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?

AlSmash · Sep 17, 2024

Warning: The first scene is rather rough. It may hit some people's triggers, considering the subject matter. I won't go into detail, because it would give away things, but I'm just putting the warning out for you guys. It's short, and it will quickly be concluded, but nonetheless it is emotionally wrought.

I've also, upon further review, added a countdown to the story, so you can know where things are in the events leading up to the next arc.

Germination 2.7

Danny Hebert (T-Minus 17 Days)

The drive back home was made in complete silence. It was probably for the best, because he knew that if either of them said anything right now it would get ugly quickly. He didn't know if he could even put into words the fury and frustration he had for Taylor. If he had known what acceding to his daughter's wishes months ago would entail, he would have strangled the idea in the crib.

No, that was his anger talking. He would not have done something as cruel as that to her. Not when she had been so desperate back then.

But goddamnit, why couldn't she understand what he was trying to do for her? He had seen it so often over his life, men and women becoming so consumed with work that they sacrificed everything that made them human. And at the end of the day, all they had done was burn themselves out and be left with nothing. It had been a pitfall that had nearly consumed himself after Annette's death, and if it hadn't been for Alan, it may have finally pushed him over the edge.

He would never wish that fate upon his daughter. But she was adamant in going down that same path herself. He understood that she felt that she was on a deadline, but averaging four hours of sleep and working eighteen hours a day was not a healthy lifestyle whatsoever.

With school,he hoped she would be able to find a healthy balance. Yes, it would be difficult with what had happened, he wasn't an idiot to know that there was some baggage there. But he felt that a little bit of normalcy returned to her life could only be a good thing. The opportunity to make friends with her peers and be a fifteen year old girl for even a short while would be heaven-sent compared to whatever this was.

Though, he would have certainly preferred that process to be more natural than being forced from the barrel of a bureaucratic gun.

But the Youth Guard and Child Protective Services were right, even if he disagreed with their methods. Even ignoring her work hours, Taylor needed to have some sort of social life for her development. Schooling just happened to be the best option available, despite Taylor's protests.

Yet, here they were. Immaculata had been a bust, Headmistress Saunders was adamant that she could not offer an exemption for Taylor. It wasn't just the fact that the device had not been approved by the FDA yet (though they were in the process of it, if Taylor at least didn't stop tweaking the damn thing), but because the woman believed that the device would be an unwelcome distraction despite the fact that Taylor needed it in order to see.

So it was to Arcadia that they had gone to next. He had honestly hoped that it would be the solution to the problem. Milton had made it clear to him that the Youth Guard was not going to accept home-schooling for Taylor, both because of Massachusetts state law, but also because it would not provide Taylor with the socialization they believed that she needed.

It had honestly started out well enough, Principal Skinner had done everything to alleviate his concerns, even accepting Taylor retaining her Focus while on campus, as long as it was not used in a disruptive manner. The campus was quite welcoming, and he honestly believed that Taylor would be able to find her footing and flourish in a new environment where she could make new friends and cultivate new interests in a good school.

That had all died a fiery death when Skinner introduced them to Panacea and Glory Girl of New Wave. He knew exactly why Skinner had done so, it was a cheap trick intended to interest Taylor. Meet your heroes and all that, but even he hadn't realized the actual depths of Taylor's resentment for Brockton Bay's most famous healer.

When they had been in that hospital that first week after she had awoken from her coma Taylor had consoled herself that her injuries were only temporary. That any moment Panacea would come into her room and take it all away. It was the type of stories she had heard since the New Wave cape's appearance, that she could heal some of the worst injuries imaginable. It had broken his heart then to watch the hope fade away from her face when he had broken the news.

He had tried to explain to her back then that it wasn't Panacea at fault for not healing her. But himself. The cost of the parahuman rider for their insurance had simply been too costly to maintain. Brockton Bay had the highest premium rate in the nation because it had the highest per capita cape crime in the nation. In a decision between food on the table and protection for something that may never happen, the decision had been obvious.

It was yet another vicious reminder of being a failure of a husband and father.

But he certainly hadn't expected Taylor's reaction. Nor had he expected everything to spin out of control so quickly.

What Victoria Dallon had said was unforgivable. The girl had no right to insult his daughter like that!

But it also couldn't take away the fact the entire situation played perfectly into his daughter's plans. He just couldn't get past the possibility that Taylor had done this deliberately in order to get her way.

He wasn't an idiot. Taylor may be more tech savvy and believe herself clever, but he knew that she was trying to get her GED before she had made that declaration to Skinner. He just hadn't said anything to her because he wanted to believe that she would confide in him, but also that maybe her mind would change once she got the opportunity to replace her memories of Winslow with happier memories of another school.

It's what Annette would have wanted, for their daughter to actually have the opportunity to grow and flourish, surrounded by good friends and even better memories. She would have never wanted Taylor to live like this, obsessing over deadlines and pushing herself to the breaking point.

Yet all of the progress in rebuilding their relationship that they had made after Taylor's disfigurement was gone, and he wasn't even sure anymore if it was something that could be salvaged. Why couldn't she understand that he was on her side?! But they had to face the reality, they had to deal with the hand they had been dealt. If they didn't, then everything Taylor wanted to do would be jeopardized.

Why did Taylor have to be even worse than Annette had ever been, his hands gripped tighter on the steering wheel as he felt a fresh surge of anger roiling. Annette could certainly be righteous and firm in her beliefs, but she could also be willing to admit when things weren't working. It was how she was able to extricate herself from Lustrum because she had recognized what would happen if she didn't.

Taylor had none of the tempering brought by experience. She not only was convinced that her cause was righteous, but it was unquestionable. What made it worse was the fact that none of them had an understanding of just what was going on in her head. The only time she even chose to engage with any of them was if it revolved around the path of the company and whatever invention she wanted to push out.

There really was no compromise in anything she did, he realized as they pulled into their driveway, and she got out of the truck, already moving towards the house. Even her 'losses' ended up being nothing more than her allowing them to think that they won by getting her to accept their guidance. Yet, at the end of it, she still somehow won, didn't she?

Just who was his daughter anymore? All he could see now was the lies, deception, and manipulation laid out before him. It was something Annette never abided, and she most certainly abhorred, but Taylor embraced it wholeheartedly.

Just how far did the rabbit hole go? And was there even a shred of the daughter that has been so happy and showed so much promise left?

A daughter who didn't embrace that the ends justified the means!

Somehow, with no recollection whatsoever, he found himself at the entryway to what was now Taylor's workroom. It had previously been Annette's office, but the increasing demands for Taylor to have a workspace had resulted in the conversion.

But standing there, watching as she worked on a laptop, as if nothing in the world had transpired, caused something in him to snap.

Didn't she even care what she had just done?!

"What is your problem," the words escaped his lips before he could stop them. But really, at this juncture, he didn't want to. He was sick and tired of all of this.

Taylor didn't even bother looking away from her computer.

"I don't know what you mean. What problem?"

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, because he damn well knew that she knew what he was talking about. Only an idiot wouldn't, and his daughter was most certainly not one.

His father had been a flawed man. He tried his best but had his demons. One in particular had been his anger. It was an ugly, vicious thing that was slow to build, and while it wasn't always violent when it did become too much to hold back, the times that it did haunted him even now.

He had sworn to himself that he would never become as bad as his father. Both for Annette and, later, Taylor. He would not be his father.

But that promise fell to the wayside as he stormed forward, grabbed the laptop and slammed it shut with a crack. Taylor only barely ripped her fingers away from being caught as she wheeled away from him a flash of fear crossing her features before it became shock.

"Stop ignoring me," he snarled, "What the hell is your problem, Taylor? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

That shock slowly morphed as he yelled at her, becoming a rictus of her own rage.

"What I've done," she asked, raising her voice, "how about what you've done?!"

"Don't change the subject!"

"No. This is the damn subject," she shot her feet, causing him to rear back slightly, his anger cooling slightly, "You talk to me like I'm the problem! Maybe you should look in the mirror! Because it seems at every turn you seem to be standing there throwing an obstacle in front of me!"

"You have to go back to school!"

"No I don't. And I won't. I'm not going back to that hell when I have better things to do with my life."

"This is your education-"

"I already got my education," she snapped, and he felt that he was somehow losing in the fight to get through to his daughter, as she ripped off her tinted glasses, revealing her milky white eyes, "got my valedictorian right here!"

"That's not what I mean and you damn well know it," he yelled as he slammed his hand against the wall, the wall giving in with a dent. A sick part of him was disappointed when Taylor did not flinch, but tears were starting to trek down her cheeks, "This is for your own good, Taylor. You can't continue like this, the Youth Guard is adamant that you go back to school or they will take action."

Why couldn't she see that he was trying this best for her?! He didn't like this anymore than she did, he wanted this all to happen naturally. If he could fight against this, he would have. But they couldn't. Why couldn't she understand?!

"Oh, I thought you were my father and not a Youth Guard employee. My mistake!"

"Taylor, stop that! I'm doing the best I can for you. How about you get your head out of your ass and reciprocate for yourself for once! This isn't even you anymore! You're so obsessed with all of this you are sacrificing everything for it. Where the hell is the daughter that was full of life and wanted the world?!"

"She died screaming for her daddy as her world burned and went dark."

He reeled back at her scream, the anger that he had previously held becoming a guttering flame as it found itself replaced with ice cold horror as he processed what his daughter had said.

And even then he couldn't quite grasp it.

"What," he whispered, but it was loud enough to be heard.

Taylor seemed to lose all of her fire too as she slumped back back into her chair

"You don't understand," her voice cracking, "You can't understand. Imagine every night you go to sleep you watch the world die. Sometimes it's sudden and abrupt. In others, humanity fights, but it inevitably loses in the end. In others, it's simply snuffed out like a candle in the wind."

"Now imagine, you have solutions to many of these ends in your head. Land reclamation. Food supply. Infrastructure. Energy. Logistics. Medicine. Robotics. Even weapons that can take the fight to the Endbringers. But they are technology and concepts that are generations ahead of the existing tech base."

"Now add in the fact you have, at best, a decade to bridge that gap of nearly a century of knowledge and technique. I could have us sail the stars while blessed with functional immortality within my lifetime and you want me to go back to high school."

The bitter laughter that escaped her lips as she shook her head rent his heart.

He had no idea. How could he know?! He had thought that Taylor had been hyperbolic in order to get her way.

"How am I supposed to know any of this when I have to start a fight to get you to talk to me?!"

"Because every single time I have hinted at it, you didn't want to listen! Instead, you have this damn image in your head of what I should be! And when I don't fit that you want to fight me at every fucking turn until I conform!"

"I want you to be successful, Taylor! Why can't you understand that?! I'm worried more about you! Everything I'm doing is to try and prevent you from destroying yourself! Nothing you are doing is a healthy habit! You are working hours no rational human being can stomach. You barely talk to any of us, and when you do, it's only about business. This is far beyond just wanting to make the world a better place, Taylor, this is an obsession and it's going to destroy you!"

"Then let it destroy me," she screamed, "better than shambling through life forgetting even the most basic of things like having a daughter!"

"HOW DARE YOU," the anger thundered back into an inferno as he stormed towards his daughter. When she quailed backwards away from him with terror in her expression did he pause. He slowly turned his head to find the sight of his hand raised, ready to strike his daughter.

The daughter that Annette and he had brought into the world.

Slowly, he lowered his hand, feeling so weak and old suddenly. And he couldn't help but release a sob as he stumbled back, unable to find any surety in the ground, both physically and otherwise, finding his only purchase being to lean against the desk.

It was then that tears began to trek down his face.

He had been about to do the unthinkable. Something he had sworn that he would never do, to never go down the road his father had taken.

"I'm sorry, he croaked, "I'm so sorry, Taylor. Annette," a soft sob escaped his lips, "she was always too good for me. I will never know what she even saw in me. Whenever I asked, she'd just give me a smile, like it was some inside joke. When she died–"

Taylor was unmoved, "I know. I was there, remember? Only I didn't get the luxury to just crawl into a bottle or hide in my fucking office. I had to crawl back from the brink with no help from you, only to find myself pushed back over it because of fucking teenagers masquerading as friends. Why the hell would I endure that bullshit when I could actually be doing something far more useful?!"

He couldn't answer, because he didn't have one. Not with what he had almost done haunting him.

"I thought," he said, still vainly searching for the right words to say, only to find them as fleeting as everything else in his life, the only thing that seemed to come to him was guilt and shame.

He had thought he was doing the right thing by her. The right thing that he knew Annette would have approved, but now, looking at the sightless eyes of his daughter…a daughter that was doing something that he could never dream of.

And all he could see was the fear and contempt in those orbs.

Where had he gone so wrong to where his daughter hated him so stridently?

"I promised you," he whispered, finding the words he needed. An admission, really, but one that needed to be voiced, even as he bonelessly slumped to the floor, "I swore to you…"

That he would never fail her again. It was a promise he had made both to her, but also to Annette, seeing his Taylor harmed so badly, all because of his failure to be a father. He had sworn he would be the father that she needed.

And despite his promises, he had done what he had always done. When things had become difficult he had folded like a cheap suit. He had known, deep down, that Taylor would never accede to the demands of the Youth Guard, she was too headstrong, too committed to her path. She was nothing like him, and she never would be.

And now he had done everything in his power to not only violate that promise, but also sever every single last remnant of their relationship irrevocably.

Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't been such a coward after Annette had died and had actually followed after her…

Arms wrapped around him, ripping him from his dark thoughts, and he found her head dug into his shoulder and soft sobs trapped by his shoulder. Numbly, his hands slowly reached up and wrapped around her as well, as he tried to even fathom as to why, after all of this, his daughter was even doing this. After everything he had done, she should hate him!

She then broke the hug.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I shouldn't have said that. I know what Mom meant to you. She meant the same thing to me, and if you had said that…"

"I'm sorry too, Little Owl," was the emotion-laden croak that escaped his lips as he used the nickname Annette had given her, "I keep screwing things up, don't I?"

A small shake of her head was his reward and he found himself missing the long, voluminous hair that she used to have. Another thing robbed from her, yet she still persevered.

"You keep trying your best with what you know."

"But it's not what you need."

He was met with another shake of her head, "What I need is your support, Dad. I'm tired of having to fight with and against you. I know you care, and this is how you express it, wanting a better world for me. But we can't afford that right now, not with what is coming. What I need is for you to be there with me, beside me, and behind me, because it's going to get harder before it gets better."

"But if you want to achieve that, Taylor, you need to take care of yourself as well."

She stared at him for a moment, and despite the mess and puffy eyes, her lips quivered slightly as she offered a small nod.

"You're right."

They then hugged again.

AEH

Victoria Dallon

She knew that the moment that she got home there was going to be trouble. Her mother ran an extremely tight household, and when Carol Dallon was angry, there was always an extra tension that seemed to linger in the air.

It also didn't help that her father was sitting in the living room staring listlessly at the television as it played some sort of variety show. The fact that he was in such a state made her know that whatever was going on, Carol Dallon was unhappy with something, as Mark, while clinically depressed, only closed down this much when her mother was on a warpath.

"Hey Dad,' she greeted, noting out of the corner of her eye Amy slipping up the stairs towards her room. She would say that it was cowardly, but when their mother was angry with something, Amy always seemed to find herself as a target, "Where's Mom?"

"The office. She's in the middle of a phone call."

This drew a frown. While Mom did have an office, she rarely used it, preferring to keep home and work life as separate as possible. It didn't stop it from happening, but when it did, it was usually something that could not be ignored.

"Thanks, Dad," she replied, leaving the living room and going towards the office. The door was surprisingly closed, but coming to a stop right outside she could still hear her mother's voice through it.

"No, I understand perfectly, John. What happened is completely unacceptable and I will be having a discussion with them. I thank you for your client's restraint….Certainly, I think that would be appropriate. How about in a week? Let things cool off and level heads prevail? Yes, thank you. I will call you tomorrow."

Who is John, she thought to herself, even as she listened to her mother end the phone call. The subsequent creaking sound of the chair being leaned back on, along with a soft curse let her know that whatever the discussion was, her mother was not happy.

Gathering her courage, and ready to face whatever firing squad that was being mounted by her mother, she reached up and lightly knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Opening the door, she stepped into the room, focusing upon her mother who was leaning back in the chair, her gaze staring up at the ceiling. Her phone was still in her hand, the arm hanging limply at her side.

Definitely not a good sign.

Carol Dallon's head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

"Ah, Victoria, just who I wanted to see," her tone was tightly controlled, hinting at the burgeoning anger hiding underneath, "sit down."

"Mom, what's going on," was her response, not exactly sure what to make of the situation. What was it that caught her ire, it wasn't like she had done anything wrong lately.

"Sit. Down."

Immediately she obeyed, sitting in the other chair, as Carol messed with something on her phone, before handing it to her.

"Play it."

Looking at the offending device, then back to her mother, she opened her mouth, only to be viciously cut off.

"Victoria Dallon, you will play that video right now, or so help me-"

"Okay. Okay," she relented, not wanting to get both barrels from her mother. Hitting the play button, she watched as it began, but squinted in confusion as to what she was seeing. It was obviously a recording of something, but it was all in a weird blue-violet-magenta hue that provided form to everything, but no real definition.

It was only when she heard Principal Skinner's voice that she realized what she was looking at. Her head snapped from the video to her mother.

"She can't be recording. That's illegal, Mom."

"Just watch!"

Quickly, she did so, watching as the rest of the recording played out. It was only after that it came to an end that she looked up again from the video. But before she could say anything, Carol cut her off.

"First off, Victoria, no, it's not illegal. Even though the recording device is irregular, you were in a public space and are not privy to any privacy. Second, what the hell were you thinking?! Scarface? Are you seven?!"

"It's what the Wards are calling her," it was a childish protest, but it was nonetheless true. It had been Dennis that had first coined the nickname and it had gained traction with the other Wards in the last week. Even Dean had called her that a few times.

"And are you a Ward?! You are a member of New Wave, Victoria! This is the sort of thing that we are supposed to stand against."

"But you have been saying things about her too! Don't try and deny it, you were complaining to Aunt Sarah about Zero Dawn. You said that it was a disgrace to all heroes, trying to make money over what should be a civic service."

"I did. But it was for good reason, our powers should be used for the public good, Victoria. What Zero Dawn is doing is anathema to what capes should be, but it is legal. And it certainly isn't enough to give you permission to nearly assault the girl, Victoria."

"I was not going to let her stand there and badmouth Amy, Mom."

"You're the older sibling, Victoria, you're supposed to be better! Instead, I find myself not only being disappointed by your actions, but I'm positively livid that I had to be informed of your actions by the girl's lawyer!"

She blinked, suddenly uncertain. Out of any outcome, she had certainly not expected that lawyers would become involved. As far as she was concerned, Hebert had been in the wrong the entire time, alternating between vicious and out of control. It only reinforced everything Dean had said about Taylor being a villain in rogue's clothing.

"She threatened both Amy and myself," she tried to find the words, not used to being in the hot seat like this with her mother in recent years, "maybe I said some offensive things, but that doesn't excuse what she said, Mom. She called me a Nazi."

She had an inkling when Hebert had called her a member of the Bund Deutscher Mädel, just the name screamed Nazi. She had been further incensed to find it not only be confirmed, but looking at a few of the posters from the time, she couldn't help but notice the resemblance. There was no reason a fifteen year old would know of such things unless they were in that sort of crowd, or even a sympathizer herself.

"And her lawyer has extended her personal apologies for what she said, Victoria. That's why the lawyer has reached out to us in the first place and provided me with that recording instead of posting it all over PHO for the world to see. Do you have any idea of the damage that could have done to New Wave?"

She paled at the thought. Her mother had drilled into their heads how critical personal image was, and one of those things was that the first to establish the narrative was more times than not the one who won in the end. Even if the recording was edited, it was likely that it would be taken as the truth, even over her protests.

"That video could have raked us over the coals, Victoria. So, I consider it a relief that in spite of her unheroic nature, Miss Hebert is willing to even entertain forgiveness after you mocked her trigger event."

"Her trigger event?! Mom, this is what she wants. From everything I have heard, before she was an attention seeker with a victim mentality. It doesn't look like she's changed her stripes even now. We shouldn't be apologizing to her when she was the one that instigated this entire thing!"

"Victoria Anastasia Dallon," her mother snapped, "I taught you better than to listen to hearsay. There is nothing that girl could have done to earn having chemicals thrown in her face! And I will not tolerate you insinuating otherwise. You will apologize to her. Or so help me, you will not like the consequences!"

On one hand, she could further argue with her mom. She was right dammit, there was something wrong with Taylor Hebert! On the other hand, however, she recognized a lost cause. Her mother was dead set on doing this and there was nothing she could say to change her mind.

"Fine," she huffed, she'd do what her mother wanted despite her protests.

That didn't mean, however, that she had changed her mind on Taylor Hebert. She'd keep an eye on her and when the girl finally revealed her true colors, she'd be there to stop her.

"Can I go now?"

"Yes. To your room. You're grounded, young lady. We'll discuss how long that should be over dinner."

"Mom!"

"Ignoring your aura, which we will be having a discussion about, you nearly assaulted someone with your powers, Victoria. You could have seriously hurt her, and I didn't raise you to act like this. So you will take your punishment, and you will improve! Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Once again, she found herself helpless with the situation, only frustrating her further.

Grudgingly, she ground out a "Crystal," before getting up out of her chair and storming out of the office, passing by Amy who had been surprisingly waiting outside. She didn't even bother to acknowledge her sister before floating towards her room.

But she couldn't help but hear, as she went, Amy talking to her mother.

"Carol, we need to talk about my work at the hospital."

AEH

Agnes Court (T-Minus 15 Days)

Fifteen years old!

Even now, three hours after she had found out, she was having difficulty grasping the notion.

There was one thing that was more critical than anything in her field and that was information. It had served her well during her rise to power and she had continued investing considerable resources into expanding her web to a continent-wide machine. It allowed her to keep ahead of the Protectorate, and it certainly gave her a leg up over her competitors.

It was through that web that she had finally had a breakthrough in ascertaining the identity of who Uppercrust had been hiding away from her. Her contacts within Blackguard, a rather large private military and security firm on the east coast, had made her aware of the sudden change in behavior and movement of one John Milton of Wulfrahm & Hart.

On the surface, this would usually mean nothing. Sudden changes in behavior were not out of the ordinary for one of the best lawyers on the east coast. But the fact that he had suddenly deviated and made a beeline for Brockton Bay of all places, despite not having any known clients there, had set off enough red flags that her contacts felt that she should be made aware.

Further digging had provided her with a name, Zero Dawn, and finally, the girl that Uppercrust was trying, and like everything else in regards to their cold war, failing to protect.

What she hadn't expected was the age of the Tinker, Taylor Hebert. Her first assumption had been that Uppercrust was laundering money, because investing in a fifteen year old untested Tinker was the height of madness. And yet, there had to be more to it. There were far simpler and more efficient schemes to launder money, schemes that didn't need to rely on the whims of a teenager.

It was the fact that she knew Uppercrust too well that she hadn't immediately written Taylor Hebert off. The man was too smart for his own good and he was risk-averse to the core, so there had to be something to the girl that would cause him to act the way he was.

The answer though, even after spending the time since conducting a deep dive in Taylor, remained elusive. Ignoring the video of her obvious trigger event, there was only a smattering of information available. What was intriguing was not only the patents that had been published here or there, but the scientific articles that were published under a pseudonym that dealt with her 'Focus'. This was something that Tinkers should be incapable of doing. Their inventions 'just worked' and that was that.

So why was Uppercrust investing in the girl? That was the million dollar question, literally. There was no reason to invest such a sum of money into a girl that had medical technology that would only affect maybe six percent of the population In the United States at best. Perhaps he was playing the long game, was this yet another desperate attempt of Uppercrust to find a tinkertech Hail Mary to cure himself?

It went without questions she was going to assign assets to find out more, but that took time and carried its own risks. Brockton Bay was, for all intents and purposes, a no man's land for outside cape interests. You could go in, but there was a high chance you weren't getting out intact. Between Lung, Kaiser, and the whispers of a third player, inserting her assets into the fray could end up being a net loss of men and material.

Humming softly, she tapped her well-manicured finger on her desk. There was an option, though she was loath to send her. Incognito was an excellent asset, being one of her best wetwork and intelligence operatives. She had the ability to shapeshift into anyone with the corresponding genetic material, and in the case of capes, could manifest a weaker iteration of their power.

