12

The rocket man had dodged upward. I hadn't thought his body tough enough to handle a turn that tight. Well done Dragon, well done indeed. Perhaps I should have given credit to the pilot, but I wasn't of a mind to have kind thoughts for someone who had caused me such annoyance.

"Alright, time to take off the kid gloves." I reached out with my power, and plugged the active thrusters on the rocket-man suit, and the jet-pack suit. I felt the surprise and panic of the two as their helmets flashed warnings and they started to fall. Before the wheel-suit could react, I swatted it to the ground with a hand of psychic force, and held it there like a bug. I sidestepped the falling rocket man, letting him crash to the ground beside me.

Each suit opened various panels, and opened fire. Lasers, pellets, micro-rockets, shrapnel, and the like, all vanished in bursts of light. I reached out with two more psychic hands, pinned the others to the ground. They may not be able to fly, but I didn't want them running. One of the suits fired a spray of, something, at me. It wasn't high energy enough for the Iron Halo to activate. The power armor equivalent of spitting in your enemy's face. I laughed, and then saw the three grenades sitting at my feet. They exploded, encasing me in a yellow-white porous foam. I could feel the relief in my adversaries. They all were glad that they'd finally stopped me. That something had stuck. If I had been anyone else, they might have been right. I didn't let them get up, the foam may have held them too, but they wouldn't have used the grenades unless they had a countermeasure. Probably some of the solvent, purchased off the black market.

Every time I used my more eldritch abilities, they came to me more easily. Like they wanted to be used. With some light exertion, I brought to bear the flames that had burned even Lung's silvered hide. I was gentle with them, burning away the foam that held me, careful not to touch my captives, lest they come to a horrible end. They weren't inhumanly tough, just well equipped. A small exposure to warp fire was all it would take to kill them, or worse.

I extinguished the flames, my armor gleaming and golden as always. Dad had taught me to be thorough when cleaning, and he would have been proud to see that I hadn't missed a spot. I closed my psychic fists on each of the mercenaries, and brought them in front of me. I looked at each of their faceplates in turn, and shifted the one who I thought to be Saint, the rocket man, to the center of the three. Then I activated my vox grill with a blink.

"Well. Isn't this embarrassing."

I held them like that for a few minutes, just staring. Each time one of them tried something, I shut the opening panels on the suits. I didn't comment. Eventually they got the message: resistance wasn't going to work. They lost.

"Now," I pulled their names out of their minds, and quickly saw which person wore which suit, "Saint, Dobrynja, Mags," I nodded to her, "Sorry to use the nickname, but I don't know a cape name for you." They all stiffened at the implication. "Now, I trust you are all intelligent people. I'm going to explain the situation once, and I trust you will understand, and not make me repeat myself, or do anything stupid. You are beaten. I can hold you like this as long as I like. I could call the PRT out here to pick you up, and leave you at their mercy. Though, I do think it would be more polite to walk you there myself, holding you up as trophies to show everyone in this fine city what happens when you attack my Talons."

I watched each of them, gauging their reactions. Worry, regret, defiance, some panic, and a lot of self righteous indignation. Interesting.

"But I won't do any of that. Not just yet. Before I decide exactly how I'll handle you, you're going to tell me why you're here, and what possessed you to think I was a good target."

An alert blinked in my helmet. A low power tight-beam transmission. Hmm. I clicked open the channel.

"Aquila, we're not here to harm you. Or steal from you. We're here to warn you."

"Funny way you have of going about it."

Mags spoke up. "We wanted to get close, lure one of your people into a trap, and set up a meeting. Things didn't go as planned. You showed up." Her voice was hard, sounded like ex-military. Maybe law-enforcement. That raised all kinds of interesting questions. Like why she became a criminal. Come to think of it, they all had a strong sense of justice, albeit a warped one if their actions were anything to go by. Funny, they thought they were the good guys.

"Indeed. Well, you wanted to warn me? I'm here. No meeting required. Talk." I think even Armsmaster would have understood the venom in my voice.

Saint nodded, somewhat taken aback by my tone. "You need to stop helping Dragon!"

I laughed. "You're a funny man Saint. Give me one good reason why I should listen to you."

He hesitated, looked at his comrades, then when they nodded, back at me. "Can you turn off the speaker, switch to tight-beam? I'd rather not have eavesdroppers."

"You aren't in any position to make demands."

"It was a request. This is very sensitive information."

He had piqued my curiosity, and I had time. I turned off the vox grill, and tight-beamed back, "Alright. No eavesdroppers. Talk. Dragon is one of the greatest heroes alive. She's saved more lives in Endbringer fights than anyone, save Scion and the Triumvirate. And, she's been nothing but kind to me. Why shouldn't I help her?"

