There were nineteen Decagons with a twentieth in construction, wiring and cubicles being set up. Workers and managers were lingering nearby with laptops propped on crates and boxes, already figuring out the groundwork. C.L.s from other teams were working with them, filling them in.

Those C.L.s were the most active around the space, hurrying from cell to cell, liaising, sharing information, coordinating. More cells were switching to yellow. Ready to fight on a subtler front, deflect, disturb, deny.

In Cell Five, which was tracking the Shepherds, a young man in cubicle three was moving his mouth back and forth, clicking. His arm rubbed against the edge of the desk, back and forth, to the point of bleeding. She saw as the droplet of blood hit the flooring. She swept over the blood, putting it in the trash receptacle, and hit the specially made bell to get the attention of the cell managers.

In Cell Eleven, tasked with media, a community manager was breathing heavier. He was unaware as ten of the Overseers faces moved closer, crowding in together to study, observe, track every detail. His eyes were unfocused, moving back and forth as if they were reading a single short word over and over again. A vein stood out at his temple. She hit the bell.

A flake of pastry hit the ground as a team delivered meals to Cell Nineteen. She swept it up.

The gears were turning. Enough people were acting exactly as they should for their role, and the roles were interconnected enough to serve. Precogs were reinforced by clairvoyants, ensuring the baseline flow of information and monitoring. Others in a cell tracked all digital media, and worked on breaching passwords and defenses.

Tinkers, thinkers, and borrowed capes were turning their powers toward more complex operations. Getting into the heads of key individuals or systems that would let them better collect information. Not baseline, but far more valuable when it worked. Others scanned and searched, deciding who the most valuable targets were, so teams or oversight could attempt breaches on an even deeper level than hacking, parasites, or mind control.

Everything moved as it should.

Cell One was home. Coordinating things and influencing things here. It was Cell One she reached out to, finding the magnetic board with iron dust spread evenly across it. She manipulated the dust to craft her message, then hit the bell.

FIFTEEN.

“Good work, Overseer,” the C.M. of Cell One said. “Everyone, top attention. Surveillance, coordination, management. In order, I want network, utilities…”

She left him and his team to the task of filling in for her. She pulled back and away, passing through Cell Two, which was double-size, to see where things stood. The Bunker was a big enough blind spot they couldn’t track everything, but the Wardens were a big enough concern that every resource possible was being set to the task.