Across town, Maya Torres, Jason’s sister, sat in a cluttered garage, surrounded by salvaged interceptor suit parts.

2055 Ironclad Dynamics bevel gears. A 2080 Hotgear energy core from a classic interceptor. Mini 2056 Kelvin balls. More.

She stared at the parts ambitiously, fixing her low ponytail and rolling up the sleeves of her worn jeans jacket.

Jason, home, walked in and dumped his I.T. issued backpack by the door.

He immediately spotted the partially assembled silver frame. He stared at it hard. "Maya, we talked about this.” He said in Spanish, hoping their mother tongue would get through to her head. 

“You need to stop buying this junk."

"They're not junk, Jase. They're parts. And no, you talked about it.” She turned back around and started working on her project.

“Let’s just say I’m doing a physics and an engineering project for college that might coincidentally be an interceptor!”

"You saw what happened to Rebecca Moss." Jason shot back, his even-temper fraying. "This isn't a game, mana. It's too dangerous!" 

Maya was a third year in college dual-majoring in physics and engineering. 

She’d been obsessed with becoming an interceptor pilot from the moment she could walk. Their parents lived on a remote farm in Mexico, making him the only protector of his sister. 

Maya had tested to become a pilot, but didn’t make the cut amongst the thousands of applicants. 

"And it’s not too dangerous for you? Who do you think is going to replace the ones who keep getting turned or ripped apart?" Maya challenged, pushing her hoop earrings back. 

Her insensitive words were not lost on Jason’s ears. “You know you didn’t pass preliminary tests at I.T. Do you plan on going private?” Jason tested. 

Maya nodded. “The others might see what you guys missed.” After a moment of deliberation, Jason picked up his phone and sent off a couple of texts.

“There.” He said triumphantly.

What?” Maya asked, suspicious. 

Jason only got short with her when he thought he had the upper hand. 

“I just banned you from any private interceptor company on the west coast.”

"You know what?" She said seriously. "I'm not waiting for an invitation." 

She stared at the silver frame—the nascent Rift suit—a determined glint in her eyes. "The world needs more interceptors, Jason. I'm going to be one."

Back at IT headquarters, Kiera, overwhelmed by the shareholders’ demands and the constant pressure of the charade, finally slumped into her mother’s office chair. Cerulean. Incredibly soft. Incredibly comfortable.

She needed a win.

She searched her mother’s locked files, unlocked by courtesy of Pierce, for any tactical advantage, anything the company could use to regain public trust.

 She stopped at a folder called Potential_Interceptors, and clicked a file labeled, simply: "White, J." It was starred.

Kiera clicked the file open. It contained a short news snippet overlaid with a clip of a dark-skinned girl with puffy pigtails singing confidently on a stage.

BREAKING NEWS: Jamie White, the multi-talented pop singer and graduated Interceptor Pilot, is serious about becoming an interceptor. Her charisma and public appeal could be the major push to heighten any company’s credibility, or make them a laughingstock…

Kiera looked at the cheerful, bold image of Jamie White—the perfect blend of talent, ambition, and PR appeal. The company didn't need a strategy; they needed a star.

"Pierce," Kiera called into the office intercom. "Get me Jamie White’s agent. I want her signed by the end of the day."

The press conference felt less like an Interceptor Technologies announcement and more like a pop concert.

Kiera stood stiffly on stage, the holographic device activated, forcing her features into the confident, fifty-three-year-old face of her dead mother, Rebecca Moss.

She still wasn’t used to being looked at like she had all the answers.

Her deliberations were cut short when Jamie White took the stage.

Thirteen years and clad in trendy multilayered, multi-colored pink, white and grey celebrity fashion, Jamie looked the part of a popstar and had the energy to match it. She didn't walk; she bounced, throwing a peace sign to the flashing cameras. 

Sharp, confident, and extroverted, she immediately started charming the room, delivering pre-rehearsed, PR-perfect soundbites about protecting the city and crushing Jawals.

“It’s truly an honor to join the Interceptors. And to be mentored by Rebecca Moss? She’s a legend.” Jamie flashed a dazzling, practiced smile directly at Kiera’s masked face.

“High notes and high stakes, people. I’m happy to live on the edge if it means saving people!” The room—the media, the tech analysts, even the I.T. staff—loved her. 