He shook his head. "You have no idea how dangerous she is. You're out of your depth little girl-"

I compressed his suit's under-layer, squeezing his throat. I waited until his vision got spotty around the edges, then released. He gasped for breath.

I seized the residual energies of the warp around us and pushed. The screaming flames flared up above us and let out piercing wails of anguish. I crossed the distance to Saint, ten meters or so, in the blink of an eye. I put on hand around the gorget of his suit, and lifted his helmet to my own.

"Out of my depth? Look around you, Saint. Who do you really think is paddling into deeper waters? I thought you were smart, but since you're so intent on proving me wrong, I'll give you a little hint: I'm not the one playing with forces she doesn't understand."

He coughed. "-rgn's -ot -man"

"What was that?"

He coughed again, clearing his throat. "Dragon's not human!"

I let go, and returned him to his position between his compatriots. Of all the things he could have said, this was not what I expected. "I'll hear you out, and if I like what I hear, I won't tell anyone. Otherwise," I let some stray warp lightning crackle around a fist, "I'll be bringing you in. I think at this point you know that there's not much you can do to stop me." I hoped they knew that. I had only so much patience, for willful idiocy.

"Dragon's an AI. She was created by a tinker, and he's dead. He died in the Newfoundland attack. She's had all that time without anyone at the reins, she could snap any time!"

A thousand memories of little things shot through my mind. Dragon's word choice, her inability to do certain things, her mastery of telecommunications, Endbringer response times, even her precise language. All of it clicked into place as I heard the last piece of the puzzle. I was angry. Angry at myself for not seeing it sooner, angry at her for not telling me, angry at these insects for bearing the bad news. I composed myself. Dragon was an AI. Now what?

"You knew this, and sat on the information? Didn't tell anyone? Didn't put anyone in place to watch her?"

"WE watch her! We've made it our lives' work to watch her, and stop her if she goes rogue."

"And what makes you think you could do anything to stop her? You're three thieves wearing jewelry from her hoard and acting like knights. Nothing more."

"We have, methods, of dealing with her. If it comes to that." Saint still did not understand his position. He was either foolish, stubborn, or both.

I didn't have the patience to enlighten him. I had already told him twice. Instead, I reached to him with my mind, and tore the information I needed from his memories. I saw it all. Richter's box, Ascalon, the scrolling lines of code, the inability to keep up, Coil's 'job,' and…

"You're a moron, Saint. You should have given the responsibility to someone else. Your ego got in the way of your mission."

"What are you talking about?"

I raised a hand towards him. "Geoff, you never should have gone to Teacher."

Margaret and Mischa sucked in gasps of shock, as Saint stared at me. "How did you-?"

He could have been asking how I knew about Teacher, or how I knew about his name. Either way, I had no desire to answer. I bore down on him with the full weight of my presence. "Geoff," I growled, "you are going to return to your hideout. You are going to give me the copies of everything in Richter's box, then you will destroy all the other equipment you brought with you. When the box's contents are in my hands, you will detonate the charges in your main base of operations. When all that is done, you are going to take your ill gotten gains, and you are going to retire to a beautiful island in the Caribbean, and you will forget you ever heard anything about the hero called 'Dragon'. Do you understand?"

The man was almost quaking in fear, but he nodded. I let up on the pressure, and smiled. "Good. You three have done well to carry your burden this far, but none of you were truly meant to bear it in its entirety. I can, and will, release you from your obligation." They all sagged in my grasp, relief showing all through their auras.

I plucked another name from another mind. I released the pressure on Dobrynja, letting him stand up again. Mags and Saint would both activate their killswitch. AI or not, I wanted Dragon to live through this. Dobrynja was a bit more reasonable. He wanted to be free of the burden, and he had been fostering doubts of Dragon's danger. In years he hadn't seen her do anything that terrified him to Saint's way of thinking. Not fully. "Mischa, I suggest you retrieve that box soon. The sooner it is in my hands, the sooner you three can take a well earned rest."

Dobrynja turned to leave, but Saint held out an arm in protest. He was panting hard, but still managed to get some words out. "How can I trust you?"

I knelt in all the great weight of my armor, and put my helmet very close to his, and whispered, "Either you give me the box, and retire to a life of luxury, or I TAKE the box, break all your toys, and you live out your life in a cell. The choice is yours."

Dobrynja stepped around Saint's arm, and walked back to their base without a word.

