Tommy, already flexing his gauntlets like he was about to suplex a tree, let out a scoff like Zedd hadn't had to let out the torso of his prototype to adjust for his gut. "Would we ever?"
Adele did look up at that. Not fast. Deliberate, though, the look just enough to let him feel it. "Do you want me to answer that honestly, or do you want to keep your fragile male ego intact?"
Zedd smirked a few feet away with his arms crossed, omnitool interface floating in the HUD of his aviators, performance diagnostics flickering through his peripheral. "Alright, wrap it up, mother hen. Let's get this moving."
The field to the left of his manor stretched wide in front of them, a dry expanse of windblown grass and compact dirt, sloping toward the cliffs where the ocean churned, distant but constant, the smell of salt carried on the air. No structures. No cover. Nothing to break when something went catastrophically wrong. And something always did.
Zedd tracked telemetry from the three active suits, eyes flicking between balance ratios, servo responsiveness, combat movement diagnostics. Dev ran through his drills with the fluid efficiency of someone who actually trained for this shit, shifting through sprint-dodge-cover cycles with his unloaded rifle, movements crisp and measured. Kira tested the jump-assist boots, launching across uneven terrain, her form sharp, precise. Tommy, predictably, was testing strength augmentation the only way he knew how—seeing how much shit he could lift before something snapped.
Zedd's fingers tapped idly against his bicep. Numbers looked stable.
"Alright, so," he called, flicking through the telemetry feed. "Nobody's dead yet. That's a good start."
"Yet," Kira shot back, rolling her shoulders. Servo-assisted joints flexed seamlessly with her movements. Almost too seamlessly. Zedd's brow furrowed.
She crouched, then launched. The localized kinesis field flared beneath her boots, brief but controlled, boosting her up 2.5 times baseline. She landed smoothly—mostly. A fraction of a second delay, a slight wobble on impact, her boots skidding just enough before she corrected.
She frowned. "Feels like there's mid-air drift."
Zedd barely looked up. "User's just overcompensating."
Kira's glare was immediate. Sharp. "Oh, bite me."
Zedd smirked, but didn't argue. Because he was right. The kinesis field wasn't generating anomalous turbulence. If anything, she was fighting it. Human instinct told people to adjust mid-air, but the suit was already compensating. She was working against it.
Still. Worth noting for the user manual.
"Dev, how's the response time?"
Dev didn't slow. Still movin with the sort of militia training and natural athleticism that the lunkhead made his theme. Sprint. Dodge. Cover. Momentum sharp, footwork clean. Not superhuman-fast, but enhanced in the way that mattered.
"Decent," he called, pivoting into a sprint before skidding into a hard stop. "Not restrictive. Could use better side-roll compensation, though."
Adele, still perched by the med case, let out a slow exhale. "Just don't dislocate your spine proving a point, okay?"
Tommy, lifting what was probably too much weight, barked a laugh. "You wound me, doc."
"No, that'll be the recoil when you inevitably eat shit," Adele deadpanned, adjusting the settings on her omnitool. "And I was talking to my man, Tommy."
Kira, still testing the boosters, side-eyed Zedd as she adjusted her stance. Something smug in her posture. "So, you just gonna stand there pretending you know everything, or you actually gonna run the suit yourself?"
Zedd's smirk widened. "Nah. That's what test dummies are for."
Dev let out a low oof of a laugh. "He means us, bhai."
"Yeah. I got that."
Zedd flicked through another set of readouts, hiding his own smirk. So far, so good. He logged it mentally, fingers already flicking through stabilization data while his brain jumped three steps ahead. Lateral stabilizers. Needed a mod for drift compensation. Kira was overcompensating in mid-air, Dev wanted better roll control, Tommy was… being Tommy.
Zedd sighed, glancing up.
The dumbass was still stacking crates.
"Tommy," Zedd warned, not even bothering to raise his voice. If Tommy had two neurons to rub together, he'd take the hint.
Tommy, predictably, did not take the hint.
"Relax, bossman," he muttered, bracing as the V.E.S.T.'s servos adjusted to the weight. "I got this."
For a second, it looked like he actually did have it.
Then, because the universe had no sense of subtlety, the top crate slipped.
"Shit—"
Zedd's eyes flicked to the suit's impact mitigation readouts. Reaction time was slower than expected, but before he could even process that—
CRACK.
