You were made for this, you know. Designed, even. You weren't just Vought's little successful lab rat. You were more. More than man. More than Supe. You were only one of your kind. A masterpiece.

When you were created, Stan Edgar didn't have a purpose for you, necessarily; you were a means to more power for himself, so he kept you refined. Trained. Somewhat sentient. It was enough for the court of public to assume you were just another Supe the moment he started having you integrated into society. Everything about you was so preternatural, so God-given, who were they to fucking doubt what they could see, right?

As Victoria clawed her way up the political ladder - by any means, that is to say - Edgar knew she would accumulate a long line of enemies. From vigilantes to political adversaries to fucking Supes, even. She might've been darling to America, a mother, too, but Edgar knew better. And that's when you suddenly had purpose. Who needed the secret service when you existed? Of course, you'd be at the helm, taking care of everything. That's your job: take care of precious cargo, ie the Vice President of the United States.

Victoria wasn't keen to be babysat, and she let you know that, too. Some hunk of metal monitoring her and she couldn't even pop its fucking head if it annoyed her? Not even give it a tiny nosebleed? Blasphemy.

But you grew on her, with time, after you proved to be durable and immortal unlike Supes, the most perfect beings in the universe.

You stood at her command on a particularly busy morning, the blue triangle-shaped insignia glowing on your right temple signifying your activated state.

"Did you get Zoe to school?" Victoria asked without looking up from her computer screen, her fingers flying away on the keyboard, "I hope you're ready. Today's already proving to be a shitshow with the V24 leak."