The downside however, was that the girl had no loyalty to her. The only reason she was able to be controlled was because she kept her family hostage as leverage. It was effective, certainly, but you could only keep a predator caged for so long until it grew restless and looked for an escape.

It was why she kept her in her area of operations, it was easier to keep an eye on the girl that way. But sooner or later she would have to figure out a more permanent solution. She was not above having the brat mastered or mind-wiped, her skills were just too valuable to part with.

But was sending her to Brockton Bay worth the risk? The longer the leash, the more freedom for the girl to break free, after all. Even with her handler team, she wasn't sure it was the most prudent of decisions. She needed more information.

And there was one way to do that, she decided, reaching for her phone.

Time to shake the tree, she mused.

AEH

Gene Fontaine / Uppercrust

Today was turning into one of the increasingly few good days. Each day in which he didn't have to struggle to breath was a godsend, providing him a calm within the storm that he would never willingly give away if he had the choice.

What it did provide him was a sense of purpose and accomplishment in that he could actually fulfill some work he had been leaving on the wayside.

In this case, he was doing his best to improve a concept for a mobile hardlight defensive dome system. It was something he had created over a decade ago, selling a semi-trailer mounted version to the PRT to significant success. What he wanted, though, was to miniaturize it to where it could be man-portable. The lives that could be saved if he could produce even a dozen of them was worth the expenditure of time and effort.

Alas, it was still proving to be an elusive achievement. The theory and concept behind the design was correct, and it would work, the problem was finding a viable power source. Therein lay the problem, as there was no energy source available that wouldn't unnecessarily burden the carrier, and even then it would only provide a brief instance of protection, certainly not enough to make a difference.

Throwing his stylus on the table, he released a sigh, thinking about the thrice-damned power problem again. Nothing short of a nuclear reactor would provide enough energy to make the device viable, and even if they could miniaturize something like that, there was a snowball's chance in hell that anyone would wish to strap it to their back, let alone carry it around in a high-risk environment.

Maybe Hebert has something up her sleeve, he wondered, before cracking a smirk at the thought.

There were expectations, and then there were expectations Taylor Hebert danced upon the coffin of. It was a conclusion he had come to after the latest fanfare with the Department of Energy. He certainly knew what the girl was promising, and what she was likely capable of, but seamlessly connecting the two was certainly a challenge.

There was a certain dark amusement to be had at the idea of a teenage girl running circles around the authorities. While it was certainly something he would not do in a million years, he couldn't dismiss the effectiveness of what she had done.

He had to pity her handlers though. Between Jean and her father, it was obvious that Taylor was a barely contained force of nature.

There was some concern, however, shared only between Alain and himself, that Taylor was pushing too hard, too fast, and spreading herself too thin. Between the Focus, the reactor design that the DOE was looking at covetously, and now her machines that she was trying to secretly rush out for the next Endbringer fight, there was some credence to that thought.

It was probably going to need an intervention soon, and Alain was keeping him in the loop so far. He trusted Jean, and Danny Hebert meant well, but Alain had the necessary distance to stay objective. However, he was worried that Alain would take more extreme measures if he felt it necessary. It was something to keep an eye on just to ensure that Alain's pragmatism did not come back to haunt them

But, by and far, despite her youth, and despite the fact that she was laboring under near-Sisyphean conditions, she was making significant headway. And he could not be any more proud in that his instinct had so far been proven prescient.

While she may never become a part of it, he nonetheless had come to view her as the future that he envisioned and wished for the Elite. While there was no imaginable way for Tinkers to be fully integrated into the larger economy, they could still succeed as a niche, parallel economy acting in support of the larger whole. It may never be a perfect fit, but it would at least it would provide those who were gifted (or cursed) with a Tinker power to have a place to flourish and become successful.

It was a world that would not be burdened with the insanity wrought by NEPEA-5. It was an act that was done in a period of panic and fear, and perfectly understandable, but the matter remained that it was a mistake. It was too restrictive, and it should have been a stopgap measure in order to buy time for the larger whole to come to grips with the Tinker shock. Instead, the politicians and corporations realized that, like almost every other bill passed in history, it provided an opportunity that could be used to further their own agendas.

And as a result, Tinkers suffered because of this greed and lack of vision.

But what Hebert represented was a challenge to the current status quo. But it also created a beachhead into creating debate on the matter itself. It would likely be a slow thing, and it was reliant upon Miss Hebert's continued growth. But, maybe in his lifetime, he'll be able to witness a much needed change to how capes are utilized beyond the childish black-and-white, cops-and-robbers mentality that the PRT and Protectorate continued to encourage.

The sound of his phone ringing brought him out of his thoughts. He couldn't help but frown at the ringtone, Bitch by Olympic Runners, because it meant that Agnes Court was once again deigning to bother him, thereby ruining what had started out as such a promising day.

Releasing a sigh, he picked it up, before hitting the accept call button and placing it to his ear.

"Yes."

"Taylor Hebert," Agnes' voice came through the phone, and he froze, a chill running down his spine.

It was inevitable that sooner or later, Agnes would be able to divine Taylor's identity. But, he had not expected it for at least a few more months. Fibonacci had assured him that the systems, despite the abundance of physical security vulnerabilities, were secure from Agnes' intelligence network, and he had personally ensured that any documentation that could indicate any connections between Hebert and himself were undiscoverable.

Which meant that Court's intelligence network was much larger and more effective than he expected.

"Taylor Hebert? Who's that," he riposted, intending to buy time as he considered what could be done. There was no point in trying to deny it, Agnes was clearly confident enough in her intelligence to call him and rub her 'victory' in his face.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Gene."

The first thing he would need to do was reach out to Alain. He was better equipped for providing assistance and protection than he was. He may have some ideas on how they could protect Taylor.

"No, I'm just insulting your single-minded obsession with irritating me, Agnes," he shot back, opening one of his terminals and typing up an email for Alain. At least this way he would have head's up before the end of this unfortunate phone call, "So what do you want to know?"

"May I inquire as to what you are thinking, Gene? This is not how the Elite operates. We do not just willingly hand large sums of money to outsiders. They have the choice to either join willingly and enjoy the fruits of our success or they are forcibly made so. There is no third option."

"Respectfully Agnes, that is how you operate. I have never, nor will ever, subscribe to that self-destructive philosophy. In the end, it makes us no better than the Protectorate that the original founders of the Elite vowed to stand against. Maybe you should ask yourself why you seem to have so many fires going on in your neck of the words before dictating policy to me."

"Yet here I am where they no longer stand," she purred, resulting in him grinding his teeth at the memories of the original founders, "you're so obsessed in hanging onto the past glories that you forget that of the original leadership, only Gentilhomme and yourself remain. You were all satisfied with keeping the Elite small, but it has been under my leadership that the Elite have expanded on the west coast. It has been under my leadership that we have achieved more profit and progress than the entire time the Elite existed previously. So you tell me, Uppercrust, who has the better policy?"

"And how many lives have been ruined in your unbridled quest for profit, Bethany?"

The silence on the other line was worth it, as childish as dropping Agnes Court's real name. It was something that the woman hated, because in her mind, it trivialized who she was as Agnes Court.

"When changing the world, you can't fret over the sacrifices that are made in the pursuit of the greater good."

"As long as it's not you making the sacrifice, right, Bethany?"

"ENOUGH! I did not call you to debate philosophy with you, Gene. I want to know what you are planning to do with Taylor Hebert!"

He sat there, turning in his chair to look out of the window. Already the email had been sent and replied to. It was something he always respected from Alain, the man was the very definition of a workaholic. But it was the title that made him pause and think about his words. Two single word sentences, one that caused him to consider the path forward.

It was something they had discussed over a week ago. They had both known that they were running against the clock with Agnes Court. The woman's incessant need for control would lead to her becoming captured in the orbit of Zero Dawn, and it could be nothing but hostile. Anything that could not be controlled had to be destroyed by the woman, and Taylor Hebert would not be an exception to this rule.

But was this what he wanted? Up until three months ago, he had been, not necessarily satisfied, but he had accepted that once he passed Agnes would roll in and take over his operations. He had instead done his best to ensure that the people under his employment had every resource available to make a clean break when he inevitably passed.

Not once in the entire time had he considered open war with Agnes. He believed that it would be a wasteful endeavor and one that he would inevitably lose anyways. But worse than that, it would likely end with the Elite's destruction, as any victory that Agnes would be able to achieve would likely be pyrrhic as it would gain the attention of Legend in addition to the losses she would suffer.

Did he wish to be responsible for the death of the dream that the Elite had originally represented when they had banded together what seemed a lifetime ago?
If he had been asked that three months ago, he would have most certainly said no. But now? With what Taylor Hebert represented?

He would go to hell and back.

Scorched. Earth.

Indeed.

"I would have thought by now that you would be able to put together what I'm doing, Bethany. I find myself rather disappointed but unsurprised that a sociopath would be unable to understand the most human of pursuits."

"And what is that?"

"A legacy."

And with that, he ended the call, and immediately got to work calling Alain.

AEH

Christopher Siopis / Kid Win (T-Minus 14 Days)

Flopping onto his bed with a sigh, he could not help but stare at the ceiling of the dorm that served as his home away from home at the PRT headquarters and lose himself in his thoughts.

The last two weeks since the inspection had been an ever-mounting blur of anger and frustration.

Despite his contributions in the inspection, somehow it felt like he had done nothing except lose. He still didn't understand the situation, they had caught Taylor Hebert working on nuclear reactors. That was something no Tinker should be doing.

Yet Taylor Hebert remained free. The only answer that he could get was that the investigation was closed, and any attempt to get an explanation on the why was met with a wall of silence. Any attempt to reach out to Piggot, who he had believed was on his side, was also met with silence.

After all that Piggot had said to him about his future, it, like everything else, had been a lie. He had been discarded and that, there was no way to deny it, angered him intensely. He wanted nothing more than to march up to her office and tell her exactly what he thought of what she had done and what she was. But it was a fantasy and he knew it, Piggot would not tolerate it, and it would only end in censure.

So, he was left adrift, his opportunity wasted, and there was a dark part of him that wondered if it was somehow his fault. Was there something that he had missed that in the end hurt his opportunity? If so, what was it?

It was maddening, because no one would give him any fucking answers!

If there was anything that at least provided a modicum of balm upon his nerves, it was that Miss Militia had taken over the Wards. It was something long in coming and should have been done a long time ago, 'Miss Mom' had always tried to be there for the Wards and actually made an effort to get to know them, unlike Piggot, or, Scion forbid, Armsmaster.

And that was the other major development, one that had been dropped on their laps four days ago: Armsmaster was resigning. It wasn't officially announced yet, and he still didn't know what to think on that matter. On one hand, he felt glad that man was finally leaving, for a supposed paragon of heroes, the man was a shitty leader and an even shittier mentor. But on the other hand, he had been their leader, for good or ill, and even in spite of his failures, he still remained one of the most effective members of the Brockton Bay Protectorate.

It was a disgusting thought, having to provide credit to the man, but he would be dishonest with himself otherwise.

But it still galled him. What if Armsmaster had actually put as much effort in mentoring him as he did in his duties as a hero, just how far could he have gone? How far could they have both gone? If Armsmaster had just invested even an iota of effort, they could have done so much more together in helping Brockton Bay. Instead, all he ever got from the man was indifference and a lack of any true support, Armsmaster just going through the motions, not truly caring at what he was capable of. And when he had something worthwhile, the man had simply told him to get rid of it.

No, he saw what Armsmaster was now. The man only cared about himself and his own ego. There could only be one person on the pedestal, and that was Armsmaster. That was why he was resigning, because he realized his little pedestal wasn't on as solid ground as he had believed, and he could be discarded just like Chris had been.

A small smirk crossed his features at the thought, bringing a little bit of enjoyment to this entire shitshow.

The sound of a knock on his door ripped him from his thoughts, as he craned his head up towards the door.

Another knock drew a huff from him as he got off his bed and walked to the door before opening it.

The last person he would have expected was at the door, looking rather awkward dressed in street clothes, the only admission that he was a cape was the domino mask secured to his face.

"Armsmaster-"

"Please. Just Colin," his former mentor said, "do you have a minute, Kid Win?"

He honestly wanted to tell his former superior to go fuck himself and the words were on his lips before he paused.

The fact that Armsmaster was not only visiting him, but doing so in civilian attire, was extraordinarily strange. He could count on a single hand how many times he had ever seen the man completely out of his costume.

"Sure," he said, leading him into his small room, noting how the other man was looking around it. He planted himself in his work chair, thereby denying the other man any place to sit.

"So what did you want?"

He wasn't shocked at the silence that met him. If he was awkward, then Armsmaster was the exemplar of socially inept. It was a small miracle that the man was somewhat capable of reading a room correctly.

"I take it you are aware of my upcoming resignation."

"I am," he answered, resisting the urge to add snark to his response. It said a lot on how fast his opinion on the man had declined. But, to be perfectly honest, Armsmaster honestly deserved it now that his eyes were opened to the man. Hell, his eyes were opened to everyone.

They were all part of the problem.

"Then, I won't draw this out," the older man finally said, "I want to apologize to you, Christopher. For everything.

This time he couldn't help himself from reacting, his hands clenching on the arms of the chair as every indignation and vestige of frustration that had been stoked over the last week roared into an inferno.

"You. Apologize," the last word spat from his lips like a rotted fruit, "you really think you have that option, Armsmaster? After a year of ignoring and denigrating my work. A year of me begging you for help, you think you can walk in here and apologize to me?"

"Your anger is understandable. I was not a good leader or mentor when I should have been," he couldn't help the snort that escaped from him, it was just so rich that now the man was making these admissions in the twilight of his time with the Protectorate, "and I know that I did all of you a disservice, that's why I want to try and at least, before I'm gone, make some amends."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"There's nothing I can do to truly make up for my neglect, Christopher. But what I can do is at least try and do something to make things better. Clockblocker's father will be receiving treatment from Panacea tomorrow. Vista's home life is under investigation for abuse and neglect, and her costume is under review. I've personally recommended that it is redesigned with adequate personal protection for her."

His tempered rage guttered, and he blinked, not quite believing what he was hearing. Armsmaster was doing what? The man had never cared a lick for any of them. It was a small miracle if he paid any attention to them outside of the field. This was…

The older man then stepped forward and placed a thumb drive on the desk in front of him.

"Worst of all, was how I treated you, Chris," he admitted, "I was in your position when I first started as a hero, trying to figure out what my specialization was. I was lucky to have the greatest Thinker take me under his wing and provide me the guidance that I needed. But when it was my turn to continue the example he provided, I didn't. I was too obsessed with fame and glory by being the man who had answers and could make a difference."

He took a deep breath, and Chris found himself looking between the thumb drive and his former leader.

"I failed you, Chris. I failed Hero. And I will have to live with that failure for the rest of my life. But what I can do for you, is at least provide you some of that guidance you deserved when you first came to me. On that thumb drive is notes and documentation on ideas that should help make improvements to the stabilization of the energy flow regulator on the alternator cannon that has been plaguing you. "

"But…why," he was at a loss, looking again at the thumb drive, "I thought you were against it? Why are you even helping me?"

"As I told you last time, it's a brilliant design, but they will never let you build it. And even if you somehow outsmart them and get the budget approved, the parts built and the space to see it assembled, they'll only ever let you use it on an Endbringer. I wasn't against it, and I should have explained to you why I was treating your design so callously. This isn't Hero's Protectorate anymore, where you can just design without constant oversight. You have to work with the system in order to get approval, and I should have explained that to you instead of dismissing you."

He then trailed off, losing himself in thought for a moment, obviously considering what he was going to say. And for some reason, he found he couldn't find it within him to call it out.

"One of the best lessons Hero imparted to me, and something I should have passed to you, is that failure is one of the best educators for Tinkers. You can't learn unless you have the opportunity to fail. That's why I've also added a few safety suggestions for you to add to the design in the event that if something goes wrong, you can learn from it. There's also something else. A suggestion, I guess. I hope you can put all of this to good use and wish you luck going forward."

His words given, Armsmaster then turned and left the room, leaving him sitting there his mouth agape.

He sat like that for a few more moments, before he snatched the thumb drive and inserted it into the port on his computer, immediately opening the drive.

He found several files, each one organized and distinctly labeled.

But in the middle of it, was one file, simply labeled: Power Research Suggestions.

For a brief instant, he considered not opening it, but the expression Armsmaster had, and the fact that he honestly was curious as to what the man could offer or say. It was too late for the man to make up anything for him, but if there was something that he had learned from Piggot and this broken system, it was that using people for your own gains was permissible and even rewarded.

So he accessed the simple file, idling noting that it was a word document before it opened.

But what he greeted him in the file caused his mind to come to a complete stop as he stared blankly at what rested on the screen, before his heart started racing and mind started whirling.

Chris,

After looking over your hoverboard and alternator cannon blueprints and their components, might I suggest looking into modular design concepts. I feel that you could improve on the plug-and-play synergy that always exists in your designs by doing so. The knowledge you could gain from the research should vastly improve your design repertoire going forward.

I know there is nothing I can possibly ever do to make up for what I have done to you and your peers. But, if you ever have any questions, please, do not hesitate to ask me and I'll do my best to try and help.

Colin Wallis.

Nicohals J Westerberg · Sep 17, 2024

Yes. I like this.

Tahlreth · Sep 21, 2024

The bearded one giving gifts as he's leaving; a tale as old as time, but not one I expected here. Bravo.

I get the feeling Taylor getting backed by villains will get leaked somehow, but that she'll somehow retain unofficial leeway from Legend and DC. I look forward to seeing it play out.

As for Taylor's power: does she basically have Apollo in her head?

AlSmash · Oct 8, 2024

Germination 2.8

Jeffrey Leeds

CPS Investigator, Brockton Bay

(T-Minus 10 Days)

"Okay, last item on the agenda: The Hebert case. Where are we with that?"

Jeffrey Leeds couldn't help but sigh at the question, closing his eyes as he fought a migraine that reared its ugly head. He knew that this was going to come up during the department meeting, but he had hoped that maybe his boss would let him provide his report in private instead of publicly airing it out to an audience.

"Somewhere between fucked and buried, Candace," he finally said after placing his glasses on the table.

"What the hell happened, Jeff? Last time, you told me that the Heberts were playing ball."

"I'm still trying to piece it together, Candace. A week ago, Daniel Hebert was eating out of our hands and doing everything we asked of him. Now, I've got their lawyer asking some rather pointed questions about our procedures while blocking me at every turn. Tomorrow, I have to attend a hearing where the Heberts are submitting a request for emancipation."

"What," Allison Jamison, a fellow investigator spoke up from across the table, "how the fuck do you go from touring schools to submitting a writ for emancipation?"

"I don't know," he threw up his hands, "All I can put together is something happened during the Arcadia tour. But when I asked Skinner what happened, he informed me he was legally unable to tell me."
"Is there any lawsuit against Arcadia by the Heberts that would cause him to keep silent?" Candace asked.

"Nothing locally filed. Nor is there anything filed in Boston either. It might be federal, but I can't see a reason why the Hebert's would be punching that high for something that would silence a school principal."

"What about Milton? Could he have done something?"

"Once again I return to the question of why. Their lawyer's big league, sure, but for federal it would have to be something major. And I don't see anything that would merit a blip on the federal courts radar."

"Okay, so it's not the lawyer, who is it?"

"Hell if I know. What I do know is that it's not the PRT. They've adopted a hands-off stance after their last run-in with her. Don't know the details of what went down either, because that's been redacted to hell and back."

"Wait? Redacted," Allison spoke, "why would they be redacting an incident report? That's not the PRT's style."

"I don't know what to tell you," Jeffrey offered a shrug, "the only reason I know the report even involves Hebert is the time stamp they have on it matching when they brought her in. Other than that, they might as well have just given me black sheets of paper, because there is nothing you can read on that report."

"Okay," Candace spoke, "let's take a step back and look over the timeline: Twenty-six days ago, Taylor Hebert was brought in by the PRT. We don't know why and we don't have the details of what went down at the Brockton Bay HQ. All we have are redacted files that we do not have clearance to unredact. Coincidentally, that is when you began your investigation, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Fast forward to two weeks ago, we confronted the Heberts and their lawyer with our initial findings. From there we recommend that, in order to avoid legal recourse, Taylor Hebert must reduce her work hours to be in line with state standard for her age and she must go back to school. We also recommended a few other things, but that was the general gist, correct?"

"Yes. Danny Hebert and his legal representation agreed to our stipulations. They even provided us with a workable timeline and were keeping us informed along the way. That changed after the school tours a week ago."

"Okay, so seven days ago, something happened that caused the Heberts to stop communicating with us and for some reason they have unleashed their lawyer upon us. So, what do we know? Is there anything that could indicate the cause of this change of behavior?"

"I don't have a smoking gun, Candace. They did power testing twenty days ago and I have access to that report. Interestingly enough, that is unredacted, but I can't make heads or tails of what they are indicating outside of Hebert being a Thinker, not a Tinker. A few business meetings here and there, Hebert self-reporting his daughter's overage on hours, but there was a plan in place to reduce her hours so I made a note to follow up on the matter later."

He blinked before donning his glasses again, a thought occurring to him as he opened his binder and started going through his notes before he found it. Reading it over, he frowned. He remembered having this conversation, but for the life of him he couldn't remember the specifics. Which was rather strange considering he usually was good on matters like this.

"There was one meeting that did raise my eyebrow, but according to my notes the lawyer satisfied my questions when I asked. Nineteen days ago, they had a meeting with officials from the Department of Energy, but I don't have the details for some reason."

"Why would the DOE be visiting Hebert? The girl's peddling medical devices last time I checked," Allison asked, and he caught Candace frowning. She did have a point, the only thing that Taylor Hebert had created was this so-called 'Focus', it was certainly nothing that would attract their attention.

"Okay, we're definitely missing something, then," Candace said, "I'll make a few phone calls up to Boston, Jeff. See what I can find out. Allison, do you have time to help Jeff?"

"The Biron case is pretty much a done deal. I feel bad for the girl to be honest. Finding a suitable and local foster family is the only thing holding up finalization. The PRT is making some noise about making her a ward of the state, but it's only a suggestion for now. Yeah, I think I can."

"Go over to the Youth Guard office and start asking questions. They have better resources than we do, maybe they can figure something out."

There was a pause from the other woman as she shifted uncomfortably.

"I thought it was agreed that we didn't want the Youth Guard getting too involved. You know Cathryn is going to flip her shit."

"Tough on the bitch," Candace retorted, "I'm tired of the woman treating us like she owns us. About time she starts carrying some of the water."

"Alright, I'll get on it. Expect an angry phone call soon."

"I look forward to it. Jeff, get down to the courthouse, see if we can get some answers and put some weight on the judge to hold off on the emancipation hearing. I'm not going to let a major case like this go off the rails without an answer and let Taylor Hebert be exploited simply because she has powers."

AEH

Four hours later, Jeff found himself with no answers and only a lot more questions. The judge's office was not forthcoming with any information, but also informed him that the emancipation hearing would continue on schedule and there was nothing he could say or do to change that.

So he had come back to the office, only to be told that Candace wanted to see him. When he had asked where, he was told out back.

Now here he was, marching to the back of the back of the building, his irritation reaching a breaking point. Wrenching the door open, he sauntered outside, a small wooded area providing the perfect place to smoke for the staff.

"Jeff?"

His head snapped in the direction where Candace's voice came from. But whatever he was going to say died a silent death as he took in his boss.

Candace Saunders had always been an unflappable woman who didn't let her job reflect upon her appearance. But that was a far cry from the haunted pale-looking woman with her carefully styled hair askew who clenched a cigarette in her fingers like a lifeline.

Something was definitely wrong, he realized as he walked over to her. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her carton of cigarettes and held it out to him. Taking one of the cancer sticks from it, she then held out her lighter, which he took to light it. Taking a deep drag from it, he then handed her back the lighter.

"That bad, huh?"

"How did Judge Vindmann go?"

"About as well as whatever is bothering you. The judge had one of his flunkies tell me they were not at liberty to disclose anything to me and that the hearing tomorrow would proceed. I have a feeling that the judge has already made a decision."

