An Everdistant Horizon (Worm/Horizon Series)

[AlSmash]

An Everdistant Horizon

Seed 1.1

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

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

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

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

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

For now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just one more step towards getting the last laugh.

---

AEH​

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And did you say anything?"

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

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

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

"Sure, boss."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[AlSmash]

Seed 1.2

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, therein lay the problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if summoned, the door to the room opened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AEH​

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

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

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

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

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

"Very well, until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How bad is it," Piggot finally asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Will do. And after that?"

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

 

[AlSmash]

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

Seed 1.3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps it was time to begin looking into contingencies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you thought of options?"

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

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

"And if they do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's most certainly a big deal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Taylor?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Armsmaster is outside."

"Repeat that by me again?"

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

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

"No. You?"

"...No."

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

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


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

 

[AlSmash]

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

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

Seed 1.A

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wouldn't have mattered where they had met.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course, Armsmaster."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here," she offered.

"What is this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's acceptable."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

"Dragon?

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

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

 

[AlSmash]

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

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

Seed 1.S

"Geoff, you need to come here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was none of that. This was something new.

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

"An operating system."

"Bullshit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tinker doesn't have a cape name."

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

"And how is that not Tinkertech?"

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

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

"What's this Tinker's name?"

"Taylor Hebert."

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

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

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

"Her."

He blinked, "What?"

"Tayor Hebert is a fifteen year old girl."

"...Oh."

 

[AlSmash]

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

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

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

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

Anyways, here we go. Until next time.

Seed 1.AKW

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had only made his subsequent decision all the easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you listening, Armsmaster?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what about this operating system?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It is, ma'am."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dismissed," she gritted out.

---

AEH​

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But the Protectorate-"

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

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

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

"Brain-machine interfaces."

"I'm sorry. What?"

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

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

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

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

"Colin-"

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

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

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

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

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

There was a long pause on the other end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

AEH​

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Against A- and S- Class threats!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had been such a good week too.

 

[AlSmash]

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

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

Seed 1.FCKUC

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

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

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

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

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

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

To fucking Eagleton.

Effective immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

AEH​

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm listening."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do we know what her Tinkertech focus is?"

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

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

"Walking around without difficulty?"

"According to him, yes."

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

But was it worth making a move?

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

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

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

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

"Done. Is there anything else you want?"

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

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

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

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

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

Further planning could wait until tomorrow.

---

AEH​

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What can I do for Cauldron, then?"

"Taylor Hebert."

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

"You will not interfere with her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, did she mean?

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

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

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

---

AEH​

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

UC,

Hope the new treatment is going well.

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

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

Take a look and see what you think.

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

I'll owe you.

L.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taylor Hebert wasn't limited to one field.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[AlSmash]

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

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

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

Seed 1.4

"No, thank you for your time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No luck with Medhall, huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So what now?"

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

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

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

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

"Have you thought about licensing Sobek?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about your fuel idea?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And," I breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

"Zero Dawn Technologies, Taylor Hebert speaking."

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

 

[AlSmash]

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

Seed 1.5

Taylor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Taylor."

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

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

"Please."

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

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

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

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

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

"Miss Brown? We're ready."

"Then if you'll follow me."

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

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

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

What?

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

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

"I am not about to allow-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Taylor-"

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

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

"If you would follow me, Miss Hebert."

"Good luck, Taylor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Go on."

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

"Go ahead," was Gabriel's response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Fontaine that finally broke the silence.

"That's not all, is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Miss Hebert?"

I took a deep breath, before slowly releasing it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

AEH (Alain)​

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terraformation. The holy grail he had thought impossible.

"I told you."

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

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

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

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

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

"Haber."

"What?"

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

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

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

"So you're going to back her?"

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

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

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

"Tomorrow then."

 

[AlSmash]

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

Seed 1. DUC (End)

Danny

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So where do we go from here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A meal time that he pushed…

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

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

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

But in Taylor's case…

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

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

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

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

AEH​

Uppercrust

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All from the mind of a teenage girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the damage had been done, her takeover of the west coast had made her the de jure head of the Elite, even if she ran the illusion that she was only a midlevel troubleshooter in the organization. By every single metric of the organization, she was the shadow behind the throne of a supposed business confederation.

Luckily, Agnes wasn't completely insane. She had realized quickly that trying a repeat performance to correct her miscalculation would also be a mistake: Gentilhomme was too important to the Elite to remove, as he managed the logistical network of the Elite. Meanwhile, his own contributions to the Elite through large multimillion dollar government contracts had made him indispensable from a cost/benefit perspective. Instead, she had extended an olive branch, offering many of the same conditions that Endymion had allowed them to operate in the past with only a few additional caveats.

