A Business Meeting.

There was no lurch and no whine of motors. The elevator car was the size of a dentist's waiting-room, and not dissimilar in its decor, but it was almost totally silent in operation and so smooth that there was barely any sense of motion at all. Alphonso Payton, Sky Captain, paced up and down, hands clasped behind his back, tail drooping downwards and ears back in an attitude of anxiety. He was wearing his one and only suit; a brown two-piece with a dark red tie, and trousers tailored for his oddly-jointed legs.

His companions, also dressed in formal clothing, sat in the minimally-upholstered chairs. Casandra was wearing a slightly frumpy-looking women's power-suit in navy blue in an effort to look a little older, but which ironically made her look like a girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothes, and was fidgeting with the skirt, a garment she hardly ever wore. Stephen had stuffed himself into a bespoke, three-piece suit, his over-muscled frame looking like he'd explode out of the sleeves if he flexed his arms too hard. The vapour-tinker still had his nebuliser mask on, with the hose disappearing into his jacket, where a bulge at his side showed where his gas dispenser was worn, and a large, metal carrying case rested between his feet.

The ride down to the city streets was only a couple of minutes; a soft, electronic chime signalling their arrival as the enormous elevator stopped just a foot or so off the grass of a small park. The whole front of the room opened horizontally as the doors slid apart, wrapping around the sides of the car. They stood, Stephen hoisted his case without any apparent effort, and Alphonso grabbed a patent-leather briefcase from the chair where he'd left it. As the three capes stepped down onto the ground, Alphonso turned around and took a small device out of his pocket. He pointed it at the elevator, which hung by a tree-trunk thick hydraulic arm from the gargantuan underbelly of the Iron Cloud half a mile above them, almost filling the sky from horizon to horizon, and pressed a button. The little widget made a double beep and the elevator closed and began to re-ascend.

A large, black limousine was waiting for them outside the little grassy area with a uniformed driver ready to open the doors for them. The vehicle rocked as Stephen squeezed inside and plopped down on the plush seats, he dropped his aluminium case back between his feet with a heavy thud and sat ducked with his head between his shoulders. Alphonso's leg jiggled constantly as he opened up his briefcase, re-checking the contents for the eighteenth time since he'd packed it at the crack of dawn.

"Nervous?" Asked Stephen sarcastically, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket and fiddling with it with surprising dexterity for a man whose thumbs were almost a quarter the size of the screen.

"Of course I am! Why aren't you?" The dog-man just barely managed to keep himself from snapping at his associate. "You've got even more riding on this than I do!"

Stephen shrugged as best he could given the lack of room.

"Panicking won't help."

"It's not a conscious decision!... And I'm not panicking!"

The big man pulled his mask off over his head and held it out toward the canine mutant.

"You want a hit of something? I've got some very mild sedatives. Nothing that'll make you too loopy."

"No. Thank you."

Casandra looked up from her own phone.

"Yo! Can I get some?"

"Sure"

As his partners passed the mask back and forth, Alphonso looked out of the tinted windows at the grim, decaying city-scape of Brockton Bay rolling past. Here and there small teams of Casandra's robots could be seen, painted in day-glow green with fluorescent orange accents like a hi-viz jacket, sweeping streets and doing road maintenance. The contract with the city council had been hashed out over a video conference call. It was the standard way Casandra made money wherever the Iron Cloud went. There had been protests from the local municipal workers' unions, there always were, but here in Brockton Bay the city services were overstretched and then some, and once it was made clear that the robots were supplemental to, rather than replacing, the human workforce the dissenting voices had quieted down. There had been a little vandalism against the machines, but it was well within accepted parameters. Certainly better than what had happened down in Rio. Vivid memories of smashed robots impaled on long poles being carried like banners by hordes of screaming, heavily armed protestors throwing Molotovs left and right crossed his mind. It'd be a cold day in hell before he took the Cloud back to Brazil, that was for sure.

Shortly, the limo pulled up outside of an imposing double sky-scraper. The towers had a vaguely organic shape, wrapped around each other like twin trees that had grown too close together, and the broader lower levels were open to the sky, with little gardens and mini-parks. A doorman was waiting for them, and opened the limousine doors. If he was remotely phased by the sight of a dog man and a gorilla-sized mountain of muscle climbing out of the vehicle he didn't show it. Cassandra accepted the man's hand and demurely hopped out of the car.

There was a concrete arch overhanging the huge, glass front doors to provide shelter for people pulling up to the building in poor weather, and beyond was a large, open-air lobby area between the towers, overlooked by the balconies of the garden levels. Sheltered under one of these balconies was the front desk; a broad, marble-fronted affair manned by half-a-dozen immaculately groomed women in razor-sharp business-wear, each of whom was talking on a head-set in a different language. As the trio approached a red-head flickered her fingers over the computer key-board in front of her.

