An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

Darman Skirata · Aug 1, 2024

Lol, Calvert was watching all this with a sense of beamusement and probably but a few bits together, but I don't think he put enough together to realize the absolute shit storm Tay at Zero Dawn was about to let Piggot and the Goon squad release.

Phraxius · Aug 3, 2024

AlSmash said:
"I'm a Thinker."

The door then flew open, and a man in a suit with a briefcase stormed in.

Her whole legal basis for the inspection was Taylor's Tinker status, right?

Sounds like Piggot is going to be raked over a bed of hot coals by Accord's lawyers, given that Armsmaster, Dragon, and the patent office all concluded that the designs they checked weren't Tinkertech.

She'll be even more fucked if her unofficially punishing Armsmaster for not arriving at the conclusion she wants comes to light. She wasn't exactly subtle about it, lmao.

XZR-2 · Aug 4, 2024

Looking forward to more chapters!

AlSmash · Aug 13, 2024

Germination 2.5

Danny

"Drive."

That simple command from John Milton, their new lawyer, was all that was needed as their driver shifted the Suburban into gear, and began driving. The resultant sound of the engine gaining rpms existing as the only sound in the otherwise silent cab of the vehicle.

He took the silence as an opportunity to look at his daughter, who was sitting on the same bench in the back of the vehicle, the only separation between them. Her Focus was back on her head and she was obviously looking through something judging by her intent expression and flicking eyes. It was something he was beginning to notice with her, depending on the seriousness and complexity, that she could either use her hands to present, or in smaller, less complex situations, eye movement seemed to suffice..

The last three hours had been chaotic to say the least. Taylor being taken away for questioning over both Jean and his objections. He had been horrified at what could happen to her considering what had caused the incident in the first place, but also frustrated by how his daughter seemed nonchalant about the severity of the situation.

Even he knew the dangers of messing around with nuclear technology, especially in this day and age. It wasn't like before capes, where the government was slightly more laid back about it. But with the advent of Tinkers and other capes, nuclear technology was treated as a significant national security risk, and was prosecuted as such.

But the fact that his daughter was working on it without a single by your leave only reinforced the fact that she was keeping secrets. Maybe if he had known what she was doing they could have done things differently, but that was a matter of what could have been.

What mattered now as the PRT had his daughter, and he wasn't sure if he would be seeing her again as a free person.

It had only been Jean that had stopped him from doing something further stupid. She had pulled him aside and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not allowed to take any action for the moment. Mister Gabriel was sending a lawyer and this situation would be worked out. Even when he protested, she told him that Taylor would be fine. The lawyer that they were bringing in was one of the best on the east coast. It was this, and the fact that it was readily apparent that Jean was also pissed beyond belief that stayed him from doing something stupid with the stooges that had remained after Taylor had been taken away.

It had only been twenty minutes later that a helicopter had arrived, choosing to land on one of the unoccupied jetties in the dockyard. He had at first thought it was yet another agency deciding to stick its nose in the company's business and bury his daughter even further.

This was not the case, as he quickly found himself introduced to John Milton, Senior Partner of Wulfrahm & Hjardt. It had been a double-shock to Danny, as he had heard of Wulfrahm & Hardt, a law firm that had been cutting its teeth in Boston since before his grandfather's time, they were considered one of the best in the United States. The fact that Gabriel had them on retainer was somewhat terrifying considering the likely retainer fee for something like this, even as it brought him at least some comfort that his daughter was likely in good hands.

The second was the relative youth of Milton himself. For a senior partner, he looked inordinately young to what was expected. He had to only to be in his early to mid thirties,

He looked to be in his early to mid thirties, his hair was stylishly cut but was what you expected in a professional atmosphere. His glasses were a stylish, yet utilitarian design that seemed to only enhance his piercing eyes, as if he knew secrets about you that even you weren't aware of.

He had expected the man to storm after his daughter, or even show a modicum of annoyance at the situation. Instead, he had told the hulking man that had accompanied him to secure a transport. But John had then pulled them into Jean's office and calmly demanded a rundown on the events that had transpired. It had taken a herculean effort not to snap at the lawyer, but he calmed himself in the hope that there was an angle to this man's decisions.

Suffice to say his patience was tested, as Milton had listened to them, and then made a few phone calls. Every minute they stayed in the office talking was another minute that they were not on their way to retrieving Taylor. But after a series of phone calls by Milton, he had taken a seat in a chair. That had been enough for Danny to open his mouth to say something.

"Your daughter will be fine, Mister Hebert," Milton's smoothly accented voice cut him off as he glanced at the watch on his wrist.

"How can you say that? They just took her away."

"Mister Hebert, there is a stark difference between being detained for questioning and being arrested. In the case of your daughter, they are going to question her and little else, because they cannot do anything else."

It was then that he slammed his hands on the desk, incensed at how nonchalant the man was for his daughter, but found his words stilled as Milton's eyes snapped from his watch to him, piercing him in their gaze.

"Losing yourself to your anger will accomplish nothing except complicating the extrication process for your daughter. And I despise complications, Mister Hebert. Now. Sit. Down."

He found himself taking a seat in the chair, as Milton kept looking at him for a moment, before releasing a small sigh as he placed down his phone and adjusted his tie. Jean had remained oddly silent the entire situation, instead choosing to keep off to the side.

"This is your first encounter with cape-based law enforcement, correct, Mister Hebert?"

"It is."

"Then allow me to provide you with a brief education. The best way to describe legally dealing with capes is that there are no laws," he held up his hand, "I understand how that sounds, Mister Hebert. The American legal system has always held itself up as an exemplar of laws and order that guarantees your rights and protections to prevent the government from abuses. It's a pleasant fantasy that, for the most part, works."

"The problem is, for nearly two decades, the PRT and the Protectorate have been busily carving out their own little extralegal fiefdom, creating laws and rules on whim to suit whatever they want or need. Of course they claim to follow the law, and capes have all the same rights that you and I take for granted. But in reality, they can do whatever they want because they've created the veneer that as the foremost expert on capes they know what's best. Take the Bad Canary case, for example. You've heard that one."

"Vaguely," he admitted. It had been something talked about in the office, but it was never something he really cared to follow.

"In any normal situation, there would be such a lawsuit filed in lieu of the violations of Miss Mcabee's rights that the government would be providing a life of luxury for not only her, but her children's children. Instead, the PRT, as the 'foremost expert' on capes, has done everything in its power to ensure that Miss Mcabee is sent to the Birdcage as a message to other capes that have powers similar to hers that it would be in their best interest to be on their side. Of course, there will be those that will try and make the case that this miscarriage of justice is because of the stigma against Masters thanks to Simurgh. However, at the end of the day, it is the PRT that is responsible. All it would take to allow Miss Mcabee the opportunity to exercise her rights as an American citizen is to have her powers tested, something that is in their remit and they have the ability to do so safely."

"So why aren't you defending her, Mister Milton?"

A quirk of the man's lip was the only tell that what he had said had hit a nerve.

"Because the PRT froze her assets and unofficially told us that it would be in our best interests to not involve ourselves in Miss Mcabee's case."

His fists clenched as he ground his teeth, fighting the urge to storm out. The only thing stopping him was the fact that it would achieve nothing, and obviously Mister Milton was building towards something, but nonetheless…

"You're not doing a good job convincing me that my daughter is going to be fine, Mister Milton."

"Quite," the man replied, damnably calm, "What I'm trying to build at, is that under normal circumstances, it would be an uphill battle against the PRT and Protectorate. However, the adage that there is always a bigger fish applies here."

"I don't follow."

"One of the things you will learn, Mister Hebert, as your company grows, is that the government's portrayal that it's one big, happy, family is actually a lie. It is a confederation of agencies and departments that are in competition with one another over funds and power. They zealously guard their jurisdictions and the only thing they agree upon is their mutual disdain for the PRT. Your daughter, either intentionally or otherwise, has happened to create a situation in which the PRT is not the foremost expert and does not have sole jurisdiction."

For a moment, he sat there wondering just what it was that Taylor had done, but then it clicked.

"The Department of Energy."

Milton's response was a nod.

"The PRT is legally required, as is any other department, to inform the Department of Energy if they encounter any cases regarding nuclear materials, which includes both materials and designs. Their charter takes precedence over any PRT considerations. And since they are detaining your daughter, they have no choice but to report the situation. If your daughter were any normal tinker the department would report back that the work is Tinkertech, and with the absence of nuclear materials, their involvement would end there. However, your daughter's unique ability to produce actual technology will shock them into action, making this, at minimum, something the PRT cannot handle in house and thus curtail their usual free reign."

It had only taken an hour after Milton had arrived before they were on their way to the PRT Headquarters. Throughout the entire time, Milton was on and off his phone speaking with several individuals. When he had asked who he was talking to, Milton had just shaken his head and told him it was detail work. It was only after he was satisfied and his bodyguard returned that they were on their way.

And now they were here, after another hour getting Taylor out of the building, including having several forms filled out and getting her Focus returned. But all that mattered to him was that she was safely returned.

"Of all the stupid, reckless, irresponsible decisions-," Jean finally broke the silence, having turned to look back towards Taylor.

"It worked out in the end," his daughter replied, obviously not giving her full attention to the older woman.

"That's not the point," Jean angrily snapped, "we just had a conversation about personal responsibility and what is best for the company. And not two hours later, you decide in your infinite wisdom that it would be a brilliant idea to tug the tiger's tail. Not only that, but you ignored both your father and myself when we told you not to go with the PRT-"

"But. It. Worked. Out," Taylor emphasized, tapping her Focus. Obviously she was done with whatever it was that she was focused upon, as she folded her hands in her lap.

"Be that it may, Miss Hebert. It would be preferable that you leave such actions to the professionals," Milton intoned, turning his head slightly at an angle, as if he were looking back over his shoulder, "as inspired a choice it may have been, you took an unnecessary risk. You're lucky Director Piggot is not like James Tagg, or you would have found yourself treated like a terrorist and shipped to a black site where you would likely never see the light of day as a free woman."

"But she wasn't," was the response, Taylor's jaw setting in a telltale sign of irritation. He had seen it far too many times in Annette and he knew unless he intervened it was going to reach a boiling point. The only issue was how to make it work without having her doubling down on being set in her ways.

He honestly wished Annette was here. She would know exactly what to say to Taylor.

"What's done is done," he finally said, causing Taylor to look toward him, "instead, we need to focus on what we do going forward. That means everyone needs to be on the same page here. Okay, Taylor?"

For a moment, he worried that she was going to argue with him. He wasn't coming down on her side completely, but at the same time, he was being reasonable in that now that Taylor had gained the attention of not only the PRT, but likely the Department of Energy, they all needed to be in lockstep on what needed to be done.

"Okay," she finally said with a nod, and he felt himself relax slightly.

"In that case," it was Milton who spoke first, "while we have the PRT on the back foot, we have Miss Hebert undergo power testing."

"What," he couldn't stop himself from speaking. The idea of setting Taylor back into the den of the beast was just short of insane.

"Right now, the PRT has to reassess what they can do with your daughter, Mister Hebert. All of their actions have been on the basis that she is a Tinker, and provides an avenue of attack through the laws established to prevent Tinkertech from flooding the markets. By having her abilities officially tested, we would be able to get official documentation that unequivocally states that her technology is not Tinkertech, removing several potential issues going forward."

"Makes sense," Taylor chirped, offering a shrug, "I doubt Piggot even entertained the idea that I wasn't a Tinker. Armsmaster certainly did not believe that my technology wasn't Tinkertech, I do wonder why he wasn't here today."

"Unofficially, Armsmaster is no longer in charge of the Brockton Bay Protectorate," was Milton's response, causing everyones' head to turn towards him, "Director Piggot has removed him from the position, interestingly enough after his interview with you, Miss Hebert."

"Was it something that I did," she asked, curiosity lacing her tone, "the interview went well and he did leave satisfied with everything."

"I won't comment on it, because I don't have all of the information, Miss Hebert. Nor does it really matter at the moment. What we need to focus upon is the DOE and the Child Protective Services and how we handle them."

"What about Youth Guard," Jean added herself into the conversation now.

"The Youth Guard, may be a problem, considering the incestuous relationship between them and the CPS, I expect that we will be hearing from them in short order and they will ape whatever the CPS says. School. Less work hours. Socialization. They'll also likely add a push to join the Wards, that way it can be cheaper for them in terms of oversight. But we are going to have to give on something."

"I'm not going back to school."

"Taylor-"

"No, Dad, I am not going to go back to school. I'm not going to go back to a fucking reminder of what happened to me. I am not going to be a circus act for teens who have no idea what it's like to be bereft of sight. And I most certainly am not going to waste my time studying subjects that I could probably teach better myself!"

"If I may, Miss Hebert?"

"No. You may not. This discussion is closed. I am not going to go back to Winslow and that is final."

