by wildbow
“What’s the difference?”
“I think,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “That a compromise would be disastrous. You’re not going to be confined. You showed that in the interrogation room in Brockton Bay, when you murdered Director James Tagg and Alexandria. You’re not going to be confined by law. I haven’t seen a single case where you’ve followed the rules that were outlined for you. Boundaries don’t work, in any sense. If we reached a compromise, worked out some kind of a deal, you’d find a way around it, extending your influence.”
“That’s not fair,” I said.
“It’s reality. It’s a horrible waste of energy, a tragedy, really, but I’m forced to dedicate time to reining you in, controlling you, keeping you in check. If that results in nights like tonight, we have a balance. Hardly a compromise, but we’ll manage.”
“I suppose we’ll have to,” I said.
“I’d tell you to avoid leaking the fact that you played a major role in tonight’s events, but we both know you wouldn’t listen,” he said. “I’d threaten punishment, but you’d do what you wanted and even enjoy it, feeling vindicated. So we’ll go another route. If you don’t play ball and let us share this narrative the way we need to, I punish the other Chicago Wards. Inconvenient shifts, extra volunteer work, more paperwork.”
“I told you, taking credit isn’t a concern for me. I’ve got other priorities.”
“Good,” he said. He flashed me a smile. White capped teeth. “Good. Then this is ideal. We may not have a compromise, but a consensus? It’ll do.”
“It’ll do,” I said.
“Just do me a favor? Try not to murder me like you did the other three Directors.” He winked.
It was a jibe, a verbal thrust, delivered with humor and offhandedness, but it struck home, stirred ugly feelings.
He turned to rejoin the others. The Mayor looked at me, and Revel waved me over. I knew the Director wouldn’t want me to, so I walked over with confidence, my head held high.
“Eight hours?” the Mayor asked. “Sitting in the cold?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Is that even legal?”
The Director stepped in, “It wasn’t on the clock. For all intents and purposes, she wanted to take the day off, have some time by herself. We had the tracking device monitored by GPS, so we knew she wasn’t going anywhere she shouldn’t. Being the workaholic she is, she wanted to get intel while she had her alone time.”
I didn’t argue the point. He wasn’t wrong. That was how it was going down in the paperwork. Part of the deal we’d arranged to get this off the ground.
The mayor smiled. “Well, good to see our most controversial member is doing her part. You should smile more. Can we get a smile out of you?”
I smiled a little.
“Better, better! You do bide your time, then make a big splash, don’t you, Ms. Weaver?”
He was managing to sound a little condescending, which was at odds with the events he was alluding to. How did one make me sound so diminutive when making vague reference to the death of an Endbringer, to the murder of Alexandria and the takeover of a city?
I didn’t mention it. I had my pride, but it wasn’t something worth fighting over. I wanted to pick my battles, and any moment now—
“Hopefully we’ll see more of the same from you in the future,” the Mayor said.
The Director started to speak, deflecting, but I cut in. “Actually—”
Eyes fell on me.
Picking my battles. If the Director wanted this to be a war, if he thought I needed to be tempered by an opposing force, then I was game.
I glanced at the Mayor. “Tecton went over it with me, we’ve got more plans like we had for tonight. If you guys are willing.”
“Willing? I can’t imagine why not!” the Mayor said. He smiled at Director Hearthrow, who smiled back.
The moment the Mayor wasn’t looking, the Director shot me a glance, a dangerous, warning look.
I told you, I thought. My priorities are elsewhere.
“How soon?” the police chief asked. Her stare was hard, judgmental, but there was curiosity in her tone.
“The sooner the better,” I said. “Before they catch on about what we’re doing and adjust. I think I know where a few possible major players are situated. I’ve spent the past few months looking for them. I gathered the intel in my spare time, on my morning runs and patrols. Just like Director Hearthrow was saying. I’m a bit of a workaholic.”
“Like, two weeks?” she asked.
“Give me a day to recuperate, maybe two days if the other Wards need it, I’d be down for another. We could potentially hit seven or eight major targets in the next two weeks, if you wanted. Each of them would be major targets, villains who aren’t playing along, who are more trouble than they’re worth.”
The Director shook his head. “I think that may be extreme. The resources expended, funding—”
“Funding can be conjured up for a project like this,” the Mayor said. “Imagine the impact. Can we do this with the Protectorate team as well? Switch off with the minors?”
“It’s a good idea,” Revel commented. “Weaver’s capable of handling her own in high pressure situations, but the other team members might not be. They have school, family, other concerns.”
“I agree,” I chimed in. “Makes sense. We could have the bad guys reeling.”
“We can’t set our hopes too high,” the Director warned. He gave me another dirty look.
The Mayor chuckled. “No. Of course not. But the impact. And to do it with so little risk? They barely interacted with the villains, by all accounts. It would be insane to pass up the opportunity.”
“Insane,” Revel said, her tone flat. I couldn’t read her feelings on this. I hoped I hadn’t provoked her as much as I had the Director.
“If you’re willing to allow me to suggest some targets,” the police chief said, “I think I could adjust shifts, ensure we have enough squad members to limit or stop traffic inside potential sites of conflict.”
