Massive Disaster III-2 (Patreon)

The Mark 1 VESTs stood behind him in perfect formation, motionless, all gunmetal and clean edges, the ghost of military-industrial expectations looming just out of sight. Zedd, by contrast, stood at the center of the stage in just his suit—blue and black, crisp but comfortable, the aviators still perched on his nose like he wasn’t standing in front of half the Traverse’s corporate elite.

He'd retracted the Mark 5 the second he hit the stage. Rule one of showmanship: always leave them wanting more.

Or was it rule three? Whatever.

The suit had made the statement. Now the man had to close the deal.

"The VEST isn't just another piece of equipment," he said, adjusting his cuffs, letting the stage lights hit just right, a slow drag of breath to make them lean in. He could feel the eyes, thousands of them, pressing in from every direction, waiting for the next big thing. Like if they stared hard enough, they’d see what made him tick. "It's a philosophy. A statement that says we don't need to rely on element zero for every solution. That colonial innovation can outpace Citadel bureaucracy."

A little sharp? Probably. But when the salarian trade rep stiffened ever so slightly, Zedd called it a win. Touched a nerve there, huh? He flashed his most disarming grin, just a kid with ideas, nothing threatening here. The volus delegation’s breathing apparatus hissed, something that might’ve been disapproval. Or just breathing. Who the hell knew.

He nodded once toward the workers lined up behind him, and they moved in perfect sync. No hesitation, no wasted motion—every step pre-programmed, smoothed out by ADAM’s precise control. Like watching clockwork, or a symphony played by hands that weren’t their own. Sometimes, even now, it still amazed him how far they'd come. How much had changed since the clunky first prototype he'd roped Kira and Dev into stress-testing.

"Let’s start with the basics." His fingers flicked across the interface, and a mining tunnel materialized in the center of the stage, holographic and hyper-real, unstable geology indicators flashing red. The holo-matrix was cutting-edge, better than military grade—another thing money could buy when you had too much of it. "Colonial mining operations lose an average of thirty-two lives each standard year to tunnel collapses, equipment failures, and environmental hazards."

Behind him, the data unfolded, the numbers too clean to feel real. Deaths by category. By colony. By year. The kind of thing board members could digest better than real tragedy. Weird how loss became abstract when you turned it into a pie chart.

"With the VEST, that number drops to zero."

One of the workers stepped forward, moving into the holo-tunnel. Right on cue—perfect, ADAM never missed—the virtual ceiling cracked, then collapsed. The crowd tensed, gasps rippling outward in a wave, exactly as expected. Like watching a horror vid where you knew the jump scare was coming but still flinched anyway.

The VEST flared to life.

A kinesis field, crackling white-blue, snapped into existence around the worker’s body. The digital rockfall hit like a meteor shower, hammering down, scattering debris, dust blooming up to swallow the figure whole.

Silence.

Then, from beneath the rubble, a single gauntleted arm emerged in a lazy thumbs-up.

The crowd erupted.

"Direct impact force exceeding two-thousand newtons," Zedd continued, voice smooth, even, as if he hadn't been waiting for that reaction. He saw the turian military observer's mandibles twitch, the way his gaze sharpened as if filing away the specs for later. Yeah, buddy, I see you taking notes. "No mass effect fields, no—"

No bright lights, no polished steel, no crowd.

Just fire and smoke. The flash of blue against impact shock, metal twisting apart, the air thick with the smell of burning ozone, of—

Zedd kept talking.

"—eezo at all. Just pure human engineering."

Didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t break stride. Didn’t acknowledge the half-second delay, the way his pulse slammed against his ribs before he shoved the memory back into its box. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t here.

The display flickered to a new scene—undersea operations now, the VEST-wearer striding across the ocean floor like it was solid ground, deep enough that the weight of the world should’ve crushed them flat. Pressure warnings flashed in red across the hologram. He focused on that instead.

"Pressure resistance exceeding five hundred atmospheres," he continued, voice even, the moment buried like it hadn’t just tried to claw its way out. "Integrated emergency systems, including oxygen recycling that can sustain a user for up to three hours in complete isolation."

