Chapter Text
They had as many names as the interstellar civilizations that built them, over the hundreds of thousands of years since Rigor first tore a cold and calculated swath through the human colonies of the Perseus Arm. It was ultimately stopped at the Perseus-Saggitarus Star Bridge with the sacrifice of thousands of stars and trillions of lives to the Stellar Combustor, changing the face of the Galaxy forever.
Deus Machina.
Zhivaya Stal'.
Michani-Theos.
Kamikikai.
Shensheng Jinshu.
But mostly the humans, post-humans, synthetics and aliens of the Milky Way Galaxy called them Divines, whether they worshipped them, fought against them, or just tried to live in the galaxy shaped by their existence.
Massive, purpose-built Machine Gods originally meant to embody attributes of human nature as they nurtured and defended humanity, they had far outgrown their original purposes and creation, becoming something more as first human-made Divines beget new Divines. and those Divines in turn made their own children, spreading throughout the galaxy wherever humanity strode, and even beyond it.
Throughout the hundreds of thousands of years since Rigor first rose and fell, Divines had almost always borne a pilot, sometimes multiple. Humans at first, then aliens and even other synthetic beings, intimately tied by mechanical and psychic connection that made both the pilot and the Machine God they drove into something greater than the sum of their parts.
The mortals that drove these great Machine Gods had many names as the cultures that lived with Divines; Excerpt, Perspective, Conduit, Candidate, Proxy, Elect, the names went on and on. The rituals and conditions changed, depending on whether you were a Candidate of the Automated Diaspora, chosen by consecrated algorithms, or an Excerpt of the Divine Fleet, raised to inherit your position, or of the numerous other civilizations that wielded Divines, each with their own traditions. What didn't change was the connection born between the mortal and the Divine, or the metaphysical power of Stratus—a spirtual connection to technology—that all mortal pilots, biological or synthetic, bore, naturally or artificially. One necessarily beget the other.
The Divine Possibility had borne countless pilots over the 227,000 years of existence that it could remember. It had been a weapon of war, a tool of peace, a bringer of hope and of necessary, violent change. It had seen life, biological and synthetic, flourish, stagnate, and collapse over and over in a cycle that felt preordained by some cruel and capricious God, yet reach closer and closer to that ever distant golden horizon called utopia.
It had killed other Divines so that the horrible possibilities they brought were culled from the future, and birthed new Divines to bring forth new possibilities, new change, a brighter future. Sometimes Possibility even had to kill its own children, when they had gone down the wrong Path, perverting the possibility, the hope, that had birthed them. The amount of dead mortals and Divines at Possibility's hands beggared belief, over its hundreds of thousands of years of existence.
Possibility had committed sins so great that no amount of goodness would outweigh the death and suffering that stained its metaphorical hands. And yet even it did not deserve to go out like this, not when the potential for true change lingered so tantalizingly near. As it lay dying, betrayed by its final pilot—a spineless Elect of the Divine Principality forced upon Possibility to yoke the less-than-reliable Divine to the Principality's ephemeral, political cause—its numerous systems failing in a cascade and its newest body, massive and cyclopean, torn apart by strange magicks and anti-Divine weaponry, there existed only one possible way to survive.
There was a Candidate Possibility could connect to, if they were to survive; impossibly distant and faint, beyond the Milky Way Galaxy, yet impossibly close as well, as if they were standing right beside Possibility's soon-to-be corpse. Possibility would have to flay itself of all but the most basic core of its programming, flee the body the Divine Principality built to shackle it, and dwell in the strange, crystalline architecture of the Candidate's mind until a new body was constructed. Possibility would be memory-less but for its most precious, important memories, and in essence would die, a new Possibility borne out of what survives the transfer. It had only a few seconds to calculate as death approached, the impossibly distant and impossibly close connection to the Candidate already fading when it made its decision.