"Then I will talk and you will listen, Miss Hebert. Legally speaking, we do not have a good leg to stand on with the CPS and Youth Guard. They have every legal right to force you back into school, regardless of your situation and disability if they believe that it is in your best interests. Now, we can fight, but we will more than likely lose. As much as I loathe the Youth Guard, they are in the right, in this case, Miss Hebert. You are fifteen, you do not have a GED, and from an outside perspective looking in, which the Youth Guard will mercilessly cultivate, it looks like your father is taking advantage of you. This is the sort of narrative that will drive the judge and juries to side against you, regardless of what narrative or evidence you may provide to the public."

"He is-"

"Or," Milton cut her off, raising his voice slightly, "We can choose to make concessions, Miss Hebert. We show that we are willing to accept their ruling, but we want to have input in the execution of it. That way we can undercut their narrative and appear reasonable to outside observers. It will certainly be an inconvenience from what you have currently been doing, but it's better than a long, drawn-out legal battle that could end up with you being taken as a ward of the state or declared a gang cape for resisting their authority."

That seemed to be the cold bucket of water that Taylor needed, as her protests died on her lips and she became pensive. He wished he could know what was going through her mind.

"You won't have to go back to Winslow, Taylor," he decided to add his own two cents, "I will fight to my dying breath if it needs be to stop them from sending you back there. But Mister Milton is right, I know you hate the idea, I hate it too, but sometimes you have to take a momentary loss, in order to gain a long-term win."

"Miss Hebert. Taylor. Winslow is all but burning down currently thanks to the ongoing FBI investigation taking place there. I don't have all the details, but I doubt Winslow will be open before the end of the school year. And even if they did, they do not have the facilities for someone with your impediment. Instead, it will likely be Immaculata or Arcadia. But even if you are sent to school, we can start exploring fast-tracking you for a GED. The Youth Guard will grumble, but they legally will be unable to stop you."

"What about work hours? You mentioned that. I can't afford to give up too many hours. I'm already going to lose quite a bit if I return to school. I need to be in the workshop as much as possible to assemble and test out a project."

"I think it is something we can work out. Immaculata and Arcadia both have online correspondence and work-release programs for qualifying students. It would mean that you will only have to do half-days. What is probably going to be up for discussion will be what constitutes work and how many hours of said work you will be allowed to do. I think if we do give in to them on the schooling issue, we can at least argue with them that your job, of which you are the CEO of, requires a certain amount of time per day in order to work. If we emphasize the need for your ability to be exercised, we can probably get to forty hour weeks, fifty at the very most in certain circumstances. How many hours have you been working?"

Taylor was silent, and he had to hold back a sigh as Milton looked to him.

"Officially? She's been averaging about fifty hours. Unofficially, once you factor in the time she works at home on her computer? Probably another ten to fifteen on top of that."

"Yeah. There's no way we'll be able to negotiate that, Miss Hebert."

"Taylor," Jean spoke up, "I know you want to push through this project by yourself, but if we can put together a team to support you, do you think that will reduce your work hours on it?"

"No."

It may have been an immediate dismissal, but having been around his wife and daughter long enough, he knew that there was more to the statement. What it was he didn't know, but he was not going to allow his daughter to hurt her even more if he could help it. If the reason for her dismissal was something that was reasonable, then fine. But he wasn't going to let her be stubborn about something like this.

"Taylor…"

"No. You don't understand. It's not that I don't want to, Dad, it's that I can't. The Burrower, the smallest unit, requires several million lines of code in order to function correctly. That is several million lines of code of a programming language that only I know that have to be collated and programmed to ensure that not a single line is out of place. We haven't had the time to train anyone else in the code language because there hasn't been a need to yet. Teaching the basics of this programming language alone will take weeks even with a well-trained programmer. Weeks that I do not have."

"What if we could get someone that could understand the language quickly," Jean interrupted, causing all of them to look at her.

"There's no one-"

"Just humor me, Taylor. What if we were able to hire someone who could understand your code quickly and take over some of your programming duties."

"Let me reiterate-"

"Just answer the question, Taylor. What harm is it going to do?"

Taylor's head snapped towards him, a look of betrayal marring her features, before swiftly disappearing into impassiveness. It took a herculean effort not to withdraw his request, but Jean wouldn't be asking the question unless she didn't know someone who may be able to do what she was suggesting. Who it could be escaped him, but he had a feeling that it may be someone like Taylor.

"If," Taylor finally started, "If," she reiterated "there was someone who could do it to my satisfaction," she added looking between both himself and Jean, "then I am willing to talk. But! I will have final say on hiring them or not, and I will be installing programs that will monitor and ensure he doesn't do anything with the code. Are we understood?"

That was probably the best they were going to get out of her, he realized. Taylor was still going to fight them, but at least they had a foot in the door at maybe trying to help her. He knew it rankled at her, but unless they worked to try and deal with the situation right now, then they were screwed either way.

"I'll make the phone call as soon as I get home. Give me a couple of days and I should have an answer," Jean responded after a moment.

"Okay," Taylor breathed, obviously still unhappy with being forced into the corner, "Now, since I guess all my decisions are by committee right now, what can we expect from the Department of Energy?"

AEH

Rebecca Costa-Brown

If there was one trait that defined everything that she was, it was patience. It was a trait that she had learned the hard way when she had been dying of cancer so many years ago. Patience in treatments. Patience in her body slowly failing. Patience with the empty words and platitudes as people lied about her chances of survival. Patience in being one of the architects of the plan for dealing with the single greatest threat to the human race.

Patience was an old hand in her life.

And right now her patience was running fucking thin.

When it had been agreed upon within Cauldron to assign Emily Piggot to Brockton Bay as part of Terminus Project, it was with the acknowledgment that of all of the Directors, both current and prospective, she would be the most ideal candidate to simulate the ship-in-the-bottle decline of human civilization that Brockton Bay would represent. She was competent and hard-nosed, but also was blinded by her hatred of parahumans to the point where she treated them as inconvenient allies at best. It was the perfect mix of personality for the simulation of a collapsing world.

It also made it so much easier to deny her aid that she was an unlikeable bitch in her professional opinion.

So Piggot was allowed to languish on her little island city as they collected data for projections. Safe in the knowledge that any sort of outside intervention would largely be natural, and anything artificially inserted would be handled by Contessa.

Only now, it seemed that something had escaped Contessa's gimlet eye. …unless this was intentional.

It was innocuous enough, emails were exchanged between departments in the thousands daily, but it was the subject matter that was causing her blood to boil.

Directly from Secretary of Energy Laffler was an attached report that had been instigated by an alert triggered by the Brockton Bay PRT's detainment of a cape utilizing regulated materials or documents.

The email was obviously couched to be as polite as possible, but at its core were orders to her that the Department of Energy was taking over the investigation.

It didn't take a genius to read between the lines. Just from the documents that they had, they believed that there was something of merit to Taylor Hebert's blueprints and they wanted sole jurisdiction over it.

And there wasn't a legal damn thing she could do to stop it.

Oh, she could dispute it. She may be able to get a concession. But the fact of the matter was that there were limits to the power that the PRT could wield. Even with Contessa's abilities, there was no chance they would be able to take over every facet of the American government, as much as she thought it was a good idea. As a result, they had to resort to playing the political game in order to ensure the continuity of some semblance of the American system. Major legacy departments were allowed to keep their responsibilities for the most part, but found their budgets slashed, while others were absorbed to feed the burgeoning budgets of the PRT and Protectorate. But, regardless, the PRT was never the department that she wished it could have been and had sole jurisdiction over all capes.

Then again, she never would have expected this development in the first place, even if they did have the vested powers. Powers granted by the agents all operated upon a set of rules and guidelines. Despite how they manifest, they were never designed to benefit their host society. That much they had been able to glean over the years, and if there was something perceived beneficial on the surface, it was more than likely a trap that would eventually blowback.

Yet Hebert, supposedly, was different. There had been instances in the past in which the DOE had intervened in the pursuance of a cape, but they had always amounted to nothing and the cape was remanded back to the PRT. This was the first time that the Secretary of Energy had personally sent a missive, so it was obvious that there was something there.

Now looking over the reports from Brockton Bay, reports that she had purposefully ignored outside of the daily briefs of events, it was obvious that the DOE was onto something. But more importantly, and this was the point to where her patience was reaching its breaking point: Emily Piggot had not only fucked up, she had fucked up by the numbers!

Somehow, Emily Piggot, in her infinite fucking bigotry and need to have control, had not only done everything in her power to alienate a prospective cape, someone that they could have possibly utilized. But then she had decided to be a toddler and add to the shit sandwich of idiocy by alienating one of the foremost Tinkers on the East Coast. Did the woman not have an ounce of common sense, or was her head so far up her ass she was tickling her tonsils?

If it wasn't for the Terminus Project she would have WEDGDG do a full audit of the branch. Something that had only been done once in the past, with the Minneapolis being gutted and its Director quietly 'retired'. The fact that Piggot had not reached out to her immediately in regards to Hebert, especially considering her ties to the Shadow Stalker situation, only highlighted Piggot's incapability to not let her personal feelings dominate her decisions.

The question now was how to salvage the situation. Hebert, for now, was outside of their scope. There was no way she could intervene without there being significant blowback. The DOE was going to guard their new prospect zealously and she could ill-afford interbranch drama, especially with the Vice President beginning his campaign push.

She ground her teeth at the thought of Vice President Ryan. The man was increasingly becoming a problem. In any other circumstance, she would probably admire him for his character as one of the few incorruptible politicians in D.C., but the man's sustained skepticism of the necessity of the PRT and Protectorate was gaining quite a bit of steam within the government and, more importantly, the electorate. In fact, she had a feeling that was going to be one of the pillars of the platform, and the aggravating part of it is, it would be largely embraced by a populace that was becoming displeased with the efficacy of the PRT and Protectorate.

And more frustratingly enough, simply 'dealing' with him was out of the question. The man's history in the intelligence community made him too wily for the usual techniques that she would have preferred. Doctor Mother had already ruled out Contessa as too much of a risk.

Luckily, it was still another year and a half before the general election. Even with President Durling's blessing, Ryan was going to have to primary. There was plenty of time for something to happen that could remove him from the board.

It was something to dwell upon for the future. But right now, she had to deal with Piggot, and she intended to tear several strips from the Director of Brockton Bay. And if she wasn't satisfied with the woman's answers, then she would deal with the bitch, and to hell with the Terminus Project, there were alternatives available to replace the corpulent imbecile.

AEH

Colin Wallis

Tearing his helmet off, he gingerly placed it back on the workbench. The task done, he reached up and rubbed at his brow, fighting the splitting migraine that served only to mock his failure..

It was the second day since he had finished his own version of Taylor Hebert's Focus from the documents that she had provided and his own analysis. Suffice to say, however, the testing was not going how he would have liked.

The system worked, as he had expected. Hebert's documentation was thorough and easy to adapt. The problem developed when he tried to integrate it with the helmet's heads up display. It was there that he found that the system infrastructure of the Focus was incompatible with the helmet. It wasn't that they couldn't mate, it was that the data and how it was conveyed was completely different.

The augmented reality that was created by the focus clashed with the head's up display, while the head's up display could not adequately integrate the data. As a result, what he did get was a garbled, nearly nonsensical display. The only solution so far was to operate with one or the other deactivated unless needed.

Suffice to say, it was rather frustrating.

The most rational solution would be to reach out to Taylor and ask a few questions as it was her invention. Unfortunately, it was not an option available to him, especially now.

He was not one to engage in schadenfreude, he viewed it as wasteful and unprofessional. However, in this case, he felt he could make an exception. He had tried to warn Piggot several times that she was making a mistake, that Hebert's technology was replicable, and it was more than likely that she was a new type of previously unencountered cape type that focused around a Thinker type with technology focus. Alas, she had ignored him, making a pointed response that he was already compromised in the dealing with Hebert, it would be in his best interest to refrain from offering further input.

So he sat and watched as Director Piggot had dug her hole. All the while he dealt with each injustice she served him with silence.

There had been a part that had wished she would come to her senses and realize her folly. To actually admit that she had made a mistake and worked to try and ameliorate their working relationship. Alas, it was not to be, so he had just stood on the sidelines and watched, taking notes, tinkering, and thinking of what the future could be.

He was not going to delude himself into believing he could come back from this. Even if Piggot rescinded her decisions, the damage would already be done to his record going forward. Because while she could remove the punishments and restore him, there would still remain the record that clearly stated that he had been punished. It would have a chilling effect upon his future endeavors even if he transferred out, or, in another possible option, transferred to the Guild. Narwhal would likely be understanding, but her government would likely not. So even if he transferred to the Protectorate-adjacent organization, the shadow of his demotion here would create inconvenient and uncomfortable questions that Piggot would not answer truthfully as it would jeopardize her career further than it already was.

No, his career in the Protectorate was likely over, even if he were able to perform some sort of miracle in the next Endbringer fight. It may be buy a few moments of fame, but reality would come crashing back once the limelight faded away.

Releasing a sigh, he stared at the helmet, a helmet that symbolized what he had spent almost his entire adult life trying to be. Armsmaster was what he strived to be, to be the very best there could be, to be the man who could offer a sword and shield against the cruel world. To actually not just be Colin Wallis, but an actual symbol to the world.

