Massive Disaster II-18 (Patreon)

Zedd leaned against the cool frame of the floor-to-ceiling glass, arms crossed, eyes tracking the slow, rolling waves below. The lake—massive and near-oceanic—stretched out beneath the cliffside, its surface catching the pale morning light in shifting streaks of silver-blue. Wind curled up from the drop, crisp and biting, cutting against the recycled air drifting from the vents behind him. It smelled clean. Too clean. Not like Earth. Not like anywhere real.

His own reflection ghosted against the one-way smart-glass—hazy, almost see-through. No bruises, no split lip, no dried blood where it should be. The Panacea had erased every trace of last week in a single injection. Skin scrubbed spotless. Knuckles smooth, no split flesh.

Physically, nothing happened.

But his body still remembered.

The weight of a weapon. The tension before a strike. The way a skull gave under pressure.

The manor behind him was silent. No whir of drones, no incoming pings, just ADAM running security sweeps in the background, steady and unobtrusive, a hum of unseen data threading through the walls. The place was big—too big, half-lived-in, cold despite the warm lighting, a fortress before it was ever a home.

Zedd liked it that way.

Another security ping flickered at the edge of his HUD. He flicked his omni open, scanning the latest militia report.

Still nothing.

No names. No IDs. No confirmed ties to mercenary outfits or off-world syndicates. They weren’t locals. They weren’t attached to any of the usual suspects. Just ghosts. No past, no trail—only a mission, a failure, and a body count.

Dead men didn’t talk.

Whoever sent them knew that.

Zedd exhaled slow, jaw shifting, the edge of a smirk curling at his mouth.

Not his problem.

A door hissed open behind him.

He didn’t turn immediately. Measured footsteps. Hesitant, but not nervous. Caleb. Still awkward, even when trying not to be.

Zedd finally glanced over his shoulder.

The guy looked… good. Better. No limp, no stiffness in his movements, none of the sluggishness that had lingered after the accident. He moved more naturally now, like his body finally remembered how to function without hurting.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t tense.

Caleb adjusted his glasses, stepping further inside, his movements edged with the usual nervous energy—braced, but not panicked. Like he was always waiting for something to go wrong, even when it wasn’t. His hands were clasped together in front of him, a tell.

“I heard about what happened,” he said. Voice steady. Mostly. “No leads yet?”

Zedd turned back to the glass, watching the waves shift, slow and hypnotic.

“Dead men don’t talk.”

Caleb hesitated. “They weren’t locals.”

“No.”

“Then that means—”

“—someone brought them in,” Zedd finished. He didn’t look away from the lake. “Someone off-world. Plenty of people know who I am, what I do. Plenty of people think they have a shot at pulling me under their wing. Not just buying my tech to reverse-engineer it. Not just trying to break in my systems.”

Caleb’s lips parted slightly, his weight shifting like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out how. Then, quick, nodding a little too fast, “...That’s a little scary.”

Zedd huffed a short, sharp laugh. “You’ll sleep fine.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes, mouth flattening. “Yeah, see, that’s what you said after I got blown up by an eezo reactor.”

Zedd turned slightly, giving him a flat look. “Technically, it was a misaligned conduit.”

“Technically, I got blown up.”

Zedd smirked again, finally turning away from the window fully. “Speaking of your near-death experience.”

He pushed off the glass and started walking, Caleb trailing behind as they moved through the open-concept space of the main floor.

The manor was huge—half the size of a corporate headquarters, mostly empty despite its size. Pure minimalism meeting overdone wealth. It suited him.

The elevator ride down was silent, Caleb occasionally adjusting his glasses like he had something to say but never quite getting there.

Then the doors slid open, and Zedd stepped into his world.

The basement complex stretched out in front of them, vast, raw, and humming with controlled chaos.

Workbenches cluttered with half-assembled tech.

Storage walls lined with labeled crates.

Holo-displays flickering mid-calculation.

The sharp, sterile scent of ozone, metal, and engine grease notable from the open floor plan of the slightly-larger garage.And in the center of it all—

The V.E.S.T.

Fully assembled. Finalized.

Zedd exhaled and stepped forward, running a hand over the surface of the Mark 1 Module. It wasn’t the most advanced thing he’d ever built. But it was the most functional. “This.” He turned toward Caleb, motioning with his head. “This is yours.”

Caleb’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

Zedd crouched next to the backpack-like module, tapping the outer casing. “You’re the first recipient of the officially completed VEST. Mark 1. Full shielding, lightweight, runs off my own power system so no Eezo reliance”

Caleb hesitated. Shifted his weight, looking between Zedd and the VEST. “…You sure?”

Zedd raised a brow. “You wanna get blown up again?”

