An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

Pyro Hawk · May 22, 2024

Kid Win running straight into the lesser known version of "Don't meet your Heroes". The one where the Hero might prove to be what you think they are aside from a few blemishes, you find a way around those issues in your mind and then the Hero sits down, looks at you and goes "You're a great kid. You've found a way around the problems from our last meeting. But I didn't tell you what you wanted wasn't the right path last time because of the issues. I told you that because you do not want to go down this path."

Ironically, this might actually 'save' Kid Win and Armsmaster's relationship going forwards. Because now Kid Win has heard that Armsmaster was impressed by his work. But also regards what Kid Win is doing as pointless for other reasons and has told Kid Win what those reasons are. Going to be interesting what results from Kid Win's tinkering going forward now that he's nudged off the 'unknowingly run afoul of Tinker Review and Tinkertech restrictions' path. Even more so considering he just got introduced to the Focus, no matter how little attention was put onto that right now.

AlSmash · May 30, 2024

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."

Pyro Hawk · May 30, 2024

Well, that's going to have some rather interesting consequences. Particularly as Taylor's 'field of expertise' is one that's likely going to push hard for 'well, of course some Parahumans are useful in the corporate economy' considering just what's in there. That said, probably not that much in there which can directly help Uppercrust until she brings a certain submind AI online.

But there's a hell of a lot she can create which other parahumans and even trained humans can take advantage of to better treat Uppercrust. I mean, just consider all the medical technology involved with terraforming a planet, including creating a biosphere, from a ruined dustball using only stored genetic samples. Ones that are unlikely to capture complete ecosystems even if they get most of them, particularly after cross-matching preserved species between incomplete ecosystems.

This is before considering the fact Taylor may very well have a lot of the technology base for the rest of human civilisation from Horizon: Zero Dawn. Which we know allows the granting of effective biological immortality without too much further development considering what that other group managed before the 'Founders' started dying off.

Crista20 · May 30, 2024

Things are going horribly wrong

AlSmash · Jun 3, 2024

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?"

Dracophage · Jun 3, 2024

FUCKING FAR ZENITH. THEY CAN GO FUCK THEMSELFVES WITH A HORUS'S DRILL TENTACLE.

AlSmash · Jun 3, 2024

Dracophage said:
FUCKING FAR ZENITH. THEY CAN GO FUCK THEMSELFVES WITH A HORUS'S DRILL TENTACLE.

Don't get your blood pressure up too far. Just a bit of spoiler, Jean Brown is Citrine's actual birth name. This is a Accord plot. Though, I do find it funny everyone's reaction to this easter egg.

Dracophage · Jun 3, 2024

AlSmash said:
/

Sry I just got done with playing Forbidden west, so the Zenith Fuckwads are fresh in my mind.

ChaosSlimeKing · Jun 3, 2024

Really loving where this story is going. I can actually tell you deep dived into the lore of the Horizon Games, instead of just giving Taylor a robot dinosaurs and calling it a day. So as a fan of the series I tip my hat off to you author in thanks and respect.

Moving on, I wonder if you'll be adding any other characters to either help of hinder Taylor. I could totally see an Earth Bet Sylens who is a scientist who has gotten completely fed up with Tinker tech BS. Only to find out that Taylor's stuff is learnable and something that with effort he could understand. Taylor just might needing Sylens single minded focus and disregard for ethics to stop some of the more crazy foes of Earth Bet. That or just another rival for her, who knows.

Anyways, thanks for the chapter and story, can't wait to see where this goes.

bloodyparty · Jun 3, 2024

Very nice so far!
Definitely on my watch list

Do you plan on keeping this bsuiness/ tech oriented or do you plan on taylor moving into heroing?

AlSmash · Jun 9, 2024

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."

Snuffles · Jun 9, 2024

You forgot to threadmark

And I got to be honest, at first I thought taylor was about to get scammed by some greedy corporation. But nevermind, its just accord and uppercrust

Pyro Hawk · Jun 9, 2024

Snuffles said:
And I got to be honest, at first I thought taylor was about to get scammed by some greedy corporation. But nevermind, its just accord and uppercrust

I mean, considering that they are Uppercrust and Accord, in a way she is being scammed by them. Because what is going to come of this is not just the rise of Earth Bet's first true Megacorporation. But a complete overturning of Earth Bet's vision and power dynamics regarding Parahumans. And Taylor never quite thought of it in those terms.

AlSmash · Jun 17, 2024

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 · Tuesday at 6:12 PM

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, unfortunately, Zenith was too tightly controlled for even Gesellschaft from finding out too much. All he had 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.

Pyro Hawk · Tuesday at 7:13 PM

Yeeeaaahhh... This is basically just 'controlled demolition of the current PRT-Protectorate-Rogue-Public power structure' in a nutshell, isn't it? Something which is going to see a sea change result from it that is likely to see parahumans come out of it with a better position in the world without have the public against them. All at the cost of a few assets which Cauldron either isn't concerned about, have already marked as disposable, or will prefer how they end up.

Going to be fascinating to watch happen...

Nicohals J Westerberg · Wednesday at 2:42 PM

Nice. Thanks for chapter

An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

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