"Tack för att du ringer till Umbrella Corporation. Vänta bara ett ögonblick." She pushed a button on the side of her head-set and turned to the new arrivals with a big, plastic, customer-service smile. "Hello, welcome to the Umbrella building, how can I help you?"

Alphonso cleared his throat.

"Uh, hi, we're Captain Payton and associates, here for our ten-thirty."

The woman clacked at her keyboard for a few seconds.

"Ah, yes, I'll let Ms. Fractal know you're here. If you'd like to take a seat?" She gestured to a line of over-designed seats against the wall. "Can we get you something? Tea? Coffee? Water?"

"No thanks."

"I'll take a coffee!" Piped up Casandra. "Extra milk and four sugars, please."

"Black tea, no sugar." Added Stephen.

"We'll get those right to you." The woman turned back to her computer screen and touched the button on her head-set again. "Tack för att du väntar, hur kan jag styra ditt samtal?...."

֎֍ ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ ֍֎

One of the chromed elevator doors slid open and out stepped a woman in a vest, blazer and a short skirt, carrying an electronic pad. Her skin was so black that she appeared to be a walking silhouette, apart from her head, where her 'hair' billowed like black smoke, and an illuminated rainbow pattern sparkled where her face should have been. Fractal, one of the Umbrella corporation's highest ranking executives. She walked up to the three parahumans sitting in the lobby.

"Hello," Her voice was surprisingly normal, although her 'face' pattern shifted and scintillated as she spoke. "Sky Captain? And I assume these are Robo Girl and Roid Rage?"

Cassandra chugged the last of her coffee, grimacing as the piping-hot liquid burned her throat.

"Huk! Gak! Uh, yeah, you don't have to use our cape names if you don't want to." She choked out.

Fractal reached out to shake each of their hands.

"Oh, would you prefer to use your civilian names?"

"Whatever works for you, really!" Alphonso smiled as he shook the extended vanta-black hand. Her skin felt as warm and soft as anyone else's'. She was quite shapely, and even pretty, for a given definition of the word.

"Right," Fractal retrieved her hand. "We generally use our formal titles here, we find it creates a more professional working atmosphere."

Stephen abandoned his half-finished paper cup of tea, and stood up as he briefly enveloped fractal's hand in his grasp.

"Shall we get on with it? We don't want to take up any more of your time than necessary." He released her hand and hefted his case.

"Yes, certainly. Follow me, please."

֎֍ ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ ֍֎

The test chamber was a large, empty, sterile room, like a semiconductor clean-room the size of a large high-school gymnasium. As they entered, Fractal jabbed at her tablet and twelve of the two-foot-square tiles rose up to waist height on multi-jointed hydraulic arms. They formed a two-by-three configuration, creating a table in the middle of the otherwise empty space.

"Please." Fractal gestured towards the raised surface as the heavy-looking steel doors hissed closed behind them. It took a few moments for them to walk up to the table in awkward silence, their footsteps echoing around the huge, empty room. There was a loud clank as Stephen dropped his case on the table. His big sausage-thumbs flipped the catches and it unfolded revealing an array of objects strapped to the interior.

Alphonso likewise placed his briefcase on the table and opened it up. He lifted out a manilla envelope and pulled out a few sheets of paper. He cleared his throat and launched into the practised spiel.

"Ahem. Aboard the Iron Cloud we have formulated a number of products with considerable retail potential. While we have both arr-and-dee facilities and large-scale fabrication capabilities, what we lack is Umbrella's distribution network and industry contacts, which is where you come in." He made a gesture towards Fractal.

"Now, you may be wondering 'what can you possibly have for resale? Everybody knows Tinker-tech needs regular maintenance and cannot be mass-produced!' Now this is true, but there are work-arounds. My personal specialisation encompasses the production of so-called 'super-materials'. I am able to produce these in large quantities, and while they do deteriorate without maintenance overseen by me personally, they can last for months on their own before they degrade to the point of uselessness, and I have formulated materials which safely degrade into largely harmless substances rather than, say highly radioactive or carcinogenic ones. Take, for example, this armoured vest…." He frantically waived his hand at Stephen signalling the big man to lift out what appeared to be a standard military flak vest. "If you would care to inspect it?" He gesticulated more, imploring Stephen to hand the vest to Fractal.

She took the vest with both hands, but it was light enough that she could easily hold it with just one.

"If you have a target?" Inquired Alphonso.

"Of course." Fractal prodded at the tablet again, and several of the white tiles on the far wall parted, making a door-shaped hole. A robotic target mannequin marched through, its ceramic skeleton showing through its translucent ballistic-gel pseudo-flesh. Stephen buckled the vest onto the robot while Alphonso picked a large revolver out of the unfolded case. Behind him Casandra lifted out ear protectors and handed them around. Alphonso pulled his specially-designed protectors over his ears and thumbed a large round into the chamber.

