bh

This drew a frown from her. William Manton had been both one of their greatest coups, but also their worst mistakes. A brilliant, but disturbed man, he had allowed Cauldron to finetune its vial production and develop a model for testing and analysis for the power vials that they produced. Unfortunately, his descent into madness left him killing his estranged daughter with one of those vials when he tried to save her from the cancer ravaging her body. He had then fled, taking several vials with him.

It was when he took one that The Siberian of the Slaughterhouse 9 had been birthed. One of the most prolific and sadistic killers of a coterie of known mass murderers, Manton's projected power had done more damage to Cauldron with the death of Hero than any other event in its history.

"How bad," she had to ask.

Contessa's eyes closed for a moment, as she released a sigh, making it obvious that her power was feeding the information to her and she was processing it.

After a few more moments, she shook her head.

"You don't want to know."

"And if I do?"

"Trust me, Aminata. If Taylor Hebert turned into Manton, Scion would be a mercy to what she could do. Just keeping her under our thumb would require me to divert too much of The Path on her alone."

That certainly wasn't the rebuttal she was expecting. Instead it caused her to consider the implications. They knew what was likely to happen with Scion, they had been able to reconstruct what was likely to happen. But Hebert was capable of something worse? It was a thought that made her want to scoff. Just what could she do with such simple tech?

Still, it was something that Fortuna had seen, so she would humor the other woman.

"And killing her is out of the question?"

"Absolutely."

"Then why aren't we taking a larger involvement with Hebert? If you want to ensure that she is to be successful, then we have the means to do it. We may not be able to loop her into Cauldron, but that doesn't mean we can't speed up the process."

"What Taylor Hebert has to do has to be natural. If the government provides her any special attention or considerations, it will inevitably become public. The last thing needed is for her to garner the attention of the wrong people."

Like Sphere, was left unsaid. Sphere, like Manton, had been a brilliant, even world-changing parahuman. Graced with the ability and knowledge on how to build space habitats, he had been an unfortunate victim of the Simurgh, who had twisted the man into Mannequin of the Slaughterhouse Nine. The man had made it a point of pride over the years to hunt down Tinkers whose technology could be a net benefit to humanity.

If Taylor Hebert came to his attention, there was no doubt he would likely push to make a move to Brockton Bay.

But what about Simurgh? There was still scant little that they knew about the Third Endbringer outside of its Thinker, Tinker, and Master powers backed by an unerringly accurate battlefield precognition. There was also its ability to create Ziz Bombs, which lent credit to the theory that it had something akin to Fortuna's abilities considering the accuracy and breadth of their deployment over the years.

It was now that she knew Fortuna was not going to budge on her path. Their reliance upon Fortuna's ability to forge a path to victory was also a liability as it allowed little leeway in what could and could not be done.

"If that is what you say," she grudgingly admitted defeat. If there wasn't going to be any input that she could make into it, she would merely observe for now, "What are we going to tell the others?"

"We'll continue to tell them that the Terminus Project remains enact and on schedule."

So in other words, despite this small diversion, nothing was to change. They would allow the Triumvirate to believe that they were in the loop and truly had input in the matters of Cauldron. Rebecca would sooner or later get personally involved in Hebert once she gained enough of an image, and it would play into whatever plan that Fortuna was running.

Then again what was Brockton's PRT Director's name again? Piggert? Pigeon? Whatever it was, if she recalled the details on that aspect of the Terminus Project, the woman would likely be unable to not get herself involved in whatever Hebert was doing. It was why they had assigned her there in the first place, a bigoted woman who viewed capes with suspicion and treated them poorly was the sort of leader they expected for the parahuman feudalism experiment.

It seemed she was going to have to pay closer attention to Brocton Bay going forward.

AEH​

Emily Piggot

There were scant few things that annoyed Emily Piggot more than local officials believing themselves higher than their office. As the Director of the Brockton Bay PRT she was answerable only to the Chief Director and Congress, not to the local establishment.

Yet here she was, in the office of Mayor Roy Christener, the man having made it exceedingly clear that failure for her to show in his office would be not in her interest. It was only the knowledge of how much power that Christener wielded in the shadows through his connections in Boston that she had humored him. The last thing she needed at this juncture was trouble.

That didn't say that she was not happy. She had other fish to fry over the concerns of the local polity.

"Well, Roy," she chose to be petty, not using his title, knowing it would annoy him, "I'm here, what do you want that you couldn't talk to me over the phone for."

The man across from her was what you would expect from a person who had lived their life with a silver spoon in their mouth. Good looking even at his age, Roy Christener exuded a charisma that easily connected with the average voter who bought into his policies, it was how he had been able to hold office two terms running now despite the declining state of Brockton Bay. What the average voter wasn't aware of was that Christener could also be petty and vindictive to those who drew his ire, with several of his political opponents finding themselves suffering misfortune over the years to his benefit.

If Triumph hadn't been his son, she would have believed that Christener was an Empire Eighty-Eight plant considering how it seemed his policies seemed to benefit them in the end. But it was just a matter that Kaiser was more politically shrewd than his opposite number.

"Taylor Hebert."

She had to bite back a curse, 'Not this shit again.'

If she had the opportunity to go back again, she would not have reassigned Faro to Eagleton, she would have shot the pompous prick in the face for his abject failure. Well, him and possible Armsmaster, depending on her mood. Both of them had failed to lure Hebert into the Protectorate's clutches. She could not accept the argument that what they did know about Hebert was not enough to make an investment.

While Faro's failures could simply be listed as him being a pompous, bigoted, piece of shit, Armsmaster's failures could not so be lightly excused. After all, for being probably the most experienced Tinker in the Northeast, the fact that he did not see the implications of what Hebert could do could only hint at either he had a lapse of judgment, or worse, he had deliberately chosen to undersell the teenager for nebulous reasons.

The punishment that she had crafted for him should have been worse, but she had been limited in her options. All she had was a suspicion on his betrayal, and without the evidence, he would likely run to Legend again. She had found out that little tidbit when she had ordered an audit of his communications and systems. The fact that Legend had dismissed his concerns did not excuse his attempt to avoid the chain of command and escape his failure.

That all aside, considering it was done and dusted. Taylor Hebert was becoming a migraine of significant proportions. After Armsmaster's failure, she had been prepared to simply wait Hebert out, knowing that the requirements for NEPEA-5 would likely chill any attempts at finding an investor. Too many companies were skittish about employing or investing into a Tinker that had not been fully vetted (and it would be a cold day she'd provide it for Hebert unless she was Protectorate), especially with the fines and punishments attached provided too many points of failure that punished the company that took the risk. Sooner or later, Hebert would either give in and turn to the Protectorate, or she would turn villain, and it would be just as easy to force her into the Protectorate, mask or no mask.

But Hebert had found herself a sugar daddy to indulge in her fantasy to the tune of nearly sixty million dollars. She had heard of Zenith Investment Group in passing, only through reports coming from Boston and the occasional annoyance voiced by Director Armstrong, but it was all tangential information at best. Zenith as far as she could tell was a company that was above the board, having not been tied to any illegal activities over the years despite being an investment group and all of that type of business' negative connotations.

Just what Hebert had sold them worried her. You didn't invest sixty million dollars in simple visual equipment, and what inquiries were made were met with quiet rebuffs only providing the most basic of information.

And then there was Zero Dawn Technologies, the company that fronted for Taylor Hebert. One of the delicate balances that NEPEA-5 had to play was abiding by the Constitution, which prevented it from deliberately targeting Tinkers. What this provided Hebert was an opportunity to form her own LLC, which went into an entirely different subset of the NEPEA-5 that limited what the government could do. ZDT was no longer just a Tinker it was dealing with, but an actual company with entirely different rules. It was harder for the Protectorate to police LLCs as they were no longer considered individual entities like Tinkers. What an LLC provided was a method in which a Tinker could provide a service through a company front, that as long as it was not considered a direct threat to the local economy via monopolistic takeover, it was allowed to flourish with very little input outside of an occasional inspection by the Protectorate.

