AN: Well, here we are folks. This time with a series of interludes instead of a chapter, you could think of this as the aftermath of the mess Taylor got herself into in the last chapter, with a few hints of certain issues and characters who have yet to come. As always, we hope you enjoy the read.

AtW: Maybe we'll post a bit more, maybe we'll go back to our usual. Just hope you guys like this.

Ithaca

The glow of the computer screen washed over her face, eyes tracking the graph as it was output. Lines and numbers, tiny errors where the mass spectrometer couldn't keep up with her Work. Still, this data was new. More importantly, it was good.

"A point four two percent reduction on volatility, with a less than point oh oh three loss in burn through time when activated."

She grinned.

Unfortunately, when her mouth opened she caught a hint of her own breath and gagged a little. It was shocking enough that the researcher took a moment to lift her lab coat up to her nose and take a sniff, flinching at the rank odor. Something that was only reinforced when she realized how greasy her hair was and how much her back hurt.

Standing up, she checked the alarm clock she'd installed next to her workstation, this time frowning at what she saw.

"It can't be two, I've been at this for longer… than… oh."

Instead of it being two thirtyish on a Tuesday afternoon, it was two thirtyish on a friday morning. Apparently, her latest bout of genius had cost her two full days and then some.

Irrelevant, if unfortunate.

Her Great Work was nearing perfection and if that meant she had to sacrifice what little remained of her social life, then so be it. When one was on the cusp of radically changing the entire scientific paradigm of the modern world, what were a few missed friends and a disappointed family member or two?

"Nothing."

Ignoring the pile of food wrappers next to her work station, Ithaca stood up, pride in her name almost rivaling the pride in her work.

Everything else was irrelevant before her task and, stumbling over to her primary array, she managed to shake the numbness out of her limbs just in time to catch herself from falling. But sleep was just as much of a distraction as anything else. Her shaking fingers reached out, nuding a small crystal back into its socket, completing a circuit in the collection formation of the rather… occult looking device before her.

Wires and batteries were attached to a series of rather shiny rocks, crude connections formed between both it and a series of nearby computers, and all of it outlined in chalk and iron dust.

Ghosting over the sigils she'd coded by hand, all it took was a touch to feel the thrum of energy radiating out from any of the devices - mundane or otherwise. Something that those who were less scientifically minded might call "magic", but what she knew to be a combination of electromagnetic fields and a type of short lived radiation she'd been able to harness! And how spectacular were the results.

Right before her eyes she watched as a blue-gray fluid began to collect in mid air, forming a small bubble before rippling. A single drop, shaped almost like a tear, hissed and steamed as it fell away and struck a pure shard of quartz about the size of her index and middle finger put together.

Still hissing and bubbling away, now with the smell of something like burning salt and copper accompanying it, the single droplet hollowed out the whole of the crystal - leaving only a smooth, purple tube behind as wisps of vapor drifted up and were collected into a large glass cylinder..

Ithaca waited until the vapor had fully dissipated, a rasping voice now a permanent reminder of what simply inhaling it could do, before stoppering the crystal with a mixture of cotton and rubber, the seal more existing to stop the smell than the actual substance within. Nothing of this world truly could prevent the acid she had collected from destroying it, after all, and it was better to minimize unwanted contact. Even if only so that she wasn't distracted by the constant feeling her insides were melting.

Checking her array, she put on a pair of thick rubber gloves before testing the copper and brass wiring coming from each of the five computers, their screens still covered with crawling lines of sigils and glyphs, as they spread out to the nine major foci.

Each was a crystal, each was a different kind of corundum, and each was carved into the shape of the sigil they were supposed to represent.

Then a circle was formed of bound wiring, spinning out to hook into the machines she relied on for data collation and analysis, all of them supplied by the university. Thankfully they were of an excellent quality - the dean had the slightest inkling of what she might be able to do for him after she had proved what it was that she was willing to do to him - but it was sufficient. All in all, it was a fusion of ancient glimpses into the higher nature of physics and modern technology. Underpinned and controlled by a strict regime of scientific rationalism, as she insisted, this combined approach was allowing her to tap into part of reality that the modern world had all but forgotten.

