Author Note: Arc 11 is an interlude Arc as the events are a bit too complex to solely tell from Taylor's POV. The story from this point forward will increasingly involve chapters and sections not told from Taylor's POV.

A Waken 11.C

He started the video again.

The woman appeared in the office despite not appearing on any camera prior. She sat down, breezed through security, viewed one thread on PHO, posted, and then left.

Perfectly timed so Cecil would see her leave.

Thomas could only call the innocuous series of events a prank. The woman could easily be unseen if she wanted. What purpose came from letting herself be seen?

She'd been spotted all across the city for days. The first appearance at Lung's apartment seemed a mere prelude, though there may have been an objective. Lung did have old ties to the Yangban.

Since then though? She appeared on security footage and traffic cameras all over. She kept her face hidden. Avoided drawing attention. She stalked his people at the grocery. Made calls from pay phones. Bought donuts. Comical things for the most part.

She was trying to rattle the tree.

The night watchman wouldn't be an issue. 'Coil' had a knack for picking the right person for the right job. Fortress Construction was well covered but nothing was impervious if subjected to sufficient scrutiny.

One can never be too paranoid.

Thomas always took care of himself on the PRT's end. It was easy. If her goal were to turn Newtype on him, it would fail. No. No, the events of the past week were far too pedestrian. To easily noticed. If she really wanted to achieve anything of note she'd have done so without making her presence known.

He admitted to being somewhat unnerved at first. He'd been warned about her. A woman in a suit and fedora. Well, let her be spooky. Her game was clear.

Undoing Newtype's secret identity, forcing Kaiser into a corner only 'Coil' could get him out of, and being a general nuisance? Not a one really inconvenienced him. In fact, every act was easily turned to his advantage.

The goal seemed primarily to rattle. To warn or distract. It was a message from her to her old associate.

I'm back, she's saying.

She must sense it as well. Time was running out. All the more reason to keep things moving. One can't simply abandon their renovations simply because the house next door encountered some trouble.

Thomas closed the laptop to mild annoyance and rose from his seat.

Leaving his office, Thomas told his secretary to hold his calls. He wouldn't be gone long. Thomas ignored the sense of warning and continued down the hall.

Teacher had his goals. 'Coil' had his Insofar as Coil qualified as a person. With Francis in a cell, things had changed. Not that Thomas minded. The prize lay far too close now for simple disappointments to stop him.

Newtype had one thing right.

The world was broken. Neither the queen of Thinkers nor all the Protectorate's men could put it back together again. Soon only power and position would count for anything and Thomas would have both.

All thanks to Newtype.

Kaiser couldn't turn to Gesellschaft now. Bruder thoroughly sabotaged that. Getting Kaiser some of his capes back would be easy enough. Such bonds would make the man infinitely more manageable. Thomas could arrange for Fortress Construction to gain a controlling stake in Medhall easily.

The Undersiders and the Red Hands could be relied on to keep things low key. They'd have to fight off some upstarts but things would calm eventually.

Newtype would be more easily dealt with than ever. Despite Dragon's efforts, the Internet is an uncooperative little monster. The name 'Taylor Hebert' spread across the dark web and more obscure discussion boards. Her identity was all but public knowledge.

A little money. A proper rifle. Any two-bit assassin could put a round through her skull. She made more than enough enemies. A tragedy. Fleur all over again, but far more sorrowful.

That event would finally remove the 'deputy' from Thomas' title. He always knew Shadow Stalker would be a wise investment. Her personality? She was bound to do something reprehensible.

Newtype should have been a Ward. She never should have been left to run around on her own. Ammunition for Teacher's little war, and the final nail in Piggot's position.

All the pieces would finally come together.

As he reached the end of the hall, the elevator doors opened.

Thomas smiled, calling, "Triumph, there you are."

The young man stopped half in, half out.

"Deputy Director," he said. "You want to see me?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Thomas stepped into the elevator and waved the young man back inside.

Triumph stepped back and Thomas nodded.

The right man for the right job. Well, one of them. He enlisted others for the project ahead, but their roles were far more subtle.

"Is something wrong Deputy Director?" Triumph—Rory Christner—asked.