And just like that, the stage was his again.

The holograms shifted, rapid-fire glimpses into futures that weren’t quite real yet. Emergency responders in VEST units pulling people from burning colony structures. Zero-g construction crews securing framework in the vast black of New Abraham’s space station expansion. An industrial diver walking across the ocean floor, pressure warnings flashing red, unbothered. Each scene crafted for maximum impact, seamless and cinematic. Information hitting like pulses, too quick to track completely unless you were already a step ahead. Which, let’s be real, not many of you are.

“But the core innovation,” Zedd said, stepping forward, shadows trailing behind him as the massive holo display flickered into schematics, bright against the stage’s dark backdrop, “isn’t just protection.” His voice carried, even over the residual murmurs, the shifting of weight in the crowd. “It’s the complete divorce from element zero dependency.”

Pause. Let that sink in.

He caught movement at the edge of his vision; the asari economic attaché leaning backward, distaste on her face. That’s right, blue, pay attention to this part.

“Every component of this suit,” he continued, tapping his fingers against his wrist where his omnitool pulsed with subtle feedback, “from the kinesis field generators to the neural interface to the emergency systems, functions without a single gram of eezo. Which means manufacturing without Council restrictions. Deployment without dependency on Citadel supply chains.” The numbers materialized behind him, cold and irrefutable. Standard mining safety gear, costly and limited, stacked against VEST alternatives—half the cost, twice the function. “And costs that make comparable eezo-tech look like luxury goods for the privileged few.”

A ripple passed through the audience, subtle but there. There it is.

“This isn’t just affordable tech.” He let the silence stretch, watching calculations unfold behind the blank stares of men who’d spent too many years pretending they were smarter than the room. “This is a revolution in colonial self-sufficiency. A statement that says we don’t need to rely on the Citadel for growth. That we can outthink them. Outbuild them.”

A little too sharp? Maybe. But the way the turian at the front tightened his jaw? The narrowing of Salarian eyes. Worth it. He smiled, slow and easy, the kind that made people forget there were knives behind it. I’m just a kid with ideas. Nothing threatening here.

But he was already clocking reactions, running the numbers in his head. The volus delegation huddling, whispering in sharp bursts of breath-filtered conversation. The human megacorp execs trying to look unimpressed, failing spectacularly. The turians in attendance not even bothering to hide their interest—straight-backed, calculating, filing away specs and considering applications.

And David, up in the VIP section, watching. That particular smile that meant well done, kid—but I see what you’re doing.

The demo continued through a dozen more short clips, his words flowing on instinct while his mind tracked a thousand other things. The slight yet constant flicker in the east-side lights (is it a power draw issue?). A half-second delay in one of the holographic transitions (rendering hiccup or latency spike?). The way Nina was watching from backstage, arms crossed, expression caught between pride and something else on her face he wasn’t sure about.

Too many threads. Too much input.

But this? This is where I thrive. He stretched his arms out, a casual sweep toward the VESTs lining up behind him in crisp formation and firm salutes.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Zedd said, “this is just the beginning of what Victory Innovations can do. For the colonies. For the future. For all of us.”

The applause hit like a physical wave, a force pressing against his ribs, rolling over him in a crescendo of sound.

They were on their feet.

The roar didn’t fade. It built.

For a fraction of a second, he let himself feel it. The weight of it. The rush.

The possibility that maybe—just maybe—he was building something that actually mattered.

Then the moment passed, and the real work began.

They swarmed him the second he stepped offstage—corporate reps, colonial officials, investors with their well-rehearsed smiles and data chips extended like offerings at an altar. Voices clashed, overlapping, words crashing into each other in the scramble to get a piece of what he’d just sold them.

“—exclusive distribution rights in the Terminus—”

“—military applications could revolutionize—”

“—investment structure that would benefit both—”

“—licensing opportunities across seventeen colonies—”

And Zedd?

He just smiled, fixing his aviators in place, and waded right into the chaos as he navigated the crowd with practiced ease, the social patterns as clear to him as engineering schematics. A smile here, a nod there, a firm handshake with just the right amount of pressure. He dropped subtle comments tailored to each potential partner's interests, watching their responses, calculating odds of valuable relationships versus resource drains.

