Massive Disaster II-5

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  The low thrum of voices and laughter from the living room filtered up through the cracked door, a distant pulse under the quiet hum of his bedroom. Zedd stared at himself in the mirror, his hair washed, conditioned and combed out to curl instead of coil.

  Christmas Eve. His first one off Earth.

  The thought tried to stick, but he shoved it aside, fingers fussing with his collar. Too formal? Too casual? What the hell was this supposed to be? Party or interrogation? His brain kept jumping tracks, which felt about right.

  From below, Dev's voice floated up, loud, something about drinks and ice. Kira's sharp laugh cut through it, quick and familiar. Too quick, actually. Someone's started early. The looseness in their voices made his chest knot up for no good reason. Felt like he was already a step behind the beat.

  His fingers twitched, brushing over his omni-tool. The itch flared—could tweak the haptic relay, fine-tune the diagnostics, do something. Days since he'd finished the hammer, days of actual sleep, and his brain still hadn't powered down. His thumb hovered over the interface—

  Footsteps, soft but steady. His chest knew before his eyes did.

  "Hi, big man."

  She filled the doorway, the red dress hitting him first; soft, effortless, but cut sharp enough to make his mouth dry out. The way it clung, the way it—damn. Her hair, too—loose curls that looked like they just happened, which meant they definitely hadn't. He'd watched her cuss out styling programs enough times to know better.

  "My parents just got here," Nina said, her voice a low, warm thread, that soft Miami lilt brushing the edges. Her eyes swept him once, lazy but landing. A corner of her mouth tugged up. "You hiding all night or you gonna come show off?"

  Zedd tugged at his tie, dry sarcasm kicking in on reflex. "Dunno if I'm ready for the whole meet-the-parents thing. Think I should've worn armor."

  The tie was perfect. So was the fit considering he'd had it tailored yesterday. Sweater vest sharp, shirt crisp. Fresh fade, lines so clean they could cut. Even his shoes were spotless, which felt wrong, somehow.

  Too clean.

  Nina closed the space in three easy steps, rising up to kiss him. His hands found her waist, familiar, easy. Hers pressed against his chest, heat through the fabric. His eyes flicked sideways and he caught the both of them in the mirror. The caramel warmth of her skin against his. His dark frame, hers leaning into his like they were built that way.

  The room stretched out behind them in cold, clean lines. Desk clear, terminal screens inactive but ready, waiting. Blueprints filled the wall, held up by invisible mass-effect tethers instead of pins. All perfect.

  The bed behind her was just as neat and made to precision. He still made hospital corners without thinking.

  Muscle memory didn't argue with grief.

  Nina's fingers played with his tie, the touch light but intentional. She eased back, settling on the edge of the bed, her eyes lifting to his with a flicker of something unreadable. "We could always be... fashionably late," she offered, voice dipping into that warm, teasing note.

  The suggestion sat thick in the air, carrying more than just words. She wasn't just baiting. She was offering. If he moved, she'd move too.

  Zedd felt the heat coil low, and for half a breath, the room narrowed to her. But he caught the glint in her eye, playful, yes, but not only. A challenge.

  "Nice try." He broke the tension with a half-grin, extending a hand to her instead. "C'mon, let's go meet your folks. Promise I won't tell 'em about the time you tried rewiring a coupling bare-handed."

  Her face crinkled, mock-wounded. "That was one time," she shot back, her accent slipping a little more. "And you swore-"

  "Swore it'd never leave the room. I lied." He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Besides, it's a good story. You should've seen Elias's face when you tripped the breaker."

  "You are terrible," she huffed, but her laughter was real this time, warm and easy. She tugged his hand, trying to pull him forward.

  The tightness in his chest didn't break, but it slipped, just a little. His thumb brushed over her knuckles,a thoughtless, familiar thing. Habit.

  Her smile softened and, for a second, his gut twisted.

  The mention of her parents hadn't landed clean.

  She saw it, he knew she did, but she didn't press.

  Her fingers tightened once, then let go.

  "Let's go," she said, and he followed her lead toward the stairs.

  As he moved, his eyes flicked sideways—caught the desk drawer, slightly open. Inside, a datapad blinked softly. The schematics on-screen—Thunder Hammer Mark III—unfinished.

  Later, he told himself.

  Right now, he had parents to charm.

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  The air was thick—voices, music, the faint buzz of omni-tools—everything bouncing off the glass walls like the whole house was humming. Dev's playlist hit somewhere between beats and static, those Neo-Mumbai remixes bleeding into the chatter.

  Zedd's space felt... invaded. Full of life, sure.

  But too full.

  Nina's father was mid-story—mid his third story, actually —something about rolling blackouts back in Miami Arcology. His voice carried that slow, heavy drawl from a man who'd worked with his hands long before he started giving orders. Vowels clipped, consonants sharp, his accent hitting every word like it had to land. His hands did half the talking, slicing the air as he switched from English to Spanish without stopping for breath.