It was inordinately both frustrating and worrisome at the same time. They had no real inroads into monitoring or containing Hebert. Without due cause, like the suspicion of a crime taking place, they could do little more than twiddle their thumbs, as much as she wanted to raid the damn company and shutter it.

"I'm listening."

"This Zero Dawn thing has become a nuisance," the man said, "their purchase of the Dockworker's Association and its properties have raised some concerns with quite a few leaders in the community."

You mean your cronies and yourself, she thought snidely, but kept quiet. She was perfectly aware that Christener had been using the DWA and its Union for years in order to provide cheap labor to his political donors. It was sleazy, but it was just the way of the world anymore. The fact that Zero Dawn had bought out the DWA, its properties, and according to her sources, the personnel thanks to Daniel Hebert, Christener suddenly found his little operation in danger.

"There is not much I can legally do," she admitted, "it is an unfortunate circumstance, but Zero Dawn Technologies have not provided me with any opening in which to move in on them. They have been abiding by the diktat of NEPEA-5 in both letter and spirit, much to my chagrin. Honestly, I would think you would be appreciative of the premise of a company like this moving in. An investment of this size does suggest they intend to place their roots here."

"I apologize for my momentary lapse, but I have little faith in the long term viability of a company whose CEO is a fucking fifteen year old cripple," he coldly sneered, "especially a fucking Tinker. What the fuck are your people doing Emily, this is the sort of shit that you usually have buttoned down."

She bristled in response, not appreciating the fact that he was dressing her down like a green as grass cadet, "I'm doing my job, Roy," she snapped, deciding she was done playing polite, "When Taylor Hebert originally approached us, our best analysis surmised that her technology was specific and limited. It was not worth a hard offer for technology that was limited in its scope."

"A lot of good that analysis was, Director. I have a docks that is now a hive of activity, with several semis delivering heavy duty equipment. We are talking about forges, furnaces, assembly lines, fully equipped chemical facilities, and 3-D Printers to name a few things. I don't know what your analysts were doing, but that is certainly not limited in scope. Whatever the fuck Hebert is doing is big, and I do not like unknown quantities in my city. It's bad enough with the gangs you consistently fail to curtail, but now I have a Tinker with delusions of importance. So I'm going to ask you bluntly, and I want an answer, just what are we going to do about this?"

"I don't have a lot of good options," she admitted, though she really didn't want to, "the very same NEPEA-5 that is used to keep Tinkers in line is also protecting Hebert. I can do a few inspections to ensure that what she is doing is in compliance. There is also WEDGDG, but it could take upwards of two months before I receive a response. As long as Hebert's tech doesn't end up in the hands of villains, I don't have any additional inroads, nor do I have the personnel to continuously monitor her as well."

"What about Armsmaster? Where is he in all of this? I would think that he wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to confiscate another Tinker's technology to add it to his own."

She had to resist frowning at the observation. It appears that Christener's infiltration of her own command was more than she had expected. It couldn't be Triumph, as despite his closeness to his father he had shown himself to be dedicated to his job to where he would not jeopardize his position. She didn't like the fact that her command was an open book to someone like this. Especially when it forced her to make an admission she was loathe to admit, because it reflected poorly upon her command. But the Mayor was obviously intent on shutting down Hebert, and it happened to fit in within her own objectives.

"We have reason to suspect that Armsmaster withheld information on Hebert's capabilities," she admitted, as much it hurt, it was no less true in her opinion, "several of the statements and observations within his report have come into question in light of recent events. It may be nothing, but his actions are currently under review."

"A pity," was his sniffed dismissal, unhappy with her statement, "it would have been so much easier if he could agree with what needs to be done. Alas, it seems even the best of us can give into temptation."

"And what do you have?"

"While it's a pity that the Protectorate cannot curtail something as a rogue Tinker, I wasn't counting just on just you, Director. I have made a few phone calls to the capital. After all, we have a company that is run by a fifteen year old, it certainly should raise a few eyebrows in Boston. Then there is the unfortunate rapid development they are doing, I wonder just what corners they may be cutting in their rush. It'd be a shame if they are found to have created an unsafe work environment."

In hindsight, she was not surprised that Christener was going to try and bureaucratically kill Zero Dawn. It was obvious his only options were to use his contacts in Boston to strangle them in red tape. An inefficient, but relatively effective low cost method. The only thing she was unsure of was if it would be successful, she would need to probably talk to Armstrong about more information on Zenith. This was something that was not in her wheelhouse, she was a commander, not an attorney, but she had a feeling that Christener's angle of attack would meet more resistance than he expected.

"I may also have expressed my concerns to the Youth Guard through a colleague of mine."

That, however, may be more effective. There were times when she would pay anything to line up and shoot every single one of the helicopter administrators that supposedly cared about young capes. They created more problems than they offered solutions, only serving to stymie almost every facet of her operations out of some misplaced noblesse oblige for children. If they were to get involved with Hebert, they may just start putting their own pressure upon possibly curtailing her. And without the support of the Protectorate, and the scope of the Youth Guard's reach, it may just be an effective ploy.

But she wouldn't count on it. However, it may just provide an opportunity that neither would have previously had.

Before she could say anymore on the matter, there was a knock at the door, and it then opened to reveal Christener's secretary, holding a folder in her hand. She did not look happy with whatever she was carrying.

"Yes, Janice?"

"This just arrived in the office from a courier, it's paperwork from Zero Dawn. I think you need to see this."

Placing the folder on his desk, Roy looked at the folder like it was a coiled viper, a "Thank you, Janice," the only dismissal he gave her before she turned and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Picking up the folder, he flipped it open and began reading through the documents. Not even a few moments in, his jaw set and his expression darkened, his eyes darting through the document.

"Motherfucker," he breathed, slapping the folder down on the desk. He then got to his feet and turned and walked to the window that looked out over the city.

"What is it," she asked, even as she strained her ears to hear the muttering that escaped his lips, one of the things she heard was "how the fuck could I have missed it?"

His hands curling into fists, then releasing several times, he then turned back to her, walking back to his desk and sliding the folder over to her.

"Zero Dawn just supplied paperwork to reactivate the rail yards. The state has already fucking approved it," he snarled the last part, his brown eyes flitting towards her, "I want them gone, Piggot. I don't care what needs to be done, I don't care what we have to do, but I refuse to let this go on. I hope you agree with me."

She stared at the document, the ramifications of such an action were already coalescing in her head, and none of them good. If Hebert could get the rail yards back into operation, then that would likely only entice the gangs to take action, if not already start once work began. It would add more tinder to the box that was already a spark or two from open warfare. With the type of money this could possibly bring in…it was no surprise why Christener would be against it. He had used the DWA for years, and if they accrued enough power, they could easily turn the tables on the man as they would no longer owe him any loyalty.

And Daniel Hebert, with his righteous parental indignation, may just turn his focus towards the Protectorate for what had transpired with Faro. And god help them all if he ever discovered anything about Shadow Stalker.

"I think we can come to an understanding," she finally admitted after another minute of thought.

AEH​

Citrine

"I thank you for making time for me, Kaiser. I know you are a rather busy man."

A small chuckle escaped the lips of her metal-encumbered counterpart across the dining table from her. They were currently ensconced in the backroom of an upper-scale restaurant that just happened to be in Empire territory, the perfect place for a clandestine meeting it appeared for the man.

"Normally, I would not. However, I cannot help but find myself curious as to why an envoy from the Ambassadors would be reaching out to me."

When she had come to Brockton Bay, she knew that she would have to operate differently than Accord had in the past. In the past, her boss had attempted an indirect method in his attempt to establish a beachhead in Brockton Bay; it had met with one of the rare failures he had experienced. The cape scene had just been too entrenched to establish any changes in the power dynamics, and so he had written off Brockton Bay to focus all of his attention on Boston.

The difference between then and now was simply there was no interest by Accord to involve himself with the local cape scene outside of his interest in maintaining Taylor Hebert. So while Jean Brown worked for Taylor Hebert in an official capacity, it was Citrine who operated in the shadows, ensuring that Accord's plans met fruition.