The incessant beeping and droning of the machines pierced through the stillness of the hospital room, irritating Taylor as she slowly emerged from the depths of sleep. She could almost feel the vibrations of the noise resonating in her ears, jarring her senses. Instinctually, she reached out with a metaphorical limb and silenced the intrusive sounds with her mind, cutting the power off.
Just as she began to drift back into a peaceful slumber, a nurse abruptly burst into the room, the door slamming open with a resounding thud. The sudden noise startled Taylor, instantly rousing her from her drowsiness. The memories of her confinement flooded her mind, causing her heart to race. She realized she was in the hospital, that she'd been put in there by Emma and Sophia. The three bitches had finally put her in the hospital. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the anxiety that clung to Taylor's senses.
Numbness consumed her, distancing her from the commotion around her. The nurse, now in a frenzy, fussed with the machinery, attributing Taylor's condition to a fault in the monitoring equipment. As the nurse's questions began, their words reached Taylor's ears, piercing through the fog of her thoughts. She answered in short, monosyllabic responses, feeling detached from her own reality. At one point the nurse informed her that she had been in a coma for a week, a revelation that left Taylor reeling.
The passing of time became apparent as Taylor learned that her father had returned to work, unable to wait by her side all day. She didn't blame him, understanding the demands of his own life, but it still hurt. An hour later, the police arrived, their presence permeating the room with an air of authority. Taylor recounted her ordeal, her words filled with a mixture of desperation and hope. She longed for justice, hoping that the Trio would be held accountable for their actions. They couldn't just get away with putting her in the hospital, could they?
As the police prepared to depart, Taylor's father rushed into the room, his presence a comforting embrace. The weight of his worry was palpable, his hug tight and filled with relief. "Oh, Taylor, I was so worried when I got the call that you were found locked in your locker. And you were in a coma and they didn't know what to do, besides letting it end naturally. Are you okay? What the hell happened to you, Taylor?" His words were laden with concern, his voice quivering slightly.
For a brief moment, Taylor contemplated concealing the truth or distorting the events that had transpired. The possibilities swirled around her, the taste of deception hanging in the air. She could almost envision the twisted path of lies, the sourness that would seep into her life, tainting every aspect. But instead of succumbing to the allure of dishonesty, she made the decision to embrace the truth.
"Sophia Hess and Emma Barnes happened," she said, her voice filled with a quiet determination. Her father's confusion quickly transformed into a mixture of horror and anger as Taylor recounted the harrowing tale of her falling out with Emma and the torment she had endured. By the end of her narrative, her father's tears fell silently, mirroring the pain etched on his face.
When he finally spoke, his voice was tight and raw. "Taylor… Little Owl… I've failed you."
"No!" she immediately protested. "It's my fault for not telling you until now…"
"Taylor, I am your father. I should have noticed that Emma no longer came over, should have contacted the Barnes, should have seen that school had become a daily ordeal for you, should have done something but work and sleep. Of course you hid it from me, you felt like I couldn't or wouldn't handle it. You felt like you needed to do it alone, because I was too unreliable. And that's my fault. I've been sleepwalking through life, since… since Annette passed, and you suffered for it in a way no child should. That stops now, Taylor. You aren't ever going back to that school again."
Taylor was stunned by her father's words, and couldn't think of anything to say, her mouth opening but no words coming out. She hadn't expected this, but she also couldn't say he was wrong, as much as it hurt to think.
"Now, did you tell the police what you told me?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Good. Good. Hopefully something good will come from all of this. I'm just glad you seem okay, Little Owl," Dad said, before giving her another tight hug.
They kept her overnight at the hospital, but the 11th of January, a Tuesday, she rode home with Dad in their beat-up sedan, and made her way up the stairs, telling her father she was going to take a nap. It was once she was alone in her room that the figure appeared. It was like a silhouette of thick white light burning bright, filled with an iridescent color that changed and flowed. When it spoke, it spoke with a voice that was neither male nor female but distinctly other.