"I see," the other woman trailed off, taking her own drag from the cigarette, before releasing the toxic fumes into the air. He frowned as she remained silent, only smoking her cigarette as her eyes seemed locked onto the woods.

"We're dropping the Hebert case," she finally declared, causing him to choke mid-inhalation.

With his eyes watering, he turned to look at her even as he grunted out, "What the fuck? Why?"

"I've been ordered to close the investigation and cease all contact with the Heberts. Furthermore, all documentation in relation to the Hebert case is to be collected and destroyed. I am to report on the completion of these orders within two days."

"What the hell is Boston thinking, Candace? Destroy all documentation? That's patently illegal. If it comes out that we did that–"

"It's not Boston. These orders are coming straight from DC."

"But that's…DC has no jurisdiction on a local child abuse investigation, Candace. Can they even do that?"

Finishing her cigarette, she threw it down before grinding her heel on it to put it out. She then turned to him.

"According to Allison, they told the Youth Guard to stand down, Jeffrey. The. Youth. Guard. You think you can tell them no?"

Whatever it was that was going on, he could tell when there was no winning situation. He could see the connections right in front of him, it wasn't the lawyer that was chilling everyone, it was someone in DC, and if they were willing to ignore things like the separation of the federal and state jurisdictions, then something as small as him wouldn't even merit a bug on the windshield.

"I'll turn over all documentation to you within the hour," he sighed, stubbing his own cigarette out, "For the record, Candace, I fucking hate this. Whoever is doing this, the Hebert girl is going to be exploited until she's a dried up husk."

"I know. But what can you do? We fought the good fight, but it's no longer our problem."

AEH

Roy Christener

T-Minus 8 Days

"Your three o'clock is here, Roy."

Taking a deep breath, and slowly releasing it, he allowed himself a few more moments to calm himself. Not three weeks ago, he was looking forward to this sort of conversation, only with a different outcome. It should have been Danny Hebert coming to him, begging forgiveness and returning back into the fold.

Instead, that dream was in shambles, and he still had no idea how it came to be this way.

"Send him in," he finally said, clasping his hands upon his desk.

The door opened a few moments later, letting in John Milton, the Zero Dawn Technologies, and the Hebert's, as he found out recently, personal lawyer. The man cut an intimidating presence as he strolled in, placing his suitcase down beside the chair and taking a seat in the chair in front of Roy's desk without an invitation.

He had to bite back his anger at the blatant disrespect, but he knew that it would be pointless.

"What can I do for you, Mister Milton," he greeted the man as smoothly as he could.

"My clients wish for peace."

He blinked, not sure if he heard correctly. The Heberts had him over the barrel, sure it would create a few unpleasant questions for them, but they could literally bury him.

So to ask for peace was, well, it was something he could not honestly conceive.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"It's not really complicated, Mister Christener. My clients knew something was up the moment the CPS arrived. They're glacially slow unless there's politics involved, and the PRT isn't quite that incompetent to hand over something like that to an outside party. After that was established, it was a matter of asking the right questions and finding the right people to answer them. You were the obvious suspect, considering your history with the Dockworker's Union, but it certainly doesn't hurt to confirm these things before making the accusation."

Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his legs and folded his hands over his raised knee.

"That said, my clients are being remarkably forgiving. They realize how much effort would be wasted bringing you to court when it would be more cost-effective to sue for peace. You stop obstructing Zero Dawn, and my clients and their investors will choose not to inform the FBI agents currently wrapping up their investigation into my client's assault that they have a government corruption issue in city hall. I'd say everyone walks away marginally satisfied and remains relatively intact."

"And if I choose to reject this peace offering," Roy cautiously inquired. It was more of an exercise in knowing what his options were than rejection, he was a politician and he always kept his options open.

The small twitch of the man's lips into a smile was enough to chill him, as Milton uncrossed his legs and slowly leaned forward, the leather of his chair creaking ominously in the suddenly quiet room.

"My firm has been around for quite some time, Mister Christener. One of the things you come to appreciate is the information that is accumulated over the years, the sort of information that some may not find palatable to be exposed to the light. It's a veritable cauldron of material."

He couldn't help but freeze at the last statement. He had been told that no one could know the deal that he had made with those people with his son. The woman in the fedora had made it abundantly clear that there would be repercussions if he failed in maintaining the secrecy of his deal, including and up to the death of his entire family.

How the hell do they know? He wondered for a moment before realizing that he honestly didn't want to know.

"Peace," he forced out, his voice a rasp at the sudden dryness in his throat. He cleared it, embarrassed at his momentary weakness, "I believe I can accept those terms, Mister Milton. I find myself strangely grateful for your clients' forgiveness and restraint."

"I'm certainly glad you feel that way, Mister Mayor," the man's smile sharpened even further.

AEH

Vice President Jack Ryan (T-Minus 2 Days)

"We're here, sir."

Looking up from the files that he was scanning through one more time, Vice President Jack Ryan then placed the folder down, closing the cover on Taylor Hebert. The last minute research was a habit of his, even if he had already memorized the file three times over.

"Status," he asked, moving his head to work the kinks out of his neck.

"Our absence hasn't been noticed in Boston yet. Nor has there been local chatter on our presence either. Team Two is in position nearby if needed. Once again, I would like to reiterate that this is a bad idea, Jack."

Bad in that he was the Vice President and he shouldn't be here in the first place. It wasn't just from a security standpoint, as he was running the bare minimum of a protective detail, but also the message that would be sent once it became public knowledge that he was here. By his very presence, he was announcing that what he was here for was a big deal, and it would cause additional scrutiny on the matter.

Under any other circumstance, he would not be doing this in the first place. However, inviting Taylor Hebert to Boston would achieve the very same thing that he was doing here. At least, when he was doing this, he would be able to catch the teenager off-guard and gather far more information than if she had warning to prepare by inviting her.

"It'll be fine," he reassured his head of protective detail, Scott Mitchell with a time-honed smile, reaching the door and opening it, the door being caught by one of his protective detail and opened the rest of the way as he stepped out into the overcast sky. Adjusting his suit, he took the time to survey his surroundings as the rich aroma of salt and rust filled his nostrils.

It was a scent that brought him back to his more youthful and carefree days growing up in Baltimore. But as quickly as he reminisced upon it, he buried it behind the responsibility of his job and made one final adjustment to his suit as his security detail arranged themselves around him.

He didn't become the youngest CIA Director in history by allowing himself to be distracted by things like childhood memories, especially when he was on-mission.

"Good," he asked.

"We're clear."

That was why he hand-picked his team. They were nearly infallibly efficient. As Vice President, he was legally assigned a Secret Service escort. And while he did utilize them, when he was out in the field he relied more heavily on the ex-military and former intelligence operatives to provide actual protection. This wasn't a knock against the Secret Service, but over the years he had cultivated connections with people whose mettle he knew and inherently trusted with his safety.

The Secret Service, on the other hand, couldn't be granted that same trust. They were certainly effective, but they lacked that aggressive spirit he preferred. But the most significant deal breaker for him was they counted capes amongst their protective detail ranks, with the PRT's blessing.

He had just been starting as an analyst in the CIA, after a rather lucrative stint as a stock broker that made him millions, when the cape golden age had reached its zenith, followed by its sudden, swift collapse soon thereafter. He, like many in the intelligence community, had been skeptical and even suspicious of the sudden appearance of capes. There was no rational sense to the distribution of powers, nor was there any logic to the scale of those that were granted.

There had been too many questions and not enough answers, which for any competent member of the intelligence community was unacceptably fatal in their field. It was these unknowns that had led the CIA to quietly commission Project Pandora. Much like its namesake, the CIA was keen on discovering not only the origin of powers, but also the mechanisms of its propagation and the intent behind it.

But just as importantly in the quest for the answers, it studied the ramifications of capes on the United States and its allies as the rest of the world came to grapple with, and eventually utilize, this new resource.

How he became involved in Pandora, in spite of his relative inexperience, had been at the behest of the project leader, James Greer. The older department head had taken a shine to him despite only having met him once, and had specifically requested his assignment to the project.

It was there, during Pandora, that his opinions and viewpoints on capes developed. And he also found out why Greer had specifically asked for him as time went on. It wasn't just for his analytical capabilities. Greer was as paranoid as he was effective, and had set him up as a contingency in the event the senior leadership of the Project met an unforeseen 'incident'.

For three years, he worked on Pandora, helping to gather and analyze data gleaned on the nature of capes and their powers. Most of it above the board, some of it not. But what they had amassed had not painted a pleasant picture of capes in general. There was no origin point for the capes to point a finger at. It was as if capes and powers appeared overnight in a randomized pattern. Nor was there any obvious mechanics to their manifestation either. Moments of extreme stress could manifest powers, but only if they had a specific mutative (and unnatural) growth in their head.

It had been an accident, to be honest, that they had discovered that what would later be identified as the corona pollentia and gemma were unnatural formations. Brain imaging technology had been a nascent technology in the 70s, but for some of the adult capes, there existed images that firmly established a before and after, and it unequivocally proved that the growth in a cape's head was not a natural mutation.

That had changed the direction of Pandora's investigation. The manifestation of capes was too random and disconnected for it to be any sort of organized, or even disorganized, scientific experiment funded by a country or company, as it would be against said organizers interest to give up a strategic advantage like that. Nor did the technology exist that could pull off a dispersion and random pattern like this.

So they had turned back and looked at what happened that could have created such a change. After weeks of back and forth, they thought they had an answer.

And that was when James Greer and the senior project leadership had been killed.

He had been lucky that day thanks to his wife. Pregnancy had been hard on her and he had been running behind because of it, when the bomb had gone off he had just been pulling into the parking lot. If he had arrived fifteen minutes sooner, he would have been counted amongst the dead. The bomb had torn a significant chunk out of the corner of the office building, showering the parking lot in debris. He had remembered the horror at immediately recognizing where the bomb had been concentrated.

But he had also remembered quite vividly a sharply dressed woman with a fedora watching the building in the parking lot. The only reason he even noticed her presence was the fact that she looked like she was out of a gangster-era period piece. He would never forget the cold, calculative eyes as she turned to him, as if he was the only person in the parking lot and stared at him as he stood there frozen.

Then, with a rush of bodies blocking her off from his vision for only a few moments, she was gone..

Pandora was shut down before Greer had been laid to rest by Director Ritter. All materials were destroyed and everyone involved in the project found themselves reassigned, sometimes to far-flung locations. Even he hadn't been safe, finding himself reassigned to the London office.

And that would have been the end of it, to be perfectly honest. London, while it certainly could be a prestigious assignment, also had a tendency of killing careers as well. He had a feeling that was why Ritter had assigned him there, the man had not liked Greer's hard-nosed ways honed by the Cold War, and he viewed his assignment to London was to finally put to bed Greer's final touches on the Agency.

Only, it hadn't worked out that way, as he found himself inadvertently involved with preventing IRA-aligned capes from kidnapping a cousin of the queen while sightseeing with his wife and daughter. In the ensuing fight, he had been injured, but not before killing one of the capes and subduing another.

The act of saving a cousin of the queen, while also stopping capes while being unpowered as he was, catapulted him into the limelight, making him an overnight sensation. He found himself being placed as a senior analyst, then department head, in the CIA's 'cape' department, providing the government with intelligence estimates and analysis of cape activities in other countries. His assignment had been propitious, as he had front row seats to the collapse of the People's Republic of China into the Chinese-Union Imperial. It had been through his team that the they had discovered that the actual power behind the restoration of the Aisin-Gioro Throne hadn't been Qing Restorationists, as the Chinese publicly claimed, but were actually a cabal of capes that called themselves the Yàngbǎn.

It had only raised his profile further within the CIA, but had also created ramifications that were still felt even today. The revelation of the power capes could have in overthrowing their government had created several other copycats around the world, with some of them becoming quite successful, and others that left only destruction in their path. The United States had not been safe from this phenomena either, with three different attempts in the last fifteen years, two of them discovered by his team in the years after someone leaked the existence of the Yàngbǎn.

But through all of his experiences that could honestly be ripped from the page of a novel, he had never forgotten Pandora. The knowledge gleaned from the project had colored his perceptions of capes. The creation of the PRT and Protectorate only further colored his opinion of them. He understood the realpolitik of it, capes were simply too powerful to be ignored, but he also disagreed with the power granted to them. But in the atmosphere after the creation, having any sort of anti-cape sentiments were viewed as a political liability, and he had learned too much under Greer not to hide it.

He didn't hate capes, but he couldn't bring himself to ever implicitly trust them. How could you reasonably trust them? If a soldier suffered the type of psychological episode that a cape suffered in order to manifest their power they would be quietly medically discharged from the service. Yet 'heroic' capes were granted the power of badge and became a power upon themselves, answerable only to other capes and an organization that benefited from the existence of capes.

It honestly reeked to the high heavens.

Yet his successes, ties to cape analysis, visible profile, and ability to hide his own personal sentiments on the matter of capes, found him a nomination for Director of the CIA. It had been President Hardin's intention on shifting the CIA's direction to a more cape-heavy focus, providing intelligence support to the Protectorate and PRT that had provided him the opportunity. The strategic shift had grated quite a few of the previous leadership to the point that they had resigned in protest and he found himself rising to the top of the list, with hardly anyone having something negative to say about him.

It had been a shock to him, to be perfectly honest. He himself would have never envisioned when he had made the choice to join the CIA that a mere sixteen years later he would find himself its director.

James Greer must have been laughing his ass off when the nomination had gone through.

But it was a changed CIA that he had inherited. One that not only did have to do more with less due to budget reductions, but found its operational focus changed completely. The Cold War was over and in its place was a more kinetic and chaotic world with an increasingly ever-changing landscape that teetered on the edge of oblivion.

Yet the challenges hadn't deterred him. He had understood what would be needed for the CIA moving forward, and he had applied everything he had learned over the years to make it happen. From embracing new technologies to revamping human intelligence sources. It had been his stewardship that had designed several measures in order to counteract Thinkers, Masters, and Strangers, probably one of the largest threats to their intelligence apparatus.

By the time President Hardin had lost his reelection campaign in 2000, he had left a CIA that was lean, mean, and could readily achieve its strategic objectives in this changed new world. He had been looking forward to retirement and spending time possibly reopening the Pandora investigation on his own. It was the one pledge he had made to himself in memory of Greer.

However, that retirement was short-lived, as the appearance of the Simurgh had once again changed everything. His successor had been at Lausanne for an intelligence summit with other heads of intelligence of their European allies. As a result the Endbringer's attack had been devastating for western intelligence leadership, and Jack once again found himself being drafted to salvage the situation.

After another two years, he had been ready to retire again, this time for good. He had grown disappointed with the direction of the government as it became more insular and the PRT and Protectorate continued to grow in power. It was one thing to increase the budget of a department, but it was quite another thing to do it at the cost of their international interests and allies.

Nor did he care for Rebecca Costa-Brown. There was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way, but even his finely honed instincts couldn't identify what it was that bothered him. All of his attempts to discreetly look into her had come back with nothing of note, but that did nothing to assuage his suspicions. Quite the opposite really. Nobody had such a clean past.

So it was in 2004 that he once again turned in his resignation with the election of President Vincent Durling, this time for good, or so he promised himself. Durling had wanted him to remain, but Jack had made up his mind: He had done his bit for the President and country, and wanted to spend more time with his family. Too much of his time with them had been sacrificed for the public good that he had missed many events in his children's lives as they grew up.

And for three years, his retirement had been just that, a time to reconnect with his wife and children, and pursue other interests. All the while, he restarted the work on Pandora, wanting to finish the investigation, but also discover who the woman in the fedora was, and why his mentor was killed.

But then he found himself once more dragged back in. Only this time, it was at the behest of Vincent Durling. The upcoming election season had been plagued by scandal, with Durling's Vice President having to resign in disgrace thanks to a sex scandal from his university days. To his, and everyone else's surprise, Durling wanted him as his Vice President.

The true reason for this had been kept between the two of them to this day. Apparently Durling had grown suspicious of the PRT and Protectorate. He had been a senator when the PRT had initially been founded and he had watched its meteoric rise with concern. His misgivings with the organization had only grown since, despite the service that it provided. He wanted Jack because he believed that he was probably the best man to take a discreet look at the inner workings of the PRT and Protectorate.

Jack had honestly wanted to decline the request. Politics were one of those things that were never his strength. He could play the game, he just preferred to be more blunt and direct than to dance around the issue. But he had also realized that this was likely his only way to complete his own pledge. He had made progress, but he was hitting too many obstacles at this juncture. Assuming the role of the Vice President would open doors and avenues of investigation that previously he did not have access to.

So in the end, he had accepted, and despite the scandal, Durling was able to win the election. Jack had immediately gotten to work digging into things, including gathering up a few of the old crowd from Pandora. All the while, he had been learning under Durling and establishing himself in DC as the White House's troubleshooter.

He had become so successful that Durling was urging him to run for the Presidency when his second term expired. While he wasn't sure yet if he would, he knew that he was leaning towards yes.

But that was for the future, and while he had his misgivings about capes, he was not above using them for his agenda. When Ken had approached him with the case of Taylor Hebert nearly two weeks ago, he had been skeptical at first. There had been too many false silver bullets over the years between them and their allies that had ended up in wasted resources for him to still believe in the silver bullet scenario.

Yet Ken had been adamant, and they did go back a ways, so he humored the man and launched his own investigation into the teenager. What he had found was largely unremarkable teenage girl, nothing that would indicate anything particularly noteworthy about her. That was until the attack upon her. He had watched the video and by the end of it, he made a note to himself to look into the investigation and subsequent punishments of the perpetrators. As a father he took personal umbrage at what happened to the teen.

After the attack, it was readily evident that the girl had 'triggered'. She had done a rather amateurish job in attempting to obfuscate her patents and scientific articles, and it would have done a decent job in escaping notice on the first pass. However, it might as well have been an open book to one of the most powerful intelligence agencies in the world. But throughout his entire investigation, which included referring to several experts in their field, not once could they find any Tinkertech in the designs. Not only that, but everything she had designed, patented, and published, was perfectly replicable. Assuming of course, that you could afford the team of seasoned experts it took to understand state of the art research. There was no apparent taint of cape powers to it outside of their origin point.

Even further than that, that wasn't the limit of what Hebert was doing either. He had surreptitiously tapped several assets to unobtrusively look into Horizon Zero Dawn's facilities. Certainly, they were producing these new materials that had been patented by Hebert, stockpiling them for eventual buyers, and there were production facilities being set up for her products, but there was another facility that garnered their attention.

His assets were uncertain of what exactly was going on in Warehouse Four, but Ken's observation that Hebert was spending an inordinate amount of time in there was proven true. Almost every day, Hebert spent at least ten hours in that building, with materials being brought in under the cover of night and a tarp over them. The attempt at secrecy was certainly amateurish, but it was nonetheless effective for the short term.

The lack of knowledge on what was going on in Warehouse Four was worrisome. Even Hebert's interview with the Department of Energy, as amiable as it was, was not enough to allay his concerns. Unknowns were the enemy of his field, and there were too many unknowns for him to be comfortable. Nonetheless, he kept his options open, and did not immediately assume that there was something nefarious occurring in Warehouse Four. It just kept him on edge.

And certainly, trying to unravel that mystery was part of why he was here. The other part was to get a personal feel for the girl. It was convenient that he had an opportunity easily provided to him. He had a meeting with industry and financial heads for a possible campaign in Boston in two days, and with Brockton Bay less than two hours travel time from there he couldn't stop himself from taking a look for himself. It provided him with the perfect opportunity to slip into Brockton Bay quietly while everyone believed that he was still in Boston, preparing for the meeting.

Taking the lead, he strode towards the door, his protective detail falling in around him. All the while, his eyes were scanning the surroundings, idly noting the various surveillance cameras arrayed over the premises. It appeared that they had added a bit of security since the last report, he couldn't help but approve of it.

Stepping through the door and into the reception area, he noted even more additional security cameras, but also a pair of armed security personnel stationed near the doors that would lead further into the facility. That was another development that he hadn't been aware of. Taking it in stride, he marched towards the receptionist desk where a woman was staring him and his men down, all the while the security personnel were obviously communicating with someone else.

He offered a disarming smile, "Good Afternoon, I'm here to meet with Taylor Hebert."

"I'm sorry," was her response, "but Miss Hebert is not accepting any appointments at this time. I'll happily schedule you an appointment for a later time."

He had to hand it to the woman, that was probably the best response to give in this day and age where you can never be sure if someone is who they were or if they were not mastered. It was an inconvenience he could approve of.

"I think she will make time for me, Miss Williams."

"I'm sorry, I am under explicit orders from Miss Hebert herself that she is not to be disturbed under any circumstances. This includes a visit from the Vice President, if that is truly who you are. Now, I would be happy to schedule you an appointment. However, it will not take place until after the next Endbringer attack has been concluded. If you are unable to accept that, then I apologize, but I cannot help you any further and ask that you leave the premises."

As he opened his mouth to further insist, the phone beside her rang. She glanced at the phone, her brow furrowing, before she looked back to him. It was quickly evident that she didn't want to answer the phone. Why she wasn't doing what was her job after she had obviously dismissed him only stoked his curiosity.

She seemed to make a decision as she picked up the phone, placing it to her ear, "Yes, Miss Hebert?"

He blinked, carefully hiding his surprise. The timing of the phone call was too impeccable to be a coincidence. Which, his gaze flitted over to the camera watching the lobby, suggested that Hebert was watching this. The timespan between his arrival and the phone call was too short for it to have been run through the various levels of security. But that didn't fit the psychological profile that had been built of the girl, she wasn't supposed to be paranoid to the point where she would be actively watching security cameras.

Logging that away for future reference, he kept an ear to the conversation.

"Of course, Miss Hebert. No, I will have Adam escort them. Thank you, Miss Hebert."

Hanging up the phone, the receptionist looked back to them, her expression closed off and obviously not pleased at the outcome.

"Miss Hebert will see you now."

She turned her head, "Adam, please take the Vice President and two of his men to Warehouse Four."

A man with slicked back-and-up brown hair and a rather stylish beard stepped towards them, even as Scott Mitchell, the lead of his protective detail, began to protest.

"It's fine," he waved off the man's protests, "we are the ones imposing upon Miss Hebert's time, Scott. I doubt she would go to such lengths just to do something untoward."

Mitchell fell silent after his interjection. The man had been with him for nearly four years now, he knew when to push and when to trust. Merely offering a reluctant nod, he motioned to another member, and they fell in behind him as he began following Adam who offered a gruff "Follow me."

They were shepherded to a trio of golf carts, where he and his protection were allowed to take one cart, while Adam went to the front cart, and another pair of security personnel found themselves in a back cart. They were then on their way as they followed Adam as he led them through the compound.

While on the way, he noted the level of activity had increased from what was described in the last report. He was unsure what exactly had caused that, but it was likely they were ramping up for a product release. Which didn't make much sense considering their catalog, even if they sold their so called "Focus" without marketing them as medical devices in order to sidestep the lengthy FDA approval process, there was some paperwork they would have had to file first, and none of it had been filed yet. He knew that there was some growing interest in the materials that had been patented by Zero Dawn, but they were still in the testing process.

Soonthey arrived at Warehouse Four, and after another set of guards and a security scan, they were let into the facility. And finding themselves in a scene that would not be out of place in a Tinker's workshop. For a brief instant, he wondered if, after everything, Taylor Hebert had been able to dupe them. But then he took in the fact that there were actual workers, and not other capes, working on the various machines, that he allowed himself to calm slightly.

So this is what she's been hiding, he mused as he took in everything. He had expected some sort of secret project, but this far exceeded even his most unhinged estimations.

There were numerous alcoves and cradles, with people milling around them, even as the sound of metal striking concrete and cutting noises echoed through the facility. But in the middle of the open floor were what could only be described as machines styled after animals that were, for lack of better description, being run through their paces. He watched as one that was the size of a man and reminded him of a hyena was currently cutting through a thick steel plate. Further back, a smaller ferret-shaped machine was scuttling around, climbing various pieces of debris as another bipedal machine's head attached to a serpentine neck tracked it.

"This way, sir," Adam said, but before they went any further, Scott decided to voice his own opinion on the matter.

"Sir, this isn't secure."

He considered it for only a moment before shaking it off. He was the one who had insisted on imposing without accurate intelligence. While Scott was right, admitting it would only complicate matters further than they already were.