One of those was ensuring that the local cape scene would not interfere with Taylor Hebert and Zero Dawn Technologies. A difficult endeavor in the first place, considering the three 'gangs' that dominated Brockton Bay had different objectives and intentions. Of the three, however, she had identified only one that could possibly be amicable to a pact: The Empire Eighty-Eight.

As distasteful the thought was to work with Nazis, it was sadly the only choice. The fact of the matter was there was no chance that the Merchants would honor any agreement or word, nor would they be amicable to sit idly by. They were just too destructive thanks to their addiction to their own product. Nor was Lung and the Azn Bad Boyz a viable candidate, Lung would view any pact or deal as beneath him, he'd break it as soon as it was convenient to him or he was bored.

That only left Kaiser and the Empire Eighty-Eight.

"What do you know of Zero Dawn Technologies?"

She could imagine him frowning behind his mask, obviously not expecting the question judging by the way his eyes narrowed through their slits.

"A new tech company headed by an unmasked Tinker that has established itself on the Docks. It recently absorbed the Dockworker's Association and its associated properties. From what my sources can tell me, they've been moving quite a lot of equipment into the docks," he paused, and then she could see it dawning on him, "Accord has an interest in it."

She nodded, "He does. It is the matter of Zero Dawn that I was sent to meet with you. There are parties in New York and Boston who are invested in the success of Zero Dawn. They would view any attack upon Zero Dawn or its assets as an attack upon them."

The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife as Kaiser met her declaration with silence. She knew he was likely thinking of who the party from New York could be, but he was also likely wargaming in his head could he afford another enemy when he was already entangled in a cold war with the Protectorate, ABB, and Merchants.

"You come here as an envoy and seek to threaten me," he asked, his voice having lost its previous joviality and warmth that he had greeted her with, replaced with a tone and posture that what was now facing her was a predator rousing from his slumber.

"Please. I'm merely establishing the grounds for negotiation. Accord understands that any hostilities between our groups would be pyrrhic at best, catastrophic at worst, and he would still end up losing Zero Dawn in the process. What he has authorized me to do is to attempt to work out a pact that is beneficial to both parties and avoid hostilities."

This seemed to settle her counterpart as he relaxed slightly.

"I'm listening."

AEH​

Kaiser

After Citrine had left, Max Anders sat at the table, gently sloshing the rich red wine in its fine glass providing a hypnotic effect that served to collect his thoughts.

If he were honest, and he would never admit this to his subordinates, things were going too fast and far too quickly. Never would he have expected Taylor Hebert's sudden and meteoric rise. Not only because of her disability, but also the difficulty in which a Tinker was able to get any sort of funding that wasn't government or gang funded. He was quite happy to bide his time and see just what Hebert was capable of before making any overtures.

The public release announcing that Zero Dawn Technologies, and by extension Hebert, had received a lump-sum investment from the Zenith Investment Group of sixty million dollars had firmly trounced that idea. That type of capital was something that suggested that Hebert was far more capable than even he expected. Just how capable she was, however, was still up in the air.

But why would they allow her to remain in Brockton Bay? That had never made sense, even he was willing to admit that Brockton Bay was a city hanging on a thread. You didn't invest that amount of money unless you were sure that you could ensure that you got a return. Suffice to say, he had been suspicious of the entire situation, and had tasked Krieg to look into it using his contacts within the Gesellschaft to use their bank connections to look into Zenith.

Unfortunately, Zenith was too tightly protected for even Gesellschaft from finding out too much about the company. All he had received were suppositions and theories, one of which had been confirmed when he had received a request for parley from Citrine. While it did not provide direct confirmation into the depth that Accord's talons had been sunk into Zenith, it did establish that he had some tangential interest in the company. Otherwise he would not be sending his second-in-command to Brockton Bay.

What he had not been expecting, however, was for the parley to amount to the suggestion of a pact between the Empire and the Ambassadors. He had honestly believed, considering Accord's personality, that it would be a cold day in hell before he entertained such an idea, considering his previous failure in trying to infiltrate Brockton Bay. Yet here it was.

The question was what he wanted to do. He hadn't given an answer to Citrine, informing her that he would have to discuss it with his people. After all, while he could, taking unilateral action without at least informing the various factions of his the Empire would likely end up with someone taking umbrage to it.

But the fact remains, in the end, it would be his choice. On one hand, he could see the benefit of at least agreeing with several of the suggestions Citrine had given. She had already made it clear to him that the Ambassadors had no interest in extending their tentacles back into the Bay, they were only humoring Hebert because of the teenager's roots.

There was some merit in at least aligning slightly with what Citrine had suggested. The Empire would benefit in the long run with a revitalized Brockton, especially if they could frame it in a certain way. While capitalizing upon the suffering was always beneficial, it was one of those situations where it was only providing diminishing returns as time went on, considering the rank and file of the Empire seemed to be steadily dropping in their quality as the desperation of some increased. With the majority of Brockton Bay still being white, it would be rather simple to frame the Empire's actions if they chose to assist in protecting Zero Dawn as an altruistic attempt at ensuring the protection of jobs for those deserving. It would be a boon to their overall standing and serve as yet another feather in the political cap and serve to corner the dragon further.

But there was also the financial boon that would benefit Medhall. After all, it was the largest insurance provider in Brockton Bay, and up until their purchase, the Dockworker's Association did go through them for their group insurance. It was already a foot in the door with Zero Dawn, at least at the floor level, but if Citrine's veiled hints were any indicator, it's possible that Zero Dawn's span of products could extend into the medical field. If Medhall could be at the front…

But there were also drawbacks and risks to the endeavor. In a way, he would be subordinating a portion of his operations to an outsider, even if it was beneficial to the larger scheme, it would leave quite a few members of the Empire chafing at the bit. After all, he had made it clear in the past that the Empire answered to no one, and now here he was considering doing just that. Oh, it wouldn't be as dramatic as they thought, but the illusion of it was enough to likely leave them frothing.

For a brief moment, he considered trying to grab Hebert himself, but quickly discarded it. The opportunity was honestly gone, even if he was successful, the money would evaporate instantly and Accord would likely make it his personal mission to eliminate the Empire for their offense. His father had been lucky back then, Accord had not been the man that he was now when he had made his only attempt into Brockton Bay. There was no doubt in his mind, having heard enough of the rumors from Boston, that if Accord was suitably incensed into the inclination, the Unwritten Rules would become the Unwritten Checklist.

No, Hebert was off the board. He couldn't risk it, even if he wanted to. Like Citrine had said, any conflict between them now would be pyrrhic unlike back then. It just wasn't worth fighting over a Tinker if there was another option. It grated at his nerves, but he had to hand it to Accord, the man knew when he had the right cards in hand to play.

But maybe he could take better advantage of this, now that he thought of it. Sooner or later, the jumped up lizard would come out of whatever hole he lurked in and turn his sights towards ZDT. The man may be a slant-eye, but he wasn't stupid. He would recognize exactly the same as he did at the threat that Zero Dawn and Hebert provided. If he was to actually make a move against Hebert and ZDT, it may just provide him the opportunity to eliminate his chief nemesis.

It was something to dwell upon. He hadn't given Citrine a timeline on his response, but he had enough time to do his own research.

And core to that was Taylor Hebert herself.

AEH​

Armsmaster

When people had the opportunity to peer into his workshop, they always seemed to note how pristine and sterile it always seemed. That it shared more in common with a laboratory than a place where someone actually worked on or created new equipment.

It was something that he had always prided himself on. Everything was organized and kept in a neat and tidy order. It made his life easier and it allowed him a flexibility to change his workshop on a whim without having to worry about things getting in the way of said change.

One of those changes had been the recent addition of a punching bag that had been set up in the corner of the workshop. A punching bag that was finding itself on the receiving end of a large amount of pent up frustration that he could only fantasize releasing on the target of his ire in his darkest moments.

Ever since his decision to protect Taylor Hebert, Piggot had made it her life's goal to make his life…difficult. Less than a day after his report, his budget had been put under audit. It had been the most exhaustive audit of his budget in his entire time with the Protectorate, leaving not a single line item unquestioned, from materials and equipment, all the way to what supplements and nutrition he used.

