113.2 Interlude Alan

Alan Barnes seethed as he drove down the damaged street towards his law office. The sun was starting to drop low enough to catch his eyes, either directly or through unfortunate reflections, with each spike of glare causing his frustration to build. His hands were locked in a white knuckled grip around his steering wheel and he was taking turns a little too aggressively, at least when he wasn't stuck in traffic.

His mood really wasn't being helped by the state of the roads. That had been an annoyance all day, and one he couldn't afford. Brockton Bay was subject to gridlock in the busier areas, but it was usually manageable. Usually, when half the routes hadn't been rendered inoperable, and when a team of recovery capes hadn't decided to focus their work on major thoroughfares and ended up blocking them for most of the day. So far he'd had to spend more time in his car than managing the disaster threatening his family.

Though even clear streets probably wouldn't have spared Emma from needing to spend the night in police custody. Not when the police stations and courts were entirely focused on processing the non-powered members of the Teeth that had been captured. It was a relief that some of their forces had been brought to heel, but there couldn't have been a worse time for that, particularly with the local police force making sure to exercise as much authority over the arrests as possible.

That lent some credence to the rumors of a breakdown between the police and PRT. Something like that was troubling for the city in general, but also another blow for his position and options. Alan's contacts and connections within the PRT weren't exactly robust, but they did exist and there was a chance he could have leveraged them to help mitigate the current situation. A chance, if the police weren't just shy of being openly hostile to the PRT. If the situation had been better, then a call from the PRT could have bought him time or concessions, something that would allow him to find a way through. Now, it was just likely to cause the police to double down on the case.

The exceptionally robust case. Between the almost excessively thorough handling of Emma's arrest to the video that had been leaked only after Emma had made her statements about the event, there weren't many options left to him. From the old lawyer adage, the law wasn't on his side, and the facts weren't on his side, which only left a single, highly undesirable option.

He was going to have to fight this, hard, on every level he could through every avenue he could, and even then the chance of him being able to fully protect his daughter was slim. Not entirely, and not from everything. Even if he was able to get everything possible to line up, claiming provoked misdemeanor assault with a plea deal and generous probation, the other aspects of the incident would continue to haunt his daughter.

That video, it was just about the worst thing that could have happened here. Not just the fact that there was complete evidence of the incident that would be hell to talk around or downplay, but that specific framing had managed to cast Emma as a nearly cartoonish villain in the eyes of the public, and had turned her association with Garment's charity event, something that would have been a massive positive, into a liability.

It didn't help that the girl who had been pulled in to replace Emma at the last minute had become the breakout star of Parian's portion of the show, something that reflected even more poorly on Emma's situation.

There was a chance he could leverage that, cite the public reaction that was already edging into harassment as a factor in Emma's case. Something that was unfairly influencing things, and would justify more careful management of the proceedings. Maybe get the case out of the hands of the investigators and prosecutors who had it in for his daughter.

Because of Taylor. Specifically because of what had happened to Taylor in January, and because of the state of that case. He still hadn't been able to get the full details about why that had become such a sore point for the department, but likely it had ended up publicly embarrassing someone in power and now the higher ups were leaning on everyone to find some kind of resolution, no matter where that resolution came from. And if they couldn't resolve the actual case, they could at least make an example of the next incident to come along, if only to prevent themselves from seeming doubly incompetent.

He wasn't going to let his daughter become a sacrifice for the local police department's attempt to save face. Not from their overblown reaction to this incident, and not from their absolutely insane suggestion that Emma had anything to do with what happened in January.

It was clear that things have been bad between the girls. Worse than he had thought, and Taylor at least attributed that to Emma. The problem was that Taylor's view was the only one anyone was hearing, both from the video and from the investigating officers taking every petty complaint and overblown grievance completely seriously.

He could recognize the signs of the police circling, looking for opportunities for further charges. He'd done everything he could to stonewall them and hoped it would be enough. He HAD hoped that the idea of expanding the charges on the word of Danny's daughter would drop off in the face of everything else the city was dealing with. Had been dealing with.

That hadn't happened. It almost made him wish for some major event, another incident to shift attention away from trivial matters that were being drastically overblown towards the real problems that had been spiraling out of control. A week after the Ungodly Hour and people were bracing themselves to see if there would be a repeat of anything of a similar scale. They didn't have the open conflict from the ABB and nightly disasters that had built up leading to that horrible moment for the city, but by all accounts things were even less stable in the aftermath than they'd been when Lung had been on the warpath. It was just a primed explosive, rather than the continuous string of blasts that had been the earlier conflicts.

But there had been nothing. Thankfully there had been nothing. While the chaos would have presented certain opportunities for him, there were less destructive possibilities that would be equally useful. Some kind of policy change or administrative shift or mandate from above. Anything to draw the excessive number of resources away from Emma's case.

He took another turn a little too aggressively, pulling up to the nearly-empty parking lot of his law firm. It was after business hours and the practice had been understaffed since the bombings had first started. Generally speaking they weren't the kind of legal representation people came to in the wake of disasters. Well, not the immediate wake. Possibly later, when litigation and settlement disputes started to come into play.

Right now the fact that the office was likely to be nearly empty was an asset to him. He did not want to have to answer questions about Emma's situation, not until he had a better handle on it. Unfortunately, there weren't many ways to get things in hand. Not unless he could convince both Taylor and Danny to back down, and judging from the state of Taylor's relationship with Emma, he didn't see that happening. No, this was going to be a long, hard fight where he'd need every trick and connection he had if he was going to see it through.

Emma had explained things to him, how she and Taylor had drifted apart after what happened that summer. The girl was still needy after Annette's death and Emma couldn't be there for her anymore. She explained how Taylor had misinterpreted things when Emma tried to set boundaries or get the space she needed to move on. Or at least that was how Emma had explained things.

He knew they were worse than that. He loved his daughter, but he wasn't blind. From what had been said on that video, what was being implied by the police, it was clear things had been worse than that. That Emma's attempts to get space and move on hadn't been as gentle as she implied. That they were the kind of thing that might have looked cruel from an outside perspective, and could have escalated over time until you got the completely out of context interaction that had played out in that recording

But ultimately, it didn't matter what Emma might have done or how Taylor might have taken it. Emma was his daughter, and he would protect his family, no matter what. He knew she'd been dealing with issues, issues that had been there since the attack, but that didn't change anything. They hadn't survived a nightmare like that to just fall apart over a poorly framed schoolyard fight.

He pulled into one of the many open spaces and made his way across the parking lot to the main entrance. From the looks of things, he should have the office to himself. There was a chance that Carol would be working late again, dealing with her own shades of family drama that everyone at the firm was carefully avoiding, but he didn't see her car in the lot. That was probably for the best, all things considered. He would rather not work around her, and the more resources he could make use of the better. It would help to have assistance, but he needed to be able to figure out how he could spin the situation before he came forward with what was happening, even if that meant working through the night.

As he took the elevator up to the main offices he shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other, using the opportunity to check his phone. His face slid into a frown as he saw the slew of new messages and emails that had arrived. Very official, very formal, and very much needing his immediate attention. It seemed he'd need to deal with pressing concerns over Emma's case before he could start working on a strategy going forward.

The elevator dinged and he stepped out into the neatly appointed waiting room of the firm. The lights had been dimmed for the end of work hours, which suggested that at most you'd have one or two people finishing up some late work, which was fine by him. He glanced through the messages on his phone one last time, then put the device away and headed towards his office.

And then he froze.

Because he wasn't alone in the waiting room.

Someone was sitting in one of the waiting room's armchairs. Someone in costume. Capes weren't unheard of in their office, not with Carol's work, but this wasn't some new trigger looking for advice or a member of New Wave stopping by. This was something on an entirely different level.

The glow of a red lock of hair stood out in the dim light of the office, sitting above the metal visor that concealed the man's eyes. He wore a fitted costume with a militaristic feel, highlighted with metal accents and armored plates showing obvious technology. A busy design, and a different one than Alan remembered from the pictures he had seen, but that was probably expected, considering who he was dealing with.

Apeiron. The Enigmatic Artificer.

Sitting in what Alan could openly admit was slightly excessive furniture for a waiting room, but that was the theme the office had been going for. Of course, the man's presence made the leather chair and coffee table seem like a throne overlooking a royal court. Alan swallowed a lump in his throat as the cape slowly rose from the chair and turned to face him, moving with an unnatural smoothness that hadn't come across in pictures and videos of the man.

"Mr. Barnes." Apeiron said in a level voice.

"Apeiron." He just barely managed to avoid stammering. "Um, hello."

His mind raced, all other concerns momentarily forgotten. Nowhere in any of the plans or contingencies he had been wrestling with had he anticipated anything like this. Who could ever anticipate something like this? Why would Apeiron be in his law office?

Carol. That was the only possible reason that he could imagine. He only knew the highlights, the outlines of what had happened with Apeiron and Carol's daughter, but he knew enough to understand the situation was far from ideal. A mess that Apeiron might not have been entirely responsible for, particularly the rumored family drama, but certainly instigated. He remembered when there had been some grim amusement at that, as if annoying Carol had been a misstep on Apeiron's part, and one that was likely to come back to haunt him.

That was before anyone knew what the man actually was and what he was capable of. It made those early assessments seem embarrassingly naïve. For a newly premiered hero or rogue, getting on the bad side of New Wave could create all kinds of obstacles. For a minor villain it would create an incentive for action and likely see them harried at every turn by a coordinated and experienced hero group that operated outside of Protectorate mandates. That could and would respond beyond the bounds of the typical balance of powers. There had been some grim amusement at how badly the new cape had shot himself in the foot, and even before he had chosen a name for himself.

Then he had rescued the Undersiders from an ambush by the ABB and Uber and Leet. Then he had raided an ABB affiliated financial center before he squared off against Uber and Leet again. Then he had clashed with Dragon online, leading to a great deal of confusion and the tinker fully transferring to Brockton Bay. Then he had fought the Ungodly Hour, first undermining the ABB's efforts, then managing an insane turnaround in a direct clash with Lung himself.

And by all accounts the man had only gotten stronger from there.

Alan swallowed nervously as he struggled to figure out his next move. Apeiron was here, and he could only be here to see Brandish. He wasn't tearing the building down, so as impossible as it seemed the two of them might have come to terms, or were at least meeting towards that effect. An absolutely insane prospect, but also one that might hold a sliver of salvation for his own situation.

As it stood his 'contacts' in the PRT were less than useless, but this was an avenue he had never imagined. Honestly, who would have even considered it? Carol speaking with Apeiron, dealing with the Celestial Forge in some official capacity, that was practically a political maneuver. The cape had been so elusive since his debut that any scrap of information or method of contact was beyond value. If he could even tangentially associate himself with this case, whatever form it took, then he could leverage that.

Not openly, he wasn't stupid enough to risk that, but to the same degree no one would want to compromise the potential of friendly contact and relations with the Celestial Forge. It wouldn't be enough to make Emma's problems disappear, but he could use it to slow things down, to push for more favorable treatment and an interpretation of events that would allow him to minimize the impact on his daughter.

It was a chance. The best chance he was likely to get. He cleared his throat and put on his best smile as he looked up at the exceptionally tall man.

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect to see you here." He said warmly. "Are you meeting with Brandish?"

It would explain why the cape was here after hours. Any public appearance by Apeiron would practically be a national event.

"I'm afraid not." Apeiron said. "Carol Dallon is currently in New York with her daughter Victoria."

"Ah." Alan stammered. He had heard about Vicky leaving the city after the Ungodly Hour, some kind of evaluation, though not a critical one, at least from what the office rumors indicated. It was understandable that Carol would want to be with her daughter, particularly considering the state of things with her husband, but that did raise a number of questions.

"Are you meeting with other members of New Wave?" Alan guessed. It wasn't unheard of for meetings to be held in the firm's conference room, particularly for matters that needed a location more official than the Pellham living room. "I assume you aren't just here for our selection of magazines." He added in good humor.

