Harlan sat in his office, the lights turned down low, and stubbed out his cigarette.
His ashtray was on the verge of overflowing, and his office probably stunk to high heaven to anyone else in the immediate vicinity. As things stood, though, he was the only person in the office today. Theseus and Gustav were in the bowels of the facility, hard at work on another one of their “innovations”. He could care less.
As he lit another cigarette, the little alarm on his digital watch chimed. Harlan groaned, rose to his feet, and stumbled out of his office, not bothering to open the windows and air the place out. Two days had come and gone since he’d returned to Brockton Bay. The city hadn’t even begun to recover.

As he switched the engine on, he checked his phone and keyed the address into his GPS. His destination was a nondescript house on a nondescript street. It was closest to Brockton General out of the five available options, and he’d dropped Max and her friends off there on request. There they were, standing on the sidewalk, five pale faces turning in unison to stare straight at him. Harlan stifled a shudder and pulled up to the kerb, glancing at himself in the mirror. He looked like death. Eyes bloodshot, face unshaven.
Max sat beside him; the four other girls piled in behind. Harlan blinked at her. “I thought it was just going to be me and you,” he said.
Max shrugged. “They’re going as emotional support.”
“We knew Mr and Mrs Tyrell too,” one of the girls piped up, snidely, and Harlan made a grudging mental note to learn their names.
“Oh, and, um, one more thing,” Max added, as they pulled up to the funeral home. “We’re actually trying to figure out how to settle a few other funerals. Can you help?”
Harlan pinched the bridge of his nose. “All of your parents?”
Max nodded sheepishly.
“Christ. Okay.”
“We don’t have any other relatives in Brockton Bay, either,” one of her friends said, as they filtered out of his car. “So, we were wondering if you could, like…” She took a deep breath. “Actasaguardianforallofus.”

It took a while for that to sink in.
“What?”
“I already have a board of trustees and shit,” another girl said, “but Minnie would have to move all the way to California, and Faith and Edie don’t have any guardians appointed to take charge of them. We’ve checked. We’re pretty sure that Minnie’s aunt wouldn’t contest any change in guardianship, so that’s fine. See? There won’t be any problems.”
Harlan sagged against his car. “You’re telling me,” he said, faintly, “that you’re asking to be adopted by me. The five of you. Well. The four of you. I’ve already – I’m Max’s guardian, sure, but what – why am I – what?”
“You’re rich,” the girl retorted, and Harlan remembered with a start that her name was Hailey, and that her father had invested in Umbrella Corporation almost ten years ago. “And filing for emancipation would be too much exposure for any of us. For all of us.”
“I’m not qualified,” Harlan insisted.
“Oh, for –”

Harlan blinked. Hailey had raised her hand, as though she was about to slap him, but that wasn’t what had initially caught his attention. Rather, her hand appeared to be surrounded by a whirlpool of gently levitating fragments of material. Debris, probably. “… you’re a parahuman,” he managed.
“No shit.”
“We all are,” Max added, Harlan’s head snapping around to look at her. “And we plan to do something about it.”
“About what?” Harlan demanded. “Brockton Bay? No. No. I forbid it. I told – I told Colin I’d keep you out of trouble, and I meant it.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed violently, glancing back at the other four girls, who were pressing in on him, looking unimpressed and mutinous. “Not that I’m claiming to speak on your parents’ behalf, but –”
“Damn right you aren’t,” Hailey sneered. “My dad would tell me to beat the shit out of whoever killed him.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” another one of Max’s friends interrupted, gently tugging Hailey backwards, and Harlan straightened up, feeling curiously short of breath. “C’mon. Let’s go.”