At the end of it, he found his budget had been slashed by nearly half, leaving him with too many harsh choices to make. One of the easier ones of that list was his choice to cut out his normal nutritional shakes, supplements, and even his stimulants. It would likely catch up to him in the future, but there had been no choice in the matter.

What it did mean was that he had to spend more time taking care of himself than he had in a very long time.

If it had been just the budget, he could probably persevere without complaint, but Piggot would not relent or be satisfied until she had her pound of flesh. There had also been a full audit of not only his files and designs, but his communications. Almost everything revolving around himself and his identity as Armsmaster was put under a microscope. It had been there that Piggot found his communications to Legend.

He wiped his brow with his arm, collecting the sweat that had been building and tossing it aside..

Legend was another betrayal he had never thought possible. Hero had always told him that if he ever needed help Legend would be there in a heartbeat, because that was the kind of man he was. Instead, the only responses he had received since had been anything but help. It was polite, but Legend had made it clear that he was dismissing his concerns. He had explicitly stated that there was nothing that he could do, as what the PRT did was not something he had any control over, he could give input, but any decision made on a Director's conduct firmly lay with Chief Director Costa-Brown. The only response that he received from the Chief Director might as well have been a form letter, with Costa-Brown stating that she had her complete confidence in Director Piggot.

Piggot had been incensed at finding those communications and accused him of undermining the chain of command. The resultant furor had found him unofficially stripped of his responsibilities, pending review. It was all unofficial of course, Piggot couldn't afford to make anything public until it was already done. However, he could read the writing on the wall, his tenureship as the leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate was nearing its end. Piggot, of course, would have the defense that she could not afford to have a Protectorate officer in a position as her peer that was diametrically in opposition of her in a place like Brockton Bay.

And she would be right, at least from a certain point of view. Even if it was borderline illegal what she was doing, it was still a valid defense for someone in her position. At least, as long as she kept the origin point of this entire affair from getting too much scrutiny.

As for him, he had found, to his shock, there didn't exist many protections for Protectorate members against possible abuses by their PRT counterparts. It had certainly been an eye-opening experience to just how much they were at the mercy of the PRT when they were supposedly equal partners in fighting against villainous capes and organizations.

Finishing another set on the bag, he lowered his arms as the burn reinforced the knowledge of what he was doing. All the while he focused on keeping his breathing measured and controlled, the action merely providing another form of useful exercise.

He knew that the ship had sailed about recanting his testimony. Piggot had stopped even trying to hint at that after the audit. Nor would he have done it in the first place, he had done everything by the book, and he had found nothing out of the ordinary with Taylor Hebert's tech. It was perfectly reproducible and had none of the telltale characteristics that all Tinkertech had.

Yet at the end, it no longer even mattered. And he found himself doubting his continued presence within the Protectorate. The Protectorate had been a home for him for over a decade, and to have his loyalty and dedication rewarded with this ignominy honestly hurt.

But what choices was he left with? If he did decide to leave the Protectorate, almost every single one of his inventions, designs, and ideas were all controlled through his Armsmaster identity, he would be left starting over from nothing, and if the Protectorate felt like that, they could constantly dog him for trademark violation until his dying breath. The Guild, which would allow him to keep his identity and designs, was likely out of the question. Piggot had started limiting his contact and work with Dragon, citing that it was a waste of resources to 'idly chitchat' with the Canadian Tinker. And if Piggot was able to organizationally demote him, as he expected to happen, then Narwhal would be hard-pressed to accept him. It would look bad organizationally to take him in.

Plopping himself back in a chair, not even caring about the fact that his sweat-soaked clothes were sharing their bounty with the leather, he slowly unwrapped his hands, idly thinking of what he could do.

It was then that his door opened, and he paused in his actions to look at the newcomer coming into his lab.

Ethan Marsh, better known as Assault, had always been an oddity to him. A former villain and jailbreak specialist, he had been conscripted into the Protectorate and rebranded. Even to this day he didn't know what went through the man's head. At times he could be unprofessional, laid back and irreverent of authority, and at other times, he was the very model of seriousness and professionalism.

Honestly, he wondered exactly how Bethany was able to tolerate him.

"You missed the meeting," Assault declared, plopping himself down in the only other chair in the room, the metal scraping slightly on the floor.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what the other man's angle was, not finding any off the top of his head, here merely scoffed, going back to unwrapping his hands, "I wasn't informed there was a meeting," he finally admitted.

It was a half-truth, he was aware that there would be a meeting today, but Piggot had made it clear that he was unneeded for it. It was yet another indicator for what Piggot was intending.

"Strange," Assault mused aloud, "do you want to know what Piggot talked about?"

He offered a shrug as he finished unwrapping his right hand before moving to the left. It honestly wouldn't matter, he'd get the email with the memo outlining what had been discussed, Piggot at least kept him somewhat in the loop, she still needed him on patrol after all.

"Citrine has been spotted in Brockton Bay."

He found himself pausing. Citrine was Accord's second-in-command, the fact that she was in Brockton Bay did not bode well.

Ever since his ascent, Accord and his Ambassadors were viewed as an oddity within the conventional scheme of villainous groups. While Accord was undoubtedly a villain, he was cut from a cloth that was closer to the likes of Marquis or Gentilhomme, cladding himself with rules and standards that he held as largely inviolable. The other differentiation, and one that still escaped the understanding of the Protectorate, that outside of a maybe a handful of unpowered support staff, the Ambassadors invested more in quality over quantity for their capes, fielding individuals with highly specialized powers that made them more dangerous man-for-man compared to the bog-standard capes that made up most gangs.

And even then, Accord didn't wield them like a normal villainous group would. Instead, they acted like, well, agents for the man instead of combatants. In fact, in regards to cape fights, Ambassadors ranked towards the bottom of cape fights, only engaging with others when there seemed to be no choice.

"Do we have any idea why she is here," he found himself asking.

"Not really," Assault offered, shrugging, "Only reason we know is because someone posted a photo of her leaving a restaurant the other night. Guy was asking if they recognized the cape. We got the alert this morning. The thing is, the restaurant is believed to be an Empire front."

Now that caused his concern to skyrocket, his frustration further matching as this was something he should know, damn Piggot's actions. There was no good to come from Accord talking with the Empire, for anyone.

"And what does the Director want us to do?"

"Standard orders. Detain if spotted. Piggot wants to know exactly why she is in the city, but she thinks it may be linked to your girl."

Somewhat confused, he stared at Assault. His girl? As far as he knew he didn't 'have' a girl if he got what was being insinuated right. Was this part of some elaborate joke on Assault's part? He didn't see what it could be, and it wasn't like Assault to go from serious to joking without any indication.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he admitted, "Are you referring to Dragon? We're just friends. And I don't see how she would have anything to do with Citrine?"

The look of incredulity he received certainly did not do anything to assuage his mounting confusion.

"Not Dragon. The other girl, you know, the one that seems to be doing her level best to give Piggot a heart attack?"

"I…still don't see who you are referring to."

"Surely you can't be this dense. Hebert," Assault sighed, "Piggot thinks that Hebert has to do with Citrine being in Brockton Bay. Something about how Zenith is based out of Boston and it'd be the perfect front for Accord."

Again, he found himself blinking, processing what was being said. Just where did Assault get the idea that Taylor Hebert, a fifteen year old girl, was 'his' girl? Did he even understand what he was insinuating with his indelicate phrasing? But then he thought about the latter part of the statement.

He had to give credit to Piggot, it certainly was strange timing. Though he would be hesitant to immediately link it to Taylor. Still, it was strange, between the public release of a rather large sum of money being invested into her company and the sudden appearance of Accord's second-in-command in Brockton Bay. Still, it was a rather large leap of logic. Accord just wasn't known to venture out from his hub of power in Boston.

Still, it was worrisome and needed investigation. Just how far was Taylor involved with this, if true? He wanted to believe that Taylor may not be aware of what was happening if she was somehow involved? She didn't strike him as someone who would willfully and with full knowledge work directly with villains. He could be wrong, but it was a feeling he had about her.

"So what is Director Piggot planning to do about the possible link?"