Alan's smile widened as he saw a look of amusement on Apeiron's face. Even if there wasn't some official connection between New Wave and the Celestial Forge, if he could potentially ingratiate himself, it might be enough for the concessions he badly needed for Emma's case.

"Funny you should mention that." Apeiron said. He reached down and took one of the more recent magazines from the waiting room table. "There WAS an article that I found quite amusing."

The man opened the magazine to a specific page without looking down at it and offered it to Alan. He approached the cape, trying his best to keep any hint of apprehension or uncertainty out of his movements. He had been around capes more than most people and felt he had a talent for interacting with them. Still, shaking hands with someone like Neil Pelham, it was never possible to forget that the man had the strength to pulp a person with a single careless swing. Apeiron was like taking that experience up a thousand-fold, with careless moves able to erase cities from the map. Despite himself he felt a small amount of sweat bead on his forehead, but didn't do anything so crass as wipe it off.

He covered his retreat from the man by moving to the better light near the empty receptionist's desk. Instantly he could see where Apeiron's amusement came from. The magazine itself was a special edition of a weekly news magazine entirely devoted to the situation in Brockton Bay. Unsurprisingly, there was a rather comprehensive article on Apeiron, documenting every piece of publicly available information, and extrapolating rather heavily from there. For someone like Apeiron there was both too much and too little to work with. Massive implications from each of his actions, while embarrassingly little in terms of details on the man himself.

"I see what you mean." Alan said with good humor. Apeiron nodded and stepped out of the waiting area.

"I quite enjoyed the section in the third page of the article." Apeiron said. "The bottom of the second column."

Alan reinforced his flagging smile, then flipped to the next page. It was a rather exhaustive breakdown of every detail of the tinker's appearances and behavior, down to specific word choice. The portion at the end of the second column presented that, based on word choice and mannerism, there was a high probability that Apeiron was a native of Brockton Bay or the surrounding area of New Hampshire and that he had some level of college education. It seemed overly speculative, but Apeiron didn't seem annoyed by the assumptions presented.

"Is this true?" He asked, then paused. "I mean, not to intrude…" He trailed off uncertainly.

Working with a public identity cape could skew your impression of the conventions of what was appropriate to ask about or mention, but Apeiron seemed almost at an opposite extreme. Like the idea that there could be any sort of private identity around the man was just absurd. That the presence that was so effortlessly embodied by the cape could have ever been a 'normal' person.

But he must have. Capes didn't just spring out of nowhere. Apeiron was terrifyingly powerful, and that power had been growing insanely quickly, but he must have started at the same place as everyone else. A normal person leading into a trigger event. Possibly, probably a normal person from this very city, one he might be able to find some common ground with, if he could only convince the man to indulge him for a little bit longer.

"It's certainly less fanciful than some of the assumptions that have been presented." Apeiron said with amusement. Alan nodded. He wasn't sure exactly what the man was referring to, possibly something from online discussions. He didn't follow that kind of nonsense, and official reports had erred on the side of uncertainty rather than wild predictions. "Though I suppose that's helped by it being a recent publication. You're certainly beating the stereotype of waiting rooms filled with years old magazines."

Alan smiled. "Something we strive for. Outdated reading material isn't the kind of thing that creates the best impression."

Apeiron smiled back at him. "No, it wouldn't. Though I am reminded of an older article that you might also find interesting."

Apeiron reached into his jacket and drew out a magazine that had been folded open to a specific page. Alan took it uncertainly and examined it in the light from the reception desk. It was a copy of the quarterly magazine from Brockton University. The magazine was nearly three years old, the summer issue from 2008. Despite that, it looked as if it could have come fresh off the press, without a hint of age or wear.

He feigned good humor as he looked down at the article that Apeiron had open. Then he froze. The article was a summary of student assessments from the previous academic year. Specifically it noted that Professor Annette Hebert had received the highest rating from her students, highest for the third year in a row for the college as a whole and for the fifth year for the professors from the English department.

The article went on like most puff pieces do, noting Annette's experience and accomplishments, the courses she taught and her length of time with the college. Alan knew all of the details already, but he meticulously worked his way through the article, not for any interest in the material, but for the few precious seconds it could buy him to think. To come to terms with what Apeiron was implying.

And what was being implied was anything but good. Apeiron, the Enigmatic Artificer, had as much as admitted that he had attended Brockton University. Attended at the same time Annette had been teaching there. Annette, who was one of the teachers for the less than prestigious freshman English course, the one every student was required to take. Which meant there were more than decent odds that any student who had gone though that university had been taught by Danny's wife.

"You know, I recently learned the most interesting detail about Professor Hebert's daughter." Apeiron said in a calm voice, banishing any possible hope Alan had that he might have been misinterpreting things. A cold sweat wrapped his body as he looked up from the article. The man's expression hadn't actually changed, but suddenly seemed much, much less friendly than it had a few seconds ago.

"I don't know what you thought you saw, but I can assure you, this is a misunderstanding." Alan stammered as he took a half step back from the cape. Hopes that had bloomed on seeing Apeiron, hopes that now seemed inordinately foolish, were withering before his eyes to be replaced by something that was somehow so much worse that everything he had already been struggling with.

"I realize this may be an unfamiliar experience, given your profession, but misrepresenting the facts would not be beneficial to your situation." Apeiron said calmly.

"To my…" Alan cleared his throat. "This is… the unwritten rules!" Apeiron raised an eyebrow from behind his visor. That was a sliver of hope. The fact that Apeiron had adamantly defended what were at best general conventions for parahumans, and the fact that the man apparently held to contracts to a near compulsive degree. "This is a civilian matter, not cape business. A schoolyard fight shouldn't have capes intruding into civilian lives, no matter their connections."

"That is an interesting turn of phrase." Apeiron said. "Schoolyard. As if a crime committed in an academic setting is somehow invalidated or exempt from justice. And equally interesting that you only hear that kind of attempt to trivialize matters from those who wouldn't wish for them to be treated with due seriousness."

"Kids fight." Alan said desperately. "You can't start criminal proceedings every time adolescent tempers get out of hand."

"Once again, an attitude much more likely to be presented by the instigator." Apeiron said levelly.

"My daughter didn't start that conflict. She was provoked." Alan said desperately. "There was context-"

"There is always context." Apeiron said sharply. "And I'm sure someone in your field finds it advantageous to be able to control that context, but please try to understand that my reputation as a cape is not that of a simple brute throwing power around arbitrarily. I have significant resources. It can be assumed that I understand the FULL context of that encounter, and all the actions leading up to it."

Alan swallowed. "Then you know-"

"That your daughter is guilty of attempted murder? Yes, I do know that."

Apeiron delivered the statement so casually that Alan could barely process what he had said. It took longer than it should have for him to manage any kind of response.

"Murder? It was scratches, maybe a few bruises." Alan stammered. Apeiron just looked down at him, his visor seeming to gleam aggressively in the dim light of the office. Alan shifted nervously, the magazine crinkling in a grip that had become much tighter than he intended. "There is no cause for that kind of accusation."

"We both know that's not what I'm talking about." Apeiron said, crossing his arms.

Alan wasn't a short man, but the combination of Apeiron's height and the unfathomable power that he represented left him feeling like a speck of dust in front of an inferno. He swallowed again as he struggled to parse his words.

"You can't think, the locker… Emma wouldn't have done that." He insisted. "She couldn't have."

Apeiron just looked at him, standing there in the half light of the dimmed office. The man's eyes were obscured by that visor and his face was unreadable, but there was a presence. There had always been a presence from the first moment Alan had laid eyes on him. Something that went beyond the seemingly petty concerns of dealing with capes who could 'only' kill you with casual effort. There was a force to the man's existence that was hard to describe, and even harder to contend with.

"That must be a useful skill." Apeiron said.

Alan blinked, once again struggling with the man's statements. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Not to excessively harp on the less savory aspects of the legal profession, but I think everyone can admit that it's useful to be able to shape the facts in a manner that's favorable to your situation." Apeiron said. "Though generally people would focus on reframing the truth for others, not for themselves."

"You're trying to say that I'm lying to myself." Alan said, his offence at the idea almost managing to push through the terror of the situation.

"It's very clear that you're lying to yourself. And I imagine having a lawyer who is able to genuinely believe the story they present on behalf of their client is quite valuable. However, when that 'skill' is used to overlook obvious problems within one's own family, it becomes much less of an asset."

"I didn't overlook anything." Alan insisted. "I don't know what you think you've found, but my daughter isn't-"

"She is." Apeiron said. "She is everything you have been specifically avoiding thinking or confirming that she is. Legal deniability isn't going to help in this situation. You knew something was wrong, and you consciously chose to ignore it."

Alan struggled to recover. If this was a courtroom, a place with rules and laws and procedures he had no doubt he could talk his way out of this. But he wasn't working with the framework of the legal system. He was dealing with an angry cape, a remarkably controlled angry cape, who appeared to want to blame Emma for everything that had gone wrong in Taylor's life.

"What exactly are you accusing my daughter of?" He asked, trying to keep his voice level.

Once again, the eyebrow rose from behind the man's visor. "Accuse." He said with amusement. "I am 'accusing' Emma Barnes of her actions against Professor Hebert's daughter in the same way I would 'accuse' the sun of having risen this morning. Accuse the Earth of being round or day following night." Apeiron leaned forward. "I know what happened. Did you think I saw a viral clip and decided to fly off the handle? Charge in on a whim with half formed assumptions that could be challenged by base level rhetoric and obfuscation?"

That had actually been exactly what Alan had been hoping for, mostly because it was the only situation he had any hope of dealing with. Not trusting his voice, he just shook his head slightly.

"No, I know the facts of the matter. I likely know them better than the individuals involved, and I can assure you, this is serious. It is well beyond a 'schoolyard fight'." Even through the man's visor, Alan could feel Apeiron's glare being directed towards him. "Your daughter orchestrated a harassment campaign of breathtaking cruelty which culminated in and extended past what would be known as the 'locker incident'."

Alan wanted to deny the man's claims, to challenge them, but he couldn't. In court he might be able to, but not here, not against whatever conviction had driven the cape to confront him. In his heart he couldn't believe what the man was implying about Emma. He knew there had to be more, some context or extenuating circumstances that were being overlooked or misconstrued, but that wasn't something he could argue, not now.

The situation was completely insane. It was like a nightmare version of someone speaking to parents about their child's behavior, only this wasn't over a black eye or a window that had been broken by a baseball. It was felony criminal charges, ones that extended far beyond the nightmare that he had already been struggling against.

"If you're sure, why are you here?" He asked. More specifically, what did Apeiron want? The situation around the man was beyond contentious, but there was no question that his influence was significant enough to get whatever concessions he could want from this case. And if he was as certain as he seemed about Emma's actions, then he likely could just present evidence to the police and their overly enthusiastic investigation.

"I am here because it is obvious that you are the closest thing to a rational actor in this situation, at least when it comes to addressing Emma's behavior." Alan wilted. It was a backhanded compliment at best, and further served to confirm his fears. The nightmare version of addressing your child's actions.

"I see." He said begrudgingly.

The cape smiled. "And I am also here to thank you."

Alan blinked and looked up at the impossible tinker. "Thank me?" There was a slight nod from Apeiron. "Why?"

"Because, you are a terrible person."

Alan blinked again. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You are a terrible person." Apeiron repeated. "Absolutely horrendous. The type of individual who should never be trusted with the slightest modicum of power, possessing numerous faults and failings while simultaneously being able to overlook those issues in yourself and those close to you while being completely intolerant and unforgiving of such offenses in other parties. For all my somewhat tongue in cheek comments regarding the legal profession, it is remarkable to encounter someone who would go out of their way to exemplify all the worst stereotypes of practitioners of that field should the opportunity arise."

Alan's head was reeling, particularly at the cheerful manner in which Apeiron presented his derision. "I don't understand." He said somewhat desperately.