Caleb’s mouth opened, then shut. “Alright,” he muttered slowly, stepping forward. “How’s it work?”

The VEST Mk 1 sat on the workbench, plating catching the sterile glow of overhead lights. It wasn’t sleek, wasn’t pretty, all gunmetal grays. Zedd had built it for function, not style. The plating had a rugged, industrial look, reinforced but not bulky. Utilitarian. Practical. Built to work, not to impress.

Caleb hovered nearby, fidgeting. Adjusting his glasses, then his sleeves, then his glasses again. Classic Caleb. Nervous energy that never quite settled. Zedd didn’t acknowledge it—just finished keying the last calibration into his omni-tool, double-checked the power readings, then motioned to the pack. “Put it on.”

Caleb blinked. “Just… like that?”

Zedd tilted his head. “What, you want me to light some candles first?”

“Ha. Ha.” Caleb shot him a flat look, but stepped forward anyway. He ran his hands over the pack’s exterior, fingers tracing the segmented plating, the faint outline of the spine-mounted health indicator. The damn thing looked heavier than it was.

Lightweight materials. Full-body assembly. Integrated shielding.

And Caleb had no idea what he was in for.

He lifted the harness, adjusting the padded shoulder straps, then swung it over his shoulders.

The weight settled comfortably. Snug but not restrictive.

Then—a quiet hum. A shift.

The pack’s plating realigned, flexing to fit. The weight distribution adjusted on its own, counterbalancing.

Caleb jolted. “Okay, that’s-” He shifted his shoulders, then rolled them, testing. “Yeah, that’s really cool.”

Zedd smirked. “Try moving.”

Caleb twisted at the waist. The exo-support followed perfectly, adjusting to his motion like it was a second skin. He raised his arms, bent his knees—the servos responded instantly, amplifying movement, no lag, no stiffness.

Zedd flicked his omni-tool open. “Syncing interface.”

A soft chime. The VEST’s HUD activated—projecting minimal AR readouts across the visor lens.

Caleb froze. “Wait. What interface?”

The helmet unfolded.

From the back of the pack, segmented plating snapped forward and locked into place over his head. A smooth, airtight seal engaged with a soft hiss, HUD flickering fully online. Health readouts. Atmospheric data. A pulse-tracking spine display.

Caleb made a very specific noise. Something between a yelp and a muffled “WHAT THE FUCK.”

Zedd snorted.

Caleb’s hands flew to the helmet, fingers skimming over the sleek plating. No visible seams. No awkward weight shifts. The thing had assembled so seamlessly that if he hadn’t felt it, he probably wouldn’t have believed it just happened.

“Oh, that’s-” Caleb exhaled. “That’s insane.”

“Basic life support’s active,” Zedd said, scanning the omni-tool diagnostics. “Two-hour oxygen reserve, basic radiation shielding, emergency auto-injector—”

“Emergency what?”

Zedd ignored him. 

“HUD’s online, too. Simple display. Vital signs, suit integrity, hazard warnings.” He tapped a few keys, adjusting the sync rate. “Try jumping.”

Caleb hesitated. “Like… how much?”

Zedd smirked. “Full send.”

Caleb frowned behind the visor but did as told. Bent his knees, pushed off—

And launched.

The kinesis field activated instantly, amplifying the jump—sending him nearly three times his normal height.

Caleb flinched mid-air, his arms flailing wildly.

But the suit compensated, adjusting mid-motion, stabilizing the landing. The kinesis field cushioned the impact, absorbing the force so well it barely felt like he landed at all.

Caleb stood perfectly balanced. No strain. No stumble.

“…Holy shit.”

Zedd crossed his arms, grinning. “Nice, huh?”

Caleb turned slowly. “You built a power suit.”

Zedd shrugged, shaking his head a little. “No, more life support, really. Basic industrial model.”

“BASIC?” Caleb’s voice pitched. “I just jumped like six feet.”

Zedd grinned. “Cool, right?”

Caleb tilted his head back, groaning. “I am going to die in this.”

Zedd clapped him on the back, exo-frame barely registering the impact. “Nah. Not yet.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

The violence had stripped something away, left him sharper, more here. He wasn’t getting lost in his work. Wasn’t drowning in the endless micro-adjustments, the obsessive need to perfect every fucking design. His mind wasn’t clawing forward, always reaching for the next thing.

Instead, he was laughing.

With Dev, of all people.

"Don’t say I never gave you anything."

Zedd dropped a sleek black chestplate onto Dev’s lap as the guy leaned back on the couch in his quarters, halfway through a shitty canned protein bar. The weight nearly knocked it out of his hands. Dev grunted, straightening, eyes narrowing at the armor.

"…What am I looking at?"