The crate slammed into Tommy's shoulder. The servos struggled, trying to counteract the force too late, and he went down hard, crashing onto one knee with a pained grunt.
Kira winced. "Oof."
Zedd pinched the bridge of his nose. "Congratulations. You've discovered the one thing the suit doesn't effectively compensate for." He let out an actual sigh, shaking his head. "I actually mean that, you're getting a bonus for this. Need to remember that I'm not perfect."
Tommy groaned, rolling his shoulder. "Noted."
Before Tommy had even finished hitting the dirt, Adele was there, scanner in one hand, stabilizer pack in the other, her whole demeanor shifting from exasperated medic mode to mildly inconvenienced but still professional. "Don't move yet." She pressed the scanner to his shoulder, expression smoothing out into that clinical calm she defaulted to when someone did something incredibly stupid, but she was too professional to call them an idiot. "Swelling's already starting. Nothing broken, but you're gonna feel that for a week. Any tingling? Numbness?"
Tommy sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Just regret."
Adele said nothing, just pressed a little harder into the bruised muscle, her expression vaguely judgmental.
"Ow, okay," Tommy hissed. "Mild regret. Strongly noted."
Adele didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, she slapped a localized pain patch onto his shoulder, adjusting his suit's compression levels to counteract the bruising. Fast, efficient, already moving on.
Zedd let out a low exhale, finally looking at the full diagnostics. No catastrophic damage, but the mitigation system lagged. Didn't counteract unexpected vertical force well enough. Could patch it with— He shook his head. Later.
"So, no lawsuit?" he said out loud.
Adele shot him a flat, unimpressed look. "Not unless you keep ignoring basic safety precautions."
Kira, smirking, nudged Tommy's boot with her own. "You alive, big guy?"
Tommy shot her a look, still shifting his shoulder like he could somehow undo the last thirty seconds of his own choices. "Just—" He exhaled, pushing himself upright with only slightly dented dignity. "Maybe let's not put this in the promotional footage."
Zedd snorted. "Yeah, don't think 'prototype nearly murders tester' is a great pitch for funding."
Zedd flicked through the final diagnostics. No structural damage. The suit had worked fine. It just wasn't built to handle dumbassery applied from above. Not unless he bulked up the framework significantly, which wasn't happening.
"Alright," he called out, locking down the test results. "That's enough screwing around. Cooldowns in three. I need feedback before I make adjustments."
The three testers started back toward him, suits syncing seamlessly to their movements—muscle memory kicking in.
Kira popped her helmet seal, peeling it off with a faint hiss, shaking out her hair. A few strands stuck to her forehead, but she ignored them. "Gotta say, Zee. I was expecting worse."
Zedd barely glanced up. "Gee, thanks," he muttered, still skimming diagnostics.
Dev powered down his HUD overlay, stretching like he was shaking off a workout. "Handles well. Feels—" He rotated his shoulder. "—natural, mostly."
"That's the point," Zedd muttered absently, still picking apart the last performance logs.
Adele shoved a hydration pack into Dev's hands with zero hesitation, already moving before he could even blink. "Drink," she said flatly. "Before you dehydrate."
Dev blinked once and processed the tone. Didn't argue. Just drank.
Kira pulled off her gloves, flexing her fingers, eyes flicking between her hands and the joints of the suit. "Joint support actually works better than I thought."
Adele barely glanced at her. "And yet, you still nearly rolled your ankle on that last landing."
Kira scowled. "Rat me out, why don't ya?"
Adele raised a brow. "I'm literally here to make sure you don't snap in half. Maybe don't be so predictable?"
Zedd, not looking up, smirked. "Yeah, Kira. Maybe don't be so predictable."
Kira whipped a glove at his face.
Zedd dodged. Barely.
Tommy smirked. "So when do we get the Mark II?"
Zedd snorted, finally shutting down the test logs. "Get through Mark I first without breaking it, and we'll talk." He raised an eyebrow. "Also, Tommy, I'm paying you to test, not raid my fridge every day."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?
The NA-1 News Studio was a clean, modern space—glass-paneled backdrops, discreet AR overlays scrolling market trends, and a subtle hum of filtered air. Everything designed to look polished. Professional. Controlled.
Nina Herra sat at the sleek interview desk, posture straight, nails tapping once against the smooth surface before she stilled them. The lights were hot, but not unbearable. She had been in the chair for less than thirty seconds, but already, the weight of the moment pressed against her spine.