"Not yet," Thomas answered. "With luck, we'll prevent something from going more wrong."

Floor numbers dinged by over the doors. The elevators in the building went so slow. But, they did lack security cameras.

"This is a sensitive matter," Thomas implored, "and one where I am going out on a limb."

Triumph tilted his head slightly.

"Sir?"

"You're Protectorate now, Rory, no need for the sir."

"Sorry, sir."

Such a good little soldier.

One who might be turned to better uses with his cousin under Thomas' thumb. One can never have too many moles in the enemy camp. And of course, Thomas looked forward to restructuring Brockton Bay for the future.

And it was about the future. Villains. Heroes. Just labels. In the end, the world didn't spin on ideologues but on realities. Brockton Bay may be backwater now, but in a not too distant tomorrow it could be a vital port and a prosperous city.

Under the correct governance, of course.

So many birds with such a tiny stone.

And she was a tiny thing. Diminutive like a pet almost. Petite even for her age with short cut dark brown hair and glasses over her eyes. She wore a simple dress and sat between her parents in the conference room, eyes cast down at the mug between her hands.

Triumph paused upon entering the conference room and Thomas pretended not to notice. If anything, he took the moment to appreciate the coming prize.

She was such a perfect catch.

So many precogs only ever saw the future in vagaries. Colors. Phrases. Brief glimpses that hardly told anyone anything. But Dinah Alcott? She saw ranges of futures. In some ways it was even better than the false illusion of percentages.

One question and she knew everything that could happen. A power like that helped rocket Newtype to being the most powerful cape in Brockton Bay and she was an insipid little girl. A child driven by delusions of simple justice.

She didn't know how the world truly worked.

"Mr. and Mrs. Alcott, and Ms. Alcott," he greeted. "Thank you for coming."

Mr. Alcott rose and accepted his extended hand.

"Right," the man said, "It seemed important so we came right on over."

Thomas glanced toward Prism. The woman said something to Triumph and he nodded.

Thomas took a moment to unsleeve his power and assess those in the room.

The experience could be a bit surreal at times. The information tended to be overwhelming in the moment, though he never suffered thinker headaches.

Thomas stuffed the extra-sensory feedback away. Everything slowed, and the colors changed. It took him a great deal of time to fully appreciate the meanings to each little hue, but after five years he knew them all very well.

Mrs. Alcott was wary, far more so than her husband. She suspected something. Her daughter's powers perhaps. Her husband seemed far more uneasy, though he hid it well. He kept glancing at Triumph.

Recognition.

Yes, he would recognize his nephew this close to him. Many people did. Many didn't. Seemed like a bit of a coin flip in Thomas' extensive experience.

Triumph himself was worried, far more so than Thomas expected. Prism was curious, though her curiosity seemed to cover the entire room and its occupants.

Dinah Alcott was a bit difficult to read. Thinkers. One often interfered with another, but to Thomas felt more like looking through a haze than a complete block. She was nervous, but resigned as well. She likely guessed the nature of the meeting before arriving.

Thomas took his seat, asking, "I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

"No," Mrs. Alcott replied. "Prism was keeping us company." She glanced toward her small daughter.

"I got hot chocolate," Dinah Alcott mumbled.

Thomas glanced at the mug.

"I see."

So different from the sassy image she portrays.

It wasn't uncommon. Many capes took strength from their masks. From being someone else. Thomas considered it a key reason secret identities worked at all. So many capes acted like completely different people in their private lives.

Dinah Alcott was nothing like the snarky little thing calling itself Forecast. He often wondered—as someone who merely dabbled in a number of masks but dedicated wholly to none of them—which was more real. Is Forecast a greater reflection of the person beneath, or was Dinah Alcott?

Academic.

Thomas assessed the room a second time. Always take a second look. Never let a first impression set your strategy.

He thought of each use of his power as a snap-shot. They only ever captured the moment in its exactness. He'd become quite adept at using it mid-conversation, particularly because each snap-shot gave him ample time to assess his options.

Some might call it a parlor trick, but the ability to read a room masterfully and know the disposition of all those inside is really quite useful. You always know who is going to be a problem. Who is going to be helpful. How, when, and where to push buttons to get the reactions he wanted.