Watching as the energetic discharge grounded itself into the array, Ithaca slotted the vial into a rack right next to the others. The latest in a chain of single drop solutions that, when combined with water, would then be allowed to reach a natural boil as the small amount of remaining mineral dust failed to contain the drop of purest the teardrop once it was rehydrated.

Smiling again, she appreciated the perfection of her experiment, even the quartz having become far more than a base mineral, and sighed.

Again, she was struck by the rankness of her breath.

Grunting, the scientist wandered over to a chrome machine and frowned in displeasure at the gaunt, manic face that looked back at her. Weakness from hunger might prevent her from continuing her Great Work. And, perhaps more importantly, it might mean she'd make a mistake.

That would be unforgivable… and potentially fatal.

Though her death itself was irrelevant when compared to what she was managing to create, only being important in that it would truncate her experiments and prevent others from truly recognizing the greatness of her genius!

?

Good work was methodical work.

Methodical work was skillful work.

Skillful work, unfortunately, made for boring work.

Hours after hours of effort thrown into a single problem. Like banging your head against a wall until it started giving way. Most methods of time management became worthless after a point, the quality of his work growing stagnant without the resources to dedicate to it.

Some resources were easy to acquire. Dead bodies, and those soon to be dead, above all others were vital. However, time was another matter entirely.

Time required he actually apply himself to his craft.

Nay, it demanded that he acknowledge his ability was not as far reaching or as omnipotent as he would have liked to believe. Because when dealing with this particular craft, short cuts lead only to setbacks. Attempting to circumvent any step introduced a flaw, or would weaken the end result. Refusing to make a fitting sacrifice of energy and effort could ruin weeks or months of steady work. And, worst of all, should he ever grow arrogant… then his Work would turn to dust before him.

'Click'

He surveyed the product with anticipation.

Though others would have probably retched at the sight, he had long since transcended such limitations.

The limb, for it was no longer discernible which limb he was holding, was a masterpiece to be sure. His latest breakthrough. A mesh of wood, metal, and flesh the likes of which were beyond even others of his kind. To the untrained eye, it was merely a piece of mutilated skin.

But those who like him could see, well, it was something altogether different.

Multifaceted, the limb could be attached to either end of one's torso. And if the proper preparations had been made, could be even attached as an all together additional limb, though he had yet to find a suitable receptacle. The limb's digits twitched to life at a muttered word, expanding from one end to form a simple hand.

Before another word made it shift to that of a foot.

And a third one replaced it with the razor sharp edge of a blade.

'Marvelous.' he sighed.

If only the material wasn't substandard! Random offerings taken from the streets. Undesirables who drifted on the fringes of society, wanderers who had no home, the scraps of what he could get his hands on. Really, the only time he was able to actually acquire quality was when one of his mercenaries betrayed him - his reputation of always finding out being a double edged blade here. Early on, his lack of experience meant he had to all but mutilate them before making any true headway. He wasn't an anatomist, after all, so he had to learn the good old fashioned way how the… fiddly bits worked.

Slow progress was an annoyance., like being sent back to high school after earning a diploma, and he knew he was capable of doing so much more!

Creating and improving upon the fragile condition that was humanity was only the start of what his many works would one day do. But knowing and being capable of putting his vision to practice were two distinct things.

The world seemed hell bent on putting obstacles between me and success.

But that was fine in its own way.

'Why should I care?' The man thought, fingers nudging nerves and twisting up muscle. He had… almost all the resources and time in the world to play with. 'Soon enough, once my works are finally perfected, I won't have to care about silly things like paying for half competent mercenaries or care about whether my little oracle realizes she is mine or not.'

They would do as they were told because he had the power to make it so.

The power to rule and command.

The power to break and to remake.

The power to rule, as his seemingly long ago faustian bargain demanded.