It was consent, in the form of a negotiation. The mayor and police chief were interested, Revel was probably on board. The Director would be forced to play along.
It was done. I was all set to hit the ground running, like Glenn had recommended. Big moves. Actions with momentum. Here on out, I’d have to keep moving so they couldn’t get me.
And hopefully, in the midst of this, we’d be able to organize things for our potential end of the world scenario. Eliminate the obstacles, big and small, train up the rank and file troops.
If anyone thought I was cleaning up Chicago, they were wrong. Like the Director had said, I’d take as much rein as they gave me, use all of the leverage and momentum I could get my hands on. Topsy was a small fry in the grand scheme of things. A test run. I wanted to hit big targets in other cities. To get as many Mockshows into the interrogation rooms as possible, to play the odds and increase the chances that we could get those people on the fence and make sure they were positioned appropriately.
The clock was ticking.
Scarab 25.4
Touché, PRT.
You got me.
Touché.
“You’re attempting to reach Glenn Chambers, co-president of Faceti. For our mutual convenience, please categorize your message. Press one to contact my personal assistant, who can get your message to me in text asap. Press two if you got my number from my business card. Press four if you are an employee. Press five if this is a personal call. Press nine if the call is of utmost urgency, to put yourself on the line immediately if I’m on the phone, or set off an alarm if I’m not.”
I seriously debated pressing nine. I felt like this was a nine.
I hit one instead.
“This is James, receiving a call for Mr. Chambers.”
“It’s Weaver, I… I don’t know who else to call.”
I wasn’t coherent, which was unusual, considering how I could normally keep myself together in a crisis.
“Oh, Weaver! He’s actually talking to someone about you right now. I got his attention. He’ll be with you in a second.”
“I’m not sure I have a second,” I said. There was no response. He wasn’t on the line.
“Oh man,” Golem said. “I’m… oh fuck.”
Quite possibly the only person who was as concerned as I was.
“Glenn here. You should have called earlier.”
“I didn’t get a chance,” I said. I would have explained, but time was precious here.
“I imagine you didn’t. Well, there’s good news and bad news. You’ve already run into the bad news. Here’s the good. This? It’s my plan they’re using.”
I could believe it. I didn’t respond.
“Their timing is off. I would have done this differently if I were your enemy. It’s too much of a gamble as it stands.”
“They planned this, have been setting it up for a while. I expected interference with the missions, being supplanted with the Protectorate squad, not this. I just need to know—”
There was a fanfare, musical, light and jazzy. By the time it faded, a crowd I couldn’t see had started applauding.
“It’s starting,” Tecton said. He was a pillar of confidence here.
Glenn was talking, but I couldn’t hear over Tecton and the crowd. I stepped away, my free hand raised to block out the noise.
“…nds like the show just started. They have to have leverage against you if they’re pulling this. Your probation?”
“They’re threatening to declare a breach if I don’t play along.”
“Play along. I heard what you did, announcing what the PRT was doing to the entire building. Word got around, in certain channels. Do not do that again. Don’t call your bosses out and let people know that you don’t want to be here. They’ll be ready for it, and you’ll hurt worse than they do.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Did they prep you?”
“No. I got off a six-hour graveyard patrol with Gauss and returned to the base to hear about this. They even put our new Protectorate member on the comms to keep me out of the loop, then fed me just enough information I had to listen without telling me enough. I’ve never even seen this show, and I barely had time to get my costume brushed off and my hair in order. They tidied it up some here, but—”
Glenn cut me off. “Okay. It’s not the end of the world, but I don’t think this show will help you. These shows almost always result in a ratings dip over time. It boosts your appeal but hits you on respectability. It’s only worth it if there’s merchandise or media to sell, which there isn’t. They’re tanking you. Still, this is minor in the grand scheme of things.”
Being in front of millions of people was minor. It wasn’t that I hadn’t had appearances before, but most had been without my knowledge. The unveiling of ‘Weaver’ was a good example of how tongue-tied I was liable to get.
“What do I do? How do I approach this?”
“I’d tell you to just be yourself, but that’s a terrible idea. Be yourself as you normally are with the Wards. Be the teenager, the friend. Play up the fact that you’re a group, that there’s camaraderie. Build a relationship with the audience by sharing things they probably don’t know. Nothing sensitive.”
I wondered if the dildo prank that the Wards had initiated me with would qualify as sensitive.
More than that, I wondered if I even had enough of a bond with the others, something I could draw on.
“Be engaging. It’s more important to keep the conversation moving than it is to say what you want to say.”
“Wards!” A woman called out. “All together. Hurry up now. You’re on in two minutes.”
Like a kindergarten teacher herding students around.
“Two minutes,” I said. “I should go.”
“Good luck. This is a day the strategist needs to take a vacation, understand? Or delegate a task to it. They’re putting you out there because they think you’ll either take a hit to your reputation or you’ll try to be clever and self destruct. You stand to lose more than they do, and this isn’t live, meaning they can pull anything they don’t want on the air.”
“I get it,” I said. “They aren’t just giving me enough rope to hang myself with, they’ve put me in a rope factory.”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you, Glenn.”