Certainly, he seemed able to do it without pissing off the entire room as Tattletale did or reducing people to musical chords like Sovereign.

"Well, thank you for coming," he started. Always be diplomatic, even if it was tiring. "This is important and I think time is of the essence."

Thomas glanced back to Triumph. The young man had composed himself, standing proudly by the door with his back straight and arms crossed. Prism stood beside him in a more relaxed pose.

She didn't like Newtype and she hid it poorly. Ever since the attempted Peacecraft assassination and Miss Militia's sudden turn in demeanor. Something about all that seemed to have her laying the blame at Newtype's feet. Maybe the younger girl simply rubbed her the wrong way.

Another key player in the performance Thomas planned.

Coil will be running his paths.

It was always nice to have a safety net. One can indeed never be too paranoid. It certainly saved him many times before and being in a cell hardly changed the efficacy of Francis' power.

Though he did lament the extra hoops that came with using it.

"What's this about?" Mrs. Alcott inquired while her daughter continued to cast her eyes down. "We were told over the phone it was urgent? Prism said she didn't know what the issue was."

"I don't," the heroine admitted.

Honestly, finding professionals with mature outlooks was such a challenge. Adults were rarely as mature as they thought they were. And capes? Shards interfered in everything about their lives one way or another. Perhaps it was a disservice to people with actual bipolar disorder but Thomas found the comparison apt. Capes could be widely unpredictable.

In that regard, Thomas was grateful for his power.

It came with strings but Thomas found them far more manageable than having some alien intelligence mixing his brain and emotions about in an unending pursuit of quantified understanding. If power came with something poking around his head either way, he'd take the power that could be reasoned with. Being able to pick his power was an added bonus over the chaos of triggers.

It's not like the powerless mattered in the new world.

They were just fodder for the strong. Fodder fed to the machine. Fodder like those poor souls lost in Ellisburg who never stood a chance.

If the options were fodder or cog in the machine, Thomas readily chose cog.

A matter for another time.

Thomas smiled but made sure to keep a certain wariness on his face.

He took a third snap-shot.

The Alcotts were in the right mindset. Concerned and worried, very aware that something was wrong but not quite sure what. Dinah was as timid and quiet as she had been in previous meetings Coil informed Thomas of. Newtype frequently interfered in those and forced the abandonment of those paths but the information provided was plenty informative.

"Have you been watching the news?" Thomas asked. "Mr. Alcott? Mrs.?"

"We have," Mr. Alcott confirmed warily. "Why?"

"You're aware that Newtype has been attacked in her civilian identity?"

"Yes. The news said she wasn't hurt."

"She wasn't, though it does seem that her identity is fully compromised. That's a very dangerous position for a cape to be in, not just in regard to their own safety but the safety of those around them." He glanced at their faces, taking another 'snap-shot' of them. Fear. Perfect. "That's why I've arranged this meeting. Because things in Brockton Bay are becoming far more dangerous and I don't think I'd be comfortable doing nothing."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Alcott asked.

Another snap-shot. He focused on Triumph. He was confused and worried, and suspicious. Not a fearful suspicious but a creeping—knowing—suspicious. Thomas knew it well. People often knew far more than they realized.

They simply dismissed the obvious as the unlikely and the improbable as the impossible.

Prism was worried but also slightly smug? English is such a surprisingly limited language. It can't quite encapsulate the full scope of human emotion. The ability to feel more than one thing at once and how those feelings might blend together.

Jokingly, Thomas decided to call Prism's mood 'smugry'.

Self-satisfied in one sense while angry in another. An attack on a cape's secret identity was unfathomable for many. It broke all the known norms. Newtype and the Empire both suffered it.

Thomas feigned concern. It never hurt. "Forgive me Ms. Alcott"—eyes turned toward Dinah—"but you are acquainted with Taylor Hebert?"

Dinah Alcott kept her eyes down.

Thomas took another snap-shot and hid his own sense of 'smugifaction' at the fear he got from the girl. She was terrified. More so than most capes realizing their facade was being torn down, but he could guess at many reasons given the nature of her power.