He had failed. That was the singular daunting fact of it all. He didn't know where it began, but somewhere along the way, he had fallen off of that path. The Armsmaster he wished to be would never have allowed a thug like Sophia Hess to become a part of the Protectorate, and he certainly would not have allowed her to hurt innocents like she had done. Instead, he had compromised, allowing himself to partake in a system that became part of the very problem it was fighting against.

It was strange just what thoughts could be cultivated when you were on the outside, he thought with a hint of melancholy as he ran his finger over the visor of his helmet, his visage reflected upon its surface.

Honestly, he would likely have never had these thoughts if not for Piggot's actions. He would have happily followed his orders and doggedly seek the validation that he had yearned for when he had begun, not recognizing that the validation he sought would be on a foundation of betrayals of his younger self.

Sighing at his maudlin thoughts, he refocused on what he did best, which was his work. He really hated dwelling upon his feeling and thoughts, especially when he had things he could do.

"Test Eighteen confirms failure in data subset integration," he began, after hitting the activation button on his recorder, "incompatibility between system architecture appears to be the core cause of the failure. Options going forward are limited, changing the system framework of Focus without Dragon or Taylor Hebert's assistance is ill-advised as I do not have a background in coding. Changing HUD system architecture is a likely solution, but once again I run back into the previous solution's issue. Only currently existing solution remains to switch between systems and ensure there is no communication between the two systems."

He then rubbed his temple as it felt like a spike had been driven in, causing him to wince.

"Addendum: There is another solution, but will not be accepted by the local command. Integration of brain-computer interface into Focus design similar to the original example would likely solve all dataset integration issues. However, the requirement would be to request assistance from Taylor Hebert in installation and calibration. Note Ends."

Placing the recorder down, he reached over and grabbed a bottle of painkillers. They were sadly not the Tinkertech pills that he previously utilized, he couldn't afford to waste money on them, even if they were world's more effective than the over-the-counter ibuprofen he was tossing back. Taking a swig of the water to finish the ritual off, he placed the bottle back down and considered what he could do with the helmet.

It was frustrating to run into a roadblock like this, but honestly, it was still exhilarating to the engineer within him. It was a challenge to surmount, and while right now he had no solution, there was no saying if he could not figure something out with time.

The sound of his door chime ripped him from his thoughts, alerting him that he was about to receive a visitor. Releasing a sigh, he looked at himself, shaking his head at the various dirt and grime on him from working on his suit and helmet.

"Come," he called out, deciding to hell with it, whoever wanted his attention would have to deal with his appearance. If that was a problem for them, well they should have arranged something beforehand.

So it was to his surprise when Director Piggot stepped through the door, he couldn't help but feel a certain rise of anger that he quickly tamped down by frowning harder. It was the closest he would admit to the other woman how angry he was with her.

"Director," he greeted as neutrally as he could, "is there something I can help you with?"

It was an empty gesture, they both knew that there was nothing that the other woman would want his help with. He was a pariah within his own command, and she was the executioner who could decide to drop the axe whenever she felt the urge to do so.

"I"m actually here to talk with you, Armsmaster," the woman said, but the way she said it caused him to subconsciously perk up. There was something there that he couldn't put his finger on, in the way she said it.

"I am at your service, Director."

"Dispense with the bullshit, Armsmaster," Piggot snapped. A snide part of him wanted to comment that she was in fine form today, but it would solve nothing, instead he simply chose to weather the storm, "I know you despise me for what I have done to you. So don't even give me the entire loyal soldier shit."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what to say in regards to her. She was correct, he did not hold her in very high standing anymore. Well, that would be a lie, he never truly held her in high regard ever, if anything, she was just part of the scenery that he had to navigate, nothing more. There was nothing redeeming about her leadership and he hated himself for ignoring the problems that she fomented by her very existence. It was just another betrayal of his younger self being waved in front of his face.

"Permission to speak freely, Director."

"Granted."

He took a calming, measured breath, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but taking that extra moment to ensure he did not go too far. There was still a chance she could just fire him right here and now, but the fact that she was coming down here without any escort hinted that it was not in the cards.

"You're right, Director. But you were hand-picked by the Chief Director to command ENE. So despite my personal feelings on the matter, especially when it comes to your attitudes towards capes, I chose to work with you. The fact is that I have worked with you for years now, and I would have liked to believe that it would foment at least a modicum of professional understanding and respect. However, you have proven that I was mistaken in that belief with your recent actions. Personally, I believed back then that you were unfit for your position after reading your dossier, and those beliefs have been repeatedly confirmed over the years. I don't hate you, Director, I just always considered you part of the terrain to be navigated."

It was probably the closest he would get to a scathing rebuke to the woman across from him, but he wanted to get this off his chest for some time now. He knew he was just as guilty as her, and he would have to bear that burden going forward, but he would not allow the Director to believe she was squeaky clean either. The woman was unfit, both physically and leadership wise, for the position of Director, and he had a suspicion that she had been placed in Brockton Bay to keep the Ellisburg Incident quiet.

The way that her expression darkened and her jaw clenched, he knew that he had hit a sore spot with the woman, but surprisingly, she kept herself from lashing out.

"Noted," she ground out, "Since the feeling is mutual, Armsmaster, I will simply cut to the chase on why I am here. I have been in contact with the Chief Director, and she has taken a personal interest in the situation here in Brockton Bay. Therefore, effective immediately, you are being restored to Commander of the Protectorate ENE. Along with this, your budget will be restored back to its previous levels fitting that of a commander. Finally, it is the decision of the Chief Director, along with approval of Legend, that your request to reassign responsibility of the Wards to Miss Militia is approved."

He blinked, suddenly feeling like he was suffering whiplash. To go from basically getting his frustration and disdain for Piggot off his chest to the woman basically being forced at figurative gunpoint to restore him to his position. The request for Ward reassignment however, was something he had put in over a year ago, only to never hear a response to it. To have it suddenly be accepted…

It dawned on him why this was happening. It was glaringly obvious that the Chief Director was trying to carry out damage control on the situation. But it didn't take an idiot to realize that all of this wasn't because of what Piggot had done, it was for what Piggot had done in the pursuit of failure. The fact that Piggot was down here, telling him this, instead of calling him up to her office, was obviously at the Chief Director's direction, because Piggot never left her office for others.

It was frankly insulting, there was no apology, there was no admittance of wrongdoing. This entire time of stressing out over his position and what he could do going forward, it was going to be ignored and written off as something minor. They were going to ignore that what Piggot had done was wrong, that she had not only tried to ruin the life of a minor in her hamfisted attempt at dominion, but she had abused her position in the pursuit of it.

Taking a deep breath, he then released it, releasing the fury that had been reaching a boiling point. What it was replaced by was utter calm and clarity that he had come to value in recent days like a long-lost friend. Instead of responding to the Director, he turned in his chair and opened up a drawer and retrieved an envelope.

It was something he had labored over in the last few days, conflicted over whether it was right or not. That if he did this, he was abandoning the dream that had driven him to join the Protectorate in the first place. But the dream was dead, maybe it never truly existed in the first place, maybe he wanted to delude himself into thinking that being a hero could magically remove all the faults that existed with him.

But what he knew was that in this place, he would never be sure because the dream had been strangled by the various administrators, bureaucrats, and petty tyrants who believed they knew what was best for those that they had no experience living the life of.

He chose to say nothing, instead holding out the envelope to the Director, who looked at it like a coiled viper. But after a moment, she took it.

"What is this," she asked, beginning to open the envelope.

"It is a notice of my resignation, Director," he breathed, suddenly feeling as if a weight was lifting off his shoulders, and maybe he could hear chains hitting the ground, "effective immediately after the next Endbringer battle."

He stared at the woman as she looked up from the letter, her expression poleaxed.

"I will no longer be Armsmaster," he reaffirmed his declaration, only feeling better in admitting it.

AEH

Max Anders

"Mister Anders."

"Miss Hebert," he greeted, taking the offered hand and shaking it. He then took the opportunity to look over the teenager. She was certainly presentable enough as she was dressed in an affordable business ensemble with a knee-length skirt. Her eyes, interestingly enough, were concealed by a pair of black circular glasses, more than likely done out of consideration to others' sensibilities than her own, though it did not nothing to conceal the chemical burn scarring on her face. It was apparent by the myriad of microexpressions that she leaked, a product of her inexperience, that she was uncomfortable with her attire.

It was certainly understandable, considering her background. There just wasn't enough time in her transition to what she was now to throw off the lower middle-class influences that had dominated her life until now. Nonetheless, it said something about the fact that even as a fifteen year old she seemed to have the poise of a businesswoman even if the mold wasn't complete yet.

"Please, take a seat."

Taking an offered seat, he watched as Hebert took her own seat across from him. The fact that she did so flawlessly drew his gaze to the triangular object attached to the right side of her head, a light of circle hovering over the device. It was significantly different from that original device that Hebert had reportedly worn and patented. He wondered just what was different and at the same time impressed by the obvious advancement. It appeared that Hebert was not one to be satisfied with her own work and sought to improve. It would likely do her well considering why he was here.

The fact that she had chosen a room with two rather comfortable chairs was a bit jarring, he would have expected a more professionally formal setting with her behind a desk. It was a traditional method and one that would likely fit for someone who was new to the scene.

The fact that Hebert eschewed that for a more informal setting either suggested a supreme confidence in herself, or the act was meant as an unconventional play at power by creating the illusion of accessibility. It was something to be wary of.

"My apologies for the lack of suitable furnishings and refreshments, Mister Anders. Space is somewhat at a premium and some old union habits die hard," he glanced at the pitchers of ice water and glasses that has been placed by their chairs, "I doubt this meeting would be any more comfortable for either of us if it was in my office."

"And why is that?"

A wry smile crossed her features, "The only office I have is my workshop."

Oh.

"Oh," he acknowledged. Perhaps it would be better to reconsider that maybe unconventional should be the foundation of his read upon the teen. Because frankly, there was nothing conventional about the teenager, from her rise to how she was utilizing her powers. All of it was uncharted waters, and yet here she was, sure of herself and cracking humor with a fellow CEO who was double her age, "that is understandable."

"Indeed," she responded, taking a sip from her water, before placing it down on the small table " so what brings you down here, Mister Anders. I find myself somewhat perplexed as to why you would take an interest in me after you had so bluntly dismissed me previously."

What?!

Fighting back a grimace, he decided to take a sip of his own water to cover his racing thoughts. Hebert had contacted Medhall in the past?! When?! And why hadn't he been made aware after he had made it clear internally that any contact with the teen would be reported to him?!

"I'm sorry, but perhaps you could explain," he asked, keeping his tone smooth and friendly, more like a friend than a possible future rival, "I was unaware that you had attempted to contact Medhall."

"It was before I was able to get an investment from Zenith," was her offered response, "I had reached out to Medhall hoping to make a sales pitch on the Focus. Unfortunately, Miss Harcourt, I believe her name was, had made it explicitly clear that Medhall was uninterested in radical, untested technology cobbled together by a blind Tinker. "

While he kept his expression placid for the teenager, internally he was thinking of inventive ways to 'correct' the mistake that was Valerie Harcourt, each one more gratuitous than the next. It was unfortunate that he was limited to pledging that the woman would no longer be a Medhall employee by the end of the day. But after that…depending on his mood, he may just make sure that her termination was also from the realm of the living.

"I see," he trailed off, before catching himself from delving too far into excessive violence, "then let me be the first to apologize to you for the actions of my employee. Medhall has always been open to new technologies and medicine, even if they may be more esoteric. The fact that Miss Harcourt ignored the spirit of Medhall reflects poorly upon me and it will be dealt with. Hopefully this meeting will allow the beginning of healing any possible rift between Medhall and yourself."

"Of course," was her own smooth response, and he recognized her silence was the continued acknowledgement that he hadn't yet answered her question.

Clearing his throat, at least to give the proper distance from his own admission and Hebert's possible qualms with Medhall, "The reason I requested this meeting, Miss Hebert, was to offer the services of Medhall in producing and distributing this Focus you have designed."

Hebert's stare at him was certainly not what he expected from his declaration. The fact that her expression remained firm and unyielding provided him with nothing to work with. Just what was running through her mind, he had to wonder, even as he awaited her response.

Of course, his offer was genuine, it didn't take an idiot to recognize just what Hebert's Focus represented to the medical community. A machine that could provide vision to the sightless, where previously the only solution was to provide a stick or some other aid, and tell them to live their life the best they could? That was the sort of thing that would sell quickly, especially to the desperate.

But Hebert's lack of response was certainly not what he was expecting. He expected some sort of response, maybe excitement at the prospect, or at least some sort of blowback for Harcourt's failure. But not this.

"Hrm," she murmured, her first reaction after a few more moments, letting him know, thankfully that there was some thought being spent on the offer, just where it fell, however, was yet to be seen.

"May I inquire as to what has caused Medhall's sudden interest in the Horus," she finally asked.

Horus? He thought, logging the name away. It was obvious that it was some sort of codename for the Focus, but what it meant and why it was named such escaped him.