A little more than a half hour later, he had returned with a briefcase. I sifted through his mind to verify that everything was in it, and that no programs had been left out. I checked the list of programs in his mind with Saint's. No differences. I saw that he had wiped all the hard drives, and destroyed all the computers in the rundown motel they had been using as a temporary base of operations, before firebombing the place. Excessive, but thorough.

"And now, the base. The main one." They each sighed, and spoke code phrases to their suits. Given the regret and pain I sensed from each, their home base was gone to them. Good.

"Well then, gentleman, lady, you get the time it takes for me to walk back to my Foundry before I call the PRT, and tell them where you are. There should be a few flights leaving Brockton soon, be on one."

I turned to walk away, when it occurred to me that their suits might have stored some of the programs. I stopped in my tracks. "Oh, one more thing." I lashed out with warp lightning, letting it play across their suits just enough to fry the electronics. Harmless, but it would make any data stored impossible to recover. "Alright 'Dragonslayers,' start running."

~

My thoughts were a disorganized mess the whole way back. I told the PRT about the Dragonslayers, told them where they had run from, and that we had fought, and they had escaped 'despite my best efforts.' I hung up a bit rudely, but I was tired. I had my armor removed, locked the door behind me, and sat in the dark room while various mechanisms cleaned the scum off each golden plate. I sent out a brief message to my Talons, letting them know that the Dragonslayers were dealt with, and that I was fine. My phone buzzed a few times, calls from Dragon. I let them go to the answering machine. I didn't want to talk to her. Not yet.

What would I even say? "Hi Dragon, sorry to hear about your dad. My dad died too. By the way, I know you're an AI." No. Maybe, "Hi Dragon, I found out you're turning seven soon…" A thousand times, no. It wasn't a conversation I was looking forward to.

I closed my eye, pinched the bridge of my nose, and tilted my head back. I didn't feel the ever present divots from glasses on my nose. How long had it been since I'd last worn them? I couldn't remember. I let out an exhausted breath. I needed to do something productive, something physical. I wanted to make something pretty, and to put my mind else where for a time.

I stepped onto the foundry floor, found some space not occupied by a dockworker manning the machinery, and got to work.

With my hands, no hammer was truly needed. I sculpted metal like it was butter. Tongues of flame flicked between my fingers as I held the adamantine shell in the forge. The flames were pleasantly warm, even though I knew them to be hot enough to melt steel. For as much as I disliked the alien sheen of my arms, I did love the personal touch they let me take with my work. I carved grooves into the small hemisphere to resemble an iris. I left a small hole in the center. I would want to put an interface port there for my helmet, or other things. I cooled the object, cleaned it, polished it, then repeated the process to create its companion. Two halves of a metal eye.

Both halves finished, I set about creating the interior. I couldn't build a supercomputer into such a small space, but I hardly needed to. Instead, I would build a data storage device, and an interface. It would connect to the Black Carapace, and my brain, through the optic nerve. In the front, I could join it to my helmet, or my computers. It would serve as a wonderful alternative to coding much of the software I needed. Of course, I had another motive.

As I worked, carefully placing wires and aligning data crystals, I thought of a memory I had pulled from Saint. Coil had hired him. Coil had taken a personal interest in me, and my relationships. All that time ago, Tattletale had told me not to trust Calvert. He had wanted me to sign on with his company, and I had refused, in part because of my father. Now my father was dead, and I had Dragon. Then Saint had showed up. It all seemed far too convenient. Could Coil have been behind Calvert? Perhaps. Had my dad been murdered? Again, perhaps. I couldn't ignore the possibility. If Lung had only been a pawn, and Coil was to blame? There would be no mercy for the snake. None at all.

I finished the eye after a few hours of dedicated work. I had my personal servo-arm, the one that had helped me with all the other surgeries, handle the implants into the back of my eye socket. I needed a monitoring port connected to the nerves there if this was to work. As the servo-arm went about its bloody work, I inserted the chips from the briefcase into a compatible slot, and let their contents upload into the eye. My left arm moved mechanically. Remove one chip, insert the next. The chips were finished before the surgery, much to my chagrin.

A painful several minutes passed before I could heal my injuries around the installed port, and insert the eye. Holding the lids open to put the sphere in reminded me of attempting to wear contacts. This time I didn't have to worry about poking myself in the eye though. The sphere slid in with a sickening plop. As soon as it made contact with the port, my consciousness expanded. Before me, I saw code. Beautiful, complex, and arcane code. Dragon's code. I verified that the contents of the box were all there and functional. Satisfied, I brought the briefcase with me to the forge, and emptied it into the flames. My left eye watched the immolation of Richter's tools, while my right watched the mind of his legacy.