Assault shrugged, "I don't know. She wasn't really forthcoming with things. I know she had Miss Militia and Lieutenant Abner stay after the meeting. So," he shrugged his shoulders, "probably something that she doesn't want us to know until she's ready."

'More than likely an inspection or raid', he thought to himself. Piggot was not subtle when she did things, likely due to her past. Still, he doubted anything would come from it outside of inconveniencing people. That could be what she was aiming for, forcing them into making some sort of mistake.

Was it possible she was still hellbent on getting Hebert under her control? He honestly was not sure, but considering what she had done to him so far for doing his job, he wouldn't put it past her. Piggot was an incredibly prideful woman and Hebert had unknowingly been grating against it.

And there was no one who could, or eTaylor

Sipping from my lukewarm coffee, I couldn't help but watch the trainwreck that was the argument taking place between my father and Jean. I despised the taste of the bitter black brew but it was providing me one of the few sources of energy that I was in desperate need of. Both to remain aware of the argument, but also to function in general.

The last week of hard work and preparation was finally bearing its fruits. While training was still underway, in three days, we would be ready to start the production line.

It was this reason alone that had drawn me out of my lab for this sit down. While I was technically listed as the CEO, in actuality, I was more the head of research and development. The only reason I was here was because it was from my head that we could even field the various pieces of technology. If anyone had solutions for what we were intending, it would be me.

Alas, the damn argument was over the focus of production. While all models of the Focus shared a large amount of parts, there were still core differences that had to be taken into account. We couldn't mix the different models on the same assembly line, and we didn't have enough assembly lines to field all models. And at this juncture, it would be wise to do so without contracts and demands.

The irony in all of this, however, was my father was arguing in favor of Hathor, the communications model, while Jean was arguing we needed to go with Ptah, a multipurpose model. How my father would argue against the model that would benefit workers like him, I would never know, but it was certainly something to behold.

Quietly taking another sip, I let them keep at it as I eagerly allowed the coffee to claw back the vestiges of my own exhaustion. The last few days had been nothing more than meetings, reviews, and training. Luckily, the training had been the least exhausting aspect of it all, as many of the people I was helping train knew me too well, and they knew to listen.

But the meetings? I wish I could do without them. I despised them. I could be working on finetuning my plans, but instead, I got to play referee to Jean and my father arguing like they were jilted lovers, which, fucking ew mind, thankfully they were not. I don't think I'd know what to do with that can of worms.

It was tedious, and if I wasn't actually getting some use out of them, I would probably have brought my foot down sooner. Why I was using their argument to work on my own plans honestly escaped me. I knew it was a good idea, only that I didn't know why it was a good idea.

Nonetheless, both of them raised good points on the viability of both plans. The only problem was this world didn't reward viability. It couldn't, not in the face of everything else. Finishing off the coffee, I placed the mug down on the table and reached out to find the charging case for my new Focus. Flipping it open, I retrieved the large triangular 'plate' that was easily three times the size of the Ptah and affixed it to right in front of my ear on the right side of my head. With a light tap, I allowed it to power up.

Unlike my first Focus, Sekhmet, as it was documented, was meant to be an entirely custom model meant only for me. It combined all of the aspects of all existing production models into a singular platform to provide me with the absolute best in terms of performance and utility for my work.

Unofficially, I named it something else, something more appropriate and private: Ash Nazg. Since, at the end of the day, it was the Focus equivalent of Tolkien's One Ring. It could do everything the others could and would forever only be mine.

My vision returned as it were, flooding and provided me with a much more detailed view than ever before. Whereas the Focus Zero could only provide me with what were essentially shaped blobs in blue-violet-magenta, the definition and detail was magnitudes superior. While still not a suitable replacement for normal eyes, I could now make out things like facial expressions, and sharp movements were no longer a blur. The range was also measured in the tens of meters instead of uncomfortably close.

But most importantly to it all, was the augmented reality overlay now in my vision. It was honestly the core game changer for everything she could do. No longer did I have to sit at a computer, but now I had the luxury of being able to move around and reference data, and be able to show it on a tablet to those in the field or shop.

"Enough," I said quietly, but firmly. I might as well have shot a gun in the room, as they both stopped and looked at me, "You both have good points, and in a perfect situation, we could probably do a mix of what you're suggesting."

I reached up so the Focus could detect it, and lightly tapped the icon for a folder that I had been working on for over a week now. I then slid the icon to the open 'port' and accessed the holographic projector that had been set up in the room. In a few moments, it then uploaded and displayed what I was seeing.

It was a report that I had compiled, specifically upon the next Endbringer slated to attack: Leviathan.

"Taylor," my father asked, and while I could not see it, I knew he was paling at the imagery of the devastation and data that I had put together for this, "What is this? Why are you-"

"I'd also like to know," Jean's voice was cooler, but I could tell she was not exactly happy with this deviation. I couldn't blame her, I was diverting time I could have put towards readying our initial push on this, at least in her opinion, "Just what is the point of this?"

"In thirty-six days, the window of attack for Leviathan is slated to open up," I started, knowing that I had to sell this to both of them, especially Jean, "It is known from past behavior patterns, that about forty-five days before he strikes, he always settles into a position roughly four to eight hours from the intended target. Considering his clocked speed runs around two hundred knots and his known location in the Laurentian Abyss, that places him within striking distance from Quebec City all the way down to Brunswick, Georgia."

I provided a map that showed the red of everywhere it could hit, which, honestly, was quite massive when you thought of the sheer landmass that was vulnerable. It also didn't take into account that Leviathan has been shown to have the capability to move inland, in the case of Lake Ijsellmeer in the Netherlands in 2005. It had completely destroyed the food supply by contaminating the lowlands with salt water in that tragedy. Luckily, there weren't as many viable targets for that strategy, and those that existed were outside of its preferred striking range.

"As much as I hate to say it, but this provides us with a marketing opportunity that cannot be ignored," I finally said, "Even with Mister Gabriel's help in cutting through the bureaucratic red tape necessary to field a new cellular device and requisite network connection, the fact of the matter is, if we want to really get out there, we need to have a major splash that cannot be ignored by anyone. Providing resources to an Endbringer fight, both before and after, is such an opportunity."

"Taylor, that's a rather dangerous mindset to have," my father spoke up after a moment, "I can see what you're getting at, and I do agree. However, the optics of it, I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do. Plus there is the logistics aspect of it. We won't even have the permits to assemble a cellular network to support the Focus network for another month. I know you want to hit the ground running, but we have to start local for this to work. Taking advantage of an Endbringer attack to sell a product is, honestly, bad optics."

His piece said, I turned my head to Jean, whose expression had not changed.

"I do not believe that would be the proper path forward. Yes, you are right that it's an opportunity, but it's an opportunity with far too many risks for what will likely be far too little gain. How many units were you thinking of having produced for this endeavor?"

"About two thousand Ptahs and a thousand Hathors."

While my father sharply inhaled at the figures, Jean's expression hardened as her eyes narrowed. It was evident that she had a problem with what I was suggesting. I knew that meeting those figures would be difficult in the time that we had. We would have to be running our production line non-stop for the entire month without interruption in order to meet that quota. It would be a prohibitively expensive prospect with the material and labor costs, but also the likely bottlenecks we would have to overcome, but it was doable. I had already run the numbers to know this.

Instead, to my own surprise, she shook her head.

"I will give you credit, you don't do anything by half, Taylor. I get why you want to do this, I honestly do. But we have to think about the company first. Right now, we're bleeding money and have no income. Which is fine for a venture capital startup, but it means we're already taking big risks. The last thing we need to be doing right now is stacking even more risks before our first round of sales. What you are planning is putting all our eggs into one basket in a make or break situation and anticipating that if you showcase this technology we'll be able to fast-track sales, but that's not how tech adoption works. Endbringer fights are messy, vicious things, and are not the sort of thing you want to introduce an entirely new system into, even if it's revolutionary, without proper training for all involved. If you rush it out like that, you'll end up killing more people than you would be helping. And we'll be the one paying the price."

I opened my mouth to rebut, but she held up a hand, stalling me.

"Let me finish, Taylor. Please. Your ideas and technology will change the world, don't let yourself think I don't recognize it, but it is also going to make you powerful enemies. They will take one look at what you are trying to do and they will recognize the clear and present danger that you present to their interests."