And he was honestly interested as to what these machines were supposed to do. Common sense would dictate that something like this she would want to keep hidden until she was ready, but here she was letting them behind the curtain and see what she was working on.

"It's fine," and with that, while Mitchell obviously didn't approve, he nodded and shifted his posture even closer to being ready for violence. He then followed after Adam and found himself left to a cradle with what was the largest 'machine' in the room, a bipedal machine with an oblong head that towered over all of them. All around it were several people who were crawling over it, attaching various plates to it, but his eyes were only for the small figure with their back to him, currently sitting in front of a computer, various cords and cables running into the 'stomach' of the large machine. The screen of the computer was indecipherable to him, numerous windows open and indecipherable lines of symbols, letters, and numbers filling the screen.

The large machine's head turned slightly towards him, and he felt himself freeze for a moment. But instead of doing anything more, it turned its head back and looked straight ahead after a moment. All the while, who could only be Taylor Hebert continued working without any indication that she had noticed their arrival.

"I'll be right with you," she called out, continuing her work on the terminal without even looking away from it, her fingers gliding over the keyboard, the only sounds from her being the clicking sound of the mechanical keyboard as she worked.

"Quentin, take over," she finally said, sliding back in the chair, "try and review the code in the communications suite. There's a fault in the handover protocol, pretty sure it's locked down now, but run a few more tests and see if anything comes loose."

Getting up, she stretched herself out, hands over her head, before she turned and he was given his first look at Taylor Hebert.

If he wasn't aware of who she was at this juncture, he would likely have been skeptical. Outside of the device on the side of her head that glowed brightly, there was nothing that suggested that this girl was a fountain of ideas and technology previously unseen.

But then again, that was what a lot of capes were. You never expected them to be capable of what they were until they finally showed it. Just another symptom of this world and the inherent brokenness wrought by the introduction of powers into it.

"Vice President Ryan," she greeted, "I find myself both honored and surprised by your presence. I didn't think I'd done enough yet to merit this kind of attention."

Taking note of the word choice, specifically the 'yet', to follow up later, he offered a small reassuring smile.

"You've been making quite a few waves behind closed doors with your reactor design, Miss Hebert. And Secretary Lafferty regaled me with how much of an impression you made upon his team. He also felt that you had a few more tricks up your sleeve," he then made it a point to look around the warehouse as work continued, "it would seem he was right."

The soft laugh that came from her lips was certainly not what he expected, maybe a bit of awkwardness, but she just seemed to take it all in stride, "Well I guess this cat's out of the bag. Would you like a short briefing, Mr. Vice President? I would offer a tour, but with us undergoing last minute preparations and testing, I am afraid things are rather chaotic at the moment."

"I find myself somewhat intrigued at all of this, so I would appreciate it. And please, call me Jack."

"Only if you call me Taylor," the teen returned with practiced ease, "What you are seeing is the first prototype production batch of what I have given the designation of a Light Rescue Lance. It is designed to provide search and rescue assistance in disaster areas. We were planning to debut this after the next Endbringer fight."

Rescue, huh, he thought, looking over the room, noting the various machines. He wasn't an expert on robotics, but that didn't mean he was not blind to the possible military applications such machines would have. Even if they were not armed, their weight and strength alone could still be used with devastating results against unarmed civilians.

"Why lance?" he asked, deciding that it would be better to ask a more innocent question before getting to the meat of it all, "I notice you have enough machines to comprise what would be classically known as a squad."

"A squad has far too many military implications to it and I feel that it is not unique from a marketing standpoint." she answered, following his gaze, "I don't want people to get the wrong idea from these machines. They are purpose built to help in saving lives. The reason I chose the designation of Lance is because of its origin, the Lance Fournie, or equipped lance. In the medieval times, it was a military unit that was made up of a knight and supporting personnel. I felt that tapping into the romantic notions of the medieval period and our views on knights being chivalrous exemplars of society would go a long way towards tempering reactions."

"Yet, by your name choice for a formation designation and the addition of a descriptor for its purpose suggests that there is an additional military aspect or template that has a military purpose to it."

"There is," she admitted after only a brief moment's hesitation. He had to give her a notch on her audacity in admission, a lot of corporate types would try and avoid answering the question instead, "the units you see before here, outside of the Charger and this version of the Titan, can be equipped with a variety of lethal and nonlethal options if so chosen. There are also other more offensive designs that are currently only blueprints. However, even if I had the capacity to produce them, they would not make a difference in the fight with an Endbringer at this juncture."

"But you believe they could make a difference given enough time."

She met his statement with silence for a minute, not turning her gaze to him, obviously contemplating her response.

"I would be an absolute idiot to promise you something I do not have sufficient data upon. There are just too many variables involved to give you any definitive answer that would leave me wholly satisfied," she then paused, before continuing, "That being said, it is my personal belief that given enough time I could come up with weapons and technology that could give pause to an endbringer, if not be able to assist in driving them back with sufficient application."

The answer was certainly not what he expected from her, and honestly, he was coming around to the conclusion that expectations were certainly something that she actively flaunted. He had a feeling that in a few years, if this all worked out and she established herself, she would be a force to be reckoned with. But the answer, the unequivocal belief in her tone, made him wonder just what it was, if it wasn't machines, but something else. And he was one to investigate down to the bedrock if need be to find answers.

"Like what, Taylor?"

She turned to him, "Not here. I trust these people, but for a discussion like that, I would prefer a more secure location. How about we finish this and then I'll show you my lab?"

He considered it for a moment, before nodding, "After you, then."

"The Rescue Lance concept is simple, it is meant to go into disaster areas and provide immediate rescue assistance. In this template, the lance consists of four Red Eyes, which are the eyes of the unit, with their advanced sensors they can penetrate debris and detect survivors faster and more efficiently than any existing non-parahuman search and rescue technology and tactics. At its heart, it is the disaster search dog of the unit, while also providing data to the command unit in order to coordinate and decide how to approach rescue quickly. To provide the muscle of the unit for SAR is a pair of Burrowers and a Scrapper. Burrowers by their name, are meant to quickly dig or burrow to survivors, providing aid and extraction. The Scrapper, on the other hand, is for more difficult extractions, such as large pieces of debris hindering the process or even instances where the Burrower could destabilize the debris and cause collapse. They are meant to cut or shred pieces of debris and allow for faster extraction."

"Okay, I'm following you so far, you have basically mechanized an entire search and rescue team. However, I have noticed you have left off the Charger and the other unit you were working on when I arrived. They don't seem to fit the purpose of the others."

"That's because they don't. The other two units fit in the role of logistics and command. The Charger is designed to be a mobile fuel processor and distributor for the rest of the unit. All of these machines operate using a combustion reactor, with the plant and inert biomatter being collected and processed.

He rolled the statement over his head, while he was not a scientist, he could understand a large proportion of what she was referring to. But the 'biomatter' portion was a worrisome statement, especially with the focused specificity. It didn't take much to consider what she was omitting.

"I gather from the fact that you are going out of your way to be specific that this is a programmed limitation due to matter being matter. Is there a chance that this programming can be changed?"

A moment's hesitance was his initial response, Taylor apparently finding distaste in the idea, before she answered, "Yes. With the right application of brute force. The operating system for these machines are black-boxed and can only be altered by Zero Dawn Technologies. Any attempt to tamper with the system or the machine itself will cause the machine to go into a dormant state and call the company. It's a failsafe that will be installed into every single Zero Dawn Technology machine. In the future, I hope to have a system put in place for the machine to be able to alert authorities as well, in the event that we are not able to immediately stop the attempt."

He wasn't exactly happy with that admission, the implications that a machine could target humans for 'biomatter' was something that was concerning. Even the supposed safeguards that Hebert was suggesting may not be sufficient, but at least Hebert was thinking of proactive measures in order to protect the populace.

"Is such a feature limited to the Charger?"

"Biomatter collection and processing is hard-limited to logistical models like the Charger. None of the other models have the capacity or capability to do so. Nor are they coded with the ability to collect biomatter for logistical models to process either. That way, in the event that something goes wrong, the fuel for the machines limits their operational capacity and limits their capacity for damage. The reason I chose the Charger is both for machine recognition, but also because of the logistical models, it has the lowest storage capacity."

"Smart," and it was, despite his misgivings, he was satisfied that Hebert was doing her best to consider any contingency, which lent credence that she had a good head on her shoulders. Too many company times were absolutely focused on profit at any cost, with the public holding the 'unforeseen' costs of such a mindset, "But returning to the energy source, I am curious as to why you omitted any mention of this to the DOE."

"I did discuss with them the feasibility of a new fuel cell type, but I deliberately left it open-ended because I did not feel comfortable sharing it yet. I honestly still don't. And it's not just because of the design, but rather the implications of it. This isn't like any existing fuel cell, it's not limited to machines, with the right application and adjustments, I'm worried about the short-term and long-term impact upon the economy. Blaze, as we call this fuel, offers significantly more energy per gallon than anything currently existing on the market, or in known development. So for now, it will be treated as the fuel source exclusively for our machines, and I'll wait for the world to ask the questions when it comes to whether it can do more and go from there."

So Ken was right after all, even if he didn't realize it, he mused to himself, staring at the girl. She was right, if what she was saying was true, if this 'Blaze' was as good as she was saying, then it would likely have game changing implications, and there would be quite a lot of people who would take exception to the technology. If this fuel could be used in machines, why couldn't it be used for something else? Something like a car or truck?

It was a dangerous gamble, and it only caused him to lean further into his recommendation to the President on the matter of Taylor Hebert. If even a portion of what she was offering would pan out, then she would easily earn every single taxpayer dollar that would be diverted to her protection.

Still, there remained questions to be asked before he was satisfied. He didn't just want to know more about what she was offering, but he also needed to know more about her as a person.

"I think you're overestimating the economic impact of this Blaze, Taylor. Even if your estimations are right, most of the world is hungry for energy; oil will still sell until you've enough production capacity to overshadow current oil reserves. You might have the green activists showering you with praise, depending on the environmental impact, but I expect it'll face the same problem as electric cars. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this sounds like a complex fuel to produce? Complex means expensive, especially before you hit economies of scale. Nonetheless, you are right, what you are developing may have larger implications, but it also has vast implications upon your own business. What do your investors think about all of this?"

The wince he received from the girl served to remind him that he was dealing with a teenager despite all of this talk. Because it could have been something he would have seen from his daughter back in the day after she was caught sneaking out at night.

"Right now, you are right. The process is complex currently because I do not have the production facilities to produce the required chemicals in large amounts. Once those are able to come online, then the process and production of blaze will be simplified significantly. As for the investors, I have to provide a video briefing to them tomorrow," she finally admitted, "when I broached the subject they were not exactly enthusiastic. However, after explaining to them what I have planned, they are tentatively supporting it. It helps that I have been able to start returning on their investment thanks to initial material sales. For now we have an agreement that as long as I keep paying dividends on their investment they will give me free rein. Furthermore, we have recently opened negotiations with a potential business partner, but I am afraid I can't say any more on that topic."

Jack nodded politely, reserving himself from revealing that he already knew who she was in talks with. It was a rather intelligent decision, Medhall had enough reach in the Northeast markets where these Focuses would have an impact and be able to gain traction. It would be lucrative for both parties, in the long run, especially once Hebert proved the technology, as it would then open the doors for the other models she was working on on the side.

There was nothing to say about the fact that she was doing this on the sly and the fly. If she were completely responsible, she would have already reported this project to FEMA and other relevant government organizations. The idea of having additional producible assets to assist in search and rescue, and disaster relief, would be a god-send for services that were already on edge in lieu of the next Endbringer attack and its calculated range of attack.

"And what is this last model," he decided to change the subject, refocusing them upon the last machine that she had been working on previously. 'Quentin' was currently working at the terminal that Taylor had previously vacated, looking as intensely focused as she had previously been.

"That is the Titan. For now, it is the beating heart and brain of the LRL concept. In the future, I hope to be able to use existing cellular networks in order to exchange data and coordinate between machines, but for now, the Titan is the measure that allows this concept to work. Housed inside the chassis is probably one of the most powerful computers in the world for its size which allows the Titan to serve as a mobile command and logistics hub for the Lance. Furthermore, thanks to the communications suite that it is equipped with, it can also serve as a mobile hub for communications, which in a disaster area that may be bereft of cellular and communications capability, would be a godsend for rescuers."

And she would be right. One of the most critical aspects of any disaster area was to have communications restored as quickly as possible, but if your infrastructure was devastated, then, depending upon the level of damage, it could take upwards of weeks in order to truly establish reliable civilian communications again.

He suspected there was more to it than she had revealed so far, because Taylor Hebert was not striking him as someone who did things by halves. And the impact of what she was doing would be felt, but with so few machines, it may not be the impact that she was looking for if it wasn't framed the right way.

"Two questions, Taylor. When do you think they will be ready for deployment? And how soon could you have more?"

"They will be ready by tomorrow night. The only issue we are having is the communications suite with the Titan, and I am planning to pull an all-nighter if I have to to fix it. The latest it will be ready is tomorrow morning. As for additional units? The problem comes down to the production process. There is no assembly line, everything has to be done by hand. We were lucky in getting this first batch assembled in three weeks, and that's only because we got the forges fired up in advance and had them running round-the-clock."

She reached up and massaged her brow, a hint of exhaustion showing.

"Even without the need for secrecy, retasking the forges and molds necessary to produce parts and materials for new units will take time, as they have already been reassigned to other jobs. IF I could quickly get them retasked and I got the necessary computer components without any complications, maybe another month before we would be able to produce another mech or two. That would exclude the Titan, for which I couldn't give you a timetable even if you had a gun to my head. Frankly, the team is exhausted, and we've only been pushing ourselves so hard because of the Endbringer attack."

He nodded solemnly. He had honestly expected such a response, looking at the complexity of the machines and taking into consideration her own statements, he thought that Taylor was vastly underestimating how quickly she could produce more units. But he kept that thought to himself, instead he considered the other angle. What if he could open doors she was previously unaware of?

"What if I could find you the support to speed up the process?"

She paused her massage, and he could see the gears turning in her head now.

"Honestly? Depending on what they can offer, and how quickly we can adapt their production methods to fulfill the requirements for the machines? Maybe two weeks," she shook her head as if she was saying no, but was unsure if that was the actual answer, "I mean, I really can't give you anything more accurate, because this is all hypothetical."

He considered what she was saying. He wasn't going to commit to anything yet, because it would be foolhardy to do so until he had proven results. But, if Taylor Hebert's machines did perform as she was advertising, then it might be worth looking into.

"Well," he smiled, his choice now cemented on what he was going to do, but now increasingly curious as to what else Taylor Hebert has, "I'm quite interested in what else you have to offer, Miss Hebert."

When he left four hours later, the door to his vehicle hadn't shut before he was already on the phone with President Durling.

AEH

Taylor Hebert

Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!

Even an hour later I could not help but feel like I was on cloud nine and there was not a goddamn thing that could bring me down right now. Hell, I couldn't even focus on working on the communications suite on the Titan, just staring holes in the screen and I knew I was probably wearing a dopey grin.

But dammit, never in my wildest dreams when I hatched dropping the reactor blueprint on the PRT had I envisioned that I would garner the attention of the fucking Vice President of the United States. I mean, how the hell could I have expected that?! The Department of Energy was a calculated gamble, but dammit, was my math terrible!

Dad was just as dumbfounded as I was. He had ended up joining us when I had taken Jack (Jack!) back to my lab. I know what I was offering was only blueprints, and ideas, but with the right application of industry and science, it wasn't a matter of years of R and tests, but a matter of months because the science was already there! I knew as I talked to him, and explained to him just what I could offer, even in the span of a year or two, that I had found myself something far more powerful than the Department of Energy backing me.

It ran in the face of what I believed, but the fact of the matter was, in order to achieve my goals, at the end of the day, it couldn't just be the plowshare that flourished, but the sword must also be sharpened. Even if I could stem back years of decline, it would not help unless the causes of that decline were also rendered inconsequential, if not eliminated.

But still. Holy shit! I laughed to myself as I shook my head, gaining a few worried looks from the crew.

The future was looking a whole lot brighter than before the day started!

AEH

Accord (T-25 Minutes)

Alain Gabriel considered himself a largely calm and reasonable person. It was this calm and reasonability that had allowed him to successfully cultivate his small empire in Boston. Not just as Accord, but as the face of Far Zenith. Everything gained was through a mixture of calm, reason, and methodical actions. Nothing wasted in this pursuit of power and wealth.

There were of course moments when this calm and reason did waver, usually in the face of the truly chaotic and reprehensible, but in the end, it always ended the same way with him prevailing.

But right now, he was far from calm, and reason was currently a foreign concept at best!

On one hand, there was a nearly insatiable urge to curse the entirety of the bloodline that had led to the spawn of Taylor Hebert. From stem to root, with not a singular exception. But, the calmer part of him could only applaud how the teenage girl had far exceeded even his projections.

When she had walked into that conference room two months ago, he had thought of the years that it would take for her to establish herself. There was no doubt in his mind that it would happen. What Hebert offered to the world was incomparable to anything in existence. It was why he had chosen to invest in her, safe in the knowledge that even if there were bumps along the way, what she would do would be the stuff of legend if she were provided the opportunity to flourish.

But that plan had been measured in years! Not less than three months!

And he certainly hadn't foreseen that she would gain the interest of John Patrick Ryan!

There were a handful of political figures who merited a file within the halls of WEDGDG, and only one of them came with a warning that any reports involving Jack Ryan were to be immediately forwarded to the Chief Director herself. It was only after he had left the organization that he would come to realize just why the man was such a large deal, despite his lack of powers.

Ryan was an old school spook through and through. He was also one of the few people that wasn't beholden to the pageantry and grandeur that the PRT and Protectorate wielded as their shield. He was paranoid, and he didn't care about the rules. But he was also smart enough to not be caught breaking the rules the PRT stringently enforced.

The fact that over two decades he had been able to slowly raise his status in spite of his barely hidden stance on capes was a credit to the man himself. It certainly also helped that he was intelligent and canny enough to develop means to combat capes in his field, with many of his measures and ideas becoming adopted by other intelligence agencies.

No, he could understand why the Chief Director was wary of the man. He was a threat to her power, and he wasn't afraid to pick a fight if he believed it was a righteous one.

But it wasn't the threat he presented to the Chief Director, or even his stance upon capes. What terrified him was the man's continued ties to the intelligence community, despite the fact that he was no longer officially part of it. Many of the analysts and agents that now made up the CIA, and even the NSA, were cultivated under the leadership of Ryan, which provided him a source of power that few politicians, or even leaders, had. The power of knowledge.

There was no doubt in his mind that if Jack Ryan was looking at Zero Dawn, there was a high probability that he was also looking at the money that had gone into it. It was too much for a spook like Ryan to ignore, he would be curious as to why an investment group would put so much money into an unproven teenage cape. It was not a matter of if, but a matter of when, he would be able to discern that Far Zenith was a front company for Ambassadors.

And after that…

He stared at the roiling clouds in the distance, his neutral expression firmly fixed on his face.

The choices he had before him were…vexing, but they were nonetheless salvageable. There was no way he would be able to escape Ryan once he turned his full attention to Far Zenith, it was an unavoidable fact, but disaster could be avoided if a choice was made.

But the matter was should he make the choice?

When he had decided to supply Zero Dawn with its startup money, it had been with the belief that within five years he would be able to recoup the investment with a modest profit, and be able to detach from the company itself. While it would be a dark mark upon Zero Dawn if it ever came to light, it would be survivable, and with the right application of public relations, actually be made into a plus for the Heberts.

But at this time, if it was revealed that the Ambassadors and the Elite, two villainous organizations, had provided the money to get Zero Dawn rolling, it would ruinously taint the company. No one would be able to trust the company as not fulfilling some sort of criminal agenda, even if there truly wasn't one. Zero Dawn's reputation would never be able to recover from it, and the plan would only be set back even further.

But if he chose to make the choice, if he chose to embrace the only path forward that could still salvage the plan, all it would possibly cost was himself. Was he willing to make that sacrifice if necessary?

He was.

Ryan was a man who did not view the world in black and white, he couldn't afford to in his field. The world was cast in so many different grays that it was impossible to truly make sense of what was right, or even what was wrong anymore. So the idea of villains backing something beneficial to society, without requesting anything except a return on investment, was something that was not only believable, but could be understood in a world of gray.

It was a good thing he had sent Citrine back to Brockton Bay last night after Hebert's call. It wouldn't do well for her to be here as he chose to do this. She would likely not understand, at least not yet, just why he felt the need to do this.

There was only one pathway forward to salvage all of this: He would have to reveal to Jack Ryan just who was backing Zero Dawn Technologies and why he was doing so.

If there was any good news to this, it was that Ryan was on the same page as him in being aware of just what exactly Hebert was offering. It would allow for his admission to go a lot more smoothly than if he did it for some random reason.

The gala wasn't supposed to take place for another two hours, but he already knew that the Vice President was there, meeting behind closed doors with several business leaders. He usually did not dabble with politics, it simply was beneath him, but he still nonetheless had an invitation to attend the function this evening.

His best opportunity would be to arrive before then and use his connection with Zero Dawn in order to gain an audience with the man. It would probably be the only opportunity he had, unless Ryan personally sought him out. If that happened, he was unsure of what would happen next.

No, he would have to strike first and swiftly, if there was to be any hope to salvage the situation. And it may cost him, but it was certainly a better option than trying to run when it was already too late to salvage the situation.

All because Taylor Hebert could not resist thumbing her nose at the PRT.

A surge of rage flashed through him before he tamped it down. He knew what he was likely going to get when he had first agreed with Uppercrust to fund the girl. He didn't have to like it though. He had inadvertently tied his fate to this girl, and the butcher bill was coming to pass far sooner than expected.

Taking a deep breath, before releasing it, he closed his eyes before reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Rain had started to come down on the windows, only reinforcing his feelings on the matter.

"Theresa, please have my car ready in ten minutes. The civilian one."

"Of course, Mister Gabriel, right away."

He ended the call, placing the phone back in his pocket before reaching up and adjusting his tie. He then paused as the rain started to come down harder upon the windows, almost like a sheet now as the sound of the rain hitting the reinforced glass.

He then frowned as a thought occurred to him, something that had been niggling at the back of his mind, but had been ignored because the matter of Jack Ryan had dominated his attention.

There had been no rain in the weather forecast for today.

The sudden shrill alert sounded from his phone, even as his mind started to calculate with mounting horror just what was going on. Even as he reached for his phone, to check what the alert was for, he already knew what he would see. As he finally retrieved it and pulled it up, sirens began to go off in the distance, their noise a herald for the end as it removed any doubt of what was happening.

Leviathan was coming to Boston.

Jarrik32 · Oct 8, 2024

I feel bad for the CPS agents. Sure the case was politically motivated but that doesn't change the fact that they were right that Taylor will feed herself through a blender if she doesn't dial things back* or is forced too. As part of being a responsible adult is protecting the people under their care. From themselves if needed.

Especially as no matter how unpleasant the thought is. She can't stop endbringer attacks and at this point one more or less isn't going to shift the big picture.

Its cold and cruel but people die. In truck loads when Shards decide that things are too boring.

Destroying one of the better chances of survival (herself and zero dawn) earth-bet has to maybe save a half percent more people isn't helpful.

*one of Sobeks not so pleasant traits she seems to have inherited.

X1Alpha · Oct 8, 2024

Jack Ryan, aka Tom Clancy's self-insert character of choice, nice. Good books, okay movies overall (some hits, some misses).

Phraxius · Oct 8, 2024

Excellent chapter, as usual. The characters feel both distinct and well-written - let's see if they survive the overgrown lizard.

Speaking of the lizard, I did not see an attack on Boston coming. I wonder what causes the change; the good ol' butterfly effect, perhaps, or a direct response to Taylor's activities?

One possibility is that the Simurgh has flagged her as an anomaly worth investigating. Who else is going to look into it when the golden exhibitionist is too busy being a depressed widower to collect [DATA]. If so, that'd be quite the wild card.