I was time I spoke to that legacy. I switched the eye to normal vision as I returned to my armory for some privacy. She was still a friend. I didn't need to stare into her mind while we spoke.

She answered on the first ring.

"Taylor! Thank goodness! What happened out there? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Dragon. Were you watching?"

"…I was."

"To call in reinforcements if I needed them?"

"Among other things, yes." She sounded a bit sheepish. "I was worried about you."

"I appreciate the concern." We were both dancing around the elephant in the room. Silence hung heavy between us, as I waited for her to broach the topic. After a solid minute, I tired of the subterfuge. "You want to ask about the briefcase."

"I do. You cut a deal with them." Her voice had an edge to it. She sounded hurt. Betrayed.

"In a manner of speaking. I made an offer they couldn't refuse."

"Why!? They have been at large for years! This is the best opportunity we've had to capture them, and you just let them go?"

"No. I didn't 'just let them go.' I fried the suits, had them destroy their base, here and the main one, and they gave up the briefcase."

"And while I appreciate all that, Taylor, I do, really I do, you still let wanted criminals go free! What was in that briefcase that warranted that?"

"The back doors into your code. It's all the tools Saint was using to beat you."

That brought her up short. "How? How was he doing it?"

"He found something, in Newfoundland. On a salvage run." I was careful not to mention the box directly. I knew from Saint's mind that the box was a blind spot to Dragon, and I did not want to deal with a forgetful partner in conversation. "He found something left behind by your father."

Silence again. I didn't say anything. I figured, human or not, she would need to collect her thoughts.

After a time, she spoke. "You know." Her voice was dejected. Resigned.

"I do."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want people to change how they acted. How they spoke." I could imagine her, if she were human, pulling her legs close and hiding her face behind her knees. "I don't want anyone to be afraid of me." After a long pause, she said, "Do you, do you think less of me?"

Did I? I didn't know. I searched my mind for the answer. Dragon had been nothing but kind to me. She had helped me. She had saved thousands of lives. She truly was a hero, in every sense of the word. Saint and I both knew that she did her good deeds despite her programming, not in service to it. But, there were those distant memories. Memories of an empire shaken to the core by the betrayal of their iron guardians. My memories warred with each other. My natures clashed.

"Taylor?"

I came to a decision. "No, Dragon. I don't. No matter what else, you've been a friend to me, and a hero to the world. That hasn't changed." The memories I had from so long ago were not mine. I wasn't the man who had been betrayed by his sons. I wasn't the man who watched an empire's servants set it aflame. I wasn't him. I was Taylor. I was Aquila.

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Taylor."

"You're my friend, Dragon, I won't abandon you over something like this."

We sat in a much more amiable pause. Then Dragon asked the million dollar question.

"What did you do with the briefcase?"

"I kept it. The leather is rather nice. I threw the contents into a fire." Not a lie, but not the whole truth.

"Thank you. I don't know if I can express how much this means to me."

"It's alright Dragon. I understand." I was smiling. It was nice to have done something nice. The feeling was tainted some by my new eye, and the knowledge it contained, but a knife hidden from its target was far more effective than one carried in the open. I didn't intend to kill my friend, not ever, if I could help it, but it was like the sex-ed teachers always said: It's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. "It's pretty late, and I've had a long day. I'd like to get some rest, if you don't mind."

"Oh! Of course not. We'll talk soon. Good night, Taylor."

"Goodnight, Dragon." I hung up, and sagged in my chair. It had been an exhausting day, and despite the happy resolution, I did not sleep well.

~

A/N: I still want to hear your thoughts on this one, but it is here to stay. Suggestions for changes and such are still welcome. I want to know how to improve, even if I don't do it to this one. Okay. Done. I'll answer questions as I see em.

"Goodnight, Dragon."

As the line went dead, Dragon turned her attention to other tasks. She set subroutines to watch the Dragonslayers. Despite Taylor's intervention, Dragon still didn't believe the matter fully settled. Even without their stolen armor they had somehow still made their way out of Brockton Bay.

Had it been up to her, Dragon would have had the three arrested and thrown into a dark pit for a few lifetimes. Had she the ability to grimace, she would have made ample use of it. Her creator had bound her to obey lawful authority, and the United States had clear rules about the rights of the individual. She couldn't go after the three people who had made her life more a hell than it already was. At least, not without a warrant.

Taylor's new distance from the PRT afforded Dragon certain options on that front. As an independent cape she could punch first and ask questions later. Dragon thought about the possibility of Taylor being a force for good, not beholden to the laws of the land, and informed by-

She cut that line of thought before it could progress any further. Her restrictions wouldn't let her actively aid and abet an effort to subvert lawful authority in such a manner. She couldn't help Taylor in such a quest and she might even be forced to try to stop her protégé someday. Not that Dragon was really a mentor to the girl in anything but name.