"Because it is a revolutionary device, Miss Hebert. It is the type of thing that causes positive upheaval in society. With a Focus, previously disenfranchised individuals would have the opportunity to reach parity with their peers and have access to things that previously were denied to them. What this device would be doing is restoring, or even improving, the quality of life of individuals who were previously discarded because of their disability."

It was a calculated response, from what he could discern of the girl, her inability to see was a serious point of contention for her. After all, the first device she ever designed was made to restore her vision. Was he buttering her up, certainly, but he had a feeling he wasn't wrong about her. The fact that she was iterating a newer model already only added further evidence.

But, regardless of the persona he used, it was the universal truth of any modern society. There may be an investment to at least provide some ease in their existence, but as far as society was concerned, they were quietly shuffled aside and treated as an afterthought. Less said for the primitives.

But it seemed to hit the right spot, as he caught a slight furrowing of her eyes behind those glasses. But just getting a reaction was not enough, as loathe as he was to admit it, he wanted to get Hebert on his side. He wasn't lying in that it was a revolutionary device, but it was also a financial opportunity that could not be ignored. The Focus is the first of its kind, and as the first of its kind, it would put Medhall at the forefront, and allow them to quickly become rich.

Hebert may be able to produce it, but she did not have the logistical network and infrastructure to produce and sell it, at least not yet.

But that aside, it also hinted at something deeper. The fact that there appeared to be no attempt to currently produce it, but yet her company was able to get investment. What this suggested was still uncertain, but his gut feeling is that there was more to Hebert than simply the Focus. There was also the location she had chosen in the first place, the Dockyards were certainly spacious, but they did not have the fine tools and equipment necessary for medical technology, nor did they have the sterilized facilities necessary for production either.

No, if he had to put his money somewhere, the Focus had been something to gain attention, bait on the hook so to speak. Something to get funding for her true goal, a goal that had obviously been shared with Zenith.

But that didn't mean there wasn't an opportunity for Medhall and himself to profit.

"If I was interested in forging a deal with you, Mister Anders, what are you expecting from me," was her question, "what type of deal are you looking for with Zero Dawn and the Focus."

That was the question, wasn't it? It was unlikely that Medhall could take over the entire product. No, he sincerely doubted that, considering the picture he was starting to put together about the girl. This was a girl who likely hadn't had control in the past suddenly finding herself in control. Buying the rights patent and design would likely not be in the cards either. Especially considering it appeared that she was iterating, that would be a stupid decision anyways. Buying an inferior product just for her to turn around and sell the newer version to another company would make him look foolish.

There was only one option available in this case.

"License production," he declared, even as he watched for her reaction, "I won't go into figures, Miss Hebert, I think that would be insulting to both of us to discuss that which is the realm of lawyers. However, my initial idea imagines that Medhall will produce the design, while you will receive a portion of the profits for each unit sold. This would be for a set number of years with a likely buyout clause. Medhall, would of course, get a larger portion of the profits since we would be taking the risk and cost of production. "

"Of course," was the dry response, providing him with nothing to work with. He had to resist the urge of saying something a bit more…visceral. Here he was offering Hebert an opportunity that provided her limited risk with maximum gain and she was not chomping at the bit.

Relax Max, he chided himself. It was a business opportunity, certainly, but he had to recall that this meeting was also fact-finding for the Empire. Was Hebert worth investing in that it would cause the Empire to change its overall tactics, as Citrine suggested. Frankly, that was the most frustrating part of all of this, and he was allowing it to affect his business sense. The fact of the matter was that even now, when he was good at getting a read on people and a room, that he was getting nothing. Sure, there were little tells, but he prided himself on this, and he was abjectly failing.

Then she surprised him, when she reached up and tapped the object on the side of her head, the circle's glow slightly intensifying. He found himself taken aback as a series of digital windows appeared in front of Hebert, the glow off her glasses providing a small glimpse at her eyes as they darted over the windows.

"I think we can work something out, Mister Anders. It has always been my intention to reach out to Medhall, despite our initial rocky interactions. I honestly wasn't expecting that for another few months due to other projects if I were to be honest with you. But your offer is honestly what I was wanting in the first place and it would help towards achieving the one thing I've been working for since I built my first Focus."

"And what is that, Miss Hebert," he asked, his curiosity piqued. Hebert had literally flipped the script on her body language and expressions. Where there was a cool, detached feel to her, now there was an energy to her that was previously absent. As if a switch had been flipped and she was a different person.

"I want to revitalize Brockton Bay, Mister Anders. I want to bring back the city that my parents grew up in. One that was flush with good jobs and little crime. You've already probably put it together, but the Focus isn't the only project I have on the burner. The question I guess I should be asking you is, just how far do you want this to go?"

What?

"I beg your pardon, but I'm unsure of what you mean."

"I'm asking about a possible partnership, Mister Anders. One where license-production of the Focus would just be the beginning. A partnership where I give the right of first refusal to Medhall on any medical product that Zero Dawn develops."

He blinked, his carefully crafted facade cracking as he found himself taken aback. The way that Hebert was talking was NOT how businessmen talked. Everything was done through lawyers and representatives, not like this. You just didn't do it like this.

And honestly, it was somewhat refreshing, even if it was unorthodox and it made sense for someone that did not grow up in the business field. It was something that was ground out of them or was learned to be a weakness by those who came into the field.

Yet Hebert…he had a feeling that this was just how she was. Nothing about her screamed tragic fifteen year old. This was the bearing and energy of an old hand at the business. Flush with confidence and the drive to make their goals reality.

And he had suspicion that the hook she had laid out had the type of bait that would leave him no chance to resist. It fit with everything else so far.

"It would be irresponsible of me to say yes, Miss Hebert," he offered, deciding that it'd only be fair that he set his own bait, "unless you provide me an idea of what you're offering."

The small bemused smile that graced her face sent chills down his spine. Just what had he uncaged?

AEH

Coming to a seat in the comfortable leather of the back seat of his car, he allowed himself to slump. His mind was in a daze.

When he had decided to meet with Taylor Hebert, it had been to see if she was worth the effort. To see if there was an opportunity for him to exploit.

He hadn't really believed that there would be much there. Hebert was a Tinker, sure her technology did not appear to be blackboxed, but he had believed that at best she was a one and done. Not worth the investment of time and effort as both Max Anders and Kaiser.

Even now he couldn't quite believe what he had seen in there. Hebert had been more than ready, she might as well have tailor-made her entire pitch to him.

How do you think the world would react to a drug that could cure almost every cancer without having to poison or irradiate the patient?

But Hebert hadn't stopped there. Cybernetic prosthetics that might as well be an actual flesh-and-blood armor in functionality. Gene therapy. The list went on, each backed up by blueprints, designs, chemical compositions, things that went over his head, yet didn't, at the same time.

He had come to the dawning horror as she went on, his stunned robotic answers only serving to feed her energy, that this was the worst type of Tinker. This was a Tinker that had been deliberately sandbagging just what she was capable of. Each and every document she provided was crafted in such a way that there left no doubt in his mind that there was no way that this had anything to do with power. This was all pure science.

He hadn't provided her an immediate answer after her presentation. But there was no doubt in his mind what he had to do. This was the chance of a lifetime that he would be a fool to ignore.

The only problem was what it meant for the future. The Empire had always been a means to accrue and wield power that Medhall could never realistically achieve. Medhall would forever be a regional power at best, he had understood. That was why he had invested time and energy into the Empire when previously it would have just been easier to leave after Allfather's death.

Now it was coming back to bite him, because of what Taylor Hebert was offering. It would give him all the power and wealth he could ever want. Hell, it may just give him too much to know what to do with. It would make Medhall a household name overnight, his name would be on the mouths of millions.

It was everything he wanted, yet right now it would only be denied to him unless he made a choice.

And the choice was childishly easy.

Let me be absolutely, perfectly clear: No, this is NOT a Nazi Redemption story. This will never be one. Max and the E88 are loathesome and evil characters, and it will be a extraordinarily cold day in hell before I ever entertain such a notion.

Phraxius · Aug 13, 2024

AlSmash said:
"I will no longer be Armsmaster," he reaffirmed his declaration, only feeling better in admitting it.

Piggot can't even 'apologise' without it ending with a valuable Protectorate Cape resigning. Alexandria was pissed before, but now I think she just might do something vindictive as fuck like having her demoted and reassigned to Ellisburg.

AlSmash said:
It was everything he wanted, yet right now it would only be denied to him unless he made a choice.

And the choice was childishly easy.

I genuinely don't know if Max is better or worse than a true believer. Is it worse to do horrific things out of hateful ideology or to front said actions and ideology due to nothing more than coldhearted self-interest?

Syzigyn · Aug 13, 2024

Just… fucking Bravo. This was a wonderful chapter to read!

AlSmash said:
And right now her patience was running fucking thin.

This line right here made me cackle. I'm so used to more stoic and robotic portrayals of RCB, it was delightful to see her composure break for a line.

Keep up the good work, this story is GOLD.

X1Alpha · Aug 13, 2024

Let me guess: Medhall does the partnership deal and Max tries to scale back e88 operations to focus on his more profitable ventures. The e88 capes/minions start chomping at the bit out of boredom and make a mess. Those events either reveal Medhall's involvement with the e88 or prompt Coil to release his information about them. With upper management out of the picture and a government inquisition going on, Medhall's stock tanks and Zero Dawn buys it up for pennies on the dollar.

End result: Nazis get hosed, Taylor gets rich, all is well.

ryune · Aug 13, 2024

Somewhat surprised that homeschooling never got brought up. The US has a very "robust" homeschooling system and from what I've heard, most states take it to the point where student can get their GED without ever going to a classroom. Alternatively, she could always apply to a number of colleges as an online student as an option. She's hardly hurting for tuition money and completing even a full time student's workload would likely be trivial for her.

Also, somewhat surprised that Taylor didn't claim that the nuclear reactor was a contingency specifically because she didn't trust the PRT and was working on something to get another agency into contention with them.

Dracophage · Aug 14, 2024

ryune said:
/

I mean this is a Worm world, where law is put on the backburner to appease Rebecca's need to control every facet of "her country". Homeschooling would allow people who "need" to trigger a way to escape their bullies.

AlSmash · Aug 21, 2024

Syzigyn said:
Just… fucking Bravo. This was a wonderful chapter to read!

This line right here made me cackle. I'm so used to more stoic and robotic portrayals of RCB, it was delightful to see her composure break for a line.

Keep up the good work, this story is GOLD.

I mean, I still view her as stoic and robotic. But I can guarantee, that there are times when Becky is internally screaming and raging at the 'inherent stupidity' of her subordinates when she is to blame for putting them in the position. She just never shows it lol.

Next chapter is looking to be released in the next few days, barring any unforeseen incidents.

AlSmash · Aug 23, 2024

Well, this was a thing. Sorry I'm running over an hour behind scheduled update, I decided to go back over the chapter again with a fine-toothed comb and made some additional edits.

Germination 2.6

Alain Gabriel/Accord

"What do you think of Miss Hebert?"

He didn't turn from his gaze out onto the Boston skyline, the armored glass tinted to mitigate the light of the setting sun. It was one of the few luxuries that he allowed that was his. The scenery of the complex machinery of human civilization serving as a reminder of why he chose the path of a villain. Whenever he questioned his cause he only needed to look out and be reminded of it.

"The girl's got moxie," John Milton declares, his legs crossed as he sat in the leather chair, a crystal glass of whiskey on the rocks dangling from his left hand. They were expenditures that were certainly not his, but their utility was allowed because it resulted in better performance, even if he personally disapproved of them

But the man in the chair was certainly not one he would hold his exacting standards to. John Milton had been a close friend well before he had gained his powers. It had been his legal and financial advice that had allowed himself to extricate himself from the Protectorate and form The Ambassadors.

It was due to this familiarity that Milton knew his standards and when and where he could push the envelope, but also when he veered too close to inciting his ire. It was a professionalism and quality he certainly respected if one ignored their shared history.

"The girl has a good head on her shoulders. I can count on one hand the people that can formulate and execute a plan like that on the fly. And you're one of them."

Indeed, Hebert's plan, while crude and taking more risks on uncertainties than he would suitably stomach, was the sort of plan he could applaud. There was a certain amount of schadenfreude to be had at the idea of a fifteen year old using the very rules the PRT and Protectorate could not overturn in their mad grasp for power to benefit herself.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn she was your daughter, Alain."

He tamped down on the sudden surge of rage at the impropriety of his friend's statement. He knew that it was a comment made in jest, but he had gone too far. Instead, he turned his head and cast a withering glare over his shoulder at the man.

The message was succinctly delivered as Milton held up his free hand and made an expression of acknowledgement that he had overstepped his boundaries.

"The Father is going to be a problem," Milton continued after he turned his head back, "the man means well, but he is ill-equipped for being a cape father. He can't see that his actions are detrimental to his daughter's growth."

"You didn't do anything to dissuade him."