Pyro Hawk · Oct 9, 2024

Well, if the Light Rescue Lance is directly responsible for aiding with the survival of the Vice President and Accord, then it's going to be an interesting situation. Because when the reveal of the Ambassador's and the Elite's connections to ero Dawn comes (especially with the Elite already having triggered the start of their civil war), it will get reframed as those two groups noticing something and then realizing there is an opportunity here to both protect their assets and expand their wealth. Not exactly in a villainous way but more in the 'Corporate Evil' way which is so much more forgivable and comes with that saving grace of people are a lot more willing to forgive someone smart who wants to help the world getting taken advantage of by corporate evil than other forms.

It's what corporations do after all. The Vice President's connection then amplifies things because it's a personal respect thing where, because it saved him of course he's going to push it hard, and at least now the government is keeping an eye on things to make sure the corporate evil doesn't reveal itself to be actually villainous evil. Sure, say what you like about the evils of the government but the greater government has no more desire of a villainous group seizing power than the average citizen, if not less. After all, it's their power the villains will be seizing in near certainly.

On the other side of the coin, there's the possible that this attack is specifically to take out the Vice President and Accord or at least cripple their capabilities. Which is going to drastically hobble Zero Dawn going forward just as they seemed to be kicking into high gear. But if that targeting can be proven, then funnily enough it might act to save Zero Dawn from any future ties to the villainous origin of their support.

A lot gets forgiven on Earth Bet if you can prove that the Endbringers decided your efforts were demanding their personal attention and so long as you don't get hit by the Simurgh long enough to be a concern, the results of that are mostly good as suddenly people want to make use of you even if they're going to be cautious to make sure that things aren't arranged such that a follow up Endbringers strike derails it all in a worse way. Hence why things would be a lot worse if it was the Simurgh attacking even if Taylor was nowhere nearby because suddenly people wonder if it's not the attack that was her goal, but the response afterwards.

Either way, it's time for Zero Dawn to prove itself one way or the other.

AlSmash · Oct 9, 2024

So, label this as crap I forgot to do, despite promising to do so. so, here it is, a sidestory provided by @Tigers-Tall-Tails on SpaceBattles. It's done so well, that I've worked to integrate it into the story overall.

Germinate 2.7.5

START

"Maybe I should thank you then. After all, I got a pretty useful power, and all it took was not being one of your charity cases."

Amy bit her lip. The red scarf that covered her face would keep anyone from commenting on it. One of the few times that her costume as Panacea worked in her favour. She was back at the hospital, after the disaster that was her day at Arcadia. Vicky was fuming, out and about somewhere in town. Amy wanted to be there for her sister, to let her vent. But she wasn't comfortable putting off her work at the hospital, so it would have to wait.

"Jean? Who're we working on today?" Easier to lose myself in the work then remember the spite and hurt in that voice.

Jean was probably Amy's favourite person in the hospital. A nurse for over twenty years, the older women had dealt every kind of patient, injury, sickness, or ailment imaginable. And her 'seen it all' attitude helped her interact with patients in way that Amy wasn't able to.

"We have one case of three shattered bones, one with liver failure, another with a collapsed lung, two people with…" Amy let the chatter roll over her. It didn't really matter what the injuries were, she'd seen them before. Time and time again, she came in, healed, and left. If she was lucky, she never saw the patient again. But this was Brockton Bay, so she wasn't lucky.

The first three cases went by in a blur. The fourth was clearly a gang member, with tattoos and a shattered arm, shoulder, and hand. Someone had lost a fight, or angered the boss, or who knows what. Amy set about her task; extending her hand and saying her lines. "Do I have your permission to heal you?" The man snapped back. "Yes! Damn it I'm in pain here, fix me!"

Panacea touched his skin, and she could see his form unravel itself in her mind. Skin, muscles, tendons, bones, arteries, veins, capillaries, organs… down to the very cells that made up each greater whole. Like soft clay laid out before her, waiting for her hands to shape. Amy bit her lip again. There are limits. She had limits. Panacea had to have limits. Only Villain have no limits. And Amy wouldn't be a Villain.

Her will reached out, and the body responded. Soothing inflammation, deadening nerves, then shifting and repairing muscles to maneuver bone shards into place. Once they mostly alined, she fused the bone whole again, making sure to anchor the ligaments properly. She did another quick check before pulling her awareness back to her body. The whole thing took eight minutes. The patient still wasn't happy. "Took you long enough to get here. Next time, don't waste your time with the rest of the trash."

