An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

[Darman Skirata]

Oh dear.

Well. Butcher's gona cause a lot of damage when they finally overwrite Hannah, and the only person who MIGHT have noticed just left the building.

And Dragon wondering why Collin isn't talking to her, because he's fixated on a past version of her that told him what she was, and he's determined to save that version andd has the data core of that version somewhere safe until he can get Taylor's help since she seems to be Dragon but better in many ways.

 

[TheToFu]

Huh, never seen a Hannah butcher before… neat.

 

[trudny1]

"I feel like I keep having to say this, but I'm not a Thinker. I can explain to you exactly how my tech works."

Click to shrink...

Tinker*, she's saying that she's not a tinker because she is a thinker.

Hannah Washington/Butcher XV

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Oh, rip Brockton Bay - Militia has access to nukes. Also for some reason nobody seems to know that she killed butcher, which is odd (that she didn't self report it).

I love that Victoria is getting to see results of her own selfishness. Thanks for the chapter.

 

[aimdsl]

I'm a junior associate with Wulfrahm & Hardt

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Might be showing my age a bit, But this law-firm feels a bit Evil more so than a law-firm should be.

 

[Reynard69]

Oh, rip Brockton Bay - Militia has access to nukes. Also for some reason nobody seems to know that she killed butcher,

Click to shrink...

MM didn't kill the Butcher. Leviathan did. At least once, if not more.

 

[Jao]

Her cousin Rory, known to the rest of the world as the Protectorate Hero Triumph, had died in Boston. Another victim in the long list of those claimed by Leviathan. Her parents had taken the news fairly well. And she just felt…an odd sense of disconnect. That wasn't anything new; she had been feeling the same most of her life. But in this case, it was understandable, Rory had been a friendly guy who she had seen at family gatherings. He had talked with her a few times at fancy parties that her parents took her to. But beyond that? They weren't close. So her lack of reaction made sense.

Click to shrink...

I just realised his name is a pun...

"I feel like I keep having to say this, but I'm not a Thinker. I can explain to you exactly how my tech works."

Click to shrink...

Tinker*

"I'm not asking you to sell them. I"m asking you to find a good partner for Paige. A dog that can stay close to her and be her companion."

Click to shrink...

I'm*

 

[The_Bajar]

Might be showing my age a bit, But this law-firm feels a bit Evil more so than a law-firm should be.

Click to shrink...

It's a law form, demonic or not? Demons and Fey are probably more competent

 

[Oddboy]

Did she not understand that I needed these scars to prove that I could overcome everything that had been done to me?

Click to shrink...

This reminds me of Piggot's decision to slowly and painfully wither away rather than seek parahuman healing, not gonna lie.

Like, I get that it's a sentiment born from trauma and neither of them are going to be reasonable and logical about it, but... Well, the saying "cutting off your nose to spite your face" comes to mind.

It's difficult for me to sympathize.

The chapter did a good job of showing that Taylor definitely still isn't "alright". That girl needs therapy.

 

[AlSmash]

This started out as an idea from BigBadBen and kinda took off from there. Introducing a side character that will only have a few or so scenes for the foreseeable future. But it felt like the right place to put him.

Special thanks to all of you who decided to throw yourselves on the Patreon. I'm currently in contact with Mikezzzzz on Deviantart for the commission. Some of you in the Worm community should know that name. So let's hope to see something in the foreseeable future.

---

A Lone Man on a Mountain I

Taking in a deep breath of the cold, mountainous air, he released it slowly, watching as it steamed from him. It was one of the few accompaniments he had in this dreary landscape. His gaze slipped from the rising sun to the valley down below, to the remains of what had been the city of Eagleton, his home.

Now it was nothing more than a graveyard infested by the Machine Army.

An overgrown crumbling ruin of a city, which nature was reclaiming inch by inch. One where danger often hid in plain sight.

Yet, in the nearly twelve years since they had emerged, the Machine Army had learned to leave him alone. The exact reason why they had chosen to, when they had made it a point to kill every other human they encountered in their territory, he didn't know. But he had a feeling that somewhere, someplace, in those ones and zeros, he had earned a grudging respect from them that it was not worth the effort to remove him from their domain.

There was no peace between the machines and himself. There would NEVER be peace between them. But grudging respect? Leaving each other to live and let live? It was tolerable. Over the years he had just become…tired. Going through the motions of life, waiting for the inevitable day when he was finally reunited with his family.

Rubbing a hand through his unkempt beard, he pushed the memories back. That was the trick really. Focus on the now. Live in the moment.

So he kept living, waking up each day with tasks in mind. Complete the tasks. Sleep. Wake again. Enjoy the little moments of nature unspoiled by other people.

Because there was no one else around. Just ghosts. Old memories. Little reminders.

Focus on the tasks.

He shouldered his pack, jostling the weapons on his back. He had a boar to track.

---

xxxxxx​

---

The sun was high in the sky. The gravel crunched under his boots, and the grass pushed up through the cracks of the road he walked along. Animals were amazingly adaptive. Where they would have once avoided this part of the city, now they crossed through it without fear. The short memories of their lives were blessings in a way.

Rost kept his eyes moving. Taking in the broken display windows, the mannequins with water-stained clothes. Maria would have commented on that.

He bit his lip. Don't go down that road.

Taking another look ahead, he slowed to stop. Intuition was a funny thing. It was the brain's way of saying that it noticed something, but it wasn't certain what it was. Gut instinct was a powerful thing, if you could start respecting it.

His years before returning to Eagleton had trained him to respect it. It saved his life quite a few times.

Alright…break it down. What was he seeing? Rusted cars. Crumpled post box. Broken shop windows. Grass moving in the wind. His grip on his spear tightened. Guns were too complex, the gunpowder ran out years ago. Bows, arrows, spear. Metal tools were fine. Most survival tools lasted.

Collecting a scrap of rubble at his feet, he aimed and let fly. The pebble flew true, clanging against the mailbox. The sound rang out in the silence like a gunshot. He waited. The sound faded. Yet still, he waited.

With a metallic shriek, the mailbox unfolded. Nothing humanoid, just a ramshackle collection of limbs, and hinges. It was completely lacking in symmetry, but somehow able to fake a damaged mailbox. Just not convincingly enough.

It warbled and chittered, a bladed limb jabbing in his direction. He lowered his stance, ready if needed. Live and let live only went so far. There would NEVER be peace.

A fight didn't seem to be in the forecast today. The machine backed away, before turning and taking off in an ungainly scamper.

He relaxed, adjusting the pack on his back. Daylight was fading, it was time to track his prey or he would go hungry this evening. There was no benefit in standing still.

---

xxxxxx​

---

Sighing, he kept low. Human voices on the wind as the patrol walked by. The added weight of his kill on an improvised sled was not pleasant, but like most discomforts it could be ignored.

The PRT did not send their best to Quarantine Areas. They sent two types; the undisciplined and the zealous. The zealous were those who believed the hype. Believed that they were the thin line keeping madness at bay from escaping. They went about their duties carefully. Equipment cleaned. Helmets on. Procedure followed to the letter.

The rest were undisciplined. The washouts. The troublemakers. The ones who were an incident from being judiciously cashed out, or just couldn't handle their job, but the system couldn't just terminate them. They walked about with scuffed up gear, smoking, joking, and wandering around when they should be keeping a tight patrol pattern.

Capes fell into these categories as well, they just came with a brand of their own troubles in addition. Most of them were angry and itching for combat. They wanted the action, they wanted the fight. He had wondered in the past if this was a condition of the capes, because almost every single one he had encountered assigned to the Quarantine Zone shared these traits.

He did his best to avoid them. Not impossible, just difficult. They changed their patrols often. Twice in the past he had been caught and questioned. The first time he had tried to explain that this place was…home. Even destroyed as it was, he felt at peace here.

The second time, he just kept quiet. The outcome didn't change in either case. They relocated him to the nearest city. He would hike back past their patrols and just kept on living. It hadn't been hard to set up in Eagleton. The PRT didn't expect anyone to break in. Or if someone did, it would usually be Capes who wanted to steal something or use the Machine Army for their own ends. Some attempts were picked up by patrols. The rest made it in and were found by the machines. The Machines generally won those fights.

The men passed by, chatting and letting their weapons swing loose. Sloppy and amateurish. It was clearly evident that they were content in their own superiority.

No matter. Night was falling, and the sky was growing dark with rain clouds. He would have to hurry to make his evening camp. He had dozens spread across the zone. But few could be used to dress and care for his kill. It wouldn't do to waste precious meat.

---

xxxxxx​

---

Scratching at his jaw, he huddled closer to his fire. April weather in Tennessee was usually temperate, but the cold front had brought rain with it. It wasn't enough to be freezing, but it was enough to carry a chill. Yet, despite the inclement weather, his demons had been silent for a while now. Being in the forest helped keep them quiet.

Not the same quiet as the house. That was the quiet of a tomb, of old memories waiting to jump out at him. It was only here, now, with the fire going, and the day's work done that he would let himself remember. Happy memories, of successes and shared hopes, of mundane moments that were now so precious.

It took effort to not think of the later times. Hearing the news while he was half a world away fighting someone else's battles. Fighting battles that made no difference in protecting his family from falling to bloodshed at home. Where they should have been safe.

The wind picked up, sending sparks spiralling in the air. The trees groaned as they swayed, and the fire crackled and shifted. Leaning back on the log, he looked up to the sky and noted the clouds starting to part, the rain giving way to the still of night.

He stoked the fire, now free of the threat of rain and fed a few more sticks to the hungry flames.

"If you walked any heavier, the patrols might catch you."

"And if you keep growing that beard, they might think you're a bear."

He looked up, watching as a younger man ambled into the light. He had a pack on his back, a sturdy pair of boots and clothes fit for a time in the woods.

"What do you want, Clark?"

"Can't an old friend drop in and say hello? Swap stories about how lovely the forest is at this time of year?"

He snorted, "The last time I saw you I held a gun to your face. If you call that friendly behavior, then I wonder who handles your mental evaluations."

"Sometimes the best of friends have disagreements at gunpoint," was the other man's blase response, coming to a stop beside the fire, motioning to the other log, "May I?"

For a brief moment, he wanted to be petty and tell the other man off. But the one thing that everyone knew was that the man was persistent to a 'T' once he set his mind to it. So instead of telling him to pound sand, he merely motioned to the other log, and Clark took a seat on it.

"What do you want?"

"A lot, but we can start with you putting aside this 'mountain man' aesthetic and come with me to do some good."

He honestly knew it was going to be that, he thought to himself with a sigh.

"Fuck off."

Clark leaned back, uncaring of the bite in his words. "Oh come on, Rost, I came all this way and tracked you down, the least you can do is pretend to be interested. Just a little? Please?"

Persistent, and annoying. Yeah, that was Clark.

"I'll listen, but that doesn't mean I'm going to say yes."

"See, I've got a problem. I was asked to put together a team of killers. The kind of team who will get shit done, keep their mouths shut, and who work well with the strange and the unexpected. And, of course, kill it."

Clark pulled his arms wide, "Not a lot of people can achieve that. Even less when you consider the new blood running things. Which means I need to pull a few dusty relics from storage for the job," he then leaned forward slightly, a damnable smirk on his face, "You're the relic in this case…in the event you missed that."

"Another war to fight in some far-flung corner of the world? Doing the dirty work for people who don't care and will never see the consequences of their actions? I'll repeat myself," Rost frowned, looking over the fire. It would need wood soon, "Fuck off."

"See Rost, that's where you're wrong. We ain't hunting some Russian oligarch too big for his britches this time. No more globetrotting and killing someone cuz our bosses think they looked at America the wrong way. The dirty work is happening right in our backyard. Home soil. And it's Ryan putting this soirée together. You think Ryan doesn't know the score?"

That brought his retort up short. Taking the moment to collect his thoughts, he tossed a few more branches into the fire, setting the embers flying, "Ryan wouldn't go for it. Not here at home. Not worth the mess if things got out of control."

Clark shrugged, "Things have changed. Ryan thinks it's worth it now. Not sure if you saw the news, but the PRT has been making 'shitting the bed' an artform lately. Ryan thinks with the PRT finally getting its well-earned 'Caesar and the senate' treatment, there's a chance we can make a joke of their dog and pony show. Frankly, I think it's about damn time."

For a moment, he felt a surge of rage at the mention of the PRT. It had been them that had failed to protect his family. It had been them that had decided that it wasn't worth doing anything about the Machine Army, instead choosing to wall it in and forget it. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone, replaced with the familiar emptiness.

"I'm not that person anymore, Clark," he finally said, using a stick to stoke the fire, "I left it behind me."

"Bullshit, Everett. You never leave it behind, not until your dying day. You're lying to yourself if you think you can lock it up and throw away the key. You were the best tracker the Marines ever had. You've survived in the heart of the Machine Army's territory for over a decade. I need your skills to help me deal with problems none of those pansies in DC have the guts for."

"Who are you going after?"

There was a moment of silence, before he got his answer.

"The Slaughterhouse Nine."

He raised an eyebrow. That was a name he had heard from time to time, usually over the radio when he chose to listen to it. The Slaughterhouse Nine, a group of murderous capes who went from place to place. Why they still seemed to exist had always bothered him, it was nothing that a few precision-guided bombs wouldn't be able to solve. Only it seemed the government was quite content with keeping it a cape issue.

Seems like someone had finally lost their patience

"Why now? You've had years to deal with them."

The other man smirked, "Things change, like they always do. New allies, new tech, new enemies, new possibilities. Does it really matter, Everett? This is going to happen. I don't know what the odds are, I don't ask. But the odds are better with you, then without you."

"So," the man leaned in, "are you in?"

He didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to stare into the fire, searching for answers. There was a part of him that yearned for what Clark was offering, to get back on the horse and actually do something to make a difference again. But there was another part of him that felt like by doing so, he would be dishonoring the memory of both Maria and Alana.

But was he really? Was he actually honoring them by doing this? Not quite living, but on the other hand, not quite dead either. Just existing, shuffling through what was left of his life, waiting for death to finally reunite himself with them.