That was the eternal question he had labored in answer to - even as his pets grew in their own power. Though it did occur to him that his fabled mother of monsters might serve as an answer, or at least a source of new flesh.

"Possibilities, possibilities." Murmuring to himself, he slid another rod into the limb. More mass to be converted and further reinforcement if it needed to serve as a leg. The important thing was that the digits and the stubs needed to be freely formable. If this was to function as a prosthetic, he'd need to be able to disguise any scars or tearing and that meant the attachment points would need to be able to link up to the host nervous system without a risk of rejection. 'At least not until I have Panacea. Her powers alone would make this infinitely easier. Though, perhaps, less satisfying.'

Something in his gut seemed to be displeased by the thought of using the healer's abilities to jump ahead in his work. In fact, it seemed like that would be just another false shortcut.

But why?

As he applied another round of nudges, tightening up the muscle structure and reworking the ligaments, he pondered on why help with rejection would be cheating. Was it truly that his power was telling him something? Was it some niche and poorly understood limit to his gifts, as nonsensical a limit as so many powers seemed to have? Perhaps, then, it might be his ego? The thought of another interfering in his own success seemed vaguely offensive.

"Why not the provision of materials though?" Tugging the sutures tight, he bound skin to skin and formed the final cross stitch needed. "Though if that is the case… maybe that little healer could help accelerate my harvest." The tailor chuckled. "Or at least make them greater."

Looking over at his latest donor, the man chuckled.

"Would you enjoy that?" Gagged, bound, three of his four limbs missing, the homeless man simply whimpered in pain. "No? You wouldn't?" Tutting, the craftsman held up his work of art. "But look at what you have helped make! Think of all you could do if I could simply put you back together." He smiled, teeth flashing in the bright light of his workshop. "Again. And again. And again. And again."

The Rig

"So, have you done the legwork?"

Colin glanced over at the face of Dragon, wondering whether he should try to make a joke or not. Ultimately, he simply nodded.

"Of course. Taylor Hebert, there was a criminal report filed recently, history of bullying complaints from and against her, truant, native of the bay, highschooler, fifteen years old, low income family, father moderately well placed in the Dock Workers Union, surprisingly staunch anti-corruption stance, mother died in a car accident, I've even looked through her school records. She was a straight A student for most of her academic career and in the last year and a half her scores have been steadily declining." Pausing, he tweaked the three-D display of his halberd, adjusting the storage mechanics by a few micrometers. "So far I have not directly accessed any of her personal accounts, that would require a warrant."

What went unsaid was the fact that, if Armsmaster thought it was important, he would have breached the fourth and fifth amendment of the US Constitution faster than you could say "extra judicial impropriety".

"Are you still planning on holding the unreported income and violation of multiple medical and Tinkertech regulations over the head of her father? I, well, I legally can't condone what she did, but you can't really tell me you think bullying her into the Wards is a good idea. Especially not if you've looked into her background as much as you're implying you have."

Pausing for a moment, the veteran hero took in the face of his only true friend, someone who understood him and whom he also saw as a peer, sometimes even an inspiration, and Colin saw careful neutrality.

That… almost scared him.

'Ah. It's a test.' It took him a few moments, but he didn't need to rely on his suit's sensors to confirm the thought. "No." Turning away, he didn't want to see whether he'd guessed right or not. "That would be unwise. And alienating a powerful healer is a last resort only."

Dragon sighed, but it was one that sounded heavy with fondness.

"You're only saying that because that's what I want to hear."

Colin took a moment to smile himself.

"Are you saying I've ever lied to you?"

A chuckle distracted him for a moment, pulling him away from his work before Dragon began to speak again.

"Of course not. That's not your style. Hide? Misrepresent? Maybe fudge things if you think you're doing the right thing, sure. But you've never really outright lied. At least not to me." They were silent for a moment. Eventually, though, she did probe a bit more deeply. "You didn't say you hadn't already collected evidence."

At this, he could only shrug.

