A/N: Well, folks, I'm finally back to it! It's been a while so I'll give a quick recap on where we are, as well as a change to the story's structure – I'm moving the story into a shifting perspective. When Taylor is the focus, we'll be reading it in first-person. But because things are moving so much in the background, I'll be jumping around to various third-person observations for the other characters and groups.

RECAP: In the last chapter, Danny got in touch with Annette's mother, matriarch of the Rosier family, in order to secure money and clout for Taylor to attend Immaculata. The Rosiers have never liked Danny, as they saw the marriage as Annette choosing below her station and giving up her chance of becoming a stateswoman or being the wife of a politician. In the interlude, we saw Sophia starting her career as a sponsored vigilante, badmouthing the Protectorate and Wards while she brutalizes street thugs. And across the Atlantic, in Bosnia, an ancient underground ruin was uncovered beneath Sarajevo…

Establishment 2.01

I gazed at myself in the mirror, forcing a smile. If I pretended to be happy and excited, maybe I could fake it well enough to fool myself. It was honestly shocking how quickly Immaculata had accepted me. I knew Mom's family still had pull in the upper echelons of New Hampshire society, but still. I already had uniforms, a school schedule and a student assigned to help me get acclimated over the first week. The uniform was pretty, almost reminiscent of the anime from before Japan got torn apart. Sailor Moon, maybe? The shirts were either polo shirts or long-sleeved ones, pristine white with deep maroon collars. Boys got the choice between a tie or a ruffled cravat-like thing, while we girls were stuck with the cravat. While I didn't like the idea of wearing a skirt, and it was permitted for girls to wear pants, Dad had suggested it was a chance to make a new start and try something new. I already couldn't hide under baggy clothes, so why not try? Either way, the slacks and pleated calf-length skirts were the same maroon as the collars and neck accessories. I fluffed my hair in my hands and let it spill down my back, gazing into my own hazel eyes within the mirror. It was hard to admit, due to my natural gangly awkwardness and a campaign of hatred waged against me, but...I actually felt pretty. The white brought out the deep chocolatey hues of my hair and the maroon made my skin look not quite so pasty. I could do this.

Two steps out of my room and my opinion changed. Nope, not doing it. Too scared. I wanted to crawl back under my covers and roll up into a blanket cocoon. Unfortunately, I now had too much riding on this. Dad wanted to see his daughter happy again, and had risked Grandma's wrath for the chance. And, well, Grandma was scary in her own right even without the Rosier-Hebert war. I didn't want her upset with me; considering how many people she knew, I might end up with a horse head in my bed!

I managed to force myself down the stairs and found my father waiting for me. His bright smile once again lifted my mood. "You look beautiful, sweetie," he said before flinching as the bacon crackled. He returned his attention to cooking breakfast so as not to get struck by stray grease.

I sat down at the table. "Not sure I'll be able to eat; my stomach is doing flip-flips," I muttered.

"You have no reason to be nervous," he replied, voice soft. "You're bright and sweet: everybody's going to love you. Besides, if anybody gives you trouble, I'll tell your grandma on them!" He laughed, but I wouldn't put it past him to do it. Or for her to go on the warpath. She'd been fiercely protective of Mom while she was alive. And, since Dad got back in contact with her, she'd been calling regularly to check up on us. "Do you know your schedule?"

I nodded. "I probably don't have it memorized, but I will. First period is Math, then Biology. Then English, a free period, and Gym. American and World History are back-to-back, and Chemistry's at the end." I rustled through my backpack to find the schedule. "Ha! That's right!"

Dad plucked the bacon from the pan and set it on paper towels, using the tongs to flip the rashers several times before laying more paper towels atop them and blotting the excess grease off. "And your student guide?"

"Somebody Wong..." I scanned the sheet. "Ah! An-Yi Wong. She's on the same schedule as me." I sighed. "Hopefully we won't see any ABB crap there."

Dad slid a plate of over-hard eggs, bacon and toast in front of me. "Nothing overt, at least. Immaculata can afford to kick people out if they cause trouble. Speaking of, I hope you're not going to tackle any more capes in the lunch room."

"I make no promises," I smirked back, but my expression was as forced as the casual mirth in my father's voice. He was worried for me, and I was too, but I had to do this.