Was it fair to their memory?

He knew the answer to it and he hated it. Because he knew exactly what Maria would say to him, even if he didn't want to admit it.

Closing his eyes, he released a sigh. Looking for something - anything really - that could stop him from doing this. But there simply wasn't an answer there.

"Alright," he finally said, "I'm in."

Clarke's smile was all teeth, as he held out a hand.

"Welcome to Rainbow."

 

[BanzEye]

"Welcome to Rainbow."

Click to shrink...

Hellooooo, now this is an oldie. And not starting with the popular Team Rainbow of modern fame, but the classic? Nice.

This'll certainly be interesting.

 

[EdwardGrave]

Hellooooo, now this is an oldie. And not starting with the popular Team Rainbow of modern fame, but the classic? Nice.

This'll certainly be interesting.

Click to shrink...

Do they get much story? I thought it was just typical usa usa antiterrorism teams?

 

[AlSmash]

Do they get much story? I thought it was just typical usa usa antiterrorism teams?

Click to shrink...

Kinda Sorta Maybe. It depends on the source material that you refer to when it comes to Rainbow. I mean, between R6Siege, R6Vegas, and R6Clancy, you have quite a few differing renditions of what Rainbow is supposed to encapsulate. So yeah. R6Clancy/Siege is more International, though Clancy still has a slight deeper American Bias, while R6V is pretty much Swat Simulator with a plot and military twist.

 

[Arimai]

We're ready to head have an address for us?"

Click to shrink...

We're ready to head out. Do you have the address for us?

 

[Arimai]

but I'm not a Thinker.

Click to shrink...

Tinker.

 

[AlSmash]

This was an idea that just came to me out of the blue last night when I was looking for inspirations on Taylor's looks. I found a deviantart post of a black-haired girl in a military uniform and my brain kinda went, what would happen in the Faro Plague DID Happen in Bet-verse. A little bit of Terminator, and a little bit of review later, we get this small little apocryphal snippet. I may do additional snippets later, who knows, but it was an idea that just wouldn't go away until I slayed it.

I have also reached out to Mikezzzzz and have given him the greenlight to do the first artwork for Everdistant Horizon. My hope is to have it at the latest sometime next month.

Currently we are at 6300 words on the next chapter. So there's your update.

Otherwise, enjoy.

---

The Dream is Dead

The first sign that something had gone horribly wrong was when Norilsk went dark in 2023.

We had known that the Russians had reactivated the closed city in order to play catch up with the United States and the revolution wrought by my company, Zero Dawn Technologies. Pouring trillions of rubles into the research center in order to not fall behind, they had chosen one of the most remote facilities in the world in order to keep it hidden from our eyes.

It wasn't until images came from Irkutsk and Omsk six months later that we came to the horrific realization of just how far they had been willing to go in order to try and reach parity with us.

The Russians called it the Iron Plague, but to me it was simply the Faro Plague by another name. The Russians, despite several warnings by myself over the years, had chosen to create a networked intelligence in order to offset the qualitative advantage we had to them, but had not invested the time or safeguards that I had with Sobek.

By the time we were aware of its existence, it was already too late. Irkutsk and Omsk fell in less than twelve hours. It wasn't until the Plague's legions reached Yakutsk, Yekaterinburg, and Ulaanbaatar that nuclear weapons were used, only to fail as they were intercepted before their terminal phases. Not even theater missiles made it through to stem the tide in nuclear fire.

Only then, was the request out for our assistance made. But by then, it was already too late. Zashchitnik, or Guardian, had reached a point where Sobek could no longer stop it outright. It had become networked too far, too well defended, where even the combined might of Sobek and Dragon had been unable to break it.

We had rushed to defend China and Russia, but it was simply a matter of too little, too late. Within three years of hard, desperate fighting, Russia was gone, and Iron had pushed through Central China and had reached the Middle East. We were losing, even as we started fielding newer and better machines and weapons, we just couldn't stem the tide. By the time the Iron Plague reached Berlin, the decision had been made to begin fortifying redoubts in Britain, Japan, Australia, and the Pacific, with the world's governments and militaries uniting under a single banner in the face of possible extinction. Decisions were made to buy as much time as humanly possible, with each inch paid with lives in order to build the defenses in order to stop the spread of the Iron Plague.

By the time the machines reached Calais, the largest migration of humanity in the history of its existence had taken place. Hundreds of millions were saved, but billions were still lost. And it was only through the sacrifice of so many that even they had been saved.

That had been ten years ago.

Today, the human race, which at its height in the Post-Scion World had numbered six-point-two billion people was now less than two. Huddled behind defenses covering less than one-third of the world and militarized to an extent never before seen in its history.

Because we knew that this lull would end sooner or later.

 

[JaqkGreen]

Can you link that picture? And I guess this taking place sometime after this verse's Golden morning?

 

[AlSmash]

Military Taylor?

Like I said, I was looking for looks an inspirations and this kinda flew into my face.

 

[JaqkGreen]

Fucking sick!

 

[Reynard69]

Because we knew that this lull would end sooner or later.

Click to shrink...

Not really. The mechanimals would need to do a pretty big refit to go underwater for continued fuel, and if they haven't taken it upon themselves to become airborn or nuclear powered well before this, they're not crossing the sea ahead of their fuel shortage. The lul will be basically permanent until someone tries to salvage the iron tide and decides it'd be more efficient to do it in house rather than on site.

 

[AlSmash]

So figured I'd come out of the woodwork and provide you guys with an update since its been over two weeks since the last chapter. THat and give you guys some awesome news when it comes to the commission.

Anyways, first, the chapter. Well, suffice to say, we are at the point to where we are likely going to split this baby into at least two parts. This is mainly because the chapter is looking to be around 40K words. Frankly, that's a bit too much, so we're looking to make a few digestible cuts so you guys dont starve, and we are allowed some opportunity to maybe create a buffer (ha ha ha ha, right). So, yeah, We're gonna try and button this baby down.

But suffice to say, we are at 18K words at the moment, and still have 6 scenes to do form the outline. So yeah, yikes. Luckily, the first half of the outline is mostly done. And until I get my phone fixed I'm unable to go and work, I guess thats more time to try and push this thing out.

Now, moving on. The Commission. Well, the first rough draft has come back. and let me tell you, its a bit rough, I've already talked to Mikezzz, so there will be changes incoming. But here is the first iterative rough draft for you guys

Spoiler: Iteration One

So, there you guys go. Hope to have some more news for you come around the end of the month.

 

[BanzEye]

Taylor looks a lot like Elizabeth Sobek in this.

 

[AlSmash]

Well, here we are. Took almost a month longer than I wanted, but when the chapter spins out of control and turns into a nearly 40K word monstrosity...Well things happen. Anyways, here is Part One. With Part Two slated to release in about a week or two, depending on the progress for Growth 4.1 and other sidestories.

In other news, the first commission for An Everdistant Horizon has been done. Special thanks to Mikezzzzz for creating it, and the wonderful people over on Patreon who have helped donate for it. I am exceptionally happy with how it came out. This will be the first of hopefully several commissions as the story goes on. I will be posting this at the beginning of the thread as part of media as well as posting it after this threadmark.

---

Sprout 3.5 Part 1

Brigadier General Malika Faraday

10th Mountain Division

Boston, MA

April 26th, 2011

The clocks had just ticked over into the early morning, and General Malika Faraday was standing over a table in a conference room surrounded by maps and people. They were all assembled to answer an important question: Could 'normals' handle capes? For over a decade, the PRT and their ilk had answered 'no'.

It was an answer that she was about to contest to Governor-Colonel Herres.

The door opened and Aaron Herres stepped into the room and she came to attention as everyone else in the room that was with the military did the same.

"At ease," the man said tiredly as he strode through the room, coming to the 'head' of the table.

She had significant reservations when she had received the orders to deploy the 10th Mountain Division to Boston. Not of her duty, that was without doubt. But she was worried about the fact that they were not only being deployed into a disaster area, which they had experience in, but one that was under martial law. While she was not politically-inclined, she wasn't blind to the legality of the situation either.

But she was a good soldier, and she followed orders even as she prepared for what was, without a doubt, the most important assignment of her life. She had pored over reports alongside her staff as they deployed to Boston, noting the situation on the ground, but also anything they could get their hands on about previous cities that had been hit by Endbringers.

Suffice to say, the picture that had been painted had been bleak. If anything, they would have their hands full just trying to pacify the populace in order to ensure that people received enough supplies in order to survive. It was a nightmare that she was not keen to experience, but knew that she was likely going to have to give orders that would immortalize her in history for having to quell violence with military force.

Luckily, however, despite her worries and reservations, things in Boston had been relatively orderly. She would never have believed it until she had seen it, but Lieutenant Colonel Herres had far exceeded even her expectations. Obviously someone had dropped the ball on Herres, because due to his leadership and deft utilization of everything at his command, Boston was shaping up to be a victory snatched from the jaws of defeat.

Until now.

The Teeth had been highlighted as the largest cape threat in the Boston area and most likely to cause trouble. They had earned their notoriety through aggression, savagery, and the clear message that any attack against them would be responded to ten-fold. But when an attack hadn't materialized in the week after Leviathan's attack, there was hope that fears had been unfounded. It also helped that their intel suggested that the Teeth had been devastated in the attack, with only Vex being the only confirmed survivor.

Unfortunately, more Teeth capes survived than expected. They, plus a several dozen normals, attacked one of the major supply convoys that had been en route from Providence. While a large amount of supplies were coming in through the air to Logan thanks to the Air Force, it was not enough for the city to survive, which required shipping from Providence, and in the new week, Brockton Bay. The Teeth had obviously believed that they could intercept and take the supplies from the Providence convoy. What they were going to do with it was anyone's guess, but it didn't matter whatsoever.

Her men had done their duty, they held the line and the Teeth had been repulsed, allowing the convoy to make it to Boston intact, providing much needed supplies to the crippled city. But the cost had been unacceptable: Seven dead and another twenty-three injured.

Herres had once again surprised her, however. Where a career politician would have balked and offered her empty promises, the colonel had instead got immediately on the phone with Washington with a plan of action and wanted to confirm he could do it. And once he received confirmation it was within his power, he had put plans into action.

And now they were assembled not only to bring justice to the Teeth, but also answer an important question: Could 'normals' handle capes?

Conventional wisdom suggested yes. After all, most capes were as human as everyone else. They could be distracted, misled, surprised, and even killed. Sure, a man with a glowing Tinkertech laser sword was dangerous, but what if you just shot him in the back instead? Conventional military wisdom suggested that with careful planning and execution, any threat could be handled with the appropriate application of force and violence.

Unfortunately, time and time again, whether in an armed police or military response, this maxim had been found disturbingly lacking in the face of capes. Autumn Thunder, Nilbog, the Machine Army. They were all examples that the adherents of cape supremacy used in their argument against conventional forces and tactics and in support of dedicated cape responders. They argued that only capes could be effective in dealing with other capes.

Today, that truth would once again be put to the test. This time, against one of the most deserving targets on the continent. The Teeth were an unholy amalgamation of biker gang, drug cartel, and dregs that belonged in a sanitarium. As far as she was concerned, they were a cockroach that needed to be stomped out and their nest burned to ashes.

And she would be the one holding the lighter.

"I want to thank you all for putting in the effort these last sixteen hours," Herres declared, making sure to look over the room, meeting the gaze of representatives of the military, police, community organizers, and PRT, "I know there are some of you have reservations on what we are about to do and I respect you for holding to your principles. However, unless we draw a line in the sand here and now on what we will tolerate, then we will only encourage others to attempt what the Teeth have done. This is meant to be a message to them and anyone else who believes that the people of Boston are to be preyed upon."

He held the silence a few more moments, again looking over the room, his expression unyielding before he then brought gaze back to her.

"General Faraday, you have the floor."

"Thank you, Governor. Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to brief you on Operation Sidestep," she tapped her Focus, allowing it to bring up the briefing, and then streamed it to the projector that was in the middle of the room, bathing the room in its light.

"Thanks to intelligence gathered from interrogations by the Boston Police Department and the PRT, we now have a complete picture on the force composition and assets of the Teeth."

With a flick of the wrist, she brought up eight photos, each one a cape.

"According to interrogations of Sundancer and Ballistic, who turned themselves in before the deadline imposed by Governor Herres, the Teeth currently consisted of eight capes and one hundred and thirteen unpowered individuals. Weapons composition of these unpowered individuals run the standard Teeth fare, ranging from edged weapons to rifles and pistols. We do have some indication that they may have rocket-propelled grenades, possibly six or more."

"As for the capes, we have confirmation that both the New York and Boston cells of the Teeth were in attendance when Leviathan attacked. According to Sundancer, the original intent was for the Teeth to attack the business summit the Vice President was hosting the next day. When Butcher XIV was killed in the attack, the Teeth reorganized around this woman:"

One of the photos was maximized, showing a brown-skinned woman with an eyepatch, her hair down in a ponytail with the lower part of her face covered in a human jawbone. She wore what could have easily been a stylized western getup that looked ratty, worn, and rotted, with a bandoleer looping over her chest.

"This is Leadslinger, Amira Bakir. Target Number One. She is classified by the PRT as a Tinker One, Thinker Two, Shaker Four, and is the leader of the New York branch of the Teeth. Her power is centered around a pair of revolvers and a break-action pistol that she carries. She has the ability to change the trajectory of the bullets midflight, which combined with a combat thinker ability she is a threat at most ranges. The break-action pistol adds an anti-armor, anti-brute component to her skillset. All of her ammunition is personally molded and crafted by her, including depleted uranium rounds that are exclusive to the break-action pistol. The only reason she never merited increased attention over the years is because she is lazy, unmotivated, and obsessed with making 'perfect art', but Butcher kept her around because Bakir was good when she happened to be motivated. According to Ballistic, with Butcher's death, she views her easy life as threatened and is taking actions accordingly."

She then replaced the image with another person, a bald muscular man in a ratty wife beater, his face twisted into a manic grin and there was a necklace of desiccated toes extending down to his chest. In his hand was a gigantic bowie knife.