"She's your tutor." Thomas took another snap-shot and noted the confusion in Triumph. Yes, a tutor for a girl whose grades were just fine. Not excellent, but fine. Hardly in need of help from an older girl.

"Taylor?" Mr. Alcott shifted uneasily in her seat. "What about her?"

"You've met her?" Thomas asked.

"Yes. Her father too. Good people. Rough when it comes to money but that's a lot of folks in the city."

"Does your daughter need a tutor, Mr. Alcott?"

The man hesitated.

"It's more of a friendship." Mrs. Alcott glanced at her husband. "I was worried. Taylor's a few years older than Dinah and they spend so much time together for tutoring but…Well, Dinah was having a hard time this last spring. She needed a friend and Taylor just kind of fell into place. And Dinah's grades have improved."

Thomas paused, lingering in his power.

Odd. Mrs. Alcott was afraid but it was more knowing than Thomas expected. Thomas spent some time trying to puzzle it out. He lacked the full scope to know exactly what to make of it.

The conversation needed to keep moving forward.

"Ms. Alcott?" Thomas asked. He took another snap-shot to assess her and nodded to himself. "I don't relish dancing around the issue."

She offered him no answer. She wouldn't.

"Deputy Director?" Prism asked.

She'd put the pieces together and of course she'd be concerned about the line of discussion. It might be easy to say she hated Newtype, but that wouldn't be a fair assessment. No one just hates someone. Human bonds are remarkably complex, more than words can describe.

"Newtype is Taylor Hebert," Thomas said.

That's not right.

They should be shocked, but they weren't.

He lingered again.

They took runs before. Francis' power worked excellently in testing the field before executing any particular action. 'Coil' owed a fair amount of success to that. The Alcotts never knew about their daughter or her tutor before.

Something changed.

"You already know," Thomas realized, exiting his snap-shot.

The Alcotts looked to one another and then their daughter.

"Yes," Mrs. Alcott admitted.

That is a setback.

It's so much easier to maneuver someone when they're distracted at something else.

"Dinah told us just before Lung was arrested," Mr. Alcott clarified.

We haven't run any checks since Boston.

"I see."

"And you didn't bring her straight here?" Triumph asked in shock. "To me?"

The Alcotts tensed and after a moment, Mr. Alcott explained, "Dinah told us not to. She said the possibilities in the Wards were worse than the possibilities if she stayed with Taylor."

"What are we supposed to do?" Mrs. Alcott asked. "She sees the future. She knows more about it than we do."

"That's a grave mistake," Thomas warned, thankful for the avenue. "Thinkers are not infallible. I'm sure Newtype would have taken some kind of action if she had known the Empire was about to attack her civilian identity. She didn't."

Thomas let the implication hang in the air. A snap-shot confirmed everyone understood it. Dinah Alcott offered no protest and simply sipped at her mug.

A tell?

"The situation has changed," Thomas insisted. "I'm afraid the net on Taylor Hebert's identity is slipping and that means there are some difficult choices in front of us."

"What exactly are we doing here Mr. Calvert?" Mr. Alcott asked. "I don't think this is how the PRT normally does things."

"It's not."

Prism was getting agitated. She didn't like this kind of talk. She'd take some work.

Nothing more difficult to maneuver than an idealist.

"We're here because I'm concerned," Thomas lied. "I know Newtype. She's many noble things, but she's reckless. That's finally coming home to roost for her. She's made many enemies and clearly her threat to out any villain who breaks the unwritten rules is not as effective as she'd hoped."

Snap-shot.

Concern in Prism. Good. Worry in Triumph. Fear in the Alcotts, less so in little Dinah. No, she was starting to become agitated. Good.

"She's a hypnotic person," he continued. "Driven. Ambitious in the subtle way idealists are. It can be like a whirlpool, and right now I worry that pool is likely to drag in those around her."

"That's rather fatalistic."

Eyes turned toward Dinah Alcott. Her eyes remained downcast but…Thomas didn't know how to quantify what she was feeling. It was cold, not hot. Focused. Furious but not an exploding anger. A rolling anger. The fear was still there. A great deal of it.

