?"

The wince he received from the girl served to remind him that he was dealing with a teenager despite all of this talk. Because it could have been something he would have seen from his daughter back in the day after she was caught sneaking out at night.

"Right now, you are right. The process is complex currently because I do not have the production facilities to produce the required chemicals in large amounts. Once those are able to come online, then the process and production of blaze will be simplified significantly. As for the investors, I have to provide a video briefing to them tomorrow," she finally admitted, "when I broached the subject they were not exactly enthusiastic. However, after explaining to them what I have planned, they are tentatively supporting it. It helps that I have been able to start returning on their investment thanks to initial material sales. For now we have an agreement that as long as I keep paying dividends on their investment they will give me free rein. Furthermore, we have recently opened negotiations with a potential business partner, but I am afraid I can't say any more on that topic."

Jack nodded politely, reserving himself from revealing that he already knew who she was in talks with. It was a rather intelligent decision, Medhall had enough reach in the Northeast markets where these Focuses would have an impact and be able to gain traction. It would be lucrative for both parties, in the long run, especially once Hebert proved the technology, as it would then open the doors for the other models she was working on on the side.

There was nothing to say about the fact that she was doing this on the sly and the fly. If she were completely responsible, she would have already reported this project to FEMA and other relevant government organizations. The idea of having additional producible assets to assist in search and rescue, and disaster relief, would be a god-send for services that were already on edge in lieu of the next Endbringer attack and its calculated range of attack.

"And what is this last model," he decided to change the subject, refocusing them upon the last machine that she had been working on previously. 'Quentin' was currently working at the terminal that Taylor had previously vacated, looking as intensely focused as she had previously been.

"That is the Titan. For now, it is the beating heart and brain of the LRL concept. In the future, I hope to be able to use existing cellular networks in order to exchange data and coordinate between machines, but for now, the Titan is the measure that allows this concept to work. Housed inside the chassis is probably one of the most powerful computers in the world for its size which allows the Titan to serve as a mobile command and logistics hub for the Lance. Furthermore, thanks to the communications suite that it is equipped with, it can also serve as a mobile hub for communications, which in a disaster area that may be bereft of cellular and communications capability, would be a godsend for rescuers."

And she would be right. One of the most critical aspects of any disaster area was to have communications restored as quickly as possible, but if your infrastructure was devastated, then, depending upon the level of damage, it could take upwards of weeks in order to truly establish reliable civilian communications again.

He suspected there was more to it than she had revealed so far, because Taylor Hebert was not striking him as someone who did things by halves. And the impact of what she was doing would be felt, but with so few machines, it may not be the impact that she was looking for if it wasn't framed the right way.

"Two questions, Taylor. When do you think they will be ready for deployment? And how soon could you have more?"

"They will be ready by tomorrow night. The only issue we are having is the communications suite with the Titan, and I am planning to pull an all-nighter if I have to to fix it. The latest it will be ready is tomorrow morning. As for additional units? The problem comes down to the production process. There is no assembly line, everything has to be done by hand. We were lucky in getting this first batch assembled in three weeks, and that's only because we got the forges fired up in advance and had them running round-the-clock."

She reached up and massaged her brow, a hint of exhaustion showing.

"Even without the need for secrecy, retasking the forges and molds necessary to produce parts and materials for new units will take time, as they have already been reassigned to other jobs. IF I could quickly get them retasked and I got the necessary computer components without any complications, maybe another month before we would be able to produce another mech or two. That would exclude the Titan, for which I couldn't give you a timetable even if you had a gun to my head. Frankly, the team is exhausted, and we've only been pushing ourselves so hard because of the Endbringer attack."

He nodded solemnly. He had honestly expected such a response, looking at the complexity of the machines and taking into consideration her own statements, he thought that Taylor was vastly underestimating how quickly she could produce more units. But he kept that thought to himself, instead he considered the other angle. What if he could open doors she was previously unaware of?

"What if I could find you the support to speed up the process?"

She paused her massage, and he could see the gears turning in her head now.

"Honestly? Depending on what they can offer, and how quickly we can adapt their production methods to fulfill the requirements for the machines? Maybe two weeks," she shook her head as if she was saying no, but was unsure if that was the actual answer, "I mean, I really can't give you anything more accurate, because this is all hypothetical."

He considered what she was saying. He wasn't going to commit to anything yet, because it would be foolhardy to do so until he had proven results. But, if Taylor Hebert's machines did perform as she was advertising, then it might be worth looking into.

"Well," he smiled, his choice now cemented on what he was going to do, but now increasingly curious as to what else Taylor Hebert has, "I'm quite interested in what else you have to offer, Miss Hebert."

When he left four hours later, the door to his vehicle hadn't shut before he was already on the phone with President Durling.

---

AEH​

---

Taylor Hebert

Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!

Even an hour later I could not help but feel like I was on cloud nine and there was not a goddamn thing that could bring me down right now. Hell, I couldn't even focus on working on the communications suite on the Titan, just staring holes in the screen and I knew I was probably wearing a dopey grin.

But dammit, never in my wildest dreams when I hatched dropping the reactor blueprint on the PRT had I envisioned that I would garner the attention of the fucking Vice President of the United States. I mean, how the hell could I have expected that?! The Department of Energy was a calculated gamble, but dammit, was my math terrible!

Dad was just as dumbfounded as I was. He had ended up joining us when I had taken Jack (Jack!) back to my lab. I know what I was offering was only blueprints, and ideas, but with the right application of industry and science, it wasn't a matter of years of R and tests, but a matter of months because the science was already there! I knew as I talked to him, and explained to him just what I could offer, even in the span of a year or two, that I had found myself something far more powerful than the Department of Energy backing me.

It ran in the face of what I believed, but the fact of the matter was, in order to achieve my goals, at the end of the day, it couldn't just be the plowshare that flourished, but the sword must also be sharpened. Even if I could stem back years of decline, it would not help unless the causes of that decline were also rendered inconsequential, if not eliminated.

But still. Holy shit! I laughed to myself as I shook my head, gaining a few worried looks from the crew.

The future was looking a whole lot brighter than before the day started!

---

AEH​

---

Accord (T-25 Minutes)

Alain Gabriel considered himself a largely calm and reasonable person. It was this calm and reasonability that had allowed him to successfully cultivate his small empire in Boston. Not just as Accord, but as the face of Far Zenith. Everything gained was through a mixture of calm, reason, and methodical actions. Nothing wasted in this pursuit of power and wealth.

There were of course moments when this calm and reason did waver, usually in the face of the truly chaotic and reprehensible, but in the end, it always ended the same way with him prevailing.

But right now, he was far from calm, and reason was currently a foreign concept at best!

On one hand, there was a nearly insatiable urge to curse the entirety of the bloodline that had led to the spawn of Taylor Hebert. From stem to root, with not a singular exception. But, the calmer part of him could only applaud how the teenage girl had far exceeded even his projections.

When she had walked into that conference room two months ago, he had thought of the years that it would take for her to establish herself. There was no doubt in his mind that it would happen. What Hebert offered to the world was incomparable to anything in existence. It was why he had chosen to invest in her, safe in the knowledge that even if there were bumps along the way, what she would do would be the stuff of legend if she were provided the opportunity to flourish.

But that plan had been measured in years! Not less than three months!

And he certainly hadn't foreseen that she would gain the interest of John Patrick Ryan!

There were a handful of political figures who merited a file within the halls of WEDGDG, and only one of them came with a warning that any reports involving Jack Ryan were to be immediately forwarded to the Chief Director herself. It was only after he had left the organization that he would come to realize just why the man was such a large deal, despite his lack of powers.

Ryan was an old school spook through and through. He was also one of the few people that wasn't beholden to the pageantry and grandeur that the PRT and Protectorate wielded as their shield. He was paranoid, and he didn't care about the rules. But he was also smart enough to not be caught breaking the rules the PRT stringently enforced.

The fact that over two decades he had been able to slowly raise his status in spite of his barely hidden stance on capes was a credit to the man himself. It certainly also helped that he was intelligent and canny enough to develop means to combat capes in his field, with many of his measures and ideas becoming adopted by other intelligence agencies.

No, he could understand why the Chief Director was wary of the man. He was a threat to her power, and he wasn't afraid to pick a fight if he believed it was a righteous one.

But it wasn't the threat he presented to the Chief Director, or even his stance upon capes. What terrified him was the man's continued ties to the intelligence community, despite the fact that he was no longer officially part of it. Many of the analysts and agents that now made up the CIA, and even the NSA, were cultivated under the leadership of Ryan, which provided him a source of power that few politicians, or even leaders, had. The power of knowledge.