"Target Number Two is Toecutter, Jamison Alders. He's a Brute Five, Mover Two. He is the quintessential Teeth member and likes to get up close and personal with his kills. His preferred weapon is a bowie knife, but he always has backup weapons to fallback upon if he feels like it. As you can tell, he likes to collect the toes of his victims as trophies. He's highly resistant to conventional munitions and is capable of teleporting to his target, but the travel is discernible as a red streak."

Another photo came up, this time of a figure who looked like he just walked out of a discount halloween store, only the ornamentation were actual body pieces.

"Target Number Three is Spree. While initial intelligence suggested that he had been killed in Leviathan's attack, yesterday confirmed his survival. I think it goes without saying what his ability is, but his ability to create clones is a force multiplier that cannot be ignored. When he is engaged, it is critical we identify the real one as quickly as possible and remove him."

Flipping to the next photo, this time a woman wearing a hood and cloak. Bones lined her arms and legs, and her stomach was exposed.

"Target Number Four is Vex. She can create force fields that can cut through materials. We do know she was injured by Leviathan, so she will likely not be at full capacity. Still, it's best that we do not underestimate what she is capable of."

"Target Number Five is the newest member of the Teeth: Perdition, formerly of the Travelers. Thanks to Sundancer and Ballistic, we know that he is the last remaining member of this, and was actually the one who suggested that they join the Teeth. His power is the ability to shift targets back in position or time by a few seconds."

And so she went on, going through the last three members of the Teeth, all from the New York branch: Dealgood, Outcrier, and Feral, listing off their powers and any pertinent observations that should be made in regard to them. Once she was done, she then moved to the next phase of the presentation, this time displaying a map of the greater Boston area.

"The Teeth are located in four different areas. They have an armory in Squantum on the corner of Dundee and Meadow. They have taken over the Manet Lounge on Houghs Neck, where they are currently headquartered out of. They also have backup safe houses in Malden and West Medford, but according to the Boston Police Department, they are lightly manned. They believe that we are unaware of their existence and are planning for them to be fallback positions"

With that finally said, it was time to move to the actual purpose of this meeting. With a twist of her wrist, she overlaid a new display on the map. This time it showed the order of battle for Operation Sidestep, along with the projected routes to assault.

"Sidestep is simple. Spearheaded by the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Battalions of the 27th Infantry Brigade, we will launch a coordinated strike on Squantum and Houghs Neck. Marine detachments commanded by Captain Schofield will handle Malden and West Medford at the same time."

"Backing these attacks up will be the 1st Battalion, 25th Aviation Regiment. However, because of our lack of intelligence on the location of Leadslinger and Vex, we will be unable to have them directly attack. Instead, they will be at max effective distance for Hellfire launch and provide standoff support for targets lased by ground units until Leadslinger is confirmed KIA."

She then zoomed the map out further, this time encompassing the bay.

"Because of the threat presented by Leadslinger keeping our air assets at a distance, after conferring with Admiral Stanhope, the USS Kidd has been positioned just outside of the bay. Once Leadslinger and Vex have been identified, the Kidd will be tasked for a fire mission on the targets. In the event that this isn't enough, or there is any complication, a flight of four F/A-18Cs from the Enterprise have been tasked to act as reserve and will provide precision bombing runs if necessary."

"If everything happens according to plan, Operation Sidestep should conclude within two hours of commencing. It is believed, thanks to interrogations, that the Teeth are not expecting a full military response like this, despite the Governor's declaration. They believe it will be comparable to a standard PRT raid, and are preparing accordingly. We have dedicated surveillance assets on all locations, with eyes on anyone going in and out of the buildings. Collateral losses should be minimal. With your approval, Governor, operations will begin at 1400 hours."

And she sincerely hoped that was the truth. Because if it was, then the Teeth would be woefully unprepared for the reckoning that was about to be rained upon them. They were expecting the same tired old engagements with PRT who were more focused on capture and containment.

It worked in her favor, because by the time the Teeth realized that they were dealing with an entirely different threat, it would be far too late.

She took the time to look around the room, getting a barometer of the people gathered. While the military looked pensive, yet anticipatory, the civilian-oriented members were obviously uncomfortable. But she didn't have it in herself to sympathize with them. The Teeth had thrived on the PRT's reticence to take decisive action against them, and now it came down to the military to ensure that they would never threaten another life again.

"Thank you, General," Herres spoke, his voice quiet, yet there was a steel there that caused her to stiffen at attention. Even with the briefing and operational planning, it would not occur unless one man made the decision to approve it. The acting Governor stood before the display, the Focus on his head glowing faintly in the bright room as he manipulated the display, his dark brown eyes drinking in every detail as he reviewed it.

For nearly ten minutes he continued his review, not saying a word or asking a single question. Everyone was held in suspense as the most powerful man in Massachusetts silently continued what he was doing, wondering just what he was going to decide. Was he going to greenlight Sidestep, or was he going to demand a different plan?

Finally, however, he stopped, allowing the display to return back to its default setting. He then took the time to look around the room before he finally came back at her.

"Operation approved, General Faraday. Wipe them out."

---

AEH​

---

"Well Jim, it's now 7am this morning and still no official word from the Interim-Governor's office regarding actions planned against the Teeth. We know that Herres has previously stated that at midnight last night the Teeth organization would be declared as 'enemy combatants' and dealt with accordingly. A cordon has gone up around suspected Teeth areas and reconstruction efforts have paused for the day, so clearly something is planned. Let me tell you, Jim, there is a real sense of anxiety here in Boston this morning." - Fox & Friends, Fox News​

---

AEH​

---

Taylor Hebert

Brockton Bay

With an audible sound of disgust, I angrily jabbed my soldering tool back into its housing. I then took the time to glare at the device that was going to the new choker that would suppress Paige's powers, even if it was just a wire-frame construct in my vision.

Normally, building things by hand was calming for me. It was a departure from my previous self before The Attack. It's why I was now working on the delicate insides of the voice modulator instead of sending the designs off to have the machine shops make it for me. I had people now and most of the actual building of my devices would be handled by them. I still had the designs and blueprints saved on the company servers, locked behind an extra level of security because it was meant as a containment device. I had asked that the case be manufactured, meaning I was just dealing with the innards of the device.

Groaning, I realized that I had been staring into space for a few minutes. I just couldn't focus when I was frustrated. And I had plenty to be frustrated about this morning.

There was no denying that I had jumped the gun in approaching Rachel the way I had. That much was very clear. But in my defense, I had been pressed for time, and didn't have the time to slowly build a relationship with the girl in order to understand if Brian would be a threat to my company or not. Rachel would not have reacted the same if I had sent someone in my place either, and we would have wasted weeks searching for her if we had missed her at the dogfighting ring.

Unfortunately, I had a lot of people to tell me where I went wrong. People who were damn good at their jobs and had the accomplishments to back it up. I had intellectually known once I had started down this path that I was going to need a protective detail. There would be just too much interest in me once I entered the limelight to not make it a requirement.

Mrs. Knight, as the current head of the Hexa contingent spent hours the previous evening, explaining in clear detail how I screwed up. How my actions jeopardized myself and the team with me. How they would have reacted had I been transparent and clear about my intentions and wishes. It was an embarrassing experience, one that made me angry. Because it was hard to find any faults in her arguments. Which only reinforced the point that she was trying to make.

I glanced at my computer screen, running another simulation for Paige's choker…I should probably call it a necklace. Amelie Knight had absolutely put me on her shitlist, but that was fine. She was also on mine. Because shortly after Samantha called her mother from my car, Amelie had hung up and called someone else. The timestamp on the security camera lined up perfectly. I had been reviewing the footage earlier, after receiving the first round of proposed security changes. Turns out Mrs. Knight had missed a few cameras. I was a little proud of that achievement, and would not at all hold it over her if it came out.

But it still left me with a problem, because I now didn't trust that Hexa was here for my protection. Yes, it's entirely possible that Amelie was calling her husband, letting him know that Samantha was fine. No, I didn't believe that for a second. Especially considering that whoever she had been talking to had been in French and obviously coded.

After all, why would you talk about the weather in Brockton Bay at that moment?

Which made some of their security recommendations suspect. I could understand asking for security clearance, but Alpha-Level Access for Samantha and her personal bodyguard unit? The rationale was logical, Alpha-Level Access was privy to only a select few and basically was a key to the entire facility, and if something happened, they needed to be able to get to me and move quickly through the facility without being slowed down. It made all sort of sense, if I wasn't so suspicious of my 'protectors'.

Violently releasing a sigh, I ripped my pointless safety goggles off and flopped back in my chair, the furniture creaking at the sudden shift in my posture. I let them dangle over the arm of the chair in my hand, my fingers rubbing the lenses as I reached with my free hand and massaged my brow.

It was frustrating, there was no other way to really describe the crux of my feelings. Frustrating that in spite of the freedom that I gained by getting access to the resources that I needed to launch Zero Dawn into becoming a major player in the world, I was also putting myself in a different cage. Certainly, it was more gilded than my previous one, but it was a cage nonetheless.

Was this what Elizabet felt when she finally broke from her original employer, no longer able to abide the descent into the madness that would eventually result in the damnation of humanity? I had to wonder exactly what she must have felt, being faced with having to make such a tumultuous choice in order to abide by her principles. I was, in many ways, in the same position that she was now. Only, in order for me to achieve my goals, I may just have to sacrifice the principles that I wanted to hold myself to in order to ensure a better future.

Could I actually live with myself if I had to make that decision for the greater good?

I wasn't sure if I had the answer to that right now. Maybe I was just being a coward, not wanting to provide a definite answer. Or maybe it simply was just too early to tell because I wasn't in that position yet to know the actual score.

I kept massaging my brow, slowly breathing in and out as I dealt with my tumultuous thoughts. I wasn't really achieving much dwelling upon the matter, but at the same time, I couldn't help but be haunted at what may or may not be, as silly as that seemed.

Perhaps I needed to confide in someone about this. It wasn't like I was coming to any sort of conclusion that I liked, so perhaps a fresh perspective would be helpful. Maybe then I could stop feeling like such utter shit?
I snorted, replacing my goggles back on my face.

Oh, who the fuck was I kidding?

As I relit the soldering iron, data was fed into my vision as the Focus began to provide me with the information I needed to finalize work on Paige's new choker. It only needed a few more adjustments and it would be ready for testing. But from all intents and purposes, if the data was right, there should be no difficulty.

And if anything, it would be quite trendy for the former singer.

While the first device I had furnished for Paige had been a cobbled together mishmash of parts and ideas, this new choker would be a far different beast in comparison. It had been built with the same metal that had gone into the production of the outer casing/armor of the machines, but done in a way that it was uniquely stylized and elegant. Among the other design changes that I had made was to integrate the entire system into a singular device, making it not only easier for Paige to wear, but be far less intrusive as well.

But probably the most important change that I had made would likely be its most controversial. I knew that my decision would raise quite a few eyebrows, but after having spent a little bit of time with Paige, I believed that she could be trusted with this. As a result of this choice, I had chosen to make the voice distorter be able to retract upon command. This was done by touching the 'jewel' in the middle of the device, which would then retract the voice distorter and allow her to use her voice without any interference or restraint.

In many ways, I guess I was trying to restore a little bit of that freedom that she had enjoyed before everything had gone to shit. I had a feeling it would be quite a long time before she ever actually chose to willingly take advantage of the feature, but I wanted her to have the comfort of being able to make that choice. There was also a consideration of providing her the means of self-protection too, but that was more of an afterthought. And yes, the necklace would send a signal any time it was activated. It also had a built-in tracker and audio recorder. I was willing to trust the woman a little, but I was still in charge of 'containing her'. Adding in a few safety features would make the inevitable complaints from the PRT less impactful.

Everything was now a give and take. My life was now a balancing act.

I got a ping from my workshop door. Accessing the door camera showed Amy fidgeting as Sam looked her up and down. I quickly commanded the door to open, not wanting to subject Amy to Samantha fulfilling her job this early in the morning. I kept working on the device as Amy stepped in; I really needed to figure out a name for it. I couldn't simply just call it 'the device' or something dry like that. I resolved to call it the VMD, Voice Modulation Device.

Replacing the soldering iron back on the kit, I once again found myself referring to the data feed of the Focus. I probably had a few more hours of work left to be done on the delicate components, but after that, it should be ready to test. Satisfied with my progress, I took my goggles off again and turned to look at Amy who had taken a seat in one of the few chairs in my workshop.

"So, you now have guards outside your door," Amy commented before I could get a word in. I was grateful in a way, I didn't really know how to help with the loss that she might be feeling. While the relationship with my father was improving ever-so-slightly, she had been somewhat close with the rest of her family. And while she didn't give me the whole story, nor did I ask, she at least made it clear that they didn't approve of her working with me.

So. Time to focus on the future, not on the past.

"Yes, and apparently they're here to stay. Hired on the government's dime and charged with protecting me. That includes upgrading our security systems. Speaking of which, pass me your focus for a moment."

Amy hesitated for a moment, not quite putting together why I would suddenly make a request, but she did eventually peel off the triangular device and handed it to me. I spun back around in my chair and tapped it against my own Focus, syncing it to the device. Going through several screens, I finally handed it back to her once I was satisfied with the changes that I had made.

"I've upgraded your security clearance. You now have Alpha level access, the same level as my Vice President and the rest of the board. It will let you see almost every file on the system and get access to any room in the company."

She blinked owlishly at me, brushing her finger along the device as she fixed it back in place, "Ummm…Thanks? Why are you doing that by the way?"

Spinning my chair around fully, I allowed myself to relax a little as I took the moment to explain, "We're going to be building a medical department, and while you're not going to be in charge of it, you are still going to be very involved. I don't want you running around without access. Also," I offered a shrug, "I'd like to think that we may be friends and I can trust you."