But it was drowning in pure anger.

Dinah Alcott set the mug down.

"I don't believe in fate."

"Dinah—"

She interrupted her cousin, saying, "Fate is the bastion of the ignorant. It's a nice little way to justify doing nothing because 'the world has already decided what's going to happen'."

Sensing his chance, Thomas turned to Mr. Alcott and said, "This is my concern. Newtype has a very profound effect on others. Even some of the Wards—"

"Heaven forbid anyone refuse to be a cog in the machine."

Thomas stopped.

Dinah Alcott stared at him, mug held to her lips.

Her eyes burned with a fire.

She's acting like Forecast, not Dinah Alcott.

Thomas folded his hands together.

He lingered in his snap-shot, contemplating and analyzing the situation. Dinah Alcott had found a semblance of restraint she lacked before. A way to temper herself.

When did that happen?

Triumph broke, moving around the table and crouching behind his cousin.

"Dinah, why didn't you come to me? You know—"

"Because possibility is a terrifying thing." Dinah set the mug down and stared at it. "I see everything that can happen. I've seen worlds where I get hit by a car walking to school. Worlds where dad's office explodes because someone set a bomb. Worlds where the Earth is barren and lifeless."

Thomas hid his confusion.

"And after all this time," the girl continued, "I've realized there's no such thing as seeing the future."

What?

"You're a precog," Prism noted. "That's what you've been telling everyone."

"And if I told you you'd get hit by a car crossing the street today, you'd stay away from every street till midnight. The act of observing the future changes the future. I've learned to stop fretting over the 'maybes' and focus on the 'should bes'."

Mr. Alcott responded to those words with uncertainty and worry. Mrs. Alcott with a familiar acceptance. She'd told them these things before.

Turn it around, Thomas told himself.

This was his chance.

"I worry this is worse than I—"

"Oh, this isn't even close to the worst possibility." She raised her mug, casually saying, "In the worst possibilities I'm locked up in some pedo-dungeon high on drugs and forced to use my power for an asshole in a snake costume. All in all, we're actually doing really good."

Snake costume?

She's seen Coil?

On the one hand, a sense of surprise and confusion roiled through Thomas in the back of his mind. On the other, he wanted her more than ever. How did she see? She said she saw everything that could happen. Did that allow her to see around his patron?

Newtype and Forecast were always cagey about the specifics of her power. Previous runs Francis precipitated only revealed that some of her visions made little sense. They'd never had time to fully assess. Newtype tended to become involved if anything happened to Dinah Alcott.

Violently involved.

"Which is the point I guess," Dinah mused. "I know how bad things can really be and I can tell that we're doing a lot better than other timelines."

Thomas froze. "Timelines?"

"Yeah, I can see alternate timelines too," Dinah said. "I used to see it as my power wanting to torture me."

"How can you know they're other timelines?" Prism asked.

She shrugged. "The point is, you should all relax more. We're doing fine."

Still at her side, Triumph didn't relax. He asked Dinah how she was managing the headaches and she said StarGazer helped her. She pointed at her glasses.

StarGazer is listening.

Mr. Alcott smiled. "She's been like this for awhile."

Thomas saw a chance there. The man was still worried about his daughter. He clearly disapproved of her attitude. Ultimately, it was never about what Dinah or Newtype wanted. Thomas only needed to convince her parents to take her out of Newtype's hands and deliver the girl to his.

Let it go.

"Ms. Alcott, Newtype's identity is exposed. I do not believe you can rely on her for your safety at this stage. She will barely be able to protect herself."

Dinah blew raspberries.

The room stared.

"Oh, sorry."

The room continued to stare.

"I thought we were acting like babies."

Dinah Alcott raised her mug to her lips.

"My mistake."

And sipped it.

"Thank you for your offer to join the Wards, Deputy Director. I'll be declining. Taylor understands the future only happens if you make it happen. I'm quite content where I am now."

Smug, but finally he was getting somewhere. That glib attitude didn't sit well with anyone in the room. Her father especially, though Mrs. Alcott's resignation struck Thomas as very strange.

Thomas only needed a scant few moments in his snap-shot to think out a line of attack.