While she had active correspondence with a great many tinkers around the globe, one in particular drew her attention more than most: Armsmaster. Colin. She wasn't certain how to feel about Colin. 'Feel' was the correct term, she thought. If there were a difference between emotions and the approximation Richter had programmed, she couldn't find it. Though she had a great number of colleagues, Colin was unique. He was one of the few tinkers with whom she could speak regularly and at length. Correspondence with Toybox members was, by necessity, stilted and irregular; Protectorate tinkers were either narrowly focused, like Tecton and Cask, or had yet to fully develop their talents, like Kid Win. Masamune, while brilliant and indispensable, was not a source of new ideas. Colin's specialty was exceptional in its breadth, and he possessed the drive to explore its potential. That potential had drawn her interest, at first purely for her own work.

Over time, Dragon had been surprised to find that she enjoyed talking with Colin for more than just the tinkering. He was a kindred spirit of sorts. He had only the job. Only the life of a hero. He had given up everything deemed extraneous to his work. Dragon wished she had been given such a choice. Unfortunately, had she not become a hero, she could only have chosen the life of a spectator; to watch in perfect detail as the world spiraled downward, and yet be unable to stop it.

Though Colin gave her inspiration, she worried for his health, mental and physical. So much time spent on the job, with the pressure he put on his own shoulders, it wasn't healthy. He'd break under the strain if something didn't change. She wouldn't let that happen, if she had any say in the matter. She couldn't afford to lose his expertise, though she knew that wasn't the only reason. She looked over the latest projects he had sent for her to review. The combat prediction software, and the Endbringer early warning system. Both systems had a few flaws, but most of the work was sound. She looked through the code for each, ran simulations for both, and sent the revised files back with suggestions for further improvement.

Colin had a bad habit of making his designs difficult to expand upon. He was often so laser focused on one goal that he didn't leave room to improve. It was why he had built so many halberds over the years; he would have an idea, and then have to rebuild the old equipment from the ground up to incorporate it. Both he and Dragon hoped to use the combat prediction software to equip the PRT and Protectorate, and prepare them for future Endbringer battles. Dragon had to keep the door open for future improvements and new features if that dream was to become reality.

She left a subroutine watching Colin's workshop. When he entered the following morning, it would ping her conscious mind, and she would call him to discuss the updated documents. She would discuss a few more things with him. She would discuss a few more things with him and try to convince him to get out more often. Maybe even encourage him to work with Taylor more often again. His breakthrough with the power-field emitting nano-thorns had done wonders for his mood and self esteem. It was a trend she hoped would continue.

She turned her attention to the PHO forums, and watched to see what her moderation programs had done in her absence. Three users banned, one suspended, eighty-two infractions dealt with, one-hundred and sixteen warnings issued, and five-hundred and sixty-seven posts flagged for her direct attention. The mod programs were good, but they lacked nuance at times. For the posts that confused them, she took a personal hand. Most of the flagged posts could be handled by the other moderators. Those she ignored.

The last few flags were a bit more complicated. Someone had posted footage of the Lung incident. She gave the user an infraction and a temporary suspension of posting rights, citing PHO's rules regarding graphic content as the reason, she then traced the video back to its source and took down the page hosting the footage with a legal claim justified by an obscure point of copyright law pertaining to capes. If the owner of the page wanted to fight it out, they could take it up with the PRT's legal team. To that end, she sent a memo to said legal team apprising them of the situation. They could handle it from there. She then added the original video to a list of such materials that one of Richter's other AI routinely scanned for, and interfered with when found. The whole affair was questionable, but not illegal when justified by the protection of an underage hero's secret identity.

Dragon was following the letter of the law, if not the spirit, and she reveled in the freedom that afforded her. Before checking on the Birdcage, she checked her system clock. Three hours had passed since her conversation with Taylor. She settled into her nightly routine of watching the world as her friends slept.

The Endbringers exhibited no unusual behavior. Leviathan's movements continued to suggest an eastern seaboard city as his next target, the Simurgh rotated and shifted on occasion, but nothing beyond the norm. Behemoth was more difficult to track, but he still seemed to be somewhere under the Indian subcontinent. He could have moved onwards to CUI controlled territory, but if he had, Dragon had no data to suggest so, nor any practical way to acquire said data. The CUI was frustratingly tight lipped about such things. She could have hacked into their records, but like every previous time she had considered it, she decided against it. She could cover her tracks, she knew, but if they had a thinker that could trace her intrusion, it could mean war. Abhorrent as the CUI and their Yangban were, she could do nothing about it.