The asari economic attaché caught him near the refreshment table, her smile professionally warm but her eyes calculating. "A most impressive demonstration, Mr. Victors. Particularly the quantum vacuum manipulation technology." Her voice carried that particular tone asari used when they thought they were talking to a clever child. He always disliked that, among other things after his first time meeting an Asari in person during his time in New Abraham. Their universal appeal, just rang of a deliberate, calculated means of control. An entire species that was beautiful, charismatic and breedable by any other with psychic powers on top just screamed of a universal honeypot. Add on what was effectively immortality on top and it just didn’t sit right with him. "The Serrice Council would be very interested in discussing potential collaboration."

Translation: We want to dissect your tech and own the patents.

"Always happy to discuss possibilities," Zedd replied, matching her smile with his own. "Though Victory Innovations is committed to keeping our core tech firmly in colonial hands."

Her smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Of course. Perhaps we could—"

A heavy hand landed on Zedd's shoulder, and the asari's expression shifted instantly to diplomatic deference.

"Governor Shen-Abraham," she acknowledged with a slight bow.

"Matron T'mara," David returned smoothly. "I hope you're enjoying our little exposition."

"Most illuminating." Her eyes flicked to Zedd, then back to David. "Your protégé has quite a gift."

"Doesn't he just?" David's hand remained on Zedd's shoulder, the pressure just shy of possessive. "If you'll excuse us, I believe Mr. Victors has some colonial officials waiting to speak with him."

They moved away before the asari could object, David guiding him through the crowd with the practiced ease of someone used to politics.“Protege?” Zedd raised an eyebrow behind his blue lenses. “Not my wording,” David hedged, the governor looking slightly uneasy. “You have to unde-”“No,” Zedd interrupted, still smiling, “I mean, you did get me this far and if anything, you’re pretty much my mentor when it comes to business. I’m not against it.”David looked at him for a moment longer, his expression nearly blank, before a small honest smile spread across the Asian man’s face. “I appreciate that.” He shook his head, gathering himself before continuing.  "You made quite an impression," he murmured, hand dropping from Zedd's shoulder as they reached a quieter corner. "The non-eezo angle was particularly effective."

"Just stating facts," Zedd replied, noting the layer beneath David's polite tone. Pride. 

"Indeed." The older man's smile was still genuine despite the political calculations surely running behind it. "Facts that have the Citadel representatives wondering if human colonies might be outpacing Council technology in certain sectors."

"Would that be a problem?" Zedd kept his tone casual, though they both knew this was anything but casual conversation.

David's laugh was smooth and practiced. "Not at all. Progress benefits everyone." His eyes met Zedd's, serious now despite the social smile. "Just be prepared for the attention that comes with disrupting established markets."

Before Zedd could respond, they were swarmed again, this time by colonial officials from offworld eager to associate themselves with Victory Innovations' success. The conversation splintered into a dozen smaller ones, Zedd's attention fracturing to keep up.

The reception blurred into fragments after that; snippets of conversation, flashes of faces, the constant background hum of people wanting something from him. He circulated as expected, shook hands until his palm ached, smiled until his face hurt.

The volus banking consortium cornered him for twenty minutes on investment opportunities. The turian military observer made thinly veiled inquiries about "defensive applications." A salarian tech company CEO spent fifteen minutes asking increasingly specific questions about the kinesis field generators before Zedd politely excused himself.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

It was at least 5 AM when he finally made it home, the lake house silent and dark. He’d let Kai Leng have the night off, despite the man’s tension about that, but Zedd wasn’t worried. The Mark 5 would at least let him protect himself, if not escape.

The house lights flickered on as Zedd pushed through the front door, ADAM’s system never locking him out. His ears still rang with echoes of the afterparty—too many voices, too many pitches, too many hands reaching for pieces of Victory Innovations. 

Of him.

Still, though…

All in all, a great birthday.

"Surprise!"

The word hit like a physical blow, his body tensing before his brain caught up. Not danger. Just people. His people. 

They'd waited up.