She could feel the attention.
Across from her, the anchor—a mid-forties man with the carefully curated charm of someone who had been doing this for decades—gave her a practiced smile. He exuded the exact kind of energy she hated dealing with: polite but predatory. Waiting to see if she'd slip.
Nina didn't slip.
The broadcast cut to a polished drone shot of Victory Innovations' latest prototype, the V-Bike—a sleek, streamlined hovercycle currently displayed in a showroom in downtown New Abraham. The camera swept over its reinforced frame, the smooth kinesis-module base, the way it hovered just inches off the platform, utterly effortless.
The anchor turned back to her. "Miss Herra, this is already shaping up to be one of the most anticipated product launches in recent history. Can you tell us a little more about the V-Bike and what makes it such a game-changer?"
Nina smiled, easy and smooth, a lilt curling at the edges of her vowels. "Claro. The V-Bike is designed with the same core kinetic technology found in our other Victory products—the V-Glide, V-Catch, and V-Grip—but scaled for high-speed, low-friction travel. Unlike traditional hoverbikes, it requires no eezo-based propulsion, no artificial gravity dampeners—just smart engineering. No waste, no unstable cores, no risk of mass depletion mid-flight."
She paused just long enough to let that sink in.
The anchor leaned forward, nodding. "That's quite a bold claim, given how integral element zero has been in most modern hover tech."
Nina's expression didn't shift. "We don't deal in claims. We deal in results."
There was a flicker of something behind the anchor's eyes—approval? Annoyance? He recovered quickly, shifting tactics. "Victory Innovations has been making waves with its unconventional approach to engineering. Some would say your designs push boundaries that most manufacturers wouldn't even consider."
Nina's smile sharpened. "Mr. Victors believes in creating solutions, not just selling products." The shift was subtle, but pointed. Zedd wasn't here, so she wasn't going to let them act like she was the main attraction. She was handling this, but he was the reason they were all sitting here.
The anchor caught it. Adjusted. "And you, personally? What's it been like helping manage such an ambitious company?"
There it was.
Nina flicked her eyes briefly to the monitor behind them, where a split-screen showed an aerial view of New Abraham's commercial district—storefronts already outfitted with holographic displays announcing preorders. Another shot showed the growing crowd outside the distribution centers, eager consumers waiting to get their hands on the first wave of releases.
The demand was insane.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
And Zedd wasn't here to deal with it.
Nina let a half-second pass before responding. "It's been an honor working alongside Mr. Victors to ensure our tech gets into the right hands. This is more than just an expansion—it's about accessibility. We want every colony, every worker, every person who needs safe, efficient travel to have access to something better."
"Speaking of accessibility—" The anchor swiped a hand across his interface, pulling up another video feed. This one showed a live shot of the Ironwood shipping yard, where a fresh batch of V-Bikes was being loaded onto transport haulers. Workers watched as the bikes hovered into their secured positions, running final checks before transit.
"How does Victory plan to keep up with the overwhelming demand?" he continued. "There's already talk of shortages."
Nina didn't hesitate. "Expansion is already underway. Mr. Victors predicted this level of demand, and Victory Innovations is scaling accordingly. We're in discussions to establish a manufacturing sector in Whitefall to support high-output production, while our Ironwood site remains focused on industrial-grade orders."
It was the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough.
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?
The scene shifted seamlessly from the controlled polish of the NA-1 studio to drone footage of the raw, kinetic energy of New Abraham's commercial district. The streets, usually busy but manageable, had transformed into something closer to organized chaos.
Crowds swarmed outside storefronts, lines curling around buildings, filled with eager buyers waiting for their chance to get their hands on Victory Innovations' latest release. Neon holo-signs pulsed over shop entrances, flashing V-BIKES AVAILABLE NOW! in looping displays, their sleek designs rotating in midair with promotional overlays detailing specs and pricing.
One particular storefront had already reached maximum capacity, security drones floating overhead, scanning purchases as shopkeepers struggled to manage the endless stream of customers. Inside, the air was thick with the low murmur of haggling, last-minute spec comparisons, and the occasional, excited burst of laughter as someone mounted their new bike for the first time.
Near the entrance, a young man in a mechanic's jumpsuit traced his fingers over the matte-black chassis of a V-Bike, his brows furrowed as he checked the pricing against the balance on his omnitool.