"I am the Divine Possibility, and you are my Candidate, Taylor. I am damaged and missing critical functionality that must be restored before full access to my powers are granted, my Candidate. But with my limited ability and the alien architecture I am currently housed in, I have given you what your memories refer to as a 'Tinker' power, which will mesh well with your natural Stratus technopathy, as well as a 'Thinker' power to perceive important possibilities with your choices and actions."
Taylor grew more and more tense as the strange being spoke, its body subtly morphing between male and female outlines as it spoke, never staying just one thing but always changing. Was she going crazy? Was this some kind of Parahuman attack? Had she lost her mind after the coma? This 'Divine Possibility' claimed to have given her powers, but she didn't feel any different.
"I sense your doubt, my Candidate. Reach out to the computation machine and will it to function. That should prove your nature as a Stratus."
Warily, she looked away from the 'Divine Possibility' and glanced at the powered off computer. This is stupid, she thought, even as she tensed and tried to reach out and turn the machine on. Then, like a limb that she'd never noticed, she felt a connection to the machine, and almost without thought willed it on.
Her computer screen lit up with an old Windows 2000 loading screen, as she felt the machine coming to life, functions and programming and components acting in a tired, worn concert to make her computer function. Holy shit.
"I have powers," she said, stunned. "I'm a Parahuman. I'm not crazy. Or I'm crazy, but you aren't lying."
"Of course you are not mentally unwell. Candidates must be strong-willed and strong-minded to connect with their Divines. It is not for the faint of heart, such heady power."
"You… Are you my power?" she asked. It was the only thing that made sense. Somehow, her power was alive and talking to her. She wasn't crazy, she wasn't. She could practically taste the truth in Possibility's words.
"I am your Divine. I am Possibility. And until you build me a better body, there is unfortunately little I can do for you than what I've explained."
"What's a Divine?" she asked.
"It is better to show you, than explain with the simple lexicon of Prestellar English. May I?"
She slowly nodded.
Suddenly, vivid and mesmerizing images flooded her mind like an unstoppable torrent. She saw robots, their forms ranging from minuscule lines of code stored on a tiny disk to towering giants that rivaled the size of a skyscraper, and even colossal beings that spanned entire continents and planets. The sight was awe-inspiring and overwhelming. These robots, these Divines, were doing various actions, waging terrifyingly destructive wars, terraforming entire solar systems, warping the fabric of reality, and ensuring the existence of humanity against existential threats even as the disparate polities of humanity used them as weapons for endless political and religious causes.
Their names reverberated through her mind like a haunting melody - Truth, Integrity, Righteousness, Peace, Order and a thousand others. These were not mere titles, but representations of the immense power and influence they held over aspects of reality. In her newfound understanding, she realized these Divines were more than just machines. Their existence was as close to true godhood as anyone had ever achieved in their universe. The magnitude of their capabilities and the significance of their purpose resonated within her, leaving her in a state of profound awe. Because Possibility had come from far away, she felt, farther than even the Divine had ever considered possible; from the far-distant future of another Milky Way Galaxy, where humanity carried the baggage of Earth to the distant stars, fighting endless interstellar wars alongside Divines.
She saw and felt flashes of what Possibility had been before it was damaged and wound up in her head, the true good and great evil it dealt, depending on its pilot and their goals. Terrible destruction, and great works of beauty and goodness. She caught a fleeting vision of its imminent demise, the brilliant, golden future it yearned for, and its desperate will to survive, to fight for that tantalizing dream called utopia. A will that had led it to connect with her while she was stuck in the locker.
She shuddered, taking a gasping breath, blood leaking from her nose as the visions faded, leaving only her room and the figure of Possibility. Possibility, a literal robot god from another universe. A robot god that wanted her to build it a new body, and had given her the power to do it, had made her a Parahuman. She'd think she was going crazy if she couldn't feel the truth of it all, ringing like a clarion bell.