There was no doubt in his mind that if Jack Ryan was looking at Zero Dawn, there was a high probability that he was also looking at the money that had gone into it. It was too much for a spook like Ryan to ignore, he would be curious as to why an investment group would put so much money into an unproven teenage cape. It was not a matter of if, but a matter of when, he would be able to discern that Far Zenith was a front company for Ambassadors.

And after that…

He stared at the roiling clouds in the distance, his neutral expression firmly fixed on his face.

The choices he had before him were…vexing, but they were nonetheless salvageable. There was no way he would be able to escape Ryan once he turned his full attention to Far Zenith, it was an unavoidable fact, but disaster could be avoided if a choice was made.

But the matter was should he make the choice?

When he had decided to supply Zero Dawn with its startup money, it had been with the belief that within five years he would be able to recoup the investment with a modest profit, and be able to detach from the company itself. While it would be a dark mark upon Zero Dawn if it ever came to light, it would be survivable, and with the right application of public relations, actually be made into a plus for the Heberts.

But at this time, if it was revealed that the Ambassadors and the Elite, two villainous organizations, had provided the money to get Zero Dawn rolling, it would ruinously taint the company. No one would be able to trust the company as not fulfilling some sort of criminal agenda, even if there truly wasn't one. Zero Dawn's reputation would never be able to recover from it, and the plan would only be set back even further.

But if he chose to make the choice, if he chose to embrace the only path forward that could still salvage the plan, all it would possibly cost was himself. Was he willing to make that sacrifice if necessary?

He was.

Ryan was a man who did not view the world in black and white, he couldn't afford to in his field. The world was cast in so many different grays that it was impossible to truly make sense of what was right, or even what was wrong anymore. So the idea of villains backing something beneficial to society, without requesting anything except a return on investment, was something that was not only believable, but could be understood in a world of gray.

It was a good thing he had sent Citrine back to Brockton Bay last night after Hebert's call. It wouldn't do well for her to be here as he chose to do this. She would likely not understand, at least not yet, just why he felt the need to do this.

There was only one pathway forward to salvage all of this: He would have to reveal to Jack Ryan just who was backing Zero Dawn Technologies and why he was doing so.

If there was any good news to this, it was that Ryan was on the same page as him in being aware of just what exactly Hebert was offering. It would allow for his admission to go a lot more smoothly than if he did it for some random reason.

The gala wasn't supposed to take place for another two hours, but he already knew that the Vice President was there, meeting behind closed doors with several business leaders. He usually did not dabble with politics, it simply was beneath him, but he still nonetheless had an invitation to attend the function this evening.

His best opportunity would be to arrive before then and use his connection with Zero Dawn in order to gain an audience with the man. It would probably be the only opportunity he had, unless Ryan personally sought him out. If that happened, he was unsure of what would happen next.

No, he would have to strike first and swiftly, if there was to be any hope to salvage the situation. And it may cost him, but it was certainly a better option than trying to run when it was already too late to salvage the situation.

All because Taylor Hebert could not resist thumbing her nose at the PRT.

A surge of rage flashed through him before he tamped it down. He knew what he was likely going to get when he had first agreed with Uppercrust to fund the girl. He didn't have to like it though. He had inadvertently tied his fate to this girl, and the butcher bill was coming to pass far sooner than expected.

Taking a deep breath, before releasing it, he closed his eyes before reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Rain had started to come down on the windows, only reinforcing his feelings on the matter.

"Theresa, please have my car ready in ten minutes. The civilian one."

"Of course, Mister Gabriel, right away."

He ended the call, placing the phone back in his pocket before reaching up and adjusting his tie. He then paused as the rain started to come down harder upon the windows, almost like a sheet now as the sound of the rain hitting the reinforced glass.

He then frowned as a thought occurred to him, something that had been niggling at the back of his mind, but had been ignored because the matter of Jack Ryan had dominated his attention.

There had been no rain in the weather forecast for today.

The sudden shrill alert sounded from his phone, even as his mind started to calculate with mounting horror just what was going on. Even as he reached for his phone, to check what the alert was for, he already knew what he would see. As he finally retrieved it and pulled it up, sirens began to go off in the distance, their noise a herald for the end as it removed any doubt of what was happening.

Leviathan was coming to Boston.

 

[AlSmash]

So, label this as crap I forgot to do, despite promising to do so. so, here it is, a sidestory provided by @Tigers-Tall-Tails on SpaceBattles. It's done so well, that I've worked to integrate it into the story overall.

Germinate 2.7.5

START

"Maybe I should thank you then. After all, I got a pretty useful power, and all it took was not being one of your charity cases."

Amy bit her lip. The red scarf that covered her face would keep anyone from commenting on it. One of the few times that her costume as Panacea worked in her favour. She was back at the hospital, after the disaster that was her day at Arcadia. Vicky was fuming, out and about somewhere in town. Amy wanted to be there for her sister, to let her vent. But she wasn't comfortable putting off her work at the hospital, so it would have to wait.

"Jean? Who're we working on today?" Easier to lose myself in the work then remember the spite and hurt in that voice.

Jean was probably Amy's favourite person in the hospital. A nurse for over twenty years, the older women had dealt every kind of patient, injury, sickness, or ailment imaginable. And her 'seen it all' attitude helped her interact with patients in way that Amy wasn't able to.

"We have one case of three shattered bones, one with liver failure, another with a collapsed lung, two people with…" Amy let the chatter roll over her. It didn't really matter what the injuries were, she'd seen them before. Time and time again, she came in, healed, and left. If she was lucky, she never saw the patient again. But this was Brockton Bay, so she wasn't lucky.

The first three cases went by in a blur. The fourth was clearly a gang member, with tattoos and a shattered arm, shoulder, and hand. Someone had lost a fight, or angered the boss, or who knows what. Amy set about her task; extending her hand and saying her lines. "Do I have your permission to heal you?" The man snapped back. "Yes! Damn it I'm in pain here, fix me!"

Panacea touched his skin, and she could see his form unravel itself in her mind. Skin, muscles, tendons, bones, arteries, veins, capillaries, organs… down to the very cells that made up each greater whole. Like soft clay laid out before her, waiting for her hands to shape. Amy bit her lip again. There are limits. She had limits. Panacea had to have limits. Only Villain have no limits. And Amy wouldn't be a Villain.

Her will reached out, and the body responded. Soothing inflammation, deadening nerves, then shifting and repairing muscles to maneuver bone shards into place. Once they mostly alined, she fused the bone whole again, making sure to anchor the ligaments properly. She did another quick check before pulling her awareness back to her body. The whole thing took eight minutes. The patient still wasn't happy. "Took you long enough to get here. Next time, don't waste your time with the rest of the trash."