She paused for a moment, using the time to sip from her water.

"They won't hesitate to destroy you if given the opportunity, Taylor," she continued after placing the glass back on the table, "And setting our remaining cash reserves on fire to literally give away what the world will consider experimental equipment will not shortcut the adoption curb. It will just provide our enemies with the opportunity to strangle Zero Dawn in the cradle. I know you want to do this, but you have to remember it's no longer just you, Taylor. It's Zero Dawn Technologies. We are responsible for nearly four hundred people who are reliant upon you ensuring that they continue to have a good job with good pay and by extension their families. We have to make decisions grounded in what is best for the company. It's no longer a sprint anymore, you have the door open and the money to reach your dream, but you have to understand it has become a marathon and everything has to be weighed and measured to ensure you can go the distance. We cannot afford to spend our future on a hail mary or providing our enemies with the opportunity to lay a shadow on our products with such a blatant and dubious public relations scheme will only make their job easier."

I sat back in the chair, staring at the woman across from me. I certainly hadn't expected such a vociferous response, even if it was Jean. I had expected at least some pushback, it would be wrong not to, but this? This was far beyond what even I predicted.

I wanted to lash out at her, to throw her facts and figures in her face, but a quiet part of me held back the rest. I knew the numbers, front and back. It would cost nearly six million dollars to produce the units and supporting equipment. That didn't take into account the second half of what I had originally planned, which would probably run close to another two to three million. I knew that it would be successful, but I didn't have the evidence to support the notion.

But how would it be successful, the quiet part of me asked, and I found my frown deeping as I mentally reviewed my plans. Only this time, I added Jean's critique to it.

She was right. I was gambling, not because I wanted to, but because I hadto. The issue with everything was that I was trying to take what was essentially technology at least six decades in advance of what existed, and shoehorn it into a communications and logistics system that was held together by shoestrings. I had to force a rapid adoption if I had any chance of succeeding. Without the networks and logistics to support what she intended, then it would take far too long for me to get to where we needed.

But that was the point of this entire scenario. With this, I could create interest in the technology and show the promise and superiority to what existed, then make clear the needs to achieve this.

I paused in my thoughts, glancing over at my father who was quietly watching me. It seemed like he was in tacit agreement with what Jean had said. It was telling how much he was against it by allowing Jean's brutal takedown of my idea without an ounce of protest.

So if this was the wrong path to take, what was the right path? All of my machines needed an intact and powerful network in order to work efficiently. The current 3G networks would be like using phone modems for my technology, it could theoretically do it, but it would be the stuff of nightmares for any sensible engineer. Without the networks, they could run, as long as a nodal hub network existed, but then that created its own fucking problems.

But what was the solution here? We couldn't afford to wait too long to strike, the longer we waited the weaker we became. Jean was right, we were bleeding out, the only difference was the speed in which we exsanguinated.

I looked back to Jean, considering further. If she was so vocal in her opposition, it was highly likely she had her own ideas. The question I had to ask was how would her ideas expand our influence and power?

"What is your idea?" I finally asked.

It was minute, but it did not go without notice how Jean ever-so-slightly relaxed.

"Focus on increasing production capacity on advanced materials. With comparatively minimal machinery and advertising we can sell those to anyone and everyone. That will give us a solid reputation without stepping on too many toes. Well, excluding the biofuel which will cause an absolute storm in the oil and gas industry no matter what we do. More importantly, it will allow us to quickly produce a positive cashflow and solve our most pressing problems. Add to that the increased material demands for rebuilding after an Endbringer attack and we should be able to recoup a significant amount of our expenditures. Furthermore, by doing this, we will be able to expedite getting around the cash and parts bottlenecks for your own initiatives."

Honestly, I was somewhat disappointed by the idea. I mean, I knew what she was intending, and it was a decent plan. It just felt too conservative in my estimation. Sure, the materials we would be able to sell soon would quickly fill our coffers, but it honestly ran against both what I wanted and even the company name. It felt like we were grabbing for the lowest rung and just accepting it as our best.

Taking a deep breath, I then thought about what I could do. She was right, but I felt she was also wrong. She was looking solely at the business aspect, while I was looking at the futures aspect. We could sit here and peddle materials til our faces were blue, but it would not change the world. It may improve it, but that wasn't what I wanted.

I considered exactly what I could do, and the second part to my suggestion. Without the Focus network it could work, but I would have to attack it from a different angle. I'd have to scale it down, but I would also have to be present for most of the time in order to do it, because I would be wading into unknown waters.

But was it doable?

"I have a counteroffer," I finally spoke again, even as I reached up, the augmented reality feeding directly into my brain as I tapped an invisible menu. It opened up another set of folders, and then I fed them into the projector, the data for Leviathan fading away..

"We go with your plan on material productions. You're right, we do need the capital in order to survive, but just being able to produce advanced materials will not provide us the ability to flourish. Merely it would allow us to batten down the hatches and survive until we are ready to make a splash. That could take years, Jean, and I'm not sure that with the way things are going we can afford to take that time."

"What are you talking about, Taylor? You've already agreed that the Focus won't work," her father interjected, his confusion evident in his expression. However, I wasn't focusing my attention upon him, I knew with the right pressure I could get him to capitulate to my way. His expression suddenly changed as he began to put together what I was suggesting, "Wait…"

No, what mattered right now was Jean and her reaction.

"You're really going to do it," she half-asked, half-stated exasperatedly, "I thought you wanted to wait on this."

I shook my head, "You're right, Jean. I was looking at it from the wrong perspective. I wanted to make the splash to put the system together quickly, but that won't work if we don't have a necessary reason for the network to exist. We can siphon off some of the material production and a few of the molds and printers and it will not have a dramatic impact upon your idea."

"Taylor–," my father tried to say.

I ignored him as I reached with my hand to the AR display and 'slid' the file with my hand to the right, authorizing a command to send the file to the projectors and display it for all of us to see.

I had decided to keep their names, at least in my head. I knew that it was likely to change, as the public would likely wish to change their names or give them different descriptions. I knew that I wanted to, to move away from that disturbingly tribalistic manner in which they were named. But for internal reasons, I had given them this name, I would let public relations figure out what to do going forward.

ZDLM-001A Red Eye

ZDLM-002A Charger

ZDLM-003A Burrower

ZDLM-004A Scrapper

ZDLM-005T/CC Titan

The only name that I had deigned to change had been the Titan. Previously, my power had identified it as the Behemoth, but I was keen to avoid creating that kind of stir. Nothing good could come from naming a machine after one of the Endbringers.

Each letter had a meaning in the designation. In the case of ZDLM, it meant Zero Dawn Land Machine, with the number providing the chassis model number designation. The final part, the latter, in this case, denoted its designed role: A for Acquisition, T for Transport, and CC for Communications/Command.

The Titan, in this case, was a far different machine than the Behemoth chassis I had based it upon. It had been an exercise in alternative thinking and solutions that I had toyed with over a week ago. I had set it aside because it had rankled at my own feelings on the matter, it felt like I was admitting that I was going to fail setting up a network before I had even a chance.

At its core, the idea was to create a mobile command and control machine that could serve as a standalone node in regions where I may not have the ability to provide network coverage for machines.

A stripped-down Behemoth chassis that discarded its gravity manipulation technology, because frankly I did not see that tech being producible for at least another year or two (and even then I wanted to keep that extremely close to my chest) and other defensive systems could fulfill that role. The space saved could then be repurposed to mount the most advanced communications suite in the world and the transportation container could house the servers necessary to fulfill a command role.

It wasn't a perfect setup, it wouldn't have any of the defensive technologies a Tallneck had, and it was, quite honestly, a seat of the pants modification that just invited something to go wrong and, as a result, would require constant monitoring at first. It would also be the most difficult of the machines listed to put together in a month, but it could be done. Honestly, a small part of me had preened at the fact that I had designed the modification, as it was something quite different from simply being provided the information, even if the greater part of me had despised the admission that putting out the Focus first could be a failure.

Now it seemed that the exercise could pay off.