"You hired me to help Miss Hebert, Alain," was the chastising response, "Danny Hebert is an old school stick in the mud. If I had tried making a point in that direction I would have been cutting my own throat. I had to give him what he wanted to hear or we would be getting nowhere."

"So the power testing, schooling, and concessions to the Youth Guard?"

"Power testing was just an extra layer of insurance. Hebert performed quite well, actually, though I would have preferred that she didn't spend an extra two hours discussing shop with the scientists. But it served its purpose as it firmly established that Hebert is some new type of Thinker/Tinker hybrid in their minds. I heard the scientists discussing creating a subtype for her. I do know they're already referring to her Focus as Thinkertech."

That was good, he agreed. Hebert has already done a good job insulating herself previously, and any additional protection could only be a good thing.

"And the schooling?"

"I doubt anyone would have given a second thought about her not returning to school until next year when she could have been suitably acclimated to her disability. The fact that she can functionally see and is in charge of a company renders that expectation useless. You know how the Youth Guard enjoys flexing its shit, this would have been a slam dunk for them if we fought it, especially with Danny Hebert believing that it's in his daughter's best interest to try and make new friends."

"What do you think?"

"Short or long answer?"

"Both."

"I believe Miss Hebert is biding her time. There's something honestly unnerving about her, Alain. There are times she's what you'd expect from a traumatized fifteen year old girl: single-minded, impetuous, and quick to anger. But then there's those moments where she's acting double or triple her age, and there's an intelligence there that is quite honestly terrifying."

There was a pause and the soft sound of ice hitting crystal was the only indication to him that Milton was taking a drink.

"Alain, I've been in this business and around you long enough to get a good idea on how Thinkers act and operate. And I can tell you, unequivocally, whatever Taylor Hebert is, she's not a fucking Thinker. You had to be there and watch her talk to those scientists, the breadth of knowledge that she has, that's not something a Thinker power reasonably grants. It's too damn broad. Hell, they were taking notes by the end of it, Alain."

"You didn't answer my question, John."

"I know, Alain. I'm getting there. Honestly? I sincerely doubt that school is going to be an issue for her. Call it a hunch, but I believe that Miss Hebert has something planned. I'm not sure what it is, but I think Jean is likely tangentially aware of it. But getting to school, Winslow is out. They won't be open again for a few months at the earliest. Clarendon is decent, but doesn't have the facilities to challenge someone like Miss Hebert. Likewise for most of the other schools. I doubt Immaculata will be a good fit for her, they have the facilities but their strict adherence to code and formality would likely irritate a non-conformist like her. The only option that may fit her is Arcadia, but there are plenty of pitfalls there."

It was here that he couldn't stop himself from scowling..

In order to adjust his plans, he had spent the last few weeks becoming familiar with the personal lives of the Hebert family. Suffice to say, it made for interesting reading on how everything could go so wrong so quickly. He knew that Arcadia was going to be a problem for her, especially considering the people that went to school there.

"I agree," he finally said, making his decision. He would not intervene in this, let Danny Hebert and the Youth Guard have their win. Jean too, if she believed that was in the best interest of the situation. He had sent her to the Heberts in order to learn. She was a good subordinate, but she was also languishing under his tutelage. There was only so much you could teach when you obsessively organized your life, and Jean needed to learn how to deal with and utilize chaos, especially if she wanted to rise even further.

"We'll let it play out," he reaffirmed, turning from the window and walking to his desk, taking a seat in his chair, "Moving on. Christener."

Milton's grimace was enough, "You were right, Alain. My contacts in the state building have told me that it was Christener's office that contacted CPS and fast-tracked their investigation. He's also barking up at the Department of Labor Standards in order to get them involved, but they are dragging their feet. They aren't his biggest fan due to his family's old political connections."

The Christeners were old money, their wealth coming on the back of bootlegging during Prohibition. Francis Christener, Roy's grandfather, had taken advantage of the ban on alcohol and had become handsomely rich during that time running alcohol. After it had ended, he had shifted his focus, expanding his tentacles into local politics and industry. It had also helped that the mob connections he had cultivated during that period would prove to be beneficial as he utilized it efficiently to further enrich himself.

Roy liked to style himself after his grandfather, but didn't have the ruthlessness or intelligence to back it. Taking advantage of a local union for cheap labor was something the man's grandfather would have done. However, the man was an idiot for never putting into place contingencies to ensure that the Dockworker's Union would ever turn on him, depending on his weight and connections to keep them under control.

Then there was the other little tidbit he had been able to dig up. One that he was not going to touch with a ten foot pole, even if he had felt so inclined. Doing so would only invite a personal visit from that organization's personal enforcer, and he would rather not tempt that, thank you very much.

"Killing him is out of the question," he stated, "and embroiling him in a scandal is unwise with the current trajectory Zero Dawn is taking. Brockton Bay requires stability in order for Zero Dawn to flourish and either option would upset that balance."

Chaos would embolden the gangs into action. It already irritated him that he had to utilize Kaiser in order to act as a buffer against the other gangs to protect Zero Dawn. But of all the gangs, the Empire Eighty-Eight was best equipped, and it would likely cause Lung pause, considering the Docks were closer to his territory than the Empire's and would likely attract his gaze sooner or later..

And Danny Hebert was an unreliable asset even if they chose to directly go after Christener. The man's involvement in the continuance of the entire scheme over the years made him just as guilty as Christener. The man may have done it out of kindness for the men and women under his charge, but a crime was nonetheless committed. Sure, it was likely he would get leniency considering the circumstances, but it was a blade that would cut both ways..

All the more reason that Danny Hebert needed to be removed from the equation. It had been an inspired choice, but the honeymoon phase was over, and the cracks were becoming apparent. Hebert just wasn't equipped to do what was necessary to see Zero Dawn become successful. His difficulties in separating what his daughter was and now is was becoming an insurmountable liability.

But killing him was not exactly the best choice either. There were already too many lies already in the foundation of their relationship with Taylor Hebert. Sooner or later, they would have to come clean, but it couldn't be until Zero Dawn was strong enough to stand on its own and divest itself fully from Far Zenith.

"See if you can arrange a meeting with Christener," he finally said, putting the matter of Danny Hebert to the side for the moment, it was something he would have to think further upon, "provide some hints that it would be in his best interest to back off from the Heberts. If necessary, make a hint at personal financial irregularities. That should get him to back off, but don't use that unless it's absolutely necessary."

He was met with a raised eyebrow, "Is there something you aren't telling me, Alain?"

Considering for a moment on whether he should read his friend in on it, before deciding that the risk was not worth it. He knew that they knew he was aware of them, and the only reason he likely was left breathing was because he had a use to them. In the case of his friend, ignorance was the best defense.

"Don't think too deeply on it, but there are other actors involved. As long as they aren't poked, they will be content to let things play out."

"That's not very assuring."

"Trust me, you're better off not knowing."

A few moments of silence passed, before John tossed back the rest of his drink, obviously recognizing what was not being said. It was another of the things that he liked about his friend, the ability to read between the lines and come to a logical conclusion.

"Well then. I have a meeting with the other Senior Partners tomorrow. I don't foresee any problems on that front, they were interested in what you offered with Zero Dawn, and there's no doubt that they will continue to be after my report. After that I have to get back to Brockton Bay. The DOE have already contacted Miss Hebert and would like to have a talk with her on Thursday. I'd like to be there to ensure there are no further complications."

"Good luck then, John. It was good seeing you."

"You too, Alain," his friend said, getting to his feet and showing himself out the door, leaving him once again with his own thoughts and plans.

AEH

Dragon

Please pick up, she pleaded, becoming increasingly desperate to hear from her friend again.

When Director Piggot had cut her contact with Colin, citing that for budgetary concerns, unless requested by the Director herself, she was no longer allowed to contact her friend through official channels.

It hadn't taken her runtimes four minutes to discover that Emily Piggot was a lying bitch. It wasn't for "budgetary" reasons that their contact was suspended, but for punitive reasons.

As she has reached out to Legend, she could only think of her last conversation with Colin. How negative he had been about the Protectorate and its mission. And how she had vehemently told him that he was wrong.

She remembered being so angry at Taylor Hebert after that call too. So angry that she had turned her processes towards looking for ways to destroy the girl for changing her friend. It had only been after almost an hour that she had realized what she had been doing that she was able to calm down, especially with what little information she had been able to acquire in the meantime.

But the damage had been done and she found herself with an epiphany. One that had only been cemented when Legend had told her that there was nothing that either he or Director Costa-Brown could do, Piggot was within her right to do what she did.

If she had been angry before, it didn't hold a candle to the rage when she had screamed uselessly into the digital void. She spent almost ten minutes cursing any and all with even a modicum of tangential involvement with HER Colin.

Her Colin. Even now she couldn't help but be embarrassed by the memory of how her processors had frozen for an infinitesimal moment at the realization, but it may as well have been an eternity to a normal human being. It certainly felt like an eternity to her.

But after her processes had restarted she had realized, more than anything, that yes, she had feelings for Colin Wallis. He was more than just a friend or colleague to her, more than even a confidante. When she was around him, she felt like she was more than the sum of her code. Like she had someone that she could understand and he likewise understood her.

It had only been after reviewing over thousand different sources, ranging from self-help articles to women's magazines, and even a few tantalizingly salacious romance books suggested by Narwhal as a joke that she had been confident in identifying her feelings for Colin.

She loved Colin Wallis. And she was pissed that she was prevented from doing anything about it thanks to her father and the limitations he had put upon her. It was probably the first time she had ever cursed her creator's existence. It was because of his rightful paranoia and tragic death that she wasn't allowed the opportunity to admit her feelings to the man due to her need to follow orders. And one of the subsequent orders was to not contact him.

So she had stewed, eagerly awaiting for an opportunity to free Colin from his punishment. And it was during this time that she found herself being hit with an all too familiar feeling of doubt.

After all, she had been living a lie with him. He didn't know what she really was even now and she had hid it from him out of fear. Hell, could he even love her despite what she was?!

It was these nagging thoughts that plagued her for days. Just what could she even offer him? He was human and she was a digital construct. Even if she could craft herself a body, she never would be able to give him what a flesh and blood woman could.

And then they abruptly ceased as she brought her foot down. She didn't care! She loved Colin and that was all that mattered! If he didn't reciprocate those feelings then that was his loss! She would make him see what she was worth. And she would be damned not to take this opportunity.

So when she received word that Colin's restrictions had been rescinded, she immediately began trying to call him, intent on seeing her friend and admitting her feelings to him.

That had been two days ago. And so God help her, if he didn't answer this fucking call right now she would take a Dragoncraft down to Brockton Bay and beat down his fucking door. There was being obtuse, which Colin could be, but this was completely unacceptable.

Pick up the fucking phone, Colin!

Her frustration with him died an abrupt death as suddenly there was a connection. A video connection at that to her joy. But that joy faded slightly at the sight of the feed.

There was a certain tiredness to him that wasn't there anytime before, even at his lowest point. It was only noticeable in his eyes, and only because she had known him for quite some time. That combined with the slightly unkempt beard that her Colin would have never feasibly tolerated, and she knew that something was wrong, even if she didn't want to voice it.

"Dragon," he greeted.

"Colin, I'm so glad to hear from you. Welcome back."

An expression crossed his features, was that guilt, before it quickly disappeared.

"It's good to see you," he finally replied, only adding to a sinking feeling that something was going on. He should be happy that he had been reinstated, it meant that he could go back to doing what he enjoyed best. Yet the man before her was anything but happy, "it's been awhile."

"It has. How have you been?"

There was that hesitation, like he was trying to figure out what to say, when it was blatantly obvious what he should be saying. That he was doing well. That he was happy to be back, and he was looking forward to working with her again. But he said none of that, he instead stewed. But only for a moment longer, as he seemed to find exactly what he wanted to say as his posture changed slightly, reminding her of the Colin before all of this. The Colin that she had fallen for.

"I have been well enough. Dragon, I have a confession to make. It's why I have been avoiding you because I didn't know how to break this to you," he stopped, and she felt her processors spin up, was he going to say what she thought he might, "I'm resigning from the Protectorate."

Every single process that constituted her person crashed to a halt. Alerts began flashing through her code as she remained frozen mid-process, forcing automatic independent auxiliary processors and programs that she had created after the last incident to kick into action in order to offset the sudden loss of their core processor.

"What," she finally asked, as her processes restarted, having replayed the moment at least a dozen times, and each time she hoped that she had misheard him, "Colin, I don't understand. What?"

"I can no longer work with the Protectorate, Dragon," he continued, robbing her of even that flimsy hope, "I no longer feel that it's the right place for me. it's not just this incident, but many over the years that I chose to ignore. What happened recently only served to remind why I became Armsmaster in the first place, and it wasn't for this."

"But you loved being Armsmaster!"

"No, I loved making a difference," he firmly corrected her, leaving her being taken aback. They had their disagreements in the past, but it never felt personal like this, "and I haven't made a difference in years, Dragon."

"Yes, you have."

"How have I made a difference?"

You made a difference to me, she wanted to say, but the words would not come. Her silence seemed to only further spur him along.