Amy didn't smack him. She didn't reach out and make his heart pump stomach-acid. She didn't twist his nerves so that every breath would cause a wave of agony to flood through him. She just… walked away. She left Jean to handle it.

~~~~~

The older women found Panacea later, hunched over on her phone in the break room. Her white robe, a recognizable element of her hero costume, was tossed on a nearby chair, leaving Amy in jeans and a t-shirt. Nurse Jean took a seat as the girl continued browsing her phone, ignoring the world. "Hey Amy… We've got a few more people on the list for today. You up for it, or should we break for lunch and pick up after?"

The healer signed, "Can't be worse than the last idiot we fixed up."

"You know why we have to take them." Jean gave a tired smile that said far too much.

"Neutrality" Amy almost spat the word out. Neither spoke as she got up and assembled her outfit. Hooded robe, long sleeves, red scarf to cover her lower face. It wasn't anything fancy, but everyone knew the 'look' of Panacea.

In a city divided between three major gangs, with a crime rate that was several points higher then the average, the Brockton Bay Hospital didn't take sides. They walked a thin line between turning a blind eye to some injuries, and reporting others to police if things were too messy to ignore. This neutrality kept fights from breaking out in the waiting room, kept drug shipments from being intercepted. This neutrality extended to Panacea as well, who healed regardless of who was under her hands. If only someone had bothered to ask my opinion beforehand.

Her irritation at being pushed to heal and to be 'neutral' gave her the nudge she needed. Asking the question that had been bothering her ever since the confrontation at Arcadia. As the two exited the room, Panacea asked."So how does the List work? I've never really asked." It hadn't seemed important until now. She went to the hospital, she did her tasks, and then she tried to forget it all until she was called on again.

Jean hummed as they stepped aside, letting a group exit the elevator before entering. She punched a button before answering. "Well first, the patients would need to have coverage for parahuman healing. If they agree to it, their doctor will make the application request to be placed on your healing list. Priority is given to more urgent cases, but for the most part there's not much of a backlog. You do quick work!"

Amy nodded along. It was interesting, and unfortunately it tied into the accusations that had been thrown in her face the days before. What Jean said next sent Amy's stomach to the floor.

"Of course, things are a little different for the charity cases."

"The what?" She said numbly. She clenched her hands, thankful that her long sleeves hid the motion.

Jean hummed slightly. "Charity cases are tricky. People who could greatly benefit from care, but don't have the insurance. So their problem could be treated, or staved off with medical care, but we're not going to be able resolve the problem. Not like you can."

"Two doctors are needed, one to make the application, and one to co-sign. There's this whole evaluation based on standards of living with or without intervention, questions of physical and mental wellbeing, things like that. It takes a fair bit, I've helped a few doctors write them. There's maybe a dozen written each month? Once the request is ready, it's sent off for approval."

"And the approval? Who does that? The hospital?"

Jean glanced at Amy oddly, "No, that comes from your mother. It was stated quite clearly in your contract that she would oversee things."

Amy felt cold settling in her gut as the implications set in. She clenched her hands. "What contract?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Amy gained her powers, things were… tense in the Dallon household. She had saved Victoria's life. That was good. Then the family learnt more about her abilities, about what she was capable of. Then things were bad. Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil had come over, and there were lots of talks between the adults. Vicky was elated that her sister could be a superhero just like herself. Amy was terrified she would be thrown out of the house. Mark tried to act like a father on the good days. Vicky loved her like a sister. Carol watched her. Evaluated her. Carol was never Mother, nor Mom. Amy was the outsider of the family, and felt it keenly.

Amy didn't believe in God. But she prayed that day when she was called to the living room. She prayed that she wouldn't be separated from her sister.

Aunt Sarah did most of the talking about how Amy could now be part of New Wave, could be part of the effort to keep capes honest. She explained that Amy could make a difference by helping people. Carol spoke about healing, about having limits, and about the expectations of a Hero. About working with the hospital to show how much of a hero Amy was. The adults discussed around Amy, about costumes and introductions.

Amy just remembered agreeing to everything. She wouldn't be separated from her sister.

Days later, she found herself being greeted at the hospital. She followed instructions, she healed and put humans back together again. She repaired damaged cells, erased malignant tumours, stimulated blood production and bone growth. She said her lines; "Do I have your permission to heal you?"

Again

And again

And again…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Samuel Monk was an aging administrator for the Hospital. Amy had met him only once before when she first started working. He had a heavy set frame and greying hair. Adjusting his glasses after ushering her to sit exclaiming, "Panacea! Good to see you. I hope everything is going well? No trouble I hope?"

Amy tried to remember how Vicky did it. How she presented herself and talked to people with confidence. She sat up straight, but couldn't resist her fingers playing with the ends of her sleeves. "Yes, well… no. I mean yes! There's no problem. I was just…"

This was stupid. But I'm angry.

She took a breath. Tried to smile. Its good that she took the hood off, even if she wanted it on. Even if she wanted to hide. "There was a school discussion you see, talking about careers, and what we can expect once we graduate. A few of my classmates asked about the hospital, and I said I would show them my work contract."" A lie. Not the first she's told, but certainly first big one. Is this how it starts? The road to damnation and condemnation?

Mr. Monk smiled. His goodness conjured guilt inside Amy for taking advantage of him "Well I'm afraid that your contract is a little unique. Your classmates aren't going to get anything like it."

"Oh? Then can you go over it with me, because then I can explain it to them."

"Not a problem. Give me a moment." He huffed as he stood, moving over to the filing cabinets in the corner. With a metallic rattle, the drawer extended. He slowly ran a thumb over the hundreds of folders, pulling one out with a muttered exclamation of success.

"Here we are." He sat, flipped open the folder and glanced over each page before laying them out on the desk. Amy leaned forward trying to absorb the wall of text laid out in front of her.

"Your contract is not like the rest, most notably because of your young age when you joined us. Your mother was insistent that we accept a consultation agreement that listed you as 'Parahuman Healing Specialist'." He tapped a few sections as he spoke. Amy nodded along, reading as quickly as she could.

"Of course, Carol wouldn't be Carol if she didn't have a few requirements of her own. There was already a precedent you see, for Parahuman Healing, and insurance agencies had started implementing their own fees. Carol made sure that some 'charity cases' would be added to your rotation."

"Do I know you?"

An angry, bitter smile on a ruined face.

"No. You wouldn't. Insurance saw to that."

Amy swallowed, twisting the fabric in her hands. "And who approves the Charity Requests?"

"Hmm? Oh, your mother reviews every case, and approves most of them. Not all, certainly, but generally she approves. Only a few cases are denied. Very cautious women, your mother." Monk smiled conspiratorially. Certain it was meant a joke, she smiled back, or at least she tried. She wasn't sure if she succeeded.

"Right. Here we have…" he poked at another section titled Remuneration. "The money! The important bit, some would say." He chuckled slightly. "You and your mother were very generous, I must say. The insurance payouts allow us to keep the lights on! Among other things, of course."

"Of course" she numbly parroted back. "And… then our portion goes where?" Because I've never seen any of it.

"Deposited directly into the New Wave Fund."

The Dallon Family wasn't poor. Even with Mark being a 'house husband' and two girls in school, the question of money never game up. Both Victoria and Amy got a steady allowance from their mother, who controlled the household finances like she controlled everything else. Amy had assumed that Carol's salary as a lawyer kept the books balanced. Was that the lie? Was it all on me? How am I supposed to feel about that?

Mr.Monk kept talking but Amy was deft to it as she tried to process her feelings. His words flowed through the office; stipulations for conduct, assistance expectations, priorities for care, workplace standards.

"And here we have it. Employment duration, and the signatures, of course." Amy pulled the paper up, reading carefully at the bottom of the page. Carol had signed twice. Power of Attorney. Parental Consent.

The section of Consultant's Signature My section was left blank.

"I'd like a copy of this." She looked over the desk to Mr.Monk. "Please"

"Well, certainly. I'll…" Amy stood, gathered the pages before the older man could, marched to the printer and set it to photocopy each page. She wished she could pull her hood up. She needed the quiet. But she needed answers more.

"Can you tell me about the last few Charity requests? I'd like to see if I remember them. The patients, they go by so quickly sometimes."

Monk began clicking away at his desktop computer, "yes.. just a moment."

Vrrrrr… Vrrrr…Vrrrr went the printer. Amy wished it could go faster. She needed to leave. She needed to think.

"Here we are, hmm… Flavianna Belmon, Larain Messina, Nelson Britton, Taylor Hebert, Sara O'Gorman. Out of all of those, Ms. Hebert was the only one to be denied. Sad case, I tried to get Carol to reconsider but she wouldn't hear of it." The older man sighed. "But she does have the authority to reject cases on her own discretion." It shouldn't be Carol's choice. It should be mine!

Amy took a deep breath in, then out. Her hands clenched and relaxed again.

The printer finished it's job. She snatched the pages up, returning the originals to the desk. "Thank you, you've been very helpful"

