March 2nd, 1992

Dr. Rose looked at the child in front of her. The violet eyes stared back, almost judging her. Breaking eye contact and looking at the medical file in front of her, noting no abnormalities in the child. But she couldn't pin the feeling that she was next to something huge.

"Your daughter has Marie Antoinette syndrome, which is rare and often associated with traumatic events. Some of the more superstitious individuals in my staff say that little Taylor here has seen death in her previous life." Dr. Rose informed the Hebert family, subconsciously looking into Taylor's violet eyes.

"So she is ok?" Annette asked as she cradled the child.

"Yes, other than losing the pigments in her hair, she is a healthy 2-year-old child. Maybe a bit healthier than normal." Dr. Rose assuaged the mother, almost praying the overbearing silent pressure leaves.

"Thank you, Dr. Rose. When Taylor's hair never got any coloring, we were panicking." Danny spoke up as Annette all but broke down in relief. "We thought she was dying."

"Then I am glad to provide some relief in this. However, if you don't mind, I have some specialists who want to study young Taylor. Nothing invasive, and will pay generously for the opportunity to study a case as early as this." Dr. Rose mentioned as she read the last note on the paperwork.

"We will think about it; we will have an answer in a week," Danny told the doctor as the family left the office.

-7 years old.-

Taylor was bored. She just wanted to be home and watch Star Trek, but no, Emma had to bring her to the introduction of the new PRT Director. She never could understand her friend's obsession with Heroes, even going as far as gifting Taylor with an Alexandria lunchbox. With a resigned sigh, Taylor followed Emma and Alan Barnes to talk to the heroes. Taylor stumbled as she had accidentally been knocked over by the overexcited paparazzi and lost track of her best friend.

"Hey kid, you ok." A voice called out to her as she saw a helping hand extend. Taking the hand, Taylor responded.

"I'm fine. Can I borrow a phone to call my dad?" Taylor gave in as close to a deadpan as a seven-year-old could make. Looking up, the figure had a tanned skin complexion, and an American flag bandanna on her face, her eyes doing their best to convey a smile.

"We can look for him together. You don't need to borrow my phone." The woman responded as she pulled Taylor up.

"You won't find him here; despite my protest, I came with my best friend." Taylor refuted, her violet eyes boring into the masked woman's eyes.

"Alright, you can call him, but what would you do until he gets here." The woman responded diplomatically.

"Sit still under a camera. Honestly, I would rather be home watching Star Trek." Taylor gave with a shrug.

"I am more of a Star Wars fan, but I enjoy TNG. I have it in my office; you can watch it while waiting for your dad. How does that sound?" The woman offered.

"Sure, name's Taylor. What is your name?" Taylor questioned.

"Miss Militia." Miss Militia responded as she was passing over her phone to Taylor.

-12 years old-

Taylor sat in the counselor's office of the summer camp she attended. The worst part is that it was not her fault this time. How was she supposed to deal with a Bald Eagle, chase it away? Even now, it was resting on her head like her hair was its nest. 

"You are in so much trouble, young lady. You are not to disturb the wildlife, and here you are, tempting a bird of prey to attack your fellow campers." The counselor said with an aggravated tone. The bird looked down into Taylor's eyes, almost questioning the counselor's intelligence. Taylor could not keep her laughter in as the idea of the counselor being called stupid by a literal birdbrain was too funny.

"Are you even listening to me? What do you have to say for yourself?" The counselor demanded.

"Yes, I am, but Grim here just called you stupid. As for why he, ow, she decided to approach me is beyond me." Taylor said as she felt the talons of the Eagle dig in when she called the bird a male. The counselor bristled at that.

"Wildlife will be here shortly to take the bird to a safe place. You, however, will be punished severely for breaking the rules." The counselor growled out.

"Ok," Taylor responded nonchalantly.

-Three weeks later-

Connie looked at the bird in the nest in the poor suburban neighborhood. Weirdly enough, the Bald Eagle has not been disruptive, at least according to the Wildlife rehabilitator next to her.

"How many times have you moved the bird?" Connie asked with an outstretched arm. The Bald Eagle landed on it without hesitation.

"Grim, her name is Grim; and we have tried moving her nest five times now. She keeps coming back and remaking her nest in that spot. She is peaceful, aside from her dislike of the Herron family just down the street. Until that changes, my boss agrees to let her stay here." The man responded with a shrug.

"I see; thank you for your time," Connie replied.

"I am just curious why you are interested in a Bald Eagle in New Hampshire. Last I checked, this isn't normally in NOPI jurisdiction." He Questioned Connie.

"Classified, with enough black ink to cover the bible," Connie informed the man as he whistled in appreciation.

"Noted; well, at that, I will forget we ever had this conversation." He said as he left the backyard. Waiting for a second to scratch Grim's beak in appreciation, Connie pulled out her phone and called a number. After a few rings, the other end picked up the phone.

"Yes, Constitution?" the man said on the other end of the line.

"I found the Grey Ghost." She responded while looking into Grim's eyes.

"Where." was all she got.

"Brockton Bay, born Taylor Gráinne Hebert. She is unawakened now, but that could change rapidly with everything else up here." Connie informed the man on the other end.

"Alright, I will set up a strike team. I need you to read in Piggot; she must keep the team covered." The man ordered.

"You sure, director. She is noted as a parahuman hater; if we reveal the existence of the supernatural, Section 24 might get leaked to the witch's pot." Connie rebutted.

"I doubt it. Piggot has enough on her plate as is. Tell her Section 24 will support her actions under the table if she agrees to let us station the strike team in BB. If not, then initiate the amnesia protocol." The director replied.

"Yes, sir." Connie hung up. "Why are you so interested in an old ghost, Miss Grim?" Getting no response except for the bird to take off to sit in her nest. Shrugging, Connie started walking out of the backyard.

Director Piggot was tired. She regretted taking this position, but as heaven was her witness, she wouldn't quit. But she was startled by a woman walking into her office, unannounced and unnoticed by the cams. The woman spoke up as she was subtly reaching for the M/S lockdown button under her desk.

"No reason to alert the building. It would do you no good anyway." She informed Piggot.

"Then why are you here?" Piggot growled out.

"Simple because NOPI Section 24 identified a major supernatural phenomenon in this city. You are going to be read into Section 24 and its stated mission. Remember that this is a black book organization, so any mention outside others read in will result in your disappearance. You can call me Ironsides." Ironside said as she sent a folder to Director Piggot. Reading through it, Piggot felt an existential dread fill her. The old wives' tales, fairy tales, and mythology are real, even if they rarely interact with the modern world. Section 24 was designed to investigate and identify nautical supernatural events.

"I see. So what is Section 24 doing in Brockton Bay?" Piggot asked with a trembling voice.

"We found an individual important to the Navy as a whole. We wish to insert a Task Force to keep her safe. They will assist the PRT in keeping law and order even if operating under a different ROE. Section 24 is also willing to divert resources under the table to the PRTENE if you agree to hide them under your umbrella." Ironsides informed her. This was a relief to Piggot, help at last. Chuckling at the Irony of a group that doesn't exist with much more dangerous things on their plate is more helpful than her own agency.

"I accept." Director Piggot said without hesitation.

"Good, then get yourself healed up. Your current condition is a weakness that can be exploited." Ironsides said as she left the room.

"Fuck, that means parahuman healing," Piggot said to herself.