His crewmate, a woman with grease-stained hands and a tired but eager expression, nudged him. "You gettin' one or what?"
He exhaled sharply, like he was making peace with the decision. "Shit, yeah. Ain't getting left in the dust when half the colony's 'bout to be gliding through town."
Behind them, another buyer laughed as she tested the lift response, her V-Bike hovering effortlessly a few inches above the showroom floor. "I'm never using my ground car again," she joked, tossing a grin at the clerk finalizing her purchase.
The store owner, a broad-shouldered man with the wary air of someone not used to selling high-tech machinery, just shook his head. "Just don't wreck it before you leave the lot."
Further down the street, another shop had set up a demonstration area, offering limited test rides in a barricaded lane. A teenage boy climbed onto a silver-and-blue model, hands adjusting against the responsive grips. The bike lifted smoothly, stabilizers engaging with a soft hum as he tentatively pushed it forward.
A second later, he surged ahead, the kinesis module responding with immediate acceleration. His startled whoop carried over the crowd as he zipped down the lane, the bike moving with a level of control that left onlookers murmuring in interest.
An older man, watching with arms crossed, gave an approving nod. "Looks stable," he commented to the store clerk beside him.
"Because it is," the clerk replied smoothly. "Less friction, more efficiency. It's not fighting gravity—it's working with it."
In Ironwood's industrial sector, things were playing out differently.
The demand was still there—just a different kind. A line of workers stood outside an outlet near the shipping yard, their purchases more practical, their questions more pointed.
"How's it handle weight distribution?" one asked, tapping his foot impatiently as the clerk ran his purchase through the registry.
"Standard frame holds up to three hundred kilos without performance loss. You looking for heavy transport?"
The worker grunted, nodding toward his crew. "Yeah. We do a lot of site-to-site hauling. If this thing can replace half the bullshit we deal with on company rigs, I'll buy another."
Further inside, a transport foreman stood with his arms crossed, watching as a set of V-Bikes hovered near the cargo platform. His crew had already run them through a basic stress test. So far, no failures.
"Not bad," he admitted, side-eyeing his lead mechanic. "Think it'll handle long-distance?"
The mechanic smirked. "If it holds up half as good as the other V-tech we've got in rotation, we're replacing the whole damn fleet."
The camera feed shifted again, this time pulling back into a wider aerial shot of the colony as dozens of new V-Bikes glided along the main transit routes, weaving through traffic, their presence already reshaping the rhythm of city movement.
The broadcast snapped back to the NA-1 studio, where Nina Herra sat exactly as before, composed, effortless, as if she hadn't just watched the biggest product launch in New Abraham's history unfold in real time.
The anchor, to his credit, looked impressed. "Well, Miss Herra, it looks like Victory Innovations has done it again."
Nina allowed herself a slight, knowing smile. "Mr. Victors doesn't aim for 'done it again.' He aims for 'what's next.'"
The anchor leaned forward slightly, latching onto the implication. "And what is next?"
Nina tilted her head just enough to let the question sit. "That," she said smoothly, "you'll have to wait and see."
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?
Zedd hated events like this.
The kind of event where people stood around in expensive clothes, sipping overpriced drinks, talking in carefully measured tones, and smiling in ways that never quite reached their eyes. The kind of event where people pretended they weren't angling for something while doing exactly that.
The kind of event where he was the center of attention.
He stood near the bar, rolling the stem of a champagne flute between his fingers, the sparkling cider inside catching the overhead lights. The carbonation fizzed softly against the glass. It looked like the real thing. It wasn't. He wasn't about to dull his brain to make this more tolerable. If anything, he needed to be sharper.
The governor's estate was too polished. Too clean. All pristine composites and glass, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing expanse of New Abraham's city center. The entire place hummed with the energy of importance—the weight of decisions made behind closed doors, of deals struck in passing conversation.
Zedd could feel it.
Not just the event itself, but the way people were looking at him.
They weren't coming up to him directly, not yet. But he could feel the expectation. People were talking, nodding toward him subtly, circling like vultures waiting for the right moment to swoop in.
He let them wait.
Across the room, Nina was doing what she did best.
Handling things.