"I hope you can explain everything to your classmates, we're always looking for new help." For a moment, Amy had no idea what he was talking about. Then she remembered the lie. "I hope so too."

She left. Pulling up her hood, she fumbling with her scarf as she moved down the halls. It was hard to do with one hand, but she was also clutching the pages to her chest.. There was no way she'd let them go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amy hurried to her room when she arrived home. Vicky had been moody the whole way back from the hospital, apparently Carol had texted to say she wanted to see Victoria as soon as she returned home. After the events of the day, neither sister was in the mood to talk."

Dropping her costume on the floor, she then spread the contract paper over her small desk, reading over them again. The words jumped out at her: consultant, insurance payments, charity patients, remuneration, waiving of fees, New Wave Fund, right of refusal, employment duration, signatures.

Amy straightened, a restless energy running through her. She paced the room, picked up her costume, hung it up, returned to the desk, stacked the papers, walked to the window, breathed.

In

Out

Hands clench

Hands unclench

Amy didn't have a plan. She didn't have a goal. But she did want answers. She wanted…

Walking down the hallways, stopping at the office door at the end. Could hear Carol speaking, "…your room. You're grounded, young lady. We'll discuss how long that should be over dinner."

"Mom!" Vicky's voice rose.

"Ignoring your aura, which we will be having a discussion about, you nearly assaulted someone with your powers, Victoria. You could have seriously hurt her, and I didn't raise you to act like this. So you will take your punishment, and you will improve! Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Clench, unclench. Vicky had gotten in trouble. Not Amy. Vicky. Amy hadn't done anything wrong. But didn't I do wrong by being blind? Isn't that my fault?

Heart hammering, she watched the door open. Saw the anger and hurt in her sister's face as she passed.

She had a say something. The restless energy inside her demanded release.

"Carol, we need to talk about my work at the hospital."

The women sat at behind her desk, one hand rubbingt her forehead. "This is not the time Amy. I have other concerns right now." For a moment, Amy considered just dropping it.

"No. We need to talk now." Amy had always said yes. She said yes when she was told to heal. She said yes when the Protectorat called for help, when her family said that Panacea would attend the Endbringer fights, when Vicky needed help because she went too far.

Carol straightened in her chair, her eyes hard and scowled. Amy refused to look away, that energy churning inside filled her veins and demanded she not back down.

"Sit."

Amy walked over, put her hands on the back of the chair, and stayed standing.

Carol's frown deepened.

Where to start?

"I read my contract today. The one you signed for me."

"What of it?" Carol the Lawyer answered back. Cool, calm, collected, neutral.

Amy wanted more. She would prefer anger, or sorrow. Any kind of reaction.

"You didn't even tell me that one existed! I was told that I would be helping the hospital. Helping people! They gave me patients and I healed every single one of them! And now I learnt that I'm only helping those who pay?!" Amy didn't want to shout. Carol had taught her that. "The first one to raise their voice to win an argument has already lost". But she put every inch of force that she could into her words.

"What happened to, "a hero should act for what's right, not for money"? You taught us that!"

Carol stared back quietly, waiting. The silence stretched. Amy wanted to scream, but this was another lesson Carol had taught.

She finally sat.

When Carol spoke, it was in clear even tones. "Yes. I signed a contract. It protects you, and it protects the hospital. The payments are necessary. You bill the hospital, so the hospital bills the insurance agency. The hospital then collects the insurance payment.

"And then we get our cut?" Amy spit out the last words like a curse.

"Yes. The money goes to the New Wave Fund, which we use for donations to support other causes." Amy's mind raced. What causes had the team supported recently?

"The Mayor's election campaign" said Amy, remembering distant days when she would watch Carol and Mark on TV with Vicky chattering happily next to her.

Carol nodded, "Yes, among other things. We don't give out money lightly. There is significant amount of vetting before we agree to support any cause." But what about me? I don't get a say?

Silence fell between them. Amy hoped for more, but it was clear that Carol was done talking.

"And the charity list? The people who can't pay?"

Carol leaned back in her chair, her face still hard. "We are heroes. You are a hero. It's natural to support people less fortunate."

"But you don't approve everyone, do you?" It was an accusation. Open defiance, and Carol leaned forward to fire back.

"Amy, every doctor someday comes to realize that they can't help everyone. There aren't enough hands, there aren't enough hours in the day. You are no different. Yes. I review every charity case presented to me. I read the justifications and listen to the doctor's advice."

"It should be me who decides. It's my power!"

*Slam* Carol's hand impacted the desk. Amy jolted.

"What did I tell you to do if someone asks for healing in the street?"
Amy responded by rout, from memory. "I don't take personal requests for healing."

Carol nodded. "Yes. Panacea does not take personal requests. Everyone knows this. It's what keeps you from getting swarmed on the streets. It keeps this house from being picketed. And!"

The older women sighed and relaxed back into her chair. "… and it keeps you from having to chose who lives and who dies." Amy was stunned, Carol's words hitting unexpectedly.

She took the silence to keep going. "You were fourteen when you started healing. Too young for that kind of responsibility."

Amy felt small for a moment, like a child being scolded for something she didn't understand. Half angry, half thoughtful. "But we're heroes. We're meant to help everyone."

"No." Carol responded instantly. "We don't help everyone. We don't help villains. We put our efforts into helping the most deserving." I helped a gang member today, because he could pay. And a girl who couldn't pay was left blind.

"Is that why you denied treatment for Taylor Hebert?" Another accusation.

"This conversation is over."

*Bang* Amy slammed her hands down on the desk, leaping to her feet. "A fifteen year old girl was left blind! What's the justification for that!?"

Carol frowned and for a moment Amy thought she could see light coalesce around the women's fists. "When the incident happened, there was a lot of back and forth about who the guilty party was. It was better to stay out of it."

"And since then?"

"Since then, she's only proven that she's a villain by another name. She's caused havoc with the PRT, provoked tensions in the government, undermined the mayor, and has shamelessly profited instead of helping the public. She's surrounded herself with people with bad intentions, and shows no sign of stopping."

Carol was standing now, staring down at Amy. "The fact that you would support this girl is concerning." Her face was cold, implacable. The hero Brandish condemning the criminal. "You. Are. A hero. Hold yourself to a higher standard." Her gaze worked over Amy's tense form, searching for… something.

Amy ducked her head. She hated when Carol looked at her like that, like she was looking for weakness, like she was a witness on the stand, and Carol the Lawyer was about to tear her apart with words. Or like Brandish the Hero might strike her down with energy blades

"I understand."

"Good." Carol sat, returning to the papers on her desk. "This discussion is over, understand? You will go to the hospital. You will heal who you're told. No more talk about Zero Dawn or Taylor Hebert. She's caused enough problems for this family."

Amy left the office, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. The energy that once filled her was gone, leaving her hollow. Exhausted she flopped onto her bed, her thoughts circling around everything that she learnt and said.

It was hours later that Vicky woke her up with a plate of food. Amy had missed dinner. With a quiet thank-you, she closed the door before her sister could say a word. Sitting on her bed, Amy ate. Thinking about the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(T-Minus 15 Days)

Amy clenched her hands.

This was stupid. There were a million reasons why this was stupid. She shouldn't be here, on the bus, heading deeper into the Docks area. She shouldn't be focusing on what that girl said. She should just be leaving everything alone.

She was stupid.

She unclenched her hands. She got off the bus.

The Docks were more of a concept to her than a real place. She would hear about them in news reports, often accompanied by words like "violence, murder, drug arrests" and other fun nouns. New Wave would discuss the Docks and reference police reports, patrol routes, and cape sightings or cape fights. Victoria would patrol the area and come back with stories of criminals that she swooped down on, the fights that she took part in, and the crimes she witnessed.

Walking along the cracked sidewalks, seeing the overgrown green spaces and boarded up windows on houses and shops… it made the Docks real to her. Amy could feel the abandonment, okay, maybe not. But she could certainly see it. And hear it. Walking through the city made one familiar to the noise. Cars going by, sirens in the distance, people moving around, conversation in the air. Very little of that existed out here.

Amy clenched her hands. This was stupid. She rubbed her hands against her pants; they kept sweating.

It hadn't taken a lot to find the address of Zero Dawn Technologies. The news and discussion forums were diving into anything the company was doing. But even without an exact address, Amy probably could have found it on her own. You could hear it in the distance. Trucks and cars moving around, the sound of tools on metal.

The place didn't look like much. A refurbished fence around refurbished buildings. Only the sign at the front shone with new paint.

Amy unclenched her hands.

She walked up to the gate guard, "My name is Amy Dallon. Panacea. I'd like to speak with Taylor Hebert."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an awkward few minutes before she was let through security, being met by a harried employee who didn't introduce themselves. No attempt at small talk was made; Amy was grateful for the absence. Even if it meant she was stuck with only her thoughts for company; she had always been aggravated by 'light conversation'.

Amy clenched her hands.