"If not me, then who? Kaiser? She is white, just suffered a serious assault, and is financially vulnerable. He could simply bribe her, never mind what threats and implications could do. Lung might grab her just to own another cape, keep a mask over her head at all times and let people assume she's asian. Skidmark would be more than happy to acquire a Tinker that is likely more than capable of creating virulent and exotic narcotics. On top of that, she's made mistakes - mistakes that people like Coil make their living off of picking up on. And besides, if, when she joins, I'll be better placed to advise a plan of strong legal defense."

"So the plan is still to recruit her as soon as possible?" Dragon paused, as if she was thinking of how to best put together her response to Colin's points. "Because if she's been through even half as much bullying as it looks like, plus a sexual assault…."

"Obviously she would be hesitant to trust an authority figure, though I do think I have an advantage in that regard - she is a Brockton Bay native. Though there are also two purely pragmatic appeals I can make too." Unhooking his actual halberd, or, rather, one of the secondary ones, he began slowly disassembling it and considering how and where he wanted to make the first cuts. "After all, any of the gangs would demand she make what they want her to. The Protectorate would be more than happy to give her an almost limitless budget and fast track her creations. And no one does limitless budget like the federal government." Pausing again, he frowned. "Plus with the recent activity from the Slaughterhouse, it's best not to give Mannequin or Bonesaw ideas."

"Was that… was that a joke?" His friend sounded almost dumbfounded, intentionally exaggerating her response to slip around the thorny topic, but the cape merely gave a stoic nod. Both of them chose not to think about the consequences of the Nine making a repeat performance in the Bay. Not now, not today at least. Not when it involved a very real chance of death on his part - Mannequin liked targeting Tinkers after all.

"I have been practicing." Came Armsmaster's response, placid and pointedly avoiding the topic of the current all PRT briefing. "I have been told that I need to better relate to the youth demographics, and sardonic humor is best for that purpose."

"Well, at least you didn't use your suit's computers to figure it out for you."

Politely ignoring his friend's jab, the Tinker decided to simply continue working. Though he may or may not have been smiling just a bit more than he usually did… that is to say, at all.

Medhall

When it came down to it, leading a gang and looking after a business were surprisingly similar.

It was all about proper resource management. Whether those resources were monetary, simple belongings, or people with the skill sets that Kaiser valued, he only achieved success when he efficiently and wisely allocated them. Both the Empire and Medhall were investments which he had spent literal decades of his life on. And before that, his father had spent just as long trying to hammer a sword out of scraps of pig iron.

Allfather, however, was always more of a leader in the military sense.

Whereas he? Well, Kaiser knew where he stood. Knew the value of a good reputation and the kind of doors that a well placed check could open that a passionate speech from last century wouldn't be able to. Humans were simple like that. They all had a price they were willing to accept for their loyalty.

Be it safety.

Revenge.

Hard cash.

He was used to paying the necessary costs to push forward the Empire's agenda in Brockton Bay. And part of that required that he know which prices were better paid and which prices were better avoided. Like cutting one's losses. Like having a second healer. Just having one was enough to make more gangs think twice about getting into fights when they knew his losses could rebound in a matter of moments.

Othala alone was enough to keep most from trying to interfere with Empire's businesses.

But a second healer?

And one capable of mass producing cures?

That was the kind of deal that made Max's businessman side rouse from the grave like the walking dead. The opportunity to push forward his interests not just as a superhuman but as the owner of Medhall was rarely such an easy ask.

Because there were two things ironclad about life.

Death and Taxes.

And having a Tinker capable of just making miracle cures that he could sell? That would help him with the second and others with the first. Having Medhall as the public face of his Empire was truly one of the best moves he could have made, especially since his plans had never accounted for the possibility of recruiting a Tinker through the usual hiring channels. In a place like Brockton Bay that seemed to boggle the mind!

Even in more normal places, it was the rare power indeed that could become someone's day job. Even more so when it was a power worth courting, rather than taking. But it seemed that luck favored him.

Or well… would favor him. All he needed to do was convince a teenager with super powers that his company was indeed the best possible option from someone starting off. The safest option for those who needed resources and protection from the powers that be. Menaces like Lung and the Merchants.