After breakfast, Dad and I climbed into the truck. I'd felt guilty about him having to drive so far out of his way to drop me off, but he allayed my fears: he'd managed to make things work out for us. One of the DWU's tool suppliers was out that way, and they usually sent the equipment out in bulk shipments. Now, though, he could pick up whatever they had for him after he dropped me off. It sounded like an excuse to me, an attempt to make me not feel so bad, but if it was saving the Union a little money I could accept that.

(BREAK)

With a kiss on the top of my head and a gentle ruffling of my hair, Dad dropped me off on the front walk of Immaculata's campus. The place was gorgeous, built in a sort of Victorian-Gothic fusion reminiscent of a cathedral. The primary building was a soft tan color, sort of like pictures I'd seen of French cathedrals, with a tiled roof and a front steeple with a huge bronze bell. The steeple tower looked older than the rest of the building, so it might have started as a real church and been built up bigger over time. It didn't sprawl nearly as much as Winslow, but it also looked like it had at least three stories. Off to the sides were other, more modern and spartan buildings.

"Hi!" The word jerked me out of my observations and I may have squeaked and jumped a little. I looked down at a tiny girl beside me. She couldn't have been much taller than five feet even. Her sleek black hair was tied back in a short ponytail, dark almond-shaped eyes twinkling over round cheeks. She wasn't chubby, and the rest of her was slender, but she had oddly wide cheeks that rose up into little hills when she smiled. "Since you look like a tourist but you're wearing the uniform, I'm gonna guess you're Taylor."

I blinked, then finally made a noise. "Jeez, sorry. Yeah, I just spaced out there." I offered a handshake. "Taylor Hebert. You're An-Yi? I hope I'm pronouncing that right."

She took my hand in a firm grip and gave it a few enthusiastic shakes. "Close enough. Chinese is a real inflection-based language. Feel free to just call me Annie, though. Grew up with my friends calling me that and it stuck." She released my hand and gestured for me to follow her. "So welcome to Immaculata. I'll be your tour guide, and I accept tips! We've got a little time before the bell, so lemme put names to the buildings you were staring at. The big cathedral in front of us is Immaculata. It's the original school building, built on the site of an older church built by Romanian immigrants – Doamna Noastra de Conceptie Imaculata. But it got trashed in a sort of religious gang war between Catholics and Protestants. The church also had a library and a lot of people were pissed about all that knowledge being destroyed. So, people managed to convince the governor to buy the property and the church was rebuilt and expanded on the old foundations, turned into a school. I think they added the extra M to English-ify it."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Did you have all this memorized, or…?"

Annie chuckled. "Wish I could say I did, but nah. I did a cram session on the school's history so I could be a proper tour guide." She then pointed to our left. "Now that one's Baker Hall. It's our science building; got special ventilation and all sorts of systems in case of chemical accidents. We have AP classes as well as after-school projects if you really get into that stuff. On the other side is the Dormer Gymnasium. Self-explanatory. And you can't see it behind the cathedral – we still just call it the cathedral for simplicity's sake – but behind it is the cafeteria building." Annie started leading me up the sidewalk and steps into the Immaculata building. "When the school was a lot smaller they used to do things monk-style: students had to work the gardens and grow the crops, then they'd eat on the main floor in here. Now that the school's so much bigger, and we got rid of the gardens to make room for football and track, we have a separate cafeteria building. Food's good, and every Thursday we have something special. Sometimes it's pizza made in-house, other times it's burritos. The cooks get a chance to let loose. They also offer cooking classes after school."

It was difficult to focus on her words. It was incredible how different Immaculata was from Winslow. In Winslow, everything was gray. The walls were carved with deep gouges from janitorial and A/V carts crashing into them, and of course from various blades as well. Graffiti and chipping paint were also common. The front hall of Immaculata...was made from wood! The walls were a gorgeous reddish wood – cherrywood? – and the floor was hardwood with a plush dark-green area rug filling the center of the room. A trophy case was set to my left, filled with all sorts of different awards. A few from sports, but more from academic competitions. Immaculata actually had contact with other cities! In hindsight, it was amazing how much that shocked me. But Winslow felt like a black hole, where nothing could ever leave. Your entire world was that tiny cosmos of pain, and nothing would ever get better. Just being in here reminded me that there was a wider world. "This place is amazing," I muttered.

