by wildbow
I entered the elevator in the company of Parian, Regent, Bitch, Bastard and Bentley, Miss Militia, Weld, Clockblocker, and Triumph. It seemed to be an advanced design, the elevator offering so smooth a ride that I might not have been able to tell it was in motion if it weren’t for the bugs elsewhere in the building.
We exited at the third floor. I could use the bugs that had gathered near the waste bins or in the walls to try to get a sense of who and what was around me. I recognized the area as the site where I’d entered via Trickster’s teleportation: desks, cubicles, computers and paperwork. I could sense some people heading into back rooms to rouse people who were sleeping in the office, on benches and in chairs. All of the officers and out-of-uniform PRT operatives were gathering to look.
One of them stepped forward from the rest of the crowd.
“Deputy director,” Miss Militia said, standing straighter.
“I’m too cynical to think this is an arrest, or to hope that it’s anything more than another ruse,” the Deputy Director said. “And I can’t help but note these villains aren’t in restraints.”
“It’s not an arrest, and I hope it’s a trick,” Miss Militia replied.
“You hope it’s a trick?” the Deputy Director asked.
“Because I like the truth even less. A new class S-threat.”
Every officer in the room reacted, a general murmur punctuated with swearing and exclamations.
“Who?”
“An unknown. Possibly a fourth Endbringer, not yet fully grown. I’d like to get in contact with PRT thinkers to verify.”
“Waites,” the Deputy Director called out, over the noise from the gathered police, “Doyon. Get on the phone. Patch them through to me as soon as you get hold of someone.”
“We should wake people up,” Miss Militia said. She glanced at the nearest clock, “It’s four twenty-four in the morning. If this is real, we’ll want the heaviest hitters ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. There’s a chance this may be our one chance to kill her.”
“You’re killing her?” I asked, quiet.
“No,” Miss Militia said. “Nothing’s set in stone. But there’s a chance it may be our only opportunity and our only option. If we’re going to do it, I want to do it successfully.”
“No word from Director Calvert?” the Deputy Director asked.
One of the guys in plainclothes spoke up, “He’s gone silent, sir.”
I didn’t miss the fact that nearly a third of the local officers glanced my way. We were apparently the prime suspects. Which wasn’t wrong, per se.
The Deputy Director ordered, “Militia, join me in the Director’s office. Triumph, see to it that the villains are detained and separated. Interview rooms one and two for Regent and Skitter. Conference room for Hellhound.”
I could sense Rachel shifting position.
“If I may make a suggestion, sir,” Miss Militia cut in, “I think we should put Skitter in the conference room? She and Tattletale are our main sources of information.”
“Not complaining,” I said. “But Bitch, or Hellhound if you want to call her that, may be more comfortable in my company. Her dogs are their normal size. If she uses her power, you’ll be able to see. Miss Militia already saw to it I was disarmed.”
“This sounds like you’re positioning people for a maneuver,” the Deputy Director said.
“No. Just trying to keep things as copacetic as possible,” I said.
“I’d okay it,” Miss Militia said.
“Fine. Hellhound and Skitter in the conference room—” the Deputy Director paused as the elevator opened with nearly all of Brockton Bay’s remaining parahumans. “Tattletale to the conference room. Parian in the legal room. Grue and Imp in interview room two. Put police tape and a sign on the door with a notice of Imp’s stranger classification to remind people why it’s shut and staying shut.”
“Hey!”
“Relax, Imp,” Grue said. “You want to confirm this is alright, Skitter?”
“So long as my teammates go free when trouble starts,” I said. “But yeah. I understand the paranoia.”
And I think we could break out if we had to, I thought. I didn’t say that part.
“This sucks,” Imp commented.
“Suck it up,” Grue responded. “Come on.”
We split up, with Rachel, Tattletale and I settling in the conference room, at the end furthest from the door. Triumph stood watch, and the blinds were left open, leaving us visible to the countless officers who were now on their computers and phones. There wasn’t one of them who wasn’t casting us suspicious glances every minute or so, or peering through the windows of the interview rooms at Regent, Grue and Imp.