"Forty-four magnum." He explained. He flipped off the safety and took aim for a moment. The gun discharged with a sharp crack, Alphonso's shoulders jerked with the recoil, and the robot flinched as the shot struck home. The dog man secured the firearm and gestured towards the target.

"Care to take a look?"

Fractal walked up to the robot and observed that the squashed bullet was stuck in the kevlar laminate, but the plate underneath wasn't even scratched.

"Not bad, but I assume the demonstration isn't over?" She gestured towards the unfolded case, where a shotgun, an automatic rifle and a larger, disassembled weapon could be observed. "As much as I enjoy watching these sorts of demonstrations, shall we skip straight to the grand finale?"

"Oh, uh, yes, of course." Stuttered Alphonso. There followed a couple of minutes of fussing as both he and Stephen put together what very quickly became apparent as an anti-material rifle. A shell nearly as long as a man's forearm was loaded, and a bipod was required to aim the weapon properly.

"Ready?" Called alphonso from his position on the floor, with the stock braced against his shoulder.

Everyone assented and the room was filled with an eruption of thunder. The rifle kicked hard and the robot was thrown backwards for several feet, landing on its back and skidding across the floor bleeding off momentum until it gently bumped its head on the opposite wall. It twitched as it tried to return to its feet, but the internal damage was too much.

While the rifle was being re-secured Fractal pulled off her ear protectors and made her way over to the downed target dummy, swiping and tapping at her tablet as she went. She bent down and poked at the vest.

"Well, there's no penetration, the plate isn't even deformed from what I can see, although the telemetry from the robot indicates his insides would be soup from the impact. Still, that's pretty impressive. And you say it degrades over how long?"

Alphonso's right arm was limp at his side, still numb from firing the rifle, and his shoulder burned with pain. He rubbed at it with his other hand.

"Uh, it starts to lose tensile strength after about six weeks, and it degrades completely in about four months."

"Hmm, built-in obsolescence. That's always good. Per unit cost of production?"

Alphonso flipped through his papers with his good arm. A few of them fluttered to the floor.

"I, ah, that is, let's see… with materials and processing costs, uhm… for just the plates? about six dollars, give or take."

He reached for the unfolded case and plucked out a small, 'L'-shaped plastic device with a little red cross on the side. It looked very much like an asthma inhaler, and was loaded with a little pressurised canister in the top. Using his good arm, Alphonso put the inhaler in his mouth and pressed down on the canister with his thumb. There was a sharp hiss and Alphonso inhaled, almost immediately his shoulder felt better and some feeling returned to his arm.

"Just as well I brought some spares for the demo." Remarked Stephen.

"Sorry, my shoulder was killing me."

Fractal returned to the table.

"Ah, that must be the healing gas we've heard so much about?"

Stephen spoke up.

"Yeah, that's my little magnum opus. Grants low-level regeneration powers. Shelf-life of about one month, two if it's refrigerated. Becomes mildly toxic once it expires, but nothing super lethal."

"Cost per unit?"

"For a one-use dose like the captain just used? About a-hundred-and-fifty bucks."

"And you have other power gases as well, correct?"

"Uh-huh. I don't think it'll work on one of your robots, though."

"Aha, yes, of course. We are prepared for this, one moment."

Another door-shape opened amongst the tiles of the far wall, and this time a few nervous-looking youngsters shuffled in wearing slacks and polo shirts that screamed 'interns'. They reluctantly trudged their way up to the table, glancing fearfully at the downed robot still twitching on the floor as they passed.

"Don't worry kids, the firearms demo has finished. We don't need any more targets" Joked Stephen. No-one laughed. Fractal addressed them.

"We're activating clause sixty-six, section six of your contracts, and we're invoking a level four non-disclosure agreement, which applies to anything that happens in this room." She turned back to Stephen. "Carry on."

"Right. Here kid, catch." He threw another inhaler, this one with a little winged foot printed on the side to a young man with a fauxhawk. The intern looked at the device suspiciously.

"Go on." instructed Fractal.

The young man placed the inhaler in his mouth and depressed the little canister.

"Now," Said Stephen, "Take a flying leap."

The intern hesitated for a few seconds, then took a few quick steps and leaped high into the air, sailing so high he almost brushed his head on the high ceiling, and hit the wall at the far end of the room, falling to the floor. Apparently unhurt, he clambered back to his feet with a huge grin on his face. With a whoop he launched himself again and leaped right to the other end of the room, he jumped straight up and slapped one of the lights panels, causing the fluorescent strip within to flicker.