  Zedd nodded where he was supposed to. Let the mask drop into place; attentive, interested, a little amused. It was muscle memory now. Meetings with colony heads the past month taught him that look. Trust me. I'm listening. I care. Not a lie—the technical part was actually kinda fascinating. But his eyes kept sliding to the glass door leading to his basement.

  That second payment sat in escrow. First half already cleared and banked. And down there, locked tight under the floor—

  "You listening, mijo?"

  Zedd's gaze flicked back up.

  "Sorry, sir. Just… work on my mind." Smooth. Polished. Slid out with barely a catch.

  Manuel Herra's eyes, dark and steady, took the excuse and measured it. The squat man didn't call him on it. Didn't have to.

  The crash from the kitchen hit sharp, a sudden glassy shatter that spun every head.

  "Shit-" Tommy froze, grin wide and guilty above the wreckage of what used to be a glass. "My bad! I got it, I got it! Water treatment teaches you all about proper chemical disposal—"

  "It's water," Adele muttered, never looking up from her datapad. "Get a towel."

  Dev's laugh cracked across the room. "Yo! Someone cut this man off before he starts breaking down the molecular structure of paper towels."

  Zedd's lips twitched, some of the tension in his chest bleeding out. Caleb was already rounding the counter with a towel—of course he was. Guy moved on autopilot when it came to cleaning up other people's messes.

  Hub discipline. Elias made sure of that.

  And there the old man was, easy in the corner, half-lost in the chair he'd claimed, the glass of amber in his hand looking a little too real to be synthetic. His eyes were still sharp, though, always watching.

  Not a damn thing missed.

  "Work," Reina Herra's voice cut in, brisk and pointed, carrying over the hum without raising a note. Her accent softer than her husband's, but faster, words chasing each other to the finish line. "Such a big house for 'work.'" Her eyes were sharp, assessing— just like mom's —scanned the room, landing everywhere, on everything. "When's the last time you took my Nina somewhere nice?"

  Zedd felt the shift before Nina answered, the quick, hard snap in her voice. "Mama." Miami accent crisp and tight as she spoke through gritted teeth. "He's busy. We're busy. He's planning something big. Tell them, babe."

  Her hand brushed his knee and her eyes hit his, full of that silent go on.

  Dev's grin sharpened. "Yeah, man, spill. You've been real mysterious lately. Won't even tell me what's cooking, and I'm supposed to be his best friend." His eyes narrowed with mock suspicion. "Kinda shady, if you ask me."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  From the couch, Kira sprawled long and lazy, boots kicked up on his coffee table because she always pushed the line. "Yeah," she said, slow, drawling, the warmth stripped down to something almost brittle, "like they'd let you arrest him even if you wanted to." Her eyes cut to Zedd, sharp, flickering.

  Their gazes met and held for half a second, before breaking apart.

  "Bet it's explosions," Tommy called out from the kitchen, grin back in place. "Nina said she heard weird noises last week."

  "That was probably just-" Caleb started, but Tommy elbowed him, cutting him short.

  "Nah, let him keep his secrets," Kira murmured, the blonde girl's blue eyes still locked on her glass, voice slow, careful as she did her best not to slur. "Probably just patching up busted omni-tools again. That's his thing, right?"

  That last shot? Aimed with precision. Straight through the ribs. Kira rarely missed. The jab wasn't for him, though.

  It was for Nina.

  But Zedd felt it the way he knew Nina did, dull and sour, sitting low in his chest. The words had been a joke from Nina during the late birthday party Kira had thrown for him as a 'surprise' he had already long figured out. Kira hadn't taken the joke all too well, even though he hadn't been bothered by it, but she hadn't said anything back then at least.

  His girlfriend's fingers tightened on his knee; a quick, warm pulse. She didn't look at Kira, didn't rise to it. "He's reopening his repair shop," she answered for him instead, her voice smooth, steady, certain. Her thumb brushed over his knuckle, and the warmth of it settled something restless under his skin. "Right, babe?"

  Her certainty hit worse than a punch. His thumb skimmed his omni-tool, the itch rising sharp—check something, fix something, just do something. ADAM was downstairs, probably already running simulations, waiting for him to stop circling and move.

  "Actually…" His voice scraped rough.

  But Tommy crashed through, loud and grinning. "'Bout time!" The glass disaster was already forgotten, judging by the excitement in his voice. "Water plant's got three recyclers busted since the four-eyes landed. Figured we'd be waiting on Terminus parts, but-"

  Caleb, half-swayed by the buzz, waved his glass. "Hub could use you too. Elias won't say it, but-"

  From the corner, Elias spoke up, voice low. "Boy knew what he was doing. Most days."

  Then Dev spoke up. "So… new shop, but you're parked all the way out here?" He gestured wide at the steel and glass. "Math ain't mathing, bro."

  Miguel Herra leaned forward, eyes weighting the air. "Your friend's got a point. Who's trekking to the edge of Providence for a patch job?" His voice carried more than curiosity.