Nina stood in the center of the living room, surrounded by Dev, Adele, and Caleb. A half-empty bottle of champagne sat on the coffee table alongside plates with cake crumbs—evidence of a celebration that had started without him. Fair enough. It was 5 AM.

"Guys, you know I celebrated my birthday at the expo," he managed, the words coming out rougher than intended. Social batteries drained past empty, cognitive resources stretched thin by hours of performing for strangers. “You didn't have to wait up.”

"Of course we did." Nina crossed the room, her smile bright but something hesitant lurking at its edges. "The man of the hour deserves a proper celebration with people who won't try to buy his company out from under him."

Her arms slid around his waist, familiar and warm. Zedd let himself lean into the contact, just for a second, before straightening, feeling a little too aware of the strange tension he could feel humming beneath the celebratory surface.

"Cake?" Dev offered, gesturing toward the remnants on the table. "We saved you a piece. Well, Caleb tried to claim it, but Adele threatened him with an unnecessary physical."

"It wasn't unnecessary," Adele countered dryly. "Have you seen his cholesterol levels?"

Caleb's protest died as Zedd sank into the nearest chair, exhaustion suddenly catching up with him now that he was home. Safe. Among the handful of people who didn't want something from him, or at least, not in the same way as the corporate and political vultures he'd spent the evening deflecting.

"The expo was incredible," Caleb said, voice carrying that note of genuine wonder that made him seem even younger than his eighteen years. "Everyone's talking about it. Even the asari delegation was impressed, and they never admit humans do anything worth noticing."

Zedd managed a smile, tired but real "Yeah, well. You know me, I put on a good show." 

Nina perched on the arm of his chair, one hand settling on his shoulder. Her touch felt different tonight; lighter, almost hesitant. Or maybe that was just his own hyperawareness picking up signals that weren't there.

"You did more than that," she said softly. 

"Hear hear, Richie," Kira added from where she leaned against the far wall. She’d been keeping her distance for awhile now, his first friend on New Abraham rarely ever alone with him anymore.

"And here is," Dev cut in, raising his own glass full of something rich and alcoholic. "To the psychopath who jumped out of a perfectly good shuttle just to look cool."

The toast lightened the mood, glasses clinking, the familiar ritual of celebration playing out as expected. But still that undercurrent remained, that sense of something waiting to be said. Zedd's fingers tapped an irregular pattern against his thigh, anxiety manifesting in motion.

Silence settled, stretching just a moment too long.

"So," Zedd said finally, looking from face to face. "Anyone want to tell me what's actually going on here? Because this doesn't feel like just a celebration."

The others exchanged glances; quick, guilty, confirming his suspicion. Something had been discussed before his arrival. Something they'd been waiting to tell him.

Nina's hand tightened on his shoulder. "I've been thinking about this for a while," she began, voice steady despite the tension radiating through her fingers. "And… I think I need a break.”What. He felt himself tense, face blanking as he took in the words.

“N-no! No, not like that.” Nina blurted as she spotted his reaction and quickly doubled back, hands waving out in front of her.  “It’s just… with everything growing so fast, with Victory Innovations expanding, I realized there's a gap in what I can offer."

Zedd relaxed a bit but his chest remained tight and hot, a physical pressure building under his sternum. "...What do you mean?"

"I've applied to the business program at Whitefall University," she continued, words coming faster now, like she'd rehearsed them but still feared his reaction. "Advanced corporate management. Economics. The things I need to know to actually help you run this company properly."

The pressure intensified. Not anger, not quite, but something much more complicated. "You're going back to school." 

Nina nodded, eyes searching his face for a reaction he was carefully not showing. "Just for a year. Maybe eighteen months, depending on the specialization track. I can still help remotely, and Whitefall's not far, just on the other side of the colony, but—"

"—but you won't be here," Zedd finished, the words coming out flatter than he'd intended. He tried to modulate, to sound supportive, encouraging, a smile spreading on his face that he didn’t feel at all. "It's a good idea. You should do it."

"I should?" She said it oddly, almost like she hadn't expected him to agree so easily. What? Was she expecting pushback? He wasn’t sure why but it made something twist inside him.