Her mind was busy enough as it was, filled to the brim with how this conversation would go with the fiery inventor whose mere existence had caused so much chaos.

Amy wasn't supposed to be here. Carol made that absolutely clear. She was supposed to leave all of this alone. But I don't want to. I can't.

Amy unclenched her hands.

Amy clenched her hands.

The healer was told to wait in a quiet room off to the side in one of the buildings. Coffee maker, fridge, a few chairs. This was obviously a break room for the staff. Amy sat wishing she could have more coffee, but not wanting to impose on what would already be a complicated conversation.

She tried not to watch the door. She watched the clock.

Amy unclenched her hands.

The door opened and Amy looked up. Taylor stood frozen in the doorway. On her temple, a glowing triangle device projected a segmented circle in the air. Its slow rotation was the only movement in the room. Large black sunglasses covered everything around her eyes.

"Panacea. I'm formally letting you know that this conversation is being recorded. If you do not consent to be recorded, you are free to leave the premises. I'll have one of my employees show you the door."

"It's Amy. And yes, fine. Whatever you want."

Taylor marching over to the coffee machine. Amy watched the willowy brunette's back as she placed her glasses on the counter and began to expertly prepare a mug. It was hard to remember sometimes that this girl was blind given how adeptly she maneuvered around the world. Taylor spoke, her tone dry. "I have a lot of work to do, and not enough time to do it. What do you want Amy? I've already extended my apologies for my words towards your sister."

"I…" Amy pinched the long sleeves of her jacket. "I wanted to say sorry? I didn't know about you, in the hospital I mean. They didn't give your file to me." She looked down at the table, not wanting to see those blind eyes as Taylor turned around. "I didn't know"

Silence

"If you didn't know, then why are you apologizing? If you had no hand in things, then it's pointless to say 'sorry' on someone else's behalf."

Amy clenched her hands.

What was better… letting the matter go, or telling the truth? Amy didn't know. But she had failed. She didn't even know how many patients she had let down. But she could apologize to this one.

"There… there's a list. A charity list. The doctors had put you on it." Amy felt the disgust twist her insides. "You weren't approved." Every word felt like stones passing through her teeth. But I am a hero. I have to be better.

Her knuckles hurt. Nails dug into skin. Amy couldn't let go.

Steps walking towards her. The chair across the table pulled out, Taylor took a seat.

Amy waited for the shouts. Waited for the mug to bash her skull in. Waited for the cutting rage that she had seen once before at Arcadia.

I deserve it.

"And who does the approving?"

"Carol. My mother. I didn't know."

"Oh."

Silence. The hum of the lights. Sounds of breathing.

Amy peeked up. Taylor stared down down at the table. Her hand clasping her coffee mug with white knuckles. Her jaw clenched as she…

"I am just trying to fucking fix things!" Taylor seethed. Her voice wet, filled with the tears that she refused to shed.

Taylor breathed.

"So… you apologizing. That on her behalf? Or because 'you didn't know'."

"Just me." Amy understood the anger towards Carol. She felt it too. The anger at taking her own choices away. At making her an unwitting part of this mess.
Just a little, Amy unclenched her hands. The muscles strained, sore from tension.

"You said… before at Arcadia, you said you're going to change the world. What did you mean?"

Taylor's breathing slowed, and if she rubbed at her eyes, Amy pretended to not notice.

"This?" She tapped the triangle attached to her temple. "I have three versions ready for market. The money I make from selling them is all going back into the company, so I can build more things. Communication infrastructure. Computer components. Hell, I've got blueprints for a hologram system that is going to make movies a whole lot more interesting."

Amy giggled in frank amusement. "You are going to piss off so many people."

"That's the thing about changing the world. You can't always wait around asking for permission." The blind inventor took a pull from her coffee, scowling and muttering that it went cold.

Amy had an idea then. It was stupid. It was against everything that Carol had told her. But being brave is what heroes do. I ruined her life. Time to balance the scales.

"Can I… show you something?"

"Hmm?" Taylor tilted her head as Amy reached forward, plucking an apple from the bowl on the table.

It was so easy. She could feel the composition of everything that made the apple what it was. And she ordered it to change. The apple sagged as it collapsed in on itself, then from the resulting slurry a new shape emerged. A bulb formed, then the green shoot pushed itself up, broad leaves stretched out, and a vibrant pink bloom unfolded. In seconds, Amy help a tulip in her hands. It was… a rush. To see the material changing in her mind, to finally just… do something with her powers that wasn't healing the same systems again and again.

"You… you can." Taylor spoke in hushed tones, blind eyes fixed on Amy's hands. "Bio-manipulation. No, wait. Healing, touch based. You're a bio-kinetic."

Amy shrank down, preferring to look at the flower in her hands instead of the girl sitting across from her.

"And they have you healing in a hospital?!?" Amy didn't expect Taylor to be so aghast. She met Taylor's incredulous stare. Amy felt her cheeks flush, this wasn't going as she expected.

"It…there… it was safer?"

"Ha! Safer for who? For you or the world?"

"Both…"

"Ooohhh… Optics, right. The only thing New Wave cares about. Can't have the healer be a big scary bio-tinker. Jesus…"

Taylor seemed to see Amy properly for the first time. Her fingers twitched, and her eyes darted back and forth for a moment.

"I've deleted the records of this conversation. I know why you wanted to keep this hidden. I don't agree with it, I think it's the stupidest thing I've heard in a long while… but you want it hidden." She shrugged.

Something inside Amy uncoiled and she could breath a little easier.

"Why stupid?" Amy looked around, wondering what to do with the flower in her hands.

"Amy… you are the walking answer to world hunger. You can create crops to survive in any environment. You can develop vaccines and cures for things that thousands of people suffer from. You could break this whole medical industry over your knee and make sure that millions of people live better lives… and instead? You're patching up gangbangers in the ER."

Taylor continued, "you could be a real hero… to so many. A hero greater than your sister ever could be. A hero who'll change the world. Instead…" Taylor was blind. Amy knew this, but she felt the weight and disappointment in the younger woman's eyes. Hard to imagine that this girl was fifteen. She felt more a disappointed teacher.

Amy's cheeks flushed. She fumbled as she murmured. "You sound like you're trying to recruit me."

"Sure, if you want, I would hire you in a heartbeat. You're not even a tinker! Biology is biology. The building blocks are all the same. It's just a question of assembling as you want. Which you can do." Taylor shrugged. She stood, dumping the last of her cold coffee in the sink, then came back with the mug. Tentatively, she placed the flower in it, running her fingers over the shape of the petals. A rare smile spread across her face. "Tulips…"

"I…" Amy dusted her hands off. This was stupid. But it was her decision. And it felt good. "I might be willing."

Taylor blinked. A slow smile spread across her face. "Ok… I might have to temper expectations. I am too busy right now. The Endbringer window opens in fifteen days. After… well, after. Once my machines prove themselves, I'll have more freedom. If you're still interested then… we can make something happen."

Amy's stomach sank, thinking about the next time she would be on the battlefield with one of those beasts. Focusing on the possibilities of after was much more appealing. "If I bring something impressive, don't suppose you'll give me a sign on bonus?" She giggled, thinking on everything she could make.

Taylor leaned back, tilting her head up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "You've got more experience then me, what does a hospital always need more of?"

"The three B's. Beds, blood, and bandages." The long hours working with nurses and doctors had given Amy an insiders view of the hospital.

"There you go." Taylor shrugged. "Blood. Synthetic, or real, something to replace the constant demand for blood drives. For any patient regardless of blood type. Maybe loaded with anti-bodies or something to promote healing?"

"Hmm… I think I could make that work. I'll have to test it.." Her thoughts drifted and she smiled she imagined how to go about making it.

"Well. I look forward to seeing what you can do. I'm going back to work, I'll send someone to show you out." Taylor stood, and Amy leaped to her feet.

"Wait! Um…" Amy pulled what remained of her courage together. "Do… do you want me to heal you?"

Taylor breathing hitched. The healer held her position, hand stretched out. She didn't know what she was hoping to do with this. Fix her mistakes? Make up for things? But it felt like the right thing to do.

"No."

The words hit Amy like a fist to the gut. Oh course she wouldn't trust me. She's scared of me. Of what I can do. Even if our talk was fun, and she offered me a place here.

"No… I'm going to keep these scars. So that the girls who did this to me can see that they didn't stop me."

That was… so incredibly petty and brave at the same time. Left unsaid was that the scars would also remind Amy of her own blindness, of the times that she let others dictate her own actions. Amy dropped her hand. Maybe Taylor didn't mean it that way. But still, It was worth remembering.

"But… I appreciate the offer." Taylor stepped forward. She offered a handshake. Amy grasped for it, feeling foolish for dropping hers just a moment ago.

Biology unfurled before her mind's eye. Scarred cornea, damaged sclera, scarred conjunctiva. Discolouration of the skin across the face and neck. Elevated heart rate, high amounts of caffein in the system. Signs of stress and lack of sleep in the brain chemistry. Slightly underweight for body type. No sign of pain from injuries, nerves not damaged.

Amy kept an iron grip on her powers. She had limits.

The two girls shook. This felt like the start of something. Not a friendship, it was too soon for that, too much recent baggage. But Amy felt happy. It was rare she felt that way.

"Alright, I'll see you… after." After the next city was condemned. After Amy tried again to keep capes alive so they could return to fight a relentless being that they had no hope against. After the bodies had been counted, the memorials erected, and the tears shed.