I was taking a risk saying that aloud, but I think at this juncture, I wanted to say that, yeah, we actually were friends. But the fact that Amy didn't dispute me seemed only to confirm it. It honestly felt…nice. Putting those thoughts in a corner for a moment, I gestured, pulling up a note-taking program and projected it between us, "What you are going to be heavily involved with is working with a dedicated team to create new products. It will be a collaborative effort to build up or reverse engineer anything that you can dream up. And while I don't have the exact details now, we can get started with who you might want on that team. At least in terms of professions, that is. I figure experts in molecular and human biology are a must, along with a chemist. Any other suggestions?"

Amy stared at me for a moment and I felt slightly uncomfortable at the look I was given. Did I do or say something wrong?

"It's strange to listen to you list off professions like you're making a grocery list."

I offered a light chuckle as I shrugged. Funnily enough, it was kind of true. The list was going to be handed to Jean, or whoever it was that she got in charge of hiring. Which reminded me that I would have to check in on that. I made another note.

The Healer sat back, looking at the rather empty list, "Neurologist for sure. A hematologist so that we can work on the synth-blood project. By the way, what else will this department do?"

I hummed, adding a neurologist and hematologist to the list, "Well, the scanner that we discussed during the meeting a few days ago for one. I'll probably just hand the details of the tech over to them and let them take the lead.. I don't know enough to know what Doctors need to know. The neural linkage tech built into the Horus-pattern Focus means our prosthetics department will have a leg up in getting to work on simulating touch and feel. It will also reduce the variety of problems that exist with current implantation of 'sleeves' and anchor points for prosthetics."

Amy nodded along, "Wouldn't that open up options for you to build better heart monitors? If your tech is already tracking electrical signals," she trailed off as I shot her smile.

"Good idea. Although, maybe we should just license most of these systems to companies with the capacity to start building these devices out of the gate? We'll see, but I'll make a few notes on that."

Amy finally offered me a smile back, and I was glad that my hard work to involve her in the process seemed to be helping her. I started jotting down some notes for ideas that we had discussed, making sure that everything was covered as we settled into a companionable silence.

"I do have one request," Amy finally spoke up, causing me to close a window and look at her as she ducked her head and twisted her fingers in her lap.

"Sure. Shouldn't be a problem with everything. What is it?"

"I'd like to have a neuroscientist on staff."

I blinked, legitimately confused by the request considering the first thing she had asked for, "Aren't a neurologist and neuroscientist the same thing, Amy?"

She slowly shook her head, her shoulders hunching which only added to my growing puzzlement at her sudden shift, "Neurologists deal in the treatment of the brain and nervous system. A Neuroscientist studies it," she then clammed up, obviously uncomfortable with something she had said.

"You want to hire two people who specialize in brains but you don't do brains," I trailed off, trying to see the connection to the request and the fact that it was a well known fact that Panacea didn't do brains. Unless…, "It's not a limit of your power, is it? It's a personal limit instead," the way her head bowed just a little bit further provided me with confirmation, "Why do you refuse to work on brains?

Throughout it all, I tried to keep my tone as neutral as possible. This was obviously a difficult subject for Amy, otherwise she wouldn't be acting the way she was. I wasn't going to push her for an answer, but I was also curious as to why she would make such a decision.

Luckily, it appeared that Amy did want to share, as she took a deep breath and slowly released it, "My powers. It's like….anything biological is clay or…play-doh, I guess. I can shape it as long as it's biological in nature. But brains….they're complicated. If I push the wrong part, or don't shape it just right, the person I'm working on…it won't be them anymore. That's why I don't work on brains. It's not," she shook her head slightly, "I have to get it right the first time, Taylor. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

The silence stretched between us. Amy obviously lost in her own thoughts, while I found myself considering what I had learned. Then I realized what I was doing was certainly not something a friend would do, and reached forward and touched her knee, "I understand. We'll find you as many specialists as it takes to help you."

I still didn't understand why she would hold herself back like that. Hell, I had to wonder just what drove her to make that decision when she had full access to Brockton General, which I know actually has a neurology department. Even Medhall could have been useful for her. But, that was all semantics and didn't matter as long as Amy felt comfortable and the relieved smile I received told me that it had worked and it was nice to see as well. I might not understand her fears, but I understood the discomfort of facing your fears. Which brought me to…

A ping from my workshop door notified me that Jean was at the door. Speak of the devil, an appropriate if uncharitable thought, and she would appear. I let her in after adding a few moments of wait-time out of pettiness. The sound of the door opening caused Amy to slide in her chair away from me like a startled animal.

"Jean, good to see you," I called out, even as I lamented the loss of the personal moment between myself and Amy. It felt nice to actually have something like this again, strangely. It was something I was going to have to revisit later, "What brings you to my workshop?"

"We need to go over your press conference in four days," she started, grabbing another chair and dragging it over to our small gathering. Placing the tablet that she carried on her lap, she then retrieved a stylus, running it over the surface, "Need to finalize what we are going to talk about, if you're done talking with Amy?"

I glanced back at Amy, who waved her hand in acceptance. Annoying, but acceptable.

"Okay," I replied tersely. The lingering tension of our talk of my scars still remained, but I figured that both of us could be professional about it, "Do you have something prepared already?"

"I've so far put together a list on some bullet points we might want to hit during the speech," Jean said, swiping with her stylus and I received an alert on a message in my vision. With a brief flicker of my eye, it opened in my vision and I looked through it.

All in all, it was a rather well put together list. I could respect Jean for how she structured it. It was clean, concise, and to the point. There was a bit more detail to it, but it hit pretty hard on the points of promoting what we currently had available, while avoiding making too many promises. I wasn't exactly a fan of the latter part, because I had sold Zero Dawn on what the future would hold if it received the support it needed.

Still, there were a few things that I believed could be improved.

"Should we put a bit more messaging on our alternative energy sources?" I said after checking the notes over one more time, "Blaze is going to be a big deal, especially if we can iron out a deal with the oil industry, but there are other ways we can help lower energy prices, especially with the projected energy price hike coming this winter. It'd be a lot faster, and probably attract quite a few offers for license-building."

"That could work," Jean agreed, making a note on her tablet, "as long as we keep it to basic systems, I think we can pull it off. You were talking about high-efficiency solar panels, right?"

"Among other things. I have a few designs for windmills as well. Though, considering we are working with the government on a nuclear reactor, we could start floating the ideas of geothermal and hydrothermal power plants. At least to see if we can merit interest."

"Let's leave the power plants off the table for now," Jean responded, making another set of notes, "Keep the focus on what the public will connect with. Besides, I think the government would probably want the right of first refusal on that. Something to bring up with Mr. Eaton in our meeting next week."

"I know we are planning to put a large focus on licensed production with companies for the foreseeable future, but have we looked into finding additional investors?"

Jean glanced sharply up at me, a crack in her mask showing in a frown before it returned to its placid neutrality. It seems that my suggestion had put her on her back-foot.

"I wouldn't think you would want to go down that road, Taylor. Making the company publicly tradable would open us to outside influences that we may not be able to predict."

"I wasn't thinking about putting the company on the stock exchange. I was thinking more along the lines of courting additional investors. Make it clear that we will still maintain full control of the company, but they will reap the profits."

"You probably will not be able to find too many that will allow it, Taylor. But it is something we can investigate. I know that Mr.'s Gabriel and Fontaine will be coming for a meeting with you in a week. That might be something we can discuss with them, as I think they should have some say in that decision."

"That's fine," I admitted. And I was being honest, I did owe both Gabriel and Fontaine for what they had done for me. It wouldn't be long until I would be able to return their investment if Sobek's projections were accurate. It was not lost on me that Jean was a former employee of Far Zenith and had joined my company as terms for the investment by the two men. Even though there existed some tension between us, I was fully aware that ZDT owed considerable success to her efforts.

"Do you have anything else, Taylor?"

I shook my head, looking over to Amy who had been watching us, I reached up and with a flick of my finger slid the message straight to her, "Amy? Do you have anything that we may be missing?"

Her eyes widened slightly, obviously not expecting me to ask for her opinion. I had a feeling that she was really never asked what her feelings were in decisions with New Wave. I hope I wasn't right, but I was starting to believe it considering it seemed to be a common reaction when I did ask.

She looked through what I sent her, a small hum escaping as she did it.

"Maybe personalize it a little bit," she offered, not quite sure of herself, "offer some insights to yourself? Show what your thoughts are and your hopes for the future? You're offering a product, but if you just do that then you'll come off as inauthentic and focused on profit. At least, that's what I think."

"Good points," I returned with a smile, "At least that's something that I can work into the speech and presentation. There's just so much we can do, after all."

I blinked as a thought hit me, "Actually Amy, how would you feel about joining me for the presentation?"

Jean shot a glance at me, then back to Amy before settling back with a contemplating look on her face while Amy spluttered.

"Me? I wouldn't even know what to say! Or-or…act! Or anything!"

I smiled at my friend as she got flustered over the idea. Jean chimed in adding her own opinion.

"It's a good idea. Something small, just to make it clear that you've joined the company. We can reveal the synthblood project and gather interest in more medical research."

I leaned over at Amy as she twisted her hands nervously.

"Look Amy, we're not going to force you, but at least I would like you on stage with me. Think of it like a rebrand that capes do. We're making it clear that you're turning a new page. Doing something new and all that stuff."

"Right…something new," she sighed, "Alright, I'll do it. No talking! But I'll be on stage."

"Aaannnd I'll have you stand up when I mention the synthblood project. Which you need to name by the way."

That got a long sigh from the reserved girl and she slumped a little into her chair. But despite that she gave a hand wave of acceptance.

Jean smiled, having been looking between the two of us as we bantered, "Perfect! I'll get some revisions done and send you both an update later. Also I've got someone coming in for outfits and such in preparation for the press event and other occasions. She'll arrive before lunch."

I frowned as I checked my calender. Nothing was blocked out.

"Jean, I was going to finalize the VMD with Paige at that point."
My infuriatingly competent vice-president gave an artful shrug, "No problem, Paige can join us. I'll make adjustments."

She then stood, considering all of our matters done. Which…it kind of was, I guess.

Oh wait! Toggling my Focus, I immediately pulled up the personnel 'grocery list' and forwarded it to Jean, "Last thing. There's a list of professions that we are going to need to hire in order to build Amy's team. Can you start looking into that? Or did we hire a head of Human Resources when I wasn't looking?"

Jean hummed, not even acknowledging my sass as she looked over her tablet, "We've narrowed it down to three. I'll send you their profiles for review. Get back to me as soon as possible, please. I want them involved with the security updates."

I nodded, seeing the new files being added to my inbox. I would look at them later.

"Did you get a chance to follow up with Amy, Taylor?"

I froze, completely caught off guard by the question. In the most neutral tone I could manage, I answered, "No. Not yet. That will be all, Miss Brown."

Jean took a moment, staring at me, before she offered a nod and turned to leave.

Now it was my turn to sigh and slump in my chair as the door closed behind her. Slowly I spun around to look at Amy who was gazing at me with wide eyes.

"Umm….what," she asked.

I snorted. Yeah, that was a fair question.

Spinning around, I pulled the VMD closer, going over each part while setting the computer to run another simulation.

Focus on the work, disconnect from the rest.

"Jean is of the opinion that my scars distract from my ability to connect with the public. It undermines our public message and doesn't project the image that we want for the company."

And damn that woman for being right. I had learned all about 'pretty privilege' from Emma and her cronies at Winslow. I just didn't want to use the very same tools that she used to escape punishment so many times as the means for elevating myself. It felt absolutely disgusting even considering it now.

"But," I quickly sought to alleviate any concerns Amy might have, "I didn't bring you onboard to be our onsite medic. It's not fair to ask you to use your powers for cosmetic reasons. Nor is it fair to demand the very same thing that caused you to come to Zero Dawn. Besides, it's not like these are causing me problems. I've adapted just fine. Anyways, keeping them just sends a different message that…," I blinked as I felt a hand resting on my back, gently rubbing against my shoulder blade.

Glancing to my side, I found Amy leaning over. She scooted further forward in her chair, pulling my hands away from my tools. I felt the blood flow back into my whitened fingertips. I hadn't realized that I had been gripping them that hard.

She then used the leverage that she gained to spin me around, putting my back to the desk as our knees brushed together. Both her hands clasped mine as she leaned forward. My Focus automatically adjusted, giving me a crystal clear impression of her face.

"Taylor," I swallowed at the tone in her voice. Slow. Gentle. But firm in a way that I couldn't understand. My hands tensed. I felt like an animal caught in a trap.

"Taylor. Breathe. I'm not going to do anything to you, but your heart is pounding. Breathe," she commanded, even as her actions matched her words and she breathed deep. I copied her on instinct, becoming aware of my pounding heart and tensed jaw. We sat there for a moment, both sharing in the breathing exercise as I slowly calmed.

"Taylor. Ignoring Jean. Ignoring the needs of the company. Why do you want to keep your scars?"

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, "Well, it's not fair to you, first of all," I weakly offered, "I promised that joining me would let you try something new. I don't want you to make you feel like I brought you in just to take advantage of you."

Amy squeezed my hands, "Taylor. Why do you want to keep your scars?"

With every word, she shook our combined hands up and down.

"I…"

Fuck. All of this. Jean. Emma. Madison. Amy. Dad. Fuck Winslow. Fuck Blackwell. And fuck every single person who stood on all the sidelines!

"I don't know."

And fuck me for not being able to let go.

I could see Amy's blue-encased face nod slightly. This close, I could see the curve of her lips as she gave me a sad smile.

"Do you know the hardest cases that the ER gets? The ones that the nurses and doctors will comment on in the breakroom and everyone has a similar story?"

I shook my head silently, letting her talk.

"Domestic violence cases. Only they never start that way. Someone will come in with a broken arm. A sprained wrist. Bruises. A black eye. And the story is always the same. They'll say they were clumsy. That it was an accident. They were forgetful," she took a deep breath and I found myself spellbound as she spoke, "But then you talk to them and the truth always comes out. But the story stays the same. They'll say it was their fault for provoking their partner. For making them angry. For not anticipating that their partner had a bad day. For some slight or mistake that led to their injuries was their own fault."

She then leaned in a touch closer.