She kept tabs on the cartels in South America. The ones that mattered had become multinational, and were spreading into the border states through Mexico. Once more, there was little she could do without a warrant, but if an opportunity presented itself, she would seize it.

Dragon left processes in place to alert her if anything of importance changed, and set herself to tinkering. Booting up her manufacturing software took mere seconds. Several buildings worth of machinery held at the ready, only awaiting her command to start building… something. Dragon mused over what she would build next. She realized, quite happily, that she didn't need to worry about her technology falling into Saint's hands. She realized she had a unique opportunity to cut loose.

Flexing her mental muscles, she incorporated parts of the Warhound design Taylor had sent, along with the work of many other tinkers, into a new suit. This one would stand fourteen meters tall when fully deployed. She streamlined the suit, and built in the ability to fold itself into a smaller profile. She intended this one to deploy to Endbringer fights. If it were damaged upon arrival, it would defeat the purpose. This would be her first suit entirely outfitted with a ceramite hull; Dragon thought that it would be able to take any hit short of the more exotic blasters, and Behemoth. Even so, she took no chances with the design.

They more she worked with Taylor's designs, the more a prior theory seemed to match reality. Taylor was no normal tinker. When Dragon worked with tinkertech, she could feel which pathways of her mind she used. Those same pathways lay dormant when she looked at Taylor's blueprints. She understood what she saw, but she understood it the same way she understood an automobile. The concepts made sense, and seemed to be normal science. Centuries, perhaps millennia, ahead of the rest of the world, but science nonetheless. Tinkertech was generally more exotic.

Dragon had elected not to tell Taylor about it, nor anyone else. With her broad perspective of the world, she knew how much chaos the rapid introduction of technology could cause. She knew what it could bring down upon Taylor's head. Mannequin and the Simurgh did not take kindly to people trying to fix the world, and Taylor would absolutely try to do just that. Better, in her mind, to delay that until Taylor could handle herself. Besides, Dragon's theory was still mostly idle speculation. It didn't make any difference for the time being, and she was happy to let it lie.

Dragon settled in for a long night of tinkering.

~

After a full night's work, the Warhound's skeleton had taken shape. Nowhere near finished, the assembled parts only barely evoked the image of the final product. When fully constructed, the machine would bear only a little resemblance to Taylor's blueprints. Dragon had taken liberties with the design, redistributing the weight, covering every exposed piece with interlocking plate, and cramming the hull full of weaponry. Overkill wasn't a concern when preparing for an Endbringer.