Kaiser's usual recruitment tactics aimed for a certain type of person and thus missed its mark with everyone who didn't already have their feet in the door, so to speak.

For someone who didn't want any part of the cause?

Well, everyone wanted safety and stability. Everyone wanted to put food on the table and a warm bed. Without any visible strings leading back to the E88, Kaiser was capable of bringing an even greater number into the fold without having to make a threat or lift a damn finger. Or at the very least Max Anders could do a Hell of a lot of good.

His opening move would be simple - he'd approach the girl's father. An awful contract with dozens of pointless and bloated clauses, a few little traps that would take an actual lawyer to catch, and a handy out for himself. If this Daniel Hebert caught them, then it would confirm that Max would need to play nice. Or at the very least make sure his moves were well timed. If they weren't caught, well, suffice to say his plans would move along nicely. Partly because he could personally step in and ensure they were given a fair deal and because it would give him broader latitude when it came to intervening with the girl personally.

Taylor Hebert, going by what his contact in the school system could dig up, actually had quite a file.

Literally dozens of complaints against her, all from a small clique of the same six or seven names, and a pattern of complaints against a small circle of other girls. A year ago they were thick and heavy, before slowly drying up to a trickle, ending with a notice of truancy, and now culminating in a hospitalization.

While he didn't consider himself a particular savant when it came to neither teenagers nor girls, Kaiser did recognize a pattern of bullying. And from what he could gather that meant it had also almost broken her.

His goal would be to come in, wow the girl a few times, and nicely tie her to… Purity, perhaps. Maybe someone else, the point would be that she was vulnerable to any form of positive reinforcement and starved for affection. As a boss and an authority figure that at least appeared on her side, he'd be able to brush aside her preconceived notions, tie the girl's sense of self to his approval, and then nicely wrap Ms. Hebert up in a little bow.

There wasn't even a need to involve her in the Empire, not directly at least, as plenty of her potions would be held and distributed by Medhall itself.

'In fact, why not use her for a PR blitz? We'll need to do some tests of course, but donate a case or two to the hospital, do some charity drives, maybe wrangle up a hard case or three. She's a Tinker, so that means she'll need a challenge to really learn what her power can do.'

Yes, he really was quite pleased with this discovery.

And all that was left to do was wait for the ink to dry… and make sure his agents began picking up the little hints of her undoubtedly extracurricular activities. The IRS could be a bitch, after all.

Hebert Household

Daniel loved his daughter.

Truthfully, he loved her more than he loved life itself.

She was his reason for waking up and getting out of bed. The sole reason why he tried to be a better man each and every day - instead of giving into the ugly temper everyone knew lay underneath the soft spoken leader of the Dockworker's Union. That was the kind of man Danny had promised never to turn into.

But he was still worried.

He worried for her every second of the day.

He worried that for all of his help and experience, someone special like his daughter would eventually catch the attention of people he wouldn't be able to intimidate or negotiate his way out of dealing with. Just like he hadn't been able to do anything about the bullies at her school. Or about the school itself when they decided to come knocking for her.

It was frustrating.

And she'd been hurt yet again by his lack of initiative and backbone. Because he hadn't said no when push came to shove, he had folded and let Taylor get dragged back into that place. Back with those who had hurt and damn near killed her the first time around. Only to try again now that she was leaving.

Now though, after all of that? His daughter was quiet. Too quiet.

After the medicine wore off and she had a small mental breakdown over what she said to Panacea at the hospital, Taylor had become quiet and withdrawn again. Like the first days after the locker. Unwilling to talk. To say much of anything. And focused solely on her laboratory.

He considered taking it away. Somewhat because it couldn't be healthy to mess around with chemicals in such an… unstable mindstate. However, there was also the consideration that, as far as he could tell, she was spending days at a time working on newer and newer concoctions, only cleaning herself when he said something about and eating only when he was home to make her. It was unhealthy and his daughter was already scrawny to start with.