"And it doesn't matter what the doctors and nurses say. The staff will go the extra mile. They'll offer counseling services, to call the police, even offering protection. Anything to ensure that the situation doesn't happen again. Because that's the worst part. It will happen again. Maybe it'll be worse the next time. Maybe they'll be taken to the morgue instead of the ER. Because they've internalized that they were somehow responsible for what happened to them. Not their partner."

I could feel her breath on my nose. She stared deep into my eyes, even when she knew that I couldn't see out of them.

"So, I will say to you what those doctors say to try and help those men and women stuck in their abusive relationships. It's not your fault. You don't deserve to be hurt. You didn't make them act like that."

I broke. I wasn't proud to admit it, but I broke as I could feel the tears coming and my voice came out weak.

"She was my best friend," I whispered hoarsely, Amy saying nothing as she rubbed her thumb against my hand where I held on to her like a lifeline, "She was…like a sister to me. And then, she just…changed. I came back and she was different. And everything…EVERYTHING that we shared she used against me. I…she was my sister. I loved her," I cried, numb as Amy pulled me from my chair. The two of us curled on the floor, our backs to the desk. I sobbed into my new friend's shoulder as she held me.

I told her about Emma. How we used to make blanket forts and how she would talk about magazines and clothes. About what kind of hero we would be if we got powers. And how I would look forward to telling her about the books that I read and we would giggle as she found pictures of actors to fill the characters I was talking about. About how Emma had held me and talked to fill the silence when my mother had died.

Then I told her about summer camp and how I came home to find an entirely different person wearing the face of my best friend; the person that I trusted above all others.

I lapsed into silence. I felt drained and wrung out. And I was annoyed at myself for pressing my face into the wet sweater on Amy's shoulder. Letting out a sigh, I pulled myself away, leaving us sitting shoulder to shoulder. Amy was still holding my hand: My right in her left.

"And here we are," I found my voice again, "Emma is…locked away somewhere that I try not to think about it. But I still don't have any answers. I don't know why. Why did she change? Why did she try so hard to break me," I let out a huff of laughter, wiping at my face with my free hand, "And these scars…It's like…If I just wipe them away am I giving up on things? Would it be better if I kept them to prove that she couldn't break me?"

We sat in silence for a moment. I didn't want to look at Amy and see what kind of expression that she was making. My head thumped back against the desk in a gentle rhythm.

"I know it doesn't make sense. I have these scars that Emma gave me, and I hate her for it. But it's also one of the last things, the last thing that I have to connect me to her. …Maybe she really did break me after all"

"Well, we know that's not true," Amy rebutted. Her first words in a while. I looked at her, not really understanding the expression on her face as she looked back at me, "Taylor. You are, by far, the most stubborn, dedicated, intelligent, and driven person I've ever met. You made yourself a device to help you see, while blind, in your basement. You walked into a conference and room and asked for several million dollars worth of investments armed with nothing but plans and designs. You traveled into the aftermath of an Endbringer attack and stuck around for a week to make sure that everything was working right. You're set to turn the industries of the world upside down. You've done all of this while blind and dozens of people are actively trying to make you fail."

She then waved our conjoined hands, "You are…amazing!"

I ducked my head, not really comfortable with all of the praise. But she continued, "And after hearing all of that I want to heal you, Taylor. Not because I feel obligated, but because you deserve it! Because those injuries? They aren't your fault! It wasn't your choices that led to them! The only choice you have made was to not give up. And that is amazing! Furthermore, you don't deserve to suffer because of someone else's actions."

She squeezed my hand, "So please, let me heal you."

I swallowed, a dozen thoughts racing through my head. Was it right for me to accept this? What about everyone else who didn't have this opportunity? What did it say that I was considering this?

"Please, Taylor. I can see what you are doing. You're trying to rationalize not accepting it. Just stop overthinking it. Don't keep paying for someone else's actions, okay?"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back as I released a sigh. I could feel all of my emotions, doubts, and reservations disappear with that wistful plea. I couldn't deny her, especially after that appeal.
"Okay," I whispered the words and they hung over the silence like a pall at a funeral. What a pair we made. Two girls with the ability to revolutionize the world. Or damn it. Lost and adrift by our own actions and the actions of others. Clinging together to keep going forward.

Amy nodded, I could feel it through her body curled up next to mine.

"I'm going to start now. Is there anything I should be aware of?"

"My hair," I blurted as the answer came immediately to mind. It was my only remaining connection to my mother. Amy hummed in response, "Can you just…make it longer? Everyone said I have the same hair as my mom."

The healer nodded, seemingly distracted. I could imagine her powers reaching deep inside me, dancing under my skin and into my bones.

"And…please don't touch my eyes," I added, looking down again and staring at the floor.

"Alright. Can I ask why?"

I sighed again, leaning my head against her shoulder, "I know it doesn't make sense. Not really. But there are probably dozens of other people who need their scars removed and their sight restored. Between the two of us, we can make something to treat skin. We're a ways from fixing eyes, though. I don't..I'm just not ready."

Amy smiled, I could hear it in her voice as she soothed my reluctance, "I understand. We go at your pace. Just remember, when I do fix your eyes, no teasing me about my freckles."

I blinked.

"I didn't know you had freckles."

She bumped my shoulder in response, and now I was smiling.

"There's a lot about me you don't know."

I took a deep breath and for some reason, a line from an old book came to mind, "Alright. I'm ready. Make me pretty."

"Oh, Taylor," she laughed, "I'm going to make you whole. You were already pretty."

---

AEH​

---

Another difficult day on the New York Exchange today, as everyone is still struggling to adapt to the devastation in Boston. Notably, news has come out about the failing health of Gene Fontaine, prompting some investors to abandon their positions in his holding. Mr. Fontaine is a prominent board member of several corporate ventures, and is a co-owner of the Far Zenith Investment Group. There has been no official word from Mr. Fontaine's spokesman on the veracity of these claims. - Closing Bell, CNBC​

---

AEH​

---

Paige McAbee

ZDT Headquarters

"Alright, it should be secure now. Just keep in mind that it will loosen a little in the presence of water. It'll be just enough so you can clean under the band. Lift your hair up again, please?"
Paige did so, fighting down the feeling of vulnerability that she felt. It was totally irrational, but she glanced up all the same, seeing Amy watching everything. Taylor and Amy had done more for her than anyone else in her life. There was no doubt that they had her best interests at heart. Which was more than she could say for a lot of the people in the last few months."

"Ready," Taylor asked, her hair an untamed and frizzy mess as the inventor worked at the device wrapped around her neck. Paige didn't trust herself to say it, so she merely offered a slight nod.

"Okay. I'm going to activate it, then. Amy, can you give me an inside look?"

Wordlessly, Paige held her hand out to Amy. It was an odd feeling to experience the younger girl's power at work. It was like this tingle just under your skin, like tiny ants crawling, but it was so faint that it felt more like a hallucination.

Taylor and Amy then worked together, comments flowing back and forth as they tested the choker in its active and inactive state. It was…reassuring to be wearing the Voice Modulator Device, as Taylor called it. As much as Paige understood that it was meant to contain her and keep her power locked down…it also served to remind her that all of this was because her control had slipped.

Taylor had repeatedly reassured her that it wasn't going to happen as long as she wore the VMD. But she couldn't shake that slight sliver of doubt that nonetheless had taken residence in the back of her mind. At least it wasn't an ugly device, though. It was an eye-catchingly lustrous silver with some decorative etchings and a gem (not an actual gem, the techno-babble went over her head) right in the middle. It could have easily passed as something a princess would wear.

"Perfect. All done," Taylor declared.

Paige let her hair drop, shaking the longer strands out and enjoying the fact that she had long hair again. Not that she was the only one, she thought to herself as the blind inventor reentered her vision and marveled at the transformation. When she had first met the younger woman, she had been horrified at the state that the brunette had been in. Hair cut short and styled in an awkward sidecut. Skin patchy, red, and scabbed across her face and the side of her neck. One eyebrow gone and another patchy. Taylor wore long sleeves constantly, but she had still seen more ravaged skin on her hand and caught a glimpse of how it ran up her arm.

But now…all of that was gone. What had been pitted, patchy, and scarred was now smooth and healthy. Lashes and brows were back in place and her hair was now a shoulder-length waterfall of brunette curls. Paige had to admit that Taylor had fantastic hair. And now the inventor's sleeves were rolled up, showing more healed skin along her arms and hands. Yet perhaps the most striking feature was her eyes. They were pure white, from the inner part of her pupils, out from the irises and into the rest of eye. Something that was only noticeable when the girl took off her black glasses.

Amy and Taylor both looked at her expectantly. Oh, she had to test it, she supposed.

She licked her suddenly dry lips, before finally speaking, "Thank you very much for everything you've done for me."

They smiled, Taylor even blushing a little. It was funny, seeing this incredible inventor and businesswoman act her age and be embarrassed by praise.

"Happy to help, really. I'm sorry we can't do more right now. Hopefully, we'll be able to sort out the legal situation soon. At least let you get out of the compound."

Paige shrugged, having mixed feelings about the prospect. Was she feeling a little cooped up? Certainly, but she felt safer here, with Taylor nearby and guards who were actually meant to protect her instead of containing her.

Unfortunately, the world seemed insistent on stepping in regardless of her and anyone else's wishes.

Ms. Brown chose that moment to stride in, striking an intimidating and regal figure. Paige had met her type before. The distinguished woman who looked down on Paige for her desire to be an entertainer. Fortunately, that wasn't the case here. Paige had found interacting with Taylor's Vice-President to be one of aloof tolerance, as if the woman was still trying to figure out how she fit in the grander scheme of things. It was the second person to walk in that grabbed her full attention, though. The full face mask of white porcelain completed the look, covering every hint of skin and transforming the short girl into a perfect copy of an old Victorian doll.

"...and here we have your clients. Ms. Hebert and Ms. Dallon will need a full wardrobe suitable for their positions, as well formal wear for special events. Ms. Mcabee will also need a wardrobe of comfortable items as well. She was the third woman I informed you about. We are trusting you to be discreet."

The cape looked them over for a moment, before pinching the fabric of her dress to ensure the hem stayed off the ground and gave a well-polished curtsy. Paige found herself smiling at the…uniqueness of this woman.

"My name is Parian. It's a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to working together."

Her voice was slightly muffled by the full mask, but Paige could hear a faint hint of an accent. Parian then shook hands with Taylor and Amy, before extending her hand to Paige. It was clear that she was nervous, unlike with the younger woman, Parian was making no attempt to look her in the eyes. Her heart dropped, another cold reminder of how everyone was now looking at her as a threat.

"Ms. Canary, I, uh…Sorry. I hope this isn't crossing lines, but…I'm a huge fan of your music. I'm really glad that you're here and not in prison."

Oh. OH!...Paige broke into a big smile, her heart rebounding. Which was enough for her young fan to look away shyly, though she didn't make an attempt to end the handshake.

"Thank you. I'm really glad as well. Why don't we get these girls some proper outfits and then you can tell me what songs were your favorites," it was an immediate response, ingrained from habits cultivated from dozens of meetings with fans at events, or press tours and concerts. It felt like she was being somewhat unfair to Parian to give such a canned response, and she made a mental note to do better.

"Really," the mask may hide it, but her voice couldn't hide the admiration and excitement from the other girl, "I mean. Yes. I would like that. After, I mean," Parian then cleared her throat and finally dropped the handshake. She then turned towards Taylor and Amy in a swirl of fabric and lace. Jean took that as an indication to leave, and Taylor's guard, Samantha, took her place up by the wall. Paige took in a shaky breath, thankful for the distraction. It gave Paige a chance to settle her thoughts as Parian began to quiz Taylor and Amy on their preferences, and not getting very far given the simple tastes of both girls.

The greatest feeling she had felt during her time as a prisoner of the PRT wasn't sorrow. Or fear. Or even anger. It was abandonment. The crushing feeling of loneliness wrought by being locked in a cell with no way to talk with the guards or know what was happening in the outside world. It felt like she was being forgotten. Erased. Every connection she had made. Every fan who had come up to her and shared their appreciation of her work…where were they? Did she matter so little that they could easily discard her?

It may have been cowardly of her, but despite all of the support that Taylor had shown her, she had still not been willing or able to look at the news. She hadn't checked online, nor had she gone looking on music boards or fan sites that had once existed. She couldn't bear to see if her thoughts were true and that she had really been dropped like a bad habit. Like unwashed trash over a mistake that was beyond her control

All she had wanted to do ever since she was a little girl was sing. She had a fascination with music and in the ability to bring emotion to every kind of people that she might never meet. But she no longer sang. Not since the PRT had kicked down her door. Even here, with the people who had helped her, she couldn't find it in herself to hum a melody or sketch out song lyrics as she once had.

Taylor's voice cut through her brooding and she found herself glad for the distraction.

"Look, I really don't understand what the big deal is. Yes, fine, I'll agree that something formal for meetings is probably warranted. But come one. Look at me. You can't turn a frog into cinderella."

That cut all conversation short as Parian, Amy, and even Paige herself stared at Taylor. The other girl had balled up her fists and looked at the ground with her declaration. She found her heart twisting for the younger woman, because she could guess where Taylor may have gotten such a view of herself and it suggested nothing good.

Those horrible, terrible, witches, she thought to herself.

The clack of Parian's boots were the only sound in the room as she stepped into Taylor's space, put one gloved finger under the girl's chin, and raised her blind eyes to meet her hidden ones. Parian spoke, and Paige twitched to hear a different tone and cadence of her voice. More direct and more commanding. This wasn't the fan who had gushed at her minutes ago.

"Taylor, I will not ask where you got such ideas. I will instead ask you a simple question and I expect an answer. Nod if you understand."

The inventor nodded, and everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on the two very different young women.

"What am I?"

What kind of question was that, Paige thought to herself, and Taylor herself answered with that same confusion, "A parahuman?"

"Wrong. I am a dressmaker. I am a fashion designer and stylist. My job is to examine people in an impartial fashion and help them find the best clothes possible. I have had years of experience and years of schooling to do just that. So right now, we will ignore whoever gave you that ridiculous idea of yourself and you will listen to my verdict. Now, breathe deep, and shrug your shoulders up to your ears."