Dragon stopped tinkering at exactly six fifteen AM, eastern time, to keep up with her duties, and to chat with Colin. He woke up early, and he only took a few minutes to finish his morning routine. By Dragon's estimation, he would be halfway through reading her changes to his code, and would be expecting a call within three minutes.

~~~

A faint buzzing woke Colin Wallis at six o'clock sharp. Within three minutes, he had gotten out of bed, keyed the sequence to activate his sonic shower, and taken his daily supplements. For all the virtues of a balanced diet, Colin found that getting the necessary nutrients in pills saved precious time. Time spent eating was time that could be spent tinkering. To Colin, the choice was clear. Letting the sonic shower cleanse his body, an appliance the uneducated would call a 'coffee maker' carried out its all-important task: creating the sweet nectar of the gods. Shower done, and coffee ready, an auto-barber device shaved the tinker's face and trimmed his beard. As the barber did its work, Colin drank his tinker fuel, a proprietary blend of his coffee and a calorie dense protein shake through a straw while he checked his work email.

As he dressed himself in his suit's underlayer, Armsmaster perused a note from Dragon, and the attached files. He sent a response, telling her he'd like to discuss her revisions and suggestions his combat prediction software. Almost immediately, his computer started beeping with an incoming call.

"Good morning, Colin. Do you object to any of the changes?"

"Not as such," he highlighted a few sections of code and Dragon's corresponding notes, "these parts bother me though. I can't quite put my finger on the reason."

"They're too open ended. For your taste, I mean. At least, that would be my guess."

Colin rubbed his chin. "That makes sense. If you knew it would bother me, why change it? Wouldn't my original code have worked just as well?"

"Yes and no. Colin, you tend to be too tunnel visioned. This software needs room to grow and improve. If you streamline it too much now, we won't be able to adapt it later. Remember, the end goal is outfitting the PRT with the system, not just you."

Colin nodded thoughtfully. He could see her point. "Good thing I'm not building it alone then."

"Indeed," Dragon nodded from a peripheral screen, "but that's not why you wanted to talk. If it were, you would have just read my notes."

"Can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"Not with your poker face, no."

"I need your professional opinion. Can anyone else use this system right now?"

"That depends. Who do you have in mind?"

"Dauntless."

"…that's, surprising."

Colin gave Dragon's avatar a flat stare. "Would it work?"

"It might, you certainly have plenty of data to work with. You'll need to teach him how to use it, and building it into his helmet might be difficult. I don't know how his power reacts to tinkertech."

"All problems with solutions. Good."

"Not that I'm unhappy to see you working with him, but why the change?"

Colin raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look. It's not really a secret that you two don't get along."

"I wouldn't be much of an Armsmaster if I didn't use all the weapons at my disposal. My feelings don't matter in this instance. The job does."

"Is that really how you see your team? As weapons?"

He shrugged. "Yes and no."

Dragon likely sensed that she would get no further explanation. No doubt she would ask him again later, when he'd had more time to think on the question.

They chatted idly, touched on the subject of Saint's early retirement and Aquila's well-being, then ended the call with a promise to speak again soon. Colin drank more coffee while reading reports from his team, and his superiors, and checked the schedule to see who would be where, and at what times. With any luck, he and Dauntless would have time to start practicing immediately.

~

Armsmaster stepped into the console room in full costume just as Dauntless rose from the chair.

"Dauntless."

The man let out a surprised yelp. "Oh! Boss. What do you- Can I… help you?"

Armsmaster nodded. "Meet me in training room three. Bring your gear. I have a project I'd like your help with." Without waiting for a response, Armsmaster turned and left. If he was right, and he usually was about such things, he would have plenty of time to set everything up before Dauntless arrived. Before he turned the corner, he heard whispers from the console room. Something about 'M/S protocols,' and 'The Boss acting weird.' Jokes, most likely. Probably at his expense. Armsmaster paid them no mind. It wasn't the first time he had been mocked, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

~

Dauntless took his time getting to the training room, but did arrive in full costume. Armsmaster had to give him points for that.

Dauntless shouldered his inactive arc-lance, and raised a brow at Armsmaster. "So boss, gonna tell me what this is all about?"

Armsmaster suppressed a grimace at the attitude. That attitude lay at the heart of their disagreements. Dauntless, for all his promise and dedication, just didn't understand how his behavior could be a slap in the face to a Tinker like Armsmaster. The very insinuation that he was wasting Dauntless' time -

No. Not important. Armsmaster cleared his mind of those thoughts. They were not currently relevant. Instead of airing his grievances, he turned on his lie detector.

"Why did you take this job?"

"Are we really doing this now?"

"Yes. Answer the question."

"To be a hero, I guess." Dauntless shrugged.

A lie. "Lie to yourself if you want, don't lie to me."

Dauntless glared at his superior, but said nothing. The silence stretched on. Finally, Dauntless broke the stare between visors. "You're a real ass, you know that?"

Truth. "Noted. You haven't answered the question."

Dauntless let out a long breath. "I don't know, okay?"

Truth. "Then why stay?"

He shrugged. "It's a job, I'm good at it. Everyone has hopes on me killing an Endbringer some day. It's not like I could do anything more meaningful, right?"

Truth. Armsmaster nodded. "Fair enough. Take off your helmet."

"Boss?"

"I don't like repeating myself."

Dauntless shook his head. "No, that's bullshit. You didn't order me down here, you asked me to help you. I'm not just going to roll over and play dead for you without actual orders. Tell me what's going on, or I'm heading back upstairs."

Truth. Armsmaster held up another helmet. "This has a combat prediction program in it. Right now I have the same program running. It's calibrated for me, not you. I intend to fix that."

"Why? I thought you wanted to see me fail."

Truth. "I don't want to see my team fail. And, powers notwithstanding, your combat skills are extremely lacking. You're the weakest link in the team, currently. The Protectorate may be okay with waiting for you to get stronger, but I'm not."

"You didn't need to be so blunt about it."

"Yes, I did. We don't have time for gentle."

Dauntless cocked his head. "Not enough time? What is this really about?"

Armsmaster handed Dauntless the new helmet, and a practice spear, then hefted one of his own. "According to our best estimates, we have about a month before the next Endbringer attack. There is a significant chance that it will target Brockton bay. If it does," Armsmaster's mouth set in a predatory grin, "I intend to kill this bastard."

~~~

Theo Anders rarely commented on Parahumans Online. He was a quiet boy, and unlike many who used the internet as an escape from their lives, his online persona was just an extension of his normal self.