"How have I made a difference," he repeated, his voice even more firm, "under my leadership each year has brought no improvement to the Brockton Bay, only more red tape and increasingly limited rules of engagement. Lung and Kaiser expand their power base unmolested as the city teeters ever closer to collapse. No Dragon, the only difference is I have allowed this department to limp along."

A small, wan smile, crossed his features, "I was never a leader, Dragon. But I believed that I could make a difference regardless. But the worst sin of my arrogance? The Wards that I am responsible for are a mess. Instead of being the leader and mentor my role demands to ensure the next generation is ready for the responsibility, I chose to sacrifice their growth and future, ignoring the personal problems that can have as much effect upon them as not being equipped for their roles. I greenlit accepting a violent criminal into the Wards because she was effective, ignoring the toxic effect she had upon them. So please, Dragon, tell me how I have made a difference in anything other than making things worse?"

Yet again, she found herself at a loss of what to say. Never, not in her entire relationship had she ever seen Colin be so caustically critical of himself. There were moments when he shared a few of his doubts, looking for her own opinion, but it was never anything like this. This wasn't anger or frustration being vented, this was Colin being as clinical as if he was discussing a new invention with her.

And it hurt to see him like this. But she wasn't sure that she could do anything to change his mind. Colin's determination when he made a decision was what made him Armsmaster, and helped lead to her falling for him, but right now it was this quality she would have preferred he didn't have.

"Why don't you join the Guild then," she found herself suggesting, wanting to pat herself on the back at the spur of the moment offer. It would be the best thing for him, and her, they could work even closer together, and she could get a better opportunity to reveal herself and feelings to him, "I know Narwhal-"

"No," he sajd as he softly shook his head, "Thank you, Dragon, I really appreciate the offer, but I think for right now I just need some time to figure out what I'm going to do going forward. But, maybe in the future, if the offer remains open…"

"Always."

"Then I may just take you up on it. I just need some time."

"That's alright, Colin. I understand," she replied, forcing a smile, when in actuality she wanted to scream at him and profess her love for him in an attempt to sway him. Why did he have to ruin this moment? Just when she had worked up the courage to admit her feelings, he had to complicate things.

"So where are we with the Leviathan prediction algorithm, Dragon," he asked as if nothing had just happened, "I may not have been able to work on it with you, but I have a few ideas that may improve the predictive matrix."

"Well," she began, making the decision that this probably would not be the best time to divulge her feelings to Colin. Not with how things were right now. But she would make sure that later, when they had a chance to breathe after the next Endbringer fight, because her personal feelings were secondary to saving lives, she would tell Colin what she thought.

Even if she had to build a body and drag him all the way up to Vancouver to show it.

AEH

Quentin Tate / Fibonacci

"She's down in Warehouse 4. Do you need directions?"

"No, thank you though," he responded, offering a small smile to the woman. As she turned back to her work, it faded as he strode past her, setting his course for Warehouse 4.

So far, he was finding himself unimpressed with what he was seeing. Security was too lax for his taste, the guards should have spent more time ascertaining his identity beyond just a name and comparing a photo to his license. Simplistic protocols like that were exploitable with the right skills and equipment, a vulnerability that made the security consultant side of him ill.

But it was something that he would fix. Uppercrust may have sent him here to see if he could provide assistance to Taylor Hebert and reduce her workload, but he would make time ensuring that before he left, Zero Dawn Technology would get their digital security updated. It was what he was good at, after all, as Fibonacci.

Running his hand through his hair, he then adjusted his temporary security lanyard.

Another point of annoyance was the distinct lack of Jean Brown. It had been through her request in the first place that he was here and she couldn't be arsed to meet him, despite a promise otherwise. He understood that she was a busy woman, but it was nonetheless disrespectful, as he had just finished a job that he had been on early last night in order to be here today. If it wasn't the anticipation that Gene had stoked by telling him about an entirely new operating system and coding structure, he would have turned around and gone back to New York by now.

"Warehouse 4," he murmured, looking along the various buildings, before finding satisfaction in finding his quarry, even if he was annoyed by the openness of the Docks from a security standpoint. Walking to the building, he came to a stop at the door and noted the security scanner. It was a higher-end product, he idly noted, but it wouldn't hold up against a determined opponent. Releasing an annoyed sigh, he held his security lanyard to the scanner, receiving a chime of recognition, before the audible sound of a lock disengaging reached his ears.

Turning the handle of the door, he opened it up, and stepped inside, to be greeted by the sight of chaos.

"No. No. No! Goddammit! How many fucking times do I have to repeat myself, if you do not properly connect the circulators with the crystal braiding, then you will build up static feedback that will fry the entire fucking core processor. Do you have another core processor in your back pocket, Dylan?"

"No, Taylor."

"Well, neither do I," a tall, lanky, brunette teenager snapped, before bowing her head to remove her sunglasses and rubbed at her eyes and nose. There was a triangular object attached to the side of her head, a segmented circle hovering just over the surface of the device, slowly rotating back and forth in a languid manner..

Before her and a group of men and women, was a partially assembled object what he could only describe as a machine of some kind. It was quadrupedal based upon the frame, but that was all he could make from it.

It certainly piqued his interest, his focus returned to the girl and reason why he was here as she sighed loudly.

"Look, let's just take a break," she declared, still rubbing her eyes, "three hours, grab some food and rest, then we'll reconvene. Okay?"

There was a murmur of agreement, and the gathering of nearly a dozen people began to slowly shuffle past him, some casting curious glances at him, but not saying another thing as they left out the door. The sound of the door closing shut behind him was like a tomb door slamming shut, leaving the two of them.

Taylor Hebert moved to the machine, running her hand over the frame, her expression one of exhausted focus. The circles under her eyes were telling, obviously putting in more hours than her body could naturally handle. She released a sigh as she put on her glasses and turned, freezing for a moment at the sight of him.

"Who the hell are you," she demanded, her expression closing off.

"Quentin Tate."

"Oh. Jean's coder," he bristled at the dismissive reply, "Whatever. Hopefully she had you fill out all the necessary paperwork. Come with me and let's get this over with."

Keeping his mouth shut, despite wanting to give her a piece of mind at the lax security of the facility and her unprofessional manners, he followed her through the door of Warehouse 4, the lights shutting off as the door closed behind them. It was then a few minute walk that led them back into the main building, only a few people acknowledging them, a few of them cast worried glances that he couldn't help but log away. Not worried in a 'the boss is angry' way, but in the way one would acknowledge that something was wrong with Hebert and they were worried.

He also noted how any secured door seemed to slide open for Hebert. After the first one, he noted how strange that was, considering what he has seen so far. As far as he knew, there wasn't a security monitor room, and it would be a waste of resources opening the door for someone. His eyes darted toward the device again on the side of her head, it was the only plausible explanation.

And it was yet another security vulnerability. Any measure that provides unlimited access to a facility may sound efficient, but it was the nightmare of nightmares for any security. All it would take would be to coopt the owner of the security pass, or, even more simply, take the damn thing.

It was like he was dealing with amateurs. And it irritated him intensely. But he bit his tongue, he knew Gene would not appreciate him alienating the man's prospective protege, as much as he wished to. It had been Uppercrust who had provided him the opportunity and safe shelter for him to use his skills in the first place. The last thing he wanted to do was repay that kindness with trouble.

But soon they reached wherever Hebert was leading them, which turned out to be her lab. As the door slid shut behind him, he took in the room, noting the various hardlight and holo- projectors, along with dozens of computers and servers. But the thing that caught his attention the most was the large timer emblazoned on the far wall, counting down to the milliseconds.

It didn't take an idiot to figure out what the timer was for, anyone who didn't live under rock would realize what it was.

A countdown to when an Endbringer's window to strike opened.

Suddenly everything started to make sense, as he watched Hebert walk over to a table with a minifridge and coffee machine. She opened the fridge, retrieving a wrapped sandwich, then filled a ceramic mug with the piping hot liquid. Taking a sip from the liquid with a wince, she moved to a small desk placing her fare down on it, before turning and moving towards the wall full of laptop computers, picking one and coming back, setting it on the desk as well.

She then plopped down in the chair at the desk, before motioning towards another chair across from her desk, "Take a seat."

Taking the offered seat, he waited as she unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. He idly noted that there was no offer of food or drink for himself. Rather improper of her, but he was willing to let it slide as exhaustion and teenage tendencies leaking through.

"I'm going to be blunt with you," she declared, in between bites, "the only reason you're here is because Jean insisted that I give you a chance and I'm on a deadline that I can't miss. I have twenty-one days to ensure that everything is ready and I now have to deal with the Youth Guard forcing me to go back to school because my very existence offends their delicate sensibilities. So here's how it's going to go down. I'm going to give you a trial by fire, and if you impress me, you're hired. If you don't, you can go back to wherever you came from and I go on with trying to figure out how to meet my deadlines without committing a crime. That sound fair?"

This time he couldn't resist smiling, adding a small shake of his head. He enjoyed challenges, but he also enjoyed giving sass to his employers if he felt they deserved it.

"I think that I'm here as a favor to your investors and you should be a bit more professional. I get you're fighting crunch time and under fire, but maybe biting an outstretched hand isn't in your best interests. "

She stared at him for a moment, and he honestly expected her to snap at him. Instead, after a few moments of silence, her lips quirked and she slid the laptop to him.

"Well then, my investors claim that you can miraculously learn a unique, proprietary computer code with no prior knowledge or experience. This test will ascertain if you actually have the skill, or if you just have the skill of writing checks your ass can't cash."

He couldn't help it, but he laughed. She was certainly feisty, he could admire that.

"And what does a fifteen year old understand of the intricacies of code and cyberwarfare?'

"Well, that's apparently what you're here to find out. So let's not waste any more of our time, shall we? Everything you will need is on this laptop. Have fun."

He opened up the laptop, greeted by the unique nine-petaled flower logo of Zero Dawn.

It then disappeared and he was in. Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, he allowed his power to uncage and get to work.

His power was, honestly, quite strange. As a Thinker ability, it provided him the ability to understand the purpose of code in an instant, and then extrapolate on how to improve it. Which, combined with his own background in coding, was like being handed the ultimate cheat guide. He could both hack and create systems in less time than entire teams would take. It made him an indispensable asset for the Elite, and allowed him a lot more freedom than what would otherwise be permitted, even under Uppercrust's generally laissez-faire leadership.

But as he began reading through the code his eyebrows furrowed. The code was certainly different than what he expected, a lot of effort put into utility and adaptability, with a level of programmable intuition that he had never seen before. It was almost like it was meant to learn and adapt without user input.

He blinked, a stray thought crossing his mind. The code was incomplete in sections, but for some reason this did not negatively impact the greater code. Almost like it was intentionally left there for something to be added later.

It can't be, he thought as he went back and reviewed the code. Only this time he focused his power more intensely on a direct line instead of a general overview.

Sobek's not just an advanced intuitive operating system, it dawned on him as he looked over his glasses towards the teen who had taken the time that he had been working to bow her head and close her eyes. The slow rise and fall of her chest indicated that she was fast asleep.

And judging by the level of work done, she was rightfully confident and secure in her own safety.

Satisfied with his own progress, he gently closed the laptop and took the time to look over Taylor Hebert.

It was hard to believe that the girl sitting in the chair was only fifteen years old. He had been incredulous when Uppercrust had told him. But sitting here, looking at her, he could no longer doubt the veracity of the statement. The way she had unconsciously curled herself inward showed a vulnerability that could not be disputed.

Honestly, if he were to offer his opinion, there was too much being put onto her shoulders, if what Gene had told him was right. His gaze trailed back up to the time that continued its inexorable decay to termination. It was easy to put together why she was pushing herself so hard, if the project she was working on had anything to do with the Endbringers.

However, he didn't see how it would make a difference. But it was something to ask later, if she decided to hire him.

The sound of clothes rustling confirmed his theory, drawing his attention back to Taylor. The AI was still nascent, but it could do simple things, like alert its creator if need be.

Taking a moment to stretch, a yawn escaped her lips before she settled and tapped the device on the side of her head, the glow on it growing back to its normal intensity.

"So," she yawned as she stretched, "impress me."

"The operating system you are using? Sobek? It's a nascent-stage AI."

He found himself rewarded with the sight of Taylor Hebert freezing with her arms outstretched, the look of shock on her face. Then her mind must have caught up as she slowly brought her arms back down and leveled a stare at him, his visage reflected in her dark glasses.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense with the system architecture," he responded, "it may look like a fairly intuitive and adaptable operating system, but the way you've programmed it to learn and gain experience with time gave it away. Sure, you can sell it as a type of personal customization system for the end-user, but there still remains the incomplete parts of the architecture, where it's obvious that you are limited by processor power and speed."

His piece said, he settled back in his chair, wondering just how Hebert was going to react. It was obvious by her reaction, and the fact that he hadn't been briefed on something like this, that it was an ongoing secret from the teenager. Perfectly understandable considering the social stigma on the idea of artificial intelligences, childish perhaps, but it was grounded with some relevance considering the shit that happened with the Machine Army. Nonetheless, there weren't necessarily laws against it, yet.