"At this point I wouldn't expect you to." Apeiron replied. "But perhaps you would understand that upon seeing your daughter attempt to tear down a dead woman in the eyes of her daughter would evoke a reaction of distaste from most people?"

Alan nodded numbly. He had been avoiding considering the exact nature of what Emma had said. Most of it wasn't legally relevant and he hadn't wanted to dwell on that, not when he had bigger problems.

"Then you would also understand that the reaction would be rather pronounced from those who knew the exact circumstances of the situation, and even more pronounced from someone who was personally acquainted with Professor Hebert prior to her death?" Apeiron asked. His tone was still level, but there was a harsher edge to it.

Alan could only nod. Even with all his years of experience, he couldn't imagine anything he could say that could possibly help. Not in a situation as surreal as this. As being confronted over his daughter's actions by a cape who hadn't even existed a month ago, but had somehow reached truly mythical status, to the point where it might be less disconcerting if Eidolon himself had manifested in his office to air grievances. At least in that case he'd be able to call the PRT to find out what was happening.

"Mr. Barnes, when I saw the video of your daughter's behavior, I was incensed. I think it can be agreed that both what was done and implied to have been done in that video was inexcusable." Apeiron said calmly.

Alan most certainly did not want to agree to that, but had enough sense to recognize when legalistic defenses of Emma's actions as depicted in a limited recording would do more harm than good. Instead he just nodded.

"However, as I have found myself in a position where any direct action by me or my team is likely to result in an extreme reaction, I elected to exercise restraint and investigate the matter further." A cold expression spread across Apeiron's face. "And with every detail investigated, the situation became worse, for your daughter and for everyone involved. By the point where the full scope of the situation became clear, it is safe to say that I was well beyond 'incensed'." The cape said calmly.

Alan Barnes found himself frozen, at a complete loss for what to do or what to say. One detail was constantly forcing itself to the front of his mind. The instability of Apeiron. The consequence of power growth, as a near universal fact. Capes did not rocket past the limits of conventional parahuman ability without some cost. Some quirk or drawback or mania. Even just knowing the standouts, capes like Nilbog or the Fairy Queen, it was clear enough what was happening.

Apeiron had power, but at a cost. A cost that the man seemed to manage, but a cost that Brockton Bay was paying nonetheless. The city was scarred by the after effects of his technology, and the man's loss of control during his fight with Lung had been broadcast to the world. As cordially as he was presenting himself, Alan couldn't forget the kind of potential disaster that the man represented.

And now that disaster was directed at his daughter. All because of a misinterpreted video of a schoolyard fight and whatever details that the man had latched onto in order to further implicate Emma.

Alan cleared his throat and stood as straight as he could, though nothing seemed to be able to counter the sense that Apeiron was towering over him. "Whatever you think you found-"

"What I 'think' I found?" Apeiron asked. "Mr. Barnes, I am telling you what I found, not what I 'think' I found. Between the two of us, the idea that you would have a superior assessment of the situation is beyond laughable, particularly considering your own investigation had not extended beyond a single viewing of the video in question and a short conversation with your daughter following her release from custody."

Alan was about to counter, then he froze as a feeling of dread overtook him. Because that was exactly what he had done. He had only watched the accursed video a single time, and his talk with Emma after finally securing her release had been brief to allow her to recover from her time in custody. He looked up at Apeiron, but somehow accusations of invasion of privacy seemed like a bad idea.

"You're saying that Emma was cruel to Taylor at school, and that she was involved in the Locker Incident." Alan said carefully, trying to regain some semblance of footing in the conversation.

"I'm saying that Emma orchestrated a protracted harassment campaign against Professor Hebert's daughter with a level of comprehensiveness that would be impressive if it wasn't so vile. A campaign that would justify several additional charges on its own. And I am saying that Emma planned and coordinated the 'Locker Incident', and facilitated its coverup in the aftermath."

"You… How could you know that?" Alan demanded with as much courage as he could muster. Which wasn't much, but this was his daughter. He couldn't fail her.

Not again.

Apeiron looked down on him, in more ways than one. "I would say you were holding to your convictions, but this is more a case of clinging to your delusions." Apeiron said dismissively. With a gesture a hundred floating screens appeared in the air around him. "This is barely a sample of just the digital evidence against your daughter, and not even close to a full representation of my knowledge of the situation. Even so, it paints a vivid picture of what has been happening."

The screens showed an array of texts, emails, and even photos, all concerning Taylor in some way. They weren't all sent by Emma, but enough of them were, and there were references to her in most of the others, save for the ones that had apparently been sent directly to Taylor. The floating screens circled around, flashing in sequence, seemingly in response as Alan's eyes trailed over them. Like they were trying to be seen, like they were shouting their contents at him despite the static text they carried.

After the first few messages he wanted to turn away or block them out, find any other option. But every time he tried another message jumped forward. Accounts of unfathomable cruelty, shared with unbridled glee, anonymous messages of hate that trumped the worst harassment and vitriol he had seen in his career as a divorce attorney, even during the messiest cases, and pictures, plans, and firsthand accounts, all shared more widely than he could bring himself to believe, and all circling back to his daughter.

He wanted to deny it, to challenge it, to dismiss it on account of how it must have been accessed illicitly, but all of those instincts were useless here. Theoretically Apeiron could have fabricated the evidence before him, or he could have been fooled by another actor, but neither situation was likely. He had only skimmed across a few dozen of the accounts, but that was more than enough to make the reality of the situation press down upon him.

"And that's just a sliver of it." Apeiron said as the screens winked out. "It was probably nice to imagine that what you saw in that video was some kind of outlier. That your daughter had been having a bad day and lashed out in an isolated incident. That it wasn't indicative of her past or future behavior."

"It's… you're saying it's that bad?" Alan asked.

"Oh, no. It's much, much worse." Apeiron said cheerfully.

"What do you-" Alan began, but Apeiron just lifted a hand towards an open section of floor near the elevator. Alan had to squint as a complex lattice of white lines appeared in the air before filling in with a flash, followed by a cacophony of metal that shook the floor beneath his feet.

Alan looked at the massive cube of crushed scrap metal that Apeiron had just manifested. He looked from the cape to the object and back again, but instead of saying anything Apeiron made a small gesture towards the cube. There was the shriek of warping metal as the compressed mass began pulling itself apart. A tube of warped metal pulled itself free of the cube, floating through the air along with several other small scraps. The twisted collection of metal floated into the space between the two of them, leaving Alan secretly grateful to have some degree of separation from the cape. With another gesture the formerly compressed cube vanished in the same cascade of light in which it had appeared.

"Look familiar?" Apeiron asked, indicating towards the vaguely pipelike assembly of broken metal.

"Um, no?" Alan said unsteadily. "Sorry?"

Apeiron just smiled. "Not surprising, all things considered." He ran his hand over the metal, which straightened as pieces fell into place. Alan's breath caught in his throat, recognizing it even before Apeiron angled the instrument in just the right way for the engraving to be highlighted in the dim light of the office.

"Would you like to know how Professor Hebert's flute ended up in the middle of a cube of reclaimed scrap metal in a New Hampshire waste processing facility?" Apeiron asked.

Alan swallowed. "Emma wouldn't-"

"I think I have been remarkably accommodating thus far, as well as quite thorough in presenting the details of this situation. I would recommend that you think carefully before making any knee-jerk definitive statements about what your daughter would or would not do." Apeiron said sternly.

Alan swallowed again and carefully recalibrated his statement. "You're saying Emma is involved with Annette's flute being thrown away?" He asked.

"I'm saying that Emma Barnes is involved with stealing the personal keepsake that Professor Hebert's daughter had brought to school with her as a way of coping with the abuse she was suffering at the hands of your daughter and her accomplices. Involved in stealing it from her locker and both destroying and defiling it before leaving it to be found in that state before finally being completely disposed of." The tinker looked at Alan, his face cold. "Would you like to know the combination of substances that were used?" A gesture drew traces of red, brown, and black residue from the interior and joints of the flute. "This could almost be called a trial run for the locker, if it hadn't happened more than a year before that incident."

Alan felt sick, and not just because of the hopelessness of the situation. He didn't want to think of Emma ever doing something like that. In his heart he still had to believe there was something else happening here. Some detail that was missed, or some element that was being glossed over. That it had been some other girl who roped Emma into things, or a preexisting campaign of harassment that she had somehow been made the figurehead of, but every piece of information that was presented made it harder and harder to hold on to that kind of hope.

Even the best possible situation was still incredibly grim. He couldn't hope for anything better than his daughter being a blind and largely oblivious follower in a series of coordinated attacks. With this kind of evidence, that was the best he would be able to argue for, and even that wasn't likely to be well received.

Because it wasn't likely to be true. Emma was not a follower. He knew that much. And what was being described, it was too personal. Too deliberate. Maybe there were other factors in play, there had to be, but there was no denying Emma's involvement, at least not to himself.

Apeiron nodded at him. He didn't know exactly what the man had perceived, but with a cape on his level, who could tell? For all he knew Alan could have been under a polygraph from the moment he arrived. Or whatever the tinker equivalent of a polygraph was.

"It's funny how blind people can be." The cape said casually as the repaired flute dropped out of the air Apeiron's hands before being improbably stowed into the man's jacket. "In urban areas you have one parahuman for every eight thousand people, with Brockton Bay actually being ahead of the curve. Consider the number of people you know, and the number of those people they know. How many degrees separate the average person from a parahuman? Or a parahuman who would care what happens to them?"

It was such a flippant way of putting things, or explaining the disaster that had fallen upon his family. Because what had happened to Taylor had gone 'viral', and because someone who cared about Annette from her time in the university happened to be a strong contender for the most powerful cape on the planet.

Something poked at the back of his mind. An element of the situation that he had been deliberately avoiding thinking about. Something that seemed particularly relevant to Apeiron's musings on how close people could be to capes without realizing it.

Apeiron saw his expression and smiled. "After all, even you…" Alan felt his body tense, cold sweat dripping from every pore. "Work alongside Brandish from New Wave."

Alan Barnes froze as the man's words fully registered. The obvious connection, but from the knowing look on the man's face, not the only one. Just the only one he was acknowledging. And Emma's 'friends' had been involved in what had happened to Taylor, possibly all of what had happened to Taylor. If Sophia was involved, and if Apeiron knew that, and everything that entailed…

Apeiron nodded, seemingly following Alan's train of thought without admitting to anything. "As I said, the more I learned, the worse the situation became. I don't think I can explain my state of mind by the time I became fully aware of the extent of what had been happening."

"I'm sure you were very upset." Alan said as diplomatically as he could.

Apeiron shook his head. "I passed 'upset' fairly early in the investigation. No, I reached levels of fury that would probably need to be conveyed through epic verse, or possibly opera. Maybe abstract art. Some form of emotionally significant creative work."

Alan managed to avoid recoiling as a slightly manic undertone entered the man's speech. "I'm not sure I understand-"

"Then some context might help." Apeiron said quickly. "And from that context, I can tell you that my team weren't any happier about this situation than I was. Now during initial discussions on how to proceed, given what we had learned, several proposals were made and often progressed further than would normally have been strictly advisable, which is how I came to acquire this."

Apeiron gestured again and Alan braced himself for another barrage of flashes. However, instead of the light show that had brought the cube of scrap metal into the office, a sphere of darkness appeared in the space between him and Apeiron. Within the sphere there was a trail of light. It seemed faint, but also intensely bright for a reason that was hard to understand.

While the sphere couldn't have been more than a foot across, there was a depth to it, like you were looking into the bottom of an impossibly deep well, or through the mouth of a cave that opened into an immense void. Space. There was a sense of space, an incredible amount of space, and that tiny trail of light, a trail that seemed to be actively moving but also not progressing, it was big. Bigger than anything Alan had ever laid eyes on before.

At least not in person. Something about the shape, the flow, the suspended movement, it was familiar. But that was impossible, even with the unfathomable scope of what seemed to be contained within the void that Apeiron had manifested.