"After."

With a final shake, Taylor walked out the door. Leaving the tulip sitting in a coffee mug, alone on the break room table.

An employee arrived moments later, and escorted Amy out of the building. Back in the evening air, she returned to the Docks. Out from the complex world of Taylor Hebert and all the conflicting feelings she brought with her.

Things weren't fixed. Not by a long shot. But Amy felt… lighter. Breathed easier. She had a plan, it was her's. And that felt good enough for now.

She breathed in.

Breathed out.

And unclenched her hands.

END

 

[AlSmash]

Well. Here we are. Finally. I apologize for the time that it has taken, between work, and other things, it just turned into a long-ass delay. So my apologies on that. I'm not sure on the update schedule going forward, especially as my work is starting to enter into the compression period of the year. That means more hours and more work. And on the home front trying to batten down the hatches and prepare for the Winter has put a crimp on where I'm trying to balance destressing and writing, and not having a good amount of success for it.

Next chapter is already at 1000 words, but I'm projecting it to be at least 10-15K monstrosity, spread over two to three perspectives. So...maybe American Thanksgiving? I'm hoping that I get three days off in a row coming up. Also, filling out paperwork for going to Japan and ensuring that I have enough money for it is gonna be fun. But that is neither here or there.

I will make a note, that I am making some changes to the Endbringers as a whole. They are not story-shattering, but I feel that in this story, it's better to change a few aspects here or there, and reinforce others for the narrative and story. I'll be posting patch notes at a later date. That is, once I've locked down all of the changes. But there is something here, so I figured forewarned is forearmed.

---

Sprout 3.1 Part 1

Danny Hebert

"We are once again urging-"

"Turn it off," the terse words escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Kent, their driver, didn't even spare him a look before he turned the dial off on the radio, leaving them in the silence only punctuated by the roar of the diesel engine propelling their semi towards Boston.

It had been seven hours since the Endbringer sirens had gone off, and when they had first sounded, he had been terrified that Brockton Bay was the target. That terror had quickly found itself supplanted by sickening realization as the phone alert system linked to Endbringers announced that Leviathan's target was Boston.

He knew as soon as Leviathan's target had been announced that Taylor would not be able to resist the clarion call to action. Nor was there any way he would be able to talk her out of doing so. They had cleared the air over that weeks ago, even if he still had misgivings about it. But he knew that this was the path his daughter wanted to take in life, and he had promised that he would support her, regardless of his feelings.

So he had steeled his heart and began doing what he did best: organizing the mobilization. It had been determined last week that they would need a minimum of nine semi trailers, with one being a flatbed in order to transport the Titan, as it was too large for an enclosed trailer. Three more trailers would carry the other machines in their enclosed shipping containers with additional fuel cells. After that, two more trailers would contain spare parts for the machines and store the chemicals that were used to convert biomatter into blaze.

And while the first six trailers revolved around the logistics necessary to support the machines' operation for two weeks, the last three trailers carried supplies that would be worth their weight in gold after an Endbringer battle: food, water, clothing, toiletries, sanitation products, and tools to help with the cleanup. It could not possibly match what Taylor was about to do, but to those who were just likely robbed of the essentials of modern civilization it would be a balm for the soul.

Speaking of which, he turned his head back to where Taylor was sitting in the back of the cab, sitting beside Quentin Tate, both of them poring over a laptop. They were talking with one another in hushed whispers as Taylor motioned towards something and Quentin nodded along with her.

He was worried about her. She had only gotten to sleep three hours before the Endbringer sirens had gone off, having just fixed the bug in the Titan's communication protocols. He knew that she was exhausted, and he had tried to get her to rest, but she had been adamant to monitor everything as the machines had loaded up. Her solution to her exhaustion had been to have one of her employees raid a nearby convenience store for energy drinks and stock her up. Even as she talked to Quentin, she took a sip from one of them.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his head back to the front, looking at the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the other lane, moving away from Boston. He had heard enough from the radio to know that the situation in Boston was bad. Usually, according to Taylor, attacks by Leviathan were provided with a small warning, usually no more than thirty minutes to an hour, just enough time for the Protectorate to begin to mobilize capes to attempt to repel the Endbringer. Only it seemed that Leviathan had provided less than fifteen minutes warning this time, leaving the defense of Boston woefully unprepared.

It was only because of Taylor's ability to glean information, and the few reports that were being shared via the radio going in, that they were able to peace together a glimpse of what had happened in Boston after that. But it took nearly an hour and a half of fighting before the Endbringer was finally driven off. But details were sparse, because there were issues getting any communications out of Boston whatsoever. Taylor was unsure of why, but only that it seemed to affect the Greater Boston area.

But these details were all beside the point, at least to Taylor. What mattered to her was that Boston had been devastated and there were likely thousands trapped in debris within the city. This was the very reason she had pushed so hard for the production of her machines to make a difference now instead of later.

He could only watch as his daughter suddenly reached up and tapped her ear.

"Jean, It's Taylor. Any news on Alain?"

The resultant frown told him just what the answer was.

"Okay, I'll look into it. I need you to do some things for me. I need you to reach out to the PRT, FEMA, FAA and the National Guard──No, I haven't had any luck contacting anyone, I'm hoping you can use Far Zenith's connections to get ahold of someone who can make decisions. Let them know what's on its way, and also find out if they need mobile network support, the Titan can link in quite a lot more if need be. Finally, see if you can find out if any drones are being deployed to Boston──Yeah, we're on the same page. If they have datalinks we can route them through the Titan and improve SAR efficiency. After that, see if you can get ahold of anyone with the Guild.──Yeah, Dragon. I tried reaching out to her but I'm only getting silence."

She stopped to listen to Jean, taking another sip from her energy drink. The fact that his daughter had apparently added a satellite uplink to her Focus was not even a surprise to him anymore. He had become inured at the various 'miracles' his daughter had become capable of.

"No, that's fine. I'll see what I can do on my end once we get to Boston. Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but we need to start diverting everything we can towards Hathor-model Focus production. The situation in Boston is a lot worse than I expected."

She paused, and tapped her Focus, and Jean's voice came through the satellite phone's speaker, allowing everyone to hear it in the cab.

"-Taylor, we've already had this discussion before you left. We're already stretched thinly as is, both in materials and manpower. If we divert production towards the Focus, we're going to have to reduce production on spare machine parts. We just don't have enough people to go around, and overtime as it is, is already going to be ruinous. And even if we start looking towards Focus production, the best we can manage is maybe one hundred units every three to four days..."

His daughter didn't say anything for a moment, instead closing her eyes, and he wondered exactly what she was going to say to that. He was firmly aware of the financial situation of the company, Jean constantly harped at him about it, because Taylor refused to listen to her.

"I know the timetables we are looking at to change production back to Foci, Jean. It can't be helped, but we only have five hundred of these as is, and it is not going to be enough, especially if my suspicions on why Boston's communications are down are right," she paused, chewing her lip, "Medhall isn't going to be any help, they are still a few months out on their first production run, and that's for the Horus model. What about the additions to the production team we had on standby, can we tap into them?"

"Taylor, we don't have the money for that. And even if you add them, that's maybe going to bump production up maybe another fifty to a hundred units in the same timeframe. Taylor, I think we need to settle on what we have."

"Can you reach out to Gene for me?"

There was a long pause from the other end, Jean, like himself, trying to figure out what Taylor was working towards.

"I can. May I ask why?"

Taylor was silent, turning her head and looking out the window, her expression inscrutable.

"Ask him," she hesitated, her head turning upwards to the roof of the semi, as if she were seeking divine providence, "ask him what it would take for him to provide an additional two million dollars."

Jean's silence on the other end was telling. Two million dollars was still quite a lot of money, even in the shadow of the money provided to start up Zero Dawn.

"Taylor, the company is already collateral for the startup loans. There is nothing we have on hand that we can offer that could back a request for that sum of money. Not to mention how it would make us look unreliable with our money. That is not the optics that you want or need as a new corporation. And even if you could get the money, it won't make a difference for those currently buried. They will be long dead before we can field any more units, Foci or otherwise, even if we could ramp up production now. You'd be better off seeing if he'd donate money for additional supplies for survivors."

To his surprise, Taylor didn't immediately answer, even though her expression suggested she was about to start arguing with Jean. Instead, she was silent, and he watched as she chewed the inside of her cheek, indicating both she was thinking about it, but also not liking what she was thinking.