I joined the others, my heart was pounding with enough force that the thumps rocked my entire body. Tecton was closest to the stage, followed by Grace and Wanton. The core team members, the veterans. Veterans in one sense. Wanton didn’t have half the field experience I did, even with our sustained campaign against the local villains, starting to help out in Detroit and trying to deal with that one jerkass in Milwaukee who we hadn’t yet managed to pin down. Tecton and Grace were a little more seasoned, but not by a lot.
The stage manager was checking the microphones everybody wore. She paused by me, and ensured it was plugged in, and that the connection was unbroken. I was essentially wearing the same costume I had in the winter, but had skipped the extra layer beneath. I suddenly felt intensely conscious of every wrinkle and all of the grit that had gathered up around my ankles and feet as I’d patrolled.
The costumes the others wore were immaculate. Wanton had styled his hair to be messy in a good way, and was draped in flowing, dark blue clothing with lighter armor situated across his chest, his waist, his boots and along the length of his arms. I suspected that the cloth afforded him more protection than the thin plates of metal, but it served to mask his artificial arm.
Grace’s costume was light, in contrast to the dark of Wanton’s. Her new costume was white cloth, almost a martial artist’s outfit, but designed to offer more coverage. Reinforced pads were situated at every striking point, complete with studs to offer more traction and focused impacts. There wasn’t a single hair out of place beneath her combination headband, hairband and mask. She had glossy, wavy locks I was a little jealous of, and a trace of lipstick.
I wish I’d considered some make up. Not that I wore a lot, or that I’d had the time. I had only what they’d given me in the studio, and they hadn’t gone overboard, on the assumption that I’d keep my mask on. No, if anything it forced me to keep it on. Heavy eyeshadow to make it easier to see my eyes behind the blue lenses.
Cuff seemed to be in the same department as Grace. She’d done herself up, with a more ornate braid to her hair, and had altered her costume a fraction, to allow for more decorative tailoring at the ends of each panel and the nose of her visor. Slivers of skin were visible between some slats of armor at the upper arms and collarbone. Of everyone here, she seemed the most excited. She couldn’t sit still, but she was smiling, and it was a genuine expression.
That left Annex and Golem. Golem was uncomfortable, and I couldn’t blame him. Like me, he had details he’d want to hide. His family, his background, the fact that he was in foster care. His costume, too, was a work in progress. It was a resource for him, and maximizing that resource often set him back in the appearance department. Annex, by contrast, had settled into a ‘look’. It was plain, intentionally so. The white cloak was form-fitting, with ribs to keep the fabric straight and close to his body so it was easier and quicker to absorb.
“Grace,” Tecton said. “No swearing.”
Wanton snickered a little.
Tecton pitched his voice lower. “Golem? You’ve got to stop calling adults sir while you’re in costume. You do it as a civilian, dead giveaway. Hasn’t mattered up until now, but this is the test.”
“I probably won’t say much,” Golem said. “I’m so nervous I feel like I need to puke.”
“No puking,” Wanton said.
“No puking is a good idea,” I agreed.
“Weaver…” Tecton said. He gave me a look, with only his eyes visible behind his helmet. “…I don’t even know. But I’ve kind of gone the extra mile for you, and you’ve done a lot in return, but—”
The stage manager
stooped down a little to talk to us, even though both Tecton and I were both taller than her. “Alrighty, guys! You’re on in five, four…”
“I still owe you one. I’ll be good,” I told Tecton, just under my breath.
“One!”
The jazzy fanfare played. As if that wasn’t cue enough, the stage manager gave us a little prod, literally pushing Tecton forward.
It was surprising how small the studio was, both the stage with its slate gray floor and fake cityscape behind it and the studio audience. Tecton led the way to the half-circle of a table with the three hosts on the far side. The largest chair closest to the hosts was undoubtedly his, shipped here by the PRT so he could sit down in his armor without crashing to the floor.
We sat down. Tecton, Grace, Wanton, me, Annex, Cuff and Golem, in that order. The music died as we took our seats, opposite the three hosts. An adult man, African-American by the looks of it, a woman with peroxide blond hair and a girl who could have been her daughter, a brunette who bordered on overweight, with a winning smile and an overly generous chest.
“Welcome back to Mornings with O, J and Koffi,” the woman said. “School’s out for the day and we’ve got the Chicago Wards here for breakfast. Good morning, guys.”
We voiced our replies. Wanton gave me a look, smiling, and I made myself smile as well.
The young girl gave a small wave, “So nice to meet you. We had the team here before, but you guys have definitely changed things up since. Campanile was the team leader then.”
“Campanile graduated to the Protectorate a little while ago,” Tecton said. “He said to say hi.”
“You were there too, weren’t you?” Koffi, the man, said.
“In my old costume,” Tecton said. “Which I’d prefer we didn’t talk about.”
There were chuckles from the hosts at his comment, and the audience echoed them. It was oddly surreal. I intended no offense to Tecton in thinking it, but the comment just wasn’t that amusing.
“The updated costumes look good,” Koffi said.
“We can thank Weaver for that. Any cloth you see is spider silk,” Tecton said.
“Spider silk, wow!” This from the blonde woman.