"Is that…" Alan began in a hushed whisper.

"A solar flare." Apeiron said in an almost proud tone of voice. "M5 classification, and fresh off the sun, so to speak. Bifrosted across the finite curve and rotated on the fourth dimensional axis prior to extraction to preserve the integrity of the event." He leaned over the contained astronomical impossibility as he glared down at Alan. "Do you have any idea what I could do with something like this?"

Alan nodded numbly, unable to take his eyes off the contained power on display before him. "You could destroy… everything. Brockton Bay, the Northeast, probably most of the country." He said in a hollow voice, and even then he knew he was lowballing his estimates. He couldn't tell anything from the scale beyond that it was bigger than anything he could imagine, probably bigger than the attack that Apeiron used to finish off Lung.

"Well, yes." Apeiron said, sounding almost offended. "And it's also possible to beat someone to death with a Fabergé Egg." He shook his head. "Trust me, I wouldn't need to steal the voice of a Judgement if all I wanted to do was scour the surface of the planet."

"I… um… what?" Alan stammered.

"Don't worry about it." Apeiron said and with a gesture the terrifying void vanished. "Not that it isn't worthy of concern, it's just not a concern that's relevant to you, specifically."

"It's not?" Alan asked hopefully.

"No." Apeiron said in what the man probably thought was a reassuring fashion. "Because while more extreme options were considered, and in some cases prototyped and put into initial testing, it was recognized that most of those were monstrously excessive for the current situation and should be shelved and placed into strategic reserve."

"Um, only 'most' of them?" Alan asked.

"The vast majority of them." He explained. "The rest are being actively contained pending the development of engagement protocols. Or diplomatic overtures, in that one case."

Alan decided that asking for further clarification probably wasn't going to be a wise course of action. Apeiron had gotten very angry based on the treatment of the daughter of a professor he clearly held in high regard, and had proudly tinkered up a set of devices that each sounded like a nightmare version of one of String Theory's projects. And then, mercifully, decided not to deploy them against a teenage girl. It felt like Alan had dodged a bullet he never knew had been fired, possibly because it was the kind of projectile that would only register on NORAD tracking systems.

Alan's mind wheeled back to the start of the conversation, the still mystifying phrasing Apeiron had used before he casually explained the possible extinction level devices that had been built specifically for his daughter.

"You said you wanted to thank me." Alan said. "For being… terrible?"

Apeiron nodded. "I really do." He replied in earnest, doing nothing for Alan's confusion. "You see, it was plainly clear that apocalyptic fury wasn't going to be a productive avenue for this situation." Apeiron paused. "Well, it was eventually clear. Really more of a general consensus that was agreed to from assessment of broader implications of each proposal, but it was agreed to. Largely."

Alan nodded numbly and tried not to think about how close the Celestial Forge had come to unleashing the equivalent of a nuclear strike against his family.

"But at the same time, it was clear that something needed to be done, given the circumstances." Apeiron continued.

Alan swallowed. "Did it really-"

"Yes." Apeiron said without missing a breath, and Alan could feel the man's concealed eyes focusing on him once again. "Because this wasn't simply a harassment campaign, this was a systematic failure on every level to intervene against blatant and open abuse. Abuse that was effectively condoned by those responsible for preventing it, condoned through their own inaction, and in the process of being condoned by the justice system through efforts to undermine an incident where there was no doubt to the facts nor the legal implications."

The weight of Apeiron's gaze doubled, nearly pinning him in place. Focused on him as if his efforts to mitigate his daughter's situation had been an affront somehow. He wanted to rebuke the man, to defend himself, but he could barely bring himself to lift his head in the face of that kind of intensity.

The memory of that contained solar flare burned in his mind, along with the knowledge that it was only one of the horrors that had been casually spun into existence in response to Taylor's situation. He pressed down his fears and struggled to find a way forward. Any way out of this nightmare of superficially polite dialogue that somehow felt more distressing than an open assault.

"What did you do?" He asked, finally managing to find the words. "What did you decide?"

Apeiron leaned back and crossed his arms. "Well, given the circumstances, it seemed like a good idea to allow you to decide what would happen to Emma."

Alan stared blankly at the man. "What?" He asked.

"Simple, really." He said. "Since you were working so adamantly, and potentially unethically, to address Emma's current situation, it only seemed fair to leave the decision on how to proceed up to you. Specifically, what you would do if it was your daughter who had been harassed and assaulted for a year and a half, including a beyond horrific assault that could have easily taken her life, and yet resulted in no changes to her situation at school." Apeiron leaned forward. "What would you have done, if that had happened to your family?"

"I…" Alan Barnes stammered. "I… I would have trusted the authorities to see justice served, and accepted the results of the trial." He said.

"No you wouldn't." Apeiron said flippantly.

"What?" Alan asked. "I assure you, as a lawyer-"

"As a lawyer you would have used every connection and precedent you could to press for the most extreme punishment possible, excluding the possibility of leniency, manipulating media reactions, and undermining hope of plea deals. And after criminal matters were resolved, you would have pursued monstrously crippling civil cases against all parties even tangentially connected." Apeiron explained in a flat voice.

"You… you can't know that." Alan insisted.

Apeiron leveled his visor at Alan in a way that managed to come across as condescending. "I extracted a significant stellar event preserved across the time axis as a minor element of my response to this situation. You might want to reconsider what I can't do or can't know." He leaned forward again. "Or would you like to know how I can be so sure about this?"

Alan didn't. He most certainly didn't want to know. He wanted to go back to the time when his most serious problem was dealing with overeager police and prosecutors or managing the online reaction and harassment that damn video had stirred up. Problems that had seemed insurmountable at the time, but were now looking nearly comforting in comparison.

"How?" He asked, against his better judgement. "How could you know that?"

"Simply enough." Apeiron said, then paused. "Well, simply enough for me. If you want to know how someone will behave in a situation, you just need to put them into that situation." He looked down at Alan. "Or, in this case, put a perfect mental copy of them into a perfect simulation of the event you wish to examine."

Alan froze as the implications of the cheerfully delivered statement slowly sank in. "What?" He asked in a near screech.

"Like I said, you take a perfect neural copy of someone's mind." He pointed towards Alan's forehead. "And load it into the scenario you wish to evaluate. In this case, a simulation of how you would have reacted if you learned that Emma had been subjected to the exact same abuse that she inflicted on Taylor."

"That's… You can't just copy someone's mind!" Alan exclaimed.

"YOU can't copy someone's mind." Apeiron said irreverently. "I have a half dozen ready-made methods for doing so, and can easily develop more as needed. And as for ranged scanning and projection, I'll admit that was slightly more complex, but only slightly, and compared to some of the aborted projects, it barely registers."

Alan's head was spinning, and not just from what Apeiron was implying had been done to him. "So you're basing your next actions on what this virtual version of me would have done in the fake world you created?"

"Mr. Barnes, I'm specifically not basing my actions on that, and neither is my team, because you have somehow successfully managed to disgust every single one of us through your potential actions, which I feel is an accomplishment considering some of what Kataklyzein was proposing. It was simultaneously vile, indulgent, petty, and needlessly cruel. So once again, thank you."

"Why are you thanking me?" He practically screamed.

Apeiron smiled. "Because you proved the fallacy involved in taking 'creative' approaches to justice." The man shook his head as he continued. "As you are probably aware, I am significantly powerful, even by the standards of parahumans."

"I…" Alan took a moment to center himself. "Yes, I gathered as much."

"Well, with power comes the temptation to use it, particularly in grand sweeping displays that seem like they'll provide elegant solutions to complicated problems. Neat ways to ensure everything is buttoned up nice and tidy with a dash of poetic symmetry." Apeiron's face darkened. "Of course, real life is seldom as accommodating. Justice is a complicated, messy, and often painful process. Prioritize elegance, style, and showmanship and all you get is a teenage girl subjected to horrible punishments because her father ran away with the first hint of unbridled legal power he was exposed to while failing a test he never knew he was taking."

"That…" Alan bit back his words. It was good that Apeiron wasn't going forward with whatever insanity his model had produced, but he could not accept that it would have given the results he was alluding to. It was madness, unchecked unstable power only being restrained by more unchecked unstable power that just so happened to line up with a result that might charitably be called 'favorable' to him. From the sound of things Apeiron was intending to leave matters to normal court proceedings, or something close to it, but still, given what was implied, he couldn't…

"That's not me." He muttered without raising his eyes. "Whatever your program showed you, that's not what I would have done."

Apeiron tilted his head slightly. "Well then, I suppose we'll have to check. And just as well, it was about time."

"What?" Alan asked, looking up. "Check what? Time for what?"

"Well, specifically, in addition to the moral concerns of basing someone's punishment off of the projected actions of a neural clone of someone close to them, there are the implications of the creation of the neural clone itself."

"What implications?" Alan asked.

"Well, the copy of a human mind running in a computer environment could be considered an advanced artificial intelligence, or you could view it as a fork of the person it was created from. Either way, there are moral implications to its existence. Implications that would require either sustaining the consciousness as an independent entity, or reintegrating it into the source mind." Apeiron said, looking down at Alan.

"What are you saying?" He asked, fear gripping his chest. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, given your insistence over the inaccuracies of this modeling technique, it is only fair that you received the chance to evaluate the results for yourself." Apeiron made a gesture and a complex three-dimensional hologram appeared above his hand, some kind of intricate geometric shape that constantly folded into itself. "And then you can tell me whether you still believe you would have acted differently."

The complex mass of semitransparent shapes pulsed in the air, humming in a way that seemed equal parts familiar and disconcerting. He wanted to run, to beg, to plead off any way he could. He didn't want to go through with this, and he might be able to avoid it.

All he'd have to do was admit that Apeiron was right. That he was the kind of person so vile that his actions would shock a group of superhumans to stay their vengeance. In a horrible backdoor way, it was a solution. A partial solution for dealing with the worst possible consequences for him and his family.

But then he'd never know. The uncertainty of what Apeiron had seen, whether that was actually him, it would eat away at him forever. And it wouldn't help Emma, not really. The absolute best situation that he could hope for was apparently his original worst-case scenario. Fully charged and likely convicted for the incident in the video, with charges expanded to cover incidents of bullying and whatever could be pinned on her regarding the locker.

If he could endure this, if he could stand up to Apeiron and say his model was wrong, and it had to be wrong, then maybe he'd have a chance. Maybe Emma would have a chance.

"I want to see it." He said with more confidence than he actually felt.

Apeiron nodded. "Just as well. The discussion was running out anyway."

"Discussion?" Alan asked.

"Call it an extra feature, added for the reprint of that magazine." Alan paused, then looked down at the university magazine he had been holding. It had become warped and crinkled in his grip over the course of the conversation, but suddenly it seemed to thrum in his hands.

Thrum, and then explode into a burst of paper. He was momentarily overwhelmed by the noise and sensations as the flying pages seemed to fold into themselves and vanish, then he looked up to see Apeiron raise that holographic shape, now pulsing and buzzing even louder than before.

The mass of… light? Power? Information? Whatever it was, it sped up in its cycles, pulling tighter and tighter into itself before suddenly launching towards Alan's head.

He had braced himself, fully aware he was inviting some fundamental violation of his mind, or more of one that had already occurred, but even then he had barely been able to hold steady for a second. The next thing he knew, he was doubled over, emptying his stomach on the carpeted floor of the office waiting room.

It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, nothing he had imagined. Decades in Brockton Bay, years of daily association with capes, and he'd never even conceived of something like this. It was too much, on every level. It wasn't just the fact that months of memories were streaming through his mind in a flash, dredging up emotions and experiences so real he could have lived them. He HAD lived them, in a way that was undeniable. No, it was everything else.

He could remember exactly what Apeiron had described. The experience of what happened to Taylor instead happening to Emma. The locker, the aftermath, the discovery of the campaign of harassment and abuse, it all came in a flash and was all as real as any event in his own life.