"Taylor, what is this?"

I glanced at my father, and I took the time to take in my fathers expression. While I could not see it, I knew he was likely pale at what was being displayed. I hadn't truly shared with him just how far my knowledge and skill went, but on the other hand, he had never truly asked the right questions.

Or maybe it was because I was afraid I knew exactly what his response would be if he truly knew, I thought sadly. My father was a decent, but flawed man, and despite his best efforts, and god I knew he was trying, he was a man in over his head. You took him beyond his comfort zone and he floundered. But what I was seeing was more than that.

What I was seeing was fear. I'd honestly never seen him so fearful in my life.

"It's the future," I finally said, unable to keep the sadness from my tone as I realized what I was seeing. I could never discard my father, I don't think I could live with myself if I did that. In spite of everything, he had been there for me when I desperately needed it, he had made sacrifices for me to get to this point. He could have drowned himself in his self-loathing and depression at the cruel world, but he didn't.

But I was legitimately afraid that I may not be the one making that choice. There was only so much that could be pushed before something had to give. And I was terribly afraid I was reaching that.

"Go on, Taylor," Jean spoke, cutting off whatever my father was going to say, and I took a deep breath and released it, trying to regain control of my nerves that left me feeling only a gnawing pit of despair in my gut...

Was this what Elizabet in my dreams felt when she had declared that the human race would be extinct in less than two years because of one colossal fuck up? No, I was trivializing something far worse than a guilty conscience and fear of something outside of my control, I thought with more than a hint of bitterness.

Still felt like absolute shit.

"What you are looking at is what I call a Light Rescue Lance, or LRL," I started, trying to keep the bile threatening to rise in my gorge as I kept my father in my vision, but to the side, various emotions warring on his face, "It is designed to go into disaster areas and provide search and rescue services at a higher efficiency and lesser asset distribution so more focus can be shifted elsewhere. It would consist of four Red Eyes, two Burrowers, a Scrapper, and a Charger. Each machine is designed to fulfill a role, Red Eyes with their sensor suites can detect people needing rescue, Burrowers to either dig out or reach victims, Scrapper to help in removing large debris, and the Charger serves as refueler for the other machines. The Titan will serve as a command and communications hub, since my original design template assumed that the necessary Focus network to link the machines into would already exist. By my estimation, with the materials we currently have, we can produce all nine of these machines in thirty-two days, with a cost running about one-point-two-six million dollars altogether."

The silence was deafening from both Jean and my father. I knew it was certainly not what they were expecting, nor do I think they expected the price for it to be so low. But Jean had done me a favor by bulk-purchasing most of the materials I would need to pull this off, with the various printers and molds, it was just a matter of changing what they had to do on the floor. As a result, the cost could be minimized to largely the cost of material that already is in stock, alongside the man-hours to complete the work.

What I wasn't expecting, however, was the way my dad's head snapped towards Jean in sudden dawning realization.

"You knew about this," he hissed angrily at her as he shot to his feet, hands curled into fists. I started to rise myself, as I knew that we were one step away from him truly losing himself to his anger.

"I thought you did," Jean responded, her expression perplexed as she looked between my father and myself. I knew she was putting together the truth of the matter, but if she said anything it could only incense him further.

"No," I spoke, cutting off the angry rebuttal about to leap from my father's lips, "I didn't. Please, Dad, sit down."

Jean looked between the two of us, as I was stared down by my father. I wish I knew what was going on in his head. I had a good inkling, because what I had done was a betrayal at least from his perspective.

"Maybe I should–."

"No, Jean. Please stay," I cut her off, keeping my stare straight on my father. I could only hope that he would sit down. Because I knew that if he stormed out right now, all of the progress we made between the two of us would be gone, likely never to be restored.

Maybe it was something on my expression, or maybe it was something else, but slowly, almost like a glacier moving, he lowered himself back into his seat. I released a breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I began, trying to find the right words to express to him even an iota of the sincere guilt that I felt for all of this, I had been so occupied on whether or not I could achieve my objectives, that I never stopped to ask myself if I should. It was my own hubris that led to this.

"I know I should have told you this before," I continued, even as I struggled to find just exactly what to say, and when I couldn't find it, I sighed. There was no point in trying put it lightly, I had already kept the truth away from him for too long.

"Fuck it," I breathed, "the reason I haven't told you any of this is because I don't know how to explain it, Dad. I mean, how can I even start? Hey Dad, you know my Focus, yeah, that's not even the tip of the iceberg. The better question to ask me is what I can't create," I pointed towards my head, "When I told you I could change the world, it was not hyperbole, hell, if anything, I was underselling it all. I am a walking, talking, point of multiple technological singularities. You want to restore the Earth? Give me twenty years and I will turn the entirety of the Earth into a garden world that would make the Garden of Eden look like a backyard vanity project, and I wouldn't even be breaking a sweat. Reach the stars? You give me a decade and I can field ships that can reach Sirius in less than thirty years after their launch. What about nearly limitless power? That's a fucking Tuesday. You want functional imm-," I violently cut myself off, recognizing at what I had almost let slip.

Taking a deep breath I tried once again to collect myself, but frankly I felt only more frayed than I was before. Instead, I slowly lowered myself back in my chair, keeping Jean in my sidegaze even as I cast a considerable focus upon my father. I wondered if she had caught my little slip and just what she would think about it.

Honestly, my feelings were mixed on the idea of functional immortality. On one hand, it would quite possible allow humanity to flourish far beyond its current status, but on the other hand, the moralistic and sociological implications were the stuff of nightmares. It most certainly did not help that the origin of that knowledge stemmed from narcissistic sociopaths who had damned humanity in their greed.

Releasing the aforementioned breath, all of my energy seemed to escape me as I slumped in my chair. All I felt was the raw emotion beckoning to escape, as all of my private frustrations and personal reflections seemed to have finally found an exit vector. Unfortunately, it just had to be now.

"The reason I could never tell you," I continued finally after he had also slumped in his chair, cradling his head in his hands, "Is because I don't know where to start. I want to change the world, I know I have to change the world, but I have to also ensure that what I do will end in a net positive for humanity," I couldn't help but laugh bitterly, "The funny thing is that futurists really never tell you how exactly that a technological point of singularity is akin to playing God while dancing on a knife's edge. The only difference is I am fully aware of what fucking up looks like if something goes wrong, and I'm also burdened with the knowledge of what our society will look like if we don't start taking significant action within the next eight years."

I honestly wished I knew exactly what to say to reach out to him. I hated that we had to reach ahead in this manner. I wanted the Father that had been there with me since the day I lost my sight in what seemed a lifetime ago: An awkward, broken man who found the courage and energy to still try his best for his daughter.

Instead, the silence that greeted me only felt more oppressive, as slowly my father straightened himself back in his chair. Instead he said nothing for what seemed like an eternity.

"And what does that look like," Jean's soft voice took me away from my vigil upon my father as I turned towards her, her expression closed off. Maybe I had made a mistake in not clearing the room for the two of us, but it seemed like it was far too late for that. Or maybe it was right to air everything here and now, and let everything fall where they may.

"Twenty-three years. That's probably the most generous estimate I can give before the collective damage done to infrastructure, supply, and communications result in a complete collapse of modern society. After that, I give maybe another decade before the final collapse of the surviving feudalistically-inclined city-states. And then, depending on the operational tempo of the Endbringers and the resultant violence as resources become increasingly more scarce and fighting becomes even more fierce between roving bands, I give maybe another eight years before the human species will become functionally extinct."

The resultant silence was about what I expected. After all, just what would you expect if you a fifteen-year-old blind girl 'genius' declared that the human race would become functionally extinct before she was able to collect Social Security. I was not sure if I was going to be believed, but frankly, I had no idea exactly how I was supposed to connect with my father and explain to him why I needed to do this. If the LRL concept could gain traction, then I could fast-track other initiatives, like larger machines and even the Focus. "One of the most critical aspects of society was the ability to communicate and transport materials, and if I could prop up those two long enough, then the statistical probability of canceling the apocalypse increases."