Taylor did so.

"Good. Now, breathe out slowly and roll your shoulders backwards. You will feel your back straighten. Let it."

Paige smiled a little, seeing Taylor gain another inch of height. She really was a tall girl for her age.

"Excellent. Now keep that position. Walk to the wall, touch it, and walk back."

All eyes were on Taylor as she did just that and clearly the girl found the whole thing uncomfortable given how her hands were still clenched. But she kept going, her head held high as she touched the wall and turned around. Walking back, she came to a stop in front of Parian.

"Very good. Now, my verdict. You have excellent legs. Your body shape is slender and most runway models would happily cut a bitch for your silhouette. Your hair is amazing, and you have fantastic pride in the set of your shoulders," Parian clapped her hands once, "In terms of a 'look' for you, we are not going for cute. Or sexy. We want striking. Powerful. And you? You have that in spades."

The room was utterly silent in the wake of the dressmaker's declaration. Taylor herself standing there, seemingly lost for words.

"And if you really want to look like a Playboy Bunny, I can make that happen with five minutes and a BLT sandwich," Amy's voice cut through the silence, causing everyone to turn their heads to stare at the healer who folded her arms and stared right back. Paige was the first to break, giggling quietly. Taylor herself soon followed by smiling at her friend, even if it was a little shaky. And Parian shook out her hands.

"Okay, let's keep going. Fashion is all about impressions. The 'look' is the first thing people take in about a person and that builds the perception they have about you. So…what do you want to say?"

Paige could remember similar conversations when she did stage shows. Having to find the right outfit for the right set of songs. It was kind of interesting to be on the other side of things.

Taylor just frowned, "Why do I need to say anything? Why can't I just keep things comfortable and casual?"

Immediately Parian started shaking her head.

"No, that won't work. Because you've already planted an idea of yourself in people's minds with your actions and publicity. You are a savior to some people, here in the Bay and in Boston. You're an inspiration to others, even to me. So if you walk up to people and they see that you're less than what they would imagine, how do you think that will influence their view of you?"

She then turned slightly, "Amy, that goes for you as well. Although in your case, it's more about making you different from who you were before. Similar, but different. I'm thinking of a more styled version of your Panacea outfit. More doctor's coat, less of a robe."

Taylor sighed, running a hand through her hair, pulling it out of her face.

"Alright, fine. Um…I need people to take me seriously. I'm young, working in business. I need people to look at me and not see youth and inexperience. Nothing gaudy! Simple, polished…and something like that?"

Paige could hear Parian's smile as she clapped her hands.

"Excellent. I think I've got some things in mind. Here, let me get some measurements for both of you. And then we can talk about textures and colors."

The costumed woman pulled out a tape measure from somewhere and a notepad. Paige stepped forward, taking the pad and pencil from her, "Here, let me help."

The dressmaker seemed to take it in stride, now focused on her work and less on Paige herself. Taylor asked the dressmaker questions as she stood still, letting Parian's tape measure run along her arms and down her torso.

"You mentioned that I was an inspiration to you. What do you mean? Do you have family in Boston?"

Parian shook her head as she adjusted her measurements, "No no, my family is fine. I'm inspired because you were able to make all of this happen. Your very own company! I tried that, you know? A little while after I got my powers I started looking into what it would take to start an atelier. A dress shop, I mean. I knew that I never wanted to get into a fight and clothes were my passion. I had changed my university major from engineering to fashion. So…it all fit. But the process to open a business is impossible. The banks won't give me a loan and the fashion houses aren't interested in giving me startup money because I would be in direct competition with them. Most simply threaten me with lawsuits if I did manage to open anything."

The mask girl sighed, "So now I'm trying to make ends meet and save a little on the side. Rent some store space somewhere in the Bay. No way I'm getting anywhere like the Boardwalk; location might be ideal, but the rent would ruin me and the attention would just invite trouble. From lawsuits or the gangs."

Parian took a step back, finishing with Taylor, "So yes, your success is an inspiration and it makes me hopeful. Even if I know that investors probably aren't interested in dresses and outfits as much as they are interested in revolutionary technology."

Amy interjected, "If you don't have a workshop…um, how are you going to make anything for us?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, I thought Jean made it clear. Today, I'm taking measurements and discussing options with you. Then Jean will provide me with some prepaid cards and I'll go shopping. We'll meet again and see what you like or don't like. Anything that needs to be altered or re-sized, I can do that then. Just think of me as your personal shopper."

Paige smiled, even as she flipped the page in the notebook as Parian descended on Amy, "Of course, if you want anything special or custom, I can do that. I've got a decent sized apartment, most of which is for my tailoring. Maybe for you, Amy? Since you're more of a 'cape' then Taylor here. Actually, that could be fun. I have an idea already. It's a pity that I didn't bring my sketchbook."

Parian kept up a steady stream of chatter as she measured out Amy, who took over notetaking as Paige's turn came up. It was fun to see Parian lose the formal edge that she had entered with, or even the nervous flutter she had when Paige spoke with her at the beginning. She clearly loved her work and Ms. Brown was letting her stretch her talents.

"You see, outfits have layers. Depth to them. The most important aspect is figuring out what makes an outfit 'interesting'. What grabs the attention. The general wisdom of fashion is if an outfit isn't interesting by Color, then it has to be interesting through Shape. If an outfit isn't interested by Shape, then it has to be interesting through Texture. If an outfit isn't interesting by Texture, then it has to be interesting through Color.

Parian finished up, snapping her tape measure closed. There was a knock at the door which was opened from the outside by one of Taylor's new guard team. Paige has seen them, but generally kept her distance. She was still technically confined to Taylor's compound and was not in any hurry to cause any issues. A man walked in with a small cloth case. He was bald, slightly taller than Paige herself, and wore jeans and a simple t-shirt.

"Hello there. I'm the stylist, Giovanni. Jean asked me to come in for Taylor? I'm guessing that's you, young lady," he extended a hand to shake, not showing any surprise when Taylor reacted in kind, "Alright…Lots to work with here. Do you have a preference in length? What about styling? What do you do with your hair most days?"

The conversation flowed as a chair was found and Taylor sat to get her hair tidied. Parian pulled Amy into a discussion about her future outfits and Paige…just sat and enjoyed the moment. It was…nostalgic. Like being back on tour or before a concert. All that energy preparing for the big event. She smiled, touching the band around her neck. No more outbursts, no more loss of control. She wandered over to Parian and Amy, adding her own perspective on finding something classy but usable in the day to day.

Overall, it was a wonderful few hours. Paige found herself tapping her foot, the first stirrings of a melody. When she caught herself she froze. It was the first time that she had a song in her head in months. She smiled and dove right back into the discussions. Taylor would be looking amazing in a pantsuit if Paige and Parian had anything to say about it! Plus, her new hair style was looking good.

In all the joy and discussion, no one noticed Giovanni wiggled his foot. Letting several locks of hair slide deeper into his socks where no one would find them when he walked out of ZDT.

---

AEH​

---

"Jeremy, it is still the afternoon here in Boston, and as you can see behind me, a number of military units have been assembling for some time. This is coming on the heels of Interim-Governor Herres' statement declaring The Teeth a domestic terror threat. No official word has been given on the actions planned against the Teeth, but is clear that something is…**BOOM* **BOOM* **BOOM* **BOOM* **BOOM*

The camera snapped to the source of the explosions, smoke rising up into the sky. Further out, the bow of a destroyer was wreathed in smoke, before the gun mounted there fired another fusillade with corresponding explosions moments later.

"We're alright! I believe that, yes, I can see the USS Kidd has just opened fire from Boston Harbor on targets inside the city! The explosions you heard were the impacts inside the city. There is a lot of movement here as the military appear to be mobilizing. You can hear helicopters in the air now!"

The camera followed the reporter as she suddenly spun around, as a column of Humvee's began to move out. The reporter turned and ran towards a soldier who was motioning the column.

"Hey! Press Corps! Here's my ID. Where're you headed? Can we ride with you?"

-Mary Clovin, Frontline: Boston, PBS, Using footage taken at the beginning of Operation Sidestep. Aired May 13th, 2011​

---

AEH​

---

Amy Dallon

Brockton Bay

The Next Day

I was working at my desk when he walked up. Well not my desk, as I actually didn't have one. But it was someplace I could use a computer to do research. It was a given that my synth-blood, which was going to need a new name before it was released, would need additional work. Taylor's requirement of mass production was obvious, but it seemed that the machines and processes that were needed to create my invention…didn't exist. Which led me to try and find a company capable of designing the machines that I needed.

Yes, the obvious answer was to ask Taylor. She's an engineering genius, but she was also so busy that I don't think I've ever seen her not working. Even while supposedly relaxing. So no, I wasn't about to dump more on her lap. Plus…this was my project. I wanted to prove that I could be useful.

"Ms. Dallon, could we speak privately for a moment," I looked up, finding an older man in a dark suit in front of me. With the Vice President's upcoming visit, there seemed to have been an invasion of black suits. A quick glance at his visitor's pass caused my Focus to automatically authenticate the pass and provided me with a notice of when the pass was issued. It also flagged him as an authentic federal agent. His credentials would have been checked at the entrance. The passes were new, Taylor's security team was working around-the-clock to get ZDT's security up to their standard.

Releasing a sigh, I closed my workstation. Not like I was going to get anywhere.

"Sure. How can I help you?"

"Agent David Roland, Federal Bureau of Investigation's Criminal Investigative Department," he held out a hand, "do you perhaps have somewhere a bit more private, Ms. Dallon? This is going to be a rather personal discussion."

I took his hand and felt his biology unfold around me.

Tar buildup in lungs, smoker. Damaged deltoid muscle: old gunshot injury. Stress fractures in the bone and cartilage, fingers, wrists, and elbow: boxing/punching injuries. Healed bone fractures in the zygomatic, maxilla, and mandible: punched in the face several times.

Privately, I wondered at the life of Agent Roland to have accumulated such injuries.

"There's a conference room down the hall. Let's chat there."

I led the way, sending a quick note to security, asking that they double-check his credentials. Was I being overly cautious? Maybe, but Carol was NOT going to take my defection laying down. Did she have any pull with the FBI? I didn't think so, but unknowns were unknown for a reason. I got confirmation just as we were sitting down, he was legitimate. Settling into a chair, I watched as he placed a briefcase down on the table and opened it up. Pulling several files out, he turned to me.

"Ms. Dallon, as you well know," the agent began, "all employees of Zero Dawn are required to undergo a stringent and detailed background check for national security purposes. Unfortunately, yours was…troublesome to say the least. Inconsistencies were discovered and that resulted in the case being handed over to me."

I blinked, realizing that this wasn't about Carol, "Okay…what kind of inconsistencies."

He looked gravely at me, which seemed to age him unexpectedly.

"Inconsistencies with how you came to be with the Dallon family. Did…you ever speak about your adoption with your adoptive parents?"

Oh…I curled my fingers together, trying to mask my nerves, "No. I…tried asking once or twice but was told to leave it alone. Apparently there was a gang attack? I don't really remember it all. Carol explained it to me."

I swallowed, not exactly comfortable with the way Roland was looking at me. There was a strange mix of pity and guarded calculation in his gaze. Trying to find holes in my story? But I didn't do anything. I was safe. I clenched my hands together.

"...I see. Amy, it's not uncommon for young children to repress traumatic experiences. Have you ever spoken with anyone about your adoption? In a professional setting, I mean."

I shook my head. While no one was against therapists, Carol was…opinionated about the practice. Especially after the repeated failures of finding a means to improve Mark's emotional health. And I was busy…with school, with the hospital…with everything. It just didn't seem that important for something that may or may not work.

Roland pulled out a folder, opening it as I sat in quiet dread. My mind raced as I tried to understand where these questions were heading.

"Alright, one last question, Amy. Do you remember the name of the person from child services who visited your house?"

I felt dread form in my stomach and I squeezed my fingers together until they hurt. I was safe. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm not in trouble. I…

I didn't want to be alone.

"Call Taylor."

My Focus pulled up her contact and it immediately started calling. I looked away from Agent Roland, who was still looking at me silently.

"Yes, Jean. Get Hunniker whatever she needs. I would like to get her started right away," Taylor's voice sounded through the Focus input. It was still strange in how it sounded like they were on the phone, but the actual data was being fed straight to her brain, "Amy? Anything you need?"

"I…uh," God this was stupid. Taylor was busy and had a bunch of other stuff to deal with. She didn't need my issues added on top of things.

"Amy? Is everything alright?"

Oh no. Now she was worried. I wanted to say something to calm her down. It's okay, I could handle this on my own.

But my continued silence seemed to be all the answer that Taylor needed, "Amy, I'm on my way. Sobek, give me Amy Dallon's current location."

The connection cut and I heard hurried footsteps in the corridor. The door opened quickly and a uniformed guard stepped in, giving myself and the agent a serious look. Agent Roland had slouched back, placing both hands on the table, seemingly relaxed. I twisted my fingers against one another, staring at the table, feeling like all of this was being blown out of proportion.

Moments later, Taylor walked through the door, her long legs eating up the distance until she was standing over me. With her hair styled and wearing a new blazer and shirt, she looked commanding in a way that I didn't have time to appreciate. I was just glad she was here. I shrank in my seat as she put her hand on my shoulder and directed her ire towards Agent Roland, "I believe that it's required for a lawyer to be present when questioning a minor, Agent Roland."

The man raised his hands innocently, "You are absolutely right, Ms. Hebert. But this isn't an interrogation. Amy is actually a victim of a crime and I was trying to understand her perspective on things."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sam leaning casually against the wall. Then again, everything that woman did looked casual and…I was getting distracted again. Roland was speaking again.

"I'll gladly fill you in, so long as Amy is alright with that. It's rather personal."

I glanced up at Taylor, seeing my reflection in her sunglasses as she turned them on me. I nodded and she pulled out a chair next to mine.

"Sam, wait outside. John, thank you, you can return to your duties."

The two named guards nodded and filed out, the door closing behind them in an uncomfortable silence.