"Taylor," Quentin spoke, but she shook her head towards him and he quieted.

"Okay, Jean. You're right," she reached up and massaged her face, exhaustion creeping through in her expression and body language, "why couldn't Leviathan give us another two or three weeks? I could have gotten us more money for additional Hathors and finished development of the Ptah. Reach out to Gene, see what you can get from him, you know him better than I do, if it's aid we can get, do it. I know we can get grants, and we will need machines going forward, especially if we want to help with Boston, but you are right, we need to focus on the most immediate impact we can provide right now."

Again, silence met them, before finally Jean answered, "I'm sorry, Taylor. I know you didn't want to hear that from me, but it needed to be said. I'll ask. I think Gene will be open to at least helping with the aid. But any more than that is going to be a tall order, I can at least get them to focus on maybe a few more spare parts, but anything larger is going to require another cash infusion we can't really afford to take loans on."

"And I appreciate it. We're all trying our best here. Just talk to him, see what he says. If he wants some sort of guarantee, I'll find a way, Jean," Taylor said after a pause, "just start shaking the trees for me. If it comes down to it, I'll do what I have to."

"I'll see what I can do, Taylor. I better get to work. Good luck."

"Same to you, Jean."

She then tapped her focus, and placed the sat phone down, taking a deep breath and then releasing it. She glanced up at him, and he wondered what was going through her mind right now. His daughter's single-minded drive for this moment, while admirable, was still a major risk. They hadn't the opportunity to truly test any of this, only Taylor's constant assurance that it would work driving this. If something went wrong, or worse, it failed completely, it would be devastating.

"Taylor-"

"I know," she cut him off, rubbing her tired eyes, "but we're looking at thousands, possibly tens of thousands, trapped. It will take days to get specialized SAR assets into the area thanks to the damage done to Logan. They'll probably shift a carrier battle group and the Comfort to assist, along with whatever heavy-lift rotor-wing aircraft they can scrape up. Anything that gives us an edge and saves even another life is not off the table. But for at least the next twenty-four hours we are on our own!"

"What about the Protectorate?"

She laughed bitterly, "Endbringer truces only last seventy-two to ninety-six hours from the first alert, depending upon the Endbringer and the target. Just enough time for the capes to fight, lick their wounds, collect their dead, and go back home for business as usual. There isn't even a dedicated unit to help with disaster relief, and because of politics, FEMA can't poach or even request capes who would be useful in disaster assistance. It's largely left to independent volunteers and capes that live in the affected area to pick up the pieces."

"Oh," and that's really all he could say on the matter. He was still learning as he went, this was still far outside his wheelhouse. The fact that Taylor was this well informed only lent credence that she had a far better understanding of the situation and that was why she was so adamant in producing more machines.

But it could be handled better, he felt. Jean had just as salient of a point in the fact that Zero Dawn was stretched thin financially, even with the sales beginning to come in from the materials sales, it was still not enough for the type of large expenditure Taylor was lobbying for. Yet at the same time, Taylor knew more of what was needed than he did.

It did help, however, that at least they were now communicating. Previously, he would have been unprepared for Taylor's request, but they had talked over the last week about what could take place and what contingencies she was planning for.

Honestly, it was amazing that she was planning so far in depth for what may or may not happen.

But even this was bordering on cataclysmic. Taylor's models had been good, but they didn't hold a candle to the reports that had been able to come out of Boston. The lack of sufficient warning had left many unable to reach the safety of shelter before Leviathan struck, stranding far too many to the mercies of the waves that were a staple of the Endbringer's attacks.

Taylor, however, had not been interested in that, as callous as that sounded. She was more interested in the status of Logan International Airport. The entire time they had been gathering together, she had been adamant to know exactly what its status was.

It had only been as they were getting into the semis, that they received the news that Logan International was, for all intents and purposes, completely gone. It had been the direct path of Leviathan, and the Endbringer had not excluded the airport from its wrath in its course for the center of Boston..

The way Taylor's face had closed off said enough.

Before he could say anything more, they were interrupted by Kent.

"Hey boss, state patrol up ahead, they're blocking the road."

He turned away from his daughter to look out the windshield, and sure enough, on the straight-away that would pass by the Randolph exits, was a single state patrol car sitting in the middle of the road, its lights flashing illuminating its surroundings in the fading light, with a wooden barricade set up to further block the road and force them on a path to take the exit to the right.

Taylor had moved up into the cabin and looked out, even as the semi slowed down.

"Pull up to them," Danny finally said, already drawing a picture that he was not necessarily liking. The only reason they would be shutting Route 24 down was either damage down the line, which was unlikely with the oncoming traffic in the other lane of the expressway, or they were trying to control what was coming into Boston.

Coming to a stop in the left lane of the expressway, Danny proceeded to get out of the truck, Taylorhot on his heels as he walked towards the trooper. By the reaction of the trooper, that was probably not the best way considering how he tensed, his expression wary.

"Officer," he called out.

"Sir, I need you to get back in the semi and turn off into Randolph," a young state trooper approached, his hand resting upon his sidearm, but not drawing it yet, but the threat was evident, "no unauthorized vehicles are allowed beyond this point."

"Officer, we're here to help. I'm Danny Hebert of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay. I have behind me nine semi-trailers with rescue equipment and humanitarian aid for Boston. We set out to help as soon as we got the word."

"I'm sorry sir, but my orders are clear. I cannot allow you to pass."

"Can you at least-"

"I'm sorry sir, but again I can't allow you any further."

"May I speak with your supervisor? I'm sure that we can work something out to get these supplies to Boston."

There was a pause from the trooper, as he seemed to be looking for something. Whatever it was that he was looking for he found as his shoulders slumped slightly, his hand moving away from the sidearm.

"There is no supervisor, sir," he admitted, exhaustion and resignation lacing his tone, "Leviathan knocked out communications from Boston, what we are getting is spotty at best, and my orders are to shut down Route 24 to all non-essential vehicles. I have my orders sir. I'm sorry."

I can't violate those orders, sir. I'm sorry."

It was beginning to look much worse than any of Taylor's models, he realized with horror, the implications readily obvious. Without consistent communications, whatever response and coordination coming from Boston was going to be a mess at best. It meant that currently every single command was doing their own things according to their own operating procedure, and many of them likely had procedures that interfered with others.

Which meant that a lot of people were going to die.

"What's your name, son," he asked sincerely. He couldn't even fathom what must be going through the trooper's head right now. An Endbringer attack in Boston, and he was forced to shut down a road outside of the city, without any real idea of what was going on, the only thing he was left with were his orders and his own thoughts. He didn't envy the trooper.

"Waldren, sir," the trooper replied stiffly.

"I understand you have your orders, but this is aid to an Endbringer disaster area. Is there any way I can convince you to let us through, Trooper Waldren?"

The man hesitated for a moment. It was obvious to anyone he was caught between doing the right thing and following the orders he had been given. And for a moment, he thought he had gotten through to the trooper, before the man finally shook his head.

"Sorry, sir. I can't. I'm going to once again ask you to turn your convoy into Randolph. If you are offering aid to Boston, then talk with the authorities there. They can likely coordinate something with you. But I have to keep this route closed to all non-essential vehicles."

"Okay, son," he replied, holding back a sigh of resignation at the failure to reach the man. He hated it, but he could also understand the trooper's plight and couldn't hold it against him in this situation. So he turned around, and he found Taylor was already walking back towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.

He then turned, and found Taylor was already walking towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.

Ah shit, he thought, even as he started jogging after her. He had just caught up with her as she opened the door to the semi.

"Kent, signal the rest of the trucks, unload now. Quentin, get out here, we're going to have to improvise."

She then started towards the back of the semi, even as a "Fuck," escaped from the cab courtesy of Quentin. Kent himself began talking into his radio, obviously passing Taylor's orders.

"Taylor," he started, barely keeping up with her stride as she moved, "what are you doing?"

"What does it look like," she shot back, "if they won't let us through, I'll just go around."

"Go around," he repeated, and everything clicked into place, and he fought the urge to panic, "Taylor it's nearly twenty miles to Boston."

"Which I can cover in an hour with the LRL," she returned, coming to a stop at the back of the tarp, reaching up with her hands. Her fingers began moving as if she were typing, occasionally stopping to swipe her hand in the air. He didn't know exactly what she was doing, but with her Focus she had what she referred to as an augmented reality system that allowed her to interact with devices freely without needing a computer.

