[justify][indent][indent]Vector followed in step as Bernard led them down the long carpeted hall. The others’ voices carried in easy rhythm, all of them light, human, and unburdened. The chatter bounced between the walls. The Knight’s armour clinked softly with each stride, and they all kept pace with measured calm. Their excitement filled the air like static, but one of Bernard’s earlier answers lingered in Vector’s mind. No pay. Volunteer work. He hadn’t thought of it until then, of course he hadn’t needed to. He’d never stopped to wonder what it would cost to live whilst being a hero. The thought of money, or the lack of it even, simply didn’t exist in his world. He could afford to risk himself for ideals because comfort, and even luxury, was already a guaranteed.

The question replayed in his memory, that faint hope, a man asking if he’d still be able to eat while saving others. Vector’s jaw tightened. He’d forgotten that some people fought because they had nothing else, that heroism wasn’t a privilege for everyone. It wasn’t guilt. It was logistics, and imbalance needed correction.

He lifted his right hand slightly, thumb brushing upward in a subtle, unnatural motion. The small sensor woven into the glove’s inner seam pulsed once against the web of his hand. Inside his aviators, faint text appeared, projected low across the lens, translucent, and invisible to anyone but him. He signed quickly with his fingers, the coded gestures compact and practiced. Each movement mapped to letters, a silent, efficient language he’d programmed himself to use without obvious movement. 
[/indent][/indent][/justify]
[hr][color=007236]
[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent]
[b]HGS-3 Encrypted Channel: Hale... - [i]connected.[/i][/b]

[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][b]Vector [/b]
Establish a discrete support fund. 
Grants for low-income registered heroes. 
Equipment, housing, stipends, etc[/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]
[b]Hale[/b]
A charitable venture, sir?

[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][b]Vector [/b]
Maintenance. Efficiency requires stability. 
Keep it anonymous.[/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]
[b]Hale[/b]
Initial allocation?

[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][b]Vector[/b]
Two million. Renewable quarterly. 
Talk details later. Out.[/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/color][hr][justify][indent][indent]
A faint confirmation blinked green on the inside of his lens, gone with a blink, the glass returned to black. To anyone watching, he’d merely adjusted his gloves.

He let the silence settle again as they walked. The others spoke freely, driven by enthusiasm and choice, people doing this because they wanted to. He envied that, in a quiet way he’d never admit; they fought for meaning whereas he fought for control.

The hallway opened into the registration chamber, bright and clean under flat white light. Five booths lined the walls, each humming with its own kind of promise. MAGI shimmered with crystals. DATA flickered with precision. SERAPH buzzed under sterile blue light. GIFT radiated warmth and pride. He watched the others drift, drawn by fascination, or maybe belonging. One bowed politely to the witch at MAGI. Another leaned close to inspect DATA’s robot attendant. The Knight hovered awkwardly, earnest and uncertain. They looked alive, and he envied that, too.

His path, by contrast, had always been narrow. He had no magic, no mutation, no real ability beyond harsh and unending training, and then just structure, a framework, built by himself to keep him from becoming what his father had designed him to be. He crossed the parquet floor in silence. When he reached the booth at the far end, the one with plain wood, gray walls, and a faintly humming terminal, he stopped. He sat his attaché neatly beside his leg and straightened.

“Vector,” he said. “I’m signing on for ELITE.”
[/indent][/indent][/justify]