Zedd tilted his head. "An upgrade."

Dev picked it up, rolling it in his hands. It was lighter than it looked, the plating smooth, reinforced. Custom-fitted. The exact same silhouette as the standard militia armor he usually wore—but better.

Way better.

Dev raised an eyebrow. "This your way of telling me I’m shit at dodging?"

Zedd grinned. "I was implying it."

Dev snorted, shaking his head. "You got a real subtle way of showing appreciation, man."

Zedd shrugged. "You’re still standing, aren’t you?"

Dev tapped the chestplate, fingers trailing over the reinforced seams. Then, quieter—"Yeah. Thanks, Zee."

Zedd just waved him off and walked out before the moment got too weird, a suitcase in his other hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

The medbay was silent when Zedd stepped in, save for the quiet hum of equipment running idle. Adele was half-focused on something—data scrolling across a terminal, a diagnostic report, maybe. She looked up at the sound of his boots against the floor.

"You need something?" she asked, tone neutral but sharp, like she was already ready to tell him to sit the fuck down for another check-up.

Zedd didn’t answer immediately. Just walked over and set a cold metal rack on the counter beside her.

Adele glanced at it, then back at him.

"What’s this?"

Zedd leaned against the counter. "You know medigel?"

Adele gave him a look. "Yeah."

He tapped one of the half-frozen green vials in the rack. The glass was thick, frosted from cryo-preservation, condensation beading along the surface.

"Kind of like that," he said.

Adele didn’t move or blink. Just stared at the vials like they might explode.

"I…" She exhaled, gaze flicking back to him. "I don’t—"

"Emergencies only," Zedd cut in. His tone was even. Too even. The kind of even that carried weight beneath it.

Adele’s jaw tightened slightly. She looked down again, fingers hovering near one of the vials, but not touching it.

She wasn’t stupid.

She knew better than to ask what was in them.

Zedd turned before she could say anything else, already walking out.

Adele was still standing there when the door hissed shut behind him, blinking at the vials like they might suddenly start making sense.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Kira had seen Zedd shift before.

She had watched him disappear into his own head, vanish into his work, become a creature of pure momentum—driven, relentless, untouchable. She had seen him burn through days with no sleep, forget to eat, forget people even existed outside his immediate interest.

This wasn’t that.

This was different.

He wasn’t absent.

He wasn’t detached.

He was present. Laughing. Engaging.

She watched as he cracked a joke with Dev. As he handed Adele a fucking mystery drug stash with the casual indifference of someone passing out gum. As he moved through his workshop with no rush, no desperate urgency—just efficiency.

Zedd felt lighter.

Like the fight had stripped something loose.

Kira leaned against the doorframe of his workshop, arms crossed, just watching.

Zedd noticed immediately.

"You look happier," she said, voice easy.

Zedd turned, smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks. Had a great cardio session."

Kira didn’t blink.

"Yeah," she said flatly. "Stabbing people does that, apparently."

Zedd’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it widened.

"You should try it sometime," he said.

She couldn’t help but snort. Dickhead.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

The private meeting room in Providence HQ was pristine. Sleek metallic walls, built-in holo-displays, a long reinforced conference table that could double as cover if shit ever went sideways. No corporate frills, no unnecessary design choices—just function over form, the way Zedd liked it. The overhead lighting was bright, clinical, humming faintly like a held breath.

Zedd sat at the head of the table, boots propped against the edge, omni-tool active, scrolling through the file in front of him.

Kai Leng.

Former N7 candidate. Former Alliance special forces. Dishonorably discharged. Imprisoned. Released.

For killing a krogan in a bar fight.

Zedd lifted an eyebrow, barely looking up. "...How?"

Across the table, the man sitting across from him was unnervingly still.

Leng had the kind of presence that forced space around him, without effort. He was tall, lean, sharp angles in a way that didn’t just read as natural—it read as honed. Like a blade kept just sharp enough to be dangerous at all times. No wasted movement, no unnecessary shifts, no tells.

The only thing that moved was his mouth.

"They have brains," he said, voice dry. "I had a sword. Brains don’t like swords."

Zedd blinked.

Then, against all better judgment, he grinned.

"I like you."

Leng didn’t react.

Zedd liked that too.

He tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, pulling up more of the Alliance discharge report. Redacted names, blacked-out details. A classic cover-your-ass report.

"Dishonorably discharged for… ‘excessive force in a civilian zone.’" He hummed. "That’s what they call it now?"

Leng shrugged, the movement so slight it could’ve been missed. "That’s what they wrote."

Zedd leaned back, tilting his head slightly. "What really happened?"

Leng’s expression barely changed, but something behind his eyes flickered.