I also noted the fact that there were nearly a dozen PRT officers fully suited up in their combat gear, complete with the full-face helmets, the chainmail-mesh covered body armor and containment foam sprayers. They kept out of the way. If I was using my eyes and I didn’t have my swarm sense, I wouldn’t have known they were there.
“Sorry, by the way,” I told Triumph.
“The fuck you apologizing for?” Rachel grumbled. She’d settled into a chair, feet on the table, Bastard curled up in her lap. One hand dangled, resting on Bentley’s head.
“I attacked his home, remember? Didn’t know it was him, but Trickster threatened his family. A fight broke out and I nearly killed Triumph.”
“They know?” Triumph asked. “You shared the details already?”
“More or less,” I said. “Bitch doesn’t care and isn’t the type to use it against you, and Tattletale would have figured it out anyways.”
Tattletale nodded.
“Fuck,” Triumph swore. “Weld was right.”
“Anyways,” I said. “It… there were better ways to do it. So I am sorry.”
“Didn’t need doing in the first place,” Triumph said, sighing. “I was prepared to risk my life the day I graduated from the Wards. Knew what I’d be getting into. Week I had clearance, I watched all the video we have of the class S threats. Leviathan, Simurgh, Behemoth, Slaughterhouse Nine, Nilbog, Sleeper. I knew what I was getting into. So I’m not shocked or horrified at the attempt on my life. What gets me is what you did to my dad. Set his career back years, if it’s even recoverable, by forcing him to take that stance. The whole thing, start to finish, was unnecessary.”
“He’ll recover,” Tattletale said. “I’d argue his career was already pretty fucked after the way things went down, here. Not saying he was to blame, or that he wasn’t, but it’s hard to graduate from mayor to governor when your legacy is a flooded ruin of a city.”
“It’s not that bad,” I said.
Tattletale shrugged, “Not if you’re here, but the photographers and reporters who are getting pictures and video footage of Brockton Bay aren’t going to take pictures of the barely affected areas. They’re going to get the beaches, the south end and the crater. Because that’s what sells. The people outside the city only see the worst bits. When we’re talking public perception, it’s not what is, it’s the picture that’s painted.”
“And the picture is of a handful of scary and powerful supervillains running a fucked up city,” Triumph said. “Which is about to get more fucked up if you aren’t pulling our legs. So yeah, not a good legacy for my dad.”
“We have no reason to pull your leg,” I said.
“Getting access to something else that’s confidential? Covering your kidnapping of Vista so you’re clear to use Regent’s power on her later?”
“Why would we want her?” Rachel asked.
“She’s strong.”
“Bitch’s question is a good one,” Tattletale said. “Yes, Vista’s strong, but why would we want her? It’d be putting ourselves at risk, for no particular gain. If we wanted raw power, we’d have kept your cousin. There’s nothing left in the city that we want or need, so it’s not like we really need her assistance to get a job done. We have money, we have resources, and anything that’s worth anything is
destroyed or taken by now.”
“Then what do you want?” Triumph asked.
“Security. We have all of the basics. Shelter, food, warmth, companionship, money. Anything we do from here on out’s going to involve better securing ourselves where we’re at. We want to stop visiting villains from getting a footing anywhere in the city unless they’re joining us. Keep the peace so we keep you guys off our backs. I wouldn’t mind a system like the Yakuza of Japan’s yesteryear, where we support and involve ourselves in local business, legally, to the point that nobody will be able to shake us.”
“That’s terrifying,” Triumph said.
“Why? Because we’re bad? Ooh, spooky,” Tattletale waggled her fingers at him. “If we do it right, we won’t have to extort anything from the locals. We can do more to stop the drug trade than any of your guys. Then we disappear into the background, make enough money off the side benefits of our powers and investments to live a life of comfort. Mobilize only if and when there’s a new threat. Build trust with you guys, ensure that any new parahumans go to either your group, go to ours, or they get dealt with some other way. Ensure that anyone like Hellhound who needs more elbow room or freedom is somewhere they’re comfortable, where they won’t do any real harm.”