Kiera felt a wave of tiredness. This girl was everything Kiera was not: loud, attention-seeking, a spectacle. Kiera had a feeling that she would have to manage the strategy and protocol during any battle paired with the singer. 

Jamie seemed to only see the spotlight. 

She would have gotten along with my mother. 

Struggling to maintain the open and charming rhetoric she had to deliver, Kiera only offered a pleasant smile in her direction.

“Ms. White’s enthusiasm is appreciated. While young, Jamie White has proved to be an excellent pilot. I’m confident in my choice of signing her, and expect her to fight as good as she performs.” 

While it was Rebecca’s diplomatic suit that filled her ears, Kiera felt those words honestly. She didn’t doubt her mother’s interest in the pilot, but felt she needed to come back around to the business of things. 

Adjusting her footing, Kiera said, “I.T. operates on precision, teamwork, and strategy.” She looked at Jamie, “We hope Ms. White learns how to work with our team and enjoys a long relationship with us.” 

The room clapped, but looking over at Jamie, Kiera realized the correction fell flat. 

Jamie only winked. Kiera’s nerves were already frayed.

Maya Torrez watched the end of the live feed of the press conference on a her TV at home, a bag of chips in her hand. Jamie White, a thirteen-year-old teen popstar, was now a celebrated pilot.

“A pilot,” Maya scoffed, turning back to the complex schematic sitting beside her—the blueprint for her magnetic interceptor suit. “They give a child who sings pop songs a million-dollar suit and a national platform. But a genuine genius with a DUAL-MAJOR? No.” She said bitterly.

The news anchor was gushing about Jamie White’s youthful appeal. 

Maya slammed a hand down on the remote console, the frustration of being overlooked fueling a hot, angry resolve. 

She was not going to be outdone by a thirteen-year old brat.

If a singer could be trusted with a million-dollar monster-destroying supersuit, Maya could be trusted with her own creation.

She looked at the specs of her suit splayed out beside her, particularly the design that said MAGNETIC FORCES GENERATOR.

She was almost done. It was far from authorized. Dangerous to some.

What Jase doesn't know can’t hurt him.

Kiera took personal control of Jamie’s simulations. The environment was a detailed digital reconstruction of an old downtown district.

Jamie, in the NovaStar suit, moved with an instinctive skill. Her suit was equipped with flight capabilities and energy beam, per I.T.’s standard.

In addition, the suit was specially modified to project sonic waves. It was silver with pink and blue accents, and stars that could be used as speakers or self-destruct into a sonic boom adorned the head of her featureless helmet. 

She was weaving in and out of the reach of attacking, digitally-constructed Jawal, energy beams and sonic bursts hitting with astounding accuracy.

But it was wild.

She spun, she flipped, she performed maneuvers that put maximum strain on her chassis and, worse, relied on blind luck to avoid simulated civilian casualties.

“NovaStar! You’re moves might look good on TV but the bystanders won’t be praising your name! Watch out for that tower debris!” Kiera dressed as Peacekeeper barked with the humming mechanical voice of the suit. 

“I’ve got it, Ms. Moss!” Jamie chirped over the comms, dodging a projectile that should have hit her. “I see it! High risk, high reward.” 

NovaStar zipped across the digital landscape to land a flying roundhouse kick to a large chunk of debris. 

The force of the powered kick broke it up into tiny pieces that rained down on the programmed civilians below.

Kiera’s HUD reported that the pieces were not dangerous, but had a high chance of leaving bruises on those below. 

I’m not leaving anything to chance.

Peacekeeper, made for lighter and quicker movement than than the Daybreak suit, jumped in with pinpoint accurate moves that crushed the rest of the debris into powder when it met the energy beams of her palms.

”Look, I hit 98% accuracy!” Jamie gushed.

”I don’t care what you hit. You prioritize the cleanest extraction route and maximum civilian defense. You do not prioritize flair!” Kiera snapped, pulling the simulation to a halt. 

She strode toward the younger pilot, imposing in the Peacekeeper.

NovaStar’s visor powered down. The new pilot’s young face set in a frown. “Okay…? You’re intense, Ms. Moss. Really intense. I thought you brought me on to flair. I’m the PR miracle, remember?”