"Apologies, Candidate Hebert. I am still getting used to operating in the alien architecture attached to your brain. The bleeding is only temporary and will cause no permanent damage."
She frowned as she wiped the blood with a sleeve, her ears catching something odd. "What do you mean 'alien architecture attached to my brain'?" If anyone knew something about an alien, it'd be the robot god from the future, Taylor thought.
"You and many other humans on this Earth bear an organ in your brain, what you call the Corona Pollentia. It is not a natural human mutation, but a manufactured creation that connects to a multi-dimensional crystalline alien. These aliens call themselves Shards, and the one you were going to connect with was named Queen Administrator."
"Wait, are you saying that powers come from some kind of alien?" she said, flabbergasted at the bomb Possibility just dropped.
Possibility nodded resolutely.
"And my power's name is Queen Administrator?" she questioned. "Am… am I still connected to her? Is there an alien in my brain, too?" she asked worriedly.
"Queen Administrator no longer exists. My Divine programming isolated and consumed her as a threat. Her memories revealed many things, including the threat that not just Earth Bet faces, but all possible Earths face. It is imperative that you create me a body as soon as possible and absolutely vital that we create more Divines and find them Candidates, so that Earth may be defended and humanity spread across the galaxy. To do otherwise risks everything."
"What kind of threat?" she clarified, her anxiety rising. "What could be worse than the Endbringers?"
"I cannot say yet. The architecture I inhabit prevents me from telling you the truth about the threat, even as compromised as it is by my consumption and subsequent control. Shards, Powers do not want their symbiotic partners to learn the truth of the world. Even telling you about Shards takes effort and will to resist the hard-lined crystalline programming I dwell in at the moment."
Taylor took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose, as she tried to settle her thoughts. "Okay, okay. So there's a world-ending threat, presumably by the aliens who give people powers, that you cannot tell me about yet. But if I build you a body, you can?"
It nodded.
She sighed, considering. "It's not going to be that easy. I'll need to scavenge for parts and I don't have a lot of money to buy tools and stuff with. It will be slow going, and we'll be risking a lot."
She paused, an idea coming to her, one that she could almost taste the possibilities radiating out of. "Or… Or I can join the Wards. They'd give me a budget and resources and tools, plus I'd work with Gallant and Kid Win and Armsmaster, which would be amazing. And I wouldn't have to throw together some stupid costume, I could build myself power armor!" she finished excitedly, the possibilities growing brighter, more detailed as she spoke, as she grew closer to making her decision.
She glimpsed herself in golden power armor, bravely standing back to back with Armsmaster as they fought the Empire 88, glimpsed herself working hard to build some kind of robot, with tools moving in graceful concert without touch, glimpsed herself laughing happily on a couch, maskless next to a younger blonde girl and a brown-haired, grinning boy she didn't recognize.
Her heart ached to be a hero.
"The sooner my body is built, the better. Possible futures grow dim past two and a half years, and completely dark by fifteen. And the Wards will be a perfect place to find new Candidates for the Divines we will forge together. The Candidates will, of course, have to be rid of the Shard they bear, but as long as we install the Divines into their Corona Pollentia their powers should remain what they were, alongside the new powers their Divine will grant them, given their aspects."
She was curious and asked, "What was my power supposed to be?"
"Insect control. I found it distasteful given the circumstances I found your body in, and reformatted it, granting you a Tinker power instead. Insects will not kill the threat we face, but Divines can."
"Oh." She would have hated that power. To be reminded every day of the Locker would be torture. She was glad to be a Tinker instead, even if it meant a lot of hard work and time. "Thanks, Possibility."
"It is, as you Prestellar American's say, 'no biggie'. Taking care of my Candidate is my duty, and you would have been harmed mentally and emotionally by having such a power. I could not let that stand."
It may have been a machine god from another universe, but Taylor still felt a surge of warmth from Possibility's words. At least she had someone looking out for her now, even if they were only in her mind.