“And she’s okay with that?” Triumph asked, “Being benched?”
“Give me my dogs, don’t bother me, don’t get in my face, I’m okay with whatever,” Rachel said. Her arm was moving. It took me a second to realize she was scratching Bastard.
“Calmer than you were a week and a half ago, if that’s the case,” Triumph said.
“Dunno,” Rachel replied. “That was then. This is now.”
Triumph sighed.
Weld and Clockblocker joined us. Clockblocker handed Triumph a can of coke or something like it.
“They behaving?” Clockblocker asked.
“Pretty much. Tattletale mentioned Dinah, but it wasn’t to fuck with me. We were talking about their master plan, if you can call it that. Not much else.”
Clockblocker looked at me. “Skitter and I had a discussion on the way over.”
“And you won’t have another,” Miss Militia cut in. She’d stepped out of the Director’s office next door and into the doorway. “We’re not here to socialize. We got in touch with some thinkers. Eleventh Hour says he gets an ‘eight’. Appraiser’s read says we’re ‘purple’. Rule for any pre-situ call is we get three points of reference, going by thinkers alone, that means a third thinker. The first they were able to get in touch with was Hunch. Your old teammate, Weld.”
“Didn’t think he rated, yet,” Weld said.
“Chief Director Costa-Brown gave the A-okay, and Hunch says it’s bad. All together, we’re calling this a threat level A.”
“No shit. The Undersiders are for real?” Triumph asked.
Tattletale didn’t wait for him to get an answer, “That’s threat level S. S-class.”
“The Chief Director of the PRT determined it was an A-class threat.”
“Bullshit,” Tattletale said. “S-class. I know Appraiser offered a purple-velvet diagnosis for his previous ratings on Endbringer attacks, so that’s not the reason it’s so low. Eleven’s score of eight has to be above the seventy-five percent mark, and an answer as vague as Hunch’s is going to be a seventy-five percent exact, as per section nine-seven-six, article seventy-one. That’s three values that have to be above the threshold for declaring a threat level S situation.”
“How the hell do you know all that?” Weld asked.
Tattletale waved him off.
“The Chief Director made the call. We’re standing by it,” Miss Militia said.
“We’re talking class-S, even if you ignore pre-situation verification. Section nine-seven-five, article fifty-seven. Classifying high level duplicators and villains who operate to any exponential degree. Nilbog and Simurgh both count, and Noelle does too. If the powers generate more instances of power generation or recurring effect in an epidemic pattern…”
“She’s not a self duplicator,” Miss Militia said, “And yes, she’s creating powers, but they’re copies of other people’s powers. They’re not exponential or self-recursive in effect.”
“You’re splitting hairs.”
“And,” Miss Militia said, “She doesn’t create more powers on her own. She has an intrinsic requirement of needing contact and time to absorb. She doesn’t meet the criteria as they stand.”
“Still splitting those hairs,” Tattletale said. “Her threat level zooms up to S as soon as she gets her hands on anyone who can enable something like that. Like, say, any tinker.”
“I don’t know why we’re even discussing this, when you seem to have our operations manual memorized and you’re capable of realizing it for yourself,” Miss Militia said, “but it doesn’t bear dwelling on. The difference in our response to a class A crisis and a class S one is minor at best. Some tertiary protocols change, we won’t necessarily have Alexandria, Legend or Eidolon assisting, and there’s no penalties for anyone who subscribed to the critical situation roster if they sit this one out.”
“Which they will,” Tattletale said. “You’re ignoring the fact that people are inherently selfish. It takes something to shake them from that reality, and that’s not common.”
“I think you’re underestimating the inherent goodness of people who dedicate their lives to heroism. I know for a fact we have ample volunteers already informed on the situation. They’re en route.”