Amy didn't smack him. She didn't reach out and make his heart pump stomach-acid. She didn't twist his nerves so that every breath would cause a wave of agony to flood through him. She just… walked away. She left Jean to handle it.

~~~~~

The older women found Panacea later, hunched over on her phone in the break room. Her white robe, a recognizable element of her hero costume, was tossed on a nearby chair, leaving Amy in jeans and a t-shirt. Nurse Jean took a seat as the girl continued browsing her phone, ignoring the world. "Hey Amy… We've got a few more people on the list for today. You up for it, or should we break for lunch and pick up after?"

The healer signed, "Can't be worse than the last idiot we fixed up."

"You know why we have to take them." Jean gave a tired smile that said far too much.

"Neutrality" Amy almost spat the word out. Neither spoke as she got up and assembled her outfit. Hooded robe, long sleeves, red scarf to cover her lower face. It wasn't anything fancy, but everyone knew the 'look' of Panacea.

In a city divided between three major gangs, with a crime rate that was several points higher then the average, the Brockton Bay Hospital didn't take sides. They walked a thin line between turning a blind eye to some injuries, and reporting others to police if things were too messy to ignore. This neutrality kept fights from breaking out in the waiting room, kept drug shipments from being intercepted. This neutrality extended to Panacea as well, who healed regardless of who was under her hands. If only someone had bothered to ask my opinion beforehand.

Her irritation at being pushed to heal and to be 'neutral' gave her the nudge she needed. Asking the question that had been bothering her ever since the confrontation at Arcadia. As the two exited the room, Panacea asked."So how does the List work? I've never really asked." It hadn't seemed important until now. She went to the hospital, she did her tasks, and then she tried to forget it all until she was called on again.

Jean hummed as they stepped aside, letting a group exit the elevator before entering. She punched a button before answering. "Well first, the patients would need to have coverage for parahuman healing. If they agree to it, their doctor will make the application request to be placed on your healing list. Priority is given to more urgent cases, but for the most part there's not much of a backlog. You do quick work!"

Amy nodded along. It was interesting, and unfortunately it tied into the accusations that had been thrown in her face the days before. What Jean said next sent Amy's stomach to the floor.

"Of course, things are a little different for the charity cases."

"The what?" She said numbly. She clenched her hands, thankful that her long sleeves hid the motion.

Jean hummed slightly. "Charity cases are tricky. People who could greatly benefit from care, but don't have the insurance. So their problem could be treated, or staved off with medical care, but we're not going to be able resolve the problem. Not like you can."

"Two doctors are needed, one to make the application, and one to co-sign. There's this whole evaluation based on standards of living with or without intervention, questions of physical and mental wellbeing, things like that. It takes a fair bit, I've helped a few doctors write them. There's maybe a dozen written each month? Once the request is ready, it's sent off for approval."

"And the approval? Who does that? The hospital?"

Jean glanced at Amy oddly, "No, that comes from your mother. It was stated quite clearly in your contract that she would oversee things."

Amy felt cold settling in her gut as the implications set in. She clenched her hands. "What contract?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Amy gained her powers, things were… tense in the Dallon household. She had saved Victoria's life. That was good. Then the family learnt more about her abilities, about what she was capable of. Then things were bad. Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil had come over, and there were lots of talks between the adults. Vicky was elated that her sister could be a superhero just like herself. Amy was terrified she would be thrown out of the house. Mark tried to act like a father on the good days. Vicky loved her like a sister. Carol watched her. Evaluated her. Carol was never Mother, nor Mom. Amy was the outsider of the family, and felt it keenly.

Amy didn't believe in God. But she prayed that day when she was called to the living room. She prayed that she wouldn't be separated from her sister.

Aunt Sarah did most of the talking about how Amy could now be part of New Wave, could be part of the effort to keep capes honest. She explained that Amy could make a difference by helping people. Carol spoke about healing, about having limits, and about the expectations of a Hero. About working with the hospital to show how much of a hero Amy was. The adults discussed around Amy, about costumes and introductions.

Amy just remembered agreeing to everything. She wouldn't be separated from her sister.

Days later, she found herself being greeted at the hospital. She followed instructions, she healed and put humans back together again. She repaired damaged cells, erased malignant tumours, stimulated blood production and bone growth. She said her lines; "Do I have your permission to heal you?"

Again

And again

And again…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Samuel Monk was an aging administrator for the Hospital. Amy had met him only once before when she first started working. He had a heavy set frame and greying hair. Adjusting his glasses after ushering her to sit exclaiming, "Panacea! Good to see you. I hope everything is going well? No trouble I hope?"

Amy tried to remember how Vicky did it. How she presented herself and talked to people with confidence. She sat up straight, but couldn't resist her fingers playing with the ends of her sleeves. "Yes, well… no. I mean yes! There's no problem. I was just…"

This was stupid. But I'm angry.

She took a breath. Tried to smile. Its good that she took the hood off, even if she wanted it on. Even if she wanted to hide. "There was a school discussion you see, talking about careers, and what we can expect once we graduate. A few of my classmates asked about the hospital, and I said I would show them my work contract."" A lie. Not the first she's told, but certainly first big one. Is this how it starts? The road to damnation and condemnation?

Mr. Monk smiled. His goodness conjured guilt inside Amy for taking advantage of him "Well I'm afraid that your contract is a little unique. Your classmates aren't going to get anything like it."

"Oh? Then can you go over it with me, because then I can explain it to them."

"Not a problem. Give me a moment." He huffed as he stood, moving over to the filing cabinets in the corner. With a metallic rattle, the drawer extended. He slowly ran a thumb over the hundreds of folders, pulling one out with a muttered exclamation of success.

"Here we are." He sat, flipped open the folder and glanced over each page before laying them out on the desk. Amy leaned forward trying to absorb the wall of text laid out in front of her.

"Your contract is not like the rest, most notably because of your young age when you joined us. Your mother was insistent that we accept a consultation agreement that listed you as 'Parahuman Healing Specialist'." He tapped a few sections as he spoke. Amy nodded along, reading as quickly as she could.

"Of course, Carol wouldn't be Carol if she didn't have a few requirements of her own. There was already a precedent you see, for Parahuman Healing, and insurance agencies had started implementing their own fees. Carol made sure that some 'charity cases' would be added to your rotation."

"Do I know you?"

An angry, bitter smile on a ruined face.

"No. You wouldn't. Insurance saw to that."

Amy swallowed, twisting the fabric in her hands. "And who approves the Charity Requests?"

"Hmm? Oh, your mother reviews every case, and approves most of them. Not all, certainly, but generally she approves. Only a few cases are denied. Very cautious women, your mother." Monk smiled conspiratorially. Certain it was meant a joke, she smiled back, or at least she tried. She wasn't sure if she succeeded.

"Right. Here we have…" he poked at another section titled Remuneration. "The money! The important bit, some would say." He chuckled slightly. "You and your mother were very generous, I must say. The insurance payouts allow us to keep the lights on! Among other things, of course."

"Of course" she numbly parroted back. "And… then our portion goes where?" Because I've never seen any of it.

"Deposited directly into the New Wave Fund."

The Dallon Family wasn't poor. Even with Mark being a 'house husband' and two girls in school, the question of money never game up. Both Victoria and Amy got a steady allowance from their mother, who controlled the household finances like she controlled everything else. Amy had assumed that Carol's salary as a lawyer kept the books balanced. Was that the lie? Was it all on me? How am I supposed to feel about that?

Mr.Monk kept talking but Amy was deft to it as she tried to process her feelings. His words flowed through the office; stipulations for conduct, assistance expectations, priorities for care, workplace standards.

"And here we have it. Employment duration, and the signatures, of course." Amy pulled the paper up, reading carefully at the bottom of the page. Carol had signed twice. Power of Attorney. Parental Consent.

The section of Consultant's Signature My section was left blank.

"I'd like a copy of this." She looked over the desk to Mr.Monk. "Please"

"Well, certainly. I'll…" Amy stood, gathered the pages before the older man could, marched to the printer and set it to photocopy each page. She wished she could pull her hood up. She needed the quiet. But she needed answers more.

"Can you tell me about the last few Charity requests? I'd like to see if I remember them. The patients, they go by so quickly sometimes."

Monk began clicking away at his desktop computer, "yes.. just a moment."

Vrrrrr… Vrrrr…Vrrrr went the printer. Amy wished it could go faster. She needed to leave. She needed to think.

"Here we are, hmm… Flavianna Belmon, Larain Messina, Nelson Britton, Taylor Hebert, Sara O'Gorman. Out of all of those, Ms. Hebert was the only one to be denied. Sad case, I tried to get Carol to reconsider but she wouldn't hear of it." The older man sighed. "But she does have the authority to reject cases on her own discretion." It shouldn't be Carol's choice. It should be mine!

Amy took a deep breath in, then out. Her hands clenched and relaxed again.

The printer finished it's job. She snatched the pages up, returning the originals to the desk. "Thank you, you've been very helpful"

"I hope you can explain everything to your classmates, we're always looking for new help." For a moment, Amy had no idea what he was talking about. Then she remembered the lie. "I hope so too."

She left. Pulling up her hood, she fumbling with her scarf as she moved down the halls. It was hard to do with one hand, but she was also clutching the pages to her chest.. There was no way she'd let them go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amy hurried to her room when she arrived home. Vicky had been moody the whole way back from the hospital, apparently Carol had texted to say she wanted to see Victoria as soon as she returned home. After the events of the day, neither sister was in the mood to talk."

Dropping her costume on the floor, she then spread the contract paper over her small desk, reading over them again. The words jumped out at her: consultant, insurance payments, charity patients, remuneration, waiving of fees, New Wave Fund, right of refusal, employment duration, signatures.

Amy straightened, a restless energy running through her. She paced the room, picked up her costume, hung it up, returned to the desk, stacked the papers, walked to the window, breathed.

In

Out

Hands clench

Hands unclench

Amy didn't have a plan. She didn't have a goal. But she did want answers. She wanted…

Walking down the hallways, stopping at the office door at the end. Could hear Carol speaking, "…your room. You're grounded, young lady. We'll discuss how long that should be over dinner."

"Mom!" Vicky's voice rose.

"Ignoring your aura, which we will be having a discussion about, you nearly assaulted someone with your powers, Victoria. You could have seriously hurt her, and I didn't raise you to act like this. So you will take your punishment, and you will improve! Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Clench, unclench. Vicky had gotten in trouble. Not Amy. Vicky. Amy hadn't done anything wrong. But didn't I do wrong by being blind? Isn't that my fault?

Heart hammering, she watched the door open. Saw the anger and hurt in her sister's face as she passed.

She had a say something. The restless energy inside her demanded release.

"Carol, we need to talk about my work at the hospital."

The women sat at behind her desk, one hand rubbingt her forehead. "This is not the time Amy. I have other concerns right now." For a moment, Amy considered just dropping it.

"No. We need to talk now." Amy had always said yes. She said yes when she was told to heal. She said yes when the Protectorat called for help, when her family said that Panacea would attend the Endbringer fights, when Vicky needed help because she went too far.

Carol straightened in her chair, her eyes hard and scowled. Amy refused to look away, that energy churning inside filled her veins and demanded she not back down.

"Sit."

Amy walked over, put her hands on the back of the chair, and stayed standing.

Carol's frown deepened.

Where to start?

"I read my contract today. The one you signed for me."

"What of it?" Carol the Lawyer answered back. Cool, calm, collected, neutral.

Amy wanted more. She would prefer anger, or sorrow. Any kind of reaction.

"You didn't even tell me that one existed! I was told that I would be helping the hospital. Helping people! They gave me patients and I healed every single one of them! And now I learnt that I'm only helping those who pay?!" Amy didn't want to shout. Carol had taught her that. "The first one to raise their voice to win an argument has already lost". But she put every inch of force that she could into her words.

"What happened to, "a hero should act for what's right, not for money"? You taught us that!"

Carol stared back quietly, waiting. The silence stretched. Amy wanted to scream, but this was another lesson Carol had taught.

She finally sat.

When Carol spoke, it was in clear even tones. "Yes. I signed a contract. It protects you, and it protects the hospital. The payments are necessary. You bill the hospital, so the hospital bills the insurance agency. The hospital then collects the insurance payment.

"And then we get our cut?" Amy spit out the last words like a curse.

"Yes. The money goes to the New Wave Fund, which we use for donations to support other causes." Amy's mind raced. What causes had the team supported recently?

"The Mayor's election campaign" said Amy, remembering distant days when she would watch Carol and Mark on TV with Vicky chattering happily next to her.

Carol nodded, "Yes, among other things. We don't give out money lightly. There is significant amount of vetting before we agree to support any cause." But what about me? I don't get a say?

Silence fell between them. Amy hoped for more, but it was clear that Carol was done talking.

"And the charity list? The people who can't pay?"

Carol leaned back in her chair, her face still hard. "We are heroes. You are a hero. It's natural to support people less fortunate."

"But you don't approve everyone, do you?" It was an accusation. Open defiance, and Carol leaned forward to fire back.

"Amy, every doctor someday comes to realize that they can't help everyone. There aren't enough hands, there aren't enough hours in the day. You are no different. Yes. I review every charity case presented to me. I read the justifications and listen to the doctor's advice."

"It should be me who decides. It's my power!"

*Slam* Carol's hand impacted the desk. Amy jolted.

"What did I tell you to do if someone asks for healing in the street?"
Amy responded by rout, from memory. "I don't take personal requests for healing."

Carol nodded. "Yes. Panacea does not take personal requests. Everyone knows this. It's what keeps you from getting swarmed on the streets. It keeps this house from being picketed. And!"

The older women sighed and relaxed back into her chair. "… and it keeps you from having to chose who lives and who dies." Amy was stunned, Carol's words hitting unexpectedly.

She took the silence to keep going. "You were fourteen when you started healing. Too young for that kind of responsibility."

Amy felt small for a moment, like a child being scolded for something she didn't understand. Half angry, half thoughtful. "But we're heroes. We're meant to help everyone."

"No." Carol responded instantly. "We don't help everyone. We don't help villains. We put our efforts into helping the most deserving." I helped a gang member today, because he could pay. And a girl who couldn't pay was left blind.

"Is that why you denied treatment for Taylor Hebert?" Another accusation.

"This conversation is over."

*Bang* Amy slammed her hands down on the desk, leaping to her feet. "A fifteen year old girl was left blind! What's the justification for that!?"

Carol frowned and for a moment Amy thought she could see light coalesce around the women's fists. "When the incident happened, there was a lot of back and forth about who the guilty party was. It was better to stay out of it."

"And since then?"

"Since then, she's only proven that she's a villain by another name. She's caused havoc with the PRT, provoked tensions in the government, undermined the mayor, and has shamelessly profited instead of helping the public. She's surrounded herself with people with bad intentions, and shows no sign of stopping."

Carol was standing now, staring down at Amy. "The fact that you would support this girl is concerning." Her face was cold, implacable. The hero Brandish condemning the criminal. "You. Are. A hero. Hold yourself to a higher standard." Her gaze worked over Amy's tense form, searching for… something.

Amy ducked her head. She hated when Carol looked at her like that, like she was looking for weakness, like she was a witness on the stand, and Carol the Lawyer was about to tear her apart with words. Or like Brandish the Hero might strike her down with energy blades

"I understand."

"Good." Carol sat, returning to the papers on her desk. "This discussion is over, understand? You will go to the hospital. You will heal who you're told. No more talk about Zero Dawn or Taylor Hebert. She's caused enough problems for this family."

Amy left the office, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. The energy that once filled her was gone, leaving her hollow. Exhausted she flopped onto her bed, her thoughts circling around everything that she learnt and said.

It was hours later that Vicky woke her up with a plate of food. Amy had missed dinner. With a quiet thank-you, she closed the door before her sister could say a word. Sitting on her bed, Amy ate. Thinking about the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(T-Minus 15 Days)

Amy clenched her hands.

This was stupid. There were a million reasons why this was stupid. She shouldn't be here, on the bus, heading deeper into the Docks area. She shouldn't be focusing on what that girl said. She should just be leaving everything alone.

She was stupid.

She unclenched her hands. She got off the bus.

The Docks were more of a concept to her than a real place. She would hear about them in news reports, often accompanied by words like "violence, murder, drug arrests" and other fun nouns. New Wave would discuss the Docks and reference police reports, patrol routes, and cape sightings or cape fights. Victoria would patrol the area and come back with stories of criminals that she swooped down on, the fights that she took part in, and the crimes she witnessed.

Walking along the cracked sidewalks, seeing the overgrown green spaces and boarded up windows on houses and shops… it made the Docks real to her. Amy could feel the abandonment, okay, maybe not. But she could certainly see it. And hear it. Walking through the city made one familiar to the noise. Cars going by, sirens in the distance, people moving around, conversation in the air. Very little of that existed out here.

Amy clenched her hands. This was stupid. She rubbed her hands against her pants; they kept sweating.

It hadn't taken a lot to find the address of Zero Dawn Technologies. The news and discussion forums were diving into anything the company was doing. But even without an exact address, Amy probably could have found it on her own. You could hear it in the distance. Trucks and cars moving around, the sound of tools on metal.

The place didn't look like much. A refurbished fence around refurbished buildings. Only the sign at the front shone with new paint.

Amy unclenched her hands.

She walked up to the gate guard, "My name is Amy Dallon. Panacea. I'd like to speak with Taylor Hebert."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an awkward few minutes before she was let through security, being met by a harried employee who didn't introduce themselves. No attempt at small talk was made; Amy was grateful for the absence. Even if it meant she was stuck with only her thoughts for company; she had always been aggravated by 'light conversation'.

Amy clenched her hands.

Her mind was busy enough as it was, filled to the brim with how this conversation would go with the fiery inventor whose mere existence had caused so much chaos.

Amy wasn't supposed to be here. Carol made that absolutely clear. She was supposed to leave all of this alone. But I don't want to. I can't.

Amy unclenched her hands.

Amy clenched her hands.

The healer was told to wait in a quiet room off to the side in one of the buildings. Coffee maker, fridge, a few chairs. This was obviously a break room for the staff. Amy sat wishing she could have more coffee, but not wanting to impose on what would already be a complicated conversation.

She tried not to watch the door. She watched the clock.

Amy unclenched her hands.

The door opened and Amy looked up. Taylor stood frozen in the doorway. On her temple, a glowing triangle device projected a segmented circle in the air. Its slow rotation was the only movement in the room. Large black sunglasses covered everything around her eyes.

"Panacea. I'm formally letting you know that this conversation is being recorded. If you do not consent to be recorded, you are free to leave the premises. I'll have one of my employees show you the door."

"It's Amy. And yes, fine. Whatever you want."

Taylor marching over to the coffee machine. Amy watched the willowy brunette's back as she placed her glasses on the counter and began to expertly prepare a mug. It was hard to remember sometimes that this girl was blind given how adeptly she maneuvered around the world. Taylor spoke, her tone dry. "I have a lot of work to do, and not enough time to do it. What do you want Amy? I've already extended my apologies for my words towards your sister."

"I…" Amy pinched the long sleeves of her jacket. "I wanted to say sorry? I didn't know about you, in the hospital I mean. They didn't give your file to me." She looked down at the table, not wanting to see those blind eyes as Taylor turned around. "I didn't know"

Silence

"If you didn't know, then why are you apologizing? If you had no hand in things, then it's pointless to say 'sorry' on someone else's behalf."

Amy clenched her hands.

What was better… letting the matter go, or telling the truth? Amy didn't know. But she had failed. She didn't even know how many patients she had let down. But she could apologize to this one.

"There… there's a list. A charity list. The doctors had put you on it." Amy felt the disgust twist her insides. "You weren't approved." Every word felt like stones passing through her teeth. But I am a hero. I have to be better.

Her knuckles hurt. Nails dug into skin. Amy couldn't let go.

Steps walking towards her. The chair across the table pulled out, Taylor took a seat.

Amy waited for the shouts. Waited for the mug to bash her skull in. Waited for the cutting rage that she had seen once before at Arcadia.

I deserve it.

"And who does the approving?"

"Carol. My mother. I didn't know."

"Oh."

Silence. The hum of the lights. Sounds of breathing.

Amy peeked up. Taylor stared down down at the table. Her hand clasping her coffee mug with white knuckles. Her jaw clenched as she…

"I am just trying to fucking fix things!" Taylor seethed. Her voice wet, filled with the tears that she refused to shed.

Taylor breathed.

"So… you apologizing. That on her behalf? Or because 'you didn't know'."

"Just me." Amy understood the anger towards Carol. She felt it too. The anger at taking her own choices away. At making her an unwitting part of this mess.
Just a little, Amy unclenched her hands. The muscles strained, sore from tension.

"You said… before at Arcadia, you said you're going to change the world. What did you mean?"

Taylor's breathing slowed, and if she rubbed at her eyes, Amy pretended to not notice.

"This?" She tapped the triangle attached to her temple. "I have three versions ready for market. The money I make from selling them is all going back into the company, so I can build more things. Communication infrastructure. Computer components. Hell, I've got blueprints for a hologram system that is going to make movies a whole lot more interesting."

Amy giggled in frank amusement. "You are going to piss off so many people."

"That's the thing about changing the world. You can't always wait around asking for permission." The blind inventor took a pull from her coffee, scowling and muttering that it went cold.

Amy had an idea then. It was stupid. It was against everything that Carol had told her. But being brave is what heroes do. I ruined her life. Time to balance the scales.

"Can I… show you something?"

"Hmm?" Taylor tilted her head as Amy reached forward, plucking an apple from the bowl on the table.

It was so easy. She could feel the composition of everything that made the apple what it was. And she ordered it to change. The apple sagged as it collapsed in on itself, then from the resulting slurry a new shape emerged. A bulb formed, then the green shoot pushed itself up, broad leaves stretched out, and a vibrant pink bloom unfolded. In seconds, Amy help a tulip in her hands. It was… a rush. To see the material changing in her mind, to finally just… do something with her powers that wasn't healing the same systems again and again.

"You… you can." Taylor spoke in hushed tones, blind eyes fixed on Amy's hands. "Bio-manipulation. No, wait. Healing, touch based. You're a bio-kinetic."

Amy shrank down, preferring to look at the flower in her hands instead of the girl sitting across from her.

"And they have you healing in a hospital?!?" Amy didn't expect Taylor to be so aghast. She met Taylor's incredulous stare. Amy felt her cheeks flush, this wasn't going as she expected.

"It…there… it was safer?"

"Ha! Safer for who? For you or the world?"

"Both…"

"Ooohhh… Optics, right. The only thing New Wave cares about. Can't have the healer be a big scary bio-tinker. Jesus…"

Taylor seemed to see Amy properly for the first time. Her fingers twitched, and her eyes darted back and forth for a moment.

"I've deleted the records of this conversation. I know why you wanted to keep this hidden. I don't agree with it, I think it's the stupidest thing I've heard in a long while… but you want it hidden." She shrugged.

Something inside Amy uncoiled and she could breath a little easier.

"Why stupid?" Amy looked around, wondering what to do with the flower in her hands.

"Amy… you are the walking answer to world hunger. You can create crops to survive in any environment. You can develop vaccines and cures for things that thousands of people suffer from. You could break this whole medical industry over your knee and make sure that millions of people live better lives… and instead? You're patching up gangbangers in the ER."

Taylor continued, "you could be a real hero… to so many. A hero greater than your sister ever could be. A hero who'll change the world. Instead…" Taylor was blind. Amy knew this, but she felt the weight and disappointment in the younger woman's eyes. Hard to imagine that this girl was fifteen. She felt more a disappointed teacher.

Amy's cheeks flushed. She fumbled as she murmured. "You sound like you're trying to recruit me."

"Sure, if you want, I would hire you in a heartbeat. You're not even a tinker! Biology is biology. The building blocks are all the same. It's just a question of assembling as you want. Which you can do." Taylor shrugged. She stood, dumping the last of her cold coffee in the sink, then came back with the mug. Tentatively, she placed the flower in it, running her fingers over the shape of the petals. A rare smile spread across her face. "Tulips…"

"I…" Amy dusted her hands off. This was stupid. But it was her decision. And it felt good. "I might be willing."

Taylor blinked. A slow smile spread across her face. "Ok… I might have to temper expectations. I am too busy right now. The Endbringer window opens in fifteen days. After… well, after. Once my machines prove themselves, I'll have more freedom. If you're still interested then… we can make something happen."

Amy's stomach sank, thinking about the next time she would be on the battlefield with one of those beasts. Focusing on the possibilities of after was much more appealing. "If I bring something impressive, don't suppose you'll give me a sign on bonus?" She giggled, thinking on everything she could make.

Taylor leaned back, tilting her head up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "You've got more experience then me, what does a hospital always need more of?"

"The three B's. Beds, blood, and bandages." The long hours working with nurses and doctors had given Amy an insiders view of the hospital.

"There you go." Taylor shrugged. "Blood. Synthetic, or real, something to replace the constant demand for blood drives. For any patient regardless of blood type. Maybe loaded with anti-bodies or something to promote healing?"

"Hmm… I think I could make that work. I'll have to test it.." Her thoughts drifted and she smiled she imagined how to go about making it.

"Well. I look forward to seeing what you can do. I'm going back to work, I'll send someone to show you out." Taylor stood, and Amy leaped to her feet.

"Wait! Um…" Amy pulled what remained of her courage together. "Do… do you want me to heal you?"

Taylor breathing hitched. The healer held her position, hand stretched out. She didn't know what she was hoping to do with this. Fix her mistakes? Make up for things? But it felt like the right thing to do.

"No."

The words hit Amy like a fist to the gut. Oh course she wouldn't trust me. She's scared of me. Of what I can do. Even if our talk was fun, and she offered me a place here.

"No… I'm going to keep these scars. So that the girls who did this to me can see that they didn't stop me."

That was… so incredibly petty and brave at the same time. Left unsaid was that the scars would also remind Amy of her own blindness, of the times that she let others dictate her own actions. Amy dropped her hand. Maybe Taylor didn't mean it that way. But still, It was worth remembering.

"But… I appreciate the offer." Taylor stepped forward. She offered a handshake. Amy grasped for it, feeling foolish for dropping hers just a moment ago.

Biology unfurled before her mind's eye. Scarred cornea, damaged sclera, scarred conjunctiva. Discolouration of the skin across the face and neck. Elevated heart rate, high amounts of caffein in the system. Signs of stress and lack of sleep in the brain chemistry. Slightly underweight for body type. No sign of pain from injuries, nerves not damaged.

Amy kept an iron grip on her powers. She had limits.

The two girls shook. This felt like the start of something. Not a friendship, it was too soon for that, too much recent baggage. But Amy felt happy. It was rare she felt that way.

"Alright, I'll see you… after." After the next city was condemned. After Amy tried again to keep capes alive so they could return to fight a relentless being that they had no hope against. After the bodies had been counted, the memorials erected, and the tears shed.

"After."

With a final shake, Taylor walked out the door. Leaving the tulip sitting in a coffee mug, alone on the break room table.

An employee arrived moments later, and escorted Amy out of the building. Back in the evening air, she returned to the Docks. Out from the complex world of Taylor Hebert and all the conflicting feelings she brought with her.

Things weren't fixed. Not by a long shot. But Amy felt… lighter. Breathed easier. She had a plan, it was her's. And that felt good enough for now.

She breathed in.

Breathed out.

And unclenched her hands.

END

Jarrik32 · Oct 9, 2024

Ah Carol is once again Carol. Taking a solid idea and warping it. As frankly 99% of the set up handling who Amy does and doesn't treat is pragmatic and ethically sound. While by the sounds of things in terms of finances she at least appears to be practising what she preaches with "heroism as charity" with proceeds pushed back into charity. It's ethically questionable in regards to Amy's rights and ability to make informed choices especially about money. But otherwise sound.

As frankly not charging for medical services can and would damage the local medical sector as well as causing Amy herself a lot of trouble (i.e. corporate interests). Same for charity cases. Having a formal evaluation of which cases have maximum impact for the patient is both good triage and good PR given the otherwise very low treatment costs.

And then she ruins it by arbitrarily rejecting a charity case not for any medical cause or even 'villainy' reasons (in itself a legal and ethical minefield*) but 'bad optics'. Which is a load of rubbish, medical procedures are kept under very tight lock and key by very stringent laws and baring someone breaking half a dozen laws unless the patient consents no one is ever supposed to know who did what and when.

*One of the most foundational principles of healing is 'first do no harm' and refusing treatment because you don't like them is harm. Sure laws can and do require reporting or might require restraint in certain circumstances e.g. reporting gunshot injuries, but step one will always be treatment.

X1Alpha · Oct 9, 2024

Maybe call it Interlude 2.A for Amy.

sssisss · Oct 10, 2024

Jarrik32 said:
While by the sounds of things in terms of finances she at least appears to be practising what she preaches with "heroism as charity" with proceeds pushed back into charity. It's ethically questionable in regards to Amy's rights and ability to make informed choices especially about money. But otherwise sound.

Meanwhile, she is collecting large sums of money and putting them to creating 'soft power' and influence, like with the mayors re-election campaign.

So she's actually reaping personal and professional benefits from controlling who gets access to the best healing, and also by using the proceeds to build political power and influence - not for New Wave Movement (which is treading water) but for herself as the kingmaker behind the scenes.

And because she's who she is, she doesn't consider Amy to deserve any agency at all.

AND she refused healing for Taylor on the basis of 'potential question of fault' which is really 'PRT spin', and justifies it later by judging Taylor on the optics of what she's rumoured to have done after.

She drinks her own kool-aid. I really hope the petard she's hoisting is going to be inserted rectally with some force.

AlSmash · Nov 10, 2024

Well. Here we are. Finally. I apologize for the time that it has taken, between work, and other things, it just turned into a long-ass delay. So my apologies on that. I'm not sure on the update schedule going forward, especially as my work is starting to enter into the compression period of the year. That means more hours and more work. And on the home front trying to batten down the hatches and prepare for the Winter has put a crimp on where I'm trying to balance destressing and writing, and not having a good amount of success for it.

Next chapter is already at 1000 words, but I'm projecting it to be at least 10-15K monstrosity, spread over two to three perspectives. So...maybe American Thanksgiving? I'm hoping that I get three days off in a row coming up. Also, filling out paperwork for going to Japan and ensuring that I have enough money for it is gonna be fun. But that is neither here or there.

I will make a note, that I am making some changes to the Endbringers as a whole. They are not story-shattering, but I feel that in this story, it's better to change a few aspects here or there, and reinforce others for the narrative and story. I'll be posting patch notes at a later date. That is, once I've locked down all of the changes. But there is something here, so I figured forewarned is forearmed.

Sprout 3.1 Part 1

Danny Hebert

"We are once again urging-"

"Turn it off," the terse words escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Kent, their driver, didn't even spare him a look before he turned the dial off on the radio, leaving them in the silence only punctuated by the roar of the diesel engine propelling their semi towards Boston.

It had been seven hours since the Endbringer sirens had gone off, and when they had first sounded, he had been terrified that Brockton Bay was the target. That terror had quickly found itself supplanted by sickening realization as the phone alert system linked to Endbringers announced that Leviathan's target was Boston.

He knew as soon as Leviathan's target had been announced that Taylor would not be able to resist the clarion call to action. Nor was there any way he would be able to talk her out of doing so. They had cleared the air over that weeks ago, even if he still had misgivings about it. But he knew that this was the path his daughter wanted to take in life, and he had promised that he would support her, regardless of his feelings.

So he had steeled his heart and began doing what he did best: organizing the mobilization. It had been determined last week that they would need a minimum of nine semi trailers, with one being a flatbed in order to transport the Titan, as it was too large for an enclosed trailer. Three more trailers would carry the other machines in their enclosed shipping containers with additional fuel cells. After that, two more trailers would contain spare parts for the machines and store the chemicals that were used to convert biomatter into blaze.

And while the first six trailers revolved around the logistics necessary to support the machines' operation for two weeks, the last three trailers carried supplies that would be worth their weight in gold after an Endbringer battle: food, water, clothing, toiletries, sanitation products, and tools to help with the cleanup. It could not possibly match what Taylor was about to do, but to those who were just likely robbed of the essentials of modern civilization it would be a balm for the soul.