"Yeah, I mean, come on, it only makes sense, right?" Zedd said, forcing his grin wider, slipping back into the mask he'd been wearing all night. "Victory needs people with actual experience and qualifications. That’s just good business… am I wrong?"

The slight shift in her stance—barely noticeable, but he caught it. Wrong thing to say. But why? He'd agreed. Supported her. What else was he supposed to do?

Before he could untangle it, Kira pushed off the wall, arms crossed, gaze flicking around the room like she was working up to something. "Since we’re dropping life updates," she said, voice a little too even, like she was forcing it there, "I got one too."

Zedd turned toward her, already grateful for the shift in focus. "Lemme guess. You finally admitting the Alliance uniforms look better than the militia gear?"

Crickets.

Kira exhaled, shaking her head. "Funny you say that." She hesitated. "Because you’re right."

Something cold settled in his stomach before the words even fully clicked.

"I'm leaving too," she said. "But not for school."

Everything in the room seemed to contract at once, the walls pulling closer, the air going tight. Leaving. Not a question. A fact he couldn't quite process yet.

"I’ve been in contact with Alliance recruitment," Kira went on, her voice steady, her eyes locked on his. "They offered me a spot in the Interplanetary Combatives Training program."

"What?" Dev’s reaction was instant, the big guy’s head jerking up like he'd been slapped. "Since when?"

"I’ve been thinking about it for a while." Kira’s gaze didn’t waver, like she’d expected the reaction. "Ever since Kai Leng came on board, honestly. Victory doesn’t need two security leads. He’s got me beat in experience, in skill, in everything that matters for the job. Right now."

The words landed heavy. Too logical. Too practical. The part of Zedd that handled logistics, workforce planning, all the business-side bullshit knew she was right. The rest of him rejected it outright.

"You’re joining the Alliance," he said, like saying it out loud would make it make sense.

She nodded once. "They need biotics. And I need..." She hesitated, something flickering across her face, something raw, vulnerable in a way Kira never let herself be. "I need something that’s mine. Something I built. Not just protected."

Zedd clenched his jaw. He got it. Of course he got it. The drive to make something of yourself, to carve out an identity, to prove that you were more than just the circumstances that shaped you. It was the same thing that had driven him to build Victory in the first place.

Didn’t make it sting less.

"When?" The word came out sharp, rough.

"Transport leaves next week," Kira said, voice measured, like she was bracing for something. "Basic starts at the Luna facility after that."

Next week.

Seven days.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours, give or take.

The countdown started immediately in his head, numbers ticking down before he even knew how he felt about it.

The room went quiet again, all the easy atmosphere from earlier completely gutted, replaced by something heavier, something uncertain. Zedd’s fingers drummed against the side of his leg, speeding up, matching the racing of his thoughts.

"Don’t worry, boss." Dev’s voice cut through, forced casual, too upbeat to be real. "I’m still here. And Adele hasn’t left me yet, so you got both of us."

"Yet?" Adele arched an eyebrow, arms crossed, skepticism radiating off her in waves.

"Yeah, me too," Caleb chimed in, voice just a little too eager, a little too Caleb, like he was trying to fix something he didn’t have the tools for. "I’m not going anywhere."

"Yet," Adele repeated, flat.

That actually got a laugh out of Dev. A real one. And Kira, just for a second, almost-smiled.

Zedd watched them, the way the tension in the room shifted, the way the moment didn’t fix, but held as he felt himself going through the motions; smiling when appropriate, nodding at the right times, saying the things a supportive friend and boss should say. Congratulations. Understanding. Encouragement. 

All while his mind spun out calculations and projections and contingencies for what these changes meant. For the company. For the projects. For him.

The conversation shifted to safer topics after that; highlights from the expo, reactions from various delegates, the unexpected interest from the volus banking consortium. Routine debriefing, professional assessment, the kind of discussion he could navigate on autopilot while the deeper implications processed in the background.

By the time the group finally dispersed—Nina to bed, the others to their respective quarters in the sprawling house—Zedd's internal systems had reached something not quite resembling equilibrium. A temporary stability, fragile but functional. Enough to maintain the facade of normalcy until he could process properly. 