  Judgment.

  Zedd felt it. Felt all of them. The room pulled still,Kira's eyes on him, sharp and waiting. Nina's hand, warm but tightening on his knee.

  Fuck it.

  "Not just repairs." The words hit, rough and final. "Think bigger."

  The air—tightened. Dev's grin faltered. Reina's brow lifted.

  "Bigger how?" Her voice, fast, clipped.

  Zedd pushed up. Couldn't sit. Couldn't hold still. He paced, the black glass of the lake pulling his eyes. His reflection—thin, tight, too much and not enough—floated against the night sky.

  His voice broke, low but gaining heat. "Colony life's a gamble. Gangs. Pirates. Raiders. They hit us because they can. Because we're out here holding the line with civ-grade tech and crossed fingers."

  His hand flexed—his chest burned. The glass blurred his face, but he felt his own eyes—too wide, too raw.

  "The Alliance?" His voice cracked—he didn't care. "They've got their wars. They can't be everywhere. And the militia—" His throat locked. "They try. But they're outgunned. Outmatched. And it's always—too late."

  Elias's glass shifted—Zedd heard it. Felt the old man watching.

  "So—" His voice surged, faster, harder. "We stop patching holes and start building walls. Kinetic grids. Smart defenses. Shields that hold. Weapons that hit back."

  His fist hit his palm, the sound sharp in the air. "And that's—still not enough."

  The room felt too close. The walls too tight. But the words—kept pushing, spilling, picking up steam he couldn't stop—

  "We build better. Faster. Smarter. And we don't beg Earth for scraps or wait for some Alliance handout. We do it ourselves."

  His voice—ragged now. "Because the people out here—the ones living on the edge? They don't need Earth's damn leftovers and Earth's problems. They need solutions that work."

  He swallowed, voice breaking back sharp. "So,,, Victory Innovations." His chest heaved, and the name landed like a fist. "Research. Development. Engineering. Not what Earth thinks the colonies need. What we know we do."

  His eyes dragged the room and caught Nina's, wide and searching. "You're not reopening the shop," she said, low.

  "No, babe," His voice was firm and steady now. "I'm building something bigger."

  Miguel's voice came, heavy and weighted. "With what?"

  "I've got contracts on the table." Zedd's voice landed low, clipped. "Credits in the account. Just waiting on the signature," He gestured around with one hand. "Shen-Abraham didn't give me this house just because of what I did, but what he knows I can do."

  Miguel's eyes sharpened. "And then what?"

  Zedd's fingers curled at his sides. "Then…" The word caught. He dragged a breath. "Then we build. Because, you know what colonies get from Earth, old man?" His voice roughened, heat climbing through his chest. "Leftovers. The stuff that's too old, too slow, or too damn expensive to fix. Half our defense grid isn't even shielded to military standards." His jaw ticked.

  The room shifted as Dev straightened up and Kira's stare narrowed. The air felt loaded.

  Elias stared at him, whisky forgotten even as the tumbler was held right under his nose. "Kid?"

  But the words once cracked loose kept rolling. "The rest? Either sold at a huge markup or left to rot." He clicked his tongue, frustration building as he tried to avoid raising his voice. "Getting shipments out here's just halfway impossible because it's too long going from the Citadel relay and going through the Terminus relays is faster but it means it'll probably end up raided or "lost", not to mention the cost of hazard pay."

  Kira's voice hit, slow and edged, "You're serious." She leaned forward in her chair, feet finally off the coffee table. "Actually serious," she said again.

  Zedd's breath pulled sharp. "Shen-Abraham's a fucking trillionaire. Entire colony was built from his pocket and even he's not allowed the good shit, for whatever reason."

  Reina's voice came soft and distracted. "Language."

  "I know what colonies need… because I live it. I've bled for it. Defense anywhere past the Verge? It's a joke. Eezo's more expensive than Asari blood, and it goes critical… just too fucking often. Not to mention that half the crap we get—" Zedd's voice hit harder, angrier—"isn't built for us. It's built for their old wars. Their obsolete fleets. Their soldiers. And we're supposed to survive on that?"

  He shook his head.

  "So, why the hell shouldn't we fix that?" His throat burned, but the words kept coming, louder, pushing. "Why shouldn't we be the ones to build better?" His voice cracked a little as he stared off at nothing, the people in the room barely existing as he kept talking, more to himself than anyone else. "Why shouldn't I?"

  The silence roared.

  Then, from the kitchen.

  Tommy.

  "…Making the galaxy safe," he said, quiet. A whisper.

  More keeping humanity safe, but sure, why not? Zedd's throat loosened as his voice dropped, scraped from somewhere too deep. "Yeah." His chest shook. "Exactly."

  His breath was raw as he shook his head. "Not just surviving. Not just scraping by."

  His voice hit, jagged and undeniable. "I'm gonna build something that matters."

  The silence was thick. Weighted. The room holding its breath.

  And then—

  Dev stood up.

  "FUCK YEAH!"