Ultimately, he hadn't pushed the issue.

Partly out of sheer guilt, partly because it was probably healthier than sitting around watching television or sleeping all the time. What she had… endured was the kind of thing that could break people, especially with how much she had already gone through. Danny knew that his child's mental health was hanging on by a thread and that was also why he had hoped to buy a little time. Because, if nothing else, he could figure out a way to continue to afford a good therapist - because that was what it took to make sure there was someone around who could help Taylor where he had failed.

Cost remained a concern, he didn't make enough for it not to be, but there was now a police report that had been filed along with a small income from the potions. This meant it wasn't his job to deal with the bastards in person, but, rather, figure out how to nudge his finances and continue to at least meet a doctor's minimum monthly payments.

Footsteps came from upstairs, a few boards creaking as Taylor moved around. She was getting a shower at the moment, if only because he'd made a comment about her hair, and that had given him the time needed to get dinner on the go. He'd cobbled something together, dumped it into a pot, and hoped for the best. His base had been several sausages which Danny had bought fresh, these he cooked along with a few spices, salt, pepper, a dash of oregano and garlic powder, a bit of red pepper, potatoes, and pineapple. On top he'd added, as time went on, onions, then carrots, then broccoli and cauliflower, mixing the dish every ten minutes as it steamed - covered in water as it was.

There was something relaxing about the movements. Soothing in their monotony.

It also let him figure out that, yes, he had enough wiggle room in his budget to free up about six hundred dollars a month. A small fortune that would only require him to run a little lean for the rest of February, pay off a few small debts he had ticking away, and then cut out any fast food and beer.

"I can tell her it's a new diet."

Nodding his head, the old man agreed with himself.

"And besides, once it's all sorted I'm sure she'll be happy to have someone who can understand what she's gone through, is going through, I suppose."

Danny felt shame for not really knowing what to do. He was a father, supposedly, and he had now failed twice. Something that was extremely tempting to, frankly, angst over. Perhaps it was lingering depression, perhaps it was simply the early stage of alcoholism, but he was strongly, strongly tempted to open a bottle of beer. And two or three more.

"Oh fuck! 'THUMP'"

Glancing up from the food at the sudden cry and crash from upstairs, Danny shut the burner off and paused only long enough to make sure the stove wouldn't burn the house down before racing up the stairs two at a time.

"Taylor, are you ok!?"

Coming to a sudden stop, he almost fell over before catching himself.

"Taylor, are you ok in there!"

Pounding on the door, it took every ounce of self control he had to not force the door to the bathroom. Only the knowledge that it might deeply humiliate his daughter prevented him from barging through the thin faux-wood obstruction.

"I… I don't know."

The answer was strange and there was more confusion than pain in his daughter's voice, however Taylor definitely sounded different. Her voice was off somehow.

"Do you need help? Are you hurt?"

Waiting again for a reply, his confusion and worry was steadily building.

"I honestly have no idea, Dad. Just, one second, let me try and get over to the door. But, uh, one of my potions maybe just backfired. So don't… don't scream or anything, ok?"

There was a scraping and a flopping sound, of all things, and Danny was almost hysterical by the time Taylor managed to let him in. Because, when he opened the bathroom door, he saw his daughter, laying on the ground, towel over her chest, with a fish tail.

"What the Hell. Do I need to call nine one one? Panacea? Are you hurting?"

Taylor waved her free hand around, trying not to seem panicked as she was splayed out, half on her side, half on her back, trying to neither expose herself, nor bend part of her body in the worst possible way.

"I'm fine, no pain, nothing much but a bit of weirdness. But I can't really move. Can you help me, I dunno, get to my bed? We can see if this wears off but I've got a fin or something down my back and I'm trying not to freak out."

"You're trying not to freak out." Danny's voice was strained, but he managed to stay focused. Because apparently this was punishment for him being a shit parent. And he had… a lot to do. "Ok. That's ok. We're all ok. Ok." Looking Taylor square in the eye, he said the only thing he could. "At least I didn't make fish for dinner."