That alone might have done it. Just that, just seeing things from Danny's point of view, seeing his daughter in the hospital, learning about what she had gone through, experiencing that for himself, it was enough to make him think back to what he was planning, the absolute hell he was prepared to unleash on Danny and Taylor for the sake of his own daughter, and feel disgusted with himself.

But it didn't stop there. Because that wasn't the point of this. Apeiron had designed that experience as a starting point, not a finish line, and he got to remember every step of the path. Every action he had taken for his daughter's sake against Taylor and her father.

And it had felt good. He hated it, but he hated it with the perspective of being able to look back and know that it wasn't real, that it was a test or a calibration or a ploy to set some kind of cosmically ironic punishment. But in his memories, in the moment, there was nothing but satisfaction. Satisfaction at every victory, every escalation and every inch of ground gained. All the way through to the end, with Taylor in jail and her family, what was left of it, in shambles. And at the end, he felt nothing but satisfaction. A dark sense of control and certainty at the thing he had accomplished and the agency he had regained over his own life.

He was on his hands and knees now, dry heaving from an empty stomach. The pool of sick had spread, soaking into his sleeves and splattered across his suit, but he didn't care. He was beyond caring about something like that.

"So, was that not you?" Apeiron asked from above him.

Alan didn't look up. Didn't even try to pull himself together. He just panted, heaved, and dearly wished his empty stomach would stop trying to tear itself from his body.

"That…"

He trailed off. He couldn't lie. Not here, not after that. Not after all those experiences. If it had just been a cavalcade of sadistic excess then maybe he would have some grounds, but he could remember the justification he had made for every decision, every step along the way. Every detail he researched, every contact he made, every duplicitous action that he took to drive the knife just a little bit deeper. All of it was him, had come from him.

But only from him.

"That wasn't right." He panted without rising from his hands and knees.

"Well, obviously." Apeiron said more than a little derisively.

"No." Alan tried again. "It wasn't how things would have gone. Not really. Not in real life."

"Of course it's not." Apeiron said casually. Alan didn't look up as Apeiron crouched down next to him. "In real life our worst impulses are moderated. Connections to people around us regulate our behavior and decisions, allowing us to avoid the kind of spiral that you would have so gleefully indulged in. Well, most of the time."

Alan nodded, still panting and not even trying to meet Apeiron's gaze.

"Evaluating your reactions without accounting for the effect of your support and social network is obviously going to skew things towards a more extreme outcome, but that was the point." Apeiron explained. "This wasn't a question of what would the regulated response of your social circle be, it was a question of YOUR response, in isolation, going as far as you would have with no restraints or limitations. And in this case, the results spoke for themselves." A note of amusement entered Apeiron's voice. "And in doing so, those results quite effectively demonstrated the flaws in this kind of system." The man leaned in closer to Alan's panting form. "So once again, thank you for being such a contemptible person that no member of my team was willing to consider using your actions as a guideline for this case."

Alan had to admit, at least that was good. One small mercy in a day that had started terrible and somehow entered a state he could only describe as biblical.

"It's all just too much." He panted.

"Yes, that was generally our impression as well. "I mean, it wasn't surprising that you pushed to have Professor Hebert's daughter tried as an adult, but steering her towards a federal institution known for abusive guards was definitely unexpected, as was somehow convincing different factions within the prison population that she was either of Jewish ancestry, or had neo nazi affiliations, depending on which would be more damaging for her." Apeiron let out a short breath. "That was a level of petty evil that would almost be impressive, if it wasn't so detestable."

"I can't believe I would do something like that." He muttered. "That I'd be capable of it."

"Yes, it seems at the first opportunity you latched onto a moment of personal trauma and addressed it through a breathtakingly vicious and largely indiscriminate campaign seemingly designed to destroy as many lives as possible." Apeiron said casually. "Before this I would have wondered where Emma got it from, though at least within the context of the simulation it could be considered somewhat justified."

Alan let out a short breath at what was either a very dark joke or a particularly cutting admonishment. His mind was slowly starting to settle, though his stomach felt like it was still trying to turn itself inside out. Slowly sorting through the memories, a question sprung into his mind. He pushed himself back onto his knees, away from the pile of vomit and took a breath to try to calm his hammering pulse.

Underneath the horror of the experience, of what 'he' had done, there was something else. Something that would have been incredible, at least in any other context. If it was real. If the entire process hadn't just been pageantry to see how low he could sink as a person if subjected to the same thing that Danny had to be dealing with right now. In some ways it was the most minor element, but at the same time, he had to ask.

"What happened in the memories, or simulations, or whatever it was." He began. "Was that accurate? The trials and officers and procedures?"

"Of course it was accurate!" Apeiron said. His figure seemed even larger and more imposing from Alan's half collapsed position on the floor. "Well, the people were approximated with virtual intelligences and interaction protocols, but every other aspect, both physical and legislative, was as accurate as possible."

Accurate. Which meant everything he had done, every law he had researched, every procedure he had investigated, every memory of late nights searching for exploits in case law or potential avenues of action…

It was all real. He had just received months of intensive research and practical experience loaded into his head, all of which was apparently as accurate as Apeiron could make it. Thanks to this monstrous experiment, he had suddenly gained a surprising level of expertise in criminal trial law. There was probably some dark irony in the fact that the information the failed test had loaded into his head was exactly what he would have needed to help Emma's situation. It was information on how to exploit that situation from the other side, but comprehensive information that provided context on the entire process that he had sorely lacked from his own experience.

Exactly what he had needed, given in the most horrific form possible and in a situation where he would never dare to exploit it. It was funny how people seemed to characterize Apeiron as a mad scientist, because from where Alan was standing he seemed more like some infernal being prone to offering stygian bargains.

The thought brought him a level of grim amusement, one that lasted until he climbed to his feet and saw the state of the office. The very different state of the office.

Motes of flame hung in the air, smoldering flecks of some unknown origin. The distant windows of the partners offices, just visible at the end of the hall, had been leaking the last sunlight of the day, but now they were dark. Dark, but without the expected glow of city street lights. Instead the only hit of illumination was a flickering orange glow in the distance. Within the building the entire environment seemed heavier and more washed out, like he was looking through a haze or some kind of image filter. And Apeiron…

Apeiron had changed. His stature and build were different, and he was taller than before. Much taller. Bigger. Towering. A form that shouldn't have easily fit in the confines of the reception area, but the space within the room seemed equally changed. In the corner of his eye he saw a flash of movement, but when he jerked his head to follow it he only saw a streak of red and a cluster of burning motes drifting ominously through the air.

"Well, now that we've gotten the easy portion of the discussion out of the way, it's time to move on to serious matters." Apeiron said.

His form was cast in shadows, except for the glowing red lock of hair upon his head and the now baleful looking glow of the technological plates of his costume. Plates that seemed different. Larger, more intricate, and more… integrated. His entire outline seemed different. Still impossibly perfect, unnaturally smooth in every motion, but decidedly less human. Less natural.

"The easy portion?" Alan stammered. "This wasn't serious? Hadn't been serious?"

"Comparatively? No. This was an overview, leading into the real issue." He said, looking into the distance. "Because now, we need to deal with Alma."

"Alma?" Alan asked, turning his head in the direction Apeiron was looking. There was another flicker, and another cluster of burning motes, almost like scraps of paper hanging in the air. The feelings of dread and weight had exacerbated, and the office was shifting even as he looked at it. Stains, scorch marks, rents, and tears, they were propagating across every surface, turning what had been an immaculate environment to something out of a nightmare.

Then he turned back to Apeiron and froze. The shape, size, and seemingly inhuman proportions weren't 'seemingly' anymore. The man had taken a step forward into the flickering light of the receptionist's desk. Still unnaturally smooth and unnaturally perfect, but the unnatural elements had been taken to an extreme.

His costume had shifted, adjusting for his new form. A form with exaggerated legs and inhumanly shaped feet, with skin the texture of clay that carried intricate designs that almost looked to be carved into the surface. A surface that shifted smoothly into bronze like plates that bent and flexed like flesh. Looking at the man, it was hard to tell what was a living part of his body and what was technological, and that went from both directions. Just as the living parts of his body seemed almost sculpted or crafted, the equipment he was wearing was seamlessly integrated into that impossible form.

Before he could say anything, there was another flicker of movement. This time he caught a glimpse of the source before it vanished into smoke and ash. The form of a pallid child in a red dress with dark hair covering most of her face, standing in the hallway, watching him. And then the world seemed to flicker and she was gone, leaving nothing but a cloud of burning motes that drifted towards the ash coated carpets.

Alan's heart hammered in his ears. The stress, the fear of dealing with Apeiron had never really subsided, and he was still recovering from the ordeal of living through that simulated existence, or having the version of him who lived through it reintegrated with him, but this was something else.

"Alma?" He asked again. The eerie sound of a child's laughter caused him to spin around, only to find nothing waiting for him. He swallowed again, trying to recover some of his bearings. "She's a member of your team?"

"More of an associate." Apeiron's voice was lower, but despite the change to his form it wasn't monstrous or gravelly. If anything it had a captivating, almost musical quality to it. "Though it would probably be more accurate to refer to her as a problem that I have taken responsibility for, rather than an actual member of my team."

Alan was about to ask what the man meant when a sudden flash of heat silenced him. He watched in horror as fire bloomed around them, spreading across the office and burning away walls, furniture, and the very structure of the building like it had been made of cheap paper.

"What's happened?" He cried. "What's she doing to the office?"

"Oh, I'm afraid you haven't been in your office for quite some time." Apeiron said calmly. "Or on Earth Bet either."

Alan looked up at the man in horror. The flames weren't approaching them, or more specifically they weren't approaching Apeiron. There was a perfect circle around the man that was untouched by the inferno, and as much as Apeiron's presence terrified him, Alan found himself clinging to the safety he apparently represented.

"Though that time would be relative, given the nature of our discussion." He continued, seemingly unmoved by what was happening around them.

"What does that mean?" Alan asked desperately. Whatever Apeiron was doing, it shielded him from the heat of the flames consuming his office, but he could smell the acrid smoke leaking through to him.

"A simple, but highly useful power, particularly when properly augmented." Apeiron raised a hand and a flutter of papers condensed into the university magazine that had started all of this. "Channeled through the right item, it can allow a discussion to continue without violence, interruption or even the passage of external time, to a limited degree. That allowed me to inform you of the present situation before Alma… well." He gestured around them.

Alan's mind raced. Apeiron had the ability to… stop time? Or something like it, within limited bounds, and required the use of some kind of item, which he had apparently made in the form of a university magazine from years ago. It was… not impossible by the standards of capes, and particularly not by the standards of capes on Apeiron's level.

Except that had never really sunk in. As terrifying as Apeiron's presence had been, he had been considering it in the context of conventional forms of terror. Capes were dangerous because they were capable of violence or destruction or inflicting horrific effects upon a person. Effects like forcing life experiences into your mind from a hypothetical scenario that was conducted on a whim as a form of judgement or evaluation.

He hadn't considered anything bigger than that, not even when Apeiron had talked about stealing stellar phenomena. Warping time, or the perception of time, and transporting people out of the universe, those were things that were possible for capes, but were so rare, so obscure, that he hadn't even considered them.

Hadn't considered them, or the hundreds of other potential nightmares that could be waiting for him. Possibly literal nightmares, given what Alma was doing.

The office around them was burning away, revealing a scorched ruin of a city with a red sky and a persistent haze of smoke and embers. Not on Earth Bet. Not in Brockton Bay. Somewhere else, some shaker effect that created a little nightmare dimension that he had found himself pulled into the moment his protected talk with Apeiron had ended.

At the time he would have done anything he could to get out of that conversation. Now it seemed that had been the only thing saving him from whatever THIS was.

"What's happening?" He asked Apeiron. "Why is she doing this?"

"Because she is exceptionally angry at your daughter." Apeiron said simply.

"With Emma?" Alan asked as he caught another glimpse of the girl in the flames. "Why?"