“If the heroes aren’t showing in full force, others won’t either.” Tattletale said, “And there’s no epidemic protocols with a class-A.”
“We have one tinker,” Miss Militia said. “Kid Win. Armsmaster is no longer on the premises. We have no duplicators. The risk is one we can control, either through the organization of our forces or turning any combatants with problematic interactions away. Epidemic protocols are unnecessary.”
“Armsmaster escaped, you mean,” Tattletale said. “And it won’t be that easy.”
“Maybe not, but that’s the word from above. I’m not interested in debating this further, Tattletale.” Miss Militia said. She turned her head slightly toward me, clearly expecting me to comment along the lines of what I’d said in the containment van, about authority tying one’s hands. When I didn’t rise to the challenge, she said, “We’re having a strategy meeting in a matter of minutes. The first phase of the response will be teleporting in momentarily, but our best mass-teleporter died in the Leviathan attack, and the process is slow. I’ll be releasing the rest of the Undersiders to join you soon.”
“As soon as you have enough extra bodies to watch us,” Tattletale commented.
“Yes,” Miss Militia said, terse. She looked at the three young heroes who had gathered at the wall by the door. “Be good. Excuses or no excuses, it looked bad when we had the last incident with a break in the truce. Don’t let Tattletale provoke you, don’t provoke them.”
“You can’t blame them if they get emotional,” Tattletale sighed. “It’s only natural, three young men, three young women, a possibility of Capulet-Montague forbidden love between hero and villain…”
“My warning goes for you too, Tattletale. I already instructed Triumph to shout at the first sign of trouble.”
“I’ll be angelic,” Tattletale said.
“Good. You should also know that Parian is leaving. She asked me to tell you, and to let you know she’ll be at her territory.”
Parian was gone? Shit.
“I wouldn’t have let her go,” I said. “For a lot of reasons.”
“It’s unfortunate, I agree,” Miss Militia said, “But we’re not in a position to stop her, short of fighting her. She was adamant about not wanting to participate in this fight. Flechette is escorting her back.”
“And however Noelle found Vista, she might find Parian and Flechette and target them the same way,” Tattletale said.
“Maybe. They both have devices to alert us. In the worst-case scenario,
they can inform us if something’s happened. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare.”
Miss Militia didn’t wait for a response. She was already striding down the hall, gesturing to get someone’s attention. Someone too small and too young to be a cop.
The three boys at the other end of the long table started talking among themselves.
“This is falling apart before it begins,” Tattletale commented.
“I get the impression Miss Militia’s spooked,” I said. “She’s tense.”
“Anyone would be,” Tattletale replied. “Doesn’t help that the last Endbringer fight ended her predecessor’s career.”
I nodded.
“Our muscle’s going to suffer in this fight,” Tattletale said. “Your bugs, Bitch’s dogs, they can’t hurt her, if she absorbs things on contact. Not unless we want clones of Bitch’s dogs running rampant.”
“The heroes have long ranged fire,” I replied. “Kid Win, Miss Militia, Triumph. So Bitch and I adopt a support role. The dogs get our key players around the battlefield, if Bitch is willing.”
Rachel grunted something that could have been agreement.
“And I might be able to tie Noelle up without the bugs touching her. Grue can slow her down, Regent could do the same.” I finished.
“Regent couldn’t use his power against Leviathan. Can you imagine him getting Leviathan under control?”
“I’d rather not,” I admitted. “There’s a sweet spot as far as rep goes. Having a pet Endbringer puts us in the ‘too scary to be allowed to live’ category.”
“We’d have to do what the Slaughterhouse Nine do, win frequently enough against high odds that people can’t afford the losses.”
“Would mean we have to go mobile,” I said. “So we have time to recuperate while the enemy tries to track us down. Anyways, enough ‘what if’. Let’s get back on topic.”
Tattletale nodded. “Imp?”
“For this coming fight? Rescue,” I said. “The enemy won’t target her, they might not target anyone she can get in contact with. Fallen allies, captives, Imp gets them to safety.”