She moved through the crowd with easy confidence, one hand wrapped around a delicate glass of wine, the other gesturing as she spoke with some corporate suit. Her Miami Arcology accent softened her words, gave them that effortless polish that made people listen, even when she wasn't saying much of anything. She had been at this all night—navigating conversations, smoothing edges, giving just enough information to keep people interested but not enough to let them in.
He knew, more than anything, that she was doing all of this for him. Immersing herself in the business, because she loved him. He knew he had a tendency to get absorbed in what he did, whatever it is he did, and she had figured out without bringing it up that the more she was involved in whatever he did, the more attention he gave her. So, being his temporary assistant, his mouthpiece to the public... she was doing it... for him.
That… something coiled in his chest.
She caught his eye for a second across the room. A flicker of something unspoken passed between them before she turned back to whoever she was speaking to, her expression slipping back into the role she needed to play.
Yeah. She was doing this for him.
Not for Victory Innovations. Not for the investors. Not for the governor.
For him.
Governor Shen-Abraham sidled up next to him, his own champagne glass in hand. "Quite the launch," he said, his voice smooth, easy. "Victory Innovations is becoming a household name."
Zedd barely glanced at him. "That was the point."
The governor chuckled. "And you're delivering on it. Another successful product, another shift in the colony's infrastructure." He swirled his drink, watching the bubbles rise. "People will start expecting a lot from you."
"They already do."
The screens across the room were playing clips from the NA-1 broadcast on a loop. Footage of V-Bikes weaving through city streets, gliding effortlessly between traffic. Interviews with buyers grinning as they showed off their new purchases. Nina, sitting in the NA-1 studio, handling the press like she was born for it.
Zedd didn't know why he was still watching. He already knew the numbers. The launch had exceeded projections. The product was selling faster than distribution centers could keep up. It was an unqualified success.
So why did he feel restless?
Dev and Kira stood by the entrance, playing the role of security. Dev looked the part, arms folded, posture firm, gaze sweeping the room. Kira, meanwhile, had the kind of lazy posture that would make someone underestimate her, right up until they made a mistake.
Kira caught his eye, smirked, and made a little gesture toward Nina with a raised brow. Zedd rolled his eyes.
Then his omnitool vibrated.
A high-priority message.
His brows furrowed as he flicked his wrist, pulling up the notification. The text unfolded in front of him, crisp and efficient. But the structuring—
Coded.
Subject: Inquiry Regarding Applied Technologies
Mr. Victors,
Orpheus Industries is currently seeking specialists in visionary fields of engineering and has been following your recent advancements in mobility and resilience technologies with great interest. Your ability to innovate beyond established paradigms marks you as an individual of exceptional promise in fields that extend beyond civilian applications.
Reliable partnerships are critical to the evolution of human ingenuity, and we believe in supporting talent unhindered by traditional constraints. We have the resources to accelerate your work and ensure it reaches its fullest potential—without interference from governing bodies that may lack the necessary foresight.
Engaging with us would provide access to technical assets, research facilities, and specialists that align with your caliber of expertise. Should you be interested in discussing direct collaboration, we are prepared to accommodate your terms.
Should you choose to respond, the next steps will be made clear. Consider wisely. Once a path is taken, turning back is rarely an option.
Regards,
A. Pluto
Strategic Acquisitions Division
Orpheus Industries
By the time he finished reading, his expression had gone cold. They knew he was smart, they wouldn't have coded it like this otherwise. But they must have thought he was far more egotistic to make the code so simplistically referential.
His mouth turned down in a scowl, gritted teeth hidden behind his lips. Clearly them… He didn't know much about them, most people thought they were a rumor, some sort of Illuminati for humanity only in space, but he still didn't trust what little he could find.
Shen-Abraham, always observant, caught the shift immediately. "Something wrong?"
Zedd exhaled slowly through his nose, tapping the interface closed. "Just spam," he said flatly.
The governor studied him, clearly unconvinced, but he let it slide.
Zedd barely registered him anymore. His mind was already moving. He turned his gaze toward Dev, catching his attention with a look. Dev pushed off the wall immediately, reading the shift in the room's energy like a seasoned professional.
By the time Dev reached him, Zedd had already typed out his response.
A single word. Rejected.
The message sent.
He shut down the interface. Whoever was on the other end would get the message loud and clear.
He wasn't interested.
His eyes flicked toward Nina again. She was still talking, still playing her role flawlessly, but something about the way her shoulders tensed told him she knew something was off.
She always knew.
He took a slow sip of his cider.