As a result, the Elite had been split into two factions with the rank-and-file largely unaware of the internal power struggle. Neither side could afford to separate, in spite of Agnes's actions, as dissolving the Elite would remove the only deterrence they had to prevent the Protectorate from simply rolling them all up.

It nonetheless remained a cold relationship between them, one steeped in distrust, and frankly, it likely would never change. He knew that Agnes Court despised him, but couldn't afford to not utilize him for her own aims, so she was forced to tolerate him. She had simply settled upon both eagerly and reluctantly awaiting his demise, as it would remove one of the last stumbling blocks to her hegemony of the Elite, even if it would cost her millions of dollars in contracts.

"I figured," he rasped drily, knowing it would annoy the hell out of her, "What do you want?"

"I need an explanation on what you are doing?"

"So she knows," he mused with a hint of irritation. It had been a foregone conclusion that she would quickly become suspicious the moment he transferred the money to Accord. It was too large of a sum of money to ignore. The fact that it was money that his branch had generated mattered little to a control freak like Agnes. Still it rankled him that he couldn't get a few more weeks out of it. He would have to have a chat with Fibonacci about ensuring that their systems were secure again.

"You'll have to be more specific, Agnes. I thought we already discussed the contract with the PRT to enhance the shield systems we already put into place on the eastern seaboard."

"Don't play coy with me, Gene," came her frosty reply, "You know exactly why I am calling. I want an explanation on the twenty million dollars that have disappeared from your branch's balance."

"Demand? Dear Agnes, you seem to have forgotten something. While I may be a member of the Elite, I do not answer to you. How I use the money that my branch has made is my business so long we continue to meet our yearly levies. Or have you forgotten the charter?"

"I have not forgotten the charter, Gene. However, I sincerely doubt when the charter was written it was envisioned that a member of the Elite would, without conferring with anyone, suddenly abscond with twenty million dollars without a word. One could believe that you may be misappropriating funds for your own benefit."

His teeth grit at the statement, the urge to snap at the younger upstart almost too much for him to resist. Instead, he muted his phone for a moment and took a deep breath. It was a matter of pride that in all of his years he had not once misused any money that he was in charge of.

Unmuting the phone, he decided that if she wanted to posture and threaten, he could return the favor.

"Be careful, Agnes, you're treading on my dreams."

"Excuse me?"

"Let me make this abundantly clear to you, Agnes. What I do with the New York Branch's money is none of your concern. Unless you want to change the charter to reflect that, it will remain none of your concern. Now that I have established my position, I will, however, in light of the fact that we are on the same side, let you know that the money you are inquiring about is a project that I authorized. That I approved. And that I am personally overseeing. Is that sufficient? Or would you like to escalate this to the Committee?"

He knew perfectly well that Agnes couldn't take the risk of trying to bring this to the rest of the branches, despite the fact that she had it stacked in her favor. If she did so she would draw the ire of Gentilhomme, who would not take kindly toward Agnes challenging the charter, which she could not afford.

He would have to reach out to Gentilhomme after this and ensure he was made aware of just exactly what was going on. While he could depend on the man to keep the traditions of the original Elite, it would still be respectful to keep him apprised of the situation.

"That…will not be necessary, Uppercrust," she relented after a long pause, obviously coming to the same conclusions that he did, and by using his cape name, was admitting defeat, "I am merely voicing my concern and let my passion get the better of me. I apologize."

He knew it was a false apology, but it wasn't worth incensing her further. The fact that she was backing down was a win in and of itself.

"Apology accepted. As a gesture of good faith, I will keep you informed on the progress of my project. But right now, I am in the preliminary stages. I hope to have some results within the next few months."

Another long pause met him.

"That is acceptable," was her awaited response, "I will look forward to the fruits of this project. Good evening."

With that she cut the call, leaving him once again alone.

Lobbing the phone back on the table, he leaned back in his chair, letting the dialysis machine do its work.

While he may have won this battle, the war was far from over. There was no way that Agnes would leave this alone, she hated the unknown and anything that may undermine her approach to taking over the Elite would not be tolerated.

And once she found out exactly what he was doing, she would make a move. She couldn't afford for him to gain any advantage or power over her. If it came to be known, once Taylor had started rolling out her technology, that he had been the one to cultivate her, it would upset the balance of power in the Elite that Agnes had kept scaled in her direction.

And even worse, he knew exactly what she would think when she looked at the situation. A young, fifteen year old cape who was rolling out technology that was unrestricted and making money? She would likely come to the belief that he was cultivating Taylor to be his successor. And if it was true, which it was not, after all, how could he truly groom Taylor to be his successor if she was unaware of who he was, then her carefully laid plans to wait him out would be void.

If only they had a few more weeks, he could have ensured that Agnes would never be able to figure out what he had done. Instead, he now had to plan for a new foil to everything, because Agnes would inevitably become involved sooner or later.

Looks like he was going to have to call Accord ahead of schedule.