Still, I felt like a doomsayer by even sharing this. I hadn't wanted to, but I wasn't going to hide the fact and what drove me in this case. Maybe it would change minds, maybe it wouldn't, but unless the information was out there, it was akin to handicapping the truth.

"I think we should all take a break," Jean finally spoke, being the first to collect herself. I couldn't bear to look at my father, not out of any spite, but because I honestly did not want to see his reaction. I feared that it may just break what tenuous link we still had if I did.

"I..think that would be wise," the respondent croak of my father's voice was enough for me to know that what I had said had hit home. But what was disconcerting was as I finally looked to him he wore the most blank expression I had ever seen. He had always been easy to read, but right now, I couldn't tell what he was thinking or even feeling, "We'll reconvene this afternoon, say around four?"

Both of them looked at me, and I merely offered a nod, "I agree."

AEH​

Danny

How did I miss it, he thought to himself as he took a long pull from a chilled bottle of beer, allowing the sensation of the lager working its way to his digestive tract taking an edge off of already turbulent thoughts. The added scenery of the water of the Bay served as a balm for what were already wrought emotions he had thought he had buried.

He already knew the answer to the question, as much as he hated to admit it. He had chosen to ignore his growing suspicions because he didn't want to know the answer. No, that was an unfair summation, it wasn't that he didn't want to know, it's that he didn't know how he could handle it.

Taylor had always been an intelligent child, something that she had thankfully taken from her mother, but what had happened to her this year had only honed that edge into something more profound that he had become fearful of.

His daughter was just like Annette…No, that was wrong, he took a small sip from the bottle. He was being unfair to the both of them by making the comparison. And maybe that was why he was fearful, not just of his daughter, but for his daughter.

Setting the bottle down beside him, he let his legs hang over the edge of the dock, the quiet of the waves, the sound of the gulls providing the only necessary accompaniment to his maudlin thoughts.

Annette had understood her limitations. She had known when and where to draw the line, it was those instincts that saved her from the blowback against Lustrum. It was those instincts that had made her realize that she was ill-fitted to be an activist. She had been intelligent, yes, but she lacked the charisma and emotional detachment needed to be a good leader. So instead, she turned to what she could do best, instead of trying a direct route, she had fulfilled her want to change the system by cultivating students who could carry the torch that she could not.

He wasn't sure that his daughter even understood the concept of limitations. Even when suffering a setback she railed against it, seeking a new way to overcome the mountain. If she had to escalate, then so be it. All that mattered to her was the need to succeed.

Sighing, he picked up the bottle again, choosing to polish off the remainder of the dark liquid that was becoming warmer.

No, he knew that Taylor had been hiding something. He had helped raise her after all, but he also knew that pushing her would alienate and put at risk their relationship. They had been making strides, especially with things how they were, but you couldn't magically heal four years of neglect quickly. So, he had put his head in the sand, somehow convincing himself that whatever Taylor was hiding, she would eventually share with him, and they would both laugh at how trivial it really was.

The problem was that it certainly wasn't a fucking trivial secret.

'God, how could I have missed it so badly," he thought to himself, his hand tightening around the neck of the bottle as that familiar Hebert anger reared its ugly head.

He wasn't even sure where to begin in this morass. Taylor's rant about what she knew and could do was one thing with it's own bag of issues, but probably more terrifying was the fact that his daughter, at fifteen years old, had calculated the end of the human fucking race. He didn't know whether to laugh at the insanity of it, or sob at the knowledge that his daughter had knowingly spent time delving into such a depressing subject in order to augment an argument.

It was so quintessentially Annette it fucking hurt, he thought as a laugh burbled from his mouth.

He had been stupid, both in ignoring it, but also letting it build to this point. He couldn't excuse his actions or behaviors, and he certainly could not forget how vulnerable his daughter had looked when he had chosen to make his disagreement clear. How she was afraid of what he was going to say. It hurt.

But what was his disagreement? Hell, he didn't even fucking know, for fuck's sake. Yes, he was goddamn afraid, not of her, but fucking for her. How the fuck could he not express that to her? Hell, he couldn't even blame Jean in all of this, she hadn't realized that he hadn't known. How fucking humiliating was that? That the father and vice president was as much in the fucking dark as a goddamn intern at the wild ideas bouncing around in both his boss and his daughter's head.

Taylor was going to do what she felt was right. It didn't matter if it went against conventional thinking or against the grain of some other fucking thing, she'd do it and to hell with anyone else. The fact that she had been willing to even listen to others for their opinion was a miracle in and of itself, Annette could never have fucking done that if it was one of her darling subjects.

Just where could he stand in all of this, for that matter? How could he even fucking convey how he was afraid for her? She had made it abundantly clear that these machines she had revealed were only the beginning. Just how far did that fucking go? And just how long could she continue this before eventually she ran into resistance?

He sighed as it finally clicked into place.

Lustrum. That's why he was so up in arms. It was Lustrum all fucking over again.

He hadn't been part of it, for obvious reasons, but Annette had never shied away from telling him what had gone on during her time with them. At least until Taylor was born, after that, they had both agreed to not discuss it around her. It wasn't a matter of shame as even he had understood why Lustrum had taken a stance, but it had been something they just believed should be left in the past as it would create inconvenient questions.

But at the core of it, Lustrum had pushed too far, too fast, and when they failed to get the recognition and momentum that she wanted to affect change, they became violent. It was a tale as old as time for any activist group that could not achieve relevance. The only difference between them had been Lustrum herself, The Protectorate and PRT had decided to make an example of her and threw her in the Birdcage, because she had ceased being an irritant to powers-that-be, and had become a problem.

This was the same path Taylor was going down. Jean was right, right now, Zero Dawn, and by extension, Taylor, were unknowns. Sure, they got a few articles written about how a Tinker was receiving a rather large investment, but other than that, she was not even a footnote to those who wielded power.

But if she did this, it most certainly would create an interest. In the end, it inevitably wouldn't matter how much good she was doing, those zealous in the retention of their power and wealth would recognize that Taylor was a problem, and they would render upon her what they had previously done to Lustrum.

It didn't matter if the machines she produced saved hundreds, or even thousands, of people. It didn't matter if her machines were innocuous and cute. It didn't matter if what she could offer to the world could turn back all of the setbacks to society. All it would take was one incident, one misstep, and they would have their cause célèbre to eliminate the problem and return back to their cherished status quo. The less said about those who would attempt to worm their way into her graces in order to 'guide' her the better.

"Fuck," he breathed. He knew exactly how that would go, unlike Annette, who would relent if she felt it was not worth it, Taylor couldn't, and quite honestly, if she had the choice, she wouldn't either. She was a woman on a mission, she knew exactly what would result if she did not succeed.

It was going to be a war, and frankly, that was honestly the most terrifying aspect of all of this. He wasn't sure exactly how it would go down, but he knew that his daughter would not yield as long as she had willingness to fight.

Which led all the way back to what she was hiding from him. He couldn't help her if he didn't know, but he wasn't sure if she would be at all willing to even talk to him after what had happened.

No, there was a way. But it was an option just as unpalatable as doing nothing. No, he was being unfair, it was unpalatable, but it did not compare to the idea of losing his fucking daughter over a goddamn disagreement.

He had no choice, did he? If he did this, he would be providing the fuse to start all of this, regardless of whether he wanted to or not. The only way he could even attempt to restore something between them was to support her, even if it would put her into the very danger he feared would consume her.

Could he do it? That he wasn't sure of. No, that was a damnable lie, he just didn't want to fucking admit it and be responsible for it. Maybe he could try and talk some sense into his daughter, but there was a better chance of hell freezing over and the Cubs winning the World Series than being able to change his daughter's course.

Before that, it'd probably be prudent to at least talk to Jane before the meeting. Maybe she had an idea of what could be done. He also didn't think that she would serve as an obstacle either, he had seen the interest lurking in her gaze. But, it wouldn't hurt to even try.

He was ripped from his thoughts by his phone going off, causing him to reach into his pocket and retrieve it. He had the device, but he had no choice but to have it because of his position and role. Frowning over Kurt's name on the caller ID, he flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

"Danny, you need to get back here. The PRT, Protectorate, Police, and fucking CPS just all walked in."