Apeiron looked down at him, drastically down at him given the man's new height of nearly nine feet. His visor still concealed his eyes, but the metal was more intricate, integrated into the sculpted nature of his form and shifting with the man's expression. An expression that suggested that Alan has just asked a particularly stupid question. As if it was ridiculous to think someone would need a specific reason to be murderously angry at Emma.

"Well, in Alma's case, it's primarily due to the locker." He explained, watching the slowly materializing hellscape with a kind of benign interest.

"The locker?" Alan echoed. "But why-"

He caught himself as Apeiron gave him a much harder look. His own memories, memories from that simulated copy of his own mind, forced their way to the surface. Memories of personal tragedy, of outrage and disgust and a desire for vengeance. Memories that directly conflicted with his own earlier thoughts, his intentions to downplay and dismiss what had happened to Taylor, to trivialize the nightmare she and her father had gone through, all to slightly improve Emma's chances of receiving lesser charges or a lighter sentence.

"Oh." He said as the flames around them consumed the last vestiges of his law practice. "Right."

Apeiron nodded as he watched the world burn around them. "Though specifically in Alma's case, it would be because it reminds her of how she was killed."

Alan swore he felt a snapping sensation inside his brain as he tried to process what Apeiron had just said. Slowly he turned to look up at the transformed cape, but there was no sense that the man had been joking or speaking hyperbolically. "What?" He asked.

"Alma was exceptionally powerful from a young age." He explained. "Too powerful for the people who were studying her abilities. When she was eight years old they placed her in a medically induced coma and sealed her in a power suppression and containment chamber. And when that wasn't enough, they just turned off the life support and left her to die."

"That's…" Alan stammered. What could you even say to something like that?

"It took six days." Apeiron continued. "Six days of slow deterioration, trapped in a sealed tube choking for air and drowning in fetid waste until she finally couldn't fight anymore." He turned and looked down at Alan. "So you can understand why your daughter's actions might have struck a nerve."

Before he could respond there was another blur of movement and suddenly that girl in the red dress was staring right at him, her eyes boring into his soul. And then he was trapped, slamming his hands against steel walls as horrible creatures crawled over his skin, under his clothes, into his mouth and ears. The smell, that horrible choking smell and the feel of putrid waste with things living in it, all around him, trying to scream but barely being able to breathe, and-

He was on his knees again. If he hadn't already emptied his stomach he was sure he would have been staring at another pile of vomit. The girl, Alma, was gone, or at least as gone as she could be in this place, and Apeiron was looking down at him.

"Psychometry." The man said. "Mental impressions drawn from the history of objects, which means Alma has the entire experience of the locker on tap."

"How…" He gasped, slowly pulling himself up. "How powerful is she?" The woman, the girl, wasn't even a proper member of Apeiron's team, but what she could do, what she had done, it was terrifying.

"Nowhere close to as powerful as when she was alive." Apeiron said. "Currently, I'd have to rate her below Sleeper, at least in the broad strokes of her power."

Alan stared at the man, once again dumbfounded and struggling to process the enormity of what had been so casually mentioned. Below Sleeper. Less powerful than the parahuman that was hardly able to be thought of as a parahuman. A disaster area that was monitored like a living bomb, that could not be stopped, could barely be slowed, only desperately avoided as one city after another was subsumed.

And Apeiron's concession was that Alma wasn't quite that bad. In the 'broad strokes of her power', whatever that meant.

"And she's angry at Emma?" Alan asked in a small voice.

"Of course she is!" Apeiron said, making a gesture that caused the flames at the edge of the circle to flare. "We are all furious at your daughter! Did you seriously mistake restraint for forgiveness? Her actions were beyond monstrous! Abuse! Betrayal! Deceit! You do not yet know the depths to which she sank in her campaign of meaningless cruelty. Anger is the response any rational being would have at such an outrage. It is the natural reaction to such a perversion of justice, the only question is the degree of outrage one would bring to bear." Apeiron looked down at him, managing to glare without revealing his eyes. "Or the degree to which one would wish to deny justice in favor of their own self interests."

Alan swallowed. "With Emma, you said you weren't going to…" He didn't even want to say the words.

"I said that it was decided that the proposals explored during initial high spirits were agreed to be monstrously excessive, even for your daughter's case. There was some contention on this point, particularly from Alma who was quite eager to…" Apeiron paused. "Well, 'kill' is not quite the right word here. Your daughter would not technically be gone, but it would be difficult to consider her as still being 'alive'."

Alan looked at the hellscape around him and decided he did not want to know precisely what was meant by that.

"She's not going to do 'that', right?" He asked, struggling for words but forcing himself to speak. In a way, he was defaulting to arguments once again, though from a weaker position than he ever imagined and for greater stakes than he could comprehend.

"It was considerably more difficult to convince Alma to follow the consensus of the group, both due to the particularities of her nature and the fact that she is not, technically speaking, a member of the group." Apeiron's face suddenly brightened. "Though on the positive side, the situation did significantly improve the relationship between Alma and Proto Aima, mostly through the common ground of inhuman fury, but still, that was quite a significant development!"

"Proto Aima?" Alan was struggling. Struggling with an impossible situation, and with Apeiron's cheerful divergence into the dynamics of his team, or the specific dynamic between the monstrous mink-like creature and what he could only think of as a Sleeper-like parahuman ghost.

"Yes, Alma had been quite distressed by her, so it was good that they were able to come together on this." Apeiron paused again. "Well, technically speaking, none of the proposals that resulted from their collaboration could be considered 'good' by even the most generous definitions, but the collaboration itself was a positive step."

And once again, Apeiron cheerfully reminded him that an entire team of impossibly powerful parahumans had been so offended by his daughter's actions that they had devised a new host of horrors to unleash upon her, only to pump the brakes at the last minute and pursue a more 'conventional' option. Conventional in that it involved actual legal consequences, rather than impossible super weapons or nightmare powers, even though their path to those legal consequences had been anything but conventional.

"Well, that's good?" He offered weakly. He actually couldn't imagine how combining the parahuman ghost girl with that demonic looking mink creature could in any way be a positive thing, but Apeiron certainly seemed happy about the development, which was something. Yes, definitely something. "But she, Alma, she's not going to attack Emma?"

Apeiron smiled. "While it took some effort, we were able to explain to Alma that society had mechanisms to address these kinds of offenses, and that those mechanisms were not always undermined or subverted towards corrupt purposes." He looked off into the distance where Alan could just make out the silhouette of a young girl and a splash of red light before it vanished into the smoke and ash of the ruined cityscape. "She was actually quite excited about the prospect of allowing your judgement to decide your daughter's fate, though she did recognize the rationale for abandoning that plan in light of your choices on that matter."

Alan hung his head at the memories. The memories he had specifically asked for, being so sure that they were wrong, that he wasn't capable of that kind of thing, that he wasn't the person Apeiron said he was.

And he wasn't. Not really. Maybe when he had been left to stew in his anger, to freely express it with improbable success, building on 'triumph' after 'triumph' as he worked to tear down anything and anyone even vaguely associated with the source of his anger. The people he'd interacted with in those memories, they hadn't been full copies of minds like his had been. Virtual intelligences, actors playing roles, facilitating his desires and impulses, all to see how far he would take things.

That wouldn't have happened in real life. Even Apeiron admitted that. Admitted that Alan was a better person than that. He was a better person because of Zoe, Anne, and Emma. Because of his wife and daughters. Because of the people close to him.

He could accept that. It would have been nice to have been recognized as a pillar of virtue, someone who was capable of perfect justice and rationality at all times. Apeiron had shown him that wasn't the case, but also showed him how it didn't matter. How the people close to you, the people who were part of your life were part of who you were.

And he was posed to lose one of them. Emma. He had almost lost her once, to a fate more terrible than anything he could imagine. Kidnapping or maiming or worse, and he'd been helpless. He thought she'd recovered, that they'd recovered together, but it was just a façade. A surface level veneer covering rot that had spread too far and too deep for him to be able to fully save her from the consequences of it.

Consequences like this. Like being trapped in a burning mockery of a devastated city, haunted by a 'dead' parahuman that Apeiron himself rated slightly beneath Sleeper.

A parahuman who had allegedly decided not to directly attack Emma, and who had supposedly accepted Apeiron's plan to allow legal action against Emma. Not a good situation for his family, but leagues better than facing the combined wrath of a team of Triumvirate or even S-class level parahumans.

"If she agreed with you, why is she here?" He asked desperately.

"Well, she's here because this is where she lives. Sort of." Apeiron said, looking around. "Her domain, so to speak. More of a reactive imprint in the immaterium that is reflecting her nature and responding to her particular talent for Manifestation." He turned back to Alan. "I assume you mean 'why are you here?', or specifically why did Alma bring you here?"

He just nodded numbly, the technicalities mostly going over his head and being inconsequential to the actual situation.

"That would be because of what you were planning to do to Professor Hebert's daughter." Apeiron said decisively.

"What I was… I wasn't doing anything!" He protested. "I just came into the office to look after my daughter's case."

"Your daughter doesn't have a case, as I am sure you are well aware." There was an unquestionable edge to the man's voice as he glared down at Alan. "The only thing you could do in this instance would be obstruction and subversion, which is exactly what you were planning."

The statement was made with complete confidence, and despite everything, Alan couldn't bring himself to deny it. Not here, not to Apeiron's face. Instead he just dropped his head. "I had to do something."

"Something." Apeiron echoed. "As I said, we decided NOT to pursue the excessively punitive form of 'justice' that would have been your choice for this situation." Alan looked up in protest. "The choice of a sufficiently accurate version of you in a sufficiently accurate version of the world. The differences are arbitrary, and it is unlikely that any more accurate modeling would result in a more favorable outcome for your daughter than that which was achieved by the universal revulsion to the observed actions."

Which was the point. As much as he hated what had happened and what it might say about himself, it had ended the potential for 'ironic' punishments from the most powerful cape in history before they had begun. Even if Apeiron had modeled things too aggressively, could Alan really complain about the result?

Yes, obviously he could, and probably would do so forever in the privacy of his own head, but Apeiron was correct. Voicing those complaints was unlikely to achieve anything but a worse outcome for Emma.

"You said you weren't going to do any of that to Emma." He said. It was the only point, the only real concession he had. The only thing he might be able to build upon.

"We will not." Apeiron said. "But do not assume that means that we have become disinterested in this matter." A concerning smile appeared on Apeiron's face. "The nature of the effect that facilitated our earlier discussion allowed tempers to remain moderated, which may have given you a mistaken impression of my current state of humor." He leaned down, causing the inhuman details of his body to highlight in the twisted half-light of the burning city. "I am absolutely furious, as is Alma, as are the vast majority of my team."

A twisted shadow appeared behind the man, seeming to outline him against the red sky and orange flames. It was like something deep and terrible was growing before Alan's eyes, barely contained by the already impossible nature of Apeiron's existence.

"Staying an extreme response does not mean allowing justice to go unfulfilled!" He bellowed, and the darkness around him thrashed like a living thing. "Just because we do not wish to see your daughter cursed, banished, transformed, displaced, deconstructed, schismed, reduced to the abstract, fed through a law furnace, converted to a lambent node, or subjected to the fate that you would have inflicted upon Professor Hebert's daughter were the situation reversed does not mean we are prepared to excuse her actions, or allow her to evade justice."

The man leaned back, his already immense form amplified by the darkness around him, at once seeming his already excessive nine feet tall and a towering juggernaut that dwarfed the buildings around him.

"And there will be justice!" He bellowed with the finality of a lightning strike. His voice echoed over the ruined hellscape of the otherworldly place, a seeming chorus affirming his decree.

And then he was back. Back without ever having left. Just a 'normal' nine foot tall dragon man of clay and metal, and with a smile that almost seemed congenial.