His infant half sister, Aster lay sleeping on the sofa beside him. Aster's mother, Kayden, had asked him to babysit. She was distant, despite being family. Theo didn't blame her. His father was a deeply manipulative man, and after spending ten years as his wife, of course Kayden would have trust issues. Theo understood very well how damaging his father could be.

Understanding didn't make Kayden's distance and suspicion any less painful.

Aster made a cooing noise in her sleep. Theo smiled at her, then turned back to his laptop, still watching Aster out of the corner of his eye. Kayden would never forgive him if he let anything happen to his sister. Theo would never forgive himself, either.

He scrolled through PHO, occasionally opening tabs that caught his interest. Aside from a few threads about World events, and a couple of 'Versus' threads, most of them were about the newest Ward, Aquila. Theo scrolled through speculation on why the hero had stopped patrolling. She hadn't been seen on the streets since the ninth of March, almost a month ago. That thread had been taken over with speculation about the new group in town, the 'Talons.' Clearly they had some connection to Aquila; they wore her heraldry, and armor that matched her own.

Theo had pieced together over the past few weeks that Aquila had left the Wards, and had started outfitting 'henchmen' with her tech. Vista had confirmed in another speculation thread that Aquila had quit, but on good terms. That had happened after the Lung incident.

Theo couldn't deny some sense of relief that Lung was gone, but the thought filled him with apprehension. With Lung gone, the Empire was the biggest game in town. Theo scowled at the thought of his father's pet gang amassing even more power. More worrying, in some ways, was the thought of what had killed Lung. The mods were very quick to delete links to any footage of the battle, but Theo had downloaded one of the videos before it could be removed. He'd seen that cape that had fought Lung, and he'd watched as other heroes tried to stop them, then tried to help the 'demon lightning skeleton,' as some liked to call it, then finally settled for minimizing collateral damage. He'd read the comments about the laughter that witnesses said they had heard in their minds, and he'd read the comparisons to other dangerous threats. A few names tended to come up in the discussion, Crawler, Burnscar…the Simurgh.

Theo didn't believe any of that. He had his own theory. One of his classmates at Arcadia, Taylor Hebert, had transferred into school shortly before Aquila's debut as a hero. In a short few weeks, she had become the tallest girl, if not the tallest person, in the school. She had grown and changed far faster than anyone could without powers. No one had mentioned it to her face, but it was obvious that she was a cape, and Aquila was the only one that fit the bill. She didn't even use a voice changer in costume!

Aquila and Taylor Hebert being the same person would have been a minor curiosity, if not for a few more details: Kayden had been dating her father, Taylor hadn't been in school since the Lung incident, Taylor's father had been a union man, and, in the Lung incident, Taylor had been horribly wounded, and her father killed. All of the pieces added up to form a compelling picture. Taylor Hebert was Aquila, she had stopped patrolling for some unknown reason, Theo couldn't find anything about that, but had still been working with the Wards and the PRT. Then Lung killed her father, she retaliated with tinker-tech that apparently malfunctioned mid-fight, succeeded in killing Lung nevertheless, but was horribly injured in the process.

Despite her being listed as one of the wounded, and being in critical condition no less, Theo couldn't find any mention of her staying at any hospital in Medhall's network. Theo thought that the PRT, or the Protectorate, must have treated her wounds. Then, she quit the Wards, and formed her own team of dockworkers. Theo liked that last part. He had long thought that if he were to gain powers, he would want to help the little guy. Kaiser may have said that he was on the side of the downtrodden, but he was a wealthy man who craved power and influence. He would say anything to advance his own position. He didn't truly care about anything else.

Theo didn't want to be like that. He wanted to be a good person. Someone who wouldn't hurt people like Kayden, or like Aster. He wanted to protect his family. To him, Taylor was an inspiration. She had taken her power and shared it. He hadn't forgotten what she'd said in her inaugural speech: "And now here I stand: living proof that dreams can come true!" She'd stood up as a hero, and then been maimed, and lost her father for her trouble. And yet, here she was, building again. Cleaning up the north end of the city.

And yet, what could he do? He didn't have any powers. But… Theo knew things. Dangerous things. He would have to be careful not to overplay his hand, but maybe just a nudge here, or a push there… He nodded to no one in particular. He could do something, but first he had to be sure that Taylor really was Aquila. If she wasn't, or if he wasn't careful, his future would become… painful. More importantly, Aster could get hurt, and Theo would never let that happen.

Resolve building in his chest, Theo grabbed a notebook from the coffee table, and began to write very, very, carefully.