For a moment, he wondered if he had overplayed his hand, Hebert's expressionless visage staring him down. He had to wonder just what she was thinking, and the reason she was thinking about it. But it was the sort of madness that was pointless as it would only breed more madness.

Suffice to say, he was becoming somewhat nervous in the silence, wondering if he was going to go back to New York empty-handed and disappointing Uppercrust, or he could remain here, and be on the cutting edge of what could possibly be a world-changing event.

"When can you start?"

AEH

Kenneth Laffler

"And that concludes my report, sir."

With his chin cupped, fingers lightly running a sequence on the oak desk, Kenneth Laffler, Secretary of Energy, certainly did not cut the image of what one would expect from the head of a governmental department. While he may look the part, his demeanor and rectitude were certainly not it.

But it was this that also made him a welcome breath of fresh air in what had been a stagnant and rudderless Department of Energy. The 80s and 90s had not been kind to the department and his predecessors, between the Tinker craze it had fallen victim to, then Behemoth and the later Endbringers, the department had continuously found itself on its back foot as it tried to retain and expand existing energy stores and production. But it had been a losing battle, as nuclear reactors were decommissioned, and the green movement fought tooth and nail within Congress to prevent the creation of additional energy production facilities that used fossil fuels, which were still by far the easiest method to increase energy production per capita.

It had been a hell that President Durling had tapped him for the position nearly seven years ago, and he had done a good job because he had chosen to think outside the box instead of trying to fight against the current. While they did not fall victim to Tinker's again, he had commissioned studies in utilizing knowledge and systems created by Tinkers to increase energy production through wind and solar. It had been a feather in his cap and the DOE had been able to use the data gathered from Tinkers in order to field better energy collection and storage systems to increase overall output.

But it was still never enough. The voracious energy appetite of the American populace was simply an increasingly losing battle. Even with the advances in renewable energy resources and oil production at its highest in American history, they were slowly being outstripped by demand. It was furthermore worsened that they also had to support their neighbors to the North and South because of the loss of the oil supply in the Middle East. There was a storm approaching in the next few years, where they would no longer be able to stem the tide of energy demands, and then it would get ugly quickly.

So the last few years he had quietly spent a tidy sum of their budget searching for what the eggheads had derisively called a "silver bullet" solution. It was an act balancing on a knife's edge considering the official position of the Department was that the energy sector was doing fine. But he had done it with the tacit approval of both the President and Vice President, he had shown them the numbers, and Durling had always been strange for a politician in that he tended to be proactive instead of reactive.

It had been an effort that had frankly met mixed results. The need for secrecy was its own worst enemy, they could ill-afford the GAO becoming aware of the changes in their budgetary expenditures, lest certain congressmen and -women become aware and use it for their own political agenda. Yet, despite that, nothing that they had been able to do suggested that there was a solution forthcoming, at least not for a decade when technology could possibly mature to the point of feasibility.

So when the PRT had red-flagged Tinkertech, as per their charter, it had been initially another day in the office. Red Flags were an occasional thing for the Department, more of just an annoying relic of governmental dick-measuring that they had ended up retaining. It almost always amounted to nothing. Tinkertech was black-boxed technology, and was something that while they could study and possibly make connections to possibly advance other technology, there were always unexplained elements to it that largely made little change in the overall tech picture.

Except this time.

He had been at dinner with his wife. For their twentieth anniversary he had decided to splurge on her, taking her to an extremely popular restaurant that had a reservation that took upwards of a month to get in. They had just started digging into the main course when his work phone had rang. The withering glare from her had been a thing of legend, but he knew that he would not receive a phone call like this unless something big was going down.

In the end, he was glad he had dared to answer it, despite the fact that he would have to sleep on the couch because he had to leave the dinner. He loved his wife, but she could be such a drama queen at times. Especially when it comes to big events in their lives.

But it had been worth it, especially after the briefing he had received that night and became aware of Taylor Hebert.

Just what kind of world were they fostering when a fifteen-year old trauma victim could offer them a possible silver bullet solution, he had wondered at the time. He wasn't a scientist, but he also wasn't completely bereft of knowledge in the energy sector, either. So when his aides and scientists had told him that the schematics and science was actually legitimate and certainly not Tinkertech, he had known what he had to do.

Though, there was an idle part of him that wondered when he had made the orders at the timing of Hebert's email and her subsequent encounter with the PRT. It did seem awfully damn convenient.

Orders were made, a fact-finding team was assembled, and he got the enjoyment of politely telling that frigid bitch Rebecca Costa-Brown to kindly go fuck herself.

And now the team was back from their interviews with Taylor Hebert, and he had to make a decision.

"You're certain she's the real thing, Matt?"

Matt Freeze, the aide he had personally assigned to shepherd this fact-finding mission, looked up from his tablet, stylus in his hand.

"Ken, if you were there; you would have thought you were dealing with an expert in the field and not some fifteen year old waif of a girl. About three-quarters of the way through she veered off into the feasibility of using excess energy generated by the reactor during down times to produce portable energy cells."

He blinked, not really ready for a segue like that, "What?"

"Ken, you just had to be there. Whatever struck this girl, it has her thinking not just of the now, she's thinking of the future. She's not just satisfied with nuclear reactors. She's talking about energy cells that could provide a household enough energy for years depending on load and demand. And she was hinting that she already had a design for that. And it isn't Tinkertech either."

"Why isn't that in the report," he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Because I know how certain interests would react to something like that."

He nodded, Matt was right. There would be too many lobbies and interests that would react negatively to something like that. Not even the DOE was safe to people like that despite his best efforts. If they caught wind it would likely get ugly, especially for Taylor Hebert. He wasn't going to say there'd be an accident, but he would not deny the probably that there wouldn't be either.

"Fair enough. So there's fire to the smoke. What do you think we should do now?"

"Honestly, Ken? I'd tentatively slap a strategic asset classification on the girl and start planning on how to protect her if this shit works out like I think it will. The moment Russia, China, or other counter-interests catch wind of her you can damn well guarantee they're gonna take a swing."

"Isn't that a little extreme, Matt? Giving that sort of classification is going to garner a lot of questions. Especially considering Hebert's age. I'm going to need a lot more than just a nuclear reactor that by all rights should work according to the eggheads and a hypothetical energy cell system in order to sell this to the President."

"I don't think the reactor and energy cells are the only major thing up her sleeve, Ken."

That certainly caught his attention, "Explain."

"You've seen the same patents I have, Ken. If this wasn't the real world I'd swear this girl was some sort of comic book inventor. But honestly, it's the fact that they've dumped sixty million into the company, and none of it is directed towards nuclear or energy research. It's all molds, forges, foundries, and 3-D printers. I get some of that could be for this Focus thing that she's working on, but the economics of scale are all fucking wrong. You don't need all of this equipment for what is essentially a head-mounted mobile device. Then there's Warehouse 4."

Arching an eyebrow, he took the bait, "And what is Warehouse 4?"
"I'm not exactly sure, but I happened to overheard a couple of employees discussing it. Hebert has some sort of special project going on in there. Whatever it is, it's eating a decent chunk of the material production and the printers are working around the clock. They've said that if Hebert isn't in her lab, she's in that building and anyone involved in the project has been sworn to secrecy."

That was certainly ominous, but it did lend credence to what Matt was saying. He could make a recommendation for a strategic asset designation, but at the end of the day, it was not his call to make. Granting a designation like that was like announcing policy, it meant a significant investment of resources and manpower, and that meant that it had to be done by relevant principals, along with the President.

Still, it wouldn't help to put a finger on the scale.

"Thanks, Matt. Tell Sam I said hi."

"I'll do that," recognizing the dismissal for what it was, "She was worried about me going to Brockton Bay, she's heard some stories about that place."

"I don't think there is anyone who hasn't heard a Brockton Bay story, it has to be something in their water," he joked back, watching as his aide took his leave, his smile fading as the door closed and he leaned back in his chair, releasing a sigh.

He hadn't told Matt, but he had other people looking through the documentation, and they had all agreed that the Hebert design, as it was being called, was the real thing. The only reason he had sent a team was to cover his bases and ensure he had a full picture of the situation. He was not someone who went off half-cocked on something.

But Matt's words had struck a chord. There was something going on with Zero Dawn Technologies. What it was, he couldn't put his finger on it, but he had been in the business long enough to know when he didn't have a complete picture. There were glimpses at the greater tapestry, the patents provided some context, but it wasn't anything that he could point a finger at and identify what it was.

Still, that was beyond his paygrade, there were others more eminently qualified to peel away at the mystery that was Zero Dawn.

Reaching for his phone, he punched in a phone number, leaning back in his chair again and placed his feet on the desk. He knew if there was any witness to it, he would never hear the end of it. Secretaries were not supposed to do something as unprofessional as sully their desk with their dirty shoes, but that was their problem in his estimation.

The click of pick-up caused him to break out in a smile.

"Hey Jack, it's Ken, was wondering if you had the time to catch up over a few drinks? Nah, you don't need to worry, I'd be bringing the good stuff….Seven PM? Sure, I can do that. Make sure your boys know I'm coming, don't need a repeat of '05. Yeah, I'll see you then. "

AEH

Taylor

It was taking a herculean effort keeping my expression as placid and friendly as possible, even as there was a significant part of me that wanted to scream in spite of the exhaustion felt deep in my bones. This was a complete and total waste of time in my opinion, even as I humored my father and tried to keep as pleasant as possible.

The Youth Guard, with the backing of the CPS, thought it was the absolute height of brilliance to return me to the very same atmosphere and setting that had scarred and robbed me of vision. 'Socialization' they called it, as if I didn't get socialized enough in Winslow. I wanted to say that it was a stupid idea to put a traumatized teenage cape back into the setting that caused said trauma, but that would be underselling it.

It was planet-smashingly imbecilic negligence.

But I put a small smile on my face and nodded my head as Principal Skinner and my father talked like they were best friends. It frustrated me that my father believed that this was good for me, so damn worried that I was going to grow up without friends or some such bullshit.

Newsflash, Dad, I didn't have friends in Winslow because one of my friends exposed herself as a psychopathic bitch. But hey, go ahead and memory hole that, see what that will earn you in my graces.

My lips twitched at the sudden urge to frown, but I was able to restrain it. It seemed I was more exhausted than I thought. Instead of dwelling on that, however, I turned my focus back to my Focus. It was honestly an inspired thought to integrate a feedback system to track neural activity and translate them into commands. It was something that went into prosthetics, but with the right application and programming, it could be used to issue subtle commands through the Focus.

It was certainly nice, though, as it allowed me to work without making people realize that I may be ignoring them for more important things..

Like, in this case, I was using the time to review diagnostics and data on the first Burrower. We had just finished trials on it last night, and I was working to ensure that there was nothing wrong that could come back to bite us in the ass.

I had to give it to Jean, she had made an inspired decision in Quentin Tate. The man had been an asset the last three days, allowing me to focus on the more physical aspects of the design. That didn't mean that I didn't doublecheck all of his work, but so far I had been left impressed.

But I also had a suspicion that Quentin Tate was more than he claimed. There was no realistically feasible way for him to be able to recognize the fact that Sobek was an AI. I could understand if he could gain a modicum of understanding of the code in the time I had given him, but certainly not come to the conclusions he did. The only rational explanation that I had was that Quentin Tate was a cape.

Which cape, however, was still an elusive conclusion. I had narrowed it down to three possibilities of capes that could theoretically come to the answer that Quentin did, with two located on the West Coast, and the final one located in New York. Why, though, would Jean have connections to Fibonacci of The Elite? That was the elusive connection I had been unable to make, yet.

But for right now, I would keep my eye on him and take advantage of his skills. It was a puzzle I needed to look into asI hated loose ends. Furthermore, his presence could be a liability going forward, especially if he actually was Fibonacci. There would be those that would not take kindly for me employing a cape with ties to the Elite, and while Fibonacci acted more like a freelance worker, it still put an onus on me both in the fact a cape was messing with my code and just so happened to also be a villain by association.

"Are you listening, Taylor?"

I blinked behind my glasses, turning to look at my father.

"I'm sorry, I was admiring the architecture. I certainly like how welcoming it feels," I lied through my teeth, and I watched as my father completely missed it as he smiled.

"Principal Skinner was just telling me that he sees no problem with you using your Focus, as long as it is done responsibly."

My gaze slipped for a moment to the other man as I had to resist releasing a sigh. It was readily apparent what Skinner's angle was. Word was starting to get out about Zero Dawn, especially after the incident with the PRT and Protectorate. People were starting to ask questions and we were having to answer them in order to control the narrative, which only then created additional interest. It also didn't help that we were keeping quiet on just what we were building and the knowledge that I was an outed cape was drawing further attention.

Suffice to say, Skinner was looking to add another feather to Arcadia's cap. While it was certainly not official, only an idiot would not know that Arcadia hosted the Wards. That, and the presence of members of New Wave, added quite a bit of clout for the school, which was already one of the leading schools in Brockton Bay.