"The plans that you were looking to implement ranged from merely being in exceptionally poor taste, to highly morally dubious to outright illegal. In all honesty, if Alma had not stepped in to counter your efforts, someone else would have." He explained. "Though likely not to such an extreme degree. Still, we would NOT have stood by as you attempted to demean, discredit, and demonize Professor Hebert's husband and daughter."

A grandiose edge was leaking into Apeiron's tone as he spoke, and the world around him seemed to respond to it, pulsing and thrumming with every word, like it was trying to provide some kind of backup accompaniment. Given the nature of the place, that might actually be possible.

"It was accepted that things SHOULD progress according to the normal legal process, but it was also recognized that such a process could be obstructed or subverted." There was another glare directed at Alan, and once again he wilted under the intensity despite not being able to see the man's eyes. "And even with everything 'in line', a person experienced with the legal field could still cast the process in a controversial light and cause the proceedings to become exceptionally drawn out and painful."

Alan was about to signal his understanding, but froze when he saw a small shape flanking Apeiron. Tiny in comparison to the man's current bulk, but with as much presence as any time he had seen her. And this time, Alma did not vanish in a cloud of embers. Instead she smiled at him.

"When those predictions were about to come true, Alma made the decision to intervene. To take it upon herself to ensure the smooth execution of justice and minimal pain for Professor Hebert's daughter during the process." Apeiron explained.

Alan swallowed as he looked at the tiny girl, or what was left of a girl after unfathomable power and death. She smiled at him again, then shifted back, disappearing into Apeiron's shadow. Quite literally. He looked up at the towering man and braced himself.

"What was she going to do? If you weren't here, if you hadn't interrupted?" He asked, fully aware that fate might still be waiting for him. "I mean, I assume she wasn't just going to leave me here."

Apeiron raised an eyebrow. "Why would she need to do anything else?" He asked.

Alan's eyes widened. "That's it?" He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or terrified.

"It's not exactly a small thing, as you can see." Apeiron explained. "But yes, as I understand it, the general intention was to leave you wandering in desperation, possibly with a few minor encounters with manifested nightmare monsters, then dumped back onto Earth Bet just in time as Emma would begin her time in prison."

Alan shuddered. A way to stop him from interfering, but stopping him from doing anything. Leaving him stranded here for… weeks? Months? Could he even survive that long in a place like this? And all the while his family, and Emma, what would they think? What would they imagine had happened to him? And if he did make it back, how could he explain? If Apeiron hadn't intervened all he would know was this devastated landscape and whatever the parahuman ghost child decided to tell him. And she didn't seem like the talkative sort.

And another terrifying thought entered his head. The realization that Apeiron's presence might not mean he had avoided that fate. That he might not want to fight an associate for his sake. For Emma's sake. He remembered the thunderous declarations about justice. The conviction that had a tangible force behind it. No part of that boded well for him, considering what he had been planning to do.

"Are you going to let her leave me here?" His voice sounded smaller than he'd ever heard it before. For someone who made a living off of their rhetoric, that felt particularly damning.

Apeiron looked down at him for a long moment before replying.

"No." He said. "Though that is mostly for Alma's sake."

"For Alma?" Alan asked.

Apeiron nodded, his expression becoming resolute. "Alma should not be dealing with this. Alma should not even be here, and I mean that in numerous ways. I'm sure there are some people who would see the assistance of a psychic ghost as an 'asset', but the fact that this situation has even come this far is a tragedy."

He paused, gesturing to the burning cityscape around them. "This place, access to it, projection into it, the shaping of it, it should be a miracle. A place of hopes and dreams, but it's not. A manifested realm should not be a reflection of past trauma, but here we are. Because she can't ignore the rest of the world. Can't walk away and trust that the horrible things that happened to her aren't going to keep happening to other people." Apeiron lowered his head. "I wasn't able to give her that. Not yet."

From behind Apeiron's shadow Alan thought he could make out the shape of that girl, but by the time he took a second look there was nothing but a cloud of embers. He swallowed and looked back up at Apeiron.

"The worst part is, I think Alma could be happy doing this kind of thing." Apeiron said, shaking his head. "Or at least satisfied with it. Alma is used to that kind of thing, good at that kind of thing, but she shouldn't have to be, not anymore. But still, she feels compelled."

He looked down at Alan with a grim expression. "I don't want a psychic transdimensional attack dog ready to pounce on anyone who crosses me, or bring down wrath at anyone who violated a set moral imperative. This, all of this…" He said, gesturing around them. "Would be a step towards that. A step towards her being less of a person and more of a weapon, or a directed disaster." Apeiron straightened his back and looked down at Alan with a resolute expression. "I am stopping this because Alma capturing and tormenting a man for months would not be good for Alma."

"Oh." Alan said, feeling light headed as the man's declaration washed over him. "Good."

He was not going to be trapped in a hellscape for months while his family thought he was dead and his daughter was put through a torturous trial. That was good. And the fact that the fate he apparently narrowly avoided was one of the more mild possibilities… well, that didn't bear thinking about.

There wasn't much that bore thinking about, not now. Not after everything. Alan was about a dozen steps past his limit. He didn't know what was keeping him going at this point. Maybe fear, maybe desperation, maybe the driving need to do something, anything to help his daughter, despite the impossible situation that had been stacked against her.

That she had stacked against herself, without knowing it. Then again, who could have predicted that one of Annette's students would become a force of nature incarnate, or that Emma would have somehow managed to do everything possible to set him off. Him and his entire team. More than his team, based on whatever Alma counted as.

"Emma." He said. "I'm supposed to just let her… let the system chew her up? Destroy her?"

"Mr. Barnes, I am asking for legal accountability for Emma's actions." Apeiron leaned forward. "All of her actions, which I can assure you will be brought to light."

"That's too much." He pleaded. Apeiron gave him a hard look. "It is. Once the prosecutors find an easy case, a public case, they'll go for the throat. Take everything they can, make an example of her. It won't be justice, it will be a circus, a public execution. If I do nothing they're going to destroy my daughter."

Apeiron raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I am well acquainted with that process. And I imagine you are as well, at least now."

Alan dropped his head, those memories streaming through his mind. Memories of the exact kind of circus he was dreading for Emma. That had nearly been purposefully arranged for Emma. What was coming, particularly if everything was revealed and he was hopeless to act, it wouldn't be that bad. NOTHING could be that bad, but it would still destroy her, destroy his family.

But if he tried, Alma would be waiting. Alma, or one of the other members of the Celestial Forge who had apparently been poised to act. He had to wonder if that was what monsters of this level did for fun? Wait for opportunities to intervene in the lives of people so far beneath them it was almost comical. At least it would be, if you weren't the one beneath, acting as the target of their wrath.

"I can't do nothing." He begged. "I know what Emma did was horrible, but please don't make me stand by while they destroy her."

Apeiron raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Barnes, this might come as news to you, but there are actually elements of legal support and representation that are neither illegal nor immoral." Alan looked up in surprise. "I know, it's shocking, but I have indeed been assured this is the case."

Alan swallowed. "You mean… I can help Emma?"

"As an honest lawyer." Apeiron said. "Without backroom deals, unethical practices, or public character assassination. I understand that may be a novel experience for you, but no one will interfere unless you go too far."

Alan felt light, both in body and light headed. "I… thank you." He gasped. There was a chance, a hope, that maybe he could-

"Of course, you are going to lose." Apeiron said.

The feeling of lightness suddenly came crashing down. "What? But you said…"

"I know what I said. And you know what your daughter did. You can mitigate the damage, arrange for plea deals, and navigate the nature of the charges, but you cannot deny what your daughter has done. There is no version of this that does not end with your daughter in jail."

"But…" He began, but saw Apeiron's expression. Apeiron's unexpectedly expressive expression, considering the visor over his eyes. "Oh." He added softly. "But it doesn't have to-"

"We are both well aware of the extent to which your daughter could be charged and sentenced. While no one is pushing for THAT particular scenario, expecting to completely avoid incarceration is either laughable or insulting." Apeiron said. "There is no need for her to be charged as an adult or receive minimum sentences, but in the unlikely event she walks free before she turns eighteen you can be assured someone will address the oversight."

As if on cue there was a slight flicker and Alma was once again flanking Apeiron. Alan avoided the parahuman child's eyes and just nodded.

Juvenile detention with no release before the age of eighteen. There was a time when he would have considered that a failure, a catastrophic outcome totally upending his daughter's life. Now it was a life line. Two and a half years in prison would be hard for Emma, but considering the alternatives, even the ones that had only been hinted at.

The power, the casual might on display, it was overwhelming. He was standing in a pocket dimension bigger than anything he had ever heard about and it seemed to be regarded as a minor detail. A man who could annihilate entire countries, who had built or commissioned impossible nightmare devices in a fit of rage, was demanding 'only' two and a half years of his daughter's life.

Well, two and a half years, minimum. With everything he had learned, and with the 'restrictions' he was going to be operating under, it was going to be a challenge to secure that much. With the assault, what was implied from the bullying, and the details of the locker, avoiding Emma being tried as an adult would be an accomplishment, much less minimizing her sentence. But he could try.

It was the least he could do for his daughter.

"I understand." He said grimly.

"That's great!" A cheerful voice said. Alan snapped his head up to see a red-haired girl standing behind Alma. Unnaturally red hair, blazing crimson, with the color matching her eyes, her costume, and…

And the lock of hair on Apeiron's head.

"Mr. Barnes, I believe you are at least aware of Proto Aima." He said, gesturing to the brilliantly red girl.

The new arrival was resting one hand on Alma's shoulder while twirling some kind of tiara around the other hand. She looked to be a little younger than Emma, compared to his best guess of Alma at seven or eight years old. The age gap reminded him of Anne and Emma, though only for an instant.

Alma seemed to be tolerating the older girl's presence better than he thought she would have, but the energy from the red headed girl was jarring in the extreme, completely clashing with the frankly horrifying nature of the burning city.

"Proto Aima?" He asked. "The weasel?"

"Mink!" The girl clarified for him. "And only in my other form, and not so much now."

"Yes." Apeiron said placatingly. "And thank you for giving us time to talk."

"Well, things get weird when connecting through Katsujinken, and I didn't want to mess up the tone." She reached down and wrapped her hands around Alma, the tiara suddenly appearing on the other girl's head. "She likes that scary stuff, and I'm not good at that. It's better to wait for when things get properly angry." She whipped her head towards Alan. "Like from what you were going to do to Taylor's family." She narrowed her eyes. "When I heard about that…"

The air flickered around the two girls, flames manifesting in the air as the space around them seemed to crack. Rents spread through the air like shattering glass, leaking that brilliant crimson light. The same pattern spread through Alma's dress and across her skin, glowing so bright it was hard to look at her. Heat bloomed, the world bucked and twisted, and Alan heard screaming inside his head.

"That's enough." Apeiron's voice cut through the chaos and the display winked out in a heartbeat. "I think you've made your point."

"Okay." Proto Aima said cheerfully, stepping away from Alma as the smaller girl vanished into a cloud of flame and ash. "I just wanted to make things clear." And suddenly there was a rush of air and the glowing girl was upon him, her eyes burning like funeral pyres. "Because we are still very angry about all of this."

"I understand!" He said desperately.

"Good!" The cape released him, letting him fall to the floor as she turned back to Apeiron. "I don't like scaring people, but it's probably better if it stops him from making a mistake, right?"

Apeiron gave Proto Aima an intrigued look. "Did you get that from Alma?"

"No, she just likes scaring people." She said. Apeiron raised an eyebrow. "I mean, as a prelude to other stuff, but she does."

"Well, hopefully she'll be alright taking a break from that for a while." He said, looking down at Alan. It was all he could do to signal his approval of the sentiment from his place collapsed on the floor.

"I hope so." And then Proto Aima vanished. Alan looked around, but he couldn't see any hint of her or the ghost parahuman.

"Is she gone?" He asked.

"As gone as she ever gets." He said. "I hope you know to take this seriously."

"I do." He insisted. He had experienced enough scares for one lifetime. He had no desire to invite any more.

He wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, to finish things and beg some way back to the real world, but before that there was something he had to deal with. Something that potentially complicated the entire situation to an untenable degree.

"You said Emma's friends were also involved in this? With what she did?" He asked.

Apeiron nodded. "There was a group regularly involved, as I'm sure you can attest from the video." He probably could have, if he'd been able to stomach watching it more than once. "But the primary actors were two close associates. Sophia Hess and Madison Clements."

Alan was fairly sure he'd done a poor job of concealing his reaction to that news. It was no longer a question of 'if' Sophia was involved. And if she was involved, then did that mean he knew? Alan didn't see how he could not, but he had to be sure.

"Um, regarding Sophia, is there-"

"Mr. Barnes, have you given any thought to the nature of how your mind was duplicated for that particular test?" Apeiron asked, cutting him off.

"I've tried not to." He admitted. "It didn't seem possible, but…" It was hard to deny something when you were carrying around a personal experience of the consequences of the procedure.

"Consider that the process was a technical procedure, not the product of some power effect." Apeiron said. "Imagine what that process would entail, and what would be possible with technology of that nature."

Alan paused. He really had been avoiding thinking about what had happened. The implications were just too much to wrap his head around. Setting aside all the other horrible possibilities that kind of technology could achieve, if it was as comprehensive as Apeiron was implying, what else was possible?

Well, if you were perfectly copying someone's mind you could interrogate a version of them and learn whatever you wanted. Or would you even need to do that? What was the copy? He'd seen it as some complex hologram, but he didn't know if that was a representation or visual interface or somehow the actual copy of his mind. He couldn't understand anything from looking at it, but in theory that abstract pulsing shape had contained everything he had ever experienced, every detail of his personality, every inclination and instinct and… memory.

His eyes widened and he looked up at Apeiron. He hadn't even considered it, probably because he didn't want to imagine it. If Apeiron could copy his mind, if he could understand and examine the copy, then could he access his memories? Did he know everything? Everything about Sophia and the PRT and how she was inducted into the Wards?

He cleared his throat. "Do you… I mean, can you…"

Apeiron just smiled down at him. "You know, I do appreciate your commitment to ethical practice in this matter, but if you handle this anything like the Jameson case, I can't see it going well for you." His smile widened. "Of course, the events of the Jameson case would have been grounds for being disbarred, if they were less effectively concealed. I guess it really does only matter what the opposition can prove, doesn't it?"

Alan's legs felt weak. He stumbled back against a ruined section of walls. The flames of the burning city seemed less active since Alma's last disappearance, letting him risk collapsing to sit on a piece of rubble as he struggled with yet another world-shaking revelation. The most damning and well concealed secret of his past, casually raised by Apeiron, with everything that implied.

"That…" He muttered. "Being able to do THAT, it's…"

"It's a massive violation." Apeiron said. Alan looked up at him in confusion. "It's taking everything someone is and putting it under a microscope, and then playing with the results. It represents an intrusion into the most private and secure part of what makes a person who they are. The technology is beyond ripe for abuse, and it's not even a significant technology."

Alan's eyes widened. "What?"

"This wasn't some grand design or mega project. It's effectively off the shelf. I could mass produce this, easily. Spread it across the world with trivial effort. It could be used for anything." He looked down at Alan. "It will be used for anything, and the consequences of that will be drastic. Managing them will be more of a challenge than any fight with any parahuman or organization." He paused. "Almost any."

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked. "Why are you admitting to it?"

"Because it was blatantly obvious and easily deduced from what you already knew." Apeiron explained. "Because admonishing you for the ethics of your own behavior while overlooking the missteps of my own group would be hypocritical. And because this technology will change the world, and the more that people can be prepared for that, the better."

"Your own missteps?" He asked.

Apeiron nodded. "We are powerful enough to avoid being held accountable, but that doesn't make everything we do right. Not by a long shot. Sometimes you have to choose between a morally pure option and an effective one. I am fortunate enough to be able to avoid that choice most of the time, but my hand does get forced on occasion. Or for my hand to slip, during a period of rage induced near madness." He looked down at Alan's expression. "NEAR madness. Everything that was prototyped is secured away. You don't have to worry about it."

He definitely would, especially if things were as bad as they sounded. Still, Apeiron had built super weapons, by his standard, and was holding them in reserve. But reserve for what? What could be bad enough that Apeiron would need additional firepower?

…if an Endbringer ended up dying because of a weapon Apeiron had built to use on Emma, should he be proud or horrified? He didn't even know anymore.

And Apeiron's third point wasn't making things any easier. He didn't even need to ask for clarification. If Apeiron could release memory reading technology the way he implied he could, well, it would be a disaster. Beyond a disaster. Unless he kept control of it. Normally an impossible proposition, but it was clear what Apeiron thought about impossibilities.

Perfect memory recall. It was either going to be a blessing, or a nightmare, or both, depending on what field you worked in. He couldn't even begin to imagine the consequence it would have on the court system, which would depend on whether it could be compelled or only volunteered. With Apeiron, probably only volunteered, despite the evidence of his own case to the contrary.

Maybe it would be best for Emma to have a quick trial, with uncontested evidence and whatever plea deal he could secure. Get the trial done with before any version of this technology became standardized. He couldn't even imagine what would happen if Taylor's memories of what Emma had done could be presented as evidence.

But that brought up another problem. One he'd been distracted by, which was incredible enough considering the severity of the what he was dealing with.

"About Sophia Hess." He began. "If she's involved in this, that will complicate things."

"Yes, it will, and significantly more than you know." Apeiron said. Alan's eyes widened in surprise. "Tell me, when you saw that video of your daughter, did you see it as evidence of a pattern of behavior that you were unaware of, or did you assume it to be an outlier event and that your initial impressions of your daughter's conduct were correct?"

"I, um…" He took a breath. Apeiron had referenced this earlier in passing, but he hadn't given it much thought at the time. "I thought something must have happened. That Emma wouldn't act that way unless something was wrong."

Apeiron nodded. "Easier to assume conflicting information is erroneous or atypical than to challenge your initial impressions. In reality, unless the reason you became aware of the event is the severity of that particular event, it is more likely it is indicative of a pattern of behavior that you were unaware of."

"What are you saying?" He asked.

"I'm saying that, for instance, if there was an extreme incident where an individual was seriously injured, then it would be in the offender's best interest to portray it as an outlier, and entreat the word of those close to them to reinforce that impression, particularly if they were unaware of any similar events. However, if said event actually fell towards the middle of the behavior bell curve, that would suggest there were other more extreme events that did not receive the same amount of attention." Apeiron's face took on a dark expression. "Particularly if the individual in question had a pattern of extreme behavior in another setting."

Alan froze. Sophia had been arrested. Charged with assault for pinning a mugger to an alley wall where he nearly bled to death. Alan had testified on her behalf as a character witness, taking the exact stance that Apeiron outlined. That it was an extreme event, atypical of her behavior.

But that was before he knew about the bullying. About the locker. About Sophia's involvement in both. And if that hadn't been the kind of outlier it seemed, then…

"How bad is it?" He asked carefully.

Apeiron smiled again. It was a very knowing smile. "Did you know there is an interface policy between the Brockton Bay Police Department and the PRT involving unsolved homicides?" Apeiron asked.

Alan felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Particularly for cases demonstrating atypical characteristics that could be the work of an unknown power or cape." Apeiron continued. "Those files are supposed to be reviewed regularly and compared against parahumans active at the time the incidents occurred. At least, that's official policy. In reality they normally only run a comparison of coroner reports against accounts of active or recently debuted villains. After all, even if the power testing of a hero could suggest involvement, it would hardly be prudent to highlight such a detail, particularly since it would almost certainly be a false positive, even more so if a Ward was implicated, right?"

Alan just nodded numbly.

"Of course, data is being handled differently in the PRT following recent controversies. It wouldn't surprise me if a backlog of busy work was cleared and filed, with automated reports sent to the Police Homicide division." Apeiron smiled again. "Normally matters would be easily dismissed, but I'm afraid that, given the current relationship between the BBPD and the PRT they will likely insist on a thorough investigation and questioning of any cape who happens to be implicated."

Alan took a long breath. Apeiron was talking around things, technically holding to the Unwritten Rules despite both of them being far beyond them at this point. And what he was implying… No, what he was outright stating about Sophia, about what she had done before joining the Wards. When he had publicly and officially vouched for her.

"How many?" He asked.

"Four." Apeiron said simply. "Though only two with signs of power use that will raise concerns."

Alan took another breath. "Gang members?"

"One of them. And to answer your question, the others weren't saints either, but I doubt that's the precedent you want to establish, particularly with me." Apeiron said, his voice turning hard.

Alan cringed, but nodded. "You're right. And thank you." It felt wrong to thank the man who had put him through all of this, but compared to what could have happened, what potentially would have happened, even if the Celestial Forge wasn't involved… it was the right thing to say.

"You are very lucky that I hate what was done to Professor Hebert's daughter more than I hate the people who did it." Apeiron said. "I'm not going to make things right by propagating the kind of behavior I'm trying to fight against, but I'm not going to overlook it either."

"I understand." Alan felt broken. Broken, but with so much to do. Painful things, but they had to be done. He took a breath. "Is that it?"

Apeiron nodded. "We're done. You're good to go." He said.

Alan blinked. "What, just like that?" He asked.

"What, you were expecting some big ceremony? Do you want another production from Alma?" He asked.

"No." Alan said sharply. "It's just, after all this…" He looked around at the twisted world. "It seemed like there would be more to it."

"What, collect three keys? Gather a penny for the ferryman? Don't look back to avoid turning into salt?" Apeiron asked with amusement. "No, this isn't some mythological episode. I get enough of that from…" He shook his head. "Anyway, if you're ready to go, you can go."

Alan took a breath, then stood up from the chunk of rubble he had been sitting on.

"I'm ready." He said.

And then he was back. Back in the dimly lit office waiting room. Dim, but positively brilliant compared to that world of twilight and distant flames. There was no ash on the carpets, no pool of vomit, no evidence that anything had happened.

Not even on him. His suit was clean, free of the stains of sweat, ash, and worse he had picked up from that ordeal. He'd almost think he had imagined it, but his suit was too clean. Pressed and fresh, not the suit he had been wearing while chasing filings and court times all day while fighting against traffic.

And if there was any doubt to what had happened, those memories were enough to put it to rest. Memories from a version of himself that he didn't want to imagine, containing improbably acquired skills and experiences covering months of intense work. Skills that would be useful, despite their source.

And maybe that was the point. He could keep Emma from spending half of her life in prison, but only if he worked fast and stayed ahead of the situation. It was possible that Emma would never forgive him for this, for what she would almost certainly see as her father throwing her under the bus, but it had to be done. He knew what had happened, how it affected Danny, how it affected Taylor. He knew the kind of rage that brought on. He had felt a version of it himself, and seen a tangible form of it from both Apeiron and the members of his team.

Emma might hate him, but this would keep her safe. And more, it might give all of them time to deal with the situation that brought them here in the first place. A situation that had been ignored by both of them for far too long.

He took a moment to allow his pounding heartbeat to slow, to enjoy breaths of air that were full of the smell of cleaning supplies and corporate air fresheners, not dust and ash. When he finally felt he was calm enough he pulled out his phone.

"Hello, Zoe?" He asked, listening to his wife's response. "No, if she's resting it's best to leave her." Emma would need all the rest she could get. "I'm at the office but something came up. We need to talk about what our options are, going forward." He let out a breath. "Unfortunately, not good. I'll tell you when I get home."

He hung up and pressed the elevator call button. This was likely to be the first of many difficult conversations, but he could handle that. He could talk. That was his trade, his battlefield. He was fighting for a smaller prize than he had imagined, but still fighting. He would deal with this, and keep Emma safe, or as safe as he could, under the circumstances.

And God help anyone else who pissed off the Celestial Forge, because from what he had seen, he couldn't imagine anyone else who would be able to.