"Hey, when they charge this much for tuition, they better give us some good stuff in return!" she laughed.

"So, um," I decided to just bite the bullet and ask. "What're things like with the gangs, here?"

She blinked at me, then her eyes widened in understanding. "Right, you came from Winslow. I've heard stories about that place. No, there are no stabbings or gang wars in here. Nobody wears colors openly or sells crack in the bathrooms. Not that there aren't some people who get high, but I don't know where they hide to do it. That said, you can still feel it. I'm pretty sure I know a couple guys who're ABB, or whose families are. And you can usually tell the Empire kids by the way they look at the rest of us. No Merchants, I think."

"How do you manage it? Keeping the peace, I mean?"

"That part's easy," Annie smirked. "We're a private school. Yeah, the tuition money is nice, but it also means we reserve the right to kick you out. We've had a few fights, some gang stuff happens on occasion. If you're lucky, you're let off with harsh punishments. If not, you're booted from the school altogether. And, because most people's parents know each other, everybody knows you're the screw-up who got kicked out."

"Ouch, and in high society – or what passes for it in Brockton..."

"Yeah, the kids who get expelled will get a lot worse punishment than we could ever do. Anyway, let's move on to more pleasant subjects. C'mon, I'll show you the classrooms."

(BREAK)

Cable TV held a lot of entertainment, made even more enjoyable when it was free. Kenta stretched his arms above his head and popped his neck, settling in to binge-watch an oddly compelling show he'd found completely by accident when some of his junior recruits were being bullied for their enjoyment of it. He'd never expected that a show about pastel-colored, singing horses would be so engaging.

His relaxation was interrupted by his second-in-command. "Kenta, you have an urgent call." Even when not wearing his mask, Lee was still so stiff. Kenta worried for his old friend, privately concerned about the old superstitions. Whenever Lee teleported, his old body dissolved into ash. Was his soul dying a little bit each time? Still, even that concern couldn't trump his annoyance.

"Urgent enough to warrant interrupting my relaxation?" This episode sounded really exciting, too. Looking at Lee's expression, which was drawn and slightly tense, Kenta decided it was indeed urgent enough. Or at least important enough to get Lee to show emotion. He accepted the phone. "Hai."

"Not using the language of your adopted home? That could be considered bad form." The slightly raspy voice was instantly recognizable to him. Kenta straightened in his seat. How could he forget the voice who helped coordinate his escape from the hated Yangban?

"In a city of racial supremacy, I respond in kind. But that is not why you called, Horus." The man may have helped him, but he held no illusions that it was done out of kindness. Whichever masters Horus served, they somehow managed to operate internationally.

"Indeed not. You now have a chance to begin paying back your debt." And here it was. Kenta had spent years waiting for the sword of Damocles to fall. What would they demand he do? Was he to be some military asset for a coup? And if he were to refuse, would Horus somehow be able to turn him over to the Yangban once again? "I'm sending you an email; don't worry, it'll go through your spam filter. Within you will find the name and photograph of our newest sleeper asset. She is not fully aware of her significance, but she is vital to the future. Ours, and yours. There is no immediate demand for your action: instead, I expect you to memorize her name and face. If the need arises, we will call on you to intercede on her behalf. You WILL intercede, using all of your resources to protect her."

He couldn't resist poking the bear. "And if I do not?"

A throaty chuckle was his only answer. "Take care, Kenta." And with that, Horus once again vanished from his life.

(BREAK)

Across the city, Geoffrey Schmidt smoothly answered the ringing telephone. "Ja, hello?"

The voice on the other end, calm and authoritative, spoke in his native tongue. "Dann rief er laut: »Lazarus, komm heraus!«Und Lazarus kam heraus. Hände und Füße waren mit Grabtüchern umwickelt, und auch sein Gesicht war mit einem Tuch verhüllt. »Nehmt ihm die Tücher ab«, forderte Jesus die Leute auf, »und lasst ihn gehen!«"

Geoff's fingers went slack, as did his face. The phone nearly tumbled from his loose grip. Across the room, his wife Dorothy stood up. "Sweetheart," she asked, in the programmed manner she always did when something seemed odd in their family life, "what's wrong?"

As the line went dead, he was finally able to articulate words. "Mein Oberst..."