"The krogan was drunk. Didn’t like humans. Took a swing at me." His voice was clipped, economical. No embellishments. "I ended it."

Zedd looked at him. "You stabbed a krogan in the head."

"Through the eye socket," Leng corrected, voice eerily flat. "Blade went in clean, severed the brainstem. It was over in seconds."

Zedd let the silence settle, fingers steepling in front of him. "You expecting me to be impressed?"

Leng didn’t blink. "Are you?"

Zedd laughed. "A lot, actually.."

This time, there was something—not a smile, not amusement, just the barest flicker of acknowledgment in Leng’s gaze.

Zedd spun his chair slightly, pulling up the rest of the mercenary history.

"You did a couple of contract runs after that. A year in jail, then straight back into the game." His fingers scrolled through the holo-documents, skimming. "Hired muscle. Discreet kills. Escort jobs. The usual." He flicked a glance at him. "Ever worked for a corp before?"

Leng’s jaw twitched. "No."

"Any interest?"

Leng stared back. "I like the way you killed aliens."

Zedd grinned again. "I also pay well, if you care about that.."

"That’s not really my highest priority," Leng said, voice smooth. 

Zedd leaned forward slightly. "I don’t think," he said, voice lower, the weight behind it deliberate, "you should be teeling, the person who decides your paycheck that."

Something changed in the air between them.

Not tension. Not hostility. Just recognition.

Leng studied him, the same way he had undoubtedly sized up every employer before Zedd. But there was no deference in his posture, no hesitation in his answers—he was sharp, but he wasn’t trying to please.

Zedd respected that.

"You don’t strike me as the 'corporate snake’ type," Leng said, voice still unreadable.

Zedd smirked. "That makes two of us."

Leng finally broke the silence. "So, am I hired"

Zedd pretended to think about it for all of three seconds before exhaling, shifting back in his seat.

"Yeah," he said, easy. "I think you are."

Leng nodded once. "Glad to come aboard, sir.."

Zedd just grinned.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

The sun had barely set over Providence when Zedd finally returned to his house. The glass walls reflected the deep indigo of the sky, the artificial glow of the colony’s streets sprawling far below, glittering against the massive lake at the cliff’s edge. Inside, the space was quiet. Clean. ADAM’s interface pulsed dimly across the main holo-display, running passive security sweeps.

Zedd shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it onto the arm of the couch before sinking into the seat. His fingers moved to his ribs instinctively—his body still remembered the fight, the way it felt to snap a wrist, crack bone, drive a blade between ribs. The soreness was already fading, barely registering in the mess of his thoughts.

His omni-tool pulsed.

New messages.

He glanced at the feed out of habit. Blocked transmissions. Auto-rejections. A list of names and orgs flagged and discarded before they could even touch his queue.

The usual.

Alliance, media, researchers, think tanks, corporate offers. A dozen "requests for comment" from publications he didn’t care about. A few job proposals that weren’t worth his time. Three outright bribe attempts.

And—he exhaled through his nose—four direct hacks, crushed before they even got a foothold in his system.

"Busy day," Zedd muttered.

ADAM’s voice hummed smoothly through the space. "A standard amount of activity for someone of your growing public profile."

Zedd tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. His fingers drummed against the edge of the seat.

"Anyone actually interesting?"

"Define interesting," ADAM said dryly.

Zedd snorted, shaking his head. Dev was still stressed over turning in his resignation into Martinez. The guy hadn’t told him yet but he figured it would eventually have to come out anyway, given that it was only a matter of time before the simple fact that Dev didn't have a job anymore became common knowledge. You didn’t have to quit, man. He really didn’t, but he appreciated the show of loyalty anyway. And he paid that loyalty back by not spying on his friend's comms. Granted, Martinez's comms were fair game since the lady wanted to treat him like an enemy, so he knew what she wanted Dev and Kira to do from the beginning. Still, if he didn't trust them, he wouldn't have let them have free reign over his house.But enough about that, there was still everything else on his plate…

He should’ve ignored it. Let it keep running as it had been—auto-rejects, auto-blocks, firewalls stacking on firewalls until nothing short of a goddamn quantum AI could brute force its way in.

But instead…

His fingers twitched.

His mind felt different these past few days. Clearer. Tuned in.

Like something had shifted in his head after the fight after feeling a knife in his hands again. ADAM was still casually bricking the more persistent attempts to access his systems, but none of that really mattered right now. This was more about him. I need to... He frowned. I need to get out more.

Zedd exhaled through his nose. His thumb tapped idly against his knee, considering.

Then, after a long pause—

"…Actually, stop blocking interviews."

The silence stretched.

ADAM’s interface flickered. A brief pause, calculating the shift.

Then—

"Understood, boss."