"I'm worried you're being very reckless with your life, Ms. Alcott."

"I'm worried you're being very condescending right now," she immediately shot back in a cool and even tone. "Death isn't a possibility, it's inevitable. The twelve-year-old is the one explaining that for some reason."

"Dinah," Triumph exclaimed, filling his role exactly as expected.

"Everyone dies," she replied. "My advice is to stop worrying about it, you'll be worrying all day."

Thomas turned to her mother, saying, "Mrs. Alcott—"

"I didn't realize the Wards came with an immortality clause," Dinah quipped. "It's a wonder Newtype refused to join."

Triumph turned to his aunt, saying, "Aunt Chelsea—"

"Vista is doing fine by the way," Dinah said. Prism and Triumph both looked surprised. "We watch crummy movies together. Still kind of bummed out you all left her to rot."

"We did not leave her to rot," Prism snapped.

Thomas folded his hands together.

That struck a cord with everyone in the room, even Prism. She protested, but only because she desperately wanted it to be untrue. Rationalization can be quite the opiate. Prism getting angry wouldn't help.

After fully considering the options, Thomas started to speak.

Raspberries again.

He stared at the small girl, who stared right back at him with that fire.

This was different. Completely different from before. It wasn't simply a matter of tempering herself and controlling her fear.

You need to let this go.

Thomas smoldered. Another useful aspect of his power. He could let his anger dissipate in a snap-shot and emerge much calmer.

He'd almost swear she was trying to anger him.

"If we're done acting like babies," Dinah said, sipping from her mug again. "Can we talk about my concerns?"

"Your concerns?" Prism asked.

"Yes."

Thomas frowned, saying, "Ms. Alcott, you—"

"Why is a villain working for the PRT as a Deputy Director?" she asked. Her eyes fixed on Calvert.

The room paused.

It seems you've been found out.

Impossible.

Thomas took a snap-shot, more for time than anything.

Triumph and Prism were both confused of course. Disbelieving. The human capacity to ignore the obvious would pay off there.

But the Alcotts…

They were most certainly unsurprised. Not even shocked. They were angry. At him. The fear he sensed before. He misread it. They weren't afraid for their daughter because of Newtype. They were afraid because of him.

She told them.

How? How long had she known? The entire time? Did she know about Francis' power? His? The ability to see other timelines. Did that mean she could see into Francis' power and know what they were doing?

If she knew all along, had she controlled the nature of the conversation from long before they sat down at the table? Days? Weeks? Months?

She sees you.

She couldn't see any of them. It was impossible. Teacher's power made everyone under its effect invisible to precognition.

Not in this timeline.

Thomas paused.

He knew the kind of man he was. There were no delusions there. In another world, in another time, would he be any different?

"You outed Taylor," she accused. "That was a dick move."

You've been found out.

Dinah raised her mug one last time. "You know how Newtype feels about that."

She saw him and she knew. She saw his character. His nature. Did he make the same choices in every timeline? Similar choices? Every time?

That's why she was always so afraid. So easily pushed around. And she wasn't afraid anymore.

That's what Contessa was doing. She knew Dinah Alcott knew. She knew that if she pointed the finger just right, Thomas Calvert would be revealed. She only needed to twist everything in the city around and—

Goodbye, Thomas.

A click behind him, and the door started to open.

"That's it," Dinah pointed out. "Right there. That little niggle in the back of your skull. That spark of absolute unknowing." She leaned back into her seat and tipped. "That's how scary possibility is."

She turned the mug around.

"It's like the monster under the bed, though. The idea of it is far scarier than the reality. It's just a noise in the night or a shadow on the wall. A mundane thing. Nothing to fret over."

"Deputy Director."

Thomas turned, noticing for the first time the absence of a familiar presence and feeling a sudden confusion about how he'd gotten into the room.

Armsmaster looked down at him.

"I have to ask you to come with me," the hero demanded. "And answer some questions about why you've manipulated the phone records of a Boston Ward as well as your own phone records."

And all eyes in the room turned on Thomas Calvert, who realized he didn't know what was happening.

Dinah Alcott set her mug down.

"Thank you for the hot chocolate."