Speaking of which, he turned his head back to where Taylor was sitting in the back of the cab, sitting beside Quentin Tate, both of them poring over a laptop. They were talking with one another in hushed whispers as Taylor motioned towards something and Quentin nodded along with her.

He was worried about her. She had only gotten to sleep three hours before the Endbringer sirens had gone off, having just fixed the bug in the Titan's communication protocols. He knew that she was exhausted, and he had tried to get her to rest, but she had been adamant to monitor everything as the machines had loaded up. Her solution to her exhaustion had been to have one of her employees raid a nearby convenience store for energy drinks and stock her up. Even as she talked to Quentin, she took a sip from one of them.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his head back to the front, looking at the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the other lane, moving away from Boston. He had heard enough from the radio to know that the situation in Boston was bad. Usually, according to Taylor, attacks by Leviathan were provided with a small warning, usually no more than thirty minutes to an hour, just enough time for the Protectorate to begin to mobilize capes to attempt to repel the Endbringer. Only it seemed that Leviathan had provided less than fifteen minutes warning this time, leaving the defense of Boston woefully unprepared.

It was only because of Taylor's ability to glean information, and the few reports that were being shared via the radio going in, that they were able to peace together a glimpse of what had happened in Boston after that. But it took nearly an hour and a half of fighting before the Endbringer was finally driven off. But details were sparse, because there were issues getting any communications out of Boston whatsoever. Taylor was unsure of why, but only that it seemed to affect the Greater Boston area.

But these details were all beside the point, at least to Taylor. What mattered to her was that Boston had been devastated and there were likely thousands trapped in debris within the city. This was the very reason she had pushed so hard for the production of her machines to make a difference now instead of later.

He could only watch as his daughter suddenly reached up and tapped her ear.

"Jean, It's Taylor. Any news on Alain?"

The resultant frown told him just what the answer was.

"Okay, I'll look into it. I need you to do some things for me. I need you to reach out to the PRT, FEMA, FAA and the National Guard──No, I haven't had any luck contacting anyone, I'm hoping you can use Far Zenith's connections to get ahold of someone who can make decisions. Let them know what's on its way, and also find out if they need mobile network support, the Titan can link in quite a lot more if need be. Finally, see if you can find out if any drones are being deployed to Boston──Yeah, we're on the same page. If they have datalinks we can route them through the Titan and improve SAR efficiency. After that, see if you can get ahold of anyone with the Guild.──Yeah, Dragon. I tried reaching out to her but I'm only getting silence."

She stopped to listen to Jean, taking another sip from her energy drink. The fact that his daughter had apparently added a satellite uplink to her Focus was not even a surprise to him anymore. He had become inured at the various 'miracles' his daughter had become capable of.

"No, that's fine. I'll see what I can do on my end once we get to Boston. Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but we need to start diverting everything we can towards Hathor-model Focus production. The situation in Boston is a lot worse than I expected."

She paused, and tapped her Focus, and Jean's voice came through the satellite phone's speaker, allowing everyone to hear it in the cab.

"-Taylor, we've already had this discussion before you left. We're already stretched thinly as is, both in materials and manpower. If we divert production towards the Focus, we're going to have to reduce production on spare machine parts. We just don't have enough people to go around, and overtime as it is, is already going to be ruinous. And even if we start looking towards Focus production, the best we can manage is maybe one hundred units every three to four days..."

His daughter didn't say anything for a moment, instead closing her eyes, and he wondered exactly what she was going to say to that. He was firmly aware of the financial situation of the company, Jean constantly harped at him about it, because Taylor refused to listen to her.

"I know the timetables we are looking at to change production back to Foci, Jean. It can't be helped, but we only have five hundred of these as is, and it is not going to be enough, especially if my suspicions on why Boston's communications are down are right," she paused, chewing her lip, "Medhall isn't going to be any help, they are still a few months out on their first production run, and that's for the Horus model. What about the additions to the production team we had on standby, can we tap into them?"

"Taylor, we don't have the money for that. And even if you add them, that's maybe going to bump production up maybe another fifty to a hundred units in the same timeframe. Taylor, I think we need to settle on what we have."

"Can you reach out to Gene for me?"

There was a long pause from the other end, Jean, like himself, trying to figure out what Taylor was working towards.

"I can. May I ask why?"

Taylor was silent, turning her head and looking out the window, her expression inscrutable.

"Ask him," she hesitated, her head turning upwards to the roof of the semi, as if she were seeking divine providence, "ask him what it would take for him to provide an additional two million dollars."

Jean's silence on the other end was telling. Two million dollars was still quite a lot of money, even in the shadow of the money provided to start up Zero Dawn.

"Taylor, the company is already collateral for the startup loans. There is nothing we have on hand that we can offer that could back a request for that sum of money. Not to mention how it would make us look unreliable with our money. That is not the optics that you want or need as a new corporation. And even if you could get the money, it won't make a difference for those currently buried. They will be long dead before we can field any more units, Foci or otherwise, even if we could ramp up production now. You'd be better off seeing if he'd donate money for additional supplies for survivors."

To his surprise, Taylor didn't immediately answer, even though her expression suggested she was about to start arguing with Jean. Instead, she was silent, and he watched as she chewed the inside of her cheek, indicating both she was thinking about it, but also not liking what she was thinking.

"Taylor," Quentin spoke, but she shook her head towards him and he quieted.

"Okay, Jean. You're right," she reached up and massaged her face, exhaustion creeping through in her expression and body language, "why couldn't Leviathan give us another two or three weeks? I could have gotten us more money for additional Hathors and finished development of the Ptah. Reach out to Gene, see what you can get from him, you know him better than I do, if it's aid we can get, do it. I know we can get grants, and we will need machines going forward, especially if we want to help with Boston, but you are right, we need to focus on the most immediate impact we can provide right now."

Again, silence met them, before finally Jean answered, "I'm sorry, Taylor. I know you didn't want to hear that from me, but it needed to be said. I'll ask. I think Gene will be open to at least helping with the aid. But any more than that is going to be a tall order, I can at least get them to focus on maybe a few more spare parts, but anything larger is going to require another cash infusion we can't really afford to take loans on."

"And I appreciate it. We're all trying our best here. Just talk to him, see what he says. If he wants some sort of guarantee, I'll find a way, Jean," Taylor said after a pause, "just start shaking the trees for me. If it comes down to it, I'll do what I have to."

"I'll see what I can do, Taylor. I better get to work. Good luck."

"Same to you, Jean."

She then tapped her focus, and placed the sat phone down, taking a deep breath and then releasing it. She glanced up at him, and he wondered what was going through her mind right now. His daughter's single-minded drive for this moment, while admirable, was still a major risk. They hadn't the opportunity to truly test any of this, only Taylor's constant assurance that it would work driving this. If something went wrong, or worse, it failed completely, it would be devastating.

"Taylor-"

"I know," she cut him off, rubbing her tired eyes, "but we're looking at thousands, possibly tens of thousands, trapped. It will take days to get specialized SAR assets into the area thanks to the damage done to Logan. They'll probably shift a carrier battle group and the Comfort to assist, along with whatever heavy-lift rotor-wing aircraft they can scrape up. Anything that gives us an edge and saves even another life is not off the table. But for at least the next twenty-four hours we are on our own!"

"What about the Protectorate?"

She laughed bitterly, "Endbringer truces only last seventy-two to ninety-six hours from the first alert, depending upon the Endbringer and the target. Just enough time for the capes to fight, lick their wounds, collect their dead, and go back home for business as usual. There isn't even a dedicated unit to help with disaster relief, and because of politics, FEMA can't poach or even request capes who would be useful in disaster assistance. It's largely left to independent volunteers and capes that live in the affected area to pick up the pieces."

"Oh," and that's really all he could say on the matter. He was still learning as he went, this was still far outside his wheelhouse. The fact that Taylor was this well informed only lent credence that she had a far better understanding of the situation and that was why she was so adamant in producing more machines.

But it could be handled better, he felt. Jean had just as salient of a point in the fact that Zero Dawn was stretched thin financially, even with the sales beginning to come in from the materials sales, it was still not enough for the type of large expenditure Taylor was lobbying for. Yet at the same time, Taylor knew more of what was needed than he did.

It did help, however, that at least they were now communicating. Previously, he would have been unprepared for Taylor's request, but they had talked over the last week about what could take place and what contingencies she was planning for.

Honestly, it was amazing that she was planning so far in depth for what may or may not happen.

But even this was bordering on cataclysmic. Taylor's models had been good, but they didn't hold a candle to the reports that had been able to come out of Boston. The lack of sufficient warning had left many unable to reach the safety of shelter before Leviathan struck, stranding far too many to the mercies of the waves that were a staple of the Endbringer's attacks.

Taylor, however, had not been interested in that, as callous as that sounded. She was more interested in the status of Logan International Airport. The entire time they had been gathering together, she had been adamant to know exactly what its status was.

It had only been as they were getting into the semis, that they received the news that Logan International was, for all intents and purposes, completely gone. It had been the direct path of Leviathan, and the Endbringer had not excluded the airport from its wrath in its course for the center of Boston..

The way Taylor's face had closed off said enough.

Before he could say anything more, they were interrupted by Kent.

"Hey boss, state patrol up ahead, they're blocking the road."

He turned away from his daughter to look out the windshield, and sure enough, on the straight-away that would pass by the Randolph exits, was a single state patrol car sitting in the middle of the road, its lights flashing illuminating its surroundings in the fading light, with a wooden barricade set up to further block the road and force them on a path to take the exit to the right.

Taylor had moved up into the cabin and looked out, even as the semi slowed down.

"Pull up to them," Danny finally said, already drawing a picture that he was not necessarily liking. The only reason they would be shutting Route 24 down was either damage down the line, which was unlikely with the oncoming traffic in the other lane of the expressway, or they were trying to control what was coming into Boston.

Coming to a stop in the left lane of the expressway, Danny proceeded to get out of the truck, Taylorhot on his heels as he walked towards the trooper. By the reaction of the trooper, that was probably not the best way considering how he tensed, his expression wary.

"Officer," he called out.

"Sir, I need you to get back in the semi and turn off into Randolph," a young state trooper approached, his hand resting upon his sidearm, but not drawing it yet, but the threat was evident, "no unauthorized vehicles are allowed beyond this point."

"Officer, we're here to help. I'm Danny Hebert of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay. I have behind me nine semi-trailers with rescue equipment and humanitarian aid for Boston. We set out to help as soon as we got the word."

"I'm sorry sir, but my orders are clear. I cannot allow you to pass."

"Can you at least-"

"I'm sorry sir, but again I can't allow you any further."

"May I speak with your supervisor? I'm sure that we can work something out to get these supplies to Boston."

There was a pause from the trooper, as he seemed to be looking for something. Whatever it was that he was looking for he found as his shoulders slumped slightly, his hand moving away from the sidearm.

"There is no supervisor, sir," he admitted, exhaustion and resignation lacing his tone, "Leviathan knocked out communications from Boston, what we are getting is spotty at best, and my orders are to shut down Route 24 to all non-essential vehicles. I have my orders sir. I'm sorry."

I can't violate those orders, sir. I'm sorry."

It was beginning to look much worse than any of Taylor's models, he realized with horror, the implications readily obvious. Without consistent communications, whatever response and coordination coming from Boston was going to be a mess at best. It meant that currently every single command was doing their own things according to their own operating procedure, and many of them likely had procedures that interfered with others.

Which meant that a lot of people were going to die.

"What's your name, son," he asked sincerely. He couldn't even fathom what must be going through the trooper's head right now. An Endbringer attack in Boston, and he was forced to shut down a road outside of the city, without any real idea of what was going on, the only thing he was left with were his orders and his own thoughts. He didn't envy the trooper.

"Waldren, sir," the trooper replied stiffly.

"I understand you have your orders, but this is aid to an Endbringer disaster area. Is there any way I can convince you to let us through, Trooper Waldren?"

The man hesitated for a moment. It was obvious to anyone he was caught between doing the right thing and following the orders he had been given. And for a moment, he thought he had gotten through to the trooper, before the man finally shook his head.

"Sorry, sir. I can't. I'm going to once again ask you to turn your convoy into Randolph. If you are offering aid to Boston, then talk with the authorities there. They can likely coordinate something with you. But I have to keep this route closed to all non-essential vehicles."

"Okay, son," he replied, holding back a sigh of resignation at the failure to reach the man. He hated it, but he could also understand the trooper's plight and couldn't hold it against him in this situation. So he turned around, and he found Taylor was already walking back towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.

He then turned, and found Taylor was already walking towards the semi with fast, purposeful strides.

Ah shit, he thought, even as he started jogging after her. He had just caught up with her as she opened the door to the semi.

"Kent, signal the rest of the trucks, unload now. Quentin, get out here, we're going to have to improvise."

She then started towards the back of the semi, even as a "Fuck," escaped from the cab courtesy of Quentin. Kent himself began talking into his radio, obviously passing Taylor's orders.

"Taylor," he started, barely keeping up with her stride as she moved, "what are you doing?"

"What does it look like," she shot back, "if they won't let us through, I'll just go around."

"Go around," he repeated, and everything clicked into place, and he fought the urge to panic, "Taylor it's nearly twenty miles to Boston."

"Which I can cover in an hour with the LRL," she returned, coming to a stop at the back of the tarp, reaching up with her hands. Her fingers began moving as if she were typing, occasionally stopping to swipe her hand in the air. He didn't know exactly what she was doing, but with her Focus she had what she referred to as an augmented reality system that allowed her to interact with devices freely without needing a computer.

"Taylor, that isn't what we planned for. You told me that you needed a forward base so you could resupply and maintain the units. If you do this, you won't have any of that logistical support for god knows how long."

She paused, her hands hanging in the air.

"I know," she finally breathed, "but I'm not going to be deterred, Dad. If I can save even one life, then the cost is worth it. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

He wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream at her. To tell her that this was a mistake, that her life was worth more than anyone that she could save. But instead, he kept it back, because he knew it would be pointless. This was his daughter in a nutshell, she didn't care about the personal cost to her, all that mattered to her was that she was able to save lives.

Instead, he sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Okay," he finally said, "What do we need to do?"

"The energy demands for this run are going to push the envelope on projections, we're going to have to lash as many extra fuel cells as we can to the Titan. It's a stopgap measure, but until we can get more support, it's the best option available. When I get to the disaster area, I should be able to get someone to actually let you guys through. Just wait for me."

He frowned, not liking what his daughter was saying. He intellectually understood what she was working towards, but the father in him did not like hearing it.

"Taylor, let me go with you," he pleaded, knowing that ordering her would achieve nothing. The idea that his daughter was planning to go alone into a disaster area was nearly too much. Why couldn't she just do the safe thing and wait?

Before she could answer, Quentin came up to them, the laptop in hand, "What do you need of me, Taylor?"

"I need you to do one more review of the stowed Focuses on the Titan. I have some suspicions as to why the trooper is only getting sporadic communications from Boston, and if it's true we'll need every single one of them ready to go."

"Roger that," the man nodded, turning back towards the cab, even as he began getting back to work on the laptop. As he did that, several men that had ridden along on the semis were congregating around them.

"Okay," Taylor called out, her voice carrying in air that might as well be still, "we're debarking the machines. We'll start with the Titan first, then the Watchers and Scrappers, and finally the Charger. I need you guys to ensure that they get off safely. We won't be able to unload any of the supplies or replacement parts for more than likely twenty-four hours, so make sure they don't get dinged. Ramirez, Brown, Eaton, and Yaxley, I need you to lash as many Fuel Cells to the Titan as you can as soon as we get it off the semi. We're going to have to do all of this on the fly, so let's do it right the first time, okay?"

The corresponding calls of acknowledgement caused him to swell with pride. Even at fifteen years old, she seemed to have taken the best of him, and combined it with the force of will of Annette, and shaping it into something uniquely her own. When she was like this, she had the presence that could make men and women triple her age snap to attention and follow her command without a question.

Satisfied her orders were out and getting done, she turned to him, providing him an answer to his question, "I need you here, Dad. On the sat phone with Jean and letting her know what's going on. I need you ready to move all of this on a moment's notice, these men and women respect you and will move through hell for you."

"They'll do the same for you, Taylor."

"But I need to be out there, guiding the machines, Dad. Even with all of the effort I have put into making them capable of independent action, it has to be a human hand that gives them their orders. I can't do that if I know I won't have reinforcements when we finally get the green light to move in the supplies."

"Don't move!"

Both of their head snapped towards the highway patrolman, who had moved up on them, but he had his gun in hand, drawn and leveled upon them, even as his eyes darted towards the Titan as the canvas had been removed from the storage container, and it was bared for all to see.

"What the fuck is this," the trooper demanded.

"Rescue equipment," Taylor turned towards him, "I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies. I am also Alloy, an independent cape. These machines are meant to assist in search and rescue. And under the Endbringer Truce, you are illegally obstructing a cape attempting to render aid to a disaster area."

"And what's-"

"Sir, I did not spend spend the last month and almost ten million dollars putting this together in some sort of convoluted attempt at suicide. I'm here to save lives," she then paused as a Burrower skulked up beside her, the machine being disturbingly quiet in its approach, "and you're in my way."

For a moment, he worried that Taylor had pushed too hard as the trooper's expression hardened for a moment. But then his features softened as he slowly lowered his weapon, his shoulders sagging slightly in what could only be described as relief.

.

"You're actually going to help," he asked.

"I am."

A few more moments of silence met them, before he nodded, "Alright. I'll let you through."

The trooper then turned and headed back to the roadblock, leaving them alone. But before he could say anything to Taylor, she moved towards the back of the second rig and he found himself following her.

"Ethan, you have it?"

"Yes, Taylor," came the response of Ethan, who handed her a thick jacket, one that not only provided warmth, but by its weave, it was also meant to provide protection. Taylor slipped off the slight jacket she was wearing and handed it to him, before putting the new one on.

"Taylor, what are you doing," he asked.

"I'm going on ahead," she stated as she zipped up the jacket, "Keep unloading, Ethan."

"Right, ma'am."

Instead of being angry as Ethan moved to rejoin the others, he sighed, knowing that the decision was already made, but even if that was true, it was his job as a father to try and convince her otherwise. Even if he didn't even think it was the wrong decision.

"Taylor, if you stay with us, we can reach the staging point that they are likely putting together and set up. That way you won't have to worry about supplies, and we can start coordinating with local law enforcement and anyone else."

The shake of her head told him all that he needed to know, as she reached into the bag and pulled out an odd device. It was a breathing mask of some kind, but one that he didn't recognize. She unclasped the strap, reaching up and securing it behind her head, leaving the mask to rest around her neck.

"If they are shutting Route 24 off at Randolph, that means that they are likely using I-93 as a main supply route. By breaking off, I can reach whatever command center they have set up long before the convoy could get there and arrange things. That way we can get set up before nightfall and get our orders on what to do. But I have to go now, especially if they are trying to control traffic into 93, with my machines, I can follow the interstate without getting caught in any of the traffic."

She then paused, looking towards him, "I just want to save lives, Dad. And every minute saved could be the difference for a lot of trapped people."

His heart leapt in pride, even as it was tempered by fear. His daughter's singular focus on saving lives had driven them to this point, and it appeared that it would keep driving them damn the consequences. He honestly could not be more proud of her if he could.

"You'll be alone out there, Taylor. We won't be able to back you up if something goes wrong."

Taylor's silence was telling, because it told him that she was at least listening. Even if he knew, deep down, that it was an exercise in futility.

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

"What?"

She shook her head, "I'm sorry. It's something that I keep thinking about in all of this. I have all this knowledge Dad, but if I don't use it, then what is the point? I'm the only person who can do this, right here, right now. Not a week from now, when it may be too late for dozens and maybe hundreds."

She zipped up the jacket, her expression resolute.

"I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do this."

He didn't say anything, because honestly, what was there to say? Instead, he pulled his daughter into a bone-crushing hug, trying to ignore the tears starting to trek down his face.

"Okay, Little Owl," he said softly, trying not to choke on his words, "I'm not going to stop. Just be careful and keep in contact."

"I can do you one better," she responded, leaving him confused, before opening a case she extracted from the duffel bag, opening it up to him.

"Taylor, I-," he lost his words looking at the Focus currently resting in the case before him.

"It's not as powerful or as customized as mine, but it will run circles around all of the ones on the Titan. I've disabled most of the user-side inputs, so everything needs to be accessed through manipulating the augmented reality interface. I don't recommend moving while doing that until you are comfortable doing so."

"Taylor. Why are you doing this? You know I'm pants with this technology."

"That's why the controls are simplified," was her response, still holding it out to him even in spite of his protests, "I have it paired to my device, so you can access what I am seeing on choice. That way you know what I am doing and how I am doing."

He stared at the device again, before looking back to his daughter. Unlike before, he took the time to truly take her in, knowing the efforts that must have gone into this. In recent weeks, he had begun to really learn just how to read his daughter, despite her own efforts to hide it. And right now, in spite of her attempts to appear calm, she was an open and ready book despite his inability to see her eyes.

There was hope there, even in spite of the fact that he had already given her his blessing, that he would readily embrace what she was doing. Not out of grudging admittance that he had no choice, that she would bull through him regardless, but ready acceptance.

In spite of the tough front she put up, deep down, she was still that fifteen year old teenager looking for acceptance from her sole remaining parental figure.

It was too much, as he surged forward and wrapped her into a hug. Sure, it was maybe a bit too much, hugging his daughter out in public like this, but he couldn't help himself at the pride he felt in her. It had been a worry not three weeks ago that her would lose her, that to see her now, going to such extents to include him.

"I'm proud of you," he said, and his daughter stiffened in his hug, before relaxing slightly. He then released her after a few moments, stepping back slightly.

"Okay, show me how to use this."

I would like to note, that this story now has a Discord. So feel free to come on down and join in.

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Nicohals J Westerberg · Nov 10, 2024

Voidlord · Nov 13, 2024

Ahh just finished reading. I let it build up chapters for a while, and I like what I saw. I am really looking forward to Piggot getting her comeuppance when the aftermath of what Taylor is doing comes out. I can picture her frothing at the mouth and trying to get her declared a S-Class threat. Just because.

AlSmash · Nov 27, 2024

Made a mad rush to get this part out before American Thanksgiving. Wanted something for you guys to digest alongside whatever it is you choose to consume for those who celebrate for the holiday. Not a lot to say here, just keep not meeting my deadlines and schedules due to energy and stress levels. It's probably going to get a lot worse soon, as I am working to conjure up enough money for Japan in April. That means picking up additional shifts and probably doing some gig work. Which means less time to write.

That, and I'm dragging my ass to the gym. Need to get healthier and reduce the strain on my knee.

Anyways, enough about my personal bullshit, you all want the chapter, not to listen to my drivel.

Nothing really overall to note, I'm doing a bit of a darker angle on Lexy I feel, but it's based out of her own biases and beliefs, than any type of of malice. I'm introducing a bit of an easter egg, but no, he is not THAT man, though, but it fits.

As for Taylor, well, we get to see a bit of how the Focus operates. The fact of the matter is, we don't know much of the Focus, outside of how it operates within game. So I'm working to build at least something into it to make it work. There will be further exploration into it going forward.

I'm currently unsure if Part 3 will be the final part, or we're gonna drag out a Part 4. I'll get back to you on that via my discord once I know what the hell I'm going to do.

Finally, I want to thank Ansraer, Reynard, BigBadBen, Geas, and Tigers-Tall-Tails for all of the assistance. Especially Tigers, as they helped work me out of a serious rut and kicked my ass back into gear.

Sprout 3.1 Part 2

Alexandria

Far too many, if they were in her position as she flew through the fading light and caught a glimpse of the ruins of the once great city of Boston, would only have one question dominating their shell-shocked minds.

How could this have happened?

But to Rebecca Costa-Brown - to Alexandria - There was no great revelation. No great secret. There was only the cold, unvarnished truth.

They had grown complacent.

They had grown confident in their analysis of Leviathan. They had believed that they knew exactly what the hydrokinetic Endbringer was capable of. They had made models built upon the foundation of fifteen years of data, confident that they had divined the full breadth of its abilities.

Complacency was why; when he had settled into the Laurentian Abyss, thereby indicating where he was likely to strike once the Endbringer window opened, she had authorized the placement of Tinkertech sensors and sonar arrays in the area. It would serve as an early warning net so they would have word when he eventually moved.

They had been secure in the knowledge that, based upon previous attacks by Leviathan, it should work. That they could use it as a model that would save the tens of thousands of lives from future attacks.

They could not have been more wrong.

Their only warning had been mere minutes before Leviathan's landfall. And it had only been because of luck and the USS Kidd, an Arleigh Burke-class Guided Missile Destroyer, that they had any warning whatsoever. The destroyer had been on a shakedown cruise after finishing a refit at Bath Iron Works in Maine. The Commanding Officer had been running sonar tests when they had detected Leviathan two hundred miles from Boston. Immediately he had raised the alert, even as Leviathan accelerated to nearly four hundred knots away from Kidd.

The alert had been met with skepticism. Not from his superiors, but from the PRT itself. Even as the captain was sounding all the alarms he could and the Kidd was plotting the Leviathan's track in the direction of Boston, the sensors placed to monitor Leviathan were reporting that the Endbringer was still in the Laurentian Abyss. It was only a few minutes later, however, that it was revealed to their horror as Leviathan disappeared from their scopes in the Abyss, that he was no longer there.

Precious minutes were wasted between initial contact and when the Endbringer sirens were sounded. But by then, it was already too late for many to get to safety. The tidal wave that was a staple of Leviathan's initial assault had rolled through Massachusetts Bay without impediment, tearing through the various islands and islets before slamming head-on into Logan International Airport, wiping it away as Leviathan made a path straight for downtown Boston.

As this was taking place, Leviathan revealed yet another previously unknown ability. While it began its assault, the atmosphere in and around Boston became charged, the sudden massive change to the clouds, along with the rapid speed, built up a large-scale and persistent ionic discharge. Electronics, the lifeblood of American society, suddenly found themselves fried, or in the case of those hardened to resist such energetic situations, unable to reliably communicate with the outside world.

Even more time was lost after that initial landfall and without stable communications, there was no coordination to quickly mount a counteroffensive against the Endbringer. What happened next was that the Boston Protectorate and villains found themselves on their own, even as the rest of the Protectorate attempted to mobilize under the Endbringer Truce. But without communications the incoming assets did not know where to establish a staging point, or even where it was safe to place medical personnel.

What resulted was a piecemeal counteroffensive, launched from the outskirts of the greater Boston area. Without the ability to even communicate through Dragon's armbands, there was nothing cohesive to their defense. Many capes were injured, with quite a few killed, simply because there was no ability to coordinate, as Leviathan used the weather and terrain to its advantage. There were even instances where the Endbringer would simply disappear into the pouring rain, only to strike out elsewhere like a ghost. All the while, lightning was falling everywhere, as the weather manipulation that had robbed them of communications had also provided Leviathan with an additional weapon to its arsenal.

This was certainly not the usual behavior of the Endbringer. They had been used to Leviathan's hit and runs, of course, using the tributaries and waterways of its targets in order to mount attacks. But it hadn't shown previously any ability to manipulate weather patterns in such a way to create mass lightning storms and electromagnetic interference.

But in the end, these tactics, as different and effective as they were, were unable to stop it from being driven off thanks to the sacrifices of several capes. Leviathan suffered significant damage thanks to a weapon from a Brockton Bay cape, though said cape was currently being treated due to his weapon having overloaded and exploding in his face.

It was something that she would have to further investigate once she had the time. Kid Win had certainly put a spotlight upon himself in spite of the injuries he had suffered. If he could produce a weapon like the one used against Leviathan, then maybe with the appropriate resources he could do something more if…nudged in the right manner.

But that was the future, not the present. And the present was a harsh enough reality as it was.

The local Protectorate and PRT Boston were effectively gone. Director Armstrong and Bastion were dead, with most of the Protectorate, and a large portion of the Wards also dead or walking casualties. The PRT was reporting eighty-three percent force casualties incurred in the chaos with many of those casualties suffered when the Boston HQ was destroyed in the initial minutes of the attack.

Likewise, the state and local governments were also ravaged. Too many officials and functionaries with any capacity for leadership had been gathering for the economic summit and gala.

Even the local villain scene was devastated. The Teeth were done as a functional gang. Outside of Vex, every single Teeth cape was dead. But even more worryingly, Butcher was missing. The last sighting of the fourteenth iteration of the cape had her fighting Leviathan and then nothing after. It was safe to say that there was a high chance that the cape was dead, and as a result, both Legend and herself were keeping a wide berth from the downtown business district in order to prevent a chance of becoming the fifteenth Butcher. Even if there was evidence that Butcher could not migrate to any Cauldron capes, it was better to be safe than sorry.

But to add to the proverbial shit sundae of all of it? The Vice President was currently missing and more than likely dead. The probability of Jack Ryan's survival while being in the epicenter of Leviathan's attack were statistically so close to zero that it was worthless to calculate.

There was a part of her that was relieved that 'The Cardinal of DC' was dead. Whether it was clashing over policy and how capes should be utilized, or him and his proxies sticking their nose where they shouldn't be, the man had been a persistent thorn in her side. The fact that he was positioning himself for the Presidency had left her many sleepless nights, despite Contessa's assurances that it was part of the Path.

So while his death would simplify her life, it created its own set of issues. There was no doubt in her mind that there would be blowback for his death, as one last fuck you from the man. The president had become far too close to Ryan over the years, despite her attempts at preventing it, and the fact that it had been the Protectorate and PRT that actively hindered an advanced warning on Leviathan's approach was likely to bring Durling's ire upon her.

It would be inconvenient, to say the least, what was likely to result soon. There would likely be a thorough investigation, and with the jackals in human skin that resided within the confines of the machine in DC, everyone and their dog would soon know what allegedly went wrong and who was to blame. Just the fact that she would likely have to suffer through several congressional panels and investigations for unimportant functionaries obsessed with their self-worth made her want to find Ryan to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was truely dead and not using this as some elaborate spy plot. It sounded like something out of a novel, but she wouldn't put it past the man.

But that was her personal feelings and thoughts talking. What mattered was the mission, everything else was secondary. She would persevere and the Plan would continue uninterrupted, and with Ryan gone, at least her part would be easier going forward.

So why did she continue to feel uneasy?

Discarding her feelings, she came to a stop and slowly descended, spotting the command post, and the further-in-the-distance medical tents that had been hastily put together to coordinate operations within Boston. Awaiting her was a familiar face and the way his expression was closed off, she knew she was not going to like the news that she was going to hear before she went in for this meeting.