Alone.

He waited exactly twelve minutes after the last door closed and Nina headed upstairs before heading to the basement, to his workshop, to the one place where everything still made sense.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Zedd moved through the house with the same sharp efficiency he did everything, stripping out of his tie as he hit the top of the staircase, jacket sliding off before he even reached the bottom. The glass door hissed open at his approach, the workshop recognizing him instantly, the soft hum of machines greeting him like a heartbeat he didn’t need to think about.

"Hello, bossman," ADAM’s voice greeted, too smooth, too knowing. "Looks like a successful event, by all available metrics."

"Yeah." He draped the jacket over a chair, rolling his shoulders as the tension in them settled deeper. Different kind of exhaustion. Not physical. Not the usual drain from tech work. This was the weight of too many conversations, too many calculations running in parallel, the kind of tired that came from people instead of problems. "Run the numbers."

"Stock value up 22% in after-hours trading. Seventeen formal partnership inquiries. Forty-three potential investor contacts. Nine acquisition offers, all rejected per standing protocol."

"Security concerns?" He ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching slightly—his usual nervous tell. He ignored it. Focused on the numbers.

"Standard corporate espionage attempts. Nothing that bypassed first-layer countermeasures." ADAM paused, then added, "Kai Leng eliminated an infiltration attempt at Victory’s Providence office. He reported himself to the militia. No charges filed."

Zedd huffed, an almost-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite everything. "Of course Kai’s still working when I told him to take the day off."

The lights dimmed without him asking, ADAM adjusting the ambiance automatically. The air cooled just a fraction, the workshop wrapping around him like a weighted blanket. He exhaled. Finally, finally, space to breathe. No speeches. No negotiations. No goodbyes disguised as plans.

A soft whirr at his shoulder. AY-E, hovering just close enough to brush against him in a way that had somehow, over time, started to feel like a pat. She’d been around since the beginning, when Victory had just been him and a few scavenged drone parts, an idea that maybe he could outthink the rest of the galaxy if he just built fast enough. He barely registered the soft weight of a blanket settling over his shoulders until it was already there.

"I’m fine," he muttered, but the drone made that little chirping sound—acknowledged, but not agreed upon.

Something heavier rumbled against the floor. Tank treads. AY-U trundling into view, a steaming mug of something that smelled too real to have come from the food synthesizer. Zedd took it without comment, too tired to question it, too used to just rolling with whatever weird instincts his drones had developed.

His fingers curled around the ceramic, absorbing the warmth. The day replayed in his mind, every major beat overlapping in a mess of tech specs, financial projections, contract negotiations, faces and voices stacking into white noise.

The VEST demonstration. The investors. The price models.

Nina’s announcement.

Kira’s resignation.

His grip tightened, knuckles going white against the ceramic. He'd shoved it aside during the moment, handled it, compartmentalized, treated it like a problem to be solved rather than something to feel. But now, standing in the quiet hum of his own lab, it hit like a fist to the ribs.

They were leaving.

Not abandoning him. He knew that. Not replacing him. Not even rejecting him. Just... moving on. Evolving.

Beyond him.

The thought tasted bitter, childish. People don’t stay. People betray. They always do.

He forced the thought out of his head before it could take root. Stupid. Petty. He wasn't some street kid clutching at a crew like they were his only shot at survival. He had something. Built something. And he wasn’t gonna let his own emotions trip him up now.

AY-E nudged his shoulder again, gentler this time, like she could tell. Maybe she could. 

The programming was adaptive. The machine-learning process meant that, technically, she had developed a personality. A sense of awareness.

Or maybe he was just losing it, talking to drones like they gave a damn.

"I’m fine," he said again, softer this time. "Just been a long day."

He set the mug down, fingers dragging absently across the edge of the holotable. The system flared to life at his touch, waiting for input, waiting for him to give it something to do.

"ADAM."

"Yes, boss?"

Zedd stared at the empty projection space, his mind already shifting gears, emotions filed away for later—or never. He needed something solid. Something tangible. Something to sink his hands into.

"Reopen folder: Project GUARDIAN."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

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