"THIS IS AMAZING!!" he yelled as he bounced off the walls.

"Alright, Sean, calm down." Fractal reprimanded him. "Remember you're financially liable for any damage you cause."

This sobered up the young man somewhat, although he still had a huge smile as he bounded back into line with the group.

"I think this one will be popular." Stephen tossed an inhaler to a plain, dumpy girl. The plastic had a picture of a stylised pair of lips surrounded by hearts on the side.

The girl grabbed the inhaler and huffed on it immediately. She gasped and ran her hands down her sides as she grew by several inches, her waist shrank to the point that she was obliged to grab her trousers to prevent them from falling down, her breasts swelled to twice their original size causing her to grab at her bra under her clothes as it was suddenly painfully tight. Her facial features morphed; her cheek-bones raised, her jaw narrowed and her lips plumped up. Her hair turned from mousey-brown to golden blonde and tumbled down past her shoulders. She was still just about recognisably her, but an idealised version of her. The 'her' she might have secretly wished to have been.

"Very impressive!" Said Fractal as the girl finally succeeded in unhooking her bra and gasped for air. "How long does the effect last?"

"About twenty-four hours." Replied Stephen. "This one keeps for about six months though. No refrigeration required, and it breaks down into basically just water. Fewer impurities than tap-water, it's one of my safest concoctions. Unit production cost of about forty dollars American, before you ask."

"Now that we can work with! We're excited to license the healing gas, of course, and the disposable armour plates might have a niche, but this could really be a money spinner! Any side-effects from protracted use?"

"Same as all my stuff. Headaches, nosebleeds, disorientation, nausea, maybe worse if you don't stop at that point, but you'd have to go really heavy on it. Use multiple gases per day, every day for a week straight."

"Hmm, we'll have to get legal to take a look at that, probably the F.D.A. might want to stick their oar in, but I think we can work with this, I really do." At that moment her tablet made a beeping noise. Glancing down at it she tutted. "Tch! Well, I'm sorry to cut this short, and much as I'd like to see what you were going to do to the rest of the interns there's a minor emergency I need to attend to. Still, I think I've got a good idea of the sort of thing you guys have to offer, and I'll pass all the relevant info along to Doctor Kharnigore. If you can leave the gas samples, and the details of anything else you feel is ready for commercial distribution and I'll go over it later with the Doctor." Alphonso handed her a thick sheaf of papers from his briefcase as she ushered them and the interns out of the test chamber. Stephen hurriedly dumped out the rest of his gas samples on the table, and folded the case back up as he too was shooed out.

"Michelle here will show you out, and thanks for coming, we'll be in touch!" and with that Fractal jogged off down the corridor, leaving them with one of the interns, the girl who had used the cosmetic transformative, evidently named Michelle. She looked at Stephen.

"So this wears off in a day, right? Is there… is there any way you could hook me up with a supply?"

֎֍ ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ ֍֎

The office was huge, with a ceiling easily twenty feet high. The furniture, too, had been constructed on a super-human scale. Its tastefully modern appurtenances were dwarfed by the twelve-foot long couch, and the massive, brushed aluminium desk in front of the huge, floor-to-ceiling window was almost the size of the fifties diner-car it vaguely resembled. Still, the scale made sense when one saw the reptilian titan sitting behind the desk in an ergonomic chair designed to hold the occupant's mighty form.

Laid out on the desk was a chaotic scatter of papers and small plastic inhalers. The towering figure behind the multiple square yards of gleaming brushed aluminium peered down at the items. A long-fingered, clawed hand plucked up another sheet, and slitted pupils dilated as inhuman eyes focused on the fine print and tiny diagrams. The angular, armoured snout swept from side-to-side as Doctor Kharnigore scanned the document. She paused for a moment. She re-read the last few lines. Another clawed finger dragged a different sheet towards her over the desk-top as she hunted for the referenced graph. Other papers fell to the floor like autumn leaves unnoticed as she hunted through the papers with renewed purpose.

Finally, she seized on the papers she needed, flicking her eyes from one to the other, then slapped them back down on the table and turned her attention to the inhalers. With a dexterity which belied her size, she plucked them from the desk and examined each one until she found the one she sought. One stamped with a multi-coloured eye with a spiral pattern on the iris. She ran her claw down the list on the paper to confirm its contents.

"Power vision." She rumbled to herself, running her claw across the spreadsheet to the details column. "Visually perceive the powers of parahumans. Caution, still in experimental phase." The corners of her mouth curled up and teeth like the jagged edge of a two-man lumber saw glistened in the light as she smiled. She pressed one of the buttons on the desk's built-in control panel.

"Fractal? Prep test chamber two-thirty-three and send in some interns would you? I'm going to conduct some experiments personally."