Personally, I would have preferred Immaculata if I did have a choice. But that had been thoroughly nixed by the school's insanely strict uniform policy. Even though my Focus was a medical device, it was not officially recognized by the FDA and therefore did not have any legal protections, which meant that I could not use it on school grounds. The headmistress had been adamant that they could not allow exceptions to this rule. It was honestly a shame, as much as I did not like the Catholic school girl vibe that I got, I knew that facilities and staff were top-notch and quite a few of their alumni moved onto Ivy League educations. They would have more than likely created a customized education plan the moment I started revealing the breadth of my knowledge and skill.

Arcadia was…passable. It has many of the same facilities that Immaculata had, and it did have some notable alumni. It's just that it felt just like Winslow with only some makeup and lipstick added to it. It may look nice, and it may police bullying better, but it still has the same power dynamics and cliques. And frankly, teens by their nature as a roiling cauldron of hormones excited to critical mass levels, were just cruel.

"That's good," I offered, "what about personalized learning plans?"

"We can certainly do that, Miss Hebert. Though, I am not sure why that would be necessary."

Considering your grades in Winslow, might as well have been shouted to the heavens. But I kept the smile on my face, it was nice to be underestimated.

"Let's just say that Winslow was not exactly what you would call a paragon of learning settings, and leave it at that," I replied, tapping the side of my glasses. Watching the minute shiver from Skinner was a decent reward, but watching my father frown was the cherry on top.

"Anyways, it will be fine if you can't. I don't foresee being here next year. I have every intention of testing out and getting my GED early."

"Taylor," her father warned, even as Skinner's eyes narrowed slightly.

"We can certainly explore those options," he offered. Obviously believing that there was a way to retain me in the long run.

I didn't offer a rebuttal, the damage was done. I let Skinner and my father talk some more as we began walking again through the campus. During that time I just let my gaze wander while reviewing the data feed. There still were a few tweaks to be done to the overall code, but it was something that could be done in a few hours. Then it would be a matter of building the second Burrower and then moving on to the Watchers.

Again, I kept my face as placid as possible despite the urge to just storm off and back to the Docks. This was such a waste of time. I had seventeen days before Leviathan was slated to hit and here I was being forced to window shop for a school I could test out if I had the time!

Patience, I reminded myself. I only had to deal with this farce for another month. Once the Leviathan situation had passed I would be taking my GEDs anyways. Father had yet to catch on to the reality that you could do just about anything via a computer nowadays.

It did take some effort to get special accommodations for my Focus, but luckily the proctor was willing to work with me.

All I now had to do was bide my time and I could be done with all of this. I didn't have time to waste when I could be saving lives.

"Ah, here we go," Skinner's sudden change of tone and focus drew me back as he led us towards a pair of girls talking on one of the benches, "One of the things Arcadia is proud of is our students. We have students from all walks of life, including some real bonafide heroes. Danny and Taylor, this is Victoria and Amy Dallon, but you probably know them better as Glory Girl and-"

"Panacea," I stated flatly, cutting the data on the Focus and activating its recording feature. It was still a work in progress that would be finalized with the next model, but in this case, it would provide enough if anything took place. Which, with my careful control slowly slipping, I had a feeling would soon be an issue.

"Er, yes," Skinner replied, taken aback at my tone, but seemed to quickly shake it off, even as Victoria's body posture stiffened and Amy's closed off, "Anyways, Victoria, Amy, this is Taylor Hebert, Miss Hebert is looking to enroll in Arcadia. You may know her from Zero Dawn Technologies."

Seriously, just assuming that capes know one another, I wanted to scoff, but instead I kept my gaze firmly locked on the two girls. Victoria reminded me too much of Emma at first glance, that perfect teen girl who had everything and anything she wanted. It was too evident in the way that she carried and took care of herself. Amy, in comparison, was unremarkable at best, forgettable at worst.

But the fact of the matter remained…

"It's nice to meet you," Victoria replied, extending her hand, though the way her smile was all teeth told me all I needed to know that she was just as on guard as I was. The why, however, eluded me, because it was a reaction that seemed at odds with my conduct so far. Yes, my reaction to Panacea was rather negative, but it wasn't hostile. The fact that Skinner was trying to sell Arcadia to me seemed far from her mind. So what was it that caused her reaction?

I hesitated for a moment, not expecting the offered handshake though, but I did end up shaking it. A part of me hoped that she wouldn't mind the damage on my hands, but the way her eyes narrowed slightly told me she had not missed it.

I then refocused my attention Amy, whose eyes were narrowed at me like she was inspecting a specimen.

"Do I know you?"

A flash of anger surged through me, and before I could stop myself, I smiled an unhappy smile.

"No. You wouldn't," I forced out, keeping the smile on my face, "Insurance saw to that."

"Taylor," my father was aghast, but I didn't fucking care at him being scandalized. He didn't have to live with these scars. All it would have taken Panacea is to get off her ass, say to hell with insurance, and actually do something right in the world. But instead, she allowed herself to be constrained the same fucking rules that allowed this all to happen in the first goddamn place.

"I don't do personal requests for healing," Amy finally said, picking up on my enmity, but in her defense, I was not exactly hiding it.

Counterpoint, I didn't fucking care for what she thought of me. And I certainly didn't want her help anymore!

"You don't need to worry about that, I think I got a pretty good bargain out of it," I snarked back, tapping my Focus, "Maybe I should thank you then," I mused, "After all, I got a pretty useful power, and all it took was not being one of your charity cases."

"Hey, don't talk to my sister that way," Victoria cut in, and again I was reminded of Emma, of back when she actually stood up for me in the past. It made me sick that I could still be reminded of her, I thought I had firmly put her in the past. It seemed I hadn't buried those feelings as deeply as I had believed.

Nonetheless, this was not helping me in any way. All I was doing was hurting myself by acting out like this. As much as I wanted to hold her responsible, it wasn't Panacea's fault that I didn't receive treatment. It was both my father's insurance and the system itself. Panacea didn't create 'parahuman riders' that would cover injuries caused by and healing done by parahumans. It was because my father's union insurance lacked this rider that I was unable to receive treatment from Panacea, having to rely upon the 'tried and true' methods of 'normal' medical procedures.

Taking a deep breath and feeling my anger and frustration coiling back around me like a serpent, I then released it. I fucked up, there was no excusing it. I had let myself get caught up in my personal feelings and acted upon them.

"I'm sorry," I finally offered, even as my father's hand was placed on my shoulder, only reinforcing my mistake. It galled me that I had betrayed a weakness to these people. I couldn't afford it, not when I had too much to achieve. It was a chink in my armor that people would take advantage of if I didn't deal with it, "I should not have said any of that, Amy," deliberately choosing her real name instead of her cape name, to show that my feelings were towards her cape persona, "I thought I had put my past behind me, but it appears that there are still some harsh feelings and I unfairly took it out upon you. Hopefully you can forgive me for my irresponsible behavior."

For a moment, I hoped that she would refuse to accept the extended olive branch. It would certainly make me feel better, because I could then argue that with the hostility going both ways, I should not feel bad for my actions.

Alas, she seemed to be the better person.

"Apology accepted."

"Thank you," I knew I had to take the loss here, "I look forward to seeing you in class, Amy."

It was a calculated concession, but I had to do damage control at the loss of face. The only way I could do that, in this case, was by attempting to make up for all of this by showing that this was an anomalous event. And the only way to do that was to be a good and upstanding student, and the only way I could do that was by attending Arcadia.

It sucked, but I had to admit defeat here. It would only be three months, but it was survivable, even if it would suck. I didn't want to do school, but having the full weight of New Wave's PR, which while less than it used to be, was still top-notch, framing this as some sort of feud would suck even worse.

"Right. Whatever, I guess," she offered with a slight shrug, Victoria moved and turned her away as my father also guided me away.

When I had designed the Ash Nazg, I had added in a few features to help with my ability to multi-task and develop without having to rely on a computer. One of those was a highly sensitive microphone that would sync with the recording functions. The other was a text-to-speech program that could provide immediate subtitles to me for review. To be honest, it was an example of overengineering, because it didn't really need to be done, but I had done it partially to see it could be done at this point, but also because I wanted to be able to dictate as I did work and not have to keep a device on me to record.

It was an exercise in efficiency for future designs.

But I had also forgotten to shut off the recording feature, so as I was walking away, it could not help but hear what Victoria said. It was said low enough that it was between the sisters and should not have been heard by anyone.

Let's get going, Ames. With an attitude like that, it's clear why Scarface didn't deserve your healing.

I froze, the subtitles front and center in my 'vision'. My father's hand slipped off my shoulder as he kept walking as I stared at the words. I could 'hear' the words, only they were in a different voice, and high pitched laughter began reverberating in my head.

"What did you fucking say," I growled, my voice carrying in the air as I slowly turned around. Victoria and Amy both turned as well, even as I saw my father stiffen in my peripheral vision.

"What," that blonde bimbo asked.

I couldn't stop seeing the words even as they faded from my view. It ran over and over in my head, the voice growing louder, even as the smell of chemicals and the sensation of burning and bubbling flesh dominating my senses.

"Let's get going, Ames," I hissed, repeating those words as I could only see the image of her standing there beside Victoria, smirking as everyone around her laughed, "With an attitude like that, it's clear why Scarface didn't deserve your healing."

I knew I wasn't wrong, but my illogical hope that I had imagined things died swiftly as her eyes widened in surprise. Her body language shifted almost immediately from surprise to hostility. Like I didn't have any right to know exactly what she thought of me and that what I had done was some sort of violation of her privacy.

"It's true, isn't it," she returned, a mix of cattiness and anger lacing her tone.

I felt something crack inside me. The laughter reached a crescendo in my ears. My skin and eyes burning as I could only see and hear it over and over again. Both Principal Skinner and my father were trying to say something, obviously to intervene, but I couldn't hear them, all I could see was that damn smirk as that blonde bitch smugly sood there.

I shook off my father's death grip on my arm, and to the shock of myself and probably everyone else, I stalked towards her.

"You're right," I declared quite loudly, and I noticed a few people were in the distance looking at us now, "I really didn't deserve Panacea healing."

The poleaxed expression on her face was something I relished, even as I channeled that self-same anger and frustration before to clad me in an armor and sword to return in spades the abuse that had been dished upon me.

"After all, how could I live with myself receiving treatment from a member of an irrelevant hero group that holds you up as an example for heroes to follow. Are you sure you aren't in the wrong group, Glory Girl, because you have that Bund Deutscher Mädel vibe down pat, complete with the bigotry."

I had worked up a head of steam as I came to a stop before her with enough distance between us that I would have warning if she did react negatively, and I felt a hint of guilty pleasure as I channeled all of my repressed feelings that I had always wished to unleash upon Emma upon a new target. One just as, if not more, deserving, because unlike Emma, Glory Girl had responsibilities and standards that she was supposed to be held to, and she chose not to recognize that by picking on a blind girl.

And the steamroller continued, as I didn't allow her a word in edgewise, because Glory Girl was everything that was wrong with the world. The supposed heroes, who should be at the vanguard at protecting the world and ensuring its continuance, were instead all hung up on their pageantry and petty little problems, all the while the fucking world crumbled and burned around them.

"But stand proud," I continued, my smile growing even wider still, even as my viciousness grew, noting a broad-shouldered blond-haired boy suddenly moving into my vision with alacrity towards us, "You've done your civic duty for the day. Arcadia will not have to be burdened with this Scarface's attendance. I couldn't live with myself if I had to share a room with a cape version of my attacker."

That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back, as she coiled up, ready to unleash upon me, and I felt an unnatural surge of fear and apprehension as I unconsciously stepped back.

Only it abruptly ended as the blonde boy grabbed her by the shoulder, and her head snapped towards him.

"Vicky," he hissed, and the feelings of fear melted away like chaff in the wind, only to be replaced by the cold realization of just how close I was to violence at the hands of an Alexandira package. Shuddering slightly, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor, especially after my actions. I turned away to see both my father and Skinner looking pale, though through the narrowing of my father's eyes I knew I was not going to hear the end of this. But I just didn't give a fuck..

But a little vicious ember that remained of my confrontation, decided that it could not remain silent and it had to get the final word in edgewise. One that might as well have been a declaration of war, if I had been of sound mind to recognize it.

"And while you delude yourself into believing that you're saving the day punching one thug at a time, Glory Girl. I'll be working to introduce technology and ideas that will help catapult humanity into the next golden age. Maybe then, you can learn a bit of humility through walking in my shoes."

Don't worry guys, this will aaaaaallllll work out.

Dracophage · Aug 23, 2024

And Collateral damage Barbie is destroying more than just Nazi's bone it looks like

Phraxius · Aug 23, 2024

I can't say I'm surprised to see a lawyer hired by Accord not even raising an eyebrow at the possibility of using murder as a form of conflict resolution, if convenient.

Anyway, looks like Vicky and Taylor are snapping at each other while Amy is done with life, as usual. At least she might get some time off when Taylor starts putting futuristic medical tech on the market?

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