Taylor took my hand under the table, and I held it tight as Taylor refocused upon the agent.

"Alright, Agent Roland, without fanfare, all of the facts please."

I breathed deeply, bracing myself. Yes, I had always wondered where I came from. Especially on nights when I would lay in bed and feel a deep bitterness at how differently Carol treated me in comparison to Vicky. I could imagine that I had family somewhere. That they weren't dead because of a gang fight and an explosion that I couldn't remember.

Roland opened his folder and pulled out a photo. A young woman, maybe in her late twenties, taken at a concert in a fancy dress. Freckles on her cheeks and arms. Brown hair…like mine. Frizzy and nearly uncontrollable.

"This is Yvonne Sutherland. Unfortunately, she passed away from cancer in 1997. But before that, she gave birth to a healthy baby girl in Boston on August 17th, 1993."

He pulled out another paper, laying it next to a photo of…my mother. The paper was a copy from hospital records. A birth to Yvonne Sutherland with no complications. The name on the birth certificate was Amelia Claire Sutherland.

My middle name was Claire. I looked at the photo of the smiling woman, wondering what her story was. Why did she name me as she did? There were a million questions that I was never going to get answers for.

"This is where things get tricky," Roland added, reaching over and tapping the section that would have held the father's name. It was disturbingly blank, causing my heart to sink even more. Taylor squeezed my hand, and I was more thankful than ever to have someone at my side.

"An unknown father is not a national security risk, Mr. Roland," Taylor's voice was firm and even.

"To an extent, Ms. Hebert. But in cases of national security, the government does not like leaving anything to chance, and that is an example of why it is relevant," he placed another sheet of paper down, sliding it over to us before continuing, "This is a marriage certificate, between Yvonne Sutherland and Fabien Lavere," he paused for a moment, waiting for us to react. When we didn't, because I didn't recognize the name, and it seemed that Taylor didn't either, he continued, "You would know Mr. Lavere under his cape alias, Marquis."

I stopped breathing.

Everyone in Brockton Bay knew of Marquis. I never knew what to think of the man. There were some who looked fondly upon him, noting his code of honor and how he seemed to be a stabilizing presence in the areas that he controlled. According to Carol…Marquis was no better than Jack Slash, he just hid it behind a veneer of civility and noblesse oblige.

And… I was his daughter…

No. No! It couldn't be true! But..everything fit. Why Carol was always pushing me about rules. How she made sure that I could only use my powers in certain ways. All of her talks about morality and following the rules. Why Carol had reacted so badly when I started experimenting and looking to work with Taylor.

I was something to be contained and certainly not a daughter to her. I was a prisoner and she was my warden.

"Amy?"

How could I even look at her now? I was the daughter of a villain. I couldn't be trusted. I couldn't—

"I'm sorry. I'll leave. It's fine, Taylor. I understand, this changes things and—," I was cut off as when I tried to stand, Taylor pulled me back down to my seat. I forced myself to stare at the table, not wanting to see the look of disgust on my face. She leaned against me, causing me to become confused.

"Listen to me, Amy. I don't care who your parents were. We might not be able to pick our parents, but we can pick what we do with our lives. And you are a good person."

I recognized that tone of voice. It was the same one that I used just this morning on her. I couldn't stop myself from looking up to her face. I found my reflection in her now-becoming-iconic sunglasses as she stared into me. Just for a moment, I…peeked. I let my power loose, reading her entire body looking for any of the biological reactions that would indicate lying. I immediately stopped, feeling guilty for betraying my friend's trust like that.

Because she truly meant every word she said.

Taking a deep shaky breath, I let it back out, trying to rein in my emotions that were all over the place.

"Alright, Agent Roland, please take us through how exactly that conclusion was reached," I forced out as I pulled myself together, giving Taylor's hand a squeeze. Her cold determination was exactly what I was needing.

The older man watched us with a heavy look before pulling more pages from his briefcase.

"It wasn't easy, I will admit. Some serious effort was put into hiding this. First, when Herres assigned you as Ms. Hebert's primary physician, you immediately triggered an in-depth background check as Ms. Hebert was already a person of interest. Inconsistencies were found in your adoption paperwork. Home visits were all completed by the same person with the same general information entered. Paperwork that was filed just a little too quickly. The complete lack of any psychological evaluations. Basically, there was little to nothing showing who you were before you became Amy Dallon.

He paused, waiting for either of us to ask questions. We both sat quiet.

"That's when the case was transferred to me. Our fear was that Amy had been trafficked into the country or across state lines. As a result, this triggered an investigation into the Dallon and Pelham families themselves. Before becoming 'New Wave', most of the members were part of a group called the Brockton Bay Brigade. Their last big act as a hero team before they unmasked was to bring in the parahuman gang-leader Marquis. When we investigated that arrest, we ran into a wall of redacted files and records sealed by the PRT. But what couldn't be hidden was the asset seizures that the PRT executed immediately following the arrest. Assets that belonged to Fabien Lavere."

Arrests. Sealed files. Asset seizures. More and more, the story of my life was unraveling in front of me and I could only just hold on and try and breathe through it.

"By all accounts, Mr. Lavere was a wealthy man as one of the largest landlords in Brockton Bay. And unfortunately, asset seizure can be…extensive if the right or wrong judges get involved. But the one piece of property that couldn't be touched was family land and residences. These were held by the estate. The estate immediately filed a missing person's report after the arrest for Fabian's daughter, Amelia Claire Lavere."

He then pulled out a photo and slid it over to me. It showed…me. Younger, smaller, and smiling. I was sitting on a man's knee in a garden. My father. Marquis.

It was strange how ordinary he looked. Certainly, he presented himself well. A good shirt, dress shoes, and slacks. But he had a big smile on his face that could not be faked as he looked down on my younger self. It made me feel…sad.

"Unfortunately, the missing persons report didn't go anywhere. Police were paralyzed with the destabilizing local situation. Marquis' gang disintegration provided opportunities for other gangs within Brockton Bay to expand overnight, with the Empire Eighty-Eight leading the way. But Marquis inspired some loyalty in his people and the reports were filed again and again over the years. The man heading the estate, Dudley Coleman, kept filing every two years like clockwork. He passed away earlier this year, at the age of seventy-eight."

He then sighed, "Once we established the connection, we investigated the estate. Inside Mr. Coleman's files, we found the marriage license as well as the paperwork proving Mr. Lavere's paternity. The rest was just…following the threads."

The three of us sat in silence for a moment. This was…far more than I had ever expected. I was…angry, hurt, and shocked….just so tired of the lies.

"What was all this for? Why go through all the trouble," I asked and found my voice remarkably even despite the tumultuous feelings I was currently beholden to.

Roland sat back, humming for a moment, "Best case? The BBB saw a little girl who could be a target of revenge on Marquis and wanted to save her from that. Protect her from being used as a pawn in the power games by the gangs. The idea of having possession of 'Marquis' legacy' would be too much to ignore, considering the implications," he then frowned, "The worst case? The PRT and Brigade were aware that second-gen capes are generally more powerful than first-gens…and wanted her raised with a heroic cape team. That's not even getting into the fact that the PRT was able to seize so many assets because 'officially' Marquis had no next of kin, so the estate couldn't contest the seizures."

So either my life was a lie, but a well-intentioned one. Or my life was a lie, and the people who had raised me had done it for profit. Either in hopes that I would develop powers, which I did, or that me being out of the picture would let them take money from my birth-father.

Taylor kept driving forward, "Alright, so what are the next steps?"

Roland pulled out a swab kit from his briefcase, sliding it over to me, "At the moment all of this is circumstantial at best. With a DNA test, we can compare it to Mr. Lavere's DNA on file. We have both his blood sample from his Birdcage incarceration, but also various bits of bone from his parahuman power."

"And the rest of it," I fiddled with the swab kit on the table, imagining everything that would happen if I used it.
"That, young lady, is the troublesome part. With the positive DNA match, the birth records, the marriage license and the paternity records? You will absolutely be able to recover your identity as Amelia Lavere. You'll also be able to claim what is left of the estate, although a lawyer will be needed."

Taylor interrupted, "Amy is an employee of Zero and a friend. I will cover the legal expenses and provide the legal team."

"Fair enough. Your legal team scares the legal officers of my department, so I'm sure it will work. There is a time limit, however. The estate will be declared void by next year. As for the financial assets, properties, businesses, and so on that were seized? I'm not sure what to say about that. No…the big question is, what do you want to do about the Dallon and Pelham families?"

I stopped breathing, the realization hitting me.

"Please explain, Agent Roland," Taylor was once again coming in clutch.

"If, and I do say IF…this were to be brought to prosecution, Carol Dallon and her husband would be charged with the kidnapping of a minor, falsification of legal documentation, and possibly exploitation of a minor. Those are the obvious charges. Sarah and Neil Pelham would be charged with conspiracy, aiding and abetting a criminal action, and more along those lines. All four would face prison time, lose custody of their children, and have their assets seized if the exploitation charge sticks."

I thought of Vicky. Because of course I did. For so long she had been my world. My rock. The one person who I could rely on when things were tough in the little pocket of the world that Carol kept me in. What would happen to her? Would she cry? Rage? Would she hate me for bringing all of this rightfully down on the family she thought she knew?

"Clearly," Taylor again asked the questions that I couldn't find the energy to do so, "you have another option."

"Yes. We hang this whole thing like a Sword of Damocles over their heads. Force them to back off and give you a clean break from the Dallons. If anyone looks into it? The Dallons have no comment to make about your work, but are supportive."

I looked over to Roland, coming to terms with the choices in front of me. The agent looked sad and it aged him.

"Or…we just leave the whole thing alone. Leave Amelia Lavere in the past and you go on living as Amy Dallon."

"No," my response was immediate. No more lies. No more half-truths. I was going to be me and no one else! And no one would put me in a box ever again!

Roland nodded, "I wish I could let you think this over, young lady, but unfortunately, time's against us. Carol Dallon will file you as a runaway this evening if she hasn't already. You need to make a decision about what to do with all of this. Because my next stop is the Dallon household and your decision will determine if I'm riding alone or with two cars of agents as backup."

What did I want? I wanted to scream. I wanted to rub Carol's fucking hypocrisy in her face. All that talk about respecting the law and following the rules, and she's the biggest rulebreaker I've ever heard of?! How DARE she try to take the moral high ground with me!

But then I remembered the other memories as I grit my teeth. Quiet moments watching TV with Mark, while he brushed my hair. Carol staying up late helping me with my homework. Vicky laughing and telling me about her day. Mark's suffocating disinterest as he sat in his chair all day. Carol always watching me, every family dinner an interrogation about what I was doing and how I was doing it. Vicky always talking and making plans for me, setting me up even when I said I didn't even like her plans.

I…Was this it? Is this the moment where I go villain and confirm everything Carol believed about me? Would seeking justice make me a villain? I would ruin Vicky's life. Destroy every image she had of her parents, and…

I looked at Taylor and found her looking back at me. She had taken her glasses off, revealing the white eyes I had given her just this morning. I think I understood her just a little bit more now.

"Just…make them leave me alone. I'll…deal with them another time on my terms."

I tore open the DNA kit. A simple swab test, I'd seen dozens of these at the hospital. Angrily, I rubbed the head against the inside of my cheek, then sealing the container tight afterwards. Roland gathered his papers, nodding as I handed the completed test back to him. He placed one last folder on the table and slid it over to me.

"All the details and findings are here. My contact information is inside as well. Have your lawyers contact me and I'll pass any information you need to get your proper identity back."

I put a hand on the folder, not able to open it just yet. I was angry, but also just so tired at the same time. Taylor stood and shook hands with Agent Roland. They exchanged some words, before she made her way back to my side. She put her arm around my shoulders and I leaned into it, just enjoying having someone close to me.

We sat like that for a few minutes. My mind wandering between the present and the past. Finally, the tears came. Just a little.

"So…in light of all this, should I be calling you Amelia?" Taylor asked quietly, eliciting a giggle from me. I dried my eyes and sniffled, still trying to get my emotions under control and doing a rather poor job at it.

We separated and I looked at her again, "Yeah…Amelia Lavere. I'm going to be me and no one is going to tell me who that is."

Taylor gave me a small smile, and I felt butterflies in my stomach, before she held out her hand to shake. I smiled again, feeling a little silly as we shook hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lavere. I sincerely look forward to working with you."

I let my power go again. I felt a little less guilty this time, simply enjoying the clear signs of truth that Taylor showed in every part of her body.

"My friends call me Amy. I look forward to working with you too, Taylor."

---

AEH​

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This is Mary Clovin reporting live from Boston this morning. With major fighting ending last night, the military has switched to mop-up operations in its mission against the parahuman gang known as the Teeth. Military sources have confirmed that the entirety of their capes and the majority of their non-powered members have been killed. Injuries among military personnel have been light, with many still in treatment. No official numbers or names have yet been released.

An investigation into the Teeth's holdings has been launched after soldiers found tens of tons of various drugs, hundreds of firearms and improvised explosives, and potentially dozens of human remains. Interim-Governor Herres has called on specialized forensic anthropologists to be flown into the city in an attempt to identify these remains. It is hoped that they can lead to the closure of some of the still nearly three thousand missing person cases. - Mary Clovin, reporting for CNN​

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AEH​

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Sarah Pelham

Brockton Bay

"Ms. Pelham, this is Agent David Roland. If you can join us at the Dallon household, it's very important that I speak with you and your sister."

That had been the phone message that had been waiting for her when she got home. Immediately, she rushed back out of the house and flew across the city.

She did one last quick pass around the block before dropping down to land on the Dallon's doorstep. The phone call had been direct, but she had found no evidence of anyone at the house. Ringing the doorbell, she waited, keeping her power ready to use at a moment's notice.

The door opened, and Carol blinked at the sight of her.

"Sarah, I wasn't expecting you."

She frowned, "I got a call from an Agent Roland? Apparently you were speaking with him?"

Sarah and Mark had only just managed to talk Carol down after Vicky had returned from school without Amy. Vicky's retelling of the military sending a truck to collect Amy and presumably taking her ZDT's headquarters had resulted in Carol angrily stomping through the house while pulling legal books from her home office.