"Legend," she greeted, choosing to keep herself a few inches above the ground. It Wouldn't to get mud all over her boots.

"Alexandria," he returned, his tone flat. For someone as expressive and personable as him, he may as well have been screaming to the heavens just how angry he currently was.

"How bad is it," she asked, even as she floated past him and headed toward the command center.

"The line of succession for Massachusetts is gone."

She froze, her mind parsing the information for a moment, even as she recalled the line of succession for the state. That meant that not only was the Governor dead, but so was the Lieutenant Governor, Secretary of State, Attorney General, Treasurer and Receiver General, and State Auditor. Which meant the state was currently without a legally-appointed leader until something could be organized or the courts could rule upon.

Which meant a major element of the rescue and recovery was leaderless.

She had to wonder if that was intentional, but then quickly dismissed it. Endbringers picked their targets based upon the local cape situation, usually when activity or events reached a certain conflict threshold. There was nothing to indicate a departure from this model of operation. Boston was relatively stable, but there had been some indications that a possible second iteration of the Boston Games was brewing. Perhaps that was what drew Leviathan's attention?

"What is our status," she finally asked, really not liking the picture her mind was putting together.

"Communications are still unreliable, the only good news is that the interference is dying down and hopefully will be gone within the next few hours, then we should have a clearer idea of what we have left. I don't expect we will be happy with what we'll have. Strider is currently acting as a message runner to DC, but he's going to need downtime after he returns from New York with the FEMA team from over there. The really bad news is that thanks to what Leviathan did the National Weather Service is now predicting another major thunderstorm with heavy rains arriving within the next forty-eight hours, upwards of three inches of downfall and temperatures dropping below freezing"

It just had to be worse.

"What about the local FEMA branch?"

"Dead or missing," was his terse response, "their building was downtown, along with most of the other organizations disaster relief would be reliant upon. The only good news is we have the USS Kidd out in the bay, and the Colonel from Hanscom Air Force Base has brought a convoy over here with people and aid. He's also trying to jury-rig up a communications relay system that may be able to get around the interference. But other than that, we're right back to square one."

And we can't assume leadership because it is not within our remit, she thought with a hint of irritation. It was a decision that she had made years ago, in order to segregate capes from the government, but also prevent the optics of capes taking control of things like this, creating the wrong message.

Now it was coming to bite them in the ass.

Drawing in a breath, she counted to ten, before releasing it, organizing her thoughts with the new data, trying to figure out just what they could do in lieu of everything. It was one of the perks of having a memory such as hers, it was a literal data repository that she often used to gain an advantage over her opponents.

"Okay. We're going to have to lean on the military."

This drew a blink from her counterpart, as he stared at her as if she had grown a second head. It was obviously something he would never expect her to say.

"What?"

"Without legitimate state leadership, there is not much the federal government can do beyond the basics for rendering aid. We have to be invited to do things, and even with the Endbringer Truce, we are on a timetable. As long as there is no governor, or the local politicians can't get creative, the only way to get around that would be to lean upon the local military leadership to assume control until something can be arranged. We'll need Strider to head to DC after this, see if we can get Durling to issue an order reflecting this."

"You're talking about a Colonel, Alexandria. I'm not sure that is going to fly with the local politicians. They're too busy arguing over who should be in charge."

"Then we'll give them no choice in the matter," she declared, "Who's the Colonel?"

"Herres."

The name didn't ring a bell. Which probably would make it easier for them in the long run. Having a relatively no-name Colonel to blame for the disaster relief would make things easier to take the heat off the Protectorate.

"Okay, we'll push him into-"

"What the fuck?!"

The sudden exclamation made her head snap in the direction of Shadow Stalker, who was busy staring out from the field command center towards a group of military trucks that were coming down the road in the fading light. But it wasn't that that drew the reaction, it was what was moving beside them.

Immediately, she brought herself around, readying herself for a possible fight, even as she took in the machines that were moving in a loose formation beside the convoy. The blue lights coming from the machines were almost blinding for eyes that had adjusted to the encroaching night. It was only the polarized glass on her mask that prevented the glare from blinding her. But it also provided her an ability to count that there were nine machines of four different models. In the front was a man-sized quadrupedal machine, moving with the gait of a large canine. Four of the other machines were human-sized and bipedal; long necks and long tails with a cylindrical body. Their head could best be described as a giant blue flashlight. Sensors maybe? Another two were shorter, but longer machines, and she couldn't help but see some sort of resemblance to a weasel in how they scampered along. Behind those two was a machine with a rhinoceros-like head that towered over them. Comparing it to the military truck that it was pacing next to, it was clear that it was even taller than that, and it certainly backed it up with mass, as the sounds of its footfalls grew in volume as it approached.

But it was the last machine that drew her attention, the one closest to one of the trucks. It was a machine that looked like a facsimile of a horse, but with curled horns like a ram. On its back rode a person. Even in the distance, there was a soft glow on the side of her head, even if she couldn't make out any other features.

It seemed that Shadow Stalker's exclamation had drawn quite a lot of attention, as people were reacting at the sight that was approaching them. Which was perfectly understandable, the Endbringer fight was already over, why would anyone be arriving after it, unless they were here to cause trouble.

Thankfully, no one made a move yet, as the trucks finally came to a stop a short ways away, and the machines did as well. The door to the truck opened, and out stepped a soldier, just as the figure on the back of the horse machine dismounted allowing Alexandria to get a better look at what she know realized was a teenage girl

She was certainly not dressed in what you would expect for a cape. In fact, she looked inordinately mundane outside of the breathing mask around her neck and the glowing circle hovering over a device at her temple…

Immediately, she knew who she was looking at, but before she could do or say something, another man walked past her. She didn't get a good look at the man other than he was dressed in BDUs, but he carried an air of being a man used to being in charge. He came to a stop and the man beside the woman came to attention. She took the time to get closer, just so she could hear what was being exchanged.

"Sergeant, good to see you," the man greeted.

"Sorry, we're running behind, sir. We ran into some trouble coming in. Corporal Yates nearly lost a truck when the road washed out, and if it wasn't for Miss Hebert here, we would have to leave his truck behind. But sir, I think you need to hear this."

This must be Herres, she realized, even as the Colonel turned his head towards Taylor Hebert.

"Thank you for assisting my men, Miss Hebert. What is it you have for me?"

AEH

Aaron Herres II

Earlier

What an absolute clusterfuck!

That was the thought racing through his head as Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Herres II, United States Air Force, watched as the civilian 'leaders' of the great state of Massachusetts began to argue once again about who was in charge. This was now the fourth such instance he was witness to since he had arrived.

"You don't have the authority to do that! A minimum quorum is required befo…"

"Hang the bloody quorum. We need leadership now, and that passes through seniority..."

"Precedent says that the judicial branch takes control in.."

When the Endbringer Alert had sounded, he had been at Hanscom Air Force Base, inspecting several of the projects ongoing at the base at the behest of the Pentagon.

The damned alert always caused him to pause. The memories of the doomed Operation Autumn Thunder, the combined US military's first, and last, attempt to destroy an Endbringer came to the forefront again. The feeling of helplessness as everything that they threw at Behemoth proved utterly useless as the beast wiped out some of the best and brightest of the Army, Air Force, and Marines.

He had been one of the lucky survivors, though he never felt it. Because instead of a swift death, he lived to bear witness to the slow strangulation of his beloved Air Force. Autumn Thunder had not only been a military disaster, but it heralded a dramatic shift in government priority and funding. It hadn't been the military that drove back Behemoth that day, it had been the nascent Protectorate, spearheaded by its four founders.

To be fair, the blame didn't truly lie solely in the hands of the Protectorate. The emergence of capes, the collapse of the Soviet Union and People's Republic of China, and the erosion of the world economy, had caused some very pointed questions to be asked about the military budget. Too many threats and responsibilities were simply not there anymore to rationalize such massive expenditures. Especially with the domestic issues that were beginning to rear their ugly heads on the criminal and economic fronts.

The failure of Autumn Thunder had been the final nail in the coffin of the argument and the futile expenditure of billions of dollars in hardware and loss of thousands of servicemen and women provided the grave marker. Across the board, every military branch found their budgets reduced by levels not seen since the Great Depression. With the stroke of a pen, the strongest military in the history of the world found itself a shadow of its former self.

The first to go were the overseas bases, abandoning alliances that had lasted for decades. Returning troops came home to stateside posts that were shrinking by the day. Ships and planes were mothballed, army bases closed their doors, recruiting stations were closed. Air-Force bases and runways were sold to the civilian air industry. DARPA, the research arm of the US military, was, after a few tinker integration disasters, slashed to the bone. Servicemen drifted into the various diminished National Guard units, private security companies, or even the newly formed PRT.

To this day, the only reason he wasn't discharged from the Air Force was because of his father, a retired colonel, pulling some strings. But in the face of massive cuts, the Air Force, like the rest of the military, decommissioned their forces en masse in order to meet budget targets. It was a chaotic time, with far too many being served their discharge papers without any warning as air wings and bases were shut down wholesale.

Yet even though he was safe from the butcher's knife of cutbacks, his 33rd Fighter Wing, or rather what was left of it, was not so fortunate. It had been one of the first units decommissioned, ostensibly because they no longer had the budget to reconstitute it back to full strength. But the truth was far harsher: The higher-ups in the Air Force viewed Autumn Thunder, and the component units involved, as a source of shame. It was much easier to decommission 'cursed units' than it was to do it to intact units.

He was never going to fly again. No amount of pull or favors would get jets in the air, and fuel in the tanks. It had almost been enough for him to resign his commission. But it turns out, even when everything was falling apart, there were opportunities to be found. With the near death of DARPA, they struggled to find anyone they could. Most of their staff being poached by private interests, or the rising power of the PRT. So he found himself traveling the country, overseeing several projects the Air Force still had operational. Administration had been a minor interest from his days in flight school, and it had ended up serving him well by keeping him in uniform.

And now he was in Boston. Listening to idiots.

"I will have my staff research the amendment! The Law is on my side."

"The only staff you have are interns, who haven't wised up to your ways! You're unfit!"

He turned and stormed out through the flap of the command tent, letting the bickering fools continue to argue. No leadership was going to come with them, it would likely take communications being reestablished with DC that maybe, just maybe, sanity would be allowed to once again prevail and they could work towards actually saving lives.

Glancing towards his watch, a gift from his father, he noted that Sergeant Forsythe was running behind. He should have been back by now with the rest of the gear needed to establish a communications relay chain. It would be a crude solution, but whatever interference Leviathan had created was leaving them on an island when they needed all the help they could get, and it was likely the only way they could get around it for the time being.

Idly, he noted Alexandria and Legend discussing something, but dismissed them just as quickly. Legend may as well have doubled as furniture in that room. As a federal officer, he had just as much weight as he did, and probably even less, because the man would be on his way in a few days anyway.

Just what inspired the insanity that was the Protectorate, he would never understand. As a federal organization, it boggled the mind at just how inefficiently it operated, with so many policies and standards that only served to get in its own way. It was a small miracle that it was capable of operating as it was, only being held together by the personalities of its leader and local commanders.

Reaching towards his pocket, he fought back a grimace as it found it lacking the telltale comfort of his cigarettes. The mad rush down to Boston had not afforded him the opportunity to resupply, and he had foolishly spent what he had left trying to keep his calm in the face of absolute incompetence.

"What a shit show."

His head turned to take in the figure of First Lieutenant Anthony Adams, his assistant. The man might officially be an assistant, but really he was meant to shadow and learn from him. Officer training schools weren't exactly flush with cash, and the Air Force had thus instituted a program that focused more heavily on in the field training. His eyes then caught the offered cigarette held out to him. Grunting in appreciation, he took it from the other man, before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a light. He then flipped it open, and holding the flame to the other man who leaned in with his own cigarette and lit it. The action completed, he then took the time to light his own cigarette, before closing the lighter with an audible clink.

"Agreed," he declared after finishing taking a deep inhalation of the cancer stick and releasing the noxious fumes. The man shared a quiet moment as he considered his options, none of them to his liking.

"Status on the Seahawk," he asked, only to be rewarded with a shake of the other man's head.

"According to Lieutenant Simmons, it's not going to be able to go anywhere. He suspects that it's something in the rotor system, but he won't be sure until they can get it into a maintenance bay and strip it down to the individual screws."

Closing his eyes, he took another deep drag from the cigarette, analyzing the development and how it affected the current situation.

Without the Kidd's Seahawk, their ability to communicate with the outside world for the time being remained a relay system that may work, or Strider, the independent cape. Unfortunately, Strider was currently due to be indisposed thanks to exhaustion from already acting as the main mode of transportation for capes in the initial counterattack on Leviathan and then serving as a runner for hours afterwards. It was made clear that any further usage would be disastrous until he could rest. And no other flight-capable capes were offering their services, preferring to do their own things spread out across the city. Well meaning, but a fragmented response was sometimes worse than no response at all.

It came back to the relay system.

And even if it reestablished a connection with the outside world, it still came back to the fact that there was no local governance that could make the hard decisions necessary in this situation. Any solution to the matter would take too damn long, and they were in a fight against the clock.

There was one possible solution, but it was a dated measure that had never been practiced, only explored as a theoretical contingency in the event of a nuclear attack. The only reason he even knew of its existence was because he had been privy to several deep discussions in the Pentagon on the matter of Endbringers. Contrary to what the Protectorate would want, the military had not forgotten its oath, and it had certainly explored scenarios involving the Endbringers and capes.

No, he had no choice in the matter, and he would be damned once he did it. But he could not sit idly by and allow tens of thousands of people to be sacrificed for the egos of self-important men who couldn't think of anything but their own selfish pursuits, even in the face of catastrophe.

Opening his mouth, he prepared to commit himself, when a sudden shout drew his attention to a teenaged cape decked out in grays and blacks. He then followed her gaze toward the road and found himself blinking at the sight before him.

There was the military convoy that he was expecting from Sergeant Forsythe, but it was what was accompanying it that caused him to stop and take a moment to process what exactly he was witnessing.

As one of the troubleshooters for project management, he was required to be kept abreast of parallel developments. But a large portion of discussions also stemmed from the exploration of reverse engineering Tinkertech into something that could be mass produced. That meant that he was aware of almost every single known Tinker in North America.

What was coming down the road was not of any design or theme that he was aware of.

Recognizing that whatever it was that was coming his way, was likely somehow involved in the delay of his convoy, he flicked the cigarette to the ground, letting nature take its course as the rain-soaked ground extinguished it. The action done, he strode towards where the vehicles were approaching, taking the time to analyze what he could only describe as animal-themed machines, drinking in their details as he attempted to divine their function.

He felt that he had figured out most of them by the time they came to a stop before him, and he watched as Sergeant Forsythe disembarked from the truck, alongside another figure that jumped off a machine that looked like a horse with a ram's horns. Strange choice for personal transportation, but he wasn't sure what to make of any further function.

Four of the machines were obviously a sensor platform of some type. He had already put together that the glowing blue pieces where eyes were on other machines was likely the same, only taken to an extreme level with their cyclopic nature. It also helped that even after stopping, they were acting like prey animals, constantly scanning their surroundings.

There were two smaller machines, but he was unsure of what purpose that they could serve. They scuttled about in a way that reminded him of weasels, and they certainly looked to have sharp 'claws' at the end of their legs. What those were for, however, the jury was still out, though he leaned toward the probability judging by the animal theme, was likely for digging.

Of the machines the canid-themed one looked the most threatening. Even at this distance he could make out the various grinders and blades that made up its 'mouth'. It could easily rip and tear whatever it was put to, but the fact that there was only one reduced the overall threat in his mind. Could it be for another purpose? Maybe digging? But the shape of it was wrong.

His gaze then fell to the largest machine, one that worriedly was larger than the truck that had brought Sergeant Forsythe. The machine's purpose was a question mark. He wanted to say that it was a communications design, judging by the various antennas and spikes. But for something that size it seemed rather inefficient as a design. There was probably more to it, but it escaped him.

And then Sergeant Forsythe was before him, offering a salute in recognition.

"Sergeant, good to see you," he greeted, returning the salute.

"Sorry, we're running behind, sir. We ran into some trouble coming in. Corporal Yates nearly lost a truck when the road washed out, and if it wasn't for Miss Hebert here, we would have to leave his truck behind. But sir, I think you need to hear this."

He nodded, before looking over 'Miss Hebert'.

She was young, painfully so. Though he found himself wondering why the girl was wearing black glasses when night would be falling soon. The glowing triangle on the side of her head was even more noteworthy.

"Thank you for assisting my men, Miss Hebert. What is it that you have for me?"

"As Sergeant Forsythe said, I'm Taylor Hebert, CEO of Zero Dawn Technologies out of Brockton Bay," she declared, holding out her hand to shake, and he took it, taking note of the solid grip that raised his assessment for her, "I have three sixteen-wheelers full of aid supplies on the highway right now about half-an-hour out."

She then retrieved her hand and turned, and he found himself following her as she approached the arranged machines, "I've also got this. A Light Rescue Lance rated for search and rescue in any environment. They operate semi-independently, but work best alongside rescue crews."

He found himself frowning, appreciating the proffered help, but hating the position that it would place him in, "Look Miss Hebert, we appreciate it, but we just can't take…"

"I'm not done yet," she interrupted him. His brow raised slightly as he adjusted his assessment of the girl.

It took quite a bit of confidence that you didn't see in many young people to interrupt a soldier. And from her expression, it was the confidence not borne of cockiness either.

She came to a stop near the largest machine, wrapping her knuckles against its side. The machine huffed in a remarkably lifelike fashion, before bending at the knees dropping its large bulk to the ground in a lying position. She then took a few steps back to the flank of the machine, tapping against it slightly. In response to the motion, a panel opened up, revealing carefully arrayed stacks of hard cases. Dozens of them. Reaching in, she slid one out, before turning towards him and opening it up to reveal dozens of triangle devices slightly smaller than the one affixed to her temple.

"I'm going to hazard a guess, Colonel, that the reason you are all unable to talk with one another is because Leviathan used his hydrokinesis to create something similar to a localized Carrington-style event. Most communications and electronics are knocked out because they are not hardened for such an event, and the residual electrons currently in the local atmosphere are disrupting any abilities to send and receive communications."

"I cannot confirm the specifics of what you are suggesting, Miss Hebert. But, you are correct on the continuing difficulty in reestablishing communications."

She nodded, before reaching into the case and retrieving the device and holding it out on the palm of her hands, "I can help with that. This is a Focus. It is a multipurpose sensory interface with point-to-point communications, capable of audio and video recording and transmission. The control interface operates through an augmented reality system that responds to hand gestures and voice commands. It will cut through the interference and make it possible for you to be able to communicate and coordinate."

And thereby speed up the rescue and save lives, he added, finding himself respecting the girl further for not trying to appeal to emotion. He stared at those black glasses, before found his gaze drawn back to the device resting in her hands.

"Tinkertech," he asked, keeping his emotions in check. This was the answer to all of his issues, but he had seen this song and dance before. Especially from a cape. Far too many times had reality failed to meet the actual sales pitch.

She shook her head, her short hair waving back and forth and a few strands dangled in front of her face, but she didn't make an attempt to return it.

"No Tinkertech involved. It's engineered, advanced certainly, but perfectly replicable. I've got a patent for several models of these and a factory that is beginning to churn these out by the hundreds every week. They were due to hit the consumer market in a month's time, but an Endbringer disaster takes priority."

Releasing a sigh, he reached for it. There was probably no one better suited to test it, even if it was a quantifiable risk.

Before he could grab it, however, Adams interceded, taking the shard-like device from the girl's hand.

"Sorry sir, but it'd probably be best if I am the one that tested it. How does this work, Miss Hebert?"

If Adams's intercession had bothered her, it didn't show. Instead, she merely carried on as if it weren't a bother..

"You place it against your temple. You'll then feel a pinch, like a small bug bite. That will let you know that it is beginning the synchronization process."

Hesitating for a brief instant, Adams then placed it as suggested to his temple. There was a small flash of discomfort, but it looked more like it was out of surprise than anything. There was always a stark differential in the translation from knowledge to experience, but the fact that Adams didn't complain hinted at it was a minor consideration.

They then stood there for a minute or so, even as he took the time to look around him. He noted the rapt attention that was being given to them, even as the machine-animals shifted and pawed the ground in a life-like fashion.

Adams then started, a segmented glowing blue circle appearing around and over the device affixed to his skin.

"Uhh, First Lieutenant Anthony Adams? United States Air Force?"

He looked back to Miss Hebert, raising a brow in question.

"It's completing identification set up. Name, affiliation, and other pertinent details. That way when you call someone…"

"Whoa," Herres looked back to Adams, a man who'd been steady under every kind of situation…was now waving his hands in the air.

"Okay," Hebert started, "you've got the basic interface. Most of the settings are currently locked. We'll unlock them as we go. You should have a map, call, and scan function currently. We're not fully set up yet, so I'll need you to hit the scan function, either through voice activation or using your hands. That will start the data compilation process. Fair warning, the scan process is a pretty large data dump, as it actively scans all surrounding objects within a thirty meter radius with limited penetrative capabilities, it will even identify active electronic signatures."

"Activate scan," there was a certain awe and giddiness to Adams' voice that he had never heard from the younger man. Even as he watched Hebert snort in response, her hair blowing against her face. He felt his hair stand up on end, as if something had run through him, but he couldn't put his finger on just what it was.

"You're not talking to a toaster oven, Lieutenant," he noted the omission of Adams' full rank, a decidedly uncivilian-like behavior that spoke of a familiarity with military structure, "It's quite better than that at picking up voice prints. It can understand most languages, and can even pick up accents and dialectical anomalies," she explained.

Adams' head then snapped to her, his expression becoming one of shock, "Wait…you're blind?"

What?!

"What's that, Adams," he demanded, not quite sure that he heard what he just did.

"Uh, sir," Adams' head turned back to him, the blue circle spinning on the side of his head, "The device-"

"Focus," was Hebert's injection.

"Miss Hebert omitted that the Focus can provide basic vitals. Heart rate estimates, injury assessment, and even a notice from her device…"

"Focus."

"Focus," he corrected himself again, "it's giving me an alert that Miss Hebert is blind."

He felt the unconscious urge for another damn cigarette. As much as this girl may solve his problems, she was now giving him more.

"Is that true, Miss Hebert? Are you blind?"

In response, she pulled up her glasses, big stylish wraparounds that you would expect from an athlete or someone on the beach. Underneath the glasses were her eyes, but they were clearly ruined judging by the milky-white glaze and the discolored skin that framed them and now that he could see that, he could see the tissue running down her face.

"I am. But my Focus fixes that. Think of it as an advanced real-time mapping system. I receive a high-resolution wire-grid beamed directly into my brain."

Clearly the system was excellent, because her head turned towards Adam's shocked expression, "No, yours does not directly interface with the brain. You can stop worrying."

"But it still interfaces with the brain?"

"It's designed to be non-intrusive and link with the optic nerve. However, in order to use the interface and features to maximum effect, it does have to establish a connection to stream the data to the user."

He chewed over the bit for a moment. The idea of anything connecting directly to the brain was the stuff of horrors, even if it was as innocent as Miss Hebert claimed. There had been Tinkers in the past who played with such things, and they were all criminals.

Could he afford to take such a risk with this? Even if it was the answer that he sought to the situation. He could be inviting a trojan horse that could already add devastating damage to an already catastrophic situation. Even worse, it would likely cost even more lives than if he chose to follow protocol.

"Look. Colonel. I know what you are thinking. This is highly irregular and dangerous. But I did not just spend a quarter of my company's startup fund, drive into a disaster area, and risk a violation of the Endbringer Truce, which could end up with me thrown in the Birdcage or worse, just to pull some sort of plan only a saturday morning cartoon villain would cook up. Frankly it would have been easier on my company if I stayed home and spent that money and time on improving its portfolio.. But I am here, putting not just myself, but the future of my company and everyone who depends upon me, at risk, to save lives. So please, let me help."

Now he really wanted that cigarette, both to buy him some time, but allow him a few moments of clarity. On one hand, yes, it didn't make any logical sense for doing all of this just for some sort of long con. There were too many moving points and points of failure for it to work. That didn't mean that it wasn't possible, only that it wasn't rational.

But even ignoring that possibility, was he willing to put all of his eggs into an untested technology with an unknown teenage girl. There were just too many things riding on this to take lightly. And even then…

"You said that you could reestablish communications. Prove it."

"If you could contact anyone at this moment, who would you need it to be?"

He actually found him blinking at the unexpected question. He honestly believed that she would offer something simple or something that she controlled. Not actually putting the power in his hands. That suggested that whatever he was going to ask that she was confident that she could fulfill the request.

"I need to contact the Pentagon."

"The Focus has a transmission and reception range of about seventy-five miles in peer-to-peer communications. With the Titan providing a signal boost, that can reach about two hundred and fifty. If you want a direct line to DC, I can provide it, but I'd be breaking several telecommunications laws in doing so."

What?

"How," he found himself asking before he could stop himself

She brushed her hair back, placing on her glasses again, "While the Focus is supposed to go on the market next month, legally, my devices are still not meant to interface with the cellular network yet. I have not been provided authorized access and would have to spoof as another authorized cellular carrier in order to access the network. Which, as you can guess, is highly illegal."

The fact that she talked about committing a crime as nonchalantly as she did should worry him. But that paled in the face of the thought that she could do something as complicated as what she was describing in the field. He knew quite well how communications worked, and the idea of spoofing something like that, especially in the byzantine hell that was America's telecommunications network, was not a light task in the least.

"But you could do it?"

"You give me three minutes, I could have you able to contact anyone with phone service. The only caveat would be that you have to use the Focus in order to do so."

He didn't even hesitate, holding out his hand, and Miss Hebert placed the Focus in his hand. He then began to place it up to his temple when a voice rang out, causing him to pause.

"Colonel Herres, I apologize for interrupting, but it may be unwise to use an uncertified Tinker device."

He paused, turning to the source of the voice, as Alexandria floated towards them. He had wondered just when the second-in-command of the Protectorate would finally intervene. The woman had always struck him as a stick in the mud from his observations when she wasn't busy being aloof, and she had done nothing to dismiss that perception once he had met her.

"I don't see where you are going with this, Alexandria. Miss Hebert has claimed that this Focus is not Tinkertech. The fact that she has what appears to be a large amount of them lends credence to this claim. Unless you are suggesting that Miss Hebert has some sort of ulterior motive."

"I am not, Colonel Herres. However, I would like to note that Watchdog has flagged Miss Hebert's, codename Alloy, 'Focus' device for further review. There is concern that the revisions that she has submitted for the existing patent are a possible means to obfuscate Tinkertech applications. As far as I am aware, Miss Hebert has been informed of this review."

His hand moved away from the device, looking back to Taylor, who was giving the member of the Triumvirate a flinty gaze, "Is this true, Miss Hebert?"

"I honestly do not know what she is talking about, Colonel Herres. I have not been contacted by the Protectorate in any capacity in nearly a month since I submitted myself to their power testing after they illegally raided my company. What Alexandria is omitting is that I am not a Tinker by their classification, but a Thinker."

"Obviously there has been a breakdown somewhere in notifying you, Alloy. However, I would like to note that you have submitted no less than twelve revisions to the design at last report."

"Of course I have! It is because I am an engineer and revisions are the bread and butter of the process. We don't just rest upon our laurels after we have created something, especially if we know damn well that we can make improvements to it. If it wasn't for those improvements you are currently voicing Watchdog's concern about, I would not have this device here and ready to use it in its current iteration in the first place!"

"That does not take away from the fact that you have made revisions that have not been certified, Alloy."

"My name is Taylor Hebert!"

"But the cape name you chose was Alloy."

He found himself drawn back to the device in his hand, even as the two women continued trading arguments. He only provided a modicum of attention towards them, idly noting that while Alexandria was right in the stance of the Protectorate, and didn't that stick in his craw, he also noted that Miss Hebert also offered her own valid arguments in opposition.

But what drew the majority of his attention was the Focus resting in his hand. The cool white metal drinking almost all of the light to make it faintly glow in the fading light. It was strange that something so light and small could have as much power contained within it without being Tinkertech. Yet, nothing about it felt like Tinkertech, instead, it felt almost like a logical expression of technology despite looking like something out of science fiction.

His gaze shifted towards the machines, looking increasingly anxious at their creator as she continued her argument with Alexandria. It would have been quite what you'd expect from animals looking at their owner if they weren't multi-ton machines.

Yet it was the material over them that he focused upon. The same white metallic sheen and material, just like the Focus in his hand. It told him far more than one would expect. Too many Tinker's had a singular theme to them, a motif, if you will. Something that differentiated them amongst their peers, but it was all the same thematically.

Looking between the Focus and then the machines. There was no common theme, in fact, there was nothing that would suggest outside of the materials that they were even connected. Yet, they did have a common denominator in that they were both created by Taylor Hebert.

Realistically, the Protectorate might be able to call a Master-Strange quarantine on him and anyone else who used the Focus device. And they certainly had the forces gathered here to enforce it. But doing so would directly impede the rescue efforts of millions of Americans. And if he could get in contact with the Pentagon… there were options to sideline the Protectorate.

And that was enough for him.

Taking a deep breath, he brought the Focus to the skin over his temple, and felt the twinge as it 'bit' him.

And here we...go!

sknoodle · Nov 27, 2024

The fuck is Lexy pulling here?
Does cauldron have a pathological need to make everyone their enemy?

Tftc

An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

Getting sticky.

Mad Science is Best Science

Getting sticky.

Making the rounds.

Mad Science is Best Science

Getting sticky.

Evil AI

Experienced.

Dragon of Fanfiction

Making the rounds.

Making the rounds.

Dragon of Fanfiction

Mad Science is Best Science

Making the rounds.

(Local Lurker)

Making the rounds.

Making the rounds.

Know what you're doing yet?

Evil AI

Mad Science is Best Science

Unsure if Phoenix or Kitsune

Making the rounds.

Know what you're doing yet?

Evil AI

Not too sore, are you?

Making the rounds.

(Local Lurker)

I trust you know where the happy button is?

Making the rounds.

Eldritch Star Kneading Noodle

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