Landing on the ground and taking off her helmet, Jamie put a hand on her hip. Unlike her usual hairstyle, it was drawn back into a low bun.

“We’re fighting monsters, not filing tax returns. Are you okay? You seem like more of a tightwad than when you first approached me about this. Better vibes at the charity gala than here?”

Kiera felt the familiar spike of panic. 

Jamie’s met her mother before? The first time Kiera met Jamie as Rebecca was earlier that day, after Pierce had reached out and gone over the official details. Kiera pushed back, maintaining the facade. 

“I am…fine. Just recovering from the accident.” She allowed her face to take on a solemn look. 

”My management style is…tighter. In an effort to keep you alive.” Jamie stayed quiet. “I lost a lot of good crew that night.”

Jamie studied her, but then replied, “I get that. But I didn’t sign up for a crash course in how to be micro-managed. My manager already does that for me. I don’t appreciate your energy. No offense, Ms. Moss.” She mumbled and moved to leave.

I have to fix this somehow.

To seem more like the mentor she was expecting, Kiera grabbed her shoulder. “Call me Rebecca.” Jamie nodded. “And… why don’t we get some icecream and sit on top of the Empire State Building later?” 

That was the spontaneous move that her mom would have done. 

She remembered many days of her youth when her mother took her to places around the city in full interceptor gear, carrying a bounty of snacks - just because they could. 

Her heart ached in grief for her mother, but she managed to keep the tears back this time.

Jamie raced off to get her camera, enthusiam infectious, and Kiera felt like she had made the right decision for the first time in a long time.

The first real engagement came barely a week later—a mega Jawal, emerged from a portal in a city park. 

Kiera, piloting Daybreak was deployed with Jamie’s NovaStar.

The plan was clear: Kiera would distract the creature while Jamie, using a focused sound pulse, would drive it away from the heavily populated park and toward an open dock for neutralization.

The plan required coordination. 

Jamie gave her first distraction blast, but instead of holding the pulse steady and driving the Jawal down the designated street, she broke off.

She used the parks massive trees as pedestals, performing a series of dazzling, high-speed flips to taunt the Jawal into pursuing her.

It was making destructive strikes against the large plant. The whole scene was an unnecessary mess that only looked sophisticated. 

Then it clicked for Kiera.

She’s creating an obvious spectacle that the media will eat up.

“NovaStar, protocol! Get the creature to the docks so we can eliminate it without any civilians around!” Kiera barked, fury cold in her voice as she pivoted and hauled groups of people and press out of harms way. 

“Almost done, Bosslady!” Jamie shouted through the comms, her voice tight with adrenaline. 

She twisted in a perfect corkscrew, firing a final, booming sonic blast that blew the Jawal down the street as originally planned. Kiera dashed to remove the civilians that stood in that same street. 

Anything she had accounted for in her earlier plan went out the window the moment Jamie chose to improvise. 

The people’s screams and the howl of the Jawal helped her press on.

The creatures attention was no longer on the flashy NovaStar, but the other humans.

She needed to stop letting things happen around her and start making things happen.

I’ll do it myself. She thought seriously.

Switching gears, Kiera ordered, “Get these people out of the way as I finish it off.” Jamie’s movement in the corner of her eye confirmed that she was listening. 

Keira put all her focus into fighting the Jawal, feeling a deep, almost relaxing comfort as she felt herself let loose in the usual fighting pattern of the Daybreak suit. 

Unlike her mother's light-weight Peacekeeper suit, the heavier Daybreak allowed her to duke it out, relying on power, brute strength, and wider energy beams.

Using her boosters, Daybreak dodged a lunging attack from the hulking, wolf-like Jawal before slamming her armored fist into the pavement, ripping a heavy street light pole from its base.

She spun and used the momentum of the pole to catch the beast in the chest.

She sent its massive body skidding down the now- empty Manhattan street, finally crashing onto the tarp of shipping boxes of an old dockyard. 

With the creature stumbling and safely isolated from the crowds, Daybreak ignited her beams, unleashing blue energy that struck the Jawal and dissolved it into a plume of ash, ending the brutal engagement.

The monster was destroyed. 

The mission was successful. 

The public loved it. 

The news feeds were already running clips of NovaStar’s “gravity-defying spectacles.”

Kiera was pissed.