"Taylor, that isn't what we planned for. You told me that you needed a forward base so you could resupply and maintain the units. If you do this, you won't have any of that logistical support for god knows how long."

She paused, her hands hanging in the air.

"I know," she finally breathed, "but I'm not going to be deterred, Dad. If I can save even one life, then the cost is worth it. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

He wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream at her. To tell her that this was a mistake, that her life was worth more than anyone that she could save. But instead, he kept it back, because he knew it would be pointless. This was his daughter in a nutshell, she didn't care about the personal cost to her, all that mattered to her was that she was able to save lives.

Instead, he sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Okay," he finally said, "What do we need to do?"

"The energy demands for this run are going to push the envelope on projections, we're going to have to lash as many extra fuel cells as we can to the Titan. It's a stopgap measure, but until we can get more support, it's the best option available. When I get to the disaster area, I should be able to get someone to actually let you guys through. Just wait for me."

He frowned, not liking what his daughter was saying. He intellectually understood what she was working towards, but the father in him did not like hearing it.

"Taylor, let me go with you," he pleaded, knowing that ordering her would achieve nothing. The idea that his daughter was planning to go alone into a disaster area was nearly too much. Why couldn't she just do the safe thing and wait?

Before she could answer, Quentin came up to them, the laptop in hand, "What do you need of me, Taylor?"

"I need you to do one more review of the stowed Focuses on the Titan. I have some suspicions as to why the trooper is only getting sporadic communications from Boston, and if it's true we'll need every single one of them ready to go."

"Roger that," the man nodded, turning back towards the cab, even as he began getting back to work on the laptop. As he did that, several men that had ridden along on the semis were congregating around them.

"Okay," Taylor called out, her voice carrying in air that might as well be still, "we're debarking the machines. We'll start with the Titan first, then the Watchers and Scrappers, and finally the Charger. I need you guys to ensure that they get off safely. We won't be able to unload any of the supplies or replacement parts for more than likely twenty-four hours, so make sure they don't get dinged. Ramirez, Brown, Eaton, and Yaxley, I need you to lash as many Fuel Cells to the Titan as you can as soon as we get it off the semi. We're going to have to do all of this on the fly, so let's do it right the first time, okay?"

The corresponding calls of acknowledgement caused him to swell with pride. Even at fifteen years old, she seemed to have taken the best of him, and combined it with the force of will of Annette, and shaping it into something uniquely her own. When she was like this, she had the presence that could make men and women triple her age snap to attention and follow her command without a question.

Satisfied her orders were out and getting done, she turned to him, providing him an answer to his question, "I need you here, Dad. On the sat phone with Jean and letting her know what's going on. I need you ready to move all of this on a moment's notice, these men and women respect you and will move through hell for you."

"They'll do the same for you, Taylor."

"But I need to be out there, guiding the machines, Dad. Even with all of the effort I have put into making them capable of independent action, it has to be a human hand that gives them their orders. I can't do that if I know I won't have reinforcements when we finally get the green light to move in the supplies."

"Don't move!"

Both of their head snapped towards the highway patrolman, who had moved up on them, but he had his gun in hand, drawn and leveled upon them, even as his eyes darted towards the Titan as the canvas had been removed from the storage container, and it was bared for all to see.

"What the fuck is this," the trooper demanded.

"Rescue equipment," Taylor turned towards him, "I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies. I am also Alloy, an independent cape. These machines are meant to assist in search and rescue. And under the Endbringer Truce, you are illegally obstructing a cape attempting to render aid to a disaster area."

"And what's-"

"Sir, I did not spend spend the last month and almost ten million dollars putting this together in some sort of convoluted attempt at suicide. I'm here to save lives," she then paused as a Burrower skulked up beside her, the machine being disturbingly quiet in its approach, "and you're in my way."

For a moment, he worried that Taylor had pushed too hard as the trooper's expression hardened for a moment. But then his features softened as he slowly lowered his weapon, his shoulders sagging slightly in what could only be described as relief.

.

"You're actually going to help," he asked.

"I am."

A few more moments of silence met them, before he nodded, "Alright. I'll let you through."

The trooper then turned and headed back to the roadblock, leaving them alone. But before he could say anything to Taylor, she moved towards the back of the second rig and he found himself following her.

"Ethan, you have it?"

"Yes, Taylor," came the response of Ethan, who handed her a thick jacket, one that not only provided warmth, but by its weave, it was also meant to provide protection. Taylor slipped off the slight jacket she was wearing and handed it to him, before putting the new one on.

"Taylor, what are you doing," he asked.

"I'm going on ahead," she stated as she zipped up the jacket, "Keep unloading, Ethan."

"Right, ma'am."

Instead of being angry as Ethan moved to rejoin the others, he sighed, knowing that the decision was already made, but even if that was true, it was his job as a father to try and convince her otherwise. Even if he didn't even think it was the wrong decision.

"Taylor, if you stay with us, we can reach the staging point that they are likely putting together and set up. That way you won't have to worry about supplies, and we can start coordinating with local law enforcement and anyone else."

The shake of her head told him all that he needed to know, as she reached into the bag and pulled out an odd device. It was a breathing mask of some kind, but one that he didn't recognize. She unclasped the strap, reaching up and securing it behind her head, leaving the mask to rest around her neck.

"If they are shutting Route 24 off at Randolph, that means that they are likely using I-93 as a main supply route. By breaking off, I can reach whatever command center they have set up long before the convoy could get there and arrange things. That way we can get set up before nightfall and get our orders on what to do. But I have to go now, especially if they are trying to control traffic into 93, with my machines, I can follow the interstate without getting caught in any of the traffic."

She then paused, looking towards him, "I just want to save lives, Dad. And every minute saved could be the difference for a lot of trapped people."

His heart leapt in pride, even as it was tempered by fear. His daughter's singular focus on saving lives had driven them to this point, and it appeared that it would keep driving them damn the consequences. He honestly could not be more proud of her if he could.

"You'll be alone out there, Taylor. We won't be able to back you up if something goes wrong."

Taylor's silence was telling, because it told him that she was at least listening. Even if he knew, deep down, that it was an exercise in futility.

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

"What?"

She shook her head, "I'm sorry. It's something that I keep thinking about in all of this. I have all this knowledge Dad, but if I don't use it, then what is the point? I'm the only person who can do this, right here, right now. Not a week from now, when it may be too late for dozens and maybe hundreds."

She zipped up the jacket, her expression resolute.

"I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do this."

He didn't say anything, because honestly, what was there to say? Instead, he pulled his daughter into a bone-crushing hug, trying to ignore the tears starting to trek down his face.

"Okay, Little Owl," he said softly, trying not to choke on his words, "I'm not going to stop. Just be careful and keep in contact."

"I can do you one better," she responded, leaving him confused, before opening a case she extracted from the duffel bag, opening it up to him.

"Taylor, I-," he lost his words looking at the Focus currently resting in the case before him.

"It's not as powerful or as customized as mine, but it will run circles around all of the ones on the Titan. I've disabled most of the user-side inputs, so everything needs to be accessed through manipulating the augmented reality interface. I don't recommend moving while doing that until you are comfortable doing so."

"Taylor. Why are you doing this? You know I'm pants with this technology."

"That's why the controls are simplified," was her response, still holding it out to him even in spite of his protests, "I have it paired to my device, so you can access what I am seeing on choice. That way you know what I am doing and how I am doing."

He stared at the device again, before looking back to his daughter. Unlike before, he took the time to truly take her in, knowing the efforts that must have gone into this. In recent weeks, he had begun to really learn just how to read his daughter, despite her own efforts to hide it. And right now, in spite of her attempts to appear calm, she was an open and ready book despite his inability to see her eyes.

There was hope there, even in spite of the fact that he had already given her his blessing, that he would readily embrace what she was doing. Not out of grudging admittance that he had no choice, that she would bull through him regardless, but ready acceptance.

In spite of the tough front she put up, deep down, she was still that fifteen year old teenager looking for acceptance from her sole remaining parental figure.

It was too much, as he surged forward and wrapped her into a hug. Sure, it was maybe a bit too much, hugging his daughter out in public like this, but he couldn't help himself at the pride he felt in her. It had been a worry not three weeks ago that her would lose her, that to see her now, going to such extents to include him.

"I'm proud of you," he said, and his daughter stiffened in his hug, before relaxing slightly. He then released her after a few moments, stepping back slightly.

"Okay, show me how to use this."

---

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