The sound of brakes caused her to turn around and watch as a car pulled up to the side of the curb in front of the house. Immediately they both tensed at the sight of the unfamiliar vehicle, preparing for anything. Sure, they both lived in a nice neighborhood and were open capes…but Fleur's death was a constant weight on their idea of safety.

The driver then got out of the vehicle, pulling a briefcase along with him. He waved a hand in their direction as he began walking towards them.

"Good afternoon! I was hoping to catch you both. My name is Agent David Roland. Would we be able to talk inside?"

Carol stepped forward, holding out her hand, "May I see your badge please?"

It was less a request and more of a demand from a woman ready to do violence on her front lawn. But if it bothered the 'agent' Sarah couldn't tell. Instead, he put down his briefcase and rummaged through his inner jacket with an affable smile on his face. Pulling out his ID, he handed it to Carol who looked it over with a critical eye, before handing it back, seeming to find no flaw in it. "What were you hoping to discuss, Agent Roland? Your message said it was urgent." Sarah asked as he took his badge back.

"There were concerns about your niece. Your adopted niece, I should say. We really should talk about this somewhere private, Miss Pelham."

She felt her heart drop, even as Carol's lawyer mask slipped firmly into place.

"Come in," her sister said.

They soon settled into the living room, with Sarah taking a seat next to her sister. She didn't see any sign of Mark, the turmoil was likely rough on him, and today would be a 'bad day' as a result. Roland didn't seem to notice as he sat across from them, popped open his briefcase on the coffee table. He pulled a tan folder out before latching it closed again.

Clapping his hands softly together, he began, "Now, I understand there was something of an altercation when Amy was collected from school yesterday afternoon. Your daughter Victoria, acted as though Amy was being taken against her will. This is the farthest thing from the truth. As I understand it, Amy has signed a generous work contract with Zero Dawn Technologies, making her a voluntary and rather well-paid employee," he noted with a slight smile.

Sarah didn't feel the need to smile. This entire situation felt wrong and she didn't like it.

"Regardless of what might have been signed," Carol replied coldly, "Amy is not of age. I am her legal guardian and counsel, not to mention her mother. Any employment that she signed isn't worth the paper it's printed on. We are very concerned about the direction that Zero Dawn is going as a company. We have no interest in her employment there."

Roland leaned back, spreading his hands invitingly, "Mrs. Dallon, sure you understand the complexity of this situation. Amy is happy where she currently is, and if you pull her away from that you will only invite tension that nobody wants."

"I am her mother. I will do what I have to in order to keep my daughters safe. Amy will not be employed by Zero Dawn, and as soon as the required twenty-four hours has elapsed, I will be filing a missing persons report. I will then demand kidnapping charges to be pressed against Zero Dawn Technologies."

Agent Roland tapped a finger against the folder for a moment and Sarah felt her suspicions skyrocket as he gave them both an appraising look. This felt far too choreographed for her liking, the FBI agent was too relaxed, as if he already knew the outcome of whatever it was that he was building towards. The fact that Carol was arguing with him tooth and nail did not seem to phase him.

Just what was in that folder?

"It really is in everyone's best interest that you leave things as they currently are, Mrs. Dallon," he stated, his tone still genial even as Carol glanced at the folder and her eyes narrowed.

"Emergency powers or not, the government does not have the authority to conscript capes and Amy is still a minor. I am her mother and I demand my daughter back."

The geniality faded away and the agent sighed. Sarah could only feel her stomach sink as he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. The look he gave the both of them was no longer friendly at all.

"Mrs. Dallon," he spoke plainly, "I dislike being direct, but in this case, it seems rather necessary. Leave the matter of Zero Dawn Technologies alone."

"No," Carol growled, and she found herself leaning into her sister trying to keep her calm.

"I see…Well, then, I guess we will have to do this the hard way," Roland then flipped open the folder, revealing a collection of papers, "Mrs. Dallon, Mrs. Pelham, I do not want you to draw any wrong conclusions so I am going to be extraordinarily frank with you. There are very powerful interests, federal interests, that are heavily invested in the future of Zero Dawn. Amy has found herself caught up in this by her very choices. So, I will make this as blunt as possible. If you attempt to further involve yourselves in this matter, we will ruin you."

The declaration robbed the entire room of oxygen and Sarah felt her heart freeze. Roland paid no attention to this, instead laying out several of the papers in front of them. Each one more damning than the next.

"For Victoria: Assault with a Parahuman Power on a medical professional during the course of performing their duties. Yes, Amy did share the argument that happened here two nights ago. Another count of Assault with a Parahuman Power against an officer of the armed forces in the course of completing their duties. And finally, another count of Assault with a Parahuman Power against a Minor," Roland shook his head remorsefully, but it seemed more mocking than it was sincere, "Human Masters. So very dangerous. Under the Three Strikes Law, I believe that Victoria would be looking at the Birdcage."

The silence was deafening as Roland looked up at the two of them, his genial nature completely gone, instead a hard man was all that remained, "But let's not stop at Ms. Dallon, shall we. It wouldn't be fair to her when the entire tree is in actuality quite rotten. For Mr. and Mrs. Dallon, kidnapping a minor, exploitation of a minor for the purpose of profit, falsification of documents, bribery, and child trafficking, to name just a few of the more notable highlights. Mr. and Mrs. Pelham, assistance in the kidnapping and exploitation of a minor. Collusion. Conspiracy," the man fell silent for a moment, "and that's before we start getting really creative."

He slapped a hand down on the folder, the sound like a gunshot causing them to jump at the sound. He then slid everything over to their side on the table. All the while she kept a death grip on Carol's arm, feeling her sister frozen in place.

"We did some digging, you see. Amy Dallon seems to have appeared quite suddenly in the records. Nothing too suspicious, of course…that is until you start looking deeper. Amelia Claire Lavere. A lovely, happy, six year old girl whose father suddenly disappeared and the case is locked by the PRT. Then, quite suddenly, Amy Dallon, a quiet, reserved, and shy six year old girl appears out of thin air in your care Mrs. Dallon. The Brockton Bay Brigade seemed to have done quite a bit more than just arrest Marquis, it seems."

He fell silent for a moment, his gaze heavy on them.

"We were trying to protect her," Sarah finally forced through a dry mouth, quiet words carried barely in the air. The weight of it all was settling on her shoulders. She may not have her sister's understanding of the law, but she knew when they were beaten. The public scandal of this getting out, even if they won in court, would not only ruin New Wave as a team, but it would destroy all of them as individuals. The PRT might just use Victoria for a quick PR win, claiming victory over a 'hidden human master' and show they hold even Heroes accountable. They wouldn't lose much in all of this, as complicit as they were in looking the other way when the Dallons took Amy in, Vicky wasn't one of 'their' capes.

Sarah pulled her sister's hand into her own, which Carol grabbed onto it like a lifeline, squeezing it desperately.

"It doesn't matter what you intended, Mrs. Pelham. It matters that you did," the agent replied dispassionately, "And what you did was erase a little girl's identity, raised her in total ignorance of her roots, and allowed the PRT to seize every asset that may have belonged to her one day."
Carol stirred then.

"Marquis had to be erased! He was a cancer. A monster! Everything that he touched needed to be expunged," Sarah kept an iron grip on Carol as she grew more animated, "It was the only way! Do you think the Slaughterhouse Nine would have hesitated because she was a child? The Teeth?! Marquis made so many enemies they wouldn't have been able to resist tearing that little girl apart!"

Sarah had never shared her sister's hatred for Marquis. But she understood where that drive to destroy him came from. Because unlike her sister, she had continued therapy for years after Carol had given up on it. She had settled her grudge from the days where she had Triggered. Carol never had. Instead, Carol doubled down. Fearful of men who claimed to be trustworthy and would only betray them later. Marquis pushed all of her trauma buttons. A ruthless gang leader who killed almost indiscriminately, but who was respected and even admired by the population for the stability and rules he had brought to the chaos that was Brockton Bay. He had become the focus of all of Carol's hatred. And that led her to try and utterly erase him. Legacy and all.

Agent Roland leaned back, seemingly calm despite the very agitated cape sitting across from him.

"And yet, you went beyond that, didn't you? It wasn't enough that you could put her into witness protection or foster care in another state. No…you came up with a plan."

"That was the PRT. All of it. Their 'price' for helping us keep her safe," Carol seemed to deflate, losing the fight to keep going, "We tried. We raised her. We treated her well. We taught her right. She is part of our family."

"But that wasn't enough, was it," Roland spoke, filling the silence after Carol's declaration, "She was always Marquis' daughter. You couldn't see past that, could you? Always watching and making sure that everything of that man was erased. You could never bring yourself to actually trust her."

Carol hung her head, pulling Sarah's hand into her lap and gripping it in both of hers. A lifeline as she drowned in the emotions of the past and present. The room fell silent again as Sarah closed her eyes. She sighed as the weight of all their past sins came to collect.

"What happens now?"

"Now? You will leave Amelia alone. She will reclaim her old name and the life that you stripped from her. You will not interfere with her work at Zero Dawn. You will not try to contact her. You will not raise issues with the company she keeps, the work she does, or anything at all. If you must make any public statement, the only thing we want to hear is that you are proud of her work and wish her well. Any contact will be initiated by her and it will be supervised. As far as the public is concerned, she is leaving New Wave and retaking her true identity now that she is grown. It will be an amicable, if cool, split. I would suggest coming clean with your children, so they don't do anything untowards."

"And finally," he popped back open his briefcase and pulled out a pen and notepad, sliding it across the paper, "I want the names of everyone involved in the conspiracy. That includes your contact in the foster care system that helped you with this. We need to be sure that no other children have vanished after Parahuman altercations."

Sarah silently pulled out of Carol's grip, writing down the details for several minutes before sliding the pad back. Carol kept still the entire time, her eyes locked singularly on the folder in front of her. Roland didn't even bother to look at the pad, instead returning it to his case and closing it. He then stood to his feet, "I hope we understand each other clearly. It would be a messy situation for everyone involved if we were to visit again. I'll see myself out."

The two women sat in silence as he marched out of the living room. The only noise breaking the silence was the sound of the front door closing, followed by the sound of the car engine a few moments later that faded away shortly thereafter.

Carol took a shaky breath, her hand cold and tight in Sarah's own. Sarah rubbed a hand across her sister's shoulder as Carol finally broke down, silent tears trekking down her face. She let out a broken sob before she curled in on herself.

"I'm losing my family," she whispered.

Sarah pulled her sister closer, and let the broken woman sob. Carol had always been the pillar of stone for the family. Strong, unyielding, and unbroken in spite of all the trials and tribulations over the years. Only Sarah and Mark, Carol's husband, understood that for all of Carol's strengths, her own inflexibility was her greatest weakness.

Today, that pillar had broken. And it would be up to those who cared for her to put the pieces back together.

If they could.

---

Here is the artwork in question, I'm only including the one that I feel is the best representation of it, with the small text under the handprints that is the names of the survivors.

An Intimate Moment

 

[FarmerKyle]

Phew, a lot of good and bad feels here! Loved the build up of Taylor's and Amelia's selves, and Paige's view for a surprise Parian visit was fun. Heck, even Parian's parts alone were a treat!

And I loved this take on the Marquis revelation and the immediate aftermath. Very well done! I felt chills!

Thanks for sharing, AISmash! Also, that art is lovely!

 

[ChiChi]

He was bald, slightly taylor than Paige herself, and wore jeans and a simple t-shirt.

Click to shrink...

taller than?

"Ms. Dallon, as you well know," the agent began, "all employees of Zero Dawn are required to undergo a stringent and detailed background check for national security purposes. Unfortunately, yours was…troublesome to say the least. Inconsistencies were discovered and that resulted in the case being handed over to me.

Click to shrink...

missing"

I"m not sure what to say about that.

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I'm

"If, and I do say IF…this were to be brought to prosecution, Carol Dallon and her husband would be charged with the kidnapping of a minor, falsification of legal documentation, and possibly exploitation of a minor. Those are the obvious charges. Sarah and Mark Pelham would be charged with conspiracy, aiding and abetting a criminal action, and more along those lines. All four would face prison time, lose custody of their children, and have their assets seized if the exploitation charge sticks.

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missing"

It was less a quest and more of a demand from a woman ready to do violence on her front lawn.

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request

Clapping his hands softly together, he began, "Now, I understand there was something of an altercation when Amy was collected from school yesterday afternoon. Your daughter Victoria, acted as though Amy was being taken against her will. This is the farthest thing from the truth, . As I understand it, Amy has signed a generous work contract with Zero Dawn Technologies, making her a voluntary and rather well-paid employee," he noted with a slight smile.

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just after 'from the truth' the punctuation is weird

Because unlike her sister, she had continued therapy for years after Carol had given upon it.

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given up upon it?

A ruthless gang leader who killed almost indiscriminately, but who was respected and even admired by the population for the stability an rules he had brought to the chaos that was Brockton Bay.

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stability and rules

 

[Jarrik32]

Talk about messy. As on one hand New wave are absolutely right that putting Amelia into the foster system would have been at best a gilded prison with her ending up in the control of a criminal gang or at worst a death sentence with Marquis old enemies or worse the nine targeting her. It's not nice but making sure Amelia Claire Lavere permanently disappeared wasn't a bad call.

The damning bit is how she was treated after her 'adoption'. As both canon and the story made it very clear that Carol never saw her as her daughter. Frankly a better option would have been to foster her with someone nearby they know who could be trusted to be discreet and otherwise raise her as an ordinary child. While still being nearby enough to intervene if any outside groups targeted her.

 

[JaqkGreen]

I don't like feeling sad for Carol. It makes me upset with myself

 

[Jao]

Here is the artwork in question, I'm only including the one that I feel is the best representation of it, with the small text under the handprints that is the names of the survivors.

An Intimate Moment

Click to shrink...

The image embed didn't work because you used imgur.

Here is a link that works:

https://i.postimg.cc/MZNqkr4M/2Hl8X45.jpg